He now asked me whether he should show me to a great inn or to a
cheap one, and as I preferred the latter, he went with me himself to
a small public-house, and very particularly recommended me to their
care as his fellow-traveller, and a clever man not without learning.
The people here also endeavoured to accommodate me most
magnificently, and for this purpose gave me some toasted cheese,
which was Cheshire cheese roasted and half melted at the fire.
This, in England it seems, is reckoned good eating, but,
unfortunately for me, I could not touch a bit of it; I therefore
invited my landlord to partake of it, and he indeed seemed to feast
on it. As I neither drank brandy nor ale, he told me I lived far
too sparingly for a foot traveller; he wondered how I had strength
to walk so well and so far.
I avail myself of this opportunity to observe that the English
innkeepers are in general great ale drinkers, and for this reason
most of them are gross and corpulent; in particular they are plump
and rosy in their faces. I once heard it said of one of them, that
the extravasated claret in his phiz might well remind one, as
Falstaff says of Bardolph, of hell-fire.
The next morning my landlady did me the honour to drink coffee with
me, but helped me very sparingly to milk and sugar. It was Sunday,
and I went with my landlord to a barber, on whose shop was written
"Shaving for a penny." There were a great many inhabitants
assembled there, who took me for a gentleman, on account, I suppose,
of my hat, which I had bought in London for a guinea, and which they
all admired. I considered this as a proof that pomp and finery had
not yet become general thus far from London.
You frequently find in England, at many of the houses of the common
people, printed papers, with sundry apt and good moral maxims and
rules fastened against the room door, just as we find them in
Germany. On such wretched paper some of the most delightful and the
finest sentiments may be read, such as would do honour to any writer
of any country.
For instance, I read among other things this golden rule on such an
ordinary printed paper stuck against a room door, "Make no
comparisons;" and if you consider how many quarrels, and how much
mischief arise in the world from odious comparisons of the merits of
one with the merits of another, the most delightful lessons of
morality are contained in the few words of the above-mentioned rule.
A man to whom I gave sixpence conducted me out of the town to the
road leading to Castleton, which was close to a wall of stones
confusedly heaped one upon another, as I have before described. The
whole country was hilly and rough, and the ground covered with brown
heath. Here and there some sheep were feeding.
I made a little digression to a hill to the left, where I had a
prospect awfully beautiful, composed almost entirely of naked rocks,
far and near, among which, those that were entirely covered with
black heath made a most tremendous appearance.
I was now a hundred and seventy miles from London, when I ascended
one of the highest hills, and all at once perceived a beautiful vale
below me, which was traversed by rivers and brooks and enclosed on
all sides by hills. In this vale lay Castleton, a small town with
low houses, which takes its name from an old castle, whose ruins are
still to be seen here.
A narrow path, which wound itself down the side of the rock, led me
through the vale into the street of Castleton, where I soon found an
inn, and also soon dined. After dinner I made the best of my way to
the cavern.
A little rivulet, which runs through the middle of the town, led me
to its entrance.
I stood here a few moments, full of wonder and astonishment at the
amazing height of the steep rock before me, covered on each side
with ivy and other shrubs. At its summit are the decayed wall and
towers of an ancient castle which formerly stood on this rock, and
at its foot the monstrous aperture or mouth to the entrance of the
cavern, where it is pitch dark when one looks down even at mid-day.
As I was standing here full of admiration, I perceived, at the
entrance of the cavern, a man of a rude and rough appearance, who
asked me if I wished to see the Peak, and the echo strongly
reverberated his coarse voice.
Answering as I did in the affirmative, he next further asked me if I
should want to be carried to the other side of the stream, telling
me at the same time what the sum would be which I must pay for it.
This man had, along with his black stringy hair and his dirty and
tattered clothes, such a singularly wild and infernal look, that he
actually struck me as a real Charon. His voice, and the questions
he asked me, were not of a kind to remove this notion, so that, far
from its requiring any effort of imagination, I found it not easy to
avoid believing that, at length, I had actually reached Avernus, was
about to cross Acheron, and to be ferried by Charon.
I had no sooner agreed to his demand, than he told me all I had to
do was boldly to follow him, and thus we entered the cavern.
