LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 Herbert S. Woodward
 
 JOHN L. STODDARD'S LECTURES 
 
 NORWAY SWITZERLAND 
 ATHENS VENICE
 
 Nor-wood Press 
 
 J. 5. Cashing & Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Nor-wood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
 Boston Bookbinding Co., Cambridge, Mass.
 
 -- T^vu^ 
 
 Q
 
 JOHN L. STODDARD'S 
 LECTURES 
 
 COMPLETE IN TEN VOLUMES 
 VOLUME ONE 
 
 BOSTON 
 BALCH BROTHERS CO. 
 
 MCMIX 
 
 CHICAGO: GEO. L. SHUMAN & CO.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1897 
 BY JOHN L. STODDARD 
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 CMVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 JOHN L. STODDARD was born in Brookline, Mass., April 24, 1850. He 
 graduated at Williams College, as valedictorian of his class, in 1871, and 
 then studied theology for two years at Yale Divinity School. Next he taught 
 Latin and French in the Boston Latin School. In 1874 he was able to gratify 
 a long cherished desire to travel in foreign lands, and not only made the 
 customary tour of Europe, but visited Greece, Asia Minor, Palestine and 
 Egypt as well. He then studied in Germany, and upon his return to America, 
 began his career as a lecturer, which for about twenty years has known no 
 interruptions save those due to his repeated visits to remote countries. His 
 travels embrace nearly all the habitable parts of the globe.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 A WITTY French abbe was once asked why he kept up 
 a country-seat which he never visited. " Do you 
 not know," he answered, "that I must have some 
 place, where, though I never go to it, I can always imagine 
 that I might be happier than where I am?" The world is 
 like the abbe". Most of us are not living, we are anticipating 
 life. We are always "going to our country seats." It is 
 the land we have not visited that is to give to us our greatest 
 happiness. If we have not yet found it in America, it is 
 awaiting us in Europe; if not in Europe, surely in Japan. 
 As the Germans say, "Da wo ich nicht bin, da ist das 
 Gliick." Hence travel is attractive, if only as a means of 
 acquiring that happiness which here seems so elusive. All 
 of us hope to some day visit Europe and the Orient, and 
 for that reason everything pertaining to their beauty, art, 
 and history seems alluring. But when these have been seen, 
 the wished-for goal of the untraveled world again recedes, 
 and the desire is just as strong to visit other and more dis- 
 tant lands. 
 
 This love of travel is not caused by ordinary restlessness. 
 It springs originally from the universal craving of the soul 
 for something different from its usual environment. 
 
 It also comes from a legitimate longing for that broader 
 education which only personal study of other races, civiliza- 
 tions and religions can bestow. And, finally, it arises from a 
 yearning for the joy and benefit of realizing history by visit- 
 ing the ancient shrines of art, the homes or sepulchres of 
 heroes, and the arenas of heroic deeds. When such desires 
 
 S
 
 6 PREFACE 
 
 are once awakened, to travel is to live, to remain continually 
 in one place is to stagnate. 
 
 Thousands of books of travel have been written, but not- 
 withstanding that the scenes described in them are practically 
 the same, and though the streets and buildings which adorn 
 their text are perfectly familiar to their readers, such works are 
 usually welcome, and always in proportion to the degree in 
 which mere figures and statistics are subordinated to the ideas 
 suggested by such travel to the writer's mind, which, of course, 
 vary infinitely according to the culture, sympathy and enthu- 
 siasm of the individual. Thus, in a similar way, the keys of 
 all pianos are the same; yet it is not the bits of ivory them- 
 selves that hold us spell-bound, but the magnetic fingers that 
 move over them, and the musical interpretation and expres- 
 sion given by the performer. 
 
 If only accurate statistics and detailed descriptions were 
 desired, guide-books would be sufficient ; but who ever reads 
 a guide-book for amusement? 
 
 Such thoughts have encouraged the author of these vol- 
 umes to present in printed form lectures which for eighteen 
 years have been received with never-failing kindness by an 
 indulgent public. Verba volant; Scripta manent (Words are 
 fleeting, but what is written remains). The voice of the 
 speaker dies away, and what he says is soon forgotten, but on 
 these printed pages, that which has really caused whatever 
 success the "Stoddard Lectures" have achieved, may be 
 recalled precisely as the lectures were heard, accompanied 
 too by even more embellishment than illustrated them 
 at the time of their delivery. It has always given the writer 
 a singular sensation to meet his audiences season after season 
 after the separation of a year. Were they the same individ- 
 uals whom he had last addressed? He could not tell. They 
 could be absolutely sure of his identity, but he was quite 
 unable to determine theirs. Beyond the curve of platform
 
 PREFACE 7 
 
 or of stage, he could not distinguish the auditors of former 
 years from those who were seated there for the first time. 
 Sometimes they seemed to him scarcely more real and tangi- 
 ble than were the views that came and went so noiselessly 
 upon the screen. He looked for a few moments at an amphi- 
 theatre of expectant faces, then darkness would transform 
 them into rows of phantoms, and at the end he saw them 
 rise and disappear, like a great fleet of ships that separates 
 and scatters on a trackless sea. 
 
 In these volumes, however, he hopes to meet his audi- 
 ences more frequently, and for a longer time than ever before. 
 If, then, the oral lectures may have given the public some 
 enjoyment in the past, it is the author's hope that when he 
 himself no longer greets his former listeners, year by year, 
 these souvenirs of travel may in this form find a more endur- 
 ing place among the pleasures of their memories. 
 
 In that case he will not be utterly forgotten, for pleasant 
 memories can never be taken from us ; they are the only joys 
 of which we can be absolutely sure. 
 
 tf
 
 NORWAY.
 
 OF all the countries on our globe, Norway, in some 
 respects, must rank as the most wonderful. From 
 the North Cape to its most southern limit the dis- 
 tance is about eleven hundred miles. Nearly one-third of this 
 great area lies within the Arctic circle. One would expect 
 its climate to be that of 
 Greenland ; but Nature 
 saves it, as a habitation 
 for the race, by sending 
 thither the mysterious 
 Gulf Stream, which crosses 
 the Atlantic for five 
 thousand miles, and, al- 
 though far spent on that 
 distant shore, fulfills its 
 mission, transforming, by 
 its still warm breath, an 
 otherwise barren region to 
 a fertile land. But this is 
 only the beginning of Nor- 
 way's wonders. Exposed 
 to all the fury of the North Sea, Arctic and Atlantic, the 
 navigation of its coast would be well-nigh impossible had not 
 indulgent Nature made here countless breakwaters, by means 
 of a vast fringe of islands more than a thousand miles in 
 length, behind which are smooth, sheltered channels for the 
 largest ships. 
 
 KING OSCAR II
 
 12 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 Again, Norwegian mountains come directly to the sea. 
 On this account, one might suppose that the interior would 
 be inaccessible. But Nature does here one more act of kind- 
 ness, and penetrates these mountain walls at many points 
 with ocean avenues, sometimes a hundred miles in length, 
 and with such depth that, at their farthest limits, steamers 
 may come directly to the shore. Moreover, to enhance its 
 mystery and beauty, Nature bestows on this, her favorite, 
 a day that is a summer long, a light that never elsewhere 
 was on land or sea, 
 and makes its 
 splendid vistas still 
 more glorious by a 
 midnight sun. 
 
 There have been 
 
 THE HARBOR OF CHRIST1ANIA. 
 
 few experiences in 
 my life more joy- 
 ous and exhilarat- 
 ing than my arrival 
 in Christiania. It 
 was six o'clock in 
 the morning as our 
 
 steamer glided up its noble harbor. The sky was cloudless; 
 the water of the deepest blue ; a few white sails rose here and 
 there, like sea-gulls, from the waves. The forest-covered 
 islands, emerald to the water's edge, seemed gems upon the 
 bosom of the bay. Beyond, were mountains glistening in 
 an atmosphere, the like of which, for clearness, I had never 
 seen : while the first breath of that crisp, aromatic air (a 
 most delicious blending of the odors of mountain, sea, and 
 forest) can never be forgotten.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 THE VICTORIA HOTEL. 
 
 "This, this 
 is Norway! " 
 we exclaimed, 
 " and it is all 
 before us; first, 
 in the joy of ex- 
 ploration ; then 
 in the calmer, 
 though perpet- 
 ual, pleasure of 
 its retrospec- 
 tion." 
 
 Excited by 
 our anticipa- 
 tions, we dis- 
 embarked as 
 speedily as possible, and hastened to the Hotel Victoria. It 
 is a well-kept, comfortable hostelry, whose chief peculiarity 
 is a spacious courtyard, where frequently, in summer, table 
 d'hote is served beneath a mammoth tent of gorgeous colors. 
 Moreover, it is a pleasant rendezvous for travelers; for 
 while some tourists are here setting forth upon their inland 
 journey, others have just completed it, 
 and with bronzed faces tell strange 
 stories of the North, which sound like 
 tales invented by Munchausen. 
 
 Impatient to arrange our route, after 
 a breakfast in the hotel courtyard we 
 went directly to the individual known 
 as "Bennett." "Bennett? Who is 
 Bennett? " the reader perhaps' exclaims. 
 My friend, there is but one Norway, 
 and Bennett is its prophet. Bennett 
 is the living encyclopaedia of Norway; 
 
 MR. BENNETT, 
 THE TRAVELER'S FRIEND.
 
 14 . NORWAY 
 
 its animated map; its peripatetic guide-book. Nor is this 
 all. He is the traveler's guide, philosopher, and friend. 
 He sketches lengthy tours back and forth as easily as sailors 
 box the compass; tells him which roads to take and which 
 to avoid; sends word ahead for carriages and horses; 
 engages rooms for him within the Arctic circle; for- 
 wards his letters, so that he may read them by the mid- 
 night sun ; gives him a list of carriage-coupons which the 
 coachmen cry for; and (more important still) so plans his 
 
 numerous arrivals and departures on the 
 coast that he may always find a train or steamer there 
 awaiting him. This is a most essential thing in Norway. 
 
 As a rule, Norwegian time-tables are about as difficult 
 to decipher as the inscriptions on a Chinese tea-caddy. Even 
 Bradshaw, the author of that English railway guide which 
 is the cause of so much apoplexy, came here to Norway 
 a few years. ago, and died in trying to make out its post-road 
 and railway system. Some think that it was a judgment
 
 IN NORWAY.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 upon him. At all events, his grave is near Christiania, and he 
 sleeps, while the "globe-trotter," whom he long befriended, 
 still rushes to -and fro. 
 
 Although an Englishman by birth, "Bennett" has been 
 for fifty years a resident of Norway, and is a blessing to all 
 travelers in that country. At first he gave his services gratu- 
 itously; but as the tourists began to multiply, he found that 
 such disinterestedness was impossible. He at length made 
 a business of it, and year by year it has steadily increased. 
 
 A new edition of his guide-book comes out every season ; 
 and to still further help the public, he has begotten four 
 young Bennetts, who act as courteous agents for their 
 father, in Bergen, Trondhjem, and Christiania. He has 
 no "personally conducted 
 parties." He has no wish 
 to go outside of Norway. 
 But here, on account of 
 the peculiar style of travel- 
 ing, and the difficulty of the 
 language, it certainly is a 
 great convenience to employ 
 him. 
 
 Our arrangements with 
 this guardian of Norwegian 
 tourists having at length 
 been concluded, we strolled 
 for some time through Chris- 
 tiania's streets. It is a clean 
 and cheerful city, though it 
 can boast of little architec- 
 tural beauty. The Royal 
 Palace is its finest building, 
 but even this, on close in- 
 spection, proves to be more 
 
 CHRISTIANIA FJORD.
 
 i8 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 THE PALACE AT CHRISTIANIA. 
 
 useful than or- 
 namental, and 
 well suited to a 
 nation forced to 
 practice strict 
 economy. In 
 inspecting the 
 structure it is 
 interesting to 
 remember how 
 independent 
 Norway is of Sweden, although both countries are governed 
 by one King. The Parliament in Christiania is wholly sepa- 
 rate from that of Stockholm. No Swede may hold political 
 office here. Even the power of the King is limited ; for 
 if a bill is passed three times in the Norwegian Parliament, 
 then, notwithstanding the royal veto, it becomes law. 
 
 Moreover, in accordance with the Constitution, the King 
 of Sweden and Norway must be crowned in Norway ; he must 
 reside here three months in the year; here, also, he must 
 open Parliament in person, and hold receptions, for no Nor- 
 wegian wishes to go to Stockholm for a presentation to 
 his sovereign. In this portion of his realm, also, he must 
 be addressed as "King of Norway and Sweden," not of 
 "Sweden and ^^**" B ^i^^ Norway." A 
 
 certain rival- ^^^ ^^^^ ry still ex- 
 
 ists be- ^r ^^^ tween 
 
 these JT . iJH I i ' "'MBMlli two 
 
 A VIEW NEAR CHRISTIANiA.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 RUM 
 
 FOR 
 
 RESANDE. 
 
 J 
 
 AN AMBIGUOUS SIGN. 
 
 nations. Norwegians 
 sometimes say : "We love 
 the English, and drink 
 tea; the Swedes love 
 the French, and drink 
 coffee!" 
 
 One of the first things 
 that attracted my atten- 
 tion in my walks through 
 Christiania was the pe- 
 culiar sign, " Rum for 
 Resande." Judge not, however, from appearances in this 
 strange language of the north. It is said that not long ago 
 an English-speaking traveler of strong prohibition principles 
 was horrified at seeing this announcement frequently displayed. 
 
 " What does that last word ' Resande ' mean?" he asked 
 suspiciously. 
 
 "Travelers," was the reply. 
 
 "Rum for travelers!" he exclaimed. "Oh, this is ter- 
 rible! What an insult to the traveling public! Now I, for one, 
 protest against such misrepresentation. I am a traveler, but 
 I never take a drop of rum." 
 
 
 A BIT OF NORWAY,
 
 20 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 LAKE MJOSEN. 
 
 " Not quite 
 so fast," re- 
 joined a Nor- 
 wegian, who 
 was laughing 
 heartily; "that 
 first word 
 means, not 
 rum, but rooms; 
 the whole sen- 
 tence, there- 
 fore, merely 
 signifies, ' lodg- 
 ing for travel- 
 ers.' ' Eager 
 to start upon 
 
 our northward journey, we left some interesting features in 
 Christiania for a later visit, and on a beautiful June morn- 
 ing set out for the coast. The train conveyed us in two 
 hours to Lake Mjosen, where we embarked upon a little 
 steamer. From that time on, al- 
 though continually traveling, we 
 saw no more railways for a month. 
 This lovely sheet of water has a 
 marvelous depth, its bed, in places, 
 being one thousand feet below the 
 level of the sea. This fact grows 
 more mysterious when we remem- 
 ber that on the occasion of the 
 Lisbon earthquake, in 1755, the 
 waters of this lake, although so 
 remote from Portugal, were so ter- 
 ribly disturbed, that they rose 
 suddenly to the height of twenty 
 
 HSE CAPTAIN.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 21 
 
 feet, and then as 
 suddenly sub- 
 sided. 
 
 It was while 
 sailing on the 
 waters of Lake 
 Mjosen that we 
 had another curi- 
 ous linguistic ex- 
 perience. Next 
 to Norwegian or 
 Swedish, English 
 is best under- 
 stood and spoken 
 by the natives, especially among the seafaring population. 
 We did not know this fact at first, and as we had just come 
 from Germany, it seemed more natural to address the people 
 in the Teutonic tongue. You know the German word for 
 bright or clear is "hell." Accordingly, desiring to ask the 
 captain if he thought that the weather would be fine, my friend 
 
 A LANDING PIER.
 
 22 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 stepped up to him, and pointing to the sky, said interroga- 
 tively, "Hell?" 
 
 "No," replied the captain, in perfectly good English, 
 "hell doesn't lie in that direction! r 
 
 A sail of several hours here through charming scenery 
 brought us at last to the place where we were to disembark. 
 Hardly had I set foot upon the pier, when a man accosted 
 me in good, familiar English : 
 
 ' ' Just step this way, sir, if you please, ' ' he said ; ' ' the car- 
 riage ordered for you by Mr. Bennett is all ready." 
 
 This surely was a pleasant introduction. There was no 
 
 trouble whatsoever no bargaining, no delay. In fifteen 
 
 minutes we had started on our four days' journey to the sea. 
 
 Between Christiania and the western coast is a broad 
 
 mountain range extending hundreds of miles north and south. 
 
 No railroad crosses that 
 gigantic barrier. True, 
 the town of Trondhjem, 
 in the north, can now be 
 reached circuitously by 
 rail. But all the great 
 southwestern coast, in- 
 cluding the towns of Ber- 
 gen and Molde, and the 
 large fjords, can only be 
 approached by several 
 magnificent highways, of 
 which the finest here 
 awaited us, the one ex- 
 tending for a hundred 
 and sixty miles from Lake 
 Mjosen to the Songe fjord. And here one naturally asks, 
 " What is the mode of traveling in Norway? Where do you 
 eat? Where do you sleep? Do you take horses for the entire 
 
 
 A LOVELY DRIVE.
 
 SjETERSDALEN
 
 NORWAY 
 
 journey, or from day to day?" It is easily explained. All 
 these Norwegian highways are divided into sections, each 
 about ten miles long. These sections have at one extremity 
 a "station" 
 (usually a farm- 
 house), the own- 
 er of which is 
 obliged by law 
 to give to travel- 
 ers food and 
 lodging, and also 
 to supply them 
 with fresh horses 
 to the next sta- 
 tion. 
 
 These Nor- 
 wegian post- 
 houses are in- 
 variably made of 
 wood, sometimes elaborately carved and decorated. As you 
 approach the door, some member of the family greets you, 
 frequently in English, since many of these people have been in 
 America. If you desire to spend the night, you ask for rooms. 
 If you merely require dinner, you can be quickly served; 
 or if your purpose is to drive on still farther, you simply 
 order fresh horses. For these we never waited more than 
 fifteen minutes, though sometimes, in the height of the season, 
 serious delays take place. On this account it is better to pre- 
 cede the crowd of tourists, and visit Norway early in the 
 summer. Such has been my experience, at least; and judg- 
 ing from some stones I have heard of tourists sleeping 
 on the floor and dressing on the back piazza, I should em- 
 phatically recommend this rule to all adventurers in the land 
 of Thor. 
 
 FINE NORWEGIAN STATION.
 
 26 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 A CARIOLE. 
 
 But speaking 
 of Norwegian 
 post-stations re- 
 minds one of the 
 characteristic ve- 
 hicle of Norway, 
 the cariole. 
 This is by no 
 means a " carry- 
 all." It is a little gig, intended for only one person. True, 
 the boy (or, in some instances, the girl) who takes the horse 
 back after you have done with it, rides behind. His seat is 
 your valise, and his weight determines the subsequent con 
 dition of its contents! There is a charming lightness in these 
 carioles. The springs are good, and the seat is easy. A 
 leather apron reaches to your waist to shield you from the 
 dust or rain; and, drawn by a Norwegian pony, such a drive 
 is wonderfully exhilarating. 
 
 These- little carriages have, however, one great fault, 
 their want of sociability. The linguistic powers of a Norwe- 
 gian post-boy are extremely limited ; and when you have 
 ridden ten hours 
 a day, unable to 
 exchange a word 
 with your friends 
 except by shout- 
 ing, the drive be- 
 comes a trifle 
 wearisome. But 
 the reader may 
 ask: "Is there 
 not sometimes 
 great discomfort 
 in traveling by 
 
 THE NATIONAL VEHICLE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 LUXURY IN NORWAY. 
 
 carioles in rainy 
 weather? " As- 
 suredly there is. 
 But in such 
 weather one is 
 not obliged to 
 take a cariole. 
 Norway has 
 other vehicles. 
 We drove, for 
 
 example, about a hundred and thirty miles in a sort of 
 victoria, the rear of which could be entirely covered in 
 case of rain. This, all in all, I hold to be the best con- 
 veyance for the tourist in Norway, especially when ladies 
 are of the party. I know that: such a carriage is considered 
 too luxurious by the English; but I am sure that Ameri- 
 can ladies will gain more pleasure and profit from Norwegian 
 travel if they do not attempt to drive all day in carioles; 
 and if beneath the canopy provided they keep their cloth- 
 ing dry. 
 
 At home we would not think of driving forty miles a day 
 in an open wagon through the rain; why, then, should 
 we do it unnecessarily in Norway, 
 where showers are proverbially both 
 frequent and copious? As for the fun 
 and novelty of cariole-riding, these 
 can always be had, for several hours 
 at a time, between one station and 
 another, even if one has engaged a 
 larger carriage for the entire journey, 
 for the cost of a cariole and pony for 
 half a day is ludicrously small, and 
 the change to it, occasionally, well 
 repays the slight expenditure. 
 
 A PEASANT GIRL.
 
 28 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 But in thus speaking of the cariole, I have unwittingly 
 put the cart before the horse. A word of praise must certainly 
 be given to the usual Norwegian steed. Of all the ponies I 
 have ever seen, these of Norway are at once the strongest, 
 
 A NORWEGIAN PONY. 
 
 prettiest, and most lovable. They are usually of a delicate 
 cream color, with one dark line along the back, the mane 
 being always closely cut. These ponies are employed in Norway 
 almost universally, being not only less expensive but really 
 more en- 
 during than 
 the larger 
 horses. For 
 weeks we 
 drove behind 
 these little 
 animals, till 
 we had test- 
 ed certainly 
 seventy - five 
 
 of them, and never once did we observe in any of them the 
 slightest ugliness or a vicious trait. They are, moreover, won- 
 derfully sure-footed. I never saw one stumble or go lame. 
 Possibly, later in the season, when much over-worked, they 
 
 A FARM SCENE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 29 
 
 may not have the spirit which we found in them ; but in our 
 drives of more than two hundred miles there was not one 
 which did not cheerfully re- 
 spond to any call. 
 
 This being premised, let 
 us really begin our jour- 
 ney. At first we found the 
 scenery more beautiful than 
 grand. In many places I 
 could have believed myself 
 in portions of either of the 
 American states of New 
 Hampshire or Vermont. 
 Across the fields I often 
 noticed long, dark lines 
 which, in the distance, look- 
 ed like hedges. On ex- 
 amination, however, these 
 proved to be wooden fences, 
 covered with new - mown 
 grass ; for, in this way, Nor- 
 wegian farmers ' ' make hay 
 while the sun shines." Some 
 of these fences are very low, 
 but others have considerable 
 height. Norwegian farmers 
 claim that grass hung thus, 
 and thoroughly exposed to 
 wind and sun, will shed the 
 rain and dry more quickly 
 than if left upon the ground. 
 Their theory seems reasonable, and the extent of the hay 
 crop, which is very important, further justifies it. There is 
 one other argument in favor of these hay-racks, during 
 
 A MAUD MULLER.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 all other seasons of the year they serve as clothes-lines for 
 the family washing. But even more peculiar than the fences 
 were the vehicles used for hauling the hay into Norwe- 
 
 gian barns. We 
 
 laughed at first 
 sight of these 
 rustic carts. 
 They are only a 
 trifle larger than 
 a good-sized 
 cradle, and are 
 perched upon 
 the smallest 
 wheels I ever 
 saw on anything except a toy. Yet there is good reason 
 for their use, for on Norwegian farms the loads are drawn, 
 not by stout oxen, but by little ponies. 
 Moreover, the grass is often cut from 
 the edge of precipices, or in deep 
 ravines, and these low carts are 
 certainly better adapted than high 
 and heavy ones for locomotion in 
 such regions. 
 
 While thus absorbed in agri- 
 cultural reflections, we drove up to 
 the house where we were to take 
 supper. A pleasant-featured girl, 
 with a baby in her arms, invited 
 us to enter. She spoke Eng- 
 lish perfectly, having been born, 
 as we learned, in Minneapolis. 
 I shall never forget that first Norwegian supper. The name 
 for the evening meal in Norway is "aftenmad," but often- 
 mad would better express it in English. First, there were 
 
 AT A FARM HOUSE.
 
 NORWAY 31 
 
 placed before us five different kinds of cheese,, the most 
 remarkable of which was a tall monument of chocolate-colored 
 substance made from goat's milk. This, by Norwegians, 
 is considered perfectly delicious; but for a month I shuddered 
 at it regularly three' times a day. Next was brought in a jar 
 containing fish. At this my friend smiled joyfully. 
 
 A NORWEGIAN HAY-FIELD. 
 
 "Ah," he exclaimed, "here is fish! Anything in the 
 line of fish I can eat with a relish." 
 
 He drew a specimen from the jar, and put a portion 
 of it in his mouth. A look of horror instantly overspread 
 his face, and, covering his features with a napkin, he left 
 the room in haste. I quickly followed him, and found him 
 in the back yard gazing mournfully at some Norwegian swine. 
 
 "What is the matter?" I asked, "do you prefer pork 
 to fish?" 
 
 " I believe I do," he rejoined. Then turning to the girl, 
 who had followed us, he inquired, " What is the Norwegian 
 word for pork? "
 
 NORWAY 
 
 "Griss,"* was 
 the reply. 
 
 "Thank you," 
 he faltered, "I 
 don't think I 
 will take any to- 
 day." 
 
 " Eh " (in an 
 aside to me), 
 "had n't we bet- 
 ter drive on? " 
 
 " Drive on? " 
 I cried. " Drive 
 on, when there 
 is plenty of fish, which you always eat with so much relish? " 
 " Great heavens! " he groaned, " that was too much even 
 for me. It was a raw anchovy dipped in vinegar. 
 
 While this colloquy was taking place, we re-entered the 
 dining-room and asked for bread. We were amazed to see 
 what this request brought forth. Upon a plate almost 
 as large as the wheel of a Norwegian hay-cart was brought 
 to us a mound of circular wafers nearly three feet in circum- 
 ference, and each about as thick as one of our buckwheat cakes. 
 
 1 DO YOU PREFER FORK TO FISH ? ' 
 
 * Pronounced as is our English word grease. 
 
 NORWEGIAN PEASANTS.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 33 
 
 They were made of rye meal and water (chiefly water), and 
 were so crisp that they would break to pieces at a touch. 
 This is called " flatbrod," and it is certainly in every sense the 
 flattest article ever invented for the human stomach. The 
 people, however, are fond of it, and I saw horses eat it fre- 
 quently, mistaking it (quite naturally, I am sure) for tablets 
 of compressed hay. 
 
 But here I shall probably be asked, " Is this the usual 
 state of things in Norway?" No, this first station was 
 unusually poor. The staple article of food in Norway 
 (always fresh and good) is salmon. Milk and sweet butter 
 can also be had, and eggs ad libitum. In fact, the abund- 
 ance of "eggs here is probably responsible for the atrocious 
 witticism often perpetrated by Norwegian tourists, to the 
 effect that "if the sun does not set in Norway, hens do." 
 Mutton and beef are not obtainable, save at the large hotels, 
 their places being usually supplied by veal, sausage meat, 
 or reindeer hash. I met, while traveling here, an Englishman, 
 who said to me, " I did intend to drive on to Christiania;
 
 34 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 but I really can't, you know; another month of this would 
 kill me. In the last two weeks I have eaten so many of these 
 ' blasted eggs ' that I 'm ashamed to look a hen in the face! " 
 Yet, notwithstanding the hardships which the traveler meets 
 in Norway in regard to food, he will find all discomforts 
 
 easily outweigh- 
 ed by the en- 
 joyment of the 
 trip. The con- 
 stant exercise in 
 the open air 
 gives powers 
 of digestion 
 hitherto un- 
 known, pre- 
 ceded by an ap- 
 petite which 
 laughs at every- 
 thing, 
 
 save cheese. Of 
 course, being so 
 far from any city, one cannot look for luxuries at these 
 small stations; indeed, I was surprised to find that the 
 peasants knew enough to give us, during a meal, several 
 knives and forks, hot plates, and other features of a well- 
 served table. And as far as prices are concerned, they are so 
 moderate as to provoke a smile from any one accustomed to 
 travel in other parts of Europe. 
 
 Yes, all ordinary discomforts sink into insignificance, 
 as I recall those memorable drives, day after day and hour 
 after hour, over lofty mountains, through noble forests, and 
 beside stupendous cliffs, the only sounds about us being 
 the songs of birds and the perpetual melody of numberless 
 cascades. Moreover, this mode of travel gave us the energy 
 
 A TRAVELER'S PARADISE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 35 
 
 of athletes. For how can I describe the invigoration and 
 sweetness of the air of Norway, pure from its miles of 
 mountains, rich with the fragrance of a billion pines, and 
 freshened by its passage over northern glaciers and the Arctic 
 sea? 
 
 As for Norwegian roads, they are among the finest in the 
 world. The majority of them are flanked with telegraph-poles; 
 for not only are these routes magnificent specimens of man's 
 triumph over nature, but the lightning also is controlled here, 
 and, swift as 
 light, thought 
 wings its way up- 
 on a metal wire 
 through this in- 
 land waste, a 
 marvel always 
 wonderful and 
 ever new. Na- 
 ture has given 
 to these scenes 
 the trees and 
 rocks which 
 yield to nothing 
 but the wintry 
 blasts. Man 
 has suspended 
 here a thread of steel, which thrills responsive to the thoughts 
 of thousands, transmitting through -the gloomiest gorges the 
 messages of love, hope, exultation, or despair. Hence one can 
 never feel completely isolated here. That little wire enables 
 him at any point to vanquish space, and by placing, as it were, 
 a finger on the pulse of life, to feel the heart-beats of the 
 world. 
 
 In 1888, two American gentlemen were traveling in Norway, 
 
 A NORWEGIAN HIGHWAY.
 
 36 NORWAY 
 
 one of whom grew depressed at his apparent isolation from 
 humanity = His comrade, to astonish and console him, tele- 
 graphed from one of the post-houses where they had stopped 
 for dinner, to the American consul at Christiania. The 
 message which he sent was this : 
 
 APPARENT ISOLATION. 
 
 " Who was the Democratic nominee for President yester- 
 day in Chicago? " 
 
 Before the meal was finished, the answer had arrived: 
 
 " Grover Cleveland." 
 
 Some of the roads on which we traveled here are cut 
 directly through the mountains. We found such tunnels 
 quite agreeable, since they furnished the only genuine dark- 
 ness to be found. So far as light is concerned, one may drive 
 through Norway in the summer just as well by night as by 
 day. Early and late indeed are words which in this region 
 grow meaningless. I could not keep a diary in Norway, so 
 difficult was it to tell when yesterday ended and to-day
 
 NORWAY 
 
 37 
 
 began. At first this seemed a great economy of time. We 
 felt that we were getting some advantage over Mother 
 Nature. "Why not drive on another twenty miles?" we 
 asked; " we can enjoy the scenery just as well; " or, " Why 
 not write a few letters now? It 
 
 is still light. ^^ ir " *^***~-^^ In fact, why 
 
 go to bed ^^__ Sk. at all?" 
 
 But X^Mfl ^$fe^ after 
 
 A LAND OF PERPETUAL SUNLIGHT. 
 
 a time 
 this everlast- 
 ing daylight grew 
 a trifle wearisome. 
 It thoroughly demoralized both our brains and our stomachs, 
 from the unheard of hours it occasioned for eating and 
 sleeping. Steamers will start in Norway at five o'clock 
 in the morning, or even at midnight. I once sat down 
 to a table cT hote dinner at half-past nine, and on another 
 occasion ate a lunch in broad daylight at two o'clock in the 
 morning. Moreover, even when we went to bed the sun's
 
 NORWAY 
 
 rays stole be- 
 tween our eye- 
 lids, and dis- 
 pelled that 
 darkness which 
 induces slum 
 her. For, 
 strangely 
 enough, there 
 are rarely any 
 blinds or shut- 
 ters to Norwe- 
 gian windows. 
 Only a thin, 
 white curtain 
 screened u s 
 usually from the glare of day. After a while, therefore, I 
 could sympathize with an American lady, whom I heard 
 
 NORWEGIAN BOULDERS.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 39 
 
 exclaim, " O, I would give anything for a good, pitch-dark 
 night twenty -four hours long! " 
 
 One characteristic of these roads made on my mind a 
 profound impres- 
 sion, namely, the 
 boulders that have 
 been split off from 
 overhanging peaks 
 by frost and ava- 
 lanche. This is a 
 feature of Norwe- 
 gian scenery that 
 I have never seen 
 equaled in the 
 world. Sometimes 
 we drove through 
 such debris for half 
 an hour. Nor is 
 there the least ex- 
 aggeration in the 
 statement that 
 these boulders are 
 in many instances 
 as large as a house ; 
 yet, when compar- 
 ed with the gigan- 
 tic cliffs from which 
 they came, even 
 such monsters 
 seemed like pebbles. Some of these cliffs were frightful in 
 appearance. Again and again, when we had passed beneath 
 some precipice, one third of whose mass seemed only waiting 
 for a thunder-peal to bring it down, my friend and I would 
 draw a long, deep breath, and exchange glances of congratu- 
 
 A NORWAY PRECIPICE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 A CHARACTERISTIC CASCADE 
 
 listen, and you will 
 surf upon the shore. 
 
