Perhaps the most interesting attraction in Switzerland is the bridge built by the devil. Where exactly it is located is a moot point. According to residents of the glorious canton of Uri, this structure was erected on the banks of the Al River, near the village of Boncourt. Friborg residents claim that in the 13th century the devil threw it across the Sarina River: he erected a beautiful stone bridge instead of the old wooden one, which was broken every spring and carried away by streams of melted snow. These days it is impossible to see it: the capricious river has changed its course and now it is hidden under water. Residents of the canton of Uri, in turn, believe that the devil built a bridge across the Reis, and this was in the 14th century. At the same time, both those and other Swiss tell the same story about how the witty Vogt - the ruler of the region - outwitted Satan.
It was in April. The rays of the sun melted the thick blanket of snow in the mountains, in which the forests and meadows were wrapped in the long winter, and thousands of streams ran down with a cheerful murmur. Along the way they met, mixed their waters, and, turning into stormy streams, fell from the stone ledges to the ground with foam and roar. A strong wind blew, and under its pressure even centuries-old spruce trees were bent to their death. On a dark night, a storm swept over the earth. People listened anxiously to the noise on the street: shutters slammed, glass clinked, tree branches cracked. It seemed that the hurricane would now lift the church, houses, cowsheds and stables into the air and carry them, along with all their inhabitants, to the ends of the world.
The river swelled and rustled. All night long, restless waves beat against the coastal rocks, and the next morning it turned out that the beautiful bridge, built with considerable difficulty last year, had disappeared. It was destroyed by the wind and carried away by water.
When Vogt was informed that the bridge was broken, this venerable husband almost cried with grief: we must begin building the viaduct again, and who knows whether it will withstand the elements next spring?
“Only the devil can build us a strong bridge!” - came out of Vogt’s mouth.
And as soon as he uttered these words, someone knocked on the door from the street... A minute later, the servant reported to Vogt that some stranger wanted to see him.
“Ask,” said the old man.
A young man of pleasant appearance, with a hook nose, black eyes, wearing red trousers and a short German frock coat with a red lining, entered the room. His head was covered with a black hat with a long red feather from some rare bird. Shoes on the toes were rounded in the fashion of the times of Louis XII.
Vogt invited his guest to sit down, and the devil (for it was he) settled into a comfortable chair, happily stretching his legs closer to the fire blazing in the fireplace.
“So, my friend, you need me,” the devil began.
“I confess, dear sir, we simply need your help.”
- For this damn bridge, isn't it?
- Exactly for him, he'll be lost!
— Is it being carried away by the river?
- Yes, by a river, and sometimes by an avalanche or wind.
“Ahh...” the young man drawled and began to look thoughtfully at the glowing coals.
After a moment of silence, Vogt said:
- Listen, be a good devil! Build us a bridge.
- My dear, I wanted to offer you this myself!
“So, all that remains is to agree on...” Vogt was indecisive.
“About the price,” the devil finished for him and looked at his interlocutor with an expression of some playful slyness.
“The last bridge cost us sixty gold pieces,” said the old man, and then, leaning towards the devil’s ear, he quietly added:
“We will give you twice, no, three times as much if you build a strong bridge that will last for centuries.”
The devil chuckled and, looking bored, began to sharpen his sleek nails with a knife...
“You see, I don’t need gold, I make it myself when I want.” Look!
He quickly leaned towards the fire and carefully picked up a large red coal with his fingertips.
“Give me your hand,” he said to Vogt. - Be bolder!
Vogt extended his palm, and the young man put a heavy piece of gold into it. The amazed old man looked at the ingot, turning it in all directions. He wanted to return the treasure to the devil, but he refused with a smile:
“No, no, hide this gold,” he said, crossing his legs with a feeling of contentment. - Let me offer it to you as a gift.
“I understand,” replied the Vogt, putting the ingot into his wallet. - If making gold is not a big deal for you, then you, of course, will want us to repay you with another coin. So what do you want? Set your own conditions!
Here the young man stood up, walked anxiously around the room and, turning to the window, said abruptly:
“I want the soul of the one who first crosses the constructed bridge to belong to me forever!”
“I agree,” Vogt replied.
- What are you saying! (The devil even jumped with pleasure.) Thank you with all my heart, forgive the involuntary pun. Let's draw up an act!
- Dictate!
Vogt took a pen, an inkwell, and paper and began to write. Five minutes later, a formal agreement was concluded and signed on the one hand by Satan, and on the other by Vogt on behalf of the commune. By virtue of this agreement, the devil agreed to build a strong stone bridge in one night, and the Vogt - to give him as a reward the soul of a creature who, by necessity or by chance, would be the first to cross the river on the new bridge.
At dawn the next day, Vogt, whistling cheerfully, was already walking towards the river. On his back he carried a couple of some bags.
