Several fine masses of ice had fallen from the arch upon its floor, and

these were disintegrated to the core. A kick, or a stroke of an axe,

sufficed to shake masses almost a cubic yard in size into fragments

varying not much on either side of a cubic inch. The veining was finely

preserved on the concentric arches of the vault, and some of them

apparently exhibited its abolition, or at least confusion, and fresh

development by new conditions of pressure. The river being deep and

turbulent this day, to reach its opposite side I had to climb the

glacier and cross over the crown of its highest arch; this enabled me

to get quite in front of the vault, to enter it, and closely inspect

those portions where the structure appeared to change. I afterwards

ascended the steep moraine which lies between the Allalein and the

smaller glacier to the left of it; passing to the latter at intervals to

examine its structure. I was at length stopped by the dislocated ice;

and from the heights I could count a system of seven dirt-bands, formed

by the undulations on the surface of the glacier. On my return to the

hotel I found there a number of well-known Alpine men who intended to

cross the Adler pass on the following day. Herr Imseng was there: he

came to me full of enthusiasm, and asked me whether I would join him in

an ascent of the Dom: we might immediately attack it; and he felt sure

that we should succeed. The Dom is the highest of the Mischabel peaks,

and is one of the grandest of the Alps. I agreed to join the Cure, and

with this understanding we parted for the night.

[Sidenote: AVALANCHE AT SAAS. 1858.]

Thursday, 26th August.--A wild stormy morning after a wild and rainy

night: the Adler pass being impassable, the mountaineers returned, and

Imseng informed me that the Dom must be abandoned. He gave me the

statistics of an avalanche which had fallen in the valley some years

before. Within the memory of man Saas had never been touched by an

avalanche, but a tradition existed that such a catastrophe had once

occurred. On the 14th of March, 1848, at eight o'clock in the morning,

the Cure was in his room; when he heard the cracking of pine-branches,

and inferred from the sound that an avalanche was descending upon the

village. It dashed in the windows of his house and filled his rooms with

snow; the sound it produced being sufficient to mask the crashing of the

timbers of an adjacent house. Three persons were killed. On the 3rd of

April, 1849, heavy snow fell at Saas; the Cure waited until it had

attained a depth of four feet, and then retreated to Fee. That night an

avalanche descended, and in the line of its rush was a house in which

five or six and twenty people had collected for safety: nineteen of them

were killed. The Cure afterwards showed me the site of the house, and

the direction of the avalanche. It passed through a pine wood; and on

expressing my surprise that the trees did not arrest it, he replied that

the snow was "quite like dust," and rushed among the trees like so much

water. To return from Fee to Saas on the day following he found it

necessary to carry two planks. Kneeling upon one of them, he pushed the

other forward, and transferred his weight to it, drawing the other after

him and repeating the same act. The snow was like flour, and would not

otherwise bear his weight. Seeing no prospect of fine weather, I

descended to Saas on the afternoon of the 26th. I was the only guest at

the hotel; but during the evening I was gratified by the unexpected

arrival of my friend Hirst, who was on his way over the Monte Moro to

Italy.

[Sidenote: THE FEE GLACIER. 1858.]

[Sidenote: SNOW, VAPOUR AND CLOUD. 1858.]

For the last five days it had been a struggle between the north wind and

the south, each edging the other by turns out of its atmospheric bed,

and producing copious precipitation; but now the conflict was

decided--the north had prevailed, and an almost unclouded heaven

overspread the Alps. The few white fleecy masses that remained were good

indications of the swift march of the wind in the upper air. My friend

and I resolved to have at least one day's excursion together, and we

chose for it the glacier of the Fee. Ascending the mountain by a

well-beaten path, we passed a number of "Calvaries" filled with tattered

saints and Virgins, and soon came upon the rim of a flattened bowl quite

clasped by the mountains. In its centre was the little hamlet of Fee,

round which were fresh green pastures, and beyond it the perpetual ice

and snow. It was exceedingly picturesque--a scene of human beauty and

industry where savagery alone was to be expected. The basin had been

scooped by glaciers, and as we paused at its entrance the rounded and

fluted rocks were beneath our feet. The Alphubel and the Mischabel

raised their crowns to heaven in front of us; the newly fallen snow

clung where it could to the precipitous crags of the Mischabel, but on

the summits it was the sport of the wind. Sometimes it was borne

straight upwards in long vertical striae; sometimes the fibrous columns

swayed to the right, sometimes to the left; sometimes the motion on one

of the summits would quite subside; anon the white peak would appear

suddenly to shake itself to dust, which it yielded freely to the wind. I

could see the wafted snow gradually melt away, and again curdle up into

true white cloud by precipitation; this in its turn would be pulled

asunder like carded wool, and reduced a second time to transparent

vapour.

In the middle of the ice of the Fee stands a green alp, not unlike the

Jardin; up this we climbed, halting at intervals upon its grassy knolls

to inspect the glacier. I aimed at those places where on a priori

grounds I should have thought the production of the veined structure

most likely, and reached at length the base of a wall of rock from the

edge of which long spears of ice depended. Here my friend halted, while

Lauener and myself climbed the precipice, and ascended to the summit of

the alp. The snow was deep at many places, and our immersions in unseen

holes very frequent. From the peak of the Fee Alp a most glorious view

is obtained; in point of grandeur it will bear comparison with any in

the Alps, and its seclusion gives it an inexpressible charm. We remained

for half an hour upon the warm rock, and then descended. It was our

habit to jump from the higher ledges into the deep snow below them, in

which we wallowed as if it were flour; but on one of these occasions I

lighted on a stone, and the shock produced a curious effect upon my

hearing. I appeared suddenly to lose the power of appreciating deep

sounds, while the shriller ones were comparatively unimpaired. After I

rejoined my friend it required attention on my part to hear him when he

spoke to me. This continued until I approached the end of the glacier,

when suddenly the babblement of streams, and a world of sounds to which

I had been before quite deaf burst in upon me. The deafness was probably

due to a strain of the tympanum, such as we can produce artificially,

and thus quench low sounds, while shrill ones are scarcely affected.

[Sidenote: "A TERRIBLE HOLE." 1858.]

I was anxious to quit Saas early next morning, but the Cure expressed so

strong a wish to show us what he called a _schauderhaftes Loch_--a

terrible hole--which he had himself discovered, that I consented to

accompany him. We were joined by his assistant and the priest of Fee.

The stream from the Fee glacier has cut a deep channel through the

rocks, and along the right-hand bank of the stream we ascended. It was

very rough with fallen crags and fallen pines amid which we once or

twice lost our way. At length we came to an aperture just sufficient to

let a man's body through, and were informed by our conductor that our

route lay along the little tunnel: he lay down upon his stomach and

squeezed himself through it like a marmot. I followed him; a second

tunnel, in which, however, we could stand upright, led into a spacious

cavern, formed by the falling together of immense slabs of rock which

abutted against each other so as to form a roof. It was the very type of

a robber den; and when I remarked this, it was at once proposed to sing

a verse from Schiller's play. The young priest had a powerful voice--he

led and we all chimed in.

[Sidenote: SONG OF THE ROBBERS. 1858.]

"Ein frohes Leben fuehren wir,

Ein Leben voller Wonne.

Der Wald ist unser Nachtquartier,

Bei Sturm und Wind hanthieren wir,

Der Mond ist unsre Sonne."

Herr Imseng wore his black coat; the others had taken theirs off, but

they wore their clerical hats, black breeches and stockings. We formed a

singular group in a singular place, and the echoed voices mingled

strangely with the gusts of the wind and the rush of the river.

Soon afterwards I parted from my friend, and descended the valley to

Visp, where I also parted with my guide. He had been with me from the

22nd of July to the 29th of August, and did his duty entirely to my

satisfaction. He is an excellent iceman, and is well acquainted both

with the glaciers of the Oberland and of the Valais. He is strong and

good-humoured, and were I to make another expedition of the kind I don't

think that I should take any guide in the Oberland in preference to

Christian Lauener.

(24.)

[Sidenote: CLIMBERS AND SCIENCE. 1858.]

It is a singular fact that as yet we know absolutely nothing of the

winter temperature of any one of the high Alpine summits. No doubt it is

a sufficient justification of our Alpine men, as regards their climbing,

_that they like it_. This plain reason is enough; and no man who ever

ascended that "bad eminence" Primrose Hill, or climbed to Hampstead

Heath for the sake of a freer horizon, can consistently ask a better. As

regards physical science, however, the contributions of our mountaineers

have as yet been _nil_, and hence, when we hear of the scientific value

of their doings, it is simply amusing to the climbers themselves. I do

not fear that I shall offend them in the least by my frankness in

stating this. Their pleasure is that of overcoming acknowledged

difficulties, and of witnessing natural grandeur. But I would venture to

urge that our Alpine men will not find their pleasure lessened by

embracing a scientific object in their doings. They have the strength,

the intelligence, and let them add to these the accuracy which physical

science now demands, and they may contribute work of enduring value. Mr.

Casella will gladly teach them the use of his minimum-thermometers; and

I trust that the next seven years will not pass without making us

acquainted with the winter temperature of every mountain of note in

Switzerland.[A]

I had thought of this subject since I first read the conjectures of De

Saussure on the temperature of Mont Blanc; but in 1857 I met Auguste

Balmat at the Jardin, and there learned from him that he entertained the

idea of placing a self-registering thermometer at the summit of the

mountain. Balmat was personally a stranger to me at the time, but

Professor Forbes's writings had inspired me with a respect for him,

which this unprompted idea of his augmented. He had procured a

thermometer, the graduation of which, however, he feared was not low

enough. As an encouragement to Balmat, and with the view of making his

laudable intentions known, I communicated them to the Royal Society, and

obtained from the Council a small grant of money to purchase

thermometers and to assist in the expenses of an ascent. I had now the

thermometers in my possession; and having completed my work at Zermatt

and Saas, my next desire was to reach Chamouni and place the instruments

on the top of Mont Blanc. I accordingly descended the valley of the

Rhone to Martigny, crossed the Tete Noire, and arrived at Chamouni on

the 29th of August, 1858.

[Sidenote: DIFFICULTIES AT CHAMOUNI. 1858.]

Balmat was engaged at this time as the guide of Mr. Alfred Wills, who,

however, kindly offered to place him at my disposal; and also expressed

a desire to accompany me himself and assist me in my observations. I

gladly accepted a proposal which gave me for companion so determined a

climber and so estimable a man. But Chamouni was rife with difficulties.

