"Still those white cliffs faintly glimmer,
Still I see my island home."--_Anon._
"Above me are the Alps,
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
And throned eternity in icy halls
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow!"
_Childe Harold._
Only those who have viewed the white cliffs of Albion sink beneath the
circumambient waters, only those who have left Old England on the lee in
their out-bound vessel, can fancy the unspeakable emotion, or depict the
melancholy feelings with which we first bid our island adieu. We are
islanders; all our ideas are severed like our land from other nations;
we glory in our insulated position; we glory in our insulated manners;
and there breathes not son nor daughter--or if they breathe they deserve
not the name of Briton--who does not acutely feel the first severing
from home. It is the feeling of the child weaned from the maternal
breast--the lover parted from his love--the dying man trembling as he is
launched on the sea of futurity; the firm land is gone--the known
exchanged for the unknown, or at least dimly shadowed future; above
angry skies--beneath unfathomed depths--around faithless waves--and
behind the land of our love fast receding, perhaps never to be seen
again, or seen when the fire of youth has smouldered low--the energy of
youth has been exchanged for the caution of age--and dull reality has
shown how vain the dreams of childhood! Looking on the receding shore we
feel all our friends are there, and all going away--there all our hopes,
our home, our affections. The vessel bears away our mortal frame; the
immortal soul lingers behind, nothing can bear it away, nor the heart
that is left behind, however far the foot may roam. How full are our
feelings, as we ask with the poet,--
"Who shall fill our vacant places?
Who shall sing our songs to-night?"
Such were the feelings of Ellen Ravensworth as the packet which bore
them left the quiet harbour of Newhaven, and in one minute plunged into
the restless, rolling billows of our channel. Having had to wait for the
tide, it was already growing dusk when they weighed anchor; the last
embers of dying day tipped the crested waves with an uncertain glimmer,
and the crescent moon hung in the only clear break of the sky over the
west, from which quarter rather a brisk breeze hurried the yeasty waves
past: it was, however, a mild, soft wind, and remarkably warm for the
season; so Ellen prevailed on her father to allow her to remain on deck,
and catch the last glimpse of her native island. Wrapt in a warm Scotch
plaid, in a half-reclining attitude, she leant over the vessel's side,
and watched her plough her way with full swelling sails towards France.
Beside her stood her father, talking to the captain, a bluff,
kindhearted sailor, who had voyaged over the round world, and was busily
engaged in detailing some of his adventures, or, as sailors would say,
spinning a long yarn. But Ellen heeded not their conversation; her heart
was far away, as from time to time she lifted her blue eyes, moist with
tears, on the lessening shores and giant chalk cliffs that loomed
ghost-like and mysteriously through the gloaming.
Though Scotch, Ellen had imbibed all the national feelings for those
white cliffs, associated from earliest times with this country's
history;--the same cliffs that beheld the ancient Briton paddle his
basket-work coracle,--the same cliffs that twice saw the haughty Roman
conqueror Julius Caesar,--that saw the Saxon with fair hair and blue eyes
land on the envied isle,--that beheld the fiery Dane,--the proud
Norman,--and, later still, the Spanish Armada sail by in false
vainglory,--later still the victorious Wellington welcomed home, whilst
drums played, "See the conquering hero comes." Though Scotch, Ellen felt
towards them a kindred love, as she saw and now lost them again in the
murky night, for the first time in her young life. England and Scotland
were one now: all petty distinctions were lost--all party failings, all
rancour forgotten; it was the same island, the same home; on its
dimly-seen shores were centred all her affections; her hopes and fears
were all there; her brother and sister; her relatives and friends; her
house and home. He, too, was there; he who had so cruelly deserted her;
he who had won her heart, and, when tired of it, thrown it away, as the
child flings his broken toy. Despite all, she loved, she adored him yet,
and to leave him gave the most venomed point to the shaft of affliction.