There was no trace left of yesterday's bad weather. The sky was clear, the sun was rising, the black-green mountains suddenly turned golden, and somewhere there, at a dizzying height, the antlers of motionless, thoughtful deer could be seen.
The bridge was ready. Vogt examined it carefully and found it excellent. On the opposite bank, on a large flat stone, sat a young man we knew. He had done his job and was now patiently awaiting the reward for his work. Vogt waved his hand in greeting.
- As you can see, I know how to keep my word! - the devil shouted.
“Me too,” Vogt replied.
- How, dearest, have you really decided to sacrifice yourself for the good of your subjects?
- Not quite like that.
Vogt took both bags off his shoulder and slowly began to untie them.
- What is this? - asked the young man, watching the old man’s actions with curiosity.
Vogt, without answering him, took a gray mouse from one bag, and a fat, mustachioed cat from another. The little animal, seeing his old enemy, rushed across the bridge, the cat behind him! The mouse darted into a crack among the stones, and the cat ran right into Satan's feet.
“Hey,” the Vogt shouted, “here it is, your soul, catch it quickly, otherwise it will run away!”
The devil was furious. He was counting on the soul of a person, but he was treated to the soul of an animal. However, there was nothing to be done. The hellish engineer, out of pride, did not show his grief. He picked up the cat, tickled him behind the ear, and thanked Vogt in elegant terms for his generous payment. But when the satisfied old man, having said goodbye, disappeared from sight, the devil cursed, threw the cat to the ground, and he meowed offendedly and disappeared into the grass...
Satan decided to destroy his creation. He kicked it, beat it with his fists, even gnawed it with his teeth, but in vain, for the bridge was built to perfection.
“I’m a big fool,” the devil said to himself, and, putting his hands in his pockets, he walked along the river, casting glances to right and left, like some lover of nature views. In fact, the thought of revenge tormented the devil, and he looked with his eyes for a block of stone so that, after dragging it up the mountain, he could throw it on top of the damned bridge and break it into pieces.
After walking about three miles, he finally found what he was looking for - a huge piece of rock, half buried in the ground and overgrown with green moss. The devil easily pulled him out of the soil and, throwing him on his back, began to climb the path to the top of the mountain, laughing and smacking his lips with pleasure, since he had previously consoled himself with the spectacle of the Vogt’s grief and anger when he came the next day to admire the new bridge.
But, having climbed the mountain and looking down from there, the devil saw a whole crowd of people on the bridge. With crosses and banners, people invoked the Lord's blessing on the satanic structure and dedicated the work of the devil to God.
And then the devil realized that his cause was lost. Sighing sadly and lamenting his bitter lot, he wandered down and, meeting a poor, innocent cow on the way, grabbed her by the tail and threw her into the abyss to rip out her heart.
As for the cunning old Vogt, he has not heard anything about the devil engineer since then. But, once rummaging through his wallet, he severely burned his fingers: there lay glowing coal instead of the gold bar of Satan that had once been laid out.
Years passed. Every spring, the indignant river tried to break and demolish the stone structure hanging over it. She called for help from rain, wind, lightning, and thunder, but the bridge, built by the devil, steadfastly withstood the onslaught of the elements.
Recently I visited the canton of Uri, in the very place where near the waterfall there is an elegant bridge made of gray stones. Huge rocks overgrown with gloomy spruce trees are piled above the bridge, below it is a gap, and a stormy stream rushes along the bottom of the abyss. The narrow ancient road running along the winding Reis is lost among the ledges. Not far from the bridge, at an altitude of eighty meters above the river bed, a depression was made in the granite and almost vertical rock, where on a giant pedestal stands a cross with the inscription: “To the valiant companions of Generalissimo Field Marshal Count Suvorov-Rymniksky, Prince of Italy, who died while crossing the Alps in 1799.” Here Suvorov with his twenty-two thousand army made the famous crossing of St. Gotthard.
Not far from the monument there is a small house with a portrait of Suvorov above the door and an inscription that reads: “Devil's Bridge. Historical restaurant."
It was a cold, damp morning when I went there for a cup of coffee. People wearing hiking jackets and mountain boots with spikes on thick soles sat at wooden tables. The sleepy owner served hot bread and milk. The travelers discussed their route. Some of them were heading to Ticino, where the sun always shines and stone houses with fancy paintings on the walls are hidden among the soft green pine trees. Someone was a fan of Kirchner and wanted to stop in rainy Grisons to admire the glaciers, gloomy spruce forests and ancient shepherds' huts, blackened by time and bad weather.
It suddenly became dark outside the window. The first drops of rain hit the foggy windows. The door opened and a young man entered the hall - tall, brown-eyed, hook-nosed, with a shaved head and a goatee. Precious earrings glittered in the ears of this dandy; he was dressed in black leather clothes. Having looked at everyone intently, he bowed politely and sat down at an empty table. The owner greeted him like an old friend.
The stranger was drinking coffee and thinking about something of his own, looking out the window and sighing sadly.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru