the river, throwing

His giant body o'er the steep rock's brink,

yet at first hardly without personal fear. The noise was so great we

could not help fancying it shook the very rock on which we stood. That

feeling passed away.... While I lay on my bed, the terrible solitudes of

the Wetterhorn were revealed to me by fits--its black chasms, and snowy,

dark, grey summits. All night, and all day, and for ever, the vale of

Meiringen is sounding with torrents.

_Meiringen, Sunday, August 13th._--Rain over, and the storm past away,

long before the sunshine had touched the top of any other mountain, the

snow upon the Wetterhorn shone like silver, and its grey adamantine

towers appeared in a soft splendour all their own. I looked in vain for

the rosy tints of morning, of which I had so often heard; but they could

not have been more beautiful than the silvery brightness....

_Lake of Lungern._--At an upper window of one of a cluster of houses at

the foot of the valley, a middle-aged man, with a long beard, was

kneeling with a book in his hand. He fixed his eyes upon us, and, while

his devotions were still going on, made me a bow. I passed slowly, and

looked into that house with prying eyes, it was so different from any

other, and so much handsomer. The wooden ceiling of the room, where the

friar or monk (such I suppose him to be) knelt at his prayers, was

curiously inlaid and carved, and the walls hung with pictures. The

picturesque accompaniments of the Roman Catholic religion, the elegant

white chapels on the hills, the steady grave people going to church, and

the cheerfulness of the valley, had put me into good humour with the

religion itself; but, while we were passing through this very hamlet,

and close to the mansion of the godly man, Mr. M. having lost the cork

of a little flask, I asked the guide to buy or beg for us another at one

of the cottages, and he shook his head, assuring me they would neither

give nor sell anything to us Protestants, except in the regular way of

trade. They would do nothing for us out of goodwill. I had been too

happy in passing through the tranquil valley to be ready to trust my

informer, and, having first obliged him to make the request, I asked

myself at two respectable houses, and met with a refusal, and no very

gracious looks....

_Sarnen, Monday, August 14th._--The road to the monastery is marked by

small pillars of grey stone, not more than a quarter of a mile asunder.

At the top of each pillar is a square cupboard, as I may call it, or it

more resembles the head of a clock, where, secure from the rain, are

placed paintings of the history of our Saviour from His birth to His

ascension. Some of the designs are very pretty (taken, no doubt, from

better pictures) and they generally tell their tale intelligibly. The

pillars are in themselves pleasing objects in connection with the

background of a crag or overhanging tree--a streamlet, or a bridge--and

how touchingly must their pictured language have spoken to the heart of

many a weary devotee! The ascent through the forest was interesting on

every account. It led us sometimes along the brink of precipices, and

always far above the boisterous river. We frequently met, or were

overtaken, by peasants (mostly bearing heavy burthens). We spoke to each

other; but here I could not understand three words of their language,

nor they of mine.

_Engelberg, Mount Titlis, Tuesday, August 15th._--We breakfasted in view

of the flashing, silver-topped Mount Titlis, and its grey crags, a sight

that roused William's youthful desires; and in spite of weak eyes, and

the weight of fifty winters, he could not repress a longing to ascend

that mountain.... But my brother had had his own visions of glory, and,

had he been twenty years younger, sure I am that he would have trod the

summit of the Titlis. Soon after breakfast we were warned to expect the

procession, and saw it issuing from the church. Priests in their white

robes, choristers, monks chanting the service, banners uplifted, and a

full-dressed image of the Virgin carried aloft. The people were divided

into several classes; the men, bareheaded; and maidens, taking

precedency of the married women, I suppose, because it was the festival

of the Virgin.

The procession formed a beautiful stream upon the green level, winding

round the church and convent. Thirteen hundred people were assembled at

Engelberg, and joined in this service. The unmarried women wore straw

hats, ornamented with flowers, white bodices, and crimson petticoats.

The dresses of the elder people were curious. What a display of

neck-chains and ear-rings! of silver and brocaded stomachers! Some old

men had coats after the mode of the time of _The Spectator_, with worked

seams. Boys, and even young men, wore flowers in their straw hats. We

entered the convent; but were only suffered to go up a number of

staircases, and through long whitewashed galleries, hung with portraits

of saints, and prints of remarkable places in Switzerland, and

particularly of the vale and convent of Engelberg, with plans and charts

of the mountains, etc. There are now only eighteen monks; and the abbot

no longer exists: his office, I suppose, became extinct with his

temporal princedom.... I strolled to the chapel, near the inn, a pretty

white edifice, entered by a long flight of steps. No priest, but several

young peasants, in shepherdess attire of jackets, and showy petticoats,

and flowery hats, were paying their vows to the Virgin. A colony of

swallows had built their nests within the cupola, in the centre of the

circular roof. They were flying overhead; and their voices seemed to me

an harmonious accompaniment to the silent devotions of those rustics.

_Lucerne, Wednesday, August 16th._--Lucerne stands close to the shore at

the foot of the lake of the four cantons. The river Reuss, after its

passage from the mountain of St. Gothard, falls into that branch called

the Lake of Uri, and issues out of another branch at Lucerne, passing

through the town. The river has three long wooden bridges; and another

bridge, 1080 feet in length, called the Cathedral Bridge, crosses a

part of the lake, and leads to the Cathedral. Thither we repaired,

having first walked the streets, and purchased a straw hat for 12

francs, at the shop of a pleasant talkative milliner, on whose counter,

taking up a small pamphlet (a German magazine), we were surprised at

opening upon our own name, and, still more, surprised to find it in

connection with my brother's poem on the Duddon, so recently published.

But I was going to lead you to the end of the long bridge under a dark

roof of wood, crossed and sustained by heavy beams, on each of which, on

both sides--so that they face you both in going and returning--some

portion of Scripture history is represented; beginning with Adam and

Eve, and ending with the resurrection and ascension of Christ. These

pictures, to the number of 230--though, to be sure, woful things as

works of art--are by no means despicable daubs; and, while I looked at

them myself, it pleased me much more to see the peasants, bringing their

burthens to the city, often stay their steps, with eyes cast upwards.

The lake is seen through the openings of the bridge; pleasant houses,

not crowded, on its green banks.... It was dark when we reached the inn.

We took tea at one end of the unoccupied side of the table in the

_salle-à-manger_; while, on the other side, a large party were at

supper. Before we had finished, a bustle at the door drew our attention

to a traveller; rather an odd figure appeared in a greatcoat. Mary said,

"He is like Mr. Robinson." He turned round while talking German, with

loud voice, to the landlord; and, all at once, we saw that it was Mr.

Robinson himself. Our joy cannot be expressed. If he had brought the

half of old England along with him, we could not have been more glad. We

started up with one consent; and, no doubt, all operations at the

supper-table were suspended; but we had no eyes for that. Mr. Robinson

introduced two young men, his companions, an American and a

Scotchman--genteel, modest youths, who (the ceremony of introduction

over) slipped away to the supper-table, wishing to leave us to

ourselves. We were indeed happy--and Mr. Robinson was not less so. He

seemed as if he had in one moment found two homes, his English home, and

his home in Germany, though it were in the heart of Switzerland.

_Lucerne, Friday, August 18th._--Merrily we floated between the soft

banks of the first reach of the lake, keeping near the left shore.[51]

Plots of corn interspersed among trees and green slopes, with pleasant

houses, not neighbouring one another, as at Zurich, nor yet having a

character of loneliness. Then we come to low shaggy rocks, forming

pretty little bays, and a singular rock appears before us in the water,

the terminating point of the promontory. That point passed, the Kusnach

branch opening out on our left hand, we are soon on the body of the

lake, from which the four smaller branches of Lucerne, Winkel, Alpnach,

and Kusnach may be said to proceed. The lake is full and stately; the

mountains are magnificent. The town of Lucerne, its red roofs softened

(even in the sunshine of this bright day) by distance, is an elegant

termination of its own compartment, backed by low hills. Rowing round

the rocky point, we lose sight of that quarter: the long Reach of

Kusnach is before us, bordered by soft shores with thinly-scattered

villages, and but few detached cottages. Behind us, the lake stretches

out to Mount Pilatus, dark, rugged, and lofty--the Sarnen and Meiringen

mountains beyond; and the summits surrounding the hidden valley of

Engelberg in the opposite quarter.

[Footnote 51: Which is in fact the _right_ bank as we were going _up_

the Lake.--D. W.]

_Top of Rigi, Saturday, August 19th._--At Goldau the valley desolation

begins. It bears the name of the former village buried in ruins; and is

now no more than three or four houses and a church built on the same

site. Masses of barren rubbish lie close to the houses, where but a few

years past, nothing was seen but fruitful fields. We dined at the inn,

and were waited on by the landlady, whose head-dress was truly

surprising. She wore from the back of the neck to the forehead a cap

shaped like a one-arched bridge with high parapets of stiff muslin; the

path of the bridge covered with artificial flowers--wonderously

unbecoming; for she was a plain woman--not young--and her hair (I think

powdered) was drawn tight up from the forehead. She served us with very

small fish, from the lake, excellently cooked, boiled milk, eggs, an

omelet, and dessert. From the room where we dined we had a view of the

Lake of Zong, formerly separated from the small Lake of Lowertz only by

_fertile_ grounds, such as we now beheld stretching down to its shores.

Yes! from a window in that house on its desolate site we beheld this

lovely prospect; and nothing of the desolation.

_Seewen, August 20th, Sunday._--A small white Church, with a graceful

Tower, mitre-topped and surmounted by a slender spire, was in prospect,

upon an eminence in the Vale, and thitherward the people led us. Passing

through the small village of Engelbole, at the foot of that green

eminence, we ascended to the churchyard, where was a numerous assemblage

(you must not forget it was Sunday) keeping festival. It was like a

_Fair_ to the eye; but no squalls of trumpets or whistles--no battering

of children's drums--all the people quiet, yet cheerful--cakes and fruit

spread abundantly on the churchyard wall.

A beautiful prospect from that spot--new scenes to tempt us forward! We

descended, by a long flight of steps, into the Vale, and, after about

half a mile's walking, we arrived at _Brunnen_. Espied Wm. and M. upon a

crag above the village, and they directed us to the Eagle Inn, where I

instantly seated myself before a window, with a long Reach of the Lake

of Uri[52] before me, the magnificent commencement to our _regular_

approach to the St. Gothard Pass of the Alps. My first feeling was of

extreme delight in the excessive _beauty_ of the scene;--I had expected

something of a more awful impression from the Lake of Uri; but nothing

so _beautiful_.

