may take
place from it, the masses descending with such speed that they
directly attain the stream. If the steeps be low and the rock divided
into vertical joints, especially where there is a soft layer at the
base of the steep, detached masses from the precipice may move slowly
and steadfastly down the slope, so little disturbed in their journey
that trees growing upon their summits may continue to develop for the
thousands of years before the mass enters the stream bed.
Although the fall of rocks from precipices does not often take place
in a conspicuously large way, all great mountain regions which have
long been inhabited by man abound in traditions and histories of such
accidents. Within a century or two there have been a dozen or more
catastrophes of this nature in the inhabited valleys of the Alps. As
these accidents are at once instructive and picturesque, it is well to
note certain of them in some detail. At Yvorgne, a little parish on
the north shore of the Rhone, just above the lake of Geneva, tradition
tells that an ancient village of the name was overwhelmed by the fall
of a great cliff. The vast _debris_ forming the steep slope which was
thus produced now bears famous vineyards, but the vintners fancy that
they from time to time hear deep in the earth the ringing of the bells
which belonged to the overwhelmed church. In 1806 the district of
Goldau, just north of Lake Lucerne, was buried beneath the ruins of a
peak which, resting upon a layer of clay, slipped away like a
launching ship on the surface of the soft material. The _debris_
overwhelmed a village and many detached houses, and partly filled a
considerable lake. The wind produced by this vast rush of falling rock
was so great that people were blown away by it; some, indeed, were
killed in this singular manner.
The most interesting field of these Swiss mountain falls is a high
mountain valley of amphitheatrical form, known as the Diablerets, or
the devil's own district. This great circus, which lies at the height
of about four thousand feet above the sea, is walled around on its
northern side by a precipice, above which rest, or rather once
rested, a number of mountain peaks of great bulk. The region has long
been valued for the excellent pasturage which the head of the valley
affords. Two costly roads, indeed, have been built into it to afford
footpaths for the flocks and herds and their keepers in the summer
season. Through this human experien
|