The Swiss Mountain Passes.--Excursion in the neighbourhood of
Vévey.--Castle of Blonay.--View from the Terrace.--Memory and
Hope.--Great Antiquity of Blonay.--The Knight's Hall.--Prospect from the
Balcony.--Departure from Blonay.--A Modern Chateau.--Travelling on
Horseback.--News from America.--Dissolution of the Union predicted.--The
Prussian Polity.--Despotism in Prussia.
Dear ----,
You may have gathered from my last letters that I do not rank the path
of the Great St. Bernard among the finest of the Swiss mountain passes.
You will remember, however, that we saw but little of the Italian side,
where the noblest features and grandest scenes on these roads are
usually found. The Simplon would not be so very extraordinary, were it
confined to its Swiss horrors and Swiss magnificence, though, by the
little I have seen of them, I suspect that both the St. Gothard and the
Splugen do a little better on their northern faces. The pass by Nice is
peculiar, being less wild and rocky than any other, while it possesses
beauties entirely its own (and extraordinary beauties they are), in the
constant presence of the Mediterranean, with its vast blue expanse,
dotted with sails of every kind that the imagination can invent. It has
always appeared to me that poets have been the riggers of that sea.
C---- and myself were too _mountaineerish_ after this exploit to remain
contented in a valley, however lovely it might be, and the next day we
sallied forth on foot, to explore the hill-side behind Vévey. The road
led at first through narrow lanes, lined by vineyards; but emerging from
these, we soon came out into a new world, and one that I can compare to
no other I have ever met with. I should never tire of expatiating on the
beauties of this district, which really appear to be created expressly
to render the foreground of one of the sublimest pictures on earth
worthy of the rest of the piece.
It was always mountain, but a mountain so gradual of ascent, so vast,
and yet so much like a broad reach of variegated low land, in its
ornaments, cultivation, houses, villages, copses, meadows, and vines,
that it seemed to be a huge plain canted into a particular inclination,
in order to give the spectator a better opportunity to examine it in
detail, and at his leisure, as one would hold a picture to the proper
light. Some of the ascents, nevertheless, were sufficiently sharp, and
more than once we were glad enough to stop to cool ourselves, and to
take breath. At length, after crossing some lovely meadows, by the
margin of beautiful woods, we came out at the spot which was the goal we
had aimed at from the commencement of the excursion. This was the castle
of Blonay, of whose picturesque site and pleasant appearance I have
already spoken in my letters, as a venerable hold that stands about a
league from the town, on one of the most striking positions of the
mountain.
The family of Blonay has been in possession of this place for seven
hundred years. One branch of it is in Sardinia; but I suppose its head
is the occupant of the house, or castle. As the building was historical,
and the De Blonays of unquestionable standing, I was curious to examine
the edifice, since it might give me some further insight into the
condition of the old Swiss nobility. Accordingly we applied for
admission, and obtained it without difficulty.
The Swiss castles, with few exceptions, are built on the breasts, or
spurs, of mountains. The immediate foundation is usually a rock, and the
sites were generally selected on account of the difficulties of the
approach. This latter peculiarity, however, does not apply so rigidly to
Blonay as to most of the other holds of the country, for the rock which
forms its base serves for little else than a solid foundation. I presume
one of the requisites of such a site was the difficulty or
impossibility of undermining the walls, a mode of attack that existed
long before gunpowder was known.
The buildings of Blonay are neither extensive nor very elaborate. We
entered by a modest gateway in a retired corner, and found ourselves at
once in a long, narrow, irregular court. On the left was a _corps de
bâtiment_, that contained most of the sleeping apartments, and a few of
the others, with the offices; in front was a still older wing, in which
was the knight's hall, and one or two other considerable rooms; and on
the right was the keep, an old solid tower, that was originally the
nucleus and parent of all the others, as well as a wing that is now
degraded to the duties of a storehouse. These buildings form the circuit
of the court, and complete the edifice; for the side next the mountain,
or that by which we entered, had little besides the ends of the two
lateral buildings and the gate. The latter was merely a sort of
chivalrous back-door, for there was another between the old tower and
the building of the knight's hall, of more pretension, and which was
much larger. The great gate opens on a small elevated terrace, that is
beautifully shaded by fine trees, and which commands a view, second, I
feel persuaded, to but few on earth. I do not know that it is so
perfectly exquisite as that we got from the house of Cardinal Rufo, at
Naples, and yet it has many admirable features that were totally wanting
to the Neapolitan villa. I esteem these two views as much the best that
it has ever been my good fortune to gaze at from any dwelling, though
the beauties of both are, as a matter of course, more or less shared by
all the houses in their respective neighbourhoods. The great
carriage-road, as great carriage-roads go on such a mountain-side, comes
up to this gate, though it is possible to enter also by the other.
Blonay, originally, must have been a hold of no great importance, as
neither the magnitude, strength, nor position of the older parts, is
sufficient to render the place one to be seriously assailed or
obstinately defended. Without knowing the fact, I infer that its
present interest arises from its great antiquity, coupled with the
circumstance of its having been possessed by the same family for so long
a period. Admitting a new owner for each five-and-twenty years, the
present must be somewhere about the twenty-fifth De Blonay who has lived
on this spot!
A common housemaid showed us through the building, but, unfortunately,
to her it was a house whose interest depended altogether on the number
of floors there were to be scrubbed, and windows to be cleaned. This
labour-saving sentiment destroys a great deal of excellent poetry and
wholesome feeling, reducing all that is venerable and romantic to the
level of soap and house-cloths. I dare say one could find many more
comfortable residences than this, within a league of Vévey; perhaps "Mon
Repos" has the advantage of it, in this respect: but there must be a
constant, quiet, and enduring satisfaction, with one whose mind is
properly trained, in reflecting that he is moving, daily and hourly,
through halls that have been trodden by his fathers for near a thousand
years! Hope is a livelier, and, on the whole, a more useful, because a
more stimulating, feeling, than that connected with memory; but there is
a solemn and pleasing interest clinging about the latter, that no
buoyancy of the first can ever equal. Europe is fertile of
recollections; America is pregnant with hope. I have tried hard, aided
by the love which is quickened by distance, as well as by the
observations that are naturally the offspring of comparison, to draw
such pictures of the latter for the future, as may supplant the pictures
of the past that so constantly rise before the mind in this quarter of
the world; but, though reasonably ingenious in castle-building, I have
never been able to make it out. I believe laziness lies at the bottom of
the difficulty. In our moments of enjoyment we prefer being led, to
racking the brain for invention. The past is a fact; while, at the best,
the future is only conjecture. In this case the positive prevails over
the assumed, and the imagination finds both and easier duty, and all it
wants, in throwing around the stores of memory, the tints and
embellishments that are wanting to complete the charm. I know little of
the history of Blonay, beyond the fact of its great antiquity, nor is it
a chateau of remarkable interest as a specimen of the architecture and
usages of its time; and yet, I never visited a modern palace, with half
the intense pleasure with which I went through this modest abode. Fancy
had a text, in a few unquestionable facts, and it preached copiously on
their authority. At Caserta, or St. Cloud, we admire the staircases,
friezes, salons, and marbles, but I never could do anything with your
kings, who are so much mixed up with history, as to leave little to the
fancy; while here, one might imagine not only time, but all the various
domestic and retired usages that time brings forth.
The Ritter Saal, or Knight's Hall, of Blonay has positive interest
enough to excite the dullest mind. Neither the room nor its ornaments
are very peculiar of themselves, the former being square, simple, and a
good deal modernized, while the latter was such as properly belonged to
a country gentleman of limited means. But the situation and view form
its great features; for all that has just been said of the terrace, can
be better said of this room. Owing to the formation of the mountain, the
windows are very high above the ground, and at one of them is a balcony,
which, I am inclined to think, is positively without a competitor in
this beautiful world of ours. Cardinal Rufo has certainly no such
balcony. It is _le balcon des balcons_.
I should despair of giving you a just idea of the mingled magnificence
and softness of the scene that lies stretched before and beneath the
balcony of Blonay. You know the elements of the view already,--for they
are the same mysterious glen, or valley, the same blue lake, the same
_côtes_, the same solemn and frowning rocks, the same groupings of
towers, churches, hamlets, and castles, of which I have had such
frequent occasion to speak in these letters. But the position of Blonay
has about it that peculiar nicety, which raises every pleasure to
perfection. It is neither too high, nor too low; too retired, nor too
much advanced; too distant, nor too near. I know nothing of M. de Blonay
beyond the favourable opinion of the observant Jean, the boatman, but he
must be made of flint, if he can daily, hourly, gaze at the works of the
Deity as they are seen from this window, without their producing a
sensible and lasting effect on the character of his mind. I can imagine
a man so far _blasé_, as to pass through the crowd of mites, who are his
fellows, without receiving or imparting much; but I cannot conceive of a
heart, whose owner can be the constant observer of such a scene, without
bending in reverence to the hand that made it. It would be just as
rational to suppose one might have the Communion of St. Jerome hanging
in his drawing-room, without ever thinking of Domenichino, as to believe
one can be the constant witness of these natural glories without
thinking of God.
I could have liked, above all things, to have been in this balcony
during one of the fine sunsets of this season of the year. I think the
creeping of the shadows up the acclivities, the growing darkness below,
and the lingering light above, with the exquisite arabesques of the
rocks of Savoy, must render the scene even more perfect than we found
it.
Blonay is surrounded by meadows of velvet, the verdure reaching its very
walls, and the rocks that occasionally do thrust their heads above the
grass, aid in relieving rather than in lessening their softness. There
are just enough of them to make a foreground that is not unworthy of the
rocky belt which encircles most of the picture, and to give a general
idea of the grand geological formation of the whole region.
We left Blonay with regret, and not without lingering some time on its
terrace, a spot in which retirement is better blended with a bird's eye
view of men and their haunts, than any other I know. One is neither in
nor out of this world at such a spot; near enough to enjoy its
beauties, and yet so remote as to escape its blemishes. In quilting the
castle, we met a young female of simple lady-like carriage and attire,
whom I saluted as the Lady of Blonay, and glad enough we were to learn
from an old dependant, whom we afterwards fell in with, that the
conjecture was true. One bows with reverence to the possessor of such an
abode.
From Blonay we crossed the meadows and orchards, until we hit a road
that led us towards the broad terrace that lies more immediately behind
Vévey. We passed several hamlets, which lie on narrow stripes of land
more level than common, a sort of _shelves_ on the broad breast of the
mountain, and which were rural and pretty. At length we came to the
object of our search, a tolerably spacious modern house, that is called
a _château_, and whose roofs and chimneys had often attracted our eyes
from the lake. The place was French in exterior, though the grounds were
more like those of Germany than those of France. The terrace is
irregular but broad, and walks wind prettily among woods and copses.
Altogether, the place is quite modern and much more extensive than is
usual in Switzerland. We did not presume to enter the house, but,
avoiding a party that belonged to the place, we inclined to the left,
and descended, through the vines, to the town.
The true mode to move about this region is on horseback. The female in
particular, who has a good seat, possesses a great advantage over most
of her sex, if she will only improve it; and all things considered, I
believe a family could travel through the cantons in no other manner so
pleasantly; always providing that the women can ride. By riding,
however, I do not mean sticking on a horse, by dint of rein and
clinging, but a seat in which the fair one feels secure and entirely at
her ease. Otherwise she may prove to be the _gazee_ instead of the
gazer.
