HISTORY
OF
A SIX WEEKS' TOUR
THROUGH
A PART OF FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, GERMANY, AND HOLLAND:
WITH LETTERS
DESCRIPTIVE OF
A SAIL ROUND THE LAKE OF GENEVA, AND OF THE GLACIERS OF CHAMOUNI.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY T. HOOKHAM, JUN.
OLD BOND STREET;
AND C. AND J. OLLIER,
WELBECK STREET.
1817.
Reynell, Printer, 45, Broad-street,
Golden-square.
PREFACE.
Nothing can be more unpresuming than this little volume. It contains the
account of some desultory visits by a party of young people to scenes
which are now so familiar to our countrymen, that few facts relating to
them can be expected to have escaped the many more experienced and exact
observers, who have sent their journals to the press. In fact, they have
done little else than arrange the few materials which an imperfect
journal, and two or three letters to their friends in England afforded.
They regret, since their little History is to be offered to the public,
that these materials were not more copious and complete. This is a just
topic of censure to those who are less inclined to be amused than to
condemn. Those whose youth has been past as theirs (with what success it
imports not) in pursuing, like the swallow, the inconstant summer of
delight and beauty which invests this visible world, will perhaps find
some entertainment in following the author, with her husband and sister,
on foot, through part of France and Switzerland, and in sailing with her
down the castled Rhine, through scenes beautiful in themselves, but
which, since she visited them, a great Poet has clothed with the
freshness of a diviner nature. They will be interested to hear of one
who has visited Mellerie, and Clarens, and Chillon, and Vevai—classic
ground, peopled with tender and glorious imaginations of the present and
the past.
They have perhaps never talked with one who has beheld in the enthusiasm
of youth the glaciers, and the lakes, and the forests, and the fountains
of the mighty Alps. Such will perhaps forgive the imperfections of their
narrative for the sympathy which the adventures and feelings which it
recounts, and a curiosity respecting scenes already rendered interesting
and illustrious, may excite.
The Poem, entitled “Mont Blanc,” is written by the author of the two
letters from Chamouni and Vevai. It was composed under the immediate
impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the objects
which it attempts to describe; and as an undisciplined overflowing of
the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to imitate the
untameable wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which those feelings
sprang.
HISTORY
OF
A SIX WEEKS' TOUR.
It is now nearly three years since this Journey took place, and the
journal I then kept was not very copious; but I have so often talked
over the incidents that befell us, and attempted to describe the scenery
through which we passed, that I think few occurrences of any interest
will be omitted.
We left London July 28th, 1814, on a hotter day than has been known in
this climate for many years. I am not a good traveller, and this heat
agreed very ill with me, till, on arriving at Dover, I was refreshed by
a sea-bath. As we very much wished to cross the channel with all
possible speed, we would not wait for the packet of the following day
(it being then about four in the afternoon) but hiring a small boat,
resolved to make the passage the same evening, the seamen promising us a
voyage of two hours.
The evening was most beautiful; there was but little wind, and the sails
flapped in the flagging breeze: the moon rose, and night came on, and
with the night a slow, heavy swell, and a fresh breeze, which soon
produced a sea so violent as to toss the boat very much. I was
dreadfully seasick, and as is usually my custom when thus affected, I
slept during the greater part of the night, awaking only from time to
time to ask where we were, and to receive the dismal answer each
time—“Not quite half way.”
The wind was violent and contrary; if we could not reach Calais, the
sailors proposed making for Boulogne. They promised only two hours' sail
from shore, yet hour after hour passed, and we were still far distant,
when the moon sunk in the red and stormy horizon, and the fast-flashing
lightning became pale in the breaking day.
We were proceeding slowly against the wind, when suddenly a thunder
squall struck the sail, and the waves rushed into the boat: even the
sailors acknowledged that our situation was perilous; but they succeeded
in reefing the sail;—the wind was now changed, and we drove before the
gale directly to Calais. As we entered the harbour I awoke from a
comfortless sleep, and saw the sun rise broad, red, and cloudless over
the pier.
FRANCE.
Exhausted with sickness and fatigue, I walked over the sands with my
companions to the hotel. I heard for the first time the confused buzz of
voices speaking a different language from that to which I had been
accustomed; and saw a costume very unlike that worn on the opposite side
of the channel; the women with high caps and short jackets; the men with
earrings; ladies walking about with high bonnets or _coiffures_ lodged
on the top of the head, the hair dragged up underneath, without any
stray curls to decorate the temples or cheeks. There is, however,
something very pleasing in the manners and appearance of the people of
Calais, that prepossesses you in their favour. A national reflection
might occur, that when Edward III. took Calais, he turned out the old
inhabitants, and peopled it almost entirely with our own countrymen; but
unfortunately the manners are not English.
We remained during that day and the greater part of the next at Calais:
we had been obliged to leave our boxes the night before at the English
customhouse, and it was arranged that they should go by the packet of
the following day, which, detained by contrary wind, did not arrive
until night. S*** and I walked among the fortifications on the outside
of the town; they consisted of fields where the hay was making. The
aspect of the country was rural and pleasant.
On the 30th of July, about three in the afternoon, we left Calais, in a
cabriolet drawn by three horses. To persons who had never before seen
any thing but a spruce English chaise and post-boy, there was something
irresistibly ludicrous in our equipage. A cabriolet is shaped somewhat
like a post-chaise, except that it has only two wheels, and consequently
there are no doors at the sides; the front is let down to admit the
passengers. The three horses were placed abreast, the tallest in the
middle, who was rendered more formidable by the addition of an
unintelligible article of harness, resembling a pair of wooden wings
fastened to his shoulders; the harnesses were of rope; and the
postillion, a queer, upright little fellow with a long pigtail,
_craquèed_ his whip, and clattered on, while an old forlorn shepherd
with a cocked hat gazed on us as we passed.
The roads are excellent, but the heat was intense, and I suffered
greatly from it. We slept at Boulogne the first night, where there was
an ugly but remarkably good-tempered femme de chambre. This made us for
the first time remark the difference which exists between this class of
persons in France and in England. In the latter country they are
prudish, and if they become in the least degree familiar they are
impudent. The lower orders in France have the easiness and politeness of
the most well-bred English; they treat you unaffectedly as their equal,
and consequently there is no scope for insolence.
We had ordered horses to be ready during the night, but we were too
fatigued to make use of them. The man insisted on being paid for the
whole post. _Ah! Madame_, said the femme-de-chambre, _pensez-y; c'est
pour de dommager les pauvres chevaux d'avoir perdues leur douce
sommeil_. A joke from an English chamber-maid would have been quite
another thing.
The first appearance that struck our English eyes was the want of
enclosures; but the fields were flourishing with a plentiful harvest. We
observed no vines on this side Paris.
The weather still continued very hot, and travelling produced a very bad
effect upon my health; my companions were induced by this circumstance
to hasten the journey as much as possible; and accordingly we did not
rest the following night, and the next day, about two, arrived in Paris.
In this city there are no hotels where you can reside as long or as
short a time as you please, and we were obliged to engage apartments at
an hotel for a week. They were dear, and not very pleasant. As usual in
France, the principal apartment was a bedchamber; there was another
closet with a bed, and an anti-chamber, which we used as a sitting-room.
The heat of the weather was excessive, so that we were unable to walk
except in the afternoon. On the first evening we walked to the gardens
of the Thuilleries; they are formal, in the French fashion, the trees
cut into shapes, and without grass. I think the Boulevards infinitely
more pleasant. This street nearly surrounds Paris, and is eight miles in
extent; it is very wide, and planted on either side with trees. At one
end is a superb cascade which refreshes the senses by its continual
splashing: near this stands the gate of St. Denis, a beautiful piece of
sculpture. I do not know how it may at present be disfigured by the
Gothic barbarism of the conquerors of France, who were not contented
with retaking the spoils of Napoleon, but with impotent malice,
destroyed the monuments of their own defeat. When I saw this gate, it
was in its splendour, and made you imagine that the days of Roman
greatness were transported to Paris.
After remaining a week in Paris, we received a small remittance that set
us free from a kind of imprisonment there which we found very irksome.
But how should we proceed? After talking over and rejecting many plans,
we fixed on one eccentric enough, but which, from its romance, was very
pleasing to us. In England we could not have put it in execution without
sustaining continual insult and impertinence: the French are far more
tolerant of the vagaries of their neighbours. We resolved to walk
through France; but as I was too weak for any considerable distance, and
my sister could not be supposed to be able to walk as far as S*** each
day, we determined to purchase an ass, to carry our portmanteau and one
of us by turns.
Early, therefore, on Monday, August 8th, S*** and C*** went to the ass
market, and purchased an ass, and the rest of the day, until four in the
afternoon, was spent in preparations for our departure; during which,
Madame L'Hôte paid us a visit, and attempted to dissuade us from our
design. She represented to us that a large army had been recently
disbanded, that the soldiers and officers wandered idle about the
country, and that _les Dames seroient certainement enlevèes_. But we
were proof against her arguments, and packing up a few necessaries,
leaving the rest to go by the diligence, we departed in a fiacre from
the door of the hotel, our little ass following.
We dismissed the coach at the barrier. It was dusk, and the ass seemed
totally unable to bear one of us, appearing to sink under the
portmanteau, although it was small and light. We were, however, merry
enough, and thought the leagues short. We arrived at Charenton about
ten.
Charenton is prettily situated in a valley, through which the Seine
flows, winding among banks variegated with trees. On looking at this
scene, C*** exclaimed, “Oh! this is beautiful enough; let us live here.”
This was her exclamation on every new scene, and as each surpassed the
one before, she cried, “I am glad we did not stay at Charenton, but let
us live here.”
Finding our ass useless, we sold it before we proceeded on our journey,
and bought a mule, for ten Napoleons. About nine o'clock we departed. We
were clad in black silk. I rode on the mule, which carried also our
portmanteau; S*** and C*** followed, bringing a small basket of
provisions. At about one we arrived at Gros Bois, where, under the shade
of trees, we ate our bread and fruit, and drank our wine, thinking of
Don Quixote and Sancho.
The country through which we passed was highly cultivated, but
uninteresting; the horizon scarcely ever extended beyond the
circumference of a few fields, bright and waving with the golden
harvest. We met several travellers; but our mode, although novel, did
not appear to excite any curiosity or remark. This night we slept at
Guignes, in the same room and beds in which Napoleon and some of his
Generals had rested during the late war. The little old woman of the
place was highly gratified in having this little story to tell, and
spoke in warm praise of the Empress Josephine and Marie Louise, who had
at different times passed on that road.
As we continued our route, Provins was the first place that struck us
with interest. It was our stage of rest for the night; we approached it
at sunset. After having gained the summit of a hill, the prospect of the
town opened upon us as it lay in the valley below; a rocky hill rose
abruptly on one side, on the top of which stood a ruined citadel with
extensive walls and towers; lower down, but beyond, was the cathedral,
and the whole formed a scene for painting. After having travelled for
two days through a country perfectly without interest, it was a
delicious relief for the eye to dwell again on some irregularities and
beauty of country. Our fare at Provins was coarse, and our beds
uncomfortable, but the remembrance of this prospect made us contented
and happy.
We now approached scenes that reminded us of what we had nearly
forgotten, that France had lately been the country in which great and
extraordinary events had taken place. Nogent, a town we entered about
noon the following day, had been entirely desolated by the Cossacs.
Nothing could be more entire than the ruin which these barbarians had
spread as they advanced; perhaps they remembered Moscow and the
destruction of the Russian villages; but we were now in France, and the
distress of the inhabitants, whose houses had been burned, their cattle
killed, and all their wealth destroyed, has given a sting to my
detestation of war, which none can feel who have not travelled through a
country pillaged and wasted by this plague, which, in his pride, man
inflicts upon his fellow.
We quitted the great route soon after we had left Nogent, to strike
across the country to Troyes. About six in the evening we arrived at St.
Aubin, a lovely village embosomed in trees; but on a nearer view we
found the cottages roofless, the rafters black, and the walls
dilapidated;—a few inhabitants remained. We asked for milk—they had none
to give; all their cows had been taken by the Cossacs. We had still some
leagues to travel that night, but we found that they were not post
leagues, but the measurement of the inhabitants, and nearly double the
distance. The road lay over a desart plain, and as night advanced we
were often in danger of losing the track of wheels, which was our only
guide. Night closed in, and we suddenly lost all trace of the road; but
a few trees, indistinctly seen, seemed to indicate the position of a
village. About ten we arrived at Trois Maisons, where, after a supper on
milk and sour bread, we retired to rest on wretched beds: but sleep is
seldom denied, except to the indolent, and after the day's fatigue,
although my bed was nothing more than a sheet spread upon straw, I slept
soundly until the morning was considerably advanced.
S*** had hurt his ancle so considerably the preceding evening, that he
was obliged, during the whole of the following day's journey, to ride on
our mule. Nothing could be more barren and wretched than the track
through which we now passed; the ground was chalky and uncovered even by
grass, and where there had been any attempts made towards cultivation,
the straggling ears of corn discovered more plainly the barren nature of
the soil. Thousands of insects, which were of the same white colour as
the road, infested our path; the sky was cloudless, and the sun darted
its rays upon us, reflected back by the earth, until I nearly fainted
under the heat. A village appeared at a distance, cheering us with a
prospect of rest. It gave us new strength to proceed; but it was a
wretched place, and afforded us but little relief. It had been once
large and populous, but now the houses were roofless, and the ruins that
lay scattered about, the gardens covered with the white dust of the torn
cottages, the black burnt beams, and squalid looks of the inhabitants,
presented in every direction the melancholy aspect of devastation. One
house, a _cabarêt_, alone remained; we were here offered plenty of milk,
stinking bacon, sour bread, and a few vegetables, which we were to dress
for ourselves.
As we prepared our dinner in a place, so filthy that the sight of it
alone was sufficient to destroy our appetite, the people of the village
collected around us, squalid with dirt, their countenances expressing
every thing that is disgusting and brutal. They seemed indeed entirely
detached from the rest of the world, and ignorant of all that was
passing in it. There is much less communication between the various
towns of France than in England. The use of passports may easily account
for this: these people did not know that Napoleon was deposed, and when
we asked why they did not rebuild their cottages, they replied, that
they were afraid that the Cossacs would destroy them again upon their
return. Echemine (the name of this village) is in every respect the most
disgusting place I ever met with.
Two leagues beyond, on the same road, we came to the village of
Pavillon, so unlike Echemine, that we might have fancied ourselves in
another quarter of the globe; here every thing denoted cleanliness and
hospitality; many of the cottages were destroyed, but the inhabitants
were employed in repairing them. What could occasion so great a
difference?
