FOOTNOTES:

APPENDIX

NOTE A

The following Itinerary of the Continental Tour of 1820 was appended by Dorothy Wordsworth to the first volume of her Journal of that Tour. I retain her spelling of the names of places.—Ed.

• London.
• Rochester.
• Canterbury.
• Dover, slept.
• Calais.
• Gravelines, 3 postes.
• Dunkerque, 2½.
• Furnes, 3¼.
• Guistelles, 3½.
• Bruges, 2¾, one night.
• Ghent, by canal, one night.
• Quadrecht, 1½.
• Alost, 2.
• Brussels, 3½, late arrival, stayed two nights.
• Genappe, 2½.
• Sanbreffe, 2½.
• Namur, 2¾, late arrival.
• Huy, 3½.
• Liege, 5¼, two stages.
• Batiste, 2¾.
• Aix la Chapelle, 3.
• Juliers, 3½.
• Bergheim, 2¾.
• Cologne, 3, after sunset. Two nights at Cologne.
• Bonne, 3½.
• Remagan, 2½.
• Andernach, 3.
• Coblentz, 2, late arrival, two nights.
• Boppart, 2½.
• St. Goar, 1¾.
• Bingen, 2.
• Nieder-Ingelheim, 1½.
• Mayence, 1½.
• Wisbaden, 1½.
• Frankfort, 3½, late arrival.
• Darmstadt, 1½.
• Heppenheim, ¾.
• Weinheim, 1.
• Heidelberg, 1¾.
• Bruchsal, 2½.
• Carlsruhe, 1½, late arrival.
• Etlingen, ¾.
• Rastadt, 1.
• Baden-Baden, ¾.
• Buhl.

• Offenberg, 2¼.
• Gegenbach, 1½.
• Haslach, 1.
• Hornberg, about sunset arrived, and departed next day.
• Schiltach, 1.
• Villenghen, 1¼, after sunset.
• Donneschingen, ¾, source of the Danube.
• Blomberg, 1.
• Schaffhausen, 1½.
• Eglisan.
• Zurich, one night.
• Baden.
• Leuzberg, slept.
• Murgenthal.
• Herzogenboschee, slept in carriages.
• Berne, two nights.
• Thoun.
• Interlachen, by water.
• Lauterbrunnen, in char-a-banc.
• Grindelwald, travelled with three mules.
• Meiringhen, Do.
• Handek, and back to M., Do.
• Meiringhen.
• Sarnen.
• Engelberg, in char-a-banc, but walked two leagues.
• Santz, in char-a-banc.
• Lucerne, by lake, three nights.
• Kusnack.
• Rigi Berg, the top, on foot, one night.
• Goldau, on foot.
• Sieven.
• Schwytz.
• Brunnen.
• Fluelan, head of Uri.
• Altorf.
• Amstag.
• Wasen.
• Hopital.
• Hospice on St. Gotthard.
• Airola.
• Faîdo.
• Belinzona.
• Locarno.
• Luwina.
• Ponte Tresa.
• Lugano.
• Porlezza.
• Menaggio, one night.
• Cadenabbia, two nights.
• Belaggio.
• Como, one night.
• Milan, four nights.
• Cadenabbia.
• Colico.
• Fort Fuentes.
• Porlezza (Lake Lugano, by Menaggio).
• Lugano.
• Luvino (by Ponte Tresa).
• Bavena (Lago Maggiore).
• Domo d'Ossola.
• Simplon.
• Brigg.
• Tourtemagne (Tourtman).
• Leuk.
• Baths of Leuk.
• Gemmi.
• Baths of Leuk.
• Siders.
• Sion.
• Martigny.
• Chamony, by Col de Baume.
• Trientz.
• Martigny.
• St. Maurice.
• Bex.
• Villeneuve.
• Vevay, on foot.
• Lausanne.
• Geneva.
• Gex.
• La Vattay.
• Les Rousses.
• Morez.
• St. Laurent.
• Maisoneuve.
• Champagnole.
• Poligny.

• Poligny.
• Mont-Sous-Vedray.
• Dole.
• Auxonne.
• Genlis.
• Dijon.
• Sainte-Seine.
• Chanceaux.
• Villeneuve les Couvres.
• Montbard.
• Aizy-sur-Armançon.
• Ancy-le-Franc.
• Tonnère.
• Flogny.
• Sainte Florentin.
• Esnon.
• Joigny.
• Ville-vallier.
• Villeneuve-sur-Yonne.
• Sens.
• Pont-sur-Yonne.
• Villeneuve-la-Guard.
• Fossard.
• Fontainbleau.
• Chailly.
• Ponthierry.
• Essonne.
• Fromenteau.
• Ville-juif.
• Paris.

