Innocent Abroad

#55, July 7, 2004

If you were...

An Innocent Abroad (1)

If you were to be heading off on your Cooks Tour of the Holy Land and had taken the trip across the English Channel on Monday, September 14^th, 1874, you would have found the passage a beautiful one owing to the fine weather on that day. The reflection of the sunlight on the sea, you would also have noted, was extremely beautiful and dazzling. This is what else happened to you on this first leg of the tour.

You made three acquaintances: a clergyman, an Irish barrister, and a middle-aged gentleman, one Mr. George Charles who lived near Hyde Park. You learned that the clergyman, a scholarly man, was making a tour of Belgian towns. The barrister, meanwhile, had assisted the recently-ended British Association for the Advancement of Science held in Belfast, and had much to say about John Tyndall and T.H. Huxley, particularly about Tyndall’s speech arguing for the superior authority of science over religion for explaining phenomena. As a student of religion you had been following this event closely. But the barrister’s forté, you ascertained, was the Land Question in Ireland. When you tried to get him to explain this question, however, you found it rather difficult to understand him owing to his volubility. The middle-aged gentleman, you found, was more taciturn and he showed no great characteristics beyond carefulness and anxiety with regard to trains and boats.

On your arrival in Ostend, you found that the town appeared to be a fashionable seaside place of the same character with Boulogne and Folkestone, though it was not really like Folkestone in appearance. As an Englishman, Ostend seemed essentially foreign to you with, you recorded in your journal, an eastern looking “Establishment”, which you thought pretty. After disembarking from the boat, you had your luggage inspected and registered for Basle and you made an effort to procure a copy of “The Times,” which you hoped would provide you with literary pastime for the next three months. You then traveled 2^nd Class to Brussels among a lot of French tourists, whom you deemed chatted and laughed at a great rate.

You would later record that, on this leg of the journey, the chief things that attracted your attention were the people working in the fields, some with bare feet and others with those heavy wooden shoes which reminded you of Charles René in Dumas’ “The Corsican Brothers.” Also, you saw that there was ploughing being done with oxen, and sometimes with horse and ox yoked together.

At Brussels, which you reached at 6:20 p.m., you managed to snatch some food, a process that your middle-aged companion, Mr. Charles, said was fatal to the digestion. The Barrister, the middle-aged man, and you moved to 1^st class to travel on from Brussels to Basle, having the carriage to yourself all the way.

Very soon after leaving Brussels you began arranging yourselves for the night, and the Irishman displayed great ingenuity in arranging cushions. You noted to yourself that your mother would have been amused at the various expedients hit upon at the gradual discoveries you and your companions made. You did not get much sleep, especially because once or twice you were summoned forth at the dead hour of night to have luggage inspected, which you found a ridiculous farce consisting of little more than exchanging polite bows with a railway official in grand uniform.

During the night the Barrister and you fell into discussion, the middle-aged man occasionally putting in some dry and sensible observation. One particular question discussed was whether or not the Christian faith depended on the credibility of the miracles, with the Barrister contending that it did entirely. “Dispose of the miracles,” he said, “and the Christian faith must be given up.” As a man in training for the ministry you did not agree with this proposition..

At Strasbourg you were glad indeed of coffee and meat and grew quite cheerful on the strength of it. At another station you bought some delicious pears and grapes from a small boy who was going around the carriages. During your journey both of your companions were loud in their praises of the route generally and the Railway company.

On the Tuesday morning at 10 a.m. you arrived at Basle. The Barrister left you here, while you and the middle-aged man were proceeding on to Lucerne. When you went to the luggage place and presented your receipts, you discovered to your dismay that the Ostend luggage had all gone astray. The middle-aged man now no longer praised the Company and the route. You fussed about with the station master, who agreed to telegraph for the luggage and have it sent on to Lucerne when it arrived. You then went on your train, the manner of your companion now being subdued, not to say sad. He was expecting to meet friends at dinner at Lucerne and had nothing but his traveling suit. Moreover, he informed you that he never expected to see his luggage again.

In your carriage you met an extremely voluble German lady whose talk was so incessant that you would look at her aghast. As last she took some sandwiches from her traveling bag and there was a lull in her conversation for a little time during which the middle-aged man fell asleep.

On arrival at Lucerne you made your way to the Hotel du Cygne, where Cooks Company travelers are taken. You were treated well and had an excellent meal, being ravenously hungry and tired. On traveling around Lucerne, you made acquaintance with a German, who could not speak English and only knew a smattering of French. However, you pointed out scenery to each other and become quite friendly. He was solemn looking and quiet.

The next day, after breakfast, you took a conveyance up the Rigi and then walked down with an American and his wife and another lady. You noted to yourself that when people talk of the American twang and about the people always “guessing”, it was no exaggeration. The American and you engaged in an interesting conversation about North and South arbitrations, Irish difficulties, and so on.

That evening the voluble German lady sat opposite you at the table d’hote of the Rigi Kulern Hotel. After the dinner you took out your “Baedeker” and saw that this table d’hote had been correctly described as a Babel of all tongues. This seemed to be a general experience at table d'hotes. At another hotel at the foot of the Rigi, in a place called Beckenried (a village made up of pretty Swiss cottages, where English was spoken by no-one and the name of "Cook" was but as the name of an ordinary man), the table d'hote would be occupied by a party of Germans who made the most tremendous noise during dinner, joking, laughing, shouting and all speaking at once. After dinner they adjourned to the piano and then the noise terminated. A man with a fine strong voice sang German songs and all the party men and women joined in the chorus snapping their fingers and clapping their hands in accompaniment.

On your descent from the mountain in the train, you noted many pretty sights and sounds: women driving goats; men and women carrying those curious wooden cases on their backs; and children with fruit. You returned to the center of Lucerne after your tiresome luggage and after your day of worrying you found that it had materialized. Just in time – you would be leaving Lucerne that night.