On my return home, I went to a reading-room that I have frequented
during our residence here, where I found a good deal of feeling excited
by the news from America. The Swiss, I have told you, with very few
exceptions, wish us well, but I take it nothing would give greater
satisfaction to a large majority of the upper classes in most of the
other countries of Europe, than to hear that the American republic was
broken up: if buttons and broadcloths could be sent after us, it is not
too much to add, or sent to the nether world. This feeling does not
proceed so much from inherent dislike to us, as to our institutions. As
a people, I rather think we are regarded with great indifference by the
mass; but they who so strongly detest our institutions and deprecate our
example, cannot prevent a little personal hatred from mingling with
their political antipathies. Unlike the woman who was for beginning her
love "with a little aversion," they begin with a little philanthropy,
and end with a strong dislike for all that comes from the land they
hate. I have known this feeling carried so far as to refuse credit even
to the productions of the earth! I saw strong evidences of this truth,
among several of the temporary _habitués_ of the reading-room in
question, most of whom were French. A speedy dissolution of the American
Union was proclaimed in all the journals, on account of some fresh
intelligence from the other side of the Atlantic; and I dare say that,
at this moment, nine-tenths of the Europeans, who think at all on the
subject, firmly and honestly believe that our institutions are not worth
two years' purchase. This opinion is very natural, because falsehood is
so artfully blended with truth, in what is published, that it requires a
more intimate knowledge of the country to separate them, than a stranger
can possess. I spent an hour to-day in a fruitless attempt to
demonstrate to a very sensible Frenchman that nothing serious was to be
apprehended from the present dispute, but all my logic was thrown away,
and nothing but time will convince him of that which he is so strongly
predisposed not to believe. They rarely send proper diplomatic men
among us, in the first place; for a novel situation like that in America
requires a fertile and congenial mind,--and then your diplomatist is
usually so much disposed to tell every one that which he wishes to hear!
We mislead, too, ourselves, by the exaggerations of the opposition. Your
partizan writes himself into a fever, and talks like any other man whose
pulse is unnatural. This fact ought to be a matter of no surprise, since
it is one of the commonest foibles of man to dislike most the evils that
press on him most; although an escape from them to any other might even
entail destruction. It is the old story of King Log and King Stork. As
democracy is in the ascendant, they revile democracy, while we all feel
persuaded we should be destroyed, or muzzled, under any other form of
government. A few toad-eaters and court butterflies excepted, I do not
believe there is a man in all America who could dwell five years in any
country in Europe, without being made sensible of the vast superiority
of his own free institutions over those of every other Christian nation.
I have been amused of late, by tracing, in the publications at home, a
great and growing admiration for the Prussian polity! There is something
so absurd in an American's extolling such a system, that it is scarcely
possible to say where human vagaries are to end. The Prussian government
is a _despotism_; a mode of ruling that one would think the world
understood pretty well by this time. It is true that the government is
mildly administered, and hence all the mystifying that we hear and read
about it. Prussia is a kingdom compounded of heterogenous parts; the
north is Protestant, the south Catholic; the nation has been overrun in
our own times, and the empire dismembered. Ruled by a king of an amiable
and paternal disposition, and one who has been chastened by severe
misfortunes, circumstances have conspired to render his sway mild and
useful. No one disputes, that the government which is controlled by a
single will, when that will is pure, intelligent, and just, is the best
possible. It is the government of the universe, which is perfect
harmony. But men with pure intentions, and intelligent and just minds,
are rare, and more rare among rulers, perhaps, than any other class of
men. Even Frederic II, though intelligent enough, was a tyrant. He led
his subjects to slaughter for his own aggrandizement. His father,
Frederic William, used to compel tall men to marry tall women. The time
for the latter description of tyranny may be past, but oppression has
many outlets, and the next king may discover some of them. In such a
case his subjects would probably take refuge in a revolution and a
constitution, demanding guarantees against this admirable system, and
blow the new model-government to the winds!
Many of our people are like children who, having bawled till they get a
toy, begin to cry to have it taken away from them. Fortunately the heart
and strength of the nation, its rural population, is sound and
practical, else we might prove ourselves to be insane as well as
ridiculous.