The Spell of Switzerland Part 24

Now poured from craggy dens, a headlong force, The Alpine hordes hang threatening on their course; Track the known thickets, beat the mountain-snow, Bound o'er the steeps and, hovering, hem the foe.

Here changed the scene; the snows were crimsoned o'er; The hard ice trickled to the tepid gore.

With pawing hoof the courser delved the ground And rigid frost his clinging fetlock bound: Nor yet his slippery fall the peril ends; The fracturing ice the bony socket rends.

Twelve times they measured the long light of day And night's bleak gloom and urged thro' wounds their way; Till on the topmost ridge their camp was flung High o'er the steepy crags, in airy distance hung."

"What do you think of that for poetry?" I asked Ruth, and she replied that she did not wonder it was not given to school-boys to study.

"Whose is the translation?" she asked.

"Sir Charles Abraham Elton. But is it fair to melt up a golden, or even a brazen wine-cup and then recast it in an entirely different form and call it a piece of Roman antiquity? That is what these stiff and formal so-called heroic pentameters do with the flowing hexameters of the original."

"I should like to go to the Saint-Bernard," I remarked.

"It can be easily arranged," said my nephew and, as usual, in answer to my wishes came the realization. Instead of describing my own not especially eventful visit to the hospice,--though I could write a rhapsody about the n.o.ble dogs, one of whom had only a short time before made a notable rescue of a young American who had wandered off by himself, got lost and nearly perished,--I will give Rogers's vivid poetic picture. The poet, in his deliberate blank verse, thus pays his respects to the monks:--

"Night was again descending, when my mule, That all day long had climbed among the clouds, Higher and higher still, as by a stair Let down from heaven itself, transporting me, Stopt, to the joy of both, at that low door, That door which ever, as self-opened, moves To them that knock, and nightly sends abroad Ministering Spirits. Lying on the watch, Two dogs of grave demeanor welcomed me, All meekness, gentleness, though large of limb; And a lay-brother of the Hospital, Who, as we toiled below, had heard by fits The distant echoes gaining on his ear, Came and held fast my stirrup in his hand While I alighted. Long could I have stood, With a religious awe contemplating That House, the highest in the Ancient World, And destined to perform from age to age The n.o.ble service, welcoming as guests All of all nations and of every faith; A temple sacred to Humanity!

It was a pile of simplest masonry, With narrow windows and vast b.u.t.tresses, Built to endure the shocks of time and chance; Yet showing many a rent, as well it might, Warred on for ever by the elements, And in an evil day, nor long ago, By violent men--when on the mountain-top The French and Austrian banners met in conflict.

On the same rock beside it stood the church, Reft of its cross, not of its sanct.i.ty; ...

And just below it in that dreary dale, If dale it might be called, so near to heaven, A little lake, where never fish leaped up, Lay like a spot of ink amid the snow; A star, the only one in that small sky, On its dead surface glimmering. 'Twas a place Resembling nothing I had left behind, As if all worldly ties were now dissolved;-- And, to incline the mind still more to thought, To thought and sadness, on the Eastern sh.o.r.e Under a beetling cliff stood half in gloom A lonely chapel destined for the dead, For such as having wandered from their way, Had perished miserably. Side by side, Within they lie, a mournful company, All in their shrouds, no earth to cover them; Their features full of life yet motionless In the broad day, nor soon to suffer change, Though the barred windows, barred against the wolf, Are always open!--But the North blew cold; And bidden to a spare but cheerful meal, I sate among the holy Brotherhood At their long board. The fare indeed was such As is prescribed on days of abstinence, But might have pleased a nicer taste than mine; And through the floor came up, an ancient crone Serving unseen below; while from the roof (The roof, the floor, the walls of native fir) A lamp hung flickering, such as loves to fling Its partial light on Apostolic heads, And sheds a grace on all. Theirs Time as yet Has changed not. Some were almost in the prime; Nor was a brow o'ercast. Seen as they sate Ranged round their ample hearth-stone in an hour Of rest they were as gay, as far from guile, As children; answering, and at once, to all The gentler impulses, to pleasure, mirth; Mingling at intervals with rational talk Music; and gathering news from them that came, As of some other world. But when the storm Rose and the snow rolled on in ocean-waves, When on his face the experienced traveler fell, Sheltering his lips and nostrils with his hands, Then all was changed; and sallying with their pack Into that blank of Nature, they became Unearthly beings. 'Anselm, higher up, Just where it drifts, a dog howls loud and long, And now, as guided by a voice from Heaven, Digs with his feet. That n.o.ble vehemence Whose can it be but his who never erred?

