a cabinet of natural and artificial curiosities. I had then but little
idea of the value of such things; at that time geognosy, which is so
commendable in itself, but which fritters away the impression produced
by the earth's beautiful surface on the mind's eye, had not begun to
entice me, still less had a fantastic geology entangled me in its
labyrinths. Nevertheless, the monk who acted as our guide, compelled
me to bestow some attention on a fossil, much prized as he said by
connoisseurs, a small wild boar's head well preserved in a lump of blue
fuller's clay, which, black as it was, has dwelt in my imagination ever
since. They had found it in the country of Rapperswyl, a district which
ever since the memory of man was so full of morasses, that it could
well receive and keep such mummies for posterity.
Far different attractions was presented to me by a copperplate
engraving of Martin Schön, which was kept under a glass frame, and
represented the Assumption of the Virgin. True, only a perfect specimen
could give an idea of the art of such a master; but then we are so
affected by it, as with the perfect in every branch of art, that we
cannot get rid of the wish to possess something in some way like it,
to be able constantly to repeat the sight of it, however long a time
may intervene. Why should I not anticipate and confess here, that
afterwards I could not rest until I had succeeded in obtaining an
excellent copy of this plate.
[Side-note: The Schwyzer-Haken.]
On the 16th of July, 1775 (for here I find a date first set down),
we entered upon a toilsome journey; wild stony heights were to be
surmounted, and that, too, in a perfect solitude and wilderness.
At a quarter before eight in the evening, we stood before the
Schwyzer-Haken, two mountain peaks which jut out boldly, side by side,
into the sky. For the first time we found snow upon our path, where
on the lagged rocks it had been hanging since the winter. A primeval
forest, with its solemn awe, filled the immense valleys, into which
we were about to descend. Refreshed, after a short rest, we sprang,
with bold and light step, from cliff to cliff, from ledge to ledge,
down the precipitous foot-path, and arrived by ten o'clock at Schwyz.
We had become at once weary yet cheerful, exhausted yet excited; we
eagerly quenched our violent thirst, and felt ourselves still more
inspired. Imagine the young man who but two years before had written
_Werther_, and his still younger friend who still earlier had read that
remarkable work in manuscript, and had been strangely excited by it,
had transported in some respect without their knowing it or wishing it,
into a state of nature, end there in the consciousness of rich powers,
vividly recalling past passions, clinging to those of the present,
shaping fruitless plans, rioting through the realm of fancy, and you
will be able to form some conception of our situation then, which I
should not know how to describe, if it did not stand written in my
journal: "Laughing and shouting lasted until midnight."
On the morning of the 17th, we saw the Schwyzer-Haken from our windows.
Around these vast and irregular natural pyramids, clouds rose upon
clouds. At one in the afternoon we left Schwyz, on our way to the Rigi;
at two we were on the Lawerzer lake, the sun shining brilliantly on it
and on us all the while. For sheer delight we saw nothing. Two stout
maidens guided the boat; that looked pretty, and we made no objection.
We arrived upon the island, on which they say once lived the former
lord of the castle; be this as it may, the hut of the anchorite has now
planted itself amidst the ruins.
We climbed the Rigi; at half-past seven we stood at the foot of the
"Mother of God" covered in snow; then passed the chapel and the
nunnery, and rested at the hotel of the Ox.
On the 18th, Sunday morning early, we took a sketch of the chapel
from the Ox. At twelve we went to Kaltenbad, or the fountain of the
Three Sisters. By a quarter after two we had reached the summit; we
found ourselves in the clouds, this time doubly disagreeable to us,
since they both hindered the prospect and drenched us with mist. But
when, here and there, they opened and showed us, framed as it were by
their ever-varying outline, a clear, majestic sun-lit world, with the
changing scenes of a diorama, we no longer lamented these accidents;
for it was a sight we had never seen before and should never behold
again, and we lingered long in this somewhat inconvenient position, to
catch, through the chinks and crevices of the ever-shifting masses of
cloud, some little point of sunny earth, some little strip of shore, or
pretty nook of the lake.
By eight in the evening we were back again at the door of the inn, and
refreshed ourselves with baked fish and eggs, and plenty of wine.
