Rose, who (to my further discomfiture, I find) visited Asiago in 1817, mentions that the Cimbri have the Celtic custom of waking the dead.  “If a traveller dies by the way, they plant a cross upon the spot, and all who pass by cast a stone upon his cairn.  Some go in certain seasons in the year to high places and woods, where it is supposed they worshiped their divinities, but the origin of the custom is forgot amongst themselves.”  If a man dies by violence, they lay him out with his hat and shoes on, as if to give him the appearance of a wayfarer, and “symbolize one surprised in the great journey of life.”  A woman dying in childbed is dressed for the grave in her bridal ornaments.  Mr. Rose is very scornful of the notion that these people are Cimbri, and holds that it is “more consonant to all the evidence of history to say, that the flux and reflux of Teutonic invaders at different periods deposited this backwater of barbarians” in the district they now inhabit.  “The whole space, which in addition to the seven burghs contains twenty-four villages, is bounded by rivers, alps, and hills.  Its most precise limits are the Brenta to the east, and the Astico to the west.”] They are, of course, subject to the Austrian Government, but not so strictly as the Italians are; and though they are taxed and made to do military service, they are otherwise left to regulate their affairs pretty much at their pleasure.

The Capo ended his discourse with much polite regret that he had nothing more worthy to tell us; and, as if to make us amends for having come so far to learn so little, he said there was a hermit living near, whom we might like to see, and sent his son to conduct us to the hermitage.  It turned out to be the white object which we had seen gleaming in the wood on the mountain from so great distance below, and the wood turned out to be a pleasant beechen grove, in which we found the hermit cutting fagots.  He was warmly dressed in clothes without rent, and wore the clerical knee-breeches.  He saluted us with a cricket-like chirpiness of manner, and was greatly amazed to hear that we had come all the way from America to visit him.  His hermitage was built upon the side of a white-washed chapel to St. Francis, and contained three or four little rooms or cupboards, in which the hermit dwelt and meditated.  They opened into the chapel, of which the hermit had the care, and which he kept neat and clean like himself.  He told us proudly that once a year, on the day of the titular saint, a priest came and said mass in that chapel, and it was easy to see that this was the great occasion of the old man’s life.  For forty years, he said, he had been devout; and for twenty-five he had dwelt in this place, where the goodness of God and the charity of the poor people around had kept him from want.  Altogether, he was a pleasant enough hermit, not in the least spiritual, but gentle, simple, and evidently sincere.  We gave some small coins of silver to aid him to continue his life of devotion, and Count Giovanni bestowed some coppers with the stately blessing, “Iddio vi benedica, padre mio.”