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<h2> CHAPTER XXVIII </h2>
<h3> [The Jodel and Its Native Wilds] </h3>
<p><br/></p>
<p>The Rigi-Kulm is an imposing Alpine mass, six thousand feet high, which
stands by itself, and commands a mighty prospect of blue lakes, green
valleys, and snowy mountains—a compact and magnificent picture three
hundred miles in circumference. The ascent is made by rail, or horseback,
or on foot, as one may prefer. I and my agent panoplied ourselves in
walking-costume, one bright morning, and started down the lake on the
steamboat; we got ashore at the village of Waeggis; three-quarters of an
hour distant from Lucerne. This village is at the foot of the mountain.</p>
<p>We were soon tramping leisurely up the leafy mule-path, and then the talk
began to flow, as usual. It was twelve o'clock noon, and a breezy,
cloudless day; the ascent was gradual, and the glimpses, from under the
curtaining boughs, of blue water, and tiny sailboats, and beetling cliffs,
were as charming as glimpses of dreamland. All the circumstances were
perfect—and the anticipations, too, for we should soon be enjoying,
for the first time, that wonderful spectacle, an Alpine sunrise—the
object of our journey. There was (apparently) no real need for hurry, for
the guide-book made the walking-distance from Waeggis to the summit only
three hours and a quarter. I say "apparently," because the guide-book had
already fooled us once—about the distance from Allerheiligen to
Oppenau—and for aught I knew it might be getting ready to fool us
again. We were only certain as to the altitudes—we calculated to
find out for ourselves how many hours it is from the bottom to the top.
The summit is six thousand feet above the sea, but only forty-five hundred
feet above the lake. When we had walked half an hour, we were fairly into
the swing and humor of the undertaking, so we cleared for action; that is
to say, we got a boy whom we met to carry our alpenstocks and satchels and
overcoats and things for us; that left us free for business. I suppose we
must have stopped oftener to stretch out on the grass in the shade and
take a bit of a smoke than this boy was used to, for presently he asked if
it had been our idea to hire him by the job, or by the year? We told him
he could move along if he was in a hurry. He said he wasn't in such a very
particular hurry, but he wanted to get to the top while he was young.<br/>
<br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>We told him to clear out, then, and leave the things at the uppermost
hotel and say we should be along presently. He said he would secure us a
hotel if he could, but if they were all full he would ask them to build
another one and hurry up and get the paint and plaster dry against we
arrived. Still gently chaffing us, he pushed ahead, up the trail, and soon
disappeared. By six o'clock we were pretty high up in the air, and the
view of lake and mountains had greatly grown in breadth and interest. We
halted awhile at a little public house, where we had bread and cheese and
a quart or two of fresh milk, out on the porch, with the big panorama all
before us—and then moved on again.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>Ten minutes afterward we met a hot, red-faced man plunging down the
mountain, making mighty strides, swinging his alpenstock ahead of him, and
taking a grip on the ground with its iron point to support these big
strides. He stopped, fanned himself with his hat, swabbed the perspiration
from his face and neck with a red handkerchief, panted a moment or two,
and asked how far to Waeggis. I said three hours. He looked surprised, and
said:</p>
<p>"Why, it seems as if I could toss a biscuit into the lake from here, it's
so close by. Is that an inn, there?"</p>
<p>I said it was.</p>
<p>"Well," said he, "I can't stand another three hours, I've had enough
today; I'll take a bed there."</p>
<p>I asked:</p>
<p>"Are we nearly to the top?"</p>
<p>"Nearly to the <i>top</i>? Why, bless your soul, you haven't really started,
yet."</p>
<p>I said we would put up at the inn, too. So we turned back and ordered a
hot supper, and had quite a jolly evening of it with this Englishman.</p>
<p>The German landlady gave us neat rooms and nice beds, and when I and my
agent turned in, it was with the resolution to be up early and make the
utmost of our first Alpine sunrise. But of course we were dead tired, and
slept like policemen; so when we awoke in the morning and ran to the
window it was already too late, because it was half past eleven. It was a
sharp disappointment. However, we ordered breakfast and told the landlady
to call the Englishman, but she said he was already up and off at daybreak—and
swearing like mad about something or other. We could not find out what the
matter was. He had asked the landlady the altitude of her place above the
level of the lake, and she told him fourteen hundred and ninety-five feet.
That was all that was said; then he lost his temper. He said that between
———fools and guide-books, a man could acquire ignorance
enough in twenty-four hours in a country like this to last him a year.