[Footnote 52: The head Branch of the Lake of the Four Cantons.--D. W.]

It was a moonlight night;--rather a night of fitful moonshine; for large

clouds were driving rapidly over the narrow arch of sky above the town

[Altorf]. A golden cross, upon one of the steeples, shone forth at times

as bright as a star in heaven, against the black mountain-wall, while

the transient touchings of the moonlight produced a most romantic effect

upon the many-coloured paintings on the wall of the old Tower. I sate a

long time at my window keeping watch, and wishing for a companion, that

I might walk. At length, however, when I was preparing to go to bed

(after ten o'clock) Mr. R. tapped at my door to tell me that Mr. M. was

going out. I hastily re-dressed myself, and we two then sallied forth

together. A fierce hot wind drove through the streets, whirling aloft

the dust of the ruins, which almost blinded our eyes. We got a hasty

glimpse of the moon perched on the head of a mountain pike--a moment and

it was gone--then passed through the long street. Houses and ruins

picturesque in the uncertain light--with a stateliness that does not

belong to them by day--hurried on to the churchyard, which, being on an

eminence, gave us another view of the moon wandering among clouds, above

the jagged ridges of the steeps:--thence homewards struggling with the

hot wind. _Some_ matters are curiously managed on the Continent, a

folding door, the sole entrance to my chamber, only separated it from

the salon where, at my return, guests were at supper. I heard every word

they spoke as distinctly as if I had been of the party, though without

understanding more than that a careful father was travelling with his

two boys, to whom he talked incessantly; but so kindly and pleasantly

that I hardly wished to get rid of his voice. We had broad flashes of

lightning after I was in bed, but no thunder. This reminds me that we

could have no fresh bread for breakfast in the morning, the bakers

having, as we were told, been prohibited (since the destructive fire)

under a heavy penalty, from heating their ovens except when the air is

calm. I think it must often be the lot of the good people of Altorf to

gnaw a hard crust; for these mountains are fine brewing-places for the

winds; and the vale a very trough to receive and hold them fast.

A smart young maiden was to introduce us to the interior of the ivied

Tower, so romantic in its situation above the roaring stream, at the

mouth of the glen, which, behind, is buried beneath overhanging woods.

We ascended to the upper rooms by a blind staircase that might have

belonged to a turret of one of our ancient castles, which conducted us

into a Gothic room, where we found neither the ghost nor the armour of

William Tell; but an artist at work with the pencil; with two or three

young men, his pupils, from Altorf. No better introduction to the favour

of one of those young men was required than that of our sprightly female

attendant. From this little academy of the arts, drawings are dispersed,

probably, to every country of the continent of Europe. Mr. M. selected

two from a very large collection.

_Monday, August 20th._[53]--_Altorf._--We found our own comfortable Inn,

THE OX, near the fountain of William Tell. The buildings here are

fortunately disposed--with a pleasing irregularity. Opposite to our Inn

stands the Tower of the Arsenal, built upon the spot where grew the

Linden-tree to which Tell's son is reported to have been bound when the

arrow was shot. This tower was spared by the fire which consumed an

adjoining building, _happily_ spared, if only for the sake of the rude

paintings on its walls. I studied them with infinite satisfaction,

especially the face of the innocent little boy with the apple on his

head. After dinner we walked up the valley to the reputed birthplace of

Tell: it is a small village at the foot of a glen, rich yet very wild. A

rude unroofed modern bridge crosses the boisterous river, and, beside

the bridge, is a fantastic mill-race constructed in the same rustic

style--uncramped by apprehensions of committing waste upon the woods. At

the top of a steep rising directly from the river, stands a square tower

of grey stone, partly covered with ivy, in itself rather a striking

object from the bridge; even if not pointed out for notice as being

built on the site of the dwelling where William Tell was born. Near it,

upon the same eminence, stands the white church, and a small chapel

called by Tell's name, where we again found rough paintings of his

exploits, mixed with symbols of the Roman Catholic faith. Our walk from

Altorf to this romantic spot had been stifling; along a narrow road

between old stone walls--nothing to be seen above them but the tops of

fruit trees, and the imprisoning hills. No doubt when those walls were

built, the lands belonged to the churches and monasteries. Happy were we

when we came to the glen and rushing river, and still happier when,

having clomb the eminence, we sate beside the churchyard, where kindly

breezes visited us--the warm breezes of Italy! We had here a volunteer

guide, a ragged child, voluble with his story trimmed up for the

stranger. He could tell the history of the Hero of Uri and declare the

import of each memorial;--while (not neglecting the saints) he proudly

pointed out to our notice (what indeed could not have escaped it) a

gigantic daubing of the figure of St. Christopher on the wall of the

church steeple. But our smart young maiden was to introduce us to the

interior of the ivied Tower, so romantic in its situation above the

roaring stream, at the mouth of the glen, which, behind, is buried

beneath overhanging woods. We ascended to the upper rooms by a blind

staircase that might have belonged to a turret of one of our ancient

castles, which conducted us into a gothic room, where we found neither

the ghost nor the armour of William Tell; but an artist at work with the

pencil; with two or three young men, his pupils, from Altorf--no better

introduction to the favour of one of those young men was required than

that of our sprightly female attendant. From this little academy of the

arts, drawings are dispersed, probably, to every country of the

continent of Europe.

[Footnote 53: There is a mistake here as to the date, which renders

all subsequent ones inaccurate.--ED.]

_Wednesday, August 22nd._--_Amsteg._--After Wasen our road at times very

steep;--rocky on both sides of the glen; and fewer houses than before.

We had left the forest, but smaller fir-trees were thinly sprinkled on

the hills. Looking northward, the church tower on its eminence most

elegant in the centre of the glen backed by the bare pyramid of Meisen.

Images by the wayside though not frequent, I recollect a poor idiot

hereabouts, who with smiles and uncouth gestures placed himself under

the Virgin and Child, pleading so earnestly that there was no resisting

him. Soon after, when I was lingering behind upon a stone, beside a

little streamlet of clear water, a procession of mules approached, laden

with wine-casks--forty at least--which I had long seen winding like a

creeping serpent along the side of the bare hill before me, and heard

the stream of sound from their bells. Two neatly-dressed Italian women,

who headed the cavalcade, spoke to me in their own sweet language; and

one of them had the kindness to turn back to bring me a glove, which I

had left on the stone where I had been sitting. I cannot forget her

pretty romantic appearance--a perfect contrast to that of the poor

inhabitants of her own sex in this district, no less than her soft

speech! She was rather tall, and slender, and wore a small straw hat

tied with coloured riband, different in shape from those worn in

Switzerland. It was the first company of muleteers we had seen, though

afterwards we met many. Recrossed the Reuss, and, ascending a very long

and abrupt hill covered with impending and shattered crags, had again

that river on our left, but the hill carried us out of sight of it. I

was alone--the first in the ascent. A cluster of mountain masses, till

then unseen, appeared suddenly before me, black--rugged--or covered with

snow. I was indeed awe-struck; and, while I sate for some minutes,

thought within myself, now indeed we are going among the terrors of the

Alps; for the course of the Reuss being hidden, I imagined we should be

led towards those mountains. Little expecting to discover traces of

human habitations, I had gone but a little way before I beheld,

stretching from the foot of the savage mountains, an oblong valley

thickly strewn over with rocks, or, more accurately speaking, huge

stones; and among them huts of the same hue, hardly to be distinguished,

except by their shape. At the foot of the valley appeared a village

beside a tall slender church tower;--every object of the same hue except

the foaming glacier stream and the grassy ground, exquisitely green

among the crags. The hills that flanked the dismal valley told its

history:--their precipitous sides were covered with crags, mostly in

detached masses, that seemed ready to be hurled down by avalanches.

Descending about half a mile we were at the village,[54] and turning

into the churchyard to the left, sate there, overlooking the pass of the

torrent. Beside it lay many huge fragments of rock fallen from above,

resembling one of still more enormous size, called the Devil's stone,

which we had passed by on the right-hand side of the road near the

entrance of the village. How lavishly does nature in these desolate

places dispense _beautiful_ gifts! The craggy pass of the stream coming

out of that valley of stones was decorated with a profusion of gorgeous

bushes of the mountain ash, with delicate flowers, and with the richest

mosses. And, even while looking upon the valley itself, it was

impossible, amid all its images of desolation, not to have a mild

pleasure in noticing the harmonious beauty of its form and proportions.

Two or three women came to us to beg; and all the inhabitants seemed to

be miserably poor. No wonder! for they are not merely _summer_ tenants

of the village:--and who, that could find another hold in the land,

would dwell there the year through? Near the church is a picturesque

stone bridge, at the further end spanned by the arch of a ruined gateway

(no gate is _there_ now), and its stone pillars are crested with flowers

and grass. We cross the bridge; and, winding back again, come in sight

of the Reuss far below, to our left, and were in that part of the pass

especially called by Ebel the valley of Schöllenen,[55] so well known

for its dangers at the time of the dissolving of the snow, when the

muleteers muffle their bells and do not venture to speak a word, lest

they should stir some loose masses overhead by agitating the air. Here

we passed two muleteers stretched at ease upon a plot of verdant turf,

under a gigantic crag, their mules feeding beside them. The road is now,

almost continuously very steep--the hills rugged--often ruinous--yet

straggling pine-trees are seen even to their summits; and goats

fearlessly browsing upon the overhanging rocks. The distance from

Ghestinen to the vale of Urseren is nearly two leagues. After we had

been long ascending, I perceived on the crags on the opposite side of

the glen two human figures. They were at about the same elevation as

ourselves; yet looked no bigger than a boy and girl of five years'

growth, a proof that, narrow as the glen appears to be, its width is

considerable:--and this shows how high and steep must be the mountains.

Those people carried each a large burthen, which we supposed to be of

hay; but where was hay to be procured on these precipices? A little

further--and the mystery was solved, when we discovered a solitary mower

among slips of grass on the almost perpendicular side of the mountain.

The man and woman must have been bearing their load to the desolate

valley. Such are the summer labours of its poor inhabitants. In winter,

their sole employment out of their houses and cattle-sheds must be the

clearing away of snow, which would otherwise keep the doors barred up.

But even at that season, I believe, seldom a week passes over their

heads without tidings from the top of St. Gothard or the valley of

Altorf, winter being the season when merchandise is constantly passing

upon sledges between Italy and Switzerland:--and Ghestinen is one of the

halting-places. The most dangerous time of travelling is the spring. For

_us_ there were no dangers. The excellent paved road of granite masters

all difficulties even up the steepest ascents; and from safe bridges

crossing the torrents we looked without trepidation into their gulfs, or

pondered over their hasty course to the Reuss. Yet in the Gorge of

Schoellenen it is not easy to forget the terrors which visit that

houseless valley. Frequent memorials of deaths on the spot are

discovered by the way-side,--small wooden crosses placed generally under

the shelter of an overhanging stone. They might easily be passed

unnoticed; and are so slightly put together that a child might break

them to pieces:--yet they lie from year to year, as safe as in a

sanctuary.

[Footnote 54: Named Göschenen. It is 2100 feet above the lake of

Waldstelles and 3282 above the level of the Vierwaldstädtersee.

--D. W.]

[Footnote 55: Ramond gives this name to the whole valley from Amsteg

to the entrance of Ursern. Ebel gives to it, altogether, the name of

the Haute-Reuss; and says that it is called by the inhabitants the

Graccenthal--Göschenen.--D. W.]

_Thursday, August 23rd._--_Hopital._[56]--Mary and I were again the

first to depart. Our little Trager had left us and we proceeded with

another (engaged also for 9 francs the distance to Airola, one league

less). Turned aside into one of the little chapels at the outskirts of

the town. Two Italians were refreshing and repainting the Saints and

Angels; we traced something of the style of their country (very

different from what is seen in Switzerland) in the ornaments of the

Chapel. Next we were invited to view a collection of minerals: and,

avowing ignorance in these matters, passed on. The ascent is at once

very steep. The sun shone full upon us, but the air was clear and cool,

though perfectly calm. Straying from the paved road we walked on soft

grass sprinkled with lowly flowers, and interwoven with the

ground-loving thyme which (hardly to be discovered by the eye in

passing) sent out gushes of aromatic odour. The Reuss rapidly descending

in a rocky channel between green hills, hillocks, or knolls was on our

left hand--not close to the road. Our first resting-place was beside a

little company of its small cataracts--foaming and sparkling--such as we

might have met with in the _ghyll_ of a Westmoreland mountain--scantily

adorned with bushes, and liberally with bright flowers--cattle wandering

on the hills; their bells made a soft jingling. The ascent becomes less

steep. After ascending half a league, or more, having passed several

painted oratories, but neither cottage nor cattle-shed--we came to a

wide long hollow, so exactly resembling the upper reaches of our vales,

especially Easedale, that we could have half believed ourselves there

before the April sun had melted the snow on the mountain-tops, the clear

river Reuss, flowing over a flat, though stony bed in the centre. M. and

I were still alone with our guide; and here we met a French traveller,

of whom Mr. R. told us he had afterwards inquired if he had seen two

ladies, to which he rudely answered that he _had met two women_ a little

above. This reminded me of an unwilling inclination of the head when I

had spoken to this Frenchman in passing, as I do to all whom I meet in

lonely places. He did not touch his hat: no doubt an intentional

incivility, for, on the Continent, that mark of respect towards

strangers is so general as to be often troublesome. Our

fellow-travellers overtook us before we had ascended from the

Westmoreland hollow, which had appeared to them, as to us, with the face

of an old friend. No more bushes now to be seen--and not a single house

or hut since we left Hopital. The ascent at times very rapid--hill

bare--and very rocky. The Reuss (when seen at our right hand) was taking

an open course, like a common mountain torrent, having no continuous

glen of its own. Savage pikes in all directions:--but, altogether, the

mountain ascent from Urseren not to be compared in awfulness and

grandeur with the valley pass from Amsteg. I recollect no particular

incidents by the way, except that, when far behind in discourse with a

lame, and therefore slow-paced, foot-traveller (who intended to halt for

the night at the Hospital of St. Gothard), he pointed out to me a patch

of snow on the left side of the road at a distance, and a great stone on

the right, which he told me was the spot where six travellers had been

overwhelmed by an avalanche last February--they and the huge stone

buried beneath the snow, I cannot say how many feet deep. I found our

party examining the spot. The hill, from which the avalanche had fallen,

was neither precipitous nor, to appearance, very lofty, nor was anything

to be seen which could give the notion of peculiar hazard in that place;

and this gave us, perhaps, a more vivid impression of what must be the

dangers of the Alps, at one season of the year, than the most fearful

crags and precipices. A wooden cross placed under the great stone by the

brother of one of the deceased (an Italian gentleman) recorded the time

and manner of his death. We tasted the cold snow near this spot, the

first we had met with by the way-side, no doubt a remnant of the

avalanche that had buried those unfortunate travellers. At the top of

the ascent of St. Gothard a wide basin--a dreary valley of rocky

ground--lies before us.

[Footnote 56: Hospenthal.--ED.]

An oratory, where no doubt thanksgivings have been often poured out for

preservation from dangers encountered on a road which we had travelled,

so gaily, stands beside a large pool of clear water, that lies just

below us; and another pool, or little lake, the source of the Reuss, is

discovered between an opening in the mountains to the right. The

prospect is savage and grand; yet the grandeur chiefly arises from the

consciousness of being on ground so elevated and so near to the sources

of two great rivers, taking their opposite courses to the German Ocean,

and the Mediterranean Sea: for the mountain summits which rise all

round--some covered with snow--others of bare granite, being viewed from

a base so lofty are not so commanding as when seen from below; and the

_valley country_ is wholly hidden from view.--Unwilling to turn the

mountain, I sate down upon a rock above the little lake; and thence saw

(a quarter of a mile distant) the Hospital, or Inn, and, beside it, the

ruins of a convent, destroyed by the French. A tinkling of bells

suddenly warned me to look about, and there was a troop of goats; some

of them close at hand among the crags and slips of turf; nor were there

wanting, even here, a few bright lowly flowers. Entering into my

brother's youthful feelings of sadness and disappointment when he was

told unexpectedly that the Alps were crossed--the effort accomplished--I

tardily descended towards the Hospital.

I found Mary sitting on the lowest of a long flight of steps. She had

lost her companions (my brother and a young Swiss who had joined us on

the road). We mounted the steps; and, from within, their voices answered

our call. Went along a dark, stone, _banditti_ passage, into a small

chamber little less gloomy, where we found them seated with food before

them, bread and cheese, with sour red wine--no milk. Hunger satisfied,

Mary and I hastened to warm ourselves in the sunshine; for the house

was as cold as a dungeon. We straightway greeted with joy the infant

TESSINO which has its sources in the pools above. The gentlemen joined

us, and we placed ourselves on a sunny bank, looking towards Italy; and

the Swiss took out his flute, and played, and afterwards sang, the _Ranz

des Vaches_, and other airs of his country. We, and especially our

sociable friend R. (with his inexhaustible stock of kindness, and his

German tongue) found him a pleasant companion. He was from the

University of Heidelberg, and bound for Rome, on a visit to a brother,

in the holidays; and, our mode of travelling, for a short way, being the

same, it was agreed we should go on together: but before we reached

Airola he left us, and we saw no more of him.

_Friday, August 24th._--_Airola_ (3800 feet above the sea).--I walked

out; but neglected to enter the church, and missed a pleasure which W.

has often spoken of. He found a congregation of Rustics chanting the

service--the men and women alternately--unaccompanied by a priest....

Cascades of pure unsullied water, tumble down the hills in every

conceivable variety of form and motion--and never, I think, distant from

each other a quarter of a mile in the whole of our course from Airola.

Sometimes, those cascades are seen to fall in one snow-white line from

the highest ridge of the steep; or, sometimes, gleaming through the

woods (no traceable bed above them) they seem to start out at once from

beneath the trees, as from their source, leaping over the rocks. One

full cataract rose up like a geyser of Iceland, a silvery pillar that

glittered, as it seemed, among lightly-tossing snow. Without remembering

that the Tessino (of monotonous and muddy line) was seldom out of sight,

it is not possible to have even a faint notion of the pleasure with

which we looked at those bright rejoicing rivulets. The morning was

sunny; but we felt no oppression from heat, walking leisurely, and

resting long, especially at first, when expecting W. and R., who at

length overtook us, bringing a comfort that would have cheered a

_dreary_ road--letters from England.

_Sunday, August 26th._--_Locarno._--We had resolved to ascend St.

Salvador before sunrise; and, a contrary wind having sprung up, the

boatmen wished to persuade us to stay all night at a town upon a low

point of land pushed far into the Lake, which conceals from our view

that portion of it, where, at the head of a large basin or bay, stands

the town of Lugano. They told us we might thence ascend the mountain

with more ease than from Lugano, a wile to induce us to stay; but we

called upon them to push on. Having weathered this point, and left it

some way behind, the place of our destination appears in view--(like

Locarno and Luvino) within the semicircle of a bay--a wide basin of

waters spread before it; and the reach of the lake towards Porlezza

winding away to our right. That reach appeared to be of more grave and

solemn character than any we had passed through--grey steeps enclosing

it on each side. We now coasted beneath bare precipices at the foot of

St. Salvador--shouted to the echoes--and were answered by travellers

from the road far above our heads. Thence tended towards the middle of

the basin; and the town of Lugano appeared in front of us, low green

woody hills rising above it. Mild lightning fluttered like the northern

lights over the steeps of St. Salvador, yet without threatening clouds;

the wind had fallen; and no apprehensions of a storm disturbed our

pleasures. It was 8 o'clock when we reached the Inn, where all things

were on a large scale--splendid yet shabby. The landlord quite a fine

gentleman. His brother gone to England as a witness on the Queen's

trial. We had soon an excellent supper in a small salon where her

present Majesty of England and Count Bergami had often feasted together.

Mary had the honour of sleeping in the bed allotted to her Majesty, and

I in that of which she herself had made choice, not being satisfied

with her first accommodations. The boatman told us she was _una

bravissima Principessa_ and spent much money. The lightning continued;

but without thunder. We strayed again to the water-side while supper was

in preparation. Everybody seems to be living out of doors; and long

after I was in bed, I heard people in the streets singing, laughing,

talking, and playing on the flute.

