CHAPTER XXXI
[Alp-scaling by Carriage]
We now prepared for a considerable walk--from Lucerne to Interlaken,over the Bruenig Pass. But at the last moment the weather was so goodthat I changed my mind and hired a four-horse carriage. It was a hugevehicle, roomy, as easy in its motion as a palanquin, and exceedinglycomfortable.
We got away pretty early in the morning, after a hot breakfast, andwent bowling over a hard, smooth road, through the summer loveliness ofSwitzerland, with near and distant lakes and mountains before and aboutus for the entertainment of the eye, and the music of multitudinousbirds to charm the ear. Sometimes there was only the width of the roadbetween the imposing precipices on the right and the clear cool water onthe left with its shoals of uncatchable fish skimming about through thebars of sun and shadow; and sometimes, in place of the precipices, thegrassy land stretched away, in an apparently endless upward slant,and was dotted everywhere with snug little chalets, the peculiarlycaptivating cottage of Switzerland.
The ordinary chalet turns a broad, honest gable end to the road, andits ample roof hovers over the home in a protecting, caressing way,projecting its sheltering eaves far outward. The quaint windows arefilled with little panes, and garnished with white muslin curtains,and brightened with boxes of blooming flowers. Across the front of thehouse, and up the spreading eaves and along the fanciful railings ofthe shallow porch, are elaborate carvings--wreaths, fruits, arabesques,verses from Scripture, names, dates, etc. The building is wholly ofwood, reddish brown in tint, a very pleasing color. It generally hasvines climbing over it. Set such a house against the fresh green of thehillside, and it looks ever so cozy and inviting and picturesque, and isa decidedly graceful addition to the landscape.
One does not find out what a hold the chalet has taken upon him, untilhe presently comes upon a new house--a house which is aping the townfashions of Germany and France, a prim, hideous, straight-up-and-downthing, plastered all over on the outside to look like stone, andaltogether so stiff, and formal, and ugly, and forbidding, and so out oftune with the gracious landscape, and so deaf and dumb and dead to thepoetry of its surroundings, that it suggests an undertaker at a picnic,a corpse at a wedding, a puritan in Paradise.
In the course of the morning we passed the spot where Pontius Pilate issaid to have thrown himself into the lake. The legend goes that afterthe Crucifixion his conscience troubled him, and he fled from Jerusalemand wandered about the earth, weary of life and a prey to torturesof the mind. Eventually, he hid himself away, on the heights of MountPilatus, and dwelt alone among the clouds and crags for years; but restand peace were still denied him, so he finally put an end to his miseryby drowning himself.
Presently we passed the place where a man of better odor was born. Thiswas the children's friend, Santa Claus, or St. Nicholas. There are someunaccountable reputations in the world. This saint's is an instance. Hehas ranked for ages as the peculiar friend of children, yet it appearshe was not much of a friend to his own. He had ten of them, and whenfifty years old he left them, and sought out as dismal a refuge from theworld as possible, and became a hermit in order that he might reflectupon pious themes without being disturbed by the joyous and other noisesfrom the nursery, doubtless.
Judging by Pilate and St. Nicholas, there exists no rule for theconstruction of hermits; they seem made out of all kinds of material.But Pilate attended to the matter of expiating his sin while he wasalive, whereas St. Nicholas will probably have to go on climbing downsooty chimneys, Christmas eve, forever, and conferring kindness on otherpeople's children, to make up for deserting his own. His bones are keptin a church in a village (Sachseln) which we visited, and are naturallyheld in great reverence. His portrait is common in the farmhouses ofthe region, but is believed by many to be but an indifferent likeness.During his hermit life, according to legend, he partook of the breadand wine of the communion once a month, but all the rest of the month hefasted.
A constant marvel with us, as we sped along the bases of the steepmountains on this journey, was, not that avalanches occur, but that theyare not occurring all the time. One does not understand why rocksand landslides do not plunge down these declivities daily. A landslipoccurred three quarters of a century ago, on the route from Arth toBrunnen, which was a formidable thing. A mass of conglomerate two mileslong, a thousand feet broad, and a hundred feet thick, broke away from acliff three thousand feet high and hurled itself into the valley below,burying four villages and five hundred people, as in a grave.
