visited the source of the Arveiron, which issues from the foot of the
Glacier des bois, itself a continuation of the Mer de Glace. It
exhibited no picturesque accompaniments, but in a hot summer, it
sometimes forms for itself a magnificent arch in the ice. I thence
climbed to the Hospice on the Montanvert, 621 toises, or 3,980 feet
above the inn at Chamounix, almost the whole of which is in one rapid
slope, mostly covered with fir trees. In the upper part every thing was
wet with the half-melted snow; and the fir trees were abundantly
sprinkled with it. The Mer de Glace was also covered with fresh snow;
but the Alpine plants peeped forth from their white covering, seemingly
very little affected. The Aiguille de Dru rises immediately above the
glacier, into one of those sharp rugged points, of which no English or
Scotch scenery will give you any idea.[25] I do not know its exact
height, but comparing it with those that are known, it must rise in a
broken pyramidal form, nearly 5,000 feet from the surface of the ice.
The Jorass rises in a squarish form, furrowed with perpendicular lines,
which were marked with fresh snow. On the right, the rude and lofty
Aiguille des Charmeaux was lost in the clouds. In this view of the Mer
de Glace, it is a large, branched, winding valley, filled with ice and
snow, the surface of which is nearly horizontal, if the eye is directed
on a line across the valley; but with a very irregular and broken
descent, if applied on a line along the valley. It seemed almost
everywhere bordered by the _Moraine_; that is, by a heap of fragments
which it pushes up in its progress.
I found only one name inserted in the Album at Montanvert on that
morning; this was of a person who had arrived there by six o’clock, to
see the sun rise: he recorded that he was satisfied, but what he saw I
know not; as from below, the whole atmosphere appeared at that time to
be filled with dense clouds. One other traveller had been there, for I
saw two descending the mountain as I went up, but he had not left his
name; perhaps he was not satisfied.
The morning of Thursday, the 5th of September, was dark and wet; but the
rain abating about ten, I proceeded towards Martigny, by the Tête noire.
The Col de Baume was enveloped in clouds, and offered me no temptation
to pass that way. The road I chose passed down Valorsine, where I was
delighted with the luxuriant bushes of _Rosa rubrifolia_, covered with
flowers. The lower part of this valley is very beautiful. It often
happens in the Swiss valleys, that the descent is finer than the ascent.
At the upper part are a few noble masses, which remain almost unchanged
in appearance during a day’s walk, while the lower parts are frequently
bounded with broken rocks, whose composition varies at every stage of
our progress; and sometimes the vallies are so nearly closed, that it is
impossible to follow the stream, and we are obliged to pass over the
hills to find an exit: this is the case at Valorsine, and the rocks and
woods about the pass are magnificent and finely varied. There is also a
beautiful waterfall among the woods, plentiful in such weather as I had,
and still more so in hot dry weather, till the snows are melted which
supply it, a circumstance not likely to take place this year. The spring
rains bring down an immense quantity of water, by dissolving the snows
and ice of the winter; but the wet which I experienced, became itself
snow in the upper regions of the Alps. We leave Valorsine and ascend the
vale of Trient, whose river gives its name to the united streams, though
the smallest of the two. This vale is narrow and deep, but without any
very fine features, except just where it unites with Valorsine.
The village of Trient is a dismal gloomy place, and the dark and dirty
little ale-house is perfectly in unison with the scenery.[26] The
landlady was goitrous; I have seen many such persons, and when they are
young it only produces a plumpness in the lower part of the throat,
which is hardly disagreeable; but as the disease increases, two unequal
protuberances are produced, which at length become loose and skinny, and
are excessively disgusting. The people among the mountains are pale, and
seem unhealthy and inactive; the women more so than the men. The
children have little vivacity; and I have not seen a woman dancing an
infant, or giving it any exercise, either in Savoy or Switzerland. From
Trient I ascended the Forclaz. The valley, which descends thence to
Martigny, was completely filled with a cloud at some hundred feet below
me. The descent is long and tedious, but the upper part of the way is
adorned with noble pines and larches, particularly the latter. Some
enormous trees waved their wild branches over the road, in magnificent
style; others, which had been broken by storms while yet young, assumed
the most irregular shapes; but they were large trees, vigorous and
flourishing, and would have been capital subjects for the pencil. About
half way down, we emerged under the cloud, and saw the Vallais stretched
out beneath us; but the stratum of vapour I had just passed, prevented
all view of the summits, and communicated a dull monotony to the scene,
which it probably would not have had in finer weather.
The next morning I left Martigny in the rain, which prevented me from
making any sketch of the old castle, part of which is said to be of
Roman work. A little farther, the Trient, which I had left yesterday to
ascend the Forclaz, passes between lofty precipices into the valley of
the Rhone, and lower down the Pisse Vache, a noble waterfall, descends
close by the road. These are too fine not to call forth our admiration
under any circumstances, but certainly I should have enjoyed them more
in clear weather. The Vallais above Martigny seems to be bounded by
sloping mountains, without much variety; but from Martigny to the Lake
of Geneva, nothing can be more beautiful, or more finely varied. It is
curious to observe here the different characters of the vallies,
dependent on their direction. When the Arve runs from N. E. to S. W., it
is through a trough valley with sloping sides; where it runs from S. to
N., or nearly so, it is through a defile with broken and precipitous
sides; and where its course is from S. E. to N. W., it is through a
comparatively wide and irregular basin. Nearly the same disposition is
observable in the Isere; and in the Vallais, the Rhone runs from the N.
E. along an immense trough valley, and turning short to the north at
Martigny, with occasional bendings to the west, passes alternately
through wide defiles, with broken and precipitous sides, and small,
irregular basins. At St. Maurice the valley is very much contracted; and
here the road crosses the river, and we enter the Pays de Vaud. At Bex
it is wider; and perhaps this is the most beautiful part of this
charming valley. A hill almost covered with an open grove of chesnut
trees, rises behind the town, and the views from this are truly
enchanting: below is a rich valley and gentle slopes, cultivated with
vines and maize, and well shaded with trees. The lower eminences are
frequently covered with groves of chesnut, and a fine mass of oak
spreads over one hill, which extends almost across the valley: above are
woods of pine and larch; higher up, rocky pointed summits, and snow and
ice. I continued over the lower hills to the salt mines, which are about
three miles from the town. The supply is altogether from springs, as
they have not yet met with the salt-rock. The natural issue was at a
considerable elevation, and the directors first endeavoured to follow
from this point the course of the water. Observing, however, that it
came from below, a new work was commenced, which is now the great level,
and nearly a mile in length; and this cut off the spring, 500 feet below
its natural issue. Since this a still lower level has been carried to
the extent of 1,718 feet, and in this a well has been sunk to the depth
of 700 feet, which is below the level of the Lake of Geneva; but the
salt-rock is supposed to lie still deeper. If this be fact, what a
prodigious rise took place in the water of the original spring! No
considerable quantity of water occurred in sinking the well, but it
oozes in at the sides from several places, and is so salt, as to
crystallize in the well. All the works are in successive strata of
gypsum, black carbonaceous limestone, and schist; but the nearest
summits are of grauwacke; no organic remains have been observed. This is
the information I received on the spot, and having satisfied my
curiosity, I returned to Bex.
The next morning the rain was even more steady and incessant than
before; yet I left the high road to cut across the marshes to the ferry
over the Rhone, and in so doing lost my way, and had to walk almost in
the water. I crossed the Rhone at Chessel. In winter, I am told that the
stream is bright and clear, but in summer always thick and muddy, from
the glaciers which supply it; whereas at Geneva it always leaves the
lake pure, and of a deep blue. Thence I walked along the new road to St.
Gingouf. Whatever faults Napoleon may have had, he was certainly a
capital road-maker; and here, had his object been beauty, instead of dry
utility, he could not have chosen a finer line; the lake and its
surrounding mountains are on the right; on the left, lofty hills shaded
with chesnut trees, some of which are of the grandest size; and here and
there the opening of a little valley exposes a pointed summit of the
Alps. A Russian countess had engaged the whole inn at St. Gingouf; but
the landlady very justly observed, that this order could not be
understood to include her own bed, and she gave that up to me.
