Letters of Asa Gray; Vol. 1

by Asa Gray

Zurich, June 22, 1839.

In the afternoon I called on Dr. Schultes, who offered me a pretty little parcel of Egyptian plants. Made up my parcels and left them with Martius, to be sent, with the things that he and Zuccarini are to add, to Hamburg, against my arrival there. Spent the evening at Martius’ house, and took my leave of madame and Caroline. I gave Madame M. my copy of “Childe Harold,” a very pretty one, which she seemed to value considerably. Martius I saw again the next morning at the cabinet, and took leave very affectionately; he kissing me tenderly, after the German fashion. Ask Dr. Torrey to look in the list and see if Martius is not an honorary member of the Lyceum, as I believe, but am not sure. If he is he knows it not. The Lyceum has also been remiss in sending him the “Annals,” which should not be, as he has been a liberal contributor. His works give him much trouble since the death of the late king, who was his patron and subscribed toward the expense; the present king does nothing at all for Martius or for science anyway, so that poor Martius is a little embarrassed. Meanwhile he is pressed down with his duties as professor, director of the Botanic Garden, etc., for which he is most miserably paid.

The Botanic Garden is better arranged than any other I have seen on the Continent, except at Paris, and I have secured a copy of the plan. But I must break off with Munich.—Arrived at Lindan, on Lake of Constance, yesterday; a fine lake, but too large to show well; the shores only at the eastern end mountainous; the rest ordinary, and in high cultivation, dotted with thriving villages; took a steamboat after dinner for Constance....

On the Rigi, 25th June.

I must resume the thread of my narrative where I left it, at my entrance to Zurich. I did nothing that evening but look about the town, visit the old church where Zwingli, the earliest Swiss reformer, preached. The prettiest view is from the new stone bridge which is thrown across the Limmat just where it emerges from the lake. The stream, like all those that proceed from these lakes, is full, and clear almost as glass, of a fine blue tint; it rushes with great rapidity, but is still and even. The view extends up the lake to its middle, where a slight change in its direction intercepts further view; beyond rise some low mountains; a little farther a higher range overtops these, and these are again overlooked by the Alps of Glarns, Schwyz, etc., with thin tall peaks and brilliant glaciers. The shores of the lake are highly cultivated and thickly covered with little manufacturing villages. This is a Protestant canton. I attended church and heard a preacher who seemed to be very earnest, but as his language was an unknown tongue, there was little chance of my being edified, and I spent the remainder of the day at my room. The new hotel here is extremely good. Early yesterday morning I prepared myself for a pedestrian excursion over the finest mountain regions of Switzerland, which will take me about ten days, if I do not get tired of it and give it up. Not that I intend to walk all the way, which would be a great loss of time, but to avail myself of steamboats, etc., along lakes, and a diligence when I am on routes which they traverse, knowing full well that there will remain many weary and difficult miles that can only be passed by the pedestrian. So I have packed up my trunk and sent it on to Geneva, at the opposite corner of Switzerland. The garçon of the hotel purchased a knapsack for me.... Thus equipped, my knapsack on my back, the Guide to Switzerland in one pocket, and Keller’s excellent map in the other, I set out on my travels in search of the sublime. At nine o’clock yesterday morning I left Zurich; took the steamboat down the lake as far as Horgen, some eight or ten miles, where I took a little lunch, and crossed the bridge into the little canton of Zug,—Catholic, as one soon finds out, by the crosses and beggars which abound by the wayside. Here the lofty Mont Pilate, with its sharp peaks, was in sight; it lies on the other side of Lake Lucerne. Soon after I saw the Lake of Zug, and soon after one o’clock I reached Zug, on the borders of the lake of the same name, the capital of the canton, a retired and lifeless village. I entered the best hotel well heated with my walk, which now amounted to about twelve miles. I obtained a plain but very good dinner of soup, the everlasting corned beef, fish, roast, and strawberries and cherries ad libitum; chatted French with the voluble kellnerinn (the demoiselle of the inn); paid my bill of two francs, and was again on my way. It was very warm, so I walked quite leisurely down the shore of the lake; the scenery growing every moment more picturesque, the Rigi rising at its foot on one side, bold and abrupt, the Rossberg on the other. (A sad tale belongs to this last, of which I had often read.) I reached Arth, the little village at the foot of the lake and of these two mountains, at half past four (seven miles); took more strawberries and milk, and at five o’clock commenced the ascent of the Rigi by the shortest but most difficult footpath. The landlord told me the ascent took four hours and a half. This, indeed, I accomplished, but found it a hard task. But the desire of witnessing the sunset from the top induced me to do my best. I had plenty of offers to relieve me of my knapsack, and at length, as I left the village, transferred it to the shoulders of a stout fellow, for it began to grow weighty. The poor fellow I think earned the ten batz he demanded (about thirty cents), though he did not seem to mind it much. The first third of the ascent the path is formed of steps like a staircase, and is very fatiguing. After we meet the road for mules or horses, which ascends from Goldau, it is not so difficult. Both in the ascent and from the summit, I had a full view of the vestiges of the awful landslip of the Rossberg; the vacant space of the mountain occupied by the portion that fell and the scarred surface of the path are most distinctly in view, and at the bottom of the valley lies the huge and unsightly and confused mass of rubbish which overwhelmed and buried the three villages of Goldau, Bussingen, and Rothen. This catastrophe took place in September, 1806. Several hundred houses and other buildings were destroyed; cattle in great number, and four hundred and fifty human beings perished....

