r / % '- . 7 EN ROUTE AN AUTOMOBILE TOUR THROUGH EUROPE THE NINETEEN PASSES AND THEIR HEIGHTS AJBOVE SEA. LEVEL IN ENGLISH FEET ARE Stelvio Pass 9200 Campiglio Pass 5500 PoRDOi Pass 7400 Karer Pass 5300 Splugen Pass 7000 PiLLON Pass 5000 Mont Cenis Pass St. Gotthard Pass SiMPLON Pass Klausen Pass ToNALE Pass 6900 6900 6600 6500 6200 FinstermOnz Mendel Brenner Aprica 5000 5500 4500 4500 Rolle Pass 6000 Brunig 3300 Arlberg Pass 5900 Roncesvalles Pass 3200 AND SEVERAL OTHERS OP LESSER IMPORTANCE IIKIIK 'I'llK ]\n.\T) IS cri' IN TIIK ROPK^ lACK ol' I 1 1 !■; (I.II'F Lakk or 'J'liux EN ROUTE A DESCRIPTIVE AUTOMOBILE TOUR THROUGH NINE COUNTRIES & OVER NINETEEN GREAT PASSES OF EUROPE BY ROY TREVOR » » WITH NINETY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS TAKEN BY THE AUTHOR, AND THREE MAPS LONDON EDWARD STANFORD 13, 13, & 14 LONG ACRE, W.C. 190S c • Printed by Ballantyne 6r' Co. Limitbd Tavistock Street Covent Garden London TO MY FATHER THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED PREFACE In the following pages I have endeavoured to describe a journey through Europe by road. I have curtailed it considerably, having avoided de- scriptions of Cities and Monuments which have been chronicled many times before by writers more worthy than myself to sing their praises. Having been restricted almost entirely to the route and the incidents thereon, I have tried to lighten the somewhat unavoidable sameness of the one subject as far as lay in my power. Perhaps the only virtue that can be claimed for this narrative is its absolute truthfulness in every particular. Each mile of road described has been faithfully traversed, and the incidents of the troublesome horses are not, in the slightest degree, exaggerated. Distances have been left strictly alone ; for upon tours such as these Distance has no bearing what- ever, and, with Time, takes a secondary place ; both are immaterial. Names of hotels I have avoided, for several reasons. A hotel which, upon a first visit, has appealed to one as delightful and alto- gether charming, may, under a change of manage- ment, be found greatly lacking the next time one stays there, and vice versd. The few that are named are those only that have been distinguished by some incident out of the common. From Brockedon's " Passes of the Alps," pub- lished in 1828 (two volumes), a most instructive and vii PREFACE intensely interesting work, I have quoted several times. I take this opportunity of expressing my sincere thanks to the E,oyal Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland for their generous help, both in regard to maps and information ; also for the unfailing courtesy with which they have ever treated my inquiries. In conclusion, I would say that I and my com- panions do not claim to have accomplished anything very great or wonderful ; and the only object I have in throwing our adventures upon the world in general is that they may be of service to fellow automobilists in planning out their tours, and, maybe, help them to discover fresh glories, unknown to the uninitiated. I trust this book will be received in the spirit in which it is meant, and that those favoured mortals who are fated to pass over the same roads may enjoy their varied adven- tures as completely as we did those which happened to us while En Route. ROY TREVOR Eastbourne It has been pointed out to me that by reason of the number of times I have mentioned the Mercedes car, I may be thought to have a financial interest in that Company. I desire to state that I have no interest whatever in the Mercedes Company, and such praise or mention as is bestowed upon the car has been called forth solely by virtue of its own excellence and wonderful powers of endurance. ROY TREVOR Vlll CONTENTS PART I CENTRAL EUROPE CHAP. PAGE I. Perseverentia Vincit 3 II. A Dash for the Alps 14 III. The Great St. Gotthard 29 IV. Over the Simplon to the Matterhorn 42 V. The Highest Pass in Europe 53 VI. Beautiful Tirol 74 VII. In the Heart of the Dolomites 92 VIII. Where Heroes Trod 107 IX. In the Face of the Police 121 PART II SOUTHERN EUROPE X. To THE Home of the C^sars 139 XI. A Flying Glimpse of Italy IGl XII. In the Land of the Dons 182 XIII. The Desire of Our Hearts 199 XIV, The Palace of a Vanished People 213 XV. «' They Call Them Royal Roads " 225 ix CONTENTS PAKT III NORTHERN EUROPE CHAP. PAGE XVI. From John o' Groat's to Copenhagen 237 XVII. A Chapter op Adventures 252 XVIII. Farewell to the Alps 278 Index 299 ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Here the road is cut in the rocky face of the clifi". (Lake of Thun) Frontispiece Where the road passes through tunnels bored deep into the rock. (Col des Roches) 18 A scene of snow and ice, above and below. (The Jungfrau) 20 We took a last look at Grindelwald 22 The road over the Briinig Pass 24 The Rocky Axenstrasse. (Lake of Uri) 26 We sped deeper and deeper into the vastnesses of the Gotthard 28 A dark and sombre defile through which the Reuss tears. (The Gotthard Pass) 30 The road passes under an avalanche gallery and winds itself in short zigzags. (The Gotthard Pass) 32 A doleful place : hemmed in with earthen precipices. (The Devil's Gorge) 34 The road traverses a rock-strewn slope. (The Gotthard Pass) 36 We are upon the summit, 7000 feet above sea level. (The Gotthard Pass) 38 We reached the old Hospice and stopped Mercddfes 40 We commenced the descent. (The Gotthard Pass) 42 An unravellable knot of zigzags. (The Gotthard Pass) 44 xi ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE The descent was both novel and exhilarating. (The Gotthard Pass) 46 Where Suwarrof won his short-lived victory (The Ponte Tremola) 48 In the ravine of the Dazio Grande. (The Gotthard Pass) 50 At this point nestles Gonda in a land of precipices. (The Simplon Pass) 52 The mountains rising sheer to a great height. (The Gorges of Gonda) 54 The whole scene is of the most impressive and beautifvil character. (The Gorges of Gonda) 56 A way for the road is cut through the enormous debris. (The Simplon Pass) 58 The Old Hospice still holds a romantic memory. (The Simplon Pass) 60 The road clings to the mountain side. (The Simplon Pass) 62 The Winter Gallery (The Simplon Pass) 64 Running beneath avalanche galleries. (The Simplon Pass) 66 Beneath, out of the still waters, rises the exquisite little Island, (San Giulio Lago d'Orta) 68 The mountains close in and encircle the lake. (Lago de Como) 70 The road climbs tortuously out of the ravine. (The Stelvio Pass) 72 This was the summit of the Stelvio, 9200 feet above the sea 74 The scenery from this point is inconceivably grand. (The Stelvio Pass) 76 The great mass of the Glacier passed within a few feet of the hotel. (The Stelvio Pass) 78 Down one side the road is cut in a series of bewildering zigzags. (The Austrian side of the Stelvio Pass) 80 Backwards and forwards it twists. (The Stelvio Pass) 82 We saw, on a turn immediately beneath us, a heavy four- horsed diligence. (The Stelvio Pass) 84 xii v^ ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE The road is cut in the precipice side. (The Mendel Pass) 86 The road is cut deep out of the solid rock. (Road to Riva) 88 The Matterhoru of the Dolomites rose sheer into the heavens. (The Rolle Pass) 90 A rugged range of mountains. (The Rolle Pass) 92 The Dolomites are seen every now and then between the firs. (The Rolle Pass) 94 The square-shaped Stella group grew closer as the pines thinned. (The Pordoi Pass) 96 We stopped Mercedes at the edge of the green lake. (The Finstermiinz Pass) 112 A work that must have taken much time and thought. (The Finstermiinz Pass) 114 Half house, half church, its doors opened in welcome. (The Arlberg Hospice) 116 The Watershed of the Danube and the Rhine. (The Arlberg Summit) 118 We flashed through the rough interior. (The Klausen Pass) 124 That drive to Genoa was like a dream 148 We crawled through the narrow streets 150 We found ourselves facing the glories of Pisa 152 We halted Mei'c6d6s at the foot of the Leaning Tower 154 We were ferried across. (Near Rome) 156 Emerging in the great open Piazza before the doors of St. Peter's 158 The Triumphal Ai-ch of Septimius Severus, the ruined Forum 160 " That's the Arch of Constantino," Sheila cried 162 The Temple of Vesta 164 An interior, (Rome) 166 The broken arches of the great Aqueduct of Claudius stretch far across the Campagna 168 Peasants drive their herds of wild buffalo into the waters to wallow. (The Pontine Marshes) 170 xiii ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Crossing the Po by a fine bridge of boats 172 " II Santo," the massive Cathedral of Padua 174 From one glorious monument to another 176 To the sound of the lap-lapping of the water against the gondola 178 The musical cry of the gondolier 180 The exquisite palace of the Doges shone out as though carved in ivory 182 *' Where Roland brave and Oliver, and every paladin and peer, On Roncesvalles died " 184 A lasting memory of its beautiful ambulatory. (Burgos Cathedral) 186 Its exquisite chapels. (Burgos Cathedral) 188 The quiet cloisters. (Burgos Cathedral) 190 A landscape unutterably barren. (Old Castile) 192 Forms one of the most wonderful and graceful of monu- ments. (Segovia Aqueduct) 194 And there it still crouches 5000 feet above the sea, gazing down tranquilly upon the immense Plains of New Castile. (Summit of the GuadarramaPass) 196 Toledo, the oldest and most important of the cities of Castile 198 The horse-shoe arch is met at every turn. (Santa Maria la Blanca, Toledo) 200 A sandy track covered deep with countless stones, crosses a dreary marsh. (Southern Spain) 202 A garden of graceful palms. (Seville, Alcazar) 204 La Corrida de Toros. (Seville) 204 Passing through some decayed fortifications. (Near Cadiz) 206 Towards a city founded by the Phoenicians a thousand years before Christ. (Cadiz) 208 Through Cadiz the old, whose streets are proud of their absence of wheeled traffic 210 Where palms of every kind grow in the utmost profusion (Cadi^) 212 xiv ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE The Cathedral gazing out to sea. (Cadiz) 214 The purple mountains of Morocco seem nearer than Spain. (Europa Point, Gibraltar) 216 Bib Kharea, the Gate of the Law. (Granada) 218 The Alhambra Palace 220 So indescribably beautiful is that palace of a dead nation 222 The magnificence and beauty of this palace 224 The gipsies live in caves hollowed out of the rock, covered deep in aloe and cacti plants. (Granada) 226 A gipsy dance. (Granada) 228 Leaning upon their rifles, they entered into conversation. (The Guardia Civil) 230 There was not half a mile that was not covered with sharp loose stones. (Southern Spain) 232 Oh, that journey over the royal roads. (Southern Spain) 234 Then through the Gorges of the Tarn 238 A superb triumph over the greatest barrier of Nature. (The Spliigen Pass) 274 A quiet village beneath the world of snow. (Monte Spliigen) 278 On looking down we could see a solid column of boiling living water. (The Spliigen Pass) 282 A splendid view of the record-breaking road. (Spliigen Pass) 284 MAPS I. Central Europe 2 II. Southern Europe 138 III. Northern Europe 236 XV PART I CENTRAL EUROPE A MAP I.— MIDDLE EUROPE Note. As part of the road was traversed more than once the following is a list of the Towns and Passes in order to enable the reader to follow more accurately the route. Paris : Troyes : Besan9on : Col des Bochea (Swiss frontier) : Neuchdtel : Berne : Lake of Thun : Interlaken : Grindelwald : Interlaken : Lake of Brienz : Meiringen : Briinig Pass : Lucerne : Lake Lucerne : Brunnen : Lake of Uri : Axenstrasse : Altdorf : Gbschenen : St. Gothard Pass : Airolo : Bellinzona : Lake Maggiore : Locarno (Italian frontier) : Palanza : Domo d'Ossola : Iselle (Swiss frontier) : Simplon Pass : Brigue : Visp : Zermatt : Visp : Brigue : Simplon Pass (Italian frontier) : Domo d'Ossola : Omegna : Lake Orta : Orta : Sesto Calende : Varese : Lake Como : Como : Yilla d'Este : Lecco : Varenna : Colico : Val Tellina : Sondrio : Tirano : Borneo (Austrian frontier) : Stelvio Pass : Trafoi : Neuspondinig : Meran : Bozen : Mendel Pass : Male : Campiglio Pass : Pinzolo : Lago d'Idro : Lake Garda : Riva : Trient : Neumarkt : Predazzo : The Rolle Pass : San Martino de Castrozza : Rolle Pass : Predazzo : Yigo : Karer Pass : Vigo : Campidello : Pordoi Pass : Campidello : Predazzo : Auer : Bozen : Franzensfeste : Brenner Pass : Innsbruck : Landeck : Finstermiinz Pass: Neuspondinig : Finstermiinz : Landeck: Arlherg Pass : Feldkirch (Swiss frontier) : Buchs : Lake of Wallenstadt : Obstalden : Glarus : Linthal : Klausen Pass : Altdorf : Brunnen : Lucerne : Briinig Pass : Interlaken : Spiez : Saanen : Col du Pillon : Aigle : Lake of Geneva : Lausanne : Rolle : Geneva (French frontier) : Col de la Faucille': Bourg : Chateau country : Tours : Blois : Orleans : Paris, Frontiers marked in black ink. Tour in green ink. The Mountain Passes are underlined with green and red ink. Dotted green line indicates Route of second Tour (South Europe. Part II.). Red ink line indicates Route of North Tour (Part III,). Map I. CENTRA '^"rtif/i < r.r^i'^^ Tc Co/rrxfliMlo \-HBCic. cr^ \ \ \ CHAPTER I PERSEVERENTIA VINCIT " What will Ken say ? " remarked Dorothy. " He won't say no, if you ask him," murmured I. " It would be a ripping tour — do try and per- suade him," pleaded Sheila, eagerly. " Well, if Roy will propose it, I'll back him up," promised Dorothy at last. And then I knew that the battle was more than half won. Dorothy is my sister, and Ken's wife ; while Sheila — well. Sheila is Ken's sister, and has promised to become my wife. Ken is my old school chum, with whom I was spending a few months at his fine old place in the North of Scotland. The proposal referred to was that instead of spend- ing their summer as usual, aboard Ken's yacht. Sheila, Dorothy and himself, should accompany me in my new car, for a protracted tour on the Con- tinent. At first sight there seems nothing startling in the proposal, or any reason for the above conver- sation, nor would there have been were Ken an ordinary unbiased mortal. Ken, I am sorry to say» was a confirmed anti-motorist, and regarded all people who enjoyed motoring, as " harmful maniacs." 3 EN ROUTE Being entirely devoted to horses, and spending much of his time riding and driving, his acquaint- ance with motors had, up to the present, been of anything but a pleasant and love -inspiring nature. According to him, it mainly consisted of having one's arms pulled out of their sockets by an iron- mouthed thoroughbred, while a beastly, noisy, tin- kettle on wheels (those were his very words) rushed past, not only leaving behind it smell enough to take the green out of the grass, but also leaving one vainly hurling blessings and other things (mainly other things), in a cloud of suffocating dust. I remember some years ago, how mercilessly he chuckled when I told him I had been fined ten pounds and costs for travelling at the rate of 15 m.p.h., on a straight and lonely road — it was in the days of the twelve-mile limit. Instead of the sympathy I was expecting, he loudly congratulated himself that he lived in a land where the myrmidons of the law kept such a firm check on scorchers — scorchers, mark you, at 15 m.p.h. ! Unfortunately my new car was in the hands of a coachbuilder in Paris ; and at Ken's earnest request, all forms of self-propelled vehicles were tabooed at Graham Castle. Therefore I had no opportunity of ridding his mind of the ridiculous notions he entertained, or of changing his opinions on motoring generally. And now I was to propose to him that he should forsake the delights and comforts of his yacht, and come for a tour in unknown lands, on a death- dealing apparatus which I was pleased to call a 4 PERSEVERENTIA VINCIT "car." Well could I imagine the sarcasm with which he would utter the word " Car." When I calmly contemplated it, the proposal almost appalled me by its daring. Ere I tackled Ken, my first care had been to enlist Sheila and Dorothy on my side. As neither of them had had any experience of motoring, it took no little persuasion on my part, at first ; but to my joy, they soon became converts, and entered into the idea with enthusiasm. I felt sure that with Dorothy on my side. Ken's consent was practically safe, for her smallest wish is law to him. So it was with high hopes of success that I laid the proposal before him one morning, during breakfast. Ken was raising his coffee to his lips when I put the question, and with it balanced peri- lously in mid-air, he regarded me, speechless. Ere he could recover his breath, Dorothy became my advocate, and it was under her skilful management that he finally yielded to what he was pleased to term : " Risking all our necks on a nerve-shattering bone-shaker." " She's anything but a bone-shaker ! " I cried indignantly. " Only wait till you have tried her, and you'll admit that it is the smoothest motion you've ever experienced." Ken ignored my remark, and wanted to know full particulars of the car, and where I proposed to tour. " She's a Mercedes," I said ; " which spells per- fection, and is to my mind the finest touring car in existence. The dear old dad gave her to me for a birthday present this January, and I have 5 EN ROUTE thoroughly tested her, by a month's hard running. She is of 70 h.p. and has " " Seventy h.p. ? " interrupted Ken. " Whatever induced your governor to give you a car of that murderous horse-power ? " " It isn't murderous horse-power," I cut in. " You will find that a powerful car, in experienced hands, is far less dangerous than many of the lighter cars which fly about. When you are aboard her, you will not be able to tell that she has such ' mur- derous horse-power,' as you call it, beneath her bonnet ; while in traffic she will be passed, again and again, by much smaller cars. It is only when one has a straight road, or a long hill to face, that one can tell the difference, and then you will thank your stars that it is so. I'm going to have my say, this time ; so don't interrupt," I hastily added ; for we were now on debatable ground, and I saw him pre- paring to renew his arguments with all the here- ditary vigour of a bull taunted by a red rag. " As to where we are going," I continued, " I am not quite sure : anyway, we shall make for Switzerland, and spend our time climbing as many of the passes as are open to us. I want to test the fearful accounts I hear of the treatment of motorists in that part of the world." " I have a fellow-feeling for the Swiss," broke in Ken, " if they are down on motorists. When do we start ? " *' The sooner the better," I answered, quickly ter- minating the interview, fearful lest he should repent. 6 PERSEVERENTIA VINCIT To say that I was charmed with the prospect in store, would be to describe my feelings too mildly. The idea of revealing to Sheila the joys of motoring, of travelling with her through the magnificence of the Alps, was a prospect beyond my most cherished dreams. For Sheila is — -just Sheila ; hard to describe, with a beauty above the ordinary, and a nature that is sweetness itself Ever the idol of the rough, un- couth crofters on her brother's estate, her tender sweet manner has endeared her to their hearts, in a thousand different ways. How many times " Mis- tress Sheila " has brought sunshine into their lonely lives, either by word or deed, is legend. Ever ready to listen to the poorest, to comfort the distressed, to care for the destitute, she is beloved by all with whom she comes in contact. The horses in the stables raise their heads with whinnies of pleasure, to receive a caress from her dainty hand ; while the dogs, great rugged brutes, even to the fiercest, crowd round her fawning, vying with each other to show how much they love her. Of her outward charms, perhaps the greatest is her glorious wreath of light wavy hair, golden in the sunshine ; while her great love for the breezy moors and open skies has brought to her cheeks the signs of perfect health. Dorothy is a brunette — but as a brother, I am afraid I cannot adequately describe her charms, though I know that Ken can be very enthusiastic on the subject. Kenneth Graham, or Ken, as he is always called, like Sheila, has light wavy hair, but 7 EN ROUTE here the likeness ends, for he stands six feet in his stockings, and is in proportion to match. Keen on all outdoor games, a crack shot and a fearless horseman, he loves the open air with all the ardour of his fighting ancestors. Our friendship, com- menced at school, has never waned. There he had saved my life, by lugging me unceremoniously out of the river into which I had fallen, while vainly endeavouring to recover my Sunday topper that had been knocked into midstream, and was gaily floating, just out of reach, on its way to the sea. Whatever mischief Ken was convicted of, I was generally aiding and abetting him. Many a caning have we artfully dodged, and many a one have we sorrowfully shared, ere we quitted our alTna mater for other spheres. Lastly myself, Roy Trevor, standing only five feet nine. I used to look quite small beside Ken. They say opposites agree, and this must be so, for unlike him, I had dark brown hair, brown eyes, and, through living under hotter skies than Scotland's, a brown, sunburnt skin. A roving disposition, coupled with a general knowledge of engineering, had been responsible for my taking to motoring, and dis- covering little-known beauties, roads of course, on the Continent. For the next week, every one was busy, preparing for departure. Sheila and Dorothy collected their belongings. I was appalled at the quantity they intended to take, and politely but firmly requested them to reduce it by one-half, explaining that we should be independent of trains, and would have no 8 PERSEVERENTIA VINCIT servants and heavy luggage following ns. We would carry everything in the special boxes, which were being made in Paris. In support of this dictum, I related to them one of my experiences, and coun- selled them to take warning by the awful example. It is a painful subject, and one which I have tried to forget. In a weak moment I consented to allow a large trunk to follow me vaguely about Europe. In three months I only saw it twice. Either I did not go to the place it had been sent to, or when I did go, I found it had not arrived. I was in despair, and finally gave it up for lost, when, by the merest chance — or good luck, call it — I ran up against the wretched thing in a little wayside town. So delighted was I at the unexpected en- counter that I never left its brown sides till I had seen it sealed and labelled for home, and vowed never again to take more luggage than I could carry on the car. Since then I have lived a happy and cheerful life. The prospect of having to hunt up several trunks distributed by the lavish hands of railway officials in different parts of the Continent, was enough to wreck the tour at the outset, and bring my brown hairs in sorrow to the grave. Leaving Graham Castle we drove the fifteen miles to the station. Here Ken took a sad and touching farewell of his favourite pair, which had covered the distance, much to his pride, in a little over an hour and a half All the way he held forth on the beauties and advantages of horses, remarking at the finish that we had made excellent time. 9 EN ROUTE " Why ? " I put in. " At that speed on the car you would hardly seem to be moving." Ken replied that it was quite quick enough for him ; he would never wish to go any faster, &c. I answered nothing, only smiled that irritatingly pitying smile, exclusively reserved to the motoring public contemplating the vain ignorance of their motorless brethren. We stayed a few days in Paris, where Sheila and Dorothy had several purchases to make ; and where I insisted on every one being fitted out in full motoring garb, for tropical heat, or arctic cold. One afternoon I strolled up to Rothschild's, where I had left the car to have a proper touring body fitted, in place of the two-seater that I use when alone. Dennis, my chauffeur, was in attendance upon the car, his face screwed into a smile that rivalled the glittering lamps for brightness. Born in Ireland, of Scotch parents, Dennis is a strange mixture of Scotch and Irish. He has been in our family for the last dozen years or so, occupying the position of head-groom. When I offered to teach him to become a "shuver" he jumped at the chance, and for the last four years has accompanied me on my wanderings. A servant born, he understands his place, and can wash and clean a car in a way that has astonished many a garage man, who prides him- self upon his polishing abilities. In appearance Dennis is like a jockey, and many a time has he been stopped in the streets by persons anxious for the latest tip for "to-morrow's winner." His greatest characteristic is the marvellous knack he 10 PERSEVERENTIA VINCIT possesses of meeting people whom he knew, or who knew his native place of Bally-something-or-other in Ireland, and five minutes after putting up the car, in some quiet little town, far away from civilisa- tion, I have found him chatting quietly to the only person in the whole neighbourhood who understood English, and was, of course, the first person that Dennis had accosted. I must admit that the person was generally of the opposite sex, but this might be attributed to his Irish descent. He speaks no language but his own, and how he manages in the diiferent countries is a mystery known only to himself. Turning from Dennis to Mercedes, I felt my heart swell with pride as I gazed upon her. What I had left after the month's trial, had been a muddy, grey two-seater ; what I found now, was a long, low car, fitted with Hoi des Beiges body, canopy, and glass screen, painted snow - white, edged with green and gold, and upholstered in red leather. "They have made a good job of it, sir," broke in the voice of Dennis, upon my gloat- ing. " You can hardly believe it's the same car we left " '* Is all ready for starting ? " I interrupted, for my fingers were itching to grasp the familiar levers. ** Ready, and waiting, sir," answered Dennis. I mounted on board, and sank into the luxurious armchair behind the steering wheel. Dennis gave the starting-handle a quick turn, and the machine leapt into eager life. At the Automobile Club garage, Merc^d^s took up a temporary abode, and it 11 EN KOUTE was there that I brought Sheila, Dorothy and Ken, at their earnest request, for, as Dorothy remarked : ** They wanted to make friends with the car ere they trusted their Hves to its hazardous keeping." On the way to the garage. Ken was giving his opinion on the rights of pedestrians, and the abomin- able selfishness of motorists. "Nonsense," I answered, " no man will deliberately run you down ; all you have to do is to keep still, and if — Look out, man, quick ! " I gasped, as we jumped for the kerb, narrowly escaping a small hired car, recklessly driven by a chauffeur. Ken chuckled grimly, and asked me my views on the rights of pedestrians. Arrived at the garage, I marshalled them before Mercedes, and with bated breath waited anxiously to hear what the verdict would be. After the first glance, Sheila turned her fine eyes upon me : " Oh Roy," she murmured, " I never expected anything like this." " It is magnificent," assented Dorothy. " See how it stands out from all the other cars here." Two on my side. I breathed more freely, and glanced at Ken. He was more critical. Walking round her twice he examined the coach-work, felt the upholstery, kicked the two front tyres, and generally took stock. Evidently he was impressed, for he remarked : " I will admit, for a motor, it's the best I've seen up to now. The lamps give it a bright look, and it is well painted. The armchairs in front appear exceedingly comfortable, and it has a general air of smartness." He paused, and then added : " I suppose under that coffin-shaped box in 12 PERSEVERENTIA VINCIT front you keep the ' condensed horse,' as I heard an American call it yesterday." " That is where the engine is placed," I replied with dignity. " ' The murderous horse-power,' I think you called it. Open the bonnet," I said to Dennis. Ken shook his head as he gazed at the cylinders, and referred to them as " a tangled mass of iron and twisted pipes." We made an inspection of the other cars in the garage, and came back for a last look at Mercedes. " If her behaviour is equal to her appearance we shall have a glorious time," said Dorothy. " To-morrow you shall judge for yourself," answered I, " when we start. I have told Dennis to have the car at the hotel at nine sharp, and we'll get away as soon as possible." Bidding farewell to the car till the morrow we left the garage, to spend, as Ken put it, " our last evening as ordinary happy motorless people. Let's be merry to-day for to- morrow we — start," he added. During dinner that evening, Sheila proposed a toast. E-aising her glass on high, she asked us to drink success and good luck to the tour. 18 CHAPTER II A DASH FOR THE ALPS We had just finished breakfast, and were sitting in the lounge, when Ken strolled in. " It's at the door," he announced, in a voice of resigned hope, as though " it " might have been the proverbial wolf. " I've seen Dennis at the entrance, and he says that the thing is waiting to start." *' You'd better get ready," I said ; " I'll see that everything is packed." Sheila and Dorothy dis- appeared, while Ken and I strolled to the door. We found Mercedes the observed of all observers, sur- rounded by an admiring crowd, while Dennis hovered near, like a guardian angel. " Isn't she looking splendid ? " I exclaimed to Ken, endeavouring to work up a little enthusiasm. Ken, however, was inclined to be pessimistic, and observed that one could never judge by appearances. " Everything's ready, sir," said Dennis, interrupt- ing. " It's quite a job to keep those imps away," he added, as he dusted off the step a small boy, who was surreptitiously endeavouring to blow the horn. We were waiting in the hall when Sheila and 14 A DASH FOR THE ALPS Dorothy appeared, and, accompanied by the head concierge, his two assistants and three luggage porters, we formed in procession, and trooped to the car. It had been arranged that Sheila and Dorothy should occupy the tonneau, while Ken sat in front with me. Dennis *' wound her up," as Sheila re- marked, and took his seat at Ken's feet, curling himself behind the ''dash." "Allez!" I slipped in the first gear and we glided away. As we entered the busy traffic, I noticed that Ken's face wore a set expression, and he gripped the arms of his seat tightly ; and by a sudden movement on the part of Dennis, as we missed another car by a decimal of an inch, I knew that my friend was undergoing the experience of all novices to motoring — that of trying to stop the car by pressing the foot hard against the floor boards, and, in this case, incidentally nipping Dennis in a tender part of his anatomy. " How do you like it ? " I asked. " Don't you bother to talk," Ken replied ; " watch your steering. Look out, man ! " (Another sudden movement by Dennis.) "You only just missed that bus." " You'll find that I shall always just miss," I assured him, " though you have to be careful," I added, bringing Mercedes to a sudden standstill, to allow a motor taxi-cab to fly across our bows. " You soon get used to it," I continued. "Ah, that's better," murmured Ken, as we turned down the Rue de la Paix. Crossing the Place Vendome I had another opportunity of showing him what control I had 15 EN ROUTE over the car. We were passing the foot of the column when a child ran wildly across the square, tripped, and fell right in our path. Sheila and Dorothy cried out, and Ken leant back quickly, and evidently put his foot down rather hard, for Dennis jumped spasmodically. They did not know Mercedes ; she stopped in her own length, with her two front wheels almost touching the child. A moment later a nurse-maid rushed up, and, clasping the little girl in her arms, carried her away. On reaching the Rue de Rivoli we turned to the left, and wended our way through the everlasting stream of traffic. Gradually Ken's clutch on the arms of his seat began to slacken and his face to lose its set expression. He seemed to settle himself more easily in his seat, while what I regarded as a most favourable sign was that Dennis had ceased to start violently every time we just missed another vehicle. " What do you think of it ? " I asked over my shoulder. "I'm beyond thinking,"exclaimed Sheila. "We've been holding one another's hands ever since we started, and saying all the prayers we could re- member at such short notice ; but we're beginning to feel that we can breathe again." Crossing the Place de la Bastille, we followed the Rue Daumesnil, and passing through the gates of Paris entered the beautiful Bois de Vincennes. " This is glorious," came Dorothy's voice from the back, as I opened the throttlr^ a little, and we 16 A DASH FOR THE ALPS commenced to hum along. " She's | wonderfully smooth," admitted Ken. For some distance we followed the Nancy road. " Now," I said, as we rounded the bend and saw before us a perfect stretch of road, clear of traffic, and losing itself in the distance — " Now you shall feel what Mercedes can do." Silently we tore along, and by imperceptible degrees I increased the speed ; the delight of motion, the fresh breeze blowing in our faces (for the wind screen was up) combined to make us feel that life was indeed worth living. I instinctively knew that Ken was catching the motor fever ; no longer did he sit like a waxen image, his eyes sparkled as he gazed through his goggles, his colour heightened by the quick rush of the air, and the whole set of his figure told me that he had forgotten that but a short half-hour ago he had been a rabid motor hater. He eagerly questioned me about the car, how it was worked, and listened with interest to my ex- planation of cylinders, magnetos, gears, and all the hundred and one things that go to make up the intricate working of an automobile. At last the microbe of automobilism had entered his blood, and I knew that never again would he rave against cars. His next wish would be to handle a living power, and, like the boy in the bath, he would not be happy till he got it. France I have always looked upon as the great higliway to other lands. Passing over its glorious roads so often, I never seemed to think of it as B 17 EN ROUTE a separate journey in itself; one long delightful rush, passing from one great town to another, the road, a never-ending ribbon, disappearing like magic beneath the bonnet. Old towns, with time- honoured battlements, and noble monuments, follow one upon the other, each last as it is left behind, the next greeted with all the pleasure of an old and welcome friend. Those long, long rows of tall and stately trees, edging the sides of interminable roads, stretching far away to where the heavens and earth seem to meet ; those vineyards upon the sloping hills ; those patient oxen ever following the guiding stick ; those innumerable villages, peaceful and quiet, where the storm and struggle of life seem to be quite unknown ; those peasants work- ing in the fields, who stop to wave a cheery signal as we flash past. Ah, how wonderful is France, and what a memory it leaves upon the mind ! What a dim impression one had of France, when the view was limited to the narrow confines of a railway window. Paris — Biarritz — the Kiviera, that was the France we knew. But with the birth of the car came knowledge greater than one ever dreamt of; places dubbed inaccessible now lie in your path ; others, spoken of as uninteresting, and unworthy of note, are now immortalised by that selfsame car. Ever onward, one rushes, now tearing along a road straight as an arrow, now mounting, with unabated speed, a long and steep incline, with a hum that makes the heart rejoice, and the blood course more swiftly, as one meets the keen force of the wind ; next, one is crawling through a 18 %m'^ 's^m A DASH FOR THE ALPS village, till, with a sigh of relief, the open road is reached, and the onward rush continued. Through Troyes, the ancient capital of Cham- pagne, to Besan9on, the city once of sieges, now of watches, on the wings of the speed-god we were carried, and the gate of Switzerland lay before us. At the French frontier we stayed long enough to obtain a passavant laboriously made out by a pain- fully polite official. A short and easy climb brought us to the summit of the Col de Koches, where the road passes through tunnels bored deep into the rock, and emerges before the doors of the Swiss douane. I had ready the 600 frs. which I had always paid for a car entering Switzerland, and waited for the necessary papers to be made out. To my sur- prise the douanier demanded 900 frs. Explana- tions followed, and I was told that the custom duty had been raised 50 per cent. As ill-luck would have it, I had only English gold and notes, above the 600 frs. I had already tendered ; I knew that at Neuchatel, where we intended to spend the night, I could obtain what I wanted, but not here. I offered my English gold. Apparently the douanier had never seen the like before. He scrutinised the pieces, let them ring on his desk, and, with a shake of his head, returned them to me. " Isn't there a bank anywhere near here ? " asked Ken, whose temper had been steadily rising, as we watched the official gaze at the gold, with eyes of contempt. I put the question to the douanier. 