The Man Who Kept His Money In A Box
I first saw the man who kept his money in a box in the midst of the ravine of the Via
Mala. I interchanged a few words with him or with his wife at the hospice, at the top of
the Splugen; and I became acquainted with him in the courtyard of Conradi's hotel at
Chiavenna. It was, however, afterwards at Bellaggio, on the lake of Como, that that
acquaintance ripened into intimacy. A good many years have rolled by since then, and I
believe this little episode in his life may be told without pain to the feelings of any one.
His name was -; let us for the present say that his name was Greene. How he learned that
my name was Robinson I do not know, but I remember well that he addressed me by my
name at Chiavenna. To go back, however, for a moment to the Via Mala;--I had been
staying for a few days at the Golden Eagle at Tusis,--which, by-the-bye, I hold to be the
best small inn in all Switzerland, and its hostess to be, or to have been, certainly the
prettiest landlady,--and on the day of my departure southwards, I had walked on, into the
Via Mala, so that the diligence might pick me up in the gorge. This pass I regard as one
of the grandest spots to which my wandering steps have ever carried me, and though I
had already lingered about it for many hours, I now walked thither again to take my last
farewell of its dark towering rocks, its narrow causeway and roaring river, trusting to my
friend the landlady to see that my luggage was duly packed upon the diligence. I need
hardly say that my friend did not betray her trust.
As one goes out from Switzerland towards Italy, the road through the Via Mala ascends
somewhat steeply, and passengers by the diligence may walk from the inn at Tusis into
the gorge, and make their way through the greater part of the ravine before the vehicle
will overtake them. This, however, Mr. Greene with his wife and daughter had omitted to
do. When the diligence passed me in the defile, the horses trotting for a few yards over
some level portion of the road, I saw a man's nose pressed close against the glass of the
coupe window. I saw more of his nose than of any other part of his face, but yet I could
perceive that his neck was twisted and his eye upturned, and that he was making a painful
effort to look upwards to the summit of the rocks from his position inside the carriage.
There was such a roar of wind and waters at the spot that it was not practicable to speak
to him, but I beckoned with my finger and then pointed to the road, indicating that he
should have walked. He understood me, though I did not at the moment understand his
answering gesture. It was subsequently, when I knew somewhat of his habits, that he
explained to me that on pointing to his open mouth, he had intended to signify that he
would be afraid of sore throat in exposing himself to the air of that damp and narrow
passage.
I got up into the conductor's covered seat at the back of the diligence, and in this position
encountered the drifting snow of the Splugen. I think it is coldest of all the passes. Near
the top of the pass the diligence stops for awhile, and it is here, if I remember, that the
Austrian officials demand the travellers' passports. At least in those days they did so.