We had such a beautiful day, and such endless pictures of limpid lakes,and green hills and valleys, and majestic mountains, and milky cataractsdancing down the steeps and gleaming in the sun, that we could not helpfeeling sweet toward all the world; so we tried to drink all themilk, and eat all the grapes and apricots and berries, and buy all thebouquets of wild flowers which the little peasant boys and girls offeredfor sale; but we had to retire from this contract, for it was too heavy.
At short distances--and they were entirely too short--all along theroad, were groups of neat and comely children, with their wares nicelyand temptingly set forth in the grass under the shade trees, and as soonas we approached they swarmed into the road, holding out their basketsand milk bottles, and ran beside the carriage, barefoot and bareheaded,and importuned us to buy. They seldom desisted early, but continued torun and insist--beside the wagon while they could, and behind it untilthey lost breath. Then they turned and chased a returning carriage backto their trading-post again. After several hours of this, without anyintermission, it becomes almost annoying. I do not know what we shouldhave done without the returning carriages to draw off the pursuit.However, there were plenty of these, loaded with dusty tourists andpiled high with luggage. Indeed, from Lucerne to Interlaken we hadthe spectacle, among other scenery, of an unbroken procession offruit-peddlers and tourists carriages.
Our talk was mostly anticipatory of what we should see on the down-gradeof the Bruenig, by and by, after we should pass the summit. All ourfriends in Lucerne had said that to look down upon Meiringen, and therushing blue-gray river Aar, and the broad level green valley; andacross at the mighty Alpine precipices that rise straight up to theclouds out of that valley; and up at the microscopic chalets perchedupon the dizzy eaves of those precipices and winking dimly and fitfullythrough the drifting veil of vapor; and still up and up, at the superbOltschiback and the other beautiful cascades that leap from those ruggedheights, robed in powdery spray, ruffled with foam, and girdled withrainbows--to look upon these things, they say, was to look upon the lastpossibility of the sublime and the enchanting. Therefore, as I say,we talked mainly of these coming wonders; if we were conscious of anyimpatience, it was to get there in favorable season; if we felt anyanxiety, it was that the day might remain perfect, and enable us to seethose marvels at their best.
As we approached the Kaiserstuhl, a part of the harness gave way.
We were in distress for a moment, but only a moment. It was thefore-and-aft gear that was broken--the thing that leads aft from theforward part of the horse and is made fast to the thing that pulls thewagon. In America this would have been a heavy leathern strap; but, allover the continent it is nothing but a piece of rope the size ofyour little finger--clothes-line is what it is. Cabs use it, privatecarriages, freight-carts and wagons, all sorts of vehicles have it. InMunich I afterward saw it used on a long wagon laden with fifty-fourhalf-barrels of beer; I had before noticed that the cabs in Heidelbergused it--not new rope, but rope that had been in use since Abraham'stime--and I had felt nervous, sometimes, behind it when the cab wastearing down a hill. But I had long been accustomed to it now, and hadeven become afraid of the leather strap which belonged in its place. Ourdriver got a fresh piece of clothes-line out of his locker and repairedthe break in two minutes.
So much for one European fashion. Every country has its own ways. It mayinterest the reader to know how they "put horses to" on the continent.The man stands up the horses on each side of the thing that project
sfrom the front end of the wagon, and then throws the tangled mess ofgear forward through a ring, and hauls it aft, and passes the otherthing through the other ring and hauls it aft on the other side of theother horse, opposite to the first one, after crossing them and bringingthe loose end back, and then buckles the other thing underneath thehorse, and takes another thing and wraps it around the thing I spokeof before, and puts another thing over each horse's head, with broadflappers to it to keep the dust out of his eyes, and puts the iron thingin his mouth for him to grit his teeth on, uphill, and brings the endsof these things aft over his back, after buckling another one aroundunder his neck to hold his head up, and hitching another thing ona thing that goes over his shoulders to keep his head up when he isclimbing a hill, and then takes the slack of the thing which I mentioneda while ago, and fetches it aft and makes it fast to the thing thatpulls the wagon, and hands the other things up to the driver to steerwith. I never have buckled up a horse myself, but I do not think we doit that way.
