As the still, bright lake is to the rushing
and troubled cataract, is Italy to Switzerland and Savoy. Emerging
from the chaotic ravines and the wild gorges of the Alps, the happy
land breaks upon us like a beautiful vision. We revel in the sunny
light, after the unearthly glare of eternal snow. Our sight seems
renovated as we throw our eager glance over those golden plains,
clothed with such picturesque trees, sparkling with such graceful
villages, watered by such noble rivers, and crowned with such
magnificent cities; and all bathed and beaming in an atmosphere so
soft and radiant! Every isolated object charms us with its beautiful
novelty: for the first time we gaze on palaces; the garden, the
terrace, and the statue, recall our dreams beneath a colder sky;
and we turn from these to catch the hallowed form of some cupolaed
convent, crowning the gentle elevation of some green hill, and flanked
by the cypress or the pine.
The influence of all these delightful objects and of this benign
atmosphere on the frame and mind of Venetia had been considerable.
After the excitement of the last year of her life, and the harassing
and agitating scenes with which it closed, she found a fine solace
in this fair land and this soft sky, which the sad perhaps can alone
experience.
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