Still our road lay over this track of uncultivated country, and our eyes
were fatigued by observing nothing but a white expanse of ground, where
no bramble or stunted shrub adorned its barrenness. Towards evening we
reached a small plantation of vines, it appeared like one of those
islands of verdure that are met with in the midst of the sands of Lybia,
but the grapes were not yet ripe. S*** was totally incapable of walking,
and C*** and I were very tired before we arrived at Troyes.
We rested here for the night, and devoted the following day to a
consideration of the manner in which we should proceed. S***'s sprain
rendered our pedestrianism impossible. We accordingly sold our mule, and
bought an open _voiture_ that went on four wheels, for five Napoleons,
and hired a man with a mule for eight more, to convey us to Neufchâtel
in six days.
The suburbs of Troyes were destroyed, and the town itself dirty and
uninviting. I remained at the inn writing, while S*** and C*** arranged
this bargain and visited the cathedral of the town; and the next morning
we departed in our _voiture_ for Neufchâtel. A curious instance of
French vanity occurred on leaving this town. Our _voiturier_ pointed to
the plain around, and mentioned, that it had been the scene of a battle
between the Russians and the French. “In which the Russians gained the
victory?”—“Ah no, Madame,” replied the man, “the French are never
beaten.” “But how was it then,” we asked, “that the Russians had entered
Troyes soon after?”—“Oh, after having been defeated, they took a
circuitous route, and thus entered the town.”
Vandeuvres is a pleasant town, at which we rested during the hours of
noon. We walked in the grounds of a nobleman, laid out in the English
taste, and terminated in a pretty wood; it was a scene that reminded us
of our native country. As we left Vandeuvres the aspect of the country
suddenly changed; abrupt hills, covered with vineyards, intermixed with
trees, enclosed a narrow valley, the channel of the Aube. The view was
interspersed by green meadows, groves of poplar and white willow, and
spires of village churches, which the Cossacs had yet spared. Many
villages, ruined by the war, occupied the most romantic spots.
In the evening we arrived at Bar-sur-Aube, a beautiful town, placed at
the opening of the vale where the hills terminate abruptly. We climbed
the highest of these, but scarce had we reached the top, when a mist
descended upon every thing, and the rain began to fall: we were wet
through before we could reach our inn. It was evening, and the laden
clouds made the darkness almost as deep as that of midnight; but in the
west an unusually brilliant and fiery redness occupied an opening in the
vapours, and added to the interest of our little expedition: the cottage
lights were reflected in the tranquil river, and the dark hills behind,
dimly seen, resembled vast and frowning mountains.
As we quitted Bar-sur-Aube, we at the same time bade a short farewell to
hills. Passing through the towns of Chaumont, Langres (which was
situated on a hill, and surrounded by ancient fortifications),
Champlitte, and Gray, we travelled for nearly three days through plains,
where the country gently undulated, and relieved the eye from a
perpetual flat, without exciting any peculiar interest. Gentle rivers,
their banks ornamented by a few trees, stole through these plains, and a
thousand beautiful summer insects skimmed over the streams. The third
day was a day of rain, and the first that had taken place during our
journey. We were soon wet through, and were glad to stop at a little inn
to dry ourselves. The reception we received here was very
unprepossessing, the people still kept their seats round the fire, and
seemed very unwilling to make way for the dripping guests. In the
afternoon, however, the weather became fine, and at about six in the
evening we entered Besançon.
Hills had appeared in the distance during the whole day, and we had
advanced gradually towards them, but were unprepared for the scene that
broke upon us as we passed the gate of this city. On quitting the walls,
the road wound underneath a high precipice; on the other side the hills
rose more gradually, and the green valley that intervened between them
was watered by a pleasant river; before us arose an amphitheatre of
hills covered with vines, but irregular and rocky. The last gate of the
town was cut through the precipitous rock that arose on one side, and in
that place jutted into the road.
This approach to mountain scenery filled us with delight; it was
otherwise with our _voiturier_: he came from the plains of Troyes, and
these hills so utterly scared him, that he in some degree lost his
reason. After winding through the valley, we began to ascend the
mountains which were its boundary: we left our _voiture_, and walked on,
delighted with every new view that broke upon us.
When we had ascended the hills for about a mile and a half, we found our
_voiturier_ at the door of a wretched inn, having taken the mule from
the _voiture_, and obstinately determined to remain for the night at
this miserable village of Mort. We could only submit, for he was deaf to
all we could urge, and to our remonstrances only replied, _Je ne puis
pas_.
Our beds were too uncomfortable to allow a thought of sleeping in them:
we could only procure one room, and our hostess gave us to understand
that our _voiturier_ was to occupy the same apartment. It was of little
consequence, as we had previously resolved not to enter the beds. The
evening was fine, and after the rain the air was perfumed by many
delicious scents. We climbed to a rocky seat on the hill that overlooked
the village, where we remained until sunset. The night was passed by the
kitchen fire in a wretched manner, striving to catch a few moments of
sleep, which were denied to us. At three in the morning we pursued our
journey.
