Lugano: The river Tessin and its bridge of ten arches: Bellinzono:
Entrance to the great St. Gothard Tunnel: Andermatt Station: St.
Bernard’s Hospice: The Devil’s Bridge: The Wood Cutter at Work: William
Tell’s Chapel: His story: Entrance to Lucerne: Our Hotel: Our visit to
the mountain top of Sonnenberg, etc.
Our stay at Lugano was only for a few minutes, it looks very much like
the town of Buxton, in Derbyshire, “Peakland.” The houses are built of
stone, the streets are white and clean looking. It has a population of
about 7,000, and has a little trade in silks, leather, hats, and some
shoes. It is an important railway depot, as it stands very near the
frontier, dividing Italy and Switzerland. The Roman Catholics have a
very fine church, and, as an accessory, a very extensive nunnery. The
river Tessin runs near and the town is protected by a very large dam,
nearly a mile long. We crossed this river as we left for Lucerne, over a
fine granite bridge of ten arches and something like seven hundred feet
long. As we left behind us this pretty little town, we were soon
recompensed by ever changing scenery that no pen can fully describe.
[Picture: St. Gothard Tunnel]
About an hour brought us to another stopping place, Bellinzono. From
here we run side by side with the river Ticino, a very fine river, and
here began to ascend rapidly towards the Alps and the great tunnel of St.
Gothard, which is the largest in the world, and by a long way the most
costly. On our way we had a good view of Monte San Salvatore, some three
thousand feet high, and beautifully covered with green vegetation right
to the summit, and its sides are dotted over with little white
homesteads, they look very pretty in the distance. We soon reached the
entrance to the great tunnel, which is a marvel of engineering skill. It
is built in corkscrew fashion. As we proceeded into the darkness, in
about ten minutes or less we came into daylight for a few seconds and
found we were about two hundred feet above the little church we had
passed a few minutes before. Again we plunged into darkness, again we
emerge into daylight, only to find the church is now about six hundred
feet below us, and this is repeated, we see the church five times and
ultimately we reach the top, about seven thousand feet above sea level.
I think the station is called Andermatt. Here we stopped for a little
while, we bought some postcards with views of the tunnel and of some of
the scenery about here. The cold was intense, the air very rarified.
Not far from here is a Hospice where the dogs, the great St. Bernard dogs
are kept for the purpose of protecting the mountain pass. Before the
railway was made there was a road that was passable with guides and
mules, though, not unfrequently, storms would overtake the party and they
would get lost in the snow, or some venturesome individual would go very
near the edge of the precipice, and, as the snow hung over considerably,
with his weight it would break loose and cause an avalanche of snow to
fall, which would take the whole party into the gulf below, sometimes two
or three thousand feet. At other times, overtaken by terrible
snowstorms, the party and guide would lose their way, and so get buried
in the drifts. On such nights the monks of the hospice would go out with
the dogs and listen for cries of help. It is stated that scores have
been saved from being frozen to death by the great St. Bernard dogs.
After leaving Andermatt, we again pierced the mountain in this great
tunnel, now we began to descend. Coming into daylight the sight that met
our view was simply enchanting, we were right on the top of the Alps and
could see the great peaks and the lesser mountains covered with eternal
snow. Down we descended to Wassen, here we crossed a foaming cataract
(by an iron bridge) that had cut for itself a deep gorge in the side of
the mountain. A little further we crossed what has come to be called
“The Devil’s Bridge.” This is in the midst of scenery of the wildest
nature imagination can conceive. Why it is called by such a name I don’t
know, only the awful desolation of the place, the awe inspiring grandeur
of the cliffs, the terrible roar of the river one hundred feet below, and
the shrieking of the wild wind, aptly called by the natives, “Hutshelm,”
or “hat rogue.” Certainly it is an eerie, creepy sensation that steals
over you as you pass. On we glide, now through narrow rocky defiles,
then crossing chasms of great depths, as we did so we leaned out of the
windows and tried to guess the depth of the yawning gulf beneath us. It
made us dizzy to look down. Proceeding, we came into the pine zone, and
the black forests of these lovely pine trees seemed to be stuck on their
mountain shelves as if staring at us and saying: “Why do you come
uninvited into this quiet sanctuary of nature, too deep, too awful to be
trodden by man?” Passing along we discovered the woodcutters were
clearing out the pine trees on their mountain heights. To fell the trees
the men seemed to be chained or roped on the rocky precipices, and the
trees, when cut down, fall upon wires ingeniously hung from trees or
large posts fastened in the mountain side and reaching for a distance of
two or three miles. We saw the trunks of trees sliding along and down
these wires as fast as our train was running. We were not long before we
came to the Lake of Uri, which may be said to be out of the mountain
ranges, and just by there we saw the Chapel, erected at a very early
date, and re-built in 1880, to the memory of Switzerland’s great hero,
William Tell.
