University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
THE MULE-PATH INN.

The vine-dresser Berthold departed from his
dwelling, leaving Monna Barbara to carry out
her pious intention of saying a few almost-forgotten
aves upon her wooden beads; for in truth,
so far from being the Lutheran, as some graceless
villagers had proclaimed her, the poor old
soul was, as far as she professed any faith, a
steadfast believer in the dogmas, rituals, saints
and ceremonies of that ancient church devoutly
venerated through all the valley districts. Perhaps
the good padre, who had in times past
often protected her from the too zealous visitations
of the rabble portion of his flock, knew very
well that she was a staunch Catholic, or he
might not have been so doubtful of her necromantic
character; though, sooth to say, Monna
Barbara seldom darkened the door of the village
church with the shadow of her ugly person—a
laxity of discipline very excusable, however,
when the crone's ungainly reputation was taken
into consideration.

We may therefore without immediate comment
permit Monna Barbara to follow out the
dictates of her serious inclinations, contenting
ourselves with following the steps, or rather
strides, of her promising son Berthold.

These were not directed toward the valley
slope, whence glimmered so many beacons of
domestic life, from the windows of huts and snug
cottages, neither did they conduct in the opposing
quarter, where diverged the mountain route
lately taken by Valentine and his companions.
But, striking abruptly from the main road
through the village, about two hundred yards
below the cottage of Nicolo, the young man bent
his course along a rugged pathway which brouching
into the rocky acclivities that formed the first
strata of mountain above the narrow but luxuriant
plateau, whereon were situated the vineyards
cultivated by the valley peasants. Keeping
this pathway, which wound deviously through
rough and sterile fields, ascending gradually
into the heart of the hilly region, Berthold at
length reached a wide-mouthed cleft or chasm
severing the stony pathway, and apparently cutting
off all farther progress in the direction he
was pursuing. The black depth of this fearful
fissure presented an appalling contrast to the
white rocks on either side, over which now fell a
shower of moonbeams, brightening the icy garment
which clothed the mountain cliffs, till it
flashed like silver armor on a giant's frame. Far
down, many hundred feet beneath the brink of
the gulf, a fragment of rock, or ice, disengaged
from its position, fell suddenly, as Berthold neared
the spot; and at once a multitude of echoes
answered the sound of its descent, doubled and
redoubled by the sonorous walls of rock, until

the gathered clangor roared in the lowest depth,
and then sank mutteringly away, leaving the
desolate scene to resume its silent grandeur.

The vine-dresser paused a moment as the
noises multiplied and died away, not in alarm,
for he was too accustomed to Alpine existence
to be startled by aught less than the convulsion
of an avalanche; but simply, as it appeared, to
direct his sharp glances across the gulf, and discover,
just visible, about a couple of hundred
yards distant and below him, the feeble gleam
of a light, proceeding, as he well knew, from the
casement of an albergo or roadside inn, situated
on a lonely shelf near a mountain mule-path,
penetrating far into the interior of the range of
hills that shut in the Val d'Orazio. This mule-path
was not in much repute as a secure road for
chance travellers, inasmuch as rumor had given
to the dwellers in divers rocky reaches on one
side of it a dubious character as respected honesty.
In fact, the peasants had long been accustomed
to believe that a gang of brigands, whose
exploits inspired terror throughout the valley
district, were inaccessibly fortified in some one
of the many impregnable defiles in the neighborhood;
and that it was from such a position
they were used to sally out upon the foot roads
leading to the neighboring city, attacking large
companies of travellers, and often engaging
boldly and sometimes dispersing the very soldiers
sent out to apprehend them.

Whether true or false these rumors relative to
the intrenchment of the robbers in these particular
regions, it was very certain that suspicious
fellows, not belonging to the village, had often
presented themselves at the fairs and church-festivals,
and that, in more than one Sunday
homily, the worthy padre had warned his youthful
hearers (especially the female portion)
against lending ear to any strange visitors who
might, with the assistance of a jaunty jacket, and
free and easy manners, not to say soft speeches
and jingling purses, be disposed to ingratiate
themselves into the good opinion of his flock.
Besides, in truth, without the neighborhood of
any brigands at all, this mule-path was a sufficiently
lonesome route, and as such had been
chosen long ago as a safe avenue for the transport
of contraband goods, smuggled over the
frontiers of France and Switzerland. It was the
better adapted for this pursuit, from the fact that
many intricate paths and defiles connected it at
various points with the national highway, and
because, likewise, the goatherds and shepherds
of the lofty regions surrounding, were all, more
or less, disposed to favor a business which enabled
them to possess themselves of many little
luxuries to which they had otherwise been strangers,
besides adding to their gains by some slight
participation in the profits of what it would be
difficult to persuade them was not a perfectly
legitimate traffic—in spite of governmental dogmas
to the contrary.

