The wonders of the world

by John Loraine Abbott

Early next morning they traversed the glacier of La Cote, to gain the foot of a small chain of rocks, inclosed in the snows of Mont Blanc. The glacier is both difficult and dangerous, being intersected by wide, deep, irregular chasms, which frequently can be passed only by three bridges of snow, which are suspended over the abyss. After reaching the ridge of rocks, the track winds along a hollow, or valley, filled with snow, which extends north and south to the foot of the highest summit, and is divided at intervals by enormous crevices. These show the snow to be disposed in horizontal beds, each of which answers to a year, and notwithstanding the width of the fissures, the depth can in no part be measured. At four in the afternoon, the party reached the second of the three great platforms of snow they had to traverse, and here they encamped, at the hight of nine thousand, three hundred and twelve feet above the Priory, or twelve thousand, seven hundred and sixty-eight feet (nearly two miles and a half) above the level of the sea.

From the center of this platform, inclosed between the farthest summit of Mont Blanc on the south, its high steps, or terraces, on the east, and the Dome de Goute on the west, nothing but snow appears. It is quite pure, of a dazzling whiteness, and on the high summits presents a singular contrast with the sky, which in these elevated regions is almost black. Here no living being is to be seen; no appearance of vegetation: it is the abode of cold and silence. “When,” observes M. de Saussure, “I represent to myself Dr. Paccard and James Balma first arriving, on the decline of day, in these deserts, without shelter, without assistance, and even without the certainty that men could live in the places which they proposed to reach, and still pursuing their career with unshaken intrepidity, it seems impossible to admire too much their strength of mind and their courage.”

The company departed, at seven the next morning, to traverse the third and last platform, the slope of which is extremely steep, being in some places thirty-nine degrees. It terminates in precipices on all sides; and the surface of the snow was so hard, that those who went foremost were obliged to cut places for the feet with hatchets. The last slope of all presents no danger; but the air possesses so high a degree of rarity, that the strength is speedily exhausted, and on approaching the summit it was found necessary to stop at every fifteen or sixteen paces to take breath. At eleven they reached the top of the mountain, where they continued four hours and a half, during which time M. de Saussure enjoyed, with rapture and astonishment, a view the most extensive as well as the most rugged and sublime in nature, and made those observations which have rendered this expedition important to philosophy.

A light vapor, suspended in the lower regions of the air, concealed from the sight the lowest and most remote objects, such as the plains of France and Lombardy; but the whole surrounding assemblage of high summits appeared with the greatest distinctness.

M. de Saussure descended with his party, and the next morning reached Chamouny, without the smallest accident. As they had taken the precaution to wear vails of crape, their faces were not excoriated, nor their sight debilitated. The cold was not found to be so extremely piercing as it was described by Dr. Paccard. By experiments made with the hygrometer, on the summit of the mountain, the air was found to contain a sixth portion only of the humidity of that of Geneva; and to this dryness of the air, M. de Saussure imputes the burning thirst which he and his companions experienced. The balls of the electrometer diverged three lines only, and the electricity was positive. At times the air seems filled with electricity. A recent traveler (1854) says, that, in the night, his guide having come out from the cabin of the Grand Mulets, saw the ridges of the mountain apparently all on fire. He immediately communicated what he had observed to his companions, who all rushed to assure themselves of the fact, and then they saw that through the electricity generated by the tempest, all the rocks of the Grand Mulets were illuminated. They found the same phenomenon on their own persons. When they raised their arms, their fingers became phosphorescent. M. de Saussure found it required half an hour to make water boil, while at Geneva fifteen or sixteen minutes sufficed, and twelve or thirteen at the seaside. None of his party discovered the smallest difference in the taste or smell of bread, wine, meat, fruits or liquors, as some travelers have pretended is the case at great hights; but sounds were of course much weakened, from the want of objects of reflection. Of all the organs, that of respiration was most affected, the pulse of one of the guides beating ninety-eight times in a minute, that of the servant one hundred and twelve, and that of M. de Saussure one hundred and one; while at Chamouny, the pulsations respectively were forty-nine, sixty, and seventy-two. A few days afterward, Mr. Beaufoy, an English gentleman, succeeded in a similar attempt, although it was attended with greater difficulty, arising from enlargements in the chasms in the ice.

