THE PATE OF PIURO.

Otago Witness, Issue 2179, 28 November 1895, Page 49

THE PATE OF PIURO.

The traveller going northwards after a toui in Italy who wishes to get off the great highways across tho Alps, could not do bettet than to turn aside from the St. G-otbard lins at tho little town of Oomo, take the steamer up the lake— a delightful passage of four hours — which stops at Oollico, and then proceed for an hour and a-half by train to Ohiavenna. Here he takes the diligence, wbioh runs the whole length of the Val Bregaglfa, and on to the Engadine. The road up this beautiful and ever-ascending valley runs almost all the way by the rapid, noisy River Maira, which, fed by the streams of the glacier?, rushes down in a tumultuous torrent over its rocky bed. Tho chestnut*, which flourish in the valley, and the daft pina woods which stretch up the precipitous tide* of the sharp-pointed, j*ggy mountains some* times surround ua at each side of the road, makiDg a delicious sbade. In the lowet valley, about two miles fiom Ohiavenna, before reaching the Swiss frontiar at tho village of OastasegDa, the traveller passes a_few poor, mean little houses of modern conatruo Mod, and sees the inhcription on the wall, Comune di Piuro. Tne name Piuro, whiob, fctill clings to the spot, recalls to memory 9 traglo story, which, briefly told, Ib as fol« lows :—: — Piuro, in the year 1618, was still in the full zsuith of its prosperity, " the richest oom« mune in the country of the Three Leagues,* 1 a beautiful little burgh of about 300 housed standing on both Aides of the Maira, con' nected by two bridges. On one tade of the valley rose tho lofty Pizzo Stella, and on the other, very near tho burgh, the lower Monte Ooato, covered with pines up the 6ide, and hiving on the top of it a small lake. Magnificent houses, called " palßzzi " in the old chronicles, ro«e in every direction among gayperfumed gardens adorned with beautiful fountains of the purest and coldest water, lovely flowers, and richly.-laden fruit trees. About 8 o'clock. in the evening, when the lights were beginning to shine in the windows and many persons were still in the. street?, walking in the summer twilight, a solitary traveller who carried provisions over tho mountain passes with pack horses was passing through tbe town, filled with a sad foiabodiDg of misfortune. Ho had just passed the last house of the village when the hora'es, which bad galloped till then, stood still, trembling and frightened. He looked to Mount Conto and saw tbe top of it moving, bending forward, and then falling with a tremendous crash liko the roar of a hundred oannon, a noise which was heard for many leagues up and down the valley. A huge column of dust rcse from the debrU, so that from earth to eky nothing could bo seen, and nothing heard but the crabbing and rumbling of rock?, which continued rolling down from the shattered mountain and settling on tha mass of earth which bad crushed out of existence the little town with all its wealth of art and beauty, its happy and industrious population of nearly 3000 souls. All had perished in an hour. Whoft tbe terrible crash came the horrified people, of Chlavenna, guessing tbe cause, set all the bells pealing, callirg tbe townsmen to the rescue of Piuro. In a very short time they came with horses and mules to the scene o£ the disaster, but all in vain. Only two houses had partially escaped the general wreck ; the rescued lives were six in number — an old woman, a lunatic, three cbildron, and one strong young man. A new and imminent danger now threatened the valley. Tho assembled crowds from Chiavenna and the mountain hamlets saw with alarm that the Maira, with' half a mountain flung acrosß its path, began to rise rapidly into a broad lake, and some new catastrophe was expected hourly. Happily it soon burst through the obstruct tion and made a new course for itself where the' mass of rubbish was lees thick. and solid. The traveller through the Val Bregaglia will look in vain for any remains of tbe once flourishing little town of Piuro ; a chestnut wood now covers the ground where once stood the stately churches, beautiful mansions, and lovely gardens, but looking at the great stones and rocks overgrown with moss interspersed with trees, the imagination will call up before the mind's eye a picture of what is buried beneath.— G. S. Godkin, in the Argosy.