ew thin, and Robert could not sleep at
nights. The air was too relaxing or soft or something for them both, and
poor Wilson declares that another month of Venice would have killed her
outright. Certainly she looked dreadfully ill and could eat nothing. So
I was forced to be glad to go away, out of pure humanity and sympathy,
though I keep saying softly to myself ever since, 'What is there on
earth like Venice?'

Then, we slept at Padua on St. Anthony's night (more's the pity for us:
they made us pay sixteen zwanzigers for it!), and Robert and I, leaving
Wiedeman at the inn, took a caleche and drove over to Arqua, which I had
set my heart on seeing for Petrarch's sake. Did you ever see it, _you_?
And didn't it move you, the sight of that little room where the great
soul exhaled itself? Even Robert's man's eyes had tears in them as we
stood there, and looked through the window at the green-peaked hills.
And, do you know, I believe in 'the cat.'

Through Brescia we passed by moonlight (such a flood of white moonlight)
and got into Milan in the morning. There we stayed two days, and I
climbed to the topmost pinnacle of the cathedral; wonder at me! Indeed I
was rather overtired, it must be confessed--three hundred and fifty
steps--but the sight was worth everything, enough to light up one's
memory for ever. How glorious that cathedral is! worthy almost of
standing face to face with the snow Alps; and itself a sort of snow
dream by an artist architect, taken asleep in a glacier! Then the Da
Vinci Christ did not disappoint us, which is saying much. It is divine.
And the Lombard school generally was delightful after Bologna and those
soulless Caracci! I have even given up Guido, and Guercino too, since
knowing more of them. Correggio, on the other hand, is sublime at Parma;
he is wonderful! besides having the sense to make his little Christs and
angels after the very likeness of my baby.

From Milan we moved to Como, steamed down to Menaggio (opposite to
Bellaggio), took a caleche to Porlezza, and a boat to Lugano, another
caleche to Bellinzona, left Wiedeman there, and, returning on our steps,
steamed down and up again the Lago Maggiore, went from Bellinzona to
Faido and slept, and crossed the Mount St. Gothard the next day,
catching the Lucerne steamer at Fluellen. The scenery everywhere was
most exquisite, but of the great _pass_ I shall say nothing--it was like
standing in the presence of God when He is terrible. The tear