Over the Stelvio Pass Page #2

"Over the Stelvio Pass" by Robert Barr is a captivating travelogue that chronicles the author's adventurous journey through the stunning landscapes of the Stelvio Pass, one of the highest mountain passes in the Alps. Blending personal anecdotes with vivid descriptive passages, Barr explores the rich culture, breathtaking vistas, and challenges of traversing this iconic route. The book combines elements of adventure, exploration, and a deep appreciation for nature, making it a delightful read for anyone who enjoys travel literature and the allure of the great outdoors.

• Short story

								

roses; Tina in one of the clumsy but picturesque lake boats. He did his
work very well, too. Old Landlord Lenz had the utmost contempt for this
occupation, as a practical man should, but he was astonished one day
when a passing traveller offered an incredible sum for one of the
pictures that stood on the hall table. Standish was not to be found,
but the old man, quite willing to do his guest a good turn, sold the
picture. The young man, instead of being overjoyed at his luck, told
the landlord, with the calm cheek of an artist, that he would overlook
the matter this time, but it must not occur again. He had sold the
picture, added Standish, for about one-third its real value. There was
something in the quiet assurance of the youth that more than his words
convinced old Lenz of the truth of his statement. Manner has much to do
with getting a well-told lie believed. The inn-keeper's respect for the
young man went up to the highest attainable point, and he had seen so
many artists, too. But if such prices were obtained for a picture
dashed off in a few hours, the hotel business wasn't in it as a money-
making venture.

It must be confessed that it was a great shock to young Standish when
he found that the fairy-like Tina was the daughter of the gross old
stupid keeper of the inn. It would have been so nice if she had
happened to be a princess, and the fact would have worked in well with
the marble terrace overlooking the lake. It seemed out of keeping
entirely that she should be any relation to old money-making Lenz. Of
course he had no more idea of marrying the girl than he had of buying
the lake of Como and draining it; still, it was such a pity that she
was not a countess at least; there were so many of them in Italy too,
surely one might have been spared for that pension when a man
had to stay eight days to get the lowest rates. Nevertheless, Tina did
make a pretty water-colour sketch. But a man who begins sliding down a
hill such as there is around Como, never can tell exactly where he is
going to bring up. He may stop halfway, or he may go head first into
the lake. If it were to be set down here that within a certain space of
time Standish did not care one continental objurgation whether Tina was
a princess or a char-woman, the statement would simply not be believed,
because we all know that Englishmen are a cold, calculating race of
men, with long side whiskers and a veil round their hats when they
travel.

It is serious when a young fellow sketches in water-colours a charming
sylph-like girl in various entrancing attitudes; it is disastrous when
she teaches him a soft flowing language like the Italian; but it is
absolute destruction when he teaches her the English tongue and watches
her pretty lips strive to surround words never intended for the vocal
resources of a foreigner. As all these influences were brought to bear
on Walter Standish, what chance did the young fellow have? Absolutely
as little as has the un-roped man who misses his footing on the
Matterhorn.

And Tina? Poor little girl, she was getting paid back with a vengeance
for all the heart-aches she had caused--Italian, German, or Swiss
variety. She fell helplessly in love with the stalwart Englishman, and
realised that she had never known before what the word meant. Bitterly
did she regret the sham battles of the heart that she had hitherto
engaged in. Standish took it so entirely for granted that he was the
first to touch her lips (in fact she admitted as much herself) that she
was in daily, hourly terror lest he should learn the truth. Meanwhile
Pietro unburdened his neglected soul of strange oily imprecations that
might have sounded to the uneducated ear of Standish like mellifluous
benedictions, notwithstanding the progress he was making in Italian
under Tina's tuition. However, Pietro had one panacea for all his woes,
and that he proceeded to sharpen carefully.

One evening Standish was floating dreamily through the purple haze,
thinking about Tina of course, and wondering how her piquant archness
and Southern beauty would strike his sober people at home. Tina was
very quick and adaptable, and he had no doubt she could act to
perfection any part he assigned to her, so he was in doubt whether to
introduce her as a remote connexion of the reigning family of Italy, or
merely as a countess in her own right. It would be quite easy to
ennoble the long line of hotel-keepers by the addition of "di" or "de"
or some such syllable to the family name. He must look up the right
combination of letters; he knew it began with "d." Then the
pension could become dimly "A castle on the Italian lakes, you
know"; in fact, he would close up the pension as soon as he had
the power, or change it to a palace. He knew that most of the castles
in the Tyrol and many of the palaces of Italy had become boarding-
houses, so why not reverse the process? He was sure that certain
furnishing houses in London could do it, probably on the hire system.
He knew a fashionable morning paper that was in the habit of publishing
personal items at so much a line, and he thought the following would
read well and be worth its cost:--

"Mr. Walter Standish, of St. John's Wood, and his wife, the Comtessa di
Lenza, are spending the summer in the lady's ancestral home, the
Palazzio di Lenza, on the lake of Como."

This bright vision pleased him for a moment, until he thought it would
be just his luck for some acquaintance to happen along who remembered
the Palazzio Lenza when it was the Pension Lenz--rates on application.
He wished a landslide would carry buildings, grounds, and everything
else away to some unrecognisable spot a few hundred feet down the
mountain.

Thus it was that young Standish floated along with his head in the
clouds, swinging his cane in the air, when suddenly he was brought
sharply down to earth again. A figure darted out from behind a tree, an
instinct rather than reason caused the artist to guard himself by
throwing up his left arm. He caught the knife thrust in the fleshy part
of it, and the pain was like the red-hot sting of a gigantic wasp. It
flashed through his brain then that the term cold steel was a misnomer.
The next moment his right hand had brought down the heavy knob of his
stout stick on the curly head of the Italian, and Pietro fell like a
log at his feet. Standish set his teeth, and as gently as possible drew
the stiletto from his arm, wiping its blade on the clothes of the
prostrate man. He thought it better to soil Pietro's suit than his own,
which was newer and cleaner; besides, he held, perhaps with justice,
that the Italian being the aggressor should bear any disadvantages
arising from the attack. Finally, feeling wet at the elbow, he put the
stiletto in his pocket and hurried off to the hotel.

Tina fell back against the wall with a cry at the sight of the blood.
She would have fainted, but something told her that she would be well
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