Letters of Asa Gray; Vol. 1

by Asa Gray

At the height of about 4,500 feet, and in the midst of the very wildest and most lonely scenery, reached the falls of the Aar at Handek, the finest in Switzerland,—indeed the only sublime waterfall here; viewed it first from below, then from the rude bridge thrown across just a few feet above where it leaps into the awful gorge. The scenery and all is in character, and for savage grandeur I have seen nothing to compare with it. Stopped at the châlet near the only dwelling within some miles; waited a little for the rain to subside, and finding that even here a traveler’s first wants had been pretty well provided for, I made an early but most excellent dinner upon bread, butter, cheese, and honey, the last especially excellent. No signs of better weather; so started on, passing a spot where falling avalanches every winter and spring had swept over a vast space of rock and completely worn it smooth; was now above trees, with here and there a bit of scanty vegetation, but almost every step to the end was now on rock or snow, and I walked on to the hospice near the summit in the midst of a snowstorm, one and a half hours; knowing it could scarcely accumulate sufficiently to obstruct or obscure entirely the path until I could reach the place of shelter, I enjoyed it intensely, but had quite enough when, at one o’clock, I reached the hospice (twenty miles), near the summit of the pass, surrounded with unmelted snow, more than 6,000 English feet above the sea. It is as comfortable a place as can be expected in such a situation, now kept as a kind of inn during the summer, and in winter left in charge of a single servant, with a store of provisions to last him until spring. The winter before last it was crushed by an avalanche, but the man and his dog escaped, and reached Meyringen in safety. It is now repaired; the stone walls are extremely thick, the roof protected against the winds, as is usual here, by laying huge stones upon it. Laid aside part of my wet clothes, and lay down before the fire to dry the remainder; fell asleep; on waking had just begun to write, but when I had given the heading, in came three more travelers: two Germans, whom I had met before at Grindelwald, and a young Englishman; all thoroughly wet with the storm, which was now more violent. We all had to huddle about the fire, so there was an end of writing.

Awoke Sunday morning and found myself in mid-winter; very cold, snowing hard, and the wind howling frightfully around our humble but snug place of refuge. The other travelers determined to prosecute their journey, spite of the Sabbath or the storm, and to go by way of the glacier of the Rhone, the other side of the summit of the pass and about four miles distant. They sallied out with their guide and left me to myself, which was one advantage. But in three hours they returned, giving an alarming account of the difficulties and dangers of the way. When just abandoning the attempt they heard a cry for help, and succeeded in rescuing another party of three with their guide, who had lost their way in the thick mist and storm and were wandering about in the drifts, suffering extremely with the cold, and who, as well as their guide, had given up all hope of reaching the hospice unless their cries should perchance be heard and bring them aid. All returned to the hospice together, and no further attempts to leave it were made that day. When left alone I had the fire to myself, and was spending the time in as profitable a manner as possible, thinking a little, too, of the strangeness of passing the day in such an elevated position; so their return, with an accession to their company, though very desirable for them, was not so favorable to me. And then of all people in the world the Germans are the noisiest talkers; Frenchmen are nothing to them; the fire which dried their clothes and warmed their fingers loosened their tongues, and they kept up a continual gabble for the greater part of the day. Scarcely a winter passes that some persons are not lost in this pass during such storms. A gloomy lake on the summit of the mountain, into which the bodies are thrown for burial, receives the name of “The Lake of the Dead” (Todten-See).

Monday morning, still enveloped in the clouds, but the storm apparently over. Found it no use trying to make a visit to the Rhone glacier; the clouds were so thick we could scarcely hope to find it, and the recent snow so deep nothing could be seen. Was disappointed also by these same clouds in getting a view of the high Bernese Alps, particularly Finster-Aarhorn and the glaciers, from this side, but determined not to wait here longer; so set off at half past ten in company with a native of Valais, who was traveling towards home and served as guide; traveled through deep snow, climbed up to the summit of the pass, more than a thousand feet higher, where at first we were so completely enveloped in the clouds that we seemed actually to be traveling through them and on them; dug a specimen or two of Soldanella out of the snow to serve as souvenirs. At length the wind arose and now and then sent a hole in the clouds to give me some glimpses of the desolate yet grand scenery through which we were passing. Soon I got a view of the valley of the Rhone almost at its commencement, with the river flowing through like a mere rivulet; looked down upon Oberwald, the highest village in Valais, a collection of little châlets all huddled together as if to keep themselves warm,—as indeed they have need; got out of winter and snow and into the valley at the little village of Obergesteln, and walked, on the same day, through a quick succession of most retired little Swiss villages of the humblest sort, to Brieg, on the Simplon road, near the mountain of that name, which I reached at nine o’clock in the evening, making a journey of forty miles, a portion through the snow, in ten hours and a half. I would like to tell you much about the upper Valais, a region seldom visited by travelers, but have not time; people kind and simple; got nothing to eat on the way except hard and dry brown bread, that may have been baked ten days; passed the villages where avalanches had fallen in former years and crushed many people; the scenery much more picturesque than I expected, but was most interested in the people and their little villages; women mowing, reaping, and doing every sort of the hardest labor; all awfully afflicted with goitre, scarce a person wholly free from it; actually saw one woman with a goitre not quite as large as her own head certainly, but about the size of that of the child she held in her arms, apparently a year old; saw one cretin. Stopped a few moments at the principal auberge in the village of Viesch; found the priest with two of his parishioners playing a game of cards together. A stranger being a curiosity in that region, one person accosted me very politely, and took me up the valley a little way to see the glacier and mountains. Reached Brieg utterly worn out, but got a good supper and bed; this being just where the famous Simplon road commences the ascent of the mountains, there are many travelers and a good hotel, though dear.

