THUNDERSTORM BREAKING OVER PALLANZA
Sketch made out of window. Dust of the streets swept before it in clouds.
I look back with special pleasure to several days of wandering over a series of snow passes, which had never been traversed before by any member of our party, when we had to feel our way over, through snow-storms and clouds by help only of map and compass. They were easy Tirolese passes, which might have proved monotonous in fine weather, but the prevailing conditions made them intensely interesting and even exciting, for the easiest pass may prove difficult if you miss the actual col. How closely we watched the undulations of the glacier, and how keenly we analysed the formation of the rocks. Every hint of structure was important. None could be neglected. No step could be taken without thought. An ordinary crevassed glacier required careful negotiation. Those occasional rifts in the clouds that made manifest now some isolated point of rock, now some icy wall, now some corniced crest of snow, were a series of framed pictures passed in review. We enjoyed no panoramas, but the mountain detail that was forced upon our close attention was no whit less beautiful.
As for the low-level bad weather views, it is seldom that a traveller can bring himself into a mood to regard them sympathetically. We are not seals, and water is not our element. The oncoming of bad weather, beheld from below, is a grievance to the holiday-maker. He may admit that it is accompanied by impressive appearances, but he cannot pretend to appreciate them. It is not till days of rain have followed one another, and disgust has given place to resignation, that he is driven to face the elements and seek for consolation in activity. Clouds lie low and rain is pouring from them, but he must sally forth. Before long he loses sense of discomfort and finds himself entering into the spirit of the day. The pouring clouds are a low roof over his head; their margins rest on the pines, defining the tops of some and half-burying others. Every outline is softened, every form vague. Perhaps a glacier snout looms dimly forth, with all the stones upon it glistening with wet. Everything is wet and all local colours are enhanced. The grass glistens in every blade; so do the flowers, and the pebbles on the foot-path. How sweetly everything smells. All has been washed clean. There are no dusty bushes. Water drips and tinkles everywhere. Little springs arise every few yards; runlets fall down every bank. An infinite number of little treble voices unite in the chorus, and can be heard near at hand alone. Further off they are lost in the great "whish" that fills the air. Surely the clouds must be draining themselves dry! But, no! They form as fast as they fall. One sees them gathering at the edge by the trees. Long stretches of mist lie on the hills below the general level, or move slowly along,
"Reach out an arm and creep from pine to pine."
Soon he is up amongst them. There it is not so much rain that falls, it is a general dissolution.
From such a walk one returns a happier creature. Next day, perhaps, the weather will clear. The sun will shine on a glistening world and the clouds will melt away. Then we see the low-lying fresh snow shining on the green alps, and all the great rock-peaks glittering aloft in a new-shed glory. The sky is unwontedly clear and so definitely blue; the trees and grass so green; the snow so white. The early morning moments of such a day are precious indeed. Diamond rain-drops deck grass and pine-needles. There is radiance upon all the earth and freshness in the air. The discomforts of the past are forgotten. We are rested and eager for movement, and the world summons us forth. Nature, after all, knows best, and he is happiest who yields himself, whether in the mountains or elsewhere, to perfect sympathy with her many moods.