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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..49bc172 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #56063 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56063) diff --git a/old/56063-0.txt b/old/56063-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b802e64..0000000 --- a/old/56063-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4998 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Oxford Mountaineering Essays, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Oxford Mountaineering Essays - -Author: Various - -Editor: Arnold Henry Moore Lunn - -Release Date: November 28, 2017 [EBook #56063] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OXFORD MOUNTAINEERING ESSAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Anita Hammond, Wayne Hammond, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - -[Transcriber’s Note: - -Bold text delimited with equal signs, italic text delimited with -underscores.] - - - - - OXFORD - MOUNTAINEERING ESSAYS - - - TO - G. WINTHROP YOUNG - - - - - OXFORD - MOUNTAINEERING - ESSAYS - - EDITED BY - ARNOLD H. M. LUNN - - LONDON - EDWARD ARNOLD - 1912 - - [_All rights reserved_] - - - - -PREFACE - - -Oxford, they tell us, is the home of movements; Cambridge the home of -men. Certainly the miniature movement that took shape in this little -book was inspired by a Cambridge man. It was at an Oxford tea-party, -where the talk had been unashamedly of mountains and their metaphysic, -that Mr. G. Winthrop Young gave the first impulse to the scheme that -ultimately produced this collection of essays. To Mr. Young the editor -and contributors have been indebted for constant help and advice. He -has heartened the despondent, and has inked cold daylight into more -than one ‘sunset’ passage. - -At Oxford there are a number of Alpine clubs. The oldest and most -sedate meets once a year in New College Hall. A less dignified -association meets at irregular intervals _on_ New College Hall and -other hospitable roofs. Lastly, there is a genial little society -which owed its beginnings to some twenty undergraduates who agreed -they could spare an occasional arduous evening to the revival of -their Alpine memories. One confiding member bought a lantern, and has -since endeavoured--with indifferent success--to recoup himself out of -spasmodic subscriptions. We shall none of us forget the first meeting. -In our innocence we had hoped that a scientist might know something -of electricity, and Mr. Bourdillon was in consequence entrusted with -the lantern. After much hissing on the part of the machine, and of the -audience, a faint glow appeared on the sheet, and enveloped in a halo -of restless hues we dimly discerned the dome of Mont Blanc. A pathetic -voice from behind the lantern sadly inquired whether we would ‘prefer -Mont Blanc green and spluttering or yellow and steady.’ The chairman -then proceeded to read a paper illustrated or rather misrepresented -by lantern slides, and at the conclusion proposed a very hearty vote -of thanks to himself for his interesting and entertaining lecture. -The House then divided, and the motion was lost by an overwhelming -majority. The minutes also record that a member moved to inhibit the -secretary of the Church Union from issuing a printed prayer for ‘faith -to remove mountains.’ This motion was lost, as Mr. Tyndale ably pointed -out the value of a publication that might facilitate the transfer of -some superfluous mountains from the Alps to the monotonous surroundings -of Oxford. - -The members of this learned society furnished the majority of our -contributors. ‘Conscious as we are of one another’s deficiencies,’ -we view with misgiving the publication of these essays. We have no -virgin ascents, no climbs of desperate difficulty, to record. Our -justification must rest on other grounds. - -In a paper memorable for the circumstances of its delivery, and the -dramatic irony of its concluding words, Donald Robertson pleaded for a -simpler treatment of our mountain worship, and claimed that there was -‘still room for a man to tell freely and without false shame the simple -story of a day among the mountains.’ And this is what some of us have -attempted. - -And further, although there scarce remains a great Alpine ridge -untrodden by man, though the magic words--‘No information’--are rapidly -vanishing from the pages of the _Climber’s Guides_, yet as subjects for -literary, artistic, and philosophic inquiry, the mountains are far from -exhausted. The basic emotions of the hills, at once bold and subtle, -remain an almost untouched field, and many a curious by-path in the -psychology of mountaineering has yet to be explored. - -Those of us who have ventured to approach our theme in such subjective -fashion, who have tried to give something more than a plain record of -a climb, who may even have attempted to interpret the secrets of the -hills, have probably only courted failure and earned ridicule. But at -least we have started on a stirring venture, and we shall consider it -successful if only a word here or there serves to recall some forgotten -picture, some early romantic impression, to any reader for whom -mountains, nature, or wandering have perhaps lost their first halo of -romance. - -It may be said that greater and more modest mountaineers have waited -the experience of years before embodying their reflections in the -written word. This reproof leaves us unmoved, for we are only concerned -with the message the hills hold for Youth, a message which Youth -therefore may be pardoned for attempting to explain. Each age hears -different accents in the mountain voices. To the old mountaineer the -riven lines of cliff may speak of failing strength or inevitable decay. -For the child the white far gates may hide an unknown kingdom of magic. -But active Youth need fear no comparison of strength, need draw no -moral from decay. For him the gates that childhood could not pass have -opened, and disclosed a wonderland ‘more real than childhood’s fairy -trove,’ a country of difficult romance, and of perpetual challenge to -the undying instincts of knight errantry and young adventure. - - A. H. M. L. - - _February 1912._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - I. AN ARTIST OF MOUNTAINS--C. J. HOLMES, 3 - BY MICHAEL T. H. SADLER (Balliol). - - II. OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF A CHAMOIS: - AND INCIDENTALLY OF SOME - OTHER MATTERS, 37 - BY JULIAN S. HUXLEY (Balliol). - - III. THE MOUNTAINS IN GREEK POETRY, 59 - BY NORMAN EGERTON YOUNG (Corpus Christi College). - - IV. A JOURNEY, 93 - BY HUGH KINGSMILL LUNN (New College). - - V. THE MOUNTAINEER AND THE PILGRIM, 109 - BY H. E. G. TYNDALE (New College). - - VI. PASSES, 137 - BY N. T. HUXLEY (Balliol). - - VII. BRITISH HILLS, 157 - BY H. R. POPE (New College). - - VIII. ROOF-CLIMBING AT OXFORD, 177 - - IX. THE MOUNTAINS OF YOUTH, 197 - BY ARNOLD H. M. LUNN (Balliol). - - - - - AN ARTIST OF MOUNTAINS - - BY - - MICHAEL T. H. SADLER - (Balliol) - - - - -I. AN ARTIST OF MOUNTAINS--C. J. HOLMES - - -Mountains, more than any other of the features of nature, are -fundamental, synthetic. They present, untrammelled and without -elaboration, the great basic principles on which they are built; -their structure has absolute unity, their monumental architecture is -simple. Their moods are the moods of primitive humanity, their spirit, -like their form, is unmodified, above and below civilisation. Every -climber must, at one time or another, have shuddered before the hatred -of an Alpine peak, the hatred of all that is primeval in nature for -all that is artificially progressive in man. I remember one evening -sitting above the Col de Vosa and watching the glow of the sunset on -Mont Blanc. The entire range of peaks from the Dôme du Goûter to the -Aiguille Verte blazed with colour down to a point a little above where -the ragged fringe of the moraines slide into the grassy upland. There -a hard line of shadow reflected the contour of the hill on which I -sat. As the sun sank, this line of shadow crept up the mountain-side -with almost visible speed, till only the topmost pinnacles kept their -colour, like a row of beacon-lights flaming above the darkened valley. -Gradually they in their turn paled and died. - -But it is now, when most onlookers turn away, that the mountains begin -to live. When the fire has left the snow, when the rock ridges leap out -cold and black, when the fissures of the ice cliffs yawn pitilessly -once again, the real character of the place is shown. The mountains -are cruel and angry. Traffic with them is not friendship, but war. All -the mountaineer’s thrill of conquest is the thrill of victory over -an enemy, an enemy who hates as men hate, as the ancient hates the -upstart or the lonely giant, the puny multitude, but whose resources -are endless and whose ally is the storm. - -Snow mountains are seldom friendly. Sometimes they seem to smile, but -their welcome, for all its glitter, is treacherous and cruel. With -lower hills the case is rather different. The rock precipices and -windy fells of Cumberland, the spaces of the Yorkshire moors, have an -individuality as complete as Mont Blanc, but less overwhelming. Their -anger is sullen, their moods more passive. At times they are almost -gracious, but the difference is one of degree only. The quality of -their emotion sees no variant in glacier and heather. - -It would seem that any normal sensibility could in some measure -appreciate these mountain moods, and, where the observer is an artist, -reproduce them in line and colour.... And yet it is only in our own day -that a painter has appeared with a proper understanding of their true -existence. In art the coming of landscape was slow, but the mountain, -as a mountain, has come more slowly still. Why this neglect? Why, -until long after the landscape picture had become a commonplace, was -the mountain not disentangled from the myriad aspects of nature and -made the object of artistic interpretation? - -Several reasons may be suggested. In the first place, for true -appreciation more than a mere acquaintance is necessary. Mountains are -reserved. They extend no real welcome even when they do not actively -resent familiarity. Only patient perseverance can gauge their real -significance. The men of old hated them. Perhaps as they watched from -afar the towering army of the Alps, there came to them on the breeze -some breath of mountain anger, and they trembled, hardly knowing -why. To them the hills were just so many hideous obstacles to war or -commerce. To make a way through them was a task to be dreaded. It needs -a rare vision to see beauty beyond danger, to recognise the sublime in -the menace of death. - -But, apart from this, it is doubtful whether the mediæval mind could -have grasped the essentials of mountain scenery had it striven to do -so--and this is the second reason for delay. The synthetic vision, -the subordination of part to a whole, is not really primitive. The -savage sees individual objects in strong unhampered outline, but he -cannot relate them. His decorative sense lacks cohesion. This very -lack is the weakness of Egyptian wall-painting, where harmony of line -and movement reaches a point seldom achieved since those early days, -but where the feeling of a procession is rarely lost owing to the -failure to relate the figures and objects to each other. It needs a -new hypercivilised primitivism--to use what appears a contradiction in -terms--extraordinarily subtle, backed by a store of imagination and -detailed knowledge, which can by its very wisdom select and discard, -keeping the chain of essentials, disregarding the rest. And no one has -greater need of this than the mountain artist. It is equally useless -for him to reproduce, however skilfully, every glacier, every gully on -the mountain-side, and to daub vague, unrelated lumps of paint one -beside another. The important artistic fact in a mountain scene is -the intricate rhythm of line and slope, the true relation of curve to -curve, and this is obscured and lost in photographic realism, as it -is never realised in the scribblings of a child. The mountain artist -must grasp every detail, but distinguish what he requires and discard -all else. That is why in the early days of landscape-painting the -excitement of new beauties inevitably caused overcrowded pictures. -There was no attempt at selection, because the selective point of view -had, as yet, no appeal. The last thirty years have brought it to the -front. - -The third reason for the tardy recognition of mountains is expressed -by the man with whom this discussion is really concerned, by Professor -C. J. Holmes in his monograph on Constable.[1] ‘Mountains have -returned with the desire for design.’ The most significant feature of -recent painting is the renaissance of decoration. The easel picture -as Corot knew it has been eclipsed by the art of the fresco. Design -has replaced light as the central study, just as light replaced the -twilit realism of the first ‘plein-airists.’ The primitive Italians -knew no landscape-painting in our modern sense. The value of mountains -in design could not, therefore, appeal to them; and so it is left to -the present day to employ for the first time the mountains with their -rhythm and their feeling. - -But such generalisation, unsuggested by fact, can have little weight, -and confirmation of these statements must be found in an outlined -indication of the growth of the landscape tradition, and, springing -from it, the treatment of mountains.’ - - * * * * * - -When European art began to elaborate the religious conceptions -with which it was in early times mainly concerned, landscapes were -introduced as part of the Bible stories. But they were purely -subordinate. Duccio and Giotto use conventionalised trees and strange -bare rocks which, while evidence of wonderful vision, show no sense -of the value of landscape for itself. The delicate distances of the -Flemish primitives, the backgrounds of Benozzo Gozzoli’s frescoes, the -settings of Cinquecento Madonnas, are merely so much design to fill a -space, so many accessories to the figures in the foreground. One would -like to except Patinir’s ‘Flight into Egypt,’[2] where the thicket -behind the Virgin has more than a merely decorative significance, -and shows a loving study of trees and rocks, were not the vistas to -left and right pure design. There are also rare landscape studies of -Dürer--one particularly, an unfinished study of hills in the Ashmolean -Museum at Oxford--which are strikingly ahead of their time in their -sole preoccupation with nature as distinct from humanity. - -But it is really with Dutch and Flemish seventeenth-century art that -landscape for landscape’s sake makes its appearance, with Rubens, -Rembrandt, Koninck, van Goyen. However, to them mountains are as -accessory as was nature generally for their predecessors. To give -composition, to round off a landscape, to frame a vista, Rubens and the -great Dutchmen used hills and crags. There are probably many exceptions -to this generalisation. To mention one only, there is a picture by the -Flemish Millet (1642-1679) at Munich in which a mountain occupies the -centre of the canvas. This mountain, though tree-covered, forms the -main element in the painting, and despite the presence of allegorical -figures in the foreground, is proof of a curiously modern interest in -hill-formation. In the main, however, the contention is true that the -mountain in art does not appear in the seventeenth century. - -The landscape tradition passed to Claude, and then forked. One branch, -the English, produced Wilson, Crome, Constable, Turner, and the -water-colourists. To the other belongs Poussin, and through him the -Barbizon school in France. (It should here be noticed, at the risk of -anticipating, that this last-named group derived from Bonington a large -share of Constable’s influence, and owe perhaps the greater part of -their inspiration to English sources.) - -Traces now begin to appear of a love of mountains for themselves. -Crome’s ‘Slate Quarries,’ some of Wilson’s Welsh pictures, many of -Turner’s sketches, show rocks and hills painted for their own grandeur -and beauty. Similarly, in much of Corot’s early work--before 1830--bare -mountain-sides and wastes of rock stand unadorned by trees or other -counter-interests. - -Of Constable we are told that ‘the grandeur of hills weighed on him. He -wanted meadows,’[3] but Plate III. in the book from which this -quotation is taken shows that he possessed a very real understanding of -mountains. - -The recognition proved only momentary, and was soon lost in -conventional trickery. In England the water-colourists began once more -to use mountains merely to break the level of a landscape, to give -a pleasing variety. The idea of depicting them solely for themselves -becomes actually abhorrent. An extract from William Gilpin’s _Essays on -Landscape-painting_ will show the attitude which became general to the -early English school:-- - - ‘In landscape-painting smooth objects would produce no composition - at all. In a mountain scene what composition could arise from one - smooth knoll coming forward on one side, intersected by a smooth - knoll on the other, with a smooth plain perhaps in the middle and a - smooth mountain in the distance? The very idea is disgusting.’[4] - -To prove the awful result he reproduces a drawing in his book done on -these very lines, a drawing so superior to all the other illustrations -in the volume as to show how utterly tastes have changed and advanced -since his time. - -Again:-- - - ‘The beauty of a distant mountain depends on the line it traces - along the sky.... Such forms as suggest the idea of lumpish - heaviness are disgusting--round, swelling forms without any break to - disencumber them of their weight. - - ‘Mountains in composition are considered as single objects and - follow the same rules;--if they join heavily together in lumpish - shapes, if they fall into each other at right angles, or if their - lines run parallel--in all these cases the combination will be more - or less disgusting.’[5] - -Barbizon painting underwent a change somewhat similar to that just -described in England. Corot altered his manner and evolved the graceful -greenery and scenes of trees and water for which he is admired to-day. -It is perhaps to be regretted that he exchanged his strong renderings -of mountain and rock for twilight fantasies which, for all their -lyrical charm, slide frequently into sentimentality and prettiness. His -fellow-landscape-painters, Rousseau, Daubigny, Dupré, and the veteran -Harpignies, used mountains either not at all or merely as incidents -in a panorama. Courbet alone, the greatest of them all, continued to -the last his rugged studies of cliff and slope, blending the romantic -tradition with the realist, supplying, as the first real painter of -rocks, a noble and fearless link between the ideal and the selective. -In true modern landscape the influence of Courbet appears again and -again, strengthening and vigorous. - -With the coming of Impressionist painting no marked advance is -noticeable. Monet and his followers are concerned with light and -colour, not with form. Dutch Impressionism--the Hague school With -its curious mixture of seventeenth-century genre tradition and -modern French landscape methods--keeps to trees and sky. It would be -unreasonable indeed to look for the birth of the mountain in art to -take place in Holland! - - * * * * * - -Before passing on to the latest phase of European painting, some -attention must be given to the art of the Far East. China, Japan, -India, loom large in the history of the landscape tradition, and -especially in its newest development, where their influence, as will be -seen, has been very great. - -In the art of the Far East, whether theoretical or practical, there -are traces from the earliest times of a conception of landscape and of -its bearing on art somewhat similar to that of Wordsworth. The early -Chinese in their aphorisms and paintings loved to express the majesty -of mountains. ‘Rhythmic vitality, anatomical structure, conformity -with nature, suitability of colouring, artistic composition and finish -are the six canons of art,’ wrote Hsieh-Ho in the sixth century -A.D., and no subject could be more suitable than a mountain -for the application of those canons. Through the later periods of -Chinese art, and during the history of the painting of Japan, recurring -cases appear of the same inclination. - -But there are differences of opinion among the Eastern theorists. Here -is Kuo Hsi, who seems to be an early Chinese incarnation of William -Gilpin:-- - - ‘Hills without clouds look bare; without water they are wanting in - fascination; without paths they are wanting in life; without trees - they are dead; without depth-distance they are shallow; without - level-distance they are near; and without height-distance they are - low.’ - -Indian art provides such a striking parallel to the ideas of modern -European painting that it will be useful to return to it when -discussing the new movement. It is sufficient here to say that an -examination of Indian landscape drawings will reveal an interest in -mountains similar to and no less vivid than that of the Japanese. - -The interest in Eastern art began to spread over Europe during the -last half of the nineteenth century. The de Goncourt brothers and -Whistler by adopting some of the Japanese methods familiarised their -countrymen with the ideas and practices of a hitherto little-known art. -The researches and writings of Edmond de Goncourt, the flat, roomy -arrangements of Whistler, struck a note so new that a wild outcry -greeted their efforts. But the strangeness has worn off. Whistler -is accepted as a master; Japanese prints are everywhere; and, like -the Spanish influence introduced by Manet in the face of general -execration, the Eastern ideas have gone to produce a new art.[6] - -It was near the end of last century that first appeared what has -so misleadingly been called Post-Impressionism, an art with a new -synthetic vision which saw beyond realism, which repudiated illusion, -which tried to get deep down to where life and beauty touch and so -externalise that indefinite something which makes things what they -always seem to us to be. This art which has recreated decoration, -which is going to revolutionise stage-craft, house furniture and even -building, while it deals unhesitatingly with any subject, is perhaps -chiefly significant in its bearing on landscape. - -In this department appears that extraordinary parallel with Indian -ideas which has already been mentioned. No Indian artist ever aimed -at a mere representation of nature. He drew from his store of -imagination and memory a revisualised landscape which suggests the -idea behind nature and not her seeming reality. To him natural forms -were merely incarnations of ideas, and the effort to complete the -expression necessitated a repudiation of illusion. It follows that the -representative science displayed appears inept, if judged by ordinary -outward standards. But when one considers that accuracy is purely -relative, and that the synthetic vision naturally subordinates certain -features in its preoccupation with others, to condemn Indian drawing as -bad, or Byzantine either, for the case is analogous, shows a faulty -standard of judgment.[7] - -As in Indian, so in modern European art, an understanding of the -peculiar ideas which have inspired is necessary for appreciation. -Keeping, therefore, this fact in view, that the aim is not for illusion -but for the subtler and truer realism which lies in all natural -phenomena, we can pass to the consideration of an artist who stands -at the head of ‘Post-Impressionist’--or, as I prefer to call it, -‘Fauvist’--landscape tradition, and who really marks the beginning of -the new appreciation of mountains. - -Paul Cézanne has waited longer than any of his contemporaries for -sympathy and fame, but now that his time has come he bids fair easily -to outstrip Manet and the Impressionists in importance. As is often -the case, the same reason accounts for his being neglected and for -his later popularity, and that reason is the complete newness of his -outlook. His vision was a much stranger and newer one than had been -that of the Impressionists, and yet but for a fortunate failing of -his own it might never have been expressed at all. Cézanne was a very -great artist and a very bad painter. One may go further and say that -had he not been such a bad painter he might never have shown himself -to be a great artist. His whole being was clumsy and blundering, and -his attempts to emulate the brilliant Manet in his light effects -were constantly balked by this very clumsiness. In despair, he gave -up the task and lumped down what he saw, and, being a great artist, -he saw something quite new.[8] He saw line and decorative grouping -where Impressionism saw only a shimmer of sunlight. His tactless, -outspoken nature is reproduced in his paintings, be they still-life, -figure-pieces, portraits, or landscapes. Mr. Sickert, comparing his -work with the ‘gentle painter-like art of Pissarro,’ describes his -pictures as ‘ninety per cent. monstrous, tragic failures,’ and from -this standpoint the statement seems just enough.[9] But ‘brilliant and -sane efficiency’ is not the highest attribute in an artist, and Cézanne -by his genius redeems and almost glorifies his clumsiness. To landscape -he gave structure and rhythm. In his pictures of Ste. Victoire, of -steep fields and hillsides, the strong architecture of the landscape is -the framework of the whole. - -This originality of Cézanne has been developed and perfected by an -artist working in England to-day, whose work is more in sympathy with -the moods and structure of mountains than even that of his great -predecessor, and the artist is Professor C. J. Holmes, whom I have -already quoted (see above). - -Mr. Holmes is very modern, and he is an Englishman; that is to say, he -is part of a movement which has a deep feeling for synthesis and the -subtlety of rhythm--and this is important with a view to what has been -said about the synthetic nature of mountains--and also he is a member -of the race which has always shown more understanding for nature than -any other in Europe or, perhaps, in the world. - -France, the leader in matters artistic, has never had any real grasp of -nature since the days of Ronsard. The French are too intelligent, too -pitilessly logical, to accept the moods of nature without reasoning. - -From such a generalisation one should, perhaps, except Rousseau. -Although in much of his teaching it is difficult to escape the idea -that the nature he preached has been touched up by civilisation, in -comparison with many of his disciples he had a genuine desire to escape -the works of men. In his political theory, in his morality, in his -conception of the beautiful, he turned always to nature for his ideal. -From his home in Geneva he learnt to love the mountains, to love -the great calm and dignity of them, their aloofness from man and his -pettiness:-- - - ‘En effet, c’est une impression générale qu’éprouvent tous les - hommes ... que sur les hautes montagnes ... les plaisirs sont moins - ardents, les passions plus modérées. Il semble qu’en s’élevant - au-dessus du séjour des hommes, on y laisse tous les sentiments bas - et terrestres.’[10] - -But even here one suspects that Rousseau is rather contrasting the -worries of a race cursed with powers of emotion, with the sublime -peace of unfeeling nature, than admitting the passion of the hills, -which differs only from that of men in its loftiness and nobility. And -this last belief is not only held by the England of to-day, but was a -prominent conviction of William Wordsworth’s, and he lies behind the -English fondness for nature throughout the nineteenth century. - -Of the group of great poets who make up the English Romantic Revival, -who voiced during the first half of the nineteenth century the ferment -of new ideas, the greatest is Wordsworth. Stirred, as were the rest, -by the teaching of Rousseau--and it is here perhaps that Rousseau’s -chief importance lies--he expressed in his poetry the aspirations -which in France found vent in an orgy of political philosophy and the -eager, endless search for liberty. His poetry and his sister’s journals -foretell that art which was to supersede maudlin subjectivism and, in -its turn, Parnassian coldness. Coleridge may have more mystery, Shelley -more fire, Keats more music, but it was Wordsworth who really felt the -common soul in nature, the fusion of the human and the natural into one -scale of moods and longings. He realised that mountains can hate, that -they can resent intrusion, as can human beings. - - ‘I dipped my oars into the silent lake - And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat - Went heaving through the water like a swan; - When, from behind that craggy steep till then - The horizons bound, a huge peak, black and huge, - As if with voluntary power instinct - Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, - And growing still in stature the grim shape - Towered up between me and the stars, and still, - For so it seemed, with purpose of its own - And measured motion like a living thing, - Strode after me.’[11] - ---which shows how mountains can be understood even by man who was no -climber, who, indeed, made a point of always walking round rather than -over any hill on his way. His belief is the same with every aspect -of nature. She has her moods, and they are the same as ours. We can -realise them because of - - ‘A motion and a spirit that impels - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, - And rolls through all things.’ - -Wordsworth’s power of expression, and even more his power of selection, -lag far behind his power of feeling. But what may detract from -the pleasure of actual perusal cannot lessen ultimate historical -importance. Modern art must find in Wordsworth its greatest forerunner -in the department of nature. From him, as has been hinted, springs the -tendency which permeated French literature at the end of last century. -The pantheist art of Symbolism which came to influence England in the -nineties is, at bottom, a half-English movement. - -A love of nature, therefore, is in Mr. Holmes’ blood, and with this -great tradition behind him he is working to give mountains the artistic -interpretation which has so long been denied them. In his pictures -and drawings of the English lakeland he has externalised an aspect -of mountain scenery which is quite new. Some one has well expressed -it by saying that he paints mountains not so much as they actually -look but as one remembers them to be; and this is the same as saying -that repudiation of illusion or naturalism enables him to suggest the -‘mountainness’ of the mountain, the vague, essential something which -tells one it is a mountain. - -In his heritage from Cézanne, Mr. Holmes has at any rate acquired no -clumsiness, but greater skill has not tempted him to too much detail. -He has carried to still greater lengths synthesis and simplification. -In economy of line he can hold his own with any of the new school -of painters. With a few bold strokes he gives the massive strength -of hills and rocks. It is now possible to realise how simple is the -structure of mountains, but at the same time how clear must be the -discrimination between the essential and the superfluous. By adopting -the black border with which many of the Fauves surround the objects in -their pictures, Mr. Holmes is able to dispense with chiaroscuro--almost -with perspective. He paints in flat washes of colour, admirably toned, -and separates one plane from another by a band of black. The distance -springs into being, and perspective is achieved without elaboration, -without destruction of essential outline. - -Besides this ‘realism of effect’ as opposed to ‘realism of fact,’ Mr. -Holmes has another definite aim, which attaches his art still more -closely to Fauvism. He has a keen sense of the decorative importance of -a picture. He has said himself: ‘The first function of a picture is -architectural--it has to be a beautiful part of the wall surface.’[12] -This aim is certainly fulfilled in his work. The lines of the hills -run in subtle rhythms, and the whole lies gracefully on the wall and -becomes a part of it. As ever, Mr. Holmes is his own best critic. He -has summed up this double ideal--synthesis and decorative value--as -follows:-- - - ‘At the very birth of art we find the necessity of selection and - omission, with a view to emphatic statement, recognised more - generally perhaps than it has ever been recognised since. And with - this necessity we may note another characteristic of primitive - art--the love of rhythm and pattern.’[13] - -It has been seen that, with the exception of Cézanne, Mr. Holmes has -no direct ancestor in European art. But, nevertheless, he is the ready -pupil of centuries. His art is not merely, as in the case of several -other prominent Fauves, a slavish return to the primitive. It is -founded on a thorough knowledge of the past. A further extract from his -book[14] will show that he gives a modern expression to centuries of -ideals:-- - - ‘Painting succeeds in virtue of the things it omits, almost as much - as by the assistance of the things it expresses.... In Egyptian - art the figures might have been less stiffly uniform, in Crete - they sometimes verge on caricature; in Byzantine work they assume - too much the rigid character of architecture; with the Italians - of the Irecento too much of the Byzantine temper may survive; in - China forms may be contorted through the connection of painting - with calligraphy. Yet with all their defects, these various phases - of painting serve their destined purpose, and serve it much better - than the painting of more sophisticated ages has succeeded in - doing.... Contours may be as nobly drawn as human skill can draw - them, but they must be firm and definite throughout. The colour may - be as brilliant or as quiet as circumstances demand, but it must be - applied in masses that are flat or nearly flat. Details, forcible - suggestion of relief and strong shadows must be avoided. In our own - day these limitations have been observed and respected only by a - single painter--Puvis de Chavannes--but in virtue of that restraint - he has taken his place among the great masters.’ - -And so the art of Mr. Holmes is a direct practice of his preaching. -To the tradition of simplified vision he has brought a conception of -his own--the conception of mountains, of their formation; and their -rhythm.[15] Not Puvis de Chavannes, whom he has mentioned, nor -Daumier, whom perhaps he should have mentioned, felt the character -of landscape as deeply as Mr. Holmes has done. In his elimination he -is not arbitrary, but natural and very just. His mountains remain -synthetic, uncivilised, individual, as they are in nature. - -But besides his debt to the centuries of European art, he is greatly -helped by his knowledge and love of the art of China and Japan. Like so -many modern Europeans, he has been profoundly moved by the marvellous -achievements of Eastern painting, but, beyond an admission of general -influence, no very clear artistic lineage can be made out. - -Mr. Binyon has traced the influence of Hokusai in Mr. Holmes’ work,[16] -and the suggestion seems justified. Mr. Holmes has an avowed admiration -for the work of the Japanese artist, and apart from this, the folding -lines of the hills and the flat, green washes of his water-colours show -a distinct affinity. - - ‘In Japanese painting form and colour are represented without any - attempt at relief, but in European methods relief and illusion are - sought for.’ - -This is Hokusai himself, and Mr. Holmes has profited by the comparison -to fuse both systems into one. - -And so, while, in the matter of Eastern as well as of Western art, -his great store of knowledge of the painting of the past is the -foundation of his genius, the genius itself--the message and its -expression--remains his own. - -Before closing it would be well to mention one criticism which has -been levelled at Mr. Holmes, and which, if it is true, constitutes a -serious charge. He has been accused of being scientific to the point -of having a formula on which he works. Perhaps the title of his book -is partly responsible for the accusation, and it might certainly have -been better chosen. But beyond this no trace of justification is -visible. Order and inspiration are not necessarily incompatible. The -extravagant lengths reached by the æsthetic movement proved the result -of art ignoring science. Eccentricity had become a fetish, and Mr. -Holmes is working with his fellow Fauves to restore reason and sanity. -There is too much variety in his work to allow of a suspicion of any -formula. A series of mountain studies naturally have some affinity, -and this affinity has been exaggerated into a definite method. Such a -charge cannot be further disproved than by assertion of its falsity. If -that is insufficient, let the unsatisfied critic carefully study all -Mr. Holmes’ work, and draw a new conclusion. Continued belief in the -formula must stay uncombated; but even should the charge be generally -accepted as true, the admiration of one at least for Mr. Holmes and his -work will remain unshaken. - - - - - OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF A CHAMOIS: AND INCIDENTALLY OF SOME OTHER MATTERS - - BY - - JULIAN S. HUXLEY - (Balliol) - - - - -II. OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF A CHAMOIS: AND INCIDENTALLY OF SOME OTHER -MATTERS - - -Those who know Rosenlaui will also know that finely pointed little -peak, an outlying spur of the Wetterhorn, that looks straight down -into the front windows of the hotel--the Dossenhorn. That was my first -climb. I confess that it was nothing very thrilling, though I enjoyed -it thoroughly. We had a guide--an aged, aged man, whose downhill, -bent-knee walk was if anything slower than his very slow but quite -automatic and invariable upward pacing. We had a rope, which appeared -to me perfectly unnecessary, and was a great nuisance to the airily -independent spirit and body of the novice. Two ice-axes lent to our -party (of five) an air of considerable distinction. Very little of -the day’s happenings have remained to me. I still remember how very -easy the rocks of the last arête were; how fine the Wetterhorn looked -across the snow plateau; how I wondered why my uncle, a considerable -climber in his day, wore trousers instead of knickerbockers; how I ran -down most of the way home after unroping; and how, in my innocence, -I plunged my face, scarlet from its exposure all unvaselined to the -snow-fields, into a basin of cold water--with what results those know -who have tried it. Among all this intolerable deal of bread, however, -we had a halfpenny worth of something more intoxicating. There is a -long snow slope to be crossed slantingly before the col and the hut are -reached. It is not at all steep, sloping up to the lower border of the -rock pile that forms the pyramidal top of the mountain; but the old -guide had ordered the rope, and so there we were plodding diagonally -upwards in single file. - -All of a sudden there was a rattle, and then a stone leapt off the -rocks above to bound down the snow slope some four hundred yards ahead -of us. The old guide looked round, and said: ‘Chamois.’ - -This set us all agog--two or three had never seen the chamois on his -native heath. However, the brown coat of the chamois is a good piece of -cryptic colouring; he--or they--remained absolutely invisible against -the brown rocks. But we had startled him, and he went on moving--for -some reason towards us, as we soon discovered when a second stone -came down. The third alarmed us a little, for it crossed our path not -fifty yards ahead of the leader; so we resolved to halt and keep our -eyes open for the next. This was not long in coming; it came with a -bound off the rocks, and seemed to be heading for the gap between the -last two on the rope. It must have been going at a great pace, for -it devoured that snow slope in great hungry leaps, clearing eighty -or a hundred feet at a bound, though never rising a yard above the -snow; it hummed as it came, with a deep buzzing sound. Altogether -it was extremely alarming (I was one of the two hindermost), and it -was a considerable relief to see, after it was half-way to us, that -it had a slight curl on it, and an outward curl, which caused it to -hum past five or six yards behind the tail of our procession. The -chamois passed, still invisible, on his way, and we on ours, discussing -what would have been the best thing to do supposing his aim had been -straighter. - -It was that scene that came into my head years later. I had been -trying to master some of the rudiments of geology, of which science I -was lamentably ignorant, and had at least begun to get into my head -the idea of denudation--how the shapes of mountains as we see them -are as much due to cutting away as to heaving up--and was grasping -the strength of the denuding forces that would go on thus cutting and -cutting until nothing was left but one flat plain, did they not thus -once more liberate the forces of upheaval. In my textbook there were -examples given of the many and various activities working together -this work of destruction--wind and sun, rain and frost, sand, rivers, -little plants--‘and chamois!’ came suddenly into my mind. A little nail -will serve to hang a large picture; and so the whole idea of denudation -was fixed in my brain by that one Bernese chamois. - -It perhaps, more than any other single thing, taught me to see the -transience of the hills. For here, as so often elsewhere, the judgments -of the natural man must be unlearnt. ‘The hills stand about Jerusalem,’ -says the natural man,--‘The Eternal Hills!’ They are not eternal; they -are as transitory, as much slaves of Time, as anything with life. The -title is but one more witness to the arrogance, the unimaginativeness -of man, who thinks that everything is of the same order of magnitude as -he himself; and if he does not notice the hour hand move while he trips -along some fraction of the circumference of the seconds dial--why, -then, it must be motionless! - -But man possesses also a brain, and therein an intelligence, a logical -faculty, by means of which he discovers presently that things are not -always what they seem; and one of these apparent contradictions is -that the mountains must be changing, rising up and wearing down, even -though he cannot perceive it directly; and yet even though he can prove -that it must be so, it is still very difficult for him to realise it -happening. - -Our intelligence, indeed, although it thus transcends the senses’ -immediate judgments, has to go back to them and ask their aid if it is -to attain to fullest knowledge. It is a very imperfect instrument, so -built up on the foundations of the five senses that if we cannot feel, -hear, taste, smell or, more particularly, see what there is to be dealt -with, but only reason about it, we may _know_ quite well that reasoning -has led to the only right conclusion, but yet do not _feel_ fully and -unquestioningly the rightness of it. We all believe the moon to be -a globe; but I must confess that on my first sight of her through a -telescope, I experienced a veritable shock of surprise and pleasure to -realise, as I saw the craters passing from full face in the centre to -profile at the edge, how globular she really was. With the mountains -no such ocular demonstration is possible to us. I say to us, for to our -descendants it may be. You have but to take a series of photographs -of some peak from exactly the same spot at intervals of fifty years -or so; then, putting these together in their order, run them through -a cinematograph, and you would see your everlasting citadel crumble, -shrinking before your eyes like a pricked balloon. Such a condensation -of events has already been practised to render such slow processes as -the growth of twigs or the complex unfolding of the egg more patent -and striking; and there is no reason why it should not be applied to -matters of centuries instead of days. - -To-day we cannot have the change rendered thus visible to us. We have -only indirect methods to help us, methods which demand reflection -and imagination. Imagination and reflection, however, are processes -demanding more mental energy than the average man is willing to expend, -for the average man is mentally of extreme laziness. So the mountains -remain eternal, to the average man. - -But there is no harm in trying to exercise powers of reflection and -of imagination, if I may persuade you to it. Stand on the bridges at -Geneva and look at the Rhone slipping down from the lake, clear and -blue with a wonderful and almost unreal blue. Then walk down to the -junction of the Rhone and the Arve, and see that other river, turbid, -greyish-white, a regular glacier stream; identity and name may be taken -from it in the union, but it still has strength to rob the robber of -his own especial beauty. That discolouring flood--what is it? As you -walk back again, the top of Mont Blanc comes gradually from behind -the Grande Salève into sight. If you reflect, you will know that -those white waves were white from carrying away what only yesterday -had been a part of those famous mountains; to-day it is dust, and -nameless; to-morrow it will be laid down upon the ocean floor, there -to be hardened, kneaded, and baked into the bricks that shall build -other, as yet unchristened, hills. If you imagine, you will see in the -mind’s eye those same summits, thus continually attacked, gradually -shrinking; preserving their beauty to the last, no doubt, like our -lovely lake mountains, which though in respect of their former height -they be but as roots when the trunk is fallen, yet in themselves show -not a trace of decay, and lift their heads as strong and fresh as ever. -Yet they dwindle, and will in the end be mountains no more; they will -no more have form and shape, no more be named and almost live, endowed -with that strong appearance of vivid and obvious personality; mere -undulations, they will no more exercise the mountain power upon the -mind of man. - -What else will help you to see the transience of the hills? Go and -stand by a mountain stream where it runs in quick swishing rapids; as -I have done by the Drance de Bagnes, and heard sounds as of groaning -and muffled giant hammering--great boulders grinding each other in the -press of the current, and moving always downwards. Go and look at the -enormous moraines that wind down into Italy--each would be a range of -hills in England. Had not the Alps another aspect before these were -heaped up? And yet, say the geologists, great cenotaphs of the ice were -raised in but a fraction of the time since the Alps were born. Try to -tackle a rock-and-ice gully with strong sun on it, or (preferably) stay -on one side and watch the stones come down: down they come like that -every sunny day. - -Look at the Matterhorn, and be told how like it is to Strasburg -Cathedral; but rock spires are not built upwards like ones of stone -and mortar; they are monoliths, cut out of the solid rock. The stony -layers of the rock, once lying flat and soft upon the sea-bottom, then -hardened, then gripped and crumpled by the ageing earth like so many -sheets of wet paper, now are cut through, and show their free edges on -the steep flanks of the mountain. Fixed long ago in waves and curves, -now they are immobile, but they treasure within themselves the forms -which the ice and the sun are to reveal. As if the sculptor were to -have but half the shaping of his work, and the block of marble almost -of itself disclose its hidden Oenus, or turn a Hercules planned into -a Hylas accomplished, so the rock masses contain within themselves -no infinite possibility of forms--there is, to start with, a quality -of mountain concealed in the rock, so that the aerial sculptors -may work as they please, and never find a Dent du Midi in the Mont -Blanc range, or fashion a Weisshorn from the Dolomites. But that is -another story. Even though the rocks thus decree that the instruments -of their destruction shall be as well instruments to reveal their -hidden beauties, yet destruction none the less it is. How gigantic a -destruction those cut, upcurving layers of rock can testify. - -But in the same way as our mind can know and yet not feel the -mutability of the mountains, so it may know and yet not grasp their -size and its extent. Here again the new lesson is hard to be learnt -by brain alone: ‘Everest 29,002, Mont Blanc 15,786, Scawfell Pike -3210’--the figures convey but a part. The hills must take the mind by -assault through the breaches of sense. - -Those moments come but rarely. I have seen the west face of Skiddaw -once, and once Schiehallion from the Struan road, towering as high -as any Alpine peak might do; and Donkin’s famous photograph of the -Weisshorn gives one something of the true feeling. But the most -complete revelation came to me at the head of the Swiss Val Ferret. - -We had already begun to appreciate the bigness of things, but rather -through our own littleness than for any unusual grandeur revealed in -them. As you walk up the deep, close valley, you have on your right, in -contrast to the monotonous dry ridge of even middle height to the left, -a succession of broad bluffs or buttresses that sustain the east end -and guard the eastern glacier gateways of that great Cathedral of Three -Nations, the massif of Mont Blanc. There is one below and one above the -end of the Saleinaz glacier, and on the side of each a lesser bluff, -an inward, forward-projecting pillar that narrows the gateway to a -mere postern, with only glimpses of the broad aisle above. Both these -doorposts bear the same name--Tita Moutse or Tête Moutze; a very good -name, certainly, but you would think that the dwellers at Proz-de-Fort, -just between the two, might find it confusing, even though on Barbier’s -map one is printed black and upright, the other thin and in italics. It -is difficult to render these distinctions in speaking--and perhaps they -have not all got Barbier’s map. However, that is not our concern at -present. Farther up is another big buttress (rejoicing in the name of -Treutze Bouc), and another, and then the Glacier de la Neuvaz, with the -Châlet Ferret on the other hand, and feather beds for weary travellers. - -These buttresses, and especially the Treutze Bouc, are calculated to -annoy the walker. There they stand, looking no bigger than a buttress -of Snowdon or Saddleback; there as here the mountain torrents cut away -the ground in the same way, and the same broad-faced bluffs are left. -As with bluffs, so with ships: it is almost impossible to grasp the -size of a big liner out at sea, her build is the same as that of any -other steamship, and there is no standard of comparison. Here in the -Val Ferret one learns by bitter experience and blistered feet. The -road winds on and on, across torrent-beds, through alder-woods, along -hot slopes--and the summit of Treutze Bouc is not yet opposite. After -this lengthy demonstration of the disadvantages and unpleasantnesses -of size, the mountains at last relent and show the other side of the -picture. - -I shall never forget the impression of colossal grandeur that showed -itself at a turn of the road opposite the gate of the Glacier de la -Neuvaz. Nothing was lacking in the chain. In the foreground, below a -grassy bank, flowed the Drance de Ferret--only a smallish stream, but -big enough and swift enough unbridged to stop such a small animal as -man from gaining its other side. Across it lay a fallen pine; and from -this, better than from the standing trees, you realised to what a -height the pine-trunks grow. Of these there was a thick wood filling up -the level bottom left by the receding glacier; the green sea extended -back and back until the tops of the separate trees were not to be made -out, and the whole wood tapered away in perspective like a band of -clouds towards the setting sun. In the end it turned a corner to the -right--a thin green line beyond the grey terminal moraine. This corner -filled a little indentation in the hill behind. The eye travelled up -naturally from the green line of trees to the green slope, and saw -that slope as part of a great rounded hill, rather like a bit of the -Downs in general appearance; but had it been hollow you could have -gone on pouring your Chanctonburies and Sinoduns and Beachy Heads and -Hogs backs into it, and they would have rattled about like small-shot -inside. The stream of trees let you see how big it was, as hills on -the horizon show the greatness of the setting moon. I think the hill -was nameless. Beyond it, in another plane of distance, rose another -peak--this one brown, of bare rock, and rather jagged; the vegetation -had ended on the part concealed behind the green hill. Up and up the -eye travelled, and was amazed to find that if the green had been but -a spur of the brown, so the brown was but a spur of the white. Mont -Dolent arose from, behind it like the pursuing peak in the _Prelude_. -All its rocky middle and its snowline were in their turn hidden by the -brown spur before them; only the white slanting chisel edge of the -summit soared up to sight. Stream--tree--wood--mountains: one, two, and -three ... each formed a stepping-stone to the one beyond, making it -possible for the whole grandeur of the peak to slip down, as it were, -and find place within the narrow limits of the brain waiting at the -other end. - -There it was able to take up its station beside that other thought -which entered there, not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, but by -the swift chamois and the mountain torrents. The two, holding mutual -colloquy, together tell what Wordsworth learnt in another fashion, that -the mountains are - - ‘Huge and mighty forms, that do not live - Like living men.’ - -But live they do, in their own way--not only in their form and -individuality, but in the constant cycle of their changeableness. -They approach to being closed systems, independent in some degree -of the rest of the world; partial individuals, they have a share in -determining their future selves. Once raised to mountains, they contain -within themselves the germs of their own destiny; and if not possessing -such power as true life possesses of blossoming into a predetermined -form, scarcely to be altered by all the efforts of the outside world, -yet at least marking down beforehand the limits beyond which the -outer influences cannot mould them, preordaining the main succession -of their future history, and the essential quality of the forms they -are to take. And again, though they have not the true vital property -of reproducing their kind by means of a mere particle of their own -substance, that grows, and in its growth takes up the atoms of outer -matter and moulds them to its will, they have a kind of reproduction -scarcely less strange, where like generates not like, but unlike. In -their decay they are laying new foundations. Grain torn from grain of -solid rock, boulder from boulder is swept away; layer after layer of -grains or boulder is laid--‘well and truly laid’; rock system piled -upon rock system; till the time comes, and all this is upheaved into -a chain of peaks which, though their every particle were taken from -the substance of that older chain, will be like it in being a mountain -range, but in that alone. So they have their being, in a different -and vaster cycle than man’s, their life only another fragment of that -change which is the single fixed reality. - -And what is the moral of all this? You may well ask; for I do not -know that I know myself. Proceed to the fact that our mountains are -but crinkles on the rind of a small satellite of one star among the -millions, and we deduce the littleness of man: which has been done -before. Point out how, in spite of all their size and their terrors, -they fall one by one to the climber, and we with equal facility prove -his greatness: which also others have successfully attempted. Insist -on their mutability, and it merely takes us back to Heraclitus and his -πάντα ῥεῖ. Perhaps one moral is that feeling as well as reasoning, -reasoning as well as feeling, is necessary to true knowledge; a -conclusion which would appeal to followers of M. Bergson, but hardly -falls within the scope of this book. - -The chief moral is, I expect, that the mountains can give the climber -more than climbing, and will do so if he but keep his eyes open. From -them there will come to him flashes of beauty and of grandeur, light in -dark places, sudden glimpses of the age, the glory, and the greatness -of the earth. - - - - - THE MOUNTAINS IN GREEK - POETRY - - BY - - NORMAN EGERTON YOUNG - (Corpus Christi College) - - - - -III. THE MOUNTAINS IN GREEK POETRY - - -Before we try to discover from their literature the feelings of the -Greeks for the mountains, we should first trace clearly the origin of -our own attitude towards high places. - -Nature-worship is a reaction from the life of crowded communities; -contrast and change are the essentials of rest. It is only for those -whose life is passed in great cities fully to appreciate the mountains; -in their own country the hills have no honour, for where men make their -living they cannot appreciate life. But we are so much accustomed to -accept as absolute our personal standard of beauty, made up of all -those things which seem to us beautiful on account of their contrast -to our ordinary surroundings, that it is hard to realise the fact -that all expressions of beauty depend upon individual perception, and -are therefore relative. A converse often illuminates the less obvious -side of a question, and the converse of our love for the mountains -is strikingly shown by Sir Leslie Stephen, who records that a highly -intelligent Swiss guide pronounced the dreary expanse of chimney-pots -round the South-Western Railway finer than the view from the top of -Mont Blanc. It was a contrast to his ordinary life, and therefore, for -him, beautiful. For to the guide, _qua_ guide, a mountain is not a -form of the Idea of Beauty, but a problem in higher mathematics, each -possible route an indeterminate equation in terms of glacier, rock, -ice, and snow; and the great guide is he who can solve most truly in -theory and in practice the daily variations of these and other unknown -quantities. A mountain to him may be like a great book made odious by -being set as a holiday task. - -But the guide is hardly a fair example, since he is the product of -an artificial demand: let us take, as a less extreme case, the more -primitive inhabitants of a mountainous land, whose living comes from -the land itself, not indirectly from the great cities through services -rendered to their holiday-makers. The peasants of such a country must -work the land for their living, not look at it; life comes before -æstheticism, and the artistic temperament is an inadequate remedy for -an empty stomach. To such men the mountains do not represent beauty and -strength and freedom, but an amazing waste of the surface of the earth, -useless deserts, from which every acre of lowland and slope must be -redeemed for crops and vineyards. - -It was in this light that the Greeks saw their mountains. In their -eyes they compared very unfavourably with their great natural rival, -the sea. It is true that the sea was mildly reproved by the epithet -ἀτρυγετός for producing no crops, but it made amends, being the -good-natured Mediterranean, by helping to transport the produce of -other lands, while the mountains were a positive obstacle to commerce. - -We may note that in Il. i. 156:-- - - ἦ μάλα πολλὰ μεταξὺ, - οὔρεά τε σκιόεντα θάλασσά τε ἠχήεσσα,[17] - -the mountains and the sea are both alike mentioned as barriers between -people and people, although it may be questioned whether the idea is -more definite than that of distance, to which the epithet σκιόεντα is -more appropriate. In this case the mountains are introduced merely to -give a concrete horizon to the idea of remoteness conveyed by μάλα -πολλά and σκιόεντα. - -The sea was commonly regarded by the Greeks as a tie between land -and land, the mountains as a barrier. So they damned the mountains -with faint praise of their timber, their hunting grounds, and, most -unkindest cut, the wider view of the sea from their cliffs. There was -no one to tell the primitive Greeks that from the hated mountains, -by streams and melting snows, came the very meadows in which they -delighted, that the richness of their ideal pasture-lands of Thessaly -was produced, not in spite of, but actually by the mountains round. So -they continued to regard them as heaps of waste, and it was this view -which was primarily responsible for the reticence about the mountains -with which we meet in Greek literature. In all the Odyssey there are -hardly twenty lines descriptive of the mountains. In one of the most -beautiful lines of Homer:-- - - εἴσατο δ’ ὡς ὅτε ῥινὸν ἐν ἠεροειδέϊ πόντῳ.[18] - _Od._ v. 281. - -the picture is of the island, not of its mountains; they are mentioned, -but merely because a low-lying island is not visible in ‘misty’ -distance. - -The first use of the mountains in simile is to represent big, ugly -people: of the Cyclops, - - καὶ γὰρ θαῦμ’ ἐτέτυκτο πελώριον, οὐδὲ ἐῴκει - ἀνδρί γε σιτοφάγῳ, ἀλλὰ ῥίῳ ὑλήεντι - ὑψηλῶν ὀρέων, ὅ τε φαίνεται οἶον ἀπ’ ἄλλων.[19] - _Od._ ix. 190. - -and of the queen of the Læstrygones, - - τὴν δὲ γυναῖκα - εὗρον ὅσην τ’ ὄρεος κορυφήν, κατὰ δ’ ἔστυγον αὐτήν.[20] - _Od._ x. 112. - -For the most part, the mountains are treated with contemptuous -indifference. It is evident that, as a place of outlook over low-lying -scenery or the sea, a height of some sort is necessary, and where such -an outlook is mentioned by Homer he does not grudge it an epithet; but -in such a passage as the following the hill is nothing, the view from -it all-important:-- - - εἶδον γὰρ σκοπιὴν ἐς παιπαλόεσσαν ἀνελθὼν - νῆσον, τὴν πέρι πόντος ἀπείριτος ἐστεφάνωται· - αὐτὴ δὲ χθαμαλὴ κεῖται· καπνὸν δ’ ἐνὶ μέσσῃ - ἔδρακον ὀφθαλμοῖσι διὰ δρυμὰ πυκνὰ καὶ ὕλην.[21] - _Od._ x. 194. - -There is only one passage in Homer in which one mountain is seen from -another. Poseidon is watching the battle before Troy from the highest -crest of wooded Samothrace:-- - - ἔνθεν γὰρ ἐφαίνετο πᾶσα μὲν Ἴδη, - φαίνετο δὲ Πριάμοιο πόλις καὶ νῆες Ἀχαιῶν.[22] - _Il._ xiii. 13. - -If we analyse our own pleasure in the ascent of a mountain, giving due -importance to the view of other peaks from it, we shall realise how -significant it is that this reference is unique in Homer. - -Of rock-climbers Homer had a very poor opinion: he would be a very -bold man now who would say of any rock peak in the world:-- - - οὐδέ κεν ἀμβαίη βροτὸς ἀνὴρ οὐδ’ ἐπιβαίη, - οὐδ’ εἴ οἱ χεῖρές τε ἐείκοσι καὶ πόδες εἶεν· - πέτρη γὰρ λίς ἐστι, περιξεστῇ εἰκυῖα.