As it is not our intention to weary our reader with a journal of our friends' travels to Switzerland, we shall briefly glance over the journey.

Pa.s.sing through a down country very like the south of Suss.e.x or Kent, their road soon became more interesting as they approached the rich pastures and orchards for which Normandy is celebrated; and the tall poplars which often fringed the road, and occasional glimpses of the Seine, with its green islands, and now and then a vineyard on a southern aspect, interested Ellen not a little during her first stage to Rouen.

In this fine old town she was doubly interested, by viewing the city sacred to the memories of our Norman line, and the ill-fated Joan of Arc; she saw also the tomb where the heart of Lion Richard lies, the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and the fine church of St. Ouen. A longer day's journey brought them to Paris, and so pretty was the country between, that our heroine was almost sorry when the capital of la belle France appeared. There they stayed two days, which they spent in seeing the sights of this wonderful city--but as Switzerland was the point to which they hurried, and Mr. Ravensworth was unwilling to lose the advantage of the wonderfully fine warm weather in any town, he soon left the dissipated city, and pushed on by long stages to Bale, which he reached late on the evening of Sat.u.r.day, and intended to spend Sunday there. It was a beautiful evening, and Ellen was indeed charmed with the first sight of the Rhine's broadly swelling breast of waters, rushing swiftly beneath the very windows of their hotel. It was the largest river, of course, she had ever seen, and its clear light green waters, eddying round the pillars of the bridge, partly built of stone and partly of wood, on account of the ice, impressed an image on her mind's eye time would take long to obliterate, if it ever could. Bale seemed the first really foreign looking town, and the houses not unlike those of the old town of Edinburgh, though certainly more neat and clean, quite took the love of her Caledonian mind.

On the following evening Ellen hailed Lucerne on its own beautiful lake; and if Bale had pleased, Lucerne charmed her. Here they lingered a day and saw the strange Kapell Brucke, with its pictures of the deeds of saints and warriors of Swiss celebrity, and, more wonderful still, the monumental lion, sculptured out of the living rock in commemoration of the brave Swiss guard, slaughtered in defending the Tuileries in 1792.

The aspect of the dying lion, with the broken spear in its side, from which is welling his life-blood, yet defending in its dying agonies the shield of France, is the most touching and beautiful design ever perfected by art.

But it was not these, nor the pretty village, that charmed Ellen, it was the lake so still, so green, so transparent--it was the mountain guards that rose around--the rocky mountain where tradition says the unhappy Pilate ended a miserable existence, and which still bears his name, and is nearly always the resting-place of clouds, whilst every other hill shows clear, as if an evil nature belonged to it--Rigi, cut out against the clear blue sky, on whose summit yonder knoll, diminished by its height to a mole-hill, is the grand hotel which wayfarers up this hill rest at--and further up the lake still glimpses of the higher Alps of Schwytz and Engelberg, with their diadems of everlasting snow;--it was these, and other hills all mirrored in the still lake, that shone like a looking-gla.s.s below, that charmed the Scotch eye, to which all scenery, lacking the Scotch hills, is tame and domestic. Early next morning, having procured a boat and two strong Swiss rowers, our travellers were pulled up the lake as far as Kussnacht, a small Alpine village at the foot of the Rigi, from which village they were to make the ascent. Ellen, seated on a sure-footed Swiss pony, with a st.u.r.dy boy to guide it, and Mr. Ravensworth and Jean with their Alpenstocks, both excellent mountaineers, soon accomplished the ascent, neither very difficult nor arduous; but ere they reached the summit they were enveloped in clouds that drifted thicker and thicker around them, and precluded all hopes of seeing the sunset; rather a disappointment, but a very common one to Alpine mountain climbers. The merry conversation of a large party composed of English, Germans, Americans, and a few French and Italians, and the excellent table d'hote pa.s.sed away a long evening very happily, and all retired with the hopes that Sol would be more auspicious next morning.

At five o'clock the shrill blasts of a Swiss horn roused every sleeper, and wrapt in blankets or whatever they could easiest lay their hands upon, a motley crew hastened to see the sun rise from the Kulm, or summit. The morning air was clear as crystal, cold, and invigorating,--all augured well. Not a cloud, not a misty wreath, not a speck studded the blue arch of heaven. It was not darkness nor shadow, but a clear obscurity that hung like a veil over nature; beneath, the lakes were like a black mirror, the valleys dark; around, the snowy Alps were clearly defined against the sky, and not a vestige of fog nor mist lay on their sides; even Mont Pilate had for once dropped his cloudy cap, and his sharp forehead of rocks was cut out against the dark firmament. Above hung the morning star, and a thin silver thread, the waning moon was dropping behind distant Jungfrau. About fifty people, among whom we recognize Ellen and her father, watched for the sun with all the earnestness of the Ghebers hastening to pay their morning devotions to the G.o.d of day. Soon a growing brightness tinted the east where the hills were lowest; and now it was no longer to the east, but to the giant Alps of the Bernese chain westward that every eye is turned, for there will be seen the first streak with which Pallantias'

finger shall stain nature. Soon the highest peak of the Bernese giants catches the first rosy pink of dawn--then alp after alp owns the blush of day, and flashes back the golden glory, and as the sun himself wheels above the hills his beams are cast lower and lower; ridge after ridge grows bright; even gloomy Pilate smiles in his ray, and the valleys beneath with rivers, woods, and plains become more and more distinct, till they burst into sunshine, and then the whole panorama above and below revels in the warm beams, from the mighty Eiger, giant of Bern, to the lakes from which mists now rise, and float like wool far beneath.

After a parting gaze our friends, in common with others, left the Kulm, and after partaking of a cheerful breakfast, descended on the other side of the Rigi to Weggis, where again they took a boat and rowed to the summit of the lake, whose scenery grew still grander and more romantic as they pa.s.sed Tell's lovely chapel, and neared Fluellen, where they took an early table d'hote, being desirous of hurrying forward to the Hospenthal that day.

Leaving Fluellen about two o'clock they proceeded in an open carriage drawn by three horses along a pretty road with fruit and walnut trees on either side, Swiss chalets and mountains all covered with woods on the left, and sloping fields running down on the right towards the river of Reuss. The afternoon was intensely hot, and the sun beat down with great fierceness into the valley; our travellers also were much annoyed by gnats and gadflies. Pa.s.sing the small village of Altorf, famous for Tell's exploit, the road nears the Reuss, and is very pretty, owing to the walnut trees that fringe its sides, till they reached Amstag where horses were changed. The road then began gradually to ascend, crossing the Reuss several times. The river now began to grow into a wild mountain torrent, steeper grew the ascent now and steeper, and the Alps closed in the valley, till it became a scene of wildness and great desolation. Here and there the ragged rocks overhung the road, as it toiled upwards, and often galleries were cut through ledges that crossed the path. Upward still the carriage went, and light soon began to fail them in the regions most dismal.

Ellen and her father now got out of the carriage, and walked up the steep incline, leaving their vehicle behind them. As the road wound round and round, they often saw it far below them, a speck on the white road, dimly seen in the darkness growing every minute deeper, and by-and-by the sharp crack of the driver's whip, that echoed like a pistol shot, or the peculiar song of the Switzer who drove, with its falsetto notes, only told them where it was, unless they caught a glimpse of the lamps creeping upwards. Star after star broke out on high, and soon the whole sky was one glorious canopy of flashing, glittering lights, far more brilliant than Ellen had ever seen them in the misty north. Soon they approached the part called the Devil's Bridge, where a thin single arch spans the dismal gulf, through which the impetuous stream now roared. Rent rocks on either side along whose ridges ran their road, and the stream foaming in misty white beneath--gloomy caverns through which from time to time lay their path, beetling depths spanned by thread-like bridges, and high above the spectral snow peaks, and rugged rocks on whose sterile sides not even the pine could find sustenance; all presented a scene of savage grandeur--lone, desolate, and loveless magnificence too nearly allied to our heroine's state of mind, not to find in her a sympathizer. She took a kind of melancholy delight in gazing on the gap of desolation through which the mad torrent thundered, and only compared it to her own frame of mind. At a late hour the travellers reached the Hospenthal, where a comfortable supper awaited them. The sharp mountain air at this elevated position sharpened all their appet.i.tes, and Mr. Ravensworth fancied he already saw a change for the better in his daughter's appearance.