In 1857 the Guide Chef had the good sense to give me considerable

liberty of action. Now his mood was entirely changed: he had been

"molested" for giving me so much freedom. I wished to have a boy to

carry a small instrument for me up the Mer de Glace--he would not allow

it; I must take a guide. If I ascended Mont Blanc he declared that I

must take four guides; that, in short, I must in all respects conform to

the rules made for ordinary tourists. I endeavoured to explain to him

the advantages which Chamouni had derived from the labours of men of

science; it was such men who had discovered it when it was unknown, and

it was by their writings that the attention of the general public had

been called towards it. It was a bad recompense, I urged, to treat a man

of science as he was treating me. This was urged in vain; he shrugged

his shoulders, was very sorry, but the thing could not be changed. I

then requested to know his superior, that I might apply to him; he

informed me that there were a President and Commission of guides at

Chamouni, who were the proper persons to decide the question, and he

proposed to call them together on the 31st of August, at seven P.M., on

condition that I was to be present to state my own case. To this I

agreed.

I spent that day quite alone upon the Mer de Glace, and climbed amid a

heavy snow-storm to the Cleft station over Trelaporte. When I reached

the Montanvert I was wet and weary, and would have spent the night there

were it not for my engagement with the Guide Chef. I descended amid the

rain, and at the appointed hour went to his bureau. He met me with a

polite sympathetic shrug; explained to me that he had spoken to the

Commission, but that it could not assemble _pour une chose comma ca_;

that the rules were fixed, and I must abide by them. "Well," I

responded, "you think you have done your duty; it is now my turn to

perform mine. If no other means are available I will have this

transaction communicated to the Sardinian Government, and I don't think

that it will ratify what you have done." The Guide Chef evidently did

not believe a word of it.

Previous to taking any further step I thought it right to see the

President of the Commission of Guides, who was also Syndic of the

commune. I called upon him on the morning of the 1st of September, and,

assuming that he knew all about the transaction, spoke to him

accordingly. He listened to me for a time, but did not seem to

understand me, which I ascribed partly to my defective French

pronunciation. I expressed a hope that he did comprehend me; he said

he understood my words very well, but did not know their purport. In

fact he had not heard a single word about me or my request. He stated

with some indignation that, so far from its being a subject on which the

Commission could not assemble, it was one which it was their especial

duty to take into consideration. Our conference ended with the

arrangement that I was to write him an official letter stating the case,

which he was to forward to the Intendant of the province of Faucigny

resident at Bonneville. All this was done.

[Sidenote: THE INTENDANT MEMORIALISED. 1858.]

I subsequently memorialised the Intendant himself; and Balmat visited

him to secure his permission to accompany me. I have to record, that

from first to last the Intendant gave me his sympathy and support. He

could not alter laws, but he deprecated a "judaical" interpretation of

them. His final letter to myself was as follows:--

[Sidenote: THE INTENDANT'S RESPONSE. 1858.]

"Intendance Royale de la Province de Faucigny,

"Bonneville, 11 Septembre, 1858.

"Monsieur,--

"J'apprends avec une veritable peine les difficultes que vous

rencontrez de la part de M. le Guide Chef pour l'effectuation

de votre perilleuse entreprise scientifique, mais je dois vous

dire aussi avec regret que ces difficultes resident dans un

reglement fait en vue de la securite des voyageurs, quel que

puisse etre le but de leurs excursions.

"Desireux neanmoins de vous etre utile, notamment en la

circonstance, j'invite aujourd'hui meme M. le Guide Chef a

avoir egard a votre projet, a faire en sa faveur une exception

au reglement ci-devant eu, tant qu'il n'y aura aucun danger

pour votre surete et celle des personnes qui vous

accompagneront, et enfin de se preter dans les limites de ses

moyens et attributions pour l'heureux succes de l'expedition,

dont les consequences et resultats n'interessent pas seulement

la science, mais encore la vallee de Chamounix en particulier.

"Agreez, Monsieur,

"l'assurance de ma consideration tres-distinguee.

"Pour l'Intendant en conge,

"Le Secretaire,

"DELEGLISE."

While waiting for this permission I employed myself in various ways. On

the 2nd of September I ascended the Brevent, from which Mont Blanc is

seen to great advantage. From Chamouni its vast slopes are so

foreshortened that one gets a very imperfect idea of the extent to be

traversed to reach the summit. What, however, struck me most on the

Brevent was the changed relation of the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille

Verte. From Montanvert the former appears a most imposing mass, while

the peak of the latter appears rather dwarfed behind it; but from the

Brevent the Aiguille du Dru is a mere pinnacle stuck in the breast of

the grander pyramid of the Aiguille Verte.

[Sidenote: THE "SERACS" REVISITED. 1858.]

On the 4th I rose early, and, strapping on my telescope, ascended to the

Montanvert, where I engaged a youth to accompany me up the glacier. The

heavens were clear and beautiful:--blue over the Aiguille du Dru, blue

over the Jorasse and Mont Mallet, deep blue over the pinnacles of

Charmoz, and the same splendid tint stretched grandly over the Col du

Geant and its Aiguille. No trace of condensation appeared till towards

eleven o'clock, when a little black balloon of cloud swung itself over

the Aiguilles Rouges. At one o'clock there were two large masses and a

little one between them; while higher up a white veil, almost too thin

to be visible, spread over a part of the heavens. At the zenith,

however, and south, north, and west, the blue seemed to deepen as the

day advanced. I visited the ice-wall at the Tacul, which seemed lower

than it was last year; the cascade of le Geant appeared also far less

imposing. Only in the early part of summer do we see the ice in its true

grandeur: its edges and surfaces are then sharp and clear, but

afterwards its nobler masses shrink under the influence of sun and air.

The _seracs_ now appeared wasted and dirty, and not the sharp angular

ice-castles which rose so grandly when I first saw them. Thirteen men

had crossed the Col du Geant on the day previous, and left an ample

trace behind them. This I followed nearly to the summit of the fall. The

condition of the glacier was totally different from that of the opposite

side on the previous year. The ice was riven, burrowed, and honeycombed,

but the track amid all was easy: a vigorous English maiden might have

ascended the fall without much difficulty. My object now was to examine

the structure of the fall; but the ice was not in a good condition for

such an examination: it was too much broken. Still a definite structure

was in many places to be traced, and some of them apparently showed

structure and bedding at a high angle to each other, but I could not be

certain of it. I paused at every commanding point of view and examined

the ice through my opera-glass; but the result was inconclusive. I

observed that the terraces which compose the fall do not front the

middle of the glacier, but turn their foreheads rather towards its

eastern side, and the consequence is that the protuberances lower down,

which are the remains of these terraces, are highest at the same side.

Standing at the base of the Aiguille Noire, and looking downwards where

the Glacier des Periades pushes itself against the Geant, a series of

fine crumples is formed on the former, cut across by crevasses, on the

walls of which a forward and backward dipping of the blue veins is

exhibited. Huge crumples are also formed by the Glacier du Geant, which

are well seen from a point nearly opposite the lowest lateral moraine of

the Glacier des Periades. In some cases the upper portions of the

crumples had scaled off so as to form arches of ice--a consequence

doubtless of the pressure.

[Sidenote: THERMOMETER AT THE JARDIN. 1858.]

The beauty of some Alpine skies is treacherous; in fact the deepest blue

often indicates an atmosphere charged almost to saturation with aqueous

vapour. This was the case on the present occasion. Soon after reaching

Chamouni in the evening, rain commenced and continued with scarcely any

intermission until the afternoon of the 8th. I had given up all hopes of

being able to ascend Mont Blanc; and hence resolved to place the

thermometers in some more accessible position. On the 9th accordingly,

accompanied by Mr. Wills, Balmat, and some other friends, I ascended to

the summit of the Jardin, where we placed two thermometers: one in the

ice, at a depth of three feet below the surface; another on a ledge of

the highest rock.[B] The boiling point of water at this place was

194.6 deg. Fahr.

Deep snow was upon the Talefre, and the surrounding precipices were also

heavily laden. Avalanches thundered incessantly from the Aiguille Verte

and the other mountains. Scarcely five minutes on an average intervened

between every two successive peals; and after the direct shock of each

avalanche had died away the air of the basin continued to be shaken by

the echoes reflected from its bounding walls.

[Sidenote: EVENING RED. 1858.]

The day was far spent before we had completed our work. All through the

weather had been fine, and towards evening augmented to magnificence. As

we descended the glacier from the Couvercle the sun was just

disappearing, and the western heaven glowed with crimson, which crept

gradually up the sky until finally it reached the zenith itself. Such

intensity of colouring is exceedingly rare in the Alps; and this fact,

together with the known variations in the intensity of the firmamental

blue, justify the conclusion that the colouring must, in a great

measure, be due to some _variable constituent_ of the atmosphere. If

_the air_ were competent to produce these magnificent effects they would

be the rule instead of the exception.

[Sidenote: FINISHED WORK. 1858.]

No sooner had the thermometers been thus disposed of than the weather

appeared to undergo a permanent change. On the 10th it was perfectly

fine--not the slightest mist upon Mont Blanc; on the 11th this was also

the case. Balmat still had the old thermometer to which I have already

referred; it might not do to show the minimum temperature of the air,

but it might show the temperature at a certain depth below the surface.

I find in my own case that the finishing of work has a great moral

value: work completed is a safe fulcrum for the performance of other

work; and even though in the course of our labours experience should

show us a better means of accomplishing a given end, it is often far

preferable to reach the end, even by defective means, than to swerve

from our course. The habits which this conviction had superinduced no

doubt influenced me when I decided on placing Balmat's thermometer on

the summit of Mont Blanc.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] I find with pleasure that my friend Mr. John Ball is now exerting

himself in this direction.

[B] The minimum temperature of the subsequent winter, as shown by this

thermometer, was -6 deg. Fahr., or 38 deg. below the freezing point. The

instrument placed in the ice was broken.

SECOND ASCENT OF MONT BLANC, 1858.

(25.)

[Sidenote: SHADOWS OF THE AIGUILLES. 1858.]

On the 12th of September, at 5-1/2 A.M. the sunbeams had already fallen

upon the mountain; but though the sky above him, and over the entire

range of the Aiguilles, was without a cloud, the atmosphere presented an

appearance of turbidity resembling that produced by the dust and thin

smoke mechanically suspended in a London atmosphere on a dry summer's

day. At 20 minutes past 7 we quitted Chamouni, bearing with us the good

wishes of a portion of its inhabitants.

[Sidenote: INTERFERENCE-SPECTRA. 1858.]

A lady accompanied us on horseback to the point where the path to the

Grands Mulets deviates from that to the Plan des Aiguilles; here she

turned to the left, and we proceeded slowly upwards, through woods of

pine, hung with fantastic lichens: escaping from the gloom of these, we

emerged upon slopes of bosky underwood, green hazel, and green larch,

with the red berries of the mountain-ash shining brightly between them.

