take on our return. As we heard that the Dole, the highest summit of
the Jura, lay at no great distance from the upper end of the valley,
and as the weather promised to be most glorious, so that we might
to-day hope to enjoy all that chance denied us yesterday, we finally
determined to take this route. We loaded a guide with bread and cheese,
and butter and wine, and by 8 o'clock mounted our horses. Our route
now lay along the upper part of the valley, in the shade of Noir
Mont. It was extremely cold, and there had been a sharp hoar-frost.
We had still a good league to ride through the part belonging to
Berne, before the causeway which there terminates branches off into
two parts. Through a little wood of pine trees we entered the French
territory. Here the scene changed greatly. What first excited our
attention was the wretched roads. The soil is rather stony; everywhere
you see great heaps of those which have been picked off the fields.
Soon you come to a part which is very marshy and full of springs. The
woods all around you are in wretched condition. In all the houses
and people you recognise, I will not say want, but certainly a hard
and meagre subsistence. They belong, almost as serfs, to the canons
of S. Claude; they are bound to the soil (_glebœ astricti_), and
are oppressed with imposts (_sujets à la main-morte et au droit de
la suite_), of which we will hereafter have some talk together, as
also of a late edict of the king's repealing the droit de la suite,
and inviting the owners and occupiers to redeem the main-morte for a
certain compensation. But still even this portion of the valley is
well cultivated. The people love their country dearly, though they
lead a hard life, being driven occasionally to steal the wood from
the Bernese, and sell it again in the lowlands. The first division
is called the Bois d'Amant; after passing through it, we entered the
parish of Les Rousses, where we saw before us the little Lake des
Rousses and Les Sept Moncels,--seven small hills of different shapes,
but all connected together, which form the southern limit of the
valley. We soon came upon the new road which runs from the Pays de Vaud
to Paris. We kept to this for a mile downwards, and now left entirely
the valley. The bare summit of the Dole was before us. We alighted
from our horses, and sent them on by the road towards S. Cergue while
we ascended the Dole. It was near noon; the sun felt hot, but a cool
south wind came now and then to refresh us. When we looked round for a
halting-place, we had behind us Les Sept Moncels, we could still see
a part of the Lac des Rousses, and around it the scattered houses of
the parish. The rest of the valley was hidden from our eye by the Noir
Mont, above which we again saw our yesterday's view of Franche-Comté,
and nearer at hand southwards, the last summits and valleys of the
Jura. We carefully avoided taking advantage of a little peep in the
hill, which would have given us a glimpse of the country, for the sake
of which in reality our ascent was undertaken. I was in some anxiety
about the mist; however, from the aspect of the sky above, I drew
a favourable omen. At last we stood on the highest summit, and saw
with the greatest delight that to-day we were indulged with all that
yesterday had been denied us. The whole of the Pays de Vaux and de
Gex lay like a plan before us: all the different holdings divided off
with green hedges like the beds of a parterre. We were so high that
the rising and sinking of the landscape before us was unnoticeable.
Villages, little towns, country-houses, vine-covered hills, and higher
up still, where the forests and Alps begin, the cow-sheds mostly
painted white, or some other light colour, all glittered in the
sunshine. The mist had already rolled off from Lake Leman. We saw the
nearest part of the coast on our side, quite clear; of the so-called
smaller lake, where the larger lake contracts itself, and turns towards
Geneva, which was right opposite to us, we had a complete view; and on
the other side the country which shuts it in was gradually clearing.
But nothing could vie with the view of the mountains covered with snow
and glaciers. We sat down before some rocks to shelter us from the
cold wind, with the sunshine fall upon us, and highly relished our
little meal. We kept watching the mist, which gradually retired; each
one discovered, or fancied he discovered, some object or other. One
by one we distinctly saw Lausanne, surrounded with its houses, and
gardens; then Bevay, and the castle of Chillon; the mountains, which
shut out from our view the entrance into Valais, and extended as far
as the lake; from thence the borders of Savoy, Evian, Repaille, and
Tonon, with a sprinkling of villages and farm-houses between them.
At last Geneva stood clear from the mist, but beyond and towards the
south, in the neighbourhood of Monte Credo and Monte Vauche, it still
hung immoveable. When the eye turned to the left it caught sight of
the whole of the lowlands from Lausanne, as far as Solothurn, covered
with a light halo. The nearer mountains and heights, and every spot
that had a white house on it, could be closely distinguished. The
guides pointed out a glimmering which they said was the castle of
Chauvan, which lies to the left of the Neuberger-See. We were just able
to guess whereabouts it lay, but could not distinguish it through the
bluish haze. There are no words to express the grandeur and beauty of
this view. At the moment every one is scarcely conscious of what he
sees:--one does but recall the names and sites of well-known cities and
localities, to rejoice in a vague conjecture that he recognizes them in
certain white spots which strike his eye in the prospect before him.
And then the line of glittering glaciers was continually drawing the
eye back again to the mountains. The sun made his way towards the west,
and lighted up their great flat surfaces, which were turned towards us.
How beautifully before them rose from above the snow the variegated
rows of black rocks:--teeth,--towers,--walls! Wild, vast, inaccessible
vestibules! and seeming to stand there in the free air in the first
purity and freshness of their manifold variety! Man gives up at once
all pretensions to the infinite, while he here feels that neither with
thought nor vision is he equal to the finite!
Before us we saw a fruitful and populous plain. The spot on which we
were standing was a high, bare mountain rock, which, however, produces
a sort of grass as food for the cattle, which are here a great source
of gain. This the conceited lord of creation may yet make his own:--but
those rocks before his eyes are like a train of holy virgins which
the spirit of heaven reserves for itself alone in these inaccessible
regions. We tarried awhile, tempting each other in turn to try and
discover cities, mountains, and regions, now with the naked eye, now
with the telescope, and did not begin to descend till the setting sun
gave permission to the mist,--his own parting breath,--to spread itself
over the lake.
With sunset we reached the ruins of the fort of S. Cergue. Even when we
got down in the valley, our eyes were still rivetted on the mountain
glaciers. The furthest of these, lying on our left in Oberland, seemed
almost to be melting into a light fiery vapour; those still nearer
stood with their sides towards us, still glowing and red; but by
degrees they became white, green, and grayish. There was something
melancholy in the sight. Like a powerful body over which death is
gradually passing from the extremities to the heart, so the whole
range gradually paled away as far as Mont Blanc, whose ampler bosom
was still covered all over with a deep red blush, and even appeared
to us to retain a reddish tint to the very last,--just as when one is
watching the death of a dear friend, life still seems to linger, and it
is difficult to determine the very moment when the pulse ceases to beat.
This time also we were very loth to depart. We found our horses in S.
Cergue; and that nothing might be wanting to our enjoyment, the moon
rose and lighted us to Nyon. While on the way, our strained and excited
feelings were gradually calmed, and assumed their wonted tone, so that
we were able with keen gratification to enjoy, from our inn window, the
glorious moonlight which was spread over the lake.
[Sidenote: Geneva.]
At different spots of our travels so much was said of the remarkable
character of the glaciers of Savoy, and when we reached Geneva we were
told it was becoming more and more the fashion to visit them, that the
Count[1] was seized with a strange desire to bend our course in that
direction, and from Geneva to cross Cluse and Salenche, and enter the
valley of Chamouni, and after contemplating its wonderful objects, to
go on by Valorsine and Trent into Valais. This route, however, which
was the one usually pursued by travellers, was thought dangerous in
this season of the year. A visit was therefore paid to M. de Saussure
at his country-house, and his advice requested. He assured us that
we need not hesitate to take that route; there was no snow as yet on
the middle-sized mountains, and if on our road we were attentive to
the signs of the weather and the advice of the country-people, who
were seldom wrong in their judgment, we might enter upon this journey
with perfect safety. Here is the copy of the journal of a day's hard
travelling.
* * * * *
_Cluse, in Savoy, Nov._ 3, 1779.