[23] - _Od._ xii. 77. - -Baedeker himself could not more vehemently warn of a novice from a -dangerous face; but there was little chance that the climb in question -would ever become ‘an easy day for a lady,’ as it led past the cave of -Scylla, whose six heads would have required a toll likely to leave an -appreciable gap in the largest party. - -Once only in the Iliad a rock is chosen as a type of steadfastness:-- - - ἴσχον γὰρ πυργηδὸν ἀρηρότες, ἠΰτε πέτρη - ἠλίβατος, μεγάλη, πολιῆς ἁλὸς ἐγγὺς ἐοῦσα, - ἥ τε μένει λιγέων ἀνέμων λαιψηρὰ κέλευθα - κύματά τε τροφόεντα, τά τε προσερεύγεται αὐτήν· - ὣς Δαναοὶ Τρῶας μένον ἔμπεδον οὐδὲ φέβοντο.[24] - _Il._ xv. 617. - -But to the Greeks rocky cliffs appeared as a rule pitiless, inhuman, -and heartless, rather than steadfast in a good sense, as above. We may -notice the famous passage in which Patroclus rebukes Achilles for his -hardness of heart:-- - - νηλεές, οὐκ ἄρα σοί γε πατὴρ ἦν ἱππότα Πηλεύς, - οὐδὲ Θέτις μήτηρ· γλαυκὴ δέ σε τίκτε θάλασσα - πέτραι τ’ ἠλίβατοι, ὅτι τοι νόος ἐστὶν ἀπηνής.[25] - _Il._ xvi. 33. - -If Homer is disappointing, Hesiod is far more so. If anywhere in Greek -literature we should expect some recognition of the grandeur of the -mountains, it is undoubtedly in descriptions of their birth. A poet -could hardly hope to find a more Titanic subject than that mighty -travailing of the Earth; but this is all Hesiod finds to say:-- - - γείνατο δ’ Οὔρεα μακρά, θεῶν χαρίεντας ἐναύλους, - Νυμφέων, αἳ ναίουσιν ἀν’ οὔρεα βησσήεντα.[26] - _Theogony_, 129. - -‘Long’ of all mountain epithets! ‘Graceful’ is insult added to injury! -We must suppose that Hesiod would have preferred Amicombe Hill to Great -Mis Tor, the curves of the Downs to the towers of the Dolomites. - -It is not surprising that the Nymphs should have stuck in the throat of -certain commentators, who propose to expunge the second line. Certainly -a real mountain is the least suitable habitation for a Nymph, and it -is a pity that no artistic member of the Alpine Club could have been -present to astonish Hesiod with a lightning sketch of large troups of -Nymphs--in the days when Jaeger was unknown, and furs still clothed -their natural owners--shivering like angels on the needle-point of the -Charmoz or on the more appropriate summit of the Jungfrau. There is one -possible explanation, hinted at in the Clouds of Aristophanes, namely, -that the Oceanids were identified with clouds; but this is probably a -later rationalist theory, which would have astonished the early poets -themselves. - -There is not one line in Hesiod which shows a real appreciation of -the mountains: some few allusions to Olympus are the nearest approach -to enthusiasm, but the seat of the gods also proves a broken reed -to those who would portray the Greeks as mountain-lovers. It was -necessary that the gods should be able to look down on the earth, yet -the anthropomorphic tendencies of the age subjected them to the same -disadvantage as modern aviators, namely, inability to remain motionless -in the air. It therefore became necessary for them to take possession -of the highest fixed support, Olympus. - -Olympus is a real mountain, but for the benefit of its divine tenants, -more especially perhaps of the goddesses, the poets idealised it almost -out of recognition. We have Homer’s description of the summit:-- - - [Οὔλυμπος] ὅθι φασὶ θεῶν ἕδος ἀσφαλὲς αἰεὶ - ἔμμεναι· οὔτ’ ἀνέμοισι τινάσσεται, οὔτε ποτ’ ὄμβρῳ - δεύεται οὔτε χιὼν ἐπιπίλναται, ἀλλὰ μάλ’ αἴθρη - πέπταται ἀννέφελος, λευκὴ δ’ ἐπιδέδρομεν αἴγλη.[27] - _Od._ vi. 42. - -This process of describing an ideal and then locating it in a definite -accessible spot has many parallels, though few in which access and -its consequent disillusionment were so easy; we may compare Atlantis, -Avernus, King Arthur’s Cave on Lliwedd, and the superstition which was -not uncommon a few years ago, that a subtropical Paradise would be -found beyond the outer ice of the Arctic Circle. - -Another passage, quoted from Lucian in a paper by Mr. Douglas -Freshfield, on ‘Mountains and Mankind,’[28] as showing that the Greeks -loved their mountains, is not altogether convincing: Hermes takes -Charon, when he has a day out from Hell, to the twin-crested summit, -and shows him the panorama of land and sea, of rivers and famous -cities. The first impulse is to reject this allusion as proving, not -Lucian’s love for the mountains, but his excellent taste in contrast, -for the holiday of the dweller below the earth should rightly be spent -in its high places. This is true as far as it goes, but apart from -the personal tastes of Lucian, to which we have no more guide in his -works than to those of Shakespeare or any other true dramatist, we must -admit that he here gives us the nearest parallel to those conditions -from which we escape to the contrast of the mountains. London duties, -it is true, compare favourably with those of Charon, but our reward in -escaping from them is greater, just in so far as the Alps are greater -than Parnassus. The principle and the scale of contrast are the same: -this passage would therefore seem to be nearer akin to our modern -mountain-worship than might at first appear. But here again it may be -claimed that the mountain is not made of much account except as the -means of obtaining a wider view of the more fashionable beauties of -nature. - -Professor Palgrave asserts that the dramatists seldom show appreciation -of scenery, but we must add to his exceptions Euripides’ description of -the sunrise glow on the mountains:-- - - Παρνησιάδες δ’ ἄβατοι κορυφαὶ - καταλαμπόμεναι τὴν ἡμερίαν - ἁψῖδα βροτοῖσι δέχονται.[29] - Eur. _Ion._ 87. - -An excellent test of the impression made on the Greek mind by any class -of natural phenomenon is to observe to what extent representatives -of that class have been personified; if we apply this test to the -case of the mountains, we shall be amazed at the Greek disregard for -them. When in the case of so abstract a conception as that of time -we find personification, not only of the idea as a whole, but also -of its sub-divisions (Ὧραι), we may naturally expect, not only a -great Personal representative of mountains in general, as Poseidon -represented the sea, but also particular personifications of great -peaks or ranges, which in our eyes have at least as marked an -individuality as rivers or winds. - -Yet, with the single exception of Atlas, no mountain in Greek -literature has been represented as an animate being. It is possible -that Tennyson had some precedent for his ‘Mother’ Ida; μητέρα θήρων[30] -is the Homeric phrase. Certainly a close connection exists between -Taÿgetus and Taÿgete, daughter of Atlas, and there is some suggestion -of malevolent personality in the inhospitable behaviour of the -‘Wandering Rocks.’ But these are ill-defined and isolated instances, -which, even if numbered by scores, instead of by scattered units, would -not materially affect the argument. - -About Atlas we have many different stories. In the earliest account he -is one of the older family of gods, father of Calypso, ὀλοόφρων,[31] -wizard Atlas, knowing the depths of every sea; and to him are entrusted -the pillars which keep heaven and earth apart. - -According to Hesiod, he was the son of the Titan Iapetus, and brother -of Menœtius, Prometheus, and Epimetheus, all of whom incurred the -anger of Zeus--Prometheus and Menœtius for active hostility to him, -Epimetheus and Atlas apparently for no more personal reason than that -their father was one of the hated Titans: for this offence Atlas was -punished by the task of holding up the whole weight of heaven on his -shoulders. It does not seem to have occurred to the early writers that -the extreme edge of an inverted hemisphere is a most unsymmetrical -position for the sole supporter of its weight. - -The mountain, Atlas, was evidently the Peak of Teneriffe,[32] of which -the Phœnicians may well have brought a description to Greece. It was -afterwards supposed to be in North Africa, and in consequence dwindled -to a comparatively insignificant range containing no conspicuous peak. -The Titanid and the mountain were ingeniously connected in later times -by the introduction of Perseus with the head of Medusa, which he -showed to Atlas at his own request, thus turning him to stone. - -A variation of this story marks an intermediate stage towards the -rationalisation of the myth: in it Atlas is represented as a king who -refuses to show hospitality to Perseus on account of a prophecy of -danger to himself from a son of Zeus; he is turned into stone by the -same means, but as a punishment for his churlishness. - -The completely rationalised version represents him as a king in the far -West, skilled in astronomy, and the inventor of the globe. This story -may have had its origin in Homer’s ‘wizard’ Atlas, and was probably -connected with the far older myths of Atlantis and the Garden of the -Hesperides. - -It is evident that we have to thank the Phœnicians for bringing one -great mountain so prominently before the Greeks that alone of all -mountains in their literature it is endued with personality. But it -is lamentable to observe how the affairs of Atlas, once released -from Phœnician control, descend into the bourgeois rut of semi-divine -nonentity. He proceeded to marry a nymph, who bore him seven other -nymphs, of whom Maia, mother of Hermes, is alone conspicuous. These -nymphs lived together on Mount Cyllene until forced to fly from Orion, -whom they escaped by the conventional stage-device of metamorphosis, -becoming first doves (πελείαδες) and then the constellation of the -Pleiades. - -Mr. Bury[33] traces a connection between the epithet ὀρειᾶν as applied -to the Pleiades and the name Ὠαρίων, translating - - ἐστι δ’ ἐοικὸς - ὀρειᾶν γε Πελειάδων - μὴ τήλοθεν Ὠαρίων’ ἀνεῖσθαι. - -by ‘It is meet that the rising of the Mountain Hunter should not be -far from the Mountain Pleiades.’ This would be unique among Greek -references to the mountains if the remotest etymological connection -could be traced between Ὠαρίων and ὄρος; but this is rather a B in -‘Both’ derivation, and it may be mentioned for what it is worth that -the name Orion is otherwise explained for us by Ovid.[34] - -One alone of the Pleiad nymphs is justified, to a follower of Mr. -Bury, in her mountain abode. If we accept Ἀλκυόνη as a personification -of ἄλκη,[35] we must certainly allow her to enthrone herself on the -highest peaks of the ancient world, provided, of course, that she was -not so presumptuous as to sit on her father. - -It is clear, therefore, that the Greeks owed the introduction of -the mountain into the Titan story to the Phœnicians’ description of -Teneriffe, and that they elaborated the myth with very little regard -for geography and none at all for consistency. In spite of Mr. Bury’s -gallant salvage work, we must confess that the mountain element is lost -from the story as soon as it is left in the hands of the Greeks, who -treat it as a hen treats the duckling she has hatched: an adaptable -duckling, for as a metamorphosis story it has made a very good chicken, -though in the process it shames its proper parents. - -In Theocritus we find an exception to the absence of mountain -personification in Menalkas’ Αἴτνα, μᾶτερ ἔμα,[36] but it stands alone: -the Cyclops, who was quite as much the child of Ætna, seems to regard -the mountain merely as an ice-box providing him with cool water:-- - - ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ, τό μοι ἁ πολυδένδρεος Αἴτνα - λευκᾶς ἐκ χίονος πότον ἀμβρόσιον προίητι.[37] - -It would be hard, in speaking of the snows of a mountain, to find a -less appropriate epithet than πολυδένδρεος. - -There is little else in Theocritus about the mountains except that -Daphnis - - χιὼν ὥς τις κατετάκετο μακρὸν ὑφ’ Αἷμον. - ἢ Ἄθω ἢ Ῥοδόπαν ἢ Καύκασον ἐσχατόωντα.[38] - -If we compare Pindar’s descriptions of the mountains with those of any -other Greek poet, it is not hard to make ourselves believe that he -knew something of their secrets. But as soon as we set these passages -side by side with the rest of his own work, we see them sink back into -insignificance. He wrote four or five great mountain lines, but for -each of these he wrote ten for the valleys, fifty for the stars, a -hundred for the sea. - -Still, we cannot often find a mountain honoured in Greek with such an -epithet as ὑψιμέδων,[39] usually applied to Zeus alone; and Pindar also -makes the first mention of the ‘age’ of the hills:-- - - Φλιοῦντος ὑπ’ ὠγυγίοις ὄρεσι.[40] - -It is not clear why a hill should in general be considered older than -a plain: they are said to have emerged from the Deluge within quite a -short time of each other. But it would be pedantic to summon scientists -and insist on accuracy at the cost of such hoary phrases as ‘the -eternal hills,’ which are still the delight of those pessimists who -habitually allude to mankind as ἐφημέριδες. - -Among Pindar’s descriptive phrases we may notice ἔμβολον Ἀσίας, of the -headland of Caria. The word, to a Greek, could not but suggest its -naval use, the ‘prow’ of Asia riding unmoved upon the waves. - -Actual references to mountaineering are so rare that we are tempted to -find an exception in - - καὶ πάγον - Κρόνου προσεφθέγξατο· πρόσθε γὰρ - νώνυμνος, ἇς Οἰνόμαος ἆρχε, βρέχετο πολλᾷ - νιφάδι[41] - -by supposing it to be the only surviving record of a first ascent by -the Theban Heracles, who claimed in consequence the right to name -the summit ascended. Paley would add to the dangers and credit of -the expedition by finding in ‘βρέχετο πολλᾷ νιφάδι’ ‘a curious and -noteworthy tradition of a glacial or post-glacial period!’ - -But all other mountain scenes in Pindar, whether adorned with glaciers -or not, pale before the description of the eruption of Ætna:-- - - τᾶς ἐρεύγονται μὲν ἀπλάτου πυρὸς ἁγνόταται - ἐκ μυχῶν παγαί· ποταμοὶ δ’ ἁμέραισιν μὲν προχέοντι ῥόον καπνοῦ - αἴθων’, ἀλλ’ ἐν ὄρφναισιν πέτρας - φοίνισσα κυλινδομένα φλὸξ ἐς βαθεῖαν φέρει πόντου πλάκα σὺν πατάγῳ. - κεῖνο δ’ Ἁφαίστοιο κρουνοὺς ἑρπετὸν - δεινοτάτους ἀναπέμπει· τέρας μὲν θαυμάσιον προσιδέσθαι, θαῦμα δὲ καὶ - παρεόντων ἀκοῦσαι.[42] - Pind. _Pyth._ i. 15. - -We need not enjoy this description any the less for feeling that Pindar -is not thinking of Ætna the mountain, nor even of Ætna the volcano, -but only of the eruption, which is not in his eyes an eruption of Ætna -but of the monstrous breath of Typhoeus. The mountain is dismissed -with little more than the usual trite epithets--κίων οὐρανία, νιφοέσσα, -πάνετες χιόνος ὀξείας τιθήνα,[43] of which the last phrase conveys an -even more false suggestion than the similar χιονοτρόφος κιθαίρων.[44] - -Although references to the mountains are even more rare in drama, this -particular eruption is ‘foretold’ by Prometheus:-- - - ἐκραγήσονταί ποτε - ποταμοὶ πυρὸς δάπτοντες ἀγρίαις γνάθοις - τῆς καλλικάρπου Σικελίας λευροὺς γύας· - τοιόνδε Τυφὼς ἐξαναζέσει χόλον - θερμῆς ἀπλήστου βέλεσι πυρπνόου ζάλης - καίπερ κεραυνῷ Ζηνὸς ἠνθρακωμένος.[45] - Æsch. _P.V._ 367. - -Here Ætna has neither part nor lot in the eruption: Typhoeus is made -responsible for the whole, in spite of the fact that he has already -been reduced to ashes. - -The mountains which form the setting of the Prometheus Vinctus are -regarded solely as a bleak, inhospitable, and, above all, inhuman, -background for the sufferings of the Titan. It is amazing to us that -when he is left alone and calls upon the forms of nature around, only -the mountains have no place in the circle of silent witnesses to whom -he cries:-- - - ὦ δῖος αἰθὴρ καὶ ταχύπτεροι πνοαί, - ποταμῶν τε πηγαί, ποντίων τε κυμάτων - ἀνήριθμον γέλασμα, παμμῆτόρ τε Γῆ - καὶ τὸν πανόπτην κύκλον Ἡλίου καλῶ. - -The rushing of winged winds, the sources of the rivers, the -multitudinous laughter of the distant sea, Earth, the Mother of All, -and the all-seeing orb of the Sun--all these are to look upon his -torments; but the mountains are degraded by their omission below the -very springs which rise upon them. - -It may be suggested, as an explanation, that motion formed an essential -part of the Greek idea of beauty; for motion is the outward and visible -sign of life. We may observe that the words δῖος αἴθηρ make the air -for a moment the medium of thought, expressed in which ‘wind’ is the -pure and abstract idea of motion. - -Prometheus, then, calls for sympathy there alone where motion (or, in -the case of Earth, motherhood) gives promise of life and sympathy. - -It is interesting, in view of the fact that brightness was also an -element in the Greek conception of beauty, to notice that no phase of -the sea so combines these two qualities of brightness and motion as its -‘multitudinous laughter.’ The path of gold of the rising sun may be -brighter, a storm more swift in motion, but the perfect combination of -the two ideals is here described. - -It is natural that brightness or light should be held in such honour, -but it is more surprising that beauty should be associated with motion -in many cases in which the connection seems to us extremely remote. - -The winds are the most conspicuous case of this: the Greeks personified -more winds than they could name points of the compass, and Greek -poetry is almost as full of the winds as of the sea. - -This is especially marked in the Iliad, where anything which shows the -movement of the wind, whether snow, the sea, a cornfield, mist, or -clouds, is described again and again, while still air is only mentioned -in a few scattered passages. - -In one of these snow is described falling through a calm[46] to -represent the same showers of stones which had just been compared to -snow driven by a tempest; so it is evident that no importance attaches -to the calmness, but both passages convey the sense of motion, though -in a slightly different degree. - -In another very remarkable passage Homer makes use of stationary clouds -round a mountain-top as a type of steadfastness:-- - - ἀλλ’ ἔμενον νεφέλῃσιν ἐοικότες, ἅς τε Κρονίων - νηνεμίης ἔστησεν ἐπ’ ἀκροπόλοισιν ὄρεσσιν - ἀτρέμας, ὄφρ’ εὕδῃσι μένος Βορέαο καὶ ἄλλων - ζαχρηῶν ἀνέμων, οἵ τε νέφεα σκιόεντα - πνοιῇσιν λιγυρῇσι διασκιδνᾶσιν ἀέντες· - ὣς Δαναοὶ Τρῶας μένον ἔμπεδον οὐδὲ φέβοντο.[47] - _Il._ v. 522. - -But for the most part the mists and the clouds, and even the sea, must -be stirred to motion by the wind before they are considered worthy of a -Greek poet’s attention. - -The allusions to the wind-stirred sea are innumerable; the eddies of -war are often compared to a whirlwind; the misty clouds are broken -apart by the wind to reveal, now the dark waves of the sea, now the -black peaks of a mountain:-- - - ὡς δ’ ὅτ’ ἀφ’ ὑψηλῆς κορυφῆς ὄρεος μεγάλοιο - κινήσῃ πυκινὴν νεφέλην στεροπηγερέτα Ζεύς, - ἔκ τ’ ἔφανεν πᾶσαι σκοπιαὶ καὶ πρώονες ἄκροι - καὶ νάπαι, οὐρανόθεν δ’ ἄρ’ ὑπερράγη ἄσπετος αἰθήρ.[48] - _Il._ xvi. 297. - -But here the unmoved rock is merely a background of darkness, in -contrast to the light of the clouds, as in the Prometheus it is a -background of stillness to the motion of the drama. - -We have also, in the theory that motion was essentially connected with -the ancient ideal of beauty, some explanation of the fact that rounded -heights, clothed with leafy woods where the wind could - - ‘fling - Their placid green to silver of delight.’ - -seemed more beautiful to the Greeks than scarps of naked rock; and it -is natural that the poets of such an ideal, superficial though it may -seem to us, should pass by the silent majesty of Ætna with careless -customary epithets until the fires within burst their bounds and poured -ostentatiously to the sea in ‘eddies of blood-red flame.’ - -It would seem that the Greeks felt fear and awe alone of the great -mountains, as was natural; for they had no intimate knowledge of them, -nor ever sought in the mountains the emotions reserved for those -who match their strength against the great forces of nature. These -sensations, in the Greek, were inspired by the sea. But for us the -spell of the mountains has grown stronger than that of the waves, for -the days are gone in which the sea alone was the home of peril and -mystery. We follow the spirit of the Greeks, not the letter of their -song; for though they sang of the sea, it was of her freedom and -strength, of her secrets and dangers, and of these much has passed from -her. Though we may still cross the seas on which the _Argo_ sailed, the -greater part of their romance is dead, and the Admiralty charts are its -epitaph. Scylla and Charybdis are mapped; there is, for the vandal to -read, a latitude and a longitude of Tyre. - -We have still with us the seas of romance, of the Sagas, of the -Odyssey, of the Ancient Mariner; we may still look from - - ‘Magic casements, opening on the foam - Of perilous seas, in faëry lands forlorn.’ - -But these are armchair adventures, fireside voyages: these we must -share with the cripple and the old. We who are young may find in the -mountains new worlds of adventure and romance of which the Greeks knew -nothing; but though the beauties, the perils, the rewards are changed, -the spirit is the same. No sea hero of the Greeks would be long a -stranger among mountaineers: where now but in the mountains should -Odysseus wander, πολύτλας, πολύμητις, first in every quest of perilous -glory, crowning the hopes of long years of wanderers? - -Our mountain-worship is then no new creed, nor artificial dogma, but a -new epiphany of the spirit of Hellas; and the spirit will be the same, -even though the men of later ages find their romance beneath the seas -whereon the Greeks sought it, or above the mountains in which our quest -is set. - - - - - A JOURNEY - - BY - - HUGH KINGSMILL LUNN - (New College) - - - - -IV. A JOURNEY - - -Every right-minded reader loves a few books in defiance of his own -critical canons. One cannot be for ever brooding over the best that -is known and thought in the world. Such an uncanonical book to me is -Ouida’s _Moths_. It was in Dresden, towards the end of May 1908, that -I read it for the first time. Summer was in the air, a German summer -of blue skies and lazy white clouds drifting to the south. In April, -when I arrived, I liked Dresden well enough, was prepared to stop there -quietly till October, learning German. But as the cold weather passed, -each day left me more restless, cramped by the monotonous, speckless -streets, irked by a vision of the summer Alps, a shining mountain wall -beyond the southern horizon. The spirit of romance was upon me, that -heedless of realistic truth invests with ideal charm whatever is far -off. To such a mood Ouida appealed strongly. For she was perhaps the -last of those romantics who created out of the dust and dreariness -of eighteenth-century Europe a fairyland of beauty. Germany to her -was still the mystic land, dreaming of the Middle Ages; Italy still -Mignon’s Italy, a place of orange groves and pillared palaces. In the -ardour of her revolt against the naturalist school she often, no doubt, -became grotesque. Her landscapes are as gloriously unreal as the heroes -and heroines who move through them. But what of that? Unreality has its -own charm, and even its own truth. - -Certainly that May in Dresden I read with uncavilling love all that she -had to tell of Ischl, in the Austrian Alps, on whose mountains you may -shoot, if you will, the golden eagle and the vulture. And with envy and -longing I read how Vere and Correze retreated from the world to an old -house, simple yet noble, with terraces facing the Alps of the Valais. -Here on the hills above Sion the air is pure and clear as crystal, -strong as wine, the cattle maiden sings on the high grass slopes, and -the fresh-water fisherman answers her from his boat on the lake below. -In vain I reminded myself that one does not shoot golden eagles, and -that the Valaisan peasants, bent by ceaseless labour almost out of -human semblance, have neither the leisure nor the wish to carol songs -to one another. The divine unreason of romance was too strong for me, -quickening and giving colour to a prosaic discontent with a studious -life in a too orderly German town. - -And so it came about, exactly when and how I forget, that I decided to -go to Switzerland: a simple decision, yet thrilling enough to me just -free from ten years of school discipline. The German family with which -I was staying had fixed on a Bavarian village, Oberkreuzberg by name, -for their summer holidays. It seemed to me that this village would be a -convenient base from which to make a hurried dash of two or three days -to the Alps. Bavaria, however, was a bigger place than I had thought, -and Oberkreuzberg, when I arrived there one evening in the middle of -July, seemed desolatingly apart from the world. And though, as the -days passed, I grew to love the place, this sense of detachment did -not weaken. Oberkreuzberg was set on a spur of the highest mountain in -the Bavarian Forest. From the church that crowned the hill the houses -fell sharply away to the south on either side of the straggling main -street. In all directions, except the north, the outlook was bounded -only by the horizon. To the east were the low-lying Bohemian hills, -to the south the Danube, and the plain beyond, where Munich lies, and -farther still the mountains of Tyrol, visible to the naked eye, so the -villagers said, on a clear winter day. And to the south-west, visible -to me alone, hung the chain of the Swiss Alps. The wide prospect made -the village seem not less but more obscure. To those locked in a narrow -valley, however desolate, the world lies on the other side of the -hills. But between Oberkreuzberg and the world lay expanses stretching -away to dim horizons. - -The villagers took a frank delight and interest in me that further -strengthened my feeling of distance from ordinary life. Stray Germans -from the north, burghers from Munich, came with each summer, but -hitherto no Englishman had visited the village. My arrival was an -event. Indeed, Herr Göckeritz, the genial old Saxon with whom I stayed -in Dresden, told me that it had been mentioned in a sermon as a token -of Oberkreuzberg’s spreading fame. I was a reversed Haroun-al-Raschid, -important because unknown. The village children followed me about -curiously, and when I shut myself in my room clamoured outside till -appeased with largesse of pfennig pieces. On the grass in front of my -window lay logs ready for building purposes, and the Annas, Marias, -and Babettes of the village, small bare-legged girls, used to disport -themselves there every afternoon, chasing each other from log to log -with reckless agility. In the fields near by I could see their elders -working, bent battered peasants. - -Outside the village were scattered some large boulders, and on the -flat top of one of these I would spend an hour or two each afternoon, -reading and meditating. The blue distances troubled me with the vague -longings which had stirred to song many a little German poet in the -days before Bismarck. The melodies of their heart’s unrest are mere -sentimental vapourings to the modern critic. What does it all mean, -he asks, this talk of wandering, knapsack on back, into the wide -world to seek the blue flower of romance on the blue hills of the -horizon? In the same spirit Leslie Stephen, the high-priest of orthodox -mountain-worship, found Byron’s Swiss poetry cheap and insincere. As -a hard-headed agnostic, suspicious of emotion not founded on fact, he -resented no doubt such verse as:-- - - ‘The fish swam by the castle wall, - And they seemed joyous each and all. - The eagle rode the rising blast, - Methought he never flew so fast.’ - -This eagle, flying past Chillon to the mountains of Ouida’s Ischl, rode -a purely romantic blast, and was visible only to romantic eyes. The -orthodox climber, however, does not care for romance. His love of the -mountains is based, like domestic love, on knowledge and understanding. -It is reasoned, almost respectable. But the visions of Byron and of the -German Romantics have the magic of first love, passionately adoring -what is unknown and out of reach. It is profitless to weigh romance -against reason. I can only say that I never loved the mountains better -than in those long afternoons when they shone before my spirit, hidden -from the eyes of my body. - -Cynara, when she reads these pages, will dismiss all this talk of -yearnings, spiritual unrest, and what not as literary verbiage. And -indeed I might never have left Bavaria, had it not been for memories -of the previous summer at Champex, where I had rowed and climbed and -quarrelled with Cynara, and where Cynara’s sister, who cultivated a -conscientious contempt for men in general, and myself in particular, -had stung my young soul by insisting that there were in me the -makings of a blameless curate. This summer they had gone to Saas -Fee, and Cynara wrote to me from there, praising the place ardently, -and ending her letter with the careless-cruel hope that I would like -Bavaria. Like Bavaria! And the letter had reached me on the damp, -dark evening of my arrival at Oberkreuzberg. The need for a personal -protest reinforcing my desire towards the Alps settled any lingering -hesitation. I had four pounds with me. Before leaving Dresden I wrote, -in the hope of increasing this sum, an essay for a competition in -the _Saturday Westminster_. The subject was, ‘On making a Fool of -Oneself,’ and I treated the theme with a humour which at the time -seemed quite delicious. In retrospect I am astonished that they gave -me an honourable mention. Cruder methods of raising money proved more -successful, and a generous uncle solved all material difficulties. - -Two evenings before I started I went with Herr Göckeritz after supper -to one of the village inns. The landlord played the zither, and Herr -Göckeritz, after telling a few anecdotes rather broad than long, sang a -little wistful ditty of a poor fiddler wandering through the world in -sunshine and rain, with no friend but his fiddle:-- - - ‘Und wenn einst vor der letzten Tür - Mein letztes Lied verklang, - Und wenn an meiner Geige mir - Die letzte Saite sprang, - Ach, nur ein Plätzchen gönnt mir dann - An stiller Friedhofswand, - Wo von der Wandrung ruhen kann - Der arme Musikant.’ - -The whole essence of that lovable absurd German romanticism is in these -lines. They haunted me on my journey, and long after, and even now have -power to quicken the memory of those days. As we walked home beneath a -quiet starry sky I told Herr Göckeritz that I was going to Switzerland. -His only comment was an offer to lend me some money. Life is like that. - -It was shortly before five o’clock in the morning that I set out on -my journey. For economy’s sake I had decided to walk to a station -fifteen miles away, thus saving, as I later realised, a little more -than sixpence. My clothes were in a Gladstone bag which I hung over -my shoulders, pulling the straps into position with a handkerchief -tied across my chest. And so, a curious figure, I swung down a path -that led to the main road through a little wood. Before entering the -wood I turned round for a last look at the village. It seemed in the -still dawn a living thing, sad, and lonely, and patient, like its -inhabitants. For the moment I felt sorry to go. It was unlikely that -Saas Fee would welcome me with wonder and delight. It was probable -that neither Cynara nor Cynara’s sister would regard me with the -affectionate awe of Maria, Anna, and Babette. However, I did not return. - -The memory of that walk has become like the memory of a dream. When I -think of it I understand those words of Sir Thomas Browne: ‘My life has -been a miracle of thirty years; which to relate were not a history, -but a piece of poetry, and would sound like a fable.’ He was thinking, -I fancy, not of any events suitable as titles for the chapters in a -biography, but of stray incidents unrelated to the main course of his -life. Such stray incidents have a magical quality. They might have -happened, you feel, to a stranger in some forgotten age, so unattached -to ordinary life do they seem. By a lucky chance they happened to you, -and you remember them with a love and gratitude incomprehensible to -others. In those hours the melody of your own little life sounded in -accord with the universal harmony, and the echo of that music never -dies away. - -I passed on through waking villages. On either side of the road were -low-lying hills, where trees half hid ruined castles. Were they -really castles? The early morning turned everything to magic, and I -seemed to walk in a dream-country of the Middle Ages, my journey a -pilgrimage, and my goal a noble one, though the way was over-easy. -With the tenth mile the enchantment vanished, as dawn dissolved into -day. I became conscious of my Gladstone bag, and the handkerchief -across my chest cramped me like a steel band. And so, when I came -over a small rising and saw before me the factory chimneys of Regen, -my destination, I welcomed modern ugliness with relief, and pressed -forward to the squalor of a train. The journey to Munich lasted for six -stifling summer hours. Opposite me in the railway carriage sat an old -woman, wrinkled and furrowed, incessantly munching ham sandwiches. I -suffered agonies of vicarious thirst, and being a teetotaller found no -assuagement in the draughts of beer which she drank at every station. -At last the train dawdled into Munich. The weather had changed, and I -spent seven hours taking shelter from sudden showers, and brooding on -the probability that for the next few days the Swiss mountains would -be hidden in clouds. A night’s journey brought me to Zurich, dull and -dismal in the early morning. By this time I had become an advanced -realist, with a super-shavian hatred of romance in every sense of that -word. - -This was the lowest ebb, and now romance came flooding back. Lausanne -at noon was lovely. There was the white house where Cynara used to -live; old memories quickened at the sight. Martigny shone like a dream -against the Champex mountains. And then, as the train rushed up the -Rhone valley, I leant from the window, and the trees and the bushes -bending before the wind seemed swaying with my ecstasy. - -Late in the afternoon I left Stalden for the last stage of my journey, -a fifteen-mile ascent to Saas Fee. Beyond the bridge near the village a -young climber overtook me as I stopped to readjust my bag. It appeared -that he too had come from Munich, that we had a common friend, and -that he wished to make the acquaintance of Cynara and her sister. So -we walked on together. Behind us the Bietschorn shone a golden peak in -the sunset. On each side of the narrow, high valley fell numberless -cascades, pouring into the central torrent. Yes, this was Switzerland -at last, far lovelier with its roaring waters and scent of pine-trees -than in the dim visions of those stifling Dresden days. I had reached -the blue hills of the horizon, and the sinking sun had turned them to -gold. - -We came to Saas Grund at eve, and the last steep pull to Saas Fee was -made in the dark. As we entered the village my companion left me, -turning to the left towards his hotel. I stopped a minute to recover my -breath. It was the first of August, the day of the national festival. -All the hotels were illuminated; men and women crowded the balconies, -in fancy dress, and the crowd below ran here and there, laughing and -chattering. A fantastic sight; for a moment I was embarrassed by the -idea that they were celebrating my arrival. Moving forward diffidently, -I entered the Hôtel du Dom by the cellar door, and walked cautiously -upstairs. There was no more glory in me, and, except for my anxiety to -avoid Cynara, I was not conscious of any particular feeling. - - - - - THE MOUNTAINEER AND THE PILGRIM - - BY - - H. E. G. TYNDALE - (New College) - - - - -V. THE MOUNTAINEER AND THE PILGRIM - - -I - -‘The pilgrim,’ says a modern writer, ‘is one who has made an -appointment with his higher self, to meet at some distant date and -place.’ He sets aside for a season his present interests and the call -of work, intent on satisfying that part of his nature which is in -danger of suffering from starvation. Therefore, with staff in hand, he -turns his back on the familiar, to take, in strange places, something -more than a holiday. For the pilgrim is no mere holiday-maker; he is -rather the ideal traveller, journeying towards a noble end, and happy -in this knowledge; and to attain this end he welcomes the prospect of -passing through fire and water. - -The circumstances and spirit of this age do not encourage the -pilgrim’s existence; yet enthusiasm and endurance are virtues which do -not perish with the pilgrim. Moreover, even if our ideal traveller is -found no more, many find an ideal form of travel in mountaineering. -There may exist, therefore, some corresponding virtue, some relic of -the pilgrim’s security of mind, by reason of which we may call our -mountaineer a pilgrim. - -What manner of man is this new pilgrim who frequents the mountain-side? -Can he indeed be called pilgrim, unless perhaps he is following in the -steps of Boniface of Asti, who first ascended a snowy mountain and -built a chapel for worshippers? Do we ever find the counterpart of -Chaucer’s Knight and Poure Persoun, or even of his Manciple and Miller? - -In truth, the perfect mountain pilgrim is as rare as was the genuine -humble-minded visitor of shrines. We must look to the Japanese climbers -for the finest example:-- - - ‘Clad in white, symbolical of the purity to which they aspire, - these ascetic mountaineers make their way, sometimes at the end of - several weeks of walking, to the top of their peak. After worship - at the shrine of their mountain divinity, they withdraw to some - secluded spot.’ - -Yet even if such a type be exceptional, there may still lie hidden -some of the pilgrim’s worth in the ordinary climber. With the latter, -as with the older pilgrims, we must separate the sheep from the goats. -Pilgrimages were made, not only for spiritual benefit, but also for -boasting, as an excuse for an exchange of masters, and in certain -instances to annoy the king. Nobody climbs, as far as I know, to annoy -any king; but the presence of many men in the Alps and elsewhere is not -easily explained without harsh words. For the climber is notoriously -an unsatisfactory person, not only to the uninitiated, but to his -fellow-enthusiasts. - - * * * * * - -It is open to all men to become mountain pilgrims. Many, however, in -whom the Hill Difficulty arouses no fear, will be content to stop by -the wayside and wrestle daily with some Apollyon of a ‘rock problem.’ -There are some who find all mountains dull which have no wrong way up, -who will talk for hours about a billiard-table traverse, and dismiss -the ascent of Mont Blanc from Chamonix in a few contemptuous words; and -if they succeed in such endeavours, they are for hailing themselves the -lords of all the earth. Had Aristotle witnessed their labours he might -have remarked: ‘Such things even a slave may do’; and if I had the -arrangement of Dante’s Hell I should put them lower than the man who -descended the Breithorn playing on a mouth-organ, although at the time -it seemed that he - - ‘Tooke out his black trumpe of bras, - That fouler than the Devil was.’ - -Let such climbers remember that Apollyon can break out into a grievous -rage, and that he is a very subtle thrower of darts, or even stones; -and note that among later Alpine disasters a great majority have -occurred in places of extreme difficulty, to the detriment of a noble -sport. - -Yet admitting the existence of pleasure in such unstable equilibrium, -we may still criticise its quality. True pleasure, says the pilgrim, -cannot exist without peace of mind in some degree; and few minds can -remain unruffled on the wall of the Devil’s Kitchen. Indeed, such vain -seeking after pleasure is often, like Bunthorne’s Mediævalism, ‘born -of a morbid love of admiration.’ Christian’s fight with Apollyon was -merely an incident of travel, which no doubt ceased to interest him; -his way was beset by difficulties sufficient to occupy his energy. -Similarly the mountain pilgrim constantly seeks fresh fields for -activity, and will gladly turn his back on the ‘specialists’; for these -men climb as it were for gain, nursing within themselves a spirit of -competition in their struggle with the force of gravity. Nor can they -look with pleasure upon their failures, as can their less ambitious -brethren. It is among the latter that we shall find the spirit of the -mountain pilgrim which caused Kim’s Lama to exclaim:-- - - ‘Oh! the hills and the snow upon the hills!’ - -The wise man will not wholly judge the mountaineer while he is on the -mountain-side. Some enthusiastic climbers maintain that two moments -alone afford pleasure in an expedition: when the summit is reached, -and when the valley is regained. Now, these words may confound -the sharp-witted philosophers of the plain, but the climber knows -that they contain a world of truth, and that a great joy lies in -retrospection, for which he will endure many hours of tribulation. In -this retrospective attitude we shall find the climber at his best; his -attention is relaxed, and he is free to summon back the greater moments -of the past day. Meet him in the evening on the terrace at Breuil, -when the bowlers have at length ceased their bowling, looking down -at the lights in the hollow below: you will find in him much of the -true pilgrim spirit. Further, the pilgrim proper would be the first to -recognise a fellow-traveller in this mountain wanderer. He sees that -on the mountains also another may meet his higher self. The difference -between the two lies only in environment. To both alike the end is -denied without the struggle, and the generous pilgrim will not trouble -to contrast the excellences of their ways. The two will shake hands in -satisfaction that the old self is no longer in dangerous proximity. -But our generous pilgrim, judging men by his own standard, is a stern -critic, and does not suffer fools gladly. - - -II - -We are apt to picture the mediæval pilgrim as a man travelling in some -ease and comfort. The nine and twenty sundry folk that met one April in -the Tabard Inn seem a well-living band:-- - - ‘And wel we weren esed atte beste.’ - -But those who went on a longer journey encountered many hardships. -The English pilgrim to the shrine of St. James at Compostella usually -travelled by sea, in cramped quarters on a small boat; on which, -besides the necessity of crossing the Bay of Biscay, he frequently -found an unsympathetic captain:-- - - ‘Hale the bowelyne! now, vere the shete! - Cooke, make redy anoon our mete, - Our pylgryms have no lust to ete, - I pray God yeve hem rest!’ - -And at the worst moment up comes a hearty sailor, shouting: ‘Cheer -up! in a moment we shall be in a storm.’ On the journey from Venice -to Jaffa, says a fellow of Eton, a sharp look-out must be kept on the -captain, lest he give you bad meat; the pilgrim must take with him hens -and chickens; on arrival at Jaffa there will be a hideous scramble for -mules, and your mule-man will expect a tip. - -The pilgrim who endured these discomforts not only gained much -spiritual benefit for himself, he benefited also his fellow-men. On -his return he must have been amazingly good company, and brought a -fresh interest into his neighbours’ lives, who vowed to perform a -similar journey, profiting by their forerunner’s experience. The lot -of those fortunate ones who climbed in the ‘sixties was very similar. -They set out to explore some little-known district, thinking more of -passing from place to place than of ascending a peak. They possessed -the pilgrim spirit in the unity of their object, in their endurance, -and especially in their attitude towards adversity and failure. They -travelled of set purpose to a comparatively barbarous land, where often -there was no safe lodging for the night:-- - - ‘What care I for a goose-feather bed, - With a sheet turned down so bravely--O!’ - -Moreover, they went out amid the jeers of their friends, and it needed -more than ordinary faith to confirm them in their search for this -mysterious good. They had, through hours of toil and vexation, the -doubtful joy of discovering a thousand errors in the map. The modern -climber owes a great debt to their exploration; for although he may -find a subject of conversation in his sufferings from tourists and -trains, he finds better paths and better inns, and stands far less -chance of a night upon the rocks. - -The gods of the ‘sixties did not exhaust the Alps. Rather, they created -a new form of enthusiasm in the world. Alpine climbing has developed -rapidly, and on somewhat similar lines to the public schools. It is no -longer necessary to rise at five a.m. and break the ice before washing; -therefore a larger number of boys can enjoy the full benefits of school -life. Climbing is now no longer reserved for those who have leisure and -money; it has become the most democratic of sports, thanks largely to -the labours of the early explorers. The fact that the mountains have -been, as it were, thrown open to the public has brought a wondrous -amount of interest into many colourless lives. - -Some day this enthusiasm, which is discernible even in the mad rush -of tourists, may die out. At present it flourishes alarmingly, with -attendant evils; but the purpose which first drew men to the Alps fifty -years ago and more remains unspoiled even by guide-books and tourists:-- - - ‘Low as the singer lies in the field of heather, - Songs of his fashion bring the swains together.’ - -The air on the mountains, the need for endurance, the appointment -with the higher self, continue and will continue to make their appeal. -Further, in spite of railways and huts, discomforts abound; for the -sun still shines as brightly as in 1860, and the labour of wading in -soft snow does not decrease with the ages. In this era of enlightenment -there is not denied to men the privilege of being dirty; the chalet -which flows with milk for the descending climber still recalls memories -of the Augean stables and makes one sigh for Heracles. Straw is the -order in most club huts, and the climber must prepare his own food. -So long as discomforts exist the pilgrim’s endurance is demanded, and -there still remain plenty of annoyances to make the traveller ‘nasty, -brutish and short.’ - -Again, it is not only by physical trials such as these, but by mental -trials also, that the virtues of the pilgrim are called into being. -Christian, more fortunate than most guideless wanderers, dropped his -burden early, and he becomes a more interesting as well as a finer -person when he is busy fighting some subtle temptation of mind. The -mountain pilgrim will have to fight as hard for his peace of mind; -he is a prey, as was Christian, to ‘the carnal arguments of one Mr. -Worldly Wiseman.’ The latter finds his way, in body as well as in -spirit, to the most secluded corners of the Alps. He is certainly -what many would call a ‘centrist,’ except that he gave up climbing -at an early age. He delights in pointing out the futility of risking -an otherwise valuable neck in the pursuit of discomfort and vain -glory; in his view, the climber has nothing to lose and everything -to gain by shirking all difficulties. He is very deft in forcing his -convictions on others, and his arguments will recur to the traveller -with distressing force at inconvenient moments. He knows that almost -every climber has on occasion vowed never to climb again, and it is a -constant marvel to him that so many break this vow within a few hours’ -time. It needs all the climber’s resolution, supported by a prospect of -sensuous delights as a reward of labour, to repel his promptings; but -it is a great joy to confute him ‘ambulando.’ He is fighting a losing -battle, which has lasted fifty years; but although there is little hope -of victory, the battle is never entirely lost so long as the tale of -man’s slackness is undiminished. - - -III - -The pilgrim of the Middle Ages had many shrines which he might choose -to visit. To this shrine ran a good road when once the mountains were -crossed; to another there was the drawback of a sea voyage; at a -third shrine the good saint was a potent healer, and the distance to -be covered would afford a good penance for the pilgrim’s ill-deeds; -moreover, he would find free entertainment at most places on the way. -Thus there was food for absorbing reflection before setting out, and -much thought needed for the details of the way. I fancy the Lord of -Anglure-sur-Aube must have taken an astonishing interest in organising -the long journey for his large troop of pilgrims. Yet the pious pilgrim -may have regarded this interest with suspicion, as enticing the mind -from thoughts of the true object of the pilgrimage--too much thought -for the morrow. - -Likewise the modern mountaineer is free to ponder and make his choice, -having before him a district of many thousand square miles from which -to select. He enjoys, therefore, all the pilgrim’s freedom of choice; -and from this freedom a demon of restlessness arises which the pilgrim -would not encourage in himself. - -The truth is that the mountaineer does encourage this restless feeling -in himself, notwithstanding the pilgrim’s protests. He welcomes the -arrival of this fatal gad-fly which drives him yearly southward. And -whereas the pilgrim, being no faddist, accepts what comes in a spirit -of cheerfulness, and looks askance at anything that may vex his peace -of mind, the mountaineer knows that only after diligent search can -he secure the best which the mountains have to offer. He is indeed -a genuine faddist in planning. He chooses his route with as much -care as he chooses a companion. He will sit for hours or even days -of his spare time before a heap of maps and guide-books; for every -expedition chosen he will have rejected twenty, forming his imaginary -tour by a process of elimination rather than of selection. Only when -he is thoroughly familiar with every corner of a district does he -consent to choose his peak or pass. Three things are necessary for the -ideal expedition: a great variety in the ascent, a fine view (I would -instance the Aletschhorn or the Tour St. Pierre), and an easy descent, -preferably over snow. This combination is not found on every mountain; -it is therefore all the more fascinating to seek for such by map and -guide-book; and when this ideal expedition is at length discovered the -climber will anticipate it with pleasure for months beforehand--thus -forestalling the joys of summer, and with far less searching of heart -than in the event. In this discontent with his own planning he gains -an interest and occupation, without any of the pilgrim’s prickings of -conscience. - -The latter, however, has also certain advantages. He retains his peace -of mind far more easily than does the mountaineer. He is free to rest -when he may choose, to lie throughout the noon-day heat--‘patulae -recubans sub tegmine fagi’; nor does he care one rap about ‘times.’ To -the mountaineer, on the contrary, a long halt is not often permitted; -for he must always keep some spare time before him, lest some sudden -obstacle leave him for the night on the mountain-side. So long as the -rope is still round his waist he is not often entirely free from some -anxiety, and he remains somewhat restless in spirit until the path -leading valleywards is reached. It is therefore not surprising to find -the most calm of men turn quick-tempered upon the mountains, a state of -mind which agrees ill with their enthusiasm. It is difficult to explain -away this fault as superficial; for the serene pilgrim can point to a -hundred instances where the climber was in such a bad temper that he -would allow no one else their share in the hard work. But if a slight -matter can upset him, his good temper returns also as quickly as it -departs; and if you keep out of his way while busy and meet him jogging -peacefully down through the thickening pine woods towards evening, you -will find him as cheerful a companion as the wanton and merry Friar. - -Again, both in the pilgrim and the mountaineer there is a delight in -the unexpected; which is a remarkable thing, since the mountaineer, -unlike the pilgrim, has chosen what he is to expect in detail. The -pilgrim sets out to bear cheerfully such adventures as may lie in -Fortune’s lap; the mountaineer has been planning for months, and a -cherished scheme may fail owing to bad weather or other mischance. -However, he takes a certain pleasure in failure, for he has discovered -two benefits to be derived from it. That which is unaccomplished one -year may be carried out at a later date, until which time the hope -of success makes ample amends for the failure; also an unsuccessful -attempt often leaves a greater stamp on the memory, when the -mountain is seen in wrathful mood. The climber may praise himself for -perseverance or prudence, throwing all blame upon the shoulders of -Chance. He goes out, indeed, half prepared to fail; he is extravagantly -thankful for small mercies received; he adopts a somewhat pessimistic -attitude, since - - ‘Luck’s a chance, but trouble sure, - I’d face it as a wise man should, - And train for ill and not for good.’ - -Some might see in him the vices of the born grumbler; for with him the -weather is rarely perfect, and when perfect it is too often about to -break. But it is part of the climber’s vanity to be more weather-wise -than Nature herself; and to all appearance he mildly resents even a -change for the good which does not accord with his prophecy. - -Further, the unexpected is not always evil; the climber may stumble -upon a new route, and even the most hardened scoffer at such things -will admit a secret delight in reading his name in the pages of _Conway -and Coolidge_. The unexpected is always at hand. I went up one day to -the hut on the south-west ridge of the Matterhorn, in a wind sufficient -to take the horns off the oxen; and that night I lay awake, like -Strepsiades, - - ἐν πέντε σισύραις ἐγκεκορδυλημένος - -listening to the wind howling and the clatter of stones and ice falling -from the Great Tower upon the roof. Next morning the wind dropped -at sunrise, and a warm, cloudless day followed, of that wonderful -clearness which foretells the advent of bad weather. One more instance -of the unexpected--and in this I have my justification: that day we -were in a sense pilgrims, for we set out to discover a route by which -men might pass direct from the Ober Steinberg to the Concordia. We -started in light, rolling mist, and towards sunrise looked down upon a -cloud-sea hiding the deep-cut valley of Lauterbrunnen. Then crossing -a world of stones we climbed a steep, short glacier, and over a heap -of avalanche-debris reached the lowest rocks of our mountain, the -Mittaghorn. Here we had expected difficulty with a steep band of rock, -but passed rapidly upwards without check to where the angle eased off. -Then came trouble, for the rock became of a loose slaty texture, in -places covered with ice. Higher up matters improved, until we reached -the foot of a great overhanging wall of red rock, which turned us left -along a narrow ledge and round jutting corners, to where a steep ice -gully cut through the wall. I was left standing in a vast ice step, -from which I could see nothing but the leader’s foot searching now and -then for some cranny in the rock. Below me a great ice slope ran down -with alarming steepness and then dipped over, beyond which I saw the -green valley and our hotel; in the far distance I could see the ripples -sparkling on the Lake of Thun, and above the sunlight was playing on a -patch of rocks which had come no nearer after two hours’ hard work. On -such occasions time passes slowly to those who only stand and wait, and -I was right glad when they hoisted me over the rock wall and into the -sunlight once more. To our disgust the summit lay still far off to our -left, and to attain it we had to follow a narrow ridge of sloppy snow; -on the far side of the peak we found crusted snow, to complete our -tribulation. Thus we found both good and evil unexpectedly, and like -Christian fell ‘from running to going, and from going to clambering -upon hands and knees,’ until we wished ourselves trippers once more. - -It is, above all, when the climber passes from one valley to another -that the unexpected is liable to occur. He then experiences all the -pilgrim’s joy of wandering, the uncertainty of the night’s lodging, -the pleasure of tracing out the next day’s ascent on the far hillside. -He will follow the line of path through the pine wood, and train his -powers of observation, learning, moreover, to trust his own eyes in -preference to the map. Though he may not see cities, he will see many -men, and will find hospitality as unselfish as in the days when all -travellers and pilgrims were objects of pity. He travels from place to -place with a pilgrim’s desire to find the ideal peak or valley. There -are not many that find it; and this failure in the search is due partly -to the climber’s own natural restlessness, partly to his intense desire -to see if the Happy Valley may not lie just round the corner. He feeds -this discontent with his present circumstances, knowing that in so -doing he gets the greatest joy. He is in no hurry to find this Happy -Valley; nor, if he never find it, will he consider that he has climbed -in vain. - - -IV - -Both pilgrim and mountaineer may claim for themselves the virtue of -enthusiasm. But if they be humble-minded men they will not deny the -possible existence of other and nobler forms of enthusiasm. If this -virtue of theirs be not identical with all excellence, it must be -capable of definition or analysis in terms other than itself. The -pilgrim’s answer is easily given: he goes out to seek recreation, in -the fullest sense of the word, to introduce a new element into his -life. ‘I go to free myself from the Wheel of Things by a broad and -open road.’ Less easy to define is the τέλος of the mountaineer; under -no moral compulsion, he endures the pilgrim’s hardships for a less -definite end, yet returns year after year in search of discomfort. A -writer endeavouring to analyse this enthusiasm has put it down as a -mild madness, a drawback to mountain-climbing. It is in great part an -enthusiasm for past and future: put the mountaineer among his hills, -and he is no sooner in full training than he begins to anticipate -with joy his return to civilisation. Place him once more at home, and -he will be eager to return to his old haunts, will busy himself in -planning for the next year. He climbs, as it seems, against his will. - -Yet he sets out willingly in search of recreation, knowing that he -will certainly find it through hours of toil. He finds also a very -full pleasure, forgetting readily the early start and all the thousand -inconveniences which afford copy for the scribbler. The moon in the -pine woods, the early dawn in the upper snow, the descent of Mont -Blanc towards the sunset are not for valley-dwellers; and to attain -these rewards the mountaineer welcomes the opportunity of an enforced -self-denial:-- - - ‘Carnis terat Superbiam - Potus cibique parcitas.’ - -He shares also the pilgrim’s joy of solitude and contemplation in the -long hours of silence, and the joy of friendly conversation with all -manner of men at the close of day. He regards no day, however trying, -as wasted which is spent above snow-line, and next day he can take his -ease in the valley with a clear conscience. ‘It is pleasant,’ says -Leslie Stephen, ‘to lie on one’s back in a bed of rhododendrons, and -look up to a mountain-top peering at one from above a bank of cloud; -but it is pleasantest when one has qualified oneself for repose by -climbing the peak the day before, and becoming familiar with its -terrors and its beauties.’ Herein lies a point of resemblance between -pilgrim and mountaineer: to feel the need of qualifying for this -repose, which loses half its value when it is not the reward of labour. - -Finally, the mountaineer will learn two secrets by experience. He will -discover the secret of those philosophers that have dominion over the -young, that one may argue (on mountains as elsewhere) from any given -premise with equally convincing logic to two contrary conclusions. -This is the essence of the mountaineer’s freedom of mind; for wherever -he may find himself he can advance many reasons for or against every -proposal, as conscience-free as the pilgrim himself, calling in -prudence to support equally his bold or his lazy wishes; which is a -dangerous thing for all climbers, as Mr. Worldly Wiseman knows. He will -learn also the secret of a true holiday, which the pilgrim possesses: -that this lies, not in the abandonment of everything familiar in search -of distraction, but in taking up some fresh and absorbing interest, -which will continue from one holiday to another. - - - - - PASSES - - BY - - N. T. HUXLEY - (Balliol) - - - - -VI. PASSES - - -There are few people who are not at heart geographers; the passion may -be repressed or forgotten, but it is probably ready to reappear, and -elderly persons often surprise themselves no less than their youthful -companions by the zeal with which they attempt to mould the face of the -earth by amateur engineering: it is in early years, however, that the -passion inevitably shows itself. - -It was the chief delight of a community of cousins, brought together -each summer at the sea-side, to spend as much of the day as the day -left possible in altering in every conceivable manner, by dams, -diversions, or channels, the geography of a wet strip of sand, which -the tide in its next advance would restore to its old conformation. -Sometimes operations, more ambitious in the durability of their -materials, were begun in a stream inland; pools were made, and the -stream diverted into a new, or perhaps a long disused, channel. -Sometimes, too, a party of us would explore along a stream to its -source, which we rarely reached, since even small streams are apt to -extend farther than childish zeal will endure, though fired by the -ambition of finding a real spring, entrancing to the dwellers among -sluggish south-country rivers. - -But it was with our first visit to the Alps that the revelation came. -Here were streams without number, small enough to follow, during the -course of a long picnicking day, up to real authentic springs, which -bubbled clear and cold from the ground at our feet. Geography could -be made and altered; our dams made pools where none were before, or -caused the paths and water-courses of the neighbourhood to exchange -their functions, so that the inhabitants of lonely chalets found their -water supply miraculously curtailed, and visited the culprits up above -with guttural wrath. Watersheds, things hard for the low-lander -to comprehend--mere imaginary lines drawn across gently swelling -sand-ridges or downs--gained new life when seen as the jagged ridge -of the Engelhörner, or the great line of green hills north from the -Schwartzhorn to the bastion of Tschingli over Haslithal. - -With the magic of water was joined the mystery of the other side. If -we followed any of the streams up and up, to the Engelhörner or the -Schöniwanghörner, whither should we see the torrents going, when the -rain that fell on the mountains streamed down the far side? The quest -of the geographer was made concrete; and as water has been the chief -power in the making of geography, so it is first to start the quest -in a child’s imagination, and the best guide in the knight-errantry -of childhood. But the streams that fell from the precipices of the -Engelhörner and Wellhorn pointed out a course beyond our ambitions; not -yet could we aspire to be climbers, and they still guard their secret, -though ready to yield it, now the time has come, to an ambition -strengthened with strengthened limbs. Even the grass slopes of the -Schöniwanghörner were too high to cross; but the great day came when -we started at six, with two mules, to cross the Great Scheidegg, so -long a barrier at the head of the valley slung between Wetterhorn and -Schwartzhorn, with Grindelwald as our object. - -It was a water-following on a great scale; we started with the sound -of the Reichenbach falls in our ears, and followed along the line -of least resistance, made by the stream. Still before breakfast we -passed the Schwartzwald, where the stream was already shorn of so much -of its strength that it could be harnessed and made to pass through -hollowed half tree-trunks to do the work of a saw-mill. Higher up was -the region of bogs and grass slopes, each few hundred yards sending -its half-buried tinkling trickle to join the head waters of the river -itself. And then, without warning, the path took a final zig, and -brought us to the top; and for the first time we saw part of the land -of the other waters, with the other glaciers and snow-fields, grass -peaks and stony ones, which gave them birth. We saw how the valleys -bent round to Thun and Brienz, how the valley of Lauterbrunnen and -the peak of the Jungfrau fitted on to a world whose horizon had been -suddenly enlarged; looking for those places above all which had gained -special interest and familiarity from the pictured slips in our -chocolate packets. - -That evening, after a hot trudge up from Grindelwald, and a cool -descent along the home stream that somehow rested our tired limbs, we -returned to Rosenlaui with a new sense of expansion and a vague feeling -of the coherence of things, for the dead lines of the map had become -actual and living before our eyes. Yet this feeling soon gave place -to the disappointing yet somehow thrilling thought, that by enlarging -our horizon we had only left ourselves ringed about by a wider circle -of other sides, making it still less likely than before that we should -ever solve the abiding questions of our childhood. - -For four years the Alps remained a memory and a hope, till in 1907 the -long horrors of the Certificate Examination were followed by the thrill -of the night journey, enjoyed to the full owing to a constitutional -inability to sleep, and a drive from Martigny to the upper part of the -Val de Bagnes, a shut-in and self-centred valley presided over by the -Combin. It was here that Italy became identified with the other side. -Here I was first initiated as a climber, and taken up the Ruinette; and -for two lazy hours on the top I watched the Italian mountains raise -themselves up from the ever-thickening screen of mist with which the -Lombard plains seemed to be hiding their secret. A few weeks later came -twenty minutes’ actual walking on Italian soil, between the Great St. -Bernard and the Col de Fenêtre. Italy lay at our feet, brought near to -us by the road winding down visibly to Aosta, and by the first Italian -notices of ‘Caccia Riservata,’ as well as by the southward-flowing -water. - -That day saw, too, the registering of a vow, fulfilled in the next -year, to visit the country of the Gran Paradiso and the Grivola. Peaks -there and around Mont Blanc fell before our onslaught, and we grew -to be hardened climbers; while passes became mere incidents in the -journey between one peak and another. But Geography was roused from her -hiding-place by a walking tour two years later--part of the regular -‘Tour of Mont Blanc’ from Chamonix to Champex with variations. The Col -du Bonhomme was unsatisfactory because, after much display, it failed -to turn a watershed at the first attempt, and, after including the Col -des Fours, left us still in the Rhone basin, with the Col de la Seigne -between us and Italy. Geography was displeased, but her craving after -completeness was satisfied by the long drive from Aosta up the Italian -side of the Great St. Bernard. Two known regions were linked up, and -of the remembered dips and corners of the road seen from the top, each -had had its answer. Also I had a sense of triumph in having cheated the -powers of the universe by taking several ounces of water in my soaked -clothes across the watershed to the Swiss side of the Col de Fenêtre. - -The passion still retained its childish power, but in a wider sense. -By being children we had been nearly in the position of the first -primitive inhabitants of such a country of mountain and valley: to them -peaks are haunts of terror and danger, the parents of all the powers -of destruction--winds, avalanches, and lightnings--which descend upon -them; their situation makes them geographers by profession: at first -their eyes are turned down stream, and communication only extends over -the main valley and its tributaries, till a more venturesome spirit -arises and uses the water as his guide, but now, ascending it, takes -the line of least resistance over the passes to the peoples of the -neighbouring river-basins; and ancient legends of hill tribes give -a prominent place to watersheds, and great heroes are often made to -conquer a monster which has been terrorising the valley, and fling him -into some great lake at the head of the waters of the next basin. -Did he not embody the terror of those frowning walls, and was not his -conquest a victory indeed? - -Thus the passes gained in importance, while the peaks were afar off -and terrible: they were already in use when there filtered through to -Herodotus across section after section of trade route the tradition, -confused in its long journey, of a town of Pyrene and a river Alpis; -when a new wave of inhabitants, scarcely pushing communication between -valley and valley themselves, used their mountain hardiness to extract -toll from the Roman merchants whose enterprise brought them across -the St. Bernard and the Mont Cenis to Vienna and Lugdunum; and each -traveller added to their importance and fame, while the local paths -were linked up into great highways, joining country to country, and -shrine to shrine, making a way for invasions, for pilgrims, or for -traders. The pass where Xenophon’s men cried θάλασσα! θάλασσα! -possesses a reality and interest of its own, not shared by the almost -laughable description of the mythical peaks of Krophi and Mophi in -Herodotus. But for us, even as children, there was a difference: the -prowess and achievements of our elders made impossible the fear which -our ancestors felt even for ‘Helm Crag, Helvellyn, and Butterlip -Howe’--the last-named a small wooded eminence about two hundred feet -high--yet we lacked the spiritual and bodily pride which the attainer -of summits must possess. What climber has not known the moment when -this has failed him suddenly, and he has realised the impudence of -his presence among the mountain sanctuaries and of his trial of -strength face to face with the mountain’s bulk; when he either expiates -the crime of his intrusion by a great and tranquillising humility, -or struggles, only to find all he sees assume a mask of grinning -hatefulness? The attainer of summits follows a way which, even if -definite, is none the less new and none the less formidable to each -successive user: we children, like them, were pass-goers, enterers of -a sanctuary of a different kind, one hallowed by the slow toil of -generations, where the mountains could not resent intrusion, since it -was the mark of their community of life with the humble folk whom they -supported. - -Even then we were no longer geographers by profession, still less now, -when the Alps are to us no longer a barrier to be forced, but the -playground of Europe, whither we in our sophisticated age make trains -convey us; and it seems as if the amateur geography of our childhood -were a mere survival, to be put away together with other childish -things when we grow up to be ‘modern men,’ with the climber’s devotion -to peaks, and the true modern appreciation of mountains. Shall we not -come to treat passes as highest minima instead of lowest maxima, and so -despise them; and will not our new mystical attitude make the partial -survival in us of primitive man a bar to the growth of a right spirit? - -For your true mountain lover professes himself a mystic: he is one of -those that ‘live by places,’ and he waits upon the fruition of those -moments in which his senses give him a sudden feeling of fellowship -with his surroundings, when - - ‘A gentle shock of mild surprise - Has carried far into his heart the voice - Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene - Would enter unawares into his mind - With all its solemn imagery....’ - -These moments, he will tell you, are an end in themselves, and not -pursued for any moral strengthening of our social fibre for fighting -the battles of life. Only in isolation from his fellows, from science, -and from the interference of intelligence, when he adopts a ‘wise -passivity’ of mere sensation, is this sense of fellowship granted -him; and among the peaks, under the spell of his rhythmical bodily -movements, he and the silent mountains stand face to face, as pure -living sensation and lifeless matter, and each finds in the other a -mysterious completion. - -This is the creed he professes; but how rarely comes one who can -practise it or achieve its enjoyment. Nearly all indeed share in some -degree this passion for fellowship; nearly all live their lives as -much by places as by people. The contrast is put by Wordsworth in one -of the poems on the Naming of Places, that called ‘Joanna’s rock’:-- - - ‘Amid the smoke of cities did you pass - The time of early youth; and there you learned, - From years of quiet industry, to love - The living beings by your own fireside - With such a strong devotion, that your heart - Is slow towards the sympathies of them - Who look upon the hills with tenderness, - And make dear friendships with the streams and groves.’ - -They are the extremes: Joanna cannot understand the frame of mind at -all; Wordsworth is, in this mood, the perfect example of the life lived -in the fellowship of inanimate things. - -But to few is the fellowship thus whole-heartedly given. For this it -is necessary to be a true æsthete (using the word in an unprejudiced -sense), so that in the one indivisible act of seeing, the one great -moment, a whole message is revealed. But life refuses to divide -itself into such moments; we cannot isolate ourselves either from the -continuity of the past or the community of the present. Most men move -on a plain of less concentration and greater self-consciousness, where -the act of seeing inevitably includes and leads up to reflection and -analysis. We still have the animal and the primitive man within us, -linking us to the past and the flow of time; and reason, the common -gift of all men, keeps always lurking in the background. Yet we still -strive after this immediacy of fellowship, but there come times when -the snow-peaks and the rocks have fed our appreciation on too strong a -draught, when our senses, relying on themselves alone, are over-sated, -and there seems a film before our eyes, so that we are no longer ‘alive -and drinking up our wonder,’ but the draught stagnates without us and -turns to bitterness. - -Then we must be humble, and resign our pretensions to an ‘æsthetic -geography’ for one on a lower scale; we shall return to the passes, -which will remain to us the emblem of a new ‘geography of the spirit’ -which, instead of trying to gain all in one tremendous moment, will -be content to browse upon the myriad things which intelligence sees -displayed. Even as a picture, an arrangement of lines and colours, the -pass has much that the higher peaks cannot give us: the deep curve of -the summit, slung between its supporting peaks, appeals to us by its -grace and weakness; there is a discontinuity of colour and clearness -as each bastion of the valley comes out from the curve its forerunner -had hidden. But these effects are heightened and brought together by -our geography; we imagine the glaciers that separated those bastions -from one another; that cup at the end is perhaps the work of some other -mighty glacier of the far side, piled up so high that it fell across -the watershed and cut its way down; maybe there is a giant moraine, -bigger than most of our English mountains, still to bear witness of it. - -But it is the stream and the road which hold our imagination; the -water tells us of all the powers which we know to be at work, but -which our senses are too slow to perceive. Each stream is itself part -of the great cycle of water, each is an agent in the mountain cycle, -perpetually hurrying the actual fabric of the mountains down to the -sea; their voice is never silent even on the summits; they are the -lords of the peaks, moulding them slowly to new shapes, and their -murmur seems to call the clouds, ‘chased by the hounding winds from -distant seas,’ to come and renew their springs for a new course of the -never-ending circle. - -But the road takes our geography farther afield and peoples our -imaginings. We have softened the immediacy of our ‘æsthetic geography’ -by the aid of intelligence; the road softens it by bringing in -humankind to stand with us facing the gulf between the living and the -inanimate. As the water alters our view of the mountains by bringing -to light the importance of time, so does the road alter our view of -ourselves. As we look up a pass from below, the view of the road -appearing and vanishing round the folds of the valley brings to us -two pictures of men. Winding away from us up to the skyline goes the -pilgrim’s progress, the slow toiling advance upwards to gain the -view of things not seen. Many there are, but few together; some on -side-tracks; some on the old steep road with its rough stones now -overgrown, more on the new smooth driving road which turns about so -that they can take their eyes from the goal; some even making a path -for themselves, either above on the hillside, steering for some nearer -gap on the skyline, which does not cross the main watershed; others -below the road, toiling painfully along the stream-bed. And each in -turn we see reach the summit and disappear; we cannot see what they -see, nor even the expression of their faces as they confront the other -side. - -But the same valley can be the setting for another picture: down -from the top there seem to come great processions, gay like Benozzo -Gozzoli’s ‘Procession of the Magi,’ many leagues long and all ordered -and together, though part is hidden in the green woods, part in the -valley’s folds. We seem to take our place in the upward journey, and -soon it will be our turn to wonder what new thing we shall see beyond -the barrier. Perhaps encompassing mists will give place suddenly at -the summit to a sunny prospect of some great cathedral range, to take -our place in one of those processions and descend to the richness of -an Italian land. Or, if it is on the far side that the mists have -gathered, and the gateway of the pass is barred by a deep grey veil of -nothingness, at least the mists will lift high enough to show the two -gentle arms of our mother earth descending to where we are, strong and -lit by a strange internal light, ready to hold us up as we take the -last step into the grey, where we shall see no more. - - - - - BRITISH HILLS - - BY - - H. R. POPE - (New College) - - - - -VII. BRITISH HILLS - - -Not much more than a hundred years ago a tourist remarked that he found -the Scottish hills ‘most of all disgusting when the heather was in -bloom.’ There is something very taking about this phrase. It was, of -course, a commonplace of the eighteenth century to feel aversion, awe, -horror, even hatred for mountains, but the epithet ‘disgusting’ is a -refinement of abuse. The Scottish hills failed to arouse any of the -deeper emotions in this gentleman--it would have been a compliment to -them to suggest they could. They merely filled him with disgust, and -the feeling was aggravated by the sight of a profusion of flowers of an -unpleasant purple colour. - -We have no reason to suppose that the author of this judgment was -deficient in taste or sensibility according to the standards of his -time. We may credit him with a happy turn for expression, but not -with any originality of view. The resulting reflections are rather -surprising. It seems natural that men should once have looked on the -Alps with horror and repulsion. They were the abode of storms and -killing cold and avalanches, and stood for all the forces of nature -which war most fiercely against man. But the British hills never stood -for the negation of life. At the worst they were only waste land, -unreclaimed from nature. So there seems to be something perversely -utilitarian in the man who could observe their soft colours and -graceful outlines with nothing but disgust. But the perversity--if -perversity is a fair name for the æsthetic attitude in disagreement -with our own--belonged to the age and not to the man. To-day, no doubt, -he would have quoted descriptive poetry with the loudest, and mountain -literature would have lost an adjective. - -A generation or two later came the first real explorers of our hills, -and left behind them a record of their sensations in language which -makes very curious reading nowadays. It is difficult to recognise in -their precipices the gentle slopes of Skiddaw and Helvellyn. We cannot -see things through their eyes. It is easy to laugh at their extravagant -expressions, but perhaps after all theirs was the Golden Age of -English Mountaineering. They left the valleys where men dwell with the -adventurous expectation of voyagers on uncharted seas. As they rose -step by step they became conscious, as never before, of towering height -and unplumbed depth. And when they went home and told the tale of their -adventures, there was no unimpressionable critic to accuse them of -exaggerating the height here or the angle of inclination there. - -However, this happy period was short-lived. With the exploration of -the higher Alps mountaineering terms began to acquire a new meaning. -Only quite steep slopes were now called precipices, and words like -‘perpendicular’ began to have a definite objective meaning. British -hills were no longer regarded as too mountainous to climb. Instead, -they were dismissed as not mountainous enough to be worth climbing. -But this, too, was only a phase, which passed away in its turn as the -feeling for mountains became more general. Men began to look in their -home hills for something at least of that which they found in the -Alps, and they were not disappointed. Indeed, the mountain feeling -became at last so little limited that the mountain lover could find in -every hill some realisation of his longings, and he might say, with a -perversion of the old tag about humanity: ‘I am a man; all that is of -the mountains I count akin to myself.’ - -Is this, too, only a phase? A great mountaineer, writing not so very -long ago, gave it as his opinion that the sport of mountaineering in -the Alps was already on the decline. He may not have been right--surely -he cannot have been right. But if even the high Alps are in danger of -vulgarisation, what may not be the fate of our British hills? The great -god Pan is very gracious to his worshippers, but not when they come -in crowds. One by one his haunts are discovered and laid bare, his -chosen sanctuaries are called by uncouth names, even his beloved fennel -is catalogued in the list of mountain flora. The oreads of to-day, if -there were any, would be pointed out like chamois, and would probably -suffer the common fate of everything which is rare and beautiful. - -This is not an unduly pessimistic picture. In fact, it might stand -as a description of what has actually happened in one range of hills -which suffers from too great popularity--the mountains of Harz. The -Germans are genuine lovers of mountains, but there is something -prosaically thorough about their Schwärmerei. Like the well-informed -and communicative frequenter of picture galleries, they are determined -to miss nothing themselves, and to see that the other visitors miss -nothing either. And so all well-behaved travellers in the Harz walk -along well-kept paths, sit down on rustic benches, are admonished by -notice-boards when to admire the view, and are provided at suitable -intervals with the means of drinking beer and coffee. Nothing is -wanting--not even the professional jodeler. And yet Nature is greater -than German officialdom, and the country refuses to be entirely spoilt. -For all the time, though no one enters them, long miles of forest -stretch away on either side of the crowded paths; not mere woods, which -you can cross in an hour, or an afternoon, but the original forests -of all fairy-tales. They have the gloom that belongs to primeval -pine-woods. Unchanging and immense, they stand to-day as they stood -when they swallowed up the Roman legionaries. Somewhere among them Pan -may still be sitting, out of earshot of the clink of coffee-cups, and -the voice of Echo working for hire. - -Of course, it is unlikely that our hills will ever fall a prey to the -particular form of municipal exploitation which goes on in Germany. -But the effect of familiarity may be as dangerous to the individual as -that of popularity is to the mountains. We see it in the Cumberland -dalesman who has never taken the trouble to climb the hill behind his -farm, and look down into the valley on the other side. Take him up -with you, and he will set his eyes for the first time on half a dozen -farms whose names are often on his lips, and whose inhabitants he has -often met at Keswick Market or the Grasmere Games. All his life long he -has taken his native hills for granted, scarcely conscious of what he -felt for them. It is only when he exchanges them for the flat fields -of the southern counties, or some trans-atlantic plain, that he knows -himself for a highlander at heart. With us, it is true, the case is -different. We go to the mountains as a refuge from the dull levels -of existence. But even for us may come a day when there is no savour -in our appreciation of the too familiar outlines, when our eyes are -dulled and our senses blunted. For though the contrast between the -artificiality of life and the peace and freedom of the hills has never -been so marked as it is to-day, the step from the one to the other -has never been so short. Some of our hills have been turned into a -sort of suburban playground of our northern towns, and there are times -when we seem to detect the staleness of the suburbs even in the windy -heights. The very easiness of access becomes a snare. Paradoxically, -the contrast is sometimes lessened and not brightened, because men come -with the atmosphere of the towns they have left behind still clinging -to them. They come perhaps with the same friends, and discussing -the same questions, that are part of their life at home. Instead of -sloughing the crust of habit as they slough their city clothes, they -let it overlay their sensibilities. The man in the street, introduced -suddenly into a theatre at an emotional moment, sees nothing but a -group of posturing actors watched by a gaping crowd. In the same way -it is not all gain that men can step so quickly from the town to the -mountain side. It may mean that the mountains dwindle as the distance -is diminished. - -We must make the most of our mountains then, and come to them in -the right spirit, for they will never crush indifference with the -overpowering force of fourteen thousand feet of rock and snow. And -herein lies the special charm of rock-climbing. It provides the -sharpest possible contrast with everyday life, and jerks the pedant -out of his groove. There are only two directions in which the average -Englishman of to-day can get back to the bare realities of life as -a struggle of man with Nature--the mountains and the sea. Hence the -futility of the common taunt against the rock-climber--that he climbs -his mountain by a difficult way instead of walking up it by the -easiest; the implication, of course, being that the truest philosophy -of life is summed up in the categorical imperative of America--‘Get -there.’ As well taunt the genuine yachtsman because he prefers to sail -his boat across the Channel, not without danger and discomfort, when he -might go over in the latest turbine steamer, and hardly notice that he -had ever left the land. Each attempts in his own way to escape from the -toils of civilisation. It is not the impulse which is artificial and -perverse, but the conditions of life which close all other avenues of -escape. - -It is very difficult to say how much of the joy of climbing is -physical, how much æsthetic. The two sides react upon each other. -Perception is at its keenest during physical exhilaration, and -conversely nothing is so conducive to a sense of vital energy and -well-being as the appreciation of beauty. And yet the truth of this -is often unrealised. Ruskin with his reference to the greasy pole is -typical of a large number of people who appear to think that because -the climber’s pleasure is partly physical, contemplation can have no -part in it. They say, too, that we should look at mountains as at a -picture which is so hung by a thoughtful Providence that it can only -be properly appreciated from the valleys where men are meant to stay. -We who go closer get the perspective wrong, like the too inquisitive -critic who cannot see the picture for the paint. Was Swinburne then -less of a poet because it was his delight to leave the sheltered shore -and swim out into the sea, fighting its waves and matching his strength -against theirs? The physical strife brings insight and understanding, -instead of negating them. Only the sailor understands the sea, only -the climber understands the mountains. Nor, of course, is it true that -the beauty of mountains can be best appreciated from below. That is a -fiction invented by the plainsman to excuse his want of enterprise. -Even in the British Isles, where the secrets of the hills are not so -well guarded as in the Alps, there are a hundred Scottish corries -and Welsh cwms where none but the climber ever goes. The tourist who -travels through Glencoe sees nothing so fine as the upper cliffs of -Bidian nan Bian, or the chasms of Buchaille Etive. Spurred on by wholly -unworthy motives he may struggle up the laborious southern slopes of -Nevis, and buy picture postcards at the top. Under his feet the dull -amorphous summit breaks down in splendid precipices to Alt a’ Mhuilinn. -But he will see nothing of them except the dipping foreground of -flat stones. He may admire the view from the top of Scawfell, but the -climber within a few hundred yards of him on the Pinnacle arête is -moving in another and a more beautiful world. From across the valley -Lliwedd appears as a featureless face, grand only in the sweep of its -descent to Cwm Dwli. But to the climber it reveals an infinite variety -of rock scenery. There is no flat foreground to detract from the sense -of height. The eye looks straight across a mile of emptiness to the -opposing bastions of Crib Goch. - -This sense of the beauty of his surroundings can never be far from the -climber’s consciousness, though sometimes, it is true, the physical -side is uppermost. There is the sheer gymnastic joy that comes from -the ready response of muscle and nerve to sudden need, the sense of -perfect bodily fitness which the Greeks prized among the best things of -life. Nowhere else does a measure of strength and skill meet with such -a splendid reward as in the mountains. Down in the plains a man may -live his whole life through and never know what it is to face danger -which only his own efforts can defeat, to strain body and mind to the -verge of absolute exhaustion. At home he can take a train if he is -tired, put on a coat if he is cold. Rain suggests nothing more to him -than muddy streets, or a noise on his window-pane. Wind only emphasises -the comfort of his chair. He is a caricature of a man, distorted by -the numberless accretions of civilisation which cover him like an -unnatural growth. He pities the lion at the Zoo for his lost freedom, -and lives himself in a comfortable cage of his own making. But put him -down at the foot of a Cumberland gully on a stormy day. The first jet -of icy water down his back will wash away the affectations and rouse -the primitive man. There is no pleasure here in the feel of the wet -rocks, no æsthetic delight in waterfalls or misty depths, nothing but -the satisfaction of the fighting instinct which lies dormant in every -one of us. The falling water attacks him like a living thing; it numbs -his hands, confuses his senses, tries to take the very heart out of -him. For once in his life at least he is face to face with the forces -of Nature--cold, wind, and rain. If things go badly with him, this is -not a game, in which failure means nothing more than the opportunity -of showing the spirit of the sportsman. There is nothing chivalrous -about Nature; when she wins she presses her advantage home. The man who -challenges her will find the water will fall more heavily, the cold -grow more numbing, just when his own powers are on the wane. Before he -is back among his sofa-cushions he may gain an insight into some simple -things which are usually kept under cover in this artificial age. - -But this is only a single side of rock-climbing, and not perhaps the -most universally popular. There are fine-day climbers who know nothing -of this paradoxical pleasure born of pain. But it is the side which -is generally prominent in the winter months. In the presence of ice -and snow there is more of conflict, less of communion with the hills. -Man enters as an intruder, and has to make good his footing. For that -reason perhaps the actual joy of achievement is more keen. - -But for pleasure unalloyed there is nothing to equal a climb up -difficult rock on a fine summer day. Who can describe the exhilaration -that comes from the use of muscles responsive to the call, from the -sense of mastery and ease in the very face of danger, from the splendid -situations and wide outlook? Every faculty is at full stretch. The -whole being is stimulated to the intensest appreciation of beauty in -all its forms--beauty of life itself and beauty of movement, beauty of -height and depth and distance. It must surely have been moments such -as these that Stevenson had in mind when he prayed to the Celestial -Surgeon: - - ‘Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take - And stab my spirit broad awake.’ - -Such moments are necessarily few. It is one of the limitations of -mortal man that he cannot live for long upon the heights. But always -and everywhere the climber is most vividly alive. There are continual -appeals to so many sides of his nature that he cannot be indifferent to -them all. Now one may come home to him, and now another, but at least -he never falls a prey to that most deadly of all soul-diseases--apathy. - -But though climbing, even in the British Isles, means all that we have -said and more, far more, beside, there is just one grain of truth -lurking at the bottom of what Ruskin said. To the rock-climber the -pure æsthetic pleasure of contemplation comes in flashes, not in a -steady glow. There is so much to distract him--the technicalities of -his art, the continuous attention to details, half automatic as it may -become, which alone makes climbing justifiable--even the voices and -proximity of his companions. For though there is nothing discordant in -the presence of sympathetic friends, the conscious introduction of the -personal element must always widen the gulf between man and Nature. -For that reason the climber should sometimes go alone. He should -let his mind be as nearly as possible the empty cupboard of the old -metaphysicians, and leave it to the mountains to make it a storehouse -of impressions. They will be more true and vivid just because there -are no counter influences to weaken them or crowd them out. If he -would enter wholly into the spirit of the hills, let him go alone into -some remote valley of the Scottish Highlands, till the last footpath -vanishes and the highest bothy is left behind. Let him make his bed -in the heather undisturbed by any sign of the presence of man or of -his handiwork. The cold wind that comes with dawn will waken him as -the first thin mists are gathering round the peaks three thousand feet -above. As he climbs the steep slopes of heather in the half-light the -mists roll down to meet him, till he is the only living, moving thing -in a world of whiteness and silence. The heather dwindles, here and -there black rock-ridges show for a moment and disappear. As in a dream -he takes no count of time or distance, till at last he steps out upon -the summit and the sun meets him, shining level with his eyes. Like -an ebbing tide the mists roll back towards the valleys, leaving the -mountain-tops of Scotland shining clear in the brilliance of the upper -air. He is alone with the hills, and stands like one initiated into a -strange and beautiful mystery. - -But it is of the nature of mysteries that they cannot be interpreted to -those who do not know. To the unbeliever they sound like mockeries--or -at the best the unmeaning fancies of ‘an idle singer of an empty day.’ -Let those who are indifferent to mountains protest in the name of -sanity and common sense. Perhaps the climber is to be envied his good -fortune in being something more than sane. - - - - - ROOF-CLIMBING AT OXFORD - - - - - VIII. ROOF-CLIMBING AT OXFORD - - -In a book such as this, where the University of Oxford provides the -one central sun round which, planet-wise, the diverse essays revolve, -each all but breaking from all connection with the rest, and only -just held back by that gravitating force--in such a book, it would be -a pity not to seek to make that force more strong. In what way could -this be better done than by some account of Oxford climbing, where the -University provides not only the spiritual background, but the very -physical basis of the theme? - -Then, too, there is another reason for the attempt. The art of -roof-climbing, at Oxford, alas! no less than elsewhere, is in need of -defenders who will speak out for her. Herself still inarticulate, -she needs the good offices of any champion she can find amidst the -universal enmity in which she finds herself. Poor struggling wretch, -in expectation of foes, she has found them: but has been deceived, too -often, in those that should have been friends. - -Indigenous authority, not, perhaps, without some show of reason, -though here and there one of its Argus eyes may consciously wink at -the art’s clandestine or unobtrusive practice, will yet trim the vials -of punitive wrath for the foolish one who is discovered. That was to -be looked for; but there is hardship when brother turns on brother -(big bully on baby brother); climbers there are that have the Alps for -their pleasure, and are privileged in acquaintance with the princely -among mountains, who yet grudge the poor stay-at-home his sincerest -flattery, tell him he is to be despised for his ascents, rebuked for -his foolhardiness, and chastised for his disobedience. - -Poor Cinderella of Climbing! May the Prince soon come, and cast his -favourable glance upon her. Meanwhile let it be for me to play the part -of Matrimonial Agency, display and recite her charms and publish them -abroad, so that perchance they may thus catch the eye of the destined -Sprig of Royalty. - -With forethought, knowing the fastidious taste of these gentlemen -in their search for a true princess, let us recite her personal -charms--the glimpses of beauty and of cold unknown secrets which even -her more humble wooer may find--her beauty, which is the reward, given -to a mind tense and braced by the hard labour of unwonted muscles on -slippery places. Imagine a prickly ridge of the horned and perforated -tiles deemed suitable for roof-trees, gained by a climb up the body of -a companion, laid flat along the sloping roof. All around are stone and -brick ranges, peaks which more than their Alpine counterparts deserve -to be called Clocher or Tour, showing in the darkness little of their -dilettante symmetry of the artificial: the deep valleys between filled -with their rivers of light, carrying their noisy freight along: cols in -the near range vouchsafing their strange glimpses of the more distant: -beneath, a wide and gloomy desert, with here and there lamp-posts for -oases of our symbol of mountain-water. - -Throughout, a jump in nearness to the stars, and a fellow-tingling -unwarranted by a bare forty-feet approximation to them. By our own act -we are cut off from men: the thickness of a single wall, if but it be -the outer house-wall, dispossesses us of our humanity, and gives back -our lost kinship with the stars. - -Peak and col, valley, river, and pass--all are there: but the real, -broad-sustaining Alps do not gape suddenly to a show of the imagined -trolls of our story-books at work beneath, and full of unintelligible -hatred against ourselves. While here, on our tile-summits and -pipe-couloirs, we know the trolls for a reality, their life the -very negation of the fount of our new spirit gained in the traverse -from plastered side to plain of a wall; the rousing of their -incomprehensible rage leading to pursuit and loss of our world. - -Signs of their inhabitance are all around us: vents, traps for the -feet, showing signs of the furnaces where they are ever at labour to -fuse the dead message of the written page into living matter of a -brain for the breathing hole of some typho of a senseless machine, -whose groans are chained to the production of sweetest music in -College organ-pipes; sudden lights flashed out by one of the trolls, -to the displaying of a pair of legs spider-wise across the entrance -to his lair, or the painted globe sphering the radiance shed upon the -small-hourly labours of the troll of highest Matterhorn. - -And yet the peril of them is greater in imagination than in -reality--dazzled by the light in which he loves to bathe himself, he -cannot see the wanderer on the heights, who may dance unobserved in -the view of public streets. The troll-kind are like some power able to -shake the earth, and to overwhelm life when the time comes, but now -only manifesting a greater grandeur to the eyes--volcano, flame, or -flood: engrossed in their own subterranean labours, they give scarce -a thought to us, and we may even mock at them from without; discover -yourself, however, and he becomes the arch-enemy, like the all-powerful -earth-force, ready to annihilate those whom it supports, and yet some -evil power they have had upon the Climber--they have lured him to -desist from praises of his lady, and to run off in disquisitions upon -their ugly selves. Thwart them, Climber, and return to your Princess! -She has granted Beauties--she does not deny Adventures: no--you may -meet with strange ones on the tops--unexpected sights that would lose -half their strangeness if they had been known and sought. - -One befell upon a chapel--that chapel whose top is adorned with the -four symbolic figures known to common repute as Faith, Hope, Charity, -and Mathematics. To the Climber they are rather Spirits of the Heights, -beckoning him on with enticement of gesture, expression still alluring -spite of that strange emaciation, that attrition of feature given to -them in their high desolate realm by the unruly Elements.... - -The chapel--if you will allow a short excursus--is a good climb; it -is best taken from the west; the heights once gained, there follows -a spread-eagle traverse on a ledge past the clock (to resist setting -its hands at sixes and sevens--if that metaphor be allowed--is hard). -Thirty feet below are the flag-stones of the quad; next time you pass -beneath the chapel arch, think of slow midnight figures shuffling along -that narrow ledge above, feeling with anxious feet for the unseen, -unpleasant wires, ridges, and minor anfractuosities with which it is -beset. - -From the ledge there is a press-up (without holds) on to the -balustrade: what may be called the shoulder is now reached. The final -pitch, a very interesting eastward-facing pipe, is left to climb: and -then there we are in the pure air of truth with Mathematics and the -rest of them. - -Seldom is there space on summits for an encounter with Adventure. -Here, however, a flat-topped balustrade runs round the top; this, on -a second visit, we thought should be perambulated, and perambulation -was in progress when suddenly the leader stopped short--another step -and he would have been plunged in a crevasse. True, it was so narrow -that he could not have fallen past his arms; but then this was none of -your smooth cold ice-cracks. It belonged to the volcano rather than the -glacier--a square pipe leading down twistingly to red-hot fires below. -Lucky for him he had not stepped unwarily, now to be wedged in it, his -helpless body fast, suffering a double and simultaneous metamorphosis, -into frozen mutton above, smoked ham below. - -It was only a chimney really, but you have no idea how curious a -chimney looks from above, especially a big square one like this, -without vestige of chimney-pot, and edge flush with the balustrade in -the centre of which it had taken it into its head to debauch. And then -its position, thus in the very chapel--that was strange. With the poet -we asked: - - ‘What occupation do you here pursue? - This is a lonesome place for one like you’; - -but we got no answer--the embers did not even give one ‘flash of mild -surprise,’ and we never knew what manner of man was warmed at the blaze -we had seen dying. - -So much for Adventure; now let us seek Romance. - -Wadham Gardens are beautiful--but usually only to be seen as setting -to a flower show, to the accompaniment of a band, and upon payment -of a shilling. The Climber sees them free of charge, in their own -self-sufficient beauty (not decreased by the moonlight), and solitary. -Even the owls are almost silent--birds of the twilight more than of the -midnight. The squirrels (for there are still squirrels, even here, far -within the brick-and-mortar girdle)--they are long asleep. The Warden -is safe in bed. The Climber, who is here partly for the garden’s sake, -partly to prospect for a route up the College, swishes through the -soaking grass along by the shadow of the pines and cedars. Ha!--‘Wer -reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?’--What is that dark form that -he sees ‘cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green’? The -Climber, cautiously approaching, greets with joy a hedge-pig (hedgehog, -called by the general name--illogical and less euphonious). He is very -tame; even permits a finger to stroke the only strokeable part of him, -his soft furry stomach, before rolling up into a pin-cushion. Leaving -him thus defensive and spherical, the Climber passes on, only by the -next tree to find another; and the performance is repeated. - -No route was found that night; but as in the Alps not seldom the -off-day in the upland valley brings with birds and flowers a new and -equal joy with that of the summits, so the moon-lit hedge-pigs of -Wadham touched a chord of romance all their own, and vivified that -night with as strong a memory as any hard-won roof-tree could have -done. - -But it is not always through such moon-lit Edens that the Climber -passes; sometimes it is the fierce flames of the Cities of the Plain. - -Trinity (to make a necessary digression) has a roof, which, once -reached, is mostly walking. It has also a quad with gravel paving, -an absence of Bodleian libraries in close propinquity, and the usual -complement of chairs. In addition, it sometimes makes six bumps. -After one of those occasions it was therefore not unexpected when -the Climber, perambulating the Trinity leads, saw beyond the further -roof-tree Vesuvius in full eruption--red smoke in a whirling column, -full of blazing sparks sailing up and off on the wind. Crawling up the -roof-tree and looking over, the Climber saw a sight, not unfamiliar -in itself, but strange when viewed from such a viewpoint, and with -such detachment. A bit of hell was here on earth. Devils in deshabille -were dancing round a flaming pyre, screaming, with shrieking laughter. -Others, issuing from the dark doors round the prison-like yard, -brought with them offerings for the fire. The iron gates that barred -the further side of the square from the night beyond were reminders -that none might pass out from this pit: ‘Lasciate ogni speranza’ was -doubtless inscribed upon their outer face. It was a relief to find that -the servers of the flames brought no writhing Spirits of the Damned, -but mere inanimate combustibles. - -Well might the Climber lie there gazing till the flames were sinking on -to the ember-pile, and the corybantic Zoroastrian bacchanals (for all -the three rituals they combined) had begun to slink off to their cells. - -To ease stiff limbs, the chapel was taken on the homeward way; and -from its top the final flare was seen--a last great blaze, streamers -of burning paper floating eastwards away (scaring, no doubt, Eden’s -nocturnal browsers), showers of sparks, and then all sinking to a mere -flicker in the quiet night. And so to bed. - -The Climber can thus penetrate into secret places, see strange sights, -have familiar ones for him transmogrified. But this is not all. Profit -is combined with pleasure. In an emergency, how useful he can prove. - -He may perhaps be allowed to relate a case in point: One Lent Term, -after a heavy fall of snow, the inmates of a certain College, which -shall be nameless, finding the snow hang heavy on their feet, took it -into their heads to take it into their hands, and thence dispatched it -as a challenge through the windows of their neighbour College--through -the very windows once source of light to the famous Galetti (gone down -to posterity, by one of Clio’s whims, with name distorted almost out -of recognition). After much shouting and the filling of the historic -chamber with snow, the challenge was taken up. - -I am no Homer to describe the combat, nor were I one, would this be the -place to do so.... - -Long had they struggled, when there arrived on the field a messenger. -His message, delivered with more jocularity than he would have -exhibited in Greek drama, was to the effect that the Dean had been -peeping through some alleyway, had seen that any direct interference -was useless, and had resorted to the method of blockade. All the gates -were shut, and the prophets of Baal were to be mercilessly dealt -with. ‘Que faire’? Hostilities ceased; earth became united in its -opposition to Olympus. Racked brains gave birth to hasty plans--all -proved abortive, till suddenly one--a full-armoured Minerva--flashed -from its parent’s engendering lead. ‘The Climber, the Climber!’ was all -the cry. Soon he appeared, triumphantly escorted, and bearing in his -arms his rope. One end of this went through the window (that window, -serving more often for the passage of insults, not wholly unaccompanied -by injuries, now consecrated to pacific use), and was grasped within -by six strong men. The other end became a loop, into which the foot of -one of the aliens was inserted. No sooner this, than, hey presto! a -pull by the six, and, an alien no longer, he was clinging to his own -country’s boundary--the window-sill. No Customs examination or landing -formalities--other stalwarts gripped him, and he disappeared into the -bowels of his fatherland, a pair of legs for an instant waving farewell -to his late enemies. - -This was repeated more than a score of times, till at length not one -remained for the cunning Dean and his unwreaked vengeance. Barred -gates, alert porters, grinning scouts, confidently waiting dons:--who -was the instrument to bring them all to nought?--the Climber! - -This much for its use to others. Rich use to the Climber himself -it has too. Not only as a way out of the prosaic world of streets -and staircases into another where for a glorious dusky hour he may -feel free, alone with himself, the night, and active limbs, but also -as a true training for the more grave realities of nobler peaks in -other lands. General exercise for arms (lying sadly fallow if only -the ordinary run of games be followed), and back and legs--that is -something; but more special practice is given in lightness of balancing -and in training a dizzy head. Cat-soft feet are needed there where -tell-tale tiles are crossed, where dons abound, and where sharp-hearing -porters lurk. Light, even-pulling arms alone can with safety grip frail -roof-trees, tiles, or chimney-pots. Then, in reality, it is not common -to be above precipices of the true vertical: here in the comfortable -city they are never to be avoided. It is physically no doubt as easy to -step across above a plumb drop than where the ground is sloping; but -however steep the slope, there is some comfort in it for the untrained -head, while every crumb of it drops away down the perpendicular. - -Soon, however, under necessity’s spell, the reluctant cerebellum -(where, I am told, our balance-bump is to be found) becomes used to the -smooth uncompromising walls, and the Climber can sally qualmless forth -to tackle Dolomites or Cumberland climbs. - -Beauty, Romance, Adventure; Help to others; Use, both for mind and -body, to oneself: I hope the Climber has said enough to show our -Cinderella forth for What she really is. And, gentle reader, you will -not grumble if her champion, for reasons not obscure, can display no -betraying blazon on his shield. Having championed his fair, and been -acclaimed victor in the lists, he rides triumphant forth to kneel -before his sovran liege--the British Public. ‘What is your name, that I -may honour you?’ ‘Sire, if you will permit me, I will present you with -my card.’ Which done, he vanishes, leaving not a wrack behind save the -white pasteboard with the two words upon it: - -ΑΝΩΝΥΜΟΣ ΤΙΣ - - - - - THE MOUNTAINS OF YOUTH - - BY - - ARNOLD H. M. LUNN - (Balliol) - - - - -IX. THE MOUNTAINS OF YOUTH - - ‘Fire made them, earth clothed them, man found them, - Our playmates the princes of hills, - Last uttered of time, and love-fashioned, - Of a fullness of knowledge impassioned - For freedom: boy-hearts, royal wills, - Sun nursed them, wind taught them, frost crowned them. - - Light o’er them, life with them, peace round them, - They have waited in masterless strength - For the moment of mortal awaking, - When bright on new vision upbreaking - Far beacons of freedom, at length - Art saw them, hope sought them, youth found them.’ - GEOFFREY WINTHROP YOUNG. - - -Few haunters of the Alps can have altogether escaped the dreary -ceremonies in some mountain Tabernacle, manufactured perhaps from a -drawing-room whose windows reveal malicious glimpses of the snows -that suggest a more acceptable service. Few but would recognise the -discourse meandering on from the inevitable text, that cry of the -soul to great hills afar, which constant quotation cannot wholly -mar, to the final application which asserts that the sojourn among -the mountains is only given that, fortified in soul and body, we may -return to the battle of life. To some of us this pious reflection must -appear irredeemably vulgar. Those moments on the hills when the pulses -of life seem quickened with new fire are given for the sake, and for -the sake alone, of the moments themselves. To adapt them to didactic -disquisition is to degrade the chief things of the ancient mountains. -For the hills are no mere nursing-home to recuperate after the drudgery -of the plains. Those that climb to advance science, to surpass records, -to improve their digestion miss the real appeal. For we deserve or we -do not deserve the mountains according as we regard them as an end in -themselves or as a means to an end. - -An apology has already been offered in the Introduction for a -subjective treatment of mountains. Whether the mountain that we -loved is an entity independent of man is a question that may be left -to philosophers to discuss. Man may or may not be the measure of all -things, but to some extent every man undoubtedly fashions Nature in the -mould of his own beliefs. Every mountain lover brings something new to -the common worship: for each of us spells out a different syllable in -the universal message of the hills. So these pages contain an attempt -to analyse one aspect of the mountains, that aspect which is caught in -childhood and youth. - -The thread that binds the scattered memories of seventeen summers and -eleven winters in the Alps is the half-belief that in some sense the -mountains are not only so many tons of rock and ice, that they are -something more than the ruins of chaos, and possess an individuality -elusive but none the less very real. In an uninspired age when a -dogmatic Christianity was pitted against an even more dogmatic -Rationalism, this belief in a mountain soul found its most poetic -expression in an unsuspected quarter. Leslie Stephen would have -smiled grimly at any attempt to read more than a figurative meaning -into certain passages of _The Alps in Winter_; but no one can read -that lofty confession of an agnostic’s faith without feeling that it -is this rather than the essay of that name which constitutes the true -_Agnostic’s Apology_. Naturalism could not resist the mute appeal of -‘those mighty monuments of a bygone age ... to which in spite of all -reason it is impossible not to attribute some shadowy personality.’ And -there is the ring of something more than fantasy in the final words: -‘Their voice is mystic and has found discordant interpreters, but to me -at least it speaks in tones at once more simple and more awe-inspiring -than that of any mortal teacher.’ - -What the heart feels to-day, philosophy may assume to-morrow. It would -be easy to find a further illustration in Fechner’s great vision of the -Earth Soul; easy but unprofitable, for no faith, least of all a fragile -_Aberglaube_ such as this, can stand the strain of a philosophic -formula. This sense of a conscious personality in Nature is most -powerful in childhood. I do not pretend that our childhood peopled -its surroundings with fairies, goblins, and similar stage supers. -Nor shall I add to the accumulations of mischievous nonsense that -have become fashionable at a time when literature delights, without -understanding, to dabble in the curious psychology of childhood. The -modern conception of the child seems oddly mistaken. He is pictured -as a sexless cherub trailing clouds of moral glory from a prenatal -paradise. But the child is non-moral, and only acquires with difficulty -and growth the conventional ethics of his elders. The natural child -is cruel with the cruelty that comes from an absence of experience -of pain. Without experience his imagination has nothing to build on, -for, as that genial cynic Hobbes remarks, ‘Pity is the imagining unto -oneself of a woe.’ The modern child and the mediæval man have much in -common. The imagination of both is at once vivid and restricted. From -this springs the experimental cruelty as well as that intense joy of -life equally characteristic of the age of childhood and of the Middle -Ages. The world of the fifteenth century was narrower, but within its -restricted boundaries far richer in romantic possibilities than the -world as it now exists for the ‘grown-ups.’ For all but the child the -dog-headed men have had their day. So the narrow limits that bounded -our wanderings in those early Grindelwald summers contained a world -instinct with an intangible romance that the years have never expelled. - -My first distinct mountain memory is that of watching at the age of -four Grindelwald and our temporary home in flames. An aunt tried to -banish the terrifying spectacle by a handkerchief round my eyes, a -needless precaution. As a proper child I was fascinated by the prospect -of vicarious emotion, and the possibility of some fellow-creature -roasting in the flames added interest to the drama. But it was not -Grindelwald in flames, it was the ruthless indifference of the Eiger -insolently preening its snows in the blood-red haze of the catastrophe -that really gripped me with fear. The mountains bind us by their very -superiority to suffering. The unrelenting callousness that hurls the -boulders down the gully in which we are pinned appeals to our primitive -imaginations. ‘The attitude of the creature towards his Creator,’ -said Newman, ‘should be one of abject submission.’ ‘Not abject,’ -replied some Anglican divine, ‘respectful.’ ‘Not submission,’ says the -mountaineer, ‘resistance.’ Analyse the peculiar appeal of some stern -struggle against a mountain stronghold, and it is this sentiment that -is most prominent. Conflict without animosity makes the strongest -demand on the fighting instinct and the faculty for worship. Like -children we like to see how far we can go. We learn to honour the -reserve of strength that is not exerted against us and of beauty that -we cannot overcome. - - ‘Love thou the Gods and withstand them, lest thy - fame should fail at the end-- - And thou be but their thrall and their bondman, - who wast born for their very friend.’ - -Five summer months we spent in a little village a few miles from -Grindelwald. We came in the early days of May just as the snow began to -call a late retreat from the pastures above the chalet. We watched the -fields rich in the promise of spring, and caught some afterglow from - - ‘The gleam of the first of summers on the yet untrodden grass.’ - -The most prosaic child can fashion from a back-garden of weeds a world -of magical fancies. So it is not surprising that we found in our summer -playground a wealth of intimate suggestion. For it is true of the -child, as was said of Fechner, that ‘his only extravagances are those -of thought, but these are gorgeous ones.’ - -As the shortening days at the end of September foretold the long -winter sleep we sorrowfully departed for the City of Dreadful Night. -The sorrows and joys of childhood are singularly final. The wider -imagination of youth can realise that the Alps are not irrevocably lost -when the train steams sadly out of the platform at Berne. No such -consolations suggested themselves to us as children, and the weary -months that had to elapse before the next glimpse of Paradise might as -well have been eternity. But life is vital only by contrast, and it -may have been that the mountain passion found its strongest ally in a -childhood divided between the generous open life of the hills and the -sullen gloom of a London Square. - -To those days we owe the fascination that even now invests the railway -journey to the Alps with a romance that an older school would have us -believe vanished with the last stage-coach. Perhaps it did for them. -But for those who have been brought up on steam, there can be few -things more provocative of wonder than the journey to Switzerland. We -used to wait for the vigilant nurse to trumpet forth the evidences of -deep slumber, and then gently raised the blinds always relentlessly -drawn. For us the rattle and roar of the night express--to some a -discordant chaos of sound--seemed ‘the music nighest bordering upon -heaven,’ a brave accompaniment to the drama that flashed past us into -the night, dim white spaces of open road, sleeping hamlets, shadowy -trees and waters mirroring the stars. Could any contrast be more -intense than the sunlit joy of that first morning in Berne when the -‘authentic air of Paradise’ seemed to linger round the terrace, and -the leaden despair of the return to Charing Cross in a fog? I am still -susceptible to the riotous excitement of the nights in the train. Even -now I can barely understand how any one can remain unmoved as the train -sweeps from the gates of the Jura to reveal beyond the morning mists -the host of peaks from the Wetterhorn to the Blumlisalp. - -Chalet life is a useful corrective for those who regard the Swiss as -a nation of hotelkeepers and guides. We soon picked up the unlovely -patois, and gradually worked our way into the life of the village. We -made friends with the owner of the chalet, and spent long hours on the -Grindelalp watching the evolution of cheese. We made shameless love -to the daughter of the chalet, now a dignified matron. A deserted kine -shed was fitted up as a temporary home, and my brother, despite his -obvious reluctance, was required to accept the rôle of our offspring. -On Sunday we joined the brown-coated congregation in the white-washed -Zwinglian church, helped to swell the mournful drone to which Luther’s -sonorous hymns are intoned, and listened with incurious awe to the -torrent of language with which the ‘Gletcher Pfarrer’ drenched his fold. - -Our imagination took its suggestion from those around us. We did not -play at soldiers or enginedrivers, for our hero was an old guide. It is -significant that we admired him not so much for his sixty odd ascents -of the Wetterhorn as for a mythical reputation, which we probably -evolved from our sense of the heroic proprieties, that he beat his wife -and looked upon the wine when it was red. Inspired by our knight of the -rope, we surreptitiously stole an old pick-axe and some forty feet -of clothes-line, and daily made our way to the woods above. The will -to believe is the greatest asset of childhood, the age of unconscious -pragmatism, and we convinced ourselves that, but for the steps -laboriously hewed from the yielding earth, we could never have ascended -so grim a slope. One day we received a rude awakening. A little damsel -followed us, smiled cynically at the elaborate preparations, and then -ran lightly up the perilous incline, disdainfully dodging the steps. -The moment held material for tragedy. We affected an air of scornful -indifference, but the pick-axe was never disturbed again. - -We found a more real scope for our climbing ambition on a boulder that -the ice rivers of the dawn of time had left stranded in the woods. Some -thirty feet in height, it fell away sheer on all sides and gave scope -for some pretty problems. With vague memories of Bunyan we dubbed it -‘Hill Difficulty,’ and tried to believe that Apollyon lurked in the -neighbouring wood. Apollyon was an actuality for whom we entertained -a chastened respect. We thought then that every Alpine peak was formed -of perpendicular cliffs scaled by infinitesimal handholds. Experience -has shown that many of the climbs on this boulder were harder than any -similar short stretch on, say, the Finsteraarhorn. Hill Difficulty, -on which we learned our craft at the respective ages of six and four, -was really a sound training-ground. More than once we were placed in -positions of considerable ignominy, and, for our size, some danger. -A twenty-foot fall head first might have had awkward results but for -a helpful bush which often proved a friend. On one fateful occasion -I remember weeping profusely and shouting for aid to my nurse, a -humiliating experience for a mountaineer. She, worthy dame, declined to -interfere, and beat me soundly on returning to earth. - -When I look back on those long summers, and try to recapture the -haunting vagueness of the first moods born of the hills, I am faced by -the insufficiency of the written word to express sensations that seem -the less definite in outline the more vividly their colour endures. -But certain broad features stand out, and I am convinced by experience -that the normal conception of childhood, as embodied, for instance, in -_The Child’s Garden of Verses_, is radically wrong. Some of Blake’s -detached verses, and the poetry--written at the age of seven--by Miss -Enid Welsford, reflect truer glimpses of that mood of savagery and -vague fear that enwraps the world of the imaginative child, a world -in which there is little either of the cosy or the snug. Alarming -actual incidents such as Grindelwald on fire often excite an abstract -curiosity, whilst people and places intrinsically innocent may in a -moment become charged with cosmic significance. Of fact and tradition -the modern child is often a sceptic. Neither of us believed in fairies, -though we accepted with indulgence the well-meant efforts of our elders -to amuse. But to this day I cannot explain why there should ever have -existed a well-marked boundary in the Grindelwald woods, beyond which -there dwelt an unhealthy influence. I cannot understand what fixed this -bourne, nor yet why a certain slope of scree and slag leading up to a -cluster of rock and pine should even now seem laden with brooding fear. -So, too, though we did not believe in the ice maiden, we yet felt that -certain mountains were, so to speak, healthy and others provokingly -sinister. The child in touch with Nature finds his own fairy land, and -the mountains are the most potent magicians. - -The inner secrets of the mountain fear are seldom revealed, for those -that know are ashamed of the atavistic emotions that robbed them of -self-control. For the possessing terror of the lonely hills is a thing -by itself. It is most felt in childhood, and best known to the solitary -intruder. I am not thinking of those trying periods whose horror is -at least reducible to natural causes, of the slow advance from step -to step across an ice-slope raked by falling stones, of the desperate -race against darkness as night charged up from the valley, of the grim -struggle when retreat was and advance seemed equally impossible: - - νῦν δ’ (ἔμπης γὰρ κῆρες ἐφεστᾶσιν θανάτοιο - μύριαι, ἃς οὐκ ἐστι φυγεῖν βροτὸν οὐδ’ ὑπαλύξαι) - ἴομεν. - -The strain of such moments is at least healthy, but the uncanny terror -that grips the lonely victim is not. Often it is independent of -difficulty or danger. As a boy I had wandered up to that barren valley -of barren boulders that closes in the head of the Val d’Arpette. There -was no suggestion of gloom in the peaceful afternoon light that cast -lazy shadows on the Clochers d’Arpette. I was perfectly happy. Suddenly -the whole wilderness of forbidding stones seemed fraught with evil -intent. There was no tangible reason for this transformation, but it -was sufficiently real to produce a headlong flight. I still remember -the compelling terror that drove me to bruise shin and elbow as I -hurled myself from boulder to boulder in a desperate attempt to escape -from a valley tenanted by the shades of dim derisive evil. - -The Alps merit a patient novitiate, and the mountaineer who does his -Matterhorn and Mont Blanc in his first season misses the essential -charm of the hills. We spent some ten summers and four winters in the -mountains before we even crossed the snow-line. But the bitterness -of waiting was redeemed by the joy of long deferred fulfilment. We -learned during those years the fascination of the lower hills, too -often dismissed as tedious grinds fit to serve only as training walks -or as exercise for an off-day in bad weather. They are worthy of a more -loving study. There is a peculiar joy in working patiently upwards -from the smallest of beginnings to the culminating reward of a great -peak. The landmarks of our climbing history advanced very slowly. There -was the triumph of the Little Scheidegg at the age of six, the proud -moment when we passed the eight thousand level on the Brevent, and the -tantalising approach to the magic ten thousand on the Schwarzhorn. -Finally, at the age of fifteen, I crossed the line of perpetual snow, -which for years had haunted our dreams and marked the heights of -earthly ambition. The Aiguille du Tour may seem a slight victory, but -the romance of the first night in a club hut, the first dawn seen from -the upper snows, the first generous breadth of vision from a real -mountain, are among the unforgettable things. Even the long deferred -Matterhorn belongs to a less splendid category of memories. - -Those years taught us how meaningless is the cry that the Alps are -played out. Railways and cheap trippers, it is said, have robbed -Switzerland of all charm. Grindelwald is simply Brighton by the -mountains, and so on and so forth. For the railways I agree with Mr. -Belloc. ‘They are the trenches that drain our modern civilisation. -Avoid them by so much as a quarter of a mile and you may have as -much peace as would fill a nose bag.’ Nor need we deny even to the -cheap tripper the possible possession of a soul for the beautiful. -The heritage of the hills should not be the monopoly of the cultured -classes. In the Lötschenthal I once met four men of that class which -has recently begun to desert Margate for the mountains. Their savings -were devoted to this one fortnight in the Alps. Because guides are -expensive they confined their wanderings to easy snow summits. Because -the _Climber’s Guides_ are expensive they spent long hours in the -British Museum copying them out into notebooks. One should rejoice in -the increased facilities of communication into lives otherwise lacking -in colour of the saving inspiration of the snows. - -The complaint that the Alps are over-run argues a barren lack of -enterprise. The Wengen Alp is confessedly somewhat dense in the -height of the season. This troubles me not at all. Within two hours -of the Scheidegg lies one of the most ideal of Alpine summits. To the -superficial observer the Tschuggen may seem an unattractive scree -and slate peak, yet the actual top is a delightful yielding carpet -of springy Alpine turf touched with the blue of late gentians. Who -will, may spend untroubled hours here watching the clouds drifting -across Jungfrau, and in the north the dark turquoise waters of Thun -gleaming between the intervening hills. Solitary, remote, and secluded, -they will scarce remember the proximity of the hidden hotel and its -heterogeneous mob. - -On the other side of the valley the Faulhorn is doubly starred in -Baedeker, but fortunately the course of the double stars is so ordered -that it does not light on the fairest of Alpine retreats. The treasures -of this chain are hidden in its eastern wings, and you, friends, who -find Grindelwald bourgeois, do you know that ‘very lovely, silent -land’ hidden away behind the black pyramid of the Schwarzhorn? The -long rampart that links the Grossenegg to the Krinne is perhaps the -finest low-level wall in Switzerland; whilst shadowed by a fold in this -curtain of rock lies one of the chiefest of Alpine wonders. Within the -span of some thousand yards you can trace the life of a baby glacier -that has never reached maturity. Meticulously fashioned, with névé, -ice-fall, and crevasse on a perfect but diminutive scale, it recalls -the dwarf trees of Japan in its miniature perfection. - -So during the ten summers in which we explored this chain in all its -moods we found for ourselves the essential romance of the mountains. -We acquired a more extensive book knowledge of the topography and -history of the greater peaks than most climbers we met. _Scrambles in -the Alps_ was the first book that I laboriously spelt out for myself. -Alpine literature and Alpine photographs, such as Mr. Donkin’s, -gave us a precocious knowledge of the Alps. I remember surprising a -chance acquaintance by the certainty with which I located the views -at an Alpine Club Exhibition, and his comment, ‘You seem to have been -climbing for many seasons,’ had a certain bitterness for a boy who had -not crossed the snow-line. - -We had our foolish moments. A girl of fifteen returning from the -Eiger, and seemingly careless of an experience for which we would have -bartered our appetites, provoked a desperately absurd attempt on the -Wetterhorn. Without rope or axe we found our way to the Gleckstein -Hut. There we realised the impossibility of any serious attempt on the -Wetterhorn itself, and turned aside towards one of the great buttresses -below the main peak. By a nasty chimney and an arête which would prove -trying to most unroped climbers we reached the top of our little peak. -From our feet the great curtain of cliff that overshadows Grindelwald -fell away in one curve to the pastures of the Scheidegg. A touch of -uncertainty as to our chance of recovering the line of ascent added to -the majesty of that compelling precipice. There were no traces of a -previous visit, so we proudly erected a cairn, and then, more alarmed -than we should have cared to confess, we cautiously retraced our steps -down the ridge. On this and similar scrambles we may have learned -something that is missed in a more orthodox novitiate. Occasionally we -managed to borrow an axe, and derived much amusement from the tangled -labyrinth of crevasses that can be found among the upper reaches of -the Grindelwald glaciers. These expeditions were carried out somewhat -stealthily, but an unusual and enlightened view of the educational -value of the mountains allowed us considerable liberty of action. - -The hopeless call of the skyline that we could never cross lent to -the historic gap between the Jungfrau and the Mönch the mystery of -those corners one can never turn in dreams. When at length we began -to climb the greater peaks, fate took us to other ranges. But after -years of waiting we at last solved the mystery of the other side, and -a six-day journey across the glaciers of the Oberland on ski owed its -inmost charm to the discoveries that answered the questions of those -early years. Imagination had fashioned a mysterious conception of those -fields of unknown snow behind the Jungfrau, and the last steps up the -slope leading to the portals of the Lötschenlücke were quickened by the -return of the child’s desire. And when at last the glory of the Great -Aletsch snowfield, white with the softness of a winter moon, gave -substance to the dream--‘Behold, the half had not been told.’ - -As a small boy I had compiled a guide-book, in which I had affirmed -that ‘the Finsteraarhorn will test the powers of a first-class -mountaineer.’ And now as we left our ski and passed on to its ascent, -there was a touch of sadness in the ease with which we overcame the -stronghold that to childhood had seemed almost impregnable. From the -summit the little chalet of those earlier summers was just visible, -and across the white recesses of the familiar lower ranges, and across -the interval of years, our eyes seemed to meet the eager upward looks -that had so often searched for the secrets of our present tranquil -resting-place. - -With such surroundings for our childhood it was almost inevitable -that there should be little room for the sentiment with which others -look back on school and home life. The snows are a jealous tutor, and -resent a divided attention. It might be truer to say that Grindelwald -was our real home and school. On the first day of summer and winter -holidays we left for the Alps, to return only as term began. We never -talked of ‘going,’ but always of ‘going back’ to the Grindelwald, -where the chalet was the centre of our most enduring associations. -The associations remained with us at school. My kindliest memories of -Harrow centre round the Vaughan Library, comfortably remote from the -minor annoyances of school life. The monitor’s key was a very real -privilege, for it gave undisturbed possession of silent spaces whose -full beauty was only revealed during a winter ‘first school’ when the -sun shone in awakening glory through the windowed recesses that open -on to terrace, fields, and the low-lying hills in the east. One shelf -in particular proved a sovereign alchemist, and an intricate book -knowledge of the Himalayas and Caucasus was accumulated with its help -at the expense of the humaner letters. - -The Grindelwald epoch was followed by three summers that gave us some -experience of guideless scrambling among third-rate snow mountains. By -judiciously choosing the worst of all conceivable routes we managed -to discover educative difficulties where none need have existed. And -if we are the only people who have found a dangerous route up the -Wildstrubel, we may as well have the discredit attaching to that feat. -The providence that cares for the young and very foolish preserved us -among sundry and manifold perplexities. At least we brought the axe -and rope out of the sphere of imaginative usage, and acquired an eye -for country that we might not have gained on first-class peaks between -guides. Just as the charm of the lower hills is too little understood, -so also the fascination of these dependent courtiers of the greater -monarchs is woefully ignored. These smaller mountains provide the most -natural transition from the hills of mere imagination to the actual -mountains of romance. - -Let me instance the Glacier de la Plaine Morte, a field of névé on the -route to no great peaks, and rarely visited. Its elusive magic is all -its own. Just as the quiet spell of Wordsworth escapes those whose -taste in poetry tends towards sound and fury, so the Plaine Morte is -a useful touchstone to discriminate between the esoteric and exoteric -school of mountain lovers. ‘Any goose sees glory’ in the ice-fall of -the Rhone or the sweep of the Aletsch. But if a man can see nothing -in the Plaine Morte but a somewhat featureless field of snow, he is -not one of those to whom the precious things of the lasting hills will -yield up their treasure. He is no dweller in the inner-most. - -On the glaciers near Finse there is something of the like fascination. -There, as on the Plaine Morte, the appeal consists in no outstanding -feature, but in an impression of organic unity in a seemingly -neglected world. On the Plaine Morte the effect is heightened by the -insignificance of the shapeless bounding wall of low-lying shale slopes -that cut off the greater peaks. Here also there is nothing to disturb -by an assertion of disproportionate grandeur. There is the same secret -and spacious charm on the Hardanger-Jokul, where the eye travels -unarrested over dim white spaces of ice-capped plateaus only suggesting -by a suspicion of haze the unseen fjords that sleep among their folds, -and falling away like the rhythm of dying music to a far and grey -horizon. In such places there is an uneasy feeling as of an unsought -intrusion upon the quiet of a world withdrawn to die, a death with a -wayward note of incompleteness: - - ‘As though some God in his dreaming had wasted the work of his hand - And forgotten the work of creation.’ - -The Plaine Morte is also associated with less seemly memories. Our -first guideless venture above the snow-line took us to the Wildstrubel. -We left at midnight without sleeping, and were dead tired when we -started home. But our older companion should have known better than -to give himself and two exhausted boys neat whisky as a pick-me-up. -The next distinct memory is that of watching our friend carrying -out his suggestion that he should lead. His movements did not seem -governed by any concept of the shortest distance between two points, -and after a few aimless curves he sat himself in the snow. There was -much competition to avoid leading, as those that followed could doze -peacefully, guided and led by the tension of the rope. Our intermittent -slumbers provoked abrupt jerks on the rope, which as often as not -induced a unanimous collapse, followed by a brief but peaceful repose -on the glacier. My brother’s mind was divided between two obsessions. -He identified me with a certain ‘Hetta,’ and was firmly convinced -that I was leading towards the wrong end of the glacier. A violent -death would have then seemed preferable to the mental effort involved -in disabusing him of these fancies; and I accepted with resigned -disregard his blandishments, at times unpleasantly affectionate, and -his repeated attempts to change the line of march. As we dragged on -I became acutely conscious of what are, I believe, two fairly common -phenomena. Movement, continued in extreme exhaustion, set itself -to the sound of an irritating jingle of words that worked its way -into the subconscious mind, governed the swing of one’s limbs, and -repeated itself monotonously till it seemed to be part and parcel of -one’s being. Again weariness awoke that strange tendency to see faces -in inanimate objects. Familiar countenances formed suddenly, and as -suddenly resolved themselves into grinning boulders. Mr. Belloc may -have had this in mind: - - ‘It darkens. I have lost the ford, - There is a change on all things made. - The rocks have evil faces, Lord, - And I am awfully afraid.’ - -Insufficient attention is paid to the curious data that mountaineering -contributes to the psychology of exhaustion. Experiences of a different -character were the outcome of another struggle on the Plaine Morte -against overpowering weariness. - -With a friend, a sound mountaineer, but a novice on ski, I had set out -some years later to cross the hills from Montana to Villars. I left -my friend on the Plaine Morte, and pressed on to reach the Wildstrubel -for the sunset. Incidentally of all mountain memories that lonely -sundown on the Wildstrubel is the most haunting. Adelboden was hidden, -and from bourne to bourne there was no suggestion of life but for the -deserted snow-gagged road to the Gemmi. A chaos of crag and snowfield, -with no touch of colour to relieve the greyness, reddened for a few -moments, and then sank back into the shadow as night crept upwards -from the valley to the summit ridges. Darkness had fallen when I again -reached the Plaine Morte, and one of those bitter winter breezes blew -over the glacier. Mental and physical fatigue followed the inevitable -reaction after thirteen strenuous hours. The monotony of surroundings -has a hypnotic effect on tired limb and brain. The alternating spaces -of shadow and snow, subdued by the glimmering light of the stars, the -indefinite bounding wall with a dark curving of great hills beyond, -possessed a rhythmic suggestion of sleep that I found difficult to -resist. I tried counting steps, but only accentuated the rhythm. I -vowed not to look up till I had reached the thousand, but nothing -seemed to break the maddening reiteration of those undulating snows. -And then my hands and feet suddenly lost sensation. - -A steady sequence of thuds disturbed me; and I realised that my -friend was chopping wood outside the hut some three miles away. That -Inquisition torture, the slow succession of drops of water falling -at intervals of a minute on the victim’s head, had, we are told, the -effect of inducing a lively loyalty to the Catholic faith. I can well -believe it, for I know that the regular fall of the beats carried -across the glacier filled me with zealous and unreasoning anger. It -added the last artistic touch to the monotony of the Dead Plain, for it -followed a different rhythm, and proved almost more than I could stand. - -The mountain gloom is often most pronounced below the snow-line. - -One of our earlier climbs took us from the Wildstrubel Hut to the -Wildhorn, and thence without incident to the head of the Rawyl gorge. -Here the paths divide, the westerly to Sion, the easterly to Montana. -At the dividing paths my brother and I started cheerily along that -which leads to Montana. One of our two companions was a middle-aged man -who considered that the experience gained in some camping expedition -in Africa had given him an instinct for locality. He assured us that -Montana would be found on the western flanks of the gorge. Analogous -reasoning would lead one to look for Murren on the slopes of the -Scheidegg. We did not like to break up the party, lest further -knowledge won on the veldt should have even more disastrous results. -So on we wandered, while the dividing gorge dropped ever further and -further below. I do not know what provoked the final outburst. Perhaps -they reminded us of our youth, a sore subject. They were the kind -of men who ‘have no hesitation in contradicting those younger than -themselves.’ At any rate we parted. They chanced upon a peasant who -guided them home by midnight, a barren victory, for had they followed -our advice we should all have been home by tea. Meanwhile we two -scrambled down some fifteen hundred feet to the boiling torrent. This -we crossed by a fallen tree. A faint track led thence to the lower of -the two ‘bisses’ that run along the great sweep of the mountain-side. -These ‘bisses’ are an ingenious attempt to harness the waters that -would otherwise flow to waste, and to convey them at a uniform gradient -through a country that is all ups and downs. The stream guided into -troughs is carried across the face of the precipices. The troughs -and planks, which afford a passage to the engineer and to chance but -astute visitors, are supported on poles driven into the face of the -cliff. Even in the daytime the lower ‘bisse’ is not oversafe, for the -water escapes at intervals and trickles over the planks. By the time -we reached it night--a sullen overclouded night--had fallen. Slowly we -began to feel our way through the darkness, cautiously creeping along -the slippery treacherous platform that hung poised above the thunder -of the river. Childish nightmares had often centred round mountain -cataracts, and to this day there is something uncanny in the turbid -fury of an Alpine stream. We were soon filled with useless hatred for -the unending tumult from below. Above the gorge a crag loomed out of -the night and looked down upon us with malicious contempt. At such -moments the mountains seem to develop a treacherous and repellent -personality. There is something inhuman in the grim relish with which -they seem to watch a desperate struggle. - - ‘The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay - Chin upon hand to see the game at bay.’ - -The shadowy lines of forbidding precipice crept upwards to dim clusters -of twisted pine. Below us flashed the evanescent glimmer on the tumult -of the torrent. Its monotonous shouting beat unceasingly about our -ears. Something of the nightmare imagery that inspired Kubla Khan -added a note of terror to the voice of the river as it forced its way, -through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. - -To the monotony of the torrent was added the monotony of that -interminable succession of planks, winding round the dark elbows of the -ravine, always promising to disclose a securer path, but leading only -to a like treacherous way. At last, in despair, we tried a short cut up -through the woods. The trees rose out of a darkness that could be felt, -and smote us in the face. We stumbled, fell, condemned ‘the nature of -things,’ and gave up the unequal struggle to sleep till dawn. - -Those careless summers seem very far away. I look back on them with -some shame and much regret. For even our very follies had a certain -educative value. We had--in a very literal sense--to ‘work out our own -salvation with fear and trembling.’ Unfortunately, one began to take -such let-offs as a matter of course, and during the long weary hours in -which I waited for the search-party I had much leisure to reflect on -that arrogant faith in luck which is the parent of so many disasters. - -During the four months I spent on my back I dared not face the prospect -that I might never climb again. I refused to permit such a possibility. -None the less I looked forward with peculiar dread to the vision of -forbidden snows. The first mountain that I saw left me unmoved, though -I felt a pang of regret as the snow and fire of Ætna climbed above the -horizon of wave, for in happier days I had wandered up its tortured -slopes. But the snow-touched hills that swept down through vine and -olive to the sapphire belt of Nauplia’s bay stirred no longing to -penetrate into the recesses of ranges that seemed woven from the fabric -of dreams. It was otherwise at Garmisch. There the call proved too -strong; on two sticks I hobbled painfully up some three thousand feet, -and the delight of watching distant hills once more climbing into a -larger sky went to my head like wine. - -The worst moment came at Berne. The thought of ‘Yesterday--many years -ago’ was never so insistent, never so sorrowful, as on the terrace -from which I had so often caught the first glad welcome of the snows. -I looked at the Oberland glowing in full sunlight beyond the roofs and -the morning mists: - - ‘Into my heart an air that kills - From yon far country blows; - What are those blue remembered hills, - What spires, what forms are those? - - That is the land of lost content; - I see it shining plain. - The happy highways where I went, - And cannot come again.’ - -To lose and recapture is to make doubly precious. Some of the glamour -that haunted the first crossing of the snow-line clung to the first -tentative experiments on ski. And so in the summer past two hard-won -climbs have dispelled for ever the shadow of suspense that darkened -two years. I was working at Montana, but somehow the long greeting of -the White trinity that cast their spell from beyond the shadows of -the Val’ d’Anniviers made life a burden of vain regrets. I escaped -to Zermatt, and the same evening started for the Dent Blanche. As -I crossed the threshold of the Schönbuhl Hut I felt like an exile -returning home. My nostrils were gladdened by the old familiar evil -atmosphere redolent of Swiss tobacco and the inevitable ‘Maggi’ soup. -And as I watched the magic web of twilight creeping up the terrible -northern wall of the Matterhorn, and drank in the silence of the -upper world--a silence that is something more than a mere negation of -sound--I felt that the lasting rewards of the craft are not the exotic -moments of difficulty or danger, but the humbler commonplaces of every -climb, the dawn breaking the shadows on the snow, the vision of far -horizons melting into the roof of heaven, the peace and radiant grace -of sunset on the hills. - -An open wound and lack of training brought on a bad dose of mountain -sickness and made the last hour a dour struggle, but a week later I had -accommodated myself to changed conditions, and managed to lead over -the Combin without undue pain. Only those who have known for months the -humiliating dependence of the sick-bed can realise the full gladness of -the rope’s responsibility. - -There are, of course, moments of sadness when the loss of nerve and -strength challenges comparison with the past. The colour of things -seems changed. Lost is the old confidence on the poor marksmanship of -falling stones. Every well-worn precaution has its meaning. The kindly -security of the rope is doubly welcome. - -And yet in a state of irreproachable virtue there often escapes a great -longing for the old unregenerate days, for the irresponsible gaiety of -those chequered hours, for all the mirth and laughter that waited us -beyond the narrow paths of orthodoxy. There lingers still a chastened -regret for the rollicking faith that carried one gaily in and out of -perilous places. The hills take on a soberer colouring from the eye -that has seen the long deferred reckoning paid in full. But though - - ‘Die unbegreiflich hohen Werke - Sind herrlich wie am ersten Tag,’ - -though one accepts their punishment as a small price for years -of unhampered joy, there are none the less moments of irrational -passionate revolt, moments in which one would buy back with a year of -the life that is left one solitary hour among the untroubled mountains -of youth. - - -Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the -Edinburgh University Press - - - - -From Mr. EDWARD ARNOLD’S List of Publications - - -A BOOK THAT IS BEING WIDELY DISCUSSED. - -=MIRACLES OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. A Study of Evidence.= By the Rev. -J. M. THOMPSON, Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. 3_s._ -6_d._ net. - -=THE FAITH OF AN AVERAGE MAN.= By the Rev. C. H. -MATTHEWS, M. A., Author of ‘A Parson in the Australian Bush,’ etc. -3_s._ 6_d._ net. - -=THE DIARY OF A MODERNIST.= By W. SCOTT PALMER, Author of -‘An Agnostic’s Progress,’ etc. 5_s._ net. - -=FROM RELIGION TO PHILOSOPHY.= By F. M. 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Beginning with early years of service in -the West Indies, the author soon proceeded to the Crimea, where he -remained until peace was declared. A year or two afterwards he joined -the expeditionary force destined for China, which was deflected to -India by the news of the Mutiny. He was present at the Relief of -Lucknow, and won the Victoria Cross for his “persevering bravery and -admirable conduct” on that occasion. In 1860 we find him in the East -again during the China War, advancing with the Allied Forces to Pekin. -At the close of 1861, when the Civil War in America seemed likely -to embroil Great Britain, Surgeon Home was sent out to Canada, in -readiness for anything that might occur. Fortunately the clouds lifted, -and before his return to England the author was able to visit Baltimore -and Washington, where he gained many interesting impressions of the war -then in progress. The volume concludes with an episode in the Maori War -in New Zealand in 1864. - - - - -NEW FICTION. - - -TANTE. - -By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK - -(MRS. BASIL DE SÉLINCOURT), - -AUTHOR OR ‘FRANKLIN KANE,’ ‘VALÉRIE UPTON,’ ETC. - -_Crown 8vo._ =6s.= _Fourth Impression._ - -“I stand amazed by the qualities of the author’s genius. She really -can create characters, quite original, and, as it were, not fanciful, -not fantastic, but solid samples of human nature. When one lights on -something really good in contemporary fiction one has pleasure in -saying how excellent one finds the rarity.”--Mr. ANDREW LANG -in the _Illustrated London News_. - -“‘Tante’ is a fine piece of work, well thought out, well constructed, -and full of human nature. 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Holmes. - -[4] _Five Essays on Picturesque Subjects_, by William Gilpin, p. 19. -London, 1808. - -[5] _A Tour to the Lakes_, by William Gilpin, vol. i. p. 89. London, -1808. - -[6] Since this was written Mr. Binyon’s book, _The Flight of the -Dragon_ (Wisdom of the East Series: John Murray), has appeared, -which treats more fully and with far greater skill and knowledge -than I possess with the question of landscape in Eastern art. As -I unfortunately read the book too late to incorporate any of its -suggestions in the present article, I would refer those readers who -are interested to this masterly essay, which confirms and develops the -ideas at which I have hinted, without, I am glad to say, making it -necessary for me to alter my conclusions. - -[7] For these observations on Indian art I am indebted to a highly -suggestive essay on ‘The Aims and Methods of Indian Art,’ by Dr. -Coomaraswamy, contained in his _Essays in National Idealism_. London: -Probsthain and Co. - -[8] The charge that Cézanne’s work displays a ‘personal clumsiness of -touch’ was made by Mr. Holmes in his notes on the Grafton Exhibition in -1910, and though denied by some critics is completely borne out by the -judgment of those who knew the artist personally. M. Alexandre speaks -of his ‘éloquente impuissance.’ - -[9] _Introduction to an Exhibition of Pictures_, by Camille Pissarro, -at the Stafford Gallery. London, 1911. - -[10] _La Nouvelle Héloïse_, Part I., Letter 23. - -[11] _The Prelude._ - -[12] _The Dome_, vol. i. p. 147. London: Unicorn Press, 1899. - -[13] _Notes on the Science of Picture-making_, by C.J. Holmes. Chatto -and Windus, 1910. - -[14] _Notes on the Science of Picture-making_, by C. J. Holmes. Chatto -and Windus, 1910. - -[15] Of the claim of Segantini to be considered the true mountain -artist I speak with some diffidence, as my acquaintance with him is -small. But from what I have seen, I should say that he found himself -unable to get away from the contrast between human figures and -landscape which hampered the early English water-colourists, with the -result that the spirit of the mountains does not dominate his pictures. -In any case, his outlook is purely that of the naturalist, and if he -is right, then Mr. Holmes is wrong--a conclusion to which I cannot -subscribe. - -[16] _Saturday Review_, March 4, 1911. - -[17] There lieth between us long space of shadowy mountains and -sounding sea. (Lang, Leaf, and Myers.) - -[18] And it showed like a shield in the misty deep. (Butcher and Lang.) - -[19] Yea, for he was a monstrous thing and fashioned marvellously, nor -was he like to any man that lives by bread, but like a wooded peak -of the towering hills, which stands out apart and alone from others. -(Butcher and Lang.) - -[20] They found his wife therein: she was huge of bulk as a mountain -peak, and was loathly in their sight. (Butcher and Lang.) - -[21] For I went up a craggy peak, a place of outlook, and saw the isle -crowned about with the circle of the endless sea, the isle itself lying -low: and in the midst thereof mine eyes beheld the smoke through the -thick coppice and the woodland. (Butcher and Lang.) - -[22] For thence all Ida was plain to see: and plain to see were the -city of Priam, and the ships of the Achæans. (Lang, Leaf, and Myers.) - -[23] No mortal man may scale it or set foot thereon, not though he had -twenty hands and feet. For the rock is smooth and sheer, as it were -polished. (Butcher and Lang.) - -[24] Nay, they stood firm, and embattled like a steep rock and a great, -hard by the hoary sea, a rock that abides the swift paths of the shrill -winds, and the swelling waves that roar against it. Even so the Danaans -steadfastly abode the Trojans, and fled not away. - -[25] Pitiless that thou art, the knight Peleus was not then thy father, -nor Thetis thy mother, but the grey sea bare thee, and the sheer -cliffs, so untoward is thy spirit. - -[26] And Earth bore the long mountains, the graceful habitations of the -divine Nymphs, who dwell on the wooded mountains. - -[27] Olympus, where, as they say, is the seat of the gods that standeth -fast for ever. Not by winds is it shaken, nor ever wet with rain, nor -does the snow come nigh thereto, but most clear air is spread about it, -and the white light floats over it. - -[28] _Alpine Journal_, vol. xxii. - -[29] The untrodden peaks of Parnassus shine forth and welcome for -mortals the rim of the new day. - -[30] Mother of wild beasts. - -[31] Of baleful counsel, wizard. - -[32] Rawlinson, _ad Herod._ iv. 184. - -[33] _Ad Pindar_, N. ii. 11. - -[34] _Fasti_, v. - -[35] ‘Might, daughter of Endurance,’ is the abstraction with which Mr -Bury replaces ‘Alcyone, daughter of Atlas.’ - -[36] Ætna, mother mine. - -[37] Cool water which well-wooded Ætna pours down for me from her white -snow, a draught divine. - -[38] Was wasting away like snow beneath the long ridge of Hæmus, or -Athos, or Rhodope, or Caucasus at the end of the world. - -[39] High-counselling. - -[40] Beneath the age-old mountains of Phlius. - -[41] And he called it the Hill of Cronos: for before Oinomaos ruled, it -had no name, and it was wet with much snow. - -[42] Ætna, whence purest springs of fire unapproachable burst forth -from their caverns; springs which by day pour out a lurid river of -smoke, but in the darkness the rocks are borne on eddies of blood-red -flame to fall crashing upon the ocean-plain far below. So does that -prone monster send forth torrents of fire most dread: a portent -wondrous to look upon, a marvel even to hear from those at hand. - -[43] Pillar of heaven, snowy, nurse of keen snow through all the year. - -[44] Cithæron, nurse of snow. - -[45] Streams of fire shall one day break forth, devouring with -cruel jaws the level fields of fair-fruited Sicily: such fury shall -Typhoeus pour forth, boiling with the missiles of hot, insatiable, -fire-breathing spray, for all that the bolt of Zeus has scorched him to -ashes. - -[46] _Il._ xii. 278. - -[47] But they stood like mists that Cronos’ son setteth in windless -air on the mountain-tops, at peace, while the might of the north wind -sleepeth and of all the violent winds that blow with keen breath and -scatter apart the shadowing clouds. Even so the Danaans withstood the -Trojans steadfastly and fled not. - -[48] And as when from the high crest of a great hill Zeus, the gatherer -of the lightning, hath stirred a dense cloud, and forth shine all the -peaks and sharp promontories, and glades, and from heaven the infinite -air breaks open. - - -[Transcriber’s Note: - -Obvious printer errors corrected silently. - -Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Oxford Mountaineering Essays, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OXFORD MOUNTAINEERING ESSAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 56063-0.txt or 56063-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/0/6/56063/ - -Produced by Anita Hammond, Wayne Hammond, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i22 {display: block; margin-left: 11em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i28 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 2.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Oxford Mountaineering Essays, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Oxford Mountaineering Essays - -Author: Various - -Editor: Arnold Henry Moore Lunn - -Release Date: November 28, 2017 [EBook #56063] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OXFORD MOUNTAINEERING ESSAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Anita Hammond, Wayne Hammond, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">i</span></p> - -<h1> -OXFORD<br /> -MOUNTAINEERING ESSAYS<br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">ii</span></h1> - -<p class="caption"> -TO<br /> -G. WINTHROP YOUNG<br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">iii</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 class="xx-large"> -OXFORD<br /> -MOUNTAINEERING<br /> -ESSAYS<br /> -<br /> -<span class="medium">EDITED BY</span><br /> -<span class="large">ARNOLD H. M. LUNN</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="large table">LONDON<br /> -EDWARD ARNOLD<br /> -1912</span><br /> -<span class="copy">[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">iv</span></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2> - -<p>Oxford, they tell us, is the home -of movements; Cambridge the home -of men. Certainly the miniature movement -that took shape in this little book -was inspired by a Cambridge man. It -was at an Oxford tea-party, where -the talk had been unashamedly of -mountains and their metaphysic, that -Mr. G. Winthrop Young gave the -first impulse to the scheme that ultimately -produced this collection of essays. -To Mr. Young the editor and contributors -have been indebted for constant help -and advice. He has heartened the -despondent, and has inked cold daylight -into more than one ‘sunset’ -passage.</p> - -<p>At Oxford there are a number of Alpine -clubs. The oldest and most sedate meets -once a year in New College Hall. A less -dignified association meets at irregular -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span> -intervals <i>on</i> New College Hall and other -hospitable roofs. Lastly, there is a genial -little society which owed its beginnings -to some twenty undergraduates who -agreed they could spare an occasional -arduous evening to the revival of their -Alpine memories. One confiding member -bought a lantern, and has since -endeavoured—with indifferent success—to -recoup himself out of spasmodic -subscriptions. We shall none of us -forget the first meeting. In our innocence -we had hoped that a scientist -might know something of electricity, -and Mr. Bourdillon was in consequence -entrusted with the lantern. After much -hissing on the part of the machine, -and of the audience, a faint glow -appeared on the sheet, and enveloped -in a halo of restless hues we dimly discerned -the dome of Mont Blanc. A -pathetic voice from behind the lantern -sadly inquired whether we would ‘prefer -Mont Blanc green and spluttering or -yellow and steady.’ The chairman then -proceeded to read a paper illustrated or -rather misrepresented by lantern slides, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span> -and at the conclusion proposed a very -hearty vote of thanks to himself for his -interesting and entertaining lecture. The -House then divided, and the motion was -lost by an overwhelming majority. The -minutes also record that a member moved -to inhibit the secretary of the Church -Union from issuing a printed prayer -for ‘faith to remove mountains.’ This -motion was lost, as Mr. Tyndale ably -pointed out the value of a publication -that might facilitate the transfer of -some superfluous mountains from the -Alps to the monotonous surroundings -of Oxford.</p> - -<p>The members of this learned society -furnished the majority of our contributors. -‘Conscious as we are of -one another’s deficiencies,’ we view with -misgiving the publication of these -essays. We have no virgin ascents, no -climbs of desperate difficulty, to record. -Our justification must rest on other -grounds.</p> - -<p>In a paper memorable for the circumstances -of its delivery, and the dramatic -irony of its concluding words, Donald -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span> -Robertson pleaded for a simpler treatment -of our mountain worship, and -claimed that there was ‘still room for -a man to tell freely and without false -shame the simple story of a day among -the mountains.’ And this is what some -of us have attempted.</p> - -<p>And further, although there scarce -remains a great Alpine ridge untrodden -by man, though the magic words—‘No -information’—are rapidly vanishing -from the pages of the <i>Climber’s Guides</i>, -yet as subjects for literary, artistic, and -philosophic inquiry, the mountains are -far from exhausted. The basic emotions -of the hills, at once bold and subtle, -remain an almost untouched field, and -many a curious by-path in the psychology -of mountaineering has yet to -be explored.</p> - -<p>Those of us who have ventured to -approach our theme in such subjective -fashion, who have tried to give something -more than a plain record of a -climb, who may even have attempted -to interpret the secrets of the hills, have -probably only courted failure and earned -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span> -ridicule. But at least we have started -on a stirring venture, and we shall consider -it successful if only a word here -or there serves to recall some forgotten -picture, some early romantic impression, -to any reader for whom mountains, -nature, or wandering have perhaps lost -their first halo of romance.</p> - -<p>It may be said that greater and more -modest mountaineers have waited the -experience of years before embodying -their reflections in the written word. -This reproof leaves us unmoved, for we -are only concerned with the message -the hills hold for Youth, a message -which Youth therefore may be pardoned -for attempting to explain. Each age -hears different accents in the mountain -voices. To the old mountaineer the -riven lines of cliff may speak of failing -strength or inevitable decay. For the -child the white far gates may hide an -unknown kingdom of magic. But -active Youth need fear no comparison -of strength, need draw no moral from -decay. For him the gates that childhood -could not pass have opened, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">x</span> -disclosed a wonderland ‘more real than -childhood’s fairy trove,’ a country of -difficult romance, and of perpetual challenge -to the undying instincts of knight -errantry and young adventure.</p> - -<p class="author"> -A. H. M. L.</p> - -<p><i>February 1912.</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">xi</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> - -<table id="toc"> - <tr> - <td /> - <td /> - <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td><a href="#I_AN_ARTIST_OF_MOUNTAINS_C">AN ARTIST OF MOUNTAINS—C. J. HOLMES,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By Michael T. H. Sadler</span> (Balliol).</td> - <td class="tdr">3</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td><a href="#II_OF_THE_BEHAVIOUR_OF_A">OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF A CHAMOIS: AND INCIDENTALLY OF SOME OTHER MATTERS,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By Julian S. Huxley</span> (Balliol).</td> - <td class="tdr">37</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td><a href="#III_THE_MOUNTAINS_IN_GREEK_POETRY">THE MOUNTAINS IN GREEK POETRY,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By Norman Egerton Young</span> (Corpus Christi College).</td> - <td class="tdr">59</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td><a href="#IV_A_JOURNEY">A JOURNEY,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By Hugh Kingsmill Lunn</span> (New College).</td> - <td class="tdr">93</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td><a href="#V_THE_MOUNTAINEER_AND_THE_PILGRIM">THE MOUNTAINEER AND THE PILGRIM,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By H. E. G. Tyndale</span> (New College).</td> - <td class="tdr">109</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td><a href="#VI_PASSES">PASSES,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By N. T. Huxley</span> (Balliol).<br /></td> - <td class="tdr">137</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td><a href="#VII_BRITISH_HILLS">BRITISH HILLS,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By H. R. Pope</span> (New College).</td> - <td class="tdr">157</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td><a href="#VIII_ROOF_CLIMBING_AT_OXFORD">ROOF-CLIMBING AT OXFORD,</a></td> - <td class="tdr">177</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td><a href="#IX_THE_MOUNTAINS_OF_YOUTH">THE MOUNTAINS OF YOUTH,</a><br /> -<span class="smcap">By Arnold H. M. Lunn</span> (Balliol).</td> - <td class="tdr">197</td> - </tr> -</table> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">xii</span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2> -AN ARTIST OF MOUNTAINS<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -MICHAEL T. H. SADLER<br /> -<small>(Balliol)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="I_AN_ARTIST_OF_MOUNTAINS_C">I. AN ARTIST OF MOUNTAINS—<span class="smcap">C. -J. Holmes</span></h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Mountains</span>, more than any -other of the features of nature, -are fundamental, synthetic. They -present, untrammelled and without elaboration, -the great basic principles on -which they are built; their structure -has absolute unity, their monumental -architecture is simple. Their moods -are the moods of primitive humanity, -their spirit, like their form, is unmodified, -above and below civilisation. -Every climber must, at one time or another, -have shuddered before the hatred -of an Alpine peak, the hatred of all that -is primeval in nature for all that is -artificially progressive in man. I remember -one evening sitting above the -Col de Vosa and watching the glow -of the sunset on Mont Blanc. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -entire range of peaks from the Dôme -du Goûter to the Aiguille Verte blazed -with colour down to a point a little -above where the ragged fringe of the -moraines slide into the grassy upland. -There a hard line of shadow reflected -the contour of the hill on which I sat. -As the sun sank, this line of shadow -crept up the mountain-side with almost -visible speed, till only the topmost -pinnacles kept their colour, like a row -of beacon-lights flaming above the -darkened valley. Gradually they in their -turn paled and died.</p> - -<p>But it is now, when most onlookers -turn away, that the mountains begin -to live. When the fire has left the -snow, when the rock ridges leap out -cold and black, when the fissures of -the ice cliffs yawn pitilessly once again, -the real character of the place is shown. -The mountains are cruel and angry. -Traffic with them is not friendship, -but war. All the mountaineer’s thrill -of conquest is the thrill of victory over -an enemy, an enemy who hates as men -hate, as the ancient hates the upstart -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> -or the lonely giant, the puny multitude, -but whose resources are endless and -whose ally is the storm.</p> - -<p>Snow mountains are seldom friendly. -Sometimes they seem to smile, but -their welcome, for all its glitter, is -treacherous and cruel. With lower -hills the case is rather different. The -rock precipices and windy fells of Cumberland, -the spaces of the Yorkshire -moors, have an individuality as complete -as Mont Blanc, but less overwhelming. -Their anger is sullen, their moods more -passive. At times they are almost -gracious, but the difference is one of degree -only. The quality of their emotion -sees no variant in glacier and heather.</p> - -<p>It would seem that any normal sensibility -could in some measure appreciate -these mountain moods, and, where the -observer is an artist, reproduce them in -line and colour.... And yet it is only in -our own day that a painter has appeared -with a proper understanding of their -true existence. In art the coming of -landscape was slow, but the mountain, -as a mountain, has come more slowly -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -still. Why this neglect? Why, until -long after the landscape picture had become -a commonplace, was the mountain -not disentangled from the myriad aspects -of nature and made the object of artistic -interpretation?</p> - -<p>Several reasons may be suggested. In -the first place, for true appreciation -more than a mere acquaintance is necessary. -Mountains are reserved. They -extend no real welcome even when they -do not actively resent familiarity. Only -patient perseverance can gauge their real -significance. The men of old hated -them. Perhaps as they watched from -afar the towering army of the Alps, -there came to them on the breeze some -breath of mountain anger, and they -trembled, hardly knowing why. To -them the hills were just so many hideous -obstacles to war or commerce. To make -a way through them was a task to be -dreaded. It needs a rare vision to see -beauty beyond danger, to recognise the -sublime in the menace of death.</p> - -<p>But, apart from this, it is doubtful -whether the mediæval mind could have -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> -grasped the essentials of mountain scenery -had it striven to do so—and this is the -second reason for delay. The synthetic -vision, the subordination of part to a -whole, is not really primitive. The -savage sees individual objects in strong -unhampered outline, but he cannot relate -them. His decorative sense lacks cohesion. -This very lack is the weakness of -Egyptian wall-painting, where harmony -of line and movement reaches a point seldom -achieved since those early days, but -where the feeling of a procession is rarely -lost owing to the failure to relate the -figures and objects to each other. It -needs a new hypercivilised primitivism—to -use what appears a contradiction in -terms—extraordinarily subtle, backed by -a store of imagination and detailed knowledge, -which can by its very wisdom -select and discard, keeping the chain of -essentials, disregarding the rest. And no -one has greater need of this than the -mountain artist. It is equally useless for -him to reproduce, however skilfully, -every glacier, every gully on the mountain-side, -and to daub vague, unrelated -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> -lumps of paint one beside another. The -important artistic fact in a mountain -scene is the intricate rhythm of line and -slope, the true relation of curve to curve, -and this is obscured and lost in photographic -realism, as it is never realised in -the scribblings of a child. The mountain -artist must grasp every detail, but distinguish -what he requires and discard all -else. That is why in the early days of -landscape-painting the excitement of new -beauties inevitably caused overcrowded -pictures. There was no attempt at selection, -because the selective point of view -had, as yet, no appeal. The last thirty -years have brought it to the front.</p> - -<p>The third reason for the tardy recognition -of mountains is expressed by the man -with whom this discussion is really concerned, -by Professor C. J. Holmes in his -monograph on Constable.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> ‘Mountains -have returned with the desire for design.’ -The most significant feature of recent -painting is the renaissance of decoration. -The easel picture as Corot knew it has -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> -been eclipsed by the art of the fresco. -Design has replaced light as the central -study, just as light replaced the twilit -realism of the first ‘plein-airists.’ The -primitive Italians knew no landscape-painting -in our modern sense. The -value of mountains in design could not, -therefore, appeal to them; and so it is -left to the present day to employ for the -first time the mountains with their rhythm -and their feeling.</p> - -<p>But such generalisation, unsuggested by -fact, can have little weight, and confirmation -of these statements must be found in -an outlined indication of the growth of the -landscape tradition, and, springing from -it, the treatment of mountains.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When European art began to elaborate -the religious conceptions with which it -was in early times mainly concerned, -landscapes were introduced as part of the -Bible stories. But they were purely -subordinate. Duccio and Giotto use -conventionalised trees and strange bare -rocks which, while evidence of wonderful -vision, show no sense of the value of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -landscape for itself. The delicate distances -of the Flemish primitives, the -backgrounds of Benozzo Gozzoli’s frescoes, -the settings of Cinquecento Madonnas, -are merely so much design to fill a space, -so many accessories to the figures in the -foreground. One would like to except -Patinir’s ‘Flight into Egypt,’<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</a> where the -thicket behind the Virgin has more than -a merely decorative significance, and shows -a loving study of trees and rocks, were -not the vistas to left and right pure -design. There are also rare landscape -studies of Dürer—one particularly, an -unfinished study of hills in the Ashmolean -Museum at Oxford—which are strikingly -ahead of their time in their sole preoccupation -with nature as distinct from -humanity.</p> - -<p>But it is really with Dutch and -Flemish seventeenth-century art that -landscape for landscape’s sake makes its -appearance, with Rubens, Rembrandt, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -Koninck, van Goyen. However, to -them mountains are as accessory as was -nature generally for their predecessors. -To give composition, to round off a -landscape, to frame a vista, Rubens and -the great Dutchmen used hills and crags. -There are probably many exceptions to -this generalisation. To mention one -only, there is a picture by the Flemish -Millet (1642-1679) at Munich in which -a mountain occupies the centre of the -canvas. This mountain, though tree-covered, -forms the main element in the -painting, and despite the presence of -allegorical figures in the foreground, is -proof of a curiously modern interest in -hill-formation. In the main, however, -the contention is true that the mountain -in art does not appear in the seventeenth -century.</p> - -<p>The landscape tradition passed to -Claude, and then forked. One branch, -the English, produced Wilson, Crome, -Constable, Turner, and the water-colourists. -To the other belongs Poussin, -and through him the Barbizon school in -France. (It should here be noticed, at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -the risk of anticipating, that this last-named -group derived from Bonington a -large share of Constable’s influence, and -owe perhaps the greater part of their -inspiration to English sources.)</p> - -<p>Traces now begin to appear of a love -of mountains for themselves. Crome’s -‘Slate Quarries,’ some of Wilson’s Welsh -pictures, many of Turner’s sketches, show -rocks and hills painted for their own -grandeur and beauty. Similarly, in much -of Corot’s early work—before 1830—bare -mountain-sides and wastes of rock -stand unadorned by trees or other counter-interests.</p> - -<p>Of Constable we are told that ‘the -grandeur of hills weighed on him. He -wanted meadows,’<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> but Plate <small>III.</small> in the -book from which this quotation is taken -shows that he possessed a very real understanding -of mountains.</p> - -<p>The recognition proved only momentary, -and was soon lost in conventional -trickery. In England the water-colourists -began once more to use mountains merely -to break the level of a landscape, to give -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -a pleasing variety. The idea of depicting -them solely for themselves becomes -actually abhorrent. An extract from -William Gilpin’s <i>Essays on Landscape-painting</i> -will show the attitude which -became general to the early English -school:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘In landscape-painting smooth objects -would produce no composition -at all. In a mountain scene what -composition could arise from one -smooth knoll coming forward on one -side, intersected by a smooth knoll -on the other, with a smooth plain -perhaps in the middle and a smooth -mountain in the distance? The very -idea is disgusting.’<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">4</a></p></blockquote> - -<p>To prove the awful result he reproduces -a drawing in his book done on -these very lines, a drawing so superior to -all the other illustrations in the volume -as to show how utterly tastes have changed -and advanced since his time.</p> - -<p>Again:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘The beauty of a distant mountain -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -depends on the line it traces -along the sky.... Such forms as -suggest the idea of lumpish heaviness -are disgusting—round, swelling -forms without any break to disencumber -them of their weight.</p> - -<p>‘Mountains in composition are -considered as single objects and -follow the same rules;—if they join -heavily together in lumpish shapes, -if they fall into each other at right -angles, or if their lines run parallel—in -all these cases the combination -will be more or less disgusting.’<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">5</a></p></blockquote> - -<p>Barbizon painting underwent a change -somewhat similar to that just described -in England. Corot altered his manner -and evolved the graceful greenery and -scenes of trees and water for which he -is admired to-day. It is perhaps to be -regretted that he exchanged his strong -renderings of mountain and rock for -twilight fantasies which, for all their -lyrical charm, slide frequently into sentimentality -and prettiness. His fellow-landscape-painters, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> -Rousseau, Daubigny, -Dupré, and the veteran Harpignies, used -mountains either not at all or merely as -incidents in a panorama. Courbet alone, -the greatest of them all, continued to the -last his rugged studies of cliff and slope, -blending the romantic tradition with the -realist, supplying, as the first real painter -of rocks, a noble and fearless link between -the ideal and the selective. In true -modern landscape the influence of Courbet -appears again and again, strengthening -and vigorous.</p> - -<p>With the coming of Impressionist -painting no marked advance is noticeable. -Monet and his followers are concerned -with light and colour, not with form. -Dutch Impressionism—the Hague school -With its curious mixture of seventeenth-century -genre tradition and modern -French landscape methods—keeps to -trees and sky. It would be unreasonable -indeed to look for the birth of the -mountain in art to take place in Holland!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Before passing on to the latest phase of -European painting, some attention must -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span> -be given to the art of the Far East. China, -Japan, India, loom large in the history -of the landscape tradition, and especially -in its newest development, where their influence, -as will be seen, has been very great.</p> - -<p>In the art of the Far East, whether -theoretical or practical, there are traces -from the earliest times of a conception -of landscape and of its bearing on art -somewhat similar to that of Wordsworth. -The early Chinese in their aphorisms and -paintings loved to express the majesty of -mountains. ‘Rhythmic vitality, anatomical -structure, conformity with nature, -suitability of colouring, artistic composition -and finish are the six canons of art,’ -wrote Hsieh-Ho in the sixth century <small>A.D.</small>, -and no subject could be more suitable -than a mountain for the application of -those canons. Through the later periods -of Chinese art, and during the history of -the painting of Japan, recurring cases -appear of the same inclination.</p> - -<p>But there are differences of opinion -among the Eastern theorists. Here is -Kuo Hsi, who seems to be an early -Chinese incarnation of William Gilpin:— -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘Hills without clouds look bare; -without water they are wanting in -fascination; without paths they are -wanting in life; without trees they -are dead; without depth-distance -they are shallow; without level-distance -they are near; and without -height-distance they are -low.