 On our jour- 
 ney toward the 
 coast, during a 
 drive of three 
 days we count- 
 ed one hundred 
 and sixty sepa- 
 rate falls, and 
 eighty - six in 
 the previous 
 ten hours. This 
 was an average 
 of more than 
 two in every 
 fifteen minutes. 
 True, we saw 
 
 lation when we had 
 escaped its terrors. 
 
 A still more won- 
 derful feature of Nor- 
 wegian scenery is found 
 in its imposing water- 
 falls. Nothing in Nor- 
 way so astonished me 
 as the unending num- 
 ber and variety of its 
 cascades, ribbons of 
 silver, usually, in the 
 distance, but foaming 
 torrents close at hand. 
 On any of these roads, 
 halt for a moment and 
 often hear a sound like that of the 
 It is the voice of falling water. 
 
 A THING OF BEAUTY.
 
 VIEW NEAR BORGUND,
 
 NORWAY 
 
 43 
 
 - 
 
 these cascades in the month of June, when snow was melting 
 rapidly on the heights; but even in midsummer they must 
 far outnumber those in any other part of Europe. 
 
 In fact, although familiar with the Alps, and having driven 
 twice through all the valleys of the Pyrenees, I never knew 
 how many waterfalls one country could possess until I went 
 to Norway. There are, of course, magnificent falls in Switzer- 
 land, and a great number of them in the Pyrenees; but where 
 you there see one cas- 
 cade, in Norway you 
 see twenty; and many 
 a Norwegian cataract 
 which would in Switz- 
 erland draw thousands 
 of admiring tourists, 
 and make the fortune 
 of hotel proprietors, is 
 here, perhaps, without 
 a name, and certainly 
 without renown. 
 
 On our last day's 
 journey toward the 
 sea, we came in sight 
 of an extraordinary 
 building, on which we gazed in great astonishment, for it 
 seemed more appropriate to China than to Norway, and 
 was apparently completely out of place in this wild, 
 desolate ravine. It was the famous Borgund Church, a 
 place of early Christian worship, built about eight hundred 
 years ago. It therefore ranks (unless one other similar church 
 be excepted) as the oldest structure in all Norway. It is so 
 small that one could almost fancy it a church for dwarfs. 
 Around the base is a kind of cloister, from which the dim 
 interior receives its only light. Within is one small room, 
 
 JX- 
 
 BORGUND CHURCH.
 
 44 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 A GIRL OF NOKWAV. 
 
 scarcely forty feet long, con- 
 taining now no furniture save 
 a rough-hewn altar. As for 
 its various roofs and pinna- 
 cles, marked now by crosses, 
 now by dragons' heads, noth- 
 ing could be more weirdly 
 picturesque, especially as the 
 entire edifice is black, in 
 part from age, but chiefly 
 from the coats of tar with 
 which it has been painted for 
 protection. 
 
 Leaving this ancient church, 
 we soon found ourselves in one 
 
 of the most stupendous of Norwegian gorges. It is hardly 
 
 possible for any view to do it justice. But for awe-inspiring 
 
 grandeur I have never seen its magnificence surpassed, even 
 
 in the Via Mala. For miles 
 
 the river Laerdal makes 
 
 its way here through gi- 
 gantic cliffs, which rise on 
 
 either side to a height of 
 
 from four thousand to five 
 
 thousand feet. The space, 
 
 however, between these 
 
 mountain sides is barely 
 
 wide enough for the river, 
 
 which writhes and struggles 
 
 with obstructing boulders, 
 
 lashing itself to creamy 
 
 foam, and filling the chasm 
 
 with a deafening roar. Yet, 
 
 above the river, a roadway 
 
 AN OPEN-AIR
 
 SELTUNSAASEN IN LAERDAL.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 47 
 
 A LANDING PLACE. 
 
 has been hewn 
 out of the moun- 
 tain-side itself, 
 which is lined 
 with parapets of 
 boulders. When 
 marking out the 
 route the engi- 
 neers were often 
 lowered over 
 the precipice by ropes. One can imagine nothing more 
 exciting than this drive. When mountains did not actually 
 overshadow us, in looking aloft we could discern only a 
 narrow rift of sky, like a blue river, curbed by granite banks. 
 Below us was the seething flood, at once terrible and glor- 
 ious to look upon. Shut in by these huge, somber walls, we 
 followed all the windings of the stream, whirling about their 
 corners at a speed which seemed the more terrific from our 
 wild surroundings. There are few things in life that have 
 affected me so powerfully as the Laerdal gorge, and I would 
 once more go to Norway for that drive alone. Certain it is 
 that at the end of it we found ourselves exhausted, not phy- 
 sically, but nervously, from the tremendous tension and 
 excitement of the last few hours in this wild ravine. Finally, 
 
 LAERDALSOREN
 
 4 8 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 leaving this sublime mountain scenery, we saw between us 
 and the coast our destination the little town of Laerdal- 
 soren. Thrilled though we were with memories of what we 
 had just seen, and grateful, too, that our long drive from 
 sea to sea had been successfully completed, our serious 
 reflections vanished at the threshold of this village. My 
 companion had found it hard to be so long deprived of 
 news from home. Accordingly, he remarked to me as we 
 came in sight of Laerdalsoren : 
 
 " I somehow feel to-day a great anxiety about my boys, 
 William and Henry. I am not superstitious, but I have 
 a presentiment that they need me. Hark!" he said sud- 
 denly, ".what 's that? " 
 
 We stopped the vehicle and listened. It was the music 
 of an English hand-organ ; and I am speaking only the literal 
 truth when I say that the tune which we then heard it play 
 was that of " Father, dear father, come home with me now."
 
 NORWAY 
 
 49 
 
 Early next morning we left our good hotel and hastened 
 to the steamer which awaited us upon the fjord. "What, 
 precisely, is a fjord?" some may inquire. In briefest terms, 
 it is a mountain gorge connected with the ocean, a narrow 
 arm of the sea extending inland, sometimes for one hundred 
 miles. Moreover, to carry out the simile, at the extremity of 
 every such long 
 arm are ' ' fin- 
 gers; " that is, 
 still narrower ex- 
 tensions, which 
 wind about the 
 bases of the 
 mountains till 
 they seem like 
 glittering ser- 
 pents lying in 
 the shadow of 
 tremendous 
 cliffs. 
 
 Thus in one 
 sense, here at A FJORD. 
 
 Laerdalsoren, we had reached the sea, but in another, it 
 was still eighty-five miles away. Yet we were now to 
 embark on a large ocean steamer, lying but a few yards 
 from the shore, for these mysterious fjords are sometimes 
 quite as deep as the mountains over them are high. They 
 open thus the very heart of Norway to the commerce 
 of the world. And as our steamer glided from one moun- 
 tain-girdled basin into another, I realized why this western 
 coast of Norway is one of the most remarkable land-forma- 
 tions on the globe. If we were able to look down upon it 
 from an elevation, we should perceive that from the moun- 
 tain chain, which forms, as it were, the backbone of the coun-
 
 NORWAY 
 
 try, a multitude of grooves stretch downward to the shore 
 between the elevations, like spaces between the teeth of a comb. 
 Into these mountain crevices, formed in the misty ages of the 
 past, the sea now makes its way, continually growing narrower, 
 until at last it winds between frowning cliffs of fearful height, 
 down which stream numerous waterfalls, the spray from which 
 
 at times sweeps 
 over the steamer 
 as it glides along. 
 Traveling, there- 
 fore, on these 
 ocean avenues 
 is like sailing 
 
 AN ARM OF THE SEA. 
 
 through Switzer- 
 land. 
 
 Delighted be- 
 yond measure 
 with this new ex- 
 perience, some 
 two or three 
 hours after leav- 
 ing Laerdalsoren, we gradually approached the most sublime 
 of all these ocean highways, the Naerofjord. No general 
 view can possibly portray its grandeur. The only way to 
 appreciate the vastness of its well-nigh perpendicular cliffs 
 is to compare them with some objects on the banks. In 
 many places, for example, cattle grazing on the shore, com- 
 pared with their giant environment, seemed like mice, and a 
 church steeple appeared no larger than a pine-cone. 
 
 As we sailed further up this beautiful expanse, i it was 
 difficult to realize that we were floating on an arm of the 
 
 SAILING THROUGH SWITZERLAND.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 53 
 
 Atlantic. It had the appearance rather of a gloomy lake 
 shut in by mountains never trodden by the foot of man. 
 On either side was a solemn array of stupendous precipices 
 sheer, awful cliffs refusing even the companionship of pines 
 and hemlocks, and frequently resembling a long chain of ice- 
 bergs turned to stone. The silence, too, was most impressive. 
 There was, at times, no sign of life on sea or shore. The influ- 
 ence of this was 
 felt upon the 
 boat, for if any 
 of us spoke, it 
 was in a tone 
 subdued by the 
 solemnity of our 
 surroundings. 
 
 As we pur- 
 sued our way, 
 sometimes we 
 could discern no 
 outlet whatever; 
 then, suddenly, 
 our course 
 would turn, and 
 another glorious vista would appear before us. We sat 
 at the prow of the boat;, and there, with nothing but the 
 awe-inspiring prospect to contemplate, we sailed along in silence 
 through this liquid labyrinth. So close together were the cliffs, 
 that when, for the sake of the experiment, I lay down on the 
 deck and looked directly upward, I could at the same instant 
 see both sides of the fjord cutting their outlines sharply on the 
 sky! Mile after mile, these grim, divided mountains stood 
 gazing into each other's scowling faces, yet kept apart by this 
 enchanting barrier of the sea, as some, fair woman intervenes 
 between two opposing rivals, each thirsting for the other's 
 
 CONTINUALLY GROWING NARROWER.
 
 54 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 blood. It is such scenery as Dante might describe and Dor6 
 illustrate. We wondered what such ravines would look 
 like without water. 
 They would be ter- 
 * -rible to gaze 
 
 WALLS OF A FJORD. 
 
 upon. They would resemble 
 
 HUV 
 +\ ^ gashes in a dead man's face, 
 
 or chasms on the surface of 
 the moon, devoid of atmos- 
 phere and life. But water 
 gives to them vitality, and 
 lights up all their gloomy gorges with a silvery flood, much 
 as a smile illumines, while it softens, a furrowed face.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 57 
 
 Nor is the 
 water in these 
 fjords less mar- 
 velous than the 
 land. Its depth, 
 in places, is es-' 
 timated at three 
 thousand feet. 
 When we sailed 
 up the N-aero- 
 fjord, its color 
 was so green, 
 and its surface 
 so completely 
 motionless, that 
 we seemed to 
 be gliding over a highway paved with malachite. Whether 
 the coloring of these ocean avenues is due to their great depth, 
 to the crystal clearness of the atmosphere, or to the reflection 
 of the forests on their banks, certain it is that I have nowhere 
 else (save in the blue grotto 
 at Capri) seen water tinted 
 with such shades of robin's- 
 egg blue and emerald green. 
 In confirmation of this fact, 
 
 HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 
 
 AN OCEAN AVENUE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 A SUBLIME WATERFALL, 
 
 we noticed with astonishment 
 that whenever the white seagulls, 
 wheeling round -our boat, would 
 sink breast downward toward 
 the waves, the color of the sea 
 was so intense, that their white 
 wings distinctly changed their 
 hue in the reflected light, assum- 
 ing a most delicate tint, which 
 gradually vanished as they rose 
 again ! 
 
 After a sail of several hours, 
 we approached the terminus of 
 the Naerofjord, at which is' lo- 
 cated the little hamlet of Gudvan- 
 gen. So narrow is the valley 
 here, that through the winter 
 months no ray of sunlight falls 
 directly on the town, and even in 
 the longest day in summer it can 
 receive the sunshine only for a 
 few hours. It seemed depressing 
 to remain in such eternal shadow. 
 Accordingly, we halted only a 
 few moments at the place, and 
 taking a carriage which awaited 
 us, we drove beyond the village 
 into the ravine so celebrated for 
 its grandeur the Naerodal. One 
 sees at once that this is really a 
 continuation of the Naerofjord 
 without the water. There can 
 be little doubt that, formerly, the 
 ocean entered it, and one could
 
 NORWAY 
 
 61 
 
 then have sailed where we now had to drive. And what 
 is true of the Naerodal is also true of other such ravines. In 
 every case the grooved hollows continue inland and upward , 
 but the gradual elevation of the coast has caused the ocean 
 to retreat. This is a place of great sublimity. On either 
 side rise mountains from four to five thousand feet in height 
 sometimes without a vestige of vegetation on their precipitous 
 sides which 
 are, however, 
 seamed with 
 numberless cas- 
 cades, appar- 
 ently hung up- 
 on the cliffs like 
 silver chains. 
 
 The most 
 remarkable ob- 
 ject in the val- 
 ley we found to 
 be a peculiarly 
 shaped moun- 
 tain, called the 
 Jordalsnut. Its 
 form is that of 
 
 a gigantic thimble, and as its composition is a silvery feld- 
 spar, it fairly glitters in the sun, or glows resplendent in the 
 evening light, an object never to be forgotten. Those who 
 have looked upon this dome by moonlight say that the effect 
 is indescribable; and, in fact, moonlight in these awful gorges 
 and fjords must give to them a beauty even more weird and 
 startling than that of day. Of this, however, I cannot speak 
 from experience, since moonlight is in summer very faint 
 in Norway, and it is only earlier or later in the year that 
 one can see this wonderful country thus transfigured. 
 
 THE NAERODAL.
 
 62 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 In driving up the Naerodal, one sees, at the head of the 
 valley, what looks like an irregular chalk-line on a blackboard. 
 It is a famous carriage-road, which has been blasted out of the 
 mountain-side, and built up everywhere with solid masonry. 
 Even now it is so difficult of ascent for horses that every trav- 
 eler who is able 
 usually climbs 
 that curving 
 road on foot. 
 
 In doing so, 
 we stopped at 
 intervals to en- 
 joy the marvel- 
 ous scenery, and 
 especially to be- 
 hold the two at- 
 tractive features 
 of the mountain. 
 For this grand 
 terminus of the 
 Naerodal is 
 flanked on either 
 side by a magnif- 
 icent waterfall ; 
 and since the 
 path continually 
 
 THE JORDALSNUT. CUWCS, OttC OT 
 
 the other of these torrents is constantly visible. Either of 
 them is the equal of any Swiss cascade I ever saw, and makes 
 even the famous Giessbach sink into insignificance, and yet 
 these are not ranked among the best Norwegian specimens. 
 We could not, however, appreciate them as we should have 
 done if they had been the first that we had seen ; for when a 
 tourist has counted eighty-six cascades in one day's drive,
 
 NORWAY 
 
 and has just run 
 the gauntlet of 
 some twenty 
 more, in sailing 
 through the 
 Naerofjord, he 
 becomes sur- 
 feited with such 
 splendor, and 
 cannot properly 
 realize what a 
 glorious wealth 
 in this respect 
 Norwegian scen- 
 ery possesses. 
 
 STALHEIM. 
 
 Upon the 
 
 summit of the wooded cliff toward which this driveway leads, 
 is a speck which at a distance resembles a white flag out- 
 lined on the forest background. It is the Hotel Stalheim. 
 As we approached it, a man stepped up to us and exclaimed: 
 
 " Hullo, strang- 
 ers; are you 
 Americans? " 
 
 " I am glad to 
 say that we are, ' ' 
 was my reply. 
 
 He instantly 
 stretched out 
 his hand and 
 said "Shake!" 
 "What kind of 
 business are you 
 in ? " he present- 
 
 THE VIEW FROM STALHEIM. 
 
 ly inquired.
 
 6 4 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 We told him. 
 "Well," he re- 
 marked, " I 'm a 
 
 manufacturer of bar- 
 
 
 
 rel hoops. Norway 's 
 all right . I took 
 an order for forty 
 thousand yesterday." 
 At the dinner 
 table, where he had 
 greatly amused every 
 one by his stories, he 
 
 THE KAISER AT STALHEIM. Suddenly Called OUt '. 
 
 " Waiter, is there anything worth seeing on that 'ere road 
 down there? " 
 
 " It is one of the finest drives in Norway, sir," replied the 
 waiter. 
 
 "Well, I reckon I '11 have to do it, then," he ejaculated: 
 and soon after 
 dinner he de- 
 parted in a car- 
 iole. An hour 
 later, as I was 
 sitting on the 
 piazza gazing on 
 the glorious 
 prospect, I saw 
 him coming 
 back. " How is 
 this?" I ex- 
 claimed; "I 
 thought you 
 were going to 
 Gudvangen." 
 
 A SCENE NEAR STALHEIM.
 
 A LOVELY CASCADE.
 
 NORWAY 67 
 
 " No," he replied; " I got down here apiece, and met a 
 boy. ' Bub,' says I, ' what is there to see down here, any- 
 way?' 
 
 " 'Waterfalls,' said he. 
 
 " ' Waterfalls! ' says I, ' I don't want any more water- 
 falls. I 've seen ten thousand of them already. Why, our 
 Niagara would n't roar one mite louder, if the whole lot 
 of these Norwegian falls were chucked right into it.' ' 
 
 I must not fail to add that there was an extremely pretty 
 girl at the hotel, to whom our eccentric compatriot paid much 
 attention. Some English travelers, therefore, looked greatly 
 puzzled when they heard him say to her on taking leave: 
 "Good-by! I hope / '// strike you again somewhere on the 
 road!" 
 
 After supper that evening we took an extended walk. It 
 was eleven o'clock, and yet the snow-capped mountains which 
 surrounded us were radiant with the sunset glow. We pres- 
 ently encountered two young peasants returning from their 
 
 " GATES AJAR."
 
 68 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 work. To them we spoke a few Norsk words that we had 
 learned since coming to Norway, whereupon one of the lads 
 drew from his pocket a pamphlet and presented it to me with 
 a polite bow. It proved to be a book of phrases, half-Eng- 
 lish and half-Norsk, designed to help Norwegian emigrants 
 
 on landing in 
 America. Not 
 knowing, how- 
 ever, what it 
 was at first, I 
 opened it and 
 could hardly be- 
 lieve my eyes, 
 when, in this 
 lonely valley in 
 the heart of 
 Norway, and by 
 the light of a 
 midnight sun 
 I read these 
 
 ALL READY TO " SHAKE HANDS." WOrdS ' ' ' \Vake 
 
 up! Here we are in Chicago!" "Change cars for Omaha 
 and the West! " Don't lean out of the window, or you '11 
 have your head knocked off! " 
 
 Both of these bright boys hoped the next summer to 
 "wake up in Chicago." It is, in fact, the great desire of 
 Norwegian youths to go to America, and some are brave 
 enough to do so with a capital of only twenty-five dollars. 
 Their knowledge of the United States is, of course, limited, 
 but one place there is known to all of them. Again and 
 again we were subjected to the following questions: "Are 
 .you English? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Americans? "
 
 NORWAY 
 
 69 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "CHICAGO?" 
 
 That was the place for them, evidently- New York is bet- 
 ter than nothing, but Chicago is the El Dorado of the Scan- 
 dinavians, for to that place they usually buy through-tickets, 
 as to the doorway of the great Northwest. 
 
 Leaving the Hotel Stalheim, after a short stay, a glorious 
 drive awaited us down to the Hardanger Fjord. At frequent 
 intervals along this route we encountered gates designed to 
 keep the cattle within certain limits. Women and children 
 usually stood near-by to open them, expecting in return a 
 trifling payment. Yet when I offered them a coin, I was 
 sometimes surprised to see their hands still lingering near my 
 own. At first I thought 
 that they, like Oliver Twist, 
 were asking for more, but 
 presently I discovered that 
 they merely wished to shake 
 hands and say good-by, for 
 hand-shaking in Norway is 
 universal. If you bestow a 
 fee upon your cariole-boy, 
 your boot-black, or your 
 chambermaid, each will offer 
 his or her hand to you and 
 wish you a happy journey. 
 A pleasant custom, truly, 
 but, on the whole, it is ad- 
 visable for travelers in Nor- 
 way to wear gloves. I usually responded cheerfully to this 
 mode of salutation, though sometimes, when I saw what 
 kind of a hand the peasant "held," I "passed!" 
 
 As we drove on, we noticed here and there the houses of 
 the poorer farmers. They are invariably made of wood, and 
 
 A PEASANT'S COTTAGE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 some, constructed out of huge spruce logs, look as enduring 
 as the hills that surround them. The roofs are covered 
 first with pieces of birch-bark, laid on the logs like shingles. 
 On these are placed two layers of sod the upper one with 
 its grassy surface toward the sky. This grass is sometimes 
 mown for hay. Occasionally a homoeopathic crop of grain 
 
 will grow here. 
 In almost every 
 case the top of 
 the house looks 
 like a flower- 
 garden ; and I 
 once saw a 
 bearded goat 
 getting his 
 breakfast on his 
 master's roof. 
 
 Occasionally, 
 a little distance 
 from the house, 
 we saw another 
 smaller struc- 
 ture, built be- 
 side a river; for the water-power of Norway is made use of 
 in some simple way by almost all the country people. Many 
 a peasant has a tiny water-wheel which turns a grindstone, 
 or even a mill, and thus his scythes are sharpened and his 
 grain is ground on his own premises. Such farmers, there- 
 fore, are their own millers, and frequently their own black- 
 smiths, too, and they can shoe their ponies with consider- 
 able skill. 
 
 In traveling through Norway it is most interesting to 
 observe how the people utilize every available portion of the 
 land. Wire ropes extend from the valleys up the mountain 
 
 RURAL LIFE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 73 
 
 A BEAST OF BURDEN. 
 
 sides, and are used for letting down 
 
 bundles of compressed hay, after it has 
 
 been reaped, gathered, and packed on 
 
 some almost inaccessible plateau. On 
 
 elevations, where it seems well-nigh 
 
 impossible for man to gain a foothold, 
 
 people will scramble, at the hazard of 
 
 their lives, to win a living from the 
 
 little earth that has there found lodg- 
 ment. Seeing with our own eyes these 
 
 habitable eyries, we could well believe 
 
 what we were told, that goats, and even 
 
 children, are often tied for safety to the 
 
 door-posts, and that the members of a 
 
 family who die on such elevated farms 
 
 are sometimes lowered by ropes a thousand feet down to the 
 
 valley or fjord. 
 
 It was on this journey that I took my first and never-to- 
 be-forgotten cariole-ride in Norway. 
 On this occasion, my driver was a 
 small boy, ten years old, just young 
 and mischievous enough to laugh at 
 danger and be reckless. I noticed 
 that his mother cautioned him be- 
 fore we started. She evidently 
 understood him. I did not. Ac- 
 cordingly, while I took the reins, I 
 gave him the whip. Springing like 
 a monkey into his place behind me, 
 he cracked his whip and off we 
 went. The road was good, and for 
 half an hour I thoroughly enjoyed 
 it. Then we began to descend, 
 and suddenly dashed across a bridge 
 
 A FISHING STATION.
 
 74 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 beneath which was a foaming cataract. I naturally reined 
 the pony in. But, to my surprise, the more I pulled, the 
 faster went the pony. "Whoa!" I exclaimed; "whoa!" 
 but whether prolonged or uttered with staccato emphasis 
 that word made no apparent difference in the pony 's gait. 
 "Whoa, "was evidently not in its vocabulary. My hair 
 
 THE SCENE OF AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 began to stand on end. Perceiving this, the demon of a 
 boy commenced to utter the most unearthly yells, and to 
 crack his whip until he made the pony actually seem to fly. 
 
 " Go slowly," I exclaimed. Crack, crack, went the whip. 
 
 " Stop that, you young rascal." Crack, crack, crack! I 
 tried to seize the whip, but my tormentor held it far behind 
 him. I sought to turn and petrify him with a look, but it 
 was like trying to see a fly between my shoulder-blades. I 
 saw that I was only making faces at the mountains. 
 
 To appreciate my feelings, one should perceive the wind- 
 ing road along which I was traveling. It was a splendid
 
 NORWAY 
 
 75 
 
 specimen of en- 
 gineering skill, 
 but after twen- 
 ty-seven of 
 these curves, I 
 felt that I was 
 getting cross- 
 eyed. Fancy 
 me perched, as 
 it were, upon 
 a good-sized 
 salad-spoon , 
 flying around 
 the mountain 
 side, with one 
 wheel in the air 
 at every turn, at the 
 round the Horse-shoe 
 
 A CHARACTERISTIC LANDSCAPE. 
 
 ENGINEERING SKILL. 
 
 rate of the Chicago Limited going 
 Bend. I looked back at my com- 
 panion, whose 
 horse, excited 
 by my own, 
 was just behind 
 me. His face 
 was deathly 
 pale. Anxiety 
 was stamped 
 on every fea- 
 ture. His lips 
 moved as if 
 entreating me 
 to slacken this 
 terrific speed. 
 Finally, he 
 faintly cried:
 
 NORWAY 
 
 A VIKING SHIP. 
 
 "If you escape, . . . give my 
 love ... to my children, . . . 
 William and Henry!" 
 
 At last I saw, some little 
 way ahead, a cart half-blocking 
 the road. "Great heavens!" I 
 thought, "here comes a collision! 
 Well, it might as well end this way 
 as any other. No more lectures 
 for me!" But, lo! there issued 
 from the small boy's lips the 
 sound, " Purr-r-r! " The effect 
 was instantaneous. The horse at 
 once relaxed his speed, and in a 
 moment came to a full stop. For 
 " purring " is to a Norwegian pony 
 
 what the Westinghouse air-brake is to an express train. This 
 
 secret learned, we had no further trouble. For " purr," when 
 
 uttered by American lips, proved always as effectual as by 
 
 Norwegian. 
 
 A few hours after that eventful ride, we found ourselves 
 
 upon the great 
 
 Hardangerfjord, 
 
 which, with its 
 
 branches, has a 
 
 length of one 
 
 hundred and 
 
 forty miles. 
 
 These ocean 
 
 avenues possess 
 
 not merely nat- 
 ural beauty: 
 
 they also have 
 
 historic interest. 
 
 A LONELY POINT.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 79 
 
 This part of Norway, for example, is old Viking ground. 
 Not far from here lived Rollo, conqueror of Normandy; 
 and from these fjords a thousand years ago went forth 
 those dauntless warriors of the north, who for two hun- 
 
 AN ANCIENT BOAT OF NORWAY. 
 
 dred years not only ravaged England, France, and Ireland, 
 but even crossed the Atlantic to America hundreds of years 
 before Columbus sailed from Spain. 
 
 In this connection, therefore, let me say that, to me, the 
 most interesting object in Christiania was its Viking ship. This 
 most impressive relic of the past was found some fourteen years 
 ago within an ancient mound beside the sea. It had reposed 
 there for ten centuries, owing its preservation to the hard, blue 
 clay in which it was entombed. It was made entirely of oak, 
 and was propelled- sometimes by oars, sometimes by a sail. 
 Within it was discovered a well-carved wooden chair, in which, 
 no doubt, the chieftain sat. Some kettles., too, were here,
 
 8o 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 
 
 and plates and drinking-cups, used by the Vikings when they 
 landed to prepare a meal. But, more remarkable still, this 
 boat contained some human bones. For in those early days 
 such boats were often used as funeral barges for their brave 
 commanders. The vessel, even when buried, was always 
 headed toward the sea, so that when called by Odin once 
 more into life, the chief whose body was thus sepulchered 
 might be ready to start at once and sail again the ocean he 
 had loved so well. 
 
 Occasionally, however, a Viking had a grander form of 
 burial. Sometimes, when an old Norwegian chieftain felt 
 that he was dying, he ordered that his body, when lifeless, 
 should be placed within his boat, which was then filled with 
 light materials and set on fire. The large sail was then spread, 
 and the dead warrior drifted out before the wind, his gallant 
 vessel for a funeral pyre, and for his liturgy the chanting of 
 the waves. As for the Viking himself, he doubtless had faced 
 death, sustained by an unfaltering belief which, had he been 
 more cultivated, might have thus expressed itself: 
 
 " If my bark sink, 't is to another sea."
 
 NORWAY 
 
 81 
 
 At the extremity of one of the branches of the Hardanger- 
 fjord is the little town of Odde. This was the only place in 
 Norway where we had any difficulty in securing rooms. As 
 the boat neared the wharf, I heard a dozen ladies whisper to 
 their husbands: " Now, dear, you stay and look after the 
 
 A STREET IN BERGEN. 
 
 luggage, and I '11 run on and get the rooms." Accordingly, 
 I used the same words to my friend, with the exception of the 
 endearing epithet. I was afraid that might make him home- 
 sick. Then I took my position near the gang-plank. 
 
 When we arrived, I was the first to step ashore, and I 
 started at a brisk walk toward the hotel. Behind me I could 
 hear the rustling of many skirts, but, hardening my heart like 
 Pharaoh, I kept on. At last, forgetting drapery and dignity, 
 the ladies passed me on the run. This time I gallantly gave 
 way, and when, a moment later, I reached the hotel office, 
 I could have fancied myself on the floor of the Stock Ex- 
 change, since every lady there was fighting nobly for her 
 children and her absent lord.
 
 82 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 " I want two beds," cried one. 
 " I wish for five beds," screamed another. 
 " Give me a room with blinds," exclaimed a third. 
 The female clerk, meantime, having completely lost her 
 head, was calling off numbers like an auctioneer. Suddenly 
 
 she turned to 
 me, who had not 
 yet opened my 
 mouth, and al- 
 most paralyzed 
 me with these 
 words : 
 
 " Number 20 
 will do for you, 
 three beds and 
 one cradle! 
 
 When I re- 
 covered from my 
 swoon, I found 
 that my friend 
 had come u p 
 quietly after the battle, and had secured two single rooms. 
 
 Saying farewell to Odde, a day's delightful sail between 
 majestic mountains brought us to one of Norway's most 
 important cities Bergen. Although we lingered here three 
 days, we had the wonderful experience of continual sunshine. 
 I rightly call it wonderful ; for Bergen is the rainiest city in the 
 world and is sarcastically called "The fatherland of drizzle." 
 The people in Christiania claim that in Bergen when a horse 
 sees a man without an umbrella, he shies ! It is also said that 
 a sea-captain, who was born in Bergen, and all his life had 
 sailed between his native city and the outer world, came one 
 day into its harbor when by chance the sun was shining. 
 At once he put about and set forth to sea again, believing that 
 
 THE BERGEN FISH MARKET.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 he had made a mistake in his port. As we approached the 
 pier at Bergen, I saw what, in the distance, appeared to be 
 a mob. It proved, however, to be the usual crowd which 
 gathers round the Bergen Fish Market. 
 
 This is not, after all, so strange if we reflect that fish is the 
 great commodity of Bergen, and that this city is the chief 
 distributing station for Norwegian fish to the entire world. 
 Several centuries ago, a company of German merchants, who 
 formed the famous Hanseatic League, established themselves 
 here and held for years within their hands the monopoly of 
 all the fishing trade of Norway, compelling even the Norwe- 
 gian fishermen to send their catch of fish to Bergen for re- 
 shipment to other ports of Europe. It is true the league 
 exists no longer, 
 but its influence 
 still survives, 
 and nothing can 
 divert the trade 
 from following 
 in its ancient 
 channel. Over 
 the hills that rise 
 above the city 
 a splendid drive- 
 way has been 
 made. A Bergen 
 resident spoke of 
 it to me as " The 
 Drink Road." 
 
 " What is the meaning of so strange a title? " I inquired. 
 
 "It is so called," he said, "because it is constructed 
 wholly out of the profits derived from the sale of ardent 
 spirits." Observing my astonishment, he added: " Do you 
 not understand our famous liquor law in Bergen? " 
 
 MONSTERS OF THE DEEP.
 
 86 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 I confessed 
 my ignorance. 
 
 "Then let 
 me explain it 
 to you," he ex- 
 claimed." " Per- 
 haps I can best 
 do this," he 
 added, "by 
 pointing out to 
 you that melan- 
 BERGEN'S " DRINK ROAD." choly individual 
 
 standing by the gang-plank. He used to be a liquor-seller 
 here, but he has lost his ' spirits,' for our municipal govern- 
 ment now has the sale of liquors entirely in its own hands. 
 It first decides how many licenses are needed, and then, 
 instead of giving them to private individuals, it grants them 
 only to a responsible stock company. The books of this 
 company must be at all times open to inspection, and all 
 its rules are strictly under government control. Moreover, 
 the company is not allowed to make more than five per cent, 
 on its invested 
 capital. All 
 profits over that 
 amount are 
 given to public 
 improvements, 
 roads, parks, 
 schools, or hos- 
 pitals." 
 
 I asked if 
 the law gave 
 general satisfac- 
 tion.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 "We are delighted with it," was the answer. "It is 
 now thirteen years since it was started, and all the prominent 
 towns in Norway, except three, have followed our example. 
 The liquors, in the first place, are all carefully selected. 
 Secondly, the bars are not attractive gin-palaces, but plain 
 rooms, with no seats for customers. No loitering on the 
 premises is allowed. Only a small amount is sold at any one 
 time. Children are not allowed to serve as messengers. 
 Even the bar- 
 tenders are ap- 
 pointed by the 
 government, and 
 wear a uniform 
 and a number, 
 by which they 
 can be easily 
 identified in case 
 of complaint ; 
 and as a practi- 
 cal result," he 
 added, "by tak- 
 ing the liquor 
 traffic out of 
 the hands of 
 irresponsible 
 
 agents the annual amount of ardent spirits sold has been 
 reduced from twelve and a half to five and a half million 
 quarts; and yet our Bergen company has earned each year 
 a net profit of one hundred and twenty-five per cent, one 
 hundred and twenty of which is, as I have said, applied to 
 public charities! " 
 
 But to me the most interesting sight in Bergen was the 
 grave of the Norwegian violinist, Ole Bull. His last appear- 
 ance in America was in 1879 too long ago perhaps for many 
 
 A BUSY DAY IN BEKGEN.
 
 88 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 to recollect him for, alas! even those who entertain the 
 public best are soon forgotten. But some of my readers 
 no doubt recall that Paganini of the North, tall and erect, 
 with large blue eyes and flaxen hair the personification 
 of a valiant Norseman, whose fire and magnetism in this nine- 
 teenth century displayed themselves in music rather than in 
 maritime adventure. As his old Viking ancestors had no doubt 
 wielded sword and battle-ax, so his bow was of such unusual 
 
 length that no 
 one of inferior 
 strength and 
 stature could 
 have used it ad- 
 vantageously. 
 
 From this 
 musician's 
 grave one looks 
 off over the 
 lovely bay of 
 Bergen. This 
 peaceful view, 
 which he so 
 loved, produced 
 upon my mind, 
 in the soft 
 evening light, the same effect as did the music of that skillful 
 hand which now reposed beneath the flowers. To me his 
 playing was enchanting, and unlike that of any other violinist 
 I have ever heard. There was a quality in the tones that he 
 would call forth from his violin, which seemed as weird and 
 fascinating as the poetry of the sagas, and as mysterious as 
 the light which lingered on his mountains and fjords. What 
 wonder that his death in 1880 was deplored in Norway as a 
 national calamity? 
 
 THE GRAVE OF OLE BULL.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 89 
 
 Taking our leave reluctantly of 
 Bergen, we entered on what proved 
 to be one of the most delightful 
 features of our tour in Norway, a 
 sail of twenty-four hours along the 
 coast to the town of Molde. How 
 can I adequately describe that 
 most unique and memorable 
 journey? Our entire course lay 
 through a labyrinth of islands, 
 beyond which, every now and 
 then, we gained a glimpse of the 
 Atlantic rolling away toward the OLE BULI " 
 
 horizon. The proximity and number of these islands aston- 
 ished me. For, hour after hour, they would come into 
 sight, wheel by us slowly, and then disappear, to be succeeded 
 by their counterparts. We went down to dinner or to our 
 staterooms, yet when we came on deck again, islands 
 still surrounded us. We saw them glittering in the sunset 
 ere we went to sleep, and in the morning we were once more 
 environed by them. Sometimes I could have fancied that 
 they were sailing with us, like a vast convoy of protecting 
 gunboats, moving when we moved, halting when we halted, 
 patient and motionless till we resumed our voyage. 
 
 Meantime, just opposite these islands, is the coast, a 
 grand succession of bold headlands and dark, gloomy moun- 
 tains, beyond which always are still higher summits capped
 
 90 NORWAY 
 
 with snow. At frequent intervals some beautiful fjord leads 
 inward, like the entrance to a citadel ; and here and there, 
 within a sheltered nook, we see some fishing hamlet crouch- 
 ing on the sand. This is surely the perfection of ocean 
 travel. For, though this mountain-bordered channel is hun- 
 dreds of miles in length, the sea within it is as smooth as a 
 canal. Once only throughout the day was the great swell 
 
 of the Atlantic 
 
 felt, when for a 
 little space the 
 island break- 
 water was gone. 
 Our sail along 
 the coast had, 
 late at night, a 
 most appro- 
 priate ending in 
 our arrival at Molde. There are few places in the world 
 more beautiful. It lies upon the bank of a fjord, on the 
 opposite side of which is an array of snowy mountains forty 
 miles in length. Molde is sometimes called the " Inter- 
 laken of Norway," but that does not by any means describe 
 it. For here there is no single mountain, like the Jungfrau, 
 to compel our homage, but rather a long series of majestic 
 peaks, resembling a line of icebergs drifting in crystal splendor 
 from the polar sea. 
 
 Filled with enthusiasm over this splendid spectacle, we 
 left the steamer, and soon found ourselves within a com- 
 fortable hotel. It was the hour of midnight, but, far from 
 being dark, the eastern sky was even then brightening with 
 the coming dawn. A party of excursionists was just return- 
 ing from a mountain climb. Some passengers were embarking 
 on the steamer we had left. Supper or breakfast (I know not 
 which to call it) was awaiting us. Under such circumstances 
 
 A WONDERFUL PANORAMA.
 
 NORWAY 91 
 
 it seemed ridiculous to go to bed. Accordingly, we laughed 
 and chatted on the balcony, until a wretched man thrust out 
 his head from an adjoining window, and remarked : 
 
 " My friends, I am glad to see you happy, but I have just 
 returned from the North Cape. I have n't slept for eight 
 nights. It seems quite dark here by comparison, and I was 
 hopeful of a good night's rest. Would you just as lief post- 
 pone your fun until you get inside the Arctic circle?" 
 
 This pathetic appeal could not be resisted, and asking his 
 forgiveness, we retired. 
 
 Taking leave of Molde one pleasant afternoon, we sailed 
 across its beautiful fjord to explore the snow-capped moun- 
 tains opposite. It was upon this voyage that I was taught 
 the bitter lesson never to trust my baggage to a Norwegian, 
 merely because he claims to be able to speak English. Upon 
 the deck of our little steamer stood that day a man, upon 
 whose hatband I read the legend that he was the proprietor 
 of a hotel at Veblungsnas, where we proposed to spend the 
 night. Approaching him, therefore, I inquired: 
 
 " Can you speak English? " 
 
 He smiled upon me sweetly, and replied, " O, yes." 
 
 Innocent of the awful fact that this was the whole extent 
 of his vocabulary, I continued : 
 
 " When we arrive, will you bring my valise ashore, while 
 I go at once to the hotel to secure rooms? " 
 
 "O, yes." 
 
 Ten minutes later we reached our landing pier. I left the
 
 9 2 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 boat, as I had said, and hurried on to the hotel. I presently 
 beheld the old proprietor coming from the wharf, but without 
 
 my satchel. 
 
 " What does 
 this mean? " I 
 cried; " did you 
 not bring my 
 valise off the 
 steamer? " 
 " O, yes." 
 ''Where is it, 
 then? Is it not 
 on there still? " 
 " O, yes." 
 "Mercy on 
 
 VIEW FROM MOLDE. 
 
 me! Is not that 
 the steamer going off with my valise on board?" 
 
 " O, yes! " 
 
 " Well, are you not a monumental idiot, then?" 
 
 "O, yes! " 
 
 It took me three days to recover that valise; and the im- 
 portant lesson of " O, yes," was effectually learned. 
 
 Early next morning we took leave of Veblungsnas, and 
 drove directly towards the Romsdal, one of the finest valleys 
 in all Norway. Before us, like a mighty sentinel, the im- 
 posing Romsdalhorn rose, dark with somber shadows, to an 
 altitude of five thousand and ninety feet. The peak itself, 
 five hundred feet in height, is said to be almost as dan- 
 gerous to ascend as the appalling Matterhorn, not only 
 on account of its perpendicular sides, but also from the 
 crumbling nature of the rock, which renders it impossible to 
 fasten iron bars in its surface. 
 
 Some years ago, an English tourist, after a number of un- 
 successful efforts, finally reached the summit of this moun-
 
 NORWAY 
 
 93 
 
 tain. He was, of course, exultant. The inhabitants of the 
 valley had told him that the conquest of the Romsdalhorn 
 was hopeless, and no tradition existed among them that its 
 ascent had ever been made. Nevertheless, when the success- 
 ful climber finally stood upon the mountain's crest, he found 
 to his astonishment and regret that he was not the first 
 man who had gained this victory. A mound of stones, 
 heaped up there as a monument, proved beyond doubt that 
 at some unknown epoch some one had been there before him. 
 Driving around the base of this majestic mountain, we 
 found ourselves within a narrow gorge shut in by savage 
 cliffs, with barely space enough between them for the carriage- 
 road and a wild torrent rushing toward the sea. ..One wall of 
 this ravine is singu- ^^^^^ larly weird and 
 
 awe - inspir- ^^^* ^^^^ ing. A mul- 
 
 titude of ^r ^^. crags and 
 
 
 THE ROMSDALHORN,
 
 94 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 pinnacles, splintered and shattered by the lightning's bolts, 
 stand out in sharp relief against the sky, as if some monsters, 
 hidden on the other side, were raising o'er the brink of these 
 stupendous precipices their outstretched hands and tapering 
 fingers in warning or in supplication. These strange, fantastic 
 forms are in the evening light so ghostly and uncanny, that they 
 appear to the Norwegian peasants like demons dancing glee- 
 fully upon the 
 mountain tops. 
 Hence the pin- 
 nacles are called 
 the "Witches' 
 Peaks. ' ' 
 
 It was while 
 riding through 
 this gorge that 
 I heard a tour- 
 ist complaining 
 that Norway 
 had no ruins. 
 In one sense 
 this is true, for, 
 owing to the fact 
 that the feudal system never existed here, castles and strong- 
 holds are nowhere to be found. But Norway surely can dis- 
 pense with any crumbling works of man. Amidst the ruins 
 of her everlasting mountains and stupendous fjords, grooved 
 by the glaciers when the earth was young, all remnants 
 of man's handiwork would seem like ant-hills made but an 
 hour ago. 
 
 Toward evening, at the head of the Romsdal Valley, we 
 reached the station of Stuflaaten, where we were to sleep. 
 Our spirits sank as we approached it. Nothing, apparently, 
 could be less inviting. But here, as in so many other instances, 
 
 THE WITCHES' PEAKS.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 95 
 
 STUFLAATEN. 
 
 we found the 
 
 accommodations 
 
 excellent. It is 
 
 true, the beds 
 
 possessed the 
 
 usual Norwegian 
 
 fault an insuffi- 
 cient length. 
 
 Tall travelers, 
 
 who object to 
 
 having their 
 
 limbs closed 
 
 under them at 
 
 night, like the blades of a jack-knife, frequently sleep on 
 
 the floor in Norway. 
 
 " I cannot lie in one of these beds," exclaimed my friend ; 
 
 which, for a lawyer, seemed to me a remarkable admission ! 
 Never shall I forget the dining-room at Stuflaaten. Here 
 
 we were first attracted by the fireplace. It was a chimney 
 
 built out from the corner, with space behind for a warm cup- 
 board. The 
 opening for fuel 
 was so narrow 
 that sticks were 
 placed upright 
 upon the hearth. 
 Beside this were 
 two rocking- 
 chairs (almost 
 unheard of lux- 
 uries in any part 
 of Europe), and 
 sinking into 
 these, we thought 
 
 A NEW ENGLAND SOUVENIR.
 
 9 6 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 of home. The influence of that American article of furniture 
 was, I fear, depressing, for soon my friend remarked : 
 
 "How far we are from dear New England! If I could 
 only see one object here which really came from there, how 
 happy I should be! " 
 
 " Look at that clock upon the wall," I responded; " that 
 has a familiar look. Perhaps that came from ' dear New 
 England ! ' 
 
 "Nonsense," he answered; "how could anything made 
 
 -, in New England 
 find its way here 
 almost within the 
 Arctic circle? " 
 
 "Well," I ex- 
 claimed, "where 
 is the land that 
 
 Yankee inven- 
 tions have not 
 entered? Let us 
 put it to the 
 test." Accord- 
 ingly, stepping to the clock, I opened it and read these words: 
 " Made by Jerome & Co., New Haven, Conn." 
 
 Returning once more through the Romsdal, Veblungsnas, 
 and Molde, we sailed again, for twelve hours, along the Norway 
 coast to reach the city of Trondhjem. Although less beauti- 
 fully situated than Bergen, Molde, or Christiania, in point of 
 historic interest, Trondhjem is superior to them all. For here 
 lived the old Norwegian kings, and the town can boast of a con- 
 tinuous existence for a thousand years. It also enjoys the proud 
 distinction of having the most northern railway station in the 
 world, for from this city, which is in the latitude of Iceland, 
 a railroad now extends three hundred and fifty miles south- 
 ward to Christiania.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 97 
 
 Upon this road are run some 
 cars which are facetiously called 
 "sleepers"; but they are such as 
 Mr. George M. Pullman would see only in 
 an acute attack of nightmare. The road 
 being a narrow-gauge one, the car is not much wider than an 
 omnibus. The berth (if the name can be applied to such a 
 coffin-like contrivance) is formed by pulling narrow cushion- 
 seats together. On these is placed one pillow, but no blanket 
 and no mattress, simply a pillow, nothing more! From the 
 feeling, I should say that my pillow consisted of a small boulder 
 covered with cotton. But what, think you, is the upper berth? 
 It is a hammock, swung on hooks, and sagging down to within 
 a foot of the lower couch. Now, it requires some skill to get 
 into a hammock anywhere; but to climb into one that is hung 
 four feet above the floor of a moving railroad car, calls for the
 
 9 8 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 A NORWEGIAN HARBOR. 
 
 agility of an acrobat. After my experience that night, I feel 
 perfectly qualified to perform on the trapeze, for since I weighed 
 but one hundred and forty pounds, while my friend tipped the 
 
 scales at two 
 hundred and 
 fifty, I thought 
 it was safer for 
 me to occupy 
 the upper story. 
 Another diffi- 
 culty met with 
 in that memora- 
 ble journey was 
 to keep covered 
 up. There was 
 no heat in the car. At every respiration, we could see our 
 breath. This was, however, a consolation, since it assured 
 us that we were still alive. Wraps of all kinds were needed, 
 but the space was limited. There was, for example, in my 
 hammock, room for myself alone; or without me, for my 
 traveling-rug, overcoat, and pillow. But when we were 
 all in together, the hammock was continually overflowing. 
 Accordingly, every fifteen minutes during that awful night, 
 my friend would start up in abject terror, dreaming that he 
 was being buried beneath a Norway avalanche. 
 
 I never think of Trondhjem without recalling, also, an 
 experience in a Norwegian barber-shop. I knew that it was 
 tempting Providence to enter it, for shaving in Norway js 
 still a kind of surgical operation. But for some time a cold- 
 ness had existed between my razors and myself. The edge 
 of our friendship had become dulled. Accordingly, I made 
 the venture. Before me, as I entered, stood a man with a 
 head of hair like Rubenstein's, and a mouth like a miniature 
 fjord.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 101 
 
 " Do you speak English? " I began. 
 
 ''Nay." 
 
 " Sprechen sie Deutsch? " 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 " Parlez-vous Francois?" 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 " Parlate Italiano?" 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 "Well, one thing is sure, then," I said; " you will not talk 
 me to death, anyway! " 
 
 Having made the most graceful gestures of which I was 
 capable to indicate what I wanted, I settled myself in a hard 
 chair and laid my head against a rest resembling the vise fur- 
 nished by a photographer when he asks you " to look pleas- 
 ant." The preliminaries being over, the Norwegian Figaro 
 took his razor and made one 
 awful never - to - be - forgotten 
 swoop at my cheek as if he 
 were mowing grain with a 
 scythe! I gave a roar like 
 a Norwegian waterfall and 
 bounded from the chair in 
 agony! When I had fully 
 wiped away my blood and 
 tears, I asked him faintly: 
 
 " Have you any ether? " 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 " Any laughing-gas? " 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 " Any cocaine? " 
 
 "Well, then," I exclaimed, "will you please go over 
 there and ' nay ' by yourself while I finish this operation with 
 my own hands? "
 
 IO2 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 He seemed to understand me, and retreated to a corner. 
 When all was over, he pointed to a bowl at which I saw 
 my friend gazing with that peculiarly sad expression which he 
 invariably assumed when thinking of his family. I soon dis- 
 covered the cause, for from the centre of this wash-bowl rose 
 a little fountain about a foot in height, which seemed to 
 him a facsimile of the one on Boston Common. I compre- 
 
 ENTRANCE TO A FJORD. 
 
 hended that I was to wash in this fountain; but how to do 
 it was a mystery. At last I cautiously thrust one side of my 
 face into it, and instantly the water shot up over my ear and 
 fell upon the other side. I turned my face, and the ascending 
 current carromed on my nose, ran down my neck, and made 
 a change of toilet absolutely necessary. When, therefore, 
 my friend had called a cab to take me home, I asked the 
 barber what I should pay him. By gestures he expressed to 
 me the sum equivalent to three cents. 
 
 "What," I exclaimed, "nothing extra for the court- 
 plaster? " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " And nothing for the privilege of shaving myself? " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " And you don't charge for the fountain, either? "
 
 NORWAY 
 
 103 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 "Well," I exclaimed as I rode away, " I can truly say 
 that never before have I received so much for my money." 
 
 This city of the north has one extremely interesting 
 building its cathedral. As a rule, Scandinavian churches are 
 not worth a visit; but this is a notable exception. More 
 than three hundred years before Columbus landed on San 
 Salvador this building held a proud position. Its finest carv- 
 ing dates from the eleventh century. At one time pilgrims 
 came here from all northern Europe, and laid their gold and 
 jewels on its shrines. But at the period of the Reformation all 
 this was changed. Iconoclasts defaced its carving, cast down 
 its statues, sacked the church, and packed its treasures in a 
 ship, which, as if cursed by an offended Deity, foundered 
 at sea. 
 
 On entering the ancient edifice, we were delighted with its 
 delicate stone-tracing. The material is a bluish slate, which 
 gives to the whole church a softness and a beauty difficult to
 
 104 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 equal, and blends most admirably with its columns of white 
 marble. A part of the cathedral was, however, closed to us, 
 for all the ruin once wrought here is being carefully effaced 
 by systematic restoration. The government contributes for 
 
 this purpose a certain 
 sum every year, and pri- 
 vate individuals help on 
 the work from genuine 
 love of art, as well as from 
 patriotic motives. The 
 old designs are being followed, 
 and hence, in time, this old 
 cathedral will in every feature come to be a reproduction of 
 the original structure. 
 
 A few days after reaching Trondhjem, we found ourselves 
 embarking for another ocean journey. This time our desti- 
 nation was the northern limit of the continent. For a Nor- 
 wegian tour naturally divides itself into three parts. The first 
 consists of driving through the mountainous interior; the
 
 NORWAY 
 
 105 
 
 AN EXCURSION STEAMER. 
 
 second is the ex- 
 ploration of its 
 noble fjords ; 
 the third is the 
 voyage from 
 Trondhjem to 
 the North Cape. 
 This voyage, 
 in fast excursion 
 steamers, is now 
 made in about four days, an equal number being occupied in 
 returning. " Eight days? " the reader will perhaps exclaim; 
 " why, that is longer than a voyage across the Atlantic." In 
 actual duration, yes; but otherwise the two excursions are 
 entirely different. For almost all the way you follow so 
 closely the fringe of islands that there is little danger of 
 rough weather, while the mainland is constantly in sight. 
 
 Some twenty-four hours after leaving Trondhjem, our 
 steamer halted at an island, up whose precipitous side we 
 climbed five hundred feet to view a natural tunnel perfo- 
 rating an entire mountain. Through this we gained a charm- 
 ing telescopic vista of the ocean and its island belt. The tun- 
 nel is six hundred feet in length, and in some places two hun- 
 dred feet in height. So smooth and perpendicular are its 
 walls, that it appears almost incredible that human agency 
 
 has not assisted 
 in this strange 
 formation. But 
 scientists say 
 that it was 
 accomplished 
 entirely by the 
 waves, when all 
 this rock-bound 
 
 ONE OF THE LOFFODENS.
 
 io6 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 coast was covered by the sea. Leaving this curious freak of 
 nature, another memorable feature of our northern voyage 
 soon greeted us, the Loffoden Islands. These form a 
 broken chain one hundred and thirty miles in length. The 
 scenery in their vicinity is perhaps the finest on the Norway 
 coast, and as we watched it with delight, the captain told us 
 of his voyages here in winter, and I now learned, to my aston- 
 ishment that freight-steamers make their regular trips, all 
 
 FISHING ON THE COAST. 
 
 winter long, round the North Cape to Vadso, on the Arctic 
 coast. They encounter fearful storms at times, but rarely any 
 icebergs. We have, it seems, a monopoly of these floating 
 monsters on our side of the Atlantic, borne west and south 
 by the current off the coast of Greenland. 
 
 Of course, these wintry voyages are performed in dark- 
 ness, for Night then reigns here with as much supremacy as 
 Day in summer. The lights on the steamers are, therefore, 
 kept constantly burning. Yet, strange to say, this is the 
 period of greatest activity among these islands. Winter is the 
 Norwegian fisherman's harvest-time. The only light neces-
 
 SCENE FROM BROTHANSDALEN.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 109 
 
 TROMSO. 
 
 sary to carry on 
 the work is that 
 of the Aurora 
 Borealis and the 
 brilliant stars. 
 From twenty to 
 twenty-five mil- 
 lions of cod are 
 captured here 
 each winter, 
 and twenty-five 
 thousand people 
 are employed in 
 the trade. 
 
 Soon after leaving the Loffodens we arrived at Tromso, 
 the city of the Lapps. It had the appearance of a pretty- 
 village as we viewed it from a distance ; but soon the sense 
 of sight was wholly lost in the prominence given to an- 
 other of our senses. The carcass of a whale was floating in 
 the harbor. It had been speared and towed in hither to be 
 cut in pieces. The blubber was being 
 boiled in kettles on the shore. The 
 impression which this made .on my 
 olfactory nerves is something for which 
 language is inadequate. The odor was 
 as colossal as the fish itself. I never 
 sympathized sufficiently with Jonah till 
 I went to Tromso ! 
 
 Soon after landing here, a walk of 
 an hour brought us to a settlement of 
 Lapps, consisting of some very primi- 
 tive tents. My first impression of these 
 people was, and still is, that any one of 
 them could have effectually concealed 
 
 LAPLANDERS.
 
 IIO 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 REINDEER 
 AND SLEDGE. 
 
 his identity by 
 taking a bath. 
 They all have 
 
 dirty, wizened faces, high cheekbones, flat noses, and mouths 
 that yawn like caverns. Their beards are so peculiarly tufted 
 that they look like worn-out Astrachan fur. I could almost 
 suppose that in rigorous winters the reindeer, while their mas- 
 ters slept, had nibbled at their cheeks. The men are about 
 
 five feet high, the women four; 
 but they are tough and hardy, 
 like most dwarfs. Dickens 
 could have found among them 
 countless models for his hid- 
 eous Quilp. 
 
 Advancing to one of their 
 huts, we peered into the in- 
 terior. Upon the ground was 
 smoldering a small fire, part 
 of the smoke from which es- 
 caped through an opening in 
 the roof. The inmates scarcely 
 noticed us, until my artist pro- 
 
 A LITTLE LAPP.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 in 
 
 duced his camera. Then there was instantly a general stampede. 
 One woman seized her baby and rushed forth, as if a demon 
 had molested her. The cause of this confusion, however, was 
 not fear, nor even modesty, but avarice, pure and simple. 
 They understood perfectly what the camera was, and wanted 
 a good price for being photographed. Three shillings was 
 
 LIFE IN LAPLAND. 
 
 at first demanded for a picture, but finally we compromised 
 by giving half that sum. 
 
 Among these Laplanders, the clothing of both men and 
 women is made of reindeer skin, worn with the hardened pelt 
 outside. These garments last indefinitely, and are sometimes 
 bequeathed from one generation to another. The Lapp com- 
 plexion looks like leather. Even the babies have a shriveled 
 look, resembling that of monkeys. This is not strange, how- 
 ever, for both men and women are great consumers of 
 tobacco. Their huts are always full of smoke, till finally the 
 inmates become smoke-dried within and without. This, in 
 turn, produces thirst. Hence we were not surprised to learn 
 that they are inordinately fond of ardent spirits. . In fact,
 
 112 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 when a Norwegian wishes to remonstrate with a friend who is 
 inclined to drink to excess, he will often say to him, " Don't 
 make a Lapp of yourself! " 
 
 Bidding farewell to Tromso and the Laplanders, the next 
 day brought us to the most northern town in the world - 
 Hammerfest. It was a great surprise to me to see, in such 
 proximity to the North Pole, a town of about three thousand 
 inhabitants, with schools, a church, a telegraph station, and a 
 weekly newspaper! The snow-streaked mountains in the dis- 
 tance gave me the only hint of winter that I had ; and I could 
 hardly realize that I was here two hundred miles farther north 
 than Bering's Strait, and in about the same latitude in which, 
 on our side of the Atlantic, the gallant Sir John Franklin 
 perished in the ice. The cause of this, however, is not diffi- 
 cult to trace. 
 
 The influence of the Gulf Stream is felt powerfully 
 even here. For here it is that the great ocean current prac- 
 tically dies, bequeathing to these fishermen of Hammerfest, for 
 
 HAMMERFEST.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 THE GULF STREAM'S TERMINUS. 
 
 their firewood, the treasures it has so long carried on its bosom, 
 such as the trunks of palm-trees, and the vegetation of the 
 
 tropics. It is an 
 extraordinary 
 fact that while 
 the harbor of 
 Christiania, one 
 thousand miles 
 farther south, 
 is frozen over 
 three months 
 every winter, 
 this bay of Hammerfest, only sixty miles from the North 
 Cape, is never closed on account of ice. 
 
 An interesting object in Hammerfest is the meridian shaft, 
 which marks the number of degrees between this town and 
 the mouth of the Danube, on the Black Sea. The mention 
 made upon this column of that 
 other terminus of measure- 
 ment, so far distant in the 
 South of Europe, reminded us 
 by contrast of one more ad- 
 vantage which this high lati- 
 tude possesses the greater 
 rapidity of its vegetation. 
 When the sun once appears 
 within this polar region, it 
 comes to stay. Nature im- 
 mediately makes amends for 
 her long seclusion. For three 
 months the sunshine is well- 
 nigh incessant. There 
 
 is no 
 
 THE MERIDIAN SHAFT. 
 
 loss of time at night. The flowers do not close in sleep. All 
 vegetation rushes to maturity. Thus vegetables in the Arctic
 
 114 
 
 NORWAY 
 
 circle will sometimes grow three inches in a single day, and 
 
 although planted six weeks later than those in Christiania, 
 
 they are ready for the table at the same time. 
 
 Sailing finally from Hammerfest, a voyage of seven hours 
 
 brought us to our destination the North Cape. I looked 
 
 upon it with that 
 passionate eager- 
 ness born of long 
 years of anticipa- 
 tion, and felt at 
 once a thrill of 
 satisfaction, in 
 the absence of 
 all disappoint- 
 ment. For my 
 ideal of that 
 famous promon- 
 tory could not be 
 more perfect- 
 ly realized than 
 this dark- 
 
 in 
 
 NORWEGIAN FLORA. 
 
 browed, majestic 
 headland, rising with perpendicular cliffs, one thousand feet 
 in height, from the still darker ocean at its base. It is, in 
 reality, an island, divided from the mainland by a narrow 
 strait, like a gigantic sentinel stationed in advance to guard 
 the coast of Europe from the Arctic storms.. 
 
 Embarking here in boats, we drew still nearer to this 
 monstrous cliff. From this point it resembles a stupendous 
 fortress surmounted by an esplanade. For in that prehis- 
 toric age, when northern Europe was enveloped in an icy 
 mantle, huge glaciers in their southward march planed down 
 its summit to a level surface. The climbing of the cliff, 
 though safe, is quite exhausting. Ropes are, however, hung
 
 NORWAY 
 
 117 
 
 at different points, and, holding on to these, we slowly crept 
 up to its southern parapet. Thence a laborious walk of fif- 
 teen minutes brought us at last to the highest elevation, 
 marked by a granite monument erected to commemorate 
 King Oscar's visit to the place in 1873. 
 
 It is a wonderfully impressive moment when one stands 
 thus on the northern boundary of Europe, so near and yet so 
 far from the North Pole. It seemed to me as if the outer- 
 most limit of our planet had been reached. Nowhere, not 
 even in the desert, have I felt so utterly remote from civiliza- 
 tion, or so near to the infinitude of space. 
 
 But presently from our steamer, anchored near the base, 
 some rockets rose and burst in fiery showers far below us. It 
 was a signal for us to be on our guard. I looked at my 
 watch. It was exactly five minutes before midnight. Advan- 
 cing, therefore, to the edge of the cliff, I looked upon a unique 
 and never-to-be-forgotten scene. Below, beyond me, and on 
 either side, lay _ _ m SUD li me and aw- 
 
 ful solitude ^*^* ***^**^ the Arctic sea, 
 
 stretch- _>^ ^S^ ing away 
 
 NORTH CAPE.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 STUPENDOUS CLIFFS. 
 
 ance born of the twilight and 
 the waters like a benediction; 
 and beauty, when I looked 
 shoulder of the 
 globe, I saw the 
 MIDNIGHT SUN. 
 At this great 
 height and 
 northern lati- 
 tude it did not 
 sink to the hori- 
 zon, but merely 
 paused, appar- 
 entlysome twen- 
 ty feet above the 
 waves, then 
 gradually rose 
 again. It was 
 the last of count- 
 
 to that still un- 
 discovered re- 
 gion of the 
 north, which, 
 with its fatal 
 charm, has lured 
 so many brave 
 explorers to 
 their doom. 
 
 Straight from 
 the polar sea, 
 apparently, the 
 wondrous north- 
 ern light (an 
 opalescent radi- 
 
 the dawn) came stealing o'er 
 and to enhance its mystery 
 
 northward over the rounded 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT SUN.
 
 NORWAY 
 
 119 
 
 less sunsets which had that day been following each other 
 round the globe. It was the first of countless sunrises which, 
 hour after hour, in so many continents would wake to life 
 again a sleeping world. I have seen many impressive sights 
 in many lands, but nothing, until Time for me shall be no 
 more, can equal in solemnity the hour when, standing on this 
 threshold of a continent, and on the edge of this immeasur- 
 able sea, I watched, without one moment's interval of dark- 
 ness, the Past transform itself into the Present, and Yesterday 
 become To-day. 
 
 KING OSCAR'S MONUMENT NORTH CAPE.
 
 SWITZERLAND
 
 THE Parsees say that mountains are the heads of the long 
 pins that bind the world together. Geologists assure 
 us that they are merely wrinkles on the face of Mother 
 Earth, while we all know that, relatively to the world's 
 diameter, the highest elevation of our planet is but the thick- 
 ness of a hair laid on an ordinary globe. 
 
 But these comparisons do not affect the grandeur of the 
 peaks themselves, when we behold them face to face, crowned 
 with unmeasured miles of snow, girded with glaciers as with 
 coats of mail, and towering up among the clouds as though to 
 storm the very heights of Heaven. If it be true, as some 
 have claimed, that travel blunts the edge of enjoyment, and 
 renders one indifferent and blast, it is true only of those arti-
 
 124 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 ficial charms which form the attraction of great cities and the 
 pleasure-haunts of men. These may at last grow wearisome. 
 But Nature wears a freshness and a glory that can never fade. 
 
 Continual worship at her shrine 
 increases our desire for that hap- 
 piness which only Nature gives, 
 and adds to our capacity for its appreciation. 
 
 Switzerland, then, of all countries in the world, is the one 
 of which the traveler is likely to tire least. The vision of its 
 kingly Alps must always thrill the heart with exultation. Its 
 noble roads and unsurpassed hotels make rest or travel on its 
 heights delightful; while the keen tonic of its mountain air 
 restores the jaded frame, as ancients dreamed a draught would 
 do from the pure fountain of perpetual youth. 
 
 One of the most attractive gateways to this land of moun- 
 tains is Interlaken. All tourists in Switzerland come hither, 
 almost of necessity. No other point is quite so central for 
 excursions. None is more easy of approach. As its name
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 125 
 
 indicates, it lies between two famous lakes which rival one 
 another in respect to beauty. Before it, also, are the charm- 
 ing vales of Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald, which lead one 
 into the very heart of the Bernese Oberland. Moreover, from 
 sixty to eighty thousand people come here every year to 
 render homage to the peerless sovereign who holds court at 
 Interlaken. There is no need to name the peak to which I 
 thus allude, for everywhere in Interlaken we discern the crown- 
 ing glory of the place beside which all others fade 
 the lovely Jungfrau, queen of Alpine heights. Her grand, 
 resplendent form fills the entire space between the encircling 
 peaks, and forms a dazzling centre-piece of ice and snow, 
 nearly fourteen thousand feet in height. It is a never-ending 
 pleasure to rest upon the broad piazzas of Interlaken's pala- 
 tial hotels, and gaze upon this radiant mount. It sometimes 
 looks like a great white cloud forever anchored in one place, but 
 oftener sparkles as if covered with a robe of diamonds ; mantled, 
 as it is, with snows of virgin purity from base to heaven-pierc- 
 ing summit. 
 
 JUNGFRAU FROM INTERLAKEN
 
 126 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Yet were we to examine closely a single section of the 
 Jungfrau, we should discover that its shoulders are covered 
 with enormous snow-fields, the origin of stupendous ava- 
 lanches. For amid all this beauty there is much here that 
 
 PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS, BERNE. 
 
 is harsh and terrible. Appalling precipices, dangerous cre- 
 vasses, and well-nigh constant falls of hundreds of tons of rock 
 and ice, render the wooing of this " Maiden of the Alps " a 
 difficult undertaking. In fact, the name Jungfrau, or Maiden, 
 was given to the mountain, because its pure summit seemed 
 destined to remain forever virgin to the tread of man. Many 
 had sought to make her conquest, but in vain. At last, how- 
 ever, in 1811 (nearly thirty years after the subjugation of 
 Mont Blanc), two brothers gained the crest ; and since that 
 time its icy slopes have reflected the forms of many ambitious 
 and courageous travelers. 
 
 No tourist who has been at Interlaken on a pleasant even- 
 ing can possibly forget the vision which presents itself as 
 day reluctantly retires from the Jungfrau at the approach of 
 night.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 129 
 
 SUNSET AT INTERLAKEN. 
 
 The sun is low; 
 
 Yon peak of snow 
 Is purpling 'neath the sunset glow; 
 
 The rosy light 
 
 Makes richly bright 
 The Jungfrau's veil of snowy white. 
 
 From vales that sleep 
 
 Night's shadows creep 
 To take possession of the steep; 
 
 While, as they rise, 
 
 The western skies 
 Seem loth to leave so fair a prize. 
 
 The light of Day 
 
 Still loves to stay 
 And round that pearly summit play; 
 
 How fair a sight, 
 
 That plain of light 
 Contended for by Day and Night!
 
 130 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Now fainter shines. 
 
 As Day declines, 
 The lustrous height which he resigns; 
 
 The shadows gain 
 
 Th' illumined plain; 
 The Jungfrau pales, as if in pain. 
 
 ON LAKE THUN. 
 
 When daylight dies, 
 
 The azure skies 
 Seem sparkling with a thousand eyes, 
 
 Which watch with grace 
 
 From depths of space 
 The sleeping Jungfrau's lovely face. 
 
 And when is born 
 
 The ruddy Dawn, 
 Forerunner of the coming Morn, 
 
 Along the skies 
 
 It quickly flies 
 To kiss the Maiden's opening eyes. 
 
 The timid flush, 
 
 The rosy blush, 
 Which then o'er brow and face do rush, 
 
 Are pure and fair 
 
 Beyond compare, 
 Resplendent in the illumined air.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 And thus alway, 
 
 By night or day, 
 Her varying suitors homage pay; 
 
 And tinged with rose, 
 
 Or white with snows, 
 The same fair radiant form she shows. 
 
 
 
 I have said that Interlaken was an admirable place from 
 which to make excursions. Shall we not put this to the proof 
 by entering now the charming and romantic vale of Lauter- 
 brunnen, dainty and lovely as a dimple in the cheek of Nature? 
 It is only half a mile in width, and is bounded on both sides by 
 lofty mountains, over which the winter's sun can hardly climb 
 till midday. And yet luxuriant vegetation covers it, as with 
 an emerald carpet. The bases of these mountains seem to rest 
 on flowers. The awful scenery which surrounds it makes it seem 
 doubly sweet and fair; and one can hardly imagine a more 
 striking picture than that of this 
 peaceful valley, looking smilingly 
 up into the stern and savage faces 
 of the monsters which environ it, 
 as if unconscious of its helpless- 
 ness, or trusting confidently in 
 their mercy. 
 
 A little distance 
 up the valley, we 
 note its most re- 
 markable feature, 
 the Fall of the 
 Staubbach, or 
 " Dust -brook," 
 which here leaps 
 boldly over the 
 brow of the 
 mountain, 
 
 ^35IF* 
 
 THE STAUBBACH.
 
 132 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 VALLEY OF LAUTERBRUNNEN. 
 
 nine hundred and 
 eighty feet above us. 
 Long before it reaches 
 the ground, it is con- 
 verted into a vast, 
 diaphanous cloud of 
 spray, which the 
 breeze scatters into 
 thousands of fantastic 
 wreaths. Whenever 
 the sunlight streams 
 directly through this, 
 the effect is marvelous. 
 It then resembles a 
 transparent veil of sil- 
 very lace, woven with 
 
 all the colors of the rainbow, fluttering from the fir-clad 
 
 rocks. Byron compared it to the tail of a white horse, 
 
 streaming in the wind ; but 
 
 Goethe's description is best, 
 
 when he exclaims: 
 
 " In clouds of spray, 
 Like silver dust, 
 It veils the rock 
 In rainbow hues; 
 And dancing down 
 With music soft, 
 Is lost in air." 
 
 But the ambitious trav- 
 eler will ascend far higher 
 than the summit of this 
 waterfall to stand upon the 
 mighty cliffs which line the 
 valley like gigantic walls. 
 
 GOING TO MURREN.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 135 
 
 COMFORT IN SWITZERLAND. 
 
 The task is 
 easily accom- 
 plished now. 
 Ten years ago 
 it was an ardu- 
 ous climb, on 
 horseback or on 
 foot ; but now 
 an electric rail- 
 road winds for 
 miles along the 
 edge of frightful 
 precipices, and (where a vertical ascent is absolutely neces- 
 sary) another kind of car lifts one a thousand feet or so 
 toward heaven, as smoothly and as swiftly as a hotel elevator. 
 Truly the visitor of a dozen years ago perceives amazing 
 changes to-day among the Alps. Where, formerly, a man 
 would hardly dare to go on foot, trains now ascend with myri- 
 ads of travelers! Hotels 
 and even railroad stations 
 up among the clouds have 
 driven from the lofty 
 crags the eagle and the 
 chamois. This to the 
 genuine Alpine climber 
 seems like sacrilege ; but, 
 after all, what contribu- 
 tors to the happiness of 
 mankind these mountain 
 railroads are ! Without 
 them, few would venture 
 here ; and all the pa- 
 geantry of Nature in 
 these upper regions 
 
 MODERN" ALPINE CLIMBING.
 
 136 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 would unfold itself through the revolving years with scarce an 
 
 eye to note its beauty or voice to tell its glories to the world. 
 
 In startling contrast to my first ascent to the place, now 
 
 many years ago, 
 it was by this 
 luxurious mode 
 of travel that I 
 recently ap- 
 proached the 
 little village 
 known as Miir- 
 ren. It is the 
 loftiest hamlet 
 in all Switzer- 
 land, consist- 
 ing of a cluster 
 of Swiss cot- 
 tages, whose 
 
 nuiuuun* 
 
 roofs, heavily 
 
 freighted with protecting stones, project beyond the walls like 
 broad-brimmed hats. So singular is the appearance of a 
 village at this dizzy height, that one is tempted to believe 
 that the houses had been blown up from the valley by 
 some reckless blast, and dropped at random on the lonely 
 tableland. 
 
 Yet here, to our astonishment, we find hotels, which some- 
 how year by year outlive the horrors of the Alpine winter, 
 and in the summer season welcome their hundreds of adven- 
 turous guests. But, after all, where in Switzerland is there 
 not a hotel? Fast as the arteries of travel are extended, on 
 every prominent point commanding a fine view is planted 
 a hotel, a forerunner of the world of travel. This is, in fact, 
 one of the charms of Switzerland. The Andes and Himalayas 
 may possess higher peaks and grander glaciers; but there one
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 137 
 
 cannot (as among the Alps) ride all day long on perfect roads, 
 and in the evening sit down to a well-cooked dinner, hear 
 music on a broad veranda, consult the latest newspapers, and 
 sleep in a comfortable bed. 
 
 Even before the advent of the railroad, I was a thousand- 
 fold repaid for climbing up to Murren; for here so closely 
 do the Alpine Titans press on every side, that if Mohammed 
 had ever found his way hither, he might well have believed 
 that the mountains were coming to him, and not he to the 
 mountains. 
 
 The surrounding summits reveal to the astonished sight 
 heights, lengths, and depths which overwhelm one with sub- 
 limity. What seemed an hour ago mere glistening mounds 
 are now transformed by the grandeur of this Olympian eleva- 
 tion into vast 
 snowfields, miles 
 in length, or 
 into seas of ice, 
 which pour 
 down through 
 the valleys in 
 slow-moving 
 floods. In early 
 summer, too, 
 one- hears at 
 frequent inter- 
 vals the roar of 
 some tremen- 
 dous avalanche 
 on the great 
 mountains oppo- 
 site, from which the tourist is separated only by a yawning gulf. 
 
 Never shall I forget the morning when I stood here wait- 
 ing for the sunrise view. There was none of that crowd of jab- 
 
 A HOTEL AT MURREN.
 
 138 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 bering tourists who often profane the summit of the Rigi, and 
 seem to measure the extent of their pleasure by the noise they 
 make. I was well-nigh alone. When I emerged from the 
 hotel, a purple line was visible in the east, but clouds and 
 mists half veiled the mountains from my sight. At length, 
 however, noiselessly but steadily, a hidden hand seemed 
 to draw back the misty curtain of the night. Slowly the 
 giant forms molded themselves from darkness into light, 
 until their foreheads first, and then each fold and outline 
 of their dazzling shapes, stood forth in bold relief against the 
 sky. The glaciers sparkled with the first bright beams like 
 jeweled highways of the gods, till, finally, as the sun's 
 disk came fairly into view, the whole vast range glowed like a 
 wall of tinted porcelain. It seemed as if a thousand sacred 
 fires had been kindled on these mountain altars, in glad 
 response to the triumphant greeting of the god of day. 
 
 On descending from Miirren, the tourist is attracted to 
 another famous object, only a few miles from Interlaken, 
 the glacier of Grindelwald. 
 
 A VIEW FROM MURREN.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 141 
 
 It was while visiting this sea of ice that my guide suddenly 
 turned and asked me with a smile, " Are you a clergyman? " 
 
 I answered that I could not claim- that flattering distinc- 
 tion, but begged to know the reason of his question. 
 "Because," he said, "clergymen seem to be unlucky in 
 Grindelwald ; all 
 the accidents 
 that take place 
 here somehow 
 happen to 
 them." 
 
 As we were 
 at that moment 
 just about to 
 venture on the 
 ice, I naturally 
 recalled Charles 
 Lamb's reply 
 when he was re- 
 quested to say 
 grace at dinner. 
 "What," he 
 
 exclaimed, "are there no clergymen present? Then I will 
 say, the Lord be thanked! " 
 
 A moment or two later we entered the well-known cavern 
 in this glacier a strange and chilling passageway, two hun- 
 dred feet in length, cut in the solid ice, whose gleaming walls 
 and roof seemed to be made of polished silver. 
 
 As I was picking my way safely, though shiveringly, 
 through this huge refrigerator, I asked my guide to tell me about 
 one of the clerical misfortunes which had made him suspicious 
 of gentlemen of the cloth. He turned and looked at me 
 curiously. "You know, of course, the fate of our pastor, 
 M. Mouron?" he exclaimed. I confessed my ignorance. 
 
 A GLACIER.
 
 142 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 A CHILLING PASSAGEWAY. 
 
 "Then come with me," 
 he said. Accordingly, 
 emerging from the cavern, 
 we climbed for nearly an 
 hour over great blocks of 
 ice, until we came to a pro- 
 found abyss. Suspended 
 from the frozen parapet a 
 mass of icicles pointed mys- 
 teriously down like ghostly 
 fingers. Then all was dark. 
 " It was by falling down 
 this," said the guide, 
 "that the pastor of 
 Grindelwald lost his life. 
 He was seeking one day to 
 
 ascertain its depth by casting stones into its cavernous maw 
 
 and counting till he heard the sound of their arrival at the 
 
 bottom of the 
 
 abyss. Once, in 
 
 his eagerness, 
 
 he placed his 
 
 staff against the 
 
 opposite edge, 
 
 leaned over and 
 
 listened. Sud- 
 denly the ice 
 
 gave way, and 
 
 he fell head- 
 long into the 
 
 crevasse. His 
 
 guide ran 
 
 breathless to 
 
 the village and 
 
 GHOSTLY FINGERS.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 informed the people of their loss. But, to his horror, he 
 found that he himself was looked upon with suspicion. In 
 fact, some went so far as to say that he must have murdered 
 their pastor, and robbed him of his watch and purse. 
 
 "The guides of Grindelwald, however, who felt them- 
 selves insulted at this accusation, united and agreed that one 
 of their number (chosen by lot) should, at the peril of his life, 
 descend into this crevasse to establish the innocence of the 
 
 accused. The lot was drawn by 
 one of the bravest of them all, a 
 man named Bergenen. The whole 
 
 '-.***" 
 
 village assembled on the flood of 
 
 ice to witness the result of the search. After partaking of 
 the sacrament, Bergenen fastened a rope around his waist 
 and a lantern to his neck. In one hand he took a bell. 
 In the other he grasped his iron-pointed staff to keep him- 
 self from the sharp edges. Four men then carefully lowered 
 him down. Twice, on the point of suffocation, he rang the
 
 144 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 bell and was 
 drawn up. Fi- 
 nally a heavier 
 weight was felt 
 upon the rope, 
 and Bergenen re 
 appeared, bring- 
 ing the body 
 of the pastor 
 from a depth of 
 seven hundred 
 and fifty feet. 
 A mighty shout 
 went up from the guides and populace as well. The man 
 was innocent. Both watch and purse were found upon the 
 corpse! " 
 
 As we returned from Grindelwald to Interlaken, we often 
 paused to note the peasants toiling in the fields. So far as their 
 appearance was concerned, we might have supposed them labor- 
 ers on a Vermont farm ; but their low carts were quite unlike 
 
 HAY-MAKING. 
 
 UPON THE HEIGHTS.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 our country hayracks; and the appearance of a single ox, 
 harnessed with ropes around his horns, presented an amusing 
 contrast to the sturdy beasts which, bound together by the 
 yoke, drag to our barns their loads of fragrant hay. Women, 
 of course, were working with the men ; but female laborers 
 in Switzerland are not in the majority. In many instances 
 the ratio is but 
 one to three. 
 
 These peas- 
 ants look up 
 curiously as we 
 drive along, 
 and no doubt 
 think that we 
 are favored be- 
 ings, to whom 
 our luxu ries 
 give perfect 
 happiness. And 
 yet the very 
 tourists whom 
 they thus envy 
 may, in a single 
 
 hour, endure more misery and heartache than they in their 
 simplicity and moderate poverty will ever know. Among 
 these people are not found the framers of those hopeless 
 questions: "Is life worth living?" and "Does death end 
 all?" The real destroyers of life's happiness are not a 
 lowly home and manual labor. They are the constant worri- 
 ments and cares of artificial life, satiety of pleasures, the 
 overwork of mental powers, and the disenchantment of sat 
 isfied desires. 
 
 Filled with such thoughts, as we beheld the humble but 
 well-kept and ever picturesque dwellings of the farmers of this 
 
 A SWISS FARM-HOUSE.
 
 146 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 valley, I called to mind, as a consoling antidote to one's first 
 natural sympathy with poverty, the story of the sultan who, 
 despite all his wealth and power, was always melancholy. 
 He had been told by his physician that, if he would be cured 
 of all his real or fancied ailments, he must exchange shirts 
 
 with the first 
 perfectly happy 
 man he could 
 find. Out went 
 his officers in 
 search of such 
 a person. 
 
 The hunt 
 was long and 
 arduous, but 
 finally the for- 
 tunate being 
 was found. 
 When he was 
 brought to the 
 sultan, how- 
 ever, it was dis- 
 covered, alas! that this perfectly happy individual was not the 
 possessor of a shirt. 
 
 From Interlaken, every tourist makes a short excursion 
 to one of the best known of Alpine waterfalls, the Giessbach. 
 Set in a glorious framework of dark trees, it leaves the cliff, 
 one thousand feet above, and in a series of cascades leaps 
 downward to the lake. If this descending torrent were 
 endowed with consciousness, I fancy it would be as wretched 
 in its present state as a captive lion in a cage, continually 
 stared at by a curious multitude. For never was a cascade 
 so completely robbed of liberty and privacy as this. A path- 
 way crosses it repeatedly by means of bridges, and seems to 
 
 THE GIESSBACH.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 149 
 
 bind it to the mountain as with a winding chain. Behind it 
 are numerous galleries where visitors may view it from the 
 rear. Arbors and seats are also placed on either side; and thus, 
 through every hour of the day, people to right of it, people 
 to left of ft, people in rear of it, people in front of it, look 
 on and wonder. Even at night it has but little rest ; for hardly 
 have the shadows shrouded it, when it is torn from its obscurity 
 by torches, calcium lights, and fireworks, which all along 
 its course reveal it to the admiring crowd in a kaleidoscope 
 of colors. 
 
 Far happier, therefore, seems another waterfall of Switzer- 
 land, the Reichembach; for this is left comparatively undis- 
 turbed within 
 its mountain 
 solitude. Far 
 o ff , upon a 
 mountain crest, 
 a blue lake, set 
 like a sapphire 
 amid surround- 
 ing glaciers, 
 serves as a cra- 
 dle for this new- 
 born river. 
 Thence it 
 emerges, tim- 
 idly at first, to 
 make its way 
 down to the 
 
 outer world. With each descent, however, it gains fresh im- 
 petus and courage. Return is now impossible. The die is 
 cast. Its fate is now decided. We almost wish that we could 
 check its course amid this beautiful environment. It will not 
 find a sweeter or a safer place. Too soon it will be forced to 
 
 THE REICHENBACH.
 
 ISO 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 THE PROMENADE. 
 
 bear great bur- 
 dens, turn count- 
 less wheels, and 
 minister to thou- 
 sands. Then, at 
 the last, will 
 come old Ocean's 
 cold and passion- 
 less embrace, in 
 which all its in- 
 dividuality will 
 disappear. 
 
 Another portal to this land of mountains, rivaling Inter- 
 laken in attractiveness, is Lucerne, reclining peacefully beside 
 its noble lake. I do not know a resting-place in Switzerland 
 which is in all respects so satisfying as this. 
 
 Its hotels are among the finest in the world ; the town 
 itself is pretty and attractive ; and in the foreground is a 
 panorama too varied to become monotonous, too beautiful 
 ever to lose its charm. Mount Pilate and the Rigi guard 
 Lucerne like sentinels, the one on the east, the other on the 
 west, like halting- ^^^*^^^^^^ places for the morn- 
 site, ^fifw . u P on 
 
 THE QUAY, LUCERNE
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 the southern boundary of the lake, miles upon miles of 
 snow-capped mountains rise against the sky, as if to indicate 
 the limit of the world. 
 
 One of the sentinels of Lucerne, as I have said, is Mount 
 Pilate. Toward this the faces of all tourists turn, as to a 
 huge barom- eter; for by its 
 
 cap of 
 
 clouds Pilate foretells the 
 weather which excursionists 
 must look for. There is 
 hardly need to recall the 
 popular derivation of the 
 mountain's name. It was in olden times believed that Pon- 
 tius Pilate, in his wanderings through the world, impelled at 
 last by horror and remorse, committed suicide upon its 
 summit. On this account the mountain was considered 
 haunted. At one time the town authorities even forbade 
 people to ascend it on a Friday! But now there is a hotel 
 on the top, and every day in the week, Friday included, a 
 railway train climbs resolutely to the summit, enabling 
 thousands to enjoy every summer a view scarcely to be sur- 
 passed in grandeur or extent at any point among the Alps. 
 No allusion to Lucerne would be complete without reference
 
 152 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 to that noble product of Thorwaldsen's genius, which, in 
 more respects than one, is the lion of the place. It is dif- 
 ficult to imagine a more appropriate memorial than this, of the 
 fidelity and valor exhibited one hundred years ago by the 
 Swiss guard, who in defense of Louis XVI laid down their 
 lives at the opening of the French 
 tion. No view does justice to this 
 statue. Within a 
 monstrous niche, 
 which has been hol- 
 lowed out of a per- 
 pendicular cliff, re- 
 clines, as in some 
 mountain cave, the 
 prostrate figure of a 
 lion, thirty feet in 
 length. It is evident 
 that the animal has 
 received a mortal 
 wound. The handle 
 of a spear protrudes 
 from his side. Yet 
 even in the agony of 
 death he guards the 
 Bourbon shield and 
 lily, which he has 
 given his life to de- 
 fend. One paw pro- 
 tects them; his 
 drooping head caresses them, and gives to them a 
 mute farewell. Beneath the figure, chiseled in the 
 rock, are the names of the officers murdered by the mob; 
 while above is the brief but eloquent inscription: "To the 
 fidelity and bravery of the Swiss." In the whole world I 
 do not know of a monument more simple yet impressive. 
 
 THE ALPINE ELEVAT" 
 ON MOUNT PILATE.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 153 
 
 One of the 
 greatest pleas- 
 ures of the tourist 
 in Lucerne is to 
 sail out, as he 
 may do at almost 
 any hour of the 
 day, upon its 
 lovely lake . 
 This, in respect 
 to scenery, sur- 
 passes all its 
 Alpine rivals. 
 Twenty- three 
 miles in length, 
 it has the form 
 of a gigantic cross, each arm of which (when looked upon 
 glow of sunset from a neighboring height) seems like a 
 
 THE LION OF LUCERNE. 
 
 in the 
 plain 
 
 of gold and lapis-lazuli 
 set in a frame-work of ma- 
 jestic mountains. No tour 

 
 154 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 in Switzerland 
 is complete 
 without a sail 
 upon this fair 
 expanse of 
 water. Hence 
 more than half 
 a million trav- 
 elers cross it 
 every year dur- 
 ing the summer 
 months alone, 
 
 and tiny steamers are continually visible, cutting their furrows 
 on its smooth, transparent surface, as sharply as a diamond 
 marks a pane of glass. 
 
 Moreover, when the boat glides inward toward the shore, 
 one sees that other elements of beauty are not wanting here. 
 Pretty chalets with overhanging roofs; rich pastures, orchards, 
 and gardens, all these, with numerous villages, succeed each 
 other here for ^^^^^^ ""^^^^^ miles, between 
 
 the lake ^^^^ ^^^^ and the 
 
 MAKING A LANDING. 
 
 TELL'S CHAPEL.
 
 MONTREUX.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 157 
 
 bold cliffs that rise toward Heaven. Nor is this all. The 
 villages possess a history, since these romantic shores were 
 formerly the stage on which Swiss patriots performed those 
 thrilling scenes immortalized by Schiller in his drama of 
 " William Tell." 
 
 In fact, at one point half concealed among the trees is the 
 well-known structure, called Tell's Chapel. It stands upon 
 the spot where, it is said, the hero, springing from the ty- 
 rant's boat, escaped the 
 clutches of the Austrian 
 governor. As is well 
 known, doubts have been 
 cast on even the existence 
 of this national chieftain; 
 and yet it is beyond per- 
 adventure that a chapel 
 was erected here to his 
 memory as early as the 
 fifteenth century, and only 
 eleven years ago this struc- 
 ture was restored at gov- 
 ernment expense. More- 
 over, once a year at least, 
 the people of the neigh- 
 boring cantons gather here 
 
 in great numbers to celebrate a festival which has been held 
 by their ancestors for centuries. 
 
 The little building is certainly well calculated to awaken 
 patriotism. Appropriate frescoes, representing exploits as- 
 cribed to William Tell, adorn the walls; while opposite the 
 doorway is an altar at which religious services are held. How 
 solemn and impressive must the ceremony be, when religious 
 rites are performed in such a historic and picturesque locality 
 in the presence of a reverent multitude ! At such a time this 
 
 ALTAR IN TELL'S CHAPEL.
 
 I 5 8 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 tiny shrine may be considered part of the sublime cathedral 
 of the mountains, whose columns are majestic trees, whose 
 stained glass is autumnal foliage, whose anthems are the songs 
 
 LAKE LUCERNE BY NIGHT. 
 
 of birds, whose requiems are the moaning of the pines, and 
 whose grand roof is the stupendous arch of the unmeasured 
 sky, beneath which the snow-clad mountains rise like jeweled 
 altars, lighted at night, as if with lofty tapers, by the glitter- 
 ing stars. 
 
 But to appreciate the beauty of this sheet of water, one 
 should behold it when its surface is unruffled by a breeze. En- 
 amoured of their own beauty, the mountains then look down 
 into the lake as into an incomparable mirror. It is an invert- 
 ed world. The water is as transparent as the sky. The very 
 breezes hold their breath, lest they should mar the exquisite 
 reflection. The neighboring peaks display their rugged fea- 
 tures in this limpid flood, as if unconscious of the wrinkles 
 which betray their age. The pine trees stand so motionless 
 upon the shore that they appear like slender ferns. Instinc-
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 159 
 
 tively we call to mind those graceful lines, supposed to be ad- 
 dressed by such a lake to an adjoining mountain: 
 
 "I lie forever at thy feet, 
 
 Dear hill with lofty crown; 
 My waters smile thy crags to greet, 
 As they look proudly down. 
 
 The odor of thy wind-tossed pines 
 
 Is message sweet to me; 
 It makes me dimple with delight, 
 
 Because it comes from thee. 
 
 4 
 
 Thou, lofty, grand, above the world; 
 
 Its lowly servant, I; 
 Yet see, within my sunny depths 
 
 Is smiling thy blue sky. 
 
 FLUELEN, ON LAKE LUCERNE. 
 
 Thou art so far, and yet how near! 
 
 For though we are apart, 
 I make myself a mirror clear, 
 
 And hold thee in my heart." 
 
 
 Above this lake itself extends for miles the famous Axen- 
 
 strasse, a splendid specimen of engineering skill, cut in the
 
 i6o 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 solid rock, hun- 
 dreds of feet 
 above the 
 waves. Yet this 
 is no excep- 
 tional thing in 
 Switzerland , 
 and nothing 
 stamps itself 
 more forcibly 
 upon the tour- 
 ist's mind with- 
 in this region of 
 the Alps than 
 man's trium- 
 phant victory 
 over obstacles, 
 
 in the formation of its roads. Despite their great cost of 
 construction these prove profitable investments; for the better 
 the roads, the more people will travel over them. Referring 
 to them, some one has prettily said, that by such means the 
 
 THE AXENSTRASSE. 
 
 IN THE ENGADINE.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 161 
 
 Swiss transform 
 the silver of 
 their mountain 
 peaks into five 
 franc pieces, 
 and change the 
 golden glow of 
 their sunrises 
 and sunsets into 
 napoleons. 
 
 How great 
 the difference 
 between the 
 Switzerland of 
 to-day and that 
 of fifty years 
 ago! Where formerly the 
 picked their precarious way 
 
 MOUNTAIN GALLERIES. 
 
 ENGINEERING SKILL. 
 
 solitary peasant and his mule 
 through mud or snow, luxurious 
 landaus now roll easily 
 along, on thoroughfares 
 of rock, without a stone 
 or obstruction of any 
 kind to mar their sur- 
 faces. Nor is there dan- 
 ger of disaster. Walled 
 in by massive parapets, 
 an accident is here im- 
 possible; and in these 
 mighty galleries, hewn 
 from the mountain side 
 itself, the traveler is per- 
 fectly secure, although 
 an avalanche may fall or 
 cyclones rage above him,
 
 1 62 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 The Axenstrasse may be said to form a part of that mag- 
 nificent route from Switzerland to Italy, known as the St. 
 Gotthard. It is, in truth, the king of Alpine roads; resem- 
 bling a mighty chain which man, the victor, has imposed 
 upon the vanquished Alps, one end sunk deep in the Italian 
 Lakes, the other guarded by the Lion of Lucerne, and all 
 the intervening links kept burnished brightly by the hands of 
 trade. True, within the last few years, the carriage-road 
 across the St. Gotthard has been comparatively neglected, 
 
 since the longest 
 tunnel in the 
 world has to a 
 great extent re- 
 placed it. Tran- 
 quil enough this 
 tunnel frequently 
 appears, but I 
 have seen it when 
 great clouds of 
 smoke were pour- 
 ing out of its 
 huge throat, as 
 from the crater 
 of a great vol- 
 cano. A strong 
 
 wind blowing from the south was then, no doubt, clearing 
 this subterranean flue; and I was glad that I had not to 
 breathe its stifling atmosphere, but, on the contrary, seated 
 in a carriage, could lose no portion of the glorious scenery, 
 while drinking in great draughts of the pure mountain air. 
 
 Still, whether we travel by the railroad of the St. Gotthard 
 or not, we must not underrate its usefulness, nor belittle the 
 great engineering triumphs here displayed. Its length, too, 
 amazes one, for not only is the principal tunnel nine and a half 
 
 ST. GOTTHARD TUNNEL.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 165 
 
 miles long, but there are fifty-five others on the line, the 
 total length of which, cut inch by inch out of the solid granite, 
 is more than twenty-five miles. When one drives over the 
 mountain by the carriage-road, hour after hour, bewildered by 
 its cliffs and gorges, it seems impossible that the engineer's 
 calculations could have been made so perfectly as to enable 
 labor on the tunnel to be carried on from both ends of it at 
 the same time. Yet all was planned so well that, on the 
 28th of February, 1880, the Italian workmen and the Swiss 
 both met at the designated spot, six thousand feet below the 
 summit, and there pierced the last thin barrier that remained 
 between the north and south. 
 
 The number of railroad bridges on the St. Gotthard aston- 
 ished me. Their name is legion. Across them long trains 
 make their way among the clouds like monster centipedes, 
 creeping along the mountain-sides, or over lofty viaducts. 
 
 Here man's triumph over nature is complete. How puny 
 seems at first his strength when measured with the wind and
 
 1 66 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 avalanche ! But 
 mind has proved 
 superior to mat- 
 ter. The ax was 
 made, and at its 
 sturdy stroke 
 the forest yield- 
 ed up its tribute 
 for the construc- 
 tion of this path- 
 way. The cav- 
 erns of the earth 
 were also forced 
 to surrender the 
 iron treasured 
 there for ages, 
 and rails were made, along whose glittering lines a crowded 
 train now glides as smoothly as a boat upon the waves. 
 And yet these awful cliffs still scowl so savagely on either 
 
 THE ST. GOTTHARD RAILWAY.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 167 
 
 side, that the 
 steel rail, which 
 rests upon their 
 shelves of rock, 
 seems often like 
 a thread of fate, 
 by which a thou- 
 sand lives are 
 held suspended 
 over the abyss. 
 
