We cannot be French very much longer, and must turn our tongue into
German. E. does not accompany us, so our own interpreters we shall have
to be. Our carriage contained, beside ourselves, a French gentleman and
an Italian gentleman, ‘we four, and no more.’ We sped on through villas
and villages, and fields of bright wild flowers, with but little of
interest, however, to detail.
Our Italian seemed troubled in regard to an apparently new glove which
he tore badly in raising a window. After a long, disconsolate look at
it, he took from his travelling bag, needle and thread, and went
carefully at work to repair the injury, but made a bad tangle of it. As
F. had implements handy, including a thimble, she offered to mend it
for him. He accepted graciously, and his handsome face grew luminous as
he watched his pet glove grow whole under her deft fingers. What might
he do for us? Would we drink wine with him? ‘No, thanks,’ we said. What
else he offered, to show his gratitude, we could not understand; when
out from his pocket he took a phrase-book of Italian and English words,
and pointed to the sentence, ‘Shall I sing for you?’ We gladly
acquiesced, and to our great delight he poured forth one of the
grandest, sweetest voices I ever in my life listened to. It was like
Brignoli’s in his best days. He sung the choicest airs from different
operas, and warbled, in his own musical language, tender songs. The
distinguished-looking French gentleman joined us in thanking him for
making the hours pass so delightfully--for it is a long run from Paris
to Geneva. We find fellow passengers, in this country, much more
thoughtful of the comfort of others than they are in England or America.
We also like the steam-cars here much better than our own, unless one
always rides in a Pullman. Even many of the second class cars have high
backs and cushions, all softly upholstered. Early in the afternoon a
thunderstorm struck us, and we had heavy showers. Later the sun shone
out brightly, and set gorgeously in red. At six P.M. we made our first
stop, at Dijon, and had at the station a fine table d’hôte dinner, wine
included, and we did all justice, for we were as hungry as bears, not
having provided ourselves with a luncheon, thinking we should stop
somewhere for one. Remember this, all who go from Paris to Dijon. Much
refreshed, we continued our journey to Macon, where we had planned to
spend the night, but our polite and helpful Frenchman, who had all along
the road kindly given us much information of the country we came
through, assured us that if we did so we could not reach Geneva until
three P.M. the next day, but if we kept on to Ambrieau, and would spend
the night there, we could take an early morning train and reach Geneva
at eleven A.M. So this we decided to do, bidding here our kind informant
adieu, as his home is in Lyons, hoping to be able in the future to
accept his invitation to sometime go through his silk factory, under his
escort.
We rolled into the little station at Ambrieau about ten P.M., our
Italian companion keeping on to Genoa, waving his last farewell from the
car window, with a white silk handkerchief in one hand and a scarlet one
in the other. To our dismay we found it raining in torrents, intensely
dark, and not a car or carriage, nor man or beast, to be found. The only
live article around was the station-agent, to whom we hurried back,
fearing he too would disappear, which he was making hasty preparations
to do. We ascertained from him that the principal inn of the place was
more than a mile distant, and no way of reaching it at that hour of
night but to walk. Near by, he said, was a small house where he thought
we could get a room and be comfortably lodged, and assured us we should
be safe. We could do nothing but accept. He piloted us across the street
and into the front room of a house, where some men were sitting around a
table drinking beer. A pretty girl was waiting upon them, with whom our
escort had some words, and without giving us attention she filled a
glass with beer for him. We began to feel a little uncomfortable, and
again asked our leader if we were safe. He answered ‘Oui, oui;’ but
still stood there. All at once we thought of his expected franc, on
putting which into his hand he retreated, leaving us in the care of the
pretty maid. She took our bags, and we followed her, through a dark rear
room, then through a large bare kitchen, out into the back yard. She led
us on, through the furious rain, up two long flights of stairs, built on
the outside of the house, and on the landing unlocked a door with a huge
iron key, which door creaked and squeaked on its hinges, as if they had
not been disturbed for many a day. As getting the door open was the work
of some minutes, we were pretty thoroughly soaked by the time we stepped
into the queer-looking entry, with its stone floor and roughly plastered
walls. Out of that we went into and through a long, narrow, crooked
hall, with a shrine at the extreme end, to our room. It was a small one,
with bare floor--a single bed, one chair, and a table with a wash-bowl
and pitcher on top, the former about as deep as a soup plate, and the
pitcher minus water and handle; but enough of the former was dripping
from our clothes to equalize conditions. We found it impossible to turn
the lock of the door, so placed what furniture the room contained
against it, feeling sure that the ‘Blessed Mother’ in the shrine outside
would keep us from all harm. We left lighted our two long candles--found
the little bed sweet and clean, and soon forgot our tribulations.
_Ambrieau, July 6th._--A clear morning, and our trust not misplaced. We
are safe, and are refreshed by our night’s rest. After being served with
a bowl of black coffee and some blacker bread, for our breakfast, on a
clean wooden table, we paid our little bill of five francs, and went our
way rejoicing. At seven A.M. we were facing Geneva, rushing into and
through the prettiest valley of country we had ever seen. The Alps
towered up on both sides of us, and in the valley were clusters of
thatched and vine-covered cottages, with open doors, near which
contented grandmothers sat knitting and watching the children playing
at their feet, while the younger women could be seen, not far away,
minding the flock of geese or the herd of sheep. I am told there is much
affection for each other exhibited in the simple homes of these
peasants: often the entire families of several generations live under
one roof in entire harmony and peace. These ‘ganders and geese’ are
wonderfully wise, if what a travelling companion told me is true. She
said that when a male child is born in these homes, the ganders form a
line, and march around the house, but when the other sex is born they
hide themselves. Poor ganders! Probably jealous.
At eleven A.M. we reached Geneva, and found our room at the Metropole
ready for us. It is really an elegant one, spacious, and in the front of
the house, with windows to the floor, by which we can sit and look out
upon the Jardin du Lac and the beautiful blue waters of Lake Geneva, or
Leman, often called. Our early breakfast not having been a very
nourishing one, we decided to take another here before going out. A good
one it was, and was quickly served. While enjoying it, a lady came to
us, an American, and told us where to buy furs, where diamonds were the
cheapest, and where we could find the best places to purchase
watches--giving us her card at the same time. We were afterwards told
that a number of American ladies make quite an income from commissions
earned in this way. An open carriage was soon at hand, and from it we
took our first look at Geneva. There is nothing very remarkable about
the place, as a city. There are many hotels, and upon the quay are
numerous elegant stores, mostly jewelry stores. In some of these we saw
the beautiful enamelled watches, that are nowhere else so exquisitely
made. Watches in almost everything saw we here--in necklaces, bracelets,
canes, and umbrellas, and at all prices. We went into one of the
factories, and found that women do much of the fine work, a certain
number working only on certain parts, and therefore constant practice
makes them extremely dexterous in their specialty. They were well
dressed, and looked intelligent and contented.
Here the lake receives the waters of the Rhone, and about midway of the
fine bridge which crosses it is Rousseau’s island, on which stands a
bronze statue of him. The upper streets of Geneva are very hilly, and
the older part is quaint and odd in its buildings, like the old French
towns. We saw the house Calvin lived in, and went into the church where
he preached his hard logic, but we could shed no tears for his departure
from this world, but might for the suffering Servetus, whom he caused to
be burned for not believing as he did. It has always seemed to me that
the stern, dogmatic Calvin showed a spirit of malice, as well as great
uncharitableness, but of course, in those days very few lived who
considered it right for one to have an opinion different from their
leaders. What a huge bonfire there would be if freethinkers were thus
treated in these days! And was it not Calvin, also, who caused the
Prince of Condé to be punished because he made himself agreeable to
ladies, and thereby injured the interests of God? That reminds us of one
club man who is always at his club when we want him for better
purposes. Has he a little of the spirit of Calvin?
This city is full of associations of intellectual lives which bring
fragrance of good deeds, the good works of Mme. de Staël, her Father
Neckar, of Pestalozzi, Père Gérand, and many others.
In the afternoon we took a sail up the lake. The shores are closely
dotted with hotels, fine residences, little villages, picturesque
chalets, fronted with green, well-kept lawns, running to the water’s
edge, on the one side of the lake, while the Alps rise high and dark on
the other. We landed at Nyon, and climbed innumerable steps to see an
old castle, from which we had charming outlooks. We sailed back to
Geneva at the hour of sunset. All my life I had heard much of the
sudden, striking color changes that sunset produces on the summits of
the Alps--and we have seen them in all their great beauty. At one
instant, the terraces of mountain tops looked as if clothed in gold, and
next as if painted crimson,--and as the sun sunk lower they were left
huge dark piles, casting their shadows over us. On landing, we took a
walk, and inspected the much-heard-of monument of the Duke of Brunswick,
for the erection of which he left plans and money. Did not admire it. It
is very ‘giddy,’ but the placing of it there poured funds into the
treasury of the town. We looked at the pretty little American church
with a tender interest, for one dear to us was married within its walls.
