CHAPTER XI.[D]
"Still those white cliffs faintly glimmer, Still I see my island home."--_Anon._
"Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow!" _Childe Harold._
Only those who have viewed the white cliffs of Albion sink beneath thecircumambient waters, only those who have left Old England on the lee intheir out-bound vessel, can fancy the unspeakable emotion, or depict themelancholy feelings with which we first bid our island adieu. We areislanders; all our ideas are severed like our land from other nations;we glory in our insulated position; we glory in our insulated manners;and there breathes not son nor daughter--or if they breathe they deservenot the name of Briton--who does not acutely feel the first severingfrom home. It is the feeling of the child weaned from the maternalbreast--the lover parted from his love--the dying man trembling as he islaunched on the sea of futurity; the firm land is gone--the knownexchanged for the unknown, or at least dimly shadowed future; aboveangry skies--beneath unfathomed depths--around faithless waves--andbehind the land of our love fast receding, perhaps never to be seenagain, or seen when the fire of youth has smouldered low--the energy ofyouth has been exchanged for the caution of age--and dull reality hasshown how vain the dreams of childhood! Looking on the receding shore wefeel all our friends are there, and all going away--there all our hopes,our home, our affections. The vessel bears away our mortal frame; theimmortal soul lingers behind, nothing can bear it away, nor the heartthat is left behind, however far the foot may roam. How full are ourfeelings, as we ask with the poet,--
"Who shall fill our vacant places? Who shall sing our songs to-night?"
Such were the feelings of Ellen Ravensworth as the packet which borethem left the quiet harbour of Newhaven, and in one minute plunged intothe restless, rolling billows of our channel. Having had to wait for thetide, it was already growing dusk when they weighed anchor; the lastembers of dying day tipped the crested waves with an uncertain glimmer,and the crescent moon hung in the only clear break of the sky over thewest, from which quarter rather a brisk breeze hurried the yeasty wavespast: it was, however, a mild, soft wind, and remarkably warm for theseason; so Ellen prevailed on her father to allow her to remain on deck,and catch the last glimpse of her native island. Wrapt in a warm Scotchplaid, in a half-reclining attitude, she leant over the vessel's side,and watched her plough her way with full swelling sails towards France.Beside her stood her father, talking to the captain, a bluff,kindhearted sailor, who had voyaged over the round world, and was busilyengaged in detailing some of his adventures, or, as sailors would say,spinning a long yarn. But Ellen heeded not their conversation; her heartwas far away, as from time to time she lifted her blue eyes, moist withtears, on the lessening shores and giant chalk cliffs that loomedghost-like and mysteriously through the gloaming.
Though Scotch, Ellen had imbibed all the national feelings for thosewhite cliffs, associated from earliest times with this country'shistory;--the same cliffs that beheld the ancient Briton paddle hisbasket-work coracle,--the same cliffs that twice saw the haughty Romanconqueror Julius Caesar,--that saw the Saxon with fair hair and blue eyesland on the envied isle,--that beheld the fiery Dane,--the proudNorman,--and, later still, the Spanish Armada sail by in falsevainglory,--later still the victorious Wellington welcomed home, whilstdrums played, "See the conquering hero comes." Though Scotch, Ellen felttowards them a kindred love, as she saw and now lost them again in themurky night, for the first time in her young life. England and Scotlandwere one now: all petty distinctions were lost--all party failings, allrancour forgotten; it was the same island, the same home; on itsdimly-seen shores were centred all her affections; her hopes and fearswere all there; her brother and sister; her relatives and friends; herhouse and home. He, too, was there; he who had so cruelly deserted her;he who had won her heart, and, when tired of it, thrown it away, as thechild flings his broken toy. Despite all, she loved, she adored him yet,and to leave him gave the most venomed point to the shaft of affliction.With heart full to bursting--so full it seemed as if a tight band wasdrawn round it--and feelings those who have felt them know, but cannotdescribe, she watched the red harbour-light dip often, and at last sinkbeneath the bounding surges. And when all was gone, the last lingeringlink broken, tears all unbidden fast coursed our heroine's cheek, andshe scarcely heard her father, who, fearing the effect of the cold nightair on his daughter, was anxious to hurry her below.
"It is getting cold, Ellen, dear; had you not better descend to thecabin, now? Captain Hardy and I will assist you, as the sea is gettingpretty rough."
Ellen rose without answering; and, with the jolly captain's help, whowas only too glad to give his hand to the Scotch belle, and said manypretty things, praising her as the best sailor he had ever taken acrossthe Channel, reached her berth.
The sea got rougher every minute, and the groaning and creaking of theplanks, the shrill whistling of the wind through the cordage, and theoccasional shout of the pilot, were sounds sufficient to instil terrorinto landsmen's minds; but both Mr. Ravensworth and his daughter provedexcellent sailors; and Ellen's mind was too busy with other things tobestow more than a passing thought on her present situation. Whilst herfather, with the captain and two other passengers, engaged in a friendlyrubber at whist over their grog, she amused herself by listening to thechat of the stewardess, a pretty little Frenchwoman, whose vivacityhelped to dispel her sad thoughts, whilst it also gave her anopportunity of testing her powers in French conversation, which, howeverlittle it satisfied herself, was declared to be beyond all praise by theFrenchwoman, with her natural politeness. Ellen was, however, a reallyfinished French scholar, and only required a month or two in Paris, asher companion told her, to become quite perfect in pronunciation.
In a few hours, after a pleasant though somewhat rough passage, themotion of the vessel ceased, and all the passengers hurried on deck, andin the gray twilight of the early dawning reached Dieppe. There wasnothing peculiarly foreign in the appearance of this place, and, had itnot been for the French cries which assailed our travellers' ears, theymight have almost fancied themselves at Newhaven again, so similar wasthe appearance of the chalk downs. After a cursory examination ofpassports and baggage by the custom-house officers, who did everythingin the politest manner, our friends, accompanied by Jean Lacroix, theircourier, disembarked, and Ellen stood on foreign land. The porters ofthe various cafes beset them on all sides, offering to carry monsieur'sluggage, and each recommending his own cafe or hotel. Jean, however, waswell up to his trade, and, engaging the right man, led his charges to asmall cafe on the quay side, where they might breakfast, and thenproceed to the post-house, and set out on their journey at once.
The first insight Ellen had into foreign life was not a very flatteringone: sour bread, and very indifferent milk and butter, accompanied,however, with excellent coffee, composed their matutinal meal. Jeanbegged mad'moiselle not to think Dieppe was like Paris.
On their way to the post-house, they passed the market-place, wherenumbers of carts, and peasants in blue vestments, crowded the square; onone side of which stood a fine Gothic cathedral; here, too, Ellen saw aband of soldiers, in their red trousers, blue coats, and red caps. Theirfull, leg-of-mutton-shaped trousers, slight figures drawn in tightly atthe waist, and rapid, undisciplined-looking march, contrasted with theHighland regiments she had been accustomed to, certainly when weighed inthe balance of her mind were found wanting. The gay little soldiersseemed to regard her tall figure with equal surprise. Ellen's firstinsight into the French army was not very encouraging, but Jean assuredher the Cuirassiers in Paris were equal to any soldiers in the world.
By this time their travelling carriage was ready, and Ellen was notsorry to turn her back on dirty little Dieppe. The carriage was largeand roomy,
though not on the easiest springs in the world, drawn by fournoble horses, whose magnificent appearance required no courier to pointout as worthy her admiration; and she frankly acknowledged, to Jean'sdelight, she had seen no post horses at all like them even in OldEngland.
As it is not our intention to weary our reader with a journal of ourfriends' travels to Switzerland, we shall briefly glance over thejourney.
