The Laboratory of Progress: Switzerland in the Nineteenth Century, Volume 1

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Table of Contents
List of Figures
List of Milestones
List of Tables
Preface
Acknowledgements
1 The Discovery of the Mountains
1.1 A Terrible Beauty: The Alps
1.1.1 The Power of Symbols
1.1.2 Ambivalence towards the Majestic
1.1.3 Key Points: An Overview of Trends and Epochs
1.2 A Polyphonic Promotional Campaign: The Marketing of Switzerland
1.2.1 Grand Tours and Pleasure Journeys
1.2.2 Naturalists and Scientifically Motivated Alpinism
1.2.3 Literati and Philosophers
1.2.4 World Literature
1.2.5 The Kleinmeister: Enthusiasm for Switzerland in the Arts
1.2.5 Travel Guides
1.3 The Development of Tourism
1.3.1 Routes and Destinations
1.3.2 Accommodations
1.3.3 Travel Reports and the Tourist Experience
1.3.3.1 Christoph Meiners in the Bernese Oberland
1.3.3.2 Zermatt: From Parsonage to Hotel
1.3.3.3 Mayr Goes to the Spa
1.3.4 Export Product: Switzerland as Chalet
1.3.5 On the History of the Hotel Industry: The Beginnings
1.3.5.1 Inns and the First Hotels
1.3.5.2 Grand Hotels
1.3.5.3 Mountain Inns and Hotels
1.4 Climbing and Hiking as Part of Elite Education
1.4.1 Scientifically Motivated Alpinism
1.4.2 Excursions as Part of Schooling
1.5 The Golden Age of Alpinism
1.5.1 The Playground of Europe, or, the British Occupation of the Swiss High Alps
1.5.2 Swiss Mountain Guides
1.6 Sightseeing in the Swiss Alps
1.6.1 Triumph and Tragedy
1.6.2 Alpine Literature
1.6.3 Summer Tourism and Hotels
1.6.4 The Year 1863: Into the Mountains with the SAC …
1.6.5 …and through Switzerland with Thomas Cook, All-inclusive
1.7 1865: The First Ascent of the Matterhorn
1.7.1 Whymper’s Last Chance
1.7.2 The Ascent and the Accident
1.7.3 A Superficial Investigation
1.7.4 Social Hierarchy and Authority
1.7.5 Size and Heterogeneity
1.7.6 Deficient Equipment
1.7.7 The Cut Rope
1.7.8 Disorganisation or Calculation?
1.7.9 Scapegoats and White Waistcoats
1.7.10 Monument and Epigraph
1.7.11 Conclusion
1.8 The Belle Époque
1.8.1 A Time of Superlatives: The Apotheosis of Pre-War Culture
1.8.2 Glitz and Glory in Montreux
1.8.3 Kursaals, Casinos and Orchestras
1.8.4 The Rise of St Moritz
1.8.5 Winter Tourism in Switzerland
1.8.6 From Therapeutic Baths to Health Tourism
1.8.7 International Private Schools
1.8.8 Regional Differences
1.8.9 Will the King Lay Down His Crown? Switzerland as Playground and Refuge for Monarchs
1.9 Art and Commerce
1.9.1 Literary Tourism and the Commodification of Art
1.9.2 Critiques of Tourism and Technology
1.9.3 Critiques of Gigantism
1.9.4 The Dark Side of Modern Customs
1.9.5 Hotels: Characteristic Features and Key Figures
1.9.5.1 The Provenance of the Guests
1.9.5.2 Hotels and Their Capacities
2 New Beginnings: The Pull of the World
2.1 Forms and Phases of Emigration
2.2 Graubünden: The Best Confectioners in the World
2.3 Ticino: La Tristezza
2.4 Swabia: Child Slaves from Switzerland, Appraised Like Cattle
2.5 California: A Deceptive Eldorado
2.6 Zürichtal: The Catastrophic Trek to Crimea, 1804
2.7 Slavery in Brazil
2.8 The Long Way to New Orleans
2.9 Schaffhausen: Emigration Despite Industrialisation
2.10 Einsiedeln: Entrepreneurial and Cultural Expansion
2.11 Valais: Remaking Home on the Pampas
2.12 Exiled: The Eschers of Zurich
2.13 Ulrico Hoepli of Tuttwil: A Citizen of Switzerland and Italy
2.14 Heinrich and Christian Vögeli: The Modernisers of Serbia
2.15 Immigrant’s Son and President: Jacobo Arbenz of Andelfingen
2.16 An Argentinian Icon: Alfonsina Storni of Sala Capriasca
2.17 Josephine Gentinetta: A Goodbye without Tears
2.18 Summary and Statistics
2.18.1 Peak Emigration Levels in the 19th Century
2.18.2 A Plea for Cantonal and Regional Differentiation
2.18.3 Modes of Emigration: Shifting Trends
2.18.4 Reasons and Root Causes: The Force Field of Migration
2.18.5 The Swiss Character in Foreign Lands
2.18.6 Homelands Old and New
Appendix: Brief Glossary
Bibliography
Index of Places
Index of Persons

Citation preview

“Jung is an outstanding storyteller. Here he offers up an economic, transport, tourism and emigration history of Switzerland, well embedded in its context. The work is easy to read; Jung captivates the reader with his tales of the successes and failures of his pioneers.” Michael Kitzing, Friedrich Naumann Foundation, Germany “This book presents the brilliant transformation of Switzerland in the 19th century, in which this country and its political system surpassed most other European nations in democratic progress.” Holger Böhning, Jahrbuch für Kommunikationsgeschichte “An excellent, carefully illustrated and excitingly written panorama of an important chapter in Swiss history.” Jürg Müller, Schweizer Revue

The Laboratory of Progress

The Laboratory of Progress: Switzerland in the 19th Century tells the improbable story of how a small, backward, mountainous agricultural country with almost no raw materials became an industrial powerhouse, a hub of innovation, a touristic mecca and a pioneer in transportation – all in the course of a single century. That a tiny landlocked country should become a dominant steamship builder for the rest of the world; that a country that had never seen a cotton plant should become the world’s second-largest textile producer; that a country with hardly any level terrain should come to boast the world’s most highly developed railway network; and that a country whose main export was impoverished emigrants should be transformed into one of the world’s major fnancial centres – these astonishing developments, among many others, are explored and explained, both through the specifc stories of individual innovators and through a prescient analysis of the political, economic, societal and cultural structures that formed the context in which Switzerland’s astonishing transformation took place. The book is a compelling read both for professional historians and for general readers with an interest in Switzerland; it highlights the roles of transport networks and individual pioneers in industrial and political development. Joseph Jung is Professor Emeritus at the University of Fribourg and the author of bestselling biographies of the preeminent Swiss politician Alfred Escher and his daughter Lydia Welti-Escher, among many other works. He has received numerous awards for his pioneering research into 19th-century Swiss economic and cultural history.

Routledge Studies in Modern European History

88 The Legacies of the Romani Genocide in Europe since 1945 Edited by Celia Donert and Eve Rosenhaft 89 The End of Ottoman Rule in Bosnia Conficting Agencies and Imperial Appropriations Hannes Grandits 90 Rethinking the History of Italian Fascism Edited by Giulia Albanese 91 Deciphering the European Investment Bank History, Politics and Economics Edited by Lucia Coppolaro and Helen Kavvadia 92 European Integration and Disintegration Essays from the Next Generation of Europe’s Thinkers Edited by Nick Cohen and Ayana Dootalieva 93 The Laboratory of Progress Switzerland in the Nineteenth Century, Volume 1 Joseph Jung 94 Border Regimes in Twentieth Century Europe Péter Bencsik 95 Catalonia: A New History Andrew Dowling

For more information about this series, please visit: https://www. routledge.com / Routledge-Studies-in-Modern-European-History/ book-series/SE0246

The Laboratory of Progress Switzerland in the Nineteenth Century, Volume 1

Joseph Jung

Translated by Ashley Curtis

First published in English 2023 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business English language translation © 2023 Ashley Curtis The right of Joseph Jung to be identifed as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The right of Ashley Curtis to be identifed as translator of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identifcation and explanation without intent to infringe. 2nd, revised edition published in German by Schwabe Verlagsgruppe AG 2020. © 2019 NZZ Libro, Schwabe Verlagsgruppe AG, and Joseph Jung, Walchwil/Zug. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Jung, Joseph, 1955- author. | Curtis, Ashley, translator. Title: The laboratory of progress : Switzerland in the nineteenth century / Joseph Jung ; translated by Ashley Curtis. Other titles: Laboratorium des Fortschritts. English Description: New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. | Series: Routledge studies in modern European history ; 93 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifers: LCCN 2022005671 (print) | LCCN 2022005672 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032152240 (v. 1 ; hardback) | ISBN 9781032152264 (v. 1 ; paperback) | ISBN 9781032152271 (v. 2 ; hardback) | ISBN 9781032152288 (v. 2 ; paperback) | ISBN 9781003243137 (v. 1 ; ebook) | ISBN 9781000624724 (v. 1 ; adobe pdf) | ISBN 9781000624731 (v. 1 ; epub) | ISBN 9781003243144 (v. 2 ; ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Switzerland—Economic conditions—19th century. | Economic development—Switzerland—History—19th century. Classifcation: LCC HC397 .J8613 2022 (print) | LCC HC397 (ebook) | DDC 330.9494—dc23/eng/20220330 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022005671 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022005672 ISBN: 978-1-032-15224-0 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-15226-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-24313-7 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003243137 Typeset in Sabon by codeMantra

For my son, Benedict Jung (1994–2020)

Contents

List of Figures List of Milestones List of Tables Preface Acknowledgements 1

The Discovery of the Mountains 1.1 A Terrible Beauty: The Alps 1.1.1 The Power of Symbols 1.1.2 Ambivalence towards the Majestic 1.1.3 Key Points: An Overview of Trends and Epochs 1.2 A Polyphonic Promotional Campaign: The Marketing of Switzerland 1.2.1 Grand Tours and Pleasure Journeys 1.2.2 Naturalists and Scientifcally Motivated Alpinism 1.2.3 Literati and Philosophers 1.2.4 World Literature 1.2.5 The Kleinmeister: Enthusiasm for Switzerland in the Arts 1.2.5 Travel Guides 1.3 The Development of Tourism 1.3.1 Routes and Destinations 1.3.2 Accommodations 1.3.3 Travel Reports and the Tourist Experience 1.3.3.1 Christoph Meiners in the Bernese Oberland 1.3.3.2 Zermatt: From Parsonage to Hotel 1.3.3.3 Mayr Goes to the Spa

xiii xvii xix xxi xxiii 1 1 1 5 8 11 11 14 18 20 22 27 28 28 33 34 35 35 37

1.3.4 Export Product: Switzerland as Chalet 1.3.5 On the History of the Hotel Industry: The Beginnings

39 42

1.3.5.1 Inns and the First Hotels 1.3.5.2 Grand Hotels 1.3.5.3 Mountain Inns and Hotels

42 43 47

x

Contents 1.4 Climbing and Hiking as Part of Elite Education 48 1.4.1 Scientifcally Motivated Alpinism 48 1.4.2 Excursions as Part of Schooling 53 1.5 The Golden Age of Alpinism 56 1.5.1 The Playground of Europe, or, the British Occupation of the Swiss High Alps 56 1.5.2 Swiss Mountain Guides 58 1.6 Sightseeing in the Swiss Alps 67 1.6.1 Triumph and Tragedy 67 1.6.2 Alpine Literature 71 1.6.3 Summer Tourism and Hotels 76 1.6.4 The Year 1863: Into the Mountains with the SAC … 80 1.6.5 …and through Switzerland with Thomas Cook, All-inclusive 81 1.7 1865: The First Ascent of the Matterhorn 83 1.7.1 Whymper’s Last Chance 83 1.7.2 The Ascent and the Accident 85 1.7.3 A Superfcial Investigation 88 1.7.4 Social Hierarchy and Authority 92 1.7.5 Size and Heterogeneity 93 1.7.6 Defcient Equipment 95 1.7.7 The Cut Rope 96 1.7.8 Disorganisation or Calculation? 98 1.7.9 Scapegoats and White Waistcoats 98 1.7.10 Monument and Epigraph 100 1.7.11 Conclusion 101 1.8 The Belle Époque 103 1.8.1 A Time of Superlatives: The Apotheosis of Pre-War Culture 103 1.8.2 Glitz and Glory in Montreux 108 1.8.3 Kursaals, Casinos and Orchestras 110 1.8.4 The Rise of St Moritz 114 1.8.5 Winter Tourism in Switzerland 118 1.8.6 From Therapeutic Baths to Health Tourism 124 1.8.7 International Private Schools 131 1.8.8 Regional Differences 132 1.8.9 Will the King Lay Down His Crown? Switzerland as Playground and Refuge for Monarchs 135 1.9 Art and Commerce 140 1.9.1 Literary Tourism and the Commodifcation of Art 140 1.9.2 Critiques of Tourism and Technology 149 1.9.3 Critiques of Gigantism 150 1.9.4 The Dark Side of Modern Customs 155

Contents xi 1.9.5 Hotels: Characteristic Features and Key Figures 1.9.5.1 The Provenance of the Guests 1.9.5.2 Hotels and Their Capacities

2

156 156 159

New Beginnings: The Pull of the World 2.1 Forms and Phases of Emigration 2.2 Graubünden: The Best Confectioners in the World 2.3 Ticino: La Tristezza 2.4 Swabia: Child Slaves from Switzerland, Appraised Like Cattle 2.5 California: A Deceptive Eldorado 2.6 Zürichtal: The Catastrophic Trek to Crimea, 1804 2.7 Slavery in Brazil 2.8 The Long Way to New Orleans 2.9 Schaffhausen: Emigration Despite Industrialisation 2.10 Einsiedeln: Entrepreneurial and Cultural Expansion 2.11 Valais: Remaking Home on the Pampas 2.12 Exiled: The Eschers of Zurich 2.13 Ulrico Hoepli of Tuttwil: A Citizen of Switzerland and Italy 2.14 Heinrich and Christian Vögeli: The Modernisers of Serbia 2.15 Immigrant’s Son and President: Jacobo Arbenz of Andelfngen 2.16 An Argentinian Icon: Alfonsina Storni of Sala Capriasca 2.17 Josephine Gentinetta: A Goodbye without Tears 2.18 Summary and Statistics 2.18.1 Peak Emigration Levels in the 19th Century 2.18.2 A Plea for Cantonal and Regional Differentiation 2.18.3 Modes of Emigration: Shifting Trends 2.18.4 Reasons and Root Causes: The Force Field of Migration 2.18.5 The Swiss Character in Foreign Lands 2.18.6 Homelands Old and New

185 185 198 200

Appendix: Brief Glossary Bibliography Index of Places Index of Persons

259 261 267 277

204 205 207 208 214 215 216 217 222 229 231 234 236 239 241 241 244 245 245 247 248

Figures

1.1

Giovanni Segantini (1858–1899), Mittag in den Alpen (Midday in the Alps), 1891. Oil on canvas, 77.5 × 71.5 cm. St Moritz, Segantini Museum 1.2 Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680), Mundus subterraneus in XII libros digestus, 1678. Woodcut, Amsterdam: apud Ioannem Ianssonium a Waesberge & flios. Foundation of the works of C.G. Jung, Zurich, online, https://www.e-rara.ch/cgj/content/titleinfo/1837428 1.3 Gabriel Lory (1763–1840), Eiger, Mönch und Jungfrau von Isenfuh aus (The Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau seen from Isenfuh), undated. Watercolour over pencil, varnished in places, 46.8 × 59 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen 1.4 Christian von Mechel (1737–1817), after Marquard Fidel Dominicus Wocher (1760–1830), Voyage de Mr de Saussure à la Cime du MontBlanc au Mois d’Août 1788, 1790. Coloured engraving, 44.3 × 53.3 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen 1.5 Gabriel Lory (1763–1840), Das Koloristenatelier von Bartholme Fehr in St Gallen (The Colouring Studio of Bartholome Föhr in St Gallen), 1784. Pen and watercolour, 29.1 × 45.6 cm. Bern, Kunstmuseum Bern 1.6 Caspar Wolf (1735–1783), Der Lauteraargletscher mit Blick auf den Lauteraarsattel, 1776. Oil on canvas, 54 × 82 cm. Aargauer Kunsthaus, Aarau. Fotocredit: Jörg Müller 1.7 David Alois Schmid (1791–1861), Vue du Glacier du Grindelwald (View of the Grindelwald Glacier), undated. Pencil and watercolour, partly varnished, 22.9 × 30.7 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen 1.8 Attributed to Gabriel Lory (1784–1846), Lauterbrunnental mit Staubbachfällen (Lauterbrunnen Valley with the Staubbach Waterfall), undated. Watercolour over pencil, partly varnished, 22.2 × 28.5 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen

3

4

7

18

23 24

25

26

xiv

Figures

1.9

Hans Conrad Escher (1767–1823), “Matterhorn, 1806.” In Views and Panoramas of Switzerland 1780–1822, by Hans Conrad Escher von der Linth, edited by Gustav Solar. Zurich: Atlantis, 1975, image Nr 126 Johann Caspar Uehliger. Haus zum Schwert, ca 1750/60. Copperplate engraving. Wikimedia Commons “Savoy Hotel Baur en Ville, Zürich.” In Savoy Hotel Baur en Ville, Zürich 1938, by Hans Schultess. Credit Suisse Collection Valentin Roschacher (b. 1960), Ideenlehre nach Platon (Plato’s Theory of Ideas: Matterhorn), 2019. Oil on canvas, 140 x 140 cm. Collection of the artist “Credit Suisse: Incredibly Swiss. Incredibly International.” 1989. Credit Suisse Collection “Hotel Giessbach,” ca 1900. Coloured postcard. Private collection William Turner (1775–1851), Fall of the Rhine at Schaffhausen (Der Rheinfall von Schaffhausen), 1841. Pencil, watercolour and pen with scratches, 22.8 × 29.2 cm. Sturzenegger-Stiftung, Schaffhausen Edward Whymper (1840–1911), The Matterhorn, as seen from the Ryffelberg, 1865. Bayerische Staatsbibliothek München, Signatur: Geo.u.528 iw “Rochers de Naye and Hotel de Caux, Lake Geneva, Switzerland,” ca 1900. Coloured postcard. Private collection Ferdinand Hodler (1853–1918), Les Dents du Midi vues de Champéry, 1915/16. Oil on canvas, 73.5 × 110 cm. Nestlé Art Collection Abraham Samuel Fischer (1744–1809), Darstellung des Innern der grossen Bäder von Leuk im Wallis, 1789. Coloured etching, 62.1 × 49 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen Albert Anker (1831–1910), Die polnischen Verbannten, 1868. Oil on canvas, 62 × 50 cm. Winterthur, Stiftung für Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte (Foundation for Art, Culture and History) “Wenn die Anarchisten so herumlaufen würden, hätte man sie bald alle erwischt; aber sie laufen halt nicht so herum.” (“If anarchists walked around like this, we would soon have caught them all: but they do not walk around like this.”) Caricature in Nebelspalter, 3 December 1898 Jakob Josef Zelger (1812–1885), Tellskapelle mit Urirotstock (The Tell Chapel with the Urirotstock), ca 1850/60. Oil on canvas, 117 × 163 cm. Winterthur, Stiftung für Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte

1.10 1.11 1.12 1.13 1.14 1.15

1.16 1.17 1.18 1.19

1.20

1.21

1.22

37 45 46 70 72 79

82 89 107 109

126

138

140

144

Figures

xv

1.23 Ferdinand Hodler (1853–1918), Le Grammont, 1917. Oil on canvas, 82 × 97.5 cm. Nestlé Art Collection 145 1.24 Giovanni Segantini (1858–1899), La Vita (Life) (Left panel of the Triptych La Vita, La Natura, La Morte), 1896–1899. Oil on canvas, 190 × 322 cm. Segantini Museum, St Moritz 148 1.25 Charles Giron (1850–1914), Die Wiege der Eidgenossenschaft, 1901/02. Oil on canvas, 12 × 5m. Bern, Federal Palace. Photograph: Peter Mosimann. Copyrighted free use, via Wikimedia Commons 152 1.26 Summer tourism in Davos, 1874–1914: Provenance of visitors 157 1.27 Winter tourism in Davos, 1875–1914: Provenance of visitors 157 1.28 Summer tourism in Montreux, 1896: Provenance of visitors 158 1.29 “Maloja Palace,” ca 1900. Coloured postcard. Private collection 160 1.30 Number of hotels in selected Swiss towns, 1860–1900 (in absolute fgures) 161 2.1 “Deck of an emigrant ship.” Photograph, ca 1900. AKG Images 187 2.2 “Cemetery of the Benedictine convent in Yankton, South Dakota,” 2019. Sacred Heart Monastery, Yankton, South Dakota. Picture by Sr Jennifer Kehrwald, Yankton 190 2.3 The St Gallen textile merchant Johann David Gonzenbach (1777–1842) in his business offce in Trieste, 1817. Gouache miniature. Staatsarchiv St.Gallen, W 185/3.3-1 192 2.4 “Watchpost of the Swiss delegation in Yedo (Japan), 1870.” In Le Japon Illustré, by Aimé Humbert. Copperplate etching 195 2.5 Fritz Paul Höniger (1865–1924), Im Café Josty, ca 1890, after a 1929 colour print. AKGImages 200 2.6 Das Vermieten der Tiroler Schwabenkinder in Ravensburg (Deutschland) (The hiring of child workers from Tirol in Ravensburg, Germany), 1895. Wood engraving after a drawing by E. Klein. Wikimedia Commons 205 2.7 “The emigrant family of Antonio and Regina VolkenWilliner in San Jerónimo Norte, Argentina,” ca 1907. Photograph. Collection of Dr Klaus Anderegg 220 2.8 Rudolf Weymann (1810–1878), Belvoir-Gut Zürich (The Belvoir estate in Zurich), ca 1840. Watercolour. Zurich, Zentralbibliothek Zürich 228 2.9 Swiss overseas emigration, 1850–1910 (in absolute fgures) 243

Milestones

1.1

14 July 1865 – The First Ascent of the Matterhorn

68

Tables

1.1

First ascents of the 48 Swiss 4000-metre Alpine peaks, 1811–1900 2.1 Swiss emigration by continent, 1850–1910 2.2 Overseas emigration: Ranking of cantons relative to their total population, 1845–1904 2.3 Overseas emigration: Ranking by canton by absolute fgures, 1870–1910

59 243 243 244

Preface

Like a traveller who pauses on the fnal hill before a city and looks back over his shoulder to regard his country one last time in its entirety, I have been moved to piece together into a whole the disparate insights I have gained, from different vantage points, over the course of decades. This book is composed of four main independent chapters. The reader can start in on any of them. They represent four narrative threads that all play out during the same period of time – the extended 19th century, which lasted until the outbreak of the First World War. The book does not present a systematic history of Switzerland, but rather a multidimensional panorama, intended to convey not just facts, but rather a certain sense of life. The writer who wishes to do justice to the brilliant transformation Switzerland underwent in the 19th century not only has to include certain happenings from the 18th century and earlier, but also train his eye to distinguish the effects that this transformation is still having today. Many subjects are taken up in more than one chapter; this allows the same phenomenon to be examined, for example, in its political, industrial, cultural and touristic contexts. The reader who wishes to pursue a topic in all its various forms and iterations can refer to the extensive index at the end of the book. I have refrained from providing a summary of my most important insights, since conclusions about specifc time periods and subjects are embedded in the text. Readers who would like to acquaint themselves with my most important stances from the start might begin with the overview presented in “Headlines”, Chapter 3 in Volume 2. It is clear to me that I could have emphasised different subjects and included many more. With all due respect to what I have omitted, I am here giving an account of what most interests me personally about 19th-century Switzerland and of those subjects to which I feel most drawn. This includes the frst ascent of the Matterhorn, even though I myself have only ever viewed this mountain from below. I have thus produced neither a systematic history nor a lexicon with a well-defned and numbered place for each of its entries. I wanted to be free to use space as I wished and to survey the broad feld of my subject

xxii

Preface

in my own manner. In fact, what I really want to do is to tell stories. If, in doing so, I here and there awaken some joy in reading, or communicate a valuable insight, my longstanding work on this project will have been of beneft to others – as it certainly has been to me. Joseph Jung, November 2019

Acknowledgements

Every historical account, however objective it might endeavour to be, is inevitably infuenced by its theoretical premises and thematic focuses. Historians must examine source materials and earlier research with a critical eye to determine which fndings and ideas contribute most to the subject at hand. This means being selective; and the question of what to select – and what not – becomes especially important when, as in the present case, the historian sets out to describe the development of an entire country over an extended period of time. I have allowed myself to be guided by my encounters with the historical fgures who have most impressed me, and in particular, by the exceptional Alfred Escher, who contributed more signifcantly than any other person to the creation of modern Switzerland after 1848. Through Escher I imbibed the Spirit of ’48, and he has taught me much, including how decisive the development of transport technology is for the fate of entire nations (-> Lifelines: Interconnecting Systems, Volume 2, Chapter 1). As the former Managing Director of the Corporate History division at the bank Escher brought into existence, as his biographer, as the editor of an extensive collection of his letters and as the founding director of the Alfred Escher Foundation, I became ever better acquainted with Alfred Escher in all his many facets. This led me to settle on a theme: The importance of individual personalities – pioneers, entrepreneurs, scientists, visionaries – for the socio-political development of a country (-> Switzerland Unbound: Intrepid Progress, Volume 2, Chapter 2). My work at the Institute for Historical Research in Economics provided a framework for delving into this topic. Through my activities on behalf of the Giovanni Segantini Foundation (Giovanni Segantini-Stiftung), I became acquainted with Alpine painting and the history of tourism and, through my own family background, with the history of the hospitality industry (-> The Discovery of the Mountains, Volume 1, Chapter 1). The economic boom of the post-war years made a deep impression on me. Migrant workers were a part of everyday life. Thanks to Ulrico Hoepli, a successful Swiss emigrant for whose foundation I work as managing director, I was captured by the “Pull of the World” (-> New Beginnings, Volume 1, Chapter 2).

xxiv

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank everyone I have encountered on my journey through the 19th century and all who have encouraged and supported me. My academic interest in the 19th century was fostered by courses I gave at the Universities of Fribourg and St Gallen, and I would like to thank all the students who critically commented on my arguments and approaches and especially those who have enriched my understanding through their own academic work. Many friends and colleagues have been there for me throughout the process of writing this book. For their constant and motivating interest in my work, for their intelligent feedback and important suggestions, I would like to thank Professor Emeritus Urs Altermatt, Professor Emeritus Joerg Baumberger, Professor Emeritus Michael Böhler, Professor Emeritus Conradin Burga, Professor Urs Frauchiger, Professor Hildegard Elisabeth Keller, Professor Emeritus Franz Zelger and Dr Martin Meyer. I am particularly grateful to Privatdozent Jürg von Ins, who more than anyone else grappled with my ideas and texts and who gave me countless ideas for improvements. For the critical editing of individual chapters and for other productive suggestions, I thank Dr Klaus Anderegg, Daniel Anker, Mike Bacher, Hermann Biner, Dr Bruno Bohlhalter, Werner Bosshard, Diane Conrad-Daubrah, Anton Heer, Philip Hess, Dr Matthias Inderkum, Thomas Landolt, Dr jur. Valentin Roschacher, Professor Alexis Schwarzenbach, Dr Markus Somm, Dr Jürg Spiller, Gieri Venzin, Dr Peter Voegeli and Dr Roman Wild. For small and large – but always appreciated – help and support of all kinds, I would like to thank: Peter Barth, Dr Franco Battel, Marc Baumann, Marianne Benz, Dr Georges Bindschedler, Romy Biner-Hauser, Nigel Buckley, Dr jur. Philipp Carlen, Sara Carnazzi Weber, Bernhard and Ulrike Clemenz, Martin Cordes, Maja Ebnöther, Markus Fischer, David P. Frick, Severin Gerber, Dr Andrea Grossi, Daniela Hardmeier, Jean-Claude Hayoz, Sandra Heim, Tarcisi Hendry, Daniel Hochstrasser, Corina Huber, Dr Rudolf W. Hug, Clemens Hunziker, Sister Marianne-Franziska Imhasly, Beat Jossen, Dr jur. Rochus Jossen, Sister Maria Andrea Käppeli, Sister Jennifer Kehrwald, Professor Peter Metz, Peter Michael-Cafisch, Dr Kurt Moser, Martin Nydegger, Benedikt Perren, Karin Rensch, the Reverend Stefan Roth, Edy Schmid, Dr Gerhard Schwarz, Dr Cordula Seger, Christian Seiler, Dr Mark Andreas Seiler, Stephan Seiler, Dr Gérard Seiterle, Barbara Stolba, Immanuel Senn, Dr Jürg Stüssi-Lauterburg, Dr Beat Stutzer, Jonas Taugwalder, Protodeacon Michel Vernaz, Julian Vomsattel, Patrick Waespi, André Weibel, Dr William Wirth, Andreas Züllig-Landolt and Hans Zumtaugwald. In order to realise my “Project 2019” on time, I was dependent on colleagues who helped with academic research and provided logistical and administrative support. My thanks for research, analysis, sourcing of materials and compilation go to Mariel Baumann, who worked out a thematic system with me, and to my research assistant and doctoral

Acknowledgements

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student Fabian Henggeler. I thank Clemens Fässer, who grouped together and concisely categorised the Swiss pioneers; Basil Böhni, for the indices of persons and place names; Maud Fasel for her inquiries, and especially for clarifcations at the Alpine Club in London; and Ida Maria Waltenspühl for the sourcing of images and for her manifold and resourceful support. I thank the institutions and private individuals who made available the illustrations; they are listed in the picture credits on p. xiii ff. I thank the libraries and archives that granted me access to their collections: the Alpine Club Library, London (Nigel Buckley); The City of Zurich Construction History Archive (Sara Pepe Fischer); Corporate Archives and History of Credit Suisse (Nicole Schenker, Tanja Neukom, Bruno Fischer); the St Moritz Library (Dora Filli); the Andelfngen Municipal Archive (Patrick Waespi); the Matterhorn Museum, Zermatt (Edy Schmid); the Parliamentary Services of the Federal Assembly, Bern (Diego Hättenschwiler); the Professor Beat Kleiner and Dorothee Kleiner-Frick Collection (Alfred Escher Foundation); the Saurer Museum, Arbon (Dr Rudolf Baer); SBB Historic, Windisch (Martin Cordes); the Swiss National Bank Archive (Christina Henss, Simone Epper); the Valais Cantonal Archives in Sion (Alain Dubois/Denis Reynard); the Zurich Cantonal Archives (Dr Beat Gnädinger); and the Zurich Central Library (Dr Jochen Hesse). My thanks go to Nina Baumgartner for the graphs and tables, to Claudia A. Trochsler for the creation of the railway maps, to my decades-long and untiring guide Edgar Haberthür for his conscientious copy-editing and proofreading of the German manuscript, and fnally to the NZZ Libro publishing house for undertaking the original German-language publication of the book. Finally, I would like to thank Ashley Curtis for the translation of my book into English. I was delighted to work with a translator who brought to the project his own cultural and historical knowledge about and personal interest in the phenomena I have depicted, which defned 19th-century Switzerland and still infuence the Switzerland of today. I was also delighted that Ashley subsequently acted as my foreign rights agent in my collaboration with Routledge. He masterfully carried out the necessary adjustments to the German version, thanks to his deep familiarity both with the material and with the publication of English-language works. The emendations of the extensive and complex indices also bear his mark. I am especially grateful to him for our intensive and productive exchanges of ideas and for our constructive collaboration. I would also like to thank the Routledge Press for the inclusion of my work in its Studies in Modern European History series. Particular thanks go to my editor, Max Novick, who showed great understanding of the character and editorial particularities of my history of 19th-century Switzerland. The publication of the original German-language editions of this book was made possible by generous fnancial contributions from the Bonny Foundation for Freedom, Bern; Professor Maria Bindschedler, Zurich;

xxvi Acknowledgements the Ernst Göhner Foundation, Zug; the St Moritz Municipal Council, St Moritz; the Georg and Bertha Schwyzer-Winiker Foundation, Zurich; the Canton Schwyz Lotteriefonds, Schwyz; SBB Historic, Windisch; the Swiss Life Perspectives Foundation, Zurich; the Ulrico Hoepli Foundation, Zurich; the “200 Years Alfred Escher and Gottfried Keller” Association of the Canton Zurich Lotteriefonds; the Institute for Historical Research in Economics, Zurich; and a number of private individuals who wish to remain anonymous. The English translation was made possible by generous contributions from the Heinrich Escher Family Foundation, Zurich; the Georg and Bertha Schwyzer-Winiker Foundation, Zurich; the Cultural Commission of the Municipality of Davos; the Canton of Zug; the Max Geilinger Foundation, Zurich; and the Willi Muntwyler Foundation, St Moritz.

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A Terrible Beauty: The Alps The Power of Symbols National identity is built on symbolism. Symbols inspire the imagination. The imagination, in turn, helps us to see the familiar in the unknown, to connect what exists with what is yearned for and to relate the present to the past and future. Every political system needs a set of binding symbols in order to function and to create a sense of collective identity. Individuals need symbols in order to emotionally embrace the state. For symbols to take root, they must be communicated, and this requires mediums through which they can be shared – an infrastructure. The Federal Constitution of 1848 created the foundation of a new state by laying out its framework. But this was not enough to realise modern Switzerland. What were needed were points of convergence, values shared by the entire country, evidence of a Swiss identity. It is striking that many of Switzerland’s symbols were introduced rather late in its history. From 1850 onwards, Mother Helvetia was stamped on the front of the 5-franc coin – seated, with a protective, outstretched hand and a mountain panorama in the background. The denomination on the fip side was surrounded by a wreath of oak leaves and alpine roses. Other alpine fowers also appeared on coins: The edelweiss made its debut in 1897 and the alpine gentian in 1911. The Swiss National Day (1 August) was frst celebrated only in 1891. The young Federal State felt no need for a national anthem – some of its citizens improvised with a transfgured patriotic melody composed by Wilhelm Baumgartner (1820–1867) and set to Gottfried Keller’s “O mein Heimatland! O mein Vaterland!”, while others borrowed the melody of the English anthem and shored it up with Johann Rudolf Wyss’s (1782–1830) lyric “Rufst du mein Vaterland.” Depending on their language and culture, region and religion, different Swiss sang different songs. The “Schweizerpsalm” only became the defnitive national anthem on 1 April 1981, per decree

DOI: 10.4324/9781003243137-1

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of the Federal Council. The melody is by Alberich Zwyssig (1808–1854), the text by Leonhard Widmer (1808–1868). In 1897, the image of Vreneli (little Verena) was introduced on the 20-franc gold coin. The Federal Department of Finance outlined certain conditions in announcing the competition for the coin’s design: The image was to represent Switzerland – the Confoederatio Helvetica – either allegorically or through historical symbolism, with a generally comprehensible national motif. The jury refused to give a frst prize, however, since it found that none of the entries satisfed all of the requirements. The metal-worker Fritz Ulysse Landry (1842–1927), who “won” the competition, was only awarded a second prize. Landry had daringly proposed the head of a young woman as a symbol of freedom. The Federal Council had not specifed precisely how a female fgure might be depicted, however – whether as an antique bust or a Saint Cecilia – and most jury members found Landry’s female head too young, too distinctive and too effusive. The artist was entreated to give her a more motherly expression. Landry submitted another sketch, this time of a woman who appeared more mature; her hair, which in the frst version had fallen freely over her shoulders, was now woven into a braid. The branches of alpine roses that had wreathed her shoulders had become edelweiss. Some critics remained stubbornly unimpressed, but they were unable to keep the jury from recommending that the Federal Council accept Landry’s second design. The frst test coins had hardly been stamped, however, before outrage spread. This time it was a lock of hair on the woman’s forehead that set off the indignation. This, it was said, gave her a frivolous appearance, and Switzerland ought not to be personifed as frivolous. So the forelock was eliminated in the fnal version of the coin. Yet the criticism still did not let up: The woman was too young, too little like a wife and mother. The youthfulness of this Helvetia may be why the 20-franc coin later picked up the nickname Vreneli and became what is probably the bestknown Swiss coin.1 It was not only Vreneli’s appearance, however, that gave rise to complaints. A second front formed against Landry on account of the mountains that appeared in the background, which were seen as too imposing. Switzerland consisted of more than mountains, it was protested – the greater part of the population lived in the lowlands. Vreneli’s background implied that the Swiss were primarily shepherds, hoteliers and tourists, a criticism frst made by Gottfried Keller (1819–1890). An alternative suggestion – that William Tell and the men of Rütli be depicted on the coin – was made to no effect, and the mountains remained as a symbol of Switzerland. Elias Canetti (1905–1994) recognised the power of symbols as core elements of cultural identity: the forest and the army for Germans, the sea captain for the English and the dike for the Dutch, for example. As the

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Figure 1.1 Giovanni Segantini (1858–1899), Mittag in den Alpen (Midday in the Alps), 1891. Oil on canvas, 77.5 cm × 71.5 cm. St Moritz, Segantini Museum.

central symbol of Switzerland, he singled out the Alps. The mountains, Canetti claimed, exert a kind of magnetic force that holds the nation and its people together: Switzerland is a country whose national cohesion is doubted by no one. The patriotic feelings of the Swiss are stronger than those in many nations in which only a single language is spoken… [The  Swiss] have a symbol in common that is always before the eyes of every one of them, and it is more durable than that of any other people: the mountains. From everywhere the Swiss see the summits of their mountains. Yet from certain spots their ranks

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The Discovery of the Mountains appear more completely. The feeling of seeing all one’s mountains together lends a holy quality to such vantage points. Sometimes, on evenings that cannot be foreseen, and over which we have no infuence, the mountains begin to glow: This is their highest consecration…Separated at their peaks, they come together lower down like a single, gigantic body. They are a body, and this body is the country itself. 2

The symbolism of the mountains has an especially strong effect when Swiss depart from or return to their home. In 1838, the future lawyer, judge and politician Jakob Escher (1818–1909), who was leaving Zurich to go study in Berlin, wrote the following to his 19-year-old cousin Alfred Escher (1819–1882): Once again, on a promontory between Stockach and Tuttlingen, I saw the long chain of the Alps in the radiance of the evening sun; so distant that the lower masses on the horizon were blurred, and the snowfelds and glaciers seemed to hover in the air. It was the last I saw of my native country; and whatever else I might see in the coming years, of nature and of art, I know that the day on which I once again see our mountains in all their glory will be the most beautiful day of my life.3

Figure 1.2 Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680), Mundus subterraneus in XII libros digestus, 1678. Woodcut, Amsterdam: apud Ioannem Ianssonium a Waesberge & flios. Foundation of the works of C.G. Jung, Zurich, online, https://www.e-rara.ch/cgj/content/titleinfo/1837428. Not only Athanasius Kircher, but even many scholars believed in the existence of dragons in the Swiss Alps well into the 18th century.

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When Alfred Escher set off on his own journey to Berlin a week later, his message from southern Germany was fully in the spirit of such enthusiasm for the Swiss mountain landscape: How magnifcent – looking back one sees the entire chain of the Alps, from the distant Tyrol mountains to those of the Bernese Oberland. I could still see the Rigi, the Albis, and the Hohe Rhone with its Rossweid and the charming Huetliberg. That was the end of the magnifcence of nature. Escher described the landscape he now encountered as monotonous. When he saw an idyllic little lake and was moved again to enthusiasm, he qualifed it with the words, “Just don’t think about Klönthal, though!” The German landscape did not bear comparison to that of Switzerland.4 The symbolic power of Lake Zurich and the mountains never loosened its grip on Alfred Escher. When as an old man, worn out from the defeats of recent years, he sat on a bench under the linden tree in the glorious park landscape of his Belvoir estate, his gaze rose between the copper beeches and the European ashes and across the lake to the Glarus Alps. The park had been created by his father, Heinrich Escher (1776– 1853), after his return from America. All around him, native and exotic fowers in richly coloured carpet beds perfumed the air. The evening wind softly blew apart the broad leaves of a banana palm. The North American Carya and the Californian Sequoia threw long shadows, the last rays of sunlight illuminated the summits and Escher’s weary eyes flled with tears. The mountains were not only there for the Swiss. People from countries all around the world were also struck by their allure. And yet – it had not always been this way. Ambivalence towards the Majestic Due to its geographical location in the centre of Europe, Switzerland has been visited by travellers since the Middle Ages. Initially, foreigners saw it as a place that had to be travelled through perforce, and only rarely as a destination in itself. Apart from its spas and pilgrimage sites, it boasted few attractions that might tempt them to linger. The Alps presented a special challenge for traffc through Switzerland: The roads over the passes were demanding, bound up with numerous dangers and risks, and, in winter, often traversable only with great diffculty, if at all. The Alpine landscape was regarded ambivalently for a long time. For centuries it evoked negatively charged associations – the mountains were denigrated as a hideous wilderness, where fear and terror ruled on every side and grisly processions of dead souls paraded about at night. The Roman poet Livy (ca. 59 BC–17 AD) is widely regarded as the originator

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of this view. He wrote of Hannibal and his armies being surprised by a terrible storm during a military expedition over the Alps – a storm that surpassed even the mountains themselves in unpleasantness.5 Revulsion at and abhorrence for the Alps dominated for centuries: James Howell (1594–1666), an English/Welsh diplomat, historian and writer, compared them to “imposthumes” and “warts”; John Evelyn (1620–1706), garden architect, writer and diarist, spoke of “the rubbish of the earth”; and the theologian Thomas Burnet (1635–1715) called the Alps “wild, vast and indigested heaps of Stones and Earth.”6 Even into the early 18th century, reputable voices spoke of dragons and wyverns dwelling in mountain lakes, making mischief and terrifying people from their lairs on steep cliffs and dreary slopes of scree. The Zurich Protestant pastor Johann Konrad Füssli’s (1704–1775) description of Engelberg in 1772 was singularly unappreciative: “Nothing but atrocious mountains and desolate felds, among which [sits] a pretty monastery and an impoverished village.”7 No foreign traveller would ever have thought of exploring the hostile mountain landscape that lay just off the transit routes, let alone of climbing an Alpine summit. And the same was largely true of the local inhabitants: Farmers and shepherds avoided the ghastly, stony wastelands and ice-felds. What would they do up there, after all? So the story goes – and yet the situation was not quite as dramatic and one-sided as it is presented in many otherwise reputable books, even today. Those who attempt to derive these gloomy scenarios from a primeval human attitude, an impoverished reaction to “majestical scenes of creation” and “eternal monuments to the Almighty,” neglect to note that over the years there were also voices that saw the Swiss Alpine landscape in a positive light. They fail to see that, besides primeval terror, something else was resonating: namely, awe at the tremendous views into the distance. The great visionary Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519) was particularly interested in mountainous terrain. Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528), encountering the natural spectacle around him on his frst trip to Italy in 1494/1495, hit upon the idea of landscape painting – mountains and Alpine panoramas as artistic motifs. Conrad Gessner (1516–1565) glorifed the Alpine world in a 1541 letter to a friend and lauded mountain climbing as a pure and noble pleasure.8 Dutch painters travelled to Italy in the 16th and 17th centuries and depicted the Alps in their work. Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1525–1569), for example, recorded several Alpine views at the behest of Antwerp publishing houses on a 1552 trip that took him through Graubünden. “The Great Alpine Landscape” of 1555/1556, an amalgam of copper engraving and etching, is considered one of Bruegel’s most important works; a print can be found in the graphic art collection of the Albertina in Vienna. The Flemish painter Karel van Mander (1548–1606), still well-known today for his research into the art and art history of the Early Modern Age,

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Figure 1.3 Gabriel Lory (1763–1840), Eiger, Mönch und Jungfrau von Isenfuh aus (The Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau seen from Isenfuh), undated. Watercolour over pencil, varnished in places, 46.8 cm × 59 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen.

and author of the frst work on the theory of art to appear north of the Alps (“Schilder-Boek” = Painter-Book), described the authenticity of Bruegel’s Alpine landscapes with a dramatic comparison: The artist positively devoured the mountains and cliffs during his journey, then spat them out at home as paintings.9 Then there was Jan Hackaert (ca. 1628–1685). Hackaert lived in Zurich for several months. He was on a commission from an Amsterdam trading house to explore and depict transit routes to Italy. He travelled through Glarus and Graubünden, among other places, sometimes accompanied by a colleague from Zurich, Conrad Meyer (1618–1689). Based on these travels, he produced a large number of topographical drawings. He painted his undisputed masterpiece, however, back in the Netherlands: a topographical depiction of Lake Zurich with the Alps of Glarus and Graubünden in the background (ca. 1660). This large-format oil painting (82 × 145 cm) is one of the earliest Alpine panoramas. Since the Middle Ages, then, there were powerful voices that saw something more than frightening desolation in the Alps. Gilbert Burnet

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(1643–1717), the future bishop of Salisbury, travelled through Switzerland in 1685. He was full of praise for the Swiss people and enchanted by Lake Geneva: It was impossible, so Burnet, to imagine anything more beautiful. Two English poets who dared get closer to the mountains than Burnet formed more nuanced judgements: Joseph Addison (1672–1719) experienced “an agreeable kind of horror” on crossing the Alps on his way back from Italy in 1700. And John Dennis (1657–1734) was struck with “a delightful horror” at the sight of the Alps. Others felt similarly. Peter Joseph Ignaz Gottsponer (1780–1847), the pastor of Zermatt, described the glaciers and mountains he saw from his parsonage as “beautiful abominations.” This was the feeling: terror and fascination at once!10 In the frst half of the 18th century, a new perspective opened up on the Alps. Their positive aspects moved decisively into the foreground. Indeed, while up until this point people had largely been struck by the terror of the mountain world and the wildness of its inhabitants, in the epoch of the Enlightenment they almost unanimously sang the praises of mountain beauty and the authenticity of those who dwelt among it. Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s imperative – that humankind should climb from the lowlands of civilisation back up to a state of nature – provided the impetus for this development. The Swiss mountain world was portrayed as heaven on earth, and Swiss freedom became legendary. A brand new style of tourism developed. Switzerland was transformed: No longer a hindrance to through-traffc, it became a tourist destination in itself. Key Points: An Overview of Trends and Epochs Isolated Switzerland, with no signifcant tourism at the beginning of the 18th century, had by the time of the First World War become the most visited tourist destination in Europe, with the Alps as its main attraction. This development occurred on many levels, in rhythms specifc to each region, and often in jumps and stages. The following key points will serve to orient the reader with respect to important trends and phases in the history of Swiss culture and tourism. •

From land of transit to tourist destination: Up until the middle of the 18th century, Switzerland was largely a way station. British tourists on their “Grand Tours” through Europe steered clear of it whenever possible. But in the age of the Enlightenment this changed. While travellers had previously focused largely on the terrors of the mountain world, the educated classes now began to strike up a hymn to the beauty of the mountains and the naturalness of mountain peoples. The Alpine landscape came to represent the very ideal of authenticity, and its inhabitants were seen as innately virtuous creatures. Once a transit zone, the Alps became a tourist destination.

The Discovery of the Mountains •

•

•

•

9

Multilayered dependencies: Towards the end of the 18th century, political and military developments dealt severe blows to tourism in Switzerland. Foreign visitors largely stayed away because of the Napoleonic Wars, and the Swiss hospitality industry suffered. Only after the Congress of Vienna (1815) did tourism pick up again. This sensitivity to turbulence in other countries runs like a golden thread through the history of Swiss tourism. At the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War (1870/1871), many travellers abandoned their posh accommodations in Swiss resorts and returned to their home countries. Tourism in Switzerland was hit even harder by the First World War. Swiss hotels remained almost completely empty after the summer of 1914, and the hospitality industry faced an existential crisis. Technical innovations and scientifc discoveries could also harbour risks, as the history of Swiss health resorts demonstrates. At frst, belief in the healing powers of mountain air gave these resorts a boost: The cure for tuberculosis appeared to have been found. In 1882, with the discovery that TB was in fact an infectious disease, the climatic spas had to orient themselves anew. Swiss people also travelled: Already in the 18th century, Swiss citizens were travelling around their country. Such “pleasure trips” frst appealed to well-off urban circles and scientists and artists. Swiss scientifc researchers became pioneers of alpinism. The desire to travel then grew among industrialists and merchants. Of particular note were the guided tours for teenagers from elite urban milieus. Transport networks: The development of transport networks was a driver of tourism. In the 1830s and 1840s, steamships began to sail on Swiss lakes; this led to the construction of hotels and other infrastructure. The striking modernisation of the hospitality industry after 1815 can be seen as a harbinger of the fundamental structural changes that would be embraced by the hotel business in the burgeoning age of railroads, which began in the 1850s. By the 1860s, Switzerland was already the most extensively visited country in Europe. This was largely due to the construction of the railroads, which in a short time criss-crossed the entire Swiss Central Plateau and soon pushed into the entrance portals of the High Alps. From there the network would be expanded by mountain railways and cable cars. Hotel construction: In the 1830s and 1840s, hotels with a modern character were already being built in the larger Swiss cities. In the frst Baedecker guide to Switzerland (1844), Swiss hotels were said to be the best in the world. Twenty years later, there was a boom in the construction of mountain inns. Finally, in the 1880s, at the start of the Belle Epoque, the tourist industry entered on a grandiose period of development that would lead to the blossoming of both summer and winter tourism. Glamorous new facilities were built,

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•

The Discovery of the Mountains and a world-class transport network increasingly covered the Alpine region. By the turn of the century, some destinations had already seen this glittering era come and go, while in others hotels were still being built right up until the outbreak of the First World War. The events of 1914 put a defnitive end to the boom. The melancholy of the pre-war years became fully realised in the horror of the war. Mountain climbers, hikers, tourists: Driven by scientifc interests, Swiss scientists made frst ascents of imposing peaks in the High Alps. Others soon joined in: Germans, Russians and Americans. But no one left their mark on Swiss tourism in the early 19th century more powerfully and durably than the British. The rudiments of a new kind of tourism began to appear around the middle of the 19th century. Foreign visitors to Switzerland stayed in the same locations for longer periods – some to convalesce, others to storm the Alpine summits. In the 1840s, the frst British tourists appeared in the tributary valleys of the Alps, ringing in the days of alpinism as an athletic endeavour. Between 1854 and 1865 – the Golden Age of Mountaineering – twenty-eight 4000-metre peaks were climbed for the frst time. The heroes of this era were not only British adventurers but also Swiss mountain guides and Swiss Alpine Club (SAC) pioneers. In 1863, the SAC was founded. The club built shelters in the mountains and marked and maintained hiking trails; it soon became a rallying point for mountain-hungry fatlanders. The SAC contributed to a developing sense of Swiss identity. Also in 1863, Thomas Cook (1808–1892) offered the frst package tours to Switzerland. These further contributed to the popularisation of Switzerland as a tourist destination. Healthy air: With the discovery of the healing powers of the Alpine climate, tourism in Switzerland took on new dimensions. Starting in the 1860s, health tourism transformed small mountain villages into top international travel destinations. Alpine private schools drew an international clientele from the upper classes. Modernisation: The tourists streaming into Switzerland changed the country in terms of both infrastructure and culture. This process was far-reaching and affected the most varied aspects of society and the economy. The localities that aimed to be tourist destinations were forced to address the needs of foreign visitors. They had to provide appropriate services, and that required infrastructure. As tourists’ needs expanded, railroads and hotels had to be electrifed. Many a small mountain village developed almost overnight into a hotspot of international tourism. As a driver of modernisation, tourism also altered mindsets. Glimpses into the lives of foreigners broadened the horizons of locals, but also alienated them from their own traditional lifestyles.

The Discovery of the Mountains •

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Tourism as a branch of industry: Tourism became an important sector of the Swiss economy. Over the course of the 19th century, foreign visitors helped shape the fundamentals that still attract travellers today: alpinism and summer tourism from the 1850s and winter tourism from the late 1870s. British tourists introduced sporting activities to Switzerland and especially contributed to the emergence of winter tourism. Political prerequisites: Finally, and importantly, international political confgurations enabled Switzerland to play an unrivalled role in 19th-century tourism. Political and military representatives from every country could spend their vacations in neutral Switzerland freely and without worrying about the constraints of political alliances. Visits by foreign royalty, meanwhile, were pearls for Swiss marketing. Wherever the monarchs paid their visits, their subjects were sure to follow – often in hordes. What was good for the goose was good for the gander. Yet it was not only international political considerations and a neutral foreign policy that favoured Switzerland as a tourist destination. Switzerland’s newly won status as a Federal State laid down the framework for the breakthrough in tourism; fundamental domestic political decisions led to an advanced infrastructure, and especially to the brilliant modernisation of the transport system, with which Switzerland set international standards.

A Polyphonic Promotional Campaign: The Marketing of Switzerland Grand Tours and Pleasure Journeys In the second half of the 17th century, a monumental development in the history of European culture and tourism took place, one that would strongly affect tourism in Switzerland: Young British aristocrats began to travel extensively in continental Europe. These journeys typically led through the German states, the Netherlands, or France and on to Italy and Greece, the roots of European civilisation. Travellers indulged their desires to view classical and medieval monuments and the historical sites of the Renaissance; they studied architecture and revelled in the riches of art. On their tours, they called on royal courts and built up international networks. These extended journeys, which could last for several months or even years, soon became fxed elements of education and were designated “Grand Tours.” It is possible that the terms “tourism” and “tourist” stem from this designation. In the automobile industry, the designation GT (Gran Turismo) is still used for upgraded models of cars. The custom of the Grand Tour was eventually taken up by young aristocrats from continental Europe, as well as artists and academics – and fnally, in the early years of industrialisation, also by newly prosperous

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bourgeois families. Switzerland was at frst only a marginal part of these Grand Tours. It was still a country that one only visited if necessary. Depending on one’s route, however, transit through Switzerland was sometimes unavoidable – if one wished to visit, say, the delightful gardens of France, or even that land of dreams, paradisiacal Italy.11 While the Grand Tourists had seemingly unlimited possibilities with respect to the duration and destinations of their tours, the journeys that young Swiss from leading urban families began to undertake at the beginning of the 18th century were signifcantly more modest. Conceived as educational tours, they focused on visits to sites of cultural and historical signifcance within Switzerland – always with the goal of getting to know the country and its people better. Promoted by Johann Jakob Scheuchzer (1672–1733), these Swiss tours became all the fashion, and well-off Zurich patricians sent their teenage children and young men off to take part in them. Normally they were undertaken in groups, with the participants accompanied by a clergyman responsible for maintaining proper morals. It might thus seem surprising that these trips were not packed into a puritanical corset. The usual term at the time, Lustreise (pleasure journey) highlights the fact that the intended utility of the trip was coupled with enjoyments. Equally remarkable is the fact that young Zurich natives from Zwinglian households composed their itineraries without cultural, political or ideological blinders. With a relaxed naturalness they would visit, for example, the abbey church in Einsiedeln and other Catholic pilgrimage sites, and take delight in the amusements of everyday life. Such journeys through Switzerland contributed to the overcoming of religious and political differences between the cantons and strengthened ties on a national level. In fact, signs of an emerging patriotism are hard to overlook on these tours. A remark by the travelling Zurich landscape painter Johann Balthasar Bullinger (1713–1793) drives this home: Bullinger suggested that internal military conficts between the Swiss (e.g. Kappel, 1529/1530; Villmergen, 1656/1712) would not have occurred if such journeys across cantonal borders had been undertaken in earlier periods. The surviving accounts of these trips do not usually focus on detailed descriptions of natural phenomena and landscapes, but rather consist of individual impressions. In this, the young Zurich natives adhered to the custom of the times. Few risks were taken when planning the destinations and itineraries. The travellers did not walk through undeveloped areas, but followed prescribed paths; they generally took the shortest route from town to town and pass to pass. For good food, however, they were willing to make long detours. Thus, the attractions of Willisau inns (there were said to be some 20 of them) defected travellers from Zurich off the direct route to Pilatus. Orientation could be diffcult: In the Schächental, for example, certain travellers asked for information

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about the way to Glarus, but in vain – no one they encountered knew the way. The details above come from reminiscences of journeys made in 1722 and 1728. They are similar to the surviving impressions of an eight-day pleasure journey in 1731 that took in Zug, Lucerne and again Pilatus. The high point of this trip was to be a visit to the church in Sachseln. Of special interest were the relics in the church, and in particular the habits of Brother Klaus. Another 1731 journey, an extensively planned veritable Tour de Suisse, led via Rapperswil to Glarus, further to Lake Klöntal and into the Schächental, from Altdorf via Schwyz to Einsiedeln, Zug, Stans, Sarnen and Sachseln, then from Lucerne through Entlebuch to Thun, into the Kander Valley and to Bern, then through Fribourg and Avenches to Murten, Neuchâtel, Biel, Solothurn, Aarau and fnally back to Zurich. Johann Balthasar Bullinger, the landscape painter mentioned above, was subject to extreme shifts of mood while underway with a travelling group in 1757. A woman who had wanted to join the tour cancelled at the last minute on account of the three bad Ws: Witterung, Weg und Wirtshäuser (weather, roads and inns). In Zug, Immensee and Küssnacht, Bullinger had positive experiences. His mood changed when he reached Sarnen, however, which seemed to him a miserable place with bad food. The hermitage of Brother Klaus (so Bullinger) was inferior to that of the Englishman Robinson on his island. Further hardships included narrow slippery paths on which he dearly missed handrails; scratched up fngers, whose traces would long be seen on the rocks; and a downpour that washed away a footbridge. But then came his salvation: Stans! There the travellers were invited by the chief magistrate to a country estate with the most genteel members of the nobility and clergy of Nidwalden. Dainty fasting fare was served, as it was a Friday. Trumpets and bugles sounded from a nearby forest, song rang out and ceremonial cannons were fred. Cheers for the praiseworthy canton of Zurich were raised, in response to which the Zurich natives made toasts to Unterwalden. The journey also included visits to the Tell chapel in Sisikon and the town hall in Altdorf. Then the travellers continued, on foot, toward the Gotthard. At the pass, the Capuchins – who at that time ran the hostel – served a tolerable midday meal. Once the group arrived in Disentis, however, Bullinger’s mood soured again. The inhabitants of the village seemed like creatures from another world. They had no heads but only caps – and if they did have heads, they had no brains in them. The region was a proper Hell. Bullinger was not alone in his criticism. Other travellers expressed themselves in a similar vein: The inhabitants of upper Graubünden were small, ill-formed and generally ftted out with a goitre. Goitres and cretinism were not only present in the upper reaches of Graubünden; they were a problem throughout the Alpine regions. Valais

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was often depicted in a particularly unfattering light. People from Valais seem to have been harder hit by both goitre and cretinism than the inhabitants of other mountainous areas. Most of them had goitres, a German traveller reported in 1783, and a French journalist confrmed that this was still the case in 1865. The Göttingen philosophy professor and ethnographer Christoph Meiners (1747–1810) also encountered this problem on his Swiss travels: The closer he got to Thun, the larger and more frequent the goitres became; the children were dwarfsh but had monstrous growths, not much smaller than those of the cretins in Valais.12 Such was the situation in 1791. It was not recognised until many years later that the cause of both goitres and cretinism was a lack of iodine in the diet, which led to hypothyroidism. The two conditions were thus usually present in the same populations. Among the affected were many intellectually disabled people, a fact confrmed by the Swiss Society of Natural Sciences when it identifed no less than 3,000 cases in Valais in the middle of the 19th century. It was only in the 20th century that the malady was eliminated, not least due to the efforts of the Valais doctor Otto Bayard (1881–1957), who is remembered as the father of iodine prophylaxis. His idea of iodising salt was both easily implemented and effective. Naturalists and Scientifcally Motivated Alpinism Up until the early 18th century, the Swiss High Alps situated beyond the transit passes and mountain trails were largely terra incognita – unknown territory. Even goatherds and peasants harvesting wild hay didn’t venture beyond their limited home turf. Only adventurous hunters and poachers, tracking down chamois and ibex, and crystal-seekers searching for sparkling caves, dared pass into the higher realms, which were not charted on topographical maps and showed no signs of human civilisation. Naturalists may have advanced as far as the mouths of glaciers, but above these there were still no paths. No one could have imagined that in the not-too-distant future the loftiest Alpine peaks would have been conquered, nor the gigantic glaciers traversed – which, according to contemporary accounts, were covered with eternal snow. The frst vigorous foray into this world of peaks and glaciers was not undertaken by inhabitants of the Alpine regions themselves – however strange this may seem at frst glance – but by adventurous British men. The idea goes back to one William Windham (1717–1761), who settled in Geneva around 1740. Windham set himself the goal of seeing Mont Blanc from up close. Despite urgent warnings to desist – and disregarding the dangers supposedly presented by the inhabitants of Chamonix, who were thought to consist of cannibals, bandits and other wretches – seven other Englishmen joined Windham in his endeavour. Among them was Richard Pococke (1704–1765), a travel writer and anthropologist

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and the future Bishop of Ossory in Ireland. The group set off in June 1741, accompanied by fve servants and armed to the teeth. Once in Chamonix, they inquired as to whether the glaciers could be walked on. They were informed that this would be impossible for city-dwellers – only hunters and crystal-seekers dared go up into the mountains. But the British were not to be dissuaded. To be sure, they didn’t reach the summit of Mont Blanc – they only got as far as Montenvers (1913 metres). They compared the glacier world they saw from there to the Arctic Ocean around Greenland. When they arrived back in Chamonix, their reappearance was met with baffement: The locals had reckoned on their demise, not their return. Decades would pass before Mont Blanc (4810 metres) would frst be climbed. Still, the English expedition sparked further reconnoitring in the region. Scientists began to explore the area, measuring the heights of the surrounding peaks. Among them was the optician and mathematician Pierre Martel (1702–1761) of Geneva, who together with Windham published “An Account of the glaciers or ice alps of Savoy.” Empowered by the fresh spirit of the Enlightenment, leading lights from various disciplines pressed ahead in various ways with the exploration of the Alps. They and their activities contributed to transforming the unappealing public image of Switzerland into a more positive one, until fnally a new myth took hold: the myth of Switzerland as a blessed land. In the 18th century, the interest in research led to a new conception of the Alps. The Zurich native Johann Jakob Scheuchzer (1672–1733) explored the Alpine valleys and, with his monumental works, initiated a comprehensive scientifc investigation of the mountain world. Thus began the study of applied geography in Switzerland. Scheuchzer initially followed in the footsteps of Conrad Gessner (1516–1565), who had explored Switzerland over 150 years earlier. Inspired with patriotic fervour, Scheuchzer travelled through the Alps – usually accompanied by his students – indefatigably collecting and documenting everything he thought might contribute to a better understanding of his country by providing insight into its natural history. He published his fndings in 1708 in the four-volume work Itinera alpina. Scheuchzer was aware that his enthusiasm for the Alps was not shared by most people in the early 18th century and thus did his all to portray the mountain landscape in a positive light. In the face of the widely feared dangers and terrors of the mountains he preached their multifaceted utility. He pointed out treasures and resources that were naturally and abundantly present in the Alps: water sources and minerals, fora and fauna. He praised the variety of goods produced by alpine agriculture. He also already saw a strategic utility in the natural fortress that the Alps provided. He spoke of the mountains’ political signifcance, but also of their fascinating appeal, which seized both the outer and

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inner senses of human beings and invited them to partake of the Alpine pleasures. The Alps were a building constructed by God, in which His immeasurable power, goodness and wisdom could be grasped in one’s hands – mysterium tremendum et fascinans: the holy.13 Other researchers followed Scheuchzer, approaching the Alps from a variety of perspectives. They climbed up to increasingly lofty locations and, in the course of their scientifc expeditions, made a number of frst ascents. In this way, they became the pioneers of scientifc alpinism: The Genevan paleologist Guillaume-Antoine Deluc (ca 1729–1812) made the frst ascent of Mont Buet (3096 metres) in 1770; the theologian, scientist and philologist Jean-Maurice Clémant (1736–1810) climbed the Dents du Midi (3257 metres) in 1784; and Laurent Joseph Murith (1742–1816), botanist and prior of Martigny, was the frst to set foot on Mont Vélan (3731 metres), in 1779. The religious background of many of the scientists active in the Alps is striking. In this context, Placidus a Spescha (1752–1833) deserves mention. Placidus was a Benedictine monk from the monastery in Disentis, an agitator for the Enlightenment and a generally colourful personality. He was a cartographer, geographer, linguist and cultural scholar; in 1799, in the midst of Graubünden’s struggle against the invading French, he took the side of the invaders. This made him rather unpopular in the abbey, where the Austrians were in favour. Pater Placidus repeatedly tangled with higher-ups in the monastery and with political authorities. His scientifc collection was lost in the chaos of war. During his expeditions in the Lukmanier region he made numerous frst ascents of 3000-metre peaks – for example, the Rheinwaldhorn (3402 metres) in 1789 and the Oberalpstock (3328 metres) in 1793. The frst ascent of Titlis (3328 metres), in the upper Engelberg Valley, also took place in a religious context. In 1744, decades before Pater Placidus explored and climbed mountains in Eastern Switzerland from the Disentis Monastery, four workers from the Engelberg Abbey climbed Titlis – the frst time a glaciated peak in the Western Alps had ever been summitted.14 The Genevan physicist Horace-Bénédict de Saussure (1740–1799) was an exceptional case; even in his youth, he regularly travelled about in the High Alps. He was a trailblazer in various disciplines: the founder of both physical and alpine geography and the inventor of a number of measuring instruments, among them the heliothermometer (1774) and the hair hygrometer (1775). In 1760, the 20-year-old de Saussure travelled from Geneva to Chamonix. He made known throughout the valley that his aim was to climb the highest mountain in the Alps. Whoever could show him a viable route to the summit would be rewarded; he offered payment for merely reconnoitring the way. But he had no success; the planned exploit appeared impossible, and no one, it seemed, could help him. The route to the top remained undiscovered. But attempts were made; in 1775,

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four farmers from Chamonix got as far as the Grands Mulets (3051 metres). Meanwhile, two dazzling fgures of cultural and historical importance had joined up with de Saussure: the Genevan Marc-Théodore Bourrit (1739–1819), who came from a Huguenot family, and Jean-André Deluc (1727–1817). While the pastor Bourrit expressed his love for the mountains as a poet and painter, Deluc was an internationally recognised authority on geology and meteorology. He holds a place in history as a scientifc pioneer in the discipline of stratigraphy and as a refner of technical inventions, such as the mercury thermometer and the altitude-measuring barometer. Deluc was also a politician in Geneva and an ambassador in Paris and Bern; he belonged to several renowned German and English scientifc societies. He was additionally distinguished as a reader to the Queen of England. Bourrit and de Saussure came close to the summit of Mont Blanc in a joint expedition in 1785. Having reached the upper glacial region, they had a rudimentary stone hut built as a staging post – probably the earliest lodging constructed in the High Alps. Their assault on the summit, however, was once again unsuccessful.15 In June 1786, an expedition of six locals made an attempt but was forced to turn back. One among them, the chamois hunter Jacques Balmat (1762–1834), then separated from his companions and attempted the summit on his own. Without ladders or ropes, he walked and crawled over the vast expanses of ice. He fnally had to give up, but he believed he had found a viable route to the summit. He shared his secret with his doctor, Michel-Gabriel Paccard (1757–1827). On 8 August 1786, the two set off together on a new attempt and reached their goal on the same day. Their successful summiting was viewed through telescopes from Chamonix. Both Balmat and Paccard later claimed the frst ascent for themselves, each saying that the other had reached the summit well in arrears. Although Paccard managed to have his version attested to by Balmat, in Chamonix and all over Savoy Balmat was considered the pioneer who had made the frst ascent. That he was granted the honorary title le Mont Blanc by King Victor Amadeus III of Piedmont-Sardinia (1726– 1796) lent the daredevil chamois hunter a still more impressive aura. In many accounts, de Saussure is incorrectly named as the frst to climb Mont Blanc. This is due to the fact that, prompted by Balmat and Paccard’s successful ascent, de Saussure reached the summit himself the following year, on 3 August 1787 – together with a train of porters and assistants, and guided by none other than Jacques Balmat! De Saussure recorded his discoveries and experiences on this expedition in a 1787 publication, through which news of the summiting of Mont Blanc spread around the world – and with it the name of de Saussure. With his monumental work Voyages dans les Alpes (1779/1796) he cemented the association.

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Figure 1.4 Christian von Mechel (1737–1817), after Marquard Fidel Dominicus Wocher (1760–1830), Voyage de Mr de Saussure à la Cime du MontBlanc au Mois d’Août 1788, 1790. Coloured engraving, 44.3 cm × 53.3 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen.

Literati and Philosophers The scientists were soon joined by writers and philosophers who began to sing previously unheard hymns to Switzerland – songs of praise for the country and its people. Out of the Alpine world they created a great Swiss panorama. One of the frst was the Bern University professor Albrecht von Haller (1708–1777). His 49-verse poem “Die Alpen,” frst published in 1732, was a hit all over Europe. Haller projected onto the mountain world a golden age of nature in its primeval state, one that could still be found in the Swiss Alps. His primary aim was not, however, to depict beautiful or sublime Alpine landscapes. Only secondarily did he describe unspoiled nature as a paradisiacal refuge. Rather, Haller above all set up a mirror to refect the customs and morals of different societies. He depicted the inhabitants of the Alps leading simple and frugal lives of decency and piety in the face of violent storms and natural catastrophes. Their isolation from the world was their happiness. These virtuous mountain inhabitants were self-determined – and proud of it –

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and characterised by daring and courage. Haller placed them in historical continuity with the medieval hero William Tell, who, according to the Swiss liberation myth, threw off the hard yoke of servitude to the Habsburgs. Haller held up the purity of Alpine life in contrast to the decadent civilisation and societal degeneration present in the cities, where affected and corrupt lifestyles, superfuity, meanness, betrayal and moral decline ran rampant.16 But Haller was not interested in melodramatic complaints or bewailing the upcoming collapse of civilisation. Rather, the Swiss mountain dwellers were bearers of hope. The Swiss Alpine regions were less the relic of a bygone golden age than a starting point for the rebirth of a new and healthy world: One must remake civilised man in the form of natural man, as Rousseau would later demand. The challenge to Retour à la nature! (Return to nature!), often incorrectly attributed to Rousseau, reduces this insight to a popular slogan.17 Haller’s poem about the Alps was translated into French, Italian and English and widely and rapidly disseminated. A dozen authorised editions were published during the author’s lifetime, as were several unauthorised ones. The Alpine epic had a huge effect on the image that Europeans held of Switzerland and the Swiss. Haller had found the “noble savage” in the heart of Europe, and the image and reputation of his country began to be transformed. Swiss self-awareness also received a lift from Haller’s poem; it bespoke the very identity of Switzerland and its people. A generation later, the Zurich painter, poet, publisher and politician Salomon Gessner (1730–1788) landed a bestseller with his “Idylle.” While Haller’s gaze had been directed at the High Alps, Gessner’s sense of happiness was nourished by the uncorrupted nature of Lake Zurich and the Alpine foothills. His bucolic poem frst appeared in 1756. Today it is almost unbearable to read, but it was positively devoured in Gessner’s time. Haller’s and Gessner’s programmatic observations were taken up enthusiastically by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. The Genevan philosopher, writer and composer reached an international readership with his 1761 novel, Julie ou la Nouvelle Héloïse. In these “Letters of two lovers living in a small town at the foot of the Alps,” as the subtitle reads, Rousseau presented his worldview and his moral system. One of the novel’s central questions is how one can become happy while following the path of virtue. Like Haller and Gessner, Rousseau criticised the decay of morals in the courtly and urban worlds. The degeneration of city-dwellers is satirised when he has one of his protagonists say that the inhabitants of Paris, when they believe they are going to the country, in reality never get there – since with their entourage they bring Paris along with them. With his images of unadulterated nature on Lake Geneva, Rousseau created the greatest possible contrast to the city and the court. Saint-Preux,

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the main character, feels ever more deeply moved as he comes closer and closer to Switzerland: this ardently loved country, where the Alpine air is so pure and healthy; this landscape that is so beautiful that he has never in all the world seen its match.18 World Literature Although more British travellers than ever before journeyed through Switzerland on their Grand Tours in the frst half of the 18th century, it would be a huge exaggeration to say that Switzerland was a tourist destination at this time. In fact, it was far from it. Nor were there signs that it would ever become the preferred destination of an international clientele. Quite the opposite: The tender little touristic plant that sprouted from Swiss soil in a very small number of locations was soon to be crushed, as military tensions between the European great powers escalated in 1756 and endured until 1763 (the Seven Years’ War). Although Switzerland was not itself involved in the war, Grand Tourism collapsed amid the uncertainty of the times, and with it, traffc across the Alps. This example reveals a characteristic of Swiss tourism history that is still present today. In contrast to the situation in the other Alpine countries, tourism in Switzerland is based less on the internal than on the international market. This means that signifcant economic or political events in other countries – and especially military conficts – have far-reaching effects on Swiss tourism. After the victory of Great Britain over France (Treaty of Paris, 1763) and the peace treaty between Prussia and Austria (Treaty of Hubertusburg, 1763), an economic boom took off in Europe that breathed new life into the tourist industry. The number of foreign travellers in Switzerland continued to climb sharply until the end of the 18th century – once again with the British in the lead. Still, this upswing remained limited to a small number of locations. The increase was surely nourished by a natural need: After the long years of warfare, people again wished to travel. Yet this does not in itself suffciently explain why Switzerland, for the frst time in its history, became a destination of choice for foreign tourists, nor why precisely in this period journeys to Switzerland assumed a new character. The real reason was the aura that was projected onto it by the intellectual giants of the Enlightenment. This was what gave Switzerland a new image abroad, one that was further promoted in the arts, in literature and in travel guides. A fundamental transformation began, which can frst be seen in the reaction to Rousseau. The circulation of the novel Julie ou la Nouvelle Héloïse profted from the fact that the Seven Years’ War came to an end two years after its publication. With the enthusiasm for nature exhibited in his novel, Rousseau hit the nerve of the times. Once the war was

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over, the storms of enthusiasm he set off could no longer be contained. Increasing hordes of Grand Tourists followed the trail that Rousseau had laid down in Vaud and around Lake Geneva. Julie’s tragic love story released a genuine euphoria. With book in hand, tourists sought out the general regions and the specifc settings of the fctive drama. The landscape of western Switzerland came to epitomise the idea of “getting out into nature,” and Rousseau’s many fans spread word of its charms over all the world. Vevey, the little town at the foot of the Alps; Chillon Castle; Clarens with its nearby little forest, site of the famous kiss between Saint-Preux and Julie d’Etange: Thanks to Rousseau, the region around Lake Geneva assumed an aura it had never known before. Imagination and fantasy became manifested in real scenarios. The literary happening and its settings melded together and became embedded in the imaginations of readers as a reality. Inspired by Rousseau, illustrious personages promenaded along the shores of Lake Geneva. In his work “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” (1812/1818), George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824) enthuses: “Clear, placid Leman!” and “Clarens! Sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep love!”19 In 1816, feeing a societal scandal, Byron temporarily settled by Lake Geneva. With his highly dramatic poem “The Prisoner of Chillon” (1816), he made his own contribution to the region’s transformation into a stage for world literature. Thanks to Rousseau and Byron, visits to Chillon Castle became a heartrending highlight of journeys to Switzerland. Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822) and his future wife, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin (1797–1851), also settled for a time by Lake Geneva – for reasons similar to Lord Byron’s. They joined forces with him and luxuriated together in intellectual fights of fancy at the home of Madame de Staël (1766–1817). That summer of 1816 on Lake Geneva has found a place in cultural history – in part because Wollstonecraft Godwin composed a horror story about Victor Frankenstein, the creator of an artifcial human, and set the tale in Geneva. She thus immortalised Switzerland in an important British novel (Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus). The medical doctor John Polidori (1795–1821) also belonged to the group around Lord Byron; he laid the groundwork for many later horror stories with his 1819 novel The Vampyre. In Byron’s own sailboat, which he had brought over from England, he and his friends visited Clarens and searched for literary traces in the “Bosquet de Julie” (Julie’s little forest). Many others did the same, including Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847), who later composed a hymn to Canton Vaud. “Of all the countries I know,” Mendelssohn wrote, “this is the most beautiful, and the one I would most like to live in when I grow old.”20 These goings-on illuminate the intellectual background against which the foreign image of Switzerland fundamentally changed in the second half of the 18th century. The longings that it was able to satisfy become

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clearly visible: Switzerland was a metaphor for freedom and authenticity. Foreign visitors wanted to get to know this country in the midst of the mountains, wanted to feel their way into the myths that it embodied. They had read and heard about them; they now wanted to become inebriated by these landscapes themselves, and to see the people who lived there with their own eyes. The contrast could not have been greater: Aversion had metamorphosed into radiant enthusiasm. What naturalists had initiated, and the natural scientists of the Enlightenment had embellished, now evolved yet further in a multifaceted interplay between science, technology, tourism, literature, music and the visual arts: a polyphonic promotional campaign. Thus did Switzerland become a tourist mecca. The Kleinmeister: Enthusiasm for Switzerland in the Arts Once philosophy and literature had sharpened people’s eyes to the beauties of nature and the good life in the mountains, the Swiss Alpine world became a popular motif in the visual arts. The aestheticising of the Swiss landscape demanded its visual representation. Previously, the artistic allure of the Alps had been meagre, and this had put a damper on Swiss painting – landscape was a scarcely appreciated genre. Now, however, foreign visitors demanded vistas and genre paintings of Swiss landscapes and cities. Thus, the rise of tourism after the middle of the 18th century turned into a real windfall for those Swiss painters, illustrators and graphic artists who, because of the small formats of their works, have gone down in history as “Schweizer Kleinmeister” (Swiss minor masters). The works of the Kleinmeister were often serially reproduced and sold by art dealers and publishing houses. The rampant enthusiasm for the Alps that developed in foreign countries was in large part due to the new image of Switzerland spread throughout Europe by these works. Kleinmeister were small-scale entrepreneurs; the most successful among them would be labelled mid-sized businessmen today. They produced their works for the growing tourist market, usually at their own risk. Some of them ran entire production and distribution industries. The rising demand for the work of the Kleinmeister led to the professionalisation of printing techniques. Johann Ludwig Aberli (1723–1786) was a pioneer in this feld. Aberli developed a technique for producing engraved outline prints that were then coloured in with watercolours. In this, he not only satisfed the tastes of tourists but also created a less expensive alternative to oil paintings. He could produce his pictures very quickly to meet the demand of the booming market, and his high print runs attest to this. In Switzerland, as in other European countries, Aberli’s success invited imitation. The Kleinmeister soon made up a veritable sector of the

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Figure 1.5 Gabriel Lory (1763–1840), Das Koloristenatelier von Bartholme Fehr in St Gallen (The Colouring Studio of Bartholome Föhr in St Gallen), 1784. Pen and watercolour, 29.1 cm × 45.6 cm. Bern, Kunstmuseum Bern.

economy. Protoindustrial studios employing workers and students were established to supplement the work already being done by the Kleinmeister’s family at home. As competition grew increasingly overwhelming, however, pirated copies came into circulation. Inferior works proliferated, and the reputation of the Kleinmeister suffered. Swiss art was in danger of turning into factory work and – according to one of many critical voices – degenerating into cotton printing. 22 In order to differentiate their work from mass-produced imitations, artists once again began to colour their pictures by hand, and to sign them as confrmation of their authenticity. Switzerland’s artistic reputation until the middle of the 19th century was signifcantly infuenced by the Birmanns in Basel, the Bleulers in Schaffhausen, the Lorys (father and son) in Bern and many others who set up their studios in the tourism hotspots of the country. In the second half of the century, the art of the Kleinmeister retreated to the background. Photography developed as a new medium, and black-and-white photographs (daguerrotypes) competed with the coloured-in vistas. 23 Foreign tourists wanted souvenir images that could be carried comfortably in their travelling luggage. Charming landscapes, imposing mountains with rock and ice formations, natural spectacles and folkloric scenes were all produced – exactly what the foreign visitors wanted to see in person on their journeys through Switzerland and to take home as

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Figure 1.6 Caspar Wolf (1735–1783), Der Lauteraargletscher mit Blick auf den Lauteraarsattel, 1776. Oil on canvas, 54 cm × 82 cm. Aargauer Kunsthaus, Aarau. Fotocredit: Jörg Müller. The representations of mountains by the Kleinmeister made a valuable contribution to knowledge of the Swiss Alpine landscape; the deeper the Kleinmeister penetrated into the High Alps, the more the High Alps found their way into art. 21 Their pioneering accomplishments are not diminished by the fact that the Kleinmeister were largely rooted in the rococo tradition. This in contrast to Caspar Wolf (1735–1783), the quality of whose Alpine landscape paintings far exceeded that of the small-format vistas. Unlike Aberli and the other Kleinmeister, Wolf went beyond painting mountains as seen from the valleys or the routes touted by the Grand Tours. He pushed ever further into the Alpine landscape on demanding hikes, even in the ice, wind and snow of winter. He was likely the frst acclaimed Swiss artist who dared make his way into the heights. His depictions of nature were innovative. His mountains were no longer mere backdrops but became the central motif of his works. On his excursions in the Alps, Wolf at frst painted small-format oil sketches on paperboard. In his atelier, he then created comprehensively detailed paintings. He would then take these with him on further expeditions in order to make improvements on location. Wolf applied this procedure to paint around 170 landscapes of the High Alps and the Alpine foothills for the Bernese publisher and alpinist Abraham Wagner (1734–1782). These served as source material for a large-scale illustrative work. Wolf was supported in this project by the natural researcher and theologian Jakob Samuel Wyttenbach (1748–1830) and the polymath Albrecht von Haller (1708–1777). From 1776 onwards, several editions of Vues remarquables des Montagnes de la Suisse (Remarkable views of Swiss mountains) appeared, primarily intended for a tourist audience. For Wagner, the undertaking was ultimately unsuccessful; the international clientele seemed to prefer the fair-weather prospects of the Kleinmeister to Wolf’s true-to-nature illustrations. But this does not change the fact that, with his precise depictions, Caspar Wolf was the true founder of modern Alpine painting.

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Figure 1.7 David Alois Schmid (1791–1861), Vue du Glacier du Grindelwald (View of the Grindelwald Glacier), undated. Pencil and watercolour, partly varnished, 22.9 cm × 30.7 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen.

mementos. Mostly these were works on paper – watercolours, drawings in pen, pencil, chalk or charcoal and coloured outline etchings: tourist art at its beginnings. Thus, the Blümlisalp, the Lower Grindelwald Glacier, the Glacier du Breithorn, as well as the Cascade du Giessbach, the Cascade du Reichenbach and the Chute d’Eau appelée Staubbach dans la Vallée Lauterbrunnen found homes – in the hundreds and thousands – in the salons and living rooms of Europe. There, the images originating in the idyllic Alpine country imparted an alluring breath of Swiss felicity. Through it all, the Kleinmeister followed an iconographic canon: Their motifs had to be recognisable. Art criticism has at times treated the Swiss Kleinmeister disparagingly, due to their unquestioningly sunny outlook. And in fact these artists did depict an undamaged world, one without social injustices, poverty or misery. The Kleinmeisters’ was certainly not an art of social criticism, though industrialisation and the upheavals of the machine age do appear in the margins even of their works. They produced primarily what the market demanded. 24

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Figure 1.8 Attributed to Gabriel Lory (1784–1846), Lauterbrunnental mit Staubbachfällen (Lauterbrunnen Valley with the Staubbach Waterfall), undated. Watercolour over pencil, partly varnished, 22.2 cm × 28.5 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen.

The enthusiasm for Switzerland also left its mark in scenic wallpapers (panoramics) that were displayed in castles, civic auditoriums and even inns. Probably the best-known manufacturer of wallpapers depicting Switzerland was located in Rixheim in Alsace, where production began in the early 19th century. While the Kleinmeister reduced the natural beauties of Switzerland to small-format souvenirs, the panoramics represented them on a monumental scale. The Vue des Suisse paper (1804) is composed of no fewer than 16 sections, each one 67.5 centimetres long. Its success was overwhelming. The frst 150 copies were sold before they had even been produced, and by 1815 there were more than 1,000 extant copies. The Vue des Suisse is still being produced today and is considered one of the most successful scenic wallpapers ever made. Examples are to be found in the Town Council Hall in Lenzburg, the Stockalper Palace in Brig, the Schwetzingen Palace in Kurpfalz, the Rheda Castle in Gütersloh and the Belvedere Castle in Weimar. 25

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Travel Guides In the second half of the 18th century, increasing numbers of foreign travellers visited Switzerland, and travel literature fourished in the face of the new demand. The provenance of the visitors meant that English-language publications initially dominated the market. These early works didn’t focus on practical information about itineraries and travel times or the costs of lodgings, however. Instead, they provided travel descriptions and accounts of their authors’ experiences of sites of interest and natural spectacles; they were individual impressions of journeys addressed to those who had remained at home. Only with the second generation of travel guides, which began to appear in the 1830s, did concrete information for travellers assume central importance. From 1780 to 1914, 73 travel guides to Switzerland appeared in English; all told, they ran through 416 editions. One of the most successful was John Murray’s (1745–1793) Handbook for Travellers in Switzerland, frst published in 1838. By 1904, it had run through four reprintings and 18 editions for a total of 50,000 copies. That professional English travel agencies signed contracts with Swiss hotels, coach frms and train and ship companies beginning in the 1860s contributed to the high demand for travel guides. The special conditions negotiated on this basis meant lower prices, which opened the Swiss market to an ever-broader section of the British population. 26 A four-volume travel guide by Johann Gottfried Ebel (1764–1830) – Anleitung, auf die nützlichste und genussvollste Art in der Schweiz zu reisen (Instructions on how to travel in Switzerland in the most expedient and pleasurable fashion) – was frst published by Orell Füssli in 1793 and established itself as an early standard work in German. In a comprehensive subtitle, Ebel specifes what information the tourist could expect to fnd in his book: A complete guide to all sites of natural beauty; to geographical, physical, botanical and historical curiosities; and to the mineralogical and geognostic properties of the Alpine mountains of Switzerland. Ebel’s work clearly flled a need in the market – by 1843, it had run through eight editions, the last two revised by Georg von Escher (1793– 1867). Other examples of travel literature are Alpenrosen, ein Schweizer Almanach (Alpine Roses, a Swiss Almanac, 1811–1854) and Die klassischen Stellen der Schweiz und deren Hauptorte (The classic sites of Switzerland and their chief cities, 1836), both by Heinrich Zschokke (1771–1848). Also popular were travel guides by the artist and Bernese Oberland enthusiast Franz Niklaus König (1765–1832). An extensive,

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538-page source of information assembled by Johann Jakob Leuthy (1798–1855) appeared in 1840: Hülfsbuch für Reisende (Accounting Book for Travellers). A year later Leuthy added a further 238 pages to the work. In 1844, the frst descriptions of travel in Switzerland by Karl Baedeker (1801–1859) appeared; subsequent editions became classics and enjoyed wide circulation. 27 In time, the number of travel guides became almost excessive. A work subtitled Reisekalender auf das Jahr 1858 (Travel Calendar for the year 1858) deserves mention; it skewered – or, more precisely, placed on a blacklist – a number of inns, warning travellers to stay clear of them due to unreasonably high prices, poor fare or outright fraud. Its propagandistic aim was revealed in its title: Kein Geld, kein Schweizer! (No Money, No Swiss!). The author was Gustav Rasch (1825–1878), who had taken part in the student revolts in Berlin in 1848. Pursued as a fugitive, he fed south and found safety in Basel before moving on to France. In 1849, on his return to Prussia, Rasch was arrested and sentenced to 17 months in prison. 28 Such critical polemics had little effect on tourism in Switzerland, however. Instead, the ever-increasing volume of travel literature with its high circulation had a widespread positive impact. Not only did it satisfy tourists’ need for concrete information; its descriptions of Swiss landscapes also nourished a yearning for the mythical Switzerland – in London, Paris and Berlin in equal measure. Switzerland was no longer the country that you had to get through as fast as possible on your way south. It had become the goal.