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>Indian art provides such a striking -parallel to the ideas of modern European -painting that it will be useful to return -to it when discussing the new movement. -It is sufficient here to say that an examination -of Indian landscape drawings will -reveal an interest in mountains similar -to and no less vivid than that of the -Japanese.</p> - -<p>The interest in Eastern art began to -spread over Europe during the last half -of the nineteenth century. The de -Goncourt brothers and Whistler by -adopting some of the Japanese methods -familiarised their countrymen with the -ideas and practices of a hitherto little-known -art. The researches and writings -of Edmond de Goncourt, the flat, roomy -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -arrangements of Whistler, struck a note -so new that a wild outcry greeted their -efforts. But the strangeness has worn -off. Whistler is accepted as a master; -Japanese prints are everywhere; and, -like the Spanish influence introduced by -Manet in the face of general execration, -the Eastern ideas have gone to produce -a new art.<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">6</a></p> - -<p>It was near the end of last century -that first appeared what has so misleadingly -been called Post-Impressionism, -an art with a new synthetic vision which -saw beyond realism, which repudiated -illusion, which tried to get deep down to -where life and beauty touch and so -externalise that indefinite something -which makes things what they always -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -seem to us to be. This art which has -recreated decoration, which is going to -revolutionise stage-craft, house furniture -and even building, while it deals unhesitatingly -with any subject, is perhaps -chiefly significant in its bearing on -landscape.</p> - -<p>In this department appears that extraordinary -parallel with Indian ideas which -has already been mentioned. No Indian -artist ever aimed at a mere representation -of nature. He drew from his store of -imagination and memory a revisualised -landscape which suggests the idea behind -nature and not her seeming reality. To -him natural forms were merely incarnations -of ideas, and the effort to complete -the expression necessitated a repudiation -of illusion. It follows that the representative -science displayed appears inept, if -judged by ordinary outward standards. -But when one considers that accuracy is -purely relative, and that the synthetic -vision naturally subordinates certain -features in its preoccupation with -others, to condemn Indian drawing as -bad, or Byzantine either, for the case -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -is analogous, shows a faulty standard of -judgment.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">7</a></p> - -<p>As in Indian, so in modern European -art, an understanding of the peculiar -ideas which have inspired is necessary -for appreciation. Keeping, therefore, this -fact in view, that the aim is not for illusion -but for the subtler and truer realism -which lies in all natural phenomena, we -can pass to the consideration of an artist -who stands at the head of ‘Post-Impressionist’—or, -as I prefer to call it, ‘Fauvist’—landscape -tradition, and who really -marks the beginning of the new appreciation -of mountains.</p> - -<p>Paul Cézanne has waited longer than -any of his contemporaries for sympathy -and fame, but now that his time has -come he bids fair easily to outstrip -Manet and the Impressionists in importance. -As is often the case, the same -reason accounts for his being neglected -and for his later popularity, and that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -reason is the complete newness of his -outlook. His vision was a much stranger -and newer one than had been that of the -Impressionists, and yet but for a fortunate -failing of his own it might never have -been expressed at all. Cézanne was a -very great artist and a very bad painter. -One may go further and say that had he -not been such a bad painter he might -never have shown himself to be a great -artist. His whole being was clumsy and -blundering, and his attempts to emulate -the brilliant Manet in his light effects -were constantly balked by this very -clumsiness. In despair, he gave up the -task and lumped down what he saw, -and, being a great artist, he saw something -quite new.<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> He saw line and -decorative grouping where Impressionism -saw only a shimmer of sunlight. His -tactless, outspoken nature is reproduced -in his paintings, be they still-life, figure-pieces, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -portraits, or landscapes. Mr. -Sickert, comparing his work with the -‘gentle painter-like art of Pissarro,’ -describes his pictures as ‘ninety per cent. -monstrous, tragic failures,’ and from this -standpoint the statement seems just -enough.<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">9</a> But ‘brilliant and sane efficiency’ -is not the highest attribute in -an artist, and Cézanne by his genius -redeems and almost glorifies his clumsiness. -To landscape he gave structure -and rhythm. In his pictures of Ste. -Victoire, of steep fields and hillsides, -the strong architecture of the landscape -is the framework of the whole.</p> - -<p>This originality of Cézanne has been -developed and perfected by an artist -working in England to-day, whose work -is more in sympathy with the moods -and structure of mountains than even -that of his great predecessor, and the -artist is Professor C. J. Holmes, whom -I have already quoted (see above).</p> - -<p>Mr. Holmes is very modern, and he -is an Englishman; that is to say, he is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -part of a movement which has a deep -feeling for synthesis and the subtlety of -rhythm—and this is important with a -view to what has been said about the -synthetic nature of mountains—and also -he is a member of the race which has -always shown more understanding for -nature than any other in Europe or, -perhaps, in the world.</p> - -<p>France, the leader in matters artistic, -has never had any real grasp of nature -since the days of Ronsard. The French -are too intelligent, too pitilessly logical, -to accept the moods of nature without -reasoning.</p> - -<p>From such a generalisation one should, -perhaps, except Rousseau. Although -in much of his teaching it is difficult to -escape the idea that the nature he -preached has been touched up by civilisation, -in comparison with many of his -disciples he had a genuine desire to -escape the works of men. In his -political theory, in his morality, in his -conception of the beautiful, he turned -always to nature for his ideal. From his -home in Geneva he learnt to love the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -mountains, to love the great calm and -dignity of them, their aloofness from -man and his pettiness:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p xml:lang="fr">‘En effet, c’est une impression -générale qu’éprouvent tous les hommes -... que sur les hautes montagnes -... les plaisirs sont moins -ardents, les passions plus modérées. -Il semble qu’en s’élevant au-dessus -du séjour des hommes, on y laisse -tous les sentiments bas et terrestres.’<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">10</a></p></blockquote> - -<p>But even here one suspects that Rousseau -is rather contrasting the worries of a -race cursed with powers of emotion, -with the sublime peace of unfeeling -nature, than admitting the passion of the -hills, which differs only from that of -men in its loftiness and nobility. And -this last belief is not only held by the -England of to-day, but was a prominent -conviction of William Wordsworth’s, -and he lies behind the English fondness -for nature throughout the nineteenth -century.</p> - -<p>Of the group of great poets who make -up the English Romantic Revival, who -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> -voiced during the first half of the nineteenth -century the ferment of new ideas, -the greatest is Wordsworth. Stirred, as -were the rest, by the teaching of Rousseau—and -it is here perhaps that Rousseau’s -chief importance lies—he expressed -in his poetry the aspirations which in -France found vent in an orgy of political -philosophy and the eager, endless search -for liberty. His poetry and his sister’s -journals foretell that art which was to -supersede maudlin subjectivism and, in -its turn, Parnassian coldness. Coleridge -may have more mystery, Shelley more -fire, Keats more music, but it was -Wordsworth who really felt the common -soul in nature, the fusion of the human -and the natural into one scale of moods -and longings. He realised that mountains -can hate, that they can resent intrusion, -as can human beings.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘I dipped my oars into the silent lake<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Went heaving through the water like a swan;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">When, from behind that craggy steep till then<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The horizons bound, a huge peak, black and huge,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">As if with voluntary power instinct<br /></span> -<span class="i1"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span></span> -<span class="i1">Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And growing still in stature the grim shape<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Towered up between me and the stars, and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For so it seemed, with purpose of its own<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And measured motion like a living thing,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Strode after me.’<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">11</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>—which shows how mountains can be -understood even by man who was no -climber, who, indeed, made a point of -always walking round rather than over -any hill on his way. His belief is the -same with every aspect of nature. She -has her moods, and they are the same as -ours. We can realise them because of</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘A motion and a spirit that impels<br /></span> -<span class="i1">All thinking things, all objects of all thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And rolls through all things.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Wordsworth’s power of expression, and -even more his power of selection, lag -far behind his power of feeling. But -what may detract from the pleasure of -actual perusal cannot lessen ultimate -historical importance. Modern art must -find in Wordsworth its greatest forerunner -in the department of nature. -From him, as has been hinted, springs -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -the tendency which permeated French -literature at the end of last century. -The pantheist art of Symbolism which -came to influence England in the -nineties is, at bottom, a half-English -movement.</p> - -<p>A love of nature, therefore, is in -Mr. Holmes’ blood, and with this great -tradition behind him he is working to -give mountains the artistic interpretation -which has so long been denied them. -In his pictures and drawings of the -English lakeland he has externalised an -aspect of mountain scenery which is -quite new. Some one has well expressed -it by saying that he paints mountains not -so much as they actually look but as one -remembers them to be; and this is the -same as saying that repudiation of illusion -or naturalism enables him to suggest the -‘mountainness’ of the mountain, the -vague, essential something which tells -one it is a mountain.</p> - -<p>In his heritage from Cézanne, Mr. -Holmes has at any rate acquired no -clumsiness, but greater skill has not -tempted him to too much detail. He -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> -has carried to still greater lengths synthesis -and simplification. In economy -of line he can hold his own with any -of the new school of painters. With a -few bold strokes he gives the massive -strength of hills and rocks. It is now -possible to realise how simple is the -structure of mountains, but at the same -time how clear must be the discrimination -between the essential and the superfluous. -By adopting the black border -with which many of the Fauves surround -the objects in their pictures, Mr. Holmes -is able to dispense with chiaroscuro—almost -with perspective. He paints in -flat washes of colour, admirably toned, -and separates one plane from another by -a band of black. The distance springs -into being, and perspective is achieved -without elaboration, without destruction -of essential outline.</p> - -<p>Besides this ‘realism of effect’ as -opposed to ‘realism of fact,’ Mr. Holmes -has another definite aim, which attaches -his art still more closely to Fauvism. -He has a keen sense of the decorative -importance of a picture. He has said -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -himself: ‘The first function of a picture -is architectural—it has to be a beautiful -part of the wall surface.’<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">12</a> This aim is -certainly fulfilled in his work. The lines -of the hills run in subtle rhythms, and -the whole lies gracefully on the wall and -becomes a part of it. As ever, Mr. -Holmes is his own best critic. He has -summed up this double ideal—synthesis -and decorative value—as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘At the very birth of art we find -the necessity of selection and omission, -with a view to emphatic -statement, recognised more generally -perhaps than it has ever been recognised -since. And with this -necessity we may note another characteristic -of primitive art—the love -of rhythm and pattern.’<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">13</a></p></blockquote> - -<p>It has been seen that, with the exception -of Cézanne, Mr. Holmes has no -direct ancestor in European art. But, -nevertheless, he is the ready pupil of centuries. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -His art is not merely, as in the -case of several other prominent Fauves, -a slavish return to the primitive. It is -founded on a thorough knowledge of the -past. A further extract from his book<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> -will show that he gives a modern expression -to centuries of ideals:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘Painting succeeds in virtue of -the things it omits, almost as much -as by the assistance of the things -it expresses.... In Egyptian art -the figures might have been less -stiffly uniform, in Crete they sometimes -verge on caricature; in Byzantine -work they assume too -much the rigid character of architecture; -with the Italians of the -Irecento too much of the Byzantine -temper may survive; in China -forms may be contorted through the -connection of painting with calligraphy. -Yet with all their defects, -these various phases of painting -serve their destined purpose, and -serve it much better than the painting -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -of more sophisticated ages has -succeeded in doing.... Contours -may be as nobly drawn as human -skill can draw them, but they must -be firm and definite throughout. -The colour may be as brilliant or as -quiet as circumstances demand, but -it must be applied in masses that are -flat or nearly flat. Details, forcible -suggestion of relief and strong -shadows must be avoided. In our -own day these limitations have been -observed and respected only by a -single painter—Puvis de Chavannes—but -in virtue of that restraint he -has taken his place among the great -masters.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>And so the art of Mr. Holmes is a direct -practice of his preaching. To the tradition -of simplified vision he has brought -a conception of his own—the conception -of mountains, of their formation; and -their rhythm.<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">15</a> Not Puvis de Chavannes, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span> -whom he has mentioned, nor Daumier, -whom perhaps he should have mentioned, -felt the character of landscape as deeply -as Mr. Holmes has done. In his elimination -he is not arbitrary, but natural -and very just. His mountains remain -synthetic, uncivilised, individual, as they -are in nature.</p> - -<p>But besides his debt to the centuries -of European art, he is greatly helped by -his knowledge and love of the art of -China and Japan. Like so many modern -Europeans, he has been profoundly moved -by the marvellous achievements of Eastern -painting, but, beyond an admission -of general influence, no very clear artistic -lineage can be made out.</p> - -<p>Mr. Binyon has traced the influence -of Hokusai in Mr. Holmes’ work,<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">16</a> and -the suggestion seems justified. Mr. -Holmes has an avowed admiration for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -the work of the Japanese artist, and -apart from this, the folding lines of the -hills and the flat, green washes of his -water-colours show a distinct affinity.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘In Japanese painting form and -colour are represented without any -attempt at relief, but in European -methods relief and illusion are -sought for.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>This is Hokusai himself, and Mr. -Holmes has profited by the comparison -to fuse both systems into one.</p> - -<p>And so, while, in the matter of Eastern -as well as of Western art, his great store -of knowledge of the painting of the past -is the foundation of his genius, the genius -itself—the message and its expression—remains -his own.</p> - -<p>Before closing it would be well to -mention one criticism which has been -levelled at Mr. Holmes, and which, if -it is true, constitutes a serious charge. -He has been accused of being scientific -to the point of having a formula on -which he works. Perhaps the title of -his book is partly responsible for the -accusation, and it might certainly have -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -been better chosen. But beyond this no -trace of justification is visible. Order -and inspiration are not necessarily incompatible. -The extravagant lengths reached -by the æsthetic movement proved the -result of art ignoring science. Eccentricity -had become a fetish, and Mr. -Holmes is working with his fellow -Fauves to restore reason and sanity. -There is too much variety in his work to -allow of a suspicion of any formula. A -series of mountain studies naturally have -some affinity, and this affinity has been -exaggerated into a definite method. Such -a charge cannot be further disproved -than by assertion of its falsity. If that -is insufficient, let the unsatisfied critic -carefully study all Mr. Holmes’ work, -and draw a new conclusion. Continued -belief in the formula must stay uncombated; -but even should the charge be -generally accepted as true, the admiration -of one at least for Mr. Holmes and his -work will remain unshaken. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF A -CHAMOIS: AND INCIDENTALLY -OF SOME OTHER -MATTERS<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -<span class="large">JULIAN S. HUXLEY</span><br /> -<small>(Balliol)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="II_OF_THE_BEHAVIOUR_OF_A">II. OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF A -CHAMOIS: AND INCIDENTALLY -OF SOME OTHER MATTERS</h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Those</span> who know Rosenlaui will -also know that finely pointed little -peak, an outlying spur of the Wetterhorn, -that looks straight down into the -front windows of the hotel—the Dossenhorn. -That was my first climb. I confess -that it was nothing very thrilling, though -I enjoyed it thoroughly. We had a -guide—an aged, aged man, whose downhill, -bent-knee walk was if anything -slower than his very slow but quite -automatic and invariable upward pacing. -We had a rope, which appeared to me -perfectly unnecessary, and was a great -nuisance to the airily independent spirit -and body of the novice. Two ice-axes -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span> -lent to our party (of five) an air of considerable -distinction. Very little of the -day’s happenings have remained to me. -I still remember how very easy the rocks -of the last arête were; how fine the -Wetterhorn looked across the snow -plateau; how I wondered why my -uncle, a considerable climber in his day, -wore trousers instead of knickerbockers; -how I ran down most of the way home -after unroping; and how, in my innocence, -I plunged my face, scarlet from -its exposure all unvaselined to the snow-fields, -into a basin of cold water—with -what results those know who have tried -it. Among all this intolerable deal of -bread, however, we had a halfpenny -worth of something more intoxicating. -There is a long snow slope to be crossed -slantingly before the col and the hut are -reached. It is not at all steep, sloping -up to the lower border of the rock pile -that forms the pyramidal top of the -mountain; but the old guide had ordered -the rope, and so there we were plodding -diagonally upwards in single file.</p> - -<p>All of a sudden there was a rattle, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> -then a stone leapt off the rocks above to -bound down the snow slope some four -hundred yards ahead of us. The old -guide looked round, and said: ‘Chamois.’</p> - -<p>This set us all agog—two or three -had never seen the chamois on his -native heath. However, the brown coat -of the chamois is a good piece of cryptic -colouring; he—or they—remained absolutely -invisible against the brown rocks. -But we had startled him, and he went -on moving—for some reason towards us, -as we soon discovered when a second -stone came down. The third alarmed -us a little, for it crossed our path not -fifty yards ahead of the leader; so we -resolved to halt and keep our eyes open -for the next. This was not long in -coming; it came with a bound off the -rocks, and seemed to be heading for the -gap between the last two on the rope. -It must have been going at a great pace, -for it devoured that snow slope in great -hungry leaps, clearing eighty or a hundred -feet at a bound, though never rising a -yard above the snow; it hummed as it -came, with a deep buzzing sound. Altogether -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> -it was extremely alarming (I was -one of the two hindermost), and it was -a considerable relief to see, after it was -half-way to us, that it had a slight curl -on it, and an outward curl, which caused -it to hum past five or six yards behind -the tail of our procession. The chamois -passed, still invisible, on his way, and we -on ours, discussing what would have been -the best thing to do supposing his aim -had been straighter.</p> - -<p>It was that scene that came into my -head years later. I had been trying to -master some of the rudiments of geology, -of which science I was lamentably -ignorant, and had at least begun to get -into my head the idea of denudation—how -the shapes of mountains as we see -them are as much due to cutting away -as to heaving up—and was grasping the -strength of the denuding forces that -would go on thus cutting and cutting -until nothing was left but one flat plain, -did they not thus once more liberate -the forces of upheaval. In my textbook -there were examples given of the -many and various activities working -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -together this work of destruction—wind -and sun, rain and frost, sand, rivers, little -plants—‘and chamois!’ came suddenly -into my mind. A little nail will serve -to hang a large picture; and so the -whole idea of denudation was fixed in -my brain by that one Bernese chamois.</p> - -<p>It perhaps, more than any other single -thing, taught me to see the transience of -the hills. For here, as so often elsewhere, -the judgments of the natural man -must be unlearnt. ‘The hills stand about -Jerusalem,’ says the natural man,—‘The -Eternal Hills!’ They are not eternal; -they are as transitory, as much slaves of -Time, as anything with life. The title is -but one more witness to the arrogance, -the unimaginativeness of man, who thinks -that everything is of the same order of -magnitude as he himself; and if he does not -notice the hour hand move while he trips -along some fraction of the circumference -of the seconds dial—why, then, it must be -motionless!</p> - -<p>But man possesses also a brain, and -therein an intelligence, a logical faculty, -by means of which he discovers presently -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -that things are not always what they -seem; and one of these apparent contradictions -is that the mountains must be -changing, rising up and wearing down, -even though he cannot perceive it -directly; and yet even though he can -prove that it must be so, it is still very -difficult for him to realise it happening.</p> - -<p>Our intelligence, indeed, although it -thus transcends the senses’ immediate -judgments, has to go back to them and -ask their aid if it is to attain to fullest -knowledge. It is a very imperfect instrument, -so built up on the foundations of -the five senses that if we cannot feel, -hear, taste, smell or, more particularly, -see what there is to be dealt with, but -only reason about it, we may <i>know</i> quite -well that reasoning has led to the only -right conclusion, but yet do not <i>feel</i> fully -and unquestioningly the rightness of it. -We all believe the moon to be a globe; -but I must confess that on my first sight of -her through a telescope, I experienced a -veritable shock of surprise and pleasure -to realise, as I saw the craters passing -from full face in the centre to profile at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -the edge, how globular she really was. -With the mountains no such ocular -demonstration is possible to us. I say -to us, for to our descendants it may be. -You have but to take a series of photographs -of some peak from exactly the -same spot at intervals of fifty years or -so; then, putting these together in their -order, run them through a cinematograph, -and you would see your everlasting -citadel crumble, shrinking before your -eyes like a pricked balloon. Such a -condensation of events has already been -practised to render such slow processes -as the growth of twigs or the complex -unfolding of the egg more patent and -striking; and there is no reason why it -should not be applied to matters of -centuries instead of days.</p> - -<p>To-day we cannot have the change -rendered thus visible to us. We have -only indirect methods to help us, methods -which demand reflection and imagination. -Imagination and reflection, however, -are processes demanding more -mental energy than the average man is -willing to expend, for the average man -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> -is mentally of extreme laziness. So the -mountains remain eternal, to the average -man.</p> - -<p>But there is no harm in trying to -exercise powers of reflection and of -imagination, if I may persuade you to -it. Stand on the bridges at Geneva and -look at the Rhone slipping down from -the lake, clear and blue with a wonderful -and almost unreal blue. Then walk -down to the junction of the Rhone and -the Arve, and see that other river, -turbid, greyish-white, a regular glacier -stream; identity and name may be taken -from it in the union, but it still has -strength to rob the robber of his own -especial beauty. That discolouring flood—what -is it? As you walk back again, -the top of Mont Blanc comes gradually -from behind the Grande Salève into sight. -If you reflect, you will know that those -white waves were white from carrying -away what only yesterday had been a -part of those famous mountains; to-day -it is dust, and nameless; to-morrow it -will be laid down upon the ocean floor, -there to be hardened, kneaded, and baked -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -into the bricks that shall build other, as -yet unchristened, hills. If you imagine, -you will see in the mind’s eye those -same summits, thus continually attacked, -gradually shrinking; preserving their -beauty to the last, no doubt, like our -lovely lake mountains, which though in -respect of their former height they be -but as roots when the trunk is fallen, yet -in themselves show not a trace of decay, -and lift their heads as strong and fresh as -ever. Yet they dwindle, and will in the -end be mountains no more; they will -no more have form and shape, no more -be named and almost live, endowed with -that strong appearance of vivid and -obvious personality; mere undulations, -they will no more exercise the mountain -power upon the mind of man.</p> - -<p>What else will help you to see the -transience of the hills? Go and stand -by a mountain stream where it runs in -quick swishing rapids; as I have done -by the Drance de Bagnes, and heard -sounds as of groaning and muffled giant -hammering—great boulders grinding each -other in the press of the current, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -moving always downwards. Go and -look at the enormous moraines that wind -down into Italy—each would be a range -of hills in England. Had not the Alps -another aspect before these were heaped -up? And yet, say the geologists, great -cenotaphs of the ice were raised in but -a fraction of the time since the Alps -were born. Try to tackle a rock-and-ice -gully with strong sun on it, or -(preferably) stay on one side and watch -the stones come down: down they come -like that every sunny day.</p> - -<p>Look at the Matterhorn, and be told -how like it is to Strasburg Cathedral; -but rock spires are not built upwards -like ones of stone and mortar; they are -monoliths, cut out of the solid rock. -The stony layers of the rock, once -lying flat and soft upon the sea-bottom, -then hardened, then gripped and crumpled -by the ageing earth like so many sheets -of wet paper, now are cut through, and -show their free edges on the steep flanks -of the mountain. Fixed long ago in -waves and curves, now they are immobile, -but they treasure within themselves the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -forms which the ice and the sun are to -reveal. As if the sculptor were to have -but half the shaping of his work, and -the block of marble almost of itself disclose -its hidden Oenus, or turn a Hercules -planned into a Hylas accomplished, so -the rock masses contain within themselves -no infinite possibility of forms—there -is, to start with, a quality of -mountain concealed in the rock, so that -the aerial sculptors may work as they -please, and never find a Dent du Midi -in the Mont Blanc range, or fashion a -Weisshorn from the Dolomites. But -that is another story. Even though the -rocks thus decree that the instruments -of their destruction shall be as well instruments -to reveal their hidden beauties, -yet destruction none the less it is. How -gigantic a destruction those cut, upcurving -layers of rock can testify.</p> - -<p>But in the same way as our mind can -know and yet not feel the mutability of -the mountains, so it may know and yet -not grasp their size and its extent. Here -again the new lesson is hard to be learnt -by brain alone: ‘Everest 29,002, Mont -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -Blanc 15,786, Scawfell Pike 3210’—the -figures convey but a part. The hills -must take the mind by assault through -the breaches of sense.</p> - -<p>Those moments come but rarely. I -have seen the west face of Skiddaw -once, and once Schiehallion from the -Struan road, towering as high as any -Alpine peak might do; and Donkin’s -famous photograph of the Weisshorn -gives one something of the true feeling. -But the most complete revelation came -to me at the head of the Swiss Val -Ferret.</p> - -<p>We had already begun to appreciate -the bigness of things, but rather through -our own littleness than for any unusual -grandeur revealed in them. As you walk -up the deep, close valley, you have on your -right, in contrast to the monotonous dry -ridge of even middle height to the left, -a succession of broad bluffs or buttresses -that sustain the east end and guard the -eastern glacier gateways of that great -Cathedral of Three Nations, the massif -of Mont Blanc. There is one below and -one above the end of the Saleinaz glacier, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -and on the side of each a lesser bluff, an -inward, forward-projecting pillar that -narrows the gateway to a mere postern, -with only glimpses of the broad aisle -above. Both these doorposts bear the -same name—Tita Moutse or Tête -Moutze; a very good name, certainly, -but you would think that the dwellers -at Proz-de-Fort, just between the two, -might find it confusing, even though on -Barbier’s map one is printed black and -upright, the other thin and in italics. -It is difficult to render these distinctions -in speaking—and perhaps they have not -all got Barbier’s map. However, that is -not our concern at present. Farther up -is another big buttress (rejoicing in the -name of Treutze Bouc), and another, -and then the Glacier de la Neuvaz, with -the Châlet Ferret on the other hand, -and feather beds for weary travellers.</p> - -<p>These buttresses, and especially the -Treutze Bouc, are calculated to annoy -the walker. There they stand, looking -no bigger than a buttress of Snowdon -or Saddleback; there as here the mountain -torrents cut away the ground in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -the same way, and the same broad-faced -bluffs are left. As with bluffs, so with -ships: it is almost impossible to grasp -the size of a big liner out at sea, her -build is the same as that of any other -steamship, and there is no standard of -comparison. Here in the Val Ferret -one learns by bitter experience and -blistered feet. The road winds on and -on, across torrent-beds, through alder-woods, -along hot slopes—and the summit -of Treutze Bouc is not yet opposite. -After this lengthy demonstration of the -disadvantages and unpleasantnesses of -size, the mountains at last relent and -show the other side of the picture.</p> - -<p>I shall never forget the impression of -colossal grandeur that showed itself at -a turn of the road opposite the gate of -the Glacier de la Neuvaz. Nothing was -lacking in the chain. In the foreground, -below a grassy bank, flowed the Drance -de Ferret—only a smallish stream, but -big enough and swift enough unbridged -to stop such a small animal as man from -gaining its other side. Across it lay a -fallen pine; and from this, better than -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> -from the standing trees, you realised to -what a height the pine-trunks grow. -Of these there was a thick wood filling -up the level bottom left by the receding -glacier; the green sea extended back -and back until the tops of the separate -trees were not to be made out, and the -whole wood tapered away in perspective -like a band of clouds towards the setting -sun. In the end it turned a corner to -the right—a thin green line beyond the -grey terminal moraine. This corner -filled a little indentation in the hill -behind. The eye travelled up naturally -from the green line of trees to the green -slope, and saw that slope as part of a -great rounded hill, rather like a bit of -the Downs in general appearance; but -had it been hollow you could have gone -on pouring your Chanctonburies and -Sinoduns and Beachy Heads and Hogs -backs into it, and they would have rattled -about like small-shot inside. The stream -of trees let you see how big it was, -as hills on the horizon show the greatness -of the setting moon. I think the -hill was nameless. Beyond it, in another -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -plane of distance, rose another peak—this -one brown, of bare rock, and rather -jagged; the vegetation had ended on -the part concealed behind the green hill. -Up and up the eye travelled, and was -amazed to find that if the green had -been but a spur of the brown, so the -brown was but a spur of the white. -Mont Dolent arose from, behind it like -the pursuing peak in the <i>Prelude</i>. All -its rocky middle and its snowline were -in their turn hidden by the brown spur -before them; only the white slanting -chisel edge of the summit soared up to -sight. Stream—tree—wood—mountains: -one, two, and three ... each -formed a stepping-stone to the one beyond, -making it possible for the whole -grandeur of the peak to slip down, as it -were, and find place within the narrow -limits of the brain waiting at the other -end.</p> - -<p>There it was able to take up its station -beside that other thought which entered -there, not charioted by Bacchus and his -pards, but by the swift chamois and the -mountain torrents. The two, holding -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -mutual colloquy, together tell what -Wordsworth learnt in another fashion, -that the mountains are</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Huge and mighty forms, that do not live<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Like living men.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>But live they do, in their own way—not -only in their form and individuality, -but in the constant cycle of their changeableness. -They approach to being closed -systems, independent in some degree -of the rest of the world; partial individuals, -they have a share in determining -their future selves. Once raised to -mountains, they contain within themselves -the germs of their own destiny; -and if not possessing such power as true -life possesses of blossoming into a predetermined -form, scarcely to be altered -by all the efforts of the outside world, -yet at least marking down beforehand -the limits beyond which the outer -influences cannot mould them, preordaining -the main succession of their -future history, and the essential quality -of the forms they are to take. And -again, though they have not the true -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -vital property of reproducing their kind -by means of a mere particle of their -own substance, that grows, and in its -growth takes up the atoms of outer -matter and moulds them to its will, they -have a kind of reproduction scarcely less -strange, where like generates not like, but -unlike. In their decay they are laying -new foundations. Grain torn from grain -of solid rock, boulder from boulder is -swept away; layer after layer of grains -or boulder is laid—‘well and truly laid’; -rock system piled upon rock system; till -the time comes, and all this is upheaved -into a chain of peaks which, though their -every particle were taken from the substance -of that older chain, will be like it -in being a mountain range, but in that -alone. So they have their being, in a -different and vaster cycle than man’s, -their life only another fragment of that -change which is the single fixed reality.</p> - -<p>And what is the moral of all this? -You may well ask; for I do not know -that I know myself. Proceed to the fact -that our mountains are but crinkles on -the rind of a small satellite of one star -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span> -among the millions, and we deduce the -littleness of man: which has been done -before. Point out how, in spite of all -their size and their terrors, they fall one -by one to the climber, and we with -equal facility prove his greatness: which -also others have successfully attempted. -Insist on their mutability, and it merely -takes us back to Heraclitus and his <span xml:lang="el">πάντα -ῥεῖ.</span> Perhaps one moral is that feeling -as well as reasoning, reasoning as well -as feeling, is necessary to true knowledge; -a conclusion which would appeal to -followers of M. Bergson, but hardly falls -within the scope of this book.</p> - -<p>The chief moral is, I expect, that the -mountains can give the climber more -than climbing, and will do so if he but -keep his eyes open. From them there -will come to him flashes of beauty and -of grandeur, light in dark places, sudden -glimpses of the age, the glory, and the -greatness of the earth. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2> -THE MOUNTAINS IN GREEK -POETRY<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -NORMAN EGERTON YOUNG<br /> -<small>(Corpus Christi College)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="III_THE_MOUNTAINS_IN_GREEK_POETRY">III. THE MOUNTAINS IN -GREEK POETRY</h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Before</span> we try to discover from -their literature the feelings of the -Greeks for the mountains, we should -first trace clearly the origin of our own -attitude towards high places.</p> - -<p>Nature-worship is a reaction from the -life of crowded communities; contrast -and change are the essentials of rest. It is -only for those whose life is passed in great -cities fully to appreciate the mountains; -in their own country the hills have no -honour, for where men make their living -they cannot appreciate life. But we are -so much accustomed to accept as absolute -our personal standard of beauty, made up -of all those things which seem to us -beautiful on account of their contrast to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -our ordinary surroundings, that it is hard -to realise the fact that all expressions of -beauty depend upon individual perception, -and are therefore relative. A converse -often illuminates the less obvious -side of a question, and the converse of -our love for the mountains is strikingly -shown by Sir Leslie Stephen, who records -that a highly intelligent Swiss guide -pronounced the dreary expanse of -chimney-pots round the South-Western -Railway finer than the view from the -top of Mont Blanc. It was a contrast -to his ordinary life, and therefore, for -him, beautiful. For to the guide, <i>qua</i> -guide, a mountain is not a form of the -Idea of Beauty, but a problem in higher -mathematics, each possible route an indeterminate -equation in terms of glacier, -rock, ice, and snow; and the great guide -is he who can solve most truly in theory -and in practice the daily variations of -these and other unknown quantities. A -mountain to him may be like a great -book made odious by being set as a -holiday task.</p> - -<p>But the guide is hardly a fair example, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -since he is the product of an artificial -demand: let us take, as a less extreme -case, the more primitive inhabitants of -a mountainous land, whose living comes -from the land itself, not indirectly from -the great cities through services rendered -to their holiday-makers. The peasants -of such a country must work the land -for their living, not look at it; life -comes before æstheticism, and the artistic -temperament is an inadequate remedy -for an empty stomach. To such men -the mountains do not represent beauty -and strength and freedom, but an amazing -waste of the surface of the earth, useless -deserts, from which every acre of lowland -and slope must be redeemed for crops -and vineyards.</p> - -<p>It was in this light that the Greeks -saw their mountains. In their eyes they -compared very unfavourably with their -great natural rival, the sea. It is true -that the sea was mildly reproved by the -epithet ἀτρυγετός for producing no crops, -but it made amends, being the good-natured -Mediterranean, by helping to -transport the produce of other lands, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -while the mountains were a positive -obstacle to commerce.</p> - -<p>We may note that in Il. i. 156:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">ἦ μάλα πολλὰ μεταξὺ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">οὔρεά τε σκιόεντα θάλασσά τε ἠχήεσσα,<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">17</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>the mountains and the sea are both alike -mentioned as barriers between people and -people, although it may be questioned -whether the idea is more definite than -that of distance, to which the epithet -σκιόεντα is more appropriate. In this -case the mountains are introduced merely -to give a concrete horizon to the idea of -remoteness conveyed by <span xml:lang="el">μάλα πολλά</span> and -<span xml:lang="el">σκιόεντα.</span></p> - -<p>The sea was commonly regarded by -the Greeks as a tie between land and -land, the mountains as a barrier. So -they damned the mountains with faint -praise of their timber, their hunting -grounds, and, most unkindest cut, the -wider view of the sea from their cliffs. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -There was no one to tell the primitive -Greeks that from the hated mountains, -by streams and melting snows, came the -very meadows in which they delighted, -that the richness of their ideal pasture-lands -of Thessaly was produced, not in -spite of, but actually by the mountains -round. So they continued to regard -them as heaps of waste, and it was this -view which was primarily responsible for -the reticence about the mountains with -which we meet in Greek literature. In -all the Odyssey there are hardly twenty -lines descriptive of the mountains. In -one of the most beautiful lines of -Homer:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">εἴσατο δ’ ὡς ὅτε ῥινὸν ἐν ἠεροειδέϊ πόντῳ.<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">18</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Od.</i> v. 281.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>the picture is of the island, not of its -mountains; they are mentioned, but -merely because a low-lying island is not -visible in ‘misty’ distance.</p> - -<p>The first use of the mountains in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -simile is to represent big, ugly people: -of the Cyclops,</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">καὶ γὰρ θαῦμ’ ἐτέτυκτο πελώριον, οὐδὲ ἐῴκει<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἀνδρί γε σιτοφάγῳ, ἀλλὰ ῥίῳ ὑλήεντι<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ὑψηλῶν ὀρέων, ὅ τε φαίνεται οἶον ἀπ’ ἄλλων.<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">19</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Od.</i> ix. 190.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>and of the queen of the Læstrygones,</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i28">τὴν δὲ γυναῖκα<br /></span> -<span class="i0">εὗρον ὅσην τ’ ὄρεος κορυφήν, κατὰ δ’ ἔστυγον αὐτήν.<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">20</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Od.</i> x. 112.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>For the most part, the mountains are -treated with contemptuous indifference. -It is evident that, as a place of outlook -over low-lying scenery or the sea, a -height of some sort is necessary, and -where such an outlook is mentioned by -Homer he does not grudge it an epithet; -but in such a passage as the following -the hill is nothing, the view from it all-important:— -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span></p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">εἶδον γὰρ σκοπιὴν ἐς παιπαλόεσσαν ἀνελθὼν<br /></span> -<span class="i0">νῆσον, τὴν πέρι πόντος ἀπείριτος ἐστεφάνωται·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">αὐτὴ δὲ χθαμαλὴ κεῖται· καπνὸν δ’ ἐνὶ μέσσῃ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἔδρακον ὀφθαλμοῖσι διὰ δρυμὰ πυκνὰ καὶ ὕλην.<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">21</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Od.</i> x. 194.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>There is only one passage in Homer -in which one mountain is seen from -another. Poseidon is watching the battle -before Troy from the highest crest of -wooded Samothrace:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5">ἔνθεν γὰρ ἐφαίνετο πᾶσα μὲν Ἴδη,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">φαίνετο δὲ Πριάμοιο πόλις καὶ νῆες Ἀχαιῶν.<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">22</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Il.</i> xiii. 13.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>If we analyse our own pleasure in the -ascent of a mountain, giving due importance -to the view of other peaks from -it, we shall realise how significant it is -that this reference is unique in Homer.</p> - -<p>Of rock-climbers Homer had a very -poor opinion: he would be a very bold -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -man now who would say of any rock -peak in the world:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">οὐδέ κεν ἀμβαίη βροτὸς ἀνὴρ οὐδ’ ἐπιβαίη,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">οὐδ’ εἴ οἱ χεῖρές τε ἐείκοσι καὶ πόδες εἶεν·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">πέτρη γὰρ λίς ἐστι, περιξεστῇ εἰκυῖα.<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">23</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Od.</i> xii. 77.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Baedeker himself could not more -vehemently warn of a novice from a -dangerous face; but there was little -chance that the climb in question would -ever become ‘an easy day for a lady,’ as -it led past the cave of Scylla, whose six -heads would have required a toll likely -to leave an appreciable gap in the largest -party.</p> - -<p>Once only in the Iliad a rock is chosen -as a type of steadfastness:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">ἴσχον γὰρ πυργηδὸν ἀρηρότες, ἠΰτε πέτρη<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἠλίβατος, μεγάλη, πολιῆς ἁλὸς ἐγγὺς ἐοῦσα,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἥ τε μένει λιγέων ἀνέμων λαιψηρὰ κέλευθα<br /></span> -<span class="i0">κύματά τε τροφόεντα, τά τε προσερεύγεται αὐτήν·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ὣς Δαναοὶ Τρῶας μένον ἔμπεδον οὐδὲ φέβοντο.<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">24</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Il.</i> xv. 617.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span></p> - -<p>But to the Greeks rocky cliffs appeared -as a rule pitiless, inhuman, and heartless, -rather than steadfast in a good sense, as -above. We may notice the famous -passage in which Patroclus rebukes -Achilles for his hardness of heart:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">νηλεές, οὐκ ἄρα σοί γε πατὴρ ἦν ἱππότα Πηλεύς,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">οὐδὲ Θέτις μήτηρ· γλαυκὴ δέ σε τίκτε θάλασσα<br /></span> -<span class="i0">πέτραι τ’ ἠλίβατοι, ὅτι τοι νόος ἐστὶν ἀπηνής.<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">25</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Il.</i> xvi. 33.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>If Homer is disappointing, Hesiod is -far more so. If anywhere in Greek -literature we should expect some recognition -of the grandeur of the mountains, -it is undoubtedly in descriptions of their -birth. A poet could hardly hope to find -a more Titanic subject than that mighty -travailing of the Earth; but this is all -Hesiod finds to say:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">γείνατο δ’ Οὔρεα μακρά, θεῶν χαρίεντας ἐναύλους,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Νυμφέων, αἳ ναίουσιν ἀν’ οὔρεα βησσήεντα.<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">26</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Theogony</i>, 129.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span></p> - -<p>‘Long’ of all mountain epithets! ‘Graceful’ -is insult added to injury! We must -suppose that Hesiod would have preferred -Amicombe Hill to Great Mis Tor, the -curves of the Downs to the towers of the -Dolomites.</p> - -<p>It is not surprising that the Nymphs -should have stuck in the throat of certain -commentators, who propose to expunge -the second line. Certainly a real mountain -is the least suitable habitation for a -Nymph, and it is a pity that no artistic -member of the Alpine Club could have -been present to astonish Hesiod with a -lightning sketch of large troups of -Nymphs—in the days when Jaeger was -unknown, and furs still clothed their -natural owners—shivering like angels on -the needle-point of the Charmoz or on -the more appropriate summit of the -Jungfrau. There is one possible explanation, -hinted at in the Clouds of Aristophanes, -namely, that the Oceanids were -identified with clouds; but this is probably -a later rationalist theory, which would -have astonished the early poets themselves. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span></p> - -<p>There is not one line in Hesiod which -shows a real appreciation of the mountains: -some few allusions to Olympus -are the nearest approach to enthusiasm, -but the seat of the gods also proves a -broken reed to those who would portray -the Greeks as mountain-lovers. It was -necessary that the gods should be able to -look down on the earth, yet the anthropomorphic -tendencies of the age subjected -them to the same disadvantage as modern -aviators, namely, inability to remain -motionless in the air. It therefore -became necessary for them to take -possession of the highest fixed support, -Olympus.</p> - -<p>Olympus is a real mountain, but for -the benefit of its divine tenants, more -especially perhaps of the goddesses, the -poets idealised it almost out of recognition. -We have Homer’s description of -the summit:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">[Οὔλυμπος] ὅθι φασὶ θεῶν ἕδος ἀσφαλὲς αἰεὶ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἔμμεναι· οὔτ’ ἀνέμοισι τινάσσεται, οὔτε ποτ’ ὄμβρῳ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">δεύεται, οὔτε χιὼν ἐπιπίλναται, ἀλλὰ μάλ’ αἴθρη<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -<span class="i0">πέπταται ἀννέφελος, λευκὴ δ’ ἐπιδέδρομεν αἴγλη.<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">27</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Od.</i> vi. 42.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>This process of describing an ideal and -then locating it in a definite accessible -spot has many parallels, though few in -which access and its consequent disillusionment -were so easy; we may compare -Atlantis, Avernus, King Arthur’s Cave on -Lliwedd, and the superstition which -was not uncommon a few years ago, that -a subtropical Paradise would be found beyond -the outer ice of the Arctic Circle.</p> - -<p>Another passage, quoted from Lucian -in a paper by Mr. Douglas Freshfield, -on ‘Mountains and Mankind,’<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">28</a> as -showing that the Greeks loved their -mountains, is not altogether convincing: -Hermes takes Charon, when he has a -day out from Hell, to the twin-crested -summit, and shows him the panorama -of land and sea, of rivers and famous -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -cities. The first impulse is to reject this -allusion as proving, not Lucian’s love -for the mountains, but his excellent taste -in contrast, for the holiday of the -dweller below the earth should rightly -be spent in its high places. This is -true as far as it goes, but apart from -the personal tastes of Lucian, to which -we have no more guide in his works -than to those of Shakespeare or any -other true dramatist, we must admit that -he here gives us the nearest parallel to -those conditions from which we escape -to the contrast of the mountains. London -duties, it is true, compare favourably -with those of Charon, but our reward -in escaping from them is greater, just -in so far as the Alps are greater than -Parnassus. The principle and the scale -of contrast are the same: this passage -would therefore seem to be nearer akin -to our modern mountain-worship than -might at first appear. But here again -it may be claimed that the mountain -is not made of much account except as -the means of obtaining a wider view of -the more fashionable beauties of nature. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span></p> - -<p>Professor Palgrave asserts that the -dramatists seldom show appreciation of -scenery, but we must add to his exceptions -Euripides’ description of the sunrise -glow on the mountains:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Παρνησιάδες δ’ ἄβατοι κορυφαὶ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">καταλαμπόμεναι τὴν ἡμερίαν<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἁψῖδα βροτοῖσι δέχονται.<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">29</a><br /></span> -<span class="author">Eur. <i>Ion.</i> 87.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>An excellent test of the impression -made on the Greek mind by any class -of natural phenomenon is to observe to -what extent representatives of that class -have been personified; if we apply this -test to the case of the mountains, we -shall be amazed at the Greek disregard -for them. When in the case of so -abstract a conception as that of time -we find personification, not only of the -idea as a whole, but also of its sub-divisions -<span xml:lang="el">(Ὧραι),</span> we may naturally -expect, not only a great Personal representative -of mountains in general, as -Poseidon represented the sea, but also -particular personifications of great peaks -or ranges, which in our eyes have at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -least as marked an individuality as rivers -or winds.</p> - -<p>Yet, with the single exception of -Atlas, no mountain in Greek literature -has been represented as an animate -being. It is possible that Tennyson had -some precedent for his ‘Mother’ Ida; -<span xml:lang="el">μητέρα θήρων</span><a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">30</a> is the Homeric phrase. -Certainly a close connection exists between -Taÿgetus and Taÿgete, daughter -of Atlas, and there is some suggestion -of malevolent personality in the inhospitable -behaviour of the ‘Wandering -Rocks.’ But these are ill-defined and -isolated instances, which, even if numbered -by scores, instead of by scattered -units, would not materially affect the -argument.</p> - -<p>About Atlas we have many different -stories. In the earliest account he is -one of the older family of gods, father -of Calypso, <span xml:lang="el">ὀλοόφρων,</span><a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">31</a> wizard Atlas, -knowing the depths of every sea; and to -him are entrusted the pillars which keep -heaven and earth apart. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span></p> - -<p>According to Hesiod, he was the son of -the Titan Iapetus, and brother of Menœtius, -Prometheus, and Epimetheus, all of -whom incurred the anger of Zeus—Prometheus -and Menœtius for active hostility to -him, Epimetheus and Atlas apparently -for no more personal reason than that -their father was one of the hated Titans: -for this offence Atlas was punished by -the task of holding up the whole weight -of heaven on his shoulders. It does not -seem to have occurred to the early -writers that the extreme edge of an -inverted hemisphere is a most unsymmetrical -position for the sole supporter -of its weight.</p> - -<p>The mountain, Atlas, was evidently -the Peak of Teneriffe,<a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">32</a> of which the -Phœnicians may well have brought a -description to Greece. It was afterwards -supposed to be in North Africa, and in -consequence dwindled to a comparatively -insignificant range containing no conspicuous -peak. The Titanid and the -mountain were ingeniously connected in -later times by the introduction of Perseus -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -with the head of Medusa, which he -showed to Atlas at his own request, thus -turning him to stone.</p> - -<p>A variation of this story marks an -intermediate stage towards the rationalisation -of the myth: in it Atlas is represented -as a king who refuses to show -hospitality to Perseus on account of a -prophecy of danger to himself from a son -of Zeus; he is turned into stone by the -same means, but as a punishment for his -churlishness.</p> - -<p>The completely rationalised version -represents him as a king in the far West, -skilled in astronomy, and the inventor -of the globe. This story may have had -its origin in Homer’s ‘wizard’ Atlas, -and was probably connected with the far -older myths of Atlantis and the Garden -of the Hesperides.</p> - -<p>It is evident that we have to thank -the Phœnicians for bringing one great -mountain so prominently before the -Greeks that alone of all mountains in -their literature it is endued with personality. -But it is lamentable to observe -how the affairs of Atlas, once released -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> -from Phœnician control, descend into -the bourgeois rut of semi-divine nonentity. -He proceeded to marry a nymph, -who bore him seven other nymphs, -of whom Maia, mother of Hermes, -is alone conspicuous. These nymphs -lived together on Mount Cyllene until -forced to fly from Orion, whom they -escaped by the conventional stage-device -of metamorphosis, becoming first doves -(<span xml:lang="el">πελείαδες</span>) and then the constellation -of the Pleiades.</p> - -<p>Mr. Bury<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">33</a> traces a connection between -the epithet ὀρειᾶν as applied to -the Pleiades and the name <span xml:lang="el">Ὠαρίων</span>, translating</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">ἐστι δ’ ἐοικὸς<br /></span> -<span class="i3">ὀρειᾶν γε Πελειάδων<br /></span> -<span class="i0">μὴ τήλοθεν Ὠαρίων’ ἀνεῖσθαι.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>by ‘It is meet that the rising of the -Mountain Hunter should not be far from -the Mountain Pleiades.’ This would be -unique among Greek references to the -mountains if the remotest etymological -connection could be traced between -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -<span xml:lang="el">Ὠαρίων</span> and <span xml:lang="el">ὄρος</span>; but this is rather a -B in ‘Both’ derivation, and it may be -mentioned for what it is worth that the -name Orion is otherwise explained for us -by Ovid.<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">34</a></p> - -<p>One alone of the Pleiad nymphs is -justified, to a follower of Mr. Bury, in -her mountain abode. If we accept -<span xml:lang="el">Ἀλκυόνη</span> as a personification of <span xml:lang="el">ἄλκη</span>,<a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">35</a> -we must certainly allow her to enthrone -herself on the highest peaks of -the ancient world, provided, of course, -that she was not so presumptuous as to -sit on her father.</p> - -<p>It is clear, therefore, that the Greeks -owed the introduction of the mountain -into the Titan story to the Phœnicians’ -description of Teneriffe, and that they -elaborated the myth with very little -regard for geography and none at all for -consistency. In spite of Mr. Bury’s -gallant salvage work, we must confess -that the mountain element is lost from -the story as soon as it is left in the hands -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -of the Greeks, who treat it as a hen -treats the duckling she has hatched: an -adaptable duckling, for as a metamorphosis -story it has made a very good -chicken, though in the process it shames -its proper parents.</p> - -<p>In Theocritus we find an exception to -the absence of mountain personification -in Menalkas’ <span xml:lang="el">Αἴτνα, μᾶτερ ἔμα</span>,<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">36</a> but it -stands alone: the Cyclops, who was -quite as much the child of Ætna, seems -to regard the mountain merely as an ice-box -providing him with cool water:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ, τό μοι ἁ πολυδένδρεος Αἴτνα<br /></span> -<span class="i0">λευκᾶς ἐκ χίονος πότον ἀμβρόσιον προίητι.<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">37</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>It would be hard, in speaking of the -snows of a mountain, to find a less -appropriate epithet than <span xml:lang="el">πολυδένδρεος.</span></p> - -<p>There is little else in Theocritus about -the mountains except that Daphnis</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">χιὼν ὥς τις κατετάκετο μακρὸν ὑφ’ Αἷμον.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἢ Ἄθω ἢ Ῥοδόπαν ἢ Καύκασον ἐσχατόωντα.<a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">38</a><br /></span> -</div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span></p> - -<p>If we compare Pindar’s descriptions of -the mountains with those of any other -Greek poet, it is not hard to make -ourselves believe that he knew something -of their secrets. But as soon as we set -these passages side by side with the rest -of his own work, we see them sink back -into insignificance. He wrote four or -five great mountain lines, but for each -of these he wrote ten for the valleys, -fifty for the stars, a hundred for the -sea.</p> - -<p>Still, we cannot often find a mountain -honoured in Greek with such an epithet -as <span xml:lang="el">ὑψιμέδων</span>,<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">39</a> usually applied to Zeus -alone; and Pindar also makes the first -mention of the ‘age’ of the hills:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Φλιοῦντος ὑπ’ ὠγυγίοις ὄρεσι.<a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">40</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>It is not clear why a hill should in -general be considered older than a plain: -they are said to have emerged from the -Deluge within quite a short time of each -other. But it would be pedantic to -summon scientists and insist on accuracy -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -at the cost of such hoary phrases as ‘the -eternal hills,’ which are still the delight -of those pessimists who habitually allude -to mankind as <span xml:lang="el">ἐφημέριδες</span>.</p> - -<p>Among Pindar’s descriptive phrases we -may notice <span xml:lang="el">ἔμβολον Ἀσίας</span>, of the headland -of Caria. The word, to a Greek, could -not but suggest its naval use, the ‘prow’ -of Asia riding unmoved upon the waves.</p> - -<p>Actual references to mountaineering -are so rare that we are tempted to find -an exception in</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">καὶ πάγον<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Κρόνου προσεφθέγξατο· πρόσθε γὰρ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">νώνυμνος, ἇς Οἰνόμαος ἆρχε, βρέχετο πολλᾷ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">νιφάδι<a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">41</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>by supposing it to be the only surviving -record of a first ascent by the Theban -Heracles, who claimed in consequence -the right to name the summit ascended. -Paley would add to the dangers and credit -of the expedition by finding in ‘<span xml:lang="el">βρέχετο -πολλᾷ νιφάδι</span>’ ‘a curious and noteworthy -tradition of a glacial or post-glacial -period!’ -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span></p> - -<p>But all other mountain scenes in -Pindar, whether adorned with glaciers -or not, pale before the description of the -eruption of Ætna:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">τᾶς ἐρεύγονται μὲν ἀπλάτου πυρὸς ἁγνόταται<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἐκ μυχῶν παγαί· ποταμοὶ δ’ ἁμέραισιν μὲν προχέοντι ῥόον καπνοῦ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">αἴθων’, ἀλλ’ ἐν ὄρφναισιν πέτρας<br /></span> -<span class="i0">φοίνισσα κυλινδομένα φλὸξ ἐς βαθεῖαν φέρει πόντου πλάκα σὺν πατάγῳ.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">κεῖνο δ’ Ἁφαίστοιο κρουνοὺς ἑρπετὸν<br /></span> -<span class="i0">δεινοτάτους ἀναπέμπει· τέρας μὲν θαυμάσιον προσιδέσθαι, θαῦμα δὲ καὶ παρεόντων ἀκοῦσαι.<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">42</a><br /></span> -<span class="author">Pind. <i>Pyth.</i> i. 15.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>We need not enjoy this description -any the less for feeling that Pindar is -not thinking of Ætna the mountain, nor -even of Ætna the volcano, but only of -the eruption, which is not in his eyes -an eruption of Ætna but of the monstrous -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -breath of Typhoeus. The mountain -is dismissed with little more than -the usual trite epithets—<span xml:lang="el">κίων οὐρανία, -νιφοέσσα, πάνετες χιόνος ὀξείας τιθήνα</span>,<a id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">43</a> of -which the last phrase conveys an even -more false suggestion than the similar -<span xml:lang="el">χιονοτρόφος κιθαίρων</span>.<a id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">44</a></p> - -<p>Although references to the mountains -are even more rare in drama, this particular -eruption is ‘foretold’ by Prometheus:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">ἐκραγήσονταί ποτε<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ποταμοὶ πυρὸς δάπτοντες ἀγρίαις γνάθοις<br /></span> -<span class="i0">τῆς καλλικάρπου Σικελίας λευροὺς γύας·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">τοιόνδε Τυφὼς ἐξαναζέσει χόλον<br /></span> -<span class="i0">θερμῆς ἀπλήστου βέλεσι πυρπνόου ζάλης<br /></span> -<span class="i0">καίπερ κεραυνῷ Ζηνὸς ἠνθρακωμένος.<a id="FNanchor_45" href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">45</a><br /></span> -<span class="author">Æsch. <i>P.V.</i> 367.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Here Ætna has neither part nor lot in -the eruption: Typhoeus is made responsible -for the whole, in spite of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -fact that he has already been reduced -to ashes.</p> - -<p>The mountains which form the setting -of the Prometheus Vinctus are regarded -solely as a bleak, inhospitable, and, above -all, inhuman, background for the sufferings -of the Titan. It is amazing to us -that when he is left alone and calls upon -the forms of nature around, only the -mountains have no place in the circle of -silent witnesses to whom he cries:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">ὦ δῖος αἰθὴρ καὶ ταχύπτεροι πνοαί,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ποταμῶν τε πηγαί, ποντίων τε κυμάτων<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἀνήριθμον γέλασμα, παμμῆτόρ τε Γῆ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">καὶ τὸν πανόπτην κύκλον Ἡλίου καλῶ.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The rushing of winged winds, the -sources of the rivers, the multitudinous -laughter of the distant sea, Earth, the -Mother of All, and the all-seeing orb of -the Sun—all these are to look upon his -torments; but the mountains are degraded -by their omission below the very -springs which rise upon them.</p> - -<p>It may be suggested, as an explanation, -that motion formed an essential part of -the Greek idea of beauty; for motion is -the outward and visible sign of life. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -We may observe that the words <span xml:lang="el">δῖος -αἴθηρ</span> make the air for a moment the -medium of thought, expressed in which -‘wind’ is the pure and abstract idea of -motion.</p> - -<p>Prometheus, then, calls for sympathy -there alone where motion (or, in the case -of Earth, motherhood) gives promise of -life and sympathy.</p> - -<p>It is interesting, in view of the fact -that brightness was also an element in -the Greek conception of beauty, to notice -that no phase of the sea so combines -these two qualities of brightness and -motion as its ‘multitudinous laughter.’ -The path of gold of the rising sun may -be brighter, a storm more swift in motion, -but the perfect combination of the two -ideals is here described.</p> - -<p>It is natural that brightness or light -should be held in such honour, but it is -more surprising that beauty should be -associated with motion in many cases -in which the connection seems to us -extremely remote.</p> - -<p>The winds are the most conspicuous -case of this: the Greeks personified more -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -winds than they could name points -of the compass, and Greek poetry is -almost as full of the winds as of the -sea.</p> - -<p>This is especially marked in the Iliad, -where anything which shows the movement -of the wind, whether snow, the -sea, a cornfield, mist, or clouds, is -described again and again, while still -air is only mentioned in a few scattered -passages.</p> - -<p>In one of these snow is described -falling through a calm<a id="FNanchor_46" href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">46</a> to represent the -same showers of stones which had just -been compared to snow driven by a -tempest; so it is evident that no importance -attaches to the calmness, but both -passages convey the sense of motion, -though in a slightly different degree.</p> - -<p>In another very remarkable passage -Homer makes use of stationary clouds -round a mountain-top as a type of steadfastness:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">ἀλλ’ ἔμενον νεφέλῃσιν ἐοικότες, ἅς τε Κρονίων<br /></span> -<span class="i0">νηνεμίης ἔστησεν ἐπ’ ἀκροπόλοισιν ὄρεσσιν<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἀτρέμας, ὄφρ’ εὕδῃσι μένος Βορέαο καὶ ἄλλων<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> -<span class="i0">ζαχρηῶν ἀνέμων, οἵ τε νέφεα σκιόεντα<br /></span> -<span class="i0">πνοιῇσιν λιγυρῇσι διασκιδνᾶσιν ἀέντες·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ὣς Δαναοὶ Τρῶας μένον ἔμπεδον οὐδὲ φέβοντο.<a id="FNanchor_47" href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">47</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Il.</i> v. 522.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>But for the most part the mists and -the clouds, and even the sea, must be -stirred to motion by the wind before they -are considered worthy of a Greek poet’s -attention.</p> - -<p>The allusions to the wind-stirred sea -are innumerable; the eddies of war are -often compared to a whirlwind; the -misty clouds are broken apart by the wind -to reveal, now the dark waves of the sea, -now the black peaks of a mountain:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">ὡς δ’ ὅτ’ ἀφ’ ὑψηλῆς κορυφῆς ὄρεος μεγάλοιο<br /></span> -<span class="i0">κινήσῃ πυκινὴν νεφέλην στεροπηγερέτα Ζεύς,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἔκ τ’ ἔφανεν πᾶσαι σκοπιαὶ καὶ πρώονες ἄκροι<br /></span> -<span class="i0">καὶ νάπαι, οὐρανόθεν δ’ ἄρ’ ὑπερράγη ἄσπετος αἰθήρ.<a id="FNanchor_48" href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">48</a><br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Il.</i> xvi. 297.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span></p> - -<p>But here the unmoved rock is merely -a background of darkness, in contrast to -the light of the clouds, as in the -Prometheus it is a background of stillness -to the motion of the drama.</p> - -<p>We have also, in the theory that -motion was essentially connected with -the ancient ideal of beauty, some explanation -of the fact that rounded heights, -clothed with leafy woods where the wind -could</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i22">‘fling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their placid green to silver of delight.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>seemed more beautiful to the Greeks than -scarps of naked rock; and it is natural -that the poets of such an ideal, superficial -though it may seem to us, should -pass by the silent majesty of Ætna with -careless customary epithets until the fires -within burst their bounds and poured -ostentatiously to the sea in ‘eddies of -blood-red flame.’</p> - -<p>It would seem that the Greeks felt fear -and awe alone of the great mountains, -as was natural; for they had no intimate -knowledge of them, nor ever sought in -the mountains the emotions reserved for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -those who match their strength against -the great forces of nature. These -sensations, in the Greek, were inspired -by the sea. But for us the spell of -the mountains has grown stronger than -that of the waves, for the days are gone -in which the sea alone was the home of -peril and mystery. We follow the spirit -of the Greeks, not the letter of their -song; for though they sang of the sea, -it was of her freedom and strength, of -her secrets and dangers, and of these -much has passed from her. Though we -may still cross the seas on which the -<i>Argo</i> sailed, the greater part of their -romance is dead, and the Admiralty charts -are its epitaph. Scylla and Charybdis -are mapped; there is, for the vandal to -read, a latitude and a longitude of Tyre.</p> - -<p>We have still with us the seas of -romance, of the Sagas, of the Odyssey, -of the Ancient Mariner; we may still -look from</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Magic casements, opening on the foam<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Of perilous seas, in faëry lands forlorn.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>But these are armchair adventures, fireside -voyages: these we must share with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -the cripple and the old. We who are -young may find in the mountains new -worlds of adventure and romance of -which the Greeks knew nothing; but -though the beauties, the perils, the -rewards are changed, the spirit is the -same. No sea hero of the Greeks would -be long a stranger among mountaineers: -where now but in the mountains should -Odysseus wander, <span xml:lang="el">πολύτλας, πολύμητις</span>, first -in every quest of perilous glory, crowning -the hopes of long years of wanderers?</p> - -<p>Our mountain-worship is then no new -creed, nor artificial dogma, but a new -epiphany of the spirit of Hellas; and -the spirit will be the same, even though -the men of later ages find their romance -beneath the seas whereon the Greeks -sought it, or above the mountains in -which our quest is set. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>A JOURNEY<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -HUGH KINGSMILL LUNN<br /> -<small>(New College)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="IV_A_JOURNEY">IV. A JOURNEY</h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Every</span> right-minded reader loves a -few books in defiance of his own -critical canons. One cannot be for -ever brooding over the best that is known -and thought in the world. Such an uncanonical -book to me is Ouida’s <i>Moths</i>. It -was in Dresden, towards the end of May -1908, that I read it for the first time. -Summer was in the air, a German summer -of blue skies and lazy white clouds drifting -to the south. In April, when I arrived, -I liked Dresden well enough, was prepared -to stop there quietly till October, -learning German. But as the cold -weather passed, each day left me more -restless, cramped by the monotonous, -speckless streets, irked by a vision of -the summer Alps, a shining mountain -wall beyond the southern horizon. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -spirit of romance was upon me, that -heedless of realistic truth invests with -ideal charm whatever is far off. To -such a mood Ouida appealed strongly. -For she was perhaps the last of those -romantics who created out of the dust -and dreariness of eighteenth-century -Europe a fairyland of beauty. Germany -to her was still the mystic land, dreaming -of the Middle Ages; Italy still -Mignon’s Italy, a place of orange -groves and pillared palaces. In the -ardour of her revolt against the naturalist -school she often, no doubt, became -grotesque. Her landscapes are as gloriously -unreal as the heroes and heroines -who move through them. But what of -that? Unreality has its own charm, -and even its own truth.</p> - -<p>Certainly that May in Dresden I read -with uncavilling love all that she had to -tell of Ischl, in the Austrian Alps, on -whose mountains you may shoot, if you -will, the golden eagle and the vulture. -And with envy and longing I read how -Vere and Correze retreated from the -world to an old house, simple yet noble, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -with terraces facing the Alps of the -Valais. Here on the hills above Sion -the air is pure and clear as crystal, strong -as wine, the cattle maiden sings on the -high grass slopes, and the fresh-water -fisherman answers her from his boat on -the lake below. In vain I reminded -myself that one does not shoot golden -eagles, and that the Valaisan peasants, -bent by ceaseless labour almost out of -human semblance, have neither the -leisure nor the wish to carol songs to -one another. The divine unreason of -romance was too strong for me, quickening -and giving colour to a prosaic discontent -with a studious life in a too -orderly German town.</p> - -<p>And so it came about, exactly when -and how I forget, that I decided to go to -Switzerland: a simple decision, yet thrilling -enough to me just free from ten -years of school discipline. The German -family with which I was staying had -fixed on a Bavarian village, Oberkreuzberg -by name, for their summer holidays. -It seemed to me that this village would -be a convenient base from which to make -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span> -a hurried dash of two or three days to -the Alps. Bavaria, however, was a -bigger place than I had thought, and -Oberkreuzberg, when I arrived there -one evening in the middle of July, -seemed desolatingly apart from the world. -And though, as the days passed, I grew -to love the place, this sense of detachment -did not weaken. Oberkreuzberg -was set on a spur of the highest mountain -in the Bavarian Forest. From the -church that crowned the hill the houses -fell sharply away to the south on either -side of the straggling main street. In -all directions, except the north, the outlook -was bounded only by the horizon. -To the east were the low-lying Bohemian -hills, to the south the Danube, and the -plain beyond, where Munich lies, and -farther still the mountains of Tyrol, -visible to the naked eye, so the villagers -said, on a clear winter day. And to the -south-west, visible to me alone, hung the -chain of the Swiss Alps. The wide -prospect made the village seem not less -but more obscure. To those locked in -a narrow valley, however desolate, the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -world lies on the other side of the hills. -But between Oberkreuzberg and the world -lay expanses stretching away to dim -horizons.</p> - -<p>The villagers took a frank delight and -interest in me that further strengthened -my feeling of distance from ordinary life. -Stray Germans from the north, burghers -from Munich, came with each summer, -but hitherto no Englishman had visited -the village. My arrival was an event. -Indeed, Herr Göckeritz, the genial old -Saxon with whom I stayed in Dresden, -told me that it had been mentioned in a -sermon as a token of Oberkreuzberg’s -spreading fame. I was a reversed Haroun-al-Raschid, -important because unknown. -The village children followed me about -curiously, and when I shut myself in -my room clamoured outside till appeased -with largesse of pfennig pieces. On the -grass in front of my window lay logs -ready for building purposes, and the Annas, -Marias, and Babettes of the village, -small bare-legged girls, used to disport -themselves there every afternoon, chasing -each other from log to log with reckless -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> -agility. In the fields near by I could see -their elders working, bent battered peasants.</p> - -<p>Outside the village were scattered some -large boulders, and on the flat top of one -of these I would spend an hour or two -each afternoon, reading and meditating. -The blue distances troubled me with the -vague longings which had stirred to song -many a little German poet in the days -before Bismarck. The melodies of their -heart’s unrest are mere sentimental vapourings -to the modern critic. What does -it all mean, he asks, this talk of -wandering, knapsack on back, into the -wide world to seek the blue flower of -romance on the blue hills of the horizon? -In the same spirit Leslie Stephen, -the high-priest of orthodox mountain-worship, -found Byron’s Swiss poetry -cheap and insincere. As a hard-headed -agnostic, suspicious of emotion not -founded on fact, he resented no doubt -such verse as:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The fish swam by the castle wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And they seemed joyous each and all.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The eagle rode the rising blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Methought he never flew so fast.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span></p> - -<p>This eagle, flying past Chillon to the -mountains of Ouida’s Ischl, rode a -purely romantic blast, and was visible -only to romantic eyes. The orthodox -climber, however, does not care for -romance. His love of the mountains is -based, like domestic love, on knowledge -and understanding. It is reasoned, almost -respectable. But the visions of Byron -and of the German Romantics have the -magic of first love, passionately adoring -what is unknown and out of reach. It -is profitless to weigh romance against -reason. I can only say that I never -loved the mountains better than in those -long afternoons when they shone before -my spirit, hidden from the eyes of my -body.</p> - -<p>Cynara, when she reads these pages, -will dismiss all this talk of yearnings, -spiritual unrest, and what not as literary -verbiage. And indeed I might never -have left Bavaria, had it not been for -memories of the previous summer at -Champex, where I had rowed and -climbed and quarrelled with Cynara, -and where Cynara’s sister, who cultivated -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -a conscientious contempt for men in -general, and myself in particular, had -stung my young soul by insisting that -there were in me the makings of a -blameless curate. This summer they -had gone to Saas Fee, and Cynara wrote -to me from there, praising the place -ardently, and ending her letter with the -careless-cruel hope that I would like -Bavaria. Like Bavaria! And the letter -had reached me on the damp, dark evening -of my arrival at Oberkreuzberg. -The need for a personal protest reinforcing -my desire towards the Alps -settled any lingering hesitation. I had -four pounds with me. Before leaving -Dresden I wrote, in the hope of increasing -this sum, an essay for a competition -in the <i>Saturday Westminster</i>. -The subject was, ‘On making a Fool of -Oneself,’ and I treated the theme with a -humour which at the time seemed quite -delicious. In retrospect I am astonished -that they gave me an honourable mention. -Cruder methods of raising money -proved more successful, and a generous -uncle solved all material difficulties. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span></p> - -<p>Two evenings before I started I went -with Herr Göckeritz after supper to one -of the village inns. The landlord played -the zither, and Herr Göckeritz, after telling -a few anecdotes rather broad than -long, sang a little wistful ditty of a poor -fiddler wandering through the world in -sunshine and rain, with no friend but his -fiddle:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="de" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Und wenn einst vor der letzten Tür<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Mein letztes Lied verklang,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Und wenn an meiner Geige mir<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Die letzte Saite sprang,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Ach, nur ein Plätzchen gönnt mir dann<br /></span> -<span class="i3">An stiller Friedhofswand,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Wo von der Wandrung ruhen kann<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Der arme Musikant.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The whole essence of that lovable absurd -German romanticism is in these lines. -They haunted me on my journey, and -long after, and even now have power to -quicken the memory of those days. As -we walked home beneath a quiet starry -sky I told Herr Göckeritz that I was -going to Switzerland. His only comment -was an offer to lend me some money. -Life is like that.</p> - -<p>It was shortly before five o’clock -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -in the morning that I set out on my -journey. For economy’s sake I had -decided to walk to a station fifteen miles -away, thus saving, as I later realised, a -little more than sixpence. My clothes -were in a Gladstone bag which I hung -over my shoulders, pulling the straps -into position with a handkerchief tied -across my chest. And so, a curious -figure, I swung down a path that led -to the main road through a little wood. -Before entering the wood I turned round -for a last look at the village. It seemed -in the still dawn a living thing, sad, and -lonely, and patient, like its inhabitants. -For the moment I felt sorry to go. It -was unlikely that Saas Fee would welcome -me with wonder and delight. It -was probable that neither Cynara nor -Cynara’s sister would regard me with the -affectionate awe of Maria, Anna, and -Babette. However, I did not return.</p> - -<p>The memory of that walk has become -like the memory of a dream. When I -think of it I understand those words of -Sir Thomas Browne: ‘My life has been -a miracle of thirty years; which to relate -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -were not a history, but a piece of poetry, -and would sound like a fable.’ He was -thinking, I fancy, not of any events -suitable as titles for the chapters in a -biography, but of stray incidents unrelated -to the main course of his life. -Such stray incidents have a magical -quality. They might have happened, -you feel, to a stranger in some forgotten -age, so unattached to ordinary life do -they seem. By a lucky chance they -happened to you, and you remember -them with a love and gratitude incomprehensible -to others. In those hours -the melody of your own little life sounded -in accord with the universal harmony, -and the echo of that music never dies -away.</p> - -<p>I passed on through waking villages. -On either side of the road were low-lying -hills, where trees half hid ruined -castles. Were they really castles? The -early morning turned everything to magic, -and I seemed to walk in a dream-country -of the Middle Ages, my journey a -pilgrimage, and my goal a noble one, -though the way was over-easy. With -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -the tenth mile the enchantment vanished, -as dawn dissolved into day. I became -conscious of my Gladstone bag, and the -handkerchief across my chest cramped -me like a steel band. And so, when I -came over a small rising and saw before -me the factory chimneys of Regen, my -destination, I welcomed modern ugliness -with relief, and pressed forward to the -squalor of a train. The journey to -Munich lasted for six stifling summer -hours. Opposite me in the railway -carriage sat an old woman, wrinkled and -furrowed, incessantly munching ham -sandwiches. I suffered agonies of vicarious -thirst, and being a teetotaller found no assuagement -in the draughts of beer which -she drank at every station. At last the -train dawdled into Munich. The weather -had changed, and I spent seven hours -taking shelter from sudden showers, and -brooding on the probability that for the -next few days the Swiss mountains would -be hidden in clouds. A night’s journey -brought me to Zurich, dull and dismal in -the early morning. By this time I had -become an advanced realist, with a super-shavian -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -hatred of romance in every sense -of that word.</p> - -<p>This was the lowest ebb, and now -romance came flooding back. Lausanne -at noon was lovely. There was the -white house where Cynara used to live; -old memories quickened at the sight. -Martigny shone like a dream against the -Champex mountains. And then, as the -train rushed up the Rhone valley, I leant -from the window, and the trees and the -bushes bending before the wind seemed -swaying with my ecstasy.</p> - -<p>Late in the afternoon I left Stalden -for the last stage of my journey, a fifteen-mile -ascent to Saas Fee. Beyond the -bridge near the village a young climber -overtook me as I stopped to readjust -my bag. It appeared that he too had -come from Munich, that we had a -common friend, and that he wished to -make the acquaintance of Cynara and -her sister. So we walked on together. -Behind us the Bietschorn shone a golden -peak in the sunset. On each side of -the narrow, high valley fell numberless -cascades, pouring into the central torrent. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -Yes, this was Switzerland at last, far -lovelier with its roaring waters and scent -of pine-trees than in the dim visions of -those stifling Dresden days. I had reached -the blue hills of the horizon, and the sinking -sun had turned them to gold.</p> - -<p>We came to Saas Grund at eve, and -the last steep pull to Saas Fee was made -in the dark. As we entered the village -my companion left me, turning to the -left towards his hotel. I stopped a -minute to recover my breath. It was -the first of August, the day of the -national festival. All the hotels were -illuminated; men and women crowded -the balconies, in fancy dress, and the -crowd below ran here and there, laughing -and chattering. A fantastic sight; -for a moment I was embarrassed by the -idea that they were celebrating my -arrival. Moving forward diffidently, I -entered the Hôtel du Dom by the cellar -door, and walked cautiously upstairs. -There was no more glory in me, and, -except for my anxiety to avoid Cynara, -I was not conscious of any particular -feeling. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2> -THE MOUNTAINEER AND -THE PILGRIM<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -H. E. G. TYNDALE<br /> -<small>(New College)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="V_THE_MOUNTAINEER_AND_THE_PILGRIM">V. THE MOUNTAINEER -AND THE PILGRIM</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">‘The</span> pilgrim,’ says a modern -writer, ‘is one who has made -an appointment with his higher -self, to meet at some distant date and -place.’ He sets aside for a season his -present interests and the call of work, -intent on satisfying that part of his -nature which is in danger of suffering -from starvation. Therefore, with staff -in hand, he turns his back on the -familiar, to take, in strange places, something -more than a holiday. For the -pilgrim is no mere holiday-maker; he is -rather the ideal traveller, journeying towards -a noble end, and happy in this -knowledge; and to attain this end he -welcomes the prospect of passing through -fire and water.</p> - -<p>The circumstances and spirit of this -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -age do not encourage the pilgrim’s existence; -yet enthusiasm and endurance are -virtues which do not perish with the -pilgrim. Moreover, even if our ideal -traveller is found no more, many find an -ideal form of travel in mountaineering. -There may exist, therefore, some corresponding -virtue, some relic of the pilgrim’s -security of mind, by reason of which we -may call our mountaineer a pilgrim.</p> - -<p>What manner of man is this new -pilgrim who frequents the mountain-side? -Can he indeed be called pilgrim, -unless perhaps he is following in the -steps of Boniface of Asti, who first -ascended a snowy mountain and built a -chapel for worshippers? Do we ever -find the counterpart of Chaucer’s Knight -and Poure Persoun, or even of his -Manciple and Miller?</p> - -<p>In truth, the perfect mountain pilgrim -is as rare as was the genuine humble-minded -visitor of shrines. We must look -to the Japanese climbers for the finest -example:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>‘Clad in white, symbolical of the -purity to which they aspire, these -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -ascetic mountaineers make their way, -sometimes at the end of several weeks -of walking, to the top of their peak. -After worship at the shrine of their -mountain divinity, they withdraw to -some secluded spot.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>Yet even if such a type be exceptional, -there may still lie hidden some of the -pilgrim’s worth in the ordinary climber. -With the latter, as with the older -pilgrims, we must separate the sheep -from the goats. Pilgrimages were made, -not only for spiritual benefit, but also for -boasting, as an excuse for an exchange of -masters, and in certain instances to annoy -the king. Nobody climbs, as far as I -know, to annoy any king; but the presence -of many men in the Alps and elsewhere -is not easily explained without harsh -words. For the climber is notoriously -an unsatisfactory person, not only to the -uninitiated, but to his fellow-enthusiasts.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It is open to all men to become mountain -pilgrims. Many, however, in whom -the Hill Difficulty arouses no fear, will -be content to stop by the wayside and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -wrestle daily with some Apollyon of a -‘rock problem.’ There are some who -find all mountains dull which have no -wrong way up, who will talk for hours -about a billiard-table traverse, and dismiss -the ascent of Mont Blanc from Chamonix -in a few contemptuous words; and if -they succeed in such endeavours, they are -for hailing themselves the lords of all the -earth. Had Aristotle witnessed their -labours he might have remarked: ‘Such -things even a slave may do’; and if I -had the arrangement of Dante’s Hell I -should put them lower than the man who -descended the Breithorn playing on a -mouth-organ, although at the time it -seemed that he</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Tooke out his black trumpe of bras,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">That fouler than the Devil was.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Let such climbers remember that -Apollyon can break out into a grievous -rage, and that he is a very subtle thrower -of darts, or even stones; and note that -among later Alpine disasters a great -majority have occurred in places of extreme -difficulty, to the detriment of a -noble sport. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p> - -<p>Yet admitting the existence of pleasure -in such unstable equilibrium, we may -still criticise its quality. True pleasure, -says the pilgrim, cannot exist without -peace of mind in some degree; and few -minds can remain unruffled on the wall -of the Devil’s Kitchen. Indeed, such -vain seeking after pleasure is often, like -Bunthorne’s Mediævalism, ‘born of a -morbid love of admiration.’ Christian’s -fight with Apollyon was merely an -incident of travel, which no doubt ceased -to interest him; his way was beset by -difficulties sufficient to occupy his energy. -Similarly the mountain pilgrim constantly -seeks fresh fields for activity, and -will gladly turn his back on the -‘specialists’; for these men climb as it -were for gain, nursing within themselves -a spirit of competition in their struggle -with the force of gravity. Nor can they -look with pleasure upon their failures, -as can their less ambitious brethren. It -is among the latter that we shall find the -spirit of the mountain pilgrim which -caused Kim’s Lama to exclaim:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Oh! the hills and the snow upon the hills!’<br /></span> -</div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p> - -<p>The wise man will not wholly judge the -mountaineer while he is on the mountain-side. -Some enthusiastic climbers maintain -that two moments alone afford -pleasure in an expedition: when the -summit is reached, and when the valley -is regained. Now, these words may -confound the sharp-witted philosophers -of the plain, but the climber knows that -they contain a world of truth, and that a -great joy lies in retrospection, for which -he will endure many hours of tribulation. -In this retrospective attitude we shall -find the climber at his best; his attention -is relaxed, and he is free to summon back -the greater moments of the past day. -Meet him in the evening on the terrace -at Breuil, when the bowlers have at -length ceased their bowling, looking -down at the lights in the hollow below: -you will find in him much of the true -pilgrim spirit. Further, the pilgrim -proper would be the first to recognise a -fellow-traveller in this mountain wanderer. -He sees that on the mountains -also another may meet his higher self. -The difference between the two lies only -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span> -in environment. To both alike the end -is denied without the struggle, and the -generous pilgrim will not trouble to contrast -the excellences of their ways. The -two will shake hands in satisfaction that -the old self is no longer in dangerous -proximity. But our generous pilgrim, -judging men by his own standard, is a -stern critic, and does not suffer fools -gladly.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>We are apt to picture the mediæval -pilgrim as a man travelling in some ease -and comfort. The nine and twenty -sundry folk that met one April in the -Tabard Inn seem a well-living band:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘And wel we weren esed atte beste.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>But those who went on a longer journey -encountered many hardships. The English -pilgrim to the shrine of St. James at -Compostella usually travelled by sea, in -cramped quarters on a small boat; on -which, besides the necessity of crossing -the Bay of Biscay, he frequently found -an unsympathetic captain:— -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Hale the bowelyne! now, vere the shete!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Cooke, make redy anoon our mete,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Our pylgryms have no lust to ete,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">I pray God yeve hem rest!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>And at the worst moment up comes a -hearty sailor, shouting: ‘Cheer up! in a -moment we shall be in a storm.’ On -the journey from Venice to Jaffa, says a -fellow of Eton, a sharp look-out must be -kept on the captain, lest he give you bad -meat; the pilgrim must take with him -hens and chickens; on arrival at Jaffa -there will be a hideous scramble for -mules, and your mule-man will expect -a tip.</p> - -<p>The pilgrim who endured these discomforts -not only gained much spiritual -benefit for himself, he benefited also his -fellow-men. On his return he must have -been amazingly good company, and -brought a fresh interest into his neighbours’ -lives, who vowed to perform a -similar journey, profiting by their forerunner’s -experience. The lot of those -fortunate ones who climbed in the ‘sixties -was very similar. They set out to explore -some little-known district, thinking -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -more of passing from place to place than -of ascending a peak. They possessed the -pilgrim spirit in the unity of their object, -in their endurance, and especially in their -attitude towards adversity and failure. -They travelled of set purpose to a comparatively -barbarous land, where often -there was no safe lodging for the night:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘What care I for a goose-feather bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">With a sheet turned down so bravely—O!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Moreover, they went out amid the -jeers of their friends, and it needed more -than ordinary faith to confirm them in -their search for this mysterious good. -They had, through hours of toil and -vexation, the doubtful joy of discovering -a thousand errors in the map. The -modern climber owes a great debt to -their exploration; for although he may -find a subject of conversation in his -sufferings from tourists and trains, he -finds better paths and better inns, and -stands far less chance of a night upon -the rocks.</p> - -<p>The gods of the ‘sixties did not exhaust -the Alps. Rather, they created a new -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span> -form of enthusiasm in the world. Alpine -climbing has developed rapidly, and on -somewhat similar lines to the public -schools. It is no longer necessary to -rise at five a.m. and break the ice before -washing; therefore a larger number of -boys can enjoy the full benefits of school -life. Climbing is now no longer reserved -for those who have leisure and money; -it has become the most democratic of -sports, thanks largely to the labours of -the early explorers. The fact that the -mountains have been, as it were, thrown -open to the public has brought a wondrous -amount of interest into many colourless -lives.</p> - -<p>Some day this enthusiasm, which is -discernible even in the mad rush of -tourists, may die out. At present it -flourishes alarmingly, with attendant -evils; but the purpose which first drew -men to the Alps fifty years ago and more -remains unspoiled even by guide-books -and tourists:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Low as the singer lies in the field of heather,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Songs of his fashion bring the swains together.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The air on the mountains, the need -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -for endurance, the appointment with the -higher self, continue and will continue -to make their appeal. Further, in spite -of railways and huts, discomforts abound; -for the sun still shines as brightly as in -1860, and the labour of wading in soft -snow does not decrease with the ages. -In this era of enlightenment there is -not denied to men the privilege of being -dirty; the chalet which flows with milk -for the descending climber still recalls -memories of the Augean stables and -makes one sigh for Heracles. Straw is -the order in most club huts, and the -climber must prepare his own food. So -long as discomforts exist the pilgrim’s -endurance is demanded, and there still -remain plenty of annoyances to make -the traveller ‘nasty, brutish and short.’</p> - -<p>Again, it is not only by physical trials -such as these, but by mental trials also, -that the virtues of the pilgrim are called -into being. Christian, more fortunate -than most guideless wanderers, dropped -his burden early, and he becomes a more -interesting as well as a finer person when -he is busy fighting some subtle temptation -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -of mind. The mountain pilgrim -will have to fight as hard for his peace -of mind; he is a prey, as was Christian, -to ‘the carnal arguments of one Mr. -Worldly Wiseman.’ The latter finds -his way, in body as well as in spirit, to -the most secluded corners of the Alps. -He is certainly what many would call a -‘centrist,’ except that he gave up climbing -at an early age. He delights in -pointing out the futility of risking an -otherwise valuable neck in the pursuit -of discomfort and vain glory; in his -view, the climber has nothing to lose -and everything to gain by shirking all -difficulties. He is very deft in forcing -his convictions on others, and his arguments -will recur to the traveller with -distressing force at inconvenient moments. -He knows that almost every climber has -on occasion vowed never to climb again, -and it is a constant marvel to him that -so many break this vow within a few -hours’ time. It needs all the climber’s -resolution, supported by a prospect of -sensuous delights as a reward of labour, -to repel his promptings; but it is a great -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span> -joy to confute him ‘ambulando.’ He is -fighting a losing battle, which has lasted -fifty years; but although there is little -hope of victory, the battle is never -entirely lost so long as the tale of man’s -slackness is undiminished.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>The pilgrim of the Middle Ages had -many shrines which he might choose to -visit. To this shrine ran a good road -when once the mountains were crossed; -to another there was the drawback of a -sea voyage; at a third shrine the good -saint was a potent healer, and the distance -to be covered would afford a good penance -for the pilgrim’s ill-deeds; moreover, he -would find free entertainment at most -places on the way. Thus there was -food for absorbing reflection before setting -out, and much thought needed for -the details of the way. I fancy the -Lord of Anglure-sur-Aube must have -taken an astonishing interest in organising -the long journey for his large troop -of pilgrims. Yet the pious pilgrim may -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -have regarded this interest with suspicion, -as enticing the mind from thoughts of -the true object of the pilgrimage—too -much thought for the morrow.</p> - -<p>Likewise the modern mountaineer is -free to ponder and make his choice, -having before him a district of many -thousand square miles from which to -select. He enjoys, therefore, all the -pilgrim’s freedom of choice; and from -this freedom a demon of restlessness -arises which the pilgrim would not -encourage in himself.</p> - -<p>The truth is that the mountaineer -does encourage this restless feeling in -himself, notwithstanding the pilgrim’s -protests. He welcomes the arrival of -this fatal gad-fly which drives him yearly -southward. And whereas the pilgrim, -being no faddist, accepts what comes in -a spirit of cheerfulness, and looks askance -at anything that may vex his peace of -mind, the mountaineer knows that only -after diligent search can he secure the -best which the mountains have to offer. -He is indeed a genuine faddist in planning. -He chooses his route with as -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span> -much care as he chooses a companion. -He will sit for hours or even days of his -spare time before a heap of maps and -guide-books; for every expedition chosen -he will have rejected twenty, forming his -imaginary tour by a process of elimination -rather than of selection. Only when -he is thoroughly familiar with every -corner of a district does he consent to -choose his peak or pass. Three things -are necessary for the ideal expedition: a -great variety in the ascent, a fine view -(I would instance the Aletschhorn or the -Tour St. Pierre), and an easy descent, -preferably over snow. This combination -is not found on every mountain; it -is therefore all the more fascinating to -seek for such by map and guide-book; -and when this ideal expedition is at -length discovered the climber will anticipate -it with pleasure for months beforehand—thus -forestalling the joys of -summer, and with far less searching of -heart than in the event. In this discontent -with his own planning he gains -an interest and occupation, without any -of the pilgrim’s prickings of conscience. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span></p> - -<p>The latter, however, has also certain -advantages. He retains his peace of -mind far more easily than does the -mountaineer. He is free to rest when -he may choose, to lie throughout the -noon-day heat—‘patulae recubans sub -tegmine fagi’; nor does he care one rap -about ‘times.’ To the mountaineer, on -the contrary, a long halt is not often -permitted; for he must always keep -some spare time before him, lest some -sudden obstacle leave him for the night -on the mountain-side. So long as the -rope is still round his waist he is not -often entirely free from some anxiety, -and he remains somewhat restless in -spirit until the path leading valleywards -is reached. It is therefore not surprising -to find the most calm of men turn quick-tempered -upon the mountains, a state -of mind which agrees ill with their -enthusiasm. It is difficult to explain -away this fault as superficial; for the -serene pilgrim can point to a hundred -instances where the climber was in such -a bad temper that he would allow no -one else their share in the hard work. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> -But if a slight matter can upset him, -his good temper returns also as quickly -as it departs; and if you keep out -of his way while busy and meet him -jogging peacefully down through the -thickening pine woods towards evening, -you will find him as cheerful a companion -as the wanton and merry Friar.</p> - -<p>Again, both in the pilgrim and the -mountaineer there is a delight in the -unexpected; which is a remarkable -thing, since the mountaineer, unlike the -pilgrim, has chosen what he is to expect -in detail. The pilgrim sets out to bear -cheerfully such adventures as may lie in -Fortune’s lap; the mountaineer has been -planning for months, and a cherished -scheme may fail owing to bad weather -or other mischance. However, he takes -a certain pleasure in failure, for he has -discovered two benefits to be derived -from it. That which is unaccomplished -one year may be carried out at a later -date, until which time the hope of -success makes ample amends for the -failure; also an unsuccessful attempt -often leaves a greater stamp on the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span> -memory, when the mountain is seen in -wrathful mood. The climber may praise -himself for perseverance or prudence, -throwing all blame upon the shoulders -of Chance. He goes out, indeed, half -prepared to fail; he is extravagantly -thankful for small mercies received; he -adopts a somewhat pessimistic attitude, -since</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Luck’s a chance, but trouble sure,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I’d face it as a wise man should,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And train for ill and not for good.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Some might see in him the vices of -the born grumbler; for with him the -weather is rarely perfect, and when -perfect it is too often about to break. -But it is part of the climber’s vanity to -be more weather-wise than Nature herself; -and to all appearance he mildly -resents even a change for the good which -does not accord with his prophecy.</p> - -<p>Further, the unexpected is not always -evil; the climber may stumble upon a -new route, and even the most hardened -scoffer at such things will admit a secret -delight in reading his name in the pages -of <i>Conway and Coolidge</i>. The unexpected -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span> -is always at hand. I went up one day -to the hut on the south-west ridge of -the Matterhorn, in a wind sufficient to -take the horns off the oxen; and that -night I lay awake, like Strepsiades,</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">ἐν πέντε σισύραις ἐγκεκορδυλημένος<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>listening to the wind howling and the -clatter of stones and ice falling from the -Great Tower upon the roof. Next morning -the wind dropped at sunrise, and a -warm, cloudless day followed, of that -wonderful clearness which foretells the -advent of bad weather. One more instance -of the unexpected—and in this I have my -justification: that day we were in a sense -pilgrims, for we set out to discover a -route by which men might pass direct -from the Ober Steinberg to the Concordia. -We started in light, rolling mist, -and towards sunrise looked down upon -a cloud-sea hiding the deep-cut valley of -Lauterbrunnen. Then crossing a world -of stones we climbed a steep, short -glacier, and over a heap of avalanche-debris -reached the lowest rocks of our -mountain, the Mittaghorn. Here we -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span> -had expected difficulty with a steep band -of rock, but passed rapidly upwards without -check to where the angle eased off. -Then came trouble, for the rock became -of a loose slaty texture, in places covered -with ice. Higher up matters improved, -until we reached the foot of a great -overhanging wall of red rock, which -turned us left along a narrow ledge and -round jutting corners, to where a steep -ice gully cut through the wall. I was -left standing in a vast ice step, from -which I could see nothing but the -leader’s foot searching now and then for -some cranny in the rock. Below me a -great ice slope ran down with alarming -steepness and then dipped over, beyond -which I saw the green valley and our -hotel; in the far distance I could see -the ripples sparkling on the Lake of -Thun, and above the sunlight was playing -on a patch of rocks which had come -no nearer after two hours’ hard work. -On such occasions time passes slowly to -those who only stand and wait, and I -was right glad when they hoisted me -over the rock wall and into the sunlight -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> -once more. To our disgust the summit -lay still far off to our left, and to attain -it we had to follow a narrow ridge of -sloppy snow; on the far side of the -peak we found crusted snow, to complete -our tribulation. Thus we found both -good and evil unexpectedly, and like -Christian fell ‘from running to going, -and from going to clambering upon -hands and knees,’ until we wished ourselves -trippers once more.</p> - -<p>It is, above all, when the climber -passes from one valley to another that -the unexpected is liable to occur. He -then experiences all the pilgrim’s joy -of wandering, the uncertainty of the -night’s lodging, the pleasure of tracing -out the next day’s ascent on the far hillside. -He will follow the line of path -through the pine wood, and train his -powers of observation, learning, moreover, -to trust his own eyes in preference -to the map. Though he may not see -cities, he will see many men, and will -find hospitality as unselfish as in the -days when all travellers and pilgrims -were objects of pity. He travels from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -place to place with a pilgrim’s desire to -find the ideal peak or valley. There are -not many that find it; and this failure -in the search is due partly to the -climber’s own natural restlessness, partly -to his intense desire to see if the Happy -Valley may not lie just round the corner. -He feeds this discontent with his present -circumstances, knowing that in so doing -he gets the greatest joy. He is in no -hurry to find this Happy Valley; nor, -if he never find it, will he consider that -he has climbed in vain.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Both pilgrim and mountaineer may -claim for themselves the virtue of enthusiasm. -But if they be humble-minded -men they will not deny the -possible existence of other and nobler -forms of enthusiasm. If this virtue of -theirs be not identical with all excellence, -it must be capable of definition or -analysis in terms other than itself. The -pilgrim’s answer is easily given: he goes -out to seek recreation, in the fullest sense -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -of the word, to introduce a new element -into his life. ‘I go to free myself from -the Wheel of Things by a broad and -open road.’ Less easy to define is the -<span xml:lang="el">τέλος</span> of the mountaineer; under no moral -compulsion, he endures the pilgrim’s -hardships for a less definite end, yet -returns year after year in search of discomfort. -A writer endeavouring to -analyse this enthusiasm has put it -down as a mild madness, a drawback -to mountain-climbing. It is in great -part an enthusiasm for past and future: -put the mountaineer among his hills, -and he is no sooner in full training than -he begins to anticipate with joy his -return to civilisation. Place him once -more at home, and he will be eager to -return to his old haunts, will busy himself -in planning for the next year. He -climbs, as it seems, against his will.</p> - -<p>Yet he sets out willingly in search of -recreation, knowing that he will certainly -find it through hours of toil. He finds -also a very full pleasure, forgetting readily -the early start and all the thousand inconveniences -which afford copy for the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -scribbler. The moon in the pine woods, -the early dawn in the upper snow, the -descent of Mont Blanc towards the sunset -are not for valley-dwellers; and to -attain these rewards the mountaineer -welcomes the opportunity of an enforced -self-denial:—</p> - -<div xml:lang="la" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Carnis terat Superbiam<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Potus cibique parcitas.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>He shares also the pilgrim’s joy of solitude -and contemplation in the long hours -of silence, and the joy of friendly conversation -with all manner of men at the -close of day. He regards no day, however -trying, as wasted which is spent -above snow-line, and next day he can -take his ease in the valley with a clear -conscience. ‘It is pleasant,’ says Leslie -Stephen, ‘to lie on one’s back in a bed -of rhododendrons, and look up to a -mountain-top peering at one from above -a bank of cloud; but it is pleasantest -when one has qualified oneself for repose -by climbing the peak the day before, and -becoming familiar with its terrors and its -beauties.’ Herein lies a point of resemblance -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -between pilgrim and mountaineer: -to feel the need of qualifying for this -repose, which loses half its value when -it is not the reward of labour.</p> - -<p>Finally, the mountaineer will learn two -secrets by experience. He will discover -the secret of those philosophers that have -dominion over the young, that one may -argue (on mountains as elsewhere) from -any given premise with equally convincing -logic to two contrary conclusions. -This is the essence of the mountaineer’s -freedom of mind; for wherever he may -find himself he can advance many reasons -for or against every proposal, as conscience-free -as the pilgrim himself, -calling in prudence to support equally -his bold or his lazy wishes; which is a -dangerous thing for all climbers, as Mr. -Worldly Wiseman knows. He will -learn also the secret of a true holiday, -which the pilgrim possesses: that this lies, -not in the abandonment of everything -familiar in search of distraction, but in -taking up some fresh and absorbing -interest, which will continue from one -holiday to another. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2> -PASSES<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -N. T. HUXLEY<br /> -<small>(Balliol)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="VI_PASSES">VI. PASSES</h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">There</span> are few people who are -not at heart geographers; the -passion may be repressed or forgotten, -but it is probably ready to -reappear, and elderly persons often surprise -themselves no less than their youthful -companions by the zeal with which -they attempt to mould the face of the -earth by amateur engineering: it is in -early years, however, that the passion -inevitably shows itself.</p> - -<p>It was the chief delight of a community -of cousins, brought together -each summer at the sea-side, to spend -as much of the day as the day left -possible in altering in every conceivable -manner, by dams, diversions, or channels, -the geography of a wet strip of sand, -which the tide in its next advance would -restore to its old conformation. Sometimes -operations, more ambitious in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -durability of their materials, were begun -in a stream inland; pools were made, -and the stream diverted into a new, or -perhaps a long disused, channel. Sometimes, -too, a party of us would explore -along a stream to its source, which we -rarely reached, since even small streams -are apt to extend farther than childish -zeal will endure, though fired by the -ambition of finding a real spring, entrancing -to the dwellers among sluggish south-country -rivers.</p> - -<p>But it was with our first visit to the -Alps that the revelation came. Here -were streams without number, small -enough to follow, during the course -of a long picnicking day, up to real -authentic springs, which bubbled clear -and cold from the ground at our feet. -Geography could be made and altered; -our dams made pools where none were -before, or caused the paths and water-courses -of the neighbourhood to exchange -their functions, so that the inhabitants -of lonely chalets found their water supply -miraculously curtailed, and visited the -culprits up above with guttural wrath. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -Watersheds, things hard for the low-lander -to comprehend—mere imaginary -lines drawn across gently swelling sand-ridges -or downs—gained new life when -seen as the jagged ridge of the Engelhörner, -or the great line of green hills -north from the Schwartzhorn to the -bastion of Tschingli over Haslithal.</p> - -<p>With the magic of water was joined -the mystery of the other side. If we -followed any of the streams up and up, -to the Engelhörner or the Schöniwanghörner, -whither should we see the -torrents going, when the rain that fell -on the mountains streamed down the far -side? The quest of the geographer was -made concrete; and as water has been the -chief power in the making of geography, -so it is first to start the quest in a child’s -imagination, and the best guide in the -knight-errantry of childhood. But the -streams that fell from the precipices of -the Engelhörner and Wellhorn pointed -out a course beyond our ambitions; not -yet could we aspire to be climbers, and -they still guard their secret, though ready -to yield it, now the time has come, to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -an ambition strengthened with strengthened -limbs. Even the grass slopes of the -Schöniwanghörner were too high to -cross; but the great day came when we -started at six, with two mules, to cross -the Great Scheidegg, so long a barrier -at the head of the valley slung between -Wetterhorn and Schwartzhorn, with -Grindelwald as our object.</p> - -<p>It was a water-following on a great -scale; we started with the sound of the -Reichenbach falls in our ears, and followed -along the line of least resistance, made by -the stream. Still before breakfast we -passed the Schwartzwald, where the -stream was already shorn of so much of -its strength that it could be harnessed -and made to pass through hollowed half -tree-trunks to do the work of a saw-mill. -Higher up was the region of bogs and -grass slopes, each few hundred yards -sending its half-buried tinkling trickle -to join the head waters of the river -itself. And then, without warning, the -path took a final zig, and brought us -to the top; and for the first time we -saw part of the land of the other waters, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -with the other glaciers and snow-fields, -grass peaks and stony ones, which gave -them birth. We saw how the valleys -bent round to Thun and Brienz, how -the valley of Lauterbrunnen and the -peak of the Jungfrau fitted on to a -world whose horizon had been suddenly -enlarged; looking for those places above -all which had gained special interest and -familiarity from the pictured slips in our -chocolate packets.</p> - -<p>That evening, after a hot trudge up -from Grindelwald, and a cool descent -along the home stream that somehow -rested our tired limbs, we returned to -Rosenlaui with a new sense of expansion -and a vague feeling of the coherence of -things, for the dead lines of the map -had become actual and living before our -eyes. Yet this feeling soon gave place to -the disappointing yet somehow thrilling -thought, that by enlarging our horizon -we had only left ourselves ringed about -by a wider circle of other sides, making -it still less likely than before that we -should ever solve the abiding questions -of our childhood. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span></p> - -<p>For four years the Alps remained a -memory and a hope, till in 1907 the -long horrors of the Certificate Examination -were followed by the thrill of the -night journey, enjoyed to the full owing -to a constitutional inability to sleep, and -a drive from Martigny to the upper part -of the Val de Bagnes, a shut-in and self-centred -valley presided over by the -Combin. It was here that Italy became -identified with the other side. Here I -was first initiated as a climber, and taken -up the Ruinette; and for two lazy hours -on the top I watched the Italian mountains -raise themselves up from the ever-thickening -screen of mist with which -the Lombard plains seemed to be hiding -their secret. A few weeks later came -twenty minutes’ actual walking on Italian -soil, between the Great St. Bernard and -the Col de Fenêtre. Italy lay at our -feet, brought near to us by the road -winding down visibly to Aosta, and by -the first Italian notices of ‘Caccia Riservata,’ -as well as by the southward-flowing -water.</p> - -<p>That day saw, too, the registering of a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -vow, fulfilled in the next year, to visit -the country of the Gran Paradiso and -the Grivola. Peaks there and around -Mont Blanc fell before our onslaught, -and we grew to be hardened climbers; -while passes became mere incidents in -the journey between one peak and another. -But Geography was roused from her -hiding-place by a walking tour two years -later—part of the regular ‘Tour of Mont -Blanc’ from Chamonix to Champex -with variations. The Col du Bonhomme -was unsatisfactory because, after much -display, it failed to turn a watershed at -the first attempt, and, after including the -Col des Fours, left us still in the Rhone -basin, with the Col de la Seigne between -us and Italy. Geography was displeased, -but her craving after completeness was -satisfied by the long drive from Aosta up -the Italian side of the Great St. Bernard. -Two known regions were linked up, and -of the remembered dips and corners of -the road seen from the top, each had had -its answer. Also I had a sense of triumph -in having cheated the powers of the -universe by taking several ounces of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -water in my soaked clothes across the -watershed to the Swiss side of the Col -de Fenêtre.</p> - -<p>The passion still retained its childish -power, but in a wider sense. By being -children we had been nearly in the -position of the first primitive inhabitants -of such a country of mountain and valley: -to them peaks are haunts of terror and -danger, the parents of all the powers of -destruction—winds, avalanches, and lightnings—which -descend upon them; their -situation makes them geographers by -profession: at first their eyes are turned -down stream, and communication only -extends over the main valley and its -tributaries, till a more venturesome spirit -arises and uses the water as his guide, -but now, ascending it, takes the line of -least resistance over the passes to the -peoples of the neighbouring river-basins; -and ancient legends of hill tribes give a -prominent place to watersheds, and great -heroes are often made to conquer a -monster which has been terrorising the -valley, and fling him into some great -lake at the head of the waters of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> -next basin. Did he not embody the -terror of those frowning walls, and was -not his conquest a victory indeed?</p> - -<p>Thus the passes gained in importance, -while the peaks were afar off and terrible: -they were already in use when there -filtered through to Herodotus across -section after section of trade route the -tradition, confused in its long journey, of -a town of Pyrene and a river Alpis; -when a new wave of inhabitants, scarcely -pushing communication between valley -and valley themselves, used their mountain -hardiness to extract toll from the Roman -merchants whose enterprise brought them -across the St. Bernard and the Mont -Cenis to Vienna and Lugdunum; and -each traveller added to their importance -and fame, while the local paths were -linked up into great highways, joining -country to country, and shrine to -shrine, making a way for invasions, -for pilgrims, or for traders. The pass -where Xenophon’s men cried <span xml:lang="el">θάλασσα! -θάλασσα!</span> possesses a reality and interest -of its own, not shared by the almost -laughable description of the mythical -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -peaks of Krophi and Mophi in Herodotus. -But for us, even as children, -there was a difference: the prowess and -achievements of our elders made impossible -the fear which our ancestors -felt even for ‘Helm Crag, Helvellyn, -and Butterlip Howe’—the last-named a -small wooded eminence about two hundred -feet high—yet we lacked the -spiritual and bodily pride which the -attainer of summits must possess. What -climber has not known the moment when -this has failed him suddenly, and he has -realised the impudence of his presence -among the mountain sanctuaries and of -his trial of strength face to face with the -mountain’s bulk; when he either expiates -the crime of his intrusion by a great and -tranquillising humility, or struggles, only -to find all he sees assume a mask of -grinning hatefulness? The attainer of -summits follows a way which, even if -definite, is none the less new and none -the less formidable to each successive -user: we children, like them, were pass-goers, -enterers of a sanctuary of a different -kind, one hallowed by the slow toil of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -generations, where the mountains could -not resent intrusion, since it was the -mark of their community of life with -the humble folk whom they supported.</p> - -<p>Even then we were no longer geographers -by profession, still less now, -when the Alps are to us no longer a -barrier to be forced, but the playground -of Europe, whither we in our sophisticated -age make trains convey us; and it -seems as if the amateur geography of our -childhood were a mere survival, to be -put away together with other childish -things when we grow up to be ‘modern -men,’ with the climber’s devotion to -peaks, and the true modern appreciation -of mountains. Shall we not come to -treat passes as highest minima instead of -lowest maxima, and so despise them; -and will not our new mystical attitude -make the partial survival in us of -primitive man a bar to the growth of a -right spirit?</p> - -<p>For your true mountain lover professes -himself a mystic: he is one of those that -‘live by places,’ and he waits upon the -fruition of those moments in which his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span> -senses give him a sudden feeling of fellowship -with his surroundings, when</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘A gentle shock of mild surprise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has carried far into his heart the voice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would enter unawares into his mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all its solemn imagery....’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>These moments, he will tell you, are an -end in themselves, and not pursued for -any moral strengthening of our social -fibre for fighting the battles of life. -Only in isolation from his fellows, from -science, and from the interference of -intelligence, when he adopts a ‘wise -passivity’ of mere sensation, is this sense -of fellowship granted him; and among -the peaks, under the spell of his rhythmical -bodily movements, he and the -silent mountains stand face to face, as -pure living sensation and lifeless matter, -and each finds in the other a mysterious -completion.</p> - -<p>This is the creed he professes; but how -rarely comes one who can practise it or -achieve its enjoyment. Nearly all indeed -share in some degree this passion for -fellowship; nearly all live their lives as -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> -much by places as by people. The contrast -is put by Wordsworth in one of -the poems on the Naming of Places, -that called ‘Joanna’s rock’:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Amid the smoke of cities did you pass<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The time of early youth; and there you learned,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">From years of quiet industry, to love<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The living beings by your own fireside<br /></span> -<span class="i1">With such a strong devotion, that your heart<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Is slow towards the sympathies of them<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Who look upon the hills with tenderness,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And make dear friendships with the streams and groves.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>They are the extremes: Joanna cannot -understand the frame of mind at all; -Wordsworth is, in this mood, the perfect -example of the life lived in the fellowship -of inanimate things.</p> - -<p>But to few is the fellowship thus -whole-heartedly given. For this it is -necessary to be a true æsthete (using the -word in an unprejudiced sense), so that -in the one indivisible act of seeing, the -one great moment, a whole message is -revealed. But life refuses to divide itself -into such moments; we cannot isolate -ourselves either from the continuity of -the past or the community of the present. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -Most men move on a plain of less concentration -and greater self-consciousness, -where the act of seeing inevitably includes -and leads up to reflection and analysis. -We still have the animal and the primitive -man within us, linking us to the -past and the flow of time; and reason, -the common gift of all men, keeps always -lurking in the background. Yet we still -strive after this immediacy of fellowship, -but there come times when the snow-peaks -and the rocks have fed our appreciation -on too strong a draught, when our -senses, relying on themselves alone, are -over-sated, and there seems a film before -our eyes, so that we are no longer ‘alive -and drinking up our wonder,’ but the -draught stagnates without us and turns -to bitterness.</p> - -<p>Then we must be humble, and resign -our pretensions to an ‘æsthetic geography’ -for one on a lower scale; we -shall return to the passes, which will -remain to us the emblem of a new -‘geography of the spirit’ which, instead -of trying to gain all in one tremendous -moment, will be content to browse upon -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> -the myriad things which intelligence sees -displayed. Even as a picture, an arrangement -of lines and colours, the pass has -much that the higher peaks cannot give -us: the deep curve of the summit, slung -between its supporting peaks, appeals to -us by its grace and weakness; there is a -discontinuity of colour and clearness as -each bastion of the valley comes out from -the curve its forerunner had hidden. -But these effects are heightened and -brought together by our geography; we -imagine the glaciers that separated those -bastions from one another; that cup at -the end is perhaps the work of some -other mighty glacier of the far side, piled -up so high that it fell across the watershed -and cut its way down; maybe there -is a giant moraine, bigger than most of -our English mountains, still to bear -witness of it.</p> - -<p>But it is the stream and the road which -hold our imagination; the water tells us -of all the powers which we know to be -at work, but which our senses are too -slow to perceive. Each stream is itself -part of the great cycle of water, each is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span> -an agent in the mountain cycle, perpetually -hurrying the actual fabric of the -mountains down to the sea; their voice -is never silent even on the summits; they -are the lords of the peaks, moulding -them slowly to new shapes, and their -murmur seems to call the clouds, ‘chased -by the hounding winds from distant -seas,’ to come and renew their springs for -a new course of the never-ending circle.</p> - -<p>But the road takes our geography -farther afield and peoples our imaginings. -We have softened the immediacy of our -‘æsthetic geography’ by the aid of intelligence; -the road softens it by bringing -in humankind to stand with us facing -the gulf between the living and the -inanimate. As the water alters our view -of the mountains by bringing to light the -importance of time, so does the road alter -our view of ourselves. As we look up a -pass from below, the view of the road -appearing and vanishing round the folds -of the valley brings to us two pictures of -men. Winding away from us up to the -skyline goes the pilgrim’s progress, the -slow toiling advance upwards to gain the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span> -view of things not seen. Many there -are, but few together; some on side-tracks; -some on the old steep road with -its rough stones now overgrown, more -on the new smooth driving road which -turns about so that they can take their -eyes from the goal; some even making a -path for themselves, either above on the -hillside, steering for some nearer gap on -the skyline, which does not cross the main -watershed; others below the road, toiling -painfully along the stream-bed. And -each in turn we see reach the summit -and disappear; we cannot see what they -see, nor even the expression of their faces -as they confront the other side.</p> - -<p>But the same valley can be the setting -for another picture: down from the top -there seem to come great processions, -gay like Benozzo Gozzoli’s ‘Procession of -the Magi,’ many leagues long and all -ordered and together, though part is -hidden in the green woods, part in the -valley’s folds. We seem to take our place -in the upward journey, and soon it will -be our turn to wonder what new thing -we shall see beyond the barrier. Perhaps -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -encompassing mists will give place -suddenly at the summit to a sunny prospect -of some great cathedral range, to -take our place in one of those processions -and descend to the richness of an Italian -land. Or, if it is on the far side that the -mists have gathered, and the gateway of -the pass is barred by a deep grey veil of -nothingness, at least the mists will lift -high enough to show the two gentle -arms of our mother earth descending to -where we are, strong and lit by a strange -internal light, ready to hold us up as we -take the last step into the grey, where we -shall see no more. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2> -BRITISH HILLS<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -H. R. POPE<br /> -<small>(New College)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="VII_BRITISH_HILLS">VII. BRITISH HILLS</h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Not</span> much more than a hundred -years ago a tourist remarked that -he found the Scottish hills ‘most -of all disgusting when the heather was in -bloom.’ There is something very taking -about this phrase. It was, of course, -a commonplace of the eighteenth century -to feel aversion, awe, horror, even hatred -for mountains, but the epithet ‘disgusting’ -is a refinement of abuse. The -Scottish hills failed to arouse any of the -deeper emotions in this gentleman—it -would have been a compliment to them -to suggest they could. They merely -filled him with disgust, and the feeling -was aggravated by the sight of a profusion -of flowers of an unpleasant purple -colour.</p> - -<p>We have no reason to suppose that the -author of this judgment was deficient in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -taste or sensibility according to the -standards of his time. We may credit -him with a happy turn for expression, but -not with any originality of view. The -resulting reflections are rather surprising. -It seems natural that men should once -have looked on the Alps with horror and -repulsion. They were the abode of -storms and killing cold and avalanches, -and stood for all the forces of nature -which war most fiercely against man. -But the British hills never stood for the -negation of life. At the worst they were -only waste land, unreclaimed from nature. -So there seems to be something perversely -utilitarian in the man who could observe -their soft colours and graceful outlines -with nothing but disgust. But the -perversity—if perversity is a fair name -for the æsthetic attitude in disagreement -with our own—belonged to the age and -not to the man. To-day, no doubt, he -would have quoted descriptive poetry -with the loudest, and mountain literature -would have lost an adjective.</p> - -<p>A generation or two later came the -first real explorers of our hills, and left -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -behind them a record of their sensations -in language which makes very curious -reading nowadays. It is difficult to -recognise in their precipices the gentle -slopes of Skiddaw and Helvellyn. We -cannot see things through their eyes. It -is easy to laugh at their extravagant expressions, -but perhaps after all theirs was -the Golden Age of English Mountaineering. -They left the valleys where men -dwell with the adventurous expectation -of voyagers on uncharted seas. As they -rose step by step they became conscious, -as never before, of towering height and -unplumbed depth. And when they went -home and told the tale of their adventures, -there was no unimpressionable critic -to accuse them of exaggerating the height -here or the angle of inclination there.</p> - -<p>However, this happy period was short-lived. -With the exploration of the -higher Alps mountaineering terms began -to acquire a new meaning. Only quite -steep slopes were now called precipices, -and words like ‘perpendicular’ began to -have a definite objective meaning. British -hills were no longer regarded as too -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> -mountainous to climb. Instead, they -were dismissed as not mountainous enough -to be worth climbing. But this, too, was -only a phase, which passed away in its -turn as the feeling for mountains became -more general. Men began to look in -their home hills for something at least of -that which they found in the Alps, and -they were not disappointed. Indeed, the -mountain feeling became at last so little -limited that the mountain lover could -find in every hill some realisation of his -longings, and he might say, with a perversion -of the old tag about humanity: -‘I am a man; all that is of the mountains -I count akin to myself.’</p> - -<p>Is this, too, only a phase? A great -mountaineer, writing not so very long -ago, gave it as his opinion that the sport -of mountaineering in the Alps was -already on the decline. He may not -have been right—surely he cannot have -been right. But if even the high Alps -are in danger of vulgarisation, what may -not be the fate of our British hills? The -great god Pan is very gracious to his -worshippers, but not when they come in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -crowds. One by one his haunts are -discovered and laid bare, his chosen -sanctuaries are called by uncouth names, -even his beloved fennel is catalogued in -the list of mountain flora. The oreads -of to-day, if there were any, would be -pointed out like chamois, and would -probably suffer the common fate of -everything which is rare and beautiful.</p> - -<p>This is not an unduly pessimistic picture. -In fact, it might stand as a description -of what has actually happened -in one range of hills which suffers from -too great popularity—the mountains of -Harz. The Germans are genuine lovers -of mountains, but there is something -prosaically thorough about their Schwärmerei. -Like the well-informed and -communicative frequenter of picture -galleries, they are determined to miss -nothing themselves, and to see that the -other visitors miss nothing either. And -so all well-behaved travellers in the -Harz walk along well-kept paths, sit -down on rustic benches, are admonished -by notice-boards when to admire the -view, and are provided at suitable -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> -intervals with the means of drinking -beer and coffee. Nothing is wanting—not -even the professional jodeler. And -yet Nature is greater than German -officialdom, and the country refuses to -be entirely spoilt. For all the time, -though no one enters them, long miles -of forest stretch away on either side of -the crowded paths; not mere woods, -which you can cross in an hour, or an -afternoon, but the original forests of all -fairy-tales. They have the gloom that -belongs to primeval pine-woods. Unchanging -and immense, they stand to-day -as they stood when they swallowed up -the Roman legionaries. Somewhere -among them Pan may still be sitting, -out of earshot of the clink of coffee-cups, -and the voice of Echo working for -hire.</p> - -<p>Of course, it is unlikely that our hills -will ever fall a prey to the particular -form of municipal exploitation which -goes on in Germany. But the effect of -familiarity may be as dangerous to the -individual as that of popularity is to the -mountains. We see it in the Cumberland -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -dalesman who has never taken the -trouble to climb the hill behind his farm, -and look down into the valley on the -other side. Take him up with you, and -he will set his eyes for the first time on -half a dozen farms whose names are -often on his lips, and whose inhabitants -he has often met at Keswick Market or -the Grasmere Games. All his life long -he has taken his native hills for granted, -scarcely conscious of what he felt for -them. It is only when he exchanges -them for the flat fields of the southern -counties, or some trans-atlantic plain, -that he knows himself for a highlander -at heart. With us, it is true, the case is -different. We go to the mountains as a -refuge from the dull levels of existence. -But even for us may come a day when -there is no savour in our appreciation of the -too familiar outlines, when our eyes are -dulled and our senses blunted. For though -the contrast between the artificiality of -life and the peace and freedom of the -hills has never been so marked as it is -to-day, the step from the one to the -other has never been so short. Some of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -our hills have been turned into a sort -of suburban playground of our northern -towns, and there are times when we -seem to detect the staleness of the -suburbs even in the windy heights. The -very easiness of access becomes a snare. -Paradoxically, the contrast is sometimes -lessened and not brightened, because men -come with the atmosphere of the towns -they have left behind still clinging to -them. They come perhaps with the -same friends, and discussing the same -questions, that are part of their life at -home. Instead of sloughing the crust of -habit as they slough their city clothes, -they let it overlay their sensibilities. -The man in the street, introduced suddenly -into a theatre at an emotional -moment, sees nothing but a group of -posturing actors watched by a gaping -crowd. In the same way it is not all -gain that men can step so quickly from -the town to the mountain side. It may -mean that the mountains dwindle as the -distance is diminished.</p> - -<p>We must make the most of our -mountains then, and come to them in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span> -right spirit, for they will never crush indifference -with the overpowering force of -fourteen thousand feet of rock and snow. -And herein lies the special charm of -rock-climbing. It provides the sharpest -possible contrast with everyday life, and -jerks the pedant out of his groove. -There are only two directions in which -the average Englishman of to-day can -get back to the bare realities of life -as a struggle of man with Nature—the -mountains and the sea. Hence the -futility of the common taunt against the -rock-climber—that he climbs his mountain -by a difficult way instead of walking -up it by the easiest; the implication, of -course, being that the truest philosophy -of life is summed up in the categorical -imperative of America—‘Get there.’ -As well taunt the genuine yachtsman -because he prefers to sail his boat across -the Channel, not without danger and -discomfort, when he might go over in the -latest turbine steamer, and hardly notice -that he had ever left the land. Each -attempts in his own way to escape from -the toils of civilisation. It is not the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -impulse which is artificial and perverse, -but the conditions of life which close -all other avenues of escape.</p> - -<p>It is very difficult to say how much -of the joy of climbing is physical, how -much æsthetic. The two sides react -upon each other. Perception is at its -keenest during physical exhilaration, and -conversely nothing is so conducive to a -sense of vital energy and well-being as -the appreciation of beauty. And yet -the truth of this is often unrealised. -Ruskin with his reference to the greasy -pole is typical of a large number of -people who appear to think that because -the climber’s pleasure is partly physical, -contemplation can have no part in it. -They say, too, that we should look at -mountains as at a picture which is so -hung by a thoughtful Providence that it -can only be properly appreciated from -the valleys where men are meant to -stay. We who go closer get the perspective -wrong, like the too inquisitive -critic who cannot see the picture for the -paint. Was Swinburne then less of a -poet because it was his delight to leave -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -the sheltered shore and swim out into -the sea, fighting its waves and matching -his strength against theirs? The -physical strife brings insight and understanding, -instead of negating them. -Only the sailor understands the sea, -only the climber understands the mountains. -Nor, of course, is it true that -the beauty of mountains can be best -appreciated from below. That is a -fiction invented by the plainsman to -excuse his want of enterprise. Even in -the British Isles, where the secrets of -the hills are not so well guarded as in -the Alps, there are a hundred Scottish -corries and Welsh cwms where none but -the climber ever goes. The tourist who -travels through Glencoe sees nothing so -fine as the upper cliffs of Bidian nan -Bian, or the chasms of Buchaille Etive. -Spurred on by wholly unworthy motives -he may struggle up the laborious southern -slopes of Nevis, and buy picture postcards -at the top. Under his feet the -dull amorphous summit breaks down in -splendid precipices to Alt a’ Mhuilinn. -But he will see nothing of them except -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -the dipping foreground of flat stones. -He may admire the view from the top -of Scawfell, but the climber within a few -hundred yards of him on the Pinnacle -arête is moving in another and a more -beautiful world. From across the valley -Lliwedd appears as a featureless face, -grand only in the sweep of its descent -to Cwm Dwli. But to the climber it -reveals an infinite variety of rock -scenery. There is no flat foreground -to detract from the sense of height. -The eye looks straight across a mile -of emptiness to the opposing bastions -of Crib Goch.</p> - -<p>This sense of the beauty of his surroundings -can never be far from the -climber’s consciousness, though sometimes, -it is true, the physical side is -uppermost. There is the sheer gymnastic -joy that comes from the ready response -of muscle and nerve to sudden need, the -sense of perfect bodily fitness which the -Greeks prized among the best things -of life. Nowhere else does a measure -of strength and skill meet with such -a splendid reward as in the mountains. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -Down in the plains a man may live -his whole life through and never know -what it is to face danger which only his -own efforts can defeat, to strain body -and mind to the verge of absolute exhaustion. -At home he can take a train -if he is tired, put on a coat if he is cold. -Rain suggests nothing more to him than -muddy streets, or a noise on his window-pane. -Wind only emphasises the comfort -of his chair. He is a caricature -of a man, distorted by the numberless -accretions of civilisation which cover him -like an unnatural growth. He pities the -lion at the Zoo for his lost freedom, and -lives himself in a comfortable cage of his -own making. But put him down at the -foot of a Cumberland gully on a stormy -day. The first jet of icy water down his -back will wash away the affectations and -rouse the primitive man. There is no -pleasure here in the feel of the wet rocks, -no æsthetic delight in waterfalls or misty -depths, nothing but the satisfaction of -the fighting instinct which lies dormant -in every one of us. The falling water -attacks him like a living thing; it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span> -numbs his hands, confuses his senses, -tries to take the very heart out of him. -For once in his life at least he is face -to face with the forces of Nature—cold, -wind, and rain. If things go badly with -him, this is not a game, in which failure -means nothing more than the opportunity -of showing the spirit of the sportsman. -There is nothing chivalrous about Nature; -when she wins she presses her advantage -home. The man who challenges her -will find the water will fall more heavily, -the cold grow more numbing, just when -his own powers are on the wane. Before -he is back among his sofa-cushions he -may gain an insight into some simple -things which are usually kept under -cover in this artificial age.</p> - -<p>But this is only a single side of rock-climbing, -and not perhaps the most -universally popular. There are fine-day -climbers who know nothing of this -paradoxical pleasure born of pain. But -it is the side which is generally prominent -in the winter months. In the presence -of ice and snow there is more of conflict, -less of communion with the hills. Man -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span> -enters as an intruder, and has to make -good his footing. For that reason -perhaps the actual joy of achievement -is more keen.</p> - -<p>But for pleasure unalloyed there is -nothing to equal a climb up difficult -rock on a fine summer day. Who can -describe the exhilaration that comes from -the use of muscles responsive to the call, -from the sense of mastery and ease in the -very face of danger, from the splendid -situations and wide outlook? Every -faculty is at full stretch. The whole -being is stimulated to the intensest -appreciation of beauty in all its forms—beauty -of life itself and beauty of movement, -beauty of height and depth and -distance. It must surely have been -moments such as these that Stevenson -had in mind when he prayed to the -Celestial Surgeon:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And stab my spirit broad awake.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Such moments are necessarily few. It is -one of the limitations of mortal man that -he cannot live for long upon the heights. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -But always and everywhere the climber -is most vividly alive. There are continual -appeals to so many sides of his nature -that he cannot be indifferent to them all. -Now one may come home to him, and -now another, but at least he never falls -a prey to that most deadly of all soul-diseases—apathy.</p> - -<p>But though climbing, even in the -British Isles, means all that we have said -and more, far more, beside, there is just -one grain of truth lurking at the -bottom of what Ruskin said. To the -rock-climber the pure æsthetic pleasure -of contemplation comes in flashes, not -in a steady glow. There is so much to -distract him—the technicalities of his -art, the continuous attention to details, -half automatic as it may become, which -alone makes climbing justifiable—even -the voices and proximity of his companions. -For though there is nothing -discordant in the presence of sympathetic -friends, the conscious introduction of the -personal element must always widen the -gulf between man and Nature. For that -reason the climber should sometimes go -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> -alone. He should let his mind be as -nearly as possible the empty cupboard of -the old metaphysicians, and leave it to -the mountains to make it a storehouse -of impressions. They will be more true -and vivid just because there are no -counter influences to weaken them or -crowd them out. If he would enter -wholly into the spirit of the hills, let him -go alone into some remote valley of the -Scottish Highlands, till the last footpath -vanishes and the highest bothy is left -behind. Let him make his bed in the -heather undisturbed by any sign of the -presence of man or of his handiwork. -The cold wind that comes with dawn -will waken him as the first thin mists -are gathering round the peaks three -thousand feet above. As he climbs the -steep slopes of heather in the half-light -the mists roll down to meet him, till he -is the only living, moving thing in a -world of whiteness and silence. The -heather dwindles, here and there black -rock-ridges show for a moment and -disappear. As in a dream he takes no -count of time or distance, till at last he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> -steps out upon the summit and the sun -meets him, shining level with his eyes. -Like an ebbing tide the mists roll back -towards the valleys, leaving the mountain-tops -of Scotland shining clear in -the brilliance of the upper air. He is -alone with the hills, and stands like -one initiated into a strange and beautiful -mystery.</p> - -<p>But it is of the nature of mysteries -that they cannot be interpreted to those -who do not know. To the unbeliever -they sound like mockeries—or at the -best the unmeaning fancies of ‘an idle -singer of an empty day.’ Let those -who are indifferent to mountains protest -in the name of sanity and common sense. -Perhaps the climber is to be envied his -good fortune in being something more -than sane. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span></p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>ROOF-CLIMBING AT OXFORD</h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="VIII_ROOF_CLIMBING_AT_OXFORD"> -VIII. ROOF-CLIMBING AT OXFORD</h2> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">In</span> a book such as this, where the -University of Oxford provides the -one central sun round which, planet-wise, -the diverse essays revolve, each all -but breaking from all connection with -the rest, and only just held back by that -gravitating force—in such a book, it -would be a pity not to seek to make that -force more strong. In what way could -this be better done than by some account -of Oxford climbing, where the University -provides not only the spiritual background, -but the very physical basis of the -theme?</p> - -<p>Then, too, there is another reason for -the attempt. The art of roof-climbing, -at Oxford, alas! no less than elsewhere, -is in need of defenders who will speak -out for her. Herself still inarticulate, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -she needs the good offices of any -champion she can find amidst the -universal enmity in which she finds -herself. Poor struggling wretch, in expectation -of foes, she has found them: -but has been deceived, too often, in -those that should have been friends.</p> - -<p>Indigenous authority, not, perhaps, -without some show of reason, though -here and there one of its Argus eyes -may consciously wink at the art’s clandestine -or unobtrusive practice, will yet -trim the vials of punitive wrath for the -foolish one who is discovered. That -was to be looked for; but there is hardship -when brother turns on brother -(big bully on baby brother); climbers -there are that have the Alps for their -pleasure, and are privileged in acquaintance -with the princely among mountains, -who yet grudge the poor stay-at-home -his sincerest flattery, tell him he is to -be despised for his ascents, rebuked for -his foolhardiness, and chastised for his -disobedience.</p> - -<p>Poor Cinderella of Climbing! May -the Prince soon come, and cast his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> -favourable glance upon her. Meanwhile -let it be for me to play the part of -Matrimonial Agency, display and recite -her charms and publish them abroad, -so that perchance they may thus catch -the eye of the destined Sprig of -Royalty.</p> - -<p>With forethought, knowing the fastidious -taste of these gentlemen in their -search for a true princess, let us recite -her personal charms—the glimpses of -beauty and of cold unknown secrets -which even her more humble wooer may -find—her beauty, which is the reward, -given to a mind tense and braced by -the hard labour of unwonted muscles -on slippery places. Imagine a prickly -ridge of the horned and perforated -tiles deemed suitable for roof-trees, -gained by a climb up the body of a -companion, laid flat along the sloping -roof. All around are stone and brick -ranges, peaks which more than their -Alpine counterparts deserve to be called -Clocher or Tour, showing in the -darkness little of their dilettante symmetry -of the artificial: the deep valleys -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -between filled with their rivers of light, -carrying their noisy freight along: cols -in the near range vouchsafing their -strange glimpses of the more distant: -beneath, a wide and gloomy desert, with -here and there lamp-posts for oases -of our symbol of mountain-water.</p> - -<p>Throughout, a jump in nearness to the -stars, and a fellow-tingling unwarranted -by a bare forty-feet approximation to -them. By our own act we are cut off -from men: the thickness of a single -wall, if but it be the outer house-wall, -dispossesses us of our humanity, and -gives back our lost kinship with the -stars.</p> - -<p>Peak and col, valley, river, and pass—all -are there: but the real, broad-sustaining -Alps do not gape suddenly -to a show of the imagined trolls of -our story-books at work beneath, and -full of unintelligible hatred against ourselves. -While here, on our tile-summits -and pipe-couloirs, we know the trolls for -a reality, their life the very negation of -the fount of our new spirit gained in -the traverse from plastered side to plain -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -of a wall; the rousing of their incomprehensible -rage leading to pursuit and loss -of our world.</p> - -<p>Signs of their inhabitance are all -around us: vents, traps for the feet, -showing signs of the furnaces where -they are ever at labour to fuse the dead -message of the written page into living -matter of a brain for the breathing hole -of some typho of a senseless machine, -whose groans are chained to the production -of sweetest music in College -organ-pipes; sudden lights flashed out -by one of the trolls, to the displaying -of a pair of legs spider-wise across the -entrance to his lair, or the painted globe -sphering the radiance shed upon the -small-hourly labours of the troll of -highest Matterhorn.</p> - -<p>And yet the peril of them is greater -in imagination than in reality—dazzled -by the light in which he loves to bathe -himself, he cannot see the wanderer on -the heights, who may dance unobserved -in the view of public streets. The -troll-kind are like some power able to -shake the earth, and to overwhelm -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -life when the time comes, but now only -manifesting a greater grandeur to the -eyes—volcano, flame, or flood: engrossed -in their own subterranean labours, they -give scarce a thought to us, and we may -even mock at them from without; discover -yourself, however, and he becomes -the arch-enemy, like the all-powerful -earth-force, ready to annihilate those -whom it supports, and yet some evil -power they have had upon the Climber—they -have lured him to desist from -praises of his lady, and to run off in -disquisitions upon their ugly selves. -Thwart them, Climber, and return to -your Princess! She has granted Beauties—she -does not deny Adventures: no—you -may meet with strange ones on -the tops—unexpected sights that would -lose half their strangeness if they had -been known and sought.</p> - -<p>One befell upon a chapel—that -chapel whose top is adorned with the -four symbolic figures known to common -repute as Faith, Hope, Charity, and -Mathematics. To the Climber they are -rather Spirits of the Heights, beckoning -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -him on with enticement of gesture, -expression still alluring spite of that -strange emaciation, that attrition of -feature given to them in their high -desolate realm by the unruly Elements....</p> - -<p>The chapel—if you will allow a -short excursus—is a good climb; it is -best taken from the west; the heights -once gained, there follows a spread-eagle -traverse on a ledge past the clock -(to resist setting its hands at sixes and -sevens—if that metaphor be allowed—is -hard). Thirty feet below are the flag-stones -of the quad; next time you -pass beneath the chapel arch, think -of slow midnight figures shuffling along -that narrow ledge above, feeling with -anxious feet for the unseen, unpleasant -wires, ridges, and minor anfractuosities -with which it is beset.</p> - -<p>From the ledge there is a press-up -(without holds) on to the balustrade: -what may be called the shoulder is now -reached. The final pitch, a very interesting -eastward-facing pipe, is left to -climb: and then there we are in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span> -pure air of truth with Mathematics and -the rest of them.</p> - -<p>Seldom is there space on summits for -an encounter with Adventure. Here, -however, a flat-topped balustrade runs -round the top; this, on a second visit, -we thought should be perambulated, and -perambulation was in progress when -suddenly the leader stopped short—another -step and he would have been -plunged in a crevasse. True, it was so -narrow that he could not have fallen past -his arms; but then this was none of your -smooth cold ice-cracks. It belonged to -the volcano rather than the glacier—a -square pipe leading down twistingly to -red-hot fires below. Lucky for him he -had not stepped unwarily, now to be -wedged in it, his helpless body fast, suffering -a double and simultaneous metamorphosis, -into frozen mutton above, smoked -ham below.</p> - -<p>It was only a chimney really, but you -have no idea how curious a chimney -looks from above, especially a big square -one like this, without vestige of chimney-pot, -and edge flush with the balustrade in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span> -the centre of which it had taken it into -its head to debauch. And then its -position, thus in the very chapel—that -was strange. With the poet we asked:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘What occupation do you here pursue?<br /></span> -<span class="i1">This is a lonesome place for one like you’;<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>but we got no answer—the embers did -not even give one ‘flash of mild surprise,’ -and we never knew what manner of man -was warmed at the blaze we had seen -dying.</p> - -<p>So much for Adventure; now let us -seek Romance.</p> - -<p>Wadham Gardens are beautiful—but -usually only to be seen as setting to a -flower show, to the accompaniment of -a band, and upon payment of a shilling. -The Climber sees them free of charge, -in their own self-sufficient beauty (not -decreased by the moonlight), and solitary. -Even the owls are almost silent—birds of -the twilight more than of the midnight. -The squirrels (for there are still squirrels, -even here, far within the brick-and-mortar -girdle)—they are long asleep. -The Warden is safe in bed. The Climber, -who is here partly for the garden’s sake, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span> -partly to prospect for a route up the -College, swishes through the soaking -grass along by the shadow of the pines -and cedars. Ha!—‘<span xml:lang="de">Wer reitet so spät -durch Nacht und Wind?</span>’—What is that -dark form that he sees ‘cross and recross -the strips of moon-blanched green’? -The Climber, cautiously approaching, -greets with joy a hedge-pig (hedgehog, -called by the general name—illogical and -less euphonious). He is very tame; even -permits a finger to stroke the only -strokeable part of him, his soft furry -stomach, before rolling up into a pin-cushion. -Leaving him thus defensive -and spherical, the Climber passes on, only -by the next tree to find another; and the -performance is repeated.</p> - -<p>No route was found that night; but -as in the Alps not seldom the off-day in -the upland valley brings with birds and -flowers a new and equal joy with that of -the summits, so the moon-lit hedge-pigs -of Wadham touched a chord of romance -all their own, and vivified that night -with as strong a memory as any hard-won -roof-tree could have done. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span></p> - -<p>But it is not always through such -moon-lit Edens that the Climber passes; -sometimes it is the fierce flames of the -Cities of the Plain.</p> - -<p>Trinity (to make a necessary digression) -has a roof, which, once reached, is mostly -walking. It has also a quad with gravel -paving, an absence of Bodleian libraries in -close propinquity, and the usual complement -of chairs. In addition, it sometimes makes -six bumps. After one of those occasions -it was therefore not unexpected when the -Climber, perambulating the Trinity leads, -saw beyond the further roof-tree Vesuvius -in full eruption—red smoke in a whirling -column, full of blazing sparks sailing up -and off on the wind. Crawling up the -roof-tree and looking over, the Climber -saw a sight, not unfamiliar in itself, but -strange when viewed from such a viewpoint, -and with such detachment. A bit -of hell was here on earth. Devils in -deshabille were dancing round a flaming -pyre, screaming, with shrieking laughter. -Others, issuing from the dark doors round -the prison-like yard, brought with them -offerings for the fire. The iron gates that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span> -barred the further side of the square from -the night beyond were reminders that -none might pass out from this pit: -‘Lasciate ogni speranza’ was doubtless -inscribed upon their outer face. It was -a relief to find that the servers of the -flames brought no writhing Spirits of -the Damned, but mere inanimate combustibles.</p> - -<p>Well might the Climber lie there -gazing till the flames were sinking on -to the ember-pile, and the corybantic -Zoroastrian bacchanals (for all the three -rituals they combined) had begun to -slink off to their cells.</p> - -<p>To ease stiff limbs, the chapel was -taken on the homeward way; and from -its top the final flare was seen—a last -great blaze, streamers of burning paper -floating eastwards away (scaring, no -doubt, Eden’s nocturnal browsers), showers -of sparks, and then all sinking to a mere -flicker in the quiet night. And so to -bed.</p> - -<p>The Climber can thus penetrate into -secret places, see strange sights, have -familiar ones for him transmogrified. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span> -But this is not all. Profit is combined -with pleasure. In an emergency, how -useful he can prove.</p> - -<p>He may perhaps be allowed to relate -a case in point: One Lent Term, after -a heavy fall of snow, the inmates of a -certain College, which shall be nameless, -finding the snow hang heavy on their -feet, took it into their heads to take it -into their hands, and thence dispatched -it as a challenge through the windows -of their neighbour College—through the -very windows once source of light to -the famous Galetti (gone down to posterity, -by one of Clio’s whims, with -name distorted almost out of recognition). -After much shouting and the -filling of the historic chamber with snow, -the challenge was taken up.</p> - -<p>I am no Homer to describe the combat, -nor were I one, would this be the place -to do so....</p> - -<p>Long had they struggled, when there -arrived on the field a messenger. His -message, delivered with more jocularity -than he would have exhibited in Greek -drama, was to the effect that the Dean -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> -had been peeping through some alleyway, -had seen that any direct interference -was useless, and had resorted to the -method of blockade. All the gates were -shut, and the prophets of Baal were to -be mercilessly dealt with. ‘<span xml:lang="fr">Que faire</span>’? -Hostilities ceased; earth became united -in its opposition to Olympus. Racked -brains gave birth to hasty plans—all -proved abortive, till suddenly one—a -full-armoured Minerva—flashed from its -parent’s engendering lead. ‘The Climber, -the Climber!’ was all the cry. Soon -he appeared, triumphantly escorted, and -bearing in his arms his rope. One end -of this went through the window (that -window, serving more often for the -passage of insults, not wholly unaccompanied -by injuries, now consecrated to -pacific use), and was grasped within by -six strong men. The other end became -a loop, into which the foot of one of -the aliens was inserted. No sooner this, -than, hey presto! a pull by the six, -and, an alien no longer, he was clinging -to his own country’s boundary—the -window-sill. No Customs examination -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span> -or landing formalities—other stalwarts -gripped him, and he disappeared into -the bowels of his fatherland, a pair of -legs for an instant waving farewell to -his late enemies.</p> - -<p>This was repeated more than a score -of times, till at length not one remained -for the cunning Dean and his unwreaked -vengeance. Barred gates, alert porters, -grinning scouts, confidently waiting dons:—who -was the instrument to bring them -all to nought?—the Climber!</p> - -<p>This much for its use to others. Rich -use to the Climber himself it has too. -Not only as a way out of the prosaic -world of streets and staircases into another -where for a glorious dusky hour he may -feel free, alone with himself, the night, -and active limbs, but also as a true training -for the more grave realities of nobler -peaks in other lands. General exercise -for arms (lying sadly fallow if only the -ordinary run of games be followed), and -back and legs—that is something; but -more special practice is given in lightness -of balancing and in training a dizzy head. -Cat-soft feet are needed there where -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -tell-tale tiles are crossed, where dons -abound, and where sharp-hearing porters -lurk. Light, even-pulling arms alone can -with safety grip frail roof-trees, tiles, or -chimney-pots. Then, in reality, it is not -common to be above precipices of the -true vertical: here in the comfortable -city they are never to be avoided. It is -physically no doubt as easy to step across -above a plumb drop than where the -ground is sloping; but however steep -the slope, there is some comfort in it -for the untrained head, while every -crumb of it drops away down the perpendicular.</p> - -<p>Soon, however, under necessity’s spell, -the reluctant cerebellum (where, I am -told, our balance-bump is to be found) -becomes used to the smooth uncompromising -walls, and the Climber can -sally qualmless forth to tackle Dolomites -or Cumberland climbs.</p> - -<p>Beauty, Romance, Adventure; Help to -others; Use, both for mind and body, to -oneself: I hope the Climber has said -enough to show our Cinderella forth for -What she really is. And, gentle reader, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span> -you will not grumble if her champion, -for reasons not obscure, can display no -betraying blazon on his shield. Having -championed his fair, and been acclaimed -victor in the lists, he rides triumphant -forth to kneel before his sovran liege—the -British Public. ‘What is your name, -that I may honour you?’ ‘Sire, if you -will permit me, I will present you with -my card.’ Which done, he vanishes, -leaving not a wrack behind save the -white pasteboard with the two words -upon it:</p> - -<p class="caption" xml:lang="el">ΑΝΩΝΥΜΟΣ ΤΙΣ -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2> -THE MOUNTAINS OF YOUTH<br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -ARNOLD H. M. LUNN<br /> -<small>(Balliol)</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="IX_THE_MOUNTAINS_OF_YOUTH"> -IX. THE MOUNTAINS OF YOUTH</h2> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Fire made them, earth clothed them, man found them,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Our playmates the princes of hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Last uttered of time, and love-fashioned,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Of a fullness of knowledge impassioned<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For freedom: boy-hearts, royal wills,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Sun nursed them, wind taught them, frost crowned them.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Light o’er them, life with them, peace round them,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">They have waited in masterless strength<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For the moment of mortal awaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">When bright on new vision upbreaking<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Far beacons of freedom, at length<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Art saw them, hope sought them, youth found them.’<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Geoffrey Winthrop Young.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Few</span> haunters of the Alps can have -altogether escaped the dreary ceremonies -in some mountain Tabernacle, -manufactured perhaps from a drawing-room -whose windows reveal malicious -glimpses of the snows that suggest a -more acceptable service. Few but would -recognise the discourse meandering on -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span> -from the inevitable text, that cry of the -soul to great hills afar, which constant -quotation cannot wholly mar, to the -final application which asserts that the -sojourn among the mountains is only -given that, fortified in soul and body, we -may return to the battle of life. To -some of us this pious reflection must -appear irredeemably vulgar. Those -moments on the hills when the pulses -of life seem quickened with new fire are -given for the sake, and for the sake alone, -of the moments themselves. To adapt -them to didactic disquisition is to degrade -the chief things of the ancient mountains. -For the hills are no mere nursing-home -to recuperate after the drudgery of the -plains. Those that climb to advance -science, to surpass records, to improve -their digestion miss the real appeal. For -we deserve or we do not deserve the -mountains according as we regard them -as an end in themselves or as a means -to an end.</p> - -<p>An apology has already been offered -in the Introduction for a subjective treatment -of mountains. Whether the mountain -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -that we loved is an entity independent -of man is a question that may be left to -philosophers to discuss. Man may or -may not be the measure of all things, -but to some extent every man undoubtedly -fashions Nature in the mould of his own -beliefs. Every mountain lover brings -something new to the common worship: -for each of us spells out a different syllable -in the universal message of the hills. -So these pages contain an attempt to -analyse one aspect of the mountains, that -aspect which is caught in childhood and -youth.</p> - -<p>The thread that binds the scattered -memories of seventeen summers and -eleven winters in the Alps is the half-belief -that in some sense the mountains -are not only so many tons of rock and -ice, that they are something more than -the ruins of chaos, and possess an individuality -elusive but none the less very -real. In an uninspired age when a -dogmatic Christianity was pitted against -an even more dogmatic Rationalism, this -belief in a mountain soul found its most -poetic expression in an unsuspected -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -quarter. Leslie Stephen would have -smiled grimly at any attempt to read -more than a figurative meaning into -certain passages of <i>The Alps in Winter</i>; -but no one can read that lofty confession -of an agnostic’s faith without feeling -that it is this rather than the essay of that -name which constitutes the true <i>Agnostic’s -Apology</i>. Naturalism could not resist the -mute appeal of ‘those mighty monuments -of a bygone age ... to which in spite -of all reason it is impossible not to attribute -some shadowy personality.’ And -there is the ring of something more than -fantasy in the final words: ‘Their voice -is mystic and has found discordant interpreters, -but to me at least it speaks in -tones at once more simple and more -awe-inspiring than that of any mortal -teacher.’</p> - -<p>What the heart feels to-day, philosophy -may assume to-morrow. It would be -easy to find a further illustration in -Fechner’s great vision of the Earth -Soul; easy but unprofitable, for no faith, -least of all a fragile <i>Aberglaube</i> such as -this, can stand the strain of a philosophic -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span> -formula. This sense of a conscious personality -in Nature is most powerful in -childhood. I do not pretend that our -childhood peopled its surroundings with -fairies, goblins, and similar stage supers. -Nor shall I add to the accumulations -of mischievous nonsense that have become -fashionable at a time when literature -delights, without understanding, to -dabble in the curious psychology of -childhood. The modern conception of -the child seems oddly mistaken. He is -pictured as a sexless cherub trailing -clouds of moral glory from a prenatal -paradise. But the child is non-moral, -and only acquires with difficulty and -growth the conventional ethics of his -elders. The natural child is cruel with -the cruelty that comes from an absence -of experience of pain. Without experience -his imagination has nothing to -build on, for, as that genial cynic Hobbes -remarks, ‘Pity is the imagining unto -oneself of a woe.’ The modern child -and the mediæval man have much in -common. The imagination of both is -at once vivid and restricted. From this -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span> -springs the experimental cruelty as well -as that intense joy of life equally characteristic -of the age of childhood and -of the Middle Ages. The world of the -fifteenth century was narrower, but within -its restricted boundaries far richer in -romantic possibilities than the world as -it now exists for the ‘grown-ups.’ For -all but the child the dog-headed men have -had their day. So the narrow limits that -bounded our wanderings in those early -Grindelwald summers contained a world -instinct with an intangible romance that -the years have never expelled.</p> - -<p>My first distinct mountain memory is -that of watching at the age of four Grindelwald -and our temporary home in flames. -An aunt tried to banish the terrifying spectacle -by a handkerchief round my eyes, -a needless precaution. As a proper child -I was fascinated by the prospect of -vicarious emotion, and the possibility of -some fellow-creature roasting in the -flames added interest to the drama. But -it was not Grindelwald in flames, it was -the ruthless indifference of the Eiger -insolently preening its snows in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span> -blood-red haze of the catastrophe that -really gripped me with fear. The -mountains bind us by their very superiority -to suffering. The unrelenting -callousness that hurls the boulders down -the gully in which we are pinned -appeals to our primitive imaginations. -‘The attitude of the creature towards -his Creator,’ said Newman, ‘should be -one of abject submission.’ ‘Not abject,’ -replied some Anglican divine, ‘respectful.’ -‘Not submission,’ says the -mountaineer, ‘resistance.’ Analyse the -peculiar appeal of some stern struggle -against a mountain stronghold, and it is -this sentiment that is most prominent. -Conflict without animosity makes the -strongest demand on the fighting instinct -and the faculty for worship. Like -children we like to see how far we can -go. We learn to honour the reserve of -strength that is not exerted against us -and of beauty that we cannot overcome.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Love thou the Gods and withstand them, lest thy<br /></span> -<span class="i4">fame should fail at the end—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And thou be but their thrall and their bondman,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">who wast born for their very friend.