We put up at the Hôtel de la Croix-Blanche, facing the chain of the Alps, with “Mont Blanc” showing its snowy cone. On the public square, just opposite the hotel, stands an immense telescope. We took a look through it and saw the top of “Mont Blanc,” brilliant with sunshine. With the naked eye we could dimly make out a house standing by the side of the great glacier and with the telescope we could see a caravan of eleven persons making the great ascent, surrounded by the eternal snows. I had a great wish to follow their example and go up the “Mont Blanc” to enjoy one of the most famous views in the Alps. The weather is most favourable for the ascent just now, and we decided to start on our “Mont Blanc” expedition on the following day. We got up early and equipped ourselves for the expedition, putting on proper mountaineering large nailed boots with heavy soles. Before starting we went through a hurried breakfast in the dining-room, in the company of a French traveller and an individual wearing a blue blouse, very dirty-looking and with a flavour of the stable about him. He appeared to be the charioteer who had brought that traveller from Martigny, and who had his driver at the same table with him. It was horrible to see how that creature half swallowed his knife when he ate. He was very familiar with his passenger and conversed with him as with an equal. Oh, republic! It was time to start on our thrilling mountain expedition. Our mules were led up. As our guide swung me awkwardly into the saddle, my mule “Nini” made a sudden start and I went sprawling full length on the ground. It was an excellent beginning! We followed a narrow track leading to the mountain “Montauvert.” The road now threatened to dwindle into a goat-path. There were only a few inches to spare on each side of the road-shelf. We were surrounded by hideous desolation; a more wild spot it would have been difficult to discover. Everywhere towered the great cliffs, destitute of tree and herbage. The cold increased the higher we got. By and by we seemed to have passed beyond the inhabited zone. The beautiful snows of the Alps towered in all their glory in front of us. An eagle was flying low overhead. Presently we came to the path in the hills which must be ascended on foot. We retained here a special guide with an alpenstock in his hand, an ice-axe in his belt and a coil of rope over one shoulder, and proceeded to the “Mer de Glace.” We passed before a group of huge dogs lying beside a cannon which was fired as usual when the passage of the “Mont Blanc” is about to be undertaken. The sound of the gun resounded a long time like a echo in the mountains. The climb was excessively fatiguing. We were roped to our guide and moved in single file; the guide, nimble as a goat, went in front, I next and Sergy behind. We drove our alpenstocks in the snow, in order to support ourselves; the guide cut steps with his ice-axe with one hand and held me with the other, and as fast as he took his foot out of one of these holes, our feet occupied it. After a quarter-of-an-hour’s climb in the snow desert, we arrived at the “Mer de Glace” and were filled with speechless admiration at the splendid panorama which spread before our eyes. We found ourselves in snow fairy-land. Oh, how high in the air I felt! The large continent of gleaming snow was a spectacle of silent majesty and infinite grandeur. Around us lay vast plains of untouched snow, a wonderful white world! The desert of ice that stretched far and wide about was like a sea whose deep waves had frozen solid. I have never before seen anything so impressive. Though very weary I climbed conscientiously, dragged up by the guide. The waves of ice were slippery and difficult to climb. We took our way across yawning and terrific crevices, up to our waist in snow, running the risk of being precipitated into the abyss. This mode of ascent must surely cool the ardour of the most enthusiastic Alpine climbers. All of a sudden we heard, not far off, the cracking of the ice, and suddenly an avalanche fell a few steps from us with a noise of rolling thunder. We had a near escape, thank God! Rapid torrents produced by the melting of the snows tossed all around us in cascades. I suffered from the so-called mountain sickness, and becoming exhausted with thirst, I stopped kneeling to drink greedily at a crevice from an icy stream; the water was deliciously cold and refreshing, but it was enough to make me catch my death of cold. Overcoming almost unsurmountable difficulties we arrived at the “Mauvais Pas,” the most dangerous part of the ascent, a break-neck path around the face of a precipice of fifty feet. We here had to plant our feet on a piece of rock as large as a cricket ball, on the very edge