But time is becoming precious, and I must tell you in a few words of the view from the summit of the Rigi, though description is wholly out of the question. The view from the Kulm, or peak, owes its great beauty and extent, not so much to the height of the mountain, which is only 5676 feet, as to its isolation, giving a clear view in every direction. It is also easy of access; ladies and persons who do not care to walk can ride up on horses or mules, by either side of the mountain. So there are great crowds here all the summer....

I was called in the morning at half past three to ascend the peak and watch the effect of sunrise upon the Alps and valleys. The morning proved quite favorable, though a little cloudy. The mountains, lakes, and valleys were all distinct, but looked cold. At length a blast from a wooden trumpet (a better instrument than you would think) announced sunrise, and the sun appeared between two strips of cloud, lighting up first the distant and high peaks and glaciers of the Bernese Alps, the Jungfrau, the Finster-Aarhorn, the Titlis, highest of all,—the white glaciers shining like burnished silver. Soon the serrated ridge of the gloomy Pilatus is lighted up; the dark valleys become more distinct; the lakes look brighter, and the broad valley toward the north stretches before you like a map, far as the eye can reach, covered with hamlets and villages, and diversified here and there with beautiful lakes....

Stanz, 25th June.... I intended to leave the Rigi by way of Wäggis on Lake Lucerne; to take there the steamboat as it passed at two o’clock, and go up the farther part of the lake, the Bay of Uri, and finding, if possible, the mail-courier at Fluellen, to go with him to the summit of the pass of St. Gotthard, return as far as Hospital, and cross by the pass of the Furca and the Grimsel to Grindelwald, etc. If you had Keller’s fine map before you, it would be easy to trace this route, and to find out also where I now am. Without it you will not do it so easily. So having plenty of time, I stayed on the Rigi until noon, and then descended leisurely, having grown wise by experience, and knowing that the descent of a steep mountain is much worse for the legs and feet than the ascent. Besides, a little storm arose, and I took shelter under an overhanging rock, and amused myself in watching its progress down the lake, and in hearing the deep and prolonged echoes of the thunder as it was reverberated from peak to peak among the Alps. It was a scene to be remembered. And then the numerous ever-changing aspects of the mountains and lake as it cleared up! Saw the steamboat at a distance, and hastened to the foot of the mountain, when it soon became evident enough that the boat did not intend to touch there; so we took a boat and went out to meet it. But although we drew very near them as they passed, they did not choose to take the slightest notice of us, and I was obliged, in the middle of the lake, to consider what should be done in such a predicament. I had no intention of awaiting the return of the steamboat and going with her to Lucerne, thence to begin the route to-morrow; and for a few moments I was a little bothered. But fortunately a pedestrian like me is not at the mercy of steamboats and stagecoaches; and the high satisfaction one feels at his comparative independence is one of the great pleasures of this mode of locomotion, and goes far to compensate for the fatigue. I reflected that I might not find the courier at Fluellen, and in that case should have a prodigious journey, and moreover that I had clearly saved the money I should have paid. So, learning on hasty inquiry that a blind mountain path led from the opposite shore into the canton of Unterwalden to Stanz, etc.,—from whence I knew I could reach the Grimsel, and if I chose St. Gotthard, and that it was the nearest way to the Grindelwald and all the finest part of Switzerland,—I ordered the boat to take me to that shore, where I was accordingly left to shift for myself as well as I could. But then came on one of the ills that flesh is heir to, most especially in traveling,—I wanted my dinner! I stopped at a cottage, the only one in the vicinity, but found no one but a little girl, who stared at me as if she had never seen a civilized being; saw no chance of getting anything to eat, so I climbed the mountain, very steep, and almost without a path; it evidently had not been crossed before, this season. From the top I saw the bay and village of Buochs, and in the distance, Stanz, which I reached at six o’clock; found an inn which within was more comfortable than its exterior promised. I think I never enjoyed anything more than the piece of cold roast veal and coarse bread, and the plentiful dish of strawberries with excellent cream that followed. Now that I had got out of the ordinary route of travelers, I determined to visit the valley of Engelberg. I asked the landlord for a char-à-banc (as there is a good enough road for this vehicle) or a horse, to go this evening, but mine host seemed to have made up his mind that I should stay with him all night, and insisted that there would not be time for Engelberg. So not to disappoint him, I made up my mind to rest for the night, and sallied out to look at the village....

Meyringen, 26th June.

I have accomplished a journey to-day, such as I think few pedestrians have ever surpassed, considering the difficulties of a great part of the way,—from Stanz to Engelberg, thirteen miles, then over a tremendous mountain, the Joch, 6890 feet high, among the snows and near the glaciers of the Titlis and the Wendenstock, and then by a long path, through the most sublime mountain gorge and valley of Engstlen, to Meyringen. The distance from Engelberg is reckoned at nine hours (they always reckon by hours here), which on ordinary routes would be thirty miles. I do not know how far it really is. I accomplished it between half past eleven A.M. and half past seven P.M., and am fatigued past all conception, completely done over, and my feet apparently spoiled. To-morrow, perhaps, I will tell you something about it.