INTERLACHEN AND BERNE.
The Staubach Fall--Lauterbrunnen--Interlachen--Cretins and Goitre--Dr.
Guggenbuhl--Giesbach Fall--Berne--Inquisitive Lady--Swiss
Creed--Crossing the Gemmi--Leuchenbad Baths.
The Staubach Fall, nearly a thousand feet high, is far from being such a
thing of beauty as I had hoped to find it. It comes from such a height
and has so small a body of water, that it dissolves into spray, and
falling upon the rocks gathers itself up again and leaps down into the
valley. Byron compares it to the tail of the white horse in the
Apocalypse. Wordsworth speaks of it as a "heaven-born waterfall," and
Murray likens it to a "beautiful lace veil suspended from a precipice."
It is just at the entrance of the village of Lauterbrunnen, which lies
in a valley literally gloomy and sublime. The sides of the mountains
that shut it in are precipitous and so lofty that in winter the sun does
not climb the eastern side till noon, and so cold is it through the
summer, that only the hardiest fruits can be raised. I counted between
twenty and thirty cascades leaping over the brow of these mountains and
plunging into the valley. In the calm of the evening, after the sun had
ceased to shine in it, I rode from the village to Interlachen, and
thought it the most mournfully pleasing ride in Switzerland. Others whom
I met, and who passed me on the way, appeared to regard it as purely
delightful, and perhaps few would find in it as I did, the materials of
melancholy musings.
But all these feelings soon gave way to those of calm enjoyment, when a
weary pilgrimage of a week was brought to a close in the beautiful
village of Interlachen.
We were at the hotel des Alpes; the largest and best boarding
establishment in the village, where, for a dollar a day the traveller
finds every comfort that a first class hotel affords. It was a very
bright day, and the sun had been shining with a ravishing clearness on
the snow-white breast of the Jungfrau. At the dinner-table, one of a
party of ladies inquired the meaning of Jungfrau, and being told that it
was German for a young unmarried lady, I ventured to say that it could
not be called the Jungfrau to-morrow. "And why not, pray," was instantly
demanded. "Because," said I, "she is certainly clad in her bridal robes
to-day."
Beyond all doubt, it is the most beautiful single mountain in
Switzerland. It is a calm, sweet pleasure to sit and look at her, as a
bride adorned for her husband: white exceedingly; pure as the sun and
snow; bright as the light, and glorious "as the gate of heaven."
Sometimes its lofty summit seems to be touching the vault of heaven, and
I could easily imagine that angels were on it, and not far from home.
The wide plain in the midst of which the village is planted is the
theatre of those yearly contests of strength and skill in which the
inhabitants of all the surrounding hills and valleys engage. On the
overhanging heights on your right hand as we go to Lauterbrunnen is the
Castle of _Unspunnen_, to which a legend attaches that I have not time
to tell. Byron is said to have had this scene before him when he made
his Manfred. Instead of telling you the doubtful story of this old
castle, I would rather give you some account of a modern and more humble
house on the hill.
It is in sight from the plain: not an imposing structure, but so far
above the vale, that you are tempted to inquire what it is, and with a
real pleasure you are told it is Dr. Guggenbuhl's Asylum for Cretins.
For weeks we have been pained almost daily with the sight of these
miserable objects. More distressing to the eye is the victim of the
_goitre_, which is a swelling on the neck, gradually enlarging with the
growth of the unfortunate subject, till it hangs down on the breast, and
sometimes becomes so heavy that the miserable individual is compelled to
crawl on the ground. What a strange ordering of Providence it is, that
these beautiful valleys should be infected with such a disgusting
disease. In the higher regions it is not known, but in low, damp valleys
where much water remains stagnant, it abounds. And so degraded are many
of the inhabitants, that some families regard it a blessing to have a
case of goitre, as it gives them a claim on the charity of others.
"Cretinism, which occurs in the same localities as goitre, and evidently
arises from the same cause, whatever it may be, is a more serious
malady, inasmuch as it affects the mind. The cretin is an idiot--a
melancholy spectacle--a creature who may almost be said to rank a step
below a human being. There is a vacancy in his countenance; his head is
disproportionately large; his limbs are stunted or crippled; he cannot
articulate his words with distinctness; and there is scarcely any work
which he is capable of executing. He spends his days basking in the sun,
and, from its warmth, appears to derive great gratification. When a
stranger appears, he becomes a clamorous and importunate beggar,
assailing him with a ceaseless chattering; and the traveller is commonly
glad to be rid of his hideous presence at the expense of a batz. At
times the disease has such an effect on the mind, that the sufferer is
unable to find his way home when within a few feet of his own door."
A young Swiss physician in Zurich, rapidly gaining fame and fortune in
his profession, one day saw a little _cretin_ near a fountain of water.
His heart was touched with a sudden sympathy, not for the single
unfortunate before him only, but for the thousands whom he knew to be
scattered over his magnificent country. His noble heart was moved as he
made an estimate of the numbers of his fellow beings in this helpless
and now hopeless condition. In a single valley where some ten or fifteen
thousand people live, not less than _three thousand_ cretins are found.
He could not redeem them all, but could he not do something for a few of
them--put a new soul into these bodies--snatch them from the lower order
of creation, from a lower level than the dog or the horse, and raise
them to the scale of man? It was a noble impulse; it was the beginning
of a noble work. In the virtuous heroism of the hour, he resolved to
give his life to the cause. Such a man could not have lived even a few
years in a community without gaining the affections of all the good, and
when it became known that the young physician would leave Zurich to
study abroad the subject to which he had consecrated his powers, the
poor people flocked about him, and held his knees beseeching him not to
forsake them. But his resolution was taken.
His observation and study taught him that in the more elevated regions
of the country, he would find the only place to locate a hospital, with
any hope of making improvement in the miserable cases on whom he might
make his experiments. Coming to this lovely vale of Interlachen, and
selecting a lofty and most commanding site, away above the old castle of
_Unspunnen_, with all the property that he possessed, and what he could
obtain from the charity of those who were willing to aid him in his
doubtful but philanthropic enterprise, he purchased a tract of mountain
land, and built a house of refuge, a hospital for idiots.
I rode a donkey up the hill, and with my German friend Heinrich on one
side of me, and my American friend Rankin on the other, we had a
delightful excursion through the forest; often emerging upon the side of
the hill from which we could look off on one of the loveliest scenes,
then winding our way by a most circuitous and sometimes a very steep
path, we at last overcame the four miles of travel, and found ourselves
at the door of the Asylum. At our call a young woman, evidently not a
servant, came to the door and showed us into a plainly furnished sitting
room, while she retired to announce to the Superintendent that strangers
would be pleased to view his establishment. She returned with the
register of visitors in which we were desired to write our names and
address. She then carried the book to the Doctor, who soon appeared,
gave us a cordial greeting, and invited us to walk with him through the
house. While we had been sitting there, an uproar was going on overhead,
as if the floor was to be broken through. Dr. Guggenbuhl led us directly
to the room where the riot was in progress. It was hushed as we entered.
But the cause was apparent. We were in the school-room, and teachers and
pupils were amusing themselves in the recess with all sorts of diverting
and boisterous plays. Here were thirty-seven idiots, of various ages
from three to thirty, in the way of being trained to the first exercise
of intelligent humanity, the art of thinking. The teachers are young
women, the daughters of Swiss Protestant pastors chiefly, devoting
themselves without fee or reward, like the Sisters of Charity, to this
painfully disagreeable task. Around the room are hung large pictures of
beasts and birds, which are designed to catch the attention of the
cretins, and to induce them to make inquiries. The first indication of a
desire to know any thing is seized upon with avidity and stimulated by
every encouragement. While we were standing there, several came in with
one of the teachers from a ramble in the woods. They had been for some
years in training, and were now awake to the world around them. They
brought in beautiful wild flowers which they had gathered, and were
delighted to show to us, describing their varieties, and exhibiting a
familiarity with the study that I did not dream of its being possible
for them to acquire. Feeble as were the exercises of these poor things,
it was a joy to know that they can be taught, and Dr. G. assured me that
he has had the pleasure and reward of seeing some of them so far
restored to sense, that they may be expected to provide for themselves,
and have some of the enjoyments of rational beings. He is obliged to use
his own discretion in the admission of pupils: his house will contain
but his present number, and hundreds must be denied his care, to whom he
would gladly extend it, if the rich would give him the means. He devotes
all his own property to their relief, and expects to give his life to
this self-denying work. In reply to my inquiries if his labors were
acknowledged by medical men abroad, he referred me to a score of
diplomas that had been sent to him from all the leading Societies on the
Continent of Europe and in England, but I saw none from America. Does
not my country know, and does it not delight to honor a man whose
philanthropy and genius are alike deserving the admiration of the world?
Among the poor idiots in this institution is one, the son of an English
Lord, sent far away from his native land, in the hope, faint indeed,
that the wonderful skill of this heroic man may open the eyes of this
child's understanding. What indeed is wealth, and title, and power, to a
fool? And O how happy they, who have joyous, bright and knowing little
ones, though only bread and milk to eat, and little of that.
The good doctor followed us to the brow of the hill, and with us admired
the lovely landscape away below, the richly tilled plain--the white
cottages scattered over it, and in its midst the beautiful village--wide
sheets of water around which the mountains stand and look down, solemn
and grand, in their everlasting silence and gray heads: and then we
pressed his hands long and earnestly, asking God to bless him, a noble
specimen of a Christian physician.
While at Interlachen we made excursions to the Geisbach Falls, which
have the preference in my view decidedly before all others in
Switzerland. We also made a trip to Berne, and passed a few days at the
_Couronne_ Hotel, one of the best in the land.--Every body has read of
the Bears of Berne, and there are many lions there to see, in the Museum
and out. The view of the Bernese Alps is worth the journey to
Switzerland. I saw them at sunset, in glory unrivalled and
indescribable.
Returning from Berne in the diligence, an elderly English lady sitting
in front of me, and hearing me converse with my friends, presumed I must
be a countryman of her own, and opened a catechism as follows--
_Lady._--"How long since you left England, Sir?"
_I._--About two months, Madam.
_Lady._--"When do you return, Sir?"
_I._--I hope in the Spring, Madam.
_Lady._--"Where do you spend the winter?"
_I._--In Syria.
_Lady._--"Good Lord, what a traveller you are!"
She took a pinch of snuff, and I resumed my notes and remarks with my
companion. She listened, and grew impatient to get hold of something by
which to learn who we were. She at last ventured to come toward the
point by asking,
"In what part of England do you reside, Sir?"
I am not an Englishman, Madam.
_Lady._--"Bless me, and of what country are you, pray?"
I am an American.
_Lady._--"O you are, are you? Well, I would not have thought it. Would
it be an _indiscretion_ for me to ask you what is your name, Sir?"
I gave her my name of course, but she was not satisfied. "Will you,"
said she, "have the goodness to give me your name in writing?"
I handed her my card, for which she thanked me, and then added, "I know
that you are making notes, and will write a book, and I shall hear of
you, &c.," and so she chatted on, amusing me not a little with her
loquacity.
We returned to Interlachen, and here a German lady who was travelling
with her family, begged me to allow her son, a student of Heidelberg, to
join my party, to make an excursion of a few days, and meet her at
Geneva. To this I assented, as it would increase our number to four, and
be quite agreeable. With this escort of young men, two Germans and one
American, I set off at daylight in the morning, to make the Gemmi Pass.
