The mountain

Front matter

ity cies oy ie i ne tay et fate ane frre it

Forest Reman: a hank

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Chapter I. The Vestibule Of Mont Blano

SAINT-GERVAIS— POVERTY, GRACEFULNESS, AND AMENITY OF THE LANDSOAPES OF SAVOY .......... 19

CHeAVPeD Hikes 0 L.

MONT BLANC: THE GLACIERS.

THE HORROR OF THE GLACIERS, WHEN SEEN FROM A NEAR POINT OF VIEW—LEGENDS OF THE GLACIERS— CHAMOIS-HUNTERS, CRYSTAL-SEEKERS—FUNEREAL ASPECT OF MONT BLANC—JACQUES BALMAT THE

EARLY ASCENTS OF MONT BLANC: THE GLACIERS,

SPECIAL TRAINING OF SAUSSURE ; HIS SUCCESSFUL JOURNEY—THE GLACIER IS A LIVING AND MOVING THING—CHARPENTIER, AGASSIZ ; THE GLACIAL ERA—THE GLACIER ADVANCES AND RECEDES ; IS

THE CLOUDS CONDENSED BY THE ALPS—THE FG@HN : THE MELTING OF THE SNOWS : THE TORRENTS... 61

CHAPTER V.

SWITZERLAND : ITS LAKES AND RIVERS,

SPECIAL MISSION OF THE LAKES ; THEIR DIVERSITY OF CHARACTER—LAKES OF GENEVA AND LUCERNE— PACIFIC GRANDEUR OF SAINT GOTHARD, THE CENTRE OF THE MOUNTAINS AND THE WATERS—THE

CHAPTER VI.

THE HIGH PASSES OF THE ALPS.

THE THREE ALPINE ALTARS—THE PASSAGE OF THE BIRDS AND FLOCKS—SAINT BERNARD, SIMPLON,

CHAP D EER Veli: THE PYRENEES.

DISTANT VIEW OF THE PYRENEES—CONTRASTS AND SURPRISES ; THE GARONNE, os. ee ee cece cece ceneee 8S

(AE AN ME UNDIES AY UTE Ai THE PYRENEES: CONTINUED.

THEIR ILLUSIONS — RAMOND AND THE MONT PERDU— THE SHEPHERDS: MALADETTA, GAVARNIE—

THERMAL SPRINGS : BAREGES, OLETTE, ETO. ... 0. cece cece ce ee eee ee eee ee ee ee eee ee en eee ne nens 95

CHAPTER Ix.

THE BOLLENTE: AT ACQUI.

WE ARE PRESENT AT THE INTERNAL TRAVAIL OF EARTH—HOW I WAS INHUMED IN ORDER THAT I MIGHT

CoE AT Pe Behe.

THE UPWARD PROGRESS OF EARTH: ITS ASPIRATION.

ITS LIFE CONSISTS IN ITS EXPANSION TOWARDS THE SUN AND LIGHT—THE SCHOOL OF ELEVATIONS AND VIOLENT REVOLUTIONS—THE SCHOOL OF PACIFIC AND SUCCESSIVE CREATION—THE FIRST FOR- WARD MOVEMENT OF EARTH VERY GENTLE AND WITHOUT OBSTACLE—UNDER ITS ACTUAL CRUST IT PAN SAND ‘SUG ES igrelvsecisua/ei giols'vie.eye/evAcpiainne.e (0 sicaik foteysin) stave ors oledislsce’'eis) sie be visio leipas sve alere ha ttieletatcies Rae inieraionierae aametd ae

CAELPAU PUT By Rgex 1G THE TWO GREAT MOUNTAINS OF EARTH, CALLED CONTINENTS.

CE sACPA hab eexcl Ie THE MOUNTAINS OF ICE: THE POLE,

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE OLIMATES OF THE POLE AND THE HIGH ALPS—THE MAGNETO-ELECTRIO AURORA BOREALIS. .......... deg adug oso dnatorncucoac.oc 133

COHVAL Eatin hae Natale THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE; JAVA.

