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WILEY AND PUTNAM'S 
 
 LIBRARY OF 
 
 AMERICAN BOOKS 
 
 THE ALPS AND THE RHINE. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with'funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/alpsrhineseriesoOOheadrich 
 
THE ALPS 
 
 AND 
 
 THE RHINE 
 
 A SERIES OF SKETCHES 
 
 ) ' — *-^ ^ 
 
 Jjibranj. 
 
 J. T. HEADLEY. 
 
 P^ California' 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 WILEY AND PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY. 
 
 1845. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by 
 
 WILEY & PUTNAM, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New- York. 
 
 y/v7 
 
 R. Ckaiohbad's Power Press. 
 112 Fulton Street 
 
 T. B. Smith, Stereotyper, 
 216 William Street 
 
TO 
 
 E. C. BENEDICT, ESQ., 
 
 OF NEW TORK, 
 
 THESE SKETCHES 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 
 
 HIS FRIEND AND RELATIVE, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Introduction, vii 
 
 Chapter I. — Pass of the Simplon, Gorge of Gondo, . . . . 1 
 
 II. — Passes of the Forclaz and Col de Balme, ... 7 
 
 ' III. — Ascent of the Montanverte, Vale of Chamouni, . . 13 
 
 IV.— Pass of the Tete Noire, 19 
 
 v.— Baths of Leuk, 23 
 
 IV. — The Castle of Chillon. Geneva. Junction of the Rhone 
 
 and Arve, 26 
 
 VII. — Freybourg Organ and Bridges. Swiss Peculiarities, . 33 
 
 VIII. — Interlachen, Pass of the Wengern Alp, Byron's Manfred, 39 
 
 IX. — The Grand Scheideck : an Avalanche, .... 46 
 
 X. — ^Valley of Meyringen. Pass of Brunig 51 
 
 XI. — Suwarrow's Passage of the Pragel, 55 
 
 XII. — Macdonald's Pass of the Splugen, 60 
 
 XIII.— The Righi Culm, . . . ... . . .70 
 
 XIV.— Goldau— Fall of the Rossberg, 76 
 
 ' XV. — Avalanches and Glaciers, their Formation and Movement, 81 
 
 * XVI, — Pasturages, Chalets, and Alpine Passes, .... 86 
 
 XVII.— A Farewell to Switzerland—Basle, .... 90 
 
 XVIII.— Strasbourg— The Rhine— Frankfort, .... 94 
 
 XIX.— A Day in Wiesbaden, 99 
 
 XX. — Schwalbach and Schlagenbad, 106 
 
 XXI.— Mayence— The Rhine, Ill 
 
 XXII.— The Castellated Rhine, 115 
 
 XXIII.— The Rhine from Coblentz to Cologne, . . . .121 
 
 XXIV. — Rhine Wines,* Cologne Cathedral, Louvain, Brussels, . 126 
 
 XXV.— Battle-field of Waterloo, . .... 131 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 In the present work I have not designed to make a book 
 of travels, but give a series of sketches of the Alpine portion 
 of Switzerland, and the scenery along the Rhine. In writing 
 of Switzerland, I have omitted almost altogether notices of 
 the character of the people, except of those occupying the 
 valleys of the Alps. Neither have I spoken of the chief cities 
 and towns of the country, except to make a passing remark. 
 I excluded all such matter, because I wished, if possible, to 
 give a definite idea of the scenery of the Alps. Having an 
 unconquerable desire from my boyhood to see the land of 
 Tell and Winkelried, I had read everything I could lay hold 
 of, that would give me clear conceptions of the wonderful 
 scenery it embraces, yet I found that my imagination had 
 never approached the reality. 
 
 Hoping to do what others had failed in accomplishing, I 
 confess, was the motive in my attempting these sketches. 
 It always seemed strange to me, that such marked, stri- 
 king features in natural scenery could fail of being caught 
 and described. Such bold outlines, and such distinct fig- 
 ures, it seemed a mere pastime to reproduce before the eye. 
 And even now, of all the distinct things memory recalls, 
 none appear more clear and definite than the scenes of 
 the Alps. But, notwithstanding all this, I need not add that 
 I am as much dissatisfied with my own efforts as with those 
 of others. The truth is, the Alps are too striking and grand 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to be described. We get a definite idea of very few things in 
 the world we have never seen, by mere naked details. This 
 is especially true of those objects that excite emotion. It is 
 by comparing them to more familiar and greater things, that 
 we conceive them properly. Indeed, the imagination is gen- 
 erally so much weaker than the bodily eye, that exaggeration 
 is required to bring up the perceptive faculties to the proper 
 point. 
 
 But the Alps have nothing beyond them — nothing greater 
 with which to compare them. They alone can illustrate 
 themselves. Comparisons diminish them, and figures of 
 speech only confuse the mind. This I believe to be the rea- 
 son why every one becomes dissatisfied with his own descrip- 
 tions. To give lofty conceptions of mountain scenery before, 
 he has been accustomed to call it Alpine. The Alps are 
 called in to illustrate all other mountains and lofty peaks, and 
 hence when he comes to describe the former, he is at loss for 
 metaphors and comparisons. The words grand, awful, sub- 
 lime, haVe been used to describe scenery so far inferior to that 
 which now meets his eye, that he would reject them as weak 
 and expressionless, were there any others he could employ. 
 I have never felt the need of stronger Saxon more than when 
 standing amid the chaos of an Alpine abyss, or looking off 
 from the summit of an Alpine peak. Like the attempt to ut- 
 ter a man's deepest emotions, words for the time shock him. 
 I am aware this may be attributed to a sensitive imagination. 
 Some may boast that they have stood perfectly tranquil, and 
 at their ease in every part of the Alps. I envy not such a man 
 his self-possession, nor his tranquil nature. He who can wan- 
 der through the Oberland without being profoundly moved, 
 and feeling as Coleridge did when he lifted his hymn in the 
 vale of Chamouni, need not fear that he will ever be greatly 
 
INTRODUCTION. vu 
 
 excited, either by the grand or beautiful with which God has 
 clothed the world. 
 
 The Rhine I have passed over more hastily, and devoted 
 less space to it, because its scenes are more familiar, as well 
 as more tame. If I shall add to the reader's conceptions of 
 Alpine scenery — give any more vivid ideas of its amazing 
 grandeur, more definite outlines to those wonderful forms of 
 nature, I shall have accomplished my purpose. My object 
 in grouping, as I have, the most remarkable objects together, 
 to the exclusion of every thing else, was, if possible, to do 
 this. Still they must be seen to be known. 
 
THE ALPS AND THE RHINE. 
 
 PASS OF THE SIMPLON, GORGE OF GONDO. 
 
 Coming from the warm air of the South, the first sight of the 
 Alps gave a spring to my blood it had not felt for years. Egypt 
 and Palestine I had abandoned, and weary and depressed, I turn- 
 ed as a last resort to the Alps and their glorious scenery. As I 
 came on to Lake Maggiore, I was, as we should say at home, 
 " down sick." A severe cold accompanied with fever rendered 
 
 me as indifferent to the scenery the evening I approached as 
 
 if I were on the confines of a desert. But the morning found me 
 myself again, and the clear lake coming from under the feet of 
 the everlasting Alps, and peeping out into the valley as if to see 
 how the plains of Lombardy looked, was as welcome as the face 
 of a friend. Born myself amid mountains, I had loved them 
 from boyhood. I looked out from our carriage on the Borromean 
 Isles, terraced up in the form of a pyramid from the water, with 
 their dark fringe of cypresses, without one wish to visit them. I 
 did not care whether they were an " espece de creation" or " a 
 huge perigord pie stuck round with woodcocks and partridges." 
 The soft air revived me, and the breeze that stooped down from 
 the snow summits of the Alps, that glittered far up in the clear 
 heavens before me, was like a new fountain of blood opened in 
 my system. I left the carriage, and wandered off* to the quarries 
 of pink granite among the mountains. After listening awhile to 
 the clink of the miner's hammer, far up in the breast of the rock, 
 and gathering a few crystals, I returned to the lake, and passing 
 directly underneath a mountain of stone, from whose summit 
 
 2 
 
DOMO D'OSOLA. 
 
 workmen were blasting rocks that fell with the noise of thunder 
 into the road, sending their huge fragments over into the lake, — 
 rejoined the carriage at a dirty inn. The crystal-like clearness 
 of the water, and the mountains around, reminded me of the wild- 
 er parts of the Delaware, where I had hooked many a trout, and 
 thinking they ought to be found on such gravelly bottoms, I en- 
 quired of the landlord if I could have trout for dinner. He re- 
 plied yes, and when the speckled fish was brought on the table, it 
 was like the sight of an old friend. The flesh, however, did not 
 have the freshness and flavour of those caught in our mountain 
 streams. It may have been owing to the cooking, probably it was. 
 After dinner we started up the narrow valley that leads to the 
 foot of the Simplon. It was as lovely an afternoon as ever made 
 the earth smile. Gray, barren pyramids of rock pierced the clear 
 heavens on either side, while the deep quiet of the valley was 
 broken only by the brawling streamlet that sparkled through it. 
 Here and there was a small meadow spot from which the dwarf- 
 ish peasantry were harvesting the hay. Women performed the 
 office of team and cart. A huge basket that would hold nearly 
 as much as an ordinary hay-cock, was filled, when a woman in- 
 serted herself into straps fastened to it, and taking it on her back ; 
 walked away with it. 
 
 As it takes twelve good hours to cross the Simplon, travellers 
 are compelled to stop over night at Domo D'Osola, the last village 
 before the ascent commences. I will not describe the dirty town 
 with its smell of garlic, nor the " red-capped," " mahogany-leg- 
 ged," lazy lazzaroni that lounged through the street. Only one 
 thing interested me in it. There is a hill ne^r by called Calvary, 
 with small white buildings stationed at intervals from the bottom 
 to the top. Each of these is occupied with terra-cotta (earthen) 
 figures representing our Saviour in the different stages of his suflTer- 
 ings ; — from the trial before Pilate, to the last agony on the cross. 
 Through an iron grating I looked in upon the strange groups, 
 amid which, on the earth-floor, were scattered cents and fifths of 
 cents ; — ^thrown there by the faithful. In one, the ceiling of the 
 building was concave, and painted blue to represent heaven. On 
 this angels were painted large as life, and represented as hovering 
 over the suffering Christ — while they had — babies and all — white 
 
PASS OF THE SIMPLON, GORGE OF GONDO. 3 
 
 handkerchiefs in their hands, which they held to their eyes quite 
 a la mode. It did not strike me at first as so odd that they should 
 use handkerchiefs in heaven, as that such beggarly-looking an- 
 gels could afford such nice white ones. 
 
 But the Simplon. Nature, that wore the day before, her loveli- 
 est, had now put on her angriest aspect. A more glorious to-mor- 
 row was never promised to man, than the sun uttered as he went 
 down at evening amid the Alps. There was not a cloud to dim 
 his brightness, while the transparent atmosphere and the deep blue 
 sky seemed dreaming of anything but clouds and mists. But 
 who can foretell the whim of an Alpine sky ! As we entered the 
 mountains the day grew dark, and from the deep gorge that pierc- 
 ed their heart, the mist boiled out like the foam of a waterfall. 
 Clouds veiled the giant peaks around, and the rain came down as 
 if that were its sole business for the day. The torrent had car- 
 ried away the road in some places, and we rolled slowly over the 
 bed of the stream. At length we entered the gorge of Gondo, one 
 of the most savage and awful in the Alps. This day it was ren- 
 dered doubly so by the black Alpine storm that swept through it. 
 The road was here squeezed into the narrowest space, while the 
 perpendicular rocks rose out of sight into the rain-clouds on either 
 side, and the fretting torrent struggled through its torn channel 
 far below. The gallery of Gondo, cut 596 feet through the solid 
 rock, opens like a cavern over this gulf. Stand here a minute 
 and look down the gorge. Those perpendicular walls of nature 
 pierce the heavens so high, that but a narrow strip of tossing 
 clouds is visible, as the blast puffs away for a moment the mist 
 that wrapped them in such close embrace. A waterfall is sound- 
 ing in your ears, covering the breast of the hill with foam, and 
 filling the cavern with the sullen sound of thunder. Torrents 
 leaping from the mountain tops, vanish in spray before they strike 
 the bottom. The clouds roll through the gorge, and knock against 
 the walls that hem them in ; and then catching the down-sweeping 
 gust, spring over their tops, revealing for a moment the head of a 
 black crag far up where you thought the sky to be, and then dashing 
 over its face wrap it again in deeper gloom. All around is hor- 
 ribly wild — the howl of the storm — the hissing of the blast around 
 the cliffs — the roar of countless cataracts, and the hoarse voice of 
 
AN AVALANCHE. 
 
 the distracted waters that rush on, and the awful solitude and 
 strength that hem you in — make the soul stagger and shrink back 
 in unwonted fear and awe. Nature and God seem one — Power 
 and Sublimity their only attributes, and these everlasting peaks 
 their only dwelling-place. I would let the carriage, that looked 
 like a mere toy among these giant forms of nature, disappear 
 among the rolling mist, and then stand on a beetling crag and listen. 
 It was the strangest, wildest music my soul ever bowed to, and 
 the voices that spoke so loudly around me had such an accent 
 and power that my heart stood still in my bosom. I grew ner- 
 vous there alone, and felt as if I had not room to breathe. Just 
 then, turning my eye up the gorge, the clouds parted over a smooth 
 snow-field that lay, white and calm, leagues away against the 
 heavens. Oh, it was a relief to know there was one calm thing 
 amid that distracted scene — one bosom the tempest could not ruf- 
 fle : it told of a Deity ruling serene and tranquil above his works 
 and laws. 
 
 As we approached the summit, the snow increased in depth. 
 In one place the road passed directly through an old avalanche 
 cut out like a tunnel. These avalanches have paths they travel 
 regularly as deer. The shape of the mountains decides the di- 
 rection they shall take, and hence enables the traveller to know 
 when he is in danger. They also always give premonitions of 
 their fall. Before they start there is a low humming sound in 
 the air, which the practised ear can detect in a moment. If you 
 are in the path of avalanches when this mysterious warning is pass- 
 ing through the atmosphere, you cannot make too good use of your 
 legs. A few days before we passed, the diligence was broken 
 into fragments by one of these descending masses of snow. As 
 it was struggling through the deep drifts right in front of one of 
 those gorges where avalanches fall, the driver heard this low ring- 
 ing sound in the hills above him. Springing from his seat, he 
 threw open the door, crying, " Run for your life ! an avalanche ! 
 an avalanche !" and drawing his knife he severed the traces of 
 the horses, and bringing them a blow with his whip, sprang ahead. 
 AH this was the work of a single minute ; the next minute the 
 diligence was in fragments, crushed and buried by the headlong 
 mass. 
 
PASS OF THE SIMPLON, GORGE OF GONDO. 5 
 
 The top of the Simplon is a dreary field of snow and ice, gird- 
 ed round with drearier rocks. The hospice is large and com- 
 fortable, and does credit to its founder, Bonaparte ; and the Prior 
 is a fat, very handsome, and good-natured man. I had a reg- 
 ular romp with one of the San Bernard dogs, who would run and 
 leap on me like a tiger, barking furiously as he came, but harm- 
 less as a kitten in his frolics. To amuse us, the Prior let out four 
 of them from their confinement. No sooner did they find them- 
 selves free, than they dashed down the steps of the hospice, and 
 bounding into the snow, made the top of the Simplon ring again with 
 their furious barkings. After we had wandered over the build- 
 ing awhile, and made enquiries respecting lost travellers in win- 
 ter, the good Prior set before us some bread and a bottle of wine, 
 from which we refreshed ourselves and prepared to depart. We 
 had scarcely begun to descend towards the Vallais, when I dis- 
 covered, straight down through the gorge, a little village with its 
 roofs and church spire, looking like a miniature town there at the 
 end and bottom of the abyss. Confident there was no town be- 
 tween the top of the Simplon and Brieg, lying nearly twenty 
 miles distant at the base, and thinking this could not be that town, 
 sunk there apparently within rifle-shot of where I stood, I enquired 
 of the vetturino what place it was. " Brieg," he replied. " Brieg ?" 
 I exclaimed : " why that is six hours' drive from here, and I can 
 almost throw a stone in that place." '' You will find it far enough 
 before we get there," he replied, and with that we trotted on. 
 Backwards and forwards, now running along the edge of a gulf 
 deep into the mountains and under overhanging glaciers, till it 
 grew narrow enough to let a bridge be thrown across ; and now 
 shooting out on to some projecting point that looked down on shud- 
 dering depths, the road wound like a snake in its diflicult pas- 
 sage among the rocks. Houses of refuge occur at short intervals 
 to succour the storm-caught traveller ; and over the road, as it cuts 
 the breast of some steep hill that shows an unbroken sheet of 
 snow, up — up, till the summit seems lost in the heavens, are 
 thrown arches on which the avalanches may slide over into the 
 gulf below. Over some of these arches torrents were now roar- 
 ing from the melting mass above. Calm glaciers on high, and 
 angry torrents below ; white snow-fields covering thousands of 
 
THE VALLAIS. 
 
 acres on distant mountain-tops, and wrecks of avalanches, crush- 
 ed at the base of the precipice on which you stand ; fill the 
 mind with a succession of feelings that can never be recalled or 
 expressed. It seems as if nature tried to overwhelm the awe- 
 struck and humbled man in her presence, by crowding scene 
 after scene of awful magnificence upon him. 
 
 We stopped at Brieg all night in a most contemptible inn. It was 
 some fete day or other of the thousand and one Catholic saints, and 
 the streets were strewed with evergreens, while nearly every second 
 man had a sprig in his hat. The streets were filled with peasantry 
 sauntering lazily about in the evening air, and I leaned from my 
 window and watched them as supper was cooking. There a group 
 went loitering about singing some careless song I could not un- 
 derstand, while nearer by were two peasants, a young man and 
 maiden, with their arms around each other's waists, strolling silent- 
 ly along in the increasing twilight. 
 
 At Brieg you enter on the Vallais and follow the Rhone on its 
 tranquil course for Lake Leman. Its waters were yet turbid 
 from their long struggle in the mountains, and flowed heavily 
 through the valley. Along this we trotted all day, and stopped 
 at night at Sion. If Mount Sion in Jerusalem is not a better 
 place than this, the Arabs are welcome to it. The falls of 
 Tourtemagne, which you pass on the road, are very beautiful, 
 from the curve and swing of the descending water, caused by the 
 peculiar shape of the rocks : and those of Sallenche grand and 
 striking. The long single leap of the torrent is 120 feet, and as 
 you stand under it, the descending water has the appearance of 
 the falling fragments of a rocket after it has burst. The spray 
 that boils from its feet rises like a cloud, and drifting down the 
 fields, passes like a fog over the road. 
 
FORCLAZ AND COL DE BALM. 
 
 II. 
 
 PASSES OP THE FORCLAZ AND COL DE BALM. 
 
 From Martigny, where we arrived at noon from Sion, a mule 
 path leads over the Forclaz, from which one can look back on 
 the whole valley of the Rhone, one of the most picturesque views 
 in Switzerland. After following a while the route of Bonaparte's 
 army, on its march from Martigny across the San Bernard, we 
 turned off to the right, and began to ascend the Forclaz. Here 
 I first tested the world-renowned qualities of the mule, amid the 
 Alpine passes; and I must say I did not find the one I was on 
 so very trustworthy. Passing along the brink of a precipice, I 
 thought he went unnecessarily near the edge, but concluding he 
 knew his own business best, I let him take his own way. Sud- 
 denly his hinder foot slipped over — he fell back, struggled a mo- 
 ment, while a cry of alarm burst from my companions behind — 
 rallied, and passed on demurely as ever. For a few moments 
 it was a question of considerable doubt whether I was to have a 
 roll with my mule some hundred feet into the torrent below, with 
 the fair prospect of a broken neck and a mangled carcase, or 
 cross the Forclaz. I learned one lesson by it, however, never to 
 surrender my own judgment again, not even to a mule. We at 
 length descended into the very small hamlet of Trient, nestled 
 down among the pines. After refreshing ourselves after a most 
 primitive fashion, with some plain white pine boards, nailed together 
 som.ething after the manner of a workman's bench for a table, I told 
 our guide I must cross the Col de Balm. He replied it was impos- 
 sible. " No one," said he, " has crossed it this year except the 
 mountaineer and hunter. The path by which travellers always 
 cross it is utterly impassable ; not even a chamois hunter could 
 
A FEARFUL GUIDE. 
 
 follow it ; besides, it rained last night, which has nriade the snow so 
 soft, one would sink in leg-deep at every step, and I cannot at- 
 tempt it." This was a damper, for I had thought more of making 
 this pass than any other in the Alps. Still, I was fully resolved 
 to do it, if it was in the reach of possibility, because from its sum- 
 mit was said to be one of the finest views in the world. So walk- 
 ing around the hamlet, I accosted a hardy-looking Swiss, and 
 asked him if he could guide me over the Col de Balm. He re- 
 plied that the ordinary route was impassable, being entirely 
 blocked with snow ; but that there was a gorge reaching nearly to 
 the top of the pass, now half filled with the wrecks of avalanches, 
 which he thought might be travelled. At least, said he, I am 
 willing to try, and if we cannot succeed, we can return. I took 
 him at his word, and returning, told my friends that I was going 
 to cross the Col de Balm, but that I was unwilling to take the re- 
 sponsibility of urging them to accompany me, for I was convinced 
 the passage would be one of great fatigue, if not of danger. I 
 then called the guide, and told him to meet me with the mules 
 about fifteen miles ahead, at Argentiere. He looked at me a 
 moment, shook his head, and turned away, saying, " Je vous con- 
 seille de ne pas aller." " Je vous conseille de ne pas aller.^^ I 
 hesitated a moment, for my guide book said, " Always obey your 
 guide," and farther on stated, that on this very pass a young Ger- 
 man lost his life by refusing to obey his. I did not want to be 
 rash, or expose myself unnecessarily to danger, but one of the 
 finest views in the world was worth an effort ; so stripping off my 
 coat and vest, I bade my fearful guide good-bye, and taking a 
 pole in my hand for a cane, started off. My friends concluded to 
 follow. Immediately on leaving the valley we entered on the 
 debris of avalanches, which fortunately bore us. It was a steady 
 pull, hour after hour, mile after mile, up this pathless mass of 
 snow, that seemed to go like the roof of a house, at an unbroken 
 angle of forty-five degrees, up and up, till the eye wearied with 
 the prospect. My friends gave out the first hour, while I, though 
 the weakest of the party, seemed to gain strength the higher I 
 ascended. The cold rare atmosphere acted like a powerful 
 stimulant on my sensitive nervous system, rendering me for the 
 time insensible to fatigue. I soon distanced my friends, while 
 
COL DE BALM. 
 
 my guide kept cautioning me to keep the centre of the gorge, so 
 that I could flee either to one side or the other should an avalanche 
 see fit to come down just at the time I saw fit to pass. I pressed 
 on, and soon lost sight of every living thing. The silent snow- 
 fields and lofty peaks were around me, and the deep blue heavens 
 bending brightly over all. I thought I was iiear the top, when 
 suddenly there rose right in my very face a cone covered with snow 
 of virgin purity. I had ascended beyond the reach of avalanches, 
 and stood on snow that lay as it had fallen. I confess I was for 
 a moment discouraged and lonely. Near as this smooth, track- 
 less height appeared, a broad inclined plain of soft snow was to 
 be traversed before I could reach it. I sat down in the yielding 
 mass and hallooed to the guide. I could hear the faint reply, 
 far, far down the breast of the mountain, and at length caught a 
 glimpse of his form bent almost double, and toiling like a black 
 insect up the white acclivity. I telegraphed to him to know if I 
 was to climb that smooth peak. He answered yes, and that I 
 must keep to the right. I must confess I could see no particular 
 choice in sides, but pressed on. The clean drifts hung along its 
 acclivities just as the wintry storm had left them, and every step 
 sunk me in mid-leg deep. This was too much : I could not as- 
 cend the face of that peak of snow, direct; it was too steep; and 
 I was compelled to go backwards and forwards in a zigzag di- 
 rection to make any progress. At length, exhausted and panting, 
 I fell on my face, and pressed my hot cheek to the cold snow. 
 I felt as if I never could take another step ; my breath came diffi- 
 cult and thick, from the straining efforts I was compelled to put 
 forth at every step, while the perspiration streamed in torrents 
 from my face and body. But a cold shiver just then passing 
 through my frame, admonished me I had already lain too long ; so 
 whipping up my flagging spirits, I pushed on. A black spot at 
 length appeared in the wide waste of snow. It was the deserted 
 house of refuge, and I hailed it with joy, for I knew I was at the 
 top. But, oh ! as I approached the thing, dreary enough at best, 
 and found it empty, the door broken down by the fierce storm, 
 and the deserted room filled with snow-drifts, my heart died with- 
 in me, and I gave a double shiver. I crept to the windward side 
 of the dismal concern to shield myself from the freezing blast, 
 
10 View from col de balm. 
 
 which swept by without check, and seemed wholly unconscious 
 that I had clothing on ; and crouched meekly in the sunbeams. 
 But as I looked up, about and beneath me, what a wild, ruinous 
 world of peaks and crags, and riven mountains, rose on my won- 
 dering vision ! 
 
 Farther on, and lo, the sweet vale of Chamouni burst on the 
 sight, lying in an irregular waving, line along the Arve, that glit- 
 tered like a silver chain in the light of the sun. Right out of its 
 quiet bosom towered away in awful majesty the form of Mont 
 Blanc. Oh, what a chaos of mountain peaks seemed to tear up 
 the very sky around him. The lofty " needles," inaccessible to 
 any thing but the wing of the eagle, shot up their piercing tops 
 over glaciers that, rolled into confusion, went streaming, an ice- 
 flood, into the plains below. How can I describe this scene. It 
 seemed as if the Deity had once taken the chain from his wildest 
 laws, to see what awful strength they could put forth, and what a 
 chaos of mountains they could tumble together. High over all, 
 with its smooth round top, stood Mont Blanc, like a monarch with 
 his mountain guard around him. Yet how silent and motionless 
 were they all, as if in their holy Sabbath rest. No wonder Cole- 
 ridge lifted his hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. Yet he should 
 have looked on it from this spot. From no other point do you 
 get the relative height of Mont Blanc. From the valley you look 
 up, and all the peaks seem nearly of a height : but here you look 
 across and see how he stands like Saul among the Israelites^ 
 head and shoulders above all his brethren. The great difficulty 
 in standing here is, the soul cannot expand to the magnitude of 
 the scene. It is crushed and overwhelmed, and almost stu- 
 pified. 
 
 I plucked some flowers that lifted their modest heads from the 
 margin of the snow, and began to descend towards Chamouni. 
 But as I went leaping down the white slope with a shout, I sud- 
 denly found myself hanging by the arms, while the dull sound of 
 a torrent that swept my feet made any but pleasant music in my 
 ear. I had broken through the snow crust, and catching by my 
 arms, was left dangling over a stream, the depth and breadth of 
 which I had no desire to measure. The sudden change from my 
 headlong speed and boisterous shouts, to the meek, demure look 
 
SUNSET ON MONT BLANC. 11 
 
 and manner with which I insinuated myself away from that un- 
 pleasant neighbourhood, set my companions into convulsions of 
 laughter. 
 
 A cloud that came drifting along the sky caught on Mont 
 Blanc, and wrapped it from my sight. Ah, thought I, good night 
 to Mont Blanc! But the sweet valley was left basking in the 
 light of the setting sun. 
 
 Hark ! a low rumbling sound rises on the air, swelling to the 
 full-voiced thunder. I turned, and lo ! a precipice of ice had 
 loosened itself from the mountain, and falling over, plunged, with 
 a crash that shook the hills, into the plain below. I stood awe- 
 struck and silent. It was the first avalanche I had heard, and its 
 deep voice echoing amid those mountain solitudes awoke strange 
 feelings within me. The mass from which it had split was of a 
 pale blue, contrasting beautifully with the dull white of the sur- 
 rounding glacier. 
 
 At Argentiere I found the guide and mules. Mounting, I rode 
 slowly on, thinking of that Being who planned the globe, and 
 heaved on high all its strong mountains, when a sudden cry from 
 the guide attracted my attention. He stood pointing to Mont Blanc. 
 I looked up, and to my surprise, the cloud had rained itself away, 
 and the top of the mountain was drawn with its bold outline 
 against the clear heavens. The sun had set to me, but Mont 
 Blanc was still looking down on his retiring light. And now over 
 all its white form spread a pale rose colour, deepening gradually 
 into a pink — the peaks around taking the same ruddy glow, while 
 the giant shadows stretched their misshapen, black proportions 
 over the vast snow-fields between. There they stood, a mass of 
 rose-coloured snow mountains, towering away in the heavens : 
 they had suddenly lost their massive strength and weight, and 
 light as frost work, and apparently transparent as a rose-tinted 
 shell, they seemed the fit home of spiritual beings. And then 
 what serenity and silence over them all. There was none of the 
 life and motion of flashing sunbeams ; none of the glitter of light 
 itself on mountain summits, but a deep quiet that seemed almost 
 holy, resting there, as if that rose-tinted top was bathed in the 
 mellow radiance that one might dream of as belonging to a sun- 
 set in heaven. My eye wandered down the now ethereal form 
 
12 MONT BLANC AT NIGHT. 
 
 of Mont Blanc till it rested on a wreath of fir-trees, whose deep 
 green contrasted strangely with that pure rose-colour. I stood be- 
 wildered — it seemed a magic land. But the glorious vision, like 
 all beauty, was as transient as the hour that gave it birth. 
 Fainter and fainter again grew the tints till all passed away, and 
 Mont Blanc stood white and cold and ghost-like against the even- 
 ing sky. This was more than I expected ,to see, and what few 
 travellers do see. Mont Blanc is chary of such exhibitions of 
 himself. 
 
 I lay down at night with my fancy too full of wild images to 
 let me sleep soundly. Feverish and restless ; at midnight I arose 
 and pushed open my window. All was silent as the great shad- 
 ows around, save the sound of the torrent that rolled its turbid 
 stream through the valley. The moon was hanging her crescent 
 over the top of Mont Blanc, that stood like a model in the clear 
 heavens, a fit throne for the stars that seemed flashing from its 
 top. 
 
MONTANVERTE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 13 
 
 ni. 
 
 ASCENT OF THE MONTANVERTE, VALE OF 
 CHAMOUNI. 
 
 The day after I made the pass of the Col de Balme I ascended 
 the Montanverte to the Mer de Glace. I will not weary you 
 with a description of this frequently described yet ever strangely 
 wild scene. I mention it only to show the simple process by 
 which an Alpine guide sometimes descends a mountain. In climb- 
 ing up our zigzag path in our previous ascent, I noticed an in- 
 clined plane of snow going straight up the mountain — the relics 
 of the track of avalanches which had fallen during the winter 
 and spring. In returning, the path came close to the top of this 
 inclined plane, which went in a direct line to the path far below. 
 A slide down this I saw would save nearly half a mile, so I 
 sprang on to it, expecting a long, rapid, though perfectly safe de- 
 scent down the mountain. But the surface was harder than I 
 supposed, and I no sooner struck it than I shot away, like an ar- 
 row from a bow. I kept my feet for some time as I tacked and 
 steered, or rather " was tacked and steered," straining every mus- 
 cle to keep my balance, and striking my Alpine stock now on the 
 right hand and now on the left ; till exhausted, I fell headlong 
 down the declivity, and went rolling, over and over, till I finally 
 landed, with dizzy head and bruised limbs, amid broken rocks 
 at the bottom. When I had gathered up my senses, I looked 
 round for my companions, and lo, there was my friend, an English 
 gentleman who had started at the same time, about midway of 
 the slope. As he found himself shooting off so rapidly, he 
 wheeled his back down the hill and fell on his hands. This was 
 
14 BLISTERED FEET. 
 
 not sufficient, however, to arrest his progress, and he came on 
 bear fashion, though at a slower rate. Despite my bruises, I lay 
 amid the rocks and laughed. Our guide stood at the top, con- 
 vulsed with laughter, till he saw us all safely landed, and then 
 leaped on the inclined plane himself. Throwing one end of his 
 Alpine stock behind him, he leaned almost his entire weight on 
 it. The iron spike sinking in the ice and snow, checked the ra- 
 pidity of his descent, and steered him at the same time, and he 
 came to the bottom in a slow and gentle slide. So it is in this 
 world : there is no man who cannot find those who will teach him 
 on some points. 
 
 When I reached the English hotel again I found I had over- 
 tasked myself: I began to suspect as much before I had half 
 reached the top of Montanverte. After my exhausting tramp in 
 the soft snow over the Col de Balme I should have lain by a day, 
 but my toilsome day's work and wet feet both had not left me 
 any worse, but on the contrary better — so I concluded to take it 
 on foot up the Montanverte. I believe I should have refused to 
 ride, well or sick, when I came to know how matters stood about 
 a guide and mules. We had hired a guide and mules at Martigny 
 by the day ; supposing, of course, we could use them at Chamouni. 
 Acting on this belief, my companions, who had resolved to ride, 
 ordered out their mules ; when, to their astonishment, they were 
 told that neither our guide nor our mules could be permitted to 
 ascend the mountain. A Chamouni man and Chamouni mules 
 must go up the Montanverte or none. This is one of the many 
 niggardly, petty contrivances one meets at every turn in Switzer- 
 land to wring money from the pockets of travellers. 
 
 I should have done better to have rode even on those conditions, 
 for I was completely fagged out at night, and with more bones 
 aching than I before supposed I carried in me. But after tossing 
 awhile on my feverish couch, I at length fell asleep. How long 
 I was in the land of oblivion I know not, but I awoke to recollec- 
 tion with the most vivid consciousness of possessing ten toes. 
 Such exquisite pain I never before experienced. I turned and 
 twisted on my couch — gathered up my legs like a patriarch to 
 die — held them in my hands — but all in vain : I could think of 
 nothing but torture by slow fire. Every toe I possessed seemed 
 
A LUNATIC. 15 
 
 to have been converted into a taper, which had been lighted, and 
 was slowly burning away. At length I could endure the agony 
 no longer, and rung the bell till I waked up one of the head ser- 
 vants of the house. As he knocked at the door I bade him come 
 in with an emphasis that only made his entrance more studied and 
 careful. " What is the matter, sir ?" he enquired in the most 
 provokingly quiet tone. " Matter !" I exclaimed, as I thrust both 
 feet out of the bed, " I want you to tell me what is the matter. 
 You know all the strange diseases of this infamous country, and I 
 want you to know what has got into my feet." He looked at 
 my swollen, angry toes a moment, and replied with a most bland 
 smile, "Oh, you have blistered your feet — they are snow blister- 
 ed." Saying this he left the room, and in a few moments return- 
 ed with some brandy in a saucer, into which he dropped several 
 drops of tallow from his candle, and then rubbed my feet with the 
 mixture. In a few minutes I was relieved, and soon after fell 
 into a quiet slumber ; from which I awoke to a half-dreamy state, 
 with a dim consciousness there was music around me. At length, 
 clear, mellow notes of a horn came swelling on my ear. I start- 
 ed up, and looking from my window, saw a shepherd driving his 
 goats to their mountain pasturage. It was early dawn, and as 
 the Alpine strain he blew echoed up the vale of Chamouni, I 
 turned to my pillow again, while my early dreams of the land of 
 the Swiss, with all the distinctness and freshness of their spring- 
 time, came back on my memory. 
 
 I have given the above particular account of my blistered feet, 
 and their cure, for the sake of those who may make pedestrian 
 excursions in the Alps. With the first symptoms of sore feet, the 
 application of brandy with tallow dropped in should be made, and 
 much suffering will be escaped. 
 
 Taking one evening a stroll down the vale of Chamouni, just as 
 the sun was tinging the Alpine summits with his farewell glories, 
 I came upon one of those unfortunate beings from whom the light 
 of reason has fled. Her hat was loaded down with wild flowers, 
 and grass, and sprigs of every description, while she was toying 
 with a bunch of flowers she held in her hand. As I stood leaning 
 against a wall, she came up and offered me some, talking at the 
 same time in a patois made up apparently of a half dozen Ian- 
 
16 ASCENT OF MONT BLANC. 
 
 guages, scarcely a word of which I could understand. I declined 
 her flowers at first, but she pressed them on me till I took one, and 
 placing it among my collection, preserved it as a memento of Cha- 
 mouni. 
 
 The register of the English Hotel is loaded down with names 
 interspersed with every variety of remark, in poetry and prose : 
 some grave, some gay, some sentimental, and some comical. The 
 following description of the ascent of Mont Blanc pleased me so 
 much I copied it. 
 
 They talk of Helvellyn, Ben Lomond : all stuff! 
 Mont Blanc is the daisy for me sure enough, 
 For next to the Peek, in the county Mayo, 
 It bates all the mountains or hills that I know. 
 ^ Who'd see Mont Blanc fairly must make the ascent, 
 
 Although owld to look up vvas content : 
 
 I can tell owld T that as I mounted higher. 
 
 For one aigle he saw, I found three Lammergeyer. 
 I was up on the top, where, (I tell you no lie) 
 I could count every rafter that Tiowlds up the sky. 
 I wish to tell truth, and no more, tho' no less. 
 And its tirrible height to corrictly express : 
 I should say if I had but a common balloon, 
 I could get in one hour with all aise to the moon. 
 If ever you wish on that trip to set out. 
 You should start from the top of Mont Blanc without doubt : 
 *■ You'd find the way sure, and the chapest to boot. 
 Since you'd make such a dale of the journey on foot ; 
 Yet with one good, or two middling spy-glasses, 
 You could see from Mont Blanc every action that passes. 
 I persaved the last quarter quite plain through a fog, 
 Growing out of the Jirst like a great moving bog. 
 In a country so subject to change, I'll be bail. 
 Some hints could be got of a fair sliding scale ; 
 That Peel should there go to enquire, I advise, 
 For I heartily wish him a flight to the skies. 
 But again to my subject : I say and repate it, 
 Mont Blanc hates all things that were ever created. 
 
THE LAKERS. .17 
 
 As I was determined new wonders to seek, 
 I went by a route that was somewhat unique : 
 By the great sea of ice, where I saw the big hole 
 Where Captain Ross wintered not far from the pole : i 
 
 The Tropic of Cancer first lay on one side 
 Like a terrible crevice some forty feet wide : 
 Farther on I saw Greenland, as green as owld Dan, 
 But " Jardin," the guides called it, all to a man. 
 I didn't dispute, so we kept under weigh, 
 Till we come to the ind of the great icy say, 
 We saw the great mules " that congealed in a pop," 
 When Saussure and Belmet would ride to the top ; 
 Now nothing remains but the petrified bones. 
 Which mostly resembles a pair of big stones. 
 I brought my barometer, made by one Kayting, 
 For fear the weather would want rigulating ; 
 But the weight of the air at the top so incrased, ' 
 
 That the mercury sunk fourteen inches at lasle. ^ 
 
 Thin the cowld was so hot — tho' we didn't perspire — * \ 
 
 That we made water boil without any fire. 
 We fired ofi'a gun, but the sound was so small, * 
 
 That we doubted if truly it sounded at all ; 
 Which smallness was caused (I towld my friend Harrison) 
 Alone by the size of Mont Blanc in comparison. 
 But to describe all the sights would require 
 Not powers like mine, but genius far higher : * 
 
 Not Byron in verse, nor Scott in his prose. 
 Could give the laste notion of Blanc and his snows. 
 Indeed none should try it but one of the " Lakers," 
 Who, if not great wits, are yet great undertakers : 
 And then, of all these, none could do it so well 
 As the wonderful author of great Peter Bell ; 
 For he to the summit could easily float 
 Without walking a step — " in his good little boat." 
 Next to him the great Southey, whose magical power 
 Paints the fight of the cat in the awful mice tower ; 
 Whose description in words of sublimity set, 
 Says " the summer and autumn had been so wet." 
 3 
 
18 LAST NIGHT IN CHAMOUNI. 
 
 'Tis spirits like these who are fit to attempt 
 The labour from which such as I are exempt. 
 
 Pat'k McSweeny. 
 
 But the last night in Chamouni came ; and as I stood and leaned 
 out of my window in the moonlight, listening to the turbid Arveron 
 rolling its swollen current through the vale, suddenly a dull, heavy 
 sound, like the booming of distant cannon, rose on the night air. 
 An avalanche had fallen far up amid the Alpine solitudes. Noth- 
 ing can fill the soul with such strange, mysterious feelings as the 
 sound of avalanches falling at midnight, and alone, amid the Alps. 
 
VIEW FROM TETE NOIRE. 19 
 
 IV. 
 
 PASS OF THE TETE NOIEE. 
 
 It may be from early association, or it may be that every one 
 has made a hero of Mont Blanc, but there is something about 
 that majestic form and those splintered pinnacles, standing like so 
 many hel meted sentinels around him ; and all that prodigality of 
 snow-fields and glaciers, that has left its impress on my memory 
 and heart for ever. And then that strangely silent, white, myste- 
 rious summit, bending its beautiful outline so far in the heavens, 
 seems to be above the turmoil at its base, and apparently 
 wrapped in its own majestic musings. I would have given any 
 thing to have placed my feet upon it and looked down on the 
 world below, but it was too early in the season to think of doing 
 it — indeed, it could not be done even by the chamois hunter, for 
 fresh snow had fallen every few days throughout the season. A 
 French lady, delicate and pale, wept in grief that she could not 
 make the ascent. 
 
 The afternoon we mounted our mules for the Tete Noire was 
 dark and overcast, and there was every appearance of an Alpine 
 storm. We had scarcely left the narrow valley and entered the 
 mule path among the mountains, before the blast began to sweep 
 by in gusts, till the fir trees rocked and roared over our heads. 
 Having ascended at length above the region of trees, I turned to 
 catch a last view of Mont Blanc and his glorious mountain guard 
 before I entered the gloomy pass. There he stood with his snowy 
 helmet on, looking down on the vast glaciers that went streaming 
 into the valley below, and on the silent snow-fields stretching 
 away in every direction, and around on the wild chaos of moun- 
 tains that nature seemed to have piled there in some awful hurry 
 of passion. The scene was indescribable, for the feelings it 
 
20 ALPINE STORM. 
 
 awakened had no fixed character. An object of beauty would 
 stand beside an object of terror. A calm and soft snow-field that 
 looked in the distance as if it might be a slumbering place for 
 spirits, went creeping up to as savage a cliff as ever frowned over 
 an abyss ; while the gentle mist, " like children gone to their even- 
 ing repose," slept here and there in chasms that seemed fit only 
 as a place of rendezvous for the storm. Strangely wild and majes- 
 tic towered away those peaks on the vision. I gazed and gazed, 
 reluctant to say farewell to the wondrous scene. 
 
 Just then, a body of mist riding the mountain blast, swept over 
 us, veiling every thing in impenetrable gloom, while the rain be- 
 gan to descend in torrents. Sheltering ourselves under the pro- 
 jecting roof of a Swiss hut that stood a little removed from the 
 path, we waited awhile for the shower to pass over, but it was 
 like waiting for a river to run by — the clouds condensed faster 
 and faster, and the day grew darker and darker, till sudden night 
 seemed about to involve every thing. A feeling of dread crept over 
 me as we wheeled out again into the rain, and turned the drooping 
 and dripping heads of our mules towards the pass. I felt as if 
 we were on the threshold of some gloomy fate, and I defy any 
 one to keep up his spirits when hanging along the cliffs of an Al- 
 pine pass in the midst of a pelting Alpine storm. We spurred 
 on, however ; now crawling over barren and desolate rocks, now 
 shooting out on to some projecting point that balanced over a deep 
 abyss filled with boiling mist, through which the torrent struggled 
 up with a muffled sound, — and now sinking into a black defile 
 through which the baffled storm went howling like a madman in 
 his cell. As I stood on a ledge, and listened to the war of the 
 elements around, suddenly through a defile that bent around a 
 distant mountain, came a cloud as black as night. Its forehead 
 was torn and rent by its fierce encounter with the cliflTs, and it 
 came sweeping down as if inherent with life and a will. It burst 
 over us, drenching us with rain, while the redoubled thunder 
 rolled and cracked among the cliflS like a thousand cannon-shot. 
 Every thing but my mule and the few feet of rock I occupied 
 would be hidden from my sight, and then would come a flash of 
 lightning, rending the robe of mist, as it shot athwart the gloom, 
 revealing a moment some black and heaven-high rock ; and then 
 
A CRUSHED HAMLET. 21 
 
 leaving all again as dark and impenetrable as ever. The path often 
 led along the face of the precipice, just wide enough for my mule ; 
 while the mist that was tossing in the abyss below, by concealing 
 its depth; added inconceivably to its mystery and terror. Thus, 
 hour after hour, we toiled on, with every thing but the few feet 
 of rock we occupied shrouded in vapour, except when it now and 
 then rent over some cliff or chasm. I was getting altogether too 
 much of sublimity, and would have gladly exchanged my certainly 
 wild enough path for three or four miles of fair trotting ground. 
 But in spite of my drenched state, I could not but laugh now and 
 then as I saw my three companions and guide straggling along in 
 Indian file, and taking with such a meek, resigned air, the rain 
 on their bowed shoulders. 
 
 As we advanced towards the latter end of the pass, I was 
 startled as though I had seen an apparition. The mist, which for 
 a long time had enshrouded every thing, suddenly parted over a 
 distant mountain slope high up on the farther side of the gulf, and 
 a small Swiss hamlet, smiling amid the green pasturages, burst 
 on the vision. I had hardly time to utter an exclamation of sur- 
 prise before it closed again as before, blotting out every thing 
 from view. I could hardly believe my own senses, so suddenly 
 had the vision come and departed, and stood a long time wait- 
 ing its re-appearance. But it came no more — the stubborn mist 
 locked it in like the hand of fate. That little eagle-nested ham- 
 let, with its sweet pasturages, came and went like a flash of light- 
 ning, yet so distinct was the impression it made, that I could now 
 almost paint it from memory. 
 
 Reaching the lower slope of the mountain, we passed a little 
 village utterly prostrate by an avalanche. The descending mass 
 of snow swept clean over it, carrying away church and all. It 
 looked as if some mighty hand had been spread out over the dwell- 
 ings, and crushed them with a single effort to the earth. It was 
 one scene of ruin and devastation, yet strange to say, though the 
 avalanche fell in the night, only two or three persons were killed. 
 In riding along it was fearful to see where an avalanche had 
 swept, bending down strong trees, as though they were reeds, in 
 its passage. 
 
 Soaked through, worn out and depressed, I was glad when the 
 
93 ' TETE NOIRE. 
 
 gloomy path around the Tete Noire (black head) opened into day- 
 light ; and the blazing pine fire that was soon kindled up in a dry 
 room, was as welcome as the face of a friend. The only relic I 
 brought away from this pass was an Alpine rose, which my guide 
 plucked from among the rocks, where it lay like a ruby amid sur- 
 rounding rubbish. 
 
 In looking over this description, I see I have utterly failed in 
 giving any adequate conception of the scenery. One would get 
 the impression that there was a single defile, dark and narrow, 
 and nothing more. But when it is remembered that we started 
 at nine, and emerged from the dark forest of Tete Noire at three ; 
 one can imagine the variety of scenery that opened like con- 
 stant surprises upon us. Now we would be climbing a steep 
 mountain — now plunging into a dark gorge filled with boiling 
 mist — now hanging along a cliff, that in its turn hung over an al- 
 most bottomless chasm — now stretching across some sweet pastu- 
 rage — now following a torrent in its desperate plunge through the 
 rocks, and now picking our careful way through as gloomy a 
 forest as ever enclosed a robber's den. I do not know how it 
 may appear in pleasant weather, but the pass of the Tete Noire 
 in the midst of an Alpine storm is not a pleasure jaunt. 
 
BATHS OF LEUK. • S3 
 
 T. 
 
 BATHS OF LEUK. 
 
 In coming from the Simplon up the Vallais to Geneva, one passed 
 the baths of Leuk, a little removed from the Rhone. This ham- 
 let, elevated 4500 feet above the level of the sea, is shut in by a 
 circular precipice that surrounds it like a mighty wall, up which 
 you are compelled to climb in steps cut in the face of the solid 
 rock. Its hot springs are visited during the summer months by 
 the French and Swiss for their healing effects. It is something 
 of a task, as one can well imagine, to get an invalid up to these 
 baths. The transportation is entirely by hand, and the terms are 
 regulated by the director of the baths. These regulations are 
 printed in French, and one relating to corpulent persons struck 
 us so comically that we give a translation of it. 
 
 " For a person over ten years of age four porters are necessary ; if he is 
 above the ordinary weight, six porters ; but if he is of an extraordinary weight, 
 and the commissary judges proper, two others may be added, but never more." 
 
 There are some dozen springs in all, the principal one of which, 
 the St. Lawrence, has a temperature of 124 deg. Fahrenheit. 
 The mode of bathing is entirely unique, and makes an American 
 open his eyes, at first, in unfeigned astonishment. The patient 
 begins by remaining in the bath the short space of one hour, and 
 goes on increasing the time till he reaches eight hours ; four before 
 breakfast and four after dinner. After each bath of four hours' 
 duration, the doctor requires one hour to be passed in bed. This 
 makes in all ten hours per day to the poor patient, leaving him 
 little time for any thing else. To obviate the tediousness of soak- 
 ing alone four hours in a private bath, the patients all bathe 
 
24 MANNER OF BATHING. . 
 
 together. A large shed divided into four compartments, each 
 capable of holding about eighteen persons, constitutes the princi- 
 pal bath house. A slight gallery is built along the partitions 
 dividing the several baths, for visitors to occupy who wish to enjoy 
 the company of their friends, without the inconvenience of lying 
 in the water. This is absolutely necessary, for if eight hours 
 are to be passed in the bath and two in bed, and the person 
 enduring all this is to be left alone in the mean time, the life of 
 an anchorite would be far preferable to it. It is solitary confine- 
 ment in the penitentiary, with the exception that the cell is a 
 watery one. All the bathers, of both sexes and all ages and con- 
 ditions, are clothed in long woollen mantles with a tippet around 
 their shoulders, and sit on benches ranged round the bath, under 
 water up to their necks. Stroll into this large bathing room 
 awhile after dinner, the first thing that meets your eye is some 
 dozen or fifteen heads bobbing up and down, like buoys, on the 
 surface of the steaming water. There, wagging backwards and 
 forwards, is the shaven crown of a fat old friar. Close beside, 
 the glossy ringlets of a fair maiden, while between, perhaps, is 
 the moustached face of an invalid officer. In another direction, 
 gray hairs are " floating on the tide," and the withered faces of 
 old dames peer " over the flood." But to sit and soak a whole 
 day, even in company, is no slight penalty, and so to while away 
 the lazy hours, one is engaged in reading a newspaper which he 
 holds over his head, another in discussing a bit of toast on a float- 
 ing table ; a third, in keeping a withered nosegay, like a water- 
 lily, just above the surface, while it is hard to tell which looks 
 most dolorous, the withered flowers or her face. In one corner 
 two persons are engaged in playing chess ; and in another, three 
 or four more, with their chins just out of water, are enjoying a 
 pleasant " tete-a-tete" about the delectability of being under 
 water, seething away at a temperature of nearly 120 deg., eight 
 hours per day. Persons making their daily calls on their friends 
 are entering and leaving the gallery, or leaning over engaged in 
 earnest conversation with those below them. Not much etiquette 
 is observed in leave-taking, for if the patient should attempt a 
 bow he would duck his head under water. Laughable as this 
 may seem, it is nevertheless a grave matter, and no one would 
 
A CURIOUS VILLAGE. 25 
 
 submit to it except for health, that boon for which the circle of 
 the world is made, the tortures of amputation endured, and the 
 wealth of the millionaire squandered. The strictest decorum is 
 preserved, and every breach of propriety punished by the worthy 
 burgomaster with a fine of two francs or thirty-seven and a half 
 cents. A set of regulations is hung against the walls specifying 
 the manner with which every patient is to conduct himself or 
 herself. — As specimens, we give articles 7 and 9, which will also 
 be found in Mr. Murray's guide book. 
 
 " Art. 7. Personne ne peut entrer dans les bains sans 6tre revetue d'une 
 chemise longue, et ample, d'une ^tofTe grossi^re, sous peine de 2 fr. d' amende." 
 
 " Art. 9. La raeme peine sera encouir par ceux qui n'en entreraient pas, 
 ou n'en sortiraient pas d'une mani^re d^cente." 
 
 Translation. Art. 7. No one is permitted to enter these baths without be- 
 ing clothed in a long, ample, and thick " chemise" under the penalty of a fine 
 of 2 francs. 
 
 Art. 9. The same penalty will be incurred by those who do not enter or de- 
 part iu a becoming manner. 
 
 Great care is taken that every thing should be done " decently 
 and in order," and there is nothing to prevent people from beha- 
 ving themselves while sitting on benches under water as well as 
 above water. 
 
 About a mile and a half from these baths is the little village of 
 Albinen, perched on the top of the precipice that hems in the 
 valley of Leuk on every side like a huge wall. The only direct 
 mode of communication between the inhabitants of Leuk and this 
 village is by a series of nearly a dozen ladders going up the face 
 of the precipice. They are of the rudest kind, and fastened to 
 the rock with hooked sticks. Yet the peasants ascend and descend 
 them all times of the day and night and at all seasons of the year. 
 The females have added to their usual dress the pantaloons of the 
 men. This has become so universal, that in climbing the moun- 
 tains around, they tuck up their dresses, and appear at a little 
 distance like boys. Thus do these rude peasantry, following the 
 instincts of nature and modesty, combine convenience and pro- 
 priety, and retain their fashions from one generation to another. 
 It is said that pantalets had their origin here. 
 
26 CASTLE OF CHILLON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE CASTLE OF CHILLON. GENEVA. JUNC- 
 TION OF THE RHONE AND ARVE. 
 
 The night after we left Martigny, we slept on the shores of 
 Lake Geneva, in close view of Chillon. This Castle has become 
 immortal by accident. In passing round Lake Geneva, in 1816, 
 Byron got caught in a rain-storm, and remained two days in the 
 little village of Ochy, in a mere hut of an inn. Having nothing 
 else to do, he wrote in the mean time, " The Prisoner of Chillon," 
 the characters of which poem lived only in his own imagination. 
 At that time he was even unacquainted with the story of Bonni- 
 vard, which might have been made the basis of a very beautiful 
 poem. When he afterwards heard of it, he wrote a sonnet on th^ 
 noble prior of Victor, in which he says : 
 
 " Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 
 
 And thy sad floor an altar ; for 'twas trod 
 
 Until its very steps have left a trace 
 Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
 By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God." 
 
 I regard the " Prisoner of Chillon" one of the most beautiful 
 pieces Byron ever wrote. It has all his passion and fancy, with- 
 out any of his wickedness. It is tender, touching and beautiful, 
 and ought to make any place immortal. Yet we confess that the 
 old castle standing on a rock in the lake did not owe its chief 
 charm to us from this poem. We thought of the patriot Bonni- 
 vard, who suffered here for endeavouring to make Geneva free. 
 A freeman, and loving freedom more than life, he withstood, 
 though only Prior of St. Victor, the tyrannical Duke of Savoy and 
 
BONNIVARD." 27 
 
 his own heartless Bishop. Driven from Geneva, he was betray, 
 ed into the hands of the Duke, and cast into a dungeon of this 
 castle, below the surface of the lake. Chained to a column of 
 stone, the bold-hearted Prior passed six long years in solitary con- 
 finement. The ring still remains in the pillar to which his chain 
 was attached, and the solid pavement is worn in, by the constant 
 tread of his feet as he paced to and fro in his dungeon. The 
 only music that greeted his ear, year after year, was the low dash- 
 ing of the waters against his prison walls, or the shock of the 
 waves as the tempest hurled them on the steadfast castle. Year 
 after year he trod the self-same spot, while the iron rusted on his 
 stiffening limbs, and hope grew fainter and fainter round his 
 heart. He struggled to free others, and got a chain upon his own 
 limbs. But he had one consolation, that which cheers the mar- 
 tyr in every age and in every noble cause : that was — 
 
 " Truth crushed to earth will rise again, 
 The eternal years of God are hers." 
 
 At length, one day, as he was slowly pacing to and fro in his si- 
 lent dungeon, he heard a murmur without, like the coming of a 
 storm. The castle quivered on its strong foundations, but it could 
 not be from the waves against its sides. He listened again; 
 there were human voices in the air, and the shout of a multitude 
 shook the very rock on which he stood. A deeper paleness spread 
 over Bonnivard's cheek, and then a sudden flush shot to his tem- 
 ples as hope kindled in his heart. Blows are mingled with the 
 shouts — the crash of falling timbers is heard — the outer gate is 
 forced, and like the blast of a trumpet rings over the storm the 
 name of " Bonnivarp ! Bonnivard !" Nothing can withstand 
 the excited throng. Bolts and, bars rend before them — the gates 
 shake, totter and fall. At length they reach Bonnivard's dun- 
 geon, against which blows are rained like hail stones. The mas- 
 sive gate quivers and yields and falls, and a thousand voices rend 
 the very walls with the shout — " Bonnivard, you are free !" 
 What said the patriot then ? Forgetful of himself — of his own 
 freedom — thinking only of his country, he cried out — 
 
 " And Geneva V 
 
 " Is FREE TOO !" came back like the roar of the sea. The 
 
ROUSSEAU. 
 
 Swiss had wrested from the hands of Charles V. of Savoy the whole 
 Pays du Vaud. Chillon held out to the last ; but besieged by 7,000 
 Swiss by land, and the Genevese gallies by sea, it was at length 
 taken. It was like waking up from a dream to Bonnivard. 
 When he descended into his dungeon, Geneva was subject to the 
 Duke of Savoy, and was a Catholic State. When he came forth, 
 Geneva was free, a republic, and professing the reformed faith. 
 
 Byron has made free use of the poet's privilege to exaggerate, 
 in speaking of the depth of the lake. He says : — 
 
 " Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls — 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow : 
 Thus much the fathom line was sent, 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement." 
 
 A poet should never go into statistics of this sort, for other folks 
 can measure as well as he, though they may not write poetry. 
 There is no place in the region of the castle more than 280 
 feet deep. 
 
 I will not weary one with the mere names of the beautiful 
 places and views around this sweet lake. The sentimentalist 
 would talk of Clarens and Rousseau and his Julie ; the sceptic, 
 of Voltaire and Ferney : but we visited neither place, having no 
 sympathy with the morbid, sickly, and effeminate sentimentality 
 of the one, or with the heartless scoffing wit of the other. The 
 garden in which Gibbon finished his history of Rome is shown at 
 Lausanne. He first conceived the idea of his history while sit- 
 ting on a broken column in the Coliseum, and ended it on the 
 banks of Lake Geneva. He says : " It was on the day or rather 
 the night of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
 that I wrote the last line of the last page, in a summer-house in 
 my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in 
 a berceau or covered walk of acacias, which commands a pros- 
 pect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was 
 temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was re- 
 flected from the waves, and all nature was silent." This re- 
 markable passage throws open the feelings of the inner man at 
 the close of his arduous work. Is it not strange that a man of 
 
GIBBON. 29 
 
 such intellect and sentiment should see no Grod in history or na- 
 ture ? In the ruins of Rome at his feet, surmounted every where 
 by the cross, he could see nothing but the work of human pas- 
 sions and human cunning. So in the placid lake, smiling in the 
 moonlight ; and in the towering Alps folding their mighty summits 
 away on the nightly heavens, he could behold nothing but the as- 
 pect of nature. To him the world had no plan or purpose, and 
 the busy centuries no mission or meaning. The heavens and the 
 earth were a mere poem — the history of man a short episode — 
 and both an accident. How a man with such views could give 
 himself up to the contemplations Gibbon did, and escape suicide, 
 is a mystery to me. I could not live in such a planless, aimless 
 creation. Give me no steady centre to these mighty mutations — 
 no stable throne amid these rocking kingdoms and shaking orbs — 
 no clear and controlling mind to this wild chaos of ideas and pas- 
 sions — no great and glorious result to all this mysterious and aw- 
 ful preparation, — and Reason herself would become as wild and 
 confused and aimless as they. A great mind, without a God, is 
 to us the most melancholy thing in the universe. 
 
 Lake Geneva lies in the shape of a half-moon with the horns 
 curved towards the South, and is the largest lake in Switzerland, 
 being 55 miles long. It has one strange phenomenon. In differ- 
 ent parts of the lake, but more frequently near Geneva, the water 
 suddenly rises, at times, from two to five feet. It never remains 
 in this position more than 25 minutes, when it again falls back to 
 its original level. These are called seiches, and the only expla- 
 nation given of them is the unequal pressure of the atmosphere 
 on the surface at different times. This, however, is mere con- 
 jecture. 
 
 But the shores constitute the beauty of Lake Geneva. Sloping 
 down to the water's edge, covered with villas, villages, and culti- 
 vated fields, and hallowed by such sweet as well as stirring asso- 
 ciations, it seems more like a dream-land than a portion of our 
 rough earth. There is an atmosphere, an influence, a something 
 around it that takes the heart captive at once, and the lips will 
 murmur 
 
 " Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake 
 With the wild world I dwell in, is a thing 
 
30 CALVIN. 
 
 Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring : 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from destruction ; once I loved 
 Tom ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
 Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved 
 That I with stern delights should e'er hav% been thus moved. 
 
 It is the hush of night, aftd all between 
 Thy margin and the mountains, dusk yet clear, 
 Mellowed and mingled, yet distinctly seen, 
 Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
 Precipitously steep ; and drawing near 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
 Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good night carol more. 
 
 At intervals some bird from out the brakes 
 Starts into life a moment, then is still ; 
 There seems a floating whisper on the hill. 
 But that is fancy, — for the starlight dews 
 All silently their tears of Icve instil. 
 Weeping themselves away." 
 
 Yet quiet and dreamy as these shores appear, stern practical 
 men have lived upon them, and the name of Calvin goes down 
 with that of Geneva and Switzerland in the history of the world. 
 Calvin and Rousseau ! what a strange connection ; yet they are 
 linked together in the history of Geneva. The church still stands 
 where the itinerant preacher and foreigner first thundered forth 
 his denunciations against the dissolute town. Elevated to the 
 control of the republic, he was just the man to sway its turbulent 
 democracy. Stern, fearless, and decided, he marked out his 
 course of policy, and made every thing bend to it. Take even 
 some of the most arbitrary of his enactments, and they show the 
 clear-sightedness of the man. Among them we find that only 
 five dishes were allowed for a dinner to ten persons. Plush 
 breeches were forbidden to be worn ; violation of the Sabbath 
 was punished by a public admonition from the pulpit, and adul- 
 tery with death ; while the gamester was exposed in the pillory, 
 with a pack of cards suspended round his neck. These things 
 
JUNCTION OF THE RHINE AND ARVE. 31 
 
 awaken a smile or sneer in these more liberal days, but whoever 
 shall write the last history of republics will prove that such ap- 
 parently bigoted enactments, sprung out of the clearest practical 
 wisdom. A republic without the severity of Puritan manner, we 
 believe is impossible for any length of time ; that is while men are 
 so depraved they will use their liberty for the gratification of their 
 passions. The (so called) "straight-laced Puritan" is, after all, 
 the only man who knows any thing of the true genius of a repub- 
 lic among men such as we find them. Calvin and Rousseau ! 
 which, after all, was the true republican ? the sentimental dream- 
 er or the stern Presbyterian ? These two names stand in Geneva 
 like great indexes, pointing out the characters of the 30,000 per- 
 sons who annually pass through it, by showing which way their 
 sympathies flow. One portion looks on Calvin to sneer, the other 
 on Rousseau to sigh. , . 
 
 The deep blue tint of the waters of the Rhone as it leaves the 
 lake has often been commented upon. As it rushes under the 
 bridges of the town, it looks as if a vast quantity of indigo had 
 been emptied into it, tinging it as we have seen water in no other 
 part of the world. About a mile and a half from town, this stream 
 of " heavenly dye" receives the turbid waters of the Arve into its 
 bosom. The Arve is a furious stream, and comes pouring down 
 from Mont Blanc, loaded with the debris of the mountains, till 
 it looks like a river of mud. When the clear blue Rhone first 
 meets this rash innovator of its purity, it refuses to hold any com- 
 panionship with it, and retires in apparent disgust to the opposite 
 bank, and for a long way the waters flow on with the separating 
 line between the muddy white and pellucid blue, as clearly drawn 
 as the shore itself. But the Arve finally conquers, and fuses all 
 its corrupt waters into the Rhone, which never after recovers its 
 clearness till it falls into the sea. We followed the bank along 
 for some distance, watching with the intensest interest this strug- 
 gle between corruption and purity. There was an angry, rash, 
 and headlong movement to the turbid Arve, while the stainless 
 waters of the Rhone seemed endeavouring, by yielding, to escape 
 the contagious touch of its companion. What a striking emblem 
 of the steady encroachment of bad principles and desires when 
 once admitted into the heart, or of the corrupting influence of 
 
32 JUNCTION OF THE RHINE AND ARVE. 
 
 bad companionship on a pure mind. The Arve, for the time 
 being, seemed endowed with consciousness, and a feeling of 
 anger involuntarily arose within me at its unblushing effrontery 
 in thus crowding back the beautiful Rhone from its own banks, 
 and forcing it to receive its disgusting embrace. The world is 
 full of histories of which the Rhone and Arve are the type. 
 
FREYBOURG ORGAN. 
 
 y^ 
 
 VII. 
 
 FREYBOURG ORGAN AND BRIDGES.— SWISS 
 PECULIARITIES. 
 