11) EN ROUTE "To be sure there is," he answered slowly. " But, alas, it is closed, to-day being Sunday, and Monsieur cannot change his money till to-morrow." " I've an old aunt who would look upon this as a matter of Providence, punishing us for travelling on the Sabbath," said Sheila. ** But what's to be done ? " " He won't let us in without the money," I answered ; " and we can't stay here all night." " Ask him what he will allow for the sovereigns," Dorothy suggested. I did so. The official sent for another man, presumably the bank manager, to come and examine them. The report being favour- able, he offered 22 frs. for each sovereign ; refusing, with a shudder, to touch the notes. Ken's Scotch blood rose up in revolt ; but seeing that it was the only way, I acquiesced, and we received our receipt, leaving the official chuckling. Between Les Fonts and Neuchatel, are two roads. One is marked with the ordinary broad red of the "Routes Nationales" on the Taride maps, the other is marked "Routes Impraticables." We chose the latter, which looked mountainous, for, as Sheila said, " as we had come to Switzerland for hills, surely we could not begin too early." There was nothing dreadful about the road ; in fact it was excellent all the way. As we reached the highest point, and passed between two large rocks there opened out one of the surprises of the tour. At our feet lay the wide expanse of Lake Neuchatel, glittering like silver, while above it rose a perfect panorama of snowy mountains, from the 20 o x; S5 a ^ - O X fa O A DASH FOR THE ALPS Bernese-Oberland to Mont Blanc. The sun, a ball of blazing red behind us, cast its dying light over the scene, tipping the snow peaks with that beautiful rosy glow so peculiar to the Alps. As we gazed silently upon the scene, grey shadows crept quickly over the snow, driving the rosy tint higher and higher, till finally for a moment, it rested only upon the summits of the highest ; and then faded, leaving all grey and cold. Plunging into the shadow of the pines the road winds down the hill till it reaches the waters, 3000 ft. below, and follows the edge of the Lake to Neuchatel. From Neuchatel to Berne the road traverses a country crossed and intersected with conflicting roads, and here we were unfortunate enough to lose our way. It was later than we expected when we reached Berne, with its Gothic minster high above the rushing waters. After lunch, we followed the Aar to the busy little town of Thun beneath the fine old castle of Zahringen-Kiburg, with its glorious views of the snow. Presently the road passed along the now turbulent waters of the lake. For the weather had changed ; no longer did the sun shine upon a world of peace and stillness, his face was hidden by a mass of clouds ever thickening, and shutting out the snow-views. A cold wind blew keenly across the lake, stirring Its waters Into angry white- tipped waves. Here the road Is cut in the rocky face of the cliff, and rises high above the breaking rollers. Now and then the rock hangs far out over the road, above our heads, and again, the 21 EN ROUTE road tunnels through the heart of the rock itself. Rain threatened, even as we reached Interlaken and pulled up before the hotel. As we descended from the car, the concierge drew our attention to the mist-clad hills across the green park. At that moment the clouds parted at one spot, and the " Maiden" stood forth lit by a stray gleam of sun- shine and dazzling in a fresh dress of virgin snow ; for a moment she stood forth in all her loveliness, then faded quickly away into the driving mist. Next day summer returned ; Interlaken was look- ing its best, albeit somewhat crowded with tourists, as was the railway which, in a few hours, transfers the traveller to the sea of ice ten thousand feet above. The journey from Scheidegg was new to us, as the latest addition to the railway now pierces the Eiger itself, and we resolved to view this latest piece of engineering skill. At Lauterbrunnen, which the Staubbach fall chiefly reaches in the form of spray, commences the rack-and-cog-railway to Scheidegg, where electricity supplants steam, and passes to the Eiger station. Here the glacier pours down from the snow heights, amidst a scene of the wildest magnificence. The carriages were crowded, and it was with diflSculty that we could at last obtain places by standing in the little coupe reserved to the brake-man at the commencement of the train. But so great is the overpowering grandeur of the scene that one forgets the throng amidst nature's wonders. The Icemere station is a gallery cut in the face of the rock, through which one gazes at a 22 UK TOOK A LAST KOOK AT < i |; I X hi': KW A I, I > A DASH FOR THE ALPS scene of snow and ice above and below. It is exactly like looking through an eye of the mountain into another world ; a world of stillness, so intense as to be felt ; of desolation, so pronounced that a great awe creeps into the soul. The cold was piercing, and we were glad to avail ourselves of the highest restaurant in Europe ere we descended. At Schei- degg we changed into the carriage bound for Grindelwald, where I had ordered Dennis to meet us with Mercedes, and where, to our joy, we found him. Thankfully we changed into the roomy car, speeding down the beautiful Lutchenthall as the first shades of evening were falling. The road runs between the railway and the rushing stream ; we took a last look at Grindelwald in the distance, capped by the massive peaks of the Jungfrau, the Eiger, and the Wetterhorn. Another minute and we were passing through the defile of the Ortwird, emerging at the foot of the Schynige Platte, and presently reached our hotel. Interlaken is a centre of beautiful excursions, and after staying some time we resumed our wanderings. It was afternoon when we started on the Meiringen road. The weather was now superb, the road good, and we soon reached the little hotel at the foot of the Reichenbach falls. Arrived here, we found there was an hour to spare before dinner, and as the cable railway to the falls started almost from the hotel door, we decided to visit them. It was very warm and we removed our coats ; a polite porter from the hotel came hur- riedly forward to take them from our hands and 28 EN ROUTE see us safely Into the carriage, clad in the lightest of summer clothes. As we sat waiting for the thing to start, talking merrily, we little dreamed how soon our enthusiasm would be damped in more senses than one. An official took our tickets, and locked the door as a check to any suicidal tendencies that we might develop. Half-way the line crosses the stream below the central fall, and is then hid in the trees till it reaches the summit. Here the carriage goes under a wooden and glass shelter, in which the engine- room is placed. The guard, pointing to a doorway, informed us that we must go outside if we wished to see the falls ; we went outside, and he closed the door carefully behind us. Scarcely had we crossed the threshold than we were met by a blinding shower of spray, and in a few seconds completely drenched. As we gasped for breath we gazed upon the falls — a magnificent sight, but probably better appre- ciated from the interior of a diving-suit. A rushing, roaring torrent seemed to come pouring in great volume almost perpendicularly above our heads ; striking a ledge of rock parallel to where we stood it shot out in one superb arch of solid water, falling with the noise of continuous thunder into a chasm, whose depths were hidden by impenetrable darkness. " We can't get any wetter. Let's follow that path and see where it goes," Ken spluttered, and we made a simultaneous rush up the slippery foot- way ; after climbing some distance we reached a 24 J1,> -f. X P -r; O W a: A DASH FOR THE ALPS height above the spray. Luckily the sun was shining- brightly, and as we gazed at one another we could hardly help laughing at our astonishing surprise. Alas ! for our summer attire, our panamas and sunshades — they were sodden till they could hold no more. ContinuiDg the climb we finally reached the summit ; here the path leads to a stone stand, directly above the great fall. Retracing our steps we rushed as quickly as possible through the spray and regained the shelter of the engine-house, only to find that we must wait half an hour for the next train. Dinner was served as we four sodden mortals trooped into the hotel, and it was not until we had had a bath and complete change into dry things that we were fit to sit down with respectable people. Why the hotel porter, who so eagerly relieved us of our coats, refrained from warning us, I never knew ; or why the ofiicials of the fall do not hire out mackintoshes, like those of the Rhine fall at Miil- hausen, I could never ascertain ; all my inquiries met with a smiling shake of the head. The road over the Briinig pass connecting Brienz with the "Lake of the four Cantons " is rather tame; but enlivened by the absurd regulations enforced against automobiles. The road from Meiringen is narrow till it joins the main highway, and follows it, ever rising, till the summit is reached, 3400 feet above the sea. It was Sunday, and by the law, unswerving even as of the Medes and Persians, we were forbidden to 25 EN ROUTE proceed. There seemed a fate which punished us for travelling on the Sabbath, and we were compelled to stay at the Briinig hotel, beautifully situated amidst the pines ; where we spent a charming day. Next morning we duly received a permit, and were solemnly warned that we must not reach Giswyl, 12 kilometres away, in less than seventy-two minutes ; or in other words, must not tear over the ground at a greater speed than six miles an hour, while we might be timed at any moment and fined two hundred francs, &c. I ought here to mention that Ken's fellow-feeling for the Swiss, of which he had been so proud, was conspicuous by its absence, as we talked over the rules of the pass. Halting often, and with ulterior motives, we passed through Giswyl with one minute in hand. A notice, startling in its peremptoriness, com- manded us to halt under pain of arrest. A little woman seated sewing in a cafe by the roadside took our permit, noticing the time marked thereon, added seventy-two minutes, verified the result by a cuckoo clock, ticking loudly on a shelf, and graciously permitted us to proceed. Pilatus, its summit for once clear of cloud, rises like a giant beside the road, and introduced Mercedes to my favourite lake of Switzerland, Lucerne, lovely both in position and contentment. The town of Lucerne, fanning itself in the warm sunshine, almost tempted us to stay, but our hearts were hungry for the Alps. Brunnen, gazing up the lake of Uri into the vastness of the Gothard, was but a memory as it flitted past, and we followed the rocky 26 r. r. A DASH FOR THE ALPS Axenstrasse, high above Tell's Platte, unable to see the rock on to which he leapt, when escaping from the tyrant Gessler. Below us we could see the gleaming rails of the great St. Gothard railway, disappearing into tunnel after tunnel, as it followed the water's edge. A glorious spin and we slowed down to pass through Altdorf, that brave little town where the successful struggle against the tyranny of the House of Hapsburg commenced in the courage of William Tell. In the centre of the town, stands Tell's Tower, on the spot, where, tradition has it, grew the lime tree against which his son was placed. Upon the wall is painted a picture of the national hero, and before it a statue is erected, the bow and arrow being, of course, very conspicuous. The first shades of evening were falling as we left Altdorf, little dreaming in what dramatic manner we should be called upon to enter it again. As we sped deeper and deeper into the vastnesses of the Gothard, the scenery grew wilder and more im- pressive. Chestnut trees gave place to hardy firs and sweet-smelling pines, and the air became fresher. The road leads ever upwards between overhanging hills, crossing and re-crossing the Eeuss, winding through ever-narrowing gorges, in which it had to fight for very existence with the roaring torrent. The shadows, growing deeper and deeper, made impenetrable chasms of the black depth along whose brink we sped, from which the sound of the harrying waters rose up like distant thunder. The heights above appeared to rise into the heavens themselves, one great unending wall of rock. 27 EN ROUTE It was that mysterious time Immediately before the rising of the moon, when a ghostly light distorts threatening rocks into sleeping giants and fiery demons, crouching In the shadows and waiting to pounce down and crush the daring mortals who disturb their peace and quietude. Swiftly and without apparent eftbrt Mercedes ate up the long gradients till we were dimly conscious of houses flying by on either side, and knew that we had reached Goschenen. Crossing an old stone bridge, high above the stream, we saw the cold mass of the glaciers dimly outlined, and awakening from our dream, discovered ourselves descending mechanically before the doors of a comfortable little hotel. 28 'A v. X, tq -1- n CHAPTER III THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD From Goschenen I knew that a permit was necessary to cross the pass, and I forthwith proceeded to make inquiry concerning it. On my previous journey the pass had been closed to automobiles, and I had been forced to put the car on a truck, and train it through the tunnel to Airolo on the Italian side. The pass had been opened to cars only a week before our arrival ; and mine host of the hotel was brimming over with information as to where a permit could be obtained, and the sundry pains and penalties which would be our portion if we were caught on the pass without one. The station lies at the foot of the rock on which the hotel is built, and, following instructions, I descended in search of the official who issues the permits. I found him politeness itself, and after furnishing him with my name, age, occupation and place of birth, he quickly made out the necessary paper. " There are a few rules that you must observe," said he. " Automobiles are forbidden on the pass except between the hours of five and eight in the 29 EN ROUTE morning, and seven and nine in the evening. On meeting any conveyance, you must always take the precipice edge of the road, and must, if required, silence the motor. And lastly, you must accept full responsibility for any damage or accident that may happen in consequence of your automobile's presence upon the road. Here, monsieur, is your pass, and I wish you hon voyage.'' Thanking him for the trouble he had taken, I returned to the hotel, and after giving Dennis a few orders, went in search of the salle-d-manger. The news that we were to be called next morning at half-past four was hailed as a new experience. The proprietor of the hotel solemnly assured me that anything in the form of tea or coffee could not be obtained at that hour : I therefore proposed breakfast at Hospenthal. The fresh air, coupled with the excitement, soon began to take effect, and after the coffee we retired to rest — to dream of the treat in store for us on the morrow. I remember little after reaching my room, till I was aroused by the continuous knocking of a sleepy- eyed porter playing the devil's tattoo upon the door. The moon was still shining brightly, illuminating the room with an uncanny light as I lit the one and only candle with which I had been blessed : a wash in cold, clear water was a fitting accompaniment to the early hour, and after a prolonged hunt for my collar-stud, which had taken into its silly gold head to lose itself behind the bed, I finished dressing, and sallied out in search of Ken's room. The landing on which I found myself was pitch 30 h -M A |i,\1;K ami >n,\| |;|;|', |)|-.:ll.|'. ||||,n|i,|i \\|||i|| | TKAKS III K (iiiilJIAl;!) I'ASS THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD dark, but I groped along the wall till I reached the door, and, knocking softly, waited anxiously for a reply. I was almost instantly rewarded by a loud snore ; that was not Ken's room, and hastily turning away, I tripped over a pair of heavy hob-nailed boots, hiding slyly in the darkness, and stumbled against the door. The snore which had reached its highest pitch, stopped suddenly, while I remained as still as possible, mentally cursing the boots as I tenderly nursed my ankle. The position was becoming strained, when, to my joy, the snore recommenced with unabated vigour. Creeping away, I ran into the arms of Ken, who had been searching diligently for me. '* I thought you were a ghost," he whispered, as we tip-toed along the passage. " Is that you, Roy ? " came Sheila's voice from the darkness, and the next moment I was beside her. As we descended the staircase the welcome sound of Mercedes smote upon our ears, and we discovered Dennis struggling with the baggage, assisted by the still sleepy-eyed porter. The moonbeams were being slowly strangled by the pale light of breaking day, and between the great mountains, rising on either side of the valley, stretched a narrow arc of sky still dotted with innumerable stars, flashing like diamonds upon a velvet cloth. From Goschenen the road winds upwards and enters the Schollenen, a dark and sombre defile through which the Reuss tears down its rugged bed, its path strewn with enormous boulders. The perpendicular sides of this fearsome 31 EN ROUTE valley rise up sheer from the stream, devoid of all living things save where patches of moss and grass alone seem able to obtain a resting-place. Shelley must have pictured such a scene when he wrote : " On every side now rose Rocks, which in unimaginable forms Lifted their black and barren pinnacles In the light of evening, and its precipice Obscuring the ravine, disclosed above, 'Mid toppling stones, black gulfs, and yawning cavea Whose windings gave ten thousand various tongues To the loud stream." The road passes under an avalanche gallery and winds itself in short zig-zags, ever climbing amidst scattered rocks till on rounding a mass of stone, it enters the gorge spanned by " The Devil's Bridge." A more wild and savage scene it is difficult to imagine. The gorge is narrow ; the rocks rise up sheer to a great height — on one side the Beuss leaps over a precipice in one foam-enshrouded mass, falling into an abyss a hundred feet beneath the bridge, which it envelops with its spray, carried far out from the stream by furious gusts of wind which come howling down the ravine. " A doleful place : hemmed in with earthen precipices." The scene is awful enough in broad daylight, but illuminated by the uncertain light of dawn was weird in the extreme. Terrible as the scene is, more terrible still are the sights that it has looked upon. How the Imperial- ists being forced to retreat before the French, made 32 W v/' THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD their last stand upon the bridge, the charge of the French, the fierce struggle on the bridge over the boiling waters ; and then the total collapse of the whole structure, and the warriors, friend and foe alike, hurled into eternity. How, unable to stem the rush of the charging host behind them, the French grenadiers left upon the edge were hurled to join their comrades below, whilst the remainder were exposed to a deadly fire from the Austrians. How, at enormous cost, the Imperialists repaired the bridge only to be defeated by Judin after his superhuman march across the Furka against almost overwhelming odds. How, for a month they held the Pass till they themselves were forced to retreat before Suwarrof, are facts in history. But one can never hope to realise the true significance of the words, till one has gazed upon the Devil's chasm and heard the thunder of the stream from which the cries of the lost souls seem to rise strangled in the howling of the wind. The wind was shrieking down the gorge, carrying spray from the cascade and dashing it against our faces as we crossed over the bridge, and continued to rise in windings. A little fort, hardly distinguish- able from the black shadows of the rocks, gazes down upon the bridge, and stopping Mercedes, we descended and walked toward it, hoping to obtain a better view. As we advanced, two dark shadows detached themselves from the blackness, and we found ourselves looking upon the cold steel of two bayonets, whilst a voice bade us return immediately to the road. It was a command to be obeyed and C 33 EN ROUTE we at once retraced our steps. Mounting to our seats, we plunged into a tunnel bored through the rock, and emerged, wonder of wonders, in a peaceful green valley enclosed with snow- tipped mountains. So changed was the scene that for a moment we were speechless — a most unusual thing for Dorothy, by the way. The threatening rocks from whose clutches we had escaped, had towered so high as to exclude all the light and we had changed, in a moment, from stormy night to peaceful day. Even the Reuss no longer thundered over the rocks, but ran quietly along the valley as though its only object in life was to set an example to the world of peace and decorum. Andermatt, whose protecting pine-wood was destroyed by the French in 1799, gazes sleepily upon the quiet valley : and soon we reached Hospenthal, a picturesque village of houses snugly nestling together upon thesummit of a slight hill, looking for all the world as though they were trying to keep each other warm. A little white church shares the summit with a ruined tower, the last remains of the castle of the Barons of Hospenthal. It seemed positively out of place to pull up before the door of a good hotel after the desolation through which we had passed. A well-served breakfast speedily appeared, and disappeared with equal rapidity. " Couldn't we go over the Furka from here, and so into the Rhone valley ? " asked Dorothy. " I'm afraid not," I was forced to say. " I wanted to come here that way from Meiringen A noi.K i'i..\( K: iii:.M.Mi;ii IN Willi r;.\ iMii i;.\ I'i;kci pices Tin: |ii:\ ii.'s Clcitci: THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD by the Grimsel, but was told it was forbidden ; however, 111 inquire." Monsieur le Concierge appealed to, informed us, not without relish, that the Fiirka Pass was expressly " defendu " to auto- mobiles, but, he added, he would place horses at our disposal. " Never," said Sheila, " I won't desert Mercedes." "Come now, if Dorothy really wants to see the Furka," I persuaded. Here Dorothy interrupted. " But I only want to see it from Mercedes," she said. " Besides, I wouldn't let horses drag me up these awful hills ; I prefer the car." " Madame," ejaculated the concierge, " madame is surely joking, it iss not possible that she prefare the automobile to the horse — the danger — the speed — alas ! it iss not true." When he really grasped the fact that Dorothy was in earnest, and that we were all of the same mind, I feel sure that he regarded us from that moment in the light of polite lunatics. At this spot our friend the Beuss divides in two, one branch disappearing in the direction of the Furka, the other, still faithful, leading us further into the Gothard. Winding its way high above Hospenthal the road traverses a rock-strewn slope into a broad, bare valley, and still climbing, enters a more desolate region. Here the road, as though weary of ever pointing heavenwards, becomes level, and we are upon the summit, 7000 feet above sea- level. Enormous boulders, worn smooth as though the sea for generations had dashed against their sides, 35 EN ROUTE form the surface of this plateau, in whose midst sparkle, like a cluster of gems, several small lakes. The air was brilliautly clear and the sun shining brightly as we reached the old Hospitz beside the green waters, and stopped Merc^d^s, amidst the loud barking of several magnificent St. Bernards, who rushed out at the first sound of the motor. As it was still early in the morning we spent the next five or six hours wandering about the summit. We visited the little lake of Lucendro, about a mile from the Hospice. Its position is very beautiful, lying as it does in a basin of snowy mountains which rise up directly from the lake, and in some places the snow covers the ground almost to the water's edge. In the still surface the surrounding hills are faithfully reflected, and the double picture of snow and sky is very charming. The Keuss is born here, leaving the lake an insignificant little streamlet, and arrives at Altdorf a very self- important river indeed. In the largest of the lakes upon the summit we came in view of a family, some six strong, braving the altitude and enjoying (?) a bathe : even the baby in arms, strongly protesting, was dipped under the icy waters. What efiect the bathe would have upon the hardy family we didn't wait to see, but continued our walk. Beside the Hospice, now the Hotel Monte Prosa, stands an unfortunate little chapel, all that remains of the original order. Under the patronage of Saint Carlo Borromeo* it flourished for a season till an * The patron saint of Milan. 36 x 73 o ^ O Q > ■A THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD avalanche destroyed it. Scarcely had it been rebuilt when the French passed by, leaving it one of the many ruins to mark the path of that fraternising army. Till lately no one seems to have had the heart to rebuild it. In the interior we found several men endeavouring to rectify the ravages that time and the hand of man had wrought. We lunched at the little hotel on the summit and early in the afternoon commenced the descent. As we turned the first corner, we found ourselves gazing down the Val Tremola : on either side of the valley the mountains rise up to a great height, forming a series of precipices. This is the most dangerous part of the pass, exposed to frequent avalanches and snow-storms, while in winter the snow-drifts are often thirty or forty feet deep. But now little snow remained, the sunshine had long ago melted it, leaving only here and there a few small patches, lying in the shadow of the rocks where the warm beams could not penetrate. It was not this view, however, that engrossed our attention, but the road ; following the course of a waterfall, it raced the stream on its headlong rush from the rocky heights. Twisting this way and that, it descended amidst rocks of granite in an unravel- able knot of zigzags. To us the descent was both novel and exhilarating : it was exactly like going down a gigantic and dizzy flight of stairs as we rounded corner after corner, the road lapping back upon itself Further down, the road stretched itself out like an angry serpent twisting into every kind of fantastic form. 37 EN ROUTE Presently, beneath us, we espied a little stone bridge which we knew must be the Ponte Tremola crossing the Ticinus, where Suwarrof won his short- lived victory over the French amidst these wild rocks. A very difterent scene is presented on crossing the bridge, and leaving the Val Tremola behind us, coming in view of the Val Levantina, which stretches far away into the distance, losing itself amidst the mountains that bound the horizon towards Italy. Far below, Airolo, nestling in the valley, appeared like a miniature toy village : a tiny train, engine and carriages, rushed from out the hill-side and pulled up in the toy station. A faint whistle was borne up to us, and mingled with the musical tinkle of cow bells. What little those travellers, shut up in the comfortable "Wagonlits" knew of the grandeur beneath which they had passed, or the wild beauties, of whose very existence they were ignorant. Turn succeeded turn as the road wound its way down the hillside, and the air became warmer and warmer as the barometer rose. Of Airolo we retain only a fleeting memory. A narrow, precipitous street, bordered by small houses, at whose doors lounged their respective families chatting and exchanging ideas ; barrows of fruit, grapes, figs, and peaches : multitudes of green melons whose insides are blood-red, lay in slices to tempt the thirsty. And the people, dark-haired, dark-skinned, were typical of that country whose language they spoke. In the ravine of the Dazio Grande the road runs, 38 THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD for half a mile, through scenery almost as wild as that of the Val Tremola : and it has to struggle with the rushing streams for room to pass : at one place where the opening is only wide enough for the boiling cataract, the road, by stupendous labour, is carried on a series of arches in the side of the rock above the stream. In ascending from Switzerland darkness had hid the wonderful spiral tunnels of the great railway, and now we were treated to a splendid view of them. High above us, upon the hillside, we heard a long-drawn whistle, and an express train came thundering along, disappearing into the dark mouth of a tunnel. A minute later the same train shot out from the mountain and passed close to our road, again disappearing into the hillside. After a similar time had elapsed, as before, we saw the train rush out beneath us in the valley, and with another triumphant whistle continue its rapid descent. Again, in the valley we were rapidly descending, the pines grew fewer and fewer till finally they yielded place to bushy chestnuts and walnut-trees. On every hand the vegetation was in the utmost profusion. A little way above Giornico the road traverses the field of battle where the ingenuity of the Swiss helped them to conquer the forces of the Milanese in 1478. Glancing back we caught a last glimpse of the Gothard, surrounded by thick mists, with only the highest summits visible and seeming to float in the sky upon a fairy cloud. A turn of the valley shut out the view and brought us to Bellinzona, the key 39 EN ROUTE to Switzerland, and the scene of many stirring events. Nor do its ruined castles and ancient walls proclaim an empty boast, for Bellinzona has suffered in every contest in which Switzerland has been involved. In olden times the Alps only offered a door to the masses of savages who poured into Italy ; even the French in their passage pillaged and made desolate, leaving behind them ruin and destruction, as was their wont when preaching the glories of a republic. On through a district of the richest vegetation we passed, the dust rising in clouds behind us. Entering Locarno as the night was closing in, we drove to an hotel upon the quiet waters of Lake Maggiore. Upon an automobile there is seldom a tendency to talk, every one is too full of their own thoughts : one is brought so closely in touch with nature her- self that words are but a poor medium by which to express the thoughts that fill one. It is usually in a silence broken only by the sound of the car that one is borne onwards — hour after hour — drinking in eagerly each new scene and experience, while a remark is out of place, and brings one to earth with startling suddenness. What makes automobilists so tired at night is the constant work upon the mind ; the everchanging scenes, the small dangers of the road avoided, and the fresh air, which all devour the vitality far quicker than physical exertion. To-day we had been even quieter than was our wont, and it was only during dinner that we com- menced to compare our impressions. 