INTERLAKEN
Close to Interlaken we took the train for about ten minutes. Interlaken
is situated in a narrow pass encircled by a range of sparkling white
mountains, behind which rises the majestic _Jungfrau_. This coquettish
little town seems to be specially built for tourists, there are almost
nothing but hotels in the place. The room which we occupied at the _Hôtel
des Alpes_ was furnished Swiss style, with a cuckoo-clock and cupboards
in the walls; there were antimacassars everywhere, and two blue vases on
the mantlepiece with everlasting flowers; on a small table lay a bible
and a hymn-book.
Next morning when I looked out of our windows I saw a wonderful sight,
the snow-capped _Jungfrau_ emerged from a mantle of clouds, a glittering
dazzling mass with a background of shimmering snow-clad mountains. It is
most fortunate that the summit unveiled to-day, as it is only seen on
rare occasions.
Our excursion to the Glaciers was arranged for eight o’clock, and the
conveyance that we had ordered the day before stood at the door of our
hotel, a mountain chariot with horses jingling with bells. We set off
in the gayest of spirits. Our driver cracked his whip, and away rolled
the carriage. Soon we were hurrying along the valley road, and passed
meadows strewn with wild flowers. We took three hours to mount to the
Hotel Eiger. On our way we met peasant girls with loaded baskets on
their heads. On the slopes villagers in large straw hats were cutting
down the grass, and women in bright-coloured skirts were working in the
potato-fields. Here comes a procession of carts laden with blocks of
ice procured from the Glaciers, dragged by patient sad-eyed oxen. In
the distance the echo of an alpine horn and the cries of some peasants
resounded. We overtook a peasant woman jolted like a basket on the
back of her mule. After a mile or two the road began to mount, and our
tender-hearted driver climbed down from the seat and walked at the
horses’ heads, driving off the troublesome flies which stuck to his
steeds. We crossed a tidy little village consisting of but one straggling
street. The roofs of the houses are covered with lathings, with big
stones laid over them, in order that the wind should not scatter them
about. Behind the rusty gates flaxen-haired children stared at us. On
the front of a tavern we saw the picture of a bear with the pleasant
inscription, “_Lait Frais_,” written underneath. Close by, on the front
of an hostelry, we read, “_Les voyageurs qui descendent chez nous seront
contents_”—(The tourists who put up at our house will be contented.) A
year ago there was fearful damage done in the valley we were driving
through, a huge block of rock fell down from the cliffs and hurled itself
into the valley, destroying a house which was taken clear away. We had to
pass that square stone that looked like a monument in the middle of the
road. We wanted to stop before a wicket with a finger-post pointing to
it with the inscription “_La Chute Noire, 25 centimes par personne_” but
our driver said it was not worth while as we could see this same Chine at
free cost a few paces off.
The road was interrupted here and there by gates which were opened by the
village children, who received coppers for it. Before a wooden bridge
in the form of a Swiss Chalet, we were met by a party of barefooted,
yellow-haired brats, provided with long branches to chase off the flies,
and square stones to put under the wheels on steep ascents. They followed
us during a whole hour, waving their branches and singing Tyrolese songs.
We plodded on steadily for three hours. Having reached the Hôtel Eiger
we ordered saddle-horses, and went to the glaciers by a narrow way, with
the rock-wall at one elbow and perpendicular precipices at the other.
The rough path was so narrow that we had to ride one below the other,
treading a road where a man would have scarcely room enough to pass.
The cleverness of our horses bewildered me, one false step would have
thrown us headlong into the gap. We could ride no further and had to
dismount at the foot of the glacier where we took a special glacier guide
to take us up, and sent our horses to wait for us on the highway. Here
the snow mountains rose close on us. Green pasturages had disappeared
and all appearance of summer gradually faded into a perfect winter; the
snow began to fall in masses, all presented a Lapland scene, nothing but
snow and ice. The guide after having provided us with alpenstocks and
blue spectacles, made us pass through a damp cavern the soil of which was
mouldy with dew and drippings from the roof.
Two shrivelled old women, wrapped up in shawls, with lilac cheeks and
noses, were singing Tyrolese songs, with tremulous voices, in that
grotto, accompanying themselves on the cithern, blowing their purple
fingers in the intervals. When we came out of the cavern we saw a group
of working-men occupied in sawing enormous blocks of ice which they
dropped down the mountain on rails. Now we began to climb to the Glacier
which was no childish play. The guide after pinning up my skirt led the
way. We advanced very slowly, climbing higher and higher, pricking the
sharp ends of our alpenstocks into the ice, running the risk of tumbling
down into the deep ravines and leaving no trace behind. We had masses
of snow to climb over and large abysses to leap over; soon greater
difficulties awaited us. We had to climb a staircase simply propped
up by a snow block; there was no path at all now, only crevices and
precipices—it was chaos in short. The guide who had a sure foot, chopped
steps with his ice-axe in the ice, and we were hoisted by him from a
foothold to a foothold. He exclaimed at the courage I showed and said I
was a capital hill-climber and called me “Sehr Brav.” In the distance we
heard the crash of a downfall of snow. Half-way up we sat down and took
a brief rest, our backs against a rock and our heels dangling over a
bottomless abyss. The guide insisted upon my swallowing a drop of brandy
from a tumbler slung by a strap over his shoulder.
It was worth while to overcome all these difficulties to attain the “Mer
de Glace” a fairy-like icy-kingdom. I was amazed by the vast and lonely
beauty of these interminable uplands of ice; we were well repaid for our
climb by this scenery of wildest beauty. On our way back we left the road
and descended by the rough track to the lower route leading to the Hotel
Eiger by a short cut, where we expected to find our saddle-horses, but
when we had gained the road they were nowhere to be seen and we had to
walk the entire remaining distance to the Hotel Eiger with the sun right
over our heads. We got to the hotel red-faced, breathless and foot-sore.
Our tempers suffered as well as our legs and we were so displeased with
the manager for having given us such careless guides, that we wouldn’t
take any refreshment at the hotel and hastened back to Interlaken. On
arriving there we had dinner brought into our room and then went straight
to bed. It was an unspeakable comfort to stretch my weary limbs between
the cool sheets.