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 Cobnntna (Hntbtrtfftp 
 
 THE LIBRARIES 
 
PATCHWORK 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPTAIN BASIL HALL, 
 
 R.N., F.R.S. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLI. 
 
 xh- 
 
LONDON: 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFHIARS. 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 When this work was nearly ready for publica- 
 tion, it became necessary to decide upon a Title ; 
 but this, which at first sight may seem a very 
 easy matter, proved not a little embarrassing. 
 There were, it is true, innumerable titles for me 
 to choose from, and sufficiently descriptive of the 
 work ; but every one of these had been worn so 
 utterly threadbare, as to be quite useless, or worse 
 than useless — hurtful. 
 
 i\fter much consideration, it occurred to me that 
 the term Patchwork would not only describe the 
 book correctly, but would carry with it, so far as 
 I knew, the merit of novelty. 
 
 On propounding this idea to my Publisher, he 
 opposed it stoutly, and even stated in round terms 
 that such an appellation would inevitably " damn 
 the work,"*' — alleging, among other reasons, that 
 the word was associated only with beggars and 
 bed-covers. 
 
 Library of Da.vid 1 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 In my reply, I said that I saw no great harm 
 in a bed-cover of patchwork, if the pieces were 
 of good texture in themselves, and were so placed 
 in respect to colour and pattern that they made 
 a pleasing whole. I added, as in duty bound, 
 that as I had really no particular love for this 
 title, I should be most happy if he would suggest 
 any other, equally descriptive of the book to which 
 it was prefixed. • 
 
 On receiving no answer to this appeal, I applied 
 to several literary, and other friends, requesting 
 them to say what they thought of my proposed 
 title, and I confess I was a little shaken to find 
 them, one and all, open-mouthed in condem- 
 nation of my poor Patchwork. Some said it was 
 '' singing small ;"" others, that it was " infra dig." : 
 several condemned it as telling too much, and 
 one or two as telling too little. Most of these 
 critics, as a matter of course, quoted Shakspeare 
 about the little value of a name, but only to 
 show their own ingenuity, by inverting the poet's 
 idea, and contending that there was '' much in a 
 
 name." 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 I thought it would never do to christen my book 
 with a name to which all the world objected ; 
 and as they had shown such alacrity in finding out 
 that the title I had chosen would not suit, I 
 thoi^ht it but reasonable that they should help 
 me to something better. So I wrote again and 
 again ; but even the delightful penny-post, which 
 has oiled the wheels of business and pleasure over 
 the whole country, refused to bring me a single 
 new idea on the subject. I therefore began to fear 
 that I should be obliged to usher my book into 
 the world without any name at all. when an inge- 
 nious correspondent suggested that I should call it 
 Breccia. 
 
 Now, this title possessed the advantages of being 
 quite new, and of being totally unintelligible; so 
 that while its novelty might attract notice, its hiero- 
 glyphic character would prevent people being too 
 soon let into the secrets of the story. 
 
 My correspondent was quite sensible, indeed, 
 that as the greater part of mankind are neither 
 Italian scholars nor geologists, the word he proposed 
 would fail to convey the meaning intended — or, 
 
 a 2 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 for that matter, any meaning whatever, and there- 
 fore he suggested that an explanatory note should 
 be added, to tell what the author wished to say. 
 
 I confess the originality of this notion of having 
 a note on the title-page tickled my fancy so mlich, 
 that I set about concocting it immediately ; but I 
 was not at all aware of the difficulty of the task. 
 
 I had first to make a note to explain that 
 Breccia meant Puddingstone ; then another, to 
 state that this stone meant conglomerate; and 
 finally, a third note to signify that the " formation " 
 so called, consisted of " Rounded water-v/orn frag- 
 ments of rocks or pebbles, cemented together by 
 another mineral substance, which may be of a 
 silicious, calcareous, or argillaceous nature," — in 
 other words, of a flinty, an effervescent, or of a 
 muddy character. To which definition, for the 
 benefit of the unlearned, I could not do less than 
 add the etymology, viz., "Cwi'' together, and 
 "GZomero" to heap; that is, in the language of 
 the Geologists, Travelled materials heaped together. 
 
 This title, so expanded and explained, was, no 
 doubt, highly descriptive of the wave- worn and 
 
PREFACE. VII 
 
 Aveatlier-beaten character of the component parts 
 of my book, but I had some apprehensions that 
 it might seem rather presumptuous to give it a 
 title so ambitious as to require — like the Grand 
 Lama — three interpreters before any one could 
 arrive at its meaning. 
 
 I therefore returned to my Patchwork, which 
 name, at all events, tells its own story in plain 
 English — and if it only tells it well enough in 
 the opinion of the public in general, I shall be 
 satisfied. 
 
 Portsmouth, 
 
 10th December, 1840. 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE ALPS AND THE ANDES .... 1 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 THE LACUSTRINE DELTA OF THE RHONE . . 9 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 AN ALPINE DEBACLE ..... 20 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE JARDIN . . . . . . , 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A FLIRTATION ..... 64 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 AN ALPINE SUPPER . . . . . . 71 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE GLACIERS ...... 90 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 AOSTA AND THE GREAT ST. BERNARD . . . 116 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE GEMMI PASS, AND THE BATHS OF LEUK . 137 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 ON THE CAMPAGNES OF GENEVA . . . . 152 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THE BEGINNING OF LIFE . . . .169 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE END OF LIFE . . . . . . 1S2 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ON THE HABITS AND CUSTOMS OF ENGLISH TRA- 
 VELLERS ABROAD, AND ON THE INFLUENCE 
 OF THE PROTESTANT CHAPELS ESTABLISHED 
 BY THEM AT DIFFERENT PLACES ON THE 
 CONTINENT . . . . . .197 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTER XIV^. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH PROTESTANT CHAPEL AT ROME, 
 AND THE ESTABLISHMENT OF CHEVALIER 
 BUNSEN's HOSPITAL ON THE TARPEIAN ROCK 215 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH PROTESTANT CHAPELS IN TUS- 
 CANY, SARDINIA, AND FRANCE . . . 255 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 r 
 
 THE ALPS AND THE ANDES. 
 
 When it is considered that so small a part of the 
 whole of France has any pretensions whatever to 
 beauty of scenery, it seems strange to many ears 
 that the epithet " Belle " should be applied to that 
 country. This apparent contradiction has been ex- 
 plained, in a manner no doubt quite satisfactory to 
 the natives, by saying that it is not the physical or 
 picturesque character of the land which is alluded 
 to, but rather the moral excellence of the people, 
 the solidity of their principles, and the worth as 
 well as permanence of their institutions, social 
 and political, which entitle the nation to be so 
 called. Some ascribe the term to the splendid 
 achievements — " les belles choses " — of the armies 
 of France. Others say that "La belle France"" 
 means the fine, rich, noble, productive, populous, 
 warlike, country; that the term in discussion has 
 nothing to do with its beauty, either moral or 
 physical. Be this as it may, I must confess that T, 
 
 VOL. I. ^ B 
 
at least, exchanged the prospect of " La belle 
 France " for that of homely Switzerland, the first 
 time I had visited either, with a degree of satis- 
 faction which I cannot, and shall not, attempt to 
 describe. Indeed, it is well to skip entirely the 
 copious raptures which burst from all our party, 
 and I suppose do from every other, when they 
 have climbed the intervening ridges of the Jura 
 chain, and come all at once in sight of the Lake 
 of Geneva, backed by Mont Blanc and its attend- 
 ant range of Alps. 
 
 On first viewing these wonderful mountains, 
 though under great advantages of position and 
 weather, 1 felt grievously disappointed. The vertical 
 angle which they subtended, that is to say, the por- 
 tion of the sky which they filled above the horizon, 
 was so small, compared to what my imagination had 
 pictured and led me to expect, that I could scarcely 
 suppress, along with the disappointment, a feeling 
 of contempt. I did not go quite so far, indeed, as 
 the cockney who persevered in thinking Primrose 
 Hill superior to Mount Etna, but I did think the 
 Alps had been much overpraised, and that other 
 hills — Scottish, Welsh, and Irish — had been unduly 
 depreciated in the scale of grandeur and elevation. 
 It is true, that when I came to wander far and near 
 among the Swiss mountains, and learned something 
 of their real height from the labour and time required 
 
to surmount even their lowest and most accessible 
 shoulders, and when I viewed them close at hand on 
 every side, I was gradually taught to respect their 
 magnitude, and to admire their innumerable and 
 infinitely varied beauties. So that, after visiting 
 them twice, first on going to Italy, and again on 
 coming back, I bade them adieu with a very dif- 
 ferent feeling from that which I had experienced 
 on being first presented to them ; just as one parts 
 from a highly-informed and agreeable new acquaint- 
 ance, whom, at the time we were first introduced, 
 we had thought a common-place personage whose 
 merits had been exaggerated. 
 
 Still, as I afterwards found out, I had formed 
 on these early visits by no means a just concep- 
 tion of their true magnificence. All this is quite 
 natural and easily understood, and what every per- 
 son who has had opportunities of trying the experi- 
 ment must have found to be true; but as there 
 are, perhaps, not many persons who have had the 
 means of putting the grandeur and beauty of these 
 same Alps to such a test as the accidents of my pro- 
 fessional life have thrown in my way, the resulting 
 impression produced by the comparison may be 
 thought interesting. It requires, indeed, an exten- 
 sive, as well as a varied, acquaintance with moun- 
 tains to perceive that the comparison of one vast 
 ridge with another, under circumstances which are 
 
 b2 
 
calculated to bring their respective merits properly 
 before us, whether of sublimity or of picturesque 
 beauty, has not the eifect of depreciating either, 
 but, on the contrary, adds to the essential interest 
 and importance which belong in common to such 
 stupendous scenes. 
 
 Not long after taking leave of the Alps, profes- 
 sional avocations called me to South America, 
 where it so happened that a continuous series of 
 duties on that station put it in my power to see 
 the Andes along a line of coast extending, with 
 only occasional short interruptions, between three 
 and four thousand miles ! This enormous range 
 stretched from the southern parts of Chili, in 
 latitude 48^ South, very nearly to California, in 
 latitude 20** North. My good fortune — for I shall 
 ever consider it such — was not limited to looking at 
 these gorgeous mountains from a distance, as I had 
 opportunities, from time to time, of landing, and 
 examining them close at hand. I must mention, 
 however, one severe disappointment which I expe- 
 rienced incidentally in the course of the voyage in 
 question. The service on which the ship was em- 
 ployed having taken us to Guayaquil, we were told 
 fifty times a-day by the natives, that their city com- 
 manded, in clear weather, one of the very best views 
 anywhere to be seen of their great Chimborazzo, 
 and consequently, they said, the grandest in all 
 
the world. Alas ! the weather was not once clear 
 during our stay; so that, after lingering in the 
 neighbourhood as long as the duty I was employed 
 to execute could possibly admit of, I was reluctantly 
 compelled to sail away, without having seen the 
 summit of the grandest peak in all the Cordilleras 
 for one single moment unveiled I 
 
 On returning to Switzerland, fifteen years after 
 the first visit, I made sure, that this long expe- 
 rience of the stupendous and still more elevated 
 Andes, along the coasts of Chili, Peru, Quito, and 
 Mexico, must prove fatal to the grandeur of the 
 Alps. But the result was so much the reverse that 
 it was difficult to believe some geological up- 
 heaving of the ground had not taken place in the 
 interval ; so enormously did the elevation and ge- 
 neral sublimity of the Swiss mountains appear to 
 have been magnified ! Instead, therefore, of being 
 degraded by the comparison, they were exalted; 
 while the beauty of their exquisite scenery seemed 
 vastly to surpass that of anything I had seen even 
 among the tropical districts of the Andes. 
 
 It then became clear, upon reviewing all that 
 had passed in my mind, that on first seeing the 
 Alps, I had judged them by some purely ideal and 
 false standard, which, from resting upon a very 
 slender experience of mountain scenery, furnished 
 no satisfactory or adequate scale. There was 
 
wanting, in short, that comparative standard or 
 estimate of heights and distances which the 
 actual examination of analogous scenes could 
 alone furnish; and, therefore, it was not until 
 I had become quite familiar with the vast chains, 
 or Cordilleras of the Andes, in all their variety of 
 magnificence, that I became qualified to form any 
 right judgment of the kindred glories of the Alps, 
 and especially of that most interesting of them all, 
 " the monarch of mountains," the beautiful Mont 
 
 Blanc ! 
 
 The purposes of our journey, however, not 
 being limited to scenery, when we came to 
 Geneva we delivered our letters, and set about 
 visiting the residents; and nothing, certainly, could 
 be more hospitable or more kind to us than these 
 good people were. But we were by this time 
 mountain-mad; and even had the charms— literary, 
 scientific, and social— of the society of that cele- 
 brated city been ten times more fascinating than they 
 were, they must have proved unavailing in keeping 
 us back from the hills, into the valleys of which 
 we longed to plunge — to which we often looked, and 
 of which we exclusively spoke, with an impatience 
 scarcely civil to our obliging entertainers. They, 
 it is true, had long become so familiarised to the 
 scene, as to have grown almost callous to the won- 
 ders, beauties, and other endless charms which lay 
 
at their very thresholds. The science and litera- 
 ture of Geneva, and the graces of a refined state of 
 manners, cemented together and rendered available 
 for the business of life by that blessing of all bless- 
 ings, political freedom and independence, based on 
 substantial principles, would at any other time, and 
 even then did, in some degree, engage our attention. 
 But the vehement enthusiasm excited by the actual 
 presence of the higher Alps, the mysterious solem- 
 nity of what we were told of the eternal glaciers, 
 and the bewitching scenery of the remote and un- 
 inhabited mountain valleys, almost entirely took 
 away that interest in human affairs, which, gene- 
 rally speaking, absorbs by far the largest share 
 of every one's attention in a new country. We 
 longed to be up and doing; and even the time 
 spent in visiting the Saleve which overhangs Ge- 
 neva, and which in any other part of the world 
 would be deemed a magnificent object, — or bath- 
 ing in the Rhone, — or rowing on the lake to 
 catch longer and better views of the sunset gleams 
 on the tops of the snow-ridges, — only added to the 
 mountain fever in our souls. We were, moreover, 
 haunted by fears that something might occur to 
 prevent our excursion to the Alps — some sickness 
 on our own part — the news of some dying friend 
 requiring us at home — some call of professional 
 duty ; — in short, we became so impatient to be off. 
 
8 
 
 that though we left fifty things unseen at Geneva, 
 we shook all other considerations from us, gave 
 directions that our letters should not be sent to 
 bore and distract us when cruising amongst the 
 mountains, but be forwarded to Milan, and there 
 lie till called for. Then, in one of the most joy- 
 ous moments of our lives, we set out in quest of 
 adventures at early dawn, in the cheerful month 
 of August, along the road constructed by Buona- 
 parte, on the south shore of that prince of lakes — 
 the Lake of Geneva. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE LACUSTRINE DELTA OF THE RHONE. 
 
 The sun — hard-working fellow as he is — having 
 made the nether circuit of the globe, began once 
 more to fling before him the gigantic shadows of 
 the Alps across the highest glaciers ; but every light 
 and every shade being just the opposite of what it 
 had been the evening before, the landscape seemed 
 longer the same ; and as every fresh league brought 
 new and loftier ridges and valleys into view, the 
 grace and deeper interest of novelty were per- 
 petually adding their charms to our journey. The 
 sultry, fatiguing air of the preceding day had been 
 exchanged for a nipping breeze of the freshest kind 
 of coolness — still it was not too cool, for it breathed 
 lightly past, animating everything it touched. The 
 dew still hung heavy and thick on the natural 
 forests of sweet-chesnuts which grew on our right 
 hand, on the steep grassy banks, along a district 
 backed by hills so lofty and abrupt, that only the 
 mid-day sun ever visits the level road skirting the 
 southern margin of the lake. 
 
 B 3 
 
10 
 
 Presently, on reaching the extreme eastern end 
 of the Lake of Geneva, we rounded the corner, and 
 turning sharp to our right, entered the famous 
 valley or magnificent rent in the hills, which no 
 doubt has given its name to that picturesque 
 district of Switzerland known by the name of 
 the Canton of the Valais. My attention, how- 
 ever, was more taken up with the grand geolo- 
 gical operations going on at the upper end of the 
 lake, than with the beauty of the scenery encircling 
 it on every side, all which I turned over to the 
 raptures of my sketching companions. 
 
 Every one knows, that there occurs at the mouth 
 of all rivers, great as well as small, an accumulation 
 of materials brought down from the higher grounds, 
 either by the ordinary operation of the stream, or 
 by the more energetic though transient agency of 
 floods. These accumulations, which are called 
 Deltas, not only extend themselves into the sea, 
 but, by reason of successive deposits, gradually 
 reach the surface, and eventually become covered 
 with vegetation ; after which, the action of floods, 
 high tides, and tempests, by flinging up and scat- 
 tering the materials, raises them to a small height 
 indeed above the level of the ocean, but to a pro- 
 digious extent to the right and left, so as to form 
 such countries as Bengal, Egypt, Venetian Lom- 
 bardy Louisiana, and Buenos Ayres. These huge 
 
11 
 
 deltas are, in fact, lialf-drowned continents, liable to 
 inundation upon the smallest rise of the waters be- 
 yond their average level. It requires, however, an 
 eye- long trained in such researches to take in at a 
 glance the slow and widely-extended proceedings of 
 such enormous accumulations as those just alluded 
 to. Even the mind of a practised observer is apt to 
 get giddy as it traces back these operations, over an 
 area of a thousand miles square, and rashly ventures 
 to compute the lapse of ages which must have been 
 employed in the construction of territories so vast, 
 by the agency of increments scarcely perceptible, 
 and which, were they not demonstrably the cause 
 of what we see, would appear to our cramped 
 understanding quite inadequate to such eifects. 
 
 But the case is most agreeably simplified and 
 brought within the range of our capacity and 
 popular belief, when we address ourselves to the 
 examination of such a small, or comparatively 
 small, delta as that of the Rhone, now in the pro- 
 cess of formation at the upper end of the Lake of 
 Geneva ; and I strongly advise every traveller 
 who wishes to learn the secrets of one of the 
 most interesting branches of geology lo pause 
 a few moments in his journey at this spot. A 
 day, or half a day, or even an hour or two, spent 
 in looking down from the adjacent rising grounds, 
 and in passing from side to side of the valley just 
 
' 12 
 
 above the point where the lake ends, and the flat 
 alluvial bottom, or strath^ as it is called in Scotland, 
 commences, will not only be well bestowed as a 
 matter of pleasure, but do more to give a definite 
 and intelligible purpose to geological inquiry than 
 the perusal of many volumes. 
 
 The Rhone at this part of its course is highly 
 turbid, and at certain seasons of the year, w!}en 
 swollen by floods and accelerated in its course, 
 bears along with it materials of considerable mag- 
 nitude. At all times and seasons, indeed, it carries 
 with it, farther or nearer into the bosom of the 
 lake, the ruins of a hundred hills, and quietly 
 deposits them on the bottom, at distances varying 
 inversely as the magnitude of the particles forming 
 the sediment. The larger ones, such as blocks 
 of stone, and fragments of shingle, after rubbing 
 and grinding against one another over many a tur- 
 bulent league of the steep bed of the river, at 
 length find a resting-place near the upper edge of 
 the delta. Then follow pebbles and coarse gravel, 
 which are borne somewhat farther into the lake ; 
 next fine gravel, — sand still further, — while mud 
 is carried further still ; the dividing line between 
 each pair of these deposits being sometimes quite 
 indistinct, though at other times it is very clearly 
 marked. These and some other features in the 
 formation of a delta depend upon the volume as 
 
13 
 
 well as speed of the river, the inclination of the 
 ground forming its bed or channel, the peculiar 
 nature of the soil brought down, the height of the 
 circumjacent mountains, the latitude of the district, 
 and various other circumstances modifying the cli- 
 mate. After the stones, gravel, sand, and the coarser 
 sorts of mud have been successively deposited at the 
 bottom of the lake, a whitish, milky-looking, set of 
 clouds may be observed to extend for a considerable 
 distance beyond the outer edge of the delta. These 
 clouds roll about independently for a time, in the 
 eddies caused by the influx of so great a stream, as 
 if unwilling to mingle with the pure waters of the 
 lake. In point of fact, they do not mix, for the 
 particles which form the subaqueous clouds alluded 
 to are merely very finely powdered limestone, 
 granite, schistus, and other rocky materials, are all 
 heavier than water, and have quite as decided a 
 tendency to reach the bottom as the larger masses 
 have. Owino-, however, to their extreme minute- 
 ness, their weight becomes disproportionately small 
 compared to the resistance which their surfaces offer 
 to the fluid in which they seem to be floating ; and 
 thus, though they are all the time sinking, and 
 must eventually reach the bottom, their downward 
 motion is imperceptible to the eye. 
 
 If you take a boat, which I strongly recom- 
 mend, and not only skirt along the outer ed^e 
 
14 
 
 of the delta, and cross it in various directions, 
 but row off to some distance, you will perceive the 
 gradual diminution of the turbidness in the supply 
 of water coming from the Rhone, till at last you 
 will scarcely be able to perceive any impurity in 
 it at all. If, when you reach that point, viz. the 
 extreme outer edge of the delta, you sink a lead 
 to the bottom, prepared with a little grease (or 
 arming, as we call it at sea), you will fish up some 
 mud, which, though abundantly visible, will be 
 almost if not totally impalpable or insensible to 
 your touch when rubbed between the finger and 
 thumb. If now you begin at that point, and 
 steer directly for the mouth of the river, you 
 will find at each cast of the lead not only a di- 
 minished depth, but you wiD also observe an 
 increased size in the particles forming the floor of 
 the lake, till at last the bow of your boat will 
 rattle amongst the shingle, or grate along a bed of 
 gravel. You will now be in front of a natural 
 plantation of willows, alders, canes, and other 
 thirsty, deep-drinking plants, which, both by their 
 growth and by their decay, co-operate with the 
 stream in producing dry land over districts where, 
 but a few years before, geologically speaking, the 
 lake may have measured many fathoms in depth. 
 If you now row to the other or south-western end 
 of the lake, you will find the Rhone, which entered 
 
15 
 
 as thick as pea-soup, running out through the 
 middle of the city of Geneva, as clear as the deep 
 blue sea itself, all its contaminating materials having 
 been long ago deposited at the bottom. 
 
 I have now been describing what is done by 
 the Rhone, which is the principal fiUer-up of 
 the lake; but besides that immense river, there 
 are hundreds of minor streams, all gushing into 
 this great reservoir, each and all bringing with 
 it a cargo of washings from the Alps, greater 
 or smaller in quantity according to the length and 
 size of the streams, or the steepness of their chan- 
 nels, — elements which also determine, in some 
 measure, the degree of fineness of the materials 
 brought down. Every such stream, it must be 
 recollected, has its delta, thrusting its forehead into 
 the lake, and contributing its share, slowly but 
 surely, to the filling-up process, of which I shall 
 speak more presently. 
 
 If we pursue our researches higher up the valley 
 of the Rhone, that is, above the lake, we shall 
 find many extensive ranges of perfectly horizontal 
 alluvial ground, now thickly covered with ve- 
 getation, which had evidently, in old times, been 
 the basins of lakes into which the very same 
 Rhone must have flowed, and gradually filled 
 up from end to end, by slowly protruding its 
 delta or deltas into each of these lakes in sue- 
 
16 
 
 cession, precisely as the great delta above de- 
 scribed is now filling up the Lake of Geneva. 
 In those remote days, the deposit of materials 
 in the present lake was probably very insig- 
 nificant compared to what it now is, since the 
 grand cargo of materials brought down from the 
 hills was arrested by some one or other of the 
 intervening lakes (now alluvial plains), which then 
 acted the part of sess-pools, higher up tlie valley. 
 So, in future times — (the distance of which from 
 our epoch is perhaps not utterly beyond the reach 
 of a bold geologist's computation) — the inhabitants 
 of Geneva will see a magnificent plain where 
 they now behold a magnificent lake; while the great 
 Mediterranean delta, will then receive the whole 
 burthen of materials brought down by that great 
 stream and all its tributaries, the greater portion of 
 which is now arrested by the Lake of Geneva, 
 and must be so till it is entirely filled up. This 
 process must go oh until all the inequalities are 
 worn away, and the mighty Alps themselves are 
 reduced either to level plains, or degraded into 
 gently-sloping banks. Such scenes will bear no 
 resemblance to what we see now; for when the 
 snow-topped mountains and their attendant gla- 
 ciers — the sources of the stream — are gone, the 
 Rhone will have dwindled into a petty rivulet, and 
 the grassy or wooded ground stripped of its snows. 
 
<-J 
 
 17 
 
 and basking In a more genial, perhaps a torrid 
 climate, will afford few materials for removal. In 
 all this there Is scarcely anything theoretical, 
 strictly so called. It Is the inevitable and almost 
 directly calculable effect of existing causes — the 
 legitimate deduction from observed facts. 'Thus 
 runs the world away ! ' 
 
 And truly, it is difficult in passing along the 
 countries of which I am speaking, If we will but 
 use our eyes at all, not to be forced to confess the 
 irresistible and abundantly sufficient power of the 
 agencies in daily operation to explain the dissolu- 
 tion which everything on the earth Is undergoing. 
 This progress may indeed be called slow in com- 
 parison to the quick march of our petty span of 
 life ; but the wear-and-tear of the mountains, and 
 their final extinction, is no less a matter of physical 
 fact than our own mortality is. It cannot, indeed, be 
 denied that the Alps and Andes are longer-lived 
 than we ; but even their age, — that of the hoariest- 
 headed peak amongst them, Mont Blanc or Chim- 
 borazzo, or the blushing Monte Rosa, — is really 
 but an instant of time — a mere fraction — an infi- 
 nitesimal moment — a single beat of the great 
 clock of time, to say nothing of eternity! It is 
 just the same when we come to speak of distances, 
 since our longest stretch on earth, — from " China 
 to Peru," from " Indus to the Pole," — or even 
 
18 
 
 our longest measurable spaces in the heavens, the 
 aphelion of our most eccentric comet lying mil- 
 lions of millions of miles beyond the orbit of 
 Uranus, — what are they but insignificant portions 
 of space, mere hairbreadths in the vast scale of 
 even the visible or conceivable parts of astronomy ? 
 To some minds these speculations, or, to speak 
 more properly, these absolute certainties, are 
 sources of pain and bewilderment rather than of 
 pleasure. But it appears to me that, if well 
 conducted, they are adapted to do good, by ren- 
 dering us more contented with our lot, and more 
 earnest in the performance of our duty, by filling 
 our lives with more lofty and more cheerful ob- 
 jects of pursuit. It is surely a delightful reflec- 
 tion, and one filled with the brightest hopes, that 
 insignificant as we are, we are still capable of seeing 
 and understanding so much of all these things ; and 
 that we are permitted to reason upon them to a 
 great extent, though we can see neither their be- 
 ginning nor their end, nor can we interrogate their 
 purpose. When rightly employed, such speculations 
 give, if anything on earth can, a foretaste of immor- 
 tality, and tell, both to the reason and to the 
 imagination, that the soul is not perishable ; — and 
 thus, all such pursuits as geology and astronomy, 
 properly carried on, do essentially contribute to 
 fortify our faith in Revelation, by inculcating, or, 
 
19 
 
 as it were, enforcing the grand doctrine of depend- 
 ence, and making us feel, at every turn, how power- 
 less we are, and how powerful is our Maker, and 
 yet how beneficent, and, above all, how uniform 
 and how admirably consistent, in all his operations ! 
 
20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN ALPINE DEBACLE. 
 
 In speaking of the formation of the Delta of the 
 Rhone, where it falls into the Lake of Geneva, I 
 have adverted only to the gradual, and compara- 
 tively slow, operation of that diurnal wear and tear 
 of the earth, and silent accumulation of materials, 
 which, in time, will certainly fill up the lake from 
 end to end. But besides this slow process, per- 
 ceptible only to the eye of science, there occur 
 from time to time catastrophes which, while they 
 add very considerably and palpably to the size of 
 the delta, do so obviously at the expense of those 
 valleys which serve as channels to the various 
 streams which at once supply the lake with water 
 and the delta with materials of accumulation. 
 
 Of these catastrophes, the most frequent, as well 
 as the most destructive in its operation, is called 
 a Debacle, which is merely a gigantic flood, or 
 sudden rush of water, caused by the disruption of 
 the retaining bank or barrier of a temporary lake 
 
21 
 
 in the upper part of a mountain valley. If such 
 a lake be of considerable magnitude, and the valley- 
 be narrow, and steep in its bed, it is easy to 
 conceive the mischief likely to arise from letting 
 loose such a body of water all at once. On the 
 first visit I paid to the Alps, I had the good 
 fortune to arrive at Martigny just fifty days 
 after an incident of this kind had occurred, and 
 while the effects were not only abundantly con- 
 spicuous, but all the details so fresh in the 
 recollection of the wretched half-swam.ped inha- 
 bitants, there was no difficulty in picking up from 
 eye-witnesses many curious particulars of the 
 disaster. 
 
 There is a severe simplicity, as the artists 
 call it, about the proximate causes of these grand 
 and calamitous operations of nature which renders 
 them easy of description, for they are generally 
 quite obvious. But the same circumstance makes 
 it very diflBcult to describe the consequences, 
 which are not only wide-spread, but are varied in 
 a thousand shapes, and must be seen together to 
 produce the terrific effect which, like that of a 
 severe earthquake, haunts for ever afterwards the 
 memory of those persons who have been exposed to 
 its action on the spot. Certain I am that I shall never 
 forget the scene of desolation caused by the great 
 debacle at Martigny. More than two-and- twenty 
 
22 
 
 years have elapsed since I looked over the melan- 
 choly waste — and though I have become tolerably 
 familiar with the operation of seas and floods in other 
 regions in the interval, I must own that it was 
 only in an Alpine valley that I ever witnessed the 
 full power of moving water, and thence learned 
 duly to respect it as an agent in the geological 
 history of the earth's surface. A few words will 
 serve to explain the cause of the debacle in question, 
 and will serve as an introduction to what we 
 ourselves saw. 
 
 The Val de Bagnes is a steep, narrow, rugged, 
 valley, or more properly rocky glen, running 
 for about thirty or forty miles in a direction 
 nearly east and west among those mountains 
 lying on the south side of the Valais, and form- 
 ing a part of the great Alpine ridge which 
 divides Switzerland from Piedmont. This ridge 
 is elevated to that height which secures for it a 
 coating of eternal snow, and consequently it sends 
 down on all sides, wherever the slope and form of 
 the ground are suitable, those well-known huge 
 frozen masses called glaciers, composed, as I shall 
 have occasion afterwards to describe more particu- 
 larly, of pure snow at the top, but of ice and half- 
 melted snow at the bottom. Near a place called 
 St. Branchier the Val de Bagnes takes a rectangular 
 turn, and after passing in its new course for two or 
 
23 
 
 three miles amongst the hills, opens into the great 
 valley of the Rhone at Martigny. The river 
 Dranse, which has its origin in the two glaciers of 
 Chermontane and Mont Durand, lying at the very 
 top of the glen, flows along the Val de Bagnes till 
 at Martigny it meets the Rhone, of which it is^one 
 of the principal feeders. The banks of this river, 
 or, to speak more properly, of this mountain tor- 
 rent, are at most places precipitous. But the ground 
 occasionally becoming less steep, admits of the 
 formation of soil, and this even if it be too steep 
 for the purposes of agriculture is richly clad 
 with the larch, a tree which loves to root itself 
 in such commanding positions. If, then, by any 
 possibility, the industrious and hardy Switzer can 
 either plough up, or delve into such a spot, he 
 eagerly takes possession of it, and presently con- 
 verts it into a garden, in the midst of which he 
 builds up of dark red logs of larch one of those 
 charming cottages, so well known all over the 
 world for their picturesque beauty, and which, 
 unlike so many other edifices, loses no portion of 
 its interest on a closer inspection. Indeed I am 
 sure every Alpine traveller will agree with me, that 
 they are often a hundred times prettier in the 
 reality, than in those tawdry paintings when the 
 artist strives in vain to impart to his would-be 
 Swiss cottages the inimitable graces— the boundless 
 
24 
 
 and ever fresh variety of Alpine scenery. To 
 connect these eagle-nest patches together, bridges 
 are thrown across the ravine ; and to supply them 
 with bread, mills are constructed as near the 
 edge of the stream as the experience of ordinary 
 fiooj|Js has taught the inhabitants that they may 
 venture to place their wheels. Thus, wherever it 
 is possible, amongst the Alps, for the foot of man 
 to plant itself, little villages start up, enriched by 
 gardens, and decked by the church steeple, which 
 never fails to meet the eye in a Swiss community, 
 however small, or however poor, or, I may add, 
 however exposed it may occasionally be to the 
 ravages of such a debacle as swept out the poor 
 valley of the Dranse in 1818. 
 
 Until the fatal moment of destruction arrives, 
 or at all events, till the hour of danger approaches, 
 mankind, all the world over, are pretty nearly 
 equally indiflferent, and go on, dancing and singing, 
 marrying and giving in marriage, under the very 
 ribs of death, with as much unconcern as if they 
 were living in perfect safety ! The inhabitants 
 of Portici and Resina, for instance, living at the 
 base of Vesuvius ; or those of Catania, at the foot 
 of Mount Etna, where torrent upon torrent of 
 lava has flowed in endless succession, — never dream 
 of an eruption till the parched volcano drinks up 
 their wells, and, in the language of Scripture, 
 
25 
 
 " fire runs along the ground ! *'"' In like manner 
 I have observ^ed the gay voluptuaries of Lima 
 scarcely disturbed in their reckless enjoyment of 
 life by the shock of an earthquake, which inter- 
 rupted only for a transient moment of fear, and 
 impatient prayer, their darling " Tertullas," while 
 the ceilings and walls of their houses cracked in 
 their ears, and church steeples toppled round them ! 
 So with ourselves — the coasts of our own country, 
 strewed every winter with wrecks, suggest no 
 ideas of danger to the British seaman, or make 
 him one whit less anxious to leave the wearisome 
 land for the merry sea. Precisely in the same 
 spirit of confident and happy security an inhabitant 
 of the Val de Bagnes prefers living amongst his 
 cold and almost barren, but much-loved, mountains, 
 in a situation of constant danger with which he 
 has become familiar from his infancy, rather than 
 dwell in perfect security in the rich adjacent plains 
 of Lombardy. 
 
 Not far from the top of the Val de Bagnes the 
 huge glacier of Getroz, descending between two 
 mountains (Mont Pleureur and Mont Getroz), 
 falls into the valley at a place where the channel of 
 the Dranse is much contracted. For several years 
 previous to the time I am speaking of (1818) the 
 Dranse had been occasionally, but not seriously, 
 
 * Exodus ix. V. 24. 
 VOL. T. C 
 
26 
 
 obstructed by blocks of ice and avalanches of snow 
 from the slowly-advancing glacier above men- 
 tioned. These, in process of time, became so 
 frequent and so extensive, that they began to 
 resist the melting power of the summer; and 
 eventually the glacier itself, having joined com- 
 pany with the enormous pile of fragments it had 
 sent before it, pushed itself directly across the 
 narrow valley, so as to rest its snout or base on the 
 foot of the opposite mountain, called Mauvoisin, 
 on the left bank of the Dranse, while its upper 
 part lay several hundred feet above the bed of the 
 stream, on the other side. For some time the 
 torrent contrived, as is usual in such cases, to find 
 its way under or through the crevices in this bar- 
 rier : but at length, owing to fresh portions of min- 
 gled ice-rocks and snow being cast down from the 
 sides of the glacier, the various channels or tun- 
 nels which the river had excavated, became choked 
 up. As soon as this took place, the waters, having 
 no outlet, of course began to form a lake, which 
 in time swelled to half a league in length, and 
 though only three or four hundred feet wide, mea- 
 sured more than a hundred feet deep. 
 
 This was the state of affairs in April 1818, and 
 there would have been no harm in it had the barrier 
 been of rocky materials, as frequently happens in the 
 Alpine valleys ; in that case as soon as the lake, by 
 
the gradual supply of the Draiise, had risen to the 
 top it would have flowed over the edge, and merely- 
 added one to the multitude of beautiful cascades 
 which characterise the scenery of that country. 
 As it was, the danger became greater and greater 
 every moment ; and the experienced Swiss, now 
 fully awakened to their danger, saw that unless 
 they adopted some very prompt and energetic 
 measures, the weight of the accumulated waters 
 would, ere long, become too great for the strength 
 of the dam of ice, and the whole reservoir would 
 be dashed at once down the ravine, to the destruc- 
 tion of all the villages, fields, bridges, and mills, 
 which I have already described as lining the banks 
 of the stream, and which, though built above its 
 ordinary level, it was too obvious must come within 
 the limits of the threatened debacle. 
 
 An able engineer, of the name of Venetz, who 
 lived in the Valais, not far from Martigny, at once 
 perceived that although the evil might not, perhaps, 
 be entirely averted, it might be essentially les- 
 sened. He saw clearly that it was impossible to 
 diminish the present magnitude of the lake formed 
 fcy the glacier of Getroz, but he thought it might 
 be prevented from rising above a certain level, if a 
 gallery, or tunnel, could be cut through the barrier 
 of ice at such a height above the level of the lake as 
 would enable the work to be finished before the 
 
 c2 
 
28 
 
 water should rise to that point. This required not 
 only a very nice calculation, but a degree of vigour 
 and activity in the execution which it might be diffi- 
 cult to match in any other country. The drift or 
 gallery which M. Venetz proposed to bore through 
 the glacier, for the purpose of acting as a waste 
 weir to the lake, was made to slope downwards, in 
 such a way that when the water rose to its upper 
 end it should flow so rapidly through that it might 
 act like a saw, and by cutting down the ice of the 
 glacier, permit the lake gradually to descend, till 
 it was nearly emptied, and the mass of water be 
 prevented from becoming an overmatch for the 
 retaining wall of ice and snow, as it was certain to 
 prove, sooner or later, if things were left alone. 
 
 " This ingenious and bold scheme," to use the 
 words of M. Escher de la Linth, *' was begun on 
 the 10th of May and finished on the 13th of June, 
 under the direction of M. Venetz. The gallery 
 was sixty-eight feet long, and during its formation 
 the workmen were exposed to the constant risk of 
 being crushed to pieces by the falling blocks of 
 ice, or buried under the glacier itself.*" In the 
 mean time the surface of the lake had risen sixty» 
 two feet, but as it had not yet reached the upper 
 orifice of the gallery, M. Venetz, with the same 
 decisive spirit which marked all his proceedings on 
 
 * Edinburgh Phil. Journal, vol. i. page 189. 
 
29 
 
 this critical occasion, having secured the main 
 point, viz., a thorough opening across the barrier, 
 set to work to cut down the floor of his gallery 
 till it met the rising waters, which, glad of so free 
 an outlet, flowed rapidly along the passage which 
 the engineer had cut through the heart of the 
 glacier. The lake at this juncture (13th June) was 
 upwards of two miles in length, but not quite one- 
 twelfth of a mile in width, — strictly, 400 feet upon 
 an average ; the depth, however, compensated for 
 its small breadth, being 200 feet. The floor of the 
 gallery, as had been anticipated, went on wearing 
 away, so fast that by the next day the lake had 
 diminished in depth one foot ; and this evidence of 
 the power of the engineer over the enemy which 
 threatened to swallow them all up, spread some 
 rays of hope amongst the terrified inhabitants of 
 the unhappy valley. On the following day the 
 lake had subsided ten feet, and on the 16th of 
 June, or only three days after the sapping process 
 had commenced working, the diminution in the 
 height of the surface was forty-five feet. The 
 rest of the story cannot be better told than in the 
 words of M. Escher, the truth of all the particulars 
 of which I had opportunities of verifying on the 
 spot. 
 
 " As soon as the water flowed from the lower 
 end of the gallery the velocity of the cascade 
 
80 
 
 melted the ice, and thus wore away the gallery at 
 its mouth. The water which had penetrated the 
 crevices of the glacier caused enormous fragments 
 of ice to fall from the lower sides of it, so that 
 owing to these causes the body of the glacier, 
 which formed the retaining wall of the lake, was 
 so much diminished in thickness that the floor of 
 the gallery was reduced from its original length of 
 600 to 8 feet. As soon as the cascade had cut 
 through the cone of ice, it attacked the debris 
 of the base of Mauvoisin, upon which the cone 
 rested ; that is to say, the torrent undermined 
 the glacier by washing away the loose materials 
 forming the bed of the stream, on which this mass 
 of ice had been piled up ; and having carried it oiF 
 by degrees, it became able to push the soft soil 
 from the foot of Mont Mauvoisin, and excavate 
 for itself a passage between the glacier and the 
 rocky beds which compose the mountain. As soon 
 as this happened, the water rushed out, — the ice 
 gave way with a tremendous crash, — the lake was 
 emptied in half-an-hour, — and the sea of water 
 which it contained precipitated itself into the valley 
 with a rapidity and violence which it is impossible 
 to describe. The fury of this raging flood was 
 first stayed by the narrow gorge below the glacier 
 formed between Mont Pleureur and a projecting 
 breast of Mont Mauvoisin : here it was engulfed 
 
31 
 
 with such force that it carried away the bridge of 
 Mauvoisin, ninety feet above the Dranse, and even 
 rose several fathoms above the advanced mass of 
 the mountain. From this narrow gorge, the flood 
 spread itself over a wider part of the valley, which 
 again contracted into another gorge ; and in this 
 way, passing from one basin to another, it acquired 
 new violence, and carried along with it forests, 
 rocks, houses, barns, and cultivated land. When 
 it reached Le Chable, one of the principal villages 
 of the valley, the flood, which seemed to contain 
 more debris than water, was pent up between the 
 piers of a solid bridge nearly fifty feet above the 
 Dranse, and began to attack the inclined plane 
 upon which the church and the chief part of the 
 village is built. An additional rise of a few feet 
 would have instantly undermined the village ; but 
 at this critical moment the bridge gave way, and 
 carried off with it the houses at its two extremities. 
 The flood now spread itself over the wide part of 
 the valley between Le Chable and St. Branchier, 
 undermining, destroying, and hurrying away the 
 houses, the roads, the richest crops, and the finest 
 trees, loaded with fruit. Instead of being encum- 
 bered with these spoils, the moving chaos re- 
 ceived from them new force ; and when it entered 
 the narrow valley extending from St. Branchier to 
 Martigny, it continued its work of destruction till 
 
32 
 
 its fury became weakened by expanding itself over 
 the great plain formed by the valley of the Rhone. 
 After ravaging Le Bourg and the village of Mar- 
 tigny, it fell with comparative tranquillity into the 
 Rhone, leaving behind it, on the plains of Mar- 
 tigny, the wreck of houses and of furniture, thou- 
 sands of trees torn up by the roots, and the bodies 
 of men and of animals whom it had swept away*."" 
 I arrived at Martigny, as I have already men- 
 tioned, on the 5th of August, just seven weeks 
 after the catastrophe above described. Many of 
 the houses had been swept away, and all the re- 
 maining habitations gave token of having been 
 invaded by the flood which, even at the lower ex- 
 tremity of the town, where the valley is widest, 
 had risen to the height of ten feet, as we could 
 remark by the traces left on the walls. Higher up 
 the torrent had been much deeper ; and the inhabi- 
 tants pointed out to us the manner in which a con- 
 siderable district of houses had been saved from 
 destruction by the intervention of the village church, 
 a compact stone building placed— perhaps not 
 accidentally — with one of its corners directed to- 
 wards the adjacent gorge, out of which the over- 
 charged torrent of the Dranse burst with such 
 violence on the 16th of June. Had the side or 
 end of the church faced the stream, it is supposed 
 * Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, vol. i. page 189. 
 
33 
 
 that not only it must have given way, but, in its 
 train, all that quarter of the village would have been 
 overwhelmed. The strong nature of the angle of 
 the church, however, seems to have divided the 
 waters ; and as the valley at this point begins to 
 spread itself out, the stream readily obeyed the 
 new direction given to it, and flowed to the right 
 and left. With some difficulty we made our way 
 into the church, which was nearly half full of sand, 
 mud, and stones, brought there by the flood. The 
 pulpit just peeped above the mass of rubbish, but 
 the altar was no longer visible, being quite buried 
 under the mud. This very substantial building, 
 indeed, had acted its part so firmly in the hour of 
 need, that the old man who acted as our guide 
 patted the wall familiarly with his hand, sayino- 
 *' The church was, and is, after all, our chief re- 
 liance in the hour of danger ! " something figura- 
 tive, perhaps, mingling with the poetical sentiment. 
 All the hedges, garden-walls, and other bound- 
 ary lines and land-marks of every description, were 
 of course obliterated, under one uniform mass of 
 detritus which had levelled all distinctions in a 
 truly sweeping and democratic confusion. In every 
 house, without exception, there lay a stratum of allu- 
 vial matter several feet in thickness, so deposited 
 that passages were obliged to be cut through it, 
 along the streets, as we see roads cut in the snow 
 
 c3 
 
34 
 
 after a storm. On that side of every building which 
 faced up the valley, and consequently against 
 which the stream was directed, there had been col- 
 lected a pile of large stones under all, then a layer 
 of trees, with their tattered branches lying one way, 
 and their roots the other. Next came a net-work 
 of timber-beams of houses, broken doors, fragments 
 of mill-wheels, shafts of carts, handles of ploughs, 
 and all the wreck and ruin of the numerous villages 
 which the debacle had first torn to pieces, and 
 then swept down the valley in one undistinguish- 
 able mass. The lower part of the bark had been 
 completely stripped off all the trees still standing, 
 each one being charged on the side next the 
 torrent with a singular accumulation of rubbish, 
 consisting chiefly of uprooted trees, and those 
 wooden portions of the buildings which were 
 bolted together. 1 ought to mention, also, that 
 from every house, and behind every tree, circum- 
 stanced as 1 have described, there extended down 
 the valley a long tail or train of diluvial rubbish, 
 deposited in the swirl, or, as a sailor would say, 
 in the eddy, under the lee of these obstacles. All 
 over the plain, large boulders or erratic blocks 
 lay thickly strewed. These varied in size from 
 a yard to a couple of yards in diameter ; but just 
 at the point where the ravine of the Dranse leaves 
 the mountains, and joins the open valley of Mar- 
 
35 
 
 tigny, I examined some enormously large masses 
 of granite, which the inhabitants assured me had 
 been brought down and placed there by the sheer 
 force of the debacle. 
 
 No one, till he sees it, can form any just concep- 
 tion, what the power of moving water is, especially 
 when confined between two precipitous banks, ac- 
 cumulated to the height of fifty or sixty feet, and 
 flowing along a bed of such steepness, that even 
 in ordinary states of supply the stream acquires the 
 character of a foaming torrent. M. Escher, as I 
 gather from one of his expressions, seems to con- 
 sider that the debacle, instead of being encumbered 
 by the spoils it had stripped from the sides of the 
 valley through which it had passed, was, on the 
 contrary, augmented in violence thereby. I am 
 not quite sure whether this be sound geological 
 doctrine or not, but I well remember, even at the 
 distance of twenty-two years, the awe and wonder 
 with which 1 looked at one of the masses of rock 
 pointed out to me, which the stream in question had 
 evidently projected fairly out of the gorge into the 
 plain. It measured twenty-seven paces round, 
 twelve feet in height, and twelve feet across in one 
 direction, which I fixed upon as about the average. 
 It was of a rude pyramidical shape. Further up the 
 glen, I came to many rocks, which, though much 
 larger than the one I mentioned, bore indubitable 
 
36 
 
 marks of having been in motion. This, however won- 
 derful, seemed at first less difficult to imagine than it 
 was to account for a number of comparatively small 
 boulders scattered over the plain, lying amongst 
 the houses, far from the gorge of the Dranse, and 
 such as were manifestly too heavy for the un- 
 assisted torrent, huge as it was, to have driven 
 along. Besides, some of these rested either on the 
 top of the deposits of sand and mud, or not far from 
 their tops. It is probable, I think, that these masses 
 may have been borne on the surface of masses of 
 ice, or, more probably, included in them, and thus 
 might float along till the diminished depth of the 
 flood, caused by its spreading out, caused them to 
 take the ground. On the melting of the ice, the 
 stones resting upon, or imbedded in them, would 
 naturally rest on the surface*. 
 
 Leaving, now, the field of mere narration of facts, 
 I can find no adequate terms in which to describe 
 the sort of hopeless feeling which filled our minds, 
 as we viewed the total, and, as it seemed, irreme- 
 diable nature of the misfortune which had befallen 
 the inhabitants of Martigny. We said to ourselves, 
 
 * See this subject treated of at length, and brought to bear on 
 the transportation of all the erratic blocks in various parts of the 
 world, in Lyell's Geology, 5th Edition, Vol. I. p. 269 ; Vol. II. 
 p. 289 ; Vol. IV. p. 46 & 48. See also Mr. Darwin's Journal, 
 forming Vol. III. of the Voyages of the Beagle and Adventure, 
 Chapter XIII. 
 
S7 
 
 that no time could ever restore their town to prospe- 
 rity, or re-clothe their fields with verdure. Yet, only 
 fifteen years afterwards, when I again visited this 
 scene of utter, and, as it seemed, hopeless desola- 
 tion, I could scarcely, by any effort of the imagi- 
 nation recall the spot to my mind, or be persuaded 
 that it really was the same ground I had seen laid 
 waste. I knew very well, because I found it so set 
 down in memorandums made on the spot, that a huge 
 debacle, or mountain torrent, had burst over the 
 hapless village, swept away all its herds and flocks, 
 utterly destroyed its gardens and fields, drowned 
 not a few of the inhabitants, and caused infinite 
 distress ; and I well remembered thinking it almost 
 impossible that any length of time could effectually 
 remove the traces of this gigantic misfortune. In 
 spite of this prophecy, the only circumstance 
 which I could now discover to mark the event of 
 which I supposed the visible effects were to exist 
 for ages, consisted in a black line painted on the 
 wall of one of the hotels, at the height of ten feet 
 from the ground, to point out to travellers that such 
 was the limit to which the inundation had reached ! 
 The fields were all again matted thickly with ver- 
 dure; the hedges and dividing walls appeared never 
 to have been disturbed; flower-gardens, and kitchen- 
 gardens, and grass plots smiled on every side of 
 the happy valley; apple-trees laden with fruit, and 
 
38 
 
 rows of tall poplars, marked out many lines of new 
 and better roads than before, leading from new 
 bridges wliicli formerly had no existence ! On ex- 
 amining matters more closely, I discovered one, 
 and only one, remarkable trace of the debacle. All 
 the old trees remained still stripped of their bark 
 on the side which had faced the stream; and though 
 a new coating had gradually formed itself, the 
 rough handling of the torrent was still deeply 
 marked on the trunks of all the trees which had 
 been aliv^e at that period, and had possessed strength 
 enough to resist the flood. In one of the gardens, 
 also, I came upon an erratic block or boulder of 
 granite, so nearly hid in a mass of flowers and foli- 
 age, that I could not for some time recognise it as 
 one of my old friends of the Dranse flood. So 
 many young trees had been planted, and so many 
 new houses built, and such had been the regenera- 
 tion of the cornfields, vineyards, and orchards, that 
 it required the retrospective, theoretical, optics of a 
 geologist to discover any symptoms of diluvian ac- 
 tion at all. Indeed, 1 much question whether even 
 a practised geologist, unless put upon his guard and 
 his curiosity roused, would now be able to infer from 
 the existing appearances, that such a catastrophe had 
 occurred ; and we certainly might defy him to affix a 
 date thereto. Even I, who can almost say that I wit- 
 nessed the catastrophe, and took a careful survey of 
 
39 
 
 the attendant circumstances when they were all 
 fresh and obvious, could scarcely help fancying- 
 that the account I had myself recorded, and which I 
 carried in my hand, must have been exaggerated, 
 though written in good faith, and, if anything, short 
 of the reality. 
 
 When we consider how effectually the lapse of 
 a very few years has thus destroyed all the palpa- 
 ble evidences of a phenomenon, which, though 
 on a small scale, was of a most decided character, — 
 we ought to recollect under what disadvantages a 
 geologist must often come to the investigation of 
 those still more extensive and infinitely more varied 
 revolutions in the earth's surface, which form the 
 ordinary topics of inquiry in this interesting branch 
 of philosophical inquiry. 
 
 In the first place, enormous periods of time may 
 have elapsed since the spot about which he is 
 speculating may have been convulsed by its last 
 earthquake, or since it was overwhelmed by its last 
 debacle. In the next, it may well be asked, how can 
 he hope to make due allowance for those countless 
 antecedent convulsions or catastrophes which may 
 either have rent the interior of the ground, or modi- 
 fied its surface preparatory to the last arrangement 
 which he is seeking to account for, and without 
 some knowledge of which it is very difficult to 
 draw any safe conclusion ? 
 
40 
 
 These difficulties, however, only show the im- 
 portance of extending and varying our researches, 
 and above all, of trying to observe with our own 
 eyes the phenomena of existing cause, and learning 
 what nature is actually doing — and thence inferring, 
 by the only legitimate course of geological induc- 
 tion, what she has done in the countless ages of 
 times past. 
 
41 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE JARDIN. 
 
 Quickened in our curiosity by the animating' 
 though distressing scenes we had witnessed at 
 Martigny, and cheered by the brilliancy of a hot 
 day early in August, we set out from that place 
 over the pass called the Tete Noire, for Chamouny, 
 our intention being to make the complete tour of 
 Mont Blanc from Martigny as a starting point, and 
 then, after returning to that place, to proceed to 
 Italy by the way of the Valais and the celebrated 
 pass of the Simplon. 
 
 Although nothing very particular occured during 
 the first morning of our grand circumbendibus, nor 
 indeed on any of the eight arduous days which this 
 expedition cost us, it may be said with truth, that 
 scarcely a single hour of the whole period was 
 passed without some novel and exciting cause of 
 interest. I therefore venture strongly to recom- 
 mend to any one who really wishes to see the 
 beauties and wonders of the Alps, not to omit 
 
42 
 
 making this grand tour, for I have found in 
 every country, that the only satisfactory method of 
 seeing a great mountain, is fairly to go round its 
 base, and then, if it be possible, and not too laborious 
 or too expensive, or needlessly fraught with profit- 
 less danger, to go to its very top. 1 shall have 
 occasion, by-and-by, to illustrate this rule, by 
 describing the best manner of visiting Mount 
 Etna. In the mean time, it may be laid down 
 as a good rule when roving amongst the Alps, and 
 not a bad one anywhere, to avoid doing out-of-the- 
 way things, merely because they are odd or diffi- 
 cult of accomplishment, but lead to nothing useful. 
 To perform feats, merely for the pleasure of saying 
 we have performed them, is surely a very petty 
 vanity, yet it was one into which, I must confess, 
 I was nearly falling on arriving at Chamouny, 
 In the hotel where our party put up, after 
 having walked over the Tete Noire, a distance of 
 nearly thirty miles, we stumbled upon a Polish 
 Count who had just returned from an expedition 
 to the summit of Mont Blanc. The account he gave 
 us of his adventures, and those of his son, a boy 
 of only fourteen, and the animated assurances of the 
 guides, who were looking out for a fresh job, that, 
 with a little patience, a good deal of resolution, a 
 moderate degree of strength, and adequate faith in 
 their knowledge, nothing was safer or surer than 
 
43 
 
 such a trip, had well-nigh tempted us to embark in 
 a similar undertaking. To tell the truth, I have often 
 since been half inclined to regret that we gave up 
 the notion, which at first seized us very strongly; 
 for, in spite of all that might be said of the idle 
 nature of such a hard scramble, without philoso- 
 phical instruments, or indeed any means of profit- 
 ing in a scientific manner by the opportunities 
 which such an elevation affords, I cannot but feel 
 that there would have been ample pleasure, to 
 compensate for the trouble, and a certain kind of 
 profit, too, in the mere fact of standing, were it but 
 for a minute, on the tip-top of the highest moun- 
 tain in Europe. 
 
 It may not be out of place to mention here 
 what has often occurred to me since I first visited 
 the Alps, and enjoyed opportunities of comparing 
 them with some of the loftiest and most celebrated 
 ranges of mountains in other parts of the world. It is 
 true there are vastly higher peaks, both in India and 
 in America, and even occasionally whole districts 
 in which continuous ridges of higher elevation 
 occur than the Alps can boast of. But it must be 
 recollected, that mere height above the general 
 surface of the earth, though a grand feature, is not 
 the only circumstance which gives interest to a 
 mountainous country. And I may frankly state, for 
 the satisfaction of those whose travels are limited to 
 
44 
 
 Europe, that, in everything constituting either that 
 striking interest which merely astonishes at the 
 moment, or that which comes so strongly home 
 both to the reason and the imagination, as to 
 endure for ever in the memory, the Alps bear away 
 the palm from every other. 
 
 This arises, no doubt, from the superior capa- 
 bilities which they possess for exhibiting, not only 
 grandeur and beauty of scenery, in almost endless 
 variety, but for displaying in an available shape a 
 multitude of objects of scientific as well as popular 
 curiosity, in every part of their range. It may be 
 said in answer, that other ranges, such as the Andes 
 and Himalayas, include in their enormous extent as 
 many scenes of wonder and of beauty as the Alps 
 possess. This may be quite true, and yet the Alps 
 maintain the chief station, in the catalogue, when 
 all the circumstances are taken into account. 
 
 In the first place, which is an immense advan- 
 tage, the Alps are, out of all comparison, more 
 easily got at — and when got at, they are much 
 more easily and more pleasantly examined. The 
 mere apparatus of guides, convenient roads, and 
 good fare, with the other advantages which spring 
 from previous research, add vastly to the genuine 
 interest of mountain travelling. All the best routes 
 are known; all the objects which are essentially 
 the most interesting pointed out ; and the best 
 
45 
 
 times and seasons for visiting them agreeably, have 
 been well settled. Let no one imagine that the 
 absence of these things contributes at all to the 
 satisfaction of rambling amongst lofty mountain- 
 ridges, — or that a protracted series of difficulties, 
 dangers, and privations, does not materially 
 diminish, and often completely destroy, the pleasure 
 which we are sure to find when enjoying the long, 
 established comforts of Switzerland. For the rest, 
 there will always be found, even in the most 
 frequented parts of the Alps, abundant opportu- 
 nities for the most hardy exertion, and quite enough 
 of privation and sources of enterprise to try the 
 fortitude and spirit of the most adventurous, and to 
 gratify the taste of the greatest lover of roughing. 
 In the Andes, one is constantly obliged either to 
 relinquish entirely many objects of the highest 
 interest, or to incur the greatest hazard in getting 
 at them, — while the numerous discomforts to which 
 we are exposed at every step, often annihilate all 
 satisfaction in the research. The time, no doubt, 
 may come, when the Andes and Himalayas will be 
 as easily visited, and as conveniently examined, as 
 the Alps ; but, in the meanwhile, I hope the testi- 
 mony of experience may prove satisfactory to those 
 who cannot go far from home, by showing, that the 
 Alps have very greatly the advantage, in every 
 genuine quality of pleasurable or profitable inquiry, 
 
46 
 
 over other mountainous districts in any part of the 
 globe. 
 
 Most of the peculiarities of the Alps have been 
 so abundantly and so frequently described, that 
 scarcely anything quite new can now present 
 itself even to the least experienced; and yet it will 
 often happen to those who have seen most of the 
 world, that circumstances will occur of which no 
 previous description has given any warning. In 
 the same way, situations of the highest interest fall 
 in the beaten track of every one who has his eyes 
 about him in those enchanting regions, where a per- 
 petual freshness, if not a perpetual verdure, is found. 
 My joy, at least, was unbounded on finding myself 
 at last fairly among mountains of the first order. 
 The evening was grand ; and I shall never forget 
 the feelings with which I sat down, exhausted by 
 the day's exertions, at the very foot of Mont Blanc, 
 and watched the effect, of which I had heard a hun- 
 dred accounts, of the setting sunlight on the highest 
 peak. Long after tlie valley of Chamouny was 
 cast into deep shade, the towering shoulders of Mont 
 Blanc, and still more the numerous spire-like peaks 
 or needles of granite, retained a bright light far Up 
 in the sky. This in due season was followed by 
 the well-sung beauties of the " rose-tints, which 
 summer's twilight leaves upon the lofty glacier's 
 virgin snow."" 
 
47 
 
 The most remarkable change, however, which 
 takes place in the colour of the snow on the 
 higher ridges of the Alps after sunset has not, I 
 think, been either poetised, or ever been described 
 in prose, — and as it was quite new to me, may 
 possibly be so to others. While the eye is feast- 
 ing on the rich tints which succeed to the bright 
 light of day, and wishes they might last for ever, 
 the rose colour gradually dies away, and its place 
 is taken by a livid, dead white, resembling so fear- 
 fully that of a corpse, that T felt quite shocked as 
 well as startled by the change, — nor have I ever 
 met with any one whose nerves were not more or 
 less disturbed by this painful transition from the 
 blush of health, as it were, to the paleness of death ! 
 I have seen very wild deserts in Peru and else- 
 where, and many other scenes of desolation in the 
 world, but none which has struck me with so deep 
 a feeling of melancholy, as the sight of Mont Blanc 
 during the period, fortunately a brief one, in which 
 this livid hue is spread over it. Before the shades 
 of night finally settle over all, a very slight and 
 scarcely perceptible return of the rose-tint is often 
 visible on the snow, a sort of reanlmation of the 
 scene, which is most cheering and consolatory. 
 
 Next morning we climbed the easy ascent of 
 Montanvert, in two hours and a half, which posi- 
 tion, it was thought by some, commanded a view 
 
48 
 
 of the whole mer-de-glace. I was neither of thi» 
 opinion, however, nor satisfied with a simple walk 
 of a hundred yards upon the surface of the frozen 
 sea. But my companions said they had had enough 
 of it, and resolved rather to address themselves to 
 one of the adjacent mountains — I forget its name. 
 Still, as I had no great fancy for undertaking so 
 arduous a task alone, or accompanied only by a 
 single guide, I was delighted to catch a party con- 
 sisting of two Frenchmen and one German, just 
 setting oif for the Jardin, as it is called — a remote 
 and seldom visited spot, lying far up in the very 
 bosom of the eternal snow regions of the mountain. 
 I felt not a little curious to see what sort of a garden 
 could be got up in such a district ; but, indepen- 
 dently of this, I made sure of seeing much amongst 
 the hills to repay the fatigue of the march, and off we 
 set accordingly. Our first step, as the guides termed 
 it, was along the face of the rock on the left bank 
 of this great river, rather than sea of ice — though 
 certainly it does resemble the ocean when its sur- 
 face is ruffled by a gale of wind blowing in the 
 opposite direction to that of a strong current. 
 
 The actual surface of the ice is also quite rough, 
 being so granulated as to cranch under the tread 
 in a manner which renders the footing secure. 
 Some difficulty was occasioned by the enormous 
 rents in the ice which crossed our path, and made 
 
49 
 
 it often necessary to go several hundred yards on 
 one side before we could reach a point where the 
 crevice became narrow enough to step or leap over. 
 This last exploit of leaping the guides executed 
 with wonderful agility, by means of the long poles 
 or batons which we all carried — but they were 
 extremely averse to our trying such flying leaps, 
 and added to their intreaties on that score sundry 
 stories of indiscreet travellers who, having missed 
 their footing, were projected into the abyss for more 
 than a hundred fathoms, and of course were never 
 seen or heard of more ! One of these, they told us, 
 had been fished up by means of a long line with 
 a hook at the end of it. The unfortunate travel- 
 ler was of course quite dead; and what marked the 
 dreadful violence with which he had been wedged 
 into the rent, \^as the fact of his watch being 
 squeezed quite flat, and spread out to twice its size. 
 The only real danger, however, which we were 
 threatened with, was one against which no precau- 
 tion could altogether protect even the experienced 
 guides themselves, who gave us fairly to understand 
 that there was litile chance of our escaping unless 
 we attended strictly to their directions. At a 
 certain part of our course, the path along which 
 we were struggling came close to the base of the 
 cliff overhanging the mer-de-glace. On its sum- 
 mit there lay a thick coating of ice and half-melted 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 
 
 snow, mixed with numerous blocks of granite, cast 
 down by the avalanches. The frequent sound of 
 these cataracts of snow we could hear in diJ0ferent 
 directions amongst the mountains, and some of the 
 avalanches we actually saw not far from us. The 
 weather being excessively hot, the melting snow 
 caused innumerable cascades on both sides of the 
 valley, which were all very pretty and picturesque, 
 so long as we kept at a respectable distance from 
 the cliff; but unfortunately just over the very point 
 where our road happened to touch the foot of the 
 precipice, we were startled by beholding a mass of 
 granite about as big as a mail-coach, barely held 
 up by the ice in which it had probably at one time 
 been completely imbedded, but out of which more 
 than three-quarters of its bulk now protruded. 
 
 The guides stopped, looked anxiously at the 
 huge stone suspended directly over the path, then 
 cast their eyes to the left to see if it were possible to 
 deviate a few yards to avoid passing directly under- 
 neath this monster, which threatened to crush us all 
 under its weight. Finally they looked at one 
 another, and then closed themselves together into 
 a knot, and, without saying anything to us, con- 
 tinued for some minutes speaking most earnestly in 
 a patois totally unintelligible to us. At the end of 
 this parley, during which we began to fear that our 
 expedition must here stop short, two of the guides. 
 
51 
 
 without consulting us, or saying more than, " Be 
 silent and steady, or you are lost ! "^ suddenly 
 seized the foremost of our party, and with the 
 swiftness of Chamois goats dashed along directly 
 under the stone, which they afterwards explained 
 might have been shaken down at any moment by 
 the mere tremor in the air caused by our speaking. 
 As soon as the first of us had been thus whisked 
 across the point of danger, another was spirited off 
 in the same manner. The guides then returned, 
 one by one, stepping underneath the great rock as 
 cautiously as if they had been treading on eggs, 
 and transported the remaining two gentlemen to 
 the safe side. We now begged permission of the 
 guides to set up a shout, in order to bring the stone 
 down, that we might enjoy the crash in safety, and 
 appreciate the full value of our escape, by wit- 
 nessing the havoc which the avalanche would cause. 
 " Yes ! " said the guides, " but who knows the 
 extent of these things? How many more such fel- 
 lows may not be lying further up, ready to topple 
 down upon us, or how shall we be sure that the 
 path, now open for us, may not be so blocked by 
 the falling stones and ice that our retreat will be 
 rendered impossible ? No ! no ! let the rock 
 alone ; and very thankful may we be if we shall 
 find it sticking where it now is when we return 
 here some hours hence.'' 
 
 D 2 
 
52 
 
 After this adventure we struck more into the 
 centre of the frozen sea, the surface of which be- 
 came not only more and more rugged, but its 
 general inclination steeper, as we advanced ; so 
 much so, that at times it required some dexterity 
 to preserve our balance. In this respect I think I 
 had an advantage over my shore-going friends; and 
 indeed one of the guides said to me that he thought 
 I must have sea legs, from the manner in which I 
 poised myself, and the little comparative difficulty 
 I appeared to experience in going along the un- 
 even face of the glacier. Near the centre of the 
 mer-de-glace, and in various other directions, but 
 especially along the middle, we observed enormous 
 ridges formed of the debris which had fallen down 
 from the granite mountains far up in the valleys 
 where the glaciers took their rise. And here I may 
 mention that the mer-de-glace is, in fact, a river 
 of ice, formed by the confluence of several other 
 similar frozen streams, descending in different 
 directions from the higher Alps along the steep 
 valleys of which the eternal snows belonging to 
 their climate are gradually urged downwards by 
 the fresh accumulations of successive seasons. In 
 the winter these snows are deposited in thick 
 layers which lie pretty quietly till the heat of 
 spring, and the approaching summer, loosens their 
 hold, and sends them thundering down in ava- 
 lanches from all the adjacent heights. Each of 
 
53 
 
 these avalanches carries with it a mass of broken 
 rocks, which in their fall strike off the angles of 
 lower strata, and so the work of demolition goes 
 on even in spring. During the violent heats of 
 summer not a moment passes without a fall of this 
 kind somewhere ; a process greatly aided, of course, 
 not only by the innumerable cascades which under- 
 mine the snows, but by under-currents, which, like 
 the grease and soap with which the " ways " are 
 lubricated when a ship is launched, set in motion 
 whole acres of half-melted snow, as thickly marked 
 with granite boulders as a plum-pudding is with 
 currants and raisins. 
 
 I took some pains to form an estimate of the 
 size of one of these ridges of broken stones, 
 called Moraines by the guides, which I found 
 about a league, or three miles, in length, 100 feet 
 high in the middle, and about 500 feet wide at the 
 base. The stones composing this huge wall or 
 mound of debris varied in size from a billiard-ball 
 to that of a small house ; and some gigantic 
 fragments were pointed out to us by the guides 
 which they declared they had watched for many 
 years, slowly descending into the valley of Cha- 
 mouny. One of these was an immense mass, 
 forty or fifty feet in its least dimension, which 
 had arrived so very near the edge of the cliff 
 over which the mer-de-glace pours itself like a 
 
54 
 
 frozen Niagara, that we half expected to see it 
 fall over. The guides laughed at our impatience, 
 and said it might be two or three years yet 
 before the glacier would have advanced far enough 
 to precipitate the rock over the edge. In winter 
 the course of the glacier is completely stopped, at 
 which time not the slightest sound is heard from 
 end to end ; but in summer, when we saw it, the 
 whole was in motion. This fact the guides made 
 evident to us by desiring us to watch attentively 
 by the side of the Moraine for a minute or two ; we 
 then perceived that not an instant elapsed without 
 the stones being moved in such a way as to produce 
 either a grinding sound, or to tumble some of the 
 fragments from a higher to a lower level. 
 
 After about seven miles"* travelling along the ice, 
 we gained the shore on the right, or eastern bank, 
 and though we were at first very glad to find our- 
 selves upon the smooth granite, which had been 
 well polished by the descent of a long succession of 
 avalanches, we discovered that we were now in- 
 curring vastly greater risks than any we had yet 
 encountered. This new danger was owing to the 
 steepness of the surface, combined with the smooth- 
 ness of the rocks along which we had to wind our 
 way, frequently on the very edge of precipices 
 more than a thousand feet in perpendicular height ! 
 At first all the party expressed considerable appre- 
 
55 
 
 hensions, and at length one of the Frenchmen fairly 
 declared that he could not possibly go on, for the 
 soles of his shoes had become like glass, and as the 
 face of the rock was scarcely less smooth, he had no 
 notion of risking his life to see a garden which he was 
 quite sure could contain but few flowers to repay 
 the trouble and hazard of such a journey. 
 
 The guides and his companions laughed at his 
 fears, and urged him to go on for a little distance, 
 when a similar instability of footing having occurred 
 to myself, 1 was actually unable to advance a single 
 step without the imminent hazard of slipping over 
 the edge of the cliff. On turning round to view 
 the path up which we had been labouring for the 
 last hour, it appeared so formidably steep that we 
 felt as if it would be equally impossible to get 
 back, and we began to think the scrape not a trifling 
 one by any means. It was suggested at this 
 critical juncture by one of the men that we 
 should take off our shoes and stockings. No 
 sooner had we done so than in an instant, as 
 if by magic, we felt such entire confidence in our 
 footing that we could advance without appre- 
 hension to the very edge of the rock, and ven- 
 ture along places which even the guides declined 
 approaching. While I was wondering at this, and 
 speculating on the manner in which a new sense, or 
 at all events a new faculty, had been imparted to 
 
56 
 
 us, one of the guides pointed out the manner in 
 which not only the toes but the ball of the foot, and 
 even the heel, now accommodated themselves to 
 the nature of the ground. This mountain phi- 
 losopher, taught by long experience of danger and 
 difficulty, assured us that even in the most polished 
 parts of the rock there were inequalities, almost 
 imperceptible to the eye, but sufficient, it appeared, 
 to offer points for the muscles of the foot to grasp, 
 when the stiff leather sole of the shoe, which Na- 
 ture never intended us to use in such places, was 
 removed. "Look at a fly," continued the moun- 
 taineer, " and see how he moves along a perpen- 
 dicular pane of glass, and learn from him to leave 
 Nature to herself when you wish to make the best 
 use of her gifts." 
 
 Except at the dangerous spot where we had been 
 edified by this lecture there was no occasion to 
 apply it, for the last portion of our long journey 
 lay amongst snow so soft that as it reached half- 
 way from the ankle to the knee at every step, 
 proved not a little fatiguing. When we came at 
 length to the Jardin or Courtil, as the guides called 
 it, we found merely a flat space of bare rock, about 
 a quarter of an acre in size, with here and there a 
 few half-starved grey lichens clinging to it. Pretty 
 flowers indeed ! The guides presently composed 
 themselves to sleep, while we took our dinner, and 
 
57 
 
 then rambled from side to side of this strange spot, so 
 new to us, and so different from any thing which we 
 had ever seen before. We were far more tired 
 than the guides, for to them it was nothing to march 
 without a stop up the mountains for nearly five 
 hours, — the time it cost us to reach the Jardin. On 
 the other hand, while they were so indifferent, or so 
 accustomed, to the wonders of this extraordinary 
 scene, we were so highly excited that rest of any 
 kind, still less sleep, was quite out of the question. 
 To describe such a scene is so manifestly impos- 
 sible, that the attempt — unaided by anything short 
 of a panorama from the hand of Burford — would be 
 impertinent. But I may mention that its pecu- 
 liarity consists in the entire absence of every 
 single thing — except the sky overhead — to which 
 our eyes have been accustomed to look at elsewhere. 
 There is not only not a single tree in sight, but 
 not the smallest appearance of a shrub, nor a single 
 blade of grass, far or near, nor even the least speck 
 of green. Of course there are no traces of man's 
 habitation, nor that of fowls of the air, nor of beasts 
 of the field ; not even a fly buzzes about. In 
 short, no living things appear in this wide, world 
 of snow. There is plenty of that, however, as 
 one of my companions remarked with a shrug 
 which implied anything but admiration of the deso- 
 late landscape. But notwithstanding the French- 
 
 d3 
 
58 
 
 man's shrug, the scene possesses very great beau- 
 ties in its way ; for though everything is white, the 
 shades and even tints which it presents, like those 
 of Wouvermans' celebrated white horse, are of 
 boundless variety. In some directions the snow 
 sends back so dazzling a glare that, without re- 
 ducing the pupil of the eye to a point like that of 
 a cat looking at the sun, we can scarcely bear to 
 face it. In other directions, not only the clefts or 
 ravines in the ice, but even broad valleys, are cast 
 into a depth, as well as breadth, of shade which 
 would enchant Martin the painter, and might 
 have given him a hint for a polar palace, should 
 it occur to his magnificent fancy to represent 
 the court of the "ice king" of the German 
 poets. In some few quarters, indeed, owing to 
 the angle at which the light falls, or perhaps to the 
 slight touch of injury which the purity of the vir- 
 gin snow has received by the abrasion of the dark- 
 coloured granite precipices over which it has 
 been swept, there occurs scarcely any appearance of 
 colour. Of top lights, as the painters call them, 
 there rest an abundant store on the summit of 
 every ridge, and every inequality, even, of the 
 lower masses, both of the glaciers in the bottom of 
 the valleys and of the rocks which include them. 
 I speak not of the fantastic shadows which che- 
 quer the scenery on all sides, and by flinging 
 
59 
 
 before us distorted projections of the mountain 
 tops on the inclined faces of the snow, teach us 
 more error than truth respecting their real forms. 
 
 In viewing the distant and totally inaccessible 
 peaks of the Alps, from such a situation as we then 
 stood upon, I remember feeling a sensation of awe, 
 which I fancied would be transient, and that a 
 further acquaintance would remove it. Still it 
 was so pleasing a sensation that I cherished it, 
 and dwelt upon it as long as I could, in dread that, 
 like the guides, I might cease, from too great 
 familiarity, to be conscious of so exciting a senti- 
 ment of sublimity as this first very near view of 
 the higher Alps had produced in my mind. But 
 I found that novelty is amongst the least of the 
 charms of such regions, and that a more ample ex- 
 perience only develops more and more their in- 
 herent beauty, and that exactly in proportion as the 
 means of viewing these majestic regions becomes 
 varied and extended, so the delight which a contem- 
 plation of them produces is expanded also, 
 
 Yet, after all, I must honestly acknowledge, that 
 while I have several times in my life become 
 thoroughly tired of what is called fiine scenery, 
 namely, the richly-wooded and highly-coloured, I 
 am unconscious of having ever been tired of the 
 rugged, barren, snowy Alps. Their lofty and 
 unattainable snows, indeed, give them a kind of 
 
60 
 
 astronomical character, which, by lifting them quite 
 out of the vulgar world of ordinary life, renders them 
 objects of distant but unceasing admiration. 
 
 One of the calmest and most unmixed of hu- 
 man pleasures I am acquainted with, is practical 
 astronomy ; and next to that, and perhaps for 
 similar reasons, I should be disposed to rank the 
 contemplation of such enormous ranges as the Alps 
 and .Andes. To this hour, for example, I remem- 
 ber the singular enjoyment I once experienced 
 when sailing along the coast of Mexico, on the 
 south-west side, or that washed by the great Pacific 
 Ocean, on coming unexpectedly in sight of two 
 immensely high peaks, each of them almost as 
 high as Mont Blanc. There was nothing wonder- 
 ful in this, it is true, in such a region of mountains; 
 but what excited our curiosity was the circumstance 
 of two such splendid objects having as yet found 
 no place on any of our maps, which was the more 
 to be wondered at as they stood apart from the 
 main ridge of the Andes, and thus became very 
 striking objects, even in a country fertile in such 
 scenes. We felt so much as if we had made a 
 discovery, that even the unpolished seamen, who are 
 generally careless about such matters, expressed to 
 one another their admiration of the new-found peaks. 
 
 I strongly suspect that my worthy companions 
 in the excursion to the Jardin did not enter so 
 
61 
 
 deeply into these refinements, — some of which, or 
 at all events their expression, may have been due 
 to the feverish state into which the unwonted exer- 
 cise had thrown my blood. The same cause, it is 
 true, had been in action in the case of my fellow- 
 travellers, but its expression, as will be seen, took 
 another direction. In most hotels on the continent 
 there is what is called the " Livre des Etrangers," 
 a book in which travellers are requested only to put 
 down their names, but not to make any remarks. 
 In spite of this admonition, many persons, panting 
 to become authors, in however humble a line of com- 
 position, have added to their names the strangest 
 set of observations, some in verse and some in 
 prose, and all full of sage counsel as to the best 
 methods of seeing the curiosities of the spot. I 
 suppose it is needless for me to say that, with all 
 the knowledge which those who have never left 
 home can possibly have acquired, by reading printed 
 books, of the absurdities which travel writers are 
 bold enough to put their names to, their finest 
 flights in the art are feeble in comparison to the 
 hopeless mass of nonsense which distinguishes 
 these precious " Livres de voyageurs." The late 
 Sir James Mackintosh once drily remarked that, 
 while Shakspeare stood at the top of English 
 literature, the Bombay Magazine (to which we may 
 suppose he had been bored to contribute) stood at 
 
62 
 
 the bottom ; so I think I am safe in saying, that if 
 the manuscript of the Waverley novels be the most 
 interesting of modern autographs, the contents of 
 the " Traveller's Book " are the most stupid of 
 handwritings extant. 
 
 This, it appeared, was not the opinion of the 
 self-satisfied contributors, amongst whom may be 
 classed the members of our party to the Jardin. 
 No sooner had they returned and ordered supper 
 than they called loudly for the book, and while one 
 of them wrote, the others dictated a narrative of 
 the day's adventures, in which, by a most singular 
 perversity, there was not one word of truth from the 
 beginning to the end ! When this extraordinary 
 proces verbal of our proceedings was concluded, 
 it was duly signed by the persons who had drawn 
 it up, and then handed to me for signature, as a 
 matter of course ; I felt somewhat embarrassed, as 
 I did not wish to offend persons who had been my 
 companions in so hard a day's work ; and yet I felt 
 reluctant to put my name to a purely imaginary 
 story, reported as a fact. On being pressed by 
 them to give my reasons, I got off by saying that, 
 in my opinion, a simple statement of what we had 
 seen, without any embellishment whatever, would 
 have been far more interesting, and probably more 
 useful to others, than such a fictitious romance as 
 they had written. 
 
63 
 
 My friends stared at this criticism, which, like 
 most articles in that line, was not much relished ; 
 but while they were considering how it should be 
 taken, the waiters entered with supper, which for- 
 tunate interruption, in the twinkling of an eye, 
 made us all of one accord. 
 
64 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A FLIRTATION. 
 
 On the following morning I felt as tired and 
 bruised as if I had been rolled from end to end of 
 the mer-de-glace ; and, although I had appointed 
 the guide to be ready to accompany me to the top 
 of Mont Erevan, at sunrise, he too had been so well 
 worked by the expedition of the day before, that 
 he was not forthcoming, — and I most gladly turned 
 myself round on the other tack, and snoozed away 
 till ten o'clock. This additional nap having com- 
 pletely re-established me, I made shift to reach the 
 top of the mountain in three hours and a half, an 
 indiscreet and needless degree of speed, as I after- 
 wards found out. The view of Mont Blanc from 
 this eminence, which the guide in his raptures 
 declared had been expressly placed there as a sort 
 of platform, from which to show off the " monarch 
 of mountains," well repaired the severe labour and 
 too rapid ascent. An hour and a half served for 
 the descent, so that after the excursion was over, 
 
65 
 
 there remained much of the day to spend. The 
 heat being excessive, I preferred going to bed, 
 in hopes of laying in a stock of strength for 
 the formidable fatigues with which we were 
 threatened in the next day's journey, over the Col 
 de Bon Homme, one of the western shoulders of 
 Mont Blanc. 
 
