Above the Snow Line Part 7

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Before long the situation ceased to be amusing, as we found that we had managed to get wet through in the gully, and that the slowly falling temperature was exceedingly unpleasant. I converted a cowhide knapsack into a temporary foot-warmer, much to the detriment of such articles of food as were still stored in its recesses, and tucked a boot under each arm to keep the leather from hardening. Then we fell to discussing what we would have next day for breakfast, and for some two hours found a certain amount of solace in disputing over the merits of divers dainty dishes.

Even this fertile subject failed at length to give adequate satisfaction.

The ledge became colder and colder, and new spiky little points appeared to develop every moment. The argument of the sportsmen grew fainter, and we became slowly chilled through. For a while the mind became more active, but less logical, and fanciful visions crowded thickly through it. On such occasions it is seldom possible to fix the thoughts on events immediately past. To my drowsy gaze the mist seemed to take the form of our native fogs, while the condition of the ledge suggested obtrusively a newly macadamised road. Almost at will I could transport myself in imagination to the metropolis I had so recently left, or back again to the wild little ledge on which we were stranded. Following up the train of sensations, it was easy to conceive how reason might fail altogether, and how gradually, as the senses became numbed one by one, delirium might supervene from cold and exposureas has often happened to arctic travellers. The thoughts flew off far afield, and pictured the exact contrast of the immediate surroundings. I saw a brilliantly lighted street with long rows of flaming lamps. The windows of the clubhouses shone out as great red and orange squares and oblongs. Carriages dashed by, cabs oscillated down the roads.

Elegantly attired youths about to commence their wakeful period (why are men who only know the seamy side of life called men of the world? Is it so bad a world, my masters?) were strolling off to places of entertainment. A feeble, ragged creature crept along in the shadows. A worn, bright-eyed girl, just free from work which had begun at early dawn, dragged her aching limbs homewards, but stopped a moment to glance with envy at a mamma and two fair daughters crossing the pavement to their carriage; light, life, bustle, crowding everywhere. Faster and faster follow the s.h.i.+fting scenes till the visions jostle and become confusedA crack, a distant sound of a falling shower of stones, a hiss as they fall on to the snow slopes below. The eyes open, but the mind only half awakes, and almost immediately dreams again, with changed visions of comfortable rooms, in which the flickering light of a coal fire now throws up, now half conceals the close-drawn curtains, or the familiar form of books and pictures; visions of some formless individual with slippered feet disposed at judicious distance from the blazing coals, of soft carpets and deep arm-chairs moulded by long use into the precise intaglio adapted to the human frame; visions of a warm flood of subdued light, of things steaming gently with curling wreaths of vapour. All these pa.s.sed in order before the mind, called up by the incantation of discomfort out of the cauldron of misery, like unto the regal display manifested to that impulsive and somewhat over-married individual, Macbeth.

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But before long it was most difficult to picture these pleasant sights so vividly as to become altogether oblivious of an exceedingly chilly personality, and ultimately human nature triumphed, and the _ego_ in a rather frozen state became again paramount. I had begun to calculate the number of hours we might have to remain where we were, and the probable state in which we should be next morning, when of a sudden the mist lifted, and disclosed the glacier just below feebly lit up by the rising moon. We sprang instantly to our feet, almost as instantaneously returning to our former positions by reason of the exceeding stiffness and cramp begotten of the cold. The guides, leaving their discussion at a point where the last speaker had, in imagination, shot a chamois about the size of an elephant, descended to inspect the ice. The snow bridges were p.r.o.nounced secure, and we were soon across the creva.s.ses, but found to our disgust that we had rather overdone the waiting. The slope was hard frozen, and in the dim light it was found necessary to cut steps nearly the whole way down the glacier. For five hours and a half were we thus engaged, and did not reach our camp till 2.30 A.M. Never did the tent look so comfortable as on that morning. If, as was remarked of Mrs. Gamps apartment in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn, to the contented mind a cottage is a palace, so to the weary frame may a tent be a luxurious hotel. We rushed over the loose rocks by the snout of the glacier, and ran helter-skelter for our bivouac. From the circ.u.mstance that the invariable struggle for the best pillow was usually brief, and that one of the party was discovered next morning wrong end foremost in his sleeping bag with his boots still on his feet, I am disposed to think that we were not long in dropping off to sleep; but the unstudied att.i.tudes of the party suggested rather four revellers returning from a Greenwich dinner in a four-wheeled cab over a cobbled road than a company of sober mountaineers.