Our road led to the summit of the hills that environ Besançon. From the
top of one of these we saw the whole expanse of the valley filled with a
white undulating mist, which was pierced like islands by the piny
mountains. The sun had just risen, and a ray of red light lay upon the
waves of this fluctuating vapour. To the west, opposite the sun, it
seemed driven by the light against the rocks in immense masses of
foaming cloud, until it became lost in the distance, mixing its tints
with the fleecy sky.
Our _voiturier_ insisted on remaining two hours at the village of Noè,
although we were unable to procure any dinner, and wished to go on to
the next stage. I have already said, that the hills scared his senses,
and he had become disobliging, sullen, and stupid. While he waited we
walked to the neighbouring wood: it was a fine forest, carpeted
beautifully with moss, and in various places overhung by rocks, in whose
crevices young pines had taken root, and spread their branches for shade
to those below; the noon heat was intense, and we were glad to shelter
ourselves from it in the shady retreats of this lovely forest.
On our return to the village we found, to our extreme surprise, that the
_voiturier_ had departed nearly an hour before, leaving word that he
expected to meet us on the road. S***'s sprain rendered him incapable of
much exertion; but there was no remedy, and we proceeded on foot to
Maison Neuve, an _auberge_, four miles and a half distant.
At Maison Neuve the man had left word that he should proceed to
Pontalier, the frontier town of France, six leagues distant, and that if
we did not arrive that night, he should the next morning leave the
_voiture_ at an inn, and return with the mule to Troyes. We were
astonished at the impudence of this message, but the boy of the inn
comforted us by saying, that by going on a horse by a cross road, where
the _voiture_ could not venture, he could easily overtake and intercept
the _voiturier_, and accordingly we dispatched him, walking slowly
after. We waited at the next inn for dinner, and in about two hours the
boy returned. The man promised to wait for us at an _auberge_ two
leagues further on. S***'s ancle had become very painful, but we could
procure no conveyance, and as the sun was nearly setting, we were
obliged to hasten on. The evening was most beautiful, and the scenery
lovely enough to beguile us of our fatigue: the horned moon hung in the
light of sunset, that threw a glow of unusual depth of redness over the
piny mountains and the dark deep vallies they enclosed; at intervals in
the woods were beautiful lawns interspersed with picturesque clumps of
trees, and dark pines overshadowed our road.
In about two hours we arrived at the promised termination of our
journey, but the _voiturier_ was not there: after the boy had left him,
he again pursued his journey towards Pontalier. We were enabled,
however, to procure here a rude kind of cart, and in this manner arrived
late at Pontalier, where we found our conductor, who blundered out many
falsehoods for excuses; and thus ended the adventures of that day.
SWITZERLAND.
On passing the French barrier, a surprising difference may be observed
between the opposite nations that inhabit either side. The Swiss
cottages are much cleaner and neater, and the inhabitants exhibit the
same contrast. The Swiss women wear a great deal of white linen, and
their whole dress is always perfectly clean. This superior cleanliness
is chiefly produced by the difference of religion: travellers in Germany
remark the same contrast between the protestant and catholic towns,
although they be but a few leagues separate.
The scenery of this day's journey was divine, exhibiting piny mountains,
barren rocks, and spots of verdure surpassing imagination. After
descending for nearly a league between lofty rocks, covered with pines,
and interspersed with green glades, where the grass is short, and soft,
and beautifully verdant, we arrived at the village of St. Sulpice.
The mule had latterly become very lame, and the man so disobliging, that
we determined to engage a horse for the remainder of the way. Our
_voiturier_ had anticipated us, without in the least intimating his
intention: he had determined to leave us at this village, and taken
measures to that effect. The man we now engaged was a Swiss, a cottager
of the better class, who was proud of his mountains and his country.
Pointing to the glades that were interspersed among the woods, he
informed us that they were very beautiful, and were excellent pasture;
that the cows thrived there, and consequently produced excellent milk,
from which the best cheese and butter in the world were made.
The mountains after St. Sulpice became loftier and more beautiful. We
passed through a narrow valley between two ranges of mountains, clothed
with forests, at the bottom of which flowed a river, from whose narrow
bed on either side the boundaries of the vale arose precipitously. The
road lay about half way up the mountain, which formed one of the sides,
and we saw the overhanging rocks above us and below, enormous pines, and
the river, not to be perceived but from its reflection of the light of
heaven, far beneath. The mountains of this beautiful ravine are so
little asunder, that in time of war with France an iron chain is thrown
across it. Two leagues from Neufchâtel we saw the Alps: range after
range of black mountains are seen extending one before the other, and
far behind all, towering above every feature of the scene, the snowy
Alps. They were an hundred miles distant, but reach so high in the
heavens, that they look like those accumulated clouds of dazzling white
that arrange themselves on the horizon during summer. Their immensity
staggers the imagination, and so far surpasses all conception, that it
requires an effort of the understanding to believe that they indeed form
a part of the earth.
From this point we descended to Neufchâtel, which is situated in a
narrow plain, between the mountains and its immense lake, and presents
no additional aspect of peculiar interest.