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span></p> - -<p>Five summer months we spent in a little -village a few miles from Grindelwald. -We came in the early days of May just -as the snow began to call a late retreat -from the pastures above the chalet. We -watched the fields rich in the promise of -spring, and caught some afterglow from</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The gleam of the first of summers on the yet untrodden grass.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The most prosaic child can fashion from a -back-garden of weeds a world of magical -fancies. So it is not surprising that we -found in our summer playground a wealth -of intimate suggestion. For it is true -of the child, as was said of Fechner, -that ‘his only extravagances are those -of thought, but these are gorgeous -ones.’</p> - -<p>As the shortening days at the end of -September foretold the long winter sleep -we sorrowfully departed for the City -of Dreadful Night. The sorrows and -joys of childhood are singularly final. -The wider imagination of youth can -realise that the Alps are not irrevocably -lost when the train steams sadly out of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -the platform at Berne. No such consolations -suggested themselves to us as -children, and the weary months that had -to elapse before the next glimpse of -Paradise might as well have been eternity. -But life is vital only by contrast, and it -may have been that the mountain passion -found its strongest ally in a childhood -divided between the generous open life -of the hills and the sullen gloom of a -London Square.</p> - -<p>To those days we owe the fascination -that even now invests the railway journey -to the Alps with a romance that an older -school would have us believe vanished -with the last stage-coach. Perhaps it -did for them. But for those who have -been brought up on steam, there can be -few things more provocative of wonder -than the journey to Switzerland. We -used to wait for the vigilant nurse to -trumpet forth the evidences of deep -slumber, and then gently raised the -blinds always relentlessly drawn. For us -the rattle and roar of the night express—to -some a discordant chaos of sound—seemed -‘the music nighest bordering -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -upon heaven,’ a brave accompaniment -to the drama that flashed past us into -the night, dim white spaces of open -road, sleeping hamlets, shadowy trees -and waters mirroring the stars. Could -any contrast be more intense than the -sunlit joy of that first morning in Berne -when the ‘authentic air of Paradise’ -seemed to linger round the terrace, and -the leaden despair of the return to -Charing Cross in a fog? I am still -susceptible to the riotous excitement of -the nights in the train. Even now I -can barely understand how any one -can remain unmoved as the train sweeps -from the gates of the Jura to reveal -beyond the morning mists the host of -peaks from the Wetterhorn to the -Blumlisalp.</p> - -<p>Chalet life is a useful corrective for -those who regard the Swiss as a nation -of hotelkeepers and guides. We soon -picked up the unlovely patois, and -gradually worked our way into the life -of the village. We made friends with -the owner of the chalet, and spent long -hours on the Grindelalp watching the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -evolution of cheese. We made shameless -love to the daughter of the chalet, -now a dignified matron. A deserted -kine shed was fitted up as a temporary -home, and my brother, despite his -obvious reluctance, was required to -accept the rôle of our offspring. On -Sunday we joined the brown-coated congregation -in the white-washed Zwinglian -church, helped to swell the mournful -drone to which Luther’s sonorous hymns -are intoned, and listened with incurious -awe to the torrent of language with -which the ‘Gletcher Pfarrer’ drenched -his fold.</p> - -<p>Our imagination took its suggestion -from those around us. We did not play -at soldiers or enginedrivers, for our hero -was an old guide. It is significant that -we admired him not so much for his -sixty odd ascents of the Wetterhorn as -for a mythical reputation, which we -probably evolved from our sense of the -heroic proprieties, that he beat his wife -and looked upon the wine when it was -red. Inspired by our knight of the -rope, we surreptitiously stole an old pick-axe -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -and some forty feet of clothes-line, -and daily made our way to the woods -above. The will to believe is the -greatest asset of childhood, the age of -unconscious pragmatism, and we convinced -ourselves that, but for the steps -laboriously hewed from the yielding -earth, we could never have ascended so -grim a slope. One day we received a -rude awakening. A little damsel followed -us, smiled cynically at the elaborate preparations, -and then ran lightly up the -perilous incline, disdainfully dodging the -steps. The moment held material for -tragedy. We affected an air of scornful -indifference, but the pick-axe was never -disturbed again.</p> - -<p>We found a more real scope for our -climbing ambition on a boulder that the -ice rivers of the dawn of time had left -stranded in the woods. Some thirty feet -in height, it fell away sheer on all sides -and gave scope for some pretty problems. -With vague memories of Bunyan we -dubbed it ‘Hill Difficulty,’ and tried to -believe that Apollyon lurked in the -neighbouring wood. Apollyon was an -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -actuality for whom we entertained a -chastened respect. We thought then -that every Alpine peak was formed of -perpendicular cliffs scaled by infinitesimal -handholds. Experience has shown that -many of the climbs on this boulder were -harder than any similar short stretch on, -say, the Finsteraarhorn. Hill Difficulty, -on which we learned our craft at the -respective ages of six and four, was -really a sound training-ground. More -than once we were placed in positions -of considerable ignominy, and, for our -size, some danger. A twenty-foot fall -head first might have had awkward -results but for a helpful bush which -often proved a friend. On one fateful -occasion I remember weeping profusely -and shouting for aid to my nurse, a -humiliating experience for a mountaineer. -She, worthy dame, declined to interfere, -and beat me soundly on returning to earth.</p> - -<p>When I look back on those long -summers, and try to recapture the haunting -vagueness of the first moods born -of the hills, I am faced by the insufficiency -of the written word to express -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span> -sensations that seem the less definite in -outline the more vividly their colour -endures. But certain broad features -stand out, and I am convinced by experience -that the normal conception of -childhood, as embodied, for instance, in -<i>The Child’s Garden of Verses</i>, is radically -wrong. Some of Blake’s detached verses, -and the poetry—written at the age of -seven—by Miss Enid Welsford, reflect -truer glimpses of that mood of savagery -and vague fear that enwraps the world -of the imaginative child, a world in -which there is little either of the cosy -or the snug. Alarming actual incidents -such as Grindelwald on fire often excite -an abstract curiosity, whilst people and -places intrinsically innocent may in a -moment become charged with cosmic -significance. Of fact and tradition the -modern child is often a sceptic. Neither -of us believed in fairies, though we -accepted with indulgence the well-meant -efforts of our elders to amuse. But to -this day I cannot explain why there -should ever have existed a well-marked -boundary in the Grindelwald woods, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span> -beyond which there dwelt an unhealthy -influence. I cannot understand what -fixed this bourne, nor yet why a certain -slope of scree and slag leading up to a -cluster of rock and pine should even now -seem laden with brooding fear. So, -too, though we did not believe in the -ice maiden, we yet felt that certain -mountains were, so to speak, healthy and -others provokingly sinister. The child -in touch with Nature finds his own fairy -land, and the mountains are the most -potent magicians.</p> - -<p>The inner secrets of the mountain fear -are seldom revealed, for those that know -are ashamed of the atavistic emotions -that robbed them of self-control. For -the possessing terror of the lonely hills -is a thing by itself. It is most felt in -childhood, and best known to the solitary -intruder. I am not thinking of those -trying periods whose horror is at least -reducible to natural causes, of the slow -advance from step to step across an ice-slope -raked by falling stones, of the -desperate race against darkness as night -charged up from the valley, of the grim -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -struggle when retreat was and advance -seemed equally impossible:</p> - -<div xml:lang="el" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">νῦν δ’ (ἔμπης γὰρ κῆρες ἐφεστᾶσιν θανάτοιο<br /></span> -<span class="i0">μύριαι, ἃς οὐκ ἐστι φυγεῖν βροτὸν οὐδ’ ὑπαλύξαι)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ἴομεν.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The strain of such moments is at least -healthy, but the uncanny terror that -grips the lonely victim is not. Often it -is independent of difficulty or danger. -As a boy I had wandered up to that -barren valley of barren boulders that -closes in the head of the Val d’Arpette. -There was no suggestion of gloom in the -peaceful afternoon light that cast lazy -shadows on the Clochers d’Arpette. I -was perfectly happy. Suddenly the whole -wilderness of forbidding stones seemed -fraught with evil intent. There was no -tangible reason for this transformation, -but it was sufficiently real to produce a -headlong flight. I still remember the -compelling terror that drove me to bruise -shin and elbow as I hurled myself from -boulder to boulder in a desperate attempt -to escape from a valley tenanted by the -shades of dim derisive evil.</p> - -<p>The Alps merit a patient novitiate, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -and the mountaineer who does his -Matterhorn and Mont Blanc in his first -season misses the essential charm of the -hills. We spent some ten summers and -four winters in the mountains before we -even crossed the snow-line. But the -bitterness of waiting was redeemed by -the joy of long deferred fulfilment. We -learned during those years the fascination -of the lower hills, too often dismissed as -tedious grinds fit to serve only as training -walks or as exercise for an off-day in bad -weather. They are worthy of a more -loving study. There is a peculiar joy in -working patiently upwards from the -smallest of beginnings to the culminating -reward of a great peak. The landmarks -of our climbing history advanced very -slowly. There was the triumph of the -Little Scheidegg at the age of six, the -proud moment when we passed the eight -thousand level on the Brevent, and the -tantalising approach to the magic ten -thousand on the Schwarzhorn. Finally, -at the age of fifteen, I crossed the line of -perpetual snow, which for years had -haunted our dreams and marked the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span> -heights of earthly ambition. The -Aiguille du Tour may seem a slight -victory, but the romance of the first -night in a club hut, the first dawn seen -from the upper snows, the first generous -breadth of vision from a real mountain, -are among the unforgettable things. -Even the long deferred Matterhorn -belongs to a less splendid category of -memories.</p> - -<p>Those years taught us how meaningless -is the cry that the Alps are played -out. Railways and cheap trippers, it is -said, have robbed Switzerland of all -charm. Grindelwald is simply Brighton -by the mountains, and so on and so forth. -For the railways I agree with Mr. Belloc. -‘They are the trenches that drain our -modern civilisation. Avoid them by so -much as a quarter of a mile and you -may have as much peace as would fill a -nose bag.’ Nor need we deny even to -the cheap tripper the possible possession -of a soul for the beautiful. The heritage -of the hills should not be the monopoly -of the cultured classes. In the Lötschenthal -I once met four men of that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span> -class which has recently begun to desert -Margate for the mountains. Their -savings were devoted to this one fortnight -in the Alps. Because guides are -expensive they confined their wanderings -to easy snow summits. Because the -<i>Climber’s Guides</i> are expensive they spent -long hours in the British Museum copying -them out into notebooks. One should -rejoice in the increased facilities of communication -into lives otherwise lacking -in colour of the saving inspiration of the -snows.</p> - -<p>The complaint that the Alps are over-run -argues a barren lack of enterprise. -The Wengen Alp is confessedly somewhat -dense in the height of the season. -This troubles me not at all. Within -two hours of the Scheidegg lies one of -the most ideal of Alpine summits. To -the superficial observer the Tschuggen -may seem an unattractive scree and slate -peak, yet the actual top is a delightful -yielding carpet of springy Alpine turf -touched with the blue of late gentians. -Who will, may spend untroubled hours -here watching the clouds drifting across -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span> -Jungfrau, and in the north the dark -turquoise waters of Thun gleaming between -the intervening hills. Solitary, -remote, and secluded, they will scarce -remember the proximity of the hidden -hotel and its heterogeneous mob.</p> - -<p>On the other side of the valley the -Faulhorn is doubly starred in Baedeker, -but fortunately the course of the double -stars is so ordered that it does not light -on the fairest of Alpine retreats. The -treasures of this chain are hidden in its -eastern wings, and you, friends, who find -Grindelwald bourgeois, do you know -that ‘very lovely, silent land’ hidden -away behind the black pyramid of the -Schwarzhorn? The long rampart that -links the Grossenegg to the Krinne is -perhaps the finest low-level wall in -Switzerland; whilst shadowed by a fold -in this curtain of rock lies one of the -chiefest of Alpine wonders. Within the -span of some thousand yards you can -trace the life of a baby glacier that has -never reached maturity. Meticulously -fashioned, with névé, ice-fall, and crevasse -on a perfect but diminutive scale, it recalls -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -the dwarf trees of Japan in its miniature -perfection.</p> - -<p>So during the ten summers in which -we explored this chain in all its moods -we found for ourselves the essential romance -of the mountains. We acquired a -more extensive book knowledge of the -topography and history of the greater -peaks than most climbers we met. -<i>Scrambles in the Alps</i> was the first book -that I laboriously spelt out for myself. -Alpine literature and Alpine photographs, -such as Mr. Donkin’s, gave us a precocious -knowledge of the Alps. I remember -surprising a chance acquaintance by the -certainty with which I located the views -at an Alpine Club Exhibition, and his -comment, ‘You seem to have been -climbing for many seasons,’ had a certain -bitterness for a boy who had not crossed -the snow-line.</p> - -<p>We had our foolish moments. A girl -of fifteen returning from the Eiger, and -seemingly careless of an experience for -which we would have bartered our -appetites, provoked a desperately absurd -attempt on the Wetterhorn. Without -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -rope or axe we found our way to the -Gleckstein Hut. There we realised the -impossibility of any serious attempt on -the Wetterhorn itself, and turned aside -towards one of the great buttresses below -the main peak. By a nasty chimney -and an arête which would prove trying -to most unroped climbers we reached the -top of our little peak. From our feet -the great curtain of cliff that overshadows -Grindelwald fell away in one curve to -the pastures of the Scheidegg. A touch -of uncertainty as to our chance of recovering -the line of ascent added to the -majesty of that compelling precipice. -There were no traces of a previous visit, -so we proudly erected a cairn, and then, -more alarmed than we should have cared -to confess, we cautiously retraced our -steps down the ridge. On this and -similar scrambles we may have learned -something that is missed in a more -orthodox novitiate. Occasionally we -managed to borrow an axe, and derived -much amusement from the tangled -labyrinth of crevasses that can be found -among the upper reaches of the Grindelwald -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span> -glaciers. These expeditions were -carried out somewhat stealthily, but an -unusual and enlightened view of the -educational value of the mountains -allowed us considerable liberty of -action.</p> - -<p>The hopeless call of the skyline that -we could never cross lent to the historic -gap between the Jungfrau and the Mönch -the mystery of those corners one can -never turn in dreams. When at length -we began to climb the greater peaks, -fate took us to other ranges. But after -years of waiting we at last solved the -mystery of the other side, and a six-day -journey across the glaciers of the Oberland -on ski owed its inmost charm to the -discoveries that answered the questions -of those early years. Imagination had -fashioned a mysterious conception of -those fields of unknown snow behind the -Jungfrau, and the last steps up the slope -leading to the portals of the Lötschenlücke -were quickened by the return of -the child’s desire. And when at last the -glory of the Great Aletsch snowfield, -white with the softness of a winter moon, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -gave substance to the dream—‘Behold, -the half had not been told.’</p> - -<p>As a small boy I had compiled a guide-book, -in which I had affirmed that ‘the -Finsteraarhorn will test the powers of a -first-class mountaineer.’ And now as we -left our ski and passed on to its ascent, -there was a touch of sadness in the ease -with which we overcame the stronghold -that to childhood had seemed almost -impregnable. From the summit the -little chalet of those earlier summers was -just visible, and across the white recesses -of the familiar lower ranges, and across -the interval of years, our eyes seemed to -meet the eager upward looks that had so -often searched for the secrets of our -present tranquil resting-place.</p> - -<p>With such surroundings for our childhood -it was almost inevitable that there -should be little room for the sentiment -with which others look back on school -and home life. The snows are a jealous -tutor, and resent a divided attention. It -might be truer to say that Grindelwald -was our real home and school. On the -first day of summer and winter holidays -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -we left for the Alps, to return only as -term began. We never talked of -‘going,’ but always of ‘going back’ to -the Grindelwald, where the chalet was -the centre of our most enduring associations. -The associations remained with -us at school. My kindliest memories of -Harrow centre round the Vaughan Library, -comfortably remote from the minor annoyances -of school life. The monitor’s key -was a very real privilege, for it gave -undisturbed possession of silent spaces -whose full beauty was only revealed during -a winter ‘first school’ when the sun shone -in awakening glory through the windowed -recesses that open on to terrace, -fields, and the low-lying hills in the -east. One shelf in particular proved -a sovereign alchemist, and an intricate -book knowledge of the Himalayas and -Caucasus was accumulated with its help -at the expense of the humaner letters.</p> - -<p>The Grindelwald epoch was followed -by three summers that gave us some experience -of guideless scrambling among -third-rate snow mountains. By judiciously -choosing the worst of all conceivable -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -routes we managed to discover -educative difficulties where none need -have existed. And if we are the only -people who have found a dangerous -route up the Wildstrubel, we may as -well have the discredit attaching to -that feat. The providence that cares -for the young and very foolish preserved -us among sundry and manifold perplexities. -At least we brought the axe and -rope out of the sphere of imaginative -usage, and acquired an eye for country -that we might not have gained on -first-class peaks between guides. Just as -the charm of the lower hills is too -little understood, so also the fascination -of these dependent courtiers of the -greater monarchs is woefully ignored. -These smaller mountains provide the -most natural transition from the hills -of mere imagination to the actual -mountains of romance.</p> - -<p>Let me instance the Glacier de la -Plaine Morte, a field of névé on the -route to no great peaks, and rarely -visited. Its elusive magic is all its own. -Just as the quiet spell of Wordsworth -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span> -escapes those whose taste in poetry tends -towards sound and fury, so the Plaine -Morte is a useful touchstone to discriminate -between the esoteric and -exoteric school of mountain lovers. -‘Any goose sees glory’ in the ice-fall -of the Rhone or the sweep of the -Aletsch. But if a man can see nothing -in the Plaine Morte but a somewhat -featureless field of snow, he is not one -of those to whom the precious things -of the lasting hills will yield up their -treasure. He is no dweller in the inner-most.</p> - -<p>On the glaciers near Finse there is -something of the like fascination. There, -as on the Plaine Morte, the appeal -consists in no outstanding feature, but -in an impression of organic unity in -a seemingly neglected world. On the -Plaine Morte the effect is heightened -by the insignificance of the shapeless -bounding wall of low-lying shale slopes -that cut off the greater peaks. Here -also there is nothing to disturb by an -assertion of disproportionate grandeur. -There is the same secret and spacious -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> -charm on the Hardanger-Jokul, where -the eye travels unarrested over dim white -spaces of ice-capped plateaus only suggesting -by a suspicion of haze the -unseen fjords that sleep among their -folds, and falling away like the rhythm -of dying music to a far and grey horizon. -In such places there is an uneasy feeling -as of an unsought intrusion upon the -quiet of a world withdrawn to die, a -death with a wayward note of incompleteness:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘As though some God in his dreaming had wasted the work of his hand<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And forgotten the work of creation.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The Plaine Morte is also associated with -less seemly memories. Our first guideless -venture above the snow-line took us -to the Wildstrubel. We left at midnight -without sleeping, and were dead -tired when we started home. But our -older companion should have known -better than to give himself and two -exhausted boys neat whisky as a pick-me-up. -The next distinct memory is -that of watching our friend carrying -out his suggestion that he should lead. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span> -His movements did not seem governed -by any concept of the shortest distance -between two points, and after a few -aimless curves he sat himself in the -snow. There was much competition to -avoid leading, as those that followed -could doze peacefully, guided and led -by the tension of the rope. Our intermittent -slumbers provoked abrupt jerks -on the rope, which as often as not -induced a unanimous collapse, followed -by a brief but peaceful repose on the -glacier. My brother’s mind was divided -between two obsessions. He identified -me with a certain ‘Hetta,’ and was -firmly convinced that I was leading -towards the wrong end of the glacier. -A violent death would have then seemed -preferable to the mental effort involved -in disabusing him of these fancies; and -I accepted with resigned disregard his -blandishments, at times unpleasantly -affectionate, and his repeated attempts -to change the line of march. As we -dragged on I became acutely conscious -of what are, I believe, two fairly common -phenomena. Movement, continued in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span> -extreme exhaustion, set itself to the -sound of an irritating jingle of words -that worked its way into the subconscious -mind, governed the swing of one’s -limbs, and repeated itself monotonously -till it seemed to be part and parcel of -one’s being. Again weariness awoke -that strange tendency to see faces in inanimate -objects. Familiar countenances -formed suddenly, and as suddenly resolved -themselves into grinning boulders. -Mr. Belloc may have had this in -mind:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘It darkens. I have lost the ford,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">There is a change on all things made.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The rocks have evil faces, Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And I am awfully afraid.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Insufficient attention is paid to the -curious data that mountaineering contributes -to the psychology of exhaustion. -Experiences of a different character were -the outcome of another struggle on -the Plaine Morte against overpowering -weariness.</p> - -<p>With a friend, a sound mountaineer, -but a novice on ski, I had set out some -years later to cross the hills from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -Montana to Villars. I left my friend -on the Plaine Morte, and pressed on to -reach the Wildstrubel for the sunset. -Incidentally of all mountain memories -that lonely sundown on the Wildstrubel -is the most haunting. Adelboden was -hidden, and from bourne to bourne there -was no suggestion of life but for the -deserted snow-gagged road to the Gemmi. -A chaos of crag and snowfield, with no -touch of colour to relieve the greyness, -reddened for a few moments, and then -sank back into the shadow as night crept -upwards from the valley to the summit -ridges. Darkness had fallen when I -again reached the Plaine Morte, and -one of those bitter winter breezes blew -over the glacier. Mental and physical -fatigue followed the inevitable reaction -after thirteen strenuous hours. The -monotony of surroundings has a hypnotic -effect on tired limb and brain. The -alternating spaces of shadow and snow, -subdued by the glimmering light of the -stars, the indefinite bounding wall with -a dark curving of great hills beyond, -possessed a rhythmic suggestion of sleep -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span> -that I found difficult to resist. I tried -counting steps, but only accentuated the -rhythm. I vowed not to look up till I -had reached the thousand, but nothing -seemed to break the maddening reiteration -of those undulating snows. And -then my hands and feet suddenly lost -sensation.</p> - -<p>A steady sequence of thuds disturbed -me; and I realised that my friend was -chopping wood outside the hut some -three miles away. That Inquisition torture, -the slow succession of drops of -water falling at intervals of a minute -on the victim’s head, had, we are told, -the effect of inducing a lively loyalty to -the Catholic faith. I can well believe -it, for I know that the regular fall of the -beats carried across the glacier filled me -with zealous and unreasoning anger. It -added the last artistic touch to the -monotony of the Dead Plain, for it -followed a different rhythm, and proved -almost more than I could stand.</p> - -<p>The mountain gloom is often most -pronounced below the snow-line.</p> - -<p>One of our earlier climbs took us from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span> -the Wildstrubel Hut to the Wildhorn, -and thence without incident to the head -of the Rawyl gorge. Here the paths -divide, the westerly to Sion, the easterly -to Montana. At the dividing paths my -brother and I started cheerily along that -which leads to Montana. One of our -two companions was a middle-aged man -who considered that the experience -gained in some camping expedition in -Africa had given him an instinct for -locality. He assured us that Montana -would be found on the western flanks of -the gorge. Analogous reasoning would -lead one to look for Murren on the -slopes of the Scheidegg. We did not -like to break up the party, lest further -knowledge won on the veldt should have -even more disastrous results. So on -we wandered, while the dividing gorge -dropped ever further and further below. -I do not know what provoked the final -outburst. Perhaps they reminded us of -our youth, a sore subject. They were -the kind of men who ‘have no hesitation -in contradicting those younger than -themselves.’ At any rate we parted. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -They chanced upon a peasant who -guided them home by midnight, a -barren victory, for had they followed our -advice we should all have been home by -tea. Meanwhile we two scrambled down -some fifteen hundred feet to the boiling -torrent. This we crossed by a fallen -tree. A faint track led thence to the -lower of the two ‘bisses’ that run along -the great sweep of the mountain-side. -These ‘bisses’ are an ingenious attempt -to harness the waters that would otherwise -flow to waste, and to convey them -at a uniform gradient through a country -that is all ups and downs. The stream -guided into troughs is carried across the -face of the precipices. The troughs and -planks, which afford a passage to the -engineer and to chance but astute -visitors, are supported on poles driven -into the face of the cliff. Even in the -daytime the lower ‘bisse’ is not oversafe, -for the water escapes at intervals and -trickles over the planks. By the time -we reached it night—a sullen overclouded -night—had fallen. Slowly we began -to feel our way through the darkness, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span> -cautiously creeping along the slippery -treacherous platform that hung poised -above the thunder of the river. Childish -nightmares had often centred round -mountain cataracts, and to this day there -is something uncanny in the turbid -fury of an Alpine stream. We were -soon filled with useless hatred for the -unending tumult from below. Above -the gorge a crag loomed out of the -night and looked down upon us with -malicious contempt. At such moments -the mountains seem to develop a -treacherous and repellent personality. -There is something inhuman in the grim -relish with which they seem to watch a -desperate struggle.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Chin upon hand to see the game at bay.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The shadowy lines of forbidding precipice -crept upwards to dim clusters of -twisted pine. Below us flashed the -evanescent glimmer on the tumult of -the torrent. Its monotonous shouting -beat unceasingly about our ears. Something -of the nightmare imagery that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span> -inspired Kubla Khan added a note of -terror to the voice of the river as it -forced its way, through caverns measureless -to man, down to a sunless sea.</p> - -<p>To the monotony of the torrent was -added the monotony of that interminable -succession of planks, winding round the -dark elbows of the ravine, always promising -to disclose a securer path, but -leading only to a like treacherous way. -At last, in despair, we tried a short cut -up through the woods. The trees rose -out of a darkness that could be felt, and -smote us in the face. We stumbled, fell, -condemned ‘the nature of things,’ and -gave up the unequal struggle to sleep -till dawn.</p> - -<p>Those careless summers seem very far -away. I look back on them with some -shame and much regret. For even our -very follies had a certain educative value. -We had—in a very literal sense—to -‘work out our own salvation with fear -and trembling.’ Unfortunately, one began -to take such let-offs as a matter of -course, and during the long weary hours -in which I waited for the search-party -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -I had much leisure to reflect on that -arrogant faith in luck which is the parent -of so many disasters.</p> - -<p>During the four months I spent on -my back I dared not face the prospect -that I might never climb again. -I refused to permit such a possibility. -None the less I looked forward with -peculiar dread to the vision of forbidden -snows. The first mountain that I saw -left me unmoved, though I felt a pang -of regret as the snow and fire of Ætna -climbed above the horizon of wave, for -in happier days I had wandered up its -tortured slopes. But the snow-touched -hills that swept down through vine and -olive to the sapphire belt of Nauplia’s -bay stirred no longing to penetrate into -the recesses of ranges that seemed woven -from the fabric of dreams. It was -otherwise at Garmisch. There the call -proved too strong; on two sticks I -hobbled painfully up some three thousand -feet, and the delight of watching distant -hills once more climbing into a larger -sky went to my head like wine.</p> - -<p>The worst moment came at Berne. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span> -The thought of ‘Yesterday—many -years ago’ was never so insistent, never -so sorrowful, as on the terrace from -which I had so often caught the first -glad welcome of the snows. I looked -at the Oberland glowing in full sunlight -beyond the roofs and the morning -mists:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Into my heart an air that kills<br /></span> -<span class="i3">From yon far country blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">What are those blue remembered hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">What spires, what forms are those?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">That is the land of lost content;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">I see it shining plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The happy highways where I went,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And cannot come again.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>To lose and recapture is to make -doubly precious. Some of the glamour -that haunted the first crossing of the -snow-line clung to the first tentative -experiments on ski. And so in the -summer past two hard-won climbs have -dispelled for ever the shadow of suspense -that darkened two years. I was working -at Montana, but somehow the long -greeting of the White trinity that cast -their spell from beyond the shadows of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span> -the Val’ d’Anniviers made life a burden -of vain regrets. I escaped to Zermatt, -and the same evening started for the -Dent Blanche. As I crossed the threshold -of the Schönbuhl Hut I felt like -an exile returning home. My nostrils -were gladdened by the old familiar evil -atmosphere redolent of Swiss tobacco and -the inevitable ‘Maggi’ soup. And as -I watched the magic web of twilight -creeping up the terrible northern wall -of the Matterhorn, and drank in the -silence of the upper world—a silence -that is something more than a mere -negation of sound—I felt that the lasting -rewards of the craft are not the exotic -moments of difficulty or danger, but the -humbler commonplaces of every climb, -the dawn breaking the shadows on the -snow, the vision of far horizons melting -into the roof of heaven, the peace and -radiant grace of sunset on the hills.</p> - -<p>An open wound and lack of training -brought on a bad dose of mountain sickness -and made the last hour a dour -struggle, but a week later I had accommodated -myself to changed conditions, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -managed to lead over the Combin without -undue pain. Only those who have -known for months the humiliating dependence -of the sick-bed can realise the -full gladness of the rope’s responsibility.</p> - -<p>There are, of course, moments of sadness -when the loss of nerve and strength -challenges comparison with the past. -The colour of things seems changed. -Lost is the old confidence on the poor -marksmanship of falling stones. Every -well-worn precaution has its meaning. -The kindly security of the rope is doubly -welcome.</p> - -<p>And yet in a state of irreproachable -virtue there often escapes a great longing -for the old unregenerate days, for the -irresponsible gaiety of those chequered -hours, for all the mirth and laughter -that waited us beyond the narrow paths -of orthodoxy. There lingers still a -chastened regret for the rollicking faith -that carried one gaily in and out of -perilous places. The hills take on a -soberer colouring from the eye that has -seen the long deferred reckoning paid -in full. But though -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span></p> - -<div xml:lang="de" class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Die unbegreiflich hohen Werke<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Sind herrlich wie am ersten Tag,’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>though one accepts their punishment as a -small price for years of unhampered joy, -there are none the less moments of irrational -passionate revolt, moments in which one -would buy back with a year of the life -that is left one solitary hour among the -untroubled mountains of youth.</p> - -<p class="copy">Printed by T. and A. <span class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to His Majesty -at the Edinburgh University Press -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="From_Mr_EDWARD_ARNOLDS">From Mr. EDWARD ARNOLD’S -List of Publications</h2> - -<h4>A BOOK THAT IS BEING WIDELY DISCUSSED.</h4> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">MIRACLES OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.</span> A Study -of Evidence.</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. 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Illustrated by the Author. 5<i>s.</i> net.</p> - -<p>‘Unlike most books on cruising, “The <i>Green Finch</i> Cruise” is not written -from the point of view of the “one-sport” man, but the common commonplace -view of the all-round sportsman taking a holiday. Such a book really -encourages people to try a single-handed cruise.’—<i>The Field.</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2 id="SELECTIONS_FROM"><span class="large">SELECTIONS FROM</span><br /> - -MR. EDWARD ARNOLD’S LIST -OF NEW AND RECENT BOOKS.</h2> -<hr class="short" /> -<h3>SERVICE MEMORIES IN FOUR -CONTINENTS.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="medium">By Surgeon-General Sir A. D. HOME, K.C.B., V.C.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="small"><i>Demy 8vo. <span class="i4">With Portrait.</span></i> <b class="i4">12s. 6d. net.</b></span></h3> - -<p>These interesting reminiscences of an Army Surgeon on active service -cover a wide field of work. Beginning with early years of service in the -West Indies, the author soon proceeded to the Crimea, where he remained -until peace was declared. A year or two afterwards he joined -the expeditionary force destined for China, which was deflected to India -by the news of the Mutiny. He was present at the Relief of Lucknow, -and won the Victoria Cross for his “persevering bravery and admirable -conduct” on that occasion. In 1860 we find him in the East again -during the China War, advancing with the Allied Forces to Pekin. At -the close of 1861, when the Civil War in America seemed likely to embroil -Great Britain, Surgeon Home was sent out to Canada, in readiness -for anything that might occur. Fortunately the clouds lifted, and before -his return to England the author was able to visit Baltimore and -Washington, where he gained many interesting impressions of the war -then in progress. The volume concludes with an episode in the Maori -War in New Zealand in 1864. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>NEW FICTION.</h2> - -<hr class="short" /> - -<h3>TANTE.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="medium">By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK<br /> - -(<span class="smcap">Mrs. Basil de Sélincourt</span>),<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Author or ‘Franklin Kane,’ ‘Valérie Upton,’ etc.</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>Crown 8vo.</i> <b class="i4">6s.</b> <i class="i4">Fourth Impression.</i></span></h3> - -<p>“I stand amazed by the qualities of the author’s genius. 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We -can only urge everyone to beg, borrow, or steal the book and read it.”—<i>Evening Standard.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">MY LIFE STORY.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">Emily</span>, Shareefa of Wazan. -Fully Illustrated. <b>12s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p>“This is a very remarkable book, and one that should interest alike those who are -fascinated by the romance of reality and those who are always glad to learn about other races -from those possessed of intimate knowledge.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">MY ADVENTURES IN THE CONGO.</span></b> By -<span class="smcap">Marguerite Roby</span>. With Illustrations and Map. <b>12s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p>“A brilliant exposure of humanitarian humbug. After reading the book I have taken -every means in my power to test the good faith of the writer. She is a woman whom I -cannot describe otherwise than as a born leader. 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We thoroughly recommend this book.”—<i>Standard.</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">REMINISCENCES OF THE YUKON.</span></b> BY -the Hon. <span class="smcap">Stratford Tollemache</span>. With Illustrations. <b>12s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">ROUGHING IT IN SOUTHERN INDIA.</span></b> BY -Mrs. <span class="smcap">M. A. Handley</span>. Illustrated. <b>12s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p>“The scope of Mrs. Handley’s book is quite inadequately indicated by the title; it really -forms a welcome addition to our knowledge of the vast and complex subject of India in that -it contains the impressions of a keen and shrewd observer on many Indian races, their -manners, customs, religions, virtues, vices, and idiosyncrasies, as well as admirable descriptions -of scenery, vivid accounts of hunting incidents and travel episodes, and instructive -little asides on the political and economical, social and racial problems of the great peninsula. -We recommend the book thoroughly; it is well written in a style that is as attractive as it is -sound, and the matter is worthy of all consideration.”—<i>Standard.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE WILDS OF PATAGONIA.</span> A Narrative -of the Swedish Expedition to Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego, and -the Falkland Islands in 1907-1909.</b> By <span class="smcap">Carl Skottsberg</span>, D.Sc., -etc. With Illustrations and Maps. <b>15s. net.</b></p> - -<p>“Few books of the kind that I have read in recent years are half as interesting. Instead -of bloody records of the butchering of defenceless beasts (for it should never be forgotten -that even tigers and rhinoceroses are practically without defence against quick-firing guns) -we have an interesting account of plants, stones, natural history, and scientific problems, all -set down by a young, well-educated and adventurous man. The book reads like what -Captain Cook’s adventures might have been had they been written by Sir Joseph Banks, and -still preserved Cook’s charm.”—Mr. <span class="smcap">R. B. Cunninghame Graham</span> in the <i>Saturday Review</i>.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE SPORT OF SHOOTING.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">Owen Jones</span>. -With Illustrations. <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">A GAMEKEEPER’S NOTE-BOOK.</span></b> BY <span class="smcap">Owen -Jones</span> and <span class="smcap">Marcus Woodward</span>. With Photogravure Illustrations. -<b>7s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">Owen -Jones</span>. With numerous Illustrations. <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE HORSE:</span> Its Origin and Development, -combined with Stable Practice.</b> By Colonel <span class="smcap">R. F. Meysey-Thompson</span>. -With Illustrations. <b>15s. net.</b></p> - -<h4><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i></h4> - -<p class="table"> -<b>A HUNTING CATECHISM.</b><br /> -<b>A FISHING CATECHISM.</b><br /> -<b>A SHOOTING CATECHISM.</b><br /> -<i>Fcap. 8vo.</i>, <b>3s. 6d. net each vol.</b><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">ACROSS THE BRIDGES.</span> A Study of Social -Life in South London.</b> By <span class="smcap">Alexander Paterson</span>. With Preface -by the <span class="smcap">Bishop of Southwark</span>. New and Cheaper Edition. Cloth, -<b>2s. net</b>; Paper, <b>1s. net</b>.</p> - -<p>“An extraordinary valuable book on the life of the children of the poor in South London. -In its way it is the most remarkable work seen for years.”—<i>Evening News.</i></p> - -<p>“It is a book that every M.P., every country and town councillor, everyone who plays, or -aspires to play, any part in public life, ought to be compelled to read several times over.”—<i>Daily -Mail.</i></p> - -<p>“It has the interest of the most thrilling story. No one can read the book unmoved or -uninterested.”—<i>Westminster Gazette.</i></p> - -<h3>Miss Loane’s Books on the Lives -of the Poor.</h3> - -<p>Miss Loane was a district nurse; she lived among the poor and for -the poor; she knows the society of the poor from the inside, yet she comes -in from the outside, consequently she sees closely enough to descry details -accurately. There are no volumes of statistics, however precise, and no -books about poor relief, however true to history, which can teach us what -Miss Loane has learned.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE COMMON GROWTH.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">M. Loane</span>. <b>6s.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">AN ENGLISHMAN’S CASTLE.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">M. Loane</span>. <b>6s.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">NEIGHBOURS AND FRIENDS.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">M. Loane</span>. <b>6s.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE QUEEN’S POOR.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">M. Loane</span> <b>3s. 6d.</b></p> - -<h4>A BOOK THAT IS BEING WIDELY DISCUSSED.</h4> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">MIRACLES OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.</span> -A Study of Evidence.</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. M. Thompson</span>, Fellow of -Magdalen College, Oxford. <b>3s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p>The importance of this work may be gauged from the fact that Dr. -Sanday has thought it worth while to devote a recent sermon, preached -in the University Church at Cambridge, to meeting its arguments.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE FAITH OF AN AVERAGE MAN.</span></b> By -the Rev. <span class="smcap">C. H. Matthews</span>, M.A., Author of “A Parson in the -Australian Bush,” etc. <b>3s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE GRAVEN PALM.</span> A Manual of the -Science of Palmistry.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>. With about 250 original -Illustrations. <b>10s. 6d. net.</b> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span></p> - -<h4>A SUMPTUOUS EDITION IN TWO VOLUMES</h4> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">HANDLEY CROSS;</span> or, Mr. Jorrocks’s Hunt.</b> -By <span class="smcap">R. S. Surtees</span>. With 24 Plates in Colour and 100 Black-and-White -Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Cecil Aldin</span>. Edition de Luxe, <b>£3 3s. net</b>. -General Edition, <b>£1 1s. net</b>.</p> - -<p>This is a complete edition of Surtees’ glorious work, illustrated by the -one artist of the day who is pre-eminently fitted to do justice to it. The -tale of the immortal Jorrocks and his Hunt is to-day the most popular -classic work on fox-hunting, and Mr. Cecil Aldin is unquestionably the -most popular sporting artist. He has entered heart and soul into the -spirit of the work, and the excellence of his pictures proves that they were -inspired by enthusiasm for his subject.</p> - -<h4>NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION.</h4> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">SCOTTISH GARDENS.</span></b> By the Right Hon. Sir -<span class="smcap">Herbert Maxwell</span>, Bart. With 32 Coloured Plates from Pastel -Drawings by Miss <span class="smcap">M. G. W. Wilson</span>, Member of the Pastel Society -and of the Scottish Society of Artists. New Edition. Medium 8vo. -<b>7s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<h4>A NEW EDITION REVISED.</h4> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">A BOOK ABOUT ROSES.</span></b> By the late Very Rev. -<span class="smcap">S. Reynolds Hole</span>, Dean of Rochester. With Coloured Plates. -Crown 8vo. <b>3s. 6d.</b></p> - -<p>This edition contains the Dean’s latest corrections of his famous book, -and a new chapter on “Progress” up to the present time by Dr. Alfred -Williams, Member of Committee of the National Rose Society.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND.</span></b> -Drawn by <span class="smcap">Helen Allingham</span> and Described by <span class="smcap">Stewart Dick</span>. -Containing 64 Coloured Plates from Drawings never before reproduced. -8vo. (9½ in. by 7 in.), <b>21s. net</b>. Also a limited Edition -de Luxe, <b>42s. net</b>.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Allingham is without a rival in the winning portrayal of simple British scenery.”—<i>Daily -Telegraph.</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN.</span> A Guide to -Social Aspirants.</b> Compiled from the Occasional Papers of Reginald -Drake Biffen. By <span class="smcap">Harry Graham</span>, Author of “Lord Bellinger,” -“The Bolster Book,” etc. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Lewis Baumer</span>. <b>6s.</b></p> - -<p>In this volume the author of “Lord Bellinger” and “The Bolster -Book” provides his readers with much excellent, if somewhat frivolous, -advice upon a variety of interesting social topics, ranging from Art to -Table-Manners, from Social Intercourse to Foreign Travel, from Dancing -to Country-House Visiting. The author’s lively style should recommend -the work, not only to aspirants after social success, but also to every -lover of humour. The value of these amusing essays is enhanced by the -presence of some sixty clever drawings by Mr. Lewis Baumer, the famous -<i>Punch</i> artist.</p> - -<h4><i>A Book for Every Home.</i></h4> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">RUTHLESS RHYMES FOR HEARTLESS -HOMES.</span></b> By Captain <span class="smcap">Harry Graham</span>. With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">G. -Gathorne Hardy</span>. Paper boards, <b>2s. 6d. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE BOOK OF WINTER SPORTS.</span></b> With an -Introduction by the Rt. Hon. the <span class="smcap">Earl of Lytton</span>, and contributions -from experts in various branches of sport. Edited by <span class="smcap">Edgar Syers</span>. -Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo. <b>15s. net.</b></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">THE DUDLEY BOOK OF COOKERY AND -HOUSEHOLD RECIPES.</span></b> By <span class="smcap">Georgiana, Countess of -Dudley</span>. Handsomer bound. <b>7s. 6d. net.</b> [<i>Fourth Impression.</i></p> - -<p class="hang"><b><span class="large">COMMON-SENSE COOKERY.</span></b> Based on Modern -English and Continental Principles worked out in Detail. By Colonel -<span class="smcap">A. Kenney-Herbert</span>. Over 500 pages. Illustrated. <b>6s. net.</b></p> - -<h4><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i></h4> - -<p class="table"> -<b>FIFTY BREAKFASTS. 2s. 6d.</b><br /> -<b>FIFTY LUNCHEONS. 2s. 6d.</b><br /> -<b>FIFTY DINNERS. 2s. 6d.</b><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="short" /> - -<p class="caption">LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">1</a> -<i>Constable</i>, by C. Holmes. London: Unicorn -Press, 1901.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">2</a> -Having no concern here with disputed attributions, -I have used the name of Patinir for convenience’ sake -alone. The connoisseur may substitute any alternative -he prefers.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">3</a> -<i>Constable</i>, by C. J. Holmes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">4</a> -<i>Five Essays on Picturesque Subjects</i>, by William -Gilpin, p. 19. London, 1808.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">5</a> -<i>A Tour to the Lakes</i>, by William Gilpin, vol. i. p. 89. -London, 1808.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">6</a> -Since this was written Mr. Binyon’s book, <i>The -Flight of the Dragon</i> (Wisdom of the East Series: John -Murray), has appeared, which treats more fully and with -far greater skill and knowledge than I possess with the -question of landscape in Eastern art. As I unfortunately -read the book too late to incorporate any of its suggestions -in the present article, I would refer those readers -who are interested to this masterly essay, which confirms -and develops the ideas at which I have hinted, -without, I am glad to say, making it necessary for me to -alter my conclusions.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">7</a> -For these observations on Indian art I am indebted -to a highly suggestive essay on ‘The Aims and Methods -of Indian Art,’ by Dr. Coomaraswamy, contained in his -<i>Essays in National Idealism</i>. London: Probsthain and Co.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">8</a> -The charge that Cézanne’s work displays a ‘personal -clumsiness of touch’ was made by Mr. Holmes in his -notes on the Grafton Exhibition in 1910, and though -denied by some critics is completely borne out by the -judgment of those who knew the artist personally. -M. Alexandre speaks of his ‘éloquente impuissance.’</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">9</a> -<i>Introduction to an Exhibition of Pictures</i>, by Camille -Pissarro, at the Stafford Gallery. London, 1911.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">10</a> -<i>La Nouvelle Héloïse</i>, Part <small>I.</small>, Letter 23.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">11</a> -<i>The Prelude.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">12</a> -<i>The Dome</i>, vol. i. p. 147. London: Unicorn Press, -1899.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">13</a> -<i>Notes on the Science of Picture-making</i>, by C.J. Holmes. -Chatto and Windus, 1910.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">14</a> -<i>Notes on the Science of Picture-making</i>, by C. J. Holmes. -Chatto and Windus, 1910.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">15</a> -Of the claim of Segantini to be considered the true -mountain artist I speak with some diffidence, as my -acquaintance with him is small. But from what I have -seen, I should say that he found himself unable to get -away from the contrast between human figures and landscape -which hampered the early English water-colourists, -with the result that the spirit of the mountains does not -dominate his pictures. In any case, his outlook is purely -that of the naturalist, and if he is right, then Mr. -Holmes is wrong—a conclusion to which I cannot -subscribe.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">16</a> -<i>Saturday Review</i>, March 4, 1911.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">17</a> -There lieth between us long space of shadowy -mountains and sounding sea. (Lang, Leaf, and -Myers.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">18</a> -And it showed like a shield in the misty deep. -(Butcher and Lang.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">19</a> -Yea, for he was a monstrous thing and fashioned -marvellously, nor was he like to any man that lives by -bread, but like a wooded peak of the towering hills, -which stands out apart and alone from others. (Butcher -and Lang.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">20</a> -They found his wife therein: she was huge of bulk -as a mountain peak, and was loathly in their sight. -(Butcher and Lang.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">21</a> -For I went up a craggy peak, a place of outlook, and -saw the isle crowned about with the circle of the endless -sea, the isle itself lying low: and in the midst thereof -mine eyes beheld the smoke through the thick coppice -and the woodland. (Butcher and Lang.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">22</a> -For thence all Ida was plain to see: and plain to -see were the city of Priam, and the ships of the Achæans. -(Lang, Leaf, and Myers.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">23</a> -No mortal man may scale it or set foot thereon, not -though he had twenty hands and feet. For the rock is -smooth and sheer, as it were polished. (Butcher and -Lang.)</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">24</a> -Nay, they stood firm, and embattled like a steep -rock and a great, hard by the hoary sea, a rock that -abides the swift paths of the shrill winds, and the -swelling waves that roar against it. Even so the -Danaans steadfastly abode the Trojans, and fled not away.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">25</a> -Pitiless that thou art, the knight Peleus was not -then thy father, nor Thetis thy mother, but the grey sea -bare thee, and the sheer cliffs, so untoward is thy spirit.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">26</a> -And Earth bore the long mountains, the graceful -habitations of the divine Nymphs, who dwell on the -wooded mountains.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">27</a> -Olympus, where, as they say, is the seat of the -gods that standeth fast for ever. Not by winds is it -shaken, nor ever wet with rain, nor does the snow come -nigh thereto, but most clear air is spread about it, and -the white light floats over it.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">28</a> -<i>Alpine Journal</i>, vol. xxii.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">29</a> -The untrodden peaks of Parnassus shine forth and -welcome for mortals the rim of the new day.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">30</a> -Mother of wild beasts.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">31</a> -Of baleful counsel, wizard.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">32</a> -Rawlinson, <i>ad Herod.</i> iv. 184.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">33</a> -<i>Ad Pindar</i>, N. ii. <small>11</small>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">34</a> -<i>Fasti</i>, v.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">35</a> -‘Might, daughter of Endurance,’ is the abstraction -with which Mr Bury replaces ‘Alcyone, daughter of -Atlas.’</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">36</a> -Ætna, mother mine.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">37</a> -Cool water which well-wooded Ætna pours down -for me from her white snow, a draught divine.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">38</a> -Was wasting away like snow beneath the long ridge -of Hæmus, or Athos, or Rhodope, or Caucasus at the end -of the world.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">39</a> -High-counselling.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">40</a> -Beneath the age-old mountains of Phlius.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">41</a> -And he called it the Hill of Cronos: for before -Oinomaos ruled, it had no name, and it was wet with -much snow.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">42</a> -Ætna, whence purest springs of fire unapproachable -burst forth from their caverns; springs which by day pour -out a lurid river of smoke, but in the darkness the rocks -are borne on eddies of blood-red flame to fall crashing -upon the ocean-plain far below. So does that prone -monster send forth torrents of fire most dread: a portent -wondrous to look upon, a marvel even to hear from those -at hand.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="label">43</a> -Pillar of heaven, snowy, nurse of keen snow through -all the year.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="label">44</a> -Cithæron, nurse of snow.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_45" href="#FNanchor_45" class="label">45</a> -Streams of fire shall one day break forth, devouring -with cruel jaws the level fields of fair-fruited Sicily: -such fury shall Typhoeus pour forth, boiling with the -missiles of hot, insatiable, fire-breathing spray, for all -that the bolt of Zeus has scorched him to ashes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_46" href="#FNanchor_46" class="label">46</a> -<i>Il.</i> xii. 278.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_47" href="#FNanchor_47" class="label">47</a> -But they stood like mists that Cronos’ son setteth in -windless air on the mountain-tops, at peace, while the -might of the north wind sleepeth and of all the violent -winds that blow with keen breath and scatter apart the -shadowing clouds. Even so the Danaans withstood the -Trojans steadfastly and fled not.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_48" href="#FNanchor_48" class="label">48</a> -And as when from the high crest of a great hill Zeus, -the gatherer of the lightning, hath stirred a dense cloud, -and forth shine all the peaks and sharp promontories, and -glades, and from heaven the infinite air breaks open.</p></div> - -</div> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3> - -<p>Obvious printer errors corrected silently.</p> - -<p>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.</p> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Oxford Mountaineering Essays, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OXFORD MOUNTAINEERING ESSAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 56063-h.htm or 56063-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/0/6/56063/ - -Produced by Anita Hammond, Wayne Hammond, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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