of a deep precipice and to creep insect-like. This infernal passage well deserves its name, it is really a veritable Dante’s Hell. The road is a mere shelf projecting along bottomless precipices. How to proceed became a puzzle. There was hardly room to stand upon our feet and nothing to hang on by but a thin iron rod to keep one’s equilibrium. I felt a nervous shudder come over me and the guide did not soothe my fears by the cool observation that a false step would send us headlong. I recommend that passage to persons searching for strong emotions. We reached the end of the dangerous passage safely; one last effort and the “Mauvais Pas” was got over. It took more than five hours to overcome all these difficulties. One minute more and I shouldn’t have been able to make another step. At last we reached the “Chapeau,” a sort of inn with a bar, serving as a shelter to Alpine climbers in case of bad weather. We found there a company of old fogies, wearing hideous hats with green veils and blue goggles. They appeared to be awful screws; finding that the milk offered to them was too expensive for their purses, they went themselves to draw water from a spring near-by. Now we began our descent and reached the high road by a short cut, where our guides were waiting for us with our mules. We descended by the valley and had another two hours’ ride before arriving at Chamonix. I was so done up that I could hardly sit in my saddle, and envied our guides, who walked briskly alongside. They invited us to repeat the great ascent on “Mont Blanc” next year, and said that the mountain-sickness which I had felt was just the same as sea-sickness, one gets accustomed to it by repeated practice. Just now there are about 300 guides at Chamonix. They obtain their rank as Alpine guides when they reach the age of twenty-three, and only after having escorted a caravan of tourists, right to the top of “Mont Blanc;” before that they have to undergo a medical inspection, just like recruits.
We had left Chamonix at ten o’clock this morning and it was close upon eight when we were back to the hotel, simply expiring with fatigue and tanned red with the sun. When I looked into the glass I scarcely knew myself. I had no want, no desire except to stretch myself full length in a horizontal line. I stumbled into my bed and was asleep almost before my weary head touched the pillow.
After a night’s rest, we rose refreshed and invigorated; all the hardships of the ascent of the day before were forgotten, and I felt ready to recommence our Alpine exploits and go again mountaineering, but time pressing, we had to go on to Geneva. Our sojourn in the mountains is at an end.
After luncheon we packed ourselves into the huge two-storied diligence named La berline du Mont Blanc, which was to convey us to Geneva. Intrepidly I began the ascent of the steep ladder, of twelve steps, placed against the side of the omnibus. This giant coach, driven by three pairs of horses, contains twenty-five places. The postillon sounded his horn, the driver flourished his long whip, and we started off full speed surrounded by a cloud of dust. We sat higher than the passengers on the top of London ’buses, and I had the feeling as if we were looking out of a window from a house three stories high. We drove for some time along the picturesque sides of the river “Arve,” which twisted like a silver ribbon through the smooth green pastures. The road led up and down a continual succession of hills. The coach soon turned into a woodland. My neighbour, an old lady who indulged in a sweet dose, her drooping head giving abrupt nods back and forward, gave little gasps and woke abruptly when we passed high trees, having to take care of the treacherous topmost branches which scratched our faces. The jolting of the omnibus made me also feel drowsy, but I was soon wakened up by the shouts of little peasant boys and girls who ran behind the diligence barefoot and bareheaded, and importuned us to buy the bouquets of wild flowers which they offered for sale, and fruit laid in baskets fixed to long poles. They continued to run and insisted until they lost breath. At the last station fiery, fretful horses were put to our carriage; before starting they pawed the ground impatiently, tossed their heads and were disposed, in general, to give a great deal of trouble. When we started off at a rattling rate, I heard our coach-driver say to his neighbour that his horses weren’t to be trusted; of course it did not help me to feel safe, especially when we had to drive alongside the railway line, where a passing engine scared our steeds, who bolted and plunged wildly, nearly upsetting our coach. We made a smart entry into Geneva, at full gallop, with a loud jingle of harness-bells.
