the Kammerjunker that the Italian pigs have no bristles, but have
a coal-black shining skin like a Moor.

"Toward night we arrived at Milan, where we located ourselves with
Reichmann, made a good supper, and had excellent beds; but I foresee
that this bliss will not last very long. On the other side of the
Apennines we shall be up to the ears in dirt, and must eat olives
preserved in oil; but let it pass. Otto adapts himself charmingly to
all things; he begins to be merry--that is, at times! I, too, have had
a sort of vertigo--I am taken with Italian music; but then there is a
difference in hearing it on the spot. It has more than melody; it has
character. The luxuriance in nature and in the female form; the light,
fluttering movement of the people, where even pain is melody, has won my
heart and my understanding. Travelling changes people!

"Kiss mamma for me! Tell Eva about the health-drinking on the Simplon,
and about the falling avalanche: do not forget that; that is precisely
the point in my letter! Tell me too how Eva blushed, and smiled, and
said, 'He thought of me!' Yes, in fact it is very noble of me. My sweet
Sophie and her Kammerjunker, Jakoba and Mamsell, must have a bouquet of
greetings, which you must arrange properly. If you could but see Otto
and me with our mustaches! We make an impression, and that is very
pleasant. If the days only did not go on so quickly--if life did not
pass so rapidly!

"'Questa vita mortale
Che par si bella, a quasi piuma al vento
Che la porta a la perde in un momento,' [Note: Guarini]

as we Italians say. Cannot you understand that?

"Thy affectionate brother,

"WILHELM."

Otto wrote in the margin of the letter, "Italy is a paradise! Here the
heavens are three times as lofty as at home. I love the proud pine-trees
and the dark-blue mountains. Would hat everybody could see the glorious
objects!"

Wilhelm added to this, "What he writes about the Italian heavens is
stupid stuff. Ours at home is just as good. He is an odd person, as you
very well know!

"'Addic! A rivederci!'"

CHAPTER XLVI

"Thou art master in thy world.
Hast thou thyself, then thou hast all!"
--WAHLMANN.

In the summer of 1834 the friends had been absent for two years. In the
last year, violet-colored gillyflowers had adorned a grave in the little
country church-yard.

"A heart which overflowed with love,
Was gone from earth to l