Look, look! The great ball of fire was sinking to the edge of the horizon, which was streaked gorgeously with crimson and gold. Golden tints fell far and near, upon valley, lakes, and mountains, and the white robes of the snow-clad peaks, were changed to rose. All voices were hushed, for a spectacle so sublime awakened in every one emotions too deep for words. Lower and lower, until only a great gold shield remained, and soon all light was gone, and the shadows covered us. ‘These are Thy works also, O God, for Thou didst make the heavens and the earth.’
Stiff with cold, we hurried to our hotel, whose lights twinkled cheerfully for us in the distance, and a good dinner, with warm drinks, soon thawed us into a comfortable condition. After dinner we tried to find a room heated sufficiently for us to remain in and not freeze, but there was none. Large, handsome parlors and corridors, but all as cold as ice-caves. The proprietors of this house make a great mistake in not providing fires for the comfort of their guests; and for the very lack of this necessity to one’s health, we decided to leave as early as possible in the morning. After a brisk promenade through the hall with our friends, we bade them good-night, promising to rise at the sound of the alpine horn and meet them in the parlor, to go out and see the rising of the sun, which they assured us would be far more wonderful than its setting. ‘Now you will be sure to be on hand,’ said Mr. W. ‘I would not have you miss it for anything. I have a fur coat here which I will unpack to put about you; you will have to rise at three o’clock, you know.’ ‘O yes, I will surely be ready. We have come far to see the sun rise on the Rigi, and I must not miss it. Good-night,’ and off we go to our room at the very top of the house. Just hear the wind roar.
Our chamber was cold, our chambermaid colder, and upon our asking her for more bed covering she undoubtedly reached the freezing-point somewhere, for she disappeared and we saw her not again. After prolonged and vigorous ringings of our bell, a petrified-looking boy appeared, but he manifested some signs of life as our money touched his palm, and we succeeded in coaxing him to bring us an extra feather bed. That bed was warm, and as our own was cold and clammy, I felt pretty sure the boy gave us his own bed. But I was grateful, and he was satisfied with the bargain.
‘Get up, and dress as soon as you can,’ said F., holding a ghostly candle in front of my face. ‘Up! why I had just got to sleep.’ ‘The alpine horn has sounded, and you must see the sun rise.’ ‘No, I am just beginning to get warm; what does it rise at this unheard-of time for?’ ‘There, Mr. W. is calling us outside our door; do come, hurry.’ ‘No!’ The horn tooted most unmusically. I was too tired and sleepy, with a bad cold thrown in, to care whether the sun ever rose or not. I had had too hard work to get a comfortable resting place, to have no benefit from it, so off F. went, and I knew no more until seven o’clock, when she exasperatingly informed me of what a delightful time they had, that the sun setting was not to be compared in glory to its rising, that it was a wonderful revelation, and that I had persistently refused to enjoy it. O dear! why will people always tell you that the sights you do not see are those the best worth seeing.
Thursday, July 19th, 1888.—Although we ordered our breakfast last night, it was not ready for us when we went to the dining-room. ‘Very sorry, some mistake,’ said the waiter; but that did not give us our breakfast, and it was nearly time for the car to leave. We choked down some cold bread and half-made coffee, and rushed, meeting a waiter just bringing our hot rolls and chops, which we had paid for when we settled our bill the night before. I took out a clean napkin from my bag, and took from him our breakfast, wrapped it in my napkin, and said good-morning to the half-dazed man, who ejaculated just one word, which sounded like ‘whew.’ Our friends were at the car to see us off, and tried to exchange their tickets for some that would take them our route, but could not, so good-bys were said, and off we pushed to descend the Rigi. We have been unusually fortunate in having such perfect weather for this mountain trip. This morning is lovely. We move cautiously down a road, on the opposite side from the one we went up, so all views are new to us. We soon reached Lake Zug. Our car conductor gracefully saluted us as we left his care to take the boat. These Swiss conductors have a pretty custom of always saluting each other when they meet, also.
