The graveyard2 in Zermatt occupies only about one-eighth of an acre. The graves are sunk in the living rock, and are very permanent; but occupation of them is only temporary; the occupant can only stay till his grave is needed by a later subject, he is removed, then, for they do not bury one body on top of another. As I understand it, a family owns a grave, just as it owns a house. A man dies and leaves his house to his son—and at the same time, this dead father succeeds to his own father’s grave. He moves out of the house and into the grave, and his predecessor4 moves out of the grave and into the cellar of the chapel5. I saw a black box lying in the churchyard, with skull6 and cross-bones painted on it, and was told that this was used in transferring remains7 to the cellar.
In that cellar the bones and skulls8 of several hundred of former citizens were compactly corded up. They made a pile eighteen feet long, seven feet high, and eight feet wide. I was told that in some of the receptacles of this kind in the Swiss villages, the skulls were all marked, and if a man wished to find the skulls of his ancestors for several generations back, he could do it by these marks, preserved in the family records.
An English gentleman who had lived some years in this region, said it was the cradle of compulsory9 education. But he said that the English idea that compulsory education would reduce bastardy10 and intemperance11 was an error—it has not that effect. He said there was more seduction in the Protestant than in the Catholic cantons, because the confessional protected the girls. I wonder why it doesn’t protect married women in France and Spain?
This gentleman said that among the poorer peasants in the Valais, it was common for the brothers in a family to cast lots to determine which of them should have the coveted12 privilege of marrying, and his brethren—doomed bachelors—heroically banded themselves together to help support the new family.
We left Zermatt in a wagon13—and in a rain-storm, too—for St. Nicholas about ten o’clock one morning. Again we passed between those grass-clad prodigious14 cliffs, specked with wee dwellings16 peeping over at us from velvety17 green walls ten and twelve hundred feet high. It did not seem possible that the imaginary chamois even could climb those precipices18. Lovers on opposite cliffs probably kiss through a spy-glass, and correspond with a rifle.
In Switzerland the farmer’s plow20 is a wide shovel21, which scrapes up and turns over the thin earthy skin of his native rock—and there the man of the plow is a hero. Now here, by our St. Nicholas road, was a grave, and it had a tragic22 story. A plowman was skinning his farm one morning—not the steepest part of it, but still a steep part—that is, he was not skinning the front of his farm, but the roof of it, near the eaves—when he absent-mindedly let go of the plow-handles to moisten his hands, in the usual way; he lost his balance and fell out of his farm backward; poor fellow, he never touched anything till he struck bottom, fifteen hundred feet below. [This was on a Sunday.—M.T.] We throw a halo of heroism23 around the life of the soldier and the sailor, because of the deadly dangers they are facing all the time. But we are not used to looking upon farming as a heroic occupation. This is because we have not lived in Switzerland.
From St. Nicholas we struck out for Visp—or Vispach—on foot. The rain-storms had been at work during several days, and had done a deal of damage in Switzerland and Savoy. We came to one place where a stream had changed its course and plunged24 down a mountain in a new place, sweeping25 everything before it. Two poor but precious farms by the roadside were ruined. One was washed clear away, and the bed-rock exposed; the other was buried out of sight under a tumbled chaos26 of rocks, gravel27, mud, and rubbish. The resistless might of water was well exemplified. Some saplings which had stood in the way were bent28 to the ground, stripped clean of their bark, and buried under rocky debris29. The road had been swept away, too.
In another place, where the road was high up on the mountain’s face, and its outside edge protected by flimsy masonry30, we frequently came across spots where this masonry had carved off and left dangerous gaps for mules31 to get over; and with still more frequency we found the masonry slightly crumbled34, and marked by mule32-hoofs, thus showing that there had been danger of an accident to somebody. When at last we came to a badly ruptured35 bit of masonry, with hoof-prints evidencing a desperate struggle to regain36 the lost foothold, I looked quite hopefully over the dizzy precipice19. But there was nobody down there.
They take exceedingly good care of their rivers in Switzerland and other portions of Europe. They wall up both banks with slanting38 solid stone masonry—so that from end to end of these rivers the banks look like the wharves39 at St. Louis and other towns on the Mississippi River.
It was during this walk from St. Nicholas, in the shadow of the majestic40 Alps, that we came across some little children amusing themselves in what seemed, at first, a most odd and original way—but it wasn’t; it was in simply a natural and characteristic way. They were roped together with a string, they had mimic41 alpenstocks and ice-axes, and were climbing a meek42 and lowly manure-pile with a most blood-curdling amount of care and caution. The “guide” at the head of the line cut imaginary steps, in a laborious43 and painstaking44 way, and not a monkey budged45 till the step above was vacated. If we had waited we should have witnessed an imaginary accident, no doubt; and we should have heard the intrepid46 band hurrah47 when they made the summit and looked around upon the “magnificent view,” and seen them throw themselves down in exhausted48 attitudes for a rest in that commanding situation.