With heart full to bursting--so full it seemed as if a tight band was
drawn round it--and feelings those who have felt them know, but cannot
describe, she watched the red harbour-light dip often, and at last sink
beneath the bounding surges. And when all was gone, the last lingering
link broken, tears all unbidden fast coursed our heroine's cheek, and
she scarcely heard her father, who, fearing the effect of the cold night
air on his daughter, was anxious to hurry her below.
"It is getting cold, Ellen, dear; had you not better descend to the
cabin, now? Captain Hardy and I will assist you, as the sea is getting
pretty rough."
Ellen rose without answering; and, with the jolly captain's help, who
was only too glad to give his hand to the Scotch belle, and said many
pretty things, praising her as the best sailor he had ever taken across
the Channel, reached her berth.
The sea got rougher every minute, and the groaning and creaking of the
planks, the shrill whistling of the wind through the cordage, and the
occasional shout of the pilot, were sounds sufficient to instil terror
into landsmen's minds; but both Mr. Ravensworth and his daughter proved
excellent sailors; and Ellen's mind was too busy with other things to
bestow more than a passing thought on her present situation. Whilst her
father, with the captain and two other passengers, engaged in a friendly
rubber at whist over their grog, she amused herself by listening to the
chat of the stewardess, a pretty little Frenchwoman, whose vivacity
helped to dispel her sad thoughts, whilst it also gave her an
opportunity of testing her powers in French conversation, which, however
little it satisfied herself, was declared to be beyond all praise by the
Frenchwoman, with her natural politeness. Ellen was, however, a really
finished French scholar, and only required a month or two in Paris, as
her companion told her, to become quite perfect in pronunciation.
In a few hours, after a pleasant though somewhat rough passage, the
motion of the vessel ceased, and all the passengers hurried on deck, and
in the gray twilight of the early dawning reached Dieppe. There was
nothing peculiarly foreign in the appearance of this place, and, had it
not been for the French cries which assailed our travellers' ears, they
might have almost fancied themselves at Newhaven again, so similar was
the appearance of the chalk downs. After a cursory examination of
passports and baggage by the custom-house officers, who did everything
in the politest manner, our friends, accompanied by Jean Lacroix, their
courier, disembarked, and Ellen stood on foreign land. The porters of
the various cafes beset them on all sides, offering to carry monsieur's
luggage, and each recommending his own cafe or hotel. Jean, however, was
well up to his trade, and, engaging the right man, led his charges to a
small cafe on the quay side, where they might breakfast, and then
proceed to the post-house, and set out on their journey at once.
The first insight Ellen had into foreign life was not a very flattering
one: sour bread, and very indifferent milk and butter, accompanied,
however, with excellent coffee, composed their matutinal meal. Jean
begged mad'moiselle not to think Dieppe was like Paris.
On their way to the post-house, they passed the market-place, where
numbers of carts, and peasants in blue vestments, crowded the square; on
one side of which stood a fine Gothic cathedral; here, too, Ellen saw a
band of soldiers, in their red trousers, blue coats, and red caps. Their
full, leg-of-mutton-shaped trousers, slight figures drawn in tightly at
the waist, and rapid, undisciplined-looking march, contrasted with the
Highland regiments she had been accustomed to, certainly when weighed in
the balance of her mind were found wanting. The gay little soldiers
seemed to regard her tall figure with equal surprise. Ellen's first
insight into the French army was not very encouraging, but Jean assured
her the Cuirassiers in Paris were equal to any soldiers in the world.
By this time their travelling carriage was ready, and Ellen was not
sorry to turn her back on dirty little Dieppe. The carriage was large
and roomy, though not on the easiest springs in the world, drawn by four
noble horses, whose magnificent appearance required no courier to point
out as worthy her admiration; and she frankly acknowledged, to Jean's
delight, she had seen no post horses at all like them even in Old
England.
As it is not our intention to weary our reader with a journal of our
friends' travels to Switzerland, we shall briefly glance over the
journey.
Passing through a down country very like the south of Sussex or Kent,
their road soon became more interesting as they approached the rich
pastures and orchards for which Normandy is celebrated; and the tall
poplars which often fringed the road, and occasional glimpses of the
Seine, with its green islands, and now and then a vineyard on a southern
aspect, interested Ellen not a little during her first stage to Rouen.
In this fine old town she was doubly interested, by viewing the city
sacred to the memories of our Norman line, and the ill-fated Joan of
Arc; she saw also the tomb where the heart of Lion Richard lies, the
Cathedral of Notre Dame, and the fine church of St. Ouen. A longer day's
journey brought them to Paris, and so pretty was the country between,
that our heroine was almost sorry when the capital of la belle France
appeared. There they stayed two days, which they spent in seeing the
sights of this wonderful city--but as Switzerland was the point to which
they hurried, and Mr. Ravensworth was unwilling to lose the advantage of
the wonderfully fine warm weather in any town, he soon left the
dissipated city, and pushed on by long stages to Bale, which he reached
late on the evening of Saturday, and intended to spend Sunday there. It
was a beautiful evening, and Ellen was indeed charmed with the first
sight of the Rhine's broadly swelling breast of waters, rushing swiftly
beneath the very windows of their hotel. It was the largest river, of
course, she had ever seen, and its clear light green waters, eddying
round the pillars of the bridge, partly built of stone and partly of
wood, on account of the ice, impressed an image on her mind's eye time
would take long to obliterate, if it ever could. Bale seemed the first
really foreign looking town, and the houses not unlike those of the old
town of Edinburgh, though certainly more neat and clean, quite took the
love of her Caledonian mind.
On the following evening Ellen hailed Lucerne on its own beautiful lake;
and if Bale had pleased, Lucerne charmed her. Here they lingered a day
and saw the strange Kapell Bruecke, with its pictures of the deeds of
saints and warriors of Swiss celebrity, and, more wonderful still, the
monumental lion, sculptured out of the living rock in commemoration of
the brave Swiss guard, slaughtered in defending the Tuileries in 1792.
The aspect of the dying lion, with the broken spear in its side, from
which is welling his life-blood, yet defending in its dying agonies the
shield of France, is the most touching and beautiful design ever
perfected by art.
But it was not these, nor the pretty village, that charmed Ellen, it was
the lake so still, so green, so transparent--it was the mountain guards
that rose around--the rocky mountain where tradition says the unhappy
Pilate ended a miserable existence, and which still bears his name, and
is nearly always the resting-place of clouds, whilst every other hill
shows clear, as if an evil nature belonged to it--Rigi, cut out against
the clear blue sky, on whose summit yonder knoll, diminished by its
height to a mole-hill, is the grand hotel which wayfarers up this hill
rest at--and further up the lake still glimpses of the higher Alps of
Schwytz and Engelberg, with their diadems of everlasting snow;--it was
these, and other hills all mirrored in the still lake, that shone like
a looking-glass below, that charmed the Scotch eye, to which all
scenery, lacking the Scotch hills, is tame and domestic. Early next
morning, having procured a boat and two strong Swiss rowers, our
travellers were pulled up the lake as far as Kussnacht, a small Alpine
village at the foot of the Rigi, from which village they were to make
the ascent. Ellen, seated on a sure-footed Swiss pony, with a sturdy boy
to guide it, and Mr. Ravensworth and Jean with their Alpenstocks, both
excellent mountaineers, soon accomplished the ascent, neither very
difficult nor arduous; but ere they reached the summit they were
enveloped in clouds that drifted thicker and thicker around them, and
precluded all hopes of seeing the sunset; rather a disappointment, but a
very common one to Alpine mountain climbers. The merry conversation of a
large party composed of English, Germans, Americans, and a few French
and Italians, and the excellent table d'hote passed away a long evening
very happily, and all retired with the hopes that Sol would be more
auspicious next morning.
At five o'clock the shrill blasts of a Swiss horn roused every sleeper,
and wrapt in blankets or whatever they could easiest lay their hands
upon, a motley crew hastened to see the sun rise from the Kulm, or
summit. The morning air was clear as crystal, cold, and
invigorating,--all augured well. Not a cloud, not a misty wreath, not a
speck studded the blue arch of heaven. It was not darkness nor shadow,
but a clear obscurity that hung like a veil over nature; beneath, the
lakes were like a black mirror, the valleys dark; around, the snowy Alps
were clearly defined against the sky, and not a vestige of fog nor mist
lay on their sides; even Mont Pilate had for once dropped his cloudy
cap, and his sharp forehead of rocks was cut out against the dark
firmament. Above hung the morning star, and a thin silver thread, the
waning moon was dropping behind distant Jungfrau. About fifty people,
among whom we recognize Ellen and her father, watched for the sun with
all the earnestness of the Ghebers hastening to pay their morning
devotions to the god of day. Soon a growing brightness tinted the east
where the hills were lowest; and now it was no longer to the east, but
to the giant Alps of the Bernese chain westward that every eye is
turned, for there will be seen the first streak with which Pallantias'
finger shall stain nature. Soon the highest peak of the Bernese giants
catches the first rosy pink of dawn--then alp after alp owns the blush
of day, and flashes back the golden glory, and as the sun himself wheels
above the hills his beams are cast lower and lower; ridge after ridge
grows bright; even gloomy Pilate smiles in his ray, and the valleys
beneath with rivers, woods, and plains become more and more distinct,
till they burst into sunshine, and then the whole panorama above and
below revels in the warm beams, from the mighty Eiger, giant of Bern, to
the lakes from which mists now rise, and float like wool far beneath.
After a parting gaze our friends, in common with others, left the Kulm,
and after partaking of a cheerful breakfast, descended on the other side
of the Rigi to Weggis, where again they took a boat and rowed to the
summit of the lake, whose scenery grew still grander and more romantic
as they passed Tell's lovely chapel, and neared Fluellen, where they
took an early table d'hote, being desirous of hurrying forward to the
Hospenthal that day.
Leaving Fluellen about two o'clock they proceeded in an open carriage
drawn by three horses along a pretty road with fruit and walnut trees on
either side, Swiss chalets and mountains all covered with woods on the
left, and sloping fields running down on the right towards the river of
Reuss. The afternoon was intensely hot, and the sun beat down with
great fierceness into the valley; our travellers also were much annoyed
by gnats and gadflies. Passing the small village of Altorf, famous for
Tell's exploit, the road nears the Reuss, and is very pretty, owing to
the walnut trees that fringe its sides, till they reached Amstaeg where
horses were changed. The road then began gradually to ascend, crossing
the Reuss several times. The river now began to grow into a wild
mountain torrent, steeper grew the ascent now and steeper, and the Alps
closed in the valley, till it became a scene of wildness and great
desolation. Here and there the ragged rocks overhung the road, as it
toiled upwards, and often galleries were cut through ledges that crossed
the path. Upward still the carriage went, and light soon began to fail
them in the regions most dismal.
Ellen and her father now got out of the carriage, and walked up the
steep incline, leaving their vehicle behind them. As the road wound
round and round, they often saw it far below them, a speck on the white
road, dimly seen in the darkness growing every minute deeper, and
by-and-by the sharp crack of the driver's whip, that echoed like a
pistol shot, or the peculiar song of the Switzer who drove, with its
falsetto notes, only told them where it was, unless they caught a
glimpse of the lamps creeping upwards. Star after star broke out on
high, and soon the whole sky was one glorious canopy of flashing,
glittering lights, far more brilliant than Ellen had ever seen them in
the misty north. Soon they approached the part called the Devil's
Bridge, where a thin single arch spans the dismal gulf, through which
the impetuous stream now roared. Rent rocks on either side along whose
ridges ran their road, and the stream foaming in misty white
beneath--gloomy caverns through which from time to time lay their path,
beetling depths spanned by thread-like bridges, and high above the
spectral snow peaks, and rugged rocks on whose sterile sides not even
the pine could find sustenance; all presented a scene of savage
grandeur--lone, desolate, and loveless magnificence too nearly allied to
our heroine's state of mind, not to find in her a sympathizer. She took
a kind of melancholy delight in gazing on the gap of desolation through
which the mad torrent thundered, and only compared it to her own frame
of mind. At a late hour the travellers reached the Hospenthal, where a
comfortable supper awaited them. The sharp mountain air at this elevated
position sharpened all their appetites, and Mr. Ravensworth fancied he
already saw a change for the better in his daughter's appearance.
Instead of crossing the pass of St. Gothard, which was Mr. Ravensworth's
first intention, in order to see the north of Italy, Jean advised them
to take advantage of the cloudless fine weather and see the Alps better
by making the tour of the Oberland. Accordingly, next day having
procured ponies, as the carriage road went no further, they set off at
an early hour, and reaching Realp, crossed a small rivulet, and
proceeded on a mere bridle path along the steep sides of the Sidli Alp,
leaving St. Gothard and its glaciers behind them; and with Finstaarhorn
conspicuous among his lofty brethren in front, and the beautiful, but
ragged rocky peaks of the Galenstock on the right, ere long halted at
the Furca, where they rested an hour. Descending on the other side, with
the Finstaarhorn showing magnificently, every peak cut out against the
clear sky, they soon reached the Rhone glacier, taking its rise from the
shoulder of Galenstock, and, as in descending it filled the vale,
becoming more wonderful; from its white birthplace of eternal snows, to
the dirty moraine in which it ended, brindled, cracked, and split into
crevasses, emitting glorious blue rays of light, by its downward way
over the rocks whose hardened mass the huge glacier ground and
polished. Beneath from a cave of ice flowed the cold beginnings of the
blue exulting river of Geneva. It seemed a fit birthplace for the mighty
river, and as Ellen gazed on the Rhone's cold and icy cradle, still
frozen amid the green valley, still unthawing under the genial sunshine,
it seemed to emblematize her present position. Her heart was cold and
loveless as that icy glacier, yet from that chilling mass burst the
living waters that spread plenty over sunny plains; and she thought, and
it was a comforting thought, that perhaps from her misery might spring a
stream of events as glorious. Already her woe had softened her heart:
was it the beginning of the stream which should "make glad the city of
our God?"
Leaving the wonderful glacier that had awakened such thoughts, their
road now lay up a remarkably steep mountain side across a path rugged
with stones, and often down steps cut in the naked rock, till our party
reached the Lake of the Dead, a desolate and lonely sheet of water fed
by the snows, and so called from the bodies of unfortunate travellers
who lost their lives in the pass being thrown into its cold dark waters.
After passing this lake, and occasionally treading over masses of
eternal ice and snow, a steep and toilsome descent brought our weary
travellers to the Grimsel, a hospice lying in a small valley,
sufficiently elevated, however, to be beyond the region of vegetation.
After the rest of the night they again commenced their descent, and
after some hours again hailed some stunted trees; which increased in
size as they went lower, till they were once more surrounded by woods.
The Aar, down whose stream their path long lay, was gradually increasing
into a fine river, and at Handek Ellen saw the beautiful waterfall with
its iris hovering above in the midst of the waters. From thence the path
lay through verdant pastures and real Swiss pastoral scenery, numerous
little chalets dotting the green hill sides, which stretched upwards to
the everlasting snows. The peasants were busy at haymaking, and the
sweet breath of the hay, the tinkling of the flock's bells, or the wild
glee of some Swiss maiden, were all sweet and gentle sounds and sights
after the stern sublimity, and the roaring torrents they had so lately
left. A long but pleasant ride brought them to Reichenbach as the sun
was setting.
Early next day the trio started for Grindelwald, and on their way made a
slight detour to see the lovely glacier of Rosenlaui, under whose clear
ice cavern they went, and once more remarked the wonderful blue lights
of the crevasses and clefts. The scenery here was grand and beautiful in
the extreme; as the ponies wound their upward way Wellhorn and
glittering Wetterhorn filled the gap of the valley rough with woods.
Wetterhorn in shape like a pyramid of the most perfect form, the icy
crown sparkling like diamonds in the sun, defined with a clearness, not
to be credited till seen, against the cloudless dark blue sky. From
Grindelwald, where Ellen saw a noble dog of the Saint Bernard's breed,
they ascended the pass of the Great Scheideck and went over the Wengern
Alp, passing the very foot of the Virgin Jungfrau, with Wetterhorn,
Wellhorn, and the giant Eiger standing like sentinels around them as
they pryed into the secrets of the everlasting hills. On this day they
heard the thundering avalanche, and saw its shattered mass bound like a
cataract down the rocky precipices, with a roar we could not credit the
silver thread gliding down those black rocks capable of making, till we
remember that what seems like dust of snow is tons of solid ice, and
what look to us like grass or moss on the hillside, are mighty pines, so
much does vastness deceive our senses! Here, too, Ellen heard the melody
of the Swiss horn echoed in indescribable sweetness from the snowy
peaks--tossed from hill to vocal hill, till so attenuated does the
thread of tone become, the ear loses its "linked sweetness long drawn
out," yet knows not when it faded, and fancy prolongs the chord even
after the Alps have forgotten it. A tremendous pathway down the Wengern
alp, so steep that they had to leave their horses and pursue it on foot,
brought them to Lauterbrunnen, a wonderful valley with cliffs on all
sides, shut in by the now distant Jungfrau. Down the precipitous sides
glance many streams, conspicuous amongst all the Staubbach or Dust fall.
From this valley a pleasant drive of about nine miles brought our party
to Interlachen, where they stayed over the Sunday, and on Monday drove
along the banks of the lovely Lake of Thun, whose scenery was of a
softer nature and more like Ellen's native lochs. At any other time she
would probably have preferred this style to the sterile scenery they had
left, but now her mind rather dwelt on the grand and desolate region she
had lately seen, than on the softer beauty of Thun, and when they
reached Kandersteg Ellen hailed with delight the hoary Alps she now
looked on almost as friends.
Next day they rode up the Gemmi Pass, and when they had surmounted the
steep ascent, lunched at the desolate inn of the Schwarenbach, the scene
of a terrible murder, near the ice-fed waters of Dauben See; dismounting
they began the hazardous and wonderful descent of the Gemmi. The road
was not then, as now, defended by balustrades, and as the zigzag pathway
wound downwards round and round, it led them over the face of a
precipice to the valley below, and often made our heroine almost giddy
to look at the depths beneath, and the threatening rocks above, as she
seemed like a fly scaling down a wall. The scene and panorama were
splendid; beneath was the village of Leukerbad, the houses of which were
small as gravel in appearance, and in front the glorious chain of the
Alps separating Valais from Italy, Monte Rosa, Weisshorn, and the bare
rocky summit of the Matterhorn, or Mount Cervin, and a hundred lesser
peaks rose like clouds before, and presented one of the most wonderful
views abroad. At Leukerbad Mr. Ravensworth stayed a day to rest, and saw
the curious baths and echelles, or ladders, by which the people in the
valley communicate with a small village on the heights above. Thence a
fine drive down a road along the Dala brought them to Leuk, and crossing
the Rhone, now grown a considerable stream, but shorn of its beauty by
the debris of winter floods scattered around its many streams, they
gained the splendid Simplon road, along which easy stages brought them
to the head of Geneva, and Villeneuve, whence they proceeded to Vevay,
where they were to make a stay of a week.
Many an excursion did Ellen and her father make on blue Leman, and went
over the ground of Chillon, and many another place, made hallowed soil
by Byron's and Voltaire's, Rousseau's and Gibbon's genius. Childe Harold
was the text-book on these occasions. It was on one of these excursions
Ellen fell in with her old friends, Lord and Lady Arranmore, who were
touring Geneva on their way home from Naples. English people naturally
draw together when abroad; and Ellen and the young Marchioness used to
make many an evening ramble together, while the Marquis and Mr.
Ravensworth rode out in the surrounding country. From Vevay the whole
party travelled together to Geneva, where they put up at the same hotel,
and were to stay a week also; here again their excursions continued. The
eventful nature of one of these evening sails demands another chapter,
in consequence of the influence it has on the history of our heroine.