We crossed the lake to the city of Zug. Had two hours to wait there, so walked about the queer little town. Wandered into a church where were several good pictures. On our way back to the station we stepped into a neat-looking wayside inn and called for a bottle of wine to go with our Rigi spoils for a luncheon. The proprietress and her fair daughter seemed much interested in us. We spread out our luncheon on a clean tablecloth, were served with delicious butter and honey, and enjoyed it at our leisure. With the curiosity of the sex, these women wondered who and what we were. Our dress was strange to them, and our language stranger. We told them we were from America, and were travelling to see their country. ‘Wo ist der Herr,’ asked the woman. ‘We have none,’ we answered. ‘Mein Gott!’ said she. We hear no more French spoken now; all German.
Our next stopping place was Zurich, where we had a good table d’hôte dinner, and then pushed on to Schaffhausen, where we alight for the Falls of the Rhine, and ride in a carriage about two miles to our hotel, ‘The Schweizerhoff.’ This house, with all its appointments, is the best we have yet seen in all Europe. It is situated in the midst of beautiful grounds, on the bank of the Rhine, with the falls in full sight. Our room was not only comfortable, but approached elegance, and the long windows opened on to a veranda where stood two large, soft easy-chairs, as if waiting to welcome us, and give us the best pictures of the country about. Making a hasty toilette, we went down stairs and out on to the piazza, where sat at their ease a distinguished-appearing company to see the falls, which our guidebook had told us were the largest in Europe.
In front of us, at the foot of the garden, ran the river, and a little to the right was a small rapid, apparently about as high as the fall of water that I used to see running a saw-mill on the East Taunton road, but not for an instant did we suppose that those were ‘the falls.’ ‘Will you please tell me where the Falls of the Rhine are?’ I asked a lady near me. The woman looked dazed, and turned toward me to see if I was blind, but politely answered, ‘Why, there they are!’ Impulsively, with a disgusted tone, I exclaimed, so disappointed was I, ‘Those the Rhine Falls! Well, just think of Niagara.’ ‘Sh—sh,’ said F., ‘you are forever waving the stars and stripes.’ If the house and place had not given us so much pleasure we should have felt our time wasted in coming here, but these exceed our expectations. The cuisine was simply perfect, and at table we were served by pretty, rosy-cheeked Swiss maids, dressed in white skirts, full-sleeved white waists and black velvet bodices, and looking as fresh and sweet as pinks. They moved, as if one person, to the sound of a bell, doing entirely away with long waits between courses, and every dish brought to us was most delicious.
Friday, July 20th.—We had our breakfast served on the broad piazza, fronting the Rhine, by our pleasant Swiss girl this morning, and the fragrance from the sweet flowers about us brought memories of the orange groves in Florida where we stood only a few months ago. Time and steam do wonders. Hoping to consider the falls a less disappointment on a closer approach to them, we decided to go to their very centre in a boat. About in the middle of them stands a rock, on which has been erected a pavilion, and to which boatmen are ready to take passengers at all times. We reached the landing safely, through currents and whirlpools, and the rapids themselves did appear of much greater magnitude on closer proximity, but I doubt their being the largest in Europe. The town of Schaffhausen is very ancient, with its queer old houses, gateways, and walls. On the old bell of the cathedral is an inscription, which translated means, ‘I call the living: I mourn the dead: I break the thunder;’ which it is said, prompted Schiller to write the exquisite verses of ‘The Song of the Bell.’
Saturday, July 21st.—Yes, the Schweizerhoff is a haven of rest, and had we time, we should like to tarry longer. We are close to Germany now, and must see something of it, but I fear the majestic scenery of Switzerland has spoiled us for any scenery of less beauty. The proprietors of these Swiss hotels have a custom of giving to each departing lady guest a bouquet. Mine this morning was unusually beautiful, and when I said to the giver, ‘We have really been charmed with your house,’ a pretty picture of the place was added to the first offering. To the omnibus in which we rode to the station from the hotel, was harnessed, as our leader, an immense cream-colored bull, a handsome creature, truly huge in his proportions. I doubt if I shall admire Paul Potter’s as much.