Chapter X: Part 10

_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

EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1822

_Friday, 14th September 1822._--Cart at the door at nine o'clock with our pretty black-eyed boy, Leonard Backhouse, to drive the old grey horse.... Scene at Castlecary very pretty.... Nothing which we English call comfort within doors, but much better, civility and kindness. Old woman bringing home her son to die; left his wife, she will never see him again. [They seem to have gone by the Forth and Clyde Canal.] Scene at the day's end very pretty. The fiddler below,--his music much better there. A soldier at the boat's head; scarlet shawls, blue ribbons, something reminding me of Bruges; but we want the hum, and the fruit, and the Flemish girl with her flowers. The people talk cheerfully, and all is quiet; groups of cottages. Evening, with a town lying in view. Lassies in pink at the top of the bank; handsome boatman throws an apple to each; graceful waving of thanks.

_Thursday morning [on the Clyde]._--Now we come to Lord Blantyre's house, as I remember it eighteen years ago.... Gradually appears the Rock of Dumbarton, very wild, low water, screaming birds, to me very interesting from recollections. Entrance to Loch Lomond grand and stately. Large hills before us, covered with heather, and sprinkled all over with wood. Deer on island, in shape resembling the isle at Windermere. Further on an island, of large size, curiously scattered over with yew-trees--more yews than are to be found together in Great Britain--wind blowing cold, waves like the sea. I could not find out our cottage isle. The bay at Luss even more beautiful than in imagination, thatched cottages, two or three slated houses. The little chapel, the sweet brook, and the pebbly shore, so well remembered.