| Transcript or Index | Saturday Octr 3d
By one of those sudden turns of weather which often surprized us in Switzerland, we had a bright and sunny morning which soon dried the streets. We climbed up to the Cathedral – a climb indeed – for we first had to descend a steep hill – then clamber up one, then up flights of 115 steep steps, to then another hill – but we found it very curious – particularly a porch in the south side, which is spacious and enclosed, and another still larger at the west end which forms a kind of antichamber to the nave. Papa and Mr. Bond and I were measuring and sketching all day in it, & only went out a little after dinner (having dined at the Table d’Hôte) to see the view from the terrace which is very fine; and as the sun shone brightly on some mountains throwing others into shade, Mr. Bond observed how impossible it was for a painter to imitate this colouring. He could only make some [?] of them black, yet black they were not, for we saw all their parts and a blue light seemed always floating before them and threw them into distance.
We had spoken to Emery, whom Miss Thomson recommended, about horses, but found him imposing and uncivil. Mr. Brooks who was an outpensioner of the Inn called on us in the Evening and prevented us from going to see Gibbon’s House which I am sorry for, but he helped to make our bargain with an honest German, who could not speak a word of French, to take us to St. Maurice on our route to Milan, for three Napoleons, return and self included. The Head waiter was obliged to attend as interpreter.
Mr. Bond came afterwards to take leave as he was going off by the Diligence at 6 the next morning, and we sent word by him to Miss Thomsons that we should follow in the afternoon.
Sunday Octr the 4th
[On the left page there is something written in Greek, I think, but I do not know what it says.]
We again visited the Cathedral and the Promenade, but I know not how we forgot Gibbon’s House. We attended Divine Service however, and I was much pleased with it. It was the first time I had been Swiss Service in its own country – and I liked the simplicity and intelligibility of it particularly after having stared so long at pomp of the Roman worship without comprehending it. I think that perhaps there are rather too few prayers, as in ours there are rather too many, but I like the praying after the Sermon.
Papa on thinking and calculating began to waver about Milan, so we got a gentleman who had dined with us the Table d’Hôte to aid us in remodelling our bargain with the German, so that we might have it in our power to change our minds when we reached Vevay, and either go St Maurice or Berne.
The Sun was bright and our ride delightful – the hills on both sides grew bolder and nearer and the valley of the Rhone opened with the Dente de Morgue and a mass of snow peeping over it to the left. But the rain got to Vevay [nowadays spelt Vevey] before we did. We had seen it envelopping Meillerie and St. Gingo [perhaps St Gingolph now?] and crossing over the lake to meet us. It ceased for a little while and we got down to the shore of the Lake to look at the mountains who appeared like mighty Ghosts thro’ the mist. We were obliged to make ourselves comfortable with a fire in an extravagant, and not very well attended Inn, the Lion D’or – and to write instead of walking.
Monday – Octr 5 –
[On the left page is this note – which isn’t clearly signalled in terms of where it belongs in the main text: Also the Castle of Chillon which from here looked of so little importance that in spite of Lord Byron I had forgotten it]
The sun shone but certain mists on the Mountains made us distrust his smile. Papa calculated and recalculated, and determined to abandon Milan – So wrote to Mr. Bond and Miss Thomsons in a hurry. Looked at the Lake and the Mountains which seemed more beautiful than they had ever done before in a mixture of mist sunshine and shadow which gave in particular a new and finer character to our old favourite the Dent de Morgue, whom I own it grieved me to part from than to miss Milan, and I regretted the Passage of the Simplon. But it was no use being disappointed and I had always thought the going farther a wild scheme as¬ we had to return before the winter and wondered papa had ever given into it. Before nine we were off towards Berne. For some distance we had to retrace our steps on the Lake, and then to wind up a hill which still commanded it among the fine vineyards for which the neighbourhood of Vevey is famous. The white grapes were the most abundant, and those which they brought us to table were even over ripe. The Lake was partly clouded, partly sunny, a coincidence of light particularly favourable to our distinguishing along it a clear blue line, which we supposed to be the proud Rhone, who scorns to mingle his [waters?] even with these clear and beautiful waves.
The hill we were climbing might in other places have been fairly called a mountain, and we noticed some houses perched on perpendicular crags as if to be inaccessible but I have no doubt they had roads to them which we saw not. We had long seen the clouds on the summit and at last ascended into them but they were complaisant enough to leave us, and allow us to enjoy our road thro’ the one of the most beautiful countries I ever saw. The horses stopped about 2 at Mendon to take their usual rest, and Papa and I with our usual acuteness smelt out a Church, which had an odd painted doorway outside, and was curiously painted within with a spacious middle aisle, and some columns with singular bases and capitals, a few of which I sketched after a fashion. From hence to Payanne we were more and more delighted with the scenery particularly with the situation of one or two towns and a castle, which were perched on great heights, and finely backed by wooden slopes. Indeed the whole of this ride was luxuriantly beautiful and a fine sun gave it all its effect, but it was dark before we got into Payanne – a small town but containing a pleasanter Inn than many we had been in. The LandLady and all the household seemed anxious to make us comfortable and we were attended by a brisk stout good looking girl who gave us our first specimen of the Bernese costume, but without its cap.