Instead of crossing the pa.s.s of St. Gothard, which was Mr. Ravensworth's first intention, in order to see the north of Italy, Jean advised them to take advantage of the cloudless fine weather and see the Alps better by making the tour of the Oberland. Accordingly, next day having procured ponies, as the carriage road went no further, they set off at an early hour, and reaching Realp, crossed a small rivulet, and proceeded on a mere bridle path along the steep sides of the Sidli Alp, leaving St. Gothard and its glaciers behind them; and with Finstaarhorn conspicuous among his lofty brethren in front, and the beautiful, but ragged rocky peaks of the Galenstock on the right, ere long halted at the Furca, where they rested an hour. Descending on the other side, with the Finstaarhorn showing magnificently, every peak cut out against the clear sky, they soon reached the Rhone glacier, taking its rise from the shoulder of Galenstock, and, as in descending it filled the vale, becoming more wonderful; from its white birthplace of eternal snows, to the dirty moraine in which it ended, brindled, cracked, and split into creva.s.ses, emitting glorious blue rays of light, by its downward way over the rocks whose hardened ma.s.s the huge glacier ground and polished. Beneath from a cave of ice flowed the cold beginnings of the blue exulting river of Geneva. It seemed a fit birthplace for the mighty river, and as Ellen gazed on the Rhone's cold and icy cradle, still frozen amid the green valley, still unthawing under the genial sunshine, it seemed to emblematize her present position. Her heart was cold and loveless as that icy glacier, yet from that chilling ma.s.s burst the living waters that spread plenty over sunny plains; and she thought, and it was a comforting thought, that perhaps from her misery might spring a stream of events as glorious. Already her woe had softened her heart: was it the beginning of the stream which should "make glad the city of our G.o.d?"

Leaving the wonderful glacier that had awakened such thoughts, their road now lay up a remarkably steep mountain side across a path rugged with stones, and often down steps cut in the naked rock, till our party reached the Lake of the Dead, a desolate and lonely sheet of water fed by the snows, and so called from the bodies of unfortunate travellers who lost their lives in the pa.s.s being thrown into its cold dark waters.

After pa.s.sing this lake, and occasionally treading over ma.s.ses of eternal ice and snow, a steep and toilsome descent brought our weary travellers to the Grimsel, a hospice lying in a small valley, sufficiently elevated, however, to be beyond the region of vegetation.

After the rest of the night they again commenced their descent, and after some hours again hailed some stunted trees; which increased in size as they went lower, till they were once more surrounded by woods.

The Aar, down whose stream their path long lay, was gradually increasing into a fine river, and at Handek Ellen saw the beautiful waterfall with its iris hovering above in the midst of the waters. From thence the path lay through verdant pastures and real Swiss pastoral scenery, numerous little chalets dotting the green hill sides, which stretched upwards to the everlasting snows. The peasants were busy at haymaking, and the sweet breath of the hay, the tinkling of the flock's bells, or the wild glee of some Swiss maiden, were all sweet and gentle sounds and sights after the stern sublimity, and the roaring torrents they had so lately left. A long but pleasant ride brought them to Reichenbach as the sun was setting.

Early next day the trio started for Grindelwald, and on their way made a slight detour to see the lovely glacier of Rosenlaui, under whose clear ice cavern they went, and once more remarked the wonderful blue lights of the creva.s.ses and clefts. The scenery here was grand and beautiful in the extreme; as the ponies wound their upward way Wellhorn and glittering Wetterhorn filled the gap of the valley rough with woods.

