(_For the Mirror._)
The Grimsel is one of the stupendous mountains of Switzerland, 5,220
feet in height, as marked on Keller's admirable map of that country.
It is situated within the Canton of Berne, but bordering on that of the
Valais, and not far from Uri. The auberge represented in the sketch,
although not quite upon the very summit of the mountain, is almost
above the limit of vegetation, and far remote from any other dwelling.
Indeed, excepting a few _chalets_, used as summer shelter for the
attendants upon the mountain cattle, but deserted in winter, there is
no human habitation for many miles round; and it is one of the very few
spots where the traveller has an opportunity of reposing for the night,
under a comfortable roof, in so lofty a region of the atmosphere, amidst
scenes of Alpine desolation--or rather, the primitive elements of
Nature, "the naked bones of the earth waiting to be clothed."
The proprietor of this simple, but agreeable, auberge, is what Jeannie
Deans called her father, "a man of substance," and amongst other sources
of wealth possesses about three hundred goats, which contrive to pick
up their living from the scanty verdure of the surrounding hills.
Three times a-day they regularly assemble in front of the auberge to
be milked, affording the raw material for a considerable manufacture
of cheese. While we were lounging about before dinner, admiring the
beautiful shapes of the rocky peaks, which even in the beginning of
September were blanched with the previous night's snow, we were
pleasantly surprised by the sound of a cheerful bleating, which was
echoed on every side; and one after another the graceful creatures, as
small and playful as our kids, popped up amongst the fragments of rocks
from all quarters until the "gathering" was complete, and our meal was
enlivened by the treble of their voices as the milking proceeded. When
the operation was over, off they scampered again, "the _hills_
before them were to choose"--again to return in due season with their
bounteous store for the benefit of man. "This is not solitude." The milk
is rich, but tastes rather too strong of the goat to be agreeable to
every one at first, although probably we should soon have thought cow's
milk comparatively insipid. On the day's journey we had seen some of
these goats at a considerable distance from the auberge, and a young
man who carried our luggage, after giving chase to several, at length
caught one, and in spite of her remonstrances, milked her by main force
into the cup of a pocket flask, that we might enjoy a draught of the
beverage. Still holding the animal, he then filled the vessel more
than once for himself, and it was amusing to see the _gusto_ with
which he drank it off. We afterwards had the milk with coffee; indeed
both here and on the Righi it was "Hobson's choice," goat's milk or none
at all.
This auberge has been built on the Grimsel of late years for the
accommodation of travellers across the mountain passes; and it forms
a convenient night's resting place in a two day's journey on foot or
horseback (the only modes of threading these Alpine paths) between
the valley of Meyringen and that of Urseren. It may be useful briefly
to notice this route, in which the traveller will be charmed with
a succession of scenery on Nature's grandest scale. After leaving
Meyringen and its beautiful valley, called the Vale of Hasli, he looks
down from the top of a mountain pass upon a small compact, oval-shaped
valley, named, we believe Hasligrund, into which he descends, and then
climbs the mountains on the opposite side. Proceeding onward, he reaches
a small place, Handek, formed of a few wood chalets, and giving its name
to one of the finest waterfalls in Switzerland. The accessories of the
sublimest scenery give additional interest to the beauty of the fall, at
which our traveller will feel inclined to linger; he should endeavour
to be there about noon, when the sun irradiates the spray like dancing
rainbows. The rest of the day's route is, in general, ascending, and
partly across splendid sweeps of bare granite, until his eyes are
gladdened with the sight of the auberge.
On the second morning he crosses the remaining summit of the mountain,
and rises to cross the Furca, passing beside the Glacier of the Rhone;
perhaps the finest in all the Alps, which looks like a vast torrent
suddenly frozen in its course while tossing its waves into the most
fantastic forms. The traveller afterwards descends into the Valley of
Urseren, which extends straight before him for the distance of perhaps
twelve miles, with the Reuss winding through it, and the neat town of
Andermatt shining out from the opposite extremity. He passes through the
singular village of Realp, where he may refresh himself with a draught
of delicious Italian red wine, and afterwards arrives at the little
bleak town of Hospital, situated at the foot of the St. Gothard,
over which a new carriage-road into Italy has lately been made, with
galleries winding up the mountain as far as the eye can reach. He may
either take up his quarters for the night at Hospital, or proceed about
a mile farther to Andermatt, where the road turns off at right angles,
and where he may hire a car, if he wishes to go on the same evening
across the romantic Devil's Bridge to Amstag, a pretty village in the
bend of the splendid valley of the Reuss, whence the road leads on to
Altorf and Fluellen, on the bank of the lake of the Four Cantons, the
scene of the heroic exploits of William Tell.
Connecting the above sketch with one of the Fall of the Staubbach, in
the Valley of Lauterbrun, in a former _Mirror_, (No. 403,) we may
add, that the distance between the latter and Meyringen may also be
performed in two days, amidst scenes, if possible, of sublimer character
than the journey now described. From Lauterbrun across the Wengern Alp
to the Valley of Grindenwald is the first day, the route passing in
front of the Jungfrau, which throws up its magnificent ice-covered
summits with more enchanting effect than the imagination can conceive.
From Grindenwald, with its two fine glaciers, the path proceeds across
the great Sheidech, by the baths of Rosenlaui, one of the most beautiful
spots on this beautiful earth; and by the fall or rather falls, of the
Rippenbach, (for there are no less than eleven in succession beneath
each other,) to Meyringen.
We have thus pointed attention to a journey of four days, comprising
the chief points in the Oberland, or Highlands, through this region of
romantic wonders.