By seven oclock, however, the predominant thought of breakfast so a.s.serted itself that we woke up and looked out.

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The first object that met our gaze was a large sheet of paper, affixed to the rock just in front of the tent, and bearing the simple inscription Hooray! This led us to surmise that our success was already known below; for the author of the legend had returned to Chamouni the previous evening, after having seen us on the summit. To each man was apportioned the burden he should bear of the camp equipage. Such a collection of pots and pans and other paraphernalia had we ama.s.sed gradually during our stay, that our appearance as we crossed the glacier suggested rather that of certain inhabitants of Lagado mentioned in Gullivers voyage to Laputa. By nine oclock we had deposited our burdens at the Montanvert and, disregarding the principles of the sages above referred to, ventured to corrode our lungs by articulating our wants to the landlord. This worthy received us with more than his usual affability, for the tidings of our success had in truth already reached the inn. A bottle of conical form was produced, the cork drawn with a monstrous explosion, and some very indifferent fluid poured out as a token of congratulation. In spite of, perhaps in consequence of, these early libations, we skipped down the well-worn and somewhat unsavoury path with great nimbleness, and in an hour or so found ourselves on the level path leading along the valley to Chamouni by the English church. There, I am pleased to record, the first man to congratulate us was our old friend M. Gabriel Lopp, without whose kindly sympathy and constant encouragement I doubt if we should have ever persevered to our successful end. It mattered little to us that but few of the Chamouni guides gave us credit for having really ascended the peak, for most of them maintained that we had merely reached a point on the south-east face of the lower summit; indeed, to those not so familiar with the details of the mountain as we were, it might well seem hard to realise that the crag jutting out on the right, as seen from Chamouni, is really the actual summit.

Such is the record of the most fascinating rock climb with which I am acquainted. From beginning to end it is interesting. There is no wearisome tramping over loose moraine and no great extent of snow-field to traverse.

The rocks are wondrously firm and big, and peculiarly unlike those on other mountains, even on many of the aiguilles about Chamouni.

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An odd code of mountaineering morality has gradually sprung into existence, and ideas as to what is fair and sportsmanlike in mountain climbing are somewhat peculiar. People speak somewhat vaguely of artificial aid, and are wont to criticise in very severe language the employment of such a.s.sistance, at the same time finding it rather hard, if driven into a corner, to define what they mean by the term. It would seem that artificial aid may signify the driving of iron pegs into rocks when nature has provided insufficient hand or foot-hold. Such a proceeding is considered highly improper. To cut a step in ice is right, but to chisel out a step on rock is in the highest degree unjustifiable. Again, a ladder may be used without critical animadversion to bridge a creva.s.se, but its employment over a rock cleft is tabooed. A certain amount of mountaineering equipment is not only considered proper, but those who go on the mountains without it are spoken of with great asperity, and called very hard names; but the equipment must not include anything beyond hobnails, rope, axes, and possibly a ladder for a creva.s.se; any other contrivance is sniffed at contemptuously as artificial aid. Rockets and such like are usually only mentioned in order to be condemned; while grapnels, chains, and crampons are held to be the inventions of the fiend.

Why these unwritten laws should exist in such an imaginary code it is hard to see. Perhaps we must not consider too curiously on the matter. For my own part, if it could be proved that by no possible means could a given bad pa.s.sage be traversed without some such aid, nor turned by another route, I should not hesitate to adopt any mechanical means to the desired end. As a matter of fact, in the Alps scarcely any such places exist for those who have taken the trouble to learn how to climb, and there are none on the Aiguille du Dru. We used our ladder often enough in exploring the mountain, but when we actually ascended it we employed it in one place only, saving thereby at least an hour of invaluable time. Indeed, subsequent explorers have found such to be the case; and Mr. W. E.