A man lies underneath! Let us to work!

But who descends Mont Velan? 'Tis La Croix.

Away, away! If not, alas, too late.

Homeward he drags an old man and a boy, Faltering and falling and but half-awaked, Asking to sleep again.' Such their discourse.

Oft has a venerable roof received me; Saint-Bruno's once--where, when the winds were hushed, Nor from the cataract the voice came up, You might have heard the mole work underground, So great the stillness there; none seen throughout, Save when from rock to rock a hermit crossed By some rude bridge--or one at midnight tolled To matins, and white habits, issuing forth, Glided along those aisles interminable, All, all observant of the sacred law Of Silence. Nor in this sequestered spot, Once called 'Sweet Waters,' now 'The Shady Vale,'

To me unknown; that house so rich of old, So courteous, and by two that pa.s.sed that way, Amply requited with immortal verse, The Poet's payment.--But, among them all, None can with this compare, the dangerous seat Of generous, active Virtue. What tho' Frost Reign everlastingly and ice and snow Thaw not, but gather--there is that within Which, where it comes, makes Summer; and in thought Oft am I sitting on the bench beneath Their garden-plot, where all that vegetates Is but some scanty lettuce, to observe Those from the South ascending, every step As tho' it were their last,--and instantly Restored, renewed, advancing as with songs, Soon as they see, turning a lofty crag, That plain, that modest structure, promising Bread to the hungry, to the weary rest."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HOSPICE OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.]

CHAPTER XXII

ZuRICH

One morning Ruth brought me my mail. Among the letters was one with the postmark Zurich. The superscription was written in a very individual hand, every letter carefully formed. There is a great deal in the claim made that handwriting is an index of character.

Preciseness shows in it; the artistic temperament is betrayed by little flourishes; sincerity, craftiness, other virtues, other weaknesses. I knew in a moment that this letter was from my steamer-friend, Professor Landoldt. It was written in delightfully understandable yet amusingly erratic English and asked me to come and make him a visit. It was his "vacancies" and he and Frau Landoldt would be entirely at my service to show me the city and its "surroundabouts." If I should be coming "by the train-up" he would meet me "by the station."

It fell in admirably with my plans. Will said that he would send me over in the Moto; he had some writing to do, else he would go along; but he and Ruth would come for me at the end of my visit, and, if the Professor and the Frau Professorin would like to join us, they would take us to the Dolomites over one of the new routes just opened to motor-vehicles.

What could have been kinder? The last part of the proposition I gladly accepted, but as long as I should have to go alone I thought it best to go by train, and taking it leisurely, stop here and there on my way. So I wrote Professor Landoldt that I would be with him in a week.

I provided myself with one of those "abonnement-tickets" which are good for a fortnight of unlimited travel at a cost of only $18.50 and allow one to cover almost all the roads of the country--twenty-eight hundred miles--if one should so desire. My photograph was duly pasted in, my signature appended, and I was armed and equipped.

I went first to Yverdon, enjoying the fine view of the Jura, and following with an eager eye the windings of the Thiele River, which here proclaims itself the legitimate child of the Orbe and the Talent; such a parentage a.s.suring beauty. I stopped long enough there to visit the famous convent built by Duke Conrad of Zahringen before the middle of the Twelfth Century and nearly eight hundred years later famous as the scene of Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi's epoch-making school, after he had been driven from one place to another by jealousies and misunderstandings. It is still used as a school-building. Pestalozzi is kept in memory of the inhabitants by a monument near the railway station. Here, as in many other places, there are interesting remains of the ancient Roman occupation.

Only two miles beyond--and those two miles offering an enchanting view down the Lake of Neuchatel--is the famous town of Grandson. As the Swiss railway-ticket allows perfect freedom both of pa.s.sage and of stop-off, I spent the time between two trains in visiting the chateau of Baron de Blonay, which has a wide view, and the castle that gives its name to the place. It was built in the year 1000, probably just after it was generally decided that the world was not coming to an end immediately. Here took place the great battle which all Switzerland commemorates.

First it was captured in 1475 by the Bernese; then recaptured by Charles the Bold, of Burgundy. Then on March 3, 1476, the duke was surprised and completely annihilated. Hughes de Pierre, of the Chapter of Neuchatel, who was an eye-witness, tells the story of it in his chronicle:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CASTLE OF NEUCHaTEL.]

