These officials have now retreated behind the Quadrilatere,--soon, as we hope, to make a
further retreat,--and the district belongs to the kingdom of United Italy. There is a place
of refreshment or hospice here, into which we all went for a few moments, and I then saw
that my friend with the weak throat was accompanied by two ladies.
"You should not have missed the Via Mala," I said to him, as he stood warming his toes
at the huge covered stove.
"We miss everything," said the elder of the two ladies, who, however, was very much
younger than the gentleman, and not very much older than her companion.
"I saw it beautifully, mamma," said the younger one; whereupon mamma gave her head a
toss, and made up her mind, as I thought, to take some little vengeance before long upon
her step-daughter. I observed that Miss Greene always called her step-mother mamma on
the first approach of any stranger, so that the nature of the connection between them
might be understood. And I observed also that the elder lady always gave her head a toss
when she was so addressed.
"We don't mean to enjoy ourselves till we get down to the lake of Como," said Mr.
Greene. As I looked at him cowering over the stove, and saw how oppressed he was with
great coats and warm wrappings for his throat, I quite agreed with him that he had not
begun to enjoy himself as yet. Then we all got into our places again, and I saw no more
of the Greenes till we were standing huddled together in the large courtyard of Conradi's
hotel at Chiavenna.
Chiavenna is the first Italian town which the tourist reaches by this route, and I know no
town in the North of Italy which is so closely surrounded by beautiful scenery. The
traveller as he falls down to it from the Splugen road is bewildered by the loveliness of
the valleys,- -that is to say, if he so arranges that he can see them without pressing his
nose against the glass of a coach window. And then from the town itself there are walks
of two, three, and four hours, which I think are unsurpassed for wild and sometimes
startling beauties. One gets into little valleys, green as emeralds, and surrounded on all
sides by grey broken rocks, in which Italian Rasselases might have lived in perfect bliss;
and then again one comes upon distant views up the river courses, bounded far away by
the spurs of the Alps, which are perfect,--to which the fancy can add no additional charm.
Conradi's hotel also is by no means bad; or was not in those days. For my part I am
inclined to think that Italian hotels have received a worse name than they deserve; and I
must profess that, looking merely to creature comforts, I would much sooner stay a week
at the Golden Key at Chiavenna, than with mine host of the King's Head in the thriving
commercial town of Muddleboro, on the borders of Yorkshire and Lancashire.
I am always rather keen about my room in travelling, and having secured a chamber
looking out upon the mountains, had returned to the court-yard to collect my baggage
before Mr. Greene had succeeded in realising his position, or understanding that he had to