However, we have directly to do with Berthold,
the vine-dresser, rather than with goatherds
or smugglers, and must follow him as he
suddenly turned to the left, after his rapid glance
over the chasm, and commenced to descend
cautiously an abrupt winding of the path which
led down the sides of the precipice to a rude
bridge that spanned the gulf, some twenty feet
beneath. Crossing this bridge, formed of sapling
trunks bound firmly together with vines, but
which yet swayed somewhat, as his heavy foot
trod upon it, the young man soon found himself
on the opposite brink, and continued his course,
descending the mule-path in the direction of the
lonely albergo.

Lonely, however, as this roadside tavern had
appeared from the point above, Berthold discovered,
as he approached, that its public room
was now occupied by more than one guest,
as was plainly evident from the sound of noisy
mirth within. At least a dozen voices seemed
vieing as to which should be heard, and a chorus
of some wild drinking song was just in full swell
as he reached the closed door and knocked boldly
with his staff.

The summons had an instantaneous effect upon
the revellers within; for suddenly every sound
was hushed, and deep silence took the place of
uproar. At the same moment, a female voice
came from a small, diamond-shaped aperture in
the barred window-shutter (whence had proceeded
the only light visible), demanding in
sharp accents:

“Who knocks?”

“Assuredly a friend to the house, good Brigita.
Open the door, il mia ostessa, to a weary
traveller.”

“'Tis the vine-dresser,” Berthold heard the
woman say, as if in reply to an inquiry from
some one within, and then the rough tones of a
man called out:

“Art alone, comrade?”

“Truly I am, Bacco, and thirsty for a cup of
wine, with such good company as one meets at
your snug fireside.”

As Berthold concluded this remark, a bar
was removed from the inside of the massy door,
and he presently found himself in the midst of
his desired “good company.”

A motley assemblage was this, picturesque and
wild-looking enough to satisfy any sketch-hunter
who ever straddled a travelling stool in the
Apennines or Abruzzi. Nearest the door, and the
first to encounter his glance as he entered, Berthold
beheld the portly esercito, or landlord, of
the hotel, whose name he had called on before
his admittance. Bacco was short, thickly-built,
with a bull-neck set so solidly upon his broad
shoulders that the latter rose somewhat like
haunches on either side. His face was a compound
of phlegm and stupidity, the stolid look
of which was only enlivened by an occasional
glitter of his small eyes, which from beneath
their heavy brows sometimes volunteered a hint
that under their owner's apparent dullness might
be sleeping a disposition whose quietness it would
scarcely be safe to trust too far. This personage
greeted the young man, without rising, or foregoing
his hold of an earthen flagon which he
had just raised to his lips, and from which he proceeded
to imbibe a copious draught.

Opposite to the burly Bacco, stood, with her
arms bent, and her hands resting on her hips, a
sour-visaged, ill-favored woman, of tall figure and
thin frame, who rejoiced in the name of Brigita,
and the possession of Bacco as her worse but
larger moiety. This good lady bent on Berthold
the regards of a pair of scrutinizing eyes,
accompanied by a wrinkling of the forehead,
which plainly showed that the vine-dresser was
no especial favorite of hers, whatever he might
be of the oste himself.

Grouped about the apartment in such attitudes
as their custom or ease dictated, were a dozen
men, at the least, clad in the various garbs of
muleteers, mountaineers, and goatherds, though
the former appeared to predominate. These
people were drinking wine, and eating sausages
and black bread, at the same time talking loudly,
and singing at intervals verses of some rude
song, generally illustrative of the charms of just
such meetings as the one in which they were
now mingling; though sometimes the ballad
took an amatory or adventurous turn, and recited
the vows of a mountain girl, or exploits of her
mountain lover. At the upper end of the room,
which was of considerable capacity, was a door
leading to an inner apartment, toward which
Berthold at once made his way, at a sign from
the ponderous Bacco, which assured him that
a person whom he sought was in the albergo.