We had four very handsome horses, and the driver was very proud of histurnout. He would bowl along on a reasonable trot, on the highway, butwhen he entered a village he did it on a furious run, and accompanied itwith a frenzy of ceaseless whip-crackings that sounded like volleys ofmusketry. He tore through the narrow streets and around the sharp curveslike a moving earthquake, showering his volleys as he went, and beforehim swept a continuous tidal wave of scampering children, ducks, cats,and mothers clasping babies which they had snatched out of the way ofthe coming destruction; and as this living wave washed aside, along thewalls, its elements, being safe, forgot their fears and turned theiradmiring gaze upon that gallant driver till he thundered around the nextcurve and was lost to sight.
He was a great man to those villagers, with his gaudy clothes and histerrific ways. Whenever he stopped to have his cattle watered and fedwith loaves of bread, the villagers stood around admiring him whilehe swaggered about, the little boys gazed up at his face with humblehomage, and the landlord brought out foaming mugs of beer and conversedproudly with him while he drank. Then he mounted his lofty box, swunghis explosive whip, and away he went again, like a storm. I had notseen anything like this before since I was a boy, and the stage used toflourish the village with the dust flying and the horn tooting.
When we reached the base of the Kaiserstuhl, we took two more horses; wehad to toil along with difficulty for an hour and a half or two hours,for the ascent was not very gradual, but when we passed the backbone andapproached the station, the driver surpassed all his previous efforts inthe way of rush and clatter. He could not have six horses all the time,so he made the most of his chance while he had it.
Up to this point we had been in the heart of the William Tell region.The hero is not forgotten, by any means, or held in doubtful veneration.His wooden image, with his bow drawn, above the doors of taverns, was afrequent feature of the scenery.
About noon we arrived at the foot of the Bruenig Pass, and made atwo-hour stop at the village hotel, another of those clean, pretty, andthoroughly well-kept inns which are such an astonishment to peoplewho are accustomed to hotels of a dismally different pattern in remotecountry-towns. There was a lake here, in the lap of the great mountains,the green slopes that rose toward the lower crags were graced withscattered Swiss cottages nestling among miniature farms and gardens,and from out a leafy ambuscade in the upper heights tumbled a brawlingcataract.
Carriage after carriage, laden with tourists and trunks, arrived, andthe quiet hotel was soon populous. We were early at the table d'h?te andsaw the people all come in. There were twenty-five, perhaps. They wereof various nationalities, but we were the only Americans. Next to me satan English bride, and next to her sat her new husband, whom she called"Neddy," though he was big enough and stalwart enough to be entitled tohis full name. They had a pretty little lovers' quarrel over what winethey should have. Neddy was for obeying the guide-book and taking thewine of the country; but the bride said:
"What, that nahsty stuff!"
"It isn't nahsty, pet, it's quite good."
"It _is_ nahsty."
"No, it _isn't_ nahsty."
"It's Oful nahsty, Neddy, and I shahn't drink it."
Then the question was, what she must have. She said he knew very wellthat she never drank anything but champagne.
She added:
"You know very well papa always has champagne on his table, and I'vealways been used to it."
Neddy made a playful pretense of being distressed about the expense,and this amused her so much that she nearly exhausted herself withlaughter--and this pleased _him_ so much that he repeated his jest acouple of times, and added new and killing varieties to it. When thebride finally recovered, she gave Neddy a love-box on the arm with herfan, and said with arch severity:
"Well, you would _have_ me--nothing else would do--so you'll have tomake the best of a bad bargain. _Do_ order the champagne, I'm Oful dry."
So with a mock groan which made her laugh again, Neddy ordered thechampagne.
The fact that this young woman had never moistened the selvedge edge ofher soul with a less plebeian tipple than champagne, had a marked andsubduing effect on Harris. He believed she belonged to the royal family.But I had my doubts.
We heard two or three different languages spoken by people at thetable and guessed out the nationalities of most of the guests to oursatisfaction, but we failed with an elderly gentleman and his wife anda young girl who sat opposite us, and with a gentleman of aboutthirty-five who sat three seats beyond Harris. We did not hear any ofthese speak. But finally the last-named gentleman left while we were notnoticing, but we looked up as he reached the far end of the table. Hestopped there a moment, and made his toilet with a pocket comb. So hewas a German; or else he had lived in German hotels long enough to catchthe fashion. When the elderly couple and the young girl rose to leave,they bowed respectfully to us. So they were Germans, too. This nationalcustom is worth six of the other one, for export.
After dinner we talked with several Englishmen, and they inflamed ourdesire to a hotter degree than ever, to see the sights of Meiringen fromthe heights of the Bruenig Pass. They said the view was marvelous, andthat one who had seen it once could never forget it. They also spoke ofthe romantic nature of the road over the pass, and how in one place ithad been cut through a flank of the solid rock, in such a way that themountain overhung the tourist as he passed by; and they furthermore saidthat the sharp turns in the road and the abruptness of the descent wouldafford us a thrilling experience, for we should go down in a flyinggallop and seem to be spinning around the rings of a whirlwind, like adrop of whiskey descending the spirals of a corkscrew.
I got all the information out of these gentlemen that we could need; andthen, to make everything complete, I asked them if a body could get holdof a little fruit and milk here and there, in case of necessity. Theythrew up their hands in speechless intimation that the road was simplypaved with refreshment-peddlers. We were impatient to get away, now, andthe rest of our two-hour stop rather dragged. But finally the set timearrived and we began the ascent. Indeed it was a wonderful road. It wassmooth, and compact, and clean, and the side next the precipices wasguarded all along by dressed stone posts about three feet high, placedat short distances apart. The road could not have been better built ifNapoleon the First had built it. He seems to have been the introducer ofthe sort of roads which Europe now uses. All literature which describeslife as it existed in England, France, and Germany up to the closeof the last century, is filled with pictures of coaches and carriageswallowing through these three countries in mud and slush half-wheeldeep; but after Napoleon had floundered through a conquered kingdom hegenerally arranged things so that the rest of the world could followdry-shod.
We went on climbing, higher and higher, and curving hither and thither,in the shade of noble woods, and with a rich variety and profusion ofwild flowers all about us; and glimpses of rounded grassy backbonesbelow us occupied by trim chalets and nibbling sheep, and ot
her glimpsesof far lower altitudes, where distance diminished the chalets to toysand obliterated the sheep altogether; and every now and then someermined monarch of the Alps swung magnificently into view for a moment,then drifted past an intervening spur and disappeared again.
It was an intoxicating trip altogether; the exceeding sense ofsatisfaction that follows a good dinner added largely to the enjoyment;the having something especial to look forward to and muse about, likethe approaching grandeurs of Meiringen, sharpened the zest. Smokingwas never so good before, solid comfort was never solider; we lay backagainst the thick cushions silent, meditative, steeped in felicity.
* * * * * * * *
I rubbed my eyes, opened them, and started. I had been dreaming I was atsea, and it was a thrilling surprise to wake up and find land all aroundme. It took me a couple seconds to "come to," as you may say; then Itook in the situation. The horses were drinking at a trough in the edgeof a town, the driver was taking beer, Harris was snoring at my side,the courier, with folded arms and bowed head, was sleeping on the box,two dozen barefooted and bareheaded children were gathered about thecarriage, with their hands crossed behind, gazing up with serious andinnocent admiration at the dozing tourists baking there in the sun.Several small girls held night-capped babies nearly as big as themselvesin their arms, and even these fat babies seemed to take a sort ofsluggish interest in us.
We had slept an hour and a half and missed all the scenery! I did notneed anybody to tell me that. If I had been a girl, I could have cursedfor vexation. As it was, I woke up the agent and gave him a piece ofmy mind. Instead of being humiliated, he only upbraided me for beingso wanting in vigilance. He said he had expected to improve his mind bycoming to Europe, but a man might travel to the ends of the earth withme and never see anything, for I was manifestly endowed with the verygenius of ill luck. He even tried to get up some emotion about thatpoor courier, who never got a chance to see anything, on account of myheedlessness. But when I thought I had borne about enough of this kindof talk, I threatened to make Harris tramp back to the summit and make areport on that scenery, and this suggestion spiked his battery.
We drove sullenly through Brienz, dead to the seductions of itsbewildering array of Swiss carvings and the clamorous _hoo_-hooing ofits cuckoo clocks, and had not entirely recovered our spirits when werattled across a bridge over the rushing blue river and entered thepretty town of Interlaken. It was just about sunset, and we had made thetrip from Lucerne in ten hours.