EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820

_Monday, July 10th, 1820._--We--William, Mary, and Dorothy

Wordsworth--left the Rectory House, Lambeth, at a quarter to eight

o'clock. Had the "Union" coach to ourselves, till within two stages of

Canterbury, when two young ladies demanded inside places.... The

Cathedral of Canterbury, described by Erasmus as lifting itself up in

"such majesty towards heaven, that it strikes religion into the

beholders from a distance," looks stately on the plain, when first seen

from the gently descending road, and appeared to me a much finer

building than in former times; and I felt, as I had often done during my

last abode in London, that, whatever change, tending to melancholy,

twenty years might have produced, they had called forth the capacity of

enjoying the sight of ancient buildings to which my youth was,

comparatively, a stranger. Between London and Canterbury the scenes are

varied and cheerful; first Blackheath, and its bordering villas, and

shady trees; goats, asses, sheep, etc., pasturing at large near the

houses. The Thames glorious; ships like castles, cutting their way as

through green meadows, the river being concealed from view; then it

spreads out like a wide lake, scattered over with vessels.

_Dover, Tuesday, July 11th._--We walked to the Castle before breakfast.

The building, when you are close to it, appears even _sublime_, from

its immense height and bulk; but it is not rich or beautiful in

architecture. The old warder stood in waiting upon the hill to lead us

forward. After ascending above a hundred stone steps, we were greeted by

the slender tinkling of a bell, a delicately wild sound in that place.

It is fixed at the top of a pillar, on which is inscribed a poetical

petition in behalf of the prisoners confined above in the Castle.

_Calais, Tuesday, July 11th._--Landed on the shores of France at

half-past one. What shall I say of Calais? I looked about for what I

remembered, and looked for new things, and in both quests was

gratified.... On my bedroom door is inscribed "Sterne's Room," and a

print of him hangs over the fireplace. The walls painted in panels,

handsome carpets, chimney-piece marble-coloured, hearth red,

bed-curtains white, sheets coarse, coverlet a mixture of cotton and

woollen, beautifully white; but how clumsy all contrivances of braziers

and smiths! The bell hangs on the outside of the wall, and gives a

single, loud, dull stroke when pulled by the string, so that you must

stand and pull four or five times, as if you were calling the people to

prayers.

_Calais, Wednesday, July 12th._--We rose at five; sunshine and clear,

but rather cold air. The Cathedral, a large edifice, not finely wrought;

but the first effect is striking, from the size of the numerous pillars

and arches, though they are paltry in the finishing, merely whitewashed

and stuck over with bad pictures and tawdry images; yet the whole view

at the entrance was affecting. Old men and women--_young_ women and

girls kneeling at their silent prayers, and some we espied, in obscure

recesses, before a concealed crucifix, image, or altar. One grey-haired

man I cannot forget, whose countenance bore the impression of worldly

cares subdued, and peace in heavenly aspiration.... Another figure I

must not leave unnoticed, a squalid, ragged woman. She sate alone upon

some steps at the side of the entrance to the quire. There she sate,

with a white dog beside her; no one was near, and the dog and she

evidently belonged to each other, probably her only friend, for never

was there a more wretchedly forlorn and miserable-looking human being.

She did not notice us; but her rags and her sickly aspect drew a penny

from me, and the change in the woman's skinny, doleful face is not to be

imagined: it was brightened by a light and gracious smile--the effect

was almost as of something supernatural--she bowed her body, waved her

hand, and, with a politeness of gesture unknown in England in almost any

station of life, beckoned that we might enter the church, where the

people were kneeling upon chairs, of which there might be a

thousand--_two_ thousand--I cannot say how many--piled up in different

parts of the Cathedral....

_9 o'clock, Inn-yard, Calais._--Off we drove, preceded by our friends,

each postilion smacking his whip along the street with a dexterity truly

astonishing. Never before did I know the power of a clumsy whip, in

concert with the rattling of wheels upon rough pavement! The effect was

certainly not less upon the spectators, and we jolted away as merry as

children--showed our passports--passed the gateways, drawbridges, and

shabby soldiers, and, fresh to the feeling of being in a foreign land,

drove briskly forward, watchful and gay. The country for many miles

populous; this makes it amusing, though sandy and flat; no trees worth

looking at singly _as_ trees....

_Half-past 10._--The party gone to bed. This _salle_, where I sit, how

unlike a parlour in an English inn! Yet the history of a sea-fight, or a

siege, painted on the walls, with the costumes of Philip the Second, or

even of our own time, would have better suited my associations, with the

names of Gravelines and Dunkirk, than the story of Cupid and Psyche now

before my eyes, as large as life, on French paper! The paper is in

panels, with big mirrors between, in gilt frames. With all this taste

and finery, and wax candles,[38] and Brussels carpets, what a mixture of

troublesome awkwardness! They brought us a ponderous teapot that would

not pour out the tea; the latches (with metal enough to fasten up a

dungeon) can hardly, by unpractised hands, be made to open and shut the

doors! I have seen the diligence come into the yard and unload--heavy,

dirty, dusty--a lap-dog walking about the top, like a panther in its

cage, and viewing the gulf below. A monkey was an outside passenger when

it departed.

[Footnote 38: A charge was made for wax candles.--D. W.]

_Furnes, July 13th, Thursday, 5 o'clock._--I will describe this Square.

Houses yellow, grey, white, and _there_ is a green one! Yet the effect

is not gaudy--a half Grecian church, with Gothic spire; storks have

built their nests, and are sitting upon the venerable tower of another

church, a sight that pleasingly reminds us of our neighbourhood to

Holland. The interior of that which outwardly mimics the Grecian is

Gothic, and rather handsome in form, but whitewashed, and bedaubed with

tinsel, and dolls, and tortured images.... Bells continually tinkling.

_There_ goes a woman to her prayers, in a long black cloak, and bright

blue stockings; _here_ comes a nicely-dressed old woman, leaning on her

staff! Surely it is a blessing to the aged in Roman Catholic countries

to have the churches always open for them, if it were only that it makes

a variety in the course of a long day! How soothing, how natural to the

aged, thus to withdraw from the stir of household cares, and occupations

in which they can no longer take a part! and I must say (little as I

have yet seen of this mode of worshipping God) I never beheld more of

the expression of piety and earnest feeling than in some of the very old

people in these churches. Every avenue of the square of this town

presents some picturesque continuation of buildings. All is old, and

old-_fashioned_; nothing to complain of but a want of Dutch cleanliness,

yet it does not obtrude on the eye, out of doors, and the exterior is

grave, decent, and quiet....

The priests in their gaudy attire, with their young white-robed

attendants, made a solemn appearance, while clouds of incense were

ascending over their heads to the large crucifix above the altar; and

the "pealing organ" sounded to the "full-voiced quire." There was a

beautiful nun in a grey garment with a long black scarf, white forehead

band, belt, and rosary. Intent upon her devotions, she did not cast an

eye towards us, and we stood to look at her. The faces of many of the

women are handsome, but the steady grace, the chastened motions of their

persons, and the mild seriousness of their countenances, are _most_

remarkable....

From Furnes to Bruges we had travelled through a flat country, yet with

an endless variety, produced by the various produce of a beautiful soil

carefully cultivated. We had been told that the country between Ghent

and Bruges was much of the same kind, only not so interesting, therefore

we were not sorry to interpose the variety of the packet-boat to

Ghent.... And, when all was ready, took our places on the deck of the

vessel. The tinkling of a bell, the signal for departure; and we glided

gently away with motion only perceptible by the _eye_, looking at the

retreating objects on the shore.... Two nuns and a priest (his

prayer-book in his hand), an English dandy, a handsome lady-like Flemish

girl, dressed in an elegant gauze mob-cap with flowers, and robe _à la

française_, were the most noticeable people.... The groups under the

awning would make a lively picture. The priest, in his cocked hat,

standing at his prayers, the pretty maiden in her cap and flowers, and

_there_ are the nuns. My brother and the nuns are very merry. _They_

seem to have left their prayer-books at home, and one of them has a

pamphlet in her hand that looks like a magazine. Low cottages, pretty

and clean, close to the bank; a woman scouring a copper vessel, in white

jacket, red cap, blue petticoat, and clean sailcloth apron; the flat

country to be seen over the low banks of the canal, spires and towers,

and sometimes a village may be descried among trees; many little

public-houses to tempt a landing; near one I see a pleasant arbour, with

seats aloft for smoking.... The nuns are merry; so is the priest, in his

spectacles; the dandy recommends shoes, in preference to boots, as more

convenient. "There is nobody that can clean either on the Continent."

For my part, I think they clean _them_ as well as anything else, except

their vessels for cookery! they cannot get the dust out of a chair, or

_rub_ a table!... William and I remained till the carriages were safely

landed, amid a confusion of tongues, French, German, and English, and

inarticulate shoutings, such as belong to all nations.... Canals round

the town, rows of trees, fortifications converted into pleasure-grounds.

We pass through old and picturesque streets, with an intermixture of

houses of a later date, and showy shops; an appearance of commerce and

bustle, which makes the contrast with Bruges the more striking, as the

architecture of the ancient houses is of the same kind. William and I,

with our English lady, reached first the appointed inn, though our

friends had left the boat long before us....

_Ghent._--After tea, walked through the city. The buildings, streets,

squares, all are picturesque. The houses, green, blue, pink, yellow,

with richest ornaments still varying. Strange it is that so many and

such strongly-contrasted colours should compose an undiscordant whole.

Towers and spires overlook the lofty houses, and nothing is wanting of

venerable antiquity at Ghent to give to the mind the same melancholy

composure, which cannot but be felt in passing through the streets of

Bruges--nothing but the impression that no change is going on, except

through the silent progress of time. _There_ the very dresses of the

women might have been the same for hundreds of years. _Here_, though the

black cloak is prevalent, we see a mixture of all kinds, from the dress

of the English or French belle to that of the poorest of our poor in a

country town....

