CHAPTER XII. THE VALLEY OF THE INN, OF THE RHINE, AND OF THE RHONE-THE VALAIS AND IT'S We made our entry, it will be remembered, into Switzerland over the range of the Jura mountains. The view of Mont Blanc and the Alps of Savoy from them, where the road from Dôle to Geneva traverses the summit, is one of the finest distant views of the Alps, and, if seen in a clear day, presents a superb panoramic scene which can scarcely be rivalled in Europe. But the eye, whether delighted with this prospect, or surveying the Alps from the swelling hills of Swabia, or the level expanse of Lombardy, finds it difficult to gain a distinct impression, appearing, as they do, a crowd of rugged and inaccessible peaks tossed together in wild confusion, and so closely combined that an attempt to classify or to find a passage through them seems alike impossible. And yet the difficulty of rightly conceiving of them will be removed if it be remembered that this immense mass of mountains, little less in the Swiss territory alone than 150 miles long, by eighty to 100 broad, is penetrated throughout its breadth by three great valleys running from east to west. One great valley is that of the Inn, the source of which is in the Swiss canton of the Grisons, where it forms the romantic and beautiful valleys of the Upper and Lower Engadine. Swelled by a number of streams from the Alps, it enters the Tyrol at Martinsbruck, traverses that province from east to west, separates Austria from Bavaria, and falls into the Danube at Passau, after a course of more than 250 miles. The second great valley is that of the Rhine, which originates in two principal streams which have their sources in the Pennine Alps, and which is increased by brooks and mountain torrents, passes through the magnificent and stupendous ravine of the Rheniwaldz, then flows through a broader valley, sometimes six or seven miles broad, between the Alps of Glarus and those of the Grisons, until, after a mountain course of seventy miles, it pours its waters into the Lake of Constance, beyond the utmost verge of the hills. Thus these two great valleys, uniting in the lofty plateau of the St. Gothard as their common centre, traverse the whole extent of the Swiss territory from east to west. The third great valley is that of the Rhone, a celebrated river of south-western Europe, which, rising in the Pennine Alps, traverses portions of France and Switzerland, and at length falls into the Mediterranean. Its highest source is on the western side of the great mass of St. Gothard, between the Furca, Gallenstock, and Grimsel, at an elevation of 5,788 feet above the level of the sea; but it scarcely assumes the form of a river till its junction with three or four other streams at the foot of the glacier of its own name, a beautiful fan-shaped cluster of ice, the lower edge of which is 5,470 feet above the same level. The course of the Rhone through the Valais is west-south-west as far as Martigny, about eighty-two miles from its source, the height of the river at this point being 1,523 feet above the sea; but here the stream takes a north-westerly direction for about twenty-four miles, and enters the Lake of Geneva, bringing with it a deposit of mud, which has partially filled up all the upper parts of the lake. The Rhone, on leaving the lake at the city of Geneva, where it is crossed by two bridges, is soon afterwards joined by the Arve, and then enters a rocky defile, between the Alps and the Jura chain, proceeding for about twenty-two miles, as far as the gorge called the Perte du Rhône, where its waters are hidden by limestone rocks, nearly meeting over the stream. Its course thence is due southwards as far as Mont Cenis, at which point the river is still 645 feet above the level of the sea. Here, however, it takes a sudden turn, and maintains a course west-north-west, with but few exceptions, to its junction with the Saône at Lyons. The river, before arriving at La Perte, runs in a narrow bed cut in soft clay strata, reposing on a hard calcareous stratum; but on reaching this stratum, the waters have excavated a deep tunnel in it, into which they fall with considerable force; the rocks on each side approaching so close, that, before the space was widened by the Sardinian government to prevent smuggling, a man might have strode across and seen the Rhone pass, at a great depth, between his feet. This tunnel is divided, half way down, by projecting ledges of rock, into an upper and lower channel. In winter, and early in spring, the river runs below these ledges, and is nearly concealed; in one part, also, masses of rock have fallen down, and for about sixty yards have entirely covered the lower bed of the river. This part may be traversed when the river is low; but in summer, during the melting of the Alpine snows, it is much enlarged, and flows over the intervening rock. The Rhone leaves the hilly country a few miles east of Lyons, where its deep, transparent, blue, and very rapid waters are joined by the sluggish and muddy stream of the Saône. From Lyons the united stream holds a course nearly due south to the Mediterranean, receiving numerous streams from the west and east. The Isère, a considerable river, rising on Mont Cenis, joins it between Tournon and Valence; and near Avignon it is joined by the Durance, a swift and turbid stream, which collects the waters from the western face of the maritime Alps. The Rhone traverses in its course the Valais, from its source in the Glacier of the Rhone to the spot where it enters the Lake of Geneva. This one long valley, perhaps the most remarkable one in Europe, has, on the north, the Bernese Oberland, on the north-east, Uri and Tessin, east and south, Piedmont, and on the west, Savoy and the canton of Vaud. Its area is estimated at 1,660 square miles. This canton consists of the valley of the Upper Rhone, and has been described as "an immense trough, two miles wide at the bottom, one mile and a half in depth, and seventy in length." The mountains, on each side, are the highest in Europe; they form two walls of rock, rising from 10,000 to 14,000 feet above the Rhone; this valley may therefore be considered the deepest in the known world. On the north side are the Alps, to which belong Finsteraarhorn, Jungfrau, Breitshorn, and other stupendous peaks; while the southern boundary is formed by the great chain from Mont Blanc to St. Gothard, including the Cervin and Monte Rosa. At the upper end of the valley these two ranges unite. Sixteen lateral valleys, some of considerable extent, open into the Valley