CHAPTER IX

BELLS

It was a temptation to linger in the region of the beautiful Italian lakes, but two days sufficed to give the trio such glimpses as made a lasting impression, and it was still May when they arrived in the quaint little village of Domodossola. Seeking the hotel which Miss Cavendish had selected as being a modest establishment, they were ushered into a large room with bare board floor. There were two beds in the room, and sufficient furniture for comfort, but the space was so large that there seemed shadowy corners fading away into dusky emptiness, and a stairway which led directly from the room to the floor below suggested all sorts of possibilities.

“Shall we dare to stop here?” asked Sidney. “I feel as if a company of bandits might creep up that stairway in the night and murder us in cold blood.” But Gabriella stole down the stairs and returned with the assurance that the door at the foot was securely locked on their side.

“There is a fascinating little balcony out here,” she said, opening the long window. “It is exactly like a scene in the opera, Fra Diavolo, I think. We are evidently right on the public square, the market place or whatever it is, and there are ever so many interesting things to see; the people themselves are like stage people. See that soldier sitting at the table down there with a friend, and the little maid waiting on them. I think she must be Zerlina. Don’t you expect to hear them troll out a drinking song? Oh, I am sure this isn’t a real place; it is a stage setting, and we have come into it by mistake, for we are a part of the scenic effect: ladies on a balcony. I wonder what kind of dinner they will give us. You see I am returning to stern reality.”

The dinner met their expectations, and was served in such a way as to heighten the stagey appearance of their surroundings. They spent their evening on the balcony watching the arrival of the market people who began to appear just after dark to prepare for the morrow’s market. All sorts of wares were brought in; vegetables, plants, dairy products, fish, clothing, notions and what not. A donkey bearing loaded panniers would be followed by a man bending beneath a burden packed upon his back; a man driving a cow and calf would precede a woman carrying a wicker basket filled with bleating kids. Another would bear a yoke, the two ends balanced by bundles whose contents could not be discovered. Queer stocky figures many of these Swiss peasants had, big heads set on bodies scarce larger, but with sturdy thick arms and legs which looked as if they might have belonged to a taller race. “Misfits,” Gabriella called them, but the broad faces, if stupid, were good-natured, and the stout legs were able to carry them up many a steep mountain climb.

Till a late hour the bustle of arrivals kept up, but just as the weary travellers had dropped into their first slumber they were awakened by the sonorous notes of an unusually fine street-organ. “There’s the orchestra,” said Gabriella sleepily; “the opera is about to begin.”

“It is really the finest perambulating organ I ever heard,” said Miss Cavendish; “at first I thought it was a full brass band. Imagine hearing such a thing away up here in this little mountain village.”

“I am much too sleepy to sing Zerlina to-night,” said Gabriella; “they will have to go on without me. I hope they have an understudy.” And she slept again.

In the morning when the travellers took their places in the diligence the market was in full swing, and the street below their windows was filled with a busy throng. With a jangling of bells and a snapping of whips the diligence swept out of town, and then began the delights of a day half sunshine, half shower, just as Gabriella had hoped for. The season was early and the snow still lingered in many places, but the power of the sun had set free many of the mountain streams which leaped in thread-like cascades down the mountain sides or dashed tumultuously through the valleys to join the river further on. The pass had been opened but a few days, and as the higher parts were reached the diligence clattered over an icy road through snow tunnels and along a way banked high on each side with masses of snow.

“And three days ago we were eating those dear little strawberries down there in Italy,” said Gabriella, “and were uncomfortably warm. See one of our horses eating snow, Sid; he takes a mouthful whenever he can snatch one as he trots along. Isn’t he funny? I like to see animals with individual tastes.”

“Isn’t it cold and grey and desolate away up here?” said Sidney. “Do you realize that we are far up in the Alps, Gabriella?”

“Oh, dear, yes. I am thrilling with appreciation at every revolution of the wheels. We are driving directly into a storm. I can see it ahead. It is lucky we decided upon these inside places, and that there is just room for the three of us. Everything is lucky and I am almost as happy as when I landed at Naples.”

“For enthusiasm commend me to Gabriella,” said Sidney laughing; “I believe she revels in the prospect of a storm here in these mountains.”

“I do revel,” answered Gabriella. “Don’t those clouds look weird wrapping themselves around that mountain top? Now the rain comes pelting, but I don’t believe it will last long, for we shall get beyond it, and down into that little green valley with its toy houses. I can just catch a glimpse of it down there.”

Mid-day brought them to Simplon where lunch was served and the horses were changed, then through ever varying delights of scenery they continued their journey, watching the clouds gather frowningly over some mighty mountain top, soon to break away and disclose patches of blue, which broadened into a sunshiny sky smiling over a verdant valley, and sending shining beams across the silver peaked mountains from which sparkling streams issued and forced their way in a myriad rainbow waterfalls to the river below. Quiet valleys, fields besprinkled with flowers of every hue, pasture lands where tinkling herds cropped the lush spring grass; all these fair visions appeared till the final stop was made at six o’clock in the little town of Breig.