THE HEART OF THE EARTH: ARTERIES. OF WARM WATER: JAVA AND CUBA—VOLCANOES : THE CIRCLE OF EIRE—FECUNDATING POWERS: FLORAL MONSTROSITIES—PLANTS OF TEMPTATION....... SSqceng, 265

CONTENTS. xiii

Book the Second. CHAPTER I, ZONES OF PEACE: THE MEADOWS

AMIABLE SOCIABILITY OF OUR EUROPEAN PLANTS — CURATIVE VIRTUES OF INDIGENOUS PLANTS—- INVASION OF EXOTIO PLANTS... ..cecececececcscves

CHA PLE RELI THE FORESTS: THE TREE OF LIFE: THE GOLDEN BRANCH.

LEGENDS: THE TREE OF LIFE, THE TREE OF SORROWS—THE SIBYL’S BOUGH WHICH EVOKES AND ELIA TIS Tain gio'n' slarele/s'ainis.n # sielsiets| pi ¥islbiniolnasare's) uigiv ol c's cis\a:/c a) Sfelbictele beinraisin eisist cal Baa et¥a vienaleta cise aeleaie tee leceteME Te

CHAS ERS cs THE AMPHITHEATRE OF THE FORESTS.

THE CHESTNUT—THE BEECH—THE FIR—THE PICEA 2... cece cece secs vc cscucccsvascesecessessesece. ce 180

Co FiCAS PAE Lae DREAMS OF THE MOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWERS.

VARIOUS PROJECTS AND SCHEMES IN 1857 TO 1867—-OUR WINTERS IN PROVENCE .4..e0.cseeeseeeeree 194

CHAPTER V.

DREAMS OF THE MOUNTAIN AND THE FLOWERS: CONTINUED, SWITZERLAND IN MAY 1867.

CHAPTER VI.

THE PAUSE AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN: LOVES OF THE ALPINE FLOWERS,

CAN BOTANY BE SEPARATED FROM ZOOLOGY? — THE LOVE OF PLANTS IDENTICAL WITH THE LOVE

THE ALPINE PLANTS: THE PROGRESS OF THEIR FLOWERS IN LOVE. THE CHIARO-OSCURO OF LOVE, THE SAME IN BOTH KINGDOMS. ...,.-- e+ ee ee eeee cece creeseeeeeeeeerere 218

CNEL ANID ANAS AY ICE M.

THE PASS OF THE GRISONS: THE DEATH OF THE MOUNTAIN. ANTAGONISM BETWEEN THE GRISONS AND THE SWISS -— THE ROUTE AND THE COL OF JULIER: RUINS

CHAPTER IX.

THE ENGADINE.

GRAVE AND NOBLE ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY—ITALO-KELTIC SUBTLETY OF ITS INHABITANTS—THEIR

CHAPTER X.

SNOWS AND FLOWERS,

CHAPTER XI.

THE DESTINY OF THE ENGADINE.

CHAPTER XII.

THE AROLLA: DECAY OF THE TREE AND OF MAN.

FORESIGHT OF A BOTANIST: “‘ THE COMMONPLACE WILL PREVAIL ’’—TWO SUPERIOR TREES HAVE RENDERED THE HEIGHTS INHABITABLE—HOW THE PRESENT AGE ENDEAVOURS IN ALL THINGS TO EFFACE THE ET ROTO satan sinpiate nis spain, sic e.si8io-sivseleveisisieigd/Sigia(e le alsiaiae is ghar eaiele-vieluisvnateederelipyeierelkie-s eile eiemtea sere te alas wei Se ore

(CeEieAs CEE) Hie Des WILL OUR ERA SUCCEED IN REGENERATING ITSELF ?