 Nothing strikes the traveller more than the peculiar custom* 
 attached to the separate cantons of Switzerland. Although bor- 
 dering on each other, and each but a few miles across, yet they 
 retain from generation to generation their own peculiar dress and 
 money. The traveller becomes perfectly confused with the latter.. 
 The dress of the female peasantry is not only dissimilar in the dif- 
 ferent cantons, but odd as it well can be. In one, the head-dress 
 will be an immensely broad-brimmed straw hat, without any per- 
 ceptible crown ; in another a man's hat ; in a third a diminutive 
 thing perched on the top of the head ; and in a fourth a black 
 crape cap, with a wing on each side projecting out like huge fans. 
 The latter you find in Freybourg, and this reminds us of the two 
 magnificent wire bridges in the town itself, and the immense or- 
 gan. The latter has 7800 pipes, some of them 32 feet long, and 
 64 stops. It is an instrument of tremendous power, and though 
 the traveller is compelled to pay eleven francs to hear it on a week- 
 day, it is worth the money. At first, one imagines a trick is 
 played upon him, and that a full orchestra accompanies the or- 
 gan. The mellow tones melt in and float away with the heavier 
 notes, as if a band of musicians were playing out of sight. Many 
 refuse to believe it is not a deception till they go up and examine 
 every part of the instrument. The effect is perfectly bewildering. 
 There is the trombone, the clarionet, the flute, the fife, and ever 
 and anon, the clear ringing note of the trumpet. The perform- 
 ance is closed with an imitation of a thunder storm, in which the 
 wonderful power of the instrument is fully tested. At first you 
 
 4 
 
34 THE TWO SUSPENSION BRIDGES. 
 
 hear the low distant growl swelling up, and then slowly dying 
 away. The next peal breaks on the ear with a more distinct and 
 threatening sound. Nearer and nearer rolls up the thunder-cloud, 
 sending its quick and heavy discharges through the atmosphere, 
 till clap follows clap with stunning rapidity, rolling and crashing 
 through the building till its solid arches tremble as if the real 
 thunders of heaven were bursting overhead. I did not dream 
 that a single instrument could possess so much power. 
 
 There are two suspension bridges in Freybourg ; one remark- 
 able for its great length, the other for its extreme beauty. The 
 latter connects the top of two mountains, swinging over a fright- 
 ful gulf that makes one dizzy to look down into. There are no 
 buttresses or mason- work in sight at a little distance. Shafts are 
 sunk in the solid rock of the mountains, down which the wires that 
 sustain it are dropped. There it stretches, a mere black line near- 
 ly 300 feet in the heavens, from summit to summit. It looks like 
 a spider's web flung across a chasm ; its delicate tracery show- 
 ing clear and distinct against the sky. While you are looking at 
 the fairy creation suspended in mid-heaven, almost expecting the 
 next breeze will waft it away, you see a heavy wagon driven on 
 it. You shrink back with horror at the rashness that could trust 
 so frail a structure at that dizzy height. But the air-hung cob- 
 web sustains the pressure, and the vehicle passes in safety. In- 
 deed, weight steadies it, while the wind, as it sweeps down the 
 gulf, makes it swing under you. 
 
 The large suspension bridge is supported on four cables of iron 
 wire, each one composed of 1,056 wires. As the Menai bridge of 
 Wales is often said to be longer than this, we give the dimensions 
 of both as we find them in Mr. Murray : Freybourg, length 905 
 feet, height 174 feet, breadth 28 feet ; Menai, length 580 feet, 
 height 130 feet, breadth 25 feet. A span of 905 feet, without any 
 intermediate pier, seems impossible at first, and one needs the tes- 
 timony of his own eyes before he can fully believe it. 
 
 But to the customs of the Swiss. I do not speak of them here 
 because I have witnessed them all thus far on my route, or in any 
 part of it, but because they seem to fill out a chapter best just 
 here. Of some of these customs I speak as an eye-witness — of 
 others simply as a historian. There is one connected with edu- 
 
THE ALP HORN. 35 
 
 cation which exerts a wonderful influence on society. In the 
 large towns the children of similar age and sex are gathered to- 
 gether by their parents in little societies called societies des dimaU" 
 ches. These little clubs are composed of twelve or fourteen chil- 
 dren, selected by the parents with a view to their adaptedness to 
 amuse and benefit each other. They meet in turn at the houses 
 of the different parents every Sabbath eveping. Their nurses are 
 with them, and the time is spent in amusements common to chil- 
 dren. As they grow older these amusements are combined with 
 instruction. This kind of intimacy creates strong friendships 
 which last long after they are dispersed and scattered over the 
 world, and even through life. Girls thus linked together in child- 
 hood retain their affection in maturer life, and even in womanhood 
 distinguish each other by the tender appellations of ^^ma mignon- 
 ne," " mon cceur" " mon ange^ This is one great reason why 
 Swiss society is so exclusive, and it is so difficult for a stranger 
 to press beyond its mere formalities. The rank of the husband 
 in Switzerland depends altogether upon that of his wife. Imme- 
 diately on their marriage he steps into her rank, be it above or 
 below that which he formerly occupied. 
 
 There has been much written about Swiss melodies, and the 
 custom of singing in the open air, in that clear high falsetto is 
 singularly wild and thrilling. The cow herds and dairy maids 
 seem never weary of mingling their voices together in the clear 
 mountain air of the Alps. The effect of it on the traveller is of- 
 ten astonishing. Southey, in speaking of it, says, " Surely the 
 wildest chorus that was ever heard by human ears : a song not 
 of articulate sounds, but in which the voice is used as a mere in- 
 strument of music, more flexible than any which art could pro- 
 duce ; sweet, powerful and thrilling beyond description." The 
 Alp horn, which is merely a tube of wood five or six feet long, 
 bound about with birch bark, is capable of the most melodious 
 sound, when softened and prolonged by the mountain echoes, I 
 ever heard. 
 
 Nothing in my boyhood captivated my imagination more than 
 the custom which was said to prevail in Switzerland, of the peas- 
 antry calling out to each other, as the last sunlight lefl the highest 
 Alpine peak, — " Praise the Lord." But it loses some of its poe- 
 
36 VESPERS IN THE ALPS. 
 
 try heard on the spot. It is confined to the more rude and pastoral 
 districts in the Catholic cantons. Having no church near to ring 
 the accustomed vesper bell, its place is supplied by the Alp horn. 
 A cowherd stationed on the highest peaks reclines along some 
 rock, and as the golden sunlight leaves the last heaven-piercing 
 snow-summit, he utters through his mellow horn the first five or 
 six notes of the psalm commencing " Praise ye the Lord." The 
 strain is caught up and prolonged by the mountain echoes and 
 answered from other distant peaks, till the soul-thrilling cadences 
 seem to die away on the portals of heaven. The tones of the horn 
 are indescribably sweet and subduing, awaking all the dormant 
 poetry of a man's nature. But the custom which once seemed to 
 me to be the very embodiment of religion and poetry together, ap- 
 peared, after all, a very business-like and prosaic matter. It be- 
 ing necessary to carry out the Catholic observance, a horn is sub- 
 stituted for the vesper bell, which one hears ringing every evening 
 in Catholic countries for the same purpose. There is just as 
 much religion in the call of the muezzin from the minaret of some 
 Moslem tower, which one hears at every turn in Turkey. Nay 
 this very custom, which has been more spoken of, more poetized, 
 perhaps, than all others, prevails in some parts of our own country. 
 I remember being in my grown-up boyhood once in an Indian 
 missionary station of the Methodist denomination, where a similar 
 expedient was adopted. Strolling at evening along the banks of 
 a stream, I suddenly heard the prolonged blast of a horn sound- 
 ing very much like a dinner horn. Its long continuance at that 
 time of night awakened my curiosity, and on inquiring the cause 
 of it, I was informed it was to call the Indians to prayer meeting. 
 A conch shell had supplied the place of a bell. Bending my own 
 steps thither, I arrived just in time to find a low school-house 
 crowded with dusky visages, while the whole multitude was sing- 
 ing at the top of their voices " Old ship Zion." Here was the 
 Alpine custom on which so much sentiment has been expended, 
 but combined with vastly more sense and religion. 
 
 At the sound of this vesper bell, alias Alp horn, the peasants 
 uncover tlieir heads, and falling on their knees repeat their eveil- 
 ing prayers, and then shut up their cattle and retire to their 
 homes. 
 
RANZ DES VACHES. 37 
 
 The " Ranz des Vaches,'* which is commonly supposed to be a 
 single air, stands in Switzerland for a class of melodies, the lite- 
 ral meaning of which is cow-rows. The German word is Kurei- 
 hen — rows of cows. It derives its origin from the manner the 
 cows march home along the Alpine paths at milking time. The 
 shepherd goes before, keeping every straggler in its place by the 
 tones of his horn, while the whole herd wind along in Indian file 
 obedient to the call. From its association it always creates 
 home-sickness in a Swiss mountaineer when he hears it in a for- 
 eign land. It is said these melodies are prohibited in the Swiss 
 regiments attached to the French army because it produces so 
 many desertions. One of the " Ranz des Vaches^' brings back to 
 his imagination his Alpine cottage — the green pasturage — the 
 bleating of his mountain goats — the voices of the milk-maids, and 
 all the sweetness and innocence of a pastoral life ; till his heart 
 turns with a sad yearning to the haunts of his childhood and the 
 spot of his early dreams and early happiness. 
 
 The Swiss retain their old fondness for rifle shooting, and there 
 is annually a grand rifle match at some of the large towns, made 
 up of the best marksmen in all Switzerland. There are also 
 yearly contests in wrestling called Zwing Feste, the most distin- 
 guished wrestlers at which are from Unterwalden, Appenzel and 
 Berne. Goitre and Cretinism prevail in some parts of the Alps 
 to a fearful extent, and have prevailed for ages if we can believe 
 Juvenal, who asks — 
 
 " Quis tumidum guttur rairatur in Alpibus ?" 
 
 Goitre, it is well known, is a swelling of the thyroid gland or ad- 
 joining parts in front of the neck. It increases with years and 
 hangs down on the breast in a most disgusting and shocking man- 
 ner. The painful spectacle almost destroys one's pleasure in 
 travelling in many parts of the Alps. Cretinism inhabits the 
 same localities, and is still more painful, for it affects the mind. 
 The limbs become shrivelled and shrunk, the head enlarged, and 
 the afllicted being an idiot. He sits in the sun all day long, and 
 as you approach clamours piteously for money. Dr. McClelland 
 made experiments over a territory of more than a thousand square 
 miles, to test the effect of certain localities on this disease. Mr. 
 
38 GOITRE CRETINIM. 
 
 Murray quotes from him the following statement showing the pro- 
 portion between the healthy and sick : as the result of his obser- 
 vation, 
 
 Granite and gneiss — ^goitre 1-500 ; cretins none. 
 
 Mica slate and hornblende slate — goitre none ; cretins none. 
 
 Clay slate — goitre 1-136; cretins none. 
 
 Transition slate — goitre 1-149 ; cretins none. 
 
 Steatic sandstone — ^goitre none ; cretins none. 
 
 Calcareous rock — goitre 1-3 ; cretins 1-32. 
 
 Thus it is seen that low and moist places are more subject to 
 these diseases, while the high and dry portions are comparatively 
 exempt. Confined vallies and ground frequently overflowed are 
 also unfavorable localities. The goitre is hereditary, but does 
 not make its appearance till puberty. It is more common among 
 the females than males. 
 
 How singular it is that among the most glorious scenery on the 
 earth, we find man subject to a disease that deforms him the most. 
 And what is still more singular, it is among the most beautiful 
 vallies in all the Alps that the inhabitants are peculiarly subject 
 to these diseases. Thus beauty and deformity go hand in hand 
 over the world. 
 
SCENERY ABOUT INTERLACHEN. 39 
 
 Yin. 
 
 INTERLACHEN, PASS OF THE WENGERN ALP, 
 BYRON'S MANFRED. 
 
 Interlachen is as sweet a valley as ever slept in the bosom of 
 nature. At a little distance from it, Lake Thun, with its placid 
 sheet of water, stretches up towards Berne, serving as a mirror to 
 the snow-peaks of Stockhorn, Wiesen, Eigher and Monch, that 
 rise in solemn majesty from its quiet shore. An English yacht 
 has been turned into a steamboat, whose tiny proportions remind 
 one more of a slender model in a toy-shop than a real practical 
 steamboat. 
 
 Interlachen seems out of the world, and its retired position and 
 magnificent scenery have converted it into an English colony; for 
 two-thirds of the summer visitors are Englishmen. All the 
 houses seem " pensions" or boarding houses, and with their white- 
 washed walls and large piazzas burst on you at every step from 
 amid the surrounding trees. Set back in the bosom of the Alps, 
 with the Jungfrau rising in view — its endless rides and shaded 
 walks make it one of the sweetest spots in the world. And then 
 in summer, the contrast between the richly clad visitors that swarm 
 it in every direction, and the rustic appearance of the peasantry 
 and the place itself, make it seem more like a dream-land. Near 
 by are the ruins of the castle of Unspunnen, the reputed resi- 
 dence of Manfred. Standing as it does in the very midst of the 
 scenery in which that drama is laid, Byron doubtless had it in 
 mind when he wrote it. Near by, in the quiet valley, there are 
 every year gymnastic games among the peasantry, such as wrest- 
 ling, pitching the stone, &c. These games owed their origin to 
 a touching incident in the history of Burkhard, the last male de- 
 
40 THE GORGE OF LUTSCHINE. 
 
 scendant of the family who owned the castle. A young knight 
 belonging to the court of Berchtold of Zahringen fell in love with 
 Ida, the only daughter of the proud Burkhard ; but as a deadly 
 feud had long subsisted between the two families, the old baron 
 sternly refused his consent to the marriage. The result was that 
 the young Rudolph scaled the castle walls one night, and, carry- 
 ing off the willing Ida, made her his bride. A bloody war com- 
 menced, which was carried on without advantage to either party. 
 At length, one day, as the old baron was sitting moodily in his 
 room, pondering on his desolate condition, the door gently opened, 
 and young Rudolph and Ida stood before him, holding their beau- 
 tiful and fair-haired boy by the hand. Without attendants, alone 
 and unarmed, they had thrown themselves in simple faith, on the 
 strength of a father's love. The silent appeal was irresistible. 
 The old man opened his arms, and his children fell in tears on 
 his bosom. He received them into his castle, made Rudolph heir 
 to his vast possessions, and said, " Let this day be forever cele- 
 brated among us." Rustic games were established in conse- 
 quence, and now, with every return of the day, the sweet valley 
 of Interlachen rings with the mirth of the mountaineer. 
 
 It was a dark and gloomy morning when we started for Lau- 
 terbrunnen. An Alpine storm swept through the valley, and the 
 heaving, lifting clouds buried the snow-peaks around in impene- 
 trable mist, leaving only the black bases in sight. The rain 
 fell as if the clouds themselves were falling. 
 
 In the midst of this storm we plunged into the savage gorge of 
 the Lutschine, and entered upon a scene of indescribable gran- 
 deur and gloom. Perpendicular cliffs rose on each side, against 
 which the angry clouds were dashing in reckless energy, while 
 the black torrent of the Lutschine went roaring by, flinging its 
 spray even to our carriage wheels. As we emerged into the val- 
 ley of Lauterbrunnen, a peasant girl came to the side of the car- 
 riage, with a little basket of strawberries in her hand, and trotted 
 along by our side, singing one of those strangely wild Alpine 
 chorusses, made doubly so by the clear, ringing falsetto tone in 
 which they are sung. At Lauterbrunnen we breakfasted in a 
 cold room. I ate with my cloak on, stopping now and then to 
 warm my hands over the tea-pot. Suddenly a burst of sunlight 
 
FALLS OF STAUBACH. 41 
 
 told us the storm had broken. A general " hurra !" hailed the 
 cheering omen, and in a moment all was bustle and preparation 
 for a march over the Wengern Alp. 
 
 Nearly 20 miles were before us, and to be made at the rate 
 of about two and a half miles per hour. I let my companions 
 march on, while I paid a hasty visit to the falls of Staubach, 
 (dust-fall) so named because the water, falling from the height 
 of 800 or 900 feet, is dashed into mist before it reaches the bot- 
 tom. It comes leaping right over the top of the mountain in its 
 bold, desperate plunge for the valley. Byron, in describing it, 
 says, " The torrent is in shape, curling over the rock, like the 
 tail of a white horse streaming in the wind ; such as it might be 
 conceived would be that of the pale horse on which Death is 
 mounted in the Apocalypse. It is neither mist nor water : but 
 something between both. Its immense height gives it a wave or 
 curve — a spreading here and a condensation there — wonderful 
 and indescribable." After getting pretty well soaked in its 
 spray, I plucked a blue flower near its foot, and turned to join 
 my companions, who were now slowly winding up the opposite 
 mountain in a narrow mule-path, that seemed itself to have a 
 hard struggle to master the bold hill. Up and up we panted, 
 now rejoicing in the clear sunlight, and now drenched in rain as 
 a cloud dashed over us. Reaching at length a long slope of pas- 
 turage land, I ran to the edge of a precipice and looked down on 
 the valley of Lauterbrunnen, now dwindled to a green ditch — and 
 across on Staubach^ that seemed merely a silver thread dangling 
 over the rock. The echo of the woodman's axe came at intervals 
 across the valley, whose shining steel I could see through my 
 glass, coming down for a second blow ere the sound of the first 
 could reach me. 
 
 Pressing slowly up the ascent, my steps were suddenly arrest- 
 ed by one of the sweetest, clearest tones I ever heard. Rich, 
 mellow and full, it rose and fell in heart-piercing melody along 
 the mountain. It was the Alpine horn. This instrument, which 
 I have described before, is a great favourite of the Swiss. A 
 young mountaineer lay stretched on a rock, across which the 
 horn rested, and saluted us as we approached with one of the 
 wildest yet softest strains I ever listened to. He had selected a 
 
THE ALP-HORN. 
 
 spot where the echo was the clearest and the longest prolonged, 
 and I stood in perfect raptures as the sound was caught up by 
 peak after peak, and sent back in several distinct echoes. Long 
 after the mountaineer had ceased blowing would the different 
 peaks catch up the simple notes and throw them onward, refined 
 and softened till it seemed like a concert of unseen beings breath- 
 ing their mellowest strains in responsive harmony. I looked on 
 those awfully wild precipices that scoffed the heavens with their 
 jagged and broken summits, with increased respect every mo- 
 ment, from the sweet rich tones they were thus able to send back. 
 But I must confess they were the roughest looking choristers I 
 ever saw perform. It seemed really a great feat to make such 
 music, and I thought I would try my skill ; so putting my mouth 
 to the instrument I blew away — Heavens ! what a change ! — 
 every mountain seemed snarling at me, and the confused echoes 
 finally settled down into a steady growl. I gave back the horn 
 to the young mountaineer, while the peaks around suddenly fell 
 fifty per cent, in my estimation. 
 
 A July sun pretended to be shining, but we soon after came 
 on fresh snow that had fallen the night before. Byron pelted 
 Hillhouse on this spot with snow-balls — I pelted my guide, though 
 the poor fellow had not the faintest idea, as he dodged and ducked 
 his head to escape the balls, that I was making him stand as rep- 
 resentative of Hillhouse. Before us rose the Jungfrau, clothed 
 with snow of virgin purity from the base to the heaven-piercing 
 summit. A deep ravine separates the path of the traveller from 
 the mountain, which from its colossal size so destroys the effect 
 of distance, that although miles intervene, it seems but a few 
 rods off. 
 
 Reaching the chalet near the summit, we stopped to rest and 
 to hear the roar of avalanches, that fell every few minutes from 
 the opposite mountains. I wish I could convey some idea of the 
 stupendous scenery that here overwhelms the amazed spectator. 
 Look up and up, and see the zenith cut all up with peaks, white 
 as unsullied snow can make them, while ever and anon adown 
 their pure bosoms streams the reckless avalanche, filling these 
 awful solitudes with its thunder, till the heart stops and trembles 
 in the bosom. I never before stood so humbled in the presence 
 
WONDERFUL ECHO. 43 
 
 of nature. Sometimes you would see the avalanches as they 
 rushed down the mountain, and sometimes you caught only their 
 roar, as they fell from the opposite side of some cliff, into a gulf 
 untrod by foot of man or beast. 
 
 Byron says, in his journal of the view from the summit, " On 
 one side our view comprised the Jungfrau with all her glaciers, 
 then the Dent d'Argent, shining like truth ; then the little giant 
 and the great giant ; and last, not least, the Wetterhorn. Heard 
 the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly. The clouds 
 rose from the opposite valley curling up perpendicular precipices, 
 like the foam of the ocean of hell during springtide — it was white 
 and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance.'* 
 
 The keeper of the chalet had a small Mortar, which he fired 
 off at our request. Ten distinct echoes came back. From deep 
 and awful silence these innumerable peaks seemed aroused into 
 sudden and almost angry life. Report after report, like the rapid 
 discharge of a whole bank of artillery, thundered through the clear 
 air. At length the echoes one by one sunk slowly away, and I 
 thought all was over. Fainter and fainter they grew till nothing 
 but a low rumbling sound was heard in the distance, when sud- 
 denly, without warning or preparation, there was a report like the 
 blast of the last trumpet. I instinctively clapped my hands to my 
 ears in affright. It came from the distant Wetterhorn, and rolled 
 and rattled and stormed through the mountains, till it seemed as 
 if every peak was loosened from its base, and all were falling and 
 crushing together. It was absolutely terrific. Its fearful echo 
 had scarcely died away before the avalanches which the sudden 
 jar had loosened began to fall. Eight fell in almost as many 
 minutes. The thunder of one blended in with the thunder of 
 another, till one continuous roar passed along the mountains. 
 The tumult ceased as suddenly as it commenced and the deep 
 and awful silence that followed was painful ; and my imagination 
 painted those falling masses of snow and ice as half-conscious 
 monsters, crushed to death in the deep ravines. 
 
 But every flight has its fall ; and I was brought back to mat- 
 ters of fact most effectually by the very respectful request of the 
 man who fired the mortar for his pay. On asking how much he 
 demanded I found that the avalanches had cost a trifle over three 
 
44 VIEWS FROM THE WENGERN ALP. 
 
 cents apiece, to say nothing of the echoes and the hurly burly in 
 general. This was getting them dirt cheap, and I burst into a 
 laugh that might have started another avalanche without any 
 great violation of avalanche principles. 
 
 But, seriously, this multiplication and increased power of a 
 single echo was something entirely new to me, and I could not 
 have believed it possible had I not heard it. Speaking of it af- 
 terwards to a German professor, he remarked that the same thing 
 once happened to him in the Tyrol. He was travelling with an 
 English nobleman, and had come to a quiet lake amid the moun- 
 tains on the shores of which the nobleman sat dropping pebbles 
 into the clear water and watching their descent to the bottom. 
 The professor had heard of the wonderful echo in this spot ; so, 
 carefully drawing a pistol from his pocket, he suddenly fired it 
 behind the Englishman. The report that followed was like the 
 breaking up of the very foundations of nature. The nobleman 
 clapped his hands to his ears and fell on his face, thinking an 
 avalanche was certainly upon him. 
 
 About two miles from this chalet is the summit of the pass, 
 6280 feet above the level of the sea, or higher than the highest 
 mountain in the United States ; — while around rise peaks seven 
 thousand feet higher still. The view from this spot is indescri- 
 bable. The words " sublime," " grand," " awful," &c. cease to 
 have a meaning here to one who has applied them to so much 
 less objects. The mind reaches out for words to express its emo- 
 tions and finds none. The Jungfrau or Virgin — now no longer 
 virgin since a few adventurous feet have profaned the pure white 
 summit — the Monch — the Great and Little Eighers, or giants, and 
 peaks innumerable tear up the heavens on every side, while a 
 mantle of snow is wrapped over all. Glaciers cling around these 
 heaven high peaks and go streaming in awful splendour into the 
 cavities between, where they flow out into icy seas from which 
 the sunbeams flash back as from ten thousand silver helmets. 
 On this spot, amid this savage and overwhelming scenery, Byron 
 says he composed a part of his Manfred. It is his own soliloquy 
 as he gazes upward, that he puts in the mouth of Manfred. 
 
 " Ye toppling crags of ice — 
 Ye avalanches, whom 9. breath draws down 
 
MANFRED. 45 
 
 In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me ! 
 
 I hear ye momently above, beneath, 
 
 Crush with a frequent conflict, but ye pass 
 
 And only fall on things that still would live ; 
 
 On the young flourishing forest, or the hut 
 
 And hamlet of the harmless villager. 
 
 The mists boil up around the glaciers ; clouds 
 
 Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury 
 
 Like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell." 
 
 There is no work of the fancy here, no creation of the poet — it 
 is simple description — ^the plain English of what passes before 
 the traveller who stands here in early summer. The awful si- 
 lence that follows the crash of an avalanche adds tenfold sub- 
 limity and solitude to the Alps. 
 
 After having gazed our fill we mounted our animals and began 
 to descend. But the snow-crust would give way every few steps, 
 when down would go horse and rider. After having been thrown 
 two or three times over the head of my animal, I picked myself 
 up for the last time, and with the sullen unamiable remark that he 
 might take care of himself, made my way on foot. Coming at 
 length to solid ground I looked back to see how he got along, and 
 could not but laugh at the sorry figure he cut in the snow. The 
 crust would bear him for several steps, when down he would go 
 to his girth. Extricating himself with great care he would step 
 gingerly along with nose close to the surface and half crouched 
 up as if he expected every moment another tumble. His ex- 
 pectations I must say were seldom disappointed, till at length 
 when he came to where I stood he looked as meek and subdued 
 as a whipped hound. 
 
 Mounting, we rode away for the valley of Grindelwald. 
 
46 VALLEY OF GRINDELWALD. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE GRAND SCHEIDECK: AN AVALANCHE. 
 
 The little valley of Grindelwald received us as we descended 
 the Wengern Alp. Before entering it, as we passed down the 
 mountain, up to our hips in snow, one of those picturesque scenes 
 which so often occur in Switzerland burst upon us. From a 
 deep valley directly beneath us, smiling in all the frewshness of 
 summer vegetation, came the tinkling of hundreds of bells. The 
 green pasturage was literally covered with herds of cattle, and 
 flocks of goats. All around, rose the gigantic snow peaks and 
 hung the fearful precipices, while there on that green secluded 
 spot was the perfect impersonation of repose and quiet. The 
 music of those countless bells rung and mingled in the clear 
 mountain air in endless variations, and were sent back by the giant 
 peaks, redoubled and multiplied, till there was a perfect storm of 
 sound. As I passed down through the snow, the echoes grew 
 fainter and fainter, till the mountains held them all in their own 
 bosom — yet that scene of quietness and beauty has left its im- 
 pression forever on my heart. 
 
 As I descended into the valley of Grindelwald, and saw the 
 brown huts sprinkled all over the distant slopes, I felt how hard 
 it must be to conquer Switzerland. When an army had wound 
 over the narrow and difficult pass, and driven back the hardy 
 mountaineers, and burned up their homes, still they had not con- 
 quered them. Hid amid hollows and fastnesses, unknown to their 
 enemies, they could put them at defiance forever. 
 
 While tea was preparing, I walked through the valley and past 
 the parsonage, into which the minister and his two daughters 
 
A GLACIER. 47 
 
 were just entering, from their evening walk. The valley lay in 
 deep shadow, while the last sunbeams still lingered on a distant 
 glacier, that shone like burnished silver in the departing light. 
 That sweet parsonage, in that quiet spot, amid the everlasting 
 Alps and the roar of its torrents and avalanches, seemed almost 
 beyond the reach of heart-sickening cares and disappointments. 
 I grew weary of my roving, and felt that I had found at last one 
 spot out of human ills. Just then, I remembered that the pastor 
 and his two daughters were clad in deep mourning. " Ah V^ I 
 sighed, as I turned away, " death has been here, turning this 
 quiet spot into a place of tears. He treads an Alpine valley with 
 as firm a step and unrelenting a mien as the thronged street ; 
 and man may search the world over, and he will only find at last 
 a spot on which to grieve." 
 
 While at tea, three peasant girls came into the room and began 
 one of their Alpine choruses, in that high, clear falsetto you hear 
 nowhere but in Switzerland. These chants are singularly wild 
 and thrilling, and in the present instance were full of sweetness ; 
 but their eflTect was lost the moment I remembered it was all done 
 for money. 
 
 The day had been one of toil, snd the night was disturbed and 
 restless. Unable to sleep, I rose about midnight and looked out 
 of my window, and lo ! the moon hung right over a clear, cold 
 glacier, that seemed almost within reach of my hand. The silent, 
 white and mighty form looked like a monster from the unseen 
 world, and I fairly shuddered as I gazed on it. It seemed to hang 
 over the little hamlet like a cold and silent foe. In the morn- 
 ing, I went under it. These masses of ice melt in the summer, 
 where they strike the valley, and the superincumbent weight 
 presses down, urging up rocks and earth that no power of man could 
 stir. This slowly descending glacier had done its share of this 
 work, and had thrown up quite a hill, where it had plunged its 
 mighty forehead in the earth ; but had encountered in its passage one 
 rock that seemed a mere projection from the solid stratum below, 
 and hence could not be moved. The glacier had therefore 
 shoved slowly over it, leaving a cave running from the foot up to 
 where the rock lay imbedded in it. I entered this cave, and the 
 green and blue roof was smooth as polished silver, while a pool at 
 
48 AN AVALANCHE. 
 
 the bottom, acting as a mirror to this mirror, perfectly bewildered 
 the eye in looking into it. 
 
 There are two glaciers that descend entirely into the valley, 
 and push their frozen torrents against the bosoms of the green 
 pasturages. Their silvery forms fringed with fir trees, while 
 their foreheads are bathed in the green meadow below, furnish 
 a striking contrast to the surrounding scenery. One can ascend 
 for nearly four miles along the margin of the lower glacier on 
 his mule, and will be amply repaid for the trouble. It was on 
 this glacier that the clergyman of Vevay, M. Mouron, was lost 
 — the account of which is in almost every book of travels. It 
 was supposed at first that his guide had murdered him ; but after 
 twelve days search his body was found at the bottom of a crevice 
 in the ice, said to be seven hundred feet deep. A guide was let 
 down to the bottom by a rope, with a lantern round his neck, and 
 after descending twice in vain, the third time was drawn up with 
 the body in his arms. He was much broken and bruised, but it 
 was impossible to tell whether he was killed instantly by the fall, 
 or whether he lay crushed in that awful chasm, breathing his life 
 away in protracted gasps. 
 
 Mounting our horses, we started for the grand Scheideck, near- 
 ly eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. As we ap- 
 proached that '•' peak of tempests" — the Wetterhorn — whose bare 
 cliff rose straight up thousands of feet from the path to the regions 
 of eternal snow, one of the guides exclaimed — " Voila ! voila .'" 
 and another in German, " Sehen sie t sehen sie .'" while I scream- 
 ed in English, Look ! Took ! And it was time to look ; for from 
 the topmost height of the Wetterhorn suddenly arose something 
 like white dust, followed by a movement of a mighty mass, and 
 the next moment an awful white form leaped away, and, with 
 almost a single bound of more than two thousand feet,* came di- 
 rectly into our path, a short distance before us. As it struck the 
 earth, the crushed snow rose like vapour from the foot of a cata- 
 ract, and rolled away in a cloud of mist over a hill of fir trees, 
 which it sprinkled white in its passage. The shock was like a 
 
 * The guide said between two and three thousand feet. I have tried in vain 
 to ascertain the exact distance from the top to the path. 
 
THE WITTERHORN. 49 
 
 falling rock, and the echo sounded along the Alpine heights like 
 the roll of far off cannon, and died away over their distant tops. 
 One of the guides, belonging to a Scotch gentleman who had that 
 morning joined our party, was an old traveller in the Alps, and 
 he said that in all his wanderings he had never seen any thing 
 equal to it. That serene peak, resting far away up in the clear, 
 rare atmosphere — the sudden commotion, and that swift descend- 
 ing form of terror, are among the distinct and vivid things of 
 memory. 
 
 As we rounded the point where this avalanche struck, we came 
 nearly under the most awful precipice that I ever saw or dream- 
 ed of How high that perpendicular wall of Alpine limestone 
 may be I dare not hazard a conjecture, but it makes one hold his 
 breath in awe and dread to look upon it. The highest church 
 spire in America would have been a miniature toy beside it. 
 Crawling along like mere insects past the base of this " peak of 
 tempests," as its name signifies, we began to ascend the last slope 
 of the grand Scheideck. When about half way up I stopped for 
 a long time, hoping I might see another avalanche spring away 
 from its high resting place. I was fairly out of harm's way, and 
 hence could enjoy the bold leap of a snow precipice from the cliffs 
 of the Wetterhorn. I was the more anxious, as avalanches are 
 generally, to the eye, mere slender torrents streaming down the 
 mountain side. The distance dwindles the roaring, thundering 
 mass to a mere rivulet, but this was massive and awful enough 
 for the gods themselves. But I waited in vain. The bright sun 
 fell full on the dazzling top, but not a snow-wreath started, and I 
 turned away disappointed towards the top of the pass. 
 
 The descent into Meyringen was charming. Afler having 
 passed through the Schwartzwald (dark wild), we came upon a 
 perfectly level, smooth and green pasturage. A gentle rivulet 
 skirted one side of it, while at one end stood a single Swiss cot- 
 tage. I left the path that went into the hills from the farther 
 corner, and rode to the end and looked back. From my horse's 
 feet, up to the very cliffs that frown in savage grandeur over it, 
 went that sweet greensward ; while at the left rose a glacier of 
 the purest white that fairly dazzled the eyes as the sunbeams fell 
 in their noontide splendour upon it. That beautiful, quiet plat 
 
 5 
 
50 AN ALPINE VALLEY. 
 
 of ground — the dark fir trees environing it — the cliffs that leaned 
 above it, and that spiritually white glacier contrasting with the 
 bright green below, combined to form a group and a picture that 
 seemed more like a vision than a real scene. I gazed in silent 
 rapture upon it, drinking in the beauty and strangeness of that 
 scene, till I longed to pitch my tent there forever. That level 
 greensward seemed to rest like a fearless, innocent child in the 
 rough embrace of the great forms around it. It was to me the 
 ^em of Alpine vallies. 
 