“But we are not going to stay here,” Miss Cavendish informed the others. “We are going on to Visp; it is a smaller place, and I think we shall like it better. Then, too, we shall be that much nearer Zermatt, which we are determined to see.” So to Visp they proceeded, and arrived at a clean little inn overlooking a pretty garden where they found themselves the first guests of the season.

A perfect chorus of bells awoke the sleepy travellers in the early morning. To the gravely regular pealing of the church chimes was added a tinkling accompaniment of cow-bells and goat-bells as the herds skipped past the small hotel on the way to their pastures after the morning’s milking. Gabriella lifted her head drowsily. “I never knew what Alpine bells were before,” she murmured as she sank back into a semi-slumber.

After a while the chiming and tinkling ceased, and Miss Cavendish arose to look out upon the quiet, mountain-girdled village. The sun was shining gloriously upon the dazzling peaks. In the neat garden below early flowers were blooming. The village lay hushed and peaceful in the encircling embrace of the mountains, and seemed far away from the rest of the world. Nothing could exceed its quiet serenity.

“Get up! Get up!” called Miss Cavendish to the girls. “You are missing such glories as you may never see again.”

Gabriella sat up in bed. “Did you ever hear anything so sweet as those bells?” she said. “At first I thought I must be dreaming, and then I remembered all that I had heard of the melodious music of the Alpine bells.” She slipped on her wrapper and pattered across the floor to Sidney’s room. “Wake, harp and lute,” she called. “This is another world of enchantment. We shall have milk and honey and delectable food for breakfast, and then we must go and look upon that river that was tumbling and dashing through my dreams all night.”

Sidney needed no second call, and they were not long in occupying the places set for them alone in the homelike dining-room. But though in a land of flocks and herds, the butter failed to come up to their expectations, though the honey was in evidence. After deciding to take the noon train to Zermatt they started out to explore the village. Leaving the level plain of the main street they climbed up to where a quaint old church stood over against the bank of the brawling little river. The place was so quiet that it seemed almost as if they had it all to themselves, except when a group of children laughed out in their play or a woman’s voice was heard calling to a romping boy.

“I am glad we must come back to the dear peaceful little place,” said Sidney after they had said good-by to the rosy-cheeked, friendly little maid who watched them depart. “I think I like the name Visp, better than the French Viege; it seems to suit the village better.”

“Yes, it sounds keen and crisp like the air,” returned Gabriella.

“It was very near to being destroyed by an earthquake,” Miss Cavendish read from her book.

“I am glad it was spared for our delectation,” said Gabriella. “Now we have a mighty climb, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we go up nearly a thousand metres higher. Zermatt lies 1620 meters above the level of the sea.”

“Do tell me in feet,” said Gabriella. “I never can remember how much a meter is.”

“It is about 39 inches. Calculate for yourself,” said Miss Cavendish.

Gabriella shook her head. “I won’t attempt it, and I really don’t care to know about such sordid things as feet and inches at such a time as this. Did you ever see such a mad, brawling, utterly uncontrolled stream as this little Visp? I find it very satisfactory, for it is just what a mountain stream should be; it suggests glaciers and avalanches and banks of melting snow. It is so noisy, too, but I love its wild music, and I am glad to have made the acquaintance of such a charming, mad little river. I shall never forget it.”

“We get very close to some of these small villages,” remarked Sidney. “Some of them look as if they had come out of a box of toys and were made to set under a Christmas tree. I think I like those overhanging houses the best.”

“Glaciers before us and on every side,” announced Gabriella as they climbed higher, “and oh, the fields of flowers, hundreds and millions of delicate little bells of all colors. I am glad we came early, even if we do miss some of the sights. I do hope we shall find some of those lovely blue and pink and purple beauties when we get to Zermatt. I’d like to go right out into the fields and sit in their midst.”

“There is the Weisshorn,” exclaimed Miss Cavendish suddenly.

“Don’t let me miss the first glimpse of the Matterhorn,” said Sidney when they had recovered from this view of a mighty mountain peak. But at last when the wonderful, lonely, isolated white pyramid arose to view they were all silent and tears came to Sidney’s eyes. “I wish mother were here,” she whispered.

Gabriella gave her hand a little squeeze. “That’s just how I feel,” she said. “It is too splendid to enjoy without those you love best.”

They found but one hotel open, so early was it, and to this they repaired. It was delightfully comfortable, and since the regular season had not begun the prices were not beyond their expectations.

