XIV

COMPOSED IN ONE OF THE CATHOLIC CANTONS[499]

The second stanza of this poem, entitled Composed in one of the Catholic Cantons, was in the original edition of 1822, a part of the poem entitled The Church of San Salvador, seen from the Lake of Lugano. The other stanzas were first published in 1827.

Numerous references to "the firm unmoving cross," and to

occur both in Mrs. Wordsworth's and in Dorothy's Journal. E.g. (Crossing the St. Gotthard Pass) "Aug. 24.—... Gained the top by a steep pull; snow before and behind; a crucifix, and oratories thicken upon our course as we draw near to the Hospice. 'Gales from Italy' blow fresh around. Snow on the roadside. Farther on a little cross under a rock.... We yesterday noticed five of these crosses, two placed under one rock, and three under another." "Aug. 15. (Engelberg.)—... Counted the wayside upright oratories; found no less than sixteen before we reached the house, where we resumed our char-à-bancs." "Aug. 8. (At Interlachen.)—... The view that takes in the length of the Vale, following the snaky river with its islands, through those croft-like, woody, orchard meadows to Unterseen, with its weir, church, bridges, cottages, and that spiral edifice in the midst: Lake of Thun beyond, girt by mountains: Neissen, a pyramidal giant, predominant. Turning to the left towards Brientz, Ringenberg old Church tower rising from a high woody knoll. William and I came to it. (I write on the spot. Wm. asleep.) No entrance into the ruin, good view of Brientz Lake, and a little Loughrigg Tarn above, close under where we are seated among groves of limes, hazels, beeches, etc.; clanking hammers, singing girl. 'Will no one tell me what she sings?'[HP] A little further on, among those sylvan crofts, a scattered group of day or summer-deserted cabins; plots of hemp spread in the sunshine tell us dwellers sometimes come here. Hence steps of rock led us to a temple of Nature's own framing, roofed with ancient beech trees. Under one was firmly fixed in the ground a little upright stone, about a span in width, and three times that length. Upon it was roughly chisled a cross, not exactly a Christ-cross, but something like this.... I could not but feel that it might have been placed there by the Peasants, as a point to meet from their scattered sheds for worship. Natural seats, mossy or bare, like those in our own sylvan parlour (upon Rydal Lake), all around in the rocks, kept up the idea; and a more lovely and silent spot could not have been selected for a holy purpose: the little Tarn too in sight, in time of drought, ready to supply their rocky font with fresh water."

"Friday, 14th September. Martigny.—Passing the turn of the ascent, we come to another Cross, (placed there to face the Traveller ascending from the other side), and, from the brow of the eminence, behold! to our left, the huge Form of Mont Blanc—pikes, towers, needles, and wide wastes of everlasting snow in dazzling brightness. Below is the river Arve, a grey-white line, winding to the village of Chamouny, dimly seen in the distance. Our station, though on a height so commanding, was on the lowest point of the eminence; and such as I have sketched (but how imperfectly!) was the scene uplifted and outspread before us. The higher parts of the mountain in our neighbourhood are sprinkled with brown Chalets. So they were thirty years ago, as my Brother well remembered; and he pointed out to us the very quarter from which a Boy greeted him and his companion with an Alpine cry—

(From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.) See also note to Engelberg, the Hill of Angels, p. 317, and to Our Lady of the Snow, p. 320.—Ed.

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XV

AFTER-THOUGHT

The first stanza of this After-Thought was first published in the edition of 1832, as the beginning of the poem Composed in one of the Catholic Cantons, and the second stanza in the edition of 1837 when the After-Thought first appeared.—Ed.

XVI

SCENE ON THE LAKE OF BRIENTZ

The only reference to a "scene on the lake of Brientz" in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal which could have given rise to the preceding poem is the following:—"William's desires extended to a promontory, whence he hoped to see the termination of the lake, and thither he is gone to look out for the Boat, our friends being upon the water. I am left to rest under the shade of some beeches. A fine walk we have had; bold immensely high limestone rocks above my head, grey hoary steeps, magnificent walnut trees, the favourite of the country; Swiss figures gliding among the trees, with their deep bright baskets on their backs; pines climbing up to the sky, fringing the rocks; scarlet barberries glittering, and tipping the pendent boughs of the beech or walnut trees below," etc. etc.

"Wednesday, 9th August. Interlachen.—Our minstrel peasants passed us on the water, no longer singing plaintive ditties such as inspired the little poem, which I shall transcribe in the following page; but with bursts of merriment they rowed lustily away. The poet has, however, transported the minstrels in their gentle mood from the Cottage door to the calm Lake." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)—Ed.

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XVII

ENGELBERG, THE HILL OF ANGELS[504]

Engelberg, the Hill of Angels, as the name implies. The Convent whose site was pointed out, according to tradition, in this manner, is seated at its base. The Architecture of the Building is unimpressive, but the situation is worthy of the honour which the imagination of the Mountaineers has conferred upon it.—W. W. 1822.

"Monday, August 14.—At sunset we reached the edge of the flat green area, sublimely guarded; from its head rose Engelberg (whence the angels sang), Tittlesberg,[HS] the highest of these Alps. But between these two stood another more fantastically shaped rocky hill with a broken jagged crest, and without snow.... All around the Vale is completely enclosed by lofty barriers, piercing or supporting the clouds. From the eminence whence we first had a sight of the mists curling in the glowing sun upon the heights of Engelberg, the white convent with its own, and its lesser attendant chapels; the pensive moving figures, in their gay attire, that as we approached saluted us; and before we gained our harbour for the night, the convent bell calling to vespers, seemed to summon my ears to listen for the angels' voices from that celestial mount. All these impressions could not but excite in us thankfulness that we had been led to this Abyssinian Vale (as D. appropriately termed it)." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Monday, 14th August. Sarnen.—It was a little past seven o'clock when (having passed round the neck of the hill, or promontory, as I may call it) we perceived that the object of our delightful day's journey could not be far distant. A stately mass of crag, a mountain composed of stone of a soft yellow hue irregularly piled up, and between pyramid and tower-shaped, appeared before us. It could be no other than the Hill of Engelberg, the Angel's Hill, where, it is believed, the angels sang songs of approval, while holy men laid the foundation of the abbey. Others say that the Founders were led to choose that spot because the Rock of Engelberg was the place those happy spirits were accustomed to haunt, and that their melodies were heard while the work was going on. It is no wonder that such traditions are believed by some of the good Catholics even at this day; for never was there on earth a more beautiful pinnacle for happy spirits than the Rock of Engelberg, as we first beheld it, gilded with the beams of the declining sun. Light clouds, as white as snow, yet melting into the thinnest substance, and tinged with heavenly light, were floating around and below its summit. We exclaimed, 'There you see the wings of the Angels!'——. Our recollections of that moment cannot be effaced; and some time afterwards my Brother expressed his feelings in the following little Poem." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)—Ed.