40 T. ■'■A w « ■f: Q o H Q o THE GREAT ST. GOTHARD *' I used to think I knew Europe," began Ken, *' but I'm beginning to find out that I only knew fragments of it — only the towns and places we stayed at and, may be, a few miles of their sur- roundings. The journeys from one centre to another were exactly similar : ever the same stuffy train, rushing across unnoticed country, and it was for the journey's end and a warm bath that one longed. Now it's for the journey itself. Horses, I am ashamed to say, are too slow for long journeys. No ; there's only one way to enjoy travelling, and that's by automobile — Mercedes preferred." " Do you ever realise what an ardent anti-motorist you once were ? " slyly remarked Dorothy. "I do," replied Ken, generously, "and I feel thoroughly ashamed of the things I've said. In the future you can put me down as a fervent convert." "The 'murderous horse-power' is not so very dreadful," I murmured. " To-day has proved that," said Sheila, — and we fell to discussing the wonders of the Gothard. 41 CHAPTER IV OVER THE SIMPLON TO THE MATTERHORN Above Locarno stands the pilgrimage church of Madonna del Sasso. Instead of toihng under a burning sun, wearily up the steep hill, the pilgrim can now avail himself of modern ingenuity and lazily make his devoir by the help of a cPvble- railway. From the summit a beautiful panorama is spread before the eye. Upon a high bare rock the church shares with a monastery the whole summit, its walls built upon the very edge. Beneath it lies the shining expanse of Lago Maggiore, from which the mountains rise into a brilliant sky of blue, and are covered in the utmost profusion with vineyards and fig-trees. We wandered along the steep path leading to the monastery and entered the church. The effect is startling after the intense light. A noble Latin psalm echoed through the building, rising in ma- jestic volume from the throats of unseen singers. From the cool floor to the low roof the interior is one confused mass of decoration— sacred pictures, silver and gold hearts, flags, and red lamps, while innumerable candles burn upon the altars. With 42 v^^ k. ^jm. OVER SIMPLON TO MATTERHORN the chant of men's voices still ringing in our ears, we passed out through the curtained door of that quaint little church into the dazzling sun- shine. From Locarno to Pallanza the road follows the beautiful edge of the lake and crosses the Swiss- Italian frontier. The Swiss were most businesslike, and on explaining that we should sleep in Switzer- land that night they at once wrote out a pass, thus saving the tedious process of returning for so short a time the 900 francs deposit. At the Italian fron- tier we were not so fortunate, the oflficial refusing to allow us to enter, though we assured him it was only for three short hours ere we regained Switzerland and left his country at the Simplon Pass. " No,' he said, " it is necessary to deposit 600 francs before you can enter." *' I hope the beggar will take his own notes," I murmured, as I handed him the amount in Italian paper. The fellow wouldn't, and insisted on gold — " pure gold," he said, smack- ing his lips. " I am a member of the T.C.I, and RA.C," I argued. " Have you not the special permits issued by those clubs ? " he asked. I had not, for I had neglected to obtain them, and this want of foresight was destined to cost me dear. A brilliant idea occurred to me, and putting it into play, I begged him to take the notes for a trifling commission on the exchange : No sooner said than done, and while the receipts were being made out, a soldier slowly affixed a leaden seal to Mercedes. Still following the lake we passed several little 43 EN ROUTE islands lying close to the shore, the overbearing heat being tempered by a breeze caused by our speed. Pallanza, its white villas shining like gems amidst the green foliage, gazes into the snow-capped hills of the Simplou. " Do let's stop and buy some fruit," begged Sheila, who was sitting at my side, as we passed through the market-place. Halting Merc^d^s we descended en masse and wandered amono-st the stalls which groaned beneath their burdens ; bunches of grapes, many still clinging to the torn branches, luscious peaches, figs, pomegranates and melons, a plethora of melons : for a few lira we had an un- limited choice and returned to the car overwhelmed by our purchases ; we had literally to jSght our way through the merry crowd who surrounded Merc^d^s, and followed Ken, like a covey of merchantmen in the wake of a ship of the line. Dennis we found fully occupied ; his whole time, and a bit more, being divided between keeping off the crowd whom he was addressing in no very complimentary terms, luckily in his own language, and endeavouring to persuade the junior members of the community that his highly polished lamps were to be seen and not fingered. Dennis started the engine ; but the crowd only pressed closer and smiled at the horn. There- upon I opened the throttle, and put my foot upon the cut-out. The effect was startling, and as far as we were concerned highly satisfactory. Before the laughing crowd, tumbling over one another in their hurry to get away from our broadside, had recovered the shock, we were through them and out of the market-square. 44 O f PQ O -< o 'I 'A y, OVER SIMPLON TO MATTERHORN At Pallanza the Simplon road leaves the lake and passes the quarries of Mont Orfano, whose marble furnished the pillars of the Milan Cathedral ; follow- ing a flat valley bordered by lofty and well-wooded hills it passes through the old Etruscan town of Domo d'Ossola, a maze of narrow streets and low roofs almost Andalusian in appearance. The road now leaves the broad valley ; turning sharp to the left, it mounts a quick rise and commences to climb the Simplon Pass. As it penetrates further into the hills, the scenery becomes grander and the pines descend to greet us. At Iselle, the Italian custom house, we were informed by an official that he could not refund the 600 frs. we had deposited three hours before as he had no money, and was not sure when more would arrive. After some talk he finally wrote out an order on a bank at Brigue, and giving it to us hoped we should be able to obtain the money. At Iselle the railway, whose shining rails we had been following, disappeared into a hole in the rock on its twelve miles of darkness to Brigue. Climb- ing, we followed up the Frassinone which tears along its rugged bed on its way to the hot plains of Italy from its home in the snow ; the valley grows narrower and narrower till the two sides almost touch. At this point nestles Gonda in a land of precipices, guarding the doorway of the famous gorges, already deep in shadow. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when we reached the few houses huddled together. The Swiss douane which is situated here, accepted the pass without trouble, and we were 45 EN ROUTE about to proceed when an official came running out of one of the houses and held up his hand. He was grievously sorry, he said, " but autos were not allowed on the Simplon, except between the hours of ten and three : therefore " he ended the sentence with a significant shrug of the shoulders. " We shall have to stay here, then — is there any hotel ? " I asked, turning to the official. '' Truly," he answered, " and Monsieur stands before it." This sounded ominous. The sun had long ceased to penetrate into the depths of the gorge, and a cold biting wind was sweeping mercilessly down the defile, making one feel the close proximity of the glaciers. In the valley the sun would still be shining, but gloom had already marked this spot as its own. The hotel, though very small, was spotlessly clean, and the proprietor, catching us at a dis- advantage, charged us accordingly. For Mercedes there was no shelter : she stood all night beneath the shadow of the little douane, the wind whistling dismally round her white form. Meanwhile the small girl, who combined the offices of waitress, housemaid, porter, and cook, was despatched post- haste into the hen-roost in search of the plumpest fowl that she could lay her hands on. Our bed- rooms faced a splendid waterfall whose incessant roar was in keeping with its surroundings, and instead of keeping us awake as we expected, acted the opiate with success. We were up betimes next morning ; dressing 46 OVER SIMPLON TO MATTERHORN quickly to the sound of the tumbling waters, I strolled out before breakfast, in search of the official who issues the necessary permit. As I passed the douane I found Dennis restoring Mercedes' circulation, and, incidentally, his own, by a vigorous attack upon the lamps. The official had but newly risen and I discovered him in a state of deshabille ; on learning my missirin, he hastily donned an official jacket of roomy proportions, and producing a gold-braided hat placed it conspicuously upon the small table before him. These preparations completed, he was ready for business. A few details about the car, coupled with my name, address, and the time of issue, were all that was necessary, and with a warning that we must not occupy less than four hours between here and Brigue, he bowed me politely out. The day was still young as we left the tiny hostelry, and entered the magnificent gorges of Gonda. The heart of the mountains seems in this spot to have been split open just sufficient to allow the noisy Dovedro and the road room for existence. The narrow valley is very fine, the mountains rising sheer to a great height. At one place further passage appears impossible, the ravine narrowing till its two sides almost touch, and between them the stream fights fiercely for very life. The road is continued by means of a gallery 600 feet long cut through the solid rock, and is one of the finest pieces of engineer- ing skill upon the pass. By the mouth of the tunnel pours the waterfall of the Frassinone, which rushes beneath a single-span bridge, carrying the 47 EN ROUTE road, and leaps 100 feet into the foaming cataract of the Dovedro. The whole scene is of the most impressive and beautiful character. As Brockedon says, it is "a spot unrivalled in its astonishing effect." As we rush through the tunnel the sound of the engine is magnified ten times and we catch but a momentary glimpse of the words " Aero Italo, 1805," cut deep in the rock ; a moment later we are in the sunshine and speeding like an arrow up the long rise. As the gorges open into a broad valley the road takes a turn back upon itself and mounts more rapidly. Once round the bend Merc^d^s was able to exert her full power, and hurled herself at the steep road with a long, musical hum. Mounting higher we obtained a glorious view of the gorges now lying beneath us, their tortuous course clearly shown, their threatening rocks illuminated by the sun. Simplon village, surrounded by green pastures, dis- appeared beneath us, and on turning a corner, the road passes through the havoc wrought by the glaciers. Once this had been a peaceful green valley — a little village had nestled amidst the alpine roses 'neath the snowy peaks, and at the foot of the Ross- boden Glacier. One day in the winter of 1901 when, praise be to Heaven, the devout inhabitants had quitted their homes for a lower altitude during the winter, that same glacier suddenly burst. Without the slightest warning the whole ground commenced to move, and with a roar more deafening than the loudest thunder, it hurled millions of tons of rock upon the doomed village, and converted the quiet 48 OVER SIMPLON TO MATTERHORN valley into a scene of the wildest desolation. Of the village only one house escaped ; standing to the left it was out of the path of the avalanche and is to be seen there to-day. Everywhere else, as far as the eye can see, is a mass of tumbled rock and gigantic boulders, over which a silence reigns. A way for the road is cut through the enormous debris, while high above tower the green pinnacles of the glacier as it gazes tranquilly upon the destruction it has caused ; perhaps, who knows ? meditating another rush into the already devastated valley. Very different is the scene which the road now traverses, climbing upon one side up a long green valley : to the left appeared the old Hospitz, a solitary square building, once the only place of refuge upon the pass. The old building, long since given over to the use of goatherds, still holds a romantic memory by reason of those who once lived and died within its decaying walls. Here a few monks, brothers of the devoted heroes of the St. Bernard, spent their lonely lives — ah, and sacrificed them willingly to save those of storm-bound wanderers, lost in the snow. Upon the summit of the pass stands the new Hospice, a large plain building, very resolute and very firm, like its founder Napoleon, who made the road. At the doors of the Hospice a score of Great St. Bernards romped, and catching sight of Mercedes came bounding to meet her. The surroundings of the Hospice are particu- larly magnificent. The building lies beneath the appropriately named Kaltwasser Glacier, while around tower many dazzling peaks of snow. A D 49 EN ROUTE little further along the summit, looking towards the Rhone valley, stands the Hotel Bellevue, in whose hospitality we were not disappointed. From the hotel windows, an endless panorama of glaciers can be seen. The summit of the Simplon is an ideal place upon which to rest ; without stirring from the hotel the visitor can enjoy exquisite views, on every hand one is gazing at snow. Glaciers without number stream down towards the firs, and the air is like nectar, fresh and invigorating. Upon the surrounding hills we wandered, searching for Edelweiss, the favourite of the Alps, and obtaining it without difficulty. Once or twice we visited the little chapel of the Hospice before breakfast, and sitting in its quaint wooden seats listened to the service. As it pro- gressed the little building became filled with many tidily-dressed men and women, the crofters from the small cottages around. Each had his or her string of beads, and each listened reverently to the service. A simpler and more impressive scene it is impossible to imagine than that small congregation of peasants, living their lonely lives beneath the everlasting snow, in touch with nature at her best and sweetest, gathered together in prayer ; but in the chapel I could not see one of the many tourists who use the Hospice as a free hotel. After the service we would wander back, across the springy ground covered with alpine flora, and enjoy our breakfast in full view of the glaciers. Amidst these delightful scenes the days all too quickly pass, and we were surprised when we 50 IN IIIK II.WINK OF Till'; DA/J(» (lltANDE TlIK (ioTTIIAUl) TASS OVER SIMPLON TO MATTERHORN realised the time that had elapsed since our arrival on the summit. We had determined to make for Austria from the Simplon, which would mean returning to Domo d'Ossola and crossing north Italy. Before doing so we determined to renew our acquaintance with Zermatt, especially as Sheila had never visited its beauties before. We left the summit one afternoon after lunch and commenced to descend the 4400 feet to the Rhone Valley. The road clings to the mountain- side, running beneath two avalanche galleries over which the streams from the glacier pour. Like the ascent on the Italian side the road to Brigue is easy and well made. Quickly losing itself in the pines, it passes through Berisal, and soon after comes into view of Brigue lying far beneath. Ever in sight of the town, the road now descends so rapidly that one almost fancies the valley is rising to meet one. At Brigue our permit was demanded and sur- rendered, and we were free to journey down the hot though beautiful Rhone Valley to Visp. Here we were forced to abandon Mercedes, which, with Dennis, remained at the hotel, while we, no longer lords of the road, but ordinary mortals, were shut up in the shaking carriage of a hard- worked train. The valley leading to Zermatt is very fine, passing many pleasing views and opening out several fine peaks. It was evening when the train reached Zermatt, and the Matterhorn was wreathed in mist ; changing into an electric cog railway we were slowly carried up the 4000 feet to the Riffelalp 51 EN ROUTE Hotel. Next morning the sky was innocent of clouds, and from our bedroom windows we had an uninterrupted view of the superb Matterhorn rising like a giant from its glacier bed. The week we spent here was as enjoyable as the weather was brilliant, and the night we remained upon the Gorner Grat, 10,300 feet above the sea, never to be forgotten ; the sunrise upon Monte Rosa and the Matterhorn is beyond description. 52 AT THIS ]»()I.\T NKSILKS (JONDA IX A LAND OF I'l; KCI I'KKS Tick Si.\irM)X I'ass CHAPTER V THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE From Visp we returned to Brigue, obtained another permit and climbed swiftly to the summit ; we did not stop at the hotel, but with a wave of the hand to our friends in the doorway, swept past : the next moment the Hospice lay above us and we were dropping down the long descent over the fallen avalanche into the gorges of Gonda. The Swiss returned, without delay, the 900 frs. and we reluc- tantly bid au revoir to that model little republic. As we had arranged to return to Italy I did not cash the order for the deposit at Brigue, but determined to exchange it for our original papers at the Italian douane. The official was quite willing, though Ken afterwards declared he saw a nasty twinkle in his eyes as he handed me only one of the two papers I had surrendered to him. On my remonstrating that two were necessary, he refused to part with the other, assuring me that the one I held was all that was necessary. "If we did not like to accept this, we could deposit a further 600 frs.," he added. I knew that custom formalities often varied, so naturally concluded that he spoke 53 EN ROUTE the truth, and took in all good faith the paper he offered. Passing through Domo d'Ossola we were again gasping in the heat and dust of the valley, though to make a breeze I opened the throttle fairly wide and we flew over the long straight road. Even the air blowing against us came like a warm blast, suffering in comparison with the fresh breezes of the Simplon. Suddenly one of the back tyres exploded with a prodigious bang. It was our first experience of tyre troubles since leaving Paris. Sheila and Dorothy screamed ; and Ken exclaimed excitedly : " What's that?" "It's only a tyre," I explained laughing, as I drew Mercedes to the side of the road and halted her beneath a shady tree. "I thought it was an 8-inch gun fired under my left ear," smiled Ken. " I felt sure it was brigands," Dorothy admitted ; " will it take long to mend ? " " You shall see how Dennis and I manage when alone," I answered, " especially when we're in a hurry," for I rather prided myself as a wielder of the iron levers. While I was speaking, Dennis had been busyjacking up the car and unstrapping a new cover (we always carried at least four spare ones and many inner tubes). In ten minutes we had the new tyre fitted and then came the tedious occupation of pumping it up to the red line on the gauge at 100. Unjacking the car and strapping up the tools, &c., we were ready to proceed. Sheila and Dorothy, who had been interested spectators, seemed sorry when the operation was over, a sentiment unshared either by Dennis or myself. 54 TIIK MOUNIAINS l!ISIN(i SIIKKIt TO A CKK.V 'I'll K (i()Kt;KS OF (Jo.N'DA THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE At Cuzzago we left the Simplon road and travelled to the right through a small valley to Omegna, a typical Italian village upon the north end of Lago Cusio, or Orta, as it is more often called. Though Orta is the smallest of the lakes it is very beautiful and its charms are too little appreciated. Orta, the town itself, stands upon a hilly promontory, jutting far out into the lake ; this was our destination for the night, and we left the main road which leads to Novara and Milan, and followed a narrow path belonging to the hotel — so narrow was the path that the hedges on either side swept against Mercedes, and we earnestly prayed we should meet no other conveyance. The road ended in a stable-yard belonging to the hotel, a building some ninety feet directly above, up to which a narrow path leads : instead of warning us to leave the car there and walk, two stable-men, standing at a coach-house door, waved their hands affectionately up the hill and cried " Avanti." Before we quite realised it we were mounting upwards ; the hill, though steep, was nothing, but a sharp hair-pin turn half-way brought us to a stand- still. Here we stuck, the two ends of Mercedes almost touching either side of the road. Every visitor staying in the hotel and an army of servants came out to watch the fun, and under the eyes of a fair-sized crowd, we backed and filled the few inches between the ditch and a drop of fifty feet ; after a series of contortions I screwed her round, and with a triumphant roar, she shot up the rest of the hill like a rocket. The concierge apologised for the 55 EN ROUTE path, informing us that it was not usual for an automobile to come further than the stables ; and that a new road was soon to replace the narrow path. Leaving the ladies and Ken to engage rooms, I turned Mercedes, to the consternation of several visitors, amidst the maze of tea-tables, and slid back to the stables. The hotel commanded a beautiful view. Beneath, out of the still waters, rises the exquisite little island, San Giulio, its white houses and still whiter church glistening in the sunshine and, as Sheila said, " looking for all the world as though they were afraid of wetting their feet." From the edge of the lake rise hills beautifully wooded, and beyond them more hills of a purple shade, and towering high above them the everlasting snows from which we had descended. On the way to Como the road passes four lakes, Orta, Maggiore, Varese and Como, and as far as Sesto 'Calende, at the extreme south end of Maggiore, is good ; after which it degenerates into a series of small lanes, narrow but fairly good to Varese, a town lying in full view of the distant snow peaks which stretch unbroken from Monte Viso to Monte Leone, while the great mass of Monte Rosa rises like a giant amongst them : the country-side is dotted with farmhouses and bell-towers, which add greatly to the quiet beauty of the lake. The eighteen miles between Varese and Como seemed longer than any ordinary day's journey. Soon after quitting Varese the road dissolves itself into a maze of cart-tracks with deep ruts, and winds 56 PS y. -f. - •/. .- o THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE through interminable fields of Indian corn. After we had slowly bumped along for some distance the conclusion that we were absolutely and undoubtedly lost forced itself upon our minds, and at last I stopped the car and endeavoured to find our position on the map. The heat was unbearable, and a crowd of buzz- ing, biting insects hummed round our heads. Sheila and Dorothy donned their heavy mushrooms, while Ken and I smoked furiously to keep off" the wretched flies. Dennis, who is a non-smoker, had to bear the brunt of the attack, and declared he was being slowly eaten, till in desperation he rubbed his face and hands with paraffin. When he had performed these ablutions to his satisfaction he informed us that what was left of him was being avoided by the mosquitoes, though he smelt like a broken lamp. After a study of the map we could not determine our position within a ten -mile radius. Dennis climbed on to the canopy to take a survey, and reported that, as far as he could see, the whole country was covered with Indian corn, and not a house or break in it in view. The air was terribly oppressive, and we seemed to be stewing in the ante-chamber of the infernal regions. We argued and killed flies till we were nearly roasted. " For goodness' sake do let's try and get out of this," said Dorothy, " or I think I shall go mad." " It can't last for ever," Sheila added. '* There's nothing else to do but crawl along till we get away from this confounded growth," I acquiesced. Ken said nothing, but brought the 57 EN ROUTE map down on an unfortunate mosquito as it was settling on Dennis's head. Ken has a heavy hand, and it took Dennis some time to extricate the remains of that fly from his hair. Meanwhile we had started and were jolting slowly along. I think it is about the most exasperating thing in the world to sit in a powerful car and crawl at six miles an hour along a rutty lane, completely shut in by towering hedges ; while the sun blazes down and blisters the paint. It was quite an hour after we started till the fields of Indian corn began to disappear, and we reached more open country. Innumerable cross-roads con- fused us, while signboards appeared unknown. Our only hope lay in asking the way of people we happened to meet, and many and varied were the answers received. At one cross-road I stopped to inquire of an old wizened man, wheeling a barrow, the road to Como. " To the right, Signore," he answered. At that moment another and younger man, carrying a large yellow melon, passed on the other side : on being hailed by Ken, he replied unhesitatingly : " To the left, Signore." Ken turned to me : " Tell the old gentleman with the barrow that this man says it's to the left," he said. Un- fortunately I did so, and as a result the old man immediately commenced to argue with the young man across the car. He of the yellow melon was not slow to take up the cudgels ; dropping his load he waved his two hands wildly and poured out a string of Italian too quickly for me to follow. The old gentleman, despite his apparent years, was 58 ^p^,.. A WAV rf)i; iiii'; iioad is cvt timjoicii iiiI'; iinoiimoi's I) K I'. I! IS 'IKi; SiMi'i/)N l'A<> THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE not to be outdone ; leaving the barrow standing in the road, he worked his arms like a semaphore and returned the compliment. Several men and women strolled up, and taking sides, joined loudly in the confab. Presently they varied their arguments with abuse and tried to drown each other's voices by shouting. " Go by the majority," Sheila cried, trying to make her voice heard above the din. I nodded to show I heard. On my side I counted three men, two women and five children. Ken had two men, four women, and three dogs on his. " The old gentleman has it," I announced, and pressing down the accelerator, we slipped from between the contending parties. As we rounded the bend we caught a last glimpse of the dispute we had originated : the two sides, obviously careless of our departure, were shaking their fingers under each other's noses, and gesticulating wildly. The old gentleman proved correct, for presently we came upon a main road which ultimately reached Como, descending the long hill into the town. Following the cobble-laid streets, we passed the cathedral, that beautiful combination of Gothic and Renaissance, ot which the people of Como are so justly proud — fordid not their ancestors impoverish themselves to finish the good work ? Como was crowded, so we stayed at the Villa d' Este, whose grounds extend along the edge of the still lake. The sun was dispelling the mists from off the water as we left Cernobbio next morning, on our way to Austria, by the famous Stelvio pass. Como 59 EN ROUTE was beginning to awake to the bustle of a busy day as Mercedes disturbed its quiet streets. A quick run amidst the vines brought us to the other leg of the lake, and Lecco, a vision of white villas, spreading themselves upon a hillside from the water's edge till they were lost amidst the olive-groves. From Lecco the road follows along the edge of the Larian goddess, that queen of all the lakes where the hills rise from its green depths into a brilliant sky and are covered with almost tropical vegetation. Sometimes the road is cut in a series of tunnels through the rock only to emerge from the cool shade into the dazzling sunshine. A little way after passing through Dorio, upon the opposite side of the lake, is faintly seen the small promontory of Musso, connected so closely with the once dreaded name of Giacomo de Medici ; or II Medeghino as he was better known, who, as Symons says : " Turned the lovely lake into a pirates' stronghold, and stained its clear waters with the slaughter of conflicting navies." His history is interesting as typical ot" Italy in the Middle Ages. The north end of Lake Como becomes grander the nearer one gets to it. The mountains close in and encircle the lake like a great basin opening at one place to admit the road into the Val Tellina. The Val Tellina is perhaps the most beautiful and unfortunate of valleys ; pillaged ahke by friend and foe, by church and state, ravaged by every war for centuries, and the scene of that fearful massacre of July 20, 1620, "an event," says Brockedon, " which 60 -,CS3« Till-; ()l,i» HoSl'K K STII.L ll<»L|)> A KO.MANTK' MKM(»l;\ 'I'm; Si.Mi'i.o-N I'Ass THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE has no parallel but in the dreadful events of the fete of St. Bartholomew in France." The appearance of the valley gives little idea of those dark deeds except for the many ruined castles of the great families of the Pallavicini and Visconti, whose forebears were the wardens of the road to Austria. There is nothing to remind the passer-by " Of old, unhappy far-off things and battles long ago." On all sides are signs of prosperity and peace, miles upon miles of vines clinging to the edge of the hills, while the valley itself is one long dream of beauty. Green figs hang temptingly from greener boughs, melons and tomato-plants grow wild amidst the hedges, and through groves of olive and pome- granate-trees flow the emerald waters of the Adda. Yet this fair land holds in its grasp the Gate of Italy, a gate through which a never-ending stream of warriors has passed, following the lead of the Roman legions, driving all before them till they themselves were thrust back from the Alps. Each succeeding array, victorious or conquered, has ruth- lessly crushed the valley and its people beneath its feet, leaving behind it desolation, and a memory of cruel oppression and wrong. Sondrio lies at the foot of the hill of Sassella, on whose slopes grows that well-known vine ; high upon the hills to the left, beneath a ruined castle, rests Teglio, the quaint old village which gives its name to the valley. Upon the opposite hills a road leads over the easy and beautiful Aprica Pass, winding its way into Southern Tirol. Madonna de 61 EN ROUTE Tirano, with its picturesque pilgrimage - church, stands guarding the road that here commences its climb over the rugged Bernina Pass into the Enga- dine, forbidden to automobiles. Crossing the Pos- chiavino, descending from the Bernina snowfields, we reached Tirano, halting at a chemist's shop to take in a full supply of benzine. After Tirano the valley begins to contract, but as far as Bolladore the vegetation is still luxurious ; after that it enters the long defile connecting the Val Tellina with " il freddo paese," the cold region ; soon the vines vanish and chestnuts take their place upon the slopes, but once in " il freddo paese," only the hardy larch and pine can brave the icy winds. Through Bormio, a dark little town of many towers, the road winds upwards to the Baths of Bormio, where a large modern hotel seems out of place amidst the wild- ness of its surroundings. Although the pass is open to cars at all hours, I determined to leave next morning as early as pos- sible — soon after six o'clock, immediately before the first five-horse coach started — partly to have the road free from traffic, and partly to enjoy the sun- rise ; that time of day when the air is purer and fresher than at any other, and the earth is waking refreshed from its night's slumbers. Many tales of the dangers of the pass were poured into our ears by the drivers of the diligences and carriages with whom we spoke, and who seemed to take an unholy delight in raking up memories of accidents and in- cidents of the road. There were innumerable sharp turns round dangerous precipices, " too sharp for 62 nil-: i;<)Aii < i,ix(is to tiik MdiNTAiN sihi': 'I'm: SiMi'i.fiN I'Ass THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE your automobile," they added, comfortingly, and the passage through sombre ravines. Our invariable reply always was, that " where a horse can drag a carriage, there can Mercedes carry us in safety and comfort." Strange that the Stelvio should be so little men- tioned in Alpine literature. Brockedon, in his "Passes of the Alps," 1828, seems to be the only author who adequately describes its charms. A few passages from his account are well worth quoting : " The summit of this extraordinary pass is the highest in the world which has been made traversable for carriages, it is 780 ft. higher than the estimated line of perpetual snow in the latitude of the Stelvio . . . the road leads down through a ravine deep and appalling . . . the magnificent mountain of the Ortler-Spitz opens suddenly to the view of the traveller with a vast and appalling effect, as it is seen from its extreme summit to its base, robed in everlasting snows, which descend on its sides in enormous glaciers, and stream into the valley below the road. Immense masses of rock, in themselves