The village of Chamouni is situated in the middle of the valley of the same name, which is ten miles long, and forms one of the most popular 'lions' in Europe, for the botanist, mineralogist, and all nature's students. Our first expedition was to the celebrated Mer-de-Glace. We set off from our inn on mules, headed by a guide, and shortly came to a steep and laborious ascent of some thousand feet, on Mont Anvert, from which, as we looked back, the objects in the valley appeared dwindled to atomies. In about three hours, that wonderful phenomena, the frozen sea, suddenly burst upon our view:
'Wave upon wave! as if a foaming ocean,
By boisterous winds to fierce rebellion driven,
Heard, in its wildest moment of commotion,
And stood congealed at the command of heaven!
Its frantic billows chained at their explosion,
And fixed in sculpture! here to caverns riven—
There, petrified to crystal—at His nod
Who raised the Alps an altar to their God.'
When you reflect that this sea is eighteen miles long, and that the waves rise in abrupt ridges ten, twenty, and even forty feet, frozen to extreme solidity, with chasms between, some of which have been found to be three hundred and fifty feet deep, you will believe the poet has not exaggerated its appearance. It is surrounded by high mountains of dark-colored rock, which taper off in fantastic and beautiful cones; and altogether, it is a scene of striking and awful magnificence, which must leave an abiding impression on every visitor. The ice in the chasms is very clear, and of a beautiful vitriol tint. It is remarkable that this great natural curiosity was first made known to the world in 1741, by two adventurous English travellers, Windham and Pococke. Its origin, of course, remains a fearful mystery.
At the little hut on Mont Anvert, I obtained of the guides some specimens of minerals, fine stones, and a chamois cane. By the way, you will excuse me perhaps, for copying these 'Lines on liberating a Chamois:'[6]
'Free-born and beautiful! The mountain
Has naught like thee!
Fleet as the rush of Alpine fountain—
Fearless and free!
Thy dazzling eye outshines in brightness
The beam of Hope;
Thine airy bound outstrips the lightness
Of antelope.
'On cliffs, where scarce the eagle's pinion
Can find repose,
Thou keep'st thy desolate dominion
Of trackless snows!
Thy pride to roam, where man's ambition
Could never climb,
And make thy world a dazzling vision
Of Alps sublime!
'How glorious are the dawns that wake thee
To thy repast!
And where their fading lights forsake thee,
They shine the last.
Thy clime is pure—thy heaven clearer,
Brighter than ours;
To thee, the desert snows are dearer
Than summer flowers.'
Our excursion had given us a capital relish for dinner, and that despatched, and 'our mules refreshed,' we set off again and climbed to the Glacier de Bossons, an immense mass of ice, congealed in beautiful pyramids, on the side of Mont Blanc. That 'mighty Alp' itself, we did not care to ascend; it is an achievement which has never been accomplished but thirteen times, as we were told by our guide, who was one of the six that escorted an Englishman to the summit this summer. The ascent is of course one of great fatigue and danger. It takes from two to three days, and costs nine hundred francs. It is impossible to remain on the top more than thirty minutes. The last adventurer was sick several weeks at the inn, after his return.
You may imagine something of the situation of this valley among the mountains, from the fact, that although it is itself two thousand feet above the Mediterranean, it receives the rays of the sun direct, only about four hours in the longest days of the year; and the moon, to-night, was not to be seen, in her whole course, though the opposite mountains were bright with her 'mellow light.'
The people of these valleys seem to be honest and industrious, as well as a little superstitious, if one may judge from the number of crosses, and little chapels, with images of the virgin, etc., which are placed by the way-side. On one of them, near Chamouni, is a proclamation in French, to this effect: