Who has not experienced the almost unqualified pleasure of a walk, on a bright beautiful morning, before breakfast? How amply it repays one for the self-denying misery1 of getting up! We say misery advisedly, for it is an undoubted, though short-lived, agony, that of arousing one’s inert2, contented3, and peaceful frame into a state of activity. There is a moment in the daily life of man—of some men, at least—when heroism4 of a very high stamp is displayed; that moment when, the appointed hour of morning having arrived, he thrusts one lethargic6 toe from under the warm bed-clothes into the relatively7 cold atmosphere of his chamber8. If the toe is drawn9 back, the man is nobody. If it is thrust further out, and followed up by the unwilling10 body, the man is a hero! The agony, however, like that of tooth-drawing, is soon over, and the delightful11 commendations of an approving conscience are superadded to the pleasures of an early morning walk.
Such pleasures were enjoyed one morning by Emma Gray and Nita Horetzki and Lewis Stoutley, when, at an early hour, they issued from their hotel, and walked away briskly up the Vale of Chamouni.
“I say, Emma, isn’t it a charming, delicious, and outrageously13 delightful day!” exclaimed Lewis.
Although the young man addressed himself to his cousin, who walked on his left, he glanced at Nita, who walked on his right, and thus, with a sense of justice peculiarly his own, divided his attentions equally between them.
“You are unusually enthusiastic, cousin,” said Emma, with a laugh. “I thought you said last night that weather never affected15 you?”
“True, but there is more than weather here, there is scenery, and—and sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” repeated Nita, lifting her large orbs16 to his face with a look of surprise, for although the sun may be said to have risen as regards the world at large, it had not yet surmounted17 the range of Mont Blanc, or risen to the inhabitants of Chamouni. “I not see it; where is the sunshine?”
“There!” exclaimed Lewis, mentally, as he gazed straight down into her wondering orbs, and then added aloud, as he swept his arm aloft with a mock-heroic air, “behold it gleaming on the mountain-ridges.”
There is no doubt that the enthusiasm of Lewis as to the weather, scenery, and sunshine would have been much reduced, perhaps quenched19 altogether, if Nita had not been there, for the youth was steeped in that exquisite20 condition termed first love,—the very torments21 incident to which are moderated joys,—but it must not be supposed that he conducted himself with the maudlin22 sentimentality not unfrequently allied23 to that condition. Although a mischievous24 and, we are bound to admit, a reckless youth, he was masculine in his temperament25, and capable of being deeply, though not easily, stirred into enthusiasm. It was quite in accordance with this nature that his jesting tone and manner suddenly vanished as his gaze became riveted26 on the ridge18 to which he had carelessly directed attention. Even Nita was for a moment forgotten in the sight that met his eyes, for the trees and bushes which crowned the ridge were to all appearance composed of solid fire!
“Did you ever see anything like that before Emma?” he asked, eagerly.
“Never; I have seen sunrises and sunsets in many parts of our own land, but nothing at all like that; what can be the cause of it?”
There was good reason for the wonder thus called forth27, for the light was not on the trees but behind them. The sun had not quite risen, but was very near the summit of the ridge, so that these trees and bushes were pictured, as it were, against the brightest part of the glowing sky. In such circumstances we are taught by ordinary experience that objects will be unusually dark, but these trees were incomparably brighter than the glowing sky itself. It was not that their mere28 edges were tipped with fire, but their entire substance, even to the central core of the pine-stems, was to all appearance made of pure light, as if each tree and shrub29 had been made of steel raised to a condition of intense white heat. No shining of the sun through or upon trees can convey the slightest idea of the sight. It was something absolutely new to our travellers, and roused their astonishment30 as well as wonder to the highest pitch.
“Oh!” exclaimed Nita, clasping her hands with a force peculiar14 to her demonstrative nature, “how wonderful! How I do wish the Professor was here to tell us how and what it be.”
That evening the Professor, who had observed the phenomenon more than once, told them all he knew about it. There were differences of opinion, he said, as to the cause, for men of physical science, not less than doctors, were prone31 to differ. For himself, he had only noted32 the facts and knew not the cause. The luminous33 trees appeared only at that part of the ridge where the sun was just going to rise—elsewhere the trees were projected as dark objects, in the usual way, against the bright sky. Not only were the trees thus apparently34 self-luminous, but when birds chanced to be flying amongst them, they had the appearance of sparks of molten silver flitting to and fro. See Note 1.