In the morning I walked to Meillerie, where the road has been cut out of
the solid rock, and a wide and excellent road it is; no contrivances or
make-shifts, but completely as it should be. An inconsiderable work of
this sort, well done, excites more pleasure than a much larger one
imperfectly performed. In the first case the power shows itself superior
to the obstacle, and the mind is satisfied: in the latter the mind is
not satisfied, because we seem to feel the limits of the power employed.
After viewing the rocks, I took a boat, and crossed the lake to Ouchy,
and from Ouchy walked to Lausanne, but the cloudiness of the weather
injured the prospect.
From Lausanne there are some very fine views over the lake, but a long
and almost unbroken hill opposite, in the Pays de Chablais, which in
great measure shuts out the higher Alps, is a displeasing feature. Yet
with this defect, there are few places in the world equal to Lausanne.
Gibbon’s house offers nothing remarkable, excepting as a memorial of the
Historian, I was rather surprised at the table d’hôte, where several
gentlemen of the neighbourhood were present, that his name was unknown
to them.
The cathedral at Lausanne is much superior to that of Geneva; and indeed
may fairly be esteemed both a beautiful building, and an interesting
specimen of art. The nave alone is at present used, the remaining part
being under repair. I have met with no history of the building; and the
woman who shews it, points out the tomb of a St. Bertrand who lived in
the tenth century, as that of its founder; but this is not admissible.
The style of the building, without being precisely like any thing in
England, evidently classes with our early pointed architecture. It is
anterior not only to tracery and trefoil heads, but to the introduction
of roses in the upper part of the windows, and would with us be assigned
to about the year 1200. A comparison with French buildings would induce
me to place it in the first half of the twelfth century. The piers, or
pillars of the nave, are very whimsical, and almost every pair is
different. One pair is composed, each of two unequal columns, the little
one before the other; yet the largest is only two feet four inches and a
half in diameter, with a height of twenty-four feet, and the front one
is no more than ten inches and a half in diameter, though as it goes up
to the springing of the vault, it must be fifty feet high. In another
pair, formed nearly in the same manner, modern improvers have had the
courage to cut away the smaller pillar, to make room for some
arrangements below. In another pair, each pier is composed of four
columns, two large, and two small, entirely detached: the other piers
are rectangular, but with small shafts variously attached. The original
design evidently provided for two western towers, and an octagonal
lantern at the intersection of the cross. One only of the western towers
has been erected. The lantern has been carried above the roof, but not
completed, and it is now covered with a make-shift roof of tiles,
terminating in a wooden spire: the octagon was not carried down to the
ground, as at Ely, but rests upon the four piers at the intersection of
the cross. I regret much that this is imperfect, as I have met with no
example on the continent of the original method of terminating this
part, but it seems certain that our great towers, or spires, were not
usual.
There is in this church a very singular rose window, composed of a
capricious combination of squares and circles, which I imagined at first
to be the freak of some architect of the seventeenth or eighteenth
century; but my conductress assured me that it was ancient, and the
painted glass favoured her assertion. The southern porch is a curious
structure, which reminded me in some particulars of that of Chartres;
and I think it was intended to be continued to a greater extent, and to
form an open gallery, as in that building.
The western porch also exhibits some striking peculiarities, and is one
of those anomalous productions to which it is difficult to fix a date;
but it is certainly early Gothic: the external archway of this porch is
a beautiful little addition of the fifteenth century.
LETTER XIV.
TOUR IN SWITZERLAND.