Through the air above us, like gnomons of a vast sundial, the Aiguilles

cast their fanlike shadows, which moved round as the day advanced.

Slopes of rhododendrons with withered flowers next succeeded, but the

colouring of the bilberry-leaves was scarcely less exquisite than the

freshest bloom of the Alpine rose. For a long time we were in the cool

shadow of the mountain, catching, at intervals, through the twigs in

front of us, glimpses of the sun surrounded by coloured spectra. On one

occasion a brow rose in front of me; behind it was a lustrous space of

heaven, adjacent to the sun, which, however, was hidden behind the brow;

against this space the twigs and weeds upon the summit of the brow shone

as if they were self-luminous, while some bits of thistle-down floating

in the air appeared, where they crossed this portion of the heavens,

like fragments of the sun himself. Once the orb appeared behind a

rounded mass of snow which lay near the summit of the Aiguille du Midi.

Looked at with the naked eyes, it seemed to possess a billowy motion,

the light darting from it in dazzling curves,--a subjective effect

produced by the abnormal action of the intense light upon the eye. As

the sun's disk came more into view, its rays however still grazing the

summit of the mountain, interference-spectra darted from it on all

sides, and surrounded it with a glory of richly-coloured bars. Mingling

however with the grandeur of nature, we had the anger and obstinacy of

man. With a view to subsequent legal proceedings, the Guide Chef sent a

spy after us, who, having satisfied himself of our delinquency, took his

unpleasant presence from the splendid scene.

Strange to say, though the luminous appearance of bodies projected

against the sky adjacent to the rising sun is a most striking and

beautiful phenomenon, it is hardly ever seen by either guides or

travellers; probably because they avoid looking towards a sky the

brightness of which is painful to the eyes. In 1859 Auguste Balmat had

never seen the effect; and the only written description of it which we

possess is one furnished by Professor Necker, in a letter to Sir David

Brewster, which is so interesting that I do not hesitate to reproduce it

here:--

[Sidenote: PROFESSOR NECKER'S LETTER. 1858.]

"I now come to the point," writes M. Necker, "which you particularly

wished me to describe to you; I mean the luminous appearance of trees,

shrubs, and birds, when seen from the foot of a mountain a little before

sunrise. The wish I had to see again the phenomenon before attempting to

describe it made me detain this letter a few days, till I had a fine day

to go to see it at the Mont Saleve; so yesterday I went there, and

studied the fact, and in elucidation of it I made a little drawing, of

which I give you here a copy: it will, with the explanation and the

annexed diagram (Fig. 9), impart to you, I hope, a correct idea of the

phenomenon. You must conceive the observer placed at the foot of a hill

interposed between him and the place where the sun is rising, and thus

entirely in the shade; the upper margin of the mountain is covered with

woods or detached trees and shrubs, which are projected as dark objects

on a very bright and clear sky, except at the very place where the sun

is just going to rise, for there all the trees and shrubs bordering the

margin are entirely,--branches, leaves, stem and all,--of a pure and

brilliant white, appearing extremely bright and luminous, although

projected on a most brilliant and luminous sky, as that part of it which

surrounds the sun always is. All the minutest details, leaves, twigs,

&c., are most delicately preserved, and you would fancy you saw these

trees and forests made of the purest silver, with all the skill of the

most expert workman. The swallows and other birds flying in those

particular spots appear like sparks of the most brilliant white.

Unfortunately, all these details, which add so much to the beauty of

this splendid phenomenon, cannot be represented in such small sketches.

[Illustration: Fig. 9. Luminous Trees projected against the sky at

sunrise.]

"Neither the hour of the day nor the angle which the object makes with

the observer appears to have any effect; for on some occasions I have

seen the phenomenon take place at a very early hour in the morning.

Yesterday it was 10 A.M., when I saw it as represented in Fig. 10. I saw

it again on the same day at 5 P.M., at a different place of the same

mountain, for which the sun was just setting. At one time the angle of

elevation of the lighted white shrubs above the horizon of the spectator

was about 20 deg., while at another place it was only 15 deg. But the

extent of the field of illumination is variable, according to the distance

at which the spectator is placed from it. When the object behind which the

sun is just going to rise, or has just been setting, is very near, no

such effect takes place. In the case represented in Fig. 9 the distance

was about 194 metres, or 636 English feet, from the spectator in a

direct line, the height above his level being 60 metres, or 197 English

feet, and the horizontal line drawn from him to the horizontal

projection of these points on the plane of his horizon being 160 metres,

or 525 English feet, as will be seen in the following diagram, Fig. 10.

[Sidenote: SILVER TREES AT SUNRISE. 1858.]

[Illustration: Fig. 10. Luminous Trees projected against the sky at

sunrise.]

[Sidenote: BIRDS AS SPARKS OR STARS. 1858.]

"In this case only small shrubs and the lower half of the stem of a tree

are illuminated white, and the horizontal extent of this effect is also

comparatively small; while at other places when I was near the edge

behind which the sun was going to rise no such effect took place. But on

the contrary, when I have witnessed the phenomenon at a greater distance

and at a greater height, as I have seen it other times on the same and

on other mountains of the Alps, large tracts of forests and immense

spruce-firs were illuminated white throughout their whole length, as I

have attempted to represent in Fig. 11, and the corresponding diagram,

Fig. 12. Nothing can be finer than these silver-looking spruce-forests.

At the same time, though at a distance of more than a thousand metres, a

vast number of large swallows or swifts (_Cypselus alpinus_), which

inhabit these high rocks, were seen as small brilliant stars or sparks

moving rapidly in the air. From these facts it appears to me obvious

that the extent of the illuminated spots varies in a direct ratio of

their distance; but at the same time that there must be a constant

angular space, corresponding probably to the zone, a few minutes of a

degree wide, around the sun's disk, which is a limit to the occurrence

of the appearance. This would explain how the real extent which it

occupies on the earth's surface varies with the relative distance of the

spot from the eye of the observer, and accounts also for the phenomenon

being never seen in the low country, where I have often looked for it in

vain. Now that you are acquainted with the circumstances of the fact, I

have no doubt you will easily observe it in some part or other of your

Scotch hills; it may be some long heather or furze will play the part

of our Alpine forests, and I would advise you to try and place a

bee-hive in the required position, and it would perfectly represent our

swallows, sparks, and stars."

[Illustration: Fig. 11. Luminous Trees projected against the sky at

sunrise.]

[Illustration: Fig. 12. Luminous Trees projected against the sky at

sunrise.]

[Sidenote: THE LADDER CONDEMNED. 1858.]

Our porters, with one exception, reached the Pierre a l'Echelle as soon

as ourselves; and here having refreshed themselves, and the due exchange

of loads having been made, we advanced upon the glacier, which we

crossed, until we came nearly opposite to the base of the Grands Mulets.

The existence of one wide crevasse, which was deemed impassable, had

this year introduced the practice of assailing the rocks at their base,

and climbing them to the cabin, an operation which Balmat wished to

avoid. At Chamouni, therefore, he had made inquiries regarding the width

of the chasm, and acting on his advice I had had a ladder constructed in

two pieces, which, united together by iron attachments, was supposed to

be of sufficient length to span the fissure. On reaching the latter, the

pieces were united, and the ladder thrown across, but the bridge was so

frail and shaky at the place of junction, and the chasm so deep, that

Balmat pronounced the passage impracticable.

[Sidenote: CROSSING CREVASSES. 1858.]

The porters were all grouped beside the crevasse when this announcement

was made, and, like hounds in search of the scent, the group instantly

broke up, seeking in all directions for a means of passage. The talk was

incessant and animating; attention was now called in one direction, anon

in another, the men meanwhile throwing themselves into the most

picturesque groups and attitudes. All eyes at length were directed upon

a fissure which was spanned at one point by an arch of snow, certainly

under two feet deep at the crown. A stout rope was tied round the waist

of one of our porters, and he was sent forward to test the bridge. He

approached it cautiously, treading down the snow to give it compactness,

and thus make his footing sure as he advanced; bringing regelation into

play, he gave the mass the necessary continuity, and crossed in safety.

The rope was subsequently stretched over the _pont_, and each of us

causing his right hand to slide along it, followed without accident.

Soon afterwards, however, we met with a second and very formidable

crevasse, to cross which we had but half of our ladder, which was

applied as follows:--The side of the fissure on which we stood was lower

than the opposite one; over the edge of the latter projected a cornice

of snow, and a ledge of the same material jutted from the wall of the

crevasse, a little below us. The ladder was placed from ledge to

cornice, both of its ends being supported by snow. I could hardly

believe that so frail a bearing could possibly support a man's weight;

but a porter was tied as before, and sent up the ladder, while we

followed protected by the rope. We were afterwards tied together, and

thus advanced in an orderly line to the Grands Mulets.

[Sidenote: GORGEOUS SUNSET. 1858.]

The cabin was wet and disagreeable, but the sunbeams fell upon the brown

rocks outside, and thither Mr. Wills and myself repaired to watch the

changes of the atmosphere. I took possession of the flat summit of a

prism of rock, where, lying upon my back, I watched the clouds forming,

and melting, and massing themselves together, and tearing themselves

like wool asunder in the air above. It was nature's language addressed

to the intellect; these clouds were visible symbols which enabled us to

understand what was going on in the invisible air. Here unseen currents

met, possessing different temperatures, mixing their contents both of

humidity and motion, producing a mean temperature unable to hold their

moisture in a state of vapour. The water-particles, obeying their mutual

attractions, closed up, and a visible cloud suddenly shook itself out,

where a moment before we had the pure blue of heaven. Some of the clouds

were wafted by the air towards atmospheric regions already saturated

with moisture, and along their frontal borders new cloudlets ever piled

themselves, while the hinder portions, invaded by a drier or a warmer

air, were dissipated; thus the cloud advanced, with gain in front and

loss behind, its permanence depending on the balance between them. The

day waned, and the sunbeams began to assume the colouring due to their

passage through the horizontal air. The glorious light, ever deepening

in colour, was poured bounteously over crags, and snows, and clouds, and

suffused with gold and crimson the atmosphere itself. I had never seen

anything grander than the sunset on that day. Clouds with their central

portions densely black, denying all passage to the beams which smote

them, floated westward, while the fiery fringes which bordered them were

rendered doubly vivid by contrast with the adjacent gloom. The smaller

and more attenuated clouds were intensely illuminated throughout. Across

other inky masses were drawn zigzag bars of radiance which resembled

streaks of lightning. The firmament between the clouds faded from a

blood-red through orange and daffodil into an exquisite green, which

spread like a sea of glory through which those magnificent argosies

slowly sailed. Some of the clouds were drawn in straight chords across

the arch of heaven, these being doubtless the sections of layers of

cloud whose horizontal dimensions were hidden from us. The cumuli around

and near the sun himself could not be gazed upon, until, as the day

declined, they gradually lost their effulgence and became tolerable to

the eyes. All was calm--but there was a wildness in the sky like that of

anger, which boded evil passions on the part of the atmosphere. The sun

at length sank behind the hills, but for some time afterwards carmine

clouds swung themselves on high, and cast their ruddy hues upon the

mountain snows. Duskier and colder waxed the west, colder and sharper

the breeze of evening upon the Grands Mulets, and as twilight deepened

towards night, and the stars commenced to twinkle through the chilled

air, we retired from the scene.

