its source in the pools above, within a few hundred yards of that which
gives birth to the Reuss, D. and I resolved to reject all political
boundaries, and thenceforth consider ourselves in _Italy_. With the pure
stream we descended; but first were joined by Mr. R., J. M., and Wm.,
with a young German, whom Mr. R. had picked up in the morning; a
Heidelberg student, travelling on foot to Rome. He sang and played to us
upon the flute, airs from Rossini, the Swiss Cow Song, etc. Then on we
went, wending our way over the grass between the paved road and the
brook wherever we could. The Brook dashing down its stony channel, now
over rocks, now under shelving snow, and its banks seen clothed with
underwood and pines. Passed by its first wooden bridge, leading to the
cottages, not unmindful of _our own Duddon_; and presently did it grace
such an assemblage of rocks, dells, and woods, forming waterfalls,
pools, and all the various charms that a mountain stream can show."
(Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)
"Thursday, 23rd August. Hopital.--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 TICINO 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." (From Dorothy
Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 514: 1837.
... how others love this simple Strain,
Even here, upon this glorious Mountain (named 1822.
]
[Footnote 515: 1827.
... by memory are reclaimed;
And, thro' the Music's touching influence,
The joys ... 1822.
]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote HZ: This Journal copied (and the extract added) in 1828.--D.
W.]
XXII
FORT FUENTES[516]
The Ruins of Fort Fuentes form the crest of a rocky eminence that rises
from the plain at the head of the Lake of Como, commanding views up the
Valteline, and toward the town of Chiavenna. The prospect in the latter
direction is characterised by melancholy sublimity. We rejoiced at being
favoured with a distinct view of those Alpine heights; not, as we had
expected from the breaking up of the storm, steeped in celestial glory,
yet in communion with clouds floating or stationary--scatterings from
heaven. The Ruin is interesting both in mass and in detail. An
Inscription, upon elaborately-sculptured marble lying on the ground,
records that the Fort had been erected by Count Fuentes in the year
1600, during the reign of Philip the Third; and the Chapel, about twenty
years after, by one of his Descendants. Marble pillars of gateways are
yet standing, and a considerable part of the Chapel walls: a smooth
green turf has taken place of the pavement, and we could see no trace of
altar or image; but every where something to remind one of former
splendour, and of devastation and tumult. In our ascent we had passed
abundance of wild vines intermingled with bushes: near the ruins were
some ill tended, but growing willingly; and rock, turf, and fragments of
the pile, are alike covered or adorned with a variety of flowers, among
which the rose-coloured pink was growing in great beauty. While
descending, we discovered on the ground, apart from the path, and at a
considerable distance from the ruined Chapel, a statue of a Child in
pure white marble, uninjured by the explosion that had driven it so far
down the hill. "How little," we exclaimed, "are these things valued
here! Could we but transport this pretty Image to our own garden!"--Yet
it seemed it would have been a pity any one should remove it from its
couch in the wilderness, which may be its own for hundreds of years.
(Extract from Journal.)--W. W. 1827.
Dread hour! when, upheaved by war's sulphurous blast,
This sweet-visaged Cherub of Parian stone
So far from the holy enclosure was cast,
To couch in this thicket of brambles alone,
To rest where the lizard may bask in the palm 5
Of his half-open hand pure from blemish or speck;
And the green, gilded snake, without troubling the calm
Of the beautiful countenance, twine round his neck;
Where haply (kind service to Piety due!)
When winter the grove of its mantle bereaves, 10
Some bird (like our own honoured redbreast) may strew
The desolate Slumberer with moss and with leaves.
FUENTES once harboured the good and the brave,
Nor to her was the dance of soft pleasure unknown;
Her banners for festal enjoyment did wave 15
While the thrill of her fifes thro' the mountains was blown:
Now gads the wild vine o'er the pathless ascent;--
O silence of Nature, how deep is thy sway,
When the whirlwind of human destruction is spent, 19
Our tumults appeased, and our strifes passed away!