As the twilight and the night gradually came on, our ears were filled
with mysteriously harmonizing sounds; the twinkling of the chapel
bells, the splashing of the fountain, the rustling of changeful
breezes, with the horns of the foresters in the distance;--these were
blest, soothing, tranquillising moments.
[Side-note: William Tell.]
At half-past six, on the morning of the 19th, first ascending then
going down by the Waldstätter Lake we came to Fitznau; from thence, by
water, to Gersau. At noon, we were in the hotel on the lake. About two
o'clock we were opposite to Grütli, where the three Tells conspired;
then upon the flat rock where the hero sprang from his boat, and where
the legend of his life and deeds is recorded and immortalized by a
painting. At three we were at Flüelen, where he embarked; and at four
in Altorf, where he shot the apple.
Aided by this poetic thread one winds conveniently through the
labyrinth of these rocky walls which, descending perpendicularly to
the water, stand silently before us. They, the immovable, stand there
as quietly as the side-scenes of a theatre; success or failure, joy
or sorrow, merely pertain to the persons who for the day successively
strut upon the stage.
Such reflections, however, were wholly out of the circle of the vision
of the youths who then looked upon them; what had recently passed
had been dismissed from their thoughts, and the future lay before
them as strangely inscrutable, as the mountain region which they were
laboriously penetrating.
On the 20th, we breakfasted at Amstäg, where they cooked us a savoury
dinner of baked fish. Here now, on this mountain ledge, where the
Reuss, which was at all times wild enough, was rushing from rugged
clefts, and dashing the cool snow-water over the rocky channels, I
could not help enjoying the longed-for opportunity and refreshing
myself in the foaming waves.
At three o'clock we proceeded onwards; a row of sumpter-horses went
before us, we marched with them over a broad mass of snow, and did not
learn till afterwards, that it was hollow underneath. The snows of
winter, that had deposited themselves here in a mountain gorge, which
at other seasons it was necessary to skirt circuitously, now furnished
us with a shorter and more direct road. But the waters which forced
their way beneath had gradually undermined the snowy mass, and the mild
summer had melted more and more of the lower side of the vault, so
that now, like a broad arched bridge, it formed a natural connection
between the opposite sides. We convinced ourselves of this strange
freak of nature by venturing more than half way down into the broader
part of the gorge. As we kept ascending, we left pine forests in the
chasm, through which the Reuss from time to time appeared, foaming and
dashing over rocky precipices.
At half-past seven we arrived at Wasen, where, to render palatable the
red, heavy, sour Lombardy wine, we were forced to have recourse to
water, and to supply, by a great deal of sugar, the ingredient which
nature had refused to elaborate in the grape. The landlord showed us
some beautiful crystals; but I had, at that time, so little interest in
the study of nature and such specimens, that I did not care to burden
myself with these mountain products, however cheaply they might be
bought.
On the 21st, at half-past six, we were still ascending; the rocks grew
more and more stupendous and awful; the path to the _Teufelstein_
(Devil's Stone), from which we were to gain a view of the Devil's
Bridge, was still more difficult. My companion being disposed for a
rest, proposed me to sketch the most important views. My outlines were,
perhaps, tolerably successful, but nothing seemed to stand out, nothing
to retire into the distance; for such objects I had no language. We
toiled on further; the horrors of the wilderness seemed continually
to deepen, planes became hills, and hollows chasms. And so my guide
conducted me to the cave of Ursern, through which I walked in somewhat
of an ill humor; what we had seen thus far was, at any rate, sublime,
this darkness took everything away.
But the roguish guide anticipated the joyful astonishment which would
overwhelm me on my egress. There the moderately foaming stream wound
mildly through a level vale surrounded by mountains, but wide enough
to invite habitation. Above the clean little village of Ursern and its
church, which stood opposite to us on a level plot, rose a pine-grove
which was held sacred, because it protected the inhabitants at its
foot from the rolling of the avalanches. Here we enjoyed the sight of
long-missed vegetation. The meadows of the valley, just beginning to
look green, were adorned along the river side with short willows The
tranquillity was great; upon the level paths we felt our powers revive
again, and my fellow-traveller was not a little proud of the surprise
which he had so skilfully contrived.
The meadows produce the celebrated Ursern cheese, and the youthful
travellers, high in spirits, pronounced very tolerable wine not to be
surpassed in order to heighten their enjoyment, and to give a more
fantastic impulse to their projects.
