From Thomas Archer Hirst   Oct 19th 1851 | Sunday Morng

To John Tyndall. | Marburg – | Oct 19^th 1851 | i.e. Sunday Morn^{g 1}

Dear John

My Swiss tour is ended, I arrived (after a months trip) in Marburg three weeks ago,² stronger in body and soul than when I left it. Knoblauch I am afraid has frightened you³ and exaggerated a little my then melancholy aspect, though truly I was very weak. I account for it thus, when we parted at Cassel I was attacked by one of my most stubborn bowel cases, took a fearful amount of Senna & Pills,⁴ which brought me down to a pitiful state of weakness; just at the time too I caught a cold which during the whole semester never left me but renewed its attacks in various shapes, throat, chest nose &c &c. Warm though it was, I was ever shivering, & rose every morning with fingers and toes benumbed; it was a miserable time that I can tell you, I felt my intellect cringing before its task, and retired often conquered from a Mathematical problem that I was conscious of being able to unravel A curious symptom now shewed itself after standing one morning for two or three hours at my desk I felt a curious sensation about my legs and on examination found that from ancle to calf were swollen double their usual size, the skin stretched as if it only required to be pricked and a stream of water would issue forth; somewhat startled I sent for Noll, he pulled a serious face & with unusual earnestness made me shut up my books, take an immense amount of medicine & lie all day on the sofa, in which comfortable situation I remained a week, if I attempted to change the legs into a vertical position they began immediately to swell. –⁵

He told me after it was a kind of dropsy which rather startled me, it never left me completely during the whole semester & from the reaction of the medicine I never fully recovered; my intellect never resumed its vigour completely, and self mortified at its failure, I got into a kind of morbid and abnormal state of mind and body. Thus my miserable appearance, which people would attribute to my studiousness, & thus that the morbidity was increased by the contradiction which the consciousness of self-incapacity offered to the opinion of the world It was a miserable time that John but it contained its own lesson which I shall not soon forget, my Sunday walks were pure tasks, Nature was dead to me⁶ wherever I turned. My thoughts turned ever inwards, I shunned all company which might have withdrawn my conscience from its self prey, & thus nourished the fiend that never ceased gnawing inwardly. I see now my error I stuck doggedly to my work, but with a feeling of revenge instead of love, and naturally success or satisfaction never followed. The Semester closed however I shut up my books pocketed Schiller,⁷ strapped on my knapsack & away I started for Switzerland, determined if possible to use it at any rate to get bodily strength. I did not at once shake off my tormentor however, a few days toil even on my pleasure tour were allotted me but fresh air, exercise, & a sleeping intellect had at last their effect. Light at last shone on me, I could spring from my bed with a cheerful heart, and feel myself not entirely an outcast from Nature, but truly a relation if yet a somewhat distant one. The month passed by, into it were crammed experiences, pleasures, trials and scenes which I do not expect yet to unravel but from which God willing I shall yet draw lasting value – I am now strong and hearty John and during the last three weeks have done more work than perhaps the whole of last semester (that is efficient work) There now you have the whole matter, you say truly I must be my own physician, (Noll and his pills together with their sister Senna are strangers to me, whose acquaintance I hope never to renew) but you preface your advice with an account of your own toil⁸ which puts all my efforts in the shade; I could not help smiling as I read of your working night and day & then in the next line your advise⁹ to me not to do so – But I must gallop over my tour for you. I did think of writing a small account for the Leader. I partly completed it but I burnt it,¹⁰ what I did and saw & felt I have yet to digest myself before I attempt to offer it to others; my Diary is pretty full however, though as I said its contents are confused & useless to all but myself (and perhaps you) some day we will con it over together, and through Times telescope with adjusted focus we may measure it and learn its true bearings upon me & my life history. –

I started with bad weather, in Frankfurt Heidelberg & Basel got several wettings through – On a rainy Sunday Morning I started in low spirits with the diligence from Basel to Zurich, during

