Chapter VII: Part 7

_Friday, November 9th._--It rained till near ten o'clock; but a little after that time, it being likely for a tolerably fine day, we packed up, and with Luff's servant to help to row, set forward in the boat. As we proceeded the day grew finer, clouds and sunny gleams on the mountains. In a grand bay under Place Fell we saw three fishermen with a boat dragging a net, and rowed up to them. They had just brought the net ashore, and hundreds of fish were leaping in their prison. They were all of one kind, what are called Skellies. After we had left them the fishermen continued their work, a picturesque group under the lofty and bare crags; the whole scene was very grand, a raven croaking on the mountain above our heads. Landed at Sanwick, the man took the boat home, and we pursued our journey towards the village along a beautiful summer path, at first through a copse by the lake-side, then through green fields. The village and brook very pretty, shut out from mountains and lake; it reminded me of Somersetshire. Passed by Harry Hebson's house; I longed to go in for the sake of former times. William went up one side of the vale, and we the other, and he joined us after having crossed the one-arched bridge above the church; a beautiful view of the church with its "base ring of mossy wall" and single yew-tree. At the last house in the vale we were kindly greeted by the master.... We were well prepared to face the mountain, which we began to climb almost immediately. Martindale divides itself into two dales at the head. In one of these (that to the left) there is no house to be seen, nor any building but a cattle-shed on the side of a hill which is sprinkled over with wood, evidently the remains of a forest, formerly a very extensive one. At the bottom of the other valley is the house of which I have spoken, and beyond the enclosures of this man's farm there are no other. A few old trees remain, relics of the forest; a little stream passes in serpentine windings through the uncultivated valley, where many cattle were feeding. The cattle of this country are generally white or light-coloured; but those were mostly dark-brown or black, which made the scene resemble many parts of Scotland. When we sat on the hillside, though we were well contented with the quiet everyday sounds, the lowing of cattle, bleating of sheep, and the very gentle murmuring of the valley stream, yet we could not but think what a grand effect the sound of the bugle-horn would have among these mountains. It is still heard once a year at the chase--a day of festivity for all the inhabitants of the district, except the poor deer, the most ancient of them all. The ascent, even to the top of the mountain, is very easy. When we had accomplished it we had some exceedingly fine mountain views, some of the mountains being resplendent with sunshine, others partly hidden by clouds. Ulswater was of a dazzling brightness bordered by black hills, the plain beyond Penrith smooth and bright (or rather _gleamy_) as the sea or sea-sands. Looked into Boar Dale above Sanwick--deep and bare, a stream winding down it. After having walked a considerable way on the tops of the hills, came in view of Glenridding and the mountains above Grisdale. Luff then took us aside, before we had begun to descend, to a small ruin, which was formerly a chapel or place of worship where the inhabitants of Martindale and Patterdale were accustomed to meet on Sundays. There are now no traces by which you could discover that the building had been different from a common sheepfold; the loose stones and the few which yet remain piled up are the same as those which lie about on the mountain; but the shape of the building being oblong is not that of a common sheepfold, and it stands east and west. Whether it was ever consecrated ground or not I know not; but the place may be kept holy in the memory of some now living in Patterdale; for it was the means of preserving the life of a poor old man last summer, who, having gone up the mountain to gather peats, had been overtaken by a storm, and could not find his way down again. He happened to be near the remains of the old chapel, and, in a corner of it, he contrived, by laying turf and ling and stones from one wall to the other, to make a shelter from the wind, and there he lay all night. The woman who had sent him on his errand began to grow uneasy towards night, and the neighbours went out to seek him. At that time the old man had housed himself in his nest, and he heard the voices of the men, but could not make _them_ hear, the wind being so loud, and he was afraid to leave the spot lest he should not be able to find it again, so he remained there all night; and they returned to their homes, giving him up for lost; but the next morning the same persons discovered him huddled up in the sheltered nook. He was at first stupefied and unable to move; but after he had eaten and drunk, and recollected himself a little, he walked down the mountain, and did not afterwards seem to have suffered.[36] As we descend, the vale of Patterdale appears very simple and grand, with its two heads, Deep Dale, and Brotherswater or Hartsop. It is remarkable that two pairs of brothers should have been drowned in that lake. There is a tradition, at least, that it took its name from two who were drowned there many years ago, and it is a fact that two others did meet that melancholy fate about twenty years since....

[Footnote 36: Compare the account given of this incident in _The
Excursion_, towards the close of book ii.; also in the Fenwick note to
_The Excursion_.--ED.]

_Saturday, November 10th._--A beautiful morning. When we were at breakfast we heard suddenly the tidings of Lord Nelson's death and the victory of Trafalgar. Went to the inn to make further inquiries. Returned by William's rock and grove, and were so much pleased with the spot that William determined to buy it if possible, therefore we prepared to set off to Parkhouse that William might apply to Thomas Wilkinson to negotiate for him with the owner. We went down that side of the lake opposite to Stybarrow Crag. I dismounted, and we sat some time under the same rock as before, above Blowick. Owing to the brightness of the sunshine the church and other buildings were even more concealed from us than by the mists the other day. It had been a sharp frost in the night, and the grass and trees were yet wet. We observed the lemon-coloured leaves of the birches in the wood below, as the wind turned them to the sun, sparkle, or rather flash, like diamonds. The day continued unclouded to the end.