_Monday, August 27th._--_Lugano._--Roused from sleep at a quarter before

4 o'clock, the moon brightly shining. At a quarter _past_ four set off

on foot to ascend Mount St. Salvador. Though so early, people were

stirring in the streets; our walk was by the shore, round the fine

bay--solemn yet cheerful in the morning twilight. At the beginning of

the ascent, passed through gateways and sheds among picturesque old

buildings with overhanging flat roofs--vines hanging from the walls with

the wildness of brambles or the untrained woodbine. The ascent from the

beginning is exceedingly steep and without intermission to the very

summit. Vines spreading from tree to tree, resting upon walls, or

clinging to wooden poles, they creep up the steep sides of the hill, no

boundary line between _them_ and the wild growth of the mountain, with

which, at last, they are blended till no trace of cultivation appears.

The road is narrow; but a path to the shrine of St. Salvador has been

made with great pains, still trodden once in the year by crowds

(probably, at this day, chiefly of peasantry) to keep the Festival of

that Saint, on the summit of the mount. It winds along the declivities

of the rocks--and, all the way, the views are beautiful. To begin with,

looking backward to the town of Lugano, surrounded by villas among

trees--a rich vale beyond the town, an ample tract bright with

cultivation and fertility, scattered over with villages and spires--who

could help pausing to look back on these enchanting scenes? Yet a still

more interesting spectacle travels _with us_, at our side (but how far

beneath us!) the Lake, winding at the base of the mountain, into which

we looked from craggy forest precipices, apparently almost as steep as

the walls of a castle, and a thousand times higher. We were bent on

getting start of the rising sun, therefore none of the party rested

longer than was sufficient to recover breath. I did so frequently, for a

few minutes; it being my plan at all times to climb up with my best

speed for the sake of those rests, whereas Mary, I believe, never once

sate down this morning, perseveringly mounting upward. Meanwhile, many a

beautiful flower was plucked among the mossy stones. One,[57] in

particular, there was (since found wherever we have been in Italy). I

helped Miss Barker to plant that same flower in her garden brought from

Mr. Clarke's hot-house. In spite of all our efforts the sun was

beforehand with us. _We_ were two hours in ascending. W. and Mr. R. who

had pushed on before, were one hour and forty minutes. When we stood on

the crown of that glorious Mount, we seemed to have attained a spot

which commanded pleasures equal to all that sight could give on this

terrestrial world. We beheld the mountains of Simplon--two brilliant

shapes on a throne of clouds--_Mont Blanc_ (as the guide told us[58])

lifting his resplendent forehead above a vapoury sea--and the Monte Rosa

a bright pyramid, how high up in the sky! The vision did not _burst_

upon us suddenly; but was revealed by slow degrees, while we felt so

satisfied and delighted with what lay distinctly outspread around us,

that we had hardly begun to look for objects less defined, in the

far-distant horizon. I cannot describe the green hollows, hills, slopes,

and woody plains--the towns, villages, and towers--the crowds of

secondary mountains, substantial in form and outline, bounding the

prospect in other quarters--nor the bewitching loveliness of the lake of

Lugano lying at the base of Mount Salvador, and thence stretching out

its arms between the bold steeps. My brother said he had never in his

life seen so extensive a prospect at the expense only of two hours'

climbing: but it must be remembered that the whole of the ascent is

almost a precipice. Beyond the town of Lugano, the hills and wide vale

are thickly sprinkled with towns and houses. Small lakes (to us their

names unknown) were glittering among the woody steeps, and beneath lay

the broad neck of the Peninsula of St. Salvador--a tract of hill and

valley, woods and waters. Far in the distance on the other side, the

towers of Milan might be descried. The river Po, a ghostly serpent-line,

rested on the brown plains of Lombardy; and there again we traced the

Tessino, departed from his mountain solitudes, where we had been his

happy companions.

[Footnote 57: Cyclamen.--D. W.]

[Footnote 58: It was _not_ Mont Blanc. He was mistaken, or wanted to

deceive us to give pleasure; but however we might have wished to

believe that what he asserted was true, we could not think it

possible.--D. W.]

But I have yet only looked _beyond_ the mount. There is a house beside

the Chapel, probably in former times inhabited by persons devoted to

religious services--or it might be only destined for the same use for

which it serves at present, a shelter for them who flock from the

vallies to the yearly Festival. Repairs are going on in the Chapel,

which was struck with lightning a few years ago, and all but the altar

and its holy things, with the image of the Patron Saint, destroyed.

Their preservation is an established miracle, and the surrounding

peasantry consider the memorials as sanctified anew by that visitation

from heaven.

_Tuesday, August 28th._--_Menaggio._--We took the opposite (the eastern)

side of the lake, intending to land, and ascend to the celebrated source

of the _Fiume Latte_ (River of Milk). Following the curves of the shore

came to a grey-white village, and landed upon the rocky bank (there is

no road or pathway along this margin of the lake; and every village has

its own boats). Mounting by a flight of rugged steps, we were at once

under a line of houses fronting the water; and after climbing up the

steep, walked below those houses, the lake beneath us on our left. All

at once, from that sunny spot we came upon a rugged bridge; shady all

round--cool breezes rising up from the rocky cleft where in twilight

gloom (so it appears to eyes saturated with light) a copious stream--the

_Fiume Latte_--is hurrying with leap and bound to the great lake. Our

object, as I have said, was the fountain of that torrent. We mounted up

the hill by rocky steeps, and pathways, in some places almost

perpendicular, the precipice all the way being built up by low walls

hung with vines. The earth thus supported is covered with melons,

pumpkins, Indian corn, chestnut-trees, fig-trees, and trees now

scattering ripe plums. The ascent was truly laborious. On the lake we

had never been oppressed by the heat; _here_ it was almost too much even

for _me_: but when we reached the desired spot, where the torrent drops

from its marble cavern, as clear as crystal, how delicious the coolness

of the breeze! The water issues silently from the cold cavern, slides

but a very little way over the rock, then bounds in a short cataract,

and rushes rapidly to the lake. The evergreen Arbutus and the

prickly-leaved Alaturnus grow in profusion on the rocks bordering the

Fiume Latte; and there, in remembrance of Rydal Mount, where we had been

accustomed to see one or two bushes of those plants growing in the

garden, we decked our bonnets, mingling the glossy leaves of those

evergreen shrubs with that beautiful lilac flower first seen in the

ascent of St. Salvador. An active youth was our guide, and a useful one

in helping us over the rocks. A woman, too, had joined the train; but

Mary and I showing her that she was neither useful nor welcome, she

began to employ her time in plucking the bunches of Indian corn, laying

them in a heap. We could have lingered a whole summer's day over the

cascades and limpid pools of the Fiume Latte.

_Saturday, September 1st._--_Milan._--Our object this morning was to

ascend to the roof, where I remained alone, not venturing to follow the

rest of the party to the top of the giddy, central spire, which is

ascended by a narrow staircase twisted round the outside. Even W. was

obliged to trust to a hand governed by a steadier head than his own. I

wandered about with space spread around me, on the roof on which I trod,

for streets and even squares of no very diminutive town. The floor on

which I trod was all of polished marble, intensely hot, and as dazzling

as snow; and instead of moving figures I was surrounded by groups and

stationary processions of silent statues--saints, sages, and angels. It

is impossible for me to describe the beautiful spectacle, or to give a

notion of the delight I felt; therefore I will copy a sketch in verse

composed from my brother's recollections of the view from the central

spire.

_Sunday, September 2nd._--_Milan._--A grand military Mass was to be

administered at eight o'clock in the _Place d'Armes_, Buonaparte's field

for reviewing his troops. Hitherward we set out at seven; but arrived a

little too late. The ceremony was begun; and it was some time before we

could obtain a better situation than among the crowds pressed together

in the glaring sunshine, as close as they could come to the building

where the temporary altar was placed. The ground being level nothing was

to be seen but heads of people, and a few of the lines of soldiers, and

their glittering fire-arms; but we could perceive that at one time they

dropped down on their knees. At length, having got admittance into the

building (le Palais des Rois), near which we stood, almost stifled with

heat, we had a complete view from a balcony of all that remained to be

performed of the ceremonies, military and religious; but of the latter,

that part was over in which the soldiers took any visible share, though

the service was still going on, at the altar below us, as was proclaimed

by the sound of sacred music, which upon minds unfamiliarised to such

scenes had an irresistible power to solemnise a spectacle more

distinguished by parade, glitter, and flashy colours, than anything

else. The richly caparisoned prancing steeds of the officers, their

splendid dresses, the numerous lines of soldiers standing upon the green

grass (though not of mountain hue it looked _green_ in contrast with

their habiliments), and the immense numbers of men, women, and children

gathered together upon a level space--where space was _left_ for

thousands and tens of thousands more--all these may easily be

imagined:--with the full concert of the military band, when the _sacred_

music ceased--the marching of the troops off the field--Austrians,

Hungarians, and Italians--and, last of all, the cavalry with the

heart-stirring blast of their trumpets. Before we left the field, the

crowd was gone, the tinselled altar and other fineries taken down--and

we saw people busied in packing them up, very much like a company of

players with their paraphernalia.

Went also to the Convent of Maria della Grazia to view that most famous

picture of the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci, painted on the wall at

one end of the Refectory, a very large hall, hung along the sides with

smaller pictures and, at the other end, that painting of the crucifixion

of which we had seen a copy at Lugano. This Refectory was used in the

days of Buonaparte as a military storehouse, and the mark of a

musket-ball, fired in wantonness by a French soldier, is to be seen in

one part of the painting of Leonardo da Vinci. Fortunately the ball hit

where the injury was as small as it could have been; and it is only

marvellous that this fine work was not wholly defaced during those times

of military misrule and utter disregard of all sacred things.[59]

Little conversant in pictures, I cannot take upon me to describe this,

which impressed my feelings and imagination more than any picture I ever

saw, though some of the figures are so injured by damp that they are

only just traceable. The most important are, however, happily the least

injured; and that of Our Saviour has only suffered from a general fading

in the colours, yet, alas! the fading and vanishing must go on year

after year till, at length, the whole group must pass away. Through the

cloisters of the monastery, which are shattered and defaced, pictures

are found in all parts, and there are some curious monuments.

[Footnote 59: It is perfectly notorious that this picture suffered

more from the negligence of the monks than from the scorn of the

French. A hole was broken thro' the lower part of the centre of

the picture to admit hot dishes from the Kitchen into the Refectory.

--H. C. R.]

_Wednesday, September 5th._--_Cadenabbia._--Bent our course toward

Fuentes--and after a wearisome walk through damp and breathless heat (a

full league or more) over a perfect level, we reached the foot of the

eminence, which from the lake had appeared to be at a small distance,

but it seemed to have retreated as we advanced. We had left the high

road, and trudged over the swampy plain, through which the road must

have been made with great expense and labour, as it is raised

considerably all the way. The picturesque ruins of the Castle of Fuentes

are at the top of the eminence--wild vines, the bramble and the clematis

cling to the bushes; and beautiful flowers grow in the chinks of the

rocks, and on every bed of grass. A _tempting_ though rugged ascent--yet

(with the towers in sight above our heads, and two-thirds of the labour

accomplished) Mary and I (Wm. having gone before to discover the nearest

and least difficult way for us) sate down determined not to go a step

further. We had a grand prospect; and, being exhausted by the damp heat,

were willing for once to leave our final object unattained. However,

while seated on the ground, two stout hard-laboured peasants chancing

to come close to us on the path, invited us forward, and we could not

resist--they led the way--two rough creatures. I said to Mary when we

were climbing up among the rocks and bushes in that wild and lonely

place, "What, you have no fear of trusting yourself to a pair of Italian

Banditti?" I knew not their occupation, but an accurate description of

their persons, would have fitted a novel-writer with ready-made

attendants for a tribe of robbers--good-natured and kind, however, they

were, nay, even polite in their rustic way as others tutored to city

civility. _Cultivated_ vines grew upon the top of the hill; and they

took pains to pluck for us the ripest grapes. We now had a complete view

up the great vale of the Adda, to which the road that we had left

conducts the traveller. Below us, on the other side, lay a wide green

marshy plain, between the hill of Fuentes and the shores of the lake;

which plain, spreading upwards, divides the lake; the upper small reach

being called Chiavenna. The path which my brother had travelled, when

bewildered in the night thirty years ago, was traceable through some

parts of the forest on the opposite side:--and the very passage through

which he had gone down to the shore of the lake--then most dismal with

thunder, lightning, and rain. I hardly can conceive a place of more

solitary aspect than the lake of Chiavenna: and the whole of the

prospect on that direction is characterised by melancholy sublimity. We

rejoiced, after our toil, at being favoured with a distinct view of

those sublime heights, not, it is true, steeped in celestial hues of

_sunny glory_, yet in communion with clouds, floating or

stationary:--scatterings from heaven. The ruin itself is very

interesting, both in the mass and in detail--an inscription is lying on

the ground which records that the Castle was built by the Count of

Fuentes in the year 1600, and the Chapel about twenty years after by one

of his descendants. Some of the gateways are yet standing with their

marble pillars, and a considerable part of the walls of the Chapel. A

smooth green turf has taken the place of the pavement; and we could see

no trace of altar or sacred image, but everywhere something to remind

one of former grandeur and of destruction and tumult, while there was,

in contrast with the imaginations so excited, a melancholy pleasure in

contemplating the wild quietness of the present day. The vines, near the

ruin, though ill tended, grow willingly, and rock, turf, and fragments

of the stately pile are alike covered or adorned with a variety of

flowers, among which the rose-coloured pink was in great beauty. In our

descent we found a fair white cherub, uninjured by the explosion which

had driven it a great way down the hill. It lay bedded like an infant in

its cradle among low green bushes--W. said to us, "Could we but carry

this pretty Image to our moss summer-house at Rydal Mount!" yet it

seemed as if it would have been a pity that any one should remove it

from its couch in the wilderness, which may be its own for hundreds of

years.

_Thursday, September 6th._--_Cadenabbia._--After a night of heavy rain,

a bright morning. W., M., and I set off toward Menaggio along the

terrace bordering the water, which led us to the bay at the foot of the

rocky green hill of the Church of our Lady; and there we came upon the

track of the old road, the very _same_ which my brother had paced! for

there was no other, nor the possibility of one. That track, continued

from the foot of the mountain, leads behind the town of Cadenabbia,

cutting off the bending of the shore by which we had come to this point.

From the bare precipice, we pass through shade and sunshine, among

spreading vines, slips of green turf, or gardens of melons, gourds,

maize, and fig-trees among the rocks; it was but for a little space, yet

enough to make our regret even more lively than before that it had not

been in our power to coast one reach at least of the lake on foot. We

had been overtaken by a fine tall man, who somewhat proudly addressed us

in English. After twenty years' traffic in our country he had been

settled near his native place on the Banks of Como, having purchased an

estate near Cadenabbia with the large sum of two thousand pounds,

acquired by selling barometers, looking-glasses, etc. He had been used

to return to his wife every third year in the month of October. He made

preparations during the winter for fresh travels in the spring; at the

same time working with her on the small portion of land which they then

possessed. Portsmouth and Plymouth were the grand marts for his wares.

He amused us with recitals of adventures among the sailors, who used to

bully him with, "Come, you rogue, you get your money easily enough;

spend it freely!" and he did not care if he got rid of a guinea or two;

for he was sure to have it back again after one of the frolics--and much

more. They would often clear away his whole stock of nick-nacks. This

industrious trader used to travel on foot at the rate of from thirty to

forty miles a day, and his expenses from London to Como were but three

guineas, though it cost him one-third of that sum to get to Calais. He

said he liked England because the people were _honest_, and told us some

stories illustrative of English honesty and Italian over-reaching in

bargains. This amusing and, I must say, interesting companion, turned

from us by a side-path before we reached Menaggio, saying he would meet

us again, as our road would lead us near his cottage on the heights, and

he should see us from the fields. He had another dwelling on his estate

beside Cadenabbia, where the land produced excellent wine. The produce

of his farm on the _hills_ was chiefly hay, which they were then

gathering in.

_Sunday, September 9th._--_Domo d'Ossola._--We rose at 5 o'clock. The

morning clear and very cold. Mr. M., R. and G. intended to take the

diligence; W., Mary, and I to walk; for, having been so much gratified

with our journey over St. Gothard, we had determined to cross the

Simplon also on foot. M. set forward first; I followed a few minutes

after defended from cold by my woollen cloak. W. was left to dispose of

the luggage, which (except a small bundle carried by each) we intended

to send by the diligence. Shops already open. Bought some bread, and

made my way directly through the town. At the end of it, looked back

upon its towers and large houses, prettily situated, as on a plain,

under steep hills--some of them separate mounts, distinct in form. I

could not but regret that we might not linger half a day, and ascend to

the Chapel of Mount Calvary, still much resorted to for its peculiar

sanctity. The view from that commanding eminence would have enabled us

to bear away more distinct remembrances than _I_, at least, have done,

of a town well deserving to be remembered, for it must for ages back

have been of importance, as lying at the foot of this pass of the Alps.

After a mile's quick walking I grew a little uneasy at not having

overtaken Mary. Behind and before, Buonaparte's broad, unshaded road was

stretched out in a right line. However convenient such roads for

conquest or traffic, they are, of all others, the least pleasant to the

foot-traveller, whose labours seem no nearer to their end till some

natural impediment must be submitted to, and the road pursues another

course. Looking forward I could see nothing of Mary, and the way being

sprinkled with passengers, I was more perplexed, thinking it probable

that her figure before me, or behind, might be undiscoverable among

them, but my pace (to warm myself in the nipping air) had been so quick,

it seemed more likely that she had not advanced so far; therefore I sate

down: and glad I was, after some time, to espy her blue gown among the

scatterings of women in scarlet garments. She had missed her way in the

town and gone back in quest of me. The fresh morning air helped us

cheerfully over the long line of road; and passengers whom we

continually met amused us. Some were travellers from the Alps; but they

were much more frequently peasants bent on Sunday's devotion and

pleasure, chiefly women, awkward in appearance, short of stature, and

deformed by their manner of fastening the full round petticoat lifted up

almost to the shoulders.

It pleased me now to review our course from Bavena, where this our

second ascent of the Alps may be said to begin; the princely reach of

the Lake then before us, with its palaces and towns, thence towards the

mountains and the vale of Tusa, solitary churches on the

steeps--ruins--embowered low stone cottages--vineyards and extensive

lawns--cattle with their bells, and peasants tending them. The romantic

village of Vergogne, its ruined fortress overlooking the narrow dell and

torrent's bed--inhabited houses as grey with age as the ruin

itself--and, upon the level below, how delightful was it, in our hour of

rest and sauntering, to quit the sunshine, and walk under roofs of

vines! Further on, the vale more wide and open--large meadows without

trees. Hay-makers--straggling travellers on the outstretched road.

Villages under green mountains--snowy mountains gilded by the light of

the setting sun!

_Now_, from Domo d'Ossola we were proceeding on the same unbending road,

up the same vale, a scene of desolation and fertility, vines by the

wayside, the grapes hardly ripening. Having ascended a long hill to

_Crevola_, where there is a small public-house, at which we had thought

of stopping to breakfast, the road crosses a remarkably high and massy

bridge, over the chasm of Val di Vedro, whence the river Vedro takes its

course down to the vale of Tusa, now below us on our right hand, where,

towards the centre of the vale, the village of Crevola stands on an

eminence, whence the morning sound of bells was calling the people

together. We turned to the left, up the shady side of Val di Vedro; at

first, the road led us high above the bed of the torrent. Being now

enclosed between the barriers of that deep dell, we had left all traces

of vineyards, fruit-trees, and fields. Beeches climb up among the crags

to the summit of the steeps. The road descends; traces of the ancient

track visible near a bridge of one lofty arch, no longer used by the

traveller crossing the Alps, yet I went to the centre to look down on

the torrent. Traces of the foundation of a former bridge remain in the

chasm. Met a few peasants going to the vale below, and sometimes a

traveller. Again we climb the hill, all craggy forest. At a considerable

height from the river's bed an immense column of granite lies by the

wayside, as if its course had been stopped there by tidings of

Napoleon's overthrow. It was intended by him for his unfinished

triumphal arch at Milan; and I wish it may remain prostrate on the

mountain for ages to come. His bitterest foe could scarcely contrive a

more impressive record of disappointed vanity and ambition. The sledge

upon which it has been dragged from the quarry is rotted beneath it,

while the pillar remains as fresh and sparkling as if hewn but

yesterday. W., who came after us, said he had named it the "weary stone"

in memory of that immense stone in the wilds of Peru, so called by the

Indians because after 20,000 of them had dragged it over heights and

hollows it tumbled down a precipice, and rested immovable at the bottom,

where it must for ever remain. Ere long we come to the first passage

_through_ the rocks, near the river's bed, and "Road and River" for some

time fill the bottom of the valley. We miss the bright torrents that

stream down the hills bordering the Tessino; but here is no want of

variety. We are in closer neighbourhood with the crags; hence their

shapes are continually changing, and their appearance is the more

commanding; and, wherever an old building is seen, it is overspread with

the hues of the natural crags, and is in form of accordant irregularity.