[Sidenote: STORM ON THE GRANDS MULETS. 1858.]

The anticipated storm at length gave notice of its coming. The

sea-waves, as observed by Aristotle, sometimes reach the shore before

the wind which produces them is felt; and here the tempest sent out its

precursors, which broke in detached shocks upon the cabin before the

real storm arrived. Billows of air, in ever quicker succession, rolled

over us with a long surging sound, rising and falling as crest succeeded

trough and trough succeeded crest. And as the pulses of a vibrating

body, when their succession is quick enough, blend to a continuous note,

so these fitful gusts linked themselves finally to a storm which made

its own wild music among the crags. Grandly it swelled, carrying the

imagination out of doors, to the clouds and darkness, to the loosened

avalanches and whirling snow upon the mountain heads. Moored to the rock

on two sides, the cabin stood firm, and its manifest security allowed

the mind the undisturbed enjoyment of the atmospheric war. We were

powerfully shaken, but had no fear of being uprooted; and a certain

grandeur of the heart rose responsive to the grandeur of the storm.

Mounting higher and higher, it at length reached its maximum strength,

from which it lowered fitfully, until at length, with a melancholy wail,

it bade our rock farewell.

A little before half-past one we issued from the cabin. The night being

without a moon, we carried three lanterns. The heavens were crowded with

stars, among which, however, angry masses of cloud here and there still

wandered. The storm, too, had left a rear-guard behind it; and strong

gusts rolled down upon us at intervals, at one time, indeed, so violent

as to cause Balmat to express doubts of our being able to reach the

summit. With a thick handkerchief bound around my hat and ears I enjoyed

the onset of the wind. Once, turning my head to the left, I saw what

appeared to me to be a huge mass of stratus cloud, at a great distance,

with the stars shining over it. In another instant a precipice of _neve_

loomed upon us; we were close to its base, and along its front the

annual layers were separated from each other by broad dark bands.

Through the gloom it appeared like a cloud, the lines of bedding giving

to it the stratus character.

[Sidenote: A COMET DISCOVERED. 1858.]

Immediately before lying down on the previous evening I had opened the

little window of the cabin to admit some air. In the sky in front of me

shone a curious nodule of misty light with a pale train attached to it.

In 1853, on the side of the Brocken, I had observed, without previous

notice, a comet discovered a few days previously by a former fellow

student, and here was another "discovery" of the same kind. I inspected

the stranger with my telescope, and assured myself that it was a comet.

Mr. Wills chanced to be outside at the time, and made the same

observation independently. As we now advanced up the mountain its

ominous light gleamed behind us, while high up in heaven to our left the

planet Jupiter burned like a lamp of intense brightness. The Petit

Plateau forms a kind of reservoir for the avalanches of the Dome du

Gouter, and this year the accumulation of frozen debris upon it was

enormous. We could see nothing but the ice-blocks on which the light of

the lanterns immediately fell; we only knew that they had been

discharged from the _seracs_, and that similar masses now rose

threatening to our right, and might at any moment leap down upon us.

Balmat commanded silence, and urged us to move across the plateau with

all possible celerity. The warning of our guide, the wild and rakish

appearance of the sky, the spent projectiles at our feet, and the comet

with its "horrid hair" behind, formed a combination eminently calculated

to excite the imagination.

[Sidenote: DAWN ON THE GRAND PLATEAU. 1858.]

And now the sky began to brighten towards dawn, with that deep and calm

beauty which suggests the thought of adoration to the human mind. Helped

by the contemplation of the brightening east, which seemed to lend

lightness to our muscles, we cheerily breasted the steep slope up to the

Grand Plateau. The snow here was deep, and each of our porters took the

lead in turn. We paused upon the Grand Plateau and had breakfast;

digging, while we halted, our feet deeply into the snow. Thence up to

the corridor, by a totally different route from that pursued by Mr.

Hirst and myself the year previously; the slope was steep, but it had

not a precipice for its boundary. Deep steps were necessary for a time,

but when we reached the summit our ascent became more gentle. The

eastern sky continued to brighten, and by its illumination the Grand

Plateau and its bounding heights were lovely beyond conception. The snow

was of the purest white, and the glacier, as it pushed itself on all

sides into the basin, was riven by fissures filled with a coerulean

light, which deepened to inky gloom as the vision descended into them.

The edges were overhung with fretted cornices, from which depended long

clear icicles, tapering from their abutments like spears of crystal. The

distant fissures, across which the vision ranged obliquely without

descending into them, emitted that magical firmamental shimmer which,

contrasted with the pure white of the snow, was inexpressibly lovely.

Near to us also grand castles of ice reared themselves, some erect, some

overturned, with clear cut sides, striped by the courses of the annual

snows, while high above the _seracs_ of the plateau rose their still

grander brothers of the Dome du Gouter. There was a nobility in this

glacier scene which I think I have never seen surpassed;--a strength of

nature, and yet a tenderness, which at once raised and purified the

soul. The gush of the direct sunlight could add nothing to this heavenly

beauty; indeed I thought its yellow beams a profanation as they crept

down from the humps of the Dromedary, and invaded more and more the

solemn purity of the realm below.

[Sidenote: BALMAT IN DANGER. 1858.]

Our way lay for a time amid fine fissures with blue walls, until at

length we reached the edge of one which elicited other sentiments than

those of admiration. It must be crossed. At the opposite side was a high

and steep bank of ice which prolonged itself downwards, and ended in a

dependent eave of snow which quite overhung the chasm, and reached to

within about a yard of our edge of the crevasse. Balmat came forward

with his axe, and tried to get a footing on the eave: he beat it gently,

but the axe went through the snow, forming an aperture through which the

darkness of the chasm was rendered visible. Our guide was quite free,

without rope or any other means of security; he beat down the snow so as

to form a kind of stirrup, and upon this he stepped. The stirrup gave

way, it was right over the centre of the chasm, but with wonderful tact

and coolness he contrived to get sufficient purchase from the yielding

mass to toss himself back to the side of the chasm. The rope was now

brought forward and tied round the waist of one of the porters; another

step was cautiously made in the eave of snow, the man was helped across,

and lessened his own weight by means of his hatchet. He gradually got

footing on the face of the steep, which he mounted by escaliers; and on

reaching a sufficient height he cut two large steps in which his feet

might rest securely. Here he laid his breast against the sloping wall,

and another person was sent forward, who drew himself up by the rope

which was attached to the leader. Thus we all passed, each of us in turn

bearing the strain of his successor upon the rope; it was our last

difficulty, and we afterwards slowly plodded through the snow of the

corridor towards the base of the Mur de la Cote.

[Sidenote: STORM ON MONT BLANC. 1858.]

[Sidenote: THERMOMETER BURIED. 1858.]

Climbing zigzag, we soon reached the summit of the Mur, and immediately

afterwards found ourselves in the midst of cold drifting clouds, which

obscured everything. They dissolved for a moment and revealed to us the

sunny valley of Chamouni; but they soon swept down again and completely

enveloped us. Upon the Calotte, or last slope, I felt no trace of the

exhaustion which I had experienced last year, but enjoyed free lungs and

a quiet heart. The clouds now whirled wildly round us, and the fine

snow, which was caught by the wind and spit bitterly against us, cut off

all visible communication between us and the lower world. As we

approached the summit the air thickened more and more, and the cold,

resulting from the withdrawal of the sunbeams, became intense. We

reached the top, however, in good condition, and found the new snow

piled up into a sharp _arete_, and the summit of a form quite different

from that of the _Dos d'un Ane_, which it had presented the previous

year. Leaving Balmat to make a hole for the thermometer, I collected a

number of batons, drove them into the snow, and, drawing my plaid round

them, formed a kind of extempore tent to shelter my boiling-water

apparatus. The covering was tightly held, but the snow was as fine and

dry as dust, and penetrated everywhere: my lamp could not be secured

from it, and half a box of matches was consumed in the effort to ignite

it. At length it did flame up, and carried on a sputtering combustion.

The cold of the snow-filled boiler condensing the vapour from the lamp

gradually produced a drop, which, when heavy enough to detach itself

from the vessel, fell upon the flame and put it out. It required much

patience and the expenditure of many matches to relight it. Meanwhile

the absence of muscular action caused the cold to affect our men

severely. My beard and whiskers were a mass of clotted ice. The batons

were coated with ice, and even the stem of my thermometer, the bulb of

which was in hot water, was covered by a frozen enamel. The clouds

whirled, and the little snow granules hit spitefully against the skin

wherever it was exposed. The temperature of the air was 20 deg. Fahr. below

the freezing point. I was too intent upon my work to heed the cold much,

but I was numbed; one of my fingers had lost sensation, and my right

heel was in pain: still I had no thought of forsaking my observation

until Mr. Wills came to me and said that we must return speedily, for

Balmat's hands were _gelees_. I did not comprehend the full significance

of the word; but, looking at the porters, they presented such an aspect

of suffering that I feared to detain them longer. They looked like worn

old men, their hair and clothing white with snow, and their faces blue,

withered, and anxious-looking. The hole being ready, I asked Balmat for

the magnet to arrange the index of the thermometer: his hands seemed

powerless. I struck my tent, deposited the instrument, and, as I watched

the covering of it up, some of the party, among whom were Mr. Wills and

Balmat, commenced the descent.[A]

[Sidenote: BALMAT FROSTBITTEN. 1858.]

