EARLY the following morning I started for ZÜrich by the way of Lucerne. I shall say nothing about that gem of cities now; for, in the first place, it was raining when I arrived there, and, in the second place, I had later an opportunity to spend a fortnight there, or rather in the vicinity, with a college classmate who was occupying a handsome villa situated high up above the lake and affording a marvellous gallery of views from every side. I met him by accident in the railway station and he insisted on taking me home with him then and there. Only by faithfully promising him that I would come back to him after my trip in the Tyrol, did he allow me to continue on my way.

So I reached ZÜrich exactly on time and I found Professor Landoldt awaiting me. He took me in a taxicab to his quaint and amusing old house, situated high up and looking over the whole city. When we got there I must say it did not overlook anything, because of the low hanging clouds from which fell a steady rain. One of R. TÖpfer’s “Nouvelles GÉnÉvoises” begins with these words:—“When you travel in Switzerland alone and not bringing your always amiable family along with you, the rain is a melancholy harbinger of tedium as it confines you in a hotel-parlor in the company of disappointed tourists.”

I was alone and without my family and it was disappointing to get my first view of ZÜrich without being able to see much of anything. But the cheery welcome that I received atoned for it. Frau Landoldt was a hearty German woman. I learned accidentally that her father was a Baron von Eggisland and quite well-known as an artist. She herself had a remarkable gift for painting. She was very pretty, with rippling fair hair and eyes like turquoises. They had no children. German individuality is always seen in the decoration of rooms, in the arrangement of pictures and ornaments; it is very different from English or American taste. But in her home prevailed that atmosphere of GemÜtlichkeit which is the very soul of hospitality and makes one happy.

In the middle of the afternoon coffee was brought in, together with ApfelkÜchen and[Pg 415]
[Pg 416] cheese, jam and fruit. We chatted as we drank the delicious coffee. The Professor and his wife were interested to know what I had been doing since I reached Switzerland, and I told them about some of the more notable expeditions which I had enjoyed, especially my trip around the Lake Leman and my visit to Geneva.

As it still rained and was not propitious for sallying forth, we went into the study of Professor Landoldt, which, as I glanced over it, I found had a well-selected variety of books in various languages, especially on history. One of my first remarks, after I had made a cursory tour of the room, rather surprised the serious-minded German. I said: “If one of my chickens—though, to tell the truth, I never had a chicken in my life—were to escape and fly over into my neighbour’s yard or my dog should run away, I could claim him and bring him back?”

“A propos?” asked the Professor, most politely, but evidently thinking I had gone verrÜckt.

“As far as I can make out, a large part of the soil of Switzerland has run away and is disporting itself all over the rest of Europe. Why does it not still belong to Switzerland?”

“Oh, I see what you mean,” he said, very seriously.

“What I really mean is this; if Switzerland, which is a republic, governed, as far as I can judge, more democratically even than our United States, could establish its claim to its run-away land and introduce the same form of government in the army-swamped countries of Europe,—in Germany, France and Austria,—think what a blessing it would be!”

“The time will come,” said the Professor, “when there will be the United States of Europe. Militarism foments national jealousies, but the common people cherish no hatreds. Our little Switzerland was originally just as much divided against itself as Germany and France would be if Fate should suddenly amalgamate them. Germany seized Alsace, and, when I was in Strassbourg not long ago, I noticed that all the men at the market wore knots of black ribbon: that was in token of mourning, because they had been torn from France. But if there were the United States of Europe all that commemoration of hard feelings would vanish. Napoleon was eagle-eyed and prophetic enough to foresee what was coming; he would have made Europe one grand empire, but one grand empire would have been the next step to one grand republic, just as the trusts foreshadow government ownership. Think what would be the saving in what you call ‘dollars and cents’ alone, if the rivalry in military expenditure could be stopped. It would free billions and billions to make perfect roads, to do away with slums, to educate the masses, to cure the disease of intemperance, as well as other curable diseases. It is coming as sure as Fate. We already see the rosy light of its rising on the highest mountain-tops—the sun of democracy touches the edge of the horizon.”