ITS MORAL DECAY: ITS VIGOUR OF INVENTION —SELF-CONCENTRATION UPON THE MOUNTAIN—INFLUENCE OF SWITZERLAND ON VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU, RAYNAL, MONSIEUR AND MADAME ROLAND — THE CLIMBERS ; ROMANCES } MORBID BOOKS—CHILDREN’S MOUNTAIN-TOURS—INFLUENCE OF MOUNTAIN- SCENERY UPON YOUTH—THE RESISTANCE OF THE ACCLIVITY AND THE EFFORT TO RISE.......-.. 286

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS,

DRAWN BY PERCIVAL SKELTON.

ENGRAVED BY J. W. WHYMPER, R. PATERSON, AND G. A. MORISON.

THE HEAD-PIECES BY CLARK STANTON, A.R.S.A. [Those distinguished by an asterisk * are Whole-Page Engravings.)

VIEW OF MONT BLANC, FROM SALLENCHES, SAW-MILLS, NEAR SAINT GERVAIS,

THE GLACIER OF GRINDELWALD,

SHOOTING TIMBER DOWN THE TORRENT,

PATH OF THE AVALANCHE DOWN THE JUNGFRAU,

VILLAGE OF CHAMOUNIX,

*VIEW OF MONT BLANC AND ITS GLACIER, FROM THE BREVENT,

GLACIER OF ROSENLAUI, ...

*THE WATERSHED OF EUROPE,

MISTS ON THE GLACIER, ...

THE COMING OF THE FQ@HN, i oes ee as a me THE TORRENT AT MONTREUX, *THE MOUNTAIN-MIRROR (LAKE OF LUCERNE), ...

LAKE LEOZON, CANTON DU VAUD,

LAKE OF LUCERNE (AND MONT PILATE),

LAKE OF GENEVA—A STORM-SCENE, ...

EVIAN, LAKE OF GENEVA, ... ae ‘a6 dis ace

BRIDGE OF LUCERNE, a ae a — es ‘aa a LAKE OF URI, sas bi ae ves te oe tes FLUELLEN (NEAR TELL’S PLATFORM), LAKE OF URI,

THE PARTING OF THE WATERS (LAKE LEOZON), “oe oes ide oe THE VIA MALA (CROSSING A TORRENT),

*[THE PASS OF THE GRIMSEL (WITH VIEW OF THE LAKE AND HOSPICE), ...

*THE CIRQUE OF GAVARNI, IN THE PYRENEES,

THE PIC DU MIDI, ... ia xvi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

BAREGES, IN THE PYRENEES, evs

SOURCE OF THE NERVION (IN THE CANTABRIAN PYRENEES), ose ope

*\ HIMALAYAN LANDSCAPE, bee *ISLAND OF JAN MAYEN, ... ioe *ETNA, AS SEEN FROM TAORMINA,

THE VOLCANO OF TAAL, ees ove

A PASTORAL LANDSCAPE AT COUR, NEAR LAUSANNE, ... “0 wee

FELLING OAKS IN FONTAINEBLEAU FOREST,

THE TREE IN THE DESERT OF TARTARY, THE WHITE FIR, ...

*\AMPHITHEATRE OF FORESTS ABOVE THE LAKE OF GENEVA, ...

THE FOREST SAVES THE VALLEY, ... *LAKE OF GENEVA (IN WINTER), = VEYTAUX, LAKE OF GENEVA,

*,7 THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN (UNDER THE DENT THE RHONE FLOWING INTO THE LAKE OF GENEVA,

GRYON, ... se ne bee GATEWAY OF THE CATHEDRAL OF COIRE, COIRE, THE ANCIENT CURIA,

THE CIRQUE DE JULIER, ...

SILVA-PLANA, IN THE ENGADINE, ...