I followed them speedily. Midway down the Calotte I saw Balmat, who was

about a hundred yards in advance of me, suddenly pause and thrust his

hands into the snow, and commence rubbing them vigorously. The

suddenness of the act surprised me, but I had no idea at the time of its

real significance: I soon came up to him; he seemed frightened, and

continued to beat and rub his hands, plunging them, at quick intervals,

into the snow. Still I thought the thing would speedily pass away, for

I had too much faith in the man's experience to suppose that he would

permit himself to be seriously injured. But it did not pass as I hoped

it would, and the terrible possibility of his losing his hands presented

itself to me. He at length became exhausted by his own efforts,

staggered like a drunken man, and fell upon the snow. Mr. Wills and

myself took each a hand, and continued the process of beating and

rubbing. I feared that we should injure him by our blows, but he

continued to exclaim, "N'ayez pas peur, frappez toujours, frappez

fortement!" We did so, until Mr. Wills became exhausted, and a porter

had to take his place. Meanwhile Balmat pinched and bit his fingers at

intervals, to test their condition; but there was no sensation. He was

evidently hopeless himself; and, seeing him thus, produced an effect

upon me that I had not experienced since my boyhood--my heart swelled,

and I could have wept like a child. The idea that I should be in some

measure the cause of his losing his hands was horrible to me; schemes

for his support rushed through my mind with the usual swiftness of such

speculations, but no scheme could restore to him his lost hands. At

length returning sensation in one hand announced itself by excruciating

pain. "Je souffre!" he exclaimed at intervals--words which, from a man

of his iron endurance, had a more than ordinary significance. But pain

was better than death, and, under the circumstances, a sign of

improvement. We resumed our descent, while he continued to rub his hands

with snow and brandy, thrusting them at every few paces into the mass

through which we marched. At Chamouni he had skilful medical advice, by

adhering to which he escaped with the loss of six of his nails--his

hands were saved.

I cannot close this recital without expressing my admiration of the

dauntless bearing of our porters, and of the cheerful and efficient

manner in which they did their duty throughout the whole expedition.

Their names are Edouard Bellin, Joseph Favret, Michel Payot, Joseph

Folliguet, and Alexandre Balmat.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] In August, 1859, I found the temperature of water, boiling in an

open vessel at the summit of Mont Blanc, to be 184.95 deg. Fahr. On that

occasion also, though a laborious search was made for the thermometer,

it could not be found.

(26.)

[Sidenote: PROCES-VERBAL. 1858.]

The hostility of the chief guide to the expedition was not diminished by

the letter of the Intendant; and he at once entered a _proces-verbal_

against Balmat and his companions on their return to Chamouni. I felt

that the power thus vested in an unlettered man to arrest the progress

of scientific observations was so anomalous, that the enlightened and

liberal Government of Sardinia would never tolerate such a state of

things if properly represented to it. The British Association met at

Leeds that year, and to it, as a guardian of science, my thoughts

turned. I accordingly laid the case before the Association, and obtained

its support: a resolution was unanimously passed "that application be

made to the Sardinian authorities for increased facilities for making

scientific observations in the Alps."

Considering the arduous work which Balmat had performed in former years

in connexion with the glaciers, and especially his zeal in determining,

under the direction of Professor Forbes, their winter motion--for which,

as in the case above recorded, he refused all personal remuneration--I

thought such services worthy of some recognition on the part of the

Royal Society. I suggested this to the Council, and was met by the same

cordial spirit of co-operation which I had previously experienced at

Leeds. A sum of five-and-twenty guineas was at once voted for the

purchase of a suitable testimonial; and a committee, consisting of Sir

Roderick Murchison, Professor Forbes, and myself, was appointed to

carry the thing out. Balmat was consulted, and he chose a photographic

apparatus, which, with a suitable inscription, was duly presented to

him.

[Sidenote: BRITISH ASSOCIATION. 1858.]

Thus fortified, I drew up an account of what had occurred at Chamouni

during my last visit, accompanied by a brief statement of the changes

which seemed desirable. This was placed in the hands of the President of

the British Association, to whose prompt and powerful co-operation in

this matter every Alpine explorer who aspires to higher ground than

ordinary is deeply indebted. The following letter assured me that the

facility applied for by the British Association would be granted by the

Sardinian Government, and that future men of science would find in the

Alps a less embarrassed field of operations than had fallen to my lot in

the summer of 1858.

[Sidenote: THE PRESIDENT'S LETTER. 1858.]

"12, Hertford-street, Mayfair, W.,

"February 18th, 1859.

"My dear Sir,--

"Having, as I informed you in my last note, communicated with

the Sardinian Minister Plenipotentiary the day after receiving

your statement relative to the guides at Chamouni, I have been

favoured by replies from the Minister, of the 4th and 17th

February. In the first the Marquis d'Azeglio assures me that he

will bring the subject before the competent authorities at

Turin, accompanying the transmission 'd'une recommandation

toute speciale.' In the second letter the Marquis informs me

that 'the preparation of new regulations for the guides at

Chamouni had for some time occupied the attention of the

Minister of the Interior, and that these regulations will be in

rigorous operation, in all probability, at the commencement of

the approaching summer.' The Marquis adds that, 'as the

regulations will be based upon a principle of much greater

liberty, he has every reason to believe that they will satisfy

all the desires of travellers in the interests of science.'

"With much pleasure at the opportunity of having been in any

degree able to bring about the fulfilment of your wishes on the

subject,

"I remain, my dear Sir,

"Faithfully yours,

"RICHARD OWEN.

"Pres. Brit. Association.

"Prof. Tyndall, F.R.S."

It ought to be stated that, previous to my arrival at Chamouni in 1858,

an extremely cogent memorial drawn up by Mr. John Ball had been

presented to the Marquis d'Azeglio by a deputation from the Alpine Club.

It was probably this memorial which first directed the attention of the

Sardinian Minister of the Interior to the subject.

WINTER EXPEDITION TO THE MER DE GLACE, 1859.

(27.)

Having ten days at my disposal last Christmas, I was anxious to employ

them in making myself acquainted with the winter aspects and phenomena

of the Mer de Glace. On Wednesday, the 21st of December, I accordingly

took my place to Paris, but on arriving at Folkestone found the sea so

tempestuous that no boat would venture out.

[Sidenote: FIRST DEFEAT, AND FRESH ATTEMPT. 1859.]

The loss of a single day was more than I could afford, and this failure

really involved the loss of two. Seeing, therefore, the prospect of any

practical success so small, I returned to London, purposing to give the

expedition up. On the following day, however, the weather lightened, and

I started again, reaching Paris on Friday morning. On that day it was

not possible to proceed beyond Macon, where, accordingly, I spent the

night, and on the following day reached Geneva.

Much snow had fallen; at Paris it still cumbered the streets, and round

about Macon it lay thick, as if a more than usually heavy cloud had

discharged itself on that portion of the country. Between Macon and

Roussillon it was lighter, but from the latter station onwards the

quantity upon the ground gradually increased.

[Sidenote: GENEVA TO CHAMOUNI. 1859.]

On Christmas morning, at 8 o'clock, I left Geneva by the diligence for

Sallenches. The dawn was dull, but the sky cleared as the day advanced,

and finally a dome of cloudless blue stretched overhead. The mountains

were grand; their sunward portions of dazzling whiteness, while the

shaded sides, in contrast with the blue sky behind them, presented a

ruddy, subjective tint. The brightness of the day reached its maximum

towards one o'clock, after which a milkiness slowly stole over the

heavens, and increased in density until finally a drowsy turbidity

filled the entire air. The distant peaks gradually blended with the

white atmosphere above them and lost their definition. The black pine

forests on the slopes of the mountains stood out in strong contrast to

the snow; and, when looked at through the spaces enclosed by the tree

branches at either side of the road, they appeared of a decided

indigo-blue. It was only when thus detached by a vista in front that the

blue colour was well seen, the air itself between the eye and the

distant pines being the seat of the colour. Goethe would have regarded

it as an excellent illustration of his 'Farbenlehre.'

We reached Sallenches a little after 4 P.M., where I endeavoured to

obtain a sledge to continue my journey. A fit one was not to be found,

and a carriage was therefore the only resort. We started at five; it was

very dark, but the feeble reflex of the snow on each side of the road

was preferred by the postilion to the light of lamps. Unlike the

enviable ostrich, I cannot shut my eyes to danger when it is near: and

as the carriage swayed towards the precipitous road side, I could not

fold myself up, as it was intended I should, but, quitting the interior

and divesting my limbs of every encumbrance, I took my seat beside the

driver, and kept myself in readiness for the spring, which in some cases

appeared imminent. My companion however was young, strong, and

keen-eyed; and though we often had occasion for the exercise of the

quality last mentioned, we reached Servoz without accident.

[Sidenote: DESOLATION. 1859.]

[Sidenote: A HORSE IN THE SNOW. 1859.]

Here we baited, and our progress afterwards was slow and difficult. The

snow on the road was deep and hummocky, and the strain upon the horses

very great. Having crossed the Arve at the Pont-Pelissier, we both

alighted, and I went on in advance. The air was warm, and not a whisper

disturbed its perfect repose. There was no moon, and the heavy clouds,

which now quite overspread the heavens, cut off even the feeble light of

the stars. The sound of the Arve, as it rushed through the deep valley

to my left, came up to me through crags and trees with a sad murmur.

Sometimes on passing an obstacle, the sound was entirely cut off, and

the consequent silence was solemn in the extreme. It was a churchyard

stillness, and the tall black pines, which at intervals cast their

superadded gloom upon the road, seemed like the hearse-plumes of a dead

world. I reached a wooden hut, where a lame man offers batons, minerals,

and _eau de vie_, to travellers in summer. It was forsaken, and half

buried in the snow. I leaned against the door, and enjoyed for a time

the sternness of the surrounding scene. My conveyance was far behind,

and the intermittent tinkle of the horses' bells, which augmented

instead of diminishing the sense of solitude, informed me of the

progress and the pauses of the vehicle. At the summit of the road I

halted until my companion reached me; we then both remounted, and

proceeded slowly towards Les Ouches. We passed some houses, the aspect

of which was even more dismal than that of Nature; their roofs were

loaded with snow, and white buttresses were reared against the walls.

There was no sound, no light, no voice of joy to indicate that it was

the pleasant Christmas time. We once met the pioneer of a party of four

drunken peasants: he came right against us, and the coachman had to pull

up. Planting his feet in the snow and propping himself against the

leader's shoulder, the bacchanal exhorted the postilion to drive on; the

latter took him at his word, and overturned him in the snow. After this

we encountered no living thing. The horses seemed seized by a kind of

torpor, and leaned listlessly against each other; vainly the postilion

endeavoured to rouse them by word and whip; they sometimes essayed to

trot down the slopes, but immediately subsided to their former

monotonous crawl. As we ascended the valley, the stillness of the air

was broken at intervals by wild storm-gusts, sent down against us from

Mont Blanc himself. These chilled me, so I quitted the carriage, and

walked on. Not far from Chamouni, the road, for some distance, had been

exposed to the full action of the wind, and the snow had practically

erased it. Its left wall was completely covered, while a few detached

stones, rising here and there above the surface, were the only

indications of the presence and direction of the right-hand wall. I

could not see the state of the surface, but I learned by other means

that the snow had been heaped in oblique ridges across my path. I

staggered over four or five of these in succession, sinking knee-deep,

and finally found myself immersed to the waist. This made me pause; I

thought I must have lost the road, and vainly endeavoured to check

myself by the positions of surrounding objects. I turned back and met

the carriage: it had stuck in one of the ridges; one horse was down, his

hind legs buried to the haunches, his left fore leg plunged to the

shoulder in snow, and the right one thrown forward upon the surface.

