Part 9

La Toffettheim is a nice, unpretending, lady-like woman, pleasing and affectionate. Her son full of liberty-ideas. It was here, in consequence of Massey junior dancing extremely well, that, being defied, I danced a pantaloon-dance, by which I made enemies; for, upon my refusing it at the Saladins', they thought it was a personal refusal. Saladins of Vaugeron, father and mother. Father deaf, good-natured: said to me upon reading my thesis, "Mais, Monsieur, il n'y a pas de paradoxe." The mother pretended to play shy on account of Madame B.

[By Madame B. it would appear, from a statement farther on, that Polidori means Madame Brelaz.]

The daughter—because, the first night I saw her, knowing her by particular introduction, I stuck to her—thought me in love, and said so,—fool! Madame Mathilde [Saladin] pretended prude in mine and Madame B.'s case, while she herself has got Mr. Massey junior dangling, not unheard, after her. Charles a good boisterous soldier, at Leipzig, Nassau, and 13 ingwen [?][14] Waterloo business. Makes up for wit by noise, for affection by slaps on the back. On his birthday I addressed him with (after supper)—

"Jeune guerrier dans l'armée du premier des héros, Dans la cause de la France dédaignant le repos, Que la chute de vos ans soit tranquille et heureuse, Comme fut l'aube de vos jours éclatante et glorieuse."

[This little specimen suffices to show that Polidori had no true idea of French versification: he was evidently unaware that a final _e_ mute coming before a consonant counts as a syllable.]

Auguste, a simple neat fool, despising learning because he is noble and has enough to live upon; content to dangle, with a compliment and a sentiment, after a woman's tail. Alexis, so so, good-naturedly ignorant husband to Mathilde. Massey senior, active pleasant man, excellent fencer and dancer—been secretary to Bertrand. Massey junior, confident, impudent, insolent, ignorant puppy. Saladins of Maligny, neither good nor bad, rich: to gain a little more, let their villa to Lord Breadalbane, and retired to a cottage, though both old and only one ugly vain daughter. Lord Breadalbane, an excellent, good-sensed though not quick man: answered—when the Duke of Bedford said to him, "What would you give to have the Breadalbane estate in Bedfordshire?"—"Why, your Grace, I should be sorry if my estate would go in Bedfordshire." Gave a very good ball at which I was. His son Lord Glenorchy, good, shy, not brilliant young man. His lady not spoken to. His daughter excellent dancer, rather haughty. Mr. Evans, a good sensible man, biassed in his thoughts by his cassock. At the society he took up the immortality: Lord Glenorchy gave a positive No. Saussure, Mrs., a wax talkative figure. Mr., a would-be scientific gentleman: thought me a fool because I danced pantaloon, and himself a wise man because he knows the names of his father's stones. Jacquet, Madlle., got half in love with her,—no, her 8000 a year: her face and bad-singing exposures cured me. Foncet, officer of the Piedmontese troops, jealous of him.

Brelaz, Portuguese lady,—in love with her; I think fond of me too; imprudent; her daughter also against me on account of it; shows it too much publicly; very jealous; her daughters, sprightly good-looking girls. Clemann—got half in love with her; nice daughter. The Cavalier pleasing. Had a dispute in a public ball with her two fools. One of the Saladins, Auguste, courts her, and she laughs; she excites love in every young man's breast. Miss Harriet is rather too serious for her age, pretty and well-informed in novels and romances, and rather too sentimental. Cavalier's Marianne is a fine hoydenish creature: applies when studying, and romps when playing.

