On the nearby lake, the village of Clarens, sentimentally described by Rousseau in La Nouvelle Héloïse, was a poor and dirty place, says Murray, ‘far less attractive than many of its neighbours, and it probably owes its celebrity to a well-sounding name, which fitted it for the pages of a romance. The spot on which the beautifully ‘bosquet de Julie’ is sought for is now a potato field.’
In the historical note on Geneva Baedeker tells us that Jean Jacques Rousseau, the son of a watchmaker, was born there in 1712, and lived in the town during his early youth. ‘His writings, which exhibited ability of the highest order, exercised a great influence over the opinions of his age, but their tendency was highly injurious to society, and he passed a troubled and agitated life. At the instigation of Voltaire and the university of Paris, and by order of the magistrates of Geneva, his “Emile” and “Contrat Social” were burnt in 1763 by the hangman.’
Well might Dostoevsky, in a letter to his sister, complain that ‘Geneva is a dull, gloomy, Protestant, stupid town with a frightful climate, but very well suited for work.’
If our traveller came towards Mont Blanc from the Valley of Aosta he would find that it was ‘more perhaps than any other in Piedmont afflicted in a horrid degree with cretinism and goitre. Nowhere are they more prevalent than in this beautiful valley. The peasantry appear squalid and filthy a race of beings generally stunted and diseased. Of the whole population in the neighbourhood of Aosta, one in fifty is a cretin; and above half are more or less goitred. Some of these are horrid objects. Tumours as large as their heads are appended to their throats, varying in number, size, and colour. The dirt, deformity, and imbecility of the inhabitants presented a scene so wretched, that it harrowed our feelings. Not a well-dressed or decent-looking person is to be met with; all bear the marks of poverty, disease, and wretchedness; and this too amidst scenes for which nature has done so much. Something weighs upon the people like a curse. Many conjectures have been offered upon the cause of goitres and cretinism. Labour, food, water, air, have all been offered in explanation; but none of these account for it satisfactorily. The opinion of our guide was, that it was chiefly owing to the villainously dirty habits of the people most afflicted with it. He said that among the mountaineers this was the general opinion; and though it sometimes descended in families, and often was observed in infancy, yet it might be traced to the filthy habits of preceding generations.’ Similar views were expressed in later editions but, by the end of the century, guidebooks had ceased referring to the disease, which suggested that it had more or less died out.
To reach Chamonix and Mont Blanc from Geneva Baedeker recommends taking the diligence as far as St Gervais, then walking the rest of the way in six or seven hours over a five-thousand-foot col — no great feat for a pedestrian, then or now. The highway is, however, ‘beset by all sorts of vagabonds, who plant themselves in the way openly as beggars, or covertly as dealers in mineral specimens, guides to things which do not require their aid, dealers in echoes, by firing small cannon where its reverberation may be heard two or three times. Such idle nuisances should be discountenanced.’
All guidebooks gave advice on walking, suggesting that inexperienced Alpine travellers should accustom themselves, for some time before they set out, to look down from heights and over precipices, ‘so that, when they really enter upon a dangerous path, the eye may be familiarized with the depths of the abyss, and the aspect of danger, and the head relieved from vertigo which the sudden sight of a precipice is otherwise apt to produce’.
No one should attempt to cross a glacier without a guide, who must always be allowed to take the lead. Only double-soled boots should be worn, Murray says, ‘with iron heels and hob-nails; the weight of a shoe of this kind is counter balanced by the effectual protection afforded to the feet against sharp rocks and loose stones, which cause contusions.’
Blistered feet should be rubbed with spirits before going to bed, ‘mixed with tallow dropped from a candle into the palm of the hand; on the following morning no blister will exist. The spirits seem to possess the healing power, the tallow serving only to keep the skin soft and pliant. To prevent the feet blistering, it is a good plan to soap the inside of the stocking before setting out.’
Baedeker says that, in spite of possible discomforts: ‘The pedestrian is of all travellers the most capable, both physically and morally, of enjoying a tour in Switzerland. The first golden rule is to start on his way betimes in the morning. If strength permits, and a suitable halting-place is to be met with, a two hours’ walk may be accomplished before breakfast. At noon a moderate luncheon is preferable to the regular table-d’hôte dinner. Repose should be taken during the hottest hours, and the journey then continued till 5 or 6 p.m., when a substantial meal may be partaken of.’
He has much to say on the drawback of having too much luggage, which renders the travellers a prey to porters at every stop. ‘Who has not experienced the exultation which attends the shouldering of the knapsack or wielding of the carpet-bag, on quitting a steamboat or railway station? Who in his turn has not felt the misery of that moment when, surrounded by his “impedimenta”, the luckless tourist is almost distracted by the rival claims of porters, touters, and commissionaires? A light game-bag amply suffices to contain all that is necessary for a fortnight’s excursion. A change of flannel shirts and worsted stockings, a few pocket-handkerchiefs, a pair of slippers, and the necessary “objets de toilette” may be carried with hardly a perceptible increase of fatigue. A piece of green crepe or coloured spectacles to protect the eyes from the glare of the snow, and a leather drinking-cup will also be found useful …’
The foremost ‘Rule’ for the enthusiast is that he should curb his ardour at the beginning of the tour, and rarely exceed ten hours a day. In the tone of the fatherly schoolmaster Baedeker tells him: ‘Animal spirits are too often in excess of powers of endurance; overtaxing the strength on a single occasion sometimes incapacitates altogether for several days. When a mountain has to be breasted, the prudent pedestrian will pursue the “even tenor of his way” with regular and steady steps; the novice alone indulges in “spurts”. If the traveller will have a third golden maxim for his guidance it may be, “When fatigue begins, enjoyment ceases.”’
We are forewarned about the chilling reality of actual experience. ‘The first night in a Chalet dispels many illusions. Whatever poetry there may be theoretically in a bed of hay, the usual concomitants of the cold night-air piercing abundant apertures, the ringing of the cow-bells, the sonorous grunting of the swine, and the undiscarded garments, hardly contribute to that refreshing slumber of which the wearied traveller stands in need.’
Baedeker’s edition of 1911 frowns heavily on: ‘The senseless habit of breaking empty bottles and scattering the fragments (which) has led to inconvenience and even danger near some of the more frequented of these club huts. Bottles when done with should be deposited in some suitable spot where they will be out of the way.’
As for experiencing the rarefied effects of air in the mountains, Francis Galton in The Art of Travel suggests a cruel and bizarre method of gauging it: ‘On the high plateaux newcomers must expect to suffer. The symptoms are described by many South American travellers; the attack of them is there, among other names, called the puna. The disorder is sometimes fatal to stout plethoric people; oddly enough, cats are unable to endure it. Numerous trials have been made with these unhappy feline barometers, and the creatures have been found to die in frightful convulsions.’