But there was nothing little about the view from the Mont Dolent. [Situated at the junction of three mountain-ridges, it rises in a positive steeple far above anything in its immediate neighborhood, and certain gaps in the surrounding ridges, which seem contrived for that especial purpose, extend the view in almost every direction. The precipices which descend to the Glacier d’Argentiere I can only compare to those of the Jungfrau, and the ridges on both sides of that glacier, especially the steep rocks of Les Droites and Les Courtes, surmounted by the sharp snow-peak of the Aiguille Verte, have almost the effect of the Grandes Jorasses. Then, framed as it were between the massive tower of the Aiguille de Triolet and the more distant Jorasses, lies, without exception, the most delicately beautiful picture I have ever seen—the whole massif of Mont Blanc, raising its great head of snow far above the tangled series of flying buttresses which uphold the Monts Maudits, supported on the left by Mont Peuteret and by the mass of ragged aiguilles which overhangs the Brenva. This aspect of Mont Blanc is not new, but from this point its pose is unrivaled, and it has all the superiority of a picture grouped by the hand of a master…The view is as extensive as, and far more lovely than, that from Mont Blanc itself.][[26]]
[26] The bracketed paragraphs in this chapter are extracted from the notes of Mr. Reilly.
We went down to Cormayeur, and on the afternoon of July 10 started from that place to camp on Mont Sue, for the ascent of the Aiguille de Trélatête, hopeful that the mists which were hanging about would clear away. They did not, so we deposited ourselves and a vast load of straw on the moraine of the Miage Glacier, just above the Lac de Combal, in a charming little hole which some solitary shepherd had excavated beneath a great slab of rock. We spent the night there and the whole of the next day, unwilling to run away, and equally so to get into difficulties by venturing into the mist. It was a dull time, and I grew restless. Reilly read to me a lecture on the excellence of patience, and composed himself in an easy attitude to pore over the pages of a yellow-covered book. “Patience,” I said to him viciously, “comes very easy to fellows who have shilling novels, but I have not got one. I have picked all the mud out of the nails of my boots, and have skinned my face: what shall I do?” “Go and study the moraine of the Miage,” said he. I went, and came back after an hour. “What news?” cried Reilly, raising himself on his elbow. “Very little: it’s a big moraine, bigger than I thought, with ridge outside ridge, like a fortified camp; and there are walls upon it which have been built and loopholed, as if for defence.” “Try again,” he said as he threw himself on his back. But I went to Croz, who was asleep, and tickled his nose with a straw until he awoke; and then, as that amusement was played out, watched Reilly, who was getting numbed, and shifted uneasily from side to side, and threw himself on his stomach, and rested his head on his elbows, and lighted his pipe and puffed at it savagely. When I looked again, how was Reilly? An indistinguishable heap—arms, legs, head, stones and straw, all mixed together, his hat flung on one side, his novel tossed far away! Then I went to him and read him a lecture on the excellence of patience.
Bah! it was a dull time. Our mountain, like a beautiful coquette, some times unveiled herself for a moment and looked charming above, although very mysterious below. It was not until eventide she allowed us to approach her: then, as darkness came on, the curtains were withdrawn, the light drapery was lifted, and we stole up on tiptoe through the grand portal framed by Mont Suc. But night advanced rapidly, and we found ourselves left out in the cold, without a hole to creep into or shelter from overhanging rock. We might have fared badly except for our good plaids. But when they were sewn together down their long edges, and one end tossed over our rope (which was passed round some rocks), and the other secured by stones, there was sufficient protection; and we slept on this exposed ridge, ninety-seven hundred feet above the level of the sea, more soundly perhaps than if we had been lying on feather beds.