> »MgJ«BW| l il^ t 
 
 |p»^*a«wHW»eittaiiEL'   
 
 sillI/UMBUIRfl::
 

 
 " The car loll ; but instinctively I clung to the conls." 
 
 Page 35.
 
 Fun tlie Clouds to tk Ikiiitaiiis 
 
 COMPKISI>'G NAKKATIVES OF 
 
 STRANGE ADVENTURES BY AIR, LAND', AND WATER. 
 
 BY JULES p:RNE, 
 
 AcTuoB OF "Twenty Thousand Leagues ukder the Sea," "A Toue 
 
 BOUND THE WOBLl) IN EtGUTY DAYS," ETC., 
 
 WITH A CHAPTER BY PAXTL VERNE, BROTHER OF JULES VERNE 
 
 TRANSLATED BY A. L. ALGER. 
 
 Jbx jFtbe iparts. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 WILLIAM F. GILL AND COMPANY, 
 
 151 Washington Street. 
 1874.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1874, by 
 
 WILLIAM F. GILL * CO.. 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 STEEKOTTPED BT C. J. PBtEKS * R<'N. 
 
 73 Fedebai. St., Boston. 
 
 Boston : 
 Pkess of Rand, Aveky, &. Co., 117 Franklin Street
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 This new volume by Jules Verne is made up of tales writ- 
 ten by him at very different dates. "Dr. Ox" is quite 
 recent, having been suggested to the author of "Strange 
 Journeys " by a most interesting experiment made in Paris 
 a few years since ; but the other stories, entitled "Master 
 Zachary," " A Winter in the Ice-Fields," and " A Drama in 
 Mid- Air," were wi-itten more than twenty years ago, and are 
 consequently anterior to the series of works which have so 
 justly made the name of Jules Verne famous. We thought 
 it only right to include these stories in a complete edition of 
 Verne's works, as they assuredly reflect no discredit on him. 
 In them the reader may discover, may foresee, the germs of 
 more important works, such as " Five Weeks in a BaUoon," 
 " Captain Hatteras," and " The Fur Coimtry," which have 
 been so successful. They are interesting as being the only 
 collection of short stories ever published by Verne, and the 
 only one of his works which has never previously been 
 translated. 
 
 A story which has nothing fictitious in it, under the title 
 of " The Fortieth French Ascent of Mont Blanc," concludes 
 the book. The story and the ascent were made by M. Paul 
 Verne, brother of M. Jules Verne. We have thought fit to 
 
 3
 
 4 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 add to Jules Verne's *' Strange Journeys" this account of an 
 excursion made by his brother under most tiying circum- 
 stances, and which ranks M. Paul Verne among our first 
 Alpine climbers. 
 
 From this medley results a volume of very varied elements, 
 strange, true, and false, which we hope may please many.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 A Dbama IK Mro-AiR. Narrating an Adventure in the 
 Infinite Space above the Clouds 7 
 
 PART II, 
 
 De. Ox's Hobby. Narrating the Adventure of Dr. Ox 
 in the Flemish City of Quiquendone . . . .37 
 
 s 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Masteb ZACHAitY. Narrating the Strange Story of the 
 Geneva Watchmaker 117 
 
 PART lY. 
 
 A WiNTEB AiiONG THE ICE-FiELDS. Narrating the Ad- 
 ventures of the Crew of " The Young Adventurer " 
 in the Polar Seas 168 
 
 PART V. 
 
 The Foetieth Feekch Ascext of Moxt Blakc. 
 Narrating the True Story of the Ascent of Mont 
 Blanc by Paul Yeme, Brotlier of Jules Yerne . . 256
 
 A MAMA IN MID -AIR. 
 
 TN September, 185-, I arrived in Frankfort-on-the- 
 -^ Main. My passage through the chief cities of 
 German}' had been marked by a brilliant series of aeros- 
 tatic ascensions, but up to this time no native of the 
 Confederation had accompanied me in my car ; and the 
 charming Parisian experiences of MM. Green, Eugene, 
 Godard, and Poitevin had been powerless to persuade 
 the grave Germans to dare aerial roads. 
 
 However, the news of my speedy ascent had scarcely 
 been announced in Frankfort, when three prominent 
 citizens requested permission to join me. We were to 
 rise two days later, from the Place de la Comedie. I 
 at once began to prepare my balloon. It was silk, 
 coated with gutta-percha, a substance impervious to 
 gas or acid, absolutely air and water tight ; and its size 
 — three thousand cubic feet — allowed of its rising to 
 the greatest heights.
 
 8 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 The day for our ascent fell during the great Septem- 
 ber fair, which draws such crowds to Franlifort. My 
 gas, of prime quality and great ascensional force, had 
 been prepared under excellent conditions ; and towards 
 eleven in the morning the balloon was filled, though only 
 three-quarters full, — a necessar}^ precaution ; for, as we 
 rise, the atmospheric strata diminish in density ; and 
 the fluid confined in the balloon, increasing in elasticity, 
 might easily burst it. I had calculated the exact 
 amount of gas required to raise my companions and 
 myself. 
 
 We were to start at noon. It was a magnificent 
 sight to see the impatient crowd as the}' pressed about 
 the lines, thronged the whole place, overflowed into 
 the neighboring streets, and hung out of every house 
 from basement to attic. The great gales of the few 
 previous da3-s had died away. An overpowering heat 
 fell from a cloudless sky. Not a breath stirred the air. 
 In such weather one might descend in the very spot 
 from which he rose. 
 
 I took three hundred pounds ballast, in bags. The 
 round car, four feet in diameter by three in depth, was 
 comfortably- furnished. The net which held it stretched 
 s3Tnmetricallyover the upper hemisphere of the balloon ; 
 the compass was in place, the barometer swung to the 
 hoop where the supporting ropes were joined, and the 
 anchor carefully cleared. We were ready to start. 
 
 Among the people who pressed about the enclosure,
 
 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR. 9 
 
 I noticed a pale and excited 3'ouug man. His face 
 attracted me. He was often a looker-on at my ascents ; 
 for I had already met him in several German cities. 
 "With an uneasy air he gi'eedily gazed at the curious 
 machine which hung motionless a few feet from the 
 ground, and spoke to no one in the crowd. 
 
 Twelve o'clock struck. It was the decisive moment. 
 My travelling companions were not in sight. I sent 
 to each one's house, and learned that one had gone to 
 Hamburg, one to Vienna, and the third to London. 
 Courage had failed them, at the last moment, to take 
 one of these excursions, which, thanks to the skill of 
 professional balloonists, are utterly free from danger. 
 As they were, in some sort, a part of the progi'amme, 
 they feared lest they might be forced to cany it out, 
 and had fled the stage just as the cui'tain rose. Their 
 courage was e^'identl3' in inverse ratio to the square of 
 their speed in running away. 
 
 The crowd thus cheated showed much ill-humor. I 
 had no fear of going up alone. In order to balance 
 the specific gra\'ity of the balloon, and the weight it 
 was to have carried, I replaced vnj companions by 
 sand -bags, and got into the car. The twelve men who 
 held the balloon by twelve ropes fixed to the equatorial 
 circle let them slip slightly through their fingers ; and 
 the balloon rose several feet. There was not a breath 
 of air ; and the atmosphere, heavy as lead, seemed 
 impenetrable.
 
 10 A DRAMA IN MID.-AIR. 
 
 "All ready?" I cried. 
 
 The men made ready. A glance showed me that I 
 could start. 
 
 "Attention!" 
 
 There was a movement in the crowd, which seemed 
 to enter the enclosure. 
 
 "Let go!" 
 
 The balloon rose slowly ; but I felt a shock which 
 threw me to the bottom of the car. 
 
 When I rose, I found myself face to face with an 
 unexpected traveller, — the pale young man. 
 
 " Sir, I salute you," said he with great gravity. 
 
 "By what right ?" — 
 
 "Am I here? Bj^ the right given me by the im- 
 possibility of your sending me away." 
 
 I was confounded. His self-possession put me out 
 of countenance : I had no reply. 
 
 I stared at the intruder ; but he took no notice of 
 my surprise. 
 
 "My weight disturbs your equilibriiun, sir?" said 
 he. "Allow me" — 
 
 And, without waiting my consent, he threw out two 
 sand-bags. 
 
 "Sir," said I, pursuing the only course left me, 
 " you have come, so be it. You must remain, so be it ; 
 but the care of the balloon belongs to me alone." 
 
 " Sir*," he replied, "your courtesy is quite French. 
 It is a native of my own country. I morally press the
 
 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR. 11 
 
 hand jon refuse me. Take your own measures, and act 
 as seems good to yow.. I will wait till you are at 
 leisure " — 
 
 "Wait?" 
 
 " To talk with you." 
 
 The barometer had fallen to twenty-six inches. "We 
 were nearly six hundred feet above the city ; but noth- 
 ing disturbed the horizontal position of the balloon, 
 for the mass of air in which it is enclosed moves with 
 it. A glassy heat bathed all objects beneath us, mak- 
 ing them unfortunatel}'' indistinct. 
 
 I again examined my companion. 
 
 He was a man of some thirty years of age, simply 
 dressed. His rudely-cut features betrayed indomita- 
 ble energy, and he seemed very sti'ong. Giving him- 
 self up to the wonders of his silent ascent, he 
 i-emained motionless, trying to distinguish the objects 
 below, which were mingled in one vague whole. 
 
 "Confounded fog!" said he after a few moments' 
 pause. 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 "You are angiy with me!" he added. "Bah! I 
 could not pay my fare ; so that I had to take you by 
 surprise." 
 
 " Nobody asks you to leave, sir." 
 
 "Well, don't you know that the very same thing 
 happened to Counts Laurencin and De Dampierre, when 
 they went up at Lyons, Jan. 15, 1784? A young
 
 12 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR, 
 
 mercliaiit named Fontaine climbed into the car at the 
 risk of capsizing the balloon. He made the round 
 trip, and it killed nobody." 
 
 " Reserve jour exi^lanations until we are on firm 
 ground again," I replied, piqued at the easy tone in 
 which he spoke. 
 
 ' ' Pooh ! Don't think of returning ! " 
 
 " Can 3'ou suppose that I shall delay descending?" 
 
 "Descending!" said he with surprise, — "de- 
 scending ! Let us think of ascending first." 
 
 And before I could prevent it two sand-bags were 
 thi'own from the car without even being emptied. 
 
 " Sir ! " I cried angrily. 
 
 " I know your skill," sedately' replied the stranger ; 
 " and your fine ascents are famous. But, if experi- 
 ence is the sister of practice, it is at least cousin to 
 theory ; and I have studied aerostatics thoroughlj'. It 
 has affected my brain," he added sadly, falling into a 
 brown study. 
 
 The balloon, having risen once more, was now sta- 
 tionary. The stranger consulted the barometer, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Here we are, eight hundred feet high. Men below 
 look like insects. See ! I verily believe they should 
 always be considered from this height, if we would 
 sanel}' judge their real proportions. The Place de la 
 Comedie has become a vast ant-hill. Look at the 
 crowd upon the quad's and the fading Zeil. We are
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 13 
 
 just above the cathedi-al. The Main is nothing but a 
 white line cutting the town in twain ; and that bridge 
 across it seems like a thi'ead thi'own from shore to 
 shore." 
 
 The atmosphere was growing chill. 
 
 " There is nothing that I will not do for you, mine 
 host," said my companion. " If you are cold, I will 
 take off my clothes and lend them to j'ou." 
 
 " Thanks ! " I replied diyly. 
 
 "Bah! Necessity knows no law. Give me j'our 
 hand. I am j'our fellow-countr^-man ; j'ou'll learn a 
 great deal from me ; and my conversation will repay 
 you for the annoyance I've caused you." 
 
 I sat down without answering, on the opposite side 
 of the car. The 3'oung man drew a large book from 
 his coat-pocket. It was a \fork on aerostatics. 
 
 " I own," said he, "the most ciuious collection of en- 
 gravings and caricatures on the subject of our aerial 
 craze. How the precious discover}^ has been at once 
 admired and scoffed at ! Fortunatel}- we no longei 
 live in an age when Mongolfieres tr}' to make artificial 
 clouds wdth steam, and to produce electric gas by burn- 
 ing damp straw and wool." 
 
 ' ' Why decry the inventors' merit ? " I replied ; for I 
 had resigned m3'self to fate. " Was it not gi-and to 
 prove by experience the possibility of rising through 
 the air?" 
 
 " WeU, sir, who denies the gloiy of the first na%igat- 
 2
 
 14 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 ors of the air ? It required immense courage to ti'ust 
 one's self to sucli frail wrappers containing nought but 
 heated air. But let me ask you, Has not aerostatic sci- 
 ence made a great advance since Blanchard's ascents, 
 nearl}^ a century ago? Look here, sir ! " 
 
 The stranger selected an engraving from his collec- 
 tion. " Here," he said, " is the first aerial voyage 
 undertaken by Pilatre des Rosiers and the Marquis d'Ar- 
 landes, four months after the discovery of the balloon. 
 Louis XVI. refused his consent to the voyage ; and two 
 criminals sentenced to death were ordered to be the 
 first to tiy aerial roads. Pilatre des Rosiers was fui'i- 
 ous at this injustice, and by means of various in- 
 trigues succeeded in getting otf. The car, which so 
 facilitates things, was not jet invented ; and a circular 
 gallery ran round the lower and smaller part of the 
 MongoLfiere. The two aeronauts were obliged to cling 
 motionless to the edge of this gallery ; for the damp 
 straw which encumbered it prevented any motion. A 
 chafing-dish with fire hung beneath the mouth of the 
 balloon. When the travellers wished to rise, they threw 
 straw on this brazier, at the risk of setting fire to the 
 machine ; and the hot air gave the balloon new ascen- 
 sional force. The two bold navigators started Nov. 
 21, 1783, from the Gardens de la Muette, which the 
 dauphin had placed at their service. The balloon rose 
 majestically over Swan Island, crossed the Seine at the 
 Barriere de la Conference, and, taking its vaxy between
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 15 
 
 the dome of the Invalides and the Military School, ap- 
 proached Saint Siilpice- Then the aeronauts fed the 
 flames, crossed the boulevard, and descended beyond 
 the Barriere d'Enfer. As it touched ground, the bal- 
 loon gave way, and bmied Pilatre des Hosiers for a few- 
 moments beneath its folds." 
 
 " An CAoL omen," said I, much interested in these 
 details, which touched me nearly. 
 
 "An omen of the catastrophe which aftei-wards cost 
 the unfortunate man his life," replied the stranger 
 sadl}'. " Have j'ou never known a similar case? " 
 
 "Never."' 
 
 "Pooh! Misfortunes often come without evil 
 omens," added my companion. 
 
 And he said no more. 
 
 Still we advanced towards the south ; and Frankfort 
 had ah-eady fled beneath our feet. 
 
 " "We may have a storm," said the young man. 
 
 " We "vnU descend betimes/' replied I. 
 
 " Bless my heart ! We'd better ascend. We should 
 be more sm-e to escape it." 
 
 And two more sand-bags vanished in space. 
 
 The balloon rose rapidl}', and stopped at twelve hun- 
 dred feet. A severe chill was felt, although the rays of 
 the sun, falling on the smface, dilated the gas within, 
 and gave it greater ascensional force. 
 
 " Fear nothing," said the stranger. " We have three 
 thousand, five hundi-ed fathoms of resph-able air. Be- 
 sides that, you needn't mind what I do."
 
 16 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 I was about to rise ; but a strong hand nailed me 
 to my seat. 
 
 " Your name? " I asked. 
 
 ' ' My name ? ^Ybat's that to you ? " 
 
 " I ask 30U j'om" name." 
 
 " M3' name is Erostratus, or Empedocles, as you 
 like." 
 
 This reply was by no means encoui-aging. 
 
 The stranger, besides, spoke with such singular sang- 
 froid^ that I anxiously asked myself with whom I had 
 to deal. 
 
 " Sir," he continued, " nothing new has been discov- 
 ered since Dr. Charles's time. Four months after the 
 discovery of the balloon, that skilful man invented the 
 valve which permits the escape of gas when the balloon 
 is too full, or you wish to descend ; the car, which facil- 
 itates the management of the machine ; the net, which 
 contains the outer covering of the balloon, and dis- 
 tributes the pressure equally- ; the ballast, which aids in 
 rising, and in maldng land ; the gutta-percha coating, 
 which makes the tissue impervious ; and the barometer, 
 which indicates the height attained. Finally, Charles 
 emplo3'ed hych'ogen, which, fourteen times lighter than 
 air, permits one to penetrate the highest atmospheric 
 strata, without exposing himself to the dangers of 
 aerial combustion. Dec. 1,1783, three hundred thousand 
 spectators thronged about the Tuileries. Charles rose ; 
 and the troops presented arms to him. He ti'aversed
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 17 
 
 nine leagues, ginding his balloon in a way never sur- 
 passed by a professional balloonist. The king gi-anted 
 him a pension of two thousand livres ; for in those days 
 new inventions were encouraged." 
 
 The stranger seemed agitated and excited. 
 
 " I sir," he went on, " have studied ; and I am con- 
 vinced that the early aeronauts could steer their balloons 
 at will. To say nothing of Blanchard, whose assertions 
 may be doubtful, Guyton Morveaux, with oars and rud- 
 der, gave his machine -visible motion in a marked direc- 
 tion. Recently, at Paris, a watchmaker, M. Julien, has 
 made con\incing trials at the Hippodrome ; for, thanks 
 to a peculiar mechanism, his aerial apparatus, of oblong 
 shape, went directly against the wind. M. Petin united 
 four hydrogen balloons, and hopes, by means of hori- 
 zontal sails partially folded, to obtain a mpture of 
 equilibrium, which, bending the machine, will force it 
 to take an oblique course. People talk of motors meant 
 to overcome the resistance of the currents of air ; for 
 example, a screw ; but the screw moving in an active 
 medium would produce no result. I, sir, I have dis- 
 covered the only way to steer a balloon ; and not a 
 scientific body has come to my aid, not a town has filled 
 up m}' subscription-list, not a government has listened 
 to me. It is infamous ! " 
 
 The stranger gesticulated -vnolentlj', and the car swayed 
 wildl}' to and fro. I could with diflScultj' quiet him. 
 
 The balloon now came into a swifter current ; and we 
 2*-
 
 18 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 advanced southwards, fifteen hundred feet above the 
 ground. 
 
 " There's Darmstadt ! " said my companion, leaning 
 over the edge of the car. " Do yo\x see the castle ? Not 
 very distinct, is it ? What can you expect ? This heat 
 makes things swim before us ; and it takes a well- 
 trained e^-e to recognize a place." 
 
 "You are sure that that is Darmstadt?" I asked. 
 
 ' ' Perfectly ; and we are six leagues away from Frank- 
 fort." 
 
 " Then we must descend." 
 
 "Descend? You wouldn't descend on the house- 
 tops, would you?" sneered the stranger. 
 
 " No, but in the environs." 
 
 " "Well. Let's get out of the way of the house- 
 tops ! " 
 
 So sajing, my comrade seized the sand-bags. I threw 
 myself upon him ; but with one hand he threw me to the 
 floor, and the lightened balloon reached the height of 
 two thousand feet. 
 
 " Be calm," said he, " and remember that Brioschi, 
 Biot, Gay Lussac, Bixio, and Barral reached far greater 
 heights in the cause of science." 
 
 " Sir, we must descend," I replied, trying to win him 
 by gentleness. " The storm is gathering round us. It 
 would not be prudent " — 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! We will rise above it, and no longer 
 fear it," cried my companion. ' ' What could be grander
 
 "With one hand he threw me to the floor, and the lightened 
 balloon reached the height of two thousand feet." I'age IS.
 
 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR. 19 
 
 tlian to float above the clouds that are bruisiug the 
 earth ! Is it not an honor thus to navigate aerial s.eas ? 
 The most aristocratic people have travelled as we are 
 travelling. The Marchioness and Countess of Monta- 
 lembert, Countess de Podenas, Mademoiselle la Garde, 
 and the Marquis de Montalembert, started from the Fau- 
 bourg St. Antoine for these unknown shores ; and the 
 Duke de Chartres displayed gi'eat address and presence 
 of mind in his ascent of Julj- 15, 1784. At Lj'ons, 
 Counts de Laurencin and de Dampierre ; at Nancy, M. 
 de LujTies ; at Bordeaux, D'Arbalet des Granges ; in 
 Italy, Chevalier Andreani ; and in our own days the 
 Duke of Brunswick, — have left the traces of theii' glory 
 in the air. To equal these great personages, we must 
 penetrate even higher into the celestial depths than they. 
 To approach the infinite is to understand it." 
 
 The rarefaction of the air considerablj^ dilated the 
 hydrogen in the balloon ; and I saw the lower part, left 
 open pui-posely, swell so much as to necessitate the 
 opening of the valve ; but my companion seemed un- 
 willing to let me manage it as I wished. I therefore 
 resolved to draw the valve-cord secretly, while he 
 talked with great animation ; for I feared to guess with 
 whom I had to deal. It would have been too terrible. 
 It was nearly quarter of one. We left Frankfort forty 
 minutes since ; and thick clouds were scudding towards 
 us from the south, straight against th^ wind. 
 
 "Have you lost all hope of seeing j'our invention
 
 20 A DRAMA JN MID-AIR. 
 
 triumph ? " I asked him with very interested in- 
 terest. 
 
 " All hope," replied the stranger sullenly. ""Wound- 
 ed by rebuffs, caricature, that ass's kick, has killed me. 
 It is an ever fresh torture reserv^ed for innovators. See 
 these caricatures of all ages, which fill my portfolio ! " 
 
 While my companion was turning over his papers, 
 I seized the valve-cord, without attracting his atten- 
 tion. I feared, however, lest he should notice the 
 whistling sound made by the escaping gas. 
 
 " How man}' jests at Abbe Miolan ! " said he. " He 
 was to go up with Janninet and Bredin. While they 
 were preparing, the Mongolfiere took fire, and the ig- 
 norant rabble tore it to tatters. Then this caricature 
 of curious animals called them Miaulant,* Jean 
 Minet,* and Gredin."-f 
 
 I pulled the valve-cord, and the barometer began to 
 
 rise. It was time. Distant thunder was heard in the 
 south. 
 
 " See this other picture," resumed the stranger, 
 without suspecting my manoeu\Te. '" It is an immense 
 balloon, uniting in itself a ship, a fortress, a house, &c. 
 Caricaturists scarcely think their nonsense will one day 
 become true. This great vessel is complete ; on the 
 left, the helm and the pilot's house ; at the prow, pleas- 
 ure-houses, a vast portcullis, and cannon to attract 
 the attention of the inhabitants of the earth or the 
 
 * Equivalent to puss. t Bow-wow.
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 21 
 
 moon ; at the stern, the observatoiy and balloon 
 launch ; in the middle, the soldiers' quarters ; to the 
 left, the ship's light ; then upper galleries for walking ; 
 the sails and pinions ; above all, the cafes and general 
 pro"\^sion shops. Admire this magnificent announce- 
 ment : ' Invented for the good of humanity. This 
 sphere starts immediatel}' for the Levant ; on its return, 
 will leave for the two poles and the farthest ends of the 
 earth. Passengers need have no fears. Every precau- 
 tion will be taken, the trip will be successful. There 
 will be an exact tariff of prices ; but the rate will be 
 alike for the nearest or most remote point ; that is to 
 say, a thousand louis for any of these excursions. 
 And we may say that the sum is very moderate, when 
 we consider the speed, the convenience, and the pleas- 
 ure to be enjoyed in this balloon, — pleasures not to be 
 found below, for every one will find all he has ever im- 
 agined. This is so true, that in the same spot some 
 will be dancing, and others at rest ; some will be feast- 
 ing, others fasting ; the wise will find sages to con- 
 verse with ; the fools will find fools. So pleasure will 
 be the soul of aerial society.' All this made people 
 laugh. But very shortly, if m}' days were not num- 
 bered, the}' should see that these airy projects were 
 realities." 
 
 We were descending ^^sibly. He did not notice it. 
 
 "Then see this sort of balloon-game," he went on, 
 showing me several of the engravings from his large
 
 22 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 collection. " This game contains the whole historj" 
 of aerostatics. It is for the use of lofty spirits, and 
 is played with dice and counters of a fixed value, to be 
 won or lost, as the case may be." 
 
 " But," I replied, " 3'ou seem to have made a pro- 
 found study of the science of aerostatics." 
 
 "Yes, sir; yes. From Phaeton, from Icarus, from 
 Architas, down, I have searched, examined, and 
 studied them all. Through me, aerostatic art would 
 render great services to the world, if God granted me 
 life. But it is not to be." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because my name is Empedocles or Erostratus." 
 
 Fortunately the balloon was still descending ; but, 
 when you are to fall, the danger is as great at a hun- 
 dred feet as five thousand feet. 
 
 " Do you remember the battle of Fleurus ? " resumed 
 my companion, who was growing more and more ex- 
 cited. " 'Twas at that battle that Coutelle formed a 
 company of balloonists, by order from the govern- 
 ment. At the siege of Maubeuge, Gen. Jourdan so 
 profited by this new stj-le of observation, that Cou- 
 telle went up twice a day with the general himself. 
 Signals passed between the balloonist and his men 
 below, by means of small red, white, and yellow flags. 
 Eifles and cannon were often fired at them while as- 
 cending ; but in vain. When Jourdan prepared to 
 invest Charleroi, Coutelle hastened to the neighbor-
 
 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR. 23 
 
 hood, rose from the plain of Jumetz, and remained 
 in the air seven or eight hours, with Gen. Morlot; 
 which doubtless contributed to win the battle of 
 Fleurus for us. And, in fact, Gen. Jourdan loudly 
 proclaimed the great benefit he had derived from these 
 aerostatic observations. But spite of the services 
 rendered at this time, and throughout the Belgian 
 campaign, the year which saw the dawn of the mili- 
 tary career of the balloon also saw its close. And 
 the school at Meudon, founded by the government, 
 was closed by Bonaparte on his return from Eg3'pt. 
 ' And yet,' says Franklin, ' what can you expect from 
 a new-born babe ? ' The child was born alive : it must 
 not be strangled." 
 
 The stranger buried his face in his hands, lost in 
 thought for some moments. Then, without raising his 
 head, he said, "In spite of my prohibition, sir, jon 
 have opened the valve." 
 
 I dropped the cord. 
 
 "Fortunately," he added, " we have three hundred 
 pounds' weight of ballast left." 
 
 " What are yom- plans ? " said I. 
 
 ' ' You have never crossed the sea ? " he asked. 
 
 " It's a pity," he continued, " that the wind drives us 
 towards the Adriatic. It's a mere brook. But high- 
 er up we may find other currents." 
 
 And, without glancing at me, he lightened the bal- 
 loon by several sand-bags. Then, in a tone of men-
 
 24 A J) RAM A JN MID- AIR. 
 
 ace, he said, "I let j^ou open the valve, because the 
 expanding gas threatened to burst the balloon. But 
 do not make another attempt." And he went on, as 
 follows : — 
 
 " You know the journey from Dover to Calais, made 
 by Blanchard and Jefferies? It was superb. The 
 7th of January, 1785, with a north-west wind, their 
 balloon was filled with gas on the Dover side. They 
 had hardly risen, when a mistake in the poise forced 
 them to thi'ow out then* ballast, lest they should fall, 
 retaining only thirty pounds. It was too little ; for, 
 the wind growing no fresher, they advanced, but ver}^ 
 slowly, towards the French coast. Besides, theii* tissue 
 being permeable, the balloon began to contract ; and 
 at the end of an hour and a half the travellers per- 
 ceived that they were descending. 
 
 " ' What shall we do?' said Jefferies. 
 
 " 'We are only three-quarters of the way across,' 
 said Blanchard, ' and at a slight elevation. By ris- 
 ing, we may encounter more favorable winds.' 
 
 " ' Let us throw out the rest of the sand.' 
 
 " The balloon gained slightly in ascensional power, 
 and soon fell again. The aeronauts then threw out 
 their books and instruments. Quarter of an hour 
 later, Blanchard said to Jefferies, — 
 
 "'The barometer?' 
 
 " ' Is rising. We are lost, and with the French coast 
 in sight ! '
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 25 
 
 " A loud noise was heard, 
 
 " ' The balloon is torn ! ' said Jefferies. 
 
 " ' No : the loss of gas has swollen the lower part of 
 the balloon. But we are still falling. "We are lost ! 
 Overboard with every thing ! ' 
 
 " Theu' pro^'isions, their oars, and rudder, were cast 
 into the sea. They were not more than a hundred feet 
 above the surface. 
 
 " ' We are rising,' said the doctor. 
 
 "'No: it is the rebound caused by the lessened 
 weight ; and not a ship in sight, not a sail on the 
 horizon ! Into the sea with our clothes ! ' 
 
 ' ' The unhapp}' men stripped ; but the balloon still 
 fell. 
 
 " ' Blanchard,' said Jefferies, ' you shall cross alone : 
 you were persuaded to take me. I wiU sacrifice my- 
 self. I will thi'ow myself into the water, and the 
 appeased balloon will rise.' 
 
 '"No, no! How fearful!' 
 
 " The balloon contracted more and more ; and its con- 
 ca^'ity, parachute-like, pressed the gas against the 
 walls, and forced it out. 
 
 ' ' ' Farewell, my friend ! ' said the doctor. ' Heaven 
 preseiwe you ! ' 
 
 ' ' He was about to fling himself over, when Blanchard 
 held him back. 
 
 "'There is still one resource,' he said: 'we can 
 cut the ropes that hold the car, and cling to the net. 
 3
 
 26 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR. 
 
 Perhaps the balloon may rise. Let us prepare. But 
 stay — the barometer falls ; we rise ; the wind in- 
 creases ! We are saved ! ' 
 
 " The travellers were now in sight of Calais. Their 
 joy knew no bounds. A few moments later they 
 descended in the forest of Guines. 
 
 " I have no doubt," added the stranger, " that, under 
 similar circumstances, j'ou would follow the example of 
 Dr. Jefferies." 
 
 The clouds rolled below us in glaring masses. The 
 balloon threw great patches of shade upon the dark 
 storm-caps, and seemed wrapped in an aureole. The 
 thunder roared beneath the car. It was frightful. 
 
 " Let us descend ! " I cried. 
 
 "Descend, when the sun is waiting for us above! 
 Down with the sand-bags ! " 
 
 And the weight of the balloon was lessened hy more 
 than fifty pounds. 
 
 At the height of three thousand five hundred feet we 
 remained stationary. The stranger talked incessantly. 
 I was completely prostrated, while he seemed to be in 
 his element. 
 
 " With a good wind we may go far," he cried. 
 " In the Antilles, there are currents of air which travel 
 at the rate of a hundred leagues an hour. At the 
 coronation of Napoleon, Garnerin let loose a balloon 
 illuminated with colored lights, at eleven in the even- 
 ing. The wind was north-north-east. The next day,
 
 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR. 27 
 
 at dawn, the inhabitants of Rome saluted it as it passed 
 over St. Peter's dome. "We must go farther and 
 higher." 
 
 I could scarcely hear. Every thing swam before me. 
 There was an opening in the clouds. 
 
 "You see that city," said the stranger. "It is 
 Spires ! " 
 
 I leaned over the car, and saw a small black spot. 
 That was Spires. The broad Rhine, like a ribbon, 
 unrolled before us. Above oui* heads the sky was 
 deep blue. The birds had long since left us ; for here 
 the rarity of the air was such that they could not have 
 flown an inch. We were alone in space : I was alone 
 with the stranger. 
 
 " It is useless for me to tell you where I design taking 
 you," said he, throwing over the compass. " Ah, 
 what a fine thing a fall is ! You know but few have 
 fallen victims to aerostation, fj-om Pilatre des Rosiers 
 to Lieut. Gale ; and such mishaps are always due to 
 carelessness. Pilatre des Rosiers left Boulogne with 
 Romain, June 13, 1785. He suspended to his gas 
 balloon a hot-au- Mongolfiere, doubtless to obviate the 
 necessity of losing gas, or throwing out ballast. It was 
 like putting a foot-stove under a powder-magazine. 
 The imprudent pair- reached the height of four hundi-ed 
 feet, and were seized by contrary winds, which carried 
 them to the open sea. Pilatre tried to descend by 
 opening the safety-valve ; but the cord was tangled in 
 
 y
 
 28 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 tlie balloon, and tore it so badly, that it was emptj^ in an 
 instant. It fell upon the Mongolfiere, whirled it away, 
 dragging with it the wretched couple, who were dashed 
 to pieces in a few moments. Terrible, wasn't it? " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, let us descend ! " 
 
 The clouds thickened round us ; and frightful peals 
 of thunder, echoed back by the balloon, roared about 
 us. 
 
 " You annoy me," cried the stranger, " and in fu- 
 ture you shall not know whether we are rising or fall- 
 ing." 
 
 And the barometer joined the compass with a few 
 more sand-bags. We must have been five thousand 
 feet above the earth. A few icicles already hung to 
 the sides of the car, and a sort of fine snow chilled me 
 to the bone. Meanwhile a frightful storm raged at our 
 feet, though we were high above its reach. 
 
 "Don't be frightened," said the stranger. "Only 
 imprudent people meet with accidents. Olivari, who 
 perished at Orleans, went up in a paper Mongolfiere. 
 His car hung below the furnace, and, ballasted with 
 combustible matter, fell a prey to the flames : Olivari 
 fell, and was killed. Bittorf, at Mannheim, saw his 
 paper balloon take fire in mid-air : Bittorf fell, and was 
 killed. Mosment went up at Lille, on a slight plat- 
 form ; a shock made him lose his balance : Mosment 
 fell, and was killed. Harris went up in an ill-built bal- 
 loon, whose valve was too big to be shut : HaiTis fell,
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 29 
 
 and was killed. Sadler staid up so long, that his bal- 
 last was exhausted ; he was dragged over the city of 
 Boston, and dashed against the chimneys : Sadler fell, 
 and was killed. Coking descended with a parachute 
 he thought perfect : Coking fell, and was killed. I 
 adore these victims of imprudence ; and I will die as 
 they did. Higher ! higher ! " 
 
 Ever}^ ghost of this fatal list passed before me. The 
 rarefaction of the air increased the expansion of the 
 gas, and the balloon still rose. I made an involuntary 
 effort to open the valve ; and the stranger cut the cord 
 some feet above my head. I was lost. 
 
 ' ' Did you see Madame Blanchard fall ? " said he. "I 
 saw her, I did ! Yes, I did ! I was at Tivoli July 6, 
 1819. Madame Blanchard went up in a small balloon to 
 save expense in filling it ; and she was obliged to fill it 
 to the utmost extent, so that the gas escaped from be- 
 low, leaving a perfect trail of hydrogen as it passed. 
 She had with her, suspended from the car by a wire, 
 some fireworks, which she was to let off. She had often 
 performed the feat. On this occasion she also carried 
 a small parachute weighted by a firework, which was to 
 fall in silver rain. She was to drop this after lighting 
 it with a torch prepared expressly. She started. The 
 night was dark. Just as she lighted the fii'eworks, she 
 carelessly passed her torch through the column of h}-- 
 di'ogen which hung about the balloon. My eyes were 
 riveted upon her. All at once a strange flash illumined 
 3*
 
 30 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 the darkness. I thought it was some surprise gi-\en 
 b}' the skilful balloonist. The flame increased, disap- 
 peared suddenly-, and re-appeared above the balloon in 
 the shape of an immense jet of burning gas. The 
 fatal glare made the boulevard and the whole Quartier 
 Montmartre as light as day. Then I saw the wretch 
 rise, twice try to close the valve, and put out the fire, 
 then seat herself in the car, and try to guide it in its de- 
 scent ; for she did not fall. The gas burnt on for some 
 moments. The balloon, shrinking fast, descended ; but 
 it was not a fall. The wind blew from the north-west, and 
 bore her towards Paris. The house, number 16, Rue de 
 Provence, at that time had x&vy large gardens. There 
 she might fall without danger. But destiny willed it 
 otherwise. The balloon and car fell upon the roof of 
 the house. The shock was slight. ' Help ! ' cried the 
 unfortunate woman. I reached the street at that mo- 
 ment. The car slipped from the roof, and struck an 
 iron bar. By this shock Madame Blanchard was thrown 
 from her car, and dashed upon the sidewalk. Madame 
 Blanchard was killed." 
 
 These stories froze my blood with horror. The 
 stranger stood erect, bare-headed, with dishevelled hair 
 and haggard ej-es. 
 
 I could no longer deceive myself. At last I saw the 
 horrid truth. I was alone with a madman ! 
 
 He threw out the rest of the ballast, and we must 
 have been carried up to the height of at least nine thou-
 
 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 31 
 
 sand feet. The blood gushed from my mouth and 
 nose. 
 
 " What can be more glorious than to die a martjTr 
 to science? " cried the maniac. " They are canonized 
 by posterity." 
 
 But I heard no more. The madman gazed around, 
 knelt, and whispered in my ear, — 
 
 " And Zambecarri's fate, have you forgotten that? 
 Iwisten ! Oct. 7, 1804, the weather seemed to clear 
 slightly. For several days the wind and rain had not 
 ceased ; but Zambecarri's announced ascent could not 
 be postponed. His enemies were jeering at him al- 
 ready-. He must go to save science and himself from 
 public scorn. It was at Bologna. No one aided him 
 in filling his balloon. 
 
 " At midnight he started, accompanied by Andreoli 
 and Grossetti. The balloon rose slowly ; for the rain 
 had penetrated it, and the gas was escaping. The 
 three bold voyagers could only observe the state of the 
 barometer by the light of a dark-lanteru. ZambecaiTi 
 had eaten nothing for twenty-four hoiurs. Grossetti 
 was also fasting. 
 
 " ' Mj' friends,' said Zambecam, ' I am freezing ; I 
 am exhausted ; I am djdng.' 
 
 ' ' He fell lifeless to the bottom of the car : so did 
 Grossetti. Andreoli alone remained conscious. After 
 repeated efforts, he succeeded in rousing Zambecarri 
 from his stupor.
 
 32 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 "'What has happened? Where are we going? 
 Which way is the wind? What time is it? * 
 
 " ' It is two o'clock.' 
 
 " ' Where is the compass?* 
 
 " ' Out of order.' 
 
 " ' Great Heavens ! The lantern has gone out.' 
 
 " ' It cannot burn in this rarefied air,' said Zambe- 
 carii. 
 
 " The moon had not risen, and the atmosphere was 
 filled with hon-id darkness. 
 
 " 'I am cold, I am cold, Andreoli ! What shall 
 we do ? ' 
 
 " The unhappy men descended slowly through a bed 
 of whitish clouds. 
 
 " ' Hush ! ' said Andreoli. ' Do j'ou hear?' 
 
 " ' What?' answered Zambecarri. 
 
 " ' A strange noise.' 
 
 " ' You are wrong.' 
 
 "'No!' 
 
 " Can you imagine these travellers in the middle of the 
 night, listening to this strange sound ? Are they to be 
 dashed against a rock ? Are they to be beaten against 
 the house-tops ? 
 
 " ' Do you hear? I should call it the noise of the 
 sea.' 
 
 '"Impossible! ' 
 
 " ' It is the roar of waves/ 
 
 " 'Too tnie.'
 
 A DRAMA IN MJD-AIR. 33 
 
 " ' Light, light ! ' . 
 
 " After five vain attempts, Andreoli obtained one. It 
 was three o'clock. The noise of the waves grew more 
 violent. They almost touched the sm'face of the sea. 
 
 " ' We are lost ! ' cried Zambecarri ; and he seized u 
 large bag of ballast. 
 
 " ' Help ! ' cried Andreoli. 
 
 ' ' The car touched the water, and the waves covered 
 them to the breast. 
 
 "'Into the sea with instruments, clothes, and 
 money ! ' 
 
 " The aeronauts stripped to the skin. The lightened 
 balloon rose with frightful rapidity. Zambecarri was 
 seized with a fit of vomiting. Grossetti bled copiously. 
 The unhapp}' men could not speak, their breath was so 
 short. They were shivering with cold ; and in an 
 instant they were covered with a coating of ice. The 
 moon seemed red as blood to them. 
 
 " After having traversed these upper regions for half 
 an hour, the machine fell back into the sea. It was 
 four o'clock in the morning. The shipwrecked men 
 were half immersed in water ; and the balloon, sail- like, 
 dragged them for hours. 
 
 " At day-dawn they found themselves near Pes.iro, 
 four miles from the coast. They were about to land, 
 when a breeze carried them out to sea. 
 
 " They were lost. Terrified sloops fled at their 
 approach. Fortunately a better-taught sailor drew
 
 34 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 near, took them on board, and they were landed at 
 Ferrada. 
 
 "A fearful voyage, wasn't it? But Zambecarri 
 was a brave and energetic man. Hardly recovered 
 from his sufferings, he recommenced his ascents. 
 During "one of them, he struck against a tree; his 
 spirit-lamp was upset upon his clothes ; he was covered 
 with flames ; and his machine was beginning to burn, 
 when he reached the ground half roasted alive. 
 
 "Finally, the 21st of September, 1812, he made 
 another ascent at Bologna. His balloon cauo;ht in a 
 tree, and his lamp again set fii'e to it. Zambecarri 
 fell, and was killed. 
 
 "And, in presence of these facts, shall we hesitate? 
 No ! The higher we go, the more glorious will be our 
 death." 
 
 Ever}" thing possible thrown over, we were carried to 
 inappreciable heights. The balloon swayed to and 
 fro. The least noise was echoed through the celestial 
 vaults. Oiu" globe, the only object which struck my 
 &je throughout immensity, seemed about to be 
 crushed ; and beneath us the starry sky was lost in 
 vast shadow. 
 
 I saw the stranger rise before me. 
 
 " The hour is at hand," he said. " We must die ; 
 we are rejected of men ; they despise us. Let us 
 destroy them ! " 
 
 " Mercy ! " I implored.
 
 A DRAMA IN MID- AIR 35 
 
 " Cut those cords. Let us set this car loose in space. 
 The force of attraction will change its direction, and 
 we shall land in the sun." 
 
 Despair gave me strength. I threw m3-self upon the 
 madman ; we locked arms, and a fearful struggle en- 
 sued ; but I was thrown down, and, holding me with 
 one knee, the madman cut the cords which held the 
 car. 
 
 "One!" he cried. 
 
 "OGod!" 
 
 •'Two! Thi-ee!" 
 
 I made a superhuman effort. I rose, and repulsed the 
 madman violently. 
 
 The car fell ; but instinctively I clung to the cords, 
 and hoisted mj'self into the net. 
 
 The madman had disappeared in space. 
 
 The balloon rose to incommensm-able heights. A 
 horrid crack was heard. The gas, ex^janded to too 
 high a point, had burst its covering. I closed my ej-es. 
 A few moments after, a damp warmth re\'ived me. I 
 was in the midst of fiery clouds. The balloon whirled 
 on with fearful, giddy speed. Taken by the wind, it 
 made a hundred leagues an hour in its horizontal 
 course, and the lightning flashed around it. 
 
 However, my fall was not very rapid. "When I again 
 opened my ej'es, I saw the green country. I was two 
 miles away from the sea ; and the whirlwind was hurry- 
 ing me on towards it, when a sudden shock caused me
 
 36 A DRAMA IN MID-AIR. 
 
 to let go my hold. My hands opened, a rope slid 
 quickly through my fingers, and I was on the ground. 
 
 It was the anchor cable, which, sweeping along the 
 surface, had caught on a projecting rock ; and my bal- 
 loon, relieved of its weight for the last time, was lost 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 When I recovered consciousness, I was in bed in a 
 peasant's hut in Harderwick, a small "sallage of Gelder- 
 land, fifteen leagues from Amsterdam, on the shores of 
 the Zuyder-Zee. 
 
 A miracle had saved my life ; but my voyage had 
 been one series of imprudences, committed b}^ a mad- 
 man, against which I could not guard. 
 
 May this terrible tale, while instructing those who 
 read, never serve to dishearten the explorers of aerial 
 paths.
 
 60 
 
 a 
 « 
 
 -a 
 'B 
 
 S-i 
 
 a 
 
 d 
 
 PI 
 ^2 
 
 ;= 55 
 - SO 
 
 I ^ 
 ai 
 
 S 'S 
 
 O bo 
 . SO 
 
 ft « 
 
 c3 
 u 
 
 •F-t 
 P. 
 
 03 
 
 > 93
 
 DE. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 I. 
 
 HOW USELESS IT IS TO SEEK THE LITTLE TOWN OP 
 QUIQTJENDONE, EVEN ON THE VERY BEST MAPS ! 
 
 TF you look for the little town of Quiquendone, on a 
 map of Flanders, ancient or modern, you will prob- 
 ably be unable to find it. Is Quiquendone a buried 
 city? No. A city of the future? Not much. It 
 exists in spite of the geographies, and has existed for 
 eight or nine hundred years. It can even reckon two 
 thousand thi'ee hundred and ninety-three souls, count- 
 ing one soul to each inhabitant. It lies thirteen miles 
 and a half to the north-west of Audenarde, and fifteen 
 miles and a quarter to the south-east of Brussels, in the 
 middle of Flanders. The Vaar, a small tributary of 
 the Scheldt, passes below its three bridges, stiU covered 
 with green roofs built in the middle ages, like those at 
 Tournay. There you may admire an old castle, whose 
 4 37
 
 38 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 
 
 first stone was laid in 1197, by Count Baldwin, future 
 emperor of Constantinople, and a guildhall with oriel 
 windows, battlements, and belfty rising three hundred 
 and fifty-seven feet above the street. Everj- hour ma}- 
 be heard a chime of five octaves, — a veritable aerial 
 piano, whose fame far surpasses that of the celebrated 
 chimes in Brussels. Strangers, if any ever pass 
 through Quiquendone, will not leave the quaint town 
 without a visit to the stadtholders' hall, adorned with 
 a full-length portrait of William of Nassau, by Bran- 
 don ; the roodloft of St. Magloire, a masterpiece of 
 sixteenth-centui-y architecture ; the well of wrought 
 iron, sunk in the midst of the great Place St. Ernuph, 
 whose rare workmanship is due to the artist black- 
 smith, Quentin Matsys ; the tomb raised in ancient 
 times to the memor}" of Mary of Burgund}', daughter 
 of Charles the Bold, who now sleeps in the Church of 
 Notre Dame in Brussels, &c. Finally', the chief man- 
 ufacturing interest of Quiquendone is the making of 
 whipped creams and barle^^-sugar on a large scale. It 
 has been handed down from father to son for several 
 centuries by the Van Tricasse family. And why does 
 not Quiquendone figure on the maps of Flanders? 
 Was it forgotten by the geographers ? or was the omis- 
 sion intentional ? I cannot sa^- ; but Quiquendone 
 certainl}- exists, with its narrow streets, fortified walls, 
 Spanish houses, its hall, and its burgomaster, — so 
 much so, that it has recently been the scene of surpris-
 
 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 39 
 
 ing phenomena, as extraordinary and incredible as 
 they are true, andVhich shall be faithfull}- reported in 
 the present account. 
 
 No one can speak or think ill of the natives of "West- 
 ern Flanders. Thej- are good, stead}', saving, social, 
 even-tempered, and hospitable people, perhaps a little 
 heavy in conversation ; but that is no reason why one 
 of th« most interesting towns in theh" territorj' should 
 not appear on anj' modern map. 
 
 The omission is much to be regretted. If history, 
 or, in default of histor}', ancient chronicles, or, in de- 
 fault of chronicles, tradition, made mention of Quiquen- 
 done — but no : neither atlas, hand-book, nor guide, saj' 
 one word concerning it. M. Joanne himself, that per- 
 sistent hunter-up of old towns, is silent. You can 
 imagine how injurious such oblivion might be to the 
 commerce and industry' of the town. But we hasten to 
 add that Quiquendone has neither commerce nor in- 
 dustry ; and that she does without them the best way 
 in the world. Her barlej'-sugar and whipped creams 
 are consumed at home, and never exported. Nor do 
 the Quiquendonians need any aid. Their desires are 
 limited, their style of li\ing modest. They are calm, 
 moderate, cold, phlegmatic ; in a word, such " Dutch," 
 as you sometimes find between the Scheldt and the 
 North Sea.
 
 4:0 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 n. 
 
 HOW BURGOMASTER VAN TRICASSE AND LATVTER NI- 
 KLAUSSE CONSULTED CONCERNING TOWN- AFFAIRS . 
 
 " You think so? " asked the burgomaster. 
 
 " I think SO," replied the lawyer, after a few mo- 
 ments' pause. 
 
 " "We must not act lightly," added the burgomaster. 
 
 ' ' It's now ten j^ears that we have discussed this im- 
 portant matter," answered Lawyer Niklausse ; " and 1 
 must own, my worthy Van Tricasse, that I cannot yet 
 take it upon myself to decide." 
 
 " I understand j-our hesitation," said the burgomas- 
 ter, after a good fifteen minutes' reflection, — " I under- 
 stand 3'our hesitation, and I share in it. It would be 
 wiser not to decide without a more careful examination 
 of the question." 
 
 " It is certain," replied Niklausse, " that this office 
 of commissaiy-civil is perfectly useless in so peaceful 
 a town as Quiquendone." 
 
 "Our predecessor," said Van Tricasse gravely, — 
 " our predecessor never said, never dared to say, a 
 thing was certain. Every affirmative is subject to 
 disagreeable conditions."' 
 
 The lawj'er nodded in assent, and was silent for 
 more than half an horn". After this lapse of time, 
 dming which neither lawyer nor burgomaster stirred a 
 finger. NUdausse asked Van Tricasse if his predeces-
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 41 
 
 sor — some twenty j-ears before — had not also 
 thought of abolishing the office of commissary-ci\il, 
 which bled the town of Quiquendone every year of 
 thii'teen hundred and seventy-five francs. 
 
 " Truly," replied the burgomaster, raising his hand 
 to his clear brow with quiet dignity, — " truly ; but the 
 worthy man died before he dared decide on this sub- 
 ject, or on any other administrative measure. He 
 was a wise man. Why am I not more like him ? " 
 
 Lawyer Niklausse was incapable of imagining any 
 contradiction to the bm-gomaster's question. 
 
 "The man who dies without ever having decided a 
 sttigle question," quoth Van Tricasse gravely, ' ' is 
 very near the perfection of this world." 
 
 So sailing, the burgomaster pressed a muffled bell 
 which uttered a sigh, rather than a sound. Almost in- 
 stantly, light steps glided gently over the stairs. A 
 mouse would have made more noise in trotting over a 
 velvet cai-pet. The door turned on its well-oiled 
 hinges : a fair-haired girl with long braids entered. 
 It was Suzel Van Tricasse, the burgomaster's only 
 daughter. She gave her father his well-filled pipe, 
 and a small copper brazier, without a word, and disap- 
 peared as silently as she had entered. 
 
 The honorable burgomaster lighted his vast bowl, 
 and was soon lost in a blue cloud of smoke, leaving 
 Lawyer Niklausse deep in thought. 
 
 The room in which these two worthy men, charged 
 
 4*
 
 42 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 with the affairs of Quiquendone, were talking thus, was 
 a parlor richly ornamented with carvings in dark wood. 
 A high chimne3'-piece, an immense hearth, on which one 
 could have burnt an oak or roasted an ox, filled up one 
 side of the room ; and opposite it was a lattice- win- 
 dow, through whose painted panes the sunbeams sifted 
 softlj'. In an ancient frame over the fire hung the 
 portrait of some good fellow^, attributed to Hemling, 
 probabl}' an ancestor of the Van Tricasses, w^ho could 
 trace their famil}' back to the fourteenth century, when 
 the Dutch and Gu^- de Dampierre wei-e fighting against 
 the Emperor Rudolph of Hapsburg. 
 
 This parlor was part of the bm-gomaster's house, one 
 of the most pleasant in Quiquendone. Built in Dutch 
 taste, and with all the qUaintness, caprice, and pictur- 
 esqueness of the pointed stjde of architecture, it was 
 considered one of the most cui'ious relics of antiquity 
 in the cit}'. A Chartreuse convent, or a school for deaf- 
 mutes, could not have been more silent than this estab- 
 lishment. Noise had no existence there : no one 
 walked, he glided ; no one spoke, he murmured. And 
 yet there were women in the house ; for, not counting 
 the burgomaster, it held his wife, Madame Brigitta Van 
 Tricasse, his daughter, Suzel Van Tricasse, and his 
 servant-maid, Lcftche Janshen. TVe must also mention 
 the burgomaster's sister. Aunt Hermance, a spinster 
 still answering to the name of Aunty Nemance, given 
 her by her niece Suzel, when a child. But spite of all
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 43 
 
 these noisy, gossiping, discordant elements, the burgo< 
 master's house was silent as the desert. 
 
 The burgomaster was a man of fifty years, neither 
 stout uor thin, neither tall nor short, neither old nor 
 young, neither florid nor pale, neither gay nor sad, 
 neither contented nor forlorn, neither active nor lazy, 
 neither proud nor humble, neither good nor bad. 
 neith&r generous nor avaricious, neither brave nor 
 cowardly, neither too much nor too little, ne quid 
 nimis, a man moderate in all things ; but b}' the in- 
 vai'iable sloth of his movements, by his hanging lower 
 lip, stiffly-lifted upper lid, his forehead smooth as a 
 copper plate, and his slightly prominent muscles, a 
 physiognomist would easily have recognized iu Van 
 Tricasse, phlegm personified.   Never had rage or an^' 
 passion, never had any emotion, quickened the beat- 
 ing of this man's heart, or caused his face to flush ; 
 never had his pupils contracted under the influence of 
 any irritation, howsoever fleeting. He was invariablj- 
 clad in good clothes, neither too large nor too small, 
 which never seemed to wear shabbj^ On his feet were 
 large square-toed shoes, with triple soles and silver 
 buckles, which wore so well as to drive his shoemaker 
 frantic. On his head was a large hat, of a style dating 
 from the separation of Flanders and Holland, which 
 made the venerable headpiece forty years old. But 
 what would you have? Passion wears out the body as 
 n-ell as the soul, the clothes as well as the body : and
 
 44 DR. OX'S HOBBY . 
 
 our worth}' burgomaster, apathetic, indolent, and in- 
 different, was impassioned in nothing. He did not 
 work, and did not rust ; for which very reason he 
 proved himself the fitting man to administer justice to 
 the city of Quiquendoue and its tranquil citizens. 
 
 Nor was the burgomaster's house more silent than 
 the city itself. In this peaceful home the burgomaster 
 hoped to reach the most distant limits of human ex- 
 istence, after seeing good Madame Brigitta Van Tri- 
 casse his wife, laid snugly away in the grave, where 
 she could never find profounder rest than she had en- 
 joyed on earth for sixty years. 
 
 This deserves an explanation. 
 
 The Van Tricasse family might rightfully be called 
 the Jeannot family. For this reason : — 
 
 Every one knows that this tj^Dical being's knife is as 
 famous as its owner, and no less durable, thanks to 
 that incessantlj'-renewed and double operation, consist- 
 ing of replacing the handle when worn out, and the 
 blade when good for nothing. Such was the identical 
 operation practised for time immemorial in the Van 
 Tricasse family, to which Nature had lent her aid with 
 rather strange complacency. Since 1340, a widowed 
 Van Tricasse had married another of the name, younger 
 than he, who, in her turn a widow, consoled herself 
 with a junior Van Tricasse, who, left a widower, did 
 the same ; and so on, without end of continuity. Each 
 one died in turn with mechanical rcgularit}-. Now.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 45 
 
 worthy Madame Brigitta Van Tricasse was at present 
 enjoying her second husband, and, unless she failed in 
 all her duty, must precede her husband (ten j^ears her 
 junior) into another world, making place for a new 
 Madame Van Tricasse ; on which the honorable burgo- 
 master fully reckoned, that the family tradition might 
 not be broken. 
 
 Such was this peaceful and silent house, whose doors 
 never creaked, whose windows never rattled, whose 
 floors never cracked, whose chimneys never roared, 
 whose vanes never squeaked, whose furniture never 
 creaked, whose locks never clacked, and whose guests 
 made no more noise than ghosts. The God Harpo- 
 crates had certainly chosen it as his temple of silence. 
 
 HI. 
 
 HOW COMMISSARY PASSAUF MADE AN ENTRY AS NOISY 
 AS IT WAS UNEXPECTED. 
 
 It was quarter of three when the interesting con- 
 versation above recorded began between the law^-er 
 and the burgomaster ; it was quarter of four when Van 
 Tricasse lighted his huge pipe, which held quarter of a 
 pound of tobacco ; and it was not till half -past five that 
 he finished smolring it. 
 
 During all this time the two parties never exchanged
 
 46 DR. OX'S HOBBT. 
 
 a word. About six o'clock the lawj'er took up the 
 thread as follows : — 
 
 " Then we will decide " — 
 
 " To decide nothing," replied the burgomaster. 
 
 " I thinl?:, on the whole, 3-ou are right, Van Tricasse." 
 
 " I think so too, Niklausse. We will make up our 
 miuds about the commissar3'-ci\il when we are better 
 informed, later : we are not limited to a month." 
 
 " No, nor to a 3'ear," said Niklausse, unfolding his 
 handkerchief, which he used with the utmost discre- 
 tion. 
 
 A fresh silence, which lasted a good houi', ensued. 
 Nothing troubled this new halt in the conversation, not 
 even the appearance of the house-dog, honest Lento, 
 who, no less phlegmatic than his master, made a polite 
 tour of the parlor. "Worthy dog ! — a model for all his 
 race. He might have been made of pasteboard, with 
 wheels at his feet, and made no less noise. 
 
 Towards eight o'clock, Lotche having brought in the 
 dim old lamp, the burgomaster said to the lawyer, — 
 
 "We have no other important business to settle, 
 Niklausse ? " 
 
 "No, Van Tricasse ; none that I know of." 
 
 " But did I not hear," asked the bm-gomaster, 
 ' ' that the tower at Audenarde Gate was in a danger- 
 ous state ? " 
 
 " You did indeed," rei^lied the lawyer ; " and, to tell 
 the truth, I should not be surprised, if, some day or 
 other, it fell and crushed some one."
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 47 
 
 "Oh!" replied the burgomaster. "Before such a 
 misfortune happens, I trust we shall have come to 
 some decision respecting the tower." 
 
 " I trust so, Van Tricasse." 
 
 " There are more urgent questions to be considered." 
 
 " Doubtless," said the lawyer ; " the question of the 
 Shoe and Leather Dealers' Exchange, for instance." 
 
 "Is it still bm-ning? " asked the burgomaster. 
 
 " Still burning, and has been for three weeks." 
 
 " Did not we decide in council to let it burn? " 
 
 " Yes, Van Tricasse, and that by your adAice." 
 
 ' ' "Was it not the safest and simplest way of getting 
 satisfaction for the fu-e ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 ' ' Well, let me see. Is that all ? " 
 
 " That is all," replied the lawyer, scratching his ear, 
 as if to assure himself that he had not forgotten any 
 thing important. 
 
 " By the by," said the burgomaster, "have ^-ou 
 heard that a flood threatened to overflow the lower 
 Quartier de St. Jacques ? " 
 
 " To be sure ! " said the lawj-er. " What a shame 
 that the flood did not occur above the Shoe and Leather 
 Dealers' Exchange ! It would have fought the flames, 
 and spared us the trouble of discussion." 
 
 " What can you expect, Niklausse," replied the 
 worthy burgomaster': " there are no such unreasonable 
 things as accidents. They have nothing in common ;
 
 48 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 and we cannot profit by one to diminish another, as we 
 would." 
 
 This fine remark from Yan Tricasse required some 
 digestion by his friend and fellow-councillor. 
 
 "Well," added Law^-er Niklausse a few moments 
 later; " but we hare never even mentioned the most 
 important thing." 
 
 "What important thing? Is there anything im- 
 portant ? " asked the burgomaster. 
 
 " Of course ; about lighting the streets." 
 
 " Oh, 3'es ! " said the burgomaster. " If my memory . 
 serves me rightly^ you mean Dr. Ox's scheme for light- 
 ing the streets ? " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 "WeU?" 
 
 "It is progressing finely, Niklausse," said the bur- 
 gomaster. ' ' They are lajing the pipes ; and the works 
 are being built." 
 
 " Perhaps we've been a little hasty in this matter," 
 said the law^^er, shaMng his head. 
 
 " Perhaps," said the burgomaster ; " but our excuse 
 is, that Dr. Ox pays all the expenses of his experiment 
 It will not cost us a penm'." 
 
 " That is, indeed, our excuse. Then we must 
 travel with our age. If the experiment succeeds, 
 Quiquendone will be the first city in Flanders ever 
 lighted with 0x3' — what do j'ou call it — gas ? " 
 
 " Oxyh3'drogen gas."
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 49 
 
 " Hurrah for the oxyh^'drogen gas ! " 
 
 Just then the door opened ; and Lotche announced 
 that the burgomaster's supper was ready. 
 
 Lawyer Niklausse rose to take leave of Van Tricasse, 
 to whom so many decisions arrived at, and affairs dis- 
 cussed, had given quite an appetite. It was then de- 
 cided that a meeting of prominent citizens should be 
 held, to consider Avhether they should decide provision- 
 ally on the really urgent question of Audenarde Tower. 
 
 The two worthy officials then turned toward the 
 street-door, one showing the other out. The lawyer, 
 having reached the last step, lighted a small lantern, 
 which was to guide him through the dark streets of 
 Quiquendone, not yet illumined by Dr. Ox's gas. 
 The night was black ; it was October ; and a slight 
 fog overhung the town. 
 
 Lawj'er Niklausse's preparations for departure con- 
 sumed a good half-hour ; for, after lighting his lantern- 
 he had to put on his great cowhide clogs and his thick 
 sheepskin gloves ; then he turned up his fur collar, 
 pulled his hat over his ej-es, grasped his heavj' hook- 
 handled umbrella, and prepared to start. 
 
 Just as Lotche, who was holding the light for her 
 master, was about to draw the bolts, an unexpected 
 lioise was heard without. 
 
 Yes, incredible as it may appear, a real noise, such 
 as the city had not heard since the taking of the don- 
 jon by the Spanish, in 1513, a frightful noise, waked 
 
 5
 
 50 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 
 
 the sleeping echoes of the old Van Trieasse mansion. 
 Some one was pounding on that door, hitherto ^•irgilI \o 
 every brutal touch. Some one struck redoubled blows 
 with a blunt instrument, which must have been a knot- 
 ty' stick, wielded by a sturd}' hand. "With the blows 
 were mingled cries and calls. These words were dis- 
 tinctly heard, — 
 
 " Monsieur Van Trieasse! Monsieur burgomaster' 
 Open, open quickly ! " 
 
 The burgomaster and the lawyer, quite confounded, 
 gazed at each other without a word. This surpassed 
 their wildest di'eam. The old castle culverin, which 
 had not been used since 1385, might have been fii-ed 
 in the parlor without " flooring " the dwellers in the 
 Van Trieasse mansion more completely. Excuse the 
 phi'ase for its suitability to the occasion. 
 
 Meanwhile the blows, the cries, the calls, increased. 
 Lotche, recovering herself, ventured to speak. 
 
 "Who's there?" she asked. 
 
 "It's I! It's I!" 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " Commissary Passauf." 
 
 Commissary Passauf ! The very man whose ofBce 
 the}' had for ten j'ears tried to suppress. What was 
 the matter ? Had the Burgundians invaded Quiquen- 
 done, as they did in the fourteenth century? No less 
 important an event could have so moved Commissary 
 Passauf, who would not j'ield a point in calmness and 
 phlegm to the bm-gomaster himself.
 
 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 51 
 
 At a sign from Van Tricasse, foi the good man 
 could not speak, the bolt was withdrawn, and the 
 door opened. 
 
 Commissary Passauf burst into the room like a 
 whirlwind. "What is the matter, Mr. Commissarj- ? " 
 asked Lotche, a brave gui, who never lost her head in 
 the most trj-ing times. 
 
 ""What is the matter!" answered Passauf, whose 
 big round eyes expressed lively emotion. " The matter 
 is that I come from Dr. Ox's house, where there is a 
 party, and there " — ' 
 
 " There?" said the lawyer. 
 
 ' ' There I witnessed such a quarrel that — Bur- 
 gomaster, they talked politics ! " 
 
 "Politics?" repeated Van Tricasse, his very wig 
 standing on end. 
 
 " Politics," said Commissary Passauf, " a thing that 
 has not happened in Quiquendone for more than a hun- 
 dred years. Then the discussion grew fierce. Law3'er 
 Andre Schut and Dr. Dominic Custos took sides with 
 such violence, that I fear the^U call each other 
 out." 
 
 " CaU each other out ! " cried the lawyer. "A duel ! 
 A duel in Quiquendone ! " And what did Lawyer 
 Schut and Dr. Custos saj- ? " 
 
 "These ver}- words : 'Sir lawyer,' said the doctor 
 to his adversary-, ' jovl go rather too far, it seems to me, 
 and don't stop to measure your words.' "
 
 52 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 Burgomaster Van Tricasse clasped his hauds. The 
 law^-er turned pale, and let his lantern fall. The com- 
 missary shook his head. So highl}' provocative a 
 phrase, uttered hj two prominent citizens ! 
 
 "That Dr. Custos," muttered Van Tricasse, "is 
 decidedly a dangerous character, a craz}' pate. Come, 
 gentlemen ! " 
 
 And, upon this, Law^-er Niklausse and the commis- 
 sary returned to the parlor with Burgomaster Van Tri- 
 casse. 
 
 rv. 
 
 HOW DR. OX PROVED HIMSELF A PHTSIOLOGIST OF THE 
 FIRST ORDER AND A BOLD EXPERIMENTALIST. 
 
 "Who was this fellow known by the strange name of 
 Dr. Ox? An original, of course, but at the same time a 
 daring savant, a ph3'siologist whose labors were known 
 and appreciated throughout scientific Europe, a lucky 
 rival of Davj', Dalton, Bostock, Menzies, Godwin, 
 Vierordt, and all those gi'eat minds who have raised 
 ph3'siology to the foremost rank among modern sciences. 
 
 Dr. Ox was a man of medium height and size, and 
 aged — but we will not be particular as to his age or 
 nationality ; for what matters it ? Enough to know that 
 he was a strange being, hot-headed and impetuous, a
 
 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 53 
 
 character fi'om a Hoffman tale, and in sing.ilar contrast 
 with the people of Quiqueudone. He had an impertur- 
 bable confidence in himself and his doctrines. Always 
 smiling, vralking with head erect, shoulders thi'own back, 
 easy and unrestrained, ^\ith wide expanded nostrils, 
 and large mouth drawing in great draughts of air*, it 
 was a pleasure to look at him. He was alive, thor- 
 oughly alive, well balanced in every part, in fine run- 
 ning order, with quicksilver in his veins, and never 
 letting the gi-ass grow under his feet. He was never 
 at rest, and overflowed in hastj' words and superabun- 
 dant gestures. 
 
 "Was this Dr. Ox rich, that he proposed to light 
 the whole town at his own expense ? 
 
 Probabl}', since he allowed himself such extrava- 
 gance ; and that is the only answer we can give to so 
 indiscreet a question. 
 
 Dr. Ox arrived five months before in Quiquendone, 
 together with his assistant, who answered to the name 
 of Gideon Ygene, a tall, thin, chy, but no less lively 
 fellow than his master. 
 
 And now, why had Dr. Ox agreed to light the town 
 at his own expense ? "Why had he chosen the peaceful 
 Quiquendonians, the Dutchest of all Dutch? and wh}- 
 did he desire to endow their city with this unlvnoA\ n 
 -ight? Did he design some gi'eat physiological ex}3eri- 
 ment under this pretext, working in anima vili? Or 
 what was this strange creature's plan? "We cannot 
 5*
 
 54 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 tell, Dr. Ox having no other confidant than his assist- 
 ant Ygene, who, moreover, obeyed him blindly. 
 
 To all appearance, at least, Dr. Ox meant to light 
 the town, which needed it sadly, " especially at night," 
 us Commissary Passauf shrewdly remarked. So works 
 for the manufacture of gas had been built. The gas- 
 ometers were in working order ; and the conduit pipes, 
 running under the streets, were soon to appear in the 
 shape of burners in all the public buildings, and even 
 in the houses of certain friends of progress. 
 
 Van Tricasse, in his quality of bm-gomaster, Nik- 
 lausse in his quality of town councillor, and some few 
 leading citizens, felt authorized to introduce the new 
 light into their own houses. 
 
 If the reader will remember, it was mentioned in the 
 burgomaster's and lawyer's lengthy conversation, that 
 the city would be lighted, not by the combustion of 
 \Tilgar carbm-etted hydrogen, produced by the distilla- 
 tion of oil, but by a much more modern gas, twenty 
 times more brilliant, — oxyhydrogen gas, produced by 
 a mixture of oxygen and h^-drogen. 
 
 Now, the doctor, a skilful chemist and ingenious 
 experimentalist, knew a way of producing this gas in 
 large quantities and at a cheap rate, not by the use of 
 manganate of soda, according to M. Tessie du Motay's 
 method, but simply bj^ decomposing slightly' acidulated 
 water, by means of a battery formed of new elements, 
 invented by himself ; so that no costly substances, no
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 55 
 
 platina, no retorts, no fuel, no delicate apparatus, were 
 required to produce the two lands of gas separately. 
 An electric current traversed large tubs of water ; and 
 the liquid element was decomposed into its two prime 
 factors, — oxygen and hydrogen. The oxygen passed 
 to one side ; the h^'di'ogen, in double proportion to its 
 former partner, passed to the other. They were col- 
 lected in separate tanks, : — a necessary precaution, 
 since theu' mixture would have produced a fearful 
 explosion, if they caught fire. Then pipes ay ere to con- 
 vey them separately to the various burners, which would 
 be so prepared as to guard against all risk of an explo- 
 sion. A flame of remarkable brilliance would thus be 
 produced, — a flame which would rival the electric light, 
 and which, as everj- one knows, according to Cassel- 
 mauu's experiments, would equal that of eleven hun- 
 dred and seventy-one candles, not one more nor less. 
 
 The city of Quiquendone would certainly gain a su- 
 perb light by this generous project ; but that was the 
 least part of Dr. Ox's and his assistant's plan, as mil 
 be seen in the end. 
 
 The very day after Commissary Passauf had made 
 so startling an entry into the burgomaster's parlor, 
 Gideon Ygene and Dr. Ox were talking together in 
 their common laboratoiy on the ground-floor of the 
 principal building in the gas-works. 
 
 " Well, Ygene, well!" cried Dr. Ox, rubbing his 
 hands. "You saw the good Quiquendonians at out- re-
 
 56 BR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 ception 3'esterday, the fellows who form the counecting 
 link between sponges and coralliginous excrescences. 
 You saw them disputing, and provoking each other by 
 word and gesture, morally and physically changed al- 
 ready. " And this is but the beginning. Wait until we 
 treat them to a strong dose ! " 
 
 " Indeed, master," answered Gideon Ygene, scratch- 
 ing his sharp nose with the tip of his forefinger, " the 
 experiment promises well ; and, if I had not been pru- 
 dent enough to close the stopcock, there's no knowing 
 what would have happened." 
 
 "You heard that Law^-er Schut and Dr. Gustos ? " 
 added Dr. Ox. " The phi-ase was no harm in itself; 
 but, from the mouth of a Quiqueudouian, it was equal 
 to the whole list of insults uttered by Homeric heroes 
 before unsheathing their swords. Oh these Dutch ! 
 You'll see what we'll make of them j'et ! '' 
 
 "We shall make ingrates of them," replied Gideon 
 Ygene, in the tone of a man who judges humanity at 
 its proper value. 
 
 "Bah!" cried the doctor, "what matter whether 
 they recognize our kindness, or not, if our experiment 
 succeeds ? " 
 
 " Besides," said the assistant with a malicious smile, 
 " have 3'ou no fear of deranging the lungs of these 
 honest Quiquendonians by introducing such an exciting 
 element into their respirator^' organs ? " 
 
 "So much the worse for them!" replied Dr. Ox..
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 57 
 
 "It is in the interest of science. "WTiat should you 
 say if dogs or frogs refused to permit vivisection ? " 
 
 It is A'ery probable, that, if we consulted frogs and 
 dogs, they might make some objection to the practice 
 of vivisection. But Dr. Ox evidently thought he had 
 found an in-efutable argument ; for he heaved a sigh 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 "After all, master, yoM are right," replied Gideon 
 Ygene with an air of conviction. " "We could find no 
 better subjects than these people of Quiquendone." 
 
 " We could not," said the doctor, emphasizing each 
 word. 
 
 " You have felt these creatui'es' pulses?" 
 
 " A hundred times." 
 
 " And what is their medium pulsation ? " 
 
 "Not fifty beats a minute. Just think! a town, 
 where, for a centmy, there has not been even the 
 shadow of a discussion ; where the carters never swear, 
 the cabmen never wrangle ; where the horses never run 
 awaj', the dogs never bite, and the cats never scratch, — • 
 a town whose police-court never has a case from one 
 year's end to another, — a town where no one cares 
 for any thing, for art or for commerce, — a town where 
 policemen are mythical beings, and in which there has 
 not been a lawsuit for a hundred years, — a town, iri 
 fine, where, for thi'ee hundred years, a blow has nevei 
 been giveu, nor a box on the ear exchanged. You see, 
 ■Master Ygene, that this cannot last, and we must 
 bring about a change."
 
 58 BB. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 "Just SO, just so!" replied the enthusiastic as* 
 sistant. " And the air of the town, master, have 3'ou 
 anatyzed it ? " 
 
 ' ' I have not failed to do so : ninety- nine parts 
 azote, one part oxygen, and carbonic-acid and watery 
 \apor in variable quantities. Those are the ordinary 
 proportions." 
 
 " Good, doctor, good ! " said Master Ygene. " The 
 experiment will be grand, and it must be successful." 
 
 " And, if it is successful," added Dr. Ox triumph- 
 antly, " we will reform the world." 
 
 V. 
 
 HOW THE BUEGOMASTEE AND THE LAWYER VISITED 
 DR. OX, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO. THEM. 
 
 Lawter Niklausse and Bui'gomaster Van Tricasse 
 knew now what it was to pass a restless night. The 
 grave event which had taken place in Dr. Ox's house 
 really kept them awake. What would be the result of 
 it? Thej' could not imagine. Would they have to 
 settle any thing? Would municipal authority, repre- 
 sented by them, be forced to interfere? Must they 
 issue an'ests to prevent a renewal of the scandal ? 
 
 All these doubts could not but disturb such tranquil
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 59 
 
 natures. The two worthies, therefore, before parting, 
 " decided " to meet the next day. 
 
 The next day, then, before dinner. Burgomaster Van 
 Tricasse transported himself to Lawj-er NLklausse's 
 house. He found his friend more calm. He himself 
 felt quite as usual. 
 
 " Nothing new?" inquired Van Tricasse. 
 
 " Nothing new since yesterday," replied Niklausse 
 
 " And Dr. Dominic Gustos? " 
 
 " I have heard no more about him than about Lawyer 
 Andi'e Schut." 
 
 After an hour's conversation, which could be jjut 
 into three lines, and which it would be foolish to re- 
 peat, the lawyer and the burgomaster resolved to pay 
 a visit to Dr. Ox, that the}- might draw something out 
 of him unawares. 
 
 Contrary to their custom, their decision once taken, 
 the two worthies set to work to carry it out at once. 
 They left the house, and proceeded towards Dr. Ox's 
 gas-works, on the outslcirts of the town, near Aude- 
 narde Gate, — the very one whose tower was falling to 
 decay. 
 
 The bm-gomaster and the lawyer did not take each 
 other's arm, but walked, passibus cequis, with slow and 
 solemn steps, which advanced them about thirteen 
 inches per second. This was their usual gait ; for no 
 one, within the memoiy of man, had ever been known 
 to run through the streets of Quiquendone.
 
 60 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 From time to time, at a calm and tranquil cross- 
 road, or at the corner of some quiet street, our two 
 worthies stopped to speak to some one. 
 
 " Good-day, burgomaster ! " said one. 
 
 " Good-day, my friend ! " replied Van Tricasse. 
 
 '' Xothing new, lawyer? " asked another. 
 
 " Nothing new," said NUdausse. 
 
 But, by certain strange signs and inquisitive glances, 
 the}' guessed that last night's quarrel was known 
 throughout the town. The very road pursued by Van 
 Tricasse might tell the most obtuse Quiquendonian 
 that the burgomaster was bound on some important 
 errand. The Custos-Schut affair filled ever}' mind ; 
 
 • 
 
 but people were not yet read}' to take sides. The 
 lawyer and the doctor were, on the whole, highly-esti- 
 mable foUvs. Lawyer Schut, never ha^'ing had occa- 
 sion to plead, in a city where courts and judges only 
 existed in tradition, had never lost a case. As for 
 Dr. Gustos, he was an honorable practitioner, who — 
 an example to all his brethren — cured sick men of 
 every illness save mortal ones, — a bad habit, unfor- 
 tunalol}- followed by the members of every faculty in 
 every country. 
 
 On arriving at Audenarde Gate, the lawyer and the 
 burgomaster wisely made a slight detour, to get out of 
 the • ' line of fall " of the tower ; then they considered 
 it attentiA ely. 
 
 " I think it will fall," said Van Tricasse.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 61 
 
 " I think so too," said Niklausse. 
 
 " Unless it is propped up," added Van Tricasse. 
 " But shall we prop it up? Tliat is the question." 
 
 "Yes, that is the question," said Niklausse. 
 
 A few moments after, they presented themselves at 
 the gas-house door. 
 
 " Is Dr. Ox in? " they asked. 
 
 Dr. Ox was always in for the great authorities of the 
 ' (.ity ; and they were at once introduced into the cele- 
 brated pliysiologist's laboratory. 
 
 The two worthies may have waited a full hour before 
 
 the doctor made his • appearance : at least, we are 
 
 .forced to think so ; for the burgomaster, for the first 
 
 time in his life, showed some impatience, in which his 
 
 comrade shared. 
 
 Dr Ox came at last, and excused himself for keep- 
 ing the gentlemen waiting ; but a plan for a gasometer 
 to correct, a pipe to examine . . . 
 
 All was going on finely. The oxygen conduits were 
 already laid. Before many months the town would 
 be splendidly lighted. The two worthies could alread}^ 
 see the mouths of the burners which came out in the 
 doctor's room. 
 
 Then the doctor inquired the motive which procured 
 him the honor of a visit from the burgomaster and the 
 lawyer. 
 
 "Wh}', to see you, doctor, to see 3'ou!" answered 
 Van Tricasse. " It's a long time since we've had that
 
 62 DR. OX'S nOBBY. 
 
 pleasure. "We rarely go out in our good town of Qui- 
 quendone. We count our steps, and are happy when 
 nothing disturbs our quiet life." 
 
 Nildausse stared at his friend. His friend had 
 never made such a long speech before, — at least, with- 
 out taking time, and punctuating his phrases by long 
 pauses. It seemed to him that Van Tricasse expressed 
 himself with unwonted fluency. Nildausse himself felt 
 an u'resistible desire to talk. 
 
 As for Dr. Ox, he gazed attentively at the burgo- 
 master with his e\il ej^es. 
 
 Van Tricasse, who never argned until comfortably 
 installed in an easy-chau', had risen. Some strange 
 nervous excitement, quite foreign to his nature, pos- 
 sessed him. He did not yet gesticulate ; but that 
 would soon follow. As for the lawj^er, he rubbed his 
 legs, drawing long, deep breaths. His gaze grew 
 more and more animated; and he "decided," if need 
 be, to sustain his faithful friend, the burgomaster. 
 Van Tricasse rose, took several paces forwards, then 
 seated himself again opposite the doctor. 
 
 " And in how many months," he asked with slight 
 emphasis, — "in how many months do you say your 
 task will be completed ? " 
 
 " In three or four months, burgomaster," answered 
 Dr. Ox. 
 
 " Three or four months ! That's a very long time," 
 said Van Tricasse.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 63 
 
 Much too long," added Niklausse, who, no longer 
 able to sit still, had also risen. 
 
 ""We require that space of time for preparation," 
 said the doctor. "The workmen, whom we have 
 chosen from the people of Quiquendone, are by no 
 means expeditious." 
 
 "How? Not expeditious !" cried the burgomaster, 
 who seemed to take the remark as a personal offence. 
 
 " No, burgomaster," said Dr. Ox serenely. " A 
 French workman could do as much in a day as ten of 
 3'our fellows : you know the}- are pure Flemish." 
 
