Geneva.
I returned a few days since from a journey to the Glaciers of Savoy, the
Pays de Vallais, and other places among the Alps.
The wonderful accounts I had heard of the Glaciers had excited my
curiosity a good deal, while the air of superiority assumed by some who
had made this boasted tour, piqued my pride still more.
One could hardly mention any thing curious or singular, without being
told by some of those travellers, with an air of cool contempt—Dear
Sir,—that is pretty well; but, take my word for it, it is nothing to the
Glaciers of Savoy.
I determined at last not to take their word for it, and I found some
gentlemen of the same way of thinking. The party consisted of the Duke of
H——, Mr. U——, Mr. G——, Mr. K——, and myself.
We left Geneva early in the morning of the third of August, and
breakfasted at Bonneville, a small town in the duchy of Savoy, situated
at the foot of Mole, and on the banks of the river Arve.
The summit of Mole, as we were told, is about 4600 English feet above the
lake of Geneva, at the lower passage of the Rhone, which last is about
1200 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. For these particulars, I
shall take the word of my informer, whatever airs of superiority he may
assume on the discovery.
From Bonneville we proceeded to Cluse, by a road tolerably good, and
highly entertaining on account of the singularity and variety of
landscape to be seen from it. The objects change their appearance every
moment as you advance, for the path is continually winding, to humour the
position of the mountains, and to gain an access between the rocks, which
in some places hang over it in a very threatening manner. The mountains
overlook and press so closely upon this little town of Cluse, that when I
stood in the principal street, each end of it seemed to be perfectly shut
up; and wherever any of the houses had fallen down, the vacancy appeared
to the eye, at a moderate distance, to be plugged up in the same manner
by a green mountain.
On leaving Cluse, however, we found a well-made road running along the
banks of the Arve, and flanked on each side by very high hills, whose
opposite sides tally so exactly, as to lead one to imagine they have
been torn from each other by some violent convulsion of nature.
In other places one side of this defile is a high perpendicular rock, so
very smooth that it seems not to have been torn by nature, but chiselled
by art, from top to bottom, while the whole of the side directly opposite
is of the most smiling verdure.
The passage between the mountains gradually opens as you advance, and the
scene diversifies with a fine luxuriancy of wild landscape.
Before you enter the town of Sallenche, you must cross the Arve, which at
this season is much larger than in winter, being swoln by the dissolving
snows of the Alps.
This river has its source at the Parish of Argentiere, in the valley of
Chamouni, is immediately augmented by torrents from the neighbouring
Glaciers, and pours its chill turbid stream into the Rhone, soon after
that river issues from the lake of Geneva.
The contrast between those two rivers is very striking, the one being
as pure and limpid as the other is foul and muddy. The Rhone seems to
scorn the alliance, and keeps as long as possible unmingled with his
dirty spouse. Two miles below the place of their junction, a difference
and opposition between this ill-sorted couple is still observable;
these, however, gradually abate by long habit, till at last, yielding to
necessity, and to those unrelenting laws which joined them together, they
mix in perfect union, and flow in a common stream to the end of their
course.
We passed the night at Sallenche, and the remaining part of our journey
not admitting of chaises, they were sent back to Geneva, with orders to
the drivers, to go round by the other side of the lake, and meet us at
the village of Martigny, in the Pays de Vallais.
We agreed with a muleteer at Sallenche, who provided mules to carry us
over the mountains to Martigny. It is a good day’s journey from Sallenche
to Chamouni, not on account of the distance, but from the difficulty and
perplexity of the road, and the steep ascents and descents with which you
are teased alternately the whole way.
Some of the mountains are covered with pine, oak, beech, and walnut
trees. These are interspersed with apple, plum, cherry, and other fruit
trees, so that we rode a great part of the forenoon in shade.
Besides the refreshing coolness this occasioned, it was most agreeable to
me on another account. The road was in some places so exceedingly steep,
that I never doubted but some of us were to fall; I therefore reflected
with satisfaction, that those trees would probably arrest our course, and
hinder us from rolling a great way.
But many pathless craggy mountains remained to be traversed after we had
lost the protection of the trees. We then had nothing but the sagacity of
our mules to trust to. For my own part, I was very soon convinced that it
was much safer on all dubious occasions to depend on their’s than on my
own: For as often as I was presented with a choice of difficulties, and
the mule and I were of different opinions, if, becoming more obstinate
than he, I insisted on his taking my track, I never failed to repent it,
and often was obliged to return to the place where the controversy had
begun, and follow the path to which he had pointed at first.
It is entertaining to observe the prudence of these animals in making
their way down such dangerous rocks. They sometimes put their heads over
the edge of the precipice, and examine with anxious circumspection every
possible way by which they can descend, and at length are sure to fix on
that which upon the whole is the best. Having observed this in several
instances, I laid the bridle on the neck of my mule, and allowed him
to take his own way, without presuming to controul him in the smallest
degree.
This is doubtless the best method, and what I recommend to all my friends
in their journey through life, when they have mules for their companions.
We rested some time, during the sultry heat of the day, at a very
pleasingly situated village called Serve; and ascending thence along the
steepest and roughest road we had yet seen, we passed by a mountain,
wherein, they told us, there is a rich vein of copper, but that the
proprietors have left off working it for many years.
As we passed through one little village, I saw many peasants going into
a church.—It was some Saint’s day.—The poor people must have half-ruined
themselves by purchasing gold-leaf.—Every thing was gilded.—The virgin
was dressed in a new gown of gold paper;—the infant in her arms was
equally brilliant, all but the periwig on his head, which was milk-white,
and had certainly been fresh powdered that very morning.
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this ridiculous sight, which the
people beheld with as much veneration as they could have shewn, had the
originals been present.
Upon calling up my eyes to the cieling, I saw something more
extraordinary still: This was a portrait of God the Father, sitting on a
cloud, and dressed like a Pope, with the tiara on his head. Any one must
naturally be shocked at this, if he be not at the same instant moved to
laughter at the infinite absurdity of the idea.
About six in the evening we arrived at the valley of Chamouni, and found
lodgings in a small village called Prieuré. The valley of Chamouni is
about six leagues in length, and an English mile in breadth. It is
bounded on all sides by very high mountains. Between the intervals of
these mountains, on one side of the valley, the vast bodies of snow and
ice, which are called Glaciers, descend from mount Blanc, which is their
source.
On one side of the valley, opposite to the Glaciers, stands Breven, a
mountain whose ridge is 5300 English feet higher than the valley. Many
travellers who have more curiosity, and who think less of fatigue than
we, take their first view of the Glaciers from the top of mount Breven.
As there is only the narrow valley between that and the Glaciers, all of
which it overlooks, and every other object around, except Mont Blanc, the
view from it must be very advantageous and magnificent.
We determined to begin with Montanvert, from which we could walk to the
Glaciers, reserving Mount Breven for another day’s work, if we should
find ourselves so inclined. After an hour’s refreshment at our quarters,
Mr. K—— and I took a walk through the valley.
The chapter of Priests and Canons of Sallenche have the lordship of
Chamouni, and draw a revenue from the poor inhabitants; the highest
mountains of the Alps, with all their ice and snow, not being sufficient
to defend them from rapacity and extortion.
The priest’s house is beyond comparison the best in the whole valley.
Looking at it, I asked a young man who stood near me, if the priest was
rich?
Oui, Monsieur, horriblement,—replied he,—et aussi il mange presque tout
notre blé.