SAINT-MORITZ, ... ae ae VIEW OF THE BERNINA, ... i

*IN THE SOLITUDES OF THE ENGADINE, *THE DECAY OF THE MOUNTAIN FOREST, THE VALLEY OF ROSEG AND PONTRESINA,

BURGLEN, THE BIRTH-PLACE OF WILLIAM TELL, *CLARENS AND MONTREUX (LAKE OF GENEVA), THE REICHENBACH FALLS, AND GLACIER OF ROSENLAUI (FROM MEYRINGEN),

DU MIDI, BEX),

PART Attest =) Mae al

I. THE VESTIBULE OF MONT BLANC.

II. MONT BLANC: THE GLACIERS.

II. EARLY ASCENTS OF MONT BLANC: THE GLACIERS. IV. THE EUROPEAN WATER-RESERVOIR.

V. SWITZERLAND: ITS LAKES AND RIVERS.

VI. THE HIGH PASSES OF THE ALPS.

VIL THE PYRENEES.

VIIl THE PYRENEES—CONTINUED.

IX. THE BOLLENTE: AT ACQUI.

X. THE UPWARD PROGRESS OF EARTH: ITS ASPIRATION. XI. THE TWO GREAT MOUNTAINS OF EARTH, CALLED CONTINENTS. XII. MOUNTAINS OF ICE: THE POLE.

XIII. THE MOUNTAIN OF FIRE: JAVA.

ae :

THE VESTIBULE OF MONT BLANC.

wAONT BLANC is not a thoroughfare. It does not

4 offer on its mid-slope those great highways of the etme nations by which France, Germany, and Italy are eternally crossing. It stands apart. One must go expressly to see and salute the illustrious Hermit whose head dominates Europe.

I had seen the Apennines ; I had seen the Pyrenees ; the great hospitable mountains of the merchant and the traveller, Mont Cenis and Saint Gothard ; the swift magic of the Simplon. I reserved to the last—Mont Blane.

Recently, to my many labours I had added yet another. From the depths of the protracted epopceia which had so long enthralled me, I had essayed that daring flight, the “ Bible of Humanity”—a little book, but a great outburst of heart and will. I too, just like the globe, had upreared my mountain ; a watch-tower, a peak of sufficient height to survey the whole earth.

I was careful not to visit the sea in search of repose. I love that strange fairy Power. She possesses the secret of life; but she is so restless! How often has she added her tempests to my mental commotion! I repaired to the immovable Alps to implore tranquillity ; but not to those noisy

20 VESTIBULE OF MONT BLANC.

VIEW OF MONT BLANC, FROM SALLENCHES,

Alps which seem an eternal revel of cascades and beautiful lakes. I preferred the great hermit, the dumb giant, Mont Blanc. Only in him could I hope to find enough both of snow and calm.

When from Geneva you arrive at Sallenches, after passing through a commonplace and indifferent country, you are struck by the grandeur of the scene suddenly displayed before you. The Arve winds, and all is changed. There is no

AT SALLENCHES, 21 trickery in the surprise. On the left, an immense aiguille, Varens, of ruinous limestone, partly supported by a belt of firs, rises abruptly over the route, and seems to menace it. On the right, the wooded hills might be taken for the first tier of a sombre amphitheatre, which elsewhere one would call a lofty mountain (it is between 5000 and 6000 feet above the sea-level). Yet, in the rear, and at a distance, dominates, from an enormous elevation, the sad and snow-crowned dome.

You should not visit this scené in those rarely beautiful summer days which cast a deceitful charm over the entire land, which decorate all Nature, and invest the landscapes in an uniform smile. The radiant phantasmagoria of shifting lights would kindle the very tombs! The sun, as photography proves, is a great deceiver. He will give the same aspect to the coldest and barrenest valley of Savoy as to the burning hollows of the Valais, which are, in truth, an anticipation of ltaly.

I arrived there on a gloomy day, such as you find in that country during the greater part of the year. I was able to see it in its reality, in its meanness and poverty, crushed by yonder heights, with the Arve, a simple torrent, wandering vaguely abroad. Small gardens, diminutive vineyards, a tolerable number of tall firs, and there, on high, the ice-cold giant.