_Monday, November 12th._--The morning being fine, we resolved to go to Lowther.... Crossed the ford at Yanworth. Found Thomas Wilkinson at work in one of his fields; he cheerfully laid down the spade and walked by our side with William. We left our horses at the mill below Brougham, and walked through the woods till we came to the quarry, where the road ends--the very place which has been the boundary of some of the happiest of the walks of my youth. The sun did not shine when we were there, and it was mid-day; therefore, if it had shone, the light could not have been the same; yet so vividly did I call to mind those walks, that, when I was in the wood, I almost seemed to see the same rich light of evening upon the trees which I had seen in those happy hours....

_Tuesday, November 13th._--A very wet morning; no hope of being able to return home. William read in a book lent him by Thomas Wilkinson. I read _Castle Rackrent_. The day cleared at one o'clock, and after dinner, at a little before three, we set forward.... Before we reached Ullswater the sun shone, and only a few scattered clouds remained on the hills, except at the tops of the very highest. The lake perfectly calm. We had a delightful journey.... The trees in Gowborough Park were very beautiful, the hawthorns leafless, their round heads covered with rich red berries, and adorned with arches of green brambles; and eglantine hung with glossy hips; many birches yet tricked out in full foliage of bright yellow; oaks brown or leafless; the smooth branches of the ashes bare; most of the alders green as in spring. At the end of Gowborough Park a large troop of deer were moving slowly, or standing still, among the fern. I was grieved when our companions startled them with a whistle, disturbing a beautiful image of grave simplicity and thoughtful enjoyment, for I could have fancied that even they were partaking with me a sensation of the solemnity of the closing day. I think I have more pleasure in looking at deer than any other animals, perhaps chiefly from their living in a more natural state. The sun had been set some time, though we could only just perceive that the daylight was partly gone, and the lake was more brilliant than before.... A delightful evening; the Seven Stars close to the hill-tops in Patterdale; all the stars seemed brighter than usual. The steeps were reflected in Brotherswater, and above the lake appeared like enormous black perpendicular walls. The torrents of Kirkstone had been swollen by the rains, and filled the mountain pass with their roaring, which added greatly to the solemnity of our walk. The stars in succession took their stations on the mountain-tops. Behind us, when we had climbed very high, we saw one light in the vale at a great distance, like a large star, a solitary one, in the gloomy region. All the cheerfulness of the scene was in the sky above us....[37]

[Footnote 37: A curious _recast_ of this journal by his sister was
published by Wordsworth, in his _Description of the Scenery of the
Lakes_.--ED.]

IX

EXTRACTS
FROM
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL
OF A
TOUR ON THE CONTINENT
1820

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

_Monday, July 10th, 1820._--We--William, Mary, and Dorothy Wordsworth--left the Rectory House, Lambeth, at a quarter to eight o'clock. Had the "Union" coach to ourselves, till within two stages of Canterbury, when two young ladies demanded inside places.... The Cathedral of Canterbury, described by Erasmus as lifting itself up in "such majesty towards heaven, that it strikes religion into the beholders from a distance," looks stately on the plain, when first seen from the gently descending road, and appeared to me a much finer building than in former times; and I felt, as I had often done during my last abode in London, that, whatever change, tending to melancholy, twenty years might have produced, they had called forth the capacity of enjoying the sight of ancient buildings to which my youth was, comparatively, a stranger. Between London and Canterbury the scenes are varied and cheerful; first Blackheath, and its bordering villas, and shady trees; goats, asses, sheep, etc., pasturing at large near the houses. The Thames glorious; ships like castles, cutting their way as through green meadows, the river being concealed from view; then it spreads out like a wide lake, scattered over with vessels.

_Dover, Tuesday, July 11th._--We walked to the Castle before breakfast. The building, when you are close to it, appears even _sublime_, from its immense height and bulk; but it is not rich or beautiful in architecture. The old warder stood in waiting upon the hill to lead us forward. After ascending above a hundred stone steps, we were greeted by the slender tinkling of a bell, a delicately wild sound in that place. It is fixed at the top of a pillar, on which is inscribed a poetical petition in behalf of the prisoners confined above in the Castle.

_Calais, Tuesday, July 11th._--Landed on the shores of France at half-past one. What shall I say of Calais? I looked about for what I remembered, and looked for new things, and in both quests was gratified.... On my bedroom door is inscribed "Sterne's Room," and a print of him hangs over the fireplace. The walls painted in panels, handsome carpets, chimney-piece marble-coloured, hearth red, bed-curtains white, sheets coarse, coverlet a mixture of cotton and woollen, beautifully white; but how clumsy all contrivances of braziers and smiths! The bell hangs on the outside of the wall, and gives a single, loud, dull stroke when pulled by the string, so that you must stand and pull four or five times, as if you were calling the people to prayers.

_Calais, Wednesday, July 12th._--We rose at five; sunshine and clear, but rather cold air. The Cathedral, a large edifice, not finely wrought; but the first effect is striking, from the size of the numerous pillars and arches, though they are paltry in the finishing, merely whitewashed and stuck over with bad pictures and tawdry images; yet the whole view at the entrance was affecting. Old men and women--_young_ women and girls kneeling at their silent prayers, and some we espied, in obscure recesses, before a concealed crucifix, image, or altar. One grey-haired man I cannot forget, whose countenance bore the impression of worldly cares subdued, and peace in heavenly aspiration.... Another figure I must not leave unnoticed, a squalid, ragged woman. She sate alone upon some steps at the side of the entrance to the quire. There she sate, with a white dog beside her; no one was near, and the dog and she evidently belonged to each other, probably her only friend, for never was there a more wretchedly forlorn and miserable-looking human being. She did not notice us; but her rags and her sickly aspect drew a penny from me, and the change in the woman's skinny, doleful face is not to be imagined: it was brightened by a light and gracious smile--the effect was almost as of something supernatural--she bowed her body, waved her hand, and, with a politeness of gesture unknown in England in almost any station of life, beckoned that we might enter the church, where the people were kneeling upon chairs, of which there might be a thousand--_two_ thousand--I cannot say how many--piled up in different parts of the Cathedral....

_9 o'clock, Inn-yard, Calais._--Off we drove, preceded by our friends, each postilion smacking his whip along the street with a dexterity truly astonishing. Never before did I know the power of a clumsy whip, in concert with the rattling of wheels upon rough pavement! The effect was certainly not less upon the spectators, and we jolted away as merry as children--showed our passports--passed the gateways, drawbridges, and shabby soldiers, and, fresh to the feeling of being in a foreign land, drove briskly forward, watchful and gay. The country for many miles populous; this makes it amusing, though sandy and flat; no trees worth looking at singly _as_ trees....

_Half-past 10._--The party gone to bed. This _salle_, where I sit, how unlike a parlour in an English inn! Yet the history of a sea-fight, or a siege, painted on the walls, with the costumes of Philip the Second, or even of our own time, would have better suited my associations, with the names of Gravelines and Dunkirk, than the story of Cupid and Psyche now before my eyes, as large as life, on French paper! The paper is in panels, with big mirrors between, in gilt frames. With all this taste and finery, and wax candles,[38] and Brussels carpets, what a mixture of troublesome awkwardness! They brought us a ponderous teapot that would not pour out the tea; the latches (with metal enough to fasten up a dungeon) can hardly, by unpractised hands, be made to open and shut the doors! I have seen the diligence come into the yard and unload--heavy, dirty, dusty--a lap-dog walking about the top, like a panther in its cage, and viewing the gulf below. A monkey was an outside passenger when it departed.

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

_Furnes, July 13th, Thursday, 5 o'clock._--I will describe this Square. Houses yellow, grey, white, and _there_ is a green one! Yet the effect is not gaudy--a half Grecian church, with Gothic spire; storks have built their nests, and are sitting upon the venerable tower of another church, a sight that pleasingly reminds us of our neighbourhood to Holland. The interior of that which outwardly mimics the Grecian is Gothic, and rather handsome in form, but whitewashed, and bedaubed with tinsel, and dolls, and tortured images.... Bells continually tinkling. _There_ goes a woman to her prayers, in a long black cloak, and bright blue stockings; _here_ comes a nicely-dressed old woman, leaning on her staff! Surely it is a blessing to the aged in Roman Catholic countries to have the churches always open for them, if it were only that it makes a variety in the course of a long day! How soothing, how natural to the aged, thus to withdraw from the stir of household cares, and occupations in which they can no longer take a part! and I must say (little as I have yet seen of this mode of worshipping God) I never beheld more of the expression of piety and earnest feeling than in some of the very old people in these churches. Every avenue of the square of this town presents some picturesque continuation of buildings. All is old, and old-_fashioned_; nothing to complain of but a want of Dutch cleanliness, yet it does not obtrude on the eye, out of doors, and the exterior is grave, decent, and quiet....

The priests in their gaudy attire, with their young white-robed attendants, made a solemn appearance, while clouds of incense were ascending over their heads to the large crucifix above the altar; and the "pealing organ" sounded to the "full-voiced quire." There was a beautiful nun in a grey garment with a long black scarf, white forehead band, belt, and rosary. Intent upon her devotions, she did not cast an eye towards us, and we stood to look at her. The faces of many of the women are handsome, but the steady grace, the chastened motions of their persons, and the mild seriousness of their countenances, are _most_ remarkable....

From Furnes to Bruges we had travelled through a flat country, yet with an endless variety, produced by the various produce of a beautiful soil carefully cultivated. We had been told that the country between Ghent and Bruges was much of the same kind, only not so interesting, therefore we were not sorry to interpose the variety of the packet-boat to Ghent.... And, when all was ready, took our places on the deck of the vessel. The tinkling of a bell, the signal for departure; and we glided gently away with motion only perceptible by the _eye_, looking at the retreating objects on the shore.... Two nuns and a priest (his prayer-book in his hand), an English dandy, a handsome lady-like Flemish girl, dressed in an elegant gauze mob-cap with flowers, and robe _à la française_, were the most noticeable people.... The groups under the awning would make a lively picture. The priest, in his cocked hat, standing at his prayers, the pretty maiden in her cap and flowers, and _there_ are the nuns. My brother and the nuns are very merry. _They_ seem to have left their prayer-books at home, and one of them has a pamphlet in her hand that looks like a magazine. Low cottages, pretty and clean, close to the bank; a woman scouring a copper vessel, in white jacket, red cap, blue petticoat, and clean sailcloth apron; the flat country to be seen over the low banks of the canal, spires and towers, and sometimes a village may be descried among trees; many little public-houses to tempt a landing; near one I see a pleasant arbour, with seats aloft for smoking.... The nuns are merry; so is the priest, in his spectacles; the dandy recommends shoes, in preference to boots, as more convenient. "There is nobody that can clean either on the Continent." For my part, I think they clean _them_ as well as anything else, except their vessels for cookery! they cannot get the dust out of a chair, or _rub_ a table!... William and I remained till the carriages were safely landed, amid a confusion of tongues, French, German, and English, and inarticulate shoutings, such as belong to all nations.... Canals round the town, rows of trees, fortifications converted into pleasure-grounds. We pass through old and picturesque streets, with an intermixture of houses of a later date, and showy shops; an appearance of commerce and bustle, which makes the contrast with Bruges the more striking, as the architecture of the ancient houses is of the same kind. William and I, with our English lady, reached first the appointed inn, though our friends had left the boat long before us....