“I think it is a great scheme to come ahead of the crowd,” said Gabriella. “Everyone is so glad to see us, and they are glad to give us the best rooms and all the attention we want. Besides it is far more pleasant to find that the most beautiful places are not thronged with curious or indifferent tourists. Yes, I think it is wise to come to Switzerland when everyone thinks it is too early. There are enough people in the hotel to make us feel as if it were not kept up solely for our benefit, and to prevent our fearing that the cook will not put forth her best efforts. As usual we have done the right thing. You are such a bright and shining light of a personal conductor, Gem, that even when you scare us into thinking you have made a mistake it turns out to be the most fortunate thing that could have happened. Now, if you are ready we will climb up to those little huts on the mountain-side. I simply cannot wait to reach them.”

“Gabriella is in her most optimistic mood,” said Miss Cavendish. “I think she should write a book and call it: ‘Europe through rose-colored spectacles.’”

“But aren’t you ecstatically happy? Don’t you think just as I do?” asked Gabriella in a surprised tone. “If you don’t feel that way, you are my only disappointment.”

“In that case,” returned her godmother, “I shall have to acknowledge that I am in a state of perfect content, and that you are a large factor in making me so. Now we are ready, dear Impatience.”

The climb up the mountain-side was not difficult, and, yielding to the effect produced by balmy air, sunlit flower-strewn meadows, inspiring views of mountain and valley, their exuberance took them as far as the three huts. Their way was carpeted with flowers of such beauty and variety as they had not dreamed of finding, and Gabriella had her wish, for she could sit down in their midst. “I feel riotously prodigal,” she said. “I don’t know the names of any of these dear things, and I couldn’t do justice to them if I were to attempt to describe them, but I am going to gather just a very few to send to dear little mother; these forget-me-nots, and these harebells, or whatever they are, and that lovely white thing. Oh, the blue-bells, the cow-bells, the flower bells and the church-bells of Switzerland, how beautiful they are. What are you thinking of, Sid?”

“I was looking at this magnificent view, and was thinking that probably there are other places just as beautiful, of which we know nothing, and which are rarely visited by the general tourist. You know it is not so many years since Zermatt became known to travellers.”

“And were you wishing that you could happen upon such a place and enjoy it unspoiled? One does feel that way once in a while. It is selfish, I suppose, but it is quite natural,” said Miss Cavendish. “I hate to think of the flora of these mountains ruthlessly plucked up by hordes of visitors, so that certain varieties are getting scarcer every year. If it were not for the good work done by the Society for the Preservation of the Alpine Flora no doubt many species would disappear altogether.”

“Do you know that I have just thought that it is possible that the Gorner Grat railway is not running,” said Gabriella. “I can see the road, but I believe I have heard that it will not begin travel till the first of June. Oh, dear, I shall have to admit that I am to experience a disappointment.”

Their fears were realized when they returned to the hotel and were told that they were too early for an ascent by way of the railway. “Of course it is disappointing,” acknowledged Gabriella, “but there is so much to enjoy, that we can spare that.”

“Instead of blue glasses for these snowy peaks, Gabriella still wears her rose-colored spectacles,” remarked Sidney with a smile.

But the next day it rained incessantly and mountain climbing was out of the question. They did undertake a moist excursion around the town, stopped a moment with dripping umbrellas by the graves of the unfortunates lost in their adventurous attempts to scale dangerous peaks, but it was rather a desolate sort of expedition, and they returned to their comfortable quarters to make up accounts, write letters and to read the folk lore of the region, which was rich in legends and thrilling tales of perilous undertakings. Yet the weather did not encourage a longer stay than another night, and the next day they were welcomed back to their little inn at Visp by the cheerful, friendly maid whose exact position in the household it was hard to define, but who received them as if they were old and well-tried friends just returned from a long journey.

“If I were worn out, a blasé, nervously prostrated creature instead of the brisk spinster that I am,” said Miss Cavendish, “I should choose this restful little spot to recuperate in. I should enjoy a long stay here as it is, but with an American eagerness to see all that time and money affords I am afraid that forward must be the word. It is too early for that ride over the pass to Chamounix, and so I think we shall go right on to Geneva. I find few of the passes are open, and I am a little regretful, in spite of Gabriella’s enthusiasm, in the matter of being on hand early. I am afraid the vanguard doesn’t always get the best of it.”

“I don’t care,” put in Gabriella lightly; “I have seen the Matterhorn, and I would rather that than any other mountain. We can get a glimpse of Mont Blanc from Geneva, and we shouldn’t want to climb it anyhow. I am perfectly satisfied to go anywhere you want to take me; it’s all grist that comes to my mill.”

“Gabriella, you dear child,” said Miss Cavendish, giving her a hug, “your unwavering enthusiasm and cheerfulness are worth a fortune.”

