1828.] A Night at Covigliajo. 459 



and-twenty. He wore a mustachoe, without whiskers, and, by a resi- 

 dence of twelve years principally amongst Turks, had acquired the fiery 

 expression of eye peculiar to that nation. But in the lower part of his 

 face, and in the tone of his voice, there was a gentleness which might 

 seem like humility ; and the return which he made to the jests of his 

 companions was rather in a spirit of simplicity than folly. He was born 

 on the sea-side, in that extreme part of the Austrian territory where the 

 original Italian character is almost lost by intercourse with the neigh- 

 bouring Dalmatians ; and this, in some sort, accounted for the bastard 

 dialect in which he spoke. But a long absence from his native place 

 the Bocche di Catarrho had almost worn away the memory of his 

 mother-tongue ; and when he talked, at length, whether descanting on 

 the beauties of his still remembered home, or on the marvels of St. 

 Sophia, and perils past at sea, a frequent pause occurred in the narration, 

 or a coined phrase shewed the lack of those which he had learned in his 

 youth. How fondly and earnestly he dwelt upon the charms of that 

 almost uncivilized land, which, after so long a separation, he was about 

 to revisit ! What were the palaces of Venice, the churches of Pisa, or the 

 rural beauty of the Apennines, which his companions so much bepraised? 

 He remembered more stately buildings, and greener fields ; for, where 

 his memory had failed him, there the collected fancies of twelve long 

 years thronged to supply its place. But in the midst of these enthusiastic 

 stories, the poor fellow's eye would suddenly lose its brightness, and 

 some thought, which he did not disclose, changed the accent of his voice 

 to one of sorrow. I know not why, but, as I gazed on this simple stranger, 

 it seemed to me that he was one set out of the species to which I myself 

 belonged, and that his mind was filled with musings, and his story 

 marked by incidents, not common to mankind. 



It was now past the setting of the sun ; the bullocks had well done 

 their duty ; but we were still far from Pietra Mala. The vetturino's pipe, 

 after many replenishings, was laid aside. His songs had died into an 

 echo; and not one of the travellers had spirit for jeer or jest. 



" Cospetto di Baccho ! we must stop at that brutal Covigliajo, or the 

 beasts will be knocked up, and we shall be worse than benighted. Now, 

 if we had left Florence at daylight, this would not have been so ; and 

 there might have been good accommodations for all. As it is Male 

 detto ! you little devil, if you stumble so by the side of these precipices, 

 we shall lose our supper. But never mind 



" ' Pantalone bianca 

 Colla' bottoniera !' " 



And, in the stanzas of that interminable ditty, he soon lost his vexa- 

 tion. 



At length the caravan turned under an archway, and drew up by a 

 side-door of a low, lone house, where appeared one or two lights ; and it 

 was discovered that we had come to the termination of our day's journey. 

 This was Covigliajo, a hamlet infamous for its lack of comfort, set on a 

 high Apennine, and exposed to blasts from all quarters. After a long 

 consultation between the driver and host in which each was accosted at 

 first as " caro amico," but, when obstacles thickened, as " brutta bestia," 

 or <( figliolo del diavolo" it was made known that the house was pre- 

 occupied by three parties ; one of which had returned from the next 



3 N 2 