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XVIII

OUR LADY OF THE SNOW

"August, Saturday 19th. Top of the Rigi.—... Eastern sky rich with golden streaks, clouds floating around in all directions below us: then driving eastwards, we expecting momently to be enveloped in the condensing mist, but the breezes again and again took it away, through the channel between the Rigi and the opposite mountains. At length the bright sun just showed itself, lighted up the tips of the Alps with a rosy splendour, silvered the edges of, and gave angels' wings to the neighbouring clouds for a moment, then shrouded himself up, and the glory faded away.... A tall cross is finely placed upon the top of this hill.... Set forward on our descent from this remarkable place. Pleasant green mountain track led us soon to the Parish Church of Rigiberg, dedicated to 'Our Lady of the Snow.' It was crammed with pictures of the Virgin and Child, in various situations, setting forth her miraculous powers, and how they had been exercised: small convent of Capuchins close by: easy and beautiful road down for some time; high Crosses with pictures all the way; Chapels with frightful figures, enough to terrify the Religious on their way to 'Our Lady of the Snow': met several peasants before we reached the foot of the hill; Houses for them to rest on their way: beautiful steep thin waterfalls; lofty wooded and pine-clad crags accompanied us all the way on our descent...." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Saturday, 19th August. Top of Rigi.—With hearts not less joyous than those of the young men with whom we had just parted, we began our journey. How delicious was the descent over the velvet turf, towards the Chapel of Our Lady of the Snow! seen below within a narrow steep glen. The air still fresh and cool, we gradually find ourselves enclosed by the declivities of the glen, those rugged steeps are hung with pine trees, narrow cataracts come down the clefts in unbroken white lines—or over the facings of rock, in drops and stages. Side by side with the central rivulet, we go on still descending, though with far slower pace, and come to the Village of Rigi, and our Lady's Chapel cradled in the slip of the dell, and, at this tranquil time, lulled by the voices of the streams. The interior of the Chapel is hung with hundreds of offerings—staffs, crutches, etc. etc., and pictures representing marvellous escapes, with written records of vows performed—and dangers averted through the gracious protection of Our Lady of the Snow. Near the Chapel is a small religious House, where a few Monks reside, probably in attendance upon the chapel, which continues to draw together numerous worshippers from the distant Vales on days of penitence or of festival." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)—Ed.

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XIX

EFFUSION,

In Presence of the Painted Tower of Tell, at Altorf

This Tower stands upon the spot where grew the Linden Tree against which his Son is said to have been placed, when the Father's archery was put to proof under circumstances so famous in Swiss Story.

In Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal the following occurs, under date August 21.—"Altorf.... Visited a Painter, who follows his Art, and instructs pupils in 'Tell's Tower': fine prospect from the Tower, and from the Church beautiful almost beyond description. The towers of Altorf, the Vale beyond, and Fluellin on the margin of the lake; the pine-clad barriers, with here and there a fantastic marked rock, or a snowy forehead reared above all.... I have called this place a village, but I insult the capital of the canton of Uri by so doing: neither is it like a village. A small Town, with stately houses, Fountains—Tell's Fountain, Church, a large Painted Tower, that gives Tell's story, is built upon the very spot where the famous Tree grew. The tree is there represented, and under it the pretty little boy with the apple upon his head...."

"Monday, 20th August. Altorf.—We found our own comfortable Inn, The Ox, near the fountain of William Tell. The buildings here are fortunately disposed with a pleasing irregularity. Opposite to our Inn stands the Tower of the Arsenal, built upon the spot where grew the Linden-tree to which Tell's son is reported to have been bound when the arrow was shot. This Tower was spared by the fire which consumed an adjoining building, happily spared, if only for the sake of the rude paintings on its walls. I studied them with infinite satisfaction, especially the face of the innocent little Boy with the apple on his head. After dinner we walked up the valley to the reputed birthplace of Tell: it is a small village at the foot of a glen, rich, yet very wild. A rude unroofed modern bridge crosses the boisterous river, and, beside the bridge is a fantastic mill-race, constructed in the same rustic style—uncramped by apprehensions of committing waste upon the woods. At the top of a steep rising directly from the river, stands a square tower of grey stone, partly covered with ivy, in itself rather a striking object from the bridge, even if not pointed out for notice as being built on the site of the dwelling where William Tell was born. Near it, upon the same eminence, stands the white church, and a small chapel called by Tell's name, where we again found rough paintings of his exploits, mixed with symbols of the Roman Catholic faith. Our walk from Altorf to this romantic spot had been stifling; along a narrow road between old stone walls—nothing to be seen above them but the tops of fruit trees, and the imprisoning hills. No doubt when those walls were built, the lands belonged to the churches and monasteries. Happy were we when we came to the glen and rushing river, and still happier when, having clomb the eminence, we sate beside the churchyard, where kindly breezes visited us—the warm breezes of Italy! We had here a Volunteer guide, a ragged child, voluble with his story, trimmed up for the stranger. He could tell the history of the Hero of Uri, and declare the import of each memorial;—while (not neglecting the saints) he proudly pointed out to our notice (what indeed could not have escaped it) a gigantic daubing of the figure of St. Christopher on the wall of the church steeple. But our smart young maiden was to introduce us to the interior of the ivied Tower, so romantic in its situation above the roaring stream, at the mouth of the glen, which, behind, is buried beneath overhanging woods. We ascended to the upper rooms by a blind staircase, that might have belonged to a turret of one of our ancient castles, which conducted us into a gothic room, where we found neither the ghost nor the armour of William Tell; but an artist at work with the pencil; with two or three young men, his pupils, from Altorf—no better introduction to the favour of one of those young men was required than that of our sprightly female attendant. From this little academy of the arts, drawings are dispersed, probably, to every country of the continent of Europe." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.

