Sultan, when he is in the charem. Here we observed the magnificent
lustre before mentioned. The Sultan sometimes visits this chamber
during the winter, to hear music and to amuse himself with his
favorites. It is surrounded by mirrors. The other ornaments display
that strange mixture of magnificence and wretchedness which
characterize all the state chambers of Turkish grandees. Leaving the
Assembly Room by the same door through which we entered, and continuing
along the passage as before, which runs parallel to the sea-shore, we
at length reached what might be termed the _sanctum sanctorum_ of this
Paphian temple, the baths of the Sultan mother and the four principal
Sultanas. These are small, but very elegant, constructed of white
marble, and lighted by ground glass above. At the upper end is a raised
sudatory and bath for the Sultan mother, concealed by lattice-work from
the rest of the apartment. Fountains play constantly into the floor of
this bath from all its sides; and every degree of refined luxury has
been added to the work which a people, above all others best versed in
the ceremonies of the bath, have been capable of inventing or requiring.
Leaving the bath and returning along the passage by which we came, we
entered what is called the Chamber of Repose. Nothing need be said of
it, except that it commands the finest view anywhere afforded from
this point of the seraglio. It forms a part of the building well known
to strangers, from the circumstance of its being supported, towards
the sea, by twelve columns of that beautiful and rare _breccia_, the
_viride Lacedoemonium_ of Pliny, called by Italians _Il verde antico_.
These columns are of the finest quality ever seen, and each of them
consists of one entire stone. The two interior pillars are of green
Egyptian breccia, more beautiful than any specimen of the kind existing.
[An apartment overlooking the gardens was now reached, on
attempting to leave which for the garden, they found to their
consternation that the door had been locked since their entrance.
A slave had entered to feed some turkeys, and fortunately the
noise made by these birds enabled them to force back the lock
without being heard and escape.]
We now quitted the lower garden of the seraglio and ascended by a paved
road towards the chamber of the Garden of Hyacinths. This promised
to be interesting, as we were told the Sultan passed almost all his
private hours in that apartment, and the view of it might make us
acquainted with occupations and amusements which characterize the man,
divested of the outward parade of the sultan. We presently turned
from the paved ascent towards the right, and entered a small garden,
laid out into very neat oblong borders, edged with porcelain or Dutch
tiles. Here no plant is suffered to grow except the hyacinth, whence
the name of this garden and the chamber it contains. We examined this
apartment by looking through a window. Nothing can be more magnificent.
Three sides of it were surrounded by a divan, the cushions and pillows
of which were of black embroidered satin. Opposite the windows of
the chamber was a fireplace, after the ordinary European fashion;
and on each side of this, a door covered with hangings of crimson
cloth. Between each of these doors and the fireplace appeared a glass
case, containing the Sultan's private library, every volume being in
manuscript, and upon shelves, one above the other, and the title of
each book written on the edges of its leaves.
From the ceiling of the room, which was of burnished gold, opposite
each of the doors and also opposite to the fireplace, hung three gilt
cages containing small figures of artificial birds; these sung by
mechanism. In the centre of the room stood an enormous gilt brazier,
supported, in a ewer, by four massive claws, like vessels seen under
sideboards in England. Opposite to the entrance, on one side of the
apartment, was a raised bench, crossing a door, on which were placed an
embroidered napkin, a vase, and basin for washing the beard and hands.
Over this bench, upon the wall, was suspended the large embroidered
_porte-feuille_, worked with silver thread on yellow leather, which is
carried in procession when the Sultan goes to mosque or elsewhere in
public, to contain the petitions presented by his subjects. In a nook
close to the door was also a pair of yellow boots, and on the bench, by
the ewer, a pair of slippers of the same materials. These are placed at
the entrance of every apartment frequented by the Sultan.
The floor was covered with Gobelin tapestry, and the ceiling, as before
stated, magnificently gilded and burnished. Groups of arms, such as
pistols, sabres, and poignards, were disposed with very singular taste
and effect on the different compartments of the walls, the handles
and scabbards of which were covered with diamonds of very large size;
these, as they glittered around, gave a most gorgeous effect to the
splendor of this sumptuous chamber.