Wetterhorn in shape like a pyramid of the most perfect form, the icy crown sparkling like diamonds in the sun, defined with a clearness, not to be credited till seen, against the cloudless dark blue sky. From Grindelwald, where Ellen saw a n.o.ble dog of the Saint Bernard's breed, they ascended the pa.s.s of the Great Scheideck and went over the Wengern Alp, pa.s.sing the very foot of the Virgin Jungfrau, with Wetterhorn, Wellhorn, and the giant Eiger standing like sentinels around them as they pryed into the secrets of the everlasting hills. On this day they heard the thundering avalanche, and saw its shattered ma.s.s bound like a cataract down the rocky precipices, with a roar we could not credit the silver thread gliding down those black rocks capable of making, till we remember that what seems like dust of snow is tons of solid ice, and what look to us like gra.s.s or moss on the hillside, are mighty pines, so much does vastness deceive our senses! Here, too, Ellen heard the melody of the Swiss horn echoed in indescribable sweetness from the snowy peaks--tossed from hill to vocal hill, till so attenuated does the thread of tone become, the ear loses its "linked sweetness long drawn out," yet knows not when it faded, and fancy prolongs the chord even after the Alps have forgotten it. A tremendous pathway down the Wengern alp, so steep that they had to leave their horses and pursue it on foot, brought them to Lauterbrunnen, a wonderful valley with cliffs on all sides, shut in by the now distant Jungfrau. Down the precipitous sides glance many streams, conspicuous amongst all the Staubbach or Dust fall.

From this valley a pleasant drive of about nine miles brought our party to Interlachen, where they stayed over the Sunday, and on Monday drove along the banks of the lovely Lake of Thun, whose scenery was of a softer nature and more like Ellen's native lochs. At any other time she would probably have preferred this style to the sterile scenery they had left, but now her mind rather dwelt on the grand and desolate region she had lately seen, than on the softer beauty of Thun, and when they reached Kandersteg Ellen hailed with delight the h.o.a.ry Alps she now looked on almost as friends.

Next day they rode up the Gemmi Pa.s.s, and when they had surmounted the steep ascent, lunched at the desolate inn of the Schwarenbach, the scene of a terrible murder, near the ice-fed waters of Dauben See; dismounting they began the hazardous and wonderful descent of the Gemmi. The road was not then, as now, defended by bal.u.s.trades, and as the zigzag pathway wound downwards round and round, it led them over the face of a precipice to the valley below, and often made our heroine almost giddy to look at the depths beneath, and the threatening rocks above, as she seemed like a fly scaling down a wall. The scene and panorama were splendid; beneath was the village of Leukerbad, the houses of which were small as gravel in appearance, and in front the glorious chain of the Alps separating Valais from Italy, Monte Rosa, Weisshorn, and the bare rocky summit of the Matterhorn, or Mount Cervin, and a hundred lesser peaks rose like clouds before, and presented one of the most wonderful views abroad. At Leukerbad Mr. Ravensworth stayed a day to rest, and saw the curious baths and ech.e.l.les, or ladders, by which the people in the valley communicate with a small village on the heights above. Thence a fine drive down a road along the Dala brought them to Leuk, and crossing the Rhone, now grown a considerable stream, but shorn of its beauty by the debris of winter floods scattered around its many streams, they gained the splendid Simplon road, along which easy stages brought them to the head of Geneva, and Villeneuve, whence they proceeded to Vevay, where they were to make a stay of a week.

Many an excursion did Ellen and her father make on blue Leman, and went over the ground of Chillon, and many another place, made hallowed soil by Byron's and Voltaire's, Rousseau's and Gibbon's genius. Childe Harold was the text-book on these occasions. It was on one of these excursions Ellen fell in with her old friends, Lord and Lady Arranmore, who were touring Geneva on their way home from Naples. English people naturally draw together when abroad; and Ellen and the young Marchioness used to make many an evening ramble together, while the Marquis and Mr.

