The Grand Ascent Begun.
Mrs Stoutley, reposing at full length on a sofa in the salon one evening, observed to the Count Horetzki that she really could not understand it at all; that it seemed to her a tempting of Providence to risk one’s life for nothing, and that upon the whole she thought these excursions on glaciers were very useless and foolish.
The salon was full of people grouped in little knots, fighting the battles of the day o’er again, playing backgammon and chess, or poring over maps and guide-books.
“It does indeed seem foolish,” answered the Count whose native politeness induced him always to agree with ladies when possible, “and as far as any practical purpose is served I should think it useless. Nevertheless it seems to afford amusement to many people, and amusement, in some form or other, would appear to be almost necessary to our happy existence.”
“True,” replied Mrs Stoutley, languidly, “but people ought to content themselves with quiet and safe amusements. How ridiculous it is to find pleasure in climbing ice-precipices, and leaping over crevasses, and sitting under shower-baths of boulder-stones. I’m sure that I could not find pleasure in such pranks even if I were to make the effort. How much better to seek and find enjoyment in wandering with a book through shady forests and gathering wild-flowers! Don’t you agree with me, Count?”
The Count’s usually grave and anxious visage relaxed into a smile as he protested that he agreed with her entirely. “At the same time,” he added, “there does appear to be some sort of aspiring tendency in the young and strong, to attempt the repression of which would seem to be useless, even if desirable. Do you know, Madame, while on a voyage some years ago I saw a boy who used to dive off the fore-yard-arm into the sea, and who went regularly every morning before breakfast to the main-mast-head and sat on that button-like piece of wood called the truck?”
“How very reckless,” said Mrs Stoutley, “and how shamefully regardless of the feelings of his mother, for of course if he had a mother, and if she were a woman of right feeling, she must have been horrified!”
“I am afraid, Madame, that you would have esteemed her a lady of wrong feeling, for she applauded her boy, and used to say that if he only took care to acquire as much moral as he had physical courage, so as to become as brave and bold a soldier of the Cross as he was sure to be of the Crown, he would resemble his own father, who was the best and bravest man that ever lived.”
“How strange!” murmured Mrs Stoutley, “such inconsistencies! But there does seem to be a considerable number of masculine women in the world, who encourage what we call muscular Christianity.”
“Yes, there are indeed strange inconsistencies around us,” returned the Count. “You have, however, mistaken the character of this particular mother, for she was the reverse of masculine, being delicate, and tender-hearted, and refined, and ladylike, while her boy was bold as a lion—yet obedient and gentle to her as a lamb. He afterwards became a soldier, and on the occasion of a wild storm on the east coast of England he swam off to a wreck with a rope, when no man in the place could be got to do it for love or money, and was the means of rescuing four women and six men, in accomplishing which, however, he lost his life.”