We had scarce ended our survey of this costly scene when, to our
great dismay, a bostanghy made his appearance within the apartment,
but, fortunately for us, his head was turned from the window, and we
immediately sunk below it, creeping upon our hands and knees, until we
got clear of the Garden of Hyacinths. Thence, ascending to the upper
walks, we passed an aviary of nightingales.
The walks in the upper garden are very small, in wretched condition,
and laid out in worse taste than the fore court of a Dutchman's house
in the suburbs of the Hague. Small as they are, they constituted,
until lately, the whole of the seraglio gardens near the sea, and from
them may be seen the whole prospect of the entrance to the canal and
the opposite coast of Scutari. Here, in an old kiosk, is seen a very
ordinary marble slab, supported on iron cramps; this, nevertheless,
was a present from Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. It is precisely the
sort of sideboard seen in the lowest inns of England; and, while it may
be said no person would pay half the amount of its freight to send it
back again, it shows the nature of the presents then made to the Porte
by foreign princes. From these formal parterres we descended to the
gardener's lodge, and left the gardens by the gate through which we
entered.
I never should have offered so copious a detail of the scenery of this
remarkable place if I did not believe that an account of the interior
of the seraglio would be satisfactory, from the secluded nature of the
objects to which it bears reference, and the little probability there
is of so favorable an opportunity being again granted to any traveller
for its investigation.
ZERMATT AND ITS SCENERY.
STANLEY HOPE.
[They who would see Swiss scenery at its best will not fail to
visit Zermatt, and thither went the traveller from whom we now
quote. What he saw there, and what makes Zermatt worth visiting,
we leave it to him to relate.]
It has been said that one may ascend the Gorner Grat a hundred times
and yet not obtain a clear view of the mountains. If this be true,
I was exceptionally fortunate in the day I selected for the ascent.
Four days of perfectly unclouded weather followed my advent in the
marvellous valley of Zermatt, and as the district is somewhat removed
from the more frequented tracks, and has, perhaps, been less often
described, I venture on a slight record of what I saw in the short time
at my disposal.
For, in spite of the facilities of travel in these days of railways
and steamboats, in spite of all that has been written on the subject,
Switzerland is still a _terra incognita_ to the great mass of English
people. The majesty of its mountains, the fragrance of its pine
forests, the richness of its valleys, are still as a sealed book to
the multitude. A great proportion even of those who have the means are
content to live and die without gazing on these most marvellous works
of God's hand, although they may become acquainted with them for a sum
which a man would willingly pay for a quarter cask of dinner sherry, or
a woman for a new silk dress.
Zermatt, the crowning glory of the Alps, is somewhat difficult of
access. Coming from England, it is best to go by rail straight to
Sierre, and thence by diligence or private conveyance to Visp, some
seventeen miles farther up the Rhone valley. Here it is better to
shoulder one's knapsack, for there is no carriage road for the first
twelve miles of the Visp-Thal, which leads to Zermatt, though the
mule-path is exceptionally good.
Visp itself is an interesting spot. It is beautifully situated in the
Rhone valley at the point where the river, bearing the same name,
comes foaming down from the Gorner glacier, twenty-seven miles away.
The river flows into the Rhone near this point with a volume almost as
great as the Rhone itself. The little town was once a place of great
importance. The houses on the heights, which still bear traces of
the earthquake of 1855, were formerly the palaces of the princes of
the Valais. The church, which stands on an eminence above the river,
is a most interesting building, sadly neglected by guide-books, and,
consequently, by tourists. It is built on the remains of a Roman
temple. There is a picturesque Roman gate-way, with time-worn marble
columns, which certainly ought not to be passed over; and in the
charnel-house, exposed to the church-yard, is a ghastly array of many
hundred human skulls ranged in tiers against the inner wall.
In company with a friend who had been my companion in many previous
mountain rambles, I trudged up to St. Nicolaus in the cool of the
afternoon. It is a walk of four and a half hours from Visp. The path
skirts the mountain-side, with the river foaming in its rocky bed
many hundred feet below. St. Nicolaus is a village, with a huge hotel
situated in the midst of pastures where the valley widens, with a
church whose metallic steeple shines miles and miles away like silver,
and whose bells jingle out the quaintest chimes it was ever my lot to
hear. We arrived at sunset, and were rejoiced to find we could get
beds, for the valley was undergoing a perfect invasion of tourists,
and the pedestrian was likely to fare badly who had not previously
telegraphed to secure quarters in advance.
All that night the summer lightning flashed among the crags, and the
thunder boomed far down the sleeping valley; but the clouds lifted a
little in the morning, and at an early hour we were wending our way
along the excellent carriage-road which exists between St. Nicolaus and
Zermatt. Our hearts were elated with anticipation, for we knew we were
within a few miles of that most majestic, and, from association, most
melancholy, of all Swiss mountains, the Matterhorn. The turn of the
road near Zermatt was to reveal it to us, and eagerly we watched the
heavy masses of vapor as they swept down the mountain-side, shutting
out the Weisshorn on our right, and even the Bies glacier far below it,
fearing, after all, that the glorious spectacle would be denied us, for
this day at least, but little anticipating the wondrous effect under
which we subsequently obtained our first clear view of the renowned
peak.
Denser and denser grew the vapors, and when at length the moment
arrived which we had anticipated for so many days, we were destined to
be disappointed. The driving mist only revealed to us for one brief
moment the rocks at the base of the mighty mountain, though this base
is fixed some four thousand feet above the village of Zermatt.
[Illustration: THE LION MONUMENT, LUCERNE]
This little village, situated in the midst of lovely green pastures,
in an amphitheatre of mighty peaks, and at an altitude of over five
thousand feet above the sea, would be one of the most attractive spots
on earth but for its dirt. Were it not for the palliatives offered
by its two excellent hotels, Monte Rosa and Monte Cervin, both kept
by the world-renowned M. Seiler, the dirt and the odors of Zermatt
would be unbearable. To our great dismay, we found on our arrival
that there was no possible accommodation at either of the hotels. The
rain was beginning to fall; we were tired and hungry. To go on to
the Riffel Hotel, three thousand one hundred and thirteen feet above
Zermatt itself, seemed an absurdity in such weather; for there, at an
elevation of over eight thousand feet, we should be enveloped in the
denser vapors above, and half frozen into the bargain. We sought the
_salle-à-manger_, and consoled ourselves with cutlets and Beaujolais.
There we held serious counsel together, and lit our pipes and sallied
forth to inspect the prospect outside. We went first to the little
church where, side by side, lie two of the victims of the Matterhorn
accident, Hudson and Hadow, and on the other side of the church the
remains of poor Michael Croz, the guide. The body of Lord Francis
Douglas, who also perished on that occasion, was never found. It is
supposed that it is still suspended among the awful and inaccessible
crags on the side of the mountain where they fell.
We sauntered on beyond the village, and sat down in a melancholy mood
on a broken rail to consider our position. Through a rift in the
clouds we could make out the Riffel Hotel on the bare mountain-side,
high above the pine-woods on our left. "Should we go on, in spite of
wind and weather?" It would be so much gained, at least in the event
of a change for the better. We hastened back to the hotel. "Did they
think we could get accommodation at the Riffel, if we went up?" "Yes;
they were sure we should get mattresses in the salon, at all events."
So on we went, over the first bridge beyond the village, past the
little church of Winkelmatten, and then up the steep path through the
pine-woods. From the openings between the trees we soon began to look
down upon the foot of the Gorner glacier, and the fine waterfall of
the Visp rushing out from its icy cradle, which, by some strange freak
of nature, occurs at a point many hundred feet above the foot of the
glacier, the two torrents flowing side by side, the one flashing,
foaming, and leaping, with all the quick impulsiveness of life, the
other cold, silent, and irresistible as the advancing footsteps of
death.
In due course we reached the chalets on the Augstkummenmatt, and were
clear of the pine-woods. Here the rain became sleet, and the bare
slopes of short grass around were rapidly putting on a mantle of white.
The vapors drove in thick folds over the dreary waste of the Theodule
glacier to our right, and for a moment now and then the frowning
eastern face of the Matterhorn loomed through the clouds, but only to
disappear once more behind still denser masses of vapor.
We were glad at length to reach the broad terrace of the mountain upon
which stands the Riffel Hotel, and to receive an assurance from the
obliging proprietress--M. Seiler's sister--that she would do the best
she could for us, though bedrooms were out of the question.
The air was intensely keen. The water, when we essayed to wash our
hands, was of an icy temperature, and we put on whatever extra clothing
we could abstract from our knapsacks. An excellent table-d'hôte,
however, soon set us right; and a brisk walk after dark up and down
the plateau in front of the hotel, in company with the newly-arrived
English clergyman, who had undertaken the duties of chaplain at the
hotel for three or four Sundays, brought the day to an agreeable close.
The chaplain, who was anxious to obtain some information as to the
usual length and style of service, had made the acquaintance of the
King of the Riffel, as he is called, an English gentleman, who passes
several months every season in this elevated region, and considers
it the most enjoyable spot in Europe. He was somewhat emphatic in
his directions to the chaplain to make the service and sermon as
short as possible, and on no account to attempt any singing. "For,"
he continued, "there being no instrument of any kind, everybody sings
a different tune, and sings out of tune as well, the effect being
disastrous. Last Sunday a man, with a perversity of judgment I never
saw equalled, produced a flute, and as he played at a pitch which no
human voice could sustain, and as everybody tried to follow, you may
imagine what the din was like."
We had been informed that there were twenty-nine people in the house,
including ourselves, unprovided with beds, and that we were to be
accommodated _on the table in the salle-à-manger_. The prospect was
not agreeable, and we lingered in the warm salon until half-past ten,
by which time the ladies had all retired. Presently a small army of
maid-servants marched into the room with folding iron bedsteads,
mattresses, blankets, and sheets. To our huge delight, four comfortable
beds were made in as many minutes, and we were informed that two
other gentlemen and ourselves were to be the only occupants of the
room. The tables, with white cloths spread upon them, were converted
into wash-stands, and plenty of rugs were brought to do duty as
counterpanes. Nothing could be more comfortable. We went to bed in
perfect luxury, not, however, before taking a last look from the front
door in the direction of the Matterhorn, and finding, to our great
delight, that the summit of the mountain was at last clearly defined
above a line of motionless clouds, and that the stars were twinkling
brightly overhead.
Our two companions in the salon were young Americans, who were to
depart early the next morning for the Cima di Jazi. They were astir
by daybreak, and, roused by their departure, I found it impossible to
go to sleep again. After tossing restlessly for an hour, I rose, and,
on going to the window, beheld the glorious snows of the Breithorn
flushed with the coming sunlight rising just above the shoulder of the
mountain near the hotel. Rousing my companion, and dressing as rapidly
as possible, I made for the door of the hotel, and stepped out upon
the terrace. I had looked upon many scenes of grandeur and beauty in
many parts of Switzerland, from the Rigi, from Pilatus, from Mürren,
from the Lauberhorn, but never in all my experience had I witnessed a
scene like that which lay before me. There was not a speck in all the
blue vault of heaven. The frosty air was so clear that distance was
annihilated. Right before me, separated only from the steep slope on
which I stood by the deep valley in which lie the Gorner and Furggen
glaciers, rose the majestic Matterhorn, a silent solitary pinnacle
of bare rock, five thousand feet from base to summit, enthroned upon
a pinnacle of snow and ice, which is itself ten thousand feet from
the ocean level, standing aloof, and seeming to frown defiance on its
fellows, which lay grouped around on every side. The rosy glow of
sunrise pervaded it now,--an intense liquid light, which revealed its
furrowed sides, its seams of snow, its overhanging brow, its ice-bound
feet, its treacherous chasms, its awful precipices,--and softened its
asperity into a loveliness which held us spell-bound for many minutes.
We knew there were other wonders to be seen around, but it was
difficult to withdraw our eyes from this most remarkable of all
mountain forms. Slowly we let them wander more to the northward,
beyond the valley wherein lies the Z'Mutt glacier which separates the
Matterhorn from the Dent Blanche, and the magnificent range of peaks
stretching away towards the Rhone Valley. All these were illuminated
by the same lovely light, forming a barrier of gold on the west side
of the Visp Valley, which stretched before us as far as the distant
Bietchhorn. Opposite these, bounding the valley on the east, were
the not less majestic ranges of the Mischabel group, over which the
sunlight streamed in long level rays, and between--at least a thousand
feet below us--lay a vast, silent, undulating mass of pale gray
clouds, blotting out the valley beneath with one unbroken sea of vapor
twenty-five miles long, upon which the shadows of the eastern mountains
were distended as distinctly as upon a solid plain. "Thank heaven that
we came up!" we both ejaculated. Zermatt and all the valley below must
have been shrouded in semi-darkness, while we, far above the clouds,
seemed lifted to another sphere, where the atmosphere was so infinitely
pure, the silence so solemn and intense, that we almost feared to speak
lest we should break the spell which wrapped this mystic world of
wonder and unspeakable delight.