 "Flemish!" cried Lawj-er Niklausse, doublmg his 
 fists. " "What do you mean by that, sir ? " 
 
 " Simply what every one else means by it," said the 
 doctor, smiling. 
 
 ""Well, sir," said the burgomaster, striding up and 
 down the room, "I don't like such insinuations. The 
 workmen of Quiquendone are as good as the workmen 
 of an}- city in the world, let me tell 3'ou ; and we 
 sha'ii't send to Paris, or to London either, for models. 
 As for your work, I beg you will hasten its completion. 
 Our pavements are torn up for the laying of the pipes ; 
 and it hinders travel. Commerce will suffer ; and I, 
 the chief officer of the town, don't care to be blamed, 
 however justly." 
 
 Brave burgomaster! He talked of commerce, of 
 traA'el ; and these unaccustomed words did not stick in 
 his throat. "What could have happened to him?
 
 64 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 " Besides," added Niklausse, " the city can't be left 
 in darkness any longer." 
 
 "But," said the doctor, " a town that has waited 
 eight or nine years " — 
 
 "All the more reason, sir," said the burgomaster, 
 emphasizing his words. " Times have changed. This 
 is the age of progress, and we will not be left behind ! 
 Our streets must be lighted in less than a month, or 
 3"ou must pay a fine for ever}' daj^'s delaj'. And what 
 if some scuffle should occur in the darkness ? " 
 
 "To be sure ! " cried Niklausse. " It only takes a 
 spark to inflame a Fleming. Fleming, flame " — 
 
 "And, b}' the way," said the burgomaster, cutting 
 his friend short, " the chief of city police. Commissary 
 Passauf, reports that there was a discussion at your 
 rooms last night, sir. "Was he wrong in saying that it 
 was a political discussion ? " 
 
 " Quite right, burgomaster," answered Dr. Ox, who 
 could not repress a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 ' ' And was there not a quarrel between Dr. Dominic 
 Custos and Lawyer Andre Schut?" 
 
 "Yes, lawj-er ; but they exchanged no very serious 
 woi'ds." 
 
 " Not very serious ! " cried the burgomaster, — " not 
 very serious, when one man tells another that he does 
 not consider his words ! What are you made of, sir ? 
 Don't yon know that in Qi<iquendone it takes very lit- 
 tle more to bring about most disa;2:recable results?
 
 DR. OX'S nOBBY. G5 
 
 Wh}', sir, if 3'ou or anj' one else dared to use such lan- 
 guage to me " — 
 
 " Or to me," said Niklausse. 
 
 Uttering these words with threatening tones, the 
 two worthies confronted Dr. Ox, with arms akimbo-, and 
 hair erect, ready to attack him, if a sign — less than a 
 sign, a look — gave them reason to tliinli: he had any 
 such intention. 
 
 But the doctor never winked, 
 
 "At any rate, sir," resumed the burgcftnaster, "I 
 make you responsible for whatever takes place in your 
 house. I am surety for the peace of the citj' ; and I 
 will not have it disturbed. The events of yesterday 
 must not be renewed, or I shall do my duty, sir. Do 
 3'ou understand me ? Answer, sir ! " 
 
 So saj'ing, the burgomaster, wildly excited, raised 
 his voice to the pitch of passion. He was furious — 
 our worthy Van Tricasse ; and he could have been 
 heard in the street. At last, quite beside himself, and 
 seeing that the doctor did not reply to his threats, he 
 said, — 
 
 " Come, Niklausse ! " 
 
 And, slamming the door with a violence that shook 
 the house, the burgomaster bore the lawyer off in his 
 train. 
 
 Graduall}' the worthy men grew calm. They wa^ied 
 more slowly ; their pace slackened ; their color faded ; 
 from scarlet they grew pink. 
 
 6*
 
 66 DR. OX'S nOBBY. 
 
 And, fifteen minutes after leading the gas-works, Van 
 Tricasse said mildl}- to Xiklausse, — 
 
 " A nice man, that Dr. Ox. I am always glad to 
 see him," 
 
 VI. 
 
 HOW FRANTZ NIKLAUSSE AND SUZEL VAN TRICASSE 
 FORMED PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 
 
 Our readers know that the bm'Sfomaster had a daush- 
 ter. Miss Suzel ; but, bright as they ma}' be, they have 
 not guessed that Lawyer Niklausse had a son, young 
 Frantz. And, had they guessed it, they could never 
 have dreamed that Frantz was engaged to Suzel. We 
 will add that the young folks were just made for each 
 other, and that they loved in the mode of Quiquendone. 
 
 You must not think that young hearts never throbbed 
 in this exceptional city ; only they throbbed with a cer- 
 tain stupor. People married there as they do every- 
 where else ; but they took their time about it. Lovers, 
 before taking on those solemn bonds, wished to stud}' 
 one another ; and the study lasted at least ten years, as 
 at school. People seldom " gi'aduated " sooner. 
 
 Yes, ten years ! ten years, they courted ! Is that too 
 long wlien life-unions are to be made ? Men study ten 
 years to become a doctor or an engineer, a lawyer or a
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 67 
 
 minister ; and is it less difficult to become a husband ? 
 Impossible, and, whether a question of right or of tem- 
 perament, we agree with the Quiquendonians in this 
 delay. When we see matches made in a few months, 
 in other cities, we shrug our shoulders, and hasten to 
 send our sons and daughters to Quiquendonian schools. 
 
 "Within half a century", but one wedding had come ofi 
 in less than two j'ears, and that had turned out badl}'. 
 
 Frantz Niklausse loved Suzel Van Tricasse ; but he 
 loved her calml}*, as one does love when he has ten years 
 before him in which to win the object of his affections. 
 Once a week, at a certain time, Frantz called for Suzel, 
 and took her to the banks of the Vaar. He took care 
 to bring his fishing-line ; and Suzel ncA'er forgot her 
 embroidery, on which lier pretty fingers wove the most 
 unnatural of blossoms. 
 
 "We must here mention that Frantz was a vouth of 
 twenty-two ; that a light peach-down tinted his cheeks ; 
 and that his voice hardly stretched from one octave to 
 another. 
 
 As for Suzel, she was pink and white. She was 
 seventeen, and had no dislilce to fishing. A singular 
 pastime that — to struggle with a barbel ; but Frantz 
 enjoyed it. It suited his temperament. He could 
 wait patiently' as possible, contented to watch, with a 
 dreamy eye, the cork trembling on the surface ; and if, 
 after a sitting of six hours, a modest barbel took pity 
 on him, and consented to be caught, he w^as happj- ; but 
 he could restrain his emotion.
 
 68 DR. OX'S nOBBY. 
 
 On the day in question, our two lovers were sitting 
 on the green bank. The clear Vaar rippled a few feet 
 below them. Suzel carelessl}' drove her needle through 
 the canvas ; Frantz moved his line mechanically from 
 left to right, then let it stem the current from right to 
 left. The barbels made fanciful circles in the water 
 about the float, while the empty hook dangled lower 
 down. 
 
 From time to time, — 
 
 " I think I've got a bite, Suzel," said Frantz, without 
 lifting his ej'es. 
 
 "Do 3'ou think so, Frantz?" answered Suzel, drop- 
 ping her work for a moment, to follow her lover's line 
 with an anxious eye. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Frantz. " I thought I felt a little 
 twitch : I was mistaken." 
 
 " There is a bite, Frantz," said Suzel in her sweet, 
 pure voice. " But be sure j'ou hook him in time. You're 
 alwaj-s several seconds behindhand ; and the barbel 
 takes advantage of it to escape." 
 
 " Would you lilve to take my line, Suzel? " 
 
 "With pleasure, Frantz." 
 
 " Then give me your work. Let's see if I am more 
 skilful with the needle than the hook." 
 
 And the 3'oung girl took the line with trembling 
 hand ; while the young man made the needle fly through 
 the canvas. And for hours the}^ exchanged just such 
 sweet words, their hearts throbbing when the cork
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 69 
 
 bobbed. Oh, may the}' never forget those happy hours, 
 when, side by side, the}- listened to the rippling river ! 
 
 On this occasion the sun sank verj- Ioav on the hori- 
 zon ; and, spite of the combined efforts of Frantz and 
 Suzel, there had not been a bite. The barbels had not 
 been compassionate ; and they laughed at the young pair, 
 who were too just to blame them for it. 
 
 "We may be more luckj- next time, Frantz," said 
 Suzel, as the 3'oung angler stuck his vu'giu hook into 
 a bit of wood. 
 
 " I hope so, Suzel ! " said Frantz. 
 
 Then the two, side b}' side, went home without a 
 word, as silent as their shadows, which fell before them. 
 Suzel saw herself tall, oh, so tall ! in the oblique rays of 
 the setting sun. Frantz seemed thin, thin as the long 
 line in his hand. 
 
 The}' reached the burgomaster's house. Tufts of 
 green grass grew round the shining paving-stones ; and 
 the}- were careful not to pull them up, because they 
 deadenedthe sound of footsteps. 
 
 Just before the door was opened, Frantz took courage 
 to say to his betrothed, — 
 
 " You know the happy day is coming, Suzel? " 
 
 " It is really coming, Frantz ! " said the young girl, 
 dropping her long lashes. 
 
 " Yes," said Frantz — "in five or six years." 
 
 " Good-by, Frantz ! " said Suzel. 
 
 " Good-by, Suzel ! " said Frantz.
 
 70 BR. OX-S HOBBY. 
 
 And when the door was shut, the young man turned 
 with calm and lazy steps towards Lawj'er Niklausse's 
 house. 
 
 VII. 
 
 HOW ANDANTE BECAME ALLEGRO, AND ALLEGRO VIVACE. 
 
 The emotion caused by the Custos-Schut affau* was 
 at an end. 
 
 The quarrel bore no frnits. It was to be hoped that 
 Quiquendone would retm-n to its wonted apathy, which 
 had been stirred by a mysterious event. 
 
 Meanwhile the pipes to carr}- the oxyhydric gas into 
 the principal buildings made rapid progress. The con- 
 duits gradually grew below Quiquendone iDavements. 
 But the burners were not j&t read}' ; for they required 
 such delicate handling, that they had to be ordered 
 from abroad. Dr. Ox fairly multiplied himself; he and 
 his assistant, Ygene, lost not a moment, urged on the 
 worlanen, watched the gasometer, and fed ,the huge 
 batteries which were decomposing the water night and 
 da}' under the influence of a powerful electric current. 
 Yes, the doctor was making his gas, although the pipes 
 were not yet laid, which, between ourselves, was rather 
 queer. But before long, — at least, so they hoped, — 
 before long, Dr. Ox was to inaugurate his new light in 
 the town theatre.
 
 DR. OX'S II OB Br. 71 
 
 For Quiqucndoue had a theatre, — a fine building, 
 on my word, whose inner and outer architecture was 
 a mixture of all styles. It was at once Byzantine, 
 Roman, Gothic, Renaissance, with arched, Norman- 
 pointed windows, rose-windows, fantastic belfries, in a 
 word, a sample of every age, part Parthenon, part 
 Grand Cafe Parisien, which is not surprising ; for 
 begun b}' Burgomaster Ludwig Van Tricasse, in 1175, 
 it was not finished till 1837, by Burgomaster Natalis 
 Van Tricasse. It took seven hundred yeoxs to build it, 
 and it had been successively' conformed to the taste of 
 each succeeding age. No matter : it was a fine build- 
 ing, whose Roman pillars and Byzantine arches were 
 not too much at variance with oxyhydric gas. 
 
 They played a little of every thing at the Quiquendone 
 Theatre, particularly opera and opera houjfa. But it 
 must be acknowledged that the composers would never 
 have recognized their own compositions, the movements 
 were so changed. 
 
 To tell the truth, ever}' thing was done so slowl}' in 
 Quiquendone, that dramatic art was rather better 
 suited to the disposition of its people. Although the 
 doors were alwa^-s opened at four, and closed at ten, 
 they had never in those six hours pla^'ed more than two 
 acts. " Robert le Diable," " The Ilug-uenots," or 
 "William Tell," usually occupied three evenings, so 
 slowl}' did they perform these masterpieces. Vivace in 
 the Quiquendone Theatre dragged like a regular adagio.
 
 72 DR. OX'S BOBBY. 
 
 Allegro was long, long drawn out. A semi-demi-semi- 
 qiiarer was not equal to the breve of any other country. 
 The most rapid trills, done to suit the Quiquendonians, 
 seemed like common psalm-tunes. The easy quavers 
 rolled languidly forth in measured time, lest they should 
 wound some dilettante's ear. To give one example, 
 Figaro's rapid air, on his entry in the first act of " The 
 Barber of Seville," lasted fift^'-eight minutes, when the 
 actor was a fire-eater. 
 
 You may imagine how hard it was for foreign artists 
 to conform to this fashion ; but, as thej^ were well paid, 
 they never complained, but obeyed the bow of the 
 leader of the orchestra blindh* ; and he never beat more 
 than eight measures a minute. 
 
 And what applause these artists won ! They en- 
 chanted, without fatiguing, their Quiquendonian hearers. 
 Every hand was clapped at somewhat distant intervals, 
 which the newspaper accounts translated as frenzied 
 applause; and once or twice, if the astonished hall did 
 not shake with bravos, it was onlj* because the}' spared 
 neither stone nor lime in the twelfth centur}-. 
 
 Besides, that they might not too much excite these 
 enthusiastic Flemish, the theatre was onl}' opened once 
 a week, which permitted the actors to stud}' their parts, 
 and the spectators to digest the beauties, of these ch-a- 
 matic masterpieces more thoroughl}'. 
 
 This had long been the state of affairs. Foreign 
 artists were in the habit of making an engagement with
 
 BE. OX'S UOBBY. 73 
 
 the Quiqueaclouian director when they Avished to rest 
 from the fatigues of other campaigns ; and it seemed as 
 if nothing could ever change their custom, when, a 
 fortnight after the Schut-Custos brawl, an unexpected 
 event cast the people into fresh confusion. 
 
 It was Saturday, the opera day. The}' were not 
 j-et, as you might suppose, ready to introduce the new 
 gas. No : the pipes opened into the hall ; but, for the 
 above-mentioned reason, the burners were not in place, 
 and wax candles shed their soft radiance over the 
 many spectators who crowded the theatre. The doors 
 had been opened to the public an hour before noon, 
 and at three the hall was half full. At one time there 
 was a line that stretched to the very end of St. 
 Ernuph's Place, to the apothecary Josse Liefrinck's 
 shop. This crowd presaged a fine performance. 
 
 " You are going to the theatre to-night? " the lawyer 
 said that ver^- morning to the burgomaster. 
 
 " I shall not fail to do so," answered Van Tricasse ; 
 " and I shall take Madame Van Tricasse, and our 
 daughter Suzel, and our dear Aunt}' Nemance, who 
 raves about fine music." 
 
 "Miss Suzel will be there?" asked the law3-er. 
 
 " To be sure, Niklausse." 
 
 " Then ni}' son Frantz will be one of the fii'st before 
 the door," said Niklausse. 
 
 " An ardent youth," said the burgomaster solemn!}', 
 " a hot-headed fellow. "We must keep an eye on that 
 young man." 7
 
 74 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 *' He's in love, Van Tricasse, — in love with your 
 pretty Siizel." 
 
 "Well, Niklause, he shall marry her. "What more 
 does he want? Haven't we consented to the mar- 
 riage ? " 
 
 " He wants nothing more. Van Tricasse, nothing 
 more, the dear fellow ! I say no more ; but he won't 
 be the last to buj' his ticket." 
 
 " Oh, bright and ardent youth ! " cried the burgomas- 
 ter, smiling at his memories of the past. " We've 
 been bo3-s ourselves, my good lawyer. We, too, have 
 loved. We have joined the ranks in our day. To- 
 night, then, to-night ! By the by, do 3'ou know what a 
 gi'eat artist this Fioravauti is ? and what a reception 
 he has had here ? Pie will long remember the plaudits 
 of Quiquendone." 
 
 This was the celebrated tenor Fioravanti, whose rare 
 talent, perfect method, and sympathetic voice, had 
 roused the amateui-s of the city to the highest pitch of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 For three weeks Fioravanti had played with immense 
 success in " The Huguenots." The fii'st act, given in 
 Quiqueudonian st3'le, had consumed an entire evening of 
 the first week in the month. Another evening of the 
 second week, prolonged by andante ad libitum, had 
 won the great singer a perfect ovation. His success 
 increased with the third act of Mej'erbeer's master- 
 piece. But Fioravanti was best in the fourth act ; and
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 75 
 
 this very evening the fourth act was to be played be- 
 fore an impatieut public. 
 
 At foul- o'clock, therefore, the hall was filled. Boxes, 
 pit, and parterre were overflowing. Near the front 
 shone Burgomaster Van Tricasse, his wife and daugh- 
 ter, and good Aunty Nemance, her cap decked with 
 apple-green streamers ; then, not far away. Lawyer Nik- 
 lausse and his famil3', including the amiable Frantz. 
 There, too, Avere the families of Dr. Gustos, Lawyer 
 Schut, Houore Syntax, the chief judge, and Sontman, 
 president of the insurance compan}-, fat Banlicr Collaert, 
 mad over German music, tutor Rupp, and the academy 
 du'ector, Jerome Resh, and the commissar^'-civil, and so 
 many other notabilities, that we could not name them 
 here without abusing the doctor's patience. 
 
 Generally the Quiquendonians waited for the curtain 
 to rise in silence, some reading the papers, some con- 
 versing in low tones, some slowly and quietly taking 
 their seats, and some casting sheepish glances at the 
 kindly beauties in the galleries ; but on this occasion 
 it was evident, even before the curtain rose, that un- 
 wonted excitement reigned in the hall. People moved 
 about who never moved before. Fans fluttered with 
 unnatural rapidit}'. Excitement filled ever}- breast. 
 They drew long breaths. Some e3-es shone, we 
 must confess, quite as brightly as the caudles, which 
 seemed to fill the hall with unwonted brilliance. 
 People really seemed to see better than usual, even
 
 76 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 if there was no more light. Oh, if Dr, Ox's new 
 machine were only in working order ! But it was not 
 in working order yet. 
 
 At last the musicians took their places, Tlie first 
 violin stepped between the stands to give his colleagues 
 a modest la. The string, the wind instruments, and 
 the drums, were in tune. The leader only waited for 
 the tinkling bell to beat the first strain. 
 
 The bell rang. The fourth act began. The allegro 
 appassio7iato of the entr'acte was plaj-ed as usual, with 
 slow majest}', which would have startled the illustrious 
 Me3'erbeer, but whose grandeur was plain to every 
 Quiquendonian . 
 
 Soon the leader lost all control of his men. He 
 could not hold them back, calm and obedient as they 
 generally were. The wind-instruments seemed dis- 
 posed to hurrj' matters ; and he had to use a strong 
 hand, for the}' ran awa3-from the stringed instruments, 
 which, in point of harmony, produced a sad effect. The 
 bassoon himself, a son of Josse Liefrinck, the apothe- 
 cary, the most well ti'ained of men, began to lose his 
 head. 
 
 Then Valentine began the recitative : — 
 
 " Sou solo" — 
 
 But it was hurried. The leader and the whole orches- 
 tra followed her cantabile, perhaps imperceptibly' to her. 
 When Raoul appeared at the back, there were but fifteen
 
 DR. OX'S nOBBY. 11 
 
 minutes "betR^een Yalentine's joining him, and her hiding 
 him in the side-room ; while generally, according to 
 Quiquendone tradition, this recitative of thirt^'-seven 
 bars consumed thirty-seven minutes. 
 
 St. Bris, XeverSj Cavrannes, and the Catholic lords 
 then entered rather hurriedly. The composer marked 
 the score allegro pomposo. The orchestra and the 
 lords vrere allegro, but b}* no means pomposo; and, 
 in the conspirators' chorus and the blessing of the 
 swords, the allegro never sank. Singers and musicians 
 gave the reins to their fanc}'. The leader no longer 
 stroA-e to hold them in ; nor did the audience desire it : 
 they felt that he was carried away, that he really felt 
 the music, and that it corresponded to his inmost 
 aspirations. • 
 
 "AVouldst thou, like me, thy country free 
 Fi-om nasceut troubles and an uupious warV " 
 
 The}' promised, they swore. Nevers- had barely 
 time to protest, and to sing, that, " among his ances- 
 tors there were soldiers, but never an assassin." He was 
 arrested. The police and the militar}- nished in, and 
 rapidly swore to " strike together." St. Bris raised 
 his voice in regular two-four time in the recitative 
 that calls the Catholics to vengeance. The three 
 monks, with white scarfs and bells, hastened in, quite 
 regardless of stage-directions, which recommend Ihem 
 to " advance slowly-." The spectators di-ew their 
 7*
 
 78 DR. OX'S HOB BY. 
 
 swords and daggers, when the three monks blessed 
 them in the twinkling of an eye. The sopranos, tenors, 
 and basses attacked the allegro f arioso with cries of 
 rage, and fled, howling, — 
 
 "At miclnight, 
 No noise ! 
 'Tis God's Tvill : 
 Yes, at midnight." 
 
 Here the audience rose to their feet. Everyone was 
 astir in boxes, pit, and gallery. It seemed as if the 
 listeners would leap upon the stage. Burgomaster Van 
 Tricasse at their head, to join the conspirators, and 
 crush the Huguenots, whose religious opinions they 
 reall}' shared. The}' applauded, they cheered, they 
 shouted. Aunty Nemance arranged her apple-green 
 strings with a feverish hand. The lamps burned bril- 
 liautl}'. 
 
 Raoul, instead of slowly lifting the drapery, tore it 
 away with a superb gesture, and found himself face to 
 face with Valentine. 
 
 At last came the grand duet, and it was led off in 
 allegro vivace. Raoul did not wait for Valentine's 
 questions, nor she for his replies. The charming pas- 
 sage, — 
 
 ^ " Danger grows, 
 
 And time flies," 
 
 became one of those rapid two-four movements which
 
 DR. OX'S BOB BY. 79 
 
 have made Offenbach so famous for his conspirators' 
 dances. The andante amoroso, — 
 
 " Thou hast spoken! 
 Yes, thou lovest me!" 
 
 became a vivace furioso ; and the violoncello no longer 
 thought of imitating the singer's notes, as the score 
 requires. In vain Raoul cried, — 
 
 "Speak again, and prolong 
 My heart's delicious sleep." 
 
 Valentine could not prolong it. An unwonted fire 
 plainh- consumed her. Her si's and do's, far beyond 
 reach^were alarmingly brilliant. She raged, she gesti- 
 culated, she "svas on fire. 
 
 The alarm began to ring, the bell tolled ; but what 
 a boisterous bell ! The ringer was beside himself. It 
 was a fearful tocsin, which struggled madly with the 
 transports of the orchestra. 
 
 Then the concluding phrase of that magnificent act, — 
 
 " Xo more love, no more frenzy now, 
 O heart o'erburdened with remorse ! " 
 
 which the composer marked as allegro con nioto, swept 
 into a wild prestissimo. It was like a lightning express. 
 The alarum revived. Valentine fell fainting. Raoul 
 threw himself from the window. 
 
 It was timo The orchestra, fairly drunk with excite-
 
 so DR. OX'S nOBDY. 
 
 ment, could continue no longer. The leader's baton 
 had been broken to fragments on the prompter's box. 
 The vioHn-strings were broken, and the finger-boards 
 twisted. In his fur^', the kettle-drummer had cracked 
 his kettle-drum. The bass was perched on the ver}- top 
 of his loft}' edifice. The first clarinet had swallowed 
 his reed, and the second hautbo}' crushed his kej-s be- 
 tween his teeth. The trombone was out of tune ; and 
 the unhapp}- horn-player's hand stuck fast in the mouth- 
 piece of his horn. 
 
 And the audience, — the puffing, panting, howling 
 audience ! Every face was as red as if its owner were 
 on fire. Ilatless men and cloakless women pushed 
 and crowded to get out. The}- hustled each other in 
 the entries ; they elbowed each other at the doors ; they 
 quarrelled, and they fought. They acknowledged no 
 authority, no burgomaster. All men were equal when 
 influenced by such supreme excitement. 
 
 And a few moments later, when the street was 
 reached, they all recovered their ordinary calm, and 
 went quietly home, with but a confused memory of past 
 events. 
 
 The fourth act of "The Huguenots," which usually 
 lasted six hours by the clock, began, on this occasion, 
 at half-past four, and was over at twelve minutes of 
 five. It had lasted eighteen minutes.
 
 DR OX'S BOBBY. 81 
 
 vin. 
 
 IN "WTIICH THE S0LE3IN OLD GER:^IAN WALTZ BECOMES 
 ALMOST A CAN-CAN. 
 
 But altliougli the audience recovered their ordinary 
 cahn on lea\'ing the theatre, although they went quietly 
 home, feeling only a fleeting surprise, they had, never- 
 theless, undergone a strange exaltation ; and oppressed 
 and exhausted, as if they had over-eaten, they fell 
 heavily asleep. 
 
 The next day everj'body had some slight memento 
 of the past. One had lost his hat in the crowd ; another, 
 his coat-tail, torn off in the melee; one, her fine kid 
 slipper ; another, her best mantilla. The good citizens' 
 memory re"\'ived, and T\ith their memory a certain 
 sense of shame for their unnecessary effervescence. It 
 seemed to them an orgy, whose unconscious heroes they 
 had been. They did not speak of it : they were anx- 
 ious to forget it. 
 
 But the most astonished man in town was Burgo- 
 master Van Tricasse. The next morning, when he 
 woke, he could not find his wig. Lotche looked ever}-- 
 where. It was not to be found. The wig remained on 
 the field of battle. How would it do to send Jean Mis- 
 trol, the town-crier, in search of it? No. Better sacri- 
 fice his wig than thus expose the disgrace of the city's 
 first magistrate. 
 
 Thus mused the worthy Van Tricasse, stretched be-
 
 82 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 neath his blankets, sore of limb, hea-s^^ headed, his 
 tongue coated, and burning with fever. He felt no de- 
 sire to rise ; and his brain was busier this morning than 
 it had been for forty years. The honorable gentleman 
 went over in his mind last night's inexplicable occur- 
 rences. He compared them with events at Dr. Ox's 
 party. He sought the cause of the strange excitability, 
 which had thus, on two occasions, been exhibited by his 
 soundest fellow-citizens. 
 
 " What ails us all?" he asked himself. " What spirit 
 of folly has taken hold of my peaceful Quiquendone ? 
 Are we all going mad ? and must the whole city be 
 turned into a vast asylum ? For last night we were all 
 there, — merchants, doctors, and lawyers ; and, if my 
 memory serves me right, all yielded to this infernal folly. 
 It is inexplicable ; and I had eaten nothing, drunlc noth- 
 ing, to excite me. No, an overdone slice of veal, a few 
 spoonfuls of spinage, the whites of a couple of eggs 
 beaten up, and two small glasses of ale, mixed with 
 water, for dinner, could not have affected my head. No ! 
 There is some mystery here ; and as, after all, I am 
 responsible for the actions of my electors, I will hold 
 a court of inquir3^" 
 
 But the com-t of inquiry called b}' the town council 
 came to no conclusion. The facts were patent : the 
 causes escaped the wisdom of the magistrates. Besides, 
 they had all grown calm, and had forgotten their ex- 
 cesses. The very newspapers avoided all mention of
 
 DR. OX'S nOBBY. 83 
 
 them ; and the account of the performance in ' ' The 
 Quiquendone Memorial " made no allusion to their rap- 
 tm-es. 
 
 And so the town resumed its customary quiet. It be- 
 came, to all appearance, as thoroughly Flemish as it 
 was before ; but still the people's character and temper- 
 ament were gradually modified. "We might say, with Dr. 
 Dominic Gustos, that " they were gi'owing nervous." 
 
 This requires an explanation. The incontestable 
 changes only occurred under certain conditions. When 
 the Quiquendonians walked along the streets, in the 
 fresh ail', along the Vaar, the}- were as cold and method- 
 ical as ever. So the}- were when they kept at home ; 
 some at their handicraft, and some mentally employed, 
 some doing nothing, and some thinking nothing. Their 
 private life was inert, peaceful, and vegetative as ever. 
 No quarrels, no reproaches, no acceleration of the ac- 
 tion of the heart, and no inflammation of the brain. 
 Their average pulse remained as it was, — from fifty 
 to fifty- two beats a minute. 
 
 But mysterious phenomenon, which would have puz- 
 zled the wisest philosophers of the age, although the 
 Quiquendonians were unchanged at home, they were 
 visibly metamorjDhosed abroad. 
 
 For instance, did they meet in any public building, 
 there "was no standing it," as Commissary Passauf 
 said. On 'change, at the town-hall, at the theati'e, 
 at town-meetings, and at scientific re-unions, new life
 
 84 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 
 
 seemed to flow in tlieir veins. Scarcel}' an hour passed, 
 ere argument grew hot. The}' waxed angrj^, and be- 
 came personal. Even in church the faithful could not 
 listen quietly to Minister Vantabel, who, moreover, 
 fidgeted in the pulpit, and admonished them more fierce- 
 1}' than was his wont. At last this state of things led 
 to fresh brawls, more serious, alas ! than that of Dr. Gus- 
 tos and Lawyer Sclrat ; and, if the authorities abstained 
 from interfering, it was onl}' because the wranglers, on 
 returning home, regained their calm, and forgot all 
 ofi'ences given and received. 
 
 These strange circumstances did not strike those 
 minds unaccustomed to self analysis. One man only, 
 he whose office the town council had for thirt}^ 3'ears 
 been trying to abolish, Michael Passauf, noticed that 
 the excitement, invisible at home, was soon revealed 
 abroad ; and he wondered, with a certain trouble, what 
 would happen if this irritation should ever spread to 
 private houses, and if the epidemic — such was the 
 word he used — should pervade the streets. Then fare- 
 well oblivion, farewell calm, no more pause in delirium, 
 but a continual rage, which would certainly set the Qui- 
 quendonians by the ears. 
 
 "Then what will happen ?" thought Passauf, with 
 alarm. " How put a stop to this mad fury? How 
 moderate this irritation? M}^ office will be no sine- 
 cure then ; and the town will have to double my 
 salary, — if, indeed, I am not arrested m3-self for 
 breaking the peace, and disturbing public order."
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 85 
 
 Now, these very reasonable fears began to be real- 
 ized. From the exchange, the church, the theatre, 
 and the town-hall, the evil spread to private houses, 
 and all within a fortnight after that terrible perform- 
 ance of " The Huguenots." 
 
 The first signs of the epidemic were declared in 
 Banker Collaert's house. 
 
 This wealthy person gave a ball, or at least a dan- 
 cing party, to the principal people in town. He had 
 issued, some months previous, a loan of thirt}' thou- 
 sand francs, three-fourths of which was a subscription ; 
 and, in recognition of this financial success, he threw 
 his house open to his friends. 
 
 Every one knows what a real Flemish reception is, 
 the only refreshments being beer and sirup. Some 
 taUc about the weather, harvest prospects, the fine 
 state of gardens, flower-culture, especially tulip-cul- 
 ture ; now and then a slow and tedious dance, some- 
 thing like a minuet ; sometimes a waltz, — one of those 
 German waltzes that take about a turn and a half a 
 minute, during which the waltzers move at arm's-length, 
 — such is a ball in the best Quiquendonian society. 
 The pollia, having been reduced to a quatr6 temps, was 
 vainly introduced : the dancers could never keep up 
 with the music, slowly as they might play ; and so it 
 was given up. 
 
 These quiet parties, which afibrded the young folks 
 such simple pleasm-e, had never produced any bad
 
 86 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 results. Why, then, were the sirups apparently changed 
 that night to strong wines, to sparkling champagne, 
 and fiery punch ? Why did a strange intoxication take 
 hold of all the guests towards the middle of the feast? 
 Why did the minuet become a saltarello ? Why did the 
 musicians play so fast? Why did the candles burn so 
 brightly? What electric current filled the banker's 
 parlors ? Why were there such ardent pressures when 
 hands were clasped in the dance ? 
 
 Alas ! "What CEdipus could answer these riddles ? 
 Commissary Passauf, present at the party, snufied. the 
 storm from afar, but could not allay it, could not 
 escape it ; and he felt his brain grow giddy. All his 
 faculties increased. He fell upon the sweets,, and 
 emptied the dishes, as if he had long been fed on 
 starvation diet. 
 
 Meanwhile the ball grew more and more lively. A 
 long murmur of delight escaped from every breast. 
 They danced in real earnest ; their feet moved to and 
 fro with growing frenzy. Faces grew as red as Silenus. 
 'Eyes shone like rubies. Spirits rose to the highest 
 pitch. 
 
 And when the orchestra struck up the waltz from Der 
 Freischiitz, when this slow and thoroughly German 
 waltz was attacked with might and main by the musi- 
 cians, it was no longer a waltz, but a mad can-can, a 
 giddy whirl, a measure fit to be led by Mephistophiles 
 with a bm-ning brand. Then a galop, a wild galop, wound
 
 c 
 
 
 VI 
 
 
 *ii 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 iT> 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 
 Si 
 
 (X) 
 
 P 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 B 
 O 
 
 
 
 fD 
 
 o 
 
 (0 
 
 B 
 
 3i 
 
 05 
 
 r-t- 
 
 ►1 
 
 tJ* 
 
 P 
 
 P 
 
 ^ 
 
 c 
 
 P 
 
 s 
 
 
 B 
 
 N 
 
 ■-1 
 
 O' 
 
 Cf? 
 
 B 
 
 rt- 
 
 ►1 
 
 P 
 
 
 p 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 a 
 
 
 
 
 t^ 
 
 h3 
 
 a 
 
 B 
 
 
 (jg 
 
 p 
 
 (B 
 
 rrg 
 
 
 
 03 
 
 p. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 .*H 
 
 
 A 
 
 
 c 
 
 p 
 
 CO 
 
 S 
 i-( 
 
 m 
 
 B» 
 
 to 
 
 ^a ^v-    
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 87 
 
 for an hour, without let or stop, thi'ough halls, parlors, 
 ante-rooms, up stairs and down stairs, from cellar to 
 gaiTct, joined in by young men and maidens, fathers 
 and mothers, people of every age, size, and sex, the fat 
 banker Collaert and his wife, lawyers, magistrates, and 
 judges, Nildausse, Madame Van Tricasse, the burgo- 
 master, and Passauf himself, who never could remem- 
 ber who his partner was that night. 
 
 But " she " did not forget ; and, from that day forth, 
 "she" saw the ardent commissary in her dreams, 
 holding her in a passionate embrace ; and ' ' she " was 
 dear Aunty Nemance ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 IN WHICH DR. OX AND HIS ASSISTANT TGENE ONLY SPEAK 
 
 A FEW WORDS. 
 
 "Well, Ygene?" 
 
 " Well, master, aU is ready. The pipes are laid." 
 "At last. We can now work at wholesale and on 
 the mass." 
 
 X. 
 
 IN WHICH WE SEE HOW THE EPIDEMIO SPREAD THROUGH- 
 OUT THE TOWTN, AND THE EFFECT IT PRODUCED. 
 
 During the ensuing month, the evil, far from de- 
 creasing, grew. From private houses it spread thi'ough
 
 88 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 
 
 street after street. The cit}- of Quiqueudoue "was no 
 longer recognizable. 
 
 A still more curious phenomenon was, that not only 
 the animal, but the vegetable kingdom partook of this 
 ' influence. 
 
 In the ordinary run of affairs, epidemics are special. 
 Those that attack man spare beasts : those that 
 attack beasts spare vegetables. No one ever saw a 
 horse with the varioloid, or a man with the cattle- 
 plague ; and sheep never take the potato-rot. But 
 here all natural laws seemed reversed. Not only were 
 the character, temperament, and ideas of the people of 
 Quiquendone aflfected, but all domestic animals, dogs, 
 cats, horses, cattle, goats, and sheep, felt the epidemic 
 influence as if the very air they breathed had been in- 
 fected. The plants themselves "made free," if we 
 may use such an expression. 
 
 For most singular symptoms were manifested in gar- 
 den and orchard. Creepers crept more boldl}' than 
 ever. Bushy plants grew bushier. Shrubs became 
 trees. Grain, hardl}' planted, thrust up little green 
 shoots, and grew an inch for every atom it had gained 
 before in the most favorable times. Asparagus grew 
 two feet tall. Ai'tichokes were big as melons, melons 
 big as s(|uashes, squashes big as pumpkins, pumpkins 
 big as the town-clock, which was nine good feet in 
 diameter. Cabbages grew to bushes, and mushrooms to 
 umbrellas. The ftuits were not long in following the
 
 DR. OX'S nOBBT. 89 
 
 vegetables' example. It took two to eat a strawberry, 
 and four to eat a pear. The clusters of grapes equalled 
 that famous cluster so beautifully painted by Poussin 
 in his " Return of Envoys from the Promised Laud." 
 
 The same with the flowers. Huge violets filled the 
 air with penetrating odors ; exaggerated roses glowed 
 with deepest tints ; lilacs formed an impenetrable 
 thicket in a few days ; geraniums, daisies, dahlias, 
 camellias, and rhododendrons, invading the garden 
 walks, fah'ly choked each other out. And the tulips, 
 the J03' of the Flemish heart, — what emotions they 
 roused in amatem's ! Good Van Bistrom nearly fainted 
 one da}", when he found in his garden a plain Tulipa 
 gesneriana, so monstrous, so enormous, so gigantic, that 
 it served as a nest for a whole family of robins. 
 
 The entire town ran after this phenomenal blossom, 
 and gave it the name of Tulipa Quiquendonia. 
 
 But, alas ! visibly as these plants, fruits, and flowers 
 grew, colossal proportions as these vegetables assumed, 
 overpowering as their scent and color were to eyes and 
 noses, they soon faded. The air that nourished them 
 consumed them quickly ; and they died exhausted and 
 withered. 
 
 Such was the fate of the famous tulip, which fell, 
 after a few days of splendor. 
 
 The same was ti'ue of tame animals, from the house- 
 dog to the pig in his sty, from the caged canary- to the 
 turkey in the poultrj'-yai'd. * 
 
 8*
 
 90 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 It must here be said, that, in former days, these 
 creatures were no less phlegmatic than their masters. 
 Dogs and cats vegetated rather than lived. Never a 
 quiver of pleasiu'e, never a movement of rage. Their 
 tails stu'red no more than if they'd been made of 
 bronze. Not a bite nor a scratch had been known from 
 time immemorial. As for mad dogs, they were con- 
 sidered beasts of fiction, and ranked with griffins and 
 such in the Apocalyptic menagerie. 
 
 But, dm'ing the few months whose slightest incident 
 we have striven to reproduce, what a change ! Dogs 
 and cats began to ^how their teeth and their claws. 
 There were several executions after repeated attacks. 
 For the first time a horse was seen to take the bit be- 
 tween his teeth, and gallop through the streets of Qui- 
 quendone, an ox to rush with lowered horns at his 
 master, an ass to kick up his heels and bray in St. 
 Ernuph Place in a way that had nothing "animal" 
 about it, and a sheep, a very sheep, to defend his chops 
 most valiantly against the butcher's knife. 
 
 Burgomaster Van Tricasse was forced to issue cer- 
 tain edicts concerning domestic animals whose mad- 
 ness made the streets so insecure. 
 
 But, alas ! if beasts were mad, man was not much 
 better. No age nor condition of life escaped the 
 plague. 
 
 Babies soon became unendurable, though once so 
 docile ; and Judge Houore S3'ntax was forced to take 
 the rod to his youthful progenj'.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 91 
 
 At scliool there was a regular revolt ; and diction- 
 aries described strange tangents in the air. There was 
 no restraining the scholars ; and the professors, them- 
 selves excited, dealt out extravagant punishments. 
 
 Phenomenon number two : the Quiquendonians, 
 hitherto so sober, who made whipped cream their chief 
 article of diet, now committed strange excesses in eating 
 and drinking. Then- ordinary bill of fare no longer suf- 
 ficed. Every stomach became a yawning gulf, which 
 must be filled. Expenses were tripled. Instead of 
 two meals, they took six. Numerous indigestions en- 
 sued. Lawyer Niklausse could not satisfy his hunger. 
 Bm'gomaster Van Tricasse could not quench his thirst, 
 and he went about in a continual state of tipsiness. 
 Finally, more alarming symptoms set in, and were mul- 
 tiplied day by day. 
 
