difficulties, and the knots which entangled our path have been cut in
two. Before I tell you where we are lodged, and before I describe to
you the character of our hosts, allow me the gratification of going
over in thought the road that we did not see before us without anxiety,
and which, however, we have left behind us without accident, though not
without difficulty. About seven we started from Munster, and saw before
us the snow-covered amphitheatre of mountain summits, and took to be
the Furca, the mountain which in the background stood obliquely before
it. But as we afterwards learned, we made a mistake; it was concealed
from our view by the mountains on our left and by high clouds. The
east wind blew strong and fought with some snow-clouds, chasing the
drifts, now over the mountains, now up the valley. But this only made
the snow drifts deeper on the ground, and caused us several times to
miss our way; although shut in as we were on both sides, we could
not fail of reaching Oberwald eventually. About nine we actually got
there, and dropping in at an auberge, its inmates were not a little
surprised to see such characters appearing there this time of the year.
We asked whether the pass over the Furca were still practicable, and
they answered that their folk crossed it for the greater part of the
winter, but whether we should be able to get across they could not
tell. We immediately sent to seek for one of these persons as a guide.
There soon appeared a strong thick-set peasant, whose very look and
shape inspired confidence. With him we immediately began to treat: if
he thought the pass was practicable for us, let him say so; and then
take one or more comrades and come with us. After a short pause he
agreed, and went away to get ready himself and to fetch the others.
In the meantime we paid our muleteer the hire of his beast, since we
could no longer make any use of his mule; and having eaten some bread
and cheese and drank a glass of red wine, felt full of strength and
spirits, as our guide came back, followed by another man who looked
still bigger and stronger than himself, and seeming to have all the
strength and courage of a horse, he quickly shouldered our portmanteau.
And now we set out, a party of five, through the village, and soon
reached the foot of the mountain, which lay on our left, and began
gradually to ascend it. At first we had a beaten track to follow which
came down from a neighbouring Alp; soon, however, this came to an end,
and we had to go up the mountain side through the snow. Our guides,
with great skill, tracked their way among the rocks, around which the
usual path winds, although the deep and smooth snow had covered all
alike. Next our road lay through a forest of pines, while the Rhone
flowed beneath us in a narrow unfruitful valley. Into it we also, after
a little while, had to descend, and by crossing a little foot-bridge
we came in sight of the glacier of the Rhone. It is the hugest we have
as yet had so full a view of. Of very great breadth, it occupies the
whole saddle of the mountain, and descends uninterruptedly down to the
point where, in the valley, the Rhone flows out of it. At this source
the people tell us it has for several years been decreasing; but that
is as nothing compared with all the rest of the huge mass. Although
everything was full of snow, still the rough crags of ice, on which
the wind did not allow the snow to lie, were visible with their glass
blue fissures, and you could see clearly where the glacier ended and
the snow-covered rock began. To this point, which lay on our left, we
came very close. Presently we again reached a light foot-bridge over
a little mountain stream, which flowed through a barren trough-shaped
valley to join the Rhone. After passing the glacier, neither on the
right, nor on the left, nor before you, was there a tree to be seen,
all was one desolate waste; no rugged and prominent rocks-nothing but
long smooth valleys, slightly inclining eminences, which now, in the
snow which levelled all inequalities, presented to us their simple
unbroken surfaces. Turning now to the left we ascended a mountain,
sinking at every step deep in the snow. One of our guides had to go
first, and boldly treading down the snow break the way by which we were
to follow.
[Sidenote: The passage over the Furca.]
It was a strange sight, when turning for a moment your attention from
the road, you directed it to yourself and your fellow travellers. In
the most desolate region of the world, in a boundless, monotonous
wilderness of mountains enveloped in snow, where for three leagues
before and behind, you would not expect to meet a living soul, while
on both sides you had the deep hollows of a web of mountains, you
might see a line of men wending their way, treading each in the deep
footsteps of the one before him, and where, in the whole of the wide
expanse thus smoothed over, the eye could discern nothing but the track
they left behind them. The hollows as we left them lay behind us gray
and boundless in the mist. The changing clouds continually passed over
the pale disc of the sun, and spread over the whole scene a perpetually
moving veil. I am convinced that any one who, while pursuing this
route, allowed his imagination to gain the mastery, would even, in the
absence of all immediate danger, fall a victim to his own apprehensions
and fears. In reality, there is little or no risk of a fall here; the
great danger is from the avalanches, when the snow has become deeper
than it is at present, and begins to roll. However our guide told us
that they cross the mountains throughout the winter, carrying from
Valais to S. Gotthard skins of the chamois, in which a considerable
trade is here carried on. But then to avoid the avalanches, they do
not take the route that we did, but remain for some time longer in the
broad valley, and then go straight up the mountain. This road is safer,
but much more inconvenient. After a march of about three hours and
a-half, we reached the saddle of the Furca, near the cross which marks
the boundary of Valais and Uri. Even here we could not distinguish the
double peak from which the Furca derives its name. We now hoped for an
easier descent, but our guides soon announced to us still deeper snow,
as we immediately found it to be. Our march continued in single file as
before, and the foremost man who broke the path often sank up to his
waist in the snow. The readiness of the people, and their light way of
speaking of matters, served to keep up our courage; and I will say, for
myself, that I have accomplished the journey without fatigue, although
I cannot say that it was a mere walk. The huntsman Hermann asserted
that he had often before met with equally deep snow in the forests of
Thuringia, but at last he could not help bursting out with a loud
exclamation, "The Furca is a ---------."
A vulture or lammergeier swept over our heads with incredible rapidity:
it was the only living thing that we had met with in this waste. In the
distance we saw the mountains of the Ursi lighted up with the bright
sunshine. Our guides wished to enter a shepherd's hut which had been
abandoned and snowed up, and to take something to eat, but we urged
them to go onwards, to avoid standing still in the cold. Here again is
another groupe of valleys, and at last we gained an open view into the
valley of the Ursi.
[Sidenote: The capuchins at Realp.]
We now proceeded at a shorter pace, and after travelling about three
leagues and a-half from the Cross, we saw the scattered roofs of Realp.
We had several times questioned our guides as to what sort of an inn,
and what kind of wine we were likely to find in Realp. The hopes they
gave us were anything but good, but they assured us that the Capuchins
there, although they had not, like those on the summit of S. Gotthard,
an hospice, were in the habit of entertaining strangers. With them
we should get some good red wine, and better food than at an inn. We
therefore sent one of our party forwards to inform the Capuchins of
our arrival, and to procure a lodging for us. We did not loiter long
behind, and arrived very soon after him, when we were received at the
door by one of the fathers--a portly, good-looking man. With much
friendliness of manner he invited us to enter, and at the threshold
begged that we would put up with such entertainment they could alone
offer, as at no time and least of all at this season of the year,
were they prepared to receive such guests. He therefore led us into
a warm room, and was very diligent in waiting upon us, while we took
off our boots, and changed our linen. He begged us once for all to
make ourselves perfectly at home. As to our meat, we must, he said,
be indulgent, for they were in the middle of their long fast, which
would last till Christmas-day. We assured him that a warm room, a bit
of bread, and a glass of red wine would, in our present circumstances,
fully satisfy all our wishes. He procured us what we asked for, and
we had scarcely refreshed ourselves a little, ere he began to recount
to us all that concerned the establishment, and the settlement of
himself and fellows on this waste spot. "We have not," he said, "an
hospice like the fathers on Mont S. Gotthard,--we are here in the
capacity of parish priests, and there are three of us. The duty of
preaching falls to my lot; the second father has to look after the
school, and the brother to look after the household." He went on to
describe their hardships and toils; here, at the furthest end of a
lonely valley, separated from all the world, and working hard to very
little profit. This spot, like all others, was formerly provided with
a secular priest, but an avalanche having buried half of the village,
the last one had run away, and taken the pix with him, whereupon he was
suspended, and they, of whom more resignation was expected, were sent
there in his place.
In order to write all this I had retired to an upper room, which is
warmed from below by a hole in the floor; and I have just received an
intimation that dinner is ready, which, notwithstanding our luncheon,
is right welcome news.
* * * * *
_About_ 9.
The fathers, priests, servants, guides and all, took their dinner
together at a common table; the brother, however, who superintended the
cooking, did not make his appearance till dinner was nearly over. Out
of milk, eggs, and flour he had compounded a variety of dishes, which
we tasted one after another, and found them all very good. Our guides,
who took a great pleasure in speaking of the successful issue of our
expedition, praised us for our uncommon dexterity in travelling, and
assured us that it was not every one that they would have undertaken
the task of being guides to. They even confessed also that this
morning, when their services were required, one had gone first to
reconnoitre, and to see if we looked like people who would really go
through all difficulties with them; for they were particularly cautious
how they accompanied old or weak people at this time of the year,
since it was their duty to take over in safety every one they had once
engaged to guide, being bound in case of his falling sick, to carry
him, even though it should be at the imminent risk of their own lives,
and if he were to die on the passage, not to leave his body behind.
This confession at once opened the flood-gates to a host of anecdotes,
and each in turn had his story to tell of the difficulties and dangers
of wandering over the mountains amidst which the people had here to
live as in their proper element, so that with the greatest indifference
they speak of mischances and accidents to which they themselves are
daily liable. One of them told a story of how, on the Candersteg, on
his way to Mount Gemmi, he and a comrade with him (he is mentioned on
every occasion with both Christian and surname) found a poor family
in the deep snow, the mother dying, her boy half dead, and the father
in that state of indifference which verges on a total prostration of
intellect. He took the woman on his back, and his comrade her son, and
thus laden, they had driven before them the father, who was unwilling
to move from the spot.
[Sidenote: The Capuchins at Realp.]
During the descent of Gemmi the woman died on his back, but he brought
her dead as she was to Leukerbad. When we asked what sort of people
they were, and what could have brought them at such a season into the
mountains, he said they were poor people of the canton of Berne, who,
driven by want, had taken to the road at an unseasonable period of
the year, in the hope of finding some relations either in Valais or
the Italian canton, and had been overtaken by a snow-storm. Moreover,
they told many anecdotes of what had happened to themselves during
the winter journeys over the Furca with the chamois-skins, on which
expeditions, however, they always travelled in companies. Every now
and then our reverend host would make excuses for the dinner, and we
redoubled our assurances that we wished for nothing better. We also
found that he contrived to bring back the conversation to himself and
his own matters, observing that he had not been long in this place.
He began to talk of the office of preaching, and of the dexterity
that a preacher ought to have. He compared the good preacher to a
chapman who cleverly puffs his wares, and by his pleasant words
makes himself agreeable to his customers. After dinner he kept up
the conversation, and, as he stood with his left hand leaning on
the table, he accompanied his remarks with his right, and while he
discoursed most eloquently on eloquence, appeared at the moment as if
he wished to convince us that he himself was the dexterous chapman.
We assented to his observations, and he came from the lecture to the
thing itself. He panegyrized the Roman Catholic religion. "We must,"
he said, "have a rule of faith; and the great value of it consists
in its being fixed, and as little liable as possible to change, We,"
he said, "had made Scripture the foundation of our faith, but it was
insufficient. We ourselves would not venture to put it into the hands
of common men: for holy as it is, and full as every leaf is of the
Spirit of God, still the worldly-minded man is insensible of all this,
and finds rather perplexities and stumbling-blocks throughout. What
good can a mere layman extract from the histories of sinful men, which
are contained therein, and which the Holy Ghost has there recorded for
the strengthening of the faith of the tried and experienced children
of God? What benefit can a common man draw from all this, when he is
unable to consider the whole context and connection? How is such a
person to see his way clear out of the seeming contradictions which
occasionally occur?--out of the difficulties which arise from the
ill arrangement of the books, and the differences of style, when
the learned themselves find it so hard, and while so many passages
make them hold their reason in abeyance? What ought we therefore to
teach? A rule of faith founded on Scripture, and proved by the best
of commentaries? But who then is to comment upon the Scripture? Who
is to set up this rule? I, perhaps, or some other man? By no means.
Every man has his own way of taking and seeing things, and represents
them after his own ideas. That would be to give to the people as many
systems of doctrines as there are are heads in the world, and to
produce inexplicable confusion as indeed had already been done. No, it
remains for the Holy Church alone to interpret Scripture to determine
the rule of faith by which the souls of men are to be guided and
governed. And what is the church? It is not any single supreme head, or
any particular member alone. No! it is all the holiest, most learned,
and most experienced men of all times, who, with the co-operation of
the Holy Spirit, have successively combined together in building up
that great, universal, and agreeing body, which has its great councils
for its members to communicate their thoughts to one another, and for
mutual edification; which banishes error, and thereby imparts to our
holy religion a certainty and a stability such as no other profession
can pretend to, and gives it a foundation and strengthens it with
bulwarks which even hell itself cannot overthrow. And just so is it
also with the text of the sacred scriptures. We have," he said, "the
Vulgate, moreover an approved version of the Vulgate, and of every
sentence a commentary which the church itself has accredited. Hence
arises that uniformity of our teaching which surprises every one.
Whether," he continued, "you hear me preaching in this most remote
corner of the world, or in the great capital of a distant country are
listening to the dullest or cleverest of preachers, all will hold one
and the same language; a Catholic Christian will always hear the same
doctrine; everywhere will he be instructed and edified in the same
manner. And this it is which constitutes the certainty of our faith;
which gives us the peace and confidence by which each one in life holds
sure communion with his brother Catholics, and at death can calmly part
in the sure hope of meeting one another again."
In his speech, as in a sermon, he let the subjects follow in due order,
and spoke more from an inward feeling of satisfaction that he was
exhibiting himself under a favourable aspect than from any bigotted
anxiety for conversion. During the delivery he would occasionally
change the arm he rested upon, or draw them both into the arms of his
gown, or let them rest on his portly stomach; now and then he would,
with much grace, draw his snuff-box out of his capote, and after using
it replace it with a careless ease. We listened to him attentively,
and he seemed to be quite content with our way of receiving his
instructions. How greatly amazed would he have been if an angel had
revealed to him, at the moment, that he was addressing his peroration
to a descendant of Frederick the Wise.
* * * * *
_November_ 13, 1779. _Among the Capuchins, on the summit of Mont S.
Gotthard, Morning, about 10 o'clock._
[Sidenote: Mount S. Gotthard.]
At last we have fortunately reached the utmost limits of our journey.
Here it is determined we shall rest awhile, and then turn our steps
towards our dear fatherland. Very strange are my feelings here, on this
summit, where four years ago I passed a few days with very different
anxieties, sentiments, plans, and hopes, and at a very different season
of the year, when, without any foreboding of my future fortunes, but
moved by I know not what, I turned my back upon Italy, and ignorantly
went to meet my present destiny. I did not even recognise the house
again. Some time ago it was greatly injured by an avalanche, and the
good fathers took advantage of this opportunity, and made a collection
throughout the canton for enlarging and improving their residence.
Both of the two fathers who reside here at present are absent, but,
as I hear, they are still the same that I met four years ago. Father
Seraphin, who has now passed fourteen years in this post is at present
at Milan, and the other is expected to-day from Airolo. In this clear
atmosphere the cold is awful. As soon as dinner is over I will continue
my letter; for, I see clearly we shall not go far outside the door.
* * * * *
_After dinner._
It becomes colder and colder; one does not like to stir from the stove.
Indeed it is most delightful to sit upon it, which in this country,
where the stoves are made of stone-tiles, it is very easy to do. First
of all, therefore, we will tell you of our departure from Realp, and
then of our journey hither.
Yesterday evening before we retired to our beds, the good father would
shew us his sleeping cell, where everything was in nice order, in a
very small space. His bed, which consisted of a bag of straw, with a
woollen coverlid, did not appear to us to be anything very meritorious,
as we ourselves had often put up with no better. With great pleasure
and internal satisfaction he showed us everything--his bookcase and
all other things. We praised all that we saw, and parting on the best
terms with each other, we retired for the night. In furnishing our
room, in order that two beds might stand against one wall, both had
been made unusually small. This inconvenience kept me long awake, until
I thought of remedying it by placing four chairs together. It was quite
broad daylight before we awoke this morning. When we went down we found
nothing but happy and friendly faces. Our guides, on the point of
entering upon their return over yesterday's beautiful route, seemed to
look upon it as an epoch, and as a history with which hereafter they
would be able to entertain other strangers, and as they were well paid
the idea of an adventure became complete in their minds. After this we
made a capital breakfast and departed.
Our road now lay through the valley of the Uri, which is remarkable as
having, at so great an elevation, such beautiful meadows and pasturage
for cattle. They make here a cheese which I prefer to all others. No
trees, however, grow here. Sally bushes line all the brooks, and on the
mountains little shrubs grow thickly together. Of all the countries
that I know, this is to me the loveliest and most interesting,--whether
it is that old recollections make it precious to me, or that the
perception of such a long chain of nature's wonders excites within me
a secret and inexpressible feeling of enjoyment. I take it for granted
that you bear in mind that the whole country through which I am leading
you is covered with snow, and that rock and meadow alike are snowed
over. The sky has been quite clear, without a single cloud; the hue far
deeper than one is accustomed to see in low and flat countries, and the
white mountain ridges, which stood out in strong contrast to it, were
either glittering in the sunshine, or else took a greyish tint in the
shade.
In a hour and a half we reached Hôpital,--a little village within the
canton of Uri, which lies on the road to S. Gotthard. Here at last I
regained the track of my former tour. We entered an inn, and though
it was as yet morning, ordered a dinner, and soon afterward began to
ascend the summit. A long train of mules with their bells enlivened
the whole region. It is a sound which awakens all one's recollections
of mountain scenery. The greater part of the train was in advance of
us, and with their sharp iron shoes had pretty well cut up the smooth
icy road. We also saw some labourers who were employed in covering the
slippery ice with fresh earth, in order to render it passable. The wish
which I formerly gave utterance to, that I might one day be permitted
to see this part of the world under snow, is now at last gratified. The
road goes up the Reuss as it dashes down over rocks all the way, and
forms everywhere the most beautiful waterfalls. We stood a long while
attracted by the singular beauty of one which in considerable volume
was dashing over a succession of dark black rocks. Here and there in
the cracks, and on the flat ledges pieces of ice had formed, and the
water seemed to be running over a variegated black and white marble.
The masses of ice glistened like veins of crystal in the sun, and the
water flowed pure and fresh between them.
[Sidenote: Mount S. Gotthard.]
On the mountains there is no more tiresome a fellow-traveller than a
train of mules; they have so unequal a pace. With a strange instinct
they always stop a while at the bottom of a steep ascent, and then dash
off at a quick pace up it, to rest again at the top. Very often too
they will stop at the level spots which do occur now and then, until
they are forced on by the drivers or by other beasts coming up. And so
the foot passenger, by keeping a steady pace, soon gains upon them, and
in the narrow road has to push by them. If you stand still a little
while to observe any object, they in their turn will pass by you, and
you are pestered with the deafening sound of their bells, and hard
brushed with their loads, which project to a good distance on each side
of them. In this way we at last reached the summit of the mountain,
which you can form some idea of by fancying a bald skull surrounded
with a crown. Here one finds oneself on a perfect flat surrounded
with peaks. Far and near the eye falls on nothing but bare and mostly
snow-covered peaks and crags.