To-day on departing from Geneva our party divided. The Count with
me and a huntsman took the route to Savoy. Friend W. with the
horses proceeded through the Pays de Vaud for Valais. In a light
four-wheeled cabriolet we proceeded first of all to visit Hüber at his
country-seat,--a man out of whom, mind, imagination and imitative tact,
oozes at every pore,--one of the very few thorough men we have met
with. He saw us well on our way, and then we set off with the lofty
snow-capped mountains, which we wished to reach, before our eyes. From
the Lake of Geneva the mountain-chains verge towards each other to the
point where Bonneville lies, half way between the Mole, a considerable
mountain, and the Arve. There we took our dinner. Behind the town
the valley closes right in. Although not very broad, it has the Arve
flowing gently through it, and is on the southern side well cultivated,
and everywhere the soil is put to some profit. From the early morning
we had been in fear of its raining some time at least before night,
but the clouds gradually quitted the mountains, and dispersed into
fleeces,--a sign which has more than once in our experience proved a
favourable omen. The air was as warm as it usually is in the beginning
of September, and the country we travelled through beautiful. Many of
the trees being still green; most of them had assumed a brownish-yellow
tint, but only a few were quite bare. The crops were rich and verdant;
the mountains caught from the red sunset a rosy hue, blended with
violet; and all these rich tints were combined with grand, beautiful,
and agreeable forms of the landscape. We talked over much that was
good. Towards 5 we came towards Cluse, where the valley closes, and
has only one outlet, through which the Arve issues from the mountains,
and by which also we propose to enter them to-morrow. We ascended
a lofty eminence, and saw beneath us the city, partly built on the
slightly inclined side of a rock, but partly on the flat portion of
the valley. Our eyes ranged with pleasure over the valley, and sitting
on the granite rocks we awaited the coming of night in calm and varied
discourse. Towards seven, as we descended, it was not at all colder
than it is usually in summer about nine. At a miserable inn (where,
however, the people were ready and willing, and by their patois
afforded us much amusement) we are now going, about ten o'clock, to
bed, intending to set out early to-morrow, before the morning shall
dawn.
* * * * *
_Salenche, Nov._ 4, 1779. _Noon._
[The cavern of the Col de Balme.]
Whilst a dinner is being prepared by very willing hands, I will attempt
to set down the most remarkable incidents of our yesterday's journey,
which commenced with the early morning. With break of day we set out
on foot from Cluse, taking the road towards Balme. In the valley the
air was agreeably fresh; the moon, in her last quarter, rose bright
before the sun, and charmed us with the sight, as being one which we do
not often see. Single light vapours rose upwards from all the chasms
in the rocks. It seemed as if the morning air were awakening the young
spirits, who took pleasure in meeting the sun with expanded bosoms and
gilding them in his rays. The upper heaven was perfectly clear; except
where now and then a single cloudy streak, which the rising sun lit up,
swept lightly across it. Balme is a miserable village, not far from the
spot where a rocky gorge runs off from the road. We asked the people
to guide us through the cave for which the place is famous. At this
they kept looking at one another, till at last one said to a second,
"Take you the ladder, I will carry the rope,--come, gentlemen." This
strange invitation did not deter us from following then. Our line of
descent passed first of all among fallen masses of limestone rock,
which by the course of time had been piled up step by step in front of
the precipitous wall of rock, and were now overgrown with bushes of
hazel and beech. Over these you reach at last the strata of the rock
itself, which you have to climb up slowly and painfully by means of
the ladder and of the steps cut into the rock, and by help of branches
of the nut-trees, which hung over head, or of pieces of rope tied to
them. After this you find yourself, to your great satisfaction, in a
kind of portal, which has been worn out of the rock by the weather,
and overlooks the valley and the village below. We now prepared for
entering the cave; lighted our candles and loaded a pistol which we
proposed to let off. The cave is a long gallery, mostly level and on
one strand; in parts broad enough for two men to walk abreast, in
others only passable by one; now high enough to walk upright, then
obliging you to stoop, and sometimes even to crawl on hands and feet.
Nearly about the middle a cleft runs upwards and forms a sort of a
dome. In one corner another goes downwards. We threw several stones
down it, and counted slowly from seventeen to nineteen before it
reached the bottom, after touching the sides many times, but always
with a different echo. On the walls a stalactite forms its various
devices; however it is only damp in a very few places, and forms for
the most part long drops, and not those rich and rare shapes which are
so remarkable in Baumann's cave. We penetrated as far as we could for
the water, and as we came out let off our pistol, which shook the cave
with a strong but dull echo, so that it boomed round us like a bell. It
took us a good quarter of an hour to get out again, and on descending
the rocks, we found our carriage and drove onwards. At Staubbachs-Art
we saw a beautiful waterfall; neither its height was very great nor its
volume very large, and yet it was extremely interesting, for the rocks
formed around it, as it were, a circular niche in which, its waters
fell, and the pieces of the limestone as they were tumbled one over
another formed the most rare and unusual groups.
We arrived here at mid-day, not quite hungry enough to relish our
dinner, which consisted of warmed fish, cow beef, and very stale bread.
From this place there is no road leading to the mountains that is
passable for so stately an equipage as we have with us; it therefore
returns to Geneva, and I now must take my leave of you, in order to
pursue my route a little further. A mule with my luggage will follow us
as we pick our way on foot.