Passing through a down country very like the south of Sussex or Kent,their road soon became more interesting as they approached the richpastures and orchards for which Normandy is celebrated; and the tallpoplars which often fringed the road, and occasional glimpses of theSeine, with its green islands, and now and then a vineyard on a southernaspect, interested Ellen not a little during her first stage to Rouen.In this fine old town she was doubly interested, by viewing the citysacred to the memories of our Norman line, and the ill-fated Joan ofArc; she saw also the tomb where the heart of Lion Richard lies, theCathedral of Notre Dame, and the fine church of St. Ouen. A longer day'sjourney brought them to Paris, and so pretty was the country between,that our heroine was almost sorry when the capital of la belle Franceappeared. There they stayed two days, which they spent in seeing thesights of this wonderful city--but as Switzerland was the point to whichthey hurried, and Mr. Ravensworth was unwilling to lose the advantage ofthe wonderfully fine warm weather in any town, he soon left thedissipated city, and pushed on by long stages to Bale, which he reachedlate on the evening of Saturday, and intended to spend Sunday there. Itwas a beautiful evening, and Ellen was indeed charmed with the firstsight of the Rhine's broadly swelling breast of waters, rushing swiftlybeneath the very windows of their hotel. It was the largest river, ofcourse, she had ever seen, and its clear light green waters, eddyinground the pillars of the bridge, partly built of stone and partly ofwood, on account of the ice, impressed an image on her mind's eye timewould take long to obliterate, if it ever could. Bale seemed the firstreally foreign looking town, and the houses not unlike those of the oldtown of Edinburgh, though certainly more neat and clean, quite took thelove of her Caledonian mind.
On the following evening Ellen hailed Lucerne on its own beautiful lake;and if Bale had pleased, Lucerne charmed her. Here they lingered a dayand saw the strange Kapell Bruecke, with its pictures of the deeds ofsaints and warriors of Swiss celebrity, and, more wonderful still, themonumental lion, sculptured out of the living rock in commemoration ofthe brave Swiss guard, slaughtered in defending the Tuileries in 1792.The aspect of the dying lion, with the broken spear in its side, fromwhich is welling his life-blood, yet defending in its dying agonies theshield of France, is the most touching and beautiful design everperfected by art.
But it was not these, nor the pretty village, that charmed Ellen, it wasthe lake so still, so green, so transparent--it was the mountain guardsthat rose around--the rocky mountain where tradition says the unhappyPilate ended a miserable existence, and which still bears his name, andis nearly always the resting-place of clouds, whilst every other hillshows clear, as if an evil nature belonged to it--Rigi, cut out againstthe clear blue sky, on whose summit yonder knoll, diminished by itsheight to a mole-hill, is the grand hotel which wayfarers up this hillrest at--and further up the lake still glimpses of the higher Alps ofSchwytz and Engelberg, with their diadems of everlasting snow;--it wasthese, and other hills all mirrored in the still lake, that shone likea looking-glass below, that charmed the Scotch eye, to which allscenery, lacking the Scotch hills, is tame and domestic. Early nextmorning, having procured a boat and two strong Swiss rowers, ourtravellers were pulled up the lake as far as Kussnacht, a small Alpinevillage at the foot of the Rigi, from which village they were to makethe ascent. Ellen, seated on a sure-footed Swiss pony, with a sturdy boyto guide it, and Mr. Ravensworth and Jean with their Alpenstocks, bothexcellent mountaineers, soon accomplished the ascent, neither verydifficult nor arduous; but ere they reached the summit they wereenveloped in clouds that drifted thicker and thicker around them, andprecluded all hopes of seeing the sunset; rather a disappointment, but avery common one to Alpine mountain climbers. The merry conversation of alarge party composed of English, Germans, Americans, and a few Frenchand Italians, and the excellent table d'hote passed away a long eveningvery happily, and all retired with the hopes that Sol would be moreauspicious next morning.