The door alluded to was wide open, and as the
vine-dresser reached it, he beheld, just at the
other side of the threshold, a small table, at
which two persons were seated, amicably sharing
a bottle of wine between them, whilst the
odor of an aromatic cigar flavored this portion of
the albergo with a more agreeable effluvium than
that exhaled from the sour wines and stale meats
discussed by the company at large.

The first of these companions, whose position
exposed his face to Berthold as he gained the
door, was a man attired rather jauntily, in a
jacket of green broadcloth, set off with broad
lappels, to which heavy silver buttons gave an
appearance of gaudiness, that was hardly kept
in countenance by the rest of his garb. This
latter was made up of well-worn and discolored
leathern breeches, coarse boots, exhibiting unsightly
thongs, fastening them to the legs,
which were now stretched out at length over the
floor, and a short embroidered cloak, evidently
of somewhat too thin a texture for an Alpine
temperature, however it might comport with the
gay jacket beneath. The proprietor of this costume,
was an individual of at least sixty years,
tall and well-shaped, with gray, curled hair,
depending upon his shoulders, and with a countenance
expressive of much determination.

The second person at the table, whose head
was quickly turned about, as Berthold's shadow
fell across the threshold, was a young girl, whose
small, compact figure was tastily arrayed in a
close-fitting boddice of blue velveteen, beneath
which a petticoat of dark brown stuff, trimmed
with ribbons of a lighter azure than that of her
upper garment, fell to the tops of small, fur-tipped
boots, that displayed to advantage the well-shaped
feet which they covered. The face of
this young girl, as it appeared half-turned towards
the young man, was of a fine oval form,
and of pure olive complexion. Her forehead
was encircled with a sort of coronet of common
but quite brilliant 'blue beads, well contrasting
with the glossy, black ringlets which they confined,
and perhaps borrowing lustre from a pair
of flashing eyes that looked out fearlessly beneath
them.

Berthold's glance, which had sought that of
this young girl, as soon as he perceived her eyes
turned toward him, sank the next instant before
their fixed gaze, and his voice faltered in a measure,

as he addressed the other occupant of the
room, with:

“Good evening, il mio capitano!”

“Good welcome to you, if you bring news of
business, and a draught of good wine, whether
or no,” returned the man with the gay jacket.
“Sit down, il mio amico, and Francesca here
will fill your cup of Muscat. 'Tis the last of
my delicate vino d'est, and the saints only know
where I shall get more of the same—if in truth
I be not soon brought to no wine at all, which
may St. Geronimo long avert!”

Saying this, the worthy proprietor of the short
cloak and green jacket crossed himself devoutly,
and then continued in a lower tone to the vine-dresser,
who was receiving a cup of wine from
the hands of the young Francesca:

“And is there nothing promising at all, worthy
Berthold?”

“May I speak before your daughter?” asked
the vine-dresser, in the same key, throwing a
glance toward the girl, who, after filling his cup,
had risen from the table, and was now directing
her gaze into the outer room.

“And why not before Francesca?” rejoined
the other. “She is able to keep her father's
secrets, I'll warrant.”

“I but spoke on account of—” commenced
Berthold, but he stammered, as he encountered
the glance of Francesca turned suddenly on him.

“Tut, comrade! go on with your news, and
may the saints grant it bring fortune!” cried
the father.

“I doubt me not it will, if it be taken advantage
of at once,” answered Berthold, in the blunt
manner which he could so well assume. “The
news I have is this—that a traveller, who is evidently
a signore of distinction, and I doubt not
has a sack well-lined with what honest mountaineers
can easily find purses for—is but now
crossing the north pass, to the `Huguenots'
Altar,' and with our friends the good goatherds
and muleteers yonder, you may make what he
carries your own before daybreak.”

“And know you what he carries, worthy
Berthold?”

“I know that he has gold, and that in no
silken pouch, but a money-belt such as none
wear but they who bear wealth when they travel.
I watched closely, and I warrant me this strange
lord carries more than has crossed these mountains
in many a mule-load that you have risked
life to rifle, il mio capitano.”

“And where saw you this?”

“Under mine own roof, but a couple of hours
since, whither my lord must come to show himself,
and to engage my good brother Valentine
to guide him on his journey. Old Nicolo is with
them, but he goes no farther than the `Huguenots'
Altar.”'

“And how long are they departed, say you?”
inquired the other, whose vocation doubtless has
by this time been divined by the astute reader.
As he asked this question, he emitted a short,
hissing sound from his lips, which was immediately
responded to, by a sudden bustle in the
large apartment, and the appearance, a moment
after, of three or four men in muleteer garb, at
the open door.

“Arm and make ready,” was the short command
given by the captain, whose countenance
had assumed a stern and resolute expression.
The men at once retired, and the girl Francesca
began to assist her father in his hurried preparations.

“Your brother is to guide this stranger, said
you not, Berthold?”

“Ay, captain; and as the boy is of some-spirit,
it were best if—”

“Ah, fear nothing on that score! I know
what you would say, good Berthold; but fear
nothing, for no hair of the lad's head shall be
hurt—neither the traveller's, for that matter. I
am too old now, to spill blood wantonly; we
will but relieve the signore of his money-belt, and
bid him godspeed on his journey.”

The old brigand concluded these words with a
laugh at his own humor; but his mirth was not
apparently shared by the vine-dresser, who, to
speak the truth, looked as if the assurance just
given of his brother's security from danger was
not the most pleasing thing in the world to himself.
However, he made no reply, while the
brigand captain, finishing his preparations, soon
stood before him, well-armed, and ready to start.

“They will doubtless reach the `Altar,' about
an hour before midnight, when the moon is at
its height,” remarked the old man, as he turned
toward the outer room.

“I know Nicolo's pace very well,” returned
Berthold, “and the hour will not vary many
minutes from that you mention.”

“We shall speedily overtake them, by the
mule-path defile,” rejoined the captain. “I give
you many thanks, worthy youth, for this timely
notice, and will bring more substantial means of
rewarding you, may St. Geronimo prosper.
Now haste, Francesca, and fill flasks with the

last of my vino d'est. You shall drink a glass,
Berthold, before you return to the village.”

“With all my heart, and thanks, il mio
capitano,” said Berthold. So saying, he received
a second cup from the hands of the fair Francesca,
and at the same instant a quick glance from
her eyes, that appeared to communicate to the
young man a sudden command, which he acknowledged
by an awkward nod, and the spilling
of a few drops of wine from his flagon.

“Have a care!” cried the captain, noticing
the spilling of the liquor, though not the signs of
intelligence exchanged by his daughter and the
vine-dresser. “Have a care, youth! You find
not such wine as this vino d'est in the cellars of
Val d'Orazio!”

“In truth, no,” said the other, finishing his
draught, and returning the flagon to Francesca,
not without stealing another look at the young
female. “Such wine gives jacket and cloak in
the coldest weather.”

“Now for the road,” said the captain, abruptly.
And without further delay, save to press a
hasty kiss to Francesca's lips, as they were raised
to his own, the old brigand passed into the
outer apartment.

Not a single individual, save the host, of those
who had crowded the room when Berthold arrived,
now remained in the hostel, though they
had appeared so disposed to revelry, and vieing
with each other in exertions of vocalism. Bacco,
however, still grasped his flagon of wine, and
emitted clouds of tobacco smoke from his pipe,
formed of Swiss clay, whilst his wife moved incessantly
about, placing stools and tables in
their places, after the evening's disorder.

The brigand captain knew very well where to
look for the stout fellows whom his orders had
drawn suddenly from their debauch, to await his
signal for an expedition they knew not nor recked
not whither. So, exchanging a brief sentence
with Bacco, he tarried no longer in the
public room than was necessary to complete his
equipments with a beautiful, silver-stocked carabina,
which the landlady Brigita fetched him
from a secure corner in which it had remained
under her charge.

“The saints give you a good return,” said
Brigita, as the captain received the carbine from
her hands.

“Thank you, il mia ostessa! And at the next
fair I will surely remember you. Take good
care of Francesca, worthy Brigita.”

“Never fear me, captain!” answered the
sharp-voiced hostess, as she unbarred the door,
and gave egress to the old brigand, who, standing
on the threshold a moment, saw a group of
dark figures just in the shadow of the house, who
moved at once as he appeared.

“Are you all ready, comrades?”

“Ay, captain, and a fine night we have for
brisk walking.”

In five minutes more, the party were moving
forward along the mule-path, in the direction
opposite to the place where Berthold had lately
descended.