AT ZÜRICH WITH THE PROFESSOR
Early the following morning I started for Zürich by the way of
Lucerne. I shall say nothing about that gem of cities now; for, in the
first place, it was raining when I arrived there, and, in the second
place, I had later an opportunity to spend a fortnight there, or
rather in the vicinity, with a college classmate who was occupying a
handsome villa situated high up above the lake and affording a
marvellous gallery of views from every side. I met him by accident in
the railway station and he insisted on taking me home with him then
and there. Only by faithfully promising him that I would come back to
him after my trip in the Tyrol, did he allow me to continue on my way.
So I reached Zürich exactly on time and I found Professor Landoldt
awaiting me. He took me in a taxicab to his quaint and amusing old
house, situated high up and looking over the whole city. When we got
there I must say it did not overlook anything, because of the low
hanging clouds from which fell a steady rain. One of R. Töpfer’s
“Nouvelles Génévoises” begins with these words:--“When you travel in
Switzerland alone and not bringing your always amiable family along
with you, the rain is a melancholy harbinger of tedium as it confines
you in a hotel-parlor in the company of disappointed tourists.”
[Illustration: A RAINY DAY IN ZÜRICH.]
I was alone and without my family and it was disappointing to get my
first view of Zürich without being able to see much of anything. But
the cheery welcome that I received atoned for it. Frau Landoldt was a
hearty German woman. I learned accidentally that her father was a
Baron von Eggisland and quite well-known as an artist. She herself had
a remarkable gift for painting. She was very pretty, with rippling
fair hair and eyes like turquoises. They had no children. German
individuality is always seen in the decoration of rooms, in the
arrangement of pictures and ornaments; it is very different from
English or American taste. But in her home prevailed that atmosphere
of _Gemütlichkeit_ which is the very soul of hospitality and makes one
happy.
In the middle of the afternoon coffee was brought in, together with
_Apfelküchen_ and cheese, jam and fruit. We chatted as we drank the
delicious coffee. The Professor and his wife were interested to know
what I had been doing since I reached Switzerland, and I told them
about some of the more notable expeditions which I had enjoyed,
especially my trip around the Lake Leman and my visit to Geneva.
As it still rained and was not propitious for sallying forth, we went
into the study of Professor Landoldt, which, as I glanced over it, I
found had a well-selected variety of books in various languages,
especially on history. One of my first remarks, after I had made a
cursory tour of the room, rather surprised the serious-minded German.
I said: “If one of my chickens--though, to tell the truth, I never had
a chicken in my life--were to escape and fly over into my neighbour’s
yard or my dog should run away, I could claim him and bring him back?”
“A propos?” asked the Professor, most politely, but evidently thinking
I had gone _verrückt_.
“As far as I can make out, a large part of the soil of Switzerland has
run away and is disporting itself all over the rest of Europe. Why
does it not still belong to Switzerland?”
“Oh, I see what you mean,” he said, very seriously.
“What I really mean is this; if Switzerland, which is a republic,
governed, as far as I can judge, more democratically even than our
United States, could establish its claim to its run-away land and
introduce the same form of government in the army-swamped countries of
Europe,--in Germany, France and Austria,--think what a blessing it
would be!”
“The time will come,” said the Professor, “when there will be the
United States of Europe. Militarism foments national jealousies, but
the common people cherish no hatreds. Our little Switzerland was
originally just as much divided against itself as Germany and France
would be if Fate should suddenly amalgamate them. Germany seized
Alsace, and, when I was in Strassbourg not long ago, I noticed that
all the men at the market wore knots of black ribbon: that was in
token of mourning, because they had been torn from France. But if
there were the United States of Europe all that commemoration of hard
feelings would vanish. Napoleon was eagle-eyed and prophetic enough to
foresee what was coming; he would have made Europe one grand empire,
but one grand empire would have been the next step to one grand
republic, just as the trusts foreshadow government ownership. Think
what would be the saving in what you call ‘dollars and cents’ alone,
if the rivalry in military expenditure could be stopped. It would free
billions and billions to make perfect roads, to do away with slums, to
educate the masses, to cure the disease of intemperance, as well as
other curable diseases. It is coming as sure as Fate. We already see
the rosy light of its rising on the highest mountain-tops--the sun of
democracy touches the edge of the horizon.”