Madame de Staël I have dined with three times; she is better, those who know her say, at home than abroad. She has married poor Rocca. She talks much; would not believe me to be a physician; presented her my thesis, which she told me she had read with pleasure. Talked about religion, and puts down every [?] of Rocca. Ugly; good eyes. Writing on the French Revolution; polite, affable; lectures, and tells all to L[ord] B[yron]. Madame de Broglie, her daughter, a beautiful, dirty-skinned woman; pleasant, soft-eyed speaker; dances well, waltzes. Schlegel, a presumptuous literato, contradicting _à outrance_; a believer in magnetism. Rocca, a talkative, good-natured, beautiful man, with a desire for knowledge; the author of _Walcheren_ and _Espagne_; excellent at naïve description. Rocca, the judge, very clever and quick, rising; know little of him. Been seven years in the courtship of Miss Saladin; she neither refuses nor accepts him, but keeps him in her train. Miss Randall, sister to Mrs. Norgate. Monsignor Brema, friend of Ugo Foscolo, enthusiastic for Italy, encomiast in all, Grand Almoner of Italy, hater of Austrians. Dumont, a thick, heavy-thoughted body, editor of Bentham. Bonstetten, friend of Gray.

The first time L[ord] B[yron] went, there was Mrs. Hervey there; talkative, sister and a great friend of the Noels; she thought proper to faint out of the house, though her curiosity brought her back to speak with him.

Bonstetten told me that, upon his saying to Gray that he must be happy, he took and read to him the criticism of Johnson, which happens to have been written after Gray's death; he used to go in the evening to tea, and remain all night reading the English authors with him. Gray introduced him to society;[15] and, one of the professors having asked him if he understood what he said, he replied he thought so, but very diff[idently?]—"So you think so only!" Gray, hearing this, showed B[onstetten] some passages to ask _him_, which B[onstetten] did in a public company, complimenting him upon [his?] known knowledge; when all the company, one after the other, began contradicting the Professor's opinion. Then B[onstetten], turning to him, said, "You perhaps thought _you_ understood Shakespear." Gray told him that there was none who could _perfectly_ understand him.

Rossi, an Italian of about thirty, pleasant, agreeable, and good-natured, professor at Bologna, thence obliged to fly with two others. One of his companions was beginning his lecture, when the students called out, "No lecture, but an improvise upon the liberty of Italy"; as he was an improvisatore. He objected, as, on account of Murat's approach, it might be suspicious. They insisted, and the professors at hand said, "No harm if not upon present circumstances." He did it, and the students issued forth to join Murat; they had however made up their minds to do so before. Rossi joined it more openly and loudly, and was obliged to fly. He wrote a memoir to defend himself, in which he said it was only to avoid the Roman dominion, and give it to the Archduke; who told him that he had better write another, as Bologna was already ceded to Pius. When he was ruined thus partially he wrote to the father of his betrothed, to say that he must not (if he chose) think himself bound by his promise, as he was not in the same circumstances as when the promise was given. The father did retract. So far a man of honour. Now how to reconcile his being with Calandion, a magistrate of G[eneva] violent on the other side? who says he has made a good profession to him, and at the same time professing other opinions to others.

Gave me a letter to Milan, and by him I have been introduced to Saporiti, a good, enthusiastic, ignorant Italian. Talked of the English landing 100,000 soldiers here and there, as if they were so many peas.

Slaneys: the husband jealous of every one—Cambridge degree. When I danced with his wife, he after, when walking with her, came up and gave an arm too. The wife beautiful, but very simple. Galston, Miss, very beautiful.

"Genevan Liberal Society" is a muster of Englishmen for debate on speculative questions. Twice there. Immortality, accomplice's evidence. The members whom I knew were—Lord Kinnoul, a most tiresome, long-winded, repeating, thick-headed would-be orator, Lord Conyngham.

[The MS. gives "Cunningham," which must be a mistake. The Lord Conyngham of this period began the year 1816 as an Earl, and ended it as a Marquis. He was born in 1766, and lived on to 1832, and was husband of a lady, Elizabeth Denison, whose name figures much in the gossip, not excluding the scandal, of those years.]

Mr. Somers, good head enough. Valence, whom I cried to hear; and, meeting me after at Chamounix, the first thing he asked me was, "Why did you laugh at me?" St. Aubyn, Lloyd, Slaney.

Lloyd, of good Welsh blood, his original name Ap Griffith, rode out. We went out visiting one day, and, in returning in his gig, he touched a horse of a row of carts. The carter struck me upon my back with his whip; I jumped down, and six jumped at me. I fortunately was between a wheel and a hedge, so that they all could not reach. Lloyd, seeing this, jumped down also; then three left me and went to him, and another untied a piece of his wagon with which, while I defended myself from the two (one with a whip), he struck me while fortunately my arm was striking a blow, so that it did but just touch my face. He lifted again; I sprang back, and with all the force of my leap struck him with my fist in his face. His blow fell to the ground, and with his hand to his nose he retreated. They then seized stones to throw, but we closed with them; they could not throw above two, when we saw an English carriage we knew coming. We called, they came, and immediately the boisterous [fellows?] were calm. Some who tried to divide us got blows also.

St. Aubyn, an excellent fellow, introduced me to his father at Genthoud: is a natural son, studying for the Church. His father is a good polite man, according to the "go" school.[16] Keeps a mistress now, though sixty-five years: has many children by different mistresses.

At Dr. Odier's—who is a good old, toothless, chatty, easy-believing man—there was a society every Wednesday, where I went sometimes. They danced, sang, ate cakes, and drank tea; English almost entirely, changing every Wednesday.—Went to a concert of Madamigella Coda—the theatre dirty.

When Mr. Hobhouse and Davies arrived, we went to Chamounix. The first day through Chesne, Annemasse, Vetra, Nangy, Contamine, Bonneville (dinner), Cluses, Sallenches (slept). Next day by Chede in two _char-à-bancs_, with each a guide; a fine pine-glen of the Arve, to Chamounix. We went that evening over the Brisson, and to the source of the Aveyron. Next day so bad we left, and returned to Sallenches, taking the fall of Chede in our way; thence to Diodati. Mr. Scrope Davies played against the marker at tennis: then went, taking Rushton with him. [Rushton was one of the servants.]

L[ord] B[yron] determined upon our parting,—not upon any quarrel, but on account of our not suiting. Gave me £70; 50 for 3 months and 20 for voyage. Paid away a great deal, and then thought of setting off: determined for Italy. Madame de Staël gave me three letters. Madame B[relaz?] wept, and most seemed sorry.

[I suppose that most likely the "Madame B." here is Madame Brelaz, with whom, as stated on p. 145, Polidori was "in love." Or it might perhaps be the Comtesse de Breuss.]

The night before I went, at Madame B[reuss?]'s, they acted _C'est le Même_ extremely well; a Lausanne girl acting the lady very well. The costumes also extremely good. Wished nobody good-bye: told them, though, I was going. Set off with 47 louis, 112 naps.

Le Valais from Schürer's book, _Description du Département du Simplon_, 1812, lent me by the Cav[aliere]. See elsewhere.

_September 16._—Left Cologny and Lord Byron at six in the morning. Breakfasted at Doraine, 3 leagues. Dined, Thouson, ditto. Evrein, 2. Slept St. Gingoux, 4. Passed Meillerie. Saw Lausanne at a distance, right through this part of Sardinian King's dominions. Read Madame Brelaz's verses. Wept—not at them, but at the prose.

_September 17._—Left St. Gingoux at 6. Walked to ——.[17] Took bread and wine. Crossed to Chillon. Saw Bonivard's prison for six years; whence a Frenchman had broken, and, passing through a window, swam to a boat. Instruments of torture,—the pulley. Three soldiers there now: the Roman arms already affixed. Large subterranean passes. Saw in passing the three treed islands. The Rhone enters by two mouths, and keeps its waters distinct for two stones' throw.

From Chillon I went to Montreaux—breakfasted—leaving Charney on my left. I began to mount towards the Dent de Jamanu. Before beginning to mount Jamanu itself, one has a beautiful view, seeing only part of the lake, bound by Meillerie, Roches, and the Rhone. Higher up the view is more extensive, but not so beautiful—nothing being distinct; the water looking merely as an inlet of sky, but one could see the Jura as far as Genthoud.

I entered a chalet, where they expressed great astonishment at my drinking whey, which they give to their pigs only. Refused at first money.