_Saturday, July 15th._--The architecture is a mixture of Gothic and

Grecian. Three orders of pillars, one above another, the Gothic part

very rich.... Multitudes of swallows were wheeling round the roof,

regardless of carts and hammers, or whatever noise was heard below, and

the effect was indescribably interesting. The restless motions and

plaintive call of those little creatures seemed to impart a stillness to

every other object, and had the power to lead the imagination gently on

to the period when that once superb but now decaying structure shall be

"lorded over and possessed by nature."...

_Arrival at Brussels._--Light and shade very solemn upon the drawbridge.

Passing through a heavy gateway, we entered the city, and drove through

street after street with a pleasure wholly new to us. Garlands of fresh

boughs and flowers in festoons hung on each side, and the great height

of the houses, especially in the narrow streets (lighted as they were),

gave a beautiful effect to the exhibition. Some of the streets were very

steep, others long or winding; and in the triangular openings at the

junction of different streets there was generally some stately ornament.

For instance, in one place a canopy, with white drapery attached to the

centre, and suspended in four inverted arches by means of four pillars

at the distance of six or seven yards from the centre.

_Sunday, July 16th._--_Brussels._--After breakfast, proceeded through

the park, a very large open space with shady walks, statues, fountains,

pools, arbours, and seats, and surrounded by palaces and fine houses--to

the Cathedral, which, though immensely large, was so filled with people

that we could scarcely make our way so as, by standing upon chairs (for

which we paid two sous each), to have a view of the building over the

multitudes of heads. The priests, at high mass, could not be seen; but

the melody of human voices, accompanied by the organ, pierced through

every recess--then came bursts of sound like thunder; and, at times, the

solemn rousing of the trumpet. Powerful as was the effect of the music,

the excessive heat and crowding after a short while overcame every other

feeling, and we were glad to go into the open air. Our _laquais de

place_ conducted us to the house of a shopkeeper, where, from a room in

the attics, we might view the procession. It was close to one of the

triangular openings with which most of the streets of Brussels

terminate. To the right, we looked down the street along which the

procession was to come, and, a little to the left below us, overlooked

the triangles, in the centre of which was a fountain ornamented with

three marble statues, and a pillar in the midst, topped by a golden

ball--the whole decorated with festoons of holly, and large roses made

of paper, alternately red and yellow. In like manner the garlands were

composed in all the streets through which the procession was to pass;

but in some parts there were also young fir-trees stuck in the pavement,

leaving a foot-way between them and the houses. Paintings were hung out

by such as possessed them, and ribands and flags. The street where we

were was lined with people assembled like ourselves in expectation, all

in their best attire. Peasants to be distinguished by their short

jackets, petticoats of scarlet or some other bright colour (in

contrast), crosses, or other ornament of gold or gilding; the

bourgeoises, with black silk scarfs overhead, and reaching almost to

their feet; ladies, a little too much of the French or English; little

girls, with or without caps, and some in elegant white veils. The

windows of all the houses open, and people seen at full length, or

through doorways, sitting, or standing in patient expectation. It amused

us to observe _them_, and the arrangements of their houses--which were

even splendid, compared with those of persons of like condition in our

own country--with an antique cast over all. Nor was it less amusing to

note the groups or lines of people below us. Whether standing in the hot

sunshine, or the shade, they appeared equally contented. Some approached

the fountain--a sacred spot!--to drink of the pure waters, out of which

rise the silent statues. The spot is sacred; for there, before the

priests arrived in the procession, incense was kindled in the urns, and

a pause was made with the canopy of the Host, while they continued

chanting the service. But I am going too fast.

The procession was, in its beginning, military, and its approach

announced by sound of trumpets. Then came a troop of cavalry, four

abreast, splendidly accoutred, dressed in blue and gold, and accompanied

by a full band of music; next, I think, the magistrates and constituted

authorities. But the order of the procession I do not recollect; only

that the military, civil, and religious authorities and symbols were

pleasingly combined, and the whole spectacle was beautiful. Long before

the sound of the sacred service reached our ears, the martial music had

died away in the distance, though there was no interruption in the line

of the procession. The contrast was very pleasing when the solemn

chaunting came along the street, with the stream of banners; priests and

choristers in their appropriate robes; and not the least pleasing part

of it was a great number of young girls, two and two, all dressed in

white frocks. It was a day made on purpose for this exhibition; the sun

seemed to be feasting on the gorgeous colours and glittering banners;

and there was no breeze to disturb garland or flower. When all was

passed away, we returned to the Cathedral, which we found not so crowded

as much to interrupt our view: yet the whole effect of the interior was

much injured by the decorations for the fête--especially by stiff

orange-trees in tubs, placed between the pillars of the aisles. Though

not equal to those of Bruges or Ghent, it is a very fine Gothic

building, massy pillars and numerous statues, and windows of painted

glass--an ornament which we have been so accustomed to in our own

cathedrals that we lamented the want of it at Ghent and Bruges.

_Monday, July 17th._--_Brussels._--Brussels exhibits in its different

quarters the stateliness of the ancient and the princely splendour of

modern times, mixed with an uncouth irregularity, resembling that of the

lofty tiers of houses at Edinburgh; but the general style of building in

the old streets is by no means so striking as in those of Ghent or

Bruges....

_Waterloo._--Waterloo is a mean village; straggling on each side of the

broad highway, children and poor people of all ages stood on the watch

to conduct us to the church. Within the circle of its interior are found

several mural monuments of our brave soldiers--long lists of naked names

inscribed on marble slabs--not less moving than laboured epitaphs

displaying the sorrow of surviving friends.... Here we took up the very

man who was Southey's guide (Lacoste), whose name will make a figure in

history. He bowed to us with French ceremony and liveliness, seeming

proud withal to show himself as a sharer in the terrors of that time

when Buonaparte's confusion and overthrow released him from unwilling

service. He had been tied upon a horse as Buonaparte's guide through the

country previous to the battle, and was compelled to stay by his side

till the moment of flight....

_Monday, July 17th._--_Brussels._--The sky had been overshadowed by

clouds during most of our journey, and now a storm threatened us, which

helped our own melancholy thoughts to cast a gloom over the open

country, where few trees were to be seen except forests on the distant

heights. The ruins of the severely contested chateau of Hougomont had

been ridded away since the battle, and the injuries done to the

farm-house repaired. Even these circumstances, natural and trivial as

they were, suggested melancholy thoughts, by furnishing grounds for a

charge of ingratitude against the course of things, that was thus

hastily removing from the spot all vestiges of so momentous an event.

Feeble barriers against this tendency are the few frail memorials

erected in different parts of the field of battle! and we could not but

anticipate the time, when through the flux and reflux of war, to which

this part of the Continent has always been subject, or through some turn

of popular passion, _these_ also should fall; and "Nature's universal

robe of green, humanity's appointed shroud," enwrap them:--and the very

names of those whose valour they record be cast into shade, if not

obliterated even in their own country, by the exploits of recent

favourites in future ages.

_Tuesday, July 18th._--_Namur._--Before breakfast we went to the church

of the Jesuits; beautiful pillars of marble, roof of pumice-stone

curiously wrought, the colour chaste and sombre. The churches of Ghent

and Bruges are injured by being whitewashed: that of Brussels is of a

pale grey, or stone-colour, which has a much better effect, though

nothing equal to the roof of the Jesuits' church at Namur; yet in one

point (_i.e._ the painted windows) the Cathedral of Brussels surpasses

all the churches we have yet seen.... Several women passed us who had

come thither to attend upon the labourers employed in repairing and

enlarging the fortifications. Their dresses were neat and gay; and, in

that place of which we had so often read in histories of battles and

sieges, their appearance, while they struggled cheerfully with the

blustering wind, was wild and romantic. The fondness for flowers appears

in this country wherever you go. Nothing is more common than to see a

man, driving a cart, with a rose in his mouth. At the very top of our

ascent, I saw one at work with his spade, a full-blown rose covering his

lips, which he must have brought up the hill,--or had some favourite

lass there presented it to him?...

_Wednesday, July 19th._--_Liége._--My first entrance into the

market-place brought a shock of cheerful sensation. It was like the

bursting into life of a Flemish picture. Such profusion of fruit! such

outspreading of flowers! and heaps of vegetables! and such variety in

the attire of the women! A curious and abundant fountain, surrounded

with large stone basins, served to wash and refresh the vegetables.

Torrents of voices assailed us while we threaded our way among the fruit

and fragrant flowers; bouquets were held out to us by half a score of

sunburnt arms at once. The women laughed--_we_ laughed, took one

bouquet, and gave two sous, our all.... Left Liége about 9 o'clock--were

recognised and greeted by many of the women at their stalls as we passed

again through the market-place.... Ascended a very steep hill, on the

top of which stands the ruined convent of the Chartreuse, and there we

left our carriages to look back upon the fine view of the city,

spreading from the ridge of the crescent hill opposite to us (which is,

however, somewhat unpleasingly scarified by new fortifications), and

over the central plain of the vale, to the magnificent river which,

split into many channels, flows at the foot of the eminence where we

stood.... Still, as we proceed, we are reminded of England--the fields,

even the cottages, and large farm-houses, are English-like; country

undulating, and prospects extensive, yet continually some pretty little

spot detains the eye; groups of cottages, or single ones, green to the

very door.[39]

[Footnote 39: Compare in _Tintern Abbey_, ll. 16, 17--

"these pastoral farms,

Green to the very door." ED.]

_Thursday, July 20th._--_Aix-la-Chapelle._--I went to the Cathedral, a

curious building, where are to be seen the chair of Charlemagne, on

which the Emperors were formerly crowned, some marble pillars much older

than _his_ time, and many pictures; but I could not stay to examine any

of these curiosities, and gladly made my way alone back to the inn to

rest there. The market-place is a fine old square; but at

Aix-la-Chapelle there is always a mighty preponderance of poverty and

dulness, except in a few of the showiest of the streets, and even there,

a flashy meanness, a slight patchery of things falling to pieces, is

everywhere visible....

_Road to Cologne._--At the distance of ten miles we saw before us, over

an expanse of open country, the Towers of Cologne. Even at this distance

they appeared very tall and bulky; and Mary pointed out that one of them

was a ruin, which no other eyes could discover. To the left was a range

of distant hills; and, to the right, in front of us, another

range--rather a _cluster_--which we looked at with peculiar interest, as

guardians and companions of the famous river Rhine, whither we were

tending, and (sick and weary though I was) I felt as much of the glad

eagerness of hope as when I first visited the Wye, and all the world was

fresh and new. Having travelled over the intermediate not interesting

country, the massy ramparts of Cologne, guarded by grotesque turrets,

the bridges, and heavy arched gateways, the central towers and spires,

rising above the concealed mass of houses in the city, excited something

of gloomy yet romantic expectation.

_Friday, July 21st._--_Cologne._--I busied myself repairing garments

already tattered in the journey, at the same time observing the traffic

and business of the river, here very wide, and the banks low. I was a

prisoner; but really the heat this morning being oppressive, I felt not

even a wish to stir abroad, and could, I believe, have been amused more

days than one by the lading and unlading of a ferry-boat, which came to

and started from the shore close under my window. Steadily it floats on

the lively yet smooth water, a square platform, not unlike a section cut

out of a thronged market-place, and the busy crowd removed with it to

the plain of water. The square is enclosed by a white railing. Two

slender pillars rise from the platform, to which the ropes are attached,

forming between them an inverted arch, elegant enough. When the boat

draws up to her mooring-place, a bell, hung aloft, is rung as a signal

for a fresh freight. All walk from the shore, without having an inch to

rise or to descend. Carts with their horses wheel away--rustic, yet not

without parade of stateliness--the foreheads of the meanest being

adorned with scarlet fringes. In the neighbourhood of Brussels (and

indeed all through the _Low Countries_), we remarked the large size and

good condition of the horses, and their studied decorations, but near

Brussels those decorations were the _most_ splendid. A scarlet net

frequently half-covered each of the six in procession. The frock of the

driver, who paces beside the train, is often handsomely embroidered, and

its rich colour (Prussian blue) enlivens the scarlet ornaments of his

steeds. But I am straying from my ferry-boat. The first debarkation

which we saw early in the morning was the most amusing. Peasants, male

and female, sheep, and calves; the women hurrying away, with their

cargoes of fruit and vegetables, as if eager to be beforehand with the

market. But I will transcribe verbatim from my journal, "written at

mid-day," the glittering Rhine spread out before me, in width that

helped me to image forth an American lake.

* * * * *

"It has gone out with a fresh load, and returned every hour; the comers

have again disappeared as soon as landed; and now, the goers are

gathering together. Two young ladies trip forward, their dark hair

_basketed_ round the crown of the head, green bags on their arms, two

gentlemen of their party; next a lady with smooth black hair stretched

upward from the forehead, and a skull-cap at the top, like a small dish.

The gentry passengers seem to arrange themselves on one side, the

peasants on the other;--how much more picturesque the peasants! _There_

is a woman in a sober dark-coloured dress; she wears no cap. Next, one

with red petticoat, blue jacket, and cap as white as snow. Next, one

with a red handkerchief over her head, and a long brown cloak. There a

smart female of the bourgeoise--dark shawl, white cap, blue dress. Two

women (now seated side by side) make a pretty picture: their attire is

scarlet, a pure white handkerchief falling from the head of each over

the shoulders. They keep watch beside a curiously constructed basket,

large enough to contain the marketing of a whole village. A girl crosses

the platform with a handsome brazen ewer hanging on her arm. Soldiers--a

dozen at least--are coming in. They take the centre. Again two women in

scarlet garb, with a great fruit basket. A white cap next; the same with

a green shawl. _There_ is a sunburnt daughter of toil! her olive skin

whitens her white head-dress, and she is decked in lively colours. One

beside her, who, I see, counts herself of higher station, is

distinguished by a smart French mob. I am brought round to the gentry

side, which is filled up, as you may easily fancy, with much less

variety than the other. A cart is in the centre, its peasant driver, not

to be unnoticed, with a polished tobacco-pipe hung over his cleanly blue

frock. Now they float away!"

_Cologne, Friday, July 21st._--Before I left the interior of the

Cathedral, I ought to have mentioned that the side-chapels contain some

superb monuments. There is also a curious picture (marvellously rich in

enamel and colouring) of the Three Kings of Cologne, and of a small

number of the eleven thousand virgins, who were said, after shipwreck,

to have landed at this city in the train of St. Ursula. The Huns, who

had possession of the city, became enamoured of their beauty; and the

fair bevy, to save themselves from persecution, took the veil; in

commemoration of which event the convent of St. Ursula was founded, and

within the walls of that church an immense number of their skulls

(easily turned into eleven thousand), are ranged side by side dressed in

green satin caps. We left these famous virgins (though our own

countrywomen), unvisited, and many other strange sights; and what

wonder? we had but one day; and _I_ saw nothing within gate or door

except the Cathedral--not even Rubens's famous picture of the

Crucifixion of St. Peter, a grateful offering presented by him as an

altar-piece for the church in which he was baptized, and had served as a

chorister. Among the outrages committed at Cologne during the

Revolution, be it noted that the Cathedral, in 1800, was used as a

granary, and that Buonaparte seized on the picture bestowed on his

parish church by Rubens, and sent it to Paris. The Three Kings shared

the same fate.

The houses of Cologne are very old, overhanging, and uncouth; the

streets narrow and gloomy in the cheerfulest of their corners or

openings; yet oftentimes pleasing. Windows and balconies make a pretty

show of flowers; and birds hang on the outside of houses in cages. These

sound like cheerful images of active leisure; but with such feeling it

is impossible to walk through these streets. Yet it is pleasing to note

how quietly a dull life may be varied, and how innocently; though, in

looking at the plants which yearly put out their summer blossoms to

adorn these decaying walls and windows, I had something of the

melancholy which I have felt on seeing a human being gaily dressed--a

female tricked out with ornaments, while disease and death were on her

countenance.

_Cologne, Saturday, July 22nd._--Upon a bright sunny morning, driven by

a civil old postilion, we turned our backs upon the cathedral tower of

Cologne, an everlasting monument of riches and grandeur, and I fear of

devotion passed away; of sublime designs unaccomplished--remaining,

though not wholly developed, sufficient to incite and guide the dullest

imagination,--

Call up him who left half-told

The story of Cambuscan bold![40]

[Footnote 40: See _Il Penseroso_, ll. 109, 110.--ED.]

Feelingly has Milton selected this story, not from a preference to the

subject of it (as has been suggested), but from its paramount accordance

with the musings of a melancholy man--in being left _half_-told--

Foundations must be laid

In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of _is_ and _was_,

Things incomplete and purposes betrayed

Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass

Than noblest objects utterly decayed.[41]

[Footnote 41: Compare the sonnet _Malham Cove_, in "Poetical Works,"

vol. vi. p. 185.--ED.]

_Bonn._--The great area of the vale here is a plain, covered with corn,

vines, and fruit-trees: the impression is of richness, profusion,

amplitude of space. The hills are probably higher than some of our own

which we call mountains; but on the spot we named them hills. Such they

appeared to our eyes; but when objects are all upon a large scale there

is no means of comparing them accurately with others of their kind,

which do not bear the same proportions to the objects with which they

are surrounded. Those in the neighbourhood of Bonn are of themselves

sufficiently interesting in shape and variety of surface: but what a

dignity does the form of an ancient castle or tower confer upon a

precipitous woody or craggy eminence! Well might this lordly river spare

one or two of his castles,--which are too numerous for the most romantic

fancy to hang its legends round each and all of them,--well might he

spare, to our purer and more humble streams and lakes, one solitary ruin

for the delight of our poets of the English mountains! To the right

(but let him keep this to himself, it is too grand to be coveted by us)

is the large ruined castle of Gottesberg, far-spreading on the summit of

the hill--very light and elegant, with one massy tower....

For some miles, the traveller goes through the magnificent plain which

from its great width, appears almost circular. Though _unseen_, the

River Rhine, we never can forget that it is there! When the vale becomes

narrower, one of the most interesting and beautiful of prospects opens

on the view from a gentle rising in the road. On an island stands a

large grey Convent--sadly pensive among its garden walls and embowering

wood. The musket and cannon have spared that sanctuary; and we were told

that, though the establishment is dissolved, a few of the Nuns still

remain there, attached to the spot;--or probably having neither friends

or other home to repair to. On the right bank of the river, opposite to

us, is a bold precipice, bearing on its summit a ruined fortress which

looks down upon the Convent; and the warlike and religious edifices are

connected together by a chivalrous story of slighted, or luckless love,

which caused the withdrawing of a fair damsel to the island, where she

founded the monastery. Another bold ruin stands upon another eminence

adjoining; and all these monuments of former times combine with villages

and churches, and dells (between the steeps) green or corn-clad, and

with the majestic river (here spread out like a lake) to compose a most

affectingly beautiful scene, whether viewed in prospect or in

retrospect. Still we rolled along (ah! far too swiftly! and often did I

wish that I were a youthful traveller on foot)--still we rolled

along--meeting the flowing river, smooth as glass, yet so rapid that the

stream of motion is always perceptible, even from a great distance. The

riches of this region are not easily to be fancied--the pretty

paths--the gardens among plots of vineyard and corn--cottages peeping

from the shade--villages and spires--in never-ending variety. The

trees, however, in the whole of the country through which we have

hitherto passed, are not to be compared with the trees of England,

except on the banks of the Meuse. On the Rhine they are generally small

in size; much of the wood appears to be cut when young, to spring again.

In the little town of Remagan where we changed horses, crowds of people

of all ages gathered round us; the beggars, who were indefatigable in

clamour, might have been the only inhabitants of the place who had any

work to do....

_Andernach._--Departed at about five o'clock. Andernach is an

interesting place, both at its entrance from Cologne, and its outlet

towards Coblentz. There is a commanding desolation in the first

approach; the massy square tower of defence, though bearded by green

shrubs, stands, as it were, untameable in its strength, overlooking the

half-ruined gateway of the ramparts. Close to the other gate, leading to

Coblentz, are seen many picturesque fragments and masses; and the

ancient walls shelter and adorn fruitful gardens, cradled in the

otherwise now useless trenches. The town itself appears so dull--the

inhabitants so poor, that it was almost surprising to observe walks for

public use and pleasure, with avenues and arbours on the level adjoining

the ramparts. The struggle between melancholy and cheerfulness, fanciful

improvements, and rapid decay, leisure and poverty, was very

interesting. We had a fine evening; and the ride, though, in comparison

with the last, of little interest--the vale of the Rhine being here wide

and level, the hills lowered by distance--was far from being a dull one,

as long as I kept myself awake. I was roused from sleep in crossing the

bridge of the Moselle near Coblentz.

_Coblentz, Sunday, July 23rd._--_Cathedral._--The music at our entrance

fixed us to our places. The swell was solemn, even _aweful_, sinking

into strains of delicious sweetness; and though the worship was to us

wholly unintelligible, it was not possible to listen to it without

visitings of devotional feeling. Mary's attention was entirely absorbed

till the service ceased, and I think she never stirred from her seat.

After a little while I left her, and drew towards the railing of the

gallery, to look round on the congregation, among whom there appeared

more of the old-fashioned gravity, and of antique gentility, than I have

seen anywhere else; and the varieties of costume were infinite.... The

area of the Cathedral, upon which we looked down from the crowded

gallery, was filled with old, middle-aged, and young persons of both

sexes; and at Coblentz, even the male dress, especially that of boys and

youths, has a pleasing cast of antiquity, reminding one of old

pictures--of assemblies in halls,--or of banquets as represented by the

Flemish masters. The figure of a young girl tightly laced up in bodice

and petticoat, with adornings of gold clasps and neck-chain, beside a

youth with open throat and ornamented shirt-collar falling upon the

shoulders of a coat of antique cut, especially when there chanced to be

near them some matron in her costly robe of seventy years;--these,

together, made an exhibition that even had I been a good Catholic, yet

fresh from England, might have interfered with my devotions; but where

all except the music was an unmeaning ceremony, what wonder that I

should be amused in looking round as at a show!... All that we witnessed

of bustle or gaiety was near the river, facing the fortress of

Ehrenbreitstein; and upon the wide wooden bridge which we crossed in our

way to the fortress. Fruit-women were seated on the bridge, and

peasants, gentry, soldiers, continually passing to and fro. All but the

soldiers paid toll. The citadel stands upon a very lofty bare hill, and

the walk was fatiguing; but I beguiled my weariness with the company of

a peasant lass, who took pains to understand my broken German, and

contrived to make me acquainted with no small part of her family

history.... This bonny maiden's complexion was as fresh as a rose,

though no kerchief screened it from the sunshine. Many a fierce breeze,

and many a burning sun must she have struggled with in her way from the

citadel to the town; and, on looking at her, I fancied there must be a

stirring and invigorating power in the wind to counteract the cankering

effect of the sun, which is so noticeable in the French peasantry on

their hot dry plains. No sooner do you set foot in the neighbourhood of

Calais than you are struck with it; and, at the same time, with the

insensibility of young and old to discomfort from glaring light and

heat. Whatever slender shade of willows may be at the door of a hut on

the flats between Calais and Gravelines, the female peasants, at their

sewing or other work, choose it not, but seat themselves full in the

sunshine. Thence comes a habit of wrinkling the cheeks and forehead, so

that their faces are mostly ploughed with wrinkles before they are fifty

years old. In this country, and all through the Netherlands, the

complexions of the people are much fresher and fairer than in France,

though _they_ also are much out of doors. This may perhaps be, in part,

attributed to the greater quantity of wood scattered over the country,

and to the shade of garden and orchard trees.... The view from the

summit of the hill of Ehrenbreitstein is magnificent. Beneath, on a

large, flat angle, formed by the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle,

stands the city, its purple-slated roofs surrounded by many tall

buildings--towers and spires, and big palaces among trees. The vale of

the Moselle is deep and green, formed by vine-clad steeps, among which

the eye, from the heights where we stood, espies many a pleasant

village. That of the Rhine is more varied and splendid--with towns that,

from their size, the irregularity of their buildings, and the numerous

towers and spires, give dignity to the proud river itself, and to the

prodigally scattered hills. Downwards we looked through the plain, along

which we had travelled the evening before from the town of Andernach,

which stands, as Coblentz does, upon a low bank of the Rhine: and there

is no eminence between the two towns to obstruct the view. The course

of the road, which is widely parted from that of the river, may be seen

in a straight line for many miles. We behold below us the junction of

the two great rivers; how steady and quiet is their meeting! A little

while each goes in his own distinct path, side by side, yet one stream;

and they slowly and by degrees unite, each lost in the other--happy type

of a tranquil meeting, and joining together in the journey of life!

* * * * *

Coblentz, as every one knows, was for a long time the headquarters of

the French _noblesse_, and other emigrants, during the Revolution; and

it is surprising that in the exterior of manners and habits there should

be so little to remind the passing traveller of the French. In Ghent and

Brussels, it is impossible to forget that you are in towns _not_ making

a part of France; yet, in both those places, the French have sown seeds

which will never die--their manners, customs, and decorations are

everywhere struggling with the native stiffness of the Flemish: but in

_Coblentz_ it is merely incidentally that the French courtier or

gentleman is brought to mind; and shops, houses, public buildings, are

all of the soil where they have been reared--so at least they appeared

to us, in our transient view.

_St. Goar, Monday, July 24th._-- ... The town, seen from the heights, is

very beautiful, with purple roofs, two tall spires, and one tower. On

the opposite side of the river we peep into narrow valleys, formed by

the lofty hills, on which stand two ruins called, as we were told by our

lively attendant, the Katzen and Mausen Towers (_i.e._ the Towers of the

Cat and the Mouse). They stare upon each other at safe distance, though

near neighbours; and, across the river, the greater fortress of

Rheinfels defies them both. A lovely dell runs behind one of the hills;

at its opening where it pours out its stream into the Rhine we espied a

one-arched Borrowdale bridge, and behind the bridge a village almost

buried between the abruptly-rising steeps.... I will transcribe the few

words I wrote in my memorandum-book, dated "Beside the Rhine, St.

Goar":--"How shall I describe this soothing, this elegant place! The

river flows on. I see it flow, yet it is like a lake--the bendings of

the hills enclosing it at each end. Here I sit, half-way from the centre

of the curve. At the turning of that semi-circular curve stands our Inn;

near it is the Post-House, both rather handsome buildings. The town,

softened white and purple, the green hills rising abruptly above it.

Behind me (but I cannot see it) is the Castle of Rheinfels. On the

opposite banks of the river, the vine-clad steeps appear as if covered

with fern. It is a sweep of hills that from this point appear

_even_-topped. At the foot of one of the dells which we noticed from the

Castle eminence, there is a purple roofed town with one spire, and one

church or convent tower; and I see the Borrowdale bridge beside the

lowly hamlet in the cleft of the other dell. A ferry-boat has been

approaching its landing-place with a crew of peasants. They come now

slowly up from the shore, a picturesque train in grey attire--no showy

colours; and at this moment I can fancy that even that circumstance

gives a sweeter effect to the scene, though I have never wished to expel

the crimson garments, or the blue, from any landscape." Here let me

observe that grey clothing--the pastoral garb of _our_ mountains--does,

when it is found on the banks of the Rhine, only look well at a certain

distance. It seems not to be worn from choice, but poverty; and in this

day's journey we have met with crowds of people whose dress was

accordant with the appearance close at hand of their crumbling houses

and fortifications.

_Bingen, Tuesday, July 25th._--Most delightful to the imagination was

our journey of yesterday, still tempting to hope and expectation! Yet

wherever we passed through a village or small town the veil of romance

was withdrawn, and we were compelled to think of human distress and

poverty--their causes how various in a country where Nature has been so

bountiful--and, even when removed from the immediate presence of painful

objects, there is one melancholy thought which will attend the traveller

along the ever-winding course of the Rhine--the thought that of those

buildings, so lavishly scattered on the ridges of the heights or lurking

in sheltering corners, many _have_ perished, all _are_ perishing, and

_will entirely_ perish! Buildings that link together the Past and the

Present--times of war and depredation, of piracy, of voyages by stealth

and in fear, of superstitious ceremonies, of monastic life, of quiet,

and of retreat from persecution! Yet some of the strongest of the

fortresses may, for aught I know, endure as long as the rocks on which

they have been reared, deserted as they are, and never more be tenanted

by pirate, lord, or vassal. The parish churches are in bad repair, and

many ruinous....

_Mayence._--I thought of some thriving friar of old times; but last

night,[42] in reading Chaucer's Prologue to the _Canterbury Tales_, mine

host of the _Tabard_ recalled to my memory our merry master in the

dining-room at Mayence.

[Footnote 42: This was when writing out her Journal, begun two months

after her return to Rydal Mount.--ED.]

A seemly man our Hoste was with alle

To han bene a Marshal in an Halle;

A large man he was--bold of his speech.

_Frankfort, Wednesday, July 26th._--The town is large, though you do not

feel as if you were walking in a large town. Standing on a perfect level

you see no further than the street in which you are, or the one that

leads to it; and there is little stirring of people. Two huge palaces

are going to ruin. One of these (the Episcopal Palace) of red stone is

very handsome in its style of heavy architecture, and there are many

public buildings by the river-side. The quay is a cheerful and busy

place. After driving a short way on the shore below those lofty

buildings, we crossed a bridge of boats; and now (had we proceeded in

the same direction as before) we should have had the Rhine on our right

hand; but we turned back again, _i.e._ downwards, and still had it on

our left for two miles (more or less), not close to us; but always in

view broad and majestic, scattered over with vessels of various kinds.

Large rafters piled with wood were by the shore, or floating with the

stream; and a long row of mills (for grinding corn I suppose) made a

curious appearance on the water. We had a magnificent prospect downwards

in the _Rheingaw_ (stretching towards Bingen), a district famed for

producing finer vines than any other country of the Rhine.[43] The broad

hills are enlivened by hamlets, villas, villages, and churches. After

about two miles, the road to Wisbaden turns from the river (to the

right), and with regret did we part from our majestic companion to meet

no more till we should rejoin him for one short day among the rocks of

Schaffhausen.... We went to the Cathedral, a very large, but not

otherwise remarkable building, in the interior. The people assembled at

prayers, sate on benches as in our country churches, and accompanied by

the organ were chaunting, and making the responses. We ascend the Tower.

It is enormously high; and after an ascent of above five hundred steps,

we found a family living in as neatly-furnished a set of apartments as

need be seen in any street in Frankfort. A baby in the cradle smiled

upon us, and played with the Kreutzers which we gave her. The mother was

alert and cheerful--nay, she seemed to glory in her contentment, and in

the snugness of her abode. I said to her, "but when the wind blows

fiercely how terrible!" and she replied, "Oh nein! es thut nichts." "Oh

no! it does no harm." The view from the Cathedral is very extensive. The

windings of the river Maine; vessels in their harbours, or smoothly

gliding, plains of corn, of forest, of fruit-trees, chateaus, villages,

towns, towers and spires; the expanse irregularly bounded by distinct

mountains....

[Footnote 43: Hockheim on the right bank of the Rhine, nearly opposite

Mayence.--ED.]

In the winding staircase, while descending from the Tower, met different

people, who seemed to be going to make neighbourly visits to the family

above. Passed through the market-place, very entertaining, and nowhere a

greater variety of people and of head-dresses than there. The women's

caps were high. My eye was caught by a tightly-clad, stiff-waisted lady

who wore a gold cap (almost as lofty as a grenadier's) with long lappets

of riband behind. I saw no reason why that cap (saving its silken

ornaments) might not have belonged to her great grandmother's

grandmother. The _Maison de Ville_ stands on one side of a handsome

square, in the centre of which is a noble fountain, that used to flow

with wine at the crowning of the Emperors. Oxen were roasted in the

square, and, in memory of the same, two heads, with their horns, are

preserved under the outside of a window of an old church adjoining the

_Maison de Ville_.

_Heidelberg, Thursday, July 27th._--After dinner, Mary, Miss H., and I

set off towards the castle.... The ascent is long and steep, the way

plain, and no guide needed, for the castle walks are free; and

there--among treasures of art, decaying and decayed, and the magnificent

bounties of nature--the stranger may wander the day through. The

building is of various dates: it is not good in architecture _as a

whole_, though very fine in parts. There is a noble round tower, and the

remains of the chapel, and long ranges of lofty and massy wall, often

adorned with ivy, the figure of a saint, a lady, or a warrior looking

safely from their niches under the ivy bower. The moats, which must long

ago have been drained, retain their shape, yet have now the wild

luxuriance of sequestered dells. Fruit and forest trees, flowers and

grass, are intermingled. I now speak of the more ruinous and the most

ancient part of the castle.... We walked upon a platform before the

windows, where a band of music used to be stationed, as on the terrace

at Windsor--a fine place for festivals in time of peace, and to keep

watch in time of war.... From the platform where we stood, the eye

(overlooking the city, bridge, and the deep vale, to the point where the

Neckar is concealed from view by its winding to the left) is carried

across the plain to the dim stream of the Rhine, perceived under the

distant hills. The pleasure-grounds are the most delightful I ever

beheld; the happiest mixture of wildness, which no art could overcome,

and formality, often necessary to conduct you along the ledge of a

precipice--whence you may look down upon the river, enlivened by boats,

and on the rich vale, or to the more distant scenes before mentioned.

One long terrace is supported on the side of the precipice by arches

resembling those of a Roman aqueduct; and from that walk the view of the

Castle and the Town beneath it is particularly striking. I cannot

imagine a more delightful situation than Heidelberg for a

University--the pleasures, ceremonies, and distractions of a Court being

removed. Parties of students were to be seen in all quarters of the

groves and gardens. I am sorry, however, to say that their appearance

was not very scholarlike. They wear whatever wild and coarse apparel

pleases them--their hair long and disorderly, or rough as a water-dog,

throat bare or with a black collar, and often no appearance of a shirt.

Every one has his pipe, and they all talk loud and boisterously....

Never surely was any stream more inviting! It flows in its deep

bed--stately, yet often turbulent; and what dells, cleaving the green

hills, even close to the city! Looking down upon the purple roofs of

Heidelberg variously tinted, the spectacle is curious--narrow streets,

small squares, and gardens many and flowery. The main street, long and

also narrow, is (though the houses are built after no good style) very

pretty as seen from the heights, with its two gateways and two towers.

The Cathedral (it has an irregular spire) overtops all other edifices,

which, indeed, have no grace of architecture, and the University is even

mean in its exterior; but, from a small distance, _any_ city looks well

that is not modern, and where there is bulk and irregularity, with

harmony of colouring. But we did not enter the cathedral, having so much

to see out of doors.

_Heidelberg, Friday, July 28th._-- ... The first reach of the river for

a moment transported our imagination to the Vale of the Wye above

Tintern Abbey. A single cottage, with a poplar spire, was the central

object.... As we went further, villages appeared. But Mr. P. soon

conducted us from the river up a steep hill, and, after a long ascent,

he took us aside to a cone-shaped valley, a pleasure-dell--I call it

so--for it was terminated by a rural tavern and gardens, seats and

alcoves, placed close beside beautiful springs of pure water, spread out

into pools and distributed by fountains. A grey stone statue, in its

stillness, is a graceful object amid the rushing of water!... Our road

along the side of the hill, that still rose high above our heads, led us

through shady covert and open glade, over hillock or through hollow; at

almost every turning convenient seats inviting us to rest, or to linger

in admiration of the changeful prospects, where wild and cultivated

grounds seemed equally the darlings of the fostering sun. Many of the

hills are covered with forests, which are cut down after little more

than thirty years' growth; the ground is then ploughed, and sown with

buck-wheat, and afterwards with beech-nuts. The forests of _firs_

(numerous higher up, but not so here) are sown in like manner. Immense

quantities of timber are floated down the river. Sometimes in our

delightful walk we were led through tracts of vines, all belonging to

the Grand Duke. They are as free as the forest thickets and flowery

glades, and separated from them by no distinguishable boundary.

Whichever way the eye turned, it settled upon some pleasant sight....

Passed through the walled town of Durlach (about two miles from

Carlesrhue), the palace deserted by the Duke. Coffee-houses all full,

windows open, billiards, wine and smoking, finery, shabbiness and

idleness. Large pleasure gardens beyond the barrier-walls, and we enter

an avenue of tall poplars, continued all the way to Carlesrhue. After a

little while nothing was to be seen but the poplar stems in shape of

columns on each side, the leafy part of the trees forming a long black

wall above them, so lofty that it appeared to reach the sky, that pale

blue roof of the Gothic aisle still contracting in the distance, and

seemingly of interminable length. Such an avenue is truly a noble

approach to the favoured residence of a _grand_ Duke.

_Baden-Baden, July 29th (Saturday)._-- ... Met with old-fashioned

civility in all quarters. This little town is a curious compound of

rural life, German country-townishness, watering-place excitements,

court stateliness, ancient mouldering towers, old houses and new, and a

life and cheerfulness over all.... A bright reflection from the evening

sky powdered with golden dust that distant vapoury plain, bounded by the

chain of purple mountains. We quitted this spectacle with regret when it

faded in the late twilight, struggling with the light of the moon.

_Road to Homburg._--_Sunday, July 30th._--We were continually reminded

of the vales of our own country in this lovely winding valley, where

seven times we crossed the clear stream over strong wooden bridges; but

whenever in our travels the streams and vales of England have been most

called to mind there has been something that marks a difference. Here it

is chiefly observable in the large brown wood houses, and in the

people--the shepherd and shepherdess gaiety of their dress, with a sort

of antiquated stiffness. Groups of children in rustic flower-crowned

hats were in several places collected round the otherwise solitary

swine-herd.... The sound of the stream (if there be any sound) is a

sweet, unwearied, and unwearying under-song, to detain the pious

passenger, which he cannot but at times connect with the silent object

of his worship.

_Road to Schaffhausen._--A part of the way through the uncleared forest

was pleasingly wild; juniper bushes, broom, and other woodland plants,

among the moss and flowery turf. Before we had finished our last ascent,

the postilion told us what a glorious sight we _might_ have seen, in a

few moments, had we been here early in the morning or on a fine evening;

but, as it was mid-day, nothing was to be expected. That glorious sight

which _should_ have been was no less than the glittering prospect of the

mountains of Switzerland. We did burst upon an extensive view; but the

mountains were hidden; and of the Lake of Constance we saw no more than

a vapoury substance where it lay among apparently low hills. This first

sight of that country, so dear to the imagination, though then of no

peculiar grandeur, affected me with various emotions. I remembered the

shapeless wishes of my youth--wishes without hope--my brother's

wanderings thirty years ago,[44] and the tales brought to me the

following Christmas holidays at Forncett, and often repeated while we

paced together on the gravel walk in the parsonage garden, by moon or

star light.[45] ... The towers of Schaffhausen appear under the shelter

of woody and vine-clad hills, but no greetings from the river Rhine,

which is not visible from this approach, yet flowing close to the

town.... But at the entrance of the old city gates you cannot but be

roused, and say to yourself, "Here is something which I have not seen

before, yet I hardly know what." The houses are grey, irregular, dull,

overhanging, and clumsy; streets narrow and crooked--the walls of houses

often half-covered with rudely-painted representations of the famous

deeds of the defenders of this land of liberty.... In place of the

splendour of faded aristocracy, so often traceable in the German towns,

there is a character of ruggedness over all that we see.... Never shall

I forget the first view of the stream of the Rhine from the bank, and

between the side openings of the bridge--rapid in motion, bright, and

green as liquid emeralds! and wherever the water dashed against tree,

stone, or pillar of the bridge, the sparkling and the whiteness of the

foam, melting into and blended with the green, can hardly be imagined by

any one who has not seen the Rhine, or some other of the great rivers of

the Continent, before they are sullied in their course.... The first

visible indication of our approach to the cataracts was the sublime

tossing of vapour above them, at the termination of a curved reach of

the river. Upon the woody hill, above that tossing vapour and foam, we

saw the old chateau, familiar to us in prints, though there represented

in connection with the falls themselves; and now seen by us at the end

of the rapid, yet majestic, sweep of the river; where the ever-springing

tossing clouds are all that the eye beholds of the wonderful commotion.

But an awful sound ascends from the concealed abyss; and it would almost

seem like irreverent intrusion if a stranger, at his first approach to

this spot, should not pause and listen before he pushes forward to seek

the revelation of the mystery.... We were gloriously wetted and stunned

and deafened by the waters of the Rhine. It is impossible even to

remember (therefore, how should I enable any one to imagine?) the power

of the dashing, and of the sounds, the breezes, the dancing dizzy

sensations, and the exquisite beauty of the colours! The whole stream

falls like liquid emeralds--a solid mass of translucent green hue; or,

in some parts, the green appears through a thin covering of snow-like

foam. Below, in the ferment and hurly-burly, drifting snow and masses

resembling collected snow mixed with sparkling green billows. We walked

upon the platform, as dizzy as if we had been on the deck of a ship in a

storm. Mary returned with Mrs. Monkhouse to Schaffhausen, and William

recrossed in a boat with Mr. Monkhouse and me, near the extremity of the

river's first sweep, after its fall, where its bed (as is usual at the

foot of all cataracts) is exceedingly widened, and larger in proportion

to the weight of waters. The boat is trusted to the current, and the

passage, though long, is rapid. At first, when seated in that small

unresisting vessel, a sensation of helplessness and awe (it was not

fear) overcame me, but that was soon over. From the centre of the stream

the view of the cataract in its majesty of breadth is wonderfully

sublime. Being landed, we found commodious seats, from which we could

look round at leisure, and we remained till the evening darkness

revealed two intermitting columns of fire, which ascended from a forge

close to the cataract.

[Footnote 44: His first visit to the Alps, with Robert Jones, in

1790.--ED.]

[Footnote 45: Compare Dorothy Wordsworth's letters written at Forncett

rectory in 1790-91.--ED.]

_Monday, July 31st._--_Hornberg._--After this, over the wide country to

_Villengen_, a walled town upon the treeless waste, the way unvaried

except by distant views of remnants of the forest, and towns or

villages, shelterless, and at long distances from each other. They are

very striking objects: they stand upon the waste in disconnection with

everything else, and one is at a loss to conceive how any particular

town came to be placed in _this_ spot or _that_, nature having framed no

allurement of valley shelter among the undulations of the wide expanse.

Each town stands upon its site, as if it might have been wheeled

thither. There is no sympathy, no bond of connection with surrounding

fields, not a fence to be seen, no woods for _shelter_, only the dreary

black patches and lines of forest, used probably for fuel, and often far

fetched. In short, it is an unnatural-looking region. In comparison with

the social intermixture of towns, villages, cottages, fruit-trees, corn

and meadow land, which we had so often travelled through, the feeling

was something like what one has in looking at a dead yet gaudy picture

painted by an untutored artist, who first _makes_ his country, then

claps upon it, according to his fancy, such buildings as he thinks will

adorn it.

_Thursday, August 3rd._--_Zurich._--At a little distance from Zurich we

remarked a very fine oak tree. Under its shade stood a little building

like an oratory, but as we were not among the Roman Catholics it puzzled

us. In front of the tree was an elevated platform, resembling the

_Mount_ at Rydal, to be ascended by steps. The postilion told us the

building was a Chapel whither condemned criminals retired to pray, and

there had their hair cut off; and that the platform was the place of

execution.

_August 4th._--_Lenzburg_.... At six o'clock we caught a glimpse of the

castle walls glittering in sunshine, a hopeful sign, and we set forward

through the fog. The ruin stands at the brink of a more than

perpendicular, an overhanging rock, on the top of a green hill, which

rises abruptly from the town. The steepest parts are ascended by

hundreds of stone steps, worn by age, often broken, and half-buried in

turf and flowers. These steps brought us to a terrace bordered by

neatly-trimmed vines; and we found ourselves suddenly in broad sunshine

under the castle walls, elevated above an ocean of vapour, which was

bounded on one side by the clear line of the Jura Mountains, and out of

which rose at a distance what seemed an island, crested by another

castle. We then ascended the loftiest of the towers, and the spectacle

all around was magnificent, visionary--I was going to say endless, but

on one side was the substantial barrier of the Jura. By degrees (the

vapours settling or shifting) other castles were seen on island

eminences; and the tops of bare or woody hills taking the same island

form; while trees, resembling ships, appeared and disappeared, and

rainbow lights (scarcely more visionary than the mimic islands) passed

over, or for a moment rested on the breaking mists. On the other side

the objects were more slowly developed. We looked long before we could

distinguish the far-distant Alps, but by degrees discovered them,

shining like silver among masses of clouds. The intervening wide space

was a sea of vapour, but we stayed on the eminence till the sun had

mastery of all beneath us, after a silent process of change and

interchange--of concealing and revealing. I hope we were not ungrateful

to the memory of past times when (standing on the summit of Helvellyn,

Scaw Fell, Fairfield, or Skiddaw) we have felt as if the world itself

could not present a more sublime spectacle....

_Herzogenboschee._--At length we dropped asleep, but were soon roused by

a fitful sound of gathering winds, heavy rain followed, and vivid

flashes of lightning, with tremendous thunder. It was very awful. Mary

and I were sitting together, alone, in the open street; a strange

situation! yet we had no personal fear. Before the storm began, all the

lights had been extinguished except one opposite to us, and another at

an inn behind, where were turbulent noises of merriment, with singing

and haranguing, in the style of our village politicians. These ceased;

and, after the storm, lights appeared in different quarters; pell-mell

rushed the fountain; then came a watchman with his dismal recitative

song, or lay; the church clock telling the hours and the quarters, and

house clocks with their silvery tone; one scream we heard from a human

voice; but no person seemed to notice _us_, except a man who came out

upon the wooden gallery of his house right above our heads, looked down

this way and that, and especially towards the _voitures_.... The beating

of the rain, and the rushing of that fountain were continuous, and with

the periodical and the irregular sounds (among which the howling of a

dog was not the least dismal), completed the wildness of the awful

scene, and of our strange situation; sheltered from wet, yet in the

midst of it--and exposed to intermitting blasts, though struggling with

excessive heat--while flashes of lightning at intervals displayed the

distant mountains, and the wide space between; at other times a blank

gloom.

_Berne._--The fountains of Berne are ornamented with statues of William

Tell and other heroes. There is a beautiful order, a solidity, a gravity

in this city which strikes at first sight, and never loses its effect.

The houses are of one grey hue, and built of stone. They are large and

sober, but not heavy or barbarously elbowing each other. On each side is

a covered passage under the upper stories, as at Chester, only wider,

much longer, and with more massy supporters.... In all quarters we

noticed the orderly decency of the passengers, the handsome public

buildings, with appropriate decorations symbolical of a love of liberty,

of order, and good government, with an aristocratic stateliness, yet

free from show or parade.... The green-tinted river flows below--wide,

full, and impetuous. I saw the snows of the Alps burnished by the sun

about half an hour before his setting. After that they were left to

their wintry marble coldness, without a farewell gleam; yet suddenly the

city and the cathedral tower and trees were singled out for favour by

the sun among his glittering clouds, and gilded with the richest light.

A few minutes, and that glory vanished. I stayed till evening gloom was

gathering over the city, and over hill and dale, while the snowy tops of

the Alps were still visible.

_Sunday, August 6th._--Upon a spacious level adjoining the cathedral are

walks planted with trees, among which we sauntered, and were much

pleased with the great variety of persons amusing themselves in the same

way; and how we wished that one, at least, of our party had the skill to

sketch rapidly with the pencil, and appropriate colours, some of the

groups or single figures passing before us, or seated in sun or shade.

Old ladies appeared on this summer parade dressed in flycaps, such as

were worn in England fifty years ago, and broad-flowered chintz or

cotton gowns; the bourgeoises, in grave attire of black, with tight

white sleeves, yet seldom without ornament of gold lacing, or chain and

ear-rings, and on the head a pair of stiff transparent butterfly wings,

spread out from behind a quarter of a yard on each side, which wings are

to appearance as thin as gauze, but being made of horse-hair, are very

durable, and the larger are even made of wire. Among these were seen

peasants in shepherdess hats of straw, decorated with flowers and

coloured ribands, pretty little girls in grandmother's attire, and

ladies _à la française_. We noticed several parties composed of persons

dressed after these various modes, that seemed to indicate very

different habits and stations in society--the peasant and the lady, the

petty shopkeeper and the wealthy tradesman's wife, side by side in

friendly discourse. But it is impossible by words to give a notion of

the enlivening effect of these little combinations, which are also

interesting as evidences of a state of society worn out in England. Here

you see formality and simplicity, antiquated stateliness and decent

finery brought together, with a pervading spirit of comfortable equality

in social pleasures.

* * * * *

_Monday, August 7th._--I sate under an elm tree, looking down the woody

steep to the lake, and across it, to a rugged mountain; no villages to

be seen, no houses; the higher Alps shut out. I could have forgotten

Switzerland, and fancied myself transported to one of the lonesome

lakes of Scotland. I returned to my open station to watch the setting

sun, and remained long after the glowing hues had faded from those

chosen summits that were touched by his beams, while others were

obscurely descried among clouds in their own dark or snowy mantle....

Met with an inscription on a grey stone in a little opening of the wood,

and would have copied it, for it was brief, but could not see to read

the letters, and hurried on, still choosing the track that seemed to

lead most directly downwards, and was indeed glad when I found myself

again in the public road to the town.... Late as it was, and although

twilight had almost given place to the darkness of a fine August night,

I was tempted aside into a broad flat meadow, where I walked under a row

of tall poplars by the river-side. The castle, church, and town appeared

before us in stately harmony, all hues of red roofs and painting having

faded away. Two groups of giant poplars rose up, like Grecian temples,

from the level between me and the mass of towers and houses. In the

smooth water the lingering brightness of evening was reflected from the

sky; and lights from the town were seen at different heights on the

hill.

_Thun, Tuesday, August 8th._--The Lake of Thun is essentially a lake of

the Alps. Its immediate visible boundary, third or fourth-rate

mountains; but overtopping these are seen the snowy or dark summits of

the Jungfrau, the Eiger, the Stockhorn, the Blumlis Alp, and many more

which I cannot name; while the Kander, and other raging streams, send

their voices across the wide waters. The remains of a ruined castle are

sometimes seen upon a woody or grassy steep--pleasing remembrances of

distant times, but taking no primary place in the extensive landscape,

where the power of nature is magisterial, and where the humble villages

composed of numerous houses clustering together near the lake, do not

interfere with the impressions of solitude and grandeur. Many of those

villages must be more than half-deserted when the herdsmen follow their

cattle to the mountains. Others of their numerous inhabitants find

subsistence by fishing in the lake. We floated cheerfully along, the

scene for ever changing. On the eastern side, to our left, the shores

are more populous than on the western; one pretty village succeeded

another, each with its spire, till we came to a hamlet, all of brown

wood houses, except one large white dwelling, and no church. The

villages are not, as one may say, in close neighbourhood; but a

substantial solitary house is sometimes seen between them. The eminences

on this side, as we advance, become very precipitous, and along the

ridge of one of them appears a wall of rocks with turrets, resembling a

mighty fortification. The boatmen directed our ears to the sound of

waterfalls in a cleft of the mountain; but the _sight_ of them we must

leave to other voyagers....

The broad pyramidal mountain, Niesen, rising directly from the lake on

the western side towards the head, is always a commanding object. Its

_form_ recalled to my remembrance some of the stony pyramids of Glencoe,

but _only_ its form, the surface being covered with green pasturage.

Sometimes, in the course of the morning, we had been reminded of our own

country; but transiently, and never without a sense of characteristic

difference. Many of the distinctions favourable to Switzerland I have

noticed; and it seems as if I were ungrateful to our own pellucid lakes,

those darlings of the summer breezes! But when floating on the Lake of

Thun we did not forget them. The greenish hue of its waters is much less

pleasing than the cerulean or purple of the lakes of Cumberland and

Westmoreland; the reflections are less vivid; shore and water do not so

delicately blend together; hence a coasting voyage cannot be accompanied

with an equal variety of minute objects. And I might add many other

little circumstances or incidents that enliven the banks of our lakes.

For instance, in a summer forenoon, the troops of cattle that are seen

solacing themselves in the cool waters within the belt of a pebbly

shore; or, if the season do not drive them thither, how they beautify

the pastures, and rocky unenclosed grounds! While on the Lake of Thun we

did not see a single group of cattle of any kind. I have not spoken of

that _other_ sky, "received into the bosom" of our lakes, on tranquil

summer evenings; for the time of day prevented our being reminded in

the same degree of what we have so often beheld at such times; but it

is obvious that, though the reflections from _masses_ of brilliant

clouds must often be very grand, the clouds in their delicate hues and

forms cannot be seen, in the same soft distinctness, "bedded in another

sky."...

In this pleasing valley we whirled away, again (as to the first sound of

a Frenchman's whip in the streets of Calais) as blithe as children; when

all at once, looking through a narrow opening of green and craggy

mountains, the Jungfrau (the Virgin) burst upon our view, dazzling in

brightness, which seemed rather heightened than diminished by a mantle

of white clouds floating over the bosom of the mountain. The effect was

indescribable. We had before seen the snows of the Alps at a distance,

propped, as I may say, against the sky, or blending with, and often

indistinguishable from it; and now, with the suddenness of a pantomimic

change, we beheld a great mountain of snow, very near to us as it

appeared, and in combination with hills covered with flourishing trees,

in the pride of summer foliage. Our mirth was checked; and, awe-struck

yet delighted, we stopped the car for some minutes.

Soon after we discovered the town of Unterseen, which stands right under

the hill, and close to the river Aar, a most romantic spot, the large,

ancient wooden houses of the market-place joining each other, yet placed

in wondrous disregard of order, and built with uncouth and grotesque

variety of gallery and pent-house. The roofs are mostly secured from

the wind by large rough stones laid upon them. At the end of the town we

came to a bridge which we were to pass over; and here, almost as

suddenly, was the river Aar presented to our view as the maiden-mountain

in her resplendent garb had been before. Hitherto the river had been

concealed by, or only partially seen through, the trees; but at

Unterseen it is imperious, and will be heard, seen, and felt. In a fit

of rage it tumbles over a craggy channel, spreading out and dividing

into different streams, crossed by the long, ponderous wooden bridge,

that, steady and rugged, adds to the wild grandeur of the spectacle....

I recollect one woody eminence far below us, about which we doubted

whether the object on its summit was rock or castle, and the point

remained undecided until, on our way to Lauterbrunnen, we saw the same

above our heads, on its perpendicular steep, a craggy barrier fitted to

war with the tempests of ten thousand years. If summer days had been at

our command we should have remained till sunset upon our chosen

eminence; but another, on the opposite side of the vale, named the

Hohlbuhl, invited us, and we determined to go thither. Yet what could be

looked for more delightful than the sights which, by stirring but a few

yards from our elastic couch on the crags, we might see all round us? On

one side, the river Aar streaming through the verdant vale; on the

other, the pastoral, walnut-tree plain, with its one chapel and

innumerable huts, bounded by varied steeps, and leading the eye, and

still more the fancy, into its recesses and to the snowy barrier of the

Jungfrau. We descended on the side opposite to that by which we climbed

the hill, along an easy and delightful track, cut in the forest among

noble trees, chiefly beeches. Winding round the hill, we saw the bridge

above the inn, which we must cross to reach the foot of the other

eminence. We hurried along, through fields, woody lanes, and beside

cottages where children offered us nosegays gathered from their shady

gardens. Every image, every object in the vale was soothing or

cheerful: it seemed a paradise cradled in rugged mountains. At many a

cottage door we could have loitered till daylight was gone. The way had

appeared short at a distance, but we soon found out our want of skill in

measuring the vales of Switzerland, and long before we had reached the

foot of the hill, perceived that the sun was sinking, and would be gone

before our labour was ended. The strong pushed forward; and by patience

_I_ too, at last gained the desired point a little too late; for the

brilliance had deserted all but the highest mountains. They presented a

spectacle of heavenly glory; and long did we linger after the rosy

lights had passed away from their summits, and taken a station in the

calm sky above them.[46] It was ten o'clock when we reached the inn.

[Footnote 46: After the sunshine has left the mountain-tops the sky

frequently becomes brighter, and of the same hue as if the light from

the hills had retreated thither.--D. W.]

_Brienz, Wednesday, August 9th._-- ... There was something in the

exterior of the people belonging to the inn at Brienz that reminded one

of the ferry-houses in the Highlands--a sort of untamed familiarity with

strangers, and an expression of savage fearlessness in danger. While we

were waiting at the door, a company of females came up, returning from

harvest labours in the Vale of Berne to their homes at the head of the

lake. They gathered round, eyeing us steadily, and presently a girl

began to sing, another joined, a third, a fourth, and then a fifth,

their arms gracefully laid over each other's shoulders. Large black or

straw hats shaded their heads, undecked with ribands, and their attire

was grey; the air they sang was plaintive and wild, without sweetness,

yet not harsh. The group collected round that lonely house on the

river's edge would have made a pretty picture.... The shore of Brienz,

as far as we saw it, is much richer in intricate graces than the shores

of the Lake of Thun. Its little retiring bays and shaggy rocks reminded

me sometimes of Loch Ketterine.

Our minstrel peasants passed us on the water, no longer singing

_plaintive_ ditties, such as inspired the little poem which I shall

transcribe in the following page; but with bursts of merriment they

rowed lustily away. The poet has, however, transported the minstrels in

their gentle mood from the cottage door to the calm lake.

"What know we of the Blest above

But that they sing and that they love?"

Yet if they ever did inspire

A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir,

Now, where those harvest Damsels float

Homeward in their rugged Boat

(While all the ruffling winds are fled,

Each slumbering on some mountain's head)

Now, surely, hath that gracious aid

Been felt, that influence display'd.

Pupils of Heaven, in order stand

The rustic Maidens, every hand

Upon a Sister's shoulders laid,--

To chant, as Angels do above,

The melodies of Peace, in love![47]

[Footnote 47: See the "Poetical Works," vol. vi. p. 315, in

"Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820," _Scene on the

Lake of Brientz_.--ED.]

_Interlachen, Thursday, August 10th._--Many a streamlet crossed our way,

after tumbling down the hills--sometimes as clear as the springs of our

Westmoreland mountains, but the instant they touched the glacier river

of the valley their pure spirit was lost--annihilated by its angry

waters. I have seen a muddy and a transparent streamlet at a few yards'

distance hurrying down the same steep; in one instance the two joined at

the bottom, travelled side by side in the same track, remaining distinct

though joined together, as if each were jealous of its own character.

Yielding to mild necessity, they slowly blended, ere both, in turbulent

disrespect, were swallowed up by the master torrent.

The Jungfrau (till then hidden except a small portion of its summit)

burst upon our view, covered with snow from its _apparent_ base to its

highest pike. We had been ascending nearly four hours; and all at once

the wintery mountain appeared before us; of majestic bulk, though but a

small part of that mass springing from the same foundation, some of the

pikes of which are seen far and wide from every quarter of the compass;

and we, after all this climbing, seemed not nearer to the top than when

we had viewed what _appeared_ to be the highest summits from below. We

were all on foot, and (at the moment when, about to turn to our left and

coast along the side of the hill which, sloping down to the base of the

snowy mountain, forms a hollow between) suddenly we heard a tremendous

noise--loud like thunder; and all stood still. It was the most awful

sound which had ever struck upon our ears. For some minutes, we did not

utter a single word:--and when the sound was dying away exclaimed, "It

is an avalanche!" eagerly asking "where?" and whence it had come. The

guide pointed to a very small and almost perpendicular _rivulet_ (as it

appeared to us) perfectly white--and dashing down the mountains--"That,"

said he, "is the Avalanche!" We could not _believe_ that such mighty

tumult had proceeded from a little rill (to _our eyes_ it was nothing

else, though composed of falling masses of snow, and probably ice), and

I suspect we were loth to leave the mystery explained: however, we were

compelled to yield to our guide's experience, seeing a few minutes

after, the motion of the little white rill or torrent gradually settle

till all was gone, and perfect silence succeeded, silence more awful

even than the noise which had preceded it. The hollow alongside of which

our course lay might be in length half a league. On our right was the

Jungfrau in stillness of deepest winter; and the opposite hill, the

Wengern, was carpeted with green grass and flowers. _These_ heights

were pastured by cattle, and we began to hear the tinkling of their

bells, and shouts from boys at a distance; but no other stirring till we

reached a single hut near the end of the sloping hollow, the only one

visible hereabouts. At the door of the hut, our steeds were let loose to

pasture, and we entered. Two or three young men and boys displayed the

stores of their cupboard--one little piece of wheaten bread to help out

the small supply which we had brought, plenty of cheese, and milk in

abundance. It was not better than a savage shelter; and the youths

looked as if they had had no valley culture; simple goodwill, however,

cheerful smiles and stores proffered without reserve made all

delightful, and had a shower and a wintry blast visited us from the

Jungfrau we should have rejoiced in the comfort of that shelter; but the

sun shone with _peculiar_ brightness, enriching the soft green ground,

and giving dazzling brilliancy to the snow. We desired our attendants to

bring their stores into the open air, and seated ourselves on the turf

beside the _household_ spring (so let me call it, though but a child of

summer at the foot of the icy mountain), the warm sun shone upon us; the

air invigorated our spirits and we were as gay as larks, that soar in a

region far below _ours_ on that happy afternoon. Again we heard the

thunder of avalanches, and saw them bursting out, fresh foaming springs.

The sound is loud as thunder, but more metallic and musical. It also may

be likened to the rattling of innumerable chariots passing over rocky

places.... Soon the vale lay before us, with its two glaciers, and--as

it might seem--its thousand cabins sown upon the steeps. The descent[48]

became so precipitous that all were obliged to walk. Deep we go into the

broad cradle-valley, every cottage we passed had its small garden, and

cherry-trees sprinkled with leaves, bearing half-grown, half-ripe

fruit. In plunging into this vale I was overcome with a sense of

melancholy pervading the whole scene--not desolation, or dreariness. It

is not the melancholy of the Scotch Highlands, but connected with social

life in loneliness, not less than with the strife of all the seasons....

The sunshine had long deserted the valley, and was quitting the summits

of the mountains behind the village; but red hues, dark as the red of

rubies, settled in the clouds, and lingered there after the mountains

had lost all but their cold whiteness, and the black hue of the crags.

The gloomy grandeur of this spectacle harmonised with the melancholy of

the vale; yet it was _heavenly glory_ that hung over those cold

mountains.

[Footnote 48: From the Wengern Alp.--D. W.]

_Grindelwald, Friday, August 11th._--_Scheideck to Meiringen._--To our

right, looking over the green cradle of the vale, we saw the glacier,

with the stream issuing from beneath an arch of solid ice--the small

pyramids around it of a greyish colour, mingled with vitriol green. The

bed of icy snow above looked sullied, so that the glacier itself was not

beautiful, like what we had read of; but the mass of mountains behind,

their black crags and shadows, and the awful aspect of winter

encroaching on the valley-domain (combinations so new to us) made ample

amends for any disappointment we might feel.... The rain came on in

heavy drops, but did not drive us to the closer shelter of the house. We

heeded not the sprinkling which a gust of wind sometimes sent in upon

us. Good fortune had hitherto favoured us; and, even if we had been

detained at that house all night, the inconvenience would have been

trifling. Our spirits were uplifted, and we felt as if it would be a

privilege to be admitted to a near acquaintance with Alpine storms. This

at least was my feeling, till the threatenings were over; and then, by

happy transition, I gladly hailed the bursting light of the sun that

flashed upon the crags, seen by glimpses between the dispersing clouds.

The interior of the house was roomy and warm; and, though the floors

were of the bare soil, everything looked cleanly; the wooden vessels

were pretty, ladles and spoons curiously carved, and all neatly arranged

on shelves. Three generations, making a numerous family, were there

living together in the summer season, with their cattle on the rough

pastures round them:[49] no doubt the main support of the household, but

the gains from travellers must be considerable. We were surprised at

being asked if we chose coffee. Hardly should we have deserved our

welcome shelter had we not preferred the peasant's fare--cheese, milk,

and cream, with the addition of bread fetched from the vale; and I must

not omit a dish of fruit--bilberries--here very fine. Indeed most of our

mountain plants, except the branchy fern and the common daisy (which we

rarely saw), grow in lavish beauty, and many others unknown to us, that

enamel the turf like gems. The monkshood of our gardens, growing at a

great height on the Alps, has a brighter hue than elsewhere. It is seen

in tufts, that to my fancy presented fairy groves upon the green grass,

and in rocky places, or under trees.

[Footnote 49: All these Alps are occupied by owners of land in the

valleys, who have a right in common according to the quantity of

their land. The cheeses, like the rest of the produce, are the

property of all, and the distribution takes place at the end of the

season.--D. W.]

The storm over, we proceeded, still in the forest, which led us through

different compartments of the vale, each of itself a little valley of

the loveliest greenness, on all sides skirted with pine-trees, and often

sprinkled with huts, the summer dwellings of the herdsmen. Sometimes

(seen through a lateral opening) a meadow glade, not much larger than a

calf-garth, would have its single dwelling; but the memory of one

particular spot--the perfect image of peace and pastoral

seclusion--remains with me as vividly as when, apart from my companions,

I travelled over its soft carpet of turf. That valley-reach might be in

length a quarter of a mile or more, and of proportionate width,

surrounded by hills covered with pines, overtopped by craggy mountains.

It was an apparently level plain, as smooth as velvet, and our course

through the centre. On our right flowed the grey stream from the

glaciers, with chastened voice and motion; and, on the other, were many

cabins in an almost formal line, separated from each other, and elevated

upon wooden pillars, the grass growing round and under them. There was

not a sound except of the gushing stream; no cattle to be seen, nor any

living creature.

* * * * *

Our way continued through interchange of pastoral and forest ground.

Crossed a bridge, and then had the stream to our left in a rocky gulf

overhung with trees, chiefly beeches and elms; sawing-mills on the river

very picturesque. It is impossible to imagine a more beautiful descent

than was before us to the vale of Hasli. The roaring stream was our

companion; sometimes we looked down upon it from the edge of a lofty

precipice; sometimes descended towards it, and could trace its furious

course for a considerable way. The torrent bounded over rocks, and still

went foaming on, no pausing-places, no gentle windings, no pools under

the innumerable smaller cataracts; the substance and the grey hue still

the same, whether the stream rushed in one impetuous current down a

regularly rough part of its steep channel, or laboured among rocks in

cloud-shaped heavings, or in boisterous fermentation.... We saw the

cataract[50] through an open window. It is a tremendous one, but,

wanting the accompaniments of overhanging trees, and all the minor

graces which surround our waterfalls--overgrowings of lichen, moss,

fern, and flowers--it gives little of what may be called pleasure. It

was astonishment and awe--an overwhelming sense of the powers of nature

for the destruction of all things, and of the helplessness of man--of

the weakness of his will if prompted to make a momentary effort against

such a force. What weight and speed of waters! and what a tossing of

grey mist! Though at a considerable distance from the fall, when

standing at the window, a shower of misty rain blew upon us.

[Footnote 50: The Fall of the Reichenbach.--ED.]

_Meiringen, Saturday, August 12th._--Again crossed the river; then up a

bare precipice, and along a gallery hewn out of the rock. Downwards to

the valley more bare and open; a sprinkling of pines, among which the

peasants were making hay. Hamlets and single huts not far asunder: no

thought of dreariness crossed my mind; yet a pensiveness was spread over

the long valley, where, year by year, the same simple employments go on

in succession, and where the tempests of winter are patiently endured,

and thoughtfully guarded against.... The _châlet_ at Handek is large;

four long apartments, in one of which our mules rested. Several men were

living there for the summer season, but no women. They served us with

the same kindliness we had experienced on the Wengern and Scheidegg

Alps, but with slowness and gravity. These men were very tall, and had a

sedate deportment, generally noticed I find by travellers in Ober Hasli,

where the race has for centuries been distinguished by peculiar customs,

manners, and habits.... From the brink of a rock we looked down the

falls, and along the course of the torrent. The spectacle was

tremendous, and, from that point, not less beautiful. The position of

the sun here favoured us; and we beheld the arch of a bright rainbow,

steadily poised on the cloud of vapour below us that burst out of the

terrific waters. We looked down with awe upon