_C'est bien la route?_ demanded my companion. I went back exploring, and

assured myself that we were over the road; but I recommended him to

release the horses and leave the carriage to its fate. He, however,

succeeding in extricating the leader, and while I went on in advance

seeking out the firmer portions of the road, he followed, holding his

horses by their heads; and half an hour's struggle of this kind brought

us to Chamouni.

[Sidenote: CHAMOUNI ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT. 1859.]

It also was a little "city of the dead." There was no living thing in

the streets, and neither sound nor light in the houses. The fountain

made a melancholy gurgle, one or two loosened window-shutters creaked

harshly in the wind, and banged against the objects which limited their

oscillations. The Hotel de l'Union, so bright and gay in summer, was

nailed up and forsaken; and the cross in front of it, stretching its

snow-laden arms into the dim air, was the type of desolation. We rang

the bell at the Hotel Royal, but the bay of a watch-dog resounding

through the house was long our only reply. The bell appeared powerless

to wake the sleepers, and its sound mingled dismally with that of the

wind howling through the deserted passages. The noise of my boot-heel,

exerted long on the front door, was at length effective; it was

unbarred, and the physical heat of a good stove soon added itself to the

warmth of the welcome with which my hostess greeted me.

December 26th.--The snow fell heavily, at frequent intervals, throughout

the entire day. Dense clouds draped all the mountains, and there was not

the least prospect of my being able to see across the Mer de Glace. I

walked out alone in the dim light, and afterwards traversed the streets

before going to bed. They were quite forsaken. Cold and sullen the Arve

rolled under its wooden bridge, while the snow fell at intervals with

heavy shock from the roofs of the houses, the partial echoes from the

surfaces of the granules combining to render the sound loud and hollow.

Thus were the concerns of this little hamlet changed and fashioned by

the obliquity of the earth's axis, the chain of dependence which runs

throughout creation, linking the roll of a planet alike with the

interests of marmots and of men.

[Sidenote: ASCENT OF THE MOUNTAIN. 1859.]

[Sidenote: SNOW ON THE PINES. 1859.]

Tuesday, 27th December.--I rose at six o'clock, having arranged with my

men to start at seven, if the weather at all permitted. Edouard Simond,

my old assistant of 1857, and Joseph Tairraz were the guides of the

party; the porters were Edouard Balmat, Joseph Simond (fils d'Auguste),

Francois Ravanal, and another. They came at the time appointed; it was

snowing heavily, and we agreed to wait till eight o'clock and then

decide. They returned at eight, and finding them disposed to try the

ascent to the Montanvert, it was not my place to baulk them. Through the

valley the work was easy, as the snow had been partially beaten down,

but we soon passed the habitable limits, and had to break ground for

ourselves. Three of my men had tried to reach the Montanvert by _la

Filia_ on the previous Thursday, but their experience of the route had

been such as to deter them from trying it again. We now chose the

ordinary route, breasting the slope until we reached the cluster of

chalets, under the projecting eave of one of which the men halted and

applied "pattens" to their feet. These consisted of planks about sixteen

inches long and ten wide, which were firmly strapped to the feet. My

first impression was that they were worse than useless, for though they

sank less deeply than the unarmed feet, on being raised they carried

with them a larger amount of snow, which, with the leverage of the leg,

appeared to necessitate an enormous waste of force. I stated this

emphatically, but the men adhered to their pattens, and before I reached

the Montanvert I had reason to commend their practice as preferable to

my theory. I was however guided by the latter, and wore no pattens. The

general depth of the snow along the track was over three feet; the

footmarks of the men were usually rigid enough to bear my weight, but in

many cases I went through the crust which their pressure had produced,

and sank suddenly in the mass. The snow became softer as we ascended,

and my immersions more frequent, but the work was pure enjoyment, and

the scene one of extreme beauty. The previous night's snow had descended

through a perfectly still atmosphere, and had loaded all the branches of

the pines; the long arms of the trees drooped under the weight, and

presented at their extremities the appearance of enormous talons turned

downwards. Some of the smaller and thicker trees were almost entirely

covered, and assumed grotesque and beautiful forms; the upper part of

one in particular resembled a huge white parrot with folded wings and

drooping head, the slumber of the bird harmonizing with the torpor of

surrounding nature. I have given a sketch of it in Fig. 13.

[Illustration: Fig. 13. Snow on the Pines.]

[Sidenote: SOUND OF BREAKING SNOW. 1859.]

Previous to reaching the half-way spring, where the peasant girls offer

strawberries to travellers in summer, we crossed two large couloirs

filled with the debris of avalanches which had fallen the night before.

Between these was a ridge forty or fifty yards wide on which the snow

was very deep, the slope of the mountain also adding a component to the

fair thickness of the snow. My shoulder grazed the top of the embankment

to my right as I crossed the ridge, and once or twice I found myself

waist deep in a vertical shaft from which it required a considerable

effort to escape. Suddenly we heard a deep sound resembling the dull

report of a distant gun, and at the same moment the snow above us broke

across, forming a fissure parallel to our line of march. The layer of

snow had been in a state of strain, which our crossing brought to a

crisis: it gave way, but having thus relieved itself it did not descend.

Several times during the ascent the same phenomenon occurred. Once,

while engaged upon a very steep slope, one of the men cried out to the

leader, "_Arretez!_" Immediately in front of the latter the snow had

given way, forming a zigzag fissure across the slope. We all paused,

expecting to see an avalanche descend. Tairraz was in front; he struck

the snow with his baton to loosen it, but seeing it indisposed to

descend he advanced cautiously across it, and was followed by the

others. I brought up the rear. The steepness of the mountain side at

this place, and the absence of any object to which one might cling,

would have rendered a descent with the snow in the last degree perilous,

and we all felt more at ease when a safe footing was secured at the

further side of the incline.

At the spring, which showed a little water, the men paused to have a

morsel of bread. The wind had changed, the air was clearing, and our

hopes brightening. As we ascended the atmosphere went through some

extraordinary mutations. Clouds at first gathered round the Aiguille and

Dome du Gouter, casting the lower slopes of the mountain into intense

gloom. After a little time all this cleared away, and the beams of the

sun striking detached pieces of the slopes and summits produced an

extraordinary effect. The Aiguille and Dome were most singularly

illumined, and to the extreme left rose the white conical hump of the

Dromedary, from which a long streamer of snow-dust was carried southward

by the wind. The Aiguille du Dru, which had been completely mantled

during the earlier part of the day, now threw off its cloak of vapour

and rose in most solemn majesty before us; half of its granite cone was

warmly illuminated, and half in shadow. The wind was high in the upper

regions, and, catching the dry snow which rested on the asperities and

ledges of the Aiguille, shook it out like a vast banner in the air. The

changes of the atmosphere, and the grandeur which they by turns revealed

and concealed, deprived the ascent of all weariness. We were usually

flanked right and left by pines, but once between the fountain and the

Montanvert we had to cross a wide unsheltered portion of the mountain

which was quite covered with the snow of recent avalanches. This was

lumpy and far more coherent than the undisturbed snow. We took advantage

of this, and climbed zigzag over the avalanches for three-quarters of an

hour, thus reaching the opposite pines at a point considerably higher

than the path. This, though not the least dangerous, was the least

fatiguing part of the ascent.

[Sidenote: COLOUR OF SNOW. 1859.]

I frequently examined the colour of the snow: though fresh, its blue

tint was by no means so pronounced as I have seen it on other occasions;

still it was beautiful. The colour is, no doubt, due to the optical

reverberations which occur within a fissure or cavity formed in the

snow. The light is sent from side to side, each time plunging a little

way into the mass; and being ejected from it by reflection, it thus

undergoes a sifting process, and finally reaches the eye as blue light.

The presence of any object which cuts off this cross-fire of the light

destroys the colour. I made conical apertures in the snow, in some cases

three feet deep, a foot wide at the mouth, and tapering down to the

width of my baton. When the latter was placed along the axis of such a

cone, the blue light which had previously filled the cavity disappeared;

on the withdrawal of the baton it was followed by the light, and thus by

moving the staff up and down its motions were followed by the alternate

appearance and extinction of the light. I have said that the holes made

in the snow seemed filled with a blue light, and it certainly appeared

as if the air contained in the cavities had itself been coloured, and

thereby rendered visible, the vision plunging into it as into a blue

medium. Another fact is perhaps worth notice: snow rarely lies so smooth

as not to present little asperities at its surface; little ridges or

hillocks, with little hollows between them. Such small hollows resemble,

in some degree, the cavities which I made in the snow, and from them, in

the present instance, a delicate light was sent to the eye, faintly

tinted with the pure blue of the snow-crystals. In comparison with the

spots thus illuminated, the little protuberances were gray. The portions

most exposed to the light seemed least illuminated, and their defect in

this respect made them appear as if a light-brown dust had been strewn

over them.

[Sidenote: THE MONTANVERT IN WINTER. 1859.]

After five hours and a half of hard work we reached the Montanvert. I

had often seen it with pleasure. Often, having spent the day alone amid

the _seracs_ of the Col du Geant, on turning the promontory of

Trelaporte on my way home, the sight of the little mansion has gladdened

me, and given me vigour to scamper down the glacier, knowing that

pleasant faces and wholesome fare were awaiting me. This day, also, the

sight of it was most welcome, despite its desolation. The wind had swept

round the auberge, and carried away its snow-buttresses, piling the mass

thus displaced against the adjacent sheds, to the roofs of which one

might step from the surface of the snow. The floor of the little chateau

in which I lodged in 1857 was covered with snow, and on it were the

fresh footmarks of a little animal--a marmot might have made such marks,

had not the marmots been all asleep--what the creature was I do not

know.

[Sidenote: CRYSTAL CURTAIN. 1859.]

In the application of her own principles, Nature often transcends the

human imagination; her acts are bolder than our predictions. It is thus

with the motion of glaciers; it was thus at the Montanvert on the day

now referred to. The floors, even where the windows appeared well

closed, were covered with a thin layer of fine snow; and some of the

mattresses in the bedrooms were coated to the depth of half an inch with

this fine powder. Given a chink through which the finest dust can pass,

dry snow appears competent to make its way through the same fissure. It

had also been beaten against the windows, and clung there like a ribbed

drapery. In one case an effect so singular was exhibited, that I doubted

my eyes when I first saw it. In front of a large pane of glass, and

quite detached from it, save at its upper edge, was a festooned curtain

formed entirely of minute ice-crystals. It appeared to be as fine as

muslin; the ease of its curves and the depth of its folds being such as

could not be excelled by the intentional arrangement of ordinary gauze.

The frost-figures on some of the window-panes were also of the most

extraordinary character: in some cases they extended over large spaces,

and presented the appearance which we often observe in London; but on

other panes they occurred in detached clusters, or in single flowers,

these grouping themselves together to form miniature bouquets of

inimitable beauty. I placed my warm hand against a pane which was

covered by the crystallization, and melted the frostwork which clung to

it. I then withdrew my hand and looked at the film of liquid through a

pocket-lens. The glass cooled by contact with the air, and after a time

the film commenced to move at one of its edges; atom closed with atom,

and the motion ran in living lines through the pellicle, until finally

the entire film presented the beauty and delicacy of an organism. The

connexion between such objects and what we are accustomed to call the

feelings may not be manifest, but it is nevertheless true that, besides

appealing to the pure intellect of man, these exquisite productions can

also gladden his heart and moisten his eyes.

[Sidenote: THE MER DE GLACE IN WINTER. 1859.]

The glacier excited the admiration of us all: not as in summer, shrunk

and sullied like a spent reptile, steaming under the influence of the

sun; its frozen muscles were compact, strength and beauty were

associated in its aspect. At some places it was pure and smooth; at

others frozen fins arose from it, high, steep, and sharply crested. Down

the opposite mountain side arrested streams set themselves erect in

successive terraces, the fronts of which were fluted pillars of ice.

There was no sound of water; even the Nant Blanc, which gushes from a

spring, and which some describe as permanent throughout the winter,

showed no trace of existence. From the Montanvert to Trelaporte the Mer

de Glace was all in shadow; but the sunbeams pouring down the corridor

of the Geant ruled a beam of light across the glacier at its upper

portion, smote the base of the Aiguille du Moine, and flooded the

mountain with glory to its crest. At the opposite side of the valley was

the Aiguille du Dru, with a banneret of snow streaming from its mighty

cone. The Grande Jorasse, and the range of summits between it and the

Aiguille du Geant, were all in view, and the Charmoz raised its

precipitous cliffs to the right, and pierced with its splinter-like

pinnacles the clear cold air. As the night drew on, the mountains seemed

to close in upon us; and on looking out before retiring to rest, a scene

so solemn had never before presented itself to my eyes or affected my

imagination.

[Sidenote: THE FIRST NIGHT. 1859.]

My men occupied the afternoon of the day of our arrival in making a

preliminary essay upon the glacier while I prepared my instruments. To

the person whom I intended to fix my stations, three others were

attached by sound ropes of considerable length. Hidden crevasses we

knew were to be encountered, and we had made due preparation for them.

Throughout the afternoon the weather remained fine, and at night the

stars shone out, but still with a feeble lustre. I could notice a

turbidity gathering in the air over the range of the Brevent, which

seemed disposed to extend itself towards us. At night I placed a chair

in the middle of the snow, at some distance from the house, and laid on

it a registering thermometer. A bountiful fire of pine logs was made in

the _salle a manger_; a mattress was placed with its foot towards the

fire, its middle line bisecting the right angle in which the fireplace

stood; this being found by experiment to be the position in which the

draughts from the door and from the windows most effectually neutralized

each other. In this region of calms I lay down, and covering myself with

blankets and duvets, listened to the crackling of the logs, and watched

their ruddy flicker upon the walls, until I fell asleep.

The wind rose during the night, and shook the windows: one pane in

particular seemed set in unison to the gusts, and responded to them by a

loud and melodious vibration. I rose and wedged it round with _sous_ and

penny pieces, and thus quenched its untimely music.

December 28th.--We were up before the dawn. Tairraz put my fire in

order, and I then rose. The temperature of the room at a distance of

eight feet from the fire was two degrees of Centigrade below zero; the

lowest temperature outside was eleven degrees of Centigrade below

zero,--not at all an excessive cold. The clouds indeed had, during the

night, thrown vast diaphragms across the sky, and thus prevented the

escape of the earth's heat into space.

While my assistants were preparing breakfast I had time to inspect the

glacier and its bounding heights. On looking up the Mer de Glace, the

Grande Jorasse meets the view, rising in steep outline from the wall of

cliffs which terminates the Glacier de Lechaud. Behind this steep

ascending ridge, which is shown on the frontispiece, and upon it, a

series of clouds had ranged themselves, stretching lightly along the

ridge at some places, and at others collecting into ganglia. A string of

rosettes was thus formed which were connected together by gauzy

filaments. The portion of the heavens behind the ridge was near the

domain of the rising sun, and when he cleared the horizon his red light

fell upon the clouds, and ignited them to ruddy flames. Some of the

lighter clouds doubled round the summit of the mountain, and swathed its

black crags with a vestment of transparent red. The adjacent sky wore a

strange and supernatural air; indeed there was something in the whole

scene which baffled analysis, and the words of Tennyson rose to my lips

as I gazed upon it:--

[Sidenote: A "ROSE OF DAWN." 1859.]

"God made Himself an awful rose of dawn."

I have spoken several times of the cloud-flag which the wind wafted from

the summit of the Aiguille du Dru. On the present occasion this grand

banner reached extraordinary dimensions. It was brindled in some places

as if whipped into curds by the wind; but through these continuous

streamers were drawn, which were bent into sinuosities resembling a

waving flag at a mast-head. All this was now illuminated with the sun's

red rays, which also fringed with fire the exposed edges and pinnacles

both of the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte. Thus rising out of

the shade of the valley the mountains burned like a pair of torches, the

flames of which were blown half a mile through the air. Soon afterwards

the summits of the Aiguilles Rouges were illuminated, and day declared

itself openly among the mountains.

[Sidenote: THE STAKES FIXED. 1859.]

But these red clouds of the morning, magnificent though they were,

suggested thoughts which tended to qualify the pleasure which they gave:

they did not indicate good weather. Sometimes, indeed, they had to fight

with denser masses, which often prevailed, swathing the mountains in

deep neutral tint, but which, again yielding, left the glory of the

sunrise augmented by contrast with their gloom. Between eight and nine

A.M. we commenced the setting out of our first line, one of whose

termini was a point about a hundred yards higher up than the Montanvert

hotel; a withered pine on the opposite mountain side marking the other

terminus. The stakes made use of were four feet long. With the selfsame

baton which I had employed upon the Mer de Glace in 1857, and which

Simond had preserved, the worthy fellow now took up the line. At some

places the snow was very deep, but its lower portions were sufficiently

compact to allow of a stake being firmly fixed in it. At those places

where the wind had removed the snow or rendered it thin, the ice was

pierced with an auger and the stake driven into it. The greatest caution

was of course necessary on the part of the men; they were in the midst

of concealed crevasses, and sounding was essential at every step. By

degrees they withdrew from me, and approached the eastern boundary of

the glacier, where the ice was greatly dislocated, and the labour of

wading through the snow enormous. Long detours were sometimes necessary

to reach a required point; but they were all accomplished, and we at

length succeeded in fixing eleven stakes along this line, the most

distant of which was within about eighty yards of the opposite side of

the glacier.

[Sidenote: STORM ON THE GLACIER. 1859.]

The men returned, and I consulted them as to the possibility of getting

a line across at the _Ponts_; but this was judged to be impossible in

the time. We thought, however, that a second line might be staked out at

some distance below the Montanvert. I took the theodolite down the

mountain-slope, wading at times breast-deep in snow, and having

selected a line, the men tied themselves together as before, and

commenced the staking out. The work was slowly but steadily and

steadfastly done. The air darkened; angry clouds gathered around the

mountains, and at times the glacier was swept by wild squalls. The men

were sometimes hidden from me by the clouds of snow which enveloped

them, but between those intermittent gusts there were intervals of

repose, which enabled us to prosecute our work. This line was more

difficult than the first one; the glacier was broken into sharp-edged

chasms; the ridges to be climbed were steep, and the snow which filled

the depressions profound. The oblique arrangement of the crevasses also

magnified the labour by increasing the circuits. I saw the leader of the

party often shoulder-deep in snow, treading the soft mass as a swimmer

walks in water, and I felt a wish to be at his side to cheer him and to

share his toil. Each man there, however, knew my willingness to do this

if occasion required it, and wrought contented. At length the last stake

being fixed, the faces of the men were turned homeward. The evening

became wilder, and the storm rose at times to a hurricane. On the more

level portions of the glacier the snow lay deep and unsheltered; among

its frozen waves and upon its more dislocated portions it had been

partially engulfed, and the residue was more or less in shelter. Over

the former spaces dense clouds of snow rose, whirling in the air and

cutting off all view of the glacier. The whole length of the Mer de

Glace was thus divided into clear and cloudy segments, and presented an

aspect of wild and wonderful turmoil. A large pine stood near me, with

its lowest branch spread out upon the surface of the snow; on this

branch I seated myself, and, sheltered by the trunk, waited until I saw

my men in safety. The wind caught the branches of the trees, shook down

their loads of snow, and tossed it wildly in the air. Every mountain

gave a quota to the storm. The scene was one of most impressive

grandeur, and the moan of the adjacent pines chimed in noble harmony

with the picture which addressed the eyes.

At length we all found ourselves in safety within doors. The windows

shook violently. The tempest was however intermittent throughout, as if

at each effort it had exhausted itself, and required time to recover its

strength. As I heard its heralding roar in the gullies of the mountains,

and its subsequent onset against our habitation, I thought wistfully of

my stations, not knowing whether they would be able to retain their

positions in the face of such a blast. That night however, as if the

storm had sung our lullaby, we all slept profoundly, having arranged to

commence our measurements as early as light permitted on the following

day.

[Sidenote: HEAVY SNOW. 1859.]

Thursday, 29th December.--"Snow, heavy snow: it must have descended

throughout the entire night; the quantity freshly fallen is so great;

the atmosphere at seven o'clock is thick with the descending flakes." At

eight o'clock it cleared up a little, and I proceeded to my station,

while the men advanced upon the glacier; but I had scarcely fixed my

theodolite when the storm recommenced. I had a man to clear away the

snow and otherwise assist me; he procured an old door from the hotel,

and by rearing it upon its end sheltered the object-glass of the

instrument. Added to the flakes descending from the clouds was the

spitting snow-dust raised by the wind, which for a time so blinded me

that I was unable to see the glacier. The measurement of the first stake

was very tedious, but practice afterwards enabled me to take advantage

of the brief lulls and periods of partial clearness with which the storm

was interfused.

[Sidenote: A MAN IN A CREVASSE. 1859.]

At nine o'clock my telescope happened to be directed upon the men as

they struggled through the snow; all evidence of the deep track which

they had formed yesterday having been swept away. I saw the leader sink

and suddenly disappear. He had stood over a concealed fissure, the roof

of which had given way and he had dropped in. I observed a rapid

movement on the part of the remaining three men: they grouped themselves

beside the fissure, and in a moment the missing man was drawn from

between its jaws. His disappearance and reappearance were both

extraordinary. We had, as I have stated, provided for contingencies of

this kind, and the man's rescue was almost immediate.

[Sidenote: SIX-RAYED CRYSTALS. 1859.]

My attendant brought two poles from the hotel which we thrust obliquely

into the snow, causing the free ends to cross each other; over these a

blanket was thrown, behind which I sheltered myself from the storm as

the men proceeded from stake to stake. At 9.30 the storm was so thick

that I was unable to see the men at the stake which they had reached at

the time; the flakes sped wildly in their oblique course across the

field of the telescope. Some time afterwards the air became quite still,

and the snow underwent a wonderful change. Frozen flowers similar to

those I had observed on Monte Rosa fell in myriads. For a long time the

flakes were wholly composed of these exquisite blossoms entangled

together. On the surface of my woollen dress they were soft as down; the

snow itself on which they fell seemed covered by a layer of down; while

my coat was completely spangled with six-rayed stars. And thus prodigal

Nature rained down beauty, and had done so here for ages unseen by man.

And yet some flatter themselves with the idea that this world was

planned with strict reference to human use; that the lilies of the field

exist simply to appeal to the sense of the beautiful in man. True, this

result is secured, but it is one of a thousand all equally important in

the eyes of Nature. Whence those frozen blossoms? Why for aeons wasted?

The question reminds one of the poet's answer when asked whence was the

Rhodora:--

"Why wert thou there, O rival of the rose?

I never thought to ask, I never knew;

But in my simple ignorance suppose

The selfsame power that brought me there brought you!"[A]

I sketched some of the crystals, but, instead of reproducing these

sketches, which were rough and hasty, I have annexed two of the forms

drawn with so much skill and patience by Mr. Glaisher.

[Illustration: Fig. 14. Snow Crystals.]

[Illustration: Fig. 15. Snow Crystals.]

We completed the measurement of the first line before eleven o'clock,

and I felt great satisfaction in the thought that I possessed something

of which the weather could not deprive me. As I closed my note-book and

shifted the instrument to the second station, I felt that my expedition

was already a success.

At a quarter past eleven I had my theodolite again fixed, and ranging

the telescope along the line of pickets, I saw them all standing.

Crossing the ice wilderness, and suggesting the operation of

intelligence amid that scene of desolation, their appearance was

pleasant to me. Just before I commenced, a solitary jay perched upon the

summit of an adjacent pine and watched me. The air was still at the

time, and the snow fell heavily. The flowers moreover were magnificent,

varying from about the twentieth of an inch to two lines in diameter,

while, falling through the quiet air, their forms were perfect. Adjacent

to my theodolite was a stump of pine, from which I had the snow removed,

in order to have something to kick my toes against when they became

cold; and on the stump was placed a blanket to be used as a screen in

case of need. While I remained at the station a layer of snow an inch

thick fell upon this blanket, the whole layer being composed of these

exquisite flowers. The atmosphere also was filled with them. From the

clouds to the earth Nature was busy marshalling her atoms, and putting

to shame by the beauty of her structures the comparative barbarities of

Art.

[Sidenote: SOUND THROUGH THE SNOW-STORM. 1859.]

My men at length reached the first station, and the measurement

commenced. The storm drifted up the valley, thickening all the air as it

approached. Denser and denser the flakes fell; but still, with care and

tact I was able to follow my party to a distance of 800 yards. I had not

thought it possible to see so far through so dense a storm. At this

distance also my voice could be heard, and my instructions understood;

for once, as the man who took up the line stood behind his baton and

prevented its projection against the white snow, I called out to him to

stand aside, and he promptly did so. Throughout the entire measurement

the snow never ceased falling, and some of the illusions which it

produced were extremely singular. The distant boundary of the glacier

appeared to rise to an extraordinary height, and the men wading through

the snow appeared as if climbing up a wall. The labour along this line

was still greater than on the former; on the steeper slopes especially

the toil was great; for here the effort of the leader to lift his own

body added itself to that of cutting his way through the snow. His

footing I could see often yielded, and he slid back, checking his

recession, however, by still plunging forward; thus, though the limbs

were incessantly exerted, it was, for a time, a mere motion of vibration

without any sensible translation. At the last stake the men shouted,

"_Nous avons finis!_" and I distinctly heard them through the falling

snow. By this time I was quite covered with the crystals which clung to

my wrapper. They also formed a heap upon my theodolite, rising over the

spirit-levels and embracing the lower portion of the vertical arc. The

work was done; I struck my theodolite and ascended to the hotel; the

greatest depth of snow through which I waded reaching, when I stood

erect, to within three inches of my breast.

[Sidenote: SWIFT DESCENT. 1859.]

The men returned; dinner was prepared and consumed; the disorder which

we had created made good; the rooms were swept, the mattresses replaced,

and the shutters fastened, where this was possible. We locked up the

house, and with light hearts and lithe limbs commenced the descent. My

aim now was to reach the source of the Arveiron, to examine the water

and inspect the vault. With this view we went straight down the

mountain. The inclinations were often extremely steep, and down these we

swept with an avalanche-velocity; indeed usually accompanied by an

avalanche of our own creation. On one occasion Balmat was for a moment

overwhelmed by the descending mass: the guides were startled, but he

emerged instantly. Tairraz followed him, and I followed Tairraz, all of

us rolling in the snow at the bottom of the slope as if it were so much

flour. My practice on the Finsteraarhorn rendered me at home here. One

of the porters could by no means be induced to try this flying mode of

descent. Simond carried my theodolite box, tied upon a crotchet on his

back; and once, while shooting down a slope, he incautiously allowed a

foot to get entangled; his momentum rolled him over and over down the

incline, the theodolite emerging periodically from the snow during his

successive revolutions. A succession of _glissades_ brought us with

amazing celerity to the bottom of the mountain, whence we picked our way

amid the covered boulders and over the concealed arms of the stream to

the source of the Arveiron.

The quantity of water issuing from the vault was considerable, and its

character that of true glacier water. It was turbid with suspended

matter, though not so turbid as in summer; but the difference in force

and quantity would, I think, be sufficient to account for the greater

summer turbidity. This character of the water could only be due to the

grinding motion of the glacier upon its bed; a motion which seems not to

be suspended even in the depth of winter. The temperature of the water

was the tenth of a degree Centigrade above zero; that of the ice was

half a degree below zero: this was also the temperature of the air,

while that of the snow, which in some places covered the ice-blocks, was

a degree and a quarter below zero.

[Sidenote: VAULT OF THE ARVEIRON. 1859.]

The entrance to the vault was formed by an arch of ice which had

detached itself from the general mass of the glacier behind: between

them was a space through which we could look to the sky above. Beyond

this the cave narrowed, and we found ourselves steeped in the blue light

of the ice. The roof of the inner arch was perforated at one place by a

shaft about a yard wide, which ran vertically to the surface of the

glacier. Water had run down the sides of this shaft, and, being

re-frozen below, formed a composite pillar of icicles at least twenty

feet high and a yard thick, stretching quite from roof to floor. They

were all united to a common surface at one side, but at the other they

formed a series of flutings of exceeding beauty. This group of columns

was bent at its base as if it had yielded to the forward motion of the

glacier, or to the weight of the arch overhead. Passing over a number of

large ice-blocks which partially filled the interior of the vault, we

reached its extremity, and here found a sloping passage with a perfect

arch of crystal overhead, and leading by a steep gradient to the air

above. This singular gallery was about seventy feet long, and was

floored with snow. We crept up it, and from the summit descended by a

glissade to the frontal portion of the cavern. To me this crystal cave,

with the blue light glistening from its walls, presented an aspect of

magical beauty. My delight, however, was tame compared with that of my

companions.

[Sidenote: MAJESTIC SCENE. 1859.]

Looking from the blue arch westwards, the heavens were seen filled by

crimson clouds, with fiery outliers reaching up to the zenith. On

quitting the vault I turned to have a last look at those noble sentinels

of the Mer de Glace, the Aiguille du Dru, and the Aiguille Verte. The

glacier below the mountains was in shadow, and its frozen precipices of

a deep cold blue. From this, as from a basis, the mountain cones sprang

steeply heavenward, meeting half way down the fiery light of the sinking

sun. The right-hand slopes and edges of both pyramids burned in this

light, while detached protuberant masses also caught the blaze, and

mottled the mountains with effulgent spaces. A range of minor peaks ran

slanting downwards from the summit of the Aiguille Verte; some of these

were covered with snow, and shone as if illuminated with the deep

crimson of a strontian flame. I was absolutely struck dumb by the

extraordinary majesty of this scene, and watched it silently till the

red light faded from the highest summits. Thus ended my winter

expedition to the Mer de Glace.

Next morning, starting at three o'clock, I was driven by my two guides

in an open sledge to Sallenches. The rain was pitiless and the road

abominable. The distance, I believe, is only six leagues, but it took us

five hours to accomplish it. The leading mule was beyond the reach of

Simond's whip, and proved a mere obstructive; during part of the way it

was unloosed, tied to the sledge, and dragged after it. Simond

afterwards mounted the hindmost beast and brought his whip to bear upon

the leader, the jerking he endured for an hour and a half seemed almost

sufficient to dislocate his bones. We reached Sallenches half an hour

late, but the diligence was behind its time by this exact interval. We

met it on the Pont St. Martin, and I transferred myself from the sledge

to the interior. This was the morning of the 30th of December, and on

the evening of the 1st of January I was in London.

[Sidenote: MY ASSISTANTS. 1859.]

I cannot finish this recital without saying one word about my men. Their

behaviour was admirable throughout. The labour was enormous, but it was

manfully and cheerfully done. I know Simond well; he is intelligent,

truthful, and affectionate, and there is no guide of my acquaintance for

whom I have a stronger regard. Joseph Tairraz is an extremely

intelligent and able guide, and on this trying occasion proved himself

worthy of my highest praise and commendation. Their two companions upon

the glacier, Edouard Balmat (le Petit Balmat) and Joseph Simond (fils

d'Auguste), acquitted themselves admirably; and it also gives me

pleasure to bear testimony to the willing and efficient service of

Francois Ravanal, who attended upon me during the observations.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Emerson.