The very road itself, however boldly it may bestride the hills or pierce

the rocks, is yet the slave of nature, its windings often being governed

as imperiously as those of the Vedra within the chasm of the glen.

Suddenly the valley widens, opening out to the right in a semicircle. A

sunny village with a white church appears before us, rather I should say

numerous hamlets and scattered houses. Here again were vines, and grapes

almost full grown, though none ripening. Leaving the sunshine, we again

are enclosed between the steeps, a small ruined Convent on the right,

the painting on the outside nearly effaced by damp. We come to the

second passage, or gallery, through the rocks. It is not long, but very

grand, especially viewed in combination with the crags, woods, and

river, here tumbling in short cascades, its channel strewn with enormous

ruins. W. had joined us about a league before we reached this point; and

we sate long in admiration of the prospect up the valley, seen beyond

the arch of the gallery which is supported by a pillar left in the rock

out of which the passage has been hewn. A brown hamlet at the foot of

the mountains terminates this reach of the valley, which has again

widened a little. A steep glen to the left sends down a boisterous

stream to the Vedra. We had walked three leagues; and were told we were

near the Inn, where we were to breakfast, and, having left the gallery

200 yards behind, saw more of the village (called Isella) and a large,

square, white building appeared, which proved to be a military station

and the post-house, near which was our Inn.... Leaving now the

Piedmontese dominions, we make our last entrance into the country of the

Swiss. Deciduous trees gradually yield to pine-trees and larches, and

through these forests, interspersed with awful crags, we pass on, still

in cool shade, accompanied by the turbulent river. Here is hardly a slip

of pasturage to be seen, still less a plot of tillage (how different

from the Pass of the Ticino!) all is rocks, precipices, and forests. We

pass several places of _Refuge_, as they are named, the word _refuge_

being inscribed upon their walls in large characters. They are small,

square, white, unpicturesque buildings (erected by Buonaparte). The old

road is not unfrequently traceable for a short way--Mary once detected

it by noticing an Oratory above our heads that turned its back towards

us, now neglected and facing the deserted track.

_Sunday, September 9th._--_Domo d'Ossola._--Soon after, we perceive a

large and very striking building terminating a narrow reach of the

valley. A square tower at the further end of the roof; and, towards us,

a lofty gable front, step-like on each steeply-sloping side, in the

style of some of our old roofs in the north of England.[60] The building

is eight stories high, and long and broad in proportion. We perceived at

once that it must be a Spittal of the old times; and W., who had been

lingering behind, when he came up to us, pronounced it to be the very

same where he and his companion had passed an awful night. Unable to

sleep from other causes, their ears were stunned by a tremendous torrent

(then swollen by rainy weather) that came thundering down a chasm of the

mountain on the opposite side of the glen. That torrent, still keeping

the same channel, was now, upon this sunny clear day, a brisk rivulet,

that cheerfully bounded down to the Vedro. A lowly Church stands within

the shade of the huge Spittal, beside a single dwelling-house; small,

yet larger than the Church. We entered that modest place of worship; and

were charmed with its rustic splendours and humble neatness. Here were

two very pretty well-executed pictures in the _Italian_ style, so much

superior to anything of the kind in the country churches of Switzerland.

Rested some while beside the Church and cottage, looking towards the

Spittal on the opposite side of the road, the wildest of all harbours,

yet even stately in its form, and seemingly fitted to war with the

fiercest tempests. I now regret not having the courage to pass the

threshold alone. I had a strong desire to see what was going on within

doors for the sake of tales of thirty years gone by: but could not

persuade W. to accompany me. Several foot or mule travellers were

collected near the door, I bought some _poor_ peaches (very refreshing

at that time) from a man who was carrying them and other things, to the

village of Simplon--three sous the pound. Soon after leaving the

Spittal, our path was between precipices still more gloomy and awful

than before (what must they have been in the time of rain and vapour

when my brother was here before--on the narrow track instead of our

broad road that smooths every difficulty!) Skeletons of tall pine-trees

beneath us in the dell, and above our heads,--their stems and shattered

branches as grey as the stream of the Vedra or the crags strewn at their

feet. The scene was truly sublime when we came in view of the finest of

the galleries. We sate upon the summit of a huge precipice of stone to

the left of the road--the river raging below after having tumbled in a

tremendous cataract down the crags in front of our station. On entering

the Gallery we cross a clear torrent pent up by crags. While pausing

here, a step or two before we entered, a carriage full of gentlemen

drove through: they just looked aside at the torrent; but stopped not; I

could not but congratulate myself on our being on foot; for a hundred

reasons the pleasantest mode of travelling in a mountainous country.

After we had gone through the last, and least interesting, though the

longest but one of the galleries, the vale (now grassy among scattered

rocks, and wider--more of a hollow) bends to the left; and we see on the

hill, in front of us, a long doubling of the road, necessary, from the

steepness of the hill, to accomplish an easy ascent. At the angle,

where, at the foot of the hill, this doubling begins, M. and I, being

before W., sate and pondered. A foot-path leads directly upwards,

cutting off at least a mile, and we perceived one of our young

fellow-travellers climbing up it, but could not summon the courage to

follow him, and took the circuit of Buonaparte's road. The bed of the

river, far below to our left (wide and broken up by torrents), is

crossed by a long wooden bridge from which a foot-path, almost

perpendicular, ascends to a hamlet at a great height upon the side of

the steep. A female crossing the bridge gave life and spirit to a scene

characterised, in comparison with _other_ scenes, more by wildness than

grandeur; and though presided over by a glacier mountain and craggy and

snowy pikes (seemingly at the head of the hollow vale) less impressive,

and less interesting to the imagination than the narrow passes through

which we had been travelling. After some time the curve of the road

carries us again backward on the mountain-side, _from_ the valley of the

Tusa. Our eyes often turned towards the bridge and the upright path,

little thinking that it was the same we had so often heard of, which

misled my brother and Robert Jones in their way from Switzerland to

Italy. They were pushing right upwards, when a peasant, having

questioned them as to their object, told them they had no further ascent

to make;--"The Alps were crossed!" The ambition of youth was

disappointed at these tidings; and they remeasured their steps with

sadness. At the point where our fellow-travellers had rejoined the road,

W. was waiting to show us the track, on the green precipice. It was

impossible for me to say how much it had moved him, when he discovered

it was the very same which had tempted him in his youth. The feelings of

that time came back with the freshness of yesterday, accompanied with a

dim vision of thirty years of life between. We traced the path together,

with our eyes, till hidden among the cottages, where they had first been

warned of their mistake.

[Footnote 60: In Troutbeck Valley especially.--D. W.]

Hereabouts, a few peasants were on the hills with cattle and goats. In

the narrow passage of the glen we had, for several miles together, seen

no moving objects, except chance travellers, the streams, the clouds,

and trees stirred sometimes by gentle breezes. At this spot we watched a

boy and girl with bare feet running as if for sport, among the sharp

stones, fearless as young kids. The round hat of the Valais tied with a

coloured riband, looked shepherdess-like on the head of another, a

peasant girl roaming on craggy pasture-ground, to whom I spoke, and was

agreeably surprised at being answered in German (probably a barbarous

dialect), but we contrived to understand one another. The valley of the

Vedro now left behind, we ascend gradually (indeed the whole ascent is

gradual) along the side of steeps covered with poor grass--an undulating

hollow to the right--no trees--the prospect, in front, terminated by

snow mountains and dark pikes. The air very cold when we reached the

village of Simplon. There is no particular grandeur in the situation,

except through the accompanying feeling of removal from the world and

the near neighbourhood of summits so lofty, and of form and appearance

only seen among the Alps. We were surprised to find a considerable

village. The houses, which are of stone, are large, and strong built,

and gathered together as if for shelter. The air, nipping even at this

season, must be dreadfully cold in winter; yet the inhabitants weather

all seasons. The Inn was filled with guests of different nations and of

various degrees, from the muleteer and foot-traveller to those who loll

at ease, whirling away as rapidly as their companion, the torrent of the

Vedro. Our party of eleven made merry over as good a supper in this

naked region (five or six thousand feet above the level of the sea) as

we could have desired in the most fertile of the valleys, with a dessert

of fruit and cakes. We were summoned out of doors to look at a living

chamois, kept in the stable, more of a treat than the roasted flesh of

one of its kind which we had tasted at Lucerne. Walked with some of the

gentlemen about half a mile, after W. and M. were retired to rest. The

stars were appearing above the black pikes, while the snow on others

looked as bright as if a full moon were shining upon it. Our beds were

comfortable. I was not at all fatigued, and had nothing to complain of

but the cold, which did not hinder me from falling asleep, and sleeping

soundly. The distance from Domo d'Ossola six leagues.