“That is fine,” said I. “Yes, the people are waking to their
birthrights. Not long ago I was asked to address a large audience of
Russian Jews gathered to do honour to Count Tolstoï. I said the time
would come when, instead of the Emperor of Russia and the Emperor of
Germany commanding several millions of peasants torn from their homes
to fight with one another for some cause in which they had not the
slightest interest, and naturally friendly, these same millions of men
would suddenly reverse the current; if there was to be a fight, they
would stand round in a vast circle and let the two emperors settle it
in the arena just as David fought with Goliath,--perhaps by a
discussion, and not by swords and slings or pistols,--and it would be
settled just as equitably as if thousands of men and thousands of
horses were killed and horribly maimed.”
“The possibility of men of rival nations working side by side has been
shown again and again. I have been recently reading about the battle
of Zürich, where Masséna defeated the Russians and Austrians. Russians
and Austrians fought side by side. A juggle would have set Austrians
and Russians fighting one another. Hitherto they have been only pawns,
but the new game of chess makes the united pawns more powerful than
kings, queens and bishops.”
“That reminds me of the prediction made by the young Marquis de Pezay,
author of ‘Zèles au Bain,’ who in 1771 came to Switzerland and
published his ‘Soirées Helvétiques’ full of odd apostrophes--‘Peoples,
whom I am about to visit, good Swiss, shut not your gates to my
passage!’ He did not altogether like the mountains, though he called
them sublime and immense--‘_colosses d’albâtres_’--and he said that
they would some day be cut down and practicable roads would be put
through, ‘so as to make the nations sisters.’ He made fun of the
militarism of the Bernese, though he himself was an officer in the
French army. He said: ‘When universal peace comes about we shall see
bloody partizans exchanged for useful basins,’--if that is what he
means by _bâches salutaires_,--‘the ruinous _revêtements_ of our
citadels will look down only on wide canals navigable and
well-supplied with fish, and gunpowder will not be exploded in the air
except to blow up rocks or celebrate the festivals of pacific kings.’”
“So is that fine,” said the Professor. “But speaking of the Russians
and the Austrians fighting side by side--that was a masterly retreat
which Suvórof made over the mountains. I do not know which to admire
most, Hannibal in taking his elephants across the Alps from the Rhône
to the Po, or the Russian field-marshal extricating himself from the
_cul de sac_ into which his obstinacy had entrapped him.”
“That is odd!” I exclaimed. “I have just been reading about Hannibal
in Polybius and Livy, but I have forgotten if I ever knew the exact
facts about Suvórof.”
“I will tell you about it,” said the Professor, “if you would like to
hear it.”
“Indeed I would.”
The Professor got out a large atlas, and occasionally showed me the
places on the map. “I will tell you,” he said, “there is a remarkable
account of Suvórof’s adventure in the Swiss novelist Ernst Zahn’s
‘Albin Indergand.’ It is right from the life. But I will do my best.
“Suvórof, who had crossed the Alps and seized Turin and Milan, was
ordered by the Emperor to have his plans approved before being put
into execution. He complained of this absurd restriction. ‘In war,’ he
said, ‘circumstances are changing from one moment to another;
consequently there can be no precise plan of action.’
“He was surrounded by jealousies and by spies, and the Austrian court
issued orders without consulting him.
“He was so disgusted with the condition of things that he was tempted
to throw up his command. He wrote to the Emperor asking if he might be
recalled: ‘I wish to lay my bones in my fatherland and pray God for my
Emperor.’ The battle of the Trebbia was succeeded by the sanguinary
fight at Novi, where Suvórof allowed his forces to be almost
annihilated before he woke to the danger in which he was placed. At
this battle the French loss was twelve thousand; that of the Allies
eight thousand, of which one-fourth were Russians. The Russians began
to sack Novi, but Suvórof managed to restrain them. He was then
ordered to lead the armies in Switzerland.
“He was heartbroken at the vain result of his efforts and triumphs.
“He was almost seventy years old, and during his professional career
of half a century, he had never been defeated.
“He had for a local guide through Switzerland Colonel Weywrother, an
Austrian officer. Misled by him the Russian general calculated that he
could reach Schwyz in seven days. He had twenty thousand men.
Uncorrected by Weywrother, he selected a road which ended at Altorf
whence the only passage to Lucerne and Schwyz was by water. When,
after an incredibly rapid march, covering in four days a space usually
requiring a week, they reached Taverna, not one of the fifteen hundred
mules ordered was on hand and all the advantage of this marvellous
forced passage was lost. They were delayed five days, and then only
six hundred and fifty mules came.
“The Grand Duke Constantine suggested dismounting the four thousand
Cossacks and using their horses as pack-animals. Lieutenant-General
Rosenberg, with a division of six thousand, attempted to turn the
Saint-Gotthard pass by the Val di Blegno, Dissentis and the Oberalp
Lake. He was obliged to bivouac at Cassaccia, nearly two thousand
three hundred meters above the sea, in bitter cold without fire or
any sort of shelter. But he succeeded in getting behind the enemy’s
position.
“Suvórof, mounted on a Cossack horse and wearing the cloth
uniform-coat of a private over his flimsy suit, and topping all with
his famous threadbare cloak, rode up from Bellinzona, accompanied by
an aged peasant guide, who did not know that the road ended at Altorf.
“Reaching and capturing Airolo, they drove out the French, who retired
to the mountain and kept up a galling fire.
“When the Russians attempted to carry the summit of the pass it took
two successive assaults, at a loss of two thousand men, to win it.
“Rosenberg had, in the meantime, driven the French from the Oberalpsee
and crossed the heights above Andermatt, then dashing down through
dense fog, had captured that village, and cut off the French
reinforcements.
“Flinging his cannon into the Reuss, he took his men over the
Betzberg, more than two thousand two hundred meters in height, and
brought them in safety into the Göschenen valley.
“The Urner Loch, a passage cut in the solid rock and just large enough
to admit a single pedestrian and his pack, and the Devil’s Bridge,
wide enough to allow two men to walk abreast, hanging twenty-three
meters above the swift Reuss, were the only means of getting to the
pass, which is about half a kilometer long.
“A promiscuous slaughter followed. A French gun swept the tunnel from
end to end with grape, and mowed down all who entered. The rearmost
Russians pushed those in front of them towards the hole. Its entrance
was choked with human beings, and many were pushed over the edge of
the chasm and perished in the boiling torrent.
“This waste of life lasted till the Russian flanking parties came in
sight on the heights above. Then the defenders of the tunnel retired
across the Devil’s Bridge. One can see even now where they broke down
the masonry platform by which it was approached. Then followed a
murderous battle. The combatants were separated only by the narrow
chasm of the Reuss. At last the French, seeing the enemy working his
way along the mountain above them to the right, began to waver. Their
assailants streamed across the narrow arch as far as the break in the
masonry platform. To cross it they pulled down a shed hard by; bound
its timbers together with officers’ sashes and laid them across the
chasm; Prince Meschersky was the first to cross. ‘Do not forget me in
the despatches,’ he cried, as he fell mortally wounded. A Cossack
followed him but fell into the torrent.
“The French retreated to Seedorf, on the left bank of the Reuss, and
there waited the turn of affairs. Meantime Suvórof had reached Altorf,
where he found the end of his path.
“Not knowing how conditions were around Zürich, he determined to force
his way to Schwyz. To do this meant to march across the Rosstock, that
rugged ridge between the Schächental and the Muotta.
“Even under favourable conditions it is a hard task; but it was now
late in the season; yet in spite of all common sense reasons he
decided on this plan.
“The terrible advance up the Kinzig pass began on the 27th of
September. Bagration was in the van; Rosenberg remained behind to
protect the rear. Here is the graphic picture which Milyutin gives of
the journey:--
“‘The path became gradually steeper and at times disappeared
altogether.
“‘It was not an easy matter for pedestrians to climb such a height:
what then must have been the difficulty of conducting horses and
mules, laden with guns, ammunition and cartridges! The poor animals
could hardly budge a foot; in many cases they stumbled from the narrow
pathway headlong into the abyss and were dashed to pieces on the rocks
below. The horses often dragged the men with them in their fall; a
false step was death.
