Mont Blanc.
After making the ascent of Montanvert, and learning something of the wonders of the Mer de Glace, we again sallied forth upon a tour of discovery in the immediate neighborhood of La Prieuré.
With Mont Blanc before me and hardly conscious that I was alone, I pursued my walk, continuing to ascend till my path was obstructed by a mass of fallen snow. Fascinated with the idea of a better view, I determined to find a way around it, I climbed higher and higher, now stopping to admire the interior domes and spires and pyramids that cluster in this wondrous region, then fancying myself in a vast cathedral more grand and magnificent than I had ever before seen. The summit of Mont Blanc seemed to have greatly increased since I began to ascend, and this, and not looking behind me, rendered me wholly unconscious of the progress I made.
At length, from the slippery condition of the path and the frequent use that I was obliged to make of the pole with which I had been furnished, I became conscious that I had advanced far beyond what I had at first purposed. Looking back, I could see nothing of the valley; night was coming on, and the winds sweeping over the snowy heights made me shiver; at the same time they threatened to hurl me over the precipice. Go on I could not; to retrace my steps seemed equally impossible; planting my pole with its long spike deep in the ice, I attempted to keep my footing. Sending my eyes in every direction, and hoping that the guides had missed me and followed in the track, I perceived an immense mass of ice, one of the very turrets that I had so greatly admired, trembling and just ready to fall. Before I had time to think, it slipped and fell with a thundering sound, rolling and dashing like a huge cataract of liquid silver, glittering in the sunbeams, and spent itself on the surface below over which it spread. Its roar, like that of thunder, reverberated from peak to peak, and many seconds elapsed before it completely died away.
My situation was perilous. Of the extent of the glacier I could not determine. In following after me, my companions might have been buried underneath its fall; or the guides might think that there was no possibility of my escape, and thus give up the attempt to rescue me. All this and more passed through my mind. What if I should never reach my home, should never look into the faces of those I love! One quiet look upward, and peace filled my heart. God was above me, and around me; this terrible solitude spoke of his majesty, his might, his power. These mountains were in my Redeemer's hands. His eye was upon me, and I was safe.
The sun fell behind the western mountains, but his splendors deepening as they died away, were succeeded by the softer beams of the moon that rose full orbed above the lofty horizon. At first their mild effulgence was only seen on the hoary head of the monarch of the Alps: but as I gazed, summit after summit caught the silvery lustre, till all above and below me was enveloped in the same glorious light.
Chateaubriand says that mountain elevations are no place for contemplation; and certainly, surrounded by great dangers, it may seem incredible that I indulged in it. Still, I cannot but attribute my safety to this very state of mind—looking away from myself, holding fast to my pike-staff, and rising spontaneously to the adoration of that Being who commanded these mighty masses to take their form and place. Every object seemed in silent but impressive eloquence to celebrate His praise. The moon, with her attendant stars, the spotless dome of Mont Blanc, the glittering glaciers and the roaring torrents all seemed endowed with a voice to touch the heart of man, and to assure him of a hearing from God.
The moon was rising higher: forced to keep one position, I was growing stiff and weary, the wind chilled me, and there were ringing noises in my ears: the enthusiasm that had sustained me grew less. Would they ever find me? Glancing downward, I tried to discover lights. In listening I grew numb, the mountains began to reel around me, the moon and the stars danced before me, my senses began to wander. Should I attempt to go forward? Would it not be better to throw myself down? Once more I looked over the precipice, and just then a horn rang out far below; then a voice apparently nearer. I tried to answer, but no sound came; I tried to move, but was fast. The next I remember, a guide was rubbing my breast with his rough hands; while another forced open my mouth and poured something from a flask. How we got down, I never knew. But the next day as Dr. Kemper told me of the excitement of the guides as soon as my absence became known to them, and the fall of the glacier, of the fear that I was buried beneath it, and of my state when found, I could only adore still more His goodness that had preserved me, while a still firmer purpose thrilled my being to live for Him.
A prisoner in my room, Dr. Kemper told me the manner in which Saussure made the ascent. A party of guides going up from Chamouni, one of them by some means was far ahead of the others, when suddenly darkness enveloped him. Cut off from his companions, he was obliged to pass the night at the immense elevation of twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea. Chilled, but not overcome, he had strength sufficient in the morning to reconnoitre, and thereby found an access to the mountain-top comparatively easy. On reaching Chamouni, he was seized with severe illness, and in return for the kind care of his physician, he told the doctor of the path he had discovered, and that if he felt a desire to be the first man to stand upon the summit of Mont Blanc, he would lead him to it. The doctor readily accepted, and on the seventh of August, 1786, they began the ascent. Twice the physician, overcome by fatigue and cold, turned his back upon the goal; but the guide, more accustomed to hardships, urged him on, and at length he was privileged to set his foot upon the loftiest elevation in Europe, a triumph never before enjoyed by man.