A late traveler, wandering amid the same sublime scenery that has been described, says:

“Mont Blanc is clearly visible from Geneva, perhaps once in the week, or about sixty times in the year. When he is visible, a walk to the junction of the Arve and the Rhone, either by the way of the plains on the Genevan side, or by the hights on the side toward the south of France, affords a wonderful combination of sublimity and beauty on the earth and in the heavens. Those snowy mountain ranges, so white, so pure, so dazzling in the clear azure depths, do really look as if they belonged to another world; as if, like the faces of supernatural intelligences, they were looking sadly and steadfastly on our world, to speak to us of theirs. Some of these mountain peaks of snow you can see only through the perspective of other mountains, nearer to you, and covered with verdure, which makes the snowy pyramids appear so distant, so sharply defined, so high up, so glorious; it is indeed like the voice of great truths stirring the soul. As your eye follows the range, they lie in such glittering masses against the horizon, in such grand repose; they shoot into the sky in bright weather in such infinite clearness, so pure, so flashing; that they seem never to lose the charm of a sudden and startling revelation to the mind. Are they not sublime images of the great truths of God’s own word, that sometimes indeed are vailed with clouds, but in fair weather do carry us, as in a chariot of fire and with horses of fire, into eternity, into the presence of God? The atmosphere of our hearts is so misty and stormy, that we do not see them more than sixty times a year in their glory: if every Sabbath-day we get a view of them without clouds, we do well; but when we see them as they are, then we feel their power, then we are rapt by them from earth, away, away, away, into the depths of heaven!

“In some circumstances, when we are climbing the mountains, even the mists that hang around them do add to the glory of the view; as in the rising sun, when they are so penetrated with brightness, that they softly rise over the crags as a robe of misty light, or seem like the motion of sweet Nature breathing into the atmosphere from her morning altars the incense of praise. And in the setting sun how often do they hang around the precipices, glowing with the golden and crimson hues of the west, and preventing us from clearly defining the forms of the mountains, only to make them more lovely to our view. So it is sometimes with the very clouds around God’s word, and the lights and shades upon it. There is an inscrutability of truth which sometimes increases its power, while we wait with solemn reverence for the hour when it shall be fully revealed to us; and our faith, like the setting sun, may clothe celestial mysteries with a soft and rosy-colored light, which makes them more suitable to our present existence, than if we saw them in the clear and cloudless atmosphere of a spiritual noon.

“You have a fine point for viewing Mont Blanc, without going out of the city, from the ramparts on the west side of Rousseau’s island. Here a brazen indicator is erected, with the names of the different mountain summits and ridges, so that by taking sight across the index, you can distinguish them at once. You will not mistake Mont Blanc, if you see him; but until you get accustomed to the panorama, you may easily mistake one of his court for the king, when the monarch himself is not visible.

“A still better point of view you will have at Coppet, ascending toward the Jura. In proportion as you rise from the borders of the lake, every part of the landscape becomes more beautiful, though what you wish to gain is the most commanding view of the mountains, every other object being secondary. In a bright day, nothing can be more clearly and distinctly defined than Mont Blanc, with his attendant mighty ranges, cut in dazzling snowy brightness against the clear blue sky. The sight of those glorious glittering fields and mountains of ice and snow, produces immediately a longing to be there among them. They make an impression upon the soul, of something supernatural, almost divine. Although the whole scene lying before you is so beautiful, (the lake, the verdant banks, the trees, and the lower ranges of verdure-covered mountains, constituting in themselves alone one of the loveliest pictures in the world,) yet the snowy ranges of Mont Blanc are the grand feature. Those glittering distant peaks are the only thing in the scene that takes a powerful hold upon the soul; but they do quite possess it, and tyrannize over it, with an ecstatic thralldom. One is never wearied with gazing and wondering at the glory. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help!