ridiculous fancy; with riches, the highest connexions, a fine person
and good education, this young man indulged the idea that he was soon
to die. It was impossible to shake off this illusion. Considering
himself as doomed, he told me that he thought he was bound to make
the most of the little time that remained for him, and he supported
himself under this idea, so terrific to an ill-regulated mind, by
opium, brandy, and any kind of stimulus.
Now his disease was this: Having taken by some accident this
impression, he resorted to a bad remedy to drive it away. Each
application only drove the poison still deeper into his system. He
allowed himself no lucid interval. Could he have been prostrated by a
fit of sickness, and placed under proper care, and recovered slowly
from his disease, his mind might have been restored. But once in,
he continued to weaken his strength by artificial stimulus, and his
mind had no opportunity to resume its natural tone. The drunkard only
can recover from his malady by going through the ordeal of a trial
by water. He must expect to be prostrated. He must suffer intense
agony for days, and perhaps weeks, but if he perseveres, his cure is
certain.
Collins visited at some houses, and was caressed by a few, as 'a
character.' He enjoyed the reputation of being an elegant scholar,
among persons to whom he had never given the slightest evidence of
scholarship, and who probably did not know what the classics were.
This is very common. Who ever knew a case of a young man's throwing
himself away, particularly if his connections are respectable, when
it was not said: 'What a pity! He is the flower of the family; might
be any thing, only----'
The ladies, dear souls! saw in him a desolated genius. It would be
laughable to tell the thousand and one stories circulated about his
love affair. They used to get him to sing his plaintive airs, and
how it went to their hearts to hear the tones of a broken heart.
He, under the influence of powerful doses of opium, enjoyed this. He
yielded to the idea that he was what they thought him, and was happy
in the luxury of wo. After one of these displays, he would ask me to
relate to him what occurred the evening before, for he did not know,
though all the time he appeared to the company as perfectly rational.
The students did not expose him, though they saw pretty nearly what
he was. I, I cannot tell why, was with him constantly, and took
pleasure in his society. It was something new to me, and gave me an
opportunity of studying myself.
The example of this man constantly before me, the fact that I
associated with him, contrary to the wishes of my friends, in the
course of time alienated from me the good feeling of my former
friends; or they felt bound to resent my neglect of them, by
corresponding coldness. I did feel bitterly toward them, for their
neglect of Collins, and always took his part; and when lightly spoken
of, resented it as an insult to myself.
In this way, I lost the confidence and friendship of those men who
could have still been, would I have permitted it, of inestimable
advantage to me in healing my own distempered mind.
Collins and myself at last were constantly together, and each other's
only companions. I gradually fell into his habits. Certain it is,
that we enjoyed some Elysian hours. In the lonely still nights,
when all else seemed lost in sleep, and the sound of labor broke
not upon the ear to remind us that we were in a toiling world, we
used to sally forth and wander through the meadows that skirt the
river in this delightful region. Under the soothing influence of
that drug, which creates first a heaven and then a hell, we talked
and sang to the stars, and the beautiful earth, and the bright moon,
and thought we were happy. A man must be far gone for this world,
who goes straight about such an excitement of his system, when he
knows, as we did, the agony that was to follow, after the charm had
ceased. I was the greatest sufferer. My constitution was naturally
strong; capable of great action and rëaction. While Collins was
left in dull apathy and lethargy, I woke from the trance of joy to
excessive nervous pain. My mind was filled with dismal images. I
had horrid forebodings. My broken vows to my father--the probable
misery I had caused her who really loved me--the days of quiet and
peaceful happiness I might have enjoyed by a different course--my
ruin--glimpses of what I am--all came to my mind, and inflicted
the keenest torture. I lived over again all the pains I had ever
suffered. It seemed as if miseries were accumulated to crush me. I
meditated self-destruction. I prayed for death. This frame of mind
would continue for days, during which time I kept my room, and lived
upon the most simple diet. But when recovered in body and mind,
and going out with strongest resolution, as I thought, some new
temptation would assail me, and the same scene, the same agony, the
same remorse, were acted over and over again; and what makes it more
astonishing, there was a sincerity in this resistance, which repeated
failure could not lead me to doubt.
My only object in forming this acquaintance, was pity for Collins'
solitary state, and a desire to alleviate the pain he seemed to
suffer. My motive, if I know my own heart, was good. Even believers
in human depravity will give me credit for honesty of intention. 'The
way to hell is paved with good intentions,' says the preacher. How
true!