 The volume 
 of freight trans- 
 ported along this 
 
 route must be 
 enormous. But 
 why should tour- 
 ists (unless compelled by lack of time) consent to be carried 
 through this scenery like a bale of goods, in darkness rather 
 than in daylight? The best way still to cross the Alps is 
 
 THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. 

 
 i68 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 to cross them, not to burrow through them. I should cer- 
 tainly advise the traveler to drive from Lake Lucerne over the 
 St. Gotthard Pass, and then to take the train, if he desires to 
 do so, on the Italian side, as it emerges from the tunnel. 
 Thence, in a few brief hours one can embark upon Lake 
 Como, or see the sunset gild the statue-laden spires of Milan's 
 cathedral. 
 
 The finest scenery on the carriage-road of the St. Gott- 
 hard is in a wild ravine, through which the river Reuss 
 rushes madly. Spanning the torrent in a single arch, is what 
 is popularly called " The Devil's Bridge." Perhaps I should 
 say bridges, for there are surely two of them, and though only 
 the smaller one is attributed to his Satanic Majesty, it is prob- 
 ably by the newer, safer, and more orthodox one that Satan 
 nowadays, like a prudent devil, prefers to cross. The legend 
 of this celebrated bridge is extraordinary. 
 
 Some centuries ago, the mayor of the canton was one day 
 in despair because the mountain torrent had swept off every 
 bridge he had constructed 
 here. In his
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 169 
 
 vexation he was rash enough to use 
 
 the name of the Devil, as some people 
 
 will. Hardly had he uttered the word, 
 
 when his door-bell rang, and his servant 
 
 brought him a card, on which he read 
 
 the words, " Monsieur Satan." 
 
 "Show him in," said the mayor. 
 
 A gentleman in black made his appear- 
 ance, and seated himself in an armchair. 
 
 The mayor placed his boots upon the 
 
 fender; the Devil rested his upon the 
 
 burning coals. The subject of the 
 
 bridge was broached, and the mayor 
 
 finally offered the Devil any sum that 
 
 the canton could raise, if he would build 
 
 them a bridge which would last one 
 
 hundred years. "Bah!" said Satan, 
 
 " What need have I of money? " And 
 
 taking 
 with his fin- 
 gers a red- 
 hot coal from 
 
 the fire, he offered it to his com- 
 panion. The mayor drew back 
 aghast. " Don't be afraid," said 
 Satan; and putting the coal in 
 the mayor's hand, it instantly 
 became a lump of gold. "Take 
 it back," said the mayor sadly; 
 "we are not talking now of 
 politics ! " " You see, ' ' said the 
 Devil, with a smile, " my price 
 must be something else than 
 money. If I build this bridge, 
 
 PEASANT GIRL 
 
 OF THE MANY.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 I demand that the first living being that passes over it shall 
 be mine." "Agreed!" said the mayor. The contract was 
 soon signed. " Aurevoir! " said the Devil. " Au plaisir!" 
 said the mayor; and Satan went his way. 
 
 Early next morning the mayor himself hurried to the spot, 
 eager to see if Satan had fulfilled his contract. The bridge 
 was completed, and there sat Satan, swinging his legs over 
 the stream and waiting for his promised soul. "What," 
 he exclaimed, as he espied the mayor, "do you unselfishly 
 resign your soul to me? " " Not much," replied the mayor, 
 ' proceeding to 
 
 untie a bag which 
 he had brought. 
 "What's that?" 
 cried Satan. 
 There was a wild 
 yell, and instant- 
 ly a big black 
 cat, with a tin 
 pan tied to its 
 tail, rushed over 
 the bridge as if 
 ten thousand dogs were after it. " There is your ' first living 
 being,' 1 cried the mayor. "Catch him!" Satan was 
 furious, but acknowledged that he had been outwitted and 
 retired, contenting himself with making the air of the ravine 
 quite sulphurous with his remarks about home! 
 
 Although the St. Gotthard may be the grandest of all 
 Alpine passes, the most historic of them is that of Mount St. 
 Bernard. Some years ago, on the last day of October, I left 
 the village of Martigny, which is the starting-point for the 
 ascent, and, several hours later, as night came creeping up the 
 Alps, found myself upon the famous pass, at a place already 
 higher than our own Mt. Washington, but still two thousand 
 
 HOSPICE ST. BERNARD AND LAKE.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 173 
 
 feet below my destination, the monastery. Through vari- 
 ous causes our party had been delayed, and now with the ap- 
 proach of night a snow-storm swept our path with fearful vio- 
 lence. Those who have never seen a genuine Alpine storm 
 can hardly comprehend its reckless fury. The light snow was 
 
 whirled and scattered, 
 like an ocean of spray, 
 over all things. A thou- 
 sand needles of ice 
 seemed to pierce our 
 skin. Drifts sprang up 
 in our path, as if by 
 magic. The winds 
 howled like unchained 
 
 demons through the jagged gorges, and a horrible feeling 
 of isolation made our hearts falter with a sickening sense 
 of helplessness. As mine was an October experience, I 
 shudder to think of what a genuine winter's storm must 
 be. For, as it was, we were all speedily numb with cold,
 
 174 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 blinded by the whirling snow, and deafened by the roaring 
 wind, which sometimes drowned our loudest shouts to one 
 another. 
 
 Up and still up we rode, our poor mules plunging through 
 the snow, our fingers mechanically holding the reins, which 
 felt like icicles within our grasp, our guides rubbing their well- 
 nigh frozen hands, but, fortunately most fortunately never 
 becoming confused as to the way. 
 
 At length I saw, or thought I saw, through the blinding 
 snow, one of a group of buildings. I chanced to be the fore- 
 most in our file of snow-bound travelers, and shouting, "Here 
 it is at last," I hastened toward the structure. No light was 
 visible. No voice responded to my call for help. I pounded 
 on the door and called again. No answer came; but at that 
 
 A SWISS OSSUARY. 
 
 moment I felt my arm grasped roughly by my guide. "In 
 Heaven's name," he said, "do not jest on such a night as 
 this."
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 175 
 
 "Jest!" I rejoined, with chattering teeth, "I have no wish 
 to jest I am freezing. Where is the boasted hospitality 
 of your lazy monks? Shout! Wake them up!" 
 
 " They will 
 not wake," re- 
 plied the guide. 
 "Why not?" 
 I cried ; and 
 beating the 
 door again, I 
 called at the 
 top of my voice: 
 "Au secours! 
 Rveillez-vous ! 
 Are you all dead 
 in here?" 
 
 "Yes," re- 
 plied the guide. 
 
 It was now 
 my turn to stare 
 
 at him. "What do you mean?" I faltered. "What what 
 does this house contain?" "Corpses," was the reply. 
 
 It was clear to me in a moment. I had mistaken the dead- 
 house for the house of shelter! In fancy I could see the 
 ghastly spectacle within, where bones of travelers whiten on 
 through centuries in an atmosphere whose purity defies decay. 
 
 But, almost simultaneously with his other words, I heard 
 my guide exclaim : "If you too would not join their number, 
 en avant, en avant, vite, vite!" Then, seizing the bridle of 
 my mule, he urged me toward the monastery. A few mo- 
 ments more and we arrived within its sheltering walls. One 
 of the brothers helped me to dismount, and led me up the 
 stone steps of the Hospice. And then, how blessed was our 
 reception! How warm the fire blazing on the ample hearth! 
 
 A CORRIDOR IN THE HOSPICE.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. 
 
 How good the hot soup 
 and wine instantly brought 
 us by the kind friars ! How 
 comforting the thought of 
 our surroundings, as the 
 baffled storm beat against 
 the frost - covered win- 
 dows, and seemed to shriek 
 with rage at being cheated 
 of its victims! 
 
 Never, while memory 
 lasts, shall I cease to re- 
 member with love and 
 gratitude those noble- 
 hearted brothers of the 
 St. Bernard. 
 Next morning the storm had cleared away; yet even in 
 
 pleasant weather it is difficult to imagine anything more dreary 
 
 than the situation of this monastery, locked thus in snow and 
 
 ice, and sentineled by savage peaks, eight thousand feet 
 
 above the sea. 
 
 Even the pond 
 
 adjoining it is 
 
 gloomy from its 
 
 contrast to all 
 
 other lakes. Its 
 
 waters are too 
 
 cold for any 
 
 kind of fish, and 
 
 therefore fail to 
 
 attract hither 
 
 any kind of bird. 
 
 Animal life has 
 
 fallen off in mak- 
 
 ST. BERNARD.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 177 
 
 ing the ascent. Man and the dog alone have reached the 
 summit. 
 
 It was with admiration that I looked upon the self-sacrifi- 
 cing heroes who reside here. What praise can be too high for 
 these devoted men, who say farewell to parents i a n d t o 
 friends, and leave the smiling vales of Switzer- 
 Italy to live upon this glacial height? F 
 can endure the hardship and exposure 
 ation longer than eight years, and then, w 
 health, they return (perhaps to die) 
 to the milder climate of the valleys. 
 During the long winter which binds 
 them here with icy chains for 
 nine months of the year, they .-< 
 give themselves to the noble 
 
 iiH 
 
 work of rescuing, often amid 
 terrible exposure, those who 
 are then obliged to cross the 
 pass. In this they are aided 
 by their famous dogs, which, 
 like themselves, shrink from no 
 danger, and in their courage 
 and intelligence rival the masters 
 they so bravely serve. The travel- 
 ers whom they receive in winter 
 are not the rich, whose heavy purses 
 might recompense them for their 
 toil. They are mostly humble peasants, unable to give more 
 compensation than the outpouring of a grateful heart. But 
 there will come a day when these brave men will have their 
 full reward ; when He, who with unerring wisdom weighs 
 all motives and all deeds, will say to them: "Inasmuch as 
 ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, 
 ye have done it unto Me." 
 
 OLD CITY GATE, BASLE.
 
 1 78 SWITZERLAND 
 
 One of the most attractive of all the pleasure resorts in 
 Switzerland is the lovely Vale of Chamonix. The first view 
 one obtains of it, in coming over the mountains from Martigny, 
 is superb. Three monstrous glaciers, creeping out from their 
 
 2L*'^ 
 
 , 
 
 ..*- 
 
 CHAMONIX AND MOUNT BLANC. 
 
 icy lairs, lie beneath ice-fringed but- 
 tresses of snow, like glittering serpents 
 watching for a favorable chance to 
 seize and swallow their prey. Looking 
 across the valley at them, it is true, they 
 seem quite harmless; but in reality, such 
 glaciers are the mighty wedges which have 
 i for ages carved these mountains into shape, and are 
 still keeping them apart in solitary grandeur. What from a 
 distance seems a little bank of snow is probably a wall of ice, 
 one hundred feet in height. What look like wrinkles are 
 crevasses of an unknown depth ; and the seeming puff of smoke 
 which one at times discerns upon them, is really a tremendous
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 181 
 
 avalanche of snow and ice. 
 Of the three glaciers which 
 descend into the Vale of 
 Chamonix, the one most 
 frequently visited by tourists 
 is the Mer de Glace. It is 
 well called the "Sea of Ice, " 
 for its irregular surface looks 
 precisely like a mass of toss- 
 ing waves which have been 
 crystallized when in their 
 wildest agitation. To right 
 and left, the ice is partially 
 concealed by rocks and 
 earth, which have been 
 ground off from the adjacent 
 
 mountain-sides, or which have fallen there, as the result of 
 
 avalanches. Sometimes huge boulders are discernible, tossed 
 
 here and there like nut-shells, 
 
 the rocky debris of ages. 
 What is there more 
 
 suggestive of mysterious 
 
 .rf 
 
 APPALLING PRECIPICES.
 
 I 82 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 power than a frozen cataract like this? Apparently as cold 
 and motionless as death, it nevertheless is moving downward 
 with a slow, resistless march, whose progress can be accurately 
 
 traced from 
 day to day ; 
 so accurately, 
 indeed, that 
 objects lost 
 to-day in one 
 of these cre- 
 
 confidently 
 looked for at 
 the glacier's 
 terminus after 
 a certain num- 
 ber of years. 
 Forever nour- 
 ished on the 
 
 FROZEN CATARACTS. 
 
 heights, for- 
 ever wasting in the valleys, these glaciers are the moving 
 mysteries of the upper world ; vast, irresistible, congealed pro- 
 cessions, the frozen reservoirs of rivers that glide at last 
 from their reluctant arms in a mad haste to reach the sea. 
 
 " Perennial snow, perennial stream, 
 Perennial motion, all things seem; 
 Nor time, nor space will ever show 
 The world that was an hour ago." 
 
 When we examine any portion of a glacier's surface, 
 we find abundant evidence of its motion. It has been forced
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 183 
 
 CROSSING A GLACIER. 
 
 into a million 
 
 strange, distort- 
 ed shapes, many 
 
 of which are 
 
 larger than the 
 
 grandest cathe- 
 drals man has 
 
 ever framed. 
 
 Between them 
 
 are vast chasms 
 
 of unknown 
 
 depth. As it 
 
 descends thus, 
 
 inch by inch, 
 
 obedient to the 
 
 pressure from 
 
 above, it flings its frigid waves to the right and left, close to 
 
 the orchards and the homes of man. It is the ghastly syn- 
 onym of death 
 in life; for here 
 a man may swing 
 the scythe or 
 gather flowers, 
 while a hundred 
 yards away his 
 brother may be 
 perishing in a 
 crevasse ! 
 
 To really 
 understand a 
 glacier one must 
 venture out 
 upon its icy 
 flood. One day 
 
 A PERILOUS SEAT.
 
 1 84 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 while on the Mer de Glace, I was (as usual in such expeditions) 
 preceded and followed by a guide, to both of whom I was 
 attached by a stout rope. On that occasion one thing im- 
 pressed me greatly. It was a strange sound, called by the 
 guides "brullen," or growling, which is in reality the mys- 
 terious moaning of the glacier, caused by the rending asunder 
 of huge blocks of ice in its slow, grinding descent. 
 
 At times it seemed to me impossible to proceed, but the 
 experienced guide who led the way laughed at my fears; and 
 finally, to increase my confidence, actually entered one of the 
 appalling caverns of the glacier, which like the jaws of some 
 huge polar bear, seemed capable of closing with dire conse- 
 quences. For a few minutes he re- 
 mained seated beneath a mass of 
 over- hanging ice, apparent- 
 ly as calm as I was 
 apprehensive for 
 his safety. No 
 accident oc- 
 curred, and 
 yet my fears 
 were not un- 
 founded-. For 
 though there 
 is a fascination 
 in thus ventur- 
 ing beneath 
 the frozen bil- 
 lows of a glac- 
 ier, there may 
 be treachery in 
 its siren love- 
 liness. Huge 
 ___ blocks of ice 
 
 IRRESISTIBLE CONGEALED PROCESSIONS.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 187 
 
 MONT BLANC FROM CHAMONIX. 
 
 frequently fall 
 without the 
 slightest warn- 
 ing, and many a 
 reckless tourist 
 has thus been 
 killed, or per- 
 haps maimed for 
 life. 
 
 On entering 
 the little town 
 of Chamonix, 
 the tourist sees 
 in front of one 
 of the hotels a 
 group in bronze 
 that rivets his attention and awakens thought. It represents 
 the famous guide, Balmat, who first ascended Mont Blanc in 
 1786, enthusiastically pointing out the path of victory to the 
 
 Swiss scientist, De Saussure, who 
 had for years been offering a re- 
 ward to any one who should dis- 
 cover a way to reach the summit. 
 The face of the brave con- 
 queror of Mont Blanc and that 
 of the distinguished scholar 
 are both turned toward 
 the monarch of the Alps. 
 Instinctively the traveler 
 also looks in that direc- 
 tion. 
 
 It is a memorable 
 moment when one gazes 
 for the first time upon
 
 188 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Mont Blanc. We understand at once the reason for its 
 being called preeminently the "White Mountain." The 
 title was bestowed upon it because of the magnificent snow- 
 white mantle which it wears, at a height of almost sixteen 
 thousand feet. Probably no other mountain in the world 
 has so towered up on the horizon of our imaginations. Long 
 before we have actually seen it, we have repeated Byron's 
 
 words : 
 
 "Mount Blanc is the monarch of mountains; 
 
 They crowned him long ago, 
 On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, 
 With a diadem of snow." 
 
 At once a strong desire seizes us to explore those bound- 
 less fields of crystal clearness, and yet we shrink from all the 
 toil and danger thus involved. But, suddenly, as our gaze 
 returns to earth, we find a means of making the ascent with- 
 out fatigue the telescope! 
 
 The placard suspended from it tells us that some tourists 
 are actually struggling toward the summit. The chances are 
 that they will return in safety; for the ascent of Mont Blanc, 
 which Balmat made with so much difficulty, has now been 
 reduced to a system. Yet after all, this Alpine climbing 
 is a dangerous business. It is pathetic, for example, to
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 189 
 
 recall the fate of poor Balmat himself. Despite his long 
 experience, even he lost his life at last by falling over a preci- 
 pice. Only his statue is in Chamonix; his body lies in an 
 immense abyss, 
 four hundred 
 feet in depth, 
 where falling 
 masses of rock 
 and ice are con- 
 stantly increas- 
 ing his vast 
 mausoleum, and 
 the continual 
 thunder of the 
 avalanche seems 
 like the moun- 
 tain's exulta- 
 tion at its con- 
 queror's de- 
 struction. 
 
 Availing ourselves of the telescope, we watch with ease 
 and comfort the actual climbers on Mont Blanc. By this 
 time they have bound themselves together with a rope, which 
 in positions of peril is the first requisite of safety. For 
 one must always think of safety on these mountains. With 
 all their beauty and grandeur, they have sufficient capability 
 for cruelty to make the blood run cold. They have no mercy 
 in them ; no sympathy for the warm hearts beating so near 
 their surfaces. They submit passively to conquest, so long as 
 man preserves a cool head and sure footing. But let him 
 make one false step; let his brain swim, his heart fail, his hand 
 falter, and they will hurl him from their icy slopes, or tear 
 him to pieces on their jagged tusks, while in the roar of the 
 avalanche is heard their demoniac laughter. 
 
 CLIMBERS IN SIGHT.
 
 190 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 But following the tourists still farther up the mountain, 
 we look with dismay at one of the icy crests along which 
 they must presently advance. Not a charming place for a 
 promenade, truly! Here it would seem that' one should use 
 an alpen-stock rather as a balancing-pole than as a staff. 
 It is enough to make even a Blondin falter and retire. For, 
 coated with a glare of ice, and bordered on either side by an 
 abyss, the slightest misstep would inevitably send one shoot- 
 ing down this glittering slope to certain death in one of the 
 vast folds of Mont Blanc's royal mantle. 
 
 Lifting now the telescope a little higher, we note another 
 difficulty which mountain-climbers frequently encounter. 
 For here they have come face to face with a perpendicular 
 wall of ice which they must climb, or else acknowledge a 
 defeat. The bravest, therefore, or the strongest, cuts with 
 his ax a sort of stairway in this crystal barrier, and, making 
 his way upward by this perilous route, lowers a rope and is 
 rejoined by his companions. Imagine doing this in the teeth 
 of such wind and cold as must often be met with on these crests! 
 
 
 
 ALPINE PERILS.
 
 THE WEISSBACH.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 193 
 
 AN ICE WALL. 
 
 Think of it, 
 when a gale is 
 tearing off the 
 upper snow, 
 and driving it 
 straight into 
 the face in 
 freezing spray 
 like a shower of 
 needles ; when 
 the gloves are 
 coated with ice, 
 and alpen- 
 stocks slide 
 through them, 
 slippery as eels ; 
 
 and when the ice-bound rocks tear off the skin from the half- 
 frozen fingers of the man who clings to them for life ! 
 
 I know it is customary now to laugh at any dangers on 
 Mont Blanc; and yet a terrible disaster took place there no 
 longer ago than 1870. 
 
 In the month of September of that year, a party of eleven 
 (including two Americans) started to climb the mountain. 
 Near the summit a frightful tempest burst upon them. The 
 guides no longer recognized the way, and, unable to return or 
 find shelter, the entire party perished. The bodies of five 
 were recovered. In the pocket of one of them (an American 
 from Baltimore) were found these words, written to his wife: 
 " 7th of September, evening. We have been for two days 
 on Mont Blanc in a terrific hurricane. We have lost our way, 
 and are now at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet. I have 
 no longer any hope. We have nothing to eat. My feet are 
 already frozen, and I have strength enough only to write 
 these words. Perhaps they will be found and given to you.
 
 194 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Farewell; I trust 
 that we shall 
 meet in heaven!" 
 But such a 
 mountain as 
 Mont Blanc can 
 rarely be ascend- 
 ed in a single 
 day. Two days 
 are generally 
 given to the task. 
 On the evening 
 of the first day 
 itswould-be con- 
 querors reach, 
 at a height of 
 
 ten thousand feet, a desolate region called the Grands Mulcts. 
 
 Here on some savage-looking rocks are two small cabins. 
 
 One is intended for a kitchen, the other for a sleeping-room; 
 
 HUTS OF SHELTER ON MONT BLANC. 
 
 WHERE SEVERAL ALPINE 
 CLIMBERS REST.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 195 
 
 that is, if one 
 can sleep in such 
 a place ; for what 
 an excitement 
 there must be in 
 passing a night 
 at this great alti- 
 tude! The dis- 
 tant stars gleam 
 in the frosty air 
 with an unwont- 
 ed brilliancy and 
 splendor. The 
 
 wind surges against the cliffs with the full, deep boom of the 
 sea; while the silence in the unmeasurable space above is awe- 
 inspiring. 
 
 But, on the morrow, the glorious view repays one for a 
 night of sleeplessness. At first one looks apparently upon a 
 
 shoreless ocean, 
 
 5EA OF CLOUDS. 
 
 CAVERNOUS JAWS. 
 
 whose rolling 
 billows seem 
 now white, now 
 opalescent, in 
 the light of 
 dawn. Then, 
 one by one, the 
 various moun- 
 tain peaks ap- 
 pear like islands 
 rising from the 
 sea. At last, 
 these waves of 
 vapor sink slow- 
 ly downward
 
 196 SWITZERLAND 
 
 through the valleys, and disappear in full retreat before the 
 god of day. But till they vanish, the traveler could suppose 
 that he had here survived the deluge of the world, and was 
 watching its huge shrouded corpse at his feet. 
 
 Between the Grands Mulcts and the summit, Mont Blanc 
 makes three tremendous steps, from eight hundred to one 
 thousand feet in height, and between these are several fright- 
 ful chasms, so perilous that on beholding them we catch our 
 breath. There is something peculiarly horrible in these cre- 
 vasses, yawning gloomily, day and night, as if with a never- 
 satisfied hunger. A thousand nay ten thousand men in 
 their cavernous jaws would not constitute a mouthful. They 
 are even more to be dreaded than the avalanche ; for the path 
 of the avalanche is usually known ; but these crevasses fre- 
 quently hide their black abysses under deceitful coverlets of 
 snow, luring unwary travelers to destruction. Nevertheless 
 the avalanche is in certain places an ever-present danger. 
 Mountains of snow stand toppling on the edge of some stu- 
 pendous cliff, apparently waiting merely for the provocation 
 of a human voice, intruding on their solitude, to start upon 
 their awful plunge. The world well knows the fate of those 
 
 who have ^ been caught in 
 
 such a tor- ^^^ _/^. "^\rent of de- 
 
 struc- ^r ^X. tion. 
 
 BASLE: THE BRIDGE AND 
 CATHEDRAL,
 
 A BRIDGE OF ICE,
 
 SWITZERLAND 199 
 
 "No breath for words! no time for thought! no play 
 For eager muscle! guides, companions, all 
 O'ermastered in the unconquerable drift, 
 In Nature's grasp held powerless, atoms 
 Of her insensate frame, they fared as leaves 
 In the dark rapid of November gales, 
 Or sands sucked whirling into fell simooms; 
 One gasp for breath, one strangled, bitter cry, 
 And the cold, wild snow closed smothering in, 
 And cast their forms about with icy shrouds, 
 And crushed the life out, and entombed them there, 
 Nobler than kings Egyptian in their pyramids, 
 Embalmed in the mountain mausoleum, 
 And part of all its grand unconsciousness 
 Forever. 
 
 Its still dream resumed the Mount; 
 The sun his brightness kept; for unto them 
 The living men are naught, and naught the dead, 
 No more than snows that slide or stones that roll." 
 
 Finally, these and all other dangers being past, the 
 wearied but exultant climbers reach the summit of Mont Blanc,
 
 2OO 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 that strangely silent, white, majestic dome, so pure and 
 spotless in its lofty elevation beneath the stars. To watch this 
 scene from the Vale of Chamonix, when the great sovereign of 
 our solar system sinks from sight, leaving upon Mont Blanc his 
 crown of gold, is an experience that will leave one only with 
 one's life. The concentrated refulgence on that solitary dome 
 is so intense that one is tempted to believe that the glory of 
 a million sunsets, fading from all other summits of the Alps, 
 has been caught and imprisoned here. We know that sun 
 will rise again ; but who, in such a place, can contemplate un- 
 moved the death of Day? 
 
 "The night has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the day but one; 
 Yet the light of the bright world dies, 
 With the dying sun! 
 
 The mind has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the heart but one; 
 Yet the light of a whole life dies, 
 
 When love is done." 
 
 NTAIN CLIMBERS.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 2OI 
 
 One singular experience of Alpine travel is indelibly im- 
 pressed upon my memory. It occurred on my passage of the 
 Gemmi into the 
 valley of the 
 Rhone. The 
 Gemmi Pass is 
 no magnificent 
 highway like 
 the St. Gott- 
 hard, macadam- 
 ized and smooth 
 and carefully 
 walled in by 
 parapets of 
 stone. It is for 
 miles a rough 
 and dangerous 
 bridle-path, the 
 edge of which 
 
 is sometimes decorated with a flimsy rail, but often has not 
 even that apology for safety. One can thus readily believe 
 that, like the Jordan, the Gemmi is emphatically "a hard 
 road to travel." At all events I found it so, especially as I 
 crossed it early in the season, before the winter's ravages had 
 
 been repaired. 
 Since I was at 
 the time suffer- 
 ing from a tem- 
 porary lameness, 
 I could walk but 
 little. With 
 this road dates 
 my first acquaintance with a mule, an intimacy that will 
 never be forgotten! All day long that memorable beast 
 
 THE BIRTH-PLACE OF AVALANCHES. 
 
 MOUNTAIN MULES.
 
 202 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 would never for one instant change his gait, nor was the 
 monotony of his dreadful walk once broken by a trot. My 
 only consolation was in the thought that if the beast did change 
 it, my neck, as well as the monotony, would probably be 
 broken. Thus, hour after hour, I kept moving on and up, 
 my knees forced wide apart by this great, lumbering wedge, 
 until I felt like a colossal wish-bone, and as though I should 
 be bow-legged for the rest of my life. 
 
 Nor was this all ; for, as the day wore on, the mule took 
 
 special pains to make my 
 blood run cold by a variety 
 of acrobatic feats, which 
 might have made a cham- 
 ois faint with vertigo. 
 For example, wherever a 
 rail was lacking in the crazy 
 fence, he would deliberately 
 fill the space with his own 
 body and mine, walking so 
 dangerously near the brink, 
 that half my form would be 
 suspended over the abyss! 
 Of course, the moment it 
 was passed, I laughed or 
 scolded, as most travelers 
 do; yet, after all, in such cases we never know how great the 
 peril may have been. A little stone, a clod of earth, a move- 
 ment in the nick of time these are sometimes the only 
 things which lie between one and the great Unknown, and 
 hinder one from prematurely solving the mysterious problem 
 of existence. 
 
 Nevertheless, on the fearful precipices for which the 
 Gemmi is noted, one may be pardoned for being a trifle nerv- 
 ous. At certain points the bridle-path so skirts the chasm 
 
 A FRAIL PARAPET.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 203 
 
 UP AMONG THE CLOUDS. 
 
 that one false 
 
 step would land 
 
 the fragments of 
 
 your body on the 
 
 rocks a thousand 
 
 feet below; while, 
 
 on the other side, 
 
 the mountain 
 
 towers up abrupt 
 
 and bare, with 
 
 scarce a shrub or 
 
 tree to cling to 
 
 or console the 
 
 dizzy traveler. 
 
 My flesh creeps 
 
 now to think of 
 
 some of these places; and in the same space of time I think I 
 
 never repented of so many sins, as during that passage of the 
 
 Gemmi. At 
 length, however, 
 the climax 
 seemed reached ; 
 for at the brink 
 of one abyss the 
 path appeared 
 to end. I cau- 
 tiously advanced 
 to the edge and 
 looked over. It 
 was a fearful 
 sight, for here 
 the mountain 
 falls away to a 
 sheer depth of 
 
 ON THE GEMMI.
 
 2O4 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 sixteen hundred feet, and the plumb-line might drop to that 
 full length without encountering any obstacle. 
 
 When Alexander Dumas came to this place, and (unpre- 
 pared for what he was to see) looked down from the brink of 
 the stupendous precipice, he fell back unconscious; and after- 
 ward, while making the descent, his teeth so chattered with 
 nervousness, that he placed his folded handkerchief between 
 
 them. Yet 
 when, on reach- 
 ing the valley, 
 he removed it, 
 he found it had 
 been cut through 
 and through as 
 with a razor. I 
 cannot, certain- 
 ly, lay claim to 
 nervousness like 
 that ; but I could 
 sympathize with 
 one of our fel- 
 low - country- 
 men, against 
 whose name on 
 
 the hotel register I next day saw these words: " Thank God, 
 we don't raise such hills as these in the State of New York!" 
 At the other side of the Gemmi, and almost at the base of 
 these gigantic cliffs, there lies a little village. When I stood 
 on the precipice above it, I thought that a pebble hurled 
 thence from my hand would fall directly on its roofs; but in 
 reality their distance from the cliffs was greater than it seemed. 
 This village is the celebrated Leuk, whose baths have now 
 acquired a world-wide reputation. Leuk has, however, this 
 misfortune : so many strangers come here now to bathe, that
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 205 
 
 PARBOILED PATIENTS. 
 
 many of the in- 
 habitants them- 
 selves think that 
 they can dis- 
 pense with the 
 luxury. 
 
 I never shall 
 forget the baths 
 ofLeuk. Shades 
 of theMermaids ! 
 what a sight they 
 presented. In a 
 somewhat shab- 
 by hall, contain- 
 ing great com- 
 partments of hot 
 water, I saw a multitude of heads long-haired and short- 
 haired, light and dark, male and female bobbing about like 
 
 buoys adorned with 
 sea-weed. A fine 
 chance this to study 
 physiognomy, pure 
 and simple. In front 
 of these amphibious 
 creatures were float- 
 ing tables, upon 
 which they could 
 eat, drink, knit, 
 read, and even play 
 cards to pass away 
 the time. As these 
 waters are chiefly 
 used for skin dis- 
 eases, one might 
 
 A LOW BRIDGE.
 
 2O6 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 suppose that each bather would prefer a separate room ; but 
 no, in this case "misery loves company." The length of 
 time which one must remain soaking in these tanks of hot 
 water makes solitary bathing unendurable. 
 
 I asked one of these heads how long it had to float here 
 daily. The mouth opened just above the water's edge and 
 answered: " Eight hours, Monsieur; four before luncheon, 
 and four before dinner; and, as after each bath we have 
 to spend an hour in bed, ten hours a day are thus consumed." 
 It may seem incredible, but I assure the reader that some 
 of these parboiled bathers actually sleep while in these tanks. 
 I, myself, saw a head drooped backward as though severed 
 from the body. Its eyes were closed ; its mouth was slightly 
 open ; and from the nose a mournful sound came forth at 
 intervals, which told me that the man was snoring. Before 
 him, half-supported by the little table, half- 
 bedraggled in the flood, was a newspaper. 
 Bending over the rail, I read the title. 
 Poor man! I no longer wondered 
 that he slept. Those who have 
 read the ponderous sheet will under- 
 stand its soporific effect. 
 It was a copy of the Lon- 
 don Times. 
 