mountains, throw out their black and scathed forms, in striking contrast to the bright- ness of the glaciers which they separate . . . the whole ascent is without a parallel in Alpine scenery . . . The road winds round the side of the deep ravine into which the glaciers sink, but so near to them, that, in passing, a stone may, with little effort, be thrown upon them ... the glacier is so immediately opposite and beneath the road that travellers can examine at ease this wonderful production of the Alps ... is inconceivably grand . . . surrounded by pinnacled rocks of extremely savage nature . . . that which was formerly one of the most dangerous passages of the Alps is now rendered secure by galleries, either cut through projecting rocks, or constructed in masonry ; these guard the traveller from the avalanches which fall from the mountains across the path, or protect him from the precipices which skirt the road through this fearful passage . . . the passage is bounded by rocks and mountains of the wildest aspect, G3 EN ROUTE and a way out of the gorge is not apparent, until a sudden turning to the left opens to the view a means of escape." There are a few accounts of it in the Middle Ages. No doubt the passage was used by the conquering armies of Korae as they swept northward. The road described by Brockedon was constructed in 1820 by the Austrians, who, like Napoleon, felt the necessity of being in military communication with their possessions in Italy. That wild and moun- tainous race, the Grisons, resisting both force and bribery, refused permission to allow the road to pass through a portion of their territory, and compelled the Austrians to carry it a thousand feet higher than would otherwise have been necessary. The Duchy of Milan had, in 1814, been ceded to Austria, through the treachery of Prince Eugene, and it was over the Stelvio road that she poured her armies to subdue the continual and justifiable revolts of her Italian subjects (?) ; to hunt down Garibaldi, and put a stop to his indomitable spirit infesting his countrymen, teaching them to rise against their oppressors. As all the world knows, it was a task far beyond them, and in 1859 their own troops were forced to retreat before the spirit of freedom that even the Pope and Bomba had failed to crush ; the victorious Piedmontese, with their then allies the French, drove them headlong back over the road they themselves had made. From then till 1870 the road was little used. In the latter year its value as a means of civil com- 64 — XI — : M _: < o ^ THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE munication was recognised, and it was repaired and reconstructed for traffic once more. Early next morning, when the warm sunbeams were driving the dark shadows one by one before them and tipping with gold the highest summits, Merc^d^s was panting at the door, eager for her journey to the glaciers. Taking the gradient at a fairly high speed, we were brought almost to a stop in rounding the first turn from which the ascent proper commences. Passing through a rocky tunnel the road climbs quickly, and enters the Wormser Loch, " that ravine deep and appalling," where it is sheltered for nearly 3000 feet by a series of avalanche galleries, very welcome, for here the road is cut in the side of an avalanche-swept precipice. By means of zigzags, many too sharp to allow of Merc^d^s turning, except by backing and filling, the road climbs tortuously out of the ravine and passes through a district, desolation itself. All signs of life had now vanished, the stumpy pines and even the tanor-led sfrass were left far below and the road passed through rocks, bare barren rocks fashioned by a master's hand into every conceivable shape, the naked hills rising up on every side " pinnacled rocks of extremely savage nature." When we had reached an altitude, as our baro- meter showed, of some 8000 feet, we came in view of the lonely Cantoniera Santa Maria, the highest permanently inhabited hostelry in Europe, and the seat of the Italian douane. Leaving Merc^d^s purring at the door, I wandered inside in search of E 65 EN ROUTE the official, and also our long-lost 600 frs. deposit. I found him seated in a bare, stone, comfortless room, and produced the paper returned to me at Iselle. " Where is the other paper ? " inquired the official, eyeing me with quick suspicion. " What paper ? " I asked, a sudden doubt entering my mind. " The other one you received on entering Italy," he replied, " without which I cannot return your deposit." I explained precisely how it happened, and how the official at Iselle had returned to me only the one paper I tendered, assuring me solemnly that it was all-sufficient. " If what you say is true, Signore," replied the official, " I am sorry for you : without the other receipt I dare not return to you a single lira," — he did not add what an awful ass I must have been to be so completely fooled : but I felt a bigger one than even he could imagine me. I thought for a moment, and then asked : " Will you write upon the margin of the one paper returned to me that we have left Italy upon this date without our deposit ? " ** Certainly, with pleasure," he courteously answered, and did so, upon the margin, returning the paper, with the sincere hope that I should eventually obtain back the 600 frs. I sincerely hoped so too, or some one would hear about it, and as for that official at Iselle — an Italian shrug of the shoulder seemed the only ending to that sentence. 66 RUNNING BKXKATir AVALAXCIir: (JALI.KUI KS TlIK Sl.MI'LOX I'ASS THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE We bade good-bye to the lonely little house, lost amidst the rocks, and continued the ascent. In a moment all our petty troubles were forgotten in the silent contemplation of the scenes through which we were being swiftly carried. It would be impossible to describe the awful desolation that lay around us, neither pen nor photo could ever reveal a thousandth part of the wildness and magnificence of the scene. Above and beneath us, the road writhed like a serpent in agony, amidst the rocks ; overhead the snow-line, into which the mountains rose, appeared to be falling. On rounding the last turn we reached a tiny plateau : at the foot, or, as it seemed, upon a gleaming glacier, stood a small, white house at whose door the road suddenly disappeared. Around and about rose a towering mass of snowy peaks and streaming glaciers. This was the summit of the Stelvio, the meeting- place of the three frontiers, 9200 feet above the sea, and the highest carriage road in Europe. We had completed the ascent long before most people had finished their breakfast, or even thought of beginning it for that matter. A stone pillar marks the highest point of the Pass ; on one side of it is cut the following inscription : " Territorio Tirolese." on the other : " Territorio Lombardo," while on the front is carved : " Confine 1828. 2814 metres above the sea." From the door of the hotel a startling scene is presented on looking down the descent towards Austria. Imagine a world of rock split as though by a gigantic wedge, forming a valley, whose sloping 67 EN ROUTE sides rise from a silvery stream into the glaciers. Down one side the road is cut, in a series of bewildering zigzags ; backwards and forwards it twists, and the sun reflected from its white surface gives one the impression that a flash of forked lightning is playing up and down the mountain side. At the extremity of the road as far as the eye can reach, is a little pin-point of houses, Franzenshohe, the Austrian douane. This is but one-fourth of the whole descent, the road here dis- appearing into the pines. From where we stood, only a portion of the Eben and Madatsch glaciers is visible, but from a small house some three hundred feet above, a magnificent view of them is obtained. We climbed to this spot, " Dreisprachenspitze," where three languages (Italian, German and Romanish) meet and clash together. The scenery from this point is inconceivably grand, and for a time made us forget the road. Before us lay Austria : the entire range of the Ortler-Spitz rising majestically from the depths of a deep ravine forms a fitting portal to beautiful Tirol. Behind us the Engadine, a mirage of tower- ing peaks, range after range, far away into the distance ; and between these two enchanting lands lay Italy still slumbering in the warm sunshine. Looking once more at the road we saw that it was covered with little dark specks : through our glasses they resolved themselves into coaches and carriages crawling upwards like black spiders. We sat upon the rocks and watched them. It was two 68 THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE hours before the foremost speck reached the summit. The little plateau soon presented a scene of busy- life : every form of Alpine coach collected, some from Italy, some from Austria. Two-horsed landaus with luggage boxes behind appeared to be the favourite, while here and there heavy five-horsed coaches and diligences rested after their weary climb. The luggage boxes on the backs of the carriages are selected by hotel porters as adver- tising placards and become a moving picture gallery, covered as they soon are by brightly- coloured labels. At one place at which we stayed, Dennis discovered an enterprising concierge stick- ing a brightly painted label on to Mercedes' bonnet. It stuck like seccotine and remained there for several days, till finally it succumbed under a vigorous attack of the hose. To return to the- summit. Tourists, with their inseparable Baedekers, flocked from one vantage point to another, admiring the view, marvelling at the road and generally enjoying themselves. Many had arrived on foot: stout ladies, clad in the heaviest of tweeds, came toiling up the pass, gasping 'neath a scorching sun ; equally stout men, clad in equally stout tweeds and mopping their foreheads, followed their better-halves ; sad-faced men, looking neither to right nor left, plodded steadily up the steep path as though it were a treadmill, each with his or her knapsack strapped to the back, a Baedeker in pocket and an Alpine stock in hand. Little wonder that every one retired to rest imme- 69 EN ROUTE diately after dinner when on a walking tour through the Alps. The great mass of the glaciers passed within a few feet of the hotel, and at night made its close proximity felt. The sunrise next morning was par- ticularly fine ; we stayed on the summit till afternoon, and then commenced the descent. For the first half-mile or so, that is, until we became accustomed to the hairpin turns, it was rather a thrilling experience. Of the forty or fifty corners, during the descent, I do not think more than eight were large enough to allow of turning without mancEUvring backwards and forwards. There was but one method of rounding the turns. As we neared the corner where the road appeared to end, I released the clutch (we were running against the compression) and slid down on the brakes : screwing the front wheels to their greatest lock, the car headed straight for the edge of the road. I stopped her within a few inches of the precipice. (From our seats we looked down a sheer drop of 2000 feet.) Out leapt Dennis and placed a block of wood under one of the back wheels. Gently I released the brakes till I felt Mercedes was resting against the scotch. Slipping in the reverse I nodded to Dennis, who grasped the spokes and helped me swing round the front wheels. Open- ing the throttle I let in the clutch, and Mercdd^s glided backwards till she almost touched the rock of the opposite bank ; we were now facing the descend- ing road, Dennis picked up the wooden scotch and scrambled to his seat, and we crawled down to the 70 THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE next turn where we went through a similar per- formance. Everything, of course, depended on the brakes and side-chains, but I felt confident .in Mercedes, whose only fault lay in her long wheelbase. Yet there was always the chance of something failing, that thousand to one chance we are risking every day of our lives, in which case our motoring tour would abruptly end, and we should be hurled into another world with startling suddenness. A story long since forgotten, told me by some kind friend, recurred to my mind with persistent force : and though I had laughed at the time it was related I never realised the pith of it till now. I felt I must repeat it to Ken, and yielded to the tempta- tion. Perhaps you have heard it. A gentleman, nationality not stated, had hired a car and was being driven over a pass similar to the one we were descending ; first astonished and then frightened at the awful corners of the breakneck descent, he stammered to his chauffeur : "I say Leon, what'U happen — and — eh — and where shall we go if the brakes fail ? " Leon, a true son of France, ignored the first question, helplessly shrugged his shoulders and replied : " Oh, Mon Dieu, Monsieur, that depends upon our past lives." The gentleman, so the story says, was somewhat thoughtful during the remainder of the descent. It was an exceedingly cheerful tale and one well calculated to smite the hearer with a desire to walk, but nothing so dreadful happened and we continued to descend en auto. On looking down, we saw, on a turn immedi- 71 EN ROUTE ately beneath us, a heavy four-horsed dihgence, Keeping on the precipice side of the road, we met and passed it, wondering as we did so how the ten people it contained could sit at ease upon their seats, while behind, upon an iron grid, were strapped five heavy steamer trunks, a load in themselves. Presently we began to lose the first feelings of nervousness, and felt we could raise our eyes from the road without the imminent risk of being instantly dashed into fragments. As we neared the centre of the " tight rope," as Sheila styled the road, we commenced to gaze about us at the wondrous scene. The road cut in the face of a mica- slate mountain, divided two sloping precipices. A thousand feet above stood the hotel we had quitted, silhouetted against a blue expanse, a thousand feet below splashed the stream in its rocky bed and between it and us zigzagged the road, looking like a piece of white cotton thrown carelessly upon a dark cushion. High above our heads the great mountains appeared puny in comparison with the enormous range of snowy peaks above them, from which gleaming fields of ice streamed down, over- hanging the valley as though meditating the destruction of the pine forest far beneath, the summit of the massive Ortler dominating all. Shelley summed up the exquisite scene when he wrote : " Still, snowy, and serene — Its subject mountains their unearthly forms Pile round it, ice and rock ; broad vales between Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps, Blue as the overhanging heaven . . ." 72 4 • THE HIGHEST PASS IN EUROPE The magic of the scene entered into us, the beauties of the snow and ice contrasted with the inky darkness of the pines beneath, the wonders of the road, and the briUiancy of the air all combined to lay us under a spell of enchantment. " Time, space and distance ceased to be And every step was fresh infinity." 73 CHAPTER VI BEAUTIFUL TIROL There never was a jollier or livelier little place than that tiny hotel at Franzenshohe ; every coach and diligence had perforce to halt before its doors and be examined by the one official comprising the douane^ a host in himself. The musical tinkle of the cow- bells showed that we had descended at least far enough to reach vegetation, though still high above the nearest fir. As the whole of the road to the summit is visible from Franzenshohe, we could watch the stream of conveyances climbing and descending the long series of knots. Close by a glacier, broken into a thousand crevices, poured over the mountain side like a gigantic wave spark- ling in the sunshine with all the radiance of a cascade of gems. Amidst these scenes never a moment was dull or wasted. Some days we would make excursions over the glaciers or wander upon the mountain sides, though more often it seemed all sufficient to sit lazily at the sheltered door and watch the busy life of the diligences, while drinking in the exquisite 74 o r. BEAUTIFUL TIROL beauty of the snows and letting their glory sink into our souls. If it had not been for Mercedes I think we should have wished to stay for ever ; but the longing for the car comes with irresistible force — the wish to explore new lands and enjoy fresh sights, to encounter the joys and dangers of the road, to feel the cool breezes blowing against the face, to rush down from the glaciers into the valley and climb swiftly back to the snow — "anything, anywhere," upon the car, is the cry of the motor-germ. With the cheerful official at the busy little douane I had to deposit 1800 krs. (about £78) in gold, and wondered as I did so if I was fated ever to see it again. On a previous visit to Austria they had not returned to me the deposit on leaving the country, for the simple reason that they did not possess sufficient, and rather more than a month elapsed before I finally received it — in Paris. Amongst the gold I now tendered were several Russian pieces and also a few double-louis, which were politely, but firmly, refused, so particular are the authorities when receiving a deposit, and so dif- ferent when asked to refund the same : then one must be sincerely grateful to receive it or its equivalent in any shape or form. With many expressions of regret we at last tore ourselves away and resumed the descent, travelling backwards and forwards down the rocky slope, Fran- zenshohe receding far above our heads and around, springing up like magic, a straggling detachment of stumpy pines, the solitary sentinels of the great army of firs beneath. Soon after entering into the 75 EN ROUTE shadow of the firs we came upon a marble tablet at one side of the road. So beautiful is the scene that one would never connect this spot with the dark deed that the tablet commemorates, for here, amidst nature's most glorious monuments, took place a tragedy. Over the grassy edge was hurled Madeleine de Tourville, an English lady, far out into the depths below, by her false husband, on July 16, 1876. Some distance further down the descent the road reaches the ''Wiese Knott," a wooden hut, built beside a marble obelisk raised to the memory of Josef Pichler, who, in 1804, was the first human being to stand upon the summit of the Ortler. From this spot the view is truly magnificent. Three great glaciers, springing from a single source, are separated one from the other by " immense masses of rock, in themselves mountains " ; to the left the Ortler rises out of a bed of crystal ; amidst the pines, lost to sight, stands the chapel of the " Three Holy Springs," and out of the depths of the valley, at our feet, comes the incessant roar of a dozen rushing torrents. Trafoi, down to which the road winds, lies far beneath the glaciers up to which it gazes. We stayed here for a few days. Very different was the hotel from the one we had quitted, and the calls of civilisation galled us strangely after the free life we had been leading in that sweet little house so close to the silent snows. As we were still 5000 feet above the sea level, another long descent awaited us. Plunging into a deep and narrow valley, the road is carried from a 76 :^ - pC«S»..- VS. ,^ ^ II iiW^ 4U ■-^^: THE SCKNKl;V l'l;().\l Tlll^ I'l U M IS I N('(iN( Kl \ A 11 L V (;i;.\xi) TiiK Sti'.i.vio sii.\i.\irr BEAUTIFUL TIROL world of ice into a land " flowing with milk and honey." The valley leading into Tirol is very beautiful ; quaint wooden huts with overhanging roofs are perched in the most inaccessible places, some high up as it were in the sky, others hanging balanced upon a rock beside rushing torrents, and one wonders how their owners can regain their homes when they have once descended into the valley ; here and there a crucifix is erected as an emblem of their simple faith. Soon after passing through Gamagoi the gorge- like valley widens ; the last view of the Ortler-Spitz is shut off from view, and joins at Neu-Spondinig the main road from Landeck to Meran. What a difference is effected in a few hours, when a frontier is crossed ; it is not only that the land- scape bears a different name, the great change lies in the people themselves, their customs, manners, dress and speech. Those of Tirol have held aloof from the quick march of civilisation and are thus untouched by its darker stains. Proud of their ancestors, who won for them their freedom, of the names of those whose deeds are written in golden letters, they still believe in their faith and in their fatherland. Each man is still a born marksman and it would go hard with any army that should try to force a passage into their land, as their forefathers proved to the conqueror of Europe himself Even the Austrian Government are only their nominal lords, and leave this little untamed Republic to send its own army to swell their legions. They are still a deeply religious people and throughout their land 77 EN ROUTE / crucifixes and statues of the Virgin are many, some by the road side, others upon the hills and not a few perched upon the edge or summit of some almost inaccessible peak : not for show are they placed here but often to mark the spot where a Tirolean perished, overtaken by storms or swept over preci- pices, and the cross placed there in loving memory by his kinsfolk. Only a short glance into their history is sufficient to show the self-sacrificing and brave spirit which inspires them : and the traveller must leave the towns and pass through the country to fully appreciate their worth. The road to Meran lies in a fertile valley and runs through vineyards and orchards, olive groves and sweet pasture-lands relieved now and then by the ruins of many a feudal castle, whose old-world masters were wardens of the gate of Austria. Meran, the ancient capital of Tirol, lies in a basin whose sides are formed of beautifully wooded hills, and is magnificently sheltered. A popular resort during winter, it was now, to us at least, absolutely impossible, the heat as unbearable as on the flat plains of Lombardi, especially felt after our 8000 ft. drop. Therefore we did not halt, but crossing the Passer before it meets and mingles with the Adige, hurried over the twenty miles to Bozen. Where the valley meets the Brenner, that great highway connecting the North and South, rise the mountains of Mendel and Penegal, over which a road has been built. At their foot Bozen lies, surrounded by acres of vines, growing to profusion in the rays of a sun that makes the town uninhabit- 78 Uu-cy"^ M I iM tin Z 5 t t^ C o x; X <5 .u »j; BEAUTIFUL TIROL able in summer. We stayed in Bozen only long enough for a cup of tea and, thus refreshed after the dusty valley, left for a climb to the summit of the Mendel Pass, 4500 ft. The road, leaving the hot valley, winds its way up the mountain through beautiful woods, till, coming to a place where the rocks rise perpendicular into the sky, it is cut in the precipice side, twisting this way and that as it follows the irregularities of the rock though never losing sight of the valley. Mercedes greedily devoured the gradient, the road literally flew beneath her as she carried us swiftly up the mountain face. From our seats we watched the valley sink like a stone beneath us, and at times we seemed to hang over space. A train crawling along appeared no larger than a black caterpillar, the lakes looked like drops of water and the woods like patches of ink ; on the further side of the valley, above two mountain ranges, towered the whole rugged mass of the " B-osengarten " and illuminated by a dying sun, was seen to great advantage, one living mass of flame, a thousand tongues of fire raised into a glowing sky. Near the end of the climb the road mounts in a series of easy zigzags terminating on the summit, which we reached just under the hour from Bozen after a most enjoyable run. Instead of the quiet out-of-the-world spot one would expect, civilisation has transformed the summit into a busy little town. Formerly in- accessible, save by carriage, a wire railway has been constructed, which in a short time carries the tourist from the heat of the valley to the cool breezes of 79 EN ROUTE the summit. Two large hotels stand looking towards the Ortler range and out of sight of the glowing Dolomites. We spent only two days on the Mendel, the descent on the other side of the Pass is extremely easy, the road winding down a grassy slope into a fertile valley. Villages, Italian in their narrow streets and general air of decay, were numerous, and their people, speaking that language, were dark-haired and swarthy -faced, totally unlike their brothers of the North ; soon the road became a series of ascents and descents, traversing rich country. I had at first planned to travel over the Tonale Pass into Italy, then along the rocky little Lago dTseo and through Brescia to Piva, but I was told that at Dimaro a road branched into the hills, passing over the Campiglio Pass, a road not marked on our maps, but, so we were assured, traversed by many carriages. We determined to change our route and on reaching Dimaro left the main valley and passed through the town, a muddle of narrow streets, where the noise of the car brought many children to hamper our way, and their elders to the windows and doorways to watch us pass. Leaving the village which we had disturbed, like an angry hornet's nest, we began to ascend, through firs, the Val Meledrio ; the road is rather narrow and paltry in comparison with other passes, continuing so all the way to the summit where it passes in full view of the Brenta Dolomites and attains a height of about 5600 feet. The summit is somewhat bare 80 /. BEAUTIFUL TIROL and we lost no time in plunging down the opposite side. Madonna di Campiglio lies buried in the pines and destitute of view ; save for the freshness in the air one might as well be in the valley. The Hotel des Alpes, formerly an old monastery, still retains many of its ancient associations, and here we stayed. Every one, from the boots to the head concierge, was loud in his warnings not to proceed further down the descent and counselled us earnestly to return the way we had come. " Carriages go, certainly," they admitted, " but for an automo- bile " " Where a carriage can go Mercedes will follow," was still our answer, and despite their protests we left next morning. For once they had told the truth : the road from Madonna di Campiglio to Pinzolo was indeed bad, especially for a large and heavy car. It is often too narrow to allow of two vehicles passing, save where it has been specially widened to do so ; the trees on either side of the road almost touched the car and prevented one seeing the approach of another conveyance. Consequently when we did meet a carriage toiling up the hill it was always at awkward and unexpected places. We had not proceeded far after leaving the hotel before we came, without warning, upon a two-horsed landau. In a moment the four occupants, including the driver, had leapt madly out and sought shelter in the hedge and the ditch, leaving the two horses and ourselves in sole possession of the road. Pre- sently the head of the driver peeped through the K 81 EN ROUTE hedge followed reluctantly by the rest of him ; having completely emerged he sidled to his horses' bridles, still keeping a wary eye on us and ready at a moment's notice to return to his sylvan retreat. As the road would not permit of passing I backed Mercedes up the steep descent till we found a wider part, and the horses were led unresist- ing past. Twice more we met carriages and twice more did their occupants behave in the same extraordinary manner. Each time we stopped Mercedes and Dennis descended to help the driver ; and once Ken and I had to lend a hand with a horse fresher than the rest. Each time the occupants, recovered from their alarm, scowled at us as they climbed to their seats, but seeing how we behaved, their frowns changed to smiles and thanks, and we parted the best of friends. What had terrified them about our particularly peaceful appearance we could not guess, and continued to speculate without hitting upon a satisfactory explanation. At one place the road descends in a series of very sharp zigzags, and here it is steeper and narrower than at any other part. I think I mentioned before, that Mercedes had an exceptionally long wheel-base, the turns were so sharp and small that we had some difficulty in screwing her round. Unlike the Stel- vio, we had practically no room for manoeuvring, only a few inches at either end of the car. Dennis and his useful block of wood were requisitioned. Backwards and forwards we moved upon a break- neck gradient, at one moment threatening to 82 Si — i X BEAUTIFUL TIROL plunge over the road-edge, the next to ram the rocky bank ; by dint of tedious and somewhat anxious work I at last got Mercedes round and we slid down to the next turn, equally bad. Had we met a carriage here, it would have been very awk- ward, being practically impossible to back up the hill, round those wretched elbows. The thick firs hid from view the road we approached and we were quite glad to reach the bottom. To be on a mountain road, no matter how steep, narrow and intersected with hairpin turns, is not the least dangerous if you have it completely to yourself (providing you keep your head, and the car holds good, hien entendn) : the chief danger lies in the passing or meeting of horse-drawn vehicles. When one approaches and the horses look askance at the car you instinctively ask yourself, Is the driver man enough to control his animals ? if so, well and good : if not and the horses get out of hand, you were safer on a moving avalanche. Unfortunately, many of the drivers do not know how to manage their animals, or are thoroughly frightened of them, and promptly lose their heads on meeting an automo- bile : a truth not innocent of many of the sad acci- dents for which the press loves to blame the un- fortunate automobilist. Pinzolo, the village at the foot of the Pass, lies at the entrance of the Val di Genove, and we halted here to obtain some of the luscious fruit so tempt- ingly displayed upon the barrows in the cobbled street, and while buying, learnt why the people in the carriages we had met, should be so suddenly 83 EN ROUTE desirous of walking. It appeared that a car was descending the Pass a week before, when in some way or other the driver lost control (brake failure, or nerve failure, probably). A carriage laden with people ascending from Pinzolo had reached the last of the turns : into it the car dashed, carrying it with every soul aboard over the edge of the road, crashing into the ravine 500 feet below. " That is why," said the old peasant, naively, who was relating the story, " those in carriages alight on seeing an automobile approach." The Campiglio Pass is beautiful, undoubtedly, but its beauties cannot be compared to those of its many rivals, whilst the road is not suitable for any long- wheel based car. After Pinzolo the road traverses an uninteresting valley, through Tione, where the Arno and the Sarca join and wind their way into southern Giudicaria. Near an old bridge, crossing the tranquil river, we branched into the hills upon one side of the stream. A number of peasants were busy drying long yellow grass in the sun, ready to be made into brooms, whilst others were collecting the dried grass, and binding it to poles ready for the market. In a few bold turns the road winds up the mountain side, and enters an exquisite little valley, totally different from the wild rocks and gorges, the snow and ice, or the dusty road we had left. " The torrents from cliff" to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mix'd ii4 ooe mighty scene, with varied beauty glow." 34 Y, '/: y. y. BEAUTIFUL TIROL The miniature valley ended in a vine-bordered basin containing the green waters of Lago di Ledro, 2000 feet above her larger sister Garda. A little hotel on its banks so charmed Sheila and Dorothy that they insisted on stopping there for tea : alas, tea was unknown to the bright-faced boyish waiter who hurried forward to help us dismount. We always carry a good supply, however, and on telling him so he promised to do his best. As there was only an old lady besides himself in the house, Sheila and Dorothy carried the sunshine into their kitchen and initiated them into the mysteries of brewing tea. The dear old lady was delighted beyond belief at the result and overwhelmed with joy when they presented her with a half-pound packet for her very own. Under the cool shade of a vine-covered arbour, beside which splashed a stream clear as crystal, we enjoyed a glorious tea. Honey, cream, milk, jams, home-baked bread and scones, peaches, plums, apri- cots, pomegranates, oranges, black and white grapes^ fresh plucked and in abundance. The young waiter beamed upon us ; the old lady, being prevailed upon, joined the festive board and chatted merrily in her smooth, sweet Italian. An hour slipped by before we began to realise that dusk was falling, and we reluctantly prepared to depart. I called for the bill and could hardly keep a solemn face as I read its many items. With exactness, worthy of a better object, each detail down to the hot water for the tea was carefully recorded. Totalled, it reached the remarkable sum 85 EN ROUTE of 75 heller (about 7^(2.), aud the waiter's astonish- ment, when I refused change for a two-kronen piece, was only equalled by his joy when he realised that I was not joking. Both he and the old lady stood in the middle of the road waving their hands till the dust-cloud hid them from view. Dropping rapidly, the road continues through a land of vines and olive-groves, and passing high above a waterfall, we saw, 800 feet directly beneath us, the broad expanse of Garda, that bluest of all the lakes. The journey to the water's edge is full of novelty, first by zigzags, and then as the road reaches a place where the mountain towers some 700 feet sheer out of the lake, it is cut, in one long sloping line, deep out of the solid rock : frequently jutting far out over the water till a stone rolled over its edge will, after a few moments, drop with a splash into the lake. Sweeping round sharp corners of rock, passing through several tunnels now aud then, as it were, hanging between heaven and earth, we came in sight of Kiva, dozing in the rosy sunset beneath the ruins of the castle of the Scaligers upon the side of the precipitous Rocchetta. Continuing the descent, the road ever cut in the rocks, we reached the water's edge and passed through the old town with its quaint harbour and busy square. That end of Garda which lies within the borders of Austria is undoubtedly the cream of the whole lake. There the grandeur of the Alps is brought to mingle dreamily with the softer beauties of Italy. 