There Was Such A
Chasm, A Mountain Cut In Twain, With A Bridge, And A Man To Throw A
Stone
Down; and you could hear it go _boom_, and _he held his
hat!_ "Not a doubt of that," said I.
Then there was a cavern in the
ice, and the ice was so green, and the water dripped from the roof,
and a great river rushed out. Such was the substance of their united
enthusiasm.
But, alas! it was not enough to lose the best glacier in Switzerland;
I must needs lose two cascades and a chamois. Just before coming to
Meyringen, I was composedly riding down a species of stone gridiron,
set up sidewise, called a road, when the guide overtook me, and
requested me to walk, as the road was bad. Stupid fellow! he said not
a word about cascades and chamois, and so I went down like a chamois
myself, taking the road that seemed best and nearest, and reached the
inn an hour before the rest. After waiting till I became alarmed, and
was just sending back a messenger to inquire, lo, in they came, and
began to tell me of cascades and chamois.
"What cascade? What chamois? I have not seen any!" And then what a
burst! "Not seen any! What, two cascades, one glacier, and a
four-year-old chamois, lost in one day! What will become of you? Is
this the way you make the tour of Switzerland?"
Saturday, July 23. Rode in a _voiture_ from Meyringen to Brienz,
on the opposite end of the lake from Interlachen. Embarked in a
rowboat of four immense oars tied by withs. Two men and one woman
pulled three, and W. and I took turns at the fourth. The boat being
high built, flat bottomed, with awning and flagstaff, rolled and
tipped so easily that soon H., with remorseful visage, abandoned her
attempt to write, and lay down. There is a fresh and savage beauty
about this lake, which can only be realized by rowing across.
Interlachen is underrated in the guide books. It has points of
unrivalled loveliness; the ruins of the old church of Rinconberg, for
example, commanding a fine view of both lakes, of the country between,
and the Alps around, while just at your feet is a little lake in a
basin, some two hundred feet above the other lakes. Then, too, from
your window in the Belvedere, you gaze upon the purity of the
Jungfrau. The church, too, where on Sabbath we attended Episcopal
service, is embowered in foliage, and seems like some New England
village meeting house.
Monday, July 25. Adieu to Interlachen! Ho for Lucerne and the Righi!
Dined at Thun in a thunder storm. Stopped over night at Langnau, an
out-of-the-way place. H. and G. painted Alpine flowers, while I played
violin. This violin must be of spotless pedigree, even as our Genevese
friend, Monsieur - , certified when he reluctantly sold it me. None
but a genuine AMATI, a hundred years old, can possess this mysterious
quality, that can breathe almost inaudible, like a mornbeam in the
parlor, or predominate imperious and intense over orchestra and choir,
illuminating with its fire, like chain lightning, the arches of a vast
cathedral.
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