Davidson, in a recent ascent of the mountain, was able to find his way without invoking the a.s.sistance of either ladder or fixed ropes. In a marvellously short s.p.a.ce of time, too, did he get up and down the peak on which we had spent hours without number. Still, this is the fate of all mountains. The mountaineers who make the third ascent are, usually, able to sweep away the blus.h.i.+ng honours that the first climbers might fondly hope they had invested the mountain with. A word, a stroke of the pen, will do it. The peaks do not yield gradually from their high estate, but fall, like Lucifer, from summit to ultimate destination, and are suddenly converted from the most difficult mountain in the Alps to Oh yes; a fine peak, but not a patch upon Mount So-and-so. It is but with the mountains as with other matters of this life, save in this respect, that once deposed they never can hope to reign again supreme. Statements concerning our fellow-creatures when of a depreciatory, and still more when of a scandal-flavoured, nature, are always believed by nine people out of ten to be, if not absolutely true, at any rate well-founded enough for repet.i.tion. A different estimate of the standard of veracity to be met with in this world is a.s.sumed when the remarks are favourable. Even so may it be, in some instances, with the mountains. The prestige that clings to a maiden peak is like the bark on a wand: peel it off, and it cannot be replaced; the bough withers, and is cast to one side, its character permanently altered.

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We would fain have rested that evening, but the edict went forth that festivities were to take place in honour of the ascent, and, to tell the truth, that evening was not the least fatiguing part of the whole affair.

The opportunity was too good to be lost, especially as the customary mode of testifying congratulations by firing off divers podgy little cannons, had been omitted. Preparations were made for a display of fireworks on a large scale. Some six rockets of moderately soaring ambition were placed in order on the gra.s.s-plot in front of the hotel. A skilful pyrotechnist, who knew the right end to which to apply the match, was placed in charge, and fussed about a great deal. A very little table covered with a white cloth, and on which were displayed several bottles, reminded the crowd of loafers who a.s.sembled expectant as the darkness came on, that a carousal was meditated. At last the word was given, and the pyrotechnist, beaming with pride, advanced bearing a lighted taper attached to the end of a stick of judicious length. A hush of expectancy followed, and experienced persons retired to sheltered corners. The fireworks behaved as they usually do. They fizzed prodigiously, and went off in the most unexpected directions. One rocket, rather weak in the waist, described, after a little preliminary spluttering, an exceedingly sharp, corkscrew-like series of curves, and then turned head-over-heels with astounding rapidity on the lawn, like a rabbit shot through the head, and there lay flat, spluttering out its gunpowdery vitals. Another was perfectly unmoved at the initial application of the kindling flame, but then suddenly began to swell up in an alarming way, causing the pyrotechnist, who had no previous experience of this phenomenon, to retreat somewhat hastily. However, one of the rockets rose to a height of some five-and-twenty feet, much to the operators satisfaction, and we were all able to congratulate him warmly on his contribution to our entertainment as we emerged from our places of security.

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A series of smaller explosions, resulting from the drawing of corks, was the next item in the programme, and appeared to give more general satisfaction. Then the bell rang, and the master of the ceremonies announced that the ball was about to commence. Some over-zealous person had unfortunately sought to improve the condition of the floor for dancing, by tracing an arabesque pattern on the boards with water, using for the purpose a tin pot with a convenient leak at the bottom. It followed that the exercise of waltzing in thick boots was more laborious than graceful. Without, the villagers crowded at the windows to gaze upon our fantastic gyrations. But little formality had been observed in organising the ball; in fact, the ceremony of issuing cards of invitation had been replaced by ringing a bell and displaying a placard on which it was announced that the dance would commence at nine oclock. However, the enjoyment appeared to be none the less keen, for all that the dancers were breathing fairly pure air, taking no champagne, and not fulfilling any social duty. But for the costumes the gathering might have been mistaken for a fas.h.i.+onable entertainment. All the recognised types to be met with in a London ball-room were there. The conversation, judging from the fragments overheard, did not appear to be below the average standard of intellectuality. The ladies, who came from the various hotels of Chamouni, displayed, as most English girls do_pace_ the jealous criticism of certain French writers, more smart than observanttheir curious faculty of improvising ball costume exactly suitable to the occasion. There was a young man who had a pair of white gloves, and was looked upon with awe in consequence, and who, in the intervals of the dances, slid about in an elegant manner instead of walking. There was a middle-aged person of energetic temperament who skipped and hopped like the little hills, and kept everything goingincluding the refreshments. There was a captious and cynical person, who frowned horribly, and sat in a corner in the verandah with an altogether superior air, and who, in support of the character, smoked a cigar of uncertain botanical pedigree provided by the hotel, which disagreed with him and increased his splenetic mood. Elsewhere, at more fas.h.i.+onable gatherings, he would have leaned against doorposts, cultivated a dejected demeanour, and got very much in other peoples way.

There was a pianist who was a very clever artist, and found out at once the notes that yielded no response on the instrument, and who, like his more fas.h.i.+onable a.n.a.logue, regularly required stimulants after playing a waltz. It mattered little what he playedpolka, waltz, galop, or mazurkawhatever the tune, the couples all rotated more or less slowly about; so it was evidently an English gathering. At such impromptu dances there is always a strong desire to show off musical talent. No sooner did the hireling pianist desist than a little cl.u.s.ter gathered around the instrument, a.s.sured him that he must be tired, and volunteered to play.

Finally he was induced to rest, and a young lady who knew Rousseaus Dream, or some tune very like it, triumphantly seated herself and favoured the company with that air in waltz time, whereat the unsuccessful candidates for the seat smiled scornfully at each other, and rolled up their eyes, and would not dance. So they, in turn, triumphed, and the young lady blushed, and said she had never seen such a stupid set of people, and went away and sat by her parents, and thought the world was indeed hollow. The hireling came back, and all went on merrily again.

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In the yard outside the crowd increased. In the midst of the throng could be seen Maurer, resplendent in a s.h.i.+rt the front of which was like unto a petrified bath-towel, wearing a coat many sizes too large, his face beaming with smiles and s.h.i.+ning from the effects of drinks offered in the spirit of good fellows.h.i.+p on all sides. Close by stood Burgener, displaying similar physiognomical phenomena, his natural free movements hampered by the excessive tightness of some garments with which an admirer of smaller girth had presented him. Let us do justice to the guides of Chamouni, who might not unnaturally have found some cause for disappointment that the peak had been captured by strangers in the land.

On this occasion, at any rate, they offered the hand of good fellows.h.i.+p, and listened with admiring attention while our guides, in an unknown tongue, expatiated on the difficulties and dangers they had successfully overcomedifficulties which did not appear to become less by frequent repet.i.tion. Let us leave them there. They did their work thoroughly well, and might be pardoned, under all the circ.u.mstances, for a little swagger.

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The days grow shorter apace. The sun has barely time to make the ice peaks glisten, ere the cold shadows creep over again. Snow lies thick on ledge and cranny, and only the steepest mountain faces show dark through the powdery veil. Bleak night winds whistle around the beetling crags and whirl and chevy the wreathing snow-clouds, making weird music in these desolate fastnesses, while the glaciers and snow-fields collect fresh strength against the time when their relentless destroyer shall attack them once again at an advantage. The scene is changed. The clear air, the delicate purity of the Alpine tints are but recollections, and have given way to fog, mist, slush, and smoke-laden atmosphere. Would you recall these mountain pictures? Draw close the curtains, stir the coals into an indignant crackling blaze, and fas.h.i.+on, in the rising smoke, the mountain vista. How easy it is to unlock the storehouse of the mind where these images are stowed away! how these scenes crowd back into the mind! What keener charm than to pa.s.s in review the memories of these simple, wholesome pleasures; to see again, as clear as in the reality, every ledge, every hand and foot-hold; to feel the fingers tingle and the muscles instinctively contract at the recollection of some tough scramble on rock or glacier? The pleasures of the Alps endure long after the actual experience, and are but invested; whether the interest can be derived by any one but the actual investor is a matter for others to decide. For my own part, I can only wish that any one could possibly derive a hundredth part of the pleasure in reading, that I have had in writing, of our adventures.

CHAPTER VII.

BYE-DAYS IN ALPINE MIDLANDS

1. _A Pardonable Digression._

On well-ordered intellectsThe drawbacks of accurate memorySub-Alpine walks: their admirers and their recommendationsThe High Level RouteThe RuinetteAn infallible prescription for ill-humourA climb and a meditation on gra.s.s slopesThe agile persons acrobatic featsThe psychological effects of sunriseThe ascent of the RuinetteWe return to our mutton at ArollaA vision on the hill-side.

2. _A Little Maiden._

Saas in the olden daysA neglected valleyThe mountains drained dryA curious omissionThe Portienhorn, and its good points as a mountainThe chef produces a masterpieceAn undesirable tenement to be let unfurnishedAn evicted familyA rapid act of mountaineeringOn the pleasures of little climbsThe various methods of making new expeditions on one mountainOn the mountaineer who has nothing to learn, and his consequent ignorance.

1. _A Pardonable Digression._

There are some, and they are considered, on the whole, fortunate by less highly gifted individuals, who possess minds as accurately divided up into receptacles for the storage of valuable material as a honeycomb. Every sc.r.a.p of information acquired by the owner of such a well-ordered intellect is duly sifted, purged, ticketed, and finally pigeon-holed in its proper cell, whence it could undoubtedly be drawn out at any future time for reference, were it not for the fact that the pigeon-holes are all so very much alike that the geometrically minded man commonly forgets the number of the shelf to which he has relegated his item of knowledge. He need not really regret that this should be the case; persons with this exceedingly well-ordered form of mind are apt to be a little too precise for ordinary folk, and may even by the captious be rated as dull creatures. A love for the beautiful is not usually a.s.sociated with excessively tidy habits of mind. An artists studio in apple-pie order would seem as unnatural as a legal doc.u.ment drawn up on sthetic principles. If the truth be told, the picturesque is always a.s.sociated withnot to mince mattersthe dirty; and the city of Hygeia, however commendably free from the latter quality, would be but a dreary and unattractive town. Nor would it, as seems to be sometimes supposed, be quite a paradise to that terrible and minatory person, the sanitarian. On the contrary, he would probably be found dining with the undertakeroff approved viandsand the pair would be bewailing the hard times.

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I knew a man once who was marvellously proud of a certain little cabinet, devoted to the reception of keys, all of which were arranged in a remarkably orderly manner. He was fond of demonstrating the system, which seemed, in truth, highly business-like; but I lost faith one day in his method, on finding that he did not know the locks which the several keys were constructed respectively to open. It is with the minds eye as with the bodily eye. We are able only to focus sharply one thing at a time, and the beauty of a given view, from the physiological standpoint, consists in the softened indistinctness of all objects out of the range of absolute focusa fact of which the early Florentine artists evinced a curious disregard, and which their modern imitators, who, at least in our scientific age, ought to know something of the elementary laws of optics, render themselves somewhat ridiculous by servilely copying. So is it also with the memory. A certain indistinctness of detail often renders the recollection even more pleasing; we may be able only to reproduce from the pigeon-hole, as it were, a rather indistinct, blotted-in impression, but as the artist would be fully justified in working up such a study into a finished picture, so may the writer be allowed also to elaborate from his mental sketch a complete work. Now, in wandering in those numerous districts in the mountains of Switzerland which cannot properly be cla.s.sed as sub-Alpine, and yet are not lofty enough to warrant their explorer in dignifying his rambles by the term climbing, one great charm consists in the fact that, while everything is pleasing, there is no distinct objective point that we are bidden to admire. The critical tendency is a very constant factor in human character, and the chief business the professional critic has to learn consists in finding out how far he may legitimately go, and how he may best say what he is called upon to express. Now even the least critical of our race, the gus.h.i.+ng section of humanity, feel irresistibly disposed to cavil at anything they are told they must admire. Perhaps, though, it is not the critical attributes which come out on such occasions in them. Possibly it is but an example of that still more uniformly found characteristic of man and woman, a quality which, in the process of the descent of our species, has been handed down without the least alteration from such lower animals as the mule for instance, and for which, oddly enough, we have no proper term in our language this side of the water, but know it as cussedness.

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Most travellers hear with a slight feeling of relief, on arriving at their destination and inquiring what there is to be seen, that there is nothing in particular, and the sub-Alpine walker has this charm perpetually with him. His expedition cannot fail, for it does not aim at any particular object on the attainment of which it depends whether he considers himself successful or not. These sub-Alpine walks and rambles form the background, the setting, the frame, and the surrounding of the more sharply defined and more memorable high expeditions. Perhaps these are but the sentiments of advancing mountaineering age; certainly they may be heard most often from those who have reached that period of life when they no longer pay heed to wrinkles in their trousers, when they are somewhat exacting in the matter of club dinners, and when they object strongly to receiving a.s.sistance from younger folk in putting on their overcoats. Howbeit, as we may recall the statement made in the Delectus,

Neque semper arc.u.m Tendit Apollo,

even so does the mountaineer occasionally relax his muscles, and find pleasure in the Alpine midlands. Moreover, the writer feels that the perpetual breathing of rarefied air may be apt to induce too great a strain on his readers, and recollects that a piano always tuned to concert pitch is not so harmonious an instrument as one occasionally unstrung; so some relief is at times necessary. Contrast, inasmuch as nature provides it on every hand, we may be sure is a thing for which man has an instinctive craving; and to my mind, at least, a picture in which rich colouring is introduced, and where the result of the blending is harmonious, is more satisfactory than the work which appeals by what I believe artists would call tone. The principle applies rather widely. We may have observed that young ladies of prepossessing appearance love to be accompanied by dogs of repulsive mien. The costermonger, again, if possessed, as he always is, of a hoa.r.s.e voice, is not completely equipped unless provided with a boy companion capable of sending forth in alternate measure the shrillest cries which the human larynx is capable of emitting.

Thus may the pair better vaunt their wares, compel attention, and attract notice. The same objects, at any rate the latter two, influence an author, and not only in all cases, it would seem, when he is actually engaged in writing. So our expeditions, now to be described, may be looked upon as material for contrast, and may be skipped if thought fitat any rate by purchaserswithout risk of wounding the writers feelings.

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Some years ago we were travelling over that district of the Alps which to the true lover of mountain scenery can never become hackneyedthat is, the stretch of glacier land between Chamouni and Zermatt, first made known by Messrs. Foster, Jacomb, Winkfield, and others, and known to mountaineers as the high-level route. We had reached Monvoisin, then, possibly still, one of the cosiest and most comfortable little inns to be found among the mountains. An immense variety of first-rate glacier pa.s.ses of moderate difficulty lie between this Val de Bagne and the Arolla valley; the Col de la Serpentine, the Col Gtroz, the Col de Breney, the Col Chermontane, and others, all of high interest and varied scenery, tempt the walker according to his powers. We selected on this occasion the Col du Mont Rouge, having a design on the bold little peak towering just above the Col, and known as the Ruinette. This peak, it may be at once mentioned, was ascended for the first time in 1865 by Mr. Edward Whymper, a mountaineer who has never ceased happily to add to his spoils and trophies since in all parts of the globe, and who, unlike most of the clan, has kept in the front rank from the day he first climbed an Alpine slope.

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We arrived soaked through, and with deplorably short tempers, at the hotel at Monvoisin. Now tobacco has been vaunted as a palliative to persons in this emotional state. Liquid remedies, described by the vulgar-minded as a drop of something short, or, more tersely, a wet, have been recommended as tending to induce a healthier state of mind. But there is one specific remedy which never fails, and to this by tacit consent we at once resorted.

Even as one touch of nature has been stated, on reliable authority, to make the whole world kin, so may one touch of a lucifer match, if discreetly applied beneath well-seasoned logs, induce even in the most irritable and wearied individual a change of feeling and a calm contentment. As the logs crackled and spluttered, hissing like angry cats, so did the prescription purge away, if not the evil humours, at any rate the ill-humour engendered by sore feet and damp raiment, till it vanished with the smoke up the chimney. As a matter of actual fact, however, it ought to be stated that the greater part of the smoke at first made its way into the room. Before long, a.s.sisted by a pa.s.sable dinner, which acts on such conditions of mind as do the remedies known to the learned in medicine as derivatives, we waxed monstrous merry. We laughed heartily at our own jokes, and with almost equal fervour at those of other peoplea very creditable state of feeling, as any who have a.s.sociated much with facetiously disposed folk will be ready to acknowledge. As the evening wore on, and the fire burnt lower, we became more silent and thoughtful, watching the pale blue and green tongues of flame licking round the charred logs. There is a pleasure, too, in this state. No one felt disposed to break the charm of thoughtfulness in the company by throwing on fresh fuel. The fire had done its work, had helped matters on, had left things a little better than it found theman epitome of a good and useful life. The embers fell together at last, throwing up but a few short-lived sparks; nothing remained but the recollection of what had been once so bright, and a heap of ashesa fit emblem; for one of the party who was the life and soul of the expedition can never again join in body with us in the Alps, or revisit those Alpine midlands he loved so keenly. We rose from our seats and threw back the curtains from the window. The mists had vanished, and with them all doubt and all uncertainty, while the stream of light from the full moon seemed a promise of peace and rest from elsewhere.

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At an early period of a walk there is always the greatest objection to putting forth exertion, the result of which has almost immediately to be undone. That man is indeed robust, and possessed of three times the ordinary amount of bra.s.s, if he fails not to find it distasteful to walk up a hill at the end of an expedition, or down one at the commencement.

The drawback to the commanding position of the hotel at Monvoisin lies in the fact that it is absolutely necessary to descend the hill to begin with, which always seems a sinful waste of energy, seeing that the gra.s.s slopes opposite, which are steep, have immediately afterwards to be climbed. The natural gra.s.s steps looked inviting, but in the language of the Portuguese dialogue book we found them all either too long or much short. One ascent over a gra.s.s slope is very much like another, and description in detail would be as wearisome as the slopes themselves often prove. Yet it is worthy of notice that there is an art to be acquired even in climbing gra.s.s slopes. We had more than one opportunity on the present occasion of seeing that persons look supremely ridiculous if they stumble about, and we noticed also that, like a bowler when he has delivered a long hop to the off for the third time in one over, the stumbler invariably inspects the nails in his boots, a proceeding which deceives no one. It is quite easy to judge of a mans real mountaineering capacity by the way in which he attacks a steep gra.s.s slope. The unskilful person, who fancies himself perfectly at home amongst the intricacies of an ice-fall, will often candidly admit that he never can walk with well-balanced equilibrium on gra.s.s, a form of vegetable which, it might be thought in many instances of self-sufficient mountaineers, would naturally suit them.

There is often real danger in such places, and not infrequently the wise man will demand the use of the rope, especially when there are any tired members among the party. There is no better way of learning how to preserve a proper balance on a slope than by practising on declivities of moderate steepness, and it is astonis.h.i.+ng to find how often those who think they have little to learn, or, still worse, believe that there is nothing to learn, will find themselves in difficulties on a mountain-side, and forced to realise that they have got themselves into a rather humiliating position. We may have seen before now, all of us, distinguished cragsmen to whom an ascent of the Weisshorn or Matterhorn was but a mere stroll, utterly pounded in botanical expeditions after Edelweiss, and compelled to regain a position of security by very ungraceful sprawls, or, worse still, have to resort to the unpardonable alternative of asking for a.s.sistance. It is on such places that the skill born of constant practice is best shown in the peasant as contrasted with the amateur; but the latter could easily acquire the art, were he not, as a rule, too high and mighty to do so. It is a great point, too, if the expedition is to be thoroughly enjoyed, to transport ones self over the earlier part of the days climb with the least possible amount of exertion. The art possibly resembles that which, I am told, is acquired by those of ill-regulated minds, whom the force of circ.u.mstances and the interests of society compel to exercise themselves for a certain number of hours daily in that form of unproductive labour exemplified in the machine known as the treadmill. No doubt the very ardent mountaineer might find that facilities would be accorded to him during such time as he cannot visit the Alps of practising this art in the manner indicated.