determine. In following after me, my companions might have been buried
underneath its fall; or the guides might think that there was no
possibility of my escape, and thus give up the attempt to rescue me.
All this and more passed through my mind. What if I should never
reach my home, should never look into the faces of those I love! One
quiet look upward, and peace filled my heart. God was above me, and
around me; this terrible solitude spoke of his majesty, his might, his
power. These mountains were in my Redeemer's hands. His eye was upon
me, and I was safe.
The sun fell behind the western mountains, but his splendors deepening
as they died away, were succeeded by the softer beams of the moon that
rose full orbed above the lofty horizon. At first their mild
effulgence was only seen on the hoary head of the monarch of the Alps:
but as I gazed, summit after summit caught the silvery lustre, till
all above and below me was enveloped in the same glorious light.
Chateaubriand says that mountain elevations are no place for
contemplation; and certainly, surrounded by great dangers, it may
seem incredible that I indulged in it. Still, I cannot but attribute
my safety to this very state of mind--looking away from myself,
holding fast to my pike-staff, and rising spontaneously to the
adoration of that Being who commanded these mighty masses to take
their form and place. Every object seemed in silent but impressive
eloquence to celebrate His praise. The moon, with her attendant stars,
the spotless dome of Mont Blanc, the glittering glaciers and the
roaring torrents all seemed endowed with a voice to touch the heart of
man, and to assure him of a hearing from God.
The moon was rising higher: forced to keep one position, I was growing
stiff and weary, the wind chilled me, and there were ringing noises in
my ears: the enthusiasm that had sustained me grew less. Would they
ever find me? Glancing downward, I tried to discover lights. In
listening I grew numb, the mountains began to reel around me, the moon
and the stars danced before me, my senses began to wander. Should I
attempt to go forward? Would it not be better to throw myself down?
Once more I looked over the precipice, and just then a horn rang out
far below; then a voice apparently nearer. I tried to answer, but no
sound came; I tried to move, but was fast. The next I remember, a
guide was rubbing my breast with his rough hands; while another forced
open my mouth and poured something from a flask. How we got down, I
never knew. But the next day as Dr. Kemper told me of the excitement
of the guides as soon as my absence became known to them, and the fall
of the glacier, of the fear that I was buried beneath it, and of my
state when found, I could only adore still more His goodness that had
preserved me, while a still firmer purpose thrilled my being to live
for Him.
A prisoner in my room, Dr. Kemper told me the manner in which Saussure
made the ascent. A party of guides going up from Chamouni, one of them
by some means was far ahead of the others, when suddenly darkness
enveloped him. Cut off from his companions, he was obliged to pass the
night at the immense elevation of twelve thousand feet above the level
of the sea. Chilled, but not overcome, he had strength sufficient in
the morning to reconnoitre, and thereby found an access to the
mountain-top comparatively easy. On reaching Chamouni, he was seized
with severe illness, and in return for the kind care of his physician,
he told the doctor of the path he had discovered, and that if he felt
a desire to be the first man to stand upon the summit of Mont Blanc,
he would lead him to it. The doctor readily accepted, and on the
seventh of August, 1786, they began the ascent. Twice the physician,
overcome by fatigue and cold, turned his back upon the goal; but the
guide, more accustomed to hardships, urged him on, and at length he
was privileged to set his foot upon the loftiest elevation in Europe,
a triumph never before enjoyed by man.
From Berne To Basle.
Before leaving Lausanne I received an invitation from a friend in the
university at Basle to visit that city. To do this, we had to pass
Berne. The approach to this place is very pleasing: the country is
beautifully undulating, and in the highest state of cultivation. The
neighborhood indicated by its noise and bustle that we were
approaching a capital, and as we entered the city we found the streets
crowded with people in their gayest attire, and filled with corn and
cattle, and almost every article of commerce, it being market day. It
is a magnificent city. The houses are all built of stone, with arcades
in the principal streets, and rows of well-furnished shops. Fountains
are numerous, and streams of water flow through the centre of the
spacious streets, in deep and broad channels cut for their reception.
The city had a very gay appearance. The costume, the expression, the
language--all were new. I was greatly interested in my excursions
round the walls. The cathedral is a magnificent pile of gothic
architecture, occupying a bold elevation above the Aar. We found here
a remarkably fine organ, of great size, stretching across nearly the
whole breadth of the church.
Climbing up to the loft, we were told the story of a former organist,
a famous musician, somewhat independent, and yet sensitive and quick
to feel. Under the papal power Louis Steinway incurred the displeasure
of one of the dignitaries of the church, and his position as organist
was taken from him. Overcome with sorrow he at once proceeded to the
house of the bishop to make an explanation. Trembling with excitement
he so poorly explained the misunderstanding, as to give the prelate
even a worse idea of it than he had at first: the consequence was that
hard words were added to the burden already laid upon him. The poor
organist went home and was immediately taken down with severe illness,
and a few days afterward eluded his attendants and flew along the
streets to the cathedral, from which the people soon heard tones of
the organ issuing majestic and ravishing but unspeakably sad. As soon
as the wife knew of her husband's absence, she went to the cathedral.
