In the Jura-Neuchatel

by Algernon Blackwood

Many rapid tourist visitors to the continent of Europe make a common mistake. They imagine that a place or city can be known, understood and really appreciated in the very short time which they can devote to what is termed “doing it.” For the tourist with limited time this is very difficult to avoid, if, indeed, it is not inevitable.

While it is very true that the hurried traveller sees and retains in his memory much that is beautiful and grand; it is also true that there are moods of the arch-goddess Nature, which utterly refuse to reveal themselves to the superficial observer; those deeper and more subtle effects that only show themselves to him who forces their revelation by lengthy stay and continual intercourse.

This is especially true of the mountainous region of the Jura. The majority of people see the Jura, either on their way to Switzerland, when they are too eager for the first glimpse of the snowy Alps beyond; or, returning from the glories of the higher Alps, when the Jura seems tame and uninteresting. Thus they catch little more than a most superficial glimpse of this region of romantic, wooded hills. The general impression from the train is a range of hills with lovely pine forests, much the same as any other pine woods, with here and there a few dashes of cliff or a rocky ravine to relieve the monotony.

This may, in a sense, be true; but it is not all. Make a prolonged stay in the Jura of several months, with headquarters, say, at Neuchâtel. Make this quaint old city the starting point for numberless walks, climbs, explorations and excursions; visit alone the wild ravines and hidden streamlets that do not lavish their beauty on every hurrying traveller; stand on some of those proud peaks that rise out of their pine forests and look on the snowy giants in the far distance; follow the little paths, that with such delicious vagueness wind in and out among the fragrant slopes. You will discover the most exquiste little valleys, hidden away from the noisy world, each with its rocky gorge and streamlet, each with its cliff and waterfall. You will see long vistas of forest scenery, where the wild flowers mingle with the moss and pine needles, in a combination of the most lovely colours. Visit these spots, and by dint of many walks and peregrinations, surprise these quiet beauties for yourself, and after a month or two, perhaps, you will begin to appreciate that powerful charm which the Jura region must exercise over every true lover of nature, and which steals over the spirit as insensibly as the dusk that creeps over the fields on a summer’s evening.

The Jura is, indeed, a most romantic district, and one that fully repays a protracted stay. To those returning from a sojourn among the sky-scaling Alps it will certainly look dwarfed; but what is lost in size is more than made up for and gained in expression. The whole region in the summer time is one of Nature’s fairest smiles, under which lie hidden secret meanings and charms that only reveal themselves to the one who coaxes their revelation and knows the smallest variation of her hills and valleys.

The geological conformation of the Jura gives to the mountain that characteristic appearance shared by all of a similar structure. The mountain limestone, of which they are composed, runs horizontally across the range in winding and well-defined strata. Here and there it may be seen, tilted up on end, and boldly starting out from the softer surroundings, forming a light-hued jagged peak with serrated edges. From time to time the traveller will come across spaces of wild beauty, where the bare white rock rises suddenly out of the moss-strewn ground, looking as if some giant hand had rudely torn from its surface the warm covering of pines, mosses and lichens, which on all sides renders the contrast the more marked.

Very often, too, in the neighbourhood of such spots the diligent observer may discover dark openings in the rock through which he may with difficulty squeeze himself. These are entrances to long and winding passages between the twisting strata which pierce far into the interior of the mountain. We ourself have explored many hundred yards of these winding and tortuous caverns, and provided one keeps a clear remembrance of the different turns and twists of the passages, the journey, with a good lantern, is both interesting and instructive. The air is damp and cool pools of water, deep and dark, into which the water drips continuously from the roof above, are scattered throughout these caves. There is on all sides a perfect silence but for the peculiar drip, drip, drip of the water. Only a dull echo responds to the noise of the feet. These interesting caves form a perfect network all along the sides of the Jura, and the intricate windings that thread the hills round Neuchâtel we have often explored and wandered, not infrequently giving ourselves up for lost.

In the neighbourhood of Neuchâtel there is a famous stream that will well repay us to follow its windings for some distance into the mountain home and source. The Areuse is a wild mountain torrent, that varies from a quiet, though never a clear, stream, to a rushing, foaming river. We suddenly plunge into the jaws of a defile so dark and gloomy that we almost imagine it to be the entrance to an enormous cavern. The little path we follow is fixed to the side of the weathered walls like windowsills to the wall of a house. The defile deepens and darkens at every step; the roar of the foaming torrent grows louder and louder, till we have to shout to make our voices heard. At one point in the gorge a man could with ease, though not with safety, span with his legs the width between the cliffs, so close do the edges of the ravine approach each other. But immediately beneath him the walls widen out enormously, eaten away by the violent undercurrents.

Passing out of this miniature via mala, a space of lovely green fields is reached, hemmed in on all sides by towering pine-clad mountains. Here it is that, for the first time, we obtain a view into the interior of the Jura, which repays almost any amount of trouble and time to see. Far ahead a wider horizon opens out, and bounding it between the sky and earth, looms up an amphitheatre of cliff so perfect, so enormous, and with a circle of such wide, sweeping, and majestic proportions that it fairly takes our breath away. It comes as a complete surprise; for we had not thought the Jura contained anything half so grand. This is the famous Cruex du Vent, the caverns of the wind. In a perfect semicircle, the broad strata of the limestone sweeps round its sides with the most beautiful regularity.

The winds here roar with an inimitable grandeur of sound from one end to the other, as if trying to escape from their rocky prison. Six hundred feet into the air these walls rear themselves up, bare and unadorned, and from the summit the impression is, if possible, grander even. Within this giant’s cauldron, the air currents seem to be extremely involved.

The railway from Paris to Berne pierces its way by means of tunnel and embankment through a portion of this great valley. In approaching Salins we cannot help being struck by the striking situation of the place; the forts crowning the lofty rocks are visible at a great distance; on the left rises Mont Poupet, an outpost of the Jura, while the torrent of La Furieuse pursues its turbulent course at the bottom of the valley. The town occupies the background of the narrow gorge, and rises amphitheatre like for a length of nearly two miles.

The salt works of Salins produce three thousand tons of salt annually. The springs are worked by hydraulic pumps. Three wells supply five hundred hectolitres daily.

With a farewell glance at the above illustration of the pretty source of the Furieuse, we turn to the more immediate neighbourhood of the historic city of Neuchâtel. Around its antique houses, its castle and cathedral cluster many memories of bygone days which make it a centre of very great interest to all who love to ponder over the past and read the lessons that history has to teach.

On all sides, in graceful slopes, lie the vine-covered hills that touch the very shores of the blue lake. Here in autumn when the oranges are in full swing the sight is picturesque. But before we explore a few of the beauties of the city itself, let us climb the rounded hill, that runs from immediately behind the castle hill in our illustration, and from its summit discloses a view unparalleled in the whole Jura region. At our feet lie the blue waters of the lakes of Neuchâtel, Bienne and Morat, while in the far distance the sunlight is reflected from a blue fragment of the lake of Geneva. Across the lakes, in indistinct haze, lie rounded hills and fertile valleys, studded with villages and pretty church towers, and behind these, in ever ascending gradations, rise step upon step the steep shoulders of the higher Alps. Behind these, again, stand out in a magnificent background the white peaks of the Alps in a glorious panorama that stretches from Sentis to Mount Blanc and the Matterhorn.

The history of the old city at our feet is a peculiarly interesting and eventful one, from the time when the Novum Castrum was a Roman fort to the time when it at length regained the freedom of its canton in 1857. Its surroundings, its streets, and its institutions are full of recollections of such men as Marat, the Revolutionist, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Farel, the Reformer, and the great scientist and learned Professor Agassiz, who for some years filled a professorial chair in the college. The ancient castle, which stands so picturesquely on the heights, has been turned into public offices. It adorns the city, however, none the less that it combines usefulness with ornament. The old cathedral dates from the twelfth century. Marat was born in a little village called Budry, that lies nearer the Areuse.

In the woods behind the city are some enormous specimens of those erratic blocks, which, lying on rocks of a totally different nature, point to some far distant home, and, as well, to some tremendous carrying power that has borne them so far and dropped them like hailstones all through these woods. Some of them⁠—notably the Pierre de Boudry and Pierre a Bot⁠—are as large as a good-sized cottage, and rise to an equal height with the surrounding trees.