AN ALP.
TO Berchtesgaden they went. We shall not follow Hamilton, either when he
inspected the salt-works, or visited the beautiful lakes in its
immediate neighbourhood; nor would we accompany him to the alp, which he
afterwards ascended, were it not to give our readers a slight idea of
those excursions so common in the mountainous parts of Bavaria, and of
the little importance attached to a chamois hunt. They were
unceremoniously joined in their expedition by a number of hunters,
foresters, and some officers who were on leave of absence. A. Z. went
with them very willingly, as she heard that an acquaintance of hers was
spending a few weeks on the alp for her health, enjoying what is called
“_Sommer frisch_”; and, in fact, on reaching the _châlet_, which was
situated in the midst of the mountains, they found a very nice-looking,
sunburnt person, sitting with her maid before the door. She was
surprised to see the Z—’s, but not in the least to see the others, as
she said scarcely a week passed that someone did not come to hunt; and
on hearing that Hamilton spoke German she pointed upwards towards the
rocks before the house, and said that in the evening he would see the
chamois leaping about there.
“She is destroying all the mystery of a chamois-hunt,” said Hamilton,
turning to A. Z. “I could run up that mountain, I think.”
“I would not advise you to try it; nor, indeed, can I consent to your
making any excursion on the mountain alone, as long as you are
travelling with us. Violent deaths are not at all uncommon here; it is
not long since a girl, gathering herbs, fell over a precipice and was
dashed to pieces; and a man was found nearly starved to death, in a
place to which he had climbed, but from which he found it impossible to
extricate himself. That old man,” she added, lowering her voice, “that
old _Jäger_, who is now speaking to Herrmann, had some dispute with his
only son when they were on a chamois-hunt together; people say that a
push from him, in the heat of argument, precipitated the young man
thousands of feet below; his body was found in a dreadfully mutilated
state, but there was no evidence against the old man, for they had been
alone; and as such accidents are but too common, the exact state of the
case has never been ascertained, and his confessor alone knows what
happened.”
“Well, Hamilton, are you disposed to try a shot this evening?” asked
Baron Z—; “three or four chamois have been seen in the neighbourhood.”
“I shall go with you as a looker-on; but as I am a very bad shot, I
think one of these poles will be of more use to me than a rifle.”
“We shall send some men up to beat them down to us,” said Baron Z—.
“There is no use in climbing more than is necessary.”
“Can you not use dogs?” asked Hamilton.
“They could never be properly trained; for although the chamois do not
in the least mind the clattering of stones or gravel, any unusual sound
immediately attracts their attention. A solitary hunter has only to
avoid this, and to take care that the wind blows in his face, or, at
least, not from him in the direction where he expects to find them.
Their scent is something almost incredible, and only equalled by their
shyness.”
“It is, after all, a very difficult shot,” said Hamilton.
“Yes, in Tyrol and Switzerland, where they have been hunted until they
have taken refuge in the most inaccessible places—though even there, I
doubt the truth of most of the wonderful stories related of them,
especially of their so maliciously forcing the hunters down the
precipices. It has been proved that the chamois have no remarkable
preference for very high or cold mountains; they only choose them in
order to have a good retreat among the rocks when pursued.”
“That I observed, too, last year,” said an officer, who was of the
party, “at Prince Lamberg’s, where there is the best chamois-hunting in
Germany, perhaps. They were there so well preserved that they were not
more shy or difficult to shoot than other game; and instead of their
only being to be found in the evening, or at dawn, they rambled about
all day; and when the weather was mild, did not even seek the shade.”
“I have heard of Prince Lamberg’s mountains,” said Baron Z——; “he has
fifteen or sixteen hundred chamois on them, I hear; but, after all, when
one can have them without much trouble, one does not value them so
highly; for instance, I shot a chamois some years ago, in Bayrishzill,
but was out nearly twenty-four hours before I got a shot—here is his
beard, which I have preserved and worn ever since,” he added, taking off
his hat and showing a little fan-like ornament, which Hamilton had
before observed without knowing its value.
“Then they have beards like goats?” said Hamilton.
“No,” replied Baron Z—. “This is called a beard, but it is the hair
which grows along the back.”
“I see something very like a chamois up there,” said the officer, who
held a small telescope to his eye.
Everyone wished to look—some could not find the place—others imagined
they saw _something_—one thought it was the stump of a tree—but some
practised eyes having pronounced it to be the desired animals feeding,
the party broke up and the chase began.