“But you have not yet told me, ladies,” said Lewis, as they resumed their walk, “what has induced you to indulge in so early a ramble35 to-day?”
“Can you not imagine,” said Nita, “that it is the love of Nature?”
“Undoubtedly I can; but as this is the first time since we came that you have chosen to display a love for Nature before breakfast, I may be forgiven for supposing there is another and no doubt secondary cause.”
“You are right,” said Emma; “were you not present last night when we discussed our plans for to-day?”
“No, he was in the verandah,” interposed Nita, with an arch smile, “indulging that savage36 and unintellectual taste you call smoking.”
“Ah, Mademoiselle, be not too severe. It may not, indeed, be styled an intellectual pursuit, but neither, surely, can it be called savage, seeing that it softens37 and ameliorates the rugged38 spirit of man.”
“It is savage,” returned Nita, “because you do not encourage ladies to join you in it.”
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” cried Lewis, pulling out his cigar-case, “nothing would gratify me more than your acceptance of—”
“Insult me not, Monsieur,” said Nita, with a toss of her pretty little head, “but reply to your cousin’s question.”
“Ah, to be sure, well—let me see, what was it? Was I present when the plans for the day were arranged? Yes I was, but I missed the first part of the conversation, having been, as Mademoiselle Horetzki truly observes, occupied with that—a—”
“Savage habit,” interposed Nita.
“Savage habit,” said Lewis, “the savage element of which I am willing to do away with at a moment’s notice when desired. I merely heard that the professor had fixed39 to go on the glacier40 for the purpose of measuring it, as though it were a badly clad giant, and he a scientific tailor who had undertaken to make a top-coat for it. I also heard that you two had decided41 on a walk before breakfast, and, not caring to do tailoring on the ice, I begged leave to join you—therefore I am here.”
“Ah, you prefer woman’s society and safety to manly42 exercise and danger!” said Nita.
Although Lewis was, as we have said, by no means an effeminate youth, he was at that age when the male creature shrinks from the slightest imputation43 of a lack of manliness44. He coloured, therefore, as he laughingly replied that in his humble45 opinion his present walk involved the manly exercise of moral courage in withstanding shafts46 of sarcasm47, which were far more dangerous in his eyes than hidden crevasses48 or flying boulders51.
“But you both forget,” interposed Emma, “that I have not yet explained the object of our morning walk.”
“True, cousin, let us have it.”
“Well,” continued Emma, “when you were engages in your ‘savage’ indulgence, a difficulty stood in the way of the Professor’s plans, inasmuch as our guide Antoine had asked and obtained leave to absent himself a couple of days for the purpose of taking his wife and child over the country to pay a short visit to a relative in some valley, the name of which I forget. Antoine had said that he would be quite willing to give up his leave of absence if a messenger were sent to inform his wife of his change of plan, and to ask a certain Baptist Le Croix, who lives close beside her, to be her guide. As we two did not mean to join the ice-party, we at once offered to be the messengers. Hence our present expedition at so early an hour. After seeing Madame Antoine Grennon and having breakfast we mean to spend the day in sketching52.”
“May I join you in this after-portion of the day’s work?” asked Lewis. “I may not, indeed, claim to use the pencil with the facility of our friend Slingsby, but I am not altogether destitute54 of a little native talent in that way. I will promise to give you both as many cigars as you choose, and will submit my sketches55 to Mademoiselle’s criticism, which will be incurring56 extreme danger.”
“Well, you may come,” said Nita, with a condescending57 nod, “but pray fulfil the first part of your promise, give me the cigars.”
Lewis drew them out with alacrity60, and laughingly asked, “how many?”
“All of them; the case also.”
In some surprise the youth put the cigar-case into her hand, and she immediately flung it into a neighbouring pool.
“Ah, how cruel,” said Lewis, putting on a most forlorn look, while Emma gave vent62 to one of her subdued63 little explosions of laughter.
“What! is our society not enough for Monsieur?” asked Nita, in affected surprise.
“More than enough,” replied Lewis, with affected enthusiasm.
“Then you can be happy without your cigars,” returned Nita.
“Perfectly64 happy,” replied Lewis, taking a small case from his pocket, from which he extracted a neat little meerschaum pipe, and began to fill it with tobacco.