In one of my fits of voluntary seclusion, I read 'Hope Leslie.' Let
me here give the evidence of my own experience in favor of that
book. The study of the law was relinquished, and I read only works
of feverish interest, when I read any thing. After the indulgence
of irregular passions, every one who has suffered, knows that the
mind is left in a flighty state; we have strange visions, and think
strange thoughts; in short, we are quite poetic. Poetry, novels,
music! how grateful they are! They lead us away from ourselves, and
we are just unsound enough to yield entirely to the illusion. Under
such circumstances, I read 'Hope Leslie.' I was a week about it, and
I read all the time too. I was so enchanted with the book, that I
consumed it as the child eats his sugar-plums, by little and little,
to make it last the longer, dwelling over each passage; reading a
scene, and then walking the room, and picturing out the lofty Indian,
the heroic Magawisca, the generous youth, and the gentle mother. How
I revelled! Beside, I felt strengthened and elevated by the high tone
of moral sentiment contained in that work. It was the happiest week I
ever lived, infinitely surpassing all possible reality.
LINES
IN HUMBLE IMITATION OF AN INIMITABLE SCOTTISH POET.
I WOULD I were the slight fern growing
Beneath my Highland Mary's tread;
I would I were the green tree throwing
Its shadow o'er her gentle head:
I would I were a wild flower springing
Where my sweet Mary loves to rest,
That she might pluck me while she's singing,
And place me on her snowy breast!
I would I were in yonder heaven,
A silver star, whose soft dim light
Would rise to bless each summer even,
And watch my Mary all the night:
I would beneath those small white fingers
I were the lute her breath has fanned--
The plaintive lute, whose soft note lingers,
As loath to leave her fairy hand.
Ah, happy things! ye may not wander
From Scotland to some darker sky,
But ever live unchanging yonder,
To happiness and Mary nigh;
While I at midnight, sadly weeping,
Upon its deep transparent blue
Can only gaze, while all are sleeping,
And dream my Mary watches too!
SONNET: TO MRS. ---- ---- ----
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.
SWEET Lady! in the name of one no more,
Both of us loved, and neither can forget,
Make me thy brother, though our hearts before,
Perchance have never in communion met:
Give me thy gentle memories, though there be,
Between our forms, some thousand miles of sea,
Wild tract, and weary desert: let me still,
Whate'er the joy that warms me, or the thrill
That tortures, and from which I may not flee--
Hold a sweet, sacred place within thy breast!
In this, my spirit shall be more than blest;
And, in my prayers, if haply prayers of mine
Be not a wrong unto a soul like thine,
There shall be blessings from the skies for thee.
RANDOM PASSAGES
FROM ROUGH NOTES OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, FRANCE,
SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY.
NUMBER SIX.
SWITZERLAND, (CONCLUDED) GERMANY.
LAUSANNE, AUGUST 26.--We left St. Bernard, well pleased with our
hosts, and hastened back to Martigny, where we procured an open
carriage, and proceeded directly to St. Maurice, there to lodge.
The ride along the banks of the Rhone, in the cool of the evening,
was delicious. As it grew dark, the bonfires of the chamois-hunters
were lit up here and there on the distant mountains; and among other
things, we passed a beautiful cascade, seven hundred feet high,
flowing out of a solid rock. At half past three this morning, we
were aroused from our slumbers at St. Maurice, to take the omnibus
for Villeneuve, at the head of the Lake of Geneva. It was just after
sunrise, on another soft and lovely morning, when we stepped on board
the steamer 'Le Leman' to sail down this glorious lake, now placid
and smooth as a mirror. The boat was well filled, principally with
English tourists. We passed near the walls of the famous Castle of
Chillon, where Bonnivard, Byron's 'Prisoner,' lingered in chains:
'Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,
And thy sad floor an altar--for 'twas trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace,
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod,
By Bonnivard!--May none those marks efface,
For they appeal from tyranny to God!'
The castle is at the foot of the hill, on the very margin of the
lake, and seems almost to rise out of the water. The poet has finely
pictured in his 'Prisoner' a striking scene of loneliness, amidst
nature's fairest works. We passed Clarens, too, the 'sweet Clarens'
of the author of 'Helöise:'
''Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,
Peopling it with affections. 'Tis lone,
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound,
And sense, and sight of sweetness: here the Rhone
Hath spread himself a couch,[1] the Alps have reared a throne.'