This costume consists of a black petticoat, covered or not by a white apron – a black velvet body low in front, and high behind, and embroidered in front with silver and little beads – a black velvet collar which helps to support the body as it has no shoulder straps, full white sleeves and habit shirt which are generally cleaner than one would think possible, and this girl [was?] like snow. Many of them wear, (as she also did) their light auburn hair plaited as a sort of coronet on the head but the more common dress is a skullcap of black taffeta , with two large wings of black gauze, which they call lace, but which only among the very higher peasantry at all approaches to it in quality, we afterwards saw many of these caps in heavy rain, and it was astonishing how they preserved their shape and stiffness. On the jours de fête I believe the cap is superseded by a broad brimmed straw hat. We had no good opportunity of judging of it in nature but it looks very well in a picture.
To return. – We had so magnificent a supper, considering the appearance of the house that we thought mine hostess must have intended to show off strangers. There were two men at the table, who had little the appearance of gentlemen, but they prove more intelligent than we expected. One of them had been in England and spoke with raptures of its verdure. I observed that Switzerland seemed to me as beautifully green. Yes said he for a fortnight or perhaps a month in the year, but yours is perpetual. He gave me less opinion of his taste when he afterwards began admiring our red brick houses, which he commented looked as well among the trees and the greens. He was probably a great proprietor and cultivator, but certainly a dealer in cattle. He praised the English Beef, and said they had no good beef in Switzerland, for that they sent all their finest beasts to Paris, and besides that beef was never good which had not travelled. He and the other gentlemen also proved afterwards to be somewhat of Greek scholars, and I left them with the impression that a good deal of classical knowledge is diffused among the Swiss proprietors, who, perhaps like the Icelanders, much isolated in the winter make books supply the place of society.
Tuesday Octr 6th
We were off by half past 8, but the fine weather was gone. We were soon in sight of the Lake Morat but our postillion when we came to Avenche (Aventicum) instead of ascending the hill which leads into the town, turned into the bed of a river which proved no pleasant road, though the stream was shallow – but remonstrations would have been in vain, for he could not understand us. We saw here a bit of an old ruin, probably Roman, but I doubt if even a romance writer could have given it interest. As we passed near the Lake we fancied we made out nearly the scene of the battle which Lord Byron makes so much fuss about, and wishes to place before Waterloo. Morat itself is a square fortified town built much on Arcades – but we merely drove thro’ it. The Lake has some fine hills rising above it – and in fine weather I dare to say would be beautiful. There is one place from which the Lake of Neuchatelis also seen, and we brought some violets from the spot. Our road continued beautiful – and we stopped to rest at Gumminen [Gümmenen nowadays], one of the most romantic towns I have ever seen – before we entered it we crost the Saane – a fine and rapid stream which falls into the Aar [Aare nowadays]. The bridge was of wood, and covered, and its situation was so beautiful that had we not misunderstood that we should cross it again I believe that we should have walked out in the rain to see it. The Inn was clean, and we were not prevented by the airs of a lofty vulgar looking lady, whom we suspected to be English (for we never heard her speak) from enjoying some excellent boiled tongue and potatoes for which we were charged only one frank. Lofty rocks rose before the Inn which was nevertheless in a little village, and behind they were in surplomb but the rain gave not a moment’s intermission, and we had cause to rejoice in the Swiss penthouses which allowed us to get dry into our carriage.
To Berne our road was as charming as ever, thro’ most beautiful forests, and up lofty hills, which ought to have given us fine prospects. Our horses were evidently somewhat fatigued, and I fancy they had been overworked before we had them, so our man borrowed a third to help them up the longest and heaviest of the hills, but he went very loose, and his master would not allow him to be whipped. It was really amusing to see our driver walking behind and swinging his whip about – and longing to give him a touch by accident. The approach to Berne is grand, and the entrance between two magnificent Bears of stone which reminded me of Tully Veolan. The right hand one resembled Mr. H. Elliott – tho’ perhaps he might not relish the comparison – but this bear was a very handsome fellow, and might have sate for the portrait of his own Biorno.
We past almost immediately by the fine new Church of St. Pierre, and could not help at once remarking the [Crossed out?] appearance of cleanliness, finish, and prosperity in every thing. The houses are entirely of stone and the whole town is built on Arcades or piazzas, which supplied a dry walk even in this heavy rain. The shops are behind there, and there appear to be cellars underneath which are entered from the Street but even these are protected by the broad Swiss penthouses which extend beyond the roofs. The spouts that carry off the water are the worst part of the contrivance. They are formed like a cannon, and poured a continual stream of so as to deluge us when we chanced to pass under. The stones beneath are worn away by the water. The streets are straight and spacious, well paved, with a covered stream running thro’ the middle, and plenty of fountains. On the whole Berne seems by far the finest town I have seen.