 There is no outward emblem of peace and quietness so striking 
 .as one of these green spots amid the Alps. The surface of a 
 •summer lake stirred by no breeze — the quiet night and quieter 
 stars are not so full of repose. The contrast is not so great. 
 Place that quiet lake amid roaring billows, and the repose it 
 symbolised would be doubly felt. So amid the Alps. The aw- 
 ful scenery that folds in one of these sweet spots of greensward 
 makes it seem doubly sweet and green. It imparts a sort of con- 
 sciousness to the whole, as if there was a serene trust, a feeling 
 of innocence in the brightly smiling meadow. It seems to let it- 
 self be embraced by those rude and terrific forms without the least 
 fear, and smiles back in their stern and savage faces, as if it knew 
 it could not be harmed. And the snow peaks and threatening 
 precipices look as if proud of their innocent child, guarding it 
 with savage tenderness. What beauty God has scattered over 
 the earth ! On the frame- work of the hills, and the valleys they 
 enclose — on cliff and stream, sky and earth, He has drawn the 
 lines of beauty and grandeur with a pencil that never errs. But 
 especially amid the Alps does he seem to have wrought with sub- 
 limest skill. All over its peaks and abysses has he thrown the 
 mantle of his Majesty ; while its strong avalanches, falling all 
 alone into solitudes where the foot of man has never trod, and the 
 wing of the eagle never stooped, speak " eternally of Him." 
 " The ice hills," as they leap away from their high resting place, 
 *' thunder God !" 
 
MEYRINGEN. 51 
 
 X. 
 
 VALLEY OF MEYRINGEN.-PASS OF BRUNI6. 
 
 As we descended into Meyringen, a Swiss peasant girl came 
 running up to me with an Alpine rose in her hand. If it had 
 been a spontaneous gift, I could have mused over it for an hour ; 
 but given, as it was, for money, destroyed its value, and I placed 
 it in my pocket to preserve for an American friend, to whom I 
 never designed to mention the circumstance under which it was 
 obtained. I stopped a moment to look at the Seilbach (rope fall), 
 as it hung in a long white thread from the cliff; and at the roaring 
 torrent of the Reichenbach, and then passed into the valley, which 
 was resting below in all the quietness of a summer scene. 
 
 One has peculiar feelings in entering an Alpine valley by one 
 of these fearful passes. The awful cliffs that have frowned over 
 him — the savage gorges up which his eye has strained — the tor- 
 rents and avalanches and everlasting snow that have rolled, and 
 fallen, and spread around him, have thrown his whole nature into 
 a tumult of excitement. And this stupendous scenery has gone 
 on changing, from grand to awful, till feelings of horror have be- 
 come mingled with those of sublimity ; so that when his eye first 
 rests on one of these sweet valleys smiling in the sunlight, with 
 flocks and herds scattered over its bosom, and peasants' cottages 
 standing amid the smooth greensward, the transition and contrast 
 are so great, that the quietness and repose of Eden seem suddenly 
 opened before him. From those wild and torn mountains, that 
 have folded in the path so threateningly, the heart emerges into 
 one of these valleys, like the torrent along whose course he has 
 trod in awe. The foaming cataracts and dark ravines are all 
 
52 THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 passed, and the placid stream moves, like a smile, through the 
 quiet landscape. 
 
 But this valley, so bright the first day we entered it, became 
 dreary enough before we left it. One of those dark, driving Al- 
 pine storms set in, and for three days we could not place foot 
 out of doors. The chief beauty of the valley consists in the 
 two steep parallel ranges of hills enclosing it, now and then 
 changing into cliffs, along which white cascades hang, as if sus- 
 pended there, while far distant snow peaks rise over one another 
 in every direction. The Lake of Brienze peeps modestly into 
 the farther end of it, enclosed by its ramparts of mountains. Ta- 
 king a carriage to the head of the lake, we there hired a boat to 
 Griesbaek falls. A man and his wife rowed us. After clamber- 
 ing up and down the falls, and under them, and seeing logs which 
 one of the party threw in above, leap away from their brink, we 
 went in to see the " Old Schoolmaster," and hear him and his chil- 
 dren and grandchildren sing Alpine songs, while the white water- 
 fall played a sort of bass accompaniment. The singing was very 
 fine — the best we heard in Switzerland, and after having pur- 
 chased some nick-nacks and music, and paid beforehand for a 
 farewell on the Alp-horn, which is said to sound very finely 
 from this position, we embarked once more upon the lake. The 
 " Old Schoolmaster" told us it was far better to hear the Alp-horn 
 when we had got out on the lake. Never supposing he would de- 
 ceive us, we laid by on our oars for a long time, but in vain. 
 He had fairly Jewed us. 
 
 The cliff's around this valley send down fearful torrents in the 
 spring, one of which — the Alpbach — has once buried a large part 
 of the village twenty feet deep with mud and stones. The church 
 was filled eighteen feet deep, and the black line, indicating the 
 high water mark, is still visible on the walls. The last leap of 
 the Alpbach is right over a precipice clear into the valley. From 
 the peculiar manner in which the sun strikes it, a triple rainbow 
 is formed — one of them making a complete circle around your 
 feet. To see this last, it is necessary to enter the mist, and take 
 a beautiful drenching ; but I was repaid for it, by seeing myself, 
 once in my life, with a real halo around me, and that too around 
 my feet. The beautiful ring held me in its embrace like an en- 
 
LAKE OF LUNGERN. 53 
 
 chanted circle, until the drenching mist, having finally penetrated 
 to my skin, broke the charm. I went shivering home, protesting 
 against rainbows being put in such inconvenient places. 
 
 The pass of the Brunig is a mere bridle path, but it presents 
 nothing striking to the traveller, except the charming view of the 
 valley of Meyringen, from its summit. It is a perfect picture. 
 
 The lake of Lungern, which we passed soon after descending 
 the Brunig, presents a most singular appearance. It has been 
 drained twenty feet below its original level, and the steep banks 
 that mark its former height, surround it like some old ruined wall. 
 The Kaiserstuhl, a high ridge, was stretched across the foot of the 
 lake, forming a natural dam, and heaping up the water twenty 
 feet higher than the valley below. A tunnel, 1,300 feet long, was 
 bored through this, with only a thin partition of rock left to hold 
 back the flood. Five hundred men were employed on it, reliev- 
 ing each other constantly, and for several hours at a time : for 
 the impossibility of ventilating the tunnel from above, made the 
 air very foul and dangerous. When the work was completed, 
 and floodgates constructed below to graduate the rush of the water, 
 nine hundred and fifty pounds of powder were placed in the far- 
 ther extremity of the tunnel. It was midwinter, and the lake 
 frozen over, but multitudes assembled on the morning appointed 
 for the explosion to witness the result. The surrounding hills 
 were covered with spectators, when a cannon shot from the Kai- 
 serstuhl, answered by another from the Laudenberg, announced 
 that the hour had arrived. A daring Swiss entered the tunnel 
 and fired the train. He soon reappeared in safety, while the vast 
 multitude stood in breathless anxiety, waiting the explosion. The 
 leaden minutes wore on, yet no one felt the shock. At length, at 
 the end of ten minutes, just as they had concluded it was a fail- 
 ure, two distinct though dull reports were heard. The ice lay 
 smooth and unbroken as ever, and there was a second disappoint- 
 ment, for all supposed the mine had not burst through the parti- 
 tion. But, at length, there was a shout from below, and a black 
 stream of mud and water was seen to issue from the opening, 
 showing that the work was done. This drainage was to recover 
 a large tract of land, which was a mere swamp. The object was 
 
54 ALPNACH SLIDE. 
 
 secured, but the land is hardly worth the tilling. The geologist, 
 however, will regard the portion laid bare with interest. 
 
 As we approached Lucerne, we passed the location of the fa- 
 mous Alpnach slide, made during the time of Bonaparte, for the 
 purpose of bringing timber for ship-building from the mountains. 
 It was eight miles long, and between three and four feet wide, 
 and was made of logs fastened together, so as to form a sort of 
 trough. This trough went across frightful gorges, and in some 
 instances under ground. A rill of water was directed into it to 
 lessen the friction, and prevent the logs from taking fire. A 
 tree, a hundred feet long and four feet in diameter, would shoot 
 this eight miles in six minutes. When one of these logs bolted 
 from the trough, it would shoot like an arrow through the air, and 
 if it came in contact with a tree would cut it clean in two. The 
 whole work is now destroyed. 
 
 Coming, at length, to Lake Lucerne, we took a boat and row- 
 ers, and set off for the town that stands so beautifully at its foot. 
 I had been for days in the heart of the Oberland, which contains 
 the wildest scenery in the Alps. My meat had been mostly the 
 flesh of the Chamois, while the men and the habitations I had 
 passed seemed to belong to another world. In one instance, I had 
 seen a man carrying boards strapped to his back, between three 
 and four miles to his hut, on the high pasturage grounds. There 
 was no other way of getting them there. These huts or cottages 
 (just as one likes to call them) with their low walls and over- 
 hanging roof loaded with stones and rocks, to keep them from be- 
 ing blown off when the fierce Alpine storm is on his march, have 
 an odd look ; though they are sometimes very picturesque, from 
 their position. 
 
 From such scenery and dwellings the sight of a town and 
 houses was like a sudden waking up from some strange dream. 
 
SUWARROW'S PASSAGE OF THE PRAGEL. 55 
 
 XL 
 
 SUWARROW'S PASSAGE OF THE PRAGEL. 
 
 At the head of Lake Lucerne stands the little village of Fluel- 
 len. It was here that Suwarrow, after forcing the passage of St. 
 Gothard, was finally stopped in his victorious course. The lake 
 stretched away before him, while there was not a boat with which 
 to transport his weary army over. There was no other course 
 left him on his route to Zurich but to ascend the heights of the 
 Kinzig Culm, a desperate undertaking at the best; and cross into 
 the Muotta Thai. This wonderful retreat was made while his 
 army, as it hung along the cliffs, was constantly engaged in resist- 
 ing the attack of the enemy. 
 
 It was forty-six years ago, one night in September, that the peace- 
 ful inhabitants of the Muotta Thai were struck with wonder at the 
 sudden appearance among them of multitudes of armed men of a 
 strange garb and language. They had just gathered their herds 
 and flocks to the fold, and were seeking their quiet homes that 
 slept amid the green pasturages, when, like a mountain torrent, 
 came pouring out from every defile and giddy pass, these strange, 
 unintelligible beings. From the heights of the Kinzig Culm — 
 from precipices the shepherds scarce dared to tread, they came 
 streaming with their confused jargon around the cottages of these 
 simple children of the Alps. It was Suwarrow, with twenty-four 
 thousand Russians at his back, on his march from Italy to join 
 the allied forces at Zurich. He had forced the passage of St. 
 Gothard, and had reached thus far when he was stopped by Lake 
 Lucerne, and was told that Korsakow and the main Russian army 
 at Zurich had been defeated. Indignant and incredulous at the 
 report, he would have hung the peasant who informed him, as a 
 
56 BATTLE OF MUOTTA THAL. 
 
 spy, had not the lady-mother of St. Joseph's Nunnery interceded 
 in his behalf. Here in this great Alpine valley the bold com- 
 mander found himself completely surrounded. Molitor and his 
 battalions looked down on him from the heights around the Muot- 
 ta Thai : Mortier and Massena blocked its mouth : while Le- 
 courbe hung on his rear. The Russian bear was denned, and 
 compelled, for the first time in his life, to order a retreat. He 
 wept in indignation and grief, and adopted the only alternative 
 left him, to cross the Pragel into Glarus. Then commenced one 
 of those desperate marches unparalleled in the history of man. 
 The passage of the St. Bernard, by Bonaparte, was a comforta- 
 ble march compared to it, and Hannibal's world-renowned exploit 
 mere child's play, beside it. While the head of Suwarrow's 
 column had descended the Pragel and was fighting desperately at 
 Naefels, the rear-guard, encumbered with the wounded, was 
 struggling in the Muotta Thai with Massena and his battalions. 
 Then these savage solitudes shook to the thunder of cannon and 
 roar of musketry. The startled avalanche came leaping from 
 the heights, mingling its sullen thunder with the sound of battle. 
 The frightened chamois paused on the high precipice to catch 
 the strange uproar that filled the hills. — The simple-hearted peas- 
 antry saw their green pasturages covered with battling armies, 
 and the snow-capped heights crimson with the blood of men. 
 Whole companies fell like snow-wreaths from the rocks while 
 the artillery ploughed through the den.se mass of human flesh 
 that darkened the gorge below. For ten successive days had 
 these armies marched and combated, and yet here, on the elev- 
 enth, they struggled with unabated resolution. Unable to force 
 the passage at Naefels, Suwarrow took the desperate and awful 
 resolution of leading his weary and wounded army over the 
 mountains into the Grisons. 
 
 Imagine, if you can, an awful solitude of mountains and pre- 
 cipices and glaciers piled one above another in savage grandeur. 
 Cast your eye up one of these mountains, 7,500 feet above the 
 level of the sea, along whose bosom, in a zigzag line, goes a nar- 
 row path winding over precipices and snow-fields till finally lost 
 on the distant summit. Up that difficult path and into the very 
 
DIFFICULTIES OF THE PASSAGE. 57 
 
 heart of those fearful snow-peaks has the bold Russian resolved to 
 lead his 24,000 men. 
 
 To increase the difficulties that beset him and re^der his 
 destruction apparently inevitable, the snow fell, on the morning 
 he set out, two feet deep, obliterating all traces of the path, and 
 forming as it were a winding sheet for his army. In single file, 
 and with heavy hearts, that mighty host one after another entered 
 the snow-drifts and began the ascent. Only a few miles could 
 be made the first day, and at night, without a cottage in sight, 
 without even a tree to kindle for a light around their silent 
 bivouacs, the army lay down in the snow with the Alpine crags 
 around them for their sentinels. The next day the head of the 
 column reached the summit of the ridge, and lo ! what a scene 
 was spread out before them. No one who has not stood on an 
 Alpine summit can have any conception of the utter dreariness 
 of this region. The mighty mountains, as far as the eye can 
 reach, lean along the solemn sky, while the deep silence around 
 is broken by the sound of no living thing. Only now and then 
 the voice of the avalanche is heard speaking in its low thunder 
 tone from the depth of an awful abyss, or the scream of a solitary 
 eagle circling round some lofty crag. The bold Russian stood 
 and gazed long and anxiously on this scene, and then turned to 
 look on his straggling army that far as the eye could reach wound 
 like a huge anaconda over the white surface of the snow. No 
 column of smoke arose in this desert wild to cheer the sight, but 
 all was silent, mournful and prophetic. The winding sheet of the 
 army seemed unrolled before him. No path guided their foot- 
 steps, and ever and anon a bayonet and feather disappeared 
 together as some poor soldier slipped on the edge of a precipice 
 and fell into the abyss below. Hundreds overcome and disheart- 
 ened, or exhausted with their previous wounds, laid down to die, 
 while the cold wind, as it swept by, soon wrought a snow-shroud 
 for their forms. The descent on the southern side was worse 
 than the ascent. A freezing wind had hardened the snow into a 
 crust, so that it frequently bore the soldiers. Their bayonets 
 were thrust into it to keep them from slipping, and the weary and 
 worn creatures were compelled to struggle every step to prevent 
 being borne away over the precipices that almost momentarily 
 
58 THE DESCENT. 
 
 stopped their passage. Yet even this precaution was often vain 
 Whole companies would begin to slide together, and despite every 
 effort would sweep with a shriek over the edge of the precipice 
 and disappear in the untrodden gulfs below. Men saw their 
 comrades, by whose side they had fought in many a battle, shoot 
 one after another, over the dizzy verge, striking with their bayo- 
 nets as they went, to stay their progress. The beasts of burden 
 slipped from above, and rolling down on the ranks below, shot 
 away in wild confusion, men and all, into the chasms that yawned 
 at their feet. As they advanced, the enemy appeared around on 
 the precipices pouring a scattered yet destructive fire into the 
 straggling multitude. Such a sight these Alpine solitudes never 
 saw — such a march no army ever made before. In looking at 
 this pass the traveller cannot believe an army of 24,000 men 
 were marched over it through the fresh fallen snow two feet deep. 
 For five days they struggled amid these gorges and over these 
 ridges, and finally reached the Rhine at Ilanz. For months 
 after, the vulture and the eagle hovered incessantly along the line 
 of march, and beasts of prey were gorged with the dead bodies. 
 Nearly 8,000 men lay scattered among the glaciers and rocks, 
 and piled in the abysses, amid which they had struggled for 
 eighteen days since he first poured down from the St. Gothard, 
 and the peasants say that the bones of many an unburied soldier 
 may still be seen bleaching in the ravines of the Jatser. 
 
 No Christian or philanthropist ever stood on a battle field with- 
 out mourning over the ravages of war and asking himself when 
 that day would come when men would beat their swords into 
 ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Yet the evil 
 is no*t felt in all its dreadful reality there. The movements of the 
 armies — the tossing of plumes — the unrolling of banners — the 
 stirring strains of martial music — the charging squadrons, and 
 the might and magnificence of a great battle field disturb the 
 imagination and check the flow of human sympathy. 
 
 If he wishes the feelings of horror and disgust in their full 
 strength, let him go into the solitude and holiness of nature, and 
 see where her pure bosom has been disfigured with the blood of 
 her children. Let him see his fellow beings falling by thousands, 
 not amid the uproar and excitement of battle, but under exhaus- 
 
SUWARROW AND BONAPARTE. 59 
 
 tion, heart-sickness, and despair. Let him behold the ranks 
 lying down one after another under the last discouragement to 
 die, while their comrades march mournful and silent by. There 
 is a cold-bloodedness, a sort of savage malice about this that 
 awakens all the detestation of the human bosom. 
 
 Yet the Russian could do no better. The scourge of nations 
 had driven him into the strait. The crime and the judgment 
 belong to Bonaparte, who thus directly and indirectly crowded 
 his generation into the grave. Suwarrow's act was that of a 
 brave and resolute man. 
 
MACDONALD'S GUIDE. 
 
 XII. 
 
 MACDONALD'S PASS OF THE SPIUGEN. 
 
 I WAS standing on a green Alpine pasturage, looking off upon 
 the Splugen Pass which cut its way through the white snow ridge 
 that lay against the distant horizon, when my guide interrupted 
 my musings by pointing to an aged man sitting by his cottagQ 
 door. " That man," said he, " was one of Macdonald's guides 
 that conducted him and his army over the Splugen." He imme- 
 diately became an object of great interest to me, and I went and 
 sat down by his side, and drew from him many incidents of that 
 perilous adventure. "It was forty-three years ago," said he, 
 " when that awful march was made. I was then but twenty-five 
 years of age, but I remember it as if it were but yesterday. I 
 have made many passes in the Alps, but never one like that. 
 That Macdonald was an awful man. He looked as if he wanted 
 to fight the very Alps, and believed that snow-storms could be 
 beaten like an army of men." 
 
 " I believe," I replied, " that pass was made in the winter, when 
 even foot travellers found it difficult." " Yes ; and the wind blew, 
 and the snow drove in our faces, and the avalanches fell as if the 
 very Alps were coming down. The snow, too, was so thick at 
 times, that we could not see the horses or men ten rods before or 
 behind, while the screaming, and yelling, and cursing, made it ten 
 times worse. Why, sir, it did no good to cry take care, for no 
 one could take care. There we were, up to our arms in snow, 
 amid oxen, and horses, and cannon, and soldiers, and compell- 
 ed to stand for hours, without getting one rod ahead. Oh, it 
 was dreadful to see the poor soldiers. Often I would hear 
 an avalanche coming from above, and turn to see where it fell, 
 
DESCRIPTION OF THE PASS. 61 
 
 when it would come thundering straight on to the army, and cut 
 it clean in two, leaving a great gap in the lines. A few feathers 
 tossing amid the snow, a musket or two flying over the brink, and 
 away went men and .all into the gulf below. Oh, sir, those poor 
 soldiers looked as if they never would fight again — so downcast 
 and frightened. It did no good to have courage there, for what 
 could courage do against an avalanche ! When God fights with 
 man, it does no good to resist." In this manner, though not in the 
 precise words, the old man rattled on, and it was evident I could 
 get nothing from him except separate incidents which gave life and 
 vividness to the whole picture. The falling of a single comrade 
 by his side, or the struggles of a single war-horse, as he floun- 
 dered in the mass of snow that hurried him irresistibly towards 
 the gulf, made a more distinct impression on him than the general 
 movements of the army. The deep beds of snow and the walls 
 of ice he and the peasants were compelled to cut through, were 
 more important to him than the order of march, or the discipline 
 of the troops. How different is the effect produced on a powerful 
 and a common mind by such a scene as this ! One dwells on the 
 impression made by the whole. The moral and physical gran- 
 deur surrounding it — the obstacles, and the resolution that over- 
 come them — the savageness of nature, and the sternness that 
 dared look it in the face ; combine to make the impression he car- 
 ries with him through life. The weak mind, on the other hand, 
 never seems to reach to these generalities — never gets to the outer 
 circle, but is occupied with details and incidents. 
 
 To understand this march of Macdonald over the Splugen, a 
 feat greater by far than Bonaparte's famous passage of the St. 
 Bernard, imagine an awful defile leading up to the height of six 
 thousand. Jive hundred feet towards heaven — in summer a mere 
 bridle path, and in winter a mass of avalanches, and you will 
 have some conception of the awful pass through which Macdonald 
 determined to lead fiff;een thousand men. The road follows the 
 Rhine, here a mere rivulet, which has cut its channel deep in the 
 mountains that rise frequently to the height of three thousand feet 
 above it. Along the precipices that overhang this turbulent tor- 
 rent, the path is cut in the solid rock, now hugging the mountain 
 wall like a mere thread, and now shooting in a single arch over 
 
DIFFICULTIES OF THE PASS. 
 
 the gorge that sinks three hundred feet below. Strangely silent 
 snow-peaks pierce the heavens in every direction, while dark 
 precipices lean out on every side over the abyss. This mere 
 path crosses and re- crosses again this gorge, and often so high 
 above it, that the roar of the mad torrent below can scarcely be 
 heard ; and finally strikes off on to the bare face of the mountain 
 and clambers up to the summit. This is the old road in sum- 
 mer time. Now imagine this same gorge swept by a hurricane 
 of snow, and filled with the awful sound of the falling avalanches, 
 blending their heavy shock with the dull roar of the giant pines, 
 that wave along the precipices, while half way up from the bot- 
 tom to the Alpine top, are hanging like an army of insects, fifteen 
 thousand French soldiers ; and you will approach to some know- 
 ledge of this wintry pass, and this desperate march. But if you 
 have never been in an Alpine gorge, and stood, awe-struck, amid 
 the mighty forms that tower away on every side around you, you 
 can have no true conception of a scene like the one we are to de- 
 scribe. Rocks, going like one solid wall straight up to heaven — 
 pinnacles shooting like church spires above the clouds — ^gloomy 
 ravines where the thunder-clouds burst, and the torrent raves — 
 still glaciers and solemn snow-fields, and leaping avalanches, 
 combine to render an Alpine gorge one of the most terrific things 
 in nature. Added to all this, you feel so small amid the mighty 
 forms around you — so utterly helpless and worthless, amid these 
 great exhibitions of God's power, that the heart is often utterly 
 overwhelmed with the feelings that struggle in vain for utterance. 
 There is now a carriage road over the Splugen, cut in sixteen 
 zigzags along the breasts of the mountain. This was not in 
 existence when Macdonald made the pass, and there was nothing 
 but a bridle path going through the gorge of the Cardinel. Over 
 such a pass was Macdonald ordered by Napoleon to march his 
 army in the latter part of November, just when the wintry storms 
 are setting in with the greatest violence. Bonaparte wished 
 Macdonald to form the left wing of his army in Italy, and had 
 therefore ordered him to attempt the passage. Macdonald, though 
 no braver or bolder man ever lived, felt that it was a hopeless 
 undertaking, and immediately despatched General Dumas to 
 represent to him the insuperable obstacles in the way. Bona- 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF THE ASCENT. 63 
 
 parte heard him through his representations, and then replied, 
 with his usual recklessness of other people's sufferings or death, 
 " I will make no change in my dispositions. Return quickly, 
 and tell Macdonald that an army can always pass in every sea- 
 son, where two men can place their feet." 
 
 Macdonald, of course, could do no otherwise than obey com- 
 mands, and immediately commenced the necessary preparations 
 for his desperate undertaking. It was the 26th of November, and 
 the frequent storms had covered the entire Alps, pass and all, in 
 one mass of yielding snow. His army was at the upper Rhein- 
 thal or Rhine valley, at the entrance of the dreadful defile of the 
 Via Mala, the commencement of the Splugen pass. The cannon 
 were taken from their carriages and placed on sleds, to which 
 oxen were harnessed. The ammunition was divided about on the 
 backs of mules, while every soldier had to carry, besides his 
 usual arms, five packets of cartridges and five days' provision. 
 The guides went in advance, and stuck down long black poles to 
 indicate the course of the path beneath, while behind them came 
 the workmen clearing away the snow, and behind them still the 
 mounted dragoons, with the most powerful, horses of the army, to 
 beat down the track. On the 26th of November, the first com- 
 pany left Splugen, and began the ascent. The pass from Splu- 
 gen to Isola is about fifteen miles in length, and the advance com- 
 pany had, after the most wasting toil and exhausting effort, made 
 nearly half of it, and were approaching the hospice on the sum- 
 mit, when a low moaning was heard among the hills, like the 
 voice of the sea before a storm. The guides understood too well 
 its meaning, and gazed on each other with alarm. The ominous 
 sound grew louder every moment, and suddenly the fierce Alpine 
 blast swept in a cloud of snow over the mountain, and howled, 
 like an unchained demon, through the gorge below. In an in- 
 stant all was confusion, and blinijlness, and uncertainty. The very 
 heavens were blotted out, and the frightened column stood and lis- 
 tened to the raving tempest that made the pine trees above it sway 
 and groan, as if lifted from their rock-rooted places. But suddenly 
 another still more alarming sound was heard — " An avalanche ! an 
 avalanche !" shrieked the guides, and the next moment an awful 
 white form came leaping down the mountain, and striking the 
 
64 THE ARMY IN A STORM. 
 
 column that was struggling along the path, passed straight through 
 it into the gulf below, carrying thirty dragoons and their horses 
 with it in its wild plunge. The black form of a ^teed and its 
 rider were seen suspended for a moment in mid heavens, amid 
 clouds of snow, and the next moment they fell among the ice and 
 rocks below, crushed out of the very form of humanity. The 
 head of the column reached the hospice in safety^ The other 
 part, struck dumb by this sudden apparition crossing their path 
 in such lightning-like velocity, bearing to such an awful death 
 their brave comrades, refused to proceed, and turned back to the 
 village of Splugen. For three days the storm raged amid the 
 Alps, filling the heavens with snow, and hurling avalanches into 
 the path, till it became so filled up that the guides declared it 
 would take fifteen days to open it again so as to make it at all 
 passable. But fifteen days Macdonald could not spare. Inde- 
 pendent of the urgency of his commands, there was no way to 
 provision his army in these Alpine solitudes, and he must proceed. 
 He ordered four of the strongest oxen that could be found to be 
 led in advance by the best guides. Forty peasants followed be- 
 hind, clearing away and beating down the snow, and two com- 
 panies of sappers came after to give still greater consistency to 
 the track, while on their heels marched the remnant of the com- 
 pany of dragoons, part of which had been borne away three 
 days before by the avalanche. The post of danger was given 
 them at their own request. Scarcely had they begun the danger- 
 ous enterprise, when one of the noble oxen slipped from the preci- 
 pice, and with a convulsive fling of his huge frame, went bound- 
 ing from point to point of the jagged rocks to the deep, dark tor- 
 rent below. 
 
 It was a strange sight for a wintry day. Those three oxen, 
 with their horns just peering above the snow, toiled slowly on, 
 pushing their unwieldy bodies through the drifts, looking like mere 
 specks on the breast of the mountain, while the soldiers, up to 
 their breasts, struggled behind. Not a drum or bugle-note cheered 
 the solitude, or awoke the echoes of those savage peaks. The 
 foot-fall gave back no sound in the soft snow, and the words of 
 command seemed smothered in the very atmosphere. Silently 
 and noiselessly the mighty but disordered column toiled forward, 
 
PARTICULARS OF THE ROUTE. 65 
 
 with naught to break the holy stillness of nature, save the fierce 
 pantings of the horses and animals, as with reeking sides they 
 strained up the ascent. Now and then a fearful cry startled the 
 eagle on his high circuit, as a whole company slipped together, 
 and with their muskets in their hands, fell into the all-devouring 
 gorge that yawned hundreds of feet below their path. It was a 
 wild sight, the plunge of a steed and his rider over the precipice. 
 One noble horse slipped just as the dragoon had dismounted, and 
 as he darted off with his empty saddle, and for a moment hung 
 suspended in mid heaven, it is said, he uttered one of those fear- 
 ful blood-freezing cries the wounded war-horse is known some- 
 times to give forth on the field of battle. The roar of the lion af- 
 ter his prey, and the midnight howl of the wolf that has missed 
 his evening repast of blood, is a gentle sound compared to it. 
 Once heard, it lives in the memory and brain for ever. 
 
 To understand the route of the army better, one should divide 
 the pass into three parts. First comes the dark, deep defile, with 
 the path cut in the side of the mountain, and crossing backwards 
 and forwards over the gorge, on bridges of a single arch, and of- 
 ten two and three hundred feet high. The scenery in this gorge 
 is horrible. It seems as if nature had broken up the mountains 
 in some sudden and fierce convulsion, and the very aspect of 
 everything is enough to daunt one without the aid of avalanches 
 or hurricanes of snow. After leaving this defile, the path goes 
 for a few miles through the valley of Schams, and then winds up 
 the cliffs of La Raffla, covered with pine trees. It then strikes 
 up the bare face of the mountain, going sometimes at an angle of 
 forty-five degrees, till it reaches the summit ; which, lying above 
 the region of trees, stands naked and bald in the wintry heavens. 
 This is the old road — the new one goes by a different route, and 
 in summer-time can be traversed with carriages. Such was the 
 road, filled with snow and avalanches, this army of fifteen thou- 
 sand men marched over in mid winter. They went over in sep- 
 arate columns. The progress and success of the first we have 
 already shown. The second and third made the attempt the sec- 
 ond and third of December, and achieved the ascent in safety, 
 the weather being clear and frosty. Many, however, died of 
 cold. Their success encouraged Macdonald to march the whole- 
 
 6 
 
66 PROGRESS OF THE ARMY. 
 
 remaining army over at once, and for this purpose he placed him- 
 self at their head, and on the 5th of December commenced the 
 ascent. But fresh snow had fallen the night before, covering up 
 the entire path, so that the road had all to be made over again. 
 The guides refused to go on, but Macdonald would not delay his 
 march, and led his weary soldiers breast deep in the snow, up the 
 bleak, cold mountain. They were six hours in going less than 
 six miles. They could not make a mile an hour in their slow 
 progress. They had not advanced far in the defile before they 
 came upon a huge block of ice, and a newly-fallen avalanche, 
 that entirely filled up the path. The guides halted before these 
 obstacles and refused to go on, and the first that Macdonald knew, 
 his army had turned to the right-about face, and were marching 
 back down the mountain, declaring the passage to be closed. 
 
 Hastening forward, he cheered up the men, and walking him- 
 self at the head of the column with a long pole in his hand, to 
 sound the depth of the treacherous mass he was treading upon, he 
 revived the drooping spirits of the soldiers. "Soldiers," said he, 
 " your destinies call you into Italy ; advance and conquer — first 
 the mountains and the snow, then the plains and the armies."' 
 Ashamed to see their leader hazarding his life at every step 
 where they refused to go, the soldiers returned cheerfully to their 
 toil, and cut their way through the solid hill of ice. But they 
 had scarcely surmounted this obstacle, when the voice of the hur- 
 ricane on its march was again heard, and the next moment a 
 cloud of driving snow obliterated every thing from their view. 
 The path was filled up, and all traces of it swept utterly away. 
 Amid the screams of the guides, the confused commands of the 
 officers, and the howling of the hurricane, was heard the rapid 
 thunder-crash of avalanches as they leaped away, at the bidding 
 of the tempest, down the precipices. Then commenced again the 
 awful struggle of the army for life. The foe they had to contend 
 with was an outward one, though not of flesh and blood. To 
 sword-cut, bayonet-thrust, and the blaze of artillery, the strong 
 Alpine storm was alike invulnerable. On the serried column 
 and the straggling line, it thundered with the same reckless pow- 
 er. Over the long black line of soldiers, the snow lay like a 
 winding-sheet, and the dirge seemed already chanted for the dead 
 
PASSAGE OF THE LAST DIVISION. e? 
 
 army. No one who has not seen an Alpine storm can imagine 
 the reckless energy with which it rages through the mountains. 
 The light snow, borne aloft on its bosom, was whirled and scat- 
 tered like an ocean of mist over all things. The drifts were piled 
 like second mountains in every direction, and seemed to form in- 
 stantaneously, as by the touch of a magician's wand. The blind- 
 ing fury of the tempest baffled all efforts to pierce the mystery 
 and darkness that enveloped the host clinging in despair to the 
 breast of the mountain. The storm had sounded its trumpet for 
 the charge, but no answering note of defiance replied. The 
 heroes of so many battle fields stood in still terror before this new 
 and mightier foe. Crowding together as if proximity added to 
 their security, the mighty column crouched and shivered to the 
 blast that pierced their very bones with its chilling power. But 
 this was not all — the piercing cold, and drifting snow, and raving 
 tempest, and concealed pit-falls, leading to untrodden abysses, 
 were not enough to complete the scene of terror. Suddenly, from 
 the summit of the Splugen, avalanches began to fall, whose path 
 crossed that of the army. Scaling the breast of the mountain 
 with a single leap, they came with a crash on the shivering 
 column, and bore it away to the destruction that waited beneath. 
 Still, with undaunted front and unyielding will, the bold Macdon- 
 ald struggled on in front, inspiring by his example, as he never 
 could have done by his commands, the officers and men under 
 him. Prodigies were wrought where effort seemed useless. The 
 first avalanche, as it smote through the column, paralyzed for a 
 moment every heart with fear ; but they soon began to be viewed 
 like so many discharges of artillery, and the gaps they made, 
 like the gaps a discharge of grape-shot frequently made in the 
 lines on a field of battle. Those behind closed up the rent with 
 unfaltering courage. Hesitation was death. The only hope was 
 in advancing, and the long and straggling line floundered on in the 
 snow, like a huge anaconda winding itself over the mountain. 
 Once, as an avalanche cut through the ranks, bearing them away 
 to the abyss, a young man was seen to wave an adieu to his 
 young comrade left behind, as he disappeared over the crag. 
 The surviving companion stept into the path where it had 
 swept, and before he had crossed it, a laggard block of ice came 
 
GREATNESS OF THE FEAT. 
 
 thundering down, and bore him away to join his comrade in the 
 gulf where his crushed form still lay throbbing. The extreme 
 density of the atmosphere, filled as it was with snow, gave ten- 
 fold horror to these mysterious messengers of death, as they came 
 down the mountain declivities. A low rumbling would be heard 
 amid the pauses of the storm, and as the next shriek of the blast 
 swept by, a rushing, as if a counter-blast smote the ear ; and 
 before the thought had time to change, a rolling, leaping, broken 
 mass of snow burst through the thick atmosphere, and the next 
 moment, crushed, with the sound of thunder, far, far below, bear- 
 ing along a part of the column to its deep, dark resting-place. 
 