86 '^^^z^^^^^Wf-: Q A a o S5 S •Jl r— 1 Q O BEAUTIFUL TIROL At this end of the lake fair Riva enjoys a favoured existence. Gazing: over the still waters towards the south she yet clings to the north. In her busy market you can buy fruit, almost tropical in the state of perfection to which it has grown : each morning the sun shines down upon the town ; at mid-day, when its heat threatens to become unbear- able, there springs up a cool fresh breeze, blowing from oft' the blue expanse, and lasting till the Itocchetta throws its deep shadow over the town. The hotel, standing in its palm-studded grounds, juts far out into the lake and is an ideal spot in which to rest ; bathing in the morning, when the lake lies like a mirror, and in the afternoon skimming over its ruffled surface in a lug-sailed boat admirably suited to the strong, refreshing breeze, faithful as the sun himself In the silvery moonlight, when the lake again lay calm, we would row out upon its still surface, while from shore would come, floating upon the night air, the voices of those who sing the same familiar songs so dear to Italy. Every few minutes would we be illuminated by the strong rays of a searchlight, from out of the blackness, which, leaving us, would follow the dark shores, searching for smugglers who might try to slip into Italy. The next mountain pass we intended to climb was " The Rolle," one of those great highways between Austria and Italy ; a climb leading into the midst of the Dolomites : no longer were we to be compelled to 2aze at them from a distance, but as we had been carried by the Stelvio to the Glaciers, so would we 87 EN ROUTE be brought close to their bare and rugged peaks. Arco lies some few miles from Riva and upon a great rock in the centre of the town stands its castle, destroyed by the French during the bitter war of the Spanish succession. From Arco the road passes through a valley strewn with the debris of many landscapes and ancient avalanches. Near Trento it joins the Brenner, which here is broad and flat. On the hillsides, amid the vines, are the ruins of many a forgotten castle and old-time keep : high upon rocks they stand, their warriors at peace, their crumbling walls a home for night birds, a prey to every growing creeper that can find space upon them. At the little pave village of Neumarkt we left the Brenner valley and commenced our 6300 feet climb. It was a road to delight the heart of Mercedes, a heavy gradient, wide turns, and kept in a state of perfection ; as on the wings of the wind we were carried up the hill, the road rising steeply in front and receding like a stone in our rear. Across the Brenner valley we could see a white line cut in the face of the rock rising from the Kalterer Sea to the summit 5000 feet above : it was the Mendel Pass road up which we had sped after leaving Bozen. Bounding turn after turn as the road ascended the hill side in easy curves we continued to rise till, about 3000 feet above the Brenner, the road passes through a cleft in the mountains, enters the Val Fiemme, and follows high upon one side of the valley ; below streamed the Avisio, glistening amidst scattered villages. It was late in the afternoon 88 TIIK KOAl) IS CLT DKKP olT nV UNO SOLID i;n('K ]{l>AI) 11' lil\A BEAUTIFUL TIROL when we reached the Nave d'Oro, the old inn at Predazzo, that has sheltered many famous men of science on their mineralogical researches. With a quick turn to the right we followed the Travigndlo, a stream pouring out of a narrow valley. Again the road commenced to climb, winding backwards and forwards through steep green pastures and into the resinous pines. At Paneveggio, a hotel lost amidst the thick fir woods, we stopped for tea ; the sun was threatening to disappear behind the hills as we resumed the climb. Another thousand feet and the road left the zone trees entering a region of moss-clad rocks and wild, coarse grass, climbing till it reached the little wooden hut upon the summit, from which " the view " burst upon us. And what a view ! How I wish I had the power to adequately describe its wonders. The road ran close to the base of a rugged range of mountains : high above the road the pinnacle-like summit of the Cimone della Pala, "The Matterhorn of the Dolo- mites," rose sheer into the heavens. As far as the eye could reach extended an unending line of bare and barren peaks : we had reached the summit exactly at the moment when the sun cast its dying light upon the scene, colouring the whole range with the deepest shade of red, a shade which makes the rocks stand out as though heated by an unseen furnace. I think it was the most beautiful sight any one of us had ever seen, the brilliant- coloured Dolomites rising out of inky pines, the cloudless sky and the glorious sunset. I only know that we remained immovable, staring at the 89 EN ROUTE exquisite picture ; even the throbbing heart ot Mercedes was stilled and a silence deep and pro- found reigned over the whole scene, broken only by the sweet-toned bells of a scattered herd of cattle, invisible in the dusk of the valley, returning to their homes. " A murmur of Eternity and Immensity of life and death stole through tlie soul," as with Carlyle's wanderer at eventide. Slowly we watched the grey shadows creep up the face of the rocks driving the rosy glow before it. Not till the whole range had turned to steel did we stir, and then, without a word to one another, we com- menced to descend the road swallowed up in the dark firs. Like Madonna di Campiglio, San Martino di Castrozza was once an old monastery ; also it lies some distance beneath the summit, but unlike Madonna di Campiglio it commands a glorious view, quite as grand as that from the summit. Our rooms were good, and from the balcony before their windows we could enjoy an uninterrupted view of the towering rocks, too steep and barren to hold snow, yet high above the line of perpetual ice. Our stay here is amongst our most pleasant recollections, and we were never tired of sitting on the fir-strewn ground amidst the alpine flowers and gazing up at the jagged heights. In the Alps one seldom feels lonely. Each peak, its name once learnt, becomes an old and valued friend, and one unconsciously speaks of it as though the 90 J^^s^^- ,/ s**;..^ V iiK .m.\tti;i;iioi;n (»K t IK lioi.o.MITKS I.'OSK sill': 1:1; INK) TIIK ilKAVKNS 'iih; ll'ii.i.i; I'ass BEAUTIFUL TIROL acquaintance dated back to pre-historic ages. That is one of the secrets of the companionship of the mountains : the reason why people come year after year to wander through tlie hills and renew their friendship with those silent comrades. 91 CHAPTER VII IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES We had no wish to descend into Italy, and there- fore were compelled to return the way we had come as far as Predazzo. As we were mounting the car under the critical eyes of a miscellaneous collection of visitors, the waiter who had attended to us during our visit was making himself busy helping to arrange our rugs. " You look comfortable," he remarked as he scrutinised us, ready to start : then leaning across the umbrella basket, he added, " I must leave here to-morrow for Padua, and if you 'ad bin going to Italy instead of Austria I would 'ave com' with you, for sure." " Oh would you," replied Ken suavely ; " very good of you indeed ; you might have had the chauffeur's seat, who would doubtless have been proud to walk, or have sat with the ladies in the tonneau — so sorry." '* I too am sorry," responded the waiter, on whom the sarcasm was lost, "for without doubt I would 'ave com' with you," he added regretfully as we left the door. " Yes, sir," said Dennis in reply to Ken ; " he told me he'd got a job somewhere in Italy, and had we 92 IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES been going there he would have come with us. I told him we'd have been delighted if he'd brought a few friends with him : and I'm blest if he didn't swallow it for gospel and shake hands with me." The 2000 feet climb to the summit is very- beautiful in daytime ; the Dolomites are seen every now and then between the firs, the sunlight stream- ing through the heavy foliage. At Predazzo we continued along the valley we had left and followed up the refreshing waters of the Avisio. Our inten- tion was to ascend the Karer Pass, the centre of the Posengarten, the road branching into the mountains somewhere upon the left. Warned by our map that we must pass through the hamlet of Vigo, about a mile from the main road, we were on the qui vive for all branch roads leading to the left. Only one did we see, but as it looked more like a cart-track than a road we took no notice and con- tinued our way up the valley. Puzzled by the delay the road took in putting in an appearance, we stopped at a village to inquire the way and were informed that we had passed the road. This was hardly promising and we retraced our tyre marks in wonder, for save the cart-track, we were sure we had seen no road. No road did we see and in due course reached the cart-track. Sheila espied a bashful sign- board peeping through the hedge ; on this was painted " Vigo " and a dilapidated hand pointed up the track. To make assurance doubly sure, we asked a bright-faced boy driving a lumbering bullock- waggon that came clattering noisily down the path completely filling its narrow passage. " Yes, it 9n EN ROUTE was the road," he said cheerfully. " A bad road certainly, but not for long." Nothing venture, nothing have, and setting Mercedes at the track we left the hard road. Two deep and sudden gutters welcomed us, by giving a sample of what was to follow, causing us to reduce our pace to a pathetic crawl. Sandy and rutty was the path, steep in places and very narrow. About a mile after leaving the valley we reached Vigo and crawled through its narrow street, crossed again and again by dry stony gutters. Almost at the last house the whole aspect of the road changed, and as far as could be seen blossomed into a finely- made mountain road : for some inexplicable reason the good road had been constructed only as far as Vigo, another mile and it would have reached the valley. At the spot where the good road entered Vigo, we found the way barred by a block of wood stretched from house to house. An old bent woman, dressed in black, hobbled from a doorway and beckoned us to approach, demanding 3 krs. as toll. Receiving the money she at once hobbled back into the house, and through an open window we saw her turning a handle and one end of the wooden bar rose into the air. With a spurt we reached the new road, and as the hill was steep, commenced to make up for lost time. The road, though a trifle narrow, was excellent, climbing swiftly and crossing several wooden bridges which carrry it over the stony bed of dried -up torrents. On this side of the Pass the wonderful effects of the Dolomites are hid by heavy pine forests ; 94 JiiK 11(11, oMiTKs ai;k skkx KVKl;^' now and tiikn I'.KTWKKX TIIK I' HIS TlIK l;o[,I,K I'ASS IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES though the views of the valley are sometimes beautiful. To see the Karer Pass to advantage, one must ascend from the opposite side, i.e., from Bozen, when one is always facing and nearing the Kosengarten ; unfortunately that road is forbidden to automobiles. The summit, 5700 feet, lies between two ranges of Dolomites and though undoubtedly grand, we were sorry we had not visited the Karer before the un- surpassed Rolle. However, the Pass has a beauty of its own and we were glad to have seen it. Next morning, to the loud barking of the magnifi- cent St. Bernard belonging to the hotel, we departed, returning the way we had come the evening before. At Vigo we were welcomed by the old dame in black, who smiled at us over the log of wood in a w^ay to freeze the water in the radiator. Another 3 krs. and we were crawling down the wretched sandy lane. Yet another climb was before us, " The Pordoi." Till recently there had been only a mule- track over the pass, and on all our maps it was shown as such. But the proprietor of the Nave d'Oro, where we had halted to obtain petrol, informed us that a new road was in course of construction, which would put Cortina di Ampezzo in direct communication with the south end of the Brenner. The road had been finished over the summit of the pass, though not yet officially opened to traffic. Upon this, we determined to sample the pass, which we knew for a fact to be very fine. " For," I argued, " we can only be stopped by the road itself or by the police." At Campitello, a 95 EN ROUTE village nestling snugly in the warm pines, the new road commences. Never were we so agreeably- surprised, for the road over the Pordoi excelled by far any other we had traversed. Broader than the Stelvio, with a surface as smooth as glass, it ascended from the valley in zigzags, yet so magnificently engineered that although the return- ing road lay parallel with the one below it, the corners were constructed in such a fashion that one could sweep round them with undiminished speed. Through the firs we could see the valley sinking beneath us : "With towns and hamlets studded, And with streams and vapours grey." The square-shaped Stella group of Dolomites grew closer as the pines thinned. One or two carriages we met caused some delay, their horses, mostly young ones, resolutely refusing to pass. Drawing Mercedes on to the precipice side of the road, I stopped her engine, and Ken, Dennis and I descended to help. After some coaxing, the restive animals were led past, and it was not until the carriage disappeared far beneath us, that I restarted the engine. Dennis, as I mentioned before, had once been a coachman, and he patted and talked to the horses in a way that visibly astonished and charmed their drivers, whose black looks quickly melted into smiles and thanks. " I do like the way you ahvays stop when we meet a horse that looks restive," said Sheila, who sat in front with me. " I love animals, horses and dogs most," 96 ix\L- IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES "I think we all love them/' I answered, "and any one who doesn't will never make a motorist. It's the cad Avho goes barging recklessly along the roads that gives motorists a bad name. Those drivers we have just passed will be generous toward future automobilists, till some day they meet that fiend flying along, careless of what damage he does, who, never wanting to traverse the same road twice, reckons he can escape the consequences, forgetting that he leaves behind him an inheritance of ill-will and discontent, which will be vented upon the con- siderate motorist who follows. Thank Heaven, that class of men is rare and will soon become a thing of the past." " It is a shame," agreed Ken. " If those drivers who began by scowling and ended by raising their hats, meet the motor fiend, all our work will be undone in an instant and they'll once more be motor haters. I've met him, in my own country too, and know what it is to be left to quiet a needlessly terrified horse." Meanwhile, we had been rising rapidly through a region of firs, and soon passed the last little pine, bravely struggling to live beyond its appointed sphere of life, and, like many a human example, suffering in consequence. As the road winds its way through scattered rocks and Alpine flora it enters a world of Dolomites, mighty giants of rock springing up as though by magic from the road's edge, and enclosing us with a stupendous wall of spires and pinnacles. If the road was the finest in the Alps from a speed point of view, ten times finer © 97 EN ROUTE was the scenery, as far as Dolomites were concerned — scenery once seen never to be forgotten. Nearing the end of the climb, the road passes before a small hotel some 400 feet beneath the summit, and look- ing but a white speck amidst its magnificent sur- roundings. Flying up the deserted road we gained the wooden shelter hut upon the summit, standing 7350 feet above sea level. We had thought " the Rolle " unsurpassable for Dolomites, yet even its grandeur was more than equalled by the Pordoi. To the left towered the Boe-Spitz, to the right the white snowfields of the Marmolada, while before us rose up innumerable ranges of barren peaks as far as the eye could see, wave after wave of mountains. Behind us, to the right, stood the naked Stella and Langkofel groups, and behind them the whole massive back of the Rosen gar ten. We stayed at the little hotel below the summit. Never during the tour had we been so completely isolated from civilisation ; the telegraph was un- known — only a post-waggon every third day ; no hurrying throng of tourists to disturb the silence. Upon the slopes of the surrounding hills, amidst a profusion of wild and beautiful Alj^ine flowers, grew edelweiss in perfect freedom, grew and withered there, living its life in the pure air, unplucked and undisturbed by human hands. On every other pass there had always been a crowd of people arriving or departing, the telegraph and post were in daily use, and although one rested under the shadow of the glaciers, yet one was always reminded of the out- 98 IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES side world. Here it was different ; not even a tiny village disturbed the silence that hung in the air, a silence that could be felt, and from the windows of the hotel it was possible through the glasses to see the wild chamois springing from crag to crag in joyous freedom. The proprietor of the hotel advised us to make the ascent of the Boe-Spitz for the sake of the splendid view from its summit. "It is only a summer walk," he had said, " an' so long as you stray not from the path you can kom' to no 'arm. I know the mountain well, for I myself am a ' Klim- mer.'" He pooh-poohed the idea of taking a guide (I had proposed engaging two), and advised us to start early. The sun was shining brightly when we left the hotel, soon after seven o'clock one morning, and in good spirits climbed the road to the summit of the pass and commenced the ascent. As we climbed slowly up the winding path amidst the edelweiss, growing as thick as daisies and buttercups, there began to open out before us range after range of pinnacled Dolomites, in their midst the icefields of the Marmolada forming a striking contrast to their brown surroundings. Looking into the valley, upon the opposite side of the Pordoi from that up which we had ascended, nearly the whole of the road is visible, winding in innumerable and easy turns mile after mile from the bare summit into the fertile valley. The morning soon belied its promise of glorious weather, the sun disappearing behind a bank of clouds which had sprung into existence 99 EN ROUTE from an apparently cloudless sky. Leaving the last struggling blade of grass the path led amongst rough boulders, becoming obliterated, great rocks giving })lace to lesser ones, till at last we were climbing over an ever-moving mass of small pebbles which gave way beneath our feet. The great wall of perpendicular rock at whose base we were strug- gling was split in two at one place, leaving a narrow passage through which the stream of loose stones poured. Attached to the left-hand wall was a wire rope some sixty or seventy feet in length, and by its help we pulled and dragged ourselves over the ever-slipping gravel. The sun had now completely disappeared and heavy clouds were hurrying along from the south-west, covering the different summits with thick mists. Reaching the source of the cata- ract of stones we passed between the two high rocks, and, crossing a large patch of snow, found ourselves in a region of desolation. We were on the precipice edge of a vast amphitheatre of what looked like the crater of an extinct volcano, surrounded by bare un- scaleable mountains of rock. At the opposite side of this gulf rose the summit of the Boe ; we had reached half-way, and the most difficult half was yet to be climbed. But now all semblance of a path had vanished ; our way led amongst uneven rocks, whose crevices were filled with frozen snow and ice. The only guide to mark a path was a dab of red paint every forty or fifty feet, and many times we had to search the rock-strewn ground before we could locate the next patch of colour. As we climbed the ground became more broken and the way more rough ; at 100 IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES many places it was necessary to crawl round the face of enormous boulders, whose smooth sides offered but small protection to which to cling. Luckily, both Sheila and Dorothy possessed good nerves and climbed intrepidly. Altogether, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Meanwhile, the clouds were approaching rapidly, and distant thunder rumbled a warning. We ought to have turned back directly we saw the clouds gathering ; I recognised that when it was too late and blamed myself afterwards, as did Ken, for not hearkening to wiser counsel ; but, having passed the half-way, we foolishly continued the ascent. The summit at last, and redoubling our efforts, we reached the cairn of stones even as the first wave of mist blew across the crater, shutting out all the magnificent view we had hoped to obtain. Bitterly we reviled the proprietor, who had per- suaded us not to engage a guide, for the path he had so strictly warned us not on any account to stray from, was now completely hidden, the red patches of paint, even a few feet distant, being quite invisible. Having had no idea of the style of climb we had attempted, we had brought no extra coats or wraps, and were instantly soaked to the skin ; moreover, it was freezing hard and the cold was intense, so intense that in a few moments it was impossible to hold our alpenstocks ni our numbed hands. An Alpine friend of mine used to say that if one were caught on a dangerous peak by the mists " never move an inch, but wait till they have passed." That is good counsel if one has been 101 EN ROUTE warned and has heavy clothes to don, and a good guide, or in other words, when one is perfectly- prepared. We had neither, and Sheila and Dorothy, nearly perishing with the cold, stumbled as they walked. Feeling in my pocket for my flask, I found to my dismay that it must have dropped out while I was climbing. It was an unenviable position, on the tiny summit of a Dolomite 11,000 feet above the sea ; enshrouded by the mists, wet, tired, and, what was worst of all, almost frozen stiff. The storm, which had been gradually getting nearer, arrived, and commenced to make our already disagreeable position still more disagreeable : " From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; " as Byron very aptly puts it. Unfortunately ours was one of the mountains that had found its tongue, and the " live thunder " was getting unpleasantly close, so close that we prepared to depart with all haste. Next came the question, which way ? No path or guiding blood-spot could we distinguish, but trusting to luck, we faced the descent, " the summer walk," I leading with Sheila, while Ken looked after Dorothy. I have only a very hazy recollection of the climb down to the crater ; we seemed to be descending into the centre of the earth, to the music of the infernal regions, over a maze of endless rocks, now helping one another, now endeavouring to keep our bodies warm and the blood flowing through our veins. Climbing down one of the 102 IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES dangerous passages, Sheila slipped and hurt her ankle against a rugged edge of rock. This made matters worse, for it was imperative to keep always on the move. At last we stood upon the edge of the crater : our difficulty now was to follow the red marks round the precipice-edged circle. I knew that if we missed the narrow entrance through which we had ascended, we might go on walking round that circle till we were exhausted or the mists cleared. When we could not distinguish the next red mark, while the others remained together I would cautiously crawl over the boulders in search of it, wandering about till I discovered the welcome mark. Shouting back, I called incessantly till the others came up. Ken and I took it in turns to do this, and once when Ken had disappeared into the mists hunting for it, he cried out that he could not find it anywhere, and that I think was the worst moment of our experience, such a feeling of utter helplessness entered into our hearts as we stood together endeavouring to instil some warmth into our bodies. A great shout, such as only Ken could utter, brought the welcome news that he had found the missing red, and with renewed hope we toiled in the direction of his voice. He had also found the narrow path to the throat of the mountains, and the great patch of snow over which we had crossed. We were now quite safe and cheerfully com- menced to descend by the help of the wire rope. We soon gave this up, for all that was necessary was to stand in the loose stones, balancing with 103 EN ROUTE our alpenstocks and be carried down the steep hill at a good speed, forming the centre of a miniature avalanche. The exercise was violent, and warmed our bodies, setting the blood coursing freely through the veins. The mists and storm were now above us, and although the temperature was low, the air seemed warm after what we had passed through. Sheila's ankle was beginning to swell, and the rough descent caused her a great deal of pain. It was a long walk back to the hotel, and our clothes were still wringing wet as we reached its thrice- welcome doors. The proprietor, we found, was in a state of anxietv at our late arrival, and without a word of explanation, we trooped upstairs. A warm bath and complete change were luxuries indescribable, and restored our good feelings. The storm outside continued with unabated violence, the wind howled and shrieked as though the elements were wrath at our escape from their clutches ; the thunder came in deafening claps and the lightning was incessant, revealing the jagged peaks against a greenish light. There is one thing I ought to mention, that is remotely connected with our adventure. I was in the office of the hotel, telling the proprietor our experiences, and incidentally our private opinion of his advice re the guide and " summer walk." " It iss nothing in goot weather," he answered, " as long ass you keep to the path you will kom' to no 'arm, it iss an easy climb, but you should not haf on no account moved when the clouds descended : it iss a most dangerous thing for to do : When I am 104 IN THE HEART OF THE DOLOMITES in the mist I always remain where I was, and move not." " But," I argued, somewhat angrily, " if we had stayed there we should have been frozen to death, as you refrained from warning us to take coats and wraps, and did not even give us an idea of the climb we had undertaken : in fine weather it would be a most enjoyable ascent, taking guides if only to carry our things, but alone and in a storm of thunder, lightning and rain, it is exactly the reverse." He was silent for a minute, then said : " I will tell to you something that will astonish you. A fortnight ago at this 'otel, there came two young men, great fr'en's, to stop some day. One morning they commenced the ascent of the Boe. On the flat platform round the crater they lost their way although the sun was shining brightly. One of them sat down while his fr'en' went to look for the path. He wandered 'bout till he discovered him, and returned to the place where his fr'en' was left, but no fr'en' wass there, an' thinking he 'ad found the path 'imself, he descended the mountain 'oping to find 'im at the 'otel. But no, he 'ad not arrive.' A search-party set out at once but could not his fr'en' discover till at last they found 'im at the foot of a ravine, close to the place where 'is fr'en' left 'im. He was quite dead, but it was not the fall which kill 'im, for they foun' traces where he try to dim' the overhanging rock and fall back into his prison : also that he 'ad arrange some stones for a pillow and laid 'imself down to die, an' there they foun' 'im. I did not tell you this yesterday, it 105 EN ROUTE might af spoil your dim'. Yess, it wass a mos' unfortunate affair — mos' unfortunate." Unfortunate ! I thought it one of the saddest of the many sad tragedies of the Alps. A young man, full of life, setting out with a friend for a pleasant climb, and dying the death of a trapped rat. His agonised attempts to climb the overhanging rocks, his shouts for aid till he could shout no more, and then the knowledge that he must die, and the quiet despair with which he laid down upon the frozen ground in the bitter cold, and tried to sleep, know- ing that he was closing his eyes for the last time. What a death, lonely and wretched ; it was too awful to think about and though I told Ken, it was only when we were nearing home that I related the sad tale to Sheila and Dorothy. 