N.B.—At Paris we left our carriage, which was sold some months afterwards for half its cost. Proceeded in the Diligence, after twenty-six days spent at Paris, by Chantilly and Amiens to Boulogne. Set off from Paris at 8 o'clock on Saturday morning, and arrived at Boulogne at about 9 on Sunday night.

NOTE B

The following are extracts from Henry Crabb Robinson's account of his "Swiss Tour with the Wordsworths." (See Diary, Correspondence, etc., vol. ii. pp. 167-191.)—Ed.

I left London on the 1st of August, and reached Lyons on the 9th.

On the 15th I went to Solothurn, and an acquaintance began out of which a catastrophe sprang. In the stage between Berne and Solothurn, which takes a circuit through an unpicturesque, flat country, were two very interesting young men, who I soon learned were residing with a Protestant clergyman at Geneva, and completing their education. The elder was an American, aged twenty-one, named Goddard. He had a sickly air, but was intelligent, and not ill-read in English poetry. The other was a fine handsome lad, aged sixteen, of the name of Trotter, son of the then, or late, Secretary to the Admiralty. He was of Scotch descent. They were both genteel and well-behaved young men, with the grace communicated by living in good company. We became at once acquainted,—I being then, as now, young in the facility of forming acquaintance. We spent a very agreeable day and evening together, partly in a walk to a hermitage in the neighbourhood, and took leave of each other at night,—I being bound for Lucerne, they for Zürich. But in the morning I saw, to my surprise, my young friends with their knapsacks in their hands ready to accompany me. Goddard said, with a very amiable modesty, "If you will permit us, we wish to go with you. I am an admirer of Wordsworth's poems, and I should be delighted merely to see him. Of course I expect no more." I was gratified by this proposal, and we had a second day of enjoyment, and this through a very beautiful country. My expectations were not disappointed. I had heard of the Wordsworth party from travellers with whom we met. I found my friends at the Cheval Blanc. From them I had a most cordial reception, and I was in high spirits. Mrs. Wordsworth wrote in her journal: "H. C. R. was drunk with pleasure, and made us drunk too." My companions also were kindly received.

Wordsworth and I returned to dinner, and found my young friends already in great favour with the ladies. After dinner we walked through the town, which has no other remarkable feature than the body of water flowing through it, and the several covered wooden bridges. In the angles of the roof of these bridges there are paintings on historical and allegorical subjects. One series from the Bible, another from the Swiss war against Austria, a third called the Dance of Death. The last is improperly called, for Death does not force his partner to an involuntary waltz, as in the famous designs which go by Holbein's name, but appears in all the pictures an unwelcome visitor. There are feeling and truth in many of the conceptions, but the expression is too often ludicrous, and too often coarsely didactic.

August 18th.—We sailed on the lake as far as Küsnacht, the two young men being still our companions; and between two and three we began to ascend the Righi, an indispensable achievement in a Swiss tour. We engaged beds at the Staffel, and went on to see the sun set, but we were not fortunate in the weather. Once or twice there were gleams of light on some of the lakes, but there was little charm of colouring. After an early and comfortable supper we enjoyed the distant lightning; but it soon became very severe, and some of the rooms of the hotel were flooded with rain. Our rest was disturbed by a noisy party, who, unable to obtain beds for themselves, resolved that no one else should enjoy his. The whole night was spent by them in an incessant din of laughing, singing, and shouting. We were called up between three and four A.M., but had a very imperfect view from this "dread summit of the Queen of Mountains"—Regina montium. The most beautiful part of the scene was that which arose from the clouds below us. They rose in succession sometimes concealing the country, and then opening to our view dark lakes, and gleams of very brilliant green. They sometimes descended as if into an abyss beneath us. We saw a few of the snow-mountains illuminated by the first rays of the sun.

My journal simply says: "After breakfast our young gentlemen left us." I afterwards wrote, "We separated at a spot well suited to the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descended through the valley of our 'Lady of the Snow,' and our late companions went to Arth. We hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva."

I will leave the order of time, and relate now all that appertains to this sad history. The young men gave us their address, and we promised to inform them when we should be at Geneva, on our return. But on that return we found that poor Goddard had perished in the lake of Zürich, on the third day after our leave-taking on the Righi.

