1. Mont Blanc. 2. Deme de Goute. 3. Aiguille de Goute. 4. Grand
Plateau. 5. Les Grands Mulets. 6. Glacier de Tacconnaz. 7. Glacier de
Boisson. 8. Mer de Glâce. 9. Montauvert.]
These mulets, which at this distance appear like black points, are
needle cliffs rising in a desert of snow, thus--
[Illustration: _of narrow jagged dark rocks about 70 feet across at
the base and rising to about 80 feet from the base._]
Coming down I mentally compared Mont Blanc and Niagara, as one should
compare two grand pictures in different styles of the same master.
Both are of that class of things which mark eras in a mind's history,
and open a new door which no man can shut. Of the two, I think Niagara
is the most impressive, perhaps because those aerial elements of foam
and spray give that vague and dreamy indefiniteness of outline which
seems essential in the sublime. For this reason, while Niagara is
equally impressive in the distance, it does not lose on the nearest
approach--it is always mysterious, and, therefore, stimulating. Those
varying spray wreaths, rising like Ossian's ghosts from its abyss;
those shimmering rainbows, through whose veil you look; those dizzying
falls of water that seem like clouds poured from the hollow of God's
hand; and that mystic undertone of sound that seems to pervade the
whole being as the voice of the Almighty,--all these bewilder and
enchant the discriminative and prosaic part of us, and bring us into
that cloudy region of ecstasy where the soul comes nearest to Him whom
no eye hath seen, or can see. I have sometimes asked myself if, in the
countless ages of the future, the heirs of God shall ever be endowed
by him with a creative power, by which they shall bring into being
things like these? In this infancy of his existence, man creates
pictures, statues, cathedrals; but when he is made "ruler over many
things," will his Father intrust to him the building and adorning of
worlds? the ruling of the glorious, dazzling forces of nature?
At the foot of the mountain we found again our company of strawberry
girls, with knitting work and goat's milk, lying in wait for us. They
knew we should be thirsty and hungry, and wisely turned the
circumstance to account. Some of our party would not buy of them,
because they said they were sharpers, trying to get all they could out
of people; but if every body who tries to do this is to be called a
sharper, what is to become of respectable society, I wonder?
On the strength of this reflection, I bought some more goat's milk and
strawberries, and verily found them excellent; for, as Shakspeare
says, "How many things by season seasoned are."
We returned to our hotel, and after dining and taking a long nap, I
began to feel fresh once more, for the air here acts like an elixir,
so that one is able to do twice as much as any where else. S. was too
much overcome to go with us, but the rest of us started with our
guides once more at five o'clock. This time we were to visit the
Cascade des Pèlérins, which comes next on the orthodox list of places
to be seen.
It was a lovely afternoon; the sun had got over the Mont Blanc side of
the world, and threw the broad, cool shadow of the mountains quite
across the valley. What a curious kind of thing shadow is,--that
invisible veil, falling so evenly and so lightly over all things,
bringing with it such thoughts of calmness, of coolness, and of rest.
I wonder the old Greeks did not build temples to Shadow, and call her
the sister of Thought and Peace. The Hebrew writers speak of the
"overshadowing of the Almighty;" they call his protection "the shadow
of a great rock in a weary land." Even as the shadow of Mont Blanc
falls like a Sabbath across this valley, so falls the sense of his
presence across our weary life-road!
As we rode along under the sides of the mountain every thing seemed so
beautiful, so thoughtful, and so calm! All the goats and cows were in
motion along the mountain paths, each one tinkling his little bell and
filling the rocks with gentle melodies. You can trace the lines of
these cattle paths, running like threads all along the sides of the
mountains. We went in the same road that we had gone in the morning.
How different it seemed, in the soberness of this afternoon light,
from its aspect under the clear, crisp, sharp light of morning!
We pass again through the pine woods in the valley, and cross the
Arve; then up the mountain side to where a tiny cascade throws up its
feathery spray in a brilliant _jet d'eau_. Every body knows, even
in our sober New England, that mountain brooks are a frisky,
indiscreet set, rattling, chattering, and capering in defiance of all
law and order, tumbling over precipices, and picking themselves up at
the bottom, no whit wiser or more disposed to be tranquil than they
were at the top; in fact, seeming to grow more mad and frolicsome with
every leap. Well, that is just the way brooks do here in the Alps, and
the people, taking advantage of it, have built a little shanty, where
they show up the capers of this child of the mountain, as if he
tumbled for their special profit. Here, of course, in the shanty are
the agates, and the carved work, and so forth, and so on, and you must
buy something for a souvenir.
I sat down on the rocks to take, not a sketch,--for who can sketch a
mountain torrent?--but to note down on paper a kind of diagram, from
which afterwards I might reconstruct an image of this feathery, frisky
son of Kuhleborn.
And while I was doing this, little G. seemed to be possessed by the
spirit of the brook to caper down into the ravine, with a series of
leaps far safer for a waterfall than a boy. I was thankful when I saw
him safely at the bottom.
After sketching a little while, I rambled off to a point where I
looked over towards Mont Blanc, and got a most beautiful view of the
Glacier de Boisson. Imagine the sky flushed with a rosy light, a
background of purple mountains, with darts of sunlight streaming among
them, touching point and cliff with gold. Against this background
rises the outline of the glacier like a mountain of the clearest white
crystals, tinged with blue; and against their snowy whiteness in the
foreground tall forms of pines. I rejoiced in the picture with
exceeding joy as long as the guide would let me; but in all these
places you have to cut short your raptures at the proper season, or
else what becomes of your supper?
I went back to the cottage. A rosy-cheeked girl had held our mules,
and set a chair for us to get off, and now brings them up with "_Au
plaisir, messieurs_" to the bearers of our purse. Half a dozen
children had been waiting with the rose des Alps, which they wanted to
sell us "_au plaisir_" but which we did not buy.
These continual demands on the purse look very alarming, only the coin
you pay in is of such infinitesimal value that it takes about a pocket
full to make a cent. Such a currency is always a sign of poverty.
We had a charming ride down the mountain side, in the glow of the
twilight. We passed through a whole flock of goats which the children
were driving home. One dear little sturdy Savoyard looked so like a
certain little Charley at home that I felt quite a going forth of soul
to him. As we rode on, I thought I would willingly live and die in
such a place; but I shall see a hundred such before we leave the Alps.