the simplon
julius cæsar also left behind him a treatise in two books on analogy (a department of grammar); which he composed while crossing the alps.—suetonius.
september 8.—last night i had told the head-waiter that i must be off at 5 a.m., and he had replied that it was impossible: that at that hour no one in the hotel would be up; that coffee could not be prepared before six. i, however, gained my point by asking him to set the coffee for me overnight; telling him that i would take it in the morning cold. this proposal appeared to him so uncivilised, that he was confounded by its enormity, and offered no further resistance. i then paid the bill; and was off this morning at the desired time.
as my sac had not arrived from ponte grande, i left written instructions that, when it turned up—it was due last evening—it should be sent on to brieg. thus i had gained nothing by the afternoon i had lost. at ponte grande, on the morning after the 132break-down of my own porter-guide, it was evident that the master of the hotel had conceived the very natural idea of persuading me to take one of his people in that double capacity, or, that failing, to take a carriage. in resentment of this, i had contented myself with putting into my pocket what i should want most during the two following days; and had left the bag, and the rest of what was in it, to chance. i now saw the absurdity of what i had done; for why, in such a matter, should i have taken into consideration, the landlord’s scheming, or anything in the world, except my own convenience? my bag, as might have been expected, did not turn up at brieg. this made me still more conscious of my absurdity. eventually, however, by the aid of the telegraph and post-office, i recovered it at interlaken. this i felt i had not deserved.
as you begin to ascend the simplon, perhaps you will be thinking—at all events you have read remarks of the kind often enough to be reminded of them now—that its road is a line of masonry, carried for forty-four miles over mountains, and through storm and avalanche-swept ravines; that it is one of the mighty works by which man has triumphed over a great obstacle, which nature had placed in his path; that it was constructed for purposes of war and rapine, and for the aggrandizement of an individual, but is now used for the purposes of peace, and for the friendly intercourse 133of nations; and that the barrier, which it has practically removed, had its use in those times when it was shielding nascent civilisation from northern barbarism. if so, you will not altogether regret that you are on foot, and alone. this will give you an opportunity for conferring, without irrelevant interruptions, with the genius loci, and allow the trains of thought it brings you to unfold themselves, as they will, in your mind: and so, probably, you will feel no want of a vehiculum, either literally, or in the metaphorical sense, in which the proverb says the bonus amicus is a substitute for it.
this day’s walk was very diversified. it began with level ground; some of it productive, and well cultivated; some covered with the coarse shingle the torrent stream, which passes through it, has brought down from the mountains. the ascent then commenced through a region of chestnuts and trellised vines. after that came the zone of pines, sometimes lost, and again recovered. at last the scene was compounded of the naked mountain side, the savage ravine, and the blustering torrent, overtopped with rugged crags; these at times capped with snow, and with glaciers between. but even to the summit, as you follow the road, all is not desolation; for wherever the soil, formed by the weathering of the rock, could be retained, your eye will rest on some little expanse of green turf; or, if the situation be too exposed, and 134the soil too poor and shallow for turf, it will be clad in the sober mantle of humble alpine plants.
as i walked along i often noticed how the surface of the fragments of rock lying in the torrent, and their side looking up the stream, were being worn away; while the side looking down, and its upper angle, remained quite unworn. this teaches how the solid rock itself, at the bottom of the torrent, that is to say how its channel, is always being abraded; which means being lowered. while this is going on below, the frosts, and storms, and earthquakes are, at the same time, bringing down the rocks from above. this accounts for the top of the valley, vertically, being very much wider than the bottom. if there had been no frosts, and storms, and earthquakes, the torrent would now be running in a perfectly perpendicular-sided trough, of the same depth as the existing valley—but, then, there would be no valley, only a trough. the valley is wider at the top than at the bottom, because the widening action of frost, storms, and earthquakes has been going on at the top for tens of thousands of years; while it has been going on lower down, with very much less force, only for some hundreds of years. you observe the contrast between the calm majesty of the everlasting mountains and the brawling impatience of the insignificant torrent. the torrent, however, has already set its mark on the mountains; and you see is surely, though slowly, 135having the best of it. it works, and works incessantly day and night; winter and summer; fair weather and foul. everything that occurs aids it. the mountain merely stands still to be kicked to death by grass-hoppers. but the end of the conflict will be their mutual destruction. the torrent will so far carry away the mountain, that the mountain will no longer be able to feed the torrent. probably, in the ages preceding the torrent, a glacier, availing itself of some aboriginal facilities in the lay of the ground, commenced the work of excavation, which its successor, the torrent, took up, and has since continued in the line thus prepared for it.
la belle horreur of the gorge of gondo, its sheer, adamantine, mountain-high precipices, its terrific chasms, its overhanging rocks, its raging torrent, its rugged peaks against the sky, make it the great sight of the ascent. two bits interested me especially at the moment, and have impressed themselves on my mind more distinctly than the rest. the first was the fall of the frosinone. crashing and roaring, it leaps down from the mountain, a dozen yards or so from the road, under which it passes, beneath a most audaciously conceived and executed bridge, and, immediately, on your left, rushes into the torrent of the gorge. the road, at once, enters the long tunnel of the gondo, upon which the bridge abuts. here is an unparalleled combination of extraordinary and stirring 136objects. the other is a cascade, a little way off, of a character, in every particular, the opposite of that of the fall of the frosinone. it is on the other side of the gorge. here there is no ruggedness in the rock. the cleavage of nature has left it, from top to bottom, with a polished surface. over this almost perpendicular face of the mountain the water glides down so smoothly and so noiselessly that, at night, you would pass it without being aware of the existence of the cascade. the water is as smooth as the rock, and so transparent that you everywhere see the rock through it. it is only, everywhere, equally marked with a delicate network of lines, and bars, of white foam. the effect is precisely that of an endless broad band of lace, rapidly and everlastingly, drawn down the side of the mountain.
the day was bright and warm; and the walk, being all the while against the collar, brought one into the category of thirsty souls. i must have drunk, i believe, twenty times at the little runnels that crossed the road. however heated you may be, and however cold the water, no bad consequences appear to ensue. at 12.30 p.m. i got to the village of simplon. here i breakfasted, or dined, for under the circumstances the meal was as much breakfast as dinner; or, rather, it was both in one. as i was now just twenty-two miles from domo d’ossola, that is just half way to brieg, i had thought of 137sleeping here. finding the house, however, in possession of a company of strolling italian players, whose noise and childishness were insufferable, i left the hotel—uninviting enough of itself from the slovenly, dirty look of everything about it; and made for the hospice, five miles further on. i found it in a sheltered, green depression, on the very summit of the pass. it is a large rectangular massive building, well able to set at defiance even an alpine winter storm. as it has no stabling, it takes in only those who come on foot.
the brother, who showed me to my berth, was very young and very good-natured. he brought to me in my room all that i wanted, instead of obliging me to go to the refectory for my supper, where, as it happened, i should have met again the italian players i had run away from some hours before; for they had followed me on to the hospice. i might have guessed that they would not have stayed at the inn. perhaps my alpenstock, and very dusty feet, had some weight with the good man.
september 9.—was up, and out of my room at 5 a.m. found no one stirring in the hospice but a lad and a girl. both appeared to be about fourteen years of age. for an early traveller to begin the day with, there was plenty of coffee and milk, and of bread and butter, in my room; the remains of the bountiful refection of yesterday evening. on my asking the 138young people where i was to find some one to whom i might make an acknowledgment for the hospitality i had received, i was told that it was the custom for the visitors to make their offerings in the chapel, putting them in a basin which was shown me behind the door. i left them in the chapel, discussing the amount i had deposited. having complied with this ceremony, i started for brieg. as the road was good, and the whole of it downhill, i walked at a good pace, and had completed the sixteen miles at 9.15. there is a short cut by which you may be saved the long détour by berisal, and lessen the distance, as the books say, though i do not believe the books upon this point, to the amount of five miles. i did not look for this short cut, for fear that my attempting to take it might issue in a loss of time. when you don’t know the country, the short cut often proves the longest way.
soon after commencing the descent you come to the galleries, partly excavated in the rock, and partly formed of very massive masonry, through which the road is carried along the flank of the monte leone, and across the gorge of schalbet. these galleries, as well as the houses of refuge and the hospice, shelter the traveller from the storms and avalanches, which are frequent in this part of the pass. the great kaltenwasser glacier of monte leone hangs over them; and the torrent from it slips over the 139roof of one of the galleries. to find yourself in this way beneath an alpine torrent, and to look into it, as it dashes by, through an opening in the side of the galleries, will give to some a new sensation. this is the head-water of the saltine, which joins the rhone at brieg. as you pass along this part of the road you have before you the terrific forces, and savagery, of alpine nature; but you reflect that civilised man has been able, if not to overcome them, yet at all events to protect himself from them. you think that it is something to be a man; or, with less of personal feeling, that civilisation has endowed him with much power. these scenes stir the mind. they enlarge thought, and strengthen will. below berisal the torrent of the gauter, an affluent of the saltine, is crossed by a massive stone bridge. this is so lofty that it appears a light and airy structure; still it possesses what it requires, a great deal of strength, to enable it to resist the blasts created by the falling avalanches, which are frequent in this neighbourhood. you are surprised at coming so soon in sight of brieg, and of the valley of the rhone. you see that you have now completely surmounted the great barrier nature interposed between her darling italy, where you were yesterday morning, and the hardy north, of which you rejoice to be a child. perhaps you will think that it was not ill done that you crossed it on foot.