"Wed., Sept. 6.--... Crossed the plain of Colico to FUENTES, a ruined
Fort on the summit of a group of Rocks, abruptly rising from the plain,
and overlooking the head of the Lake towards Chiavenna; up the nearer
and larger valley, whence comes the Adda, a river bearing the same name
as that which flows out of the Lake at Lecco; and into the clefts and
recesses among the savage Rocks; over the plain; upon the Lake. Wm. had
gone on before D. and myself, and had gained the top of this picturesque
eminence, by a rough and difficult way. _We_ had determined to be
satisfied with what we had seen below, when two civil peasants joined
us, and kindly led us by an easy path to Wm. on the summit. He pointed
out to us where he had been lost, and separated from Jones; we were
enchanted by the mountain scenery. The whole spot excited the deepest
interest; and, from the very point where we were, this rocky station,
with its ruined fort, church, dwellings, all desolated by those
barbarians the French, it was very affecting to see vines--which no
doubt had heretofore been carefully supported by trellises upon these
terraces--now running wild, and gadding about among the underwood that
clothed the banks. Lumps and masses of marble--architectural
ravages--strewn about. Apart from the path, and at a considerable
distance from the grassy glade where the church had stood, lay the
beautiful statue of a Child, in pure white marble. It seemed strange
that this had not been removed; yet scarcely less strange than that,
among the grass should be left an inscription upon marble, together with
richly carved ornaments, expressing that the Fort had been erected by a
Spanish Count Fuentes, in the time of Philip the third...." (Mrs.
Wordsworth's Journal.)
"Wednesday, 5th September. 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 characterized 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." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)
The "Extract from Journal," which Wordsworth prefixed to this poem in
the edition of 1827 and subsequent ones, is, it will be observed, not an
exact transcription from either of the two Journals written by his wife
and his sister. It is a compilation from both of them; and, as it was
doubtless written by himself, it may illustrate the wish, expressed in
the Fenwick note to the poem _Between Namur and Liege_, that "some one
would put together the notices contained in these Journals,... bringing
the whole into a small compass," etc. Most readers will be of opinion,
however, that something has been lost by the condensation, and that the
poet's note of 1827 does not render the publication of the longer
extracts from the two Journals superfluous. Another instance of
Wordsworth's use of the materials of these Journals, while rewriting the
extract, will be found in the note to the poem _Brugès_.--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 516: 1827.
FORT FUENTES--AT THE HEAD OF THE LAKE OF COMO. 1822.
]
XXIII
THE CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR, SEEN FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO
This Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ago, but the
Altar and the Image of the Patron Saint were untouched. The Mount, upon
the summit of which the Church is built, stands in the midst of the
intricacies of the Lake of Lugano; and is, from a hundred points of
view, its principal ornament, rising to the height of 2000 feet, and, on
one side, nearly perpendicular. The ascent is toilsome; but the
Traveller who performs it will be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility,
rich woods and dazzling waters, seclusion and confinement of view
contrasted with sea-like extent of plain fading into the sky; and this
again, in an opposite quarter, with an horizon of the loftiest and
boldest Alps--unite in composing a prospect more diversified by
magnificence, beauty, and sublimity, than perhaps any other point in
Europe, of so inconsiderable an elevation, commands.--W.W. 1822.
Thou sacred Pile! whose turrets rise
From yon steep mountain's loftiest stage,
Guarded by lone San Salvador;
Sink (if thou must) as heretofore,
To sulphurous bolts a sacrifice, 5
But ne'er to human rage!
On Horeb's top, on Sinai, deigned
To rest the universal Lord:
Why leap the fountains from their cells
Where everlasting Bounty dwells?-- 10
That, while the Creature is sustained,
His God may be adored.
Cliffs, fountains, rivers, seasons, times--
Let all remind the soul of heaven;
Our slack devotion needs them all; 15
And Faith--so oft of sense the thrall,
While she, by aid of Nature, climbs--
May hope to be forgiven.[517]
Glory, and patriotic Love,
And all the Pomps of this frail "spot 20
Which men call Earth,"[IA] have yearned to seek,
Associate with the simply meek,
Religion in the sainted grove,
And in the hallowed grot.
