CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE JULIER PASS- THE INN-THE ENGADINE--THE BERNINA PASS.

DR. JAMES JOHNSON, when prosecuting his philosophical researches on the Rhætian Alps, was an eye-witness to their frightful devastation. Great disasters were severally experienced by the cantons of Uri, Vallais, and Tessin, but we limit ourselves to the catastrophes which occurred in this part of Switzerland. A storm, coming from the west, extended itself over the whole country of the Grisons, and continued its ravages, without interruption, to the following day. Innumerable cataracts, suddenly discharged from the mountains, carried away everything that opposed their course. An immense quantity of trees, fifty houses, and upwards of thirty bridges, were either destroyed or entirely swept off by the torrents. The magnificent route between Coire and the Splugen, and chiefly in the Schamserthal, was almost entirely obliterated; the vast embankments were broken down, and that beautiful valley was transformed into a lake, when the waters, swollen to a height far exceeding the disastrous inundation of 1817, carried off several inhabitants and much cattle. In this district alone, the damage was estimated at upwards of one million of florins. Other valleys suffered severely. In the Oberland the bridges were all, or nearly all, destroyed. In the village of Splugen five men perished; a handsome building lately erected, a dozen other houses, the great stone bridge over the Serända, were all swept down by the torrent, and it was only with the greatest difficulty and hazard of life that the bridge over the Rhine was saved. Between Splugen and Naufanen the dykes gave way, and several houses and sheds of cattle were borne down by the torrent. In one of these houses, the family were quietly seated at their evening meal only an hour before.

The Julier pass, in the Grisons, is estimated at 8,134 feet above the level of the sea, and its ascent may be effected from Stalla, called also Bivio, in about two hours. From the avalanches which threaten the traveller in other parts of Switzerland, this portion of the country is remarkably exempt. But then his expectations must not be high of looking again at the grand or the sublime, lest there be a frequent result.

On the summit of the pass there are two roughly hewn granite pillars, called Julius's Columns. The stone was dug from the neighbouring mountains, it is supposed, by the Romans. Murray says: "They are about four feet high, and destitute of inscription; but may have been set up as mile-stones in the time of Augustus, who caused a Roman highway to be carried from Chiavenna, over the passes of the Malöja and Julier. A carriage-road was formed across the pass of St. Mauritz in 1823; but as no attempt was made till very lately to improve the approach to it through the Oberhalbstein, little advantage was gained by it. Flocks of Bergamesque sheep are often found on the highest pastures, near the summit of the pass, in summer. A still more easy descent leads into the Engadine, to the village of Silva Plana."

The Pass of the Albula is described as follows, with his usual felicity, by the so-called Derwent Conway :

"At seven o'clock I left Bergun, and immediately began to ascend. From Bergun to the first interior valley, there is a road practicable for small carts; for there some hamlets are scattered, and there, too, lies an Alpine village. This road mounts by the side of a torrent, skirting some little fields of scanty produce, and soon enters a narrow gorge, which affords room only for the torrent and the narrow road that is excavated out of the tremendous rock that towers above it. There is here the cheapest road-maker in the world. The mountain is the road-maker, and never relaxes in its labours: it is of a crumbling nature, and, by incessant contributions, it constantly fills up the cavities which are formed by the rains. When the road had wound round this rock, I found myself entering a tolerably extensive Alpine valley, on all sides surrounded by the rocky peaks and snowy summits of the Albula. Here, too, as at Bergun-here, too, as in the more fruitful valleys-man had found a home, and found that life was sweet. There was his habitation-there the flocks, his riches; and if there was no village inn, where the Grisons might assemble to congratulate each other upon their privileges, there was the little bridge that spanned the torrent, or the fir-tree that lay by the way-side.

"This valley is about a league in length; and, after having traversed it, the path-for it is no longer a road-ascends a narrow defile among the bold rocks that lie around the little Lake of Wissenstein. I found the ascent laborious; but the scenery around amply compensated the labour, for it was of the most varied and striking character. Fine girdles of dark fir spanned the waists of the rocks, whose gray and rugged heads rose in vast amphitheatre. Below the firs, and among the lower rocks, lay the freshest verdure, watered by innumerable rills that were seen higher up in white threads of foam among the rocks. Here and there was a châlet-here and there a little flock; but these became rarer. The path surmounted the fir; and at a sudden turn I found myself on the borders of a little lake, and beside the châlet, where the traveller may find mountain fare. This lake lies extremely high, and possesses the character of every lake found in such elevations—a character, in some things, perhaps slightly varying, but whose general features must necessarily be alike. A few stunted firs were scattered about the lower end, where the water was shallow; but on all the other sides, it lay still and dark and treeless, beneath the frightful precipices that towered above.

"The ascent from the lake is extremely rapid; it remains in sight more than an hour, and is then shut out by a ledge of the higher rocks that are connected with the summits of the mountain. And now a scene opened before me to whose sublimity, I fear, I shall be able to render but imperfect justice. When I speak of this scene, I do so with a perfect recollection of other scenes that I have beheld in other parts of the Alps, in the Pyrenees, in the Carpathian mountains, and in Norway; and I feel that I may do perfect justice to all of these, and yet assert the superiority of this part of Mount Albula, in all that constitutes that kind of sublimity which arises from the presence of desolation. The defile I had now entered was from one to two miles broad, and three or four in length; it was environed by the highest summits of the mountain. These rose almost perpendicularly from the defile, in some places showing precipices of two or three thousand feet; in other places presenting a front of towers and pinnacles, and displaying enormous gaps, where nothing but the torrent had entered, and vast caves where the cagle only had ever rested. Above all, the highest peaks-powdered with snow, but too rugged and pointed to allow it a resting-place-jutted into the sky, leaving to the spectator below a horizon as limited as the defile. But all that I have yet spoken of, though of itself sufficient to form a picture of great power, falls infinitely short of what remains to be described. Within the whole of this bounded horizon, not one blade of verdure was to be seen-not one of those mountain plants, those

Alpine flowers, that often bloom on the borders of eternal winter, and that, springing on the chasms of the baldest rocks, lend, at times, the charm of gentleness and beauty to the most savage scene. But here desolation had reared his throne, and ruin lay around it. The whole extent of the defile was one mass of enormous stones that lay piled upon cach other; it was as if two mountains of rock had here waged war, and been shivered in the conflict. Do not suppose, in figuring these scenes to yourself, that rocks and stones lie scattered over the extent of this defile. This would be but a very imperfect description of what it is. In many places the stones are piled upon each other to the height of some hundred feet; and to what depth they may lie even on the track by which you pass, no one can tell. This, however, I know-in ascending higher than this defile, the river is seen to enter it in several concentrated streams, and, below the defile, it is again scen to enter the lake I have mentioned; and, in passing through the defile, at some deep openings and gaps, you may hear the distant rush of waters far below, indicating, by the faintness of the sound, the great depth at which they find a channel.

"I have never been more strongly impressed by any scene than by this. It realised, more than any scene I had ever beheld, the conception of chaos, 'treeless, herbless, lifeless.' Not even the fowl of the desert could have here found one fruit of the wilderness, nor one gushing stream whereat to slake his thirst. This curse of utter sterility I myself experienced. The breakfast I had made at Bergun was not well calculated for a journey in a hot dry day across the mountains; and in this defile, where not a breath of air could enter, and where the sun shone down with great power, a well of the desert would have been welcome. I found, however, a shelter from the sun's rays; and it is only amid scenes like these that we are able to understand the force of the expression, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.'