We remained the following day at this town, occupied in a consideration
of the step it would now be advisable for us to take. The money we had
brought with us from Paris was nearly exhausted, but we obtained about
£38. in silver upon discount from one of the bankers of the city, and
with this we resolved to journey towards the lake of Uri, and seek in
that romantic and interesting country some cottage where we might dwell
in peace and solitude. Such were our dreams, which we should probably
have realized, had it not been for the deficiency of that indispensable
article money, which obliged us to return to England.
A Swiss, whom S*** met at the post-office, kindly interested himself in
our affairs, and assisted us to hire a _voiture_ to convey us to
Lucerne, the principal town of the lake of that name, which is connected
with the lake of Uri. The journey to this place occupied rather more
than two days. The country was flat and dull, and, excepting that we now
and then caught a glimpse of the divine Alps, there was nothing in it to
interest us. Lucerne promised better things, and as soon as we arrived
(August 23d) we hired a boat, with which we proposed to coast the lake
until we should meet with some suitable habitation, or perhaps, even
going to Altorf, cross Mont St. Gothard, and seek in the warm climate of
the country to the south of the Alps an air more salubrious, and a
temperature better fitted for the precarious state of S***'s health,
than the bleak region to the north. The lake of Lucerne is encompassed
on all sides by high mountains that rise abruptly from the
water;—sometimes their bare fronts descend perpendicularly and cast a
black shade upon the waves;—sometimes they are covered with thick wood,
whose dark foliage is interspersed by the brown bare crags on which the
trees have taken root. In every part where a glade shews itself in the
forest it appears cultivated, and cottages peep from among the woods.
The most luxuriant islands, rocky and covered with moss, and bending
trees, are sprinkled over the lake. Most of these are decorated by the
figure of a saint in wretched waxwork.
The direction of this lake extends at first from east to west, then
turning a right angle, it lies from north to south; this latter part is
distinguished in name from the other, and is called the lake of Uri. The
former part is also nearly divided midway, where the jutting land almost
meets, and its craggy sides cast a deep shadow on the little strait
through which you pass. The summits of several of the mountains that
enclose the lake to the south are covered by eternal glaciers; of one of
these, opposite Brunen, they tell the story of a priest and his
mistress, who, flying from persecution, inhabited a cottage at the foot
of the snows. One winter night an avalanche overwhelmed them, but their
plaintive voices are still heard in stormy nights, calling for succour
from the peasants.
Brunen is situated on the northern side of the angle which the lake
makes, forming the extremity of the lake of Lucerne. Here we rested for
the night, and dismissed our boatmen. Nothing could be more magnificent
than the view from this spot. The high mountains encompassed us,
darkening the waters; at a distance on the shores of Uri we could
perceive the chapel of Tell, and this was the village where he matured
the conspiracy which was to overthrow the tyrant of his country; and
indeed this lovely lake, these sublime mountains, and wild forests,
seemed a fit cradle for a mind aspiring to high adventure and heroic
deeds. Yet we saw no glimpse of his spirit in his present countrymen.
The Swiss appeared to us then, and experience has confirmed our opinion,
a people slow of comprehension and of action; but habit has made them
unfit for slavery, and they would, I have little doubt, make a brave
defence against any invader of their freedom.
Such were our reflections, and we remained until late in the evening on
the shores of the lake conversing, enjoying the rising breeze, and
contemplating with feelings of exquisite delight the divine objects that
surrounded us.
The following day was spent in a consideration of our circumstances, and
in contemplation of the scene around us. A furious _vent d'Italie_
(south wind) tore up the lake, making immense waves, and carrying the
water in a whirlwind high in the air, when it fell like heavy rain into
the lake. The waves broke with a tremendous noise on the rocky shores.
This conflict continued during the whole day, but it became calmer
towards the evening. S*** and I walked on the banks, and sitting on a
rude pier, S*** read aloud the account of the Siege of Jerusalem from
Tacitus.
In the mean time we endeavoured to find an habitation, but could only
procure two unfurnished rooms in an ugly big house, called the Chateau.
These we hired at a guinea a month, had beds moved into them, and the
next day took possession. But it was a wretched place, with no comfort
or convenience. It was with difficulty that we could get any food
prepared: as it was cold and rainy, we ordered a fire—they lighted an
immense stove which occupied a corner of the room; it was long before it
heated, and when hot, the warmth was so unwholesome, that we were
obliged to throw open our windows to prevent a kind of suffocation;
added to this, there was but one person in Brunen who could speak
French, a barbarous kind of German being the language of this part of
Switzerland. It was with difficulty, therefore, that we could get our
most ordinary wants supplied.
These immediate inconveniences led us to a more serious consideration of
our situation. The £28. which we possessed, was all the money that we
could count upon with any certainty, until the following December.
S***'s presence in London was absolutely necessary for the procuring any
further supply. What were we to do? we should soon be reduced to
absolute want. Thus, after balancing the various topics that offered
themselves for discussion, we resolved to return to England.