 On the evening of the 6th December, the greater part of the 
 army had passed the mountain, and the van had pushed even to 
 Lake Como. From the 26th of November to the 6th of Decem- 
 ber, or nearly two weeks, had Macdonald been engaged in this 
 perilous pass. A less energetic, indomitable man would have 
 failed, and he himself had escaped utter destruction, almost by a 
 miracle. As it was, he left between one and two hundred men 
 in the abysses of the Splugen, who had slipped from the preci- 
 pices or been carried away by avalanches, during the toilsome 
 march. More than a hundred horses and mules had also been 
 hurled into those untrodden abysses, to furnish food for the eagle, 
 and raven, and beasts of prey. 
 
 This passage of the Splugen, by an army of fifteen thousand 
 men, in the dead of winter, and amid hurricanes of snow and 
 falling avalanches, stands unrivalled in the history of the world, 
 unless the passage of the Pragel by Suwarrow be its counterpart. 
 It is true, Bonaparte spoke disparagingly of it, because he wished 
 his passage over the St. Bernard in summer time, to stand alone 
 beside Hannibal's famous march over the same mountain. With 
 all his greatness, Bonaparte had some miserably mean traits of 
 character. He could not bear to have one of his generals per- 
 form a greater feat than himself, and so he deliberately lied about 
 this achievement of Macdonald's. In his despatches to the French 
 government, he made it out a small affair, while he had the impu- 
 dence to declare that this " march of Macdonald produced no 
 good effect." Now one of three things is true : Bonaparte either 
 was ignorant of his true situation, and commanded the passage 
 
BONAPARTE'S DISHONESTY. 
 
 of the Splugen to be made under a false alarm ; or else it was a 
 mere whim, in which his recklessness of the lives and comfort 
 of his countrymen is deserving of greater condemnation than his 
 ignorance ; or else he has uttered a falsehood as gross as it is 
 mean. The truth is, Bonaparte thought posterity could be cheat- 
 ed as easily as his cotemporaries. In the dazzling noon-day of 
 his fame, he could make a flattering press say what he liked, and 
 the world would believe it ; but the tumult and false splendour of 
 his life have passed away, and men begin to scrutinize this demi- 
 god a little more closely ; and we find that his word cannot be 
 relied on in the least, when speaking of the character and deeds 
 of others. He is willing to have no planet cross his orbit, and 
 will allow no glory except as it is reflected from him. But not- 
 withstanding his efforts to detract from the merit of this act of 
 Macdonald, posterity will put it in its true light, and every intelli- 
 gent reader of the accounts of the two passages of the St. Ber- 
 nard and the Splugen, will perceive at a glance that Bonaparte's 
 achievement is mere child's play beside that of Macdonald. 
 
MOUNT RIGHI. 
 
 XIII. 
 THE RIGHI CULM 
 
 From the top of the Righi is seen one of the most celebrated 
 views in all Switzerland. The magnificent prospect it commands 
 is not owing so much to its height (it being only 5700 feet above 
 the level of the sea) as to its isolated position. It rises like a 
 cone up from Lakes Lucerne and Zug, with a forest round its 
 waist, and a lofty precipice for its forehead sloping away into 
 green pasturages. 
 
 I went by way of Kussnacht, in order to visit the spot where 
 William Tell leaped ashore from the boat that was conveying 
 him a prisoner to that place, and sent an arrow through the heart 
 of Gessler. By this route it takes seven hours to reach the Culm 
 of the Righi from Lucerne. I had started with many misgivings, 
 and with depressed feelings. The companions of my travels had 
 had enough of mountain climbing and of Switzerland, and here 
 resolved to start for England. It requires no common resolution 
 to break away from all one's companions in a strange land, and 
 turn one's footsteps alone towards the Alps. But the Righi I was 
 determined to see, and the surpassing prospect from its summit, 
 even though I waited a week to enjoy it. 
 
 But all this was forgotten for a while as I entered the Hohle- 
 gasse or narrow way where Tell lay concealed, waiting the ty- 
 rant's approach. I could imagine the very look of this bold free 
 Swiss, as concealed among the trees he drew the silent arrow to 
 its head, and sent it on its mission of death. The shout of a free 
 people was in the twang of that bow, and the hand of Liberty 
 herself sent the bolt home ; while in that manly form that went 
 leaping like a chamois over the hills, was the hope of Switzer- 
 
WILLIAM TELL. 71 
 
 land. From this hallowed spot I began the toilsome ascent of the 
 Righi with no companion but my guide. It was a bright summer 
 afternoon, and stripping off my coat and handing it with my cloak 
 to my guide, I nerved myself for my four hours of constant 
 climbing. When about half way up, 1 sat down and looked back 
 on the scene. There was Lucerne, from which my companions 
 were just about starting for England and for home. Away from 
 it into the very bosom of the mountains went the sweet Lake of 
 Lucerne. Close at my feet, apparently, nestled the little chapel 
 of Tell, built on the spot where the patriot slew the tyrant, while 
 far away swept the land of the Swiss. As an American, I could 
 not view the land of Tell and Winkelried, and look down on the 
 shores where the " oath of the Grutli" was taken, and Switzer- 
 land made her first stand for freedom, without the deepest emo- 
 tion. There slept the sweet Lake of Lucerne calm and tranquil 
 as the heavens above it. But there was a night when its waters 
 were lashed into fury by an Alpine storm, and close beside those 
 old rocks struggled a frail vessel hopelessly with the tempest. 
 The lightning, as it rent the gloom, showed ever and anon its 
 half-buried form amid the waves. The torn sail was shivering 
 in the blast, while the roar of the billows on the rocks fell dis- 
 tinctly on the ears of the appalled listeners, as they looked to 
 each other for help in vain. A tyrant stood trembling on its 
 foam-covered deck, and asked if there was no help. A stern 
 proud prisoner was brought before him, and looked calmly out 
 upon the frightful deep. " Unbind him," said the tyrant — " he 
 alone can save us." The chains were knocked off; and with the 
 same calm, silent mien, he seized the helm and guided the leap- 
 ing vessel safely amid the rocks. The boat is ashore, but where 
 is the prisoner ? Fled ? aye, fled ! but not for safety alone. 
 The night covers him, and the tyrant has entered the narrow 
 gorge on his way to his home. A sharp twang as of a bow- 
 string, — a quick, hissing sound through the air, and Gessler falls 
 back in the arms of his attendants, with an arrow in his bosom. 
 " Das war TelVs Schoss .'" exclaimed the tyrant and died. Then 
 rang the battle cry of Freedom along these shores, and from her 
 hundred mountain vallies came pouring down the hardy Swiss. 
 With the sword of Tell to wave them on, they bravely battled 
 
72 ASCENT OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 their way to freedom. Blessings on thee, bold Swiss ! thy name 
 is a watchword for freemen and ever shall be. Around it cluster 
 the fondest memories of the patriot, and children love to speak it 
 aloud. But ah, how degenerate has the race become ! Cor- 
 rupted and debased by the French, their freedom and their hon- 
 esty have departed together. 
 
 I turned to ascend the mountain again. Crossing a narrow 
 level pasturage, I was greeted with the tinkling of bells, and the 
 clear voices of shepherd boys singing in a shrill falsetto their wild 
 Alpine chorusses. As I drew near the top, I passed a boy lean- 
 ing against a rock, and making the air ring with the tones of his 
 Alpine horn. A few moments after a cloud of mist swept over 
 the mountain, burying every thing in twilight gloom and chilling 
 my blood like the sudden entrance to a damp vault. The sun, 
 which a moment before shone over me in unclouded brightness, 
 was snatched from my sight, and I stumbled on in a cloud to the 
 house on the top. The wind swept by in gusts, making the mist 
 dive and plunge and leap through the air like mad spirits. Now 
 it would rise towards me as I looked over the precipice, like the 
 smoke from some vast furnace, and then plunge again into the 
 gulfs below, while the fragments writhed and twisted together as 
 if tortured into agony by some invisible agency. I had scarcely 
 entered the house before a cold chill seized me that seemed im- 
 possible to shake off, and which the good woman of the house had 
 the kindness to tell me, unless I did, would end in a fever in the 
 morning. I should have brought some dry clothing with me, but 
 forgot it. Fire and water, brandy and wine, were tried in suc- 
 cession, but still I kept shaking. As a last resort I cleared the 
 largest room in the house, and then wrapping my heavy cloak 
 around me, began to leap and run and throw myself into the most 
 difficult postures, to the no small wonderment of the quiet Swiss. 
 But in half an hour I had the satisfaction of feeling the blood flow 
 warmer and hotter through my veins, while the perspiration stood 
 in drops on my forehead. I had conquered, and after resting a 
 while, went out to the verge of the cliff which shoots its naked 
 wall two hundred feet clear down to Lake Zug, and endeavoured 
 to pierce the cloud that had changed day into night. I knew it 
 was not yet sundown, and hoped I might see its last rays falling 
 
VIEW AT EVENING. 73 
 
 over the magnificent panoranna which I knew was spread out be- 
 low me. It was all in vain : that cloud closed round the summit 
 like a gloomy fate, and shut all out of sight. But suddenly, as I 
 was gazing, a lake of fire, miles away, burst on the view, one 
 half red as a flame, and the other half midnight blackness, streaked 
 with a murky red. The next moment it shut again, and in an- 
 other direction another fiery surface flashed up into the awful 
 blackness, reminding me more than anything I ever saw, of what a 
 distant view of perdition might be. This strange spectacle was 
 caused by the cloud opening before me and revealing a portion 
 of a distant lake, while the mist was still dense enough to refract 
 the rays of the sun, giving that dark smoky red you sometimes 
 see on the edge of a thunder-cloud, as it rolls up at sunset after a 
 scorching day. I sat up till late at night reading Schiller's Wil- 
 liam Tell, and then retired giving directions to be waked up early 
 in the morning to see the sun rise. I had many misgivings, I 
 confess, about the morning, and the verse composed once by an 
 Englishman who made the ascent, and which were the last words 
 uttered by my companions as I bade them good bye, were con- 
 stantly running in my head. 
 
 Seven weary up-hill leagues we sped ^ 
 
 The setting sun to see : 
 Sullen and grim he went to bed ; 
 
 Sullen and grim went we. 
 Nine sleepless hours of night we passed 
 
 The rising sun to see : 
 Sullen and grim he rose again ; 
 
 Sullen and grim rose we. 
 
 I passed the hours sleepless enough, and when I rose to look 
 out in the morning, an impenetrable mist seemed to wrap every 
 thing. I was just crawling back to bed again when I thought I 
 would take another look. Passing my hand over the glass, I 
 found what 1 had taken for mist was simply the vapour condensed 
 on the window. A clear blue sky was bending overhead. 
 
 In a few moments I was standing on the brow of the precipice 
 and watching with intense interest the scene around me. On my 
 right stood, cold and silent, white and awful, the whole range of 
 the Bernese Alps. Close under me, hundreds of feet down, lay 
 
?4 VIEW AT SUNRISE. 
 
 the waters of the Zug, and yet so close to the mountain on which 
 I stood, that it seemed as if I could kick a stone into it. On the 
 left spread away the glorious Swiss land, sprinkled over with vil- 
 lages and lakes. Behind me was the Lucerne throwing its arms 
 away into the heart of the mountains, while forests, rivers, towns, 
 hills and lakes, formed together a panorama three hundred miles 
 in circumference. While I stood gazing, awe-struck, on the 
 silent majestic scene as it lay motionless in the gray light of 
 morning, a golden streak spread along the East. Brighter and 
 brighter it grew till the snow-peak nearest it caught the same 
 fiery glow, and stood tipped with flame over the world of snow 
 below. Suddenly another peak flashed up beside it, and then 
 another and another, till for nearly a hundred miles, from the 
 Sentis to the Jungfrau, the whole range of giant summits, stood 
 a deep rose colour against a blue sky, while vast snow-fields 
 and glaciers slept in deep shadow between. I stood bewildered 
 and amazed, gazing on that hundred miles of rose-coloured 
 mountains. It seemed for the time as if the Deity had thrown 
 the robe of his glory over those gigantic forms on purpose to see 
 how they became their gorgeous apparelling. Gradually they 
 paled away as the blazing fiery ball rolled into view and poured 
 a flood of light on the whole scene, waking the landscape into 
 sudden life and beauty. It is impossible to describe such a 
 scene. The whole range of the Bernese Alps before you, with 
 its peaks, and glaciers, and precipices, and snow -fields, and 
 gorges, is a scene in itself which has no parallel in the world, 
 while the sudden change from ghostly white to a transparent red, 
 fading gradually away into a delicate rose-colour, renders the 
 spectator unable to seize any one thing which would give spe- 
 ciality to the whole. I have never felt the utter powerlessness 
 of words and feebleness of all comparisons as in attempting to 
 describe such a scene as spreads away on the vision from Mount 
 Righi at sunrise. 
 
 But cast your eye round the horizon now the full light of day 
 is on it. To the west the country opens like a map, with the 
 whole canton of Lucerne in view, while far away, a mere pool, 
 glitters the Lake of Sempach, whose shores are one of Switzer- 
 land's glorious battle fields. The eye passes on over Lucerne 
 
AFTER SUNRISE. 75 
 
 and the gloomy Pilatus, and finally leaves the western horizon on 
 the Jura mountains. On the south spring up into heaven that 
 whole glorious chain of the high Alps of Berne, Unterwalden and 
 Uri in one unbroken ridge of peaks and glaciers. On the east 
 still stretches away the Alpine chain, folding in the cantons of 
 Glarus and Appenzel, and the Muotta Thai, that wild valley 
 where Suwarrow and Massena fought their bloody battles on ground 
 that even the chamois hunter scarce dared to tread. Nearer 
 by rises the mass of the Rossberg, with the whole chasm made 
 by its terrible avalanche of earth, as it rolled down on Goldau, 
 plainly in view. To the north peeps out Lake Zurich, with here 
 and there a white roof of the town ; and the spire of the chapel 
 where Zwingli fell in battle. The towns of Arth and Zug are 
 also visible, and a bare hand's breadth of Lake Egeri, on whose 
 shores the Swiss fought and gained the battle of Mortgarten. 
 The Black Forest hills shut in the view. It is a glorious pano- 
 rama, changing from grand to beautiful and back again, till the 
 heart staggers under the emotions that crowd it, asking in vain 
 for utterance. But the eye will turn again and again to that 
 wondrous chain of white peaks, resting so clear and pure and 
 cold against the morning sky, and the lips will murmur — 
 
 The hills, the everlasting hills, 
 How peerlessly they rise, 
 
 Like earth's gigantic sentinels 
 Discoursing in the skies." 
 
76 MOUNT ROSSBERG 
 
 XIV. 
 
 GOIDAU-FALI OF THE ROSSBERG. 
 
 As I descended the Righi towards Goldau I had a clear and 
 distinct view of the whole side of the Rossberg. This mountain, 
 so renowned in history, is about 5,000 feet high, with an unbroken 
 slope reaching down to Goldau. The top of the mountain is com- 
 posed of pudding stone, called by the Germans Nagelflue, or nail 
 head, from the knobs on the surface. The whole strata of this 
 mountain are tilted from Lake Zug towards Goldau, and slope, 
 like the roof of a house, down to the village. The frightful land 
 slide, which buried the village and inhabitants of Goldau, was 
 about three miles long, a thousand feet broad, and a hundred feet 
 thick. The fissure runs up and down the mountain, and the mass 
 slid away from its bed, till acquiring momentum and velocity, it 
 broke into fragments, and rolled and thundered down the moun- 
 tain, burying the village a hundred feet deep. The afternoon of 
 the catastrophe, the Rossberg gave ominous signs of some ap- 
 proaching convulsion. Rocks started spontaneously from its bo- 
 som, and thundered down its sides ; the springs of water suddenly 
 ceased to flow ; birds flew screaming through the air ; the pine 
 tfees of the forest rocked and swayed without any blast, and the 
 whole surface of the mountain seemed gradually sliding towards 
 the plain. A party of eleven travellers from Berne was on its 
 way to the Righi at the time. Seven of them happened to be 
 ahead, and the other four saw them enter the village of Goldau 
 just as they observed a strange commotion on the summit of the 
 Rossberg. As they raised their glass to notice this more definitely, 
 a shower of stones shot off from the top and whirled like cannon 
 balls through the air above their heads. The next moment a 
 
OVERTHROW OF GOLDAU. 77 
 
 cloud of du5t filled the valley, while from its bosom came a wild 
 uproar, as if nature was breaking up from her deep foundations. 
 The Rossberg was on the march for Goldau with the strength and 
 terror of an earthquake. The cloud cleared away and nothing 
 but a wild waste of rocks and earth was above where the smiling 
 villages of Goldau, Bussingen and Rothen stood before. One 
 hundred and eleven houses, and more than two hundred stables 
 and chalets had disappeared ; carrying down with them in their 
 dark burial nearly five hundred human beings. The Lake of 
 Lowertz was half filled with mud, while the immense rocks trav- 
 ersed the valley its entire width, and were hurled far up the 
 Righi, mowing down the trees like cannon shot. The inhabitants 
 of the neighbouring villages heard the grinding crushing sound, as 
 of mountains falling together, and beheld the cloud of dust that 
 darkened the air. Five minutes after and all was hushed, and 
 the quiet rain came down as before, and as it had done during the 
 day, but no longer on human dwellings. It fell on the grave of 
 nearly 500 men, women and children, crushed and mangled, and 
 pressed uncoffined into their mother earth. Nothing was left of 
 the villages and pasturages that stood in the valley but the bell 
 of the church of Goldau, which was carried a mile and a half 
 from the steeple in which it hung. When the Lake of Lowertz, 
 five miles off*, received the torrent of earth into its bosom, it threw 
 a wave seventy feet high clear over the island of Schwanau, and 
 rolled up on to the opposite shore, bringing back, in its reflux, houses 
 with their inhabitants. The friends whom their fellow travellers 
 had seen enter the village of Goldau just as the mountain started 
 on its march, were never seen more. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, as I sat and looked over this chaos of 
 rocks and earth. The Lake of Lowertz slept quietly under the 
 summer sun, and the bell of Goldau was ringing out its merry 
 peal in the very face of the Rossberg, that seemed to look down 
 with a stern and savage aspect on the ruin at his feet. The deep 
 gash in his forehead and his riven side still remain as fresh as if 
 made but yesterday. I wandered over the ground all ridged and 
 broken, just as it was at the close of that terrible day, with feel- 
 ings of the profoundest melancholy. A few scattered houses had 
 been built on the debris of rocks and stone, and here and there 
 
IB TRADITION OF LAKE LOWERTZ. 
 
 was a mockery of a garden, which the unconscious husbandman 
 was endeavouring to till above the bones of his father. A gloom 
 rests on all the valley, and Rossberg seems sole monarch here. 
 
 " Mountains have fallen 
 
 Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock 
 Rocking their Alpine brethren, filling up 
 The ripe green vallies with destruction's splinters, 
 Damming the rivers with a sudden dash, 
 Which crushed the waters into mist, and made 
 Their fountains find another channel : thus — 
 Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rossberg." 
 
 On the island of Schwanau, in Lake Lowertz, is the ruin of a 
 castle destroyed by the Swiss to revenge the violence done by its 
 owner to a young woman. There is a tradition attached to it 
 wild enough to form the ground-work of half a dozen novels. It 
 is said that once a year shrieks are heard to ring from it, and 
 immediately after, the ghost of the old villain shoots by, pressed 
 hard after by the spirit of the pale, wronged girl, bearing a torch 
 in her hand, and screaming terrifically on his flying traces. For 
 a while he escapes his frail pursuer, but at length she forces him 
 into the lake, where he sinks with hideous groans. A wild chaos 
 of tones and fearful yells rings up from the shore as the waves 
 close over him, and the scene is ended. The good people need 
 not be so anxious to insure the doom of the old wretch. The 
 spirit of that pale girl is avenged without all this trouble, and the 
 waves that close over him are more terrible than the waters of 
 Lowertz. 
 
 I walked from Goldau to Arth all alone, and amused myself 
 with watching the groups of peasantry that constantly passed me 
 with curious looks. It was some fete day, and they were all clad 
 in their holiday dresses, and went smiling on, as cheerful as the 
 bright day about them. They would accost me in the most plea- 
 sant manner, and I was constantly greeted with " guten morgen" 
 or " gut Tag," that made me feel as if I were among friends. 
 As I entered the hotel at Arth, the first thing that met my eye 
 was my trunk. Its familiar look was as welcome as the face of 
 a friend, and, childish as it may seem, I felt less solitary than 
 when last and alone I entered the quiet inn. 
 
ZWINGLI. 79 
 
 There is an excellent arrangement in Switzerland, by which 
 one can mail his baggage as he can a letter, to any town on the 
 mail route in the whole country. The traveller enters his differ- 
 ent articles, takes his ticket, and then can go off into the Alps, 
 and be gone for two months without the least concern. My cork 
 sole boots, with which I had climbed every pass, gave out at Gol- 
 dau, but by dint of strings, etc., I made them do till I reached 
 Arth, where I was compelled to abandon the trustiest companions 
 of all my travels ; and left them standing in the inn, with their 
 tops leaning over one side, in the most dolorous, reproachful man- 
 ner imaginable. It is curious how one becomes attached to every 
 thing he carries about him in the Alps. I have known the most 
 unsentimental men carry their Alpine stock across the Atlantic 
 with them. 
 
 The ride through the canton of Zug to Zurich was one of the 
 pleasantest I took in Switzerland, and I verily believe this is one 
 of the most beautiful cantons in it. There was a neatness in the 
 dwellings and costumes of the inhabitants I had not noticed before. 
 I passed by the spot where Zwingli the Reformer fell, in the 
 midst of his flock, transfixed by a sword ; and by the monument 
 erected to commemorate the place where Henry Von Hunenberg 
 shot an arrow from the Austrian lines into the Swiss camp bearing 
 the sentence " Beware of Mortgarten." The Swiss took the 
 advice, and won the battle, and their descendants have reared 
 this memento of the bold young patriot. Before entering Zurich, 
 as we came in sight of the lake almost its entire length, I had 
 one of the finest lake views I ever beheld. The beautiful shores 
 sprinkled with white dwellings ; the town itself, and its gardens, 
 and the distant mountains, combined to render it a perfect picture. 
 Zurich is a pleasant town, and reminded me more of home than 
 any place on the continent. Its white dwellings surrounded with 
 gardens and grounds, carried me back in a moment to New Eng- 
 land. I spent the Sabbath here, and was surprised to find in this 
 home of Zwingli — this Protestant canton — so little respect paid 
 to its sanctity. Towards evening the military were reviewed 
 on the public square, while on one side was a public exhibition of 
 rope-dancers and tumblers, and among the tumblers two rosy- 
 cheeked peasant girls. This is a Protestant canton indeed. 
 
80 SABBATH IN ZURICH. 
 
 Protestant it may be, but this was no Protestant Sabbath. Yet, 
 externally, Zurich is one of the pleasantest towns in Switzerland. 
 The views around it are beautiful, while the rural aspect of the 
 whole gives it a charm few Swiss villages possess. I love the 
 land of the bold Swiss ; I love its lakes and snow-peaks and 
 smiling vallies ; but alas for its inhabitants. Their glory is in 
 the past, and their stern integrity too. It seems impossible that 
 any people should long retain simplicity and purity of character 
 in the heart of Europe. The influence of the corrupt nations is 
 too great, especially when the contact is so frequent as now. 
 
FORMATION OF AVALANCHES. 81 
 
 XV. 
 
 AVALANCHES AND GLACIERS, THEIR FORMA- 
 TION AND MOVEMENT. 
 
 Before taking leave of Switzerland, it may be interesting to 
 give some statistics of the Alps, though they are always after- 
 thoughts with the traveller. I have hitherto endeavoured to give 
 the effect of the scenery one meets in the Alps rather than detailed 
 descriptions of it. 
 
 Avalanches are regarded by many as immense masses of snow 
 of a somewhat globular form, which gather as they roll till they 
 acquire the size of a miniature mountain, and are more terrible 
 to see even, than to hear. This is true of many of those which 
 fall in winter, but not of those which descend in spring and early 
 summer. The Swiss have different names for different kinds of 
 avalanches. There is the Staublawinen, or dust avalanche, and 
 Grundlawinen, or ground avalanche. The former is the falling 
 of loose fresh-fallen snow. Gathering into huge drifts upon some 
 peak till it is detached by its own weight ; it slides away until it 
 reaches a precipice, when it commences rolling and thundering 
 down the mountain. Increasing in bulk with every bound, and ex- 
 tending farther and wider, it acquires at length an impetus and 
 strength that sweep down whole forests, in its passage, as if the 
 trees were slender reeds ; and moves across the entire valley, into 
 which it lands. This, however, is not the most dangerous kind of 
 avalanche, as it only huries people and cattle, and does not crush 
 them ; so that they can frequently be dug out again without serious 
 injury. The Grundlawinen, on the other hand, is a more serious 
 matter. It falls in the springtime, and is dislodged by the action 
 of sun, south winds, and rain. These thawing the upper surface, 
 
 7 
 
DESCENT OF AVALANCHES. 
 
 the water trickles down through the crevices, increasing their 
 width and depth till huge blocks, indeed immense precipices, are 
 sawn loose by this slow process ; and tipping over or sliding away, 
 come with the might of fate itself down the precipitous sides of 
 the mountain. A village disappears in its path in a breath — trees 
 three feet in diameter are snapped off like pipe stems, and nothing 
 but a wild ruinous waste is left where it sweeps in its wrath. As 
 I mentioned before, these avalanches have paths they travel regu- 
 larly as deer. This is indicated by the shape of the mountains, 
 and if the path comes straight on the site of a village, the inhabi- 
 tants build strong parapets of mason work, against which the ava- 
 lanches may thunder and accumulate. These prove sometimes, 
 however, too weak for the falling mass, and are borne away in its 
 headlong sweep, adding still greater ruin and terror to its march. 
 The village I saw crushed in the pass of the Tete Noire had such 
 a wall built behind its church to protect it. For a long time it 
 withstood the shock of the avalanches that fell against it, but one 
 night there came one too strong to be resisted, and bore away par- 
 apet, church, hamlet and all. The wind caused by an avalanche 
 in its passage is sometimes terrific. A blast is generated by the 
 rapid motion of the headlong mass, like that created by a cannon 
 ball in its descent, which extends to some distance both sides of it, 
 and bears down trees and whirls them like feathers through 
 the atmosphere. A church spire was once blown down by one 
 that fell a quarter of a mile off. These masses of ice and snow 
 sometimes fill up immense gorges, and are bored through by the 
 torrent, forming a natural bridge, over which the peasants drive 
 their cattle the entire summer. The Swiss have their " sacred 
 groves," which are the forests that are left standing on a moun- 
 tain side above a hamlet to protect it from avalanches. 
 
 Those which fall in early summer are attended with very little 
 danger, as they usually descend in abysses where no traveller 
 ever goes. They are seen at a distance, and hence have none 
 of the appearance comnionly supposed to belong to an avalanche. 
 You hear first a rumbling sound, which soon swells to a full, 
 though distant thunder ; tone and in turning your eye towards the 
 spot whence the sound proceeds, you see something which appears 
 like a small white rivulet pouring down the mountain side, now 
 
FORMATION OF GLACIERS. 83 
 
 disappearing in some ravine, and now reappearing on the edge of 
 some cliff, over which it runs, and falls with headlong speed and 
 increased »roar, till it finally lands in some deep abyss. You 
 wonder at first how so small a movement can create so deep and 
 startling a sound, but in that apparently small rivulet are rolling 
 whole precipices of ice, with a rapidity and power that nothing 
 could resist. Yet these terrible visitants become as familiar to 
 the Swiss as our own rain-storms to us. The peasantry wait their 
 regular descent in the spring as indications that winter is over. 
 Those which are loosened by the human voice or the jingling of 
 bells are so nicely balanced at the time, that it requires but the 
 slightest change or shock in the atmosphere to destroy their 
 equilibrium. 
 
 Glaciers are the everlasting drapery of the Alps, clothing 
 them in summer and winter with their robes of ice. They are 
 formed by the successive thawing and freezing of the loose snow 
 in spring and summer. Melting in the daytime and freezing at 
 night, the whole mass at length becomes crystalized ; — and as the 
 lower extremities melt in summer, they gradually move down the 
 mountain, carrying with them debris of rocks and stone, making 
 a perfect geological cabinet of the hill it throws up. 
 
 Glaciers begin at an elevation of about 8000 feet or a little 
 less — above this are eternal snow fields. These gletschers or 
 glaciers constitute one of the most striking features of Alpine 
 scenery. Whether looked upon with the eye of a geologist, and 
 the slow and mighty process of renovation and destruction, con- 
 templated, working on from the birth to the death of Time ; or 
 whether regarded with the eye of a landscape painter, as they 
 now clasp the breast of a bold peak in their shining embrace, and 
 now stretch their icy arms far away into the mountains, and 
 now plunge their glittering foreheads into the green valley — 
 they are the same objects of intense interest, and ever fresh 
 wonder. 
 
 As they push down the declivities, the obstructions they meet 
 with, and the broken surface over which they pass, throw them 
 into every variety of shape. Towers are suddenly squeezed up 
 forty or fifty feet high, and precipices thrown out which topple over 
 with the roar of thunder. Rocks or boulders that have been car- 
 
84 CREVICES. 
 
 ried away from their resting-places on the bosom of a glacier 
 protect the ice under them by their shadow, while the surrounding 
 mass gradually melts away, leaving them standing on stately 
 pedestals, huge block obelisks slowly travelling towards the val- 
 ley. Whenever these descending masses enter a gorge up in the 
 mountains, they spread out into it, partially filling it up, and are 
 called ice seas. The Mer de Glace of Chamouny is one of these. 
 These large collections of ice are traversed by immense crevices, 
 reaching hundreds of feet down, and revealing that beautiful 
 ultra-marine colour which the Rhone has as it leaves Lake Gene- 
 va. Through these fissures, streams flow in every direction, and 
 collecting at the lower extremity of the glacier, under the roof of 
 a huge cavern of their own making, flow off*, a turbid torrent, into 
 the valley. Into these crevices the snow frequently drifts, cho- 
 king up the portion near the surface, thus making concealed pit- 
 falls for the traveller, and sometimes even for the wary, bold 
 chamois hunter. Above the glaciers, near the summit, one fre- 
 quently meets with red snow. I have seen it myself, and noticed 
 it when I was not looking for it. The colour is said to be pro- 
 duced by a species of fungus called " Palmella Nivalis or Proto- 
 cocus," which makes the snow itself its soil, and germinates and 
 grows in imperceptible branches over the surface. The invisible 
 threads reaching out in every direction give to the snow a deep 
 crimson blush, which, as the plant dies, changes into a dirty 
 black. The number of glaciers in the Alps has been put by Ebel 
 at four hundred, covering a surface of about three hundred and 
 fifty square miles. But he might as well attempt to estimate the 
 number and weight of all the avalanches that fall, for these gla- 
 ciers are of all sizes, from a few rods to miles, and in every 
 variety of shape and position. The one around the Finster- 
 Aar-horn contains a hundred and twenty square miles. The 
 traveller sees, as at Grindelwald and Chamouni, only the 
 branches, the mere arms of these mighty forms. Scientific men 
 differ very much as to the relative thickness of glaciers, though 
 they average probably not 'more than seventy or eighty feet. 
 The Mer de Glace, where it pitches into the vale of Chamouni, is 
 a hundred and eighty feet thick. Some of these glaciers are of a 
 pure white, and shine in the noonday sun with dazzling splendour, 
 
SOUNDS IN THE ALPS. 
 
 but the greater part of them are covered with the debris of the 
 mountains, giving them a dirty hue, wholly unlike the appearance 
 one imagines they present, who has never seen them. The im- 
 pression they make on the mind of the beholder, however, can 
 never be effaced. The marks of power, of terrific struggles they 
 carry about them, fill the mind with emotions of grandeur almost 
 equal to the solitary avalanche and its lonely voice of thunder. 
 They have a voice of their own, too, called by the mountaineers 
 Irullen (growlings), caused by the rending of the solid mass when 
 the south-east wind breathes upon it. The lower portion of the 
 Alps is full of sound and motion : even after you leave the tinkling 
 of bells, the music of the horn and the bleating of goats, there is 
 the roar of the torrent, the shock of the avalanche, and the grind- 
 ing, crushing sound of the mighty glacier. But when you ascend 
 above these, all is still and silent as the sepulchre. Eternal sab- 
 bath reigns around the peaks, and solitude deeper than the heart 
 of the forest, embraces the subdued and humbled adventurer, 
 while the sudden flight of a pheasant from amid the snow, or the 
 slow and lordly sweep of the Lamergeyer, in his circles upward, 
 startle the feelings into greater intensity. 
 