_Ghent._--After tea, walked through the city. The buildings, streets, squares, all are picturesque. The houses, green, blue, pink, yellow, with richest ornaments still varying. Strange it is that so many and such strongly-contrasted colours should compose an undiscordant whole. Towers and spires overlook the lofty houses, and nothing is wanting of venerable antiquity at Ghent to give to the mind the same melancholy composure, which cannot but be felt in passing through the streets of Bruges--nothing but the impression that no change is going on, except through the silent progress of time. _There_ the very dresses of the women might have been the same for hundreds of years. _Here_, though the black cloak is prevalent, we see a mixture of all kinds, from the dress of the English or French belle to that of the poorest of our poor in a country town....

_Saturday, July 15th._--The architecture is a mixture of Gothic and Grecian. Three orders of pillars, one above another, the Gothic part very rich.... Multitudes of swallows were wheeling round the roof, regardless of carts and hammers, or whatever noise was heard below, and the effect was indescribably interesting. The restless motions and plaintive call of those little creatures seemed to impart a stillness to every other object, and had the power to lead the imagination gently on to the period when that once superb but now decaying structure shall be "lorded over and possessed by nature."...

_Arrival at Brussels._--Light and shade very solemn upon the drawbridge. Passing through a heavy gateway, we entered the city, and drove through street after street with a pleasure wholly new to us. Garlands of fresh boughs and flowers in festoons hung on each side, and the great height of the houses, especially in the narrow streets (lighted as they were), gave a beautiful effect to the exhibition. Some of the streets were very steep, others long or winding; and in the triangular openings at the junction of different streets there was generally some stately ornament. For instance, in one place a canopy, with white drapery attached to the centre, and suspended in four inverted arches by means of four pillars at the distance of six or seven yards from the centre.

_Sunday, July 16th._--_Brussels._--After breakfast, proceeded through the park, a very large open space with shady walks, statues, fountains, pools, arbours, and seats, and surrounded by palaces and fine houses--to the Cathedral, which, though immensely large, was so filled with people that we could scarcely make our way so as, by standing upon chairs (for which we paid two sous each), to have a view of the building over the multitudes of heads. The priests, at high mass, could not be seen; but the melody of human voices, accompanied by the organ, pierced through every recess--then came bursts of sound like thunder; and, at times, the solemn rousing of the trumpet. Powerful as was the effect of the music, the excessive heat and crowding after a short while overcame every other feeling, and we were glad to go into the open air. Our _laquais de place_ conducted us to the house of a shopkeeper, where, from a room in the attics, we might view the procession. It was close to one of the triangular openings with which most of the streets of Brussels terminate. To the right, we looked down the street along which the procession was to come, and, a little to the left below us, overlooked the triangles, in the centre of which was a fountain ornamented with three marble statues, and a pillar in the midst, topped by a golden ball--the whole decorated with festoons of holly, and large roses made of paper, alternately red and yellow. In like manner the garlands were composed in all the streets through which the procession was to pass; but in some parts there were also young fir-trees stuck in the pavement, leaving a foot-way between them and the houses. Paintings were hung out by such as possessed them, and ribands and flags. The street where we were was lined with people assembled like ourselves in expectation, all in their best attire. Peasants to be distinguished by their short jackets, petticoats of scarlet or some other bright colour (in contrast), crosses, or other ornament of gold or gilding; the bourgeoises, with black silk scarfs overhead, and reaching almost to their feet; ladies, a little too much of the French or English; little girls, with or without caps, and some in elegant white veils. The windows of all the houses open, and people seen at full length, or through doorways, sitting, or standing in patient expectation. It amused us to observe _them_, and the arrangements of their houses--which were even splendid, compared with those of persons of like condition in our own country--with an antique cast over all. Nor was it less amusing to note the groups or lines of people below us. Whether standing in the hot sunshine, or the shade, they appeared equally contented. Some approached the fountain--a sacred spot!--to drink of the pure waters, out of which rise the silent statues. The spot is sacred; for there, before the priests arrived in the procession, incense was kindled in the urns, and a pause was made with the canopy of the Host, while they continued chanting the service. But I am going too fast.