CHAPTER XXVIII
GENEVA
We put up at the “Hôtel des Bergues.” From the great bay windows of our sitting-room we could see far out over Lake Leman and the distant chain of mountains cut sharply against the deep blue sky. After having taken off the dust of the road, we went for a drive through the town, though I was awfully tired and felt the jolting of the omnibus still. Our driver having guessed our nationality, drove us straight to the Russian church. A party of English tourists were doing it with red Baedeckers in their hands. A guide, who was giving explanations to them, found it necessary to explain to us, pointing out the image of Alexander Nevski, one of our most venerated saints, that he had been “Un grand personnage de la Russie” (a notable Russian personage).
In passing the Public Gardens, we saw a coloured placard glued to the wall, announcing that a tribe of “Samoyedes,” brought out from Russia, from the government of Archangel, were exhibited in the gardens-enclosure. As it was a little corner of our Fatherland we went in and were greatly disgusted to see these Samoyedes devouring huge chops of raw meat, dipped in warm blood. Ugh!... the horror!... The Esquimos, after having ended their nasty meal, rode all around the gardens in small cars, driven by reindeers. There are only four of these animals left now, the rest have been devoured by the savages!
It is time for us to leave the land of William Tell, and to push on to the Italian lakes and to Milan. I am glad to leave this country, for the rarified mountain air does not suit me at all.
From Lucerne to Goeshenen the road is very wild and hilly. Our train plunged in and out through numerous tunnels and rushed round curves in deep cuttings. After having crossed a bridge thrown over a bottomless abyss, we arrived at Goeshenen, where we stopped to pass the night in a homely little inn, pompously called Hotel, with green shutters to the windows and a bit of flower garden in front. The inn looked very cosy and inviting. After having lunched upon a cup of tea, we took a carriage with a pair of horses, with brass harness and bells, to make the ascent of the famous St. Gothard road. The driver cracked his whip and off we went. The road mounted up and up, all over rocks and precipices and the wheels were perilously near the edge all the time. We wound through a narrow gorge, the river Reuss roared in the depths. Long lines of mountains were sharply defined against the profound blue sky, their summits veiled in clouds. Snow lay in dark hollows which the sun could never reach, and water-falls poured down the hills. The higher the carriage rose, the more thrilling was the savage landscape. We approached now the famous Pont du Diable (Devil’s Bridge) and saw on the polished surface of a rock an enormous coloured reproduction of Beelzebub, with a long tail and a red tongue hanging out of his huge mouth, holding in one hand a trident and a flaming torch in the other. Nothing remains now of the ancient “Devil’s Bridge,” which our field-marshal Prince Souvoroff had crossed with his army, going to fight against Napoleon Bonaparte. We passed over a modern bridge leading to the other side of the gorge. The spray from the Reuss; which here drops a full hundred feet into the abyss, lashed our faces as whips. The foam of the river was splashing over it. We dashed now through a vaulted gallery where we found ourselves out of the reach of falling stones. It was very damp inside, the ceiling and walls are always dripping; stalactites dangled heavy diamond fringes low over the roof. We drove against the wind and great clouds of dust swept across the road. We ran now into a zone of ice-cold air, there is no vegetation at all in these high altitudes, only the sides of the mountains are covered with thickets and bushes, where flocks of sheep and goats were grazing, under the guardianship of wild-looking shepherd boys. The great silence is only interrupted by a far-off ringing of bells from an Alpine village belfry, far below us. As we got higher up, the road was deep in snow, which continued to fall heavily. We ascended further and further and finally emerged upon a plain with a mountain lake formed by the melting of the snows, and came to the top of the ascent, having reached the height of over 23,000 feet. Suddenly after a steep ascent, we saw before us a tall lonely mass of grey stones, built upon a rock. It was the “Hospice” a sort of hotel, which used to be a monastery. Two big dogs of the St. Bernard breed welcomed us with joyous barkings. We ordered a dish of macaroni and a flask of chianti, and started back to Goeshenen. The atmosphere was chilly and the harsh, bleak wind made me shiver. Our driver taking pity on me, put his rug around my shoulders, but, alas, it appeared that it had many holes.