expedition, especially as in this instance the ascent could be made in a comfortable railway car. To reach Vitznau, where the railway station is, we took a sail of about an hour and a half, through beautiful scenery. As we steam out from Lucerne, the city is seen to its best advantage, its long walnut-shaded quay, its massive hotels, churches, walls and towers, standing up from the water and thrown into relief by the dark green forests on the mountains behind it.
LUCERNE-RIGI-RAIL—VIEW FROM THE KANZELI.
PILATE IN THE GUIDE BOOK.
Soon after Lucerne fades away we see the cross-like formation of the lake, one arm, known as Lake Küssnach, stretching way to the north, while on the other side is Lake Alpnach. Far ahead of us is the Bay of Buosch and Lake of Uri, forming the foot of the cross. At the head of Lake Küssnach can be seen the town of that name. Here, in the central part of the cross, the view is particularly impressive; the Rigi, on the left, with its wooded slopes shining in the sunlight, contrasting strangely with the mist and clouds that envelope Pilatus, on the other side of the lake. As we see the clouds lowering around the high peak of Mt. Pilate, the legend told by Antonio, the guide in Sir Walter Scott’s “Anne of Gierestein,” comes vividly to mind. I have given my readers my notion of the legend of Pilatus—now they have it exactly as the guide books give it. You pay your money and you take your choice. Here it is in guide book talk:
‘The wicked Pontius Pilate, Proconsul of Judea, here found the termination of his impious life; having, after spending years in the recesses of the mountain which bears his name, at length, in remorse and despair rather than in penitence, plunged into the dismal lake that occupies the summit. Whether water refused to do the executioner’s duty upon such a wretch, or whether, his body being drowned, his vexed spirit continued to haunt the place where he committed suicide, no one pretended to say. But a form was often seen to emerge from the gloomy waters, and go through the action of washing his hands, and when he did so dark clouds of mist gathered, first round the bosom of the Infernal Lake (such it had been styled of old), and then wrapping the whole upper part of the mountain in darkness, presaged a tempest or hurricane, which was sure to follow in a short space. The evil spirit was peculiarly exasperated at the audacity of such strangers as ascended the mountain to gaze at his place of punishment, and, in consequence, the magistrates of Lucerne had prohibited any one from approaching Mt. Pilate, under severe penalties.’