Little Rivers [43]
such a
legend as this. The cottage may have been rebuilt a dozen times
since Titian's day; not a scrap of the original stone or plaster
may remain; but beyond a doubt the view that we saw from the window
is the same that Titian saw. Now, for the first time, I could
understand and appreciate the landscape-backgrounds of his
pictures. The compact masses of mountains, the bold, sharp forms,
the hanging rocks of cold gray emerging from green slopes, the
intense blue aerial distances--these all had seemed to be unreal
and imaginary--compositions of the studio. But now I knew that,
whether Titian painted out-of-doors, like our modern
impressionists, or not, he certainly painted what he had seen, and
painted it as it is.
The graceful brown-eyed boy who showed us the house seemed also to
belong to one of Titian's pictures. As we were going away, the
Deacon, for lack of copper, rewarded him with a little silver
piece, a half-lira, in value about ten cents. A celestial rapture
of surprise spread over the child's face, and I know not what
blessings he invoked upon us. He called his companions to rejoice
with him, and we left them clapping their hands and dancing.
Driving after one has dined has always a peculiar charm. The
motion seems pleasanter, the landscape finer than in the morning
hours. The road from Cadore ran on a high level, through sloping
pastures, white villages, and bits of larch forest. In its narrow
bed, far below, the river Boite roared as gently as Bottom's lion.
The afternoon sunlight touched the snow-capped pinnacle of Antelao
and the massive pink wall of Sorapis on the right; on the left,
across the valley, Monte Pelmo's vast head and the wild crests of
La Rochetta and Formin rose dark against the glowing sky. The
peasants lifted their hats as we passed, and gave us a pleasant
evening greeting. And so, almost without knowing it, we slipped
out of Italy into Austria, and drew up before a bare, square stone
building with the double black eagle, like a strange fowl split for
broiling, staring at us from the wall, and an inscription to the
effect that this was the Royal and Imperial Austrian Custom-house.
The officer saluted us so politely that we felt quite sorry that
his duty required him to disturb our luggage. "The law obliged him
to open one trunk; courtesy forbade him to open more." It was
quickly done; and, without having to make any contribution to the
income of His Royal and Imperial Majesty, Francis Joseph, we rolled
on our way, through the hamlets of Acqua Bona and Zuel, into the
Ampezzan metropolis of Cortina, at sundown.
The modest inn called "The Star of Gold" stood facing the public
square, just below the church, and the landlady stood facing us in
the doorway, with an enthusiastic welcome--altogether a most
friendly and entertaining landlady, whose one desire in life seemed
to be that we should never regret having chosen her house instead
of "The White Cross," or "The Black Eagle."
"O ja!" she had our telegram received; and would we look at the
rooms? Outlooking on the piazza, with a balcony from which we
could observe the Festa of to-morrow. She hoped they would please
us. "Only come in; accommodate yourselves."
It was all as she promised; three little bedrooms, and a little
salon opening on a little balcony; queer old oil-paintings and
framed embroideries and tiles hanging on the walls; spotless
curtains, and board floors so white that it would have been a shame
to eat off them without spreading a cloth to keep them from being
soiled.
"These are the rooms of the Baron Rothschild when he comes here
always in the summer--with nine horses and nine servants--the Baron
Rothschild of Vienna."
I assured her that we did not know the Baron, but that should make
no difference. We would not ask her to reduce the price on account
of a little thing like that.
She did not
legend as this. The cottage may have been rebuilt a dozen times
since Titian's day; not a scrap of the original stone or plaster
may remain; but beyond a doubt the view that we saw from the window
is the same that Titian saw. Now, for the first time, I could
understand and appreciate the landscape-backgrounds of his
pictures. The compact masses of mountains, the bold, sharp forms,
the hanging rocks of cold gray emerging from green slopes, the
intense blue aerial distances--these all had seemed to be unreal
and imaginary--compositions of the studio. But now I knew that,
whether Titian painted out-of-doors, like our modern
impressionists, or not, he certainly painted what he had seen, and
painted it as it is.
The graceful brown-eyed boy who showed us the house seemed also to
belong to one of Titian's pictures. As we were going away, the
Deacon, for lack of copper, rewarded him with a little silver
piece, a half-lira, in value about ten cents. A celestial rapture
of surprise spread over the child's face, and I know not what
blessings he invoked upon us. He called his companions to rejoice
with him, and we left them clapping their hands and dancing.
Driving after one has dined has always a peculiar charm. The
motion seems pleasanter, the landscape finer than in the morning
hours. The road from Cadore ran on a high level, through sloping
pastures, white villages, and bits of larch forest. In its narrow
bed, far below, the river Boite roared as gently as Bottom's lion.
The afternoon sunlight touched the snow-capped pinnacle of Antelao
and the massive pink wall of Sorapis on the right; on the left,
across the valley, Monte Pelmo's vast head and the wild crests of
La Rochetta and Formin rose dark against the glowing sky. The
peasants lifted their hats as we passed, and gave us a pleasant
evening greeting. And so, almost without knowing it, we slipped
out of Italy into Austria, and drew up before a bare, square stone
building with the double black eagle, like a strange fowl split for
broiling, staring at us from the wall, and an inscription to the
effect that this was the Royal and Imperial Austrian Custom-house.
The officer saluted us so politely that we felt quite sorry that
his duty required him to disturb our luggage. "The law obliged him
to open one trunk; courtesy forbade him to open more." It was
quickly done; and, without having to make any contribution to the
income of His Royal and Imperial Majesty, Francis Joseph, we rolled
on our way, through the hamlets of Acqua Bona and Zuel, into the
Ampezzan metropolis of Cortina, at sundown.
The modest inn called "The Star of Gold" stood facing the public
square, just below the church, and the landlady stood facing us in
the doorway, with an enthusiastic welcome--altogether a most
friendly and entertaining landlady, whose one desire in life seemed
to be that we should never regret having chosen her house instead
of "The White Cross," or "The Black Eagle."
"O ja!" she had our telegram received; and would we look at the
rooms? Outlooking on the piazza, with a balcony from which we
could observe the Festa of to-morrow. She hoped they would please
us. "Only come in; accommodate yourselves."
It was all as she promised; three little bedrooms, and a little
salon opening on a little balcony; queer old oil-paintings and
framed embroideries and tiles hanging on the walls; spotless
curtains, and board floors so white that it would have been a shame
to eat off them without spreading a cloth to keep them from being
soiled.
"These are the rooms of the Baron Rothschild when he comes here
always in the summer--with nine horses and nine servants--the Baron
Rothschild of Vienna."
I assured her that we did not know the Baron, but that should make
no difference. We would not ask her to reduce the price on account
of a little thing like that.
She did not