On the 22nd, at half-past three, we left our quarters, that from the
smooth Ursern valley we might enter upon the stony valley of Liviner.
Here, too, we at once missed all vegetation; nothing was to be seen or
heard but naked or mossy rocks covered with snow, fitful gusts blowing
the clouds backwards and forwards, the rustling of waterfalls, the
tinkling of sumpter-horses in the depth of solitude, where we saw none
coming and none departing. It did not cost the imagination much to
see dragons' nests in the clefts. But, nevertheless, we felt inspired
and elevated by one of the most beautiful and picturesque waterfalls,
sublimely various in all its rocky steps, which, being at this time of
the year enriched by melted snows, and now half hidden by the clouds,
now half revealed, chained us for some time to the spot.
[Side-note: The Hospice.]
Finally, we came to little mist-lakes, as I might call them, since
they were scarcely to be distinguished from the atmospheric streaks.
Before long, a building loomed towards us out of the vapour: it was the
Hospice, and we felt great satisfaction at the thoughts of sheltering
ourselves under its hospitable roof.
[1] Hanswurst is the old German buffoon, whose name answers to the
English "Jack Pudding."--Tr.
NINETEENTH BOOK.
Announced by the low barking of a little dog which ran out to meet us,
we were cordially received at the door by an elderly but active female.
She apologised for the absence of the Pater, who had gone to Milan,
but was expected home that evening; and immediately, without any more
words, set to work to provide for our comfort and wants. We were shown
into a warm and spacious room, where bread, cheese, and some passable
wine were set before us, with the promise of a more substantial meal
for our supper. The surprise of the day was now talked over, and my
friend was not a little proud that all had gone off so well, and that
we had passed a day the impressions of which neither poetry nor prose
could ever reproduce.
At length with the twilight, which did not here come on till late, the
venerable father entered the room, greeted his guests with dignity
but in a friendly and cordial manner, and in a few words ordered the
cook to pay all possible attention to our wishes. When we expressed
the wonder we could not repress, that he could like to pass his life
up here, in the midst of such a perfect wilderness, out of the reach
of all society, he assured us that society was never wanting, as our
own welcome visit might testify. A lively trade, he told us, was kept
up between Italy and Germany. This continual traffic brought him into
relation with the first mercantile houses. He often went down to Milan,
and also to Lucerne, though not so frequently, from which place,
however, the houses which had charge of the posting on the main route,
frequently sent young people to him, who, here at the point of passage
between the two countries, required to be made acquainted with all the
circumstances and events connected with such affairs.
Amid such varied conversation the evening passed away, and we slept a
quiet night on somewhat short sleeping-places, fastened to the wall,
and more like shelves than bedsteads.
[Side-note: Distant View of Italy.]
Rising early, I soon found myself under the open sky, but in a narrow
space surrounded by tall mountain-tops. I sat down upon the foot-path
which led to Italy, and attempted, after the manner of dilettanti,
to draw what could not be drawn, still less make a picture, namely,
the nearest mountain-tops, whose sides, with their white furrows and
black ridges, were gradually made visible by the melting of the snow.
Nevertheless, that fruitless effort has impressed the image indelibly
on my memory.
My companion stepped briskly up to me, and began: "What say you of the
story of our spiritual host, last evening? Have not you as well as
myself, felt a desire to descend from this dragon's height into those
charming regions below? A ramble through these gorges must be glorious
and not very toilsome; and when it ends with Bellinzona, what a
pleasure that must be! The words of the good father have again brought
a living image before my soul of the isles of the Lago Maggiore. We
have heard and seen so much of them since Keyssler's travels, that I
cannot resist the temptation."
"Is it not so with you too?" he resumed; "you are sitting on exactly
the right spot; I stood there once, but had not the courage to jump
down. You can go on without ceremony, wait for me at Airolo, I will
follow with the courier when I have taken leave of the good father and
settled everything."
"Such an enterprise," I replied, "so suddenly undertaken, does not suit
me." "What's the use of deliberating so much?" cried he; "we have money
enough to get to Milan, where we shall find credit; through our fair, I
know more than one mercantile friend there." He grew still more urgent.
"Go!" said I, "and make all ready for the departure, then we will
decide."