of the Rhone; and where they join it, the width of the flat part of the valley is increased. Thirteen of these lateral valleys are inhabited. To the small and ancient walled town of Villeneuve and its neighbourhood we have already alluded; and we now only add the remark, that the end of Lake Leman, near to it, can scarcely be exceeded in beauty by any of the lakes in Switzerland. To gaze on its full beauty, the traveller must be on the summit of the Jura mountains in a clear day, when he sees it in its grand and mighty setting, "as a sea of pearl amidst crags of diamonds. Coming from France, the scene bursts upon him with wondrous effect. But if in fine weather, when sailing toward Villeneuve, he have a view of the Great St. Bernard, magnificently robed in snow, he will think that the sublimity and beauty of the spectacle, and of the lake itself, can scarcely be surpassed. As we are now to proceed along the muddy torrent of the Rhone, we hasten onwards in a char-à-banc to Bex, famous for its sulphureous waters, and its mines and springs of salt. The mines are in the rocks above the town, and yield every year large quantities of that essential article. Beyond Bex the valley becomes exceedingly narrow, so that there is scarcely room for the river and the road. The worst ride we had in Switzerland, so far as physical comfort was concerned, was that through a part of the valley of the Rhone. A perfectly level white road was shut in by the loftiest ranges of mountains in Europe-the Mont Blanc and Bernese Alps; on either side were fœtid marshes, from which innumerable frogs were croaking forth a chorus in their harshest tones; the few villages and people observable along the road were only objects variously expressing the same consummate misery; while overhead was the sun pouring forth his burning rays. Still there were compensations for all that was endured. On either side the scenery more than realized the pictures of a fervid imagination. The sides of the mountains were indescribably varied, and the peaks stood forth against the clear, blue sky in all their terrific grandeur, unveiled, in fact, by a single cloud; while the torrents were dashing and foaming as usual, exciting an intense desire to quaff freely and plenteously their deliciously cool and sweet waters. Between Villeneuve and St. Maurice, on the right and left of the river, from halfleague to half-league, the pretty villages of Vaud and Valais come into view, and then almost immediately disappear, our rapid travelling permitting us to see scarcely any thing except the boldness of their situation on the mountain slope. A few vines are growing, reminding us that the Valais is remarkable as presenting on the smallest known area, all the different climates and kinds of vegetable products met with between Italy and Iceland. At the foot of the Bernese Alps the vine succeeds remarkably well, and the wine is very good, though the inhabitants are slovenly and unskilled. Indian figs, almonds, chesnuts, pomegranates, grow with little or no culture along the banks of the Rhone, and corn of all kinds is produced at different elevations. In the distance before us, at the end and crowning the scene, on the left appears the Dent des Morcles, on the right, her sister, the Dent du Midi, both rising to the height of some 8,000 or 9,000 feet, both differently coloured by the last rays of the setting sun, and both standing out against an azure sky of the utmost brightness: the Dent du Midi, with its head all white with snow, having a delicate roseate hue, and the Dent des Morcles arrayed in a deep blood-red colour. A magnificent stone bridge crosses the Rhone where it is very deep and rapid. It is 200 feet long, and consists of a single arch, having on each side for its foundation an immense rock, which rises on the banks of the river, forming gigantic abutments, of the Dent des Morcles and the Dent du Midi. It is to this spot that Rogers refers when he says : "I entered where a key unlocks a kingdom." And this is literally true, for the mountains on either side so nearly shut together, that there is only the width of the river and the narrow street between them; and at one end of the bridge which here crosses the Rhone, and connects the Canton de Vaud and the Canton Valais, there used to be a gate. This bridge, independently of its situation, boasts of having been founded by Julius Cæsar. At one end is a tower, which is now a chapel, and at the other is an ancient castle, through which the road has been made to St. Maurice. St. Maurice is a singularly wild and beautiful town, situated at the base of a line of rocks, many of which are formed into complete habitations, and almost always form part of the houses of the inhabitants. That it was a town in the time of the Romans is attested by several Latin inscriptions, which state that this was the burial-place of several of the family of Antoninus Severus. It is called St. Maurice in memory of the commander of the Theban legion, who, with his soldiers, to the number of 6,600, says the tradition, suffered martyrdom in A.D. 302, rather than renounce their faith. High up on the side of the mountain is seen the little hermitage of Notre Dame de Cex, looking, as one traveller says, "like a grey wasp's-nest under the eaves of the mountain." The valley near to this spot is covered with loose rocks and stones, and presents a scene of considerable desolation. This was caused by the torrent of mud and rocks which, in 1835, descended from the Dent du Midi, and covered the road for a considerable distance. This dreariness is, however, soon amply compensated by the Falls of the Sallenche, which we remember, when travelling by night from Paris to Châlons, being urged by the counterpart of an Italian brigand to be sure and see, whatever we might lose in our rambles in Switzerland. The cascade which breaks the torrent of the Sallenche, and throws itself over a succession of precipices several hundred feet high, gives striking relief to the scenery between St. Maurice and Martigny; and, contemplated in a bright summer noon, when it has an iris hovering above it, presents one of the most imposing accompaniments that Alpine landscape can offer. At the height of 700 feet the torrent first catches the eye by its white line of foam, boiling through a bed of black rock, whence it vaults over a succession of rapids to the brink of the great fall, and is thence precipitated, at a single bound of 300 feet, into the basin below, tossing its clouds of spray around, foaming and agitated, as if its cauldron N |