I heard the story from Trotter on the 23rd of September. They had put themselves in a crazy boat; and a storm arising, the boat overset. It righted itself, but to no purpose. Trotter swam to the shore, but Goddard was not seen again. Trotter was most hospitably received by a Mr. Keller, near whose house the catastrophe took place. The body was cast ashore next day, and afterwards interred in the neighbouring churchyard of Küsnacht. An inscription was placed near the spot where the body was found, and a mural monument erected in the church. At the funeral a pathetic address was delivered by the Protestant clergyman, which I read in the Zürich paper. We were all deeply impressed by the event. Wordsworth, I knew, was not fond of drawing the subjects of his poems from occurrences in themselves interesting, and therefore, though I urged him to write on this tragic incident, I little expected he would. There is, however, a beautiful elegiac poem by him on this subject. [To the later editions there is prefixed a prose introduction. This I wrote. Mr. Wordsworth wrote to me for information, and I drew up the account in the first person.]

To go back to the 19th of August, after parting from our young companions we proceeded down the valley in which is the chapel dedicated to our Lady of the Snow, the subject of Wordsworth's nineteenth Poem. The preceding eighteen have to do with objects which had been seen before I joined the party. The elegiac stanzas are placed near the end of the collection, I know not for what reason. The stanzas on the chapel express poetically the thoughts which a prosaic mind like mine might receive from the numerous votive offerings hung on the walls. There are pictures representing accidents,—such as drowning, falling from a horse, and the Mother and the Child are in the clouds,—it being understood that the escape proceeded from her aid. Some crutches with painted inscriptions bear witness to the miracles wrought on the lame.

We passed the same day through Goldau, a desolate spot, once a populous village, overwhelmed by the slip from the Rossberg.

On the 20th at Schwytz, which Wordsworth calls the "heart" of Switzerland, as Berne is the "head." Passing through Brunnen, we reached Altorf on the 21st, the spot which suggested Wordsworth's twentieth effusion. My prose remark on the people shows the sad difference between observation and fancy. I wrote: "These patriotic recollections are delightful when genuine, but the physiognomy of the people does not speak in favour of their ancestors. The natives of the district have a feeble and melancholy character. The women are afflicted by goître. The children beg, as in other Catholic cantons. The little children, with cross-bows in their hands, sing unintelligible songs. Probably Wilhelm Tell serves, like Henri Quatre, as a name to beg by."

We next crossed the St. Gotthard. Wordsworth thinks this pass more beautiful than the more celebrated [a blank here]. We slept successively at Amsteg on the 22nd, Hospenthal on the 23rd, and Airolo on the 24th. On the way we were overtaken by a pedestrian, a young Swiss, who had studied at Heidelberg, and was going to Rome. He had his flute, and played the Ranz des Vaches. Wordsworth begged me to ask him to do this, which I did on condition that he wrote a sonnet on it. It is XXII. of the collection. The young man was intelligent, and expressed pleasure in our company. We were sorry when he took French leave. We were English, and I have no doubt he feared the expense of having such costly companions. He gave a sad account of the German Universities, and said that Sand, the murderer of Kotzebue, had many apologists among the students.

We then proceeded on our half-walk and half-drive, and slept on the 25th at Bellinzona, the first decidedly Italian town.

On the 27th we had a row to Luino, on the Lago Maggiore, a walk to Ponte Tresa, and then a row to Lugano, where we went to an excellent hotel, kept by a man of the name of Rossi.

On the 28th we took an early walk up the mountain San Salvador, which produced No. XXIV. of Wordsworth's Memorial Poems. Though the weather was by no means favourable, we enjoyed a much finer view than from the Righi. The mountains in the neighbourhood are beautiful, but the charm of the prospect lies in a glimpse of distant mountains. We saw a most elegant pyramid, literally in the sky, partly black, and partly shining like silver. It was the Simplon, Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa were seen in parts. Clouds concealed the bases, and too soon also the summits. This splendid vision lasted but a few minutes. The plains of Piedmont were hardly visible, owing to the black clouds which covered this part of the horizon. We could, however, see in the midst of a dark surface a narrow ribbon of white, which we were told was the Po. We were told the direction in which Milan lay, but could not see the cathedral.

The same day we went on to Menaggio, on the Lake Como. This, in Wordsworth's estimation, is the most beautiful of the lakes. On the 29th and 30th we slept at Cadenabbia.

I wrote in my journal: "This day has been spent on the lake, and so much exquisite pleasure I never had on water. The tour, or rather excursion, we have been making surpasses in scenery all that I have ever made; and Wordsworth asserts the same. I write now from an inn where we have been served with all the promptitude of an English hotel, and with a neatness equal to that of Holland. But the pleasure can hardly be recorded. It consists in the contemplation of scenes absolutely indescribable by words, and in sensations for which no words have been even invented. We were lucky in meeting two honest fellows of watermen, who have been attentive and not extortionate. I will not enumerate the points of view and villas we visited. We saw nothing the guide-books do not speak of."

On the 31st we slept at Como, and next day went to Milan.

At the Ambrosian Library we inspected the famous copy of Virgil which belonged to Petrarch. It has in the poet's own handwriting a note, stating when and where he first saw Laura. Wordsworth was deeply interested in this entry, and would certainly have requested a copy, if he had not been satisfied that he should find it in print. The custos told us that when Buonaparte came here first, and the book was shown him, he seized it, exclaiming, "This is mine." He had it bound, and his own N. marked on it. It came back when the other plunder was restored. Another curiosity was a large book by Leonardo da Vinci, full of mechanical studies. Wordsworth was much struck with the fact that a man who had produced works of so great beauty and sublimity, had prepared himself by intense and laborious study of scientific and mathematical details. It was not till late that he ventured on beauty as exhibited in the human form.

But the great attraction of this neighbourhood is the celebrated picture of Leonardo da Vinci in the refectory of the Convent of Maria della Grazia. After sustaining every injury from Italian monks, French soldiers, wet, and the appropriation of the building to secular purposes, this picture is now protected by the public sense of its excellence from further injury. And more remains of the original than from Goethe's dissertation I expected to see. The face of our Saviour appears to have suffered less than any other part. And the countenance has in it exquisite feeling; it is all sweetness and dignity.

Some of the Apostles have a somewhat caricature expression, which has been far better preserved in the several copies existing, as well as in the engraving of Raphael Morgen. There is a sort of mawkish sentimentality in the copies of St. John, which always offended me. There is less of it in the original. That and St. Andrew are the best preserved next to the face of Christ.

On the 5th of September the Wordsworths went back to the lake of Como, in order to gratify Miss Wordsworth, who wished to see every spot which her brother saw in his first journey,—a journey made when he was young.

We rejoined the Wordsworths at Baveno on the 8th. Then we crossed the Simplon, resting successively on the 9th at Domo d'Ossola, 10th Simplon, 11th Turtman, and the 12th and 13th at the baths of Leuk. From this place we walked up the Gemmi, by far the most wonderful of all the passes of Switzerland I had ever, or have now ever, crossed. The most striking part is a mountain wall 1600 feet in perpendicular height, and having up it a zigzag path broad enough to enable a horse to ascend. The road is hardly visible from below. A parapet in the more dangerous parts renders it safe. Here my journal mentions our seeing men employed in picking up bees in a torpid state from the cold. The bees had swarmed four days before. It does not mention what I well recollect, and Wordsworth has made the subject of a sonnet, the continued barking of a dog irritated by the echo of his own voice. In human life this is perpetually occurring. It is said that a dog has been known to contract an illness by the continued labour of barking at his own echo. In the present instance the barking lasted while we were on the spot.

I say nothing of Chamouni, where we slept two nights, the 15th and 16th; nor of the roads to it, but that the Tête Noire, by which we returned, is still more interesting than the Col de Balme, by which we went. Again at Martigny on the 17th. I should not have omitted to mention that, to add to the sadness produced by the Valais, Wordsworth remarked that there the Alps themselves were in a state of decay—crumbling to pieces. His is the line:—

On the 18th we were at Villeneuve, and on the 19th and 20th at Lausanne.

At Paris I renewed my old acquaintances, and saw the old sights.

On the 8th I left the Wordsworths, who were intending to prolong their stay. On the 9th I slept at Amiens; on the 10th was on the road; on the 11th reached Dover; and on the 12th of October slept in my own chambers.

"And so," my journal says, "I concluded my tour in excellent health and spirits, having travelled farther, and seen a greater number and a greater variety of sublime and beautiful objects, and in company better calculated to make me feel the worth of these objects, than any it has been my good fortune to enjoy."

ADDENDUM

See p. 8, note[A], line 6. In this note, of which the date is 1827, Wordsworth combined two separate ones, in the editions of 1815 and 1820.—Ed.

END OF VOL. VI

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh