Freiburg, with its aerial suspension-bridges, is also on a peninsula,
formed by the Sarine; with its old walls, old watch-towers, its piled-up
old houses, and streets that go upstairs, and its delicious cherries,
which you can eat while you sit in the square by the famous linden-tree,
and wait for the time when the organ will be played in the cathedral.
For all the world stops at Freiburg to hear and enjoy the great
organ,--all except the self-satisfied English clergyman, who says he
does n't care much for it, and would rather go about town and see
the old walls; and the young and boorish French couple, whose refined
amusement in the railway-carriage consisted in the young man's catching
his wife's foot in the window-strap, and hauling it up to the level of
the window, and who cross themselves and go out after the first tune;
and the two bread-and-butter English young ladies, one of whom asks the
other in the midst of the performance, if she has thought yet to
count the pipes,--a thoughtful verification of Murray, which is very
commendable in a young woman traveling for the improvement of her little
mind.
One has heard so much of this organ, that he expects impossibilities,
and is at first almost disappointed, although it is not long in
discovering its vast compass, and its wonderful imitations, now of a
full orchestra, and again of a single instrument. One has not to wait
long before he is mastered by its spell. The vox humana stop did not
strike me as so perfect as that of the organ in the Rev. Mr. Hale's
church in Boston, though the imitation of choir-voices responding to the
organ was very effective. But it is not in tricks of imitation that this
organ is so wonderful: it is its power of revealing, by all its compass,
the inmost part of any musical composition.
The last piece we heard was something like this: the sound of a bell,
tolling at regular intervals, like the throbbing of a life begun; about
it an accompaniment of hopes, inducements, fears, the flute, the violin,
the violoncello, promising, urging, entreating, inspiring; the
life beset with trials, lured with pleasures, hesitating, doubting,
questioning; its purpose at length grows more certain and fixed, the
bell tolling becomes a prolonged undertone, the flow of a definite life;
the music goes on, twining round it, now one sweet instrument and now
many, in strife or accord, all the influences of earth and heaven and
the base underworld meeting and warring over the aspiring soul; the
struggle becomes more earnest, the undertone is louder and clearer;
the accompaniment indicates striving, contesting passion, an agony of
endeavor and resistance, until at length the steep and rocky way is
passed, the world and self are conquered, and, in a burst of triumph
from a full orchestra, the soul attains the serene summit. But the rest
is only for a moment. Even in the highest places are temptations. The
sunshine fails, clouds roll up, growling of low, pedal thunder is heard,
while sharp lightning-flashes soon break in clashing peals about the
peaks. This is the last Alpine storm and trial. After it the sun bursts
out again, the wide, sunny valleys are disclosed, and a sweet evening
hymn floats through all the peaceful air. We go out from the cool church
into the busy streets of the white, gray town awed and comforted.
And such a ride afterwards! It was as if the organ music still
continued. All the world knows the exquisite views southward from
Freiburg; but such an atmosphere as we had does not overhang them many
times in a season. First the Moleross, and a range of mountains bathed
in misty blue light,--rugged peaks, scarred sides, white and tawny at
once, rising into the clouds which hung large and soft in the blue; soon
Mont Blanc, dim and aerial, in the south; the lovely valley of the River
Sense; peasants walking with burdens on the white highway; the quiet and
soft-tinted mountains beyond; towns perched on hills, with old castles
and towers; the land rich with grass, grain, fruit, flowers; at
Palezieux a magnificent view of the silver, purple, and blue mountains,
with their chalky seams and gashed sides, near at hand; and at length,
coming through a long tunnel, as if we had been shot out into the air
above a country more surprising than any in dreams, the most wonderful
sight burst upon us,--the low-lying, deep-blue Lake Leman, and
the gigantic mountains rising from its shores, and a sort of mist,
translucent, suffused with sunlight, like the liquid of the golden wine
the Steinberger poured into the vast basin. We came upon it out of total
darkness, without warning; and we seemed, from our great height, to be
about to leap into the splendid gulf of tremulous light and color.
This Lake of Geneva is said to combine the robust mountain grandeur of
Luzerne with all the softness of atmosphere of Lake Maggiore. Surely,
nothing could exceed the loveliness as we wound down the hillside,
through the vineyards, to Lausanne, and farther on, near the foot of the
lake, to Montreux, backed by precipitous but tree-clad hills, fronted
by the lovely water, and the great mountains which run away south into
Savoy, where Velan lifts up its snows. Below us, round the curving bay,
lies white Chillon; and at sunset we row down to it over the bewitched
water, and wait under its grim walls till the failing light brings back
the romance of castle and prisoner. Our garcon had never heard of the
prisoner; but he knew about the gendarmes who now occupy the castle.