 After the baths of 
 Leuk and the stupendous 
 precipices of the Gemmi, 
 it is a pleasure to approach 
 a less imposing but more 
 beautiful part of Switzer- 
 land, Geneva and its 
 lake. The bright, cream- 
 colored buildings of the 
 one present a beautiful
 
 NATIONAL MONUMENT - GENEVA,
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 209 
 
 contrast to the 
 other's deep blue 
 waves. Next to 
 Stockholm and 
 Naples, Geneva 
 has, I think, the 
 loveliest situ- 
 ation of any city 
 in Europe. 
 Curved, cres- 
 cent-like, around 
 the southwest 
 corner of the lake, the river Rhone with arrowy swiftness 
 cleaves it into two parts, thus furnishing the site for all the 
 handsome quays and bridges which unite the various sections 
 of the town. 
 
 What a surprising change has taken place in the appear- 
 ance of the river Rhone since it first poured its waters into 
 
 THE RHONE AT GENEVA.
 
 210 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Lake Geneva at its other extremity, forty-five miles away! 
 There it is muddy, dark, and travel-stained from its long jour- 
 ney down the valley. But here it has become once more as 
 pure as when it left its cradle in the glaciers. Its sojourn in 
 the lake has given it both beauty and increased vitality ; and 
 as it starts again upon its course and darts out from Geneva 
 with renewed strength and speed, its waters are superbly blue 
 and clear as crystal. 
 
 As it emerges from the lake, a sharp-pointed island con- 
 fronts the rapid 
 stream, as if 
 awaiting its ad- 
 vance. Its sta- 
 tion here before 
 the city resem- 
 bles that of some 
 fair maid of 
 honor who pre- 
 cedes a queen. 
 It is called Rous- 
 seau's Island, in 
 honor of the 
 famous man 
 whose birth the 
 city claims. Geneva certainly should be grateful to him, for 
 it was he who first made this fair lake renowned in literature, 
 and called to it the attention of the world. In fact, he did 
 almost as much to render famous this enchanting spot, as 
 Scott did for the region of the Trosachs. Appropriately, 
 therefore, a fine bronze statue of Rousseau has been erected 
 on the island, the figure looking up the lake, like the presid- 
 ing genius of the place. 
 
 One can with both pleasure and profit spend a fortnight in 
 Geneva. Its well-kept and luxurious hotels all front upon the 
 
 . 
 
 ROUSSEAU'S ISLAND.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 211 
 
 quays, and from your windows there (as from the Grand Hotel 
 in Stockholm) you look upon an ever-varying panorama a 
 charming combination of metropolitan and aquatic life. 
 Boats come and go at frequent intervals, accompanied by the 
 
 sound of music. The 
 long perspectives of the 
 different bridges, full of 
 animated life, afford 
 
 . . 
 
 perpetual entertainment ; while, in 
 dull weather, the attractive shops, 
 in some respects unrivaled in the 
 whole of Europe, tempt you, be- 
 yond your power to resist, to purchase music- 
 boxes or enameled jewelry. After all, one's greatest pleasure 
 here is to embark upon the lake itself. This famous body of 
 water forms a beautiful blue crescent, forty-five miles in 
 length and eight in breadth. Tyndall declared that it had 
 the purest natural water ever analyzed; Voltaire called it the 
 "First of Lakes;" Alexander Dumas compared it to the 
 Bay of Naples; while Victor Hugo, Lamartine, and Byron 
 have given it boundless praise in their glowing verse. It 
 has been estimated that should the lake henceforth receive
 
 212 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 no further increase, while having still the river 
 Rhone for its outlet, it would require ten years to 
 exhaust its volume. It might be likened, there- 
 fore, to a little inland 
 sea. In fact, a pretty 
 legend says that the 
 ocean-deity, Neptune, 
 came one day to see 
 Lake Leman, and, en- 
 raptured with its fresh 
 young beauty, gave to 
 it, on departing, his 
 likeness in miniature. 
 Moreover, it has another charm 
 <u ^ " that of historical association. 
 
 Its shores have been the residence of men of genius. Both 
 history and poetry have adorned its banks with fadeless wreaths 
 of love and fame. Each hill that rises softly from its waves is 
 crowned with some distinguished memory. Byron has often 
 floated on its surface; and here he wrote some portions of 
 "Childe Harold," which will be treasured to the end of time. 
 
 DOGS AT WORK GENEVA.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 215 
 
 The poet Shelley narrowly escaped drowning in its waters. 
 At one point Madame de Stael lived in exile; another saw 
 Voltaire for years maintaining here his intellectual court; 
 while at Lausanne, upon the memorable night which he 
 
 has well described, Gibbon concluded 
 
 The 
 
 work, 
 
 and Fall 
 
 LAUSANNE, ON LAKE GENEVA. 
 
 of the Roman Empire." But of all portions of Lake Leman, 
 that which charms one most is the neighborhood of Montreux 
 and Vevey, and the historic Castle of Chillon. A poet's 
 inspiration has made this place familiar to the world. No 
 English-speaking traveler, at least, can look upon these towers,
 
 2l6 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 rising from the waves, without re- 
 calling Byron's " Prisoner of Chil- 
 lon," and reciting its well-known 
 lines: 
 
 "Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow; 
 Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement." 
 
 This time-worn structure boasts 
 a thousand years of story and ro- 
 mance. In fact, more than a thou- 
 sand years ago, Louis le Debonnaire 
 imprisoned here a traitor to his king. 
 Here, also, five centuries ago, hundreds of Jews were tortured, 
 and then buried alive, on the infamous suspicion of poisoning 
 
 the wells of ___ Europe. But 
 
 of all ^^^~ ~~^^-^ the 
 
 WHILE THE STEAMER WAITS. 
 
 
 
 memories which cluster 
 
 round its walls the most 
 
 familiar is that of Bonni- 
 
 vard, the Swiss patriot, who 
 
 languished for six years in its
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 217 
 
 dark dungeon, till he was released by the efforts of his enthu- 
 siastic countrymen. During those gloomy years of captivity 
 his jailers heard 
 from him no cry 
 and no com- 
 plaint, save when 
 some tempest 
 swept the lake. 
 Then, when the 
 wind moaned, as 
 if in sympathy, 
 around the tow- 
 ers, and waves 
 dashed high 
 against the 
 walls, they could 
 distinguish sobs 
 
 ON THE SHORE. 
 
 and cries, prov- 
 ing that, when apparently alone with God, the captive sought 
 to give his burdened soul relief. 
 
 "Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, 
 
 And thy sad floor an altar for ' t was trod 
 
 Until his very steps have left a trace 
 
 Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
 
 By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface! 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God." 
 
 When finally his liberators burst into his cell, they found 
 him pale and shadow-like, still chained to the column around 
 which he had walked so many years. A hundred voices cried 
 to him at once: " Bonnivard, you are free! " The prisoner 
 slowly rose, and his first question was: "And Geneva?" 
 "Free, also!" was the answer. 
 
 One night, some eighty years ago, a little boat came 
 toward this castle, leaving behind it in its course a furrow
 
 218 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 CASTLE OF CHILLON. 
 
 silvered by the moon. As it reached the shore, there sprang- 
 from it a man enveloped in a long black cloak, which almost 
 
 hid his feet from 
 view. A close 
 observer would 
 
 ~>_'_2flifc> >A_-<v +. have seen, how- 
 
 ever, that he 
 limped slightly. 
 He asked to see 
 the historic dun- 
 geon, and lin- 
 gered there an 
 hour alone. 
 When he had gone, they found on the stone column to which 
 Bonnivard had been chained a new name carved. The traveler 
 sees it there to- 
 day. It is the 
 name of Byron. 
 There is in 
 Switzerland a 
 village superior 
 even to Chamo- 
 nix in grandeur 
 of location, dom- 
 inated by a 
 mountain more 
 imposing even 
 than Mont 
 Blanc. The 
 town isZermatt; 
 the mountain is 
 the Matterhorn. 
 As we approach it, we discern only a tiny part of its environ- 
 ment; but could we soar aloft with the eagle, and take a 
 
 THE DUNGEON OF CHILLOX.
 
 THE MATTERHORN EXACTED SPEEDY VENGEANCE.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 221 
 
 HISTORIC WATERS. 
 
 bird's-eye view of it, the little village would appear to have 
 been caught in a colossal trap of rock and ice. There is, in 
 fact, no path to 
 it, save over dan- 
 gerous passes, 
 or through a 
 narrow cleft in 
 the encircling 
 mountains, down 
 which a river 
 rushes with im- 
 petuous fury; 
 while, watching 
 over it, like some divinely-stationed sentinel, rises the awful 
 Matterhorn, the most unique and imposing mountain of the 
 
 Alps. No view 
 can possibly 
 do it justice; 
 yet, anticipate 
 what you will, 
 it is here im- 
 possible to be 
 disappointed. 
 Though every 
 other object 
 of the world 
 should fail, the 
 Matterhorn 
 must stir the 
 heart of the 
 most u n i m 
 pressive trav- 
 eler. Not only does its icy wedge pierce the blue air at a 
 height of fifteen thousand feet above the sea, but its gaunt, 
 
 ZERMATT.
 
 222 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 tusk-like form emerges from the surrounding glaciers with 
 almost perpendicular sides, four thousand feet in height. It is 
 a mani- ^^^^^^^^ festation of the power of 
 
 the ^8 ^^W Deity, beside which all the 
 
 works of man dwindle 
 to insignificance. I 
 never grew accus- 
 tomed to this, as 
 to other mountains. 
 No matter when I 
 gazed upon its sharp- 
 cut edges and its ice- 
 b o u nd 
 rocks, 
 I felt, as 
 
 when I first be- 
 held it, completely 
 
 overpowered by its magnitude. The history of this colossal 
 pyramid is as tragic as its grim form is awe-inspiring. The 
 mountain is known as the " Fiend of the Alps." Year after 
 
 SAFE FROM 
 
 MOUNTAIN PERILS. 
 
 FALLS OF THB RHINE, SCHAFFHAUSEN.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 223 
 
 THE FIEND OF THE ALPS. 
 
 year it had been 
 luring to itself, 
 with fearful fas- 
 cination, scores 
 of brave men 
 who longed to 
 scale its appal- 
 ling cliffs. Over 
 its icy pedestal, 
 up its precip- 
 itous sides, 
 yes, even to its 
 naked shoul- 
 ders, baffled 
 and wistful 
 mountaineers 
 
 struggled in vain. Upon its perpendicular rocks several men 
 had all but perished ; but the warnings were unheeded. At 
 
 length, after per- 
 sistent efforts 
 for eleven years, 
 the famous Eng- 
 lish mountain- 
 climber, Whym- 
 per, gained the 
 summit. But in 
 return for the 
 humiliation of 
 this conquest the 
 Matterhorn ex- 
 acted speedy 
 vengeance. 
 
 As the suc- 
 cessful party, 
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE MATTERHORN.
 
 224 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 consisting of four Englishmen and three guides, elated by 
 their victory, were just beginning their descent, one of them 
 slipped, knocking a guide completely off his feet and dragging 
 his companions after him, since all were bound together by a 
 rope. Four of them hung an instant there, head downward, 
 between earth and heaven. The other three clung desperately 
 to the icy crags, and 
 
 would "-- have 
 
 rescued them, had not the rope 
 between them broken. There was 
 a fearful cry a rush of falling 
 bodies. Then Whymper and two guides 
 found themselves clinging to the rocks, and 
 looking into each other's haggard faces, pale as 
 death. The others had fallen over the precipice nearly 
 four thousand feet to the ice below ! 
 
 " One moment stood they, as the angels stand, 
 
 High in the stainless eminence of air; 
 The next, they were not; to their Fatherland 
 Translated unaware!"
 
 THE MATTERHORN.
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 227 
 
 On my last evening at Zermatt, I lingered in the deepen- 
 ing twilight to say farewell to this unrivaled peak. At first 
 its clear-cut silhouette stood forth against the sky, unutter- 
 ably grand, while darkness shrouded its giant form. So 
 overwhelming appeared its tapering height, that I no longer 
 wondered at the belief of the peasants that the gate of Para- 
 dise was situated on its summit ; because it seemed but a 
 step thence to Heaven. 
 
 At last there came a change, for which I had been waiting 
 with impatience. In the blue vault of heaven the full-orbed 
 moon came forth to sheathe the Matterhorn in silver. In that 
 refulgent light its ^^^^^^^^^^ icy edges looked 
 
 like crystal ^^^^^ 5^^^. ropes; and 
 
 THE BERNESE OBERLAND.
 
 228 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 its sharp, glistening rocks resembled silver steps leading to the 
 stupendous pinnacle above. Never, this side the shore of 
 Eternity, do I expect to see a vision so sublime as that of 
 moonlight on the Matterhorn. For from the gleaming parapets 
 of this Alpine pyramid, not " forty centuries," but forty 
 thousand ages look down on us as frivolous pygmies of a day. 
 Yes, as I gazed on this illumined obelisk, rising from out its 
 glittering sea of ice, to where four thousand feet above 
 the moving stars flashed round its summit like resplendent 
 gems, it seemed a fitting emblem of creative majesty the 
 scepter of Almighty God. 
 
 A SWISS HERO.
 
 ATHENS
 
 A NATION'S influence is not dependent on its size. 
 Its glory is not measured by square miles. Greece is 
 the smallest of all European countries, being not 
 larger than the State of Massachusetts. Yet, in the light of 
 what a few Athenians accomplished in the days of Phidias, 
 China's four hundred millions seem 
 like shadows cast by moving clouds. 
 China compared to Athens! The 
 enlightened world could better lose 
 the entire continent of Asia from its 
 history than that little area. Better 
 fifty years of Athens than a cycle of 
 Cathay. In the historic catalogue 
 of earth's great cities Athens stands 
 alone. The debt which civilization 
 owes her is incalculable. For cen- 
 turies Athens was the school of 
 Rome, and through Rome's con- 
 quests she became the teacher of the 
 world. If most of her art treasures 
 had not been torn from her, first ATHENE. 
 
 to embellish Rome, and subsequently to enrich the vari- 
 ous museums of the world, Athens would now be visited 
 by thousands instead of hundreds. But even in her desola- 
 tion Athens repays a pilgrimage. Were absolutely nothing
 
 232 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 of her glory left, it would still remain a privilege merely to 
 stand amid the scenes where human intellect reached a height 
 which our material progress has not equaled. They err who 
 say that Greece is dead. She cannot die. The Language of 
 Demosthenes is still extant. Not only are its accents heard 
 within the shadow of the Parthenon ; it is so interwoven with 
 our own, that we unconsciously make use of its old words, as 
 one walks on a pavement of mosaic, unmindful whence its 
 pieces came. The Greek Religion lives in every statue of 
 the gods, in every classical allusion, in every myth which poets 
 weave into the garland of their song. What could a sculptor 
 do without the gods and heroes of old Greek mythology? 
 Hellenic Architecture lives in every reproduction of Doric 
 column or Corinthian capital. The Art of the Acropolis 
 
 remains the 
 standard for all 
 time. The His- 
 tory of Greece 
 
 still gives to us as 
 models of heroic pati 
 
 ^- ^^^^^^ j ^*- 
 
 otism, Thermopylae and Mara- thon. Even 
 
 her ideas live, the thoughts of Phidias in marble; of Plato in 
 philosophy; of Socrates in morals; of Euripides and Sopho- 
 cles in tragedy. 
 
 What, then, if it be true that Greece has greatly changed 
 in twenty centuries? The influence of ancient Greece comes
 
 ATHENS 235 
 
 down the ages to us like the light from a fixed star. The 
 star itself may have gone out in darkness years ago; but 
 waves of brilliancy which left it previous to its destruction 
 are traveling toward us still, and fall in silvery pulsations on 
 our earth to-day. The best way to approach the shores of 
 Greece is over 
 the classic Medi- 
 terranean and 
 ^Egean seas . 
 Around these 
 oceans gather 
 more thrilling 
 and inspiring as- 
 
 THROUGH GRECIAN WATERS. 
 
 sociations than 
 
 cluster about any others on the globe. Upon no equal area 
 of the earth's surface have so many mighty events happened or 
 deeds been enacted as around these inland seas. Every keel 
 that now cleaves their waters traverses the scene of some 
 maritime struggle or adventure of ancient times, or glides by 
 shores forever hallowed to the scholar and historian by the 
 memories of the genius and grandeur that have passed away. 
 To sail on Grecian waters is to float through history. The 
 seas of other countries gleam with phosphorescence; hers 
 sparkle with the scintillations of a deathless fame. The very 
 islands they caress have been the cradles of fable, poesy and 
 history. From each has sprung a temple, a statue, a poem, 
 or at least a myth, which still exists to furnish joy and inspira- 
 tion to the world. 
 
 It is with the liveliest anticipations of pleasure that one 
 who is inspired by these memories, arrives at the port of 
 Athens, which still retains its ancient title, The Piraeus. Its 
 appearance is not especially attractive, and yet I gazed upon 
 it with profound emotion. Still are its waves as blue as when 
 Athenian vessels rode at anchor here, or swept hence to the
 
 236 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 island of Salamis to aid in the destruction of the Persian fleet 
 and cause the mad flight of the terror-stricken Xerxes. 
 Around them History and Poetry have woven an immortal 
 charm, for in their limpid depths have been reflected the forms 
 of almost every famous Greek and Roman of antiquity. 
 
 But the Piraeus, after all, is merely a doorway to glories 
 beyond. Hence one quickly leaves the steamer here, and 
 hastens to the capital itself, six miles away. A train of street- 
 cars, drawn by a steam-engine, was one of the first objects 
 that confronted us in the streets of Athens, but even this 
 reminder of the nineteenth century could not dispel the fasci- 
 nation of antiquity. It all swept back upon me. The loco- 
 motive and the tram-cars faded from my view, and in their 
 place I saw again my school-room, with its rows of well-worn 
 desks. Once more was felt the summer breeze, as it stole 
 through the open window, and lured me from my lexicon to 
 the fair fields. Xenophon's graphic prose and Homer's match- 
 less verse at last seemed real to me ; for over the shop-doors 
 were the Greek characters that I had learned in boyhood, and 
 
 on the corners of 
 the streets were 
 words once utter- 
 ed by the lips of 
 Socrates. 
 
 Even before 
 the tourist reach- 
 es the outskirts 
 of the city of 
 Minerva, he 
 plainly sees rising in bold relief against the sky, what was 
 in ancient times the gem of Athens, the casket of the 
 rarest architectural jewels in the world, the temple-crowned 
 Acropolis. It is a memorable moment when one first 
 beholds it. No other citadel in the world has embraced 
 
 THE DISTANT CITADEL.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 237 
 
 so much beauty and splendor within its walls. Not one has 
 witnessed such startling changes in the fortunes of its posses- 
 sors. Its history reaches back over a period of two thou- 
 sand four hundred years. Wave after wave of war and con- 
 quest have beaten against it. It has been plundered by the 
 
 Persian, the Spartan, the Mace- 
 donian, the Roman, the 
 Venetian and the Turk. 
 Yet there is now a 
 modern city at its base, 
 
 A WALK AROUND THE ACROPOLIS. 
 
 astonishingly new 
 and fresh, compar- 
 ed with its historic 
 background. The 
 buildings of to-day 
 and those of two 
 thousand years ago 
 
 seem gazing at each other with surprise. Yet there is no hos- 
 tility between them. Despite her tattered robes of royalty, 
 Old Athens sits enthroned as the acknowledged sovereign. 
 New Athens kneels in reverence before her. For the modern 
 Greeks still cling with pride to the memories of Pericles and 
 Phidias, and sigh when they think of the glory that once 
 was theirs. 
 
 A walk around the Acropolis reveals the fact that it is a 
 natural mass of rock, built up in places by substantial 
 masonry. On three sides it is practically perpendicular. 
 Two thousand years ago its summit rose toward heaven, like
 
 238 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 a magnificent altar consecrated to the gods. There, elevated 
 in the sight of all, and overlooking the adoring city on the 
 one side and the blue ALgean on the other, stood those 
 incomparable specimens of architectural beauty, grace and 
 
 majesty, which 
 have made 
 Athens immor- 
 tal. Even now, 
 although its 
 temples are 
 in ruins, the 
 few remaining 
 columns of 
 the Parthenon 
 
 stand out in 
 delicate relief 
 against the sky, 
 like strings of 
 an abandoned 
 harp , which 
 even the most 
 skilful hand 
 can never wake 
 again to melody. 
 
 In making the ascent of this historic eminence by the 
 only avenue of approach, the traveler soon finds himself before 
 the ruined entrance to the Acropolis, the Propylaea. This 
 was originally a majestic gateway of P^ntelic marble, crown- 
 
 1HE PKOfYLJEA.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 239 
 
 ing a marble staircase seventy feet in breadth, which led up 
 from the city to the brow of the Acropolis. Its cost was 
 two and a half millions of dollars. It was considered, in its 
 prime, equal, if not superior, to the Parthenon. Nor is this 
 strange, for this portal was a veritable gallery of art. Along 
 its steps were arranged those chiseled forms that almost 
 lived and breathed in their transcendent beauty, the master- 
 pieces of Praxiteles and Phidias, the mutilated fragments of 
 which we now cherish as our most perfect models of the 
 beautiful. 
 
 Yet there was nothing effeminate in this magnificence. 
 Solidity and splendor here went hand in hand. When the 
 Propylaea was finished, under Pericles, more than four centuries 
 were still to pass before the birth of Christ ; yet so much strength 
 was here combined with beauty, that, if no human hands had 
 striven to deface it, its splendid shafts would, no doubt, 
 still be perfect. The columns that remain appear to stand 
 like sentinels, guarding their 
 
 illustrious past. It 
 
 THE SUMMIT OF THE ACROPOLIS.
 
 240 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 thrills one to reflect that these identical pillars have cast 
 their shadows on the forms of Phidias, Pericles, Demos- 
 thenes, and indeed every Greek whose name has been pre- 
 served in history. 
 
 When I passed on beyond the Propylaea, and gained a 
 broader view of the Acropolis, I looked around me with 
 astonishment. The whole 
 plateau is literally cover- 
 ed with headless 
 statues, fallen col- 
 umns and dis- 
 jointed capitals. 
 Some of them 
 bear unfinished 
 
 sentences, as 
 though these 
 blocks would 
 speak, if they were 
 properly restored. 
 Their power of 
 speech, however, 
 
 has been forever paralyzed by the destructive 
 blows they have received. This rugged rock is 
 nevertheless an illustrated volume of Greek history bound in 
 stone. Its letters are disfigured, its binding is defaced, but 
 the old volume is still legible; and it assures us that this tiny 
 platform, scarcely one thousand feet in length 'and four 
 hundred in breadth, is richer in some respects than any other 
 portion of the globe, for in the golden crucible of memory,
 
 ATHENS 
 
 243 
 
 Art, History and Poetry transmute each particle of its sacred 
 dust into a precious stone. 
 
 It is, however, to the highest point of the plateau that 
 the tourist's gaze turns with keenest interest, for there stood 
 what was formerly the crown of the Acropolis, the architec- 
 tural glory of the world, The Parthenon. 
 
 No photographic view can do it justice. Pictures invari- 
 ably represent its marble columns as dark and dingy, like the 
 sooty architec- 
 ture of London. 
 But such is not 
 the case. The 
 discolorations 
 are so slight as 
 hardly to be 
 
 A PORTION OF THE FRIEZE. 
 
 blemishes. The 
 general appear- 
 ance of the edi- 
 fice is one of 
 snowy whiteness, 
 softly defined 
 against the clear, 
 blue sky, and I have seen its columns in the glow of sunset 
 gleam like shafts of gold. But on approaching it more closely, 
 one sees that nothing can conceal the ravages of time and man. 
 Yet, only two hundred years ago it stood comparatively 
 unchanged in its unrivaled beauty. The Turks were then the 
 masters of this classic land. They showed their appreciation 
 of the Parthenon by using it as a powder-magazine! In 
 1687 an army of Venetians recklessly bombarded Athens, 
 and one of their shells exploded in this shrine. Instantly, 
 with a wild roar, as though Nature herself shrieked at the 
 sacrilege, the Parthenon was ruined. Columns on either side 
 were blown to atoms, the front was severed from the rear,
 
 244 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 and the entire hill was strewn with marble fragments, mute 
 witnesses of countless forms of beauty lost to us forever. 
 
 One of these fragments is a portion of the frieze that once 
 surrounded the entire edifice like a long garland of rare beauty. 
 How careful were the old Greek artists of their reputation ; 
 how conscientious in their art! The figures in this frieze 
 were fifty feet above the ground, where small defects would 
 
 FRONT VIEW OF THE PARTHENON. 
 
 never have been noticed, yet every part of each was finished 
 with the utmost care. While they remained there for two 
 thousand years, this trait of old Greek character was unper- 
 ceived; but, with their downfall and removal, the sculptor's 
 grand fidelity to truth was brought to light, as death some- 
 times reveals the noble qualities which we in life, alas ! have 
 not observed. 
 
 Enough of the Parthenon remains to show the literal per- 
 fection of its masonry. It has, for example, in its steps, 
 walls, and columns, curves so minute as to be hardly visible, 
 yet true to the one-hundredth part of an inch. They
 
 ATHENS 245 
 
 show alike the splendid genius of the architect and the won- 
 derful skill of the workmen. For all the curves are mathe- 
 matical. The reasons for them can be demonstrated like a 
 problem in geometry. Once fifty life-size statues stood upon 
 its pediments. Around it ran a sculptured frieze, five hun- 
 dred and twenty feet in length, carved mainly by the hand of 
 Phidias; while the especial treasure of the temple was the 
 famous statue of Athene Parthenos, made of ivory and gold. 
 The value of the precious metal used in this one figure was 
 seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. 
 
 It is a marvel that any fragments can be gathered on the top 
 of the Acrop- 
 olis, after the 
 persistent spoli- 
 ation which 
 Greece has un- 
 dergone for more 
 than eighteen 
 centuries. From 
 the one city of 
 Delphi alone Nero is said to have carried off to Rome 
 five hundred bronze statues. How many beautiful works 
 in marble, gold and ivory he removed, we cannot tell. 
 And when the Roman conqueror, ^milius Paulus, was borne 
 in triumph up the Appian Way, exhibiting the spoils of con- 
 quered Greece, there preceded him two hundred and fifty 
 wagons filled with the rarest pictures and statues of Greek 
 artists, after which came three thousand men, each bearing 
 some gold or silver ornament taken from Hellenic cities. Yet 
 this was merely the beginning of the plundering, which prac- 
 tically ended only fifty years ago, when Lord Elgin carried 
 off to London over two hundred and fifty feet of the beauti- 
 fully sculptured frieze of the Parthenon. Opinions differ 
 in regard to the propriety of this act on the part of Lord 
 
 FRAGMENTS.
 
 246 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 Elgin. Defenders of his conduct urge that, had this not 
 been done, these works of art would have been ruined 
 by the Turks. Others maintain that they would have 
 remained intact, and point to some of the comparatively unin- 
 jured decorations of the shrines of the Acropolis, such as the 
 Caryatides of the Erectheum, which have at least never been 
 injured by the Turks, though one of them was removed to 
 
 SOME OF THE SPOILS. 
 
 England by Lord Elgin. At all events, it would be a noble 
 and graceful act on the part of England particularly, and of 
 many other countries also, to restore some of her lost art-treas- 
 ures to Greece, now that she has risen again to the rank of a 
 well-governed and progressive nation. It is sad indeed to 
 see in Athens only plaster casts of the incomparable works ot 
 her old sculptors, the originals of which enrich so many 
 European capitals. 
 
 One of the most beautiful of the ruined shrines of the 
 Acropolis is the "Temple of Wingless Victory; " so-called 
 because the statue of the goddess was represented without
 
 ATHENS 
 
 247 
 
 wings, in the fond hope that Victory would never fly away from 
 the Athenian capital. Most of the beautiful statues which 
 adorned this building were carried off to the British Museum 
 seventy years ago, and some were ruined in the process of 
 removal. One exquisite portion of the frieze, which had for 
 twenty centuries stood forth resplendent over the historic city, 
 was carelessly dropped and broken into atoms. A Greek who 
 was standing near, watching this shameful devastation, brushed 
 away a tear, and with a sob exclaimed pathetically : ' ' Telos ! ' ' 
 ( That is the end of it ! ) and turned away. 
 
 No one has condemned the plunder of the Acropolis more 
 trenchantly than Byron, in the lines: 
 
 " Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, 
 Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ; 
 Dull is the eye that will not weep to see 
 Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed 
 By British hands, which it had best behooved 
 To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. 
 Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, 
 And once again thy hapless bosom gored, 
 And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern climes abhorr'd! " 
 
 Before the mental vision of the traveler, who muses thus 
 upon the crest of the Acropolis, there naturally rises the form 
 of the goddess Athene 
 (or, as the Romans called 
 her, Minerva), who gave 
 the name Athens to the 
 city which she specially 
 protected. Who can for- 
 get how this old classic 
 citadel, within whose 
 shrines this goddess was 
 adored, remained for 
 many centuries, even in 
 its ruin, a beacon light of 
 
 THE CARYATIDES OF THE ERECTHEUM.
 
 248 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 history? Its radiance pierced even the darkness of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, when, over-run by conquerors, pillaged by bar- 
 barians, assailed by fanatics, the world of art lay buried 
 beneath the rubbish of brutality and ignorance. Under the 
 blows of the iconoclasts, the pulse of artistic life had almost 
 
 ceased to beat. But, 
 though the fire of 
 genius seemed ex- 
 tinct, there was still 
 vitality in its dying 
 embers. The light 
 which came from the 
 Acropolis gave its 
 illumination to the 
 Renaissance. With- 
 out an Athens there 
 had been no Flor- 
 ence; without a 
 Phidias no Michael 
 Angelo. 
 
 Almost as inter- 
 esting as a visit to 
 the summit of the 
 Acropolis is a walk 
 around its base. A part 
 of it is lined with ruins, 
 many of them being demolished theatres. Upon the hill 
 the drama of the gods went on: below it were performed 
 the tragedy and comedy of man. One of these theatres, 
 called the Odeon, was of Roman origin, built by the con- 
 querors of Greece when they were masters of the world. 
 Its rows of massive arches, climbing one above another up 
 the cliff, remind us of the Colosseum. Above them was the 
 classic Parthenon, which Phidias had built five hundred years 
 
 PORTAL OF THE ERECTHEUM.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 251 
 
 before. This theatre could accom- 
 modate eight thousand people, and 
 doubtless was magnificent and im- 
 posing; but amid such surroundings 
 it must have seemed to the Athe- 
 nians like an interloper and intruder, 
 a gilded fetter on a lovely slave. 
 
 Vastly more interesting, however, 
 than the Odeon is the edifice which 
 adjoins it, the ancient theater of 
 Bacchus, bu'ilt by the Greeks two 
 thousand four hundred years ago. It 
 was excavated from the side of the 
 Acropolis, just below the Parthenon. 
 Its rows of seats were partly sculp- 
 tured from the solid rock and partly 
 built up of Pen- 
 telic marble, 
 
 and thirty ATHEN ?' 
 
 thousand people could be seated 
 here. Its form was a perfect am- 
 phitheatre, a model for all others 
 in the world. How grand was its 
 simplicity! Its light was fur- 
 nished by the sun. God was the 
 painter of its drop-curtain, which 
 was the sunset sky ; the scenery 
 was that of mountains and the 
 sea; its only roof was the blue 
 dome of heaven. 
 
