Who has not experienced the almost unqualified pleasure of a walk, on a
bright beautiful morning, before breakfast? How amply it repays one for
the self-denying misery of getting up! We say misery advisedly, for it
is an undoubted, though short-lived, agony, that of arousing one's
inert, contented, and peaceful frame into a state of activity. There is
a moment in the daily life of man--of some men, at least--when heroism
of a very high stamp is displayed; that moment when, the appointed hour
of morning having arrived, he thrusts one lethargic toe from under the
warm bed-clothes into the relatively cold atmosphere of his chamber. If
the toe is drawn back, the man is nobody. If it is thrust further out,
and followed up by the unwilling body, the man is a hero! The agony,
however, like that of tooth-drawing, is soon over, and the delightful
commendations of an approving conscience are superadded to the pleasures
of an early morning walk.
Such pleasures were enjoyed one morning by Emma Gray and Nita Horetzki
and Lewis Stoutley, when, at an early hour, they issued from their
hotel, and walked away briskly up the Vale of Chamouni.
"I say, Emma, isn't it a charming, delicious, and outrageously
delightful day!" exclaimed Lewis.
Although the young man addressed himself to his cousin, who walked on
his left, he glanced at Nita, who walked on his right, and thus, with a
sense of justice peculiarly his own, divided his attentions equally
between them.
"You are unusually enthusiastic, cousin," said Emma, with a laugh. "I
thought you said last night that weather never affected you?"
"True, but there is more than weather here, there is scenery, and--and
sunshine."
"Sunshine?" repeated Nita, lifting her large orbs to his face with a
look of surprise, for although the sun may be said to have risen as
regards the world at large, it had not yet surmounted the range of Mont
Blanc, or risen to the inhabitants of Chamouni. "I not see it; where is
the sunshine?"
"There!" exclaimed Lewis, mentally, as he gazed straight down into her
wondering orbs, and then added aloud, as he swept his arm aloft with a
mock-heroic air, "behold it gleaming on the mountain-ridges."
There is no doubt that the enthusiasm of Lewis as to the weather,
scenery, and sunshine would have been much reduced, perhaps quenched
altogether, if Nita had not been there, for the youth was steeped in
that exquisite condition termed first love,--the very torments incident
to which are moderated joys,--but it must not be supposed that he
conducted himself with the maudlin sentimentality not unfrequently
allied to that condition. Although a mischievous and, we are bound to
admit, a reckless youth, he was masculine in his temperament, and
capable of being deeply, though not easily, stirred into enthusiasm. It
was quite in accordance with this nature that his jesting tone and
manner suddenly vanished as his gaze became riveted on the ridge to
which he had carelessly directed attention. Even Nita was for a moment
forgotten in the sight that met his eyes, for the trees and bushes which
crowned the ridge were to all appearance composed of solid fire!
"Did you ever see anything like that before Emma?" he asked, eagerly.
"Never; I have seen sunrises and sunsets in many parts of our own land,
but nothing at all like that; what _can_ be the cause of it?"
There was good reason for the wonder thus called forth, for the light
was not on the trees but _behind_ them. The sun had not quite risen,
but was very near the summit of the ridge, so that these trees and
bushes were pictured, as it were, against the brightest part of the
glowing sky. In such circumstances we are taught by ordinary experience
that objects will be unusually dark, but these trees were incomparably
brighter than the glowing sky itself. It was not that their mere edges
were tipped with fire, but their entire substance, even to the central
core of the pine-stems, was to all appearance made of pure light, as if
each tree and shrub had been made of steel raised to a condition of
intense white heat. No shining of the sun through or upon trees can
convey the slightest idea of the sight. It was something absolutely new
to our travellers, and roused their astonishment as well as wonder to
the highest pitch.
"Oh!" exclaimed Nita, clasping her hands with a force peculiar to her
demonstrative nature, "how wonderful! How I do wish the Professor was
here to tell us how and what it be."