It is with no small surprise we come upon numerous hot-springs. That the Pyrenees should afford them, that those ancient daughters of fire should lavishly pour out the burning waters, seems natural enough. But that here, beneath this immense shroud of snows and firs, should dully roar the internal heat, is a fact which impresses the mind and awakens thought. We say to ourselves: Behind the mask, the cold decoration of winter, there lies concealed another—a somebody whom we do not see. The ices (some 1200 feet in thickness, I suppose) are for him a simple garb. An individual of granite is buried within, which was formerly begotten of the

22 VESTIBULE OF MONT BLANC.

earth—one of its mighty sighs, of those aspirations towards the light when she was still in shadow. But in its tomb of snow, this soul remains in close affinity with its profound mother, and ever she revives beneath its genial expansion.

The Baths of Saint Gervais are gloomy. A noble plantation of firs skirts a small rapid torrent. And by degrees one finds oneself in a very narrow ravine, sloping between hills which are about 600 feet in height. The water is cold, the wind icy. Yet nevertheless there wells out a hot-spring in this locality. It has all the effect of a miracle. In the snowy waters a fisherman accidentally discovered the thermal source. In former times such a circumstance would have been sufficient foundation for a religious creed. In the Pyrenees, at Vichy, Bourbon, and elsewhere, all water is a god; the god Borbo, the god Gorgo, and the like. In Savoy, these gods become saints; Saint Gervais and Saint Protais.

The scene, with its ascetic nature, seems to say: “ Before making use of the gifts of God, leave here on the threshold thy sin, the secret malady of thy soul.” And this is the essence of wisdom. But I do not know that the place is calculated to soothe the heart. It is certainly one of those haunted by spirits. It is closely shut in. On either side the fir-trees overhang, and, approaching one another, cast strange shadows round about. Long dragon-like trains of fog are attracted thither from the Arve, and, delighted with the spot, refuse to quit it. This winding, ever-receding landscape, promises | know not what. It seems replete with mysteries, dreams, and illusions. One would wish for more light.

Holy light, be my physician! I will go to the gloomy nymph ; but I wish to rule over her. When we emerge from this ravine, and mount to the lofty Saint Gervais, we find it gay and laughing. The effect of the contrast is singular. I found

AT THE END OF THE WORLD. 23 it something more and better than attractive. Its beauty is most touching, and went straight to my heart.

I did not reside at the entrance which overlooks the course of the Arve, and commands a distant view of Sallenches, but at the other end of the village, in a little house without any prospect,—the respectable house of the Gontards, who discovered the hot-spring by which others have profited. This house was situated on somewhat lower ground, and near the torrent, whose noise we heard, but whose waters were invisible. The church stood by the side, shaded by great old trees, and surrounded by a very beautiful blossomy graveyard. Further off, beyond the torrent, some small vineyards stretched up a lofty ascent, and the bluish smoke of a few cottages, and a crove of firs, were discernible. It was the end of the world (finis mundt).

The rain fallmg in front of the fir-trees, the wreathing smoke, the heavy clouds which rose and dragged themselves towards us,—were these the components of a very lively picture? Yet we nevertheless experienced a certain quickening of the spirit. Life seemed to us easier to endure. Was this the effect of the air (at an altitude of 2400 feet)? Was it owing to our release from the coarser existence, from the thoughts of an absent world ?

The sombre clouds of the soul take flight on those lofty summits, and betake themselves to the great floating sea which I can discern wandering opposite to us,—wandering about yon fantastic c/rques which ape the likeness of human beings,— about the aiguilles of Varens and the peaks of Montjoye.

I thought of absent friends, of the languishing society of the great towns lying far below, of the Seime or the Rhine, of Holland, of the dense fogs of London. I said to myself, especially in moments of sudden outbursts of light, “ How ereat an advantage there is in ascending! Would the world

19?

were here, relieved of its burdens and set free!

24 VESTIBULE OF MONT BLANC.

From Paris to Geneva, one has 1600 pounds less atmospheric weight to carry; and from Geneva to this place, 2400! It is the abode of true liberty! On a higher or lower level we breathe less freely.