The Development of Tourism Routes and Destinations Though the number of foreign visitors to Switzerland increased signifcantly in the second half of the 18th century, this did not mean that the entire country had opened up to tourism. Travellers were concentrated in a few select destinations, primarily on Lake Geneva, in the Bernese Oberland and in Valais. Since tourist itineraries were largely determined by transport possibilities and the availability of accommodations, travellers usually remained on the established routes and did not venture into the rest of the country. Central Switzerland and Lake Lucerne became popular destinations for Conservative circles in Zurich and Basel, but only began to proft from foreign tourism at the beginning of the 19th century. The lake districts at the southern foot of the Jura, along with Fribourg and the Gottéron gorge, followed somewhat later. Canton Ticino only became accessible to tourists with the construction of the

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Gotthard railway towards the end of the 19th century, while in the late 18th century Eastern Switzerland was still unimportant as a tourist destination. Such were the broader trends. Individual travellers from abroad did visit other regions in the early 19th century, however, as at all other times, and the guestbooks of Swiss inns contain some surprising entries. Journeys to spas and pilgrimage sites were also widespread. These forms of tourism had longstanding traditions in certain places. The pilgrimage to the Franciscan monastery Unsere Liebe Frau (Our Beloved Lady), situated at the top of a cliff above Werthenstein, had its heyday in the 18th century; tens of thousands of pilgrims visited the site every year, and the annual numbers could swell to 80,000. As a result, this small monastery between Lucerne and Wolhusen became the second-most-visited religious site in Switzerland; in certain years it even edged out Einsiedeln as number one. By the beginning of the 19th century, however, the number of pilgrims making the journey to Werthenstein was already entering a period of rapid decline. The church’s condition deteriorated, and in 1826 the roof caved in, destroying much of the interior decoration of the nave. The monastery was fnally shut down in 1838. Since the 19th century, the most signifcant pilgrimage site in Switzerland has been Einsiedeln Abbey with its Chapel of Grace. In 1771, approximately 62,000 pilgrims visited the site. That number increased by the thousands every year until the early 19th century. In 1817, Einsiedeln was visited by around 114,000 pilgrims, most of whom came from neighbouring countries. 29 The frequenting of Swiss spas by foreign travellers also goes back to the Early Modern period. In the 16th and 17th centuries, smaller spas like Schinznach, San Bernardino, Gurnigel and Lavey were popular. These were later outstripped by the four most important spas, where prominent and illustrious personalities gathered, among them both Swiss and foreigners: Pfäfers was visited by Huldrych Zwingli (1484–1531) and Ulrich von Hutten (1488–1523); Leukerbad by Thomas Platter (1499– 1582) and Felix Platter (1536–1614); Baden by Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592); and St Moritz by Paracelsus (1493–1531), in whom it found an enthusiastic promoter – though it must be mentioned that he gave his seal of approval to other mineral baths as well. The city of Geneva was an important gateway into Switzerland. In 1815, it was integrated into the Swiss Confederation, both politically and territorially, with the cession of land by France and Sardinia. As a traditional hub of commerce and trade, it connected Switzerland both to France and to the Kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia. Because of its geographical position and the allure of its natural landscape, with its lake and mountain views, Geneva was predestined to be a starting point for

30 The Discovery of the Mountains travels into the Alps. An international Grand Tour route departed from Geneva and led to Lausanne and then further to the castles of Blonay and Chillon. The Matterhorn had still not become the internationally famed highlight of a trip to Switzerland; the 4000-metre peaks still stood undisturbed in the Alpine landscape; and there was as yet no trace of tourism directed at the High Alps. Apart from its spas – particularly the one at Leukerbad – Valais was mainly a way station for travellers journeying from Geneva to the French town of Chamonix at the foot of Mont Blanc, or to the markets in Northern Italy. Along the latter route, notable destinations included Monthey, Saint Maurice, the Pissevache waterfall and Martigny, and, further along, Sion and Brig, whence the Rhône Glacier and the Furka Pass could be reached. Toward the end of the 18th century, the frst foreign tourists began to appear sporadically in the tributary valleys of Valais, along with some Swiss – mostly researchers, but also writers and artists. The primary goal of the Grand Tourists arriving in Martigny on the Lake Geneva route, however, was to go on expeditions to the countless glaciers in the Mont Blanc region, and sometimes even to Mont Blanc itself. It should be noted that the Savoy Alps had not yet been mapped with any precision. As a result, Mont Blanc was frequently included in the tours of Switzerland described in guidebooks. The landscape of the Savoy Alps had long been considered inhospitable – a dangerous wilderness inhabited by a terrifying population. This bad reputation explains why, in the mid-18th century, there were still English travellers who only dared to enter the region armed. 30 Soon the frst peaks had been climbed, however, and expeditions to Mont Blanc became popular adventures. The Great St Bernard and Simplon Passes in Valais had been part of international north-south trade routes for centuries. They gained in signifcance after Napoleon had the Simplon upgraded to a carriage road. Napoleon had recognised the strategic importance of this pass, which he wanted to be practicable for cannon both in summer and winter. In 1805, the new road was opened, a structural masterpiece designed by the engineer Nicolas Céard (1745–1821). With the upgrading of the Simplon, Valais became better integrated into the network of Grand Tour routes. The shelters constructed along the Simplon road by Céard were also signifcant for the development of tourism. While originally intended for construction workers, they were later converted into shelters for Grand Tourists. The Bernese Oberland, with Thun as its touristic hub, was also among the favoured destinations of Grand Tourists. Thun provided a starting point for visits to the valleys of Grindelwald and Lauterbrunnen, as well as to the Staubbach, Reichenbach and Giessbach waterfalls. According to a mid-18th century encyclopaedia, the glaciers in Grindelwald were

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among the most beautiful natural wonders imaginable. The writer and bookseller Heinrich Heidegger (1738–1823), bailiff of the Fraumünster abbey in Zurich, complained in 1792 that the majority of foreign visitors to Switzerland visited only a few larger towns and Grindelwald before leaving the country – missing out on much that they could easily have discovered in just a few more days and without substantially higher costs. The development of the region around Interlaken began somewhat later, around the turn of the 19th century. Visits to the Giessbach waterfall became fashionable after a schoolteacher named Johann Kehrli (1774–1854) built a footpath to the lower falls in 1818. In 1821, Daniel Wyss (1775–1844), the pastor of Brienz, watched an English tourist attempt to shimmy up a pine tree to reach the upper falls and had the idea of constructing a footpath to the topmost cascade. The path was built using public funds. Then, in 1833, Kehrli was granted permission to build a seasonal inn, which he himself managed. He arranged cultural events for his foreign guests against the imposing backdrop of the Giessbach torrent, singing songs with his wife, children and grandchildren and playing melodies on the alphorn. And this was just the beginning. When the frst steamboat set sail on Lake Brienz in 1839, Kehrli arranged for some of the Giessbach cascades to be illuminated. The road from Interlaken over the Brünig Pass to Lucerne developed into a classic tourist route. In 1800, Lucerne was a serene small town of around 4,000 inhabitants, surrounded by a circular wall with 30 towers. Only after the mid-19th century did it begin to be used as a starting point for trips into the surrounding mountains. The focus of tourism and the most popular destination in the region was instead the Rigi. Amazingly, there were more hotels and guest beds on the Rigi than in the whole city of Lucerne. What is more, the Rigi is not an especially imposing mountain. Its 1798-metre altitude is modest in comparison with nearby Pilatus (2128 metres), Stanserhorn (1898 metres) and Mythen (1898) – not to mention the giants of the High Alps. What made the Rigi the fashionable mountain par excellence – the queen of the mountains in the early 19th century – were its freestanding, pyramidal shape, its easy accessibility and its panoramic view of the High Alps. What is more, from the Rigi the tourist’s gaze could also roam over Lake Lucerne and light on Lake Uri, Brunnen, the Rütli and Flüelen, as well as the approach to the Gotthard – the vast stage on which the founding myth of Switzerland had been played out. In 1820, an observation tower was built on the mountain’s highest point. The spot has been known ever since, appropriately, as Belvedere. In 1829, Charles Joseph Latrobe (1801–1875) asserted that the Rigi offered perhaps the most splendid view in all of Switzerland. Latrobe was no day-tourist; the son of London Huguenots, he was being educated

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in Switzerland and had criss-crossed the country on his many travels. In the 1820s, he made the frst ascents of several Alpine peaks. Later, he became a travel writer, embarking on extensive journeys through the USA and Central America. He then became Lieutenant Governor of the Australian Commonwealth Colony of Victoria, where he left his mark as the moderniser of Melbourne. 31 The Zurich-based cartographer, painter and publisher Heinrich Keller (1778–1862) performed groundbreaking work in devising the frst travel maps of Switzerland. While his maps do not meet exacting modern standards, they were a sensation in their time and highlight the fact that progress in map-making was a necessary condition for the development of tourism. Keller’s maps inspired the desire to roam. With his hand-coloured etchings, meanwhile, some of which ran through several editions, he was also one of the pioneers of panoramic illustration. In 1804, he published his classic panorama of the view from the Rigi Kulm, in 1807 his circumpolar panorama of the view from the Üetliberg and in 1815 his circumpolar panorama of the view from the Rigi. Despite a disability that constrained him to use a crutch, he climbed the Rigi no fewer than 32 times between 1804 and 1854. The frst inn on the Rigi, which opened on 6 August 1816, was constructed thanks to Heinrich Keller’s initiative. The modest, one-story house, managed by Martin Bürgi (1778–1833) of Arth, was the frst mountain guesthouse in Switzerland. Before its construction, visitors to the Rigi had to lodge at the small Rigi monastery, which had been offering accommodation to pilgrims since 1700. It may seem surprising that members of traditional, Conservative Zurich families in Keller’s social circle encouraged the construction of this highly symbolic inn on Rigi-Kulm, located as it was in predominantly Catholic Central Switzerland – especially given the rising tensions along denominational lines in the political scene of the 1840s. Yet the construction costs were largely covered by money from Protestant circles: 2,371 francs were raised through the voluntary subscriptions of 687 “friends of nature” and were supplemented by donations collected in Zurich, Bern and Basel. This example serves to confrm yet again that denominational differences hardly severed the relations between early 19th-century Swiss. In 1816, the year the inn on the Rigi opened for business, its guestbook logged 294 visitors, among them 112 British and 95 Swiss, most of whom hailed from Zurich. The remainder were tourists from a variety of other countries. In 1819, a mere three years later, the number of recorded overnight guests was 1,036, an increase of 250 percent. In the following years, the number of visitors continued to rise; by 1827 it had hit 1,489. An extension of the inn built in 1822 increased its capacity to 25 beds. But the story didn’t end there, for in the meantime the natural spectacle of a sunrise seen from the Rigi had become renowned far and wide. Now that it was possible to spend the night on top of

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the mountain, the early morning wonder could be enjoyed more comfortably than ever before. Soon writers, musicians and other illustrious fgures from all over the world arrived to transfgure the experience, bringing unforgettable and sometimes bizarre accounts back home with them. Sunrise on the Rigi became a required experience for the Grand Tourist in Central Switzerland.32 In addition to international visitors, domestic travellers also fgured in Swiss tourism in the frst half of the 19th century. Pilgrimages aside, this in-country tourism consisted largely of visits to therapeutic baths and spas and was subject to great local and regional variations. One destination, the Gontenbad in Appenzell, boasted a spa with 80 beds that was predominantly frequented by Swiss visitors. The Weissbad, also in Appenzell, was already hosting several hundred patients and day visitors on Sundays in the 1820s. 33 Accommodations In the 18th century, the overall infrastructure of the hospitality industry in Switzerland was meagre. Inns were predominantly located in cities, and only here and there – at the most attractive locations – in the countryside. Accommodation was usually available along transit routes, such as the roads over the passes: in Martigny and Orsières for travellers directed over the Great Saint Bernard and in Sion, Turtmann, Visp and Brig on the Simplon route. On the summits of some of the passes there were mountain hostels, often run by monks – the Capuchins on the Gotthard, the Augustinians on the Great Saint Bernard and the Benedictines on the Lukmanier, for example. Monasteries often served as guesthouses even for Protestant travellers. Besides these semi-public accommodations, which also comprised the houses of certain magistrates and doctors, lodgings could also be had in private houses. Parsonages made up a comprehensive infrastructure that accommodated guests in both Protestant and Catholic regions. Until the end of the 18th century, they provided the most important network of lodgings outside of the cities. In some places, this tradition of openness and hospitality lasted well into the 19th century – in Flüeli-Ranft in Obwalden, for example, where the chaplain ran a restaurant. A number of Valais priests played an especially infuential role in the development of the hospitality industry in the 1850s. They are remembered not only for the restaurants they managed but also for their pioneering work in developing the hotel business and in promoting local tourism. The happy combination of traditional hospitality, Christian neighbourly love and entrepreneurial talent led to the success of these clergymen’s projects. Occasionally their economic interests overran their Christian motivations, however – a tide that at times even government edicts could not stem. Despite an 1839 decree forbidding clergymen in

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Valais from establishing hostels in places where there was already an inn, these priests continued to do just that – initially in secret, but before long openly and unscrupulously. The guestbook of the parsonage in Zermatt logged more than 100 entries between 1836 and 1851, despite the fact that an inn had been opened there by Joseph Lauber in 1839. The Zermatt priest Peter Gottsponer (1780–1847) was denounced to his bishop for continuing to house and feed guests despite the state’s revocation of his concession, but this did not seem to bother him in the least. In any case, hospitality in the region was an unpredictable affair – above all due to the moods of its proprietors, as two anecdotes from Valais will attest. The case of the Genevan geologist Horace Bénédict de Saussure, who together with a group of colleagues crossed the Theodul Pass into Zermatt in 1789, has left its mark in history. Only with the greatest efforts was de Saussure able to fnd even wretched accommodation in Zermatt. The parish priest, Jean François de la Costa, turned him away on the grounds that he did not want to sell him anything. What La Costa was insinuating was that he had no desire to provide the group a meal – knowing full well that travellers in the Alps relied on the remote mountain villages not only for accommodation but for food as well. The theologian and natural scientist, Franz Joseph Hugi (1791–1855) had a similar experience when he arrived in Lötschental with his eight porters toward the end of the 1820s. The locals were stunned to see foreign beings descending to their valley from the white heights of the heavens. Fear spread quickly. An elderly woman crossed herself and rushed away as fast as she could. I saw quite clearly that people saw nothing good in us. In Kippel, where the priest is also the innkeeper, we were only allowed into the house after a long discussion with the neighbours. 34 Only a short time later, however, the situation in Valais must have fundamentally improved. The Strasbourg historian Christian Moritz Engelhardt (1775–1858) wrote that visitors could purchase cheese, wine and bread from the priest or from private households in almost all of the villages – but not milk, as the cows were up on the alps for the summer. Travel Reports and the Tourist Experience The evolution of tourism from the late 18th century to the early 19th century is documented in frst-person accounts that survive in diaries and letters. We read of welcoming alpine huts, parsonages and hotels, landscape paintings and dioramas. We see how the symbolism of the Alps, condensed into the image of a chalet with a mountain view, made Switzerland famous around the world. With the development of such national symbols, the inhabitants of the diverse linguistic regions of

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Switzerland gradually began to fnd a common identity. In the following sections, individual travel accounts will serve as examples of this process. One shines a light on the Bernese Oberland in the fnal years of the 18th century, the others on the Engadin and the tributary valleys of Valais in the 1820s and 1830s. Christoph Meiners in the Bernese Oberland Christoph Meiners (1747–1810), a Göttingen professor and a colourful fgure in intellectual history, made a number of trips to Switzerland between 1782 and 1788. In the summer of 1782, he travelled through Thun on his way from Bern to Interlaken, on what he called the most beautiful stretch of road through the most fruitful cultivated land in Switzerland. Of Unterseen (Interlaken), he reported that there were already a number of inns, as well as considerable foreign traffc, though this was due less to tourism than to soldiers returning from Geneva. In Lauterbrunnen Meiners lodged at the parsonage, a stately house that could comfortably host several travelling parties and boasted good, clean beds of a quality diffcult to fnd even in the best inns. Tourists travelling by foot who were not going to spend the night in Lauterbrunnen could leave off their luggage at an inn in Zweilütschinen. The parsonage in Grindelwald traditionally had a good reputation for the accommodations it offered travellers. During his visit in 1782, however, Meiners found the priest old and frail, and not inclined to host foreigners unless they had been recommended to him. 35 As an alternative to the parsonage, Grindelwald already had an inn, which, according to Meiners, was even grander than the one in Lauterbrunnen. The allure of Grindelwald for most tourists in the last quarter of the 18th century derived from its two glaciers. Foreign travellers were generally content to go no further than the glaciers’ tongues, however. The narrow, poorly built path that led higher, skirting an abyss and hardly offering room to plant one’s foot, was not recommended. At Rosenlaui, which had long been depicted as a primitive place, Meiners found a well-kept spa that also offered lodgings to travellers. Alternatively, one could stay with peasants on the alp. Finally, Meiners described the Wilder Mann (Wild Man) in Meiringen as a good inn. Zermatt: From Parsonage to Hotel Hans Caspar Hirzel-Escher (1792–1851), owner of a copper smithy and cable factory on the Hegibach in Zurich, and later a member of the City and Government Councils, had made his mark as a scientifc alpinist while still a young man. He went on many hikes through Switzerland and led expeditions into the High Alps, often with his father-in-law Hans Conrad Escher von der Linth (1767–1823).

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In 1822, Hirzel-Escher and his colleague “Mr L” went on an exploratory journey through Valais. They intended to walk from Visp into the Saas Valley. Convinced that the white peak they saw on the horizon was Monte Rosa, they asked the locals how to get there. Then, since their maps contained little precise information, they set off into the unknown. Instead of reaching the Saas Valley, however, they arrived in the Nikolaital (Matter Valley). Realising their mistake, they turned around and fnally reached Saas, where they were put up in the house of the bailiff, Johann Peter Zurbriggen (1763–1848). No one they encountered in the whole valley could describe the tour around Monte Rosa and over the Matterhornpass (Theodul Pass) from personal experience. The rudimentary geographical knowledge of the time was again evidenced when, having arrived in Macugnaga, they found no one able to show them the way over the Weissgratpass to Zermatt. The housekeeper of the village priest in Upper Gressoney, meanwhile, was struck with sheer terror when she realised that they wanted to cross the Matterhorn Glacier and commended them to the care of the Almighty. Prayer and ministration appear to have worked: Hirzel-Escher and his companion arrived safely in Zermatt. They were put up in the parsonage by Peter Gottsponer, the village priest. There were no inns, and neither were they necessary, since strangers only very infrequently approached the higher reaches of the valley. For the next ten years, this hardly changed – as can be gleaned from accounts written by the Strasbourg historian Christian Moritz Engelhardt (1775–1858), a lover of the tributary valleys above Visp whose treatises on their landscape led to them becoming widely known. 36 In 1835, he travelled to Zermatt, where he too lodged at the parsonage. He learned from the guestbook that in 1833 and 1834 very few parties had spent the night: fve Parisians; the French geologist Elie de Beaumont (1798–1874); the Parisian botanist Claude Gai (1800–1873); and fnally a Bavarian princess and climbing enthusiast, together with her consort and retinue.37 This can only have been Princess Ludovika (1808–1892), the daughter of King Maximilian I of Bavaria (1756–1825) and mother of the future Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1837–1898). In contrast to the period described by Hirzel-Escher, tourism in Zermatt increased continually from the end of the 1830s onwards. In 1839, the local doctor, Joseph Lauber, who had occasionally put up the odd visitor on a private basis, expanded his house into a hostel with three rooms. He received the exclusive franchise to put up foreign guests precisely in the year that, as mentioned above, the government of Valais withdrew that right from clergymen. In 1839, Lauber hosted 16 guests for a total of 60 overnight stays – the same number that the pastor, notwithstanding the prohibition, put up in his parsonage. 38 In the early 1850s, things began to change: Lauber retained his monopoly until 1852, when Joseph Anton Clemenz (1810–1872), a member

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Figure 1.9 Hans Conrad Escher (1767–1823). “Matterhorn, 1806.” In Views and Panoramas of Switzerland 1780–1822, by Hans Conrad Escher von der Linth, edited by Gustav Solar. Zurich: Atlantis, 1975, image Nr 126. Hans Conrad Escher von der Linth painted the Matterhorn from Zwikelmatten on 14 August 1806. This picture is the oldest known illustration of the Matterhorn. From Zermatt, Escher crossed the Theodul Pass and painted the Matterhorn from the southern side on 16 August.

of the Government Council of Canton Valais – and future National Councillor and Councillor of State – opened the 14-bed Hôtel du Mont Cervin. Then Alexander Seiler (1819–1891) arrived in Zermatt, and a new era began. The tranquil times when only a few travellers took to the trail and spent the night at the priest’s or the doctor’s house in the upper reaches of the Matter Valley lay only a few years back, but they would soon seem like the memory of a long-ago epoch. Mayr Goes to the Spa Johann Heinrich Mayr (1768–1838), an industrial pioneer and world traveller from Arbon, complained about his bad health: He felt exhausted and weak, had lost his appetite and was suffering from a sore throat, headaches and insomnia. His friend, the chief bailiff Franz Xaver Stoffel (1771–1854), recommended a course of treatment at the spa in St Moritz.39 In July 1823, the two friends rode by coach from Arbon to Balzers. There the diffcult part of their journey began. They travelled along

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poorly built paths on horseback and on foot. Their route took them through Bergün and over the Albula Pass into the Upper Engadin, a snowed-in summer landscape. They were joined along the way by an apparently affuent guide and his horse, which he saddled only shortly before their arrival in St Moritz in order to ride high and dry through the mud of the bumpy, narrow Kothgasse into the village. Mayr was exhausted but still scoffed at the deserted village, and at the fact that no one took note of their arrival. They put up at the house of Nikolaus von Flugi (1759–1833), a former captain in the service of the Dutch army. Mayr was bemused by the pomposity with which their host called himself “Flugi of Aspermont” and “Squire Flugi.” But he was impressed by Flugi’s organisational abilities and by the cleanliness of his house, in which several other guests were staying, most of them from Chur. Mayr was still weak, exhausted and hoarse, but this did not prevent him from engaging in a heated dispute with the ultra-Radical Karl Theodor Christian Follen (1796–1840), who was also in St Moritz for his health and had taken up lodgings with Flugi. The rough mountain region, the clean air, the glistening snows and clear waters pleased Mayr, but he found the Nordic-seeming region much too cold. Though he refused to consult a doctor about his symptoms, he did consent to drink the mineral waters. His general condition seemed to improve, but his headaches persisted. Mayr took a trip to Samedan, where he stayed at the house of Johann Ulrich Wetzstein. Wetzstein had already made medical history with his “Notes on the famous acidulous springs in St Moritz.” Mayr, however, was more interested in the strengthening effects of the Veltliner wine; he had given up on the mineral waters a few days ago. He concluded his stay at the spa and travelled to Chur over the Albula Pass, where he joined up again with Stoffel, who had taken an alternate route over the Kleven. They travelled together to Werdenberg, where their paths again diverged; Mayr was so exhausted and afficted by rheumatism and vomiting that he had to stop for a few days. He blamed the mineral waters for his condition. With appropriate accompaniment, he fnally made it, profoundly weakened, back to Arbon. Five years later, in the summer of 1828, Mayr decided on a second therapeutic sojourn in St Moritz. He was afficted by fatigue, paralysis in his hands and gout. He travelled from Arbon to Ragaz by carriage and lodged at the parsonage, where he made the acquaintance of Plazidus Pfster (1772–1846), the last prince-abbott of the Benedictine abbey in Pfäfers, as well as other churchmen. From Bad Ragaz he reached Grüsch after a two-hour walk. He was in low spirits on his arrival and described the house he was to stay in as wretched and unworthy of being called a hostel. The dark parlour was like a stable, dirty and full of refuse. In Bad Fideris, though, Mayr’s mood lifted. He met fellow travellers from Appenzell, Glarus and the Oberrheintal District. The food was to his

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liking, and the wine – infused with acidulous mineral water – tasted delicious. He thus delayed his onward journey. Now, however, Mayr began to complain that Bad Fideris was in the middle of nowhere and that there were no excursions to be made. The spa facilities were miserable. On the other hand, he praised the quality of the waters and the musical entertainment. Finally, he moved on to Davos. There he rented a small room that he described as a “hole” and which he had to share with his host. Other guests, with children, were sleeping in the neighbouring room. The water in Davos failed to cure Mayr’s fatulence, discomfort, loss of appetite and insomnia. On the day before he left for La Punt, he walked to the Dürrboden, where he found a miserable tavern that, however, served an excellent Veltliner wine. In St Moritz, as on his frst trip, Mayr rented a room from Captain von Flugi, at whose house four other guests were lodging. In the so-called lower quarters, there were yet more guests, among them Prince von Hohenzollern Sigmaringen, a certain Colonel Fischer, and an Englishman. Mayr began his mineral water therapy, but digestive problems, coughing and discomfort continued to affict him. He concluded that the waters of St Moritz did not agree with him. He spoke positively of the St Moritz air but was indignant at the uncouth manners of the local farmers and the haymakers from Tyrol and Valtellina, who visited the spa on Sunday after Mass. On a trip to Sils, Mayr noted that the village, which was home to 32 women and children, had only 7 men in it – all the others had moved away to fnd work. He took a day trip to La Punt with a group of 30 other tourists, travelling by horse-drawn carriage. As the end of his treatment grew closer, Mayr complained that the waters had not helped him at all and that he would be leaving in a worse condition than that in which he had arrived. After reaching Bad Pfäfers, where he was enthusiastic about the purity and lightness of the waters, he travelled through Ragaz and Lustenau and fnally reached Arbon. His verdict: The treatment had been of little beneft. If anything had helped, it had been the air, the movement and the diversions – far more than any mineral waters. Export Product: Switzerland as Chalet The works of the Kleinmeister, along with wallpapers and woodcarvings representing Swiss motifs, were bought as souvenirs by foreign travellers and advertised Switzerland in academic chambers and manor houses throughout Europe from the mid-18th century onwards. In addition, publicly exhibited large-format landscape paintings had an especially widespread impact. Panoramas and dioramas developed into novel and effective promotional vehicles for Switzerland as a tourist destination. As early as the last quarter of the 18th century, the Irish painter Robert Barker (1739–1806)

40 The Discovery of the Mountains had experimented with paintings on a cylindrical surface. He built a two-storey rotunda in Leicester Square in London, which survived until 1861. In it, he successively exhibited his gigantic circular paintings. In other locations in London, and in the larger cities of Europe, similar rotundas were also built. Here, spectacular images were displayed, said to be true to life and faithful to nature. At the outset, wartime scenes – the Naval Battle of Trafalgar and the Battle of Waterloo, for example – made up the subject of most exhibits. But Swiss landscapes, featuring impressive, picturesque views from the Rigi at sunrise or from the Faulhorn in the Bernese Oberland, also drew crowds. The frst Swiss panorama was probably painted by Marquard Wocher (1760–1830) of Basel. It was a circular painting, 38 metres in length, depicting Thun and its surrounding landscape. Wocher began working on sketches in 1809 and completed his work – without any assistance – in 1814.40 Further technical developments in panoramic images and rotundas led to the diorama, conceived by the pioneering photographer Louis J. M. Daguerre (1787–1851). A diorama consisted of a screen, often slightly curved, painted on both sides and variably illuminated. This invention became all the rage in Paris in the early 1820s. Variable lighting produced three-dimensional effects and made the often gigantic paintings appear alternately as daytime and nighttime scenes. Dioramas employed a roundabout mechanism to rotate an entire hall, which might seat up to several hundred people. The play of the light on the large-scale landscape paintings and the movements simulated by it induced quasi-cinematic visual experiences. A show usually lasted about a quarter of an hour and often featured spectacular mountain panoramas, appealing landscapes and Alpine views, as well as other sensational effects. Facsimiles of huts, houses and chalets were installed; alphorns and yodelling rang out; cows mooed and goats bleated on mountain pastures – scenes from the Swiss Alps came so convincingly alive that it was diffcult for viewers to believe they were not real.41 In contrast to the personally acquired works of the Kleinmeister, which hung in the private living rooms of Europe, these large-scale landscape paintings and panoramic images were exhibited in public and thus generated incommensurately greater publicity.42 The chalet – usually in its Bernese form – played a signifcant role in the promotion of Switzerland as a tourist destination in the 19th century. While chalets were moved from their original locations even within Switzerland – for example, in 1787 to the Arlesheim Ermitage as a symbol of the Enlightenment, and in 1815 to Geneva, as an expression of the canton’s newly acquired identity as part of the Confederation – they made an even more powerful impression abroad. Swiss farmhouses developed into export products of a special kind. From the middle of the 18th century onwards, they increasingly stimulated the interest not only of architects and philosophers, but also of English and German

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travellers, who erected chalets in their landscaped gardens to remind them of Swiss alpine huts. Even in the highest strata of society, aristocratic rulers with Enlightenment interests were taken with this Swiss product. And it was the chalets of the Bernese Oberland, in particular, that struck a chord in foreign countries. Duke Carl Eugen von Württemberg (1728–1793) had a Swiss house built in the park of his Hohenheim Palace in 1776; he later expanded it into a farm. His younger brother, Friedrich Eugen von Württemberg (1732–1797), copied him, establishing a Swiss-style dairy in the garden of his castle in Etupes. The dairy operation in Hohenheim was run by a Bernese farming family whom visitors could watch as they made cheese. Wilhelm I of Württemberg (1781–1864), who as crown prince had visited Switzerland in 1816, had a precise replica of a chalet built in the royal domain of Kleinhohenheim near Stuttgart in 1822. Other royal families were also smitten with Swiss houses: Prince Frederick of Prussia (1794–1863) built the “Schweizerei” in 1842; Prince Carl (1801–1883) constructed an entire neighbourhood with ten Swiss houses in KleinGlienicke (1863/1867); Ludwig II had a Swiss-style mountain house built on Schachenalp in Bavaria; and in the park of the Villa Friesenberg at Baden-Baden, Princess Feodora zu Leiningen (1807–1872) had a chalet built for her children in 1851.43 The same desire befell Victoria (1819–1901), Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, and her consort Prince Albert (1819–1861). The latter had become acquainted with Swiss-style farmhouses on his 1837 journey through Switzerland. His pleasant memories of the trip inspired him to incorporate a Swiss chalet into the design of a larger estate, a project infuenced by the Swiss Cottage in the Rock Garden of Shrubland Park in Suffolk, which Albert had frequently visited. He drafted plans to realise his project on the Isle of Wight in southern England, creating a summer residence that would allow for more freedom than the royal apartments in London. This refuge was also intended to beneft his nine children. In 1853/1854, a Swiss Cottage was thus built on Queen Victoria and Prince Albert’s Osborne Estate. While it served as a playhouse for the children, it was also to be a place where the young princes and princesses would acquire practical learning – in house, kitchen and garden work – and develop intellectually through conversation, reading and making music. This farmhouse, built with North American pine but otherwise faithfully constructed in the “Swiss style,” became an immensely popular attraction in the 19th century. Bequeathed to the British state by King Edward VII, Victoria’s eldest son and successor, Osborne Estate later served various purposes. Today, along with its Swiss Cottage, which has been carefully maintained, it is a popular tourist attraction.44 The Swiss chalet ultimately achieved international fame at world fairs. Following its frst appearance in the Swiss section of the Paris Exposition Universelle of 1867, it enjoyed continual success throughout a series

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of subsequent expositions, culminating in the construction of an entire Village Suisse of more than 100 buildings at the 1900 Paris Exposition. In all this, an idealised version of Switzerland was promulgated abroad by the chalet. Among the Swiss, however, this ideal image did not meet with unanimous approval. It may seem astonishing that foreign architects, aristocrats and upper-class developers venerated the Swiss chalet well before the Swiss themselves did – but indeed when the transport of goods became signifcantly less expensive due to the expansion of railroad networks in the 1850s, the export of partly prefabricated Swiss farmhouses seemed to know no bounds. Production and sales attained enormous volumes. It might therefore seem ironic that, in the face of this success story, Swiss voices critical of the exuberant cult of the chalet became increasingly adamant toward the end of the 19th century. They invoked arguments favouring the preservation of historical monuments and buildings of cultural heritage. The confict was enfamed by the so-called “Dörfi” (little village) at the National Exhibition in Geneva in 1896, which was seen by many as an exaggeratedly stagey and inauthentic form of self-representation.45 On the History of the Hotel Industry: The Beginnings Inns and the First Hotels In some Swiss cities, inns with international reputations already existed in the 18th century; they are still remembered today on account of their proprietors and their illustrious guests. Examples include the Falken in Bern, the Drei Könige in Basel and the Haus zum Schwert in Zurich. In the early 19th century, however, these time-honoured guesthouses failed to keep pace with the rapid development of tourism and soon became no more than relics of a bygone era. They lacked the space to accommodate the increasing numbers of visitors, and changing social circumstances demanded facilities of a different order. Fostered by a liberal political environment, the frst modern hotels were now being built in Swiss cities; they were larger and featured a new architectural style. New hotels and inns were also constructed in prominent locations in the mountains. The building of these facilities, which would soon distinguish Switzerland as a holiday destination, rang in the frst phase of the history of the Swiss hotel industry, which lasted from the early 1830s to the middle of the 19th century. Even before the era of the urban Grand Hotels, individual inns had been cropping up in smaller towns. With the return of British tourists after the end of Napoleonic rule and the new ordering of Europe in 1815, the frst pensions opened their doors on Lake Geneva – in Clarens, Sâles and Villeneuve, but also in Montreux, where a frst hotel, the Du Cygne,

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was constructed. Several pensions then opened in Vevey, which was regarded as a lively social centre. The frst pensions at higher altitudes opened in this same period. Examples are again to be found around Lake Geneva, in Chernex (1834), Glion (1838), Chailly (1841) and Brent (1846). This simultaneous development on the lakeshore and at elevation was an unusual phenomenon. Still, all of these new inns appear modest compared to the magnifcent buildings that would soon make hotel history on the shores of Lake Geneva. In Interlaken, too, the history of the hotel industry began with smaller buildings. Cleverly encouraged through advertising and public relations, tourism increased sharply with the frst two festivals in Unspunnen (1805/1808). This upturn was largely due to the promotional work of the painter Franz Niklaus König. In the 1830s, a further pioneer of the tourism industry emerged in the person of Peter Ober (1813–1869). Ober recognised that Interlaken was becoming increasingly popular with travellers from Great Britain and that this development urgently called out for the expansion of the town’s infrastructure. The earlier practice of putting foreign visitors up in private houses would no longer suffce. Ober’s engagement frst led to the establishment of modest pensions; only the Belvédère hotel, which opened in 1839, had any notable architectonic appeal. Decisive for further development was the fact that these frst pensions marked the periphery of a new sector of the town; they were mostly located on the Höheweg and around the Höhematte. They thus marked out an area that is still the centre of the Interlaken hotel business today – without a lake view, but with the incomparable panorama of the Jungfrau massif at their doorsteps. In Lucerne, too, tourism infrastructure developed incrementally at frst. In the early years of the 19th century, the city was notable for its fortifcations – a girdling wall with towers, gates and bridges. The spirit of progress – politically spurred on by Liberal governance, insisted on by industrialists and fostered by nascent tourism – demanded the opening up of the cramped city in order to create a more modern infrastructure of generous thoroughfares and lodgings. The opportunity for such renewal was provided by the confagration that raged through the city in 1833. The rubble left by the fre was used to build the frst promenades on the banks of the Reuss.46 Grand Hotels The development of the Grand Hotel business began at various locations on Lake Geneva.47 The era was rung in by the opening of the Hôtel des Bergues in Geneva in 1834. With its magnifcent view of the lake and mountains, it became a model for further hotels along the lake, such as the Hôtel Gibbon (1839) in Lausanne, the Hôtel Byron (1841) near Chillon Castle outside of Villeneuve, and the Hôtel des Trois Rois (1834) in

44 The Discovery of the Mountains Geneva. Then the novel concept was realised in other regions, with the Hotel Baur (1838)48 – “probably the fnest private building in Zurich” – the Hotel Drei Könige in Basel, which was renovated in 1844, and the Hotel Schweizerhof (1845) in Lucerne. The natural spectacle of the Rhine Falls, which brought tourists to Schaffhausen, provided guests for the Hotel Weber, which opened in 1844, was renamed the Schweizerhof in 1861 and expanded to become a Grand Hotel in 1879. Thanks to the beauty of its surrounding landscape and its ideal location, Thun was a favoured starting point for excursions. In 1834, the Knechtenhofer brothers – Johann Jakob (1790–1867) and Johannes (1793–1865) – opened the Hotel Bellevue in the midst of a lavish park. In the frst edition of Baedeker in 1844, the Bellevue is described as one of the best hotels in Switzerland. Though further construction followed and the hotel industry in Thun fourished for a time, this era was already nearing its end at the close of the 1850s.49 Zurich provides an example of how the locations of newly built inns were infuenced by transport networks. One can also follow, in Zurich, how a traditional hotel of the frst rank was overtaken by developments it could no longer control, as soon as it ceased to satisfy the needs of the economy and the wider society around it. Probably no other building in the old section of Zurich can tell as many stories as the Schwert on the Rathaus Bridge. Its legendary reputation once knew no bounds: In the 18th century, no celebrity or member of the global nobility failed to stop in at the Schwert when visiting the city. Equally extolled by emperors and queens, counts and princes, artists and merchants, adventurers, writers and poets, the Schwert was among the Olympians of European inns. Leopold Mozart (1719–1787) stopped in with his children Wolfgang (1756–1791) and Anna (1751– 1829) in 1762; in 1766, the Venetian seducer Casanova (1725–1798) spent a last night there before travelling on to the abbey at Einsiedeln, at which he intended to become a monk. In 1775, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) alighted at the Schwert, if only for a short time, before taking up lodgings with his friend Johann Caspar Lavater (1741– 1804). Four years later Goethe returned, in the company of Duke Carl August (1757–1828), and this time stayed somewhat longer (1779). The famous inn consisted of four parts – two houses and two towers – with foors at different levels. Later renovations never completely alleviated this inconvenience. The political revolutions and the French invasion in 1798 rang in the end of the epoch in which the Schwert had risen to glamour and glory. When Zurich and Switzerland were liberated from occupation by French troops and the turmoil of the Helvetic Republic, and Europe had thrown off the Napoleonic yoke, nothing remained as it had been before. A new era had arrived, one whose demands the Schwert was incapable of meeting. The old inn was doomed, outfanked by other hotels. That

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it was renovated yet again at the end of the 18th century, and that, as a kind of fnale, celebrities like Madame de Staël (1766–1817) and Tsar Alexander I of Russia (1777–1825) occasionally turned up in the early 19th century, changed nothing. The fate of the Schwert was sealed; its place would be usurped by more up-to-date lodgings serving a different clientele – establishments like the Hotel Baur. Johannes Baur (1795–1865) of Vorarlberg, who already ran two inns in Zurich, contracted the architect Daniel Pfster (1808–1847) to design and build a modern hotel at the corner of Poststrasse and Zeughausplatz (today’s Paradeplatz). It opened its doors in 1838. The location was cleverly chosen and revealed an understanding of the modern zeitgeist: It was very close to the lake and across from the new post offce and its central courtyard, where the postal coachmen changed their teams. In the promotional material he published after opening the hotel, Baur pointedly emphasised that there was a stable at the end of his courtyard with room for 36–40 horses, as well as a carriage house with a 15-coach capacity. The step from traditional inns to the frst modern hotel in Zurich had been taken. Baur had even chosen the hotel’s location with the idea – later discarded – of building a new train station near the lake. This station, conceived as a central transport hub, would have further strengthened the position of the Hotel Baur. The interrelationship between hotel construction, transport networks and urban development was apparent in the Zurich of this time. After the Liberals came to power in 1830, they began to raze the confning city gates and walls, which they viewed as a hindrance to traffc. Now the way was free for truly vigorous construction. At frst it was concentrated

Figure 1.10 Johann Caspar Uehliger, Haus zum Schwert, ca 1750/1760. Copperplate engraving.

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Figure 1.11 “Savoy Hotel Baur en Ville, Zürich.” In Savoy Hotel Baur en Ville, Zürich 1938, by Hans Schultess. Credit Suisse Collection. The world of yesterday! The Schwert inn in Zurich was already well known in the late Middle Ages. It would subsequently become run down and almost go bankrupt. It was owned and run by the Ott family for around 200 years and over seven generations and became the most renowned inn in Zurich. The last member of the Ott family to run it, Anton Ott (1748–1800), was deported to Basel in the fnal days of the Old Swiss Confederacy. His son, Hans Caspar Ott (1780–1856), entered the civil service. Thus, the Schwert was leased out; in 1815, it was sold. It subsequently changed hands a number of times, until it came into the possession of Hubert Gölden (born 1844). The absence of foreign guests during the First World War fnally sealed the fate of the Schwert. The building was purchased by Canton Zurich to house the cantonal tax offce. In 1936, it was taken over by the Samen Mauser company and, since 1982, has belonged to Swiss Re. The obituary of the most famous inn in old Zurich, whose tradition “had no equal in Switzerland and hardly a peer in all of Europe,” was written by Stefan Zweig in the summer of 1918 at the end of the First World War, when Canton Zurich was attempting to repurpose the Schwert as an administrative building. Nostalgically, he thought back on the magic of the “dead hotel” and complained that in losing the Schwert, Zurich was losing a part of its soul. 50 The Hotel Baur, today’s Savoy Baur en Ville, is pictured in Figure 1.11 just after its opening. Opposite the hotel is the post offce (today the Zentralhof), which was constructed at the same time. On the right is the old Tiefenhof linden tree.

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in the area of the former redoubts, but soon a general boom ensued. In 1836, for example, some 500 new construction projects were initiated in Zurich. Mountain Inns and Hotels The history of tourism of the 1830s and 1840s was further characterised by the construction of mountain inns at Alpine vantage points that could be reached without mountaineering skills. Following the example of the Rigi, other summits with extensive views were made accessible to the public: In 1832, the highest inn in Switzerland was built on the Faulhorn (2681 metres) above Grindelwald. It would hold this title for many years before losing it to the Rifugio on the Theodul Pass (3322 metres), in the icy landscape between the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa. In 1834, the Bernese government issued permission for the operation of a summer hut on Wengernalp, and a year later for an inn on Kleine Scheidegg. There Christian Seiler (1804–1892), a Swiss wrestling champion and former innkeeper on the Brienzer Rothorn, purchased the modest Gasthof Gemse in 1840, and in 1842 transformed it to the Hotel Bellevue. Beginning in 1830, inns began to be constructed in the Valais Alps as well. Josef Anton Zeiter, for example, built a small tavern with a few beds in Goms, at the foot of the Rhône Glacier. Mountain hotels continued to be built at various locations up until the middle of the 19th century, though they were hardly comparable to the urban palaces of the time. They offered fne views and served as points of departure for climbing nearby mountains. In 1839, a frst, rather modest inn was built on Zurich’s Üetliberg. Accommodations on Säntis (1846) were also meagre, and more closely resembled a shack than an inn. More advanced developments were evident in the region around Lake Lucerne. The Rigi, a traditional pilgrimage site with a small monastery and spa, paved the way for a new kind of tourism characterised by large-scale excursion centres. In the 1830s and 1840s, new inns were built at Rigi Staffel and Rigi Kaltbad. Just as the Unspunnen Festival was an essential part of the touristic programme in early 19th-century Interlaken, Swiss wrestling (Schwingen) and alphorn festivals were integral to tourism on the Rigi. In 1847, when the hotel facilities at Rigi Kulm were once again unable to meet the increasing demand, Caspar Bürgi-Ritschard, the son of the original innkeeper, replaced the old hotel building with a new one. The opening of this 130-bed hotel took place on 8 June 1848. Yet even this vigorous expansion failed to satisfy the demands of the market for long. Only eight years later Bürgi erected a new building, this one with 200 beds. It was inaugurated on 1 August 1857. Further expansion would follow. The trend towards building facilities on sloping terrain and at panoramic viewpoints, as well as the drive upwards to ever more elevated

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locations, would accelerate in the second half of the 19th century and become an essential element in the history of Swiss tourism in the Belle Epoque.

Climbing and Hiking as Part of Elite Education Scientifcally Motivated Alpinism In the early 19th century, frst ascents of mountains were still carried out primarily in the name of scientifc exploration, cartographical research and the testing of technical equipment. Only rarely were they the expression of an upper-class passion for the peaks. It took signifcant daring to venture into unknown terrain, as one did not always arrive at the intended destination. Maps were not yet drawn to scale, and the knowledge of local mountain dwellers was largely confned to their own valleys and habitations. Shepherds and hunters guided foreigners over passes and into untracked terrain, but it was entirely unforeseeable, at this point, that this role would develop into a new profession, that of the mountain guide. Yet these proto-guides did not only explore in the service of others. The impulses of foreign visitors, who set their sights on increasingly loftier heights, nourished the desire in some locals to press further into the high mountains on their own. They secretly explored routes that would lead to Alpine summits, and then tried clambering up the peaks. They thus began to develop professional competencies, though they usually kept their activities to themselves. Still, these explorations provided fertile ground on which knowledge about Alpine fora and fauna, stones and glaciers, wind and weather gradually increased. And soon, ever more demanding mountains beckoned; one climbed higher and higher; and before long sights were set on the frst Swiss 4000-metre peaks. At frst, there were merely attempts. The majestical summits remained free of human footprints; nor were there any British alpinists in sight, far and wide. In 1811, it came to pass: For the frst time ever, a Swiss 4000er was summitted. The brothers Johann Rudolf Meyer (1768–1825) and Hieronymous Meyer (1769–1844), two silk industrialists from Aarau, erected the historical summit cross on the Jungfrau; they had been led to the top by Alois Volken (1784–1814) and Joseph Bortis (born 1786), two chamois hunters from Fiesch. With this, the spell was broken. Just the following year the Finsteraarhorn was climbed, again by Volken and Bortis. Accompanying them was Arnold Abbühl, a servant at the Grimsel hospice; Rudolf Meyer (the son of Johann Rudolf Meyer) climbed with them as far as the southeast ridge. A year after that, a French team made the frst ascent of the Breithorn. The conquests seemed to be rolling in one per year, but then came an interruption. A number of attempts were made, only to be broken off; seven years would pass before the

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ascent of the next 4000-metre peak, the Zumsteinspitz, in 1820. At the time this was thought to be the highest point in the Monte Rosa massif, and thus the highest point in the Swiss Alps. In 1822, it was determined, however, that another summit on the massif was in fact higher. This still unnamed peak was frst climbed on 25 August 1822. The driving force behind the ascent was the Austrian general and topographer Baron Ludwig von Welden (1780–1853). Von Welden not only ascertained the altitude of the peak but also dubbed it the Ludwigshöhe. He claimed to have named it after the sainted French king Louis IX (in German, Ludwig IX), on whose name day the frst ascent was made. That he himself also happened to be named Ludwig was, according to von Welden, entirely coincidental. After this, 20 years passed before the next 4000-metre peaks were climbed: the Lauteraarhorn and the Signalkuppe, both in 1842. In 1850, the topographer Johann Wilhelm Coaz (1822–1918), led by the mountain guides Johann Tscharner (1805–1863) and Lorenz Ragut Tscharner (1824–1902), climbed to the top of a still unnamed mountain with three summits, the only 4000-metre peak in Graubünden – now known as Piz Bernina (4049 metres). That many of the early frst ascents were motivated by scientifc research is evident from the names of peaks and other landmarks in the Swiss Alps. The Hugisattel (on the north ridge of the Finsteraarhorn, 4088 metres) and the Hugihorn (3647 metres), for example, were named for the Solothurn geologist Franz Joseph Hugi (1791–1855). Two other professors, working in Neuchâtel, aroused international attention with scientifc expeditions in the area around the Unteraargletscher: Louis Agassiz (1807–1873) and Edouard Desor (1811–1882). They depicted the landscapes they came upon in spectacular illustrations. The Agassizhorn (3946 metres) in the Bernese Alps is named for the frst of these researchers. Agassiz, who was born in Môtier in Canton Fribourg, made a name for himself with his theoretical work on the ice age. [Recent research, however, demonstrates that the groundbreaking elements of the theory of glaciation were in fact frst conceived by Jean de Charpentier (1786–1855).]51 Encouraged by other scientists, explorers, and the polymath Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859), his great role model, and fnancially supported by the Prussian king, Agassiz emigrated to the USA in 1847. He set off on a lecture tour through the country, electrifying the academic world, and then achieved worldwide renown as a professor at Harvard.52 More than six dozen places on earth are named after him, including a number of hills, rocks and bodies of water, while in outer space he is commemorated by an asteroid and a crater each on Mars and the moon. Seven animal species are named for him as well. Agassiz also made headlines as an opponent of Charles Darwin (1809–1882), whose theory of evolution he rejected. He was one of the

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last great natural scientists to argue for religious creationism. While his position on evolution seems merely a relic of a bygone worldview, the scientifc racism that he taught is still a source of outrage today. Agassiz condemned slavery, took the side of the northern states in the Civil War and became an advisor to President Lincoln (1809–1865) on matters of race. Yet as a vehement proponent of a theory that posited distinct human races at different stages of development, he advocated racial segregation. His racism, which was rarely problematised until the last quarter of the 20th century, has become a point of controversy today: The demand that the Agassizhorn be renamed has been heatedly discussed both within the SAC and in the public media for many years now. 53 Desor, originally Agassiz’s assistant and secretary, also emigrated to the USA. A lake and a mountain in Michigan are named after him, as are a 2871-metre peak in Canton Bern and several species of ribbon worm. Together with Arnold Escher von der Linth (1807–1872) and others, Desor made the frst ascent of the Grosse Lauteraarhorn (4042 metres) in 1842; he was a member of the frst party to climb the Rosenhorn (3689 metres) in 1844; and, together with Agassiz, he made the third ascent of the Hasle-Jungfrau (3690 metres, today called the Wetterhorn) in 1845. Desor was one of those exceptional personalities who left a powerful mark on 19th-century Switzerland. He was not only a scientist of rank and name and a pioneer of alpinism but also a founder of the University of Neuchâtel and a renowned politician who served in the Swiss Parliament and was President of the National Council in 1873. Agassiz and Desor practiced a new form of scientifcally motivated alpinism, one that distinguished itself from earlier Alpine exploration by its academic context. A university framework now became the driving force behind alpinism: The Alps had become a subject of study for academic institutions. The exploration of the natural world was given fresh momentum by the newly founded universities and universities of applied science in Switzerland. Agassiz and Desor still taught at the lycée in Neuchâtel, but opportunities of incomparably greater scope were now being created by the founding of the Universities of Zurich (1833) and Bern (1834) and the Federal Polytechnic (today’s ETH) in Zurich (1855). The resources provided by these institutions would signifcantly infuence scientifc alpinism for years to come. At this point, two other notable scientists rose to prominence: Oswald Heer (1809–1883), a pastor turned entomologist and paleobotanist, and Arnold Escher von der Linth (1807–1872), one of the pioneers of Alpine geology. The two were linked by personal friendship and congenial professional collaboration. Heer and Escher also left their mark on other areas of society. They embodied the euphoric mood that, inspired by the founding of the Federal State in the middle of the 19th century, emerged in the universities as elsewhere, and in which both professors and students were equally caught up. Thanks to Heer and

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Escher, so-called “vacation trips” to foreign countries became common practice among professors of natural sciences – multi-week, sometimes even multi-month sojourns aimed at examining scientifc collections and talking shop with colleagues. At the end of the 1820s, Oswald Heer, an aspiring theology student who had been fascinated with insects since his earliest youth, became acquainted with Heinrich Escher, a successful merchant of independent means and the father of Alfred Escher. A fruitful collaboration ensued. In the Glarus Alps, his native region, Heer collected insects and beetles for Escher. After completing his studies he moved to Zurich – with mixed feelings – to help Escher refurbish and supplement the existing entomological collection. In doing so, he discovered his love of science and found, in entomology, his professional calling. As Heinrich Escher’s employee, he developed profound entomological knowledge of a sort that he could not have gained at any contemporary university. In 1834, he was named director of the botanical garden and private lecturer in natural science at the University of Zurich; in 1835, he become associate professor of botany and entomology; in 1836, he was made full professor; and in 1855, he assumed a professorship at the Polytechnic. The theology student had become a scientifc researcher and entomologist recognised well beyond Switzerland’s borders. Even after becoming a professor, Heer set off on multiple journeys through Switzerland to observe and collect plants and insects, to record the altitude limits, growth zones and vegetative cycles of trees and, like other researchers, to create lists of the plants growing in specifc Swiss valleys. With his barometer – due to its great size, he carried it over his shoulder like a rife – he determined the altitude of many points in the open country. Heer was a typical pioneer. 54 He also made with a frst ascent: On 1 August 1835, he summited the previously unclimbed Piz Linard (3411 metres). Arnold Escher von der Linth habilitated, like Heer, on 1 March 1834 at the University of Zurich. He was the son of Hans Conrad Escher von der Linth (1767–1823), whose involvement in the course correction of the Linth River had earned him his honorifc surname. Like Heer, Escher had also shown great interest in natural history in his youth – an interest that deepened on his many excursions into the Alps. Like others of his generation, he was encouraged to record his observations of the natural world and his travel impressions in diaries. He became a lecturer at the University of Zurich and director of its mineralogical-geological collection. For almost 40 years, from 1833 until his death, summer after summer, Escher conducted feld research in Swiss geology. At frst, he was accompanied by the mountain guide Johann Madutz (1800–1861) of Matt in Glarus, and later by Madutz’s son, Fridolin (1834–1912). Arnold Escher sketched and took notes indefatigably, while his guide collected beetles. This feldwork was an indispensable part of his research. He left

52

The Discovery of the Mountains

a legacy of data and fndings in folios, maps and diaries. Escher’s versatility extended beyond his area of scientifc expertise, as is evidenced by his collaborations on road and railroad construction, pastoral and arable farming, reforestation, canal building and river correction, and the construction of avalanche barriers and torrent control structures. He too was a genuine pioneer! Arnold Escher and Oswald Heer were both at home in the Alps, the one as a feld geologist and the other as an entomologist. The period in which they taught and conducted research was a particularly promising one. They both exploited the chances they were given. The following generations no longer enjoyed the same freedoms; nor did they have the same opportunities as the two pioneers. Escher and Heer conducted research in the open countryside, unconstrained by methodological and administrative restrictions, regulations and requirements. This can be seen in Escher’s relationship to the University of Zurich: He accepted his position under the condition that he would only have to deliver his mineralogy and geology lectures in the winter semester. He wanted to be uncommitted in the summer, free to carry out his research in the feld. After 18 years as a lecturer, Escher was offered a professorship. At frst, he was unwilling to take it on; only in 1852 was he fnally convinced to do so. When the Polytechic opened, Escher assumed a position there as a geology professor. As was to be expected, he continued to set off on his geological excursions – only now he did so with his students, who were required to participate. Forward-looking in their teaching, Heer and Escher sometimes designed their excursions to be collaborative and interdisciplinary. In the feld they divided the work: Escher led the geological investigations, Heer the botanical ones. In spite of their scientifc rigour, these trips were also occasionally amusing. From time to time Heer would invent lyrics for well-known student songs. Notorious for his endurance as a hiker, he once marched ahead at a brisk pace on the Irchel, while the group he was leading kept diminishing. The students, who were getting thirsty, disappeared one after the other into various farms and taverns. Escher sometimes dipped into his professorial salary to fnance excursions for students who could not otherwise afford them; he also established a number of endowments for talented but penniless students. His interactions with his students were characterised by a fatherly and benevolent rigour. He began his lectures at seven in the morning. On Sundays, however, students might show up for a private midday meal with Professor and Mrs Escher. It was scientifc curiosity that drove Heer and Escher, like their contemporaries Agassiz and Desor, into the mountains. Their research question was an old one: Which fora and fauna evolve at what altitude above sea level? The method, however, was new: feld research in an academic context.

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Heer also regularly carried out altitude measurements with his barometer. Topographical surveying was still largely stuck where it had been in the Napoleonic era. Triangulation was in its infancy, and the lack of good maps was problematic. Heer did not invent the instruments he used – they mostly came from Albert Mousson (1805–1890), a world-class scientist – but he was a pioneer in their application. The Zurich chemist and mineralogist Rudolf Theodor Simler (1833– 1873) was also a scientist, pioneer and alpinist. A private lecturer in chemistry at the University of Bern, he left his mark on history by initiating the founding of the SAC in 1863. Two years earlier, led by the mountain guides Gabriel Zweifel and Heinrich Elmer, and accompanied by the St Gallen merchant George Sand (1824–1900), Simler had climbed Piz Russein, the highest point on the three-summited Tödi (3614 metres). He proclaimed himself the frst to have climbed the mountain, the highest in the Glarus Alps. A decade-long controversy followed, for, as Simler ought to have known, Piz Russein had already been climbed in 1824 – by Placi Curschellas (born 1776) and Augustin Bisquolm (1786–1870), two hunters from the Surselva. The two had been inspired by the elderly Pater Placidus a Spescha (1752–1833), who had not had the strength to make the ascent himself. Simler disputed their claim, however, arguing that while Curschellas and Bisquolm may indeed have climbed the Tödi, they had not reached its highest peak. 55 Excursions as Part of Schooling After the collapse of the First French Empire, the desire to travel was awakened within Switzerland as well. Beginning in the 1820s, it became common for adolescents interested in culture and natural history to set off on multi-day hikes and excursions. Of course, so-called pleasure journeys (Lustreisen) undertaken by young people from elite families dated back to the early 18th century. And in fact, certain aspects of the two periods lend themselves to comparison: Early 19th-century travellers also usually set off in groups, often accompanied by a clergyman, and covered impressive distances. As in the 18th century, cultural and political borders presented no obstacles in the 1820s. What was new in the latter period was that the travellers now left established paths and set off to climb mountains. These journeys, which formed part of a general education and, in contrast to the earlier pleasure journeys, had specifc educational goals, became an element in certain school curricula beginning in the early 19th century. Cultural outings, which continued to occur in their own right, were thereby increasingly transformed into excursions focused on natural history. In addition to studying fora and fauna, students also studied the weather, making use of thermometers and barometers and measuring precipitation levels and snow depths. Schooling was usually rounded off with an extensive trip

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The Discovery of the Mountains

through Switzerland, in the course of which cultural interests were also paid their due. In the wake of these educational programmes, it was soon almost expected in bourgeois urban circles that weekends and holidays would be spent on tours into nearby or even distant mountains, in order to learn still more about Switzerland, its landscape and its culture. The future paleobotanist and entomologist Oswald Heer, whose academic achievements have already been noted, was in the class taught by his father, Jakob Heer (1784–1864). The elder Heer was the pastor in the Glarus town of Matt and, as a teacher, was committed to improving the educational system. In Glarus and many other rural regions, the primary schools of the early 19th century were rudimentary or nonexistent. Heer serves as an example of how the educational elite of his time made do by privately tutoring pupils. Jakob Heer ran a kind of private school in Matt. In addition to his own nine children, students from as far afeld as Zurich and Vaud attended his classes. Heer’s curriculum included excursions in the region as well as longer journeys throughout Switzerland. Even as a child, the young Oswald Heer collected plants and insects from the area around his mountain village, and soon he was borrowing books about insects. As a 16-yearold, he began to collect plants seriously, and as a 17-year-old, to make systematic meteorological observations, “namely, three daily thermometer and barometer readings, as well as measurements of precipitation and snow depths and observations of the weather (cloud cover and wind direction).”56 As a teenager, he cultivated contacts with well-known scientifc researchers and collectors across cantonal borders. In line with established practice, Jakob Heer organised a trip through Switzerland every summer to further his students’ scientifc education. It was undertaken on foot and required considerable hiking ability. The teenage Alfred Escher wrote about excursions he undertook in the 1830s in letters to his friends and teachers. These letters include striking comments and observations that go beyond classical travel descriptions and convey remarkable insights about his country and its people. In the frst instance, the physical prowess required to master the sometimes considerable distances and altitude gains involved in these excursions are impressive – all on foot, without trains or cable cars. When Escher frst set his sights on the Rigi Kulm, the Mythen or Pilatus, there would still have been a long approach ahead before he could tackle the ascent itself. Technical climbing skills were sometimes required, as when he ventured into the Bernina Massif. Even at an early age, Escher possessed remarkable scientifc knowledge. As a child, he learned about the world of insects and plants from his father. Oswald Heer also encouraged Alfred, who could easily have become a natural scientist. 57 At the age of 13, Alfred Escher, together with his “dearest, best teacher,” the pastor Heinrich Schweizer (1801–1882), undertook “a small journey” through Switzerland during the summer holidays.

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55

The two travelled from Bubikon to Rapperswil and over the Etzel to Einsiedeln, where Escher had to listen to complaints about the meagre number of pilgrims. The way onward through the Alptal Valley and up the Mythen was diffcult, but the hikers were rewarded with a glorious view. They continued onward to Schwyz, “whose location is friendlier than its architecture,” and then travelled by boat to Vitznau via Brunnen. There the ascent to Rigi Kulm began “in considerable heat.” “The sky was clear only in the mountains; we therefore saw little of the sunrise or sunset.” Their way led on to Weggis and Lucerne, where they took a rest day “in order to view all that was remarkable and worth seeing.” Despite stormy weather, they took the boat to Stansstad and hiked on to Stans, the location and surroundings of which delighted them. From the “magnifcent” Engelberg Valley, they made their way over the Surenen Pass to Altdorf. How sublimely the great snow-capped peaks, and especially the magnifcent Titlis, present themselves to the astonished eye; it is only reluctantly that you heed the voice of the guide who, accustomed to this view, reminds you to carry on. In Altdorf there seemed to be much superstition and absolute devotion to the Catholic religion! From Flüelen, Escher and Schweizer took a boat across to the Tell chapel and onwards to Brunnen. They then walked to Seewen, “a famous and frequented spa … due to its charming location on Lake Lowerz.” Travelling through Steinen, Sattel, Morgarten, Gubel and Menzingen, they reached Sihlbrugg, whence they returned to Zurich over the Horgenberg. Escher’s conclusion: “But even when I see such wonderful natural beauties and such glorious places, I still always fnd Zurich’s friendly location on the lovely lake the most beautiful and compare it to other places with a certain pride!”58 In 1835, the 16-year-old Alfred Escher spent numerous days on excursions in the Engadin. Here he met Oswald Heer, who was botanising and collecting insects at the behest of Alfred’s father. Alfred helped him catch butterfies before going his separate way in order to pursue his own mission; this time, he had been tasked with bringing a ground beetle of the nebria genus back to his father. He was not equally successful everywhere. He wrote to Heer that in the Splügen I found many ground beetles and especially Nebrias, which do not appear to me to be the same as those in the area around Davos. To present all these to him will surely bring me great pleasure. On the other hand, he later reported, “my excursion on the Bernina was a failure, entomologically speaking, as we only reached the Bernina glacier late in the day, and after signifcant exertion.”59

56 The Discovery of the Mountains

The Golden Age of Alpinism The Playground of Europe, or, the British Occupation of the Swiss High Alps A new chapter in the history of alpinism began in the 1840s, when the frst British turned up in Swiss high mountain valleys and began to explore them and their surroundings. In the 1850s, however, the development of alpinism progressed in a completely different manner. Its character changed rapidly. Scientifc interest in exploring the Alps was no longer the driving force. Athletic competition for frst ascents and ever higher and more daring routes became the order of the day. The British began to practice mountain climbing as a serious sport. Top performance was their passion. As in the Hindu Kush or on the Niger, so in the Swiss High Alps: The allure of the unknown enticed them to explore.60 Leslie Stephen (1832–1904), an Englishman who made several frst ascents, titled his 1871 bestseller The Playground of Europe. And Switzerland indeed became a European playground for adventurers, the High Alps a training ground for imperialist competition. First ascents now served as showdowns between nations; the feverish enthusiasms of entire countries rose and fell with the news of triumphs and accidents in the Swiss High Alps. The British, who were expanding their empire as lords of the world’s oceans under Queen Victoria, were also the pioneers of this new, athletic form of alpinism. In this project, however, they relied on the support of Swiss mountain guides. Nor did these guides merely scramble up the peaks in the wake of their British masters, as one might suppose from personal testimonials and reports in the media. On the contrary: It was the mountain guides who were the leaders of the roped-up parties. Without their skill and know-how, the high fights of the British would not have been possible. It is therefore irritating when, even today, the frst ascents of Swiss 4000-metre peaks are ascribed to the participating Englishmen, Scots and Irishmen, while their Swiss guides go unmentioned or are noted only in passing.61 And while one might be willing to overlook the fact that, in 2005, the stamp-collecting club of Canton Nidwalden credited Edward Whymper with the frst ascent of the Matterhorn, it is vexing that in 2015 the Guardian should have referred to “Whymper’s Matterhorn expedition,” and especially hard to understand why offcial Zermatt websites celebrate Whymper as the hero of the climb in their unsophisticated retellings of the story, as though the climbing party had consisted of him alone.62 Meanwhile, the account given of the legendary French guide Michel Auguste Croz (1830–1865) in his biography is downright scandalous: He is said to have achieved the frst ascent of the Matterhorn under Whymper’s leadership.63 Swiss mountain guides themselves also made frst ascents,

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57

climbing independently to untrodden and unknown peaks without commission or accompaniment. In doing so, they prevented the appropriation of Swiss Alpine summits in their entirety by the United Kingdom. A pioneering era began, in which climbers dared to attempt what had previously been thought impossible. In many areas, methods had to be tried and tested: ice and rock climbing techniques; the use of technical aids such as axe and rope, map and compass; and methods of evaluating avalanche danger and weather patterns. This momentous period in the history of Swiss alpinism lasted for a decade. It began in 1854 with the climbing of the Strahlhorn (4190 metres) and is generally regarded as having ended in 1865, with the tragedy on the Matterhorn (14 July 1865). This time frame, however, is not far-reaching enough, as it overlooks two important facts: On 7 August, only days after the deadly accident on the Matterhorn, the summit of another 4000-metre peak, the Gross Grünhorn (4044 metres), was reached; and from June until October 1865, a total of 66 summits in the Alps were climbed for the frst time. Never, before or since, were more frst ascents made in the Swiss Alps than in the memorable summer of 1865. Though this decade has correctly been designated the Golden Age of Alpinism, it was also full of accidents and failures of the most varied kinds. And no climb left such a lasting mark as the one of 13/14 July 1865, when, during the descent from the Matterhorn, four members of the seven-man climbing team fell to their deaths. All in all, however, it is astonishing to us today how few fatal accidents occurred before 1865 in connection with attempted or successful frst ascents.64 The group of British alpinists who met up year after year to climb mountains around the middle of the 19th century comprised several dozen people. Some of them joined forces in 1857 and founded the Alpine Club in London, whose members collected frst ascents like hunting trophies. This club offered British mountaineers a platform for exchange about various aspects of alpinism, either in personal conversation or via club publications. In contrast to the Grand Tourism of the 17th and 18th centuries, which was dominated by the nobility, the Alpine Club was anchored in bourgeois society as well. Every proven alpinist who paid the fees could become a member. Subsequently, writers, musicians and scientists who were engaged with Alpine themes were also admitted. The Alpine Club embodied the spirit of the Victorian Age. Here, the imperial urge was cultivated, and the storming of the Swiss Alps inspired. It was the frst club of its kind, founded six years before the SAC. Membership in the Alpine Club and the frst ascent of a Swiss 4000-metre peak were two of the most important factors determining the renown of outstanding British alpinists in the second half of the 19th century. Equally prized was the climbing of a spectacular and especially demanding route on an already summited Swiss Alpine giant. The list of the British who made frst ascents of more than one Swiss 4000-metre

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peak is headed by Leslie Stephen (5) and Florence Crawford Grove (1838–1902) (3). There follow nine climbers with two frst ascents each. The number of top-rate British alpinists may appear modest in comparison to the number of summer tourists who, already in the 1830s and 1840s, increasingly populated the Alpine landscape. Yet the economic signifcance of their innovative mountaineering cannot be underestimated. It can be seen frst in the direct effects of their athletic pursuits. These foreign alpinists – the British were soon joined by the Germans and others – usually spent several weeks, or even the whole summer and autumn, at staging points in the mountain valleys, and required a wide variety of infrastructural services, personnel and logistical support for their climbs. Porters shouldered their provisions and prepared their bivouacs. Moreover, since maps were poor in the early days of alpinism, local knowledge was crucial. As the profession of mountain guide did not yet offcially exist, hunters and shepherds initially served as local climbing experts. It also happened that, provided the fee was high enough, the owners of mountain inns delegated the job to their staff – occasionally, even, to those without any experience or know-how. In addition to these direct effects, however, there were also indirect ones. Principally, there was the propaganda effect created by the Alpine adventurers. Spectacular assaults on the summits of the Swiss Alps formed part of daily conversation in mid-century London; triumphs and tragedies in the mountains were lead stories in the international press. The more dramatic the expedition and the more comprehensive the coverage, the more visitors would be drawn to the location of the climb. Zermatt’s meteoric rise as a tourist destination after 1865 was a direct consequence of the tragedy on the Matterhorn. People in the great cities of the world became engrossed in the stories of high-performance climbers dangling on their ropes. Records and sensational stories followed hard on one another. From the middle of the 19th century onwards, alpinism became an important source of publicity for Switzerland as a tourist destination – one that cannot be reduced to francs and centimes, but that had an invaluable long-term effect. Swiss Mountain Guides This marketing of Switzerland and the Swiss Alps succeeded not least thanks to local mountain guides. From its informal beginnings, guiding gradually developed into a profession with its own associations and fxed structures, building on the individual learning curves of the young men who accompanied visitors into the mountains. On 1 June 1856, Bern became the frst canton to establish regulations for the profession. Swiss mountain guides soon developed a good reputation and became a calling card of Alpine tourism.

Ludwigshöhe Lauteraarhorn

1822 25 August 1842 8 August

4341 4042

4563

4274 4164

4158

Strahlhorn

Dufourspitze

Weissmies

Lagginhorn

1854 15 August

1855 1 August

1855 August

1856 26 August

4010

4017

4634

4190

(Continued)

Hieronymus Meyer, Johann Rudolf Meyer (both CH); mountain guides Alois Volken and Joseph Bortis (both CH) Mountain guides Arnold Abbühl, Joseph Bortis and Alois Volken (all CH) Henry Mayard (F); mountain guides Joseph-Marie Couttet (F), Jean-Baptiste Erin (I), Jean-Jacques Erin (I) and Jean Gras (F/ I?) Joseph Beck, (f rst name unknown) Castel, (f rst name unknown) Marty, (f rst name unknown) Molinatti, Johann Niklaus Vincent, Joseph Vincent, Joseph Zumstein, Moritz Zumstein (all CH) Ludwig Freiherr von Welden (A) and others (NN) Pierre Jean Edouard Desor, Arnold Escher von der Linth, Christian Girard, Jakob Leuthold (all CH); mountain guides Melchior Bannholzer, Daniel Brigger, (f rst name unknown) Fahner and Johann Madutz (all CH) Giuseppe Farinetti, Cristoforo Ferraris, Giacomo Giordani, Giovanni Giordani, Giovanni Gnifetti, Cristoforo Grober and Giovanni Necer (all I) Johann Wilhelm Fortunat Coaz (CH); mountain guides Jon Ragut Tscharner and Lorenz Ragut Tscharner (both CH) Christopher Smyth, Edmand Smyth and James Grenville Smyth (all GB); mountain guides Franz Andenmatten, Ulrich Lauener and NN (all CH) John Birbeck, James Grenville Smyth, Charles Hudson, Christopher Smyth, Edward John Stevenson (all GB); mountain guides Ulrich Lauener, Johann Zumtaugwald, Matthäus Zumtaugwald (all CH) Jakob Christian Heusser (CH); mountain guides Franz Andenmatten and Peter Josef Zurbriggen (both CH) Edward Levi Ames (GB), Johann Josef Imseng (CH) and three British (NN); mountain guide Franz Andenmatten and three other mountain guides (all CH)

Altitude Name

Signalkuppe (Punta 4554 Gnifetti) 1850 13 September Piz Bernina 4049

1842 9 August

1820 1 August

Finsteraarhorn Breithorn Westgipfel Zumsteinspitze

1812 16 August 1813 13 August

Mountain

Jungfrau

Date

1811 3 August

Year

Table 1.1 First ascents of the 48 Swiss 4000-metre Alpine peaks, 1811–1900

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4193

Aletschhorn

Combin de Grafeneire

Rimpfschhorn

Alphubel

Schreckhorn

Nordend

Lyskamm-Ostgipfel 4527

Weisshorn

1859 18 June

1859 30 July

1859 9 September

1860 9 August

1861 16 August

1861 26 August

1861 19 August

1861 19 August

4506

4609

4078

4206

4199

4314

4327

4107

1858 16 September Nadelhorn

Mönch

1857 15 August

4027

4545

Allalinhorn

1856 28 August

Edward Levi Ames (GB); mountain guides Franz Andenmatten and Ferdinand Imseng (both CH) Sigismand Porges (A); mountain guides Christian Almer, Christian Kaufmann and Ulrich Kaufmann (all CH) John Llewelyn Davies (GB), Hieronymus Brantschen (CH); mountain guides Johann Kronig and Johann Zumtaugwald (both CH) Joseph Zimmermann (CH); mountain guides Franz Andenmatten, Baptiste Epiney and Aloys Supersaxo (all CH) Francis Fox Tuckett (GB); mountain guides Johann Joseph Benet, Peter Bohren and Victor Tairraz (all CH) Charles Joseph Sainte-Claire Deville (F); mountain guides Daniel Balleys, Emmanuel Balleys, Gaspard Balleys, Basile Dorsaz (all CH?). 20 July 1857: Benjamin Felley, Maurice Felley, Jouvence Bruchez (First ascent of the Grand Combin – its individual peaks were only differentiated later) Robert Liveing, Leslie Stephen (both GB); mountain guides Melchior Anderegg and Johann Zumtaugwald (both CH) Thomas Woodbine Hinchliff, Leslie Stephen (both GB); mountain guides Franz Andenmatten, Melchior Anderegg and Peter Perren (all CH) Leslie Stephen (GB); mountain guides Ulrich Kaufmann, Christian Michel and Peter Michel (all CH) Edward North Buxton, Thomas Fowell Buxton and John Jeremy Cowell (all GB); mountain guide Michel-Clément Payot (CH) William Edward Hall, John Frederick Hardy, John Alfred Hudson, Charles Henry Pilkington, Andrew Crombie Ramsay, Thomas Rennison, Francis Sibson, Russell Maule Stephenson; mountain guides Jean-Pierre Cachat, Karl Herr, Franz-Josef Lochmatter, Josef-Marie Perren, Peter Perren, Stephan Zumtaugwald (all CH) John Tyndall (GB); mountain guides Johann Joseph Benet Ulrich Wenger (both CH)

Altitude Name

1858 11 September Dom

Mountain

Date

Year

60 The Discovery of the Mountains

Täschhorn

Dent d’Hérens

Parrotspitze

Pollux

Lyskamm Westgipfel Zinalrothorn

Ober Gabelhorn

Matterhorn

Grosses Grünhorn

Hohberghorn

Lenzspitze

1862 31 July

1863 12 August

1863 16 August

1864 1 August

1864 16 August

1864 22 August

1865 6 July

1865 14 July

1865 7 August

1869 August

1870 August

1862 18 July

Grosses Fiescher horn Dent Blanche

1862 23 July

Mountain

Castor

Date

1861 23 August

Year

4294

4219

4044

4478

4063

4221

4479

4092

4432

4174

4491

4357

4049

4223

Frederick William Jacomb, William Mathews jun. (both GB); mountain guides Jean-Baptiste Croz and Michel Croz (both F) Adolphus Warburton Moore, Hereford Brooke George (both GB); mountain guides Christian Almer and Ulrich Kaufmann (both CH) Thomas Stuart Kennedy, Woolmore Wigram (both GB); mountain guides JeanBaptiste Croz and Johann Kronig (both CH) John Llewelyn Davies, John Wheeler Hayward (both GB); mountain guides Peter Joseph Summermatter, Johann Zumtaugwald, Stephan Zumtaugwald (both CH) Florence Crawford Grove, William Edward Hall, Reginald Somerled Macdonald, Montagu Woodmass (all GB); mountain guides Melchior Anderegg, Jean-Pierre Cachat and Peter Perren (all CH) Florence Crawford Grove, William Edward Hall, Reginald Somerled Macdonald, Montagu Woodmass (all GB); mountain guides Melchior Anderegg and Peter Perren (both CH) Jules Jacot (CH); mountain guides Josef-Marie Perren, Peter Taugwalder (both CH) Leslie Stephen, Edward North Buxton (GB); mountain guides Jakob Anderegg and Franz Biner (both CH) Florence Crawford Grove, Leslie Stephen (both GB); mountain guides Jakob Anderegg and Melchior Anderegg (both CH) Adolphus Warburton Moore, Horace Walker (both GB); mountain guides Jakob Anderegg (CH) Lord Francis Douglas, Douglas Robert Hadow, Charles Hudson, Edward Whymper (all GB); mountain guides Michel Croz (F), Peter Taugwalder senior, Peter Taugwalder junior (both CH) Edmund von Fellenberg (CH); mountain guides Peter Egger, Peter Inäbnit and Peter Michel (all CH) Robert Boothby Heathcote (GB); mountain guides Franz Biner, Peter Perren and Peter Taugwalder junior Clinton Thomas Dent (GB); mountain guides Alexander Burgener and Franz Burgener (both CH) (Continued)

Altitude Name

The Discovery of the Mountains 61

Date

Mountain

Hinteres Fiescherhorn Stecknadelhorn Combin de la Tsessette Roccia Nera (Schwarzfuh)

1885 28 July

1900 19 July

1887 8 August 1894 21 July

1884 18 August

1884 16 August

1884 16 August

Breithorn Mittelgipfel Östlicher Breithornzwilling Westlicher Breithornzwilling Bishorn

1884 16 August

4075

4241 4135

4025

4153

4139

4106

4159

Eduard Hahn (D) and others (NN)

Oscar Eckenstein (GB); mountain guide Matthias Zurbriggen (CH) Edward Felix Mendelssohn Benecke and Henry Alfred Cohen (both GB)

Henri Isler (CH); mountain guide Joseph Gillioz (CH) Albert Frederick Mummery, William Penhall (both GB); mountain guides Alexander Burgener and Ferdinand Imseng (both CH) John Stafford Anderson (GB); mountain guides Ulrich Almer and Alois Pollinger (both CH) John Stafford Anderson (GB); mountain guides Ulrich Almer and Alois Pollinger (both CH) John Stafford Anderson (GB); mountain guides Ulrich Almer and Alois Pollinger (both CH) George Stapylton Barnes and Roland Chessyre-Walker (both GB); mountain guides Josef Imboden and Josef Marie Chanton Eugen Guido Lammer and August Lorria (both A)

Altitude Name

1872 16 September Combin de Valsorey 4184 1879 7 September Dürrenhorn 4035

Year

62 The Discovery of the Mountains

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So it was that shepherds and hunters became mountaineering pioneers. Individual guides even became internationally famous, the stuff of myth and legend. The stars among them were hired by foreign gentlemen for weeks and months at a time, sometimes leaving the Alps behind and accompanying their clients into other mountain ranges. Despite class differences and social barriers, some developed lasting relationships with their employers that went well beyond climbing. It thus became possible, astonishingly, for a mountain guide from the Bernese Oberland who could neither read nor write to socialise with a highly ranked Scottish noble, or for a guide from Valais with minimal schooling to become friends with an English gentleman and prominent businessman who had studied at an elite university. These, however, were the exceptions. The “normal” guides waited in groups at the entrances of hotels, day after day, hoping that the hotel owner would select them to accompany the expedition of a British hotel guest. What else could they do? The hotelier would emerge from the building, point his fnger, and say, “You!”65 The professionalisation of Swiss mountain guiding advanced over three generations in the 19th century. The forerunners to the frst generation consisted of mountain dwellers who, as possessors of local knowledge, accompanied scientifc researchers on expeditions at the end of the 18th century. The guides of the frst generation were born in the late 1810s and early 1820s. They were originally shepherds, hunters, or small craftsmen, but in the course of the 1840s increasingly turned to guiding as their primary profession. Their clients were foreign alpinists, mostly British, who spent the summers in the Swiss High Alps in ever greater numbers and needed leaders for their climbs. This generation, which consisted principally of men from the Bernese Oberland and Valais, was especially lucky: Mountain climbing had only recently come into fashion, and most 4000-metre peaks had not yet been climbed. One of the frst to make a name for himself accompanying British alpinists on their climbs was Christian Michel (1817–1880), a herdsman from Grindelwald who began guiding in the 1840s. He garnered attention in 1845, when he and another Grindelwald native, Peter Bohren (1822–1882), made the frst ascent of the Wetterhorn from the Grindelwald side. Michel left his mark on Alpine history with several frst ascents: the Schreckhorn in 1861 and the Jungfraujoch from the north in 1862, both with Leslie Stephen; and the Mönch via the Nollen with Edmund von Fellenberg (1838–1902) in 1866. The Jungfraujoch expedition was of particular historical signifcance. Besides Stephen there were fve other British climbers in the party, all of name and rank, and no fewer than seven guides. Michel won recognition for his performance from a prominent source: Stephen’s praise placed him among the very best Oberland guides.66 Another such guide was Christian Almer (1826–1898), also from Grindelwald. Even as a young shepherd and goatherd he accompanied

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foreign visitors on climbs. In 1856, Almer and Melchior Anderegg (1828–1914) were the frst to acquire the newly created Swiss mountain guiding licence. In 1857, Almer led the frst team to summit the Mönch (4107 metres) over the northeast ridge. In 1858, he climbed the Eiger (3987 metres). The impetus for this exploit came from the Irish merchant Charles Barrington (1834–1901), who came up with the idea on his frst and only visit to Switzerland. At the time, the Eiger was thought to be as invincible as the Matterhorn. Peter Bohren was also among the party. After two failed attempts, they reached the summit over the west fank. In stating that Almer had the best heart and the surest foot to be found in the Alps, Edward Whymper elevated him to noble status among the guides.67 The Laueners, too, four brothers from Lauterbrunnen, have gone down in mountaineering history. Ulrich Lauener (1821–1900), the eldest, was the leader of several epochal climbs – the frst ascent of the Dufourspitze (4634 metres) in 1855 and that of the Eigerjoch (3605 metres) in 1859. Besides frst ascents of 4000-metre peaks, Lauener – like the other great guides of his time – climbed reputable 3000-metre peaks and made frst ascents of spectacular routes, including one on the Tschingelhorn (3562 metres) in 1865. Outside of the Bernese Oberland, certain towns in Valais also produced outstanding mountain guides. In the frst generation, there was Peter Taugwalder (1820–1888) of Zermatt, who, together with his son Peter (1843–1923), achieved tragic fame after the frst ascent of the Matterhorn. Also, worthy of mention is Matthäus Zumtaugwald (also written zum Taugwald: 1825–1872), the most notable of three brothers, all of whom were guides. He took part in the frst ascent of the Dufourspitze in 1855; in 1862, together with Christian Almer, he led two British climbers up the Sesejoch (4296 metres). Another renowned guide of the frst generation was Johann Joseph Benet (1819–1864). A native of Steinhaus (near Ernen/Goms), he is proof that famous guides did not have to come from the Bernese Oberland or Zermatt. Benet provides a typical example of the career path followed by the best of his profession. Like others of his generation, he frst guided foreign guests while in the employ of a hotelier. He would wait for work in front of the Eggishorn inn, in the Aletsch region above Fiesch. He made a name for himself in 1859 with the frst ascent of the Aletschhorn (4193 metres), and two years later – together with Melchior Anderegg and Leslie Stephen – with the frst ascent of today’s standard route up Mont Blanc. At this point, Benet no longer had to wait obsequiously in front of a hotel; no longer was he dependent on the good graces of a hotelier. He had built up a cohort of loyal clients, and they engaged him as their guide year after year. The Irish physicist John Tyndall (1820–1893), who frst came to Switzerland in 1856 to do feld research on glaciers, praised

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Benet in the highest terms. A friendship developed between this topclass scientist and the simple mountain guide from Goms. When Tyndall dared make the frst attempt on the Weisshorn (4505 metres) in 1861, he hired Benet as his guide. The team was reinforced by Ulrich Wenger. In 1862, Benet and Tyndall became the frst to reach the southwest shoulder of the Matterhorn, today’s Pic Tyndall. Second-generation guides were born in the 1840s. In the 1860s, they gradually joined the ranks of the most highly qualifed practitioners of their trade. They were still able to proft from the conditions of the Golden Age of Alpinism, leading teams on renowned frst ascents. One example of a second-generation guide was Alexander Burgener (1845–1910), a chamois hunter from Saas Fee who established the Saas Valley as a second climbing hub in Valais. He had no fewer than 46 frst ascents and new routes to his name – from the Zmuttgrat and the Täschhorn-Teufelsgrat to the eastern summit of Piz Palü (3901 metres) via the northeast pillar. He died on 8 July 1910 while climbing to the Bergli Hut, the victim of a slab avalanche that also claimed the lives of fve other climbers, including his son Adolf (1878–1910). Another son, Alexander, and two of the other climbers survived the accident with severe injuries. The fate of the Burgeners impelled Gottfried Strasser (1854–1912), a pastor and head of the Grindelwald section of the SAC, to organise a charitable collection that ended up providing the family with 14,000 francs. The Saas Fee native Matthias Zurbriggen (1856–1917), who opened up a new route on the east face of Monte Rosa in 1886, was among the guides of the second generation who increasingly undertook expeditions beyond the Swiss High Alps – in Scandinavia, Central Asia, New Zealand and the Andes, for example – and so gained international reputations. Peter Knubel (1832–1919), who made history in 1874 with the frst ascent of the Elbrus (5642 metres) – the highest mountain in Europe – and Peter Sarbach (1844–1930), who left his mark with frst ascents in British Columbia, established the village of St Niklaus as a further climbing hub in Valais. The third-generation guides shaped alpinism towards the end of the 19th century, when frst ascents of Alpine summits were a thing of the past. A new kind of climbing, which spoke to a different crowd, had now come into fashion. The illustrious British clients of the founding era had now aged or passed away – those alpinists from the milieu of the aristocracy and big business, denizens of London’s noble Alpine Club, who had led the campaign of conquest across the Swiss Alps in the 1850s. The alpinism of the outgoing 19th century spoke to ambitious mountaineers who might make their names not with frst ascents of 4000-metre peaks but by climbing other spectacular routes. At the same time, more and more tourists arrived on the scene desiring to be safely guided up

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mountains on what were now suffciently well-known routes. And so it came about that the names of the same great peaks began to be inscribed again and again in the logs of Swiss mountain guides. The frst ascents of the 48 Swiss 4000-metre peaks are not evenly divided among the generations of guides. The forerunners to the frst generation chalked up fve frst ascents (around 10%). The guides of the frst generation, born mostly in the 1820s, chalked up 31 (65%). At the end of the 1860s, 12 of the giants were still unclimbed. Of these, ten were summited in the 1860s and 1870s by guides of the second generation, leaving only two for those of the third generation. The ranking of guides according to the number of frst ascents reads as follows: Franz Andenmatten (6 frst ascents), Melchior Anderegg and Peter Perren (5 each), Johann Zum Taugwald (4) and Ulrich Kaufmann (3), followed by no fewer than 15 guides with 2 frst ascents each. Melchior Anderegg, a woodcarver from Meiringen, was known as the “King of the Guides.”68 He was widely recognised for his frst ascents and other spectacular climbs. Leslie Stephen, one of the most renowned British alpinists, called himself Anderegg’s pupil. Anderegg’s decades-long friendly relationships with leading British alpinists such as Thomas Woodbine Hinchliff (1825–1882) and Charles Edward Mathews (1834– 1905) have found their way into Alpine literature. Two expeditions in 1863 became the stuff of legend: Under the leadership of Anderegg and Peter Perren, a team of four British climbers of both mountaineering and social prominence climbed the Dent d’Hérens (4171 metres); four days later, the same team summitted the Parrotspitze (4436 metres). The party comprised the writer Florence Crawford Grove (1838–1894); the corporate lawyer William Edward Hall (1835–1894); Reginald Somerled Macdonald (1840–1876), the future secretary of various high-ranking colonial offcials and scion of an aristocratic Scottish family that had fallen on hard times; and Montagu Woodmass (1834–1917). These four gentlemen were close friends and members of the Alpine Club; Grove would later become its president. Furthermore, Hall married one of Grove’s two sisters, and Macdonald the other. Anderegg also made history as the guide of Lucy Walker (1836–1916). An Englishwoman who had taken up hiking to help with her rheumatic ailments, Walker undertook ever longer and more demanding climbs in the Swiss Alps, including an 1864 ascent of the Balmhorn (3698 metres). She became world-famous in 1871, when, guided by Anderegg, she became the frst woman to climb the Matterhorn.69 For around 20 years, Anderegg guided her on summer climbs, which included several 4000-metre peaks. London’s Alpine Club honoured Anderegg like no other guide, elevating him to Olympian status. That a mountain in New Zealand bears his name is testament to his cult status and extraordinary reputation in the Anglo-Saxon world.