Harris believed our boy had been loading him up with misinformation; and
this was probably the case, for his epithet described that boy to a dot.</p>
<p>We got under way about the turn of noon, and pulled out for the summit
again, with a fresh and vigorous step. When we had gone about two hundred
yards, and stopped to rest, I glanced to the left while I was lighting my
pipe, and in the distance detected a long worm of black smoke crawling
lazily up the steep mountain. Of course that was the locomotive. We
propped ourselves on our elbows at once, to gaze, for we had never seen a
mountain railway yet. Presently we could make out the train. It seemed
incredible that that thing should creep straight up a sharp slant like the
roof of a house—but there it was, and it was doing that very
miracle.</p>
<p>In the course of a couple hours we reached a fine breezy altitude where
the little shepherd huts had big stones all over their roofs to hold them
down to the earth when the great storms rage. The country was wild and
rocky about here, but there were plenty of trees, plenty of moss, and
grass.</p>
<p>Away off on the opposite shore of the lake we could see some villages, and
now for the first time we could observe the real difference between their
proportions and those of the giant mountains at whose feet they slept.
When one is in one of those villages it seems spacious, and its houses
seem high and not out of proportion to the mountain that overhangs them—but
from our altitude, what a change! The mountains were bigger and grander
than ever, as they stood there thinking their solemn thoughts with their
heads in the drifting clouds, but the villages at their feet—when
the painstaking eye could trace them up and find them—were so
reduced, almost invisible, and lay so flat against the ground, that the
exactest simile I can devise is to compare them to ant-deposits of
granulated dirt overshadowed by the huge bulk of a cathedral. The
steamboats skimming along under the stupendous precipices were diminished
by distance to the daintiest little toys, the sailboats and rowboats to
shallops proper for fairies that keep house in the cups of lilies and ride
to court on the backs of bumblebees.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>Presently we came upon half a dozen sheep nibbling grass in the spray of a
stream of clear water that sprang from a rock wall a hundred feet high,
and all at once our ears were startled with a melodious "Lul ... l ... l l
l llul-lul-LAhee-o-o-o!" pealing joyously from a near but invisible
source, and recognized that we were hearing for the first time the famous
Alpine <i>Jodel</i> in its own native wilds. And we recognized, also, that it was
that sort of quaint commingling of baritone and falsetto which at home we
call "Tyrolese warbling."<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>The jodeling (pronounced yOdling—emphasis on the O) continued, and
was very pleasant and inspiriting to hear. Now the jodeler appeared—a
shepherd boy of sixteen—and in our gladness and gratitude we gave
him a franc to jodel some more. So he jodeled and we listened. We moved
on, presently, and he generously jodeled us out of sight. After about
fifteen minutes we came across another shepherd boy who was jodeling, and
gave him half a franc to keep it up. He also jodeled us out of sight.
After that, we found a jodeler every ten minutes; we gave the first one
eight cents, the second one six cents, the third one four, the fourth one
a penny, contributed nothing to Nos. 5, 6, and 7, and during the remainder
of the day hired the rest of the jodelers, at a franc apiece, not to jodel
any more. There is somewhat too much of the jodeling in the Alps.</p>
<p>About the middle of the afternoon we passed through a prodigious natural
gateway called the Felsenthor, formed by two enormous upright rocks, with
a third lying across the top. There was a very attractive little hotel
close by, but our energies were not conquered yet, so we went on.<br/>
<br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>Three hours afterward we came to the railway-track. It was planted
straight up the mountain with the slant of a ladder that leans against a
house, and it seemed to us that man would need good nerves who proposed to
travel up it or down it either.</p>
<p>During the latter part of the afternoon we cooled our roasting interiors
with ice-cold water from clear streams, the only really satisfying water
we had tasted since we left home, for at the hotels on the continent they
merely give you a tumbler of ice to soak your water in, and that only
modifies its hotness, doesn't make it cold. Water can only be made cold
enough for summer comfort by being prepared in a refrigerator or a closed
ice-pitcher. Europeans say ice-water impairs digestion. How do they know?—they
never drink any.</p>
<p>At ten minutes past six we reached the Kaltbad station, where there is a
spacious hotel with great verandas which command a majestic expanse of
lake and mountain scenery. We were pretty well fagged out, now, but as we
did not wish to miss the Alpine sunrise, we got through our dinner as
quickly as possible and hurried off to bed. It was unspeakably comfortable
to stretch our weary limbs between the cool, damp sheets. And how we did
sleep!—for there is no opiate like Alpine pedestrianism.<br/> <br/>
<br/> <br/></p>
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<p>In the morning we both awoke and leaped out of bed at the same instant and
ran and stripped aside the window-curtains; but we suffered a bitter
disappointment again: it was already half past three in the afternoon.</p>
<p>We dressed sullenly and in ill spirits, each accusing the other of
oversleeping. Harris said if we had brought the courier along, as we ought
to have done, we should not have missed these sunrises. I said he knew
very well that one of us would have to sit up and wake the courier; and I
added that we were having trouble enough to take care of ourselves, on
this climb, without having to take care of a courier besides.</p>
<p>During breakfast our spirits came up a little, since we found by this
guide-book that in the hotels on the summit the tourist is not left to
trust to luck for his sunrise, but is roused betimes by a man who goes
through the halls with a great Alpine horn, blowing blasts that would
raise the dead. And there was another consoling thing: the guide-book said
that up there on the summit the guests did not wait to dress much, but
seized a red bed blanket and sailed out arrayed like an Indian. This was
good; this would be romantic; two hundred and fifty people grouped on the
windy summit, with their hair flying and their red blankets flapping, in
the solemn presence of the coming sun, would be a striking and memorable
spectacle. So it was good luck, not ill luck, that we had missed those
other sunrises.</p>
<p>We were informed by the guide-book that we were now 3,228 feet above the
level of the lake—therefore full two-thirds of our journey had been
accomplished. We got away at a quarter past four P.M.; a hundred yards
above the hotel the railway divided; one track went straight up the steep
hill, the other one turned square off to the right, with a very slight
grade. We took the latter, and followed it more than a mile, turned a
rocky corner, and came in sight of a handsome new hotel. If we had gone
on, we should have arrived at the summit, but Harris preferred to ask a
lot of questions—as usual, of a man who didn't know anything—and
he told us to go back and follow the other route. We did so. We could ill
afford this loss of time.</p>
<p>We climbed and climbed; and we kept on climbing; we reached about forty
summits, but there was always another one just ahead. It came on to rain,
and it rained in dead earnest. We were soaked through and it was bitter
cold. Next a smoky fog of clouds covered the whole region densely, and we
took to the railway-ties to keep from getting lost. Sometimes we slopped
along in a narrow path on the left-hand side of the track, but by and by
when the fog blew aside a little and we saw that we were treading the
rampart of a precipice and that our left elbows were projecting over a
perfectly boundless and bottomless vacancy, we gasped, and jumped for the
ties again.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>The night shut down, dark and drizzly and cold. About eight in the evening
the fog lifted and showed us a well-worn path which led up a very steep
rise to the left. We took it, and as soon as we had got far enough from
the railway to render the finding it again an impossibility, the fog shut
down on us once more.</p>
<p>We were in a bleak, unsheltered place, now, and had to trudge right along,
in order to keep warm, though we rather expected to go over a precipice,
sooner or later. About nine o'clock we made an important discovery—that
we were not in any path. We groped around a while on our hands and knees,
but we could not find it; so we sat down in the mud and the wet scant
grass to wait.</p>
<p>We were terrified into this by being suddenly confronted with a vast body
which showed itself vaguely for an instant and in the next instant was
smothered in the fog again. It was really the hotel we were after,
monstrously magnified by the fog, but we took it for the face of a
precipice, and decided not to try to claw up it.</p>
<p>We sat there an hour, with chattering teeth and quivering bodies, and
quarreled over all sorts of trifles, but gave most of our attention to
abusing each other for the stupidity of deserting the railway-track. We
sat with our backs to the precipice, because what little wind there was
came from that quarter. At some time or other the fog thinned a little; we
did not know when, for we were facing the empty universe and the thinness
could not show; but at last Harris happened to look around, and there
stood a huge, dim, spectral hotel where the precipice had been. One could
faintly discern the windows and chimneys, and a dull blur of lights. Our
first emotion was deep, unutterable gratitude, our next was a foolish
rage, born of the suspicion that possibly the hotel had been visible
three-quarters of an hour while we sat there in those cold puddles
quarreling.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>Yes, it was the Rigi-Kulm hotel—the one that occupies the extreme
summit, and whose remote little sparkle of lights we had often seen
glinting high aloft among the stars from our balcony away down yonder in
Lucerne. The crusty portier and the crusty clerks gave us the surly
reception which their kind deal out in prosperous times, but by mollifying
them with an extra display of obsequiousness and servility we finally got
them to show us to the room which our boy had engaged for us.</p>
<p>We got into some dry clothing, and while our supper was preparing we
loafed forsakenly through a couple of vast cavernous drawing-rooms, one of
which had a stove in it. This stove was in a corner, and densely walled
around with people. We could not get near the fire, so we moved at large
in the artic spaces, among a multitude of people who sat silent,
smileless, forlorn, and shivering—thinking what fools they were to
come, perhaps. There were some Americans and some Germans, but one could
see that the great majority were English.</p>
<p>We lounged into an apartment where there was a great crowd, to see what
was going on. It was a memento-magazine. The tourists were eagerly buying
all sorts and styles of paper-cutters, marked "Souvenir of the Rigi," with
handles made of the little curved horn of the ostensible chamois; there
were all manner of wooden goblets and such things, similarly marked. I was
going to buy a paper-cutter, but I believed I could remember the cold
comfort of the Rigi-Kulm without it, so I smothered the impulse.</p>
<p>Supper warmed us, and we went immediately to bed—but first, as Mr.
Baedeker requests all tourists to call his attention to any errors which
they may find in his guide-books, I dropped him a line to inform him he
missed it by just about three days. I had previously informed him of his
mistake about the distance from Allerheiligen to Oppenau, and had also
informed the Ordnance Depart of the German government of the same error in
the imperial maps. I will add, here, that I never got any answer to those
letters, or any thanks from either of those sources; and, what is still
more discourteous, these corrections have not been made, either in the
maps or the guide-books. But I will write again when I get time, for my
letters may have miscarried.</p>
<p>We curled up in the clammy beds, and went to sleep without rocking. We
were so sodden with fatigue that we never stirred nor turned over till the
blooming blasts of the Alpine horn aroused us.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>It may well be imagined that we did not lose any time. We snatched on a
few odds and ends of clothing, cocooned ourselves in the proper red
blankets, and plunged along the halls and out into the whistling wind
bareheaded. We saw a tall wooden scaffolding on the very peak of the
summit, a hundred yards away, and made for it. We rushed up the stairs to
the top of this scaffolding, and stood there, above the vast outlying
world, with hair flying and ruddy blankets waving and cracking in the
fierce breeze.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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<p>"Fifteen minutes too late, at last!" said Harris, in a vexed voice. "The
sun is clear above the horizon."</p>
<p>"No matter," I said, "it is a most magnificent spectacle, and we will see
it do the rest of its rising anyway."</p>
<p>In a moment we were deeply absorbed in the marvel before us, and dead to
everything else. The great cloud-barred disk of the sun stood just above a
limitless expanse of tossing white-caps—so to speak—a billowy
chaos of massy mountain domes and peaks draped in imperishable snow, and
flooded with an opaline glory of changing and dissolving splendors, while
through rifts in a black cloud-bank above the sun, radiating lances of
diamond dust shot to the zenith. The cloven valleys of the lower world
swam in a tinted mist which veiled the ruggedness of their crags and ribs
and ragged forests, and turned all the forbidding region into a soft and
rich and sensuous paradise.</p>
<p>We could not speak. We could hardly breathe. We could only gaze in drunken
ecstasy and drink in it. Presently Harris exclaimed:</p>
<p>"Why—nation, it's going <i>down</i>!"</p>
<p>Perfectly true. We had missed the <i>morning</i> hornblow, and slept all day.
This was stupefying.</p>
<p>Harris said:</p>
<p>"Look here, the sun isn't the spectacle—it's <i>us</i>—stacked up
here on top of this gallows, in these idiotic blankets, and two hundred
and fifty well-dressed men and women down here gawking up at us and not
caring a straw whether the sun rises or sets, as long as they've got such
a ridiculous spectacle as this to set down in their memorandum-books. They
seem to be laughing their ribs loose, and there's one girl there that
appears to be going all to pieces. I never saw such a man as you before. I
think you are the very last possibility in the way of an ass."</p>
<p>"What have <i>I</i> done?" I answered, with heat.</p>
<p>"What have you done? You've got up at half past seven o'clock in the
evening to see the sun rise, that's what you've done."</p>
<p>"And have you done any better, I'd like to know? I've always used to get
up with the lark, till I came under the petrifying influence of your
turgid intellect."</p>
<p>"<i>You</i> used to get up with the lark—Oh, no doubt—you'll get up
with the hangman one of these days. But you ought to be ashamed to be
jawing here like this, in a red blanket, on a forty-foot scaffold on top
of the Alps. And no end of people down here to boot; this isn't any place
for an exhibition of temper."</p>
<p>And so the customary quarrel went on. When the sun was fairly down, we
slipped back to the hotel in the charitable gloaming, and went to bed
again. We had encountered the horn-blower on the way, and he had tried to
collect compensation, not only for announcing the sunset, which we did
see, but for the sunrise, which we had totally missed; but we said no, we
only took our solar rations on the "European plan"—pay for what you
get. He promised to make us hear his horn in the morning, if we were
alive.<br/> <br/> <br/> <br/></p>
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