AN ALPINE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XVL 
 
 PASTURAGES, CHALETS, AND ALPINE PASSES. 
 
 In passing through the higher Alps nothing has afTorded me 
 more pleasure than the green pasturages which, here and there, 
 dot the savage landscape. Sometimes they have burst unexpect- 
 edly on me, as the fierce Alpine storm-cloud rent above them, re- 
 vealing for a moment a face of gentleness and beauty, and then 
 veiling it again in impenetrable gloom ; and now greeting me 
 from the precipitous side of some difficult pass ; yet always awa- 
 kening the same emotions. The bold features of Alpine scenery 
 and the strong contrasts presented by the quiet meadow spot 
 and the cold white glaciers that lay their icy hands on its green 
 bosom — the secure little hamlet, surrounded by the most savage and 
 awful forms of nature — must make an ineffaceable impression on 
 the heart of a Swiss mountaineer, and prevent, I should think, his 
 ever being an. emigrant. I am inclined to believe very few in 
 proportion to the whole population ever do leave the region of the 
 Alps. I remember finding a returned emigrant on the summit 
 of the Righi. He had trinkets of various kinds to sell, made of 
 wood and chamois horn, dec. I do not know how it happened, but 
 I accidentally learned that he had once been to America, and was 
 curious to learn what had brought him back. He liked the new 
 country, he said, very well, but he liked the Alps better. "Oh," 
 said he, " you have no Alps in America !" He could not forget 
 the mountains and glaciers and pasturage of his native land, and 
 I could not blame him. And yet the poetry of a Swiss mountain- 
 eer's life is all in appearance and none in reality. So with the 
 chalets and pasturages ; — they are picturesque things in the land- 
 
DESCRIPTION OF THE CHALET. 87 
 
 scape, and there their beauty ends. The life of a Swiss herds- 
 man is any thing but one of sentiment. The sound of his horn 
 at sunrise, ringing through the sweet valley as he drives his flocks 
 to pasture ; and the song of the " Ranz des vaches^^ as the herds 
 slowly wind along the mountain paths, are delightful to the ear. 
 So is the tinkling of countless bells at evening, one of the pleasant- 
 est sounds that was wont to greet me in my wanderings in the 
 Alps. But the herdsman thinks of none of these things. To 
 gather together nearly a hundred cows twice a day, and milk 
 them, and make the butter and cheese, and do all the outdoor 
 work belonging to such a dairy, make his life one of constant toil. 
 The chalet too, which is simply a Western log hut, built in exact- 
 ly the same style, and loaded down with stone on the roof to keep 
 it from being blown away by the Alpine blast, — though adding 
 much to the scenery, is any thing but a comfortable home. A 
 table and bench constitute the furniture — some loose straw above, 
 the bed, while through the crevices on every side the wind and 
 rain enter at their leisure. To complete the discomfort, the cattle 
 are allowed to tread the ground around it into a barnykrd. There 
 are exceptions to this rul.e, but this is the common chalet which 
 meets one at every turn on a Swiss pasturage. They are built 
 with no reference to each other, but are scattered around on the 
 slopes as if sieved down from above, and alighted where they did 
 by the merest chance. The number that will be scattered around 
 in a single valley is almost incredible. As I descended into Grin- 
 delwald the thick sprinkling of these little low dark-looking cha- 
 lets over the distant slopes produced a most singular effect. Their 
 number seemed literally legion. There are ten thousand in the 
 Simmenthal alone. 
 
 In Switzerland Alps signifies mountain pasturage, and is used 
 in that sense. These Alps, or mountain pasturages, are some- 
 times private property, and sometimes the property of the village 
 or commune. When owned by the latter, every inhabitant is al- 
 lowed to pasture a certain number of cattle for so many days upon 
 it. I saw, near Grindelwald, one of these government pasturages, 
 and it was literally covered with cows. The valley furnishes the 
 first pasture in the spring, and as the summer advances, and the 
 higher pasturages become free of snow, the herds are driven up to 
 
MODE OF PASTURING CATTLE. 
 
 them. Owners of a large number of cattle will have a chalet on 
 every pasturage for their cowherd. 
 
 In speaking of the customs of the Swiss in this respect, Latrobe 
 says : " They stay on the first pasturages till about the 10th or 
 12th of June, when the cattle are driven to the middle range of 
 pasturages. That portion of the herd intended for a summer 
 campaign on the highest Alps remain here till the beginning of 
 July, and, on the fourth of that month, generally ascend to them j 
 return to the middle range of pastures about seven or eight weeks 
 afterwards, spend there about fourteen days, or three weeks, to 
 eat the after grass ; and finally return into the valleys about the 
 10th or 11th of October, where they remain, in the vicinity of the 
 villages, till driven by the snow and tempests of winter into the 
 stables. 
 
 " That portion of the cattle, on the other hand, which is not 
 destined to pass the summer on the higher Alps, and are necessary 
 for the supply of the village with milk and butter, descend from 
 the middVe pastures, on the fourth of July, into the valley, and 
 consume tnfe grass upon the pasturage belonging to the commune, 
 till the winter drives them under shelter. The very highest Al- 
 pine pasturages are never occupied more than three or four 
 weeks." 
 
 I have already, in another place, spoken of the custom of dri- 
 ving herds to the most inaccessible pasturages in midsummer. 
 Herds are thus driven across the Mer de Glace, in July, to the 
 pasturages beyond, though more or less cattle are lost in the 
 crevices of the glaciers at every passage. 
 
 Murray says that the best cheese is made " upon pastures 3000 
 feet above the level of the sea, in the vales of Simmen, and Saa- 
 nen, and Emmenthal. The best cows there yield, in summer, 
 between twenty and forty pounds of milk daily, and each cow 
 produces, by the end of the season of four months, on an average, 
 two hundred weight of cheese." I have seen herds feeding six 
 and seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. 
 
 I ought to add, perhaps, in justice to the Swiss, that some of the 
 chalets I spoke of as exceptions to those I described as being 
 both uncomfortable and dirty, are as neat and tidy as a New 
 England farm-house. The white table-cloth and clean though 
 
NUMBER OF ALPINE PASSES. 89 
 
 rude furniture, and fresh butter and milk, and pleasant face of 
 the hospitable mistress, make the traveller's heart leap within him, 
 as, weary and cold, he crosses the threshold. 
 
 I have spoken of several of the Alpine passes in detail, and re- 
 fer to them now merely to state that there are fifty in Switzerland 
 alone. Those roads constructed for carriages are not allowed to 
 rise more than a certain number of feet to a mile. Distance 
 seems not to have entered into the calculations of the engineers 
 who built those monuments of human skill — carriage roads over 
 the Alps. They were after a certain grade, and they obtained it, 
 though by contortions and serpentine windings that seem almost 
 endless. Thus the Simplon averages nowhere more than one 
 inch elevation to a foot, and, indeed, not quite that. Thirty thou- 
 sand men were employed on this road six years. There are 611 
 bridges in less than forty miles, ten galleries, and twenty houses 
 of refuge, while the average width of the road is over twenty-five 
 feet. The cost of the whole was about #1,200,000. The Splu- 
 gen presents almost as striking features as the Simplon. From 
 these facts some idea may be gathered of the stupendous work it 
 must be to carry a carriage road over the Alps. 
 
 In the winter they are all blocked up, and none but the bold 
 foot traveller ventures on their track. The driving snow-storms 
 and falling avalanches render them impassable to carriages, and 
 perilous even to the accustomed mountaineer. I believe that the 
 mail is carried over the Simplon, during the winter, by a man 
 either on foot or with a mule. I think I have been told that he 
 makes the passage twice a week, bringing to the hospice on the 
 top the only news that reach it of the world below. For eight 
 months in the year the inhabitants of the higher Alps might as 
 well be out of the world, for all knowledge they have of its doings 
 and ways. 
 
90 LAST VIEW OF THE ALPS. 
 
 XVII. 
 A FAREWELL TO SWITZERLAND-BASLE. 
 
 The first view one gets of the Rhine in leaving Switzerland 
 from the east is on his way from Zurich to Basle. Here, also, 
 he takes his farewell look of the Alps. From the top of the 
 Botzberg the whole range of the Bernese Alps rises on the view. 
 Amid the scenes in which he has moved since he left their pres- 
 ence, the traveller almost forgot their existence, and as they here 
 rise again on his vision, they bring back a world of associations 
 on his heart. There they stand leaning against the distant sky, 
 like the forms of friends he has left forever. Such were my feel- 
 ings as I sat down by the road-side, under as bright a sky as ever 
 bent over the vineyards of Italy, and looked off upon those bold 
 peaks which had become to me objects of affection. A few days 
 only had clasped since I was amid their terror and their beauty. 
 I had seen the moonbeams glancing on their glaciers at midnight, 
 and heard the music of their torrents lifting up their voices from 
 the awful abysses. I had seen the avalanche bound from their 
 precipices, and rush, smoking and thundering, into the gulfs below 
 — and been wrapt in their storms and clouds. I had toiled and 
 struggled through their snow drifts and stood enraptured on their 
 green pasturages, while the music of bells, the bleating of flocks, 
 and the clear tones of the Alp-horn made it seem like a dream- 
 land to me. A mere dwarf in comparison, I had moved and 
 mused amid those terrific forms. Now mellowed and subdued by 
 distance, the vast, white, irregular mass, lay like a monster dream- 
 ing in the blue mist. Clouds resting below the summit slept here 
 and there along the range, and all was silent and beautiful. I 
 love nature always, but especially in these her grander and no- 
 
A LEGEND. 91 
 
 bier aspects. The Alps had lain along the horizon of my imag- 
 ination from childhood up. The desire of years had at length 
 been fulfilled, and I had wandered amid the avalanches and gla- 
 ciers and snow-fields and cottages of the Oberland, and now I was 
 taking my last look. • It was with feelings of profound melancholy 
 I turned away from St. Peters and the Duomo of Milan, feeling 
 I should see their magnificent proportions no more. But it was 
 with still sadder feelings I gazed my farewell on the glorious 
 Alps. 
 
 On this route, within half a mile of Brugg, is a lunatic asylum, 
 once the Abbey of Koenigsfelden, (King's field,) which the guide 
 book informs you was founded in 1310, by Empress Elizabeth, 
 and Agnes, Queen of Hungary, on the spot where the Emperor 
 Albert, the husband of the former and father of the latter, was as- 
 sassinated. Leaving his suite on the opposite bank, he had cross- 
 ed the river Reuss at this point, with only the four conspirators 
 accompanying him. The principal one, John of Swabia, was 
 the nephew of Albert, and was incited to this deed from being 
 kept out of his paternal inheritance by his uncle. He struck 
 first, and sent his lance through the Emperor's throat. Bolm then 
 pierced him through and through with his sword, while Walter 
 von Eschenbach cleaved his skull in twain with a felling stroke. 
 Wart, the fourth conspirator, took no part in the murder, and yet, 
 by a singular providence, was the only one that was ever caught 
 and executed for the deed. The others escaped, although the 
 King's attendants were in sight. Indeed the latter was so alarm- 
 ed they took to flight, leaving their master to die alone, sustained 
 and cheered only by a poor peasant girl, who held the royal dy- 
 ing head upon her bosom. 
 
 " Alone she sate : from hill and wood low sunk the mournful sun ; 
 Fast gushed the fount of noble blood ; treason its worst had done. 
 With her long hair she vainly pressed the wounds to staunch their tide : 
 Unknown, on that meek humble breast imperial Albert died." 
 
 On the friends and families of these murderers the children of 
 Albert wreaked a most bloody vengeance. The remotest relative 
 was hunted down and slain, and every friend offered up as a vic- 
 tim to revenge, till one thousand is supposed to have fallen. Queen 
 
92 SABBATH IN BASLE. 
 
 Agnes was accustomed to witness the executions, and seemed ac- 
 tuated by the spirit of a fiend while the horrid butchery was go- 
 ing on. On one occasion she saw sixty-three, one after another 
 slain, and in the midst of the bloody spectacle exclaimed, " Now 
 I hathe in May-dew.^^ This convent of Koenigsfelden was en- 
 dowed with the confiscated property of these murdered men, and 
 here she ended her days. But her religious seclusion, prayers 
 and almsgiving were powerless to wipe the blood from her con- 
 science. The ghosts of her murdered and innocent victims rose 
 up before her guilty spirit, and frightened peace from her bosom. 
 Revenge had been gratified, but she forgot that after it has been 
 glutted with victims, it always turns round and gnaws at the heart 
 which gave it birth. When she came to die, and the vision of 
 that terrible and just tribunal that awaited her passed before her 
 trembling spirit, she sent for a priest to give her absolution. 
 " Woman," he replied, " God is not to be served with bloody 
 hands, nor by the slaughter of innocent persons, nor by convents 
 built with the plunder of widows and orphans, — but by mercy 
 and forgiveness of injuries." Switzerland is full of these wild 
 tales. They meet you at every turn ; and you often start to be 
 told you are standing on the grave of a murderer. 
 
 Basle is the last town in Switzerland standing on the Rhine at 
 the head of navigation. It contains a little over 21,000 inhabi- 
 tants, and is well worth a longer stay than the thousands of trav- 
 ellers who yearly pass through it ever give it. It was once one 
 of the strictest of the Swiss cities in its sumptuary laws. Every 
 person on the Sabbath, who went to church, was compelled to 
 dress in black ; no carriage could enter the town after ten at 
 night, and the luxury of a footman was forbidden. A set of of- 
 ficers called Unzichterherrn decided the number of dishes and the 
 wines to be used at a dinner party, and also the cut and quality 
 of all the clothes worn. Until fifty years ago, the time-pieces of 
 this town were an hour in advance of all others in Europe. Tra- 
 dition states that this curious custom had its origin in the deliver- 
 ance of the place once from a band of conspirators by the town 
 clock striking one instead of twelve. But the Swiss have a tra- 
 dition to establish every custom. There is a curious head attach- 
 ed to the clock tower standing on the bridge which connects the 
 
METHODISM IN BASLE. 93 
 
 two towns. The movement of the pendulum causes a long tongue 
 to protrude, and the eyes to roll about — " making faces," it is said, 
 " at Little Basle on the opposite side of the river." 
 
 Since the Reformation Basle has been the principal seat of 
 Methodism in Switzerland. Formerly the citizens exhibited their 
 piety in odd mottoes and doggrels placed over their doors in the 
 public streets. These, of course, no longer remain, and the peo- 
 ple are any thing but religious. Two of these strange mottoes 
 we give from the guide book as a specimen of the pious Methodists 
 of that time : 
 
 " Auf Gott ich meine Hoffnung bau 
 Und wohne in der Alien Sau." w 
 
 In God my hope of grace I big, 
 And dwell within the Ancient Pig. 
 
 " Wacht auf ihr Menschen und that Buss 
 Ich heiss zum goldenen Rinderfuss." 
 Wake and repent your sins with grief, 
 I'm called the golden Shin of Beef. 
 
 This was a queer mode of publishing to the traveller one's relig- 
 ious opinions, but it shows to what ridiculous extremes fanaticism 
 will carry a man. To the credit of the place I will say, however, 
 that even now a carriage arriving at the gates of the town during 
 church time on the Sabbath is compelled to wait there till service 
 is over. 
 
 Here one begins to think of the Rhine, "the glorious Rhine." 
 It goes rushing and foaming through Basle as if in haste to reach 
 the vine-clad shores of Germany. The traveller, as he sees its 
 waters darting onward, imbibes a portion of their anxiety, and is 
 in haste to be borne along on their bosom to the shore below, so 
 rich in associations and so marked in the history of man. 
 
94 SWISS CROSS-BOWS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 STRASBOURG-THE RHINE-FRANKFORT. 
 
 One is constantly shown choice relics in passing through 
 Switzerland, as well as in passing over Italy. Some, doubtless, 
 are genuine, but which are so is the trouble. Thus, at Lucerne, 
 in the public archives, I was shown the very sword William 
 Tell was accustomed to swing before him in battle, and the very 
 cross-bow from which he hurled the bolt into the tyrant's bosom. 
 Both, however, are apocryphal. I forgot to mention, by the way, 
 that these old Swiss cross-bows are not our Indian bows, but what 
 school-boys call cross-guns. The bow, frequently made of steel, 
 is fastened to a stock, and the arrow is launched along a groove. 
 The bows of many of these are so stiff that it was with difficulty 
 I could make them spring at all with my utmost strength. I 
 might as well have pulled on a bar of iron. The stiffest of them 
 even the strong-limbed mountaineer could not span with his un- 
 aided strength, and was compelled to have cog wheels and a small 
 crank attached to the stock, by winding which he was enabled to 
 spring the bow. He thus accumulated tremendous force on the 
 arrow, and when it was dismissed it went with the speed and 
 power of a bullet. At Basle there is a large collection of relics, 
 made by a private gentleman, who has sunk his fortune in it. 
 Among other things are Bonaparte's robe worked by Josephine, 
 in which he was crowned at Milan, and a neat rose- wood dressing 
 case of the Empress, containing fifty secret drawers. 
 
 But not to stop here, we will away down the Rhine. The 
 river is here shallow and bad to navigate, and so I took the rail- 
 road to Strasbourg, the lofty spire of whose cathedral rises to 
 
STRASBOURG CATHEDRAL. 95 
 
 view long before the traveller reaches the town. This cathedral 
 or minster is one of the finest Gothic buildings in Europe, and 
 has the loftiest spire in the world, it being four hundred and 
 seventy-four feet above the pavement. It is formed of stone and 
 yet open like frost-work, and looks from below like a delicate 
 cast iron frame. Yet there it stands and has stood, with the wind 
 whistling through its open-work for centuries. Begun about the 
 time of the Crusades by Erwin of Steinbach, it was continued 
 by his son, and afterwards by his daughter, and after that by 
 others, and was finally finished 424 years after its foundation. I 
 am not going to describe it \ but just stand outside, by the west 
 end, and cast your eye over the noble face it presents. Over the 
 solid part of the wall is thrown a graceful net- work of arcades and 
 pillars, formed of stone, yet so delicately cut that it seems a cast- 
 ing fastened on the surface. In the centre is a magnificent cir- 
 cular window, like a huge eye, only it is fifty feet across, while 
 the body of the building itself towers away 230 feet above you, 
 or nearly as high as Trinity church, steeple and all, will be when 
 finished. And over all is this beautiful netting of stone. When 
 Trinity church is completed, clap another just like it, spire and all, 
 on the top of its spire, and you have some conception of the man- 
 ner the Strasbourg Minster lifts its head into the heavens. Among 
 other things in the interior is the famous clock which, till lately, 
 has for a long time remained silent, because no mechanist could 
 be found of sufficient skill to arrange its elaborate interior. It is 
 about the size of a large organ, and tells not only the time of the 
 day, but the changes of the seasons — exhibits the different phases 
 of the moon — the complicated nnovements of the planets, bringing 
 about in their appointed time the eclipses of the sun and moon, 
 besides playing several tunes and performing various marches by 
 way of pastime. It is a time-keeper, astronomer, almanac, 
 mathematician, and musician at the same time. Every hour a 
 procession appears on its face marching round to the sound of 
 music, with some striking figure in the foreground. We waited 
 to notice one performance, and the chief personage that came out 
 to do us honour was old Father Time, with his scythe over his 
 shoulder, and his head bowed down in grief, looking as if he were 
 striking his last hour. Here lies Oberlin, and about a mile and 
 
96 PATE DE FOIES GRAS. 
 
 a half distant, at Waldbach, is his house and library, standing 
 just as he left them. 
 
 Here for the first time I noticed the storks sitting quietly on 
 their nests on the tops of the lofty chimnies, or stepping with their 
 long legs and outstretched necks around on their perilous prome- 
 nade. There is one street in this town called Brand Strasse (Fire 
 Street), from the fact that in 1348 a huge bonfire was made where 
 it runs, to burn the Hebrews, and 2,000 were consumed, for hav- 
 ing, as it was declared, poisoned the wells and fountains of the 
 town. Ah ! almost all Europe has been one wide Brand Strasse 
 to this unfortunate people. 
 
 Strasbourg is the great market for pates defoies gras, made, as 
 it is known, of the livers of geese. These poor creatures are shut 
 up in coops so narrow they cannot turn round in them, and then 
 stuffed twice a day with Indian corn, to enlarge their livers, wMch 
 have been known to swell till they reached the enormous weight 
 of two pounds and a half. Garlick steeped in water is given them 
 to increase their appetites. This invention is worthy of the French 
 nation, where cooks are great as nobles. 
 
 From this place to Mayence, down the Rhine, there is nothing 
 of interest except the old city of Worms, immortal for the part it 
 played in the Reformation. It is now half desolate, but I looked 
 upon it with the profoundest emotions. Luther rose before me 
 with that determined brow and strange, awful eye of his, before 
 which the boldest glance went down. I seemed to behold him as 
 he approached the thronged city. Every step tells on the fate of 
 a world, and on the single will of that single man rests the whole 
 Reformation. But he is firm as truth itself, and in the regular 
 beatings of that mighty heart, and the unfaltering step of that fear- 
 less form, the nations read their destiny. The Rhine is lined with 
 battle fields, and mighty chieftains lie along its banks ; but there 
 never was the march of an army on its shores, not even when 
 Bonaparte trod there with his strong legions, so sublime and awful 
 as the approach of that single man to Worms. The fate of a na- 
 tion hung on the tread of one — that of the world on the other. 
 Crowns and thrones were carried by the former — the freedom of 
 mankind by the latter. What is the headlong valour of Bonaparte 
 on the bridge of Lodi, the terrible charge of McDonald at Wag- 
 
LUTHER. 97 
 
 ram, or Ney at Waterloo, compared to the steady courage of this 
 fearless man, placing himself single-handed against kings and 
 princes, and facing down the whole visible church of God on 
 earth, with its prisons and torture and death placed before him. 
 But there was a mightier power at work within him than human 
 will or human courage — the upstaying and uplifting spirit of God 
 bearing on the heart with its sweet promise, and nerving it with 
 its divine strength, till it could throb as calmly in the earthquake 
 as in the sunshine. Still his was a bold spirit, daring all and 
 more than man dare do. 
 
 The Rhine here is a miserable stream enough, flowing amid 
 low marshy islands, and over a flat country, so that you seem to 
 be moving through a swamp rather than down the most beautiful 
 river of Europe. The boat will now be entangled in a perfect 
 crowd of these mud islands till there seems no way of escape, and 
 now, caught in a current, go dashing straight on to another ; and 
 just when the crash is expected, and you are so near you could 
 easily leap ashore, it shoots away like an arrow, and floats on the 
 broad lake-like bosom of the stream. Nothing can be more stupid 
 than the descent of the Rhine to Mayence. 
 
 Here I crossed the river and took cars for Frankfort-on-the- 
 Maine. Here, also, I first noticed those huge rafts of timber 
 which are brought from the mountains of Germany and floated 
 down to Holland. One was moving down towards the bridge, 
 four hundred feet long, and nearly three hundred wide, sprin- 
 kled over with the cabins of the navigators, who, with their fam- 
 ilies, amounted to between two and three hundred persons. I 
 supposed the spectacle of such immense masses of floating timber 
 was one of the peculiar features of our western world, and I did 
 not expect such a wild and frontier scene here on the Rhine.^ 
 
 There are three classes of cars on the railroad to Frankfort. 
 The first is fitted up for the delicate tastes of noble blood, though 
 free to all. The second is better than any railroad carriage I 
 ever saw at home, and the third very passable. Taking the sec- 
 ond as more becoming my rank, I sped ofl* for Frankfort. Of 
 this free town I will say only that the belt of shrubbery and flow- 
 ers going entirely round it, with carriage drives and promenades 
 between, looks like a beautiful wreath encircling it, and occupy- 
 
 8 
 
98 MOTHER OF THE ROTHSCHILDS. 
 
 2 
 
 ing as it does the place of the old line of forts, is a sweet emblem 
 of the. change that is yet to come over the cities of the world from 
 the peaceful influence of the gospel. The two things that inter- 
 ested us most were, the house in which Goethe was born, showing 
 by its fine exterior that poverty was not the inheritance of one 
 poet at least, — and the Jews' street, at one end of which stands 
 the palace of the Rothschilds. The Jews here, as every where, 
 -are old clothes men, and the street is black with garments hang- 
 ing before the dwellings to tempt the purchaser. The Rothschilds 
 .have built their palace at the end of the street, hut facing one of 
 ithe most fashionable streets of the town. Thus they stand with 
 one foot among the Jews and the other among Christians. I was 
 struck with one little incident illustrating the tenacity with which 
 a Hebrew clings to his despised people. The mother of the 
 Rothschilds still lives among the old clothes in the midst of her 
 kindred, and steadily refuses to dwell with her children in their 
 magnificent palace. Like Ruth she says to her people, " Where 
 thou goest I will go, and thy God shall be my God." I love this 
 strong affection for her persecuted race, choosing, as it does, 
 shame and disgrace with them, rather than honour and riches with 
 the world. Even here, in this enlightened town, until eleven 
 years ago, there was an edict in force restricting the number of 
 marriages among the Hebrews to thirteen per year. 
 
MINERAL SPRINGS OF WEISBADEN. 99 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A DAY IN WIESBADEN 
 
 Wiesbaden is the Saratoga of Germany and the chief town in 
 the Duchy of Nassau. The Duke is the King of this little prov- 
 ince containing 355,715 inhabitants, of whom a little over half 
 are Protestants, 5,845 Jews, and the rest Catholics. This small 
 duchy is filled with Brunnens, or bubbling springs ; but before I 
 give a description of them, let me sketch a day in Wiesbaden. 
 At five o'clock in the morning, the servant, in obedience to my 
 orders, knocked at my door, and with a bright sun just rising over 
 the Taunus mountains to greet me, I threaded my way to the hot 
 springs, a short distance from the centre of the village. A crowd 
 had arrived before me, and were scattered around over the open 
 area or passing up and down the promenades, carrying a glass of 
 the steaming water in their hands, waving it backwards and for- 
 wards in the morning air, and blowing upon the surface to cool it 
 for drinking. This water is so hot it cannot be drank for some 
 time after it is dipped up, and the vessel containing it cannot be 
 grasped for a single moment in the hand. A handle, therefore, is 
 attached to all the vessels, in which each invalid receives his por- 
 tion of the scalding fluid. I stood for a long time convulsed with 
 laughter at the scene that opened before me as I approached this 
 spring, notwithstanding the sobering effects of the early morning 
 air. Now an old man tottered away from the steaming spring, 
 bowing over his glass, which he held with trembling hand close 
 to his face, and blowing with the most imperturbable gravity and 
 dolorous countenance on the scalding fluid. Close behind him 
 shot along a peppery Frenchman, puffing away at his drink, and 
 swinging it backwards and forwards with such velocity and abrupt- 
 
100 MANNER OF DRINKING THE WATER. 
 
 ness, that a portion of the hot water at length spilled over on his 
 hand, when he dropped the vessel as if he had been bitten by a 
 snake, and, with a dozen sacres, stood scowling over the broken 
 fragments that lay scattered at his feet. Old and young women 
 were walking along the promenades utterly absorbed in their cup 
 of boiling water, which it required the nicest balancing to keep 
 from spilling over. This intense attention of so many people to 
 the single object of keeping their cups right end up, and yet swing 
 them as far and rapid as possible in order to cool the water, was 
 irresistibly comical. Almost every man's character could be dis- 
 cerned in the way he carried his cup, and the success which at- 
 tended his operations. Your quiet lazy man sat down on a bench, 
 put his vessel beside him, and crossing his legs, waited with the 
 most composed mien the sure operation of the laws of nature to 
 cool his dose, while the ardent impatient personage kept shaking 
 and blowing his tumbler, and sipping every now and then, to the 
 no slight burning of his lips. 
 
 After having watched for a while this to me novel spectacle, I 
 stepped up to the spring and received from a young girl my por- 
 tion of this boiling broth, and commenced my promenade, present- 
 ing, probably, to some other traveller, as ridiculous a figure as 
 those who had just excited my mirth had to me. 
 
 The taste of this water, when partially cooled, is precisely like 
 chicken broth. Says a humorous English traveller, of this spring, 
 (Sir Francis Head,) " If I were to say that, while drinking it, one 
 hears in one's ears the cackling of hens, and that one sees feath- 
 ers flying before one's eyes, I should certainly greatly exaggerate ; 
 but when I declare that it exactly resembles very hot chicken 
 broth, I only say what Dr. Grenville said, and what, in fact, every 
 body says, and must say, respecting it, and certainly I do wonder 
 why the common people should be at the inconvenience of making 
 bad soup, when they can get much better from nature's great 
 stock-pot, the Kochbrunnen of Wiesbaden. At all periods of the 
 year, summer and winter, the temperature of this broth remains 
 the same ; and when one reflects that it has been bubbling out of 
 the ground, and boiling over, in the very same state, certainly 
 from the time of the Romans, and probably from the time of the 
 flood, it is really astonishing what a most wonderful apparatus 
 
THE KUR SAAL. 101 
 
 there must exist below, what an inexhaustible stock of provisions 
 to ensure such an everlasting supply of broth always formed of 
 the same eight or ten ingredients, always salted to exactly the 
 same degree, and always served up at exactly the same heat. 
 One would think that some of the particles in the recipe would 
 be exhausted : in short, to speak metaphorically, that the chickens 
 would at last be boiled to rags, or that the fire would go out for 
 want of coals ; but the oftener one reflects on this sort of subjects, 
 the oftener is the oldfashioned observation forced upon the mind, 
 that let a man go where he will, Omnipotence is never from his 
 view." 
 
 This water, like that of Saratoga, is good for every thing : for 
 those too fat and those too lean, for those too hot and those too 
 cold, for all ages and conditions and sexes. After having swal- 
 lowed a sufficient quantity of this broth, and what is better still, 
 a good breakfast, I wandered two miles, through shaded walks, 
 from the Kur Saal to the picturesque ruins of Sonnenberg Castle. 
 Lying down under its shady trees, and away from the noise of 
 the bustling little village, I forgot for a while, Wiesbaden, Koch- 
 brunnen, chicken broth, and all. 
 
 This Kur Saal is a magnificent hotel, built by the Duke, and 
 capable of seating several hundred at dinner. The main saloon 
 is 130 feet long, 60 wide, and 50 feet high. The price for dinner 
 is the very reasonable sum of some thirty-four or five cents. 
 Back of this building is an open area with seats in it, where hun- 
 dreds, after dinner, sit and drink coffee ; and farther on, a passa- 
 ble pond, beautiful shrubbery, and countless walks. I hardly 
 know a pleasanter spot to spend a week or two in than Wies- 
 baden, were it not for the gambling that is constantly practised. 
 In the public rooms of the Kur Saal are roulette tables and other 
 apparatus for gambling, which after dinner, and especially in the 
 evening, are surrounded with persons of both sexes, most of 
 whom stake more or less money. Directly opposite me at dinner, 
 sat a young man whose countenance instantly attracted my at- 
 tention. He was very pale and thin, while his cold blue eye, 
 high cheek bones, and almost marble whiteness and hardness of 
 features, together with a sullen, morose aspect, made me shrink 
 ' from him as from some deadly thing. Added to all this, when 
 
102 A GAMBLER. 
 
 he rose from the table, I saw he had an ugly limp, which made 
 him seem more unnatural and monster-like than before. 
 
 Wandering soon after through the rooms, seeing what was to 
 be seen, I came to a roulette table around which were gathered 
 gentlemen and ladies of all nations and ages, some of them sta- 
 king small sums apparently for mere amusement. Just then, this 
 sullen cadaverous looking young man came limping up, and de- 
 posited a roll of twenty Napoleons or about #80. A single turn 
 of the wheel, and it was lost. He quietly drew forth another 
 roll, which was also quickly lost. Without the least agitation or 
 apparent excitement he thus continued to draw forth one roll af- 
 ter another till ten of them or about $800 were gone. He then 
 as quietly, and without saying a single word, limped away. He 
 had not spoken or changed a muscle the whole time, and mani- 
 fested no more anxiety or regret than if he had lost only so many 
 pennies. " There," said I to myself, as he sauntered away, 
 " goes a professed gambler, and he has all the qualities for a suc- 
 cessful one. Perfectly cool and self-possessed under the most 
 provoking reverses, he does not get angry and rave at fickle, per- 
 verse fortune, but takes it all as a matter of business." I then 
 knew, for the first time, why I felt such an antipathy towards 
 him. A gambler carries his repulsive soul in his face, in his 
 eye, nay, almost in his very gait. He makes a chilling atmos- 
 phere around him that repels every one that approaches him. 
 Gambling seems to metamorphose a man more than any other 
 crime except murder. 
 
 But let us away from this contaminating influence, and forth 
 into God's beautiful world — into the forest, and beauty and bloom 
 of nature, where one can breathe free again, and feel the sooth- 
 ing and balmy influence of the summer wind as it creeps over 
 the mountain ridges. The sun is stooping to the western world, 
 hasting, as it were, to my own beloved land, and the dark forests 
 of the Taunus seem to wave an invitation to their cool shades. 
 
 Taking a guide with me, I mounted a donkey and started for 
 " Die Platte," or the duke's hunting seat, four miles distant, on 
 the very summit of the Taunus. For a long while we trotted 
 along together, when, all at once, a flock of deer burst from the 
 thicket, and bounded across our path. Going a little way into the 
 
HUNTING CHATEAU. 103 
 
 wood, they stopped, and allowed me to urge my donkey to within 
 a few rods of them. Indeed they seemed almost as tame as sheep. 
 I asked my guide what would be the penalty if he should shoot 
 one of those deer. " Three years' imprisonment," he replied. 
 " In my country," said I, "there are plenty of deer, and you can 
 shoot one down wherever you find it. and have it after it is killed." 
 He looked at me a moment, in astonishment, and then simply said, 
 " That must be a strange country." A strange country indeed 
 to him, who was going through a wide unbroken forest, and yet 
 could not even take a wild bird's nest without paying a fine of five 
 florins. At length we reached the duke's hunting seat, a white 
 cubic building, standing alone and naked on the very summit of 
 the hill. Two huge bronze stags stand at the entrance, while 
 immense antlers are nailed up in every part of the hall, and 
 along the staircase, with a paper under each, telling that it was 
 shot by the duke, and the date of the remarkable achievement. I 
 could not but smile at this little piece of ostentation, as I had just 
 seen how difficult it must be to kill one of these deer. I had rode 
 on horseback (or, rather, donkeyback) to within pistol shot of four 
 as fine fellows as ever tossed their antlers through the forest, and 
 then was compelled to halloo to frighten them away. I am afraid 
 the duke would hardly show as many trophies if compelled to hunt 
 his game in our primeval forests. The chief room of this building 
 is circular, and has a row of antlers going entirely around it, 
 halfway up the lofty ceiling ; while every piece of furniture in 
 it — chairs, sofas, stools, and all — are made of deer' horns in their 
 natural state. I suppose they must have been steamed and bent 
 into the very convenient shapes they certainly present. The 
 cushions are all made of tanned deer-skins, adorned with hunting 
 scenes, forest landscapes, &c. From the top of this hunting 
 chateau I saw the glorious Rhine, flowing, in a waving line, 
 through the landscape, while cultivated fields and vineyards, and 
 forest-covered hills, and old castles, and towers, and cottages 
 spread away on the excited vision in all the irregular harmony 
 of nature ; and the glorious orb of day threw its farewell light over 
 the whole, as it dropped to its repose over distant France. I turn- 
 ed back to Wiesbaden, through the deepening shades of the forest, 
 
104 A LADY GAMBLER. 
 
 greeted ever and anon, by the flitting form of a noble deer, as he 
 bounded away to his evening shelter. 
 
 At night the Kur Saal is thronged with persons of both sexes ; — 
 and, as I strolled through it, I came again upon a gambling table, 
 around which were sitting gentlemen and ladies of every age and 
 nation. English girls were teasing their " papas" for a few sove- 
 reigns to stake on the turning of a card, and old men were watch- 
 ing the changes of the game with all the eagerness of youth. 
 One lady, in particular, attracted my attention. She was from 
 Belgium, and her whole appearance indicated a person from the 
 upper ranks of society. To an elegant form she added a com- 
 plexion of incomparable whiteness, which contrasted beautifully 
 vv^ith her rich auburn tresses that flowed in ample ringlets around 
 her neck. Clad in simple white, and adorned with a profusion of 
 jewels, she took her seat by the table, while her husband stood 
 behind her chair ; and, with her delicate white hand on a pile of 
 money before her, entered at once into the excitement of the game. 
 As she sat, and with her small rake drew to her, or pushed from 
 her, the money she won or lost, I gazed on her with feelings with 
 which I had never before contemplated a woman. I did not think 
 it was possible for an elegant and well-dressed lady to fill me with 
 feelings of such utter disgust. Her very beauty became ugliness, 
 and her auburn tresses looked more unbecoming than the elfin 
 locks of a sorceress. Her appearance and her occupation pre- 
 sented such an utter contrast, that she seemed infinitely uglier to 
 me than the cold-blooded, cadaverous looking gambler I had seen 
 lose his money a few hours before. While I was mentally com- 
 paring them, in he came, limping towards the table. I was half 
 tempted to peep round and see if he had not a cloven foot. With 
 the same marble-like features and forbidding aspect he approach- 
 ed and laid down a roll of twenty Napoleons. He won, and putting 
 down another, won again ; and thus he continued, winning one 
 after another, till he had got back the ten rolls he had lost before, 
 and two in addition. Then, without waiting for fortune to turn 
 against him, he walked away, not having spoken a word. 
 
 Turning to a bath-house, I threw myself into the steaming 
 water for an hour, and then retired to my couch. These baths 
 are so large one can swim around in them, and are arranged in a 
 
CURIOUS MODE OF BATHING. 105 
 
 row, with only a high partition between them, so that you can 
 hear every splash and groan of your neighbour in the next apart- 
 ment. On one side of me was an old man, apparently, whose 
 kicks, at long intervals, told me he was yet alive. Some two or 
 three women were on the other side, whose laughter and rapid 
 German kept up a constant Babel, while the steam came rolling 
 up over where I lay like the smoke from a coal-pit. I do not 
 know what idea these Germans have of delicacy, but this hearing 
 your neighbours kicking and splashing around you, while the 
 whole building is open the entire length overhead, would not be 
 tolerated in my own country. 
 
 It must be remembered that these gambling " hells" are not in 
 out of the way places, but meet you as they would if placed in 
 the public rooms of the hotels at Saratoga, and were patronized by 
 the fashionables of both sexes from New York city. Methinks 
 it is time another Luther had -arisen to sweep away this chaff of 
 Germany. 
 
106 THE NEIDER SELTERS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 SCHWALBACH AND SCHLANGENBAD. 
 
 There are other mineral waters in Nassau besides those of 
 Wiesbaden, and differing from them entirely in taste and temper- 
 ature. Schwalbach contains several springs very much like the 
 Congress, Pavilion and Iodine Springs of Saratoga. One called 
 the Weinbrunnen, from the fancied resemblance of the water to 
 wine, reminds one very much of the sparkling water of the Pa- 
 vilion Spring. The Stahlbrunnen and the Pauline in the same 
 place, differ from each other only in the little different proportions 
 in which iron and carbonic acid gas are found in them. It is but 
 a day's ride from this to the famous Nieder Selters, the spring 
 from which the well known and almost universally circulated 
 Seltzer water is obtained. Sir Francis Head's description of this 
 spring and the mode of obtaining thp water is better than any I 
 could give. Says he : " On approaching a large circular shed 
 covered with a slated roof, supported by posts but open on all 
 sides, I found the single brunnen or well from which this highly 
 celebrated water is forwarded to almost every quarter of the globe 
 — to India, the West Indies, the Mediterranean, Paris, London, 
 and to almost every city in Germany. The hole, which was 
 about five feet square, was bounded by a framework of four 
 strong beams mortised together, and the bottom of the shed being 
 boarded, it resembled very much, both in shape and dimensions, 
 one of the hatches in the deck of a ship. A small crane with 
 three arms, to each of which there was suspended a square iron 
 crate or basket a little smaller than the brunnen, stood about ten 
 feet off; and while peasant girls, with a stone bottle (holding 
 three pints) dangling on every finger of each hand, were rapidly 
 
MODE OF FILLING THE BOTTLES. 107 
 
 filling two of these crates, which contained seventy bottles, a man 
 turned the third by a winch, until it hung immediately over the 
 brunnen, into which it then rapidly descended. The air in these 
 seventy bottles being immediately displaced by the water, a great 
 bubbling of course ensued, but in about twenty seconds this hav- 
 ing subsided, the crate was raised; and while seventy more 
 bottles descended from another arm of the crane, a fresh set of 
 girls curiously carried off these full bottles, one on each finger 
 of each hand, ranging them in long rows upon a large table or 
 dresser, also beneath the shed. No sooner were they there than 
 two men, with surprising activity, put a cork into each ; while 
 two drummers, with a long stick in each of their hands, hammer- 
 ing them down, appeared as if they were playing upon musical 
 glasses. Another set of young women now instantly carried 
 them off, four and five in each hand, to men who, with sharp 
 knives, sliced off the projecting part of the cork ; and this opera- 
 tion being over, the poor jaded bottles were delivered over to 
 women, each of whom actually covered three thousand of them a 
 day with white leather, which they firmly bound with pack-thread 
 round the corks ; and then, without placing the bottles on the 
 ground, they delivered them over to a man seated beside them, 
 who, without any apology, dipped each of their noses into boiling 
 hot rosin, and before they had recovered from this unexpected 
 operation, the Duke of Nassau's seal was stamped upon them by 
 another man, when then they were hurried, sixteen and twenty at 
 a time, by girls, to magazines, where they peacefully remained 
 ready for exportation. 
 
 " Having followed a set of bottles from the brunnen to the store 
 where I left them resting from their labours, I strolled to another 
 part of the establishment, where were empty bottles calmly wait- 
 ing for their turn to be filled. I here counted twenty-five bins of 
 bottles, each four yards broad, six yards deep, and eight feet high. 
 A number of young girls were carrying thirty-four of them at a 
 time to an immense reservoir, which was kept constantly full, by 
 a large fountain pipe, of beautiful, clear fresh water." 
 
 Speaking of the number of bottles that strew the road in every 
 direction, and make the very place look as if it had been once 
 made of bottles and overthrown in a thunder storm, leaving its 
 
108 NUMBER OF BOTTLES EXPORTED. 
 
 wreck on the ground, he says : " The little children really looked 
 as if they were made of bottles : some wore a pyramid of them in 
 baskets on their heads; — some of them were laden with them, 
 hanging over their shoulders, before and behind ; — some carried 
 them strapped round their middle, all their hands full ; and the 
 little urchins that could scarcely walk, were advancing, each 
 hugging in its arms one single bottle ! In fact, at Nieder Selters 
 * an infant ' means a being totally unable to carry a bottle ; pu- 
 berty and manhood are proved by bottles ; a strong man brags of 
 the number he can carry, and superannuation means being nO 
 longer able in this world to bear bottles. 
 
 " The road to the brunuen is actually strewed with fragments, 
 and so are the ditches ; and when the reader is informed that, be- 
 sides all he has so patiently heard, bottles are not only expended, 
 filled and exported, but actually made at Nieder Selters, he must 
 admit that no writer can do justice to that place unless every line 
 of his description contains at least once the word — hottle. The 
 moralists of Nieder Selters preach on bottles. Life, they say, is 
 a sound bottle, and death a cracked one. Thoughtless men are 
 empty bottles ; drunken men are leaky ones ; and a man highly 
 educated, fit to appear in any country and any society, is of 
 course, a bottle corked, rosined, and stamped with the seal of the 
 Duke of Nassau." 
 
 This humorous and graphic description will not be thought 
 much exaggerated when we remember that nearly a million and 
 a half of bottles are annually carried out of that small inland 
 German town, to say nothing of another million and a half bro- 
 ken there. In the year 1832 there were exported from that 
 spring 1,295,183 bottles. If they were all quart bottles, it would 
 amount to over a thousand barrels of mineral water, which annu- 
 ally goes down somebodies' throats. This valuable spring was 
 originally bought by the ancestor of the Duke for a single butt of 
 wine, and it now yields a nett profit of over $26,000 per annum. 
 
 Schlangenbad, or the Serpent's bath, is another of the brunnens 
 of Nassau. Schlangenbad is in a secluded spot, and takes its 
 name from the quantity of snakes that live about it, swimming 
 around in the spring and crawling through the houses with the ut- 
 most liberty. The waters are celebrated for their effect on the 
 
LEGEND OF THE SERPENT'S BATH. 109 
 
 skin, reducing it almost to marble whiteness. The most invete- 
 rate wrinkles and the roughest skin become smooth and white 
 under the wonderful effects of this water. Acting as a sort of 
 corrosive, it literally scours a man white, and then soaks him soft 
 and smooth. Says Francis Head, " I one day happened to over- 
 hear a fat Frenchman say to his friend, after he had been lying 
 in one of these baths a half an hour : * Monsieur, dans ces bains 
 ou devient absolument amour eux de soi meme.^ ' Sir, in these 
 baths, one absolutely becomes enamoured of himself.' " So 
 great is the effect of this water on the skin, that it is bottled and 
 sent to the most distant parts of Europe as a cosmetic. 
 
 The Germans have some mysterious origin to every thing, and 
 what the Italians refer to the Madonna, they attribute to some in- 
 definite mysterious agency. This spring, they say, was discov- 
 ered by a sick heifer. Having been wasting away a long time, 
 till her bones seemed actually to be pushing through her skin, and 
 she was given up by the herdsman to die ; she all at once disap- 
 peared and was gone for several weeks. No one thought of her, 
 as it was supposed she was dead, but one day she unexpectedly 
 returned, a sleek, fat, bright-eyed and nimble heifer. Every 
 evening, however, she disappeared, which excited the curiosity of 
 the herdsman so that he at length followed her, when to his sur- 
 prise he saw her approach this spring, then unknown, from which 
 having drank, she quietly returned. Not long after, a beautiful 
 young lady began to waste away precisely like the heifer, and 
 all medicines and nursing were in vain, and she was given over 
 to die. 
 
 The herdsman who had seen the wonderful cure performed on 
 one of his herd being told of her sickness, went to her and besought 
 her to try the spring. Like a sensible man, he thought what was 
 good for the heifer was good for the woman. She consented to 
 try the remedy, and in a few weeks was one of the freshest, fat- 
 test, plumpest young women in all the country round. From that 
 moment, of course, the fame of the spring was secured, and it has 
 gone on increasing in reputation, till now the secluded spot is vis- 
 ited by persons from every part of Europe. 
 
 The duchy of Nassau is a beautiful portion of Germany, and 
 
110 DESPOTISM OF THE DUKE OF NASSAU. 
 
 if the Duke would only abrogate, like a sensible man, some of his 
 foolish tyrannical feudal laws, and become a father to his subjects, 
 it would be a delightful spot every way. But the petty prince of 
 every petty province seems to think he is more like a king the 
 more despotic he behaves. 
 
MAYENCE. Ill 
 
 XXI. 
 MAYENCE-THE RHINE. 
 
 Mayence or Mainz lies at the upper termination of the fine 
 scenery of the Rhine. From this to Coblenz, nearly sixty miles, 
 this river is lined with towns, and convents, and castles, as rich 
 in association as the ruins around Rome. 
 
 Mayence has its sights for the traveller, among which are the 
 cathedral, the ruins of an old Roman structure, a museum of 
 paintings, several monuments, &c., which I will pass over. 
 There are two things worth recording of Mayence. It was here 
 the famous Hanseatic League (the result of the Rhenish League) 
 was formed by a confederation of cities. It was the first effec- 
 tual blow aimed against unjust restrictions on commerce. Rob- 
 ber chieftains had lined the Rhine from Cologne to Mayence with 
 castles, which frowned down on the river that washed their foun- 
 dations ; and levied tribute on every passing vessel. In the mid- 
 dle ages there were thirty-two *• toll-gates" of these bold highway- 
 men on the river. Now the only chieftain on the Rhine who is 
 still allowed to hold and exercise his feudal right, is the Duke of 
 Nassau. Under this strong confederation, the haughty castles 
 one after another went down, and there is now scarcely a ruin 
 that does not bear the mark of the Emperor Rudolph's stroke. 
 Commerce was freed from the heavy exactions that weighed it 
 down, and sailed with spreading canvass and fearless prow under 
 the gloomy shadows of the castles that had once been its terror 
 and destroyer. 
 
 Byron looked on these castles with the eye of a poet, and felt 
 vastly more sympathy for the robber chieftains that lived by vio- 
 lence, than for the peaceful traders whose bodies were often lefl 
 
112 THE CHIEFS OF THE RHINE. 
 
 floating down the Rhine. It is well for the world that those who 
 formed the Hanseatic League were not poets of the Lara, Childe 
 Harold, and Manfred school. Seeing very little romance in hav- 
 ing their peaceful inhabitants fired upon by robbers who were 
 fortunate enough to live in castles, they wisely concluded to put 
 a stop to it. Had they not taken this practical view of the mat- 
 ter, Byron would probably not have been allowed to poetise so 
 much at his leisure and with such freedom of expression, as he did 
 when he sung of the "chiefless castles breathing stern farewells." 
 
 " And there they stand as stands a lofty mind, 
 
 Worn but unstooping to the baser crowd, 
 
 All tenantless save to the cranuying wind, 
 
 Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
 
 There was a day when they were young and proud, 
 
 Banners on high and battles passed below ; 
 
 But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, 
 
 And those which waved are shredless dust ere now, 
 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 
 
 Beneath those battlements, within those walls. 
 Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state 
 Each robber chief upheld his armed halls. 
 Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
 Than mightier heroes of a longer date. 
 What want these outlaw conquerors should have, 
 But history's purchased page to call them groat ? 
 A wider space an ornamented grave, 
 Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. 
 
 In their baronial feuds and single iSelds 
 What deeds of prowess unrecorded died ? 
 And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields. 
 With emblems well devised by amorous pride. 
 Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ; 
 But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on 
 Keen contest and destruction near allied, 
 And many a tower for some fair mischief won, 
 Saw the discoloured Rhine, beneath its ruin run. 
 
 But thou, exulting and abounding river! 
 Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
 
THE FIRST PRINTING PRESS. 113 
 
 — _ . _ 1 
 
 Through banks whose beauty would endure forever 
 Could man but leave thy bright creations so, 
 Nor its fair promise from the surface mow 
 With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to see 
 Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
 Earth proved like Heaven ; and to seem such to me, 
 Even now what wants thy stream ? — that it should Lethe be. 
 
 A thousand battles have assailed thy banks, 
 But these and half their fame have passed away, 
 And Slaughter heaped on high his welt'ring ranks, 
 Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? 
 Thy tide washed down the blood of yesterday : 
 And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream 
 Glossed with its dancing light the sunny ray, 
 • But o'er the blackened memory's blighting dream 
 
 Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem." 
 
 Thus mused the haughty misanthropic bard along the Rhine ; — 
 and these few sentences, by the conflicting sentiments that per- 
 vade them, exhibit the perfect chaos of principle and feeling amid 
 which he struggled with more desperation than wisdom. One 
 moment he expresses regret that those old feudal chiefs have 
 passed away, declaring, on the faith of a bard, that they were as 
 good as their destroyers, and the next moment pouring his note of 
 lamentation over the evils of war. 
 
 The other notable event in the history of Mayence is — the first 
 printing press was established here. 
 
 There is a monument here to Gensfleisch {goose jlesh), called 
 Gutemberg, a native of the place, who was the inventor of move- 
 able types. This first printing office, occupied by him between 
 the years 1443 and 1450, is still standing. One could moralize 
 over it an hour. From the first slow arrangement of those move- 
 able types to the present diffiision of printed matter, what a long 
 stride ! He who could hear the first crippled movement of that min- 
 iature press, the only one whose faint sound rose from this round 
 earth ; and then catch the din and thunder of the *' ten thousand 
 times ten thousand" steam presses that are shaking the very con- 
 tinents on which they rest with their fierce action ; would see an 
 onward step in the progress of the race more prophetic of change 
 
 9 
 
114 BRIDGE OF BOATS. 
 
 than in the conquests of the Caesars. The quiet, thoughtful Gens- 
 fleisch little knew what an earthquake he was generating as he 
 slowly distributed those few types. If the sudden light which 
 rushed on the world had burst on his vision, and the shaking of 
 empires and sound of armies, set in motion by the diffusion of 
 thoughts and truths which the press had scattered on its lightning- 
 like pinions, met his ear, he would have been alarmed at his la- 
 bour, and trembled as he held the first printed leaf in his hand. 
 That printed page was a richer token to the desponding world 
 than the olive leaf which the dove bore back to the Ark from the 
 subsiding deluge. Men, as they roam by the Rhine, talk of old 
 Schomberg and Blucher and Ney, and heroes of martial renown, 
 but John Gensfleisch and Martin Luther are the two mightiest 
 men that lie along its shores. The armies that struggled here are 
 still, and their renowned battle-fields have returned again to the 
 hand of the husbandman ; but the struggle commenced by these 
 men has not yet reached its height, and the armies they marshall- 
 ed not yet counted their numbers, or fought their greatest battle. 
 
 Well, brave Gutemberg, (to descend from great things to small) 
 I here, on thy own moveable types, lay my offering to thee, and 
 salute thee "greater than a king." 
 
 A bridge of boats, one thousand six hundred and sixty-six feet 
 long, here crosses the Rhine to Cassel, the railroad depot for 
 Frankfort and Wiesbaden. It is strongly fortified, and commands 
 the bridge in a manner that would make the passage of it by a 
 hostile army, like the passage of the bridge of Lodi. The boats 
 which form it lie with their heads up stream, secured to the bed 
 of the river by strong fastenings ; and covered with planks. Sec- 
 tions here and there swing back to admit the free passage of boats, 
 while nearly half of the whole line is compelled to retire before 
 one of those immense rafts of timber which are floated down the 
 Rhine. 
 
ASSOCIATIONS OF THE RHINE. 115 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE CASTELLATED RHINE 
 
 " The Rhine ! the Rhine !" which has been the shout of glad 
 armies, as its silver sheen flashed on their eyes as they came 
 over the surrounding heights, is interesting more from its associa- 
 tion than its scenery. The changes that have come over the 
 world are illustrated more strikingly here than even in Rome. 
 The old convent where the jolly friar revelled, is converted into 
 a manufactory — the steamboat is rushing past the nodding castles 
 of feudal chiefs — the modern town straggling through the ruins 
 of once lordly cities, and all the motion and excitement of the 
 nineteenth century, over the unburied corpses of the first fourteen 
 centuries. There is probably no river on our globe more rich 
 in associations than the Rhine. Navigable for over six hundred 
 miles, through the very heart of Europe, its dominion has been 
 battled for for nineteen centuries. From the time the Roman 
 legions trod its shores, and shouted victory in good classic Latin, 
 or retired before the fierce charge of barbaric warriors ; to the 
 middle ages, when feudal chiefs reared their castles here, and 
 performed deeds of daring and chivalry that dimly live in old 
 traditions ; it has been the field of great exploits, and witnessed the 
 most important event of European history. It has been no less the 
 scene of stirring events in modern times. The French Revolu- 
 tion, after it had reduced France to chaos, rolled heavily towards 
 the Rhine. On its banks was the first great struggle between the 
 young and strong Democracy, and the haughty, but no longer 
 vigorous Feudalism. Here kingship first trembled for its crown 
 and throne, and Europe gathered in haste to save its tottering 
 monarchies. On its shores France stood and shouted to the 
 
116 SCENERY OF THE RHINE. 
 
 nations beyond, sending over the startled waters the cry, " All 
 men are born free and equal," till the murmur of the people 
 answered it. The Rhine has seen the armies of the Cassars along 
 its banks — the castles of feudal chiefs flinging their shadows over 
 its placid bosom — the printing press rise in its majesty beside it, 
 and the stern Luther tread along its margin muttering words that 
 shook the world. It has also borne Bonaparte and his strong 
 legions on, yet amid it all — amid crumbling empires, and through 
 the smoke of battle — undisturbed by the violence and change that 
 have ploughed up its banks, lined them with kingdoms, and 
 strewed them with their ruins — it has ever rolled, the same quiet 
 current, to the sea. Its scenery is also beautiful, but not so much 
 when viewed from its surface as when seen from the diflTerent 
 points of prospect furnished by the heights around. From the 
 old castles on the shores and the ridges around, the landscape has 
 almost endless variations, yet is always beautiful. 
 
 Byron has combined all the striking features of the Rhine in 
 a single verse, yet coloured some of them a little too highly. 
 
 ** The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom, 
 Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, 
 '* The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom, 
 
 The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, 
 The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been 
 In mockery of man's art ; and these withal 
 A race of faces happy as the scene. 
 Whose fertile bounties here extend to all. 
 Still springing o'er thy banks, though empires near them fall." 
 
 Almost every castle has, with its real history, some wild tradi- 
 tion connected ; which, though it may or may not be true, adds 
 great interest to the mysterious ruin. In looking over the guide 
 book I was struck with the number of " outline sketches" for 
 magazine tales — ^thrilling novels, &c., furnished on almost every 
 page. In a few sentences will be told the fate of some old feudal 
 lord, or his beautiful daughter, of whose private history one would 
 gladly know more. Thus at Braesemberg are the ruins of two 
 castles, of one of which, the Bromserhof, we are told that " tra- 
 dition says, that one of these knights, Bonser of Rudesheim, on 
 
TRADITION OF BRAESEMBERG. 117 
 
 repairing to Palestine, signalized hinnself by destroying a dragon, 
 which was the terror of the Christian army. No sooner had he 
 accomplished it, than he was taken prisoner by the Saracens ; and 
 while languishing in captivity, he made a vow, that if ever he 
 returned to his castle of Rudesheim, he would devote his only 
 daughter, Gisela, to the church. He arrived at length, a pilgrim, 
 at his castle, and was met by his daughter, now grown into a 
 lovely woman. Gisela loved, and was beloved by a young knight 
 from a neighbouring castle, and she heard with consternation her 
 father's vow. Her tears and entreaties could not change his 
 purpose. He threatened her with his curse if she did not obey ; 
 and in the midst of a violent storm, she precipitated herself from 
 the tower of the castle into the Rhine below. The fishermen 
 found her corpse the next day in the river, by the tower of Hatto, 
 and the boatmen and vintagers at this day fancy they sometimes 
 see the pale form of Gisela hovering about the ruined tower, and 
 hear her voice mingling its lamentations with the mournful whis- 
 tlings of the wind." I leave to some one else the filling up this 
 outline. There is the scene of the first interview of this selfish 
 old Jephtha with his daughter — the wild meetings of the two 
 lovers — the pleadings with the father — the rash purposes, and the 
 final leap from the castle tower, of the beautiful Gisela — all fair 
 property for the weaver of romances — a sort of schedule already 
 made out for him. 
 
 This tower of Hatto, at the base of which was found the form 
 of Gisela, is some distance farther down the river. In descending 
 to it one passes the vineyards of the famed Rudesheim wine, and 
 the white castle of St. Roch. The Bishop of Hatto has been im- 
 mortalized by Southey, in his " Traditions of Bishop Hatto," com- 
 mencing with the imaginative line 
 
 " The summer and autumn had been so wet." 
 
 Here begins the " Rhine gorge," which furnishes the most beau- 
 tiful scenery on the river. The banks of the stream become more 
 precipitous and rocky, affording secure frontiers for the feudal 
 chiefs that fortified themselves upon them. Ruined castles — gaping 
 towers — dilapidated fortresses, begin to crowd with almost start- 
 ling rapidity on the beholder. As the boat flies along on the swift 
 
118 CASTLES OF THE RHINE. 
 
 current of the stream he has scarcely time to read the history and 
 traditions of one, before another claims his attention. Placed in 
 every variety of position, and presenting memorials of almost eve- 
 ry century, they keep the imagination in constant activity. The 
 castles of Falkenburg perched on its rocky eminence ; Reichenstein 
 and Rheinstein, a little lower down, are grouped together in one 
 coup d'(Bil, while the falling turrets of Sonneck rush to meet you 
 from below, and the castle of Heimberg frowns over the village at 
 its feet. Next comes old Furstenberg with its round tower and 
 crumbling walls, and then Nottingen, and after it the massive 
 fragments of Stahleck castle, looking gloomily down from the 
 heights of Bacharach. While I was thus casting my eyes, first 
 on one side, and then the other, of the river, as these, to me new 
 and strange objects, came and went on my vision, suddenly from 
 out the centre of the river rose the castle of Pfalz. We had 
 scarcely passed it before the batt ements of Gutenfels appeared, 
 and soon after the rock-founded castle of Schaenberg. Tradition 
 says that it received the name of Beautiful Hill from seven beau- 
 tiful daughters of one of the old chieftains. Though beloved and 
 sought for by all the young knights far and near, they turned a 
 deaf ear to every suitor, and finally, for their hardheartedness, 
 were turned into seven rocks, which still remain, a solemn warn- 
 ing to all beautiful and heartless coquets to remotest time. At 
 length, just above St. Goar, the black and naked precipice of Lur- 
 leiberg rose out of the water on the left, frowning in savage si- 
 lence over the river. Just before we came opposite this perpen- 
 dicular rock, the boat entered a rapid, formed by the immense 
 rocks in the bed of the stream, and began to shoot downward like 
 an arrow to an immense whirlpool in front of the Lurleiberg. 
 The river here striking the rocks, and dashing back towards the 
 opposite side, forms a whirlpool, called by the inhabitants the 
 Gewirr ; into the furious eddy of which our little steamboat dashed 
 without fear. She careened a little one side as she passed along 
 the slope of the Wirbel, probably tipped over by the beautiful, 
 though evil-minded, water nymph — the Circe of the Rhine — which 
 used to beguile poor ignorant boatmen by her ravishing voice into 
 the boiling eddies, where she deliberately drowned them. Unable 
 to charm the steam-engine, which goes snorting in the most unpo- 
 
SINGULAR ECHO. 119 
 
 etical and daring manner through all the meshes she weaves with 
 her whirlpool, she revenges herself by putting her ivory shoulder 
 against the keel of the boat as it passes, and exerting all her 
 strength gives it a slight tip over, just to show that she still occupies 
 her realm. 
 
 I was struck here with one of those exhibitions of the love of 
 the picturesque and beautiful which meets the traveller at almost 
 every step on the Continent. There is a grotto under the Lurlei- 
 berg where the echo of a bugle blast or pistol shot is said to be 
 repeated fifteen times. As we approached it, I heard first the ex- 
 plosion of a gun, and then the strains of a bugle. I did not know 
 at first what it meant, and was much amused when I was told, on 
 inquiring, that a man was kept stationed there, whose sole busi- 
 ness was to fire guns and blow his bugle for the benefit of travel- 
 lers. This making a business of getting up echoes looks odd to 
 an American. A man thus stationed on the Hudson to rouse 
 echoes for every boat that passed, would have a great many jokes 
 cracked at his expense. I should have been better pleased with 
 this arrangement, however, had I derived any benefit from it. Be- 
 tween the crushi g sound of the water, as it swept in swift circles 
 around the boat, and the churning of the steam-engine, I did not 
 get even a single echo. I heard only the explosion of the gun, 
 and the fitful, uncertain strains of the bugle — the echoes the steam- 
 boat and whirlpool had all to themselves. 
 
 We had scarcely passed the base of this precipice before the 
 ruins of the fortress of Rheinfels emerged into view. This is the 
 largest ruin on the river, and witnessed bloody work in olden 
 times, as its stern lord levied duties on every traveller up the 
 Rhine. It was the impregnable character of this fortification 
 which helped bring about the Hanseatic League. It was blown 
 up by the revolutionary army of France, and has remained a 
 ruin ever since. Next comes the Thurmberg, or castle of the 
 mouse, a ruin in a more perfect state of preservation than any 
 other on the Rhine. It wants only the wood- work to render it 
 entire. A little lower down rises the old convent of Bornhofen, 
 and the twin castles of Sternberg and Liebenstein, presenting a 
 most singular, yet charming, feature in the landscape. Still 
 farther down, and lo, the noble castle of Marksburg, perched on 
 
120 CASTLE OF STALZENFELS. 
 
 the top of a cone-like rock, looking silently down on the little 
 village of Branbach, at the base, burst on my sight. This old 
 castle stands just as it did in the middle ages, with all its secret, 
 narrow passages, winding staircases, dungeons, and instruments 
 of torture, preserved through the slow lapse of centuries. The 
 castle of Lahneck comes next, and last of all, before reaching 
 Coblentz, the fine old castle of Stalzenfels. It stands on a rock in 
 the most picturesque position imaginable. It had lain in ruins 
 since the French destroyed it, nearly two hundred years ago ; 
 but the town of Coblentz having presented it to the Crown Prince 
 of Prussia, he is slowly repairing it after the ancient model. He 
 devotes an annual sum to the repairs, and it already shows what 
 a beautiful structure it must have been originally. The gift on 
 the part of Coblentz was no great affair, as they had already 
 offered it for fifty-three dollars, and could find nobody to buy it at 
 that price. The old castles on the Rhine follow the laws of trade 
 — the price always corresponds to the demand. But here the 
 castle-market is glutted, and hence the sales are light. 
 