Ravensworth rode out in the surrounding country. From Vevay the whole party travelled together to Geneva, where they put up at the same hotel, and were to stay a week also; here again their excursions continued. The eventful nature of one of these evening sails demands another chapter, in consequence of the influence it has on the history of our heroine.

CHAPTER XII.

"Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, The mirror where the stars and mountains view The stillness of their aspect in each trace Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue."

_Childe Harold._

"And can you rend, by doubting still, A heart so much your own?"--_Moore._

"What a delightful evening this is!" said Lady Arranmore to Ellen Ravensworth, as their boat, whose wing-like sails not a breath filled, was rowed slowly up clear Leman by the measured splash of the oars, over which bent two stout Switzers. "How exquisite is every tint of mountain, lake, and cloud! it was surely on a sister evening to this that Lord Byron penned those beautiful lines in Childe Harold? Listen, Miss Ravensworth," continued the young Marchioness, as she opened a handsomely bound pocket edition of that poem, and in a sweet clear voice read the following stanza:--

"It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance, from the sh.o.r.e, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the gra.s.shopper one good-night carol more."

_Childe Harold_, Canto iii., Stanza lx.x.xvi.

Ellen listened abstractedly without reply, as if her mind was too filled with beauty to speak, and preferred silent adoration. The slight felucca-like craft, in which our young friends glided over the gla.s.sy surface of the dark-blue lake, was now some miles from Geneva, whose white palaces rose clearly above the waters, and were doubled in apparent height by their perfect reflection below. To the left frowned the black chain of Jura, and on the right beyond the Saleve--dear to Ellen from its wonderful resemblance to the Salisbury crags of modern Athens--rose, cloud-like, "the monarch of mountains," throned high above the many aiguilles that stood like courtiers around their king. The summits of these Alps were distinctly reflected in the indigo depths beneath their boat, though a distance of fifty miles severed the admirers from their mirror.

The sun had already set, the evening star shone silvery over the west glowing with the lingering daylight; the valleys lay already robed in gloom; the lake shadowed; but the far heights of Mont Blanc still showed sunny peaks, and presented a strange contrast to "darkened Jura." Not a zephyr was awake--not a flaw disturbed the serenity of the waters, broken only by the dip of the oar which, as it touched the dark surface, made the waters flash with a blue light inconceivable to those who have never viewed this lake. The useless sails of the picturesque little craft resembled the wings of a sea-gull, or some other bird, calmly suspended a moment ere closed to rest. Towards the upper end of the lake the Alps descending rise more perpendicularly from the surface, and looked like grim sentinels watching over a fairy fountain. As the lake is crescent-shaped this part was of course hidden; but from behind the slight eminence that sloped down to the right bank, the sails of a similar craft were visible, and from them the clear notes of the silver bugle, mellowed into softness by the distance, rose with an indescribable sweetness, and died away in soft decay along the tranquil waters. There is something peculiarly delicious in music on the waters, and as the strains rose or fell in softest cadence our heroine listened with an earnestness as if it was the minstrelsy of angels. The musician was probably English if we might judge by the song he selected:--"There is no place like Home." Whilst it lasted the very boatmen, as if loath to lose one note, bent over their suspended oars, and the young friends looked at each other but spoke not. At last the dying fall grew fainter and fainter, till it entirely ceased, but was once more taken up and echoed among the vocal hills ere silence again brooded.

"Ah, how true that is, Lady Arranmore," said Ellen; "is it not?

Beautiful as this land is, it is not home; and whilst our lips may say there is no scene like this in the land of our birth, yet our heart belies our words, and whispers, 'There is no place like home.'"

"True, Miss Ravensworth; yet you must remember we are here for our own pleasure, we are not like the exile, or the emigrant, unable to return;--we can hasten back when we please, and find the smiles of friends all the brighter after a slight absence. I fear you are unhappy, and look on the shady instead of the sunny side of life, and bend your eye rather toward yonder dark-browed Jura, than to the sunlit crest of Mont Blanc."