Hamilton climbed with an ease and lightness which surprised his
companions; but he so often stopped to admire a handsome beech-tree, or
to “seek for fresh evening air in the opening glades,” that they by
degrees went on, and he found himself at last alone in a spot where some
convulsion of Nature had split the mountain partly asunder. He saw far,
far beneath him, the road into Tyrol; the heavy-laden wagons, which a
few days before he had thought packed dangerously high, now wound,
pigmy-like, along, the motion of the endless team of horses scarcely
perceptible. Hill rose beyond hill, until the prospect was bounded by
the grotesque masses of rocks which, rising from the wooded mountains,
increase their gigantic appearance by their partial concealment behind
those light wreaths of clouds which seldom entirely desert their
summits. For the inhabitants of the valley, the sun had long
disappeared; but around Hamilton everything was in the glow of sunset:
he seated himself on the mossy turf and deliberately resigned himself to
contemplation. No place could have been better chosen, and he was
therefore surprised and disappointed to find that the sublime thoughts
which he had expected did not present themselves to his mind. He admired
the surpassing luxuriance of the vegetation in the valleys, the
different-coloured foliage of the trees; the wild irregular course of
the foaming river;—he tried to think of the greatness of the Creator in
His works, the insignificance of man and his endeavours—in vain. An
agreeable feeling of general satisfaction stole over him, while fancy
conveyed him home to his family, to his youthful friends. A handsome
English residence rose before him, with well-kept lawns, gravelled
walks, and shrubberies; groups of well-dressed people were visible among
the trees, and on the steps leading to the hall-door a large party was
assembled. Carriages and riding-horses were there; laughing girls, in
their long habits, young men carelessly loitering near them.
They were to visit a well-_preserved_ ruin in the neighbourhood—so often
seen, it is true, that everything was thought of more than the nominal
object. Camp-stools, servants in livery, champagne and pine-apples began
to chase each other in pleasing confusion before Hamilton’s mind’s
eye—when the distant report of a gun destroyed the “baseless fabric” of
his “waking vision,” and he started up, remembering with some amazement
that he was engaged in a chamois-hunt! “It is of little consequence,” he
thought; “for had I fired ten times, I should never have hit one.”
He plunged into the wood, and commenced a regular and steady ascent,
which he continued even after the fir-tree had begun to dwindle into a
dwarfy shrub, and the beautiful wild rhododendron had disappeared
altogether. His path became steeper and more rocky, and at length he was
reduced to the necessity of creeping round the intervening obstacles,
and of supporting himself by the few plants which vegetated among the
fissures of the rocks. Not a sound broke the silence around him; the
moon slowly rose above the darkening horizon, which was slightly
streaked with a faint crimson tinge, leaving on the dim grey of the
mountain tops the still perceptible reflection of the fading sunlight.
The valleys were in the deepest shade, and from the dispersed
peasant-houses lights began to twinkle. Hamilton looked carefully round
him, to ascertain, if possible, his position, before he descended into
the thick wood which lay beneath him. The falling of some loose stones
and a fragment of rock in his vicinity made him start; but immediately
supposing it to be some of his former companions, he called out that if
anyone were there he wished they would wait for him: a clattering of
stones and scampering ensued, accompanied by a sharp sound, perfectly
incomprehensible to him, until on a projecting rock far above him he
perceived three chamois, standing in strong relief between him and the
cloudless sky, and gazing irresolutely around them. They allowed him to
examine them for some time, as the distance and moonlight would admit;
but as he endeavoured to approach nearer, they suddenly sprang up the
rocks, and sending a shower of stones, and sand over him, disappeared in
a few seconds. By this time he had lost all idea of where he might be,
and although extremely unwilling to increase his distance from the
_châlet_, he saw the absolute necessity of still climbing in order to
see into the Alpine valley, in which it was situated. Perfectly
unacquainted with the irregularities of the mountain, he kept as much as
possible in the light, following occasionally what he supposed to be
paths, but which were in fact the stony beds of the mountain rivulets,
formed by the thawing snow in spring. He wandered on in this manner,
sometimes ascending, sometimes descending, for more than two hours,
looking around in every direction, but not a trace could he find of the
_châlet_, nor, indeed, at last, of any habitation whatever. On reaching
a part of the ridge of the mountain, he was somewhat startled to find
that the other side descended in a perpendicular precipice of rock,
apparently so smooth and destitute of verdure that it might be supposed
a wall. He stopped—and all A. Z. had said to him recurred at once to his
memory. The moon was still too young to remain visible to him much
