The Diary of an Ennuyée | Page 8

gathered by extending our hands;--all and each, when I recall
them, will rise up a vivid picture before my own fancy;--but never
could be truly represented to the mind of another--at least through the
medium of words.
And yet, with all its wonders and beauties, this day's journey has not
enchanted me like Saturday's. The scenery then had a different species

of beauty, a deeper interest--when the dark blue sky was above our
heads, and the transparent lake shone another heaven at our feet, and
the recollection of great and glorious names, and visions of poetic
fancy, and ideal forms more lovely than ever trod this earth, hovered
around us:--and then those thoughts which would
intrude--remembrances of the far-off absent, who are or have been
loved, mingled with the whole, and shed an imaginary splendour or a
tender interest, over scenes which required no extraneous powers to
enhance their native loveliness.--no charm borrowed from imagination
to embellish the all-beautiful reality.
Duomo d'Ossola.--What shall I say of the marvellous, the miraculous
Simplon? Nothing: every body has said already every thing that can be
said and exclaimed.
In our descent, as the valley widened, and the stern terrific features of
the scene assumed a gentler character, we came to the beautiful village
of Davedro, with its cottages and vineyards spread over a green slope,
between the mountains and the torrent below. This lovely nook struck
me the more from its contrast with the region of snows, clouds, and
barren rocks to which our eyes had been for several hours accustomed.
In such a spot as Davedro I fancied I should wish to live, could I in life
assemble round me all that my craving heart and boundless spirit
desire;--or die, when life had exhausted all excitement, and the subdued
and weary soul had learned to be content with repose:--but not not till
then.
We are now in Italy; but have not yet heard the soft sounds of the
Italian language. However, we read with great satisfaction the Italian
denomination of our Inn, "La grande Alberga della Villa"--called out
"Cameriere!" instead of "Garçon!"--plucked ripe grapes as they hung
from the treillages above our heads--gathered green figs from the trees,
bursting and luscious--panted with the intense heat--intense and
overpowering from its contrast with the cold of the Alpine regions we
had just left--and fancied we began to feel
"----cette vie enivrante, Que le solei du sud inspire à tous les sens."

* * * * *
11 at night.--Fatigue and excitement have lately proved too much for
me: but I will not sink. I will yet bear up; and when a day thus passed
amid scenes like those of a romance, amid all that would once have
charmed my imagination, and enchanted my senses, brings no real
pleasure, but is ended, as now it ends, in tears, in bitterness of heart, in
languor, in sickness, and in pain--ah! let me remember the lesson of
resignation I have lately learned; and by elevating my thoughts to a
better world, turn to look upon the miserable affections which have
agitated me here as----[E]
Could I but become as insensible, as regardless of the painful past as I
am of the all lovely present! Why was I proud of my victory over
passion? alas! what avails it that I have shaken the viper from my hand,
if I have no miraculous antidote against the venom which has mingled
with my life-blood, and clogged the pulses of my heart! But the
antidote of Paul--even faith--may it not be mine if I duly seek it?
* * * * *
Arona, on the banks of the Lago Maggiore.--Rousseau mentions
somewhere, that it was once his intention to place the scene of the
Heloïse in the Borromean Islands. What a French idea! How strangely
incongruous had the pastoral simplicity of his lovers appeared in such a
scene! It must have changed, if not the whole plan, at least the whole
colouring of the tale. Imagine la divine JULIE tripping up and down
the artificial terraces of the Isola Bella, among flower pots and statues,
and colonnades and grottos; and St. Preux sighing towards her, from
some trim fantastic wilderness in the Isola Madre!
The day was heavenly, and I shall never forget the sunset, as we viewed
it reflected in the lake, which appeared at one moment an expanse of
living fire. This is the first we have seen of those effulgent sunsets with
which Italy will make us familiar.
Milan.--Our journey yesterday, through the flat fertile plains of
Lombardy, was not very interesting; and the want of novelty and

excitement made it fatiguing, in spite of the matchless roads and the
celerity with which we travelled.
Whatever we may think of Napoleon in England, it is impossible to
travel on the Continent,