[Picture: William Tell’s Monument]
He was famous as a crossbowman, could shoot an arrow with great
precision. The Canton in which he was born and lived was partly, if not
entirely, under Austrian rule of that time, and so imperious was Gesler,
the Governor, that he demanded of his people that when his hat was hung
up in the market place of the town, every one passing should doff his hat
and bow to it. William Tell refused to be so humiliated, and, as the
result of his refusal, he was arrested, and it was demanded of him to
shoot through an apple placed on the head of his only child, a boy of
ten, at a distance of fifty yards. This, Tell accomplished without
injury to his son; he, however, declared in his own mind the next arrow
should go into the heart of Gesler, the tyrant. Tell, however, was not
liberated, but was being taken a prisoner to the castle across this lake.
While crossing, a very sudden squall arose, threatening to upset the boat
which had Gesler and his prisoner Tell on board. So severe was the storm
that Tell was liberated from his chains and asked to take an oar, it was
known that he was a clever oarsman. Tell saw his opportunity, he ran the
boat on the rocks, then leaping out he pushed the boat off into the lake
again. Gesler, however, managed to land, but he fell to the arrow of
Tell who had watched and waited for him for some time. To be relieved of
so imperious a Governor was to constitute Tell an hero, hence the keeping
his memory green by building a chapel; he is also commemorated in song as
well as in story. Tell sings:
“Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again! Oh! sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads unto the sky;
How huge you are! how mighty and how free,
Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose smile
Makes glad—whose frown is terrible—whose forms
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear
Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,
I’m with you once again! I call to you
With all my voice, I hold my hands to you
To show they still are free, I rush to you
As though I could embrace you! Scaling yon height
I saw an eagle near its brow
O’er the abyss: his proud expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
I bent my bow, yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as if in great delight.
The death that threatened him, he knew it not,
I could not shoot!—’Twas liberty,
I turned my bow aside and let him soar away.
Passing along we were on the side of the lovely lake of Lucerne, and as
it was after seven o’clock as we rounded the hillside, and passed the
rocky precipices of the hills we could see the twinkling lights of the
town some two miles away. We steamed into a beautiful station, I think
Lucerne station, for beauty, for comfort, and arrangement, is the best we
have seen on our lengthy tour. We alighted from the carriage on to a
lovely platform. Porters in attendance, our luggage conveyed most
expeditiously to the ’bus of the Hotel de L’Europe, and soon we were
bowling along to that very delightful hotel. We found the place all that
could be desired by the most scrupulous. We had an excellent bedroom,
clean, dry and comfortable. Our luggage disposed of, a wash and brush,
and away we go to enjoy a splendid table-de-hote. We did justice, I am
sure, to the good things so abundantly provided, for there was no stint,
no lack of variety, and served with great delicacy and tact. We were not
long after we had had dessert before we began to feel we needed Nature’s
sweet restorer, balmy sleep, and to bed we went. Seeing the nets for the
mosquitoes were hanging on, we examined the room as far as we could and
we came to the conclusion the room was void of the troublesome creatures.
Sleep fell upon us sound and refreshing, when we awoke we found we had
been the victims of the evil creatures, for we were both bitten in one or
more places. Still, as the Yorkshire man said, “It mud a bin war.” We
arose refreshed, and were anxious to see the Rigi mountain, and the still
more popular Pilatus. First we drew the blinds, stepped out on to the
balcony, we found a lovely garden under our window. It was beautifully
laid out with flower beds and gravel walks. We stood and gazed, seeming
to doubt if it was real, that we were really on earth. Could it be the
Garden of Eden? It is like an exquisite dream. The scene seems to
thrill like the sweetest chords of music. The hotel is like a palace,
such lovely roses, charming walks, sculpture and vases on all sides,
broad flights of stone steps leading in and out of the grounds to the
hotel, and around the grounds massive trees with all manner of names.
