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.