In such moments it seems to me as if a man feels no resolution in
himself, but is rather governed and determined by earlier impressions.
Lombardy and Italy lay before me, altogether foreign land; while
Germany, as a well-known dear home, full of friendly, domestic scenes,
and where, let me confess it,--was that which had so long entirely
enchained me, and on which my existence was centred, remained even
now the most indispensable element, beyond the limits of which I felt
afraid to step. A little golden heart, which in my happiest hours, I
had received from her, still hung love-warmed about my neck, suspended
by the same ribbon to which she had tied it. Snatching it from my
bosom, I loaded it with kisses. This incident gave rise to a poem,
which I here insert:--
Round my neck, suspended, as a token
Of those joys, that swiftly pass'd away,
Art thou here that thou may'st lengthen love's short day,
Still binding, when the bond of souls is broken?
Lili, from thee I fly; yet I am doom'd to feel
Thy fetters still,
Though to strange vales and mountains I depart,
Yes, Lili's heart must yet remain
Attached to _my_ fond heart.
Thus the bird, snapping his string in twain,
Seeks his wood,--his own,
Still a mark of bondage bearing,
Of that string a fragment wearing.
The old--the free-born bird--he cannot be again,
When once a master he has known.
Seeing my Mend with the guide, who carried our knapsack, come storming
up the heights, I rose hastily and removed from the precipice, where
I had been watching his return, lest he should drag me down into the
abyss with him. I also saluted the pious father, and turned, without
saying a word, to the path by which we had come. My friend followed
me, somewhat hesitating, and in spite of his love and attachment to
me, kept for a long time at a distance behind, till at last a glorious
waterfall brought us again together for the rest of our journey, and
what had been once decided, was from henceforth looked upon as the
wisest and the best.
Of our descent I will only remark that we now found the snow-bridge,
over which we had securely travelled with a heavy-laden train a
few days before, all fallen in, and that now, as we had to make a
circuit round the opened thicket, we were filled with astonishment
and admiration by the colossal fragments of that piece of natural
architecture.
My friend could not quite get over his disappointment at not returning
into Italy; very likely he had thought of the plan some time before,
and with amiable cunning had hoped to surprise me on the spot. On this
account our return did not proceed so merrily as our advance; but I was
occupied all the more constantly on my silent route, with trying to
fix, at least in its more comprehensible and characteristic details,
that sense of the sublime and vast, which, as time advances, usually
grows contracted in our minds.
[Side-note: Küssnacht--Tell.]
Not without many both new and renewed emotions and reflections did we
pass over the remarkable heights about the Vierwaldstätter Lake, on
our way to Küssnacht, where having landed and pursued our ramble, we
had to greet Tell's chapel, which lay on our route, and to reflect
upon that assassination which, in the eyes of the whole world, is so
heroical, patriotic, and glorious. So, too, we sailed over the Zuger
Lake, which we had seen in the distance as we looked down from Rigi.
In Zug, I only remember some painted glass, inserted into the casement
of a chamber of the inn, not large to be sure, but excellent in its
way. Our route then led over the Albis into the Sihl valley, where, by
visiting a young Hanoverian, Von Lindau, who delighted to live there
in solitude, we sought to mitigate the vexation which he had felt some
time before in Zurich, at our declining the offer of his company not
in the most friendly or polite manner. The jealous friendship of the
worthy Passavant was really the reason of my rejecting the truly dear,
but inconvenient presence of another.
But before we descend again from these glorious heights, to the lake
and to the pleasantly situated city, I must make one more remark
upon my attempts to carry away some idea, of the country by drawing
and sketching. A habit from youth upward of viewing a landscape as
a picture, led me, whenever I observed any picturesque spot in the
natural scenery, to try and fix it, and so to preserve a sure memorial
of such moments. But having hitherto only exercised myself on confined
scenes, I soon felt the incompetency of my art for such a world.
The haste I was in at once compelled me to have recourse to a singular
expedient: scarcely had I noticed an interesting object, and with
light and very sketchy strokes drawn the outlines on the paper, than
I noted down, in words, the particular objects which I had no time to
catch and fill up with the pencil, and, by this means, made the scenes
so thoroughly present to my mind, that every locality, whenever I
afterwards wanted it for a poem or a story, floated at once before me
and was entirely at my command.