“‘At times black clouds descending the mountain-sides enveloped the
column in dense vapor and the troops were soaked to the skin as if by
heavy rain. They groped their way through the raw fog, everything
round about being invisible.
“‘The boots of both officers and men were for the most part worn out.
Their biscuit-bags were empty. Nothing was left to sustain their
strength.
“‘But, in spite of extreme suffering, the half-shod, starving troops
of Russia kept up their spirits. In the hour of trial the presence of
the son of their Emperor, sharing their fatigues and dangers,
encouraged them. During the entire march the Grand Duke Constantine
Pavlovitch marched with Bagration’s advance-guard.’
“The sufferings of those Russians were incredible! The main body of
the troops spent the bitter cold night in the mountains, with
little to eat, no fire and no shelter. Many perished from exposure.
“In the morning Suvórof learned that Korsákof had been defeated at
Zürich, that Glarus was in the hands of the French; that Hotze was
defeated and killed in the battle on the Linth; that the Austrians who
should have been his support on the right had retreated. Masséna was
approaching Schwyz to meet him there; Molitor held Glarus; Le Courbe
was at Altorf.
“He was caught in a trap. On the 29th he summoned a council of war.
“When the council was assembled he broke into a furious invective
against the Austrians and put the question fair and square:--
“‘We are surrounded in the midst of the mountains by an enemy superior
in strength. What are we to do? To retreat is dishonor. I have never
retreated. To advance to Schwyz is impossible. Masséna has sixty
thousand men; we have not twenty thousand. Besides, we are destitute
of provisions, cartridges and artillery. We can look to no one for
aid. We are on the brink of ruin.’
“The council voted to march on Glarus and force a passage past the
Wallensee.
“Suvórof ended with these brave words:--
“‘All one can do is to trust in Almighty God and in the courage and
devotion of our troops. We are Russians. God is with us.’
“Then the old marshal fell at the feet of the Grand Duke Constantine
Pavlovitch. The Grand Duke raised him and kissed him.
“‘Save the honor of Russia and her Tsar! Save our Emperor’s son! _Da!_
We are Russians. With the help of God we will conquer!’
[Illustration: THE URNER LOCH.]
“Bagration pushed the French back into the narrow gorge between the
mountains and the Klöntalersee; but having then a solid position they
resisted further attack. Masséna, advancing from Schwyz, was attacking
Rosenberg in the rear in the Muotta valley, but met by Rehbinder’s
brigade and attacked from above by Cossacks fighting on foot, they
were driven back through the defile, a terrible slaughter of the
fugitives taking place at the bridge, now known as Suvórof’s, which
spanned the Muotta.
“Again the Russians had to sleep out-of-doors, cold and starving and
exposed to a bitter sleet. The grand duke and Suvórof found shelter in
a cow-shed.
[Illustration: THE KINZIG PASS.]
“On the morning of October 1, Masséna with fifteen thousand men again
attacked Rosenberg whose troops followed up ‘a staggering volley’ with
the famous Suvórof bayonet charge and drove them miles down the
valley, inflicting on them a loss of more than two thousand, not
counting perhaps as many more drowned in the Muotta, while some
hundreds fell or threw themselves over precipices.
“Bagration was having equal success against Molitor in the defile by
the Klöntalersee driving him back to Mollis, but when he was
reinforced, retiring to Nettstal, in good order. Suvórof himself had
captured Glarus and a large supply of provisions; while Rosenberg by a
master-stroke of strategy succeeded in rejoining Suvórof in spite of a
heavy snow-storm, and the sufferings of his men, who in their turn had
to bivouac on the pass without food or fire.
“The army, however, was still hemmed in and was short of provisions,
and still worse, short of ammunition. Their only hope was to escape by
the Panixer pass, but at this time of the year the deep snow already
fallen had obliterated the path; they were surrounded by dense clouds;
they had no guides; the superstitious Russians were greatly alarmed by
seeing the lightning and hearing peals of thunder below them--a
phenomenon which seemed to them supernatural. Occasionally a man, or
even an officer, mounted, would vanish entirely, swallowed up in some
deep crevasse hidden by snow.