The charming maiden of the house—tall and straight as a poplar, more lithe than the females of Savoy—and her little brother, a mere child, assisted the young servant in domestic work, and in the purchase of provisions, which it was often necessary to fetch from a considerable distance. We lived a little haphazard, with a faith in Providence like that of the Antonys and the Pacémes, who sometimes expected their bread to fall from heaven.

As soon as the rain ceased, and while I was still at the desk, my second and younger self, curious to see the country, set out on an exploring journey. Turning round the church, she went towards Bionney (this is the road of Notre Dame de la Gorge, which would lead into Italy) ; but all the interest consisted, rightly enough, in ignoring this, and in venturing into an unknown region. Her companion, still more curious to see what was to be seen, was no better informed. All the landscape was still exceedingly dank. The venerable walnut-trees, which belong, I believe, to the days when the dukes of Savoy carried the Cross to Jerusalem, rendered the road very muddy and miry, and still sprinkled it with drops of rain. It was market-day: the highway was full of animation; each person was driving his cattle, cows, geese, or sheep. A thoughtful and very cunning peasant was leading softly, as one guides a newly-married wife, a couple of pretty little black pigs. These country-people were very courteous, and said, as they passed, “Good-day.” The women, old before their time, good-natured, but ugly (they work so hard), regarded with a mother’s eye (sometimes, 1t seems, even moved to tears) the young pale lady, as one regards a sick child. They smiled at the détours

THE INFLUENCE OF LIGHT. 25 she made to escape from contact with their cows, avoiding them, and abandoning to them the road, with a superfluous degree of respect. The weather also was, so to speak, half an | invalid, being unable to decide between the sun and the rain. The oats lay on the ground, waiting to be dried, before they could be gathered into the garner. It was a poor and scanty crop, and exposed to great hazard.

The rain, however, delighted the meadows, and they flourished immensely. It was pleasant, too, to the streams, and the very smallest of them sung and babbled. Many copious, strong, and rapid brooks seemed, with their loud gurgling, out of harmony with such modest and unpretending scenes. They came from on high and from afar, the indisputable children of an upper world. At a certain bend in the road, this upper world was suddenly revealed on one side, through a narrow angle (the glacier of Bionassey). It shone like a mountain of gold in the sun, a dazzling spectacle! One doubled and accelerated one’s steps, to examine it more nearly; but already the shiftmg gold had changed ; 1t was no more than silver. Ah, the inconstancy of light! The silver became simple snow, and the snow, by degrees, assumed the dull hue of lead.

The return home was saddened by this circumstance, and made much more slowly. The day had already sunk, though it was the middle of summer. She re-entered the house in a serious mood, but with hands full of flowers.

Light was the morning, a little cold, but agreeable and lively. We worked in face of the snows which, this year, in the month of August, powdered our lofty hills. Then we went to visit our neighbours, the fir-trees of the cataract. These grave trees of the North, here planted low down on the ice-cold torrent, and there at a great height near the mountain summits, encircled and protected on the intermediate terraces the more delicate trees—the pears and apples—of-the tiny

26 VESTIBULE OF MONT BLANC.

orchards. We contemplated respectfully those venerable resinous patriarchs, the eldest-born of the world, which in the more difficult ages endured so many hardships, and to-day still support and defend so many exposed localities. They seem the natural brothers of all suffering, deserving, and laborious populations. We concluded a compact of friendship with them.

Our forest of firs appeared on the right, on the shoulder of the hill) We crossed the Devil’s Bridge (a common name in every country). We ascended, traversing the vineyards, to asmall, poor, but hospitable farm. The farmer, a shrewd and very amiable man of ripe years, had been a commissionaire at Paris for a considerable period, had returned with some small savings, and married a pretty woman, not a native of the country. Their children were fine and healthy, and they seem to enjoy some degree of comfort, at least in those years when the wind on high is not too bleak. The scene was a pathetic one; but would this man, already advanced in years, live to see his eldest son, a boy of twelve, old enough to work, and replace him at his mother’s side ?