 No sleep, however, could I get for the flies, 
 which, though not such deadly foes to rest as mus- 
 quitoes are, fall not far behind them in the art of 
 tormenting a man whose blood has been heated by 
 exercise. I was not very sorry, therefore, to find, 
 that our master of the ceremonies had determined 
 we should begin our march this evening ; though 
 fortunately for us weaker vessels, he, a cast-iron 
 sort of person in general, was himself so much 
 fatigued with another long excursion, that he had 
 decided that we were to ride instead of walking. 
 
 We mounted our true-footed mules after a hearty 
 dinner, and set off for St. Gervais. the first sta^e 
 on our way to the Col de Bon Homme. We hap- 
 pened never to have heard before of St. Gervais, 
 and knew nothing more about it than that hot and 
 cold springs, as well as baths, were to be found in 
 that neighbourhood. But as our object was to 
 ascend the higher Alps, and not to drink mineral 
 waters, or to indulge in hot baths, we looked to 
 the place in question merely as a resting-place, and 
 
66 
 
 cared little whether it were a town, a village, or a 
 single post-house, and never dreamed of what it 
 really proved to be. 
 
 As long as daylight lasted, we got on pretty 
 well, though it must be confessed our vocabulary 
 of laudatory epithets was becoming a little thread- 
 bare, and we were beginning mutually to bore and 
 be bored by one another's exclamations of — "Beau- 
 tiful ! " «' How beautiful !" " God bless me, is not 
 that beautiful ? " " How very fine P' " Did you 
 ever see anything so fine?" " Can anything be 
 finer?" " It is indeed grand!" " How exceed- 
 ingly grand ! '' " Nothing in nature can be grand- 
 er!'' "Exquisite!" &c. &c. &c. After the sun 
 had not only set, but carried with him all his light, 
 his rose-tints, livid hues, and so forth, and left us 
 quite in the dark, with vile roads, tired mules, and 
 the eager calls of hunger, (for the digestive organs 
 are doubly active amongst the Alps!) we became 
 dead-sick of the picturesque, and being rather crusty 
 with one another, wished earnestly for the close of 
 this long day's journey. The guides, too, against 
 whose advice we had set out so late in the day, 
 proved but sorry comforters in this season of dis- 
 composure ; for they, instead of cheering us up, 
 as is their wont, told us only of the length, steepness, 
 and roughness of the long and weary road still 
 a-head of us. 
 
67 
 
 In this style we trudged on, so forlorn, spirit- 
 less, and completely knocked up, that not one 
 of the party believed it possible any circum- 
 stance could occur of sufficient interest to rouse 
 us from our lethargy. We had been told, also, 
 so much of the miserable accommodation of the 
 remoter Alpine valleys, that we reckoned not only 
 upon finding sorry lodgings, but little or no food 
 in them ; for, though the guides repeatedly de- 
 clared there was an excellent house near the baths, 
 we were much too sulky to believe their report. 
 
 At length, about ten o'clock, when almost 
 entirely exhausted with vexation and fatigue, we 
 found ourselves by the side of a roaring stream, 
 coursing down the centre of a narrow valley, which 
 after a few windings opened into a wide avenue, 
 or what in the darkness seemed to be one. At 
 the farther end, under the deep shadow of the 
 mountain, there appeared to us to lie a grand 
 castle, and a near approach did not belie the first 
 impression. The guide had no sooner touched the 
 door than it flew open, and two fair damsels walked 
 out to receive us, each holding a lighted taper in 
 her hand. Both were so becomingly, even ele- 
 gantly dressed, that we felt quite at a loss whether 
 to consider them as attendants, or as the mistresses 
 of the mansion. What followed only increased 
 the mystery, for as we passed through the lobby, a 
 
68 
 
 still more gaily-attired and noble-looking dame 
 stepped forward to conduct us, as she said, to the 
 banquet, which was all ready, and the company 
 waiting only for us ! As she spoke these words, 
 she ushered us into a hall, so splendidly lighted, that 
 the transition from total darkness in which we had 
 been travelling for some hours, at first quite 
 dazzled our eyes. When we could look round, 
 we beheld a company of thirty or forty persons 
 at a supper-table, at which seats had been re- 
 served for us ; the whole scene having as magical 
 an appearance as anything in the Arabian Nights' 
 Entertainments ! While lost in astonishment at 
 what all this might mean, we gladly availed our- 
 selves of these unlooked-for and wonderful prepa- 
 rations, and readily joined the feast set before us, 
 with a zest sharpened by the previous fatigue and 
 despair. 
 
 W^hen I had time to look about me, I disco- 
 vered that I was seated near a French lady, with 
 four pretty daughters, one of whom looked so 
 archly and inquisitively, and seemed so ready to 
 talk, that I ventured to commence an acquaint- 
 ance without any introduction. She caught at the 
 opportunity with the ready vivacity of her country, 
 and as there happened to be a vacant place next 
 me, which I made a slight telegraphic signal for 
 her to occupy, she presently took possession of it. 
 
69 
 
 In this merry coterie were soon forgotten all the 
 toils and troubles of the weary journey. 
 
 My fair coquette, who was infinitely amused at 
 our having mistaken an inn, Don Quixote fashion, 
 for an enchanted castle, after quizzing our igno- 
 rance most unmercifully, set about explaining that 
 the feast before us was not enchanted at all, but 
 merely the table-d"*h6te supper of the celebrated 
 watering-place of St. Gervais — that our magnificent 
 reception, and all the preparations which had sur- 
 prised us so much, arose simply from the frequency 
 of visitors like ourselves arriving at all hours — that 
 the stately lady who received us in the hall was 
 the worthy mistress of the hotel, who, on hearing 
 the bell, had courteously left the head of the table 
 to welcome us — and, finally, that the two damsels 
 — or fair virgins of the tapers — who met us at 
 the door, were no other than those distinguished 
 personages called house-maids, in charge of the 
 sleeping apartments, who came to reconnoitre the 
 numbers of the new party, in order to know how 
 many beds would be required — and so on with all 
 the rest of the scene ! 
 
 The illusion was gone, but the substance re- 
 mained, and I made my ground so firmly with the 
 ladies, that on their quitting the great hall, they 
 said that as my lodging lay near their house, 
 which stood at the distance of only one hundred 
 
70 
 
 and fifty yards, I might just as well take advan- 
 tage of the light of their lantern across the green. 
 Being nothing loath, I gave one arm to the mother, 
 my pretty little flirt took the other, and away we set, 
 laughing and talking as cheerily and confidentially 
 as if we had known one another for the last half-a- 
 dozen years ! 
 
71 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN ALPINE SUPPER. 
 
 Long before the rest of the watering-place world 
 of St. Gervais were thinking of stirring from their 
 beds, I was up and dressed, and brushing away the 
 morning dew on the glorious mountain sides, that 
 I might enjoy the never-ending, still-beginning 
 pleasure of seeing the sun rise among the snowy 
 ridges in the east, some of which, though not quite 
 so sublime as those of Mont Blanc, are perhaps 
 fully more beautiful in their outline. 
 
 From a few words let fall over night by my fair 
 friend of the supper, I was led to suppose that it 
 was also her practice to take an early walk near the 
 fountain-head, or ' source,' of the mineral waters to 
 which the great celebrity of these baths is due. As 
 I had dreamed half the night over this prospect of 
 a meeting, I felt a little fluttered, on hearing the 
 tread of a single person, as I traced the narrow soli- 
 tary path in the forest, and half fearing that I had 
 carried my advances too far, I was considering 
 how I might best back out of the scrape myself. 
 
72 
 
 without, at the same time, altogether, breaking the 
 young lady's heart. But, at the turn of the road, 
 what should my expected wood nymph prove, but 
 a " lubberly post-boy ! " Not that exactly, though 
 just as bad, being only the carpenter of the works, 
 on an early inspection of the baths. 
 
 Although I felt so provoked, that I could scarcely 
 answer him with civility, he carried me to the spring, 
 and there, in an evil hour, persuaded me to drink a 
 tumblerful of its abominable waters ; and not con- 
 tent with this, advised me to jump into one of the 
 hot baths. Had this luxury been within my reach 
 at the close instead of the beginning of this arduous 
 day's journey, it might have done me good, — as it 
 was, either it or the horrid water did me such mis- 
 chief, that I venture strongly to recommend any 
 one who has an Alpine walk of thirty miles a-head 
 of him, to avoid mineral springs and hot baths as 
 he would the plague. 
 
 The day proved roasting hot. Not the least trace 
 of a cloud was to be seen above, and as not a breath 
 of air was stirring below in the mountain valleys, 
 we were almost choked with dust by the time we 
 reached the village of Contamines, and so parched 
 with thirst, that, in spite of the vehement remon- 
 strances of the guides, we swallowed glass after glass 
 of ice-cold water, qualified, that is, rendered still more 
 prejudicial, by the admixture of the sourest kind of 
 
73 
 
 wine. One of the travelling party, who had more 
 prudence than the rest, but who did not join us 
 till the aforesaid debauch was over, lectured us so 
 stoutly on the danger of an inflammation of the 
 stomach, that we hurried on at a great pace in order 
 to regain the warmth which the iced water had 
 abstracted. Just as this point was accomplished, and 
 we had become as indiscreetly heated as we had pre- 
 viously been cooled, it came on to rain so suddenly, 
 that before we could get hold of our umbrellas, 
 which had been left with the muleteers, we were 
 thoroughly drenched. 
 
 In our frame of mind, and with youth and health 
 on our side, these were annoyances only to be 
 laughed at; but we presently discovered a more 
 serious cause of uneasiness in the ignorance of our 
 guides. Having made the unpleasant discovery 
 at the baths of St. Gervais, that neither of the two 
 men we had brought with us from Chamouni had ever 
 made the tour of Mont Blanc, a debate had arisen 
 as to the propriety of taking one additional guide 
 who offered himself, or of saving the twelve francs 
 which he would have cost us. Economy prevailed; 
 and, as usual in such cases, we had very nearly paid 
 with our lives for this foolish thrift, — a fate which 
 actually befel several members of another party, in 
 attempting to cross the very same pass, a few years 
 after the time I am speaking of. Let no one, there- 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 
 
 fore, when rambling amongst the higher Alps, forget 
 that no money is so well bestowed as the wages of 
 first-rate guides, nor is anything so fraught with 
 danger as disregarding their advice, or declining 
 their assistance in difficulties. 
 
 By the time the shower of rain, or rather of cold 
 sleet, above alluded to, was over, we began to find 
 ourselves involved in much more serious embarrass- 
 ments. We had now ascended the Col, or high shoul- 
 der of the mountain, till we were almost beyond the 
 range of vegetation ; but no path could we discover, 
 while the cliffs before and on each side of us, either 
 offered no opening at all, or offered too many, 
 since no one knew which to follow. The day also 
 was fast advancing, and it is hard to say what we 
 should have done had we not espied a cottage at a 
 distance. The involuntary shout of joy with which 
 the sight was hailed, both by guides and masters, 
 betrayed the anxiety which all had felt, and the 
 necessity of obtaining better pilotage than we 
 possessed. 
 
 Within the house, if such a wretched pile of 
 turf and stones deserve the name, we found a nice 
 busy old body seated between her two children, or 
 more probably, her grandchildren, one of whom, a 
 boy, was pounding a mess of salt, — the other, a 
 pretty little girl, though as brown as any berry, 
 sitting on a bench with a huge wooden bowl of 
 
75 
 
 milk in her lap. They seemed greatly surprised 
 at our invasion of their cabin, but with the free 
 hospitality of the mountains, the old lady pressed 
 her stores of milk and cheese upon us, — handing 
 us wooden spoons, and setting before each one 
 a bowl of milk. Thus, to the vile mineral water 
 of the spring, the coffee and fruit of a copious 
 breakfast, the iced water and sour wine of Conta- 
 mines, were now superadded a bowl of milk, and a 
 slice of hard goat-milk cheese. Verily, a man 
 ought to be fitted with a stomach like an ostrich 
 if he is to take such liberties ! 
 
 Our luncheon, or dinner, or whatever name it 
 deserves, being ended, not for want of more appe- 
 tite, but for want of more to eat, we propounded 
 to the old lady our much more important difficulty 
 arising out of the ignorance of our guides, and 
 asked the venerable dame if she would allow the 
 boy to go with us to show us the way ? 
 
 " Bless me ! " said the old lady, " did you not 
 know that the Col de Bonhomme was one of the 
 most dangerous passes that we have, and that no 
 one should attempt it without experienced guides ? 
 Why did you not take an additional guide from 
 the baths?" 
 
 Our over-economical cash-keeper looked rather 
 put out by this appeal to his prudence versus his 
 pocket, — and even the guides seemed not a little 
 
 e2 
 
76 
 
 ashamed of themselves for having too greedily 
 undertaken what they could not perform, so that 
 none of us had a word to say for ourselves. At 
 first the old lady consented to our taking the boy 
 with us, — but, suddenly changing her mind, she 
 exclaimed, " You'll all be lost in the snow, and the 
 boy along with you — or you'll fall over the cliffs— 
 or lose your way in the ravines, — so I'll e'en go 
 myself." 
 
 The spirited old girl having made this magnani- 
 mous resolution, lost no time in preparing herself, 
 for, as she said, looking to the western sky, '* we have 
 but scant daylight for the long and laborious task be- 
 fore us." At first sight we had supposed her too old 
 and infirm to have guided any one more than fifty 
 yards from her own hut, — but no sooner had she re- 
 solved to accompany us, than she skipped up a ladder 
 into an open loft facing us, which occupied half the 
 length of the building, and there, though still in our 
 presence, she made her hasty mountain toilet, without 
 any reserves, sincere or affected. Her first opera- 
 tion consisted in drawing on a long pair of blue 
 worsted stockings, then she pinned round her waist 
 a red apron, and having planted firmly on her head 
 one of the great hats of the Savoyard peasantry, she 
 secured it by a double turn of a long blue handker- 
 chief or scarf tied under her chin. This done, she 
 ran to the cupboard, filled out and drank ofi" a large 
 
77 
 
 tumbler of wine, poured another down the boy's 
 throat, and, on her way back to the cupboard, 
 swallowed a second allowance herself. 
 
 "Now," she exclaimed, "I am all ready !"" 
 and off she shot, exclaiming in answer to our en- 
 treaties for her to mount, that the mountaineers 
 never rode — a most false assertion — for she had not 
 gone above a dozen yards before she seized the 
 bridle of one of the mules, led it to a stone, and 
 having mounted, continued riding all the way to 
 the top of the pass. 
 
 Whether it was that the dame saw we were a little 
 crest-fallen and worn out, and thought we required 
 stirring up, or that the wine had got in her old 
 head — or that such was her natural disposition, I 
 know not — but never woman rattled on as she 
 did. Her voice though shrill was not unmusical, 
 and her words being articulated with uncommon 
 distinctness, we could gather a good deal of what 
 she said, even when she addressed herself to the 
 guides in the " patois " of the district. Her comical 
 anecdotes, and merry jests at the helpless condition 
 of the party, kept us laughing the whole way, 
 and, perhaps, her good humour as essentially con- 
 tributed to the success of our expedition, as did her 
 local knowledge, without which we could not have 
 stirred a step in safety in those wild regions. 
 
 On reaching the top of a ridge between 7000 
 
78 
 
 and 8000 feet high, there lay before us so grand a 
 view of Mont Blanc, that, thinking this must be 
 the summit level of the Col, we halted to admire 
 the surpassing beauties of the scene ; but our lady 
 of the snows would by no means allow such trifling, 
 as she called it, and rather angrily urged us onwards 
 — loudly declaring that if we did not make haste, 
 we should all be benighted amongst the hills, and 
 find it equally difficult to return or to advance. 
 
 Both our energies and our fears were quickened on 
 this occasion by what we had been reading in Ebel's 
 celebrated " Manuel du Voyageur en Suisse,"" pro- 
 bably the best guide-book ever published. Speak- 
 ing of the Col de Bonhomme, he says : " This pass 
 is extremely steep, and is dangerous on account of 
 the precipices by which it is fringed; and it is on 
 this account that the route should be attempted only 
 when the weather is calm and serene. Even the 
 mules have no small difficulty in getting along, in 
 consequence of the extreme slipperiness of the 
 rocks at some stages of the pass." 
 
 It was a grievous disappointment to us all, to 
 find that so far from being at the top of the ridge, we 
 had yet a long way to climb ; indeed every one of 
 the party was now so fatigued, that I do not think 
 anything short of the alarming stimulus which the 
 old lady applied, would have dragged us along. As 
 for me — the wicked indulgences of the day — the 
 
79 
 
 mineral beverage — the ravenous breakfast — the 
 iced water and sour wine — the cream and the cheese 
 — pressed so sorely upon me, that 1 really thought 
 I must have dropped, and been left to end my days 
 in some crevice of the rocks ; for the road had be- 
 come far too steep and rugged to admit of our 
 mounting the mules, and sometimes the path coasted 
 along steep banks of slippery snow, or almost as 
 slippery faces of rock. 
 
 At length, after a weary climb, we did gain the 
 top of the pass, and then, to be sure, we were well 
 repaid for all our toils. It will often happen in 
 surmounting such ridges that we are painfully 
 reminded of the beautiful figure which the poet 
 has borrowed from them ; and as real Alps o'er 
 real Alps arise, we are forced to moralise, in spite 
 of ourselves, being taught by experience how 
 essentially, instead of becoming less, the labours 
 increase as the work advances. Perhaps I may be 
 permitted to remark, in passing over the Alps, that 
 Pope in his celebrated passage rather over-illus- 
 trates, if I may so speak, his position, for it is not 
 true, as the poet clearly means to insinuate, in the 
 arts and sciences at least, that the growing labours 
 of the way have a discouraging effect on the student 
 who is ardent in his inquiries. On the contrary, 
 it would rather seem that this very inexhaustible 
 quality of scientific research, of which he speaks. 
 
80 
 
 furnishes one of its principal charms ; and that if 
 the summit ridge of any science could be reached 
 — which is impossible — the pleasure of the pursuit 
 would be at an end. 
 
 As the passage alluded to may perhaps not be 
 present to the memory of some of my young readers, 
 I venture to quote it just as we spouted it aloud to 
 one another on the top of what had seemed — but 
 erroneously as we then found — the highest crest of 
 the mountain : — 
 
 Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts, 
 In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts ; 
 While, from the bounded level of our mind, 
 Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; 
 But more advanced, behold with strange surprise 
 New, distant, scenes of endless science rise ! 
 So, pleased at first, the tow'ring Alps we try, 
 Mount o'er the vales and seem to tread the sky ! 
 The eternal snows appear already past, 
 And the first clouds and mountains seem the last ; 
 But those attained, we tremble to survey 
 The growing labour of the lengthen 'd way ; 
 The increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, 
 Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps o'er Alps arise ! 
 
 Little recked our petticoated guide of these re- 
 finements ; and, for that matter, we stopped not to 
 speculate on the causes of our pleasure, which, in 
 spite of all our fatigue, was very great. 1 do not 
 think that ever, before or since, I have beheld 
 a more splendid prospect. On looking back to 
 
81 
 
 the north and west we saw the valleys of Mont- 
 joie and Beaufort formed by several ridges of 
 towering Alps; and before us, in the east, a great 
 basin of a circular form, with our old friend Mont 
 Blanc on one side of it, and an endless succes- 
 sion of lesser ridges of the most fantastic forms 
 on the other. On the tops of all these mountains, 
 including that on which we stood, there lay a coat- 
 ing—God only knows how deep — of eternal snow, — 
 at some places smooth, pure, and perfectly white ; 
 at others, scarped, rugged, and tarnished with the 
 fragments of ten thousand avalanches. But, in the 
 valley beneath, in which the Isere takes its rise, 
 and on all the lower parts of those sides of the 
 mountains which face the warm south, there lay 
 before us a carpet of such enchanting verdure, 
 that we could have feasted on the sight for ever ; 
 and much we envied the droves of cattle we saw 
 straying on the grass many thousands of feet below 
 us. 
 
 By this time the sun had fallen so low, that only 
 the tops of the hills were enjoying its full light, and 
 our bronze-faced venerable female guide repeatedly 
 called to us to lose no more time with our nonsensical 
 raptures ; at the same moment, with very signifi- 
 cant gesticulations, she indicated the way we were to 
 take, bawling her instructions as to our course into 
 the ears of the sorely-bothered male attendants, 
 
 E 3 
 
82 
 
 who had lon^ ceased to merit the name of guides. 
 Our alarm at this juncture became great on finding 
 that our only stay — albeit only an elderly gentle- 
 woman among a party of young and active men ! 
 — was about to abandon us to our fate, and to return 
 to her home in the valley. We stoutly remon- 
 strated, and tried to persuade her of the unreason- 
 ableness, as well as wickedness, of leaving such a 
 party, in such a place, and at such an hour. " Can 
 you," we exclaimed, half jocularly and half in 
 earnest, " can you leave us on the top of this high 
 and snowy ridge, at sunset, with several leagues of 
 difficult and dangerous journey still before us, a 
 great part of which, by your own showing, lies along 
 the very edge of a glacier ?" 
 
 She turned so deaf an ear to all these remon- 
 strances, that at last we became seriously alarmed ; 
 and I do not know what must have happened 
 had not the proverbial effect of gold on a female 
 heart been brought into play. Our prudent purse- 
 bearer had already tried the efficacy of silver, by 
 offering her twice the number of pieces stipulated for, 
 but from the proffered money she selected only the 
 exact number agreed upon, and then, to our horror, 
 fairly turned her back upon us, and trudged off! 
 While this abortive negotiation was going on, I 
 had observed the little effect produced by the sight 
 of a handful of five-franc pieces, and suddenly 
 
83 
 
 recollecting Gray's fable of the Cat and the Fish 
 ran after her and showed her a gold coin. She 
 paused, looked first at the western sky, where the 
 sun reigned no longer, then at the top of Mont 
 Blanc, and lastly at the valley beneath, as if she 
 were calculating the chances for and against our 
 necks, on the score of light, steepness, and distance. 
 Having made her computations, she clutched the 
 gold out of my hand, pocketed it with a loud laugh, 
 and then turning round, planted her arms a-kimbo, 
 and with only a shrill exclamation for us all to 
 follow, dashed down the hill side with the speed of 
 a chamois ! 
 
 It is not probable that this good lady knew much 
 about the mathematical theory of the curve of quick- 
 est descent, but we soon knew practically that it 
 was exceedingly difficult to follow her ladyship 
 down the bank of snow. Nevertheless away we all 
 ran, as well as we might; and what was very 
 ludicrous, the mules, apparently as well accustomed 
 to such scenes as the old dame herself, fairly placed 
 themselves on their rumps, with all their four feet 
 gathered together into a knot in front of them, and 
 slid from top to bottom with a degree of confidence 
 which their human masters were far from sharing. 
 At one place I quite lost my hold of the ground 
 with my feet, and feeling my head beginning to spin 
 round, might have been projected forwards with 
 
84 
 
 accelerating velocity over the precipice, liad it not 
 been for the timely assistance of the mountain 
 "baton," the right use of which I had learned only a 
 few days before, on my expedition to the " Jardin." 
 It is worth while saying a few words about this 
 baton, which is one of the most important parts of 
 an Alpine traveller's equipment. It is a stout staff, 
 generally of ash, between five and six feet long, 
 with an iron spike at its larger end, and serves at 
 all times as a pleasant walking-stick, but is pecu- 
 liarly useful in climbing hills, by bringing the other- 
 wise wasted power of the arms to help the ascent. 
 It is of still greater use in coming down steep hills, 
 though very serviceable in going along their sides, at 
 places where there may happen to be no path. But 
 on no occasion is the baton so indispensable as in 
 descending a steep face of snow, by the operation 
 technically known by the word " glisser," to slip or 
 slide, which is thus performed: — The traveller 
 plants his heels in the snow, inclines himself a little 
 backwards out of the perpendicular, so as to rest a 
 certain portion of his weight on the baton, the spike 
 of which being thrust into the snow behind him, or 
 rather on one side, one of his hands grasps it 
 near the top, the other holds it fast near the bottom, 
 the baton itself being inclined a little forwards. 
 His upper hand is thus thrown before him, some- 
 what lower than his head, while the other hand 
 
S5 
 
 is behind, and near the ground. If the baton be 
 on his right side, the right hand is the lowest of 
 the two, and vice versa. When he wishes to remain 
 fast, he has only to thrust the spike of his baton 
 firmly into the snow, keeping the upper end well 
 up and back withal ; in this position the spike digs 
 itself into and grasps the snow. On the other hand, 
 when he wishes to accelerate his pace, he has only 
 to incline the baton forwards, by which its friction 
 or grasp of the snow is lessened, owing to the spike 
 no longer sticking perpendicularly into it, and acting 
 like a hook ; on the contrary, it now slides readily 
 along. In this way an expert "glisseur " can regu- 
 late the speed of his descent with wonderful pre- 
 cision. He can even stop himself suddenly, by 
 merely bringing his baton again upright, and by 
 the same impulse forcing it deep into the snow, 
 so that, in fact, he makes the spike act the part of 
 the fluke of an anchor, whenever he wishes to stop. 
 By this slippery process, and guided always by 
 our female commodore, we made our way in about 
 five minutes down so long a bank of snow that, if 
 we could have come up it at all, which from its 
 steepness I should say was impossible, it would 
 have cost us an hour's hard work. We now found 
 ourselves upon terra firma, and very glad we were 
 to land there with unbroken bones. We had still 
 sundry cliffs to get over, and two or three streams 
 
86 
 
 to cross, but these were trifles. At length, after 
 much scrambling, growling, and laughing, we 
 gained the long-wished-for rich grassy banks, upon 
 which we had looked down with such longing eyes 
 from the top of the far-ofF Col. It was now nearly 
 dark, but from the numerous cattle we passed, we 
 felt sure we must be near some habitation, and this 
 hope giving us fresh spirits we passed merrily along 
 the turf, the springiness of which proved a vast 
 relief after the dead tread on the non-elastic snow. 
 The air, too, which, on the top of the pass, had 
 nipped us to the very bone, felt at least twenty 
 degrees warmer in the valley, and proved still more 
 balmy and soothing from the perfect calm hanging 
 over the velvet pasture. 
 
 The cottage or chalet of Motet, which the old lady 
 took us to, turned out, — as such things always, and 
 showy cities often, do, — a miserable contrast to the 
 luxurious splendour of the external world. The 
 hospitable owner indeed gave us a cheerful welcome, 
 and seeing us shivering with cold, busied himself 
 in heaping such wood as he had on the fire. But 
 not a chair was to be seen, nor a bench, nor a 
 single stool, nor even a truckle-bed; and the 
 soft mud floor being quite wet with a mixture 
 of milk and water, curds and whey — to say no- 
 thing of the impure paddling of the feet of sundry 
 hogs and dogs, our fellow guests — it was quite 
 
87 
 
 impossible either to sit or lie down ! When we 
 turned our eyes from the melancholy prospect 
 under foot to the ceiling of this poor abode, we 
 could see the stars twinkling through the rafters 
 and the numerous holes overhead, while the lateral 
 beauties of the Alps might have been observed 
 through the cracks in the walls ; in short, except in 
 the north of Scotland or in Ireland, I never saw 
 a habitation so little commodious either for its 
 Christian or its hoggish inhabitants. 
 
 This sorry sight, viewed at first by the wearied 
 party with surprise, presently excited a feeling 
 of anger — though with whom to be displeased 
 we knew not. The next emotion was a sort of 
 despair, followed after a time by one of such ridi- 
 cule, that we burst into a fit of laughter at the 
 extremity of our petty distress. Into this joke, 
 without understanding it, the good old lady 
 peaceably entered, though by this time she was 
 pretty well done up, like the rest. At length 
 it was proposed by one of the party to send out an 
 expedition of discovery, to see whether or not 
 the case were totally irremediable. Every one said 
 it would be a good thing, but nobody started, and 
 we all continued soaking in the dirty puddles of 
 the floor, until the original proposer of the voyage 
 undertook to perform it himself. In his official 
 report on his return, he stated, that he had toot 
 
88 
 
 proceeded far before he fell in with a chalet, 
 resembling the miserable abode first discovered in 
 all respects but one — for this new-found dwelling 
 had above it a loft — in that loft was hay — good dry 
 hay, on a fine dry floor, and overhead a whole roof. 
 What luxury ! Away we ran, and threw ourselves 
 out at full length upon the hay, in such an ecstacy 
 of repose and enjoyment as I, for my share, never 
 experienced before. 
 
 The worthy host, who was extremely amused 
 with our raptures about his loft and his hay, very 
 soon brought us up a great vessel holding at least 
 two gallons of hot milk, which he placed on a small 
 round table about a foot high, adding a loaf or two 
 of his rye bread ; and to each one he gave a wooden 
 bowl and a wooden spoon. We chanced to have a 
 little tea with us ; the water was boiled in a trice; 
 and, in short, our supper proved most delicious. We 
 of course sent for our lady of the valley, never doubt- 
 ing that a bowl of tea would be well bestowed on 
 her — but she had never seen such a thing in her life ! 
 We afterwards gave her some, and tried to explain 
 how it was to be cooked. She put a few leaves into 
 her mouth, and having tasted them, returned the 
 paper, saying she could make no use of such stuff. 
 
 Being now, however, far more disposed for sleep 
 than for talk, we paid olF our female guide, sent 
 away the short-legged table, shook an armful of hay 
 
89 
 
 over its place, laid ourselves down, and slept very 
 happily till about four o'clock next morning, when 
 one of the party chose to dream that we were lying 
 by the side of a glacier, and he must needs get up 
 to warn us of our danger ! Before we got again 
 to sleep, after this friendly caution, the peasants 
 were stirring below, the children began gabbling, 
 and all was clatter and noise, and no more sleep for 
 the travellers ! 
 
90 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE GLACIERS. 
 
 An ingenious, though somewhat paradoxical, 
 author asserts that the period of human life spent 
 in travelling may fairly be reckoned at double the 
 length it would count for if spent at rest. We 
 might subscribe to the truth of the remark if, as is 
 probable, the writer merely meant that in a given 
 space of time a person gains twice as much use- 
 ful experience of the world and its ways, when 
 his understanding and feelings are acted upon by 
 the friction of the external world on a journey, 
 than if they were exposed during the same period to 
 the rust and dust at home. One thing is quite 
 clear, namely, that it will depend essentially on the 
 temperament of the individual, whether the result be 
 a gain or a loss in the balance-sheet of life. Lord 
 Byron, with his mind's eye in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 talks, in his bold and peculiar style, of " curdling a 
 long life into one hour." This is tlie opposite view 
 of the matter ; and unfortunately for him, poor fel- 
 
91 
 
 low, grand poet though he was, and enjoying a splen- 
 did renown, he turned all his experience the wrong 
 way, and by drawing only misery out of his re- 
 searches, curdled his whole existence into a few 
 bitter hours. For my part, I am not ashamed to 
 own myself a disciple of that school the great 
 master of which " clapped his hands cheerly to- 
 gether," and declared, '' that if he were in a desert 
 he would find out wherewith in it to call forth his 
 affections."* In other words, I have found this 
 much abused world a very good sort of a world, 
 both when vegetating, cabbage-fashion, at a fixed 
 point, and when wheeling or sailing along its sur- 
 face. Griefs and crosses will, no doubt, occur in 
 both cases, but even these, if rightly taken, may be 
 of great use, by preventing the wheels of life from 
 catching fire when our rate of going becomes too 
 great, or prevent their being clogged if we become 
 too languid in our pace. 
 
 Be all this, however, as it happens to fall out 
 in the grand tour of existence, there can be no 
 doubt that a day's work amongst the mountains of 
 Switzerland offers an agreeable illustration of the 
 position at the beginning of this chapter, in which 
 it is held that so much more may be seen and done 
 and learned when moving about than when at rest. 
 Nor is the variety of circumstances less than that 
 
 * Sterne : Sentimental Journey. 
 
92 
 
 of the scenery. We may pass the morning in a 
 hot climate, under the shade of such rich foliage as 
 that of the baths of St. Gervais ; at noon be la- 
 bouring ankle-deep in snow on one of the bleakest 
 shoulders of Mont Blanc; and before night be again 
 springing along a grassy meadow in the temperate 
 depths of an Alpine valley. We may thus break- 
 fast at a sumptuous hotel, in company with the 
 best society of Paris or London ; dine on the sum- 
 mit of a barren rock 10,000 feet above the level of 
 the sea, many a weary league from the nearest 
 habitation of man ; and at the close of the day take 
 our supper with the Savoyard peasantry of a region 
 we have never heard of, speaking a language of 
 which we scarcely understand one word in ten ; 
 and at length be glad to lie down to rest on a 
 pallet of straw, in a hovel which, the day before, 
 we would have considered scurvy lodging for our 
 dog! 
 
 It seems admitted by every tourist who has made 
 the journey, that the Allee Blanche, which lies on 
 the southern side of Mont Blanc, forms the most 
 interesting portion of the tour of that great mountain, 
 and in some respects is justly considered one of the 
 most magnificent scenes in all the Alps. Tastes 
 will diifer in these matters ; but to my mind, after 
 having crossed and recrossed these grand chains by 
 ten different passes, I continue of my original 
 
93 
 
 opinion, that the view of Mont Blanc, taken 
 in reverse, from the top of the Col de la Seigne 
 lying at the upper extremity of the Allee Blanche, 
 is the grandest thing I am acquainted with in 
 the way of pure mountain scenery, entirely di- 
 vested of trees or of any sort of verdure, and 
 undecked by anything but snow. Of that, in- 
 deed, the part of the mountain, which faces 
 the south-east, has a smaller portion than any 
 other side, chiefly, or I suppose I might say en- 
 tirely, owing to a circumstance which in another 
 way gives a wonderful degree of magnificence to 
 this particular aspect of the cluster of peaks in- 
 cluded in the general term Mont Blanc. I allude 
 to the steepness of the rocks, which, on the side 
 next the A116e Blanche are so very precipitous that 
 no snow lies upon them, much less can it accumulate 
 there. I therefore advise any one who really has a 
 love for these mountains, and wishes to have the 
 means of judging truly of their merits, to make an 
 expedition to the Allee Blanche, either by the route 
 we took over the Col de Bonhomme, or by the easier 
 though somewhat longer way of the Great St. Ber- 
 nard, Aosta, and Courmayeur, or finally, by the Col 
 de Ferret, from Martigny. Besides this particular 
 view and several others of almost equal magnifi- 
 cence, a trip to the Allee Blanche is well worth 
 while, were it only to see the mighty glaciers of 
 
94 
 
 Miage and Brenva. The glacier of Miage lies 
 near to the top of the valley, between the foot of 
 Mont Blanc and the Col de laSeigne, which is one 
 of its low shoulders. Enormous masses of rock, it is 
 true, are found on that side of the mountain, so 
 precipitous that no snow can lie on them ; but 
 there occur also many valleys and many dis- 
 tricts of rock of much less steepness, some visi- 
 ble, and some out of sight far up amongst the 
 eternal snows. All these furnish materials out of 
 which the enormous glaciers alluded to are formed 
 in a manner I shall afterwards describe. Of these 
 the most remarkable is the glacier of Miage, which 
 not merely comes all down the side of the moun- 
 tain, but actually traverses the valley at right 
 angles, dams up the stream flowing along it, and 
 by a long series of deposits of broken rocks, the 
 detritus of the higher ridges of the Alps, forms a 
 huge rampart across the valley several hundred 
 feet high. Above this mighty natural barrier there 
 is collected the lake of Combal, the waste waters 
 of which have no small difficulty in finding their 
 way past this formidable impediment. They are 
 drawn off by a narrow channel lying between the 
 mountains on the south side of the Allee Blanche, 
 and the end of the embankment of rocks deposited 
 by the glacier. The water from this lake mixing 
 with those caused by the melting of the glacier of 
 
95 
 
 Miage, form the commencement of the river Doire, 
 an important feeder of the Po, into which it falls 
 near Turin. 
 
 I should not be surprised if some day this lake 
 were to prove too strong for its retaining wall, and 
 to burst its way through, carrying with it the gla- 
 cier itself in fragments, and the whole of the huge 
 mass of rocks which it now bears quietly on its 
 back. If this were to happen — and I think I saw 
 geological evidence of similar catastrophes having 
 occurred before on that spot, in some past' ages of 
 the world — the town of Courmayeur, and of course 
 all the villages on the banks of the Doire, would be 
 swept down to the Adriatic ! 
 
 In speaking of the mer-de-glace, I have men- 
 tioned that all, or nearly all, glaciers are surmounted 
 by long ridges of fragments of the rocks cast down 
 upon them by the avalanches. Now it will readily 
 be understood that when a glacier such as that of 
 Miage, though originating in the cold regions at 
 the top, forces its way down to the warm climate of 
 the valleys, all that part of it which consists of ice 
 and snow, when it reaches so far, must in process 
 of time be melted. But in so doing, as the huge 
 moraines or embankments of broken rocks, lying 
 on the top of the glacier, cannot be got rid of in this 
 way, they fall down, in confused heaps, as soon as 
 the ice which supports them disappears. Moreover, 
 
96 
 
 it will be apparent that as the glacier brings down 
 a fresh supply of similar materials every season, 
 and as a considerable portion of these fragments are 
 disengaged every summer by the ice melting, such 
 an accumulation must in time take place as makes 
 the imagination of any one but a stout-hearted 
 geologist giddy. I, at least, cannot conceive that 
 there exists any mortal, male or female, scientific 
 or otherwise, who has the smallest trace of reflec- 
 tion, who could view this extraordinary scene with- 
 out emotion. I am acquainted with only one other 
 scene in the world which can pretend to rival, in 
 natural magnificence, the glacier de Miage ; I 
 mean Niagara, which is, no doubt, even more sim- 
 ple in its grandeur, and being far more beautiful 
 upon the whole, is more pleasing as an object of 
 contemplation. Niagara, like those finished works 
 of Grecian art, such as we may conceive the 
 Elofin marbles to have been when entire, is so 
 perfect as to leave nothing for the imagination to 
 wish for. The glacier of Miage has no pretensions 
 to beauty ; on the contrary, it is a sort of monster, 
 whose magnificence is due chiefly to its enormous 
 size, and to the savage variety of its structure, 
 coupled with its utter incongruity with the surround- 
 ing scenery. At Niagara everything is smooth, 
 uniform, graceful, and solemn, far beyond the power 
 of any fancy to conceive. Nor can there be any 
 
97 
 
 doubt, I think, that this solemnity is enhanced by 
 the excessive tameness of the flat and uninteresting 
 country adjacent to the Falls, which leaves them, so 
 far as scenery is concerned, in complete solitude, 
 — albeit surrounded by innumerable villages and 
 bridges, each one more ungraceful and unpictur- 
 esque than the other, — not to speak of the hideous 
 mills, or " hydraulic powers,"" as they are called 
 by the Americans, by Avhich a portion of the cata- 
 ract is borrowed for the vulgar uses of man. 
 
 It is very different indeed, and, fortunately for 
 the picturesque, it ever must remain so, with the 
 stupendous glaciers I am speaking of; and nothing 
 can speak more strongly in favour of their claims 
 to magnificence than the fact of their being able 
 to make any show at all in the company of such 
 mountains as the Alps. I am not sure that even 
 the great Niagara itself could hold its ground by the 
 side of the still more awful Mont Blanc. I wish T 
 could persuade my friend Mr. Burford, the most 
 skilful of panorama painters, to present us with a 
 good view of either the glacier de Miage, or that 
 of Brenva, taken from so short a distance that this 
 characteristic object should form the principal 
 feature in the picture, and not be brought in, as 
 it generally is, as a mere accessory to the mountain 
 scenery. 
 
 Few persons, even of those who have repeat- 
 
 voL. I. r 
 
98 
 
 edly visited Switzerland, and have crossed and re- 
 crossed the Alps many times, are aware of the 
 origin, structure, and movements of these singular 
 masses. The accomplished and thoroughly informed 
 Mons. Ebel says, there may be at least four hun- 
 dred glaciers in number, ranging from three or four 
 to between twenty and thirty miles in length. 
 The depth, he says, is in some only a hundred 
 feet, but in many it is six or seven hundred feet. 
 It is difficult to form an estimate of the ground 
 actually covered by the whole of the glaciers of 
 Switzerland, but Ebel computes that the aggregate 
 area which they occupy, cannot be much less than 
 a hundred and thirty square leagues, which may 
 be taken at about twelve hundred square miles ! 
 