_Monday, September 10th._--_Simplon._--Rose at five o'clock, as cold as

a frosty morning in December. The eleven breakfasted together, and were

ready--all but the lame one,--to depart on foot to Brieg in the Haut

Valais (seven leagues). The distance from the village of Simplon to the

highest point of the Pass is nearly two leagues. We set forward

together, forming different companies--or sometimes solitary--the

peculiar charm of pedestrian travelling, especially when the party is

large--fresh society always ready--and solitude to be taken at will. In

the latter part of the Pass of St. Gothard, on the Swiss side, the

grandeur diminishes--and it is the same on the Italian side of the Pass

of Simplon; yet when (after the gradual ascent from the village, the

last inhabited spot) a turning of the road first presents to view in a

clear atmosphere, beneath a bright blue sky (so we were favoured), the

ancient _Spittal_ with its ornamented Tower standing at the further end

of a wide oblong hollow, surrounded by granite pikes, snow pikes--masses

of granite--cool, black, motionless shadows, and sparkling sunshine, it

is not possible for the dullest imagination to be unmoved. When we found

ourselves within that elevated enclosure, the eye and the ear were

satisfied with perfect stillness. We might have supposed ourselves to be

the only visible moving creatures; but ere long espied some cows and

troops of goats which at first we could not distinguish from the

scattered rocks! but by degrees tracked their motions, and perceived

them in great numbers creeping over the yellow grass that grows among

crags on the declivities above the Spittal and in the hollow below it;

and we then began to discover a few brown _châlets_ or cattle-sheds in

that quarter. The Spittal, that dismal, yet secure sheltering-place

(inhabited the winter through), is approached by a side track from the

present road; being built as much out of the way of storms as it could

have been. Carts and carriages of different kinds (standing within and

near the door of a shed, close to the road) called to mind the stir and

traffic of the world in a place which might have been destined for

perpetual solitude--where the thunder of heaven, the rattling of

avalanches, and the roaring of winds and torrents seemed to be the only

_turbulent_ sounds that had a right to take place of the calm and

silence which surrounded us.

_Wednesday, September 12th._--_Baths of Leuk._--Rose at 5 o'clock. From

my window looked towards the crags of the Gemmi, then covered with

clouds. Twilight seemed scarcely to have left the valley; the air was

sharp, and the smoking channel of hot water a comfortable sight in the

cold gloom of the village. But soon, with promise of a fine day, the

vapours on the crescent of crags began to break, and its yellow towers,

touched by the sunshine, gleamed through the edges of the floating

masses; or appeared in full splendour for a moment, and were again

hidden.

After six o'clock, accompanied by a guide (who was by trade a shoemaker,

and possessed a small stock of mountain cattle), we set forward on our

walk of eight leagues, the turreted barrier facing us. Passed along a

lane fenced by curiously crossed rails,--thence (still gently ascending)

through rough ground scattered over with small pine-trees, and stones

fallen from the mountains. No wilder object can be imagined than a

shattered guidepost at the junction of one road with another, which had

been placed there because travellers, intending to cross the Gemmi, had

often been misled, and some had perished, taking the right-hand road

toward the snow mountain, instead of that to the left. Even till we

reached the base of that rocky rampart which we were to climb, the track

of ascent, in front of us, had been wholly invisible. Sometimes it led

us slanting along the bare side of the crags:--sometimes it was scooped

out of them, and over-roofed, like an outside staircase of a castle or

fortification: sometimes we came to a level gallery--then to a twisting

ascent--or the path would take a double course--backwards and

forwards,--the dizzy height of the precipices above our heads more awful

even than the gulfs beneath us! Sometimes we might have imagined

ourselves looking from a parapet into the inner space of a gigantic

castle--a castle a thousand times larger than was ever built by human

hands; while above our heads the turrets appeared as majestic as if we

had not climbed a step nearer to their summits. A small plot or two of

turf, never to be cropped by goat or heifer, on the ledge of a

precipice; a bunch of slender flowers hanging from a chink--and one

luxuriant plot of the bright blue monkshood, lodged like a little garden

amid the stone-work of an Italian villa--were the sole marks of

vegetation that met our eyes in the ascent, except a few distorted

pine-trees on one of the summits, which reminded us of watchmen, on the

look-out. A weather-beaten, complex, wooden frame, something like a

large sentry-box, hanging on the side of one of the crags, helped out

this idea, especially as we were told it had been placed there in

troublesome times to give warning of approaching danger. It was a very

wild object, that could not but be noticed; and _when_ noticed the

question must follow--how came it there? and for what purpose? We were

preceded by some travellers on mules, who often shouted as if for their

own pleasure; and the shouts were echoed through the circuit of the

rocks. Their guide afterwards sang a hymn, or pensive song: there was an

aërial sweetness in the wild notes which descended to our ears. When

_we_ had attained the same height, _our_ guide sang the same air, which

made me think it might be a customary rite, or practice, in that part of

the ascent. The Gemmi Pass is in the direct road from Berne to the Baths

of Leuk. Invalids, unable to walk, are borne on litters by men, and

frequently have their eyes blinded that they may not look down; and the

most hardy travellers never venture to descend on their horses or mules.

Those careful creatures make their way safely, though it is often like

descending a steep and rugged staircase: and there is nothing to fear

for foot-travellers if their heads be not apt to turn giddy. The path is

seldom traceable, either up or down, further than along one of its

zig-zags; and it will happen, when you are within a yard or two of the

line which is before you, that you cannot guess what turning it shall

make. The labour and ingenuity with which this road has been constructed

are truly astonishing. The canton of Berne, eighty years ago, furnished

gunpowder for blasting the rocks, and labourers were supplied by the

district of the Valais. The former track (right up an apparently almost

perpendicular precipice between overhanging crags) must have been

utterly impassable for travellers such as we, if any such had travelled

in those days, yet it was, even now, used in winter. The peasants ascend

by it with pikes and snowshoes, and on their return to the valley slide

down, an appalling thought when the precipice was before our eyes; and I

almost shudder at the remembrance of it!...

A glacier mountain appears on our left, the haunt of chamois, as our

guide told us; he said they might often be seen on the brow of the Gemmi

barrier in the early morning. We felt some pride in treading on the

outskirts of the chamois' play-ground--and what a boast for us, could we

have espied one of those light-footed creatures bounding over the crags!

But it is not for them who have been laggards in the vale till 6 o'clock

to see such a sight.

The total absence of all _sound_ of living _creature_ was very striking:

silent moths in abundance flew about in the sunshine, and the muddy Lake

weltered below us; the only sound when we checked our voices to listen.

Hence we continued to journey over rocky and barren ground till we

suddenly looked down into a warm, green nook, into which we must

descend. Twelve cattle were there enclosed by the crags, as in a field

of their own choosing. We passed among them, giving no disturbance, and

again came upon a tract as barren as before. After about two leagues

from the top of the Gemmi crags, the summer chalet, our promised

resting-place, was seen facing us, reared against the stony mountain,

and overlooking a desolate round hollow. Winding along the side of the

hill (that deep hollow beneath us to the right) a long half-mile brought

us to the platform before the door of the hut. It was a scene of wild

gaiety. Half-a-score of youthful travellers (military students from the

College of Thun) were there regaling themselves. Mr. Robinson became

sociable; and we, while the party stood round us talking with him, had

our repast spread upon the same table where they had finished theirs.

They departed; and we saw them winding away towards the Gemmi on the

side of the precipice above the dreary hollow--a long procession, not

less interesting than the group at our approach. But every object

connected with animated nature (and human life especially) is

interesting on such a road as this; we meet no one with a stranger's

heart! I cannot forget with what pleasure, soon after leaving the hut,

we greeted two young matrons, one with a child in her arms, the other

with hers, a lusty babe, ruddy with mountain air, asleep in its wicker

cradle on her back. Thus laden they were to descend the Gemmi Rocks, and

seemed to think it no hardship, returning us cheerful looks while we

noticed the happy burthens which they carried. Those peasant travellers

out of sight, we go on over the same rocky ground, snowy pikes and

craggy eminences still bounding the prospect. But ere long we approach

the neighbourhood of trees, and overlooking a long smooth level covered

with poor yellowish grass, saw at a distance, in the centre of the

level, a group of travellers of a different kind--a party of gentry,

male and female, on mules. On meeting I spoke to the two ladies in

English, by way of trying their nation, and was pleased at being

answered in the same tongue. The lawn here was prettily embayed, like a

lake, among little eminences covered with dwarf trees, aged or blighted;

thence, onward to another open space, where was an encampment of cattle

sheds, the large plain spotted with heaps of stones at irregular

distances, as we see lime, or manure, or hay-cocks in our cultivated

fields. Those heaps had been gathered together by the industrious

peasants to make room for a scanty herbage for their cattle. The turf

was very poor, yet so lavishly overspread with close-growing flowers it

reminded us of a Persian carpet. The _silver_ thistle, as we then named

it, had a singularly beautiful effect; a glistering star lying on the

ground, as if enwrought upon it. An avalanche had covered the surface

with stones many years ago, and many more will it require for nature,

aided by the mountaineers' industry, to restore the soil to its former

fertility. On approaching the destined termination of our descent, we

were led among thickets of Alpine Shrubs, a rich covering of

berry-bearing plants overspreading the ground. We followed the ridge of

this wildly beautiful tract, and it brought us to the brink of a

precipice. On our right, when we looked into the savage valley of

Gastron--upwards toward its head, and downwards to the point where the

Gastron joins the Kandor, their united streams thence continuing a

tumultuous course to the Lake of Thun. The head of the _Kandor Thal_ was

concealed from us, to our left, by the ridge of the hill on which we

stood. By going about a mile further along the ridge to the brow of its

northern extremity, we might have seen the junction of the two rivers,

but were fearful of being overtaken by darkness in descending the Gemmi,

and were, indeed, satisfied with the prospect already gained. The river

Gastron winds in tumult over a stony channel, through the apparently

level area of a grassless vale, buried beneath stupendous mountains--not

a house or hut to be seen. A roaring sound ascended to us on the

eminence so high above the vale. How _awful_ the tumult when the river

carries along with it the spring tide of melted snow! We had long viewed

in our journey a snow-covered pike, in stateliness and height surpassing

all the other eminences. The whole mass of the mountain now appeared

before us, on the same side of the Gastron vale on which we were. It

seemed very near to us, and as if a part of its base rose from that

vale. We could hardly believe our guide when he told us that pike was

one of the summits of the Jungfrau, took out maps and books, and found

it could be no other mountain. I never before had a conception of the

space covered by the bases of these enormous piles. After lingering as

long as time would allow, we began to remeasure our steps, thankful for

the privilege of again feeling ourselves in the neighbourhood of the

Jungfrau, and of looking upon those heights that border the Lake of

Thun, at the feet of which we had first entered among the inner windings

of Switzerland. Our journey back to the chalet was not less pleasant

than in the earlier part of the day. The guide, hurrying on before us,

roused the large house-dog to give us a welcoming bark, which echoed

round the mountains like the tunable voices of a full pack of hounds--a

heart-stirring concert in that silent place where no waters were heard

at that time--no tinkling of cattle-bells; indeed the barren soil offers

small temptation for wandering cattle to linger there. In a few weeks

our rugged path would be closed up with snow, the hut untenanted for the

winter, and not a living creature left to rouse the echoes--echoes which

our Bard would not suffer to die with us.