On returning to Zurich, I found the Stolbergs were gone; their stay in
this city had been cut short in a singular manner.
It must be confessed that travellers upon removing to a distance from
the restraints of home, are only too apt to think they are stepping
not only into an unknown, but into a perfectly free world; a delusion
which it was the more easy to indulge in at this time, as there was
not as yet any passports to be examined by the police, or any tolls
and suchlike checks and hindrances on the liberty of travellers, to
remind men that abroad they are subject to still worse and more painful
restraints than at home.
If the reader will only bear in mind this decided tendency to realize
the freedom of nature, he will be able to pardon the young spirits who
regarded Switzerland as the very place in which to "Idyllize" the fresh
independence of youth. The tender poems of Gessner, as well as his
charming sketches, seemed decidedly to justify this expectation.
In fact, bathing in wide waters, seems to be one of the best
qualifications for expressing such poetic talents. Upon our journey
thus far, such natural exercises had not seemed exactly suitable to
modern customs, and we had, in some degree, abstained from them. But,
in Switzerland, the sight of the cool stream,--flowing, running,
rushing, then gathering on the plain, and gradually spreading out to a
lake,--presented a temptation that was not to be resisted. I can not
deny that I joined my companions in bathing in the clear lake, but we
chose a spot far enough, as we supposed, from all human eyes. But naked
bodies shine a good way, and whoever chanced to see us doubtless took
offence.
[Side-note: Anecdote of the Stolbergs.]
The good innocent youths who thought it nowise shocking to see
themselves half naked, like poetic shepherds, or entirely naked, like
heathen deities, were admonished by their friends to leave off all
such practices. They were given to understand that they were living
not in primeval nature, but in a land where it was esteemed good and
salutary to adhere to the old institutions and customs which had
been handed down from the middle ages. They were not disinclined to
acknowledge the propriety of all this, especially as the appeal was
made to the middle ages, which, to them, seemed venerable as a second
nature. Accordingly, they left the more public lake shores, but when
in their walks through the mountains, they fell in with the clear,
rustling, refreshing streams, it seemed to them impossible, in the
middle of July, to abstain from the refreshing exercise. Thus, on
their wide sweeping walks, they came also to the shady vale, where the
Sihl, streaming behind the Albis, shoots down to empty itself into
the Limmat below Zurich. Far from every habitation, and even from all
trodden foot-paths, they thought there could be no objection here to
their throwing off their clothes and boldly meeting the foaming waves.
This was not indeed done without a shriek, without a wild shout of joy,
excited partly by the chill and partly by the satisfaction, by which
they thought to consecrate these gloomy, wooded rocks into an Idyllic
scene.
But, whether persons previously ill-disposed had crept after them,
or whether this poetic tumult called forth adversaries even in the
solitude, cannot be determined. Suffice it to say, stone after stone
was thrown at them from the motionless bushes above, whether by one or
more, whether accidentally or purposely, they could not tell; however,
they thought it wisest to renounce the quickening element and look
after their clothes.
No one got hit; they sustained no injury but the moral one of surprise
and chagrin, and full of young life as they were, they easily shook off
the recollection of this awkward affair.
But the most disagreeable consequences fell upon Lavater, who was
blamed for having given so friendly a welcome to such saucy youths, as
even to have arranged walks with them, and otherwise to shew attention
to persons whose wild, unbridled, unchristian, and even heathenish
habits, had caused so much scandal to a moral and well-regulated
neighbourhood.
Our clever friend, however, who well knew how to smooth over such
unpleasant occurrences, contrived to hush up this one also, and after
the departure of these meteoric travellers, we found, on our return,
peace and quiet restored.
In the fragment of Werther's travels, which has lately been reprinted
in the sixteenth volume of my works, I have attempted to describe this
contrast of the commendable order and legal restraint of Switzerland,
with that life of nature which youth in its delusions so loudly
demands. But, as people generally are apt to take all that the poet
advances without reserve for his decided opinions, or even didactic
censure, so the Swiss were very much offended at the comparison, and
I, therefore, dropped the intended continuation, which was to have
represented, more or less in detail, Werther's progress up to the
epoch of his sorrows, and which, therefore, would certainly have been
interesting to those who wish to study mankind.