Further onward we saw a white, ancient-looking group of towers, beneath
a mountain, which was so high, and rushed so precipitately down upon
this pile of building as quite to dwarf it; besides which, its dingy
whiteness had not a very picturesque effect. Nevertheless, this was the
Castle of Chillon. It appears to sit right upon the water, and does not
rise very loftily above it. I was disappointed in its aspect, having
imagined this famous castle as situated upon a rock, a hundred, or for
aught I know, a thousand feet above the surface of the lake; but it is
quite as impressive a fact--supposing it to be true--that the water
is eight hundred feet deep at its base. By this time, the mountains
had taken the beautiful lake into their deepest heart; they girdled it
quite round with their grandeur and beauty, and, being able to do no
more for it, they here withheld it from extending any farther; and here
our voyage came to an end. I have never beheld any scene so exquisite;
nor do I ask of Heaven to show me any lovelier or nobler one, but only
to give me such depth and breadth of sympathy with nature, that I may
worthily enjoy this. It is beauty more than enough for poor, perishable
mortals. If this be earth, what must Heaven be!
It was nearly eight o’clock when we arrived; and then we had a walk
of at least a mile to the Hotel Byron. I had forgot to mention that
in the latter part of our voyage there was a shower in some part of
the sky, and though none of it fell upon us, we had the benefit of
those gentle tears in a rainbow, which arched itself across the lake
from mountain to mountain, so that our track lay directly under this
triumphal arch. We took it as a good omen, nor were we discouraged,
though, after the rainbow had vanished, a few sprinkles of the shower
came down.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF CHILLON, SWITZERLAND.]
We found the Hotel Byron very grand indeed, and a good one, too. There
was a beautiful moonlight on the lake and hills, but we contented
ourselves with looking out of our lofty window, whence, likewise, we
had a sidelong glimpse at the white battlements of Chillon, not more
than a mile off, on the water’s edge. The castle is wofully in need of
a pedestal. If its site were elevated to a height equal to its own it
would make a far better appearance. As it now is, it looks, so to speak
profanely of what poetry has consecrated, when seen from the water, or
along the shore of the lake, very like an old whitewashed factory or
mill.
This morning I walked to the Castle of Chillon with J----, who sketches
everything he sees, from a wild flower to a castle or a range of
mountains. The morning had sunshine thinly scattered through it; but,
nevertheless, there was a continual sprinkle, sometimes scarcely
perceptible, and then again amounting to a decided drizzle. The road,
which is built along on a little elevation above the lake shore, led us
past the Castle of Chillon; and we took a side-path, which passes still
nearer the castle-gate. The castle stands on an isthmus of gravel,
permanently connecting it with the mainland. A wooden bridge covered
with a roof, passes from the shore to the arched entrance; and beneath
this shelter, which has wooden walls as well as roof and floor, we
saw a soldier or _gendarme_, who seemed to act as warder. As it
sprinkled rather more freely than at first, I thought of appealing to
his hospitality for shelter from the rain, but concluded to pass on.
The castle makes a far better appearance on a nearer view, and from
the land, than when seen at a distance and from the water. It is built
of stone, and seems to have been anciently covered with plaster, which
imparts the whiteness to which Byron does much more than justice, when
he speaks of “Chillon’s snow-white battlements.” There is a lofty
eternal wall, with a cluster of round towers about it, each crowned
with its pyramidal roof of tiles, and from the central portion of the
castle rises a square tower, also crowned with its own pyramid to a
considerably greater height than the circumjacent ones. The whole are
in a close cluster, and make a fine picture of ancient strength when
seen at a proper proximity; for I do not think that distance adds
anything to the effect. There are hardly any windows, or few, and very
small ones, except the loopholes for arrows and for the garrison of the
castle to peep from on the sides towards the water; indeed, there are
larger windows at least in the upper apartments; but in that direction,
no doubt, the castle was considered impregnable. Trees here and there
on the land side grow up against the castle wall, on one part of which,
moreover, there was a green curtain of ivy spreading from base to
battlement. The walls retain their machicolations, and I should judge
that nothing had been altered, nor any more work been done upon the old
fortress than to keep it in singularly good repair. It was formerly a
castle of the Duke of Savoy, and since his sway over the country ceased
(three hundred years at least), it has been in the hands of the Swiss
government, who still keep some arms and ammunition there.
We passed on, and found the view of it better, as we thought, from
a farther point along the road. The raindrops began to spatter down
faster, and we took shelter under an impending precipice, where the
ledge of rock had been blasted and hewn away to form the road. Our
refuge was not a very convenient and comfortable one, so we took
advantage of the partial cessation of the shower to turn homeward,
but we had not gone far when we met mamma and all her train. As we
were close by the castle entrance, we thought it advisable to seek
admission, though rather doubtful whether the Swiss _gendarmes_
might not deem it a sin to let us into the castle on Sunday. But he
very readily admitted us under his covered drawbridge, and called an
old man from within the fortress to show us whatever was to be seen.