Her husband was in his old place, his hands upon the keys, as if in
the act of playing, his head bent forward and drooping. He was dead!
From Berne the road climbs a hill immediately on leaving the gates of
the city, and passes between rows of trees, with a gentle slope on
either hand, covered with a soft fresh green and smooth as the finest
lawn. The glimpses of the city through the trees, with the windings of
the Aar, were extremely interesting. But a far nobler scene was
unfolded to the south, where an immense chain of Alps appeared like
the boundaries of some new world, to which their fearful precipices,
glittering peaks, and summits of untrodden snow for ever barred the
approach of man. The purity of the atmosphere gave them peculiar
distinctness of outline, while the beams of the setting sun gilded
their lofty brightness, that seemed to have more of heaven in it than
earth. Oh! if natural scenes can appear so lovely, what must that
purity and lustre be of which they are only the shadowy emblems?
We slept, and set out again at an early hour. Our route lay through
the finest portion of Switzerland. The land is chiefly pasturage, and
the meadows are extremely rich. Traversing a rocky pass, we came to
the castle of Kluss. Issuing from the pass we entered a smiling
valley, the hills gently rising to the right, clothed with forests of
fir; while on the left, rocks towered to an amazing altitude. On the
summit of what seemed to be an inaccessible crag, perched the ruins of
Falkenstein, and a few miles on, those of Wallenberg.
Soon after stopping to lunch, we came in sight of the Rhine, with the
dark woods of the Black Forest forming a background, and also the
frontier of the Austrian territory. Weary and still delighted with the
day, I was glad to hear the guides exclaim that Basle was before us.
The Rhine divides the city into two parts. Crossing the bridge, we
proceeded at once to the University. Bonnevard was there, and in the
society of my friend I forgot for the time every other consideration.
It was two weeks before I left, and in that time I had learned many
things, attending lectures with my friend, and enjoying the society of
some of the most illustrious names in literature and science.
After the lectures, Bonnevard was to go to Fribourg; and it was with a
view to accompanying him that I remained in Basle. Passing over the
bridge and through the little city, we left the canton, and entered
Germany by the territories of the grand duke of Baden. The Rhine was
on our left, the Black Forest, covering a series of rugged hills, at
some distance on our right; and we found a rich and beautiful
landscape at every step. Climbing the brow of a hill about twelve
miles from Basle, we obtained a charming view of the windings of the
river--the broad valley through which it passes, the dark undulations
of the forest, the towers and spires of the distant city, and the long
line of Alps in the background, rising in inexpressible grandeur and
glittering in the beams of the morning sun.
This was our last of the Rhine; our road taking the direction of the
Black Forest, and skirting it all the way to Fribourg. On the way,
Bonnevard gave me many sketches of real life, one of which, from
having seen the person in Basle, interested me deeply. The Black
Forest was formerly, and is now at certain seasons, greatly infested
by wolves. It so happened that a government officer, passing to
Vienna, was pursued by a ravenous pack of these animals; the
postilion spurred his horses until they began to flag, and the wolves
were gaining upon them. The officer feeling assured that all was lost,
was about giving himself up to be devoured, when a woodcutter and his
son emerged from the forest, armed only with knives or short daggers.
The hungry pack were diverted, and in the struggle that followed, the
postilion whipped up his horses and escaped. On reaching Vienna, the
officer sent back to see what had been the fate of the woodcutter. A
desperate battle had been fought; the father killed five of the
largest wolves, and then, seeing that escape was impossible, implored
the boy to fly, saving the life of his son by the sacrifice of his
own. In admiration for this deed, the people placed the family of the
woodcutter beyond want; and the lad showing a rare aptitude to learn,
and expressing only a wish to study, was sent to Basle, where he soon
distinguished himself as a scholar, and bids fair to become a man of
mark.
Fribourg is a fine old town, famous for its minster, and its
university. The minster is of gothic architecture, magnificently
carved, and of fine proportions. It is after the model of that at
Strasbourg, and is said to be one of the finest edifices in Germany.
Early in the morning, we took occasion to visit the cathedral. The
gates were open, and early as we considered it, many were kneeling
before the different altars. The interior of the church is grand and
magnificent, and abounds with sculptures and paintings of the most
costly description. In a small chapel in one of the aisles of the
church, we found an ordinary table covered with white linen, with
images of the Saviour and the twelve apostles seated around it,
figures of marble, as large as life. The expression of each face is
admirably given, especially those of John, who leans upon Jesus'
bosom, and of Judas, seated the last in the group, and grasping the
bag in his hand. It was so real and lifelike, that I could with
difficulty understand that the genius of man had fashioned it out of
cold and senseless stone.
From the cathedral we visited the library. It is a rare and valuable
collection, and belongs to the university. Here Bonnevard met with
many of his associates, and soon after we parted from him, with
regret. How pleasant it is to meet and talk with those we love; but
the parting makes it sweet to think of that world where there will be
no need of adieus.
End of Project Gutenberg's Scenes in Switzerland, by American Tract Society