The fir-wood was exceedingly beautiful. It presented a succession of sombre avenues: one with a very fantastic effect —which alternately concealed and displayed the Baths in the deep hollow; another, more distant, and bright and lively, revealed the windings of the valley as far as Sallenches. Far in the depths, some evidently Celtic ruins seemed, with their black antiquity, to render the forest, so shadowy in itself, still darker and more obscure.

On emerging from it, and climbing towards a more open: spot, we saw beneath us Saint Gervais, its valley, and the road of the glaciers—an extensive, a tranquil, and, to use a word which sums up everything, a human view. There, in the hollow, lay meadows and brooks; human toil and saw-mills ; tiny harvests of oats, rye, and buckwheat ; and cottages

ON THE HIGH GROUNDS. 27

SAW-MILLS, NEAR SAINT GERVAIS, which nowhere else are of such ample dimensions as those of Switzerland. They climbed the acclivities to a great height. Higher up, the summits were less barren than we had supposed, and, by their pale verdure, showed that the giant was not unalterably severe.

All this scene was rendered solemn and affecting by a close, warm air, the presage of a storm. We seated ourselves about midway up the steep, on the same narrow ridge of stone —silent, and too much at one in our thoughts to need to utter them. The rain was still on its way towards us; in a month or two it would be winter. The mutability of everything painfully affected us. All was soft and calm; we could scarcely see the glaciers, and only by a narrow angle; but their verdurous margin promised nothing reliable.

MONT BLANC.

THE GLACIERS.

fONG before visiting Mont Blanc, I had seen the Grindelwald, an easily accessible glacier, whose approaches are not denuded of all their natural character, and set im regular order, like those of too many other glaciers where artificial effects have been carefully prepared. I had seen it suddenly, and without being forewarned —by an abrupt surprise, without reflection, without recalling any of those vain literary souvenirs which falsify the true impression. I felt it in all the force of its astonishment and horror.

I had quitted in the morning noisy Interlachen, and its vulgar affluence ; and having arrived at the village, I took up my quarters at Grindelwald in an excellent hotel. The dim chamber which I entered presented nothing remarkable ; but the attendants open a window—I turn round. The casement, all flooded with lght, appeared to me in its narrow framework overflowing with an undefinable, radiant, moving Something, which advanced straight towards me.

Truly, nothing could be more formidable. It was a luminous chaos, seemingly close to the panes of glass, as if it

“TIS DISTANCE LENDS ENCHANTMENT.” 29 would fain have entered. The effect could not be grander if a star were suddenly to touch the earth itself, and overwhelm it with light.

THE GLACIER OF GRINDELWALD.

At the second glance, however, I saw that this monstrous Thing was not so near. It had the appearance of being in motion, but halted now and then in a sufficiently profound depth. It rested at my feet. How strange! Though motionless, it seemed moving! It was seized, as it were, on its way—taken prisoner en rowte—and immediately petrified.

Such objects should be seen from a distance. Near at hand, without any empty poesy, nothing can seem ruder, harsher, or more coarse. Figure to yourself a great highway of a dirty white—about half a league broad, perhaps—with profound furrows and deeply sunken ruts dotted about in every direction. What terrific car, or what devil's chariot, has then descended by this road? Its whole surface is encrusted with sugar-loaf crystals, of little brilliancy, from fifteen to twenty feet in height; some of a whitish colour, a few shaded with pale blue, others of a bottle-green tint, equivocal and sinister.

It is evident that this descent was an expansion of an immense sea of ice, whose rim may be seen on high, cutting the blue heaven with a straight line. All this, lit up by the sun, wore an aspect of savage hardness, a grand effect of superb indifference for us mortals, an air—shall I not say ?—of insolence. I am not astonished that Saussure, though of so calm and sagacious an intellect, should feel, when he had climbed the glacier, an emotion of anger. I too felt myself surprised and incensed by these wild enormities. I said to them, brusquely enough: ‘‘ Be not ye so haughty! Ye last but a little longer than we do. O mountain! O glacier! what are your ten thousands of feet compared with the height of the mind?”

I wished to examine them more closely ; and descending from the village, I touched upon their border, and entered. The openings are variable. At this particular moment the glacier gaped in narrow mouths, of little elevation, shining, and polished externally. Within all was gliding, with dangerous declivities leading I know not where. These slopes, a double and triple bluish dome, their sharp fractures, sharp even to the eye, and their transparency, warned me not to trust them. Nothing was more significant than a charming posy of flowers, which, for many years, had remained embedded, and showed itself through the ice in all its living colours. Once swallowed up within it, you are sure of being well preserved. No image of death can be more impressive than this long funereal exhibition, this enforced eternity which sports sadly with life,

THE WOODMAN’S TASK. 81

_ this impossibility of returning to nature and re-entering into repose.

The mountaineer does not regard his mountain from the same view-point as ourselves.

He is strongly attached to it, and constantly returns to it ; but he calls it “the evil country.”

The white glassy waters which escape from it, leaping and bounding in furious rapidity, he names ‘the wild waters.” The black forest of firs, suspended to the precipices, an image of eternal peace, is his war, his battle. In the roughest months of the year, when all other labour ceases, he attacks the forest. It is an arduous campaign, and full of perils. It is not enough to fell the trees, and start them headlong; their course must be directed. He must watch them on their passage, and regulate the terrible leaps which carry them to the bed of the torrents. The conquered is often fatal to the conqueror, the tree to the woodman.

The forest has its mournful histories of orphans and widows.

For the wife and the family, a terror full of mourning rests SHOOTING TIMBER DOWN THE TORRENT.

upon yonder heights, whose woods mingled with snow mark them out funereally from afar by spots of white and black.

Formerly the glaciers were objects of aversion ; men regarded them with eyes askant. Those of Mont Blane were called in Savoy ‘the accursed mountains.”

German Switzerland,.in its old peasants’ legends, doomed the damned to the glaciers. They are a kind of hell. Woe to the avariclous woman—to the hard cold heart which in the winter drives her aged father from

THE RATIONALE OF MOUNTAIN ASCENTS 33 the blazing hearth! As a punishment she shall wander, with a hideous black dog, wander without rest in the regions of ice. In the severest nights of winter, when everybody presses close to the charcoal stove, you may see there on high the white woman, faltering and tottering among the sharp-edged crystals.

In the diabolical valley, where, every minute, thunders and crashes the avalanche from the summit of the Jungfrau, a host of doomed barons and ferocious knights ever dash and hurtle one against another, and shatter their fronts of iron.

The Scandinavian legend, sprung from a high and terrible genius, has given fantastical expression to the terrors of the mountain. It is stored with treasures, which are guarded by frightful gnomes, and a dwarf of colossal strength. In the castle of the icy peaks sits enthroned a pitiless virgin, who, with diamond-blazing forehead, incenses every hero, laughing with a laugh more fell than the keen shafts of winter. The heedless dash onward,—they reach the fatal couch,—and there they remain enchained, celebrating eternal nuptials with a bride of crystal.

This does not discourage men. The cruel and haughty she who sits on the summit of the mountain will ever have her lovers. Always they will yearn to gain her. The hunter says, “It is for prey.” The climber says, “ It is for the distant prospect.” And I—I say, “ It is to make a book.” And I accomplish more ascents, and descend more precipices— seated at the table where I am writing—than all the climbers of earth will make on the Alps.

The reality in all these efforts is, we mount for the sake of mounting.

The sublime is—nearly always—the useless. The famous passage through the northern ice, discovered at the end of three hundred years of labour, will never be of any service (if it be true that the ice-masses change their position). Balloon 3 ascents, hitherto, have been without result. There is little profit in the ascent of Mont Blanc. The experiments made on its summit might have been made at a somewhat lower level. What Saussure sought for seven-and-twenty years, after due preparation, and hovering around Mont Blanc— what Ramond sought for ten years, in the same fashion, on Mont Perdu—was, before all, to have ascended to the summut.