Rose Tuesday morning at four o’clock; my feet and legs very stiff and sore; thought of going up the Simplon road into the mountains to see some of the galleries and bridges and get fine views, but the morning was cloudy and I did not like to lose the time; started off down the valley, but got on slowly and very painfully; however, walked as far as Lenk, I believe about twenty-four miles, and there hired a char, which took me on to Siou, the capital of the canton, about twenty-two miles further, where I slept.

Wednesday, rose at four, and feeling pretty stout, I started off at five on foot, and though certainly in very far from the best condition for walking, went on to Martigny to breakfast, which place I reached at half past ten, twenty-four miles according to the guide-book, but the latter part was very painful. From this place one may go to the Hospice of St. Bernard in ten hours. I would have been glad to have seen so famous a place, but as to scenery it is decidedly inferior to much I had already seen. One may go to Chamouni in nine hours, getting the superb view of Mont Blanc from the summit of Col de Balme on the way. Thinking it impossible to walk farther, I hired a mule, and a person with him, and went up to the top of Col de Balme (five hours), passing the vale and glacier of Trient. Reached the summit at four o’clock; enjoyed a fine view of Mont Blanc and its attendant peaks from top to bottom, or rather at top and bottom, for there was a belt of cloud about the middle,—a most superb and complete view, Mer de Glace and all.

Quite satisfied without going to Chamouni, so returned to Martigny at eight P.M.; another good day’s work, particularly as I walked both up and down the worst part of the road, being merciful to the beast. On my descent obtained a splendid view of the Bernese Alps. Much aroused at looking over the register at the hotel, where the travelers expressed their opinions of the different hotels on the road, praising some, and speaking of others in terms of great reprobation; good plan. I think if the proprietor of the hotel at Sion (a very dirty hotel) could read all that is written in his own book he would burn it.... Lay down and slept till midnight.

Thursday, took diligence at one o’clock A.M. for Villeneuve; saw the falls of the Sallanches by moonlight; arrived at Villeneuve at half past seven, just after the morning steamboat had left for Geneva; am confident we were delayed on purpose, to induce us to go on in the diligence instead of the next boat. For myself I did not mind waiting till one o’clock, that I might make myself look a little decent, though I had not the means here of improving my appearance much; as to my boots, and indeed all my habiliments, they were much in the condition of those of the Gibeonites when they made their visit to Joshua. Wrote a little, went out to take a look at the Castle of Chillon, which is near,—the building itself not remarkable, but the situation fine....

Took the steamboat in the afternoon; passed Vevay, Lausanne, etc., etc., and after traversing the whole length of this much-admired, most beautiful lake, arrived at Geneva, just at sunset; having accomplished my pedestrian tour (long to be remembered) in ten days (excluding the Sunday)....

Geneva, 19th July.

My mornings, between eleven and four, have been constantly and fully occupied at De Candolle’s. Earlier in the morning I have spent much time with Mr. Duby,[110] a botanist and clergyman,—one of the government pastors here, and it is said almost the only one who is a pious man. I have yet to pack up a box of my gatherings and to send to the roulage to be forwarded to New York. I have taken lodgings, for my short stay here, with the Wolff family, very pious and excellent people, who are pretty well known to many persons of the same class in New York. One of the daughters is the wife of Dr. Buck,[111] and I believe your dear mother is acquainted with her. After dinner I have sometimes made little excursions in the neighborhood; once or twice I have been accompanied by Madame Wolff and the two daughters. They are very fond of walking, and often make long excursions on foot. The two daughters walk as fast as I can, and in fact one of them nearly tired me down the other day, when we were hurrying in order to watch the effect of the setting sun on Mont Blanc. I have taken quite a fancy to this river, the Rhone. I made my acquaintance with it when it was but a babbling brook; I have trudged along with it for many a mile, until it grew to a headstrong stream, and became so turbulent and muddy that it was obliged to jump into the lake to wash itself clean, and when it leaves the lake it is as clear as crystal,—emerald, I should say, for it is about that color. A few months ago I saw the same river in its old age, just falling into the ocean. Walked back along the shore of the lake; reached the house just in time to join in the evening worship,—a sweet hymn was sung (in French), one of the young ladies leading with the piano and all joining with their voices, and hearts, too, I doubt not; and then the venerable old man read a chapter, which I could understand very well, and closed with a simple and fervent prayer. You cannot know yourself how pleasant it is, after being jolted about in the rude world for months, to get again with a pious family. The house is just without the town, surrounded with a large garden and fine trees and shrubbery, and all very pleasant. Some days after, we made another excursion to visit their pastor. He was not at home, so I missed him, but saw his pretty garden. On the two Sundays I have heard one of the pastors of the Evangelical Society preach in the morning, and the clergyman of the English chapel in the afternoon. I have also had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Malan, who, when he called here the other day, was so good as to hold a long and edifying religions conversation with me. He is a very apostle in appearance, and in conversation. Indeed, I have been thrown here into the midst of religious society of a high tone and of great sweetness and simplicity. I hope I have received some benefit from it. As I leave here I shall lose all this and shall see nothing more like it until I get home again....