"At the first blow the castel of Valmarcus fell into the hands of the Burgundian. As soon as Count Rudolphe learned of it he sent the archers of Rhentelin and a part of our men to guard Pontareuse; all the other men from the country were thrown into Boutry and all along the Areuse, on the farther bank, likewise those of Valengin and Landeron. Nor must we forget seven boat-loads of gentlemen (_gens de bien_) who came from Vully, Cerlier and Bonneville--all of these worthy people (_bons enfans_) arriving before Neuchatel were welcomed by the townspeople and immediately two Chevaliers des Ligues, together with the notable councillors of the city and others, were taken from the said barques straight to the Abbey of Bevaix; a part were lodged there; a part at Chastelard, Cortailloud and at Pontareuse.

"When this had taken place the allies, purposing to bring aid and deliverance to their friends at Grandson, arrived at Neuchatel in great spirits, with songs of joy and a formidable array, all of them men of martial appearance, fear-inspiring and yet good to see.

Immediately on being informed by our men of the disloyalty and cruelty of the duke and the miserable condition of the brave people of Grandson (this report going from mouth to mouth from the first to the last) the said Messieurs des Ligues put on such furious frowns of indignation that no words could express it, all swearing (chevaliers and the rest) that their brothers by life and blood should be avenged without delay and that they would not lose any time for refreshment or rest in the city, but they instantly went to lodge in Auverme, Corcelle, Cormondreche, Basle, Colombier, Boudry, Cortaillonds, Bevaix and neighboring places, given aid and welcome everywhere in the county. Then followed the _bandiere_ of the city with those of the bourgeoisie who remained there (the most eager having already taken their positions on the Areuse and the Boudry, where they were close together).

"And the day being the second of March, the companies (_bandons_) being a.s.sembled in warlike order, the Messieurs des Ligues before sunrise on the plain between Boudry and Bevaix resolved to dash immediately at the Burgundian without waiting longer for the _bandieres_ of Zurich and the hors.e.m.e.n who were late and not as yet arrived at Neuchatel.

"On the other side, and at the same hour, Duke Charles advanced with great noise of trumpets and clarions. Those of Schwyz, Thun and others (whose names we can not easily recall) started forth above Valmarcus.

The _bandieres_ of Soleure, Bern, Lucerne, Fribourg, and that of Neuchatel which included three hundred citizens and more, as well as that of Landeron and the _hommes royes_ of M. de Langern, led straight to the plain; those of Siebenthal, Unterwald, Morat, Biel and others followed the sh.o.r.e of the lake.

"Soon before the battle-line of the Ligues the Burgundian troops superbly accoutered came forth; there was found the duke with his most trusty cavaliers. Soon the charge was made; soon Les Chartreux de la Lance were crushed and overthrown. After this attack the Ligues, spying all the swarming crowd (_formiliere_) of the Burgundians near Concize, planted their pikes and banners in the ground, and with one accord, falling on their knees, asked the favor of their mighty G.o.d.

"The duke, seeing this act, swore: 'By Saint George these dogs are crying mercy. Cannoniers, fire on those villains!'

"But all his words were of no avail. The Ligues like hail (_gresles_) fell upon his men, slashing, thrusting those handsome gallants on all sides. So well and so completely discomfited all along the route were those poor Burgundians that they were scattered like smoke borne away by the wind."

Other chroniclers tell of the defeat of the duke and the brave deeds of the allies, and how the duke's hors.e.m.e.n tried to escape but were run down by the infantry and many were killed. Another tells how the sun dazzled them as from a mirror and how the trumpet of Ury bellowed and the horns of Lucerne sent forth such terrible sounds that the people of the Duke of Burgundy were seized with terror and fled. The duke tried to stop them, but it was all in vain; they abandoned their camp, and all its treasures fell into the hands of the allies.

These contemporary accounts are all more or less full of inaccuracies; it is well known now exactly how the battle took place and how the Burgundian army of about fifty thousand with five hundred pieces of artillery was so completely defeated.

The mere facts were these. On Feb. 18, 1476, the Duke Charles a.s.saulted Grandson; on the twenty-eighth the garrison surrendered and the next day were all ma.s.sacred. On the same day the duke went to the Chateau of Vaulxmarcus (now Vaumarcus). Its master, Messire de Neuchatel, surrendered, throwing himself on his knees and begging to be allowed to retire with his garrison of forty. The duke kept the baron but let the garrison go, who were wildly indignant at not having been allowed to fight. The forty scattered and spread the news, and that brought the allies together. The duke had an impregnable position, but the Swiss, by making a feint of attacking Vaulxmarcus, tried to draw him out. Had he not lacked provisions for so formidable an army, he might have resisted, but he had to advance on Neuchatel, and the sudden attack of the confederates, who numbered only between twenty and twenty-five thousand men, was irresistible. Many of the Swiss cities possess relics of this great victory, which is the one great event for the Cantons to exult over and no doubt did much to prepare the way for the future Confederacy. At Soleure one sees the costume of Charles's court jester. Lucerne has the great seal of Burgundy. At the University Library at Geneva are miniatures which belonged to the duke.