longer, and it would be totally dark by the time he reached the wood; he
saw no alternative but to stay where he was until morning, and had
actually chosen a place of repose, when the distant sound of guns fired
at regular intervals, made him imagine that he, and no longer the
chamois, was the object of pursuit. A faint echo of human voices too
reached his ear, and he shouted loudly in answer. A frightfully distinct
echo from the mountain opposite made him desist; he feared that his
deliverers might be misled, and he now hurried along in the direction
from whence the welcome sounds had first reached him. Keeping on the top
of the mountain, and avoiding any place where the shadows of the rocks
prevented him from seeing his way distinctly, he walked and ran, and
sprang and vaulted with his long pole, until the moon, disappearing
behind a mountain, created a sort of half-night, which again forced him
to a halt. Suspecting that the echo had misled him, and fearing that he
was farther than ever from his companions, he perceived without regret
the gradual cessation of the treacherous sounds, and at length, with a
sort of desperate English calmness, he seated himself on the ground, and
after a few not very successful efforts to place himself comfortably
against a sandy bank, he took a cigar, lighted it, and crossing his
arms, resigned himself to his fate. The night proved darker than he
expected, and he gazed on the starry firmament until his thoughts became
confused, and his eyes closed in heavy slumber, which remained unbroken
until the cold breeze of breaking day caused a chill to pass through his
stiffened limbs. He rose, and looked about him with astonishment for
some minutes, and then, with long strides, began a rapid descent.
Great was afterwards his annoyance to find that, instead of arriving, as
he had expected, at the _châlet_, he had quite reached the base of the
mountain, and that merely a narrow ravine separated him from another of
precisely the same description. He stood for a moment irresolute, and
felt—very hungry. The sun had begun to colour vividly the eastern sky,
and after a little consideration, he found that returning to the alp
would oblige him to mount again, and he was still very uncertain in what
direction it lay; whereas, if he took another course, he would probably
in an hour or two find some opening into one of the surrounding roads,
where he could enter the first peasant’s house he should see, and
procure something to eat. In this conjecture he was perfectly right.
Sooner than he had dared to hope, a cheerful house, prettily situated on
a green hill, and surrounded by fruit-trees, rejoiced his eyes. Some
wild sunburnt little boys and girls announced his approach, and when he
came to the door he found a large family assembled. His wants were soon
made known; and a table, placed before the wooden bench which ran along
the front of the house, was soon covered with a rustic, but not frugal
breakfast—an enormous loaf of dark-brown bread, a basin of milk, covered
with thick yellow cream, some pounds of butter, honey, cheese, fried
eggs, and a sort of mashed-up _omelette_, called _Schmarn_. While
Hamilton was eating, the peasant’s wife stood near, her youngest child
on her arm, and a couple of others leaning against her. She assured him
if he had not been in such a hurry she could have made some coffee for
him; she always bought coffee at the fair, and drank it every Sunday!
She was so sorry her husband was not at home, but she expected him every
moment; he had gone up to the alp at daybreak, with fresh rolls for the
breakfast of the gentlemen who had been out shooting.
As she spoke, a loud gay voice was heard in the distance, jodling, and
the children all rushed down the hill and disappeared in the wood.
“That is probably your husband,” said Hamilton; “I shall be glad to hear
what sport they have had on the alp.”
“Oh! you were there, too,—perhaps—I have been thinking and thinking
where you could have spent the night; you did not look as if you had
come from the town!”
“I dare say not,” said Hamilton, laughing; “most probably I look as if I
had spent the night among the rocks, and that is actually the case; I
lost my way yesterday evening.”
The peasant soon after joined them, and to Hamilton’s eager inquiries as
to the result of the hunt, replied that a chamois had been shot in the
evening, but that the disappearance of a young Englishman who had gone
out with them had spoiled everything; they had searched for him until
dark, and that Baron Z— had been out to look for him before daybreak;
even the ladies had joined in searching, and one of them had been up
nearly to the top of one of the mountains with the goatherd.
“Good heavens!” cried Hamilton, springing on his feet, “they are
searching for me. I must go to them directly.”
“It will do just as well if I send Peter to let them know you are here,”
said the peasant calling one of his sons, and giving him the necessary
directions: after which, murmuring the words, “with your leave,” he
seated himself at a little distance, and glancing towards Hamilton’s
outstretched feet, he observed with a smile, “You would never have got
up and down the alp again with those boots!”
“I believe you are right,” answered Hamilton, listlessly moving them so
as to have a better view; “they certainly do look the worse for wear. I
never was so ill shod in my life!”