106 CHAPTER YIII WHERE HEROES TROD To reach Innsbruck we wished to join the Brennei Pass at Franzensfeste instead of returning to Bozen : this would mean crossing the Falzarego Pass to Cortina and thence along the beautiful Pusterthal valley, but Dennis made the alarming discovery that Mercedes' tanks were almost destitute of benzine and oil. We had not been able to obtain any since leaving Predazzo and had since climbed two mountain passes. Therefore it would be tempting fortune to try to reach Cortina, and as we had stretched Providence rather freely lately, he might retaliate in an unpleasant manner if we tried his patience too far. So Bozen it must be, we decided. Except the Stelvio we regretted leaving the Pordoi more than any other pass. The complete isola- tion from restraint, for we had had the whole summit to ourselves, the absence of tourists, the comfortable little hotel with its incomparable surroundings, combined to rank our stay there amongst the most pleasant experiences of a delightful tour. Tliere is little to describe of our return to the 107 EN ROUTE Brenner : leaving the hotel one beautiful morning, and entering the pines we passed down the same wonderful road, leaving behind us multitudes of silent bare Dolomites and taking away with us a recollection full of the pleasantest remembrances. As we descended throu^fh the firs the far-off' valley rose to greet us : the white specks and long white threads becoming pretty little farm-houses and long broad roads, the land losing its appearance of a patched quilt and presenting a scene of fertile cultivation. At Campitello we rejoined the beauti- ful valley and raced the tumbling waters, splashing amongst the rocks, on their way to Italy. Ever and anon the valley is split on one side or another ; above the deep ravine thus formed, rise giant Dolomites, the snow in their crevices glistening like diamonds in the warm sunbeams. At Predazzo, while Mercedes imbibed benzine, we thanked the pro- prietor of the Nave d'Oro for his information about the Pordoi road and the excellent time we had spent. Refreshed, Mercedes sprang forward along the level Alpine valley and plunged down the long descent into the Brenner, 3000 feet below, reaching the main road at Auer, a little town some few miles off Neumarkt, the village from which we had ascended. Folio wins; the vine-clad Brenner we naturally reached Bozen, which, as usual, was quite unbearable beneath its broiling sun. To Innsbruck, the road crosses over the Brenner Pass, the lowest and most used pass in the great chain of Alps. There are few magnificent views, the road ever lying between the mountains in a 108 WHERE HEROES TROD long valley ; even the enmmit, some 4400 feet, is only a village in the same eternal valley. The road winds in no grand tourniquets, but rises con- tinuously beside the railway, as far as the summit, never out of sight of civilisation. The pass is used more as a commercial passage than as a pleasure excursion. Still, it is through the heart of the Austrian Alps, and if the scenery is not particularly majestic, its associations with the terrible struggles of the plucky Tirolese against the pillaghig hordes of the French and Bavarians more than compensate for this. Here it was that the heroes, Hofer, Speechbacker, Teimar, Hormayr and their devoted followers con- tested every inch of ground, dying w^illingly in the service of Austria, whose Emperor rewarded their devotion and loyalty so basely. The Brenner is the most direct link between the north and south, and also the lowest and easiest to traverse. Naturally its history dates back to the time when Rome sent out her conquering legions, and the Brenner carried them through the Alps. Since then it has watched the continual passage of warriors through its mountains. From Bozen the road leads towards the hills and enters a high and rocky gorge, through which the Eisack rushes. Crossing the railway, the road follows the shining rails, and is good ; the scenery is beautifu], though not grand. At Brixen the road from the Pusterthal valley joins, and from here to Mittenwald every kilometre is the scene of a battle ; every bridge, every rock, every passage has been fiercely defended. The history of that 109 EN ROUTE wonderful little war of 1809, in which the courage and devotion of a handful of peasants were opposed to the unlimited resources of a conqueror who had just subdued Italy and won Austria, is more than remarkable, and no instance is more praiseworthy than the defence of the Eisack pass. The peasants, hold- ing their mountains against overwhelming numbers, were compelled to retreat step by step, many dying rather than give way : retreating from one natural barrier to another, till, in the dreaded Eisacthal, they made a last stand and struck such a blow for freedom that the Duke of Danzig himself was glad to hurry northwards and leave the Tirolean heroes in full possession of their beloved fatherland, for which they had fought, and had held so nobly. The climb from Bozen is nothing, and we soon approached the summit : the roaring torrent of the Eisack gradually diminished till it was only a gentle stream falling amongst the rocks. Brennerbad, the summit, lies in a viewless valley, the peaceful scene for ever broken by the continuous rumble of the trains. A waterfall pouring down from the hills separates into two streams. One, the Eisack, flow- ing into the Adige, is carried into the hot Adriatic : the other, forming the Sell, rushes down to Inns- bruck and is quickl}^ conveyed by the Inn into the Danube and so into the terror-stricken region of the Black Sea. The whole beauty of the Brenner lies in the descent to Innsbruck. It is an easy and delightful run, the scenery very beautiful. The road, descend- ing through firs, loses sight of the railway and 110 WHERE HEROES TROD passes high along the edge of a deep ravine, de- scending gentl}^ till, finally, it emerges from the pines, and the beauties of Innsbruck burst into view. Lying upon the green banks of the swift Inn, the capital of Tirol enjoys a lovely situation beneath a range of snow-clad hills, which rise up 7000 feet, dividing Tirol from its ancient enemy, Bavaria, and sheltering Innsbruck from the cold winds of the north. I know the Brenner, having passed over it manj^ times, but the swoop down upon Innsbruck from the summit never loses its attractions. Berg-Isel and Hall lie below us, the scene of the triumph of Tirol and the final recovery of its capital. Beneath the triumphal arch under which the Emperor Francis I. passed a few days before his death, the road enters Innsbruck and brings us to our hotel. The town, apart from its connection with the Tirolean heroes, is full of in- terest : two statued churches are amongst its many attractions ; its garden and streets ever in view of the snow, combine to render it a heaven-sen c para- dise to the tourist. Again " en route " our way led us along the right bank of the Inn, beneath the shadow of the hills ; to our right branched off the beautiful road winding up to Seefeld and the deep Wallen See, and still further upon the same side joined the road from the easy and well- wooded Fern Pass — two delightful drives. Landeck lies at the junction of three valleys, and is a busy little coaching town upon the borders of the Engadine. Passing through the town, the road enters a narrow gully, winding beneath the Castle 111 EN ROUTE of Landeck, a stately old building standing high above the town, down upon which it gazes with lofty contempt. Following the waters of the Inn, the road a few miles further on crosses the stream, by means of a heavy iron bridge. Upon the other bank, at the roadside, stands a simple monument, a bronze eagle with outstretched wings ; beneath it is cut "1703-1809": yet these plain figures tell a fearful tale of slaughter, for this is the " Pontlatzer- Brlicke," the spot where the Tirolese " Landsturm " practically annihilated their numerous invaders, the Bavarians, in 1703, and the French in 1809. The road now runs beneath the rains of Burg Laudeck and along a valley dotted with sharp-pointed steeples and steep-roofed houses. Becrossing the river by a solid stone bridge, we commenced to ascend the Finstermunz Pass ; the road, taking a long slant up the side of the valley, is broad, and well made, with a gradient extremely easy. Although the summit is 5000 feet above the sea, the climb is nothing, but the scenery is exceedingly beautiful. Where the valley takes a wide, circular bend, the road naturally follows suit and at this point reaches Hoch Finster- miinz, a small cluster of houses 500 feet above the Biver Inn. Here we elected to stay, for the night was fast closing in. Our rooms faced a valley bordered by great rocky heights, the home of the wild easfle and other feathered lords of the air. Next morning I was awakened by the cracked bell of a midget chapel which stands opposite the hotel, and* as the sun was shining brightly, banished all sleep into another world, and dressing quickly, 112 WHERE HEROES TROD descended for breakfast. I was joined soon after by the rest, who also had risen betimes at the command of the tiny chapel. It was therefore early when we left the hospitable little hotel and continued the easy road. About half a mile further, on a projecting rock, stands a metal figure of a chamois from which a splendid view into the valley is obtained. The road then passes through a tunnel or two and turns to the left, entering a narrow little defile, passing beneath the shadow of a square- shaped fort, which stands upon the banks of a noisy waterfall. Wind- ing higher, the road quits the tiny valley, and after a series of wide turns reaches the summit, a long flat plateau commanding a magnificent view of the snowy Ortler Range, our old friend standing out clear and imposing. Upon the summit of the pass are three lakes, each of different colour, green, brown and grey. We stopped Mercedes at the edge of the green lake to enjoy the beauties of the scene. In the distance, behind the waters, stretched the silent line of snowy peaks ; between them and us on the spur of a small hill stood a little white church with a needle-like spire of gold, and, as though to complete the picture, beside the road a wooden crucifix was erected. We approached the crucifix and gazed at the work there displayed. For it was a work, a work that must have taken much time and thought on the part of the peasants who erected it. Beside the dying Christ, hung a collection of wooden models of all the instru- ments used in the Crucifixion, The swords and arms of the Roman guards, the manacles, the clubs H 113 EN ROUTE and staves, the hammer and nails, the pincers, the spear, the ladder, the sponge of vinegar, the dice- box, were among the many things shown. Below, rudely carved in wood, was nailed a faithful picture of the Crucifixion ; and, erected above the cross, a slanting shelter to protect it from the weather. Though the sun was shining brightly, there was a decided coolness in the air, which brought us the first warning that winter was coming, and we must not linger too long upon the high summits, lest we be caught in the snow. As our intention was to return to Switzerland over the Arlberg Pass, we had, per- force, to retrace our path to Landeck : before doing so I proposed that we should descend the Finstermlinz upon the south side as far as Neu-Spondinig in the valley to Meran and look once more upon the glorious glaciers of the Stelvio, The descent is tame, the road passing down a grassy bank, though with a good view of the valley. Each quaint little hamlet upon the hillside is proud of the possession of a church of its own. From Neu-Spondinig we looked again at the glaciers guarding the gate through which we had entered Tirol. After lunch we remounted the pass and descended to Landeck. A puncture delayed us, and it was in the dark that we passed beneath the old castle and groped our way to its excellent posting hotel. We were now treated to the only bad weather during the tour, an experi- ence we would have willingly dispensed with. That night it rained, and next day it continued without a break, dark masses of cloud came rolling down the Arlberg and, becoming trapped in the hills round 114 ['»* .«, 1 _ii A woi;k that mt^t ii.w k takkn much timk and I'lioroiiT THK FlNSTKIfMl NZ I'ASS WHERE HEROES TROD Landeck, revenged themselves by emptying their contents upon the town. That night and the day following set themselves the by no means easy task of lowering the record rainfall of the previous day, and the following morning tried its best to follow suit. We waited no longer, but donning our heavy furs and pulling up the warm collars, set out to brave the elements. The ground was sodden and slippery with mud and from beneath our wheels a yellow wave flew out on either side. Our only fear was that rain in the valley would mean snow in the mountains, for the weather had changed from summer to icy winter. The summits of the surround- ing hills lay under snow, that is, those not enveloped in mists, and the air blew keen and sharp in our faces, making our eyes water till we lowered the glass screen. The Arlberg Pass, rising 6000 feet, is one of the great highways between two nations. The guide- books say little concerning the road, and are filled chiefly with praise of the railway. True, the railway is a line piece of engineering skill, but so is the Gotthard, Mont Cenis and Simplon. In the train one might as well pass through any four for all the difference there is ; each is a dark unpleasant journey, varied only by the diff'erent lengths of time occupied by the passage, and people shut in the carriages can form no idea of the pass beneath which they are borne. At St. Antin the climb begins and the road rises steeply almost to the summit. As we flew up the steep road the snow line grew nearer and the air 115 EN ROUTE became colder ; at last the pines were huug with icicles and snow began to make its appearance on the roadside. Soon the whole ground was white around us, the road alone clear of snow and winding like a black serpent. Climbing higher the road dived into the snow and we came upon the old Hospitz. Half house, half church, its doors open in welcome to any traveller seeking shelter. It was a 'beautiful sight that old Hospitz, one that will live Ions: in our minds. In summer when the hills are blue and red with Alpine flowers, one does not think of the hospice in the same way. It is only when one comes upon it during the long eight months of winter that one can realise what a benefit it really is, and what unselfish heroes are the monks who live in its storm -bound walls, ready to sacrifice their lives in the saving of strangers. What a haven of rest must the old building seem to the half-frozen wanderer stumbling through the snow, and what feelings of thankfulness must be experienced when he reaches its open doors. All honour, then, to the brave fathers upon the lonely summits. A little past the hospice lies the summit, deep in snow, merely a narrow ledge, and the watershed of the Danube and the Rhine. A crucifix upon a stone pillar is silhouetted against the snow, and below is cut : " Wasserscheid zwischen nordsee SCHWARZEN MeR." From the frozen summit two small streams quietly trickle down the valleys : one is carried to the north 116 WHERE HEROES TROD and by the many windings of the Rhine reaches the North Sea : the other flows through the territory of the great white Czar. A faint sprinkle of snow beat against the glass screen, warning us not to linger, and we plunged down the other side into the beautiful Voralberp;. We regretted leaving the Tirol with all our hearts, many of the pleasantest days had been spent amidst its exquisite scenery and among its happy and sincere people. At Lazen we passed along the repaired road over which the vast mass of debris had poured ; the result of the enormous land- slip in 1892. As we left the snow above us and descended into the green valley, the sky began to clear and here and there large patches of blue appeared, growing ever larger. Presently the sun burst through the mists, bringing with him summer and compelling us to remove our furs and don lighter clothing. We considered that the Arlberg would be the last of the great passes, little dreaming what fate held in store for us. Feldkirch, the last Austrian town is commanded by the old keep of Schattenburg, and leaving the hills behind us the road enters the valley of the Rhine whose banks here form the frontiers of Switzerland and Austria. The road still skirts the foot of the hills and passes through the little State of Liechtenstein, of which a story is told. The standing army for home defence is said to number three. An order was issued commanding one half of the said standing army for home defence to leave the capital for frontier protection. It was 117 EN ROUTE easy enough to issue the decree, any one could do that, but the carrying out of it presented great objections, very great objections, according to the odd man who formed 33^ per cent, of the said army, as several miles divided the frontiers from the capital. History does not say how it was settled or how the standing army was pacified. Leaving the little State the road crosses the Rhine. At either end of the bridge stands a small house, the respective douanes. The Austrians had no money, but gave us an order (save the mark, when referring to Italian orders ! ) on their office at Buchs, a busy little commercial town at the other side of the valley. On the Swiss side we were stopped by a polite officer, who, with the character- istic businesslike qualities of his race, relieved us of 900 frs. in a little over three minutes and bowed us ceremoniously to the door. At Buchs we halted at the station, and, following instructions, Ken and I went in search of our elusive deposit of 1500 krs. Each office we entered was in the hands of the Swiss, who regarded our quest in the light of a joke and politely bat firmly showed us the door. We began to think we were in for another fiasco, when, accosting a heavily-laden porter, he immediately laid down his load and conducted us to the Austrian douane, which is situated at the farthest extremity of the station. The Austrian officials on learning our mission requested us to be seated, and retired in consultation. It was a wise request as we soon discovered, for we should have been wearied indeed had we stood until they found the money. We 118 WHERE HEROES TROD completely cleared that office of all its ready cash and probably left it in a state of penury for years to come. Drawers were ransacked, canvas and leather bags opened and shut, pockets galore turned out, before the £78 was forthcoming ; and when it had been gathered together, what a miscellaneous collection it was ; bearing not the slightest resem- blance to the seventy-eight shining pieces of gold that the douanier on the Stelvio had gloated over. There were German silver and gold, Austrian notes and silver, Italian notes and French gold, all of which took much figuring upon paper before they could be reduced to kronen. Gathering it together we bid a final farewell to Austria ; the officials insisted on shaking us warmly by the hand, and we, thinking of our recovered deposit, responded no less heartily. At Sargauo the road quits the Rhine and enters into the hills passing along a valley, dotted with old castles and villages perched upon its rocky sides. The little valley brings us to Wallenstadt, a lake lost amidst the mountains, second only to Uri in grandeur ; for the mountains plunge down sheer for 3000 feet into the placid green depths, and upon the north side only one tiny hamlet has found a spot on which it is possible to gain even a pre- carious footing. For some distance the road follows the edge of the lake upon the south side till at Miihlehorn it leaves the waters to climb over the Kerenzenberg, a beautiful and easy drive. Upon the highest point stands Obstalden, a quiet little village with a quaint hotel, overlooking the motion- 119 EN ROUTE less lake a thousand feet beneath. In the little vine-clad house we spent the night. The proprietor had, in his youth, been a sailor, and had brought home some very beautiful ware from the east, and to our surprise we found the table decked out with the majority of his household gods. Out of painted cups, thin as paper, veritable works of art, we drank our tea : from plates beautiful as the sun, whose image they bore, we ate our meat : never before had we to exercise such care, and we were much relieved when the meal came to an end, and the exquisite ware had passed unbroken from our hands. 120 CHAPTER IX IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE In many of the cantons of Switzerland, the Enga- dine for example, the advent of the automobile is looked upon as a direct misfortune to humanity, and they emphasise the opinion by closing their roads to every form of self-propelled vehicle (and, incidentally, the people w^ho ride in them). " The motorist proposes, but the Sw^iss Government dis- poses," is their motto. Other cantons are not so bigoted, and, under restrictions (vide the Briinig Pass), throw open a few of their principal roads to cars. Therefore it behoves the motorist to be wary as to what route he maps out, for the punishments upon offending automobilists are said to be exceedingly heavy. Voila our position. We intended to return to Interlaken en route for Lac Leman and Geneva. In any case we must pass through Lucerne, and therefore the business in hand was to lay a course to that town, steering clear of the rocks of the different cantons intervening. We might go vid Lake Zuric and Zug, but a far more glorious drive was suggested by the road crossing the Klausen Pass. 1 called a council of war. 121 EN ROUTE " Baedeker says that cars are strictly forbidden upon the pass, which, according to him, is ' one of the most beautiful of mountain roads,' " I began. " No one seems to know anything about it what- ever, even the ojBficial at the frontier believed it was open, but was not sure. The question is, shall we go in and risk it or take the other route ? " " It would be a splendid finish to our tour to rush the Klausen," said Sheila mischievously. " Can't we get permission ?" Ken queried. " Impossible," answered I. "I tried and failed in regard to the Furka and Grimsel." "I, for one, vote we make the attempt," proposed Dorothy. " We can only be turned back, and we'll go over in full daylight, so there will be no evidence of a deep-laid plot to break the law." So the motion was carried by a majority of four and we prepared for an adventure. The sun was dispelling the mists from the lake as we left the snug little hotel with its hospitable hosts. The road almost at once commences to descend the thousand feet into the valley, which it reaches at Mollis, near the spot where the plucky inhabitants shook off the Austrian yoke in 1388. At Nafels, a village but a few miles away in the Rautifelder, stand eleven stones commemorating eleven fierce attacks. We had no time to pay a pilgrimage to the beautiful church, for the sun disappeared behind some clouds that came swiftly over the hill tops ; they were the forerunners of many others, as though the storm-king was collecting his forces to dispute our passage over the pass. The Klausen is 6500 122 IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE feet above the sea, 500 feet higher than the Arlberg ; and we hurried on, fearful of the coming snow. Glarns, the main village of the Canton lies at the foot of a sugar-loaf mountain, and from here the valley contracts, the hills close in, and the passage is blocked by a range of snowy mountains. Linthal guards the foot of the pass, its spinning-mills stand- ing out picturesquely amidst the green firs upon the wooded slopes. This was the first danger spot ; however, no police appeared to stop us as we crawled. through its streets. A notice directed us peremptorily to " Die Klausenstrasse." " Once we get upon the climb, we shall be safe from pursuit," I murmured. The road, directly it leaves the houses, commences to climb, and giving Mercedes her head she bounded up the gradient like a flash. Luckily it was long past the season for tourists, and I had little fear of meeting car- riages and other conveyances. At one place the road is continued by means of a tunnel bored through the hard rock, and its sides are pierced into a series of windows forming a large gallery. Ten thousand echoes awoke as we flashed through the rough interior and continued the ascent. The road winds backwards and forwards as it rises, always in full view of the valley. The houses of Linthal appeared like a congregation of white specks, and the shepherds' huts, to which we had gazed upward in wonder from the valley, disappeared beneath us and we looked down upon their roofs. After rising some 2500 feet above Linthal, the road follows a waterfall into the hills 123 EN ROUTE entering the Urner Boden, a dreary marshy valley shut off as it seemed from all communication with the living world. On our right rose a range of jagged peaks completely enclosing one side of the valley. On the other side towered the summit of the Clariden, whose snow-fields and green tinted glaciers were lost in the driving mists. A mighty range of rock blocked the end of the valley, stretch- ing from the snow-fields to the rugged mountains, barring all egress. We seemed to be travelling through a dying world. The people living in huts half buried in the ground appeared almost imbecile, standing stupidly at their sunken doors, gazing at the car with hardly comprehending eyes. Perhaps it was the misty clouds enveloping the heavens, the fearful stillness in the air, the freezing cold, and the half-light that made the scene so weird and strange. We felt like spirits from another world wandering through the Valley of Death ; the awful loneliness and utter helplessness of the people's lives entered into us as we sped over the dismal marsh. In bright sunny weather the pass would wear a very different aspect, but to us it was quite the reverse of sunny or bright ; we passed over it in almost semi-darkness and with the know- ledge that we might be stopped at any moment, to find the road blocked with stones or snow for the winter. Or, worst of all, should Mercedes fail, we should be stranded in this horrible valley far away from help. Mercedes never fails, we reflected, and felt comforted. A cold wind was blowing, and the thermometer upon the dash quickly fell below zero. 121 o i — ( w H o ■/I v:' 1—1 <: K fu ffi ?-, H y CO a t3 t) w o Ph H Q W W X t^ J fi^ w IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE At one place a dilapidated notice-board, half of which had long since rotted away, announced, in decayed letters, " Motorwiigen verboten." With this ominous message ringing in our ears we reached the end of the valley. Here the road enters the well-named " Devil's Cauldron," a wind-swept circle of bare rock, rising 2000 feet sheer into the glaciers. In the Cauldron are brewed the icy waters of the Klus, which roar and thunder as they pour over the precipices. Here *' The vale is girdled with their walls, a howl Of cataracts from their thaw-cloven ravines, Satiates the listening wind, continuous, vast. Awful as silence." At first sight there seems no way out of this cul- de-sac, till, on reaching the centre of the Cauldron, the road doubles back upon itself and commences to climb, step by step, up the face of the giant rock. Colder and colder blew the wind ; far beneath us we looked down upon the dreary valley, now lost in the gloom, and around us the mists were quickly gather- ing. A few flakes of snow fell upon the glass screen, and a moment later we were fighting our way through a blinding storm of snow, which continued to rage about us even as we reached the summit, and we wasted no time before commencing the 5000 feet descent to Altdorf. The snow-storm abated as we descended, soon passing the Klausenpass Hotel, a large square build- ing, shuttered and closed, waiting for summer to come with its attendant crowd of pleasure-seekers. 125 EN ROUTE From the hotel the road descends in one long un- broken slope cut in the mountain side ; except for a frail railing there is no protection. Gazing from our seats we looked down a perfectly unbroken drop of 3000 feet. A stone rolled over the road's edge would touch nothing till it reached the green pas- tures far below in the valley. It was the last place that one would choose to meet a heavy diligence and five prancing horses, and the sensation of being upon the precipice side, with the restive horses and terri- fied passengers between the car and the rock, would be the reverse of pleasant. However, fate was kind and spared us the diligence. Passing through two rocky tunnels the road again winds back, and con- tinues to descend in the opposite direction. The scenery — that is, what we could see of it — was changed completely. No longer terrifying, it re- sembled the Simplon, on the Swiss side. " I don't think the Pass can be forbidden to cars," said Ken ; " if it were, we should have been stopped before now." " I don't know about that," I put in. " Once past Linthal nothing but a bullet could catch us, and up to now we've not seen any telegraph wires, so there is no chance of catching us half-way. It's at Altdorf where our danger lies, for it is sure to be in communication with Linthal, and if we can once get through unseen we shall be perfectly safe." As I was speaking Sheila gave an exclamation of dismay, and called out to us to look down the hill- Upon one of the returning zigzags were two men hurriedly dragging branches of trees and pulling 1-26 IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE carts across the road, and my heart sank as I recog- nised that one of them wore the green hat of the Swiss gendarme. " Caught," we exclaimed together, and, as though in sympathy, rain commenced to fall in torrents. Turning a corner we came in sight of the barricade, and the man under the green hat held up his hand. I stopped Mercedes, and the official, coming up, informed us in a loud voice that we had broken the law and must pay 50 francs. I was about to comply, when Ken interrupted and asked for a receipt. This caused trouble ; the official wanted the money but not to give a receipt, and we entered into a very elevating argument. St. Chris- tophe was kind and victory rested with us, the official retiring into his hut to write out a receipt. " I don't think they've had any warning, sir," said Dennis. " There's no telegraph wires and the fellow must have seen us unexpectedly, for he's still got his slippers on." This proved to be the truth for the green cap was the only piece of uniform the official had had time to don. At last the receipt was made out, the money changed hands, and the barricade was removed. Some little distance down the road we came upon two other men busy removing another wooden obstruction, evidently placed there in case we had rushed the first. We congratulated ourselves that we had got off so easily, but Altdorf was yet to be passed, and we looked forward to some lively enter- tainment. The rain ceased and if the sun did not actually shine, it did its very best to burst through the clouds. The valley through whose clutches we 127 EN ROUTE were slipping was beautiful in the extreme. Firs and pines spread themselves out like warm blankets over the precipitous hillsides. The road, splendidly made, followed a roaring torrent whose water sprang in great bounds from one huge boulder to another. Those people whom we met seemed quite dazed at our sudden appearance, and stared in evident astonishment at the unusual sight. Passing through Burglen, the home of Tell, the valley joins the main road from the Gotthard, up which we had passed a few months before, — that road which gave us our first insight into the real beauties of the Alps. Now came the most sporting time of the whole drive, — our passage through Altdorf If the authorities of Linthal had telegraphed the news of our journey, as I feared, we might be detained and dragged into a knot of annojdng red-tapism. Altdorf lay like a watchful sentinel in our path, and, endeavouring to look as law-abiding and un- conscious as possible, we put a bold face upon the matter and entered its familiar streets. At Tell's tower the road takes a sharp turn to the left and at the corner stood a stately gendarme. We held our breath, but, wonder of wonders, he moved politely to one side, and we breathed again. Our joy was short-lived, for on rounding the corner we were treated to a startling surprise. In the middle of the road stood four or five resolute policemen, and around them waited, in expectant attitudes, a large and varied crowd. Evidently the police at Linthal had telegraphed ; and the news had spread that an 128 IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE automobile had rushed the forbidden Klausen, for every one appeared to have turned out to see the fun. Shops were deserted, carts and fruit-stalls left unattended in the roadway. Even two peasants driving a herd of goats and sheep had halted with their animals to swell the already numerous crowd. There was no need for the uplifted hands of the police, and I pulled up at once at the spot indicated and we found ourselves opposite the police station. The foremost gendarme, a fine, well-built man, came up to us, and saluting gravely, asked, " Is yours the automobile that has come from Linthal over the Klausenstrasse ? " I saluted back, and answered in the voice of a prisoner pleading guilty to murder, " It is." " Then will the owner of the automobile be pleased to follow me into the Bureau ? " he then said. " The owner will not be pleased," I murmured, as I descended and followed him into the office, Ken following me. " Do you know that you have broken a most strict law ? " the gendarme asked, when he had carefully closed the door, turning to us and stand- ing with his back to it. " You have travelled with your automobile over the Klausenstrasse, a pass which is most strictly forbidden to automobiles. Are you aware of the heinous act you have com- mitted, and the penalties that you have exposed yourself to ? " " There was no notice to warn us," I argued. " We passed through Glarus and Linthal and we I 129 EN ROUTE were never even cautioned. Surely it wns not our fault." Here I waxed indignant. " Where were the Lintlial police that they did not stop us ? It is not they, but we, who should complain. Here we have unknowingly broken one of your very reasonable laws. It is not our fault, but theirs." The gendarme was a man of sense. " You are right," he said. " You should have been warned ; but there is a notice half-way up the pass." " There are the remains of one, but it is almost illegible, and we took no notice of it," Ken inter- rupted. " Still, you have come over the pass in your automobile," the gendarme said severely. " Your case has been considered by the authorities of the two cantons, but as you were not warned the fine of 600 frs. and detention has been commuted to 200 frs. Personally I am sorry to detain you, but unless you pay I shall be forced to keep you here." " 200 frs.," I remarked to Ken, in English, sotto voce. "200 frs., not another blessed thing, oh joy ! We have already paid 50 frs. to an officer who stopped us upon the road," I said, turning to the gendarme, and producing the receipt. To our amazement he promptly deducted it from the fine, and presented his account for 150 frs. which I instantly paid. Duty done, the officer became confidential. " You have had a most lucky escape," he began, accepting a cigarette from Ken, " for had it been proved that you knew the Pass was closed to automobiles the punishment would have been 130 IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE very different. To my knowledo^e yours is the only automobile that has come over the Pass." " The honour is very cheap at 200 frs.," I added, when he had finished speaking. He smiled and after passing a few compliments, declared we were free to proceed. Shaking hands, he conducted us outside, where, at his command, the military police cleared a path in the crowd, and, through a living lane of people anxious to catch a glimpse, we reached Mercedes. " 200 frs. and freedom ! " I announced, and Sheila and Dorothy's faces showed how welcome was the news. There was a hum of excitement as Dennis started the engine, the police saluted, the crowd cheered. Ken played a fal-de-da on the horn, and we waved our hands as we glided along the cobbled street. A lovely run along the rocky Axenstrasse, by the side of the lake of Uri brought us to Brunnen and to the Hotel of the four Cantons, and as we dis- mounted at the door we finished the most exciting day's run of the tour. Sitting at dinner that evening we could scarcely realise the adventures of the day, and, as a last toast, drank to the success which had attended our journey, over the magnificent but forbidden Klausen. We were glad to rest a few days in sunny Brunnen. The town is beautifully situated, looking at the same time over the lake towards Lucerne and into the fastness of the Gotthard. One brilliant morning when summer had returned we were again 131 EN ROUTE en route for Interlaken. Lucerne was soon a memory behind us and we commenced the easy cHmb over the Briinig pass. The scenery was exceedingly tame after what we had passed through, and the absurd pohce regulations made the climb extremely tedious. At the little inn by the wayside we stopped to receive a permit from the same woman still sewing to the loud ticking of the same cuckoo- clock we had seen before upon the shelf. After frequently halting we reached the summit, delivered up the permit, and descended to Brienz, keeping to the good main road and passing the smaller one which leads to Meiringen, whose falls brought back vivid memories. At Brienz we joined the lake and followed its edge to Interlaken, where we spent only a few days, and then left for Lac Leman. The morning was as fine as the scenery through which we passed. After following the left-hand side of the lake of Thun the road branches to the left, running along a thickly-wooded valley. As we approached the pretty chalets of Saamen we opened out a range of snow-capped peaks on our left. It was Sunday and the villages were bright and gay, crowded as they were with the quaintly dressed peasants, the women in their characteristic costume, the men in short black coats with absurdly small sleeves terminating above the elbow and tied with coloured ribbons. At Gestig the road climbs over the easy Col du Pillon, some five thousand feet high, through thick woods and pasture lands. The snow level was almost reached when the road commenced to descend, and we knew we had passed the summit. 