At five o'clock the shrill blasts of a Swiss horn roused every sleeper,and wrapt in blankets or whatever they could easiest lay their handsupon, a motley crew hastened to see the sun rise from the Kulm, orsummit. The morning air was clear as crystal, cold, andinvigorating,--all augured well. Not a cloud, not a misty wreath, not aspeck studded the blue arch of heaven. It was not darkness nor shadow,but a clear obscurity that hung like a veil over nature; beneath, thelakes were like a black mirror, the valleys dark; around, the snowy Alpswere clearly defined against the sky, and not a vestige of fog nor mistlay on their sides; even Mont Pilate had for once dropped his cloudycap, and his sharp forehead of rocks was cut out against the darkfirmament. Above hung the morning star, and a thin silver thread, thewaning moon was dropping behind distant Jungfrau. About fifty people,among whom we recognize Ellen and her father, watched for the sun withall the earnestness of the Ghebers hastening to pay their morningdevotions to the god of day. Soon a growing brightness tinted the eastwhere the hills were lowest; and now it was no longer to the east, butto the giant Alps of the Bernese chain westward that every eye isturned, for there will be seen the first streak with which Pallantias'finger shall stain nature. Soon the highest peak of the Bernese giantscatches the first rosy pink of dawn--then alp after alp owns the blushof day, and flashes back the golden glory, and as the sun himself wheelsabove the hills his beams are cast lower and lower; ridge after ridgegrows bright; even gloomy Pilate smiles in his ray, and the valleysbeneath with rivers, woods, and plains become more and more distinct,till they burst into sunshine, and then the whole panorama above andbelow revels in the warm beams, from the mighty Eiger, giant of Bern, tothe lakes from which mists now rise, and float like wool far beneath.After a parting gaze our friends, in common with others, left the Kulm,and after partaking of a cheerful breakfast, descended on the other sideof the Rigi to Weggis, where again they took a boat and rowed to thesummit of the lake, whose scenery grew still grander and more romanticas they passed Tell's lovely chapel, and neared Fluellen, where theytook an early table d'hote, being desirous of hurrying forward to theHospenthal that day.
Leaving Fluellen about two o'clock they proceeded in an open carriagedrawn by three horses along a pretty road with fruit and walnut trees oneither side, Swiss chalets and mountains all covered with woods on theleft, and sloping fields running down on the right towards the river ofReuss. The afternoon was intensely hot, and the sun beat down withgreat fierceness into the valley; our travellers also were much annoyedby gnats and gadflies. Passing the small village of Altorf, famous forTell's exploit, the road nears the Reuss, and is very pretty, owing tothe walnut trees that fringe its sides, till they reached Amstaeg wherehorses were changed. The road then began gradually to ascend, crossingthe Reuss several times. The river now began to grow into a wildmountain torrent, steeper grew the ascent now and steeper, and the Alpsclosed in the valley, till it became a scene of wildness and greatdesolation. Here and there the ragged rocks overhung the road, as ittoiled upwards, and often galleries were cut through ledges that crossedthe path. Upward still the carriage went, and light soon began to failthem in the regions most dismal.
Ellen and her father now got out of the carriage, and walked up thesteep incline, leaving their vehicle behind them. As the road woundround and round, they often saw it far below them, a speck on the whiteroad, dimly seen in the darkness growing every minute deeper, andby-and-by the sharp crack of the driver's whip, that echoed like apistol shot, or the peculiar song of the Switzer who drove, with itsfalsetto notes, only told them where it was, unless they caught aglimpse of the lamps creeping upwards. Star after star broke out onhigh, and soon the whole sky was one glorious c
anopy of flashing,glittering lights, far more brilliant than Ellen had ever seen them inthe misty north. Soon they approached the part called the Devil'sBridge, where a thin single arch spans the dismal gulf, through whichthe impetuous stream now roared. Rent rocks on either side along whoseridges ran their road, and the stream foaming in misty whitebeneath--gloomy caverns through which from time to time lay their path,beetling depths spanned by thread-like bridges, and high above thespectral snow peaks, and rugged rocks on whose sterile sides not eventhe pine could find sustenance; all presented a scene of savagegrandeur--lone, desolate, and loveless magnificence too nearly allied toour heroine's state of mind, not to find in her a sympathizer. She tooka kind of melancholy delight in gazing on the gap of desolation throughwhich the mad torrent thundered, and only compared it to her own frameof mind. At a late hour the travellers reached the Hospenthal, where acomfortable supper awaited them. The sharp mountain air at this elevatedposition sharpened all their appetites, and Mr. Ravensworth fancied healready saw a change for the better in his daughter's appearance.
