Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1885-11-01
GREAT ST. BERNARD PASS.
TIE xoNKs or THE HospIcE.
The Mann Dlfscuitier OF the manrfain
CIimb-Ths ChDpeI-The WsrIs-Famous

The ManS Difficulties OF tbe maanfasn
CIimb-Ths ChDpeI-The wsrIs-Famous
Dsss.
Henry Ruegiee In the Boston Giobe.l
/. was O'Clock in the morning when
a travelling friend and myself Left the
Hotel Clere, at Msrtigny, to make the
pass Of the Great ST. Bernard. Our
conveyance was long. narrow Alpine
wagon drawn by two notwithstanding
mules that had seen better days, and
the driver. who was also TO act as our
guide, was ar old mountain-clImber,
whose father, as | afterwsrd learned,
was the veritsble pei son whom Napo-
leon selected TO pioneer his route when
be scaled the Alps with his invInci-
bic army. 10 the surprise OF Italy and
the whole world. The distance from
Martigny to the hospice, where we were
to remain over night. the landlord Of
the hotel informed us, was about forty
miles. part Of which was a gradual as
cent. and the balance a steep. rocky,
zic-zag path that q mule found It Diff
cult to climb. The journey up among
the mountains was delightful, the
scenery. ever changing. was grand and
magnificent. We occasionally passed
through little Swiss villages, nestled
between and hder high, over
hanging mountains, and inhabited
by peasantry that showed every
sign Of the utmost poverty and destitu-
ton. But after seeing how little ground
the peasants have fit for cultivation.
and the greater part Of that situated on
the sides Of mountains so steep that
goat could scarcely retain a ioothOld, |
was not surprised at their poverty and
hungry looks. Every little patch OF
ground, wherever il could be utilized
among the rocks, on the brow Of preci-
pice. or even from under 81 overhang-
ing glazier-was appropriated and cul-
tivated TO It's utmost extent IN order
to keep the wolf from the door. =
What would the farmers Of New England
ssy. who find so much fault with their
rocky land. as compared with the deep,
rich soil Of the far West, were they
obliged TO exchange homes with those
Swiss peasants and exc out scanty
subsistence on those almost barren
heights. where the winters SHOWS re-
tain their foOthold for eight months Of
the year. and where every hour they
are IN danger Of being engulfed by an
avalanche. In one place ] saw some
men cutting grass on small patch Of
ground so steep that, to me, it was
miracle how they could even catch
8 foothold. But few feet from them
was the brow Of an abrupt precipice,
which overhung an Alpine torrent, seve-
raj hundred feet below. a single mis-
step Of either Of the workmen would
have hurled him TO certain destruction.
Imagine the New England farmers FILL
ing their barns from such hay-felds as
tins !
A SCARCITY OF GOOD DINNERS.
After q drive Of four hours we reach
the village Of Liddes, where we stop to
rest the mules and to lunch at
primitive little inn, hardly fit to be
q stable, called the Hotel d Angle
terTe. As we were about 5000 feet
high. We could not expect a sumptu-
Gus repast neither did we have one.
Some boiled eggs, black bread and
honey. and a halfbOttle Of Bernard
ire-a hQueur made BY the monks
al the hOspice above-was all that the
bill Of fare consisted Of, but for this we
were charged at least enough to have
paid for days board al one OF the best
New York hotels. Il was amusing 10
zee how calmly the fussy little landlord
endured the operation Of seeing the
tai Of the bill cut down to about half
original amount. Rubbing his hands
! the while. he smilingly remarked
" Arrangez lie CONNIE vOus voulez,
] essieurs." Arrange as you please,
lentlemen.)
Three hours more travel bring US to
St. Pierre. another wretched Swiss
hamlet. where there are but SIX or eight
MISUNDERSTANDING little huts or houses,
built Of mud and stone, and with wide
projecting roofs. At one Of these,
which was used for an inn, we endeh-
vored 10 get substantial dinner. as the
worst and most tiresome part Of the
Journey WAS ahead Of US. We were
informed that fresh meat Of any kind,
not even eggs. were TO be had. So we
had to content ourselves with feAsting
upon more black bread and honey. some
scraps Of al unknown kind Of cold
meat, and 3 bottle OF sour vine-ths
best the inn could give us.
About two miles beyond St. Pierre
we came TO small one-stOry stone
house called the Canteen, the last habi-
tstion until We reach the Hospice. This
is as far as we can 60 In our Alpine
wagon, and the balance OF the distance
to the home Of the monks above has TO
be on muleback. In anticipation Of
this part Of the journey, the guide
has wisely brought saddles with
him, and also two sacks Of hay FOX
the mules. The Canteen has but one
occupant, an old woman, with face
wrinkled and brown as 8 piece OF an
Gent parchment. who presses Us 10
pariake Of her black bread and sour
wine, but the memory Of our recent
dinner at St. Pierre compels US TO de-
cline her hospitality. for which she ex-
pected to be richly paid. The harnesses
were soon exchanged for the saddles,
and in q few minutes more the long
cared animals were safely bearing US
upon their backs TO the heights above.
EXCELSIOR.
We had now arrived At q point so
high that the air had become intensely
cold. and, although il was but the lst
OF August, the ground was frozen as
hard as if il had been midwinter. For
the last several hours Of our journey we
were in sight Of mountain peaks cover
ed with snow far ahead and above US.
and we were now in their midst, with
bitter, cold wind driving down against
US from the bleak, snow-covered cliffs
tina; overhung our path. To make our
ride still more disagreeable and almost
unbearable, q cold, drizzly rain and
sleet beat in our faces, and but for
our guide, who trudged unconcernedly
along by the side Of the mules and