"And yet, Lady Arranmore, how cold is that peak of snow!--rosy though it be it only reflects the light and warmth it cannot feel. I have sometimes thought my heart was like that snowy height; in all perhaps except the imperishable pureness of its tint. To my mind there is something melancholy, almost distressing, in an evening like this; the last loveliness, the dying glory which lingers a few moments ere darkness lowers. It seems to tell us not to trust the smile of fortune, but to recollect how a night, whose darkness pa.s.seth not away, comes after."

"Now, on the contrary, I look on the evening as a pledge of a brighter morrow, and as I view the sinking sun I think how he will rise again more gloriously."

"Perhaps you take the right view; but what can you know of sorrow, Lady Arranmore? wedded to the man you love, gifted with all the blessings of life, the world as it were at your feet, beauty, rank, youth, health, and riches all yours; your cup is surely full?"

"And in what do you differ, Miss Ravensworth? are you not also beautiful, more beautiful than I am, at least I know one who thinks so; if you are not so rich, if you own not so proud a name, it only remains for you to court and gain them; and remember to be rich is not to be happy, to be great is not to be joyful."

"And know you not that it is in the heart, and nowhere else that happiness must be found in order to enjoy life? if the heart is sad, what shall make its bearer smile?"

"Then it is some cross in love, some blighted affection that makes you so melancholy, so unlike the Ellen I met last Christmas? Tell me your woe as a friend, let me sympathize with your grief. It is not good to bear it alone. Come, Miss Ravensworth,--come, Ellen, let me so call you,--tell me as you would tell your friend."

For some moments Ellen was silent--the hour had come at last--could she only summon courage and unburden her heart, could she make a confidante of the sister of him she loved?

"No!" she exclaimed, at last. "No, dear Lady Arranmore, do not think me unfriendly, but it may not be; let me bear my cross alone; One far higher than I will support me--why should I not?"

"Nay, Ellen," said the Marchioness, deeply interested in her young friend. "Nay, you mistake, even He confided His sorrows to His disciples."

"If you love me, Lady Arranmore, desist; if you knew how every word pierces my heart like an arrow, you would not speak so! Let us change the subject; tell me about Naples, and the blue Mediterranean; tell me,"

she continued, mastering her feelings, "when the second happy event is to take place; when the Earl, your brother's marriage with Lady Alice is to be celebrated?"

Though she strove to ask this question in a careless manner, as though it concerned her not, her voice so quivered and faltered towards the end of the sentence, that Lady Arranmore rather guessed than heard the concluding words.

"My brother's marriage--what do you mean, dear? why, this is news to me."

"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed Ellen, with a start; "do not pretend ignorance, his marriage with--with Lady Alice Claremont."

"My goodness, Ellen! Wentworth marry Lady Alice! Do you not know Alice's age? why she is barely fourteen years old. Then you too saw that absurd paragraph, and did you not see its refutation? But what is the matter?

Are you ill?"

There was reason for the Marchioness's question; pale as alabaster Ellen clasped together her hands, and looking to the sky faltered:

"I thank thee, my G.o.d! I thank thee,--then it was untrue; he may be faithful still; how could I doubt him?" and apparently overcome with the intenseness of her feelings she sank back on the seat exhausted.

"What is untrue?--who may be faithful still?--whom did you doubt?" were the lady's hurried questions. "This is a riddle, Ellen--tell me what it all means? Do, dearest, do.--There, is not that pleasant?" pouring some Eau-de-Cologne on her broidered kerchief which she held to Ellen as a restorative,--"you feel better now? Ah, your colour is coming back--don't be in a hurry, but tell me as you can what all this means,--hide nothing."

After a few minutes, Ellen was sufficiently recovered to relate the whole history of her attachment to Lord Wentworth,--how he had given her the ring inscribed with the words "Hope on," and how, reading the fatal paragraph, and fancying him false, had so wrought on her mind as to bring on the dreadful fever, from whose ravages she was not yet wholly recovered.

"This pa.s.ses fiction,--this is the romance of true, real life," said the Marchioness, stooping down and kissing her friend--"and he did give you the ring which so wonderfully snapt?"