The Railway Conquest of the World

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

It was not until about a century ago that the first vehicle lumbered over this rugged hump. Then the demand for closer communication between the two countries prompted the ambitious Helvetians to embark upon a costly and momentous enterprise—the building of a postroad over the mountain. They cut a roadway 18½ feet wide, with an average grade of 10 per cent. to a height of 6,936 feet up the flanks of this snow-topped giant, with its deep rifts, rushing rivers, and faced the terrors of the avalanche. It is a striking piece of work, for at places the road clings, limpet-like, to perpendicular walls, describes sharp twists and turns sudden corners. Although the people could ill afford the expense of the undertaking, they carried it to completion, confident that untold benefit would accrue from its provision.

They were right in their surmise. That mountain road changed completely the direction of the stream of traffic flowing between Switzerland and Italy. The novelty of the route, the magnificent panoramas unfolded from every foot of its length, appealed to the tourist and traveller and they bravely essayed the “pass.” To-day that mountain road is trodden but seldom. It has fallen into desuetude; the railway has killed its utility.

So soon as the iron horse invaded the little country it was sought to carry it into Italy via the St. Gotthard; not over the mountain crest, but through its base. Every engineer nursed the ambition to overcome that frowning knot with the steel highway. For years brilliant minds lived, dreamt, and died obsessed with this one great idea. Even in 1846, when the first railway was opened from Baden to Zurich, preparations were made to carry the line onward through the mountain chain. To the Swiss people, boring through a mountain for nine miles or so appeared no more difficult than burrowing through a hillock for as many yards. It was only a question of time and expense.

An “Alpine tunnel fever” set in with terrible malignancy, and there was fierce rivalry and jealousy created between the various railway companies, cantons and towns as to who should have the honour of completing this remarkable link. Fortunately the Government itself preserved a cool head, turned a deaf ear to entreaties, refused concessions, and discouraged any possible hope of financial aid. The last-named factor proved the greatest stumbling-block, but there is no doubt that if the money could have been obtained for such an enterprise an attempt to tunnel the Alps would have been made in the ’fifties.

Though the ambition was scotched it was not killed by any means, for a few years later the same scheme was revived and more keenly discussed than ever. The French and Italian nations resuscitated the project by co-operating in the effort to pierce the Col de Fréjus, popularly known as the Mont Cenis tunnel. The first stroke of the pick-axe upon this momentous enterprise was made in August, 1857, and the two chief engineers, Grattoni and Sommeiller, pledged themselves to complete the task with the assistance of the French and Italian governments. In the face of the most terrible difficulties that could be conceived, equipped with tools which appear puny and futile in comparison with those used for such work to-day, they cut, blasted, and excavated their way through 7½ miles of dense rock. Boring from either end, the rock-hogs broke down the last wall of rock on Christmas Day, 1870, and in September of the following year a shorter and more direct route between the two countries was opened to traffic.

The progress of this tunnel was watched with the closest interest by the Helvetians. This piercing of an Alpine mountain was something new in railway engineering. The wiseacres croaked that it would never be completed; that Nature would spring some sudden surprise upon the engineers in the depths of the mountain which would arrest the whole enterprise. But as the two headings slowly but surely approached one another, and the engineers broke down their obstacles as they arose with commendable pluck and determination, the sceptics became silenced.

THE GÖSCHENEN ENTRANCE TO THE ST. GOTTHARD TUNNEL

Work was commenced at this point on June 4, 1872. The huge task was completed and the line opened for traffic on May 22, 1882.

The pride of the Swiss was wounded. If the French and Italians could accomplish such a herculean and apparently impossible task, why was a similar idea beyond their powers? The “conquest of the Alps” broke out with renewed vigour. It became more than a personal issue; it blossomed into one of economic, political and commercial importance. Consequently, before the Cenis Tunnel was opened for traffic, the preliminary arrangements for burrowing through the St. Gotthard had assumed concrete shape. But it had been a wearisome enterprise. The promoters had to battle against intrigue and jealousies innumerable on the part of private individuals, companies seeking for the same concession, towns and departmental governments. But the project became one of even more than national importance; it became an international question. The provision of such a route would bring northern Europe into closer touch with Italy and her ports on the Mediterranean. That fact was realised, and when the company incorporated to carry out the work announced that the task was far too risky for private resources, the governments of the countries most intimately interested in the fulfilment of the project promised tangible assistance in the form of substantial subventions.