132 IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE The descent was the pick of the day's drive, the road descending through a landscape dotted with countless wooden chalets with their steep overhang- ino" roofs and numerous balconies. The road follows down one side of a deep winding gorge very beautiful at places, and as it opens out reveals the verdant Bhone Valley far below, down to which it quietly creeps. We spent the night at Aigle, the little town at the foot of the pass, where "... the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne." The vast expanse of Lac Leman was heavy yet with mists as we reached its historical waters and beheld the little He de Peilz mirrored upon the still lake. The massive walls of Chillon jutting out into the water tempted us to stop long enough to revisit its " dungeons deep and old." We were delighted to return to the warm sunshine and pure air and bo once more spinning over the open road. Vevey, Montreux, Lausanne, with their incessant streams of visitors, and a host of smaller places flew past and we approached Geneva. Across the lake we could see the cold clear summit of Mont Blanc illuminatsd by the sunset. It was one of those phenomenally clear evenings when dis- tant objects appear to be quite close, and the Queen of the Alps seemed almost within reach. Next morning we set out on our last climb — the Col de la Faucille, 4000 feet, over the Jura moun- tains. The Swiss returned, at once, the 900 francs, 133 EN ROUTE and a few miles further we were admitted back into France on production of our carefully carried passa- vant. A beautiful and very easy climb followed, the road rising gently till it reaches the highest point, where we dismounted for a last look at Switzerland. The scene that spread itself before us was indeed worthy of the country we were leaving. The whole range of the Mont-Blanc Alps stood out bright and imposing above the clouds that separated them from the lake, snow, ice, pine, and lake, the essence of Switzerland, and to their beauties we bid au-revoir. As we continued our way we noticed that in the shadow of the rocks where the sun's rays could not penetrate, hung icicles in profusion, bearing eloquent testimony to the perishing cold of the nights. A long descent followed through Chezery to the little lake of Nantua, whose clear water is turned into ice by the busy works upon its banks, packed in vans, and sent to Paris and all over the Continent. A motoring friend had told me that the road from Nantua to Bourg, vid Serri^res and Ceyz^riat, was very hilly and impossible for any heavy car. I had smiled at this, with the result that I pledged myself when in the neighbourhood to traverse the road or die in the attempt. Upon the map it is marked " Route impraticable," but that was not likely to affect Mercedes. If the road was only solid, the steeper the hill the better she was pleased. From the lake a flat road leads to the climb, if it can be called a climb ; the rise is not more than a thousand feet and the road is good, presenting no 134 IN THE FACE OF THE POLICE difficulties. I only wished my friend had been there to see us shoot up the incline. Two switch-back hills the road crossed, and between them runs the gentle Ain, While at Bourg we visited the fine old church, immortalised by Matthew Arnold. Ken proposed that we should renew our acquaint- ance with the chateau country, and we prepared ourselves for a race across France — dear old familiar France, ever the same cultivated lands as far as the eye can reach, the same peasants working in the fields, always the same interminable double line of tall graceful poplars edging the road, and the road itself disappearing in one long unending ribbon beneath the bonnet as Merc^d^s rushed onward, for ever trying to reach the far horizon. There was very little traffic and we made good progress, travel- ling at a fairly high speed over the many deserted stretches. Ken, I ought here to say, took the wheel, and after a few lessons handled Mercedes like an expert. The chateau country we enjoyed, revisiting nearly all its old castles, and one morning late in October started on our last run. A few hours brought us to Paris, entering the gay capital by the Bois de Boulogne, thus bringing to a successful conclusion our ideal Alpine tour. At dinner that evening we were all a little quiet — each was sorry that the tour had ended. We had so many pleasant memories and recollections to look back upon, undimmed by any accident. While we were voicing our regrets at the ending of the tour, I seized the opportunity of proposing that we should 135 EN ROUTE start again the first week in December for another tour — a tour which had been forming in my mind for the last month — that of a visit to Kome and the old cities of Italy. In glowing terms I depicted the beauties of the South as seen by car. " You must come," I urged. "I shall never enjoy the car by myself after this last tour ; I should feel utterly miserable and lonely." " But you'll have to be by yourself some day," laughed Ken. "I hope not," I answered, looking earnestly at Sheila, who met my gaze and smiled. *' Unfortunately we've arranged to winter in town," Dorothy said, " though I'd rather exchange it for the free and open life of the car." " You've two months in which to alter your engagements," I pleaded. " This time Mercedes will show you the home of the Caesars, the birth- place of Roman legions. What do you say, Sheila?" I eagerly asked, turning to her. Sheila looked at me, and there was no mistaking her answer as she replied, " It would be heavenly to visit Rome with Merc^d^s — and you." " That settles it," I cried exultantly. " You infiust come after that ; Sheila has set her heart on it, and I will take no denial. Fill your glasses, and this time drink my toast : ' May the coming tour be as happy and successful as the one that has ended to-day.' " 136 PART II SOUTHERN EUROPE MAP II.— SOUTHERN EUROPE. List of towns in order. Paris : Lyons : Avignon : Aix : Cannes : Nice : Monaco (Italian frontier) : San Remo : Genoa : Spezia : Pisa : Grosetto : Civita- vecchia : Rome : Tivoli : Rome : Terrachina : Geita : Rome : Todi : Perugia : Florence : Bologna : Padua : Mestre : Venice : Padua : Verona : Brescia : Bergamo : Lecco : Como : Milan : Genoa : Nice (French frontier) : Aix : Avignon : Nimes : Taras9on : Aries : Narbonne : Beziers : Carcassonne : Toulouse : Tarbes : Lourdes : Pyrenees : Gavarnie : Lourdes : Cauteret : Lourdes : Pau : Orthez : San Jean pied du port (Spanish frontier) : Roncesvalles Pass : Pamplona : Vitoria : Burgos : Valladolid : Segovia : Qtuadarrama Pass : Madrid : Toledo : Talavera : Navalmoral ,: Trujillo : Merida : Seville : Jerez : Cadiz : Cape Tarifa : Algeciras : Gibraltar : Ronda : Loja : Gianada : Jaen : Ubeda : Albacete : Valencia : Barcelona (French frontier) : Perpignan : Beziers : Millau : Gorges du Tarn : St, Fleur : Clermont-Ferrand : Paris : Boulogne : Folkestone : London. Note. Map II. For detail of Route through North Italy see dotted green line Map I. (p. 2). 138 Map II. ^/S6 o, f(\^^ ^^'^ \(- cc^'^ CHAPTER X TO THE HOME OF THE C^SARS The two months intervening before the next tour passed quickly. Ken, Dorothy and Sheila returned to Graham Castle, while I went home and stayed with my people in Sussex. Early in December I set out for the North, and, after a tedious journey, arrived at Graham Castle, now deep in snow, glad to reach its welcome doors. As we knew that we should spend some time on the Kiviera and at Rome we were able to despatch our heavy luggage there to await our arrival ; and the trunks we carried on the car were not nearly so tightly crammed as on our last tour, when we had been quite uncertain as to the next stopping-place, and consequently compelled to carry clothing for nearly four months. A week later we starced. This time we did not drive to the station in Ken's pair 'bus, but covered the fifteen miles through the snow in the prescribed forty-five minutes in the 45-h.p. Mercedes double Limousine that I had advised him to purchase for station work. He had at first wished to bring this car on the present tour, but I objected, and pointed out how much nicer and snugger it was for all of us EN ROUTE to be on the same auto, and also that we did not wish to be detained by his heavy machine, for although mine had nearly double the power it weighed no more. Paris in December is not a place to linger in ; the city wore a totally different aspect to what it did on our last visit, its streets now being swept by icy blasts and the leaden sky threatening continually to pour down snow and sleet. Mercedes had been in the hands of the coachbuilders again, and looked fresh and new ; the sight of her, with Dennis, brought back vividly the recollections of our dash through the Alps, and we longed to be once more en route. As we mounted to our seats, and arranged the rugs about us, we drew up the collars of our fur coats and shivered, so biting cold was the air. A few snow flakes fell in a christening shower upon Mercedes as we hurried away in search of the Riviera — and summer. Following the deserted embankment, we crossed over the Pont Neuf, passing close to the doors of blackened Notre Dame, whose wind-swept towers stand like two silent sentinels above the black depths of the Seine. A few luckless, half-starved pedestrians hurried along, hugging the shop windows for warmth and shelter from the penetrating wind. Heavy clouds encircled the the Eiffel Tower. What snow had fallen had now been churned into slush and mud, splashing from beneath our wheels in every direction. The chairs and tables outside the cafes had vanished, every door was shut and fastened against the elements. Altogether it was Paris at 140 TO THE HOME OF THE CAESARS its worst — cold, grey, pitiless, in the dread grip of winter. At the end of the Avenue de Choisy we passed through the Gates of Paris, and again the open road was flowing rapidly beneath us. One of the joys of Mercedes is the fact that nothing seems to affect her speed. Although she was now in full touring rig, with as much luggage as she would carry, with the usual multitude of spares, extra covers, and inner- tubes, the wind-screen down, and her full comple- ment of passengers, the difference in her pace was imperceptible. The two months' rest appeared to have filled her with a longing to show her apprecia- tion of again being free ; she literally ate up the kilometres, and her pleasure on encountering a hill was only equalled by the way in which she devoured it. Her joy was shared by us all, for once the auto- microbe has really entered into your blood there is no getting it out again, and we were keener on the sport than ever. Dorothy and Ken sat in the tonneau, and I had Sheila next to me. Dennis, as usual, was curled up behind the dash, at Sheila's feet, " Not, by a long way," as Ken put it, " the first man to reach that position." Slowing down to pass through Sens, we caught but a glimpse of its fine old cathedral, where once a heathen temple stood, and as we left the town settled ourselves into our seats and prepared for a quick journey through France. The direct road from Paris to the Riviera is too well known to be described here : we followed the beaten track traversed by hundreds of cars all 141 EN ROUTE doing exactly the same thing. The Paris- Avignon road is by no means a fair sample of the Routes Nationales of France, and it is little wonder so many people who pass only over that route take back with them but poor recollections of the French roads. A spin along the Paris-Bordeaux, Paris- Nancy, or best of all the Paris-St. Fleur-Perpignan routes, will illustrate what I mean. It was late in the evening of the third day from Paris when we reached the historic battlements of Avignon, tyre troubles having been in our midst between there and Lyons. There were twelve other cars in the garage of the hotel, and Merc^dfes could scarce find room in which to squeeze her white form, so crowded was this route to the Riviera. The wind w^as still blowing keenly as we sailed out of Avignon : winter yet hung in the air, spread- ing its white sheet over the landscape and we congratulated ourselves that the evening would find us in the sunny Riviera. The road was in excellent condition, and like a bullet we flew over its perfect surface, Mercedes emitting a low hum that was music to our ears. At Aix we slowed down to pass through its broad streets, then again gave ourselves into the arms of the goddess Speed. After a few moments' breathing time at Brignolles, and until the old Amphitheatre at Fr^jus came into view, we had an hour's uninterrupted spin over the most tempting of roads and against the most biting of winds. A few moments after passing the Roman remains we were crossing the old town of Frejus, coming into view of the blue waters of the Mediter- 142 TO THE HOME OF THE CiESARS ranean. There is a choice of two roads to Cannes : one crosses the Esterel, the other follows the coast. Of the two, I prefer the first, as the latter is rather tedious and narrow. We took the former, and leaving Fr^jus beneath us, sped up the extremely easy road. The scenery is beautiful, and reaching the summit, we commenced the descent into Cannes — and summer. Had a fairy waved her wand over the scene, a greater change could not have been wrought. Gone was the road hard with frost, gone the icicles hanging upon the banks of the wayside, gone the half-foggy air and piercing cold, gone was winter entirely. The sun, low down in the west, shot forth a myriad of golden beams which spread themselves out over a beautiful landscape, some lighting up the stately palms and throwing their shadows, lengthened ten times, upon the ground beneath, others playing joyfully upon the blue ocean, dancing from wave to wave, touching each with fire as they passed. It was the perfect evening of a glorious day, one of those days that the Riviera enjoys while other places are desolate and shivering in the cold. It would be useless to chronicle the few weeks we spent on the Riviera : to none of us were its attractions new. At Cannes, Nice, Monaco and Cap Martin we stayed, finally coming to rest at the Hotel de Paris, Monte Carlo, in close proximity to the Casino. When one has really had a taste of touring en auto, it is strange what a difference it makes : one gets positively to dislike towns and crowded pleasure centres, and to sigh for the 143 EN ROUTE freedom of the open road. This we soon discovered, and it was with little sorrow that we bid good-bye to the gaieties of the Riviera. One brilliant morn- ing we started : leaving the little principality below us, we climbed up the zigzag road which joins the upper Cornich road from Nice to Mentone. It is a pleasant climb, and the view looking down at the tiny kingdom very beautiful. A long gentle coast brought us to sunny Mentone, where we obtained a passavant. Climbing, the road rises quickly and crosses the narrow gorge which separates France and Italy. The Italian douane, a little white house, standing upon a bend in the road, compelled us to stop and deposit the usual GOO frs. and wait patiently until the receipt was made out. As we stood outside the douane the sun blazed down upon Merc^d^s mercilessly, and we blessed the canopy for keeping oif the scorching rays. A slow-moving official affixed a seal to one of the front springs, and, saluting, bid us depart. The road from Mentone to Genoa is one of the most beautiful drives imaginable. It passes through one long fairyland of beauty, following the broken coast fringed with lofty palm trees ; cacti and aloe plants entwine themselves amongst the hedges; olive groves, date palms, orange and lemon trees rise in mixed profusion, and the ground is covered with brilliant flowers. A cooling breeze comes from the sea, whose blue expanse fringes the coast with a glittering edge of white spray. Far out on the horizon rises hilly Corsica, her rough shape blurred by the haze. The sky vies with the waters in depth 144 TO THE HOME OF THE C^SARS of colour and spurns every cloud from its face. This is Italy at her sweetest and best, sleepy Italy in all her beauty and charm ; the Italy where Garibaldi spent his childhood playing upon these steep hills, when he could escape from the lessons he hated, or swimmina: far out in the cool waters. Soon we passed Bordighera with its stately palms, reaching San Remo, where we particularly wished to stay in order to visit the intricacies of the old town. Very curious is the old town, a cataract of houses pouring down a hill : house built above house, with streets stony, narrow and almost perpendicular. The dark houses are joined one to the other in arches, beneath which the streets pass : the whole forming a maze of narrow passages and treacherous alleys. If the narrow streets are dark, they are cool ; the blazing sun seldom penetrates into their secrets, and, as Symonds says, "one learns the meaning of the Italian word 'uggia' from their cold and gloom." Here children play undisturbed ; old women aged and shrivelled sit knitting on the doorsteps shouting to one another or at the children in the gutters. A few fruit-stalls stand close against the walls, their owners sprawling upon the cobbled pavement smok- ing the interminable cigarette and chatting. Now and then the children scatter to allow a donkey, burdened with wood, to be led past. Almost at every corner are placed little shrines, some built, others hollowed in the walls, and before each a bunch of fresh flowers showing that some one has not forgotten the Creator of this quaint little spot, a EN ROUTE hundred years behind the times. Upon the summit of the pouring mass of houses we came into an open space, from which one can view the luxurious country around. Crossing the small square M'^e were again in the winding streets. There was nothing to show the way, but taking as our guide the street at the steepest angle, we passed through a labyrinth of breakneck descents and emerged upon the palm-strewn front. Mixing with the brightly- dressed crowds of visitors are the dark uniforms and strange head-dresses of the Bersagliere, that regi- ment which vied with Garibaldi's legion in bravery and reckless courage during the defence of Rome, and throughout the great work of the Liberation of Italy. Next morning we resumed our drive along the Riviera di Leanti, passing the large white Casino ; the road and the railway run neck and neck, cross- ing each other times without number and causing us many delays. At one crossing we ran into the centre of a collection of mule waggons whose animals commenced to shy violently at the sound of Mercedes, unceremoniously waking their drivers who were taking a siesta inside. I stopped the engine and the panic slowly subsided. There were mules to right, to left, in front and behind us ; we were hemmed in by mules as we sat stewing in the heat waiting for the train. The mule drivers took a dreamy interest in us for a few moments, but soon again dropped off to sleep. Fifteen minutes passed, and still no sign of the train : a few more carts arrived, taking their places at the rear of the 146 TO THE HOME OF THE CiESARS mule waggons. Presently the official of the cross- ing (a woman, as without exception was every one we saw), dressed in a long brown coat, and wearing a dusty pot-hat of ancient design, came out of her hut. Gazing up and down the line, she lifted a large cow-horn to her lips and we braced ourselves for a shock. Instead of the deafening blast we expected from its size, there issued only a faint squeak : at this the mule drivers opened one eye for a moment, then with one accord closed it and resumed their nap. In the distance we could hear the chut- chut of the train, and soon we espied it laboriously approaching. At last it rumbled past, the fireman sitting on the tender cooling himself, and the passengers with their heads from the win- dows striving to obtain some fresh air. As soon as it had passed, back went the gates and simul- taneously forward went the procession of carts. Dennis started the engine and broke up the forma- tion of the mule-squad. By miraculous luck we avoided being telescoped by the tail end of the carts in front, at the same time dodged those behind, and accelerating got ahead of the first mule, who, doubtless for the first time in his life, was trotting at a good round pace in spite of the abuse hurled at him by his driver. Quickly leaving the disturbance behind, we sped along the road in the same direction as that taken by the train : rounding a sharp turn, we found that the shining lines and road lay side by side for quite a good distance, and the train was about halfway along the stretch. The road wa-s clear of traffic, and in 147 EN ROUTE a few moments we had caught up the train, to tlie great delight of the passengers who hailed our appearance as a godsend from the monotony. Even the fireman roused himself sufficiently to wave his hand benignly as we forged alongside. As Sheila waved her handkerchief in reply to the dozens fluttering from the excited passengers, I put on the spurt, and we left the train as though it were standing still. Rounding another corner five minutes later, we came upon a level crossing, the lady official resolutely refusing to open the gates, and were compelled to wait as patiently as we could until the train with its load of jeering passengers and now jubilant fireman had passed. Then the villages we traversed added an extra charm to the journey, with their streets so narrow that we doubted if Merc^dfes could squeeze through. People meeting us in these narrow ways faded quickly into convenient doorways, shouting a cheery wel- come as we glided past, all but touching their sun- burnt faces. Children playing heedless of the traffic escaped by a miracle from beneath the wheels of wine-carts and barrows, or the feet of mules passing along the street. At one place, where the houses on either hand joined at the first floor and formed a cool archway, we came upon a fruit barrow block- ing the way. Stopping Mercdd^s we were at once surrounded by a crowd of children who sprawled all over the car. Attracted by the noise, the owner of the stall appeared, and, when the solution to the situation sank into his mind, leisurely backed the barrow up a side street leaving just enough 148 o Q Q 1^ TO THE HOME OF THE CiESARS room to scrape past. At a pace that would have disgraced a snail we crawled through the narrow crowded street, escorted by the running tumbling collection of children who followed persistently, and endeavoured to climb on to the luggage behind and write their names on the highly finished panels of the tonneau. Once clear of the town, we got free of our escort by the simple process of opening the throttle. That drive to Genoa was like a dream, a mirage of beautiful views : brown rocky headlands covered with carpets of flowers, jutting far out into a sea of lapis-lazuli which beats continuously against their hard sides, fringing the coast with white. Here and there pretty little cottages nestle snugly in the midst of the luxurious vegetation, specks of white against a dense background of green. Of Savona, with its modern front, we have but little remembrance. About halfway between here and Genoa we passed through Cogoleto, a little village that divides with Genoa the honour of being the birthplace of Columbus. Like Genoa it possesses a house in which the different enthusiasts proudly and emphatically declare the discoverer of America first saw the light. As evening approached, our enchanted eyes rested upon the lighthouse at the end of the cape that shelters Genoa. Once past the beacon our dream developed into a nightmare of some ten kilometres of heavy traffic and badly cut up roads. Twisting our way between the heavy loads of wood and the electric trams, we followed a tortuous course, and the sight of the hotel door was very welcome. 149 EN ROUTE Next day we spent in the city. Genoa's magni ficent harbour looks better from the sea than from the land, but is a sight worth seeing from either. After breakfast we drove to the Campo Santo, where we spent the morning. How quaint and sadly beautiful it is to wander through the long corridors where, in notches in the wall, are buried, or rather hermetically sealed, the bodies of the dead. Some of the tombs are very fine, many being in the form of miniature temples standing by themselves ; others, in the arcades, are very massive and surrounded by exquisite sculpture, a statue or bust of the deceased occupying the centre. Poorer graves have only a plain slab of marble, and in place of the sculpture merely a pathetic photo of the dead. But each, rich or poor, is well cared for ; fresh flowers, whose perfume scents the air, are brought by loving hands, and the quiet black-draped figures of the mourners carrying fresh offerings, show that the dear ones will never be forgotten or their last resting-place allowed to fall into ruin and decay. From the Campo Santo we returned to the hotel, passing on the way the small dilapidated house, lost in a narrow street, which the enthusiasts of Genoa point out as the one and only birthplace of the distinguished Christopher. The following morning we were early on the road, quickly leaving the busy traflSc, and following the sparkling coast ; village after village was passed, nestling between the blue waters and the green hills. After Recco the road takes it into its head to climb high into the mountains, losing sight of the 150 k-* .J-^^^ _. WK CI'.AWr.KK I lli;nl(;il TIIK NAIMK'W SIKKKTS TO THE HOME OF THE CAESARS sea till, like a woman (" that's a libel," says Dorothy), it changes its mind and swoops back to the rocky shore. At Sestri the train vanishes into the hills, and for twenty miles tunnel succeeds tunnel ; here the automobilist again scores, for the road turns its back to the coast and winds upwards into the hills, climbing in easy sweeps through the rich vegetation, now and then in full view of the glorious sea, till it reaches the Col di Bracca, 2000 feet above. Before us stretched range after range of beautiful moun- tains, the winding road lost in their midst. For some distance the road continues upon the high level, till, on rounding one of the gentle turns we come in sight of the sea and behold Spezia 700 feet beneath us, its spacious harbour dotted with ships of war. The descent is most enjoyable, the road twisting back upon itself in many easy turns before it reached the water's level, and we were gliding along the bright front sheltered with palms. We lunched at the Croce di Malta, a smart hotel possess- ing a remarkable double staircase somewhat con- fusing when traversed for the first time, or so I should imagine, to those retirinof from the festive board after a prolonged jollification, in the early hours of the morning. Spezia almost tempted us to stay, but Mercedes seemed to murmur "Pisa" in our ears and urge us onward. We had been warned that the road from Spezia to Pisa enjoyed the ominous reputation of being the worst in Italy, because it passes close to the Carrara marble mines and is badly cut up with trafiic. This is only too true ; the road delights in 151 EN ROUTE a collection of deep and deceitful gutters, whose erratic courses forbid anything above the second speed. To our left, amidst the green foliage, we caught a glimpse once or twice of the white quarries, and often we met or passed oxen patiently dragging heavy flat carts, on which reposed a massive block of uncut marble. But nothing could damp our expectations of Pisa ; the name itself seems to bring back visions of the leaning tower seen long ago in stereoscopic views or old illustrated books. Why, I wonder, is every one brought up with the one idea that in Pisa there is but the one thing to see — the Tower ? Directly one enters the gates, all former visions vanish, and new ones take their place, never to be forgotten. As we entered the gate- way through the high walls we found ourselves in a quiet isolated square, facing the four glories of Pisa. Nearest to us stood the round Baptistery, beside it the Cathedral, and beyond that the slanting Cam- panile ; to the left, in the background, is the famous Campo Santo : pure and white they stand as though finished but yesterday. Surely marble never seemed so lovely before ! We halted Merc^d^s at the foot of the Leaning Tower. It stands about 180 feet high and is four- teen feet out of the perpendicular ; the interior is hollow and forms one large slanting tube ; in the encircling walls the staircase is cut, thus travelling round and round the hollow centre. The climb up the staircase has a most peculiar efl'ect and is rather puzzling at first. After struggling up some twenty steps one finds that one is almost running up the 152 x X. y. TO THE HOME OF THE C^SARS next twenty, for although one is climbing upstairs yet in reality it is almost level. The same descend- ing, at one moment you nearly pitch on your head, the next you find it hard work to walk down stairs up-hill. (It sounds Irish, but it's a fact.) On many people the result is something after the nature of sea-sickness. From the summit a good view is obtained, but on looking over the edge of the parapet on the overhanging side it was impossible to see the car, though Mercdd^s was standing at the foot of the column immediately beneath us. Luckily, none of us suffered from the magic of the " drunken tower " as Ken called it. When we had almost reached the bottom I called to Dennis to come, as I wished to let him have a try at the climb. Really it was one of the most amusing sights imaginable ; he started to climb rapidly up the steps, which are just out of the perpendicular, and as he came into view of us the ascending stairs sloped till they were almost down hill. The result was unexpected. With a cry of astonishment he involuntarily doubled his pace, landing eventually upon his hands and knees. As he sat on the stones he glanced at his surroundings with a puzzled expression so irresistibly comical, that we burst into laughter and nearly came to grief ourselves. The Cathedral, the Baptistery and the Campo Santo we left un visited until next day, and drove to an hotel upon the Lung'arno overlooking the quick stream. The next morning we spent viewing the interiors — the Cathedral, with its divine fa9ade ; 15.'} EN ROUTE the Baptistery, with its magnificent pulpit and wonderful echo in its round interior, our guide imitating a perfect organ chord by crying the notes one after the other, the whole combining in splendid harmony and echoing in volume high up in the domed roof. Of the Campo Santo and its fifty- three shiploads of soil brought from Jerusalem, of its beautiful arcades, choice frescoes and sculpture, let the guide-books speak. Whatever sights we are fated to enjoy, nothing can dim those first impres- sions of Pisa, or overshadow the remembrances we carried away. From Pisa we took a wrong turn and instead of passing through Leghorn wandered over an un- interesting waste of land separated from the water by low lines of sandhills. Tall eucalyptus trees, which for many years fought against malaria, grew in melancholy loneliness. At Follonica the road almost touches the sea near Gala Martina, that spot from which Garibaldi embarked on September 2, 1849, after his heroic defence of Rome, his terrible retreat and the tragic death of Anita : where he left his beloved country and faithful comrades : and standing in the boat that was to carry him into exile cried " Viva ITtalia," the cry that years later he was destined to make ring throughout Europe by the deeds of his final triumph. All day long we passed through similar country. Once as we rounded a ridge of sandy mounds at a good speed, I saw in a flash that the road ended suddenly in a good sized river. The shout from Ken was not needed to urge me to apply all 154 frrm np I II ^ Nl LI UK ll.\l.Ti;ii MKIM'KDKS AT TIIK I'OOl' OK TIIK Ki;.