_Friday, September 14th.--Martigny._--Oh! that I could describe,--nay,

that I could _remember_ the sublime spectacle of the pinnacles and

towers of Mont Blanc while we were travelling through the vale, long

deserted of the sunshine that still lingered on those summits! A large

body of moving clouds covered a portion of the side of the mountain.

The pinnacles and towers above them seemed as if they stood in the

sky;--of no soft aërial substance, but appearing, even at that great

distance, as they really are, huge masses of solid stone, raised by

Almighty Power, and never, but by the same Power, to be destroyed. The

village of Chamouny is on the opposite (the north-western) side of the

vale; in this part considerably widened. Having left the lanes and

thickets, we slanted across a broad unfenced level, narrowing into a

sort of village green, with its maypole, as in England, but of giant

stature, a pine of the Alps. The collected village of Chamouny and large

white Church appeared before us, above the river, on a gentle elevation

of pasture ground, sloping from woody steeps behind. Our walk beside the

suburban cottages was altogether new, and very interesting:--a busy

scene of preparation for the night! Women driving home their goats and

cows,--labourers returning with their tools,--sledges (an unusual sight

in Alpine valleys) dragged by lusty men, the old looking on,--young

women knitting; and ruddy children at play,--(a race how different from

the languishing youth of the hot plains of the Valais!)--Cattle bells

continually tinkling--no silence, no stillness here,--yet the bustle and

the various sounds leading to thoughts of quiet, rest, and silence. All

the while the call to the cattle is heard from different quarters; and

the rapid Arve roars through the vale, among rocks and stones (its

mountain spoils)--at one time split into divers branches--at another

collected into one rough channel.

Passing the turn of the ascent, we come to another cross (placed there

to face the traveller ascending from the other side) and, from the brow

of the eminence, behold! to our left, the huge Form of Mont

Blanc--pikes, towers, needles, and wide wastes of everlasting snow in

dazzling brightness. Below, is the river Arve, a grey-white line,

winding to the village of Chamouny, dimly seen in the distance. Our

station, though on a height so commanding, was on the lowest point of

the eminence; and such as I have sketched (but how imperfectly!) was the

scene uplifted and outspread before us. The higher parts of the mountain

in our neighbourhood are sprinkled with brown chalets. So they were

thirty years ago, as my brother well remembered; and he pointed out to

us the very quarter from which a boy greeted him and his companion with

an Alpine cry--

The Stranger seen below, the Boy

Shouts from the echoing hills with savage joy.[61]

[Footnote 61: _Descriptive Sketches._--W. W.]

_Sunday, September 16th._--_Chamouny._--There is no carriage road

further than to Argentière.--When, having parted with our car and guide,

we were slowly pursuing our way to the foot-path, between the mountains,

which was to lead us to the Valorsine, and thence, by the Tète-noire, to

Trient, we heard from the churchyard of Argentière, on the opposite side

of the river, a sound of voices chanting a hymn, or prayer, and, turning

round, saw in the green enclosure a lengthening procession--the priest

in his robes, the host, and banners uplifted, and men following, two and

two;--and, last of all, a great number of females, in like order; the

head and body of each covered with a white garment. The stream continued

to flow on for a long time, till all had paced slowly round the church,

the men gathering close together, to leave unencumbered space for the

women, the chanting continuing, while the voice of the Arve joined in

accordant solemnity. The procession was grave and simple, agreeing with

the simple decorations of a village church:--the banners made no

glittering show:--the females composed a moving girdle round the church;

their figures, from head to foot, covered with one piece of white cloth,

resembled the small pyramids of the Glacier, which were before our

eyes; and it was impossible to look at one and the other without

fancifully connecting them together. Imagine the _moving_ figures, like

a stream of pyramids--the white Church, the half-concealed Village, and

the Glacier close behind among pine-trees,--a pure sun shining over all!

and remember that these objects were seen at the base of those enormous

mountains, and you may have some faint notion of the effect produced on

us by that beautiful spectacle. It was a farewell to the Vale of

Chamouny that can scarcely be less vividly remembered twenty years hence

than when (that wondrous vale being just out of sight) after ascending a

little way between the mountains, through a grassy hollow, we came to a

small hamlet under shade of trees in summer foliage. A very narrow clear

rivulet, beside the cottages, was hastening with its tribute to the

Arve. This simple scene transported us instantly to our vallies of

Westmoreland. A few quiet children were near the doors, and we

discovered a young woman in the darkest, coolest nook of shade between

two of the houses, seated on the ground, intent upon her prayer-book.

The rest of the inhabitants were gone to join in the devotions at

Argentière. The top of the ascent (not a long one) being gained, we had

a second cheering companion in our downward way, another Westmoreland

brook of larger size, as clear as crystal; open to the sun, and

(bustling but not angry) it coursed by our side through a tract of

craggy pastoral ground. I do not speak of the needles of Montanvert,

behind; nor of other pikes up-rising before us. Such sights belong not

to Westmoreland; and I could fancy that I then paid them little regard,

it being for the sake of Westmoreland alone that I like to dwell on this

short passage of our journey, which brought us in view of one of the

most interesting of the vallies of the Alps. We descended with our

little stream, and saw its brief life in a moment cut off, when it

reached the _Berard_, the River of Black Water, which is seen falling,

not in _black_ but _grey_ cataracts within the cove of a mountain that

well deserves the former epithet, though a bed of _snow_ and glacier ice

is seen among its piky and jagged ridges. Below those bare summits, pine

forests and crags are piled together, with lawns and cottages between.

We enter at the side of the valley, crossing a wooden bridge--then,

turning our backs on the scene just described, we bend our course

downward with the river, that is hurrying away, fresh from its glacier

fountains; how different a fellow-traveller from that little rivulet we

had just parted from, which we had seen--still bright as silver--drop

into the grey stream! The descending vale before us beautiful--the high

enclosing hills interspersed with woods, green pasturage, and cottages.

The delight we had in journeying through the Valorsine is not to be

imagined--sunshine and shade were alike cheering; while the very

numerousness of the brown wood cottages (descried among trees, or

outspread on the steep lawns), and the people enjoying their Sabbath

leisure out of doors, seemed to make a quiet spot more quiet.

_Wednesday, September 19th._--_Lausanne._--We met with some pleasant

Englishmen, from whom we heard particulars concerning the melancholy

fate of our young friend, the American, seen by us for the last time on

the top of the Righi. The tidings of his death had been first

communicated, but a few hours before, by Mr. Mulloch. We had the comfort

of hearing that his friend had saved himself by swimming, and had paid

the last duties to the stranger, so far from home and kindred, who lies

quietly in the churchyard of Küsnacht on the shores of Zurich.

_Saturday, September 29th._--_Fontainbleau._--In the very heart of the

Alps, I never saw a more wild and lonely spot--yet _curious_ in the

extreme, and even _beautiful_. Thousands of white bleached rocks, mostly

in appearance not much larger than sheep, lay on the steep declivities

of the dell among bushes and low trees, heather, bilberries, and other

forest plants. The effect of loneliness and desert wildness was

indescribably increased by the remembrance of the Palace we had left not

an hour before. The spot on which we stood is said to have been

frequented by Henry the IVth when he wished to retire from his court and

attendants. A few steps more brought us in view of fresh ranges of the

forest, hills, plains, and distant lonely dells. The sunset was

brilliant--light clouds in the west, and overhead a spotless blue dome.

As we wind along the top of the steep, the views are still changing--the

plain expands eastward, and again appear the white buildings of

Fontainbleau, with something of romantic brightness in the _fading_

light; for we had tarried till a star or two reminded us it was time to

move away. In descending, we followed one of the long straight tracks

that intersect the forest in all directions. Bewildered among those

tracks, we were set right by a party of wood-cutters, going home from

their labour.

_Monday, October 29th._--_Boulogne._--We walked to Buonaparte's Pillar,

which, on the day when he harangued his soldiers (pointing to the shores

of England whither he should lead them to conquest), he decreed should

be erected in commemoration of the Legion of Honour.[62] The pillar is

seen far and wide, _unfinished_, as the intricate casing of a

_scaffolding, loftier than itself, shows at whatever distance_ it is

seen. It is said the Bourbons intend to complete the work, and give it a

new name; but I think it more probable that the scaffolding may be left

to fall away, and the pile of marble remain strewn round, as it is, with

unfinished blocks, an undisputed monument of the Founder's vanity and

arrogance; and _so_ it may stand as long as the brick towers of

Caligula have done, a remnant of which yet appears on the cliffs. We

walked on the ground which had been covered by the army that dreamt of

conquering England, and were shown the very spot where their Leader made

his boastful speech.

[Footnote 62: Then established.--D. W.]

On the day fixed for our departure from Boulogne, the weather being

boisterous and wind contrary, the _Packet_ could not sail, and we

trusted ourselves to a small vessel, with only one effective sailor on

board. Even _Mary_ was daunted by the breakers outside the Harbour, and

_I_ descended into the vessel as unwillingly as a criminal might go to

execution, and hid myself in bed. Presently our little ship moved; and

before ten minutes were gone she struck upon the sands. I felt that

something disastrous had happened; but knew not what till poor Mary

appeared in the cabin, having been thrown down from the top of the

steps. There was again a frightful beating and grating of the bottom of

the vessel--water rushing in very fast. A young man, an Italian, who had

risen from a bed beside mine, as pale as ashes, groaned in agony,

kneeling at his prayers. My condition was not much better than his; but

I was more quiet. Never shall I forget the kindness of a little Irish

woman who, though she herself, as she afterwards said, was much

frightened, assured me even cheerfully that there was no danger. I

cannot say that her words, as assurances of safety, had much effect upon

me; but the example of her courage made me become more collected; and I

felt her human kindness even at the moment when I believed that we might

be all going to the bottom of the sea together; and the agonising

thoughts of the distress at home were rushing on my mind.

X

EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S

TOUR IN SCOTLAND

1822