“I dare say yesterday you might have danced at a wedding in them, but
for the mountains they are not the right sort.”
“Most true,” said Hamilton; “and if I ever make an excursion of this
kind again, I shall not forget it. This is the first time in my life
that I have been in a mountainous country.”
“And yet England is a fine country, they say?” observed the peasant,
interrogatively.
Hamilton assented with a nod.
“I have heard it said at the Golden Lion in the town, that there is no
end to the riches of the English!”
“Some are very rich, and some are very poor,” answered Hamilton. “I
believe the means of living—the necessaries of life—are more equally
divided among the inhabitants of Germany.”
“Well, that I have heard too,” said the man: “and now that you tell me
there are no mountains——”
“Stay,” cried Hamilton, laughing. “I did not say there were no
mountains; I only said that I had never seen them.”
“But all the Englishmen I have ever spoken to——”
“Are not very many,” said Hamilton, interrupting him.
“More than you think, perhaps. Before my father gave up the house and
ground to me, I was for many years with a relation in Berchtesgaden, and
used to row most of the strangers across the lake. Queer people they
were, too, sometimes! One gentleman used to sit for hours under a tree
near the back lake, and went there regularly every day for several
summers. The last time I saw him, he said when he died his spirit would
hover around that tree—or something of that sort. I made inquiries about
him lately, and as he has not been seen for a long time, I suppose he is
dead, and should not at all like to go to that part of the lake alone of
an evening; for though I don’t mind taking my chance against living men,
I am mortally afraid of the dead—and that Englishman always looked half
dead, with his pale face and sunken cheeks. It was dreadful to hear him
cough; and the people at the inn said he never was quiet at night, but
wandered incessantly up and down his room. They said he must have been
crossed in love——”
“Most probably he was dying of consumption,” said Hamilton.
“Very likely; that was what the doctor called it. He said it was a very
common complaint in England—like the rheumatism here, I suppose. What my
poor grandfather suffered from rheumatism the last forty years of his
life is incredible; but he walked about and lived all the same to be
past ninety years of age—and celebrated his golden wedding too!”
“His golden what?”
“Wedding. Perhaps you have no golden or silver wedding in England?”
“I confess I never heard of anything of the kind,” said Hamilton.
“Oh, the silver wedding is only on the twenty-fifth anniversary, and
most people can celebrate that; but to be fifty years married, and to
have a golden wedding, is a sort of event in a family. Though but a boy
at the time, I shall never forget that day. This house was quite covered
with garlands, and all the neighbours from far and near were assembled;
and my grandfather and grandmother, dressed in their wedding dresses,
walked in procession with music to the church, and the priest married
them over again, and preached such a sermon that everyone had tears in
their eyes. We had a dinner, too, at the Lion, and such dancing and
singing; and in the evening there was no end to the noise and shouting
when they drove off together for the second time as bride and
bridegroom!”
“How I should like to see such a wedding! Is there no chance of one now
in the neighbourhood?”
“Not that I know of. It is a rare thing, for generally a year or two
before the fifty years are at an end one or the other dies. The very
wish to live it out, carries the old people off, I believe.”
“Do people marry early here?”
“Not often, for they must get the consent of the parish, and prove that
they can support a family. I was past forty before my father resigned
the house and land to me.”
“So he gave it to you during his lifetime? Is that often done?”
“Very often. I was to pay him a pension, and he intended to remove to
the town; but he could not leave the place, and so we all lived together
until his death. My mother is still alive. You may have seen her on the
alp: she is always wandering about there.”
“Was your father obliged to ask the consent of your landlord when he
resigned?”
“He was obliged to get the consent of government, and I had to pay the
usual fine of five per cent. of the value of my house and ground.”
“Then you have no lease?”
“Lease? No, we have no lease.”
“And your land is hereditary in your family?”
“Yes; we have the usual taxes to pay, and we have fines in cases of
death, succession, or exchange of land.”
“Could you sell your property if you wished it?”
“No doubt—if I obtained the consent of government; but who would sell
their land and be without house or home?”
“I suppose it is always the eldest son who inherits?”
“No; we can make whichever child we please our heir; but we generally
choose the eldest son, who pays the other children what is left them by
will.”
The peasant’s wife drew near, and afterwards the children gathered round
them; their mother, in the pride of her heart, telling them to fetch
their copy-books, and show the gentleman how well they could write. He
had not finished the inspection or praised them half as much as they
deserved when the Z—s and their companions advanced from the wood, when
joyful recognition and long explanations completely changed the current
of his thoughts.
---------------------