Instead of crossing the pass of St. Gothard, which was Mr. Ravensworth'sfirst intention, in order to see the north of Italy, Jean advised themto take advantage of the cloudless fine weather and see the Alps betterby making the tour of the Oberland. Accordingly, next day havingprocured ponies, as the carriage road went no further, they set off atan early hour, and reaching Realp, crossed a small rivulet, andproceeded on a mere bridle path along the steep sides of the Sidli Alp,leaving St. Gothard and its glaciers behind them; and with Finstaarhornconspicuous among his lofty brethren in front, and the beautiful, butragged rocky peaks of the Galenstock on the right, ere long halted atthe Furca, where they rested an hour. Descending on the other side, withthe Finstaarhorn showing magnificently, every peak cut out against theclear sky, they soon reached the Rhone glacier, taking its rise from theshoulder of Galenstock, and, as in descending it filled the vale,becoming more wonderful; from its white birthplace of eternal snows, tothe dirty moraine in which it ended, brindled, cracked, and split intocrevasses, emitting glorious blue rays of light, by its downward wayover the rocks whose hardened mass the huge glacier ground andpolished. Beneath from a cave of ice flowed the cold beginnings of theblue exulting river of Geneva. It seemed a fit birthplace for the mightyriver, and as Ellen gazed on the Rhone's cold and icy cradle, stillfrozen amid the green valley, still unthawing under the genial sunshine,it seemed to emblematize her present position. Her heart was cold andloveless as that icy glacier, yet from that chilling mass burst theliving waters that spread plenty over sunny plains; and she thought, andit was a comforting thought, that perhaps from her misery might spring astream of events as glorious. Already her woe had softened her heart:was it the beginning of the stream which should "make glad the city ofour God?"
Leaving the wonderful glacier that had awakened such thoughts, theirroad now lay up a remarkably steep mountain side across a path ruggedwith stones, and often down steps cut in the naked rock, till our partyreached the Lake of the Dead, a desolate and lonely sheet of water fedby the snows, and so called from the bodies of unfortunate travellerswho lost their lives in the pass being thrown into its cold dark waters.After passing this lake, and occasionally treading over masses ofeternal ice and snow, a steep and toilsome descent brought our wearytravellers to the Grimsel, a hospice lying in a small valley,sufficiently elevated, however, to be beyond the region of vegetation.After the rest of the night they again commenced their descent, andafter some hours again hailed some stunted trees; which increased insize as they went lower, till they were once more surrounded by woods.The Aar, down whose stream their path long lay, was gradually increasinginto a fine river, and at Handek Ellen saw the beautiful waterfall withits iris hovering above in the midst of the waters. From thence the pathlay through verdant pastures and real Swiss pastoral scenery, numerouslittle chalets dotting the green hill sides, which stretched upwards tothe everlasting snows. The peasants were busy at haymaking, and thesweet breath of the hay, the tinkling of the flock's bells, or the wildglee of some Swiss maiden, were all sweet and gentle sounds and sightsafter the stern sublimity, and the roaring torrents they had so latelyleft. A long but pleasant ride brought them to Reichenbach as the sunwas setting.
Early next day the trio started for Grindelwald, and on their way made aslight detour to see the lovely glacier of Rosenlaui, under whose clearice cavern they went, and once more remarked the wonderful blue lightsof the crevasses and clefts. The scenery here was grand and beautiful inthe extreme; as the ponies wound their upward way Wellhorn andglittering Wetterhorn filled the gap of the valley rough with woods.Wetterhorn in shape like a pyramid of the most perfect form, the icycrown sparkling like diamonds in the sun, defined with a clearness, notto be credited till seen, against the cloudless dark blue sky. FromGrindelwald, where Ellen saw a noble dog of the Saint Bernard's breed,they ascended the pass of the Great Scheideck and went over the WengernAlp, passing the very foot of the Virgin Jungfrau, with Wetterhorn,Wellhorn, and the giant Eiger standing like sentinels around them asthey pryed into the secrets of the everlasting hills. On this day theyheard the thundering avalanche, and saw its shattered mass bound like acataract down the rocky precipices, with a roar we could not credit thesilver thread gliding down those black rocks capable of making, till weremember that what seems like dust of snow is tons of solid ice, andwhat look to us like grass or moss on the hillside, are mighty pines, somuch does vastness deceive our senses! Here, too, Ellen heard the melodyof the Swiss horn echoed in indescribable sweetness from the snowypeaks--tossed from hill to vocal hill, till so attenuated does thethread of tone become, the ear loses its "linked sweetness long drawnout," yet knows not when it faded, and fancy prolongs the chord evenafter the Alps have forgotten it. A tremendous pathway down the Wengernalp, so steep that they had to leave their horses and pursue it on foot,brought them to Lauterbrunnen, a wonderful valley with cliffs on allsides, shut in by the now distant Jungfrau. Down the precipitous sidesglance many streams, conspicuous amongst all the Staubbach or Dust fall.From this valley a pleasant drive of about nine miles brought our partyto Interlachen, where they stayed over the Sunday, and on Monday drovealong the banks of the lovely Lake of Thun, whose scenery was of asofter nature and more like Ellen's native lochs. At any other time shewould probably have preferred this style to the sterile scenery they hadleft, but now her mind rather dwelt on the grand and desolate region shehad lately seen, than on the softer beauty of Thun, and when theyreached Kandersteg Ellen hailed with delight the hoary Alps she nowlooked on almost as friends.
Next day they rode up the Gemmi Pass, and when they had surmounted thesteep ascent, lunched at the desolate inn of the Schwarenbach, the sceneof a terrible murder, near the ice-fed waters of Dauben See; dismountingthey began the hazardous and wonderful descent of the Gemmi. The roadwas not then, as now, defended by balustrades, and as the zigzag pathwaywound downwards round and round, it led them over the face of aprecipice to the valley below, and often made our heroine almost giddyto look at the depths beneath, and the threatening rocks above, as sheseemed like a fly scaling down a wall. The scene and panorama weresplendid; beneath was the village of Leukerbad, the houses of which weresmall as gravel in appearance, and in front the glorious chain of theAlps separating Valais from Italy, Monte Rosa, Weisshorn, and the barerocky summit of the Matterhorn, or Mount Cervin, and a hundred lesserpeaks rose like clouds before, and presented one of the most wonderfulviews abroad. At Leukerbad Mr. Ravensworth stayed a day to rest, and sawthe curious baths and echelles, or ladders, by which the people in thevalley communicate with a small village on the heights above. Thence afine drive down a road along the Dala brought them to Leuk, and crossingthe Rhone, now grown a considerable stream, but shorn of its beauty bythe debris of winter floods scattered around its many streams, theygained the splendid Simplon road, along which easy stages brought themto the head of Geneva, and Villeneuve, whence they proceeded to Vevay,where they were to make a stay of a week.
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nbsp; Many an excursion did Ellen and her father make on blue Leman, and wentover the ground of Chillon, and many another place, made hallowed soilby Byron's and Voltaire's, Rousseau's and Gibbon's genius. Childe Haroldwas the text-book on these occasions. It was on one of these excursionsEllen fell in with her old friends, Lord and Lady Arranmore, who weretouring Geneva on their way home from Naples. English people naturallydraw together when abroad; and Ellen and the young Marchioness used tomake many an evening ramble together, while the Marquis and Mr.Ravensworth rode out in the surrounding country. From Vevay the wholeparty travelled together to Geneva, where they put up at the same hotel,and were to stay a week also; here again their excursions continued. Theeventful nature of one of these evening sails demands another chapter,in consequence of the influence it has on the history of our heroine.
The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 1 Page 11