At eleven o'clock we arrived at Lausanne, _via_ its port, Ouchi,
for the town is a fourth of a mile up the hill. This is a large but
irregularly-built town, and is much frequented by the English. The
house where Gibbon lived yet remains, and is now occupied by an
English family. Here I took leave of the friendly party, and am to
proceed alone to regions as yet to me unknown.
* * * * *
BERNE, AUGUST 28.--Had a moonlight night-ride from Lausanne, whence
we departed at seven, P. M. I am now coming to the Cantons where
German is usually spoken, so I suppose I must play deaf and dumb,
and talk by signs, _guessing_ the import of what they say to me, as
I did, for example, at the diligence office, when I paid my fare;
but in this case I was left in a non-plus. When I took my seat, they
motioned me _out_; and I stood patiently waiting to be disposed of.
My luggage was put on, the diligence was filled and started off,
leaving me there, solus, in deep cogitation. Well, 'thinks I to
myself,' they are _very_ polite! Presently, however, a smart buggy
came along, and the driver civilly beckoned me to take a seat.
Feeling very cool and good-natured, in I jumped, at the risk of going
where 'the d----l drives;' for I really was somewhat in the dark,
and I couldn't be positive whether it was not the 'old gentleman'
himself. Soon, however, these dismal doubts were dispelled by our
overtaking the diligence, and receiving an English gentleman into the
buggy; and then the simple truth flashed upon me, that the diligence
was full, and they were 'forwarding' me in an extra, as they are
obliged to do, by law of the land, all who apply before the time.
In some learned discussions about England, I happened to say that
the law securing the descent of property of the nobility, there,
exclusively to the oldest son, seemed to me very unjust. My companion
said he 'gloried in it;' though he himself was a 'younger son, he
abhorred democracy and equality.' And with some more talk, I fell
asleep, and left him to his cigar.
I was somewhat diverted with a prevalent custom of the Germans--that
of embracing and _kissing_ each other, when taking leave. I refer, of
course, to the _men_; for an affectionate salutation of this sort to
the _ladies_, it would be unpardonable to omit. But to see the 'grave
and reverend seignors' bussing each other, is a little queer.
At two, A. M., we stopped at a place called Peterlinden, and got some
coffee in a 'loft.' About daylight, we were riding in sight of Lake
Neufchatel, and passed the little village of Morat, where the Swiss
heroically defeated an invasion of the Burgundians, in 1440: of which
Byron says:[2]
'There is a spot should not be passed in vain,
Morat! the proud, the patriot field! where man
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain,[3]
Nor blush for those who conquered on that plain.
* * * * *
While Waterloo with Cannæ's carnage vies,
Morat and Marathon, twin names shall stand.'
It is vastly amusing and edifying to observe the 'whims and oddities'
of the various people one meets with on these routes, or indeed any
where. The English and Germans generally like each other, while
both dislike the French; and all are equally prejudiced against
we poor Americans--perhaps not without reason. There are too many
young Americans, who ape the worst traits of the English character,
abroad, and make themselves ridiculous, by an affected hauteur and
reserve. There were two such at ----, whom our Scotchman pronounced
'contemptible puppies; for they considered themselves too good to
speak to the Misses ----, because they kept a _pension_;' and he
added, rather rudely and illiberally, that 'all Americans are alike,
when they think they have got money enough to act the aristocrat.'
This sweeping charge was not worth notice, and would never be made by
the better class of English or Scotch; but it must be owned, there is
_some_ ground for it; and it is too bad, that a few dandy upstarts
abroad should excite prejudice against the whole of us.
At nine this morning, we rode through a long shady avenue, lined with
elms, into the handsome town of Berne, the capital of Switzerland. It
is built on a peninsula, formed by the windings of a little stream
called the Aar, in the midst of an extensive and fertile plain. The
two principal streets are long and uniform, the buildings being all
of gray stone, projecting on heavy arches over the side-walks. In
the Rue Grand are several public fountains, adorned with grotesque
figures. At the city-gate, a couple of wooden 'grisly bears,' (the
arms of the Canton,) look down upon all visitors, with a scrutinizing
but rather inviting glance. The cathedral is a very curious piece of
antique architecture, especially the great door, which is elaborately
ornamented with emblematical sculpture. But the most attractive
spot in Berne is the public promenade, by the side of the river,
from whence you have a magnificent prospect of the whole range of
the Oberland Alps, covered with perpetual snows, probably the most
imposing array of mountains in the world, at least the finest to be
seen at one view. A visit to some of this range, through the valleys
of Grindelwald and Lauterbrunen, is usually a prominent object to the
Swiss tourist. Near the summit of one of these peaks, where 'winter
reigns supreme,' the Jung Frau, is the awful precipice where Byron's
'Manfred' was stopped by the chamois hunter from taking a final leap.