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Sightseeing in the Swiss Alps Triumph and Tragedy The Alps claim their victims. More than 100 people die in mountain accidents every year. On the Matterhorn alone, which is climbed around 3,000 times per year, more than 600 alpinists have lost their lives since 1865.70 And behind these bare numbers lurk some unsettling stories. The conquest of the High Alps involved more than assaults on their summits. Climbers were also enticed by the prospect of opening new routes on the faces and ridges of peaks that had already been summited. After the north faces of the Matterhorn (1931) and the Grandes Jorasses (1935) had been climbed, the north face of the Eiger presented the last remaining challenge of this order. Many tragic stories abound about the Eiger and its notorious face. In the years 1935/1936 alone, six climbers died while attempting it. Gruesome fates awaited the German climbers Andreas Hinterstoisser (1914–1936) and Toni Kurz (1913–1936) and the Austrians Willy Angerer (1905–1936) and Edi Rainer (1914–1936). They began to climb as separate teams on 18 July 1936, then joined forces on the wall. A storm forced them to turn back. Three of them died on 21 July, within shouting distance of a linesman working on the Jungfrau railway. The fourth, Toni Kurz, died of exhaustion the following day, dangling on his rope only a few metres above the rescue squad seeking to save his life. After this dramatic incident, the Bernese government forbade further attempts on the face; four months later, however, the prohibition was lifted due to its faulty legal basis. Further attempts were made, reaching ever higher points on the face, but also leading to more deaths.71 The north face of the Eiger was fnally conquered in July 1938 by a four-man German-Austrian team. Their progress was observed through binoculars, and – a frst – flmed from on board an aeroplane. The images thus obtained by the photographer Hans Steiner (1907–1962) and the news of the ascent caused a worldwide sensation – understandably, after years flled with reports of failed attempts. The climbers’ success, however, was exploited in a highly charged political context: The achievement of the German-Austrian team, following on Hitler’s annexation of Austria, was celebrated as a victory for Greater Germany and milked in propaganda as a symbol of the will, strength and endurance of Aryan man. Many expeditions that ended tragically in the mountains have secured a place in the history of alpinism. Yet one stands out from all the rest for its close entanglement of triumph and tragedy: the frst ascent of the Matterhorn on 14 July 1865. Its story contains all the elements of an action movie: a monumental natural backdrop, characters of name and rank, a mastermind possessed by ambition, fateful twists, a grandiose

68 The Discovery of the Mountains climax, deadly falls, perfdious slander and a worldwide audience. Even today, the events leading up to the accident on the Matterhorn have not all been satisfactorily explained. A critical reading of relevant contemporary documents and materials, supplemented by forensic analysis and oral lore, however, do allow for a settling of the most contentious issues. With its far-reaching economic and cultural-political consequences, the Matterhorn tragedy is one of the pivotal events in 19th-century Swiss history. The Matterhorn became the mountain of superlatives: the icon of the Alps and the symbol of Switzerland. Up until the frst ascent, it was not Zermatt that was the preferred point of departure for Matterhorn expeditions, but the Italian village of Breuil on the south side of the mountain. What happened after the climb was of great moment for both villages. Their relative importance began to shift as the spotlight of global attention suddenly fell on Zermatt. And however callous it may appear to say it, the fatal fall of the prominent British climbers did more for Zermatt’s fame and allure as a tourist destination than did the fall’s immediate precursor, the frst ascent itself. This development played out to Breuil’s disadvantage.72 The Italian village numbered just under 80 inhabitants in 1800. The population of Zermatt was initially modest as well; in the frst half of the 19th century it even decreased, from 436 in 1802 to 369 in 1850; it would then double, to 741, by 1900. A still greater increase occurred once it became accessible by rail. Today, Zermatt numbers 5,460 inhabitants, while the town of Valtournanche, of which Breuil/Cervinia forms a part, has only 2,291 residents, of whom only 700 or so live in Breuil (fgures as of 2018). The uneven pace of development can also be seen in the number of hotels, of which Zermatt has 108, with 7,166 beds (as of December 2017), while Breuil has only 46 (as of 2019). One of the main reasons for the difference in the development experienced by these two villages, one north and one south of the Matterhorn, is to be found, as mentioned above, in the events of 1865. But Zermatt also owes its rapid touristic development to Alexander Seiler (1819–1891), an exceptional hotel pioneer of the 19th century.

MILESTONE 1.1 14 July 1865 The First Ascent of the Matterhorn News of the events on the Matterhorn spread all around the world. The accident on the way down was even bigger news than the frst ascent of the mountain, which had until then been considered unclimbable. This was because of who died: A Scottish aristocrat, an Anglican clergyman, the son of a billionaire, and one of the most famous mountain guides in Europe. The British public was

The Discovery of the Mountains horrifed, and there was widespread mourning and dismay. Queen Victoria (1819–1901) was in a state of shock. She considered enacting a law banning British nationals from mountain climbing in the Alps. England’s best blood – so the Queen – ought not to be spilled in the Swiss mountains. The Lord Chamberlain advised against such a law, however, and Victoria heeded his recommendation. And the monarch’s sorrow and grief in fact triggered a reaction opposite to the one she had intended: The 1865 tragedy on the Matterhorn gave alpinism a powerful boost. The Matterhorn tragedy is unique in the history of mountaineering. In no other place, neither before nor since, was a frst ascent so extravagantly stage-managed by the media. In the 150 years since the tragedy, no other High Alpine accident has aroused the same level of interest. The expedition of the summer of 1865 is the central event in the history of tourism in Zermatt. It provided a powerful impetus for the development of the small village at the end of the Matter Valley, catapulting it into its position as a world-class tourist destination. Zermatt became a hotspot for British alpinists and holiday guests. National pride was on the line on the Matterhorn in 1865 on a scale probably never seen during any other frst ascent. The summer of 1865 is considered the high point of alpinism. In no other year were more frst ascents made of 4000-metre peaks. And the Matterhorn was the last 4400-metre peak to be climbed. That an Italian group led by Jean-Antoine Carrel (1829–1890) had been beaten out while itself not far below the summit of the Matterhorn represented more than a sporting defeat. It was a humiliation for the Italian Alpine Club, which had had great hopes for the expedition, and a slap in the face for its founder, Quintino Sella (1827–1884), then the Finance Minister of the Kingdom of Italy. Sella, an engineer and scientist, had become one of the most important politicians in the young monarchy and had provided the Matterhorn expedition an immense amount of logistical and political support. The Italian expedition’s attempt on the mountain was considered a secret project. But the battle for the Matterhorn (“La battaglia del Cervino”) ended up being a catastrophe for the Kingdom of Italy. Its national pride was wounded. How the young state could have used a success here! And how a victory might have been staged to consolidate a sense of national identity! Italy was even subject to ridicule, as the victory of its team had been announced on the afternoon of July 14. Felice Giordano (1825– 1892), a member of the Italian Alpine Club and a confdante of Sella, had seen fgures moving on the summit of the Matterhorn through a telescope from near the Theodul Pass. As he only knew (Continued)

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70 The Discovery of the Mountains of the Carrel expedition, he assumed that the Matterhorn had been conquered by his fellow Italians and had the good news sent on to the minister by telegraph as quickly as possible. The following day he had to admit to his embarrassing mistake. No, the catastrophe, which was reported on over and over again in both world-renowned newspapers and local gazettes, did not in fact befall the group that departed from Breuil in Italy, but rather the team that had set off from a small Swiss village on the other side of the mountain. And the more the cauldron of rumours bubbled, the more tourists were drawn – year after year – to the natural theatre of Zermatt, crowned by 4000-metre peaks, from which the site of the accident could be gazed at through a telescope.

Figure 1.12 Valentin Roschacher (b. 1960), Ideenlehre nach Platon (Plato’s Theory of Ideas: Matterhorn), 2019. Oil on canvas, 140 x 140 cm. Collection of the artist.

Seiler’s hotel business started off modestly. He only began to signifcantly expand his hotel operations after the frst ascent of the Matterhorn. Piece by piece, he built up an empire. By the end of the 1880s, he controlled all of the larger hotels in Zermatt, which had a combined capacity of no fewer than 600 guests. The development of both the Seiler hotels and of Zermatt as a tourist destination proceeded even more rapidly between the turn of the century and the First World War. All told, within two generations the small farming village at the upper end of the Matter Valley had become a chic vacation spot, second only to St Moritz as an Alpine tourist destination in the Europe of the time.

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Alpine Literature Around the turn of the 19th century, the works of Lord Byron and Percy Shelley made the Alpine landscape world-famous. The Swiss Alps were also the subject of other forms of British art; in the visual arts, for example, they were prominent in the works of William Turner (1775–1851). And at the same time as English-language guidebooks were being published in ever greater numbers, travel descriptions of the Alps also increasingly appeared on the British market. These publications, such as William Brockedon’s Passes of the Alps (1828), helped shape the perception of Switzerland abroad and contributed signifcantly to its development as a tourist destination. Starting in the middle of the 19th century, however, books of a completely different genre began to dominate the bestseller lists. A new kind of Alpine literature was emerging. At the dawn of the Golden Age of Alpinism, as the British began to compete for Swiss 4000-metre peaks and the Alpine Club in London became the measure of all things, a journalistic and authorial avalanche was released. Alpine literature appeared in the English-speaking world in unprecedented abundance. Its themes were diverse and complex, and fundamentally distinct from those of earlier mountain books and travel guides. These new books established their own genre. They were not written by the desk-bound, but by climbers who had themselves taken part in Alpine expeditions and were outstanding representatives of the discipline, many of them veterans of frst ascents. These authors usually came from the British upper class or the aristocracy and were members of the renowned Alpine Club. They were judges, fnancial tycoons, entrepreneurs, scientists and artists. They were bon vivants and luminaries in their areas of expertise: a veritable who’s who of British society. In their written accounts they documented their Alpine achievements, described topographical peculiarities and delivered verdicts on technical climbing matters. And many asked burning scientifc questions. These Alpine writers presented Switzerland in a new light. One of the social and scientifc elites among these literary British alpinists was John Tyndall (1820–1893), a truly exceptional character. He was a mathematician and scientist, the discoverer of the eponymous Tyndall Effect, which explains the scattering of light in a murky medium. For almost 30 years, he spent every summer in the Swiss Alps – starting in 1877 and continuing right up until his death in his Alp Lusgen villa, which he built in Belalp in Valais. His death was tragic: His wife Louisa Charlotte Tyndall-Hamilton (1845–1940) confused his medications, and he died of an accidental overdose of chloral hydrate. His widow had a monument built in his memory; since 1911, it has recalled Tyndall as an honorary citizen of Naters. Tyndall was a world-renowned scientist in his time, and his The Glaciers of the Alps became a standard reference

Figure 1.13 “Credit Suisse: Incredibly Swiss. Incredibly International.” 1989. Credit Suisse Collection. The rise of Zermatt inspired fights of fancy. Plans were formed repeatedly – and as recently as the 1950s – to make the Matterhorn accessible by rail or cable car. But the mountain was not to be conquered this way. Instead, it conquered the world. It stands to reason that the Matterhorn would not be left off postcards of Zermatt; it has transcended the picture postcard, though, and become an emblem of all of Switzerland: on posters, watches and credit cards, in photographs, in watercolours and oil on canvas. Every branch of Swiss food and beverage production has helped itself to its image; milk and meat products, tobaccos and soaps have all been stamped with this symbol of paramount “Swissness.” Hotels and smoky bars, the once prestigious Swissair and the Rolling Stones on a European tour all adorned themselves with this same image. The Matterhorn is an unparalleled promotional mountain, the peak of advertising.73 With the postage stamp designed by Stephan Eicher, which pictures the African continent as the mirror image of the Matterhorn, the mountain’s symbolic aura defnitively went global. This conquest of the world by the Matterhorn was and is a part of Zermatt’s success story. It is generally forgotten that a good part of the mountain belongs to Italy. The Matterhorn has left its mark on the images of both Zermatt and Switzerland. The foreign advertising campaign launched by Credit Suisse in 1989 “Incredibly Swiss – Incredibly International” associated Swiss quality with global market presence and itself became an award-winning quality product. In its various iterations, it brought together international motifs with typically Swiss ones. The image above depicts the Matterhorn and the New York City skyline.

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work.74 He was the frst to postulate the connection between the retreat of glaciers and the greenhouse effect. An asteroid, a lunar crater, a glacier each in California and Tasmania, a mountain each in Chile, Colorado and Antarctica, and a subsidiary summit of the Matterhorn are all named for him. Among his publications on the Alps, Mountaineering in 1861: A Vacation Tour was especially popular. Leslie Stephen was another great British alpinist and journalist, a cofounder and, from 1865 to 1868, President of the Alpine Club. Born into a family of theologians, he studied philosophy and became one of the leading agnostics of his time. He was the father of the writer Virginia Woolf (1882–1941). From 1868 to 1872, Stephen was the editor of the Dictionary of National Biography. His The Playground of Europe, published in 1871, became a legendary work; it is still worth reading today. More effectively than any other book, it exposes alpinism as a facet of the British struggle for world hegemony.75 Harbingers of the new genre appeared in the early 1850s76; thereafter, the number of publications became almost excessive. Their primary readership consisted of people interested in the High Alpine landscape. Readers could experience for themselves the frst ascents, the victories, and especially the tragedies among the mountains. The books’ descriptions of adventures unfolding in extreme conditions were celebrated as accounts of the British conquest of the majesty of the Alpine world. Due to this sensationalistic aspect, they spoke to an increasingly widespread public, well beyond the small circle of alpinists. They not infrequently ran through a number of editions and were translated into several languages. Some were merely ephemeral hits, but others have endured as classics of Alpine literature. The list of British alpinists who put pen to paper is long, and their thematic focus varied. Among them, two generations of authors can be distinguished in the period between the middle and the end of the 19th century. The frst was the founding generation of the Alpine Club, mostly born in the 1820s, whose key works were published beginning in the mid-1850s and often described frst ascents. The second generation was born in the 1840s and 1850s, and their works frst appeared after the close of the Golden Age of Alpinism. In 1855, Edward Shirley Kennedy (1817–1898), a cofounder of the Alpine Club, and Reverend Charles Hudson (1828–1865), one of the most renowned mountaineers of his time, published Where There’s a Will There’s a Way, which described their experiences on Mont Blanc.77 The title exemplifes the mentality typical of British alpinists, and the work became a philosophical-ethical vade mecum with a place in the rucksack of every British climber. Alfred Wills (1828–1912), President of the Alpine Club from 1863 to 1865, was for a time reputed to have made the frst ascent of the Wetterhorn – the exploit that, in most accounts, initiated the Golden Age of

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Alpinism. He made his literary debut in 1856 with Wanderings among the High Alps. Wills was a judge on the High Court of England and Wales, was knighted in 1884 and appointed to the Privy Council in 1905. Thomas Woodbine Hinchliff’s (1825–1882) Summer Months among the Alps appeared in 1857. This book later became popular thanks to Mark Twain’s (1835–1910) A Tramp Abroad (1880). Hinchliff was another cofounder of the Alpine Club, and its frst secretary. In later years, he travelled the world and devoted himself entirely to writing. At the behest of the Alpine Club, John Ball (1818–1889), its frst president, published accounts of expeditions undertaken by club members as single pieces or in series: Peaks, Passes and Glaciers (from 1859) became the precursor of the later Alpine Journal (from 1863). With his own publications, Ball established a reputation as one of the foremost alpinists of his time: Alpine Guide to the Western Alps (1863), Guide to the Central Alps (1864) and Guide to the Eastern Alps (1868) were followed by publications on botany and glaciology. The English journalist and artist Edward Whymper’s (1840–1911) Scrambles Amongst the Alps (1871) was without a doubt among the most popular works of the genre.78 The success of his book was not only due to his considerable Alpine achievements and literary talent; it also owed much to the tragic events surrounding the frst ascent of the Matterhorn. Most accounts of the accident, up until the present day, have been based on Whymper’s depiction of the events – which explains why, more than 150 years after the catastrophe of 1865, untruths and perfdious accusations are still circulating. After Scrambles, which was promoted by Whymper in numerous and comprehensive PR activities and lectures, several further publications helped shape his reputation. To be sure, there were already voices that spoke reservedly or even disparagingly of Whymper and his Alpine achievements in 19th century. Such criticisms mainly targeted his character: his unbridled ambition and egotistical behaviour. That these views were expressed within the Alpine Club and by reputable British alpinists lends them considerable weight. William Augustus Brevoort Coolidge (1850–1926), an Anglican priest and professor of English history, was, like Whymper, one of the most prominent representatives of the second generation. American by birth, Coolidge settled in England as a teenager after his father’s death. His persistently sickly constitution called for frequent changes of climate, and his family consequently shuttled between Britain and continental Europe. In 1865, when Coolidge was staying in Thun with his aunt, Miss Margret Claudia Brevoort (1825–1876), they were seized by a passion for mountaineering that changed their lives. Together, they climbed the Niesen and other easily accessible mountains. Coolidge, however, had diffculty even with such easy climbs, completing them only with the utmost effort. He thus began to train intensively and systematically in Zermatt. There he succeeded in conditioning his body to meet ever

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greater challenges and subsequently travelled to the Swiss High Alps year after year. He made the frst winter ascent of the Jungfrau in 1874, which secured him a special place in the history of alpinism. After a couple of years as an Anglican priest in England, he moved to Grindelwald in 1885, at the age of 35. The climbs he made with the mountain guide Christian Almer (1826–1898) became legendary and included many frst winter ascents. Aunt Brevoort often climbed with them, a female pioneer in the male world of alpinism. Coolidge’s endurance was enormous and his strength impressive, and he always avoided unnecessary risks. He recorded more than 1,000 summits in his climbing log. He was honoured far and wide as a giant in the world of High Alpine mountaineering, as is evidenced by his honorary memberships in the English, French, Italian and American Alpine Clubs, his memberships in important Alpine associations and learned societies, and fnally in an honorary doctorate granted him by the University of Bern. His dog has also entered the annals of alpine history. A mongrel, she was a gift from Christian Almer, who brought her over the Tschingel Pass from the Gasterntal to Stechelberg – for which reason she was named “Tschingel.” She accompanied her master up a number of Swiss 4000-metre peaks and was even made an honorary member of the SAC. Tschingel’s instincts for orientation were apparently so pronounced that Coolidge let her lead the way over glaciers during bad weather. She wore a collar with silver platelets bearing the names and dates of her most important climbs. Coolidge was an enthusiastic promoter of the Swiss Alps. He wrote Alpine and touristic handbooks as carefully as he had climbed mountains – for example, Swiss Travel and Swiss Guide-Books (1889) – and was the editor of the Alpine Journal. His academic research extended to the cultural history of the Alps and the Alpine countries and made him the most important Alpine historian of his time. His book The Alps in Nature and History (1908), for example, became a standard reference work.79 For a long time, alpinism’s growing popularity was largely the result of publishing efforts undertaken by the Alpine Club and the SAC. Beginning at the end of the 19th century, however, writers from other circles also contributed to the trend. Two artists stand out in particular, both of whom expressed their love of the Alps and Switzerland, albeit in very different ways. One was John Addington Symonds (1840–1893), an English writer, art historian and literary critic, who settled in Davos in 1877. The other was Elizabeth Main (1860–1934), an artist of a completely different kind. A noblewoman, she was one of the most dazzling fgures of the fashionable international elite of her time, and a frequent guest in the Engadin. Symonds and Main mirrored the cultural characteristics of their respective locales. The English intellectual chose Davos as his residence,

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became a citizen of the town and viewed the business of tourism from a critical outside perspective. Main, on the contrary, participated eagerly in the high-society life of St Moritz, far removed from the social criticism and intellectualism that fourished in Davos thanks to the presence of so many tubercular writers. In collaboration with his daughter Margaret (1869–1925), John Addington Symonds refected on his life in Switzerland in Our Life in the Swiss Highlands (1892). Through the eyes of his fctive protagonist, a hotel porter, he described the effects of tourism in Switzerland in the outgoing 19th century, focusing on the life and working conditions of hotel personnel. Symonds was a prominent art historian whose major work was on the Italian Renaissance. He wrote most of his poems and essays in Davos. His work also included literary pleas for the legalisation of homosexuality.80 Elizabeth Main was born as Elizabeth Alice Frances HawkinsWhitshed in Ireland in 1861. As an 18-year-old she married Fred Burnaby (1842–1885), who, as a military offcer, was acquainted with Prince George (1819–1904), the Commander-in-Chief of the British armed forces. Burnaby’s cousin, Louisa Cavendish-Bentnick (1832–1918), was the great-grandmother of Elizabeth II (born 1926). After several stays at health spas in Switzerland, Main frst visited the Engadin in 1884. She had already made a name for herself as a winter climber with the 1883 publication of The High Alps in Winter: Or, Mountaineering in Search of Health. In 1886, after the death of her frst husband, she married the scientist Frederick Main (1854–1892). She soon left him, however, as he could not keep up with the pace of her exuberant social life in St Moritz. By this time she was well known in mountaineering circles due to her mountain adventures and spectacular publications. She was one of the early promoters of winter sports in St Moritz. “Try mountaineering in winter,” she wrote, “and you will not be disappointed!”81 She authored the roman à clef The Story of an Alpine Winter. She became world-famous, however, not as a mountaineer but as a visual artist. She was one of the frst women to use a flm camera; here, too, she was a pioneer. Giovanni Segantini (1858–1899) was one of her subjects; she captured his image on the frozen Lake Sils. In 1883, she published Hints on Snow Photography. She married for the third time in 1908, becoming Elizabeth Aubrey Le Blond. Her autobiography, Day In, Day Out, appeared in 1928.82 Summer Tourism and Hotels Today we distinguish between alpinists and tourists. The British alpinists who were increasingly to be found in the Alps from the 1840s onwards were not looking for peaceful holidays; rather, they wanted to climb to the highest summits, to test their mettle on adventurous and spectacular expeditions. From the middle of the 19th century onwards,

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however, these high-performance athletes were joined by growing numbers of British visitors who came to the Swiss Alps seeking something other than a competitive battleground: They wanted stylish vacations in comfortable surroundings. For them, the 4000-metre peaks composed a magnifcent panorama, but one they were happy to view from a distance – from the hotel terrace or a promenade. Today we would call these people tourists; they wanted to relax and take light exercise in the fresh air of the Swiss Alps or on the shores of a Swiss lake, then be entertained with games and concerts in a Grand Hotel. Such were the different goals and expectations of alpinists and tourists. It is therefore confusing that foreign alpinists are often referred to in 19th-century sources as “tourists.”83 That said, it was precisely these athletes who launched the development of Switzerland as a tourist destination. Towards the end of the 1830s, it was considered good form for members of the British upper class, and especially of the aristocracy, to spend a few weeks in Interlaken in the summer. Starting around the middle of the 19th century, this fashion moved beyond Great Britain and was taken up by the wealthy classes of other countries: Summer vacations in Switzerland became a must for prosperous members of society. Thus was summer tourism born in the Alps. And while at frst it was wellknown destinations in the Bernese Oberland and along Lake Geneva that attracted these vacationers, other locations soon became popular as well. Summer tourism became central to Switzerland’s image and has remained so until today. The opportunities offered to summer tourists became ever more varied. They depended on the landscape, the initiatives undertaken by local hotel pioneers and the infrastructure at hand. There were chic luxury hotels and simple country inns, refreshing summer retreats in peaceful locations and organised all-inclusive tours. Summer tourism developed slowly in some regions and tempestuously in others. It culminated in the Belle Epoque and collapsed – like all tourism – with the outbreak of the First World War. Its brilliant development is refected in the history of modern hotel construction, as exemplifed by the hotels built on Lake Geneva. The expansion of the Quai du Montblanc in Geneva made possible the construction of a number of luxury hotels with superb views: frst the Beau-Rivage (1865), then the Hôtel d’Angleterre (1875) and the Kursaal (1885). In Lausanne-Ouchy, there was the Beau-Rivage (1861); in Vevey, the Grand Hôtel (1868); and in Montreux, the Hôtel des Alpes (1887), the Grand Hôtel (1887) and the Montreux Palace (1905).84 As the reach of tourism began to extend into the High Alps of Valais, mountain hotels began to be constructed. They served as base camps for climbs to Alpine summits. This was the case, for example, in the Saas and Matter Valleys, where hotels were built on the initiative of the local clergy. In 1853, the parish priest Josef Ruden (1817–1882) opened a hotel on the Riffelberg (2569 metres) above Zermatt, while the “tourism

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priest,” Johann Josef Imseng (1806–1869), opened his own hotel in the Mattmark area. In 1857, the village of Evolène (1380 metres) began hosting tourists at the Hôtel de la Dent-Blanche, which made the Val d’Hérens, a previously undeveloped tributary valley in south Valais, accessible to visitors. Evolène became a new staging post on the way from Sion to Zermatt. Further mountain hotels followed: the Hotel Eggishorn (2222 metres) at Fiescheralp in the Aletsch-Arena, which was fnanced by British investors and served as a summer refuge for British travellers, and the Hotel Belalp at Belalp – both of which were built in 1856.85 While mountain hotels were popping up in Valais, the development of tourism in other areas led to the construction of large, palace-style hotels. Entrepreneurs and hotel pioneers reacted to the changing market, which demanded new infrastructure to meet the needs of increasing numbers of summer visitors. Hotels and pensions were built on slopes and at altitude, often with a fantastic view over a lake. In the Bernese Oberland, for example, the Rappard brothers built the Hotel Giessbach above Lake Brienz. Beatenberg, a village above Lake Thun, provides an interesting case study in cultural history. Touristic development set in in 1855, when the newly appointed local pastor, Rudolf Emanuel Krähenbühl (1823– 1885), took up his post. He initiated a number of projects and distinguished himself as a canny marketer. Until the early 1880s, when visitors were able to put up at Beatenberg’s frst pension, Krähenbühl offered accommodation at what he termed the most beautifully situated Protestant parsonage in Switzerland. Thanks to its protected location, its mild climate and the road connecting it to Interlaken, Beatenberg developed into a climatic spa. British tourists discovered the village and took up residence there in the summer. A spa facility was built in 1875, and Anglican services were held there in English during the summer season. But touristic development in the Alpine landscape pressed even higher, even closer to the grandeur of the peaks. Climatically appealing spas that promised air and sunbaths in the upper Alpine zone were in demand. On the sunny plateau of Mürren, at 1650 metres, the frst inn opened its doors in 1857, boasting views of the Jungfrau massif and the Breithorn. This was followed in 1868 by the Hotel Silberhorn, in 1879 by the Grand-Hotel Mürren and the Kurhaus – with 250 beds and a kursaal – and in 1874 by the Grand Hôtel des Alpes with 230 beds, which would be rebuilt after a fre in 1884. While Mürren welcomed a well-heeled clientele from long-established Bernese upper circles in addition to its foreign visitors, Wengen (1274 metres), situated in an equally beautiful spot on the opposite hillside, is said to have attracted new money.86 In 1859, the hotel business there began with the opening of a pension, which was

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enlarged in stages to a spa hotel with 200 beds. Kleine Scheidegg, which already boasted an inn in the frst half of the 1800s, came increasingly into fashion after mid-century. By 1855, there were two inns there: the Gasthaus de la Jungfrau and the Gasthaus Seiler, which stood directly on the pass. The growing number of visitors prompted speculators to develop plans for a cog railway over the pass. This inviting prospect led to the construction of the Bödeli on Kleine Scheidegg, as well as a number of other luxury hotels, many of which went bankrupt after the railway project failed to materialise.87

Figure 1.14 “Hotel Giessbach,” ca 1900. Coloured postcard. Private collection. After the death of the innovative schoolmaster Johann Kehrli in 1855, Conrad von Rappard (1805–1881) took over the Giessbach property and expanded the inn. Rappard was originally from Berlin and was professionally active in a number of felds. In 1848, he was a member of the Frankfurt Parliament. Charged with high treason, he fed to England in 1849, whence he reached Switzerland. In 1850, he purchased the Mariafeld estate in Feldmeilen, Zurich. In 1851, he founded the Microscopic Institute of Zurich (Mikroskopische Institut Zürich), and in 1855 he purchased the Giessbach inn and expanded it to a hotel. In 1856, he acquired the Jungfrau-Blick pension in Matten, which he expanded into the Grand-Hotel Regina. Rappard was succeeded as the owner of the Giessbach by the landscape gardener Eduard Schmidlin (1808–1890), who ran the hotel during its frst heyday. Like his predecessor, Schmidlin had been involved in the German Vormärz revolutions. After him, the Hauser family hotel dynasty took over the sceptre and constructed a magnifcent building in 1872; it burned to the ground in 1883. By the following year, a new Grand Hotel had already replaced it; a competing operation soon sprang up as well, so that from 1884 onwards a total of 400 guests could spend the night by the Giessbach. The hotel’s popularity reached new heights after it was connected to the steamboat dock by a funicular in 1879.

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After the middle of the 19th century, summer tourism also spread to new locations on Lake Geneva. Popular, strikingly situated luxury hotels, both large and small, catered to a clientele hungry for the sun and in need of relaxation in Caux, Glion and Les Avants, for example. Guests spent their summers cultivating their social lives while undergoing air, milk and grape cures. They walked up to the Rochers de Naye, where they could stay in a Grand Hotel and marvel at both the sunrise and the sunset. Similar developments took place in Central Switzerland, where tourism fourished in several locations during this period. In Brunnen, which had been thriving since the early 19th century, tourism profted from the opening of the Axenstrasse. Royals also did their part in promoting Brunnen: King Ludwig II of Bavaria (1845–1886) alighted incognito on 23 October 1865 at the Rössli, but was immediately recognised. Then came Britain’s Queen Victoria.88 From Brunnen she visited the construction site of the Axenstein hotel in Morschach, which she later described as the most beautiful vantage point of her entire Swiss journey. Hotel facilities were also built on Pilatus during the 1850s, on the initiative of the builder, paper manufacturer and hotelier Kaspar Blättler (1791–1872) of Rotzloch (Ennetmoos/Nidwalden), who also constructed the frst bridle paths on the mountain. The Year 1863: Into the Mountains with the SAC … Many Swiss mountain-lovers were not pleased that the Alps had increasingly fallen into the British sphere of infuence in the 1850s and beyond. Some found it grotesque that London had become the centre of mountaineering expertise. Others were disturbed that accounts of Swiss Alpine experiences and discoveries were not available in a Swiss national language, but had to be sought in the English-language publications of the Alpine Club. It was painful for Swiss alpinists to have to watch as the prospects of making frst ascents diminished: At the beginning of the 1860s, around half of the Swiss 4000-metre peaks had already been climbed (1860: 20 of 48). Finally, wider patriotic circles considered the British colonisation of the Swiss Alps a disgrace: a catastrophe for the fatherland. In the midst of these dissatisfactions, Theodor Simler, a lecturer in chemistry at the University of Bern, seized the initiative. On 20 October 1862, he sent a circular letter proposing the founding of a Swiss Alpine association to a select group of mountain enthusiasts. The response was overwhelming: More than 100 men expressed interest in joining the association. Thirty-fve of them gathered in Olten on 19 April 1863 to formally found the club. In addition to scientists, the club membership comprised prominent businessmen, merchants and manufacturers – from the very start, then, the SAC was an upscale institution. The Austrian Alpine Club had been founded a year earlier. The Club Alpino

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Italiano (CAI) followed in the autumn of 1863, the German Alpine Club (DAV) in 1869. Unlike the Alpine Club in London, the SAC was interested in more than frst ascents. Its purpose was rather to promote a more broadly based exploration of the Alps. This was refected in the scientifc activities undertaken during its frst years. Its membership was largely made up of geologists, mineralogists, botanists, zoologists, chemists and topographers. At the end of the 19th century, the SAC began to change its orientation. Popular Alpine tourism displaced research alpinism and topographical, natural-historical and ethnological excursions, and alpinism as a sport became the club’s central focus. Beginning in 1864, SAC yearbooks featured maps of excursions and depictions of mountains and panoramas. Building shelters in the mountains was also among the SAC’s original tasks. The goal was to construct lodgings at appropriate places in the Alps so that excessively long treks and glacier crossings were no longer necessary to reach the summits. As early as 1863, the year of the club’s founding, the frst such refuge, the Grünhornhütte, was built on the Tödi. In addition, the SAC developed a closely meshed network of infrastructure and services, rendering the Alps more accessible and making sojourns in mountain areas less taxing.89 SAC huts have since attained legendary status. Over the course of the last century, their number has increased rapidly, from 75 in 1914 to 152 today. Around the turn of the 20th century, a number of academic Alpine clubs were also established. These represented a hybrid between academic fraternities and athletic clubs and were founded in Zurich (1896), Bern (1905), Basel (1918) and Geneva (1927). Meanwhile, the question of whether to admit women to the SAC became a political issue. It was frst placed on the club agenda in 1879, but no binding decision was taken. Thus, certain club sections admitted women, while others did not. In 1907, however, women were offcially excluded. As a reaction, the Swiss Women’s Alpine Club (SFAC) was founded in 1918; it only merged with the SAC in 1980. Parallel developments took place in England. There the Ladies’ Alpine Club was founded in 1907; in 1975, it merged with the Alpine Club. …and through Switzerland with Thomas Cook, All-inclusive In the same year that the SAC was founded, yet another Englishman played a pioneering role in the development of Swiss tourism: Thomas Cook (1808–1892). As an organiser of guided group tours and the inventor of all-inclusive packages, he laid the cornerstone for a new kind of tourism. He had introduced his model of organised tourism in the mid1840s with group excursions to Scotland. Later he offered trips to the 1851 Great Exhibition in London and to the Great Industrial Exhibition

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in Dublin in 1853. In 1855, Cook guided a tour group to the Continent for the frst time. And then came Switzerland. “The First Conducted Tour of Switzerland,” read the title of Cook’s advertisement. That trips through Switzerland were still seen as adventurous undertakings in the early 1860s, even when they did not involve climbing Alpine peaks, is evident from Cook’s maiden tour. He advertised it as a “preliminary tour”: Everything would depend on circumstances, transport opportunities and other unforeseeable factors. In the end, four women and four men drummed up the courage to book the tour. The trip, including the journey to and from Switzerland, lasted 20 days and led from Geneva (two nights) to Chamonix (two nights) and Sion (one night), on to Leukerbad (one night), then via Kandersteg (one night) to Interlaken (two nights), up to Grindelwald (two nights), then over the Brünig and via Stans and Lucerne (one night) up the Rigi (one night), then on to Neuchâtel (one night) and fnally over the border and back to Paris. Cook’s route became known in the travel literature as the “Via Cook.” Cook led three further tours through Switzerland in 1863, with a combined total of 400 participants. His concept was evidently attractive: It allowed potential travellers to take vacations

Figure 1.15 William Turner (1775–1851), Fall of the Rhine at Schaffhausen (Der Rheinfall von Schaffhausen), 1841. Pencil, watercolour and pen with scratches, 22.8 cm × 29.2 cm. Sturzenegger-Stiftung, Schaffhausen. William Turner, one of the most infuential European landscape painters of the frst half of the 19th century, visited Switzerland on numerous occasions between 1802 and 1844. On these trips, he produced a body of work comprising thousands of watercolour paintings, studies and sketches, as well as numerous oil paintings. Turner felt a special attachment to Switzerland. The country’s mountains and natural scenery affected him as did no other landscape.

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they would not previously have considered, relieving them of the burden of planning and organisation. By linking opportunities and services offered by different localities on different routes, Cook was able to obtain group discounts and could therefore continually lower the prices of his tours. He thus ended up providing a popular version of the classic educational journeys previously undertaken only by members of the nobility and the upper classes. Other social and economic classes could now visit the Alpine landscape and other seemingly adventurous destinations. Cook’s marketing success also motivated tour operators in other countries to include Switzerland in their own programmes – for example, the brothers Carl (1833–1911) and Louis Stangen (1826–1876), who ran a travel agency in Breslau and later in Berlin. The all-inclusive tour fourished in the last quarter of the 19th century and right up until the First World War.

1865: The First Ascent of the Matterhorn Whymper’s Last Chance On 13 July 1865, two separate groups were climbing on the Matterhorn.90 An Italian team had set off two days previously from Breuil, on the south side of the mountain.91 It consisted of César Carrel, Charles Gorret (1836–1907) and Jean-Joseph Maquignaz (1829–1890), and was led by Jean-Antoine Carrel (1829–1890). The team took its time on the way up, unaware of the existence of a second party. In Zermatt, meanwhile, on the north side of the Matterhorn, a multinational group had formed, consisting of four climbers from Great Britain, two from Switzerland and one from France.92 This second party included the Anglican reverend Charles Hudson (1828–1865), vicar of Skillington in Lincolnshire and one of the most renowned climbers in England. Hudson was a member of the Alpine Club and had already made frst ascents of the Dufourspitze (4634 metres) and Mont Blanc du Tacul (4248 metres). He had come to Zermatt in the company of Douglas Robert Hadow (1846–1865), the son of a wealthy London shipowner. Hadow had proved himself an excellent athlete, but had little experience of High Alpine climbing. The third Englishman was Edward Whymper (1840–1911), a journalist and draughtsman who had frst come to Switzerland in 1860 on assignment from the London publisher William Longman (1813–1877) to make drawings of a few High Alpine peaks for a nascent publication. Whymper became one of the best-known alpinists of his time. He made several frst ascents in the Swiss and French Alps and later climbed in Greenland, the Canadian Rockies and the Andes. His 1871 account of his Alpine climbs, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69, illustrated with his own drawings, would become a classic of Alpine literature.

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The fourth Englishman was Lord Francis Douglas (1847–1865), a British aristocrat. His father, Archibald Douglas (1818–1858), was a confdant of Queen Victoria and had close ties to the royal family. Lord Douglas was only 19 years old, but already an experienced alpinist. He had recently excited attention by opening up a new route on the Ober Gabelhorn (4063 metres) with the guide Peter Taugwalder (1820–1888). The team was led by two guides: Michel Auguste Croz (1830–1865) of Chamonix and the previously mentioned Peter Taugwalder of Zermatt. Finally, there was Peter Taugwalder’s son, also named Peter Taugwalder (1843–1923), who was originally only to serve as a porter on the way to the frst bivouac (near today’s Hörnli Hut), but who ended up remaining with the group, bringing its number to seven. This team was an ad hoc formation that had come together out of necessity. It was an amalgamation of three groups that had been preparing expeditions up the Matterhorn independently of one another, each intending to go down in history for making the frst ascent. The frst group consisted of Lord Douglas and the elder Taugwalder, whom he had engaged as his guide; the second of Reverend Hudson and Hadow, with Croz as their guide. Finally there was Whymper, who, abandoned by the team he had originally planned to climb with, had arrived in Zermatt on 12 July 1865 without a guide or climbing partners. Originally, Whymper had planned to set off from the Italian village of Breuil with Jean-Antoine Carrel; he considered the route up the mountain from the south more promising than the one from the Swiss side. Whymper and Carrel did not agree on the precise route they ought to attempt. Yet this was not the real reason that the expedition didn’t come together. Whymper was in fact being strung along and duped by Carrel, who proceeded to ditch him and start up the mountain with the other Italian climbers in an attempt sponsored by the Italian government before Whymper became wise to what was happening. When Whymper caught on, he realised that he would not be able to put together a team in Breuil; the best guides were already on the way to the summit with Carrel, and no others could be moved to join him. A battle was on between Italy and Great Britain, and it was being fought tooth and nail. Left behind in Breuil, Whymper felt like a general without an army, distraught at the idea that Carrel’s group might succeed in the ascent. He would be denied the crown due to the conqueror of the Matterhorn – he who had already attempted to snatch it eight times, most recently on 21 June 1865. On that attempt Whymper had been accompanied by the Swiss guides Christian Almer and Franz Biner, as well as by Luc Meynet, a cheesemaker from Breuil whom he had employed several times previously to carry his tent. Croz had also been part of this group; he had now been engaged by Reverend Hudson, however, for the expedition of 13 July 1865.93 The June 1865 climb, on a route insisted on by Whymper, had nearly had a fatal end. That Whymper

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had obstinately persisted in following a dangerous route was generally attributed to his overweening ambition, and criticism was not wanting. The performance of his guides, on the other hand, had been praised in the highest terms.94 In order to stand a chance of summiting the Matterhorn before the Italians, Whymper would have to leave Breuil immediately – on 11 July 1865 – and race to Zermatt, whence he might beat out Carrel’s group by way of a northern route. In this embattled situation, he noticed a group arriving in Breuil, led by Lord Douglas and the younger Taugwalder. He made their acquaintance and learned that the Lord wished to return to Zermatt the next day, and further that the elder Taugwalder had recently identifed a promising route to the summit from the area of the so-called Hörnli at around 4000 metres. Whymper now succeeded in winning Douglas over to the idea of a joint expedition. Accompanied by the younger Taugwalder, they crossed the Theodul Pass to Zermatt. On their way down, they deposited Whymper’s expedition equipment at the Schwarzsee. On 12 July, Whymper, Douglas and the younger Taugwalder arrived in Zermatt. The elder Taugwalder declared himself ready to set off on the following day and to have Whymper join his team. Whymper and Lord Douglas asked him to engage a second guide. Then, in front of Alexander Seiler’s Monte Rosa hotel, Whymper ran into his own former guide, Michel Croz. He learned that Croz was intending to set off the next day with Reverend Hudson and young Hadow.95 Later, as Whymper and Lord Douglas were dining in the Monte Rosa, Hudson and Hadow walked in. They had settled at Seiler’s hotel a couple of days earlier and had just come back from a reconnaissance climb on the Matterhorn. Faced with this remarkable situation, the four British climbers decided to team up. The leadership of the joint party had not yet been defnitively decided on. Reverend Hudson was frmly of the opinion that Croz and the elder Taugwalder would be suffcient. Whymper and Lord Douglas did not explicitly object. It seems, however, that Whymper saw the inexperienced Hadow as a risk. Hudson mollifed his worries, pointing out that Hadow had successfully climbed Mont Blanc and several other peaks. This settled the matter as far as the three English alpinists were concerned. The fnal decision was left to the two guides, Croz and Taugwalder, and they too concurred. Thus, this improbable convergence of the most prominent mountaineers of the summer of 1865 led not only to a historical rendezvous in Zermatt but also to the formation of a cobbled-together climbing team. The Ascent and the Accident On Thursday, 13 July 1865, the party set off at 5.30 a.m. Two hours later, they picked up Whymper’s equipment at the Schwarzsee. By noon,

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they had reached a spot just above today’s Hörnli Hut, at an altitude of around 3350 metres, where they set up camp. They had been accompanied to this point by both of Taugwalder’s sons and had climbed most of the way without roping up.96 On 14 July, the group left their bivouac at dawn and began climbing in earnest. Avoiding the ridge and sticking mostly to the fank, they encountered no serious diffculties. With Whymper and Hudson alternately in the lead, they reached an altitude of 3900 metres, where they took a half-hour break. Shortly before 10 a.m., they were already above 4200 metres and rested again, this time for 50 minutes. Then, on a ridge that appears vertical or even overhanging when seen from Zermatt, they roped up to climb the last 200 or so vertical metres to the top. Croz took the lead, with Whymper right behind him. The elder Taugwalder brought up the rear. The group had three ropes at its disposal, all of which Whymper had brought with him from England. The frst was a new so-called manila rope, about 60 metres in length, with a red thread throughout that served as an identifying mark (in the following referred to as rope A). Manila ropes were a technical novelty specifcally developed for the Alpine Club. The second was a somewhat stronger rope, about 45 metres in length (rope B), and was carried by Croz. The third was a thinner, older, reserve rope, about 60 metres in length (rope C) and was carried by the elder Taugwalder. At this point in the climb, they were only using rope A, into which all seven climbers were tied. It is not the terrain itself that presents the greatest diffculties on the stretch the party had yet to climb, but rather the gaping abysses that drop off for more than 1,000 metres on either side of the ridge, and the psychic pressures these give rise to. The actual climbing presented no great diffculties – except to Hadow, whose shoes were not made for such stuff. As the weakest member of the party, he depended on support from the elder Taugwalder, who was roped up directly behind him. The group was now about 60 metres below the summit. Whymper saw the moment approaching for which he had been waiting all these years; his goal was immediately within reach. His anxiety grew, for he did not know how far the Italian group on the southern side had progressed, or whether Carrel might even have already reached the summit. Yet the more immediate problem he faced was presented by Croz, who was ahead of him on the rope, and would thus necessarily set foot on the summit before him. Whymper therefore loosed himself from the rope and ran ahead; Croz followed on his heels. Then they were there, on the summit of the Matterhorn: frst Whymper and then Croz. It was 20 minutes before two o’clock. The world lay at Whymper’s feet. Ten minutes later, the other fve climbers arrived: a tremendous success for the team. Correspondingly great was the disappointment of the Italians under Carrel’s leadership. Just before Whymper reached the summit, they had

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arrived at the area around Pic Tyndall (4241 metres). Little more than 200 metres below the western summit on the Italian side, however, they broke off the climb and began their descent – allegedly due to the advanced time of day and diverging views about which route to follow. They did not know, at this point, that a competing team was just below the summit on the other side. Whymper celebrated his victory by hurling down stones and whooping triumphantly. Was he attempting to discourage the defeated Italians? In any case, his behaviour would not to be received well, even in British circles. The seven climbers remained on the summit for about an hour. They set up a tent pole, on which they hung Croz’s dirty, sweaty shirt, and built a cairn. Then they set off on the descent. Whymper had agreed with Hudson on the order of their departure. Croz, the strongest climber with the surest footing, would go frst, followed by the weakest member of the party, Hadow. Behind Hadow would be the experienced Hudson, followed by Lord Douglas. These four tied into a rope. Whymper wanted to linger a bit longer on the summit to sketch a drawing as a record of their achievement, and to leave behind a bottle containing a paper with the names of the climbers. The two Taugwalders stayed behind with him.97 The elder Taugwalder then set off and caught up with the four who had already begun the descent. Lord Douglas now asked Taugwalder to belay him from above. Taugwalder took the rope that he was carrying (rope C) and tied Lord Douglas to it; he carried the rest of the rope on his shoulder. In the meantime, Whymper and the younger Taugwalder, who were roped up together, caught up to the others. Now the elder Taugwalder, who was in the ffth position, tied in to the rope joining Whymper and the younger Taugwalder, with Whymper directly behind him and the younger Taugwalder bringing up the rear. The connection between the elder Taugwalder and Whymper seems to have occurred at the request of Lord Douglas, who feared that Taugwalder alone would not be capable of holding a fall by the climbers ahead of him. Once again, then, all seven were roped up together, but, in contrast with the ascent, this time on three distinct pieces of rope. From this point on, only one climber moved at a time; the others belayed from fxed positions, as was prudent. The distance between the men on the rope was about fve or six metres. They did not, however, consequently maintain a taut rope between them – a fact that would soon have fatal consequences. And although on the summit they had agreed to mitigate the danger of the most perilous section of the descent by fxing a rope to a point on the rock, this plan was not carried through. Hadow depended heavily on the assistance of Croz, who was just ahead of him, and this led to delays. Then came the most diffcult pitch, and Hadow found himself in great distress. The frst four members of the team were standing close

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together, without maintaining the distance between them that would have kept the rope taut. Croz laid his ice axe down to assist Hadow. He turned toward him, held onto his legs and placed Hadow’s feet, one after the other, onto the appropriate holds. Then he turned to continue the descent. At this precise moment, Hadow slipped and pulled Croz down. A chain reaction ensued: Hudson and Douglas could not hold Croz and Hadow and were yanked from their positions. The Taugwalders and Whymper were also unable to stem the fatal cascade. Croz, Hadow, Hudson and Lord Douglas fell more than 1,000 metres into the abyss, the frst 100 metres in free fall. The three others were not pulled down as well for the simple reason that the rope between Lord Douglas and the elder Taugwalder had broken. To be sure, Taugwalder and Whymper may have braced themselves against the rock when they heard Croz’s cry. But even from the most stable position, they would not have been able to hold the fall. The only reason that they too were not pulled down, the only reason that they survived, was because the tear occurred in rope C, below them. And the tear occurred in rope C because the elder Taugwalder had had the presence of mind to belay Lord Douglas on this passage by wrapping rope C around a spur of rock, which then bore the brunt of the fall.98 It is almost impossible to imagine how the three survivors made the rest of the descent. Whymper later reported that he had feared for his life. After a horrifc night, they arrived in Zermatt late in the morning of 15 July. A search party was dispatched to fnd the four bodies. The remains of Hudson, Hadow and Croz were found and carried out on the following day, a Sunday. Their corpses were not intact; body parts were spread out over a wide area. The remains of Lord Douglas have never been recovered. A Superfcial Investigation Who was to blame for the accident? The question consumed Zermatt and, soon, half the world as well. A so-called preliminary tribunal was formed in the District of Visp, chaired by Joseph Anton Clemenz (1810–1872). Its other members were secretary and deputy Cäsar Clemenz (1842–1907) and Donat Andenmatten (1820–1899), a clerk. Johann Jelen served as ad hoc spokesperson. Joseph Clemenz, the chairman, was an experienced judge and politician and, since 1852, the owner of the Zermatt hotel Mont Cervin. The kinship between the members of the tribunal appears astonishing – incomprehensible, even – in the light of present-day norms: Joseph Clemenz was the father of Cäsar Clemenz and brother-in-law of Donat Andenmatten, who, in turn, was Cäsar Clemenz’s uncle.99 Between 21 and 23 July 1865, in the Mont Cervin hotel, Edward Whymper was interrogated once and the elder Peter Taugwalder twice. In addition, Alexander Lochmatter and Franz Andenmatten were

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Figure 1.16 Edward Whymper (1840–1911), The Matterhorn, as seen from the Ryffelberg, 1865. Bayerische Staatsbibliothek München, Signatur: Geo.u.528 iw.

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summoned as representatives of the rescue party. Signifcantly, Lochmatter was one of Whymper’s longstanding mountain guides.100 In addition to providing personal data, Whymper and the elder Taugwalder had to answer questions concerning the choice of route for the ascent and descent, the pause at the summit, the use of the rope and the order of the climbers on it and the course of events leading up to the accident, as well as other aspects not directly related to the event. Whymper and Taugwalder initially gave differing answers to the question of who fell frst. By the second interrogation, Taugwalder had changed his answer to match Whymper’s. The tribunal found that no further investigation was called for. It was undisputed that Hadow had slipped frst and that this was the cause of the tragedy. Hadow had dragged the others with him and was therefore to blame for the accident. In fact, however, the matter was more complex than this simple explanation suggests. The tribunal did not do justice to this complexity, either in its composition or in the manner of its investigation. It did not inquire into the share of responsibility borne by the experienced British alpinist or the renowned mountain guide. And the preparation and execution of the expedition were not critically examined at all. We cannot but conclude that the tribunal’s investigation was superfcial and unsound. Equally astonishing is the lack of professionalism with which the inquiry was carried out. The expertise required for a meticulous examination both of the successful frst ascent of the Matterhorn and of the descent to the location of the accident could undoubtedly have been found in the milieu of Zermatt mountaineers. It would also have been an easy matter to place the expedition in a larger mountaineering context and to examine it in light of the accepted practices of the time. It seems that Clemenz, the Zermatt hotelier, was simply not interested in conducting a detailed investigation. The proponents of local tourism were in any case happy to avoid a confrontation – both with the relatives of the deceased climbers and with the socially and politically powerful Alpine Club. British alpinists, after all, were responsible for most of the tourism in Zermatt. Two examples will show just how superfcial the investigation was. First, the younger Taugwalder was not even asked to testify. The rationale for this was that, as the last man on the rope, he had been too far away from the site of the accident to see the fall. Second, not only did the tribunal handle Whymper with kid gloves during the interrogation, but it also outrageously allowed him – a person immediately involved in a fatal accident – to directly intervene in the tribunal’s investigation by submitting questions in writing for the tribunal to put to another of the surviving witnesses, the elder Taugwalder. This circumstance reveals a dynamic that would subsequently infuence the perception of the deadly fall: On the one side stood Whymper, an accomplished alpinist with extensive journalistic connections, a professional communicator

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and master of self-representation, who spoke French in addition to English; on the other side stood the two Taugwalders from Zermatt, with no lobby of their own and neither experience nor competence in dealing with the media. The elder Taugwalder was an introverted mountain man who could neither read nor write and who could only speak in the Valais dialect. To the inept investigation and these social and political imbalances came the entirely unsatisfactory communications of the authorities and certain dubious governmental measures. This unholy combination contributed signifcantly to the circulation of half-truths and blatantly false reports. Increasingly wild rumours spread, and conspiracy theories began to make the rounds. The international press sank its teeth into the story. Soon, the course of events itself was placed in doubt. First, there were whispers of an alleged auxiliary rope; then news of a rope that had been cut caused an even greater stir. There was even talk of murder and assassination. The posh Alpine Club appeared shaken to its foundations: Two of its members, Hudson and Lord Douglas, had fallen to their deaths, while a third, Whymper, faced the most heinous accusations.101 After his interrogation, Whymper left Zermatt as quickly as possible; he later turned up in Interlaken – evidently in a state of mental confusion.102 That even today certain aspects of the accident remain unresolved, and unresolvable, is not solely due to the fact that the original records of the investigation have disappeared – a discovery that in itself casts a deplorable light on the affair.103 The most signifcant reason for this lack of clarity lies instead in the negligent investigation by the tribunal. That even the three survivors were unable to make reliable statements about the cause of the accident, having been too far away from it, presents yet another problem, but this is not ultimately relevant to the question of responsibility for the accident.104 In fact, the principal causes of the tragedy will not be brought to light merely by reconstructing the events that took place immediately before the fall; their identifcation depends instead on a critical examination of the preparation and execution of the entire enterprise. Only if one looks at the expedition of July 1865 in its entirety, at the successful ascent as well as the fatal descent, do aspects and connections come to light that open up a very different perspective on the questions of responsibility and blame than do considerations reduced to the question of who fell frst. Seen from this more comprehensive perspective, the equipment used and the techniques employed on the expedition also demand attention, as do the composition of the team and the weight given to the interests of the group versus those of individuals. And in fact, the sources at our disposal do allow us to fnd dependable answers to the arrays of questions raised by such an investigation. Of course, the question of blame and responsibility cannot be answered by applying today’s climbing standards; the know-how and techniques of 1865 were hardly comparable to those of the 21st century.

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One must instead assume a contemporary perspective when examining the customs and practices of the summer of 1865, when High Alpine climbing followed other rules and rested on a lesser state of knowledge than it does today. Social Hierarchy and Authority Today, there is not the slightest doubt that mountain guides bear the operative responsibility for their expeditions. This includes responsibility for evaluating the suitability of the equipment used. Guides must also be confdent in their clients’ abilities. In the pioneering days of alpinism, however, things were different. It was not the guide who made decisions about the suitability of footwear or which ropes to use. He who paid, commanded – and it was the British alpinist who paid. If one projects oneself back to the time of the accident on the Matterhorn, one can hardly imagine even experienced guides like Croz and Taugwalder excluding young Hadow from the expedition on account of his inappropriate equipment and lack of experience. This would have contradicted contemporary practice. Leadership roles and responsibility for decisions did not primarily correspond to ability and expertise, but rather to social status. And the social gradient within most groups was enormous: Here, the highbred, educated British man, of considerable means and often from a noble family; there, the local guides, still emerging from the milieus of the chamois hunter, the herdsman and the smallscale craftsman. When Taugwalder pointed out that two guides would be too few, Whymper and Hudson are said to have replied that, as far as mountaineering competence went, they two were equivalent to guides. And that was that. That Hadow was the weak link in the team could not have escaped the notice of either the experienced British alpinists or the two guides. Since no one had any assurance that there was a climbable route to the summit, and since, therefore, the technical and psychological diffculty of the climb were unknown, neither Lord Douglas nor Whymper had anything concrete with which to counter Hudson’s advocacy for Hadow, however. Still, the tacit agreement to include the insuffciently qualifed Hadow on the climb should have been challenged, at the latest, on the second day of the expedition. By then it was clear that the young Englishman was having serious diffculty coping with the increasingly demanding pitches. His footwear was not suitable for a Matterhorn expedition, and especially not for the icy parts of the route; his climbing ability was limited, and the unsteadiness provoked by his profound anxiety proved fatal. If not already at the bivouac, then certainly on the following day, on viewing the extremely exposed and dangerous pitches ahead, the experienced British climbers should have realised the necessity of taking Hadow off the rope and sending him back to Zermatt. And in spite of all differences

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in social status, Croz and Taugwalder should, for their part, have issued a warning when they came to the most diffcult pitch on the climb. The two guides had less pull, to be sure, and yet they especially ought to have looked ahead and considered the implications of Hadow’s weakness for the descent. For how much more diffcult the dangerous pitches would be on the way down! This last chance, however, went unexploited. The possibility of leaving Hadow behind was raised neither at the bivouac nor on the way to the summit. Who, after all, would have wanted to request a break for an urgent discussion, only a few hundred metres from the goal? Who would have been willing to turn back, when the summit of the Matterhorn was within reach? Whymper left no space for such deliberations, but rather pressed for moving ahead as quickly as possible. Size and Heterogeneity It is not only from today’s perspective that the size of the climbing team seems unreasonable and even irresponsible. Both the experienced British alpinists and the two guides should have come to this conclusion. Only chance had brought the British mountaineers together, and Whymper had melded them into a team for purely tactical reasons. As an extremely experienced alpinist he must have realised how problematic a seven-man rope would be. Yet he had no alternative. If he was not to give up on his ambition to be the frst to stand atop the Matterhorn, the seven-man team was his only choice. The team’s heterogeneity presented another weakness. Croz and the elder Taugwalder were two proven guides, probably the most renowned and experienced that could have been found. Hudson and Whymper were two very experienced alpinists, among the best of their contemporaries. The young Lord Douglas, too, had proved himself on Alpine climbs and glaciers. Finally, there was the younger Taugwalder, who, despite his youth, ended up being a full-fedged member of the group. Hadow was the only climber unversed in expeditions of this level of diffculty. Though he had climbed Mont Blanc, he lacked the skills necessary for coping with extreme situations. But nothing obscures danger like ambition. The decisive disadvantage of a seven-man team, when compared to a smaller group, was that the individual members were continually forced to wait for one another for long periods of time during the descent, as they followed the rule that only one person should be climbing at a time. Long waits in exposed locations present a danger if they give rise to fear, the psychic condition least conducive to successful climbing. To be sure, each of the three experienced British alpinists had previously been in the mountains with one or the other of the two expert guides, but neither had experience in such a large constellation. A systematic and critical discussion about key aspects of the climb never took place.

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It seems instead that bilateral agreements were made – for example, the one between Whymper and Hudson, who agreed to set up a fxed rope on the most diffcult pitch. This decision was intended to mitigate the obvious problem posed by Hadow’s insecurity. Why this measure was not discussed with the whole group, decided on as a team and fnally actually implemented, cannot be explained today, for during the investigation neither Taugwalder nor Whymper could give a satisfactory answer. This confusion demonstrates that procedures, competencies and responsibilities had not been defnitively settled on by the British alpinists and that the two experienced guides were too little included in the decision-making. It also suggests a high degree of negligence. The team had a communication and leadership problem, which might have made for serious diffculties even if the rope had been used correctly. Neither the general use of the rope nor the specifc belaying techniques were carefully discussed in advance, and this omission wreaked havoc on the descent. To reiterate: The fact that the dangerous pitch was not outftted with fxed ropes was partly because Whymper, for what can only be called irresponsible reasons, started down later than the others. This forced the Taugwalders to remain with him on the summit. By the time the three of them caught up with the four other climbers, Croz had already reached the dangerous pitch. Ultimately, we can only conclude that Whymper should not have been allowed to remain on the summit longer than the others. He should either have set off at the same time as everyone else, or the entire group should have waited for him. All the more so, as it was only a matter of a few minutes. These few minutes, however, proved fateful. For if the seven climbers had set off together, the rope would have been employed differently, and the climbers would have tied into it in a different order. The consequences of this all could hardly have been more severe.105 In the normal course of things, Lord Douglas would have been roped up directly behind his guide – the elder Taugwalder, whom he had hired – and in front of the younger Taugwalder, who was in the correct position at the rear. This constellation would have placed Whymper closer to the front of the rope. Whymper’s unacceptable lingering on the summit caused Lord Douglas, instead, to be roped up in front of Taugwalder. And while what followed may have been a twist of fate, what came before the fall might well have been calculation: The Lord was pulled to his death, while Whymper – tied in above the breaking point of the rope – survived. During the descent to the diffcult pitch, the frst four climbers apparently kept a slack rope between them, which facilitated the cascade of fatal falls. Should the rope have been kept taut? Neither before the expedition nor prior to the descent was this issue given due consideration. Thus, during the descent, no one paid attention to or questioned the handling of the rope. It cannot be determined today whether a taut

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rope would have prevented the series of falls. Yet we can certainly note that, because the rope was slack, the frst four climbers were powerless to hold the fall. Had the rope been taut, Hadow’s slip, which took Croz out with him, might have been held by the men behind them. The elder Taugwalder and Whymper, by contrast, kept the rope between them taut. This was one of the reasons that the two could hold their positions, despite the force exerted on them by the fall. What can be criticised in any case – both from today’s perspective and from the perspective of the time – is that the handling of the rope was not discussed before the descent. Defcient Equipment The climbers’ personal equipment should also have been examined, especially their footwear. The two guides, the younger Taugwalder, and all of the British alpinists except Hadow wore hobnailed boots. These were generally considered necessary for crossing icy pitches. Hadow thus presented a risk in this respect as well, further endangering both himself and the others. On the basis of his unsuitable equipment alone, he should never have been included in the team. At the time of the Alpine frst ascents, rope producers were called on to meet new demands. Thanks to its nautical tradition, Great Britain took the lead. Consequently, British alpinists usually brought British ropes with them when they went climbing in the Swiss High Alps. The three ropes for the expedition up the Matterhorn were all supplied by Whymper. The substitute rope (rope B), which Croz carried, was never used. When the elder Taugwalder caught up to Lord Douglas on the descent and was asked to rope up behind him, Taugwalder used the thin rope (rope C), as he had no other to hand. Taugwalder answered all of the questions put to him by the tribunal. When asked why he had used the thin rope, he answered: Because the rope that joined the frst four in the party was too short. In addition, he had been sure that this rope (rope C) would be able to hold a fall. Today, it has been scientifcally proven that this was not the case. The force of the four falling alpinists was far too great, and none of the three ropes could have held the fall.106 Criticism of Taugwalder for using the thin rope has not diminished, even today. Examination of the surviving ropes and the reconstruction of the course of events leading to the accident, however, prove such criticism unfounded. What other rope, besides the one he was carrying, could Taugwalder have used? Croz was carrying the substitute rope (rope B). And the thick Alpine Club rope (rope A) was already in use, as will be shown. Whymper, however, made the perfdious claim that Taugwalder had consciously used the thin rope so that, in the event of a fall by someone ahead of him, he would not be pulled down: the thin rope as a predetermined breaking point!

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In his Scrambles, Whymper states that he took the rope involved in the fall back to England with him. This raises some crucial questions: Which of the three ropes did Whymper take? And how did the rope get back to Zermatt, where it is displayed in the museum today? And which of today’s museum pieces really are the original ropes? Taugwalder testifed that he had wrapped a rope (rope C) around an outcrop of rock. Whether he did so at the moment he saw the movement resulting from the fall – which is hardly probable – or earlier, when he arrived at his waiting spot, is immaterial to what happened. What is essential is that, with his presence of mind, he saved the lives of three people. His action was that of a frst-rate mountain guide, who incessantly observes while on the mountain and considers, with every step, where a rope could be fxed, in case the party begins to slip. In his testimony to the tribunal, Whymper confrmed Taugwalder’s statement.107 The Cut Rope The rope (rope C) that the elder Taugwalder tied into with Lord Douglas, who was immediately in front of him, is allegedly to be found in the Matterhorn Museum in Zermatt. Studies by ETH Zurich leave no room for doubt that this rope was cut. But which rope was tested? And when was it cut? The accident played out in a few seconds, much too quickly to allow anyone to whip out a knife and cut a rope. After the cascade of falls had begun, this would have been virtually impossible. If this is not understood, however, it is of course possible to conceive of the elder Taugwalder cutting it. Taugwalder himself testifed that Whymper was standing far above him when the others fell – and if, indeed, a rope was cut on the descent, Taugwalder is the only one who could have done it. Practically, however, given the speed and horror of the precipitating events, this scenario can be excluded with certainty. Two further factors also speak against it: First, the injuries Taugwalder suffered on his hands prove that he attempted to hold the rope until it broke.108 And second, the scientifc examination of the rope used by Taugwalder confrms it could have held a weight of no more than 300 kilograms. Thus, rope C could under no circumstances have held the weight of the seven-man party. The same is true of the other two ropes.109 Still, the question of whether a rope was cut arose immediately after the tragedy and continues to be raised today. As long as one focuses only on the descent, this question will remain unanswerable. If instead one examines the ascent, however, things look different, and the answer is in fact readily at hand. When the summit came into view on the way up, Whymper loosed himself from the rope (rope A), as he wanted to be the frst to reach the top. But how could he have freed himself so quickly? Only with a knife. And this would explain why rope A was too short

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to tie in all the members of the party on the descent. In fact, the frst four climbers, with Croz in the lead, must have tied into one section of the cut rope A, while Whymper and the young Taugwalder tied into the other. Once this has been grasped, the elder Taugwalder’s statement to the investigating tribunal makes sense: The rope used by the frst four climbers was too short for him to have used to connect himself to Lord Douglas, and thereby to the frst four climbers. As a result, he was forced to use rope C.110 Only about two weeks after the accident, the accusation was made in the media that Whymper had cut the rope.111 The question of a rope cut during the ascent was not raised by the investigating tribunal, and neither Whymper nor Taugwalder brought it up. But Taugwalder indirectly confrmed that a rope had been cut by stating that the rope used by the frst four climbers during the descent had been too short for him to tie into as well. And Whymper, in turn, had good reason not to mention it. Loosing himself from the rope to seize the crown of glory as the team approached the summit – pursuing his personal ambition and neglecting the common interest of the group – did not correspond to the behaviour expected of an English gentleman. “What a terrible person,” Arnold Lunn is said to have later remarked.112 But the much graver reason to avoid the topic was that the fall laid bare to Whymper the dire consequences of his actions: Only because the rope that had served perfectly well during the ascent (rope A) now consisted of two separate parts was the thin rope (rope C) used at all. When asked why Taugwalder had used the thin reserve rope, Whymper later feigned ignorance. His earlier malicious remarks, which threw the blame onto Taugwalder, now ricochet back to condemn Whymper himself. The Matterhorn Museum in Zermatt exhibits a rope that was allegedly used on the fatal climb. Tests carried out by ETH Zurich confrm without a doubt that this rope was cut. But this says nothing about which of the three ropes (A, B or C) it is, or even whether it is one of the three used on the frst ascent of the Matterhorn. Whymper claimed that he had confscated the reserve rope used by Taugwalder (rope C) and taken it to London for analysis.113 However, since there is no documentation of such an analysis, and even in the lore of the Alpine Club there is not the slightest indication that such an analysis was ever performed, this track runs dry. It is also hardly conceivable that a rope used on such a controversial expedition and investigated under the auspices of the Alpine Club should afterwards have made its way back to Switzerland. For all of these reasons, the provenance of the rope in the Zermatt museum remains unclear. But what of the scientifcally verifed cut in the rope? Since it is not known where the exhibited rope comes from, it is impossible to determine who cut it. Instead of trying in vain to fgure out who did it, it is more fruitful to place the cut rope in its cultural-historical context.

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Once it had been designated and exhibited as the fatal rope, it became a legendary object. As a result – as has been historically documented – souvenir hunters found their way to it and, with their own knives, cut off pieces, one after the other. And this is all that was in fact proven by ETH: A rope exhibited in Zermatt had been cut.114 Disorganisation or Calculation? The tribunal also failed to examine the departure from the summit. After the climbers had rested on the mountaintop for an hour, they set off to tackle the descent. Only at this point did Whymper tell the others that he wanted to stay on the summit for a few more minutes, to make some sketches and leave behind a record of the climbers’ names. This rationale doesn’t hold water. Why didn’t he express this wish earlier? It would have been more than understandable, and the rest of the party could have waited for him. In any case, it seems contrary to good mountaineering practice that part of the team should begin the descent, while the rest only set off a few minutes later – especially in this psychically diffcult situation, with the most diffcult section of the climb just ahead. That Whymper would allow part of the team to head off on its own gives the lie to his claim to be an outstanding alpinist. The chair of the preliminary tribunal should have critically enquired after Whymper’s motives. How could he justify lingering on the summit? He should have been confronted with the suspicion that he purposefully remained behind in order to ensure that he was not on the same rope as Hadow. One might have addressed the perfdious accusations that Whymper later levelled at Taugwalder in Scrambles at Whymper himself, suggesting that he did not want to be on a rope with Hadow because he feared being dragged down in the event of a fall. It could be concluded that because Whymper knew that more than one rope would have to be used on the descent – in contrast to the ascent – he remained behind at the top in order to be in the more secure second-to-last position when he did rope up.115 Scapegoats and White Waistcoats News of the tragedy on the Matterhorn sped around the world, flling newspaper columns. Even prestigious papers reported on it for weeks. In the Times, several members of the Alpine Club contributed well-founded assessments; in other publications, sensationalism ruled. Meanwhile, criticisms of alpinism as a whole were prominently expressed. Whymper spent fve years writing Scrambles Amongst the Alps, which was published six years after the accident. In it, he makes grave accusations against the Taugwalders. The elder Taugwalder, according to Whymper, used the thin rope on purpose so that he wouldn’t be dragged

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down in the event of a fall. This was a perfdious imputation. Furthermore, Whymper claimed to have been surprised and appalled that the elder Taugwalder used a rope for a purpose it had not been meant to serve. One has to ask why Whymper did not make these damning assertions years earlier, in the course of the offcial investigation. Even in the detailed account that he published in the Times a month after the accident, there was no trace of these accusations. But that was not all. Six years after the accident Whymper described how he and the two Taugwalders had survived the afternoon and night following the accident on the mountain. His last hour seemed to have arrived, he wrote in hindsight. The problem was the Taugwalders, who were in a miserable state of mind. Paralysed by terror, they had lost all courage and cried like children. The elder Taugwalder several times cried out, with an ashen face and shaking knees, that he could not go on. In Whymper’s account, the two Taugwalders were reduced to pathetic creatures who, in the face of the dramatic events, could do nothing but obsess about the flthy lucre of their guide’s fees and worry about what people would think of them in Chamonix and Zermatt. Yet Whymper said nothing of this during the investigation. How easy it would have been for him to allude to this behaviour in the questions he submitted to the tribunal after his interrogation, before he made off to Interlaken. Finally, one has to ask how Whymper could have understood the conversations that the Taugwalders had with one another after the accident, given that they would have spoken in the Valais dialect. Since we can hardly ascribe competence in this local tongue to him, we have to wonder how he was able to cite entire passages of their dialogue in Scrambles.116 The elder Taugwalder’s reputation as a guide was ruined, and the criticism also hit him hard personally. He became depressed and acted confused. He could no longer work as a mountain guide. His wife had died shortly before the Matterhorn accident, and his son Josef drowned in the Schwarzsee in 1867. He never overcame these strokes of fate. He went to the USA but found no peace there, either, and eventually returned home. He died a broken man at age 68. As a well-connected international journalist and an eloquent speaker, Whymper had found easy prey in the illiterate and taciturn mountain guide. He had brilliantly crowned his mountaineering career with the frst ascent of the Matterhorn. He gave lectures and wrote books. But he remained a loner and was denied advancement into high society. In his catchpenny public promotion of the frst ascent through lectures and books, Whymper increasingly tended to glorify himself as the frst to climb the Matterhorn, while in the same breath calumniating the Taugwalders. Initially, however, in international reportage on the accident, and in the many commentaries published in the British media, he himself came under attack. He had to fend off accusations that the

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British climbers had taken excessive risks. In reaction, he resorted to a scheme of argumentation that he subsequently expanded on step by step. While at the end of July 1865 he told the British press that the Taugwalders had been in so deep a state of shock after the accident that the further descent became extremely diffcult, in 1871, in Scrambles, he depicted them in the worst light possible, as weaklings and cry-babies. And he simultaneously voiced malicious accusations against them.117 In light of today’s knowledge about the frst ascent of the Matterhorn, such accusations refect poorly on and reveal perfdious character traits in the English gentleman. Whymper’s accusations meanwhile fell on fertile soil among the general public and have lastingly infuenced the broader historical perception of the climb. Even today, Whymper is portrayed in pertinent professional publications – and even by the offcial organs of Zermatt – as the sole frst climber of the Matterhorn. The reason for this aberration is partly to be found in the fact that the two Taugwalders did not defend themselves. But how could they have? The elder Taugwalder was convulsed by the accusations and isolated himself from society. His son would easily have been defeated in a battle of words with Whymper. The younger Peter Taugwalder, however, did not pay much heed to all the international chatter. His roots were in the Zermatt Alpine world, and he wanted nothing more than to become a guide himself. What did he care about the Alpine Club of London, or the rankings of British alpinists? When in 1917, 52 years after the fatal accident, he fnally took pen in hand and described the happenings from his point of view, it was too late: Whymper’s perspective had long since become the established one, both in mountaineering circles and among the general public. It did not help that Taugwalder’s memories were imprecise and that he was quite clearly mistaken about certain aspects of the climb.118 Monument and Epigraph Whymper died in 1911 in Chamonix, where he enjoyed a better reputation than in Zermatt. A monument was erected to him there. Valais made no such hero of him. After Whymper’s death, the idea of affxing a commemorative plaque to Seiler’s Monte Rosa hotel in Zermatt was discussed in the Alpine Club. With the advent of the First World War, this idea faded into the background. Years later, it surfaced again. In 1925, the 60th anniversary of the frst ascent seemed to present a good opportunity. Inside the Alpine Club, however, there was disagreement: Should the Alpine Club act on its own, or jointly with the SAC? Did Whymper in fact deserve a memorial? Shouldn’t Tyndall be honoured instead? In the end, a metal plaque was agreed on and mounted on the façade of the Monte Rosa hotel. It depicts Whymper wearing a laurel crown.119

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Forty years later, on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the frst ascent, the Taugwalders were commemorated. The plaque, fxed to the Taugwalders’ house next to the Monte Rosa, was sponsored by the Zermatt Alpine Association. The inscription still toed a line of reverent self-depreciation with regard to British alpinists – as if British alpinists would have been capable of making frst ascents of 4000-metre peaks without Swiss mountain guides! “In this house lived the Peter Taugwalders, father and son, who accompanied Edward Whymper on 13/14 July 1865 on the frst ascent of the Matterhorn.” This appraisal is glaringly distorted. As if the glory of the frst ascent should go to Whymper alone! Without the Taugwalders, Whymper would probably not have found his way back to Zermatt after the accident and the ensuing hard night on the mountain. The elder Taugwalder is especially poorly served by the memorial plaque in Zermatt. Whymper owed him his life for having had the presence of mind to wrap the rope around the rock outcrop; clearly, he was more than the “accompanist” described on the plaque. The younger Taugwalder made his career as a guide and climbed the Matterhorn more than 120 times. In his later years, however, he lived outside the village.120 Conclusion An analysis of the complex set of events thus leads to a clear conclusion. The happenings leading directly to the accident can easily be reconstructed: Hadow fell and pulled Croz down with him, while Hudson and Lord Douglas, the next two on the rope, were unable to hold the fall. The rope into which these four were tied was not kept taut; it hung loosely between them. It was already known at the time that this technique should only be used selectively, since it could not hinder a cascade of falls. When the elder Taugwalder and Whymper heard Croz’s cry and became aware of the falling climbers, they braced themselves against the rocks. Yet this was not the decisive factor. Nor was the fact that they had kept the rope taut between themselves. That the two Taugwalders and Whymper were not pulled along with the others was entirely due to the rope breaking between the elder Taugwalder and Lord Douglas.121 The four climbers who were roped up below the break in the rope fell to their deaths; the three above the break held their positions. The elder Taugwalder had previously secured the rope from above. He thereby saved not only his son’s life but also Whymper’s. Yet the course of events leading up to the accident does not tell the whole story with regard to guilt and responsibility. More important than the order of the fall were defcient preparations, shortcomings in equipment and the size of the party. That the inexperienced Hadow was included in the expedition was due to the good-natured but imprudent

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advocacy of Reverend Hudson. In the end, Whymper, Lord Douglas and the two guides accepted Hadow’s participation without objecting. Meanwhile, the time devoted to preparing for the expedition was much too short. Little heed was paid to equipment. If anyone can be exempted from responsibility, then it is the younger Taugwalder, who originally was to serve as a porter and only joined the climb after proving himself worthy during the frst part of the ascent. The parties organised by Reverend Hudson and Lord Douglas, which had prepared separate Matterhorn expeditions in Zermatt and were ready to start their climbs, were convinced by Whymper, on his sudden and unexpected arrival, to form a single large team. This too, especially considering the team’s overhasty departure, was negligent on several counts: The four British alpinists had never been on a rope together and were unaware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Communication was problematic, and, signifcantly, no hierarchy was settled on. The team agreed to use Whymper’s ropes. They assumed that these three ropes, and in particular the new Alpine Club manila rope, were of suffcient quality. This was a mistake: Neither the highly praised manila rope nor the two others were strong enough to bear the weight and force exerted by so many falling bodies. Still, this knowledge was not available at the time. We may thus conclude that, as far as the choice of ropes goes, no one was at fault; the ropes met the highest contemporary standards. The question of why neither the experienced British alpinists nor the two guides spoke out against a seven-man team remains unresolved. A smaller team would have dealt differently with the question of which ropes to use. Communication and procedures within the group would also have taken on a different form. Instead, individual interests determined the course of events. Hadow’s footwear was unsuitable for a Matterhorn expedition. Far too little attention was paid to this fact. Both the experienced British climbers and the two guides should have recognised this glaring defciency. It is incomprehensible that the alpinists and guides, all of them with extensive experience on glaciers, failed to intervene when, already on the ascent, Hadow was only able to cross icy patches with great diffculty and with signifcant support from Taugwalder. The precariousness of the situation must have been recognised, at the very latest, when the team was ascending the critical passage that led to the tragedy on the descent. Yet no one called a halt, nor did anyone demand that the climb be aborted, at least by Hadow. That said, it must be emphasised that aborting the expedition, however obvious a choice from today’s perspective, was not a realistic option for the members of this team. The cultural and political pressure on the British climbers, so close to their goal, was too great. The competition with the Italians had to end with a British victory. Still, Hadow should have been left to wait in a safe place, or sent back to Zermatt, and no one

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called for this. The responsibility here lies with the two guides, but even more so with Reverend Hudson, Whymper and Lord Douglas. That so little heed was paid to these issues – equipment, the size of the team, and ongoing refection on the team’s performance – was largely due to the competitive nature of the situation. And here it is evident that Whymper in particular was under pressure, and that he transmitted this pressure to the entire group. If they wanted to beat the Italians, they had to act immediately. Waiting was not an option. Critical discussions, no matter how justifed and necessary, would have delayed the departure of the expedition, and this could not be. The same was true for more careful consideration of the technical aspects of the climb. We thus come to the conclusion that this ad hoc party set off irresponsibly and precipitously, driven in large measure by Whymper’s consuming ambition. And though it may be indisputable that both the British alpinists and the two guides, each in their own way, bore partial responsibility for the accident, one cannot get around attributing the greatest share of the blame to Edward Whymper. That he released himself from the rope as the group approached the summit demonstrated his lack of team spirit. Today, we know that none of the ropes would have held the force of the fall. Yet to the extent that questions about the use of the rope during the descent retreat from the line of fre, other issues move to the forefront: Why Hadow’s lack of ability and experience were overlooked during the ascent; the staggered departure from the summit; the order of the climbers on the rope; and the forgoing of a fxed rope down the diffcult pitch. And every one of these questions is connected to Whymper’s comportment, and to his pathological egotism, which permitted neither waiting nor refection.122

The Belle Époque A Time of Superlatives: The Apotheosis of Pre-War Culture Then the Belle Epoque dawned, and everything became grander, more powerful, more glamorous. The glitterati of all the world flled sumptuous luxury hotels, visited sporting pavilions and attended theatrical and musical productions, took pleasure in afternoon teas, in roller-skating, in small-calibre, air-rife and skeet shooting, in whey and climate cures and other wellness activities. Royalty, fnancial magnates, artists: Illustrious personages of rank and name, along with their imitators, were drawn to Switzerland from all imaginable places. In the Grand Hotels, gentlemen expected a band or even an orchestra for the thé dansant; tennis courts and golf courses to practice on; a tea room for fve-o’clock refreshments, to the accompaniment of violins; and an Anglican clergyman and in-house church for their edifcation. The lifestyles of the

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guests can be discerned from the amenities of the hotels they visited: They needed stables, forists, hairdressers, a darkroom, an American bar, a grill room, luxurious en-suite bathrooms, electric light baths and a reading room with a library; they needed writing rooms, music and billiard rooms, smoking rooms and a generous lobby with comfortable furniture, in which they could meet in the evenings. Here one listened to music, chatted and carried on sophisticated conversation by the freplace. There had to be steam-laundry facilities and a power plant – and all this was expected at 1800 metres in a solitary and isolated high mountain valley just as much as on the charming shores of Lake Geneva. Hotel infrastructure expanded in leaps and bounds during the Belle Epoque. People from near and far found employment in the hotel and service industries – not least the inhabitants of valleys that themselves remained untouched by tourism. Villagers often had to overcome their inhibitions, however, to trade house and stall for work in a hotel. And the closer the tourist operation was to one’s former place of work and residence, the greater the psychic resistance could be. Almost overnight, certain small mountain villages were transformed into lodestars of international summer tourism, while others were completely left behind. In many regions, then, a veritable two-class society emerged. In the high Alpine landscape, where the fashionable transformations of the Belle Epoque occurred especially rapidly, there was a powerful clash of contrasting lifestyles: here the self-suffcient, rustic village population, surviving on the fruits and vegetables of their own felds and gardens; modest mountain folk struggling to feed their large families, living close to nature in simple, cramped houses passed on from generation to generation and often enough forced to emigrate; and there the noble celebrities and socialites, residing in high-altitude Grand Hotel oases, clinking glasses of champagne and choice wines, sampling luxuries from around the world: salmon, shrimp and crayfsh; lobster, caviar and foie gras; rounding off their meals with nougat, friands and lemon sorbet – a clientele with time aplenty to amuse itself with fashionable athletic activities and genteel soirées.123 The Belle Epoque had many high points. Territet in Canton Vaud, an insignifcant village on Lake Geneva consisting of only a few houses, began developing into a tourist destination in the 1840s; during the Belle Epoque, it became one of the most glamorous destinations in all of Switzerland. Territet’s development sheds light on the architectural styles and tendencies of the time and demonstrates how the expansion and success of a hotel business can be closely linked to its owner’s personality and the structure of his family. The vintner Jean-Francois Chessex (died 1884) opened the auberge Chasseur des Alpes in Territet, north of the throughway from Lausanne to Valais, in 1840/1841. “Lodging for travellers on foot and horse,” read his sign; the price for full pension was between three and four francs. Then, in 1855, Chessex built the four-storey Hôtel des Alpes on the

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south side of the road, just opposite the auberge. After the opening of the railway line between Lausanne and Villeneuve (1861), he enlarged the Chasseur des Alpes (1863/1864). The two buildings now made up a single operation. Their splendid gardens looked out over the lake, and the view of the train line and station was also considered attractive. Chessex offered beds for 100 guests; from 1868 onwards, they even had access to a telegraph. The two hotels were linked to one another in 1879 by one of the frst in-house telephone lines in Switzerland, which two years later also connected them with the sanatorium on neighbouring Mont-Fleuri. The sanatorium had been founded in 1870 by Ami Chessex (1840–1917), Jean-Francois’ son; it was a harbinger of the huge infuence that Ami Chessex was to have on tourism, society and the economy. In fact, although the formal transfer of ownership would only be carried out after his father’s death in 1884, by the 1870s the younger Chessex had already taken on the running of his father’s operations, which was added to his many other private and public commitments. In 1874, he expanded the hotel facilities to include an Anglican church. A year later, following the example of the Schweizerhof in Lucerne, he added a large dining room in Neo-Renaissance style. What came after this, however, would leave everything previously accomplished in the dust, both in terms of speed and scale. In 1883, the train station of Territet-Glion was built, a project instigated by Ami Chessex, and the hotel facilities were thus connected to the transport network. The station’s Passage des Alpes, constructed in pseudo-Moorish style, contained a foyer, a station restaurant, shops, a bank and a post offce. In 1887, Chessex expanded his hotel facilities by building the Neo-Baroque Grand Hôtel Territet, designed by the architect Louis Maillard (1838–1923). The hotel featured a gymnasium and baths for hydrotherapeutic treatment and was connected to the dining room and lobby of the Chasseur des Alpes by a conservatory. In 1894/1895, family residences for guests and a magnifcent ballroom, decorated with paintings by Marcel de Chollet (1855–1924) and designed by Eugène Jost (1865–1946), were added to the Grand Hotel. This was the frst collaboration between Chessex and Jost, an architect from Vevey and just the right man to realise Chessex’s increasingly high-fown plans. Jost attracted attention not only for his work for Chessex, however, but also for his many other large-scale projects, in particular the palatial Montreux train station. In 1904/1905 the Hôtel des Alpes was torn down and replaced with a six-storey building, twice the size of its predecessor, also designed by Jost. The interior decoration, by the Held carpentry frm and the Edouard Diekmann Studio, was elaborately ornate. In 1911, a large conservatory was added, and the terrace above the railway line was connected with the lakefront by a Schindler elevator. This epoch of superlatives and savoir-vivre culminated in some splendid last hurrahs. Two examples are especially emblematic: the Jungfrau

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railway (1912), which climbs through the Eiger and the Mönch to the Jungfraujoch (3454 metres); and the Hotel Palace in Gstaad, which in the winter of 1913/1914 set new standards in the region with its 200 beds, 70 bathrooms, electric lighting and central heating. Enthusiasm for technology and a love of luxury had combined to create a dream world. Then came the summer of 1914, and, in the steel-storm of machine guns, this glamorous culture disintegrated. The end had been looming for some time; there had been a feeling of doom in the air for years. A certain fatalism – après moi le déluge – was part and parcel of the fn de siècle. Tourism was already collapsing in some places during the pre-war years. At the end of the 19th century, there were already indications that the social profle of visitors to Switzerland was changing. The British aristocracy, in particular, increasingly stayed away. The nobles had discovered the Scottish Highlands, where they built estates, and the Scandinavian fjords, which they reached by steam yachts. Zermatt, St Moritz and other high-brow locations in Switzerland, however, hardly felt the change; their attractiveness for an up-market and wealthy clientele continued unbroken for a long time. In other places, these touristic losses were partly balanced by an increase in middle-class British visitors, who could afford a tour around the Continent thanks to Thomas Cook’s deals. All-inclusive tour groups from other countries arrived as well. But these groups had different needs and smaller budgets than did their predecessors. They didn’t reside in Grand Hotels, nor remain for the entire summer like the aristocrats before them. The Swiss tourism industry at frst noted these changes with serenity. Even the decrease in the number of visitors in 1907/1908 didn’t set off alarm bells – it was easy to delude oneself, especially when revenues subsequently increased again. Yet rosy conclusions proved false. While the frst half of 1914 again saw record numbers of visitors here and there, the numbers plummeted when the war broke out in August. Not everyone, however, abandoned Switzerland. Wartime events made it impossible for many visitors to return to their homelands. The greater part of those stranded were from Russia and would now spend years on the shores of Lake Geneva. Caux became a well-known climatic spa, worth a visit in both the summer and winter seasons. On the initiative of Ami Chessex, several investors founded a real estate company in 1899 and acquired the existing Grand Hôtel for a price of just over 2 million Swiss francs. By 1901, it had been transformed into a luxury establishment of unprecedented scale. The architect was Eugène Jost. It opened as the most luxurious hotel in Switzerland in 1902. The costs involved, including the initial purchase, came to almost 6 million francs. Everything was glamorous, including the family residences and the ballroom with its stuccoed ceiling,

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Figure 1.17 “Rochers de Naye and Hotel de Caux, Lake Geneva, Switzerland,” ca 1900. Coloured postcard. Private collection. At the same time as the cog railway line between Glion and Rochers de Naye was being constructed, the frst luxury hotel opened on the so-called “Righi Vaudois” (the Rigi of Vaud), the Plateau of Caux. This Grand Hôtel was built by Philippe Fauchères (born 1844), the owner of the Hôtel National in Montreux.124 With 200 beds, low-pressure steam central heating, a ventilation system, electrical lighting, baths, salons, an opulent dining hall, colonnades and billiard tables, this new establishment in a frst-class panoramic position attracted high society from around the world. In the late summer of 1898, Empress Elizabeth of Austria spent time there. She and her entourage occupied the entire frst foor of the hotel. In her honour, the fag of the Austro-Hungarian Empire was raised over the hotel. It was her fnal stay on Lake Geneva and ended in tragedy.

crystal chandeliers and splendid mirrors. The dining hall, ornately furnished, was resplendent with paintings by Otto Haberer (1866–1925). This luxury hotel, the largest and most expensive in Switzerland, had around 400 beds, with residences on the top foor. Among its suites were the satinwood-panelled apartments of the Maharaja of Baroda. Roaming through the building, guests might come upon marble staircases; ambulatories; a dining hall with Corinthian colonnades; an ample ballroom with a stage; the Louis-XVI salon; numerous games, billiards and smoking rooms; children’s games, gymnastics and fencing halls; hydrotherapy facilities and baths. In the evenings, the entire dreamworld, situated high above Lake Geneva, was lit up by foodlights.

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Glitz and Glory in Montreux During the 19th century, Montreux boomed like no other Swiss health resort. At the beginning of the 1820s, lodging in the town still consisted only of a few hostels, used largely by through-travellers – for the most part wine merchants. First attempts to operate pensions were made in Sâles with the Visinand hotel around 1815, and in 1840 with the Schwan and other inns. A new era was rung in, however, with the construction of the railway line. The Martigny–St Maurice–Le Bouveret line began operating in 1859, followed in 1861 by the line from Lausanne via Montreux to Villeneuve, and in 1886 by the section from Le Bouveret to Evian. Previously unimagined possibilities opened up, and Montreux was soon celebrated as the Nice of Switzerland. In this booming era of the launching of the railway, pensions and hotels shot out of the ground like mushrooms. In 1875, there were already 47 hotels and pensions in Montreux, while at the start of the 1880s the town boasted more than 3,000 beds for visitors. Beginning at the lakefront, houses stretched up to Glion and Les Avants, and villas, gardens and pensions reached from Chillon Castle to Clarens. Streets and access ways were newly constructed or renovated. In 1883, the cog railway from Territet to Glion opened. In 1888, the frst electric streetcar began operating between Vevey and Montreux. In Châtelard and Les Planches, the tourism infrastructure was expanded in the 1890s with quays and sidewalks, bridges and drainage systems, boulevards and administrative buildings. The Montreux boom is refected in statistics: In 1803, the three political municipalities Châtelard, Les Planches and Veytaux, which together made up the parish of Montreux, counted 2,531 inhabitants; in 1831, it was 2,833; and by 1850, the population had increased to 3,181. This represents an increase of 26 percent between 1803 and 1850. This could not yet be called spectacular development, and indeed, until the middle of the century, tourism had no great impact. At this point, however, an explosive phase began: Montreux counted 4,379 inhabitants in 1869, 6,659 in 1870, 8,017 in 1880, 8,907 in 1888, 14,144 in 1900 and 17,850 in 1910. Over the course of 20 years (1869–1888), the population had doubled; within 40 years (by 1910) it had quadrupled. The volume of traffc tells a similar story: In 1865, 11,511 passengers boarded or disembarked from ships in the port of Rouvenaz, while in 1875 this number had swelled to 47,706 (an increase of more than 300 percent); the three train stations in Montreux sold an average of 7,250 tickets per month in 1861, while in 1875 they sold 14,338 (an increase of around 100 percent). In 1867, there were still only two clerks employed in Montreux’s single post offce. By 1876, there were already four post offces with seven clerks, a half dozen assistants and nine letter-carriers. Between Vevey and Villeneuve there were 12 telegraph offces, and the

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Figure 1.18 Ferdinand Hodler (1853–1918), Les Dents du Midi vues de Champéry, 1915/1916. Oil on canvas, 73.5 cm × 110 cm. Nestlé Art Collection.

number of cables sent climbed sevenfold between 1867 and 1875. In 1885, when the federal government had fnally acquired 18 telephones for the army, Montreux already had 106 registered phones. There was hardly a comparable town in Europe with more. This brilliant development, which also saw the multiplication of banks, shops, restaurants, cabarets and all manner of business premises, was due to the number of hotel guests: there were 29,877 documented arrivals in 1900; in 1905, there were 49,702 arrivals; and in 1910, no fewer than 76,578. The building frenzy that seized Montreux as it did no other Swiss destination – “La maladie de la pierre et du ciment” (the disease of stones and concrete) – drew increasing criticism toward the end of the 19th century.125 Local groups that advocated a balance between preserving the natural landscape and the interests of the tourist industry were formed, but they were unable to prevent the construction of huge luxury hotels like the Caux-Palais (1902) or the Montreux Palace (1906). These were symbols of the age and attracted a high-ranking and wealthy clientele. Montreux became a stage for international celebrities. They came to see and to be seen. Yet Montreux was not exclusively oriented toward summer tourism; it also boasted local alkaline water, grape cures and therapeutic

110 The Discovery of the Mountains air. Already in the 19th century, then, it was an important health resort that attracted visitors throughout the year. Its unique development is all the more astonishing in that there were other destinations in the vicinity that also understood how to draw in increasing numbers of travellers and long-term visitors: Geneva, Lausanne, Nyon, Vevey and Bex, for example. English-style boarding houses had begun to appear on the shores of Lake Geneva at the beginning of the 19th century, but no other place in Switzerland offered so great a variety of hotels and pensions as Montreux, where all tastes could be satisfed. English, Americans, Russians, Germans – every visitor could fnd a restaurant to their liking. In the second half of the 19th century, it became common for middle-class English retirees to settle on Lake Geneva, where a retirement pension that was inadequate to live on comfortably in England seemed to suffce. Montreux profted from this practice more than any other Swiss town. In 1868, an expatriate who had been living in Montreux since the 1850s lauded the fact that touristic facilities were visibly improving along the entire coast from Clarens to Villeneuve and that new hotels and pensions were opening every year. He concluded that the number of foreign vacationers must be steadily increasing, and for good reason, and noted that these vacationers had become a signifcant source of wealth and prosperity for the region. He then added a critical note, pointing out that the construction of a footway along the shore was badly needed and that in Montreux, in contrast to Interlaken, there was no gathering place for foreign visitors to meet. By this he meant a kursaal. Soon, however, this too would change. Kursaals, Casinos and Orchestras The Belle Epoque played out under the sparkle of casino chandeliers. In the summer of 1859, the kursaal in Interlaken opened its doors. Inevitably, the lavish magnifcence of its gold-ornamented rooms, fne furniture and sumptuous wallpapers soon became the setting of myths and legends – not least because the driving force behind the project, the French speculator Baron d’Azène du Plessis, was such an adventurous character. A former offcer in the Crimean War, his wealth was said to derive from murky Spanish sources. The kursaal programme – which included an affliated whey cure institute, a gambling room open for several hours three times a day, a number of orchestral concerts every day and a weekly ball – struck the fancy of a fashionable clientele. As a business, however, the kursaal did not do well. The introduction of gambling was the beginning of the end. Only a month after the opening of the casino, the Bernese government stepped in and banned the practice. Du Plessis capitulated, and out of the fnancial ruins was born the Kurhaus Association, a public limited company. This new model would be adopted in other localities as well.

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In the Belle Epoque, Interlaken and the entire Bernese Oberland were transformed into one big wellness landscape, with baths, whey cures, climatic spas and lodgings. The entire fashionable world would gather when a Soirée dansante had been announced. Even the emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II (1825–1891), and the former US president, General Ulysses S. Grant (1822–1885), came to Interlaken, both in the summer of 1877. The President was greeted with a serenade by American guests in the Hotel Jungfrau; on the following day he was serenaded again, this time by the “Frohsinn” Interlaken men’s choir. The imperial visit occasioned yet more republican attention. The emperor and empress resided with their entourage of seventeen in the Hotel Victoria. For years, prominent guests like these kicked off the summer seasons in high style. Many visitors from the German duchies and the English and Scottish aristocracy would arrive, and soon it would be announced that all of the hotels on the Höheweg were booked to the last bed. The carriage traffc on the road from Interlaken to Zweilütschinen was as dense as on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice. And against the backdrop of the moonlit Jungfrau, in the light of ornate freworks, carts loaded with 100-pound blocks of ice, hacked out of the Grindelwald glaciers by dozens of labourers and bound for Bulgarian military hospitals in the Russian-Osmanian war, passed one another by. Military and economic developments in Europe affected the number of foreign visitors to Interlaken. In the summer of 1870, for example, many departed abruptly due to the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War. At the end of the 19th century, however, the seasons were splendid. The kursaal orchestra struck up three times a day – mornings at seven, afternoons at four and evenings at eight. At frst, the audiences’ expectations were not always met. Many orchestras were mediocre and quickly forgotten. But then, in 1873, a music pavilion that set new acoustical and technical standards was built in the middle of the kursaal garden. When word got around in the Bernese Oberland that orchestras in the most famous European health resorts comprised up to 100 musicians, people in Interlaken were initially displeased. But not for long; soon the supply of musicians in Interlaken grew as well. The orchestra’s headcount began to keep pace with that of its perpetually record-setting competition. In 1874, the ensemble already numbered 20 musicians; in high seasons in the 1880s, it was 26; and by the end of the century, more than 40 musicians were playing under the direction of the legendary conductor Wilhelm Schleidt (1840–1912). This well-tempered music was increasingly complemented by a mishmash of travelling choirs, merry yodellers and twittering “nightingales.” Games of chance, which increasingly spread through the kursaals of the Belle Epoque, were not always met with favour. Throughout the 19th century, they also repeatedly provoked criticism from the government. The gambling operations in Saxon appear to have been particularly

112 The Discovery of the Mountains sketchy. Already in 1802, the Executive Council of the Helvetic Republic promulgated restrictive regulations. In 1866, the Swiss electorate rejected a proposal that would have empowered federal authorities to regulate the commercial operation of lotteries and gambling. With voters’ rejection of the Constitution proposed in 1872, a prohibition on casinos also lost out. The Constitution approved in 1874, however, put an end to the establishment of new casinos and required existing ones to shut down by the end of 1877. In the meantime, the gambling room at the kursaal in Interlaken had become a glamorous meeting point for high society. The “pony game” (Rösslispiel) was as infamous as it was popular, and as the annual revenue it generated increased, the Interlaken kursaal fell into disrepute. It was seen as a gambling den and a hotbed of debauchery and sin and became – as did other kursaals – an object of public controversy. Given the regulations in the new Constitution, the Bernese government was forced to take a stand. The Federal Council was informed that there were no gambling operations in Interlaken – that the pony game was nothing but a harmless pastime. There was no reason to forbid it, so long as gambling was tolerated in inns and private homes. The operators of the kursaal, however, recognised the seriousness of the situation. They curtailed participation by the local population, claimed that the gambling involved only a limited clientele and strictly reduced the betting limit to one franc. At the end of the 1880s, the Bernese police cracked down anyway. The pony game was prohibited, the gaming devices confscated and the directorate of the kursaal fned. Advocates of gambling in Interlaken pointed out to the Federal Council that in other places, such as Lucerne, Baden, Geneva and Montreux, gambling continued unabated – but in vain. Since the orchestra had been fnanced by revenues from the pony game, the prohibition on gambling left a hole in the kursaal’s budget. Then, in 1890, the kursaal received permission to reintroduce the pony game. A gambling room was set up, and the operators were obliged to adhere to strict regulations. In 1893, the gambling operation was leased by the kursaal to Götschel and Company, a frm that already ran the kursaals in Geneva and Montreux. Götschel and Compancy paid no heed to the new rules, though, and the kursaal thus felt forced to take the operation back into its own hands. It hired a croupier and two assistants. But the pony game had by now become passé. In 1895, the “railway game” (jeu du chemin de fer) had taken its place. Public criticism reared its head again, and a federal investigation was launched. In 1897, having just been elected to the Federal Council, the Justice and Police Minister Ernst Brenner (1856–1911) paid a visit to the Interlaken kursaal accompanied by a member of the Government Council of Canton Bern, Louis Joliat (1846–1922). More detectives were deployed, the local police maintained a visible presence and the situation was continually observed by

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two members of the kursaal directorate, with the result that complaints ebbed and the Interlaken kursaal earned a reputation as an exemplary and above-board gambling operation. In 1898, the Bernese government even permitted the Kurhaus Association to raise the betting limits on the railway game, which had previously been restricted to between one and two francs; now bets between two and fve francs were allowed. Rules and regulations had to be posted in the gaming room; these stated, for example, that adolescents were permitted entry only if accompanied by their parents and that children were not allowed in at all. Bets now had to be made in cash and no longer, as before, with chips. And the proft made by the casino had to be used for charitable purposes. In Montreux, too, there was demand for a casino. A building was designed by the architects Charles Nicati (1833–1884) and Ernest Burnat (1833–1922) and outftted with elements of Medieval, Moorish and Far Eastern decoration. Opened in 1881, the casino provided access to the lakefront by way of a stately outdoor staircase. A light orchestra played in the restaurant, while classical concerts and plays took place in the auditorium. “Le champagne coule à fots” (the champagne is freely fowing) was the take on it in the press.126 Already the following year, however, the business fled for bankruptcy. In 1883, the casino opened again, at frst offering the pony game, and later the boules game. As in other Swiss locations, the goings-on in Montreux were tolerated despite being forbidden by the Constitution; a fair amount of rhetorical gymnastics was indulged in to justify this state of affairs. It was pointed out that in Swiss kursaals, as opposed to, say, in Monte Carlo or Enghien, gambling was not the main attraction, but only one of several options for entertainment and diversion. The gaming took place in broad daylight and was offcially regulated. A strict prohibition, it was argued, would open the door to criminal operations. The powerful lobby that came together in Montreux to support the kursaal and its gambling operation was skilled at defecting rising criticism from triggering a destructive earthquake. The fscal situation, whereby both the local municipality and the canton profted from tax revenues, didn’t hurt the cause, either. In Montreux as in Interlaken, the concert programme was greatly expanded. In 1884, 14 musicians and a conductor were hired at an annual cost of around 26,000 francs. During the winter of 1899/1900, 26 symphony concerts took place, among them premiers of works by Alexander Borodin (1833–1887) and Felix Weingartner (1863–1942).127 The casino’s success yielded the region’s star architect, Eugène Jost (1865–1946), a commission to design an extension to the building. In 1902/1903 a large, glass-covered vestibule with columns of imitation marble was built. The theatrical interior staircase and the Baroque gallery made an imposing impression. Soon a sumptuous auditorium and a cinema were added as well. Ernest Ansermet (1883–1969) made his debut with the

114 The Discovery of the Mountains Kursaal orchestra in 1912, securing Montreux’s place in the European music world. But then the thunder of war drowned out the sound of music on Lake Geneva as elsewhere: Some of the musicians were let go, and the number of concerts was reduced. Kursaals and casinos, both in cities and at other tourist destinations, repeatedly made negative headlines, were the object of police investigations and aroused the attention of the authorities. Geneva especially made headlines around the turn of the century. In 1902, the kursaals of Baden, Geneva, Interlaken, Lucerne, Montreux and Thun had formed an association, from which Geneva soon pulled out. The Federal Council was repeatedly confronted with real or alleged scandals involving gambling operations. In 1911, the Federal Council intervened in Geneva and closed down the notorious “Circle of Foreigners” (Cercle des étrangers), a wholly opaque organisation fronted by a man from Piedmont. The other casinos also found themselves on the Federal Council’s “Watch List.” Blatant abuses fnally convinced the Swiss electorate to vote for a constitutional prohibition on gambling. The games were to end in 1925. But the kursaals were not yet ready to give in. They launched a popular initiative, which was submitted on 10 November 1926. On 2 December 1928, the Swiss people voted in favour of the initiative, and gambling was once again permitted. Yet even with this development, the “tale of suffering” (Leidensgeschichte), as one report of the Federal Council termed it, was not over.128 The Rise of St Moritz Canton Graubünden fgured only marginally on the maps of the English Grand Tourists. In his 1793 travel guide, Johann Gottfried Ebel (1764–1830) wrote that there was nothing great, extraordinary or beautiful in Graubünden that could not be found in a more impressive form in other locations in Switzerland. Graubünden was also not part of the playground of the early British alpinists. The rigorous journey through the Engadin to the grandeur of the Graubünden Alpine world was not the only reason for this lack of interest. With Piz Bernina as its only 4000-metre peak, Graubünden came up short when compared to Valais – especially as the Bernina had already been climbed by the time British alpinists were storming the Alps in large numbers. Instead, the focus of tourism in Graubünden until well after the mid19th century was its baths, which boasted a long tradition in the lower Engadin towns of Tarasp, Vulpera and Schuls and became even more important in the1860s. Davos, by contrast, was touristically insignifcant and undeveloped before the middle of the century. The great boom in the Landwasser Valley only took place during the Belle Epoque, when health tourism fourished and the railway network was extended to Davos. The same was true of Arosa.

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St Moritz was different. Its development illustrates how, with pioneering spirit, tourist facilities could be built up to complement existing baths in such a way as to fundamentally alter both the character of a spa town’s tourism and the town itself. At the beginning of the 19th century, St Moritz was a small village in the Upper Engadin. In 1803, it had only 183 inhabitants. Over the course of the following decades its population hardly changed: In 1850, the village counted 228 inhabitants. It was not connected to the railway network until 1904. The journey to reach it was long, and in winter the passes were often uncrossable. Nevertheless, St Moritz had been well-known since antiquity for its healing mineral spring.129 The wooden frame of the Mauritius spring, which dates from the second millennium B.C. and is exhibited today in the Forum Paracelsus in St Moritz Bad, is one of the most ancient surviving wooden constructions in Europe and is among the most important Bronze-Age discoveries in the Alpine region. In 1815, another source was discovered in the vicinity of the Mauritius spring. This was named the Paracelsus Spring, in recognition of the praise that that famous doctor, alchemist and polymath had heaped on the healing waters of the Mauritius spring during his visit to St Moritz centuries earlier.130 In the early 19th century, however, there were still no lodgings available at the therapeutic springs of St Moritz. Visitors were accommodated by villagers – often by the patrician von Flugi family, at whose residence Johann Heinrich Mayr had lodged in his day. The small spa facility built in 1832 did not change matters, since inns were not permitted near springs in Graubünden until 1840. While the old Mauritius spring was still used for bathing in the 19th century, the Paracelsus spring was primarily a source of therapeutic drinking water. In the mid-1850s, two trendsetting developments occurred: In 1856, the 60-bed Kurhaus opened in St Moritz Bad; and in 1855, Johannes Badrutt (1819–1889) leased the Pension Faller, which he bought three years later and turned into the Hotel-Pension Engadiner Kulm. A larger spa hotel (Kurhaus) followed in 1864, with 129 guest rooms and a new pump room in the classical style. But the biggest development occurred in the Belle Epoque, when the 400-bed Neuer Stahlbad opened. While individual visitors had been making their way to the Upper Engadin since the 1840s, these sojourns were still a far cry from real summer tourism. Richard Wagner (1813–1883), who went to the baths of St Moritz in the early 1850s with Georg Herwegh (1817–1875), did not have an easy time. Even their arrival seemed ill-fated. In Chur they were delayed due to an “overfull post-coach” – and this in unceasingly torrential rain, which forced them to spend their time reading in an extremely uncomfortable inn. Once in St Moritz, things went no better, since “the current comfortable Kurhaus did not yet exist, and we had to make do with the most rough-and-tumble lodgings.” The whole affair

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was embarrassing for Wagner, since Herwegh had not come to the Engadin for therapeutic treatment at all, but rather for entertainment, of which there was none to be found.131 The opening and gradual expansion of Badrutt’s hotel from the mid1850s onwards marked the emergence of St Moritz from the infrastructural desolation described by Wagner and constituted the decisive step in the shaping of the town’s new image. This epochal event led to further hotel construction. The Kulm was followed by a series of new hotels: the Steffani in 1870, the Belvedere in 1871, the Beau Rivage (later the east wing of the Palace) in 1872, the Victoria and the Du Lac in 1875 and the Bären in 1876. So it was that in the 1870s the development began that would soon turn St Moritz into the Top of the World: one of the most prominent of international health resorts, and a hotspot of both summer and winter tourism. In the last quarter of the 19th century, St Moritz became the most prominent tourist destination in Switzerland. As it did, it quickly lost the character of a rustic mountain village. Urban-style infrastructure was built to foster international tourism. The late 18th-century Protestant village church was joined by the Catholic St Mauritius church (1866) and the Eglise française (1875/1877), by an Anglican church in St Moritz Bad (1868/1871) and by a Catholic chapel (1885/1887). Parsonages, school buildings, restaurants, excursion sites and pastry shops were built. The famous Hanselmann pastry shop opened in 1860, and the kursaal in 1885. Villa after villa was built, as were the streets, bridges, footbridges and paths by which they were accessed. Then the St Moritz Bank (1905) and the Engadiner Museum (1906) moved into new buildings, and Giovanni Segantini was memorialised by the museum bearing his name (1908). Hotels and pensions were complemented by athletic felds, scenic viewpoints and hiking trails, tennis courts and an indoor horse-riding arena (1910) – indispensable elements for a tourist destination aiming to move to the forefront of the international scene. And why not a golf course to complete the mix? In the autumn of 1890, an anonymous golfer writing in the St. Moritzer Post inquired whether the meadows on the north bank of the lake might be used to play golf, since the terrain was excellently suited for a course. The writer even ventured to suggest that a golf course would draw hundreds of golfers to the Engadin, as had happened in Pau and Biarritz. An answer came in the summer of the following year – once again by way of the newspaper. The owner of the land had given his consent. Conradin von Flugi had been to England during the winter, “where he had vigorously followed up on the golf course idea.” Several English golfers who knew the Engadin had lent him their support. Once the hay had been harvested in the summer of 1891, a nine-hole course with interesting hazards was to be built. And so it was: On 1 August 1891, the frst ball was driven from the tee, and St Moritz was one attraction richer.

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It was expressly pointed out that golf was a sport suited for both men and women. The Kulm in St Moritz and the Palace in Maloja subsequently opened their own nine-hole courses, and in 1893, the frst 18-hole golf course in Switzerland – the Engadine Golf Club – was inaugurated in Samedan.132 The expansion of its infrastructure rapidly fostered a new image of St Moritz. And soon it was a matter of course that royal and upper-class families spent their vacations there, in Pontresina, or at other locations in the Engadin. That the names of these visitors and the hotels they were staying in should appear in lists of arrivals published in newspapers is unimaginable today but was de rigueur during the Belle Epoque. Thus, one might have learned that the successor to the Austrian throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand (1863–1914) and his consort Princess Hohenberg (1868–1914) had undertaken an excursion up the Muottas Muragl; that Prince Henry of Prussia (1862–1929) had joined the Engadine Golf Club; or that the grand-ducal couple of Baden had departed from St Moritz after a sojourn of several weeks. St Moritz, in fact, in contrast to other destinations, seems to have been visited by royals and celebrities continually and in great numbers right up to the outbreak of the First World War.133 There was no diminishment in the number of visits paid by its wealthy, noble and upper-class clientele, nor was there any sign of the economic, political and military catastrophe on the horizon. They came from every nation and in greater numbers than ever before, as was noted in 1913: Prince Adalbert of Prussia, Prince Max of Baden, Prince and Princess George of Greece, Prince William of Hohenzollern, the Maharaja of Kapurthala, Count Albert Mensdorff, Mr Hall Caine, Sir Squire Bancroft, Prince and Princess Paliano Colonna, the Maharaja of Dholpur, Sir Alfred Cripps, Prince and Princess Henry XXX of Reuss, Sir Jaco Sassoon, the Prince and Princess of Savoy, Mr and Mrs Leopold de Rothschild, General Sir Alfred Turner, the future Queen of England Mary of Teck, the Bishop of Colchester, Queen Victoria’s daughter Princess Helena and the Right Honourable Ameer Ali.134 The brilliant development undergone by St Moritz at the end of the 19th century is all the more remarkable considering that it was not yet connected to the modern transport network of the railways, and the journey to get there was quite demanding. Yet out of necessity sprang virtue: The delightful journey through the splendid landscape was extolled, and St Moritz was labelled the geographic centre of Europe. The best connections, so it was claimed, were available for reaching the Engadin: from London, Moscow and Rome, from Paris, Valencia and Christiania – frst by train and then, as one approached the High Alps of Graubünden, by postal stagecoach over the Julier, Albula or Flüela Passes. Up until 1904, St Moritz could only be reached by road and over passes – by horse-drawn carriage, on horse or on foot. The journey by

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stagecoach from Chur took around 12 hours. This did not change with the advent of the automobile toward the end of the 19th century. On the contrary: Automobile use was forbidden in Canton Graubünden by a startling political act in 1900 and only re-allowed on 21 July 1925 after a referendum that involved several rounds of voting. Decisive developments in the expansion of transport infrastructure only came after the turn of the century. In 1904, the Rhaetian Railway (Rhätische Bahn) opened the Albula line, which connected the Upper Engadin with Chur. The travel time to St Moritz was thereby reduced from 12 to 4 hours. The Bernina line between St Moritz and the Italian town of Tirano began operating in 1908. And it proved true for St Moritz, as it had elsewhere, that a tourist destination, however attractive its location and the natural beauty of its surroundings, still experiences a powerful boost to its development when it becomes reachable by train. This observation even holds true for those destinations that underwent signifcant touristic development prior to the age of the railway. Independent of the state of its infrastructure, connection to the railway network inevitably propelled a town’s development, as St Moritz demonstrates particularly clearly. The frst electric light in Switzerland lit up the Kulm Hotel in 1879, and starting in 1902, electrically powered boats plied the waters of Lake St Moritz.135 Both are symbols of the powerful awakening that led to the thoroughgoing modernisation of even traditional spas during the Belle Epoque, creating new infrastructure – frst for summer tourism, and later on for winter tourism as well. In this respect, St Moritz played a pioneering role in Swiss history. Its development also had a demographic effect: In the 50 years from 1850 to 1900, the population of St Moritz increased sevenfold to 1,603 inhabitants; it would double again over the course of the next decade (1910: 3,197 inhabitants). Winter Tourism in Switzerland The origins of winter tourism and winter sports in Switzerland have become intrinsically linked to two legends. The one revolves around the question of when skiing was frst practiced in Switzerland, and where the idea and technical know-how came from. The other concerns a wager that the St Moritz hotelier Johannes Badrutt (1819–1889) allegedly made with British summer tourists, and which is supposed to have led to the frst winter hotel guests arriving in St Moritz already in the mid-1860s. Before Badrutt inaugurated the frst offcial winter season in St Moritz, he offered winter lodgings to visitors in his private home. The frst to take him up on this offer, in 1866/1867, was Arthur V. Strettel, a British businessman who suffered from tuberculosis and had previously undergone therapeutic cures in the mild and damp Mediterranean climate. “I have never before experienced such a healthy and pleasant winter

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climate as I did in St Moritz” – so Strettel.136 Francis Greatheed, who also suffered from lung disease, frst lodged in the house Strettel built in 1867. Greatheed would later stay at the Kulm. He was highly impressed by and full of praise for the St Moritz winter: “The brilliance of the sun, the blue of the sky and the clarity of the air really surprised us, and at the end of the winter I felt signifcantly stronger than at its beginning.”137 In 1869/1870, the Kulm remained open in the winter for the frst time; on this basis, Johannes Badrutt has earned a place in the annals of tourism history for introducing the idea of a winter season.138 This place is not completely justifed, however, for in fact the Thurgau industrialist Johann Heinrich Mayr had spent the winter in St Moritz more than three decades previously, and Thomas Stuart Kennedy was certainly in Zermatt in the winter of 1862.139 Yet neither Mayr nor Kennedy made decisive contributions to the propagation of winter tourism in Switzerland, for neither St Moritz in the 1830s nor Zermatt in the early 1860s was in a position to provide the initial spark for the development of sustained winter tourism. Badrutt and the St Moritz of the late 1860s and afterwards, on the other hand, had the necessary infrastructure at hand, and thus the capacity to achieve the breakthrough. Badrutt, who originally ran an inn in Samedan, expanded to St Moritz in 1855, taking over the Pension Faller, which he gradually built up into the modern Kulm. He maintained his inn in Samedan, hiring a manager and commuting between there and St Moritz. His wife remained in Samedan, where their children were born. The newly built spa house with its contemporary facilities was already attracting visitors to St Moritz, and both the Upper Engadin and Badrutt’s hotel were becoming increasingly well known. But Badrutt had a problem: His guests usually arrived in early summer and departed again in the autumn. The tourist season was short, the winter long. This provides the context in which Badrutt’s mythical wager is said to have been made. In the course of a conversation with the last English tourists of the summer season, Johannes Badrutt is to have painted a vivid picture of how mild and sunny winters were in St Moritz – nothing like the fog and damp of England. He invited the tourists to visit his hotel the following winter and see for themselves. If they found his enthusiastic descriptions of the weather, the sun and the light less than accurate, or should they otherwise be displeased by winter in St Moritz, he would pay their travel expenses. And this wager – according to the myth – paid off: The English party came back on Christmas day, 1864, and was received by Badrutt in shirtsleeves.140 Weeks later, they are said to have left the Engadin and returned to England, tan, enthusiastic, and highly impressed. Badrutt’s wager thus kicked off a grandiose success story: A winter sojourn in St Moritz developed into a novel attraction in Great Britain, one that, following on the heyday of the Alpine Club, spoke increasingly to aristocratic and upper-class circles.

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That the frst winter tourists arrived in Davos in February 1865 led to competition between the two health resorts. Soon, other High Alpine destinations were also promoting their winter seasons. In the end, however, it is irrelevant precisely where and when the frst winter tourist alighted in Switzerland. More important is that in the second half of the 1860s winter tourism left its frst marks in several Swiss locations. And decisive for the emergence of winter tourism as a signifcant phenomenon in cultural and economic history was that a hotelier – Johannes Badrutt – recognised its potential. Not only was he able to call on his summer tourism network in the winter as well, but he also had at his disposal, directly before the entrance of his Kulm, the infrastructure of St Moritz embedded in the panorama of the Engadin, whose magic in its winter dress was increasingly being praised in the highest terms. It was this combination of pioneering spirit, landscape and infrastructure that made possible the launch of winter tourism in St Moritz, which achieved resounding success there well before it did in most other locations. And it was due to Badrutt’s efforts that the clientele in St Moritz changed over the course of the years. While at the beginning of Badrutt’s activities in St Moritz this clientele consisted primarily of Swiss politicians and industrialists – and, in the years directly thereafter, of vacationers from the well-off Swiss bourgeoisie – the introduction of winter tourism saw it become rapidly more international and illustrious. Starting in the 1870s, the British took over the sceptre, introduced their sporting activities and turned the St Moritz of the Belle Epoque into the most dazzling of European winter destinations. A century earlier, in 1780, when hardly a British traveller was to be found in the Swiss Alps, the deputy bailiff of the Saanen region in the Bernese Oberland, Karl Victor von Bonstetten (1745–1832), wrote the following description of winter in the area: “A thousand sledges fy through all the valley; then you see the long snowshoes of the Laplanders; everything is happy, everything is alive.”141 This is possibly the earliest reference to skiing in Switzerland and confrms the thesis that Alpine inhabitants already knew about and were competent at using the “long snowshoes.” It is undisputed today that farmers in the Swiss Alps and pre-Alps were already using a primitive form of snow tyres on their wagons in the 18th century. Whether they also wore snowshoes, which would have facilitated walking in the snow, or were actually walking or gliding on skis, has not been conclusively determined by research.142 Elsewhere, von Bonstetten mentions seeing many sledges in the Vaudois town of Rougemont. In fact, it was almost exclusively British and American visitors who brought winter sports to the Engadin and so to Switzerland, adding a new dimension to social life. Hotel pioneers seized the chance and provided opportunities for the novel pleasures. Yet not everything about winter sports was new. The local population had long used sledges, for

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example, as a means of transport. What was new about these sports was that they required new infrastructure and organisational frameworks. Every sporting discipline needs its rules, and a club to watch over them. Whoever wanted to satisfy the tastes of foreigners now had to lay out ice rinks and design breakneck sled tracks. St Moritz was a “frst mover” in this respect: In 1880, it became the frst place curling was played on the European continent. While the sport was at frst ridiculed as bizarre by the local population, Scottish curling stones soon enlivened the winter sports scene. Bandy, the forerunner of ice hockey, was also played in 1880; in 1882, the frst European ice-skating championships were held; in 1885, the Cresta Run, which would soon become legendary, was opened, and in 1887, the Tobogganing Club was founded. In 1889, two sledges were connected for the frst time; the Englishman William H. Bulpett (1855–1929) had the idea, and it was executed by the St Moritz blacksmith Christian Mathis (1861–1925). With this innovation, the predecessor of modern bobsledding was born. In 1892, the frst bobsled race was held; in 1903, the bobsled run from St Moritz to Celerina opened; teams could include both men and women.143 The Alpina Ski Club was also founded in 1903. The ice pavilion at the Hotel Kulm opened to the public in 1905. In 1907, the frst horse race was held on frozen Lake St Moritz.144 In 1895, the frst ski-jump was built. It would later be dwarfed by the Julier ski-jump, built in 1906: While ski jumpers had previously attained distances of 20 metres, they could now fy an unbelievable 40 metres. The Julier jump remained in operation until the Olympic ski-jump in St Moritz Bad set new standards in 1926, launching jumps of over 70 metres. In 1870, the Globe reported that a club of primarily English skaters had formed in Silvaplana in the Engadin; they practiced daily on the lovely ice feld of Lake Sils. A correction subsequently appeared in the Times, signed by the “President of the St Moritz Skating Club”: It was not Lake Sils, in fact, but Lake St Moritz on which the performances of the Skating Club took place, and all of the members of the club were lodged in St Moritz, and not in Silvaplana.145 As far as cultural history is concerned, these clarifcations are less noteworthy than the subsequent account given of winter in the Engadin. The letter is one of the few extant sources that document winter tourism in the late 1860s. It points out that at the time of its writing there was no skating on Lake Sils, nor on the rest of the lakes of the Engadin, for they had been covered with snow for three months; and that the skating season in St Moritz had begun on 25 October and would probably last until March or April. With this information and a remark about temperatures well below zero Celsius, the President of the St Moritz Skating Club probably wanted to show how severe the Engadin winter was. Yet the writer also suggested that he was unable to communicate more than the faintest

122 The Discovery of the Mountains idea of the great happiness bestowed by a High Alpine winter. The same diffculty was apparent in his account of sledging. This sport, too, was evidently great fun and could be practiced six months of the year. Yet only by actually trying it out was it possible to truly understand how delightful a speedy sledge ride could be under a gloriously blue and sunny sky. Both British tourists and local residents, the writer continued, rode down steep slopes at incredible speeds on small sledges built especially for this purpose. The chill of an English winter was unknown in the dry climate of the Engadin. To those who might be scared off by the fourday journey from London to St Moritz, the writer pointed out that the Julier Pass was open all winter long and was more quickly traversed on a sleigh than with the postal stagecoach in summer. While St Moritz’s trailblazing role as a Swiss winter sports destination is undisputed, comparable developments began in other locations at almost the same time. The frst Swiss sledge race was held in 1877 in Davos. Sledging developed into the most prominent form of winter entertainment.146 In 1877, the ice rink opened in Davos, and in 1883, the world’s frst international sledging race was held. Instruction in Norwegian skiing was offered in Arosa in 1883. During the Belle Epoque, the Bernese Oberland emerged as one of the most important centres of winter sports in Switzerland. Grindelwald led the way. As in St Moritz and Davos, hoteliers were a driving force in this development. The Hotel Bär may have remained open for British guests in winter as early as the 1860s. In any case, from 1888 onwards the winter season became a permanent fxture. In 1901, Adelboden became a winter destination, and in 1909, when the Wengernalp Railway (Wengernalpbahn) commenced winter operations at the insistence of hoteliers, so did Wengen. In 1910, the train to Mürren began to run in winter. The sport of skiing was long suspect to the Swiss. At frst glance, it appears remarkable that skis were not used in Switzerland as a means of getting around in winter, as they had been for centuries by warriors and hunters in the Nordic countries. A look at topographical conditions, however, provides an explanation. Unlike the vast plains of Lapland, the steep slopes of the Alps were not conducive to the Nordic style of skiing. Fridtjof Nansen’s book On Snowshoes through Greenland, which appeared in German in 1888, was an important source of inspiration for early skiers in the Swiss Alps.147 In order to avoid being the object of ridicule, however, skiers in Switzerland at frst often practiced the sport furtively and on the quiet. Only in the 1890s did skiing gradually become popular. And even then the skiing pioneer of the Engadin, Clo Saratz, preferred to practice on moonlit nights in order not to have an audience.148 Similarly, the Glarus colonel Christoph Iselin (1869–1949), who was fascinated by Nansen and made his own pair of skis in 1891, at frst tested them out at night or in the fog. The following year, he invited

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a Norwegian skier to instruct a select group of initiates. Together with three others, Iselin then traversed the Pragel pass on skis on 28/29 January 1893; in the same year, the frst ski club in Switzerland was founded in Glarus. It was also Iselin who organised the frst ski race in Switzerland, at the foot of the Glärnisch in 1902. 15 April 1894 would go down in skiing history. It was the day that Saratz undertook his frst long ski-tour. He reached Silvaplana from Pontresina in six hours, passing through the Rosegtal and over the Fuorcla Surlej (2760 metres). This courageous tour, which awakened keen interest in the media, motivated Saratz and others to further exploits. Women also dared to try out the long boards, but a storm of indignation over the course of several years led to a de facto prohibition. Soon the frst skiing organisations had been founded: In 1902, the Grindelwald Ski Club became one of the frst in Switzerland, and in the same year, the frst ski races were held, in Glarus and in Bern. In 1905, the frst Swiss national race took place. The frst international cross-country championships were held in Adelboden (1903) and Zweisimmen (1905).149 The Swiss Ski Association (SSV) was founded in 1904; women were explicitly excluded. The Swiss Women’s Ski Club was fnally founded in 1928, prompting the men of the SSV go on record as saying, “We want nothing to do with the women.” (“Mir wei mit de Wyber nüt z’tüe ha.”) Yet this was to be their last stand; the following year, women were admitted to the association. The Englishman Sir Henry Simpson Lunn (1859–1939) was an important promoter of skiing in Switzerland. Lunn was a Methodist minister and the founder of the tourism company Lunn Poly, which would in time become the largest British travel organisation (today’s TUI). In 1892, Lunn organised an ecumenical conference for British clergymen in Grindelwald. In 1893, he founded “Educational Tours” and subsequently organised more conferences. In 1902, he organised clerical gatherings in Adelboden and Wengen, which combined work with winter sports activities. In 1905, he founded the Public Schools Alpine Sports Club, and in 1908, the Alpine Ski Club. His son Arnold Lunn (1888– 1974) was also a pioneer of skiing tourism in the Bernese Alps. In the years before the First World War, he helped turn Wengen and Mürren into centres of British skiing. He devised the rules that govern downhill and slalom ski races and is remembered as one of the organisers of the frst Kandahar race.150 The British doctor and writer Arthur Conan Doyle (1859–1930), immortalised by his adventure stories featuring the master detective Sherlock Holmes and his comrade-in-arms Dr Watson, not only turned Meiringen and the Reichenbach Falls into pilgrimage sites but was also a skiing pioneer. His essay, “An Alpine Pass on Ski” (1894), describing his ski tour from Davos to Arosa, is one of the frst English accounts of this new central European sport.151

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In 1903, a ski club that organised races for tourists was founded in Adelboden. The following year a similar club was established in Zweisimmen. Still, it took the through-rail traffc of the Montreux Oberland Bernois Railway, which frst ran in 1905, to bring a signifcant number of foreign tourists to Saanen. At this point, winter sports operations developed there as well. Hotels were built, and the Saanen region became “a true Eldorado for skiers.”152 The speed with which Switzerland developed into a country of winter sports after the turn of the century can be seen in statistics: In 1913, for example, a compendium listed no fewer than 127 Swiss destinations offering winter sports activities.153 But to return to Badrutt’s mythical wager: Like most myths, it never happened. The story was no more nor less than a marketing gag. In 1866/1867 Badrutt lodged only a single guest – Strettel – and not in his hotel, but in his private home. Dr Spengler, meanwhile, was already treating tuberculosis patients over the winter in Davos. This would appear to decide the battle over who hosted the frst winter tourists in favour of Davos. But in fact the extant sources document that winter tourism really did begin earlier in St Moritz. The only hitch is that the pioneer in question was not Badrutt, and the frst tourist was not British. That honour goes, rather, to the Arbon industrialist Johann Heinrich Mayr. On the advice of friends from Graubünden, Mayr travelled over the Albula Pass to St Moritz in the winter of 1835 to alleviate his asthma in the fresh Alpine air. Mayr alone wears the crown! The Englishman Thomas Stuart Kennedy also deserves a spot on the podium. Although he failed to climb the Matterhorn in the winter of 1862, he was one of the very frst winter tourists in Switzerland. And, thanks to Kennedy’s visit, Zermatt must also be recognised as one of the very frst winter tourism destinations. From Therapeutic Baths to Health Tourism Switzerland possesses great quantities of a raw material that it has made use of since prehistoric times: water. A number of great European rivers have their sources in Switzerland, for which reason it is sometimes called the reservoir of Europe. Among these fowing waters are a number of effervescent mineral springs. The thermal baths of Baden, Yverdon and St Moritz were visited even in antiquity. In the Late Middle Ages, the therapeutic bath culture experienced a revival, especially in Leukerbad, Pfäfers and Schuls. As time went on, newly discovered or rediscovered springs led to the establishment of further sanatoria. In the 18th century, more than 100 spas are known to have existed in Switzerland. In the mid-19th century, Stefano Franscini (1796–1857), a Federal Councillor known for his promotion of national statistical data, documented around 350 therapeutic springs.

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He classifed 22 of these as frst-class and described Baden, Schinznach, Pfäfers, St Moritz, San Bernardino, Leukerbad, Lavey-les-Bains and Gurnigel as the most important among them.154 Swiss spas fourished, and by the end of the century, several hundred thermal and mineral springs were effervescing in Switzerland. People came from all over the world, in summer and winter, to be treated at select spas – for example, at the Grand-Hotel Baden, which opened in 1876 and was outftted with a kursaal, a stage and an orchestra. Here, hotel guests could comfortably ride Switzerland’s frst lift down to the souterrain, where over 100 individual baths awaited them, equipped with the most refned showers and nozzles of the age. There was even an infrared warming cabin, as it was considered very important for bathers to quickly break into a sweat. Gottfried Keller (1819–1890) and Arnold Böcklin (1827–1901) both stopped off in Baden; how intensively they used the light and water baths, or the rain and jet showers, has been lost to history. The extravagant wooden construction of the Electric Light Bath caused quite a stir. It was developed by none other than the US-American doctor John Harvey Kellogg (1852–1943), who later, together with his brothers, introduced Corn Flakes to the market.155 In the spa world, too, the outbreak of the First World War brought an abrupt end to further development. Most spas were closed, and their highly praised mineral springs suddenly lost their allure. Others continued to bubble away, but without much vigour. The above-mentioned Grand-Hotel Baden is a symbol of this demise. Used for a time for military exercises by the Swiss army, it was demolished in 1944.156 Whey cures made up another early form of tourism. They supplemented mineral-water-drinking cures and could be undertaken in locations without a therapeutic mineral spring. Up until the advent of high-altitude therapy, whey was even considered a treatment for pulmonary disease. Whey-cure centres were mainly directed at an urban clientele and attracted international patients as well as Swiss ones. Socalled “Schotten dairymen” (Schottensennen) delivered whey to the sanatoria in the early morning; the patients were to drink the liquid in precisely prescribed doses at predetermined times of the day. Walks in the fresh air were combined with the whey drinking. Originally an Appenzell custom – frst documented in Gais in 1760 – whey cures were soon found in other locations as well, and spread throughout Switzerland in the early 19th century. In his 1812 novel The Whey Cure, Ulrich Hegner (1759–1840) not only provides insight into the practice as a social phenomenon but also presents a revealing outsider’s perspective on Switzerland as a tourist destination. Whey cures were not exclusively a form of therapy for foreign visitors. In Swiss society, too, they were considered a tried and tested remedy for poor health, and a proven contributor to rehabilitation after an illness.

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Figure 1.19 Abraham Samuel Fischer (1744–1809), Darstellung des Innern der grossen Bäder von Leuk im Wallis, 1789. Coloured etching, 62.1 cm × 49 cm. Museum zu Allerheiligen Schaffhausen. The signifcance of spas went beyond the medicinal purposes of healing and strengthening, for they were also focal points of social life. A Frenchman who visited Leukerbad on his journey through Switzerland in the 1820s described the scene as follows: “If the throng of patients allows, curious onlookers are also allowed in, and they can hardly imagine what an unusual scene these baths offer. In four tubs, each surrounded by a gallery, the bathing folk – a colourful mixture of men and women of all ages and levels of society – mingle on wooden benches, while only the fannel shirts in which they are cloaked suggest anything traditional or moral in this grotesque arrangement. I saw a Kleinmeister from Paris sitting beside a fat Jesuit from Valais, and a Capuchin from Schwyz, whose grey beard was foating on the water between two Benedictine nuns from Unterwalden. Because … boredom is considered detrimental to the healing process here, every man looks for occupation and enjoyment according to his preferences. Young women from Valais converse amongst themselves, do a little knitting, from time to time enjoy a bit of gallantry or smell the bouquets of fowers on the foating desk in front of them. The soldiers, in turn, boast to each other of their battles and show one another their scars. Some people read, while others sing.”157

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After his return from Germany, a severely ill Alfred Escher wrote to his cousin Jakob, on 21 April 1839, that since he had been back in his home country, he had started to feel better. The marvellously clean air has probably contributed signifcantly to my recovery…People have been talking about several cures that I should undergo this summer, like a whey cure at home – forget it, as it would require me to be up from 5 to 6 in the morning! – and a cure in – Schinznach. May the gods save me from it!158 In fact, Escher’s health did improve rapidly – due in no small part to seeing his home country again, to the fresh air, and to the exhilarating view over Lake Zurich to the Glarus Alps. The whey cure was also highly successful, and the originally scorned cure in Schinznach probably helped his recovery as well. Interest in whey cures diminished rapidly around the turn of the 20th century, when they were thought to have been proven ineffective. But whey has recently come back into favour. It is an ingredient in many cosmetic and wellness products, plays a part in fasting rituals and detoxifcation cures and is popular among weightlifters as a nutritional supplement. The Swiss soft drink Rivella owes its sporting image not only to its sponsoring efforts but also to one of its ingredients: a generous amount of milk serum derived from whey. Tourism in Switzerland underwent many transformations during the Belle Epoque, a golden age in which the country became the sanatorium of Europe. This latter development occurred not only thanks to its therapeutic waters and whey cures, however, but also due to the discovery of the healing properties of Swiss Alpine air. As a consequence of industrialisation and urbanisation, tuberculosis became an acute problem in England and Germany in the second half of the 19th century, and Swiss mountain villages without any tourism worth mentioning rapidly developed into spa towns with an international clientele. This was because they possessed the most promising remedy against the disease: altitude, air quality and climate. In the western Swiss Alps, Montana (Valais) and Leysin (Vaud), for example, became climatic health resorts. In Graubünden, Davos and Arosa were transformed. Arosa was part of Davos until 1851, at which time it consisted of an unremarkable collection of a few houses and stalls and only 54 inhabitants. Achieving independence from Davos initially changed little. By the end of the 1880s, Arosa still had fewer than 100 residents. But then it began to be said – and also purposefully promulgated – that Arosa, located at 1800 metres above sea level, was a perfect place for a climatic spa. Consumptives and others suffering from lung diseases would recover in its high-altitude climate. The frst pensions and vacation houses were

128 The Discovery of the Mountains built, and the increasing numbers of innkeepers founded a therapeutic association. In 1888, the Berghilf, the frst sanatorium in the village, began operations, taking in diseased and recovering patients throughout the year. It was the 1891 opening of the road to Chur, however, that gave this village high in the Schanfgg an opportunity to develop on a larger scale. After the road opened, the Central Meteorological Institute built a gaging station in Arosa. The village was home to just 88 people in 1888; by 1900, it already boasted 1,071 inhabitants. According to a physicians’ manual published in 1895, Arosa had developed into a frst-class climatic health resort.159 Yet only with the railway connection to Chur did it become a High Alpine spa town of international renown. The construction of the railway line began in 1912, and it began operating in 1914. Although the war disrupted tourism in Arosa as everywhere else, the rail connection was decisive for the resort’s subsequent success; the trip on the road from Chur – by stagecoach, sleigh or other conveyance – was still tedious, usually taking fve to six hours, and potentially dangerous, especially in severe weather, snow and storms. Just how quickly tourism can develop and make over a town’s character is illustrated by the transformation of Davos. Until well past the middle of the 19th century, Davos was a nonentity on tourist maps. According to Baedecker, in 1856, the “little village” of Davos had an inn called the Rössli, while “am Platz” did not have a single guesthouse. Baedecker also pointed out that in the town hall one might be served a meal by a certain Andreas Gredig (1806–1877).160 In 1868, Baedeker listed the Strela in Davos Platz, so there must have been at least two hotels. Even at this early stage the guide pointed out that the town was becoming a location of some importance for consumptives. And with that the cue was given: It would not be imposing mountain backdrops, the eternal ice of glaciers or the spray of waterfalls that would, from now on, inspire tourists to come to Davos. The brilliant rise of Davos as an international tourist destination was brought about by medical science – namely, by a belief in the healing powers of its air. In 1853, Alexander Spengler (1827–1901) arrived in Davos, which had been without a doctor for the previous fve years. No one wanted to move to the isolated Landwasser Valley, which had hardly been touched by modern civilisation. Davos offered nothing attractive for a young immigrant. And without any transport infrastructure to connect the village with the lowlands, tourism was out of the question: The Prättigau road was only fnished in 1859, the railway line from Landquart in 1889. Spengler only moved to Davos because he was in trouble – and not for the frst time in his life. His situation had been precarious ever since he had been seized by revolutionary fervour as a young law student at the University of Heidelberg in 1848/1849. Like thousands of other rebels, Spengler found safety in Switzerland after the failure of the revolutions

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in Germany. The Swiss classmates he had made friends with as a student now came in handy.161 Spengler reached Zurich in the summer of 1849. He subsequently acquainted himself with Swiss asylum law – an acquaintance that led him to prepare to emigrate to America. But then, with the help of his friends, he succeeded in being granted asylum in Graubünden after all. This made it possible for him to continue his studies at the University of Zurich. He gave up law, however, and enrolled as a medical student. After fve semesters he had completed the course of study; but since the cantons are responsible for issuing licences for medical practice, and he was still assigned to Canton Graubünden as a refugee, it seemed smart to him to sit the exam there. His residence permit had expired, however, so he couldn’t do that either and ended up spending another semester in Zurich. By September 1853, all the necessary paperwork had been completed, and he fnally presented himself before the examination board. The board was “completely satisfed” with the exam, and Spengler was able to move to Davos, which he did on 8 November 1853. Despite great social and psychical diffculties in acclimatising to his new home, he eventually settled in. 1855 was a special year: Spengler married the Davos native Elisabeth Ambühl (1837–1907), the daughter of a pastry chef who had become wealthy in Russia, and he was granted cantonal citizenship. As a young country doctor, Spengler initially faced considerable resistance: competition from healers and charlatans, and the mistrust harboured by locals towards a doctor who spoke a foreign language. The latter dissipated with Spengler’s marriage to a Davos native, however, and he increasingly won over the trust of the townspeople. In 1866, together with business partners, he initiated the construction of a spa house. Treatment was to focus on consumptives. The building was hardly fnished, however, before it burned down. In the meantime, the Dutchman Willem Jan Holsboer (1834–1898) had also found his way to Davos and brought his ailing wife to Spengler for treatment. She died within a year of their arrival. Holsboer, a colourful personality who could look back on a variegated career as a captain, a banker and a merchant, now took on the spa house project himself. He assumed responsibility for its reconstruction and then became its frst director. Holsboer would later go down in Graubünden railway history as the initiator of the train line between Landquart and Davos and played a pioneering role in Davos’s municipal development. He has been dubbed “the Alfred Escher of Graubünden,” and, as such high praise suggests, his ideas continued to live on after his death.162 It was as a result of his initiative – though after his passing – that the Sanatorium Schatzalp was built. It would open in 1900, in a splendid location on a plateau at 1800 metres, high above the village.

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Alexander Spengler wanted to do more than merely refer patients to a spa house, however. He imagined clinical care that would involve both medical treatment and patient support and would be accessible even to the less wealthy: a sanatorium! He committed himself to this purpose and commenced fundraising, and in 1882, the deaconess-house in Davos opened its doors as a clinic; its name would be changed to Alexanderhaus after Spengler’s death. Even during his frst years in Davos, Spengler had been struck by the therapeutic effect of the dry mountain climate on lung disease. He began to make systematic observations, which over time led him to a series of discoveries. In particular, he was struck by the fact that the inhabitants of the Landwasser Valley were healthier than people from other areas. Consumption was only infrequently a problem, if at all. It also astounded him that Davos natives who had become consumptive during extensive stays abroad recovered from the illness as soon as they breathed the Davos air again. In 1869, Spengler drew attention to these phenomena in a “climatalogical-medical sketch,” and recommended Davos as a health resort for people with pulmonary disease.163 He wanted to blaze a new trail in tuberculosis treatment, for he thought the old methods left much to be desired. He was especially interested in the importance of the climate, which in his opinion had not yet been suffciently appreciated. Spengler thus opposed the almost axiomatic view of the time that consumptives could only recover in damp southern Mediterranean climates. That he now advocated precisely the opposite – namely, dry Alpine air – was utterly revolutionary. This was the beginning of Davos’s success story.164 Other actors also contributed to the story. Among them were the German physician Friedrich Unger (1833–1893) of Saxony, who had found no remedy for his pulmonary disease at other locations and arrived in Davos in 1865, and the equally ill bookseller Hugo Richter (1841–1921). The two quickly noted improvements in their condition, and Davos was on its way to becoming a health resort. Summer after summer, more and more people with lung disorders arrived in the Landwasser Valley, banking on the therapeutic effects of the climate at 1500 metres. When patients began to spend not only the summer but also the winter in the high-altitude air of Davos, it caused a sensation in medical circles. By 1880, there were ten doctors practicing in Davos and visitors had nine large hotels to choose from. Further infrastructure was on the way. Soon restaurants and cafés, gourmet food shops and stores of every kind were being patronised by the largely foreign visitors. Then came boarding schools for consumptive adolescents, as well as other private schools. The Protestant churches were joined by Catholic and Anglican chapels and a German Protestant deaconess-house. A park was built with a pavilion for concerts, plays and balls, while the sledge track provided a particularly popular sporting option for patients and travellers alike.

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Then, in the spring of 1882 in Berlin, Robert Koch (1843–1910) announced that he had discovered the bacillus that causes tuberculosis. This appeared to be the death knell for Davos as a climatic health resort. After all, who would still believe in the virtues of breathing high-altitude air, when the medical disorder was in fact caused by an infection? Fear of the germ spread in Davos, and between 1883 and 1888 the number of patients plummeted. In 1889, Karl Turban (1856–1935), like Spengler a doctor and a native of Baden, arrived in Davos and took over the direction of the Sanatorium im Park. Turban was tubercular and suffered from the after-effects of polio, but in the new environment he recovered. He had hardly begun work in the Landwasser Valley when, in 1890, the tuberculin controversy broke out: Koch was now promoting tuberculin as a cure for tuberculosis. This not only led to confict among scientists, but was also much discussed by the general public. Thousands of patients travelled to Berlin to be treated by Koch in the Charité Hospital. However, while tuberculin proved to be an effective means of diagnosis, it turned out to have no therapeutic effect. In the meantime, both of Alexander Spengler’s sons, Luzius (1858–1923) and Carl (1860–1937), had developed reputations as spa physicians in Davos. Based on the fndings of Turban, Koch and others, they modifed their father’s therapeutic methods and thereby set the course for the further development of Davos.165 International Private Schools In 1878, a high school following the Prussian curriculum was already up and running in Davos; in 1909, it was granted offcial status as a German school abroad. During the Belle Epoque, a whole series of internationally oriented elite boarding schools were established in Switzerland. In contrast to the Catholic monastery schools for Swiss adolescents that were systematically expanded in the second half of the 19th century, these were not run according to religious or ecclesiastical principles. The connections between these new elite schools and Swiss tourism are evident. These boarding schools were characterised by their easily accessible yet rural, Alpine locations, and their orientation towards an international student body from the upper classes of society. As was true of alpinism, winter sports and other branches of tourism, the strongest impulses for the founding of such private educational institutions in Switzerland came from Great Britain. And as was also true for tourism, German infuence was close behind. British culture and the Victorian lifestyle determined the range of subjects and the recreational activities of the students. Neither in-school nor extracurricular sports followed Swiss models. Rather, athletic competition was predominantly based on fxed rules. British pupils played tennis, cricket, ice hockey and curling, like their fathers at home and the tourists in the Grand Hotels.

132 The Discovery of the Mountains These educational institutions were made possible by the existing infrastructure of a given location, and, in turn, affected that infrastructure. This was especially apparent when private schools were run in former hotels (Montana), chalets or castles. The schools were founded exclusively in Alpine regions, largely due to the contemporary fashionableness of climatic therapy. Considerations of health featured prominently: Teenagers were to escape the city air, smog and fog and renew their vitality in the pure Alpine air. Regional Differences During the Belle Epoque, tourist infrastructure found its way into the smallest and highest villages in the Swiss Alps. But tourism also increased in regions that had previously been left untouched, and which now rose to the status of top destinations. Canton Ticino was one such region. In contrast to the pompous hotels that arose along Lake Geneva and in the Engadin, mountain hotels in Valais were simpler and more downto-earth. This corresponded to the tastes of the British visitors there, who sought experiences outside in the natural world rather than life in the closed cosmos of a luxury hotel. This preference had a lasting infuence on tourism in Valais. The architectural style of the hotels in the Valais High Alps, however, was also a consequence of local conditions. Narrow valleys and poor roads often rendered the delivery of industrial construction materials impractical. With steel and bricks impossible to come by, hoteliers were forced to rely on local timber, and on lime mortar burnt in furnaces in the mountain valleys themselves. Towards the end of the 19th century, tourism found its way into the High Alpine tributary valleys and triggered a surge of development. Hotels such as the Ofenhorn (1883) in the Binntal and the Bella Tola (1860) in the Val d’Anniviers (Zinal) opened their doors. Development in the Val de Bagnes (Fionnay) and in Champex above Orsières followed a similar pattern. In the frst half of the 19th century, the cantons of the Swiss Central Plateau were less affected by the development of tourism than the leading touristic regions around Lake Geneva and in the Bernese Oberland. They were spared the hype of the Belle Epoque by their topography, which boasted no comparable natural spectacles or High Alpine terrain. Säntis, for example, experienced a different and more gradual development. This mountain, though a symbol of Eastern Switzerland, could not keep pace with the top destinations. This may be due to the fact that hiking on Säntis placed greater demands on the physical condition of tourists; it was incomparably more challenging than was hiking, for example, on the Rigi, up which one might also be carried in a sedan chair. This topographical difference meant that Säntis had to be developed under fundamentally different conditions than did the iconic mountains

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of Central Switzerland so vaunted by artists and celebrities. The sunrise seen from the Rigi, and the panorama of the surrounding lake and mountain landscape, with the High Alpine peaks on the horizon, also outclassed the views from Säntis. Yet even when making more realistic comparisons – say, with Pilatus – it becomes clear that the touristic development of Säntis followed a different route. The pioneering family of Jakob Dörig (1811–1884) ran a modest inn with a small number of beds on Säntis in the 1840s. Beginning in the 1850s, a veritable hotel was built in several stages; also, the meteorological service began making observations from Säntis in 1882. This was all very modest, however, compared to the development of Pilatus, where the number of visitors increased strikingly thanks to the railway, and hotels and leisure facilities sprang up. The development of Säntis took no such turn. Various railway projects were proposed, but none was realised. It was only in 1935 that an aerial tramway began operations, more than 80 years after the pioneering train up the Rigi, and about half a century after the train up Pilatus. And what was true of Säntis was true of the entire region: The development of the Swiss shores of Lake Constance not only lagged behind that of the Lake Geneva region, but even behind that of the lake’s northern, German shore. Heiden alone, situated on a sunny plateau above the lake, kept pace with developments in the Alps and, thanks to the train line, became a well-visited whey-cure location. The Glarus region, which played the most prominent pioneering role in the industrialisation of Switzerland, did not distinguish itself similarly in the feld of tourism. Relatively few tourists made it to the capital, Glarus, or to Elm or Lake Klöntal. As was the case for some other locations, however, negative headlines contributed to touristic development. In 1861, the Great Fire of Glarus made news all over Europe, and the disaster fostered tourism. Visitors from abroad, having heard and read about the 257 homes and 332 other buildings that had been reduced to ashes and rubble, wanted to see the devastation for themselves, and to witness the construction of new infrastructure. Visitors from elsewhere in Switzerland, too, came to see the area. Fundraising across Switzerland to support the victims of the catastrophe may also have played a part in the growing interest in the region. The best-known destination in Glarus was the sulphur spring at Bad Stachelberg, between Linthal and Braunwald. In 1830, it established itself as a new spa, and up until 1914 developed splendidly. The First World War, however, put an end to the international goings-on here as elsewhere. Bad Stachelberg was known for being frequented by Zurich’s high society. Alfred Escher went there several times, frst with his wife Augusta, and later with his daughter Lydia. Escher’s close relationships with friends from Glarus, and the spa’s geographic proximity to Zurich, may have infuenced his choice of watering spot. Escher never went to Davos, despite the fact that Augusta died of tuberculosis.

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The village of Engelberg, whose Benedictine monastery had been a cultural beacon since the 12th century, had already achieved a certain level of recognition among 18th century tourists. Yet this early development was nothing compared with the boom it experienced from the middle of the 19th century onwards. Thanks to the initiatives of two physicians, Carl Cattani (1805–1869) and August Feierabend (1812–1887), Engelberg became known far and wide as a climatic spa and a mineral-water and whey-cure destination. The decisive stimulus for the upswing was provided by the tourism pioneer Eduard Cattani (1841–1908), who in 1865 opened the frst luxury hotel in the valley, the Titlis, which joined the already existing Hotel Engel. The Pension Müller followed, as did a number of smaller inns. At the beginning of the 1880s, Engelberg could offer lodgings to about 1,000 visitors. Most of these visitors were German; with their arrival, Bavarian beer and skittles also came to town. British and American tourists found their way up the valley too, and, as in Zermatt, Davos, Bex, Montreux and other locations, an Anglican church was established. It is striking how many doctors, philologists and government offcials were among the German visitors in the late 19th century. Particularly striking was the number of Jewish guests. These international visitors exposed the local population to modern, broad-minded ways of thinking, thereby stirring up the solemn monastery village. The Engelbergers confronted the modern world in an open manner in the summer, but when the tourists left in the fall, they reverted to their customary conservatism. In 1882, when all of Switzerland was discussing school reform and the Federal Council’s motion to appoint a nationwide Secretary of Education came to a popular vote (the battle for the so-called “school bailiff”), only one person in Engelberg – allegedly an enlightened servant in one of the hotels – voted in favour. The offcial tally for Canton Obwalden showed that 97.8 percent of the electorate voted against the proposal. During the Belle Epoque, Ticino also became a focus of Swiss tourism. This canton had long been the poorhouse of the country and was characterised by high levels of emigration. Its transformation was sparked by the opening of the Gotthard railway line, which turned it into a dream destination for Germans and German-speaking Swiss. This can be seen in the increase in the number of hotels in Lugano and Locarno: In 1850, the two towns boasted a single hotel between them. In 1880, they had 9; by 1910, 94. But tourism resulted in the mutilation of Ticino culture. The image that foreign visitors had of the canton was divorced from reality. The Germans and the German-speaking Swiss wanted to experience what they fantasised life was like south of the Gotthard: not only a sunny and pleasant climate but happiness, song and dance. The people of Ticino, who had been exploited for centuries and, with the exception of ecclesiastical festivals and religious customs, knew little of folklore, were

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forced to display a false conviviality.166 Contrived Ticino music for mandolin and boccalino played in a grotto: such was the essence of tourists’ expectations. Northern infuence was also manifest in the hotel industry. Not only did investments in touristic infrastructure stem chiefy from German-speaking Swiss fnancial circles, but the owners of the luxury hotels were largely German-speaking Swiss themselves. The historical tutelage of the south by the north continued. Will the King Lay Down His Crown? Switzerland as Playground and Refuge for Monarchs In 1859, four years after the death of her husband, Tsar Nicholas I of Russia (1796–1855), Alexandra Feodorovna (1798–1860) alighted at the Hôtel des Trois Couronnes in Vevey and occupied the entire hotel with her entourage. Her stay attracted other Russian nobles to Switzerland, and they settled on Lake Geneva for various lengths of time. Count Pyotr Pavlovich Schuvalov (1819–1900), a personal offcer of the Tsar, endowed the Russian Orthodox Church in Vevey with its gilded onion-domed tower; it still stands today, under the patronage of Saint Barbara, in memory of his daughter Barbara Petrovna Orlova (1850–1872), who died in Vevey.167 In 1873, the Shah of Persia, Naser al-Din (1831–1896), visited Switzerland. As a guest of state, he resided in Geneva’s Hôtel des Bergues. A banquet was given in his honour by the Swiss government at the Hôtel Trois Couronnes in Vevey. Shortly before the dinner, the ruler wished to behead a servant, who had apparently been negligent in some way. The hotelier fnally succeeded in convincing the Shah not to carry out this unsuitable punishment. According to a contemporary report, William III of the Netherlands (1817–1890) was among those present at the dinner with the Shah – at the invitation of the Federal Council – under the pseudonym Count von Buren. The King had been living incognito in the Trois Couronnes, where, two decades earlier, Charles Gounod (1818–1893) had composed the greater part of his opera Faust. In 1913, Camille Saint-Saëns (1835– 1921) and Ignacy Jan Paderewski (1860–1941) played the former’s Polonaise op. 77 on two pianos at the Trois Couronnes during a music festival. Statesmen, industrial magnates and patricians, celebrated artists of all kinds – famous people from near and far were among the clients of Swiss hoteliers in the Belle Epoque. They embodied the internationality of Swiss tourism, and their presence suggests much about the public image of a country that had rapidly undergone a fundamental transformation. The formerly backward, agrarian Alpine country had, in the course of only a few years, developed an especially close relationship with the rich and powerful of the world. It seems bizarre that the most splendid

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facilities, serving a blue-blooded and immensely wealthy stratum of society, should have arisen in precisely those areas of Switzerland that, shortly before, or even simultaneously, were characterised by economic emigration. It appears downright grotesque that republican Switzerland, which had only recently been condemned as a pariah state for providing political refuge to revolutionaries from around the world, should now, in the Belle Epoque, increasingly attract aristocratic visitors.168 And it does appear that the Swiss acquired a taste for the nobility and their mentality – perhaps precisely because royalty had never existed in their own country. Visitors from among the highest ranks fattered the Swiss self-image and infuenced the formation of a new national identity. Rudolf, Crown Prince of Austria (1858–1889), spent vacations in Switzerland with his wife Stéphanie of Belgium (1864–1945), as did the German Emperor and innumerable other Your Majesties, princes and princesses, royal personages and Serene Highnesses – the list is long. And it was not all only about vacations. Many royals came in order to visit Swiss intellectual giants, while others found in Switzerland a place of refuge or exile. As early as 1777, the Holy Roman Emperor and Archduke of Austria, Joseph II (1741–1790), travelled through Switzerland incognito in order to visit Albrecht von Haller. In 1814, Tsar Alexander I of Russia (1777–1825), who had been brought up according to Rousseau’s methods by the Vaudois scholar Frédéric-César de La Harpe (1754–1838), came to meet Heinrich Pestalozzi (1790–1857), who asked him for fnancial support for his Educational Institute in Yverdon. King Gustav IV Adolf of Sweden (1778–1837) emigrated to Switzerland after his deposition in 1809. Here he assumed various aliases and eventually became a citizen of Basel. Napoleon III (1808–1873) grew up in exile in Arenenberg Castle in Untersee and spoke the Thurgau dialect. He attended the newly founded military academy in Thun and was taught by, among others, Guillaume-Henri Dufour (1787–1875), with whom he became friends. Queen Victoria (1819–1901) travelled to Switzerland in 1868, arousing great excitement not only in Switzerland and Britain, but also in British diplomatic circles and in European royal courts. Setting out from Lucerne, she travelled to various lakeside locations on the steamship Winkelried and rode through the countryside and over passes in her carriage. On these excursions, she sketched and painted watercolours. Here and there she bought paintings of Swiss mountains and thereby provided Swiss artists with unexpected publicity. The international press followed her every move.169 Thus did the who’s who of prominent visitors to Switzerland rise to a vast crescendo in the Belle Epoque. Leading fgures from centuries-old dynasties, others with less illustrious names but well furnished with money and property, B-list celebrities from this place and that – all came to Switzerland for their vacations.

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And usually not just once, but repeatedly, year in and year out. They alighted at the splendid luxury hotels on Lake Geneva or in the High Alps of the Engadin, marking these tourist destinations with their aristocratic seal of approval. Only in neutral Switzerland could royalty from every country, and even commanders of opposing armies, gather for a rendezvous. And so the Switzerland of the Belle Epoque became a tourist hotspot, attracting money and intellect like no other European country.170 Ludwig II of Bavaria (1845–1886) loved Switzerland and travelled through it several times, twice for extended periods. Canton Uri was his favourite destination, and he felt a special reverence for the Rütli meadow. This alone might have alienated a staunch royalist: That the Swan King should have delighted in the freedom fghter William Tell turned the social order on its head. Yet the monarch’s feelings were requited by the people of Uri. One author speaks of “The yearning of shepherds for a king!”171 How else could one explain a citizen’s initiative that proposed granting honorary Uri citizenship to the King of Bavaria? Behind the initiative were not only clever innkeepers, who foresaw free advertising that would attract hordes of Bavarian tourists toward the Gotthard massif, but also some quite notable personalities. The idea was even viewed favourably by the Uri Cantonal Parliament, and a corresponding motion was placed on the agenda of the Cantonal Assembly of May 1866. At this point, the Federal Council stepped in, pointing out that the Swiss Constitution unambiguously stipulated that foreigners could only become Swiss nationals if they gave up their former citizenship. Whether the king would have been ready to give up his throne in order to become a republican Swiss citizen of Canton Uri cannot be determined from extant sources, but the Straubinger Tagblatt, for one, was inclined to doubt it.172 The promoters of the measure ultimately abstained from exploring further political and legal possibilities, which might have involved examining the difference between active and honorary citizenship. And so King Ludwig remained in Bavaria, and the fairy-tale castle he had planned was never built on the Rütli meadow. In 1893, the 56-year-old Elisabeth (1837–1898), Empress of Austria, Queen of Hungary and wife of Emperor Franz Joseph I (1830–1916), paid her frst extended visit to Lake Geneva. She subsequently returned to the area often and remained for long periods of time. Unlike her mother, who as a Bavarian princess used to show up for cheerful amusements in the Valais Alps, however, the Empress – known as Sissi – was despondent over the unexplained death of her cousin Ludwig II of Bavaria and the murder-suicide of her son, Crown Prince Rudolf (1858–1889), and his lover Mary Freiin von Vetsera (1871–1889) in the Mayerling incident; in short, she had had enough of Viennese court intrigue. After

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Figure 1.20 Albert Anker (1831–1910), Die polnischen Verbannten, 1868. Oil on canvas, 62 cm × 50 cm. Winterthur, Stiftung für Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte. Many of the refugees who arrived in Switzerland in the 19th century were Polish. Their country had become a plaything of the European great powers. The Polish nationalist movement found widespread support and sympathy among the European liberal bourgeoisie, however, and this was true in Switzerland as well. Volunteers took up arms and rushed to assist the Poles. Support committees formed in many towns and cities, including Zurich, where Polish students at the Polytechnic advocated strongly for their fellow countrymen. Even Gottfried Keller (1819–1890), the First Offcial Secretary of Canton Zurich, became involved as the secretary of the Zurich committee; in his offce in the state chancellery, he hosted meetings about fnancing the revolutionaries and providing them with arms and logistical support. All kinds of personalities were involved in the movement in Zurich: esteemed members of high society, politicians and lawyers; a Vice Director of the Kreditanstalt acted as fnancial manager. More dubious fgures were also involved. The Zurich police took notice and began inquiries in an attempt to trace the many con men, arms smugglers, detectives and secret agents moving in the orbit of the Poland committee. Gottfried Keller soon threw in the towel. He returned to writing poetry and to his duties as a high-level Zurich offcial. To our good fortune, since as a result we can read Clothes Make the Man (Kleider machen Leute), experience the adventures of the hero Strapinksi, and remember Keller’s so-called “Polish episode.”

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restlessly travelling through half of Europe, feeing prescribed duties and the life she hated in Vienna, she found a welcome “hideaway” in republican Switzerland. Under the pseudonym “Countess von Hohenems,” she spent the spring of 1893 in residence at the Grand-Hôtel Territet, which she would return to in 1895, 1897 and 1898. She did not actually care about remaining incognito, and her identity was in fact widely known, but the pseudonym allowed her to be received without the honours customary to an empress. The mild climate seemed to please her, and the landscape reminded her of her Bavarian homeland, but she still suffered from consumption. Thanks to daily walks in the surroundings of Montreux – for example, on the Sentier des Roses between Territet and Les Planches – her health improved. Franz Joseph I, who, with Elisabeth’s consent, lived in Vienna with his mistress, the actress Katharina Schratt (1853–1940), visited his imperial consort in Switzerland in 1893. Sissi was always dressed in black, with a black veil covering her haggard face. One of the last photographs taken of her during her lifetime shows her unveiled, together with her lady-in-waiting, Countess Irma Sztáray (1864–1940). She carries an umbrella, which she opened too late to block the photographer’s shot. In the late summer of 1898, Elisabeth chose the Grand-Hôtel in Caux as her new residence. On 9 September, she travelled by steamboat from Montreux to Geneva, where she stayed at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage. She meant to return to Caux the following day. Just before she embarked on the lake-steamer Genève to Montreux, however, she was attacked by the Italian anarchist Luigi Lucheni (1873–1910), who stabbed her in the chest with a fle. She boarded the ship but soon collapsed. The steamer had already departed, but it turned back as soon as the emergency was recognised. The Empress was taken back to her hotel, where she died. The Empress’s murder exacerbated the diplomatic and political tensions that had existed between Switzerland and its monarchically governed neighbours since the founding of the Federal State. Switzerland’s liberal asylum policies had already led to resentments on a number of occasions. Its welcoming of political refugees and emigrants from all over Europe awakened general suspicion. The consequences were complaints and démarches of differing degrees of urgency; the threat of military action was also part of the repertoire of frustrated foreign governments. Ever since the time of Mikhail Alexandrovich Bakunin (1814–1876), the work of anarchists on Swiss territory had been the subject of strong criticism. The Federal Council had repeatedly been forced to get involved in cases of “incitement to anarchistic crimes.”173 It is not without irony that, from the 1880s to the turn of the century, just at the time when emperors and kings were visiting the republican Alpine nation as never before, Switzerland had to engage repeatedly and intensively with the dangers posed by anarchists.

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Figure 1.21 “Wenn die Anarchisten so herumlaufen würden, hätte man sie bald alle erwischt; aber sie laufen halt nicht so herum.” (“If anarchists walked around like this, we would soon have caught them all: but they do not walk around like this.”) Caricature in Nebelspalter, 3 December 1898.

Art and Commerce Literary Tourism and the Commodifcation of Art Nature, history, art, literature and myth converge on Lake Lucerne. Here – according to well-established hyperbole – lies the cradle of Switzerland. Lake Uri is the backdrop to Friedrich Schiller’s (1759–1805)

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verse drama Willhelm Tell (frst performed in 1804), which, more than any other poetic work, sings the beauty of the Swiss mountains and the freedom of the Swiss people. Schiller’s political intention in writing the play was to provide rebels against Napoleon’s rule with a fgure they could identify with. In doing so, he made Lake Uri and the Rütli meadow world-famous. The portrait of the hero in the Tell Chapel, by the Basel painter Ernst Stücklberg (1831–1903), illustrates Schiller’s interpretation of the legend. Other important artists, including both landscape and historical painters, enhanced the region’s allure with their own images. In the dialogues between the play’s main characters, Schiller distilled into poetry the self-assurance and drive for freedom of the frst Swiss patriots; many of his lines have entered common parlance and become proverbial. Schiller’s message reached not only the Swiss but also the educated classes of the entire German-speaking world. Beginning in the 1820s, after the turmoil of the Napoleonic era had come to an end, the educational tourism of the Grand Tours was complemented by increasing numbers of literary tourists who travelled to Lake Lucerne, both from within Switzerland and from abroad. The Tell Chapel and the Rütli meadow became the pilgrimage sites of a sacralised freedom. In an act of grateful reverence toward the poet, the Mythenstein, a needle of rock off the Rütli in Lake Uri, was rechristened the Schillerstein. Schiller had in fact never visited the setting of his drama; it is therefore surprising how accurately he was able to depict the country and its people. He drew his knowledge of the early history and culture of Central Switzerland from artistic and cartographic representations, as well as from historical and scientifc materials made available to him by his publisher, Johann Friedrich Cotta (1764–1832). His landscapes come strikingly close to the real thing. Just as one can fnd the settings of the various scenes in Rousseau’s Julie around Lake Geneva, so too can one fnd, with Schiller’s Tell in hand, the paths and places around Lake Lucerne where the action of his play was set. William Tell found his place in operatic history through the work of Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868). Rossini’s masterpiece brought the image of early Switzerland to other language regions and fostered yet more tourism. The premiere of Guillaume Tell took place in Paris on 3 August 1829. Times had changed, however: Freedom and independence were not the driving forces behind Rossini’s opera, as they had been for Schiller’s play. Rossini, with his rather conservative leanings, in fact felt quite at home with royalism. Though his choice of subject may have been infuenced by the mood that led to the July Revolution of 1830, it is nevertheless undisputed that the sympathies of the composer lay rather with the Habsburg Princess Mathilde and her lover, the Unterwald native Arnold von Melchtal, than with Schiller’s violent nationalist hero, Tell. After the Kleinmeister and Caspar Wolf (1735–1783), a new generation of artists had arisen in Switzerland, among them the Genevan

142 The Discovery of the Mountains François Diday (1802–1877) and the Vaudois Alexandre Calame (1810– 1864). These painters captured the spirit of the times with their Late-Romantic Alpine landscapes. With Switzerland’s new federal structure and image as a Federal State after 1848, the concept of a Swiss national art emerged.174 It called for depictions of the Swiss natural world as a complement to historical painting. Yet the development of tourism in Switzerland also infuenced both the making of art and the market for it. The lobbies, dining rooms and suites of many hotels built after the mid-19th century practically called out for a Swiss art, one that might also serve to replace real views of the Alpine world when the weather was bad. This was especially true of the grandiose entertainment rooms of the High Alpine Grand Hotels. The multilayered relationships connecting art and commerce were also recognised by the hoteliers, who increasingly entered the art scene as buyers – which naturally pleased the artists. The volatile and growing demand for large-scale Alpine paintings not only stimulated the market but also provided optimal publicity for Switzerland. The visual arts thus contributed to touristic regions in Switzerland becoming top international destinations. This phenomenon was especially pronounced during the last quarter of the 19th century and in the years leading up to the First World War. There was no frst-class Swiss tourist destination without its renowned artists. This was true of St Moritz and the Engadin, with Giovanni Segantini and Ferdinand Hodler, the Lake Thun/Bernese Oberland region and the Lake Geneva region, again with Ferdinand Hodler, and, somewhat later, Davos with Ernst Ludwig Kirchner. Zermatt was a special case; with its panoramic views and its unique topographical location, surrounded by 4000-metre peaks and looking up at the Matterhorn, it profted from a different form of artistic creation: advertising. Tourism thus profted from art, and art from tourism. Gottfried Keller (1819–1890) spoke out against this marriage of art and money when he praised the painter Robert Zünd (1827–1909) for having among his works “not a single tourist piece, neither vistas nor sensational views of enormous mountains.” Keller, a severely judgemental poet who had failed as a painter, was not only attacking the Kleinmeister but also such artists as Jakob Josef Zelger (1812–1885), who did very well thanks to tourism.175 Zelger, who had trained as a landscape painter with Diday, set up his studio in an outbuilding of the Schweizerhof hotel in Lucerne. He could hardly have chosen a better location for exhibiting his work to an elegant clientele. The increasing number of international visitors had turned Lucerne into the hotspot of Swiss tourism – and Zelger’s studio was right in the midst of it, on the newly constructed quayside, where “the English women wearing Swiss straw hats and the English men in their practical and comfortable suits” strolled about. And so the artist’s workshop became a visitors’ centre much like the casino or kursaal in other locations – a meeting place for the great and grand of the world.

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Queens and kings from all over the continent, counts and dukes from around the globe, all paid visits to Zelger’s studio, not least among them Emperor Napoleon III (1808–1873) and Empress Eugénie (1826–1920). Many of them bought paintings. Richard Wagner was also a great admirer of the Swiss Alpine world. In 1859, he lived in the annex of the Schweizerhof, right next to Zelger’s workshop, and from 1866 to 1872 on the opposite side of the lake in Tribschen. The two artists got along well. Zelger gave Wagner a painting of Tribschen as a present, and Wagner thanked him with gifts in return. Zelger’s picturesque Alpine landscapes served a rapidly growing market, and he sometimes had diffculty producing enough to satisfy it. The demand brought his production capacity to its limits. When his most famous client, Queen Victoria, stepped into the workshop, the artist faced his most daunting task. In 1868, Victoria resided in a private home in Gütsch for more than a month, from which she set off on several excursions, mostly in Central Switzerland. The monarch’s sojourn made headlines in the world press, and Zelger was afforded entry to the extensive British art market. Victoria placed orders for no fewer than six oil paintings, which she intended to present as Christmas gifts. She specifed the subjects, which were to be the same exact landscapes she herself had seen – or at least, how she wanted those landscapes to appear. In the middle of December 1868, the works arrived in England. Five of them delighted the Queen – one, however, which depicted the Rigi shrouded in mist, did not live up to her expectations. She had wanted the Rigi “in full sunshine” and not “in gloomy autumn fog,” so “let us therefore have the fog dissipate into a blue and cheerful haze.” Zelger went back to work to fulfl the Queen’s request. It would be well worth it, for Victoria’s acquisition was the talk of Britain. And with this, a constant in the history of art in all periods is laid bare: Sales and market values depend on more than the quality of a work; they are also determined by the artist’s image and by marketing. Zelger had found the best advocate he could have wished for. Although it has been said that his paintings “are not among the most important produced by Swiss painters in the 19th century,” after Victoria’s purchases they sold like hot cakes.176 And the Queen and the painter together presented a windfall to Switzerland as a tourist destination: The British market could not have been better stimulated than by this free publicity. Gottfried Keller’s criticism points out that not only artistic mayfies but also respectable landscape painters like Zelger dedicated themselves to works targeted at the tourist market. Ferdinand Hodler (1853–1918) and Giovanni Segantini (1858–1899), both prominent painters in their day, also worked with an eye to the tourist market. These two masters infuenced the image of Switzerland abroad more than any other painters. Their work sanctifed the Alpine landscape, in the tradition of Haller and Rousseau.

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Figure 1.22 Jakob Josef Zelger (1812–1885), Tellskapelle mit Urirotstock (The Tell Chapel with the Urirotstock), ca 1850/1860. Oil on canvas, 117 cm × 163 cm. Winterthur, Stiftung für Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte.

Hodler served an apprenticeship with a painter of vistas in Thun. As an 18-year-old, he earned his living painting souvenir landscapes. Later, in Geneva, he copied mountain scenes and Alpine landscapes by Calame and Diday and was discovered by Barthélemy Menn (1815–1893). At this point his systematic training began. Hodler stood at the beginning of a grandiose career and would become one of the most important painters of European Modernism. He welcomed the technological developments that were rendering the Alps increasingly accessible. In 1887/1888, he rode the cog railway to Schynige Platte, where he painted several versions of his “View of Lakes Thun and Brienz.”177 From Mürren, which he also reached by train, he produced a bewitching Mönch, Breithorn and Jungfrau, with the Schwarzmönch in the foreground. He also contributed to commercial tourism projects and designed publicity posters. In 1894, on commission from the silk industrialist Gustav Henneberg (1847–1918), he created a two-piece diorama that was exhibited at the World’s Fair in Antwerp and conveyed a dramatic experience of the Swiss mountains. From 1908 to 1911, Hodler allowed his works to be used in the advertising of the Interlaken Hotelier and Tourism Association, which was expanding its kursaal. In this, he received support from his friend and colleague Max Buri (1868–1915). Hodler’s art had by

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Figure 1.23 Ferdinand Hodler (1853–1918), Le Grammont, 1917. Oil on canvas, 82 cm × 97.5 cm. Nestlé Art Collection.

now developed far beyond the landscape painting of the Geneva School. Mountains and lakes, such as the landscapes around Lakes Geneva and Thun, were transformed by his brush into transcendent, timeless visions that were reproduced a thousandfold in art magazines and journals. Hodler’s works became iconic. Yet even as an established master, he set up his easel at well-known vantage points and saw no reason to avoid the hordes of tourists that focked to them.178 The life story of Giovanni Segantini (spelled “Segatini” up until his student years in Milan) reads like a melodrama and invites stereotypical exaggeration. His childhood in Tridentine Arco (at the time part of Austria-Hungary) was a nightmare, characterised by poverty, the early death of his mother and the absence of his father. On his father’s death, the eight-year-old Giovanni was taken in as a full-fedged orphan by his half-sister Irene in Milan. He was often lonely in his attic room. His Austrian citizenship was annulled at the wish of Irene, but his application for Italian citizenship was rejected, and Segantini remained stateless for the rest of his life. He ran away from home and roved about the streets of Milan, where he was apprehended by the police and sent to a reform school. Here, at least he was taught the rudiments of reading and writing. He studied shoemaking and then worked in his half-brother Napoleone’s chemist’s shop. Returning to Milan, he took evening classes in ornamentation; he then enrolled as a student at the Accademia di

146 The Discovery of the Mountains Belle Arti di Brera, where he studied from 1875 to 1879. During his studies he befriended Carlo Bugatti (1855–1940), the father of the famous automobile manufacturer Ettore Bugatti (1881–1947). Carlo’s sister Luigia Pierina Bugatti (1862–1938), nicknamed Bice, became Segantini’s life partner, though they never married. They lived together in Brianza, then moved to Savognin in August 1886. To run his household and look after his four children, Segantini hired several servants, among them the nanny Barbara “Baba” Uffer (1873–1935), who would later become his model and lover. All the while he remained a drifter – always on the run from creditors and tax authorities due to the sumptuous lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. In 1894, he left Savognin and moved to Maloja. He died of peritonitis at his hideaway on the Schafberg above Pontresina, in the presence of his son Mario (1885–1916), his close friend and doctor Oskar Bernhard (1861–1939) and Bice. Just as extraordinary as Segantini’s life story was his successful career as a painter. He was highly acclaimed during his lifetime, won awards and reaped many accolades.179 But though the sale of his paintings brought in large sums of money, it still didn’t cover the cost of his extravagant lifestyle. And the money and prestige failed to live up to the expectations that his increasingly infated self-image gave rise to. It is striking that Segantini’s changes of residence – from the Italian lowlands to Savognin and later to Maloja – led step by step into ever more elevated regions. The same is true of the places he sought out to paint in the mountains. What drove him to the heights was his obsession with ever clearer light. He worked for weeks at a time high up on the Schafberg, whose summit is 2731 metres above sea level. Here and at Muottas Muragl, high above Pontresina, he painted the central section of the Alpine triptych Life, Nature and Death, his most important work, which has immortalised him even in the eyes of many 21st century viewers. He worked on the triptych during the fnal years of his life, and it remains unfnished. His focus in this large-scale work is no longer only on the mountains and their inhabitants. A large part of the canvas is flled by an endlessly vast sky. For Segantini, the work was a spiritual summing up of the human condition, and of the connections between nature and life. The triptych was frst exhibited in the Italian pavilion at the 1900 Paris Exposition; the same version can be seen today at the Segantini Museum in St Moritz. Segantini had originally planned a much larger work: a panorama of the Engadin in a novel format, probably mounted in a massive rotunda. He may have been inspired by Auguste Baud-Bovy’s (1848–1899) panorama of the Bernese Alps. The latter work had been exhibited at the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago; it was a gigantic picture, 112 metres long and 17 metres high, with an area of around 2000 square metres, and was last shown at the 1896 Swiss National Exhibition in Geneva. Today, it is lost, said to have been destroyed by a hurricane in

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Dublin. Baud-Bovy was assisted in his work by several other painters, and Segantini probably also intended that other artists, such as Cuno Amiet (1868–1961) and Ferdinand Hodler, would contribute to the work under his direction.180 With his planned panorama of the Engadin, Segantini consciously intended to provide publicity for the region: “Our Engadin must become better known and more appreciated around the world.” He wished to portray “the entire arc of the Alps,” the chain of mountains from Bernina to Albula and the villages of the Upper Engadin, “in the full clarity of the air,” and to induce “the complete illusion in the viewer” that he or she was actually in the midst of the High Alps.181 Segantini planned a huge, 25-metre-high steel construction, in the centre of which he would create a painting 20 metres high with a surface of 4400 square metres. Segantini’s vision was of a “total work of art” that spoke to all the senses and might even have a therapeutic effect – nothing short of a sensation, a consummate creation bringing together science, technology and art. Electric fans simulating Alpine winds would be joined by hydraulic equipment and acoustical effects. Even just the magic of Segantini’s verbal description of the project could awaken the illusion he was aiming for. The St Moritz doctor Peter Robert Berry (1864–1942) wrote, in his assessment of the signifcance of Segantini’s idea, that when one read of the project it was as if one stood in the midst…of the natural world! One feels the icy breeze off the glacier, one breathes in fower-kissed air, the rushing of the waterfall, the purling of the spring, the jubilance of the larch, and down in the valley the little bells of the homely grazing herds…182 Segantini budgeted for fantastical construction costs and profts, and soon an organisational committee made up of hoteliers, bankers and politicians was formed. The frst reactions of potential investors to the massively expensive project were almost uniformly positive. Yet then the members of the committee came to their senses. Technical diffculties began to give them pause, and then problems arose with the fnancing. The project was cancelled at the end of January 1898. Segantini was asked to calculate the expenses he had run up until then, and at the same time, the idea was mooted that he create a large painting of St Moritz instead of the panorama. Soon he had sketched out an idea for a composition entitled “L’Engadina a St Moritz.” For its design and execution, he demanded “16,000 francs up front to contract the work.”183 The committee assented and drew up an agreement. Two months later, when Segantini was well into the work, a new contract was presented to him, without prior consultation, listing further obligations on the part of the artist and including several new

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Figure 1.24 Giovanni Segantini (1858–1899), La Vita (Life) (Left panel of the Triptych La Vita, La Natura, La Morte), 1896–1899. Oil on canvas, 190 cm × 322 cm. Segantini Museum, St Moritz. In Life, the peaks of the Bondasca-group are lit up by the evening sun and dissolve into the sky – thanks to a sprinkling of gold dust – while moonlight is refected in the pond. Farmers drive their cattle back to the stable, while mothers bring their children home. One mother sits in the foreground under a tree and appears to grow out of its roots – a symbol of the life in all things, which owes its being to Mother Earth.

provisions. At this point, Segantini was no longer willing to cooperate, and artist and committee parted in dispute. Segantini subsequently turned his “L’Engadina a St Moritz” into the triptych that was exhibited at the Paris Exposition, and which can be seen today in St Moritz.184 Segantini enjoyed international acclaim during his lifetime. He became a legend, almost an icon. Amidst environmental destruction, the collapse of the traditional family, a loss of security, and confusion about identity and values in our increasingly globalised society, Segantini’s paintings appear to offer solace, even today: They augur the return of a world believed lost. Thanks to the popularity of his work, he is one of the most reproduced painters of the modern era. The history of his infuence is multifaceted: The futurists were in awe of him because he scorned the academy; after his death, he was considered one of the great symbolists; later on, the National Socialists and Fascists appropriated him for his representation of motherhood and agrarian life, which ft well into their blood-and-soil ideology. Joseph Beuys’ (1921–1986) enthusiasm for Segantini opened up yet another perspective on his work. Yet not everyone was impressed. Segantini’s work was sometimes dismissed as Northern Italian kitsch. And of course Segantini, like Hodler,

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faced considerable criticism for his willingness to work on commercial projects. His painting style has been mocked and deprecated, not least by his less successful counterparts. Even art theorists have joined the chorus. Leftist ideologues have maintained that Segantini understood nothing of industrial society. With their downtrodden women and plodding peasants, his canvases present a prudish, capitalist morality.185 And in fact, there are no smoking locomotives in Segantini’s work, no railway bridges and train stations as in Monet’s, no iron-rolling mills as in Menzel’s and no criticism of social conditions at all. Segantini’s work presented a spiritual overview, addressing the fundamental human condition and representing life as an integral part of nature. And why, one might ask, should compositions that serve to promote tourism be subject to different qualitative and aesthetic criteria than museum works? Does art lose its value if it appeals to a broad public? Critiques of Tourism and Technology Jeremias Gotthelf (1797–1854) was already making fun of tourists in 1837. In “Water Shortage in the Emmental,” a sermon on God’s impending judgement, an English traveller arrives on the scene after a food. Gotthelf identifes a characteristic that would from then on be associated with derogatory depictions of foreign travellers: the “tourist gaze.” The gawking tourist! In Gotthelf’s words: “Over his gawking eyes the famous straw hat, and in the famous armholes of his waistcoat his well-polished thumbs.”186 Gottfried Keller took up this motif in his novel Martin Salander, in which he speaks of “gawking Englishwomen.”187 After the turn of the century, literature critical of the behaviour of foreign tourists became a new form of protest, one directed at the disfgurement of the landscape by infrastructural interventions. New buildings were pilloried as architectural eyesores. But in the end, it was not just about individual objects or projects. Nature and technology were on a collision course, and a fundamental rift was opening up. Technological progress began to be critically scrutinised on principle. It was against this backdrop that the Swiss Heritage Society (Schweizerische Vereinigung für Heimatschutz) was founded in 1905. The catalyst was the decision of the Solothurn Cantonal Parliament to raze the so-called “Turnschanze” tower and other parts of the historical city walls. Indignation was aroused in all parts of the country but was ineffective in preventing the destruction of the tower in 1906. At this point, the painter and poet Marguerite Burnat-Provins (1872–1952) raised her voice. She frst expressed her protest in the Gazette de Lausanne and then provided it a platform by founding the League for Beauty (Ligue pour la beauté).188 At the same time, the Society of Swiss Painters, Sculptors and Architects pressed ahead, building up a national coalition

150 The Discovery of the Mountains representing the protest movement; and fnally, on 1 July 1905, the founding assembly of the Swiss Heritage Society took place. The Society’s express purpose was to protect Switzerland’s natural and historical uniqueness; as practical tasks its statutes named, among others, the “protection of scenic natural beauty from every form of disfgurement and proft-driven exploitation” and the “preservation of traditional rural and civic architecture.”189 With this programme, the Heritage Society directed its ordnance against two aspects of infrastructural development that were synonymous with the Belle Epoque: the excessive building of Grand Hotels in the midst of the Alpine landscape and the unceasing efforts to make every mountain summit accessible by train. It also joined battle with the “American barbarism” of advertising billboards, in a protest that used activist tactics and led to boycotts against certain companies.190 The resistance to mountain rail projects led to a mass petition that was submitted to the Federal Council in 1908, opposing a plan to build a funicular within the Matterhorn that would carry tourists to the summit. The SAC joined the protest against the Matterhorn railway, and in the end, the plan was dropped. The Matterhorn railway was not the only scheme that collapsed due to the opposition of the Heritage Society. A Lake Lucerne train, which was to join Flüelen with the Rütli, was also successfully resisted. The objections of the Heritage Society to other railway projects were at least able to ensure that their routes were more harmoniously integrated into the landscape. That a cog railway planned for Säntis fell victim to the objections of the Heritage Society came as no surprise in these tempestuous early years. The rail project found no favour with the writer Heinrich Federer (1866–1928) either, as is testifed in his 1911 novel Berge und Menschen (Mountains and Men).191 Critiques of Gigantism The Gotthard railway line, inaugurated in 1882, was seen as a marvel of technology – indeed, as a world wonder.192 This frst transalpine rail link was followed by a second in 1906 with the completion of the Simplon line and its tunnel, which, at just under 20 kilometres, was the longest in the world. A further sensation was created by the electrifcation of the railways, which represented a milestone in the history of technology. Since the 1830s, a multitude of other plans had existed for passages over or through the Swiss Alps, some of which reached a stage of partial maturity, while others remained vague ideas. With the boom in Swiss tourism in the 1850s and 1860s, and especially in the Belle Epoque, new possibilities for transalpine rail lines were conceived, joining longstanding ideas such as a Splügen or a Lukmanier line. There was the Septimer line (1860), on which carriages would be hauled up a

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particularly steep stretch by a cable mechanically driven by hydraulic turbines. It never came to fruition. Another idea, that of a Grimsel line that would connect Bern with Ticino via Brienz and Meiringen (1865), was also given up. Yet these projects, though daring and technically demanding, were nothing compared to those thought up and proposed during the last quarter of the 19th century and in the years leading up to the First World War. There was no mountain that was not targeted, no summit that appeared out of reach. Project after project was dreamed up, especially for the Alps of Eastern Switzerland. The Scaletta line, proposed by Willem Jan Holsboer in 1889, would have extended the Landquart–Davos line to include Castasegna in Bergell and Landeck. The Orient line, proposed by Adolf Guyer-Zeller (1839–1899), would have carried passengers from Chur over the Albula and Ofen Passes to Meran and then as far as Trieste. The Maloja line was to connect St Moritz with Chiavenna in Northern Italy. These railway projects were not primarily responding to touristic demand, and, in contrast to the Gotthard and Simplon lines, were strategically insignifcant for the Swiss state. The propaganda promoting them consisted almost entirely of promises of economic advantage for the regions they would serve. They all collapsed in the end, however, due to questions regarding their fnancing and proftability.193 Plans of a completely different nature were developed in connection with the Hotel Kursaal de la Maloja. In this case, the issue was how to get to the hotel. One idea envisioned steamboats that would travel via canals and locks across the lakes from St Moritz; another possibility was an electric train that would connect the lakes. A streetcar from Samedan to Maloja was also discussed. The issue of building infrastructure for the purpose of rendering hotels accessible raised hackles over the years, as innumerable touristic rail projects sprang from the heads of hoteliers, investors and politicians. An imposing number of projects were approved but not carried out around the turn of the century, involving adhesion, cog and cable railways driven by steam or electricity. Lines were to join Kleine Scheidegg with the Männlichen (1900), Grindelwald with the Eismeer (1906), Brig with Belalp (1908), Stalden with Saas Fee (1909), St Moritz either with Alp Giop (1910) or with Castasegna via Maloja (1902). A railway euphoria held sway, and daredevil projects were pursued – through mountains and valleys and up to the highest Alpine summits. Belief in progress seemed unshakeable; however fantastical a project might have sounded, it was still considered doable. The most spectacular project involved the Matterhorn, and its story has several chapters. As early as the 1850s, adventurous ideas were being conceived for traffc up the mountain. Zermatt was then a village of fewer than 400 inhabitants. At a time when Alexander Seiler’s hotel empire was no more than a dream, and the Matterhorn would not be summitted

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Figure 1.25 Charles Giron (1850–1914), Die Wiege der Eidgenossenschaft, 1901/1902. Oil on canvas, 12 m × 5 m, Bern, Federal Palace. Photograph: Peter Mosimann. Copyrighted free use, via Wikimedia Commons. The painting of Swiss panoramas had its heyday in the last quarter of the 19th century. Edouard Castres’ (1838–1902) Bourbaki-Panorama was one of the most important such works. Another landscape, 12 metres wide and 5 high, is situated in the National Council Chamber, on the wall behind the President’s chair. It bears the symbolic title The Cradle of Switzerland (Die Wiege der Eidgenossenschaft). It was painted in oil on canvas by the Geneva-based artist Charles Giron (1850–1914). In 1904, Giovanni Giacometti (1868– 1933) accepted a commission from the Park-Hotel Waldhaus for a panorama of Flims. This three-part work, intended for the opening of the casino, also stems from the era of monumental paintings and of an art that placed itself at the service of tourist ventures.

for several years, an industrialist from Alsace proposed building a balloon-powered lift up the Matterhorn. A gas balloon connected to a fxed cable running from the foot of the mountain to the summit was to bring tourists up into the heights. The cantonal engineer of Valais, not wanting to be outdone, developed plans instead for a 22-kilometre-long carriage road from Zermatt to the foot of the Matterhorn. From there, a 15-kilometre-long corkscrew road – a spiral tunnel inside the Matterhorn, with viewing windows – would lead up to the summit. This project strained the imagination of investors, and the fotation of shares was a fasco. Three decades passed. In the meantime, the technology of mountain railways had rushed headlong from one pioneering achievement to the next. At the end of the 1880s, construction began on the rail line linking

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Visp with Zermatt. At this point, a printer and railway fanatic from Biel, Caspar Leonhard Heer-Bétrix (1835–1890), proposed a project that incited astonishment and admiration as well as fear. Heer-Bétrix had only just submitted a concession application to the federal government when he died. His heirs kept the application alive even as the engineer and topographer Xaver Imfeld (1853–1909), the son-in-law of Alexander Seiler, increasingly assumed control over the project and lent it his name. The overall project envisioned a railway – a continuation of the line from Visp to Zermatt – that would reach the Gornergrat, initially as a combination of a cable and cog railway. From there the Matterhorn line would proceed up to the summit in three sections: the frst as a cable railway (up to 2320 metres), the second as a cog railway up to the Whymper Hut (3130 metres); and the third as an underground cable railway up to the top station, around 20 metres below the summit. From there, walkways would be constructed along the summit ridge. A restaurant and rooms for personnel and mountain guides were planned for the top of the mountain, as were some bunk rooms. The applicants for the concession were convinced that this High Alpine train would signifcantly bolster tourism in Zermatt and would also “increase the earnings of guides, porters and mule-owners.”194 The Swiss Parliament took up consideration of the project. The Council of States waved the proposal through without opposition on 10 June 1892, and the National Council followed suit ten days later. The Federal Council examined the application and gave permission for the project on 20 June 1892. It was a historical decision that not only gave the green light for the railway on the Matterhorn but also granted a concession for a train line from Wengernalp up the Eiger. One of the Federal Council’s conditions, however, was that approval of the operational system would only be granted once detailed design plans had been presented. These would have to prove “that the construction and operation of the railway would not pose an unreasonable danger to life or health.” The Federal Council reserved the right to determine the speeds of the trains and to determine whether and to what extent the company would be obliged to transport cattle.195 From today’s perspective it may seem astonishing how quickly the applicants succeeded in obtaining concessions for these projects. It appears that the Federal Council was also infected by the railway mania. That a company would be trusted to successfully realise such a project was certainly due to the widespread contemporary belief in progress. Why shouldn’t one be able to ride up the Matterhorn, when so much Gotthard granite had been subdued? Feasibility studies, as we know them today, did not exist. Environmentalist opposition also failed to materialise at frst. But problems mounted, and the project was soon in trouble.

154 The Discovery of the Mountains Financing presented a particular diffculty. Then there were the many technical details that the organisers were required to work out and submit to the government for approval. Meanwhile, opposition arose in the most diverse circles. Environmentalists protested more and more loudly, alpinists were horrifed and physicians issued warnings. It was feared that the local inhabitants would be deprived of their livelihoods and that it was not they, but rather foreign tourists who would proft from the railway – along with investors, speculators and innkeepers, including the Seiler hotel family. Yet for the concession holders, the increasing resistance was not, initially, the most pressing problem. What rankled them were the many details they had to submit for each part of the project, and especially for its fnancing: Costs were soon being estimated at more than 7 million francs. Because of all the submissions they had to make, they fell behind schedule and repeatedly had to apply for extensions. In 1905, Imfeld, who had become the head of the enterprise, submitted a completely reworked proposal. In the meantime, however, the political environment had changed. The SAC made up a respectable opponent and now found support from the recently founded Heritage Society. The project’s encroachment on the natural world was characterised as a dangerous practice that put human beings at risk. A “Special Matterhorn Commission” formed and began to organise concerted resistance. A petition containing more than 70,000 signatures was submitted to the Federal Council. Imfeld no longer had a chance. Even the best lobbying networks were of little avail in the face of the widespread protests. The gigantic projects of the era gave rise to an awareness that the dream of technological domination of the environment could rupture, and technology turn against its creators. Poets found words for this anxiety. Goethe’s ballad “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” created an allegory for such a reversal of power relations between human beings and their technologies. In Switzerland, the building of the Gotthard tunnel especially awakened such fears. Irrationality, too, came into play. In his poem “The Bridge by the Tay,” Theodor Fontane (1819–1898) ascribed the collapse of the railway bridge over the Firth of Tay on 28 December 1879 to demonic powers. In the poem, three wind witches were responsible for the collapse of the middle segment of the over-3000-metre-long bridge, the sinking of the train that had been on its way from Dundee to Edinburgh, and the resulting deaths of 75 people. “A bauble – a naught/ What the hand of man hath wrought!” rejoice Fontane’s witches. The poet weaved the demonic beings closely into the historical event by quoting almost literally from the accounts of eyewitnesses. Fontane’s “The Bridge by the Tay” begs to be read not as mythical fantasy, but as poetic news reporting. He wrote the poem only a few days after the accident.196

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The Dark Side of Modern Customs There was ample cause to complain about tourism and its effects. The custom of giving tips, introduced by British tourists, was viewed as a nuisance. Head waiters, chambermaids, porters – soon every employee expected the chinking of coins in their palms. Thousands of children, so it was said, were lured into a life of idleness by the lavishness of foreigners. Thrift and industriousness were in decline. Soon there would only be palaces and shacks left, it was foretold; the middle class and people of modest means would disappear. Happy were those who had no truck with tourism, but worked in the felds and raised cattle. Country folk were richer than the inhabitants of fashionable tourist locations, no matter how much money exchanged hands there. So ran the litany.197 Gian Saratz (1821–1900), hotelier and mayor of Pontresina, expressed a more nuanced view in 1887. Just 20 or 30 years ago, there was no choice but to go abroad… Instead of going to foreign countries to earn from foreigners, [now] the foreigners come to us – in hordes – to enjoy the magnifcent and unspoiled natural world and the mountains, and they leave a lot of money here. Our people now earn enough to live on in a variety of professions – as innkeepers, mountain guides, coach drivers, washerwomen, shoemakers, etc.198 As a consequence of tourism and a direct effect of contact with foreign visitors, begging became pervasive – and notorious – in Switzerland. The problem had its roots in the 18th century, when the Swiss population increasingly came into contact with foreigners travelling through the country. With the emergence of tourism in the 19th century, however, complaints began to multiply. It is striking that certain destinations, in particular, became hotspots of mendicancy. Among these were Goldau, the Rigi, Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald. The whole thing began harmlessly: Children would offer alpine roses to passing foreigners, while others sang Swiss songs or yodelled. It may have started with no more than the wish to provide the visitors with some simple pleasures. Yet with the boom in international tourism, boundaries were soon crossed: Tips received awakened the desire for more. Begging thus developed into a roguish art, a system that aimed at nothing more than the exploitation of foreign visitors. As Baedecker warned in 1857, all sorts of ideas were contrived to get travellers to open their purses: Flowers, berries and crystals were proffered; chamois and marmots were displayed; boys stood on their heads and failed their legs about; here one heard an alphorn, there Alpine singers, young and old; pistol shots were fred to create echoes. In winter, avalanches were loosed for money – a spectacle for the foreigners.

156 The Discovery of the Mountains By the start of the 1880s, this bothersome behaviour had largely been curbed through the intervention of the authorities, but had still not been entirely eradicated. The situation was said to be especially disagreeable on the Klausen Pass and in Urner Boden, where all children, without exception, ran after tourists and clung to them like burrs. Travel guides warned about this annoyance. Even the Swiss hospitality industry got involved, urging guests not to give tips, but rather to make donations to poor boxes, or to the local clergy. Based on the multitudinous complaints, one might think that the customs of entire valleys and regions had been corrupted by tourism. Switzerland – a country of beggars and crooks, the Swiss a gang of troublemakers! Hotels: Characteristic Features and Key Figures The Provenance of the Guests In the frst half of the 19th century, British visitors dominated tourism in Switzerland.199 Certain hotspots, such as Interlaken and Vevey, were even described as British colonies. British tourists also left their mark in the 1850s and 1860s, the Golden Age of Alpinism. Their numbers were further increased by the emergence of the frst all-inclusive group tours to Switzerland, which were organised in London. Subsequently, in the Belle Epoque, the numbers of tourists from different countries became more balanced. That said, in certain years and certain locations, the British still made up the greater part of the foreign visitors. This was true of Montreux and Zermatt, for example. Over the course of the second half of the 19th century, however, German visitors rose to the top of the national tourism statistics. This development was helped along by the new image Switzerland enjoyed, which aroused widespread admiration in Germany. Reservations about Swiss politics had vanished and negatively charged cultural stereotypes had lost their infuence. The knowledge that King Ludwig II of Bavaria not only spent his vacations in Switzerland, but even wanted to build a castle there, proved effective advertising in the Bavarian market. One important reason that Swiss tourist destinations enjoyed growing popularity in Germany was the expansion of the railway network that began in the 1850s and that soon brought tourists to all regions of the country. Group tours to Switzerland for all-inclusive prices met with increasing interest in Germany. The German scholar August Heinrich Petermann (1822–1878) confrmed this in 1864: Switzerland held back on the introduction of the locomotive for a long time, as if it feared to desecrate the holy peace of its valleys with this noisy new invention, but since…the energetic construction of the railways began, the Swiss railway network has become so

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extensive that visits to the various parts of the country can be made far more easily…In general, it can be said that from the Swiss border one can arrive, in half a day or even less, in the heart of the country, in the midst of the most famous Alpine glory. 200 The fow of German tourists was also fostered by the euphoric mood that arose after the Franco-Prussian War of 1870/1871. In 1873, however, an economic crisis struck and enthusiasm gave way to disillusionment. Vacation trips were cut from many budgets. How sensitively tourism in Switzerland reacted to wars and crises in neighbouring countries is

Figure 1.26 Summer tourism in Davos, 1874–1914: Provenance of visitors.

Figure 1.27 Winter tourism in Davos, 1875–1914: Provenance of visitors.

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Figure 1.28 Summer tourism in Montreux, 1896: Provenance of visitors.

evident in the highs and lows it experienced during the Belle Epoque, and its abrupt collapse on the outbreak of the First World War. Especially popular among Germans was Davos, which frst became a climatic spa, and later a tourist destination of wider appeal, through the initiative of German pioneers – and which still today bears the stamp of German infuence in such institutions as the Kirchner-Museum, the Spengler Cup and the World Economic Forum (WEF). The latter was founded by Klaus Schwab (born 1938), a German economist from Ravensburg. Statistics regarding tourists’ nationalities document both the international character of Swiss tourism and the eminent importance of the European market. Alongside the two main countries of provenance, Germany and Great Britain, neighbouring France and Austria-Hungary, as well as other European countries, accounted for the greatest numbers of foreign visitors. Russian tourists, who came in insignifcant numbers in the frst half of the 19th century, formed the fourth-largest group in the 1890s. Among the non-European tourists who came to Switzerland in the 19th century, there were signifcant numbers of US Americans. In the Belle Epoque, the USA was among the top ten countries from which tourists arrived. The number of visitors from Asia was too small to appear in the statistics. In the 1920s, Japan became the frst Asian nation to be of any importance for Swiss tourism; India followed in the 1970s, and China around the turn of the millennium. Although regional domestic tourism was already signifcant in the 1820s and 1830s – particularly to baths and spas, thanks in part to day visitors – the Swiss only visited the tourist destinations of their own country in growing numbers and for extended periods of time in the

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second half of the 19th century. In the Belle Epoque, Swiss hotel guests even ranked second in number, after the Germans and ahead of the British. Their contingent up until 1914 varied, making up between a quarter and a third of the total volume. Hotels and Their Capacities The development that the hospitality industry underwent over the course of the 19th century is impressive. In fact, Switzerland’s transformation into a tourist destination astounded foreign commentators beyond all measure. Initially tainted by a bad image thanks to political ruptures and infrastructural defcits, particularly in its transport network, the Swiss label attained a previously undreamt-of aura within a very short period of time. By the beginning of the Belle Epoque, Swiss hotels were widely considered the best in the world, and their architecture was approvingly held up as an example. By the end of the century, British and American hotels had usurped this role. Yet many Swiss hotels are still viewed today as being among the most elegant in the world. The brilliant development of the Swiss hospitality industry was driven by hotel pioneers who became talking points from the 1850s onwards and rose to become international stars, as Swiss hotel standards defned best practice in Europe. Among them were the Goms native Alexander Seiler (1819–1891) and his wife Katharina Seiler (1834–1895), Cäsar Ritz (1850–1918) and Marie-Louise Ritz (1867–1961), the Obwalden natives Franz-Joseph Bucher (1834–1906) and Josef Durrer (1841–1919), the Vaudois Ami Chessex (1840–1917) and Chessex’s brother-in-law Alexandre Emery (1850–1931). The scale and speed of development become clear when one considers particular locations: While in 1844 the frst edition of Baedeker devoted to Switzerland listed three inns in Lucerne with various ratings, with the Schwanen the only one qualifying as a “good hotel in grand style,” by the end of the 1850s more than 28 hotels and pensions were listed, with around 2,000 beds; by 1902, there were already 40 hotels and more than 4,000 beds. In Zermatt at the start of the 1850s, there was a single modest inn with a couple of rooms, while at the turn of the century the hotels of the Seiler family alone boasted over 1,000 beds. 201 At frst, most hotel employees were Swiss. Their facility with language was striking. By the end of the century, however, seasonal operations had rendered the personnel in Swiss hotels more international than in any other country. In 1899, of around 28,000 employees, just under 20 percent were foreigners. Many employees lived like swallows. Once one season was over, they moved to the next seasonal operation. It could also happen that the entire staff of a Swiss hotel moved en masse, as from the Kurhaus Maloja to the Hôtel Gallia in Cannes – the two hotels belonging to the same company.

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Figure 1.29 “Maloja Palace,” ca 1900. Coloured postcard. Private collection.

The importance of the various tourist centres changed over time. In the second half of the 19th century, the area around Lake Lucerne surpassed the Bernese Oberland as the most visited tourist region in Switzerland. The railways on prominent, excursion-friendly mountains such as the Rigi, Pilatus and Stanserhorn contributed to this, as did the infrastructural development of Lucerne and other destinations around the lake: Brunnen, a point of departure for excursions to the historical locations on Lake Uri; Morschach, a climatic spa with two stylish luxury hotels, the Axenfels and the Axenstein; Stoss, with its eponymous sanatorium and breathtaking view of the Mythen and the Fronalpstock; Seelisberg on the west bank of Lake Uri, with its Sonnenberg hotel; and the sensational Bürgenstock hotel facility with its audacious Hammetschwand lift. 202 By the 1880s, these destinations had developed into spa and vacation centres with international reputations. The steamers that plied Lake Lucerne beginning in the late 1830s contributed a further tourist attraction to the area. Then the Gotthard railway line, the most spectacular in the world at the time, became a draw for tourists from near and far. While the British continued to dominate tourism in the tributary valleys of Valais, with Zermatt and Saas Fee as lodestars, the tourists on Lake Lucerne came from a wide range of countries. Germans formed the largest contingent, but there were also a signifcant number of Italians. In the middle of the 19th century, Lucerne overtook the Rigi as the leading tourist spot in Central Switzerland, and thus assumed a role on Lake Lucerne similar to that of Geneva on its own lake.

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Figure 1.30 Number of hotels in selected Swiss towns, 1860–1900 (in absolute fgures).

A rash of hotel construction in the 1870s led to a crisis in the industry in some places. In 1880, there were around 1,000 hotels in Switzerland, with 58,000 beds and 15,000 employees. By 1899, there were already 1,900 hotels, 105,000 beds and 28,000 employees. This growth was partly a consequence of the economic boom of the 1890s. The increase in hotel construction was paralleled by a boom in the construction of mountain railroads. In 1891, around 9.5 million guests stayed in Swiss hotels; by 1899, the number was 9.8 million. For the frst time, hotels began to be built for speculative reasons. While the hoteliers of the 1850s and 1860s had gradually expanded their facilities in accordance with how successful they had been, in the Belle Epoque hotels were increasingly owned by corporations, which occasionally lost touch with operational and business realities.203 Among the new constructions were hotel facilities whose conception was megalomaniacal from the very start – such as the gigantic expansion plans that Eugène Jost, the star Swiss architect for grandiose projects, drafted for the Hôtel National in Montreux. This project was never realised, but between 1882 and 1884 the Belgian Count Camille de Renesse (1836–1904) did build a fve-storey Neo-Renaissance luxury establishment, the Hôtel-Kursaal de la Maloja, with 300 rooms, 450 beds and 20 dining rooms and ballrooms in the small village of Maloja. The architect was his fellow countryman Jules Rau. When it opened on 1 July 1884, it was among the most modern hotels in the world. A fabulous party was put on, despite the fact that cholera had broken out in Toulon a week before. 204 De Renesse was a colourful personality: a writer, free-thinker and cosmopolitan, Manchester Liberal and visionary – he was everything and seemed able to do anything. Originally, he had wanted to build a large

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hotel in St Moritz. Badrutt and the St Moritz tourism circles, however, knew how to block unwanted competition. This led the count to his vision of the gigantic tourist centre in Maloja, which would include two hotels with at least 300 beds and 25 residential villas each, and would beat St Moritz at its own game. The utopian character of this project was written all over it. The location was fully unsuitable, and the project far too large. Not only was Maloja a remote and isolated village; the hotel was to be constructed in a swampy area, which made necessary a drainage system and the removal of a moraine hill. Besides lime and stone, which were on hand in quantities on location, all materials for the construction and the interior decoration had to be transported by train from France and Belgium. In the northern Italian town of Chiavenna, the materials were transferred to horse-drawn wagons, on which they reached Maloja. The hotel amenities were luxurious, the best of the best: steam central heating, air conditioning with humidity regulation and therapeutic aromas, electric lighting and a hydraulic lift. Five months after the inauguration of the hotel, the Count declared bankruptcy. The construction costs had spiralled out of control and now the maintenance of the place demanded huge sums of money. Its demise was accelerated by the fact that Italy had closed its borders due to the cholera outbreak. This meant the hotel could no longer be reached from Chiavenna – and this in high season! As a consequence, few guests showed up. Countess de Renesse died on 20 September of the year of the hotel’s opening; the count declared himself insolvent, and liquidation followed. A rumour circulated to the effect that he had fallen to his death while drunk on champagne. This was not so. He had merely gone into hiding; he would later turn up in Nice as a bon vivant, studying and writing about Christian literature. While inns and hotels grew ever larger and more fantastical during the Belle Epoque, complaints mounted about their bankruptcies. An unusual mechanism in the history of insolvency developed: Companies that were no longer proftable were sent into bankruptcy; the bankruptcy assets changed hands for less than their valuation price, sometimes for a song; at this point, for the frst time, the companies could be run proftably. The story of these bankrupt hotels comprises an ample chapter in Swiss economic history, affecting all regions of the country. Yet nowhere else did the dark sides of speculative hotel-building fgure as crassly as in the Bernese Oberland and in Graubünden.

Notes 1 The appellation “Vreneli” (little Vreni) took hold at the end of the 1930s: “Contrary to Popular Assumption, This Is Not a Reference to the Holy Verena,” “Das Vreneli,” Swissmint, 2014, accessed 9 October 2019, https:// www.swissmint.ch/swissmint/en/home/dokumentation/numi-berichte.html

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2 Elias Canetti, Gesammelte Werke Band 3: Masse und Macht (Frankfurt am Main: Hanser, 2016), 204. 3 Jakob Escher to Alfred Escher, Berlin, Tuesday/Wednesday, 5/6 June 1838, Alfred Escher Foundation, accessed 9 October 2019, https:// www.briefedition.alfred-escher.ch/briefe/B0157?action=search&view=single&odd=escher.odd&view1=0#1.4.1.2.3.8 4 Alfred Escher to Jakob Escher, Bonn, Monday/Friday, 18/22 June 1838, Alfred Escher Foundation, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.briefedition.alfred-escher.ch/briefe/B0161?action=search&view=single&odd=escher.odd&view1=0#1.4.1.2.3.9. 5 “…ut Alpium prope foeditatem superavit.” Titus Livius, Römische Geschichte: Von der Gründung der Stadt an, 2nd ed., ed. Lenelotte Möller, trans. Otto Güthling (Nördlingen: Mariz, 2012), 21, 58.3. My thanks to Professor Karlheinz Töchterle for his helpful suggestions. 6 Thomas Burnet, The Sacred Theory of the Earth (London: Centaur Press Ltd., 1965), 110–112; John Evelyn, The Diary of John Evelyn (London: M. Walter Dunne, 1901), 228; Joseph Jacobs, ed., Epistolae Ho-Eliane: The Familiar Letters of James Howell (London: David Nutt, 1890), 112. 7 Johann Konrad Füssli, Staats- und Erdbeschreibung, Zusätze und Verbesserungen, 4th rev. ed. (Schaffhausen: Hurter, 1770–1772), 313f. 8 Simona Boscani Leoni, “Conrad Gessner und die Alpen,” in Facetten eines Universums: Conrad Gessner, 1516–2016, eds. Urs B. Leu and Mylene Ross (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2016), 185. 9 Carel Mander, Das Leben der niederländischen und deutschen Maler, trans. Hanns Floerke (Munich: G. Müller, 1906), 255–257. My thanks to Professor Emeritus Franz Zelger for his helpful suggestions. 10 The quote by Addison is taken from Agnès Couzy, Catherine Donzel, Martin Rasper and Marc Walter, Legendäre Reisen in den Alpen (Munich: Frederking und Thaler, 2015), 9. The quote from Dennis is taken from Bettina Hausler, Der Berg: Schrecken und Faszination (Zurich: Hirmer Verlag, 2008), 42. The quote by Gottsponer is from Thomas Antonietti, Fremdenverkehr und Bauernkultur: Zermatt und Aletsch 1850–1950 (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2000), 50. 11 “The goal was usually Italy, with its artistic treasures, or locations determined by political motivations, where contacts were made and alliances formed. The Alps were not in initially a travel destination…” Cordula Seger, Grand Hotel: Schauplatz der Literatur (Brühl: Böhlau-Verlag, 2005), 21f. 12 Quoted in Christoph Meiners, Briefe über die Schweiz: Zweiter Theil (Berlin: Spener, 1788), 6–7. 13 Andreas Feldtkeller, “Mysterium Tremendum,” in Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, online, updated 9 October 2019, http://dx.doi. org/10.1163/2405–8262_rgg4_SIM_14662. 14 A compilation of the frst ascents of the classic Alpine peaks makes two things clear: “First, the large role played by the clergy in the history of mountaineering, and second, how early on the climbs of Pater Placidus a Spesch took place.” Peter Donatsch, “P. Placidus a Spescha als Pionier des Alpinismus,” in Pater Placidus a Spescha – “il curios pader”, ed. Verein für Bündner Kulturforschung (Chur: Verlag Bündner Monatsblatt, 1993), 84. “Titlis was often climbed right up until the end of the 18th century… On this highest mountain above Engelberg a form of mass Alpine tourism set in, comparable to that on Mont Blanc above Chamonix.” Daniel Anker, Titlis: Spielplatz der Schweiz (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2001), 46f.

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15 “De Saussure was a professor of philosophy at the University of Geneva and was interested in geology and physics… His barometric measurements confrmed that Mont Blanc was at least the highest mountain in Europe.” Marcel Hofmann, Die Anfänge des Tourismus in den Schweizer Alpen im 19. Jahrhundert: Der Einfuss der Briten auf den Alpinismus (Zurich: Akademiker Verlag, 2014), 12. 16 Albrecht von Haller, “Die Alpen,” in Versuch Schweizerischer Gedichte: Helvetia Rara, ed. Robert Barth et al. (Zurich: Georg Olms Verlag, 2006), 43. 17 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inégalité parmi les hommes (Paris: Marc Michel Rey, 1755), note 9. 18 From Jean-Jaques Rousseau, Julie oder die neue Héloïse: Briefe zweier Liebender aus einer kleinen Stadt am Fusse der Alpen, ed. Karl-Maria Guth, trans. Gustav Julius (Berlin: Hofenberg, 2017), 426. 19 From George Gordon Noel Byron, Poetry of Byron, ed. Matthew Arnold (London: Macmillan, 1881), 99–104. 20 Mendelssohn, Reisebriefe, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.projektgutenberg.org/mendelba/briefe/chap006.html. 21 Monique Meyer, “Von einem neuen Naturverständnis in den Anfängen der Unternehmerkunst in der Schweiz des 18. Jahrhunderts” in Tour de Suisse: Schweizer Kleinmeister aus der Sammlung Bernhard Neher, eds. Matthias Fischer and Monique Meyer (Trento: Hirmer Verlag, 2017), 56f. 22 Matthias Fischer and Monique Meyer, eds., Tour de Suisse: Schweizer Kleinmeister aus der Sammlung Bernhard Neher (Munich: Hirmer Verlag, 2017), 34–35. 23 My thanks to Professor Emeritus Franz Zelger for his helpful suggestions. 24 “Wolf’s Alpine paintings refect the epoch of the Enlightenment. In them, many elements characteristic of the time are brought together – among them the emergence of tourism, ideals of freedom, the pursuit of a scientifc approach, and a pronounced closeness to nature. Even in the winter, the painter was drawn out into the freezing cold.” Peter Wegmann, “Hoch hinauf: Ein kurzer Aufstieg zu den Höhepunkten der Alpenmalerei,” in Valentin Roschacher: Die Schweizer Alpen; Ölbilder 2000–2013, eds. Renato Compostella and Res Perrot (Salenstein: Benteli, 2013), 76. 25 Kilian Jost, Felslandschaften. Eine Bauaufgabe des 19. Jahrhunderts. Grotten, Wasserfälle und Felsen in landschaftlichen Gartenanlagen (doctoral thesis, ETH Zurich, 2015), 94. 26 “L’éditeur John Murray, à Londres, publie dès 1838 un guide sur la Suisse qui connaît un grand succès … Jack Simmons a pu consulter ses archives et en a ressorti des chiffres précis sur leur circulation. En tout, plus de 50 000 exemplaires sont écoulés, soit une moyenne d’environ 2000 exemplaires par édition.” Laurent Tissot, Naissance d’une industrie touristique: Les Anglais et la Suisse au XIXe siècle (Lausanne: Payot, 2000), 21f. 27 “So, in 1842, [Karl Baedeker] wrote his principal work himself, the extensive volume Deutschland und der Österreichische Kaiserstaat (Germany and the Austrian Imperial State), as well as his extremely successful and favourite volume Schweiz (Switzerland) (1844).” “Verlagsgeschichte,” Baedeker, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.baedeker.com/verlag-und-redaktion/. 28 In 1868, he published an account of his experiences during the years from 1848 to 1850, including his stay in Switzerland. See Gustav Rasch, Aus meiner Festungszeit: Ein Betrag zur Geschichte der preussischen Reaction (Pest: A. Hartleben, 1868). 29 “In the 19th century, the Catholic church returned to a Baroque piety, and the Marian pilgrimage experienced a revival. Around 1830, an average of

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130,000 pilgrims visited Einsiedeln annually.” Christine Keller, “Pilger und Pilgerrouten,” in Kloster Einsiedeln: Pilger seit 1000 Jahren, ed. Schweizerisches Nationalmuseum (Ostfldern/Zurich: Schweizerisches Nationalmuseum, 2017), 68. The journeys remained – until the Modern Age – expensive, diffcult and not without danger. After 1877, the railway line from Wädenswil on Lake Zurich into the high valley of Einsiedeln – which was partly fnanced by the monastery – provided more favourable conditions for the mass pilgrimage. The trips were made shorter and much more pleasant. Keller, “Pilger und Pilgerrouten,” 64. 30 Take, for example, William Windham in 1741: He was accompanied by a few of his fellow countrymen, among them the anthropologist Richard Pococke, who had only recently returned from the Orient. The men, admittedly, felt somewhat uneasy: They set off armed to the teeth, though they did not of course end up using their weapons.

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Agnés Couzy, Catherine Donzel, Martin Rasper and Marc Walter, Legendäre Reisen in den Alpen (Munich: Frederking und Thaler, 2015), 9. “The Righi does not owe its pre-eminence, as a point commanding perhaps the most splendid and varied view in Switzerland…” Charles La Trobe, The Alpenstock, or, Sketches of Swiss Scenery and Manners (London: R.B. Seeley and W Burnside, 1829), 83. “The American Mark Twain had it easy with the mountain – he knew that it was called ‘the Rigi’…Twain and his fellow traveller wanted, like all tourists to the Rigi, to see the sunrise. On their frst evening on the mountain top, however, the sun set.” Huwyler, “Mark Twain,” Zentral Plus, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.zentralplus.ch/blog/literatur-blog/ als-mark-twain-auf-den-rigi-stieg/. My thanks to Clemens Fässler for his helpful suggestion. Marianne-Franziska Imhasly, Katholische Pfarrer in der Alpenregion um 1850, vol. 9 of Religion – Politik – Gesellschaft in der Schweiz, ed. Urs Altermatt (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg, 1992), 291, 293. Franz Joseph Hugi, Naturhistorische Alpenreise (Solothurn: Amiet-Lutiger, 1830), 271f. “If one visits these three valleys [the Lauterbrunnen, Grindelwald and Hasli valleys], one can correctly boast that one has visited the greatest and most remarkable places Switzerland has to offer.” Christoph Meiners, Briefe über die Schweiz: Zweiter Theil (Berlin: Spener, 1788), 79. “Up until 1840, the tributary valleys of Valais, with the exception of the thermal spa Leukerbad, were predominantly visited by naturalists…Because there were no hotels yet at the time of their frst visits to the Valais Alps, they sought food and accommodation from the priests of mountain villages – though not always successfully.” Marianne-Franziska Imhasly, Katholische Pfarrer in der Alpenregion um 1850, vol. 9 of Religion – Politik – Gesellschaft in der Schweiz, ed. Urs Altermatt (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg, 1992), 190f. Christian Moritz Engelhardt, Naturschilderungen, Sittenzüge und wissenschaftliche Bemerkungen aus den höchsten SchweizerAlpen, besonders in Süd-Wallis und Graubünden. Mit Ansichten vom Eringerthal, Monte-Rosa, Matterhorn (Mont Cervin), St. Theodulpass, und Hinter-Rheinursprung, wie auch einer Panorama-Karte der Visp- (nördlichen Monte Rosa-) Thäler, in Querfolio und mehreren kleineren Abbildungen (Paris: Treuttel und Würtz, 1840), 182.

166 The Discovery of the Mountains 38 There are records of no fewer than 104 guests at the parish house in Zermatt between 1836 and 1851. See Marianne-Franziska Imhasly, Katholische Pfarrer in der Alpenregion um 1850, vol. 9 of Religion – Politik – Gesellschaft in der Schweiz, ed. Urs Altermatt (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg, 1992), 293. 39 For the following account, see Johann Heinrich Mayr, Meine Lebenswanderung (Frauenfeld: Huber Verlag, 1910). 40 “After Wocher’s death in 1830, [the City Panorama of Thun] was put up for sale, and eventually, because no one was interested in it, it was donated to Thun Improvement Association (Thuner Verschönerungsverein). As the Association did not have the means to exhibit it again, the enormous canvas [12.5 metres across] was rolled up – incorrectly – and deposited in frst one and then another location. Only in 1955, on the occasion of the Wocher Exhibition organised by Pal Leonhard Ganz in the Thuner Hof, was it fnally recognised that this unique work – the oldest panorama in the world – had to be saved.” Hanspeter Landolt, Gottfried Keller-Stiftung: Sammeln für die Schweizer Museen 1890–1900 (Bern: Benteli, 1990), 111. 41 Stephan Oettermann, “Berge weiten den Blick,” in Die Schwerkraft der Berge: 1774–1997, eds. Stephan Kunz, Beat Wismer and Wolfgang Denk (Basel: Stroemfeld/Roter Stern, 1995), 49–58. 42 “The production, exhibition and renting out of panoramas was a standard part of 19th century showbusiness.” Oskar Bätschmann, “Malerei der Neuzeit,” in Ars Helvetica, ed. Desertina Verlag (Disentis: Desertina-Verlag, 1989), 184. 43 “In this time of the idealisation of nature and country life, a widespread enthusiasm for the farmhouse developed. Swiss farmhouses were declared architectural classics. Bernese farmhouses in particular became export products – both within Switzerland and abroad.” Roland Flückiger-Seiler, “Zur Geschichte des Tourismus in der Schweiz,” in Denkmalpfege und Tourismus: Interdisziplinäre Tagung in Davos, 16–18 September 1992, ed. European Business History Association (Bozen: Athesia, 1997), 101. 44 English Heritage currently advertises it as follows: ‘It is impossible to imagine a prettier spot’ said Queen Victoria of Osborne House, her palatial holiday home on the Isle of Wight. Visit Victoria and Albert’s private apartments, their bathing beach and children’s playcottage for an intimate glimpse of royal family life.

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“Osborne,” English Heritage, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/osborne/. Elisabeth Crettaz-Stürzel, “Heimatstil,” Historisches Lexicon der Schweiz, accessed 9 October 2019, https://hls-dhs-dss.ch/de/ articles/011186/2015-06-19/. Peter Omachen, Luzern – eine Touristenstadt: Hotel Architektur von 1782 bis 1914 (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2010), 140. “The Badischer Hof in Baden-Baden, transformed from a cloister to one of the frst modern Grand Hotels on the Continent by Friedrich Weinbrenner between 1807 and 1809, was a momentous forerunner of things to come.” Cordula Seger, Grand Hotel: Schauplatz der Literatur (Brühl: Böhlau-Verlag, 2005), 40. Carl Friedrich von Ehrenberg, fyer, 1837. “In the 1830s, there appeared the frst inns that, with their classical facades, were clearly differentiated from the traditional architecture, and could offer the status-conscious tourists appropriate accommodation.” Roland Flückiger-Seiler, Hotelpaläste: Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit; Schweizer

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Tourismus und Hotelbau 1830–1920, 2nd ed. (Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2005), 14. “I will certainly – oh, certainly – not allow myself to object, I as a foreigner  – oh, certainly not – to the decision of the city (sic!) of Zurich to buy the ancient and famous Hotel Schwert and convert it into a tax offce, but this does have to be said: It is a shame…One loved it like an old piece of furniture…Certainly: one lived…there …because this now-dead hotel was beautiful and homely in a very special way. After the traditional practice of an inn, it was not a chef de reception, but the owner himself who was in charge…But the war…is a ferce destroyer even of what is immaterial, of expectations and hopes. It crushes traditions with its iron sole and so…it now also takes the oldest inn in Zurich…In the room where the young Mozart stayed – symbol of the ringing lightness of life – weighty dossiers will be pored over; in Goethe’s room, a strict commissioner will offciate; and in the hall where Casanova once masqueraded as a waiter and was a little too helpful to beautiful ladies, citizens will face strict inquisitions. Only the spirit of Cagliostro, the great gold maker, will be alive, but his skills of emptying and flling coffers will be practiced in a boring game of numbers instead of a humorous deception. Perhaps it will bring in much money for the city of Zurich, this house…but no sum can make up for what it will have lost, a part of its city soul, a precious piece of tradition. Maybe we foreigners feel more strongly the magic dissipating in this material transformation…” National-Zeitung, 13 July 1918, morning edition. “Jean de Charpentie as tragic forerunner of a scientifc revolution.” Tobias Krüger, “Eiszeit: Jean de Charpentier als tragischer Wegbereiter einer wissenschaftlichen Umwälzung,” in Die Naturforschenden: Auf der Suche nach Wissen über die Schweiz und die Welt – 1800–2015, eds. Patrick Kupper and Bernhard S. Schär (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2015), 17. Agassiz as an “academic popstar”! See Helmut Stalder, Verkannte Visionäre: 24 Schweizer Lebensgeschichten (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2011), 69. “Squares, streets and a mountain have been named for the zoologist, glaciologist and race theorist Louis Agassiz. Hans Fässler has been trying for years to get this racist’s name removed from them. In Neuchâtel, he has now met with success.” Bruno Knellwolf, “Agassiz-Platz in Neuenburg wird umbenannt,” Tagblatt, 6 June 2019, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.tagblatt.ch/leben/agassiz-platz-in-neuenburg-wird-umbenannt-ld.1125064. “In addition to the heights of mountain peaks, they determined which trees, herbs and cultivated plants grew at high altitudes.” Conradin A. Burga, ed., Oswald Heer (1809–1883): Paläobotaniker, Entomologe, Gründerpersönlichkeit (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2013), 82. “Today it is considered certain that the hunters from the Surselva, Placi Curschellas and Augustin Bisquolm, were in fact the frst to ascend the Russein, on 1 September 1824.” “Rudolf Theodor Simler auf den Tödi (3,614m),” Bergwelten, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www.bergwelten. com/a/rudolf-theodor-simler-auf-dem-toedi-3–614-m. Conradin A. Burga, ed., Oswald Heer (1809–1883): Paläobotaniker, Entomologe, Gründerpersönlichkeit (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2013), 29. Alfred Escher to Alexander Schweizer, Zurich, Monday, 27 August 1832, Alfred Escher Foundation, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www. briefedition. alfredescher.ch/ briefe/ B0112 /. Alfred Escher to Alexander Schweizer, Zurich, Monday 27 August 1832, Alfred Escher Foundation, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www. briefedition. alfredescher.ch/ briefe/ B0112 /.

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59 Alfred Escher to Oswald Heer, Belvoir (Enge, Zurich), Monday 3 August 1835, Alfred Escher Foundation, accessed 9 October 2019, https://www. briefedition. alfredescher.ch/ briefe/ B0124 /. 60 “The discovery and conquest of the Alps would not have been possible without the contributions of the English; innumerable places in the mountains are named after them, and English was the second language of ski teachers and mountain guides long before today!” Roy Oppenheim, Die Entdeckung der Alpen (Frauenfeld: Büchergilde Lizenz Huber, 1974), 158. 61 “On 14. 7. 1865 the Matterhorn was summitted for the frst time. Setting out from Zermatt, a team under the leadership of E. Whymper reached the peak by way of the northeastern ridge. (On the descent, four climbers suffered a fatal accident.)” “Matterhorn,” Brockhaus, accessed 11 October 2019, https://brockhaus.de/ecs/enzy/article/matterhorn. 62 Richard Nelsson, “The First Ascent of the Matterhorn in 1865,” The Guardian, 14 July 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/world/from-thearchive-blog/2015/jul/14/matterhorn-frst-ascent-whymper-1865. “On 14 July 1865, the Englishman Edward Whymper, accompanied by three mountain guides and three fellow English climbers, managed to reach the peak…On 14 July 1865, the seven-man team led by Whymper made the successful frst ascent.” “Matterhorn: Erstbesteigung von 1865,” Zermatt Tourismus, accessed 11 October 2019, https://www.zermatt.ch/Media/ Artikel/Matterhorn-Erstbesteigung-von-1865. 63 “Michel Auguste Croz…was a French mountain climber and mountain guide. He died during the descent of the team that had successfully summited the Matterhorn for the frst time, under the leadership of Edward Whymper.” Wikipedia, s.v. “Michel Croz,” accessed 11 October 2019, https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michel_Croz. 64 The table “First Ascents of the 48 Swiss 4,000-metre peaks, 1811–1900” on pages 59–62, is based on comprehensive research and critical source comparisons. In particular, the following publications were consulted: Gottlieb Studer, Über Eis und Schnee. Die höchsten Gipfel der Schweiz und die Geschichte ihrer Besteigung, vol. 1: Nordalpen (Bern: Schmid und Francke, 1896), vol. 2: Südalpen, 2nd ed., modifed and expanded on by A. Wäre and H. Dübi (Bern: Schmid und Francke, 1898); Dr Alois Dreyer, Der Alpinismus und der Deutsch-Österreichische Alpenverein: Seine Entwicklung, seine Bedeutung, seine Zukunft (Berlin: Marquardt u. Co. Verlaganstalt, 1909); Max Senger, Wie die Schweizer Alpen erobert wurden (Zurich: Büchergilde Gutenberg, 1945); Caroline Fink and Marco Volken, Die Viertausender der Schweiz (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2015); as well as online resources provided by the relevant sections of the Swiss Alpine Club. 65 My thanks to Dr Klaus Anderegg for his helpful suggestion. 66 “Christian was described as silent, thorough and strong, rather slow in walking…and sleepy when getting up. But he put held his own on ice and rock and towered over Peter [his brother] as a guide.” Carl Egger, Pioniere der Alpen: 30 Lebensbilder der grossen Schweizer Bergführer von Melchior Anderegg bis Franz Lochmatter 1827–1933 (Basel: Amstutz, Hardeg & Co., 1946), 105. 67 “It was not possible to fnd two leading guides who worked together more harmoniously than Croz and Almer.” Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 226. 68 “Anderegg…set the bar for mountain guides; he was invited to London by the Alpine Club three times.” Natascha Knecht, Pionier und Gentleman der Alpen: Das Leben der Bergführlegende Melchior Anderegg (1828– 1914) und die Blütezeit der Erstbesteigungen in der Schweiz (Zurich:

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Limmat, 2014), 172. “Melchior guided many women in the mountains, but none so frequently as Mrs Walker. And besides, the other women he climbed with were married and accompanied by their husbands on these excursions.” Knecht, Pionier, cover. “As it was for men, the ascent of the Matterhorn by the frst woman was considered to be a milestone in Alpine history.” Caroline Fink, “First Ladies: The First Women to Climb the Matterhorn,” Zermatt, accessed 11 October 2019, https://www.zermatt.ch/en/History/focus-women-alpinists; “Corinne Thalmann Plays Lucy Walker,” Freilichtspiele Zermatt, accessed 11 October 2019, https://freilichtspiele-zermatt.ch/en/info/aktuelles/corinne-thalmann-spielt-lucy-walker/; Caroline Fink, “Rivallinnen im Reifrock,” Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 21 May 2015, https://www.nzz.ch/ gesellschaft/ lebensart/ outdoor/ rivalinnenimreifrock1.18542482. The offcial data on deaths are contradictory. I am here relying on verbal information, which I was grateful to receive from Edy Schmid, Head of the Matterhorn Museum, in Zermatt, on 22 July 2019. Rainer Rettner, Eiger: Triumphe und Tragödien; 1932–1938, 3rd ed. (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2010), 141. Breuil and Cervinia are today part of the municipality of Valtournenche (Aosta Valley, Italy). “The Matterhorn is, as I frequently became aware in America, even more well-known than Switzerland.” Spa director Amadée Perrig in 1900. Quoted in Daniel Anker, ed., Matterhorn: Berg der Berge (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2015), 154. “With the recent passing of the English scholar John Tyndall, we have lost not only one of the most important physicists of our time, but also one of those champions of science who, while born in England, aroused great interest in Germany with their research, the following of which had a uniquely stimulating and supportive effect on scientifc practice in Germany.” Friedrich Wilhelm Hackländer, ed., Über Land und Meer: Allgemeine illustrierte Zeitung, part 2, 10th ed. (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1893/1894), 239. “The Playground of Europe, which I frst read in my early teens, still seems to me to be perhaps the best book ever written about mountaineering… Leslie Stephen was one of the outstanding pioneers in the Golden Age of mountaineering.” Arnold Lunn, “The Playground of Europe, 1871 to 1971 (A Centenary Tribute to Leslie Stephen),” in Alpine Journal, 1–3, accessed 11 October 2019, chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefndmkaj/viewer.html? pdfurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.alpinejournal.org.uk%2FContents%2FC o nt e nt s _ 19 7 2 _ f i l e s%2 FAJ%2 52 019 7 2%2 52 01- 8%2 52 0 L u n n%2520Alps.pdf%23search%3D%2522leslie%2520stephen%2520was% 2520one%2520of%2520the%2520outstanding%2520pioneers%2522&clen=4284768&chunk=true. “Up until then [beginning of the 19th century], the travels of the English had been restricted to the valleys and passes, through which they often roamed across the entire chain of the Alps and bore witness to their beauty, as William Brockedon did in his Passes of the Alps (1888). Such works provided the impetus for visits to the Alps.” Roy Oppenheim, Die Entdeckung der Alpen (Frauenfeld: Büchergilde Lizenz Huber, 1974), 160. Where there’s a Will there’s a Way: an ascent of Mont Blanc, by a new route and without Guides by the Rev. Charles Hudson M.A. St. John’s College Cambridge and Edward Shirley Kennedy B.A. Caius College Cambridge. The frst German translation was published in 1872.

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79 Coolidge was “one of the oldest and most successful standard bearers of Alpinism.” Gustav Schmidt, Österreichische Alpenzeitung, 48 (1926): 112. 80 “It would be diffcult to imagine a change more complete than that which has come over the little Alpine village of Davos since the end of the nineteenth century.” John Addington Symonds and Margaret Symonds, Our Life in the Swiss Highlands (London: A. and C. Black, 1907), 7. 81 Elizabeth Le Blond, foreword to The High Alps in Winter, or, Mountaineering in Search of Health (London: S. Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington, 1883). 82 “In her autobiography Day In, Day Out, published in 1928, she recalls how ‘My mother faced the music on my behalf when my grand-aunt, Lady Bentinck, sent out a frantic S.O.S. “Stop her climbing mountains! She is scandalizing all London and looks like a Red Indian.”’” Elizabeth Le Blond, Day In, Day Out (London: John Lane, 1928), 90, cited in Cordula Seger and Bettina Plattner-Gerber, Engadin St Moritz: Ein Tal schreibt Geschichten; A Valley with Stories to Tell (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2016), 89. 83 The emancipation of women: The frst women to climb Mont Blanc were Marie Paradis in 1808 and Henriette d’Angewille in 1838. My thanks to Daniel Anker for pointing this out. 84 “The new large-scale hotels of the Belle Epoque not only distinguished themselves from their predecessors in name; their appearance also left their forebears in the dust.” Roland Flückiger-Seiler, Hotelpaläste: Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit; Schweizer Tourismus und Hotelbau 1830–1920, 2nd ed. (Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2005), 15. 85 “Towards the end of the 1850s, Leopold Bürcher built a hotel on Belalp with a one-of-a-kind view of the entire lower Aletsch Glacier; by the time of the First World War, it had developed into one of the most popular places to stay in Upper Valais.” Roland Flückiger-Seiler, Hotelträume: Zwischen Gletschern und Palmen; Schweizer Tourismus und Hotelbau 1830–1920, 2nd ed. (Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2005), 155. 86 My thanks to Dr jur. Valentin Roschacher for his helpful guidance. 87 “The authorities in Grindelwald and Meiringen argued against the railway over the Grosse Scheidegg in full-page articles in the local newspapers. ‘We would rather have a road than a railroad that is only useful for tourists.’” Heinz Schild, Visionäre Bahnprojekte: Die Schweiz im Aufbruch (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2013), 57. 88 “During his two-day stay in Brunnen, the King visited the Rütli, the Tellsplatte, the Stauffacher Chapel near Steinen, the Hohle Gasse (Hollow Alley) near Küssnacht and especially the little city of Schwyz with the Mythenbergen. The Schwyzer Zeitung greeted him kindly each time, and after his return home, he was moved to write the following message to its editor: ‘I return the greeting to my dear friends from the original cantons, for whom I had a certain predilection even as a child. The memory of my visit to the wonderful centre of Switzerland and its worthy and free people, blessed by God, will always be dear to me.’” Conrad Beyer, “Ludwig II. im Grandhotel Axenstein,” in Innerschweiz fürs Handgepäck: Rund um den Vierwaldstättersee, ed. Franziska Schläpfer (Zurich: Unionsverlag, 2011), 123f. It was most splendid & and nothing can surpass the beauty of the Lake [Lake Lucerne] in any direction. The views up to Weggis – to Brunnen & Fluelen – with those splendid peaked mountains all wooded & the Urirothstock in the midst is really quite overwhelming.

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Queen Victoria, quoted in Peter Arengo-Jones, Queen Victoria in Switzerland (London: Robert Hale Ltd., 1995), 73. “When one looks through the websites of certain SAC huts, one might think they were gourmet restaurants…” Daniel Anker, ed., Helvetia Club: 150 Jahre Schweizer Alpen-Club SAC (Bern: SAC, 2013), 74. Published for the exhibition “Helvetia Club: Die Schweiz, die Berge und der Schweizer Alpen-Club,” at the Alpines Museum in Bern, 20 April 2013–30 March 2014. In the following two endnotes I have listed the oral and written sources, as well as the published literature that I have consulted on the subject. Based on this extensive inventory, as well as on an inspection of the material available in Zermatt, I have systematically reconstructed the events surrounding the frst ascent of the Matterhorn on 13–14 July 1865, and presented them in a concise and novel form. Although the events of those days are essentially known – though the alleged eyewitness reports must be considered critically – I draw different conclusions about certain aspects of the tragedy than those of previous interpretations. A considered examination of responsibility and guilt leads to the conclusion that some of the questions and critical elements that have previously been much discussed are ultimately irrelevant to the cause of the tragedy. My principal fndings serve to demystify the frst ascent, to show the English alpinist Edward Whymper in his true colours, and to rehabilitate the Peter Taugwalders, father and son, of Zermatt. My explanations rely – in addition to written sources and literature – on the exchanges I have had with people holding a wide variety of positions. I would like to thank the following people: Hermann Biner (Mountain guide and former president of the International Federation of Mountain Guides Associations); Romy Biner-Hauser (Mayor of Zermatt); Nigel Buckley (Librarian, Alpine Club London); Dr jur. Rochus Jossen (District Judge, Visp); Benedikt Perren (former president of the Mountain Guide Association of Zermatt (Bergführerverein Zermatt); Denis Reynard (Archivist, Public Archive of Sion, Valais); Dr jur. Valentin Roschacher (Centre for the Documentation of Mountain Painting and Alpinism (Dokumentationsstelle Bergmalerei und Alpinismus)); Edy Schmid (Director of the Alpine Museum, Zermatt); Christian Seiler (President of the Board, Seiler Hotels AG); Gieri Venzin (Documentary and mountain flmmaker, historian, and director of the documentary Tatort Matterhorn, 2015). And for her valuable research in the archive of the Alpine Club London, I am grateful to Mrs Maud Fasel. The nature of a publication that provides an overview of an extended period and a variety of themes, as this work does, makes a systematic, critical discussion of the research, sources and literature it relies on impossible, in view of the innumerable topics it takes up. Although I intend to pursue the subject of the frst ascent of the Matterhorn in an independent detailed study, in view of the explosiveness and scope of the events described I here list – in addition to the works listed in the bibliography – the written sources I have consulted and the published literature I have used. Unpublished sources include: Alpine Club London (Collection of source material for my research project “Swiss History in the 19th Century,” compiled by Nigel Buckley); Valais Cantonal Archives, Sitten: AEV (cote AEV, DJP I. 165.34.); AEV (Otto und André de Chastonay, 248, fonds privé). Matterhorn Museum Zermatt (Copie de la procédure de l’accident du MontCervin, 1865, including various handwritten notes); Zentralbibliothek Zürich, Sig. A Ms 2001–2049: Estate of William Augustus Brevoort

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The Discovery of the Mountains Coolidge (1850–1926). Published sources include: (The) Alpine Journal 55/1947, 192–199; 70/1965, 7–47; 71/1966, 111–132 (including chronological reports, compilations and transcriptions of relevant documents). In addition to considering individual articles in Swiss and international newspapers, I have systematically analysed selected media reporting on the events of the summer of 1865, including The Times. The published books I have consulted include: Daniel Anker, ed., Berg der Berge (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2015); Hermann Biner, Das Matterhorn und seine Bergführer (Zermatt: Rotten, 2015); Carl Egger, Pioniere der Alpen: 30 Lebensbilder der grossen Schweizer Bergführer von Melchior Anderegg bis Franz Lochmatter (Zurich: Amstutz, Herdeg & Co., 1946); Arnold Lunn, The British Ski Year Book, 1940 (London: Sir Isaac Pitman and Sons, Ltd, 1940); Arnold Lunn, Mountain Jubilee (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1943); Arnold Lunn and Albert Bettex, “Taugwalder und das Matterhorn,” in Du. Kulturelle Monatschrift, H.7 (1946), 25ff; Arnold Lunn, Die Schweiz und die Engländer (Zurich: Amstutz & Hardeg, 1947); Arnold Lunn, A Century of Mountaineering 1857–1957 (London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1957); Arnold Lunn, Matterhorn Centenary (London: Allen & Unwin, 1965); Alan Lyall, The First Descent of the Matterhorn: A Bibliographical Guide to the 1865 Accident and Its Aftermath (Llandysul: Gomer Press, 1997) – this contains a systematic bibliography on page 658ff; Hannes Taugwalder and Martin Jaggi, Der Wahrheit näher: Die Katastrophe am Matterhorn von 1865 (Aarau: Glendyn Verlag, 1991). In addition to these works, the critical discussions I had with the historian and mountain guide Gieri Venzin in the context of his revealing 2015 documentary (Tatort Matterhorn) were of great value. Matthias Taugwalder published an especially helpful compilation of sources on the 150th anniversary of the frst ascent. “It was not possible to fnd two leading guides who worked together more harmoniously than Croz and Almer.” Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 226. “One of the strangest aberrations in Alpine history. Whymper was one of the greatest amateurs of the day; Croz and Almer among the greatest guides. Their joint attempt of the Matterhorn is a classic example of the fallibility of experts, for the most inexperienced of novices could hardly have picked a worse route.” Daniel Anker, ed., Matterhorn: Berg der Berge (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2015), 31. “Whymper wrote in Scrambles of the last part of the ascent, ‘Mr Hadow, however, was not accustomed to this kind of work and required continual assistance.’” Alan Lyall, The First Descent of the Matterhorn: A Bibliographical Guide to the 1865 Accident and Its Aftermath (Llandysul: Gomer Press, 1997), 110. Josef Taugwalder, another of Peter Taugwalder’s sons, was also present on the ascent on 13 July as a porter. He returned to Zermatt after setting up the bivouac. “The party was being arranged…whilst I was sketching the summit, and they had fnished, and were waiting for me to be tied in line, when someone remembered that our names had not been left in a bottle. They requested me to write them down, and moved off while it was being done.” Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 320. The questions and answers cited in the following endnotes are documented in the dactylographic protocol of the preliminary tribunal (Einleitungsgericht), which is preserved in the Matterhorn Museum/Alpine Museum,

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Zermatt. Edward Whymper was interviewed on 21 July 1865, Peter Taugwalder senior on 21 and 23 July 1865. The following questions and answers are taken from these proceedings. Question 30: “Can you describe how the accident occurred?” Taugwalder: When we were between two and three hundred feet from the top of the Matterhorn we came to the second of the most dangerous pitches, where there were slabs of rock and where it was very diffcult to fnd a foothold, the frst gentleman slipped into the leader Cropt [Croz], and then the gentleman who came after him and then the leader Cropt [Croz] after the rope broke between Lord Douglas and me. Whymper, to the same question: I can’t say for sure, but I believe Michel Croz put Hadow’s foot on a rock, and had turned to take a step or two himself when Mr Hadow slipped, also causing Croz to fall. The two falling men also pulled Hudson, and with him Lord Douglas, off their feet.

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Handwritten notes by Edward Whymper, as quoted in Matthias Taugwalder, ed., Die Suche nach der Wahrheit: 150 Jahre Erstbesteigung Matterhorn vom 14. Juli 1865 (Visp: Rotten Verlag, 2015), 86. For more about Joseph Anton Clemenz, see Erich Gruner, Die Schweizerische Bundesversammlung 1848–1920, written in collaboration with Karl Frei and others (Bern: A. Francke Verlag, 1966), 861. It is more than astonishing that the originals of certain essential documents are no longer available. This applies in particular to the minutes of the proceedings of the preliminary tribunal. This fnding is based on my inquiries to the cantonal archives of Canton Valais in Sion and to the Visp District Court, as well as on my own research elsewhere. A dactylographic reproduction of the hearings can be found in the Matterhorn Museum Zermatt (the minutes of the preliminary tribunal). “Then the rope broke – or was it that a knife pulled out behind Taugwald’s back had cut it [?]. In any event, the men tied into the front end of the rope, unseen to the rest, fell into the depths…Whymper did not say a word during this terrible time. I am not surprised that the Englishman lost his ability to speak about what he had experienced and seen. It may be true that an act of self-presevation, at a terrible moment, was justifed, and that the cut in the rope was only an amputation that severed those who were already lost, and at that price saved those still on their feet; in any case, the act remains a terrible one and the weight of such responsibility on one’s conscience must, I think, drive a person almost out of his mind. […] If the rope broke – as is now said – not by coincidence – then can the Englishman not fairly ask: What do you want from me? I had no choice! I acted like a commander on the battlefeld.” Alfred Meissner, “Touristenbriefe. X. Thun (Ein Schweizerfest: Die Tragödie auf dem Matterhorn),” in Neue Freie Presse, 6 August 1865. “Whymper arrived in Interlaken. People who knew him before appear to have found him mentally unstable, utterly unhinged by the memory of that day.” Alfred Meissner, “Touristenbriefe. X. Thun (Ein Schweizerfest: Die Tragödie auf dem Matterhorn),” in Neue Freie Presse, 6 August 1865. The preliminary tribunal recorded the interrogations by hand. Another form would not have been possible. From a historian’s perspective, it is irritating that there is today only a typed copy of the interviews it conducted (questions and answers). This proves that the fles kept in the Matterhorn Museum in Zermatt are not the original records. Whether the transcription

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of the handwriting in typescript was true to the statements, and whether all statements were recorded, cannot be assessed in view of the missing original. In any case, there are considerable doubts about the transcription’s completeness. This leads to the conclusion that the original fles on the Matterhorn disaster disappeared, in one way or another, and have since been lost to us. It is also inexplicable that the public archives – namely the cantonal archives and those of the District Court in Visp – did not take charge of preserving these records in 1865. 104 Question 54 (second interrogation): “Did your son see how the accident happened?” Taugwalder’s answer: “I don’t think so, because he asked me from above: Father, are you still there?”; Question 63 (second interrogation): Mr Whymper said in his testimony that Hadou [Hadow] slipped frst, dragging the leader Cropt [Croz] down with him, and subsequently the others, Hudson and Douglas, as well. While this was happening, he, Whymper, and his guides, the two Taugwalders, had time to gain a frm foothold. At that moment, the rope broke between Douglas and Taugwalder. But you said in response to question 30 that frst Mr Hadou [Hadow] slipped, then Hudson and Lord Douglas, and only after these three did the leader Cropt [Croz] fall. Since the statement of Mr Whymper and yours do not quite align, please clarify whether you stand by your earlier statement? Taugwalder’s answer: Because Mr Whymper was above me, he was in a better position to see the unfortunate event than I was, so his statement may be more accurate than mine. I could not say for certain that Cropt [Croz] only fell after the three gentlemen. It all happened in an instant, and I was so surprised that it was almost impossible to know exactly what was happening. 105 Question 55 (second interrogation): “How did it come about that there were three gentlemen between Cropt [Croz] and you, but only one between you and your son. It seems to us that such an arrangement was incorrect. What do you say to that?” Taugwalder’s answer: The frst on the rope team was the guide Cropt [Croz]. Then came H. Handou [Hadow], then Hudson, who was acting as a guide, after him came Lord Douglas, then I, Whymper, and my son. So, if you consider Hudson as a guide, you will see that every climber was between two guides. 106 For his documentary Tatort Matterhorn, the director Gieri Venzin had the ropes reconstructed in order to assess their tensile strength. The fndings were that all three ropes were weak compared to today’s models, and all broke easily when sudden pressure was applied. The analysis by the ETH laboratory also revealed that the rope that is exhibited in the Matterhorn Museum in Zermatt to this day, had been cut. This begs the question when and by whom the rope was cut. Based on an interview with Venzin in 2015, as recorded in: Daniel Anker, ed., Matterhorn: Berg der Berge (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2015), 43. 107 Question 64 (second interrogation): “Do you have anything else to add to or change in the above statements?” Taugwalder’s answer: I have to add that, in order to be steadier, I turned against the rock, and since the rope that was between Whymper and myself was not taut, I was fortunately able to wrap it around a rocky spur, which then gave

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me the hold necessary to save us; the rope that connected me to Douglas and the others in front of me gave me such burns through their fall, that I am still in terrible pain where my body was tied to the rope. 108 Question 33: “Was the rope taut or not, at the moment the men fell?” Taugwalder’s answer: “It was taut.” 109 Queston 34: “In your opinion, why did the rope break?” Taugwalder’s answer: “I don’t know, but the weight of the three [sic!] gentlemen, and the severity of their fall, could well tear even a strong rope.” 110 Question 28: “Why was another rope used between you and Lord Douglas?” Taugwalder’s answer: “Because the frst rope was not long enough for me to tie into.” 111 “The Englishman Whymper, a member of the English Alpine Club and one of the boldest and most experienced mountaineers alive, at the requests of the Times and the president of his club, Mr Alfred Wills, penned a detailed description of the terrible accident for the Times...We consider it our duty, in order to save this man’s honour…to share some excerpts from his article, since a double charge has been laid against him, and is by some still laid against him: he has been accused frst of neglecting the necessary precautionary measures commonly used in Alpine trips, and by doing so, putting both the lives of others and his own carelessly at risk; and second, of having cut the rope that connected all the climbers when misfortune struck, in order to save what lives could still be saved.” Neue Freie Presse, Vienna, 14 August 1865. 112 Lunn’s critical stance towards Whymper was a topic of conversation in Alpine Club circles, as well as in contemporary literature. Opinions differed, as is to be expected. See the works by Lunn I have cited. In addition to Lunn, other important British mountaineers also published their opinions about the Matterhorn tragedy (among them Leslie Stephen). These positions were expressed in the Alpine Journal, or in independent publications. 113 Whymper, who had provided the three ropes, knew their qualities better than any other member of the climbing team. And, of course, he also knew why the elder Taugwalder was forced to tie himself to Lord Douglas with the reserve rope. With this in mind, his presentation of the facts in Scrambles is downright offensive: All those who had fallen had been tied with the Manilla, or with the second and equally strong rope, and consequently, there had been only one link – that between old Peter and Lord Francis Douglas – where the weaker rope had been used. This had a very ugly look for Taugwalder, for it was not possible to suppose that the others would have sanctioned the employment of a rope so greatly inferior in strength when there were more than two hundred and ffty feet of the better quality ropes still unused. For the sake of the old guide (who had a good reputation), and upon all other accounts, it was desirable that this matter should be cleared up; and after my examination, before the court of inquiry which was instituted by the Government was over, I handed a number of questions which were framed so as to afford old Peter an opportunity of exculpating himself from the grave suspicions which at once fell upon him. Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 328. 114 The statement made by the elder Taugwalder during the interrogation that the rope between him and Lord Douglas broke in mid-air was confrmed by Whymper. Thus, the rope that is on display in the Alpine Museum in

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The Discovery of the Mountains Zermatt is not helpful in examining the issue of a cut. In addition, as mentioned and supported in the text, it can be assumed that the rope on display is not one of the original ropes. Question 32: “How did the accident take place?” Taugwalder’s answer: I have already discussed this earlier, but I have to add that after the rope between Lord Douglas and me broke, Whymper, I and my son found ourselves in a position we wanted to escape from as soon as possible.

115 Whymper mentions in Scrambles that he and Hudson discussed the order in which to descend shortly before setting off from the Matterhorn. He also mentions the intention to “attach a rope to the rocks on our arrival at the diffcult bit” in order to be better secured. Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 220. To supplement my discussion in the text, here are the statements made on the subject by Taugwalder during the interrogation. Question 53 (second interrogation): “What has your thinking been about the Matterhorn accident since the last interrogation? Do you have anything to add to or change in your earlier statements?” The elder Taugwalder replied: “Nothing besides the fact that when I told the guide, Cropt [Croz], before we reached the diffcult pitch, that we should fx a rope to be safer, he replied that it was not necessary.” 116 “The two men, paralysed by terror, cried like infants, and trembled in such a manner as to threaten us with the fate of the others. Old Peter rent the air with exclamations of ‘Chamonix! Oh, what will Chamonix say?’ […] The young man did nothing but scream or sob, ‘We are lost! We are lost!’” Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 322–323. 117 For example, on the group’s tying in to the rope: “I was 100 feet or more from the others whilst they were being tied up, and am unable to throw any light on the matter. Croz and the old Peter no doubt tied up the others.” Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69 (London: Century, 1985), 328. 118 For example: “I still had time to check on the others and to set Lord Douglas’s feet on good holds.” Peter Taugwalder junior to Henry Fairfeld Montagnier, November 1917, quoted in Matthias Taugwalder, ed., Die Suche nach der Wahrheit: 150 Jahre Erstbesteigung Matterhorn vom 14. Juli (Visp: Rotten Verlag, 2015), 128. Here, Taugwalder junior describes the ascent up the Matterhorn and confuses Lord Douglas with Douglas Hadow. 119 The memorial fles are part of the portfolio provided to me by the Alpine Club. 120 “Peter [Taugwalder] junior, who died in 1923 at the age of 80, survived Edward Whymper by 12 years. From his house, which was inhabited by his descendants until 1979, and has stood empty since then [written in 2015], the two-time widower wrote an emotional letter to the journalist [Henry Fairfeld] Monaitner in November 1917, in which he described the frst ascent of the Matterhorn from the Taugwalder’s point of view in writing for the frst time. He wrote with such intensity, that it was as if he were describing an event that had happened only a few days earlier.” Jürg Steiner, introduction to Die Suche nach der Wahrheit: 150 Jahre Erstbesteigung Matterhorn vom 14. Juli 1865, ed. Matthias Taugwalder (Visp: Rotten Verlag, 2015), 32. That the younger Taugwalder should have surfaced as a witness 52 years after the fact is odd for a number of reasons. During the tragic accident, he was not in a position from which he could have precisely

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observed the fatal events. It therefore seems strange that, half a century after the event, he was able to remember what had happened – especially when he was not called to testify at the hearing before the preliminary tribunal in Zermatt in 1865 precisely on the grounds that his position on the rope did not qualify him as an eyewitness. In the letter he penned to Montagnier, Taugwalder junior makes errors of fact and clearly confuses certain details. As a result, the 1917 letter, however harrowing it is, does not help establish the truth. 121 Question 11: “How did this unfortunate catastrophe come to pass?” Whymper’s answer: We descended in the order mentioned above. About 300 feet below the summit, we came to a diffcult patch of rock and ice. As far as I know, Mr Hadou [Hadow] was the only one who made a move at the moment of the accident. This same Mr Hadou [Hadow] had of course had signifcant diffculty descending, and so Michel Cropt [Croz] took hold of Mr Hadou [Hadow] by the feet, and placed them step by step to ensure his safety. I cannot be certain what caused the accident. But I believe that Michel Cropt [Croz] had placed Mr Hadou’s [Hadow’s] feet on a rock, and then turned to take a step forward himself when Mr Hadau [Hadow] slipped and brought Michel Cropt [Croz] down with him. This double weight pulled Mr Hudson off his feet, and then Lord Douglas as well. The incident, which lasted just a few moments, gave the other three, who were standing behind, time to gain a frm foothold, though the rope between Lord Douglas and the elder Taugwalder father in fact broke. For two or three moments we saw our four unlucky companions slide away on their backs, grabbing out with their hands to save themselves. But then they disappeared completely. We didn’t hear a single scream. 122 “Well, it is clear to me that Edward Whymper prettifed this situation for himself…His character assassination of the Taugwalders was a crime. Above all, he became fxated on the elder Taugwalder and ruined his life.” Reinhold Messner, quoted in Matthias Taugwalder, ed., Die Suche nach der Wahrheit: 150 Jahre Erstbesteigung Matterhorn vom 14. Juli 1865 (Visp: Rotten Verlag, 2015), 53. 123 The Grand Hotel of the Belle Epoque was usually a little world of its own: “Life in the Grand Hotel of the Belle Epoque was like that in the closed-in world of an ocean liner.” Roland Flückiger-Seiler, Hotelträume: Zwischen Gletschern und Palmen; Schweizer Tourismus und Hotelbau 1830–1920, 2nd ed. (Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2005), 44. 124 “The Grand Hotel is a capitalist enterprise that demonstrates the power and privilege of money precisely through its exaggerated size relative to the landscape in which it is situated.” Cordula Seger, Grand Hotel: Schauplatz der Literatur (Brühl: Böhlau-Verlag, 2005), 120. 125 Journal et list des étrangers (Montreux) 1898, quoted in Géraldine Sauthier, Pouvoir local et Tourisme: Jeux politiques à Finhaut, Montreux et Zermatt de 1850 à nos jours (Neuchâtel: Edition Alphil, 2016), 63. 126 “Durant l’Europe d’alors, l’argent coule à fots et les personnages les plus titrés envahissent Montreux.” Eléonore Rinaldi, “La construction des hôtels de Montreux et les Italiens à la fn du XIXe siècle,” in Revue historique vaudoise, vol. 114 (Lausanne, 2006), 243. 127 “…alors que les étrangers paient auprès de leur hôtel une Kurtaxe destinée au Kursaal entre 1 fr. et 2.5 fr. par semaine selon la classe et la distance depuis l’hôtel.” Géraldine Sauthier, Pouvoir local et Tourisme: Jeux

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The Discovery of the Mountains politiques à Finhaut, Montreux et Zermatt de 1850 à nos jours (Neuchâtel: Edition Alphil, 2016), 72. Report of the Federal Assembly on the popular initiative to amend Art. 35 of the Federal Constitution, Ban on the Establishment of Casinos, 27 May 1916. “The beginning of touristic development in the Upper Engadin has its roots in the mineral springs of St Moritz. As early as 1539, Paracelsus praised the quality of the acidulous mineral water in St Moritz in his work De Morbis Tartareis.” Cordula Seger, Grand Hotel: Schauplatz der Literatur (Brühl: Böhlau-Verlag, 2005), 38f. “In the 19th century, the natives of the Engadin had to think again about the quality of their acidulous mineral waters.” Cordula Seger, Grand Hotel: Schauplatz der Literatur (Brühl: Böhlau-Verlag, 2005), 41. Richard Wagner, Mein Leben, Kritisch durchgesehen, eingeleitet und erläutert von Wilhelm Altmann, 2 volumes (Leipzig: Institut, 1910), 676. “Mr Flugi of St. Moritz who has been in England this winter has taken up the idea with enthusiasm. Several experienced English golfers familiar with the Engadin have assisted him with the preliminary steps for the formation of a club.” English newspaper report, 27 June 1891, quoted in Gianni Bass and Adriano Testa, Engadine Golf Club, 1893–1993 (Samedan: Verlag St Moritz, 1993), 22. Gianni Bass and Adriano Testa, Engadine Golf Club, 1893–1993 (Samedan: Verlag St. Moritz, 1993), 112, 212, 214. “Engadine Year Book 1913,” in Gianni Bass and Adriano Testa, Engadine Golf Club, 1893–1993 (Samedan: Verlag St Moritz, 1993), 211. After Badrutt – infuenced by the World’s Fair in 1878 – began operating a small water turbine, electric light shone for the frst time on 18 July 1879 in the dining room of the Hotel Kulm in St. Moritz. “In 1882, the frst light shone in Lausanne. In 1888 and 1889, in Montreux and Interlaken, respectively.” See Roland Flückiger-Seiler, “Zur Geschichte des Tourismus in der Schweiz,” in Denkmalpfege und Tourismus: Interdisziplinäre Tagung in Davos, 16–18 September 1992, ed. ARGA (Bozen: Athesia, 1997), 111. Johannes [Badrutt]’s commitment to electrical matters is a consequence of the fact that he had to develop almost the entire infrastructure of his hotel himself. See Susanna Ruf, Fünf Generationen Badrutt: Hotelpioniere und Begründer der Wintersaison, vol. 91 of Schweizer Pioniere der Wirtschaft und Technik, (Zurich: Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien, 2010), 36. “My health has been restored in such a miraculous fashion, that I hope that all who suffer from the same disease will follow my example.” Guestbook of the Hotel-Pension Engadiner Kulm, June 1867, 30. Guestbook of the Hotel-Pension Engadiner Kulm, 2 June 1869, 41. “Founder of the winter season: […] So, inspired by his British guests, Johannes Badrutt laid out an artifcial ice rink, built a toboggan run, and organised curling games and mountain tours.” Susanna Ruf, Fünf Generationen Badrutt: Hotelpioniere und Begründer der Wintersaison, vol. 91 of Schweizer Pioniere der Wirtschaft und Technik (Zurich: Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien, 2010), 32. “His attempt to climb the Matterhorn in winter 1862 showed innovative thinking – summer’s ice might be covered by winter’s more scalable snow – even if the severe cold defeated him and his guides Peter Perren and the elder Peter Taugwalder.” “Thomas Stuart Kennedy,” Matterhorn 2015, accessed 16 October 2019, https://www.matterhorn2015.ch/biography. php?id=3. “They arrived in the sunshine…So these English guests came to St Moritz in mid-December, wrapped in furs and having taken a sleigh across the

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Julier [Pass] to St Moritz. There they arrived, bathed in sweat, in the bright sunshine.” Susanna Ruf, Fünf Generationen Badrutt: Hotelpioniere und Begründer der Wintersaison, vol. 91 of Schweizer Pioniere der Wirtschaft und Technik, (Zurich: Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien, 2010), 28. Karl Viktor von Bonstetten, Briefe über ein schweizerisches Hirtenland (Basel: Johannes von Müller, 1782), 24. “Das Skifahren im Spiegel der lokalen Presse Saanens,” Anzeiger für Saanen und Obersimmenthal, 2 January 1906; Hans Trümpy, “Fuhren die Leute von Saanen schon im 18. Jahrhundert Ski? Untersuching zu C.V. von Bonstettens Schrift über das Saanenland,” in Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde: Halbjahresschrift im Auftrag der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für Volkskunde, 64 . H. 1/2 (Zurich, 1968). “The bobsleighs quickly became popular vehicles for group outings. The teams had to include at least one woman, according to the rules of the Bobsleigh Club. Some women were not satisfed with the role of passenger, and instead took the reins of the fast sledges into their own hands. Women also played bandy, a forerunner of ice hockey, and rode skeleton bobsleighs... Women always wore long dresses and hats for sport. Trousers were considered improper. When a woman threw herself onto a sled in a skirt that was only calf-length, some visitors saw it as a scandal.” Michael Lütscher, Schnee, Sonne und Stars (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2014), 37. “Skijoring became so popular that the municipality of St Moritz banned it on village streets in 1911. It also enjoyed widespread popularity elsewhere, including in Davos and Arosa, where races were held from 1911 onwards.” Michael Lütscher, Schnee, Sonne und Stars (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2014), 39. The Times, 21 February 1870. “Very early on, people became aware that heavy loads were far easier (and more comfortable) to pull or push than to carry. More than a thousand years ago, single-runner toboggans were used in India, and even in Alpine regions, a toboggan (with two runners) turned out to be considerably more ‘suitable for the mountains’ than a horse and cart. But it was not until the second half of the 19th century that the sledge was also used for pleasure rides, after Russian princes and tsars, for example, had themselves driven around in horse-drawn sleighs.” Arturo Hotz, “Rennsport und Wintertourismus: Vom Spiel zu Sport und Rennsport,” in Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 13 December 1984. Fridtjof Nansen, Paa ski over Grønland: En skildring af den norske Grønlandsekspedition 1888–89 (Kiristiana, 1890). “Equipped with skis, he traversed the entire Roseg Valley, then crossed Fuorcla Surley and reached Silvaplana in the middle of a beautiful afternoon” Engadiner Post, no. 11, 1894. Rudolf Rubi, Der Sommer- und Winterkurort (Grindelwald: Verlag Sutter Druck, 1987), 149. “Henry Lunn inaugurated the winter seasons in Wengen in 1909/1910 and in Mürren in 1910/11, each time with an English group.” Georges Grossjean, “Der Fremdenverkehr,” in Kanton Bern: Historische Planungsgrundlagen, ed. Kantonalen Planungsamt (Bern: Geographischen Institut der Universität Bern, Abteilung für angewandte Geographie, 1973), 213. Arthur Conan Doyle, “An Alpine Pass on Ski,” The Strand Magazine (December 1894). See also The British Ski Year Book, 1924, vol. 2, 245–249. I am indebted to Daniel Anker for bringing my attention to Doyle’s ski tour. Anzeiger für Saanen und Obersimmenthal, 20 February 1906. Margaret L. Brooke and Winifred M.A. Brooke, Winter Life in Switzerland: Its sports and Health Resorts (Zurich, 1918).

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154 “Probably no country is more abundant in healing springs and spas than Switzerland. There is hardly a valley or region, large or small, in Switzerland that does not contain a mineral spring; and in many valleys there are even several.” Stefano Franscini, Stefano Franscini’s Statistik der Schweiz, ed. G. Hagnauer (Aarau, 1829), 101. 155 “Baden’s thermal springs have been used for around 2,000 years. The Romans already held their warm waters in high esteem, and built a settlement and a highly developed balneological infrastructure.” Markus Somm, Elektropolis an der Limmat: Baden und die BBC, 1870 bis 1925; Die Beschreibung einer Transformation (Bern: Stämpfi Verlag, 2019), 80. 156 “Mario Botta’s new thermal baths will open in autumn 2018 on the site where the large spa hotel stood from 1876 to 1944.” “Statt es zu sanieren, hat man das alte Grand Hotel gesprengt,” Badener Tagblatt, 18 October 2018, accessed 28 October 2019, https://www.badenertagblatt.ch/aargau/baden/ statt-es-zu-sanieren-hat-man-das-alte-grand-hotel-gesprengt-130650138. 157 Désiré Raoul-Rochette, Lettres sur la Suisse, 2nd ed., letter 4 (Paris: G. Engelmann, 1823), 80f. 158 Alfred Escher to Jakob Escher, Zurich, Sunday, 21 April 1839, Alfred Escher Foundation, accessed 16 October 2019, https://www.briefedition. alfred-escher.ch/briefe/B0186/. 159 Physicians’ manual referred to in Martin Läubli, Johannes Staehlin and Pierre Viatte, Licht. Luft. Ozon, (Bern: Haupt Verlag, 2019), 23. 160 “The Strela Pass, 2252 meters above sea level, is one of the old passages from south to north. For centuries, until the road through Prättigau was built, it was the shortest route to Chur – though sometimes also the most dangerous: it was said that ‘bad women and bad weather come over the Strela’ (Bösi Wiiber and s’Schlächt wätter kömment über d’Strela).” Jürg von Ins, Der Geist von Davos (unpublished manuscript), 2. 161 “At the same time as [Spengler]…Caspar de Latour from Brigels enrolled...a year earlier, Gaudenz of Salis-Seewis had already…moved from Bonn to Heidelberg, and in the spring of 1848, the Arosa native Hans Hold von Jena also turned up in Heidelberg. Like Spengler, all three studied law and were enthusiastic supporters of liberal and republican ideas. They came from well-to-do families…” Christian Schmid, “Der junge Alexander Spengler: Seine ersten Jahrzente,” in Davoser Revue 1 (2001): 15. 162 Jürg von Ins, Der Geist von Davos (unpublished manuscript), 4. 163 Full title: Alexander Spengler, Die Landschaft Davos (Canton Graubünden) als Kurort gegen Lungenschwindsucht [The Landscape of Davos (Canton Graubünden) as a Spa for Pulmonary Consumption] (Basel 1869). 164 “Spengler recommended frequent sojourns in the open air, visits to the milk hall, rests on the veranda or balcony, or in the spa garden, walks and easy climbs, as well as lung exercises…” Beat Rüttimann, “Dr. Alexander Spengler als Kurarzt,” in Davoser Revue 1 (2001): 30. 165 “It is to Spengler’s credit that he introduced a successful new form of therapy for the disease of the century…This form of therapy developed further with advances in medicine…and was carried forward by his [Alexander Spengler’s] sons and enriched by their contributions.” Beat Rüttimann, “Dr. Alexander Spengler als Kurarzt,” in Davoser Revue 1 (2001): 33. 166 “At that time Tourism desecrated Ticino.” Solari, quoted in Richard Mayr, “Kaminfeger. Ein Unglück,” in Um die Welt. Die besten Reise-Reportagen der Augsburger Allgemeine, ed. Doris Wegner (Berlin: Eigenverlag Augsburg, 2015). “Der Tourismus vergewaltigte unsere Kultur”, Schweiz am Sonntag, 27 July 2014, pp. 40–41 [interview].

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167 “C’est à la suite du décès de l’une de ses flles…, épouse de David Ivanovitch Orlov… le October 2, 1872 à La Tour de Peilz, que le comte Chouvalov décida de les voir reposer en terre orthodoxe et près d’une église.” Michel Vernaz, Eglise orthodoxe Russe de Vevey et paroisse orthodoxe Russe de Lausanne (Vevey: Vibiscum, 2019), 3. 168 “Precisely because Switzerland has no royal tradition of its own, ‘the royal’ has always exerted a special fascination there. The crowds, interest and media hype during royal visits prove that the Swiss population is very receptive to all things royal. During the 19th and 20th centuries in particular, the tourism fourishing in the Alps managed to attract the royal families of Europe.” Michael van Orsouw, Blaues Blut: Royale Geschichten der Schweiz (Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2019), 6. 169 “Even though she [Queen Victoria] was underway incognito and with a small retinue, half of Europe knew of her journey [the Queen’s stay in Switzerland in 1868].” Peter Arengo-Jones, Queen Victoria in der Schweiz, ed. Christoph Lichtin, trans. Nikolaus G. Schneider (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2018), back cover. 170 “Among the new generation of luxury hotels, descriptive names such as ‘Royal’, ‘Palace’ and ‘Majestic’ became widespread. Some of these hotels did in fact host members of royal dynasties.” Jon Mathieu, Eva Bachmann and Ursula Butz, Majestätische Berge: Die Monarchie auf dem Weg in die Alpen 1760–1910 (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2018), 116. 171 Karl Iten, “Die Sehnsucht der Hirten nach einem König: Ludwig II. von Bayern und seine Luftschlösser,” in Adieu – Altes Uri: Aspekte des Wandels eines Kantons vom 19. Ins 20. Jahrhundert (Altdorf: Dätwyler Stiftung, 1990), 249ff. 172 Straubinger Taggblatt, 24 April 1866. 173 Federal Resolution supplementing federal criminal legislation (Bundesstrafrechtes) of 4 February 1853 regarding anarchist crimes (dated March 30, 1906), accessed 16 October 2019, https://www.bk.admin.ch/ch/d/pore/rf/ cr/1906/19060011.html. 174 “Whether inspired by the new standard set by Calame and its international success, or by the spirit of optimism that reigned after 1848, a whole generation of important painters suddenly appeared in the middle of the 19th century who, coming from different parts of Switzerland…for the frst time created a mode of painting that could expressly be described as Swiss.” Christian Klemm in his introduction to the accompanying publication for the exhibition “Von Anker bis Zünd” (From Anker to Zünd), produced by the Kunsthaus Zurich in 1998. For further details see: Christian Klemm, “Die Kunst im Jungen Bundestaat,” in Von Anker bis Zünd: Die Kunst im jungen Bundesstaat 1848–1900, ed. Kunsthaus Zürich (Zurich: Scheidegger & Spiess AG Verlag, 1998), 114ff. 175 Quote attributed to Gottfried Keller in Ursula Amrein, ed., Gottfried Keller – Handbuch: Leben – Werk – Wirkung (Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler, 2016), 314. 176 “The English, who were already Zelger’s best customers, now purchased his works in even greater numbers. He was able to send more than 50 paintings to London alone.” Franz Zelger, “Das Atelier im Grand Hotel: Eine Künstlerwerkstatt zur Zeit des aufblühenden Tourismus,” in Welt – Bild – Museum: Topographien der Kreativität, eds. Andreas Blühm and Anja Ebert (Cologne: Böhlau, 2011), 42. 177 My thanks to Professor emeritus Franz Zelger for his helpful suggestions. 178 Ferdinand Hodler, Catalogue raisonné der Gemälde SIKART, accessed 16 October 2019, http://www.ferdinand hodler.ch/ hodler.aspx.

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179 “Giovanni Segantini was a successful artist during his lifetime, at the latest after he took up residence in Savognin in August 1886. After the gold medal he was awarded for the frst version of Ave Maria bei der Überfahrt at the World’s Fair in Amsterdam in 1883, award followed hard on award.” Beat Stutzer, Giovanni Segantini, ed. Giovanni Segantini Foundation St Moritz (Zurich: Giovanni Segantini Foundation, 2016), 37. 180 “Segantini never knew Hodler personally, but was introduced to Amiet by Giovanni Giacometti.” Dora Lardelli, Giovanni Segantini und sein Museum: Der Künstler und die Institution am Schnittpunkt zwischen Süd und Nord (master’s thesis, University of Basel, 1987), 67. 181 For the gigantic panorama of the Engadin that Segantini wished to create for the 1900 World Fair, see the contemporary contextualisation, including a description and analysis of the proposed image, in Beat Sulzer, Giovanni Segantini (Zurich: Scheidegger & Spiess, 2016), 190ff. 182 Dora Lardelli, Giovanni Segantini und sein Museum: Der Künstler und die Institution am Schnittpunkt zwischen Süd und Nord (Master’s thesis, University of Basel, 1987), 64. 183 “Financial success was…no longer guaranteed.” Dora Lardelli, Giovanni Segantini und sein Museum: Der Künstler und die Institution am Schnittpunkt zwischen Süd und Nord (Master’s thesis, University of Basel, 1987), 68. 184 Dora Lardelli, Giovanni Segantini und sein Museum: Der Künstler und die Institution am Schnittpunkt zwischen Süd und Nord (Master’s thesis, University of Basel, 1987), 70. 185 “With this majestic triptych at the end of the 19th century, Giovanni Segantini created one of the fnal meaningful programmatic paintings of the epoch…The incredible panorama of the Alpine landscape of the Engadin and Bergell opened up a pantheistic vision of unique artistic power with the deepest symbolism, which ‘[sought] access to the heart of creation’: A compelling artistic counterpart to the bleak realities of big-city industrialisation.” Beat Stutzer, Giovanni Segantini, ed. Giovanni Segantini Foundation St Moritz (Zurich: Giovanni Segantini Foundation, 2016), 194. 186 Jeremias Gotthelf, Die Wassernot im Emmental am 13. August 1837: Eine Predigt, ed. Karl-Maria Guth (Berlin: Hofenberg, 2016), 53. 187 “It eventually became clear that the morning soup on her special day – taken not in a high-class inn, but rather in the train station restaurant among business travellers and gawking Englishwomen – was the cause of her sadness…” Gottfried Keller, “Martin Salander,” in vol. 8 of Historisch-Kritische Gottfried Keller-Ausgabe (HKKA), ed. Walter Morganthaler (Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 2004), 166. 188 “Les Cancers,” Gazette de Lausanne, 17 April 1905. 189 Statutes of the Swiss Heritage Society, 1 July 1905. 190 Cited in Madlaina Bundi, Chronik 100 Jahre Schweizer Heimatschutz (Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2005), 19. 191 Heinrich Federer, Berge und Menschen (Berlin: Grotesche, 1911). 192 The triumph of science and technology was reported on in both Swiss and foreign newspapers. Examples can be found in Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), 397ff. 193 “The Guyer-Zeller project was declared a stillborn child, and the numerous technical dangers it presented were highlighted. A world railway [Engadin-Orient-Bahn] was not necessary; instead, Graubünden needed an affordable tourist railway.” Doris Müller-Füglistaler, Adolf Guyer-Zeller (1839–1899):“Amerikanismus” in der Schweiz? Entfaltung und Grenzen eines Eisenbahunternehmers (Zurich: Rohr, 1992), 156.

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194 By contrast: “At the head of the local opposition movement is Zermatt’s Mayor Lauber: ‘No! Every true Zermatt native, old man and child, man and woman, crop farmer, dairy farmer and mountain guide – all are committed opponents of the Matterhorn railway.’” M. Lauber, as quoted in Heinz Schild, Visionäre Bahnprojekte: Die Schweiz im Aufbruch (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2013), 174. 195 Simon Simon, “Die Jungfraubahn,” in Die Gartenlaube, ed. Adolf Kröner (Leipzig: Kröner, 1895), 316. 196 “It was the frst serious railway accident and it shook people’s faith in technological advancement. Fontane found no peace. He pushed aside the manuscript of L’Adultera and wrote his ballad overnight…it was powerful not just in its tone, but also in its topicality.” Regina Dieterle, Theodor Fontane (Leck: Hanser, 2018), 604. 197 “…that army of British travellers which is forcing its relentless way into every hole and corner of the country…” Leslie Stephen, The Playground of Europe (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1871), 169, quoted in Diane Conrad-Daubrah, notes accompanying the exhibition “Britische Gäste im 19. Jahrhundert und ihre Kirche in Pontresina: Persönlichkeiten, Tradition und Architektur 1860–1900,” at the Museum Alpin in Pontresina, 2016. 198 Diane Conrad-Daubrah, notes accompanying the exhibition “Britische Gäste im 19. Jahrhundert und ihre Kirche in Pontresina: Persönlichkeiten, Tradition und Architektur 1860–1900,” at the Museum Alpin in Pontresina, 2016. 199 The graphs that follow are based on these sources: Davos: Public census of foreigners in Davos (1886–1918); Davoser Blätter; Jules Ferdmann, Der Aufstieg von Davos: Nach den Quellen dargestellt von J. Ferdmann (Davos: Genossenschaft Davoser Revue, 1990); fyers and compilations by the Verkehrsverein Davos (Tourist association of Davos); “Führer durch den Kurort Davos,” 1896; Address book for the Davos area (1917/1918). St Moritz: Isabelle Rucki, Das Hotel in den Alpen: Die Geschichte der Oberengadiner Hotelarchitektur von 1860–1914 (Zurich: Institut für Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur, ETH, 1989); Isabelle Rucki, Hotels in St. Moritz: Eine Architektursgeschichtliche Bestandesaufnahme (Chur: Typescript, Kantonale Denkmalpfege, 1988); Cordula Seger and Bettina Plattner-Gerber, Engadin St Moritz: Ein Tal schreibt Geschichten; A Valley with Stories to Tell (Zurich: AS Verlag, 2016); List of Hotels in St Moritz (fyers from 1913); Volume 3 of Inventar der neueren Schweizer Architektur, 1850–1920 (Zurich: Orell Füssli, 1982). MontreuxVevey: Gustave Bettex, Montreux (Montreux, 1913); Volumes 7 and 9 of Inventar der neueren Schweizer Architektur, 1850–1920 (Zurich: Orell Füssli, 2000 and 2003). Interlaken-Thun: Markus Krebser, Mein liebes Thun: Ein Rundgang vor hundert Jahren (Thun: Krebser Verlag, 1999); Markus Krebser, Thunersee rechte Seite: Ein Ausfug vor hundert Jahren (Thun: Krebser Verlag, 1998); Markus Krebser, Thunersee linke Seit mit Kindertag, Niedersimmental und über Thun nach Gurnigelbad (Thun: Krebser Verlag, 1996); Krebser, Interlaken: Eine Reise in die Vergangenheit (Thun: Krebser Verlag, 1991); Otto Widmer, 75 Jahre Verkehrsverein Thun 1894–1969: Jubiläumsschrift (Thun: Verkehrsverein Thun, 1969); Roland Flückiger-Seiler, “Die Bauten der Fremdenindustrie,” in Riviera am Thunersee im 19. Jahrhundert, eds. Georg Germann and Gesellschaft für Schweizerische Kunstgeschichte (Bern: Stämpfi Verlag, 2002), 177–192; Volume 9 of INSA, 2003. Lugano-Locarno: Volume 6 of Inventar der neueren Schweizer Architektur, 1850–1920 (Zurich: Orell Füssli, 1991). Switzerland in general: Karl Baedeker, Die Schweiz, nebst den angegrenzt den Theisen von Oberitalien, Savoyen und Tirol: Handbuch für Reisen

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(Koblenz: Baedeker, 1844, 1865, 1875, 1885, 1891, 1901, 1907 and 1913); Hotelierverein, Die Hotels der Schweiz (Bern: Schweizer Hoterlierverein 1898, 1902, 1904). August Petermann, “Die Schweiz: Notizen über ihre Bereisung, ihre wissenschaftlich-geographische Erforschung und ihre Abbildung in Karte und Bild,” in Mitteilungen aus Justus Perthes’ Geographischer Anstalt über wichtige neue Erforschungen auf dem Gesammtgebiete der Geographie (Gotha: Forschungsbibliothek Gotha, 1864), 361. The Seiler family’s hotel empire is discussed at length later in this book in “A Breakneck Pace: Hotel Pioneers and their Empires.” “When Bucher [Hotelier Franz Josef Bucher] frst presented the idea, many thought him insane, because there was no lift of its kind anywhere in the world.” Romano Cuonz, Der Hotelberg: Geschichte und Geschichten vom Bürgenstock-Resort 1871 bis heute (Basel: NZZ Libro, 2018), 131. “The ‘health’ of tourism had a more or less direct effect on the economy of Graubünden and on the canton’s fnancial stability. The problem with this dependent relationship showed itself…in all clarity during the hotel crisis of the First World War and the years thereafter.” Daniela Decurtins and Susi Grossman, Auf Gedeih und Verderb, ed. Schweizerischen Bankgesellschaft Chur (Chur: Schweizerische Bankgesellschaft Chur, 1994), 53. The adventurous story of the count was the basis of a bestseller by Peter Bröckli, Bis zum Tod der Gräfn: Das Drama um den Hotelpalast des Grafen de Renesse in Maloja, 11th ed. (Basel: NZZ Libro, 2019).

2

New Beginnings The Pull of the World

Forms and Phases of Emigration Large-scale emigrations from the area that comprises today’s Switzerland have occurred throughout the centuries. Anabaptists, who were violently and systematically oppressed during the 16th-century Reformation, emigrated to Moravia, where they founded colonies. Around the same time, Basel Catholics and their entire cathedral chapter – including Heinrich Loriti (1488–1563), better known as Glarean, and Erasmus of Rotterdam (1466–1536) – went into exile in Freiburg im Breisgau. After the Thirty Years’ War (1618–1648), Anabaptists again fed Switzerland and resettled, this time in war-ravaged areas of southern Germany and Alsace. Several thousand impoverished Zurich natives left their villages in the 1660s and emigrated to the Kurpfalz. In addition to economic reasons for emigration, targeted recruitment measures by the princely house of Kurpfalz, which maintained close relations with Protestant Swiss municipalities, also played a role in this emigration. This explains why, in addition to people from rural communities, there were also countless clergymen and scholars among the emigrants – among them the theologian and orientalist Johann Heinrich Hottinger (1620–1667). At the end of the 17th century, Bernese farmers responded to an appeal by the “Great Elector,” Frederick William of Brandenburg (1620–1688), which had been promulgated in the city of Bern to recruit colonists. Emigration to neighbouring countries, as well as to European countries further afeld, took place throughout the entire 18th century. Pietists and Mennonites from Zurich and Bern emigrated to English colonies in North America in several waves, as did Anabaptists in their wake. In 1710, about 100 Anabaptists were sent to North Carolina; the Bernese Cantonal Parliament, years earlier, had even considered founding a colony there. Under the leadership of Christoph von Graffenried (1661–1743), this emigration was supported by the English crown and led to the establishment of the settlement known as New Bern. In 1710, around 30 families from French-speaking Switzerland responded to recruitment efforts of the Prussian royal family, which was seeking settlers for East Prussia after the plague had depopulated vast

DOI: 10.4324/9781003243137-2

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areas of the country. In 1768, hundreds of Swiss smallholders participated in a settlement programme sponsored by the Spanish government. This brought thousands of central-European Catholics to the sparsely populated Sierra Morena, a region that separates Andalusia from Extremadura and Castile. Because of poor harvests, famine and infation, countless Swiss from various cantons left the country in 1770/1772. Migrations like these usually led to a permanent change of residence. Only in certain cases did the settler-emigrants return to their old homeland, usually because – either during their journey or in their country of destination – they encountered such diffculties that they had no other choice. Alongside the emigration of settlers, seasonal migrations have long been a constant in Swiss history. Beginning in the Middle Ages, thousands of Swiss went abroad to work as skilled professionals for shorter or longer periods of time. These included architects, stuccoers and goldsmiths from Ticino, primarily from the Sottoceneri, among whom fgured illustrious personages like Domenico Fontana (1543–1607) and Francesco Borromini (1599–1667). While the former went down in history for erecting the obelisks in St Peter’s Square and for the construction of the Lateran Palace in Rome, the latter built famous churches and villas in the Holy City. When Borromini’s portrait appeared on the 1976-series 100-Franc note, he became a nationally known fgure. In the 18th century, many Swiss, primarily scholars and artists, contributed signifcantly to a variety of felds from abroad. Among them were mathematicians and physicists like Johann Bernoulli (1667–1748) and Leonhard Euler (1707–1783) – the former active in the Netherlands, the latter in St Petersburg and Berlin – and the medallist Johann Carl von Hedlinger (1691–1771), who worked in the service of the Swedish Crown. Frédéric-César de La Harpe (1754–1838), a lawyer and politician from Canton Vaud, was the tutor of Tsar Alexander I of Russia (1777–1825). The Genevan banker Jaques Necker (1732–1804) was appointed fnance minister at the court of the French king Louis XVI (1754–1793). Another Genevan, Albert Gallatin (1761–1849), held the same offce in the USA under Presidents Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826) and James Madison (1751–1836). The Bernese polymath Albert von Haller (1708–1777), who was held in high esteem abroad, also fgured in the history of Swiss emigration. Other emigrants, like the Bernese farmers who sought their fortunes in the Kingdom of Prussia during the same period, have barely left a trace. A group of cheese-makers who emigrated to East Prussia, on the other hand, have earned a place of honour in Swiss agricultural history. Some of them returned to Switzerland from what is now Kaliningrad (then Tilsit) and – according to various reports – brought a new kind of cheese back with them. Tilsiter, which has been produced in Switzerland since the 1890s, still contributes to Switzerland’s international reputation as a “cheese country” today.

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Figure 2.1 “Deck of an emigrant ship,” Photograph, ca 1900. AKG Images.

In the 18th century, yet another mode of migration emerged, one for which Switzerland earned no laurels – quite the opposite, in fact. This sad phenomenon, the emigration of children and teenagers, says much about the state of the country at the time. These seasonal migrants included a number of young chimney sweeps from Ticino, the Spazzacamini. They primarily plied their trade in Italy, usually under deplorable working and living conditions.1 Another inglorious chapter in Swiss migration history was written by boys and girls, mostly from large farming families in Central and Eastern Switzerland, who would offer themselves for hire in the child-labour markets of southern Germany. The teenage confectioners from Graubünden who migrated to fnd work in the wider world make up a category of their own. Their tragedy is often overlooked because of the outward refulgence of their profession and its deceptively sweet products. They did not generally consider themselves seasonal workers, however, as they intended to remain abroad for the long term. The predominant form of Swiss emigration involved mercenary service, which in some places presented the only opportunity to escape unemployment or poorly remunerated agricultural work. While the available sources fail to provide precise numbers, it is uncontested that hundreds of thousands of Swiss were at one time or another engaged as mercenaries. Reputable estimates suggest that around 1.5 million young Swiss were employed for military purposes abroad between the Battle of Marignano (1515) and the middle of the 19th century, when mercenary service was prohibited. Service in the Pope’s Swiss Guard

188 New Beginnings and in observance of pre-existing contracts was excluded from the mid19th-century prohibition, however, and in 1848, for example, 13 active Swiss mercenary battalions totalling over 12,000 men were still in the employ of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. Shortly before the law terminating existing contracts came into force in 1859, Great Britain enlisted two Swiss regiments for the Crimean War (1854–1856). The complete ban on mercenary activity of 1859 was not consistently enforced. This explains why several thousand Swiss fought in the American Civil War (1861–1865), the majority on the side of the northern states. In this context, several Swiss emigrants and their descendants should be mentioned, who – independent of the mercenary system – established military careers abroad. Among them were Frederick Haldimand (1718– 1791) and George Prevost (1767–1816), both of whom were offcers in the British military. Haldimand was the Governor General of the Province of Quebec and fought in the French and Indian War (1767–1763). Prevost was Governor General of the Canadas and Commander in Chief of British forces during the War of 1812. In the second half of the 19th century, when the Swiss guards in Rome were no more than a peaceful relic bearing witness – as they still do today – to a centuries-old blood-soaked tradition, there were also Swiss emigrants who established military careers in their new homelands. Edward W. Eberle (1864–1929), for example, the son of an emigrant from Walenstadt, became the highest ranking offcer in the US Marine Corps. Karl Lenard Oesch (1892–1978), whose parents left Schwarzenegg near Thun in 1880 and established a cheese business on the Karelian Isthmus, joined a Finnish light infantry battalion and became a career offcer, then the leader of the Finnish military academy, and eventually Chief of Staff. He especially distinguished himself during the defence of Finland against Soviet troops in the Second World War, and his exploits became the stuff of legend. The experience that Swiss offcers gained in foreign service qualifed them for subsequent military careers in Switzerland. Military knowhow was especially in demand after the founding of the Swiss Federal State in 1848, when a national army had to be formed. This was an urgent task, since confrontations with other countries were looming. That Guillaume-Henry Dufour (1787–1875) was thrice elected General is due in no small part to the experience he gained during his long years of military service in the French Army. Deplorably but inevitably, given the existing systems of alliances, Swiss mercenaries in the service of different countries fought against each other on the battlefeld. This absurd situation was most painfully embodied in Switzerland itself, during the Sonderbund Civil War in 1847. Characteristically, the military leaders on both sides of the confict were offcers who had served in foreign armies. At the head of the Confederation’s troops was General Dufour, supported by his Chief of Staff Friedrich Frey-Herosé (1801–1873), who had fought in the 1830

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July Revolution in France. The Bernese Reserve Division was under the command of a veteran of the Freischärlerzüge, Ulrich Ochsenbein (1801–1890). The rebel Sonderbund troops were led by Johann Ulrich von Salis-Soglio (1790–1874), who had extensive military experience serving the Kingdom of Bavaria and the Netherlands, while his General Franz von Elgger (1794–1845) had been a mercenary for the French as well as a Commander in a division of the Pope’s Army. 2 Swiss mercenaries were popular with foreign powers – or feared by them, depending on the circumstances. No one wanted to do battle against Swiss troops. European rulers therefore made an effort to stay in the good graces of various Swiss towns, in order to have continual access to their supply of soldiers. Tellingly, “Loyalty and Honour” was the maxim of the Swiss regiments serving the French. Swiss mercenaries were not common landsknechts, however, nor were they looked on as wild hordes: They served under the Swiss fag, were commanded by Swiss offcers and were subject to Swiss laws. That said, even they were not immune to temptation, and participated in looting, pillaging and assaults on civilians. The respect with which Swiss mercenaries were regarded is expressed in innumerable documents and pronouncements, including the apt observation of the French Marshall Friedrich von Shomberg (1615–1690) that a Swiss regiment was to an army what a skeleton is to a body.3 The effciency and power of the Swiss regiments may have contributed to the fact that the major powers consistently respected Swiss neutrality. It is possible that the martial virtues attributed to the Swiss people also played a role here. “The Swiss are the best soldiers in the world!” This high estimation of the Swiss military tradition and Swiss mercenary service was expressed – not coincidentally, on the eve of the First World War – by the Swiss general Ulrich Wille (1848–1925).4 Mercenary service was an effective means by which to mitigate the problem of unemployment in Switzerland. Unemployed young men were, in a sense, exported. The problematic nature of this practice became visible in 1859, for example, when a thousand mercenaries returned home to Valais after serving in the Roman army, and the general sentiment was: “Where are all these men supposed to get their bread now?”5 Mercenary duty also served as an outlet that reduced sociopolitical tensions. Violent bands of vagabond youths could rapidly set off a frestorm, as was evidenced by the Hog-Banner Campaign (Saubannerzug) of 1477. In fact, it is striking how young the Swiss mercenaries often were. It was not unusual for 16- or 17-year-olds to be recruited for mercenary duty. Still younger soldiers were also sometimes engaged. Around half of Swiss mercenaries served the French crown. The scale of this phenomenon is revealed by a legendary statement made by Johann Heinrich Waser (1742–1780), a famboyant Zurich pastor. Waser said that the blood spilled by young Swiss soldiers in the service of the French Army would fll a navigable canal from Basel to Paris.6

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The  export of this blood brought money into Swiss coffers. It was a lucrative business – certainly for the young Swiss, who could increase their earning by plundering in foreign lands, but even more so for the patricians and prominent families who recruited soldiers and ran the fourishing mercenary businesses. Waser further opined that with the money earned from Swiss mercenary service, a broad road could have been paved from Paris to Basel. Only a third of all mercenaries returned to Switzerland. The majority died on the battlefelds of Europe; others remained abroad for other reasons. The military exodus thus fulflled, in a macabre fashion, a further objective: It reduced the burden that caring for their poor placed on municipalities. The forms of Swiss emigration portrayed so far initially endured into the 19th century, but with a shift in emphasis: Certain phenomena, like military emigration, came to an end, while others, such as settler emigration and “gold rushes,” fuelled fantasies and became predominant. Various types of so-called elite emigration also became prominent: Important fgures left the country not out of economic or social need, but to pursue professional opportunities in their felds of specialisation. This “brain drain” of Switzerland was primarily caused by the emigration of merchants and tradespeople, industrialists, bankers and fnanciers, businessmen, inventors, architects and hoteliers. This form of migration increased throughout the second half of the 19th century, and took in destinations all across the world, particularly around the Mediterranean and in South America, where the highest concentration of Swiss emigrants was to be found in Brazil.

Figure 2.2 “Cemetery of the Benedictine convent in Yankton, South Dakota,” 2019. Sacred Heart Monastery, Yankton, South Dakota. Picture by Sr Jennifer Kehrwald, Yankton. The prevalence of young Swiss emigrant nuns at the end of the 19th century is still evident today in the names inscribed on the headstones.

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Ecclesiastical emigration has been a constant throughout Swiss history. It was common for young Protestant clergymen who did not yet have their own parish to gather pastoral experience abroad after concluding their training. Since the Middle Ages, Catholic priests would occasionally pursue careers as abbots in foreign cloisters or as offcials or dignitaries for the Pope in Rome. In the 19th century, the emigration of the devout intensifed as a result of missionary activity. The Basel Mission, for example, founded in 1815, undertook commercial projects all over the world, particularly in Africa and Indonesia, thanks to the logistical support of Basel trading companies. And while the Sonderbund War of 1847 had already led some on the losing side to leave Switzerland, the cultural battles of the last quarter of the 19th century provided further motivation for Catholics to settle abroad. Discriminatory articles in the Federal Constitution of 1874, which among other measures prohibited the establishment and restoration of religious orders and monasteries, led to clerical emigration on a unprecedented scale. Various Swiss cloisters established affliates on the other side of the Atlantic, to which they sent monks and nuns. US convents even set up agencies in Switzerland to recruit potential emigrants. The largest trans-shipment point for Swiss imports and exports up until the opening of the Rhine harbour in Basel in 1911 was Trieste, one of the most important harbour cities on the Mediterranean and one that was especially crucial for the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Because of this, the Swiss Confederation opened a consulate in Trieste as early as 1802 – not least because of the many confectioners and coffee-house owners from Graubünden who had achieved success there. Since 1782, a “Helvetic community” in Trieste cultivated the religious and cultural life of emigrated Swiss Protestants; Protestant emigrants from other countries also participated in the community. In 1878, Trieste was already home to more than 700 Swiss, who made up the third-largest emigrant group in the city, after Italians and Germans. In addition to the traditionally large numbers of coffee-house owners and confectioners, merchants and freight managers immigrated to Trieste during the second half of the 19th century. Examining these elite emigrations can offer insights into the realities of the migrants’ lives. That said, this group of individual emigrants was extremely heterogeneous. It included scientists and artists who pursued careers in foreign countries; politicians who rose to the top of the hierarchy before, sometimes, falling all the way back down; men and women who became legends in their new home countries but are not included in Swiss lexicons, and who quickly faded into obscurity in their former homeland; and lastly, entrepreneurs who contributed to the modernisation of the countries they moved to.

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Figure 2.3 The St Gallen textile merchant Johann David Gonzenbach (1777– 1842) in his business offce in Trieste, 1817. Gouache miniature. Staatsarchiv St.Gallen, W 185/3.3-1. Up until the middle of the 19th century, only a few Swiss nationals settled in Egypt. This changed rapidly with the country’s modernisation after the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, the increase in British infuence and the improvement of economic prospects. By 1870, more than a thousand Swiss citizens had emigrated to Egypt. They included cotton traders operating from the Nile Delta, as well as other merchants who supplied products from the Arab world to Switzerland from Cairo. Imports from Egypt greatly exceeded the number of Swiss products being exported there, as Swiss goods could hardly compete with English ones.

If one wanted to systematically summarise the lives of the Swiss who emigrated during the 19th century and in the years before the First World War, one would have to give up the undertaking solely on quantitative grounds. What is possible and appears sensible is to attempt to sketch the biographies of a few select Swiss emigrants in their specifc contexts.

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The examples that follow include some emigrants who were chosen because of the formative effect they had in their countries of destination; others serve to illustrate the breadth and diversity of Swiss emigration. It is also interesting to note whether and how their former homeland reacted to the success or failure of its emigrant sons and daughters. Emigration was not a one-way street. It led to manifold interactions: between emigrants and those who stayed behind, and between Switzerland and the wider world. A typical form of 19th-century emigration served to further vocational training. It included the journeyman years of specialists who, having completed their apprenticeships in Switzerland, travelled abroad to continue their training as journeymen or future foremen in a variety of linguistic and cultural regions. The journeys of young textile manufacturers who travelled to England, the centre of the textile and engineering industries, took on particular economic signifcance. The resulting transfer of skills and information – one might even speak of industrial espionage – was decisive for the development of the Swiss engineering industry. Those who returned to Switzerland brought home experiences that were fruitful for the domestic economy. Others found a new feld of activity abroad, and their journeyman years turned into a permanent emigration. Artists, too, had to solve the problem of where to get their training. Royal patronage did not exist in Switzerland, businesses only began to support the arts during the last quarter of the 19th century, and the young Federal State did not have the resources to meaningfully subsidise cultural activity. There were no academies of the kind that existed abroad, with the exception of the atelier of the Alpine painters François Diday (1802–1877) and Alexandre Calame (1810–1864) in Geneva. At this studio, which achieved the status of a national school of art, Barthélemy Menn (1815–1893), himself an important artist, provided outstanding instruction. For the most part, though, art students were taught by local artists or even by amateurs. Budding Swiss artists were thus forced to move abroad to pursue a systematic education – they studied in Paris, where there had been a vibrant art scene since the 18th century; in Düsseldorf, which only relinquished its status as an artistic hub to Munich in the 19th century; or in Vienna or Berlin. While most emigrant artists returned to Switzerland after completing their education and put the expertise they had gained abroad into practice in their home country, others settled forever outside of Switzerland – Charles Geyre (1806–1874), for example, remained in Paris. Others, like Albert Anker (1831–1910), who spent the summer months in his Bernese hometown of Ins and the winter in Paris, shuttled between Switzerland and other countries. Then there were the so-called “artistic mercenaries” (Kunstreisläufer), who emigrated from Switzerland for cultural and political reasons, escaping the alleged narrow-mindedness of their home

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country. They insisted on the opposition between the ambitions of the international artistic elite and Swiss conventionalism, suggesting that it was impossible for a small country to also be worldly.7 There were also artists whom fate did not treat kindly abroad. A tragic example was Karl Stauffer (1857–1891), who collapsed behind the walls of a Florentine dungeon and was never able to fully develop his many and diverse talents. Stauffer’s fate was a consequence of perfdious scheming masterminded by a Swiss Federal Councillor: a Swiss scandal of the frst order that played out at the end of the 19th century, and a personal drama that tore another prominent fgure into the abyss – Alfred Escher’s daughter, Lydia Welti-Escher (1858–1891).8 Beginning in the Early Modern Age, Swiss pedagogues made a name for themselves abroad as educators of princes, as private tutors and governesses for wealthy families, and as professors at schools and universities. Heinrich Pestalozzi (1746–1827) was a Swiss educator of outstanding calibre who became internationally infuential in the second half of the 18th century. Pestalozzi was followed by a number of Swiss educationalists and pedagogues including Franz Voitel (1773–1839)  of Solothurn, a military and political fgure active in the development of primary schools in Spain, and Enrique C. Rebsamen (1857–1904) of Turbenthal, who emigrated to Mexico City in 1883 before later moving to Xalapa, where he founded a systematic teacher-training programme and helped shape the curriculum of Mexican primary schools with his teaching materials. Even in earlier times, Swiss emigrants rose to positions of prominence in the national politics of their new homelands. In the 19th century, a series of somewhat unusual protagonists joined their number. The Swiss adventurers and modernisers Werner Munzinger and Alfred Ilg left their mark in Africa, while others, mostly second-generation immigrants like Jacobo Arbenz, occupied the political spotlight in Latin America. Werner Munzinger (1832–1875), the son of a Federal Councillor from Solothurn, travelled to Cairo to conduct research on Africa in 1852, then entered into a commercial venture that took him to the port town of Massauna, and eventually to Keren (modern-day Eritrea) and into central Africa. He exploited his two long stays on the continent to conduct ethnographic and geographical research. He was involved in the British expedition in Ethiopia, travelled the Arabian peninsula and eventually entered the Egyptian military with the title of Pasha. He was fatally wounded during a military excursion in Ethiopia. The same fate met fellow Swiss native Gustav Adolf Haggenmacher (1845–1875), with whom Munzinger prepared and undertook the invasion of Awsa (Ethiopia).9 The tragic end of these two Swiss paved the way for a young man from Thurgau to reach political prominence in a legendary country, in a feld that no one in Switzerland at the time could have conceived of in their wildest dreams. Alfred Ilg (1854–1916) of Fruthwilen (Salenstein), born and raised in Frauenfeld and educated as an engineer at the Polytechnic

Figure 2.4 “Watchpost of the Swiss delegation in Yedo (Japan), 1870.” In Le Japon Illustré, by Aimé Humbert. Copperplate etching. The history of the relationship between Switzerland and Japan shows how the consummation of a trade agreement could lead to migration. In 1858, representatives of the Neuchâtel watch industry contacted the Federal Council; they intended to start trading with Japan, whose economy was opening up. The frst order of business was to dispatch a trade delegation. The results of this mission, however, were disappointing. In fact, the Japanese denoted Switzerland as the “Confederate Republic of Swedenland” in one report. Still, the Japanese side signalled that a trade agreement might be considered at a later point in time. This became a pressing issue, as other countries had already signed trade deals, and Swiss merchants found themselves at a disadvantage. Sojourns on the island empire were allowed exclusively to citizens of countries who had signed trade agreements. After long debates in Parliament and at various economic policy conferences, in 1864 the Swiss Parliament approved the Federal Council’s proposal to sign a trade agreement with Japan. At this time, there were 14 Swiss citizens residing in Japan; 10 years later, there were 30. This small expatriate community was united in its interest in exports: Pioneers from the Swiss watch industry were joined by merchants from the textile industry, especially cotton traders.

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in Zurich, emigrated to Ethiopia in 1879 accompanied by a wood-pattern maker. To him, Ethiopia was a wholly unknown, alien, and fairy-tale-like country. The 25-year-old Thurgau native was responding to the appeal of the Negus of Shewa, Menelik II (1844–1913), who was attempting to recruit European cultural scholars and engineers to help modernise his country. Over decades, and despite their societal and cultural differences, a close relationship developed between the young man from Thurgau and the totalitarian king. It was a very personal relationship, characterised by the greatest mutual respect and even a kind of familial trust. Ilg built the ruler a new residence in Antotto. “Build houses, foreign foreman! Build streets, build bridges!” was Ilg’s remit.10 And so he became the moderniser of Ethiopia. Under his leadership, new infrastructure was continually being created. In 1889, when Menelik was exalted to Negus Negesti, the King of Kings, he gave up his residence in Antotto. Ilg designed Addis Ababa as the new capital. The country appeared to be fourishing. But the upswing was in danger on a number of fronts. When Ethiopian troops, under Menelik’s command, defeated the Italian army in 1896, liberating their country from Italian subjugation, Menelik achieved legendary status, and was, from then on, treated as an equal by European monarchs. Ilg had in the meantime been promoted from engineer to Minister of State responsible for public works, in particular for the postal and communications services. At this point, he faced his greatest and most demanding challenge, namely building the Ethiopian Railway – an enormous undertaking, even in the fatlands. The temperatures made construction diffcult; the layout of the line had to be designed to respect religious and cultural sites; and the entire project involved complex technical planning and presented unpredictable logistical hurdles. Yet this part was nothing compared to planning the route through the Abyssinian mountains! In 1894, after long years of preparation, Ilg received Menelik’s permission to begin the project. His crowning achievement was the stretch from Djibouti to Addis Ababa. Ilg’s long years in Ethiopia were commemorated by the two lions that he donated to the Zurich zoo in 1902, and which he hoped would make for the beginning of a permanent lion enclosure there. For reasons of space, however, this was not possible, and the lions were taken in by the Basel Zoo instead.11 Coincidentally, at the same time as Ilg was active in Ethiopia, another Swiss native, Ulrich Hoepli, was achieving fame and honour for his role as a moderniser in Italy. It is striking that the two emigrants were both from Canton Thurgau and that the countries whose modernisation they contributed to went to war with one another. Jacobo Arbenz, the 25th President of Guatemala, was the son of an emigrant from Andelfngen. Arbenz shared the political fate of many Central and South American presidents of his time: He was removed from his high offce by the military. He was not the only politician with

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Swiss roots to assume a high-ranking governmental position on the far side of the Atlantic, only to suffer as a result of political instability. It is notable that the Swiss who rose to political prominence in Latin America were often second-generation immigrants. Among them was the entrepreneur and Liberal politician Eduardo Schaerer (1873–1941), whose parents had emigrated to Paraguay from Vordemwald in Canton Aargau. Shaerer was the President of Paraguay from 1912 to 1916, after which he held offce as a senator until 1921. He was forced to leave the country in 1931 after his involvement in an attempted coup and went into exile in Argentina. Eduardo Frei Montalva (1911–1982), the descendant of emigrants from Nesslau in Canton St Gallen, became the President of Chile from 1964 to 1970. He also found himself in a precarious political environment. Like Arbenz, Motalva died under mysterious circumstances. His son, Eduardo Frei Ruiz-Tagle (born 1942) followed in his father’s footsteps and served as President of Chile from 1994 to 2000. Switzerland is a landlocked country in the middle of Europe, but through its hundreds of thousands of emigrants it is connected, over mountains and across oceans, to the entire world. Throughout the 19th century, emigrants exported Swiss values and Swiss products. Groups of settlers and colonists, but also individuals, disseminated their distinctive mentalities and attitudes, services and products. The fact that in the second half of the 19th century cartographers, geologists and engineers began to leave Switzerland in signifcant numbers to build roads, bridges and railways in foreign countries is evidence of the modern awakening that Switzerland experienced after 1848. Swiss emigrants shared their political, economic, scientifc and cultural achievements with the wider world. Although the case histories in this chapter focus on aspects and facets of the history of Swiss migration, it will become clear that, in diverse ways, they also shed light on other areas of Swiss history. Emigration is a broad and multifarious phenomenon. It comprises differences and similarities, individual fates and collective movements; it is of local, national and certainly of international relevance. Its contrasts can be analysed from many academic perspectives: through the lenses of economic, social and cultural history; of mathematics and statistics; of genealogy; and also through interdisciplinary approaches. Emigration makes up a substantial chapter of Swiss history. Its pronounced signifcance for the 19th century and the years leading up to the First World War can be seen in comparisons and statistics. The case histories of typical emigrant groups which follow shed light on certain structures and systems, while the stories of individual emigrants allow for a better understanding of the emigrant experience itself. At the close of this chapter, the most important insights will be summarised and statistically backed up.

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Graubünden: The Best Confectioners in the World Thousands of Graubünden natives left their homes to earn their daily bread as confectioners abroad. This occurred despite the fact that nowhere in Graubünden was there a training institute for confectioners, and that the emigrants were mostly children – boys and girls between the age of 10 and 16. So that they would not be entirely on their own, it was arranged, where possible, for several children from the same family to set off together. While traces of the infuence of bakers from Graubünden on bakeries across the world were already evident by the end of the Middle Ages, this form of emigration took on new dimensions in the 19th century. It peaked in 1850, when around 5,000 Graubünden natives were running coffee houses or working related jobs abroad; it subsided with the outbreak of the First World War. Scholars have currently (2018) identifed by name around 15,000 “Bündner” who worked as confectioners and pastry chefs, coffee makers, buffet attendants or in other related professions in around 1,400 cities in Europe, the Americas and North Africa.12 A third of these emigrants moved to France, the preferred destination; others moved to Italy (4,700), Germany (1,074) and Poland (856). The emigrants came from almost all regions of Graubünden, with the exception of the two southern valleys Misox and Calanca, whose young people instead followed the Ticino tradition of fnding work abroad as chimney sweeps. Around 10–15 percent of the confectioners who emigrated from Graubünden were girls and young women; they generally assisted in bakeries or worked in kitchens or other areas of the restaurant business, and in fact only rarely worked as confectioners in the narrower sense. As was the case with emigrants who practiced other professions, the confectioners were often joined by later emigrants from their home regions. This explains why there were frequently a number of emigrants from the same valley in Graubünden working in the same business, building up new lives. The pattern was soon established that confectioners in Baltic cities were from Schams, those in Lombardy came from Rheinwald, and young people from Safental moved to Hungary or Transylvania. The vast majority of confectioners remained abroad and died there. Those who returned did so with an image of their old hometowns in mind that no longer matched contemporary reality; only a few had themselves achieved wealth such as that radiated by the newly built, resplendent stately homes and stone palaces that characterised the increasingly up-and-coming tourist destinations of the new Graubünden. Some emigrants returned at the end of the 19th century and invested in the infrastructure of the tourism industry or engaged in charitable work, but these were exceptions. As a rule, confectioners returned home without having saved much money, scarred by the demands of labour that was often akin to slavery and by the miserable living conditions they had endured, which often led to an early death. According to a newspaper

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article published in 1856, only one of every ten confectioners became rich.13 For most, working in foreign lands was no piece of cake; it was likened to living “a dog’s life.”14 A young Graubünden native stated that, for a period of six months, he worked in a steaming and stuffy café kitchen from 5 in the morning until 11 at night without being allowed to leave the building except to deliver a consignment, and that he shared his fea-ridden bed with two fellow café assistants. This was a representative picture of the living and working conditions of many young emigrants. Confectioners from Canton Graubünden make up a signifcant chapter in the history of Swiss emigration. The trend began as early as the 17th century, with Venice as the primary destination; Graubünden natives distinguished themselves there as pioneers in the café business. The legal basis of their work was provided by the Alliance Agreement of 1603, which secured them the right to conduct business and trade in Venice in exchange for Venetian access to the mountain passes of Graubünden. By the time this agreement was abrogated in 1765, there were more than 250 bakeries, pastry shops and coffee houses, with nearly 1,000 employees, run by Bündner in Venice. Similar situations soon arose in other locations. In Trieste, immigrants from Graubünden came to dominate the market. In 1812, they ran 21 of the 37 coffee houses in the city. In Prussia, where there are records of Graubünden coffee houses in various towns beginning in the 1740s, the turn of the century saw the opening of a café that would become particularly well known: In 1796, Johann Josty (1773–1826), an Engadin native, moved to Berlin and founded the J. Josty & Co. Café (later known as Café Josty). His brother Daniel (1777–1845) followed him there; he frst sold chocolate drinks and later established a brewery.15 The Josty coffee house expanded, opening new branches and subsidiaries and earning a legendary reputation.16 In 1943, Café Josty was destroyed in a bombing raid. The people of Berlin expressed their reverence for the Josty brothers by naming a street after them – Jostystrasse – in 1890. (The street is no longer extant, due to urban reconstruction in 1969.) Johann Josty also left his mark in Switzerland. With the money he made in Berlin, he built his wife a house in Sils Baselgia “with no equal in Rhaetia.”17 This palazzo later became the Parkhotel Margna, which is still in business today. Emigrants from Graubünden also founded other establishments in Berlin. The Giovanoli coffee house, opened in 1818 at the Gendarmenmarkt by Andrea Giovanoli of Soglio, has gone down in history as a classic café. Coffee houses with connections to Graubünden were also established in eastern Europe and on the American continent. Salomon Wolf (1807–1863) and Tobias Branger (1803–1860), both from Davos, opened the Café Chinois in St Petersburg, which was frequented by artists including Pushkin and Tchaikovsky. In 1835, there were around 400 café proprietors from Graubünden in Kraków – making this the largest Graubünden colony in eastern Europe.

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Figure 2.5 Fritz Paul Höniger (1865–1924), Im Café Josty, ca. 1890, after a 1929 colour print. AKGImages. The Café Josty in Berlin was an artist’s café with no equal, frequented by illustrious regular guests such as Heinrich Heine (1797–1856), Joseph von Eichendorff (1788–1857), Theodor Fontane (1819–1898), Adolph Menzel (1815–1905) and Erich Kästner (1899–1974).

The praise heaped on Graubünden confectioners by Eugen Baron von Vaerst (1792–1855) is well known. Von Vaerst was not only a decorated Prussian offcer but also an author who wrote under the pseudonym Chevalier de Lelly. With publications aimed at “aspiring prodigals” and his writings on “gastrosophy, or, lessons on the joys of the table,” he is among the pioneers of refned hedonism.18 This colourful personality came to the conclusion that the best confectioners in the whole world, to be encountered in all major cities, both in and outside of Europe, from Mexico to Petersburg, were those – dressed in grey jackets and white blouses – who came from Graubünden.

Ticino: La Tristezza For approximately 300 years, Ticino was a subject territory of Switzerland divided into eight bailiwicks. Freed from its bonds by Napoleon and integrated into the Helvetic Republic in 1798, it became a part of Switzerland proper as Canton Ticino with the Act of Mediation in 1803.

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The consequences of the long years of Swiss domination, however, were still severely felt: While Ticino was now the formal equal of the other cantons, it was impoverished and underdeveloped in many respects. The Italian-speaking people of Ticino lacked an overarching communal spirit, and each valley lived for itself. In comparison with the older cantons, public infrastructure was underdeveloped, and investment in public works was correspondingly meagre: Road construction had been neglected, and deforestation proceeded unchecked. No thought was given to building embankments to prevent fooding or to erecting structures to prevent rockslides and avalanches. It would be wrong, however, to claim that Swiss occupation was the sole reason for the miserable predicament of Ticino. Ticino public institutions were severely limited by the Constitution of 1803 and only developed haltingly. The right to stand for political offce, for example, was means-dependent, which meant that only a small part of the population was eligible for election. Progress was further impeded by regional rivalries, which became more acute in the frst half of the 19th century and stemmed from differences in cultural and political outlooks and mentalities. In 1814, a comprehensive revision of the Constitution was in the works, but it was blocked by the European great powers. Reforms only came with the new Constitution of 1830. But these did not solve the long-standing structural and political stalemate overnight, much less the party-political conficts that were only gaining in acerbity in the middle of the 19th century. The momentum of the new start that swept through the liberally led cantons of the Swiss Central Plateau did not extend to Ticino. The houses in the Verzasca Valley are heaps of stones, full of misery and mud; the beds in the communal bedrooms next to the kitchen are flthy and covered with bags of straw; the walls above them display faded and dilapidated holy images. The inhabitants are pale, in spite of the pleasant climate. The women, the beasts of burden in this country, wake early to get started on their diffcult work. The whole valley is becoming depopulated. Some of the men leave in the winter and go sweep the chimneys of the world. This seasonal migration is characteristic of all of Italian-speaking Switzerland. Three quarters of the men and the male youths leave their families every spring and return home in the autumn. They earn their money abroad. Their craft bears witness to their place of origin, as each valley has made a name for itself, over generations, with one specifc occupation. They stick to what their forefathers have always done. Because of this it is known the world over that the Cioccolatieri (chocolate salesmen) and the Burratori (lumberjacks) come from the Valle di Blenio, the Fumisti (chimney sweeps) from the Valle Maggia or the Onsernone valley – excepting the ones who clean the chimneys of Amsterdam

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These impressions, paraphrased from descriptions by Karl Viktor von Bonstetten (1745–1832) at the end of the 18th century, give a picture of the pall that hung over Ticino at the end of the 18th century.19 As it had been when it became a Swiss canton, so Ticino remained in the early years of the Federal State, and in the years leading up to the First World War: poor. The transformations it did undergo had only ambivalent effects. Barely freed from the bonds of Swiss foreign rule, Ticino became caught up in the maelstrom of tourism with the opening of the Gotthard railway line at the end of the 19th century. It quickly developed a new image: The poorhouse became the country’s sunny terrace, whence la dolce vita (the sweet life) beckoned, but at the same time, the picture of dolcefarniente (sweet idleness) provided new fodder for old prejudices. Ticino was judged disparagingly by German-speaking Swiss for a long time. It was seen as a meeting place of outsiders, revolutionaries, anarchists, writers, artists and idealists. It was where politics was conducted with gun in hand, under the constant threat of violence and civil-war-like conficts, where thieves and bandits made roads and forests unsafe. From the perspective of bourgeois German-speaking Swiss, it was an uncivilised hinterland where mountain farmers ate songbirds and crazy Germans danced naked in their gardens with Sicilian ephebes. And in the midst of all this, emigration remained the fateful topic for the canton. Today’s research on migration and the causes of social misery extends far beyond the personal observations made by von Bonstetten, but his analyses and conclusions accurately depict the heart of the problem. What this Enlightenment philosopher and politician from Bern reluctantly diagnosed at the end of the 18th century was later expanded

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upon in historical–biographical publications by two writers from Ticino, Piero Bianconi (1899–1984) from Minusio, the son of an emigrant who returned from America, and Plinio Martini (1923–1979) of Cavergno/ Cevio.20 At the beginning of the 19th century, the struggle for survival in Ticino continued to be waged with the same grim determination as it had in earlier times, and this left its mark on the souls of its people. Floods and droughts – or even a single harvest yielding less than was expected – could leave an entire valley destitute. The famine of the spring of 1817, which forced the population to eat grass and cook roots found in forests and felds, was an isolated event, but it left scars in people’s memory: The fear of another such event was deeply rooted, and hunger remained a constant companion of many Ticino natives. In winter, lunch often consisted of no more than chestnuts. Emigration was common, a result of the poverty in mountain villages whose soil yielded too little to feed their populations. The towns would empty and fll according to the seasons. Canvas-clad boys between the ages of 8 and 10 regularly moved out of their squalid houses in order to go sweep chimneys in Lombardy or Piedmont. They would return a few months later, half-dead from overwork and the effects of their miserable living conditions, with very little money to show but perhaps with a little hat or a harmonica, the customary gifts of their masters. Economic emigration is also documented in certain registries from the 1830s that listed the young men who were to be recruited for military service; the young men, it turned out, had almost all emigrated to Australia. Others were deported to foreign countries because they were no longer welcome in their local communities. When the gold rush began in the middle of the 19th century, drawing many to California, the goals and physiognomy of emigration changed: More and more, settlement emigration competed with the already established patterns of seasonal emigration. Sometimes half the population of a village could be found crossing the Atlantic together. These departures were defnitive. Those who left had pulled up stakes and were looking to settle down somewhere new. In 1790, the town of Mergoscia in the Locarno district had a population of 752. In 1850, that number had sunk to 588, and in 1900 only 351 residents were left – this, despite a signifcant birth surplus! After a low of 133 residents in 1999, the town’s population is now rising again, and in 2016, it boasted 216 inhabitants. And Mergoscia is not alone in this respect. As time went on, a number of emigrants returned to Ticino with their pockets full of dollars and began to fnance charitable works. Signs of this support were evident well into the 20th century. Even today the clock face in the town of Brione is a reminder of its benefactors, who emigrated to California in 1884. The church clock was intended to ring in the hours for those who had had to remain behind in the Verzasca

204 New Beginnings valley, and call to mind, at the turn of every hour, the emigrants who could not forget their native village, even in far-off America. Next to the church steeple in Mergoscia, two fagpoles were erected, one fying the Swiss fag, and one the Star-Spangled Banner – as if the people of Ticino had two homelands. 21

Swabia: Child Slaves from Switzerland, Appraised Like Cattle Like the young chimney sweeps from Ticino, boys and girls from other Swiss regions also left their families, driven by hunger and hardship. At the beginning of April 1871, fve children between 7 and 12 years old from Montlingen in Canton St Gallen begged their way to Swabia, freezing and famished. Their case was not exceptional. There were hundreds of people living in similar circumstances – with no livelihood – in the Rhine Valley and in Canton St Gallen. The Eastern Swiss press drew repeated attention to this poverty, and these shocking accounts found wider circulation when they were reprinted in other newspapers. 22 Every spring since the 18th century, the child labour markets in Tettnang and Kempten, in Württemberg and Bavaria, and especially in Ravensburg, were full of Swiss children who had been sent away by parents relieved at the prospect of having fewer mouths to feed for half the year. Assessed and appraised like cattle, they waited to be selected like young slaves. They were hired out as shepherd boys or nannies in transactions often exempt from civic oversight, and delivered up to the capriciousness of their new masters, for better or for worse. The attitude of the Swiss towards Württemberg was ambivalent. On the one hand, the Kingdom provided jobs and temporarily helped people in need and distress. On the other hand, child-labour markets represented exploitation and physical and psychological violence. In 1859, the town pastor of Obersaxen in Canton Graubünden cut to the chase, noting on the birth register of a child born out of wedlock, “Another one from Swabia, the land of fornication!”23 In the autumn, around Martlemass, the children were allowed to return to Switzerland. In the course of the second half of the 19th century, with the emergence of steamboat transport on Lake Constance and an increasingly betterconnected railway network, Friedrichshafen became the central trading ground for child slaves. Eastern Switzerland – along with Vorarlberg, Tyrol and South Tyrol, and occasionally Liechtenstein – provided the largest contingent of these children. They came from the Cantons of St Gallen, Thurgau, and both of the Appenzells, and from Surselva in Graubünden. These journeys to Swabia decreased signifcantly towards the end of the 19th century, but there is evidence of Swiss child labour in southern Germany even after the First World War. The last child market in Friedrichshafen was held in 1914, following years of heated debate in the

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Figure 2.6 Das Vermieten der Tiroler Schwabenkinder in Ravensburg (Deutschland) (The hiring of child workers from Tirol in Ravensburg, Germany), 1895. Wood engraving after a drawing by E. Klein. Wikimedia Commons.

State Diet. There are no offcial statistics about this child labour, as there was no offcial registry. Even if there had been, there would still have remained a signifcant number of unrecorded cases. However, experts estimate that more than 1,000 children put themselves up for hire each year in Upper Swabia; in times of famine, the number could swell to over 4,000. 24 In 1850, for example, there were 1,017 such children – 158 were from Vals, 83 from Untervaz, and 62 from Trun.

California: A Deceptive Eldorado The discovery of gold in North America exerted a magical effect at the end of the 18th and throughout the entire 19th century, motivating a vast number of Europeans to cross the Atlantic. When gold was discovered in North Carolina and the Reed Gold Mine opened in 1799, the news triggered a frst wave of emigration from Europe. Discoveries in the southern Appalachians in 1828 led to a veritable gold rush involving considerable European immigration. The high point of transatlantic emigration – part of the legendary California Gold Rush – occurred between 1848 and 1855, when around 300,000 gold miners settled in California.

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The scope of this feverish search for gold is illustrated by the growth of San Francisco. An entirely nondescript town of 600 inhabitants in 1848, San Francisco’s population exploded, reaching 25,000 in 1849 and 42,000 by 1852. The numbers of the Swiss contingent of this North American immigration are not precisely known. What is known, however, is that the California Gold Rush in the 19th century prompted many Swiss to leave the Alps and move to the Pacifc coast. Between 1851 and 1880, around 77,000 Swiss immigrants were registered there. After the gold rush in California had subsided, other North American locations – for example, Canada and Alaska – become destinations of signifcant migration fows in the second half of the 19th century. Australia also piqued the interest of gold seekers, and in 1851, a new gold rush began. In addition to attracting gold miners and adventurers, it also brought in settlers. The Swiss who emigrated to Australia, however, were primarily lone individuals rather than groups. This was largely due to the immigration restrictions and controls enacted by the Australian authorities. Most Swiss emigrants to America faded into anonymity in the crowds of gold miners, and their names are lost to us today. Not so John August Sutter (1803–1880) of Rünenberg in Canton Basel-Landschaft, who is well remembered in the cultural history of the Eldorado. At frst, there was little to indicate that Sutter, who had completed an apprenticeship as a salesman in Basel, would in his later years become one of the most prominent landholders in the USA, adorned with titles – both self-proclaimed and bestowed by others – from the “Caesar of California” to “General.” Sutter – who in Switzerland still spelled his name with only one “t” – had led his cloth company and haberdashery in Burgdorf into fnancial ruin in 1834. He had also been accused of several instances of fraud. In desperation, he made a run for it, leaving his family in the care of public welfare. Via NovoArkhangelsk in Russia and then Hawaii, he eventually arrived in the Sacramento valley, at the time part of Mexico, where he colonised a piece of land as large as his home canton. Sutter named his colony “Nueva Helvetia,” and it later became known as New Helvetia. He became a Mexican citizen in 1840, and a US citizen in 1846. The city of Sacramento, the modern-day capital of the State of California, would later develop on the site of the fortifcation he constructed and christened “Sutter’s Fort.” 1848 was a fateful year. The Mexican-American War came to an end, and the territory of Upper California (the modern-day State of California) became part of the USA. In the same year, gold was discovered outside of Sutter’s Fort, near Sutter’s Mill. Sutter’s empire was not prepared for the inrush of gold seekers, and it promptly fell apart. Sutter lost all his worldly possessions and was not even able to assert his legal right to the land. His adventurous life has been chronicled in the most diverse

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literary forms, as well as in non-fction, right up to the present day. The pearl among these representations is the poetic novella Gold, by Blaine Cendrars (1887–1961), a writer and adventurer from Jura. 25

Zürichtal: The Catastrophic Trek to Crimea, 1804 Under the leadership of Tsar Peter the Great (1672–1725), Russia pursued a number of large-scale modernising projects. 26 Many Swiss moved east at this time. Some did so voluntarily, carving out careers as merchants, watchmakers, military offcers, scientists or teachers, while others were driven by need, and moved in hope of fnding a better life in Russia’s vast expanses. Recruiting programmes for settlements in eastern Europe led to largescale settlement migration in the 19th century. Projects initiated by the Russian Tsar Alexander I (1777–1825) appealed to emigrants from western Europe. Crimea, conquered by Russia in the war against the Ottoman Empire in 1783, was to be settled. Impoverished families in Switzerland were among the targets of recruitment efforts. This was the situation when the bankrupt former merchant banker Hans Caspar Escher (1755–1831), the grandfather of Alfred Escher, appeared on the scene. Escher had arrived in Russia at the end of the 1780s. When asked by guild circles in Zurich for his support with Swiss resettlement projects, he turned to the Russian government. In possession of fnancial pledges, Russian guarantees and a charter from His Majesty the Tsar, Escher made arrangements for the projects around the turn of the century. It soon became apparent that he was organisationally and technically overwhelmed by the task; he also committed major political and diplomatic errors. In the end, around 60 families comprising 240 people took part in the settlement programme. They were primarily impoverished weavers, wool spinners and farmers. The majority came from German-speaking Switzerland, the largest contingent from Canton Zurich. The undertaking deteriorated into a fasco. A lack of fnancial resources led to a number of acute emergencies, and on several occasions there were precarious food shortages. The project’s greatest folly was that the departure from Switzerland did not take place in the spring, as originally planned, but instead in the autumn of 1803. Towards the end of the year, the colonists had made it to the Hungarian part of the Habsburg empire, where they spent the winter, partly in wretched and unsanitary conditions. A severe outbreak of smallpox and other diseases claimed the lives of 40 people – fully a sixth of the emigrants – including many children. Reinforcements from Switzerland, and a few from Germany, flled the empty spots. The settlers were desperate; their savings had been wangled from them by Escher, and the trek became a nightmare. In June of 1804, the severely depleted group crossed the Russian border; in July, it fnally reached Crimea. There the settlers were

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assigned barren land, which gave rise to new complaints. The Russian authorities also accused Escher of making grave errors. He was replaced as the leader of the expedition and fred from the Russian army. At this point, Escher’s son, Fritz Escher (1779–1845), headed to Konstanz with a prospective settler to organise more settlement emigrations from there, since public recruitment in Zurich had by now been forbidden. The goal of the new project was to gather together around a thousand settlers. This project too lacked suffcient fnancial resources. Finally, it was disallowed by the Russian government. The settlers waiting to emigrate in Konstanz saw their hopes and dreams crushed. Many had no choice but to turn to begging. Eventually, the Thurgau government took pity on them, provided them assistance, and arranged for them to be brought back to their hometowns. In the meantime, the laments and cries for help of the Swiss settlers in Crimea had reached Zurich. Thanks in no small part to the intervention of the Zurich Municipal Physician Kasper Hitzfeld (1751–1817) with the Russian Lord Chamberlain Nikolai Nikolaevich Geologin (1756–1821), who was taking a cure in Bad Schinznach, the settlers were allocated new and better land. It was on this land in Crimea that the town of Zürichtal was founded. It only survived until the First World War. Between the Revolution and Stalinism, almost all traces of it were wiped out: Dispossessed in 1917, the Swiss settlers were declared enemies of the state in 1941 and deported to Kazakhstan in cattle cars. Many died on the way, and many more in an internment camp. A few managed to escape starvation thanks to rations provided by the Red Cross. In 1964, rehabilitated by the USSR along with Crimean Germans, the former residents of Zürichtal were allowed to return to Crimea. Today, in Zolotoe Pole, the former Zürichtal, a small plaque on the church is the only reminder of the town’s Swiss past.

Slavery in Brazil In 1818, the Brazilian government, then under Portuguese colonial administration, signed a settlement agreement with Canton Fribourg. As a result, around 2,000 Swiss Catholics – the settlers’ faith being a condition of the contract – emigrated to Rio de Janeiro; among them were 830 settlers from Fribourg, 500 from Bern, 160 from Valais and 140 each from Aargau and Lucerne. This early migration from Switzerland to South America is signifcant for the history of Swiss emigration during the 19th century. The size of the group and its inter-cantonal composition, as well as the ordeals the settlers faced both on the journey to Brazil and on arrival at their destination, lend it particular importance. The authorities of the affected cantons energetically supported the emigrants. In light of the economic depression and the agricultural crisis that were battering Switzerland at

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the time, the Brazilian project appeared to offer a glimmer of hope. That said, the authorities also wanted to proft from the opportunity to rid themselves of homeless and impoverished people. The emigrants had declared themselves ready to assume Portuguese citizenship and to swear fealty to the King of Portugal. In exchange, they were promised land and cattle. The colony Nova Friburgo was the upshot of this agreement. Because the colony was being subsidised by the Crown, the colonists were not permitted to own slaves. 27 The expedition was ill-fated from the start. Already on the journey over, malaria and typhus raged. Other diseases also broke out, fostered by unsanitary conditions. Around a ffth of the emigrants died on the high seas, or soon after arriving in Brazil. On arrival, the settlers’ expectations were disappointed. This was often the case with resettlement projects, but in Nova Friburgo it led to catastrophe. It wasn’t long before most of the Swiss emigrants left the settlement to forge their own paths in Brazil. In 1830, there were only 630 Swiss still in the colony. Many of them had already gone into debt to pay for the journey across the Atlantic; the income their work brought in was insuffcient to buy them out of their miserable situation. Their calls for help made it to their old homeland, but were not always heeded. At the same time as the large-scale emigration to Nova Friburgo, the Colonia Leopoldina was founded by a group of Germans and Swiss on the southern coast of the state of Bahia. This settlement, too, was a product of Portuguese development policy. Encouraged by the German natural explorer Georg Wilhelm Freyreiss (1789–1825), King Joao VI (1767–1826) gave vast expanses of land to European immigrants to develop. The name Leopoldina honoured the Austrian wife of the Portuguese crown prince. Within a short time, the colony had established one of the world’s largest coffee plantations. One sector of Leopoldina was called Helvécia and is today a village with an almost exclusively Black population. The development of Leopoldina would not have been possible without slave labour, and no other Swiss-Brazilian settlement is so closely associated with slavery. Records show that during the 1850s its 40 farms comprised 200 White European settlers and 2,000 Black slaves. The region’s economic signifcance at the time is evidenced by the fact that Switzerland set up a consular branch in the neighbouring city of Caravelas. Today, the Helvécia region is a nationally recognised settlement area for former slaves known as a Quilombo. Many of its inhabitants are of mixed race. As it was customary for free slaves to adopt the surnames of their former owners, there are many Brazilians of African descent there with Swiss last names. In the course of the 19th century, further Swiss settlement projects were carried out in Brazil. The Colônia Helvetia, also known as Nova Helvetia, in Sao Paolo, had its origins in a group that emigrated from

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Obwalden between 1854 and 1887. The expense of the crossing and the costs of food, working animals and seed were enough to place some of the emigrants under mountains of debt. They were additionally weighed down by the so-called Parceria-System (sharecropping), in which a landowner provided colonists with accommodation and equipment, which were also booked as debt. In order to pay off this debt, colonists were required to give landowners half of their harvests. The debt was often set so high that it was effectively impossible to pay off, while the half of their harvest retained by the settlers left them scarcely enough to live on. These are the typical characteristics of debt slavery, a practice that remains widespread to this day. The colonists found themselves in a hopeless situation. By the 1880s, only a few of the 54 emigrant families had managed to stick it out. When a fnancial crisis hit, brought about in part by the abolition of slavery, four of these families were able to set a new course: They pooled their labour and their fnancial resources and purchased a fazenda in the neighbouring spa town of Campinas. This investment then led to further acquisitions. The house of the Bannwart family, the Casa Helvetia, became a symbol of the new settlement. By the mid-20th century, the descendants of the founding families numbered around 2,000, most of whom continued to live in the Colonia Helvetia. As previously mentioned, the history of settlements in Brazil was inextricably linked to slavery. The agriculture of the time was largely based on the production of coffee, rubber and tobacco on plantations, and the labour was primarily done by slaves. In the 1830s, there were approximately 2.5 million slaves in Brazil. In 1850, under pressure from the British, the imperial government banned the import of slaves, and in 1871 legislation was passed (Lei do Ventre Livre) that emancipated the adult children of slaves, though underaged children were required to remain in servitude until they turned 21. This led to a signifcant decrease in slavery. In 1885, legislation was introduced that emancipated all slaves over the age of 65. Finally, the “Golden Law” of 1888 declared slavery unlawful in all its forms and liberated around half a million slaves. 28 In Switzerland, voices critical of slave labour had already begun to make themselves heard at the end of the 18th century. Neither these voices nor the postulates of the Basel Mission at the end of the 1820s inspired public debate on the issue, however. In 1857, Henry Dunant (1828–1910) published a critical pamphlet with the title “L’Esclavage chez les musulmans et aux Etats-Unis d’Amerique” (slavery among the Muslims and in the USA). In 1863, at the height of the American Civil War and on the occasion of the founding of the International Red Cross, a revised edition of the work appeared. In it, Dunant called for the abolition of slavery. At around the same time, two motions introduced by National Councillor Wilhelm Joos (1821–1900) of Schaffhausen forced the Federal

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Council to take a stand on the issue. Joos was a colourful fgure – a member of the Grand and Small City Councils, the Cantonal Parliament, and much else besides. From 1863 until 1900, he was a member of the Federal Parliament. He was a political loner, a strange fellow with a mind of his own, even in his personal dealings, for which reason many avoided him. Joos later became prominent for the motions he introduced regarding child and teenage labour. In his motion of 23 December 1863, he proclaimed it a matter of honour that Switzerland help to gradually abolish slavery. The motion’s key proposals were that those Swiss who bought or sold slaves should be punishable under Swiss law, while those who already owned slaves should be able to keep them. He also advocated that the descendants of Swiss-owned slaves be emancipated. This motion caused a regular brouhaha in the media of the time. It was primarily criticised on the grounds that it was irrelevant and littered with mistakes and imprecision, was poorly thought through, and did not answer the question of how sanctions against Swiss slaveholders were to be applied. Joos deserves credit – a former doctor with experience in Algeria, South America and Asia, his ideas were not based primarily on political showmanship, but rather on his personal consternation. It was his understanding of human rights and humanity that turned him against the slave trade and slave ownership. Precisely in light of this moral background, however, it is diffcult to understand why he did not more fundamentally address the problem of Swiss slave ownership by advocating the complete abolition of slavery. The issues that Joos brought to the Swiss national stage have not been depicted with complete accuracy, even to this day. 29 With his 1863 motion, he did not advocate for the immediate abolition of slavery, but for a more gradual approach. As previously mentioned, according to the motion, it was not ownership of slaves that would lead to criminal sanctions, but rather their purchase and sale. This motion was rejected by the National Council on 23 December 1863. On 13 July 1864, Joos introduced a new motion concerning slavery. This time the focus was on the so-called sharecropper colonists in Brazil, whose situation he wanted to improve. The motion would require the Swiss government to examine whether penal sanctions ought to be applied to Swiss citizens who purchased or sold slaves. Bizarrely, Joos again neglected to address the retention or ownership of slaves. While in the frst motion he had presented his demands as a matter of honour for the Swiss nation, in the second he characterised the sale and purchase of slaves as “unworthy of the Swiss name.”30 The National Council agreed to discuss his motion at a later date. This debate took place on 26 September 1864. The Council determined the motion to be of importance and asked the Federal Council for an advisory opinion. This was provided on 2 December 1864.

212 New Beginnings In order to form a judgment, the Federal Council had turned to three people whom they considered competent to offer an opinion on the matter. The frst was the naturalist and physician Johann Jakob von Tschudi (1818–1889), who had been on several research expeditions in South America, was a former special emissary, and had acted as a mediator between Swiss colonists and the Emperor. The second was Heinrich David (1823–1867), a former Swiss General Consul in Brazil. The third was Friedrich Huber, former Vice Consul of Switzerland in Rio de Janeiro. The points of view of these experts contributed to the advisory opinion provided to the National Council by the Federal Council. The Federal Council leaned especially heavily on von Tschudi’s report, from which it quoted extensively. Von Tschudi had quickly identifed the conceptual weaknesses in the motion: For how long were the proposed penal sanctions to be in effect? Should emigrants who bought or sold slaves lose their active Swiss citizenship permanently or temporarily? Should the rules for Swiss emigrants in Brazil also be valid for those in Cuba or in the southern states of the USA? Von Tschudi also felt that an action that was legal in the place it was conducted, and involved no criminal activity, ought not to lead to a lifelong punishment. This meant that the loss of full citizenship could only be valid for as long as the Swiss emigrant kept slaves. If this emigrant were then to return to Switzerland with the money earned through slave-holding, he ought to be able to regain his Swiss citizenship. Von Tschudi vehemently disputed that the lot of sharecropping colonists would be improved by the proposed ban. Further, he believed a ban on slavery issued by Swiss authorities to Swiss emigrants in Brazil would be an affront to the Brazilian government, which still stood frmly behind the practice of slavery. Von Tschudi accused Joos of being utterly ignorant of the situation on the ground in Brazil, as well as of the Brazilian national character. After an in-depth discussion and before it came to a vote, Joos withdrew the motion. In the meantime, a Conservative National Councillor from Lucerne, Philipp Anton von Segesser (1817–1888), demanded the National Council send the motion back to the Federal Council. According to von Segesser, the Federal Council ought to examine “whether statutory provisions should forbid the purchase of slaves by Swiss, or the facilitation of the slave trade.”31 This and other relevant motions were rejected. By contrast, the motion of Franz Bünzli (1811–1872) was approved by a majority. This proposed that the National Council express its full sympathy for the efforts to abolish slavery; however, since the suggested measures would have no effect on the lot of sharecroppers in Brazil, the National Council should move on with the day’s agenda. The National Council thus took no action – it did not examine the question of a prohibition, nor did it apply sanctions. Even in the mid-1860s, then, slave trading and slave ownership remained legal for Swiss abroad. 32

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The Federal Council’s report relied heavily on the economic argument that important parts of the Brazilian economy and society would not be able to function without slavery. It did suggest that slave-holding could not continue over the long term; however, since slavery was legal in Brazil at the time of writing, neither the Federal Council nor the National Council saw good reason to force Swiss emigrants to do without slaves by imposing punitive measures. The Federal Council did not bring the ethical and moral dimension of slavery into the discussion in 1864. 33 The history of emigration in the 19th century unfolded in the context of colonialism, the exploitative plundering of natural resources, the displacement of Indigenous populations, and slavery. The expansion of Swiss settlements in America and Australia, as well as the economic success both of small-scale businesses and of Swiss merchants and companies in the wholesale trade, were all inseparably linked to these phenomena. This fact carries a different weight in a 21st-century consciousness than it did in the contemporary environment of the settlers, traders and entrepreneurs involved. What was normal on sugar and cotton plantations in the southern states of the USA, in Brazil and in the Caribbean is ethically and morally condemned today, as are violent seizures of territory and the oppression of Indigenous cultures. In fact, from today’s perspective, exploitation, enslavement and inequality should be condemned, whatever name they go by. At the time, however, other standards applied. The Federal and National Councils’ handling of the question of slavery in the 1860s bears witness to this: Their guiding principles were neither ethical nor moral, but rather those of economic necessity. The debate in Bern shows that both Swiss private citizens and Swiss businesses were involved in slavery, despite the fact that Switzerland as a nation did not pursue colonial expansion. Von Tschudi’s expert report, which provided information on the concrete situation of Swiss in Brazil and discussed slave ownership there, today assumes a signifcance that goes well beyond the story of Joos’s motion. Von Tschudi divided Swiss emigrants in Brazil into four groups: colonists, craftsmen, merchants and landowners. He reported that the colonists did not usually own slaves, not only because they lacked the means to purchase and support them but also because slave-holding was forbidden them for as long as their colony was subsidised. The sharecropping colonists would not have been able to own slaves in any case; in the event that they acquired suffcient fnancial means to do so, they would have used these to free themselves from their own debt slavery, and not to buy slaves themselves – at a price of between 4,000 and 6,000 francs. Some of the master craftsmen did, however, own slaves, often purchasing young men and boys whom they taught their craft. This was considered the most advantageous and effective way to come by reliable assistants. The Swiss merchants who settled in Brazil also owned slaves, either at home

214 New Beginnings as servants or as packers in the storerooms of their businesses. To fnd household servants for hire was hardly possible, as domestic help in Brazil had for centuries consisted almost exclusively of slaves. Von Tschudi continued, “The hired Negros are, as a rule, spoiled individuals; therefore many families prefer to pay a high price for good slaves and thereby have reliable servants for years.”34 Finally came the landowners, or fazendeiros: Von Tschudi pointed out that work on Brazilian plantations was mostly done by slaves. Consequently, Swiss fazendeiros would of course own the slaves necessary for their agricultural operations. Slaves, in fact, were the primary assets of their estates, rather than, as in Europe, the land and soil; this was especially the case due to the vast territorial dimensions of the fazendas and the sparse population densities. Von Tschudi concluded that without slaves, a fazendeiro would be as incapable of cultivating his land as a factory owner would be able to continue his operations without workers.

The Long Way to New Orleans Economic crises in the 1840s led to mass emigrations from the Sarganserland (1843), the region around Upper Lake Constance and the Linth Region. Positive reports from settlers in the USA provided the destitute populations of these areas with further motivation to leave their homeland.35 Soon, emigration spread through the region like an epidemic, also taking in the Gasterland. Emigration occurred in groups and often involved entire families. It was facilitated by agencies; local authorities coordinated and supported emigrants, while town governments paid their travel expenses and advanced them money. Without this fnancial support, emigration would often not have been possible. The journey from Lake Zurich to the embarkation point in Le Havre in northern France was arduous and lasted two or more weeks, but was nothing compared to the diffculties migrants would experience on the Atlantic crossing and the onwards journey to New Orleans, which together lasted two to three months. Emigration from the region around Upper Lake Constance reached its peak in 1845/1846, a little under a decade before overall Swiss emigration did. In 1845, for example, 33 people left Schänis for the USA (by 1847 it was up to 137), 50 left Weesen and 72 left Bänken. Eighteen people left Rieden in 1845; in 1846 it was 63 – in a single year, then, more than 10 percent of the population (428 inhabitants in 1850) emigrated. There were also emigrations from the region in the years that followed, though they consisted of fewer large groups and a greater number of individuals and small family groups. Emigration from Upper Lake Constance and the Linth plain was locally driven and only partly aligned with larger patterns. This agricultural area on the border of Cantons St Gallen and Schwyz offered no opportunities for cottage industry or second jobs in the industrial

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sector. At times, it was among the Swiss regions with the highest rates of emigration. The male emigrants from the Gasterland were primarily craftsmen and day labourers. Industrial regions such as Rapperswil and Uznach experienced no comparable group emigrations.

Schaffhausen: Emigration Despite Industrialisation Due to its geographical location on the border with Germany and its socio-economic confguration, Schaffhausen was among the cantons with the highest rates of emigration in the 19th century. Until 1900, emigrants consistently outnumbered immigrants. This net migration loss was especially striking between 1836 and 1888. In these years, emigration  – predominantly by young people – diminished the population by around 14,000. In the 1850s and 1880s, Canton Schaffhausen had the highest rate of emigration in all of Switzerland. Its population declined markedly, despite the industrially motivated immigration to the cities of Schaffhausen and Neuhausen that was occurring at the same time. What tipped the scales were signifcant emigrations from rural regions, particularly from Klettgau. Here, some towns had a larger population in the second half of the 19th century than they did at the beginning of the 20th century: In 1850, Trasadingen had 624 inhabitants; in 1900, only 480. The population of Löhnungen decreased from 845 to 699 between 1850 and 1900. The case of Canton Schaffhausen makes clear that industrial development did not necessarily lead to a decrease in emigration. To be sure, the local labour market did proft from industrialisation, and this weakened the appeal of emigration. Still, emigration continued to increase up until the end of the 19th century, despite the availability of jobs created by industry. This phenomenon can be accounted for by three factors. First, population growth meant that the number of people in need of work was larger than the number of available jobs. Second, the newly proffered jobs were either not attractive enough to dissuade those thinking of emigrating or not suited to their needs. Third, Schaffhausen natives faced competition in the form of a rising number of foreign immigrants who were also applying for these industrial jobs. In 1850, 4 percent of the population of Canton Schaffhausen were foreign nationals; by 1900, the proportion had risen to 18 percent, and in 1910, it had reached 23 percent. Like other regions, Canton Schaffhausen also began to actively send people abroad. Impoverished townships were no longer able to support their destitute residents. This was one of the reasons for the mass emigrations that took place in the middle of the 19th century. Emigration agencies made tempting offers to facilitate the deportation of impoverished residents from townships in precarious fnancial situations: The local authorities would merely have to pay the travel costs of the overseas

216 New Beginnings emigrants. Six townships agreed and paid over 63,000 francs to send more than 350 destitute residents to the Dona Francisca colony in Brazil. These deportation programmes were implemented between 1850 and 1855. Other townships followed their lead, sending their residents off to other destinations.

Einsiedeln: Entrepreneurial and Cultural Expansion The district of Einsiedeln had the highest rate of emigration in Central Switzerland in the 19th century. We know of a total of 1,004 emigrants who departed between 1882 and 1900. Forty percent of the 3,663 emigrants who left Canton Schwyz between 1868 and 1900 were from Einsiedeln. It is striking that these emigrants almost exclusively went to the USA, the choice of only three-fourths of Swiss emigrants overall. 36 How can this be explained? The fact that emigration agencies – which infuenced emigration destinations – were disproportionately represented in Einsiedeln certainly played a role. However, this alone does not suffce. That local authorities – in this case the Corporation – fnancially supported those willing to emigrate was also a nationwide practice. In the end, cultural factors were decisive for the phenomenon that played out in Einsiedeln. Both Einsiedeln Abbey and the Benziger publishing house overtly infuenced emigrants’ choice of destination. The Abbey founded its frst affliated cloister in the USA in 1854 – Saint Meinrad in Spencer County, Indiana, which gave the town its name – and numerous other affliated cloisters branched out from there. The Benziger publishing house, meanwhile, began establishing business relationships with the USA in the 1830s, set up a branch in New York in 1853 and followed this with several others (Cincinnati in 1860, St Louis in 1875, Chicago in 1887 and San Francisco in 1929).37 The district of Einsiedeln was more advanced in its political and economic orientation than was the rest of the conservative Canton of Schwyz. In 1831, proponents of Einsiedeln’s Liberal movement, headed by the district’s leader, Josef Karl Benziger (1799–1873), and supported by like-minded people from the peripheral districts, demanded long-promised freedoms. When the situation began to escalate dangerously, an 1833 decree of the Federal Diet brought about an unexpected turn of events: the creation of the half-canton “Schwyz, Outer Regions” (Schwyz, Äusseres Land). Einsiedeln and Lache were to alternate as capital cities for the new half-canton. The separatist dream ended the same year, however, when military escalation led to a new cantonal constitution, which explicitly stated that “from this point forward, Canton Schwyz is an inseparable entity.”38 The Abbey and the Benziger publishing house served as optimal propaganda for the USA. The transatlantic relationships they had established helped Einsiedeln assume a special position among the districts of

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Central Switzerland. The fact that the parent company of Benziger sent not only its products but also its employees to the USA, often on multiyear contracts, was an obvious endorsement. So was the fact that Einsiedeln Abbey nurtured many and diverse contacts through its affliates in the USA, and entrusted priests and monks with missions in the USA for terms of various lengths, and sometimes even indefnitely. Additionally, both Einsiedeln institutions functioned as case managers for concerns of all kinds in America and served as contacts for prospective emigrants from the district. As long as the ties between Switzerland and the USA were intensely cultivated on the level of the institutional leaderships, these interactions were extremely fruitful. People wishing to emigrate from Einsiedeln to monasteries and nunneries in the USA set up by the Abbey were able to fnd work in them. There were also other factors that contributed to Einsiedeln’s high rate of emigration. Among them were the activities of the Eberle, Kälin & Co. publishing house. This relatively small competitor of Benziger was founded in 1858 by Ambros Eberle (1820–1883), then the Chief Clerk of Schwyz and later a moderate Conservative politician and hotel pioneer; Josef Anton Eberle (1808–1891), a member of the Cantonal Parliament of Canton Schwyz and later National Councillor; and Werner Kälin. It too was soon internationally active and established business relationships in the USA. The example of Einsiedeln makes clear that emigration from Switzerland was not always linked to economic need. In Einsiedeln – a pilgrimage site with fourishing businesses and a lively trade in devotional objects – there were better opportunities for earning a living than in neighbouring districts. This is confrmed by the fact that during this period of emigration, immigration to Einsiedeln was actually increasing, bolstered by an economy that was no longer able to satisfy all its employment needs with its local workforce. In fact, around a quarter of the 253 persons employed by the Benziger publishing house in Einsiedeln between 1888 and 1890 were immigrants.

Valais: Remaking Home on the Pampas In 1815, bilingual and politically conservative Valais became part of Switzerland. This southern canton was, like Ticino, a poor and underdeveloped peripheral region of the young Swiss nation, and industrial development set in late. It is therefore not surprising that emigration makes up a signifcant and extensive chapter of Valais’ 19th-century history. Several determinative events shook up the canton around the turn of the 19th century, weakening its political and economic structures. It all began with the dissolution of the so-called “Republic of the Seven Tithings” (Republik der Sieben Zenden) and the accompanying liberation of Lower Valais and the Lötschental Valley from subservient status.

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There followed incorporation into the Helvetic Republic in 1798/1799; the proclamation of the Republic of Valais in 1802; the occupation by Napoleonic troops over several years with annexation as the Département du Simplon by the Kingdom of France in 1810; and fnally – as mentioned above – the constitution of Valais as an independent canton of the Swiss Confederation in 1815. This transformative process led to a redistribution of wealth and power. As in the young canton of Ticino, the solidarity between traditional communities began to crumble. The population doubled between 1800 and 1900. This growth accentuated two underlying economic problems: First, the labour market was long unable to provide the necessary number of jobs, and second, insuffcient agricultural harvests made for food shortages. The industrialisation of Valais lagged behind that of other cantons, and the structure of its economy only allowed for limited mobility. The old ruling elites, whose infuence had shrunk in the course of the political upheavals of the early 19th century, played no major part in industrial development. Throughout the entire 19th century, Valais was the canton with the lowest number of people employed by the secondary sector. This meant that the agricultural employment defcit could not be made up for by industry. Farmers in Valais remained farmers or emigrated. The causes, scale and modes of emigration from Valais more or less followed the patterns of those from Switzerland as a whole. That said, emigration from Valais had specifc traits not shared by emigration from other locations. The USA attracted 90 percent of Swiss overseas emigrants between the 1840s and the First World War. This did not hold for Valais. Only around the mid-19th century did the frst emigrants from Valais leave for the USA. Up until the 1880s, only 11 percent settled there; around 75 percent emigrated instead to South America, principally to Argentina. This then changed. Between 1880 and the First World War, only 46 percent of emigrants from Valais settled in South America, while 53 percent headed to the USA.39 In total, around 20,000 people left Valais between 1850 and 1914, most of them in search of a better life. At 2.5 emigrants for every 1,000 inhabitants, Valais had close to the highest emigration rate in Switzerland between 1858 and 1863, second only to Ticino at 3.4. This is especially noteworthy considering that, between 1845 and 1849, Valais boasted the lowest rate of emigration after Canton Appenzell Interrhoden (Valais, 0.4; Appenzell Innerhoden, 0.2), and statistics from other periods show no comparable variations. The relatively low rates of emigration from Canton Valais up until the middle of the 19th century can be explained by the prevalence of mercenary service. Mercenaries were not usually documented in emigration records. The situation changed with the new Federal State’s prohibition of mercenary service and resulted in the frst marked wave of emigration

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to Argentina in 1855. Settlement emigration now became common for Valais, as it had never been before. It peaked between 1868 and 1875 and then again between 1882 and 1892. Mountain regions were more strongly affected than the valleys. Organised settlement emigration was seen as the only way to escape a poverty that was threatening to become endemic. In some regions, around a ffth of all residents emigrated within a single generation.40 The strong birth surplus of the predominantly farming population led to a particular problem in Valais, as its cantonal inheritance law gave all heirs equal status. As a result, landed property was continually divided. This had the unfortunate consequence that the amount of agricultural land available per person became smaller from generation to generation and was soon no longer suffcient to live off of. The situation was especially serious for mountain farmers. The management of steep slopes and high alps presented greater challenges than did cultivation in the valleys and yielded barely enough to live on. Water was always hard to come by, and drought was a recurring problem that sometimes took on dramatic dimensions. What further distinguished emigration from Valais from that of the rest of the country was the common choice of Algeria as a settlement destination. In the early 1850s, the French government was eager to increase its colonial presence in the country, the systematic occupation of which it had begun in 1830. Because there were too few settlers to be found in France, the French government began recruiting in Switzerland. This campaign found fertile ground in Valais – not least because of the positive reports from Valais natives who had settled in Algeria in the 1840s. As a result, dozens of families from Lower Valais migrated to northern Algeria, specifcally to the town Ahmar El Ain. For their part, the local authorities in Valais used this opportunity to deport undesirable elements. In the end, more than a thousand Valais settlers found their way to Northern Africa. In 1851, for example, 186 people migrated to Algeria from Saxon – no less than a ffth of the town’s population. Then, however, negative reports from North Africa began to reach Valais. Malaria was said to be raging. Some emigrants returned to their old homeland. In 1854, the French government promoted the area around Medjez Amar in Guelma Province as a destination for emigrants. The monks of Saint-Maurice ran an orphanage there, and Catholics from Valais were sought to provide a balance to the growing colony of Swiss Protestants. This idea, however, met with little response. As was the case with other cantons, some emigrations from Valais were recommended – or even imposed – by local authorities. Impoverished people in need of support and marginalised groups with allegedly dubious lifestyles were exhorted to leave the country. The fact that the public purse would foot the bill for the emigration – in full or in part – acted as a powerful incentive. Those affected included unmarried

220 New Beginnings mothers and petty criminals, but also sick and disabled persons. The assistance was provided by local authorities with the expectation that the deportees would no longer have to be supported by public welfare – despite the fact that townships were legally required to continue such support by a cantonal statute enacted in 1827. This system of deportation became overwhelmed when violent offenders were offered the opportunity to trade a jail cell in Valais for a bunk on a ship and a journey across the Atlantic. That the Valais Cantonal Parliament not only tolerated but actively encouraged the deportation of criminals is well documented. Pardons were handed out on the condition that the convicts were not to return to Valais until their sentences had lapsed. In making these deals, however, local governments were acting beyond the scope of their authority. The transformation of incarceration into deportation was nothing less than the revision of a judicial sentence. This power should have belonged to the court alone. Yet deportation from Valais and banishment to the USA was “the cheapest way to get rid of criminals.”41 The scale of emigration from Valais in the 19th century is surprising considering that the cantonal government, whether it was Conservative or Liberal, was – deportations aside – critical of emigration. In contrast to the widespread practice of other cantons, it pursued protectionist and thoroughly restrictive policies. In 1851, in response to complaints from French colonial authorities about penniless emigrants from Valais in Algeria, the

Figure 2.7 “The emigrant family of Antonio and Regina Volken-Williner in San Jerónimo Norte, Argentina,” ca 1907. Photograph. Collection of Dr Klaus Anderegg. The paper nametags served to identify the children born in Argentina for their relatives in Bellwald.

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Cantonal Parliament decided to stop issuing passports to people whose assets were valued at less than 1,000 francs. In 1856, comprehensive regulations on emigration were enacted. Not only did these stipulate the requirements to be fulflled by emigration agencies, but they also prohibited the emigration of people of limited intelligence. In 1857, the cantonal government even played with the idea of forbidding emigration entirely, and in subsequent years, restrictions and conditions that might be placed on emigration were repeatedly discussed by political committees. In 1873, a law was passed that, among other things, introduced a ban on emigration for “cripples” and persons over 60 years and stipulated that single women and minors would require special permission to emigrate. The history of emigration from Valais is linked more closely to Argentina than to any other country. In accordance with its new, liberal constitution of 1853, the Argentinian government endeavoured to bring European settlers into the country. While it had originally envisioned attracting settlers from northern Europe, it was mostly migrants from Italy and Spain who responded to the call. They were gradually followed by migrants from other countries, including Switzerland. And while emigrants from Valais settled in numerous South American countries during the 19th century, including Brazil, in no country did they leave their mark as profoundly as in Argentina. The geographic concentration of migrants from specifc areas is remarkable: French-speaking emigrants from Lower Valais went to the colonies of Esperanza and San José, while German-speaking emigrants from Upper Valais moved to the region around Santa Fé, where they founded the colony of San Jerónimo Norte.42 A few lone forerunners aside, emigration to Argentina began in 1855 and lasted until the outbreak of the First World War. The intensity of this migration was the reason that the Valais government enacted emigration regulations at the end of 1856, which, among other things, required emigration agencies to be certifed. Emigration from Upper Valais to San Jerónimo Norte has a special place in the history of Swiss settlements, as it provides a remarkable example of cultural transferral. That the settlers suffered great hardship in their early years, were pushed to their limits by the fnancial obligations they were under, and dealt with challenges of the most diverse kinds, was not a problem specifc to the people of Valais, but was rather a fate shared by most Swiss emigrants. What gives the people of Upper Valais a special place in history was the homogeneous and continuous way they honoured their cultural heritage while in Argentina.43 The size of the dominant group in a settlement was generally of central importance for the preservation of cultural identity. In 1857, there were 80 settlers in San Jerónimo Norte. By 1862, the number had risen to 107, almost all of whom came from Upper Valais. In 1870, the settlement consisted of 1,210 people from 236 families, 180 of which were originally from Upper Valais. These numbers made it possible for the

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settlers to maintain their traditional lifestyle on the Argentinian Pampas. To this end, they founded organisations promoting leisure activities – for example, shooting, singing and music associations based on Swiss models. They continued to speak in Valais dialect, married within their communities, propagated the ideal of the large family and adhered to the undiluted doctrines of their Catholic faith. Teaching in parish schools was conducted in German until 1900 – yet another example of this exclusive traditionalism. Even in the 1980s, many of the approximately 5,000 residents of San Jerónimo Norte still spoke the Swiss-German dialect native to Valais. And, with a few exceptions, almost all of the town’s residents were descendants of emigrants from Upper Valais. Since 2015, Brig-Glis has been the partnered township of San Jerónimo Norte, and to this day, the First of August – Swiss Independence Day – is celebrated according to the old tradition.44

Exiled: The Eschers of Zurich How quickly and unexpectedly even people of good name could be forced to emigrate is illustrated by the fate of a branch of the Escher vom Glas family of Canton Zurich.45 The ancestors of the pioneer and politician Alfred Escher were originally from Kaiserstuhl, but became naturalised citizens of Zurich in 1385. The family belonged, alongside a few others, to Zurich’s elite. The many politicians and dignitaries it produced are evidence of its status. The Eschers became wealthy and contributed substantially to the growth and fourishing of Zurich’s economy between the 16th and 18th centuries. But even this family, with its political and economic power and high social status in the old Zurich patriciate, ran into trouble in the middle of the 18th century. A series of tragic events took place over the following generations, leading to the family’s banishment from Old Zurich. The scandalous stories begin with Alfred Escher’s great-grandfather, Hans Casper Escher-Werdmüller (1731–1781). A head clerk in the Ebmatigen chancery, he committed adultery with Barbara Wanger of Egg. Faced with a child born out of wedlock, he fed to Schaffhausen. His wife, Anna Sabina Escher (1737–1765), applied for a divorce and full custody of her son, Hans Caspar (1755–1831), both of which she was granted by a family court. The runaway father, now disinherited and with no access to his family’s money, returned to Zurich in 1765 and expressed remorse for his actions to the court. This did not bring about the reversal of fortunes he had hoped for; instead, he was imprisoned in the Wellenberg jail. Years later, in Germany, Escher married Anna Barbara Reimers of Alsace, who had previously worked as his maid. The two moved to Berlin, and the story of the family’s emigration had begun. In Berlin, Escher continued to fght for his fnancial inheritance, and even the Prussian King Frederick II (1712–1786) intervened on behalf

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of his new subject. Eventually, the City Council of Zurich allowed the old head clerk, who had since paid off his debts, to resettle in his home canton. He did not regain the honour and rights of a citizen, however, and died in Erlangen in 1871. Escher’s son and namesake, Hans Caspar Escher (1755–1831), orphaned at the age of ten on the early death of his mother and his father’s disenfranchisement as a citizen and heir, grew up in the care of relatives. At the age of 20, he married Anna Keller vom Steinbock (1756–1836), the heiress to a considerable fortune. Despite his young age, Escher began a career as a merchant banker. He ran the business with relatives and expanded its production and trade lines. In 1786, he became a partner in Usteri, Ott, Escher & Co., which was founded with considerable capital from numerous Zurich families and was intended to become a bank of high status and good reputation. In 1803, however, the institution was liquidated. This was hardly surprising, given its business activities: Without critically analysing the political circumstances, the bank had become dependent on business relationships with France and went down in the chaos of the Revolution. By this time, however, Hans Caspar Escher had already fallen from grace. In the 1780s, he had become involved in speculative trading to a degree never before seen in Zurich. His bankruptcy of 1788 was the greatest Zurich had ever known, and the scale of its repercussions was enormous. The sum of his debts came to 800,000 guilders, and the list of his creditors was 236 names long. Escher lost his entire personal fortune, though he still retained his wife’s assets. The bankruptcy caused an earthquake throughout Zurich; for some businesses and families, the results were catastrophic. The damage was not restricted to members of the rich upper classes, state funds and government departments, but also impacted the city’s poorer population: All of Zurich was affected. With this, the seed was planted for the conficts that would plague the next two generations of Eschers, including Heinrich Escher (1776–1853) and his son Alfred Escher (1819–1882). Financially ruined and excluded by Zurich civil society, the 34-yearold Hans Casper Escher emigrated. By 1789, he had made his way to Russia. There he joined the army and served amongst the Tsar’s dragoons. In doing so, he was following an established tradition, emulating other Swiss who had served as generals in Russia. His forerunners included men such as François Le Fort (1656–1699) of Geneva, a general and confdant of Tsar Peter the Great (1672–1725) and one of the frst Swiss to make a military career in the kingdom of the Tsars; and later, Antoine-Henri Jomini (1779–1869) of Payerne, lieutenant-general and military advisor of Tsar Alexander I and general-in-chief of the Russian Army under Nicholas I. Hans Caspar Escher did not rise to the topmost ranks as they had, though he was not always very precise in stating his military status: Though considered a major by the Russians,

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he described himself as a colonel or lieutenant-colonel in the cavalry. In any case, he took part in the military campaigns against Napoleon as an offcer. He also assumed a new identity, calling himself Gaspard d’Escher or Gaspard von Escher. Yet his military career in Russia did not revive the prospects he had wasted away in speculative projects and bankruptcy. However, at the beginning of the 19th century, a promising opportunity did arise: He took charge of organising a Russian settlement project. Hans Caspar Escher had left his wife Anna Escher-Keller and their nine children behind in Zurich. The eldest of these was Heinrich Escher (1776–1853). At 12 years, Heinrich had watched his father’s world collapse into bankruptcy. His mother managed to save her own inheritance from her husband’s fnancial ruin, but the money remained in the hands of a trustee, and Anna Escher did not have direct access to it. In these circumstances, in line with the customs of the time, it was suggested that young Heinrich should begin his working life as soon as possible. Without his father’s business to turn to, he began looking for employment elsewhere. He found a position working for Hans Konrad Hottinger (1764–1841), who ran a trading house and bank in Paris and whose family was friends with the Eschers. At only 13, Heinrich went to Geneva to learn French. He arrived in Paris two years later, amidst the turmoil of the French Revolution, and lived in Hottinger’s family home. There he acquired his business know-how. Though he was initially attracted by the ideals of the Revolution, the atrocities and horrors he was forced to witness began to repulse him. As a result, he distanced himself from his former revolutionary positions. Sent to London, he learned English and gained the confdence of the English business world. Hottinger, a royalist, no longer felt safe in France and began to look around for a new work environment. He had already founded the company Hottinger & Cie. in Zurich in 1790; he now transferred some of his business across the Atlantic and was soon trading between Zurich and the USA. Heinrich Escher followed him to America, sailing in 1794. He would remain on and off in the USA until 1814. Until 1797, he mostly worked for a Dutch company that was establishing a settlement in Georgia. Then he worked for the Harrison & Sterrett trading house. In 1798, he again joined Hottinger, initially as its American agent at a land development site in Pennsylvania, where he sold plots of land to settlers. In 1801, he became a shareholder in the Hottinger business. The company’s main activities took place in New York and Philadelphia, but on his many journeys, Escher travelled throughout the USA and also visited the Caribbean islands. Escher was responsible for trade between America and Europe in coffee, tea, rice, tobacco, cotton, high-grade timber and all kinds of other colonial wares. From 1806 onwards, he again worked

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for Hottinger in Paris for four years, and between 1810 and 1812 was stationed in Zurich and elsewhere in Switzerland. He then returned to the USA. In 1814, after more than 20 years of working mostly abroad, he returned to Switzerland for good. His economic situation had changed dramatically. He had emigrated from Zurich in 1789 without a penny to his name, and he returned as a millionaire. In 1815, Escher married Lydia Zollikofer (1797–1868). At only 38, he was already a man of independent means. And now this wealthy man, who could boast well-established relationships with high fnanciers in France and England and had had friendly relations with the founding fathers of the USA – including George Washington (1732–1799) and Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826) – began to centre his life in tranquil Zurich around insects. Escher’s passion for butterfies had been awakened in childhood. While in America, he had not had time to dedicate himself intensively to his hobby. Now, however, as an independently wealthy man, he was fnally able to live out his love for entomology. In the 1840s, Escher’s assets were assessed by the Zurich tax offce at 800,000 francs. Not much would change in this regard; at the time of his death in 1853, he left behind an estate of around a million francs. Having been sent out into the wide world and made to stand on his own two feet at a young age, Heinrich Escher had always supported his family in Zurich with regular remittances from abroad. Standing in for his socially exiled and absent father, he became, as the eldest child, an important contact and point of reference for his younger siblings. He made it possible for his brother Georg (1780–1859) to found a company in Lyon and establish himself as a businessman. Three of his other brothers, Friedrich Ludwig, also known as Fritz (1779–1845), Ferdinand (1787–1855) and Carl (1785–1807) joined their father in Russia in 1802. While Ferdinand and Carl enlisted in a Hussar regiment and seemed to be provided for, Fritz worrisomely began to follow in the footsteps of his father. Initially, they worked on an emigration project; this, as described above, ended disastrously. Later, Fritz ran his own trading company. In doing so, he strayed from the straight and narrow. Heinrich Escher received numerous worrying letters from Russia and was convinced to send Fritz – as well as his other brothers and his father – larger and larger sums of money to help them out of various scrapes. After Fritz’s commercial business ran into trouble again following Napoleon’s campaign in Russia, Heinrich complained in 1812: I cannot say what disquiet, concern and anxiety my brothers cause me. At the moment it is their businesses that cause me to worry. Their health, too, always tortures me with gruesome fears. Russia has only ever brought me distress.46

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Heinrich Escher’s transfers of money could not prevent the catastrophe that befell Fritz. Accused of illegal trading, he was arrested in Russia and sentenced to four years’ exile. Heinrich, then in Zurich, again stepped in to help his brother. After Fritz had returned to Switzerland, Heinrich arranged for him to relocate to Cuba. There, Fritz ran the Buen Retiro coffee plantation, and Ferdinand soon joined him. The fnancial resources for the project were provided by Heinrich. But the end of the Eschers’ diffculties was still not in sight. In a letter to the Swiss theologian Johannes von Muralt (1780–1850), Heinrich Escher complained in 1823 of the endless exasperation that his family caused him, which he said would drive him to an early grave. For eight years, he had not had a happy or carefree moment. His father and brother were the source of this worry. And in fact, Heinrich Escher had provided considerable support for his family. In 1823, he noted “over 250,000 Francs sent.” All of it was lost – a third of his “hard-earned wealth.”47 And still, Heinrich Escher had not turned the ship around; even in the Caribbean, Fritz drew on his brother’s fnances. Fritz Escher died in Cuba shortly before Christmas 1845. Before he died, he and his Cuban plantation had become the subject of much dispute in Switzerland, in a controversy that would continue to occupy the Escher family in Zurich for years after his death. Originally, the problem related to claims asserted by Kaspar Kubli (1805–1879), a salesman from Glarus, and had to do with alleged business transactions in Russia decades earlier.48 In the early 1840s, Kubli brought the matter to the attention of the Swiss press. Conservative circles in Zurich became involved and exploited the confict for political purposes. The Head Clerk of the city, Heinrich Gysi (1803–1878), was the brains behind the campaign. Because Fritz Escher, in far-off Cuba, offered only a limited target, it was primarily Heinrich Escher at whom he took aim. That this was clearly a cunning mise-en-scene is clear from that fact that he attempted to drag Alfred Escher into the affair at the exact moment when he was entering politics as a 25-year-old Radical-Liberal, in opposition to the Conservatives. While Kubli’s arguments remained on the level of business, describing Fritz Escher as a swindler of the most abominable character, Gysi took a different approach. He attacked Heinrich Escher and denounced him – in media reports and through the rumour mill – as “a former owner of Cuban slaves” who furthermore had “earned his great wealth in the slave trade.” Confronted with such grave accusations, Heinrich Escher and his son Alfred brought suit in the Zurich District Court. The trial dragged on and eventually reached the High Court. In 1846, Heinrich Escher was explicitly cleared of the accusations of slave trade and ownership.49 In this context, the question arises: What happened to Fritz Escher’s Cuban property after his death in 1845? If Heinrich Escher had renounced

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his inheritance, he would have lost his legal standing to pursue libel charges against Kubli and Gysi. Accepting the inheritance would also have paid off some of the debt that his brother Fritz owed him. In the end, Heinrich appointed two authorised representatives to assess the situation in Cuba. In 1847, on the basis of their fndings, he declared his readiness to accept the inheritance. The relevant formalities took place in the summer of 1848, and Heinrich Escher became the owner of Buen Retiro. He immediately appointed a trustee who was tasked with fnding new owners for the coffee plantation, which he did. The available sources do not name the price of the sale.50 It is even unclear whether a fnancial transfer was ever made from Cuba to Zurich, since in 1848 Heinrich Escher paid taxes on assets of 800,000 francs, “as he always had before.”51 Despite his independent wealth, Heinrich Escher did not entirely cease doing business when he returned to Zurich. With the construction and renovation of the “Neuberg” house at the Hirschengraben (1818) and the construction of the “Belvoir” estate (1826–1831) in the township of Enge, he assumed a pioneering role. He also bought land on the Zeltweg, where he intended to build a new neighbourhood to beautify the city. His ideas and visions here, however, were rejected by the planning authorities. Between 1836 and 1840, he did build six three-story one-family row houses, designed by the architect Leonhard Zeugheer (1812–1866). With these buildings, still known today as the “Escher houses,” he broke new ground in the area of urban development. With these properties, which made Escher’s wealth visible, past wrongs began to rear their head in Zurich. The memory of the material losses that Hans Caspar Escher had inficted on the people of Zurich was now compounded by new grounds for jealousy and resentment. Was it not enough that they had been made to suffer the bitter losses in the frst place and that Heinrich Escher was violating a code of honour by not paying reparations for the fnancial fasco unleashed by his father? Now this man, back from America, was ostentatiously displaying his wealth for the whole world to see! The magnifcent Belvoir manor, in particular, was considered an affront in Zwinglian Zurich. Discontent, jealousy and rancour about this Escher and his estate spread throughout Conservative Zurich society. And worst of all, Heinrich Escher’s son was accruing fame, power and glory. The backdrop had of course changed since the time of Alfred Escher’s grandfather, and it was no longer necessary that Alfred win over the patricians of Old Zurich to his emerging plans. Instead, he was on the side of the modernists on the economic stage created by the new and liberal Federal State. This was intolerable to the Conservatives of Zurich – an abomination. And yet, they could not dig their claws into the new ruler of Zurich and were reduced to vile slander and scheming ploys. 55

Figure 2.8 Rudolf Weymann (1810–1878), Belvoir-Gut Zürich (The Belvoir estate in Zurich), ca 1840. Watercolour. Zurich, Zentralbibliothek Zürich. In 1825, Heinrich Escher (1776–1858) purchased an estate outside of Zurich, located at today’s Seestrasse 125 in Enge. Besides the land, the estate was comprised of a house, a grotto and a barn. Escher levelled and redesigned the grounds in the following years, fundamentally restructured the building and called the estate Belvoir. In 1842, he had numerous additional buildings constructed: two stables, two conservatories, a henhouse and a woodshed. Belvoir was inherited by Alfred Escher (1819–1882), who bequeathed it to his daughter, Lydia Welti-Escher (1858–1891). In 1891, Lydia Welti-Escher bequeathed the assets that remained to her after her divorce to Switzerland under the name of the Gottfried Keller foundation.52 Around 6,500 works of art have since been purchased from the foundation’s assets. These form a one-of-a-kind “museum of the imagination” (Musée imaginaire), since they are not to be found in a single location, but instead substantially enrich the collections of numerous Swiss museums. 53 But the foundation also made negative headlines because of mismanagement by the Federal Council. The Belvoir estate was sold to the city of Zurich at a giveaway price and contrary to the intentions of its benefactress. In a word: The Escher fortune was sacrifced so that the city of Zurich could realise construction projects.54 In recent years, Belvoir has made headlines again, but this time for other reasons. In connection with accusations that Heinrich Escher was a slave owner, it has been suggested, among other things, that an explanation of historical context ought to be placed on the Belvoir grounds, for example on an information board. It is of course every proprietor’s right to put up information and notices on their own property at their own discretion. It has, however, been so indisputably proven that Heinrich Escher bought and developed all his land and properties – from Neuburg on the Hirschengraben to the Belvoir to the houses on the Zeltweg – long before coming into and building up his dubious Cuban inheritance. Seen soberly, Alfred Escher also does not seem the appropriate person at whose feet to lay the blame for the slave economy and for fows of transatlantic capital. The historically important question of how considerably the slave trade and slave labour furthered Europe’s industrialisation is not directly relevant to him.

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Ulrico Hoepli of Tuttwil: A Citizen of Switzerland and Italy Many Swiss emigrants were forgotten in their homeland; the successes of others were regarded suspiciously. But there were also cases in which a different scenario played out: Ulrico Hoepli (1847–1935), born in Tuttwil (now part of the township of Wängi) as Johann Ulrich Höpli, became a lifelong star in his Thurgau home town, despite having emigrated.56 The people of Thurgau followed with great interest the professional development of the one-time bookstore apprentice who went on to establish a fourishing book retailing business and one of Europe’s largest publishing houses. Publication by Casa Editrice Libreria Ulrico Hoepli became a mark of high prestige: “L’onore della sigla Hoepliana” (the honour of the Hoepli seal). And it was not only people from Tuttwil who felt bound to Hoepli. As he became increasingly successful and famous, the regional government of Thurgau and soon the whole canton followed suit; then Eastern Switzerland; and fnally the Federal Council and the entire country – since they all profted from Hoepli’s generous philanthropy, for which he became renowned. Whilst in Milan, Hoepli was ready to help when funds were insuffcient for the construction of a swimming area on Lake Bichel, or when the church in Wängi needed central heating. The village teacher, singers, and members of the shooting club in Tuttwil wrote to him, as did the University, the Polytechnic, the city library and the art museum of Zurich, and even the psychiatric clinic in Münsterlingen – all to request fnancial support. He even intended to help out Federal Councillors who had retired without suffcient savings. Fortunately, he later distanced himself from this proposition. Instead, in 1911, he established a foundation in his name, the Ulrico Hoepli-Stiftung, which continues to support charitable and cultural projects today. At his passing in 1935, Ulrico Hoepli was described as one of the most important and authentic Swiss of his day, and already in 1938, he was featured in a book that profled great Swiss citizens. He was similarly honoured in Italy. There he was considered an “Italiano di cuore” (Italian at heart), who had done for Italy what no Italian had before him. But back to the beginnings. Hoepli completed his apprenticeship as a book salesman in Zurich and subsequently set off on the mandatory journeyman years. His travels led him to Mainz, Trieste and Breslau. Hoepli is a typical example of those Swiss pioneers who, already in their younger years, sought out unusual places and special roles. Extraordinary coincidences also played a part in this period of Hoepli’s biography. During his journeyman years in Trieste, Hoepli met Ismail, the Viceroy of Egypt, who invited him to reorganise the Khedival library in Cairo. At only 21, he accepted the honour and went to Cairo for three

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months – not least because of the signifcant payment he received, which corresponded to three years’ salary for a sales assistant in a bookshop. In 1870, Hoepli set off on a different course, one which surprised everyone who knew him. He quit his job in Zurich at the last minute, and on 7 December took the postal stagecoach over the Splügen Pass to Milan. Here, aware that its owner would soon be retiring, he began working at the Laengner’sche bookshop – without any knowledge of Italian, without references or connections, and against the advice of his family and friends. He purchased the ailing business on 1 January 1871. This was Hoepli’s chance! He pulled the retail bookshop out of its fnancial morass and strategically reorganised the company. Already in his frst year, he founded a publishing business and established a secondhand book department. His rise was meteoric, as the history of his publishing house succinctly illustrates: In 1875, in its ffth year, Hoepli edited 24 volumes; in the 1880s, the house published an average of 70 works per year; by the beginning of the First World War, that number had risen to 132. In 1897, the business published 157 titles, a volume of work never again attained. By the time of his death, Hoepli had published a total of 7,000 works. This placed his business at the pinnacle of international publishing. But Hoepli’s success story cannot be done justice with numbers alone. Hoepli began working in Milan in the same year (1870) that troops of the young Kingdom of Italy, which had emerged from the Kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia in 1861, marched into the Holy City, politically disempowered the Pope and named Rome the capital of Italy. The common sentiment was “L’Italia è fatta: ora bisogna fare gli Italiani” (Italy has been made: now it is time to make Italians). The young Swiss man understood. He identifed himself with the tasks and aims of the new Italy and recognised with a visionary eye what the young nation needed: a publishing house that would place industry, business, research and culture at the centre of its agenda. Hoepli began his work. He thought in terms of series and ranges, and his publishing house became a mirror of Italian development. The new demand for thorough but accessible knowledge was met by Hoepli’s “Manuali” – a now legendary series of feld-specifc texts. In 1875, the frst title appeared; by 1935, the year of Hoepli’s death, there were around 2,000 Manuali – a veritable encyclopaedia. There is likely no feld of study that is not covered in these booklets. With the Manuali, Hoepli set the standard for all things – even for Italian tailors, who henceforth cut the outer pockets of men’s jackets to measure 11 by 16 centimetres, so that the Manuali could ft inside them. In addition to developing the publishing house, Hoepli transformed his book shop in the Galleria De Cristoforis into a hub of social life. This gallery, later one of the frst shopping arcades in Milan to sport a glass roof, became a symbol of urban modernity. Hoepli stood at the

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forefront of an internationally oriented, diverse company, which received orders daily from all over the world. From the very beginning, he sold old books – initially in modest quantities. This changed after the First World War. Thanks to new marketing, his dusty antique book shop became one of the frst addresses in the international antique and bibliophile book world. Work was the central element of Hoepli’s life, which he never tired of pointing out. He was devoted to Italy and Italian culture and was characterised by personal modesty, an unbending will and a Protestant work ethic: “I will go to work as long as Providence allows, and thank God for it.” This guiding sentiment was also recorded in a family register, in which Hoepli made the following entry in May 1931: “Solo la lotta per la vita sveglia tutte le forze, che nobilitano e conservano l’uomo fne all tarda età.” (Only the struggle for survival wakes up all of the forces that ennoble and maintain a man into his old age.)57 Hoepli’s passionate sacrifce for his work, however, also cast a shadow on his personal life. For Elisa Hoepli-Häberlin (1849–1927), her husband’s untiring engagement with his work became a heavy burden. She suffered, lived a reclusive life and spent considerable time in psychiatric clinics. Regularly, usually once a year, Hoepli travelled back to Switzerland. The days and hours that he spent in Thurgau were a big event in the town. All the stops were pulled out when the man from Milan arrived. Hoepli was considered a hero by his people, and they were proud of him. In his autobiographical notes, written in 1932, he set down two defning principles. The frst, “What comes from science must return to science,” was made with reference to the 1928 publication of a facsimile edition of the Virgilio del Petrarca. This great work was viewed by the then 81-year-old Hoepli as a ftting culmination to his career as a publisher, and he personally covered its enormous fnancial costs. With it, he hoped to contribute to the celebration in 1930 of 2,000 years of Vergil. Hoepli became a patron of the arts in Italy, primarily in Milan, where he fnanced the planetarium in 1930, on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the founding of his business. Hoepli, the emigrant from Thurgau, retained his Swiss citizenship his whole life long. He accepted Italian citizenship, which he had not applied for, only after he was assured that he could keep his Swiss passport as well. The second principle in Hoepli’s autobiographical notes was “I love Italy as I love Switzerland.”58

Heinrich and Christian Vögeli: The Modernisers of Serbia The brothers Heinrich and Christian Vögeli were born into a wellto-do family. Their father was the founder of a bank. Heinrich Vögeli

232 New Beginnings (1866–1941) completed his commercial training in a textile trading company in St Gallen. After this, under the name Henri, he worked for trading houses in London and Manchester. Part of his job included buying cloth in the Near East and selling it on to the Ottoman Empire. While still in England, Vögeli set up his own business. Shortly afterwards he moved to Istanbul and eventually established himself in Smyrna (modern-day Izmir, Turkey) – this all at only 20 years of age! There he married Martha Raschle (1870–1954), the niece of Johann Rudolf Raschle (1798–1867), a prominent textile manufacturer from Wattwil in Eastern Switzerland. Johann Raschle moved in the same circles as Alfred Escher, was a co-founder of the Schweizerische Kreditanstalt (today’s Credit Suisse) and a member of its frst board of governors. 59 From his base in Smyrna, Vögeli operated an import and export business for around 15 years. Smyrna was one of the most important trading centres in the world, and Vögeli was involved in the most diverse sectors. He traded in leather and internal combustion engines, cotton waste, gold ore and tissue, and much else besides. He could not yet know that his life’s path would lead him to Belgrade, where he would source materials for Serbian national railway locomotives and rolling stock; and even less that due to his involvement in the economic and sociopolitical development of the Kingdom of Serbia, he would go down in history as the “King of the Balkans.” Serbia, which had been subject to Ottoman rule for centuries and which had achieved partial autonomy in 1830, gained independence as a principality in 1878. The country was economically backwards; precisely because of this, it offered many possibilities to pioneers and entrepreneurs. Vögeli seized the opportunity, and in Serbia he felt in his element. He staked out numerous areas of commerce and developed businesses in diverse sectors. He thereby joined the long line of Swiss specialists who established careers in Serbia and other southern Slavic regions in the last quarter of the 19th century and the years leading up to the First World War.60 Vögeli also profted from the traditionally close relationship between Switzerland and the Serbian Obrenovic and Karadordevíc dynasties. It was not unusual for Serbian rulers to seek refuge in Switzerland after attempted coups. King Peter I of Serbia (1844–1921), a Karadordevíc, called for the modernisation of his country from his exile in Geneva.61 Switzerland recognised the newly established Kingdom of Serbia immediately in 1878, and the two countries agreed to a trade deal with a most-favoured-nation clause in 1880. In 1895, Heinrich Vögeli restructured his businesses. From then on, he ran the trading company in partnership with his younger brother Christian (1872–1922). Christian, also an emigrant, had established a trading company in Thessaloniki with a business partner from Glarus before moving to Belgrade, where Heinrich had joined him. In 1912/1913, the Balkan wars broke out, offering a shocking preview of

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the carnage that would soon play out in Europe – and half the world – after 1914. The Vögeli brothers became involved in providing humanitarian aid. Christian, already the Swiss Consul General for Serbia, founded an international agency at the behest of the Red Cross and ran it with Heinrich out of their own offces. The agency distributed aid packages and donations to citizens of all the warring countries; systematically registered wounded, sick and captured soldiers; and played an important intermediary role between captured soldiers and their relatives by passing on letters, food and money. Through their humanitarian work, the Vögeli Brothers became known throughout the Balkans, and their offce building became a safe haven for countless people seeking hope and refuge. When the First World War broke out and Serbia was brought to its knees in the autumn of 1915 by troops of the Central Powers and the Kingdom of Bulgaria, Henri Vögeli fed back to Switzerland. Only after the war had ended did he return to Belgrade. His brother Christian also left Serbia, though he continued to return in secret throughout the war to deliver aid packages from Switzerland to the suffering population. In 1918, when the Austro-Hungarian Empire broke up and the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes emerged from the wreckage, a veritable Eldorado opened up for the brothers. They threw themselves head-on into tackling the plethora of diffcult challenges facing the new nation. They prioritised railway construction and the establishment of banks after the Swiss model. To meet competition from the Banque FrancoSerbe, the limited partnership Banque Serbo-Suisse was restructured into a public limited company, with Henri as its Operating Director and Christian as President of the Board. Alongside the steam engines that they imported from Germany, the Vögelis imported rolling stock for the Serbian railway primarily from the Schlieren Railcar Works near Zurich.62 In addition to their involvement in the building of infrastructure, the Vögelis also introduced systematic procedures for business practices. Further, they imported equipment and machinery for use in Serbian agriculture. Printed cotton headscarves from Glarus that they had redesigned with Serbian patterns became a bestseller with the still predominantly agricultural population. It was said that every female farmer in Serbia had two Glarus headscarves, one for working days and one for Sundays.63 Christian Vögeli died in 1922. Henri outlived him by almost 20 years. Their undeniable Serbophilia did not prevent both from retaining their Swiss identity. This was nicely expressed in Heinrich Vögeli’s will: frst by his donation of 10,000 francs to his hometown of Glarus, to be spent on Christmas presents for impoverished children, and second by his parting words: “It was nice to be in foreign countries, but they never became my home.”64

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Immigrant’s Son and President: Jacobo Arbenz of Andelfngen Jakob Arbenz (1883–1934) of Andelfngen, Canton Zurich, born in Affeltrangen in Canton Thurgau, emigrated from the Zurich lowlands to Quetzenango, Guatemala.65 After marrying the Mestiza Octavia Guzmán (1885–1936), he ran a successful pharmacy until his deteriorating health led to fnancial diffculties. On 14 September 1913, his son, Jacobo Arbenz (1913–1971), was born. Considered highly gifted, he was offered a full scholarship to attend the national military academy. He began to pursue a career as an offcer, and in 1939 he married Maria Christina Vilanova (1915–2009), the daughter of a wealthy coffee plantation owner from El Salvador. Driven by his own experience of the country’s economic and political struggle and supported by his politically engaged wife, Arbenz became active in politics: He spoke out against the semi-feudal arrangements that deprived impoverished Indigenous people – the majority of the population – of their rights; against the oligarchy of big landowners; and against the US-American United Fruit Company, which treated Guatemala like a colony and was commonly referred to as “El Pulpo.” When the dictator Jorge Ubico (1831–1944) was toppled, along with the political system he represented, Arbenz was among the leading proponents of reform. He was a member of the transitional junta, which handed power over to the former philosophy professor Juan Jose Arévalo (1905–1990) after elections. Arbenz served as Minister of Defence from 1945 until 1950. In 1951, he was elected to succeed Aravelo as the nation’s president. The land reforms he introduced triggered widespread resistance from big landowners and provoked the United Fruit Company. Arbenz was vilifed as a communist dictator and the CIA became involved, providing military training to Arbenz’s opponents. When the rebels invaded in June 1954, Arbenz saw that he was fghting a losing battle. He resigned and fed to the Mexican embassy. This fight was to be the beginning of an odyssey. From Mexico, Arbenz sought refuge in Switzerland, his father’s homeland. Furnished with a temporary visa, he made his way to Zermatt. The presence of the ex-president in the Swiss Alps made waves in both the Swiss and international media. Der Spiegel reported that “the family from the subtropical banana republic” was trudging through metre-high snows.66 At this point, the authorities in Andelfngen found themselves mixed up in the whirlpool of events. Everyone wanted to know more about the alleged Andelfngen citizenship of the former president, and about his intended visit to his father’s hometown. Half-truths, rumours and targeted leaks became increasingly widespread. It was said that the town government in Andelfngen had rolled out the red carpet for the fallen

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Arbenz and had told this second-generation emigrant he could resettle there anytime he liked. Forceful letters of protest from concerned and angry Swiss from near and far – both anonymous and signed – arrived at the Andelfngen town hall and even the Federal Palace in Bern. The reactions of shock, dismay and horror that Arbenz met with in Switzerland were due to alleged atrocities of which his regime in Guatemala stood accused. These included human rights violations, pillaging and communist barbarism, as well as even more brutal crimes – such as the mass executions that had allegedly come to light after the fall of the dictator. The discovery of mutilated corpses on the banks of the Villalobos river led to accusations of politically motivated murder against Arbenz. The defence of the former president was taken up with equal vigour: “Not even a Negro or an Indian chief would so unfairly repudiate a fellow citizen.” The writer of these words encouraged the town government to study Central American history.67 A former banana and cacao grower who knew the situation in Latin America from his own experience expressed it best: Arbenz had stirred up a hornet’s nest by attempting to redistribute land from big landowners to smaller farmers, thereby challenging the power of the United Fruit Company. Previously – so the writer – when everything had been running smoothly and the company’s interests were respected, there had been no talk of a “dangerous revolution.” A bounty had only been set on Arbenz’s head when he began to defend the interests of his citizens by challenging the privileges of the United Fruit Company. It was because of this, the writer concluded, that Arbenz was being branded a communist.68 The town government of Andelfngen gave a press conference assuring the public that Arbenz had not yet even arrived and that a grand welcome was out of the question – but to no avail. The pressure increased. The new government of Guatemala was demanding the extradition of its former president, and anti-communist organisations were protesting with increasing vigour against Soviet involvement in Latin America. The USA made threatening gestures, and even the CIA became involved. Under these circumstances, the question of whether the fallen president should automatically be granted a passport on the basis of his father’s Swiss citizenship quickly gained political poignancy. As the authorities made clear, however, the legal questions surrounding Arbenz’s potential citizenship were not so easily resolved. Even the Federal Council concluded that Arbenz’s right to citizenship had not been satisfactorily established. As a result – so the Federal Council – if he wanted to avoid intervention by immigration authorities, he ought not to engage in any political activity. The Federal Council also advised the authorities of Andelfngen to behave more discreetly and dropped a hint to this effect via the Interior Ministry of Canton Zurich. Further, the Federal Council decided that the Swiss Minister of Justice, Markus

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Feldmann (1897–1958) would contact a relative of Arbenz in order to obtain more information about him. The question of Swiss citizenship became obsolete, however, because a disappointed Arbenz, who did not want to give up his Guatemalan passport, departed from Switzerland. He was subsequently refused residence in France, Uruguay, Czechoslovakia, the Soviet Union, China and Cuba. On 1 July 1967, he returned to Switzerland with his son – the remaining members of his family would follow – and rented a furnished apartment in Pully. On 27 July, he was interrogated by the Offce of the Attorney General of Switzerland. He made it clear that he had returned to Switzerland solely to enable his children, Maria Leonora (1942–2008) and Jacobo (born 1946), to go school there. His frst-born daughter, Arabella (1939–1965), an actress and international fashion model, had already distanced herself from her family and its over-politicised long-term exile. Her love life and drug use had made headlines, and she had taken her own life in 1965.69 Arbenz was granted a residence permit by the Swiss authorities. It was too late, however, to give his diffcult and distressed life a new direction. Despairing over his fate, he too became addicted to drugs. On 27 January 1971, his body was found in his apartment in Mexico City. The circumstances of his death have not been satisfactorily explained. It took a long time for Jacobo Arbenz to be rehabilitated. Only in 1995 were his remains returned to Guatemala. The Swiss authorities also took their time. In 1996, Arbenz’s widow was granted an audience by Federal Councillor Ruth Dreifuss (born 1940). In 1982, a report was published by the US Agency for International Development. In it, the land reforms attempted by Jacobo Arbenz were characterised as progressive and moderate – fawed in a few respects, but essential for economic and political development in Guatemala.

An Argentinian Icon: Alfonsina Storni of Sala Capriasca Alfonso Storni (1858–1905), the youngest son of a ten-person workingclass family from Luggagia in the municipality of Sala Capriasca near Lugano, followed his three older brothers to Argentina.70 They had emigrated there in the 1870s and ran a construction business in San Juan, where most immigrants from Italy and Ticino settled. In 1881, the Stornis added a soda and ice factory to their entrepreneurial undertakings. The Storni brothers’ emigration was not motivated by poverty. The family had the fnancial means to invest in their businesses from the start. Alfonso, who it appears was not involved in his brothers’ business ventures, returned to his home in Ticino many times. On one of his stays there, he met Pasqualina Martignoni (1866–1944), a woman of humble origins from Lugano who would later call herself Paulina. The couple married in 1886 and then settled in San Juan, where they

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became involved in the life of their large extended family. Within two years, their frst two children were born. The new parents enjoyed the prosperity they had achieved in Argentina. Paulina Storni (1866–1944) was artistically gifted; she played piano and sang arias at social gatherings. But in 1890, this youngest branch of the Argentinian Storni family turned its back on Argentina and returned to Lugaggia. Under the idyllic surface, things began to go awry. Alfonso Storni increasingly turned to drink. He felt at home neither in Argentina nor in Ticino. Several times over the course of the following fve years, he left his family behind in Sala and travelled to Argentina by himself. Alfonsina, the couple’s third child, was born on 22 May 1892 in Sala Capriasca. She would rarely see her father for any length of time. His activities remained largely a mystery. Paulina Storni felt compelled to emigrate across the Atlantic a second time. Together with her three children, she relocated to San Juan. There, however, things had changed dramatically. The economic crisis in Argentina in the early 1890s had also brought fnancial ruin to the Storni businesses. In 1894, there was a devastating earthquake. This caused further damage – this time literally – to the Storni family’s properties. When Paulina Storni arrived in San Juan, the situation was precarious, and Alfonso Storni was not up to dealing with it. Alcohol was not helping him out of his depression, and he was prone to irascible fts of temper. At the end of 1900, the family left San Juan and moved to Rosario to make a new start. Paulina Storni opened a small private school but had to give this up after only two years, when the family moved to a less expensive apartment. Alfonso Storni opened the Café Suizo. It was not a success and soon went bankrupt. Alfonso died in 1906. Paulina kept the family afoat with odd jobs as a saleswoman, a worker in a cigarette factory and a homeworker adorning hats. This was the environment that Alfonsina Storni (1892–1938) grew up in. When she was fve years old she went to kindergarten; as a frst grader, she recited a poem at a ceremony; and when she was ten, she worked in her father’s Café Suizo, serving guests and washing dishes. Instead of going to school, she worked in a sewing workshop to make money. But in the evening, though she was dead tired, she would read. Reading became her obsession; she wanted to nourish her soul, as she later wrote.71 When she was 11 years old, she made her own frst attempts at writing poems. Soon her work was being published in magazines. The young Alfonsina wrote exclusively in Spanish. This was culturally and politically symbolic and speaks to her self-perception and identity: Alfonsina was Argentinian. In 1907, she joined a travelling theatre troupe and, at the age of 15, took to the stage for the frst time. Yet she abruptly broke off a tour in 1908 and returned to Santa Fé. In the meantime, her mother had remarried. Alfonsina attended a teacher training college in Rosario where she crammed to make up for the schooling she

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had missed. She was an invigilator at the college and earned her teacher’s diploma with distinction. As a 19-year-old teacher in Rosario, she was able to publish her frst work of prose, as well as a number of poems. Alfonsina now had a secret affair with a married politician and became pregnant. She did not want an abortion, and in order to avoid a scandal, she disappeared into the anonymity of Buenos Aires. As an unmarried single mother, she supported herself with odd jobs – as a sales assistant and secretary – and all the while continued to write her poems. Her fascination with anarchistic ideas provided both inspiration and drive; she lived an avant-garde lifestyle and became the frst woman to fnd a place in the Buenos Aires art scene. Uncompromising and highly intelligent, her provocative work made her a legend even during her lifetime. In 1938, terminally ill with cancer, she felt she had no choice but to commit suicide. She said her goodbyes to her son and her friends and took the night train to the beachfront town of Mar de Plata. On the coast of the southern Atlantic, Alfonsina Storni wrote her fnal poem: “Voy a Dormir.” She sent it to the newspaper “La Nación,” without commentary. On 26 October 1938, “La Nación” reported the writer’s death and on the same page printed the poem. This poem and Alfonsina Storni are the subjects of one of the most famous Argentinian folk songs, “Alfonsina y el Mar,” whose interpretation by Mercedes Sosa became world-famous in 1982. A legend began to build around Alfonsina Storni. In Argentina, she enjoys cult status, is referenced in the most unexpected ways and places, and is still regarded with reverence today. But not only in Argentina. No other female Swiss author was as celebrated during her lifetime as this emigrant from Sala Capriasca, who moved in the same circles as the later Nobel Prize winners Gabriela Mistral (1889–1957) and Pablo Neruda (1904–1973), and other intellectual giants of the Latin America and Spanish-speaking worlds. In Switzerland and even in Ticino, by contrast, Alfonsina Storni faded into obscurity for a long time. Today, she is remembered by a small memorial plaque on the house where she was born in Sala. It was only placed there in 1976 – tellingly, at the behest of the Argentinian embassy in Bern. And only in the 21st century has the work of this writer – the most important Swiss author whose writing is not in one of the national languages – been appraised in universities and translated into German, and her life story duly considered. Voy a dormir By Alfonsina Storni Dientes de fores, cofa de rocío, Manos de hierbas, tú, nodriza fna, Tenme prestas las sábanas terrosas Y el edredón de musgos encardados.

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Voy a dormir, nodriza mía, acuéstame. Ponme una lámpara a la cabecera; Una constelación; la que te guste; Todas son buenas; bájala un poquito. Déjame sola: oyes romper los brotes… Te acuna un pie celeste desde arriba Y un pájaro te traza unos compases Para que olvides...Gracias. Ah, un encargo: Si él llama nuevamente por teléfono Le dices que no insista, que he salido. I am going to sleep Translation by Julia Karin Lawson Teeth of fowers, hairnet of dew, hands of herbs, you, perfect wet nurse, prepare the earthly sheets for me and the down quilt of weeded moss. I am going to sleep, my nurse, put me to bed. Set a lamp at my headboard; a constellation whatsoever you like; all are good: lower it a bit. Leave me alone: you hear the buds breaking through… a celestial foot rocks you from above and a bird traces some rhythms for you so you’ll forget...Thank you. Oh, one request: if he telephones again tell him not to keep trying for I have left.72

Josephine Gentinetta: A Goodbye without Tears Alfonsina Storni was the master of her own fate, thanks to freedoms that allowed her to design her life according to her own ideas. In the Sottoceneri, her spirit would have found sparse nourishment. She would have remained confned by the narrow role of “woman” and been stigmatised as an unwed mother. For other women, the desire to escape traditional gender roles was itself the motive for emigration. In 1896, a 19-year-old from Valais, Josephine Gentinetta (1877–1938), arrived in Basel, from where she planned to leave Switzerland for good. Together with 16 other candidates, she started on

240 New Beginnings her way “out of the old and into the new world.”73 Their common goal was to join the Benedictine nunnery in Vermillion, South Dakota. Religiously motivated emigration became widespread in the second half of the 19th century. Dozens of young Swiss women moved to the Americas, often to the USA, in order to join convents there. They were to be seen in small or large groups at the train station in Basel, ready for their long journey. They usually came from rural families with many children and did not have the fnancial means to join Swiss nunneries – at the time, candidates without a convent dowry were not accepted everywhere. The eagerness to go to the USA also stemmed from the fact that some Swiss cloisters were pushing up against the limits of their capacity in the second half of the 19th century. The rising number of entrants prompted the opening of branches overseas. In opening these new affliates, cloisters were able to learn from the experience of the Einsiedeln Abbey in founding the St Meinrad Abbey in Indiana, USA, back in the 1850s. In 1873, the Engelberg Abbey, at the request of John Joseph Hogan (1829–1913), the Bishop of St Joseph’s in Missouri, USA, gave two priests permission to open an abbey in Conception, in the northwest of the state. For the Engelberg abbot, Anselm Villiger (1825–1901), it was not Hogan’s request alone that spoke for sending the two priests. He also feared that Switzerland’s Radicals, in their exuberance, might close down the monasteries. This had not only happened during the politically turbulent 1840s and 1850s, but had even occurred recently – the government had forced the closing of the Benedictine cloister in Rheingau in 1862. Abbot Anselm had every reason to look about for ways to ensure a place of refuge in the event of an emergency. A request to send nuns who could teach and perform various tasks in the founding of affliates in the USA also arrived at the Maria-Rickenbach Benedictine convent in Nidwalden, which was under the supervision of the Abbot of Engelberg. As a result, an enthusiasm for such missions was kindled there – not least thanks to Gertrud Leupi (1825–1904), the Mother Superior at the time. Leupi strongly supported the project; a few years later, she travelled across the Atlantic herself. She is remembered as an untiring missionary and as the founder of a Benedictine educational institute for girls from the Sioux tribe.74 In 1874, the frst fve sisters from Maria-Rickenbach emigrated to America. By 1891, this convent, which had a strong and continuous infux of new candidates, had sent 12 missions totalling 27 nuns overseas. During this period, Benedictine nuns from Maria-Rickenbach founded no fewer than three convents in the USA.75 The enthusiasm for missionary work led to so great an increase in the number of emigrating Swiss nuns and candidates that the convent in Yankton, South Dakota decided to establish an organised recruitment centre in Switzerland. This led to the founding of the Institut Marienburg in Wikon, Lucerne, in 1891. There, Swiss candidates were educated and prepared for missionary activity in the USA. In 1927, Marienburg was linked

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to Maria-Rickenbach. Until 1934, the institute offered preparatory courses for work in convents to young women who planned to emigrate to the USA. On the early morning of 20 November 1896, Josephine Gentinetta made her way through Basel to the train station. She came upon a railway employee who, noticing her baggage and attire, asked her the reason for her departure. It seemed to Josephine that he wanted to say: “Oh, how sad it is that these Swiss daughters are leaving their fatherland and moving into a desolate nunnery in a foreign land.” “My friend” – so she would have liked to reply – do not feel sorry for those of us who are able to emigrate. Instead, pity those who must stay behind. Oh, there are still plenty of young maidens in Switzerland who will be so lucky as to be deceived, aggrieved, harried, depressed, troubled, tortured and martyred as the wives of loyal and tenderly loving husbands. And if these wives were as free as we are, and could emigrate alongside us, oh think how many would…And in the end, what does this “dear” fatherland (I am thinking here of the well-paid National Councillors and colonels) ask of us? The citizen is really only a statistic. One counts him, measures him, taxes him, relieves him of some of his income – and then leaves him be. When at the next census I am no longer in Brig, in Canton Valais, the registry offce in Brig will count one fewer person and the statistical bureau in Bern will log one fewer inhabitant of Valais – and with that, the matter, my matter, will be perfectly concluded.76 Josephine arrived in Vermillion on 7 December 1896. In August 1897, she was invested in the Benedictine nun’s habit. In 1899, she took her frst vows and received the name John Berchmans; her perpetual vows followed in 1904. For around 30 years, Sister Berchmans taught at various religious schools. In 1936, she was allowed to study mathematics at Marquette University in Milwaukee. She looked forward greatly to teaching at Mount Marty College after completing her studies. Soon afterwards, however, it was discovered that she had a malignant tumour. On 10 December 1938, she took her fnal earthly breath: “She yielded her soul to God at 1:30 a.m.”77

Summary and Statistics Peak Emigration Levels in the 19th Century For centuries, Switzerland was characterised by traditional patterns of emigration. But in no period between the Middle Ages and the present was emigration so statistically signifcant as it was during the long 19th century, during which around 700,000 Swiss left their homeland. While at least 100,000 people (around 2,000 per year) left during the frst half

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of the century, the number rose to around 600,000 (around 9,400 per year), between 1850 and 1914.78 These fairly reliable approximate values are supported by the statistics regarding overseas emigration between 1841 and 1910: During these years, the annual average came to around 5,400 emigrants. On two occasions, the emigration curve deviated signifcantly from the mean. The early 1850s and 1880s were the peak periods of overseas emigration; during both of them, more than 11,000 emigrants per year were recorded.79 European countries were already the primary destination of Swiss emigration in the 18th century. It stayed that way throughout the whole 19th century and in the years before the First World War. In 1850, the fraction of all expatriate Swiss living in European countries was around two-thirds; in the period between then and 1914, it had sunk to around half. France was the preferred destination (in both 1850 and 1910, around 22 percent of Swiss emigrants settled there), followed by Germany (in 1850, 11 percent; in 1910, 15 percent), and then by Russia and Great Britain (in both 1850 and 1910, 2–3 percent). In North and South America, two new important destinations emerged during the 19th century. Between 1816 and 1913, around 420,000 Swiss emigrated overseas. The volume and intensity of these movements across the Atlantic markedly surpassed those of earlier waves of emigration. The vast majority of these emigrants went to the USA; over the course of the 19th century, the USA attracted more than 85 percent of Swiss overseas emigrants. The dynamics of migration to South American countries are noteworthy. During the frst half of the 19th century, Brazil was the most popular destination for Swiss emigrants to Latin America, after which Argentina dominated (1880–1883 and 1900–1908 were both periods when, respectively, each of these countries accounted for around 8 percent of Swiss overseas emigration). Until the mid-19th century, Africa was almost as common an emigration destination as South America. After this, the continent’s popularity subsided. Asia and Oceania saw a modest number of immigrants from Switzerland arrive throughout the century. The late 1880s are often characterised as a turning point in the history of Swiss migration.80 It was then that the number of immigrants became greater than the number of emigrants.81 This phenomenon – that there were more foreigners settling in Switzerland than Swiss moving abroad  – may in fact have already begun in the 1870s or the early 1880s. The statistical data do not allow for a conclusive answer on this point. A further turning point was the outbreak of the First World War: Both immigration and emigration fell to very low levels during the war years.

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Table 2.1 Swiss emigration by continent, 1850–1910 1850 Europe 68,000 North 30,700 America Latin 2,000 America Africa 1,400 Asia 500 Oceania 400 Total Swiss 103,000 emigrants

1880

1910

66.0% 129,000 29.8% 93,700

50.0% 36.3%

185,000 131,700

50.0% 35.6%

25,800

10.0%

45,000

12.2%

1.4% 5,000 0.5% 1,500 0.4% 3,000 100.0% 258,000

1.9% 0.6% 1.2% 100.0%

4,900 1,500 1,900 370,000

1.3% 0.4% 0.5% 100.0%

1.9%

Figure 2.9 Swiss overseas emigration, 1850–1910 (in absolute fgures). Table 2.2 Overseas emigration: Ranking of cantons relative to their total population, 1845–1904

1 2 3 4 5

1845–1849

1858–1863

1880–1884

1900–1904

GL BL GR BE/SO SH

TI VS GL SH GR/OW

GL SH OW BS TI/BE

TI OW/SZ BS/UR GL SH

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Table 2.3 Overseas emigration: Ranking by canton by absolute fgures, 1870–1910

1 2 3 4 5

1870

1880

1890

1900

1910

BE TI AG ZH SG

BE AG ZH SG TI

BE TI ZH SG BS

BE TI ZH BS SG

BE TI ZH SG BS

A Plea for Cantonal and Regional Differentiation Due to diverse societal structures and geographical and topographical challenges, emigration did not proceed according to the same patterns in all parts of Switzerland and across all cantons. This is evidenced, for example, by the differing rates and scales of overseas emigrations. Glarus and Ticino were the cantons with the most emigrants relative to their overall population, while the canton least affected by emigration was Appenzell Innerrhoden. That said, an examination of individual time frames reveals greater nuance than the overall numbers suggest. For example, Valais was second only to Ticino in terms of its rate of overseas emigration during the period between 1858 and 1863, while in other periods it was not even a contender. An overview of the period’s total numbers indicates that the most populated cantons (Bern, Zurich, Basel and Basel-Landschaft) generally had the highest emigration numbers; it is notable that Canton Vaud was not part of this record-setting group. Emigration destinations were determined by people’s expectations of them. While emigrants from Glarus settled in the USA especially frequently, those from Fribourg moved to Brazil and those from Valais to Argentina. These preferences also show up at a local level. Emigration destinations could even differ from town to town, as was the case in Ticino and Graubünden. The number of emigrants could also vary signifcantly within a canton. While some areas saw above-average rates of emigration, others were barely affected. For example, the population of the very rural, agricultural town of Schams in Graubünden decreased signifcantly due to emigration between 1850 and 1900 – going from 2,134 to 1,498, a change of −29.8 percent – while the populations of the tourist destinations St Moritz and Davos increased equally markedly during the same period, rising from 228 to 1,603 in St Moritz, an increase of 603 percent, and from 1,680 to 8,089 in Davos, an increase of 381 percent. Varying emigration trajectories also showed up within Canton Valais: While the population of Zermatt doubled between 1850 and 1900, from 369 to 741, that of Münster decreased by around 400 people during the same period.

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Modes of Emigration: Shifting Trends Settlement migration was the most statistically signifcant form of migration throughout the entire 19th century and especially in the frst half of the century. That said, in individual regions of Switzerland the peak deviated from the nationwide norm – for example, in Valais, where settler migration increased during the second half of the 19th century. Elite emigration – that is, emigration by individuals and groups who were not settlers – gained in importance after the mid-19th century. As in earlier times, it included specialists of diverse kinds, among them teachers, scholars and artists. In the course of the 19th century, a whole new group of professionals – merchants, industrialists, railway specialists and technicians, insurance experts, bankers and hoteliers – joined their number. These brought with them the image of a new, modern Switzerland, a country with a highly developed infrastructure that could claim to be a world leader in various sectors. While Switzerland often exported poverty and unemployment in the frst half of the century, in the second half it instead exported commercial, technical and scientifc knowledge and leadership competencies. In the mid-19th century, with the ban on mercenary service, the form of Swiss emigration that had been most signifcant and best known ever since the Middle Ages came to an end. Instead, another traditional form of migration increased, one which would last until the outbreak of the First World War: the emigration of children and teenagers as confectioners, help for hire, and chimney sweeps. Reasons and Root Causes: The Force Field of Migration The reasons and root causes of emigration cannot be stated in general terms. They are many-layered and escape any attempt at a concise summary. This is especially the case where personal problems or social rifts provided the impetus for migration. That said, more general causes of emigration are well-documented. Over the entire 19th century, poverty, hunger and need were the primary drivers of Swiss emigration. Not as physically palpable, but always present and perhaps even more serious, was the lack of future prospects. Emigrants saw a better future for themselves outside of Switzerland. They were economic refugees looking for a life with greater potential. Emigration was contagious. This is confrmed by the fever for America that arose with the “gold virus,” or by the frst generation of Valais natives who emigrated to Argentina, enticing the next one to follow in its footsteps. Emigration waves could create their own momentum. Migrations are infuenced by events that take place both in the country of origin and in the destination country. It is important in this respect to distinguish between two forces: Push factors, which are the

246 New Beginnings circumstance in the country of origin that lead people to want to leave it, and pull factors, which emanate from the destination and motivate immigration (e.g. a prosperous economy, the discovery of gold or the availability of jobs). The reasons for leaving a country (push factors) and the simultaneous draw of a destination country (pull factors) come together to create the force feld of migration. These factors are not only visible on a national level. They can also be seen on a regional and local level. For a long time, economic factors (economic crises, the lack of job prospects) and the related phenomenon of sociopolitical expulsions were considered the reasons – and sometimes the sole reasons – for emigration. While it is true that such push factors are among the most common causes of emigration, this one-track explanation is insuffcient to do justice to the wide variety of actual motivations. Cultural and political factors and entrepreneurial opportunities also led to emigration. Emigrants were not necessarily impoverished. On the contrary, elite emigration involved countless well-off citizens.82 There were still no uniform national or cantonal sociopolitical standards in the 19th century. While struggling people in one township could count on support, those in another were sent abroad so that they no longer needed to be provided for. Deportations of unwanted people, common in earlier times for members of denominational minorities, became a widespread practice in the 19th century. Those affected were primarily the destitute and social outsiders. They were motivated to emigrate by fnancial incentives offered by local authorities. These incentives took various forms. The municipality of Unterägeri resolved in 1852 that it would pay people who lived off common land a lump sum to emigrate, provided they renounced the right to any future use of that common land.83 Switzerland repeatedly saw itself confronted with the accusation that it deported its sick, old and marginalised and in doing so saved money by passing on the burden of their upkeep to other countries. It is true that there are documented cases of such emigration, steered or even compelled by local authorities. In 1854, the Aargau cantonal government determined that America was the most opportune and benevolent workhouse for the indolent – and therefore the cheapest deportation destination for the public purse. A report from this time on the situation of Swiss emigrants to Brazil makes for an uncomfortable read. It documents old crones, one-armed invalids, people with wooden legs, blind people and cretins being forcibly imposed on healthy colonists. The threat that funding for emigration would only be delivered if emigrants brought the socially marginalised along with them had consequences. Protests were raised against this compromising practice, sometimes in forceful language, and especially by representatives of the US government. This led to hasty activity on the part of the federal authorities, who requested further information from the cantons. These inquiries,

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however, did not yield any relevant fndings. The cantons argued that there were no grounds for such infringement on their sovereignty. But this was not in fact the case. From a legal point of view, emigration due to banishment or exile was especially problematic. This category of emigrants consisted of criminals who were released from prison before the end of their sentences on the condition that they leave the country. In other cases, the authorities coordinated release from prison with immediate deportation. Banishments to far-away penal colonies also occurred until the end of the 19th century, and plans were even drawn up to declare Swiss sovereignty over an ocean island in order to have a place to exile Swiss criminals. When the Swiss Department of the Interior reported to the Federal Council in 1855 that there was “not a single known case in which convicts had been deported to America,” this was simply not true.84 During the second half of the 19th century, the authorities in a number of cantons increasingly used deportation as a means of easing the burden on prisons and ridding themselves of unpopular individuals. The cantons only began to distance themselves from the practice of banishment and exile after the introduction of the new Federal Constitution in 1874. Even so, banishment remained a punishment under some cantonal criminal statutes until it was uniformly prohibited by Swiss national criminal legislation in 1937. The creation of jobs was, in principle, never considered to be in the remit of the public welfare authorities. Only rarely did the authorities take steps towards this kind of activist economic policy. As a result, emigration was only rarely combatted by deliberate job creation. The Swiss Character in Foreign Lands Emigration in the 19th century led to the founding of Swiss colonies and settlements around the globe as never before. Even today, Swiss settlers’ country of origin is frequently remembered in place names: New Geneva in Ireland, Zurich in Canada, the US cities of New Glarus and New Bern, Lugano and Berna in Argentina, and Locarno Spring in Australia, among others. How long the Swiss national character survived in such places depended on a variety of factors: Besides the specifc circumstances met at the destination and the size of the colony, the quality of the new milieu was usually decisive. How emigrants structured their work and free time environments was especially signifcant. The more closed off the group of emigrants was culturally, and the more consciously they lived within a Swiss tradition in their new home, the more likely they were to retain their ancestral cultural identity. Swiss groups were also shaped by important personalities. In certain places settled by Swiss emigrants in the 19th century, Swiss dialects continued to be spoken well into the

248 New Beginnings 20th century. There were Argentinian and Brazilian Swiss who still, after many generations, spoke the dialect of their original home towns in Valais or Obwalden.85 Another important factor for the survival of traditions was the continued use of the settlers’ mother tongue. Usually this linguistic competency had already been lost by the second generation. Other factors that contributed to cultural cohesion were shared religious observances, work resembling that which had been practiced in the homeland, and the maintenance of Swiss cultural values. Important were church festivals and ceremonies, customs such as Fasnacht (Carnival), and membership in associations (shooting, music, singing). The history of the descendants of emigrants from Upper Valais in San Jerónimo Norte illustrates how these phenomena helped maintain Swiss cultural identity. Finally, marriage practices in the new country also played a part. The key point here was whether settlers were forced to marry outside of the Swiss population because the marriage options within it were too limited. Places where settlers began intermarrying with the local population in their second generation contrast with those in which inter-Swiss marriage dominated over the course of several generations. Homelands Old and New The connections between emigrants and their family members who had remained in Switzerland were not usually abruptly severed. Over generations, many contacts persisted despite the borders and vast spaces between the emigrants and their Swiss families. The spectrum of interactions included exchanges of letters and transfers of money, family reunions in the new homeland, and visits by emigrants to the old homeland. Not only family members but also communities at large and public funds could proft from successful emigrants. Sometimes donations came from abroad for specifc projects such as church construction or other public endeavours. This kind of support depended on the economic success of the emigrants, as well as on their emotional connection to their old homeland, which sometimes remained strong over several generations. The involvement of Swiss emigrants in their old homeland was in some cases so substantial that it was institutionally and politically signifcant. This was without question the case with Ulrico Hoepli’s philanthropy. The donation of 5,000 pounds sterling that the second-generation Swiss emigrant Sir John Brunner (1842–1919) made to the township of Bülach for the purpose of constructing an asylum provides another illustration. With this amount (the equivalent of 1.6 million francs in 2018), Sir John laid the foundation for the current hospital. Despite having been born in London, Brunner, the son of a teacher who had emigrated from Bülach, maintained ties with Switzerland.86 It is notable how he rolled out his generous offer: He asked the Town

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President of Bülach how he could help out the town and specifed that it ought to be something substantial! A similar example is furnished by Alfred Baur (1865–1951) of Andelfngen, who amassed his fortune in Colombo, Sri Lanka, as the owner of the largest coconut palm plantation in all of Asia.87 Together with his wife Eugenie Baur-Duret (1873– 1961), he bought the Castle of Andelfngen and at once donated it – in his parents’ memory – to his hometown for public use. In Geneva, where the Baur-Durets settled after their return from the tropics, they founded a charitable foundation in connection with the expansion of their art collection. Shortly before his death in 1951, Baur bought a villa in Geneva, which he donated to the city as a museum to exhibit the collection. Since 1964, the Musée des Arts d’Extreme-Orient has been run by the Alfred and Eugenie Baur-Duret Foundation. These and other examples demonstrate the gratitude of emigrated Swiss and their progeny towards their old homeland and the strength of their connection to Switzerland. While Switzerland profted in this way from its emigrated sons and daughters, these brought with them a know-how and work ethic that also contributed to the development of the countries they moved to – economically, politically and culturally. Ulrico Hoepli and the Vögeli brothers provide excellent examples. The residents of Valais who initially worked as crop farmers in Argentina but who began dairy farming in 1900 established a still signifcant centre of the Argentinian milk business in San Jerónimo Norte. Emigrants from the shores of Lakes Neuchâtel and Biel brought grape seeds to Australia in their luggage and used them to kick-start Australian viticulture. Among them was the political refugee Hubert de Castella (1825–1907), who saw no further prospects for himself in his home country after the Sonderbund War and fed to France. He settled in Melbourne in 1854. There he joined his brother Paul (1827–1903), who is remembered as “the pioneer of viticulture in Victoria.”88 Hubert de Castella also started an important vineyard himself. Others from Neuchâtel followed in the brothers’ footsteps. All were infuential and wealthy citizens whom today we would designate free spirits, and thanks to whom wine production became established in Victoria.89 An export product of a special kind was brought by confectioners from Graubünden to France: their Protestant beliefs, which they spread throughout previously Catholic areas such as Bretagne.90

Notes 1 The sad fate of the young chimney sweeps was popularised in the mid-20th century by a young adult novel: Die schwarzen Brüder (The Black Brothers) was written by Lisa Tetzner and Kurt Held and appeared in two volumes in 1940/1941. 2 Article 11 of the Federal Constitution of 1848 prohibited entering into military contracts; Article 12, among other things, forbade military offcials from accepting pensions, salaries, titles, gifts or medals. Article 1 of a

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federal statute enacted on 30 September 1859 prohibited Swiss citizens from joining foreign military bodies that were not the national troops of the relevant state without the approval of the Federal Council. Finally, the Military Penal Act of 1927 mandated the punishment of Swiss citizens who entered foreign service without permission from the Federal Council with imprisonment of up to three years or a fne. In 1859, a federal law also ended the ongoing military contracts. Only service in the Swiss Guard was excluded from this ban. See Paul Letter, Die Schweizer Kulturgemeinschaft im Lauf der Jahrhunderte: Eine volkskundliche Studie (Berlin: Frieling, 2003), 117. Ulrich Wille, quoted in Paul de Vallière, Treue und Ehre: Geschichte der Schweizer in fremden Diensten, Deutsche Ausgabe von Oberstleutnant H. Habicht (Neuenburg: F. Zahn, 1912), 3f. Klaus Anderegg, “Oberwalliser Auswanderung nach Übersee im dritten Viertel des 19. Jahrhunderts: Ursachen und Stellungnahmen,” in Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, 76 (1980): 4. Johann Heinrich Waser quoted in August Ludwig von Schlözer, August Ludwig Schlözers Briefwechsel, meist historischen und politischen Inhalts, 6th ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoek, 1780), 67–82. “His [Gleyre’s] atelier was considered the frst port of call in Paris for years.” Franz Zelger, “Künstlerfreuden – Künstlerleiden: Streifichter auf die Situation der Schweizer Künstler im neuenzehten Jahrhundert,” in Von Anker bis Zünd: Die Kunst im jungen Bundesstaat 1848–1900, ed. Kunsthaus Zürich (Zurich: Scheidegger & Spiess AG Verlag, 1998), 322. I have published numerous works relating to this scandal, to Lydia WeltiEscher and to Karl Stauffer. For example, Joseph Jung, Lydia Welti-Escher 1858–1891, 5th ed., with a forward by Hildegard Elisabeth Keller (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2016). The story of Werner Munzinger, who left Solothurn in 1852 with noble intentions and idealised expectations, was published as a novel by Alex Capus in 2003. Fritz Wartenweiler, “Alfred Ilg, ein bedeutender Auslandschweizer,” in Blick in die Welt. Jahrbuch der Schweizer Jugend, eds. Eduard Fischer, Albert Fischli and Max Schildt (Erlenbach-Zurich: Rentsch, 1938), 45. “Ilg’s greatest achievement is the railway…His railway is still in operation today,” Helmut Stalder, Verkannte Visionäre: 24 Schweizer Lebensgeschichten (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2011), 78. My thanks to Peter Michael-Cafisch for his helpful suggestion. MichaelCafisch, formerly a teacher, has for decades been researching and publishing on the history of emigration from Graubünden. See Der liberale Alpenbote, 29 January 1856. Peter Michael-Cafisch, “Wer leben kann wie ein Hund, erspart – Zur Geschichte der Bündner Zuckerbäcker in der Fremde,” in Tradition und Modernität, eds. Anne-Lise Head-König, Luigi Lorenzetti and Reto Furter (Zurich: Chronos Verlag, 2007), 273. Also see the case study at 283f. The original brewery on Prenzlauer Strasse was later moved to Bergstrasse. The Josty brewing complex has been converted holiday apartments. See www.josty-brauerei.de (accessed 3 October 2018). Erich Kästner immortalised Café Josty in his novel Emil und die Detektive, a young adult book that was published in 1929 and made into a movie in 1931. Quoted in www.margna.ch/de/Hotel/Geschichte (accessed 3 October 2018). It is remarkable that Josty’s palace was purchased as a family home by the St Moritz hotelier Johannes Badrutt at the end of the 1860s.

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18 De Lelly’s work for “aspiring squanderers” was published in 1832, his Gastrosophie in 1851. 19 See Karl Viktor von Bonstetten, “Teil 1: Briefe aus dem Jahre 1795,” in Briefe über die italienischen Ämter: Lugano, Mendrisio, Locarno, Valmaggia, ed. Hanspeter Manz (Ascona: Ed. San Pietro, 1982). 20 In Albero genealogico, published in 1969 and arguably one of his most important works, Bianconi recounts the history of his ancestors and their emigrations. Martini was a teacher and a writer; his novel about an emigration from the Maggia Valley, Il fondo del sacco, was published in 1970. 21 Piero Bianconi, Tessiner Glockentürme (Lugano: Società Ticinese per la conservazione delle Bellenze naturali et artistiche, 1970). 22 See Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 3 April 1878. 23 Peter Michael-Cafisch, “Und doch plagt mich ein ewiges Heimweh,” Terra Grischuna, April 2016, accessed 3 October 2018, www.terragrischuna. ch /zeitschrift /4 –2016-auswanderer-rueckwanderer/und-doch-plagtmich-ein-ewiges-heimweh. 24 See the database of the EU research project “Die Schwabenkinder” (The children of Swabia), which includes more than 6,000 recorded names: https://schwabenkinder.eu. 25 The book appeared in 1925, and several editions were published that same year. Cendrar’s book served as the basis for Sutter’s Gold, a Western produced by Universal Pictures in 1936. 26 I frst described the settlement emigration to Russia in 2000, in my fourvolume Escher biography Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Der Aufbruch zur modernen Schweiz, 4 volumes (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2006), 32–37, as well as, in a shorter form, in the one-volume edition Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), which was also frst published in 2000 (Jung, Escher, 25–30). The present discussion draws on these earlier works. Some of the content has been modifed, and some passages have been reworded. 27 Regulations for “colonies” contrasted with those for “settlements.” Settlements did not receive subsidies, but settlers were allowed to own slaves. See Béatrice Ziegler, “Sklaven und Moderne,” in Die Moderne in Lateinamerika: Zentren und Peripherien des Wandels, eds. Stephan Scheuzger and Peter Fleer (Frankfurt am Main: Iberoamericana Vervuert, 2009), 139–160; Vallesiana states that slavery existed in Nova Friburgo from the beginning, though without providing sources. See www.emigration-valais. ch/de/1819-erste-auswanderung-nach-brasilien-128.html#!search (accessed 3 October 2018). 28 See Michael Zeuske, Sklaverei: Eine Menschheitsgeschichte von der Steinzeit bis heute; Mit 10 Karten (Altusried-Krugszell: Reclam, 2018), 215ff. 29 Hans Barth makes this point in his very astute analysis: cf. Hans Barth, 1964: Die Schweizer Beteiligung am Verbrechen der Sklaverei; Zur Causa Joos vs Bundesrat (2015) at chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefndmkaj/ viewer.html?pdfurl=https%3A%2F%2Farchiv.louverture.ch%2FKAM PA%2FAGASSIZ%2Fbarth_BR_joos.pdf&clen=2486546&chunk=true (accessed 7 April 2022). 30 Joos, quoted in Hans Barth, 1964: Die Schweizer Beteiligung am Verbrechen der Sklaverei; Zur Causa Joos vs Bundesrat (2015), 7f. 31 Segesser, quoted in Hans Barth, 1964: Die Schweizer Beteiligung am Verbrechen der Sklaverei; Zur Causa Joos vs Bundesrat (2015), 17. 32 Neither in the Federal Constitution of 1848, nor in the amended constitution of 1874, was the slave trade or slave ownership mentioned.

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33 The debate in the Swiss Parliament was echoed in an American immigrant newspaper. It criticised the way in which the problem was being dealt with in the National and Federal Councils – in particular the justifcation of slavery as an economic necessity. See Hans Barth, 1964: Die Schweizer Beteiligung am Verbrechen der Sklaverei; Zur Causa Joos vs Bundesrat (2015), 18ff. 34 Bundesblatt 3/1864, 231. 35 For example: Xaver Suter (1824–1907) of Rapperswil left his hometown in 1849 for fnancial reasons and made his way towards the USA. In Marine, Iowa, he ran a mixed goods business. He achieved a good reputation and was elected mayor. In 1869, he returned to Rapperswil, where, a short while later, he was elected mayor. See Mark Wüst, Xaver Suters Reisen nach Amerika 1849: Emigration aus dem Gebiet zwischen Walensee und Zürichsee (Zurich: Chronos Verlag, 2017). 36 In Einsiedeln, “numerous actors supported and infuenced emigration… (including corporations, emigration agencies, monasteries and companies).” Heinz Nauer, “Alte und Neue Welt: Der Benziger Verlag und die Einsiedler; Amerikaauswanderung im 19. Jahrhundert,” in Migration in der Zentralschweiz, vol. 167 of Der Geschichtsfreund: Mitteilungen des Historischen Vereins Zentralschweiz, ed. Historischer Verein Zentralschweiz (Zug: Kalt Medien AG, 2014), 35. 37 “As early as 1837 The Friend of Truth (Katholische Wahrheitsfreund) was founded in Cincinnati. It then became part of the Benziger brothers’ publishing house in New York.” Paul Oberholzer, Der Uznacher Arzt und Schriftsteller Dr Adelrich Steinach (1826–1892) und seine Auswanderung nach Amerika (Uznach: Gebrüder Oberholzer, 1977), 32. 38 Kaspar Michel, “Der Halbkanton ‘Schwyz, äusseres Land,’” in vol. 135 of Der Geschichtsfreund. Mitteilungen des Historischen Vereins Zentralschweiz, ed. Historischer Verein Zentralschweiz (Stans: Kommissions-Verlag Josef von Matt, 1982), 255. 39 The statistical information on emigration from Valais that was published by Vallesiana (cf. www.emigration-valais.ch, accessed 5 October 2018) is not entirely consistent. In the following discussion, these data have been critically analysed and aligned with the corresponding information provided by Klaus Anderegg. Klaus Anderegg, “Ursachen und Anlässe der Walliser Auswanderung im 19. Jahrhundert,” in Valais d’Emigration: Auswanderungsland Wallis, eds. Thomas Antonietti and Marie Claude Morand, catalogue accompanying the exhibition “Ubi bene ibi patria…” (Sion: Editions des Musées cantonaux du Valais, 1991), 87–123. 40 Sometimes it was up to a quarter of the population. “They were glad to have rid themselves of some of the village’s poor,” Stephan Andereggen, Julian Vomsattel and Eligius Heinzmann, Visperterminen zur Zeit des Tunnelbaus (Visperterminen: Gemeinde Visperterminen, 1991), 110. “The Heidadorf Visperterminen is also a village that has seen large-scale emigration. Like hardly any other mountain village in Upper Valais…”; Julian Vomsattel, “Die Auswanderungsgeschichte der Visperterminer,” in Walliser Jahrbuch Kalender für das Jahr 1995, accessed 25 October 2019, https:// verein-ztaerbinu.ch/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/2003_Vomsattel.pdf, 37. 41 Klaus Anderegg, “Auswanderung und Delinquenz: Das Abschieben von Walliser Strafgefangenen nach Amerika im dritten Viertel des 19. Jahrhunderts,” in Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, 80, no. 3/4 (1984): 196. In his legal-historical essay, Anderegg documents numerous examples and places the Valais practice in a nationwide context. 42 “Between 1850 and 1914, around 14,000 people emigrated overseas from Valais. Most of them went to Argentina.” Gérald Arlettaz, L’emigration Suisse outre-mer de 1815 à 1920 (Bern: Schweizerisches Bundesarchiv, 1975),

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131; Klaus Anderegg, “Auswanderung und Delinquenz: Das Abschieben von Walliser Strafgefangenen nach Amerika im dritten Viertel des 19. Jahrhunderts,” in Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, 80, no. 3/4 (1984): 161ff (Case study of San Jerónimo Norte). “The ‘square’ – the centre of the colony of San Jerónimo Norte on which stood the parish church, the schoolhouse and the public buildings, developed into the centre of the Valais colonists’ life in Argentina.” Klaus Anderegg, “Auswanderung und Delinquenz: Das Abschieben von Walliser Strafgefangenen nach Amerika im dritten Viertel des 19. Jahrhunderts,” in Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, 80, no. 3/4 (1984): 173. In 2012, Schweizer Radio und Fernsehen (SRF) accompanied the two Valais natives Karl Studer and Julian Vomsattel on their trip to meet the “Argentine people of Valais.” Kathrin Winzenreid, Auf der Spuren von Walliser Auswanderern (Schweizer Radio und Fernsehen, 2012). I frst told the fateful history of the emigration of Alfred Escher’s ancestors, and thus the story of the distance between old Zurich and this branch of the Escher vom Glas family, in my Escher biographies which were originally published in 2000: Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Der Aufbruch zur modernen Schweiz, 4 volumes (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2006), 28–59; and Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), 21–46. The present discussion draws on these earlier works. Some of the content has been expanded on or abridged, and some passages have been reworded. Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), 33. Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), 33. Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), 134. The court case of Escher v Kubli/Gysi dragged on for several years in both the district and the higher courts. Several aspects were addressed that derived from various earlier dealings between Kubli or Gysi and the Escher family and had nothing to do with slaveholdings in Cuba – the original matter of dispute. The district court found Kubli guilty of slander and Gysi guilty of slander and libel in these matters. Both were sentenced to pay fnes. The district court found that Heinrich Escher was not a slaveholder and that he had not been involved in the slave trade. Since Gysi and Kubli appealed, the case was heard by the high court in 1847. The high court reached the following verdict: Kubli and Gysi were guilty of slander and sentenced to fnes. The libellous remarks were voided and declared to be inconsequential. In 1848, the case came before the district court again. The records show that Heinrich Escher became heir to his brother Ludwig on 24 November 1847, but that the corresponding document was only issued in May 1848, and Escher only became aware of it in June 1848. At this, Heinrich Escher named two proxies to go inspect the inheritance in Cuba; they were to declare the validity of the inheritance, should they fnd this to the purpose. No record of a property transfer has been found in the court documents. It can be assumed that Heinrich Escher transferred ownership of his brother Ludwig’s Cuban property probably in 1848 and at the latest in 1849. However, there are no sources to confrm such a sale. Thus, it cannot be determined at what price Heinrich Escher divested himself of the inheritance (sale or auction) or if he exchanged it for something else. In other words, the circumstances under which the transfer of ownership occurred are not discernible from the Zurich court records. What we can say is that the Cuban inheritance did not affect Heinrich Escher’s tax situation. This

254 New Beginnings suggests that the proceeds were inconsiderable, or that, for whatever reason, Escher’s overall assets did not increase. That there is no record of a fnancial transaction from Cuba or any other country to Zurich in connection with the Cuban inheritance supports this conclusion. The same holds true for a possible exchange – there is none discernible in Escher’s assets. For the court documents see the Zurich State Archive: criminal protocol for the years 1847, 1848, 1849 (YY 10); parties’ submissions for 1848 and 1849 (YY 12); and District Court 1846, 1848 (Z 864). 50 In the course of extensive research on location, in 2019 Michael Paul Zeuske came upon some previously unknown material connected to Ludwig Escher’s death and his Cuban plantation (Friedrich Escher’s will, inventory). See Michael Max Paul Zeuske, “Tod bei Artemisa: Friedrich Ludwig Escher, Atlantic Slavery und die Akkumulation von Schweizer Kapital ausserhalb der Schweiz,” in Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Geschichte 69, no. 1 (2019), 6–26. Zeuske’s fndings especially have to do with details of Ludwig Escher’s death in December 1845 and with his slaveholding. Zeuske provides an estimate of the value of the plantation and the slaves. His work provides context and background and also touches on the personal fates of individuals. However, the sources he has identifed still provide no information about whether and for what price the real estate and slaves were sold or whether an exchange was made. Zeuske’s conclusion: The foundations for a process of capital accumulation, the absolute power of control over potential capital that consisted of human bodies and their lived experience,…a labour force, the organisation of production and power over the producers, creativity…were at hand. Neither the real estate nor the slaves could be conveyed to Switzerland…Heinrich Escher sold the plantation and the slaves. The money went to Zurich, surely as a libranza (order of payment). Zeuske, “Artemisa,” 25f. It must be noted that neither the sale of the real estate and slaves nor the transfer of funds to Switzerland are documented in the available sources. 51 I have published several works on Heinrich Escher’s fortune. Loosely speaking, the assets that Heinrich Escher had at his disposal after his fnal return from America in 1814, and which were ultimately inherited by his son Alfred in 1853, had a value of around a million francs. Alfred Escher, in turn, left this million, which had doubled thanks to the asset management of the bank, to his daughter Lydia in 1882. The greater part of the real estate that Lydia inherited had also already been the property of Heinrich Escher (e.g. the Belvoir estate). The fortune of Lydia Escher – later Welti-Escher – consisted of the same securities and real estate that had been in the family for three generations. It can thus be said that the Escher family fortune, which was transferred to the Swiss state in part on the establishment of the Gottfried Keller Foundation and in part on the death of Lydia Welti-Escher, roughly corresponded to what Heinrich Escher already possessed. For more on the Escher family fortune see the following: Joseph Jung, Das imaginäre Museum: Privates Kunstengagement und Staatliche Kulturpolitik in der Schweiz; Die Gottfried Keller-Stiftung 1890–1922 (Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1998); Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017); Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Der Aufbruch zur modernen Schweiz, 4 volumes (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2006); Joseph Jung, Lydia Welti-Escher 1858–1891, 5th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2016).

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52 I frst published my biography of Lydia Welt-Escher in 2008. See the latest edition: Joseph Jung, Lydia Welti-Escher 1858–1891, 5th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2016). In 1998, I wrote extensively on her inheritance, her fnancial endowment and the acquisition policies of the Gottfried Keller Foundation: Joseph Jung, Das imaginäre Museum: Privates Kunstengagement und staatliche Kulturpolitik in der Schweiz; Die Gottfried Keller-Stiftung 1890–1922 (Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1998). For an up-to-date compilation of materials regarding the foundation’s fnancial debacle, see Joseph Jung, Lydia Welti-Escher 1858–1891, 5th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2016), 234ff. 53 See Joseph Jung, Das imaginäre Museum: Privates Kunstengagement und staatliche Kulturpolitik in der Schweiz; Die Gottfried Keller-Stiftung 1890–1922 (Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1998). For the current number of acquisitions, I am indebted to information helpfully provided by Professor Emeritus Franz Zelger, the President of the Gottfried Keller Foundation. 54 Joseph Jung, Das imaginäre Museum: Privates Kunstengagement und staatliche Kulturpolitik in der Schweiz; Die Gottfried Keller-Stiftung 1890– 1922 (Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1998), 246ff. 55 “In the mid-1840s, the Conservative press became aware of the young agitator…Escher was on the front lines, and was already demonstrating qualities that revealed a glimpse of the consummate politician he would become. Other courses were also set. The Conservatives recognised in Escher not only a political opponent who would have to be taken seriously, but also discerned the combative power he might be able to amass.” Joseph Jung, Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. (Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017), 133f. 56 My biography of Ulrico Hoepli was frst published in 1997: Joseph Jung, ed., “…am literarischen Webstuhl….” Ulrico Hoepli 1847–1935: Buchhändler, Verleger, Antiquar, Mäzen, with a foreword by Federal Councillor Flavio Cotti and contributions by Ottavio Besomi, Niklaus Bigler and Hans E. Brauen, et al., (Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1997), 16–73. (Or, in its Italian translation: Ulrico Hoepli 1847–1935: Editore e libraio (Zurich: Hoepli Editore, 2001), 141–188). The discussion here relies on the relevant passages of these editions, with some rewording. 57 Jung, “…am literarischen Webstuhl…,” 29. 58 Jung, “…am literarischen Webstuhl…,” 64. 59 “Martha Raschle was a beautiful young woman, who was known as the ‘prettiest damsel in Toggenburg’…and added to that, she was the daughter of one of the wealthiest textile manufacturers in Switzerland.” Peter Voegeli and Nikolaus Voegeli, Der Balkankönig und seine Familie. Eine andere Geschichte der Schweiz (Bern: Stämpfi Verlag, 2017), 14. 60 This phenomenon is documented up until the outbreak of the First World War. An example can be seen in Jakob Müller of Lucerne, whose commitment to the Orient Railway was greater than that of any other Swiss. See Karl Lüönd, Der Türken-Müller: Ein Luzerner und die Orientbahn, vol. 110 of Schweizer Pioniere der Wirtschaft und Technik (Zurich: Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien, 2018). 61 Petar Karadordevíc lived abroad from a very young age. In 1894, he settled in Geneva; he returned to his native country as King of Serbia in 1903. See Thomas Bürgisser, Wahlverwandschaft zweier Sonderfälle im Kalten Krieg. Schweizerische Perspektiven auf das sozialistische Jugoslawien 1943–1991 (Bern: Quaderni di Dodis 8, 2017), 52. 62 My thanks to Peter Voegeli for his helpful suggestion.

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63 These coveted bits of cloth from Glarus were produced by F. Blumer & Cie. In Schwanden. On every pack of these textiles a Serbian fag was affxed, on which the saying “God Bless Serbia” was embroidered: “A wonderful advertising hit.” Peter Voegeli and Nikolaus Voegeli, Der Balkankönig und seine Familie. Eine andere Geschichte der Schweiz (Bern: Stämpfi Verlag, 2017), 33. 64 Vögeli’s last words were a quotation: “What I miss is only everything / I’m so abandoned here, / It’s beautiful in foreign countries / But they will never be my home.” These words were written by Christopher Sydow, an accountant, from his home in the USA to his family in Brandenburg in 1860. Sydow was torn between his yearning for his German homeland and his connection with America. Mitsuo Martin Iwamoto, “Wie Deutsche in den USA um ihre Identität rangen,” Der Tagesspiegel, 27 July 2018, accessed 11 September 2019, www.tagesspiegel.de/wissen/deutsche-einwanderer-wie-deutsche-inden-usa-um-ihre-identitaet-rangen/22839202.html; Peter Voegeli and Nikolaus Voegeli, Der Balkankönig und seine Familie. Eine andere Geschichte der Schweiz (Bern: Stämpfi Verlag, 2017), 105. 65 My thanks to Patrick Waespi, town clerk of Andelfngen, for his helpful assistance as I made use of the town archives. 66 Der Spiegel, 19 January 1955 – “The CIA armed opponents of Arbenz in neighbouring Honduras, and prepared them for an invasion. The invasion of the rebels took place in July 1954 and was accompanied by fy-overs by planes that dropped bombs and pamphlets on Guatemalan cities. They were fown by former American military pilots who had been recruited by the CIA.” Quoted in Werner Marti, “Jacobo Arbenz – ein Opfer des Kalten Krieges,” Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 11 September 2013. 67 Letter from Carl Stemmler-Vetter, 16 January 1955 (Andelfngen Municipal Archive). 68 Letter from Edmond C. Peck, 4 February 1955 (Andelfngen Municipal Archive). 69 Schweizer Illustrierte, 9 July 1962 (Cover story about Arabella Arbenz): “She knows what she wants.” 70 In the following discussion, I rely on biographical research that Hildegard Elisabeth Keller has most cordially and collegially made available to me. Her comprehensive depiction of the life and work of Alfonsina Storni will be published soon. I am very grateful for the opportunity I was granted to read the manuscript. A radio show about Alfonsina Storni can be listened to online: Hildegard Elisabeth Keller and Bernard Senn: “Auf alles gefasst sein: Eine Reise zur argentinisch-schweizerischen Künstlerin Alfonsina Storni,” 58 minutes, Schweizer Radio DRS, 2010. 71 Alfonsina Storni, Von der Hutmacherin zur Dichterin, 1928, trans. Hildegard Elisabeth Keller. See previous endnote. 72 My thanks to Professor Hildegard Elisabeth Keller for her helpful suggestion. 73 This is the title of a diary in which she documented her emigration in the form of “casual travel notes.” Mediathek Wallis, Sitten, Sig. BCV R 574. 74 In 1885, Sister Gertrud wrote to Maria-Rickenbach: Thanks to the dear Lord, I am very satisfed with the good progress of the mission…The Indian children bring me a lot of joy…I was so happy to bring a 17-year-old Indian girl home as a candidate for our convent… Leonhard Bösch, Die Benedikterinnen von Maria-Rickenbach: Kurze Geschichte des Klosters Maria-Rickenbach und seiner amerikanischen Gründungen (Niederrickenbach: Kloster der Benediktinerinnen Maria Rickenbach, 2003), 78.

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75 1874: Mission station in Maryville, Missouri (village next to Conception); 1876: Convent in Conception (moved to Clyde in 1882); 1880: Convent Maryville (moved to Yankton in 1887); 1882: Queen of Angels Convent in Mount Angel. Abbot Anselm of the Engelberg monastery describes the departure of the frst nuns from Maria-Rickenbach for the USA in his diary in 1874: “From the enthusiastic crowd of applicants, the fve healthiest, best, most self-sacrifcing…were selected to step onto American soil and to help with its Catholicising.” Marita Heller-Dirr, “Schwestern schwärmen aus für Kloster und Gott: Benedikterinnen von Maria-Rickenbach (Nidwalden) in Tätigkeiten und Diensten ausserhalb des Mutterhauses,” in vol. 161 of Der Geschichtsfreund: Mitteilungen des Historischen Vereins Zentralschweiz, ed. Historischer Verein Zentralschweiz (Altdorf: Verlag Gisler, 2008), 265. 76 Josephine Gentinetta, Zwangslose Reisenotizen. 77 Sr. M. Claudia OSB: Obituary of Sr. M. John Berchmanns Gentinetta OSB, 10 December 1938. The obituary was kindly made available to me by Sister Jennifer Kehrwal OSB of Yankton. 78 Before the founding of the Federal State in 1848, systematic nationwide emigration statistics did not exist. There is thus no getting around having to use estimates and approximate values. Yet these can be backed up in several ways. For the period after 1850, there are qualitative statistical foundations. The emigration fgures in the text and the graphs are based on the research fndings of Heiner Ritzmann-Blickenstorfer, ed., Historische Statistik der Schweiz: Unter der Leitung von Hansjörg Siegenthaler (Zurich: Chronos Verlag, 1996). In addition, I have consulted older foundational research, such as Wilhelm Bickel, Bevölkerungsgeschichte und Bevölkerungspolitik der Schweiz seit dem Ausgang des Mittelalters (Zurich: Büchergilde Gutenberg, 1947); Arlettaz Gérard, L’émigration Suisse outre-mer de 1815 à 1920 (Bern: Schweizerisches Bundesarchiv, 1975); Jean-François Bergier, Wirtschaftgeschichte der Schweiz: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Zurich: Benziger, 1990); further statistical information can be found in André Holenstein, Patrick Kury and Kristina Schulz, Schweizer Migrationsgeschichte: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2018). 79 For overseas emigration in particular, see Heiner Ritzmann-Blickenstorfer, ed., Historische Statistik der Schweiz. Unter der Leitung von Hansjörg Siegenthaler (Zurich: Chronos Verlag, 1996), 365. 80 See Marcel Heiniger, “Einwanderung (Immigration),” Historisches Lexicon der Schweiz, 7 December 2016, accessed 2 October 2019, https://hls-dhsdss.ch/de/articles/007991/2006-12-07/; “1888 – Die Schweiz wird zum Einwanderungsland,” (1888: Switzerland becomes a country of immigration) is the title of a chapter in André Holenstein, Patrick Kury and Kristina Schulz, Schweizer Migrationsgeschichte: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2018), 209ff. 81 In 1888, statistics on immigrating foreigners were gathered for the frst time. In the earlier statistics, the number of foreigners in Switzerland was presented and compared with the number of Swiss abroad. The reliability of these statistics has to be qualifed, since they do not document the migration processes, but only, so to speak, the state of affairs. The number of foreigners who immigrated to Switzerland was offcially compiled for the frst time in 1888 (229, 650). 82 The waves of emigration in the 19th century often correspond to economic cycles. For Switzerland as a country of emigration and for the USA as a country of immigration, this statement pertains after the middle of the 19th century: Economic crises in Switzerland coincided with upswings in

258

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84 85 86 87

88

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the USA. Emigration from Switzerland to the USA was especially high in the years in which agricultural production in Switzerland declined and supply shortfalls arose. This was the case from 1815 to 1819 (due to volcanic eruptions in southeast Asia), 1847 to 1854 (potato disease) and 1878 to 1884 (agricultural crisis due to grain imports from the USA). Deportations took place all over Switzerland. The municipal assembly in Zillis, for example, resolved on 2 April 1854 “to dispatch the families of Adam and Jacob Heller and Johann Georg Eugster to South America.” See Peter Michael-Cafisch, Hier hört man keine Glocken: Geschichte der Schamser Auswanderung nach Amerika und Australien (Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2008), 123. Klaus Anderegg, “Auswanderung und Delinquenz: Das Abschieben von Walliser Strafgefangenen nach Amerika im dritten Viertel des 19. Jahrhunderts,” in Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, 80, no. 3/4 (1984): 186. My thanks to Dr Klaus Anderegg for his helpful suggestions. Alongside gratitude to the hometown of his ancestors, Brunner experienced honour and joy at being elevated to the rank of baron – which his 1899 donation helped bring about. “He was an enterprising businessman, a generous human being and a passionate art collector.” Urs Oscar Keller, “Alfred und Eugénie Baur-Duret: Pioniere, Wohltäter und Kunstsammler; Mit Kokospalmen reich geworden,” in Zu jeder Jahreszeit ein Juwel: Schlosspark Andelfngen; 200 Jahre englisches Gartenparadies im Zürcher Weinland, ed. Stiftung Schlosspark Adelfngen (Kreuzlingen: Stiftung Schloss Andelfngen, 2017), 7–9. The Dictionary of Australasian Biography (1892), 85. “The infuence of the Swiss in the feld of viticulture was out of all proportion to their numbers…”; Susanne Wegmann and Colin Bernard Thornton-Smith, “La Trobe and Swiss Vine Growers in Victoria,” in Journal of the Royal Australian Historical Society 73, no. 4 (1988): 287–295. Another of these pioneers of viticulture was the agronomist Frédéric Guillaume de Pury (1831–1872), a relative of La Trobe. My thanks to Peter Michael-Cafisch for the helpful suggestions.

Appendix

Brief Glossary

Act of Mediation (1803) – Act issued by Napoleon putting an end to the Helvetic Republic and returning much of its centralised power to the cantons, while keeping Switzerland a vassal state to France. Cantonal Parliament – The term used in this book for the legislative body of a cantonal government. The individual cantons use a variety of names for this body. Council of States (1848 to the present) – The chamber of the Swiss Parliament representing the cantons. It is made up of two representatives elected by each canton. Federal Council (1848 to the present) – The chief executive of the post1848 Swiss government, comprising seven members elected by the Swiss Parliament (q.v.), with a rotating and purely ceremonial presidency. Federal Diet (15th century to 1848) – The legislative and executive council of the Old Swiss Confederacy. It existed in various forms from the beginnings of Swiss independence until the formation of the Swiss Federal State in 1848. Government Council – The term used in this book for the chief executive body of a cantonal government. The individual cantons use a variety of names for this body. Helvetic Republic (1798–1803) – Republic incorporating most of the territory of modern Switzerland, established as a “sister republic” to France after invasion by the French Revolutionary Army in 1798. The Helvetic Republic centralised many powers that had previously been held by the cantons and was deeply resented by much of the population. Swiss resistance led to the dissolution of the Helvetic Republic through the Act of Mediation (q.v.) in 1803. National Council (1848 to the present) – The chamber of the Swiss Parliament representing the people. It is made up of 200 members elected by the cantons in numbers proportional to their populations. Old Swiss Confederacy (ca 1300–1848, except for 1798–1803) – The precursor of the modern state of Switzerland, the Old Swiss Confederacy was a loose confederation of independent small states known as cantons. It was initially part of the Holy Roman Empire. It was briefy interrupted when the Helvetic Republic was founded in 1798 after the

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French invasion, but established again in 1803. It ended in 1848 with the passing of the Federal Constitution. Sonderbund War (1847) – Civil war pitting Liberal/Radical, generally Protestant Cantons, which favoured economic liberalism (the Confederation), against Conservative and generally Catholic Cantons favouring patrician rule and semi-feudalism (the Sonderbund). The war lasted only three weeks and caused only about 200 deaths, but the decisive victory of the Confederation set the stage for the political and economic restructuring of 1848. Swiss Federal State (1848 to the present) – The form of government frst established by the Constitution of 1848. Authority is divided between the cantons and the federal government, with a clear separation of powers on the US model. From 1848 to 1874, the Swiss Federal State was a representative democracy; after 1874 (with the introduction of optional referendums on federal legislation) and further after 1891 (with the introduction of popular initiatives to introduce constitutional changes), Switzerland became a hybrid between a direct democracy and a representative democracy. Swiss Parliament (1848 to the present) – The legislative branch of the Swiss government, consisting of the National Council (q.v.) and the Council of States (q.v.).

Bibliography

Series and Lexica Altermatt, Urs, ed. Das Bundesratslexikon. Basel: NZZ Libro, 2019. Historisches Lexikon der Schweiz, online, accessed 29 October 2019, https:// hls-dhs-dss.ch/. Rucki, Isabelle, and Dorothee Huber, eds. Architektenlexikon der Schweiz 19./20. Jahrhundert. Basel: Birkhäuser, 1998. Schweizer Pioniere der Wirtschaft und Technik. Edited by the Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien (Zurich). As of 2020, there are 117 volumes in German, 15 in French and 5 in English. See https://www.pioniere.ch.

Selected Publications in English Arengo-Jones, Peter. Queen Victoria in Switzerland. London: Robert Hale Ltd., 1995. Breiding, R. James. Swiss Made: The Untold Story behind Switzerland’s Success. London: Profle Books, 2013. Conrad-Daubrah, Diane. Nineteenth-Century British Visitors and Their Church in Pontresina. Personalities, Tradition and Architecture 1860–1900. Catalogue for the expedition of the same name in Pontresina, December 2016 to October 2017. Curtis, Ashley. “O Switzerland!” Travelers’ Accounts, 57 BCE to the Present. Basel: Bergli Books, 2018. Jung, Joseph. Switzerland’s Success Story: The Life and Work of Alfred Escher (1819–1882). Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2015. Lunn, Arnold. A Century of Mountaineering 1857–1957. London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd, 1957. Seger, Cordula, and Bettina Plattner-Gerber. Engadin St Moritz: Ein Tal schreibt Geschichten; A Valley with Stories to Tell. Zurich: AS Verlag, 2016. Stephen, Leslie. The Playground of Europe. London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1871. Studer, Roman. “When Did the Swiss Get so Rich? Comparing Living Standards in Switzerland and Europe, 1800–1913.” Journal of European Economic History, 37, no. 2 (2008): 405–452. Whymper, Edward. Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69. London: Century, 1985. Wraight, John. The Swiss and the British. Bodmin-Cornwall: M. Russell, 1987.

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Selected Publications in German Altermatt, Urs. Vom Unruheherd zur stabilen Republik: Der schweizerische Bundesrat 1848–1875. Basel: NZZ Libro, 2020. Anderegg, Klaus. “Oberwalliser Auswanderung nach Übersee im dritten Viertel des 19. Jahrhunderts: Ursachen und Stellungnahmen.” In Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, edited by Thomas Antonietti and Marie Claude Morand, Sion: Cahiers d’ethnologie valaisanne, 76 (1980): 175–196, 1991. Anderegg, Klaus. “Ursachen und Anlässe der Walliser Auswanderung im 19. Jahrhundert.” In Valais d’Emigration, edited by Thomas Antonietti and Marie Claude Morand, Sion: Cahiers d’ethnologie valaisanne, 87–123. Anderegg, Klaus. “Auswanderung als Prozess.” In Valais d’Emigration, edited by Antonietti and Morand, 133ff. Anderegg, Klaus. “Die Kolonie San Jerónimo Norte in der argentinischen Pampa.” In Valais d’Emigration, edited by Antonietti and Morand, 161ff. Anderegg, Klaus, “Einzelauswanderung aus dem Oberwallis nach den Vereinigten Staaten.” In Valais d’Emigration, edited by Thomas Antonietti and Marie Claude Morand, Sion: Cahiers d’ethnologie valaisanne, 185ff. Anker, Daniel, ed., Helvetia Club: 150 Jahre Schweizer Alpen-Club SAC (Bern: SAC, 2013), 74. Published for the exhibition “Helvetia Club: Die Schweiz, die Berge und der Schweizer Alpen-Club,” at the Alpines Museum in Bern, 20 April–30 March 2014. Anker, Daniel, ed. Matterhorn: Berg der Berge. Zurich: AS Verlag, 2015. Antonietti, Thomas, and Marie Claude Morand, ed., Valais d’Emigration: Auswanderungsland Wallis. Publication accompanying the exhibition “Ubi bene ibi patria…” Sion: Editions des Musées cantonaux du Valais, 1991. Arlettaz, Gérald. “L’émigration suisse outre-mer de 1815 à 1920.” In Studien und Quellen. Bundesarchiv: Oscar Gauye, vol. 1, 31–96. Bern, 1975. Bätzing, Werner. Die Alpen: Geschichte und Zukunft einer europäischen Kulturlandschaft, 2nd rev. ed. Munich: C.H. Beck, 2003. Bergier, Jean-François. Wirtschaftsgeschichte der Schweiz: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart. Zurich: Benziger, 1990. Bodmer, Walter. Schweizerische Industrie-Geschichte. Zurich: Verlag Berichthaus, 1960. Breiding, R. James, and Gerhard Schwarz. Wirtschaftswunder Schweiz: Ursprung und Zukunft eines Erfolgsmodells, 2nd ed. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2011. Caminada, Paul. Pioniere der Alpentopografie: Die Geschichte der Schweizer Kartenkunst. Zurich: AS Verlag, 2003. Conrad-Daubrah, Diane. Johannes Badrutt (1819–1889): Ich habe den schlauen Moment benutzt – Ich wagte und es gelang. St. Moritz: Self-published, 2009. Creux, René, and Louis Gaulis. Schweizer Pioniere der Hotellerie. Foreword by Werner Kämpfen. Translated by Herbert Meier. Paudex: Ed. de Fontainemore/Schweizerische Verkehrszentrale, 1976. Egger, Carl. Pioniere der Alpen: 30 Lebensbilder der grossen Schweizer Bergführer von Melchior Anderegg bis Franz Lochmatter 1827–1933. Basel: Amstutz, Hardeg & Co., 1946. Flückiger-Seiler, Roland. Hotelpaläste: Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit; Schweizer Tourismus und Hotelbau 1830–1920, 2nd ed. Zurich: Hier und Jetzt, 2005.

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Halbeisen, Patrick, Margrit Müller, and Béatrice Veyrassat, eds. Wirtschaftsgeschichte der Schweiz im 20. Jahrhundert. Basel: Schwabe, 2012. Haller, Lea. Transithandel: Geld- und Warenströme im globalen Kapitalismus. Berlin: Suhrkamp, 2019. Holenstein, André, Patrick Kury, and Kristina Schulz. Schweizer Migrationsgeschichte: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart. Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2018. Holenstein, Rolf. Ochsenbein: Erfinder der modernen Schweiz. Basel: Echtzeit, 2009. Imhasly, Marianne-Franziska. Katholische Pfarrer in der Alpenregion um 1850. Vol. 9 of Religion – Politik – Gesellschaft in der Schweiz, edited by Urs Altermatt. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg, 1992. Jung, Joseph. Works cited below. Kley, Andreas. Verfassungsgeschichte der Neuzeit: Grossbritannien, die USA, Frankreich, Deutschland und die Schweiz. Bern: Stämpfi Verlag, 2008. Kopf, Martina. Alpinismus – Andinismus: Gebirgslandschaften in europäischer und lateinamerikanischer Literatur. Stuttgart: Springer, 2016. Kunsthaus Zürich, ed. Von Anker bis Zünd: Die Kunst im jungen Bundesstaat 1848–1900. Zurich: Scheidegger & Spiess AG Verlag, 1998. Lütscher, Michael. Schnee, Sonne und Stars. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2014. Mathieu, Jon. Die Alpen: Raum – Kultur – Geschichte. Stuttgart: Reclam, 2015. Mathieu, Jon, Eva Bachmann, and Ursula Butz. Majestätische Berge: Die Monarchie auf dem Weg in die Alpen 1760–1910. Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2018. Michael-Caflisch, Peter. Hier hört man keine Glocken: Geschichte der Schamser Aus-wanderung nach Amerika und Australien. Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2008. Omachen, Peter. Luzern – eine Touristenstadt: Hotelarchitektur von 1782 bis 1914. Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2010. Piatti, Barbara. Von Casanova bis Churchill: Berühmte Reisende auf ihrem Weg durch die Schweiz. Baden: Hier und Jetzt, 2016. Rucki, Isabelle. Das Hotel in den Alpen: Die Geschichte der Oberengadiner Hotelarchi- tektur von 1860 bis 1914. Zurich: Institut für Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur, ETH Zurich, 1989. Sauthier, Géraldine. Pouvoir local et Tourisme: Jeux politiques à Finhaut, Montreux et Zer- matt de 1850 à nos jours. Neuchâtel: Edition Alphil, 2016. Schiedt, Hans-Ulrich, Laurent Tissot, Christoph Maria Merki, and Rainer C. Schwinges, eds. Verkehrsgeschichte: Schweizerische Gesellschaft für Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte, vol. 25. Zurich: Chronos Verlag, 2010. Seger, Cordula. Grand Hotel: Schauplatz der Literatur. Brühl: Bohlau-Verlag, 2005. Seiler, Mark Andreas. Ein Gletscher – ein Hotel – eine Familie: Horizonte einer Walliser Hotelierdynastie. Visp: Rotten Verlag, 2012. Siegenthaler, Hansjörg. “Warum ist die Schweiz reich geworden?” NZZ Geschichte, no. 22 (May 2019): 25–38.

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Stalder, Helmut. Gotthard: Der Pass und sein Mythos. Zurich: Orell Füssli, 2016. Stalder, Helmut. Verkannte Visionäre: 24 Schweizer Lebensgeschichten. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2011. Taugwalder, Matthias, ed. Die Suche nach der Wahrheit: 150 Jahre Erstbesteigung Matterhorn vom 14. Juli. Visp: Rotten Verlag, 2015. Works by Joseph Jung In its presentation of a number of topics, the present work draws heavily on books, studies, papers and essays that I have published over the course of many years. The relevant passages from these earlier works have been reworded, and their content has been expanded on. Such passages are indicated in the notes. The works to which I make reference in this context are the following: Jung, Joseph. “‘In labore virtus et vita’: Ulrico Hoepli 1847–1935.” In … am literarischen Webstuhl…”: Ulrico Hoepli 1847–1935; Buchhändler, Verleger, Antiquar, Mäzen, edited by Joseph Jung, 17–73. Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1997. Jung, Joseph. Das imaginäre Museum: Privates Kunstengagement und staatliche Kulturpolitik in der Schweiz; Die Gottfried Keller-Stiftung 1890–1922. Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 1998. Jung, Joseph. Der Bockenkrieg 1804: Aspekte eines Volksaufstandes. Zurich: NZZ Verlag, 2004. Jung, Joseph. Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Der Aufbruch zur modernen Schweiz, 4 vols. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2006. Jung, Joseph. “Das wirtschaftsliberale Zeitfenster des jungen Bundesstaates.” In Alfred Eschers Briefwechsel 1852–1866: Wirtschaftsliberales Zeitfenster, Gründungen, Aussenpolitik, edited by Joseph Jung, 7–26. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2013. Jung, Joseph. “Imagination und Illuminierung: Gedanken zur Schweiz, zur Bergmalerei und zu Valentin Roschachers Alpenpanorama.” In Valentin Roschacher: Die Schweizer Alpen; Ölbilder 2000–2013, edited by Renato Compostella and Res Perrot, 9–18. Salenstein: Benteli, 2013. Jung, Joseph, ed. Schweizer Erfolgsgeschichten: Pioniere, Unternehmen, Innovationen, with contributions from Bruno Bohlhalter, Hans Bollmann, David Bosshart et al., vol. 100 (anniversary edition) of Schweizer Pioniere der Wirtschaft und Technik, edited by the Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien. Zurich: Verein für wirtschaftshistorische Studien, 2013. Jung, Joseph. “Schweizer Revolutionär: Alfred Eschers Einfluss auf die moderne Schweiz.” Schweizer Monat, no. 1011 (Oktober 2013): 47–50. Jung, Joseph. “Projekt Schweiz oder der ‘Spirit of 48’: Abdruck der Festrede am Festakt zum 150-Jahr-Jubiläum der Akademischen Verbindung Turicia vom 22. Mai 2010 im Kongresshaus Zürich.” In Stolzes Banner am Limmatstrand: Die Geschichte der Akademischen Verbindung Turicia 1860–2013, edited by Alt-Turicia Zürich, 15–30. Zurich: Alt-Turicia, 2014. Jung, Joseph. “‘Der Prinzeps und sein Hof’ oder wie die liberale Herrschaft in Zürich unterging.” In Alfred Eschers Briefwechsel 1866–1882: Private

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Eisenbahngesellschaften in der Krise, Gotthardbahn politische Opposition, edited by Joseph Jung, 12–21. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2015. Jung, Joseph. “16-Stunden-Tag, keine Ferien: Das protestantische Arbeitsethos von Alfred Escher.” NZZ Geschichte, no. 3 (2015): 32f. Jung, Joseph. Lydia Welti-Escher 1858–1891, 5th ed. With a foreword by Hildegard Elisabeth Keller. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2016. Jung, Joseph. Alfred Escher 1819–1882: Aufstieg, Macht, Tragik, 6th ed. Zurich: NZZ Libro, 2017. Jung, Joseph. “Der Aufstieg der Schweiz hat einen Namen.” Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 23 February 2019.

Index of Places

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to fgures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. This index includes the names of towns, passes, mountains, waterways, regions and countries that are mentioned in the main text and in the captions and tables of Chapters One through Five. Business addresses, streets and squares have generally not been included. Terms such as “Switzerland” and “Alps” are specifed in greater detail (for example, “Central Switzerland” and “Bernese Alps”). Towns and geographical names of places outside of Switzerland are followed, where applicable, with the sovereign territory to which they belonged in the historical period relevant for this book. Names of towns in Switzerland are not further specifed, except to distinguish them from other Swiss towns of the same name. Aarau 13, 48 Aargau 197, 208, 246 Addis Ababa (Ethiopia) 196 Adelboden 122–124 Affeltrangen 234 Africa 72, 191, 194, 198, 209, 219, 242, 243 Agassizhorn 49 Ahmar El Ain (Algeria) 219 Alaska (USA) 206 Albis 5 Albula (Pass) 38, 117–118, 124, 147, 151 Aletsch (Glacier) 64, 78, 170n85 Aletschhorn 60, 64 Algeria 211, 219–220 Allalinhorn 60 Alp Giop 151 Alphubel 60 Alp Lusgen 71 Alsace (France) 26, 152, 185, 222 Altdorf 13, 55 America 5, 32, 129, 185, 190, 194, 197, 203–206, 208, 211–213, 217–218, 224–225, 227, 235, 238, 240, 242, 243, 245–247, 254n51, 256n64, 258n83; see also Central America; Latin America; North

America; South America; United States of America Amsterdam (the Netherlands) 7, 182n179, 201 Andalusia (Spain) 186 Andelfngen 196, 234–235, 249 Andes (South America) 65, 83 Antarctica 73 Antotto (Ethiopia) 196 Antwerp (Belgium) 6, 144 Appalachia (USA) 205 Appenzell (Ausserrhoden, Innerrhoden) 33, 38, 125, 204, 218, 244 Arabian Peninsula 194 Arbon 37–39, 124 Arenenberg 136 Argentina 197, 218–219, 220, 221, 236–238, 242–245, 247, 249, 252n42, 253n43 Arosa 114, 122–123, 127–128, 179n144, 180n161 Arth (Goldau) 32 Asia 65, 158, 211, 242, 243, 249, 258n82 Atlantic 191, 197, 203, 205, 209, 214, 220, 224, 228, 237–238, 240, 242, 254n50

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Index of Places

Australia 203, 206, 213, 247, 249 Austria (Empire) 16, 20, 36, 49, 67, 80, 107, 117, 136–137, 145, 158, 164n27, 209 Austria-Hungary 107, 145, 158, 191, 233 Avenches 13 Awsa (Ethiopia) 194 Axenstein (Morschach) 80, 160, 170n88 Axenstrasse 80 Bad Ragaz 38 Baden 29, 112, 114, 124, 125, 131, 180n155 Baden (Grand Duchy) 117 Baden-Baden (Germany) 41, 166n47 Bahia (Brazil) 209 Balmhorn 66 Balzers (Liechtenstein) 37 Basel 23, 28, 32, 40, 42, 44, 46, 81, 136, 141, 185, 189, 190, 191, 196, 206, 210, 239, 240, 241, 244 Bavaria (Kingdom of) 36, 41, 80, 137, 156, 189, 204 Beatenberg 78 Belalp 71, 78, 151, 170n85 Belgium 136, 162 Belgrade (Serbia) 232–233 Bellwald 220 Belvoir (Enge) 5, 227, 229, 254 Bergell 151, 182n185 Bergün 38 Berlin (Germany) 4–5, 28, 79, 83, 131, 186, 193, 199, 200, 222 Bern 13, 17–18, 23–24, 32, 35, 42, 50, 53, 58, 75, 80–81, 112–13, 123, 151, 152, 185–156, 189, 202, 208, 213, 235, 238, 241, 244, 247 Berna (Argentina) 247 Bernese Alps 49, 123, 146 Bernese Oberland 5, 27–28, 30, 35, 40–41, 63–64, 77–78, 111, 120, 122, 132, 142, 161–162 Bernina 49, 54–55, 59, 114, 118, 147 Bex 110, 134 Biarritz (France) 116 Biel 13, 153, 249 Binntal 132 Bishorn 62 Bödeli (Interlaken) 79 Bondasca 148 Brandenburg (Germany) 186, 256n64

Braunwald 133 Brazil 111, 190, 208–216, 221, 242, 244, 246 Breithorn 25, 48, 59, 62, 78, 144 Breithornzwilling 62 Brent 43 Brera (Italy) 146 Brianza (Italy) 146 Brienz 31, 78, 144, 151 Brienzer Rothorn 47 Brig (Brig-Glis) 26, 30, 33, 151, 222, 241 Brione 203 British Columbia (Canada) 65 Brünig (Pass) 82 Brunnen 31, 55, 80, 160, 170n88 Bubikon 55 Buenos Aires (Argentina) 238 Bülach 248 Bulgaria (Kingdom of) 233 Burgdorf 206 Bürgenstock 160 Cairo (Egypt) 192, 194, 229 Calanca 198 California (USA) 73, 203–206 Campinas (Brazil) 210 Canada 206, 247 Cannes (France) 159 Caribbean 213, 224, 226 Casa Helvetia see Colônia Helvetia Castasegna 151 Castile (Spain) 186 Castor 61 Caux 80, 106, 107, 109, 139 Cavergno 203 Celerina 121 Centovalli 202 Central America 32 Central Asia 65 Central Switzerland 28, 32–33, 80, 133, 141, 143, 160, 216–217 Chamonix (France) 14–17, 30, 82–84, 99–100, 163n14, 176n116 Champéry 109 Champex (-Lac) 132 Châtelard (Montreux) 108 Chernex (Montreux) 43 Chiavenna (Italy) 151, 162 Chicago (USA) 146, 216 Chile 73, 197 Chillon 21, 30, 43, 108 China 158, 236

Index of Places 269 Christiania, today Oslo (Norway) 117 Chur 38, 115, 118, 128, 151, 180n160 Cincinnati (USA) 216, 252n37 Clarens 21, 42, 108, 110 Colombo (Sri Lanka) 249 Colônia Helvetia (Brazil) 209–210 Colorado (USA) 73 Combin de Grafeneire 60 Combin de la Tsessette 62 Combin de Valsorey 62 Conception (USA) 240, 257n75 Constance (Germany) 133, 204, 214 Constantinople see Istanbul Crimea 207–208 Cuba 212, 226–227, 236, 253n49 Czechoslovakia 236 Davos 39, 55, 75–76, 114, 120, 122– 124, 127–131, 134, 142, 151, 157, 158, 170n80, 179n144, 199, 244 Dent Blanche 61, 78 Dent d’Hérens 61, 66 Dents du Midi 16, 109 Disentis (-Mustér) 13, 16 Djibouti (Ethiopia) 196 Dom 60 Dublin (Ireland) 82, 147 Dufourspitze 59, 64, 83 Dundee (Scotland) 154 Dürrboden 39 Dürrenhorn 62 Düsseldorf (Germany) 193 Eastern Europe 199, 207 Eastern Switzerland 16, 29, 132, 151, 187, 204, 229, 232 East Prussia 185–186 Edinburgh (Scotland) 154 Egg 222 Egypt 192, 229 Eiger 7, 64, 67, 106, 153 Eiger, North Face 67 Einsiedeln 12–13, 29, 44, 55, 164n29, 216–217, 240, 252n36 El Salvador 234 Elbrus 65 Elm 133 Engadin 35, 38, 55, 75–76, 114–22, 132, 137, 142, 146–148, 178n129, 178n130, 178n132, 178n136, 178n148, 182n181, 182n185, 182n193, 199

Enge (Zurich) 227–28 Engelberg 6, 16, 55, 134, 163n14, 240, 257n75 England 17, 21, 41, 69, 74–75, 79, 81, 83, 86, 96, 110, 116–119, 127, 143, 169n74, 171n92 Ennetmoos 80 Entlebuch 13 Erlangen (Germany) 223 Ermitage (Arlesheim) 40 Ernen 64 Esperanza (Argentina) 221 Ethiopia 194, 196 Etupes (France) 41 Etzel 55 Europe 5, 8–9, 11, 18–20, 22, 25, 39–40, 42, 44, 46, 56, 65, 68, 72, 73–74, 109, 111, 115, 117, 121, 123–24, 127, 133, 136, 138, 139, 144, 158, 159, 164n15, 177n126, 181n168, 181n169, 183n197, 185– 186, 189–190, 198–199, 200–201, 205, 207, 214, 221, 224, 228, 229, 233, 242, 243 Evian (Evian-les-Bains) 108 Evolène 78 Extremadura (Spain) 186 Far East 113 Faulhorn 40, 47 Feldmeilen 79 Fideris 38–39 Fiesch 48, 64 Fiescheralp 78 Fiescherhorn 61–62 Finsteraarhorn 48, 49, 59 Fionnay (Val de Bagnes) 132 Firth of Tay (Scotland) 154 Flims 152 Flüela 117 Flüelen 31, 55, 150, 170 Flüeli-Ranft 33 France 11–12, 20, 28–29, 83, 158, 162, 189, 198, 214, 218–219, 223–225, 236, 242, 249 Frankfurt a. M. (Germany) 79 Frauenfeld 194 Freiburg im Breisgau (Germany) 185 Fribourg 13, 28, 49, 208, 244 Friedrichshafen (Germany) 204 Fronalpstock 160 Fruthwilen (Salenstein) 194

270

Index of Places

FuorclaSurlej 123 Furka (Pass) 30

Gütersloh (Germany) 26 Gütsch 143

Gais 125 Gaster (Gasterland) 75, 214–215 Geneva 8, 14–21, 28–30, 34–35, 40, 42–44, 77, 80–82, 104, 106, 107, 110, 112, 114, 132–133, 135, 137, 139–142, 144–46, 152, 160, 164n15, 186, 193, 223–224, 232, 247, 249, 255n61 Georgia (USA) 224 Germany 5, 67, 127, 129, 156, 158, 169n74, 185, 187, 198, 204, 205, 207, 215, 222, 233, 242 Giessbach (Waterfall) 25, 30–31, 78, 79 Glarus 5, 7, 13, 38, 51, 53–54, 122–23, 127, 133, 226, 232–33, 244, 247, 256n63 Glarus Alps 5, 51, 53, 127 Glarus Region 133 Glion (Montreux) 43, 80, 105, 107, 108 Goldau see Arth Goms 47, 64, 65, 159 Gonten (Bad) 33 Gornergrat 153 Gotthard (Pass) 13, 29, 31, 33, 134, 137, 150–151, 153–154, 160, 202 Göttingen (Germany) 14 Grandes Jorasses 67 Grands Mulets 17 Graubünden 49, 114–115, 117–118, 124, 127, 129, 162, 182n193, 184n203 Great Britain (Kingdom of) 20, 41, 43, 77, 83–84, 95, 119, 131, 158, 188, 242 Greece 11, 117 Greenland 15, 83, 122 Gressoney 36 Grimsel (Pass) 48, 151 Grindelwald 25, 30–31, 35, 47, 63, 65, 75, 82, 111, 122–123, 151, 155, 165n35, 170n87 Grosses Grünhorn 61 Grüsch 38 Gstaad 106 Guatemala 196, 234–36, 256n66 Gubel 55 Guelma (Argentina) 219 Gurnigel (Pass) 29, 125

Hammetschwand 160 Hasle-Jungfrau see Wetterhorn Hawaii (USA) 206 Hegibach 35 Heidelberg (Germany) 128, 180n161 Heiden 133 Hindu Kush (Central Asia) 56 Hirschengraben (City of Zurich) 227, 228 Hohberghorn 61–62 Höhematte 43 Hohenheim (Germany) 41 Honduras 256n66 Horgen (Horgenberg) 55 Hörnli (Zermatt) 84–86 Huetliberg see Üetliberg Hugihorn 49 Hugisattel 49 Hungary 137, 198 Immensee 13 India 158, 179n146 Indonesia 191 Ins 193 Interlaken 31, 35, 43, 47, 77–78, 82, 91, 99, 110–14, 156, 173n102, 178n135 Irchel 52 Ireland 15, 41, 76, 247 Isenfuh 7 Isle of Wight (England) 41, 166n44 Istanbul (Ottoman Empire) 232 Italy (Kingdom of) 6–8, 11–12, 30, 69–70, 72, 84, 151, 162, 163n11, 187, 196, 198, 221, 229, 230–231, 236 Japan 158, 195 Julier (Pass) 117, 121–122, 178n140 Jungfrau 7, 43, 48, 59, 67, 75, 78, 105, 111, 144 Jungfraujoch 63, 106 Jura 28, 207 Jura, southern fank 28 Kaiserstuhl 222 Kaliningrad (Russia) 186 Kaltbad see Rigi Kaltbad Kander (Aare) 13 Kander Valley 13

Index of Places 271 Kandersteg 82 Kappel 12 Karelian Isthmus (Leningrad oblast, Russia) 188 Kazakhstan 208 Kempten (Germany) 204 Keren (Eritrea) 194 Kippel 34 Klausen (Pass) 156 Klein-Glienicke (Germany) 41 Kleine Scheidegg 47, 79, 151 Kleinhohenheim (Germany) 41 Klettgau (Germany/Switzerland) 215 Klöntal (hist. “Klönthal”) 13, 133 Kraków (Poland) 199 Kurpfalz (Germany) 26, 185 La Punt 39 Lac Leman see Lake Geneva Lagginhorn 59 Lake Bichel 229 Lake Brienz 31, 78 Lake Constance 133, 204, 214 Lake Geneva 8, 19, 21, 28, 30, 42–43, 77, 80, 104, 106, 107, 110, 114, 132–33, 135, 137, 141–42 Lake Klöntal 13, 133 Lake Lucerne 28, 31, 47, 140, 141, 150, 160, 170n88 Lake Sils 76, 121 Lake St Moritz 118, 121 Lake Thun 78, 142 Lake Uri 31, 140–141, 160 Lake Zurich 5, 7, 19, 127, 164n29, 214 Landeck 151 Landquart 128–129, 151 Landwasser (Albula) see Landwasser Valley Landwasser Valley 114, 128, 130–31 Lapland (Scandinavia) 120, 122 Latin America 194, 197, 235, 238, 242, 243 Lausanne 30, 43, 77, 104–105, 108, 110, 149, 178n135 Lauteraarhorn 49, 50, 59 Lauterbrunnen (Valley) 25, 26, 30, 35, 64, 155, 165n35 Lavey 29, 125 Lavey-les-Bains (Lavey-Morcles) 125 Lavizzara (Lavizzara Valley) 202 Le Bouveret 108

Le Havre (France) 214 Leicester Square (London) 40 Lenzburg 26 Lenzspitze 61–62 Les Avants 80, 108 Les Planches 108, 139 Leuk 126 Leukerbad 29–30, 82, 124–125, 126, 165n36 Leysin 127 Liechtenstein (Principality) 204 Lincolnshire (England) 83 Linth (River) 51, 214 Linth Plain 214 Linthal 133 Locarno 134, 202–203, 247 Locarno Spring (Australia) 247 Lombardy (Italy) 198, 203 London (England) 28, 31, 40–41, 57–58, 65–66, 71, 80–81, 83, 97, 100, 117, 122, 156, 168n68, 170n82, 181n176, 224, 232, 248 Lötschental 34, 217 Lower Engadin 114 Lucerne 13, 28–29, 31, 43–44, 47, 55, 82, 105, 112, 114, 136, 140–142, 150, 159–60, 170n88, 208, 212, 240, 255n60 Ludwigshöhe (Monte Rosa) 49, 59 Lugaggia (Sala Capriasca) 237 Lugano (Paradiso) 134, 202, 236 Lugano (Argentina) 247 Lukmanier (Pass) 16, 33, 150 Lustenau (Austria) 39 Lyon (France) 225 Lyskamm 60–61 Macugnaga (Italy) 36 Maggia Valley 202, 251n20 Mainz (Germany) 229 Maloja (Pass) 117, 146, 151, 159, 160, 162 Manchester (England) 161, 232 Männlichen 151 Mariafeld (Feldmeilen) 79 Maria-Rickenbach (convent) 240– 241, 256n74, 257n75 Marienburg (convent) 240 Marignano (Italy) 187 Martigny 16, 30, 33, 108 Matt 51, 54 Matten bei Interlaken 79 Matter Valley 36–37, 69–70, 77

272

Index of Places

Matterhorn 30, 36, 37, 47, 56–58, 61, 64–74, 83, 84–86, 89, 90, 92–93, 95–96, 97–102, 124, 142, 150–154, 168–178, 183n194 Matterhorn Pass see Theodul Pass Mattmark 78 Mayerling (Austria) 137 Meiringen 35, 66, 123, 151, 170n87 Melbourne (Australia) 32, 249 Melegnano see Marignano Menzingen 55 Meran (Austria) 151 Mergoscia 203, 204 Mexico 194, 200, 206, 234, 236 Mexico City (Mexico) 194, 236 Michigan (USA) 50 Milan (Italy) 145, 229, 230–231, 236 Milwaukee (USA) 241 Minusio 203 Misox 198 Mönch 7, 60, 63, 64, 106, 144 Mont Blanc 14, 15, 17, 30, 64, 73, 83, 85, 93, 163n14, 164n15, 170n83 Mont Blanc du Tacul 83 Mont Buet 16 Mont Cervin see Matterhorn Mont Vélan 16 Montana 127, 132 Monte Carlo (Principality of Monaco) 113 Monte Rosa 36, 47, 49, 65, 85, 100–101 Montenvers (France) 15 Mont-Fleuri 105 Monthey 30 Montlingen 204 Montreux 42, 77, 105, 107, 108–114, 124, 134, 139, 156, 158, 161, 177n125–n127, 178n135 Moravia (Czech Republic) 185 Morgarten 55 Morschach 80, 160 Moscow (Russia) 117 Môtier 49 Munich (Germany) 193 Münster (Germany) 244 Münsterlingen 229 MuottasMuragl 117, 146 Mürren 78, 122–123, 144, 179n150 Murten 13 Mythen 31, 54–55, 141, 160, 170n88 Nadelhorn 60 Near East 232

Nesslau 197 Netherlands, The 7, 11, 135, 186, 189 Neuchâtel 13, 49–50, 82, 167n53, 195, 249 New Bern (USA) 185, 247 New Geneva (Ireland) 247 New Glarus (USA) 247 New Orleans (USA) 214 New York (USA) 72, 216, 224, 252n37 New Zealand 65–66 Nidwalden 13, 56, 80, 240, 257n75 Niederrickenbach see Maria-Rickenbach Niederuster see Uster Niesen 74 Niger 56 Nikolai Valley see Matter Valley Nice (France) 108, 111, 162 Nile Delta 192 Nollen 63 North Africa 198, 219 North America 5, 41, 185, 205–06 North Carolina 185, 205 Northern Europe 221 Northern France 214 Northern Italy 30, 151 Nova Friburgo (Brazil) 209, 251n27 Nova Helvetia see Colônia Helvetia Novo-Arkhangelsk (Russia) 206 Nyon 110 Ober Gabelhorn 61, 84 Oberalpstock 16 Obersaxen 204 Obwalden 33, 134, 159, 210, 248 Oceania 242, 243 Ofenhorn 132 Olten 80 Onsernone Valley 201 Orsières 33, 132 Osborne Estate (England) 41 Ossory (Ireland) 15 Ottoman Empire 207, 232 Ouchy 77 Pacifc 206 Paradeplatz (City of Zurich) 45 Paraguay 197 Paris (France) 17–20, 28, 36, 40–42, 82, 117, 141, 146, 148, 162, 189–190, 193, 224–225, 250n7 Parrotspitze 61, 66 Pau (France) 116

Index of Places 273 Payerne 223 Pennsylvania (USA) 224 Pfäfers 29, 38–39, 124–125 Pic Tyndall 65, 87 Piedmont (Italy) 114, 203 Piedmont-Sardinia (Kingdom of) 17, 29, 230 Pilatus 12–13, 31, 54, 80, 133, 160 Pissevache (Waterfall) 30 Piz Bernina 49, 59, 114 Piz Linard 51 Piz Palü 65 Poland 138, 198 Pollux 61 Pontresina 117, 123, 146, 155 Pragel Pass 123 Promenade des Anglais, Nice (France) 111 Prussia (Kingdom of) 9, 20, 28, 41, 49, 111, 117, 131, 157, 185–86, 199–200, 222 Pully 236 Punta Gnifetti see Signalkuppe Quebec (Canada) 188 Rapperswil (-Jona) 13, 55, 215, 252n35 Ravensburg (Germany) 158, 204, 205 Reichenbach (Waterfall) 25, 30, 123 Republic of Honduras see Honduras Reuss 43, 117 Rheinwaldhorn 16 Rhine 191, 204 Rhine Falls 44, 82 Rhône 5 Rhône Glacier 30, 47 Rieden 214 Riffelberg 77 Rigi 5, 31–32, 40, 47, 54–55, 82, 107, 132–133, 143, 155, 160, 165n32 Rigi Kaltbad 47 Rigi Kulm 32, 47, 54–55 Rigi Staffel 47 Rimpfschhorn 60 Rixheim (France) 26 Roccia Nera 62 Rochers de Naye 80, 107 Romandy see Western Switzerland Rome (Italy) 117, 186, 188, 191, 202, 230 Rosario (Argentina) 237–238 Rosegtal 123 Rosenhorn 50

Rosenlaui 35 Rossweid (Höhronen) 5 Rotterdam (the Netherlands) 185, 202 Rotzloch 80 Rougemont 120 Rünenberg 206 Russia 10, 45, 106, 110–111, 117, 129, 135–136, 157–158, 179n146, 186, 206–208, 223–226, 242, 251n26 Rütli 2, 31, 137, 141, 150, 170n88 Saanen 120, 124, 179n142 Saanen Region 120, 124 Saas (Fee/Grund) 65, 151, 160 Saas Valley 36, 77 Sacramento (USA) 206 Safental 198 Saint Bernard (Pass) 33 St Gallen 23, 53, 192, 197, 204, 214, 232 St Joseph (USA) 240 St Louis (USA) 216 Saint Meinrad (USA) 216 St Moritz (Bad) 29, 37–39, 70, 76, 106, 114–125, 142, 146–147, 148, 151, 162, 178n129, 178n132, 178n135, 178n140, 179n144, 244, 250n17 St Niklaus 65 St Petersburg (Russia) 186, 199 Salisbury (England) 8 Samedan 38, 117–119, 151 San Bernardino (Pass) 29, 125 San Francisco (USA) 206, 216 San Jerónimo Norte (Argentina) 220, 221–222, 248–249, 252n42, 253n43 San José (Argentina) 221 Santa Fé (Argentina) 221, 237 Säntis 47, 132, 133, 150 Sargans 214 Sarnen 13 Sattel 55 Savoy 15, 17, 30, 117 Saxon (Canton Valais) 111, 219 Saxony (Kingdom of) 130 Scandinavia 65, 106 Schachenalp (Germany) 41 Schächental 12–13 Schafberg 146 Schaffhausen 23, 44, 82, 210, 215, 222 Schams 198, 244, 258n83

274 Index of Places Schanfgg 128 Schänis 214 Schatzalp 219 Schinznach 29, 125, 127, 208 Schlieren 233 Schreckhorn60, 63 Schuls 114, 124 Schwarzenegg (Canton Bern) 188 Schwarzsee 85, 99 Schwetzingen 26 Schwyz 13, 55, 126, 170n88, 214, 216–17 Scotland 81 Seelisberg 160 Seewen (Canton Schwyz) 55 Sentier des Roses 139 Serbia (Kingdom of) 231–233, 255n61, 256n63 Shewa (Ethiopia) 196 Shrubland (England) 41 Sierra Morena (Spain) 186 Signalkuppe 49, 59 Sihlbrugg 55 Sils 39, 76, 121 Sils Baselgia 199 Silvaplana 121–123, 179n148 Simplon (Pass/Tunnel) 30, 33, 150–151, 218 Sion 30, 33, 78, 82, 173n100 Sisikon 13 Skillington (England) 83 Smyrna, today Izmir (Ottoman Empire) 232 Soglio (Bregaglia) 199 Solothurn 13, 49, 149, 194, 250n9 Sottoceneri 186 South Dakota (USA) 190, 240 South Tyrol 204 Southeast Asia 257n82 Southern England 41 Southern Germany 5, 185, 187, 204 Soviet Union 236 Spain 194, 221 Spencer County (USA) 216 Splügen (Pass) 55, 150, 230 Stachelberg (Spa) 133 Stalden 151 Stans 13, 55, 82, 160 Stanserhorn 31 Stansstad 55 Staubbach Waterfall see Lauterbrunnen Stecknadelhorn62 Steinen 55, 170n88

Steinhaus 64 Stockach (Germany) 4 Strahlhorn 57, 59 Strasbourg (France) 34, 36 Stuttgart (Germany) 41 Suez Canal192 Suffolk (England) 41 Surenen (Pass) 55 Sweden 136 Swiss Central Plateau 9, 132, 201 Swiss Confederation (hist.) 29, 191, 218 Tarasp 114 Täschhorn 61, 65 Tasmania (Australia) 73 Tay (Scotland) 154 Territet 104–105, 108, 139 Tettnang (Germany) 204 Teufelsgrat (Täschhorn) 65 Theodul Pass 34, 36, 37, 47, 69, 85 Thessaloniki 232 Thun 13–14, 30, 35, 40, 44, 74, 78, 114, 136, 142, 144–45, 166n40, 188 Thurgau 119, 136, 194, 196, 204, 208, 229, 231, 234 Ticino 28, 132, 134–135, 151, 180n166, 186–187, 198, 200–204, 217–218, 236–238, 244 Tirano (Italy) 118 Titlis 16, 55, 163n14 Tödi 53, 81, 167n55 Toggenburg 255n59 Toulon (France) 161 Trafalgar (Spain) 40 Transylvania (Romania) 198 Trasadingen 215 Tribschen (Promontory on Lake Lucerne) 143 Trieste (Austria-Hungary) 151, 191, 192, 199, 229 Tritt (Alp) see Bürgenstock Tropics 249 Trun 205 Tschingelhorn 64 Turbenthal 194 Turtmann 33 Tuttlingen (Germany) 4 Tuttwil (Wängi) 229 Tyrol 5, 39, 204 Üetliberg 32, 47 United Kingdom 57

Index of Places 275 Unspunnen 43, 47 Unterägeri 246 Untersee (Lake Constance) 136 Unterseen 35 Untervaz 205 Unterwalden 13, 126 Upper California see California Upper Engadin 38, 115, 118–119, 147, 178n129 Upper Swabia 205 Uri 31, 137, 140, 141, 160 Urirotstock 144 Uruguay 236 Uznach 215 Valais 13–14, 28, 30–37, 47, 63–65, 71, 77–78, 91, 99–100, 104, 114, 126, 127, 132, 137, 152, 160, 165n36, 170n85, 173n100, 189, 208, 217–222, 239, 241, 244–245, 248–249, 252n39–42, 253n43–44 Val d’Anniviers 132 Val de Bagnes 132 Val d’Hérens 78 Valencia (Spain) 117 Valle di Blenio 201 Valle Maggia see Maggia Valley Valle Verzasca see Verzasca Valley Vals 205 Valtellina (Italy) 39, 202 Valtournenche (Italy) 169n72 Vaud 21, 54, 104, 107, 127, 186, 202, 244 Venice (Italy) 199 Vermillion (USA) 240–241 Verzasca Valley 201 Vevey 21, 43, 77, 105, 108, 110, 135, 156 Veytaux 108 Victoria (Australia) 32, 249, 258n88 Vienna (Austria) 6, 9, 139, 193 Villalobos (Guatemala) 235 Villeneuve (Canton Vaud) 42–43, 105, 108, 110 Villmergen 12 Visp 33, 36, 88, 153, 173n100, 173n103 Vitznau 55 Vorarlberg (Austria) 45, 204 Vordemwald 197 Vulpera 114

Wädenswil 164n29 Walenstadt 188 Wales 74 Wängi 229 Waterloo (Belgium) 40 Wattwil 232 Weesen 214 Weggis 55, 170n88 Weimar (Germany) 26 Weissbad 33 Weissgrat (Pass) 36 Weisshorn 60, 65 Weissmies 59 Wellenberg 222 Wengen 78, 122–123, 179n150 Wengernalp 47, 122, 153 Werdenberg 38 Werthenstein 29 Western Alps 16, 74 Western Switzerland 21 Wetterhorn 50, 63, 73 Wikon 240 Wolhusen 29 Württemberg (Kingdom of) 41, 204 Xalapa (Mexico) 194 Yankton 190, 240, 257n75 Zeltweg 227, 228 Zentralhof (City of Zurich) 46 Zermatt 8, 34–36, 37, 56, 64, 68–70, 72, 74, 77–78, 83–86, 88–92, 96–102, 106, 119, 124, 134, 142, 151–153, 156, 159–160, 168n61, 171n90–177n122 Zeughausplatz see Paradeplatz Zinal 132 Zinalrothorn 61 Zolotoe Pole (Ukraine/Russia) 208 Zug 13 Zumsteinspitze 59 Zurich (Canada) 247 Zurich (City) 4–7, 12–13, 15, 19, 28, 31–32, 35, 42, 44–47, 50–55, 79, 81, 96–97, 127, 129, 133, 138, 164n29, 167n50, 185, 189, 196, 207–08, 214, 222–35, 244 Zurich lowlands 234 Zürichtal see Zolotoe Pole Zweilütschinen 35, 111 Zweisimmen 123–124 Zwikelmatten 37

Index of Persons

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to fgures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. Abbühl, Arnold (1778–1830) 48, 59 Aberli, Johann Ludwig (1723–1786) 22, 24 Adalbert of Prussia (1884–1948) 117 Addison, Joseph (1672–1719) 8, 163n10 Agassiz, Louis (1807–1873) 49–50, 52, 167n52–53 Alexander I of Russia (1777–1825) 45, 136, 186 Almer, Christian (1826–1898) 60–61, 63–64, 75, 84 Almer, Ulrich (1849–1940) 62 Ambühl, Elisabeth (1837–1907) 129 Ames, Edward Levi 59–60 Amiet, Cuno (1868–1961) 147, 182 Andenmatten, Donat (1820–1889) 88 Andenmatten, Franz (1823–1883) 59–60, 66, 88 Anderegg, Jakob (1829–1878) 61 Anderegg, Melchior (1828–1914) 60–61, 64, 66, 168n68 Anderson, John Stafford (1850–1930) 62 Angerer, Willy (1905–1936) 67 Anker, Albert (1831–1910) 138, 193 Ansermet, Ernest (1883–1969) 113 Arbenz Guzmán, Octavia (1885– 1936) 234 Arbenz, Arabella (1939–1965) 236, 256n69 Arbenz, Jacobo (1913–1971) 194– 196, 234–236, 256n66 Arbenz, Jacobo (born 1946) 236 Arbenz, Jakob (1883–1934) 234 Arbenz, Maria Leonora (1942–2008) 236

Arévalo, Juan José (1905–1990) 234 August, Carl (1757–1828) 44 Azène du Plessis 110 Badrutt, Johannes (1819–1889) 115– 119, 124, 162, 178n135, 178n138, 250n17 Baedeker, Karl (1801–1859) 28, 44, 128, 159, 164n27 Bakunin, Michail Alexandrovitsch (1814–1876) 139 Ball, John (1818–1889) 74 Balleys: Daniel, Emmanuel, Gaspard 60 Balmat, Jacques (1762–1834) 17 Bancroft, Squire (1841–1926) 117 Bannholzer, Melchior 59 Bannwart (family) 210 Barker, Robert (1739–1806) 39 Barnes, George Stapylton (1858– 1946) 62 Baron Byron see Lord Byron Barrington, Charles (1834–1901) 64 BaudBovy, Auguste (1848–1899) 146–147 Baumgartner, Wilhelm (1820–1867) 1 Baur, Alfred (1865–1951) 249, 258n87 Baur, Johannes (1795–1865) 45 BaurDuret, Eugénie (1873–1961) 249, 258n87 Bayard, Otto (1881–1957) 14 Beaumont, Elie de (1798–1874) 36 Beck, Joseph 59 Benecke, Edward Felix Mendelssohn (1870–1895) 62

278

Index of Persons

Benet, Johann Joseph (1819–1864) 60, 64–65 Benziger, Josef Karl (1799–1873) 216, 252n37 Berchmans, John see Gentinetta, Josephine Bernhard, Oskar (1861–1939) 146 Bernoulli, Johann (1667–1748) 186 Berry, Peter Robert (1864–1942) 147 Beuys, Joseph (1921–1986) 148 Bianconi, Piero (1899–1984) 203, 251n20–21 Biner, Franz (1835–1916) 61–62, 84 Birmann (family) 23 Bisquolm, Augustin (1786–1870) 53, 167n55 Blättler, Kaspar (1791–1872) 80 Bleuler (Family) 23 Böcklin, Arnold (1827–1901) 125 Bohren, Peter (1822–1882) 60, 63–64 Bonstetten, Karl Viktor von (1745– 1832) 120, 179n141, 202 Borodin, Alexander (1833–1887) 113 Borromini, Francesco (1599–1667) 186 Bortis, Joseph (born 1786) 48, 59 Bourrit, MarcThéodore (1739–1819) 17 Brandenburg, Frederick Williamof (1620–1688) 185 Branger, Tobias (1803–1860) 199 Brantschen, Johann Hieronymus (1839–1913) 60 Brenner, Ernst (1856–1911) 112 Brevoort Coolidge, William Augustus (1850–1926) 74 Brevoort, Margret Claudia (1825– 1876) 74 Brigger, Daniel 59 Brockedon, William (1787–1854) 71, 169n76 Bruchez, JosephJouvence (1833–1915) 60 Bruegel the Elder, Pieter (1525–1569) 6 Bucher (Durrer), Franz Josef (1834– 1906) 159, 184n202 Bugatti, Carlo (1855–1940) 146 Bugatti, Ettore (1881–1947) 146 Bugatti, LuigiaPierina (1862–1938) 146 Bullinger, Johann Balthasar (1713– 1793) 12–13

Bulpett, William Henry (1855–1929) 121 Bünzli, Franz (1811–1872) 212 Burgener, Adolf (1878–1910) 61 Burgener, Alexander (1845–1910) 61–62, 65 Burgener, Franz 61–62, 65 Bürgi, Martin (1778–1833) 32 BürgiRitschard, Caspar 47 Buri, Max (1868–1915) 144 Burnaby, Fred (1842–1885) 76 Burnat, Ernest (1833–1922) 113 BurnatProvins, Marguerite (1872– 1952) 149 Burnet, Gilbert (1643–1717) 7–8 Burnet, Thomas (1635–1715) 6 Buxton, Edward North (1840–1924) 60–61 Buxton, Thomas Fowell (1837–1915) 60 Byron, George Gordon Noel see Lord Byron Cachat, JeanPierre 60–61 Calame, Alexandre (1810–1864) 142, 193 Canetti, Elias (1905–1994) 2–3 Carrel, César 83 Carrel, JeanAntoine (1829–1890) 69–70, 83–86 Casanova, Giacomo Girolamo (1725–1798) 44, 167n50 Castel, F. 59 Castella, Hubert de (1825–1907) 249 Castres, Edouard (1838–1902) 152 Cattani, Carl (1805–1869) 134 Cattani, Eduard (1841–1908) 134 CavendishBentnick, Louisa (1832– 1918) 76 Céard, Nicolas (1745–1821) 30 Cecilia, Saint (ca 200–230) 2 Cendrars, Blaise (1887–1961) 207 Chanton, Josef Marie 62 Charpentier, Jean de (1786–1855) 49 Chessex, Ami (1840–1917) 105–106, 159 Chessex, JeanFrançois (died 1884) 104–105 ChessyreWalker, Roland 62 Chevalier de Lelly see Vaerst, Eugen von Chollet, Marcel de (1855–1924) 105

Index of Persons Clémant, JeanMaurice (1736–1810) 16 Clemenz, Anton Cäsar (1842–1907) 88 Clemenz, Joseph Anton (1810–1872) 36, 88, 90 Coaz, Johann Wilhelm Fortunat (1822–1918) 49, 59 Cohen, Henry Alfred (1870–1895) 62 Cook, Thomas (1808–1892) 10, 81–83, 106 Costa, JeanFrançois de la 34 Cotta, Johann Friedrich (1764–1832) 141 Couttet, JosephMarie 59 Cowell, John Jeremy 60 Cripps, Alfred 117 Croz, JeanBaptiste (1828–1905) 61 Croz, Michel Auguste (1830–1865) 56, 61, 84–88, 92–97, 101, 168n63, 168n67, 172n93–94, 172n98, 174n104–105, 176n115, 176n117, 177n121 Curschellas, Placi (born 1776) 53, 167n55 Daguerre, Louis J. M. (1787–1851) 40 Darwin, Charles (1809–1882) 49 David, Heinrich (1823–1867) 212 Davies, John Llewelyn 60–61 Deluc, GuillaumeAntoine (ca 1729– 1812) 16 Deluc, JeanAndré (1727–1817) 17 Dennis, John (1657–1734) 8 Dent, Clinton Thomas (1850–1912) 61–62 Desor, Pierre Jean Edouard (1811– 1882) 59 Deville, Charles Joseph SainteClaire (1814–1876) 60 Diday, François (1802–1877) 142, 193 Diekmann, Eduard (1852–1921) 105 Dörig, Jakob (1811–1884) 133 Dorsaz, Basile 60 Doyle, Arthur Conan (1859–1930) 123 Dreifuss, Ruth (born 1940) 236 Dufour, GuillaumeHenri (1787–1875) 136 Dunant, Henry (1828–1910) 210 Dürer, Albrecht (1471–1528) 6 Durrer, Josef (1841–1919) 159

279

Ebel, Johann Gottfried (1764–1830) 27, 114 Eberle, Ambros (1820–1883) 217 Eberle, Edward W. (1864–1929) 188 Eberle, Josef Anton (1808–1891) 217 Eckenstein, Oscar (1859–1921) 62 Egger, Peter 61 Eichendorff, Joseph von (1788–1857) 200 Eicher, Stephan (born 1960) 72 Elgger, Franz von (1794–1858) 189 Elisabeth (Sissi) of Austria (1837– 1898) 36, 137–139 Elizabeth II of England (born 1926) 76 Elmer, Heinrich 53 Emery, Alexandre (1850–1931) 159 Engelhardt, Christian Moritz (1775– 1858) 34–36 Epiney, Baptiste 60 Erin, JeanBaptiste 59 Erin, JeanJacques 59 Escher von der Linth, Arnold (1807– 1872) 50–51, 59 Escher von der Linth, Hans Conrad (1767–1823) 35, 37, 51 Escher, Alfred (1819–1882) 4–5, 51–52, 54–55, 127, 133, 207, 222–223, 226, 228, 232, 254n51, 255n55 Escher, Anna Sabina (1737–1765) 222 Escher, Friedrich (Fritz) Ludwig (1779–1845) 208, 226, 254n50 Escher, Gaspard von (d’) see Escher Hans Caspar (1755–1831) Escher, Georg von (1793–1867) 27 Escher, Hans Caspar (1755–1831) 207, 222–224 Escher, Heinrich (1776–1853) 5, 51, 223–227, 228, 253n49, 254n50, 254n51 Escher, Jakob (1818–1909) 4 Escher, Lydia see WeltiEscher, Lydia EscherKeller, Anna (1756–1836) 224 EscherWerdmüller, Hans Caspar (1731–1781) 222 Euler, Leonhard (1707–1783) 186 Evelyn, John (1620–1706) 6 Fahner 59 Farinetti, Giuseppe 59 Federer, Heinrich (1866–1928) 150 Feierabend, August (1812–1887) 134

280

Index of Persons

Felice, Giordano (1825–1892) 69 Fellenberg, Edmund von (1838–1902) 61, 63 Felley, Benjamin 60 Felley, Maurice 60 Feodorovna, Alexandra (1798–1860) 135 Ferraris, Cristoforo 59 Fischer (Colonel) 39 Flugi, Conradin von (1787–1874) 116 Föhr, Bartholome (1747–1811) 23 Follen, Karl Theodor Christian (1796–1840) 38 Fontana, Domenico (1543–1607) 186 Fontane, Theodor (1819–1898) 154, 200 Franscini, Stefano (1796–1857) 124, 180n154 Franz Ferdinand of Austria (1863– 1914) 117 Franz Joseph I of Austria (1830–1916) 137, 139 Frederick II of Prussia (1712–1786), Frederick the Great 222 Frederick of Prussia (1794–1863) 41 Frei Montalva, Eduardo (1911–1982) 117 Frei RuizTagle, Eduardo (born 1942) 197 FreyHerosé, Friedrich (1801–1873) 188 Freyreiss, Georg Wilhelm (1789– 1825) 209 Füssli, Johann Konrad (1704–1775) 6 Gai, Claude (1800–1873) 36 Gallatin, Albert (1761–1849) 186 Gentinetta, Josephine(1877–1938) 239, 241 George of Greece (1869–1957) 117 George, Hereford Brooke (1838– 1910) 61 Gessner, Conrad (1516–1565) 6, 15 Gessner, Salomon (1730–1788) 19 Giacometti, Giovanni (1868–1933) 152, 182n180 Gillioz, Joseph 62 Giordani, Giacomo 59 Giordani, Giovanni (1822–1890) 59 Giovanoli, Andrea 199 Girard, Christian 59 Giron, Charles (1850–1914) 152 Glarean see Loriti, Heinrich

Gleyre, Charles (1806–1874) 250n7 Gnifetti, Giovanni 59 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1749–1832) 44 Gölden, Hubert (born 1844) 46 Gonzenbach, Peter (1701–1799) 192 Gorret, Charles (1836–1907) 83 Gotthelf, Jeremias (1797–1854) 149 Gottsponer, Peter Joseph Ignaz (1780–1847) 8, 34–36 Gounod, Charles (1818–1893) 182 Graffenried, Christoph von (1661– 1743) 182 Grant, Ulysses S. (1822–1885) 111 Gras, Jean 59 Greatheed, Francis 119 Gredig, Andreas (1806–1877) 128 Grober, Cristoforo 59 Grove, Florence Crawford (18381902) 58, 61, 66 Gustav IV Adolf of Sweden (1778– 1837) 136 GuyerZeller, Adolf (1839–1899) 151, 182n193 Gysi, Heinrich (1803–1878) 226 Haberer, Otto (1866–1925) 107 Hackaert, Jan (1628–ca 1685) 7 Hadow, Douglas Robert (1846–1865) 61, 83–88, 90–95, 98, 101–102, 172n95, 172n98, 174n104–105, 176n118, 177n121 Haggenmacher, Gustav Adolf (1845– 1875) 194 Hahn, Eduard (1856–1928) 62 Haldimand, Frederick (1718–1791) 188 Hall, William Edward (1835–1894) 60–61, 66 Haller, Albrecht von (1708–1777) 18, 24, 136 Hannibal Barca (ca 247–183 BCE) 6 Hardy, John Frederick (1826–1888) 60 Harpe, FrédéricCésar de La (1754– 1838) 136, 186 Hauser (family) 79 Hayward, John Wheeler (1824–1886) 61 Heathcote, Robert Boothby 61–62 Hedlinger, Johann Carl von (1691– 1771) 186 Heer, Jakob (1784–1864) 54

Index of Persons Heer, Oswald (1809–1883) 50–55 HeerBétrix, Caspar Leonhard (1835– 1890) 153 Hegner, Ulrich (1759–1840) 125 Heine, Heinrich (1797–1856) 200 Henneberg, Gustav (1847–1918) 144 Henry of Prussia (1862–1929) 117 Herr, Karl 60 Herwegh, Georg (1817–1875) 115 Heusser, Jakob Christian (1826–1909) 59 Hinchliff, Thomas Woodbine (1825– 1882) 60, 66, 74 Hinterstoisser, Andreas (1914–1936) 67 HirzelEscher, Hans Caspar (1792– 1851) 35–36 Hodler, Ferdinand (1853–1918) 109, 142–143, 145, 147 Hoepli, Ulrico (1847–1935) 196, 229–231, 248–249 HoepliHäberlin, Elisa (1849–1927) 231 Hogan, John Joseph (1829–1913) 240 Holsboer, Willem Jan (1834–1898) 129, 151 Hottinger, Hans Konrad (1764–1841) 224–225 Hottinger, Johann Heinrich (1620– 1667) 185 Howell, James (1594–1666) 6 Huber, Friedrich 212 Hudson, Charles (1828–1865) 59, 61, 73, 83 Hudson, John Alfred (1838–1874) 60 Hugi, Franz Joseph (1791–1855) 34, 49 Humboldt, Alexander von (1769– 1859) 49 Hutten, Ulrich von (1488–1523) 29 Ilg, Alfred (1854–1916) 194 Imboden, Josef (1840–1925) 62 Imfeld, Xaver (1853–1909) 153 Imseng, Ferdinand (1845–1881) 60–62 Imseng, Johann Josef (1806–1869) 59, 78 Inäbnit, Peter 61 Iselin, Christoph (1869–1949) 122–123 Isler, Henri 62 Ismail, Pascha (1830–1895) 229

281

Jacomb, Frederick William (1829– 1891) 61 Jacot, Jules 61 Jefferson, Thomas (1743–1826) 186, 225 Joliat, Louis (1846–1922) 112 Jomini, AntoineHenri (1779–1869) 223 Joos, Wilhelm (1821–1900) 210–213 Joseph II of Austria (1741–1790) 136 Jost, Eugène (1865–1946) 105–106, 113, 161 Josty, Daniel (1777–1845) 199 Josty, Johann (1773–1826) 199 Kälin, Werner 217 Karadordevic of Serbia 232, 255n61 Kästner, Erich (1899–1974) 16, 200 Kaufmann, Christian 60 Kaufmann, Ulrich (1840–1917) 60–61, 66 Kehrli, Johann (1774–1854) 31, 79 Keller vom Steinbock, Anna (1756– 1836) 223 Keller, Gottfried (1819–1890) 2, 125, 138, 142, 149, 182n187, 228, 254n51 Keller, Heinrich (1778–1862) 32 Kellogg, John Harvey (1852–1943) 125 Kennedy, Edward Shirley (1817– 1898) 73, 169n77 Kennedy, Thomas Stuart (1841–1894) 61, 119, 124, 178n139 Kircher, Athanasius (1602–1680) 4 Klein, E. 205 Knechtenhofer, Johann Jakob (1790– 1867) 44 Knechtenhofer, Johannes (1793–1865) 44 Knubel, Peter (1832–1919) 65 König, Franz Niklaus (1765–1832) 27, 43 Krähenbühl, Rudolf Emanuel (1823– 1885) 78 Kronig, Johann 60–61 Kubli, Kaspar (1805–1879) 226–227, 253n49 Kurz, Toni (1913–1936) 67 Lammer, Eugen Guido (1863–1945) 62 Landry, Fritz Ulysse (1842–1927) 2

282

Index of Persons

Latrobe, Charles Joseph (1801–1875) 31 Lauber, Joseph (1787–1868) 34–36 Lauener, Ulrich (1821–1900) 59, 64 Lavater, Johann Caspar (1741–1801) 44, 45 Le Fort, François (1656–1699) 223 Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519) 6 Leupi, Gertrud (1825–1904) 240 Leuthold, Jakob 59 Leuthy, Johann Jakob (1798–1855) 28 Liveing, Robert (1834–1919) 60 Livius, Titus (ca 59 BCE–17 CE) 163n5 Lochmatter, Alexander (1837–1917) 88–90 Lochmatter, FranzJosef (1825–1897) 60 Longman, William (1813–1877) 83 Lord Byron (1788–1824) 21, 71 Lord Chamberlain of the Household 69 Lord Francis Douglas (1847–1865) 61, 84–85, 87–88, 91–97, 101–103, 173n98, 174n104–105, 175n110, 175n113–114, 176n118, 177n121 Loriti, Heinrich (1488–1563) 185 Lorria, August 62 Lory, Gabriel (1763–1840) 7, 23 Lory, Gabriel (1784–1846) 26 Louis IX of France (1214–1270) 49 Louis XVI of France (1754–1793) 186 Lucheni, Luigi (1873–1910) 139 Ludovika Wilhelmine of Bavaria (1808–1892) 36 Ludwig II of Bavaria (1845–1886) 41, 80, 137, 156, 179n88 Lunn, Arnold (1888–1974) 97, 123, 169n75, 175n112 Lunn, Henry Simpson (1859–1939) 123, 179n150 Macdonald, Reginald John Somerled (1840–1876) 61, 66 Madison, James (1751–1836) 186 Madutz, Johann (1800–1861) 51, 59 Maillard, Louis (1838–1923) 105 Main, Elizabeth (1860–1934) 75–76 Main, Frederick (1854–1892) 76 Mander, Karel van (1548–1606) 6 Maquignaz, JeanJoseph (1829–1890) 83 Martel, Pierre (1702–1761) 15

Martignoni, Pasqualina see Storni, Paulina Martini, Plinio (1923–1979) 203, 251n20 Marty 59 Mathews, Charles Edward (1834– 1905) 66 Mathews, William jun. (1828–1901) 61 Mathilde Marie Adelgunde Alexandra of Austria (1849–1867) 141 Mathis, Christian (1861–1925) 121 Max of Baden (1867–1929) 117 Maximilian I of Bavaria (1756–1825) 36 Mayr, Johann Heinrich (1768–1838) 37–39, 115, 119, 124 Mechel, Christian von (1737–1817) 18 Meiners, Christoph (1747–1810) 14, 35, 165n35 Melchtal, Arnold von (13th century) 141 Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Felix (1809–1847) 21 Menelik II (1844–1913) 196 Menn, Barthélemy (1815–1893) 144, 185, 193 Mensdorff, Albert von (1861–1945) 117 Menzel, Adolph (1815–1905) 149, 200 Meyer, Conrad (1618–1689) 7 Meyer, Hieronymus (1769–1844) 48, 59 Meyer, Johann Rudolf (1739–1813) 48 Meyer, Johann Rudolf (1768–1825) 48, 59 Meynet, Luc 84 Michel, Christian (1817–1880) 60, 63 Michel, Peter 60–61 Mistral, Gabriela (1889–1957) 238 Molinatti 59 Monet, Claude (1840–1926) 149 Montaigne, Michel de (1533–1592) 29 Moore, Adolphus Warburton (1841– 1887) 61 Mousson, Albert (1805–1890) 53 Mozart, Johann Georg Leopold (1719–1787) 44

Index of Persons Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus (1756– 1791) 167n50 Mummery, Albert Frederick (1855– 1895) 62 Munzinger, Werner (1832–1875) 194, 250n9 Muralt, Johannes von (1780–1850) 226 Murith, Laurent Joseph (1742–1816) 16 Murray, John (1745–1793) 27, 164n26 Nansen, Fridtjof (1861–1930) 122 Napoleon III Bonaparte (1808–1873) 136, 143 Naser alDin Shah (1831–1896) 135 Necer, Giovanni 59 Neruda, Pablo (1904–1973) 238 Nicati, Charles (1833–1884) 113 Nicholas I of Russia (1796–1855) 135, 223 Ober, Peter (1813–1869) 43 Obrenovic of Serbia 232 Ochsenbein, Ulrich (1811–1890) 189 Orlova, Barbara Petrovna (1850– 1872) 135 Ott, Anton (1748–1800) 46 Ott, Hans Caspar (1780–1856) 46 Paccard, MichelGabriel (1757–1827) 17 Paderewski, Ignacy (1860–1941) 135 Paracelsus (1493–1531) 29, 115, 178n129 Payot, MichelClément 60 Pedro II of Brazil (1825–1891) 111 Penhall, William (1858–1882) 62 Perren, JosefMarie 60–61 Perren, Peter 60–62, 66, 178n139 Pestalozzi, Heinrich (1790–1857) 136, 194 Peter I of Russia (1672–1725), Peter the Great 207, 223 Peter I of Serbia (1844–1921) 232 Petermann, August Heinrich (1822– 1878) 156 Pfster, Daniel (1808–1847) 45 Pfster, Plazidus (1772–1846) 38 Pilkington, Charles Henry 60 Placidus a Spescha (1752–1833) 16, 53, 163n14

283

Plato (427–347 BCE) 70 Platter, Felix (1536–1614) 29 Platter,Thomas (1499–1582) 29 Pococke, Richard (1704–1765) 14, 165n30 Polidori, John (1795–1821) 21 Pollinger, Alois (1844–1910) 62 Prevost, George (1767–1816) 188 Pushkin, Alexander Sergeyevich (1799–1837) 199 Rainer, Edi (1914–1936) 67 Ramsay, Andrew Crombie (1814– 1891) 60 Rappard (brothers) 78 Rappard, Conrad von (1805–1881) 79 Rasch, Gustav (1825–1878) 28, 164n28 Raschle, Johann Rudolf (1798–1867) 232 Raschle, Martha (1870–1954) 225n59, 232 Rau, Jules 161 Rebsamen, Enrique C. (1857–1904) 194 Reimers, Anna Barbara 222 Renesse, Camille de (1836–1904) 161 Rennison, Thomas 60 Richter, Hugo (1841–1921) 130 Ritz, Cäsar (1850–1918) 159 Ritz-Beck, MarieLouise (1867–1961) 159 Roschacher, Valentin (born 1960) 70 Rothschild, de (Mr and Mrs) 117 Rotterdam, Erasmus von (1466–1536) 185 Rousseau, JeanJacques (1712–1778) 8, 19–21, 136, 141–143 Ruden, Joseph (1817–1882) 77 Rudolf of Austria (1858–1889) 136–137 SaintSaëns, Camille (1835–1921) 135 SalisSoglio, Johann Ulrich von (1790–1874) 189 Sand, Georg (1824–1900) 53 Saratz, Clo 122 Saratz, Gian (1821–1900) 155 Sarbach, Peter (1844–1930) 65 Sassoon, Jaco (1850–1936) 117 Saussure, HoraceBénédict de (1740– 1799) 16–17, 18, 34, 164n15

284

Index of Persons

Schaerer, Eduardo (1873–1941) 197 Scheuchzer, Johann Jakob (1672– 1733) 12, 15–16 Schiller, Friedrich (1759–1805) 140–141 Schleidt, Wilhelm (1840–1912) 111 Schmid, David Alois (1791–1861) 25 Schmidlin, Eduard (1808–1890) 79 Schratt, Katharina (1853–1940) 139 Schuvalov, Pyotr Pavlovic (1819– 1900) 135 Schwab, Klaus (born 1938) 158 Schweizer, Heinrich (1801–1882) 54 Segantini, Giovanni (1858–1899) 3, 76, 116, 142–143, 145, 148, 182n179, 182n185 Segantini, Mario (1885–1916) 146 Segantini, Napoleone 145 Segatini, Rosa (Irene) 145 Segesser, Philipp Anton von (1817– 1888) 212 Seiler (family) 154, 159 Seiler, Alexander (1819–1891) 37, 68–70, 85, 100, 151–153, 159 Seiler, Christian (1804–1892) 47 SeilerCathrein, Katharina (1834– 1895) 159 Sella, Quintino (1827–1884) 69 Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792–1822) 21, 71 Sibson, Francis (1814–1876) 60 Simler, Rudolf Theodor (1833–1873) 53, 80, 167n55 Sissi see Elisabeth of Austria Sosa, Haydée Mercedes (1935–2009) 238 Spengler, Alexander (1827–1901) 124, 128–131, 180n161, 180n163–65 Spengler, Carl (1860–1937) 131 Spengler, Luzius (1858–1923) 131 Staël, Madame de (1766–1817) 21 Stangen, Louis (1828–1876) 83 Stauffer, Karl (1857–1891) 194, 250n8 Steiner, Hans (1907–1962) 67 Stéphanie of Belgium (1864–1945) 136 Stephen, Leslie (1832–1904) 56, 58, 60–61, 63–64, 66, 73, 169n75, 175n112, 183n197 Stephenson, Russell Maule (1844– 1927) 60 Stevenson, Edward John 59

Stoffel, Franz Xaver (1771–1854) 37–38 Storni, Alfonsina (1892–1938) 236–239, 256n70 Storni, Alfonso (1858–1905) 236–237 Storni, Paulina (1866–1944) 237 Strasser, Gottfried (1854–1912) 65 Summermatter, Peter Joseph 61 Supersaxo, Aloys 60 Sutter, Johann August (1803–1880) 206 Symonds, John Addington (1840– 1893) 75–76, 170n80 Symonds, Margaret (1869–1925) 170n80 Sztáray, Irma (1864–1940) 139 Tairraz, Victor 60 Taugwalder, Josef (died 1867) 86, 172n96 Taugwalder, Peter (1820–1888) 61, 64, 84–102, 171n90, 173n98, 174n104–105, 174n107, 175n108– 110, 175n113–15, 177n121, 177n122, 178n139 Taugwalder, Peter (1843–1923) 61, 64, 84–102, 171n90, 176n118, 176n120, 177n122 Tell, William 2, 19, 137, 141 Townshend, John see Lord Chamberlain of the Household Tscharner, Johann (1805–1863) 49 Tscharner, Jon Ragut 59 Tscharner, Lorenz Ragut (1824–1902) 49, 59 Tschudi, Johann Jakob von (1818– 1889) 212–214 Tuckett, Francis Fox (1834–1913) 60 Turban, Karl (1856–1935) 131 Turner, Gen. Sir Alfred 117 Turner, William (1775–1851) 71, 82 Twain, Mark (1835–1910) 74, 165n32 Tyndall, John (1820–1893) 60, 64–65, 71, 100, 169n74 TyndallHamilton, Louisa Charlotte (1845–1940) 71 Ubico, Jorge (1831–1944) 234 Uffer, Barbara “Baba” (1873–1935) 146 Unger, Friedrich (1833–1893) 130

Index of Persons Vaerst, Eugen von (1792–1855) 200 Victor Amadeus III of PiedmontSardinia (1726–1796) 17 Victoria of England (1819–1901) 41, 56, 69, 80, 84, 117, 136, 143, 166n44, 170n88, 181n169 Vilanova, Maria Christina (1915– 2009) 234 Villiger, Anselm (1825–1901) 240 Vincent, Johann Niklaus 59 Vincent, Joseph 59 Vögeli, Christian (1872–1922) 231–33 Vögeli, Heinrich (1866–1941) 231–33 Voitel, Franz (1773–1839) 194 Volken, Alois (1784–1814) 48, 59 VolkenWilliner, Antonio 220 VolkenWilliner, Regina 220 Wagner, Abraham (1734–1782) 24 Wagner, Richard (1813–1883) 115–116, 143 Walker, Horace (1838–1908) 61 Walker, Lucy (1836–1916) 66, 168n68, 169n69 Wanger, Barbara 222 Waser, Johann Heinrich (1742–1780) 189, 190 Washington, George (1732–1799) 225 Weingartner, Felix (1863–1942) 113 Welden, Ludwig von (1780–1853) 49, 59 WeltiEscher, Lydia (1858–1891) 194, 226, 228, 250n8, 254n51, 255n52 Wenger, Ulrich 60, 65 Weymann, Rudolf (1810–1878) 228 Whymper, Edward (1840–1911) 56, 61, 64, 74, 83–103, 153, 168n61– 63, 168n67, 171n90, 172n94–95, 172n97–98, 173n101–102, 174n104–105, 174n107, 175n111– 114, 176n115–120, 177n121–122 Widmer, Leonhard (1808–1868) 2 Wigram, Woolmore (1831–1907) 61 Wilhelm I of Würtemberg(1781–1856) 41 Wille, Ulrich (1848–1925) 189 William III of Orange-Nassau (1817–1890) 135

285

William of Hohenzollern (1864–1927) 117 Wills, Alfred (1828–1912) 73–74, 175n111 Windham, William (1717–1761) 14–15, 165n30 Wocher, Marquard Fidel Dominicus (1760–1830) 18 Wolf, Caspar (1735–1783) 24, 141, 164n24 Wolf, Salomon (1807–1863) 199 Wollstonecraft Godwin, Mary (1797–1851) 21 Woodmass, Montagu (1834–1917) 61, 66 Woolf, Virginia (1882–1941) 73 Württemberg, Carl Eugen von (1728–1793) 41 Württemberg, Friedrich Eugen von (1732–1797) 41 Wyss, Daniel (1775–1844) 31 Wyttenbach, Jakob Samuel (1748– 1830) 24 Zeiter, Josef Anton (born 1791) 47 Zelger, Jakob Josef (1812–1885) 142–143, 144 Zeugheer, Leonhard (1812–1866) 227 Zimmermann, Joseph 60 Zschokke, Heinrich (1771–1848) 27 Zumstein, Joseph 59 Zumstein, Moritz 59 Zumtaugwald, Johann 59–61 Zumtaugwald, Matthäus (1825–1872) 59, 64 Zumtaugwald, Stephan 60–61 Zünd, Robert (1827–1909) 142, 181n174 Zurbriggen, Johann Peter (1763– 1848) 36, 59 Zurbriggen, Matthias (1856–1917) 62, 65 Zurbriggen, Peter Josef 59 Zweifel, Gabriel 53 Zweig, Stefan (1881–1942) 46 Zwingli, Huldrych (1484–1531) 29 Zwyssig, Alberich (1808–1854) 2