* * * * *
_Chamouni, Nov._ 4, 1779. _Evening, about 9 o'clock._
It is only because this letter will bring me for awhile nearer to
yourself that I resume my pen; otherwise it would be better for me to
give my mind a little rest.
[Sidenote: The Valley of Chamouni-Mont Blanc.]
We left Salenche behind us in a lovely open valley; during our
noonday's rest the sky had become overcast with white fleecy clouds,
about which I have here a special remark to make. We had seen them on a
bright day rise equally fine, I if not still finer, from the glaciers
of Berne. Here too it again seemed to us as if the sun, had first of
all attracted the light mists which evaporated from the tops of the
glaciers, and then a gentle breeze had, as it were, combed the fine
vapours, like a fleece of foam over the atmosphere. I never remember at
home, even in the height of summer, (when such phenomena do also occur
with us,) to have seen any so transparent, for here it was a perfect
web of light. Before long the ice-covered mountains from which it rose
lay before us; the valley began to close in; the Arve was gushing out
of the rock; we now began to ascend a mountain, and went up higher and
higher, with the snowy summits right before us. Mountains and old pine
forests, either in the hollows below or on a level with our track,
came out one by one before the eye as we proceeded. On our left were
the mountain-peaks, bare and pointed. We felt that we were approaching
a mightier and more massive chain of mountains. We passed over a dry
and broad bed of stones and gravel, which the watercourses tear down
from the sides of the rocks, and in turn flow among and fill up. This
brought us into an agreeable valley, flat, and shut in by a circular
ridge of rocks, in which lies the little village of Serves. There the
road runs round some very highly variegated rocks, and takes again
the direction towards the Arve. After crossing the latter you again
ascend; the masses become constantly more imposing, nature seems to
have begun here with a light hand, to prepare her enormous creations.
The darkness grew deeper and deeper as we approached the valley of
Chamouni, and when at last we entered it, nothing but the larger masses
were discernible. The stars came out one by one, and we noticed above
the peaks of the summits right before us, a light which we could not
account for. Clear, but without brilliancy, like the milky way, but
closer, something like that of the Pleiades; it rivetted our attention
until at last, as our position changed, like a pyramid illuminated by
a secret light within, which could best be compared to the gleam of
a glow-worm, it towered high above the peaks of all the surrounding
mountains, and at last convinced us that it must be the peak of Mont
Blanc. The beauty of this view was extraordinary. For while, together
with the stars which clustered round it, it glimmered, not indeed with
the same twinkling light, but in a broader and more continuous mass, it
seemed to belong to a higher sphere, and one had difficulty in thought
to fix its roots again in the earth. Before it we saw a line of snowy
summits, sparkling as they rested on the ridges covered with the black
pines, while between the dark forests vast glaciers sloped down to the
valley below.
My descriptions begin to be irregular and forced; in fact, one wants
two persons here, one to see and the other to describe.
Here we are in the middle village of the valley called "Le Prieuré,"
comfortably lodged in a house, which a widow caused to be built here
in honour of the many strangers who visited the neighbourhood. We are
sitting close to the hearth, relishing our Muscatel wine from the
Vallée d'Aost far better than the lenten dishes which were served up to
our dinner.
* * * * *
_Nov._ 5, 1779. _Evening._
To take up one's pen and write, almost requires as great an effort as
to take a swim in the cold river. At this moment I have a great mind
to put you off, by referring you to the description of the glaciers of
Savoy, given by that enthusiastic climber Bourritt.
Invigorated however by a few glasses of excellent wine, and by the
thought that these pages will reach you much sooner than either
the travellers or Bourritt's book, I will do my best. The valley
of Chamouni, in which we are at present, lies very high among the
mountains, and, from six to seven leagues long, runs pretty nearly
from south to north. The characteristic features which to my mind
distinguish it from all others, are its having scarcely any flat
portion, but the whole tract, like a trough, slopes from the Arve
gradually up the sides of the mountain. Mont Blanc and the line of
mountains which runs off from it, and the masses of ice which fill
up the immense ravines, make up the eastern wall of the valley, on
which, throughout its entire length, seven glaciers, of which one is
considerably larger than the others, run down to the bottom of the
valley.
[Sidenote: The Ice-Lake.]