[Illustration: THE KLÖNTALERSEE.]
“They had to spend the night again on the mountain; it grew bitter
cold; the snow became dangerously slippery. A bombardment of rocks
from the heights above killed many.
“But the remainder with incredible courage pushed on the next day to
Ilanz, where it was found that at least five thousand were missing.
“On the 8th of October they reached Coire, where, at last, the starved
wretches had something to eat.
“And all this loss and suffering might have been largely obviated had
Suvórof known enough to follow the Splügen pass and the Grisons, or
having reached Altorf, joined Lipken by the Schächental.
“In honour of the heroic management of the Swiss campaign the Emperor
made him generalissimo of the Russian army, calling him ‘the most
renowned commander of this or any other age.’”
“That is certainly a great story,” said I. “Isn’t there a statue or a
memorial to Suvórof?”
“Oh, yes. At the Devil’s Bridge, on the side of the chasm, there is a
tall granite cross, about ten meters high, put up in 1899, and with
an inscription in Russian to the memory of him and his brave comrades.
The bridge itself is generally called after him.”
“It brings these great events very vividly before one to be at the
very spot where they took place, does it not?”
“Yes, just think what centuries of history this Zürich of ours has
seen! While I was in England a few years ago I picked up at a
second-hand bookshop a queer old copy of Thomas Coryat’s ‘Crudities.’
Here is the book: in his dedication he calls himself ‘Thy benevolent
itinerating friend T. C., the Odcombian Legge-Stretcher.’ He travelled
through all this region, using his ‘ten toes for a nagge.’ Here he
refers to Zürich: he says that while here he met Rodolphus
Hospinianus, Gaspar Waserus and Henricus Bultigerus. Gaspar Waserus
was the ‘ornamêt of the town, speaking eight languages’ but
Hospinian--that ‘glittering lamp of learning’--told him that their
city was founded in the time of Abraham. He derives the names from the
fact that it belonged to two kingdoms--_zweier Reich_--‘one, on the
farther bank of the Limacus,’ he says, ‘belonged to Turgouia, that on
the hither bank Ergouia.’ The Latin name, according to him, was
_Turegum, quasi, duorum regum civitas_.”
“An amusing case of imaginary etymology,” I should say. “But Zürich is
a very ancient city, I believe.”
“Oh, yes. In 1853 and the following year there was a remarkable
diminution of the waters in the lake and wide surfaces were laid bare.
Near Obermeilen, above half-way up the lake, some labourers were
embanking some new land and they discovered piles, bits of charcoal
and other relics. Ferdinand Keller began making investigations and he
discovered that these piles were in parallel rows and were evidently
the remains of habitations. After that any number of similar
discoveries were made. At Concise, near Neuchâtel, from one single
aquatic village twenty-five thousand different objects were recovered.
And they now know exactly how these villages looked with their floors
of fire-hardened clay, their circular walls, their conical roofs made
of wattled reeds and straw or bark. If you have been into any of the
Swiss museums you have seen their weapons and stag-horns, bulls’
skulls, flint arrowheads, serpentine hatchets, slings, horn-awls,
rings, and clay vessels, toys, quoits, ornamented often with rude but
not inartistic etchings,--there is no end to the things
preserved,--and even their canoes hollowed out of one trunk, just such
as Hannibal used for crossing the Rhône. Each village had probably two
or three hundred huts connected with the shore by a bridge. One
investigator discovered a storehouse containing a hundred measures of
barley and wheat. They evidently had their farms; they raised apples,
pears and plums. They had a trade with other tribes, for coral and
amber articles were found. Yes, Zürich is built on a settlement that
existed probably fifteen hundred years before Christ--not so very far
from the time of Abraham.”
“Who were they?”
“Some think they were of the same race as the Etruscans. It is
probable that they were attacked by the Kelts, who burnt their
villages.”
“I suppose it was Kelts who attacked Hannibal.”
“Probably; they were Allobrogi. The Kelts were always freedom-loving.”