The procession was, in its beginning, military, and its approach announced by sound of trumpets. Then came a troop of cavalry, four abreast, splendidly accoutred, dressed in blue and gold, and accompanied by a full band of music; next, I think, the magistrates and constituted authorities. But the order of the procession I do not recollect; only that the military, civil, and religious authorities and symbols were pleasingly combined, and the whole spectacle was beautiful. Long before the sound of the sacred service reached our ears, the martial music had died away in the distance, though there was no interruption in the line of the procession. The contrast was very pleasing when the solemn chaunting came along the street, with the stream of banners; priests and choristers in their appropriate robes; and not the least pleasing part of it was a great number of young girls, two and two, all dressed in white frocks. It was a day made on purpose for this exhibition; the sun seemed to be feasting on the gorgeous colours and glittering banners; and there was no breeze to disturb garland or flower. When all was passed away, we returned to the Cathedral, which we found not so crowded as much to interrupt our view: yet the whole effect of the interior was much injured by the decorations for the fête--especially by stiff orange-trees in tubs, placed between the pillars of the aisles. Though not equal to those of Bruges or Ghent, it is a very fine Gothic building, massy pillars and numerous statues, and windows of painted glass--an ornament which we have been so accustomed to in our own cathedrals that we lamented the want of it at Ghent and Bruges.

_Monday, July 17th._--_Brussels._--Brussels exhibits in its different quarters the stateliness of the ancient and the princely splendour of modern times, mixed with an uncouth irregularity, resembling that of the lofty tiers of houses at Edinburgh; but the general style of building in the old streets is by no means so striking as in those of Ghent or Bruges....

_Waterloo._--Waterloo is a mean village; straggling on each side of the broad highway, children and poor people of all ages stood on the watch to conduct us to the church. Within the circle of its interior are found several mural monuments of our brave soldiers--long lists of naked names inscribed on marble slabs--not less moving than laboured epitaphs displaying the sorrow of surviving friends.... Here we took up the very man who was Southey's guide (Lacoste), whose name will make a figure in history. He bowed to us with French ceremony and liveliness, seeming proud withal to show himself as a sharer in the terrors of that time when Buonaparte's confusion and overthrow released him from unwilling service. He had been tied upon a horse as Buonaparte's guide through the country previous to the battle, and was compelled to stay by his side till the moment of flight....

_Monday, July 17th._--_Brussels._--The sky had been overshadowed by clouds during most of our journey, and now a storm threatened us, which helped our own melancholy thoughts to cast a gloom over the open country, where few trees were to be seen except forests on the distant heights. The ruins of the severely contested chateau of Hougomont had been ridded away since the battle, and the injuries done to the farm-house repaired. Even these circumstances, natural and trivial as they were, suggested melancholy thoughts, by furnishing grounds for a charge of ingratitude against the course of things, that was thus hastily removing from the spot all vestiges of so momentous an event. Feeble barriers against this tendency are the few frail memorials erected in different parts of the field of battle! and we could not but anticipate the time, when through the flux and reflux of war, to which this part of the Continent has always been subject, or through some turn of popular passion, _these_ also should fall; and "Nature's universal robe of green, humanity's appointed shroud," enwrap them:--and the very names of those whose valour they record be cast into shade, if not obliterated even in their own country, by the exploits of recent favourites in future ages.

_Tuesday, July 18th._--_Namur._--Before breakfast we went to the church of the Jesuits; beautiful pillars of marble, roof of pumice-stone curiously wrought, the colour chaste and sombre. The churches of Ghent and Bruges are injured by being whitewashed: that of Brussels is of a pale grey, or stone-colour, which has a much better effect, though nothing equal to the roof of the Jesuits' church at Namur; yet in one point (_i.e._ the painted windows) the Cathedral of Brussels surpasses all the churches we have yet seen.... Several women passed us who had come thither to attend upon the labourers employed in repairing and enlarging the fortifications. Their dresses were neat and gay; and, in that place of which we had so often read in histories of battles and sieges, their appearance, while they struggled cheerfully with the blustering wind, was wild and romantic. The fondness for flowers appears in this country wherever you go. Nothing is more common than to see a man, driving a cart, with a rose in his mouth. At the very top of our ascent, I saw one at work with his spade, a full-blown rose covering his lips, which he must have brought up the hill,--or had some favourite lass there presented it to him?...

_Wednesday, July 19th._--_Liége._--My first entrance into the market-place brought a shock of cheerful sensation. It was like the bursting into life of a Flemish picture. Such profusion of fruit! such outspreading of flowers! and heaps of vegetables! and such variety in the attire of the women! A curious and abundant fountain, surrounded with large stone basins, served to wash and refresh the vegetables. Torrents of voices assailed us while we threaded our way among the fruit and fragrant flowers; bouquets were held out to us by half a score of sunburnt arms at once. The women laughed--_we_ laughed, took one bouquet, and gave two sous, our all.... Left Liége about 9 o'clock--were recognised and greeted by many of the women at their stalls as we passed again through the market-place.... Ascended a very steep hill, on the top of which stands the ruined convent of the Chartreuse, and there we left our carriages to look back upon the fine view of the city, spreading from the ridge of the crescent hill opposite to us (which is, however, somewhat unpleasingly scarified by new fortifications), and over the central plain of the vale, to the magnificent river which, split into many channels, flows at the foot of the eminence where we stood.... Still, as we proceed, we are reminded of England--the fields, even the cottages, and large farm-houses, are English-like; country undulating, and prospects extensive, yet continually some pretty little spot detains the eye; groups of cottages, or single ones, green to the very door.[39]

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

"these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door." ED.]