 In considering this question of glaciers, it is par- 
 ticularly interesting and instructive to bear in mind, 
 that those innumerable icebergs, or huge islands of 
 ice, which float about not merely in the Polar seas, 
 but are frequently drifted into the middle latitudes 
 of the temperate zones of both hemispheres, have 
 all, in their day, been merely glaciers. The only 
 difl'erence between these wandering icebergs and 
 the comparatively fixed glaciers of the Alps, is, 
 that those which have formed the icebergs, must have 
 terminated in valleys opening into the sea; whereas, 
 the others run into valleys terminating on dry land. 
 The glaciers which come down from the Alps of 
 
99 
 
 Savoy, Switzerland, and the Tyrol, on reaching the 
 warm districts below, are gradually melted into the 
 four great rivers of Europe — the Po and the Rhone 
 on the south, the Danube and the Rhine on the 
 north. But the Polar snows, arctic or antarctic, when 
 formed into glaciers of exactly the same description, 
 experience, it would seem, a very different fate, 
 or, to speak more correctly, they run a very dif- 
 ferent course before they experience exactly the 
 same eventual fate, — that is, to mingle with the 
 ocean. The Polar valleys, so far as we know about 
 them, generally lead at once into seas, the tempera- 
 ture of which is not many degrees above the freezing 
 point; consequently, the melting process goes on 
 so slowly, that when they have been protruded to 
 a sufficient distance from the shore to come within 
 the influence of the tides, or currents, their ends are 
 snapped off, and then they form those floating islands 
 called icebergs. I may remark, in passing, that of all 
 the dangers which harass navigators, these are among 
 the most perplexing; because no efforts of skill, 
 nor any length of experience, can give him a know- 
 ledge of their position. In the darkness of the 
 long nights of high latitudes, his utmost care and 
 vigilance, and all his usual resources — his lead, lati- 
 tude, and look out — often give him no warning of 
 his proximity to these erratic shoals or floating 
 reefs. 
 
 F 2 
 
100 
 
 The use of the word erratic reminds me, that 
 almost every iceberg which ships fall in with, like 
 almost every glacier in the Alps, is covered thick 
 with boulders or masses of stone, from the size of 
 one''s hand to that of a house. In the case of the 
 Alpine glaciers, the blocks which they carry along 
 are either quietly deposited amidst the forests, vine- 
 yards, and green pastures of the lower valleys, on 
 the melting of the ice ; or they may occasionally be 
 hurried along for some miles by such a debacle as that 
 which nearly destroyed Martigny. But in regions 
 nearer the Pole, where the climate, even of the lower 
 districts, is so severe that no such melting process 
 takes place, almost all the materials brought down 
 by the glaciers are carried off to sea. The follow- 
 ing passage from Mr. LyelFs invaluable work called 
 Principles of Geology, gives a very graphic picture 
 of the manner in which this branch of the disinte- 
 gration of the earth's surface is carried on. 
 
 " In northern latitudes, where glaciers descend 
 into valleys terminating in the sea, great masses 
 of ice, on arriving at the shore, are occasionally 
 detached and floated off, together with their mo- 
 raine. The currents of the ocean are then 
 often instrumental in transporting them to great 
 distances. Scoresby counted five hundred icebergs 
 drifting along in latitude 69 '^ and 70^ north, which 
 rose above the surface from the height of one 
 
101 
 
 to two hundred feet, and measured from a few 
 yards to a mile in circumference. Many of these," 
 continues Lyell, " contained strata of earth and 
 stones, or were loaded with beds of rock of great 
 thickness, of which the weight was conjectured 
 to be from fifty thousand to one hundred thou- 
 sand tons. Such bergs must be of great mag- 
 nitude, because the mass of ice below the level of 
 the water is between seven and eight times greater 
 than that above. Whenever they are dissolved, 
 it is evident that the moraine will fall to the bottom 
 of the sea. In this manner may submarine valleys, 
 mountains, and platforms, become strewed over 
 with scattered blocks of foreio;n rock, of a nature 
 perfectly dissimilar from all in the vicinity, and 
 which may have been transported across unfathom- 
 able abysses. Some ice islands have been known 
 to drift from Baffin's Bay to the Azores, and from 
 the South Pole to the immediate neighbourhood of 
 the Cape of Good Hope*." 
 
 I may add to the above statement, that I have 
 counted thirty such icebergs at one moment, off 
 Cape Horn, and some of them greatly exceed- 
 ing in size the largest dimension mentioned by 
 Scoresby. 
 
 It is curious to observe how these wandering 
 
 * Principles of Geology, by Charles Lyell, vol. i. p. 270, 5th 
 Edition — London, 1837. 
 
102 
 
 masses of rock may be exposed to further transpor- 
 tation by the same causes somewhat varied. Mr. 
 Lyell says : "In the Baltic, large erratic blocks, 
 as well as sand and smaller stones which lie on 
 shoals, are liable every year to be frozen into 
 the ice, where the sea freezes to the depth of five 
 or six feet. On the melting of the snow in spring, 
 when the sea rises about half a fathom, numerous 
 ice islands float away, bearing up these rocky frag- 
 ments, so as to convey them to a distance ; and if 
 they are driven by the waves upon shoals, they may 
 convert them into islands, by depositing the blocks ; 
 or if stranded upon low islands, they may consider- 
 ably augment their height*.*" 
 
 All this is matter of fact and direct observation ; 
 but it does not seem difficult to go a step farther, 
 in order to conceive what must take place when the 
 floor of the ocean shall be raised above the surface 
 of the sea by the successive action of volcanic ele- 
 vations, after the manner in which it is now pretty 
 generally admitted by geologists various parts of 
 the earth's surface are rising. In process of time, 
 the sandy, or gravelly, or muddy, or rocky bed of 
 the sea, will become dry land, on the surface of 
 which will inevitably be found multitudes of boul- 
 ders or erratic blocks, such as we now observe 
 strewed over the sandy plains of Prussia, and on 
 
 * Principles of Geology, vol. ii. p. 289. 
 
103 
 
 the ridges of the Jura ; — all of these were probably 
 dropped down from melting icebergs in former 
 epochs of the world's history perhaps not very re- 
 mote (geologically speaking), floating on the sur- 
 face of those seas, which, from a variety of other 
 proofs, we know must, at some period or other, 
 have covered Europe*. 
 
 A little observation shows, that above a certain 
 elevation, the mountains are covered with eternal 
 snow; and likewise teaches us, that above another 
 level, which varies according to circumstances, snow 
 falls in greater or less quantity during nine months 
 of the year. The accumulation which results from 
 this is so great, that immense masses of snow are, 
 at all times of the year, thrown from the higher 
 ridges into the upper valleys of the Alps. At some 
 seasons these avalanches, as they are called, are 
 
 * The celebrated M. Agassiz has lately broached a set of en- 
 tirely new doctrines respecting the transportation of the multitude 
 of erratic blocks scattered over the sides of the Jura and other 
 ridges of mountains. — See his Discourse pronounced before the 
 Helvetic Society of Natural Sciences at Neufchatel, on the '24th 
 of July, 1837. To give any intelligible account of his theory 
 would require a longer explanation than I can afford room for ; 
 but the topic is one which is full of the highest geological interest, 
 and is well worthy the most careful study. 
 
 See also a minute and truly philosophical disquisition on the 
 whole topic of glaciers, and on the history of erratic blocks, in 
 Chapter XIII. of Mr. Darwin's Journal, which forms the third 
 volume of Captain Fitzroy's interesting and important Voyage 
 recently published. 
 
104 
 
 much more frequent and extensive than at others. 
 In spring, or just before summer, when the heat 
 of the sun begins to be felt, and after the long 
 winter has deposited its cargo of snow, the avalan- 
 ches are greatest. These enormous accumulations 
 piled one over another in the Alpine valleys, be- 
 come partially melted by the heat, but as their mass 
 is much too great to allow of their being entirely 
 dissipated during the short summer of those high re- 
 gions, they last till winter comes on, when they are 
 frozen into a mass, more or less solid, according to 
 circumstances which I shall presently explain. In 
 those valleys which are most shaded by the ridges 
 of the mountains, the size and progress of the gla- 
 ciers are very different from what they are in those 
 which are more exposed to the rays of the sun. It 
 must be recollected, too, that the beds of all the upper 
 valleys of Alps are considerably inclined, and that 
 the channels of those ravines, especially, which lie 
 near the very top, are exceedingly steep ; the con- 
 sequence is, that when the successive layers of 
 snow, often several hundreds of feet in thickness, 
 come to be half melted by the sun, and by the iimu- 
 merable torrents which are poured upon them from 
 every side, to say nothing of the heavy rains of 
 summer, they form a mass, not liquid indeed, but 
 such as has a tendency to move down the highly 
 inclined faces on which they lie, every part of which 
 
105 
 
 is not only well lubricated by running streams 
 resulting from the melting snows on every side, 
 but has been well polished by the friction of ages 
 of antecedent glaciers. 
 
 Every summer, a certain but very slow advance 
 is made by these huge, sluggish, slushy, half-snowy, 
 half-icy, accumulations. But when winter comes, 
 all the streams which in summer had flowed under 
 the glaciers, and at their sides, between it and the 
 retaining cliffs, and had served as so much oil to their 
 wheels, are now frozen up, and act the part of glue 
 to bind the enormous masses firmly in the valley. 
 Hence it may be useful to observe, that this very 
 act of freezing, while it contributes essentially to 
 the solidity of the glaciers, and effectually, as I have 
 said, arrests their progress for a season, is one cause 
 of their disruption, by the irresistible, or almost 
 irresistible, expansive force of water at the moment 
 of congelation. Meanwhile, that is during the long 
 winter, fresh snow goes on accumulating above with 
 great rapidity, particularly near the sources of the 
 glaciers ; for, like a river, each glacier is generally 
 fed with snow from many different valleys, all 
 eventually meeting in one point. By this means 
 the enormous loads of snow which the glaciers 
 have to support, are annually augmented in 
 size and weight by the time spring comes round 
 again. It will also be easily u^iderstood how the 
 
 f3 
 
106 
 
 lower portions must be thrust not only further 
 downwards but onwards into the valleys, by the 
 constantly increasing pressure of this vast load of 
 snow. The descent begins the moment the heat is 
 great enough to melt the ice, which has not only 
 cemented the bottoms and sides of the glaciers to 
 the rocks during winter, but has acted the part of 
 a wedge to fix the glacier into its place. 
 
 In the hot months, although the actual motion 
 in advance of each separate glacier cannot be per- 
 ceived, on account of its extreme slowness, yet 
 there are sundry strange, deep-seated noises, and 
 various other symptoms of motion, which may be 
 detected by a little patient observation. During 
 winter, on the other hand, when no movement of 
 any kind is to be perceived, the most profound 
 silence reigns over every part of the glacier. But 
 the moment the warm weather commences, and 
 during the whole course of summer, the glacier is 
 not only in motion, but gives forth sounds, which 
 are exceedingly striking and unlike any others I 
 am acquainted with. If we listen attentively we can 
 always hear some sounds — often like that of distant 
 thunder caused by the ice breaking across from side 
 to side — these sounds are generally accompanied by 
 a kind of faint, earthquake sensation. At others, 
 we can hear a sort of mysterious groaning produced 
 by some unseen, internal mass giving way, or per- 
 
107 
 
 haps by pieces rolling into the numerous vaults, 
 scooped out by the running water which insinuates 
 itself into the glacier on all sides, eating out its 
 very vitals ! We are sure also, at such seasons, to 
 distinguish, almost without interruption, the noise of 
 avalanches, more or less distant; but these sounds 
 afford no evidence of the glacier itself being in 
 motion. There is, however, one very palpable 
 symptom of its locomotion, which I have often 
 watched with singular interest. It is only necessary, 
 when on the top of a glacier, to place yourself by the 
 side of one of those long ridges of broken stones 
 called moraines, already alluded to, and to fix the 
 attention to that part of the bank which is nearest. 
 Many minutes seldom elapse before some one or 
 more of the fragments detaches itself and rolls 
 down ; or a tremulous motion, of the glacier itself, 
 imparts a slight shake in the whole mass of rub- 
 bish, and causes a faint grinding sound amongst 
 its parts, which is abundantly significant. 
 
 But the most obvious of all the proofs of the 
 progression of the glacier, is the manner in which its 
 enormous snout ploughs up the ground before it. 
 Of this strange process we had an opportunity of 
 examining a remarkable instance in the lower part 
 of the Allee Blanche, where the glacier de Brenva 
 falls into the valley, overturning and destroying 
 everything before it, and having fairly crossed from 
 
108 
 
 one side to the other, a distance of a mile at least, 
 is so irresistibly pressed onwards by the enormous 
 weight of snow on its shoulders, high up the sides of 
 Mont Blanc, that its lower end, on reaching the op- 
 posite side of the valley, actually travels for a con- 
 siderable distance up the bank ! So complete a barri- 
 cade was formed by the glacier at one place, that we 
 found some difficulty in getting past ; for though the 
 road, purposely contrived to be out of the reach of 
 such accidents, had been carried forty or fifty feet in 
 perpendicular height above the bottom of the valley, 
 it was all rubbed away by the glacier having slowly 
 climbed up to it. The guides pointed out the cor- 
 ners of green fields peeping out from the sides of 
 the glacier in the middle of the valley, and showed 
 us traces of walls and fences which had belonged to 
 large villages, now entirely obliterated by the mov- 
 ing mass ! I took notice of one circumstance which 
 told the fatal story very well. We had walked along 
 a well-worn footpath till our course was abruptly 
 stopped by the edge of the glacier ; but, on crossing 
 over it, we re-discovered our footpath, which had 
 been quite hidden by the intervening mass. In 
 like manner, the river Doire, which takes its rise 
 from the lake formed by the glacier de Miage, a 
 few leagues higher up the Allee Blanche, finds its 
 way partly through, and partly under the ice, and 
 dashing along an archway or tunnel, which it has 
 
109 
 
 scooped out for itself, sweeps past Courmayeur in 
 grand style. 
 
 By means of observations made in the different 
 parts of the Alps, it has been ascertained, that the 
 progressive motion of the different glaciers, re- 
 spectively, varies very much. In the valley of 
 Chamouni, Ebel states, that they advance at about 
 fourteen feet in a year. In that of Grindelwald, 
 the glaciers move rather faster, being at the rate of 
 twenty-five feet in the year. But, as he says, it is 
 impossible to give any rule as applicable to these 
 phenomena, since, independently of the variety 
 caused by the different degrees in inclination in the 
 surface of the ground in the lower valleys, and the 
 nature and extent of the mountains which furnish 
 the materials of the glacier, there must be taken 
 into account the fluctuations in the seasons them- 
 selves. In some winters, it would appear, much 
 more snow falls than in others ; and in some 
 summers, the heat is found to be greater than 
 usual; consequently, the travelling process at the 
 lower extremity of the glacier is increased or 
 diminished. 
 
 Owing chiefly to these causes, it may happen 
 that a glacier will actually diminish for several 
 years in succession ; that is, the lower extremity, 
 which has been extending itself year after year 
 into the fertile part of the valley no longer gains, 
 
no 
 
 but on the contrary, loses so much more by melting 
 in summer than it gains by the fresh snows of 
 winter that it abandons, or leaves uncovered, a por- 
 tion of the ground it had previously occupied. 
 There is no doubt that during those summers in 
 which the glacier becomes shorter, there has as 
 usual been a progressive motion, but this has not 
 been sufficiently great to make up for the loss of 
 ground caused by the extra melting. In other 
 years, again, the augmentation of snow is so large 
 that numerous meadows heretofore deemed safe, and 
 even rising grounds, which had been cultivated in 
 security from all time within the memory of man, 
 now invaded and utterly destroyed ! It is gene- 
 rally in the spring that these rapid advances are 
 made, probably at the first moment when the cohe- 
 sion of the mass to the sides of the valley is so far 
 weakened by the heat as to give way before the pres- 
 sure from above caused by the whole winter''s deposit 
 of fresh snow. It has been remarked, too, that 
 when any extraordinary movement in advance has 
 been made by a glacier in a particular season, it is 
 observed to decrease for several years successively 
 afterwards. M. Ebel supposes that this arises from 
 the upper valleys having given off suddenly so 
 large a portion of their mass that it requires the 
 accumulation of several years' snows to set the gla- 
 cier in motion again, during which interval the heat 
 
Ill 
 
 of several successive summers acts powerfully in 
 diminishing the length of the lower extremity. 
 
 It is exceedingly interesting, in going from 
 glacier to glacier in the Alps, to observe the great 
 diiFerences by which their surfaces are distinguished. 
 When the bottom of the valley along which they 
 travel is not much inclined, and the direction 
 straight, the glacier also is smooth at top, and is 
 scarcely marked with cracks. But when the inclina- 
 tion of the ground is great, and its surface uneven, 
 the upper face of the glacier is all broken across 
 by huge rents called " crevasses," while ridges, 
 sometimes a hundred feet in height, are formed at 
 the top, giving to the whole not a little the appear- 
 ance of a stormy sea when agitated by a current 
 running in a direction opposite to that of the wind. 
 I have myself seen appearances not unlike those of 
 some glaciers, in a north-west gale of wind off the 
 Cape of Good Hope, when the well-known current 
 from the eastward has been setting strong in the 
 teeth of the breeze, across the great bank of La- 
 gulhas. 
 
 Sometimes the surface of a glacier is of the 
 purest white, but this degree of purity is rare, and 
 occurs only when the upper valleys, which supply 
 its snows, are not flanked by cliffs which, when 
 acted upon by avalanches, are broken in pieces, 
 and scattered in fragments over the subjacent 
 
112 
 
 snow. Generally speaking, their surface is covered 
 either with huge blocks of stone or with mud 
 and sand, the result of the friction of these frag- 
 ments against one another, or by their being ground 
 into powder between the glacier and the sides of 
 the valleys through which they pass. A number 
 of fantastic appearances are often to be observed in 
 passing over a glacier, of which I shall mention 
 one which struck me as being very curious. On 
 the top of a pyramid of ice a mass of granite 
 was lying in a horizontal position, its length being 
 between thirty and forty feet, and its thickness 
 eight or ten. The stone had evidently acted as an 
 umbrella, in keeping off the sun's rays from the ice 
 upon which it rested ; so that while the adjacent 
 surface of the glacier was melted, and its general 
 level lowered, that portion which had enjoyed the 
 protection of the os'^erhanging mass of rock remained, 
 till its elevation above the rest had reached the 
 height of twenty or thirty feet. It was clear, how- 
 ever, that a very small degree of melting on one 
 side or the other would topple the stone down, and 
 leave the pyramid without its protecting stone cap. 
 Of these we saw great numbers, from which the 
 stones had long fallen down, and been lost in the 
 crevasses. At all events, they were no longer to 
 be seen. 
 
 I hardly know, in short, anything respecting 
 
113 
 
 which, in cruising about amongst the Alps, we 
 acquire a greater degree of what may be called 
 progressive interest than in the glaciers ; and I 
 have dwelt upon them longer than I had at first 
 intended, from a wish to call the attention of Alpine 
 travellers who may have more leisure than I had, 
 to their great variety and singular characteristics, 
 which I am certain will amply repay the labour of 
 the research. At first sight, a real glacier may 
 often be mistaken for a mere mass of snow, from 
 its having neither rents nor elevated pinnacles, nor 
 any abrupt cliffs at its sides ; whereas it may have 
 been urged down from the higher valleys of the 
 Alps into a situation where it looks like an ordinary 
 collection of snow lying on the spot where it fell. 
 On the other hand, as Ebel points out, an accumu- 
 lation of snow covered with a thin crust of ice may 
 sometimes be mistaken for a true glacier. It is 
 only by means of the crevasses and by the angular 
 breaks which betray its real structure, that these 
 sinafiilar masses can be identified. 
 ■ A beautiful green, and occasionally a blue tinge, 
 can be seen in their cracks from a great distance .; 
 but on a more close inspection this disappears. 
 The ice also of which a glacier is made up, is 
 found to be different from that formed in lakes, 
 being composed of grains, or pieces several inches 
 in length — full of cracks and bubbles of air — and 
 
114 
 
 so arranged as to allow of a certain degree of 
 movement, or play of the pieces upon one another, 
 without breaking, M. Ebel thinks this extraordi- 
 nary structure is caused by the presence of the air 
 disengaged from the masses of snow saturated with 
 water, in the process of its congelation into ice. 
 I do not exactly understand this explanation, but 
 it is easy to conceive that there must be an immense 
 quantity of air included in the successive masses of 
 snow which go to make up the glacier ; and that 
 this air having no means of escape when the snow, 
 after being partially melted, is again frozen so as 
 to become ice, may essentially modify the internal 
 structure of the glacier. The irresistible expansion 
 also, which takes place in the great quantity of 
 water included in every glacier, at the moment of 
 freezing, must cause, by the enlargement of its 
 bulk, a variety of modifications in a mass of such 
 vast weight and dimensions ; especially when it is 
 not only pressed upon by mountains of snow on its 
 top, but is resisted by cliffs of solid rock at its sides. 
 Accordingly, solid and transparent ice is found 
 only at particular spots where the freezing process 
 has room to act freely. 
 
 Ebel says that the only exception he knows to 
 this rule occurs in the glacier of Rosboden, which, 
 as it lies close to the village on the top of the Sim- 
 plon's pass, ought to be more visited than it is by 
 
115 
 
 travellers taking that popular route. The moraines 
 also which stretch along this singular glacier are of 
 unusual magnitude, and the whole is described as 
 being well worthy of attention. Its most remark- 
 able peculiarity, he tells us, is the unique circum- 
 stance of its being entirely composed of a com- 
 pact field of bluish-green ice, which gives it the 
 appearance of a solid mass of crystal, quite differ- 
 ent from that of any other glacier in the Alps. 
 
116 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AOSTA AND THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. 
 
 As nothing is further from my present intention 
 than writing a road-book, I shall skip lightly over 
 the Alps, after traversing the Allee Blanche, and 
 returning from Savoy into Switzerland by Aosta, 
 and the pass of the Great St. Bernard. I am the 
 more disposed to do this, as I had an opportunity 
 of visiting both these places, on a subsequent occa- 
 sion, under circumstances of more variety. The 
 classical interest of Aosta is derived chiefly from 
 the ruins of an amphitheatre and of a triumphal 
 arch of Augustus- The name of the town, the ety- 
 mologists tell us, has evidently been corrupted from 
 the Roman title Augusta Preetoria; and though, 
 of course, on going to Italy I met with a thousand 
 ancient buildings more worthy of attention than 
 those at Aosta, I shall never forget them, from their 
 being the first of their kind with which I fell in, 
 early in life too, when the young fancy was fully 
 awake to their interest. 
 
117 
 
 Long afterwards, when my curiosity had been fully 
 saturated with such things, I came back to this hum- 
 ble spot with somewhat of the feeling with which we 
 prepare to meet an old friend from whom we have 
 been separated many years. I do not know how 
 it is with others, but certainly it has been my good 
 fortune to find that time, instead of deteriorating, 
 generally improves both things and people in the 
 interval. At all events, such was the effect of expe- 
 rience on the ruins of Aosta, of which there are two 
 specimens, and I recommend no one to pass them by 
 without examination. One is a bit of a huge wall 
 built of those enormous stones so characteristic of 
 the days in which every architectural work seems to 
 have been constructed as if intended to last for 
 ever. The other is a triumphal arch, with sundry 
 traces of very pretty work about it, especially in 
 the mouldings ; the whole having about it a genuine 
 air. Both these remains have existed since the 
 time of Augustus Csesar almost uninjured by any- 
 thing except the scythe of Time, which has picked 
 a few holes in them. 
 
 It is to be presumed, I think, whenever we see 
 a monument which has been preserved for a long 
 course of centuries, that the materials are of no 
 earthly use to any one, otherwise they would have 
 been carried off long ago by the inhabitants, who 
 care for these things only so far as their destruction 
 
118 
 
 may yield tliem materials for the advancement of 
 their own selfish objects. On this account, if it 
 were wished to erect a monument to endure through 
 all ages, it should be made — not of brass or marble, 
 nor even of freestone — but of the most shapeless 
 stones we could pick up, broken bricks, old bottles, 
 in short, of all sorts of despised rubbish we could 
 lay our hands upon. We should, of course, 
 endeavour, either by the grandeur of the dimen- 
 sions, or by the beauty of the form, to give it 
 that dignity which is generally sought for through 
 the agency of the valuable materials of which it 
 is made, but which, unfortunately for their dura- 
 bility'^, bear upon them, in their very nature, as 
 legibly as if the words were carved upon them, 
 " Come and steal me ! " 
 
 A small incidental circumstance occurred at Aosta, 
 which is so far interesting as it shows the working of 
 natural feelings, as well as natural causes, in places 
 where we are apt at times to fancy such things do 
 not exist, especially when we are provoked. Owing 
 to some blunder on the part of our guides, or more 
 probably on ours, though we threw it on them, we 
 had left the Swiss territory, and entered that of 
 Piedmont, without having duly provided ourselves 
 with passports, and in consequence we had been 
 detained most inconveniently at the frontier. 
 After much delay and trouble, and some ex- 
 
119 
 
 pense, we received a provisional permission, as 
 it was called, to proceed as far as Aosta, where, 
 if the commanding-officer of the troops thought 
 lit, after examining us, to let us proceed, well 
 and good ; otherwise we were to be sent back 
 into Switzerland, and our tour of Mont Blanc cut 
 short. 
 
 Having been stopped at a very incommodious 
 inn, near the bottom of the Italian side of the pass 
 of the Great St. Bernard, we were glad to move 
 away from it at four o'clock, in the most unpro- 
 pitious of mornings, with all the mountain-tops 
 wrapped in clouds, and the mist flying about 
 amongst the lower hills and valleys in the wildest 
 whirls, cutting against our faces at the corners, and 
 though no rain fell, the dreary dampness ren- 
 dered our progress anything but agreeable. After 
 descending the mountain, for about five or six 
 hundred perpendicular feet, we gradually emerged 
 from the thick part of the clouds, and got sight 
 of the rich and beautiful valley of Aosta at our 
 feet, matted thickly with vines, and decked here 
 and there with numerous old castles standing out 
 from among grand walnut and other forest trees. 
 While breakfast was getting ready, I stepped to 
 the generaPs office, where I learned nothing satis- 
 factory, being merely informed that not only I but 
 all my family party must present themselves — an 
 
120 
 
 order which, however much it discomposed me, 
 enchanted ray little girl, who professed such a 
 passion for adventures, that I believe she would 
 have been delighted had we all been arrested as 
 spies or political agitators, and laid by the heels in 
 a Sardinian dungeon. 
 
 I do not think, indeed, that we should have met 
 with any serious detention, or any detention at all, 
 had it not been for the unlucky circumstance of our 
 being preceded by a party of Frenchmen, who, I 
 have not the least doubt, were as innocent of any 
 evil designs against the Sardinian government as 
 we were. They had set out so long before us from 
 the Hospice at the top of the Great St. Bernard to 
 make the very tour of Mont Blanc which we were 
 projecting, that I imagined they must have gone at 
 least half the distance, when I again met them in the 
 waiting-room of the commanding-officer at Aosta — 
 filled with very impotent, and I thought indiscreet, 
 wrath, at their detention. With extremely long 
 faces, and many dangerous interjections, they in- 
 formed me that they had been stopped in conse- 
 quence of a very trifling irregularity in their papers. 
 I kept my own secret; but 1 could not help feeling 
 some uneasiness when I learned the small grounds 
 of their detention, knowing that the irregularity in 
 my own documents was much greater than it was 
 in theirs. 
 
121 
 
 It happened, unfortunately for these gentle- 
 men, that there raged at that moment (for I 
 now speak of 1835) two violent diseases in Pied- 
 mont, — first, the cholera, and secondly, the fear of 
 a political plot, said to have been excited by 
 French agents. I verily believe there was but little 
 grounds for apprehension in either case, but by 
 their joint action on the imaginations of the poor 
 Piedmontese, they excited such a degree of fer- 
 mentation in the country that the slightest circum- 
 stance was enough to blow them up into an ecstacy 
 of fear. One of these men, out of pure dandyism, 
 and in total unconsciousness of its unseemly dis- 
 figurement, wore enormous mustachios, whiskers, 
 and, round all, such a beard as might have attracted 
 notice anywhere, but which under the feverish state 
 of politico-cholerico excitement of the Piedmon- 
 tese at once led to the suspicion of his being 
 a military man. He denied stoutly that he was a 
 soldier, and accordingly was just about to be dis- 
 missed when some one discovered that on his waist- 
 coat he wore an unknown and very alarming kind 
 of button, having a couple of anchors crossed on it. 
 It was in vain he asserted that this was the uniform 
 of a rowing club on the lake of Geneva, for 
 the mere word " club " appeared to stir up in the 
 functionary's mind such a host of revolutionary re- 
 miniscences that we all began to fear it would go 
 
 G 
 
122 
 
 hard with the unhappy and hairy dandy. At length, 
 after a long and worrying examination, the party 
 A\'ere allowed to proceed, upon the express condition 
 that in four days at furthest they should quit Savoy, 
 — a period barely sufficient, in fine weather, for 
 them to hurry over the ground they had proposed 
 10 themselves the pleasure of visiting at leisure. 
 
 With such a specimen of needless rigour before 
 us, we had scarcely any expectation that we should 
 be enabled to pass muster, and fully made up our 
 minds to be ordered back again. While waiting, 
 therefore, in the Hall of Justice, I took the oppor- 
 tunity of sounding the porter as to the character of 
 the person who was to decide our fate, and whose 
 dictum was either to force us to retrace our steps 
 or to allow us to proceed on the journey. Among 
 other points I discovered that the commanding 
 officer had a son at sea in the Sardinian navy ; and 
 though, I confess, I had not been previously aware 
 of the existence of any such navy, I stored up the 
 fact, and when my turn came on, took an early 
 opportunity of letting my military judge become 
 aware of my nautical rank and quality. 
 
 I could see the father's eye at first brighten, 
 and then soften, as he thought of his far-away 
 child at sea ; and I felt, from that moment, pretty 
 sure how the affair would turn. Yet the general 
 was too old a soldier to let his motives be seen 
 even, perhaps, by himself ; and after delicately re- 
 
123 
 
 minding me that I was quite '^ out of regie,"" said with 
 a smile, he also would venture to put himself *'out 
 of regie," by giving me a provisional passport, on 
 condition that I would pledge my word as an officer 
 to return it to him by post, after it had served my 
 purpose. 
 
 This settled, we fell into more familiar con- 
 versation ; and on my alluding to the French party 
 who had gone before us, he smiled, shook his head, 
 and denied that his chief difficulties had sprung 
 either from the young gentleman's mustachios, 
 still less from his anchor buttons, and least of all 
 from the trivial irregularity in his passport, but 
 mainly to the circumstance of he and his compa- 
 nions being French. " They love plots and se- 
 dition," added the old man, '' on their own account. 
 You English kick up a row sometimes, and give 
 the continental authorities no small trouble, but as 
 you talk without the least reserve, we know every- 
 thing you think and wish to do, and can guard 
 against mischief if any be intended. But as for 
 these merry Frenchmen, who, if you would believe 
 them, are the most harmless and least interfering of 
 mortals, and who are quite settled and happy at 
 home, and who, innocent lambs ! never dream of 
 stirring up discontent in other states; I make a 
 rule — yes, sir, I make a rule — to get them quietly 
 out of the country as fast as I possibly can." 
 
 g2 
 
124 
 
 This seems rather hard on the French, but cer- 
 tainly it i§ the established habit of the English to 
 blame everything near them, and to praise every- 
 thing absent, especially if far away. When at home 
 they decry all that is English, and laud all that is 
 foreign ; but the moment they set foot abroad the 
 tables are turned ; from thenceforward no country is 
 like England — none is tolerable on the Continent. 
 The rule of their talk seems to be simply this : con- 
 demn what is present, or near, at the avowed ex- 
 pense of what is remote and out of reach. It need not 
 be mentioned how much this provokes the natives ; 
 but still it is rather comical how little they are really 
 influenced by what is said of them . In I taly this con- 
 stitutional trick which the English have of abusing 
 the government of Austria, and all the authorities 
 high and low, is so general that it absolutely goes for 
 nothing. Whereas, if strangers belonging to any 
 other nation were to give half as much licence to their 
 tongues, they would speedily be imprisoned or sent 
 out of the country. To serve the English, how- 
 ever, in this way would be to banish them "e/z masse^^ 
 for they all talk out and abuse, and the people would 
 deprive themselves of their best, because their 
 richest visitors, who are not less free with their cash 
 than with their calumnies. Calumny, indeed, is rather 
 too strong a word to use in speaking of the reck- 
 less good humour with which the English consider 
 
125 
 
 it a sort of national duty wiien abroad to reprobate 
 every custom of every country they visit, merely 
 because it happens to differ in some respects from 
 their own ; though, when pushed, they generally 
 acknowledge that they know little or nothing of 
 the circumstances upon which the distinctions are 
 based. 
 
 It may often happen, too, that their censure is not 
 a calumny, but is just; and this may render the 
 free talk of the English still more annoying to the 
 despotic rulers, under whose very noses our friend 
 John Bull delights in spouting his treason, in the 
 openest manner he can. If he could only speak 
 the languages of the countries he passes through, 
 and of which he thus mercilessly vilifies the go- 
 vernment, he might be thought a dangerous fellow 
 to trust at large ; and still more so if he could write 
 the languages — a degree of proficiency which he 
 very seldom even aims at. Fortunately for master 
 John'^s head, his lingo — spoken as well as written — 
 is a dead language to the natives ; while, at the same 
 time, nothing is more universally intelligible than 
 the jingling of the ready cash in his pockets. The 
 result, accordingly, is, that the inhabitants soon 
 relax their frowns into smiles, and cheerfully accept 
 the kicks which he gives their government, in con- 
 sideration of the halfpence which he gives them- 
 selves. 
 
126 
 
 As I walked home after the interview with the 
 governor, I could not help commenting in my own 
 mind on the idle prejudices of the Sardinian autho- 
 rities ; but while thus liberally engaged, I caught 
 myself acting under the influence of the self-same 
 spirit. Having learned that the French party were 
 going to the inn called the " Ange," I resolved 
 to go to the " Union ; " for, with the ready selfish- 
 ness of the world, I wished to steer clear of any 
 intercourse with suspected persons — though I knew 
 them to be perfectly innocent ! 
 
 As the cholera morbus had entered, or was sup- 
 posed to have entered, Savoy, no Sooner had we 
 reached the hotel than a printed paper was thrust 
 into our hands, containing popular instructions 
 against this scourge. I wish I had room to translate 
 the whole, as it contains not only the best de- 
 scription of that fierce malady, but some of the 
 best instructions how to encounter it. It must be 
 owned, however, that the symptoms of its approach 
 therein given are so numerous, and of such fre- 
 quent occurrence, that we more than half fancied 
 we were struck with th(? disease, on reading the 
 paper. Some of the precautionary measures are 
 amusing enough. One of them runs thus : " Keep 
 yourselves very clean, and whenever your body is 
 otherwise wash it presently. At all events, wash 
 your hands, face, and mouth every morning !" The 
 
127 
 
 writer is also very eloquent on the subject of in- 
 ebriety, but being sorely perplexed between the op- 
 posite dangers of *' eau de vie " and " eau pure " he 
 makes a compromise by saying that a slight touch of 
 wine (une teinture), or of vinegar, or of spirits may 
 be added to the native fluid, winding up with the use- 
 ful words, " Malheur a celui qui n'est pas sobre ! " 
 His next precept is graphic and picturesque 
 enough, " Seek," says he, "for mental tranquillity 
 in moderate occupations, and confidently trust that 
 the elevation of your mountains — the refreshing 
 breezes which sweep daily through your valleys, and 
 the precautionary measures above alluded to, will 
 exempt you from this visitation. Unhappy, too," 
 he adds, " will that man be who forgets his religious 
 duties, and has not faith in the goodness of Pro- 
 vidence ! " The whole winds up with rather a 
 sinking after these solemn appeals. " Take care,"*' 
 s.ays he, '' should the cholera come amongst us that 
 you avoid all jimkettings, and useless gossiping 
 parties. Do not suffer beggars, pedlars, or persons 
 you know nothing about to enter your houses; 
 and either tie up or kill every dog and every cat in 
 your p'^ssession, as they may possibly import the 
 contagion for your neighbourhood." Why, life 
 would be scarcely worth possessing if people were 
 not only not to visit nor be visited — but not even to 
 allow their cats and dogs to hold intercourse ! 
 
128 
 
 Far up in the clouds, and well above these 
 imaginary terrors, we found the excellent monks 
 of the Great St. Bernard plying their generous 
 and truly public-spirited calling. I believe our 
 chief object in this part of our expedition was 
 to see the celebrated dogs, whose exploits amongst 
 the snows of winter have endeared them to every 
 one's childish recollections. Indeed, I do not 
 suppose there are any quadrupeds alive more 
 fete than these fine animals, and it gives one a 
 good idea of the Christian spirit of these worthy 
 priests to observe the indulgent manner in which 
 they submitted to the undisguised interest shown 
 by every guest in the dogs more than for them. 
 
 I have met with monks possessed of piety, good 
 nature, learning, intelligence, and active benevo- 
 lence, in various parts of the world; and I have 
 seen countries in which they formed, almost exclu- 
 sively, the educated class, but I have nowhere seen 
 men of this stamp so thoroughly devoted to the 
 service of mankind, as the good fathers of St. Ber- 
 nard. Their Hospice or Convent being placed at 
 the height of somewhat more than eight thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea, is, I believe, the 
 highest inhabited spot in Europe. Their winter 
 lasts generally nine months of every year, and is 
 called a fine season when it extends only to eight. 
 During many of these months their thermometer 
 
129 
 
 stands steadily below zero of our scale, and it is 
 reckoned that there are seldom above ten or twelve 
 good days, with a tolerably clear sky, in the whole 
 year. It is also said, that there is not a morning, 
 even in summer, in which there is not either hail, 
 snow, or rain, and generally all three, added to 
 dense and piercing fogs, and almost a perpetual gale 
 of wind. A pleasant climate ! 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, the monks, of whom 
 there are generally between twenty and thirty sta- 
 tioned at the Hospice, disperse themselves daily 
 during winter along the roads leading both ways 
 across the pass, and accompanied by their faithful 
 dogs, risk their lives, and, of course, every chance 
 of comfort, in quest of travellers lost and famishing 
 in the snow. The dogs, which, as every one knows, 
 have baskets of provisions tied to them, are so ad- 
 mirably trained in this office of active charity, that 
 they often trace out and rescue from destruction 
 persons whom their masters could never have 
 reached. In this way an immense number of pas- 
 sengers are annually saved from death, and are care- 
 fully tended in the convent. Moreover, as they are 
 frequently reduced by sickness, they are skilfully 
 treated by these kind men, some of whom," for this 
 express purpose, have studied medicine. 
 
 It may well be asked what takes people across 
 such a pass at such a time, but it is obvious that 
 
 G 3 
 
130 
 
 some intercourse must be kept up in spite of 
 this formidable barrier between the opposite sides 
 of the Alps — between Geneva and Aosta for in- 
 stance, not to speak of the numerous other towns 
 and villages which have intimate relations with one 
 another. And as the three, or at the very most, 
 four months of tolerable weather in the year, would 
 never suffice to maintain the requisite degree of 
 communication, the best passes of the mountains are 
 selected and used by the inhabitants. Of these, the 
 Great St. Bernard, for various reasons which I for- 
 get, is considered one of the most open and avail- 
 able for foot-passengers ; while that of the Simplon, 
 though it is considered the best for carriages, is 
 much too circuitous for the places above alluded 
 to, — namely, those of Savoy and Piedmont in the 
 south, and Geneva, Lausanne, Martigny, and all 
 the valley of the upper Rhone, in the north. 
 
 But besides these business-travellers, as they 
 may be called, who are absolutely required to cross 
 the mountains for the purpose of keeping up the 
 intercourse between the high countries on the north, 
 and the low countries on the south sides of the Alps, 
 there is another class of persons who visit the Hos- 
 pice and taste its hospitality, not indeed in the 
 winter season, but like butterflies, in the brief 
 summer allotted to those wild regions. I allude to 
 amateur travellers— ladies and gentlemen, with their 
 
131 
 
 children and attendants, from every nation in Eu- 
 rope and America. These, under the generic 
 name of Cockneys, flock to the Great St. Bernard 
 in great numbers, and without that being any part 
 of their object, essentially contribute to the main- 
 tenance of the establishment. The worthy monks, 
 who do everything out of a spirit of the purest 
 charity, derive no reward from their unceasing 
 exertions except what springs from an internal con- 
 sciousness of rectitude and of arduous duties well 
 performed. But as the funds of their order are 
 small, and their expenditure very considerable, since 
 they have to send many leagues for every billet of 
 wood and loaf of bread, it would not be possible 
 for them, were they not assisted by the more 
 wealthy travellers, to give that assistance to the 
 poorer class of passengers, which is the main pur- 
 pose of their institution. It is inconsistent with 
 their principles and practice to make demands upon 
 any one; but it is hoped that this reserve or deli- 
 cacy on their part never prevents a traveller who 
 has enjoyed the advantage of their hospitality 
 from contributing to the maintenance of an estab- 
 lishment, without which not only all pleasure in 
 the excursion would be at an end, but all power of 
 passing over the mountain at that point would be 
 done away with. Accordingly a box is placed in 
 the chapel, into which travellers may drop such 
 
1S2 
 
 sums as they feel disposed, or can afford, to contri- 
 bute to this singular species of charity ; and it 
 is understood that no one gives less than would 
 be charged at an inn anywhere else ; on the con- 
 trary somewhat more, inasmuch as every mouthful 
 he eats, costs the inhabitants of the top of the 
 mountain at least double of what it would on the 
 plain. It is the same with every item in the lodg- 
 ing as well as the boarding, for how can linen be 
 dried in such a situation? It may be washed, 
 ready enough, but when the sun is scarcely ever 
 visible, and fuel becomes as precious to the monks 
 as it is to seamen on a long voyage, the difficulty 
 is greatly increased ; and the cost of sending such 
 things backwards and forwards must all be taken 
 into account. 
 
 I remember, on the first visit I made to the Great 
 St. Bernard, in 1818, being greatly pleased with 
 the courteous manners of the Prior, an intelligent 
 and scientific man, who, from having lived much 
 in the world, well knew the charms of society. 
 Nevertheless, from a sense of duty he had devoted 
 himself to this laborious office, and though he cer- 
 tainly won the gratitude, as well as the respect, of 
 every person who passed that way, he must have 
 been sustained in the execution of his protracted 
 and dreary task by something more solid than the 
 transient and often too empty applause of this 
 
13S 
 
 world. The same generous assiduity to minister 
 to the wants of every one who claimed the hospi- 
 tality of the convent, appeared to pervade the 
 whole household, and I cannot recall to mind having 
 any where met with so much genuine attention as 
 in this solitary Hospice. 
 
 We took a sunrise walk with the Prior, accom- 
 panied by three of his principal dogs ; and listened 
 with an interest I cannot describe to his account of 
 the manner in which he and his brethren, assisted 
 by these faithful attendants, hunted among the 
 snow for fainting passengers during the long and 
 dreary winter. He pointed out to us many scenes 
 of suffering and of death; some where the dogs 
 had succeeded in carrying provisions to persons too 
 much exhausted to walk further, but who were 
 instantly sought for by the monks on the dogs 
 returning with their empty baskets, and appeal- 
 ing for further assistance. It would appear that 
 these noble animals enter fully into the spirit of 
 this singular species of hunting — in which the 
 object is to save — not to destroy ; and that their 
 natural sagacity is so sharpened by long practice 
 and careful training, that a sort of language is 
 established between them and their masters, by 
 which mutual communications are made, such as few 
 persons living in situations of less constant and 
 severe trial can have any just conception of. 
 
134 
 
 I remember hearing Sir Walter Scott say, that 
 he would believe anything of a St. Bernard dog, and 
 certainly if half the stories told us are true, this 
 eulogium is not exaggerated. I have sometimes 
 wondered that, amidst all the odd freaks which 
 come into the heads of English travellers, it has 
 not occurred to any one to pass a month or two in 
 the depth of winter on the summit of this pass. 
 I feel sure that the current incidents of the day 
 would furnish admirable sport, with the superadded 
 advantage of a highly-exciting and praiseworthy 
 purpose. 
 
 Our intelligent guide was not satisfied with telling 
 us of the exploits of his people and his dogs, but 
 gave us an occasional lecture on the geology of the 
 pass, and what was more interesting, on the meteor- 
 ology to which he was exposed. But all these 
 topics faded in their interest, when he came to 
 describe what he had witnessed of the operations of 
 Buonaparte, when he crossed the Alps between the 
 15th and the 21st of May 1800, with his army of 
 reserve, consisting of 30,000 men. The first Consul 
 was accompanied by a due proportion of cavalry and 
 cannon, all of which were passed over, not certainly 
 with ease, but with that assured confidence, which, 
 by its success, no doubt contributed to the military 
 spirit so conspicuously displayed a few weeks after- 
 wards on the plains of Marengo. It probably was 
 
IS5 
 
 from some notion of this connexion between one 
 kind of military success and another, that Napoleon 
 ordered the body of General Desaix, who was 
 killed in that battle, to be carried up and interred 
 in the chapel of the Hospice, on the very top of 
 the Great St. Bernard — thus linking, as it were, 
 across the Alps, the chain of renown by which his 
 glory and that of his army were held together in 
 the eyes of Europe. 
 
 From the monument of Desaix, the Prior led us 
 to a little chapel, situated rather lower than the 
 convent, on the eastern side of the building, and in 
 which were ranged the bodies of the unfortunate 
 wretches who had either perished in the snow, or 
 been brought too late to the house of refuge. As 
 the rigorous nature of the climate preserves these 
 bodies for a long time, their features may be dis- 
 tinguished, it is said, for several years. I cannot 
 say that I should have been able to recognise any 
 friend of mine even amongst the best preserved of 
 these Alpine mummies ; while the greater number 
 were reduced to mere skeletons. I could not learn 
 what was the precise object of this unpleasant ex- 
 posure ; but I rather suspect it has for its purpose, 
 chiefly to inspire caution on the part of travellers ; and 
 perhaps to keep alive the sympathy of those upon 
 whose contributions the existence of the establish- 
 ment depends. At all events, both these effects 
 
136 
 
 were produced in my mind by the sight. I firmly 
 resolved, in the first place, to avoid passing the 
 Alps in winter; and, in the next, I slipped an 
 extra five-franc piece into the box, over and above 
 what I had already given before this walk. 
 
 The venerable Prior pointed out to us the site 
 upon which Napoleon intended to erect a temple, 
 of the Doric order of architecture, to commemorate 
 his Italian campaigns. The number of the pillars 
 at the side was to have been seventy, and at the 
 end fifty ; the height of each being one hundred 
 feet ! It is uncertain whether or not Buonaparte ever 
 seriously contemplated the erection of this Cyclo- 
 pean building — but assuredly he was guided by a 
 nobler and better taste in limiting the architectural 
 memorials of his great exploit to the simple tomb 
 of Desaix — his brother in arms. 
 
 For the rest, it is clear that no position could have 
 been worse selected for such a building, if the in- 
 tention was to produce an impression of sublimity 
 by means of its magnitude, for even the smallest 
 of the adjacent Alps is twenty thousand times 
 larger, and essentially more magnificent, than any 
 building which even Buonaparte, aided by his 
 grand army, could have erected had they employed 
 all their energies on that one object. 
 
137 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 THE GEMMl PASS AND THE BATHS OF LEUK. 
 
 One of the greatest charms of Swiss society, or 
 at all events of the society of Geneva — for with 
 that only am I acquainted— is the endless variety 
 and fresh interest in their conversation, when speak- 
 ing of the glorious mountain scenery of their 
 country, and dwelling in detail on the singular 
 circumstances which flow out of their peculiar 
 position. On a level plain, like that of Lombardy, 
 a correspondent flatness of intellect may be ob- 
 served, and a want of interest in the topics 
 discussed; whereas at Geneva nothing ever flags. 
 The result accordingly is, that this small city, 
 the capital of the smallest civilised state in 
 Europe, has turned out more distinguished scien- 
 tific and literary men, and now possesses more, than 
 any other in the world — due allowance being made 
 for the relative population. If the Genevese had 
 only one mountain or one valley to talk about, this 
 intense love of their country, and sensitive admira- 
 
138 
 
 tion of its beauties, might soon degenerate into 
 trifling, as we often see happen in places where the 
 objects of admiration being few, the inhabitants 
 generally become bores to all who fall within range 
 of their fire. But the Alps are so boundless, that 
 the most cultivated understanding, and the warmest 
 taste for what is pleasing in nature, or the most 
 curious in the moral combinations which the phy- 
 sical arrangements of the globe produce on human 
 character, have ample subject for useful as well 
 as agreeable speculations without end. I remem- 
 ber, for example, at a party at Geneva, hearing the 
 celebrated De Candolle, on his return from a trip to 
 the eastward, describe the baths of Pfefiers; and 
 although every member of the company had so 
 repeatedly traversed the Alps that it might be sup- 
 posed they were all familiar with everything they 
 contained, there was not one person present who 
 did not feel and acknowledge that most of the 
 circumstances which the Professor brought forward 
 were as full of new interest as if none of the party 
 had ever visited those mountains. 
 
 It is impossible, indeed, to become tired of the 
 Alps, or even to become so familiar with them as to 
 hear with indifference anything respecting them. In 
 the case alluded to, no doubt the topic had not only 
 its own intrinsic interest to stand upon, but was be- 
 holden to the skill of the narrator for its chief eff'ect, 
 
139 
 
 whicli consisted not merely in the correctness of 
 his drawing, but in the charm of his brilliant colour- 
 ing, and the thousand and one incidental circum- 
 stances which genius alone, combined with exten- 
 sive knowledge, knows how to bring effectively into 
 any picture. It is no great wonder, I acknowledge, 
 that a man like De Candolle — certainly one of the 
 greatest botanists in the world, and, consequently, 
 the person most accustomed to keep his eyes open to 
 everything around him — should be able to invest 
 any subject he took in hand with that peculiar elo- 
 quence which the study of nature in such regions is 
 well fitted to inspire in a mind so gifted. But the 
 point of importance for those who are merely pass- 
 ing through the country to consider is, that in- 
 dependently of these personal advantages, the 
 whole scenery of Switzerland is so essentially fer- 
 tile in characteristic topics, that, like Sindbad the 
 sailor in the valley of diamonds, they have only to 
 pick them up. To polish and set them as they 
 deserve may require the hand of a De Candolle, but 
 the brilliants are there for the tamest or least ima- 
 ginative observer to appropriate, if he will. 
 
 At all events I should recommend no one, whe- 
 ther gifted with imagination or not, whose course 
 takes him up the valley of the Rhone, to pass 
 unheeded the baths of Leuk, which lie at the dis- 
 tance of only five pithy leagues ("cinq fortes 
 
140 
 
 iieues," as the guide-books have it) from the village 
 of Sierre ; still less should he miss seeing the 
 extraordinary pass of the Gemmi, by which a 
 short cut is opened across the hills to the lake of 
 Thun, and so to Berne. 
 
 It was late on a summer's evening during the 
 first visit I paid to Switzerland in 1818, when we 
 arrived at Leuk, and having walked the greater 
 part of the way along a steep and very rough road, 
 we were glad to get housed anywhere ; though, un- 
 fortunately, we came too late for the table-d''h6te 
 supper, — a mishap which, from the excessive diffi- 
 culty, and exorbitant price, of getting anything 
 in that part of the world, except at fixed hours, I 
 counsel every one to avoid, especially as all 
 experience shows that the finest scenery on earth 
 looks trashy and uninteresting on an empty sto- 
 mach. 
 
 Next morning at half-past five we commenced our 
 preparations for ascending the pass of the Gemmi, 
 unquestionably one of the most curious artificial 
 roads in Switzerland. Most people after leaving Ge- 
 neva sweep along the south side of the lake, enter 
 the gorge of the Rhone, stop to dine or breakfast 
 next day at Martigny, then hurry up the Valais to 
 Brieg, impatient to cross the Simplon, and still more 
 impatient to get into Italy. But, as I said before, 
 they would do well to turn off at Leuk or at Sierre, 
 
141 
 
 in order to see this wonderful specimen of road- 
 making. 
 
 The fine weather, which had favoured us so much 
 during our tour of Mont Blanc, seemed so com- 
 pletely gone that the people of the hotel endea- 
 voured to dissuade us from attempting the Gemmi 
 pass in such weather. But we were resolved to 
 proceed, and away we went. Unfortunately for 
 me I could not walk a single step, having hurt my 
 foot when scrambling the day before along the 
 scene of the great debacle, extending from St. 
 Branchier to Martigny. In this dilemma, the 
 landlord declared that I might ride up the pass, 
 and be carried down again in a chair on men's 
 shoulders. I agreed to anything rather than miss 
 the sight, and after a hearty breakfast proceeded. 
 We soon reached the base of the mountain, but 
 though the clouds cleared away from time to 
 time, we could see nothing in the least degree like 
 a pass or road of any kind. No valley or ravine 
 appeared to afford an opening through the moun- 
 tain, the face of which, on approaching still nearer, 
 we discovered to be not merely steep but actually 
 perpendicular, and in som,e places even overhanging, 
 in cliffs of six and seven hundred feet high ! At 
 the foot of this sheer precipice there lay, as usual, 
 in such places, a sloping talus^ as it is called, of 
 fragments of the rock detached from the upper 
 
142 
 
 strata. We had to make our way up this bank 
 along a road much steeper than anything we had 
 yet encountered. But this was nothing at all to 
 what we came to on reaching the abrupt face of 
 the cliff, where, to our great surprise, we found the 
 road — even now scarcely visible — actually cut into 
 the perpendicular wall of the mountain, and leading 
 by a series of zig-zags up to the very top. 
 
 As these open galleries are excavated in the living 
 rock only to the depth of five or six feet, — and as 
 in many places no parapet has been left on the 
 outer side, while the plane of the road, instead of 
 sloping inwards, rather inclines outwards — it is not 
 in the imagination to conceive anything more ter- 
 rific. Even to a person on foot, it must require him 
 to possess no small steadiness to retain his com- 
 posure ; but if mounted, he must have a head well 
 practised in going aloft not to feel very uneasy. 
 
 I found my early nautical habits barely sufficient 
 to keep me from becoming giddy, as the mule — 
 the perversest brute in Switzerland — insisted upon 
 pacing along the outer edge of the precipice, instead 
 of hugging the inner wall, as I wished it to do. 
 In actual fear of my neck, I got off several times ; 
 but my foot had been so badly chafed in the Val de 
 Bagnes, I could not get along, and was obliged to 
 remount and take my chance, my only consolation 
 being to recall as many stories as I could muster of 
 
143 
 
 the proverbial sure-footedness of the Swiss mules. 
 We had ascended but a little way before we entered 
 the clouds, which hung low on the mountains. But 
 this obscurity — for we lost sight of the abyss below 
 and the cliffs above— added considerably to the 
 feeling of danger, to say nothing of the discomfort 
 of a drizzling rain. By-and-by the rain became 
 sleet, and before we reached the top it turned to 
 snow. As the thermometer stood only a few de- 
 grees below the freezing point, the cold might 
 have been tolerable had it been calm, but it blew so 
 fiercely, that the chill pierced us to the very bone. 
 This, no doubt, was partly owing to the actual se- 
 verity of the weather, but partly to the contrast be- 
 tween the temperature we now experienced, and 
 that in which we had been basking for the preced- 
 ing fortnight. 
 
 At the top of the mountain all Nature lay before 
 us, bare, and bleak. The cold, black, dripping, 
 unpicturesque rocks, showed themselves every now 
 and then as the clouds flew past. Here and there 
 the ground was dusted with the cutting snow, blown 
 in our faces as we passed on to the gloomy lake 
 of Daube, the waters of which — not less black than 
 ink — lashed themselves into a dirty foam against 
 the base of some dreary cliffs, of which the tops were 
 covered with glaciers. It must certainly have been 
 to some such hopeless spot as this, on the top of 
 
144 
 
 the Caucasus, that the magician in the Arabian 
 Nights carried his victims; and right glad we were 
 when our despotic guide, for once fairly beaten 
 back, made the signal to put about. 
 
 But if going up the Gemmi on the back of a 
 mule be a nervous affair, the operation of coming 
 down is so much worse, that to the last day of 
 my life I shall remember the awkwardness of such 
 a predicament. As I could not have walked ten 
 paces to save my life, I was obliged to risk my neck 
 by allowing myself to be perched in an arm-chair, 
 and hoisted on the shoulders not of four but of two 
 men, in a manner contrary to all the laws of stable 
 equilibrium, for the soles of my feet came on a 
 level with their necks. Nevertheless, though 
 loaded with this ill-arranged top-weight, the fellows 
 trudged down the path at a quick, careless, swing- 
 ing sort of pace, keeping time to the '^ Ranz des 
 Vaches," which one or other of the bearers sung all 
 the way from the top to the bottom of the pass. 
 This was the first time I had heard this strange 
 musical howl — so to call it — in which, along with 
 not a little that is barbarous, there certainly mingles 
 something plaintive, the whole being so wild that 
 it forms a fit accompaniment to Alpine scenery. I 
 have heard many Ranz des Vaches since, but never 
 to such advantage as at the falls of the Gies- 
 bach, where they were sung by a whole family 
 
145 
 
 in a style so wonderful that I should advise any one 
 who may be in that neighbourhood to make a little 
 diversion from their straight course to hear these 
 singers, whose numbers, I dare say, will never 
 be allowed to diminish. I also remember hear- 
 ing, long afterwards, the same airs sung by the 
 charming Madame Stockhausen, in the dressed 
 grounds of a London suburban villa. They were, 
 however, so completely out of place that the effect, 
 though strange and not unpleasant, was such as to 
 give scarcely any idea of what this wild song is 
 when heard among its native mountains. 
 
 Still I can perfectly well imagine its tones driv- 
 ing a Swiss almost mad if sung to him at a dis- 
 tance from his native valley ; while the very same 
 notes might produce no effect at all even on a 
 person of similar temperament, but in whose me- 
 mory they were not associated with the rugged 
 land which originally prompted their expression. 
 So bewitching, indeed, is Alpine scenery, and 
 such the variety and number of the enjoyments of 
 rambling about in those regions, that often when 
 I have been in countries far distant from Switzer- 
 land, on hearing a casual note or two of the Ranz 
 des Vaches sighed out by some forlorn mountaineer, 
 I have felt a desire so strong to turn again to 
 the mountains, that, for the time, every other plan 
 seemed cold and forbidding in comparison. Even 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 
 
 at this moment, from the mere warmth produced 
 by the friction of writing on such a subject, I feel 
 that to be cut oif from all chance of revisiting 
 Switzerland would be a real banishment. 
 
 But I am forgetting the pains and penalties of 
 Alpine travelling, in the pleasant recollection of its 
 ten thousand delights. I must confess that, as on 
 coming up and trying to walk, I had felt only the 
 pains, so on going down the Gemmi, I could think 
 only of the perils. The light-hearted peasants, 
 singing and laughing as they trudged along, swung 
 me round over their heads, as we turned the horrid 
 corners, in such a manner as to show me the fearful 
 abyss below, into which the least slip, or one false 
 step, or the giving way of the slightest particle of 
 the edge of the road, would have tumbled us all 
 headlong ! I had no time to study the picturesque of 
 the prospect which gradually re -opened upon us, in 
 proportion as we left the dense clouds of the upper 
 districts of this singular pass : indeed I could think 
 of nothing but a most unfortunately ominous ex- 
 pression used by the landlord the evening before, 
 when he and I were discussing together the various 
 modes of making the excursion. As I could not 
 walk, and still less relished the notion of being 
 carried on men's shoulders, I had asked if I could 
 not ride down as well as up the pass, for that 
 nothing, it was said, could be more uncomfortable 
 
147 
 
 than being elevated to such an unsteady position in 
 such a place. 
 
 "II faut avouer, monsieur," said he, "que 
 cette maniere de voyager n'est pas agreable — mais 
 on y risque moins ! " 
 
 The words " risque moins " rung in my ears ; 
 and as the implied insecurity of the expression 
 stared me in the face at the terrible turnings of the 
 road, I tried the experiment of shutting my eyes ; 
 but almost before I was aware of it, this made me 
 so giddy and sea-sick, that I had nearly lost the 
 equilibrium which my bearers were very urgent in 
 requiring me to maintain, for my own safety as 
 well as theirs, and I was obliged during the rest of 
 the descent to face the peril as well as I might. 
 
 Long after the period I am now writing about, 
 I had these feelings recalled to my memory in 
 a very different climate and situation. It was 
 in St. Peter's at Rome, on Easter Sunday, in the 
 midst of the pompous ceremonies of that day, when 
 bis Holiness Pope Gregory XVI. made his ap- 
 pearance before the kneeling multitude, in a chair 
 hoisted, like mine at the Gemmi, on men's shoul- 
 ders. I sympathised deeply with the worthy Bishop 
 of Rome, who — not to speak it profanely — appeared 
 in no small degree alarmed, and with some reason, 
 for the bearers tripped more than once, and nearly 
 threw him headlong. I observed the poor pope 
 
 H 2 
 
148 
 
 try my plan of shutting his eyes, but this did not 
 save him, for he soon turned as pale as ashes, and 
 speedily re-opened them, and looked round with 
 the air of a steam-boat passenger in an agony for 
 the steward. I could not help thinking at the time 
 what a satire it would have been on human great- 
 ness, had the head of the Roman Catholic church — 
 in the centre of St. Peter's — been obliged to step 
 down from his elevation, and, to prevent worse 
 consequences, fairly take to his feet like an ordi- 
 nary mortal ! 
 
 On reaching at last in safety the baths of Leuk, 
 lying near the foot of this extraordinary mountain 
 pass, I managed, by help of a stick on one side 
 and a friend's arm on the other, to crawl into one 
 of the large bath rooms, where rather a comical 
 sight met our eyes. The heads and shoulders of 
 between twenty and thirty persons might be seen 
 above the surface of a great reservoir or bath, of a 
 square form, all the party being immersed, nearly 
 up to their throats, in water so hot, that the steam 
 rose from it in clouds, while they seemed to be 
 ])atiently undergoing the process of parboiling ! 
 The ladies and gentlemen, mixed indiscriminately 
 together, were surrounded by children, romping 
 and splashing through the water near their parents. 
 Each patient, of course, wore a long robe or bathing - 
 gown, and most of them some kind of head-dress. 
 
149 
 
 Before them floated small tables, on which the ladies 
 placed their work, the gentlemen their books and 
 newspapers, the children their toys. Some of the 
 company sipped their chocolate; others passed 
 their time in clipping different coloured papers, and 
 pasting them into artificial flowers; and certainly 
 the greater number, though merely chatting to- 
 gether, appeared to be enjoying themselves greatly. 
 In short, it was like an ordinary assembly, 
 seated in different parts of a large drawing- 
 room, with only the queer addition of hot water 
 as a medium of communication ! In a low gallery 
 extending along the four sides of the bath, sat 
 groups of other persons, friends of the invalids, 
 who, without entering the water, lent their society 
 to keep up the spirits of the patients whom the 
 protracted discipline of this strange method of 
 cure requires to remain soaking from eight to 
 ten hours a-day ! 
 
 There seemed such a merry sort of innocent 
 indecorum about the whole of this comical trans- 
 action, that I felt strongly tempted, in spite of its 
 absurdity, to join the party in the hot water; and 
 if my companions had not been more than usually 
 under that feverish state of eternal hurry which 
 whirls people from place to place, I should cer- 
 tainly have taken an hour or two of the bath, on 
 the principle that the best way to judge of such 
 
150 
 
 things is to try them oneself; besides which, I really 
 had no objections to being parboiled in good com- 
 pany. 
 
 A learned person in the gallery told us that at 
 first the patient is allowed to stay only half-an-hour 
 a-day in the bath ; next day an hour ; and so on 
 gradually increasing, till at the middle of the 
 " cure,"'"' he keeps simmering eight or ten hours till 
 certain symptoms are produced ; after which the 
 daily cooking is gradually diminished, in the same 
 ratio it has been augmented before. 
 
 This fantastical process will remind those who 
 have been in the Peninsula of the method used in 
 Spain to fatten a Christmas turkey. Some six 
 weeks or a couple of months before the day on 
 which he is destined to be roasted, a single walnut 
 is crammed down his throat ; on the next day he 
 is made to swallow two ; and so on increasing his 
 meal in arithmetical progression till he can hold no 
 more, say thirty or forty. He is then supposed to 
 have reached the maximum point of a turkey's hap- 
 piness. From that period his allowance of walnuts 
 is daily diminished by one, till at the last, when his 
 bodily condition is at the best, and his appetite the 
 sharpest possible, his fare, like that of the French- 
 man's horse, becomes nothing at all. He then 
 receives the " coup de grace " of the cocinero ! 
 
 The next pass which we crossed was the well 
 
151 
 
 known Simplon, of which nothing new can be 
 now said, though it is not by any means on that 
 account the less interesting to travel over. I am 
 not sure, indeed, that the scenery of the Simplon 
 has so much to do with the matter, as the associ- 
 ations which connect it with the memory of Napo- 
 leon. For, whatever be the opinions we may have 
 formed respecting that'great soldier, it is impossible 
 to feel anything but respect and admiration for him 
 on passing along this gigantic pass — the first of the 
 kind that was made. 
 
 Poor Bony ! how naturally one forgets the faults 
 and forgives the injuries of such a magnificent fel- 
 low as could first conceive and then execute a road 
 like this. A fico for those who whine and cant, and 
 say " that it was all done to serve the purposes of 
 his own ambition." It was done to serve those 
 purposes which he considered the best for his 
 country ! But, after all, is it not petty work to 
 stop on the Simplon to consider what were the 
 motives which induced its projector to construct so 
 stupendous a work ? Surely ladies and gentlemen 
 ought to be sufficiently thankful for the journey, 
 without pecking at the dead body of the lion who, 
 when alive, with a single playful pat of his majestic 
 paw, would have crushed a hundred thousand cock- 
 neys, had they dared to cross his path ! 
 
152 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF THE CAMPAGNES OF GENEVA. 
 
 On first coming to any place, but particularly to 
 the neighbourhood of Geneva, all one's thoughts 
 are taken up with considering where and how we 
 are to be lodged. For, though there be folks in'*' 
 the world so very philosophical as to maintain that 
 place and circumstance do not or ought not t»^ 
 influence happiness, I have found that few things 
 belonging to the minor order of circumstances, 
 contribute more to cheerfulness, than being well 
 housed, or aid and assist more in making every- 
 thing else go on smoothly. On the other hand, 
 few things are more productive of discontent than 
 being crammed into an uncomfortable abode, 
 especially in Switzerland, with no view, no air, 
 no walks, no lake, no Mont Blanc ! 
 
 Now, as our party had had a good deal of expe- 
 rience both ways, we often discussed, beforehand, 
 what we should wish when we came to settle 
 
153 
 
 for the summer at Geneva. This, I should men- 
 tion, was in 1833, fifteen years after the trip to the 
 Gemmi described in the last chapter, and when I 
 was travelling with my wife and family. 
 
 In the first place, said we, our house must not 
 be in the town, but only near it ; in the next, 
 it must be in the country ; thirdly, we must 
 positively not only see the lake, but have a good 
 view of it from our very windows ; fourthly, we 
 must command a good view of Mont Blanc; and, 
 fifthly, we should like to possess shady gravel- 
 walks, for hot weather, and trellised vine-bowers, 
 besides a good garden, and a pleasant carriage- 
 approach to our faultless " campagne.*" More- 
 over, said we, the house itself must be commodious, 
 low in rent, well furnished, clean, and all ready to 
 step into ! 
 
 This is a pretty considerable list of desiderata, 
 but wonderful to say, we managed to find them 
 all. As we approached Geneva, which was to 
 be our resting-place for some time, we were 
 told by every one that we were much too late 
 to find anything so recherche as we described not 
 engaged long before, and that we must put up 
 either with something very bad, or very dear, or 
 ill-placed, or be very much cramped, possibly 
 having all these evils conjoined. *' Pooh I — pooh !" 
 said I, "let us go on, and look about for ourselves. 
 
 h3 
 
154 
 
 I have got a campagne in my mind's eye, and a 
 little bird whispers in my ear that some fairy will 
 touch the banks of the lake with her wand, and 
 straightway our little palace will rise and admit us. 
 It is in Switzerland with Lausanne relatively to 
 Geneva, as it is with Florence in Italy, relatively 
 to Rome — all classes of people at these two 
 minor cities endeavour, naturally enough, to arrest 
 the passers-by, and to persuade them that what 
 they are in quest of may be found without going 
 further. I was, accordingly, rather surprised that 
 our landlord at Lausanne agreed to assist me in our 
 researches at Geneva. " I am too far oiF,"''' said 
 he, " from Geneva to speak positively as to the 
 vacant campagnes near the town, but if you are 
 going, as you ought certainly to go, to the Hotel 
 des Etrangers, I will give you a line to my friend 
 M. Baer, and if the thing be possible, he will 
 arrange it for you."*' It is curious to observe the 
 springs of action. This landlord, though at first 
 provoked at our not halting for the season at Lau- 
 sanne, was yet so much gratified by the trivial cir- 
 cumstance of our adopting his advice in a dispute 
 we had with our voiturier, that he took a lively 
 interest in our success, though it carried us away 
 from the spot where it might have been his interest 
 to have kept us. 
 
 On drawing near to Geneva, the numerous cam- 
 
155 
 
 pagnes with which the border of the lake is studded 
 engaged our attention more and more, in proportion 
 as they fell within the limits of our definition. We 
 sighed at the beauties of some, beyond our reach, 
 and criticised the looks of others, or quarrelled 
 with their situation, size, and so forth. The lake 
 looked, as it almost always does, enchanting. The 
 soft air of summer breathed deliciously upon us, 
 and though the monarch of mountains was hid from 
 our view, the lower ridges of the Alps rose in the 
 middle distance in such beauty, that we grieved, at 
 every turn of the road which concealed them from 
 us, at the too great probability of our not getting 
 any place from which we might view them per- 
 manently, and from our own windows, which is 
 the only way to enjoy scenery to good purpose in 
 Switzerland, or perhaps anywhere else. 
 
 The sun was just setting with all the busy 
 splendour which attends him in mountainous re- 
 gions, when we drove up to the door of the Hotel 
 des Etrangers ; but our thoughts were far less 
 occupied with the picturesque than with the vulgar 
 details of a night's lodging. I looked, therefore, 
 with much more interest to discover which was the 
 landlord amongst a troop of waiters with beautiful 
 waistco,ats and dandified cravats, who rushed forth 
 to receive us, than I did to all the magnificence of 
 a Genevese sunset. In the mtlte of these smart 
 
156 
 
 gentlemen I readily made out the unpretending" 
 master of the house, and slipped my note into his 
 hands. Whether it was this, or his own good- nature, 
 or good manners, or good sense, or that he took a 
 fancy to the children, I know not, but certainly 
 nothing could exceed his attention, except his 
 real kindness and disinterested assistance. His 
 house, however, was so full, that there were but 
 few rooms to choose amongst. An English noble- 
 man, who had been taken ill at Geneva, had 
 engaged the whole of the principal story, and, of 
 course, minor persons were glad to be accom- 
 modated far up in the world. 
 
 This point settled, I came down to the court, 
 and taking mine host on one side, begged him, as 
 a friend, to favour me with his advice touching the 
 grand point of a campagne ; for I had heard, I 
 said, that he had more in his power in that way 
 than any one else. 
 
 " I shall be happy to help you," he replied, " but 
 almost all the houses are already taken, and those 
 which are still to let are very high in rent. But 
 what are the points you require ?" So I told him 
 of our wish to be near Geneva, to be close to the 
 lake, to be in sight of Mont Blanc, and to pay a 
 small rent for all this. 
 
 He smiled at the string of first-rate demands 
 which he said the English invariably made, but 
 
157 
 
 added, that he did know of one campagne still 
 unlet which united all the requisites except the 
 last, — namely, a low rent. 
 
 " Let"'s go and see it !" 1 exclaimed; and off we 
 set without our hats, for it was but a step. The 
 appearance of a showy iron gate, rows of grand 
 trees, gravel-walks, shrubberies, vines, orchards, 
 and a flower-garden, made me fear that however 
 delightful, such a spot must of necessity be far 
 beyond my means ; and so I told my companion. 
 On we walked, however, under rows of walnut- 
 trees, chesnuts, and limes, till we came to the 
 very margin of the lake, where a most promising 
 mansion indeed showed itself ; nor was this promise 
 belied. 
 
 The chief entrance was from the garden be- 
 hind ; so that all the principal windows, in fact 
 almost all the windows, looked either full on the 
 lake, or on the ridges of the Alps beyond it. A 
 broad gravelled terrace, ten paces across, guarded 
 by a low wall covered with creepers, and actually 
 built in the water, connected the house with the lake. 
 This terrace was closed overhead by a thick hori- 
 zontal matting of what we thought at first were 
 vines, trained along an open tracery of rods, sup- 
 ported -by slight posts, at such wide intervals as not 
 to interrupt the view. We afterwards discovered 
 that this ceiling of leaves proceeded from three 
 
158 
 
 small plane-trees, planted in the middle of the 
 terrace, and so arranged that only those branches 
 were left which, when trained horizontally, formed 
 a frame-work quite hid by the foliage, and so 
 thick that it excluded not only the brightest sun, but 
 even, for a considerable time, a smart shower of 
 rain. At the end of this charming terrace next to 
 the city all inspection from without was cut off by a 
 growing wall, consisting partly of a closely-planted 
 row of poplars and partly by a network, formed of 
 the branches of small elm-trees, so trained in their 
 youth in the way they should go, as to extend only 
 upwards and sideways, in the direction of the 
 row of poplars. On the other side — that is in 
 the north-east, looking up the lake, from which 
 quarter the wind called the Bise blows — the house 
 and terrace were sheltered by a thick shrubbery of 
 acacias, yew-trees, and rose-bushes, growing under 
 a large horse-chesnut, a lime-tree of almost equal 
 dimensions overshadowing the whole group. 
 
 The drawing-room, the floor of which was flush 
 with the ground, opened by a glass-door into the 
 terrace, at the middle of the side next the lake, 
 and by another similar door at the end, into the 
 shrubbery under the horse-chesnut. This, by means 
 of a small circular drive, formed the entrance-door 
 for those who came in carriages, after they had 
 been set down at an arbour, serving as a porch. 
 
159 
 
 The windows of the dIning"-room, which opened 
 from the drawing-room, likewise looked out upon 
 Mont Blanc, the Saleve, and the lake, including a 
 view of the rich suburbs of Geneva and of many of 
 the numerous thickly-wooded campagnes or villas, 
 at the southern end of that magnificent sheet of 
 water, which becomes very narrow as it approaches 
 the city. Consequently the crowds of pretty sailing 
 boats and row boats, from all parts of the lake, 
 making for the town or leaving it, are obliged to 
 pass close to the shore, and greatly help to give 
 life to this delicious landscape. 
 
 I must mention an interesting historical circum- 
 stance connected with the campagne I am trying 
 to describe. It appears that Sir Humphrey Davy 
 had occupied it during one of his last visits to 
 Geneva, but before the terrace had been built, 
 so that the lake then came close up to the walls 
 of the house. Sir Humphrey, whose passion for 
 fishing is well known, even in the midst of his stu- 
 dies occasionally threw up the window, and while 
 other people, supposing him immersed in philoso- 
 phical speculation, refrained from entering, thrust 
 forth his fishing-rod and easily cast his hook into 
 deep water. The landlord, with a pride every one 
 will sympathise in, pointed out the very spot where 
 the accomplished philosopher indulged in his favou- 
 rite amusement, which, we have the best authority 
 
160 
 
 for believing, never interrupted tlie course of those 
 sublime speculations which, when matured into 
 practical application, delighted the scientific world. 
 The more I saw of this desirable residence, 
 and especially when I came to look at the internal 
 accommodations, the more I felt persuaded that 
 such an unlooked-for combination of advantages 
 could not possibly come within the compass of any 
 half-pay purse. We had resolved not to give more 
 than 1500 francs, or about £60, for any campagne 
 for the season, and we even hoped to get one for 
 something less. The season at Geneva is considered 
 to last between five and six months, from the end 
 of May to October, both partly inclusive. Now as 
 both May and June were gone, we fancied we 
 might get some sort of place for July, August, and 
 September, for the sum to which we had limited 
 ourselves. But such a campagne as this- we dared 
 not to dream of, and I returned to the hotel to 
 report progress, and to confer with my friend the 
 landlord as to the probable rent. My heart sunk 
 within me as he said that he had heard the owner 
 of the campagne speak of four thousand francs ! 
 Nevertheless, after tea, accompanied by all my 
 family, 1 again visited the house and grounds ; the 
 second view proved even more fascinating than the 
 first, and after sighing and looking — sighing and 
 looking again — over the rooms, the terraces, and 
 
161 
 
 the shady walks, and indulging in peeps of the 
 Alps, and the lake, and the adjacent city, I drew 
 breath anxiously, and ventured to ask the owner 
 what might be the rent ? 
 
 " Why," said the lord of the happy mansion, 
 " 1 had determined not to let it for less than four 
 thousand francs, but as more than a month of the 
 season has slipped away, I am willing to take 
 twenty-four hundred."— We now sighed without 
 looking, and turned to leave the garden with as 
 " wandering steps, and slow " as did our first 
 parents when banished from Eden, on which their 
 hearts could scarcely have been more fixed than 
 ours were on the campagne Fauconnet. 
 
 The proprietor accompanied us with the air of a 
 man who wished to do anything rather than expel 
 us from his premises ; and just as I was going 
 to make him some oifer, (far short of his twenty- 
 four hundred francs) he himself seeing we were 
 near the gate, said, with an affected carelessness, 
 " Pray make me some offer."*' I made him none, 
 however — for two reasons — first, I had but an 
 obscure idea of what I ought, in reason, to offer, 
 and wished to take advice on that score; and 
 next, I wished to affect an indifference which 
 was far from my heart. I then learned, for the 
 thousandth time, that nothing is so uncharitable, 
 or less calculated to enforce the injunction of 
 
162 
 
 loving our neighbour as ourself, than these zig- 
 zags, or traverses by which one approaches a bar- 
 gain. So our personal intercourse dropped for 
 that time. But I dreamed all night of the ripplings 
 of the water on the walls of the terrace, the rust- 
 ling of the vine-leaves overhead, and the cool 
 shade of the walks and the arbours, and of the 
 well-placed seats fronting Mont Blanc. From these 
 luxurious imaginations of the quiet repose of the 
 campagne, I was awakened at half-past six next 
 morning by the harsh sound of a pianoforte, mise- 
 rably out of tune, thumped to pieces by two 
 young ladies practising Cramer's exercises. Thisdis^ 
 turbance, succeeded by the ordinary hullabaloo of 
 even the best-regulated hotel, contrasted so power- 
 fully with the tranquillity of the retired villa we 
 had been looking at, that 1 felt disposed to hurry 
 to a conclusion on any terms with the landlord. 
 
 But a consultation with mine host induced me 
 to avoid all appearance of hurry or over-anxiety, 
 and in this spirit of deception and false pretences, 
 I hired a char-a-banc, and visited several other 
 campagnes ; talked to sundry friends who lived in 
 the neighbourhood, and returned at night more 
 pleased than ever with my first love. I could not 
 help feeling that it would have served me right 
 had the owner let his campagne w^hile I was 
 coquetting after this fashion, and it was with some 
 
163 
 
 trepidation I inquired in the evening if anything 
 had been done. " If you are determined,"" said the 
 friendly master of the hotel, " to give fifteen hun- 
 dred francs and no more, let me go at once and 
 make an offer of fourteen, and see what will be 
 the result." To this I agreed, and deputed him 
 to carry on the negotiation. Next morning, to 
 our infinite joy, a communication reached us that 
 we might have the place we had set our hearts on, 
 not for the whole season, but for three months, 
 for the sum we were prepared to give. 
 
 As this was all we really wanted, we were not 
 slow to put things in train, and before night we had 
 hired a native female cook and a Piedmontese man- 
 servant — a cheery fellow who touched the guitar, 
 and had a ready hand for every kind of play or 
 work. Before the next night we had taken pos- 
 session, and our establishment was in full action 
 — the walks all weeded and raked ; the trees and 
 shrubs pruned out of the way of the carriages; 
 and all trimmed up as if we had been at home for 
 a month. It is possible that, by exerting our 
 ingenuity, we might have discovered faults in our 
 new possession, but our habits being of a different 
 cast, instead of repenting of our bargain, we 
 daily found fresh reasons to consider that our 
 fondest expectations had been realised. The 
 Spaniards have a proverb, that while some people 
 
164 
 
 fall naturally on their legs, others as naturally 
 pitch on their backs ; and certainly in the matter of 
 houses we verified the first part of the proverb, 
 for wherever we went a house appeared to have been 
 got up expressly for us to enter ! 
 
 The well-known Vent de Bise, which blows from 
 the north-east with considerable violence even in 
 summer along the lake of Geneva, set in on the 
 4th of July, just as we took possession, and changed 
 the climate immediately from hot to cold ; but 
 being well housed, we lighted our fires, and cared 
 little for the change. During the night we could 
 hear the waves of the lake lashing against the wall 
 of the terrace, in a style not unworthy of the great 
 sea itself in some sheltered bay. But even with 
 this, and with the wind sweeping amongst the trees, 
 the house lay in so low and sheltered a position, 
 that the stillness of the scene was scarcely broken. 
 I awoke at four o'clock, and drawing back a slid- 
 ing shutter, had the satisfaction of seeing the great 
 feature of the landscape in all his glory, towering 
 above a long line of subordinate glaciers, stretch- 
 ing far to the north or left-hand, and looking 
 much higher and more conspicuous than ever. We 
 had, indeed, got an occasional glimpse of the moun- 
 tain from the hotel, and from other points as we 
 drove along the northern bank of the lake, but the 
 clouds had covered all the other ranges so com- 
 
165 
 
 pletely, that until this moment we had no expec- 
 tation of possessing from our very windows one of 
 the best, if not the very best view of the whole 
 ridge. The wind had entirely fallen, and from 
 the peculiar sharpness of the morning light, the 
 outline of all the hills became so distinct that 
 they seemed close at hand. Even the chief of the 
 whole, whose top began presently to catch the 
 first touches of the sun's rays, appeared close at 
 hand ; and casting about till I found a copy of 
 Lord Byron's Manfred, I read with a feeling of 
 reality which only imaginative poetry can impart, 
 the beautiful address beginning, — 
 
 Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, 
 They crown'd him long ago, 
 On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, 
 With a diadem of snow. 
 
 Around his waist are forests braced, 
 The avalanche is in his hand, 
 But ere it fall that thundering ball 
 Must pause for my command ! &c. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the multitude of 
 campagnes which are scattered along the shores of 
 the lake of Geneva, are all got up for the benefit 
 of the strangers, who certainly do flock in con- 
 siderable numbers to that country, although it does 
 happen that a good many of them are from time to 
 
166 
 
 time occupied by foreigners. The Genevese them- 
 selves, in fact, have a strong national propensity to 
 become possessors of a bit of land, upon which they 
 may build a country-house, no matter how small, 
 so it be what may bear the name of a campagne. 
 I have been told many stories of persons who 
 have passed the greater part of their lives in 
 laborious exertion in foreign lands, and amid all 
 sorts of privations, stimulated chiefly by this one 
 object of ambition ! The mass of the people at 
 Geneva are, indeed, wonderfully prudent in all 
 that relates to what is called the " main chance." 
 Scarcely a man lives beyond his income, very few 
 live up to it, and almost all lay by a considerable 
 portion of it annually. It can be understood also, 
 that many of them, though eminently thrifty in 
 everything else, have ruined themselves by en- 
 gaging in speculations which promised high gains, 
 but burst in bubbles. The Swiss are twitted 
 pretty much as the Scotch are with their love of 
 money. " Point d'argent — point de Suisse " is a 
 biting satire applicable to both all over the world. 
 But it is not alone in this thrifty characteristic 
 that they resemble each other, for, like the Scotch, 
 the Swiss wander all over the earth, in search of 
 gold. By their industrious habits, and by their 
 innate probity and fidelity in all their shades — the 
 offspring of sound principles instilled into them 
 
167 
 
 in early youth, they gain the confidence of their 
 employers in every rank of life, and while they are 
 implicitly trusted, they repay in hearty and faithful 
 service the obligations they incur. 
 
 In one respect, indeed, the Swiss differ from the 
 Scotch. They generally return home with the 
 cash they have amassed, in order to spend it 
 amongst those mountains which have never for one 
 moment quitted their imaginations during the 
 period of what they always, in secret at least, 
 consider their exile. The Scotch, on the other 
 hand, are too apt, I fear, gradually to forget their 
 country — so far, at least, as to take up very cheer- 
 fully with the superior comforts and other advan- 
 tages of England. In my own case, however, 
 like any exiled Helvetian, I can never hear a stray 
 note of any of our national airs, without being 
 carried suddenly back to the mountains and valleys 
 of old Scotland, amongst which I have rambled so 
 much and so often. I remember once in particular, 
 when wandering far away in the interior of India, 
 I heard accidentally Smollett's beautiful lines, be- 
 ginning — 
 
 " On Leven's banks while free to rove 
 And tune the rural pipe to love," 
 
 repeated by a countryman. The effect was instan- 
 taneous, and reminded me of Humboldt's theory 
 that there occur, occasionally, magnetic shocks so 
 
168 
 
 deeply seated in the heart of the earth, that they 
 affect the magnetic needle at the same instant of 
 time, on spots ten thousand miles apart. As I felt 
 the invisible, but indissoluble, chord of national 
 sympathy, thus casually touched in a foreign land, 
 vibrate home again, I owed and paid much grati- 
 tude to the poet who by the graphic magic of his 
 numbers, could thus annihilate both time and space, 
 and give me, even amidst the gorgeous teak forests 
 of Malabar, so true a taste of the superior attractions 
 of my own distant Fatherland. 
 
169 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF LIFE. 
 
 Let people say what they please about being 
 indifferent to climate, there can be no doubt that 
 it is a great advantage to have fine weather for any 
 purpose, grave or gay. A clear sky above, and 
 a smiling landscape below; water covered with 
 sailing-vessels and row-boats at one place, and so 
 smooth and unsailed over at another, that the 
 wooded banks of the middle distance are cast 
 downwards in long, coloured streaks — more beau- 
 tiful even than the originals — are but a few of the 
 numerous circumstances which help us to get 
 through protracted difficulties, since the mind is 
 kept fresh and cheerful, by the contemplation of 
 agreeable objects. On the other hand, a rainy, 
 dark, blustering day, acts like a drag-chain on the 
 spirits, and, by augmenting fears and repressing 
 hopes, tends greatly to discourage those who are 
 struggling to conceal emotions which it might be 
 hurtful to express, or likely to add to the cares 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 
 
 of the sufferer, whose troubles may already pretty 
 well fill up the cup of endurance. 
 
 Whether this be so or not, there can be no 
 doubt that there come across us certain black days, 
 in which everything goes wrong. In the morning 
 we awake more wearied by our own busy dreams 
 than refreshed by the night's sleep. We huddle 
 on our clothes, and find nothing to fit us right ; in 
 our impatience, like Shakspeare's tailor, we "falsely 
 thrust our slippers on contrary feet," in ominous 
 anticipation of the day's being out of joint. We 
 ring and ring, but can't get a servant to answer the 
 bell — the hot water, when it does come, is cold — 
 the new rolls are stale — the fresh cream sour. The 
 postman either trots past our door altogether, or, 
 instead of bringing the letters we are anxiously 
 looking for, hands in an abominable tradesman's 
 bill, supposed to have been long ago paid off, but 
 now overlaid with compound interest. The persons 
 we had desired to meet us either cannot or will not 
 come, or they mistake the hour, or we mistake it, 
 and incur the reproach of negligence, or, which is 
 nearly as teasing, we find our intentions misinter- 
 preted; so that both their affairs and our own are 
 bungled. The treacherous sky, whose incipient 
 brilliancy tempted us to arrange a pic-nic party, 
 changes to black ; and the wind, as if purely to 
 spite us, chops round to the bitter east, right in the 
 
171 
 
 teeth of our track. We know of something going 
 wrong which only the private counsel of a con- 
 fidential friend can put right; we esconce him 
 in our snuggery, but just as we have begun our 
 talk some *' patent steel " bore of a fellow, whom 
 to tolerate at any time is a severe effort, thrusts 
 in his nose, cuts off our tale, and talks of his dis- 
 organised stomach. The company we look for to 
 cheer us send excuses, and those who, at last, 
 poorly furnish forth the feast are so essentially 
 dull, that they quintuple the gloom of the starved 
 table ; while our strained attempts at courtesy are 
 counteracted by the twinges of a toothach, or a 
 servant we have taken on trial gets tipsy, and 
 tripping over a " very particular " guest's gouty 
 toe, dashes the tea-urn into a huge mirror ; upon 
 which, losing all patience and control, we lend the 
 fellow a hearty cuff, and thus end the day in anger, 
 as we began it in sulkiness ! 
 
 In like manner, though of a very different com- 
 plexion, there are some days when everything goes 
 right with us, from the first peep of dawn to the last 
 trace of twilight. We awaken with fresh spirits, and 
 see all nature renovated, smiling and sparkling 
 before us. We feel grateful for everything far and 
 near, and secretly if not openly acknowledge the 
 obligation with genuine and pious sincerity, not 
 with mere lip-service. As the day advances, great 
 
 i2 
 
172 
 
 matters, as well as trifles, seem to fall into tlieir 
 proper places with the most appropriate regularity, 
 and just in the very way we wish them. The 
 urn is in full boil— the tea never gave out so rich a 
 flavour before — the toast was never so crisp, or 
 the eggs so newly laid. The merry postman''s 
 rap ! — rap ! brings the very letters we looked for, 
 with just the news we desired to hear. If we 
 wish to write an answer, the nicest pen in the world 
 lies all ready nibbed to our hand — the words flow 
 into their places as the ideas rise ; and we sign 
 and seal our letter with the pleasant feeling that its 
 contents will be well received. If we have an 
 appointment at noon and are pressed for time, we 
 are overtaken on the road by a friend, who offers 
 us a cast ; so that the person at the rendezvous joins 
 us, watch in hand, praising our punctuality. If 
 we ride to the spot, even our horse partakes of 
 the genial influence of the bright day, and seems 
 also in spirits. But if we prefer walking, the wea- 
 ther is of the right temperature to one degree of 
 Fahrenheit — there is no dust — no more wind than 
 just to fan the flies away — the sun, too, is at the 
 proper altitude, for the lights and shades of the 
 landscape. If we take our favourite round by the 
 sea-side, the tide ripples along the beach at high 
 water-mark; and, before we have been there a 
 minute, we encounter the person we most desired 
 
.]73 
 
 to see. It may be the doctor, who assures us that 
 the alarming symptoms of a friend's illness had 
 passed off; and that another, whose death we had 
 grieved to hear, had been mistaken for a person of 
 the same name, but of whom we knew nothing. 
 On re-entering the house, refreshed by exercise, 
 we take up the papers, of which every paragraph 
 contains gratifying intelligence ; and just as we 
 are casting about for some agreeable and useful 
 mental employment, a parcel comes from America 
 with a new book from the pen of the accomplished 
 Miss Sedgwick, the Maria Edgeworth of the new 
 world. As the dressing-gong rings, a carriage 
 drives up with the party whom we had despaired 
 of seeing at dinner ; and in the evening, every 
 turn of the conversation, every note of the piano, 
 every look from every eye, speaks of good-fellow- 
 ship and cheerfulness. And when at length we 
 lie down at night, we have no care on our minds 
 but what springs from a sense of our own unworthi- 
 ness of so much happiness, and a still more painful 
 sense of our inability either to express in adequate 
 language the extent of our gratitude, or to make 
 resolutions strong enough to show our sense of so 
 many blessings. 
 
 Some of these views may appear fanciful, but I 
 suspect that those who have had most real business 
 
174 
 
 to do in tlie world will, on looking back, be free to 
 confess that their capacity for doing good service 
 at moments of trial is often much more under the 
 influence of such apparently trivial circumstances 
 as the state of the weather, than they may like to 
 acknowledge at the moment. 
 
 Be all these speculations, however, as they may, 
 I well remember feeling under a sort of personal 
 obligation to old Mont Blanc, with his hoary pate, 
 for looking down upon our campagne with so 
 smiling an aspect, when my first-born son came 
 squalling and bawling into the world ! It seemed 
 to me that this noblest of mountains never looked 
 so grand before, and I shall ever associate the 
 singular emotions of that moment with the bright 
 touch of the evening light resting so tranquilly on 
 the top and sides of the glaciers, that it seemed 
 unwilling to go away. 
 
 The day had been a very long and very anxious 
 one ; but at no period of it had I been insen- 
 sible to the genial influence of the climate and 
 situation, and it is possible the serene weather 
 may have contributed to hide from me the gra- 
 dual accession of fever, which long watching and 
 other strains upon the nerves are so apt to induce 
 at such moments. The truth is that, in spite of 
 what the political economists assert, that the 
 
175 
 
 chances are rather in favour of a male child being 
 born than of a female, I was rather taken by sur- 
 prise to find myself the father of a boy. 
 
 With this feeling" on my mind, and while gazing 
 intently on Mont Blanc, I fell into a turbid slum- 
 ber, which was indeed not to be surprised at, as I had 
 been for so many hours without closing my eyes. 
 As I dropped asleep I first saw — or imagined I saw, 
 marshalled before me, in feverish array, all the pos- 
 sible accidents of my poor little man's future life. 
 By one of those singular delusions which belong to 
 this kind of disturbed state of the circulation, I 
 never once suspected that bodily weakness was the 
 cause, combined with a degree of excitement which, 
 had I only laid my finger on my pulse, I might have 
 detected. 1 fancied that the distant mountain, and 
 all the intermediate ranges, had faded one by one 
 gradually from my sight, leaving only the great 
 sheet of water at their base, the matchless lake of 
 Geneva. Nor did there seem anything remarkable 
 in the substitution of a fleet of line-of-battle ships 
 for the hills ; nor, that on the deck of one of them 
 I should see my son in a middy"'s dress. In the 
 next instant, however, all was confusion, and the 
 cry of mutiny rang fore and aft ! I was then hor- 
 rified to see my boy prostrate under the cutlass 
 of a ruffian. — I leaped forward, as I thought, to 
 clutch him away, but in a moment felt myself 
 
176 
 
 transported to St. James's Street, walking arm- 
 in-arm with the youth, now grown to manhood, 
 and arrayed in a military uniform — the officer on 
 guard at the Palace. At the bottom of the street we 
 were stopped by a hearse, and on turning to speak 
 to my companion about the procession — he was 
 gone ! and in his place lay a coffin at my feet, 
 with the lad's name, in brass nails on its top ! I 
 felt the tears which came to my eyes checked by 
 anger at a loud laugh from an adjacent window, 
 near which, sitting at a desk, I saw the same figure 
 with a pen behind his ear, a prosperous gentleman, 
 a citizen of famous London town. I wished him 
 joy — glad to see him out of his grave again ; but he 
 started back, exclaiming, " touch me not, — I am a 
 bankrupt — a ruined man — starving as you see ! " 
 And then he uttered a low, infantine cry for food, 
 so dolorous that I started upright in my bed ; when, 
 to my horror, I still heard the sound. It was in- 
 deed from my son, but not as yet in such a scrape. 
 He was merely squalling for his first meal — poor 
 little man ! 
 
 As I felt the fever, caused by long watching, 
 had not yet subsided, I soothed, or tried to soothe 
 myself, by reflecting, that the painful images which 
 sleep had brought into the front of the picture, 
 would, if they occurred at all, be spread over a 
 period of years, and be gradually approached, and 
 
177 
 
 might be counteracted by education and principle, 
 rightly applied. In this new cast of the fever I 
 again fell asleep to dream of Eton, till a sort of 
 night-mare possessed me, and I fancied the boy had 
 grown so tall that he rapped his head against the 
 ceiling. The sound awoke me, and I discovered 
 that the shutter of the open window near the sofa 
 on which I had been tossing was driven gently 
 backwards and forwards against the wall, by a 
 slight puif of wind stealing along the margin of 
 the lake. 
 
 It was just at the moment of the earliest peep of 
 day-break. I rose, and feeling that sleep gave me no 
 rest, tried to gain composure by reflection from the 
 still and perfectly silent scene before me. I put 
 my hand to my forehead, which felt as if on fire, and 
 envying much the calmness of the water, had half 
 a mind to cool myself by plunging into it from the 
 terrace. 
 
 At this end of the lake, the stream of the 
 mighty Rhone can be distinctly traced, gliding 
 with a slow but majestic pace towards the outlet. 
 Only one small market-boat was in motion at 
 this early hour, apparently carried along by the 
 current alone, for I could see no one in her. Every 
 other vessel, whether a row-boat, or fitted with 
 masts and sails, lay either at anchor, or with their 
 keels biting the sand, seemed waiting for the morn- 
 
 I 3 
 
178 
 
 ing, which was just beginning to appear. No sound 
 of any kind could be heard, for even the leaves, well 
 steeped in dew, lay as still as if they had been cast 
 in bronze. The landscape on every hand was 
 equally motionless, except where an occasional faint 
 flaw, or light air of wind, caused I know not how, 
 ruffled the surface of the water, or moved the foliage 
 so gently as scarcely to be perceptible to the eye, 
 but sufficient to dislodge some drops of dew from 
 the overloaded leaves, and to cause a dropping 
 sound, like the first of a thunder-shower. This 
 however, being only for an instant, serv^ed to deepen 
 the universal silence. 
 
 At first, in the early stages of the twilight, neither 
 Mont Blanc, nor any of the less distant hills, could 
 be made out at all ; but, as the day broke, these 
 mountain giants came one by one into sight. What 
 seemed to me very strange, was the jet-black 
 ^appearance of the shadows of some of the whitest 
 of the glaciers, caused, I suppose, by all the ad- 
 jacent parts being lighted up by the first rays of 
 the sun. The top line seen against the cold, bright, 
 blue sky beyond it, though the most distant of 
 all, looked so uncommonly distinct, that I could 
 reckon every pinnacle or needle, and see into every 
 crevice, with that sort of certainty with which "we 
 examine a hand specimen of a rock. 
 
 While straining my sight to investigate those re- 
 
179 
 
 mote districts, brought forward with such wonderful 
 distinctness, my attention was so insensibly drawn 
 away from nearer objects, that I forgot all that had 
 recently passed, and almost imagined myself trans- 
 ported to the mountain tops. Meanwhile, the sun 
 seemed to take an unusually long time in climbing 
 the *' eastern gate ;" — but while I was speculating 
 on this phenomenon, and trying to account for the 
 small variation in the appearance of the scenery, 
 his glorious rays — ten times more refulgent than I 
 ever remember to have seen them, as if suddenly let 
 loose, and gushing in a huge '' debacle " or flood of 
 light, appeared over the eastern summit of the 
 mountain called the Voiron, deluging the whole 
 country with an intense blaze of molten gold. At 
 this triumphant signal all the rest of nature appeared 
 to start from its slumbers. The effect on my still 
 confused senses was as if millions of trumpets, and 
 thousands of chariot wheels, were sounding in the 
 east and ushering in the god of day. The sudden- 
 ness and brightness of the glare were so excessive 
 that I was forced to turn my eyes the other way. 
 
 On now looking towards the lake, all its tran- 
 quillity was gone. Everything appeared in motion 
 both on land and sea, as all the boats had gotten 
 under weigh; oars splashed on every side, with 
 sails loosed and sheeted home, urging them 
 briskly in different directions. The faint touches 
 
180 
 
 of the night-wind had freshened into so rattling a 
 breeze, that I could hear the masts of the nearest 
 vessels creaking under their canvas, and even the 
 fresh water waves of the lake could be heard lipping 
 themselves smartly against the wall of the terrace, 
 in a manner not unworthy of the ocean itself. On 
 shore, too, the recent stillness had been converted 
 into noise and bustle ; for all the roads on both 
 sides of the lake were now crowded with carts and 
 carriages, and the rattle of wheels, mingled wath 
 the songs of the workmen on their way to the 
 fields, rung on every hand. 
 
 While lamenting the total destruction of the 
 late quiet scene, thus rudely broken in upon, I 
 sought for relief by casting my eyes once more 
 towards mv old friend Mont Blanc — but the whole 
 poetical sentiment of the distant landscape had 
 been carried away by this overwhelming mass of 
 vulgar life. As long as I had the scene all to 
 myself, and was the only spectator, I felt no diffi- 
 culty in creating such images to people it withal as 
 suited the excited condition of my feelings; but 
 when the rest of mankind took their place on the 
 stage, I could no longer sustain the delusion, and 
 like a troubled dream the whole faded gradually 
 away. 
 
 So I closed the shutters, betook myself a third 
 time to my pillow, and slept for many hours. 
 
181 
 
 without any more dreams. On awaking, at length 
 I felt completely refreshed, quite free from fever 
 or anxiety, and ready to take the future as it 
 might come, only wondering what could have 
 disturbed my thoughts so much, and given me cause 
 of imaginary anxiety, amidst such substantial hap- 
 piness. 
 
182 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE END OF LIFE. 
 
 A FEW days after the occurrence of the dreams 
 and realities of the last chapter, I received a letter 
 from a friend in England who, some years pre- 
 viously, when residing in Switzerland, had engaged 
 the services of a native of the country, of respect- 
 able family and excellent character. With this 
 person my friend had so much reason to be satis- 
 fied, that the sincerest interest was taken in her 
 fortunes long: after their immediate connexion had 
 ceased. Until a period shortly antecedent to the 
 time I am speaking of, it was fully believed that 
 this old friend was in easy circumstances, and 
 passing the evening of her days in that happy 
 contentment which is the genuine fruit of a well- 
 spent life, and which so often characterises the 
 history of those industrious and high-principled 
 Swiss who earn such a competence in foreign 
 lands, as becomes luxury in their simple homes. 
 She had long been left the widow of a man of some 
 
183 
 
 property, one of the magistrates of their small town ; 
 but her son, who might and ought to have been 
 the prop and consolation of his mother, proved 
 to her only a source of grief, and eventually 
 wrought the ruin of his parent. This son she had 
 educated for a profession he had chosen for himself, 
 and she had denied herself almost every luxury 
 in order that no expense might be spared to ad 
 vance him in the world. 
 
 In spite of all this care, and possibly in some 
 measure in consequence of excessive indulgence, 
 he became a headstrong and unsettled youth, 
 and disdaining the slow but sure gains of the line 
 of life to which he had been brought up, he must 
 needs make a rapid fortune by establishing an inn, 
 and taking unto himself a wife — the double-peaked 
 rock upon which so many inconsiderate adventurers 
 in that class of life are shipwrecked. Ruin followed 
 fast; and unfortunately a mother's fondness blinded 
 the old lady so much, that while she fully believed 
 she was aiding her son's rise in the world by join- 
 ing in the securities required by the money- 
 lenders, she was, in fact, accelerating his downfall 
 by furnishing him with tbe means of gratifying his 
 profligate tastes. When the crash came, therefore, 
 both were ruined, and the prodigal son not only 
 deserted the mother who bore him, but inverted 
 the instruction he had received from her, by aban- 
 
184 
 
 doning to misery and want the wife whom he had 
 married, although he knew that she was penniless, 
 and the infant she had given birth to in the midst 
 of total want. The poor woman, true to her duties, 
 would not move, but the man cut and ran to Paris, 
 where having soon found a knot of kindred spirits, 
 he became a laquais-de-place, and probably, so 
 far as his means went, a " roue " of the first order. 
 
 The Swiss, like the Spaniards, are essentially a 
 proud people, who submit for a long time with 
 wonderful patience to misfortune, before they can 
 bend their high spirit to solicit any assistance, 
 especially of a pecuniary nature which they know 
 they can never repay. Accordingly, this excellent 
 person never wrote to her distant friends, till pri- 
 vation and many sorrows had placed her almost 
 beyond the reach of human help. In the letter 
 which she wrote at last, she says, " I am now 
 reduced to the single dress I have on, and even 
 that 1 have difficulty in keeping out of the pawn- 
 broker's hands." 
 
 Such an appeal was not to be neglected for one 
 instant, and a letter was instantly written off to an 
 English clergyman residing in the same canton, 
 begging him to visit and relieve the poor old lady. 
 Either this letter did not reach its destination, or 
 the gentleman had quitted the neighbourhood; 
 but as no answer came from him, and only still 
 
185 
 
 more distressing communications from the object of 
 our story, a letter was written to me, requesting 
 me to interest myself in the matter. It seemed 
 that the poor woman, from having devoted her life 
 to education, thought of setting up a school — it was 
 to be hoped as a mere teacher or assistant — for her 
 health and other circumstances seemed to put it 
 out of the question, her carrying on such a labour- 
 ous undertaking without a partner of some kind. 
 She had also spoken of her having a relative in 
 some far away country in the north of Europe, and 
 in her despair of other assistance, she had dreamed, 
 poor old body, of traversing the intermediate regions 
 in the vain hope of setting up a school there. 
 
 As all parties appeared to reckon upon no help 
 from the son, I was furnished with a sum of money 
 amply sufficient, it was hoped, for present use, and 
 perhaps large enough to re-establish the good 
 woman in some comfortable position in the world. 
 As a small help of this kind goes a long way in 
 Switzerland, I felt certain that even if the school- 
 scheme or the project of the journey were to fail, 
 very much might be done to alleviate the immediate 
 distress. 
 
 I lost not a moment therefore in executing the 
 generous commission intrusted to me, but hired a 
 * char-a-banc ' and pair of horses, and taking one of 
 my little girls with me as a companion on a journey 
 
186 
 
 which I Lad a strong conviction would be a melan- 
 choly one, but which I thought might prove in- 
 structive, I set out for the town in which the old 
 lady lived, distant from Geneva only a few leagues. 
 We had the sun on one side, so that by keeping up 
 the hood of our rumbling vehicle, we were tolerably 
 protected from the heat, without losing sight of the 
 brilliant scenery before us, and on the lake along 
 the margin of which we coasted amongst cam- 
 pagnesor country-houses and vineyards, in endless 
 profusion and variety of tasteful arrangement. 
 It was in the middle of August, a season when 
 Switzerland is in its '' most gorgeous livery dight,'* 
 when nothing is wanting in the way of climate, 
 and everything that heart can desire is furnished in 
 the way of scenery. On the other side of the lake 
 we had a more remote, but still a distinct, view of 
 the same kind of richly-wooded, well-peopled, and 
 warm landscape, amongst the kindred beauties of 
 which we were now threading our way. The pro- 
 spect, however, on the further side of the lake was 
 backed by the sterner elegances of several ranges 
 of the Alps, rising behind one another in that mag- 
 nificent succession which at certain hours of the 
 day greatly augments their importance by pointing 
 out their relative heights and distances. Indeed, 
 no one who does not remain for a considerable time 
 at one spot in Switzerland, so as to see the moun- 
 
187 
 
 tains under the boundless variety of lights and 
 shades which belong to the morning, noon, and 
 the evening views, can possibly form any just con- 
 ception of their surpassing splendour. 
 
 The hot wind, called by the people at Geneva, 
 though I know not why, " Le Vent," or the Breeze, 
 which comes from the West, or rather the South- 
 west, was blowing along the lake in a very different 
 style from the uncomfortable " Bise," which is a 
 sharp, piercing, bracing sort of wind. The "Vent" 
 on the contrary, resembles, I believe, in many re- 
 spects, the baleful Scirocco of the Mediterranean, 
 in sultry heat, closeness, dampness, and especially 
 in the enervating influence it exercises on the body, 
 and consequently the depressing influence on the 
 mind — the body's slave ! Be this, or something else 
 the cause, we struggled in vain to feel cheerful, 
 and contemplated nothing but sorrow in our me- 
 lancholy mission. 
 
 We drove, as directed, to the Cafe, from whence 
 the letters had been dated, which we reached be- 
 tween two and three o'clock in the afternoon. On 
 stepping out I learned, with no surprise, that the 
 object of my search lay very ill in her room up- 
 stairs. I asked if I could see her, and was shown 
 to an apartment which I was glad to find airy and 
 comfortable ; for I had pictured to myself a gar- 
 ret, with straw pallet, and the other received ad- 
 
188 
 
 juncts of penury. Alas! I found misery enough 
 without these squalid accompaniments. 
 
 I saw at a glance that the poor lady must be all 
 but beyond the reach of comfort ; and as I looked 
 at her faded form and pallid cheek, I could not 
 help a momentary trace of the ridiculous crossing 
 my mindj at the notion of a person in this con- 
 dition dreaming of a journey from Switzerland to 
 the north of Europe. 
 
 The broken-hearted widow, and far w^orse than 
 childless mother, lay on a sofa, drawn near to a high 
 open window, in order that she might enjoy the 
 sense of freshness rather than of coolness which the 
 current of sultry air ill afforded. This accidental 
 arrangement threw the light down upon her figure, 
 as if the whole had been adjusted by the hand of 
 a master for the picture of some dying saint. She 
 lay, indeed, the very image of death, and, though 
 still alive, her voice sounded as if it proceeded 
 from the bottom of the grave. Her eye had lost 
 none of its expression, though it had settled far 
 back, in consequence, perhaps, of the apparent 
 projection of her cheek-bones, stripped by sick- 
 ness and sorrow of nearly all their flesh. The text 
 " all flesh is grass," struck my thoughts as I looked 
 on this withered herb, whom it had pleased God, 
 for good purposes, to blight and bruise, though in 
 her generation she had been virtuous, and deserv- 
 
189 
 
 ing, as it might seem to our limited view, of a 
 better end. 
 
 Having several times seen persons hovering on 
 the verge which separates this world from the next, 
 and knowing that too much agitation, even of a 
 pleasureable kind, sometimes suddenly snaps the 
 thread of life, I feared to deliver my message of 
 comfort all at once. I began, therefore, by stating 
 simply that I had been desired to call, in order to 
 see how she was, and to ask if there was any assis- 
 tance which could be given to her. The moment 
 she heard her kind friend's name, she clapped her 
 hands together, and turning her pale and emaciated 
 face to me, breathed a sigh so deep that it made 
 me shudder ; this was followed by a slight hectic 
 flush which passed across her countenance, though 
 her eye lighted up in a wonderful manner — all the 
 brighter, perhaps, for the circumjacent gloom — as 
 the glow-worm shows brightest in the darkest night. 
 Alas ! there glowed nothing in this poor woman's 
 breast now, but hopes of the world beyond the 
 grave, though, I must add, the warmest gratitude 
 for past favours from the quarter of which 1 was 
 now the messenger of such comfort as this world 
 had to bestow. 
 
 I could see, however, that she knew it to be of no 
 avail. " She was alone — totally alone,'"* at length 
 she contrived with no small effort to tell me. " Her 
 
190 
 
 mother," she added with a look of horror which I 
 shall never forget, " her own mother had left her 
 that very morning to return to her own home, leaving 
 her to die in the hands of strangers ! Her son, too, 
 (against whom she uttered not a word of reproach) 
 had left her, his wife, and his child, all to perish 
 together. Yet with all this,'' she continued, smil- 
 ing through a tear or two which affection, much 
 more touching than sorrow, had called up, "you 
 will be pleased to see that God has not allowed me 
 to be quite deserted." And looking round, called 
 my attention to a female who, from the room 
 being very dark except at one spot, I had not ob- 
 served before, sitting silently weeping by the side 
 of her couch. This person, an elderly lady like 
 herself, no relation or connexion, but a most true 
 friend, had, from a joint feeling of attachment and 
 a strong sense of duty, devoted herself entirely to 
 the desolate sufferer. A pause followed, as the 
 friend leaned forward to kiss the dyincr woman'^s 
 hand in acknowledgment of these grateful expres- 
 sions. 
 
 By this time our sight had become accustomed to 
 the faint light of the room, and I was struck with 
 surprise on observing that even in this extremity of 
 penury there was nothing squalid or locally 
 wretched in the scene. The bed-linen and the 
 lady's dress were not only clean but blanched 
 
191 
 
 like snow, and everything else in the room bore 
 the same traces of habitual good order and neat- 
 ness. 
 
 I renewed the conversation by asking her if a 
 small sum of money would be useful to her, since I 
 was authorised to assist her in this way from time 
 to time. At first she shook her head, as if to say 
 that she had passed beyond the reach of such aid ; 
 but after a little reflection she said that as she had 
 been obliged to sell most of her things to pay her 
 rent, and to defray her weekly bills, she might be 
 rendered more comfortable if she had other means 
 of settling these matters. I had brought a small 
 bag of money with me, containing twenty five- 
 franc pieces, or about four pounds, which, though 
 it may seem a small sum in England, is a large one 
 in a Swiss village. I told her that if this was not 
 enough, I had plenty more at home in her name, 
 ready for her whenever she required it. I added 
 that I should hold myself in readiness to come to 
 her at any moment, if she should feel herself worse, 
 or wish to see me on any business. She expressed 
 herself pleased to have such assistance at hand, and 
 spoke so, much more firmly than before, that I 
 thought I might now produce my credentials, and 
 I accordingly gave her the letter of which I was 
 the bearer. As her wasted fingers proved too 
 weak even to open it, I unfolded the paper before 
 
192 
 
 her, and she looked at it for some time, out 
 said she had lost the power of reading, and that, 
 in truth, all things around her were becoming 
 dimmer and dimmer ! I really thought this was 
 the haze or mist which frequently precedes a 
 dissolution of all earthly ties. The fatal crisis, 
 however, was not so near. Upon her begging me 
 to read the letter I did so, very slowly, and with 
 many a stop, to give the poor woman time for the 
 utterance of her feelings. It struck me as curious 
 that while all this time she shed no tears, those 
 of her friend fell so copiously that I could hear 
 them dropping on the sanded floor. Possibly the 
 fountain of grief had been drained so deeply by 
 all that had passed to wring her heart, that sorrow 
 had no further means to express itself by this 
 outlet. 
 
 I certainly expected that a relief so unlooked for, 
 at such a moment, and accompanied by expressions 
 of so much regard and confidence, might have 
 opened springs long closed up. But it was not so; 
 she did better, however, by giving vent to her gra- 
 titude to God, in the most impassioned strains of 
 piety I have ever heard — blaming no one but her- 
 self! We felt much touched by this sudden burst 
 of eloquence, and nearly joined company in tears 
 with the distracted companion, who, losing all con- 
 trol, wept aloud. 
 
193 
 
 After taking leave, I waited on the good doc- 
 tor, on whom I found it difficult to force a fee, and 
 learned from him that there was no hope either for 
 the old lady herself, or for the poor little deserted 
 grandchild ; which of the two would die first he 
 could not say, nor when; it might be a week, 
 or a day, or an hour, before either of them left 
 this world. He promised to write to me as things 
 advanced, and also to let me know if I could be of 
 any use, in my own person, or by the use of the 
 funds placed in my hands. 
 
 I heard nothing for a few days, when, one morn- 
 ing, I received the following note from the doctor : 
 
 " I have the honour to tell you that the lady in 
 whom you have interested yourself is much worse 
 than when you saw her. She is very weak, and having 
 fallen into the third stage of a pulmonary phthisis 
 has not many days to live. Her granddaughter is 
 also sinking fast.**' 
 
 I made all haste to the village, but I was too 
 late. The generous companion, who had never 
 quitted the old lady's bedside, on hearing the car- 
 riage stop, ran down to meet me, and crying bit- 
 terly took me by the hand, and without saying a 
 word led me to her friend's room. The door had 
 been left half open, and we walked along on tip- 
 toe, as softly as if a transient slumber, not the 
 eternal repose of death, prevailed there. The small 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 
 
 quantity of light wliicli entered the apartment came, 
 as I have already described, from the upper part of 
 a high window ; it fell, however, no longer on the 
 bed on which the body was laid — and which could 
 now scarcely be distinguished in the shadow cast on 
 it by a huge chest of drawers — but on the face of a 
 young and pretty woman, dressed in rather a gay 
 suit of mourning, preparatory to the funeral, which 
 was to take place in an hour. A knot of gossips 
 had assembled in an outer room to affect an interest 
 in the deceased which they had omitted to show in 
 her life-time, and this girl, who was one of the co- 
 terie, had arrived rather late and heated. On finding 
 her hair disordered by the exercise, and being well 
 acquainted with the localities of the house, and 
 knowing where a mirror was hung, she had stolen 
 quietly into the inner apartment, where the body 
 was laid out. She there proceeded to arrange her 
 head -gear, naturally imagining herself secure 
 against interruption. 
 
 On entering the room I saw at once what was 
 going on, for the glass, though it hung on the dark 
 wall, faced me, and I could see in it all that was 
 passing, while the young woman's back being turned 
 towards the door, she herself remained unconscious 
 of our scrutiny. The damp south-west wind had 
 so uncurled her locks that she could by no means 
 re-adjust them to her satisfaction, and I could detect 
 
195 
 
 a look of rising displeasure as each fresh twist only 
 made matters worse. At length, from some happy 
 turn or other, the obstinate ringlets fell so agree- 
 ably into their places, that an unrepressed smile 
 of entire satisfaction mantled over her face. I 
 had been much amused by all this, and forget- 
 ting — as much as the young beauty had done — 
 what other company was present, I laughed invo- 
 luntarily, just loud enough to alarm the fair damsel, 
 who turning round and blushing all over at being 
 caught at her toilet within two yards of the couch 
 of death, fell back into the shade behind the body. 
 
 My afflicted guide, apparently the only sincere 
 mourner of the party, and too deeply affected to re- 
 mark these random touches of human nature, con- 
 tinued pulling me along till we reached the bed- 
 side ; she then lifted up the sheet which covered 
 the face of her departed friend, and letting go my 
 hand, flung herself on her knees, and resting her 
 face on the cold and care-worn cheek of the heart- 
 broken woman — now at last released from all her 
 woes — she literally bathed it with tears. By the 
 help of the pretended mourner of the ringlets, 
 who by this time had reassumed the settled look of 
 unfelt sympathy proper for the occasion, I raised 
 the sincere mourner from the ground, but she re- 
 fused to quit the spot. 
 
 In order, if I could, to change the current of 
 
 k2 
 
196 
 
 lier grief, which of course I thoug-ht not of trying 
 to stem, I remarked in as cheerful a tone as I could 
 muster, that I was pleased to see an expression of 
 satisfaction, amounting almost to a smile, on the 
 countenance of her deceased friend. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! " sobbed out the other, " she died 
 happy, at peace with her God and her Saviour, in 
 charity with all mankind," and begging blessings 
 and forgiveness for those whose conduct had torn 
 her own heartstrings ; " but to those,"" continued 
 she, " who had been kind to her, she knew not 
 how to express one tithe of what she felt. The 
 very last thing she said was, — that she had not 
 believed it possible that anything on this side of 
 the grave could in the least degree have repaired 
 her broken spirit, but that the kind expressions and 
 still kinder acts of her old mistress and friend who 
 sent you to her, had not only soothed and comforted 
 her, but had so entirely softened her heart towards 
 others, as to leave her in charity with all mankind ! 
 As she spoke these words, she smiled, for the last 
 time — ^just as you see her now— and in doing so 
 she died ! " 
 
197 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ON THE HABITS AND CUSTOMS OF ENGLISH TRA- 
 TELLERS ABROAD, AND ON THE INFLUENCE OF 
 THE PROTESTANT CHAPELS ESTABLISHED BY 
 THEM AT DIFFERENT PLACES ON THE CONTI- 
 NENT. 
 
 It lias been observed of the English that, 
 wherever they go, they carry most of their habits 
 and customs along with them, and in spite of 
 uncongenial climates, and other adverse circum- 
 stances, keep up, in distant lands, the usages of 
 their own country. This is, no doubt, true to a 
 considerable extent, and for reasons which may be 
 easily explained. 
 
 It has been my lot to visit countries where the 
 English have settled themselves, either for life, to 
 the entire abandonment of their native soil — as in 
 the Canadas, the West Indies, and the Cape — or 
 where they have been led by professional duty, or 
 by motives of commercial interest, to fix themselves 
 for a series of years, as in India, China, and South 
 
198 
 
 America; or, finally, where they have gone only for 
 a season, on the score of health, economy, or mere 
 amusement, — or perhaps for the gratification of an 
 enlightened curiosity, as in France, Italy, Swit- 
 zerland, and Germany. I have seen something, 
 too, of our soldiers and sailors in foreign parts; in 
 the North American colonies, on the Mediterranean, 
 at the Cape of Good Hope, the Isle of France, 
 Ceylon, and the East Indies. Add to these the 
 floating population of unsettled traders, who rove 
 about the world, from "China to Peru,"" with gold 
 as steadily in their eye as ever it was in that of the 
 Spaniards of old. 
 
 In all these species of the genus John Bull, and 
 among some others which might be enumerated, I 
 have observed the above remark to apply, with only 
 such modifications as circumstances render unavoid- 
 able. Along with a good deal that is occasionally 
 absurd in this adherence to their own national 
 customs, there appears to be much more that is 
 wise and useful in many ways. It is clear, at all 
 events, that people always do those things best to 
 which they have been most accustomed, and there- 
 fore if the manners and customs, and, above all, 
 the principles of England, are better than those of 
 other countries, it follows that it is by no means 
 foolish, but, on the contrary, very wise in the 
 English to keep up, as nearly as circumstances will 
 
199 
 
 allow them, the greater part of their national pecu- 
 liarities. 
 
 It would manifestly be absurd to maintain those 
 particular customs abroad, which are decidedly un- 
 suitable to foreign parts, merely because they hap- 
 pened to be in use at home. The Dutch, for 
 example, selected for their chief town in Java the 
 most unhealthy spot in the island ; and moreover, 
 as if to double its stock of mal' aria, they intersected 
 it with canals, and all apparently for no other 
 reason than that such was the custom in Holland. 
 On the other hand, when the English took the 
 island, they stationed their troops on higher ground, 
 in spots known to be healthy ; the result was, that 
 the mortality amongst them was not a tenth part 
 of what it had been amongst their predecessors. 
 
 Nevertheless, with these broad and obviously 
 useful exceptions, I am quite sure that it is of 
 importance to keep up as many of our usages as 
 possible, which are not decidedly out of character 
 with the climate and other new physical circum- 
 stances in which tlie strang-ers find themselves 
 placed. I have observed of the English in par- 
 ticular, that when any of them sought to adapt 
 themselves entirely to the habits of the natives, 
 they generally contrived, with perverse ingenuity, 
 to pick up those points of manners which were 
 unsuitable to them, while they dropped others which 
 
200 
 
 they certainly ought never on any account to have 
 relinquished. In this, as in everything else, there 
 seems nothing more essential to success than uni- 
 formity of purpose and consistency of character, 
 and accordingly it may be observed, that when 
 strangers, in the hope of conciliating the good-will 
 of the inhabitants of the country in which they 
 chance to be living, give up what is natural or 
 habitual to them, even though it might seem to be 
 in conformity to local practice, they lose instead of 
 gain ground. Often, too, they lose it doubly ; 
 first, by giving up their own sense of right ; and 
 next, by exciting, more or less, the contempt of 
 the very persons whose approbation they seek to 
 gain. 
 
 It is the custom in England not only to go to 
 church on Sunday, but to devote the day to con- 
 genial purposes — at all events, to make that day a 
 season of bodily rest, and of mental tranquillity 
 and reflection, rather than one of bustle, sight- 
 seeing, and dissipation. But in countries where 
 Sunday is either entirely neglected, or made the 
 busiest day of the seven, will the inhabitants, how- 
 ever careless themselves in these matters, esteem 
 those English the more who adopt their own fashion 
 of making it a day of diversion ? 
 