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XX

THE TOWN OF SCHWYTZ

"Seewen, Sunday, 20th August.—... Wm. and I walked the direct way to Brunnen; the rest, viz. Mr. R., T. M., and Dorothy, by way of Schwytz. Our course lay along the brook that runs through, and I believe gives its name to the village of Seewen; that by Schwytz forms two sides of the triangle, and carried them considerably above us on our left. We had a fine view all the way of the town of Schwytz, which is beautifully situated, and looked stately under its protecting screen of mountains, green and woody to the very top. They bend around and tower above it; one rising higher than the rest, in the very centre of the crescent, and directly above the church spire, has a fine effect. I was sorry to pass without going into this important tower, which gives its name to the delightful country of which it is the capital, and its station is well worthy of that honour. The pastoral sylvan character of Switzerland is happily exemplified here, and the mountains and lakes lead you gently into the more solemn and awful scenes. Our path led us through soft verdant meadows, where we met and were overtaken by the peasants with their books and nosegays in their hands...." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"Sunday, 20th August. Sieven.—... If Berne, with its spacious survey of Alps, and widely-spreading Vales, and magnificent River, may be called the head, this Town [Schwytz], intrenched among mountains, may be called the heart of Switzerland; to which the Canton is worthy of giving its name. Of records or curiosities that may be shut up from view, I know nothing; but in our half hour's sauntering through the town, we were in a state of perpetual excitement—not that there is anything beautiful, or even picturesque, in the Buildings, but altogether something romantic—with gaiety....

"Our way was down the Vale, toward the Lake Waldstädte,[HY] nearly at right angles to that by which we had come to Schwytz. We asked who were the owners of a handsome large house, on our right hand, and were told a Family of the name of Reding. There was no one to tell us whether it was the Birth-place, or had been the residence of Aloys Reding; but have since had the satisfaction of learning from my Friend, Mr. Rogers, that it was, and that he had seen him there: but I will copy Mr. R.'s own words from a letter written by him to me some years ago.[HZ]

"'When at Schwytz in 1802, we paid him a visit, and at the gate were surprised by a little girl coming from school, who first took my hand, and then my sister's—leading her upstairs, and supporting her by the elbow, into a large old-fashioned room, where we found him drinking coffee with his Family, after dinner, the clock striking two. There was a noble simplicity in his manners, and a courtesy, a cordiality in the reception they all gave us that sent us away enchanted.'

"Leaving the high-road, we turned along one of those pretty paths that look as if they were only made for going to Church, and for Fetes and Festivals. Numerous were the companies who passed, or followed us on this path, through spacious, level, and mostly verdant fields—mountains on all sides, with craggy summits. Behind us was the Town of Schwytz at the foot of the forest steep, overtopped by the two naked Pikes; and to our left what sublime dark clefts!" (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. i.)—Ed.

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