 One cannot easily imagine the effect of these turreted ruins, 
 suddenly bursting on one at every turn of the river. The whole 
 distance from Mayence to Coblentz is less than sixty miles, and 
 yet one passes all these old castles in sailing over it. But these 
 castles are not all that charms the beholder. There are ruined 
 convents and churches — smiling villages, sweet vineyards — bare 
 precipices and garden-like shores, all coming arid going like the 
 objects in a moving diorama, keeping up a succession of sur- 
 prises that prevents one effectually from calling up the associa- 
 tions of any one particular scene. 
 
BONAPARTE AND THE RUSSIANS. 121 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 THE RHINE FROM COBIENTZ TO COLOGNE. 
 
 CoBLENTz is one of the most picturesque towns we have ever 
 seen. Its position on the Rhine seems chosen on purpose for 
 effect. One of the most interesting objects in it is the rock and 
 fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, which commands a glorious view of 
 the junction of the Rhine and Mosel, and which, from its impreg- 
 nable position, is called the Gibraltar of the Rhine. It will hold 
 a garrison of 14,000 men, while the magazines will contain pro- 
 visions sufficient to maintain eight thousand men for ten years. 
 The escarped rocks on three sides would repel almost any assault, 
 and the fortress can easily sustain the glorious name it gained in the 
 seventeenth century, when assailed in vain by the French armies. 
 The name signifies *' honour's broadstone." There is a convent 
 of Jesuits in the town, with such ample wine cellars that a stage 
 coach could drive around in them, and they have held nearly a 
 half a million of bottles of wine. In the public square is a foun- 
 tain, erected as a monument, by the French, in 1812, on which 
 was chiselled an inscription, to commemorate their invasion of 
 Russia. A few months after, the fragments of the Grand Army 
 were driven over the Rhine. Over the fallen host the Russians 
 had marched in triumph, and pressing fast on the flying traces of 
 Bonaparte, entered this town on their march for Paris. The 
 Russian commander, seeing this monument, instead of having it 
 destroyed, caused to be cut under the French inscription, " Vu et 
 approuve par nous, commandant Russe, de la ville Coblence, Jan- 
 vier V, 1814. This is rather a hard hit on the French, and 
 shows that St. Priest had more contempt than hate in his compo- 
 sition. Here, too, sleeps the brave and noble Marceau, who fell 
 
122 GRAVE OF MARCEAU. V 
 
 in the hotly fought battle of Altenkirchen. Byron expressed the 
 feelings of both friends and foes when he sung 
 
 " Brief, brave and glorious was his young career — 
 His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes ; 
 And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
 Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose. 
 For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, 
 The few in number, who had not o'erstept 
 The charter to chastise which she bestows 
 On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept 
 The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept" 
 
 We had scarcely shoved away from the wharf at Coblentz 
 before castles, which seemed to have dropped down the river 
 during our stop, began to rise along the shores. The Crane, 
 built nearly three hundred years ago, and just below it the Watch 
 Tower of older date, round below and eight-sided above, present 
 a most picturesque appearance. Farther down rises the castle 
 of Rheineck, with the castellated building beside it looking like 
 the residence of some old feudal chief, in the heyday of his pow- 
 er. Farther down still, after the Ahr has poured its silver stream 
 into the Rhine, appear the black precipices of Erpeler Lei, seven 
 hundred feet high. At first view this immense basaltic rock 
 seems perfectly inaccessible, but the vintager has converted it 
 into a vineyard. In the crevices, all along the face of the preci- 
 pice, are placed baskets filled with earth, in which are planted 
 vines, that creep up and cling to the rock, covering it with ver- 
 dure and fruit. Opposite the village of Unkel is another basaltic 
 rock, rising in columns from the water. The Rhine raves past it 
 as if conscious that the long, dull sweep of the Lowlands was be- 
 low it, and it must foam and rave while it could. 
 
 The Tower of Roland comes next, and after it the ruins of 
 seven castles, on seven different mountains, the remains of the 
 castles of the Archbishops of Cologne. A little farther on, and 
 lo, the Rhine goes in one broad sweep of twenty miles to Cologne, 
 sparkling under the summer sky, and rejoicing in the wealth of 
 villages and vineyards, and cultivated fields along its shores. 
 The view here is glorious, and I was tempted to echo the shout of 
 the Prussian army; " The Rhine ! The Rhine !" Up the river 
 
THE SEVEN HILLS. 1S3 4 
 
 the rocks shut in the prospect, as if endeavouring to restrain the 
 Rhine, and look savage and gloomy upon the liberated waters 
 that leap away without farther restraint, for the open country 
 below. Unlike the Hudson, which goes in one broad steady 
 sweep from Albany to New York, the Rhine is tortuous and un- 
 steady; now spreading out into a lake filled with islands, now 
 smoothly laving the richly cultivated banks, and now dashing on 
 the rocks that push into its channel, till its vexed waters boil in 
 frenzy — and now gliding arrow-like past some old castle, that 
 seems watching its movements. The natural scenery along its 
 course is greatly inferior to that of the Hudson, but the accesso- 
 ries of vineyards, and villagefs, and convents, and churches, and 
 castles, and towers, and the associations around them, all make the 
 passage up or down it one of the most interesting in the world, 
 in the beauty and variety it presents. 
 
 The seven hills, " Siehengehirge,** I mentioned above, are the 
 lower terminations of the grand scenery on the Rhine. These 
 " seven hills " (there are more than seven), crowned with their 
 ruined castles, form a scene that can scarcely be surpassed. 
 They have all been thrown up by some volcano, that lived, and 
 worked, and died here, before man had a written history ; and 
 rise in magnificent proportions along the banks of the rushing 
 river. The Lowenberg, 1414 feet high ; the Wolkenberg, 1067 ; 
 the Drachenfels (dragon's rock), 1056 ; the Oelberg, 1473 ; the 
 Niederstromberg, 1066 ; and the Stromberg, 1053 feet in height, 
 surmounted by ruined battlements, towers, (fee, are a glorious 
 brotherhood, and worthy of the Rhine, on which they look. I 
 will not give the traditions connected with many of these, nor 
 add the particular descriptions and aspect of each. The impres- 
 sion they make on one he carries with him through life. Espe- 
 cially does an American, whose eye has roamed over primeval 
 forests, broad rivers, and lofty mountains ; left just as the hand of 
 nature formed them, gaze with curious feelings on this blending 
 of precipices, and castles, and mountains, and ruins, together. 
 Nature looks old in such connection — a sort of bondslave to man, 
 bereft of her pride and freedom, and robbed of her freshness and 
 life. 
 
 Drachenfels rises almost perpendicularly to the view from the 
 
124 DRACHENFELS. 
 
 river shore, with a cap of ruins on its lofty head. Byron has im- 
 mortalized this rock in language so sweet that I risk the complaint 
 of quoting too much, and give the three following beautiful verses. 
 
 The castled crag of Drachenfels 
 Frown o'er the wide and winding Bhine, 
 Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
 Between the banks which bear the vine, 
 And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, 
 And fields which promise corn and wine, 
 And scattered cities crowning these, 
 Whose far white walls along them shine, 
 Have strewed a scene which I could see 
 With double joy wert thou with me. 
 
 And peasant girls with deep blue eyes. 
 
 And hands which offer early flowers, 
 
 Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
 
 Above, the frequent feudal towers 
 
 Through green leaves lift their walls of grey. 
 
 And many a rock which steeply towers. 
 
 And noble arch in proud decay. 
 
 Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 
 
 But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — 
 
 Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 
 
 The river nobly foams and flows. 
 
 The charm of this enchanted ground, 
 
 And all its thousand turns disclose 
 
 Some fresher beauty varying round, 
 
 The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
 
 Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
 
 Nor could on earth a spot be found 
 
 To nature and to me so dear, 
 
 Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
 
 Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine." 
 
 Passing Bonn, with its University, Cathedral, &c., rapidly as 
 steam and the downward current together could bear us, we were 
 soon under the white walls of Cologne. Here I lost sight of 
 two fellow travellers that had added much to my pleasure 
 down the Rhine. It had so happened that we wished to stop at 
 the same places, and had thus kept company from Frankfort to 
 
FRENCH LADIES. 125 
 
 Cologne. They were two ladies that had attracted my attention 
 when they got on board at Mayence. One was an elderly lady, 
 and the other young and beautiful. 
 
 Sitting near them soon after we started, the elderly lady ad- 
 dressed some inquiry to me respecting the boat, which I answered 
 in the fewest words possible, for I perceived they were French, 
 and I was nervous about speaking to them in their own language. 
 
 As the day advanced I was struck with the familiarity exhib- 
 ited by the passengers. A gentleman would address a lady be- 
 side him, a perfect stranger, with some remark about the scenery, 
 which she answered with the utmost cheerfulness, and there was 
 that general freedom from restraint; and that confidence in each 
 Other's polite behaviour, the reverse of which makes our steamboat 
 travelling like an assemblage of pickpockets, unacquainted with 
 each other, and suspicious of each other's designs. 
 
 Seeing, not long after, a copy of one of Dickens's works in the 
 younger lady's hand, I presumed to address her in English, which, 
 to my delight, she spoke almost like an Englishwoman. There was 
 an ease and grace in her manners, and her remarks were character- 
 ized by an intelligence and a knowledge of the world, that rendered 
 her one of the most attractive persons I ever met. She was glad, 
 she said, to converse in English, and I was glad to have her. I 
 was a stranger and alone, and hence felt more deeply her kind- 
 ness in thus conversing with me hour after hour. An American 
 lady might think this vastly improper and forward, but / shall re- 
 member her with grateful feelings as long as I remember the 
 Rhine. 
 
 She, with the elderly lady her companion, were to ascend the 
 Rhine in their carriage, which they had aboard from Cologne, 
 so as to get all the beauties of the scenery. 
 
126 COLOGNE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 RfflNE WINES, COLOGNE CATHEDRAL, LOU- 
 VAIN, BRUSSELS. 
 
 I HAD designed to give a chapter on Rhine wines, and the vine- 
 yards of the Rhine, but will pass them over, referring only to 
 Prince Metternich's celebrated vineyard, just above Geissenheim, 
 between Mayence and Coblentz. The monks formerly possessed 
 this extensive vineyard, covering fifty-five acres. The Prince of 
 Orange owned it next, and held it till it fell into Bonaparte's 
 hand, who gave it to Marshal Kellerman, in reward for his ser- 
 vices. At the close of Napoleon's career, it reverted to the Em- 
 peror of Austria, who made a present of it to Metternich, the pres- 
 ent owner. He has repaired it, and the Chateau of Johannesberg 
 is now a very conspicuous object on the banks of the Rhine. The 
 vineyard yields about forty butts of wine per annum, and it is 
 called the best of the Rhenish wines. 
 
 Cologne, independent of its sights, is an object of interest, from 
 the part it played in Roman history. A camp pitched here by 
 Marcus Agrippa, was the first commencement of the city. Vitelli- 
 us and Sylvanus were proclaimed emperors of Rome here, and 
 here also Agrippina, the mother of Nero, was born. It retains, 
 to this day, many of the peculiar customs of Italy, and is the only 
 city in the north of Europe where the Carnival is celebrated. 1 
 will not speak of the paintings it contains, or of the architecture of 
 the churches. The Cathedral, however, I will mention in passing. 
 This magnificent building was begun six hundred years ago, and 
 still remains not half completed. It is of Gothic architecture, and 
 had it been finished, would have been one of the finest edifices in 
 the world. It was to have two towers, each five hundred feet, but 
 
DESCRIPTION OF THE CHOIR. 127 
 
 they remain unfinished, and probably will to the end of time. 
 The two things that interested me most were, the " Shrine of the 
 three Kings of Cologne," and the Choir. The former is in a 
 small chapel just behind the main altar, and is said to contain the 
 hones of the three Magi who came from the East to lay their offer- 
 ings at the feet of the infant Saviour. The names of these three 
 wise men, the chronicle states, were Gaspar, Melchior, and Bal- 
 thasery and, to prevent the possibility of a doubt, these names are 
 written in rubies on their oum skulls. This shrine, with its gold 
 and silver and precious stones, is said to be worth over a million 
 of dollars, although bereft of some of its choicest gems during the 
 French Revolution. 
 
 The choir is the only part of the church completely finished, 
 and shows by its magnificence and splendour the extravagant de- 
 signs of the first builders. I have never seen any thing more 
 grand in its general plan and construction, and yet so exquisitely 
 beautiful in its details, than this choir. I cannot give a better de- 
 scription of it than in the language of an English traveller. " The 
 choir is the only part finished ; one hundred and eighty feet high^ 
 and internally, from its size, height, and disposition of pillars, 
 arches, chapels, and beautifully coloured windows, resembling a 
 splendid vision. Externally, its double range of stupendous flying 
 buttresses, and intervening piers, bristling with a forest of purflled 
 pinnacles, strike the beholder with awe and astonishment." Long 
 before reaching Cologne, the highest tower of the church is visible, 
 with a huge crane swinging from its unfinished top, where it has 
 hung for centuries. Some time since it was taken down by Jhe 
 city authorities, but a terrible thunder-storm which swept over 
 the place soon after, was believed by the frightened inhabitants to 
 be in consequence of their wickedness in removing this crane. It 
 was saying to the world, " we never intend to finish this church," 
 a declaration which set the elements in such commotion, that soon 
 after an awful black thunder-cloud began to show itself over the 
 trembling city. The lightning crossed its fiery lances over head, 
 and the redoubled thunder shook the very foundations on which 
 the city stood. As soon, therefore, as it was over, and to prevent 
 another similar, more awful visitation, the inhabitants began to 
 hoist this enormous crane to its place on the top of the tower. I 
 
128 BONES OF ELEVEN THOUSAND VIRGINS. 
 
 could not but laugh, as I saw its black outline against the sky, at 
 the folly that had replaced it there. It was the most deliberate 
 humbug practised on a large scale I had ever seen. It was like 
 the Irishman vowing a hundred candles to the Virgin Mary, if she 
 would save him from shipwreck, when the vessel was breaking to 
 pieces under him. Said his companion to him, " Why do you lie, 
 for you know you can't get them ?" " Never mind," he replied^ 
 *• keep still, the Virgin don't know it." The Cologne people have 
 acted like the Irishman in this respect — they have no idea of fin- 
 ishing the church, though a hundred thunder-storms should sweep 
 over the city ; but they seem to think that if the crane is up ready 
 for hoisting stone, the Deity will not know it. If they only look 
 grave, say nothing, and keep the crane swinging, they imagine 
 the blessed Virgin will believe they design to commence building 
 soon. 
 
 Cologne is not so dirty as Coleridge makes it out to be, though 
 it is a very disagreeable town to get around in. I will mention 
 but one thing more in it — the Church of St. Ursula. It stands 
 just without the walls, and is remarkable only for containing the 
 bones and skulls of eleven thousand virgins, all slain in one great 
 massacre. This is a large allowance even for a Roman Catholic 
 tradition, which does not generally stick at improbabilities. It 
 seems this St. Ursula, of blessed memory, in carrying her un- 
 usual quantity of virgins from Britain to Armorica,was driven by 
 tempests up the Rhine to Cologne, where the Huns, in their bar- 
 barian fury, slew them all, because they would not yield to their 
 lusts. To say nothing of this singularly large fleet of virgins, it 
 is very curious they should be driven, by a week or more of tem- 
 pests, through the Lowlands, up the Rhine to Cologne, without 
 having once got aground or sent high and dry ashore. I will 
 not, however, dispute the legend, especially as I saw several ter- 
 races of-the bones themselves, or at least of verilalle bones, ranged 
 round the church between the walls. The skull of St. Ursula, 
 with a few select skulls, probably belonging to her body-guard, 
 have a separate apartment, called the Golden Chamber, and are 
 encased in silver. But, seriously, I cannot divine what first in- 
 duced this grand collection of skeletons, and their peculiar ar- 
 rangement for public exhibition. It looks as if some battle-field 
 
AN IGNORANT ENGLISHMAN. '^ 
 
 had been robbed of its slain in order to furnish this cabinet of hide- 
 ous relics. 
 
 I went by rail-road from Cologne to Aix la Chapelle (forty, 
 three miles), and stopping there only long enough to get break- 
 fast, found no time to see the town. The rail-road is not yet 
 finished from it to Liege, and travellers are compelled to go by 
 diligence. The distance is about twenty-six miles ; and having 
 an unconquerable dislike to diligence travelling, I determined to 
 hire a carriage. An English gentleman, standing at the door as 
 I was inquiring about the terms, &;c., said he should like to take a 
 carriage with me. I gladly accepted his proposal, and we started 
 off in company. I mention this incident to illustrate an English- 
 man's ignorance of the United States. I had heard some of our 
 most distinguished writers, male and female, speak of it in their 
 Encounters with the English in their own country, but had never 
 met any marked case of it myself. But this man, who spent 
 every summer on the Continent, knew no more of the American 
 Republic than an idiot. Among other things illustrating his ig- 
 norance, in reply to my statement that I was from New York, he 
 said, " New York — let me see — does that belong to the Canadas 
 yet r" I told him I believed not ; that it was my impression it 
 had been separated from it for some time. " Ah !" said he, and 
 that ended his inquiries on that point. It was equal to the re- 
 mark of an English literary lady once to one of my own distin- 
 guished countrywomen. In speaking of the favourable features 
 of the United States, she remarked very naively, that she should 
 think the climate would be very cool in summer, from the wind 
 blowing over the Cordilleras mountains f 
 
 The view of Liege, from the heights, as we began to descend 
 into the valley, was quite a novel one for the Continent. The 
 long chimneys of the numerous manufactories reminded me of 
 the activity and enterprise of my own land. I did not go over 
 the town, but took the rail-road for Louvain, on my way to Brus- 
 sels. I just gave one thought to Quintin Durward and the " Wild 
 Boar of Ardennes," and we were away with the speed of the wind. 
 I stopped at Louvain solely to visit the beautiful Gothic building 
 of the Hotel de Ville. It is said to be the most beautiful Gothic 
 edifice in the world. The whole exterior, in almost every foot of 
 
 10 
 
130 PARK OF BRUSSELS. 
 
 it, is elaborately wrought. Bassi relievi cover it — many of them 
 representing sins and their punishments. The stone of which it 
 is composed is soft when first quarried, and hence is easily worked, 
 but it hardens by exposure to the air. 
 
 The next morning I started for Brussels. There is an airiness 
 ^nd cheerfulness about this city that pleased me exceedingly, and 
 I should think a residence in it, for a part of the year, would be 
 delightful. The impression I got of it, however, may be owing to 
 the position of the hotel at which I stopped. Situated on an emi- 
 nence near the park, the traveller may be in a few moments 
 strolling through beautiful grounds, thronged with promenaders as 
 gay as those of the Champs Elysee and the Tuileries. 
 
WATERLOO. 131 
 
 XXV. 
 
 BATTLE-FIELD OF WATERLOO, 
 
 The sky was darkly overcast, and not a breath of air disturbed 
 the ominous hush of the atmosphere, which always precedes a 
 rain, as we started for the greatest battle-field of Europe. My 
 companions were an American ; and an English cavalry captain, 
 just returned from the Indies. We had been shown before the 
 house in which the ball was held the night before the battle. I 
 could imagine the sudden check to the " sound of revelry," when 
 over the exciting notes of the viol came the dull booming of can- 
 non, striking on the youthful heart " like a rising knell." 
 
 " Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago 
 Bhished at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
 And sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated." 
 
 We followed the route taken by Wellington and his suite from 
 Brussels, and trotting through the forest of Soignies, which Byron, 
 by poetical license, has called the forest of Ardennes ; came upon 
 the little hamlet of Waterloo, situated a short distance from the 
 field of battle. Our guide was a man who lived in the village at 
 the time of the battle, and had been familiar with all its local- 
 ities for years. 
 
 I have trod many battle-fields of ancient and modern glory, but 
 never one with the strange feelings with which I wandered over 
 this, for here the star of Bonaparte set forever. To understand the 
 
132 NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
 
 description, imagine two slightly elevated semicircular ridges, or, 
 as they might more properly be termed, slopes, curving gently 
 towards each other like a parenthesis, and you have the position 
 of the two armies. On the summit of one of these slopes was ar- 
 rayed the French army, and on the other the English. The night 
 of the 17th of June was dark and stormy. The rain fell in tor-. 
 rents, and the two armies lay down in the tall rye drenched with 
 rain to wait the morning that was to decide the fate of Europe 
 and of Napoleon. From the ball-room at Brussels many an of- 
 ficer had been summoned in haste to the field, and shivering and 
 cold, was compelled to pass the night in mud and rain in his ele- 
 gant attire. The artillery had cut up the ground so that the mud 
 was shoe deep, while the tall rye lay crushed and matted beneath 
 the feet of the soldiers. The morning of the 18th opened with a 
 drizzling rain, and the two armies, benumbed with cold and soak- 
 ing wet, rose from their damp beds to the contest. Eighty thou- 
 sand French soldiers were seen moving in magnificent array on 
 the crest of the ridge, as they took their several positions for the 
 day. Upward of seventy thousand of the allied forces occu- 
 pied the ridge or eminences opposite them, — formed mostly into 
 squares. 
 
 In a moment the battle was all before me. I could almost see 
 Bonaparte as, after having disposed his forces, and flushed with 
 hope, he gaily exclaimed to his suite, " now to breakfast,'' and 
 galloped away. The shout of " Vive I'Empereur" that followed 
 shook the very field on which they stood, and seemed ominous 
 of disaster to the allied army. Two hundred and sixty-two can- 
 non lined the ridge like a wall of death before the French, while 
 Wellington had but one hundred and eighty-six to oppose them. 
 At eleven- the firing commenced, and immediately Jerome Bona- 
 parte led a column of six thousand men down on Hougoumont, an 
 old chateau which defended Wellington's right, and was good as 
 a fort. Advancing in the face of the most destructive fire that gal- 
 lant column pushed up to the very walls of the chateau, and thrust 
 their bayonets through the door. But it was all in vain ; and 
 though the building was set on fire and consumed, and the roar- 
 ing of the flames was mingled with the shrieks of the wounded 
 that were perishing in it, the rage of the combatants only increas- 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF THE BATTLE. 133 
 
 ed. But the Coldstream Guards held the court-yard with invin- 
 cible obstinacy, and Jerome Bonaparte was compelled to retire, af- 
 ter leaving 1,400 men in a little orchard beside the walls, where 
 it does not seem so many men could be laid. In a short time the 
 battle became general along the whole lines, and prodigies of 
 valour were performed on every rod of the ensanguined field. 
 The heavy French cavalry came thundering down on the steady 
 English squares, that had already been wasted by the destructive 
 artillery, and strove with almost superhuman energy to break them. 
 Driven to desperation by their repeatedly foiled, attempts, they at 
 length stopped their horses and coolly walked them round and 
 round the squares, and wherever a man fell dashed in, in vain val- 
 our. Wherever one of those rock-fast squares began to waver, 
 Wellington threw himself into its centre, and it again became 
 immoveable as a mountain. With their gallant chief in their 
 keeping those brave British hearts could not yield. Whole col- 
 umns went down like frost-work before the headlong charges of 
 cavalry and infantry. In the centre the conflict at length be- 
 came awful, for there the crisis of the battle was fixed. Welling- 
 ton stood under a tree while the boughs were crashing with the 
 cannon shot over head, and nearly his whole guard smitten down 
 by his side, anxiously watching the progress of the fight. His 
 brave squares, torn into fragments by bombs and ricochet shot, 
 still refused to yield one foot of ground. Napoleon rode through 
 his ranks, cheering on the exhausted columns of infantry and 
 cavalry, that rent the heavens with the shout of " Vive VEmpe- 
 reuTf'* and dashed with unparalleled recklessness on the bayonets 
 of the English. 
 
 The hero of Wagram, and Borodino, and Austerlitz, and 
 Marengo, and Jena, enraged at the stubborn obstinacy of the 
 British, rages over the field, and is still sure of victory. Welling- 
 ton, seeing that he cannot much longer sustain the desperate 
 charges of the French battalions, wipes the sweat from his anx- 
 ious forehead and exclaims, " Oh, that Blucher or night would 
 come." Thus from eleven till four did the battle rage with san- 
 guinary ferocity, and still around the centre it grew more awful 
 every moment. The mangled cavalry staggered up to the ex- 
 hausted British squares, which, though diminished and bleeding 
 
134 ARRIVAL OF BLUCHER. 
 
 in every part, seemed rooted to the ground they stood upon. The 
 heroic Picton had fallen at the head of his brigade, while his sword 
 was flashing over his head. Ponsonby had gone down on the 
 hard fought field, and terror and slaughter were on every side. 
 The most enthusiastic courage had driven on the French troops, 
 which the rock- fast resolution of British tenacity alone could 
 resist. The charge of the French cavalry on the centre was 
 awful. Disregarding the close and murderous fire of the British 
 batteries, they rode steadily forward till they came to the bayonet's 
 point. Prodigies of valour were wrought, and heroes fell at 
 every discharge. Bonaparte's star now blazed forth in its an- 
 cient splendour, and now trembled in the zenith. The shadows 
 of fugitive kings flitted through the smoke of battle, and thrones 
 tottered on the ensanguined field. At length a dark object was 
 seen to emerge from the distant wood, and soon an army of 30,000 
 men deployed into the field, and began to march straight for the 
 scene of conflict. Blucher and his Prussians came, but no 
 Grouchy, who had been left to hold him in check, followed after. 
 In a moment Napoleon saw that he could not sustain the charge 
 of so many fresh troops, if once allowed to form a junction with 
 the allied forces, and so he determined to stake his fate on one 
 bold cast, and endeavour to pierce the allied centre with one grand 
 charge of the Old Guard, and thus throw himself between the 
 two armies, and fight them separately. For this purpose the 
 Imperial Guard was called up, which had remained inactive 
 during the whole day, and divided into two immense columns, 
 which were to meet at the British centre. That under Reille 
 no sooner entered the fire than it disappeared like frost-work. 
 The other was placed under Ney, the " bravest of the brave," 
 and the most irresistible of all Napoleon's Marshals. Napoleon 
 accompanied them part way down the slope, and halting for a 
 moment in a hollow, addressed them in his fiery, impetuous man- 
 ner. He told them the battle rested with them. " Vive VEm- 
 pereur" answered him with a shout that was heard all over the 
 field of battle. Ney then placed himself at their head, and began 
 to move down the slope and over the field. No drum or trumpet 
 or martial strain cheered them on. They needed nothing to fire 
 their steady courage. The eyes of the world were on them, and 
 
LAST CHARGE OF THE OLD GUARD. 135 
 
 the fate of Europe in their hands. The muffled tread of that 
 magnificent legion alone was heard. For a moment the firing 
 ceased along the British lines. The terror of Europe was on the 
 march, and the last awful charge of the Imperial Guard, which had 
 never yet failed, was about to be made. The crisis had come, 
 the hour of destiny arrived, and Napoleon saw, with anxious eye, 
 his Empire carried by that awful column as it disappeared in the 
 smoke of battle. The firing ceased only for an instant ; the next 
 moment the artillery opened, and that dense array was rent as if 
 a hurricane had passed through it. Ney's horse sunk under 
 him, and he mounted another and cheered on his men. Without 
 wavering or halting that band of heroes closed up their shattered 
 ranks, and moved on in the face of the most wasting fire that ever 
 swept a field of battle. Again and again did Ney's horse sink 
 under him, till five had fallen, and then on foot, with his drawn 
 sabre in his hand, he marched at the head of his column. On, 
 on, like the inrolling tide of the sea, that dauntless Guard pressed 
 up to the very mouth of the cannon, and taking their fiery load 
 full in their bosoms — walked over artillery, cannoniers and all, 
 and pushed on through the British lines till they came within a 
 few feet of where Wellington stood. The day seemed lost to the 
 allies, when a rank of men, who had lain flat on their faces behind 
 a low ridge of earth, and hitherto unseen by the French, heard 
 the order of Wellington, " up and at 'em !" and springing to their 
 feet, poured an unexpected volley into the very faces of that 
 advancing Guard. Taken by surprise, and smitten back by the 
 sudden shock, they had not time to rally before another and an- 
 other volley completed the disorder, and that hitherto unconquer- 
 able Guard was hurrying in wild confusion over the field. " The 
 Guard recoils !" " the Guard recoils !" rung in despairing shrieks 
 over the army, and all was over. Blucher efiected his junction, 
 and Wellington ordered a simultaneous advance along the whole 
 lines. The Old Guard, disdaining to fly, formed into two immense 
 squares, and attempted to stay the reversed tide of battle. They 
 stood and let the artillery plough through them in vain. The 
 day was lost. Bonaparte's star had set forever, and his empire 
 crumbled beneath him. 
 
 Wellington met Blucher at La Belle Alliance, the head-quar- 
 
136 NIGHT AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 ters of Napoleon. The former returned back over the field, while 
 the latter continued the pursuit all night long, strewing the road 
 for thirty miles with mangled corpses. 
 
 And I was standing on this awful field, waving with grain just 
 as it did on that mild morning. As my eye rested on this and 
 that spot, where deeds of valour were done, and saw in imagina- 
 tion those magnificent armies struggling for a continent, and heard 
 the roar of cannon, the shocks of cavalry and the rolling fire of 
 infantry, and saw the waving of plumes and torn banners amid 
 the smoke of battle that curtained them in ; what wonder is it that 
 for the moment I forgot the carnage and the awful waste of hu- 
 man life in the excitement and grandeur of the scene ? But let 
 him who is in love with glory go over the bloody field after the 
 thunder of battle is hushed, and the excitement of the strife is over. 
 The rain is past, the heavy clouds have melted away, and behold 
 the bright and tranquil moon is sailing through the starry heavens 
 and looking serenely down on the bloody field. Under its re- 
 proving light you see flashing swords, and glittering uniforms, 
 and torn plumes, and heaps of mangled men. More than 50,000 
 cumber the field, while thousands of wounded horses, still alive, 
 rend the air with their shrill cries ; and at intervals break in the 
 mingled curse and groan and prayer of the tens of thousands that 
 are writhing amid the slaughtered heaps in mortal agony. Dis- 
 membered limbs are scattered round like broken branches after a 
 hurricane, while disembowelled corpses lie like autumn leaves on 
 every side. Ghastly wounds greet the eye at every turn, while 
 ever and anon comes the thunder of distant cannon on the night 
 air, telling where Blucher still continues the work of destruction. 
 
 And the bright round moon is shining down on all this, and the 
 sweet air of June is breathing over it. Oh ! what a scene for 
 God and angels to look upon ! What a blot on Nature's pure 
 bosom ! Even Wellington, as he slowly rode over the field by 
 moonlight, wept. The heart trained in the camp and schooled in 
 the brutal life of the soldier could not endure the sight. But this 
 is not all. Mournful as is the spectacle, and terrific as is the 
 ghastly sight of that dead and dying army, and heartrending as 
 are the shrieks and groans and blasphemies that make night hor- 
 rible, the field is alive with moving forms, stooping over the pros- 
 
MONUMENTS OF THE DEAD. 137 
 
 trate dead. Are they ministers of mercy come hither to bind up 
 the wounded and assuage their sufferings, or are they beasts of 
 prey stooping over the carcasses still warm with human blood ? 
 Neither. They are men roaming the field for plunder. The 
 dead and the wounded are alike ruthlessly trampled upon, as 
 their bloody garments are rifled of their treasures. And this is 
 glorious war, where heroes are made and deified ! As my im- 
 agination rested on this picture, I no longer felt sympathy for Na- 
 poleon, as he fled a fugitive through the long night; while the roar 
 of cannon behind him told where his empire lay trampjed to the 
 earth. 
 
 But the suffering did not end here. To measure the amount 
 of woe this one battle has produced, go to the villages and cottages 
 of France and England and Prussia. Count all the broken 
 hearts it made — trace out the secret and open suffering that ends 
 not with the day that saw its birth — and, last of all, go on to the 
 judgment and imagine the souls that went from Waterloo and its 
 fierce conflict to the rewards of Eternity ; and then measure, if 
 you can, the length and breadth and depth and height of that 
 cursed ambition which made Napoleon a minister of death to his 
 race. His wild heart sleeps at last, and Nature smiles again 
 around Waterloo, and the rich grain waves as carelessly as if 
 nothing had happened. That Providence which never sleeps fix- 
 ed the limits of that proud man, and finally left the " desolator 
 desolate" to eat out his own heart on the rock of Helena. 
 
 The field is covered with monuments to the dead, and a huge 
 pyramid, surmounted by a lion, rises from the centre of the plain. 
 One monument tells where the Scotch Greys stood and were cut 
 down, almost to a man — another points to the grave of Shaw, who 
 killed nine Frenchmen before he fell. The little church in the 
 village of Waterloo is filled with tablets commemorating the dead. 
 One struck me forcibly. On it was recorded the death of a man 
 belonging to Wellington's suite. He was only eighteen years of 
 age, and this was his twentieth battle. I never was more im- 
 pressed with the brutality of the soldier than when my guide 
 told me that he himself went over the field in search of plunder, 
 the morning after the battle, and all he could find among the thou- 
 sands of corpses was one old silver watch. 
 
138 MARQUIS OF ANGLESEA'S LEG. 
 
 My companion the English captain would go and see the grave 
 of the Marquis of Anglesea's leg^ which has a separate monument 
 erected to it. The Marquis visited the field of battle a short 
 time since, and had the pleasure of reading the epitaph of his own 
 leg. Taking no particular interest in the Marquis's lower ex- 
 tremities, whether off or on, I did not see this monument. 
 
7 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 
 
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 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the 
 
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