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Updated: May 29, 2025
On the morning of the sixth a drenched shepherd reported in the village that a landslip had choked the fall of Buet, and completely altered its shape. Madame Barbière broke into the room where I was sitting with Camille, big with the news. She little guessed how it affected her listeners. "The bon Dieu" said Camille, when she had gone, "has thundered His curse on Nature for revealing His secrets.
But I was to know later on, with a little reeling of the reason also. "Camille, I want to see the Cascade de Buet." The hunted eyes of the stricken looked into mine with a piercing glance of fear. "Monsieur must not," he said, in a low voice. "And why not?" "The waters are bad bad haunted!" "I fear no ghosts. Wilt thou show me the way, Camille?"
The milk turned sour in the cows' udders and the tufts of the stone pines on the mountains fell into ashes like Dead Sea fruit. The springs were dried, and the great cascade of Buet fell to half its volume." "This cascade; I have never seen it. Is it in the neighbourhood?" "Of a surety. Monsieur must have passed the rocky ravine that vomits the torrent, on his way hither." "I remember.
There are many spots among the inferior ridges of the Alps, such as the Col de Ferret, the Col d'Anterne, and the associated ranges of the Buet, which, though commanding prospects of great nobleness, are themselves very nearly types of all that is most painful to the human mind.
More to the right we could descry the snowy summit of the Buet, and farther off the Dents-du-Midi, with its five tusks, overhanging the valley of the Rhone. Behind us were the eternal snows of the Goûter, Mont Maudit, and, lastly, Mont Blanc. Little by little the shadows invaded the valley of Chamonix, and gradually each of the summits which overlook it on the west.
"Camille," I said, "why to-day hast thou shifted thy ground a little in the direction of the Buet ravine?" He sat up at once, with a curious, eager look in his face. "Monsieur has asked it," he said. "It was to impel Monsieur to ask it that I moved. Does Monsieur seek a guide?" "Wilt thou lead me, Camille?" "Monsieur, last night I dreamed and one came to me. Was it my father?
He climbed the Buet as early as 1770, and wrote an account of his adventures on its summit and its slopes which has the true charm of Arcadian simplicity. He came to England, was appointed reader to Queen Charlotte, and lived in the enjoyment of that office, and in the gratifying knowledge that Her Majesty kept his presentation hygrometer in her private apartments, to the venerable age of ninety.
Contrasted with the white spaces above and around us were the dark mountains on the opposite side of the valley of Chamouni, around which fantastic masses of cloud were beginning to build themselves. Mont Buet, with its cone of snow, looked small, and the Brevent altogether mean; the limestone bastions of the Fys, however, still presented a front of gloom and grandeur.
With his arm resting on hers, she conducted him sometimes through the quarter of Saint Antoine, the view from which extends towards the Cologny hill, and over the lake; on fine mornings they caught sight of the gigantic peaks of Mount Buet against the horizon. Gerande pointed out these spots to her father, who had well-nigh forgotten even their names.
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