My goodwife and I boarded a fantastic vehicle at the station in St Moritz. The Switzers here called it a train, but it was like no train I'd seen on God's earth. It had glass walls and glass ceilings, smooth panels like heavily lacquered wood, and lights with no visible flames. The engine that drew it had no coal and no boiler, and emitted no steam, yet it drew over a dozen carriages with ease. I know not how this could have been achieved with clockwork. (I was desirous of speaking with the engineer that controlled this wonder, but he was otherwise engaged in his preparations for the journey.)
Our able maid, Desiré has done an admirable job of sketching these almost unbelievable scenes. Had I not seen them with my own eyes, I would have considered her art a fanciful conceit.
From the very start, the glory of the Swiss alps transfixed us. I gazed dumbfounded at the crags above and the valleys below, the sparkling rills and the frosty snow-fed torrents, the pine, larch and spruce, and the blinding drifts of snow. Yet even amongst these natural marvels, the skilled peoples here had erected mighty metal towers with mile-long metal cables strung between them. Some were like Veranzio's bicable ropeway with many suspended chairs, but many had no chairs and no means of movement. More of these cables, shorter of span, were raised above the train tracks as though our carriage needed a metal rail above as well as below.
Some half hour into the journey we were fascinated by the marvelous clockwork automata employed in the service of the carriage. At a designated time, or perhaps triggered by some key mechanism on the tracks, an automaton dressed in railway livery entered the carriage, placed glasses on each table, and returned to its quarters. After some moments it again entered, this time carrying napkins and cutlery which it placed on each table. A third time another entered, but this one arranged each napkin in a cone and placed the eating utensils as for traditional table settings. Would that I could have peeled back the covers of these wondrous mechanisms to examine them closely.
Lest you think we had found a perfect world, let me assure you that these automata displayed imperfections. As the train swayed, one automaton let bottles and glasses slip from a tray, inconveniencing some of our co-travellers. Another automaton delivered drinks to the family seated opposite us, but left us wait for an extra hour.
Throughout the trip we listened to an hidden guide describing the towns passed by the railway. We had but to hold small lacquered shells to our ears to hear the invisible guide as one might hear the sound of the sea when holding a sea shell to the ear.
We traveled 200 miles around gorges, across bridges, through tunnels from St Moritz to Zermatt in only eight hours, and the guide claimed that this was the slowest express. Truly we live in an age of miracles and wonders.
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