It was market day – and for some miles we had continuously met the peasants returning. The women seemingly regardless of the rain and all in their flycaps. It was in this days journey that we first observed the Bernese, or perhaps the real Swiss cottage – tho’ in Savoy we had seen some varieties of it. Dwelling house stables, hayloft and granary all under one immense roof, which projects far beyond the walls, so as to leave a dry walk all round the house, and to shelter the wooden galleries, in which the peasants probably enjoy a little fresh air when the snow may prevent them from walking out. These galleries frequently extend along two or three sides of the house and sometimes all round. In the commoner houses there is but one, but I have seen three, one above the other. There is also frequently a railing or a little enclosure round the houses at the bottom, like those to our English cottages and the whole are substantial and well built, proving that timber and land and labour are all cheap. Below and at one end, which is generally well glazed and <seemingly> well furnished, are the apartments of the family – to the side of these one or two arches mark the Coach houses, and all the upper space is filled with the Corn and Hay – which are never stacked in the fields as with us – I suppose for fear of snow, but this disposition makes a fire very fatal. The South end is that generally appropriated for the dwelling house and the Gallery (if the last be but on one side). Under the roofs we saw a great deal of indian wheat drying, and also tobacco which the peasants were still gathering in the fields. Nothing can be stronger than the <contrast between the> pretty, clean substantial picturesque cottages of Switzerland, with a stack of wood chopped to a proper size and piled against its side, and the dirty dilapidated, slovenly air of a french village. The Houses are as superior as the country, and instead of a straight road thro’ a flat desert, the paths turn forever, nature supplies the place of cultivation, and every knoll bears its little knot of cottages. In England, a gentleman may select beautiful scenes, but he must plant his park and wait its growth. Here with a very little attention he may find his park ready grown, wood and [stones?] are on the spot, and the streams prepared to water his garden, to feed his fountains or brawl along his path. He would only have to restrain its wanderings and prune the luxuriance of the forest. Nay if he chuse rightly, the eternal Ices of the Alps may close his prospect and contrast with the verdure of his vineclad hills.
We met at the Table D’Hôte a Swiss who had been I believe 12 years in America yet he had learned English but imperfectly. He had latterly [made?] some stay in England and I was amused to find him giving Papa exactly his own sentiments with regard to York Minster and other buildings as also in politics – not only about the affairs of America but those of the Westminster election. He was somehow other entitled to vote, so divided his suffrages between Sir M. Maxwell & Sir S. Romilly.
Wednesday Octr 7th
The rain continues but we have taken advantage of the Arcades, to walk nearly through the town. To see again our friends the Great Bears, and all the lesser Bears <that> adorn the public buildings, the fountains, the stalls of the cathedral, the Coin of the Canton – and even the tiles of our German stove at the Couronne. Surely Walter Scott must have taken his idea of Tully Veolan from Berne. We have even had a peep at the Aar on the Northern side winding below the town, and finer still to the South from the platform of the Cathedral where the hill on which the town stands is loftier – and the terraced gardens slope down from the rue des Gentilhommes to the Basse Ville, where the artizans reside. On the further side are some beautiful green hills, and one lofty mound whose top is enveloped in Clouds. The Cathedral is behind with a great variety of beautiful tracery for the capricious Architect seems to have determined to make no two doors, battlements or windows alike. The choir which is separated from the rest of the Church is lofty and the windows particularly elegant in their proportions. The nave seems to have been built since the time of Luther for it has no galleries, or hermitoires [? Unsure ?] and it reminded me of some of the Churches of the Netherlands. We have commenced sketching – have got one letter from home and written in return.
We had just dined, when our Landlord or more properly, the son of our Landlady came in, and asked if we would go to an exhibition of transparent views of Switzerland. About ½ past 7, he went with two ladies from the Inn to shew the way. The house was at some distance, and the room into which we were shewn at a great distance down a long entry, and upstairs. Here we found several persons and had a little leisure to examine a few portraits and several views of the falls of Shaffhausen, the Stanbach, and the Glaciers of the Junfrau, &c.
We were then summoned into a room where benches were placed, and was immediately darkened. The Isle of St. Pierre on the Lake of Bienne [this is now Biel] I believe led the way. It remained a few minutes, and as a shutter closed over it another rose at the side and shewed two boys blowing bubbles which formed a sort of interlude to the larger pictures. These were ten in number, with 4 interludes each appearing 2ce. I cannot pretend to remember the views in their order and some were indifferently painted –
2 A cottage at Interlachen
3 Interior of a Chalet
4 1st Chapel of William Tell where he escaped from the boat
5 2d Chapel where he slew the Governor
6 Interior of a Chalet
7 a chapel & Lake – Moon & Torchlight very well contrasted
8 The Jungfrau – sunset, twilight and night – well managed
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