“I remember what Kant says about the people of mountains loving
freedom: ‘The peoples that dwell around and on the mountains are very
strong and bold and in all ways seek to assert their freedom--_ihre
Freiheit zu behaupten_. But this probably comes from the fact that in
such regions it is very easy for a few to defend themselves against
great armies, and, moreover, the mountain-peaks are uninhabited and
uninhabitable; in the valleys also little wealth is to be found and no
one is especially tempted to dwell in such regions.’ He also claims
that the peoples that do live there and are vegetarians are the
freest.”
“I am not so certain about the valleys not tempting to invasion. Do
you know one of the most interesting episodes in Swiss history is the
coming of the Saracens? Yet they left surprisingly few remains--a few
medals without dates--a few names embedded in other names--like
Pontresina, which is Pons Sarecenorum.”
“I know it is, because one of my favourite novels is Viktor von
Scheffel’s ‘Ekkehard.’”
“Do you know that?”
“Indeed I do, and, above all things, I want to go to the Lake of
Constance--your Bodensee--and make a pilgrimage to the Hohentwil,
where Ekkehard taught the duchess Latin and she taught him love.”
“We will go there together; that will be an excellent excursion.”
This plan also, I will say here, we carried out, visiting at the
same time Constance and two or three other towns on the lake, and also
the Falls of the Rhine. Really, to know Switzerland, one would have to
live here years. Everywhere I go the charm and variety of it grows on
me. Mountains, mountains everywhere! I can say with old Coryat:--
“Such is the height of many of these mountains that I saw at the least
two hundred of them that were ‘farre aboue’ some of the clouds!”
I was glad that Constance, which controls the mouth of its lake, has
also its Reformer--John Huss--to compare with Geneva’s Calvin and
Zürich’s Zwingli; they prize him all the more because they put him to
death!
[Illustration: THE FALLS OF THE RHINE.]
The Professor and I talked of all manner of things,--antiquities,
Swiss history, which, except in spots, and its final results, is not
very inspiring; strikes and labour-troubles, woman-suffrage, the
growth of commercialism, the Swiss railways and the advantage of
having them owned by the state, and education. We forgot that it
rained. But the following morning the storm showed symptoms of
dissolution, and the Professor and I sallied forth to see the city.
Every city is worthy of a hundred books; for every city is full of
human beings, or else of history, or both. Zürich has nearly two
hundred thousand inhabitants and also has its history. I had seen
lying on the library table a beautifully printed and well illustrated
pamphlet describing the restoration of the Fraumünster, which was
completed in 1912. That venerable building settles Zürich’s historic
solidity. There were found in it, or rather under it, traces of the
little church which was torn down in the Ninth Century to make room
for the Carolingian minster, which has been so successfully repaired.
We went around it and into it and the Professor pointed out to me the
relics of its most ancient carvings, more or less mutilated
inscriptions, grave-stones--one of them to the Ritter Berngerus von
Wile, dated 1284.
“Did you know that in the Thirteenth Century when Berngerus,--I wonder
if he was a bear-slayer,--when Von Wile was living in Zürich,--there
was a regular school of poetry here? Heinrich Mannes, the Probst of
the Abtei, who founded the Library, had charge of it. He died in 1270.
Rüdiger Mannesse had a great collection of song-books, and the tests
in ‘Mastersong’ were much enjoyed. Count Krafto von Toggenburg was
afterwards Probst of the Abtei. It is supposed that Hadloub was
his pupil. He was the nephew of Elizabeth von Wetzikon, the
Fürstabtissin, who made him chaplain of St. Stephen’s outside the
walls. This Elizabeth von Wetzikon’s mortuary inscription was found in
the old church, but badly mutilated. The Zürich Antiquarian Society
has published nearly three score of Hadloub’s poems. I read some of
them. There is one that reminded me of the old English song--‘Sumer is
i-kumen in--lude sing kuku.’ It begins:--
“‘Sumer hât gesendet ûz sîn Wunne;
Seht die bluomen gênt ûf dur daz gras.
Lûter klâr stêt nû der liechte sunne
Dâ der winter ê vil trûebe was.’”
[Illustration: THE FRAUMÜNSTER.]