 Drunkards were a common sight, and among them 
 prominent citizens. 
 ' Disordered stomachs, neuralgias, and nervous trou- 
 bles filled up Dr. Custos's time, proving the high degree 
 of UTitation to which people's nerves had been sub- 
 jected. 
 
 There were daily brawls and quarrels in the streets, 
 once deserted, now so thi-onged ; for no one could keep 
 at home. 
 
 A new police-force was created to restrain these 
 breakers of the public peace. 
 
 A lock-up was arranged in the town-hall, and it was
 
 92 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 filled night and da}- "with rebels. Passauf was worn 
 out. 
 
 A marriage was concluded in less than two months, 
 — an unheard-of thing. Tutor Rupp's son espoused 
 Augustine de Rorere's pretty daughter, and that only 
 fifty-seven days after asking her hand in marriage. 
 
 Other marriages were decided, which would formerl}- 
 have hung by the hooks for years. The burgomaster 
 could not get over it ; and he felt his daughter, lovely 
 Suzel, slipping through his fingers. 
 
 As for dear Aunty Nemance, she had ventured to 
 sound Passauf on the subject of a union, which seemed 
 to him to combine money, good familj', happiness, and 
 youth. 
 
 Finall}', to heap the measure, a duel was fought. 
 Yes, an actual duel, with horse-pistols, at seventy-five 
 paces ! And b}' whom? Our readers could never guess. 
 
 By Mr. Frantz ISTildausse, the gentle fisherman, and 
 young Simon Collaert, son of the rich banker. 
 
 And the cause of the duel Avas the bm-gomaster's 
 own daughter, with whom Simon was desperately smit- 
 ten, and whom he vrould not j'ield to his bold rival. 
 
 XI. 
 
 HOW THE QUIQUENDONIANS TOOK A BOLD KESOLUTION. 
 
 You see what a pitiable state the people of Quiquen- 
 done had fallen into. No one would have known them.
 
 DR. OX'S nOBSY. 93 
 
 The most peaceful peoi)le had grown quarrelsome. It 
 did not do to look sidewa3's at them ; for the}* called 
 you out at once. Some let their mustaches grow ; and 
 certain ones, the most warlike, curled them fiercely. 
 
 Under these conditions, it was hard to maintain 
 public order ; for the police-force had never been trained 
 to such arduous duties. The burgomaster, that 
 worthy Van Tricasse we once knew so mild, so feeble, 
 and incapable of taking any resolution, — the burgo- 
 master was always in a rage. The whole house rang 
 with his voice. He issued twenty arrests a day, glut- 
 ting his agents, and ready to execute justice himself if 
 need be. 
 
 Oh, what a change ! Calm and tranquil burgo- 
 master's house, peaceful Flemish home, where was j'our 
 boasted comfort now? "What scenes went on thei'e? 
 Madame Van Tricasse grew sour, whimsical, and 
 greedy. Her husband sometimes succeeded in drown- 
 ing her voice by crj-ing louder than she, but never 
 silenced her. Her angiy humor took offence at anj' 
 thing. Nothing suited her. The ser^-ants were good 
 for nothing. Delays in everj' thing. She blamed 
 Lotche, and even Aunty Nemance, her sister-in-law ; 
 and she, with no less temper, answered shaiply. Van 
 Tricasse, of course, took Lotche's part, as men are apt 
 to do. Hence arose great exasperation in Madame Van 
 Tricasse, giving rise to discussions, scenes, and cur- 
 tain-lectures without end.
 
 94 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 " "WTiat ails us?" cried the wretched "bursjomaster. 
 ' ' What fire consumes us ? Are we possessed with a 
 devil ? Ah, Madame Van Trieasse, Madame Van Tri- 
 casse ! you will kill me, and thus destroy the family 
 tradition." 
 
 For the reader must remember, that, according to an 
 odd tradition, Van Trieasse must become a widower, 
 and marr}' again, or break the chain of succession. 
 
 Then, too, this state of mind produced other strange 
 effects, which we must not omit to mention here. This 
 extreme excitement, whose cause escapes us now, 
 brouglit on most unexpected phj'siological changes. 
 Talents hitherto ignored now shone forth. Artists 
 hitherto commonplace now appeared in a new light. 
 Men took to politics as well as to literatui-e. Orators 
 were formed by eager argument, and inflamed an audi- 
 ence, once far from inflammatory, whenever they spoke. 
 From town-meetings, the movement passed to other 
 assemblies ; and a club was founded in Quiquendone, 
 while twenty journals, "The Quiquendone Signal," 
 " The Quiquendone Impartial," " The Quiquendone 
 Radical," and " The Quiquendone Excessive," in fiery 
 leaders, discussed a thousand social questions. 
 
 But to what purpose ? you ask. To no pm-pose at 
 all. They discussed the leaning tower of Audenarde, 
 which some wanted to pull down, and some to prop up ; 
 the arrests issued by the town council, which some hot 
 heads tried to resist ; street-sweepers, and bad drain-
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 95 
 
 age, &c. All well enough, if the ardent orators had 
 kept to municipal affairs. But, borne away by the cur- 
 rent, they were to go beyond, and, if Providence had 
 not interyened, would have urged, pushed, and hur- 
 ried their fellow-beings into all the dangers of war. 
 
 The fact was, that, eight or nine hundred years be- 
 fore, Quiquendone had pocketed an affront of the first 
 water ; but she treasured it like some precious relic, 
 and there seemed some chance of its spoiling. 
 
 The cause of this affront was as follows : — 
 
 It is not generall}' known that Quiquendone is a near 
 neighbor of the little town of Virgamen. Their terri- 
 tories overlap. 
 
 Now, in 1185, some time before Count Baldwin 
 joined the crusaders, a cow from Virgamen, not be- 
 longing to an individual, but to the town, mind you, 
 sought pasture on Quiquendonian ground. 
 
 The wretched ruminant hardty took three mouthfuls ; 
 but the crime, the insult, was committed, and duly set 
 forth in an official report ; for in those days lawj'crs 
 were learning to write. 
 
 "We will be revenged in due time," simply said 
 Natalis Van Tricasse, thirty-second predecessor of the 
 present bui'gomaster ; and the Virgaminians will make 
 nothing by the delay." 
 
 The Vii'gaminians took warning. They waited, not 
 unreasonably thinking that the memory of the injury- 
 would fade with time ; and for several centuries they
 
 96 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 lived ou good terms with their fellows in Quiquendone. 
 But they reckoned without their hosts, or, rather, this 
 strange epidemic, which wi'ought such a radical change 
 in their neighbors, roused their sleeping wi'ath. 
 
 It was at the club in Rue Moustrelet that the fiery 
 Schut threw the question in his listeners' faces, inflamed 
 them by the customary exi^ressious and metaphors. 
 He recalled the insult, the wrong committed on Qui- 
 quendone Common, for which a people "jealous of 
 their rights " could accept no apology ; he painted the 
 injury in glowing colors ; he spoke of certain gestures 
 peculiar to the Virgaminians, which showed the scorn 
 in which they held Quiquendonians ; he implored his 
 fellow- citizens, who, "perhaps unconsciously," had 
 endured this mortal wrong for ages, he adjured the 
 " sons of that ancient town," to have no other object 
 than to seek immediate reparation. Finally he made 
 an appeal to all the "able-bodied men" of the 
 place. 
 
 You can imagine, though not describe, the enthusi- 
 asm with which these words, so new to Quiquendonian 
 ears, were received. The whole audience rose, and 
 with outstretched arrns loudly demanded war. Never 
 had Lawyer Schut won such success ; and we must ac- 
 knowledge that he was very eloquent. 
 
 The bui-goraaster, the town-councillors, and all the 
 prominent citizens present at this memorable meeting, 
 might vainly have sti'iven to stem the current. But
 
 DR. OX'S nOBBT. 97 
 
 they had no wish to do so ; and, what was more, they 
 cried quite as loudly as the others, — 
 
 " To the frontier. To the frontier ! " 
 
 Now, as the frontier was only three miles from the 
 walls of Quiquendone, the Virgaminians were certainly 
 in great danger ; for they might be invaded before the}' 
 knew it. 
 
 However, good apothecary Josse Liefrinck, the only 
 one who had preserved his good sense in this general 
 agitation, showed them that they lacked guns, artiller}', 
 and generals. 
 
 - He was answered, not without many thumps, that 
 they could improvise guns, cannon, and generals ; that 
 justice and love of country alone would render them 
 invincible. 
 
 Thereupon the burgomaster took up the word, and, 
 in a glorious speech, reproved those cowards, who dis- 
 guised their fear under the veil of prudence, and rent 
 the veil with patriotic hand. 
 
 The hall actually rang with applause. 
 
 They shouted for the ballot-box. 
 
 The ballot was taken amid general acclamation, and 
 the cries redoubled, " To Virgamen ! To Virgamen ! " 
 
 The burgomaster then agreed to set the army in 
 motion, and, in the name of the city, promised the vi ;- 
 torious general a triumph in the style of aticient Rome. 
 
 But Josse Liefrinck, who was an obstinate fellow, 
 and who would never acknowledge himself beaten, 
 9
 
 y8 DR. OX'S HOB BY. 
 
 though he really was, wished to make one more remark. 
 He showed that at Rome a triumph was never granted, 
 save to a victorious general, who had killed five thou- 
 sand of the enemy's men. 
 
 " "Well, well ! " cried the eager crowd. 
 
 And, as the whole population of Virgamen does not 
 amount to more than thi'ee thousand five hundred and 
 seventy-five people, that would be rather difficult, unlf«=? 
 they killed the same person several times over. 
 
 But the unluclvy logician was not allowed to finish, 
 but was hustled and bustled out of the hall. 
 
 " Citizens," said Pulmacher, the wholesale grocer, — 
 " citizens, in spite of that cowardl}' apothecary, I will 
 engage to kill five thousand Vii'gaminians myself, if 
 you will accept my ser^dces." 
 
 ' ' Five hundred thousand ! " cried a more darinsr 
 patriot. 
 
 " Six hundi-ed thousand ! " screamed the grocer. 
 
 "Seven hundred thousand!" shouted the confec- 
 tioner, Jean Orbideck, from the Rue Ilemling, who was 
 fast making a fortune in whipped creams. 
 
 " Done !" cried Van Tricasse, seeing that no one 
 took the ofi'er up. 
 
 And this was the way the confectioner, Jean Orbi- 
 deck, came to be made general-in-chief of the Qui- 
 quendonian forces.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 99 
 
 XII. 
 
 HOW ASSISTANT TGENE GAVE A GOOD PIECE OF ADVICE, 
 AND DK. OX REJECTED IT ANGRILY. 
 
 "Well, master," said assistant Ygene, next day, 
 as lie poured buckets of sulpliuric-aeid into huge 
 troughs. 
 
 " Well," replied Dr. Ox, " wasn't I right? You see 
 on what hang, not onl}- a nation's physical develop- 
 ment, but its morality', dignity, talent, and politics. 
 It is but a question of molecules " — 
 
 "Doubtless, but" — 
 
 "But" — 
 
 " Don't you. think things have gone quite far enough, 
 and that it's useless to excite the poor devils any fur- 
 ther." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the doctor, " no ! I will go on to 
 the end." 
 
 " As you like, master ; but the experiment seems to 
 me conclusive, and I thinlc it must be time to " — 
 
 "To" — 
 
 ' ' To turn off the stopcock." 
 
 "Zounds!" cried Dr. Ox. '^Take care you don't 
 do it, or m choke you."
 
 100 DR. OX'S nOBBY. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 HOW IT "WAS ONCE MORE PROVED THAT FROM A LOFT"! 
 POST ONE OVERLOOKS ALL HUMAN MEANNESS. 
 
 "You saj'?" asked Burgomaster Vau Tricasse of 
 Lawj'er Niklausse. 
 
 " I sa}'^ that this war must he" replied the law3'er 
 firmly, " and that the time has come to avenge oui' 
 wrongs." 
 
 " Well, for m}' part," replied the burgomaster sharp- 
 I3', " I tell you, that, if the people of Quiquendone do 
 not seize this opportunit}^ of washing out such insults 
 in their enemj-'s blood, they will be unworthy of the 
 name they bear." 
 
 " And I, for \ny part, declare that our forces should 
 be mustered and sent to the front without delaj-." 
 
 " Really, sir, really ! " replied Van Tricasse. " And 
 is this the way you talk to me ? " 
 
 " To you, sir burgomaster; and yon shall hear the 
 truth at any cost." 
 
 " And you shall hear it j-ourself, Mr. Lawyer," cried 
 Van Tricasse angrilj' ; "for it comes from my mouth with 
 a better gi-ace than from j-ours. Yes, sir, 3'es ! delay 
 would be disgraceful. The city of Quiquendone has 
 waited nine hundred years for its revenge ; and whatever 
 you may sa}-, whether it suits 3'ou or not, we shall 
 march upon the enemy." 
 
 "Oh! j'ou take it so, do you?" said Lawyer Ni- 
 klausse sharply.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 101 
 
 " Very well, sir ! We will march without you, if you 
 do not choose to join us." 
 
 " A burgomaster's post is in the front rank, sir." 
 
 " So is a city councillor's, su\" 
 
 " Such contradiction is most insolent," cried the 
 burgomaster, doubling up his fists. 
 
 " And 3'our doubts of m^' loyalty are equally insolent," 
 shouted Xiklausse, putting himself on the defensive. 
 
 " I tell you, sir, the Quiquendonian army will take 
 up the line of march within two daj's." 
 
 " And I repeat, sir, forty-eight hours shall not elapse 
 before we march upon the enem}'." 
 
 It is easy to observe from this fragmentarj- conversa- 
 tion, that the two men held precisely* the same views. 
 Both wished for war ; but, their excitement leading them 
 to dispute, Niklausse did not listen to Van Tricasse, nor 
 Van Tricasse to Niklausse. If the}- had been of con- 
 trary minds, if the burgomaster had wanted war, and 
 the town councillor peace, they could not have quar- 
 relled more \iolently. The two old friends glared 
 fiercely at each other. Their throbbing hearts, red 
 faces, contracted pupils, trembling muscles, their very 
 voices, showed thait they were ready to fall on one 
 another. 
 
 But the sound of a clock strildng the hour, fortunate- 
 I3- arrested the combatants just as they were coming 
 to blows. 
 
 " Time at last ! " cried the burgomaster. 
 9*
 
 102 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 " Time for what? " asked the lawyer. 
 
 " Time to go to the belfry-tower." 
 
 " So it is ; and I shall go, whether you like it or not, 
 
 sir." 
 
 " So shall I." 
 
 "Come!" 
 
 "Come!" 
 
 These words may make you thinic that there was to 
 be a duel, and that the adversaries were now going on 
 to the ground ; but it was nothing of the sort. It had 
 been agreed that the burgomaster and the lawj^er, 
 really the two most prominent citizens, should go to 
 the guildhall, mount the high tower which surmounted 
 it, and examine the suiTouuding country, that they 
 might advise the most strategic measures for the troops. 
 
 Although the two agreed upon the subject, they never 
 ceased quarrelling most earnestly as they went up stairs. 
 The sound of their voices echoed through the street ; 
 but the passers' nerves being strung to an equal pitch, 
 their anger was considered only natural, and passed 
 unnoticed. 
 
 The burgomaster and the lawyer, having gained the 
 belfry-porch, had also reached the highest point of fiu-y. 
 They were no longer red, but pdle. Their fearful dis- 
 cussion, in which they were still at accord, affected them 
 physically ; and we all know that pallor proves that raga 
 can go no farther. 
 
 At the foot of the narrow staircase there was a per-
 
 DR. OX'S nOBBT. 103 
 
 feet explosion of wrath. Who should go up first? 
 "Who should first set foot on the winding stairs ? Truth 
 forces us to confess that there was a struggle, and that 
 Lawj'er Niklausse, forgetting all he owed to his suj e- 
 rior, to the chief magistrate of the cit}-, pushed Van 
 Tricasse out of the way, and rushed up the dark stair- 
 case first. 
 
 Both went up four steps at a time, hurling most evil 
 epithets at each other. A terrible accident was immi- 
 nent on top of this tower, which rose three hundred 
 and fifty-seven feet above the street. 
 
 But the two foes soon lost breath ; and in a minute, 
 at the eightieth step, they walked heavily, breathing 
 loudly. 
 
 But then, perhaps from loss of breath (if their 
 rage was not appeased, it was at least abated), they 
 were silent ; and, strange to say, their excitement de- 
 creased as they rose above the town. The bubbling of 
 their brains ceased, as coffee ceases to boil when taken 
 from the fire. Why? 
 
 We can make no response to this quer}' ; but the 
 truth is, that on reaching a certain landing-place, some 
 two hundred and sixty-six feet above the level of the 
 town, the adversaries sat down, and, grown more calm, 
 looked at each other without anger. 
 
 " How high up we are ! " said the burgomaster, mop- 
 ping his ruddy face ■with his handkerchief. 
 
 " Very high up ! " replied the lawyer. " You know
 
 104 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 we are fourteen feet higher than St. Michael's in 
 Hambiu'g ? " 
 
 " I know it," replied the burgomaster, with an accent 
 of vanity, very pardonable in the first authority of Qui- 
 quendone. 
 
 In a few moments the two worthies resumed their 
 ascent, casting a curious glance through the loopholes 
 pierced in the walls. The burgomaster had taken the 
 lead, without the least remai'k from, the lawyer. Van 
 Tricasse being quite exhausted towards the three hun- 
 dred and fourth step, Niklausse even obligingly- pushed 
 him up. The burgomaster let him do it, and, when he 
 reached the summit, said graciously, — 
 
 " Thanks, Niklausse : I'll reward you for that some 
 day." 
 
 Just before, they were two wild beasts ready to tear 
 each other to pieces down stairs : now they were two 
 friends on top. 
 
 The weather was glorious. It was the month of 
 Ma}'. The sun had dried all moisture. What a pure, 
 clear atmosphere ! The ej-e could seize the smallest 
 objects for miles around. The}' saw the white walls of 
 Virgamen, but a few miles awa}', with its red roofs, and 
 steeples glittering in the sun. And this was the town 
 doomed in advance to all the horrors of fire and pillage ! 
 
 The burgomaster and the lawj-er sat side by side on 
 a small stone bench, like two worthy men whose souls 
 are bound in sj'mpathy. Still panting, they looked 
 about. After a pause, the burgomaster cried, —
 
 DR. OX'S EOBBT. 105 
 
 " How lovely ! '^ 
 
 "Yes: 'tis beautiful," said the law3-er. "Don't 
 3'ou think, my worthy friend, that mankind was meant 
 to dwell on these heights, rather than to crawl on the 
 crust, as it were, of our sphere ? " 
 
 " I quite agree with j'ou, honest Niklausse," replied 
 the burgomaster, — "I quite agree with you. "We seize 
 the sentiment of Nature better here. We breathe it 
 in at every pore. Philosophers are formed on such 
 heights ; and sages live here, remote from the miseries 
 of the world." 
 
 "Shall we walk round the tower?" asked the 
 lawj-er. 
 
 " Let us walk round the tower," said the burgo- 
 master. 
 
 And the two friends, arm in arm, and pausing, as of 
 3'ore, between their questions and replies, examined 
 ever}' quarter of the horizon. 
 
 " It is at least seventeen years since I came to the 
 top of the belfry," said Van Tricasse. 
 
 " I don't think I ever came up before," said Lawyer 
 Niklausse ; " and I'm very sorry, for the view is su- 
 perb from this height. Do you see, my friend, how 
 the prettj' River Vaar winds tlu'ough the trees ? " 
 
 " And the heights of St. Hermandad bej'ond — how 
 gracefully they define the horizon-line ! See that bor- 
 der of green trees, so picturesquely arranged b}' Nature. 
 Oh, Nature's the girl for me, Niklausse ! The hand 
 of man can never contend with her."
 
 106 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 " It is encliautiug, my excellent friend," replied the 
 lawyer. ' ' Just look at those cattle pastured in green 
 fields, those oxen, cows, and sheep " — 
 
 "And those laborers on their way to work. "Wc 
 might take them for Arcadian shepherds, if they only 
 had bagpipes." 
 
 " And over all this fertile country, a cloudless sky. 
 Ah, ISTiklausse ! I could become a poet here. Sta}^, I 
 do not see wh}^ St. Simon Stylites was not one of the 
 greatest poets in the world." 
 
 " Perhaps his column was not high enough," replied 
 the councillor, smiling. 
 
 At this moment the chimes of Quiqueudoue began 
 to ring. The limpid bells plaj-ed one of their sweetest 
 airs. The two friends were in an ecstasj'. 
 
 Then the burgomaster said in his calm voice, — 
 
 " Wh}', friend Nildausse, what did we come up here 
 for?" 
 
 " You are right," replied the lawj-er. " We are let- 
 ting om' di'eams carr^' us away." 
 
 "What did we come up here for?" repeated the 
 bui'gomaster. 
 
 " We came," said Niklausse, " to breathe this pure 
 air, untainted b}^ human vice." 
 
 "Well, shall we go down again, Nildausse?" 
 
 " Let us go down, friend Van Tricasse." 
 
 The two worthies cast one last glance at the splen- 
 did panorama unrolled before them ; then the burgo-
 
 DR. OX'S EOBBT. 107 
 
 master took the lead, and went down with slow and 
 measured steps. The lawyer followed a few paces be- 
 hind him. The}- reached the landing-place at which 
 they had halted as they came up. Already their 
 cheeks began to flush. They paused an instant, and 
 continued their descent. 
 
 Soon Van Tricasse begged Niklausse to moderate 
 his pace ; for he trod on his heels, and "it anno3'ed 
 him." 
 
 It did more than annoy him ; for, twenty steps 
 lower, he ordered the lawj^er to stop, and let him get a 
 little ahead. 
 
 The lawyer replied, that he did not care to stand with 
 one leg in the ah', waiting the burgomaster's conven- 
 ience, and went on. 
 
 Van Tricasse replied by some hard words. 
 
 The lawj'er rejoined with a cutting allusion to the 
 burgomaster's age ; he being destined, by family ti-adi- 
 tion, to a second maniage. 
 
 The burgomaster descended twenty steps more, tell- 
 ing Xildausse plainly that this should not occui" again. 
 
 Niklausse replied that he would pass at any risk ; 
 and, the staircase being very nan'ow, a struggle took 
 place in the most profound darkness. "Booby" and 
 "blockhead" were the mildest epithets exchanged. 
 
 " We shall see, you beast ! " cried the burgomaster, 
 — "we shall see, what sort of a figure you'll cut in the 
 war, and what rank you'll march in."
 
 108 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 "In the ranlc before you, fool ! " replied Niklausse. 
 
 Then came louder cries, and a heavy fall. 
 
 What had happened ? "What had caused this sudden 
 change ? Why were the lambs of the summit turned 
 to tigers two hundred feet lower down ? 
 
 However it maj' have been, the tower-keeper, hearing 
 such a noise, opened the door just as the well-bruised 
 foes, with eyes starting from their sockets, were trj-ing 
 to tear each other's hair out, though, luckil}-, both wore 
 wigs. 
 
 " You shall give me satisfaction for this ! " screamed 
 the burgomaster, shaking his fists under his adversaiys 
 nose. 
 
 "Whenever 3'ou like," howled Lawj'er Niklausse, 
 threatening to kick him. 
 
 The keeper, who was put out himself, — I don't 
 know why, — thought this angry scene most natural. 
 I know not what personal feeling led him to meddle in 
 the matter ; but he hurried out, and reported every- 
 where that a duel would soon take place between Bur- 
 gomaster Van Tricasse and Lawyer Niklausse.
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 109 
 
 XIV. 
 
 HO"W THINGS NOW REACHED SUCH A POINT, THAT THE 
 PEOPLE OF QUIQUENDONE, OUR READERS, AND EVEN 
 THE AUTHOR, INSISTED UPON AN IMMEDIATE EXPLA- 
 NATION. 
 
 This last incident proves the pitch of exaltation to 
 which the Quiquendonians had risen. For the two 
 oldest friends in town, and the two gentlest before 
 this evU set in, to grow so violent, and that, too, so 
 soon after their former s}Tnpathy, their amiable in- 
 stincts, their contemplative mood, had returned to them 
 on top of the tower ! 
 
 Dr. Ox could not restrain his delight on hearing 
 what had happened. He resisted all the pra3-ers of 
 his assistant, who feared that things were taking a 
 dangerous turn. Besides, they both felt the general 
 excitement. They were no less unnaturall}' nervous 
 than the rest ; and they began to quarrel as fast as 
 the burgomaster and the law}'er. 
 
 "With these latter, one question outweighed all others, 
 and caused them to defer their duel i^ntil the Yirga- 
 minian question was settled. No one had a right to 
 shed his blood uselessly, when, to the verj'last drop, it 
 belonged to his dishonored country. 
 
 Things looked very black indeed, and there was no 
 stepping back. 
 
 Burgomaster Van Tricasse, in spite of all his war- 
 
 10
 
 110 DR. OTS HOBBY. 
 
 like ardor, thought it would be wrong to take the eneinj 
 by surprise. He therefore warned them, through the 
 town-crier, Master Hottering, to prepare to give satis- 
 faction for the trespass committed in 1195 on Quiquen- 
 donian ground. 
 
 The authorities of Virgamen could not at first ima- 
 gine what he meant ; and the town-crier, despite his 
 official character, was somewhat cavalierly dismissed. 
 
 Van Tricasse then sent an aide-de-camp from the 
 camp of the confectioner-general, citizen Hildevert 
 Shnman, manufacurer of barlej'-sugar, a very firm and 
 energetic fellow", who handed the Virgaminian authori- 
 ties a copy of the official report made in 1195 by order 
 of the Burgomaster Natalis Van Tricasse. 
 
 The Virgaminian authorities burst out laughing, and 
 treated the aide-de-camp just as they did the crier. 
 
 The burgomaster then assembled the principal citi- 
 zens ; a most clear and forcible letter was prepared ; 
 the casus belli was plainly set forth ; and twenty-four 
 hours' delay was granted the guilty citj', in which to 
 repair the outrage done to Quiqueudone. 
 
 The letter w^nt, and returned, some hours after, torn 
 to tatters, which formed new insults. The Virgamin- 
 ians knew the Quiquendouians' forbearance of old ; and 
 they scoffed at them, their challenge, and their casus 
 belli. 
 
 There was but one thing left to do, — to leave it to the 
 decision of arms, invoke the God of battle, and, accord-
 
 DR. OX'S BOBBY. Ill 
 
 ing to Prassian precedent, to fall upon the Virgaminians 
 before the}' were read}-. 
 
 War was therefore proclaimed. General Jean Orbi- 
 deck assembled his forces, sa^- 2,393 soldiers, for a popu- 
 lation of 2,393 souls. Women, chilcben, and old men 
 had joined the ranks of the able-bodied. Every thing 
 that was sharp or bhmt became a weapon. The city 
 arms were taken into use. Five guns had been discov- 
 ered, two of them triggerless, and had been distributed 
 among the vanguard. The artillery consisted of the old 
 castle culverin, taken in 1339 at the siege of Quesnoj', 
 — one of the first cannon mentioned in historj', and 
 which had not been fired for five hundred 3'ears. Thej' 
 had no balls for it either, luckil}- for the gunners ; but, 
 such as it was, the machine might yet awe the enemj'. 
 As for side-arms, the}' had been talien from the mu- 
 seum of antiquities, — flint hatchets, helmets, shields, 
 battle-axes, halberds, partisans, verderers, rapiers, &c., 
 — as well as from those private arsenals, generally known 
 as kitchens and pantries. But com'age, a good cause, 
 hatred of the enem}-, a thirst for revenge, would take 
 the place of more perfect weapons, and render unneces- 
 sary — at least the}' hoped so — modern needle-gims 
 and breech-loading cannon. 
 
 A rcA-iew was held. Not a citizen failed to answer to 
 the roll-call. Gen. Orbideck, hardly steady on his horse, 
 which was an ill-tempered beast, fell ofl" three times in 
 full view of the army ; but he got up again unwounded.
 
 112 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 which was considered a very favorable omen. The bur- 
 gomaster, the law^'er, commissary-civil, chief justice, 
 tutor, banker, minister, in fine, all the notables in town, 
 marched at the head. Not a tear was shed by their 
 mothers, sisters, wives, or daughters. They urged 
 their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers on to battle, 
 and even followed them, forming a rear-guard com- 
 manded by brave Madame Van Tricasse. 
 
 The town-crier's trumpet sounded ; the army was set 
 in motion, and, uttering fierce cries, turned towards 
 Audenarde Gate. 
 
 • • •     • • •• 
 
 Just as the head of the column left the city limits, a 
 man rushed before them. 
 
 "Stop, stop, madmen that j'ou are!" he cried. 
 " Suspend your blows. Let me close the stopcock. 
 You are not thirsting for blood. You are good, quiet 
 citizens. If 3'ou burn in this way, it is vay master's. 
 Dr. Ox's, fault. It was an experiment. Under pre- 
 text of lighting 3'our streets with oxhydi'ic gas, he 
 filled" — 
 
 The assistant was beside himself; but he could not 
 conclude. Just as Dr. Ox's secret was escaping from 
 his lips, Dr. Ox himself, with indescribable fiu"}', fell 
 upon unhappy Ygene, and closed his mouth with blows. 
 
 It was a pitched battle. The burgomaster, the law- 
 yer, and those worthies who had paused on seeing Ygene, 
 carried awa}', in turn, by anger, fell upon the new-com-
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 113 
 
 ers, listening to neither side. Dr. Ox and his assist- 
 ant, beaten and bruised, were just being dragged to 
 jail by Van Tricasse's order, when — 
 
 XV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE EXPLANATION BURSTS UPON YOU. 
 
 — When a loud noise was heard. The whole air 
 about Quiqnendone seemed in a blaze. A flame of 
 wonderful intensit}'' darted lilce a meteor to the very 
 zenith. If it had been night, the glare would have 
 been \'isible for ten leagues around. 
 
 The whole army of Quiquendone fell to their knees 
 like an army of monks. Fortunately, there was not a 
 single \T.ctim ; some scorches and a few bruises, tliat 
 was all. The confectioner, who by chance had not 
 fallen off his horse, had his feather singed, and escaped 
 without further injur}'. 
 
 What had happened ? 
 
 Quite simply, as the}' afterwards learned, the gas- 
 works had blown up. During the absence of the doc- 
 tor and his assistant, some imprudence had doubtless 
 been committed. Xo one knew how or wh}' communi- 
 cation was established between the ox^-gen tank and 
 the hj'drogen tank. The union of these two gases 
 
 10*
 
 114 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 
 
 fonned an explosive mixture, which had accidentally 
 ean2:ht fire. 
 
 This put a new face on affairs ; but, when the army 
 rose, Dr. Ox and his assistant Ygene were gone. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 IN WHICH THE INTELLIGENT KEADER LEARNS THAT HE 
 GUESSED THE TRUTH, IN SPITE OF ALL THE AUTHOR's 
 PRECAUTIONS. 
 
 After the explosion, Quiquendone immediatel}" be- 
 came the same peaceful, phlegmatic, Flemish city that 
 it was before. 
 
 After the explosion, which, moreover, caused no verj' 
 deep emotion, each one, unconscious^ and mechani- 
 cally, turned his steps in the direction of home, — the 
 burgomaster leaning on the town councillor, Law3'er 
 Schut on Dr. Gustos, Frantz Niklausse on his rival 
 Simon Collaert, quietl}-, silently, without a memory of 
 past events, already' oblivious of Virgamen and ven- 
 geance. The general returned to his confectionery- 
 shop, and his aide-de-camp to his barle^'-sugar. 
 
 Calmness returned ; all resumed their customar}' 
 course, — men and beasts, beasts and plants, all but 
 Audenarde Tower, which the explosion (these exj^lo-
 
 DR. OX'S HOBBY. 115 
 
 sions are queer things) , — which the exjjlosion had set 
 up again. 
 
 And from that time forth a loud word, a discussion, 
 was never heard in the town of Quiquendone. Xo 
 more poHtics, no more clubs, no more lawsuits, no 
 more i^olicemen. Commissary Passauf's office began 
 to prove a sinecure ; and, if his salary was not cut 
 short, it was only because the lawj-er and the burgo- 
 master could not decide to come to a decision about it. 
 Besides, from time to time, he still floated, without ever 
 suspecting it, through kind Auntj' Nemance's di'eams. 
 
 As for Frantz's rival, he generously yielded fair 
 Suzel to her lover, who hastened to marry her five or 
 six 3'ears later. 
 
 And, as for Madame Van Tricasse, she died ten 
 3'ears after, in due time ; and the burgomaster married 
 Mademoiselle Pelagic Van Tricasse, his cousin, under 
 excellent conditions — for the happy man who should 
 succeed him. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 IN -WHICn DR. ox's THEORY IS EXPLAnvTED. 
 
 IJuT what did this mysterious Dr. Ox do ? Tried an 
 odd experiment, nothing more. 
 
 Having laid his gas-pipes, he filled the public build-
 
 116 DR. OX-S HOBBY. 
 
 ings, then private houses, and finall}- the streets of 
 Qiiiqueudone, with pure ox3-gen without a particle 
 of h3-drogen. 
 
 This tasteless, odorless gas, filling the air in such 
 quantities, causes, when breathed, most singular or- 
 ganic disturbances. B}' living in a medium soaked 
 with oxj-gen, you are excited, super-excited, inflamed. 
 
 On returning to ordinar}' air, j'ou become your for- 
 mer self: witness the case of the burgomaster and 
 lawyer, when the}' found themselves on the tower's top, 
 in respirable air, the weight of the oxj-gen keeping it 
 among lower strata. 
 
 But then, too, living under such conditions, breathing 
 this gas, which transforms bod}' as well as soul, death 
 soon ensues, as in the case of those fools who lead a 
 " fast life." 
 
 It was well for the Quiquendonians that a providen- 
 tial explosion closed this dangerous experiment, by 
 cn;shing Dr. Ox's laboratory. 
 
 After all, and to conclude, arewtue, com'age, talent, 
 wit, imagination, all good qualities and faculties, only 
 a question of oxygen ? 
 
 Such was Dr. Ox's theory. But we have a right to 
 contest it ; and, for our part, we utterly reject it, in 
 spite of the strange experiment tried iVi the good town 
 of Quiquendone.
 
 "Master Zachary, wild wiili joy, was about to seize the clock, 
 ■when a hideous peal of laughter rang out behind him." 
 
 Page 161.
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 
 
 I. 
 
 A WINTER NIGHT. 
 
 rriHE city of Geneva lies on tlie western shore of the 
 -*- lake to which it gives or owes its name. The 
 Rhone, which crosses it on issuing from the lake, divides 
 it into two distinct parts, and is itself divided in the 
 centre of the city, b^' an island midAva}' between its two 
 shores. This topographic position is often reproduced 
 in great centres of commerce and industry. Doubt- 
 less the first settlers were tempted by the eas}- trans- 
 port ofiered by the rapid branches of the river, " those 
 roads which walk alone," as Pascal called them. In 
 the Rhone, the roads run. 
 
 At a date when no new and commodious dwellings 
 stood upon that island, anchored midflood, like a Dutch 
 galleon, the wonderful pile of houses, climbing one 
 above the other, afforded the e3'e a view full of charm- 
 ing confusion. The small extent of the island forced 
 
 117
 
 118 MASTER ZACHAR7. 
 
 some of these constructions to perch on piles, driven 
 helter-skelter into the rough bed of the Rhone. These 
 huge joists, black with age, worn b^' the waves, looked 
 like immense crab's claws, and produced an odd effect. 
 A few jellowish threads, real spiders'-webs, stretched 
 across this ancient substructure, waved to and fro in 
 the shadow, like the leaves of old oaks ; and the stream 
 flowing through the forest of piles, foamed and frothed 
 with melancholy groans. 
 
 One of these island dwellings struck you at once by 
 its look of rare old age. It was the home of the old 
 clockmaker, Master Zachar}', his daughter Gerande, 
 Aubert Thiin, his apprentice, and his old servant-maid, 
 Scholastique. 
 
 What a strange man Zachary was ! His age was 
 unknown. The oldest inhabitant of Geneva could not 
 sa}' how long his withered head had shaken on his 
 shoulders, nor when he was first seen walking through 
 the city streets, his long white hair floating on the 
 wind. The man did not live : he vibrated, like the 
 pendulum of one of his clocks. His dry, cadaverous 
 face was sombre-hued. Like Leonardo da Vinci's pic- 
 tures, he had turned black with age. 
 
 Gerande dwelt in the prettiest room in the old house, 
 where, through a np,iTow window, her gaze fell sadly 
 on the snowy peaks of Jura ; but the old man's bed- 
 room and work-room were in a sort of cellar, almost on 
 a level with the river, the floor resting on the piles.
 
 MASTEB ZACIIARY. 119 
 
 From time immemorial, Master Zacliary went out at 
 meal- times onl}-, and wlien called to regulate the city 
 clocks. He spent the rest of his time at a bench 
 covered with various horological tools, most of which 
 he had himself invented. 
 
 For he was a skilful man. His works were highly 
 prized throughout France and Germany. The most 
 industrious workmen in Geneva publicl}" acknowledged 
 his superiority ; and he was an honor to the city, to be 
 pointed out with the words, — 
 
 " He discovered the 'scapemeut ! " 
 
 And in fact, from this invention, which Zacharj-'s 
 labors will make plain to 30U later, modern watclunak- 
 ing dates its birth. 
 
 After worldng long and carefully, Zachary would put 
 his tools slowly away, cover the delicate bits he had 
 just adjusted with small bell-glasses, and stop his busy 
 wheel. Then he would raise a trap-door cut in the 
 floor, and there for hours, while the Rhone rushed 
 noisil}' beneath, he would kneel, and gi'ow gidd^' over 
 its foggy vapors. 
 
 One winter evening old Scholastique sensed up 
 supper, which, according to ancient custom, she shared 
 with the young apprentice. Although carefullj'-dressed 
 meats were offered in fine blue-and-white dishes. Mas- 
 ter Zachary would not eat. He hardly answered the 
 gentle words of Gerande, who was evidently distressed 
 by her father's taciturnity ; and Scholastique's chatter
 
 120 MASTER ZACIIARY. 
 
 affected him no more than the murmur of the river. 
 After this silent meal, the old watchmaker rose from 
 table without kissing his daughter, or bidding any one 
 the customary' good-night. He vanished through the 
 narrow door that led to his den ; and the staircase 
 creaked loudly beneath his heavj- steps. 
 
 Gerande, Aubert, and Scholastique did not speak 
 for some moments. The weather was gloomy that 
 night ; clouds hung heavily over the Alps, and threat- 
 ened to fall in rain ; the harsh Swiss atmosphere filled 
 the soul with sorrow ; while the south wind howled 
 about, and whistled shi'ill}'. 
 
 " Haven't you noticed, m}* dear j'oung lady," said 
 Scholastique at last, " that our master has been quite 
 upset for several days ? Hoh' Virgin ! I can under- 
 stand his not being hungrj- ; for his words have stuck in 
 his stomach, and it would take a pretty smart fellow to 
 draw one forth." 
 
 " Isly father has some secret cause for sorrow, which 
 even I cannot guess," replied Gerande, anxiety 
 marked in ever}' feature. 
 
 " Don't give way to grief, miss. You know what 
 odd habits Master Zachary has. "Who can read his 
 secret thoughts? Some care, doubtless, oppresses him, 
 but by to-morrow he will have forgotten it, and will 
 sincerel}- repent distressing his daughter." 
 
 Thus spoke Aubert, gazing into Gerande's lovel}- eyes. 
 Aubert was the only workman whom Master Zacharv
 
 MASTER ZACHART. 121 
 
 had ever admitted to all his secrets ; for he appreciated 
 his intelligence, discretion, and goodness of soul. 
 Aubert loved Geraude with rare faith and devotion. 
 
 Gerande was eighteen. Her oval face recalled those 
 simple Madonnas still suspended by pious worshippers 
 at street-corners in old cities of Brittany. Her e3-es 
 breathed infinite simplicity and tenderness. She was 
 lovable as a poet's sweetest dream. She never wore 
 gay colors ; and the white kerchief folded across her 
 shoulders had the tint and odor peculiar to ecclesiasti- 
 cal vestments. She lived the life of a mj'stic in this 
 city of Geneva, as yet free from the bonds of Cahinism. 
 
 Now, as Gerande read her Latin prayers at morn- 
 ing and evening in her u-ou-bound missal, she divined 
 the feeling hidden in Aubert Thiin's heart, and read 
 his devotion for her. And indeed, in his eyes, the whole 
 world was contained in the old watchmaker's house ; 
 and he spent all his time with the young giii, when, 
 work done, he left her father's worki'oom. 
 
 Old Scholastique looked on, but said nothing. She 
 preferred to exercise her tongue ou the miseries of the 
 age and household cares. They never tried to hush 
 her. She was like one of those musical snuff-boxes 
 made in Geneva, — once wound up, they must play 
 their repertory through, or break. 
 
 Finding Gerande so sad and silent, Scholastique 
 rose from her old wooden chair, stuck a wax candle 
 into a candlestick, lighted it, and placed it before a 
 11
 
 122 MASTER ZACEARY. 
 
 small wax virgin in a stone niche. Usually', all knelt 
 before this protecting saint of the domestic hearth, to 
 beg her to watch over them through the coming night ; 
 but this evening Gerande sat still, 
 
 " Well, nxy dear 3'oung lad}-," said Scholastique in 
 sui-prisc, " supper is done ; and 'tis the hour for evening 
 praj-er. Why wear ^'oiu- ej'es out with unaccustomed 
 vigils? holy virgin! better sleep, and find peace 
 in pleasant dreams. In this wretched age, who can 
 feel sure of a single happy day ? " 
 
 " Ought we not call in a ph^'sician for my father?'' 
 asked Gerande. 
 
 " A physician ! " cried the old servant. "Did Master 
 Zachary ever pay heed to doctors' whims and prescrip- 
 tions? He says you can phj'sic watches, but not 
 human bodies." 
 
 ' ' What shall we do ? " murmured Gerande. ' ' Has he 
 gone back to work ? Has he gone to bed ? " 
 
 "Gerande," said Aubert gently, "something dis- 
 tm'bs Master Zachary's mind ; and that is all that alls 
 him." 
 
 " Do you know what it is, Aubert?" 
 
 " Perhaps, Gerande." 
 
 "Tell us, then," cried Scholastique, economically 
 blowing out the candle. 
 
 " A few days ago, Gerande," said the 3'oung appren- 
 tice, "an incomprehensible thing occurred, — all the 
 watches yom* father has made and sold for manj' ^-ears
 
 31 ASTER Z ACE ART. 123 
 
 suddenly stopped : anj' number were brought back. 
 He took them carefully to pieces : the springs were in 
 good order, and the wheels all right. He put them 
 together again still more carefull}' ; but, spite of all his 
 skill, he cannot make them go." 
 
 " The Devil is in it ! " cried Scholastique. 
 
 " What do you mean?" said Gerande. " It seems 
 very natural to me. There's an end to ever}' thing on 
 earth : the hand of man can produce nothing eternal." 
 
 "It is nevertheless true," replied Aubert, "that 
 there is something strange and mysterious about it. 
 I helped Master Zachary m^'self to search for the 
 cause of the disturbance : I could not find it, and more 
 than once I di'opped m}- tools in despair." 
 
 "Gracious me!" said Scholastique, "what's the 
 use of all that work? How can you expect a little 
 coi^per instrument to go alone, and mark the hom's ? 
 The}' ought to have kept to the sun-dial." 
 
 " You would not talk so, Scholastique," replied Au- 
 bert, "if 3'ou knew that the sundial was invented by 
 Cain." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Who taught you that? " 
 
 "Do you suppose," said Gerande timidl}', " that I 
 could pray God to restore my father's watches to life ? " 
 
 " Of course," said the young apprentice. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! Here are useless pra^-ers," grumbled the 
 old servant ; ' ' but Heaven will forgive them for their 
 good intention."
 
 124 MASTER ZACnARY. 
 
 The candle being relighted, Scholastique, Gerande, 
 and Aubert knelt upon the flagged floor ; and the young 
 girl praj'ed for her mother's soul, for the nightl}' bless- 
 ing, for travellers and prisoners, for saints and sinners, 
 and, above all, that her father's unl^nown sorrow might 
 be removed. 
 
 Then the three pious creatures rose with lighter 
 hearts ; for the}' had rested their burdens on Die Lord. 
 
 Aubert went to his room ; Gerande sat pensively at 
 her window while the last lights went out in Geneva ; 
 and Scholastique, having poured a little water on the 
 smouldering ashes, and pushed the two great bolts on 
 the street-door to, threw herself upon her bed, and 
 soon di'eamed she was dying of fright. 
 
 Meanwhile the horror of this winter night increased. 
 Sometimes the eddying waves sucked the wind in under 
 the piles, and the house shook from garret to cellar ; 
 but the 3'oung girl, wrapt up in grief, thought only of 
 her father. Since Aubert Thiin's words. Master Zach- 
 ary's illness had assumed unnatural proportions in her 
 eyes, and it seemed to her that his dear life, now pure- 
 ly mechanical, worked upon its worn wheels with an 
 effort. 
 
 Suddenly the blind, blown by the gale, struck against 
 the window-pane. Gerande trembled, and rose quickl}', 
 not understanding the cause of this noise, that roused 
 her from hei dieams. As soon as her emotion was 
 calmed, she threw up the sash. The clouds had part-
 
 MASTER Z A CHARY. 125 
 
 ed ; and the rain fell in torrents on the neighboring roofs. 
 The young girl leaned out to catch the blind beaten 
 about hj the wind ; but she was frightened. It seemed 
 to her as if the rain and the riA-er, mingling their 
 stormy waters, were rising above the tottering house, 
 which cracked in ever}- plank. She turned to fl}' from 
 the room ; but she saw a light coming from Master 
 Zachary's den ; and in one of the momentarj- calms, when 
 the elements were hushed, plaintive sounds fell upon 
 her ear. She tried to close the window, but could not. 
 The wind thrust her aside like a thief who had stolen 
 into the house. 
 
 Gerande thought she should go mad with terror. 
 What was her father doing? She opened the door, 
 which slipped from her hands, and slammed to and fro 
 in the storm ; but, finding herself in the dark supper- 
 room, she succeeded in feeling her wa}' to the staircase 
 which led to Master Zachary's room, and glided in, pale 
 and fainting. 
 
 The old watchmaker stood erect in the middle of 
 the chamber filled with the roaring of the flood. His 
 bristling hair gave him a sinister look. He tallied and 
 gesticulated, neither seeing nor hearing an}* thing. 
 Gerande stood on the threshold. 
 
 " 'Tis death ! " said Master Zachary in a hollow 
 voice, — ' ' tis death ! " Why should I live when mj life 
 is scattered all over the earth? For I, Master Zacha- 
 ry, I am indeed the creator of all these watches I have 
 11*
 
 126 MASTER ZACUARY. 
 
 made. I have enclosed a piece of my very soul in 
 every one of those iron, gold, or silver cases. Every 
 time one of those accursed time-pieces stopped, I felt 
 my heart cease to beat ; for I regulated them by its 
 pulsations." 
 
 And, talking in this strange fashion, the old man 
 glanced at his bench. There lay all the parts of a 
 watch which he had taken carefullj- apart. He took 
 up a sort of hollow cjdinder, called the baiTel, which 
 holds the mainspring, and took out the steel spiral, 
 which, instead of expanding, according to the laws of 
 elasticit}', remained coiled up like some sleeping snake. 
 It seemed rheumatic as a feeble old man whose blood is 
 frozen with age. Master Zachary vainl}^ strove to un- 
 roll it with his slrinn}- fingers, whose shadow stretched 
 along the wall, but he could not do it ; and soon, with 
 a terrible cry of rage, he hurled it through the trap- 
 door into the whirlpool of the Ehone. 
 
 Gerande, rooted to the spot, stood breathless, motion- 
 less. She wished to approach her father, and could not 
 stir. Dizzy fancies came over her. Suddenly a voice 
 whispered in her ear, through the darkness, — 
 
 " Gerande, does sorrow keep you still awake? Ee- 
 turn, I beg : the night is cold." 
 
 " Aubert," murmured the 3'oung girl, " you here ! " 
 
 " Must I not be distiu-bed by whatever disturbs 
 3'ou ? " replied Aubert. 
 
 These sweet words brought back the blood to the
 
 3f ASTER Z ACE ART. 127 
 
 maiden's heart. She leaned on the apprentice's ami, 
 and said, — 
 
 " Jly father is very ill, Aubert. You alone can cure 
 him ; for this soul-sickness will not peld to his daugh- 
 ter's consolation. His mind has been affected hy a 
 veiy natm-al accident ; and, b^^ helping him to repair his 
 watches, you ma}' restore him to reason. Aubert, is it 
 not true," she added, still excited, " that his life is 
 bound up in his time-pieces ? " 
 
 Aubert did not answer. 
 
 ' ' But then Heaven could not approve my father's 
 labors," said Gerande, trembling. 
 
 " I do not know," replied the apprentice, warming 
 the 3'oung girl's icy hands in his own. " But return to 
 your chamber, poor Geraude, and try to gain hope with 
 repose." 
 
 Gerande slowly regained her room, and remained 
 there till dawn, without closing her e3'es ; while Master 
 Zachar}', still mute and motionless, watched the stream 
 running noisily below. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE PRIDE OF SCIENCE. 
 
 The exactness of Genevese merchants in business- 
 matters is almost proverbial. They are severely honest,
 
 128 MASTER ZACHARY. 
 
 and even over-scrupulous. Fanc}', then, Master Zach- 
 ary's mortification, wlien all these "watches, put to- 
 gether with such care, were returned to him from every 
 quarter. 
 
 Now, these watches had certaiul}- stopped, and with- 
 out anj' apparent reason. The machiner}' was in good 
 condition and perfectlj' firm ; but the springs had lost 
 their elasticity. The watchmaker vainly strove to re- 
 place them ; but the wheels were immovable. These 
 strange disturbances did Master Zacharj- a vast injur}-. 
 His splendid inventions had often caused insinuations of 
 sorcery, which now took shape. These rumors reached 
 Gerande, and she often trembled for her father when 
 QxW glances Avere fixed upon him. 
 
 After this night of anguish, however, Master Zachary 
 seemed to return to work with more confidence. The 
 mornins; sun ijavc him couraore. Aubert was not long 
 in joining him in the workshop, and received a friendh' 
 " good-morning." 
 
 " I am better," said the old watchmaker. " I know 
 not what odd fancies filled my brain last night ; but the 
 sun has chased them all awaj^ with the shadows of 
 night." 
 
 " My faith, master ! " replied Aubert, " I don't like 
 the night for you an}' better than I do for myself." 
 
 " And you are right, Aubert. If 3'ou ever become a 
 learned man, you will learn that daylight is as neces- 
 sarv as food. A oreat savant owes himself to the 
 praises of other men."
 
 MASTER Z AC HART. 129 
 
 Master, the sin of pride is taking hold of yon 
 
 again." 
 
 "Pride, Aubert! Destroy- my past, annihilate my 
 present, crush m}* future, and then I ma}' be i)er- 
 mitted to live in obscurity. Poor boy, 3011 cannot 
 comprehend the sublime mysteries of my ai't. What 
 are jon but a tool between my hands ? " 
 
 " Still, Master Zachary," said Aubert, " I have more 
 than once won compliments from yow for the vray in 
 ■which I handled the most delicate portions of your 
 clocks and watches." 
 
 " To be sure, Aubert," replied Master Zachar}', " you 
 are a good workman, whom I love. But when 3'ou 
 work 3'ou don't seem to have any thing but copper, gold, 
 or silver in your hand : you do not feel the metals 
 warmed b}"^ my genius, palpitate like living flesh. You 
 will never die from the death of 3'our works." 
 
 Master Zachary was silent after these words ; but 
 Aubert tried to continue the conversation. 
 
 " By my faith, master ! " said he, " I love to see 3'ou 
 working so hard. You will be read}- for oui- corpora- 
 tion festival ; for I see that crystal watch is progi'cssing 
 rapidly." 
 
 " Of course, Aubert ! " cried the old watchmaker. 
 " And it will be no small honor to have cut this sub- 
 stance which is hard as a diamond. Ah, Louis Bcr- 
 ghem did well to perfect the art of diamond-cul ting, 
 which has permitted me to polish and pierce the hardest 
 stones."
 
 130 MASTER ZACIIART. 
 
 As he spoke, Master Zachaiy held up some small bits 
 of machinery cut from crj'stal with exquisite workman- 
 ship. The case, the pivots, and the wheels were of 
 the same substance ; and, in this most difficult work, he 
 had displayed indescribable talent. 
 
 ' ' Will it not be glorious ? " he cried with flushed 
 cheeks, — " will it not be glorious to see this watch pal- 
 pitating through its transparent case, and to count its 
 heart-throbs ? " 
 
 " I would wager, master," replied the 3'oung appren- 
 tice, " that it will not yoxy a second in a j^ear." 
 
 " And you would surel}' win. Have I not put the 
 purest part of myself into it ? Does my heart varj^ ? " 
 
 Aubert dared not lift his eyes to his master's face. 
 
 " Speak frankl}^," said the old man sadly. " Have 
 you never thought me mad ? Have you not sometimes 
 thought me a pre}' to disastrous dreams ? Yes, I know 
 you have ! I have often read my doom in my daugh- 
 ter's ej^es and in your own. Oh ! " he cried in agony, 
 " to be misunderstood by those dearest on earth. But 
 to you, Aubert, I will 3'et prove that I am right. 
 Do not shake your head ; for you will be confounded. 
 The day when 3'ou can listen and understand me, you 
 shall see that I have discovered the secrets of existence, 
 — the secrets of the mysterious union between soul and 
 body." 
 
 So saying. Master Zachary swelled with pride. His 
 e3'es shone with supernatural fire ; and high spirit
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 131 
 
 coursed through his veins : and in very truth, if ever 
 vanit}' were legitimate, it was Master Zacharj-'s vanity. 
 For up to his da}- watchmaking had been in its 
 infancy. From the time when Plato, four hundi-ed j-ears 
 before the Christian era, invented the night-clock, a 
 sort of clepsydra which told the hours by the sound of 
 a flute, the science had been almost stationary. Its 
 professors worked on the outside, rather than the in- 
 side ; and those were the days of beautiful watches in 
 iron, copper, wood, and silver, embossed like one of 
 Cellini's ewers. You had a masterpiece of chasing, 
 w-hich kept time in ver}- imperfect fashion ; but 3'ou 
 had a masterpiece. T\Tien the artist's imagination 
 was no longer turned to plastic perfection, it set its 
 wits to work on those clocks with mo'^ing figures and 
 musical works, arranged most curiously. Besides, who 
 cared to regulate the flow of time in those days ? The 
 law's delay was not invented then ; physical science 
 and astronomy did not base their calculations on ex- 
 actly-measured periods ; there were no establishments 
 closing at fixed hours, nor trains starting to the second. 
 At evening they rang the curfew, and at night they 
 cried the hours thi'ough the silence. To be sure, they 
 did not live so long, if life be measured by deeds 
 accomplished ; but they lived better. The mind was 
 nourished by those noble sentiments born of the con- 
 templation of works of art ; and pictures were not 
 painted to order. It took two centimes to build a
 
 132 MASTIIR ZACriARY. 
 
 church ; an artist painted but a few pictures in a life- 
 time ; a poet composed but one great work : but every 
 one was a jewel to be prized by future ages. 
 
 When the exact sciences began to progress, watch- 
 making followed in their wake, although alwa^-s held 
 back b}' one insurmountable difEculty, — the lack of a 
 regular and continuous measurement of time. 
 
 Now, it was amidst this stagnation that Master 
 Zachary invented the 'scapement, which produced 
 mathematical regularit}' by bringing the regulating 
 movement of the pendulum into contact with an on- 
 ward-revolving motion. This invention had turned 
 the old watchmaker's head. Pride mounting in his 
 heart, like the mercury in the thermometer, had 
 attained the degree of transcendent folly. By analog}' 
 he had been led to materialistic deductions ; and, while 
 malring his watches, he dreamed he had surprised the 
 secrets of the union between body and soid. 
 
 So, on this occasion, seeing that Aubert listened 
 attentively, he said in a simple tone of conviction, — 
 
 " Do you know what life is, my boy? Do j'ou under- 
 stand the action of those springs which make up exist- 
 ence ? Have you looked into yourself ? No ; and yet, 
 with the eyes of science, yoxx must have seen the 
 intimate connection between God's work and mine ; for 
 from his creatures I have copied the combination of 
 wheels in my watches." 
 
 " Master," answered Aubert quickl}-, " can yow com-
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 133 
 
 pare a machine of steel and copper to tliat breath of 
 God, called the ' soul,' which animates the body, as the 
 breeze lends motion to the flower ? Can there be invis- 
 ible wheels which move our arms and legs? What 
 machine could be so skilfiilh' adjusted as to engender 
 thought iu us ? " 
 
 " That is not the question," replied Master Zachary 
 gentl}', but with the persistence of a blind man walli;ing 
 over a precipice. " If 3'ou would understand me, 
 recall the purpose of the 'scape-wheel I discovered. 
 When I saw how irregularly watches went, I saw that 
 the motion contained in them was insufficient, and that it 
 must be connected with another regular and independ- 
 ent motor. I then thought that I might emplo}' the 
 pendulum, if I could regularize its oscillation. Now, 
 was it not a sublime idea that came to me, of restoring 
 the force exi^ended by that very clock-work it was to 
 regulate ? " 
 
 Aubert made a sign of assent. 
 
 " Now, Aubert," continued the old watchmaker, 
 gi'owing animated, " glance at yourself. Do you not 
 see that there are two distinct forces within j'ou, — a 
 motive and a regulative power? The soul is the prin- 
 ciple of life : that, then, is the motive power. Whether 
 produced by a weight, or by some immaterial influence, 
 its home is in the heart. But, without the bod}-, this 
 movement would be unequal, irregular, impossible. So 
 the bod}- comes to regulate the soul, and, like the pen-
 
 134 MASTER Z AC HART. 
 
 dulum, its oscillations are regular ; and this is so true, 
 that we fall ill if we eat, drink, sleep, or carry on any 
 bodih' function irregularl}'. So, just as in my watches, 
 the soul restores the force expended. Well, what 
 produces this intimate union of body and soul, unless 
 it is a marvellous 'scapement, by which the wheels of 
 the one work into the wheels of the other? Such are 
 my discoveries ; and there are no more secrets for me to 
 work out in this life, which, after all, is nothing but an 
 ingenious machine." 
 
 Master Zachary was sublime in his delusion, which 
 transported him to the infinite. But his daughter 
 Gerande, standing on the threshold, had heard all. She 
 flew into her father's arms, and he pi-essed her convul- 
 sively to his breast. 
 
 " What ailsj'ou, my child? " asked Master Zachary. 
 
 " If I had nothing but a spring here," said she, put- 
 ting her hand to her heart, " I should not love 3-ou so 
 dearly, father." 
 
 Master Zachary gazed fixedly at his daughter, with- 
 out a word. Suddenly he uttered a cry, raised his hand 
 quickly to his heart, and fell fainting into his old 
 leather arm-chair. 
 
 "Father! AVhatisit?" 
 
 " Help ! " cried Aubert. " Scholastique ! " 
 
 But Scholastique did not come at once. Some one 
 had knocked at the front-door. She went to open it ; 
 and when she returned to the workroom, before she
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 135 
 
 opened her lips, the old watchmaker, coming to his 
 senses, said, — 
 
 " I know, old Scholastique, that you're bringing me 
 another cursed watch that has stopped." 
 
 " Heavens, he is right ! " replied Scholastique, hand- 
 ing a watch to Aubert. 
 
 " Mj heart could not deceive me," said the old man 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Aubert wound up the watch with the greatest care ; 
 but it would not go. 
 
 ni. 
 
 A SINGULAR VISITOR. 
 
 Poor Gerande's lamp of life would have gone out 
 with her father's, had not the thought of Aubert re- 
 called her to this world. 
 
 The old watchmaker faded day by day. His facul- 
 ties were evidently weakened by constantly dwelling on 
 a single subject. B}^ an evil association of ideas, he 
 referred every thing to his monomania ; and real life 
 seemed to give place in him to an unnatural, medium- 
 istic existence. Some malicious rivals then revived 
 the devilish rumors once spread abroad concerning 
 Master Zachary's labors. 
 
 The account of the singular wa}' in which all his
 
 136 MASTER ZACBARY. 
 
 "watches stopped running, produced an immense effect 
 on the master watchmakers of Geneva. What did thia 
 sudden inertia mean ? and what was the sti'ansre bond 
 between these wheels and Master Zachary's life ? These 
 were mysteries not to be confronted without secret 
 awe. Throughout all ranlis and ages in the cit}', from 
 the apprentice to the fine gentleman who used the old 
 watchmaker's watches, there was no one who could 
 judge by himself of the singularity of these facts. 
 They vainlj' tried to penetrate to Master Zachary's 
 presence. He fell very ill, which gave his daughter 
 an excuse for ridding him of incessant visitors, who 
 generally came merely to reproach and recriminate. 
 
 Doctors and drugs were alike powerless before this 
 organic decay, whose cause escaped them. It some- 
 times seemed as if the old man's heart ceased to beat ; 
 and then it resumed its throbbing with distressing 
 irregularit}'. 
 
 A custom then existed of displaying a master's 
 handiwork for public appreciation. Tlie heads of the 
 different trades sought to distinguish themselves by the 
 novelt}^ or perfection of their work ; and from them 
 Master Zacharj- received the most noisy pity, though 
 an interested sort of pit}', after all. His rivals 
 mom-ned the more, that the}- feared him less. Thej- 
 were still mindful of the old watchmaker's triumphs, 
 when he exhibited his watches with moving figui-es, 
 and his musical watches, which won general admira-
 
 MASTER ZACHART. 137 
 
 tion, and brought such high prices in France, Switzer- 
 land, and German}'. 
 
 However, thanks to the constant nursing of Gerande 
 and Aubert, Master Zacharj-'s health grew somewhat 
 fii'mer ; and, in the quiet pause of convalescence, he 
 succeeded in freeing himself from the fancies that 
 strove to master him. As soon as he could wallc, his 
 daughter dragged him from the house, thronged inces- 
 santh' with discontented customers. Aubert, for his 
 part, remained in the workroom, vainly taking apart 
 and putting together rebellious watches ; and the poor 
 bo3', at his wits'-end, often seized his head in both 
 hands, fearing he should go mad like his master. 
 
 Gerande guided her father's steps towards the" gay- 
 est walks in town. Sometimes, Master Zachar}' leaning 
 on her arm, she went by the wa}' of St. Anton}-, where 
 the view extends to the shores of Cologne, and far 
 across the lake. Sometimes, on fine mornings, they 
 could see the huge peaks of Mount Buet rising from 
 the horizon. Gerande gave names to all these places, 
 quite forgotten by her father, whose memor}' seemed to 
 fail him ; and he took a childish pleasure in hearing all 
 these things he knew of yore. Master Zachary leaned 
 on his daughter ; and the two heads, silver and gold, 
 shone in the same sunbeam. 
 
 So the old watchmaker found that he was not alone 
 in the world. Seeing his daughter so young and fair, 
 himself so old and broken, he thought, that, when he 
 
 12*
 
 138 MASTER Z AC HART. 
 
 died, she would be left alone, shelterless ; and he looked 
 about him. Manj' 3'oung Genevese workmen had 
 ahead}' wooed Gerande ; but none had access to the 
 close retreat in which the watchmaker's famil}' dwelt. 
 It was therefore natui'al, that, in this lucid interval, 
 the old man's choice should fall on Aubert Thiin. 
 Once upon the ti'ack, he remembered that the young 
 pair had been brought up in the same faith, the same 
 ideas, and that the movement of their hearts seemed to 
 him " isochi'onal," as he said one day to Scholastique. 
 
 The old servant, fairty delighted with the word, al- 
 though she did not know what it meant, swore by her 
 holy patron saint that the whole town should hear of it 
 in less than fifteen minutes. Master Zachary had great 
 trouble to quiet her ; and at last won from her a promise 
 of silence, which she never kept. 
 
 So that all Geneva was soon talldng of the speedy 
 marriage of Gerande and Aubert ; but while the^- talked 
 they often heard an odd sneer, and a voice sa3-ing, — 
 
 " Gerande will never many Aubert." 
 
 If they turned, they saw a little old man, whom the}' 
 never saw before. 
 
 How old was this strange being? No one knew. 
 The)' fancied he must have lived for centuries ; but 
 that was all. His large flat head rested on shoulders 
 as broad as the rest of his body was tall, and that was 
 about three feet. The fellow would have made a good 
 clock, for his stomach seemed made for the face ;
 
 MASTER Z AC EAR 7. 139 
 
 and the pendulum could have swung at ease in his 
 breast. His nose was so thin and sharp, it might 
 easily have been taken for the finger of a sun-dial ; his 
 straggling, broken teeth looked like the teeth of a 
 ■wheel, and he ground them between his lips ; his voice 
 rang like a bell ; and his heart beat like the tick of a 
 clock. This little man, who moved his arms like the 
 hands on a clock-dial, walked b}' jerks, never turning 
 back. If any one followed him, the}' found that he 
 went a league an hour, and that his com'se was almost 
 cii'cular. 
 
 For a short time only had this strange being wan- 
 dered, or rather circled, round the citj^ ; but it had 
 already been observed that every da}-, just as the sun 
 reached the meridian, he paused before St. Peter's 
 Church, and resumed his walk after the twelve strokes 
 for noon had sounded. But, save at this very moment, 
 he seemed to be present at every couA'ersation concern- 
 ing the old watchmaker ; and people wondered, with 
 alarm, what connection could exist between him and 
 Master Zachaiy. Besides, they noticed that he never 
 lost sight of the old man and his daughter in their 
 walks. 
 
 One day, upon the Treille, Gerande perceived this 
 monster looking and laughing at her. She pressed" 
 closer to her father's side with a movement of teiTor. 
 
 " What ails j'ou, Gerande?" asked Master Zachary. 
 
 " I don't know," replied the young girl.
 
 140 MASTER ZACnARY. 
 
 " A cliange has come over you, daughter," said the 
 old watchmaker. " Are you going to fall ill, iu your 
 turn? Well," he added with a mom'uful smile, " I 
 must mirse 3'ou, and I will nm'se 3'ou well." 
 
 " father ! it was nothing. I felt cold, and fancied 
 it Was" — 
 
 ''Well, what, Gerande?" 
 
 " The presence of that man, who never ceases to 
 follows us," she replied in a low voice. 
 
 Master Zacharj- tm'ned towards the little old man. 
 
 " Zounds I but he goes well, though," said he with a 
 satisfied air; "for it is just four o'clock. Don't be 
 frightened, my child. That is not a man : it is a clock." 
 
 Gerande looked at her father iu terror. How could 
 Master Zacharj- tell time on this queer creature's 
 face? 
 
 ' ' B}' the by," said the old watchmaker, paying no 
 more heed to him, " I have not seen Aubertfor several 
 days." 
 
 "He is still with us, father," replied Gerande, her 
 thoughts taking a sweeter turn. 
 
 " What is he doing, then? " 
 
 " He is bus}-, father." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the old man : " he is busy repairing 
 my watches, is he not? But he will never succeed; 
 for they do not need repairs, but resm-rection." 
 
 Gerande was silent. 
 
 " I must know," added the old man, " whether any
 
 MASTER ZACI1AR7. 141 
 
 more of those accursed watches, on which the Devil 
 has cast his spell, have been brought back." 
 
 After these words. Master Zachar}- was perfectl}' 
 dumb until he reached his own door ; and for the first 
 time since his illness, while Gerande went slowly to her 
 room, he descended to the workshop. 
 
 Just as he crossed the threshold, one of the count- 
 less clocks hansfin;^ on the wall struck five. Gener- 
 all}' the machiner}' was so well adjusted, that all the 
 clocks struck at once ; and their harmony gladdened the 
 old man's heart : but on that da}' every bell took its 
 own time for ringing, so that the ear was besieged by 
 their successive noises for a quarter of an hour. Mas- 
 ter Zachary suffered frightfully. lie could not keep 
 still. He went from one clock to another, and beat time 
 for them like the leader of some orchestra, who has 
 lost control of his men. 
 
 AYhen the last sound died away, the door opened ; 
 and Master Zachary trembled from head to foot as he 
 saw the little old man gazing fiixedly at him, and say- 
 ing,— 
 
 " Master, may I have a few words with you?" 
 
 " Who are you? " asked the watchmaker abruptly. 
 
 " A fellow- workman. I have charge of regulating 
 the sun." 
 
 " Oh ! you regulate the sun? " replied Master Zach- 
 ary quickly and without a frown. '• "Well, I can 
 hardly compliment you on 3'our work. Yom* sun goes
 
 142 MASTER ZACEARf. 
 
 very badly ; and, to keep in time with him, we have to 
 be constant!}" setting our clocks baclcward or forward." 
 
 ' ' And by the De^i^s cloven hoof ! " exclaimed the 
 monstrosit}', " yon are right, master. M}- sun does not 
 alwaj'S mark noondaj' at the same moment with your 
 clocks : but, some day, folks "\^ill know that that comes 
 from the inequalitj' of the translatory motion of the 
 earth ; and a mean noon will be established to regulate 
 the iiTCgularit}'." 
 
 " Shall I live to see that day?" asked the old watch- 
 maker, with flashing ej'es. 
 
 " To be sure ! " replied the little old man, laughing. 
 " Do you suppose that 3'ou shall ever die? " 
 
 " Alas ! but I am very ill." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! let us talk of that. By Beelzebub ! that 
 will lead up to the xerj thing I want to speak to you 
 about." 
 
 So saying, this strange being unceremoniously sprang 
 into the old leather arm-chair, and drew his legs up 
 under him in the st3-le of those fleshless bones which 
 the painters of funeral hatchments are so fond of cross- 
 ing above a skull. Then he continued in an ironical 
 tone, — 
 
 "Come, Master Zachary, what's going on in this 
 good town of Geneva ? I hear your health is failing, 
 that your watches require doctoring. " 
 
 " Ah ! then 3'ou, too, think that there is a bond of 
 union between me and m}' watches ? " cried Master 
 Zachary.
 
 MASTLR Z AC HART. 143 
 
 " I fancy that those watches have their faults, yes, 
 their vices too. If the rascals have not led a verj 
 regular life, they must paj" the penalty of their disor- 
 der. I thinlc that it's time the}' mended their ways." 
 
 " What do 3'ou mean by faults? " said Master Zach- 
 ar}', flushing at the sarcastic tone in which these words 
 were uttered. " Have they not a right to be proud of 
 their origin ? " 
 
 "Not too much so, not too much!" replied the 
 little old man. " The}' bear a famous name ; and 'tis 
 tnie an illustrious signature is graven on their faces ; 
 and the}' have the exclusive privilege of mingling in 
 the best society. But for some time they've been acting 
 badly, and you can't prevent it, Master Zachary ; and 
 the most stupid apprentice in Geneva could put them 
 to rights better than you." 
 
 " Than I, than Master Zachary ! " cried the old man 
 with a proud gesture. 
 
 " Than you, Master Zachaiy, who cannot restore your 
 watches to life." 
 
 " Because I am feverish, and so are they," replied 
 the old watchmaker, a cold sweat bathing every limb. 
 
 " Very well : they shall die with you, since you are 
 so unable to restore elasticity to their springs." 
 
 "Die ! Not so : you yourself have said I could not 
 die. I cannot die ! — I, the first watchmaker in the 
 world, — I, \Yho, by means of various wheels and pin- 
 ions, found out how to regulate time with absolute pre-
 
 144 MASTER Z AC HART. 
 
 cision. Have I not subjected time to fixed laws ? and can 
 I not dispose of it as I like? Into what immense uncer- 
 tainty was not human destiny plunged before my sub- 
 lime genius disposed its wandering hours in regular 
 order? To what certain moment could any act of life 
 be referred? But 3'ou, man or de\il, whichever you 
 ma}' be, you never di'eamed of the grandeur of my art, 
 which calls in all the sciences to aid it. iS"o, no ! 
 Master Zachary cannot die ; for, having ordered time, 
 time would end with him. It would return to that 
 infinite abj'ss whence my genius snatched it, and would 
 be lost forever in. nihility. No, I can no more die than 
 can the Creator of this universe subject to his laws. 
 I have become his equal, and I have shared his power. 
 Master Zachary created time, if God created eternity." 
 
 The old watchmaker looked like some fallen angel, 
 rising in revolt against his Maker. The little old man 
 gave him a caressing glance, and seemed to applaud 
 his impious rage. 
 
 ""Well said, mnster," he replied. '' Beelzebub had 
 less reason to compare himself with God. Your glory 
 must not perish. So your servant will show j'ou how 
 to conquer these rebellious watches." 
 
 "How? How?" cried Master Zachary. 
 
 ' ' You shall know the day after you give me your 
 daughter's hand in marriage." 
 
 "My Gerande?" 
 
 " The same."
 
 MASTER Z ACE ART. U5 
 
 *' M}- daugliter's heart is no longer free," sa.d Mas- 
 ter Zachar}-, in answer to this demand, which neither 
 seemed to shock nor to surprise him. 
 . ' ' Bah ! She is one of your handsomest clocks ; but 
 she will soon stop too." 
 
 " M}' daughter, my Gerande ! No, no ! " 
 
 " Well, well, return to 3'our watches. Master Zach- 
 ar}-. Take them apart, and put them together again. 
 AiTange a match between 3'our daughter and your 
 young apprentice. Temper well 3'our best steel springs. 
 Bless Aubert and lovely Gerande. But remember that 
 your watches shall never go, nor shall Gerande ever 
 wed Aubert." 
 
 Thereupon the little old man vanished, but not 
 before Master Zachary heard six o'clock strike within 
 him. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ST. Peter's church. 
 
 Meanwhile Master Zachary faded daily, body and 
 mind. Onl3- occasionally- did some feverish excitement 
 lead him to resume his labor with more than wonted 
 zeal ; and then his daughter had hard work to win him 
 away. 
 
 His vanity was even greater than ever since the 
 
 13
 
 146 MASTER ZACnARY. 
 
 crisis brought on by bis strange visitor ; and he resolved 
 to master b}' sheer genius the evil influence which op- 
 pressed his works and himself. He first visited the 
 various town-clocks intrusted to his care. He exam- 
 ined them minutely, and assured himself that the wheels 
 were in good order, the pinions firm, and the weights 
 exactly balanced. He listened to ever}^ tone with the 
 anxious ear of a doctor examining a patient's lungs. 
 Nothing in these clocks gave any token of deca3\ 
 
 Geraude and Aubert often accompanied the old 
 watchmaker on his rounds. He must have been pleased 
 b}'^ their desire for his company, and certaiul}- could not 
 have been so disturbed, as he was, by the thought of 
 his speedy death, if he had believed that his existence 
 would be continued in that of these dear creatures, if 
 he had understood that some portion of a parent's life 
 alwa^'s lingers in his children. 
 
 The old watchmaker, returning home, set to work 
 with eager assiduity. Although persuaded of failure, 
 it 3'et seemed impossible ; and he never ceased taking 
 apart and putting together the watches brought to him. 
 
 Aubert, on his part, vainlj- set his wits to work to 
 solve the riddle. "Master," said he, "perhaps the 
 wheels and pinions are worn out." 
 
 " Do you want to kill me by slow torture?" replied 
 Master Zachary violently. "Are these watches mere 
 child's work? Did I turn them in a lathe for fear of 
 poundhig m}' fingers ? Didn't I forge them myself, that
 
 MASTER ZACHART. 147 
 
 they might be stronger ? Are not the springs tempered 
 to rare perfection ? Could finer oil be used to grease 
 them? You can but admit these truths, and confess 
 that the Devil has a hand in it." 
 
 And thus, from morning till night, dissatisfied cus- 
 tomers thronged the house, penetrating at last to the 
 old Tratchmaker, who knew not which to answer first. 
 
 " This watch loses so much, that I cannot do an}' 
 thing with it." said one. 
 
 " This," said another, " is perfectly stubborn, and 
 stands as still as Joshua's sun ! " 
 
 "If it is true that your health affects your watches," 
 cried the malecontents, " get well as soon as 3'ou can, 
 -Master Zachar^-." 
 
 The old man gazed wildly at the crowd, replying 
 only by shakes of his head and sad words. 
 
 " "Wait till spring days come, friends. Then life re- 
 Ad ves in feeble frames. The sun must come and waiTQ 
 us all." 
 
 " That's a fine thing, if our watches are to be out of 
 order all winter ! " said one of the most furious. " Do 
 j'ou know. Master Zachar}', that ^-our name is graven 
 on the face of ever}- one? By the Holy Virgin, 3'ou 
 dishonor your signature ! " 
 
 At last the old man, stung to the quick by these re- 
 proaches, took a handful of gold from his secretary, 
 and began to buy back the damaged watches. On 
 hearing this news, customers flocked in crowds ; and
 
 148 MASTER ZACnARY. 
 
 the small stock of money diminished rapidlj' : but the 
 dealer's honesty held out. Gerande heartil}' applauded 
 his delicate sense of honor ; and Aubert "was soon 
 obliged to offer Master Zacharj' his savings. 
 
 " What "will become of my daughter? " said the old 
 watchmaker, sometimes falling back, in tliis universal 
 wreck, on his paternal love. 
 
 Aubert dared not repl^' that he was of good cheer for 
 the future, and devoted to Gerande. Master Zachary 
 had that da}- called him son, belj'ing the fatal words 
 that still rang in his ears. — 
 
 " Gerande shall never marry Aubert ! " 
 
 B}' this s3-stem the old watchmaker was soon 
 sti'ipped bare. His ancient vases had passed into the 
 hands of strangers ; he parted with the beautiful pan- 
 els of exquisitely-carved black-oak, which had adorned 
 his walls ; the few na'ive paintings of the earl}' Dutch 
 school no longer gladdened his daughter's e^'es ; and 
 every thing, even to the precious tools his genius had 
 invented, was sold to satisf}' his claimants. 
 
 Scholastique alone would not listen to reason on 
 such a subject ; but all her efforts could not keep intrud- 
 ers from her master, nor prevent their departure with 
 some precious relic. Tlien her clack was heard 
 throughout the whole neighborhood, where she was 
 known of old. She busilj' contradicted the stories of 
 witchcraft and magic sjDread abroad concerning Zacha- 
 ly ; but, as she was at heart couAinced of their truth, 
 she said countless prayers to atone for her pious lies.
 
 MASTER Z AC HART. 149 
 
 It liad louar been noticed that the watchmakei' had 
 given up all religious duties. Once he accompanied 
 Gerande to mass, and seemed to find in praj-er that in- 
 tellectual charm with which it pierces all fine intellects, 
 it being the most sublime exercise of imagination. The 
 old man's voluntary absence from holy places, joined 
 with his habits of secrecy, in some sort warranted the 
 accusations of sorcery brought against him. So, with 
 the double purpose of bringing her father back to God 
 and to the world, Gerande resolved to call in religion 
 to her aid. She thought Catholicism might lend some 
 spark of \itality to that dying soul ; but the dogmas 
 of faith and humility had to fight with indomitable 
 vanit}' in Master Zachary's soul, and to beat against the 
 pride of science, which refers everj- thing to itself, 
 without going back to the infinite Source whence fii'st 
 principles flow. 
 
 Under these auspices, the young girl undertook her 
 father's conversion ; and her influence was so strong, 
 that the old watchmaker promised to attend high mass 
 at the cathedral on Sundaj'. Gerande felt a momenta- 
 ry ecstas}^, as if heaven had opened before her e^'es. 
 Old Scholastique could not contain her joy, and had, at 
 last, cominciug arguments to offer to those evil tongues 
 that accused her master of impiety. She told all her 
 neighbors, friends and foes, acquaintances and stran- 
 gers alike. 
 
 "My faith! we hardl}' believe yoxxx words, Dame 
 
 13*
 
 150 MASTER ZACHARY. 
 
 Scholastique," they said. " Master Zachary has al- 
 ways been allied with the Devil." 
 
 " You never took into account the splendid church- 
 towers where my master's clocks keep time," said the 
 good woman. " How many times they've rung for 
 mass and praj^er ! " 
 
 " Doubtless," they replied. " But hasn't he invent- 
 ed machines that walk alone, and do all the work of a 
 real man ? " 
 
 " Could a child of the Devil," resumed Dame Scho- 
 lastique angrily, ' ' have made that beautiful iron clock 
 in the Castle of Audernatt, which the whole city of 
 Geneva had not money enough to buy ? Every hour a 
 beautiful motto appears on the face ; and any Christian 
 who conforms to it will go straight to paradise. Is 
 that the work of the Devil ? " 
 
 This masterpiece, finished twent}' years before, had, 
 indeed, borne Master Zachary's renown to the clouds ; 
 but at that ver}' time accusations of sorcery had been 
 rife. However, the old man's return to St. Peter's 
 Church could not fail to silence every evil tongue. 
 
