How it is useless to seek, even on the best maps, for the small town of
Quiquendone
CHAPTER II.
In which the Burgomaster Van Tricasse and the Counsellor Niklausse consult
about the affairs of the town
CHAPTER III.
In which the Commissary Passauf enters as noisily as unexpectedly
CHAPTER IV.
In which Doctor Ox reveals himself as a physiologist of the first rank, and as
an audacious experimentalist
CHAPTER V.
In which the burgomaster and the counsellor pay a visit to Doctor Ox, and what
follows
CHAPTER VI.
In which Frantz Niklausse and Suzel Van Tricasse form certain projects for the
future
CHAPTER VII.
In which the Andantes become Allegros, and the Allegros Vivaces
CHAPTER VIII.
In which the ancient and solemn German waltz becomes a whirlwind
CHAPTER IX.
In which Doctor Ox and Ygène, his assistant, say a few words
CHAPTER X.
In which it will be seen that the epidemic invades the entire town, and what
effect it produces
CHAPTER XI.
In which the Quiquendonians adopt a heroic resolution
CHAPTER XII.
In which Ygène, the assistant, gives a reasonable piece of advice, which is
eagerly rejected by Doctor Ox
CHAPTER XIII.
In which it is once more proved that by taking high ground all human
littlenesses may be overlooked
CHAPTER XIV.
In which matters go so far that the inhabitants of Quiquendone, the reader, and
even the author, demand an immediate dénouement
CHAPTER XV.
In which the dénouement takes place
CHAPTER XVI.
In which the intelligent reader sees that he has guessed correctly, despite all
the author’s precautions
CHAPTER XVII.
In which Doctor Ox’s theory is explained
MASTER ZACHARIUS.
CHAPTER I.
A winter night
CHAPTER II.
The pride of science
CHAPTER III.
A strange visit
CHAPTER IV.
The Church of St. Pierre
CHAPTER V.
The hour of death
A DRAMA IN THE AIR
A WINTER AMID THE ICE
CHAPTER I.
The black flag
CHAPTER II.
Jean Cornbutte’s project
CHAPTER III.
A ray of hope
CHAPTER IV.
In the passes
CHAPTER V.
Liverpool Island
CHAPTER VI.
The quaking of the ice
CHAPTER VII.
Settling for the winter
CHAPTER VIII.
Plan of the explorations
CHAPTER IX.
The house of snow
CHAPTER X.
Buried alive
CHAPTER XI.
A cloud of smoke
CHAPTER XII.
The return to the ship
CHAPTER XIII.
The two rivals
CHAPTER XIV.
Distress
CHAPTER XV.
The white bears
CHAPTER XVI.
Conclusion
ASCENT OF MONT BLANC
[Illustration: ]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
She handed her father a pipe
The worthy Madame Brigitte Van Tricasse had now her second husband
“I have just come from Dr. Ox’s”
“It is in the interests of science”
“The workmen, whom we have had to choose in Quiquendone, are not very expeditious”
The young girl took the line
“Good-bye, Frantz,” said Suzel
Fiovaranti had been achieving a brilliant success in “Les Huguenots”
They hustle each other to get out
It was no longer a waltz
It required two persons to eat a strawberry
“To Virgamen! to Virgamen!”
“A burgomaster’s place is in the front rank”
The two friends, arm in arm
The whole army of Quiquendone fell to the earth
He would raise the trap-door constructed in the floor of his workshop
The young girl prayed
“Thou wilt see that I have discovered the secrets of existence”.
“Father, what is the matter?”
Then he resumed, in an ironical tone
From morning till night discontented purchasers besieged the house
This proud old man remained motionless
“It is there—there!”
“See this man,—he is Time”
He was dead
“Monsieur, I salute you”
“Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage
“He continued his observations for seven or eight hours with General Morlot”
“The balloon became less and less inflated”
“Zambecarri fell, and was killed!”
The madman disappeared in space
“Monsieur the curè,” said he, “stop a moment, if you please”
André Vasling, the mate, apprised Jean Cornbutte of the dreadful event
A soft voice said in his ear, “Have good courage, uncle”
André Vasling showed himself more attentive than ever
On the 12th September the sea consisted of one solid plain
They found themselves in a most perilous position, for an icequake had occurred
Map in hand, he clearly explained their situation
The caravan set out
“Thirty-two degrees below zero!”
Despair and determination were struggling in his rough features for the mastery
It was Louis Cornbutte
Penellan advanced towards the Norwegians
Marie begged Vasling on her knees to produce the lemons, but he did not reply
Marie rose with cries of despair, and hurried to the bed of old Jean Cornbutte
The bear, having descended from the mast, had fallen on the two men
The old curè received Louis Cornbutte and Marie
View of Mont Blanc from the Brevent
View of Bossons glacier, near the Grands-Mulets
Passage of the Bossons Glacier
Crevasse and bridge
View of the “Seracs”
View of “Seracs”
Passage of the “Junction”
Hut at the Grands-Mulets
View of Mont Blanc from Grands-Mulets
Crossing the plateau
Summit of Mont Blanc
Grands-Mulets:—Party descending from the hut
DOCTOR OX’S EXPERIMENT.
CHAPTER I.
HOW IT IS USELESS TO SEEK, EVEN ON THE BEST MAPS, FOR THE SMALL TOWN OF
QUIQUENDONE.
If you try to find, on any map of Flanders, ancient or modern, the
small town of Quiquendone, probably you will not succeed. Is
Quiquendone, then, one of those towns which have disappeared? No. A
town of the future? By no means. It exists in spite of geographies, and
has done so for some eight or nine hundred years. It even numbers two
thousand three hundred and ninety-three souls, allowing one soul to
each inhabitant. It is situated thirteen and a half kilometres
north-west of Oudenarde, and fifteen and a quarter kilometres
south-east of Bruges, in the heart of Flanders. The Vaar, a small
tributary of the Scheldt, passes beneath its three bridges, which are
still covered with a quaint mediæval roof, like that at Tournay. An old
château is to be seen there, the first stone of which was laid so long
ago as 1197, by Count Baldwin, afterwards Emperor of Constantinople;
and there is a Town Hall, with Gothic windows, crowned by a chaplet of
battlements, and surrounded by a turreted belfry, which rises three
hundred and fifty-seven feet above the soil. Every hour you may hear
there a chime of five octaves, a veritable aerial piano, the renown of
which surpasses that of the famous chimes of Bruges. Strangers—if any
ever come to Quiquendone—do not quit the curious old town until they
have visited its “Stadtholder’s Hall”, adorned by a full-length
portrait of William of Nassau, by Brandon; the loft of the Church of
Saint Magloire, a masterpiece of sixteenth century architecture; the
cast-iron well in the spacious Place Saint Ernuph, the admirable
ornamentation of which is attributed to the artist-blacksmith, Quentin
Metsys; the tomb formerly erected to Mary of Burgundy, daughter of
Charles the Bold, who now reposes in the Church of Notre Dame at
Bruges; and so on. The principal industry of Quiquendone is the
manufacture of whipped creams and barley-sugar on a large scale. It has
been governed by the Van Tricasses, from father to son, for several
centuries. And yet Quiquendone is not on the map of Flanders! Have the
geographers forgotten it, or is it an intentional omission? That I
cannot tell; but Quiquendone really exists; with its narrow streets,
its fortified walls, its Spanish-looking houses, its market, and its
burgomaster—so much so, that it has recently been the theatre of some
surprising phenomena, as extraordinary and incredible as they are true,
which are to be recounted in the present narration.
Surely there is nothing to be said or thought against the Flemings of
Western Flanders. They are a well-to-do folk, wise, prudent, sociable,
with even tempers, hospitable, perhaps a little heavy in conversation
as in mind; but this does not explain why one of the most interesting
towns of their district has yet to appear on modern maps.
This omission is certainly to be regretted. If only history, or in
default of history the chronicles, or in default of chronicles the
traditions of the country, made mention of Quiquendone! But no; neither
atlases, guides, nor itineraries speak of it. M. Joanne himself, that
energetic hunter after small towns, says not a word of it. It might be
readily conceived that this silence would injure the commerce, the
industries, of the town. But let us hasten to add that Quiquendone has
neither industry nor commerce, and that it does very well without them.
Its barley-sugar and whipped cream are consumed on the spot; none is
exported. In short, the Quiquendonians have no need of anybody. Their
desires are limited, their existence is a modest one; they are calm,
moderate, phlegmatic—in a word, they are Flemings; such as are still to
be met with sometimes between the Scheldt and the North Sea.