Having formed this resolution, we had not a moment for delay: our little
store was sensibly decreasing, and £28. could hardly appear sufficient
for so long a journey. It had cost us sixty to cross France from Paris
to Neufchâtel; but we now resolved on a more economical mode of
travelling. Water conveyances are always the cheapest, and fortunately
we were so situated, that by taking advantage of the rivers of the Reuss
and Rhine, we could reach England without travelling a league on land.
This was our plan; we should travel eight hundred miles, and was this
possible for so small a sum? but there was no other alternative, and
indeed S*** only knew how very little we had to depend upon.
We departed the next morning for the town of Lucerne. It rained
violently during the first part of our voyage, but towards its
conclusion the sky became clear, and the sunbeams dried and cheered us.
We saw again, and for the last time, the rocky shores of this beautiful
lake, its verdant isles, and snow-capt mountains.
We landed at Lucerne, and remained in that town the following night, and
the next morning (August 28th) departed in the _diligence par-eau_ for
Loffenburgh, a town on the Rhine, where the falls of that river
prevented the same vessel from proceeding any further. Our companions in
this voyage were of the meanest class, smoked prodigiously, and were
exceedingly disgusting. After having landed for refreshment in the
middle of the day, we found, on our return to the boat, that our former
seats were occupied; we took others, when the original possessors
angrily, and almost with violence, insisted upon our leaving them. Their
brutal rudeness to us, who did not understand their language, provoked
S*** to knock one of the foremost down: he did not return the blow, but
continued his vociferations until the boatmen interfered, and provided
us with other seats.
The Reuss is exceedingly rapid, and we descended several falls, one of
more than eight feet. There is something very delicious in the
sensation, when at one moment you are at the top of a fall of water, and
before the second has expired you are at the bottom, still rushing on
with the impulse which the descent has given. The waters of the Rhone
are blue, those of the Reuss are of a deep green. I should think that
there must be something in the beds of these rivers, and that the
accidents of the banks and sky cannot alone cause this difference.
Sleeping at Dettingen, we arrived the next morning at Loffenburgh, where
we engaged a small canoe to convey us to Mumph. I give these boats this
Indian appellation, as they were of the rudest construction—long,
narrow, and flat-bottomed: they consisted merely of straight pieces of
deal board, unpainted, and nailed together with so little care, that the
water constantly poured in at the crevices, and the boat perpetually
required emptying. The river was rapid, and sped swiftly, breaking as it
passed on innumerable rocks just covered by the water: it was a sight of
some dread to see our frail boat winding among the eddies of the rocks,
which it was death to touch, and when the slightest inclination on one
side would instantly have overset it.
We could not procure a boat at Mumph, and we thought ourselves lucky in
meeting with a return _cabriolet_ to Rheinfelden; but our good fortune
was of short duration: about a league from Mumph the _cabriolet_ broke
down, and we were obliged to proceed on foot. Fortunately we were
overtaken by some Swiss soldiers, who were discharged and returning
home, who carried our box for us as far as Rheinfelden, when we were
directed to proceed a league farther to a village, where boats were
commonly hired. Here, although not without some difficulty, we procured
a boat for Basle, and proceeded down a swift river, while evening came
on, and the air was bleak and comfortless. Our voyage was, however,
short, and we arrived at the place of our destination by six in the
evening.
GERMANY.
Before we slept, S*** had made a bargain for a boat to carry us to
Mayence, and the next morning, bidding adieu to Switzerland, we embarked
in a boat laden with merchandize, but where we had no fellow-passengers
to disturb our tranquillity by their vulgarity and rudeness. The wind
was violently against us, but the stream, aided by a slight exertion
from the rowers, carried us on; the sun shone pleasantly, S*** read
aloud to us Mary Wollstonecraft's Letters from Norway, and we passed our
time delightfully.
The evening was such as to find few parallels in beauty; as it
approached, the banks which had hitherto been flat and uninteresting,
became exceedingly beautiful. Suddenly the river grew narrow, and the
boat dashed with inconceivable rapidity round the base of a rocky hill
covered with pines; a ruined tower, with its desolated windows, stood on
the summit of another hill that jutted into the river; beyond, the
sunset was illuminating the distant mountains and clouds, casting the
reflection of its rich and purple hues on the agitated river. The
brilliance and contrasts of the colours on the circling whirlpools of
the stream, was an appearance entirely new and most beautiful; the
shades grew darker as the sun descended below the horizon, and after we
had landed, as we walked to our inn round a beautiful bay, the full moon
arose with divine splendour, casting its silver light on the
before-purpled waves.
The following morning we pursued our journey in a slight canoe, in which
every motion was accompanied with danger; but the stream had lost much
of its rapidity, and was no longer impeded by rocks, the banks were low,
and covered with willows. We passed Strasburgh, and the next morning it
was proposed to us that we should proceed in the _diligence par-eau_, as
the navigation would become dangerous for our small boat.
There were only four passengers besides ourselves, three of these were
students of the Strasburgh university: Schwitz, a rather handsome, good
tempered young man; Hoff, a kind of shapeless animal, with a heavy,
ugly, German face; and Schneider, who was nearly an ideot, and on whom
his companions were always playing a thousand tricks: the remaining
passengers were a woman, and an infant.
The country was uninteresting, but we enjoyed fine weather, and slept in
the boat in the open air without any inconvenience. We saw on the shores
few objects that called forth our attention, if I except the town of
Manheim, which was strikingly neat and clean. It was situated at about a
mile from the river, and the road to it was planted on each side with
beautiful acacias. The last part of this voyage was performed close
under land, as the wind was so violently against us, that even with all
the force of a rapid current in our favour, we were hardly permitted to
proceed. We were told (and not without reason) that we ought to
congratulate ourselves on having exchanged our canoe for this boat, as
the river was now of considerable width, and tossed by the wind into
large waves. The same morning a boat, containing fifteen persons, in
attempting to cross the water, had upset in the middle of the river, and
every one in it perished. We saw the boat turned over, floating down the
stream. This was a melancholy sight, yet ludicrously commented on by the
_batalier_; almost the whole stock of whose French consisted in the word
_seulement_. When we asked him what had happened, he answered, laying
particular emphasis on this favourite dissyllable, _C'est seulement un
bateau, qui etoit seulement renversèe, et tous les peuples sont
seulement noyès._
Mayence is one of the best fortified towns in Germany. The river, which
is broad and rapid, guards it to the east, and the hills for three
leagues around exhibit signs of fortifications. The town itself is old,
the streets narrow, and the houses high: the cathedral and towers of the
town still bear marks of the bombardment which took place in the
revolutionary war.
We took our place in the _diligence par-eau_ for Cologne, and the next
morning (September 4th) departed. This conveyance appeared much more
like a mercantile English affair than any we had before seen; it was
shaped like a steam-boat, with a cabin and a high deck. Most of our
companions chose to remain in the cabin; this was fortunate for us,
since nothing could be more horribly disgusting than the lower order of
smoking, drinking Germans who travelled with us; they swaggered and
talked, and what was hideous to English eyes, kissed one another: there
were, however, two or three merchants of a better class, who appeared
well-informed and polite.
The part of the Rhine down which we now glided, is that so beautifully
described by Lord Byron in his third canto of _Childe Harold_. We read
these verses with delight, as they conjured before us these lovely
scenes with the truth and vividness of painting, and with the exquisite
addition of glowing language and a warm imagination. We were carried
down by a dangerously rapid current, and saw on either side of us hills
covered with vines and trees, craggy cliffs crowned by desolate towers,
and wooded islands, where picturesque ruins peeped from behind the
foliage, and cast the shadows of their forms on the troubled waters,
which distorted without deforming them. We heard the songs of the
vintagers, and if surrounded by disgusting Germans, the sight was not so
replete with enjoyment as I now fancy it to have been; yet memory,
taking all the dark shades from the picture, presents this part of the
Rhine to my remembrance as the loveliest paradise on earth.
We had sufficient leisure for the enjoyment of these scenes, for the
boatmen, neither rowing nor steering, suffered us to be carried down by
the stream, and the boat turned round and round as it descended.
While I speak with disgust of the Germans who travelled with us, I
should in justice to these borderers record, that at one of the inns
here we saw the only pretty woman we met with in the course of our
travels. She is what I should conceive to be a truly German beauty; grey
eyes, slightly tinged with brown, and expressive of uncommon sweetness
and frankness. She had lately recovered from a fever, and this added to
the interest of her countenance, by adorning it with an appearance of
extreme delicacy.
On the following day we left the hills of the Rhine, and found that, for
the remainder of our journey, we should move sluggishly through the
flats of Holland: the river also winds extremely, so that, after
calculating our resources, we resolved to finish our journey in a land
diligence. Our water conveyance remained that night at Bonn, and that we
might lose no time, we proceeded post the same night to Cologne, where
we arrived late; for the rate of travelling in Germany seldom exceeds a
mile and a half an hour.
Cologne appeared an immense town, as we drove through street after
street to arrive at our inn. Before we slept, we secured places in the
diligence, which was to depart next morning for Clêves.
Nothing in the world can be more wretched than travelling in this German
diligence: the coach is clumsy and comfortless, and we proceeded so
slowly, stopping so often, that it appeared as if we should never arrive
at our journey's end. We were allowed two hours for dinner, and two more
were wasted in the evening while the coach was being changed. We were
then requested, as the diligence had a greater demand for places than it
could supply, to proceed in a _cabriolet_ which was provided for us. We
readily consented, as we hoped to travel faster than in the heavy
diligence; but this was not permitted, and we jogged on all night behind
this cumbrous machine. In the morning when we stopped, and for a moment
indulged a hope that we had arrived at Clêves, which was at the distance
of five leagues from our last night's stage; but we had only advanced
three leagues in seven or eight hours, and had yet eight miles to
perform. However, we first rested about three hours at this stage, where
we could not obtain breakfast or any convenience, and at about eight
o'clock we again departed, and with slow, although far from easy
travelling, faint with hunger and fatigue, we arrived by noon at Clêves.
HOLLAND.