_Thursday, July 20th._--_Aix-la-Chapelle._--I went to the Cathedral, a curious building, where are to be seen the chair of Charlemagne, on which the Emperors were formerly crowned, some marble pillars much older than _his_ time, and many pictures; but I could not stay to examine any of these curiosities, and gladly made my way alone back to the inn to rest there. The market-place is a fine old square; but at Aix-la-Chapelle there is always a mighty preponderance of poverty and dulness, except in a few of the showiest of the streets, and even there, a flashy meanness, a slight patchery of things falling to pieces, is everywhere visible....

_Road to Cologne._--At the distance of ten miles we saw before us, over an expanse of open country, the Towers of Cologne. Even at this distance they appeared very tall and bulky; and Mary pointed out that one of them was a ruin, which no other eyes could discover. To the left was a range of distant hills; and, to the right, in front of us, another range--rather a _cluster_--which we looked at with peculiar interest, as guardians and companions of the famous river Rhine, whither we were tending, and (sick and weary though I was) I felt as much of the glad eagerness of hope as when I first visited the Wye, and all the world was fresh and new. Having travelled over the intermediate not interesting country, the massy ramparts of Cologne, guarded by grotesque turrets, the bridges, and heavy arched gateways, the central towers and spires, rising above the concealed mass of houses in the city, excited something of gloomy yet romantic expectation.

_Friday, July 21st._--_Cologne._--I busied myself repairing garments already tattered in the journey, at the same time observing the traffic and business of the river, here very wide, and the banks low. I was a prisoner; but really the heat this morning being oppressive, I felt not even a wish to stir abroad, and could, I believe, have been amused more days than one by the lading and unlading of a ferry-boat, which came to and started from the shore close under my window. Steadily it floats on the lively yet smooth water, a square platform, not unlike a section cut out of a thronged market-place, and the busy crowd removed with it to the plain of water. The square is enclosed by a white railing. Two slender pillars rise from the platform, to which the ropes are attached, forming between them an inverted arch, elegant enough. When the boat draws up to her mooring-place, a bell, hung aloft, is rung as a signal for a fresh freight. All walk from the shore, without having an inch to rise or to descend. Carts with their horses wheel away--rustic, yet not without parade of stateliness--the foreheads of the meanest being adorned with scarlet fringes. In the neighbourhood of Brussels (and indeed all through the _Low Countries_), we remarked the large size and good condition of the horses, and their studied decorations, but near Brussels those decorations were the _most_ splendid. A scarlet net frequently half-covered each of the six in procession. The frock of the driver, who paces beside the train, is often handsomely embroidered, and its rich colour (Prussian blue) enlivens the scarlet ornaments of his steeds. But I am straying from my ferry-boat. The first debarkation which we saw early in the morning was the most amusing. Peasants, male and female, sheep, and calves; the women hurrying away, with their cargoes of fruit and vegetables, as if eager to be beforehand with the market. But I will transcribe verbatim from my journal, "written at mid-day," the glittering Rhine spread out before me, in width that helped me to image forth an American lake.

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"It has gone out with a fresh load, and returned every hour; the comers have again disappeared as soon as landed; and now, the goers are gathering together. Two young ladies trip forward, their dark hair _basketed_ round the crown of the head, green bags on their arms, two gentlemen of their party; next a lady with smooth black hair stretched upward from the forehead, and a skull-cap at the top, like a small dish. The gentry passengers seem to arrange themselves on one side, the peasants on the other;--how much more picturesque the peasants! _There_ is a woman in a sober dark-coloured dress; she wears no cap. Next, one with red petticoat, blue jacket, and cap as white as snow. Next, one with a red handkerchief over her head, and a long brown cloak. There a smart female of the bourgeoise--dark shawl, white cap, blue dress. Two women (now seated side by side) make a pretty picture: their attire is scarlet, a pure white handkerchief falling from the head of each over the shoulders. They keep watch beside a curiously constructed basket, large enough to contain the marketing of a whole village. A girl crosses the platform with a handsome brazen ewer hanging on her arm. Soldiers--a dozen at least--are coming in. They take the centre. Again two women in scarlet garb, with a great fruit basket. A white cap next; the same with a green shawl. _There_ is a sunburnt daughter of toil! her olive skin whitens her white head-dress, and she is decked in lively colours. One beside her, who, I see, counts herself of higher station, is distinguished by a smart French mob. I am brought round to the gentry side, which is filled up, as you may easily fancy, with much less variety than the other. A cart is in the centre, its peasant driver, not to be unnoticed, with a polished tobacco-pipe hung over his cleanly blue frock. Now they float away!"

_Cologne, Friday, July 21st._--Before I left the interior of the Cathedral, I ought to have mentioned that the side-chapels contain some superb monuments. There is also a curious picture (marvellously rich in enamel and colouring) of the Three Kings of Cologne, and of a small number of the eleven thousand virgins, who were said, after shipwreck, to have landed at this city in the train of St. Ursula. The Huns, who had possession of the city, became enamoured of their beauty; and the fair bevy, to save themselves from persecution, took the veil; in commemoration of which event the convent of St. Ursula was founded, and within the walls of that church an immense number of their skulls (easily turned into eleven thousand), are ranged side by side dressed in green satin caps. We left these famous virgins (though our own countrywomen), unvisited, and many other strange sights; and what wonder? we had but one day; and _I_ saw nothing within gate or door except the Cathedral--not even Rubens's famous picture of the Crucifixion of St. Peter, a grateful offering presented by him as an altar-piece for the church in which he was baptized, and had served as a chorister. Among the outrages committed at Cologne during the Revolution, be it noted that the Cathedral, in 1800, was used as a granary, and that Buonaparte seized on the picture bestowed on his parish church by Rubens, and sent it to Paris. The Three Kings shared the same fate.

The houses of Cologne are very old, overhanging, and uncouth; the streets narrow and gloomy in the cheerfulest of their corners or openings; yet oftentimes pleasing. Windows and balconies make a pretty show of flowers; and birds hang on the outside of houses in cages. These sound like cheerful images of active leisure; but with such feeling it is impossible to walk through these streets. Yet it is pleasing to note how quietly a dull life may be varied, and how innocently; though, in looking at the plants which yearly put out their summer blossoms to adorn these decaying walls and windows, I had something of the melancholy which I have felt on seeing a human being gaily dressed--a female tricked out with ornaments, while disease and death were on her countenance.

_Cologne, Saturday, July 22nd._--Upon a bright sunny morning, driven by a civil old postilion, we turned our backs upon the cathedral tower of Cologne, an everlasting monument of riches and grandeur, and I fear of devotion passed away; of sublime designs unaccomplished--remaining, though not wholly developed, sufficient to incite and guide the dullest imagination,--

Call up him who left half-told
The story of Cambuscan bold![40]

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

Feelingly has Milton selected this story, not from a preference to the subject of it (as has been suggested), but from its paramount accordance with the musings of a melancholy man--in being left _half_-told--

Foundations must be laid
In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of _is_ and _was_,
Things incomplete and purposes betrayed
Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass
Than noblest objects utterly decayed.[41]

[Footnote 41: Compare the sonnet _Malham Cove_, in "Poetical Works,"
vol. vi. p. 185.--ED.]

_Bonn._--The great area of the vale here is a plain, covered with corn, vines, and fruit-trees: the impression is of richness, profusion, amplitude of space. The hills are probably higher than some of our own which we call mountains; but on the spot we named them hills. Such they appeared to our eyes; but when objects are all upon a large scale there is no means of comparing them accurately with others of their kind, which do not bear the same proportions to the objects with which they are surrounded. Those in the neighbourhood of Bonn are of themselves sufficiently interesting in shape and variety of surface: but what a dignity does the form of an ancient castle or tower confer upon a precipitous woody or craggy eminence! Well might this lordly river spare one or two of his castles,--which are too numerous for the most romantic fancy to hang its legends round each and all of them,--well might he spare, to our purer and more humble streams and lakes, one solitary ruin for the delight of our poets of the English mountains! To the right (but let him keep this to himself, it is too grand to be coveted by us) is the large ruined castle of Gottesberg, far-spreading on the summit of the hill--very light and elegant, with one massy tower....

For some miles, the traveller goes through the magnificent plain which from its great width, appears almost circular. Though _unseen_, the River Rhine, we never can forget that it is there! When the vale becomes narrower, one of the most interesting and beautiful of prospects opens on the view from a gentle rising in the road. On an island stands a large grey Convent--sadly pensive among its garden walls and embowering wood. The musket and cannon have spared that sanctuary; and we were told that, though the establishment is dissolved, a few of the Nuns still remain there, attached to the spot;--or probably having neither friends or other home to repair to. On the right bank of the river, opposite to us, is a bold precipice, bearing on its summit a ruined fortress which looks down upon the Convent; and the warlike and religious edifices are connected together by a chivalrous story of slighted, or luckless love, which caused the withdrawing of a fair damsel to the island, where she founded the monastery. Another bold ruin stands upon another eminence adjoining; and all these monuments of former times combine with villages and churches, and dells (between the steeps) green or corn-clad, and with the majestic river (here spread out like a lake) to compose a most affectingly beautiful scene, whether viewed in prospect or in retrospect. Still we rolled along (ah! far too swiftly! and often did I wish that I were a youthful traveller on foot)--still we rolled along--meeting the flowing river, smooth as glass, yet so rapid that the stream of motion is always perceptible, even from a great distance. The riches of this region are not easily to be fancied--the pretty paths--the gardens among plots of vineyard and corn--cottages peeping from the shade--villages and spires--in never-ending variety. The trees, however, in the whole of the country through which we have hitherto passed, are not to be compared with the trees of England, except on the banks of the Meuse. On the Rhine they are generally small in size; much of the wood appears to be cut when young, to spring again. In the little town of Remagan where we changed horses, crowds of people of all ages gathered round us; the beggars, who were indefatigable in clamour, might have been the only inhabitants of the place who had any work to do....

_Andernach._--Departed at about five o'clock. Andernach is an interesting place, both at its entrance from Cologne, and its outlet towards Coblentz. There is a commanding desolation in the first approach; the massy square tower of defence, though bearded by green shrubs, stands, as it were, untameable in its strength, overlooking the half-ruined gateway of the ramparts. Close to the other gate, leading to Coblentz, are seen many picturesque fragments and masses; and the ancient walls shelter and adorn fruitful gardens, cradled in the otherwise now useless trenches. The town itself appears so dull--the inhabitants so poor, that it was almost surprising to observe walks for public use and pleasure, with avenues and arbours on the level adjoining the ramparts. The struggle between melancholy and cheerfulness, fanciful improvements, and rapid decay, leisure and poverty, was very interesting. We had a fine evening; and the ride, though, in comparison with the last, of little interest--the vale of the Rhine being here wide and level, the hills lowered by distance--was far from being a dull one, as long as I kept myself awake. I was roused from sleep in crossing the bridge of the Moselle near Coblentz.

_Coblentz, Sunday, July 23rd._--_Cathedral._--The music at our entrance fixed us to our places. The swell was solemn, even _aweful_, sinking into strains of delicious sweetness; and though the worship was to us wholly unintelligible, it was not possible to listen to it without visitings of devotional feeling. Mary's attention was entirely absorbed till the service ceased, and I think she never stirred from her seat. After a little while I left her, and drew towards the railing of the gallery, to look round on the congregation, among whom there appeared more of the old-fashioned gravity, and of antique gentility, than I have seen anywhere else; and the varieties of costume were infinite.... The area of the Cathedral, upon which we looked down from the crowded gallery, was filled with old, middle-aged, and young persons of both sexes; and at Coblentz, even the male dress, especially that of boys and youths, has a pleasing cast of antiquity, reminding one of old pictures--of assemblies in halls,--or of banquets as represented by the Flemish masters. The figure of a young girl tightly laced up in bodice and petticoat, with adornings of gold clasps and neck-chain, beside a youth with open throat and ornamented shirt-collar falling upon the shoulders of a coat of antique cut, especially when there chanced to be near them some matron in her costly robe of seventy years;--these, together, made an exhibition that even had I been a good Catholic, yet fresh from England, might have interfered with my devotions; but where all except the music was an unmeaning ceremony, what wonder that I should be amused in looking round as at a show!... All that we witnessed of bustle or gaiety was near the river, facing the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein; and upon the wide wooden bridge which we crossed in our way to the fortress. Fruit-women were seated on the bridge, and peasants, gentry, soldiers, continually passing to and fro. All but the soldiers paid toll. The citadel stands upon a very lofty bare hill, and the walk was fatiguing; but I beguiled my weariness with the company of a peasant lass, who took pains to understand my broken German, and contrived to make me acquainted with no small part of her family history.... This bonny maiden's complexion was as fresh as a rose, though no kerchief screened it from the sunshine. Many a fierce breeze, and many a burning sun must she have struggled with in her way from the citadel to the town; and, on looking at her, I fancied there must be a stirring and invigorating power in the wind to counteract the cankering effect of the sun, which is so noticeable in the French peasantry on their hot dry plains. No sooner do you set foot in the neighbourhood of Calais than you are struck with it; and, at the same time, with the insensibility of young and old to discomfort from glaring light and heat. Whatever slender shade of willows may be at the door of a hut on the flats between Calais and Gravelines, the female peasants, at their sewing or other work, choose it not, but seat themselves full in the sunshine. Thence comes a habit of wrinkling the cheeks and forehead, so that their faces are mostly ploughed with wrinkles before they are fifty years old. In this country, and all through the Netherlands, the complexions of the people are much fresher and fairer than in France, though _they_ also are much out of doors. This may perhaps be, in part, attributed to the greater quantity of wood scattered over the country, and to the shade of garden and orchard trees.... The view from the summit of the hill of Ehrenbreitstein is magnificent. Beneath, on a large, flat angle, formed by the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle, stands the city, its purple-slated roofs surrounded by many tall buildings--towers and spires, and big palaces among trees. The vale of the Moselle is deep and green, formed by vine-clad steeps, among which the eye, from the heights where we stood, espies many a pleasant village. That of the Rhine is more varied and splendid--with towns that, from their size, the irregularity of their buildings, and the numerous towers and spires, give dignity to the proud river itself, and to the prodigally scattered hills. Downwards we looked through the plain, along which we had travelled the evening before from the town of Andernach, which stands, as Coblentz does, upon a low bank of the Rhine: and there is no eminence between the two towns to obstruct the view. The course of the road, which is widely parted from that of the river, may be seen in a straight line for many miles. We behold below us the junction of the two great rivers; how steady and quiet is their meeting! A little while each goes in his own distinct path, side by side, yet one stream; and they slowly and by degrees unite, each lost in the other--happy type of a tranquil meeting, and joining together in the journey of life!

* * * * *

Coblentz, as every one knows, was for a long time the headquarters of the French _noblesse_, and other emigrants, during the Revolution; and it is surprising that in the exterior of manners and habits there should be so little to remind the passing traveller of the French. In Ghent and Brussels, it is impossible to forget that you are in towns _not_ making a part of France; yet, in both those places, the French have sown seeds which will never die--their manners, customs, and decorations are everywhere struggling with the native stiffness of the Flemish: but in _Coblentz_ it is merely incidentally that the French courtier or gentleman is brought to mind; and shops, houses, public buildings, are all of the soil where they have been reared--so at least they appeared to us, in our transient view.