6 The Reichenbach Falls

Chapter 6 The Reichenbach Falls On May 3, we reached Meiringen. This beautiful Swiss village lay in a verdant valley surrounded by majestic mountains. Icy streams from these mountains fed the Aare river that ran past the village on its winding course through the valley. We stayed at the Englischer Hof, a charming hotel owned and run by an elderly gentleman named Peter Steiler. He was an intelligent, friendly fellow who spoke excellent English, having worked for three years at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. "While you are here," he said, "you simply must visit the hamlet of Rosenlaui. It is the highest settlement in this valley, and the views from up there are spectacular. You can spend the night at the inn there and return here the following day. On the way up, you will pass the famous Reichenbach Falls. A small detour on the path will take you to a spot where you can view

them properly. Believe me, it is a sight to behold!" So, on Steiler's advice, we set off up the valley after lunch on May 4. I had no idea how fateful that day would turn out to be. It was a beautiful afternoon without a cloud in the sky. Our route followed one of the streams that fed the Aare. Along the way, we stopped to take in views of the Wetterhorn and other mountains, their snowy caps gleaming in the late spring sunshine. Before long, we reached the detour that led to the Reichenbach Falls. The path to the falls was a

ledge cut into the mountainside, with a steep, rocky wall on one side and a sharp drop on the other. As we stood above the thundering torrent, I was struck dumb with fear and wonder at its colossal power. The river, swollen by melting snow, plunged into a deep chasm lined with glistening, coal- black rock. The endless cascade of green water roared downward, soaking us with its spray.

At the bottom, it boiled and churned in a creamy froth before spilling over the jagged lip of another yawning drop. Holmes and I stood there for a long time in silence, taking in this awesome sight, and I became quite giddy at the scale of it, and the noise and violence. The path circled around the falls so spectators could view it from different angles. It ended abruptly, however, about halfway around, so we had no choice but to return the way we came. We were about to do so when a Swiss lad came running toward us waving a letter. He handed it to me. Shielding it from the spray, I

read the message, which was addressed to me by our landlord, Peter Steiler. It appeared that shortly after our departure, a frail old English lady had arrived at the hotel. She had spent the winter at Davos Platz and was on her way to join friends at Lucerne when a sudden sickness had overcome her. She was convinced she only had a few more hours to live, and it would be a great comfort to her to see an English doctor, if I wouldn't mind returning. Steiler was very apologetic but he said she absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician. It was impossible to ignore this request from a dying woman. Even so, I felt uneasy about leaving Holmes alone.

Holmes, however, insisted that I go. "If it makes you feel better," he said, "this young lad will stay with me as my guide and companion. We'll remain here for a while and then walk slowly up the hill to Rosenlaui where you can rejoin us this evening." I agreed to this and began making my way back down the ledge toward the main path. At one point, I turned to see Holmes leaning against the rocky wall with his arms folded, gazing down at the rushing waters. Looking back now, with the knowledge of what was to come, it is a sight that I shall treasure for as long as I live.