The guides whom we had engaged to show us to the ice-lake came to
their time. One was a young active peasant, the other much older,
who seemed to think himself a very shrewd personage, who had held
intercourse with all learned foreigners, well acquainted with the
nature of the ice-mountains, and a very clever fellow. He assured us
that for eight and twenty years,--so long had he acted as guide over
the mountains,--this was the first time that his services had been put
in requisition so late in the year--after All Saints' Day, and yet that
we might even now see every object quite as well as in June. Provided
with wine and food we began to ascend Mont Anvert, from which we
were told the view of the ice-lake would be quite ravishing. Properly
I should call it the ice-valley or the ice-stream; for looking at it
from above, the huge masses of ice force themselves out of a deep
valley in tolerable smoothness. Right behind it ends a sharp-pointed
mountain, from both sides of which waves of ice run frozen into the
principal stream. Not the slightest trace of snow was as yet to be seen
on the rugged surfaces, and the blue crevices glistened beautifully.
The weather by degrees became overcast, and I saw grey wavy clouds,
which seemed to threaten snow, more than it had ever yet done. On
the spot where we were standing is a small cabin, built of stones,
loosely piled together as a shelter for travellers, which in joke has
been named "The Castle of Mont Anvert." An Englishman, of the name of
Blaire, who is residing at Geneva, has caused a more spacious one to
be built at a more convenient spot, and a little higher up, where,
sitting by a fire-side, you catch through the window a view of the
whole Ice-Valley. The peaks of the rocks over against you, as also in
the valley below, are very pointed and rugged. These jags are called
needles, and the Aiguille du Dru is a remarkable peak of this kind,
right opposite to Mont Anvert. We now wished to walk upon the Ice Lake
itself, and to consider these immense masses close at hand. Accordingly
we climbed down the mountain, and took nearly a hundred steps round
about on the wave-like crystal cliffs. It is certainly a singular
sight, when standing on the ice itself, you see before you the masses
pressing upwards, and divided by strangely shaped clefts. However, we
did not like standing on this slippery surface, for we had neither
come prepared with ice-shoes, nor with nails in our usual ones; on the
contrary, those which we ordinarily wore had become smooth and rounded
with our long walk; we, therefore, made our way back to the hut, and
after a short rest were ready for returning. We descended the mountain,
and came to the spot where the ice-stream, step by step, forces its way
to the valley below, and we entered the cavern, into which it empties
its water. It is broad, deep, and of the most beautiful blue, and in
the cave the supply of water is more invariable than further on at the
mouth, since great pieces of ice are constantly melting and dissolving
in it.
On our road to the Auberge we passed the house where there were two
Albinos,--children between twelve and fourteen, with very white
complexions, rough white hair, and with red and restless eyes like
rabbits. The deep night which hangs over the valley invites me to
retire early to bed, and I am hardly awake enough to tell you, that we
have seen a tame young ibex, who stands out as distinctly among the
goats as the natural son of a noble prince from the burgher's family,
among whom he is privately brought up and educated. It does not suit
with our discourses, that I should speak of anything out of its due
order. Besides, you do not take much delight in specimens of granite,
quartz, or in larch and pine trees, yet, most of all, you would desire
to see some remarkable fruits of our botanising. I think I am stupid
with sleep,--I cannot write another line.
* * * * *
_Chamouni, Nov._ 6, 1776. _Early._
Content with seeing all that the early season allows us to see, we
are ready to start again, intending to penetrate as far as Valais
to-day. A thick mist covers the whole valley, and reaches half way up
the mountains, and we must wait and see what sun and wind will yet
do for us. Our guide purposes that we should take the road over the
Col-de-Balme, a lofty eminence, which lies on the north side of the
valley towards Valais, from the summit of which, if we are lucky, we
shall be able to take another survey of the valley of Chamouni, and of
all its remarkable objects.
Whilst I am writing a remarkable phenomenon is passing along the sky.
The mists which are shifting about, and breaking in some places, allow
you through their openings as through skylights, to catch a glance of
the blue sky, while at the same time the mountain peaks, which rising
above our roof of vapour, are illuminated by the sun's rays. Even
without the hope it gives of a beautiful day, this sight of itself is a
rich treat to the eye.
We have at last obtained a standard for judging the heights of the
mountains. It is at a considerable height above the valley, that the
vapour rests on the mountains. At a still greater height are clouds,
which have floated off upwards from the top of the mist, and then far
above these clouds you see the summits glittering in the sunshine.
It is time to go. I must bid farewell to this beautiful valley and to
you.
* * * * *
_Martinac, in Valais_, _Nov._ 6, 1779. _Evening._
We have made the passage across without any mishap, and so this
adventure is over. The joy of our good luck will keep my pen going
merrily for a good half hour yet.