THE VAL D'AOSTA.

BY CAPTAIN I. 8. A. HERFORD.

CHAPTER I.

It was in the middle of May, 1871, that I, knowing something of the Italian language and people, was asked by a friend, an engineer, to join him in an excursion in search of fresh mountain air and exercise, after long confinement to his offices in a close seaport town.

"What do you say to a few days in the Val d'Aosta? The general observer is sure to find something to interest him there; and as for me, I dare say I shall pick up something in my line too."

"All right," I replied, "I'll take what's above ground, and you shall have the rest."

Turin was to be our point of junction, and thence one bright spring morning we started for Chivasso, where we were to find the branch-line to Ivrea. We had just time to take a hurried look over the town and to dine at Chivasso. This place, now altogether dirty and miserable, was once strongly fortified,—the key to Piedmont on the northeast side, and there too the Marquises of Montferrat had held their

court.

As in most of the Piedmontese towns, along one side of the principal street runs an arcade, with shops beneath and dwellings above it. Its square-towered churches are built of red brick, and though time has caused sad gaps among the saints who formerly adorned the façade of the Duomo, S. Pietro, it still bears the traces of former beauty in the rich ornamental mouldings of terra-cotta. The now solitary inn also boasts of Venetian mirrors and faded brocaded hangings, and here our host had promised to prepare a treat for us. This was to consist of a dish of lampreys, caught in the Canal Cavour, close by, the pleasure of eating which cost a king his life, and for the privilege of tasting which we had almost to "pay a king's ransom." I cannot say that the enjoyment of the royal food was unbounded, but we tried philo sophically to console ourselves with the reflection that some one must pay to keep up the "Testa del Moro," with all its remains of ancient splendour.

And now the train whirls us away from Chivasso, and leaving the plains behind us, we soon enter a very different kind of country

and scenery. The mulberry gives place to the chestnut, and sleepy little lakes nestle here and there among the rising hills where the peasant cultivates his vines or little patch of hemp.

Ivrea, where we bid adieu for some time to rail and steam, is our first halting point. This town is the busy market for the produce of the valley, and lies at the foot of a hill, upon which eight or nine centuries ago the Lords of Ivrea raised their stronghold, and where the castle, now used as a prison, still rears aloft its battlements and tall round towers. The river Dora Baltea, hemmed in by rocks above, comes thundering down the valley, divides the town in two, and then spreads itself out to attack the plain below. Here we saw herds of cows, splendid cattle, collected from different parts of the valley, ready to be sent off, via Mont Cenis, into France. Everything in the shape of food was being bought up eagerly by the French commissaries,-even the long-legged, hungry-looking pigs, of which we met a herd going into the town, and of which we should have been ashamed in any decent English village pigstye.

At Ivrea our summer day's excursion virtually began, and here we soon therefore moved off the beaten track, turning our steps towards the village of Vico Canavese.

For three hours we wend our way along hill sides, or through valleys, bright with the luxuriant foliage of an Italian spring, old castles perched here and there on the heights, and lovely views of wood and river over the plain, open out upon us at every turn of the road. Up higher still, and patches of snow reveal themselves in the clefts of the rocks, until at last we reach a kind of neutral ground on which the near line of hills seemed content to look down, allowing their "reserves," the snow mountains, to rear their heads in the distance. Here the road becomes too steep for any but pedestrians or mules, so we scramble up on foot to the little village of Vico Canavese. The inn is called the "Corona Grossa," and though homely, is neat and clean, and it matters not that we have to climb a ladder in order to reach our room, first threading our way across the floor reserved for miners, charcoal burners, and the ordinary guests of the house. In most of the villages, indeed, the upper floors of the houses have one row of bedrooms, while the remainder of the space is open to the air, and serves for sitting-rooms, &c., curtains being drawn across the arched entrances to keep off sun or wind.

Hearing a noise down below, soon after our arrival, I called out to

to say

our host, a stalwart young Saxon in appearance, to beg him to remonstrate with the disturbers of the peace, whoever they might be. "Sir," was the answer, "I am sorry it is my father-in-law who is making such a piece of work. He begins to drink very early in the day generally; and an old crony of his, the blacksmith, came in to keep him company this morning,-they have both got very drunk; the blacksmith we have turned out neck and crop, but I could not quite do that to my wife's father. So, first of all we shut him up in the kitchen, and now he is being carried up stairs to bed."

A pleasant domestic picture certainly! and really one not according to our host's deserts, for he seemed to be the picture of good temper even under those trying circumstances.

My friend Mr. R. had arranged for a mining guide to meet us at Vico Canavese. So after a breakfast off mountain trout and ham, the latter being cooked with bay leaves, we started for Transella. Hearing however on our road that some peasants had been working at a vein of lead until stopped by water, we thought it worth while to diverge and examine what had been done. Traces of a vein of lead appeared, running along the hillside and breaking off abruptly at the bottom. There, as R. had predicted, on examination a small "pocket" of lead was found, and then all trace of the mineral was lost again. Among the crevices of the rocks we found one of those curious reptiles, the salamanders-its colour black, with large orange patches on its back. Then we walked on to Transella, to see first the copper foundry, and afterwards to go over the Riccardi works, where the metal sent to the foundry is prepared.

The proprietors of the foundry are both Belgians, and it is curious to note how many foreigners are engaged in raising and preparing the mineral wealth of this country. At Transella, nothing enormous in the way of profit can be counted on, as the process of smelting is very expensive there. All the coke used for the furnaces is brought over via Genoa, from England, and the copper is submitted to six fusions before it is clean and fit for use.

The copper works about a quarter of a mile farther up the valley, are close to the entrance of a very large mine, owned together with the works by Signor Riccardi. Of course water power alone is used for the machinery, and after examining the crushing pump, &c., we turned to what was more interesting, the machines mounted by Signor Quintino Sella (late Finance Minister) for separating the copper from

the iron, with which in this mine it is largely mixed. These machines consist of broad wheels holding powerful magnets, which as the wheels revolve attract and hold the iron portion of the metal powder, and then drop it again just in time to let it fall into a separate trough. The resigning of the iron is due to the suspension of the magnetic action for one moment, as each magnet moves away from over the powder, which is slowly passed along on leather bands. The wheels are in "pairs," and the ore is passed successively under the action of each wheel till it comes forth cleared of the iron. There are two pairs of wheels, and each set will act on about five tons of ore in a day. The original pair of wheels with which Signor Sella made his first experiment are still kept in the same room with the new machinery. They are about two feet in diameter, while the magnets which are in rows of four have circular facets. The improved wheels are larger, their magnets have oblong facets, and are disposed in threes. The speed of the band supporting the mineral is so arranged that each particle of the ore shall receive its due share of the magnet. Sulphuric acid is generally employed for the batteries, and it is renewed every forty hours. Nitric acid will last for ninety hours, but it is much more expensive.

We were shown an enclosure about thirty feet square which was filled with a mass of pure iron powder lying by useless. They say that since the introduction of English iron and the scarcity of fuel, it does not pay to smelt it.

We found that it was impossible to adhere to our original intention of going along the crests of the hills to Aosta. The snow was still too deep, and a fear of avalanches prevailed. In June or July the walk can be done in eight hours, but at that season of early spring no guide could be found to take us. We began therefore to think of going along the Valley of Aosta, and while discussing our plans, a peasant came up to ask us to visit a lead mine on the road to the valley. This decided us, and we started.

And now we are toiling up steep mountain paths under a broiling sun, keeping up our courage by listening to our peasant who descants volubly on the richness in silver (in combination with the lead) of the neighbourhood. Suddenly he dives down a steep ravine, puts his hand into a small hole, and brings forth-silver? -no, nothing but "cooked lead grease," i.e., "the sweating from lead by the action of natural heat," as R. described it. So much for the lead mine.

some

That the country all round is rich in lead, silver, iron, and copper has been known from remote ages, and we were able to test this later in the day, for we came upon an ancient working. This was on the hill sides, where holes had been made in the open ground wherever the iron was most abundant. These holes being cleaned out were filled with combustibles and set on fire, and thus in a rude primitive manner the lead was melted out of the ironstone. Heaps of iron thus treated lay about.

And now our route obliged us to descend the colline towards the river Dora Baltea. This was a serious business. After passing the works of Messrs. Sclopis, where sulphuric acid is made, and where we halted for a short time to examine the ore of a mine composed of copper, iron and lead together, our only path consisted of a steep sledge track, down which the ore is sent. It was a most break-neck road, and very marvellous it seemed to us that women could carry up the empty sledges, on their backs, with such comparative ease and safety. At last, after many a slip, we reached the bridge which spans the river Dora Baltea, and found ourselves on the road near the village of Settimo Vittone. Leaving this place behind, the valley of Aosta closes in, and scarcely a mile is passed without the remains of some old castle or fortress appearing, here frowning alone perched on a jutting rock, or there standing protector, as it were, of some little village lying at its feet. Glimpses of snowy mountains appear occasionally, as small valleys open to our view, allowing their brawling streams to feed the Dora. Our walk was a hot and dusty one, but there was so much variety in the scenery, that we felt compensated for any personal discomfort.

On coming to Pont S. Martin, at the confluence of the Lys with the Dora, we cast wistful glances towards Monte Rosa, from whose glaciers the former river flows. But we resisted. the temptation of turning that way, and contenting ourselves with examining the old Roman bridge still spanning the Lys, walked on. Another Roman relic, a short tunnel cut in the rock, is reached and passed through, and Fort Bard stands before us. This is a very picturesque old castle (still fortified) placed on a spur of rock which projects into the middle of the valley, in order that the masters of Fort Bard should hold the key of this pass effectually. Nevertheless, the French, during the First Empire, managed to creep up under the battlements, when the place was garrisoned by the Austrians, and raise a gun in the night to the top