_Milan, 12th October, 1816._
I LEFT Lausanne in the diligence for Bern, on the 10th of September. A
long ascent leads us to the summit of the Jorat, 1,767 feet above the
Lake of Geneva; but it was night, and I lost the prospect. We
breakfasted at Moudon at half past two in the morning. The day dawned
beautifully among woods of fir and oak, and the same sort of scenery
continued to Fribourg, a city seated partly at the bottom, and partly at
the top of some sandstone cliffs, between which the river Saane takes a
very winding course. Beyond Fribourg I walked up some long hills, and
found the views singularly beautiful. The near ground is well varied,
and rich with woods intermingled with cultivation, like some of the best
parts of the weald of Kent and Sussex. Beyond this are more distant
mountains, while the extensive snows of the Jung Frau, and the steep
pyramid of the Schreckhorn, bound the horizon. On the other side we see
the Jura; behind us are the mountains of the canton of Fribourg, and
those which formed the principal objects about the Lake of Geneva. We
arrived at Bern about noon. It is a regularly built city, in which the
foot-paths are under low arcades, taken from the ground floor of the
houses. Beneath these arches are the shops, but nothing belonging to the
dwelling-house or inn, till you have mounted to the first story. There
is a good table d’hôte at the Falcon, where I was fortunate enough to
meet some old acquaintance, and to form some new ones, by which I
profited in the thoroughly wet day which succeeded my arrival. The
cathedral here is a building of the latter part of the fifteenth, or
beginning of the sixteenth century; rather clumsily though richly
decorated, and presenting no features of much interest; but the
situation is admirable.
At the Museum at Bern are some of the best models I have seen of the
Swiss mountains. I suspect however, that nothing of the sort is very
exact in the mountain forms, and after all the observations which can be
made, it is hardly possible to refrain from mixing up a little
imagination in the details.[27] All of them are made with a scale of
heights, different from that of lengths, which is another source of
misconception. Another object well deserving attention at Bern, is the
Gymnasium. The children at the public school are taught not only the
exercises of the mind, but also those of the body; to swim, to jump, to
climb, to ride; a plan which seems to me excellent, as giving a
wholesome direction to that restless activity of boys, which so often
leads them first into mischief, and then into vice. Not far from Bern is
the establishment of M. Fellenberg at Hofwyl, but the children were not
there when I visited it; and you may find so much better accounts of the
establishment than any I could give, that I shall not obtrude upon you
my hasty observations.
On Saturday about noon I took the diligence for Thun, a most delightful
ride through a fine cultivated country, bounded by some of the most
magnificent summits of the Alps. At Thun the nearer mountains rise into
importance, while the more lofty ones, though partially hidden, lose
nothing of their consequence. The next day I took a boat up the Thuner
See to Nieuhaus, whence I walked to Unterseen. This is a delightful
place; the town itself is extremely interesting, because it is
completely Swiss. All the houses are of wood, with galleries and great
projecting roofs. The situation is a level valley between two lakes,
well cultivated and shaded with fine trees; mostly walnut. The Harder is
a noble crag, rising immediately above the plain; all around are fine
craggy mountains shaded with wood, the lower parts of which are
sprinkled with cottages, and enlivened by cultivation; and an opening in
the range, which forms the little valley of Zwey Lütschinen, exposes to
the delighted eye the vast mass of the Jung Frau, the beautiful pyramid
of the purest snow called the Silberhorn, and the craggy summit of the
higher Mönch. The Hotel de Ville of Unterseen is in the inn. The
landlord procured me a lad to act as a guide, and to carry my parcels,
for thirty batzen[28] per diem, just half what had been previously
demanded of me; but he could speak only German, at which I hammer
terribly.
We set out on a fine morning for Zwey Lütschinen, and thence proceeded
to Lauterbrunnen. The first part of the walk is amazingly fine; the
second still finer. It seemed impossible that after this there could be
any thing worth seeing in the way of mountain vallies, but I was very
much mistaken. The best notion I can give you of the valley of
Lauterbrunnen is, to tell you to magnify Gordale, and stretch it out
into a valley six or seven miles long; put trees, hedges, and cottages
below, fringe the tops of the precipices with trees, and pour down a
multitude of little waterfalls. Of these the Staubbach and the
Myrrenbach are the principal; the first falls 900 feet, and for two
thirds of the way without touching the rock; the latter I should think
quite as high, but it streams down like a lock of dishevelled hair of
the purest white. The next morning I ascended to the top of the
Staubbach, and to the foot of an upper fall; and here standing on a rock
at the summit of the great fall, in a place however of perfect safety; I
looked down into the deep contracted valley beneath, and saw one of the
smaller waterfalls entirely turned into a rainbow. I had no idea of the
presence of water there, except from the colours it produced. I then
continued my walk to Myrrem, one of the highest villages in Europe,
though not by any means the highest habitation. It is 5,156 feet above
the level of the sea. The _Curé_ of Lauterbrunnen, at whose house I have
taken up my lodgings, pays it a visit every winter. I was at first
surprised at his chusing this time of year to visit his parishioners;
but he reminded me that in the summer, the men were dispersed in the
chalets still higher on the mountains. The path in winter is very
dangerous, as the little streams are frozen, and present inclined planes
of ice which terminate in the precipices overhanging the valley of
Lauterbrunnen. At Myrrem, the sun shines every fine day in the year; at
a hamlet beneath it, they are three months without sun. Even at
Lauterbrunnen in the middle of September, the sun does not appear till
past eight, and sets about half past two. This walk gave me a fine view
of the branch of the Alps which divides the Vallais from the Oberland of
Bern, some of the highest and wildest in Switzerland; and I had the
pleasure of seeing, though at a great distance, a considerable
avalanche. I suppose the fall could not be of much less than 1,200 feet,
and it raised a cloud of snow which at last obscured the whole mass of
rock. Hardly half an hour elapsed during the whole walk, in which I did
not hear some smaller ones, and I saw many; but such an exhibition as
this large one is of rare occurrence. As they give no previous notice,
the traveller has but little chance of seeing them, till the sound of
the first fall serves to direct him, and of course the first burst is
thus lost to the eye. My attention was quite on the alert, and I marked
a vast body of snow and ice on the Ebene fluh which seemed almost
suspended, and a dark line above indicated that a separation had already
taken place. I watched for some time in hopes of seeing a most
stupendous fall; for there were, I dare say, ten acres of snow and ice,
and the middle of the mass was not less than 100 feet thick,—but I
watched in vain. These avalanches are only from one bed of snow to
another, or on to ground kept naked by frequent falls, and consequently
do no harm. It is those formed of the snow of the preceding winter, and
falling in the spring, on or near the cultivated ground, which do so
much mischief. They destroy all the hopes of the farmer, and bury his
cottage, or overturn and carry it along with them; and even sweep down
the woods before them. The wind produced by them is said to be so
violent, as sometimes to throw down large trees, which are not touched
by the snow. Descending into the valley, I stumbled upon another
waterfall; perhaps the most beautiful of any, though less astonishing.
It is only about 120 feet high, and is therefore no subject of interest
or admiration to the inhabitants, who see so many of much greater
elevation.
The next day I had another fine walk over the Wengern Alp to
Grindelwald. The mountain tops were partially veiled in clouds, but
there was no uniform covering of mist, and the Silberhorn rose
beautifully above me in unsullied whiteness. Grindelwald is as different
as possible from Lauterbrunnen. On the north side, the hills rise in
steep slopes, thickly set with cottages, and divided into meadows by
hedges mixed with trees, to a considerable height, before the wild and
craggy Alps begin. The term Alp in Switzerland indicates a mountain
pasture, as distinguished from a snowy mountain: the highest summits are
consequently never called Alps. Some of our travellers mention this as a
corruption of the word, but it has, I think, never been proved that it
was not its primitive signification. The Blumlis (flowerless) Alp is
agreed on all hands to be a tract covered with perpetual snow, though
tradition says it was once the best pasture in Switzerland: it is not
however agreed where this Blumlis Alp was placed. Some give the name to
a range of glaciers above Lauterbrunnenthal, while others apply it to
parts of those above Kanderthal, because, they say, there is a more
extensive tract very little above the snow line, which renders the
tradition more reasonable. The name of Blumlis Alp in Keller’s map is
given to a point 11,370 feet above the sea, which never could have been
_Alp_ at all. For my part, if I may not reject the story altogether as a
fable, I should incline to adopt the first opinion, because it has
nothing but tradition to support it; while there seems a reason for the
invention of the second; and it is very possible that some small spot
above Lauterbrunnen, now covered with ice, may once have been pasture.
The lower glaciers are said to be all on the increase, yet with one
exception, (that of Bosson) they all bear evident marks of having been
at some period much larger than they are at present, and similar changes
may occur in the upper ones without supposing any constant increase of
snow and ice.