This latter personage was a staid, rather grim, and Calvinistic-looking
old worthy; but he received us without scruple, and forthwith proceeded
to usher us into a range of the most dismal dungeons, extending along
the basement of the castle, on a level with the surface of the lake.
First, if I remember aright, we came to what he said had been a chapel,
and which, at all events, looked like an aisle of one, or rather such
a crypt as I have seen beneath a cathedral, being a succession of
massive pillars supporting groined arches,--a very admirable piece of
Gothic architecture. Next, we came to a very dark compartment of the
same dungeon range, where he pointed to a sort of bed, or what might
serve for a bed, hewn in the solid rock, and this, our guide said, had
been the last sleeping-place of condemned prisoners on the night before
their execution. The next compartment was still duskier and dismaller
than the last, and he bade us cast our eyes up into the obscurity and
see a beam, where the condemned ones used to be hanged. I looked and
looked, and closed my eyes so as to see the clearer in this horrible
duskiness on opening them again. Finally, I thought I discerned the
accursed beam, and the rest of the party were certain that they saw it.
Next, beyond this, I think, was a stone staircase, steep, rudely cut
and narrow, down which the condemned were brought to death; and beyond
this, still on the same basement range of the castle, a low and narrow
[corridor] through which we passed, and saw a row of seven massive
pillars, supporting two parallel series of groined arches, like those
in the chapel which we first entered. This was Bonnivard’s prison, and
the scene of Byron’s poem.
The arches are dimly lighted by narrow loopholes, pierced through the
immensely thick wall, but at such a height above the floor that we
could catch no glimpse of land or water, or scarcely of the sky. The
prisoner of Chillon could not possibly have seen the island to which
Byron alludes, and which is a little way from the shore, exactly
opposite the town of Villeneuve. There was light enough in this long,
grey, vaulted room, to show us that all the pillars were inscribed
with the names of visitors, among which I saw no interesting one,
except that of Byron himself, which is cut, in letters an inch long
or more, into one of the pillars next to that to which Bonnivard was
chained. The letters are deep enough to remain in the pillar as long
as the castle stands. Byron seems to have had a fancy for recording
his name in this and similar ways; as witness the record which I saw
on a tree of Newstead Abbey. In Bonnivard’s pillar there still remains
an iron ring, at the height of perhaps three feet from the ground.
His chain was fastened to this ring, and his only freedom was to walk
round this pillar, about which he is said to have worn a path in the
stone pavement of the dungeon; but as the floor is now covered with
earth of gravel, I could not satisfy myself whether this be true.
Certainly six years with nothing else to do in them save to walk round
the pillar, might well suffice to wear away the rock, even with naked
feet. This column and all the columns, were cut and hewn in a good
style of architecture, and the dungeon arches are not without a certain
gloomy beauty. On Bonnivard’s pillar, as well as on all the rest, were
many names inscribed; but I thought better of Byron’s delicacy and
sensitiveness for not cutting his name into that very pillar. Perhaps,
knowing nothing of Bonnivard’s story, he did not know to which column
he was chained.
Emerging from the dungeon-vaults, our guide led us through other
parts of the castle, showing us the Duke of Savoy’s kitchen, with a
fireplace at least twelve feet long; also the judgment-hall, or some
such place, hung round with the coats-of-arms of some officers or
other, and having at one end a wooden post, reaching from floor to
ceiling, and having upon it the marks of fire. By means of this post
contumacious prisoners were put to a dreadful torture, being drawn
up by cords and pulleys, while their limbs were scorched by a fire
underneath. We also saw a chapel or two, one of which is still in good
and sanctified condition, and was to be used this very day, our guide
told us, for religious purposes. We saw, moreover, the Duke’s private
chamber, with a part of the bedstead on which he used to sleep, and be
haunted with horrible dreams, no doubt, and the ghosts of wretches whom
he had tortured and hanged; likewise the bedchamber of his duchess,
that had in its window two stone seats, where, directly over the head
of Bonnivard, the ducal pair might look out on the beautiful scene of
lake and mountains, and feel the warmth of the blessed sun. Under this
window, the guide said, the water of the lake is eight hundred feet in
depth; an immense profundity, indeed, for an inland lake, but it is
not very difficult to believe that the mountain at the foot of which
Chillon stands may descend so far beneath the water. In other parts
of the lake and not distant, more than nine hundred feet have been
sounded. I looked out of the duchess’s window, and could certainly see
no appearance of a bottom in the light blue water.
The last thing that the guide showed us was a trap-door, or opening,
beneath a crazy old floor. Looking down into this aperture we saw
three stone steps, which we should have taken to be the beginning of a
flight of stairs that descended into a dungeon, or series of dungeons,
such as we had already seen. But inspecting them more closely, we
saw that the third step terminated the flight, and beyond was a dark
vacancy. Three steps a person would grope down, planting his uncertain
foot on a dimly seen stone; the fourth step would be in the empty air.