That evening the Professor, who had observed the phenomenon more than
once, told them all he knew about it. There were differences of
opinion, he said, as to the cause, for men of physical science, not less
than doctors, were prone to differ. For himself, he had only noted the
facts and knew not the cause. The luminous trees appeared only at that
part of the ridge where the sun was _just going_ to rise--elsewhere the
trees were projected as dark objects, in the usual way, against the
bright sky. Not only were the trees thus apparently self-luminous, but
when birds chanced to be flying amongst them, they had the appearance of
sparks of molten silver flitting to and fro. See Note 1.
"But you have not yet told me, ladies," said Lewis, as they resumed
their walk, "what has induced you to indulge in so early a ramble
to-day?"
"Can you not imagine," said Nita, "that it is the love of Nature?"
"Undoubtedly I can; but as this is the first time since we came that you
have chosen to display a love for Nature before breakfast, I may be
forgiven for supposing there is another and no doubt secondary cause."
"You are right," said Emma; "were you not present last night when we
discussed our plans for to-day?"
"No, he was in the verandah," interposed Nita, with an arch smile,
"indulging that savage and unintellectual taste you call smoking."
"Ah, Mademoiselle, be not too severe. It may not, indeed, be styled an
intellectual pursuit, but neither, surely, can it be called savage,
seeing that it softens and ameliorates the rugged spirit of man."
"It is savage," returned Nita, "because you do not encourage ladies to
join you in it."
"Pardon me, Mademoiselle," cried Lewis, pulling out his cigar-case,
"nothing would gratify me more than your acceptance of--"
"Insult me not, Monsieur," said Nita, with a toss of her pretty little
head, "but reply to your cousin's question."
"Ah, to be sure, well--let me see, what was it? Was I present when the
plans for the day were arranged? Yes I was, but I missed the first part
of the conversation, having been, as Mademoiselle Horetzki truly
observes, occupied with that--a--"
"Savage habit," interposed Nita.
"Savage habit," said Lewis, "the savage element of which I am willing to
do away with at a moment's notice when desired. I merely heard that the
professor had fixed to go on the glacier for the purpose of measuring
it, as though it were a badly clad giant, and he a scientific tailor who
had undertaken to make a top-coat for it. I also heard that you two had
decided on a walk before breakfast, and, not caring to do tailoring on
the ice, I begged leave to join you--therefore I am here."
"Ah, you prefer woman's society and safety to manly exercise and
danger!" said Nita.
Although Lewis was, as we have said, by no means an effeminate youth, he
was at that age when the male creature shrinks from the slightest
imputation of a lack of manliness. He coloured, therefore, as he
laughingly replied that in his humble opinion his present walk involved
the manly exercise of moral courage in withstanding shafts of sarcasm,
which were far more dangerous in his eyes than hidden crevasses or
flying boulders.
"But you both forget," interposed Emma, "that I have not yet explained
the object of our morning walk."
"True, cousin, let us have it."
"Well," continued Emma, "when you were engages in your `savage'
indulgence, a difficulty stood in the way of the Professor's plans,
inasmuch as our guide Antoine had asked and obtained leave to absent
himself a couple of days for the purpose of taking his wife and child
over the country to pay a short visit to a relative in some valley, the
name of which I forget. Antoine had said that he would be quite willing
to give up his leave of absence if a messenger were sent to inform his
wife of his change of plan, and to ask a certain Baptist Le Croix, who
lives close beside her, to be her guide. As we two did not mean to join
the ice-party, we at once offered to be the messengers. Hence our
present expedition at so early an hour. After seeing Madame Antoine
Grennon and having breakfast we mean to spend the day in sketching."
"May I join you in this after-portion of the day's work?" asked Lewis.
"I may not, indeed, claim to use the pencil with the facility of our
friend Slingsby, but I am not altogether destitute of a little native
talent in that way. I will promise to give you both as many cigars as
you choose, and will submit my sketches to Mademoiselle's criticism,
which will be incurring extreme danger."
"Well, you may come," said Nita, with a condescending nod, "but pray
fulfil the first part of your promise, give me the cigars."