If the Duke of Brunswick left twenty million francs to Geneva,--and, by the way, the heirs of his illegitimate daughter are trying to get it away from the town,--Neuchatel had a benefactor in David de Purry, who left four and a half millions, and he also has a statue. I did not stop to look into the Munic.i.p.al Museum, but I took the train to the top of the Chaumont, which gives a fine bird's-eye view of the city, the lake, and the whole range of the Alps.

I crossed the lake from Neuchatel to Morat. The lake is a little less than eight kilometers long and is about one hundred and fifty-three meters deep. It connects with the Lake of Bienne by a stream tamed to service. It connects by the Broye with the Lake of Morat, which is like a family reduced in circ.u.mstances. It once washed the walls of the ancient city of Aventic.u.m, capital of the Helvetii, and after the Romans captured it, a city of large importance. Both lake and town have shrunk. The lake is about as long as the Lake of Neuchatel is wide, and the town, now Avenches, lives in its past. Omar Khayyam would have found a topic for a poem in the solitary Corinthian column from the temple of Apollo standing nearly twelve meters high and serving only as the support for a family of storks most respectable as far as their antiquity is concerned.

Avenches is only about a mile from Morat. It has been called a modern Pompeii. Under the auspices of the Society for the Preservation of Roman Antiquities it has been more or less thoroughly investigated and archeologized, and one may stand in the very forum where perhaps Caesar stood.

From Morat I came up to Fribourg, which, to me, was so interesting that I should have liked to stay there a week. In the old days it must have made a natural castle standing on its acropolis almost surrounded by the Sarine River. Indeed, some of the medieval walls and towers are still left to bespeak its military prestige. Ancient churches make it picturesque. That of Saint Nicholas was begun about a hundred years after the town was founded; it has wonderful stained-gla.s.s windows, dating back to the Fourteenth Century, carved stalls, and a glorious organ with seven thousand eight hundred pipes. I was fortunate enough to be there while the organist was playing. But most church organs are out of tune. Variations of temperature so easily affect the pipes.

I was pleased to know that the Catholic Bishop of Lausanne resides in Fribourg, which, indeed, is largely a Catholic town. The ancient linden-tree on the Place de l'Hotel-de-Ville would have delighted Dr.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, who was always measuring big trunks. This is more than four meters in circ.u.mference, and, like every other big tree, it traces its pedigree back to a tiny slip stuck into the ground. It was brought by the young Freiburger, who, having run all the way from Morat, announced the news of the great battle there in 1476 by crying "Victory" and falling dead of his wounds and exhaustion. Probably Pheidippides brought a willow wand which grew into a monstrous tree.

The great suspension bridges also are worth seeing, and every vantage-point has a magnificent view.

Bern was my next objective point. I delighted in the quaint old arcaded streets made under the grey stone houses with their green Venetian shutters, and in the Sixteenth-Century fountains. An abundance of water is one of the most blessed gifts of the G.o.ds. I put up at the Bernerhof Hotel and spent a day "seeing the sights."

Bern was founded by Berthold V of Zahringen in the Twelfth Century, the same Berthold that built Fribourg. Legend makes it out that he named his new city after the quarry of his favourite priest. This proved to be a bear. He spoke his will in a rhyme:

"Holtz, la.s.s dich hauen gern, Die Stadt muss heissen Bern."

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN OLD STREET IN BERN.]

Whether the name came from the legend or the legend from the name is a question no man can decide. The bear is seen on every city shield, and those that once ornamented the city-gates are now penned in the Historical Museum. The bears also come out automatically on the famous Zeitglockenturm. The real bears in the pits--which are pits--are said to be lineal descendants of a cub brought back from a hunt by Berthold himself, or, as others have it, from a pair given him by Rene, Duc de Lorraine. In 1798 General Brune carried them off to Paris and put them in the Jardin des Plantes, but they were so homesick that they were returned.

"n.o.ble animals," exclaimed a friend of mine, "fed and pampered as they deserve to be, for they brought good fortune to the triumphant Bernese at Donnerbruhl and at Laupen. Established like real kings under the fir-tree, they seem to look up at us with disdain--at us feeble creatures who gaze at their mighty muscles and at their indomitable eyes!"