 It is needless to multiply such questions; for a 
 very little reflection will show us that in such cases 
 
201 
 
 there can be no doubt of the propriety, and even 
 of the selfish policy — to put the matter upon its 
 lowest grounds — of our adhering to those points in 
 manners which we have been taught to consider so 
 essentially bound up with our whole system of 
 social obligations, that to detach any one of them, 
 is to cast loose and set adrift the whole. Since no 
 reasoning can be sound which seeks to justify any 
 departure from principles duly sanctioned, so no 
 motive ought to be strong enough to dislocate any 
 system of conduct founded upon them. The old 
 maxim " Do in Rome as the Romans do," seduces 
 many worthy persons to forget what they owe to 
 themselves, in consideration of what thev affect 
 to fancy they owe to the Romans, but what, in 
 truth, they merely find agreeable to themselves at 
 the moment. 
 
 " But surely," I have often heard people say, 
 " there are many innocent customs which we might 
 adopt with advantage and safety in Italy or 
 France, but which are different from those to which 
 we have been accustomed at home ? " Perhaps it 
 may be considered very prejudiced to say that the 
 number of such usages is not great, and that such 
 adoptions are seldom made, without a correspond- 
 ent abandonment of our own habits, which, in the 
 end, may leave us without those very advantages 
 
 K 3 
 
202 
 
 which it was our chief, or at all events pretended, 
 aim to secure. 
 
 There is no doubt that this must always be the 
 result, sooner or later, when the question involves 
 an abandonment of any point of principle ; but 
 even in cases where there is no such fatal sacrifice, 
 it will generally happen that a failure ensues. And 
 I believe the reason is, that in all such attempts 
 at imitation there must inevitably be much of that 
 want of keeping which springs out of ignorance 
 of what we are doing. We adopt, for example, a 
 certain foreign custom, under the belief that it will 
 work well with us, because we see it work well 
 with the natives. But we take no account, and 
 can take none, of the multitude of other collateral 
 circumstances which render it suitable and con- 
 sistent for those to whom it is indigenous, but 
 ridiculous, or even hurtful, for us who try to cul- 
 tivate it, however repugnant to our own natural 
 soil. 
 
 A professional simile may perhaps help to ex- 
 plain what I wish to express with respect to the 
 wisdom of English travellers keeping up their own 
 national character, as the best to work with in the 
 long-run, instead of trying to imitate the more 
 showy advantages of the places they visit. 
 
 Every ship of war is provided with a set of boats 
 
203 
 
 called the launch, barge, cutter, gig, and jolly-boat, 
 which may be taken to resemble the heavy, the 
 plodding, and the useful, among our travellers, as 
 well as the brisk and the gay. Now it happens 
 that wherever our ships go, they find — at first to 
 the great mortification of the crew — that the native 
 boats beat theirs so decidedly in speed, or in some 
 other quality, that the sailors sometimes make 
 the most strenuous but awkward efforts to accom- 
 modate their own boats to the new climate. These 
 attempts generally fail from the essential differences 
 in their structure. Thus, the boats of Bermuda, 
 contrived for the wants of a tempestuous latitude, 
 are sunk deep in the water by loads of ballast ; 
 while the canoes of Ceylon are put together and 
 rigged like the nautilus, so as to skim the surface 
 of the sea, with sails of disproportionate size. 
 
 The respective advantages of these native boats, 
 however, furnish no professional argument for 
 changing the rig or build of those of our men-of- 
 war. Were they fitted to match the " wreckers '" 
 of Bermuda, they would be useless when the ship 
 went to Ceylon, and vice versa. Besides, it is 
 found that wherever the ship may be ordered, from 
 the equator to the arctic or antarctic circles, or on 
 whatever service, her boats are so well devised, in 
 the main, as to be able to perform far better 
 average work than any that have been tried ; and 
 
204 
 
 thus, in the long- run, they acquire a character for 
 efficiency in real service which strongly indisposes 
 officers of experience to allow of any change at 
 all in their structure. 
 
 I remember travelling on the Continent (in 1818) 
 just two-and-twenty years ago, before things had 
 settled into their places after the disorganisation 
 caused by tlie war, and wondering to see how com- 
 pletely adrift, and without those habits of mental 
 discipline to which they had been accustomed, our 
 worthy citizens were rambling about. Though I 
 cared less about the matter then than I do now, 
 I can recollect being struck with alarm at the 
 probable consequences. I feel well assured, indeed, 
 that but for the generous and high-principled exer- 
 tions which have been made of late years by the 
 friends of good order and true lovers of English 
 manners, whose exertions raised up and afterwards 
 maintained the Church of England chapels abroad, 
 especially those at Paris, Geneva, and Rome, the 
 consequences must have been most disastrous to 
 our national character. 
 
 The practical influence of these establishments 
 in steadying the wavering, recalling those who 
 had broken adrift, and in confirming the well- 
 disposed to act up to what they knew to be right, 
 has been much greater than persons could be- 
 lieve, unless they had lived for some time on the 
 
205 
 
 Continent. Let any one who lias doubts of their 
 beneficial effect reside alternately for a few months 
 at places where, unfortunately, no such means of 
 instruction and correction exist, and at others 
 where travellers have the means of grace provided 
 for them. He will then learn how essentially 
 people are influenced by being periodically and 
 forcibly reminded of their duty, and how prone 
 all people are to fall under discipline, whenever 
 that discipline is exercised with firmness and dis- 
 cretion, and, above all, with consistency. In those 
 places, on the other hand, where there is no such 
 leader, and where every one is left to liis own 
 devices, it will be found that the novelty and bril- 
 liancy of foreign pretensions, mixed up, no doubt, 
 with much that is quite innocent, and, it may be, 
 praiseworthy, but also with a great deal that is 
 vicious, very often prove an overmatch for the un- 
 assisted simplicity of what is called the humdrum 
 of English manners. 
 
 On such occasions the inexperienced indulge in 
 many a witty tirade against the coldness, formality, 
 and reserve of their own country, which they 
 delight in contrasting with the animation, suavity 
 and ease of the Continent, omitting to examine 
 whether or not these qualities have anything to re- 
 commend them beyond the gracefulness of outward 
 show, and may, therefore, be purchased too dearly. 
 
206 
 
 It would be needless to give an account of all 
 the efforts which have been made by our country- 
 men abroad to preserve inviolate those religious 
 habits of thought and action upon which their 
 happiness here and hereafter depends ; but I think 
 a short notice of what has been done at the two 
 most important stations — viz. Geneva and Rome — 
 may possess both interest and utility. In this 
 undertaking I am happy to have the assistance of 
 my accomplished friend the Rev. Richard Burgess, 
 now rector of Upper Chelsea ; for no person has 
 contributed more by his own exertions to the 
 establishment of English chapels abroad, or is 
 more familiar with all that has taken place or is 
 now passing on the Continent respecting them. 
 
 It is a proof of the attachment of the English to 
 their own institutions wherever they go, that as 
 soon as the continent of Europe w^as thrown open, 
 and British subjects might reside safely in its 
 cities, they turned their attention, whenever they 
 were in sufficient numbers, to the establishment of 
 divine worship ; and it further shows the prevalence 
 of regard for the national religion, that almost all 
 those establishments so formed by voluntary efforts 
 were originally, and have continued to remain, 
 Church of England chapels. 
 
 In some places considerable difficulties have been 
 experienced in the formation of those institutions. 
 
207 
 
 The want of funds for obtaining a suitable edifice, 
 the opposition and suspicion of the civil authori- 
 ties, the scarcity of clergymen, and the difficulty 
 of supplying them with even a scanty income, 
 besides many other impediments which might be 
 mentioned, have operated against the exertions of 
 a few well-disposed persons to form churches in 
 those cities to which but a small number of English 
 resort. Hence at Berne, Vevay, and several other 
 places in Switzerland, where the British residents 
 are found in small numbers, they remain, unfortu- 
 nately, without any regular English worship. Ge- 
 neva was one of those places which offered the 
 greatest facilities ; and as soon as the road to that 
 celebrated city was open, it was crowded with 
 English visitors, who in a little time spread them- 
 selves along the border of its splendid lake. Before 
 ten years elapsed, they had introduced the luxuries 
 (and perhaps some of the follies) of their country 
 into that economical republic. As early as 1814-15 
 the English chapel at Geneva was begun. At that 
 period there happened to be residing in the neigh- 
 bourhood a clergyman of the Church of England, 
 now the eminent and esteemed Bishop of Win- 
 chester, the Right Reverend Charles Richard 
 Sumner. On observing a number of his country- 
 men " scattered abroad as sheep having no shep- 
 herd," he offered his professional services, which 
 
208 
 
 were gladly accepted, and divine worship, according 
 to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of Eng- 
 land, was then begun at Geneva. 
 
 A memorial addressed to the Council of State, 
 and signed by a great number of British noblemen 
 and gentlemen, set forth the wishes of the English 
 residents at Geneva, and begged that some edifice 
 might be granted to them for the purpose of public 
 worship. Communications were also held with the 
 British envoy at Berne to obtain his sanction to 
 the memorial ; and the result was, that the Geneva 
 Council of State, with the consent of the Directors 
 of the general Hospital, granted the use of the 
 chapel attached to that institution, for twenty-one 
 years. It was merely suggested that the English 
 service should be so ordered as not to interfere with 
 that of the Genevese congregation, and accordingly, 
 ever since the year 1815, the British residents have 
 enjoyed the free use of the hospital chapel for their 
 Sunday worship. As a suitable return for this 
 favour, the English congregation, by means of a 
 collection made after an annual sermon preached 
 by the chaplain, have contributed from £30 to £40 
 per annum to the hospital. It is to be observed, 
 that the civil institutions of Geneva allow a free 
 and full toleration for every kind of Christian wor- 
 ship ; so that the great difficulties experienced in 
 Italy and other Roman Catholic countries in estab- 
 
209 
 
 lisliiiig a Protestant chapel were not met with at 
 Geneva. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Sumner, who continued his gra- 
 tuitous services for some time, was succeeded by 
 an amiable clergyman in the person of the Rev. 
 George Rooke, rector of Yardley-Hastings, in 
 Northamptonshire, who happened at that time to 
 be travelling on the Continent. A committee was 
 formed for the purpose of collecting subscriptions 
 and donations to meet the incidental expenses 
 attending divine worship, and to pay the chaplain a 
 salary of 200 francs (or about £8) a month. Large 
 families using the chapel for the season, or for the 
 whole year, were expected to pay 40 francs ; smaller 
 families, 20 francs ; but as the revenue arising from 
 these subscriptions was found insufficient, it was 
 thought expedient to collect, also, the donations of 
 casual attendants at the church-door every Sunday 
 during the season. By this means the committee 
 have been enabled to pay a chaplain in later years 
 250 francs, or £10 a month. More than this the 
 voluntary system cannot produce. It has often 
 been imagined by English travellers attending such 
 chapels as those of Geneva, Lausanne, Rome, and 
 Florence, that the English government contributes 
 something towards their maintenance ; but this is 
 an error. According to the Consular Act, passed 
 in the reign of George IV.*, consuls are authorised 
 * 6th of George IV., chap. 87, § 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. 
 
210 
 
 to pay a chaplain, in those ports or places where 
 such consuls or vice-consuls reside, a sum equal to 
 the amount of voluntary subscriptions, provided the 
 whole do not exceed in Europe £500, or out of 
 Europe £800. The English chapels at Genoa, 
 Naples, Nice, &c., are therefore placed under the 
 Ck)nsular Act ; but in all other places where there 
 is no resident consul or vice-consul, those establish- 
 ments are provided entirely by the voluntary con- 
 tributions of the British residents. The committee 
 is nothing more than a certain number of persons 
 appointed by the body of contributors for the pur- 
 pose of selecting a chaplain and raising the funds 
 for his maintenance, and supplying the chapel with 
 things necessary for divine worship. The gentle- 
 man who has for so many years presided over the 
 Genevan committee is Charles M. Lullin, Esq., 
 who long held office in England, and whose well- 
 known courtesy to all strangers, and unremitted 
 attention to the interests of the chapel, have de- 
 served the grateful acknowledgments of successive 
 chaplains, and met with the general approbation 
 of the British residents. 
 
 The Rev. George Rooke, who became chaplain 
 at Geneva in 1815, continued for six years in that 
 capacity, and then resigned for the purpose of re- 
 turning to his living at home. Upon his resignation, 
 a successor was proposed by some members of the 
 committee ; but the nomination not being approved 
 
211 
 
 of by the rest, a series of unpleasant discussions 
 took place, which, in the end, excited so much 
 notice, that the Genevese Council of State felt it 
 right to remonstrate, and the dispute was termi- 
 nated by the Rev. Mr. Rooke agreeing to remain 
 a little lono^er in his situation. 
 
 In consequence of these proceedings, a resolu- 
 tion was drawn up at a very numerous meeting to 
 the following eifect : — " That no chaplain shall 
 henceforth be appointed unless approved by the 
 Bishop of London, and without bringing to the 
 committee a testimonial to that effect ; which, after 
 being examined and approved, shall be transmitted 
 to the Council of State at Geneva ; and that the 
 said Council be petitioned by the committee to 
 take cognizance of the same, and to confirm by 
 their authority the appointment of such chaplain ; 
 — the committee being assured by such precaution 
 that the English chaplain will limit his exertions 
 within the proper sphere of his duties." 
 
 The Council of State agreed to exercise this 
 authoritative function, and thus a double security 
 was henceforth given for the respectability and 
 discretion of the chaplain. The Rev. J. Barrow, 
 late Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, and 
 now rector of South Lopham, Norfolk, having 
 conformed to all the committee's regulations, was 
 appointed to succeed Mr. Rooke. 
 
212 
 
 *' I happenedj'' continues Mr. Burgess, " to be 
 residing at Geneva during the year Mr. Barrow 
 remained, and frequently assisted him in the ser- 
 vice. On the resignation of that gentleman, in 
 October 1823, I had the satisfaction of being 
 unanimously elected to the chaplaincy, which I 
 retained till May 1836, on the 8th day of which 
 month I preached my farewell sermon, after having 
 been nominally chaplain for nearly thirteen years. 
 The congregation, however, at Geneva being reduced 
 in winter to a dozen or fifteen families, and a few 
 young men living ' en pension,' I obtained leave 
 from the committee, after I had officiated for three 
 years, to go away for the winter, on condition of 
 providing a substitute, to be approved by the com- 
 mittee. This gave me an opportunity of taking 
 the chaplaincy for the winter season at Rome also. 
 I had the satisfaction of knowing that the various 
 gentlemen who had the kindness to act in the 
 capacity of my substitute, successively received the 
 thanks of the committee and the congregation for 
 their exertions." 
 
 " The Rev. John Hartley, whose zeal in the cause 
 of religion on the Continent is well known, was 
 the clergyman most frequently chosen to officiate 
 in my absence during the winter. At one time the 
 duties of the chaplaincy devolved entirely upon 
 Mr. Hartley; and it was in this capacity, in my 
 
213 
 
 absence in 1835, that he attended the synod of 
 pastors assembled to celebrate the third centenary 
 of the Reformation, and there protested against 
 the errors of the Genevese church, chargino- its 
 ministers with having abandoned the great doc- 
 trines of the Trinity, the Atonement, and the 
 Agency of the Holy Spirit. This bold attack upon 
 the Genevan clergy was hailed with joy by many 
 clergymen in England ; but it had such an effect 
 upon the Genevese themselves as to prevent Mr. 
 Hartley from again becoming the officiating chap- 
 lain at that place. The Rev. Charles Hutton, pre- 
 viously chaplain at Florence, succeeded next ; and 
 after him, the Rev. Mr. Hare, formerly of Leg- 
 horn, who is now the chaplain at Geneva, and re- 
 ceives a limited number of pupils. 
 
 '* The influence of the English chapel at Ge- 
 neva," remarks Mr. Burgess, "has not been con- 
 fined to the British residents, for an occasion arose 
 in which it afforded an asylum to some of the 
 Genevese pastors and others who conscientiously 
 left the communion of their once renowned but 
 now fallen church." 
 
 " For information respecting the establishment 
 of the Societe Evangelique," he adds, ''and 
 many other particulars regarding the recent his- 
 tory of religion at Geneva, I must refer you to 
 a memoir I have written, and which is published in 
 
214 
 
 a work edited by the Rev. E. Bickerstetb, entitled 
 * A Voice from the Alps/* I may remark here, in 
 passing-, that there can be no doubt that the stand- 
 ard of sound doctrine constantly held up by the 
 Church-of-England chapel at Geneva must be 
 reckoned among the causes of a revival of the 
 orthodox faith which has taken place in the church 
 of that city. The influence which the institution 
 has had upon the English themselves will be 
 gathered better from the observation of others than 
 from the officiating clergyman." 
 
 I need only add that, by the concurrent testi- 
 mony both of the English residents and of those 
 whose stay has been limited, the resulting effect on 
 our countrymen by these genuine labours of love 
 has been to keep up those habits and principles 
 which we suppose form the essential and most 
 valuable characteristics of our country. 
 
 * The title at length of this exceedingly interesting and impor- 
 tant little book is, "A Voice from the Alps, or a brief account of 
 the Evangelical Societies of Paris and Geneva ; with a view of 
 the present prospects of religion in Europe, contained in several 
 addresses, by M.' Merle d'Aubigne, author of the History of the 
 Reformation. Edited by the Rev. E. Bickersteth, Rector of 
 Walton, Herts. Published by R. B. Seeley and W. Burnside, 
 London, 1838." 
 
215 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH PROTESTANT CHAPEL AT ROME 
 AND THE ESTABLISHMENT OF CHEVALIER BUN- 
 SEN'S HOSPITAL ON THE TARPEIAN ROCK. 
 
 With respect to the rise, progress, and final 
 establishment of the still more important Church- 
 of-England chapel at Rome, I cannot do better than 
 extract the account given by the same high autho- 
 rity, from which I have already borrowed so co- 
 piously. In the preface to his admirable lectures 
 on the insufficiency of unrevealed religion, de- 
 livered at the English chapel at Rome, Mr. Bur- 
 gess has discussed this matter fully. I thought 
 at one time of abridging his account, but I soon 
 found that this would be doing injustice not merely 
 to the accomplished author but to the great subject 
 of which he treats. 1 may say also that one of the 
 chief charms of this singular narrative lies not less 
 in the details than in the general results — to say 
 nothing of its masterly composition and its other 
 intrinsic attractions. Independently, indeed, of 
 
216 
 
 the more serious considerations which are involved 
 in this topic — especially the influence which the 
 well-being of an English Protestant Establishment 
 may be supposed to have on the cause of true re- 
 ligion, at the head-quarters of Roman Catholicism 
 — the following account possesses an interest of its 
 own, which every one will understand who has 
 had the happiness to make a personal acquaintance 
 with the author. To him, indeed, the astonishing 
 success of the English chapel at Rome — humanly 
 speaking — is almost entirely due.* 
 
 * Although Mr. Burgess's published lectures were not so gene- 
 rally known in England as they deserved to be, or as they were 
 abroad, I ought to state that not only the lectures, but the 
 preface which introduces them, and which I here give at length, 
 did strongly engage the attention and approbation of his clerical 
 brethren in this country. The following extract from the British 
 Critic for April 1837 will prove this. My purpose, however, is 
 to call the attention of those persons in whose direct way such 
 things do not lie, but to whom they are essentially as interesting, 
 and every whit as important, as they can be to the professed la- 
 bourers in the vineyard of which we all hope to taste the fruit. 
 
 Thus writes the reviewer of Mr. Burgess's book: " Mr. Bur- 
 gess deserves the warmest eulogium for the wisdom and prudent 
 conciliativeness with which he discharged the duties of his chap- 
 lainship. Had he shown a misguided zeal in an attempt to make 
 his church a nucleus of Protestantism to which to attract the 
 floating elements of scepticism and indecision that are to be found 
 even in the bosom of the Romans (and that by an ostentatious 
 machinery), instead of being so useful he had been mischievous to 
 the cause of his Master. And yet there was no compromise, no 
 unfaithfulness, in his public ministry. We might make many 
 extracts from his lectures of calm, shrewd discussion of points of 
 
217 
 
 Mr. Burgess has lately been removed to a spot 
 where a wider sphere of action is opened to his 
 piety, zeal, and industry; a change of position 
 which, while it will long be regretted both by poor 
 and rich at Rome, is a source of high satisfaction 
 to every true lover of the church. 
 
 " The existence of a Protestant chapel at 
 Rome," says Mr. Burgess, "where the service 
 of the Church of England is regularly performed 
 during six months of the year, is of itself a cir- 
 cumstance worthy of attention ; for whether it 
 be viewed as a striking instance of religious to- 
 leration, coming in an unexpected direction, or 
 as the means of softening those prejudices which 
 the comprehensive term of heretic conveys to 
 the vulgar, it cannot fail to be an object of in- 
 terest to every one who espouses the cause of civil 
 and religious liberty. The institution is already 
 known to a considerable number of British subjects, 
 who will know how to appreciate the concession 
 which prepared for them the privilege of joining 
 in the public worship of the Church of England at 
 
 controversy between Papists and Protestants, introduced without 
 a violent interruption of the unity of his discourse, and prose- 
 cuted without rancour. But he felt, and justly too, that an unob- 
 trusive but active exhibition of Christian philanthropy would do 
 more than the most boisterous dogmatism. He therefore diligently 
 cultivated in his flock the habits of benevolence." — British Critic^ 
 Quarterly Theological Review, and Ecclesiastical Record, No. 
 XLIL, April 1837, page 440. 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 
 
 Rome ; but it is far from being generally under- 
 stood that such an act of liberality has proceeded 
 from the councils of the Vatican ! The author 
 thinks that every example of religious toleration, 
 come from what quarter it may, is an accession to 
 the cause of truth ; and, if there be any merit in 
 those who have overcome prejudice, or who have 
 even made their policy conformable to means which 
 may enable others so to do, it is due to them to 
 acknowledge and commend such liberality in the 
 face of civilised society; for religious toleration, 
 not otherwise than mercy, " is twice blessed ; " it 
 blesses those that give and those that take. 
 
 " The English chapel may now be considered as 
 having the sanction of the papal government, 
 although no official grant has yet been made which 
 would ever acknowledge its existence. 
 
 "As early as the winter of 1816-17 English 
 families began to reside in Rome in sufficient 
 numbers to require a house for public worship ; 
 considerable difficulty was then experienced in 
 procuring an apartment to be dedicated to such a 
 purpose ; the object was new, alarming, and con- 
 trary to the existing laws ; but at length, through 
 the influence of Signor Luigi Chiaveri, to whom 
 the English have often been indebted for his kind 
 offices in this respect, a private room was obtained, 
 near the column of Trajan ; and thus began the 
 
219 
 
 service of the reformed Church of England in the 
 * Holy City I ' The duties were discharged by 
 any clergyman who, happening to be present, had 
 the zeal to offer his gratuitous services : the neces- 
 sary expenses were defrayed by the voluntary con- 
 tributions of the congregation, and the slender 
 funds administered by the kindness of Lieutenant- 
 General Ramsay. 
 
 " As no permission had been obtained from the 
 authorities (for such a demand must necessarily 
 have been met by a refusal), the new '^ conventicle" 
 owed its existence entirely to tlie forbearance of the 
 government. But it was not clear whether such 
 mildness might not soon have to yield to the more 
 austere interpreters of the law, and it is said that 
 the attention of a high dignitary, attracted by the 
 concourse of vehicles during divine service, had 
 nearly proved fatal. There can, indeed, be no 
 doubt that some representation was formally made 
 of the illegality and danger of permitting such an 
 unheard-of assembly, and a word from the Vatican 
 at that moment might have dissolved the elements 
 of it without doing much violence to the opinion 
 of any one. The enlightened and liberal Gon- 
 zalvi, however, perceiving who and what the 
 English were at Rome in the nineteenth century, 
 and recollecting that Catholic Ireland still laboured 
 under civil disabilities, would know nothing of an 
 
 L 2 
 
220 
 
 illegal assembly in tlie Forum of Trajan, and that 
 assembly duly appreciated his liberality. 
 
 '' It is not to be supposed there was any intention 
 on the part of the civil authorities to introduce the 
 principle of religious toleration into the city of 
 Rome ; such a supposition would be little less than 
 an impeachment of the minister ; nor did the ap- 
 pearance of a new kind of worship work wonders 
 in the sentiments of the listless multitude ; but it 
 had the effect of making some of them suspect that 
 heresy, according to the definition they had heard 
 of it, might not be altogether synonymous with 
 infidelity ; and the very circumstance of choosing 
 a ' festival ' (Sunday) for the day of worship 
 showed at least some traces of church authority. 
 It was soon discovered by the most intelligent of 
 the lower orders, to which, of course, these re- 
 marks apply, that the English had a sort of Mass 
 
 • 
 
 of their own, and the solemnity observable in their 
 manner of attending to it was archly compared with 
 the careless genuflexions of the Roman signori. 
 In this manner the forbearance of the government 
 was transfused into the minds of such of the popu- 
 lace as thought at all on the subject : it was not 
 provided that it should be so, it was a natural con- 
 sequence. During the first two or three seasons, 
 such may be considered to have been the secret 
 moral infliuence of the English congregation, and 
 
221 
 
 the most zealous guardians of pontifical authority 
 had nothing to fear, nor it is to be hoped ever 
 will, from any overt acts of proselytism on the part 
 of the officiating ministers. The protection af- 
 forded to the new congregation, although but a 
 negative one, had been hitherto sufficient for all 
 practical purposes ; but it was still equivocal ; and 
 when the old apartment could no longer be pro- 
 cured, it was not possible to induce a private indi- 
 vidual to incur the responsibility of becoming the 
 new landlord, as the displeasure of the authorities 
 might be incurred. There was something which 
 still required explanation ; a public assembly of 
 this nature, in the house of a Roman citizen, might 
 cause him to be placed at the bar of the Inquisi- 
 tion;* at the same time a semi-official intimation was 
 given that great caution and privacy should be 
 observed by the English in the exercise of their 
 privilege. It would, however, have required a very 
 vigorous execution of the law to prevent a foreigner 
 who had already his ' own hired house ' from in- 
 viting his countrymen to a private assembly ; and 
 
 * " This word must not be allowed to convey to the reader any 
 false notions. The Inquisition at Rome (although contrary in 
 principle to all our ideas of religious liberty) is, at this time, a 
 mild tribunal in its administration ; some cases of injustice there 
 must necessarily be, but it is of no use to deal in misrepresenta- 
 tion." 
 
222 
 
 under this form (it must be confessed a pretext) 
 divine service was celebrated in a commodious 
 room in the Vicolo degli Avignonesi, situated near 
 tlie site of the ancient circus of Flora ! Thus did 
 the Protestant congregation migrate from Trajan's 
 Forum to the opposite declivity of the Quirinal 
 Hill. The privacy suggested by the Secretary of 
 State was, perhaps, the best method of co-operating 
 wath his benevolent intentions ; a motive less dig- 
 nified may not be imputed to the virtuous mind of 
 Pope Pius VII. At that period it would not have 
 been difficult to outrage the feelings of many de- 
 vout plebeians by an over-ready sanction of the 
 nonconformity. Evident marks of pious indigna- 
 tion had been more than once observed in the 
 populace at the sight of the Protestant bier ; and 
 although the more enlightened portion of the com- 
 munity were far from joining in this display of 
 superstition, it shows that if a less liberal policy 
 with regard to the English worship had been 
 adopted by the government it would not have been 
 at variance with the popular feeling ; that it was 
 not adopted does honour to the memory of Pius 
 VII. and his minister. But ten years have been 
 sufficient to change that feeling as much in favour 
 of the institution as ever it could be against' the 
 precarious assembly; and it is now, (1831) per- 
 
223 
 
 haps, regarded by that same populace as the surest 
 pledge of those advantages which they expect to 
 reap from the presence of the English. 
 
 " In the autumn of the year 1822, the author first 
 took a share in endeavouring to promote the wel- 
 fare of the establishment. It was his good fortune 
 to meet on that occasion with a reverend person, 
 now, alas, no more ! but whose name is entitled to 
 hold the chief place in this narration. Whatever 
 benefit may finally result from the institution in 
 question (and it is only intended to speak here of 
 that benefit which consists in a mutual removal of 
 religious strife and prejudice, in which Rome will 
 surely be the gainer), the name of the Rev. Joseph 
 Cooke is continually to be kept in remembrance*. 
 By his zeal, tempered with discretion and judg- 
 ment, and by his exertions (in which the author 
 of the following lecture took but a small part), 
 two essential steps were taken and secured; 
 
 * "Mr. Cooke (late Fellow of Christ's College, Cambridge) was 
 a man of great literary accomplishments, mingled with solid piety, 
 and devotion to his profession. His ardent pursuit of knowledge 
 led him to undertake a journey into the East, in 1825, and he 
 appears to have sunk under the fatigue of it ; he died suddenly 
 whilst sitting upon his dromedary, in a mountain-pass, called Ras 
 Wady Hebran, about half way between the convent of St. Cathe- 
 rine and Tor, five miles north of Mount Serbal. He was interred 
 by a Greek Papas, in consecrated ground, near the Twelve Wells 
 of Elim and the Palm Grove. May this tribute of respect for the 
 memory of a good man survive the fleeting pages which contain 
 it!" 
 
224 
 
 first, an apartment was hired, avowedly for tlie 
 celebration of divine service ; and secondly, the 
 connivance of the authorities was made equivalent 
 to a sanction. The English w^orship then first 
 assumed the nature of an establishment ; it was 
 held in the Corea Palace, situated in the Via Pon- 
 tifice, close to the mausoleum of Augustus. The 
 number of winter residents had now greatly aug- 
 mented, the congregation consisting of not Jess 
 than two hundred persons, and the assemblage of 
 equipages could not fail to attract the attention of 
 the public. 
 
 " It was not long before a cry of alarm was raised 
 amidst these proceedings, and the infant institution 
 again trembled for its existence. The officiating 
 ministers were accused of intemperate zeal ; a con- 
 ference was held with an influential personage *, 
 and a positive interference of the executive power 
 was now apprehended. This led to the formation 
 of a committee, to be called upon in case of neces- 
 sity, to act in the name and on the behalf of the 
 English residents, there being no diplomatic minis- 
 ter at the court of Rome f . But the policy and 
 
 * The Duchess of Devonshire, 
 t The names of the gentlemen who formed this committee are 
 as follows : — The Eai-1 Compton, now Marquis of Northampton ; 
 Rev. Robert Markham, Archdeacon of York ; Sir. W. Watkins 
 Wynn, Bart. ; Dr., now Sir James, Clarke ; Rev. Joseph Cooke ; 
 Rev. Richard Burgess, to act and, if necessary, remonstrate, with 
 the papal authorities. 
 
225 
 
 good sense of Cardinal Gonzalvi were proof against 
 all weak remonstrances, and it was at length inti- 
 mated to the officiating ministers, that no obstacle 
 would be offered to their temperate proceedings. 
 Encouraged by this protection, Mr. Cooke, by- 
 means of a public subscription, procured the ne- 
 cessary appendages for a place of worship; the 
 church books could only be obtained through the 
 kindness of Mr. Hamilton, British minister at 
 Naples ; a beadle was also appointed, with authority 
 to collect the subscriptions ; and thus the winter of 
 1822-3 may be regarded as the commencement of 
 the institution. 
 
 " The attention of the Protestants resident at 
 Rome had already been directed to the waste- 
 ground allotted for burying their dead. Beyond 
 the Aventine Mount, and under the w^alls of the 
 city within, stood a few scattered tomb-stones, 
 exposed to the trampling of the cattle grazing in 
 the Prato del Popolo, and to the still greater 
 injury of human footsteps. Decency seemed to 
 require that the graves which had just grown green, 
 should be secured from further encroachment, and 
 that the few monuments should not be allowed to 
 fall into ruins. A subscription to a considerable 
 amount was collected, for the purpose of carrying 
 the design into effect ; but upon application to the 
 competent authorities, it was alleged, that a wall 
 
 l3 
 
226 
 
 would obstruct tlie view of the pyramid of Caius 
 Cestius; and that the trees, which the friends of 
 the deceased loved to plant round the tombs, had 
 already begun the mischief. This answer being 
 received, and no further hopes of success held out, 
 the money subscribed was returned to the original 
 donors, and the circumstance made an unfavourable 
 impression abroad, of the toleration of the papal 
 government. In a discussion of the Catholic 
 claims in the House of Lords, a noble lord, an 
 opposer of these claims, was not slow to cite this 
 as a remarkable instance of Roman Catholic into- 
 lerance. It is not clear that it was so ; but the 
 act of toleration in permitting the English service, 
 which was evident, ought not to have been passed 
 over in silence ; it perhaps might not have been 
 known. The discussion in the British senate was 
 not, however, unheeded in the Vatican council ; 
 for, during that very summer, and entirely at the 
 expense of the * Apostolic Chamber,' a sunk 
 fence was dug round the old burial-place ; another 
 eligible spot of ground beyond the pyramid was 
 surrounded by a solid wall, and henceforth assigned 
 for the Protestant cemetery. It only remained to 
 secure and build up the sunk fence, for which work 
 permission was now readily obtained, and th'e jesLV 
 following, the English, in conjunction with the 
 German Protestants, not only secured the old 
 
■2211 
 
 burial-ground, but also raised a fund of a thousand 
 dollars, which yields annually a sum sufficient to 
 keep the whole in repair, and procure the services 
 of a sexton. 'The senate and the Roman people* 
 have a prescriptive right over all that ground about 
 the Monte Testaccio, called the Prato del Popolo ; 
 a fee of about two pounds is, therefore, demanded 
 for every interment which takes place. No one 
 will be inclined to consider this extravagant ; but 
 the fine (amounting to an equal sum) which is paid 
 into the criminal court of the cardinal vicar, awakens 
 a different feeling, and will no doubt be abolished, 
 whenever the government of Rome shall have time 
 to attend to minor abuses. In the mean time the 
 cemetery is placed under the protection of the 
 Prussian minister; and those who have to lament 
 the loss of friends interred under the walls of Rome, 
 may at least have this poor consolation, that their 
 bones repose in a becoming security, and their 
 monuments excite a sympathetic sigh in the breast 
 of many a northern pilgrim ! 
 
 " In the year following the grant of the new 
 burial-ground, the author had the great satisfaction 
 of again co-operating with Mr. Cooke, in the 
 service of the chapel : it was found impracticable 
 to secure the same apartments for a second season, 
 the apprehension of giving offence to the eccle- 
 siastical authorities having not yet been done away. 
 
228 
 
 The excellent Pius VII. was now no more, and 
 Leo XII. had only apj3eared as a disciplinarian. 
 After the two first Sundays of the season, the term 
 in the Corea Palace expired, and the congregation 
 of 1823-4 seemed to be dispossessed of all its 
 former privileges. But the precedent having been 
 established, should another situation be to be found 
 in any part of Rome, it could not be thought a 
 more rash experiment than the former had been, 
 were it put in the same requisition. After some 
 difficult)'^, two commodious rooms were procured in 
 the Via Rasella, a street which lies nearly under 
 the garden wall of the Quirinal Palace, the occa- 
 sional residence of the pope. The adopting of this 
 situation will appear nothing extraordinary to those 
 who are acquainted with Rome : and if the new 
 government had been capable of taking offence at 
 a meeting of heretics, because it had approached 
 so near the precincts of the papal gardens, it would 
 equally have discovered the blemish upon the 
 * Holy City "* in a more remote ' rione ; ' but 
 Leo XII., whose wisdom as a sovereign has been 
 too little appreciated, and his piety too much dis- 
 paraged, reasoned like a statesman. ' It is much 
 better,' said the ' holy father," ' to permit the con- 
 tinuance of this assembly ; for, if it be prohibited, 
 the English cannot be prevented from meeting in 
 small numbers at their own private abodes; and 
 
229 
 
 thus, instead of one such congregation, we shall 
 have twenty.' It had not, probably, escaped the 
 notice of Leo XII., that the English chapel had 
 not yet shared in those wholesome regulations which 
 were introduced by him, for preserving the internal 
 order of the city. The weekly assemblage of 
 carriages at a stated time and place, could not fail 
 to attract the curiosity of the Roman people, which 
 the presence of a police-officer might easily restrain 
 without any application on the part of the officiating 
 clergyman ; and without any previous intimation 
 from any quarter, Mr. Cooke and the author were 
 not more surprised than rejoiced to find, upon 
 arriving to perform the morning service, two senti- 
 nels stationed at the chapel door. The carriages 
 had all disappeared from their usual rendezvous, in 
 consequence of a general order of the police : a 
 more than common silence pervading the neigh- 
 bourhood of the Via Rasella, it was now evident 
 the authorities had at length interfered, but they 
 interfered for the protection of the English congre- 
 gation. To Pope Leo XII., then, they are in- 
 debted for this great privilege, which may be said 
 to have thus received his sanction in January 1824. 
 Thus encouraged, and being assured from a private 
 communication, that it was the intention of the 
 government to allow the English the free exercise 
 of their worship ; the officiating ministers now 
 
280 
 
 performed divine service in their canonical robes. 
 The propriety of making some suitable return for 
 this privilege was next suggested, and hence the 
 origin of the charitable fund, which will be men- 
 tioned in the sequel. 
 
 " The spiritual duties of the chapel were gratui- 
 tously discharged, and all clergymen of the Esta- 
 blished Church, who happened to be at Rome, 
 were invited to contribute their services: the rent 
 of the apartment and incidental expenses were 
 supplied by voluntary subscription, the administra- 
 tion of which fund gradually became the business 
 of the committee, which had been originally formed 
 for the purposes before-mentioned. The author 
 cannot let pass this opportunity of acknowledging 
 the important and continued exertions of the Mar- 
 quis of Northampton, and the laudable services of 
 Dr. (now Sir James) Clarke, author of the ' Influ- 
 ence of Climate/ during his long residence in 
 Rome. 
 
 " The number of British travellers in Italy in- 
 creased so greatly, that the rooms in the Via 
 Rasella were far from being sufficiently large for 
 the Protestant Anglo-Roman congregation, nor was 
 their site one of the most convenient. Accordingly 
 in the year 1824-25, the committee exerted itself 
 to find a place at once more appropriate and more 
 permanent : it was desirable to fix the wandering 
 
231 
 
 congregation, which had now almost made the cir- 
 cuit of the Campus Martius. During the first few 
 weeks of the season, the anxiety of former years 
 was renewed ; but at length, after diligent inquiry, 
 the capacity of a chapel was discovered in a large 
 granary, near the Porta del Popolo : it became 
 expedient to have a lease of a building which must 
 needs be fitted up at considerable expense, before 
 it could answer the purpose. The income, how- 
 ever, necessary for defraying the yearly rent, 
 depending on the contingency of future congrega- 
 tions, there were no funds to answer any engage- 
 ment beyond the year. The committee was re- 
 lieved from this embarrassment by the generous 
 and patriotic offer of a distinguished statesman *, 
 who guaranteed the payment of the rent for three 
 years in case of the English ceasing, from any 
 unforeseen cause during that period, to resort to 
 Rome. The institution was not less indebted on 
 that occasion to the professional services of the 
 Rev. J. Hugh Rose. 
 
 " It has been supposed by many, that the chapel 
 was removed without the walls of the city at the 
 instance of the civil authorities, which is an erro- 
 neous notion, and ought in justice to be corrected. 
 The government approved of the situation, but 
 the committee were not controlled in choice of it. 
 
 * The Earl of Harrowby. 
 
232 
 
 Indeed, it would have been hardly possible to have 
 procured within the city walls a room sufficiently 
 commodious, and in every other respect so conve- 
 nient for the large congregation, which is now to 
 be seen in the English chapel, upon which, at 
 different periods, not less than a sum of £250 has 
 been expended in bringing it to its present form. 
 The author has witnessed as many as five hundred 
 and fifty persons within its walls; and those who 
 have seen it since the year 1829, will agree that 
 there is nothing wanting in it for all the purposes 
 of a Church-of-England congregation. 
 
 •=' During the two succeeding winters the duties of 
 the chapel were discharged, as before, by the 
 gratuitous services of clergymen casually resident 
 at Rome ; but in the year 1827, the committee 
 decided to ensure the performance of the regular 
 duty by erecting it into a chaplaincy, their finances 
 enabling them to offer a salary of £100 per annum. 
 
 " In considering the happy influence gradually 
 effected in the minds of the common people by 
 the growth of this institution, the charitable fund 
 already alluded to is an important feature. It con- 
 sisted at first of the alms collected for the holy 
 communion, which in the former seasons amounted 
 to a comparatively small sum. In Mr. Cooke's 
 first year the sum total was about one hundred and 
 fifty dollars ; it increased every succeeding season. 
 
233 
 
 together with the number of communicants, until 
 it reached in the year 1826 and 1827 the sum of 
 £100. Cases of distressed British subjects being 
 very rare at Rome, the whole of this fund was 
 applied to the relief of the Italian paupers ; in 
 1827 and 1828 it grew into still greater impor- 
 tance. 
 
 " The number of applicants, as may be easily 
 imagined, was by far too heavy for the funds; 
 about two hundred names were already inscribed 
 in the list, which reduced the monthly relief to a 
 very small pittance, so that, without either dimin- 
 ishing the number of pensioners, or increasing the 
 funds for a more generous relief of the whole, the 
 charity was in danger of promoting mendicity, 
 rather than adapted to the effectual succour of the 
 deserving indigent, and the encouragement of 
 honest industry. It was only necessary to make 
 the circumstances known to decide upon the 
 alternative. The chaplain had recourse to the 
 means of a charity sermon, which was preached 
 on the 30th of March 1828, and was the cause of 
 nearly £1*20 being added to the stock. The alms 
 collected at the altar were proportionally increased, 
 so that in the course of this season 1200 dollars 
 (£270) was distributed in monthly relief; and 
 this, independently of private donations, in some 
 special cases, which did not appear upon the 
 
234 
 
 charity books. The rumour of English munifi- 
 cence now ran through the habitations of misery, 
 the parish priests were assailed for official signa- 
 tures to the numerous petitions, which set forth, in 
 all the varied eloquence of the Italian language, 
 the miseries of poverty and disease. The success- 
 ful candidates extolled too highly the * alms-giving 
 nation,' and gave the less fortunate false notions 
 of its eleemosynary deeds. The rule" to be ob- 
 served by the administrators of the funds was 
 simple. It was to calculate how many families 
 might be effectually relieved during the winter 
 months, and then make the selection from such 
 recommendations and knowledge of the cases, as 
 made out the best title to their consideration, the 
 names already on the list having of course the first 
 claim to investigation ; but since written recom- 
 mendations were sometimes too easily procured, 
 the chaplain, whose business it had now become to 
 dispense the charity of his congregation, could 
 hardly discharge the duty conscientiously without 
 a personal verification of the varied pretensions, to 
 accomplish which task it was necessary to visit one 
 hundred and fifty abodes of poverty. In this 
 manner the charity books were made conform.able 
 to the increased resources, and by a careful distri- 
 bution the whole was adequate to the relief of 
 about two hundred and thirty families. This may 
 
235 
 
 suffice, without entering into ' the annals of the 
 poor,' or the affecting narratives of decayed no- 
 bility, to give the reader an idea of the nature and 
 extent of British charity at Rome. Let him not 
 say that it ' begins at home,' for this will not 
 add one gift more to the domestic ' treasury,' and 
 it might take from the ' poveri vergognosi : "* let 
 him lament (if it seems reasonable) the temporary 
 absence of his fellow-citizens; but if the Samaritan 
 does ' journey in the wilderness,' it is better not 
 to imitate the priest and the Levite. And if it be 
 expedient for a strange community, enjoying the 
 advantages of a foreign country, and receiving the 
 hospitable protection of its government, to make 
 any return, there can be none more suitable than 
 when, partaking of the local privileges, to share 
 proportionally the burden of alleviating the local 
 distresses. 
 
 '«In the year 1828-29, the sum-total of the 
 charity fund fell a little short of the preceding 
 year, and since that period it has, from unavoidable 
 circumstances, decreased ; nor can it ever be ex- 
 pected to exceed the year of the first charity ser- 
 mon, if even it ever reaches an equal amount. . 
 But it has already procured the only recompense 
 which was at all desirable for a Protestant congre- 
 gation. A number of grateful souls have come to 
 the conclusion, that the English must really be 
 
236 
 
 Christians : nor is it one of the least remarkable 
 things, that the Jews should be admitted to a share 
 of this charity. A learned Rabbi, encouraged by 
 the impartial benevolence of the English congre- 
 gation, represented to the author the misery and 
 poverty of the Ghetto*, and wondered whether the 
 despised Jews could ever find a drop of pity in the 
 breast of a Christian. Upon being told, that in 
 dispensing of English charity there was no distinc- 
 tion of persons, and that the superior claim came 
 only from the greater weight of misery, the 
 Israelite rejoiced, and considered tlie sum of five 
 pounds given during the week of the Passover as 
 an ample confirmation of ' the good report. ' 
 This w^as repeated in subsequent years, and the 
 English bounty was dispensed in unleavened 
 bread through the squalid habitations of this un- 
 privileged people. 
 
 " If the incidents here related appear trifling, the 
 result is at least extraordinary ; — a Protestant 
 cemetery, a Church-of-England service, and a cha- 
 ritable fund, dispensed at a reformed altar to the 
 dev^oted subjects of the ' Sovereign Pontifif.' 
 
 " Those who are curious about the signs of the 
 times will easily admit these into the number; but 
 the philosophical reader, who has contemplated the 
 spirit of a Hildebrand, or even the precocious 
 
 * The Jews' quarter of Rome goes by the name of the " Ghetto." 
 
237 
 
 tolerance of a Ganganelli, will rather see in it this 
 maxim, that neither kings nor priests have power 
 against the general opinion of mankind. Conces- 
 sion to that opinion may be mere expediency, 
 whilst the principle of opposition to it remains the 
 same ; but such expediency is, in matters of state- 
 policy, wisdom ; and, in religion, becomes tolera- 
 tion. The object of this memoir is to acknowledge 
 the latter in four successive pontiffs of Rome. 
 Under these impressions, the author will not run 
 the risk of offending either Rome or her ' par- 
 tisans.' He will only express a hope, that the 
 emulation which has been excited in the vicinity 
 of the English congregation, may never go beyond 
 the only legitimate means of opposition, viz. argu- 
 ment and persuasion : nor will it, on the other 
 hand, ever be expected to restrain the weaker 
 portion of the community from gratifying an 
 innocent curiosity." 
 
 Up to the season of 1836-37, the Rev. R. Bur- 
 gess, whose narrative 1 have given above, continued 
 in charge of the chapel at Rome, and he conducted 
 it with such exemplary skill, and with so much 
 good feeling towards all parties, — even towards 
 the most bigoted of his Roman Catholic oppo- 
 nents, that not only was no ill-will engendered 
 against the heretical English residents, but a daily 
 
238 
 
 increasing good-will on the part of the government 
 and people of Rome was manifested towards the 
 English residents there. It is true that about a fort- 
 night before Mr. Burgess finally left Rome, an 
 English or Irish Roman Catholic priest, I do not 
 know which, published a pamphlet in very bad 
 style and much worse taste, in which he pretended 
 to criticise Mr. Burgess' Lectures and Travels in 
 Greece, published some years previously in Lon- 
 don. Placards were posted all over Rome, an- 
 nouncing the appearance of this pamphlet, which 
 contained, besides the feeble attempt at criticism, 
 several personal attacks upon the English chaplain, 
 designed to bring him into odium with the authori- 
 ties ; but it completely failed, so that even the 
 English Roman Catholics, with very few excep- 
 tions, were ashamed of this unhandsome proceeding. 
 And it made not the least difference in the good 
 feeling with which Mr. Burgess parted with all 
 ranks and classes of persons in the *' eternal city," 
 Roman Catholic as well as Protestant, native and 
 foreigner. 
 
 During my stay at Rome in the winter of 1833- 
 34, I had frequent opportunities of seeing the 
 manner in which the extensive charitable funds 
 placed in the hands of the English clergyman were 
 distributed. Nothing could exceed the patience — 
 except it be the kindness — with which every case 
 
239 
 
 was investigated, and such measure of relief 
 afforded as the urgency of tlie matter required, 
 and the funds at the chaplain''s command enabled him 
 to afford. T should mention that every application 
 required to be certified by some respectable Roman 
 authority ; and also, that either the chaplain him- 
 self, or some other English gentleman, took care 
 to visit the house of the applicant, in order to 
 ascertain that there was no fraud, but that the case 
 was one which fell within the intention of the 
 English subscribers to the fund. Of course it was 
 necessary on these visits to avoid every approach 
 to relig-ious discussion, for it must be remembered 
 that, in Rome, to argue on the subject of religion 
 is tantamount to treason against the state. Inde- 
 pendently of which, any such attempts at conver- 
 sion would have proved, as a matter of course, 
 quite fatal to the existence of the English Protest- 
 ant chapel. It was, therefore, far more prudent 
 and wiser in every respect to avoid any attempt at 
 proselytism, but to let things take effect in the 
 shape of example, and by showing the Roman 
 Catholics at head -quarters what such heretics as 
 the English, really were in practice, enable them, 
 silently, to better the instruction. 
 
 In the season of 1836-37, Mr. Burgess, who 
 was called away from Rome to take charge of the 
 parish of Upper Chelsea, was succeeded by the 
 
240 
 
 Rev. J. Hutchinson, previously chaplain to the 
 English residents at Florence, with an increase of 
 salary of about £70, upon condition that the 
 duties of the chaplaincy should commence a month 
 earlier in the season and continue a month later 
 than before. The number of visitors in the first 
 two seasons of Mr. Hutchinson's chaplaincy at 
 Home was greatly diminished because of the pre- 
 valence of the cholera in Italy, not' only there 
 but in other places, which made the difficulty of get- 
 ting there very great. This of course lessened 
 the effective pecuniary means of the English cha- 
 pel, but by the care of the committee, of which 
 John Ingram, Esq. was, and I believe still is, the 
 President, they were enabled not only to pay the 
 increased salary to the clergyman, but to dispense 
 the usual charity to the poor people of Rome. Mr. 
 Hutchinson continued to discbarge his duties with 
 assiduity, and without any interference of the 
 authorities. In the season of 1838-39, the sub- 
 scriptions were so abundant, that the committee 
 were enabled to add to the size of the chapel, by 
 hiring another portion of the granary. The con- 
 sequent alterations cost about £150. I should 
 have mentioned that, in order to meet any deficiency 
 in the charitable subscriptions, which might arise 
 from sudden political changes on the Continent, 
 calculated to lessen the number of travellers, a 
 
241 
 
 sum amounting to a thousand dollars is invested in 
 the Papal funds. This precaution has become, in 
 a certain degree, necessary, in consequence of the 
 extent and importance of the charities annually 
 dispensed in the manner described, and the sudden 
 withdrawal of which must not only have created 
 great local misery, but might have given birth to 
 feelings hostile to the interests of the tolerated 
 English chapel, which no amount of money could 
 have repressed if once excited. The chapel was 
 reopened for service on the enlarged scale on the 
 13th of October 1839, and I understand that the 
 congregation every Sunday now amounts to 650 
 or 700 persons ! 
 
 Every one must admire the talent and address 
 displayed in overcoming the numerous obstacles 
 which stood in the way of an English Protestant 
 chapel in Rome, many of which, delicacy and a 
 generous consideration for the feelings of persons 
 still alive at Rome, have induced Mr. Burgess to 
 pass over without even an allusion in his narrative. 
 In addition, however, to these, more serious diffi- 
 culties with which he had to contend, there occurred, 
 from time to time, others of a less grave character, 
 which, if they did not threaten the entire subver- 
 sion of his little church, were calculated to interfere 
 with its comfort. 
 
 Of these the most ludicrous occurred shortly 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 
 
 after the accession of the Pope Leo XII. One 
 Saturday evening the custode or keeper of the 
 English chapel came to announce to Mr. Bur- 
 gess, with great dismay, that the portion of the 
 building just beneath the chapel had been hired 
 for a show of wild beasts, and that already the 
 pictures were suspended upon the outer-walls, 
 and the next day, Sunday, the chapel staircase 
 leading to the apartment was to be used for the 
 access to the menagerie. The truth was ascer- 
 tained, and measures were immediately taken to 
 get this scandal stopped, at least for the Sunday; 
 but the " Pidcock " of Rome alleged that he had 
 got the governor's permission, had been all the 
 week fitting up the room at a great expense, and 
 he refused to move. By dint of persuasion, the 
 exhibition was suspended for the Sunday, the pic- 
 tures remaining unrolled on the walls, and the cler- 
 gyman being allowed to proceed with no other in- 
 terruption than the occasional roaring of the 
 "royal beast" below. 
 
 The placard announcing that un gran 'Leone 
 was to be seen "fuori della Porta del Popolo" was 
 immediately torn down by the police, as offering 
 too great a temptation to the Roman people, who 
 delight in a bit of satire at the authorities, to pas- 
 quinade the real Leone XII., the reigning pontiff! 
 
 The committee assembled on the following day. 
 
243 
 
 and applied to the Governor of Rome and the 
 Secretary of State ; but it was not until the com- 
 mittee consented to pay 150 scudi for a recom- 
 pense to the man of beasts for his loss, that he 
 was transferred over the way to a little less 
 objectionable position. The government autho- 
 rities said they were not aware that the room 
 was so near the English congregation when they 
 gave permission ; but surely they ought not to 
 have recompensed the proprietor at the expense 
 of the English, in consequence of their own mis- 
 take. In about a fortnight the grand Leone 
 died, and the proprietor gravely applied to the 
 chaplain on Sunday morning just before church, 
 to request that the sum of half a scudo a-head 
 might be collected from the English congregation 
 that day to recompense him for his loss ! The 
 ground he took was that the lion had died on ac- 
 count of being so long shut up during his litigation 
 with the heretical committee ! The chaplain ex- 
 pressed his wonder how the proprietor could ask 
 such a thing after having so insulted a congrega- 
 tion of worshippers ; upon which he became very 
 irate, and said that he now saw the egregious error 
 into which the English had been led. They had 
 taken him, it would seem, for a common showman, 
 ("meneur d'ours," or bear-leader,) with a drum 
 and trumpet at the door, and a man to bawl out, 
 
 M 2 
 
244 
 
 " Walk up ! walk up ! '' whereas he w^as ''Purveyor 
 of wild beasts to the Emperor of all the Russias," 
 " fournisseur de rEmpereur," and never had a man 
 at his door to say so much as *' Cest ici ! " 
 
 I am tempted, before finally quitting Rome, 
 to advert to another successful effort recently 
 made in that celebrated city, to break down the 
 illiberal barrier which, for so many centuries, had 
 existed against those enlightened improvements 
 by which the history of most other countries has 
 been characterised. 
 
 It has been well remarked, indeed, that the pro- 
 gress of religious toleration and of genuine charity 
 is synonymous with the advance of Protestantism. 
 Of the truth of this position, a remarkable proof, 
 besides those already adduced, has been lately 
 furnished by the establishment of an institution 
 on the Tarpeian rock, which wears a more deter- 
 mined aspect than even the English chapel, of 
 which the history has just been given. 
 
 In adverting to this subject, I cannot do so with 
 so much effect as by translating a part of a manu- 
 script written by Chevalier Bunsen, the distin- 
 guished scholar, historian, and statesman, who 
 resided so long at Rome as minister from the court 
 of Prussia. It is entitled "A proposal for the 
 foundation of a charitable establishment for Pro- 
 testants in general at Rome." 
 
245 
 
 " Ever since the martyrdom and dispersion of 
 the Vaudois congregations in the thirteenth century, 
 and the extermination of those small churches which 
 sprang out of the great reformation, and which in 
 the sixteenth century were linked together in a 
 chain of evangelical faith from the Alps to Cala- 
 bria, Rome never possessed a single Protestant 
 establishment within its walls, till the momentous 
 period of the general peace of 1815. Any stray 
 Protestants who found themselves at Rome, ante- 
 cedent to that epoch, were chiefly isolated travellers 
 making the round of the antiquities, and of the 
 monuments of the fine arts — men of letters visiting 
 the libraries — or artists studying the works of 
 Raphael and Michael Angelo. To these might be 
 added a certain number of domestic servants, chiefly 
 German and Swiss, and a few workmen of diff'erent 
 trades, who followed in the wake of the more 
 wealthy strangers. All these foreigners lived at 
 Rome, without the possibility, as it then seemed, 
 of congregating in a religious community, while 
 the greater part of them probably never thought 
 about the matter at all. Even Winkelman had to 
 turn Roman Catholic, in order to profit by the 
 protection of the Albanis and Borgias of those 
 days; or, at all events, he found it prudent, in 
 order to his gaining admission into society, to 
 repress every symptom of regard for the true faith 
 
246 
 
 of the gospel, during his residence in Italy, 
 A still greater degree of caution was necessary 
 on the part of the lower order of the strangers 
 alluded to, unless they chose to run the risk of 
 being entirely thrown out of employment, with 
 the certainty of being exposed to the annoy- 
 ing interference of the police. Nor did this 
 bigoted hostility cease even after death, for the 
 bodies of heretics were assigned no better resting- 
 place than the unconsecrated ground allotted to 
 impenitent malefactors, executed on the scaffold, 
 near the ' Muro Storto,'' in front of the old 
 entrance to the Villa Borghese. " 
 
 " It was only about 1770 that the very liberal Pope 
 Ganganelli, Clement XIV., allowed the body of 
 a young German baron to be interred in the open 
 meadow of the Testaccio, adjacent to the pyramid 
 of Cestius. There occur few other examples of a 
 similar privilege, although such things were occa- 
 sionally allowed upon sufferance, until the period 
 of the French domination. Still it was not till 
 the Continent was fully opened, that the first 
 evidence was given that the true faith, as set forth 
 by the evangelists, had been only revived and 
 strengthened by the mighty struggle. The English, 
 indeed, had become too powerful in the world, and 
 their cause was too manifestly protected by Divine 
 Providence, for the sovereign pontiff to deny them 
 
247 
 
 any longer an asylum for tlieir worship even 
 in his very capital. The memory of the vast 
 services they had rendered to the common cause 
 was too fresh for any opposition to be so much as 
 thought of. Accordingly, a numerous English 
 Protestant congregation were assembled, at first 
 only in a private house in the Forum of Trajan, 
 in consequence of the outcry made by the zealots 
 (zelanti) having awakened the conscience of Pius 
 VII. 
 
 *' In the year 1819, the king of Prussia founded 
 a Protestant chapel, and attached it to the house 
 of the minister, who represented his majesty at the 
 papal court, an establishment which has justly re- 
 ceived the blessings of hundreds of families on the 
 Continent. Besides the ordinary German service of 
 this chapel, the worship was occasionally performed 
 in French, and when a Protestant clergyman could 
 be found sufficiently master of Italian, the genuine 
 sound of the gospel was heard even in that lan- 
 guage ! In process of time, when several families 
 from the canton of the Tessin settled themselves at 
 Rome, the generosity of the king of Prussia, added 
 to the donations of some pious individuals, collected 
 round the chapel a library, composed of Bibles and 
 books of devotion, in German, French, English, 
 and Italian. 
 
248 
 
 " The salutary Influence of these establishments 
 was very remarkable, not only on the Protestants 
 themselves, but even on the inhabitants of the 
 country. The strangers, though placed in the very 
 capital of Catholicism, were surrounded by so many 
 associations calculated to awaken the most serious 
 reflections in their minds, in connexion with the 
 sacred events of which those celebrated scenes had 
 been the theatre, that they were naturally brought 
 to consider deeply the things most precious to them 
 on this earth. Accordingly, except in the case of 
 a few wicked or weak-minded persons, the apos- 
 tacies from the true faith were extremely rare. 
 The native inhabitants, on the other hand, began 
 to admit that those to whom they still refused the 
 name of Christians, really acknowledged and adored 
 the same Saviour, at all events that they did good 
 in his name, and to the glory of God. The ways of 
 the Almighty are veiled in so profound a mystery, 
 especially in countries exclusively Roman Catholic, 
 that it is impossible to say what share these small 
 beginnings may have in the eventual and inevitable 
 triumph of the religion of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 "In proportion, however, as these religious 
 institutions advanced, the want of some charitable 
 establishment, founded on the same principles, was 
 more and more felt for. It appeared that there, 
 
249 
 
 were in Rome in 1835 the following numbers of 
 fixed Protestants permanently domiciled as resi- 
 dents in that city : — 
 
 " Germans, Danes, and Swedes, 140, besides about 
 50 servants and mechanics; Protestants speaking 
 the French language, 50, with about 20 servants 
 and mechanics ; and of English permanent resi- 
 dents about 20 ; in all nearly 300." 
 
 Such was the state of things, according to M. 
 Bunsen, in the year 1835 ; and I shall now pro- 
 ceed to mention the steps which that accomplished 
 philanthropic statesman took to meet the exigen- 
 cies of the case. I should mention, however, 
 that in addition to the fixed residents in Rome, to 
 whom M. Bunsen particularly refers, there are now 
 not fewer upon an average than from 1500 to 2000 
 foreigners, who, if they cannot be said to reside 
 permanently at Rome, pass at least eight months 
 of the year there. By far the greater number 
 of these are English Protestants, and it was a 
 constant source of regret to the richer persons 
 amongst them, that when their poorer brethren had 
 the misfortune to fall into sickness, and had no 
 means of supporting themselves through it, they 
 were obliged to enter a public hospital. When 
 once there, the unceasing attempts made by the 
 Roman Catholics at proselytism left but little re- 
 pose to the helpless heretic, until he yielded to the 
 
 ivi 3 
 
250 
 
 effects of disease ; or, worse still, to the torture of 
 importunity ! 
 
 These and many other grave considerations 
 forced themselves upon the enlightened mind of 
 the Prussian envoy, the only representative of any 
 Protestant government at Rome, and whose voice 
 alone, therefore, had any official weight. In the 
 year 1835, the Chevalier Bunsen purchased a whole 
 row of houses close to the residence of the Prussian 
 legation, and adjacent to the Palazzo Cafferelli, 
 on the Monte Caprino, which forms part of the 
 original Tarpeian rock. Aided by subscriptions, of 
 which the greater part were furnished by the 
 English, M. Bunsen proceeded to turn the upper 
 stories of these buildings into one spacious apart- 
 ment, and fitted it up as an hospital ward. To this he 
 added a school-room, under the impression that the 
 numerous English artists residing in Rome with 
 their families might avail themselves, if they thought 
 fit, of a safe and economical education for their 
 children. 
 
 The Chevalier Bunsen was too good a man of 
 business to leave such an institution to the chance 
 support of public-spirited individuals, and therefore 
 as far as was possible he secured it against accident. 
 The following financial statement, which shows 
 what had been done up to the spring of 1836, will 
 no doubt interest persons who have been in the 
 
251 
 
 eternal city, and perhaps amuse those who, from 
 being at a distance, and within constant reach of 
 every kind of assistance in hours of need, can 
 scarcely be aware of the difficulties which are 
 encountered abroad, especially by persons whose 
 means are small. 
 
 Scudi. Bajocci.* 
 The sum total received on account of building 
 
 the institution, in March 1836 - - - 10,918 41 
 
 Expended on. the building and for the rent - 9,998 66 
 
 Leaving in hand a balance of - - - 919 75 
 
 But it was estimated that about 3000 more scudi 
 would still be required to complete the establish- 
 ment. The income was calculated at 644 scudi, 
 arising from the following sources : — 
 
 Scudi. 
 1st. Ground rent, paid by the King of Prussia - - 130 
 
 2nd. Rent of habitations let off - - - - - 230 
 
 3rd. Ditto from various other tenants . - _ 104 
 
 4th. Rent from the chaplain of the legation - - - 1 80 
 
 The whole sum in the shape of endowments is about 
 (in scudi) ---_-.-. 644 
 
 or about i^l43. 
 
 A scudo, it will be observed by the note at p. 251, 
 varies in value from 4s. to 4s. 2d. English money. 
 It was arranged that whoever subscribed 300 
 
 * 10 " Bajocci" make 1 '* Paulo," 10 " Pauli" make 1 " Scudo." 
 The Exchange varies from 46 to 48 Pauls for £l sterling. 
 
252 
 
 scudi should have the right of placing one sick 
 person at all times in the hospital ; and it has been 
 found by the experience of several years that the 
 institution has fully answered the charitable pur- 
 pose intended. 
 
 The subscriptions continued to be received, and 
 all to go on successfully under the able manage- 
 ment of the Chevalier Bunsen, up to the period of 
 his leaving Rome in the beginning of 1839. But 
 since the diplomatic relations between the Papal 
 court and that of Berlin have been suspended, in 
 consequence of the aifair of the Bishop of Cologne, 
 the whole of the important charitable work has 
 been " in jeopardy every hour." It is even said 
 that the Duca di Caffarelli has been severely 
 handled for selling or leasing his property for such 
 purposes. It does not appear, however, that the 
 Papal government has gone so far as to annul the 
 contract. 
 
 An unfortunate expression which appeared in a 
 Swiss newspaper — the " Gazette de Lausanne" — 
 about three years ago, had nearly proved fatal 
 to this charitable institution ; and the anecdote 
 is curious from its showing the state of ultra- 
 sensitiveness in which a government so con- 
 structed must at all times exist. What would 
 become of it if it were exposed to one thousandth 
 part of the attacks to which free governments are 
 
253 
 
 hourly exposed, but which instead of shaking them, 
 only make them the firmer ! It was stated in the 
 paper alluded to, as a remarkable circumstance, 
 that the whole of that part of the Capitoline Hill 
 which overlooked the Forum, comprising the Tar- 
 peian rock, had now become Protestant ! This 
 terrific paragraph was soon read in the ears of the 
 Pope, who, taking alarm, sent to the Prussian 
 envoy to know the meaning of such a " sproposito."''' 
 
 In reply to this inquiry it was truly, but most 
 adroitly stated that as the cholera was expected to 
 visit Rome next, and as the Romans would doubt- 
 less, in that fearful event, have sufficient use for all 
 their hospitals, his Prussian majesty deemed it 
 right to make these preparations. Not only was 
 this advisable on account of his own subjects, but 
 also that they might not become burdensome, at such 
 an alarming moment, to the Apostolic Chamber. 
 It was further remarked to the astonished and ter- 
 rified pontiff — for the dread of the cholera in Italy 
 exceeds all belief— that no situation in Rome could 
 be so eligible as the Monte Caprino, which never 
 could become a frequented district, in consequence 
 of the impossibility of a carriage approaching it. 
 
 With these and similar arguments the holy 
 father was pacified, or, at all events, the zealous 
 ecclesiastics, who had frightened the head of the 
 church with the " Gazette de Lausanne," were 
 
254 
 
 silenced for the time, and before they could marshal 
 a fresh attack, the cholera came in good earnest, 
 and then they were ready enough to acknowledge 
 that the Protestant envoy had done well. 
 
 I have lately been informed that the greater 
 part of the money required for the completion of this 
 truly philanthropic institution has been raised by 
 subscription last winter, chiefly through the exer- 
 tions of the Rev. George Porcher. It is also of 
 importance to the well-being of the establishment 
 of this hospital, that foreigners who possess com- 
 petent means have repaired to it, and instead of 
 accepting assistance as a charity, have defrayed 
 their own expenses. One of these, an English- 
 man, a highly respectable tradesman, expressed 
 himself well satisfied with the care and attention 
 he met with. 
 
 To persons accustomed to the ready means of 
 medical assistance which England affords in every 
 village, some of these details may seem trivial — but 
 to those who are best acquainted with the Continent, 
 the establishment of a well-managed hospital, open 
 to all strangers, in the city of Rome, will be hailed 
 with great satisfaction. 
 
255 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH PROTESTANT CHAPELS IN 
 TUSCANY, SARDINIA, AND FRANCE. 
 
 Besides the English chapels at Geneva and 
 Rome, the rise and progress and present state of 
 which have been fully detailed in the last two 
 chapters, there are similar establishments in various 
 other parts of Italy, as well as in France, which re- 
 quire that a few observations should be made 
 respecting them. 
 
 In Tuscany, where the toleration is ample, and 
 does honour to the government, there are no less 
 than four, viz. at Florence, Leghorn, Pisa, and 
 Lucca Baths. Those at Pisa and Lucca Baths, 
 however, may be considered as forming but one 
 chaplaincy, as the English reside only half the 
 year at each place. At Leghorn, as recently as 
 the 28 th May 1840, a new church was opened for 
 divine service according to the rites of the church 
 of England. This is, I believe, the first Protestant 
 edifice that has ever been reared in Italy expressly 
 
256 
 
 for public worship. Permission has also been ob- 
 tained for erecting a chapel at Pisa, as soon as 
 funds can be raised for the purpose ; a piece of 
 ground has already been purchased for £260, the 
 whole of which has been raised among the English 
 residents. At Lucca Baths a chapel is rapidly- 
 proceeding, and is to be finished by the end of 
 next May. The Grand Duke of Lucca, as well 
 as the Grand Duke of Tuscany, have given the 
 English the assurance of their special protection ; 
 " E de nostra plena soddisfazione," said the Duke 
 of Lucca, " che veggiamo sorgere un nuovo tem- 
 pio al culto di Dio."*' The service at Florence is 
 still carried on in hired apartments, and it is much 
 to be wished that the concerns of that institution 
 should be conducted in a manner more consonant 
 with what we have been taught to consider a 
 church of England sense of propriety. Florence 
 is the only place in Italy where, as I am informed, 
 the worshippers are required to take a ticket, and 
 pay first when they present themselves as strangers 
 at the door of the chapel ! The highly respect- 
 able clergyman who now fills that chaplaincy will 
 probably succeed in persuading the committee to 
 adopt the more suitable, or at all events more 
 agreeable, system pursued at Rome for raising 
 funds. 
 
 There are also English chapels at Nice, Genoa, 
 
257 
 
 Naples, and occasionally at Venice. At the tliree 
 former places they have had to contend for exist- 
 ence with the intolerance of the Government. 
 The chapel at Nice, which is a separate building 
 originally erected at the expense of a few English 
 persons, has frequently been threatened with ex- 
 tinction. His Sardinian Majesty, Charles Felix, 
 was heard to declare, that if his predecessor and 
 brother, Victor Emmanuel, had not granted per- 
 mission for a chapel at Genoa, he never would 
 have consented to such an enormity. At Naples, 
 the contest has been very recently renewed, and, 
 as it appears, in the midst of the sulphur question, 
 bigotry has triumphed. Now that is settled, we 
 may hope for better things. The British act of 
 Parliament, which provides for the establishment 
 of divine worship in all ports or places where H.M.'s 
 subjects are residing in numbers for trade and other 
 purposes, has been treated with contempt at Naples, 
 and threatened with frustration in Sardinia ; while 
 in Tuscany, where full liberty is given to the 
 British subject to worship God after the manner 
 of his fathers, no less than three chapels and a " full- 
 grown " church are now flourishing. 
 
 It must be evident to all who have travelled on 
 the Continent, and observed the influence which 
 the English exercise over the feelings of the people, 
 that it is of the greatest conseqtience that those 
 
258 
 
 institutions should present a good specimen of the 
 practical working of our ecclesiastical system. But 
 as this of course must depend on the individual 
 clergyman placed at the head of each, it has hap- 
 pened, that in several instances the Anglo-Italian 
 chapels have been unfortunate in this respect, 
 and have exhibited to the inquiring natives either 
 inefficiency, or what is worse, strife and contention 
 of parties. This arises in a great measure from 
 the circumstance of those chapels being placed 
 under no episcopal controul. Rome, however, 
 has afforded the singular and edifying example of 
 a large body of British subjects from all the three 
 kingdoms meeting together, for a quarter of a 
 century, in one assembly, of one heart, and one 
 soul, without any schism or division. This is the 
 more worthy of remark, as there has seldom been 
 a winter when there were not bodies of Scotch pres- 
 byterians, besides various dissenters both Americans 
 and English, large enough to have formed one or 
 more separate congregations, yet in no instance 
 has that been attempted, but all these different 
 sects and nations have agreed to kneel at the 
 same altar, and worship in the same place ! This 
 voluntary and cordial union of the spirit in the 
 bond of peace may be a fair set-off against the 
 unity of a spiritual despotism. But this, alas ! 
 has not been the case in other places ; and, ac- 
 
259 
 
 cordingly, the best interests of religion, as we 
 should wish to see them maintained, have in con- 
 sequence suffered in the eyes of the Roman Ca- 
 tholics. On every account, it is a matter of much 
 congratulation, that, in the scheme lately propound- 
 ed by the Bishop of London for increasing the num- 
 ber of our colonial bishops he proposes, that there 
 should be a Bishop of Malta or Gibraltar, under 
 whose jurisdiction would be brought all the clergy 
 officiating on or near the shores of the Mediter- 
 ranean. 
 
 The remarkable and every way important com- 
 munication above alluded to is contained in a letter 
 dated 24th April 1840, written by the Bishop of 
 London to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
 published in the Ecclesiastical Gazette, No. 23, on 
 the 12th of May last. The whole letter is worthy 
 of the most attentive perusal, for it will satisfy any 
 one who wishes well to the cause of religion, that 
 its interests may be essentially promoted by ex- 
 tending the influence of church government to 
 various parts of Europe, as well as to our remotest 
 colonies. In this view, the zealous and experienced 
 writer proposes that there should be some episcopal 
 authority planted in every place abroad where 
 Englishmen congregate in numbers, and where, 
 as in Italy for example, there are already in action 
 many detached chapels, but which are unconnected 
 
260 
 
 by any system of discipline, and unaided by the 
 general superintendence of any pastoral authority 
 whatsoever. The consequence is, their exertions 
 are often of little avail, and the evils of ill under- 
 stood concert, or no concert at all, are sometimes 
 severely felt. The experiment of appointing 
 bishops to India and the West Indies has succeeded 
 so completely? that there can be no longer any 
 doubt of the vast advantage of extending the system 
 to other places. The only difficulty is how this 
 point is to be accomplished. 
 
 " The Ji)'st work to be done,**' says the Bishop of 
 London, •' is to supply the want of completeness 
 in the church which already exists in several of our 
 colonies and distant dependencies. I would men- 
 tion as examples, the Cape of Good Hope, the 
 island of Ceylon, Van Diemen"'s Land, and New- 
 Zealand, which may be regarded as being virtually 
 one of our colonies. Malta may also be con- 
 sidered as the station of a bishop, who might exer- 
 cise a salutary superintendence over those of our 
 clergy who officiate as chaplains in the seaports 
 and towns upon the coast, or near the coast of the 
 Mediterranean, and, perhaps, Gibraltar." " I 
 speak,"" continues the Bishop of London, " with 
 some knowledge of the circumstances, which show 
 how desirable it is that a bishop should be placed 
 in some of those places ; having references con- 
 
261 
 
 tinually made to me upon matters of great im- 
 portance to the cause of religion and the church, 
 from English clergymen and congregations in 
 foreign parts, which I am obliged to settle as well 
 as I can, without any legitimate jurisdiction over 
 the parties, and without any means of inquiring 
 personally into the facts which form the subject of 
 their appeals to me. Your grace's own experience 
 will confirm the accuracy of this representation. 
 And besides this, it is obvious, that our church 
 is not seen in her full and fair proportions by the 
 strangers among whom she dwells. The defect of 
 those ordinances, which can be received only at 
 the hands of the highest order of the ministry, the 
 absence of due regulation for spiritual authority 
 on the part of the clergy, and the want of a com- 
 mon bond of connexion between them, are disad- 
 vantageously contrasted with the discipline and 
 completeness of other churches, in themselves 
 perhaps less perfect or less pure than our own."* 
 
 It was my wish to have added a short sketch of 
 the state of the English chapels in other parts of 
 the Continent, and particularly in France, where 
 all that I have heard tends strongly to show the 
 wisdom and immediate practical importance of the 
 view taken by the Bishop of London. But as I 
 
 • Bishop of London's letter of the 24th April 1840. 
 
262 
 
 have liad no personal experience of the working of 
 the system, or rather of the absence of all system, 
 I feel unwilling to do more than call the attention 
 of those who may not only have this vital subject 
 at heart, but have sufficient influence to give the 
 generous impulses, which no doubt exist, a better 
 direction, for the good of the church. 
 
 I am told that the chapels in France are, gene- 
 rally speaking, in a most unsatisfactory condition. 
 This chiefly arises from the want of superintend- 
 ence, bv reason of which the concerns of several of 
 those chapels fall into the hands of a few laymen, 
 sometimes not of the best description. These 
 persons appoint, and then remove, a chaplain at 
 their pleasure, until, at length, no clergyman of 
 any respectability will undertake the charge. 
 There does not appear at present any mode of 
 correcting these evils, except by the local exer- 
 tions of disinterested and pious individuals. 
 
 In Paris, it is true, the zealous and amiable 
 Bishop Luscombe has long officiated, and very re- 
 spectably maintained the dignity of divine worship, 
 and several other pious and accomplished ministers 
 have delivered the word of God to the multitudes 
 of English who flock to that capital. Among 
 these I must not omit to name my excellent 
 friend, the Rev. Mr. Lovat, the successor of the 
 Rev. Lewis Way, the remarkable man who 
 
26S 
 
 created the cliapel in the Avenue de Neullly, and 
 gave a great impulse to the cause of religion in 
 Paris. There may not, therefore, be much room 
 for complaint, on the score either of doctrine or 
 of discipline in that great capital. But, were the 
 task not invidious, instances might perhaps be ad- 
 duced to show how essential it is to the welfare and 
 character of our church abroad, that its clergymen 
 on the coasts of France should be placed under a 
 bishop or suffragan of Jersey or Guernsey. That 
 this would add greatly to their own respectability 
 and happiness, and powers of being useful to their 
 countrymen, I cannot doubt, any more than that 
 it would contribute to give foreigners a far juster 
 conception of what the church of England really 
 is, than they ever can have under the present 
 working of the voluntary system in France. I 
 am afraid even to allude to some scenes I have 
 heard of the contests for a clergyman in different 
 parts of that country. 
 
 As things are at present arranged, I see no 
 possible way of mending this matter, at least in 
 cases like the above, where the English are con- 
 gregated in such great numbers as to form a con- 
 siderable proportion of the Avhole society, and 
 where, without their having the established usages 
 of England to check extravagances, a sort of 
 wealthy democracy has been got up, amenable 
 
264 
 
 neither to the habits of their own country, nor to 
 those of their temporary adoption. In such 
 places, it is difficult to exaggerate the effect which 
 springs from the absence of all wholesome control, 
 in deteriorating the national character. On the 
 other hand, it is incalculable what good might be 
 done by the steady instrumentality of a well- 
 regulated church establishment among them. 
 
 The evil assumes a different complexion in 
 tliose parts of France where, instead of a large 
 number of English residents, as in the cases above 
 alluded to, only a few are gathered together. But 
 the mischief arising from the entire absence of 
 wholesome control in the nomination of clergymen, 
 and the want of due superintendence over their 
 duties afterwards, is perhaps even greater than it 
 is in the tumultuous instances slightly hinted at, 
 where the excessive scandal of the electioneering 
 transactions forces reflection even on the most un- 
 thinking. What hope, it may be asked, can there 
 be of a congregation being properly served, when 
 such means are resorted to as are described in the 
 following anecdote, which I have heard from good 
 authority. 
 
 Not long ago an advertisement appeared in the 
 papers for a chaplain wanted at a certain small town. 
 He was to be perfection in every point, and was to 
 receive a salary of about £100 a-year. A clergy- 
 
man duly qualified went over to France, on pur- 
 pose to see if the situation was likely to suit him. 
 When he arrived at the place he was received by 
 two of Her Majesty's subjects, who represented 
 the small body of English residents on the spot. 
 
 The clergyman, who possessed some fortune, was 
 a gentleman by birth, as well as in manners and 
 opinions, and the deputies did him the honour to 
 point out the great advantages of being admitted 
 to the dignity of their chaplain ; but on' coming to 
 closer quarters, he found there were some strange 
 conditions to be fulfilled. 
 
 He was informed that, in no case, was he to 
 baptise a child, or to bury a corpse, or to marry a 
 couple, without first asking their permission ! — 
 Neither was he to allow any brother clergyman to 
 ascend his pulpit, nor to enter his reading-desk, 
 without the leave of the committee ! ! 
 
 He listened to this new version of his clerical 
 duties with undisturbed gravity, and then inquired 
 what salary the chaplain might expect to receive 
 from such a well-regulated institution ? To which 
 one of the authorities, not at all in jest, replied, 
 £40 per annum ! 
 
 It would seem as if these gentlemen had for- 
 gotten that we are not now living in the days of 
 Goldsmith, wJi^^ '^ "Tian of education was held to 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 
 
 be " passing rich with forty pounds a-year/' At all 
 events, this proved rather too much for the risible 
 faculties of the gentleman, who had gone so far in 
 search of occupation in a position where he hoped 
 his exertions might be useful. But the two lay 
 deacons saw no joke in the matter, and became 
 irate; upon which the clergyman took his leave, and 
 said that, although it happened to be of no conse- 
 quence to him, to be put to the trouble and expense 
 of a journey, it was scarcely fair to entice, by adver- 
 tisement, other persons less able than himself to 
 bear the burden of such a trip. 
 
 Now, if this is to be taken as a specimen of the 
 manner in which English chapels anywhere abroad 
 may be conducted, it will show, I think, the great 
 importance of placing, so far as may be possible, 
 the nomination of chaplains in the hands of a highly 
 educated authority, responsible to his order, and to 
 the country, for the due exercise of his episcopal 
 functions. 
 
 However the point of original nomination may 
 be considered, there must, I should imagine, be but 
 one opinion as to the great benefit which would 
 spring from placing the chaplains, after their ap- 
 pointment, under the authority of a bishop of the 
 Established Church, rather than exposing them to 
 the control of ill-informed or ill-advised persons, 
 
267 
 
 who, although they would be the first to assail 
 the power and authority of their bishops at home, 
 would not hesitate, when abroad, to exercise ten 
 times more power over the unprotected chaplains 
 of their little expatriated congregations ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
LONDON : 
 bRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTKRS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
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940.98 
 
 H14 
 
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