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When M. Arago was with us in our excursion to Chamouni, he was speaking of the voyage of Captain Scoresby to the Arctic regions, which he had with him and was reading with great delight.
There is a river of ice in Switzerland, which, taking its rise on the hoary summit of Mont Blanc, flows through a sinuous mountain-channel, and terminates its grand career by liquefaction in the vale of Chamouni. A mighty river it is in all respects, and a wonderful one full of interest and mystery and apparent contradiction.
Its pure summit was first seen from Geneva; its shadow is now beginning to steal over us. We are on the road to Chamouni, not yet over the frontier, in a carriage and four. Mrs Stoutley, being a lady of unbounded wealth, always travels post in a carriage and four when she can manage to do so, having an unconquerable antipathy to railroads and steamers.
He was invited to Paris as the successor of Rossini, and wrote his "Marino Faliero" for the Theatre des Italiens. In 1840 he revisited Paris and produced "Il Poliuto," "La Fille du Regiment," and "La Favorita." Leaving Paris he visited Rome, Milan, and Vienna, bringing out "Linda di Chamouni" in the latter city.
The Jardin, towards which they ascended, lies like an island in the midst of the Glacier du Talefre. It is a favourite expedition of travellers, being a verdant gem on a field of white a true oasis in the desert of ice and snow and within a five hours' walk of Chamouni. Their route lay partly on the moraines and partly over the surface of the glacier.
From here one goes to Chamouni, if disposed for mountain-climbing, the immediate region of Mont Blanc. The Lake of Geneva, or Lake Leman, the name by which it is best known, is forty-five miles long, varying from two to eight miles in width. We will cross the lake by steamer to the charming little town of Vevay, situated on the northern side, and containing some nine thousand inhabitants.
Our travellers at Chamouni are getting ready to start, and it is our duty at present to follow them. "A Splendid morning!" exclaimed Dr George Lawrence, as he entered the Salle a manger with an obviously new alpenstock in his hand. "Jolly!" replied Lewis Stoutley, who was stooping at the moment to button one of his gaiters.
This manner he abandoned; nor did he ever adopt the Dutch taste which Pope affected, the trim parterres, and the rectangular walks. He rather resembled our Kents and Browns, who imitating the great features of landscape without emulating them, consulting the genius of the place, assisting nature and carefully disguising their art, produced, not a Chamouni or a Niagara, but a Stowe or a Hagley.
Sinking into a couch in her private sitting-room, Mrs Stoutley resigned herself to Susan's care, and, while she was having her boots taken off, said with a sigh: "Well, here we are at last. What do you think of Chamouni, Susan?" "Rather a wet place, ma'am; ain't it?" With a languid smile, Mrs Stoutley admitted that it was, but added, by way of encouragement that it was not always so.
Let us go up the Arve to the valley of Chamouni. From this fertile valley, M. de Saussure heads us up the Montanvert, 428 fathoms above the level of the valley, and consequently 954 above that of the sea. From this mountain we descend again into the high frozen valley which runs between the granite mountains, and pours its ice into the valley of Chamouni.