Descended towards Mont Boyon. What owing to the fatigue and hardly meeting any one, sick with grief. At Mont Boyon dined, and, finding they would not dance, slept immediately after.

_September 18._—Up at 4. Drank wine and bread. At 6 set off. Passed the Château d'Ox where there was a fair. After that, hardly met a soul. Always on the side of the mountains, each side of a river or torrent; with torrent-beds, pine-forests, chalets, villages without a visible soul—all at work—and ups and downs: so that this road, if I had not had that of yesterday, I should have called the worst in the world. Passed through Château d'Ox; Rougemont, breakfast; Zwezermann, dinner; Gessenay; Lambeck; Reichenstein; Weissenbach; Bottingen, tea and night. The French language leaves off at Gessenay (rather, patois), and they begin their German: found it difficult to go on.

_September 19._—Got up at 4-1/2. Set off from Bottingen. Went through Obernoyle. Breakfasted at Wyssenbach: refused my money. Went to the Doctor, who charged me a nap. Went through Erlenbach, Lauterbach, Meiningen, to Thun. Splendid scenery; especially the first look at the Lake by the river's mouth, and the pass into a great valley. Took dinner, and then a warm bath. Arrived at 1 o'clock. All the houses are of wood, the foundation only being stone: great cut ornaments between the rows of windows: the wood, fir. Felt very miserable, especially these two last days: only met two persons to whom I could speak—the others all Germans. At Wyssenbach they all said grace before breakfast, and then ate out of the same dish; remarking (as I understood them) that I, not being a Catholic, would laugh.

[It was a mistake to suppose that Dr. Polidori was "not a Catholic." He was brought up as a Catholic, and never changed his religion, but may (I suppose) have been something of a sceptic.]

_September 20._—Got up at 6. Wrote to St. Aubyn, Brelaz, father, Vaccà, and Zio, asking letters; to my father, to announce my parting.

[Vaccà was a celebrated surgeon at Pisa, of whom we shall hear farther. Zio is "my uncle"—_i.e._ Luigi Polidori, also at Pisa.]

Bought fresh shoes and stockings; found no book-seller's shop. The man at the post-office made a good reflection: that he was astonished so many came to see what they who were so near never want to see, and that he supposed that the English also leave much unseen in their own country.

Thun is a neat well-situated town, not large, with arcades—as apparently all the Berne towns. Afraid all day my dog was poisoned; which grieved me so, at seeing it vomit, that I wept. At 2 o'clock went in search of a boat: none going immediately, I walked along the left bank of the lake to Unterseen. The views the most beautiful I ever saw; through pines over precipices, torrents, and sleepers [?][18] and the best-cultivated fields I ever saw. The lake sometimes some hundred precipitous feet below my feet; at other times quite close to its edge; boats coming from the fair; picturesque towered villages; fine Alps on the other side, the Jungfrau and others far off. The bottom of the lake is especially magnificent. Lost my way, and had two little children as guides back again. One small cascade of seven or eight fountains.

Arrived at 7 at Unterseen: through Nilterfingen, Oberhofen, Rottingen, Morlangen, Neuchaus, to Unterseen. Found two Englishmen at supper: sat down with them. Very miserable all the morning.

_September 21._—Got up at 6, having determined to go with the two to the Grindenwald in a _char-à-banc_, on account of the state of my foot. I went to the bridge at Interlachen to see the view coming between two beautiful isolated crags. Going, met a man, a maréchal, who had been to Vienna and Bohemia _en roulant_ after his apprenticeship, to see the world—stopping a day at one place, a day at another. Returned, breakfasted: and then, after growling at the innkeeper's wishing us to take two horses, we went off through splendid pine-clad craggy valleys through Zweihitschirne to Lauterbrunner; whence to the fall of the Staubach, a bare cataract of 900 feet high, becoming vapour before it arrives—appearing much, and ending in a little stream. The curate of this village receives guests: there were the Prince Saxe-Gotha and family. We lunched at the inn, and went back to Lauterbrunner after having looked at the Jungfrau at a distance.

Went from Zweihitschirne to the Grindenwald with the Saxe-Gotha before us, through a more beautiful valley. Saw the glaciers come into it, with the Eiger, Wetterhorn, and other mountains, most magnificent. Walking about, found two girls who gave us cherries and chatted freely. Found that mules were 18 francs a day. A party came in in the dark at 8 with guides, hallooing and making a lively sound. Dined at 7, and talked about mules, hoping to get return ones etc.

_September 22._—Got up. Could not get mules under 18 francs: my foot too bad to walk. Went with Captain Rice and others back to Interlachen. Got into a boat rowed by two men and a boy. Went by Brientz, Calne, to the Griesbach cascade, and then to Brientz—wilder, but not so beautiful as the Lake of Thun. The cascade I did not mount to see on account of my foot. At Brientz an old woman would give us her presence and conversation till one of my companions courted the daughter. Met between Grindenwald and Interlachen L[ord] B[yron] and Mr. H[obhouse]: we saluted.

_September 23._—Got up at 4. Tired of my company; and, finding the expense more than I could afford, I went to their bedrooms to wish them good-bye. Set off at 5-1/2; and through fine copse-wooded crags, along the Aar, with cascades on every side, to Meyringen; where I breakfasted with two Germans, an old and a young artist—the old, chatty. Bought a pole. Went to see the Reichenbach, a fine cascade indeed. Thence through the beautiful vale of Nach-im-Grunden, where for a moment I planned a sovereignty; but, walking on, my plans faded before I arrived at Guttannen, where I dined.

Rode all the way to-day—horrible, only passable for men and mules: it is the way to St. Gothard. The road is merely huge unequal masses of granite thrown in a line not the straightest. From Guttannen the road went through the wildest and most sublime scenery I ever read of: vegetation less and less, so that, instead of grass, there was moss; then nothing. Instead of trees, shrubs; then nothing—huge granite rocks leaving hardly room for the road and river. The river's bed the most magnificent imaginable, cut deep and narrow into the solid rock, sinuous, and continually accompanied by cascades, and amazing bold and high single-arched bridges. Snow covering in some parts the whole bed of the river, and so thick and strong that even huge stones have fallen without injuring its crust. There are only two houses between Guttannen and the Hospital: one, a chalet wherein I entered; the other, a cow-herd's. Arrived at 6 o'clock precisely, having walked in only 9-1/2 hours 30 miles at least.

[This is a little indistinct in connexion with what precedes. I suppose that the phrase "rode all the way to-day" must be understood as meaning "all the way up to Guttannen"; and that, after leaving Guttannen, there were 30 miles of walking before the Hospital was reached. Yet this seems an unreasonably heavy day's work in travelling. After "only 9-1/2" the initial written is "m": but I presume it ought to be "h" (hours).]

The Hospital is an old stone ugly building, consonant with the wild scene, where the poor are lodged for nothing; others, us, [as?] an inn.

_September 24._—On account of rain did not get up till 7. Set off across the Grimsel, a dreary mountain with snow in every hollow—5000 feet above the Four-canton Lake. Descended on the other side to Obergustellen, where I breakfasted at 10. Thence through Verlican, Guesquerman, Munster, Rexingen, Biel, Blizzen; where, out of the dead flat valley, I began to mount, and the scenery began to increase in beauty. One bridge especially over the Rhone, which fell between two clefts' sides, was beautiful. Sinderwald, Viesch, pine-wood; sax (?) along the rocks, and fine path along the mountain. Very fine, though continued hard rain, which drenched me and hindered my seeing a great deal. To Morel, where I went to bed, and ate a kind of dinner in bed at 7 o'clock.

_September 25._—Up at 5; my foot, from having been obliged to walk with the shoe down at heel, very much swelled and too painful to walk. Breakfast. Two students from Brieg, of the Jesuits' College, came in, who had during the vacations been beyond Constance with only two _écus neufs_ in their pockets. It costs them ten batsches a year at College. Impudent one: the other modest-looking, but, when I gave him six francs because he had no more money, he asked me for more on other accounts. The Jesuits been restored two years.