In the evening we went to an open-air concert, and a very good one too,
in the garden in front of our hotel.
Called at an office to see about getting front seats on diligence, for
our trip to Chamouni to-morrow. F. speaking French the better, did the
talking, but was assured we could have no front seats for the next day,
and we were about coming to the conclusion that we should have to take
back ones, much to our disappointment; but it is here as almost
everywhere else, if you are willing to take ‘back seats’ you may never
take front ones, and this time I was not willing. Remembering the
potency of the silver key, I resorted to that as a forlorn hope, mixed
in with my poor French, and succeeded in securing the desired places. On
our way home, F. said she feared my earnestness and my not always
grammatical French might place me in as bad a position as an American
woman occupied, of whom she heard this story. She was rather proud of
her somewhat limited knowledge of the French language, and fond of
airing it. She went to secure places on a diligence for one of the Swiss
mountain trips, and approaching the conductor, demanded--
‘Etes-vous les diligence?’
‘Non, Madame, pardon; Je suis le conducteur.’
Lady--somewhat angry at the correction--said excitedly, ‘C’est tout de
même; Je prenderai deux places dans votre interieur?’
_July 9th, 1888._--Never a pleasanter morning dawned for a ride on a
diligence! Ours was a new one, painted in bright colors, and we had the
two seats between the driver and conductor. Our six strong horses wore
strings of bells about their necks, and we started off right merrily.
The road from Geneva to Chamouni is as familiar to tourists as the way
from the Oxford to Boston Common, but all do not see it alike, and you
have not seen it at all, so I know you will enjoy hearing of it, told
to you in my way. The road over which we rolled was simply perfect, and
the panorama in front of and about us, magnificent. We went through the
valley of the Arve, past well-cultivated farms, and little factories run
by water turning the big wheels, past pretty chalets, nestled in green,
stopping often to change horses and drivers, when the pretty Swiss
children would gather about us and entreat us to buy their nosegays of
wild flowers. There is something so pathetic in the faces of these
little ones, that we could not find it in our hearts to disappoint them,
so our decorations became as thick as those of a brigadier-general.
But soon we leave these rural scenes, and strike into scenery so grand
that I fear it is beyond description. Imagine us going over the road,
with the river tumbling, foaming, along by its edge, the mountains
towering up on each side of us, some rocky, others covered with green
pines, with a sheet of mosses, lichens, and mountain blossoms at their
bases, and frequent cascades of water rushing down pell-mell from
tremendous heights, forming vast clouds of vapor long before reaching
the valley below, and sparkling in the rays of the sun like millions of
diamonds. One long, narrow waterfall, fringed with green foliage, like
orange leaves, well merited its name of ‘the bridal veil,’ so pure,
lace-like, and fleecy did it look. ‘This will be a fine day to see Mt.
Blanc,’ said our conductor, and soon the mountain chain, with every
shape of peak, including Mt. Blanc, shot up like giant commanders above
the regions of the clouds, in full view against the blue sky background,
which blue was intensified by the snow-clad tips. After leaving the
Baths of St. Gervais, a health resort approached through a beautiful
avenue of trees, and where we dined, we find the road even better than
at its beginning. These roads were built, and are taken care of, by the
Government, and there is scarcely a stone or an uneven place on them.
Every few miles we see crosses erected, some costly ones, but more of
wood simply painted, with images of the Saviour or of some saint on the
pedestals or in glass cases. Over the doors or windows of most of the
houses are statues or pictures of saints, for we are in Catholic
Switzerland now. Here too we are assailed by beggars, and from one house
the whole family, including the grandparents, all ragged and dirty,
besieged us for alms. What a blot is this upon beautiful Switzerland. On
this road also we first saw victims of cretinism and goitre. We met one
old beggar woman whose neck was so swollen that we could only see the
upper part of her head protruding from the swollen mass of flesh
beneath. We were told that the medical and scientific men of the country
have for years endeavored to ascertain the cause and a cure for this
loathsome disease, but have so far been unsuccessful. Many attribute it
to the use of snow water, but I should be more willing to think the use
of no water caused it, for dirtier, more repulsive-looking: mendicants I
never beheld. At about seven P.M. we reached the little village of
Chamouni, and alighted at our hotel without a feeling of fatigue, so
comfortable and full of delight had been our trip.
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