Again Emma had occasion to open the safety-valve of another little explosive laugh; but before anything further could be said, they came in sight of Antoine Grennon’s cottage.
It was prettily65 situated66 beneath a clump67 of pines. A small stream, spanned by a rustic68 bridge, danced past it. Under the shadow of the bridge they saw Madame engaged in washing linen69. She had a washing-tub, of course, but instead of putting the linen into this she put herself in it, after having made an island of it by placing it a few inches deep in the stream. Thus she could kneel and get at the water conveniently without wetting her knees or skirts. On a sloping slab70 of wood she manipulated the linen with such instrumentality as cold water, soap, a wooden mallet71 and a hard brush. Beside her, in a miniature tub, her little daughter conducted a miniature washing.
The three travellers, looking over the bridge, could witness the operation without being themselves observed.
“It is a lively process,” remarked Lewis, as Madame seized a mass of linen with great vigour72, and caused it to fall on the sloping plank73 with a sounding slap.
Madame was an exceedingly handsome and well-made woman, turned thirty, and much inclined to embonpoint. Her daughter was turned three, and still more inclined to the same condition. Their rounded, well-shaped, and muscular arms, acted very much in the same way, only Madame’s vigour was a good deal more intense and persistent—too much so, perhaps, for the fabrics74 with which she had to deal; but if the said fabrics possessed75 the smallest degree of consciousness, they could not have had the heart to complain of rough treatment from such neat though strong hands, while being smiled upon by such a pretty, though decisive countenance76.
“It is dreadfully rough treatment,” said Emma, whose domestic-economical spirit was rather shocked.
“Terrible!” exclaimed Nita, as Madame gripped another article of apparel and beat it with her mallet as though it had been the skull78 of her bitterest enemy, while soap-suds and water spurted79 from it as if they had been that enemy’s brains.
“And she washes, I believe, for our hotel,” said Emma, with a slightly troubled expression. Perhaps a thought of her work-box and buttons flashed across her mind at the moment.
“You are right,” said Lewis, with a pleased smile.
“I heard Antoine say to Gillie, the other day, that his wife washed a large portion of the hotel linen. No doubt some of ours is amongst it. Indeed I am sure of it,” he added, with a look of quiet gravity, as Madame Grennon seized another article, swished it through the water, caused it to resound80 on the plank, and scrubbed it powerfully with soap; “that a what’s-’is-name, belongs to me. I know it by the cut of its collar. Formerly81, I used to know it chiefly by its fair and fragile texture82. I shall know it hereafter as an amazing illustration of the truth of the proverb, that no one knows what he can stand till he is tried. The blows which she is at present delivering to it with her mallet, are fast driving all preconceived notions in regard to linen out of my head. Scrubbing it, as she does now, with a hard brush, against the asperities83 of the rough plank, and then twisting it up like a roly-poly prior to swishing it through the water a second time, would once have induced me to doubt the strength of delicate mother-of-pearl buttons and fine white thread. I shall doubt no longer.”
As he said so, Madame Grennon chanced to look up, and caught sight of the strangers. She rose at once, and, forsaking84 her tub, advanced to meet them, the curly-haired daughter following close at her heels, for, wherever her mother went she followed, and whatever her mother did she imitated.
The object of the visit was soon explained, and the good woman led the visitors into her hut where Baptist Le Croix chanced to be at the time.
There was something very striking in the appearance of this man. He was a tall fine-looking fellow, a little past the prime of life, but with a frame whose great muscular power was in no degree abated85. His face was grave, good-natured, and deeply sunburnt; but there was a peculiarly anxious look about the eyes, and a restless motion in them, as if he were constantly searching for something which he could not find.
He willingly undertook to conduct his friend’s wife and child to the residence of their relative.
On leaving the hut to return to Chamouni, Madame Grennon accompanied her visitors a short way, and Nita took occasion, while expressing admiration86 of Baptist’s appearance, to comment on his curiously87 anxious look.
“Ah! Mademoiselle,” said Madame, with a half sad look, “the poor man is taken up with a strange notion—some people call it a delusion—that gold is to be found somewhere here in the mountains.”
“Gold?” cried Nita, with such energy that her companions looked at her in surprise.
“Why, Nita,” exclaimed Emma, “your looks are almost as troubled and anxious as those of Le Croix himself.”
“How strange!” said Nita, musing88 and paying no attention to Emma’s remark. “Why does he think so?”
“Indeed, Mademoiselle, I cannot tell; but he seems quite sure of it, and spends nearly all his time in the mountains searching for gold, and hunting the chamois.”
They parted here, and for a time Lewis tried to rally Nita about what he styled her sympathy with the chamois-hunter, but Nita did not retort with her wonted sprightliness89; the flow of her spirits was obviously checked, and did not return during their walk back to the hotel.
While this little incident was enacting90 in the valley, events of a far different nature were taking place among the mountains, into the solitudes91 of which the Professor, accompanied by Captain Wopper, Lawrence, Slingsby, and Gillie, and led by Antoine, had penetrated92 for the purpose of ascertaining93 the motion of a huge precipice94 of ice.
“You are not a nervous man, I think,” said the Professor to Antoine as they plodded95 over the ice together.
“No, Monsieur, not very,” answered the guide, with a smile and a sly glance out of the corners of his eyes. Captain Wopper laughed aloud at the question, and Gillie grinned. Gillie’s countenance was frequently the residence of a broad grin. Nature had furnished him with a keen sense of the ludicrous, and a remarkably96 open countenance. Human beings are said to be blind to their own peculiarities97.
If Gillie had been an exception to this rule and if he could have, by some magical power, been enabled to stand aside and look at his own spider-like little frame, as others saw it, clad in blue tights and buttons, it is highly probable that he would have expired in laughing at himself.
“I ask the question,” continued the Professor, “because I mean to request your assistance in taking measurements in a somewhat dangerous place, namely, the ice-precipice of the Tacul.”
“It is well, Monsieur,” returned the guide, with another smile, “I am a little used to dangerous places.”
Gillie pulled his small hands out of the trouser-pockets in which he usually carried them, and rubbed them by way of expressing his gleeful feelings. Had the sentiment which predominated in his little mind been audibly expressed, it would probably have found vent in some such phrase as, “won’t there be fun, neither—oh dear no, not by no means.” To him the height of happiness was the practice of mischief98. Danger in his estimation meant an extremely delicious form of mischief.
“Is the place picturesque99 as well as dangerous?” asked Slingsby, with a wild look in his large eyes as he walked nearer to the Professor.
“It is; you will find many aspects of ice-formation well worthy100 of your pencil.”
It is due to the artist to say that his wildness that morning was not the result only of despair at the obvious indifference101 with which Nita regarded him. It was the combination of that wretched condition with a heroic resolve to forsake102 the coy maiden103 and return to his first love—his beloved art—that excited him; and the idea of renewing his devotion to her in dangerous circumstances was rather congenial to his savage state of mind. It may be here remarked that Mr Slingsby, besides being an enthusiastic painter, was an original genius in a variety of ways. Among other qualities he possessed an inventive mind, and, besides having had an ice-axe105 made after a pattern of his own,—which was entirely106 new and nearly useless,—he had designed a new style of belt with a powerful rope having a hook attached to it, with which he proposed, and actually managed, to clamber up and down difficult places, and thus attain107 points of vantage for sketching. Several times had he been rescued by guides from positions of extreme peril108, but his daring and altogether unteachable spirit had thrown him again and again into new conditions of danger. He was armed with his formidable belt and rope on the present excursion, and his aspect was such that his friends felt rather uneasy about him, and would not have been surprised if he had put the belt round his neck instead of his waist, and attempted to hang himself.
“Do you expect to complete your measurements to-day?” asked Lawrence, who accompanied the Professor as his assistant.
“Oh no. That were impossible. I can merely fix my stakes to-day and leave them. To-morrow or next day I will return to observe the result.”
The eastern side of the Glacier du Géant, near the Tacul, at which they soon arrived, showed an almost perpendicular109 precipice about 140 feet high. As they collected in a group in front of that mighty110 pale-blue wall, the danger to which the Professor had alluded111 became apparent, even to the most inexperienced eye among them. High on the summit of the precipice, where its edge cut sharply against the blue sky, could be seen the black boulders and débris of the lateral112 moraine of the glacier. The day was unusually warm, and the ice melted so rapidly that parts of this moraine were being sent down in frequent avalanches113. The rustle114 of débris was almost incessant115, and, ever and anon, the rustle rose into a roar as great boulders bounded over the edge, and, after dashing portions of the ice-cliffs into atoms, went smoking down into the chaos116 below. It was just beyond this chaos that the party stood.
“Now, Antoine,” said the Professor, “I want you to go to the foot of that precipice and fix a stake in the ice there.”
“Well, Monsieur, it shall be done,” returned the guide, divesting117 himself of his knapsack and shouldering his axe and a stake.
“Meanwhile,” continued the Professor, “I will watch the falling débris to warn you of danger in time, and the direction in which you must run to avoid it. My friend Lawrence, with the aid of Captain Wopper, will fix the theodolite on yonder rocky knoll118 to our left.”
“Nothin’ for you an’ me to do,” said Gillie to the artist; “p’r’aps we’d better go and draw—eh?”
Slingsby looked at the blue spider before him with an amused smile, and agreed that his suggestion was not a bad one, so they went off together.
While Antoine was proceeding119 to the foot of the ice-cliffs on his dangerous mission, the Professor observed that the first direction of a falling stone’s bound was no sure index of its subsequent motion, as it was sent hither and thither120 by the obstructions121 with which it met. He therefore recalled the guide.
“It won’t do, Antoine, the danger is too great.”
“But, Monsieur, if it is necessary—”
“But it is not necessary that you should risk your life in the pursuit of knowledge. Besides, I must have a stake fixed half-way up the face of that precipice.”
“Ah, Monsieur,” said Antoine, with an incredulous smile, “that is not possible!”
To this the Professor made no reply, but ordered his guide to make a détour and ascend123 to the upper edge of the ice-precipice for the purpose of dislodging the larger and more dangerous blocks of stone there, and, after that, to plant a stake on the summit.
This operation was not quickly performed. Antoine had to make a long détour to get on the glacier, and when he did reach the moraine on the top, he found that many of the most dangerous blocks lay beyond the reach of his axe. However, he sent the smaller débris in copious124 showers down the precipice, and by cleverly rolling some comparatively small boulders down upon those larger ones which lay out of reach, he succeeded in dislodging many of them. This accomplished125, he proceeded to fix the stake on the upper surface of the glacier.
While he was thus occupied, the Professor assisted Lawrence in fixing the theodolite, and then, leaving him, went to a neighbouring heap of débris followed by the Captain, whom he stationed there.
“I want you,” he said, “to keep a good look-out and warn me as to which way I must run to avoid falling rocks. Antoine has dislodged many of them, but some he cannot reach. These enemies must be watched.”
So saying, the Professor placed a stake and an auger126 against his breast, buttoned his coat over them, and shouldered his axe.
“You don’t mean to say that you’re agoing to go under that cliff?” exclaimed the Captain, in great surprise, laying his hand on the Professor’s arm and detaining him.
“My friend,” returned the man of science, “do not detain me. Time is precious just now. You have placed yourself under my orders for the day, and, being a seaman127, must understand the value of prompt obedience128. Do as I bid you.”
He turned and went off at a swinging pace towards the foot of the ice-cliff, while the Captain, in a state of anxiety, amounting almost to consternation129, sat down on a boulder50, took off his hat, wiped his heated brow, pronounced the Professor as mad as a March hare, and prepared to discharge his duties as “the look-out.”
Although cool as a cucumber in all circumstances at sea, where he knew every danger and how to meet or avoid it, the worthy Captain now almost lost self-control and became intensely agitated130 and anxious, insomuch that he gave frequent and hurried false alarms, which he no less hurriedly attempted to correct, sometimes in nautical131 terms, much to the confusion of the Professor.
“Hallo! hi! look out—starboard—sta–a–arboard!” he shouted wildly, on beholding132 a rock about the size of a chest of drawers spring from the heights above and rush downward, with a smoke of ice-dust and débris following, “quick! there! no! port! Port! I say it’s—”
Before he could finish the sentence, the mass had fallen a long way to the right of the Professor, and lay quiet on the ice not far from where the Captain stood.
In spite of the interruptions thus caused, the lower stake was fixed in a few minutes. The Professor then swung his axe vigorously, and began to cut an oblique133 stair-case in the ice up the sheer face of the precipice.