\MNi: Ti)\vi;i; TO THE HOME OF THE CAESARS brakes, and we pulled up within a few feet of the water. There had been no notice to warn us to slacken speed, and I fervently blessed the solid brakes that had held Mercedes back from a watery grave. Across the river a wire was stretched, and we perceived that a flat-bottomed boat was making its way from the other bank. On to this we drove and were ferried across. A few moments after we had left the ferry we came upon a similar crossing and proceeded in future more cautiously. At Civita-vecchia we touched the sea, only to leave it directly after and head straight for Rome, following the march of that army of France, the army that a republic once sent to stop the growth of a baby sister republic and wrest from the Italian Patriots and Heroes the Eternal City, delivering them and Italy back to the abortive rule of the Black Cassock. The road now formed a series of switch- backs, and long ere we reached the City our eyes were strained to be the first to sight Rome. " There it is," cried Sheila excitedly, as we reached the summit of one of the hills. Far away on the horizon glittered a great dome in the sunshine. " St. Peter's," we exclaimed together. I had purposely chosen this road so as to enter Rome by the Porta Cavaleggieri, in order to give Sheila the Rome of her dreams for a first impression of the Eternal City. I remember how disappointed I had felt on first reaching Rome ; coming from Perugia we entered by the Porto del Popolo which opens into modern Rome. I could scarcely believe that it was Rome, so like any other town did it 155 EN ROUTE look ; and as Sheila had spoken with such rapture and longing of the real Kome I determined she should not be disappointed. Reaching the walls surrounding the Vatican, we passed through the Porta Cavaleggiere beneath the Taliculum, that part of Rome which under Garibaldi and his hero- comrades created the latest page in the history of the immortal city. Quitting the Papal walls we passed beneath the shadow of a massive colonnade of marble pillars emerging in the great open Piazza before the doors of St. Peter's, and halted for a moment beside the Egyptian obelisk. Sheila drew in her breath with a gasp and clutched my arm. "Oh Roy!" she murmured, and was silent; but that " Oh" expressed her thoughts more than any volume of words could have done. Passing the beautiful old Fort of St. Angelo, we crossed Father Tiber by the statue-embellished bridge above its flowing waters. *' And this is the Eternal City," breathed Sheila in ray ear. " Look there," I replied, stopping Mercedes. " Isn't that the Rome of your dreams," and I pointed across the Tiber. We were high above the swift grey river across which stretched the statued bridge leading to St. Angelo, and silhouetted against a glowing sky of gold rose the massive dome of the father of churches. " Yes," said Sheila slowly, as her eyes took in the scene, monument after monument. " Yes, that's Rome. But stay, there's one thing missing — the Coliseum. I couldn't think of Rome without 156 i : /;■>• '^ O TO THE HOME OF THE CAESARS its memory rising like a ghost in the back- ground." " Then you shall see it now," I answered quickly, and in a moment Mercedes was gliding along the embankment and turned at right angles to the Tiber, plunging into a maze of narrow streets. " The Pantheon," I announced as we paused before the sixteen granite columns which support its massive front. Again we dived into the narrow streets and threaded our way into south, and ancient Rome. I was pleased to find that my memory of the intricate knot of old streets in this quarter remained clear, and save for one slight slip I vras able to steer Mercedes without a mistake through one narrow street after another, and emerge this time beside a ruined arch. " The Triumphal Arch of Septimius Severus, the ruined Forum, and the Palatine, the home of the Caesars," I said waving my hand in introduc- tion. " This, this is Rome," cried Sheila in ecstasy. " How wonderful it all seems, almost like a dream." Passing along the edge of the Forum in full view of the ruined temples, we glided between the Palatine and the Circus Maximus, and, turning to the left, entered an avenue sheltered by spreading trees. " That's the Arch of Constantine," Sheila cried, as we came in sight of the perfect structure, and driving beneath it a cry burst from her as we beheld the Coliseum. 157 EN ROUTE Dickens in his " Pictures from Italy " tells in a few beautiful words his first impression of it. " To see it crumbling there, an inch a year," he says ; " its walls and arches overgrown with green ; its corridors open to the day ; the long grass growing in its porches ; young trees of yesterday, springing up on its ragged parapets, and bearing fruit : chance produce of the seeds dropped there by the birds who build their nests within its crinks and crannies ; to see its Pit of Fight filled up with earth, and the peaceful cross planted in the centre : to climb into its upper halls, and look down on ruin, ruin, all about it ; the triumphal arches of Constantino, Septimius Severus, and Titus ; the Roman Forum ; the Palace of the Caesars ; the temples of the old religion, fallen down and gone ; is to see the ghost of old Rome, wicked, wonderful old city, haunting the very ground on which its people trod. It is the most impressive, the most stately, the most solemn, grand, majestic, mournful sight conceivable. Never, in its bloodiest prime, can the sight of the gigantic Coliseum, full and running over with the lustiest life, have moved one heart, as it must move all who look upon it now, a ruin. God be thanked : a ruin ! " As it tops the other ruins, standing there, a mountain among graves : so do its ancient influences outlive all other remnants of the old mythology and old butchery of Rome, in the nature of the fierce and cruel Roman people." It was rapidly growing dark, already the vast interior was deep in gloopa, and we were forced to X58 TO THE HOME OF THE C^SARS tear ourselves away. " I don't want to see anything more to-night," Sheila whispered. " I just want to dream and dream of what I've seen. I couldn't bear to look at another thing after that : I can hardly realise it all yet, and that I shan't wake up. It's all too w^onderful to be true. Rome, really Rome ! " " Yes, really Rome," smiled Ken, who with Dorothy had remained quiet up till now in the tonneau, thinking, as he informed us at dinner, what a conscientious courier I should have made. " Too conscientious by far," Dorothy added laugh- ing, " for Ken and I were mere ciphers in the tonneau, and I verily believe that Roy had forgotten our existence entirely." "I really believe I had," I admitted, "but can you blame me ? Would Ken have been any better in my place ? " Leaving the Coliseum, now almost lost in the darkness, a few short cuts brought us into the broad Corso and to our hotel. For one short glorious month we lived in Rome. What we did and what we saw cannot be chronicled here. Rome is too big and mighty, too great and wonderful for my humble pen. We just breathed and let the grandeur of it all sink into our souls. How I revelled in piloting Sheila through the eternal wonders of this Eternal City, in diving with her into the mysteries of the past, in wandering together through the ruins of the Forum, or climb- ing the slopes of the Palatine. Ah ! those days in Rome, flying past so q^uickly and leaving behind 159 EN ROUTE them one vast blurred memory, never to be for- gotten or eifaced, of crumbling ruins, of consecrated buildings, of old pagan temples, their pillars torn from their grasp to support the roofs of Christian churches ; of great ceremonials, of simple ones, of vast structures and of glorious tombs, of narrow- almost forgotten graves lost in the darkness of the catacombs — all are blended together in our minds, and there held sacred. 160 ^rV5i'^ - ( >w *,»- f^lp X CHAPTER XI A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY One day we drove to Villa Adriana, leaving Rome by the Porta San Lorenzo. The dust lay thickly upon the road and the wind behind us carried it in clouds, enveloping us till we were slaty-grey in colour, and we coughed and sneezed to try and rid ourselves of its irritating presence. At Hadrian's Villa the fates blessed us with an acquisition in the shape of a gentleman carrying a large umbrella and calling himself " Ze Ingerlich Guide." He met us at the entrance, and presented his testimonials by pointing out the gold letters on his cap. We were in no need of a guide, but he appeared so heart-broken at being told so that Sheila and Dorothy insisted on his accompanying us. He was an Italian — a character. He had, so he informed us, taught himself English, French, and German, and was justly proud of the fact; so proud was he of his accomplishments that he steadfastly refused to utter a word in his native tongue, but flivoured us with his English in a long, loud, un- varied and unceasing flow, like a rush of water from a burst pipe. He really did know the Villa well, h 161 EN ROUTE every stone and monument, and continued to impart his knowledge like a gramophone. He was most bitter against the Pope, who, he declared, " 'ad tuk al' ze statue, ze fresco, which was not him broke by ze soldat, to ze Vatican an' lef thiss place one ruin bare." We were so amused with this quaint per- sonage that, to his delight, we engaged him for the day, and invited him to visit Tivoli a la Mercedes. When he fully grasped the meaning of the proposal we escaped with difficulty from his torrent of thanks, and left him to waste their sweetness upon the sur- rounding air. From Villa Adriana to Tivoli the road rises gently from the country of oranges and figs up the slopes of the Sabine Hills, amidst dense groves of olives, till it is some 700 feet above the flat Campagna. I need not enlarge upon the glories of Tivoli — " From the green steeps where Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam," and whose beauties are seen to such advantage from the Belvedere where our trusty, if voluble, guide conducted us. Likewise how, after lunch, he led us through the lovely gardens of the Villa d'Este, or piloted us with pride into the Temples of the Sibyl and Tiburtus, and pointed out, far away on the horizon, the crowned dome of St. Peter's. It was with tears in his eyes and something more sub- stantial in his pockets that, late in the afternoon, he sorrowfully and with expressions more heartfelt than intelligible bid us good-bye. And our last impres- sions of him were seeing him standing in the middle 162 '^ A 73 A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY of the road, with his hat in one hand and his large umbrella waved violently by the other. Our intention had been to drive through Naples into Calabria and ship Mercedes to Sicily, but while staying in Rome there came the alarm that Vesuvius had broken out into open rebellion and was pouring ashes on to Naples. Friends who arrived in one of the crowded trains from the stricken city described the panic reigning there, and advised us not to venture into the town, crowded as it was with the panic-stricken peasants pouring in from the country and half distracted by the loss of their homes. Everyone was disappointed, especially Sheila, to whom I had been describing the charms of Naples, and the glories of Pompeii, Sorrento, and a host of other delightful places. " I am afraid it won't be possible to get to Naples," I said. "Its narrow streets are no place for Mercedes when the town is under ashes and the crowds are at large. However, we will go as far south as possible, and if the accounts we hear are exaggerated, we'll go right into the city. If not, the road is always open to return." Sheila clapped her hands, and Dorothy and Ken seconded the idea. The hotel prepared a lunch for us to take, as it was exceedingly doubtful if we could obtain one en route, and on a glorious morn- ing we turned our faces to the South. The sun was already beginning to make his presence felt as we passed the Scala Santa, up whose wood-pro- tected steps the kneeling pilgrims slowly progressed, and through the Porta San Giovanni Laterano we 16^ EN ROUTE passed between a proud church and a decaying ruin, which as Dickens says are " good emblems of Kome." We were now upon the flat Campagna travelling over the Appian Way towards the blue haze of the Alban hills. The remains of old temples, palaces and tombs, stand rotting mournfully upon the flat plain ; the broken arches of the great Aqueduct of Claudius stretch far across the green desert, only adding to the already desolate appear- ance of the scene. Reaching the hills the road ascends gradually up to Albano, whence we looked back upon Rome rising like an island from out a dreary sea of lead. Through Velletri we descended back to the Campagna where the road crosses the Pontine Marshes. How lonely and dreary is this sodden waste, covered in many places with brushwood. Here and there a house, its doors and windows thickly covered with wire gauze, or blackened hovels like haystacks at the roadside, where live the people of the land during winter till summer comes with its racking malaria and dreaded mosquitoes, to drive them and their cattle high up on to the hills. A river flows sluggishly beside the road. Sometimes a man comes toiling along its banks dragging a flat-bottomed boat, or peasants drive their herds of wild buffalo into the water to wallow : for here they breed the bufflilo, big fierce- looking animals who glared at us with their wicked little eyes. Once we came upon a herd lying upon the road ; there was a clear space among them through which we passed like a flash, and before the animals had time to plunge to their feet we 164 r A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY were a dust cloud upon the horizon. Now and then an eagle sweeps majestically over the marshes, till, startled by our noise, it turns quickly away. Cowboys, with lassoes, hairy trousers, coloured shirts and broad felt hats come trotting along look- ing as though they had stepped out of Buffalo Bill's Show, their hardy little ponies objecting strongly to Mercedes and generally treating us to a gratis exhibition of buck-jumping ere they vanish in a gallop. The road over these marshes is well made and lined by tall trees, stretching for nearly forty kilometres without a hill or a turn to relieve the monotony. The heat, when great, rises in deadly mists from the swampy ground and the sight of the sea at Terracina is thrice welcome, as is the pure breeze blowing inland from the blue expanse. Passing the Inn made famous by Washington Irving's tales of the Italian Banditti, we left the town and also the cool ocean, crossing the old Neapolitan frontier and passing through Fonda. There seems little changed here since Dickens passed through on his way to Naples ; now, as then, " there is not a door, a window, or a shutter ; not a roof, a wall, a post, or a pillar, in all Fondi, but is decayed, and crazy, and rotting away. The wretched history of the town, with all its sieges and pillages by Barbarossa and the rest, might have been acted last year. How the gaunt dogs that sneak about the miserable streets come to be alive, and undevoured by the people, is one of the enigmas of the world." All is unaltered, save that those men and women shuffling from one dark doorway 165 EN ROUTE to another were squalling children playing in the gutters when he drove through some sixty-five years ago : and in another sixty-five years it will be the same Fonda exactly ; the same, save that the men, women and beggars whom we see iioav, will have ceased to exist, and the children in the gutters will have taken their place. Out from the narrow streets into the fresh air, and we are flying up a glorious mountain pass on whose summit stands the ruined fort of Fra Diavolo, and as the road com- mences the descent we come upon Itri, a cluster of houses perched perilously against the side of a steep hill. A beautiful sweeping descent and we reach the sparkling sea. Looking towards Naples both sky and sea were enveloped in inky darkness as though a giant storm was brewing. " I hardly think we ought to go much further," I said, pointing to the darkness ahead. " Couldn't we stay at some little town, and go on to-morrow ? " Sheila suggested ; " we're near to Gaeta, aren't we ? " " We are in Gaeta bay," broke in Ken, who had been studying the map, " and there's Gaeta itself," he added. On our right the land stretched far out into the cool blue waters, forming a promontory some three miles in length. On its extremity lay Gaeta, a piled up jumble of white houses glistening in the sunshine. " Let's stop there," Sheila exclaimed, " It looks so cool and inviting — don't you think so, Dorothy ? " 166 AX IN I i;i;i(»i; llDM K A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY "I do," responded Doroth3^ "I was rather afraid that we were going into that fearful darkness. It will be delightful." The sun was sinking over the hills behind us as we followed the road round the edge of the lapping waters, passing through several small but very busy villages crowded with people, whose sole occupation seemed to be fishing, and who accorded us a noisy welcome. Though Gaeta is renowned in history, its accommodation for unexpected visitors is miserably deficient ; at least that was our experience. The town is beautifully situated with quaint harbours and cobbled streets, but the hotel was dirty and the food bad, and spoilt our short stay in that celebrated little seaport. We left early next morning, return- ing over the same road round the beautiful bay. Towards Naples the whole sky was as black as ink, and a few miles further would bring us into the rain of ashes, so reluctantly we were forced to postpone our visit to Naples and Sicily, and retrace our steps to Rome. At Gaeta we had, to our dismay, found it impossible to obtain any petrol, and the outlook of having to make some 300 kilometres on the little we carried was anything but pleasant. Unfortu- nately we were off the track of the railway, which keeps inland after leaving Home, but we hoped for better luck at Terracina. At Terracina we tried to obtain a few gallons of the precious fluid but without success, the people to whom we applied appearing to regard our failure as particularly amusing. And with prayers in our hearts we quitted the sea, entering the dreary waste of swamp. At Velletri, 167 EN ROUTE only thirty-six kilometres before reaching Rome, we were lucky enough to find a chemist who supplied benzina in jug-fulls and charged its weight in gold. Between Albano and Kome we encountered hundreds of wine-carts, their drivers fast asleep in the cosy arm chairs from which they drive, (save the mark !) the animals, poor, miserable, half-starved, and totally wretched beasts, wandering aimlessly along the centre of the road. The dinner that night was to us a feast for the gods ; save for the contents of the luncheon and tea- baskets, we had tasted nothing eatable since leaving Kome, and our appetites on our return to the hotel were well worthy of the dinner that we ordered. We did not linger in Home, but set out north- wards, leaving the flat Campagna, climbing up into the Apennines, and following the footsteps of Gari- baldi in his sad but brilliant retreat from Kome; every mile of the road seems to breathe his history. The oxen no longer are white, but of a slaty grey, also the people are more industrious, tilling the lields and working with a surprising energy compared with their brothers of the South. The road passes through many villages and towns, old and war beaten, telling tales of battles, sieges, and by-gone glories. Per- haps the most interesting is Todi, which, " Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine." It is a city set upon a pinnacle hanging over the twisting Tiber, a city older, so it is declared, than Rome. Etruscan originally, it has fought its way 168 -/. ■f. ■f. X — *k ^ .r>w, 'r~ >', r=5 E^r: -1^ A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY] through the stormy middle ages up to the present day, and in spite of the centuries of war remains in a state of wonderful preservation, its massive walls retaining their mediaeval appearance, rivalling almost the old Cite of Carcassonnne. In its narrow streets, too steep for wheeled traffic, one almost fancies that one hears Garibaldi and Hugh Forbes with their red-shirted escort clattering over the cobbled ground. The light was failing when we reached the foot of the hill upon which stands Perugia, strongly fortified, 700 feet above, and from her elevated position gains an extensive view over the land she once ruled. A short climb ending in a massive gateway admits us within her ancient walls. Our stay in Perugia, the Queen of Umbria's cities, was all too brief The town alone would occupy much time, if one were to endeavour to visit all its glories : steeped in history, in victories and defeats, sieges and rebellions, coupled with the names of emperors, popes, warriors, statesmen, and great painters, Perugia is a place where one would be content to spend a month. The road to Florence passes the still waters of the Lake of Trasimeno, sacred to the memory of St. Francis, and at Arezzo, a town of many churches, cuts through the line of Garibaldi's retreat, and enters Tuscany. Following the twisty Arno we lost our way, and at a cross-road took the wrong direc- tion, following a narrow and extremely mountainous road, crossing a range of hills, and finally descending a steep descent to Florence. Florence la bella glit- 169 EN ROUTE tered gaily in the sunshine ; the Ponte Vecchio looked as imposing and quaint as ever, and the beautiful slender tower of the Palazzo Vecchio brought back recollections of previous visits to this city of the arts beneath the spurs of the Apennines. A few days we rested, spending them in wandering through its galleries and renewing our acquaintance with many beloved pictures. Bologna stands in the path to Venice, forming a convenient run from Florence. Of the three roads that lead there we chose the central one, vid Prato and Sasso, as the scenery is very beautiful. The road follows the railway till it reaches Prato in Toscana, from the pulpit of whose cathedral is exhibited on favoured occasions " the girdle of the Virgin." The road now turns into the Apennines and ascends the Valley of the Bisenzio, passing through many little villages to whose hospitality G^,ribaldi owed his escape from the Austrian tyrants. Peaching Mercatale, the road crosses a narrow gorge and commences to rise rapidly. Half- way up the ascent we encountered a storm, and for a time were entirely enveloped in the clouds. Soon, however, the sun forced himself through the heavy mists and shone with renewed brilliancy. Beneath us we could see the remains of the storm sullenly retreating down the valley before the attack of the good fairies of summer. La Serra is the summit, some 2500 feet above Florence, and from here the road commences a long and easy descent. Some distance further and we could see, far, far away, upon the point of a steep hill, the church of the 170 A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY Campo Santo of Bologna. In the town itself the streets are sheltered on either hand by arched colonnades, a defence against snow and a sufficient reminder that we were now in the coldest city of Italy. Bologna has many special sights to visit. Her massive cathedral, her two handsome piazzas, especially the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, in which Ugo Bassi and Gavazzi preached the doctrine of liberty, sowing the seed of future greatness in the minds of the people. Garibaldi's name starts up at every turn, even clinging to us at night in the famous Hotel Brun. Also Bologna boasts the pos- session of two leaning towers ; unlike the one at Pisa, these campaniles are ugly in the extreme, being square and built of brick. One, only 160 feet high, is ten feet out of the perpendicular and closed as unsafe ; the other rises beside it — 320 feet — like an immense square chimney, and is four feet out. The interior is pitch dark, and the ascent is made by frail wooden ladders laid against projecting stones. The authorities make it compulsory to take a guide, and though we climbed it, we were exceeding glad to regain terra firma in safety. The two campaniles lean in opposite directions, and give, when seen for the first time, a rather curious effect. The journey from Bologna to Venice is superb ; the roads are magnificent, straight, broad, and with an excellent surface. Still beneath the shadow of the Apennines we could distinguish before us a faint jagged outline above the horizon ; as we drew nearer the outline became more defined and coloured 171 EN ROUTE deeper and deeper till it was rich purple below and white above, and we were gazing at the great chain of the Alps. For some distance the road runs along the top of a high bank beside the broad waters of the Po, and then crosses the river by a fine bridge of boats. At Padua we spent an hour in the massive cathedral " II Santo," as the people call it, and paid a flying visit to Dante's house. After Padua the country becomes more barren and the road traverses a plain of marshes ; ere it turns to the left we caught a glimpse of a great cluster of domes and pinnacles, Venice rising majestically out of the sparkling lagoons. Shelle}^, " 'Mid the Mountains Euganean," writes : " Underneath day's azure eyes Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, . . . Column, tower, and dome, and spire Shine like obelisks of fire." There is no need of a notice warning automobilists to proceed no further — nature herself has put the most formidable barrier between the Car and the Bride of the Adriatic. She lays a commanding finger upon Mestre and says, " Thus far and no further shalt thou go." And there Mercedes stayed, with Dennis as guardian to watch over her with jealous eye, whilst we, forsaking our comfortable car, were forced to humble our pride and take the train across the short stretch of lagoon. Save for Sheila, Venice was an old friend of ours, and to her, seeing it for the first time, it was a fairy- land of wonder. Never before had I enjoyed Venice 172 v: Y^ A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY as on that visit ; from one glorious monument to another we slowly progressed, gliding over the still waters to the sound of the lap-lapping of the water against the gondola and the musical cry of the gon- dolier, as we sped swiftly through narrow canals or rounded the sharpest of corners, enchanted by the meeting and avoiding of other gondolas and the panorama of marble palaces. And when we tired of marble palaces and priceless works of artwe would seek rest at the Lido, watching the great breakers roll- ing in from the open Adriatic and beating upon the long sandy beach, that beach on which Shelley and Byron used to ride. In the evenings we would glide out upon the lagoon between S. Georgio Maggiore and the Molo, its broad surface illuminated by the soft moonbeams, the air filled by the voices of singers in gondolas hung round with fairy lanterns. To each gondola of musicians were in attendance scores of other gondolas, a dark dense mass clinging round a little centre of light. Sometimes the gondolas would flit silently from one group to another, dark forms gliding like shadows over the glistening water, spirits of the night. On shore the exquisite Palace of the Doges shone out in the silvery light as though carved in ivory, while the entrance to the Grand Canal lay deep in shadow. We were in another world — a world of dreams, of memories, and of rest. Had it not been for the fol- lowing reason, I verily believe that we should not have had the power to tear ourselves away. — Our failure to visit Naples and reach Sicily had been a great disappointment, especially to Sheila, 173 EN ROUTE and the fact troubled me exceedingly ; so much so that I set about cudgelling my brains for another surprise to make up for the loss. During my travels I had never visited Spain by car, and the dazzling idea came to me of attempting to drive right through to Gibraltar. The more I thought of it the more I longed to make the attempt, until the desire became irresistible. Of course I had heard awful accounts of the Spanish roads, especially south of Madrid, in Andalucia and Murcia, where, it is generally understood amongst motorists, the roads are chiefly conspicuous by their absence and bridges unknown. As far as the capital the way was quite possible, but of the south only a lamentable ignorance seemed to prevail. That fact I knew would be my strongest argument when I told Ken, for his sporting instinct would urge him involun- tarily to clear up once and for all the doubts and mysteries surrounding it. I began my campaign diplomatically by presenting Sheila and Dorothy with Hutton's " Cities of Spain," " The Moors in Spain," Washington Irving's ''Tales of the Alham- bra," and even Locart's "Spanish Ballads," in fact every book of interest that I could lay my hands on. This was the thin end of the wedge. Next, was to speak, more in sorrow than in anger, of the short distance we had been able to journey in a southern direction, scarcely further south than Yalladolid, and not so far as Madrid, hardly (here, I emphasised the " hardly ") half across Spain. Then when their minds were steeped in the Iberian Peninsula I lit the fuse and exploded the proposal of a tour to 174 ^#' f^ilSL. A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY Gibraltar a la Marcedes. From Venice, I pointed out, we would travel through North Italy and South France, passing over the cream of motor-land ere we reached the Land of the Dons. I will not Aveary you with my arguments, save to say that I succeeded far beyond my expectations in winning- three fervent converts. Naples, Capri and Sicil}'- were forgotten, and we set out from Venice eager for the new sensations and adventures in store for us. Our cry was Westward ho ! as Mercedes bore us from Venice, pinnacles and spires fading upon the horizon till only a dim mist remained far over the marshes, and we commenced our journey from the hot Adriatic to the open Atlantic. " Many- domed Padua proud " was our first stepping-stone, and we caught but a momentary flash of its Cathedral and Piazza, sleeping in the sunlight : the road now lay over beautiful fertile country, through fields of maize, mulberry trees, and countless vine- yards, white oxen and long wine-carts. On our right the great mass of the Euganean Hills, dear to Shelley, rise up in towering forms, and to our left, nearly beyond the reach of eye stretches, « The line Of the olive-sandalled Apennine." Near Verona the mighty Brenner breaks through the Alps bringing with it the freshness of Tirol and a memory of our Alpine tour. Verona, upon the banks of the swift Adige, is full of interest from its Amphitheatre to its busy Piazza covered with 175 EN ROUTE Innumerable fruit stalls, each under its brilliant red umbrella making the square look like a nursery of blushing mushrooms. The tombs of the Scaligers, the tomb of Juliet, San Zeno, and the Giardino Ginsti, all call for time — time — time. Instead of a month, we stayed three days, leaving much for a next visit. Desenzano lies upon the blue waters of Lago di Garda, but here the lake has lost its grandeur, and its surroundings are flat and vine- covered, with here and there lemon-groves buried in their midst. Brescia " the Valiant " we passed through with- out halting, its streets crowded with soldiers, its very breath breathing militarism, showing how this strongly fortified vassal of Venice has never for- gotten the part she played in history, or her brilliant defence and terrible fate of 1849. Still beneath the spurs of the Alps the road reaches Bergamo. There are two towns of Bergamo, the new and the old. In the new we stayed at a quiet little Albergo, thoroughly Italian, where the standard food is macaroni, a most tasty and delightful dish to our unaccustomed palates. La Citta Alta, the old town, set upon a hill, is worthy of a visit, con- taining several jewels of art. We walked back to the hotel by the old ramparts overlooking the plains of Lombardy. From Bergamo we travelled to Lecco, and until Como were on familiar ground. A glimpse of the lake at Como and we turned south making straight for Milan over exceedingly bad roads. The people working in the fields on either side of the road 17a I'l.'H.M ()N|-. (;i.ii|;|( )| > .\|( (N I .M I'.N I in ANoTIII'; A FLYING GLIMPSE OF ITALY appeared to be knee-deep in the ground, and when we halted to replace a burst tyre, we had the pleasure of a closer inspection. As we were fitting a new cover many gathered round us, and a motley group they were. Their legs, bare to the knee, were covered with a shiny deposit of mud. Both men and women worked on an even scale that would have satisfied the most rabid sufiragist. From what I could gather from them, the whole ground is flooded some two feet deep and allowed to drain ; in six weeks or so a crop of maize or corn springs up, is cut, collected, and the ground sown afresh and reflooded. As many as eight to ten fresh crops are grown each year. Naturally the roads are sodden, also they are deep in ruts made by the narrow wheels of the huge carts that continuously crawl over them. The busy traffic of Milan was more than welcome after the uninteresting waste, and doubly so for its exquisite cathedral and other choice monu- ments. Unfortunately the Mont Cenis lay deep in snow, offering an effectual barrier to our westward passage. I should have liked to re-travel its splendid road, and from Modane pass vid Grenoble and the old monas- tery of Chartreuse to Avignon, a beautiful drive in summer, but now impossible. As we could not go over we naturally must go round, vid the Riviera. Our day's run from Milan was to Genoa, over the dreary plains of Lombardy and Piedmont, through Pavia and Tartara. Leaving at last the weary plains and entering Liguria, we finished the day M 177 EN ROUTE with a beautifully hilly descent to the blue waters of the Mediterranean. From Genoa we followed the coast and of course retraced our former journey. A road wears quite a different aspect when traversed in an opposite direction to the previous journey ; objects and views that have been hidden by some projecting rock or tree are now revealed, and one marvels how they could have flitted by unseen. The road round the Gulf of Genoa is ever fresh ; its quick bends open out, for a few moments, ideal views of sea and rock ; another turn and they are hidden or their memory lost in the contemplation of others even more beautiful. The sun upon the Kiviera was already becoming unbearable and the dust lay thick upon the roads, and save for the beautiful coast we were glad when we had crossed the Esterel and could breathe in comfort. Italy now lay behind us, a memory, and our minds were free to speculate upon our journey through Spain. As we progressed through France we were treading in the footsteps of the Romans ; town after town recalled their passage by its decayed monuments, Aries, Nimes, Narbonne, Carcassonne, Toulouse, and a host of others. Between Salon and Aries there is a stretch of road singularly favourable to high speed ; but we were unable to let Merc^d^s exert anything like her full power as a gale of wind was blowing at the time : the long line of trees at the roadside bent and creaked as the wind tore through their groaning branches, and we expected each moment to see the 178 I ,■;. ■i'V-'. .i-v--. TO TIIK SOIND ()[• TIIK LA 1'- 1,A IM'I \( i O I' I'lIK WATKI; A<;AI\