The city and canton of Berne have always been noted as the most
aristocratic of the confederacy, both in laws and in the spirit of
the people. Each canton, it seems, has a different costume:[4]
That of the Berne damsels is marked by white starched over-sleeves,
extending to the elbows, and a broad black lace ruffle stuck up over
the head, which makes them look like Peter Wilkins' flying islanders.
29TH.--Like Mr. Cooper, we patronize 'Le Fauçon;' and the Rev. Mr.
Cunningham has invited me among the _Anglaise_ to hear the church
service read in his room. The principal topic of the day in Berne
is the dispute with Louis Phillipe, which at present looks rather
squally.
* * * * *
ALPNACH, LAKE OF LUZERNE, 30TH.--The ride from Berne to Thun was very
agreeable, notwithstanding I was obliged to take the _interieur_,
among some inveterate smokers. The scenery continued to be beautiful,
but very different from that we had passed a few days since--the
'lofty heights' being in full view, but far distant.
Thun is a picturesque little village situated in an enchanting place
on the Aar, near the head of the lake of the same name, which forms
one of a series of the most charming sheets of water in Europe.
Instead of the diligence route to Luzerne, I was tempted to enjoy
the luxury of a sail over these lakes; and accordingly left Thun
yesterday morning in a little steamer, which plies on the 'Thuner
See' to Interlachen, another pretty village, situated, as its name
implies, between two lakes, Thun and Brientz. It contains several
good _pensions_, and is much frequented by tourists in search of
health; and well it may be; for the region round about is a paradise.
'The air itself is a nosegay, the coarse bread a banquet, and the
simple whey of the Alps is worth all the elixirs of the apothecary.'
You may not sympathize, perhaps, in my enjoyment of this Swiss
tour--would you were here to enjoy it with me!--for I know it is
tantalizing to _read_ of the 'fairest places of the earth,' when one
must long in vain to be in them; and yet, it is pleasant to tell
those we love of the pleasant things we have had the good fortune to
fall in with.
On our way to Interlachen, from the boat, we passed through the queer
and romantic old town of Unterseen. Interlachen is near the Lake
of Brientz; and there, with the assistance of an obliging French
gentleman, who volunteered as my interpreter, I hired a small boat
with four rowers, to take me over the lake to the town of Brientz,
a distance of ten miles. There I got 'some lunch,' and hired a
horse and guide for my luggage, to Lungern, going myself, by way of
variety, on foot, over the Brunig Alp. A violent thunder-storm, which
had closely pursued us on the lake, overtook me on the summit of the
rugged Brunig, and, at the expense of a thorough drenching, I had a
fine chance to observe the sublime commotion of the elements; and
sure enough,
----'Far along
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaped the live thunder!'
The movements of the clouds beneath me, after the shower, were
extremely beautiful and grand; rising in detached masses, gracefully
and majestically up the sides of the mountains, and parting slowly
from their summits, or from the green vales below, like a veil
which had covered a mystery. Huge masses of rock overhang the path
in several places, threatening to tumble suddenly upon the unwary
traveller, or the cottages below; and abundant are the proofs that
'such things have been.'
I have said so much about fine prospects, that the one from the
Brunig shall only be referred to, and you may read of it elsewhere.
At Lungern, I dined, and hired a chaise to take me, solus, to the
Lake of the Four Cantons. The ride was along the banks of two more
lakes, Lungern and Sarnen, both of which are of a sea-green color,
deep as the blue of the 'Leman.' There was little to remark, except
an occasional water-fall, or the ruddy peasant girls on the banks,
spinning flax.
At sunset, after traversing four lakes, and a mountain of no mean
dimensions, since breakfast, I was received by mine host at the
'Cheval-Blanc,' at Alpnach, who is much noted, it seems, as an
honest, attentive, and eccentric Swiss publican 'of the old school.'
