A rainy day crowded these shops and the hotel parlors, and made a busy scene the length of the street, which is very like a country road. But the second morning after our arrival, we rose early, to prepare for an excursion over the Wengern Alp. The Jung Frau, hidden the day before, appeared in full view with the rolling away of the clouds, and we desired to approach nearer to the shy maiden. All the listlessness of the day before was past. As we stepped out of the little _châlet_, in the hotel garden, where--the hotel being full--we had slept in a room only vacated for the night, with a pair of immense red slippers behind the door, and Madame's gowns hanging from pegs on the wall, everybody was astir. More than one party was sipping their scalding coffee as we entered the hotel breakfast-room, while, under the great trees outside, guides and saddled horses waited impatiently.
When we had tied on our wide-rimmed hats, and gathered our shawls, we found a roomy carriage, an open landau, waiting for us at the side-door of the hotel. We drove quickly out of the town, followed by and following other carriages, until we formed a long procession by the time we had reached the valley of Lauterbrunnen and began the ascent. It is a deep, dark valley, shut in by innumerable overhanging rocks, from which thread-like waterfalls hang suspended in air, or are lost in spray. Hardly does the sun seem to penetrate its depth, and an indescribable gloom, as well as chill, pervades the place. From a few scattered cottages women and children emerged to follow the carriages, begging mutely or offering fruits, while at one point a man awaited our approach to awake the echoes with an Alpine horn.
After an hour we reach Lauterbrunnen, and leave the carriage at the door of an inn, where a crowd bargains and waits for guides and horses. We swell the number. When we are served, we mount to our places, and file out of the straggling village, turning before we reach the Staubach Falls--a stream of silvery spray that never touches earth, but swings and waves in mid-air. The ascent grows more and more steep. The recent rain has added to the icy streams, which filter constantly from snows above, and the horses sink in the mire, or slide and slip in a way by no means reassuring. Often the path is mounted by steps of slippery logs; when added to this is a precipice upon one side, we hold our breath--and pass in safety. We commend each other as we perform feats of valor and intrepidity which would make our fortune in the ring, we fancy. The guides, insolent and careless, stroll on in advance, leaving the most timid to their own devices. Presently, as we enter a perfect slough of despond, we see a man before us scraping the mire with a hoe vigorously, as we come in sight.