<Handwritten letter ends; hereafter LT Transcript Only>

the day, however, it cleared up, the sun shone brightly as we reached that beautiful valley of the Aare at Brugg, and for a fortnight through the whole of Berner Oberland he scarcely ever hid himself behind a cloud. The valley of the Aar will perhaps remain longer than all the other scenes I saw, in my memory. The rapid river leaped and laughed in windings the most fascinating (reitzend¹¹), clouds chased each other over the green rich meadows studded with clean white Swiss cottages; with their overhanging thatch and climbing vines they seemed to me the ideal of comfort and cheerful industry, as simple and natural as the daisies in the surrounding meadows. From what appeared a mysterious inland fairy kingdom, rounded hills clothed to their summit with rich green foliage came and peeped coyly on the pastoral vale, and by their side were one or two higher, sterner beauties with their summits veiled in silver clouds. I saw¹² that valley, John, and, like the Ancient Mariner¹³ who blest the fishes and serpents of the sea, I felt my heart beat towards the scene. And immediately, returning health of soul, like a ray of sunshine, lit up that inner kingdom so long o’erclouded with the mists of selfishness and indifference. Next morning found me sailing on Lake Zurich, a clear blue sky o’erhead reflected still clearer and bluer in Zurich’s fair waters. At the village of Horgen I landed, and here verily commenced my tour, and tramped over the hills to Zug. At every turn of the road scenes new and fresh to me presented themselves, too quickly almost to be enjoyed. I felt as if squandering and revelling in riches, and longed to stop and wander up but one of those fairy valleys; that is an old trick of Nature’s, however, were it not for this ever near but never grasped enjoyment, we should cease to hunt her over Alpine hills and dales. That night I sat with my cigar on the forsaken pier at Zug, and in the rippleless water saw a strange and to me a wondrous sight – namely a sunset. But I could stop and prattle over every little scene and send you a volume. I must be briefer. Next morning I followed the lake’s edge, towards Goldau. At noon as usual I threw off my knapsack on the roadside, to rest and smoke half a cigar, and pull out my note book, or Schiller, just as I felt inclined. These midday resting places, on my whole journey, are stamped most indelibly on my memory. In this one I thought such and such a thought, in another I read such and such a poem, in a third made a translation of a poem – to all which the place and scene is now a beautiful frame. Today, on the opposite shore rose a brave old hill with rough, shaggy slopes, covered with alternate scars and firs. Three times successively I watched him doff his cloudy cap as if he were greeting Mother Nature from his height; the old fellow seemed alive to me, and out of respect and sympathy I doffed my hat to him, and then – looking in my map to see if he had a name, and if not, to give him one, I found that I had been saluting the world-famed Rigi. It was not long before I made closer acquaintance with him. He gave me such a sweating, toiling up his sides as I never had before, and when after losing my way I arrived just at sunset on his summit, my eyes opened to a scene that surpassed all I had before seen in paintings, and thought imaginary. I slept on the summit, and next morning saw if anything a more wondrous sun-rise; description would be useless, we will talk about it some day.

From the Rigi I went to Lucerne. As an incident there I may mention that I left my old hat, for whom I had such affection and which you so often insulted. With some sorrow and scruples of conscience I interred him in a small hat shop there, and in his stead brought away with me a small Swiss ‘Jim Crow’,¹⁴ From Lucerne after sailing over the Vierwaldstätter See, I landed at Altdorf and trudged along up that memorable St Gothard’s street. My intended route was in such delightful uncertainty that here on the summit I tossed up whether I would go into Italy or turn off through Oberland. The thaler was flung in the air and fell down a ‘tail’ (? has it one) which decided for the Berner Oberland, so I turned aside to Realp, passed over the Furca to the Rhone Glacier, forward to Grimsel, that magnificent land of barrenness; followed the vale from there to Meyeringen, passing through all zones of cultivation, from Grimsel where no blade of grass and nothing but moss will grow, down to the fertile lovely meadows of Meyeringen. I slept that night Brientz and next morning in a small oared boat went forward to Interlaken. It is a delightful spot, but in my humour was too artificial. I sought and found here one of the snuggest and quietest of little Gasthauses¹⁵ that I met with in my journey; in my journal is an effecting page¹⁶ devoted to my separation from the snug little bedroom, with its sofa, and small table, where I spent most of a whole day writing up my journal and resting awhile to digest what I had so hastily swallowed for the last 3 or 4 days. Here I wandered up Lauterbrunnen valley, and made my acquaintance with your favourites, the Jungfrau and Monk. The Staubbach is one of my dedicated resting places. From Interlaken I went to Thun, from there to Berne, and from Berne forward to Neuchatel; there I sought and found out my relation.¹⁷ It was strange there, in a land where all were strangers to me, to find among a crowd of girls one who on the instant knew me and welcomed me, although we had never seen each other before. Here rainy weather again overtook me and compelled me to use diligences for the longer stages. I followed Lake Neuchatel to its extremity, Yverdon, where Pestalozzi¹⁸ had his establishment, and from there across the country to Lausanne on Lake Geneva. It was early in the morning, between 4 and 5, when I reached Lausanne, having travelled overnight in the diligence. None but the inmates of too great a Gasthaus were stirring, and I found my way to an eminence above the town, and there made my acquaintance with Lake Geneva. I did not wonder at Byron, Rousseau, Voltaire and Goldsmith choosing it as their abiding place. A more heavenly spot than its upper extremity from Lausanne to Villeneuve could not be imagined. Every village and scene here is immortalized by some or other of the litterati that have dwelt there. Chillons Castle¹⁹ stands as picturesquely, the placid waters kissing its feet as lovingly, as when Byron saw it, yet just behind it now is the immense Hotel de Byron, which I must confess does not improve it. From Lausanne to Geneva I went by steamer; this part of the lake is flat, and compared with its upper extremity uninteresting – at least, so guide books say, but I had often to differ from my respected friend, Mr Murray;²⁰ and as jackal or Lion’s provider²¹ can well dispense with his services. Among the English tourists I met, he is held as a God, and not to see and praise the tit-bits of scenery he mentions is held as highest blasphemy.

From Geneva I went forward through Savoy to Chamonix. For three days I stopped at the foot of Mont Blanc, snowed-up; in the valley it was 5 or 6 inches thick, and during my stay I did not ascend a single mountain. I enjoyed my three days, nevertheless, for it was a grand and impressive sight. Snow everywhere, and thick snowy clouds often silvered by the sun, clung to the huge mountain steeps, and hid their summits. Up in a mysterious cloud region I could hear avalanches thundering unceasingly; and as a cloud for a moment was driven aside I could see huge peaks where I had thought were clouds alone. The third day the weather cleared a little, and I journeyed onward; as I reached the upper extremity of Chamonix valley and was about to leave it for good, I turned round and for the first time saw the summit of Mont Blanc. I found that here are two worlds, often separated from each other by a stratum of cloud which we inhabitants of the lower regions call the sky. I had now pierced this cloudy stratum, the lower world was hid from me, and I stood alone among the giant mountain tops. Overhead the veritable blue sky, clear as crystal, but the air cold and cutting. This part of my journey, from Chamonix over the Tête Noir to Martigny, in the valley of the Rhone, was by far the wildest and most magnificent I had seen. I learnt here what a precipice was, for often the path led over abysses that made me dizzy to look at; a false step and I should have been dashed to atoms. This was the extremity of my tour. I had thought to have pierced as far as St Bernard, and brought back a dog as souvenir and companion, but the weather again threatened; and (a plague on it!) this conscience of mine began to point towards Marburg and my work. It seems a wonder to me now that I ever came back at all; what should hold me? I had money, and none but my own will to command me; why not have gone on roaming freely over the hill and dale, and instead of a close garret, breathing the bracing air on the mountain tops? So I asked myself once or twice after my return, and before I got reconciled to my work once more. It did not last long, however, and I shall look back on my journey all the more cheerfully, that it was relinquished when duty called.

From Martigny I followed the Rhone again to Lake Geneva, and made my nearer acquaintance with this, its more beautiful part. As I climbed the hills on my homeward road to Berne, it as usual looked lovelier than ever as I was about to leave it. I never felt tempted more to return than now when I was bidding good-bye perhaps for ever. If anyone had told me that a mere scene could have had such hold on me I should have laughed at them. To all such feelings I had thought my Marburg coat of indifference had rendered me proof. Doggedly at last I had to turn my back and tramp; yet as if to shake my resolve a turn of the road when I was miles distant would shew me a corner of her blue waters glistening in the sun. I passed through Freiberg again to Berne, from there past Hoffwynl (I don’t know how to spell it²² – I mean where Yeats and Haas came from), Soleure and over the Jura hills, back to Basel.

Thus ended my journey Tyndall, poor in anecdotal incident, rich and valuable to me, however. It forms part of my funded property, the interest of which I look forward to with more pleasure than to the drafts from Messrs Charlesworth & Co., Bankers, Huddersfield.²³ Yes, in Lausanne I met Mr John Yeats²⁴ – he would have passed me by, my moustache having metamorphosed me, but I called out to him; we did not remain with each other, our orbits unluckily (?)²⁵ only crossed. He described to me the magnificent tour he had in view, and spoke of making it pay its own expenses, but how (!) I could not gather. One little incident you will know to be characteristic of John Yeats.

Yeats. Have you read ___’s works? (God forgive me, I have forgotten the name already)

Tom. No.

Yeats. No!!!!! Why, he is the Walter Scott of Switzerland!!!

Tom. Indeed.

Yeats. I called on him the other day.

Tom. So!

Yeats I am translating one of his novels which he gave me.

Here he brings Tom a book, taking particular pains to display the page on which was transcribed ‘John Yeats, from the Author.’, which Tom, however, to his disappointment would not see.

I am afraid from your letter²⁶ there is little chance of your losing the Professorship of Toronto, that is, if impartiality rule the decision. You have a more valuable list of testimonials than many will be able to present. Knoblauch is not yet returned to Marburg, nor Wrightson either; Davy and I are the only Englishmen at present honouring Marburg. Remember me to Debus; I was glad to hear of his being able to lecture, he must have made good use of his time, I would not like to undertake one in German.

Enclosed I send a few translations;²⁷ read them, and if you think them worth anything, or what you think the best, send forward to the Leader. The Diver²⁸ will be too long I fancy. Perhaps your friend the Preston Chronicle would be glad in the scarcity of the news to find a place for it. If you find blunders, correct them, and recollect, only those you think worth it you must send to the Leader²⁹ – the others burn.

And now John, goodbye. I have written you a long letter, but far shorter than I could wish. Let me hear of thee soon.

T.A. Hirst

Phillips in a letter he sends me by Dr Huth³⁰ mentions you, and desires me to give you a sound kicking out of love. He wants to know if you are in Marburg yet – tell him.

RI MS JT/1/H/162

JT/1/HTYP/162-167, LT Transcript Only