“Just watch me when somebody offers me a fortune for it,” returned Gabriella, laughing.

“What is our route?” asked Sidney, looking up from the map spread out before her.

“We take the train as far as Villeneuve, and there we shall get a steamer which will carry us around the upper shore of the lake. My first intention was to stop off at Martigny and go by diligence to Chamounix, but as the pass is still closed to travel, we shall have to substitute this other route.”

“It is a lovely one,” declared the girls. “We shall be able to see all the dear little towns and the castle of Chillon, and all that.”

“We shall have plenty of time for luncheon at Villeneuve,” Miss Cavendish told them, “and we shall reach Geneva in time for dinner.”

“If we have a fine day it will be a perfectly delightful trip,” remarked Sidney.

“It will be a fine day,” decided Gabriella. “Have we had anything else except in Rome, and that time when we travelled first-class, and that was punishment for our extravagance, I am sure.”

“What about yesterday’s deluge?” said Sidney.

“Oh, that doesn’t count; it always rains in the mountains, and besides, that was another first-class venture, for it was a superior sort of hotel. We don’t go first-class this time, do we, Gem?”

“Only upon the steamer. I did want to see the ‘sweet vale of Chamounix,’ but I suppose it will be there when I next come this way.”

“Oh, that next time, that next time. How confidently we speak of it. It takes a deal of supposing to get to all the places we have to leave out now,” said Sidney.

“But we have all the fun of supposing,” said Gabriella. “I feel sorry for those persons who cannot enjoy air-castles.”

They reached Villeneuve at high noon. The streets of the clean bright little town seemed almost deserted, for everyone was at the mid-day meal. “I think it would be great fun to go foraging,” said Miss Cavendish. “What do you say, girls? Let’s go around to the shops and see what we can find; then we can have a picnic lunch down by the shores of the lake. There doesn’t seem to be a soul about, and we can go tramping where we like.”

The girls agreed enthusiastically, and they soon discovered a neat, appetizing little bake-shop which offered such a tempting array of rolls, buns and cakes that it was difficult to select from them. Cheese and salame were found at the butcher shop, the door of which was found to be locked, though a persistent rapping brought a breathless boy from around the corner, who, after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, opened to them. A grocer near by supplied fruit, chocolate and wine, so the well-laden trio took up a station near the steamboat landing, where undisturbed and unobserved they ate their luncheon with relish.

Comfortable places on the deck of the steamer were easy to find, and skirting the blue lake, touching at fair little towns upon its border, they continued throughout the afternoon.

“I like it,” announced Gabriella, after she had settled herself. “It is all blueness and mountain glistenings, and pretty white villaged towns and coolness tempered by sunshine. Lake Geneva is just what I imagined it to be. Now, if I had but been allowed to read Byron’s poems by my godmother I might repeat to you the ‘Prisoner of Chillon,’ but as I know only a few lines of it you will have to say it yourselves, if either one knows it.”

“I can only remember:

“‘There are four towers of Gothic mold By Chillon’s dungeons dark and old’--

or is it cold? I forget,” said Miss Cavendish.

“And I can recall something about ‘My hair is white but not with fright,’ and I am not sure as to that,” said Sidney.

“Never mind, we all know the story, and it will mean just as much to us when we come to the place,” said Miss Cavendish.

“I’d like to make a circuit of the lake and stop at each little place for a day,” remarked Sidney, “and I should like to have done the same at the Italian lakes.”

“Shall we stop off somewhere? We can as well as not,” suggested Miss Cavendish. “You know we are burdened with only hand baggage.”

“If it were not for the letters waiting for us in Geneva we might,” said Sidney doubtfully, “but it has been so long since we could have our mail that I think we would better go on.”

“And Sidney will get that specially fat letter which she always grabs so eagerly and then flocks off by herself to read. Of course it is from her brother,” said Gabriella teasingly.

“A clean, wholesome, orderly, cheerful little city is Geneva,” Miss Cavendish made the comment when they were established in comfortable rooms, “but it need not delay us long, although we could find much to interest us here. It is the birthplace of many celebrities and has borne its part in many struggles.”

“We shall want to hear the musical boxes,” said Sidney.

“And we must go to the shops,” said Gabriella. “I have been told that they are excellent, though why I should visit them I don’t know, except from curiosity, for my pittance of spending-money is nearly gone now.”

“You forget your rôle of heiress,” said Miss Cavendish.

“So I do. Then I will pretend that I can spend with a lavish hand, and will pick out what I would buy if I could while you and Sid make the real purchases; that will amuse me and take off the edge of my desire.”

The pile of letters was waiting for them, and if Sidney slipped a particularly thick one in her bag, so did Gabriella start and look conscious when an unpretentious envelope, bearing the postmark “Florence,” was placed in her hand.