As it was still cloudy we went into the Swiss National Museum. A hasty
glance at the old furniture, at the stained glass--the best collection
in the world--made it evident that a week was all too short for
Zürich--I should want at least a week for that wonderful museum alone.
And with such an intelligent guide as Professor Landoldt it was most
edifying. When we came out the sun was shining and we went to the top
of the Polytechnikum and got that bird’s-eye view of the town which is
the best introduction. I shall always remember the beauty of it; I
can see with my mind’s eye the twin towers of the Gross-Münster--not
that they are beautiful, at least not their caps--and (from closer
observation) the quaint statue of Charlemagne with his gilded crown
and sword.
“The molasses-sandstone which was used for building so many of the old
edifices in Zürich,” said the Professor, “comes from quarries at the
upper end of the lake that were known in Roman times. Unfortunately it
crumbles rather readily ‘under the tooth of time.’ Some of the
carvings on the old cathedral are most quaint and curious, as you will
see. For instance, on the third story is a knight dressed in tunic and
chlamys. He may have been meant for Rupert, an Alleman duke, or for
Burkhart, Duke of Suabia. Besides the human and angel figures you will
see birds and all sorts of four-footed creatures, many of them
imaginary or apocalyptic. It is odd that the statues and decorations
do not refer to Biblical subjects but rather to heathen
imaginations--chimeras, dragons, hippogrifs, sirens, lions eating men
who are certainly not meant to be Daniels; there are a winged
crocodile devouring a giant’s ears, a toad standing on its head, a
bearded Hercules strangling twisted serpents, Delilah cutting Samson’s
hair, wolves biting at a boar, skinny monkeys with skulls at their
mouths, a face with fish coming out of the mouth and ears, centaurs
shooting bows, conventionalized grapes and monsters eating them, and
the like.
[Illustration: THE QUAINT STATUE OF CHARLEMAGNE.]
“The first towers,” he went on to say, “were in Romanesque style and
not intended to rise much above the roof; there should have been a
separate campanile; at the end of the Fifteenth Century both towers
were built higher in Gothic style. I think it was the ambitious
Bürgermeister Waldmann, envious of the tall towers of Basel and
Fribourg, who had them elevated. To meet the expenses he himself
contributed three hundred gulden, and taxed the whole priesthood from
the bishop down, but he did not live to see his ambition carried out.
These towers went through various vicissitudes. In 1490 a pointed cap
ornamented with lead was put on each, but the lead was too heavy and
was taken off twenty years later and the caps were covered with larch
shingles. These lasted till they caught fire in 1575; then a copper
top was put on; then shingles again; then in 1763 it was struck by
lightning and burned to the bell-deck. In 1770 a stone gallery with
pyramids on the four corners showed itself. The present rather
ridiculous top--the octagonal wooden helmets--dates back to 1779.”
“There must be any amount of interesting remains all around Zürich,”
said I, leading him on.
“Indeed there are. A number of years ago the favourite spot for
viewing Zürich was up on the Balgrist, where you look down into the
Limmat valley and across the lake to the mountains. In 1814, I think
it was, some labourers requiring material to mend the roads with dug
down and discovered some skeletons. It was supposed to be remains of
soldiers killed in the battle between the Russians and the French in
1799 and they gave these remains Christian burial. But they were
really prehistoric. Afterwards all sorts of things were found there,
but, as it was not then a scientific age, most of them were lost. The
place is Entebüchel, which local etymology interprets as the Hill of
the Giants; Büchel, equivalent to Hühl, meaning hill, and Ente the
local word for giant. But it really means ‘Beyond the Hill,’ the word
_ent_ or _ennet_ being an Alleman word.”
“What is the oldest monument in Zürich?”
“Oh, probably a grave-stone of the Second Century, which some Roman
official set up to his beloved son; it stands in the present
Lindenhof and has the words ‘Statio turicensis’ carved on it. When
this region became Roman the tax-collectors dwelt here. After the fall
of the Romans, the Allemanni came, then the Franks, then the German
kings. Zürich was a palatinate, which means, as you know, palatium
regis; a palace where the kings stayed when they visited here. Really,
you might spend a life-time studying the history of Zürich and this
lake. I shall like you to compare the Lake of Geneva with our much
smaller Zürich Lake,” said Herr Landoldt. “I shall take you on a trip
around it.”
He was true to his promise. After he had shown me all the sights of
his splendid city--the largest in Switzerland--we made the tour of the
lake. It has not the beauty of colouring of Lake Leman; it is a pale
green but “the sweet banks of Zürich’s lovely lake” are what the
French call _riant_, a little more than our smiling; and the
background of snow-covered Alps is magnificent. The lake is about ten
times as long as it is wide and is one hundred and forty-two meters
deep. Just as from the end of Leman rushes the Rhône, so from the
Zürich end of its lake rushes in a torrential dash the green Limmat.
On the left shore, at the place where it attains its greatest width,
are the two little islands of Lützelau and Ufenau. On Ufenau is a
church and a chapel dating from about the middle of the Twelfth
Century. Here died in 1523, Maximilian’s poet-laureate, Luther’s
zealous partizan, the high-tempered, witty, impetuous Ulrich von
Hutten. He had to flee from his enemies, and found a refuge through
the protection of his fellow-reformer, Zwingli, who exercised somewhat
the same commanding influence in Zürich as Calvin did in Geneva. I had
never read any of Von Hutten’s works, but I found an excellent edition
of them in the Professor’s library and I read with much amusement some
of the sarcasms which he put into verse in his “Awakener of the German
Nation.”
We went to Rapperswyl--the ending _wyl_ or _wil_ reminds one of the
multitude of New England towns ending in _ville_ and has the same
origin--and spent an hour in the Polish National Museum founded in
1870 by Count Broel-Plater and installed in the Fourteenth-Century
castle, which came to the Hapsburgs when its founders lost it. It
seemed strange to see all the memorials of a vanquished
people--weapons, banners and ornaments, portraits and historical
pictures--on the walls or in the cabinets of a city so far away.
[Illustration: RAPPERSWYL.]
We got back to Zürich in the evening, and the Professor called my
attention to the romantic effect of the lighted boats plying on the
glittering waters. There was a brilliant moon, too, and a more
beautiful scene I have rarely witnessed than the city with its myriad
lights.
* * * * *
My week went like a breath. Before I knew it, we were off for our trip
through the Austrian Tyrol. Will and Ruth appeared in due time, and,
to my surprise, they brought Lady Q. with them. It is one of the
curiosities of travel that one is always meeting the same persons. We
should have toured the Bernese Oberland had not motor-vehicles been
barred. But in the Tyrol splendid roads have been constructed and
those incomparable regions are a paradise for travel. To detail the
itinerary would be merely a catalogue with superlatives for
decoration. To describe the journey with all its memorable
details,--picturesque towns, valleys sweeping down between rugged
mountains, rivers and cataracts, would occupy a book as big as a
dictionary. I noticed that we came to the third class of
mountain-peaks: the first was Dents, the second was Horns, and now we
found the term was Piz. One of the most fascinating little places that
we visited on a side trip to Davos-Platz was Sertig Dörfli, with its
attractive church and its view of the Piz Kesch. At Davos lived John
Addington Symonds, and I pleased my niece especially by reciting his
beautiful sonnet: “’Neath an uncertain moon.” Besides that Piz we saw
Piz Michel and Piz Vadret and Piz Grialetsch. In several cases, where
we could not go in the car, we went either by train or by carriage. At
Sils, also, finely situated on the largest of the Engadine lakes,
there were still more Pizes: Piz della Marga, Piz Corvatsch, Piz Güz.
There is no end to them.
We took the advice of some chance acquaintances who had been motoring
through the Tyrol. We went to Bozen, and, after spending the night
there, we followed the Val Sugana and the Broccone and Gobbera passes
and then the new roads of the Rolle, the Pordoi and the Falzarego into
the Dolomites. Of course the Dolomites do not belong to Switzerland as
a State but only geologically. We crossed over into Italy and enjoyed
the drive by the Italian lakes--a succession of “dreams of beauty,” as
Lady Q. said with more truth than originality. We spent a day in Milan
and then returned to Switzerland by the Saint-Gotthard.
[Illustration: _Serlig Dörfli_]