 A portion of the front of the 
 old stage is still intact. If the 
 old Greeks had needed footlights, 
 they would have placed them
 
 252 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 on this marble parapet. It sends the 
 blood in a swift current to the heart to 
 think that all its kneeling or support- 
 ing statues have listened to the plays 
 of Aristophanes or Sophocles, and 
 have beheld innumerable audiences oc- 
 cupying the marble seats which still 
 confront them. Alas! What have they 
 not beheld here since those glorious 
 days! In this, the earliest home of 
 tragedy, how many tragedies have 
 been enacted ! Directly opposite this 
 parapet is one of the ancient marble seats. It was occupied 
 by an Athenian magistrate more than two thousand years ago. 
 His name is still inscribed upon it, perfectly legible, and 
 defiant of the touch of Time. Standing in this amphitheatre, 
 one realizes as never before, how, in an epoch of great intel- 
 lectual activity, genius does 
 not confine itself to one 
 particular line. Whether it 
 be the age of Pericles, the 
 
 AN ANCIENT CHAIR.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 253 
 
 Renaissance, the era of Elizabeth, or the magnificent century 
 of the Moors, a wave of mental energy rolls over an entire 
 nation. Thus here, at Athens, it was not only sculpture that 
 attained such excellence, but painting; not only painting but 
 architecture; not only architecture but oratory; not only 
 oratory but phi- 
 losophy; and in 
 addition to all 
 these, this won- 
 derful city gave 
 mankind the 
 drama, so per- 
 fect at the start 
 that even the 
 modern world, 
 with all its liter- 
 ary culture and 
 experience, re- 
 gards the old 
 Greek drama- 
 tists as its mas- 
 ters. Filled with 
 such thoughts, 
 one seems to 
 see, while.linger- 
 i n g here, the 
 form of Sopho- 
 cles, the greatest of Greek tragic poets. For more than two 
 thousand three hundred years his plays have been admired 
 as almost perfect models of dramatic composition. There 
 is hardly a university in the world that has not one of his 
 magnificent tragedies in its curriculum of study. His play of 
 " CEdipus t^je King, " which is -so well interpreted by the 
 French actor, Mounet Sully, is still a masterpiece of strength 
 
 INTERIOR OF THE ODEON.
 
 254 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 and majesty; and all his other 
 plays, together with those of 
 ^Eschylus, Euripides, and Aristo- 
 phanes, have in their lofty senti- 
 ments never been surpassed, un- 
 less, indeed, by those of Shake- 
 speare. Inspired by the memory of 
 these Hellenic heroes, I approach- 
 ed (still almost in the shadow 
 of the Acropolis) a rocky ledge, 
 known as the "Platform of De- 
 mosthenes." Rough and un- 
 shapely though it be, in view of 
 all that has transpired on its 
 summit it is of greater value to 
 the world than if the entire hill 
 SOPHOCLES. were paved with gold and stud- 
 
 ded with the rarest gems. From this rock the orators of 
 
 Athens spoke to the assembled people. Before it then was 
 
 the Athenian market-place, the forum of the city. The 
 
 site is perfectly 
 
 identified, and 
 
 one can look 
 
 upon the very 
 
 spot from which 
 
 Demosthenes 
 
 delivered his 
 
 orations, still 
 
 unsurpassed in 
 
 ancient or in 
 
 modern times 
 
 even by those 
 
 of Cicero and 
 
 Burke. 
 
 THE THEATRE OF BACCHUS.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 255 
 
 Truly, as Byron says, in Athens 
 
 " Where'er we tread 'tis haunted holy ground, 
 No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
 But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
 And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, 
 Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
 The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon." 
 
 Leaving this noble relic of the past, I presently stood 
 before a solitary gate, known as " The Arch of Hadrian." It 
 was, in fact, erect- 
 ed here by that 
 Roman emperor in 
 the second century 
 after Christ, when 
 Greece was but a 
 province of the 
 Caesars. In Italy 
 this would seem 
 to us of great an- 
 tiquity; but amid 
 objects such as I 
 had just beheld, 
 it appeared com- 
 paratively modern. On one side of this portal is the in- 
 scription, " This is Athens, the old City of Theseus." On the 
 other are the words, "This is the new City of Hadrian, 
 not that of Theseus." In fact this gateway was a bar- 
 rier, yet a connecting link, between the Grecian and the 
 Roman Athens, the cities of the conquered and the con- 
 queror. 
 
 Looking through this historic arch, I saw a group of stately 
 columns in the distance. They are the only relics that remain 
 of the great Temple of Olympian Jove. Even the writers of 
 antiquity, familiar though they were with splendid structures, 
 
 THE FRONT OF THE STAGE.
 
 256 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 PLATFORM OF DEMOSTHENES. 
 
 speak of that 
 shrine as being 
 awe-inspiring in 
 its grandeur. 
 With the ex- 
 ception of the 
 Tern pie of 
 Diana at Ephe- 
 sus, it was the 
 largest Grecian 
 temple ever 
 built. - There 
 were, original- 
 ly, at least one hundred and twenty-six of these Corinthian 
 columns. They formed almost a marble forest. Within 
 it was a veritable maze of statues, including one of Jupiter, 
 which was world-renowned ; but these, as well as nearly all the 
 columns, have long since been abstracted 
 or destroyed. 
 
 These marble giants do not form a 
 single group. Two of them stand apart, 
 like sentries stationed to give warning 
 of the fresh approach of the despoiler. 
 Between them one column lies 
 prostrate; a sad reminder of the 
 fate that has overtaken so many 
 of its brethren. However, unlike 
 most other ruins in the world, 
 this was not caused by the 
 maliciousness of man. On the 
 night of the 26th of October, 
 1852, a heavy rainstorm under- 
 mined the soil at its base, and 
 the huge column, overcome 
 
 DEPARTED GLORY.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 257 
 
 at last, fell its full length of sixty feet upon the sand. It 
 is interesting to observe how evenly its massive sections still 
 rest upon the ground, like bricks set up in rows to push each 
 other over in their fall. 
 
 It is said that the prostrate column could be restored, but 
 perhaps it is more eloquent as it lies. The shaft above it, 
 with its beautiful Corinthian capital, presents a striking con- 
 ~^^ trast. One seems proudly to say, " See 
 
 what this noble temple was! " the other 
 to murmur pathetically, "See what it 
 is to-day! " 
 
 Continuing my way still farther 
 round the base of the Acropolis, I 
 presently perceived a low-browed hill, 
 partially covered with a rocky ledge. 
 It was the ancient Areopagus, or Hill 
 of Mars. Here the Supreme Court of 
 
 TEMPLE OF OLYMPIAN JOVE.
 
 2 5 8 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 Athens held its ses- 
 sions. Such was the 
 simple grandeur of the 
 old Athenians that the 
 only covering of this 
 court - room was the 
 canopy of heaven. 
 For the immortal gods 
 no temple could be 
 too magnificent; but 
 for the serious busi- 
 ness of deciding life 
 
 and death the Greeks would have no sumptuous decoration. 
 The sessions of the court were always held at night, so that 
 no face or gesture could exert the slightest influence. It 
 must have been a scene of wonderful solemnity, for here 
 accusers and accused stood, as it were, between their vener- 
 able judges and the gods, while gKlteB m the dome of 
 night a cloud of glittering |HP witnesses looked 
 down upon them from illim- itable space. 
 
 E ARCH OF HADRIAN. 
 
 A flight of 
 leads to the 
 
 rough-hewn steps 
 summit, where 
 
 THE SENTINELS.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 261 
 
 MARS HILL. 
 
 the judges sat. They are the ancient steps. By them 
 St. Paul ascended to address the Athenian audience which 
 gathered before him. Above him, as he spoke, rose the 
 
 t ( whole glory of 
 
 the Acropolis, 
 with its mag- 
 nificent temples 
 and bewilder- 
 ing array of 
 statues. And 
 yet this stran- 
 ger dared to 
 utter the im- 
 pressive words, 
 
 " God dwelleth not in temples made with hands." This in 
 the shadow of the Parthenon! "We ought not to think 
 that the Godhead is like unto gold or silver, or stone graven 
 by art and man's device." This in the presence of the 
 works of Phidias! 
 
 When we remember how the Acropolis must then have 
 looked, we cannot wonder that the Athenians who heard 
 these words spoken 
 
 c '" """" "' '- - - -" - - \ 
 
 within its shadow 
 smiled, and ironi- 
 cally answered, 
 "We will hear thee 
 again of this mat- 
 ter!" Well, Athens 
 has heard him 
 again, and so has the 
 entire world. Paul 
 discoursed here for possibly an hour, but what he said has 
 ever since been echoing down the ages. None knew him then ; 
 but in a few short years, to the church founded by him in the 
 
 IN THE TIME OF PAUL.
 
 262 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 Greek town of Corinth, he wrote his two epistles to the Cor- 
 inthians, which may be read in every language of the civilized 
 world ; and now there is hardly a city in all Christendom that 
 has not a cathedral or church bearing the great Apostle's 
 name. 
 
 Not far from this historic spot is another ledge of great 
 antiquity. Here dungeons have been excavated in the solid 
 rock, one of them being called the "Prison of Socrates." 
 
 PRISON OF SOCRATES. 
 
 Opinions differ as to its authenticity ; just as men still dispute 
 about the exact locality where Jesus hung upon the Cross. 
 But of the general situation in each case there is no doubt. 
 In Athens, as in Jerusalem, one stands in close proximity to 
 where the purest souls this earth has ever known were put to 
 death by those who hated them; and somewhere on this hill, 
 four hundred years before the scene of Calvary, Socrates 
 drank the poisoned cup forced upon him by his enemies, and 
 in that draught found immortality. 
 
 The lineaments of Christ's face are not surely known to 
 us, but those of Socrates have been preserved in marble. 
 His was a plain and homely visage. The playwright, Aris- 
 tophanes, caricatured him on the stage, and moved the audience
 
 ATHENS 
 
 263 
 
 to shouts of laughter; but, with the ex- 
 ception of the Nazarene, no man 
 ever spoke like Socrates. He 
 was a natural teacher of men. 
 He walked daily among the 
 temples or in the market- 
 place, talking with every one 
 who cared to listen to him. 
 His method was unique. It 
 was, by asking searching ques- 
 tions, to force men to think, 
 to know themselves. If he 
 could make an astonished man 
 give utterance to an original 
 thought, he .was contented for that 
 day. He had sown the seed ; it 
 would bear fruit. He had no notes, 
 SOCRATES. nor did he ever wr ite a line; yet 
 
 his incomparable thoughts, ex- 
 pressed in purest speech, were faithfully recorded by his 
 pupils, Xenophon and Plato, and will be treasured to the end 
 of time. 
 
 Another memorial of Athens which well repays a visit is 
 the Temple of Theseus, that legendary hero of old Greece, 
 half-man, half-god, whose exploits 
 glimmer through the dawn of his- 
 tory, much as a mountain partially 
 reveals itself through morning mists. 
 Fortune has treated this old temple 
 kindly. There is hardly an ancient 
 structure extant that .has so per- 
 fectly resisted the disintegrating 
 touch of time or the destroy- 
 ing hand of man. For the 
 
 A RELIC OF THE ATHENIAN FORUM.
 
 264 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 Theseum was built nearly five hundred years before the birth 
 of Christ, in commemoration of the glorious battle of Mara- 
 thon, where Theseus was believed to have appeared to aid the 
 Greeks in driving from their shores the invading Persians. 
 
 When in 1824 Lord Byron died upon Greek soil, striving 
 to free the Hellenic nation from the Turkish yoke, the Athe- 
 nians wished his body to be buried in this temple. No wonder 
 
 TEMPLE OF THESEUS. 
 
 they were grateful to him, for the action of that ardent 
 admirer of the Greeks in hastening to their land to consecrate 
 his life and fortune to the cause of liberty, was not, as some 
 have thought, unpractical and sentimental. Byron, unlike 
 many other poets, was no mere dreamer. He could, when he 
 desired, descend from Poesy's empyrean to the practical real- 
 ities of life; and during his short stay in Greece, whether he 
 was securing loans, conciliating angry chiefs, or giving counsel 
 to the government, he showed the tact and firmness of an able 
 statesman. 
 
 As if, then, this classic temple were a Greek sarcophagus, 
 within which was enshrined the form of the immortal dead,
 
 ATHENS 
 
 265 
 
 BYRON AT MISSOLONGHI. 
 
 I seemed to see among its marble 
 columns that noble statue repre- 
 senting Byron at Missolonghi, the 
 little town where, with such fatal 
 haste, his life was sacrificed. It 
 would be difficult to imagine any- 
 thing more distressing than Byron's 
 last illness. He was in a wretched, 
 malarial district, utterly devoid of 
 comforts. No woman's hand was 
 there to smooth his brow or give 
 to him the thousand little com- 
 forts which only woman's tender 
 thoughtfulness can understand. 
 Convinced at last by the distress 
 of his servants that his death was 
 near, he called his faithful valet, Fletcher, to his side, 
 and spoke with great earnestness, but very indistinctly, for 
 nearly twenty minutes. Finally he said, with relief, "Now 
 I have told you all." 
 
 "My lord," replied Fletcher, "I have not understood a 
 
 word you have been saying." 
 
 _. "Not understood me?" 
 
 exclaimed Lord Byron, with a 
 look of the utmost distress. 
 "What a pity! for it is too 
 late; all is over! " 
 
 "I hope not," answered 
 Fletcher, "but the Lord's 
 will be done." 
 
 ' ' Yes, not mine, ' ' said the 
 poet; and soon after mur- 
 mured, " Now I shall go to 
 sleep." These were the last 
 
 A RUINED CAPITAL.
 
 266 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 words of Byron, for, with a weary sigh, he then sank into 
 that peaceful slumber in which his spirit gradually loosed its 
 hold on earth, and drifted outward into the Unknown. 
 
 The more modern part of Athens recalls happier recollec- 
 tions of Byron. When he came here in his youth, he not only 
 
 wrote those magnificent stanzas 
 in " Childe Harold," which are 
 among the choicest treasures ot 
 our English tongue, but also 
 composed that graceful poem, 
 " Maid of Athens," each verse 
 of which ends with Greek words 
 that signify, "My Life, I love 
 thee! " It was addressed to the 
 eldest daughter of the Greek 
 lady in whose house he lodged. 
 Little did that fair Athenian girl 
 imagine that his verses would 
 make her known throughout the world. Yet so it was. No 
 actual likeness of her can be given, but we may well believe 
 that she, in some respects, resembled a typical Grecian 
 maiden of to-day. 
 
 " By those tresses unconfined, 
 Woo'd by each Aegean wind; 
 By those lids whose jetty fringe 
 Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; 
 By those wild eyes like the roe, 
 Zu>rj /JLOO, adq dya-(Ju. 
 
 By that lip I long to taste; 
 By that zone-encircled waist; 
 By all the token-flowers that tell 
 What words can never speak so well; 
 By love's alternate joy and woe, 
 Za>jj pod, adq dyaxw. 
 
 MAID OF ATHENS.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 267 
 
 Maid of Athens! I am gone: 
 Think of me, sweet! when alone. 
 Though I fly to Istambol, 
 Athens holds my heart and soul: 
 Can I cease to love thee? Nol 
 Zaiy /jiot), <raq dyanat." 
 
 The tourist who visits Greece to-day finds much to 
 admire in the modern city which ancient Athens wears now 
 like a jewel on her withered breast. It is a bright, attractive 
 place. When I revisited it a few years ago, it seemed to 
 me by contrast with the Orient a miniature Paris. Yet this 
 is all of very recent growth. Half a century ago the devas- 
 tation wrought here by the Turks had left the city desolate. 
 Hardly a house in the whole town was habitable. But now 
 we find a city of one hundred and thirty thousand people, 
 with handsome residences, public squares, clean streets, and 
 several public buildings that would adorn any capital in the 
 world. 
 
 One of the finest private residences in Athens is the home 
 of the late Doctor Schliemann, the world-renowned explorer of 
 the plain of Troy and other sites of 
 
 
 
 Greek antiq- uity. It 
 
 THE BYZANTINE CHURCH
 
 268 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 is constructed of pure Pentelic marble. Around its roof 
 beautiful groups of statuary gleam white against the blue of the 
 Athenian sky. Anywhere else this style of decoration would 
 perhaps seem out of place; not so in Athens. It simply serves 
 as a reminder of the fact that once the wealth of art here was so 
 great that half the galleries of the world are filled to-day with 
 the fragments of it that remain. So many statues once ex- 
 isted here, that 
 an Athenian 
 wit declared 
 that it was 
 easier to find a 
 god in Athens 
 than a man! 
 
 Perhaps the 
 finest of the 
 public build- 
 ings in Athens 
 is its Academy 
 of Science. It is 
 a noble struc- 
 ture, composed 
 
 entirely of Pentelic marble and built in imitation of the 
 classic style, with rows of grand .Ionic columns, while in the 
 pediment are sculptures resembling those with which the 
 Greeks two thousand years ago adorned the shrines of the 
 Acropolis. The lofty marble columns in the foreground are 
 crowned with figures of Minerva and Apollo. Below them 
 are the seated statues of Socrates and Plato. What more 
 appropriate combination could be made than this : the wisdom 
 of the gods above, the wisdom of humanity below, expressed 
 by the greatest names which in religion and philosophy have 
 given Athens an immortal fame? In the spring of 1896 
 modern Athens seemed suddenly to surpass the ancient 
 
 RESIDENCE OF DOCTOR SCHLIEMANN.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 271 
 
 city in interest, through the revival of the Olympian games. 
 The mention of these famous contests suggests at once 
 the old Greek statue of the Disk-Thrower, whose arm 
 has been uplifted for the admiration of the world for 
 more than two thousand years. Although this national 
 festival of the Greeks had its origin nearly eight hundred 
 years before the birth of Christ, and though the last one 
 
 THE ACADEMY OF SCIENCE. 
 
 was celebrated fifteen hundred years ago, the games were 
 renewed in 1896 as the first of a series of international athletic 
 contests, which will hereafter take place every four years in 
 various portions of the world. The first was given, of course, 
 to Greece, the mother of athletics as she was of art. The 
 next will be seen at Paris in 1900, during the Exposition 
 there. 
 
 For the great occasion referred to, the old Greek Stadium 
 was partially re-excavated and furnished with hundreds of 
 new marble seats. This was done not alone at the expense of
 
 2/2 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 THE DISK-THROWER. 
 
 a few rich Athenians, but 
 also through the gener- 
 osity of wealthy Greeks in 
 Alexandria, Smyrna, Lon- 
 don, and Marseilles. The 
 Stadium, as it now exists, 
 can accommodate about 
 sixty thousand people; 
 and on the closing day of 
 the recently revived fes- 
 tival, fully that number 
 were assembled in it, 
 while forty thousand more 
 were grouped outside the 
 walls or on the road 
 between Athens and the 
 
 battlefield of Marathon. Among the contesting athletes 
 were several manly specimens of "Young 
 America." In every way they did us honor. 
 Those with whom we talked on the sub- 
 ject spoke in the highest terms of the 
 courtesy and kindness shown them by 
 every one in Athens, from king to peas- 
 ant. Nor was this strange. It was 
 due, first, to their own fine qualities; 
 second, to the popularity which America 
 enjoys in Greece, and third, to the fact 
 that they themselves soon proved the 
 heroes of the Stadium. 
 
 After each contest, the flag of the 
 victorious country was displayed above 
 the arena, and the American emblem 
 was the first to go up. And it kept 
 going up ! The first three races were all 
 
 AN ATHLETE.
 
 ATHENS 
 
 273 
 
 won by Americans. Then came the "long jump," which 
 Americans also gained. Then Garrett, of Princeton, beat 
 the Greeks themselves at their old classic sport of "throw- 
 ing the disk." Even on the second day "Old Glory" 
 shook out its starry folds three times, till presently Denmark 
 gained a victory, and then England. 
 
 THE STADIUM. 
 
 It is hard to single out for special notice any one individ- 
 ual among these heroes; but no American gained more popu- 
 larity on the historic race-course, than the man who for swift 
 running carried off so many prizes in Old Athens, that lithe 
 citizen of the "Athens of America," Thomas Burke. Over 
 his speed and skill the Greeks were wildly enthusiastic. 
 Some of them showed him proofs of personal affection. One 
 asked him, through an interpreter, on what food he had been 
 trained. Burke, like a true Bostonian, replied, "Beans!" 
 After one of his brilliant victories, when the Americans
 
 2/4 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 had gained in swift succession four first prizes, one old Athe- 
 nian stood up in the Stadium, and raising his hands in mock 
 despair, exclaimed: " O, why did Columbus ever discover 
 that country! " 
 
 Finally, on the last day, there came a contest which the 
 Greeks had been awaiting with alternating hope and fear. It 
 
 SOME OF THE AMERICAN ATHLETES. 
 
 was the long run from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens, 
 - a distance of twenty-five miles. 
 
 Besides the Greeks, there entered for this race Americans, 
 Australians, Frenchmen, Germans, and Hungarians. Secretly, 
 however, almost every one of the spectators hoped that a 
 Greek would win. History and sentiment alike seemed to 
 demand that the coveted honor should be gained by a 
 descendant of the men of Marathon, for this was the same 
 road traversed by the historic Greek, who ran to announce
 
 ATHENS 
 
 275 
 
 THOMAS BURKE. 
 
 to the Athenians the triumph of the 
 Greeks over the Persians at Mara- 
 thon, and as he entered the 
 Arena, dropped dead, gasping 
 the word, " Victory! " 
 
 Instinctively that scene 
 rises before the reader's imagi- 
 nation, as it must have done 
 before the minds of the thou- 
 sands gathered on the course 
 to witness the issue of the race. 
 It was half-past four in the after- 
 noon when a cannon-shot an- 
 nounced that the leading runner 
 was in sight. Two or three minutes passed in breathless 
 silence. No one moved or spoke. Suddenly, a far-off cry 
 was heard, " It is a Greek a Greek! " These words were 
 
 taken up and ran the whole 
 length of the Stadium as elec- 
 tricity leaps from point to 
 point. A moment 
 more, and a hundred 
 thousand voices rent 
 the air with cheers and 
 acclamations. The 
 king himself almost 
 tore the visor from his 
 cap, waving it fran- 
 tically round his 
 head ; for, in truth, 
 the victor was a 
 Greek, a young 
 peasant named 
 Loues, twenty - four 
 
 THE SOLDIER OF MARATHON.
 
 276 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 years of age. Before entering the con- 
 test, he had partaken of the sacrament 
 and had invoked the aid of Heaven; 
 and apparently the gods had come to 
 his assistance, for he had made the run 
 of twenty-five miles over a hard, rough 
 country in two hours and forty -five min- 
 utes! To show the feeling the victor 
 entertained for the American athletes, 
 it may be said that when Loues crossed 
 the line, notwithstanding the tremen- 
 dous excitement and enthusiasm that 
 LOUES - prevailed, he ran to Tom Burke, and, 
 
 throwing his arms around him, kissed the American flag 
 
 which the Bostonian was holding in his hand. 
 
 At the king's palace, Loues and the other competing 
 
 athletes were entertained in royal style by the crowned head 
 
 of the kingdom. The joy and pride of the young peasant's 
 
 father, as he saw him universally feted 
 
 and admired, is said to have been ex- 
 tremely beautiful and touching; for 
 
 Loues was treated almost as a demi- 
 god by his delighted countrymen. 
 
 The strangest gifts were showered 
 
 upon him. A cafe, for example, 
 
 offered him carte blanche at its 
 
 hospitable table for the rest of 
 
 his life; a barber-shop promised 
 
 him free shaves so long as he 
 
 lived ; and even a boot-black 
 
 coveted the honor of polishing 
 
 his shoes for an indefinite period, 
 
 expecting nothing in return. 
 
 Large sums of money also were 
 
 - 
 
 THE " LANTERN OF DEMOSTHENES."
 
 ATHENS 
 
 277 
 
 offered him; but these, with the true spirit of the athlete, 
 Loues declined. "The only reward I crave," he exclaimed, 
 " is the wreath of laurel from Olympia, such as my ancestors 
 received two thousand years ago. I am poor, but I ran, 
 not for money, but for the glory of my native land." 
 
 The pleasantest route in taking leave of the Hellenic 
 kingdom is to embark upon a steamer 
 and sail through the Grecian Archi- 
 pelago. It is the same route taken 
 by the old Greek colonists when they 
 went forth to civilize the world, the 
 same path followed by the Trojan 
 exiles when they sailed to Italy to 
 build upon her seven hills the walls of 
 Rome. To coast along the shores 
 of the ^Egean, after a tour in Athens, 
 is one of the most exquisite enjoy- 
 ments this life can give. To the stu- 
 dent of history in particular, the scene 
 recalls events so glorious that he is 
 lost in admiration, not only of the 
 marvelous country as a whole, but of 
 what the ancient Greeks accomplished 
 for humanity. In what department did they not excel? 
 
 Is it their sculpture that we question? At once the 
 incomparable Venus of Melos makes reply; that statue found 
 (alas ! in partial ruin) on one of the islands that are scat- 
 tered broadcast on this classic sea, like disentangled pearls, and 
 hence a fitting emblem of those treasures of antiquity cast 
 on the shores of time after a long-continued and disastrous 
 storm. 
 
 Is it their language? It was the most perfect and elastic 
 tongue in which men's lips have ever fashioned speech. It 
 seems more than chance that caused it, at the birth of Christ, 
 
 VENUS OF MELOS.
 
 2 7 8 
 
 ATHENS 
 
 to be the leading literary language 
 
 of the world, that it might thus 
 
 receive, embody, and perpetuate 
 
 the truths of the New Testament.' 
 
 Even now we turn to that old 
 
 tongue to find exact expression for 
 
 our terms of science, and in it we 
 
 name all our new inventions such 
 
 as heliotypes and photographs, 
 
 the telegraph and the telephone. 
 Is it poetry? At once there 
 
 seems to rise before us from these 
 
 waters, which encircled him at birth 
 
 and death, the face of Homer, 
 
 the father of poetry. To whom has he not been a joy and 
 
 inspiration? Virgil was but the pupil and imitator of Homer. 
 
 And the Iliad and Odyssey are still such storehouses of 
 
 eloquence and beauty, that such statesmen as Gladstone 
 
 and the Earl of Derby have sharpened their keen intellects 
 
 in making their translations. 
 
 Is it philosophy? "Out of Plato," says 
 Emerson, "come all things that are still 
 written and debated among men of 
 thought." 
 
 The lesson, then, which Athens 
 teaches us is this: not to regard past 
 men, past deeds, and ruined shrines as 
 dead and useless limbs upon the Tree 
 of Time. The Past has made the 
 Present, just as the Present is now 
 fashioning Futurity. Moreover, since 
 one lofty sentiment begets another; 
 one valiant deed inspires a second; 
 and one sublime achievement is a
 
 ATHENS 
 
 279 
 
 stepping-stone to loftier heights; what portion of our earth 
 can give to us more inspiration than Athens, birthplace of 
 the earliest masterpieces of the human race, the mother of 
 imperishable memories, and of an art that conquers time.
 
 VENICE
 
 THE BAY OF VENICE.
 
 VENICE is still victorious over Time. Despite her age, 
 the City of the Sea is fascinating still. She has suc- 
 cessfully defied a dozen centuries; she may perhaps 
 defy as many more. All other cities in the world resemble 
 
 She is the City 
 day where Poetry 
 
 one another. Venice remains unique, 
 of Romance the only place on earth to- 
 conquers Prose. The marriage of the 
 Adriatic and its bride has never been 
 dissolved. She is to-day, as 
 she has been for fourteen 
 hundred years, a capital 
 whose streets are water and 
 whose vehicles are boats. 
 She is an incomparable illus- 
 tration of the poetical and 
 the picturesque; and, were 
 she nothing else, would still 
 attract the world. But she 
 is infinitely more. The 
 hands of Titian and Tinto- 
 retto have embellished her. 
 She wears upon her breast some architectural jewels unsur- 
 passed in Italy. And, finally, the splendor of her history en- 
 folds her like the glory of her golden sunsets, and she emerges 
 
 STATUE OF VICTOR EMANUEL.
 
 284 
 
 VENICE 
 
 from the waves of Time, that have repeatedly endeavored to 
 engulf her, as do her marble palaces from the encircling sea. 
 
 The charm of Venice begins even at what is usually the 
 most prosaic of places a railway station. For, to a city 
 where there are no living horses, the iron horse at least has made 
 its way; and by a bridge, two miles in length, Venice is now 
 
 THE RAILWAY STATION. 
 
 connected with the outer world by rail. A quick, delicious 
 feeling of surprise comes over one to see awaiting him in the 
 place of carriages a multitude of boats. The pleasing sense 
 of novelty (so rare now in the world) appeals to us at once, 
 and, with the joyful consciousness of entering on a long- 
 anticipated pleasure, we seat ourselves within a gondola, and 
 noiselessly and swiftly glide out into the unknown. 
 
 The first surprise awaiting almost every visitor to Venice 
 is that of seeing all its buildings rise directly from the sea. 
 He knows, of course, that Venice rests upon a hundred islands,
 
 THE BAY OF VENICE.
 
 VENICE 
 
 287 
 
 linked by four hundred and fifty bridges. Hence, he expects 
 to see between the houses and the liquid streets some fringe 
 of earth, some terrace or embankment. But no: the stately 
 mansions emerge from the ocean like a huge sea-wall, and, 
 when the surface of the water is disturbed 
 
 by a light breeze or passing djjflip u boat, 
 
 it overflows their marble 
 steps as softly as the 
 ultimate ripple of 
 the surf spreads its 
 white foam along 
 the beach. As, 
 then, our gondolier 
 
 A LIQUID LABYRINTH. 
 
 takes us farther through this 
 liquid labyrinth, we naturally 
 ask in astonishment, "What 
 was the origin of this mys- 
 terious city? How came it 
 to be founded thus within the 
 sea?" The wonder is easily 
 explained. In the fifth cen- 
 tury after Christ, when the old Roman empire had well-nigh 
 perished under the deadly inroads of barbarians, another 
 devastating army entered Italy, led by a man who was 
 regarded as the "scourge of God." This man was Attila. 
 Such was the ruin always left behind him, that he could 
 boast with truth that the grass grew not where his horse had 
 
 " LIKE A HUGE SEA-WALL."
 
 288 
 
 VENICE 
 
 trod. A few men seeking to escape this vandal, fled to a 
 group of uninhabited islands in the Adriatic. Exiled from 
 land, they cast themselves in desperation on the sea. 
 
 But no one can behold this ocean-city without perceiv- 
 ing that those exiles were rewarded for their courage The 
 
 THE OCEAN CITY. 
 
 sea became their mother, their divinity. She sheltered 
 them with her encircling waves. She nourished them from 
 her abundant life. She forced them to build boats in which 
 to transport merchandise from land to land. And they, obey- 
 ing her, grew from a feeble colony of refugees to be a power- 
 ful republic, and made their city a nucleus of vast wealth and 
 commerce, a swinging door between the Orient and Occi- 
 dent, through which there ebbed and flowed for centuries a
 
 VENICE 
 
 289 
 
 tide of golden 
 wealth, of which 
 her glorious sun- 
 sets seemed but 
 the reflection. 
 
 Who can for- 
 get his first 
 glimpse of the 
 Grand Canal ? 
 Seen at a favor- 
 able hour, the 
 famous thorough- 
 fare delights the 
 senses as it thrills 
 
 THE GRAND CANAL. 
 
 the heart. For 
 
 two miles it winds through the city in such graceful lines 
 that every section of its course reveals a stately curve. Upon 
 this beautiful expanse the sun of Venice, like a cunning 
 necromancer, displays most marvelous effects of light and 
 shade, transforming it at different hours of the day into 
 an avenue of lapis-lazuli, or emerald, or gold, an eloquent 
 
 reminder of the 
 time when Venice 
 was a paradise of 
 pleasure, when life 
 upon its liquid 
 streets was a per- 
 petual pageant, 
 and this incom- 
 parable avenue its 
 splendid promen- 
 ade. Its curving 
 banks are lined 
 with palaces. 
 
 VENETIAN PALACES.
 
 VENICE 
 
 They seem to be standing hand in hand, saluting one another 
 gravely, as though both shores were executing here the move- 
 ments of some courtly dance. These were originally the homes 
 of men whose names were written in that record of Venetian 
 nobility, called "The Book of Gold." Once they were mar- 
 vels of magnificence; and viewed in the sunset light, or by the 
 moon, they are so still. Under that enchanting spell their 
 
 A MARINE PORTE COCHERE. 
 
 massive columns, marble balconies, and elegantly sculptured 
 arches, seem as imposing as when the Adriatic's Bride was 
 still a queen and wore her robes of purple and of gold. 
 
 To build such structures on the shifting sands was a stu- 
 pendous undertaking; and what we cannot see of these Vene- 
 tian palaces has cost much more than that which rises now 
 above the waves. From every door broad marble steps 
 descend to the canal, and tall posts, painted with the colors 
 of the family, serve as a mooring place for gondolas, a kind 
 of marine porte cochtre. Each of these structures has its 
 legend, poetic, tragic or artistic; and these our gondolier
 
 BROWNING PALACE.
 
 VENICE 
 
 293 
 
 HOME OF DESDEMONA 
 
 successively murmurs to us in his soft 
 
 Venetian dialect as we glide along 
 
 the glittering highway. 
 
 Thus, in the Palazzo Vendramini, 
 
 the composer Wagner died in 1883. 
 
 Not far from this stately mansion is 
 
 the home of Desdemona. Within 
 
 another of these palaces the old Doge 
 
 Foscari died of a broken heart at the 
 
 ill-treatment of his countrymen. In 
 
 one lived Byron ; in another Robert 
 
 Browning; in a third George Sand; 
 
 a fourth was once the home of Titian. 
 But now our winding course re- 
 veals to us, suspended over this noble 
 
 thoroughfare, a structure which we 
 
 recognize at once "The Bridge of 
 
 the Rialto." For centuries this was 
 
 the only bridge that crossed the Grand Canal. An ugly one 
 
 of iron has been constructed near the railway station; but 
 
 this Rialto remains a relic of Venice in her glory, for its huge 
 
 arch is entirely 
 of marble, and 
 has a length of 
 over a hundred 
 and fifty feet. 
 Its cost exceeded 
 half a million 
 dollars; and the 
 foundations, 
 which for three 
 hundred and 
 twenty years 
 have faithfully
 
 294 
 
 VENICE 
 
 supported it, are twelve thousand trunks of elm trees, each 
 ten feet in length. To-day, little shops are built along the 
 bridge, leaving a passageway between them in the centre and 
 one without on either side. 
 
 The Rialto seems prosaic 
 in the glare of noon. But 
 wave before it, for an in- 
 stant, the magic wands of 
 fancy and historical associa- 
 tion, and we can picture to 
 ourselves how it must have 
 looked when on this Rivo- 
 Alto, or "High Bank," 
 
 which gives the bridge its name, Venetian ladies saw out- 
 spread before them the treasures of the Orient; when at this 
 point the laws of the Republic were proclaimed ; when mer- 
 chants congregated here as to a vast Exchange ; and when, 
 on this same bridge, the forms of Shylock and Othello may
 
 VENICE 
 
 295 
 
 have stood out in sharp relief against the sky; when, in a 
 word, Venice, like Venus, had been born of the blue sea, 
 possessing all the fascinating languor of the East, and yet 
 belonging to the restless West. ^^^^^^^^^ But to ac- 
 quire that mental state in .^^| ^^^ which 
 these visions of Vene- 
 tian splendor will re- 
 cur to one, certain 
 conditions are 
 
 THE CITY OF SILENCE. 
 
 essential for the tourist : first, he must choose the moon for 
 his companion; and, second, he must manage to arrive in 
 the City of the Sea by night. Venice, though beautiful, 
 shows marks of age. The glare of day is far too strong for
 
 296 
 
 VENICE 
 
 VENICE BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 her pathetically 
 fair, but wrinkled, 
 face. Pay her the 
 compliment to see 
 her at her best. 
 In Venice make 
 your nights and 
 days exchange 
 places. Sleep 
 through the 
 morning hours, 
 and spend the 
 afternoons read- 
 ing books that tell 
 of old Venetian 
 glory. Then, when the daylight wanes, and the moon turns 
 these streets into paths of shimmering gold, go forth to woo 
 Venezia, and she will give you of her best. 
 
 The form of the 
 Grand Canal is 
 that of a huge let- 
 ter "S." When- 
 ever it is looked 
 upon from an ele- 
 vation, this " S " 
 is suggestive of 
 the Italian word 
 Silenzio, for Venice 
 is pre-eminently 
 the City of Silence. 
 No roar of wheels 
 disturbs one here; 
 no strident gongs; 
 no tramp of horses' 
 
 ON THE GRAND CANAL.
 
 VENICE 
 
 299 
 
 feet. Reclining on the cushions of a gondola, one floats in 
 absolute tranquillity upon a noiseless sea. 
 
 To go to another city after Venice is like removing from 
 one's ears the fingers which for a little time had closed them 
 to all sounds. No place is better for a weary brain-worker 
 than Venice. His nerves relax in its restful stillness. The 
 hand of Nature gently lifts the veil from his hot, wearied eyes; 
 and he perceives at last that when a comfortable livelihood 
 has been secured, to keep on toiling feverishly in the modern 
 
 A FAMILIAR SCENE. 
 
 world, beneath a pall of soot and in the midst of noisy, heart- 
 less crowds, is not to live : it is merely preparing to die. 
 
 Upon a moonlit night these liquid corridors present a scene 
 too beautiful for words. It is the Venice of one's dreams. 
 According to the light or shade, we glide through alternating 
 paths of glory and of gloom. All the defects which day 
 reveals are, by moonlight, totally concealed or softened into 
 indistinctness, like features hidden by a silvery veil. Here 
 and there some lights are gleaming through the casements; 
 but, as a rule, the city seems to sleep. 
 
 Occasionally, it may be, a boat full of musicians will appear, 
 and, to the passionate throbbing of the harp or guitar, a score 
 of voices chant the songs of Italy. Meanwhile, a dozen gon- 
 dolas, with listening occupants, float in the shadows of the
 
 300 
 
 VENICE 
 
 !T OF VENICE. 
 
 marble palaces. These, when the music ceases, approach the 
 expectant singers, and silver coins fall into outstretched hands, 
 which glisten phantom-like for a moment in the moonlight. 
 Then each gondola, with swan-like grace, in silence disappears, 
 leaving behind it a long furrow like a chain of gold. 
 
 When the visi- 
 tor to Venice pre- 
 pares to leave for 
 a time his gon- 
 dola, there is no 
 need to say where 
 he will land . 
 There is one lit- 
 tle area more 
 important than 
 all others, which 
 every tourist longs to see and explore. It is a perfectly 
 familiar scene, yet I have often noticed, with a thrill of sym- 
 pathy, a tremor in the voice of the enthusiastic traveler who 
 sees it for the first time, as he exclaims: "That building 
 on the right is surely the Ducal Palace, and on the left is the 
 entrance to the Piazzetta." 
 
 "That lofty tower is, of course, the Campanile. But where 
 is St. Mark's?" 
 
 "It is just behind the Ducal Palace, and invisible from this 
 point." 
 
 "And the famous Piazza?" 
 
 " That, too, is hidden behind the building on the left, but 
 it is at right angles with the Piazzetta, and lies within the 
 shadow of the Campanile." 
 
 As one draws nearer to the spot, how marvelously beauti- 
 tul it all appears ! Now one begins to appreciate the splen- 
 dor of the Doge's Palace. Above it, like a constellation 
 rising from the sea, glitter the domes of the Cathedral of San
 
 VENICE 
 
 301 
 
 Marco. Presently the long landing-pier and the attractive 
 Piazzetta are distinctly visible; and, turning one's astonished 
 vision heavenward, one looks with admiration on the splendid 
 bell-tower, three hundred and fifty feet in height, its pointed 
 summit piercing the light clouds and its aerial balcony hung 
 like a gilded cage against the sky. The traveler who beholds 
 these scenes may have had many delightful moments in his life, 
 but that in which he looks for the first time upon this glorious 
 combination of the historic and the beautiful can hardly be 
 surpassed. Like the names of the old Venetian nobles, it 
 should be written in a " Book of Gold." 
 
 On the border of the Piazzetta are two stately columns. 
 On landing, therefore, one naturally gives to them one's first 
 attention. It is difficult to realize that these granite mono- 
 liths have been standing here for more than seven hundred 
 
 THE EDGE OF THE PIAZZETTA. 
 
 years, but such is the fact, as they were erected in the year 
 1187. They were a portion of the spoils brought back by 
 the Venetians from the treasure-laden East. Each up- 
 holds the emblem of a patron saint: one, a statue of St. 
 Theodore , the other, the famous winged lion of St. Mark.
 
 302 
 
 VENICE 
 
 Formerly, on a scaffold reared between these columns, state 
 criminals were put to death their backs turned toward the 
 land which casts them from her, their faces toward the 
 
 sea, symbol of 
 eternity. But 
 now the shadows 
 of these ancient 
 shafts fall on a 
 multitude of 
 pleasure-boats, 
 and echo to the 
 voices of the gon- 
 doliers. Close by 
 these columns is 
 the Ducal Palace, 
 
 that splendid 
 symbol of Ve- 
 netian glory, 
 a record of the 
 city's brilliant 
 history pre- 
 served in stone. 
 This spot, for 
 more than a 
 thousand years, 
 was the resi- 
 dence of the Doges,, Five palaces preceded this, each in turn 
 having been destroyed by fire. But every time a more mag- 
 nificent building rose from the ashes of its predecessor. The 
 present structure has been standing for nearly five hundred
 
 SANTA MARIA DELLA SALUTE.
 
 VENICE 
 
 305 
 
 years, and from the variety of architectural styles mingled 
 here from North, South, East and West, Ruskin called it, 
 "The Central Building of the World." 
 
 Around it, on two sides, are long arcades of marble col- 
 umns, the lower ones adorned with sculptures in relief, the 
 upper ones ending in graceful circles pierced with quatrefoils. 
 
 ALONG THE SHORE. 
 
 Above them is the crowning glory of the building, a beau- 
 tiful expanse of variegated marble, with intricate designs run- 
 ning diagonally over its surface. At every corner the twisted 
 column of Byzantine architecture is observed, and on the 
 border of the roof a fringe of pinnacles and pointed arches 
 cuts its keen silhouette against the sky. The lower columns 
 seem perhaps a trifle short, but this is because the building 
 has gradually settled toward the sea, as if unable to support 
 the burden of its years and memories. 
 
 By day this palace is superbly beautiful; but, in the 
 evening, when illumined by the moon, or flooded with electric
 
 306 
 
 VENICE 
 
 light, it is, perhaps, the most imposing structure in the 
 whole of Europe. At such a time it looks like an immense 
 sarcophagus of precious stone, in which the glories of old 
 Venice lie entombed. The colonnades around the Ducal 
 Palace give perfect shel- 
 ter from the sun or rain, 
 and hundreds stroll here 
 through the day, having 
 the somber palace on 
 the one side, and, on the 
 other, all the gaiety of 
 the Grand Canal. But 
 in the evening, when 
 the adjoining St. Mark's 
 Square is thronged with 
 promenaders, and music 
 floats upon the air, the 
 arcade is to the Piazza. 
 what a conservatory is 
 to a ball-room. Lovers 
 invariably find such 
 places, for not even the 
 moonbeams can pen- 
 etrate these shadows. 
 At such a time the 
 promenades seem shad- 
 owy lanes of love con- 
 ducting from the gay Piazza, to the waiting gondola. 
 
 To know the past of the Ducal Palace thoroughly would 
 be to know the entire history of Venice, from its transcendent 
 glories to its darkest crimes. For this was not alone the 
 residence of the Doges ; it was at different epochs the Senate- 
 House, the Court of Justice, a prison, and even a place of 
 execution. Fronting upon the courtyard, just beneath the 
 
 A CORNER OF THE DUCAL PALACE THE JUDGMENT 
 OF SOLOMON.
 
 VENICE 
 
 307 
 
 A DUCAL PORTAL. 
 
 roof, the tourist sees some small, 
 round windows. They admit a little 
 light to a few cells, known as the 
 Piombi, or Leads, because they 
 were located just beneath the lead 
 roof of the palace. In summer 
 the heat in them is almost unen- 
 durable. And yet in one of them 
 the Italian patriot and poet, Silvio 
 Pellico, seventy years ago, was 
 kept a wretched captive, and he 
 has related the sad story of his 
 sufferings in his famous book, Le 
 mie Prigioni, or " My Prisons." 
 
 It is but a step from the outer 
 corridors into the courtyard of the 
 palace. Four elegantly decorated 
 marble walls enclose this, and one instinctively looks up to 
 see the splendid robes of Senators light up the sculptured 
 colonnades, and the rich toilettes of the Venetian ladies 
 trail upon the marble stairways. But no ! This square, 
 
 whose walls have echoed to the foot- 
 steps of the Doges, now guards 
 a solemn silence. In its pa- 
 thetic, voiceless beauty, it 
 is perhaps the saddest spot 
 in Venice. 
 
 Two beautiful bronze 
 well-curbs glitter in the 
 foreground; but though 
 the wells which they en- 
 close contain good water, al- 
 most no life surrounds them, and 
 to the modern visitor they now 
 
 THE COLONNADES.
 
 308 
 
 VENICE 
 
 resemble gorgeous 
 jewel-caskets, which 
 years ago were rifled 
 of their precious 
 gems. 
 
 Beyond these, 
 one observes a mar- 
 ble staircase leading 
 to the second story. 
 It is imposing when 
 one stands before it. Above it frowns the winged lion of St. 
 Mark, as if to challenge all who dare set foot upon these 
 steps. Stationed like sentinels to the right and left are two 
 colossal statues representing Mars and Neptune, which have 
 indeed given the name, "The Giants' Staircase," to this 
 thoroughfare of marble. Their 
 
 stony silence n is almost op- 
 
 ^FnwJK ' v: : I ' i,iiSfii - - 
 pressive. illiBi f LJ^U Hte* Think of 
 
 A WELL-CURB. 
 
 THE COURTYARD OF THE DOGES
 
 VENICE 
 
 309 
 
 the splendid pageants 
 and historic scenes 
 which they have 
 looked upon, but 
 which their unimpas- 
 sioned lips will ne'er 
 describe ! Between 
 these figures, on the 
 topmost stair, amid a 
 scene of splendor 
 which even the great- 
 est of Venetian artists 
 could only faintly rep- 
 resent, the Doges 
 
 were inaugurated into sovereignty. Here they pronounced 
 their solemn oath of office; and one of them, Marino Faliero, 
 having betrayed his trust, was here beheaded for his crime. 
 It will be remembered that Byron's tragedy of Marino 
 Faliero closes with the line: 
 
 " The gory head rolls down the Giants' Steps." 
 
 THE GIANTS' STEPS.
 
 VENICE 
 
 When one has passed these marble giants and entered the 
 state apartments of the palace, despite the intimation given 
 by the outer walls, one is astonished at the splendor here 
 revealed. As the bright sunlight falls on the mosaic pave- 
 ment, it is easy to imagine that ^^^H^KK^^ one is 
 walking on a beach whose 
 glittering sands are 
 grains of gold. The 
 roof and walls are 
 covered with enor- 
 mous masterpieces 
 set in golden frames. 
 All of them have 
 one theme the glori- 
 
 APARTMENTS IN THE 
 DOGE'S PALACE. 
 
 fkation of Ven= 
 ice. One of 
 them, finished 
 by Tintoretto 
 when he was 
 more than three 
 score years and 
 ten, is seventy feet in length, and is the largest painting known 
 to art. One trembles to think what fire could accomplish 
 here in a single night, not only in this Ducal Palace, but in 
 the equally marvelous buildings which adjoin it; for they 
 could never be reproduced. They are unique in the world. 
 
 Each of these gold-enameled halls is like a gorgeous vase, 
 in which are blooming fadelessly the flowers of Venetian his- 
 tory. What scenes have been enacted here, when on these
 
 THE COURTYARD OF THE DUCAL PALACE.
 
 VENICE 
 
 STATUE OF COLLEONI A VENETIAN 
 GENERAL. 
 
 benches sat the Council- 
 ors of the Republic wear- 
 ing their scarlet robes! 
 Upon their votes depend- 
 ed life and death; and 
 here the die was cast for 
 peace or war. Close by 
 the door was placed a lion's 
 head of marble, into the 
 mouth of which (the famous 
 Bocca di Lione] secret denun- 
 ciations were cast. These 
 were examined by the Council 
 of Ten, all of whose acts were 
 shrouded in profoundest secrecy; 
 and such at last was their despotic 
 power that even the Doge himself came to be nothing but 
 the slave and mouthpiece of that group of tyrants, and was 
 as little safe from them as those whose sentences he automat- 
 ically signed. 
 
 While standing here, there naturally presents itself to 
 one's imagination a scene in the old days when, as the Doge 
 
 descended from his palace, 
 he met some lowly suppliant 
 presenting to him an appeal 
 for mercy. Ah, what a 
 glorious age was that for 
 Venice! when her victori- 
 ous flag rolled out its purple 
 folds over the richest islands 
 of the Mediterranean and 
 the Adriatic; when she pos- 
 sessed the largest armory 
 and the most extensive 
 
 THE WINGED LION.
 
 VENICE 
 
 dock-yards in the world (in which ten thousand beams of 
 oak were always ready for the construction of new ships); 
 when she could boast of having the first bank of deposit 
 ever founded in Europe; when (Rome excepted) she was the 
 first to print books in Italy; and when she sold in St. Mark's 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE OF VENICE. 
 
 Square the first newspaper ever known to the world, demand- 
 ing for it a little coin called gazetta, which has given us the 
 word " gazette." 
 
 Recalling these Venetian exploits, I stood one evening 
 in one of the most delightful places in all Venice, the ( 
 upper balcony of the Ducal Palace. Lingering here and 
 looking out between the sculptured columns toward the
 
 VENICE 
 
 315 
 
 island of San Giorgio, I thought of the old times when every 
 year, upon Ascension Day, the Doge descended from this bal- 
 cony and stepped upon a barge adorned with canopies of gold 
 and velvet, and with a deck inlaid with ebony and mother-of- 
 pearl. Then, to the sound of martial music, that splendid 
 vessel swept out toward the sea, propelled by eighty gilded 
 oars; till, finally, amidst the roar of cannon and the shouts of 
 the assembled populace, the Doge cast into the blue waves a 
 
 ISLAND OF SAN GIORGI 
 
 ring of gold, exclaiming solemnly: "We wed thee, O Sea, 
 with this ring, emblem of our rightful and perpetual domin- 
 ion." 
 
 But there was another side to this magnificent picture, 
 which dimmed the splendor of Venetian palaces. For just 
 behind the residence of the Doges, suspended over the canal, 
 "a palace and a prison on each hand," is one of the best 
 known structures in the world, the Bridge of Sighs. This 
 is indeed a sad memorial of tyranny. True, recent scoffers 
 at sentiment sneer at the associations of this bridge, and one 
 has even called it a "pathetic swindle." But, whether or 
 not the prisoners of Venice breathed through these grated
 
 VENICE 
 
 windows a last sigh, as they relinquished life and liberty, cer- 
 tain it is that in the building on the right, far down below 
 the water's edge, are some of the most horrible dungeons that 
 
 human cruelty has ever designed ; 
 and any visitor to Venice may 
 cross this bridge and grope his 
 way down moldering flights of 
 stone steps to behold them. 
 
 All who have done so will 
 recollect those fetid cells, slimy 
 with dampness, shrouded in dark- 
 
 
 A VENETIAN FISHER BOY. 
 
 hausted air which filters to them through the narrow cor- 
 
 ridors. They will remember the iron grating through which 
 
 was passed the scanty food that for a time prolonged the pris- 
 
 oner's life; the grooves of the old guillotine, by means of 
 
 which, after excruciating torture, he was put to death; and 
 
 then the narrow opening through 
 
 which the body was removed at 
 
 night and rowed out to a distant 
 
 spot, where it was death to cast 
 
 a net. Here, unillumined even 
 
 by a torch, it sank, freighted 
 
 with heavy stones, into the sea, 
 
 whose gloomy depths will guard 
 
 all secrets hidden in its breast 
 
 until its waters shall give up 
 
 their dead. 
 
 Connected with the Ducal 
 residence is the world-renowned 
 St. Mark's Cathedral. 
 
 BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 
 
 The old 
 
 Venetians built not only palaces for men ; they made their 
 shrines to God palatial. I looked on this one with bewilder- 
 ment. There is no structure like it in the world. Its bulbous
 
 VENICE 
 
 319 
 
 domes and minaret-like belfries remind one of the Orient. It 
 seems more like a Mohammedan than a Christian temple. 
 If the phrase be permitted, it is a kind of Christian mosque. 
 The truth is, the Venetians brought back from their victories 
 in the East ideas of Oriental architecture which had pleased 
 
 ST. MARK'S CATHEDRAL. 
 
 them, and were thus able to produce a wonderful blending of 
 Moorish, Arabic, and Gothic art. 
 
 What a facade is this! Here, massed in serried ranks, are 
 scores of variously colored marble columns, each one a mono- 
 lith, and all possessing an eventful history. Some are from 
 Ephesus, others from Smyrna, while others still are from Con- 
 stantinople, and more than one even from Jerusalem. On 
 one, the hand of Cleopatra may have rested; another may 
 have cast its shadow on St. Paul; a third may have been 
 looked upon by Jesus. St. Mark's is the treasure-house of
 
 320 
 
 VENICE 
 
 THE BRONZE HORSES 
 
 Venice, a place 
 of pride as well as 
 of prayer. Here 
 was heaped up the 
 booty which she 
 gained from her 
 repeated con- 
 quests. The 
 Doge's Palace 
 was the brain of 
 Venice; the Grand 
 Piazza was its 
 heart; but this 
 Cathedral was its 
 soul. 
 The work of beautifying this old church was carried on 
 
 enthusiastically for five hundred years. Each generation 
 
 tried to outdo all that had 
 
 preceded it. Again and 
 
 again Venetian fleets swept 
 
 proudly up the Adriatic, 
 
 laden with spoils destined 
 
 for this glorious shrine. 
 
 Viva San Marco! was the 
 
 watchword alike of her 
 
 armies and her navies; and 
 
 when the captains of Vene- 
 tian fleets came homeward 
 
 from the Orient, the first 
 
 inquiry put to them was 
 
 this: "What new and 
 
 splendid offering bring you 
 
 for San Marco?" The dust 
 
 of ages, therefore, may have 
 
 THE PORTAL OF ST. MARK S.
 
 VENICE 
 
 321 
 
 gathered on this building, but it is, at least, the dust of 
 gold. Its domes and spires glisten with the yellow lustre. 
 It even gilds the four bronze horses which surmount its 
 portal. These are among the most interesting statues in 
 the world. We know not who the sculptor was that gave 
 them their apparent life; but it is certain that they were 
 
 CORNER OF THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 carried to Rome and there attached to Nero's golden 
 chariot. In the fourth century after Christ the emperor 
 Constantine, when he transferred the seat of empire from 
 the Tiber to the Bosphorus, took them to Constantinople, 
 where for nine hundred years they proudly stood beside the 
 Golden Horn. Then, when that capital was plundered by 
 the Venetians, they were brought hither, and for five hundred 
 years they adorned the entrance to St. Mark's. Even here 
 their travels had not ended; for, a century ago, Napoleon,
 
 322 
 
 VENICE 
 
 when conqueror of Italy, caused them to be conveyed to 
 Paris, where, in the shadow of the Tuileries, they watched 
 the triumph of the modern Caesar. But after Waterloo, 
 
 Venice once more claimed them 
 for her own. 
 
 It is an impressive moment 
 when one passes beneath these 
 gilded steeds and enters the 
 interior of the cathedral. A 
 twilight gloom pervades it, well 
 suited to its age and the mys- 
 terious origin of all it contains. 
 The walls and roof are so pro- 
 fusely covered with mosaics and 
 precious marbles that it is easy 
 to understand why St. Mark's 
 has been called the " Church of 
 Gold," and likened to a cav- 
 ern hung with stalactites 
 of precious stones. Some 
 of these ornaments are of 
 pagan origin ; others have 
 come from Christian shrines. 
 All, however, have had to 
 pay their contribution to St. Mark's. 
 Thus Santa Sophia at Constantinople, 
 though still a Christian church and 
 dedicated to the Saviour, was plun- 
 dered to embellish the Venetian shrine 
 named after His apostle. Hence, it 
 is the literal truth that, overflowing 
 with the spoils of other cities and sanctuaries, St. Mark's is a 
 magnificent repository of booty a veritable den of thieves. 
 In the most prominent position in the church is the receptacle 
 
 A VENETIAN LANE.
 
 VENICE 
 
 325 
 
 INTERIOR OF ST. MARK S CATHEDRAL. 
 
 guarded by the 
 statues of the 
 twelve apostles, 
 where is kept, as 
 the most precious 
 of its treasures, the 
 body of St. Mark. 
 On one side is the 
 pulpit from which 
 the old Doge, Dan- 
 dolo, when ninety- 
 three years of age, 
 urged his people 
 to undertake the 
 fourth crusade. 
 
 " Men of Venice! " he exclaimed, " I am old and weak, 
 and I need rest, but I will go with you to rescue from the in- 
 fidel the Holy Sepulchre, and I will be victorious or lose my 
 life." Hearing these words, the assembled people made 
 
 these walls re- 
 sound with the 
 cry: "So be it! 
 Lead us on ! For 
 God's sake go 
 with us! " Then 
 the old Doge 
 descended from 
 the pulpit, and 
 standing on the 
 steps between the 
 jasper columns, 
 received the 
 badge of the 
 Crusaders, the 
 
 THE STATUES OF THE APOSTLES.
 
 326 
 
 VENICE 
 
 A TYPE OF GONDOLIER. 
 
 Cross of Christ, a miniature reproduc- 
 tion of the colossal crucifix, which glit- 
 tered then, as it still gleams to-day, 
 above the place on which he stood. 
 
 On leaving this marvelous struc- 
 ture, one steps directly into the adjoin- 
 ing St. Mark's Square. If it be the 
 hour of siesta, it will appear deserted. 
 Yet this has been for centuries the 
 Forum of Venetian life; the favorite 
 place for her festivities; the beautiful, 
 historic stage on which have been en- 
 acted most of the scenes connected with her glorious past. 
 Around it are fine marble structures, which even now are used 
 for offices of State. Within these long arcades are the most 
 attractive shops in Venice, and, were there only a garden in 
 the centre, the place would remind one of the Palais Royal at 
 Paris, which was, in fact, built in imitation of this square. 
 To-day the popularity of the 
 Parisian square is waning, 
 since many of its gorgeous 
 shops have migrated to the 
 Rue de la Paix. But owing 
 to its situation, the attract- 
 iveness of the Venetian 
 court can hardly be dimin- 
 ished. While Venice lasts, 
 its glory must remain un- 
 dimmed by Time. 
 
 On summer evenings, 
 when the city wakes to life 
 and music, the famous 
 square bursts into the gaiety 
 of a ball-room, and is the 
 
 A FISHERMAN.
 
 VENICE 
 
 327 
 
 favorite rendezvous of all lovers and pleasure-seekers, whether 
 natives or foreigners. Here, several times a week, fine 
 military music floats upon the air, and hundreds of men and 
 women stroll along these marble blocks, which in the moon- 
 
 THE PIAZZA DI SAN MARCO. 
 
 light seem as white as snow. Others, meantime, are seated 
 beneath the neighboring arches, sipping coffee or sherbet, 
 laughing and talking in the soft Venetian dialect, and, like 
 the Japanese, seeming to appreciate the mere joy of living, an 
 art which many of us, alas, have lost. 
 
 One pretty feature of this historic area is its pigeons. 
 Their homes are in the marble arches of the adjoining
 
 328 
 
 VENICE 
 
 buildings; and shortly after midday, every afternoon, they 
 suddenly appear in great numbers; now rising in a pretty 
 cloud of fluttering wings; now grouped together like an undu- 
 lating wave of eider-down. Foreigners, in particular, love to 
 
 feed them ; and 
 in return for the 
 kindness they 
 receive, the 
 pigeons at times 
 alight upon the 
 shoulders of a 
 stranger or cou- 
 rageously pick 
 up crumbs from 
 outstretched 
 hands. It is 
 not strange that 
 Venice should 
 guard these birds so tenderly. Six centuries ago, when the 
 Venetians were blockading the island of Candia, the Doge's 
 officers observed that pigeons frequently flew above their 
 heads. Suspecting something, they contrived to shoot a few, 
 and each was found to have beneath its wing a message to 
 the enemy. Acting on information thus acquired, the Vene- 
 tian admiral made his attack at once and captured the island 
 in twelve hours. The carrier-pigeons which they found there 
 were therefore taken home to Venice and treated with the 
 utmost kindness, and their descendants have ever since been 
 favorites of the people. 
 
 On walking from the Piazza, toward the Grand Canal, one 
 always finds at the extremity of the Piazzetta a line of waiting 
 gondolas. At once a shower of soft Italian syllables falls 
 musically on the air: " Una gondola, Signore! Commanda 
 una gondola; Una barca, Signore; Una bellissima barca; 
 
 FEEDING THE PIGEONS.
 
 VENICE 
 
 329 
 
 Vuol' andare? Eccomi pronto! " The speakers are Venetian 
 coachmen, and the contrast is a startling one between the 
 liquid vowels of their speech and the rasping cries of our 
 American drivers: "Want a cow-pay, lady?" "Want a 
 kerridge?" "Want a hack hack hack?" As for the gon- 
 doliers themselves, how picturesque they look with their white 
 suits and colored scarfs! Who can resist the impulse to enter 
 one of these pretty barges and give oneself to the enjoyment 
 of the hour? 
 
 Few things are more delightful than floating here in a 
 gondola after the heat of a summer day. We say summer, 
 for Venice should, if possible, be always visited in warm 
 weather the healthiest season here. Then only can one 
 thoroughly enjoy its outdoor life. However sultry it may be 
 on land, in Venice it is reasonably cool, and the broad bosom of 
 the Adriatic, as it swells 
 and falls, breathes 
 through the streets of 
 Venice the delicious 
 freshness of the sea. 
 At such a time, to idly 
 float upon this beauti- 
 ful expanse, dreaming 
 of art and history (per- 
 chance of love), through 
 the sweet, tranquil 
 hours which bear upon 
 their noiseless wings 
 the hint of a repose still 
 held in the unfolded 
 hands of Night, that 
 is happiness, that is 
 rest! At such a time 
 one loves to call to 
 
 WAITING GONDOLAS.
 
 330 
 
 VENICE 
 
 mind the scenes which must have often taken place upon 
 the surface of this siren sea, when Venice had no less than 
 
 thirty thousand gondolas, 
 
 of which at least one-third 
 were richly decorated, and 
 vied with one another in 
 their gilded draperies and 
 carvings. To such an ex- 
 tent, indeed, did reckless 
 competition in them go, 
 that the Doge finally issued 
 a decree that they should 
 thenceforth have black 
 awnings only. Since then 
 Venetian gondolas have 
 been prosaic in appearance, 
 though their dark awnings 
 have increased the oppor- 
 tunities for crime or intrigue, and they have often been the 
 rendezvous of hate or love, ideal vehicles for murder or 
 elopement. 
 
 " In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 
 And silent rows the songless gondolier: 
 Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, 
 And music meets not always now the ear: 
 Those days are gone but Beauty still is here. 
 States fall, arts fade, but Nature doth not die, 
 Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 
 The pleasant place of all festivity, 
 The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!" 
 
 To the lover of the beautiful in Nature the most enchant- 
 ing characteristic of this City of the Sea is its sunset glow. 
 Italian sunsets are all beautiful; but those of Venice are the 
 loveliest of all. Their softness, brilliancy and splendor can- 
 not be described. The last which I beheld here, on a night 
 
 IN A GONDOLA.
 
 VENICE 331 
 
 in June, surpassed all others I had ever seen. The shadows 
 were falling to the eastward ; the hush of night was stealing 
 on the world. The cares of life seemed disappearing down 
 the radiant west together with the God of Day. Between us 
 and the setting sun there seemed to fall a shower of powdered 
 
 LIKE A BEAUTIFUL MIRAGE. 
 
 gold. The entire city was pervaded by a golden light, which 
 yet was perfectly transparent, like the purest ether. 
 
 As we drew nearer to the Grand Canal the scene grew even 
 more enchanting. In the refulgent light the city lay before 
 us like a beautiful mirage, enthroned upon a golden bank 
 between two seas, the ocean and the sky. Her streets 
 seemed filled with liquid sunshine. The steps of her patrician 
 palaces appeared entangled in the meshes of a golden net. 
 The neighboring islands looked like jeweled wreckage floating 
 from a barge of gold. The whole effect was that of a poem 
 without words, illustrated by Titian, and having for a soft
 
 332 
 
 VENICE 
 
 accompaniment the ripple of the radiant waves. I have seen 
 many impressive sights in many climes; but for triumphant 
 beauty, crystallized in stone and glorified by the setting sun, 
 I can recall no scene more matchless in its loveliness than 
 that which I enjoyed, when, on this richly-tinted sea, I 
 watched the Bride and Sovereign of the Adriatic pass to the 
 curtained chamber of the night enveloped in a veil of gold. 
 
 
 IN VENICE AT SUNSET,
 
 i 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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