In Nevada I used to see the children play at silver-mining. Of course, the great thing was an accident in a mine, and there were two “star” parts; that of the man who fell down the mimic shaft49, and that of the daring hero who was lowered into the depths to bring him up. I knew one small chap who always insisted on playing both of these parts—and he carried his point. He would tumble into the shaft and die, and then come to the surface and go back after his own remains.
It is the smartest boy that gets the hero part everywhere; he is head guide in Switzerland, head miner in Nevada, head bull-fighter in Spain, etc.; but I knew a preacher’s son, seven years old, who once selected a part for himself compared to which those just mentioned are tame and unimpressive. Jimmy’s father stopped him from driving imaginary horse-cars one Sunday—stopped him from playing captain of an imaginary steamboat next Sunday—stopped him from leading an imaginary army to battle the following Sunday—and so on. Finally the little fellow said:
“I’ve tried everything, and they won’t any of them do. What can I play?”
“I hardly know, Jimmy; but you must play only things that are suitable to the Sabbath-day.”
Next Sunday the preacher stepped softly to a back-room door to see if the children were rightly employed. He peeped in. A chair occupied the middle of the room, and on the back of it hung Jimmy’s cap; one of his little sisters took the cap down, nibbled50 at it, then passed it to another small sister and said, “Eat of this fruit, for it is good.” The Reverend took in the situation—alas, they were playing the Expulsion from Eden! Yet he found one little crumb33 of comfort. He said to himself, “For once Jimmy has yielded the chief role—I have been wronging him, I did not believe there was so much modesty51 in him; I should have expected him to be either Adam or Eve.” This crumb of comfort lasted but a very little while; he glanced around and discovered Jimmy standing52 in an imposing53 attitude in a corner, with a dark and deadly frown on his face. What that meant was very plain—he was impersonating the deity54! Think of the guileless sublimity55 of that idea.
We reached Vispach at 8 P.M., only about seven hours out from St. Nicholas. So we must have made fully37 a mile and a half an hour, and it was all downhill, too, and very muddy at that. We stayed all night at the Hotel de Soleil; I remember it because the landlady56, the portier, the waitress, and the chambermaid were not separate persons, but were all contained in one neat and chipper suit of spotless muslin, and she was the prettiest young creature I saw in all that region. She was the landlord’s daughter. And I remember that the only native match to her I saw in all Europe was the young daughter of the landlord of a village inn in the Black Forest. Why don’t more people in Europe marry and keep hotel?
Next morning we left with a family of English friends and went by train to Brevet, and thence by boat across the lake to Ouchy (Lausanne).
Ouchy is memorable57 to me, not on account of its beautiful situation and lovely surroundings—although these would make it stick long in one’s memory—but as the place where I caught the London Times dropping into humor. It was not aware of it, though. It did not do it on purpose. An English friend called my attention to this lapse58, and cut out the reprehensible59 paragraph for me. Think of encountering a grin like this on the face of that grim journal:
Erratum.—We are requested by Reuter’s Telegram Company to correct an erroneous announcement made in their Brisbane telegram of the 2d inst., published in our impression of the 5th inst., stating that “Lady Kennedy had given birth to twins, the eldest60 being a son.” The Company explain that the message they received contained the words “Governor of Queensland, twins first son.” Being, however, subsequently informed that Sir Arthur Kennedy was unmarried and that there must be some mistake, a telegraphic repetition was at once demanded. It has been received today (11th inst.) and shows that the words really telegraphed by Reuter’s agent were “Governor Queensland turns first sod,” alluding61 to the Maryborough-Gympic Railway in course of construction. The words in italics were mutilated by the telegraph in transmission from Australia, and reaching the company in the form mentioned above gave rise to the mistake.
I had always had a deep and reverent62 compassion63 for the sufferings of the “prisoner of Chillon,” whose story Byron had told in such moving verse; so I took the steamer and made pilgrimage to the dungeons65 of the Castle of Chillon, to see the place where poor Bonnivard endured his dreary66 captivity67 three hundred years ago. I am glad I did that, for it took away some of the pain I was feeling on the prisoner’s account. His dungeon64 was a nice, cool, roomy place, and I cannot see why he should have been dissatisfied with it. If he had been imprisoned68 in a St. Nicholas private dwelling15, where the fertilizer prevails, and the goat sleeps with the guest, and the chickens roost on him and the cow comes in and bothers him when he wants to muse69, it would have been another matter altogether; but he surely could not have had a very cheerless time of it in that pretty dungeon. It has romantic window-slits that let in generous bars of light, and it has tall, noble columns, carved apparently70 from the living rock; and what is more, they are written all over with thousands of names; some of them—like Byron’s and Victor Hugo’s—of the first celebrity71. Why didn’t he amuse himself reading these names? Then there are the couriers and tourists—swarms of them every day—what was to hinder him from having a good time with them? I think Bonnivard’s sufferings have been overrated.
Next, we took the train and went to Martigny, on the way to Mont Blanc. Next morning we started, about eight o’clock, on foot. We had plenty of company, in the way of wagon-loads and mule-loads of tourists—and dust. This scattering72 procession of travelers was perhaps a mile long. The road was uphill—interminable uphill—and tolerably steep. The weather was blisteringly hot, and the man or woman who had to sit on a creeping mule, or in a crawling wagon, and broil73 in the beating sun, was an object to be pitied. We could dodge74 among the bushes, and have the relief of shade, but those people could not. They paid for a conveyance75, and to get their money’s worth they rode.
We went by the way of the Tête Noir, and after we reached high ground there was no lack of fine scenery. In one place the road was tunneled through a shoulder of the mountain; from there one looked down into a gorge76 with a rushing torrent77 in it, and on every hand was a charming view of rocky buttresses78 and wooded heights. There was a liberal allowance of pretty waterfalls, too, on the Tête Noir route.
About half an hour before we reached the village of Argentière a vast dome79 of snow with the sun blazing on it drifted into view and framed itself in a strong V-shaped gateway80 of the mountains, and we recognized Mont Blanc, the “monarch of the Alps.” With every step, after that, this stately dome rose higher and higher into the blue sky, and at last seemed to occupy the zenith.
Some of Mont Blanc’s neighbors—bare, light-brown, steeplelike rocks—were very peculiarly shaped. Some were whittled81 to a sharp point, and slightly bent at the upper end, like a lady’s finger; one monster sugar-loaf resembled a bishop’s hat; it was too steep to hold snow on its sides, but had some in the division.
While we were still on very high ground, and before the descent toward Argentière began, we looked up toward a neighboring mountain-top, and saw exquisite82 prismatic colors playing about some white clouds which were so delicate as to almost resemble gossamer83 webs. The faint pinks and greens were peculiarly beautiful; none of the colors were deep, they were the lightest shades. They were bewitching commingled84. We sat down to study and enjoy this singular spectacle. The tints85 remained during several minutes—flitting, changing, melting into each other; paling almost away for a moment, then reflushing—a shifting, restless, unstable87 succession of soft opaline gleams, shimmering88 over that air film of white cloud, and turning it into a fabric89 dainty enough to clothe an angel with.
By and by we perceived what those super-delicate colors, and their continuous play and movement, reminded us of; it is what one sees in a soap-bubble that is drifting along, catching90 changes of tint86 from the objects it passes. A soap-bubble is the most beautiful thing, and the most exquisite, in nature; that lovely phantom91 fabric in the sky was suggestive of a soap-bubble split open, and spread out in the sun. I wonder how much it would take to buy a soap-bubble, if there was only one in the world? One could buy a hatful of Koh-i-Noors with the same money, no doubt.
We made the tramp from Martigny to Argentie`re in eight hours. We beat all the mules and wagons92; we didn’t usually do that. We hired a sort of open baggage-wagon for the trip down the valley to Chamonix, and then devoted93 an hour to dining. This gave the driver time to get drunk. He had a friend with him, and this friend also had had time to get drunk.
When we drove off, the driver said all the tourists had arrived and gone by while we were at dinner; “but,” said he, impressively, “be not disturbed by that—remain tranquil94—give yourselves no uneasiness—their dust rises far before us—rest you tranquil, leave all to me—I am the king of drivers. Behold95!”
Down came his whip, and away we clattered96. I never had such a shaking up in my life. The recent flooding rains had washed the road clear away in places, but we never stopped, we never slowed down for anything. We tore right along, over rocks, rubbish, gullies, open fields—sometimes with one or two wheels on the ground, but generally with none. Every now and then that calm, good-natured madman would bend a majestic look over his shoulder at us and say, “Ah, you perceive? It is as I have said—I am the king of drivers.” Every time we just missed going to destruction, he would say, with tranquil happiness, “Enjoy it, gentlemen, it is very rare, it is very unusual—it is given to few to ride with the king of drivers—and observe, it is as I have said, I am he."
He spoke97 in French, and punctuated98 with hiccoughs. His friend was French, too, but spoke in German—using the same system of punctuation99, however. The friend called himself the “Captain of Mont Blanc,” and wanted us to make the ascent100 with him. He said he had made more ascents101 than any other man—forty seven—and his brother had made thirty-seven. His brother was the best guide in the world, except himself—but he, yes, observe him well—he was the “Captain of Mont Blanc”—that title belonged to none other.
The “king” was as good as his word—he overtook that long procession of tourists and went by it like a hurricane. The result was that we got choicer rooms at the hotel in Chamonix than we should have done if his majesty102 had been a slower artist—or rather, if he hadn’t most providentially got drunk before he left Argentie`re.
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1
graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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bastardy
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| 私生子，庶出； 非婚生 | |
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intemperance
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| n.放纵 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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ruptured
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| v.（使）破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 )；（使体内组织等）断裂；使（友好关系）破裂；使绝交 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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42
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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45
budged
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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47
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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48
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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49
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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50
nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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51
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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52
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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54
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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56
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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58
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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61
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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66
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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76
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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81
whittled
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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86
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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90
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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100
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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ascents
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| n.上升( ascent的名词复数 )；（身份、地位等的）提高；上坡路；攀登 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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