The hotels, be it observed, throughout Switzerland, are generally
excellent. The plain but substantial fare which they give you, among
the mountains, may be partaken of, after a ramble in those regions
of pure and bracing air, with better relish than a princely feast
in courtly halls; and in the larger towns they will spread a _table
d'hôte_ which would do credit to Meurice, of the Rue Rivoli, or
Boyden, of the Astor House. At all the inns, visitors are expected
and even required to write in the 'Book of Chronicles' not only
their name and residence, but occupation, destination, and 'where
from:' and in the 'highland tour' they usually add 'remarks,' scraps
of doggerel, and praise or abuse of the last visited inn; such as
'Avoid the '_Epee_' at Zurich;' 'Go by all means to the '_Cygne_'
at Luzerne.' Italy being blockaded by cholera and quarantines, this
season, its neighbor Switzerland is more than usually swarmed with
tourists; and a good many American names may be found recorded in the
medley albums.
* * * * *
LUZERNE, AUGUST 30.--In company with a couple of very agreeable
English gentlemen, who had just returned from Italy, we took a boat
at Alpnach, and were rowed down the Lake of the Four Cantons to this
beautiful place. This lake is one of the largest, and certainly the
most picturesque, in Switzerland, being irregular in its shape,
indented with little bays, and affording, in its whole extent, every
variety of scenery. After doubling several of its promontories, in a
sail of two hours, we landed almost on the very steps of the favorite
'Hotel de Cygne' at Luzerne. It is a capital house, close to the
water, and as we sit at dinner, we have on one side a fine panoramic
view of the Bay of Naples, and, on the other, the _real_ panorama of
this beautiful lake and surrounding mountains.
We dined sumptuously at the _table d'hôte_, and then walked out to a
garden in the suburbs to see a famous piece of sculpture from a model
by Thorwaldsen, the Swedish artist. It is a colossal lion, pierced
with a barb, cut out on the side of a hill of rock, and under it
are inscribed the names of the Swiss guards who fell in the French
revolutions of '89 and '30. It is remarkable that Swiss soldiers
are yet employed as the body-guards of the kings of France, Naples,
etc., as more trustworthy than their own people. These guards are
formally 'let out' by the Swiss government; but how such a proceeding
is compatible with national honor, I am at a loss to conceive. There
are two covered wooden bridges at Luzerne, each fourteen hundred feet
long: the interiors are adorned with curious old paintings, of the
Dutch school, comprising a regular series of scripture subjects.
You will recollect that this is the place from whence the travellers
set out in the graphic opening scene of 'Anne of Gierstein.' It is in
the vicinity of the scenes of Tell's exploits, of the battle-field
of Sempach, and many other interesting spots. The gloomy and
'cloud-capt' brow of Mount Pilatus, where tradition says Pontius
Pilate threw himself into the lake! is a conspicuous object on one
side; and opposite, is the isolated Mount Rhigi, on the top of which
we propose to lodge to-night, as all faithful travellers here do, for
the sake of 'the most magnificent sunset and sunrise prospect which
the world affords.'
* * * * *
SUMMIT OF THE RHIGI, SEPTEMBER 1.--Yesterday, at eleven, A. M., I
took boat with my companion, (an intelligent young student from
Cambridge, Eng.,) and we pushed across the lake to Kusnacht, near
William Tell's chapel, and the place where he escaped from Gesler.
Thence we proceeded without a guide, the ascent appearing to be
quite easy; but we had the luck to lose our way and lose each
other: nevertheless, we pressed forward to the goal, like Bunyan's
'Pilgrim,' tugging and climbing under an intensely hot sun, up, up,
up, every step seeming to be the last, until I for one almost gave
up in despair, when the friendly halloo! of some peasants pointed me
to the path. At length we met each other near the top, on the side
toward Altorf; and at six P. M. arrived at the inn, almost fainting
with hunger and fatigue, and well able to do justice to a good supper.
Much as report had raised my anticipations, the view from the Rhigi
Kulm far exceeded them: yet perhaps that from some points half-way to
the summit, if not so extensive, is more pleasing and beautiful.[5]
From the top, the eye takes in too much; and large towns and lakes
appear like baby's play-houses and frog-ponds, and much as they would
from a balloon. But the grand _whole_ is certainly magnificent; a
view of the _whole of Switzerland_ could not be otherwise: