Truth is mighty. We have been up the Rigi Railway, and in spite of the beauty before our eyes, instead of experiencing grand and elevated emotions, instead of remembering the words of some noble poet, instead of doing anything we ought to have done, we could only, prompted by a perverse spirit, say over and over to ourselves,—

“General Gage was very brave,

Very brave, particular;

He galloped up a precipice,

And down a perpendicular.”

Our Rigi experience, taken all in all, was an agreeable and a very amusing outing. We had waited long till skies were fair enough for us to venture, but at last Pilatus looked benign, and we had the loveliest of sails across that lovely lake, Lucerne; happy sunlight falling on blue water and exquisite shores, shadows of floating clouds reflected in the depths; and all the noble army of mountains thronging before us, and beside us, and behind us; bold barren hills rising sharply against rich and varied foliage; superb white heights afar off. At Vitznau we waited a short time for our train, and employed ourselves happily in watching a great group of fruit-sellers, who stood with huge baskets of fine grapes, and poor peaches, and figs, before the bench where we were sitting. After the fashion of idle travellers, we audibly made our comments upon the pretty scene:—

“If I had not already bought this fruit, I should buy it of that little boy; I always like to buy my fruit of little boys.”

“And if I had not already bought mine, I should buy it of the man with the long tassel on his cap: I dote on buying fruit of good-looking young men with tassels on their caps.”

Who could dream that this utterly inane conversation would be understood? But the face of the youth with the tassel—he looked Italian, although he was speaking German—suddenly gleamed and sparkled mischievously, and showed a row of white teeth, as he pointed at his head and touched his tassel and said, “Cap! cap!” with huge satisfaction and pride. Not another English word could he say, but the similarity between this and the German Kappe, and his quick intuition, told him that we were alluding, and not unpleasantly, to him.

Traveller, beware! Don't buy fresh figs at Vitznau. We each pursued one to the bitter end; then politely presented what remained in our paper to a small fruit-seller, to devour if she liked, or to sell over again to the next guileless person who has never eaten fresh figs, and wants to be Oriental. This civility on our part was received with laughter by the whole group of men, women, and children, who all seemed to perfectly appreciate the point of the joke. It at least was consoling. Being cheated in buying fruit is an evil that can be borne, but it is an utterly crushing sensation when people won't smile at your jokes.

The carriage which was to take us up the precipice we surveyed with curiosity and pleasure,—one broad car with open sides, affording perfect command of the views, the seats running quite across it and turned towards the locomotive, which, going up, runs behind. Between the ordinary rails are two rails with teeth, upon which a cog-wheel in the locomotive works. The train runs very slowly, only about three miles an hour, which is both safe and favorable to enjoyment of the scenery, and in case of accident the car can be instantly detached from the locomotive and stopped. No one need think that I am giving these few facts as information, the very last thing one wants to find in a letter from Europe. I would not presume,—and of course almost everybody knows how the Rigi Railway works; only, it happens, I did not know, and I mention these things merely to refresh my own memory.

So far as views are concerned, it is of course preferable to make the ascent on foot. But where one is bewildered by the affluence of beauty in Switzerland, one feels willing to sacrifice something of it to the new experience of this curious ride. Some people, it is true, like to say they walked up the Rigi. But why shall we indulge in so small a vanity, when we can easily indulge in a greater one,—several thousand feet greater, in fact? When any one boasts, “I walked up the Rigi,” we shall return quietly, “We ascended Piz Languard in the Engadine.” For all the world knows the Rigi is only 5,905 feet high, and Piz Languard is 10,715 feet. We felt that we could afford to ride up the Rigi, then.

It was all extremely spirited and enjoyable, and we could never forget how strongly we resembled General Gage. The views were beautiful and ever varying. The atmosphere was slightly hazy, so that the dark BÜrgenstock beyond the lake, which lay in loveliness before us, became more and more shadowy as we ascended; and the Stanserhorn and Pilatus, and all the Alps of the Uri, Engelberg, and Bernese Oberland, though distinct, had yet the thinnest possible veil before their faces; and the precipice above us was amazing to see, and the perpendicular reached down, down into deep ravines, where the narrow waterfalls looked like silver threads among the trees and bushes and gray, jagged rocks.

Reaching the hotels that stand on the tip-top of the Kulm, we went to the one that had stoves, which is the Schreiber, for “bitter chill it was.” We had barely time to see the whole magnificent prospect, before the clouds closed in upon us, enveloping us in such a thoroughgoing way that we could only allude to the sunset with shrieks of laughter. And up to the time of the arrival of the latest train came pilgrims from every quarter, also bent on seeing the sunset from the Rigi Kulm. Group after group came up through the mist from the little station to the hotel, everybody very merry over his own blighted hopes. Towards evening it rained heavily, and there was nothing to do but amuse one's self within doors. This is not difficult at the Schreiber, an unusually large and well arranged hotel. To find such spacious, brilliant salons up here is a surprise; and when you look about in them and see persons from many different grades of society, many nations, and hear almost every language of Europe, and realize that you are all here together on a mountain-top and fairly in the clouds, it is quite entertaining enough without the books and papers which are at your service. There were even two Egyptian princes there. The small boy of our party, whom every one notices and pets, and who, though speaking absolutely nothing but English, has a miraculous way of being understood and of conversing intimately with Russians, Poles, Greeks, etc., was on friendly terms with the Egyptians at once, and, after five minutes' acquaintance, had made his usual demand for postage-stamps. By the grace of childhood much is possible.

Truly this Rigi Kulm is a curious place. It is said the spectacle of sunrise rarely deigns to appear before the expectant mortals who throng there to see it. Half an hour before sunrise, in fair weather, an Alpine horn rouses the sleepers, and people rush out, often in fantastic garb, with blankets round them and a generally wild-Indian aspect. There is actually a notice on every bed-room door in the Rigi Kulm House, requesting guests to be good enough not to take the coverings from the beds when they go to see the sunrise.

A strange, wild place was the Kulm as the night advanced. The wind howled, and shrieked, and moaned, and witches on broomsticks flew round and round the house and tapped noisily on our window-panes. If you don't believe it, stay there one night in a storm, and then you will believe anything. But though storm and night and cloud encircled us, we saw vividly, as we sank into our dreams, the whole superb landscape,—forests, lakes, hills, towns, villages, plains, the waves of mist in the valleys, the ever-changing light and shade, the little fleecy clouds wreathing the glistening snowy peaks, the sunshine and the glorious sky. The wide, calm picture was before us still.

It was a night of witchy noises, of starts and fears that we should oversleep and so lose the sunrise, which, in spite of the storm, the predictions of the weather-wise, and the promptings of common-sense, it was impossible for our party not to confidently expect, so strong an element in it was the sanguine temperament. From midnight on, one figure or another might have been seen standing by the window, two excited, staring eyes peering wildly through the shutters, anxious to discern the first glimmerings of dawn; and from every restless nap we would awake with a start, thinking we surely heard that “horn.” If the other people were as absurd as we, they were quite absurd enough. That Rigi sunrise, whether it comes or is only anticipated, is enough to shake a constitution of iron.

But no horn sounded, and the lazy sun only struggled through the clouds as late as eight o'clock, when the view once more opened before us, grand and beautiful in the sudden gleam of morning sunshine. The Bernese Alps magnificently white,—the Jungfrau, Finster-Aarhorn, many well-known peaks in raiment of many colors; the lakes of Lucerne and Zug directly below, and seven or eight more lakes visible,—in all, a beautiful prospect, and remarkable from the fact that the gaze sweeps over an expanse of three hundred miles.

Very soon the clouds rolled in again. Not a vestige of view remained, and a persistent drizzle sent several car-loads of disappointed but amused beings down the mountain. We all began to be sceptical about that Rigi Kulm sunrise which we had heard described in glowing words. We were inclined to doubt whether any one, even the oldest inhabitant, had ever seen it.

Some writer says it is dismal on the Kulm in wet weather. I think if there were only one poor, drenched, frozen mortal up there aspiring to gaze upon the glory that is denied him, it would be dismal in the extreme; but when so many, scores, hundreds, go, and so few attain their object,—for the summit of the Rigi is often surrounded with clouds, even in fairest weather,—it is not in the least dismal; on the contrary, highly enlivening, and the trip well worth taking, though it end in clouds.

In the language of a young Russian gentleman who is learning English, “I have made a little tripe, and enjoyed my little tripe delicious.”

[pg!194]