“That is fine,” said I. “Yes, the people are waking to their birthrights. Not long ago I was asked to address a large audience of Russian Jews gathered to do honour to Count TolstoÏ. I said the time would come when, instead of the Emperor of Russia and the Emperor of Germany commanding several millions of peasants torn from their homes to fight with one another for some cause in which they had not the slightest interest, and naturally friendly, these same millions of men would suddenly reverse the current; if there was to be a fight, they would stand round in a vast circle and let the two emperors settle it in the arena just as David fought with Goliath,—perhaps by a discussion, and not by swords and slings or pistols,—and it would be settled just as equitably as if thousands of men and thousands of horses were killed and horribly maimed.”

“The possibility of men of rival nations working side by side has been shown again and again. I have been recently reading about the battle of ZÜrich, where MassÉna defeated the Russians and Austrians. Russians and Austrians fought side by side. A juggle would have set Austrians and Russians fighting one another. Hitherto they have been only pawns, but the new game of chess makes the united pawns more powerful than kings, queens and bishops.”

“That reminds me of the prediction made by the young Marquis de Pezay, author of ‘ZÈles au Bain,’ who in 1771 came to Switzerland and published his ‘SoirÉes HelvÉtiques’ full of odd apostrophes—‘Peoples, whom I am about to visit, good Swiss, shut not your gates to my passage!’ He did not altogether like the mountains, though he called them sublime and immense—‘colosses d’albÂtres’—and he said that they would some day be cut down and practicable roads would be put through, ‘so as to make the nations sisters.’ He made fun of the militarism of the Bernese, though he himself was an officer in the French army. He said: ‘When universal peace comes about we shall see bloody partizans exchanged for useful basins,’—if that is what he means by bÂches salutaires,—‘the ruinous revÊtements of our citadels will look down only on wide canals navigable and well-supplied with fish, and gunpowder will not be exploded in the air except to blow up rocks or celebrate the festivals of pacific kings.’”

“So is that fine,” said the Professor. “But speaking of the Russians and the Austrians fighting side by side—that was a masterly retreat which SuvÓrof made over the mountains. I do not know which to admire most, Hannibal in taking his elephants across the Alps from the RhÔne to the Po, or the Russian field-marshal extricating himself from the cul de sac into which his obstinacy had entrapped him.”

“That is odd!” I exclaimed. “I have just been reading about Hannibal in Polybius and Livy, but I have forgotten if I ever knew the exact facts about SuvÓrof.”

“I will tell you about it,” said the Professor, “if you would like to hear it.”

“Indeed I would.”

The Professor got out a large atlas, and occasionally showed me the places on the map. “I will tell you,” he said, “there is a remarkable account of SuvÓrof’s adventure in the Swiss novelist Ernst Zahn’s ‘Albin Indergand.’ It is right from the life. But I will do my best.

“SuvÓrof, who had crossed the Alps and seized Turin and Milan, was ordered by the Emperor to have his plans approved before being put into execution. He complained of this absurd restriction. ‘In war,’ he said, ‘circumstances are changing from one moment to another; consequently there can be no precise plan of action.’

“He was surrounded by jealousies and by spies, and the Austrian court issued orders without consulting him.

“He was so disgusted with the condition of things that he was tempted to throw up his command. He wrote to the Emperor asking if he might be recalled: ‘I wish to lay my bones in my fatherland and pray God for my Emperor.’ The battle of the Trebbia was succeeded by the sanguinary fight at Novi, where SuvÓrof allowed his forces to be almost annihilated before he woke to the danger in which he was placed. At this battle the French loss was twelve thousand; that of the Allies eight thousand, of which one-fourth were Russians. The Russians began to sack Novi, but SuvÓrof managed to restrain them. He was then ordered to lead the armies in Switzerland.

“He was heartbroken at the vain result of his efforts and triumphs.

“He was almost seventy years old, and during his professional career of half a century, he had never been defeated.

“He had for a local guide through Switzerland Colonel Weywrother, an Austrian officer. Misled by him the Russian general calculated that he could reach Schwyz in seven days. He had twenty thousand men. Uncorrected by Weywrother, he selected a road which ended at Altorf whence the only passage to Lucerne and Schwyz was by water. When, after an incredibly rapid march, covering in four days a space usually requiring a week, they reached Taverna, not one of the fifteen hundred mules ordered was on hand and all the advantage of this marvellous forced passage was lost. They were delayed five days, and then only six hundred and fifty mules came.

“The Grand Duke Constantine suggested dismounting the four thousand Cossacks and using their horses as pack-animals. Lieutenant-General Rosenberg, with a division of six thousand, attempted to turn the Saint-Gotthard pass by the Val di Blegno, Dissentis and the Oberalp Lake. He was obliged to bivouac at Cassaccia, nearly two thousand three hundred meters above the sea, in bitter cold without fire or any sort of shelter. But he succeeded in getting behind the enemy’s position.

“SuvÓrof, mounted on a Cossack horse and wearing the cloth uniform-coat of a private over his flimsy suit, and topping all with his famous threadbare cloak, rode up from Bellinzona, accompanied by an aged peasant guide, who did not know that the road ended at Altorf.

“Reaching and capturing Airolo, they drove out the French, who retired to the mountain and kept up a galling fire.

“When the Russians attempted to carry the summit of the pass it took two successive assaults, at a loss of two thousand men, to win it.

“Rosenberg had, in the meantime, driven the French from the Oberalpsee and crossed the heights above Andermatt, then dashing down through dense fog, had captured that village, and cut off the French reinforcements.

“Flinging his cannon into the Reuss, he took his men over the Betzberg, more than two thousand two hundred meters in height, and brought them in safety into the GÖschenen valley.

“The Urner Loch, a passage cut in the solid rock and just large enough to admit a single pedestrian and his pack, and the Devil’s Bridge, wide enough to allow two men to walk abreast, hanging twenty-three meters above the swift Reuss, were the only means of getting to the pass, which is about half a kilometer long.

“A promiscuous slaughter followed. A French gun swept the tunnel from end to end with grape, and mowed down all who entered. The rearmost Russians pushed those in front of them towards the hole. Its entrance was choked with human beings, and many were pushed over the edge of the chasm and perished in the boiling torrent.

“This waste of life lasted till the Russian flanking parties came in sight on the heights above. Then the defenders of the tunnel retired across the Devil’s Bridge. One can see even now where they broke down the masonry platform by which it was approached. Then followed a murderous battle. The combatants were separated only by the narrow chasm of the Reuss. At last the French, seeing the enemy working his way along the mountain above them to the right, began to waver. Their assailants streamed across the narrow arch as far as the break in the masonry platform. To cross it they pulled down a shed hard by; bound its timbers together with officers’ sashes and laid them across the chasm; Prince Meschersky was the first to cross. ‘Do not forget me in the despatches,’ he cried, as he fell mortally wounded. A Cossack followed him but fell into the torrent.

“The French retreated to Seedorf, on the left bank of the Reuss, and there waited the turn of affairs. Meantime SuvÓrof had reached Altorf, where he found the end of his path.

“Not knowing how conditions were around ZÜrich, he determined to force his way to Schwyz. To do this meant to march across the Rosstock, that rugged ridge between the SchÄchental and the Muotta.

“Even under favourable conditions it is a hard task; but it was now late in the season; yet in spite of all common sense reasons he decided on this plan.

“The terrible advance up the Kinzig pass began on the 27th of September. Bagration was in the van; Rosenberg remained behind to protect the rear. Here is the graphic picture which Milyutin gives of the journey:—

“‘The path became gradually steeper and at times disappeared altogether.

“‘It was not an easy matter for pedestrians to climb such a height: what then must have been the difficulty of conducting horses and mules, laden with guns, ammunition and cartridges! The poor animals could hardly budge a foot; in many cases they stumbled from the narrow pathway headlong into the abyss and were dashed to pieces on the rocks below. The horses often dragged the men with them in their fall; a false step was death.

“‘At times black clouds descending the mountain-sides enveloped the column in dense vapor and the troops were soaked to the skin as if by heavy rain. They groped their way through the raw fog, everything round about being invisible.

“‘The boots of both officers and men were for the most part worn out. Their biscuit-bags were empty. Nothing was left to sustain their strength.

“‘But, in spite of extreme suffering, the half-shod, starving troops of Russia kept up their spirits. In the hour of trial the presence of the son of their Emperor, sharing their fatigues and dangers, encouraged them. During the entire march the Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovitch marched with Bagration’s advance-guard.’

“The sufferings of those Russians were incredible! The main body of the troops spent the bitter cold night in the mountains, with little to eat, no fire and no shelter. Many perished from exposure.

“In the morning SuvÓrof learned that KorsÁkof had been defeated at ZÜrich, that Glarus was in the hands of the French; that Hotze was defeated and killed in the battle on the Linth; that the Austrians who should have been his support on the right had retreated. MassÉna was approaching Schwyz to meet him there; Molitor held Glarus; Le Courbe was at Altorf.

“He was caught in a trap. On the 29th he summoned a council of war.

“When the council was assembled he broke into a furious invective against the Austrians and put the question fair and square:—

“‘We are surrounded in the midst of the mountains by an enemy superior in strength. What are we to do? To retreat is dishonor. I have never retreated. To advance to Schwyz is impossible. MassÉna has sixty thousand men; we have not twenty thousand. Besides, we are destitute of provisions, cartridges and artillery. We can look to no one for aid. We are on the brink of ruin.’

“The council voted to march on Glarus and force a passage past the Wallensee.

“SuvÓrof ended with these brave words:—

[Pg 427]
[Pg 428]

“‘All one can do is to trust in Almighty God and in the courage and devotion of our troops. We are Russians. God is with us.’

“Then the old marshal fell at the feet of the Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovitch. The Grand Duke raised him and kissed him.

“‘Save the honor of Russia and her Tsar! Save our Emperor’s son! Da! We are Russians. With the help of God we will conquer!’

“Bagration pushed the French back into the narrow gorge between the mountains and the KlÖntalersee; but having then a solid position they resisted further attack. MassÉna, advancing from Schwyz, was attacking Rosenberg in the rear in the Muotta valley, but met by Rehbinder’s brigade and attacked from above by Cossacks fighting on foot, they were driven back through the defile, a terrible slaughter of the fugitives taking place at the bridge, now known as SuvÓrof’s, which spanned the Muotta.

“Again the Russians had to sleep out-of-doors, cold and starving and exposed to a bitter sleet. The grand duke and SuvÓrof found shelter in a cow-shed.

“On the morning of October 1, MassÉna with fifteen thousand men again attacked Rosenberg whose troops followed up ‘a staggering volley’ with the famous SuvÓrof bayonet charge and drove them miles down the valley, inflicting on them a loss of more than two thousand, not counting perhaps as many more drowned in the Muotta, while some hundreds fell or threw themselves over precipices.

“Bagration was having equal success against Molitor in the defile by the KlÖntalersee driving him back to Mollis, but when he was reinforced, retiring to Nettstal, in good order. SuvÓrof himself had captured Glarus and a large supply of provisions; while Rosenberg by a master-stroke of strategy succeeded in rejoining SuvÓrof in spite of a heavy snow-storm, and the sufferings of his men, who in their turn had to bivouac on the pass without food or fire.

“The army, however, was still hemmed in and was short of provisions, and still worse, short of ammunition. Their only hope was to escape by the Panixer pass, but at this time of the year the deep snow already fallen had obliterated the path; they were surrounded by dense clouds; they had no guides; the superstitious Russians were greatly alarmed by seeing the lightning and hearing peals of thunder below them—a phenomenon which seemed to them supernatural. Occasionally a man, or even an officer, mounted, would vanish entirely, swallowed up in some deep crevasse hidden by snow.

“They had to spend the night again on the mountain; it grew bitter cold; the snow became dangerously slippery. A bombardment of rocks from the heights above killed many.

“But the remainder with incredible courage pushed on the next day to Ilanz, where it was found that at least five thousand were missing.

“On the 8th of October they reached Coire, where, at last, the starved wretches had something to eat.

“And all this loss and suffering might have been largely obviated had SuvÓrof known enough to follow the SplÜgen pass and the Grisons, or having reached Altorf, joined Lipken by the SchÄchental.

“In honour of the heroic management of the Swiss campaign the Emperor made him generalissimo of the Russian army, calling him ‘the most renowned commander of this or any other age.’”

“That is certainly a great story,” said I. “Isn’t there a statue or a memorial to SuvÓrof?”

“Oh, yes. At the Devil’s Bridge, on the side of the chasm, there is a tall granite cross, about ten meters high, put up in 1899, and with an inscription in Russian to the memory of him and his brave comrades. The bridge itself is generally called after him.”

“It brings these great events very vividly before one to be at the very spot where they took place, does it not?”

“Yes, just think what centuries of history this ZÜrich of ours has seen! While I was in England a few years ago I picked up at a second-hand bookshop a queer old copy of Thomas Coryat’s ‘Crudities.’ Here is the book: in his dedication he calls himself ‘Thy benevolent itinerating friend T. C., the Odcombian Legge-Stretcher.’ He travelled through all this region, using his ‘ten toes for a nagge.’ Here he refers to ZÜrich: he says that while here he met Rodolphus Hospinianus, Gaspar Waserus and Henricus Bultigerus. Gaspar Waserus was the ‘ornamÊt of the town, speaking eight languages’ but Hospinian—that ‘glittering lamp of learning’—told him that their city was founded in the time of Abraham. He derives the names from the fact that it belonged to two kingdoms—zweier Reich—‘one, on the farther bank of the Limacus,’ he says, ‘belonged to Turgouia, that on the hither bank Ergouia.’ The Latin name, according to him, was Turegum, quasi, duorum regum civitas.”

“An amusing case of imaginary etymology,” I should say. “But ZÜrich is a very ancient city, I believe.”

“Oh, yes. In 1853 and the following year there was a remarkable diminution of the waters in the lake and wide surfaces were laid bare. Near Obermeilen, above half-way up the lake, some labourers were embanking some new land and they discovered piles, bits of charcoal and other relics. Ferdinand Keller began making investigations and he discovered that these piles were in parallel rows and were evidently the remains of habitations. After that any number of similar discoveries were made. At Concise, near NeuchÂtel, from one single aquatic village twenty-five thousand different objects were recovered. And they now know exactly how these villages looked with their floors of fire-hardened clay, their circular walls, their conical roofs made of wattled reeds and straw or bark. If you have been into any of the Swiss museums you have seen their weapons and stag-horns, bulls’ skulls, flint arrowheads, serpentine hatchets, slings, horn-awls, rings, and clay vessels, toys, quoits, ornamented often with rude but not inartistic etchings,—there is no end to the things preserved,—and even their canoes hollowed out of one trunk, just such as Hannibal used for crossing the RhÔne. Each village had probably two or three hundred huts connected with the shore by a bridge. One investigator discovered a storehouse containing a hundred measures of barley and wheat. They evidently had their farms; they raised apples, pears and plums. They had a trade with other tribes, for coral and amber articles were found. Yes, ZÜrich is built on a settlement that existed probably fifteen hundred years before Christ—not so very far from the time of Abraham.”

“Who were they?”

“Some think they were of the same race as the Etruscans. It is probable that they were attacked by the Kelts, who burnt their villages.”

“I suppose it was Kelts who attacked Hannibal.”

“Probably; they were Allobrogi. The Kelts were always freedom-loving.”

“I remember what Kant says about the people of mountains loving freedom: ‘The peoples that dwell around and on the mountains are very strong and bold and in all ways seek to assert their freedom—ihre Freiheit zu behaupten. But this probably comes from the fact that in such regions it is very easy for a few to defend themselves against great armies, and, moreover, the mountain-peaks are uninhabited and uninhabitable; in the valleys also little wealth is to be found and no one is especially tempted to dwell in such regions.’ He also claims that the peoples that do live there and are vegetarians are the freest.”

“I am not so certain about the valleys not tempting to invasion. Do you know one of the most interesting episodes in Swiss history is the coming of the Saracens? Yet they left surprisingly few remains—a few medals without dates—a few names embedded in other names—like Pontresina, which is Pons Sarecenorum.”

“I know it is, because one of my favourite novels is Viktor von Scheffel’s ‘Ekkehard.’”

“Do you know that?”

“Indeed I do, and, above all things, I want to go to the Lake of Constance—your Bodensee—and make a pilgrimage to the Hohentwil, where Ekkehard taught the duchess Latin and she taught him love.”

“We will go there together; that will be an excellent excursion.”

This plan also, I will say here, we carried out, visiting at the same time Constance and two or three other towns on the lake, and also the Falls of the Rhine. Really, to know Switzerland, one would have to live here years. Everywhere I go the charm and variety of it grows on me. Mountains, mountains everywhere! I can say with old Coryat:—

“Such is the height of many of these mountains that I saw at the least two hundred of them that were ‘farre aboue’ some of the clouds!”

I was glad that Constance, which controls the mouth of its lake, has also its Reformer—John Huss—to compare with Geneva’s Calvin and ZÜrich’s Zwingli; they prize him all the more because they put him to death!

THE FALLS OF THE RHINE.