"When I had traversed this defile by a gradual ascent, I entered upon the third and last division of the pass. Here I found the stream, which, in a succession of rapids and cataracts, comes from the highest interior valley, where the snow is accumulated to a great depth. The ascent here is extremely rapid; and the scenery, although it has lost that character of utter desolation which presides lower down, yet retains much grandeur, mingled with a few of those graces that are found in Alpine scenery. Here and there I found a scanty herbage, and innumerable beautiful mosses. The ranunculus and the mountain anemone bloomed at my feet; and the rocks, ashamed of their nakedness, were covered with the crimson blossoms of the rhododendron.

"About an hour and a half after leaving the defile, the highest part of the pass is attained. Here one is still in a valley, though its sides do not rise more than a thousand feet above it. I found a good deal of snow, and occasionally some difficulty in passing; but, after an hour's walk, I began to descend, and a scene soon opened below very different from that which I have attempted to describe. The southern interior valleys of Mount Albula are among the most esteemed in all Switzerland for the pasture of cattle, which are brought there even from some of the remoter cantons. In the country of the Grisons, every village has its mountain, or its part of a mountain, to which the inhabitants have free access for the grazing of their cattle; and when herds arrive from places beyond its liberty, they are permitted to graze, upon payment of a certain small portion of the produce of the dairy, to the village enjoying the liberty of the mountain.

"It was a beautiful sight to look down on the southern side of Mount Albula; the most charming verdure covered the slopes and the valleys, and the flocks of a hundred hills seemed there to be congregated. The distant, and not unmusical, chime of their thousand bells, mingled with the faint lowing, came sweetly up the mountain; and the beauty and interest of the scene was greatly increased by the recollection of the lifeless, desolate wilderness that I had newly quitted.

"Scenes of grandeur and sublimity are indeed glorious, and by them we are called from the littleness of life to a contemplation of the majesty of that which is more enduring. Unutterable, indeed, is the charm that holds us in the depth of the silent valley, and among the dark and mighty mountains; but still there is, in pictures of life and happiness,

in scenes of a more tranquil and gentler kind, a language that speaks more universally to the human heart; and this I found in the contrast between the desolate grandeur of the defile and the green and life-like aspect of the mountain slopes.

"Less than an hour brought me among the cattle, and another hour led me to their habitations. For the double purpose of quenching my thirst, and of seeing the interior of

PILLARS ON MONT JULIER.

these mountain-dairies, I left the track to visit one of them. One or two large and fierce-looking dogs opposed my entrance; but a shepherd, who had doubtless his own interest in view, smoothed the way, and conducted me into the interior. In the outer part of the chalet there was room for upwards of three hundred cattle, and the inner part consisted of two rooms, one where the milk is kept, and the other where the cheese is made. There is besides a kind of loft, where the men employed in the dairy sleep. For every fifty cows there is generally one man. They are cach allowed about 16 florins per month, which, at the value of a florin in that country, is about twenty-nine shillings. They are, of course, allowed nourishment besides, which consists of bread, salted meat, and as much cheese, butter, and milk as they please. The term of their employment is generally about four months. It is evident, therefore, that the occupation of a shepherd of the Alps requires some knowledge. It is not merely looking after the cattle, and leaning upon his crook: he must know all the mysteries of the dairy, which are neither

few nor simple; and judging from the excellence of its productions throughout the greater part of Switzerland, these shepherds must be well versed in their trade. I found those of Mount Albula civil, communicative, and tolerably intelligent. They seemed to feel considerable pride in showing me their utensils, which, indeed, they well might, for nothing could be cleaner, or in more excellent order, than the utensils which contained the produce of the dairy, in all its varieties of milk, cream, butter, and cheese. Every traveller has spoken of the excellence of the milk he has drank among the Alps, and I must needs add my testimony to that of others; though I must acknowledge that I thought it inferior to the milk I have drank in Norway, and I may perhaps add, in the Highlands of Scotland. It is certainly no recommendation to the thirsty traveller-at least, it ought to be none-that milk is rich. It is indeed a delicious, but scarcely a refreshing beverage; and if the traveller will take my advice, he will follow my example, and drink the milk which has been already deprived of the cream.

"After leaving the dairy, I went rapidly down the mountain, and, passing through