The Lake of Lucerne, just peeping through the trees, and the mountain
ranges beyond, peak above peak covered with their snow white mantle made
the scene entrancing. After we had tired our eyes with looking on the
lovely landscape we went to enjoy our dejeuner of fish, fowl, bacon, eggs
and coffee. We left our hotel for the first visit into the lovely town
of Lucerne. It is not a large town but well built and kept very clean.
The accommodation for getting about is good, by tram or ’bus or cab, and
not too expensive. We soon found ourselves in the centre of an industry
of silk and cotton works, making all kinds of fancy articles of ladies’
wear and of the very finest materials. Young girls sitting in the shop
fronts, and, indeed, in the doorway, plying their needles and crocheting
hooks. A large number are employed in this branch of industry. Also the
shops for toys were strangely attractive, chiefly made of wood by the
mountaineers, while waiting for parties. The Swiss guide lives in the
rocky regions, has a cow or two, and two or three goats, and is prepared
to be used as a guide, or he fills in his time with making boxes of all
sizes and shapes, pipes, animals of various kinds, indeed, almost
anything you can imagine he can carve out of wood, with his knife. Time
is not very valuable, so he works away until he has completed his work,
which finds its way into the shops and so, finally, gets to England,
France or Germany, as a toy for boys’ or girls’ amusement. We soon found
our way to the front of the Lake of Lucerne. It is a charming lake, the
colour is simply indescribable, it is neither blue nor green, but a
lovely tint made up of both. As we looked across this beautiful water we
could see orchards and meadows sloping right down to the water’s brink.
Straight in front stood the mighty mountain called the Rigi. As we stood
awe struck with delight to watch the vapours chased away by the coming
sun and the rugged face of the mountain laid bare in all its grandeur and
power, the sun shed its glow over rock and tree, and the stony monarch
seemed to salute you with a smile. On the other side, that is at our
right hand, old Pilatus, rugged and bare, seemed to look down upon the
lake with a frown, and between the two giant mountains we could see the
wondrous Alps, peak upon peak in a wonderful variety, clad in their
mantle of eternal snow. And now above us and around us is the sunshine
of, to us, unusual brilliancy and a sky of faultless blue, not a single
cloud to be seen anywhere. The picture is one that will never fade from
our memories. It will enter into our life to remain a constant joy to
think of.
It was our intention to go up by rail to the top of the Rigi or Pilatus
or both, but other sights were so attractive that we kept putting off
that pleasure, as there seemed to be doubts if, on the very summit, there
might not be clouds to obscure the view, as the height of the Rigi is six
thousand feet, the height of old Pilatus seven thousand feet, and there
is an old saying put in rhyme that
“If Pilatus wears his cap, serene will be the day;
If his collar he puts on, you may venture on the way.
But if his sword he wields, at home you’d better stay.”
We ventured a visit up the Sonnenbergh. This is done by train, or it
would be more correct to say by carriage, for the train consists of one
carriage only. The engines seem to have their boilers tilted up on ends.
The railway has a central rail which is cogged, and into this endless cog
fits a wheel underneath the engine. This is really the driving wheel by
which it slowly moves up the steep gradient. We passed farms, orchards
and plantations, up and up. It is a curious sensation to find yourself
steadily moving up without any effort of your own, but still up we went
until we landed on a lovely plateau, with a charming hotel. The view
from this mountain height was beyond description. We left the train and
wandered into the woods and viewed our surroundings. I had a camera with
me so must get one or two pictures. We were ready to return by the next
train after being up almost in the clouds for two hours. Our curious old
steamer soon put us in safety again by the side of the lake, and from
here we made our way to our hotel for some refreshments and for a rest.
Again leaving our good “hostel” we visited the Glacier Gardens, these are
now enclosed and protected, and a small fee is charged to see the natural
wonders of this lovely and picturesque scenery. At the very entrance you
see what is called “The Lion Monument.” It is cut out of the solid rock.
[Picture: Lion of Lucerne]