CHAPTER X. Cascade des Pelerines.-A Swiss Family.-Coleridge's Hymn. THERE is a water-fall in Chamouny, which no traveller should omit going to see, though I believe many do, called the "Cascade des Pelerines." It is one of the most curious and beautiful scenes in Switzerland. A torrent issues from the Glacier des Pelerines high up the mountain, above the Glacier du Bossons, and descends by a succession of leaps, in a deep gorge, from precipice to precipice, almost in one continual cataract. But it is all the while merely gathering force, and preparing for its last magnificent deep plunge and recoil of beauty. Springing in one round condensed column out of the gorge, over a perpendicular cliff, it strikes at its fall, with its whole body of water, into a sort of vertical rock basin, which one would suppose its prodigious velocity and weight would split into a thousand pieces; but the whole cataract, thus arrested at once, suddenly rebounds in a parabolic arch, at least sixty feet into the air, and then, having made this splendid airy curvature, falls with great noise and beauty into the natural channel below. It is beyond measure beautiful. It is like the fall of divine grace into chosen hearts, that send it forth again for the world's refreshment, in something such a shower and spray of loveliness, to go winding its life-giving course afterwards as still waters in green pastures. The force of the recoil from the plunge of so large a body of water, at such a height, is so great, that large stones, thrown into the stream above the fall, may be heard amidst the din striking into the basin, and then are instantly seen careering in the arch of the flashing waters. The same is the case with bushes and pieces of wood, which the boys are always active in throwing in for the curiosity of visitors, who stand below, and see each object invariably carried aloft with the cataract, in its re bounding atmospheric gambols. When the sun is in the right position, the rainbows play about the fall, like the glancing of supernatural wings, as if angels were taking a shower-bath. If you have "the head and the legs of a chamois," as my guide said to me, you may climb entirely above this magnificent scene, and look out over the cliff, right down into the point where the cataract shoots like the lightning, to be again shot back in ten thousand branching jets of diamonds. If you take the trouble to explore these precipitous gorges farther up the mountains, you will find other cataracts similar to this, in the midst of such green Alpine herbage, such dark overshadowing verdure, such wild sublimity of landscape, that the pleasure of your discoveries amply repays the fatigue of your excursions. Higher up, you are met by everlasting ice, across which you may, if you choose, according to Professor Forbes, make an unusual cut over into the Mer de Glace, and the singular scenery of the Jardin. Nature hides her grandest beauties, and often makes them almost inaccessible. Is it not because, if they were thrown in our common way, and the view of them to be gained at any time and without labor, their effect would be lost upon us? What is common is not appreciated, oftentimes is not even noticed, just as the dwellers around a great cataract never go to look at it, and become so accustomed to its noise, that they do not even hear it. Those who pursue the stream of truth to its sources have much climbing to do, much fafigue to encounter, but they see great sights. In order to live by the truth, to enjoy the verdure with which it refreshes the valleys and plains, and to quench our thirst at it, it is not necessary to pursue these higher, subtle and difficult investigations and speculations, but to be content and grateful with the life it ministers. For many drink of the truth, who know not the depths from whence it springeth, nor the heights, nor the fearful precipices, over which it has plunged and thundered. Nevertheless a patient and deep-searching Christian philosopher will find his reward, when he follows the stream upwards as well as downwards, among the mountains, as well as in the vales. In my wanderings high up among the scenery above this beautiful cascade, I became acquainted with a Swiss family, whose kindly welcome, and frank, modest manners, were to me like the music of their own wild waterfalls. The simple rural beauty both of face and deportment, in the inmates of the cottage, and their kindness of address and feeling, were as attractive as they were unexpected. It was the highest of the summer pasturages in the neighborhood of the Glacier des Pelerines. A peasant and his daughter were at work cutting their grass upon the steep declivities, and after some little talk of inquiry and answer he invited me into his mountain Chalet, which he pointed out to me a little distance below. It was the highest human habitation on that side Mont Blanc, a cabin rudely but comfortably constructed for the summer, for it would not be possible to abide there in the winter, and used as a sort of mountain dairy for the bestowment of the rich productions of their herds, tended there in their mountain pasturages. I entered the cottage and partook, with great relish, of a bowl of milk and black bread set before me by the kind mother of the family. When I rose to depart, on taking my purse to make some recompense for their kindness, I found myself unexpectedly minus. Thereupon, it being very questionable whether I could visit the mountain family again, I entered into an agreement with a sweet little girl, who had brought me a drink of cold water from the spring, that she should pick me a basket of strawberries, and bring them to me the next day at my hotel at Chamouny; and so in their debt, I bade them good bye. The next evening, as I was sitting with some friends at tea, came in an enormous bowl of the richest mountain strawberries. My maiden of the Chalet had performed her promise. I met them again several times upon the mountains, and entered into another strawberry treaty with them, and they began at length to view me quite as a brother. But after some conversation touching the essentials of piety and the tenets of the Roman Catholic Church, it was very plain that the mother had a serious suspicion of my soundness in the faith. I could not make her understand what Protestantism was, or rather, finding that she was perfectly unaware of there being any faith but her own, I endeavored simply to dwell upon the necessity of prayer with the heart, and of Christ as the Saviour. She had at first concluded that I and all my friends in America were Roman Catholics like themselves, and she took a deeper interest in me because, as she said, she had a son in America, and just so it was with the sisters, on account of their brother. I being the only American they had ever seen, they were perhaps delighted to find that their beloved absent brother, so far away across the ocean was not amidst savages. I should like to look in upon the family to-day, and carry them a Bible. All the religion in their prayer-books I greatly fear is neutralized by Ave Marias, and absolutions. Between the Virgin Mother in heaven and the Priest on earth, how is it possible they should have any just ideas of faith in the One great Mediator between God and Man. May God bless them, and bring them in some way or another to the knowledge of the truth in Jesus! I could have emptied my knapsack of Bibles forty times among the mountains, if I had had them; and the Bible would soon make Savoy as free as Geneva. There was a time during the Middle Ages, when Chamouny was inhabited by monks. The reigning Lord of the country made a present of the whole valley to a convent of Benedictine Friars, in the eleventh century. Two English travellers, Messrs. Pococke and Windham, drew attention to its wonderful scenery in 1741, and now it is a grand highway of summer travel, visited annually by three or four thousand people. A visit to Mont Blanc has become a pilgrimage of fashion. Fashion does some good things in her day; and it is a great thing to have the steps of men directed into this grand temple of nature, who would otherwise be dawdling the summer perhaps at immoral watering-places. A man can hardly pass through the Vale of Chamouny, before the awful face of Mont Blanc, and not feel that he is an immortal being. The great mountain looks with an eye, and speaks with a voice, that does something to wake the soul out of its slumbers. The sublime hymn by Coleridge, in the Vale before sunrise, is the concentrated expression of all the inspiring and heavendirecting influences of the scenery. The poem is as remarkably distinguished above the whole range of poetry in our language, In my wanderings high up among the scenery a beautiful cascade, I became acquainted with a Swiwhose kindly welcome, and frank, modest manners, v like the music of their own wild waterfalls. The si beauty both of face and deportment, in the inmates oʻ and their kindness of address and feeling, were athey were unexpected. It was the highest of the turages in the neighborhood of the Glacier des peasant and his daughter were at work cutting the steep declivities, and after some little ta answer he invited me into his mountain Chal out to me a little distance below. It was habitation on that side Mont Blanc, a cabin ably constructed for the summer, for it w abide there in the winter, and used as a for the bestowment of the rich productio. there in their mountain pasturages. partook, with great relish, of a bowl set before me by the kind mother of t to depart, on taking my purse to mak kindness, I found myself unexpect being very questionable whether family again, I entered into an girl, who had brought me a drink that she should pick me a bathem to me the next day at my their debt, I bade them good bx sitting with some friends at tes the richest mountain straw, had performed her promise. I met them again sever tered into another strawbe at length to view me quit versation touching the Roman Catholic Churci a serious suspicion of make her understand that she was perfect!, Pave would ty, one that lofty ... he drew Not be-hat is imposne force and en weakened othing like the ene, its despotic s variety, would Sunset either, the of his bed-room, ...of days of such and filled the egion. A glour common world, ir up in spirit glory is the s the mountains, mesut moon, or stars, |