Within half an hour we are _en route_ for the Gorner Grat, a rocky
point which still lay eighteen feet above us, and which we attained
after an easy walk of an hour and a half. The ground was frozen hard as
we mounted slope after slope of short grass and rock, and the miniature
lakes which lay here and there in the hollows near the path were coated
with ice to the thickness of half an inch. The August sun, however,
rising above the ridges in front of us, soon dispelled the frosty
breath of night, and before we reached the summit of the Grat we were
glad to draw down the broad brims of our hats to shield our faces from
the rays, which in the pure dry atmosphere of this altitude--over ten
thousand feet--seemed to scorch and blister the skin.
The Gorner Grat is one of the very few spots in the Alps where one can
obtain an elevation of over ten thousand feet without the slightest
semblance of a difficulty. The path is good and well defined the whole
way, and the panorama quite unsurpassed. It is remarkable, from the
fact that there is an unbroken range of magnificent snow peaks on every
side. There is not a single break in the chain. It is an isolated rocky
peak that seems formed by nature to enable one to survey at leisure the
marvellous scene around. The huge Gorner glacier winds round its base
at a dizzy depth below; beyond, are the snows of that glorious range
beginning with Monte Rosa (which seems within a stone's throw) and
ending with the Matterhorn....
We lingered long in this wonderful spot. A batch of morning tourists
came and gazed around for ten minutes, and was succeeded by another
and another, but as the day wore on they grew few and far between,
and we were at length left entirely alone, wrapped in that intense
and awful stillness which at times pervades these mighty solitudes,
broken only at long intervals by the sudden rush of an avalanche on
the steep slopes of Monte Rosa or the low hum of a wild bee, attracted
to this far height by the fervid noonday beams. We wandered along the
ridge stretching towards the Stockhorn, where the gentian and other
exquisite wild flowers which flourish at this elevation grow in the
greatest profusion, peering up through patches of snow in shady nooks.
Then we returned, and found new beauties in the panorama, which in the
fierce sunlight became almost too dazzling for the eye to rest on.
At last we turned away reluctantly, with another recollection for a
lifetime,--another "joy forever" stored within the cells of memory....
A few days later we resolved on a closer acquaintance with the mountain
which had attracted our admiration from so many points of view in the
neighborhood. The Matterhorn seems to dominate the whole district of
Zermatt like a pervading spirit. It is difficult to lose sight of it.
Through rifts in the pine-wood, over grassy bluffs, from the depths
of dark ravines, from one's chamber window, the giant peak is seen
piercing the blue air above. The play of light and shadow upon it as
the hours roll by is in itself a study. Facing the earliest beams, as
the sun rises out of a tossing ocean of Alpine peaks, it stands proudly
up, a pinnacle of burnished gold with scarce a speck of shade to dim
its lustre. As noon approaches, the gloom gathers on the precipitous
northern face until the mid-day shadow falls with a cool blue-black
on the white upper snows of the Matterhorn glacier. By and by, when
the sun has passed to the west, the great shadowy mass rises in gloomy
grandeur against the evening sky, and still later the northwest ridges
are fringed with the lustre of sunset, ere they wrap themselves in the
dusky robe of night.
ALPINE MOUNTAIN CLIMBING.
EDWARD WHYMPER.
[The Matterhorn, one of the most difficult of the Alps to ascend,
defied the efforts of mountaineers until 1865, when Whymper,
with three companions and three guides, reached its summit. The
victory, however, was a tragic one, as the three companions and
one of the guides fell down a precipice and met their death.
Whymper had made various earlier efforts to ascend. We give his
story of one such effort, made at an earlier date.]