Pictures From Italy | Page 4

imagine to yourself whatever is most exquisitely and widely unlike the
descriptions therein contained.
You have been travelling along, stupidly enough, as you generally do
in the last stage of the day; and the ninety-six bells upon the
horses--twenty-four apiece--have been ringing sleepily in your ears for
half an hour or so; and it has become a very jog-trot, monotonous,
tiresome sort of business; and you have been thinking deeply about the
dinner you will have at the next stage; when, down at the end of the
long avenue of trees through which you are travelling, the first
indication of a town appears, in the shape of some straggling cottages:
and the carriage begins to rattle and roll over a horribly uneven
pavement. As if the equipage were a great firework, and the mere sight
of a smoking cottage chimney had lighted it, instantly it begins to crack
and splutter, as if the very devil were in it. Crack, crack, crack, crack.
Crack-crack- crack. Crick-crack. Crick-crack. Helo! Hola! Vite! Voleur!
Brigand! Hi hi hi! En r-r-r-r-r-route! Whip, wheels, driver, stones,
beggars, children, crack, crack, crack; helo! hola! charite pour l'amour
de Dieu! crick-crack-crick-crack; crick, crick, crick; bump, jolt, crack,
bump, crick-crack; round the corner, up the narrow street, down the
paved hill on the other side; in the gutter; bump, bump; jolt, jog, crick,
crick, crick; crack, crack, crack; into the shop-windows on the left-hand
side of the street, preliminary to a sweeping turn into the wooden
archway on the right; rumble, rumble, rumble; clatter, clatter, clatter;
crick, crick, crick; and here we are in the yard of the Hotel de l'Ecu
d'Or; used up, gone out, smoking, spent, exhausted; but sometimes
making a false start unexpectedly, with nothing coming of it--like a
firework to the last!
The landlady of the Hotel de l'Ecu d'Or is here; and the landlord of the
Hotel de l'Ecu d'Or is here; and the femme de chambre of the Hotel de
l'Ecu d'Or is here; and a gentleman in a glazed cap, with a red beard

like a bosom friend, who is staying at the Hotel de l'Ecu d'Or, is here;
and Monsieur le Cure is walking up and down in a corner of the yard
by himself, with a shovel hat upon his head, and a black gown on his
back, and a book in one hand, and an umbrella in the other; and
everybody, except Monsieur le Cure, is open-mouthed and open-eyed,
for the opening of the carriage-door. The landlord of the Hotel de l'Ecu
d'Or, dotes to that extent upon the Courier, that he can hardly wait for
his coming down from the box, but embraces his very legs and
boot-heels as he descends. 'My Courier! My brave Courier! My friend!
My brother!' The landlady loves him, the femme de chambre blesses
him, the garcon worships him. The Courier asks if his letter has been
received? It has, it has. Are the rooms prepared? They are, they are.
The best rooms for my noble Courier. The rooms of state for my gallant
Courier; the whole house is at the service of my best of friends! He
keeps his hand upon the carriage-door, and asks some other question to
enhance the expectation. He carries a green leathern purse outside his
coat, suspended by a belt. The idlers look at it; one touches it. It is full
of five-franc pieces. Murmurs of admiration are heard among the boys.
The landlord falls upon the Courier's neck, and folds him to his breast.
He is so much fatter than he was, he says! He looks so rosy and so
well!
The door is opened. Breathless expectation. The lady of the family gets
out. Ah sweet lady! Beautiful lady! The sister of the lady of the family
gets out. Great Heaven, Ma'amselle is charming! First little boy gets
out. Ah, what a beautiful little boy! First little girl gets out. Oh, but this
is an enchanting child! Second little girl gets out. The landlady,
yielding to the finest impulse of our common nature, catches her up in
her arms! Second little boy gets out. Oh, the sweet boy! Oh, the tender
little family! The baby is handed out. Angelic baby! The baby has
topped everything. All the rapture is expended on the baby! Then the
two nurses tumble out; and the enthusiasm swelling into madness, the
whole family are swept up-stairs as on a cloud; while the idlers press
about the carriage, and look into it, and walk round it, and touch it. For
it is something to touch a carriage that has held so many people. It is a
legacy to leave one's children.

The rooms are on the first floor, except the nursery for the night, which
is a great rambling chamber, with four or five