On our way back to Lucerne, at the sight of the descent we had to make, terror seized me. It looked the most break-neck thing in the world, and it made me quite giddy to look down into the valley which is about nine hundred feet below. The hill was so steep that you felt as if you were going to pitch head first down it when you began to descend.
We got back to our hotel just in time for our well-earned dinner. The next day, having put our heavy luggage in deposit at the warehouse, we proceeded on our journey, and went to rove about Switzerland. In the first place we are going to Interlaken. We have reached Alpnacht by steamboat, and had great difficulties in getting seats in the brakes that run to Interlaken, the passengers had to take them by assault. We waited for our turn with a surprisingly long delay; the huge conveyances, with six powerful horses put to them, were filling fast, and there were still no places assigned to us. At last we were provided with a supplement in the shape of a landau. There was room for four in our carriage, two seats were already occupied by a very cross German lady and her daughter, who looked at us as if they wished to order our instant execution. They were most peevish companions and grumbled all the way that der Papa had been placed into another supplementary conveyance. We made sustained efforts at conversation, but only received rebuffs. Really, I quite expected them to bite us.
We proceeded at a brisk pace, changing horses only once. At twelve o’clock we stopped half-way in a little hamlet where luncheon had been prepared for us in an inn named Au Lion d’Or, whilst our horses were being changed. The table-d’hôte was served by pretty apple-cheeked waitresses dressed in the quaint costume of the Swiss peasant. They wore red skirts and black velvet bodices edged with little buttons of sparkling steel, with a flowered silk kerchief crossed over their breasts, and a golden cross on their necks.
It was time for us to move on. When we returned to our carriage we found it had another occupant, the cross lady’s husband, der Papa, a little man with a big red moustache, who declared in a very rough tone that the seat belonged to him. It appears that it really was his place, and that his wife had exchanged seats of her own free will with two other German travellers. One of them immediately on starting, leisurely took off his coat, putting himself at his ease, and sat all the rest of the journey in his shirt-sleeves. The carriage went slowly winding up a long ascent. The road crept on between mountain slopes; close at hand the great form of the Jungfrau rose white to the sky. The ascent was difficult enough and when a specially steep bit was coming, the coachmen descended from their boxes to ease the horses up the rough track, walking by them and pulling vigorously at their long clay pipes.
CHAPTER XXVI
INTERLAKEN
Close to Interlaken we took the train for about ten minutes. Interlaken is situated in a narrow pass encircled by a range of sparkling white mountains, behind which rises the majestic Jungfrau. This coquettish little town seems to be specially built for tourists, there are almost nothing but hotels in the place. The room which we occupied at the Hôtel des Alpes was furnished Swiss style, with a cuckoo-clock and cupboards in the walls; there were antimacassars everywhere, and two blue vases on the mantlepiece with everlasting flowers; on a small table lay a bible and a hymn-book.
Next morning when I looked out of our windows I saw a wonderful sight, the snow-capped Jungfrau emerged from a mantle of clouds, a glittering dazzling mass with a background of shimmering snow-clad mountains. It is most fortunate that the summit unveiled to-day, as it is only seen on rare occasions.
Our excursion to the Glaciers was arranged for eight o’clock, and the conveyance that we had ordered the day before stood at the door of our hotel, a mountain chariot with horses jingling with bells. We set off in the gayest of spirits. Our driver cracked his whip, and away rolled the carriage. Soon we were hurrying along the valley road, and passed meadows strewn with wild flowers. We took three hours to mount to the Hotel Eiger. On our way we met peasant girls with loaded baskets on their heads. On the slopes villagers in large straw hats were cutting down the grass, and women in bright-coloured skirts were working in the potato-fields. Here comes a procession of carts laden with blocks of ice procured from the Glaciers, dragged by patient sad-eyed oxen. In the distance the echo of an alpine horn and the cries of some peasants resounded. We overtook a peasant woman jolted like a basket on the back of her mule. After a mile or two the road began to mount, and our tender-hearted driver climbed down from the seat and walked at the horses’ heads, driving off the troublesome flies which stuck to his steeds. We crossed a tidy little village consisting of but one straggling street. The roofs of the houses are covered with lathings, with big stones laid over them, in order that the wind should not scatter them about. Behind the rusty gates flaxen-haired children stared at us. On the front of a tavern we saw the picture of a bear with the pleasant inscription, “Lait Frais,” written underneath. Close by, on the front of an hostelry, we read, “Les voyageurs qui descendent chez nous seront contents”—(The tourists who put up at our house will be contented.) A year ago there was fearful damage done in the valley we were driving through, a huge block of rock fell down from the cliffs and hurled itself into the valley, destroying a house which was taken clear away. We had to pass that square stone that looked like a monument in the middle of the road. We wanted to stop before a wicket with a finger-post pointing to it with the inscription “La Chute Noire, 25 centimes par personne” but our driver said it was not worth while as we could see this same Chine at free cost a few paces off.
The road was interrupted here and there by gates which were opened by the village children, who received coppers for it. Before a wooden bridge in the form of a Swiss Chalet, we were met by a party of barefooted, yellow-haired brats, provided with long branches to chase off the flies, and square stones to put under the wheels on steep ascents. They followed us during a whole hour, waving their branches and singing Tyrolese songs. We plodded on steadily for three hours. Having reached the Hôtel Eiger we ordered saddle-horses, and went to the glaciers by a narrow way, with the rock-wall at one elbow and perpendicular precipices at the other. The rough path was so narrow that we had to ride one below the other, treading a road where a man would have scarcely room enough to pass.