In some respects the danger to the bold adventurer was now not so great because, being, as it were, flat against the ice-cliffs, falling rocks were more likely, by striking some projection134, to bound beyond him. Still there was the danger of deflected135 shots, and when, by cutting a succession of notches136 in which to place one foot at a time, he had ascended137 to the height of an average three-storey house, the danger of losing his balance or slipping a foot became very great indeed. But the man of science persevered138 in doing what he conceived to be his duty with as much coolness as if he were the leader of a forlorn hope. Following the example of experienced ice-men on steep places, he took good care to make the notches or steps slope a little inwards, never lifted his foot from one step until the next was ready, and never swung his axe until his balance was perfectly secured. Having gained a height of about thirty feet, he pierced a hole with his auger, fastened a stake in it, and descended139 amid a heavy cannonade of boulders and a smart fire of smaller débris.
During the whole proceeding Lawrence directed his friend as to the placing of the stake, and watched with surprise as well as anxiety, while Captain Wopper kept on shouting unintelligible140 words of warning in a state of extreme agitation141. The guide returned just in time to see this part of the work completed, and to remonstrate142 gravely with the Professor on his reckless conduct.
“‘All’s well that ends well,’ Antoine, as a great poet says,” replied the Professor, with one of his most genial104 smiles. “We must run some risk in the pursuit of scientific investigation143. Now then, Lawrence, I hope you have got the three stakes in the same line—let me see.”
Applying his eye to the theodolite, he found that the stakes were in an exactly perpendicular line, one above another. He then carefully marked the spot occupied by the instrument and thus completed his labours for that time.
We may add here in passing that next day he returned to the same place, and found that in twenty-four hours the bottom stake had moved downwards144 a little more than two inches, the middle stake had descended a little more than three, and the upper stake exactly six inches. Thus he was enabled to corroborate145 the fact which had been ascertained146 by other men of science before him, that glacier-motion is more rapid at the top than at the bottom, where the friction147 against its bed tends to hinder its advance, and that the rate of flow increases gradually from the bottom upwards148.
While these points of interest were being established, our artist was not less earnestly engaged in prosecuting149 his own peculiar work, to the intense interest of Gillie, who, although he had seen and admired many a picture in the London shop-windows, had never before witnessed the actual process by which such things are created.
Wandering away on the glacier among some fantastically formed and towering blocks or obelisks151 of ice, Mr Slingsby expressed to Gillie his admiration of their picturesque shapes and delicate blue colour, in language which his small companion did not clearly understand, but which he highly approved of notwithstanding.
“I think this one is worth painting,” cried Slingsby, pausing and throwing himself into an observant attitude before a natural arch, from the roof of which depended some large icicles; “it is extremely picturesque.”
“I think,” said Gillie, with earnest gravity, “that yonder’s one as is more picturesker.”
He had carefully watched the artist’s various observant attitudes, and now threw himself into one of these as he pointed5 to a sloping obelisk150, the size of an average church-steeple, which bore some resemblance to the leaning-tower of Pisa.
“You are right, boy; that is a better mass. Come, let us go paint it.”
While walking towards it, Gillie asked how such wild masses came to be made.
“I am told by the Professor,” said Slingsby, “that when the ice cracks across, and afterwards lengthwise, the square blocks thus formed get detached as they descend58 the valley, and assume these fantastic forms.”
“Ah! jis so. They descends152 the walley, does they?”
“So it is said.”
Gillie made no reply, though he said in his heart, “you won’t git me to swaller that, by no manner of means.” His unbelief was, however, rebuked153 by the leaning-tower of Pisa giving a terrible rend154 at that moment, and slowly bending forward. It was an alarming as well as grand sight, for they were pretty near to it. Some smaller blocks of ice that lay below prevented the tower from being broken in its fall. These were crushed to powder by it, and then, as if they formed a convenient carriage for it, the mighty mass slid slowly down the slope for a few feet. It was checked for a moment by another block, which, however, gave way before the great pressure, fell aside and let it pass. The slope was slight at the spot so that the obelisk moved slowly, and once or twice seemed on the point of stopping, but as if it had become endowed with life, it made a sudden thrust, squeezed two or three obstacles flat, turned others aside, and thus wound its way among its fellows with a low groaning156 sound like some sluggish157 monster of the antediluvian158 world. Reaching a steeper part of the glacier, on the ridge of which it hung for a moment, as if unwilling to exert itself, it seemed to awake to the reality of its position. Making a lively rush, that seemed tremendously inconsistent with its weight, it shot over the edge of a yawning crevasse49, burst with a thunderclap on the opposite ice-cliff, and went roaring into the dark bowels159 of the glacier, whence the echoes of its tumbling masses, subdued by distance, came up like the mutterings of evil spirits.
Gillie viewed this wondrous160 spectacle with an awe-stricken heart, and then vented155 his feelings in a prolonged yell of ecstasy161.
“Ain’t it splendid, sir?” he cried, turning his glowing eyes on Slingsby.
“Majestic!” exclaimed the artist, whose enthusiasm was equal to that of his companion, though not quite so demonstrative.
“Raither spoiled your drawin’, though, ain’t it, sir?”
“Yonder is something quite as good, if not better,” said Slingsby.
He pointed, as he spoke162, to a part of the crevasse higher up on the glacier, where a projecting cave of snow overhung the abyss. From the under-surface of this a number of gigantic icicles hung, the lower points of the longer ones almost lost in the blue depths. A good position from which to sketch53 it, however, was not easily reached, and it was only by getting close to the edge of the crevasse that the persevering163 artist at length attained164 his object. Here he sat down on his top-coat, folded several times to guard him from the cold ice, spread out his colour-box and sketching-block, and otherwise made himself comfortable, while Gillie sat down beside him on his own cap, for want of a better protector.
Had these two enthusiasts165 known the nature of their position, they would have retired166 from it precipitately167 with horror, for, ignorant of almost everything connected with glaciers168, they had walked right off the solid ice and seated themselves on a comparatively thin projecting ledge122 of snow which overhung the crevasse. Thus they remained for some time enjoying themselves, with death, as it were, waiting for them underneath169! What rendered their position more critical was the great heat of the day, which, whatever might be the strength of the sustaining ledge, was reducing its bulk continually.
After having sketched170 for some time, the artist thought it advisable to see as far down into the crevasse as possible, in order to put in the point of the longest icicle. The better to do this, he unwound his rope from his waist and flung it on the ice by his side, while he lay down on his breast and looked over the edge. Still he did not perceive the danger of his position, and went on sketching diligently171 in this awkward attitude.
Now it was a melancholy172 fact that Master Gillie’s interest in art or science was short-lived, though keen. He soon tired of watching his companion, and began to look about him with a view to mischief. Not seeing anything specially173 suggestive, he thought of aiding the operations of nature by expediting the descent of some neighbouring boulders from their positions on ice-blocks. He intimated his intention to Slingsby, but the artist was too much engrossed174 to give heed175 to him. Just as he was rising, Gillie’s eye fell on the rope, and a happy thought struck him. To carry striking thoughts into immediate61 execution was a marked feature of the boy’s character. He observed that one end of the rope was attached to Mr Slingsby’s belt. Taking up the hook at the other end, he went with it towards a large boulder, drawing the rope after him with extreme care, for fear of arousing his companion by a tug176. He found that, when fully77 stretched, it was just long enough to pass round the rock. Quickly fastening it, therefore, by means of the hook, he walked quietly away.
He did not exhibit much excitement while doing this. It was, after all, but a trifling177 jest in his esteem178, as the only result to be hoped for would be the giving of a surprise by the little tug which might perhaps be experienced by the artist on rising.
Thereafter, Gillie sent innumerable ice-blocks to premature179 destruction, and enjoyed the work immensely for a time, but, having exploratory tendencies, he soon wandered about among obelisks and caverns180 until he found himself underneath the ice-cliff on which his friend was seated. Then, as he looked up at the overhanging ledge from which gigantic icicles were hanging, a shock of alarm thrilled his little breast. This was increased by the falling of one of the icicles, which went like a blue javelin181 into the crevasse beside him. Gillie thought of shouting to warn Mr Slingsby of his danger, but before he could do so he was startled by an appalling182 yell. At the same moment part of the ice overhead gave way, and he beheld183 the artist descending59. He was stopped with a sudden jerk, as the rope tightened184, and remained suspended in the air, while his coat and colour-box accompanied icicles and snow-blocks into the abyss below. A second later and the struggling artist’s head appeared to fall off, but it was only his hat.
Gillie had by this time recovered himself so far as to be able to add his piercing shrieks185 for help to the cries of the artist, and well was it that day for Mr Slingsby that Gillie had, since the years of infancy186, practised his lungs to some purpose in terrifying cats and defying “Bobbies” in the streets of London.
“Oh, sir! sir!—I say—hi!” he cried, panting and glaring up.
“Eh? what? Hah!” gasped187 Slingsby, panting and glaring down.
“Don’t kick like that sir; pray don’t,” cried Gillie in agonised tones, “you’ll start the boulder wot yer fast to, if you don’t keep still.”
“Oh!” groaned188 the artist and instantly hung limp and motionless, in which condition he remained while Gillie ran towards the place where he had left the rest of the party, jumping and slipping and falling and yelling over the ice like a maniac189 in blue and buttons!
“D’ee hear that?” exclaimed Captain Wopper with a startled look, as he and his companions busied themselves packing up their instruments.
Antoine Grennon heard it but made no reply. He was familiar with cries of alarm. Turning abruptly190 he dashed off at full speed in the direction whence the cries came. The Captain and Professor instantly followed; Lawrence overtook and passed them. In a few minutes they met the terrified boy, who, instead of waiting for them and wasting time by telling what was wrong, turned sharp round, gave one wild wave of his hand, and ran straight back to the ledge from which poor Slingsby hung. Stout12 willing arms were soon pulling cautiously on the rope, and in a few minutes more the artist lay upon the safe ice, almost speechless from terror, and with a deadly pallor on his brow.
Strange to say the indomitable artist had held on tight to his sketch-book, possibly because it was almost as dear to him as life, but more probably because of that feeling which induces a drowning man to clutch at a straw.
Note 1. We ourselves had the satisfaction of witnessing this wonderful and beautiful phenomenon before having read or heard of it, while on a trip from Chamouni to Martigny over the Tête Noire.
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1
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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6
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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8
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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10
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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outrageously
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| 凶残地； 肆无忌惮地； 令人不能容忍地； 不寻常地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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16
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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17
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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18
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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19
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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20
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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21
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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22
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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23
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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24
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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26
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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30
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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31
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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34
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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35
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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36
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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37
softens
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| （使）变软( soften的第三人称单数 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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38
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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39
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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40
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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41
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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42
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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43
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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44
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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45
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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46
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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47
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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48
crevasses
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| n.破口，崩溃处，裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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49
crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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50
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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52
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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53
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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54
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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55
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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56
incurring
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| 遭受，招致，引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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57
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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58
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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59
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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60
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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61
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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62
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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63
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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64
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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65
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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66
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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67
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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68
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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69
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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70
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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71
mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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72
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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73
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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74
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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75
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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76
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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77
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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78
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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79
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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80
resound
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| v.回响 | |
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81
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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82
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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83
asperities
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| n.粗暴( asperity的名词复数 )；（表面的）粗糙；（环境的）艰苦；严寒的天气 | |
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84
forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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85
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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86
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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87
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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88
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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89
sprightliness
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| n.愉快，快活 | |
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90
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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91
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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92
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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93
ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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94
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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95
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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96
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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98
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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99
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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100
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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101
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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102
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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103
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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104
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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105
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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106
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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107
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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108
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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109
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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110
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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113
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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114
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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115
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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116
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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117
divesting
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| v.剥夺( divest的现在分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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118
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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119
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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120
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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121
obstructions
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| n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 )；阻碍物；阻碍；阻挠 | |
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122
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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123
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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124
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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125
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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126
auger
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| n.螺丝钻，钻孔机 | |
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127
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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128
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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129
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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130
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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131
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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133
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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135
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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136
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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137
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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140
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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141
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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142
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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143
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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144
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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145
corroborate
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| v.支持，证实，确定 | |
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146
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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148
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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150
obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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151
obelisks
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| n.方尖石塔，短剑号，疑问记号( obelisk的名词复数 ) | |
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descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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157
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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158
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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159
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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161
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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162
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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163
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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164
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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165
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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166
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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168
glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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169
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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170
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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171
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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172
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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173
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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174
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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175
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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176
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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177
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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178
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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179
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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180
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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181
javelin
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| n.标枪，投枪 | |
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182
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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183
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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184
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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185
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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186
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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187
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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188
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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189
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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190
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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