Thither, in time of adverse shocks, 25
Of fainting hopes and backward wills,
Did mighty Tell repair of old--
A Hero cast in Nature's mould,
Deliverer of the steadfast rocks
And of the ancient hills! 30
_He_, too, of battle-martyrs chief!
Who, to recal his daunted peers,
For victory shaped an open space,
By gathering with a wide embrace,
Into his single breast,[518] a sheaf 35
Of fatal Austrian spears,[IB][519]
"Monday, 28th Aug. Lugano.--At half-past four o'clock, wishing it had
been earlier, we started to see the sun rise from the top of San
Salvador; found, at that dewy hour, the Peasants busy in their
vineyards, as we passed in our ascent. Wm. and T.M. reached the top in
an hour and twenty minutes. Mr. R. kindly lingered with us. _We_
ascended in about two hours, and much were we delighted. The Alps how
glorious! The Rosa! the Simplon! and (as the guide told us) Mont Blanc!
and I believe he was right. However, Mont Blanc, nor no other mount,
could surpass the exquisite appearance of what belonged to earth,
gleaming high up in the skies. This was the glory of our view--the
_majesty_ lay to the left of these. There, by the naked eye, we saw the
River Po, drawn out in silver line, along the horizon; and, with the
telescope, towns and villages gleaming on its banks. Mountains, glens,
and plains, the lake spreading at our feet this way and that, cutting
off the portion of land upon which this favoured and favouring hill
rises. A church and house upon the summit. Three years ago the sacred
edifice was struck by lightning, and every part of it destroyed or
greatly injured, except the altar. The holy place, containing the image
of San Salvador, was left untouched. In that lofty chapel, now under
repair, service is performed four times a year; and at these festivals
the same merriment goes forward upon the mountain as in the villages and
towns upon like occasions. Offerings are then brought to the patron
saint.... We returned highly delighted with this adventure, for which we
are indebted to Mr. R.'s Book, that determined us to climb San Salvador,
one of the grandest feats we have accomplished." (Mrs. Wordsworth's
Journal.)
"Sunday, 26th August. 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 eight o'clock
when we reached the inn, where all things were on a large scale-splendid
yet shabby."
"Monday, 27th August. Lugano.--Roused from sleep at a quarter before
four 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,[IC] 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[ID])
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
Ticino, departed from his mountain solitudes, where we had been his
happy companions.
"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 by 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." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.) See note to
stanzas _Composed in one of the Catholic Cantons_, p. 313.--ED.
VARIANTS:
[Footnote 517: In 1822 only.
I love, where spreads the village lawn,
Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze;
Hail to the firm unmoving cross,
Aloft, where pines their branches toss!
And to the Chapel far withdrawn,
That lurks by lonely ways!
Short-sighted children of the dust,
We live and move in sorrow's power;
Extinguish that unblest disdain
That scorns the altar, mocks the fane,
Where patient Sufferers bend--in trust
To win a happier hour.
]
[Footnote 518: 1837.
... heart, ... 1827.
]
[Footnote 519: In 1822 only.
/*
Ye Alps, in many a rugged link
Far-stretched, and Thou, majestic Po,
Dimly from yon tall Mount descried,
Where'er I wander be my Guide,
Sweet Charity!--that bids us think,
And feel, if we would know!
*/
]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote IA: See _Comus_, l. 5.--ED.]
[Footnote IB: Arnold Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, broke an
Austrian phalanx in this manner. The event is one of the most famous in
the annals of Swiss heroism; and pictures and prints of it are frequent
throughout the country.--W.W. 1822.]
[Footnote IC: Cyclamen.--D. W.]
[Footnote ID: 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.]
XXIV
THE ITALIAN ITINERANT, AND THE SWISS GOATHERD
PART I
I