And the other added in a whisper:--

"Let us go out on the road; we can talk more freely there."

It was getting dark; a warm damp breeze was rolling up black clouds upon the sky, where the setting sun had left behind it a vague gray mist.

They went along the sh.o.r.e in the direction of Fluelen, crossing the mute shadows of hungry tourists returning to the hotel; shadows themselves, and not speaking until they reached a tunnel through which the road is cut, opening at intervals to little terraces overhanging the lake.

"Let us stop here," pealed forth the hollow voice of Bompard, which resounded under the vaulted roof like a cannon-shot. There, seated on the parapet, they contemplated that admirable view of the lake, the downward rush of the fir-trees and beeches pressing blackly together in the foreground, and farther on, the higher mountains with waving summits, and farther still, others of a bluish-gray confusion as of clouds, in the midst of which lay, though scarcely visible, the long white trail of a glacier, winding through the hollows and suddenly illumined with irised fire, yellow, red, and green. They were exhibiting the mountain with Bengal lights!

From Fluelen the rockets rose, scattering their multicoloured stars; Venetian lanterns went and came in boats that remained invisible while bearing bands of music and pleasure-seekers.

A fairylike decoration seen through the frame, cold and architectural, of the granite walls of the tunnel.

"What a queer country, _pas mouain_, this Switzerland..." cried Tartarin.

Bompard burst out laughing.

"Ah! _va_, Switzerland!.. In the first place, there is no Switzerland."

V.

Confidences in a tunnel.

"Switzerland, in our day, _ve!_ Monsieur Tar-tarin, is nothing more than a vast Kursaal, open from June to September, a panoramic casino, where people come from all four quarters of the globe to amuse themselves, and which is manipulated and managed by a Company _richissime_ by hundreds of thousands of millions, which has its offices in London and Geneva.

It costs money, you may be sure, to lease and brush up and trick out all this territory, lakes, forests, mountains, cascades, and to keep a whole people of employes, supernumeraries, and what not, and set up miraculous hotels on the highest summits, with gas, telegraphs, telephones..."

"That, at least, is true," said Tartarin, thinking aloud, and remembering the Rigi.

"True!.. But you have seen nothing yet... Go on through the country and you 'll not find one corner that is n't engineered and machine-worked like the under stage of the Opera,--cascades lighted _a giorno_, turnstiles at the entrance to the glaciers, and loads of railways, hydraulic and funicular, for ascensions. To be sure, the Company, in view of its clients the English and American climbers, keeps up on the noted mountains, Jungfrau, Monk, Finsteraarhorn, an appearance of danger and desolation, though in reality there is no more risk there than elsewhere..."

"But the creva.s.ses, my good fellow, those horrible creva.s.ses... Suppose one falls into them?"

"You fall on snow, Monsieur Tartarin, and you don't hurt yourself, and there is always at the bottom a porter, a hunter, at any rate some one, who picks you up, shakes and brushes you, and asks graciously: 'Has monsieur any baggage?'"

"What stuff are you telling me now, Gonzague?"

Bompard redoubled in gravity.

"The keeping up of those creva.s.ses is one of the heaviest expenses of the Company."

Silence fell for a moment under the tunnel, the surroundings of which were quieting down. No more varied fireworks, Bengal lights, or boats on the water; but the moon had risen and made another conventional landscape, bluish, liquides-cent, with ma.s.ses of impenetrable shadow...

Tartarin hesitated to believe his companion on his word. Nevertheless, he reflected on the extraordinary things he had seen in four days--the sun on the Rigi, the farce of William Tell--and Bompard's inventions seemed to him all the more probable because in every Tarasconese the braggart is leashed with a gull.

"_Differemment_, my good friend, how do you explain certain awful catastrophes... that of the Matterhorn, for instance?.."

"It is sixteen years since that happened; the Company was not then const.i.tuted, Monsieur Tartarin."

"But last year, the accident on the Wetterhorn, two guides buried with their travellers!.."

"Must, sometimes, _te, pardi!_.. you understand... whets the Alpinists... The English won't come to mountains now where heads are not broke... The Wetterhorn had been running down for some time, but after that little item in the papers the receipts went up at once."

"Then the two guides?.."

"They are just as safe as the travellers; only they are kept out of sight, supported in foreign parts, for six months... A puff like that costs dear, but the Company is rich enough to afford it."

"Listen to me, Gonzague..."

Tartarin had risen, one hand on Bompard's shoulder.

"You would not wish to have any misfortune happen to me, _que?_.. Well, then! speak to me frankly... you know my capacities as an Alpinist; they are moderate."

"Very moderate, that's true."

"Do you think, nevertheless, that I could, without too much danger, undertake the ascension of the Jungfrau?"

"I 'll answer for it, my head in the fire, Monsieur Tartarin... You have only to trust to your guide, _ve!_"

"And if I turn giddy?"

"Shut your eyes."

"And if I slip?"

"Let yourself go... just as they do on the stage... sort of trap-doors... there 's no risk..."

"Ah! if I could have you there to tell me all that, to keep repeating it to me... Look here, my good fellow, make an effort, and come with me."

Bompard desired nothing better, _pecare!_ but he had those Peruvians on his hands for the rest of the season; and, replying to his old friend, who expressed surprise at seeing him accept the functions of a courier, a subaltern,--

"I could n't help myself, Monsieur Tartarin," he said. "It is in our engagement. The Company has the right to employ us as it pleases."

On which he began to count upon his fingers his varied avatars during the last three years... guide in the Oberland, performer on the Alpine horn, chamois-hunter, veteran soldier of Charles X., Protestant pastor on the heights...

"_Ques aco?_" demanded Tartarin, astonished.

"_Be!_ yes," replied the other, composedly. "When you travel in German Switzerland you will see pastors preaching on giddy heights, standing on rocks or rustic pulpits of the trunks of trees. A few shepherds and cheese-makers, their leather caps in their hands, and women with their heads dressed up in the costume of the canton group themselves about in picturesque att.i.tudes; the scenery is pretty, the pastures green, or the harvest just over, cascades to the road, and flocks with their bells ringing every note on the mountain. All that, _ve_ that's decorative, suggestive. Only, none but the employes of the Company, guides, pastors, couriers, hotel-keepers are in the secret, and it is their interest not to let it get wind, for fear of startling the clients."

The Alpinist was dumfounded, silent--in him the acme of stupefaction. In his heart, whatever doubt he may have had as to Bompard's veracity, he felt himself comforted and calmed as to Alpine ascensions, and presently the conversation grew joyous. The two friends talked of Tarascon, of their good, hearty laughs in the olden time when both were younger.

"Apropos of _galejade_ [jokes]," said Tartarin, suddenly, "they played me a fine one on the Rigi-Kulm... Just imagine that this morning..." and he told of the letter gummed to his gla.s.s, reciting it with emphasis: "'Devil of a Frenchman'... A hoax, of course, _que?_"

"May be... who knows?.." said Bompard, seeming to take the matter more seriously. He asked if Tartarin during his stay on the Rigi had relations with any one, and whether he had n't said a word too much.

"Ha! _va!_ a word too much! as if one even opened one's mouth among those English and Germans, mute as carp under pretence of good manners!"