Along the shores of Lake Thun and by the castles of Wimmis and of
Spietz, we entered the beautiful vale of Frutigen, where the shepherds
and flocks, with their crooks and their dogs, gave us a sweet picture of
pastoral life. At a little tavern at which we halted for lunch, I found
the following Creed, framed and hung up in the dining-room. It was in
French.
"I believe in the Swiss country, the brave mother of brave men, and
in Freedom only begotten daughter of Helvetia, conceived in Grutli,
by the patriot in 1308 who suffered under the aristocrats and
priests, was crucified for many centuries, died and was buried in
1814; after sixteen years was again raised from the dead, came back
into the bosom of true patriots, from hence she shall come to judge
all the wicked. I believe in the human spirit which was delivered
from ignorance by knowledge and raised by Education. I believe in a
holy general brotherhood of the oppressed in Spain, Portugal, Poland
and Italy, the communion of all patriots, the destruction of all
tariffs, and the life everlasting of republics, Amen."
This is scarcely better than blasphemy; and it is probably one of the
formulas of faith on which the Continental conspiracies are formed. On
and up, the road led us to some beautiful falls of water, and between
perpendicular masses of rock that stood as if split asunder to give us a
passage through. We reached Kanderstey in the middle of the day, and met
parties returning from the Gemmi, who advised us against going on, as
there was every prospect of a coming storm. We were determined however
to press forward. I got a mule and a guide, and the young men were ready
to walk. We set off in good spirits, but as soon as we struck into the
defile which led up the hill, the mists began to thicken around us, and
it was impossible to call it any thing but rain. Three hours of steady
climbing brought us to the wretched inn of Schwarenbach, which Werner
makes the scene of a fearful tale of blood. We were wet and cold, but
found no fire, and the set of men and women inside were too dirty and
savage to tempt us to spend the night with them, as we were now heartily
disposed to do, if the quarters had been safe. I preferred to run the
risk of getting over the mountain to staying here. This was the
unanimous vote, and again we plunged into the storm. Dreary and dismal
was the way, along by the side of the Lake; the Dauben See, and in the
midst of broken masses of stone, strewed in wild disorder. We were near
the summit when the rain became snow and hail, and the winds swept
fearfully over us, so that I could not sit upon my mule. I had scarcely
dismounted, before he slipped on a ledge and fell; I might have broken
my neck had I fallen with him. No signs of a human habitation are on
this lonely height. And if there were, we could not find them in this
driving storm. There are no monks to come with their dogs to look us up,
if we lose the way. We must go over and down on the other side, or
perish. To return is impossible. Among the scattered fragments of rocks,
no path was to be seen; and we frequently feared that we had lost our
way. I followed the guide to the brink of a precipice two thousand feet
deep, and perpendicular. Down the face of this solid rock leads the most
wonderful of all the pathways in Switzerland. So narrow as just to allow
two mules to pass as they meet, the zigzag path is cut out of the solid
rock, and covered with earth and stones to prevent our feet from
slipping. The mule, by a wonderful instinct, walks upon the extreme
outer verge, lest in making the sudden turn his load should strike the
rock and tumble him off.
Sheltered somewhat from the rain by the overhanging rocks, we pursued
our weary way to the bottom; and then, through mud and mire and
darkness, drenched to our skins, we reached the Hotel Blanche at
Leukenbad.
This is the great bathing establishment of Switzerland. It is higher
above the sea than the summit of any mountain in Great Britain. Again
and again it has been swept away by avalanches, and is now protected by
a strong wall above the village. The water bursts out from the ground
immediately in front of our hotel, and supplies the baths, which are
twenty feet square, and in which a dozen or twenty men and women may be
seen, for hours, sitting with their heads only out of water, reading the
newspapers, or books, on little floats before them; playing chess; or
whiling away the time in some more agreeable manner.
The next morning, by a most romantic pathway along the borders of a vast
abyss, the scene of a bloody battle in 1799, we pursued our journey to
the valley of the Rhone, and taking the Great Simplon road, through
Sion, went to Martigny.