 Master Zachary, doubtless quite oblivious of the 
 promise he had made his daughter, returned to his den. 
 Having seen his inability to restore his watches to life, 
 he resolved to try if he could not make some new ones. 
 He cast aside all the dead bodies, and set to work to 
 finish the cr^'stal watch, which was to be the crowning 
 glor}' of his life. But in vain. He used his most per-
 
 MASTER Z AC HART. 151 
 
 feet tools, employed those rubies and diamonds best 
 adapted to resist friction : the watch broke in his hands 
 the fii'st time he tried to mnd it up. 
 
 The old man concealed this event from everv )ne, 
 even from his daughter ; but from that day his life 
 ebbed rapidly awa}-. It was but the last few beats of 
 a pendulima, growing slower and slower as nothing 
 comes to restore its pristine movement. It seemed 
 as if the law of gravit}', acting on the old man, was 
 irresistibly dragging him down to the grave. 
 
 The Sunda}- so ardently desired b}' Gerande came 
 at last*. The da^^ was fine, and the air refreshing. 
 The people of Geneva wallied peacefully through the 
 streets, talliing cheerilj' of returning spring. Gerande, 
 anxiously' taking her father's arm, turned towards St. 
 Peter's, while Scholastique followed with their prayer- 
 books. The passers looked curioush' at them. The 
 old man was led along like a child, or rather a blind 
 man. The worshippers in St. Peter's Church saw him 
 cross the threshold with a feeling of terror ; and some 
 even shranlc at his approach. 
 
 The music for high mass had already begun. 
 Gerande took her accustomed place, and knelt in an 
 obscure corner. Master Zachar^- stood beside her. 
 
 The ceremonial of mass went on with the solemn 
 majesty of those daj's of faith ; but the old man had no 
 faith. He did not implore the pit}- of Heaven in the 
 wail of the Kyrie : in the Gloria in Excelsis, he did not
 
 152 MASTER ZACUARY. 
 
 slug the glories of mansions above. The reading of the 
 gospel never roused him from his materialistic dreams ; 
 and he forgot to join in the Catholic act of homage at 
 the Credo. The vain old man stood motionless and in- 
 sensible as a stone statue ; and even at the awful 
 moment when a tinkling bell announced the miracle of 
 transubstantiation, he never knelt, but gazed straight 
 at the divine Host raised above the worshippers hy the 
 priest. 
 
 Gerande watched her father, and her missal was wet 
 with tears. 
 
 At that instant the cathedral clock struck half after 
 eleven. Master Zachary turned eagerl}' towards the 
 old bell-tower, which still spoke. It seemed as if the 
 inner face were looking steadily at him, as if the figures 
 shone like fire, and as if the hands sparkled with 
 electric light. Mass was over. It was customar}' to 
 repeat the Angelus at noon ; and the priests, before 
 quitting the altar, waited for the hour to sound from 
 the belfty-tower. A few 'moments more, and their 
 prayers would rise to the Virgin's feet. 
 
 But suddenly a harsh sound was heard. Master 
 Zachary uttered a cry. 
 
 The minute-hand, on reaching twelve, had stopped ; 
 and the clock did not strike. Gerande flew to her 
 father's aid, for he had fallen senseless ; and he was 
 borne from the church. 
 
 " It is his death-stroke \ " sobbed Gerande.
 
 " I will not die ! " he cried, " I cannot die ! I, Master Zacliarjv 
 should not die. My books ! — my accounts ! " Page 153.
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 153 
 
 Master Zacharj-, having been carried home, was put 
 to bed, quite unconscious. Life no longer existed 
 in him, save on the surface, like those light clouds 
 of smoke which float round a newlj'-extinguished 
 lamp. 
 
 "VVTien he recovered his senses, Aubert and Gerande 
 were leaning over him. At this supreme moment the 
 future, in his eyes, assumed the form of the present. 
 He saw his daughter alone, helpless. 
 
 " M3' son," said he to Aubert, " I give thee my 
 daughter ; " and he stretched out his hands to his two 
 children, who were thus united beside a dying-bed. 
 
 But immediatel}' he rose with a gestm-e of rage. 
 The little old man's words recurred to him. . 
 
 "I will not die!" he cried. "I cannot die! I, 
 Master Zachar}', should not die. My books I — m}' 
 accounts ! " — 
 
 So saying, he sprang from his bed towards a book 
 containing the names of his customers, together with 
 the articles sold them. He turned it eagerly over ; and 
 his shrivelled finger paused at a certain entr3\ 
 
 " There ! " he' said, " there ! That old ii'on clock, 
 sold to that Pittonaccio. It is the onh' one which has 
 not been brought back to me. It exists ; it goes ; it 
 still lives ! Oh, I must have it I I will find it out ! I 
 will watch it so -o'ell, that death can gain no further 
 foothold on me." 
 
 And he fainted.
 
 154 MASTER ZACEARY. 
 
 Aubert and Geraude knelt by the old man's bed, 
 and pra^-ed together. 
 
 r. 
 
 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Some days passed b}', and Master Zaehary, the dj'- 
 ing man, rose from his bed, and returned to life b}- a 
 supernatural effort. He lived on pride. But Gerande 
 was not deceived : her father was lost forever, body 
 and soul. 
 
 The old man mustered his last resources, pacing no 
 heed to his famil}'. He expended incredible energy, 
 walking to and fro, rummaging about, and muttering 
 mj'sterious words. 
 
 One morning Gerande went down to his work-shop : 
 Master Zaehary was not there. 
 
 All da}' she awaited him. Master Zaehary did not 
 return. 
 
 Gerande wept till she could weep no more ; but her 
 father did not appear. 
 
 Aubert searched the cit}', and gained the sad assur- 
 ance that the old man had lef^ it. 
 
 " We must find my fathei ! " cried Gerande, when 
 the young apprentice brought her these melancholy 
 tidings.
 
 MASTER Z AC BAR 7. 155 
 
 " TVTiere can he be? " asked Aubert. 
 
 An inspii'ation suddenly illumined his soul. Master 
 Zachary's last words retui'ned to his memor}-. The old 
 watchmaker only lived in that iron clock which had 
 not been brought back. He had gone in pursuit of 
 it. 
 
 Aubert communicated his idea to Gerande. 
 
 " Let us look at my father's book," she replied. 
 
 Both descended to the workroom. The book lay 
 open on the bench. All the clocks and watches made 
 by the old watchmaker, which had been returned for 
 repah's, were crossed out, — all but one. 
 
 " Sold to Lord Pittonaccio an iron clock with mu- 
 sical works and moving figures ; taken to his castle at 
 Andernatt." 
 
 This was the " moral " clock Scholastique had quoted 
 with such praise. " My father is there!" cried Ge- 
 rande. . 
 
 " Let us hasten thither," replied Aubert. " We may 
 save him yet." 
 
 "Not for this life," murmiu'ed Gerande, "but for 
 another, at least." 
 
 " In Heaven's name, Gerande ! The Castle of An- 
 dernatt stands among the gorges of the Dent dii 3Iidi, 
 twenty hours' journey from Geneva. Let us start ! " 
 
 That ver^' evening Aubert and Gerande, followed by 
 theu' faithful servant, jom"ne3'ed on foot along the road 
 which skirts Lake Geneva. They made five leagues
 
 156 MASTER ZACHART. 
 
 that night, having stopped neither at Bessinge, nor 
 Ermance, where stands the famous Maj'or castle. They 
 forded, not without some difficult}*, the torrent of the 
 Dranse. They inquired everywhere for Master Zacha- 
 ly, and soon felt certain that they were on his track. 
 
 The next day at sunset, ha^-ing passed Thone, they 
 reached Evian, whence the whole map of Switzerland 
 may be seen unrolled for twelve leagues away. But 
 the two lovers never wasted a thought on the enchant- 
 ing prospect. They went on and on, driven by some 
 supernatiu'al power. Aubert, leaning on a knotty 
 stick, offered his arm, sometimes to Gerande, some- 
 times to old Scholastique, and called up all his strength 
 to sustain his companions. All three talked of their 
 grief, their hope, and thus pursued theii* pleasant road, 
 with heads erect, along the narrow uplands which con- 
 nect the shores of the lake with the lofty mountains of 
 Chalais. Soon they came to Bouveret, at the point 
 where the Rhone flows into Lake Geneva. 
 
 On leaving this city, thej- also left the lake, and their 
 fatigue increased in these mountainous regions, Vione, 
 Chessy, Colombey, half-hidden villages, were soon 
 left behind them. But their knees gave waj- beneath 
 them, their feet were torn by the sharp stones which 
 covered the ground like gi-anite brushwood. Xo trace 
 of Master Zacharj-. 
 
 However, the}' were determined to find him ; and the 
 lovers asked no rest at lonely cottages, nor at the Cas-
 
 MASTER Z AC 11 ART. 157 
 
 tie of Montliey, which, with its dependencies, belonged 
 to Margaret of Savoy. At last, towards the close of 
 da}', they reached, almost tired to death, the hermitage 
 of Notre Dame de Sex, at the foot of the Dent du 
 Midi, six hundred feet above the bed of the Rhone. 
 
 The hermit received all three at nightfall. They 
 could not have gone another step, and there they were 
 to sleep. The hermit gave them no news of Master 
 Zachary. They could scarcely' hope to find him alive 
 amid these dreary wastes. The night was dark ; a hur- 
 ricane raged upon the mountain ; and avalanches 
 dashed down from the rocks. 
 
 The two lovers, crouching over the hermit's fire, told 
 him their sad tale. Their cloaks, wet with snow, were 
 drj-ing in one corner ; and without, the hermit's dog 
 was howling dolefully', in unison with the moaning 
 blast. 
 
 "Pride," said the hermit to his guests, " destroj'ed 
 an angel meant for heaven. It is the stumbling-block 
 against which man's destiny is tried. Reason cannot 
 be opposed to pride, the root of all evil, because it is 
 its verv nature to close its ears against it. Nothing 
 remains but to pray for your father." 
 
 All four knelt ; when the dog redoubled his noise, 
 and some one beat against the hermitage door. 
 
 " Open, in the Devil's name ! " 
 
 The door yielded to the angry blows ; and a man ap- 
 peared, haggard, half-clad, and with dishevelled hair. 
 
 14
 
 158 MASTER ZACHART. 
 
 " My father ! " cried Gerancle. 
 
 It was Master Zachary. 
 
 "Where am I?" said he. "In eternity! Time is 
 at an end. The honrs no longer strilce. The hands 
 liave stopped ! " 
 
 " Father ! " cried Gerande, with such touching emo- 
 tion, tlat the old man seemed to return to the living 
 world. 
 
 "You here, Gerande!" he exclaimed, "and you, 
 Aubert ! Oh ! my dear pair of lovers, you've come to 
 get married in our old church ! " 
 
 " Father," said Gerande, seizing him by the arm. 
 ' ' return to j-our home in Geneva ; return with us ! " 
 
 The old man freed himself from his daughter's hold, 
 and rushed towards the door, on whose threshold the 
 snow lay in huge flakes. 
 
 " Do not leave j^our children ! " cried Aubert. 
 
 " A\Tiy," replied the old watchmaker sadl}', — " why 
 should I return to spots my life has already left, and 
 where a part of mj'self is buried forever? " 
 
 " Your soul is not dead," said the hermit gravely. 
 
 "My soul? Oh, no! Its wheels are in running 
 order. I feel its even beats." 
 
 " Your soul is immaterial ; 3'our soul is immortal ! " 
 replied the hermit forcibl}'. 
 
 " Yes, like my fame ! But it is locked up in the 
 Castle of Andernatt, and I want to see it again." 
 
 The hermit crossed himself. Scholastique nearly 
 fainted. Aubert held Gerande in his arms.
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 159 
 
 " The Castle of Anclernatt is inhabited by a lost 
 soul," said the hermit, " a wretch, who never salutes 
 the cross on raj hermitage." 
 
 " Father, do not go there." 
 
 " I want my soul ! My soul is mine." 
 
 " Hold him ; hold m}- father ! " cried Gerande. 
 
 But the old man had crossed the threshold, and van- 
 ished into darkness, shouting, — 
 
 "Help, help! My soul ! " 
 
 Gerande, Aubert, and Scholastique hurried after 
 him. Thej' traversed impracticable paths, over which 
 Master Zachary flew like a whirlwind, impelled by 
 an irresistible force. The snow eddied round them, 
 and mingled its white flakes with the foam of torrents 
 let loose. 
 
 As they passed the chapel erected in memoiy of the 
 massacre of the Theban legions, Gerande, Aubert, and 
 Scholastique crossed themselves hastily. Master 
 Zachar^^ did not bare his head. 
 
 At last the village of Evionnaz came in sight amidst 
 this desert region. The hardest heart would have 
 been moved on seeing this straggling village lost in 
 such fearful wastes. The old man took no notice of it. 
 He turned to the left, and plunged into the deepest 
 gorge of the Dents du Midi, which pierce the sk}- with 
 their sharp peaks.   * 
 
 Soon a ruin, old and dark as the rocks at its base, 
 rose before him. "There it is! there!" he cried, 
 urging on his mad footsteps.
 
 160 MASTER Z AC HART. 
 
 The Castle of Andernatt, at this period, was nothing 
 but a heap of nuns. A broken tower surmounted it, 
 and seemed to threaten, in its fall, the old gables be- 
 low. These vast heaps of stone formed a horrid sight : 
 one could imagine, amid the obstructions, dark halls 
 with broken ceilings, and filthy nests of vipers. 
 
 A low, narrow postern-gate, opening on a moat filled 
 with rubbish, gave access to the Castle of Andernatt. 
 Who had passed in? No one knows. Doubtless, 
 some margrave, half robber, half lord of the manor, 
 dwelt there. Bandits or coiners succeeded the mar- 
 grave, and were hung on the scene of their crimes. 
 And tradition tells, that, on winter nights, Satan leads 
 his memorial dance on the brink of deep gulfs which 
 swallow up the shadow of these ruins. 
 
 Master Zachary was not alarmed by their gloorny 
 aspect. lie came to the postern-gate. No one jare- 
 vented his entrance. A large dark court appeared 
 before him. No one prevented him from crossing it. 
 He reached a sort of inclined plane, which led to one 
 of those long corridors, whose arches seem to crush out 
 daylight with their weight. No one opposed his pas- 
 sage. Gerande, Aubert, and Scholastique still fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
 Master Zachar^', as if guided by an in\'isible hand, 
 seemed sure of his road, and walked at a rapid pace. 
 He reached an old worm-eaten door, which gave way 
 beneath his blows, while huge bats circled obliquely 
 round his head.
 
 MASTER ZACHARY. 1(1 
 
 An immense hall, in better preseiTation than the 
 rest, lay before him. Loft}- sculptured panels covered 
 the walls, over which swarmed worms, spiders, and 
 maggots. Long narrow windows, like loopholes, 
 shivered in the gale. 
 
 Master Zachary stood still in the middle of the hall 
 Avith a cr}- of joy. 
 
 On an iron bracket, fastened to the wall, stood that 
 clock wherein now dwelt his remnant of life. This 
 unequalled masterpiece represented an old Romanesque 
 church, with its buttresses of wrought iron, and heavy 
 belfiy, which contained a complete set of chimes for 
 morning anthem, angelus, mass, vespers, compline, and 
 benediction. Over the church-door, which opened at 
 the time for worship, was carved a rose-window, in the 
 centre of which were the two hands, and on whose 
 archivolt the twelve hours were cut in relief on a dial, 
 lietween door and window, as old Scholastique related, 
 useful maxims for daity practice appeared on a copper 
 plate. Master Zachary had devised these i>roverbs 
 with most Christian care : the hours of praj-er, labor, 
 meal-time, recreation, and repose, followed in religious 
 order, and, if faithfully observed, would certainly 
 insure salvation. 
 
 Master Zacliarj', wild with joy, was just about to 
 seize the clock, when a hideous peal of laughter rang 
 out behind him. 
 
 He turned, and, b3'the light of a smoky lamp, recog- 
 nized the little old man from Genc^-a. i-i*
 
 1G2 MASTER ZACHARY. 
 
 " You here ! " he cried. 
 
 Gerande was frightened : she ehiiig to her lover. 
 
 " Good-evening, Master Zachar^- ! " said the monster. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " Lord Pittonaccio, at your sendee. You've come 
 to give me your daughter ! You remembered my words, 
 ' Gerande shall never marry Aubert.' " 
 
 The 3'oung apprentice flew at Pittonaccio, who van- 
 ished like a ghost. 
 
 " Stay, Aubert ! " said Master Zachary. 
 
 " Good-night ! " said Pittonaccio, as he disappeared. 
 
 "Father," cried Gerande, "let us fly this accursed 
 spot ! Father ! " 
 
 Master Zachary was gone. He was pursuing Pitto- 
 naccio's phantom up stairs and down. Scholastique, 
 Aubert, and Gerande were left dumfounded in the 
 vast saloon. The j'oung girl sank upon a stone seat : 
 the old servant knelt beside her, and pra^-ed. Aubert 
 stood watching his betrothed. Pale lights twined 
 through the darkness ; and the silence was only inter- 
 rupted by the sound of insects busily gnawing at the 
 carvings, marking the time b}' the " death-watch." 
 
 With the first rays of dawn, all three ventured over 
 the endless stairwaj's which wound about this mass of 
 stone. For two hours they wandered thus without 
 meeting a living soul, and hearing nothing but a dis- 
 tant echo in response to their cries. Sometimes the}' 
 found themselves buried a hundred feet below ground,
 
 MASTER Z ACE ART. 163 
 
 sometimes they towered above the savage moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Accident at last brought them back to the huge hall 
 which had sheltered them through a night of anguish. 
 It was no longer vacant. Master Zachary and Pitto- 
 naccio were talking there together ; one erect and rigid 
 as a corpse, the other leaning on a marble table. 
 
 Master Zachary, seeing Gerande, took her by the 
 hand, and led her to Pittonaccio, saying, — 
 
 " Behold 3-our lord and master, my daughter. 
 Gerande, this is your husband." 
 
 Gerande trembled from head to foot. 
 
 " Never ! " cried Aubert ; " for she is betrothed to 
 me." 
 
 " Never ! " replied Gerande like a plaintive echo. 
 
 Pittonaccio began to laugh. 
 
 "You would kill me, then?" cried the old man. 
 " There, in that clock, the last of all my handiwork that 
 still keeps time, there my life is locked ; and this man 
 tells me, ' When I have your daughter, that clock 
 shall be yours.' And this man will not wmd it up. 
 He can smash it, and hurl me into space. m}' 
 daughter ! you love me no longer." 
 
 " Father," murmured Gerande, recovering herself. 
 
 "If 3'ou knew how I have suffered, far from my 
 vital spark ! " continued the old man. " Pei-haps no one 
 has taken care of this clock ; perhaps the wheels have 
 been allowed to clog, the springs to wear out. But
 
 164 MASTER ZACnARY. 
 
 now, viiXh my own hands, I shall tend the dear crea- 
 ture ; fori must not die, — I, the great Gencvese clock- 
 maker. See, daughter, how steadil}' the hands advance. 
 Hold, five o'clock is just striking ! Listen, and observe 
 the good ad-sdce 'twill offer j'ou." 
 
 Five o'clock rang from the belfiy with a sound that 
 echoed dolefully through Gerande's soul ; and these 
 words shone out in red letters : " Man must eat of the 
 fruit of the tree of knowledge." 
 
 Aubert and Gerande gazed at each other in amaze- 
 ment. These were not the Catholic watchmaker's 
 orthodox dcA'ices. The breath of Satan must have 
 passed over them. But Zachar^' paid no heed, and 
 continued, — 
 
 "Do you hear, Gerande? I live, I live again! 
 Listen to vay breathing ; see the blood circulate through 
 my veins. No, you would not kill your father : you 
 will take this man for 3'our husband, that I may become 
 immortal, and attain to the power of God." 
 
 At these impious words, old Scholastique crossed 
 herself, and Pittonaccio uttered a howl of joy. 
 
 " And then, Gerande, j'ou will be happy with him. 
 Look at this man : he is time. Your life will be regu- 
 lated with absolute precision. Gerande, I gave you 
 life : restore your father to life." 
 
 " Gerande," murmured Aubert, " I am 3'our be- 
 trothed." 
 
 "He is my father," replied Gerande, her resolution 
 giving way.
 
 MASTER Z ACE ART. 165 
 
 " She is 3'ours," said Master Zachaiy. '■' Pittouaccio, 
 3^ou will keep your promise ? " 
 
 " Here is the key of yonder clock," replied the hor- 
 rid creature. 
 
 Master Zachar}' seized the great key, which resem- 
 bled a %'iper uncoiled, and ran to the clock, which 
 he began to wind with furious speed. The creaking 
 of the springs was frightful. The old watchmaker 
 wound and wound, without a pause, and it seemed 
 as if the rotatory motion were independent of his will. 
 He wound more and more quickl}", and with strange 
 tvvists and turns, until he dropped down exhausted. 
 
 " It is wound up for a century ! " he cried. - 
 
 Aubert rushed from the hall as if mad. After many 
 turns and twists, he found an exit from the accursed 
 dwelling, and fled over the rocks. He returned to 
 the hermitage of Notre Dame de Sex, and used such 
 desperate language to the holy man, that he consented 
 to accompany him to Andernatt Castle. 
 
 If Gerande had not wept through these hours of 
 agony, 'twas because she had exhausted the source 
 of tears. 
 
 Master Zachary had not stirred from the great hall. 
 He listened anxiously to the regular ticking of the old 
 clock. 
 
 Ten o'clock struck meanwhile ; and, to Scholastique's 
 immense alarm, these words appeared on the copper 
 plate : —
 
 166 MASTER ZACHARY. 
 
 " Man may become the equal of God." 
 
 Not onl}- was the old man free from horror at these 
 impious maxims, but he read them eagerly, and seemed 
 pleased with the haughty words, while Pittonaecio 
 hovered about him. 
 
 The marriage-contract was to be signed at midnight. 
 Gerande, almost inanimate, saw and heard nothing. 
 The silence was only interrupted by the old man's 
 words and Pittonaccio's sneers. 
 
 Eleven o'clock struck. Master Zachary trembled, 
 and in a loud voice read this blasphemy : — 
 
 3Ian sJlouIcI he the slave of science, and sacrifice 
 friends and family to it. 
 
 "Yes," he cried, "science is the only thing in the 
 world." 
 
 The hands glided over their iron dial with snake- 
 like hisses, and the clock ticked rapidl}'. 
 
 Master Zachar^^ spoke no more. He had fallen to 
 the ground. His throat rattled ; and from his laboring 
 breast came these broken words : — 
 
 ' ' Life, science ! " 
 
 This scene had two new witnesses, — Aubcrt and the 
 hermit. Master Zachary was stretched on the floor. 
 Cei'ande, near at hand, more dead, than alive, was 
 praying. 
 
 Suddenly they heard the harsh noise which precedes 
 the striking of an hour. 
 
 Master Zachary sat up.
 
 MASTER ZACHART. 167 
 
 " Midnight ! " he cried. 
 
 Tlie hermit stretched his hand towards the old clock, 
 and it did not strilvc twelve. 
 
 Master Zachar}' uttered a cr}' that might have been 
 heard in hell, when these words appeared : — 
 
 He who attempts to equal God will he damned for- 
 ever. 
 
 The old clock burst with a sound lilie thunder ; and 
 the mainspring, escaping, flew about the hall vrith a 
 thousand strange contortions. The old man sprang up 
 and pursued it, vainl}- stri^dng to seize it, cr3-ing, — 
 
 " Mv soul, mv soul!" 
 
 The mainspring bounded before, from side to side, 
 and he could not catch it. 
 
 At last Pittonaccio gi-asped it, and with a frightful 
 oath crushed it under foot. 
 
 Master Zachar^- fell back. He was dead. 
 
 The watchmaker's bod}- was buried among the moun- 
 tain-peaks of Andernatt. Then Aubert and Gerande 
 returned to Geneva ; and, during the long life which 
 God granted them, they strove to buy back by prayer 
 the soul lost for science.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE BLACK FLAG. 
 
 rpiIE priest of the old church in Dunkirk rose at five 
 on the 12th of May, 18 — , to sa}', as was his wont, 
 
 the first low mass, attended by a few pious fishers only. 
 Clad in his sacerdotal robes, he was on his way to 
 
 the altar, when a man entered the sacristy, looking 
 
 happy and yet bashful. He was a sailor of sixty 3'ears, 
 
 still strong and robust, with a good honest face. 
 " Mr. Priest," he cried, " stop, if you please." 
 " What ails you so early in the morning, Jean Corn- 
 
 butte?" replied the priest. 
 
 " What ails me? A strong desire to hug you." 
 " Well, after the mass, at which you are to assist." 
 " The mass? " replied the old sailor, laughing. " Do 
 
 you think you're going to say mass now, and that I'm 
 
 going to let you do it ? " 
 
 " And why should I not say my mass? " asked the 
 
 priest. " Explain yourself. The third bell has rung." 
 168
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 169 
 
 " Let it ring ! " said Jeau Cornbutte. " It sliall ];ing 
 many more times to-da}', Mr. Priest ; for you promised 
 me to bless tlie marriage of my son Louis and my niece 
 Marie witli ^our own hands." 
 
 " lie has come then ! " cried the priest joj'fully. 
 
 "lie's almost here," replied Cornbutte, rubbing his 
 hands. " The man on the lookout signalled at da}-- 
 dawn our brig, which you yourself baptized by the fine 
 name of ' The Young Adventurer.' " 
 
 " I congratulate 3'ou from the bottom of my heart, 
 old friend," said the priest, pulling ofi" his stole and 
 chasuble. " I remember our agreement. The curate 
 shall take my place, and I will hold m^-self at your dis- 
 posal until your dear son's arrival." 
 
 "And I promise j-ou that he'll not keep you fasting 
 long," replied the sailor. "You have already' pro- 
 claimed the banns, and you will onl}- have to absolve 
 the sins which may have been committed betwixt sea 
 and sky in the North Sea. It was a splendid idea of 
 mine to have the wedding on the ver^^ day of Louis' 
 arrival ; so that he should step directl}- from his brig to ' 
 the church." 
 
 " Go and get every thing ready, Cornbutte." 
 
 " I fly, Mr. Priest. I'll see you soon." 
 
 The old tar hurried home to his house on the wharf 
 of the commercial harbor, where he had a fine view of 
 the North Sea, of which he was very proud. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte had amassed considerable money for 
 15
 
 170 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 one iu his station. After commaudiug for mauj- years 
 the vessels belonging to a rich ship-owner of Ilavi'e, he 
 settled down in his native city, where he built the brig 
 " Young Adventurer," on his own account. Several 
 vo3ages north proved successful ; and the ship alwaj's 
 found it eas}^ to sell her cargoes of wood, u*on, and tar 
 at good prices. Jean Cornbutte then gave up the com- 
 mand to his son Louis, a fine fellow of thirt}', who, if 
 we maj' believe all the coaster captains said, was the 
 bravest sailor iu Dunkirk. 
 
 Louis Cornbutte had gone away deepl}' in love with 
 his father's niece, Marie, who found the days of his 
 absence very long. Marie was hardly twenty j'ears 
 old. She was a beautiful Flemish girl, with a few 
 drops of Dutch blood in her veins. Her dj-ing mother 
 had confided her to her brother, Jean Cornbutte, who 
 loved her like an own child, and foresaw a source of 
 true aud lasting happiness in the projected union. 
 
 The arrival of the brig, signalled from below, con- 
 cluded an important commercial operation which Jean 
 expected to find most profitable. " The Young Ad- 
 venturer," which set out three months before, now re- 
 tm-ned from Bodoe on the west coast of ISTorwa}-, and 
 had made a very quick trip. 
 
 On reaching home, Jean Cornbutte found the whole 
 house astir. Marie, with a radiant face, was in her 
 wedding-ckess. 
 
 " Provided the brig does not arrive before us ! * said 
 she.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. Ill 
 
 " Make haste, little one ! " replied Jeau Cornbutte ; 
 •' for the wind blows from the north, and ' The Young 
 Adventurer' is a fast sailer in a good breeze." 
 
 "Are om* friends all warned, dear uncle?" asked 
 Marie. 
 
 " They are warned." 
 
 " And the priest and the notary?" 
 
 " Be easy ! You're the only one who keeps us wait- 
 ing." 
 
 At this moment Father Clerbaut came in. 
 
 " Well, old Cornbutte," he cried, " 3-ou are in luck. 
 Your ship has come in just as the government is about 
 to make a contract for large stores of wood for the 
 nav}'." 
 
 "What is that to me?" replied Jean Cornbutte. 
 " The government has some one else to think of." 
 
 "Of com'se, Mr. Clerbaut," said Marie, "we think 
 of but one thing, — Louis' return." 
 
 "I don't deny that," replied their friend. "But 
 then these supplies " — 
 
 " And you must come to the wedding," replied Corn- 
 butte, interrupting the merchant, and squeezing his hand 
 so hard that he nearty crushed it. 
 
 " These supplies of wood " — 
 
 " And all our friends on sea and on shore, Clerbaut. 
 I've invited everj'body, and I will invite the whole 
 ship's company." 
 
 "And we're going to wait on the pier?" asked 
 Marie.
 
 172 A WINTER AMONG TEE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 " I believe 3'ou, my girl," replied Jean Cornbutte. 
 " We'll march two by two, violins at the head." 
 
 The guests soon arrived. Although very early in 
 the morning, no one refused the invitation. All vied 
 in congratulating the good sailor they were so fond of. 
 Meanwhile Marie, on her knees, was changing her 
 prayers to God to anthems of praise. She soon re- 
 turned, lovely and in festal array, and had her cheek 
 kissed by all the old women, and her hand vigorously 
 shaken by all the men ; then Jean Cornbutte gave the 
 signal for departure. 
 
 It was a curious sight to see the joj^ous troop set out 
 for the beach at sunrise. The news of the brig's arri- 
 val had spread through the port ; and man}' night- 
 capped heads were stretched from windows and half- 
 open doors. From ever}' side came sincere eompli- 
 ments and flattering salutations. 
 
 The wedding-party reached the wharf amid a concert 
 of praises and blessings. The weather was superb ; and 
 the sun seemed anxious to make one of the company. 
 A fine north wind made the waves foam, and a few 
 fishing-sloops, close-trimmed, on their way out, cut the 
 sea in deep furrows. 
 
 The two Dunkirk j^iers which prolonged the harbor 
 quay projected far out into the ocean. The wedding- 
 guests extended the whole length of the northern pier, 
 and soon reached a little cottage at its farthest end, 
 where the harbor-master lived.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 173 
 
 Jean Cornbutte's brig came nearer and nearer. The 
 wind freshened, and "The Young Adventurer" ran 
 along under topsails, foresail, spanker, topgallants, and 
 royals. J03' seemed to reign on board as well as on 
 shore. Jean Cornbutte, spy-glass in hand, responded 
 merril}- to his friends' questions. 
 
 "It is indeed my loveh' brig!" he cried, "neat 
 and tidy, as if just setting sail from Dunliirk. Not a 
 damage ; not a rope gone." 
 
 " Do ^'ou see your son, the captain?" asked some 
 one. 
 
 " No, not yet. Oh ! he's at his post." 
 
 " "Wliy doesn't he hoist his flag? " asked Clerbaut. 
 
 "I don't know, old friend; but of com-se he has 
 some good reason." 
 
 " Your spy-glass, uncle," said Marie, snatching it 
 from liim. " I must be first to see him." 
 
 " But he's my son, miss ! " 
 
 " He's been your son for thirty' ^-ears," replied the 
 young girl, laughing ; " and he's only been ray lover for 
 two 3'ears." 
 
 " The Young Adventurer " was now in full sight. 
 The crew were preparing to anchor. The topsails were 
 clewed up. One might even recognize the sailors who 
 climbed into the rigging. But neither Marie nor Jean 
 Cornbutte had j-et spied out the captain of the brig. 
 
 " My faith, there's the mate, Andre Yasling ! " cried 
 Clerbaut. 
 
 15*
 
 174 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 " There's Fidele Misoune, the carpeuter ! " replied a 
 bystander. 
 
 "And friend Penellan ! " said another, waving his 
 hand to the sailor in question. 
 
 " The Young Adventurer " was not more than three 
 cables' lengths from port, when a black flag flew up the 
 brigatine-3''ard. There was mourning on board. 
 
 A feeling of terror ran through every soul, and 
 through the young bride's heart. The brig came sadly 
 into port, and a chill silence reigned upon deck. Soon 
 it passed the end of the wharf. Marie, Jean Corn- 
 butte, and their friends, hastened to the quay where it 
 was to land, and were on board in an instant. 
 
 "My son!" said Jean Cornbutte, who could only 
 articulate those words. 
 
 The brig's crew, their heads uncovered, pointed to 
 the black flag. 
 
 Marie uttered a cry of distress, and fell into old 
 Cornbutte's arms. 
 
 Andre Vasling had brought back " The Young 
 Adventurer ; " but Louis Cornbutte, Marie's lover, was 
 no longer on board. 
 
 II. 
 
 JEAN cornbutte's PLAN. 
 
 As soon as the young girl, cared for by kind friends, 
 had left the ship, the mate, Andre Vasling, related to
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELD.'?. 175 
 
 Jean Cornbutte the frightful event which had robbed 
 him of liis son, and which the ship's book reported iu 
 the following term : — 
 
 " Near the Maelstrom, April 26, in rough weather, and 
 with a south-west wind, the ship saw signals of distress 
 flying from a schooner to the leeward. This schooner, 
 its mizzenmast gone, was scudding towards the whirl- 
 pool under bare poles. Capt. Louis Cornbutte, seeing 
 the craft rushing upon death, resolved to board her. 
 Despite the wry looks of his men, the long-boat was put 
 to sea, and he got into it with sailor Cortrois and Pierre 
 Nouquet the helmsman. The crew followed them with 
 their e3'es, until the}' disappeared in mist. Night came 
 on. The sea grew more and more rough. ' The 
 Young Adventurer,* drawn by the currents which 
 abound in those quarters, was in danger of being 
 sucked in by the Maelstrom. She was forced to scud 
 before the wind. Vainl}^ she cruised for da3's about 
 the ill-omened spot. The ship's boat, the schooner, 
 Capt. Louis Cornbutte, and the two sailors, were never 
 seen again. Andre Vasling called the crew together, 
 took command, and set sail for Dunkirk." 
 
 Jean Cornbutte, having read this brief report, wept 
 bitterly ; and his only comfort was, that his son had 
 died to save his fellow-men. Then the poor father left 
 the brig, the ver^- sight of which affected him, and 
 returned to his desolate home. 
 
 The sad news soon spread through Dunliirk. The
 
 176 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 old sailor's many friends came to him Avith sincere 
 sympathy. Then "The Young Adventurer's" crew 
 gave more complete details of the accident ; and Andre 
 Vasling gave Marie a most minute account of her 
 lover's self-sacrifice. 
 
 Jeati Cornbutte, after weeping, reflected ; and the 
 verj' next day, as Andre Vasling entered, he said, — 
 
 " Are 3'ou ver}' sure m}' son is dead, Andre ? " 
 
 " Alas, yes ! Master Jean," replied Andre Vasling. 
 
 ' ' And did j'ou make all possible search for him ? " 
 
 " Ever}' thing possible was done, M. Cornbutte ; but, 
 unfortunately, it is oul}^ too certain that he and his two 
 men were swallowed up b}^ the Maelstrom." 
 
 " "Would you like to keep the second coromand on 
 board the brig, Andre ? " 
 
 " That depends on the captain, M. Cornbutte." 
 
 "I shall be captain myself, Andre," replied the old 
 sailor. "I shall unload m}' ship rapidly, muster my 
 crew, and go in search of my son." 
 
 " Yoiu" son is dead," replied Andre Vasling ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 ' ' Possibly, Andre ! " replied Jean Cornbutte hastily ; 
 " but possibly, also, he saved himself. I will scour every 
 port in Norwaj^ where he ma}'' have been driven, and 
 when I am sure I shall never see him again, then only 
 Avill I return to die." 
 
 Andre Vasling,- seeing that his decision was not to 
 be shaken, said no more, but reth'cd.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 177 
 
 Jean Cornbutte at once confided his plan to his niece, 
 and saw a ray of hope gleam through her tears. It 
 had not yet occurred to the young girl's mind, that her 
 lover's death might be uncertain ; but no sooner had 
 the seeds of this new hope been cast into her heart, 
 then she gave herself up to it without reserve. 
 
 The old sailor decided that " The Young Adven- 
 turer " should put to sea immediately. The well-built 
 brig needed no repairs. He announced, that, if the 
 crew liked to embark with him, there need be no changes 
 on board. He would simpl}^ take his son's place as 
 commanding officer. 
 
 Not one of Louis Cornbutte's friends refused this 
 summons ; and they formed a band of hardy sailors, 
 Alain Turquiette, Fidele Misonne the caipenter, 
 Penellan, who replaced Pierre Xouquet as helmsman, 
 Gradlin, Aupic, and Ger^ique, brave and well-tried 
 men. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte again proposed to Vasling to take 
 the second command. The mate was a skilful seaman, 
 as had been well proved by the way in which he 
 brought "The Young Adventurer " into port. How- 
 ever, for what reason we know not, Andre Vasling 
 made some objections, and asked time to consider. 
 
 "As you like, Andi-e," replied Cornbutte. "Only 
 remember, that, if you accept, j'ou will be welcome 
 among us." 
 
 Jean Cornbutte had a faithful man in Penellan, who
 
 178 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 had made many voyages with him. Little Marie had 
 passed man}' a long winter evening in his arms when 
 on shore ; so that he felt a fatherly- affection for her, 
 the 3'oang girl returning it with filial love. Penellan 
 urged on the brig's equipment, the more so, that he 
 thought Andre Vasling's sense of responsibility as 
 captain might have hindered his making every possible 
 effort to recover the shipwrecked men. 
 
 One week had not elapsed when ' ' The Young A.d- 
 venturer " was read}' to put to sea. Instead of mer- 
 chandise, she was thoroughly stocked with salt meat 
 and fish, biscuit, barrels of flour, potatoes, pork, wine, 
 brandy, coffee, tea, and tobacco. 
 
 They were to sail May 22. The night before, Andre 
 Vasliug, who had given Jean Cornbutte no reply, 
 went to his house. He was still wavering, and knew 
 not what to do. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte was not at home, although the front- 
 door stood open. Andre went into the hall, close to 
 the young girl's chamber ; and soimds of animated con- 
 versation struck his ear. He listened attentively, and 
 recognized the voices of Marie and Penellan. 
 
 The discussion had undoubtedly been a lengthy one ; 
 for the young girl seemed to be obstinately opposed to 
 the Breton sailor's adA^ce. 
 
 " How old is my uncle Cornbutte? " said Marie. 
 
 " Somewhere about sixty years old," replied 
 Penellan.
 
 A my TEE AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 179 
 
 " Well, is lie not going to mn all sorts of risks to 
 find his son ? " 
 
 " Onr captain is still robust," replied the sailor. 
 " His body's of the good old oak, and his muscles firm 
 as iron : so I am not afraid to have him take to the 
 sea again. " 
 
 " Good Penellan," replied Marie, "when one loves, 
 one is strong. Besides, I have perfect faith in 
 Heaven's help. Yoii understand me, and 3'ou will 
 help me ? " 
 
 " Xo, " said Penellan. "It is impossible, Maiie. 
 Who knows where we shall drift, or what we may have 
 to suffer ? How many strong men I've seen perish in 
 those seas ! " 
 
 "Penellan," replied the young girl, "nothing can 
 hinder me ; and, if jon refuse me, I shall simply think 
 that you have ceased to love me." 
 
 Andre Vasling understood the resolve. He re- 
 flected an instant ; and his mind was made up. 
 
 "Jean Cornbutte," said he, approaching the old 
 sailor, who now came in, "I am with you. The 
 causes which prevented m}' re-embarking have van- 
 ished, and you may count on m}' loj'alty." 
 
 " I never doubted it, Andi'e," said Jean, grasping 
 his hand. " Marie, vay child ! " he called in a louder 
 tone. 
 
 Marie and Penellan immediately appeared. 
 
 " We set sail to-moiTow at daybreak, on ebb-tide,"
 
 180 A WINTER AMONG TEE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 said the old sailor. "Poor Marie! this is our last 
 evening together." 
 
 " Uncle ! " cried Marie, falling into his arms. 
 
 "Marie, God helping, I will bring jow back your 
 lover. " 
 
 " Yes, Tve will find Louis," added Andre Vasling. - 
 
 " You are one of us, then?" asked Penellan sharply. 
 
 " Yes, Penellan, Andre Vasling is to be nxj mate," 
 replied Cornbutte. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " said the Breton with a strange look. 
 
 ' ' And his counsel will be most useful to us ; for he 
 is bold and skilful." 
 
 "But 3'ou yourself, captain," replied Vasling, 
 "will be head in everj" thing; for you are still as 
 strong as j'ou are wise." 
 
 "Well, friends, good-by till to-morrow. Go on 
 board and make the last preparations. Good-night, 
 Andre ! good-night, Penellan ! " 
 
 Mate and sailor went out together. Jean Cornbutte 
 and Marie were left alone together. Manj' tears were 
 shed on that sad evening. Cornbutte, seeing Marie so 
 unhappy, resolved to spare her a parting scene by leav- 
 ing home to-morrow without seeing her again : so that 
 night he gave her his last kiss, and was on foot by 
 three in the morning. 
 
 The departure drew all the old sailor's friends to the 
 wharf. The priest who was to have blessed the union 
 of Marie and Louis came to give the ship his farewell
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 181 
 
 benediction. Rough grasps of the hand vrere silently 
 exchanged, and Jean Cornbutte went on board. 
 
 The crew was complete. Andre Vasling gave the 
 last orders. The sails were set, and the brig went 
 rapidly off under a fine north-west wind ; while the 
 priest, erect amid the kneeling crowd, committed the 
 vessel to divine Pro\idence. 
 
 Where did the ship go? It followed the perilous 
 road on which so many have been wrecked. It had 
 no fixed destination. It must expect many dangers, 
 and brave them unhesitatingl}-. God alone knew 
 where it should land. God guided it. 
 
 in. 
 
 A RAT OF HOPE. 
 
 At this time of 5^ear the weather was favorable, and 
 the crew might hope to reach the scene of shipwreck 
 speedily. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte's plan was very simple. He in- 
 tended to put into port at the Faroe Islands, whither 
 the north wind might have driven the victims ; then, if 
 he could not find any traces of their ' landing in that 
 quarter, he would extend his researches be^-ond the 
 North Sea, ransack the western coast of Norwa}' as far 
 as Bodoe, the spot nearest the shipwreck, and even 
 farther, if need be. 
 
 16
 
 182 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 Andre Vasling, contrary to the captain's opinion, 
 thouglit they should first explore the shores of Iceland ; 
 but Penellan proved to him, that, at the time of the 
 catastrophe, the gale blew from the west ; which, while 
 inspiring a hope that the luckless men had escaped the 
 Maelstrom, indicated that they had been cast upun the 
 coast of Norway. 
 
 The}' accordingly resolved to follow the shore-line 
 as closely as possible in search of any traces of their 
 passage. 
 
 The daj' after their departure Cornbutte, bending 
 over a map, was deep in thought, when a small hand 
 touched his shoulder, and a sweet voice said in his 
 ear, — 
 
 "Be of good courage, uncle." 
 
 He turned in amazement. Marie thi'ew her arms 
 around him. 
 
 " Marie, my child, on board ! " he cried. 
 
 " A woman may well go in search of her husband, 
 when a father sets sail to save his sou." 
 
 " Poor Marie ! How can 3'ou endure our hardships? 
 Don't you know that 3'our presence may retard our 
 search ? " 
 
 " No, uncle ; for I am strong. " 
 
 " Who knows where we may be driven, Marie .'' See 
 this map. "We are approaching regions most dan- 
 gerous even to us old tars, hardened to all the perils 
 of the sea — and yon, weak child?"
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FJELDS. 183 
 
 "But, uncle, I come of a race of sailors. I grew 
 up on tales of storm and stniggie. I am with you and 
 my old friend Penellau. " 
 
 " Penellan ! Then he hid 3-ou on board? " 
 
 "Yes, uncle; but not till he saw that I was deter- 
 mined to do it without his aid." 
 
 " Penellan I " cried Jean Cornbutte. 
 
 Penellan entered. 
 
 "Penellan, what's done can't be undone; but re- 
 member that you are responsible for Marie's life." 
 
 "Be easy, captain," replied Penellan. "The little 
 thing is brave and strong, and will yet prove our guar- 
 dian angel. And then, captain you know m}' motto, 
 ' All's for the best in this world.' " 
 
 The young girl was given a cabin, which the sailors 
 arranged in a few moments, striving to make it as 
 comfortable as possible for her." 
 
 Eight days after "The Young Adventurer" made 
 port at Faroe ; but the most careful explorations were 
 fruitless. Xo shipwrecked man, no debris from a ship- 
 wi'eck, had been seen there. The whole storj- of the 
 accident was new to them. The brig, therefore, re- 
 sumed her vo^'age, after ten days' dela}', about the 
 10th of June. The sea was calm, the wind steady. 
 The vessel sped rapidly towards the coast of Norway, 
 which was explored with no result. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte then resolved to go to Bodiie. Per- 
 haps he might learn the name of tj^e schooner to
 
 184 A' WINTER AMONG THE ICE-EIELDS. 
 
 ■nhose aid Louis and his two comrades had hast- 
 ened. 
 
 The 30th of June the brig cast anchor in that port. 
 
 There the authorities handed Cornhutte a bottle 
 found on the shore, containing a paper with these 
 words, — 
 
 "April 26. — On board 'The Frooern,' 'The 
 Young Adventm-er's ' long-boat alongside. We are 
 being carried upon the ice by the current. Heaven 
 have mercy upon us ! " 
 
 Jean Cornbutte's first thought was to thank God. 
 He believed himself on his son's track. "The Froo- 
 ern was a Norwegian schooner, which had not been 
 heard from, but which had evidently been driven north. 
 
 There was not a da}^ to lose. " The Young Adven- 
 turer" was put in order to dare the dangers of polar 
 seas. Fidele Misonue, the carpenter, examined her 
 carefully-, and assured himself that she was solidl)'' 
 built to resist the shocks of the ice. 
 
 'Bj Penellan's forethought, he ha\ang been on a 
 whaling- voj'age in the Arctic Ocean, woollen blankets, 
 far wraps, seal-skin moccasons, and wood for sledges 
 to traverse ice-fields, were taken on board. The^^ laid 
 in an extra supply of alcohol and coal ; for they 
 might be obliged to spend the winter on some point of 
 Greenland. The}' also procured at a large price, and 
 with great difficulty, a quantity' of lemons, to ward off 
 or to cure sciu-vy, — a ten-ible disease which deci
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 185 
 
 mates explorers in these frozen regions. Their salt 
 provisions, biscuits, and brand}' being somewhat in- 
 creased, began to fill up the hold ; for the steward's 
 room no longer sufficed for them. They also provided 
 a quantity of pemmican, an Indian preparation of dried 
 meat, which concentrates a great deal of nourishment 
 into a small compass. 
 
 By Cornbutte's orders, they took on board "The 
 Young Adventurer " saws for cutting through the ice, 
 as well as picks and wedges for breaking it. The cap- 
 tain delayed pm-chasing dogs to di'aw the sledges until 
 they reached Greenland. 
 
 The whole crew were busied with these preparations, 
 and displayed great activity. The sailors Aupic, Ger- 
 vique, and Gradlin, eagerl}' followed Penellan's ad\'ice, 
 who, from this time up, persuaded them to wear no 
 woollen, although the temperature was quite low in 
 those latitudes l^'ing above the polar circle. 
 
 Penellan, without saying any thing, observed Andre 
 Vasllng's slightest action. No one knew where this 
 man of Dutch extraction came from ; but, being a 
 good sailor, he had made two trips on " The Young 
 Adventurer." Penellan found nothing to blame, 
 except that he was too attentive to Marie ; but he 
 continued his watch. 
 
 Thanlvs to the crew's activity, the brig was equipped 
 by the IGth of Jul}-, about a fortnight after her arrival in 
 Bodoe. It was then the most favorable season to ex- 
 
 16*
 
 186 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 plore the arctic seas. The ice had been thawing for 
 two months ; and the search could be extended to the 
 utmost limits. " The Young Adventurer " accordingl}' 
 set sail, and directed her course towards Cape Brewster, 
 on the eastern coast of Greenland, latitude seventy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 IN THE STRAITS. 
 
 Towards the 23d of Jul}', a reflection over the sea 
 announced the fu"st ice-fields, which, rising from Da\'is's 
 Strait, sloped into the ocean. From this time forth 
 a man was kept on the lookout, that the ship might not 
 be dashed against these enormous floes. 
 
 The crew was divided into two watches, — the first 
 consisting of Fidele Misonne, Gradlin, and Gervique ; 
 the second, of Andre Vasling, Aupic, aud Penellan. 
 The watches only lasted two hours each ; for in these 
 cold regions man's strength is diminished b}' one-half. 
 Although " The Young Adventurer " had only reached 
 the sixty-third degree of latitude, the thermometer 
 was nine degrees Centigrade below zero. 
 
 Rain and snow fell frequentl^^ and abundantlj'. In 
 fine weather, when the wind did not blow too hard, 
 Marie remained on deck ; and her eyes soon grew 
 accustomed to the savage aspect of the polar seas.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 187 
 
 The 1st of August she "was walking aft, talking with 
 her uncle, Andi'e, and Penellan. "The Young Adven- 
 turer " had just entered a passage thi'ee miles wide, 
 through which large cakes of ice were floating rapidl}' 
 southward. 
 
 " "When shall we see land? " asked the young girl. 
 
 ' ' In three or four days at latest," replied Jean Corn- 
 butte. 
 
 "But shall we find fresh signs of my poor Louis' 
 passage there ? " 
 
 " Perhaps, child ; but I fear we are 3-et far from our 
 journey's end. ' The Frooem ' may have been driven 
 farther north." 
 
 "It must have been," added Andre Yasling: "for 
 the hurricane which separated us from the Norwegian 
 craft lasted three daj-s ; and a ship can go a long wa}' 
 in three days, when it is disabled, and at the mercy of 
 the wind." 
 
 " Permit me to remind you, Mr. Yasling," replied 
 Penellan, "that it was in the month of April; that 
 the thaw had not begun ; and that, consequently, 
 ' The Frooem ' could not have gone far without being 
 blocked by the ice." 
 
 " And probably shattered to a thousand pieces," 
 replied the mate, " as her crew could not handle her." 
 
 "But^ these ice-fields," rejoined Penellan, "offered 
 an easy road to the mainland, which could not have 
 been far distant."
 
 188 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 " Let US hope for the best," said Cornbutte, inter- 
 rupting a dispute dail}- renewed between the mate and the 
 helmsman. " I think we shall see land very shortly," 
 
 "There it is!" cried Marie. "See those moun- 
 tains ! " 
 
 "No, my child," replied Cornbutte. "Those are 
 icebergs, the first we have encountered. They would 
 crush us like glass, if we got in their wa}-. Penellnn 
 and Vasling, look out for the ship." 
 
 The floating masses, more than fift}' of which now 
 rose on the horizon, gradually approached the brig. 
 Penellan took the helm ; and Jean Cornbutte, astride 
 the foretop-gallant-yard-arm, pointed out the course to 
 be pm-sued. 
 
 Towards evening the brig was quite surrounded by 
 these peaks, whose destructive power is so irresistible. 
 They were, therefore, forced to strike across the 
 mountain fleet ; for prudence forbade them to steer 
 straight forward. Another difficulty was added to this 
 danger : they could not establish the exact direction 
 of the ship, all surrounding objects being in constant 
 motion, and oSering no fixed point of ^Ae^\. Darkness 
 increased with the fog. Marie went down into her 
 cabin ; and, b}- the captain's order, the eight men in the 
 crew were to remain on deck. Thej' were armed with 
 long iron-shod boat-hooks to keep off the ice-cakes. 
 
 " The Young Adventurer" soon entered so narrow a 
 strait, that the tips of her yards rubbed constantly
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 189 
 
 against the drifting icebergs, and the jibboom and 
 flying-jibboom had to be bowsed in. Thej' -^yere even 
 obliged to trim the main3'ard till it touched the 
 shrouds. Fortunately this measure did not retard the 
 brig's progress ; for the wind only reached the topsails, 
 and the)' sufficed to carr)- it rapidly along. Thanks 
 to its slender hull, it plunged through the valleys of 
 edd3'ing rain, while the ice-cakes clashed against each 
 other with ominous cracking sounds. 
 
 Jean Corubutte came down on deck. His gaze 
 could not pierce the surrounding shadows. It became 
 necessary to brail up the topsails ; for the ship was in 
 danger of grounding, and that would have been death. 
 
 " What a cursed vo3'age ! " muttered Andi'e Vasling, 
 as he stood afore with the sailors, who, boat-hooks in 
 hand, were warding off the most imminent shocks. 
 
 " The fact is, that, if we escape, we shall owe a fine 
 candle to our Lady of the Ice," replied Aupic. 
 
 " AVho knows whether there are not more icebergs 
 to traverse beyond these? " added the mate. 
 
 " And who knows what we vatxy find behind them? " 
 rejoined the sailor. 
 
 " Don't talk so much, you blab ! " said GerA'ique, 
 " and keep a good lookout alongside. There'll be 
 time enough to grumble when we get tlirough. Bear 
 a hand with your boat-hook ! " 
 
 At this moment an enormous peak of ice, entan- 
 gled in the narrow passage which " The Young Adven-
 
 190 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 turer " was crossing, shot rapidly' towards them, and it 
 seemed impossible to escape it ; for it stopped up the 
 whole width of the channel, and the brig could not 
 possibl}' put about. 
 
 "Can jou move the tiller?" asked Cornbutte of 
 Penellan. 
 
 " No, captain. The ship no longer answers the 
 helm." 
 
 " Halloo there, bo3"s ! " cried the captain to his men. 
 "Don't be frightened; and steady your boat-hooks 
 against the gunwale." 
 
 The iceberg was nearlj^ sixty feet high ; and, if it 
 struck against the brig, she must be crushed. There 
 was a long moment of agony ; and the crew surged 
 aft, abandoning their post, in spite of the captain's 
 order. 
 
 But, at the instant when the berg was not more than 
 half a cable's length away from " The Young Adventur- 
 er," a dull sound was heard, and a perfect waterspout 
 fell on the forepart of the ship, which rose high in the 
 air on the crest of a huge wave. 
 
 The sailors gave a cr}- of terror : but, when they 
 looked ahead, the ice had disappeared ; the passage 
 was free ; and bej'ond, a vast sheet of water, illumined 
 by the last raj^s of the setting sun, assured them an 
 easy passage. 
 
 "Every thing* for the best!" cried Penellan 
 " "Weather the top and fore sails."
 
 C5 
 
 C 
 
 n 
 
 < 
 P 
 
 C 
 
 a 1^ 
 
 C — 
 
 P - 
 
 a; ^ 
 
 -c - 
 
 c 
 
 c — 
 
 c 
 c 
 
 ffi 
 
 p
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 191 
 
 A phenomGiion, common in such regions, had taken 
 place. "When the floating masses are detached from 
 one another b}' the thaTr. the}- are perfectly- balanced ; 
 but on reaching the ocean, -u-here the water is com- 
 parativel}' warm, the}' soon wear awaj' at the base, 
 melting graduallj-, and broken by beating against 
 other ice-floes. At last a moment comes when the 
 centre of gra^it}- is disturbed, and they sinli. Only, if 
 this berg had capsized two minutes later, it would 
 have fallen upon the brig, and drawn her down with it. 
 
 V. 
 
 LIVERPOOL ISLAND. 
 
 The brig now floated in open water ; only, on the 
 horizon, a whitish light indicated the presence of sta- 
 tionar}' plains. 
 
 Jean Corubutte steered steadih' towards Cape 
 Brewster, and was fast approaching regions of exces- 
 sive cold ; for the rays of the sun were greatty weak- 
 ened b}' their obliquit}'. 
 
 The 3d of August the brig again found herself in 
 the midst of floating ice. The channels were barely a 
 cable's length in width ; and ' ' The Young Adventurer " 
 was forced to make a thousand detours, which some- 
 times brought her dead ahead of the wind.
 
 192 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 Penellan watched over Marie with paternal care, 
 and, in spite of the cold, he made her spend two or 
 three hours on deck ever}' day ; for exercise was one 
 of the indispensable conditions of health. 
 
 Nor did Marie's courage fail her. She even inspired 
 the sailors by her words ; and the}' fairly worshipped 
 her, Andre Vasling grew more attentive than ever, 
 and sought every occasion to talk with her ; but the 
 young girl, as if forewarned, received his services with 
 much coldness. As may be easily imagined, the fu- 
 ture rather than the present formed the subject of An- 
 dre's conversations ; and he did not conceal how slight 
 he thought their chance of finding the shipwrecked 
 men. In his mind they were lost forever, and the 
 j-oung girl should commit herself to other hands. 
 
 Nevertheless, Marie did not understand Andre's 
 plans ; for, much to his annoyance, their conversations 
 were alwaj's cut short. Penellan was sure to find 
 some excuse for interrupting and destroying the effect 
 of Andre's words by his own hopeful views. 
 
 Nor was Marie idle. By the helmsman's advice she 
 was preparing her winter wardrobe, and she had to 
 change her whole attire. The cut of a woman's gar- 
 ments is quite unfit for such cold latitudes. She there- 
 fore made herself a pair of fur trousers, the hems of 
 which were trimmed with seal-skin ; and her scant 
 skirts only came half-way down the leg, that they 
 might not touch the snow which covers the ice-fields in
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 193 
 
 winter. A fur cloak, fitted closely to her figure, and, 
 adorned with a hood, protected the upper part of her 
 body. 
 
 In their intervals of rest the sailors had also made 
 themselves garments to protect them from the cold. 
 They made great quantities of high seal-skin boots, 
 ^yith which they could wade through the deep snow in 
 their journeys of exploration. In this way they spent 
 the whole time consumed in clearing the straits. 
 
 Andre Vasling, a skilful marksman, often shot the 
 water-buxls, which hovered in countless flocks about 
 the ship. Ptarmigans and a species of eider-duck fur- 
 nished the crew with excellent food, which made a 
 change from salt meat. 
 
 Finally the brig, after a thousand circuits, came in 
 sight of Cape Brewster. A boat was put to sea. Jean 
 Cornbutte and Penellan went on shore, and found it a 
 perfect waste. 
 
 The brig then turned towards Liverpool Island, dis- 
 co\"ered by Capt. Scoresby in 1821 ; and the men cried 
 out, as they saw the natives hurrying down to the 
 beach. Communication was easil}' established, thanks 
 to the few words of their language known by Penellan, 
 and a few cpmmon phrases which they themselves had 
 learned from the whalers who frequented those regions. 
 
 These Greenlanders were short and squat, being not 
 more than four feet six inches tall. They had a reddish 
 tinge, round faces, and low foreheads. Their smooth 
 17
 
 194 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 black hair fell down their backs. Their teeth were bad ; 
 and the}^ seemed to be affected b}- that sort of leprosy 
 peculiar to fish-eating tribes. 
 
 In exchange for bits of iron and copper, of which 
 they were extremel}' greed}-, the poor fellows brought 
 bear-fiu7s, skins of sea-calves, sea-dogs, sea-v,olves, and 
 all those animals known under the general name of 
 seals. Jean Cornbutte bought these things very cheap- 
 ly, knowing that they would jet prove useful. 
 
 He then made the native^ understand that he was in 
 search of a wreck, and asked if they knew any thing 
 of it. One of them immediately drew a sort of ship in 
 the snow, and indicated that something of the kind 
 had been di'iven north thi'ee months before : he also 
 made signs that the thaw, and breaking-up of the ice- 
 fields, had prevented them from following it ; and in- 
 deed, theu" canoes, being very light, and worked bj' 
 paddles, could not have stemmed the sea at such a 
 time. 
 
 These tidings, though imperfect, renewed hope in 
 the sailors' hearts ; and Cornbutte had no trouble in 
 leading them farther on into polar seas. 
 
 Before leaA'ing Liveipool Island, the captain bought 
 a team of six Esquimau dogs, who soon made them- 
 selves at home on board. The vessel weighed anchor 
 earl}' on the 10th of August, and plunged into the 
 northern channel, with a brisk breeze blowing. 
 
 The}' had now come to the longest days in the year ;
 
 A WINTER A.UOXG THE ICE-FIELDS. 195 
 
 that is to say, in these high latitudes, the suu, which 
 never set, reached the highest point of the spirals it 
 described on the horizon. 
 
 This total absence of night was not, however, very 
 perceptible ; for fog, rain, and snow often wrapped the 
 ship in perfect darkness. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte, resolved to reach the utmost point 
 possible, began to take hj-gienic measures. The space 
 between decks was shut tight, and the air was renewed 
 eveiy morning only. Stoves were put up, and the flues 
 so arianged as to give the greatest amount of heat. 
 The crew were advised to wear but one woollen shirt 
 outside their cotton shirt, and to fasten their skin cloak 
 closely. The fires were not yet lighted, as it was im- 
 portant to save their stock of wood and coal for colder 
 regions. 
 
 Hot diinks, such as tea and coffee, were distributed 
 regularly to the crew, night and morning ; and, as meat 
 was a good article of diet, they hunted the ducks and 
 widgeons, which were abundant. 
 
 Cornbutte also an-anged a " crow's-nest," at the 
 mainmast-head, a sort of empty cask, open at one 
 end, from which a constant lookout was kept over the 
 ice-fields. 
 
 Two days after the brig lost sight of Liverpool Is- 
 land, the temperature fell suddenly under a diy wind. 
 Some signs of winter were seen. " The Young Adven- 
 turer " had not a moment to lose ; for the road would
 
 196 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 Boon be entirely closed. She therefore advanced 
 through the channels left her, between cakes of ice 
 thiily feet thick. 
 
 On the morning of Sept. 3, "The Young Adventurer" 
 lay off Gael-Hamkes Bay. Land was thirtj^ miles to 
 the leeward. For the first time the brig was stopjDed 
 by a field of ice, affording no passage, and measuring 
 at least a mile in breadth. They were obliged to use 
 their ice-saws. Penellan, Aupic, Gradlin, and Tur- 
 ginette were ordered out to use the saws, which were 
 placed just bej'ond the ship. The cutting-line was so 
 arranged, that the cui-rent might cany away the frag- 
 ments detached. The whole crew worked nearly twen- 
 ty hours at the job. They found it extremely hard to 
 keep their footing on the ice. They were often forced 
 to stand waist deep in water ; and their seal-sldn 
 clothes were but partially waterproof. 
 
 Besides, in these high latitudes, all excessive labor is 
 soon followed by utter exhaustion ; for the breath 
 rapidly gives out, and the strongest man has to malce 
 frequent pauses. 
 
 At last a passage was opened ; and the brig was 
 towed beyond the ice-calce which had so long detained 
 it.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 197 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE CRACKING OF THE ICE. 
 
 For several daj-s "The Young Adventurer" strug- 
 gled with insurmountable difficulties. The men were 
 kept saw in hand, and often had even to use gun- 
 powder to blast the huge blocks of ice which stopped 
 the way. 
 
 The 12th of September the sea was nothing but one 
 solid plain, without outlet or channel, surrounding the 
 ship on every side ; so that she could neither advance 
 nor recede. The temperature was now, on an average, 
 sixteen degrees below zero. They were laid up for the 
 season ; and winter was upon them with all its dangers 
 and sufferings. 
 
 " The Young Adventurer " was in longitude 21° west, 
 and latitude 76° north, at the mouth of Gael-Hamkes 
 Bay. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte began his preparations for winter. 
 He fii'st desired to find a creek where his ?hip might be 
 sheltered from gales of wind and the breakirg-up of 
 the ice. The mainland, which was probably about ten 
 miles to the west, would be the only safe cover ; and 
 he resolved to go in search of it. 
 
 The 12th of September he set out, accompanied by 
 
 Andre Vasling, Penellan, and two sailors, Gradlin and 
 
 Turquiette. Each one carried provisions for two days ; 
 
 for it was not likely that their excursion would be pro- 
 
 17*
 
 198 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 louged be^'oncl that time ; and they were also provided 
 with buffalo-skins, on which they were to sleep. 
 
 The snow, which had fallen abundantly, and the sur- 
 face of which was not yet frozen, retarded them consid- 
 erabl}'. They often sank breast deep, and could only 
 advance with extreme caution, lest they should fall into 
 some hole. Penellan, who went ahead, tried ever}- 
 depression of the soil with his iron-shod staff. 
 
 Towards five o'clock in the evening the fog began to 
 grow thicker ; and the little band were forced to halt. 
 Penellan sought out an ice-peak, which would shield them 
 from the vdnd ; and after eating something, regretting 
 that the}' had no hot drink, the}" spread their buffalo- 
 skins upon the ground, wrapped themselves up in them, 
 huddled close together, and soon forgot their fatigue in 
 sleep. 
 
 The next morning they found themselves buried 
 under a fall of snow more than a foot thick. Happil}- 
 the buffalo-robes, being perfectly impenetrable, had 
 saved them ; and the snow had even helped to keep 
 them warm by preventing the escape of any heat. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte at once gave the signal for departure ; 
 and towards noon he and his comrades at last caught 
 sight of the coast, which was at first almost invisible. 
 Great blocks of ice rose on the shore : then- varied 
 forms, of every shape and size, reproduced the phe- 
 nomena of crystallization on a large scale. Mp-iads of 
 water-birds flew up at their approach ; and the seals.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. IDO 
 
 who were stretched lazily on the ice, plunged hurriedly 
 into the sea. 
 
 "Upon my word!" said Penellan, "we shall not 
 want for fur nor game." 
 
 " These creatures," said Cornbutte, " all act as if 
 they had been visited by man before ; for, in these desert 
 regions, they would not natiu-ally be so wild." ' 
 
 " Only Greenlanders frequent these shores," replied 
 Andre Vasling. 
 
 " But I see no trace of their passage, not the least 
 encampment, not the smallest hut," replied Penellan, 
 mounting a small hillock. 
 
 "O captain," he cried, " come here! I see a point 
 of land which would preserve us finely from the north- 
 west wind." 
 
 " This wa}', boys ! " said Jean Cornbutte. 
 
 His conu-ades followed him ; and they soon joined 
 Penellan. He had spoken truty. A high point of laud 
 ran out into the sea, forming a bold promontory, and, 
 curving suddenh', formed a bulwark of a mile in thick- 
 ness. A few cakes of ice were floating about in this 
 sheltered spot ; and the sea, shielded from the coldest 
 winds, was not yet frozen over. 
 
 This was an excellent winter-harbor. It only re- 
 mained to bring the ship into it. Now, Jean Cornbutte 
 noticed that the neighboring ice-fields were extremelj'' 
 thick ; and it appeared most diflScult to cut a canal 
 for the brig. They were therefore forced to seek
 
 200 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 another creek ; but Corubutte looked vainh' northward. 
 The coast was bare and rugged for a long distance, and, 
 bej'ond the cape, it was dh'ectly exposed to the blasts 
 of the east wind. This baffled the captain, the more 
 so, that Vasling enlarged on all the evils of their situa- 
 tion. Peuellan found it hard work to convince himself 
 that things were for the best now. 
 
 The brig's only chance was to seek a harbor on the 
 southern shore. They must, then, retrace then* steps ; 
 but there was no time to be lost in hesitation. The 
 little band turned towards the ship, and travelled rapid- 
 ly ; for their provisions were beginning to give out. 
 Jean Corubutte sought all along the road for some 
 practicable channel, or, at least, some fissure, which 
 would permit of their chopping a passage thi'ough the 
 ice ; but in vain. 
 
 Towards nightfall the sailors reached the ice-hill 
 where they had encamped the previous night. No snow 
 had fallen during the day ; and they found the marks of 
 their bodies on the ice. Every thing was arranged for 
 the night, and they lay down in their buffalo-skins. 
 
 Penellan, much vexed b}- their unsuccessful expedi- 
 tion, was sleeping lightl}^, when, in a wakeful moment, 
 liis attention was caught by a hollow, rolling sound. He 
 listened anxiously ; and the noise seemed so singular, 
 that he nudged Corubutte. 
 
 " What is the matter? " asked the latter, whose wits, 
 sailor like, wakened a» quickly as his body.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 201 
 
 " Listen, captain!" replied Peuellan. 
 
 The noise increased sensibly. 
 
 " It can't be thunder in this high latitude," said 
 Cornbutte, rising. 
 
 ••' I rather think we shall have a party of white bears 
 to deal with," replied Peuellan. 
 
 " The deuce ! But we have seen none as yet." 
 
 " Sooner or later," replied Peuellan, " we must expect 
 a visit from them. Let us begin by giving them a 
 warm reception." 
 
 Penellan, armed with a gun, climbed nimbi}- up the 
 peak which sheltered them. The darkness being pro- 
 found, and the sky overcast, he could discover nothing ; 
 but a new incident soon proved that the noise did not 
 come from the neighborhood. Jean Cornbutte joined 
 him ; and they remarked with terror that the rumbling 
 which had now aroused their companions came from 
 beneath their feet. 
 
 Fresh peril soon threatened them. An undulating 
 motion of the ice-field was soon added to the noise, 
 which now resembled claps of thunder. Some of the 
 men lost their balance, and fell. 
 
 " Attention ! " cried Penellan. 
 
 "Yes," they answered. 
 
 " Turquictte, Gradlin, where are yowl" 
 
 " Here I am," replied Turquiette, shaking off the 
 snow that covered him. 
 
 " This way, Vasliug ! " cried Cornbutte to the second 
 officer. ' ' And Gradlin ? "
 
 202 A WINTER AMONG TEE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 "Present, captain; but we are lost," cried Gradliu 
 in alarm. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Penellan. " "We 7nay be saved in- 
 stead." 
 
 Ilardl}' had he uttered these words, when a fright- 
 ful crack was heard. The whole ice-field broke up ; and 
 the men had to cling to their block, which swayed to 
 and fro. Spite of the helmsman's words, they were in 
 a most dangerous position ; for there had been a sort of 
 arctic earthquake. The ice had "weighed anchor," as 
 the sailors said. The motion lasted nearly two min- 
 utes ; and the unhapp}' men feared an abj'ss might open 
 beneath their feet. Thus they waited for day in mortal 
 terror ; for thej^ could not ventiu-e a step, without risk- 
 ing death, and they lay at full length to escape being 
 swallowed up. 
 
 With the first rays of light, a strange landscape laj- 
 before them. The vast plain, solid the night before, 
 was now sundered in a thousand places ; and the waves, 
 upheaved by some submarine commotion, had broken 
 the heaA-}- laj'er of ice that covered them. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte's mind was with his brig. 
 
 " M3' poor ship ! " he cried. " She must be lost." 
 
 The darkest despair began to tinge every face. The 
 loss of the ship involved their speed}' death. 
 
 " Courage, mj^ friends ! " rejoined Penellan. " Only 
 think that last night's earthquake has opened us a road 
 through the ice ; so that we cau bring our brig into
 
 A WINTER AMONG TEE ICE-FIELDS. 203 
 
 muter-quarters. Aud there, if I'm uot mistakeu, 
 there lies ' The Young Adventurer,' nearer b}' a mile 
 than she was before." 
 
 All hastened forward, and so incautiously, that 
 Turquiette slipped into a fissure, and would certainly 
 have perished, had not Jean Cornbutte caught him by 
 the hood ; so that he escaped with a cold bath. 
 
 In very truth, the brig lay two miles to windward. 
 After infinite trouble, the little band came up with her. 
 She was in good condition ; but her rudder, which they 
 had neglected to unship, had been broken bj' the ice. 
 
 vn. 
 
 GETTING INTO WINTER-QUARTERS. 
 
 Penellan was right again. Every thing was for the 
 best ; aud this quaking of the ice had opened a prac- 
 ticable passage to the ba}-. The sailors had only to 
 guide the cun-ents so as to sweep the fragments from 
 their path. 
 
 The 19th of September the brig was finally es- 
 tablished, two cable-lengths away from land, in her 
 winter-quarters, and anchored fii'mly on a solid bottom. 
 The next day ice had formed round her hull : 
 soon it was strong enough to bear a man's weight ; 
 and communicatiou with the mainland was thus 
 established.
 
 204 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 According to the custom of arctic navigators, the 
 rigging remained as it was : the sails were carefully 
 braced up, and provided with covers, the crow's-nest 
 being left up, with a view to taking distant observa- 
 tions, as well as to attract attention to the ship. 
 
 The sun now hardly rose above the horizon. During 
 the June solstice it had described lower and lower 
 curves, and would soon disappear entirely. 
 
 The crew hastily made their preparations. Penellan 
 Avas supervisor-iu-chief. The ice soon grew thick 
 around the vessel ; and they feared the pressure might 
 be dangerous. But Penellan waited until the floating 
 fragments united, and attained the thickness of the 
 twentieth part of a foot ; then he ordered a bevel to be 
 cut round the hull, so that the ice met under the ship, 
 whose form it soon assumed. Thus enclosed in a bed, 
 the brig had nothing to fear from the pressure of the 
 ice, which could not stir her. 
 
 The crew then raised a snow -wall, from five to six 
 feet thick, round the cross-pawls, and as high as 
 the bulwarks ; and it soon grew hard as a rock. This 
 envelope prevented the heat from radiating out. A 
 sail-cloth awning, covered with skins, and tightl}' 
 closed, was erected on deck, and formed a sort of 
 promenade for the crew. 
 
 They also built a snow storehouse on shore, where 
 they put many things which cumbered the vessel. The 
 partitions between the cabins were removed, so as to
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 205 
 
 form but one large room from stem to stern. This 
 was easier to warm, tlie ice and damp lla^'ing fewer 
 corners to croucli in. It was also easier to air it thor- 
 oughly by means of canvas bags, which opened out- 
 wards. 
 
 Each one displayed great activity in these various 
 preparations ; and towards the 25th of September 
 every thing was in order. Andi'e Vasling had not 
 been the least skilful in these arrangements ; but he 
 showed too great eagerness about Marie ; and although 
 she, absorbed with thoughts of Louis, never noticed it, 
 Jean Cornbutte soon saw how matters stood. He dis- 
 cussed it with Penellan. He recalled several things 
 which threw new light on his mate's intentions. Andi'e 
 Vasling loved Marie, and meant to ask her uncle for 
 her as soon as there was no further doubt of her lover's 
 death : they would then return to Dunkirk ; and Andre 
 would be very glad to marry a pretty j'oung girl, who 
 would be Jean Cornbutte's sole heii'ess. 
 
 Only Vasling often forgot his part, in his impatience. 
 He had several times declared it was useless to seek 
 the castawaj^s ; and fresh signs had often given him the 
 lie, as Penellan delighted to prove. So the mate cor- 
 dially detested the helmsman, who returned his hatred 
 with interest. The latter feared but one thing ; namel}', 
 ■that Vasling might succeed in sowing discord among 
 the men ; and he persuaded Cornbutte to answer him 
 evasively. 
 
 18
 
 206 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 When their arrangements for winter were complete, 
 the captain took various precautions for preserring his 
 men's health. The}' were ordered to air their quarters 
 ever}' morning, and to wipe the walls carefull}' to remove 
 the moisture. They had boiling hot tea or coffee, night 
 and morning, that being the best preservative against 
 cold ; then the}' were divided into hunting-parties, who 
 were to procure fresh meat, if possible, every day for 
 use on board. 
 
 Each one was also to take daily exercise, and not to 
 expose himself to the air unless in motion ; for, at 
 thirt}' degrees below zero, some part of the body might 
 freeze suddenly. In such a case the spot must be 
 rubbed with snow, — the only way of saving the part 
 affected. 
 
 Penellan also stronglv recommended them to wash 
 m cold water every morning. It required a certain 
 amount of courage to plunge hands and face into snow, 
 thawed within ; but Penellan set a brave example, 
 which Marie was not slow to follow. 
 
 Nor did Jean Cornbutte forget to read and pray : he 
 would not leave room for despair and fatigue in their 
 hearts. Nothing is more dangerous in these desolate 
 regions. 
 
 The sombre sky filled the soul with gloom. Thick 
 snow, beaten about by violent winds, added to thi 
 customar}' horrors. The sun would soon disappear. 
 If the clouds had not been heaped above their heads,
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 207 
 
 thej could have enjoj'ed the light of the moon, which 
 would really become their sun during the long polar 
 night ; but, while the west wind lasted, the snow never 
 ceased falling. Every morning they had to clear a 
 passage from the ship, and cut a new staircase in the 
 ice to descend to the plain. This was easy work. The 
 steps once hewn out, a little water was poured over 
 them, and they hardened immediately. 
 
 Penellan also had a hole dug in the ice, not far from 
 the ship. Ever}' day they broke the fresh crust which 
 had formed on the surface ; and the water which they 
 drew from below was warmer than that which lay 
 above. . 
 
 These preparations consumed about three weeks. 
 They then queried whether they should push their search 
 still farther. The ship was fast for six or seven months, 
 and the next thaw alone could open a road for her 
 through the ice. They therefore resolved to profit by 
 her forced imprisonment to direct their course north- 
 ward. 
 
 vin. 
 
 PLAN OF EXPLORATION. 
 
 The 9 th of October Jean Cornbutte held a council 
 of war to draw up a plan of proceedings ; and, in order 
 that unity might increase their zeal and courage, he
 
 208 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 admitted the whole crew. Map in hand, he explained 
 their present position clearly. 
 
 The eastern coast of Greenland slopes pei-pendicu- 
 larl}' to the north. The discoveries of arctic exjjlorers 
 have defined the exact limits of those regions. Within 
 the space of five hundred leagues, which separates 
 Greenland from Spitzbergen, no land had j-et been 
 known. One island onlj-. Shannon Island, lay one 
 hundred miles north of Gael-Hamkes Ba}', where " The 
 Young Adventurer " was to winter. 
 
 If the Norwegian vessel, therefore, as was most 
 probable, had been driven in that direction, supposing 
 that she could not reach Shannon Islajid, Louis Corn- 
 butte and his companions must have sought shelter for 
 the winter there. 
 
 This opinion prevailed, in spite of Andi'c Vasling's 
 opposition ; and it was decided to direct their exj^lora- 
 tions towards Shannon Island. 
 
 Preparations were immediate^ begun. They had 
 procui'ed, on the coast of Norwaj', an Esquimau sledge, 
 built of planks bent both waj's, and made to glide 
 over snow and ice. It was twelve feet long b}- fom- 
 feet broad, and could, consequentl}-, hold provisions for 
 several weeks' suppl}', if necessary. Fidele Misonne 
 soon got it ready, working at it in the snow storehouse, 
 where his tools were kept. For the first time a Char- 
 coal stove was set up in the storehouse ; for it would 
 have been impossible to work without it. The -stove-
 
 A WINTER A^fO^^G THE ICE-FIELDS. 209 
 
 pipe came out of one of the side-walls, throiigli a hole 
 pierced in the snow. But this proved very inconven- 
 ient ; for the heat of the pipe gradually melted the snow 
 about it, and the opening increased '\isibly. Jean 
 Cornbutte then de\dsed a metallic covering for the pipe, 
 which prevented the heat from passing out, and proved 
 a complete success. 
 
 While Misonne worked at the fledge, Peuellan, 
 assisted b}' Marie, prepared a change of clothing for 
 the jourue}'. Fortunatel}- they had a large supply- of 
 seal-skin boots. Jean Cornbutte and Andre Vasling 
 looked out for the provisions. They took a small cask 
 of alcohol to heat a portable stove and spirit-lamp, a 
 good stock of tea and coffee, a small tin of biscuit, 
 two hundred pounds of pemmican, and several gourds 
 of brandy. Their guns were to furnish fresh meat day 
 by da3\ A certain quantity- of powder was put up in 
 bags. The compass, sextant, and telescope were care- 
 fully packed. 
 
 The 11th of October the sun did not rise above the 
 horizon. The}' were obliged to keep a lamp constant- 
 ly burning in the sailors' quarters. There Was no time 
 to be lost : the}' must begin their explorations at once, 
 and for this reason, — 
 
 In the month of January, the cold would become so 
 great as to prevent their setting foot outside, without 
 danger of losing their lives. For two months, at least, 
 the crew would be closely housed ; then the thaw would 
 
 IS*
 
 210 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 set in, and would continue until it %yas time for the 
 vessel to leave the ice-fields. This thaw would put an 
 end to all exploration. On the other hand, if Louis 
 Cornbutte and his comrades still lived, it was not likely 
 that they could withstand the rigors of an arctic 
 winter, Thej' must be rescued at once, or every hope 
 would vanish. 
 
 Andre Vasling knew all this better than any one else : 
 so he resolved to put as many obstacles in the expedi- 
 tion's wa}' as possilile. 
 
 The preparations for the journey were concluded on 
 the 20th of October. They were then to choose the 
 men who should share in it. The young girl must not 
 be separated from both Cornbutte and Penellan. Now, 
 neither of them could be spared from the part}'. 
 
 The question was, whether Marie could bear the 
 hardships of such a trip. Hitherto she had passed 
 through severe trials without suffering much ; for she 
 was a sailor's daughter, and accustomed to the perils of 
 the ocean from her infanc}' up ; so that Penellan felt 
 no alarm in seeing her struggling against the dangers 
 of the polar seas, in this fearful climate. 
 
 They accordingly decided, after long discussion, 
 that she should accompany them, and that a place 
 should be reserved for her, if necessar}', on the sledge, 
 on which they built a small wooden hut, closed 
 securely. As for [Marie, she had reached the height of 
 her desires ; for she dreaded to be parted from her two 
 protectors.
 
 A iV INTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 211 
 
 The expedition was then formed as follows : Marie, 
 Jean Cornbutte, Penellan, Andre Vasling, Aupic, and 
 Fidele Misonne. Alain Turquiette was left in charge 
 of the brig, with Gervique and Gradlin under him. 
 Fresh provisions of all kinds were taken ; for Jean 
 Cornbutte^ iu order to extend the exploration to its 
 utmost limits, had resolved to make deposits along the 
 road every seven or eight days. As soon as the sledge 
 was ready, thej^ loaded it, and it was covered with a 
 tent made of buffalo-skins. The whole thing weighed 
 about seven hundred pounds, which could be easily 
 drawn over the ice by a team of six dogs. 
 
 The 2 2d of October, according to the captain's 
 predictions, a sudden change occurred in the tempera- 
 ture. The sky cleared ; the stars shed a brilliant light ; 
 and the moon shone above the horizon, where it was to 
 remain for a fortnight. The thermometer fell to twent}*- 
 five degrees below zero. 
 
 They were to start the next day. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE SNOW-HOUSE. 
 
 The 23d of October, at eleven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, with a fine moon, the procession took up its line 
 of march. Measures were taken this time to admit
 
 212 A WINTER AMONG THE JCE-FIELDS. 
 
 of the journey's lasting a long time, if necessaiy. 
 Jean Cornbutte followed the coast, ascending north- 
 ward. The travellers' steps made no impression on 
 the solid ice. Cornbutte was therefore obliged to cfuide 
 himself by distant landmarks. Sometimes he stumbled 
 over a hillock bristling with jagged stones, sometimes 
 over an enormous cake of ice which had been forced 
 upwards b}" pressure. 
 
 At their first stopping-place, fifteen miles from the 
 ship, Penellan made preparations to encamp. The 
 tent was pitched against a block of ice. Marie had 
 not suffered overmuch from the extreme cold ; for, the 
 wind ha\'ing lucidly died away, it was much more en- 
 durable. But several times she was forced to dismount 
 from the sledge, that torpor might not stop her circula- 
 tion. Otherwise her little hut, carpeted with skins by 
 Penellan's care, was as comfortable as could be. 
 
 When night, or rather the time for repose, came on, 
 the little hut was taken into the tent, and served as a 
 bedroom for the 3'oung girl. The evening meal con- 
 sisted of fresh meat, pemmican, and hot tea. Jean 
 Cornbutte, to ward off the evil effects of scurvj^, dis- 
 tributed to each a few drops of lemon-juice. Then 
 tlie}' committed themselves to God's keeping, and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 After sleeping eight hours, they resumed their line 
 of march. A substantial breakfast was dealt out to 
 the men and dogs before starting. The ice being ex-
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 213 
 
 tremely smooth, the sledge glided easily along ; so that 
 at times the men could scarcely keep up with it. 
 
 Some of them soon began to complain of dizziness. 
 Aupic and Misonne were troubled with their ej'es. 
 The moonlight, striking on the vast white plains, 
 scorched theu' vision, and made their eyes smart fear- 
 fully. 
 
 A most cm'ious effect was also produced by refrac- 
 tion. In walking, just as they expected to bring their 
 feet down on a hummock, it gave waj' beneath them, 
 which occasioned man}^ falls, fortunately never very 
 serious ; and Penellan turned them all into jest. 
 Nevertheless, he advised them not to take a step with- 
 out trying the ground with their iron-bound sticks. 
 
 Towards the 1st of November, ten days after their 
 start, the}' found themselves fifty miles farther north. 
 Every one felt extremelj' tired. Cornbutte suffered 
 from intense giddiness ; and his sight was sensibly 
 affected. Aupic and Fidele could only grope their 
 wa}' ; for their red-rimmed eyes seemed fairl}' blistered 
 by the dazzling reflection. Marie had been preserved 
 from such accidents by her hut, in which she kept as 
 much a£ possible. Penellan, sustained by indomitable 
 courage, resisted every trial. But the man who bore 
 up best, and on whom cold, exhaustion, and giddiness 
 seemed to have no effect, was Andre Vasling. His iron 
 
 * 
 
 frame seemed made to wrestle with fatigue. He eagerly 
 watched discouragement stealing over the most robust,
 
 214 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 and foresaw that the time was at hand when thev 
 would have to return. 
 
 On the 1st of November their exhaustion was so 
 great, that the}' were forced to rest for a day or two. 
 
 As soon as a suitable spot was chosen, they began 
 to build a camp. They determined to make a snow- 
 house, which they could prop up against a cliff. 
 Fidele Misonne at once traced out the foundations, 
 which measured fifteen feet long by five feet broad. 
 Penellan, Aupic, and Misonne cut huge blocks of ice 
 with their knives, which they brought to the spot, 
 and set them up as masons would have set real 
 stones. Soon the wall rose to the height of five feet 
 and an equal thickness ; for materials were plenty, 
 and the work must be strong enough to last several 
 days. The four walls were completed in about eight 
 hours. A door was cut on the southern side ; and tlire 
 tent canvas, which was laid across the walls, fell over 
 the door, and quite covered it. It now onh' remained 
 to cap the whole with large blocks to form a roof for 
 the ephemeral construction. 
 
 After three hours of painful labor, the house was 
 ready, and they went into it, a prey to fatigue and dis- 
 couragement. Jean Cornbutte suffered so much, that 
 he could scarcely move ; and Andre Vasling turned 
 his aches to such good account as to wring a promise 
 from him to extend his search no farther in these fear- 
 ful wastes. Penellan knew not what saint to invoke.
 
 A WINTER AMOXG THE ICE-EIELDS. 215 
 
 He considered it base and cowardlj- to abandon his 
 comrades to groundless feare, so lie strove to prove 
 their folly, but in vain. 
 
 However, although they had determined to return, 
 rest was so essential, that they made no preparations 
 to depart for three days. 
 
 The 4th of November Cornbutte began to bury such 
 provisions as he did not need, upon the coast. A 
 stick was set up to mark the spot, in the improbable 
 case that fresh explorations should lead him that way. 
 During the whole four-da3*s' march, he had left similar 
 deposits along the road, which insured him food for 
 the return-journey, without the trouble of carrying it 
 both wa^'s. 
 
 The}' were to start at ten in the morning, on the 5th 
 of November. Profound sorrow pervaded the little 
 party. Marie could scarcely hold back her tears, 
 seeing her uncle so downcast. Such useless suffering ! 
 such fruitless toil ! Penellan himself grew peevish. He 
 wished every one to the Devil, and seized everj- occasion 
 of grumbling about his comrades' weakness and cow- 
 arcUce, calling them more timid, and more easily tired, 
 than Marie, who would have gone to the world's end 
 without complaining. 
 
 Andi'e Vasling could not hide his pleasure. Ue 
 grew more attentive than ever to the 3'oung girl, ■nhom 
 he even encouraged to hope that new researches might 
 be made when winter was over, well knowing they 
 would be too late.
 
 216 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 BURIED ALIVE. 
 
 The evening before their departure, at teatime, Pe- 
 nellan was busily breaking up some empt}' cases to feed 
 the fire, when he was suddenly suffocated by a volume 
 of smoke. At the same time the house was shaken as 
 if b}^ an earthquake. Every one uttered a cry of teiTor ; 
 and Penellan rushed out. 
 
 It was perfectl}' dark. A frightful tempest, for it 
 was not a thaw, was raging. Whirlwinds of snow 
 beat violently' about ; and the cold was so extreme, that 
 the helmsman felt his hands freezing fast. He was 
 forced to return, after rubbing himself well with snow. 
 
 " What a storm ! " he cried. " God gTant our house 
 ma}- resist it ; for, if the hurricane should destroy it, 
 we should be lost indeed." 
 
 At the same time that the elements were let loose, 
 a dreadful noise was heard beneath the frozen ground. 
 The ice-peaks, torn up from the promontor}', dashed 
 furiously- together ; the wind- blew so hard, that it some- 
 times seemed as if the whole house would be uprooted ; 
 and phosphorescent lights, inexplicable in those lati- 
 tudes, gleamed amid the tempest. 
 
 "• Marie, Marie ! " cried Penellan, grasping the young 
 girl's hands. 
 
 " We're in a bad fix ! " said Fidele Misonue. 
 
 "And I don't know whether we shall ever get out 
 of it," replied Aupic.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 217 
 
 "Let US leave this snow-house," said Andre Vasling. 
 
 "Impossible!" replied Penellau. "The cold is 
 terrible without, whUe we are comparatively sheltered 
 he:-e." 
 
 " Give me the thermometer," said Vasling. 
 
 Aupic handed him the instrument, which marked 
 ten degrees below zero inside, although the fire was 
 burning brightly. Vasling raised the canvas from the 
 door, and dropped it hurriedly' out ; for he would have 
 been crushed by the fragments of ice, huiied to and 
 fro b}' the wind like a perfect hail-storm. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Vasling," said Penellan, " do you still 
 desire to go out? You see that we are safer here." 
 
 " Yes," added Jean Cornbutte ; " and we must exert 
 ever}- elfort to strengthen the house from within." 
 
 "But a still more frightful danger thi'eatens us," 
 said Andre. 
 
 " What? " asked Cornbutte. 
 
 " The wind may break up the ice our house stands 
 on, as it has broken the ice-peaks farther on, and we 
 ma}- be drowned or carried awaj-." 
 
 " I hardly think it," replied Penellan ; " for it is cold 
 enough to freeze even liquids. Let us see what the 
 temperature is." 
 
 He raised the canvas, only putting out his arm, and 
 had some trouble to find the thermometer in the snow ; 
 but at last he seized it, and, bringing it to the light, 
 said, — 
 
 19
 
 218 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 ' ' Thirty- two degrees below zero ! The greatest 
 cold we have 3'et known." 
 
 "Ten degi'ees lower," added Vasliug, "and the 
 mercmy will freeze." 
 
 A gloomy silence followed this remark. 
 
 Towards eight in the morning Peuellan made a 
 second attempt to get out and judge of the situation. 
 They must also make some vent-hole for the smoke, 
 which the wind was now driving into the hut. The 
 sailor wrapped his garments close about him, tied his 
 hood down over his ears with a handkerchief, and 
 raised the canvas. 
 
 The opening was entirely blocked b}' solid snow. 
 Penellan took his staff, and succeeded in plunging it 
 into the compact mass ; but terror froze his blood Avhen 
 he felt that his stick did not move, but struck against 
 a hard bod}'. 
 
 " Cornbutte," said he to the captain, who had drawn 
 near, " we are buried under the snow ! " 
 
 " What do you mean? " cried Jean Cornbutte, 
 
 " I mean that the snow has collected and frozen 
 around and over us ; that we are buried alive." 
 
 " Let us try to push away this mass of snow," 
 replied the captain. 
 
 The two friends struggled with the obstacle that 
 blocked the doorway, but could not stu- it. The snow 
 was more than five feet thick, and formed one with the 
 house.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 219 
 
 Cornbntte could not restrain an exclamation, which 
 •woke Misouue and Andre Vasling. An oath escaped 
 the latter, and he knit his brows. 
 
 At this moment a thicker puff of smoke than ever 
 filled the hut, for there was no outlet for it. 
 
 "Curse it!" cried Misonne. "The stove-pipe ig 
 stopped up with ice." 
 
 Penellan took his stick, and got upon the stove, after 
 throwing snow on the burning brands to extinguish 
 them, which produced such a smoke, that they could 
 hardl}- see the light of the lamp ; then he tried to clear 
 the pipe with his stick, but struck against a rock of 
 ice. 
 
 There was nothing left but to wait quietly for their 
 frightful end, preceded by a long agon}-. The smoke, 
 getting into the wretched creatures' throats, hurt them 
 terribly ; and even air would soon fail them. 
 
 Marie woke ; and her presence, which drove Corn- 
 bntte mad, restored Penellan's courage. The helms- 
 man could not think this poor child doomed to so horrid 
 a death. 
 
 "Well," said the young girl, "have you made too 
 much fii-e? The room is full of smoke." 
 
 " Yes — yes " — stammered the helmsman. 
 
 " Of course you have," said Marie; " for it is not 
 cold. We haven't been so warm for a long time." 
 
 No one dared to tell her the ti-uth. 
 
 " Come, Marie," said Penellan, putting on a bold
 
 220 A WINTER AMONG TEE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 face, " help us with the breakfast. It is too cold to 
 go out. Here's the blazer, here's the alcohol, here's 
 the coffee. Come, fellows, give us a little pemmican, 
 since the weather prevents 3'our hunting." 
 
 These words revived his comrades' spirits. 
 
 "Let's eat first," added Penellan, "and then we'll 
 see about getting out." 
 
 Penellan added practice to precept, and devoured 
 his portion. His comrades imitated him, and then 
 drank a cup of hot coffee, which strengthened the 
 somewhat. Then Cornbutte decided, with great ener- 
 gy, that every means of escape should be tried at 
 once. 
 
 It was then that Andre Vasling made this remark, — 
 
 " If the tempest still rages, as is most probable, we 
 must be buried ten feet deep ; for we can't hear a sound 
 from without." 
 
 Penellan looked at Marie, who saw the truth, but 
 never quaked. 
 
 Penellan first heated the iron point of his stick red- 
 hot in the spirit-lamp, and bored thi'ough each wall in 
 tui'n, without finding any outlet. Cornbutte then 
 resolved to dig an opening through the door itself. 
 The ice was so hard, that their cutlasses made very 
 little impression on it. The pieces which they broke 
 off soon began to obstruct the hut. At the end of two 
 bom*s' hard work, the tunnel was not three feet deep. 
 
 They must devise some more rapid means, which
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 221 
 
 would be less likely- to shake the house ; for, the farther 
 they advanced, the harder gi-ew the ice, requiring more 
 violent efforts to cut it. 
 
 Penellan thought of melting the ice in the required 
 direction by the aid of their spirit-lamp. It was a 
 dangerous experiment ; for, if their imprisonment were 
 prolonged, the alcohol, of which they had but a small 
 supply, would not holdout to cook their meals. Never- 
 theless, they consented to try it, and it was put in 
 practice at once. They fii'st dug a hole about thi'ee 
 feet deep, and one foot round, to receive the water 
 which would drip from the melting ice, and were thank- 
 ful they had taken this precaution ; for the water fell 
 so fast under the fire, that Penellan soon walked up- 
 right through the snow. 
 
 The opening grew by degi-ees ; but the}- could not 
 continue their labors long, for the water soaked them 
 through and through. Penellan was obliged to pause 
 in quarter of an hour, and take the spirit-lamp in to 
 diy himself by it. Misonne soon took his place, and 
 worked no less bravely. 
 
 After two hours' toil, although the tunnel was five 
 feet deep, their sticks could still find no opening. 
 
 " It is impossible," said Cornbutte, " that the snow 
 
 should have fallen in such quantities. It must have 
 
 l)een drifted this way b}' the wind. Perhaps it would 
 
 have been better to try the other side." 
 
 "I don't know," reiDlied Penellan; "but, if it's 
 lu*
 
 222 A WINTER AMONG TPE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 onl}' to lieep our comrades' courage up, we must go on 
 where we began. We must find an outlet sooner or 
 later." 
 
 " Will not our alcohol give out? " asked the captain. 
 
 "I hope not," replied Penellan, "but, if necessary, 
 we must give up coffee and hot drinks. Besides, that 
 is not m}' greatest anxiety." 
 
 "What is it, Penellan? " asked Cornbutte. 
 
 " That our lamp ma}- go out for lack of oil, and 
 that we may come to the end of our provisions. How- 
 ever, trust in God." 
 
 Then Penellan took Vasling's place ; for he, too, 
 worked hard in the common cause. 
 
 " Mr. Vasling," said he, " I will take your place, but 
 look out, I beg, for an}- signs of the walls caving in, 
 that we maj' ha^e time to ward off such a calamity." 
 
 The hour for rest had come ; and, when Penellan had 
 dug the tunnel a foot deeper, he came in, and la}' down 
 to sleep with his companions. 
 
 XI. 
 
 A CLOUD OF SMOKE. 
 
 The next day, when the sailors woke, they were 
 wrapped in darkness. The lamp had gone out. Corn- 
 butte roused Penellan to ask for cne tinder-box, whiclj
 
 A W^yTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 223 
 
 he handed him. FenGllan rose to light the spirit-lamp, 
 but in rising struck his head against the ice. He was 
 alarmed, for the night before he could stand erect. The 
 spirit-lamp being lighted, he saw by its feeble light 
 that their tunnel was a foot lower. 
 
 He set furiously to work. 
 
 At that moment, the young girl came out, and saw, 
 b}' the light reflected from the lamp, how desire and 
 despair were contending on his rough face. She 
 approached him, took his hands, and pressed them ten- 
 derly-. His courage revived. 
 
 " She shall not die here ! " he cried. 
 
 He took his spirit-lamp, and set to work on the nar- 
 row opening. He plunged his stick firmlj' in, and met 
 no resistance. Had he reached soft layers of snow? 
 He drew back his stick, and a ray of light pierced the 
 darkness. 
 
 " Help, friends ! " he cried. 
 
 And he knocked awav the snow with hands and feet ; 
 but the outer crust was not so soft as he supposed. 
 With the ra}- of light, a rush of cold air entered the 
 cabin, and froze ever}' damp spot in a second. With 
 the aid of his cutlass, Penellan enlarged the opening, 
 and was soon breathing fresh air. He fell on his knees 
 to thank God, and was soon joined by the young girl 
 and his companions. 
 
 A magnificent moon illumined the scene, sending 
 forth such icy beams, that the sailors were driven in ;
 
 224 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 but Penellan first looked about him. The promontory 
 was gone, and the hut stood in the midst of an immense 
 ice-field. He looked for the sledge with their provis- 
 ions : the sledge had vanished. 
 
 The cold drove him in. He said nothing to his com- 
 panions, but dried his clothes at the spirit-lamp. The 
 thermometer, exposed for one moment to the air, fell to 
 thirty degrees below zero. 
 
 An hour after, Andre Vasling and Penellan resolved 
 to venture out. Thej- wrapped themselves in their still 
 damp garments, and went through the tunnel, whose 
 walls were already' like marble. 
 
 " "VYe have been driven towards the north-east," said 
 Andre, examining the stars, which shone with unwont- 
 ed brilliancy. 
 
 " There'd liave been no harm in that," replied Pe- 
 nellan, " if our sledge had come with us." 
 
 " Isn't the sledge there? " cried Andre. " Then we 
 are lost ! " 
 
 " Let us look about," said Penellan. 
 
 Thej^ went round the hut, which formed a solid block 
 more than fifteen feet high. An immense quantity- of 
 snow had fallen during the storm ; and the wind had 
 drifted it against the only elevation on the })lain. The 
 whole mass had been driven b}' the wind moi-e than 
 twent3'-five miles to the north-east, and tlie prisoners 
 had sullered the fate of their floating prison. The 
 sledge, resting on another ice-cake, had doubtless
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 225 
 
 drifted auother way ; for the}' saw uo traces of it ; and 
 the dogs must have perished in the blast. 
 
 Vasling and Penellan gave way to despair. They 
 dared not re-enter the snow-house. The}' dared not 
 announce the fatal news to their companions in misfor- 
 tune. The}' climbed over the very block of ice in which 
 the hut was buried, and saw nothing but the same wlute 
 waste which surrounded them on every side. Cold 
 was already stiffening their limbs ; and their damp gar- 
 ments were freezing into icicles upon them. 
 
 Just as Penellan was descending the hummock, he 
 happened to glance at Vasling. He saw him look sud- 
 denly and eagerly in a certain direction, then tremble, 
 and turn pale. 
 
 "What's the matter, Mr. Vasling?" he asked. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing!" was the reply. "Let us go 
 down and leave these regions, which we never should 
 have entered, as soon as we can." 
 
 But, instead of obeying, Penellan climbed up again, 
 and turned his eyes in the same direction. A very 
 different effect was produced on him ; for he uttered a 
 or}' of joy, exclaiming, — 
 
 ' ' God be praised ! " 
 
 A light smoke rose in the north-east. There was no 
 mistake : living beings were dwelling there. Penellau's 
 cries of joy attracted his companions ; and they all con- 
 vinced themselves with their own eyes that the helms- 
 man was right.
 
 '2'26 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 So without thinking of their lack of provisions, oi 
 the severe cold, wrapped in their cloaks, the}' has- 
 tened towards the spot. 
 
 The smoke rose from the north-east : the little band 
 hastil}' took that course. The goal to be reached lay 
 five or six miles off, and it was very difficult to steer 
 straight to it. The smoke had disappeared, and no ris- 
 ing ground served as a landmark ; for the ice-plain was 
 perfectly level. Still it was most important to keep the 
 sti-aight path. 
 
 "As we cannot guide ourselves by distant objects," 
 said Cornbutte, " we must tr}* another plan. Penellan 
 must march at the head ; Vasling, twenty paces behind 
 him ; and I, twenty- paces behind Vasling. I can then 
 see that Penellan does not fall out of line." 
 
 They proceeded thus for half an hour, when Penellan 
 stopped suddenly in a listening attitude. 
 
 The group of sailors pressed about him. 
 
 " Didn't you hear any thing?" he asked. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Misonne. 
 
 "Strange!" said Penellan. "It seemed as if T 
 heard cries from that quarter." 
 
 " Cries?" repeated Marie. " Then we must be near 
 our journcj-'s end." 
 
 " Not necessarily," replied Andre Vasling. " In 
 these high latitudes, and in such extreme cold, sounds 
 are carried to extraordinary' distances." 
 
 " However it may be," said Jean Cornbutte, " let us 
 go on, or we shall be frozen."
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 227 
 
 " No ! " said Penellan. " Listen ! " 
 
 Faint but perceptible sounds were indeed Lit'ard. 
 The}' seemed to be cries of agony and distress. They 
 were twice repeated. It sounded like some one calling 
 for help. Then all was silent once moi'e. 
 
 "I was not deceived," said Penellan. " Forward !'' 
 
 And he set out on the run towards the cries. He 
 had gone about two miles, when, to his intense surprise, 
 he saw a man lying on the ice. He approached, 
 lifted him up, and raised his arms to heaven in despair. 
 
 Andi'e Vasling, coming np ^ith the rest of the sail- 
 ors, cried out, — 
 
 "It's one of the shipwrecked men! It's our sailor 
 Cortrois ! " 
 
 " He is dead," replied Penellan, — " dead with cold." 
 
 Jean Cornbutte and Marie had now reached the 
 corpse, which was already frozen stiff. Despair was 
 painted on ever}' face. The dead man was one of 
 Louis Cornbutte's companions. 
 
 " Forward ! " cried Penellan. 
 
 The}' went on for half an hour longer, without a 
 word, when they saw a slight elevation, which must be 
 laud. 
 
 " It is Shannon Island," said Cornbutte. 
 
 At the end of a mile they distinctly saw smoke is- 
 suing from a snow-hut with a wooden door. They 
 shouted. Two men rushed from the hut ; and Penellan 
 recognized one as Pierre Nouquet.
 
 228 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 " Pierre ! " lie cried. 
 
 Pierre stood as if stunned, seemingl}^ unconscious 
 of what was going on around him. Andre Vasling 
 examined Pierre Nouquet's companions with auxietj' 
 mingled with cruel joy ; for he did not see Louis Corn- 
 butte among them. 
 
 "Pierre, it is I!" cried Penellan. "We are all 
 ' your friends." 
 
 Picri'e Nouquet re'S'ived, and fell into his old com- 
 rade's arms. 
 
 "And Tdj son! And Louis!" cried Jean Corn- 
 butte in accents of the deepest despair. 
 
 XII. 
 
 RETURN TO THE SHIP. 
 
 At that moment a man, apparently at the point of 
 death, crawled forth from the hut. 
 
 It was Louis Cornbutte. 
 
 "My son!" 
 
 "My beloved!" 
 
 These two greetings were uttered simultaneously ; 
 and Louis fell fainting in the arms of his father and his 
 betrothed, who carried him into the house, whei*e they 
 soon restored him to life. 
 
 "Father, Marie!" cried Louis. "I see you once 
 again before I die."
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 229 
 
 " You shall not die," replied Penellan ; " for j'oiir 
 friends are all about 3'ou." 
 
 Andre Vasling's hatred must have been strong in- 
 deed to prevent his offering his hand to Louis Coru- 
 butte ; but he did not offer it to him. 
 
 Pierre Nouquet could not contain himself for joy. 
 He embraced everybody ; then he heaped the stove 
 with wood, and the temperature soon moderated in the 
 cabin. 
 
 There were two men there whom neither Jean Corn- 
 butte nor Penellan recognized. 
 
 They v.'ere Jocki and Herming, the only two Norwe- 
 gian sailors saved from the crew of " The Frociern." 
 
 "My friends, we are saved at last," said Louis 
 Cornbutte. "Father, Marie! what dangers ^'ou have 
 risked for my sake ! " 
 
 ""We do not regret them, Louis," replied Jean. 
 "Your ship, 'The Young Adventurer ' is fast in the 
 ice, sixty leagues awaj'. We will join her together." 
 
 " When Cortrois comes back," said Pierre Nouquet, 
 " he'll be famously pleased, I warrant." 
 
 A sad silence followed this remark ; and Penellan 
 told Pierre and Louis of their comrade's death from 
 cold. 
   "Friends," said Penellan, "we must wait here till 
 the temperature rises. You have food and fuel? " 
 
 " Yes, and we will burn the remains of ' The Froo- 
 
 ern.' " 
 
 20
 
 230 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 " The Frooeru" had beeu driven withiu forty miles of 
 the spot where Louis Cornbutte was sjiending the win- 
 ter. It had there been broken up b}' floating ice, and 
 the crew were carried, with the timbers from which the}' 
 1 uilt their hut, to the southern shore of Isle Shannon. 
 
 The men were five in number, — Louis Cornbutte, 
 Cortrois, Pierre Nouquet, Jocki, and Hermiug. The 
 rest of the Norwegian crew had sunk with the loner- 
 boat at the time of the wreck. 
 
 As soon as Louis Cornbutte, borne away b}- the ice, 
 saw it closing in around him, he took measures for 
 spending the winter there. He was an energetic 
 fellow, as active as he was courageous ; but, despite his 
 strength, he had been conquered by the climate, and, 
 when his father found him, was patientl}- awaiting 
 death. He not only had to contend with the elements, 
 but with the ill-will of the two Norwegians whose 
 lives he had saved. The}- were perfect savages, desti- 
 tute of ever}' natural feeling. So, when Louis Corn- 
 butte had an opportunity of speaking to Penellan, he 
 warned him not to trust them. In return, Penellan ac- 
 quainted him with Andre Vasling's conduct. Louis 
 could hardly credit it ; but Penellan proved to him, that, 
 ever since his disappearance, Andre had done every 
 thing in his power to win Marie's affections. 
 
 The whole day was devoted to rest and the pleasures 
 of re-union. Fidele Misonne and Pierre Nouquet 
 killed a few sea-bu-ds near the house, from which they
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 231 
 
 dared not wander far. This fresh meat, and the blaz- 
 ing fire, revived even the sickest men. Louis Corubutte 
 himself felt much better. It was the first happ}- ]:io- 
 ment the brave fellows had known. So they mt.de 
 meny in their miserable hut, six hundred leagues to 
 the north, with the thermometer thirty degrees b(!low 
 zero. 
 
 This weather lasted until the moon changed ; and 
 Jean Corubutte and his comrades could not think of 
 starting until the 1 7th of November, a week after their 
 meeting. The}- had nothing but starlight to guide 
 them ; but the cold was less severe, and it even snowed 
 a little. 
 
 Before leaving, they dug a grave for poor Cortrois, 
 — sad ceremony, which affected his companions pain- 
 fully. This was the first among them who had bid his 
 native land an eternal farewell. 
 
 Misonne had made a sort of sledge for the pro\dsions 
 from the timbers of the hut ; and the sailors dragged 
 it in turn. Jeau Corubutte led the wa^- through roads 
 already traversed. The}' struck camp at bedtime with 
 great promptitude. Corubutte hoped to recover the 
 provisions he had buried, as they were most necessar}-, 
 now that he had four more mouths to feed. He there- 
 fore took ever}' precaution not to stra}' from the right 
 road. 
 
 B}' a providential piece of good luck, he recovered 
 his sledge, which had stranded near the promontory
 
 232 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 where tliey had run such risks. The clogs, having eaten 
 their harness to satisfy their hunger, had attacked the 
 provisions. This had kept them together ; and it was 
 they who guided the party to the sledge, where there 
 was still an abundant supply of provisions. 
 
 The little band resumed its journey towai'ds .he 
 winter-harbor. The dogs were tackled to the sledge, 
 and nothing of note occurred. 
 
 Here we must mention that Aupic, Andre Vasling, 
 and the Norwegians, held aloof, and did not mingle 
 with the rest ; but, without their suspecting it, they 
 were closely watched. And 3'et this germ of dissen- 
 sion more than once alarmed Louis Conibutte and 
 Penellan. 
 
 Towards the 7th of December, twenty days after 
 their re-union, they saw the ba}^ where "The Young 
 Adventurer " was laid up. "What was their surprise, on 
 seeing the brig hoisted almost four yards high in the 
 air, on blocks of ice ! The}' hastened on, greatlj' 
 troubled about their comrades, and were welcomed 
 with jojiul acclamations by Gervique. Turquiette, and 
 Gradlin. All were well ; and yet the}', too, had been 
 in great danger. 
 
 The storm had been felt throughout the Polar Sea. 
 The ice was broken up, and canied awa}' ; and the 
 floating fragments had shaken the ship in her bed. 
 Their specific gravity tending to bring them to the 
 surface, they had gained incalculable force ; and the 
 brig was suddenl}- lifted out of the water.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIjLLDS. 233 
 
 The fii'st moments were given up to the jojs of 
 meeting. The explorers were delighted to find every 
 thing in such good condition as to insure them, perhaps 
 a rough, but certainly an endurable winter. The snow- 
 wall had not stirred, and was perfectly firm. "WTien 
 the thaw came on, they would have nothing to do but 
 to slide the ship down an inclined plane into the open 
 sea again. 
 
 But one piece of bad news clouded their faces. Dur- 
 ing the fearful gale, the storehouse they had built on 
 shore had been shattered, the provisions it contained 
 carried away ; and it had been impossible to save the 
 least thing. As soon as they learned this misfortune, 
 Jean and Louis Cornbutte ^'isited the ship's hold and 
 the caboose, to see what provisions were left. 
 
 The thaw would not set in till Ma^- ; and the brig 
 could not leave her winter-harbor until then. They 
 therefore had five months of winter to spend in the 
 ice, during which time fourteen persons must be fed. 
 Jean Cornbutte calculated, that, by putting the crew on 
 half-rations, he could barely hold out until the time 
 for departure. It thus became necessary to form hunt- 
 ing-parties to provide a more abundant supply of food. 
 
 Lest the past misfortune should be repeated, they 
 resolved to keep no more provisions on shore. All 
 remained on board the brig ; and beds were prepared 
 for the new-comers in the sailors' quarters. Turquiette, 
 Gervique, and Gradlin, during their comrades' absence, 
 
 20*
 
 234 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 had cut a staircase in the ice, which gave them easy 
 access to the deck. 
 
 xni. 
 
 THE TWO RIVALS. 
 
 Andre Vasling grew ver^' friendly with the two 
 Norwegians. Aupic also formed one of their band, 
 which held aloof, loudly disapproving all measm-es 
 taken by the rest ; but Louis Cornbutte, to whom his 
 father had restored command, once more master, would 
 not hear a word from them ; and, despite Marie's 
 softer counsel, taught them that he would be implicit- 
 I3' obej'ed. 
 
 However, the two Norwegians succeeded, two daj's 
 later, in getting hold of a case of salt meat. Louis 
 insisted that it should be returned immediately ; but 
 Aupic took their part ; and Andre Vasling was heard 
 to say that such strict rules in regard to food could 
 not last long. 
 
 It was useless to prove to these wretches that every 
 thing was done for the common welfare ; for they knew 
 it, and were onl}- seeking an excuse for revolt. Pe- 
 nellan went up to the Norwegians, who drew their 
 dirks ; but, aided by Misonne and Turquiette, he suc- 
 ceeded in wresting them from their hands, and recovered 
 the case of salt meat. Andre Vasling and Aupic, see-
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 235 
 
 ing that things had turned against them, did not 
 meddle. Still Louis Cornbutte took the mate aside 
 and said to him, — 
 
 "Andre Vasling, you are a scoundi'el. I know all 
 3'ou have done, and I know 3'om- object ; but, as the 
 safety of the whole crew is in my hands, if any one 
 of 3'ou dare conspire against it, I will stab him with 
 my own hand." 
 
 " Louis Cornbutte," replied the mate, " it's all verj' 
 well for 30U to assume control ; but remember that 
 3'ou can no longer enforce blind obedience, and that 
 might makes right." 
 
 Marie had never quaked before the perils of polar 
 seas ; but she was terrified at the hatred she had caused, 
 and Louis could hardly re-assm"e her. 
 
 Despite this declaration of war, meals were taken at 
 the same hours and in common. The hunters still 
 provided some few ptarmigan and white hares ; but, as 
 the cold increased, even this resource would fail them. 
 On the winter solstice, Dec. 22, the thermometer fell 
 to thirtj^-five degrees below zero. The exiles' ears, 
 noses, and all their extremities, smarted : they were 
 seized with mortal languor and headache ; and their 
 breathing grew more and more labored. 
 
 In this state they no longer felt courage to go hunt- 
 ing, or to take any exercise. They huddled round the 
 stove, which gave but little heat ; and, as soon as they 
 went ever so short a distance from it, their blood 
 chilled rapidly.
 
 236 A WINTER A3I0NG TEE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte's health failed him daily ; aud at 
 last he could not leave his bed. Strong s3'mptoms of 
 scurvy were manifested ; and his legs were covered 
 with whitish spots. Marie was well, and nursed the 
 sick with all the ardor of a sister of charity ; so that 
 the sailors blessed her heartily. 
 
 The 1st of January was one of the gloomiest days 
 of wir.ter. The wind blew violently, and the cold was 
 unendiu-able. The}^ could not go out without exposing 
 themselves to freezing. The bravest dared not quit 
 the deck sheltered b}- an awning. Jean Cornbutte, 
 Ger\'ique, aud Gradlin could not leave their beds. 
 The two Norwegians, Aupic, and Vasling, whose 
 health was fii'm, cast surl}' glances at their djing com- 
 rades. 
 
 Louis Cornbutte led Penellan on deck, and inquired 
 where the fuel was kept. 
 
 " The charcoal was used up long ago," replied 
 Penellan, " and we are now burning our last bits of 
 wood." 
 
 "If we cannot resist this cold," said Louis, "we 
 are lost." 
 
 "But one thing remains for us to do," replied Pe- 
 nellan; "that is, to burn what we can of our brig, 
 from the bulwarks to the water-line ; and, if need be, 
 we can pull her to pieces, and build a smaller ship." 
 
 " That must be our last resort," replied Louis Corn- 
 butte, " and one which it will be time enough to tr^
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 237 
 
 when our men recover ; for," said he in a low voice, 
 " our strength is decreasing, while that of our enemies 
 seems to increase. It is very strange." 
 
 "True," said Penellan ; "and, were it not for our 
 keeping up a watch day and night, I don't know what 
 would happen." 
 
 " Let us take our hatchets," said Louis, " and go in 
 search of wood." 
 
 In spite of the cold, they mounted on the forward 
 bulwarks, and chopped off all the wood not absolutely 
 necessary to the ship. The}' then returned with their 
 store. The stove was filled up, and a man kept on 
 guard to see that the fire did not go out. 
 
 But' soon Louis Cornbutte and his friends had ex- 
 hausted their last resources. They could trust nothing 
 to their enemies. "Weighed down by so many petty 
 household cares, their strength gave way. Jean Corn- 
 butte broke out with the scurv}', and suffered nameless 
 tortures. Gervique and Gradlin followed suit. Had 
 it not been for their abundant stock of lemon-juice, the 
 poor fellows would soon have yielded to their suffer- 
 ings. But they did not spare this sovereign remedy. 
 
 One day, Jan. 15, when Louis Cornbutte went down 
 to the caboose for a fresh suppl}- of lemons, he stood 
 stupefied on seeing that the barrels which contained 
 them were gone. He called Penellan, and acquainted 
 him with this fresh misfortune. A theft had been 
 committed, and it was eas}' to guess the authors of
 
 288 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 it. Lonis saw now why his enemies were so strong. 
 He was no longer able to take from them the provisions 
 on which his and his comrades' lives depended, and 
 for the first time, he gave way to dreary despair. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 DISTRESS. 
 
 By the 20th of Januarj*, hardly any of the unfortunate 
 men were strong enough to crawl out of bed. Each 
 one, besides his blankets, had a buffalo-robe to shelter 
 him from the cold ; but, if anj^ one put his arm out, it 
 ached so that he had to draw it back in a jiff}'. 
 
 However, Louis having lighted a fire, Penellan, 
 Misonne, and Andre Vasling crawled out, and crouched 
 about it. Penellan made some hot coffee, which some- 
 what revived them, as well as Marie, who shared their 
 meal. 
 
 Louis then approached his father's bed, and found 
 him almost motionless, and his limbs sorewith sickness. 
 The old sailor muttered a few incoherent words, which 
 rent his son's heart. 
 
 "Louis," he said, "I am dying — oh, how I suf- 
 fer ! — Save me ! " 
 
 Louis Cornbutte made up his mind. He turned to 
 the mate, and said, hardly restraining his anger, —
 
 A WINTER A.UOXG THE ICE-FIELDS. 239 
 
 " Do ^'ou know \^here the lemons are, Yasling? " 
 
 " In the caboose, I suppose," replied the mate^ 
 vrithout moving. 
 
 " You know ver}- well that the}' are not there ; for 
 ^•ou stole them." 
 
 "You are master, Louis Cornbutte," replied Vasling 
 ii'ouically, " and you can say and do what j'ou like." 
 
 "Have pity, Vasling: m}- father is dying. You 
 can save him. Answer me ! " 
 
 " I have nothing to answer," replied Vasling. 
 
 "Villain!" cried Penellan, throwing himself upon 
 the mate, cutlass in hand. 
 
 " Help, friends ! " cried Andre, starting back. 
 
 Aupic and the two Norwegian sailors spi'ang from 
 their beds, and took their posts behind him. Misonne, 
 Turquiette, Penellan, and Louis put themselves on the 
 defensive. Pierre Xouquet and Gradlin, though ver}- 
 ill, rose to help them. 
 
 " You are too strong for us still," muttered Vasling. 
 " We will not strike till we are sure of ■^'ictor}-." 
 
 The sailors were so weak, that the}' dared not fall 
 upon the four scoundrels ; for, if repulsed, they would 
 have perished. 
 
 " Andre Vasling," said Louis Cornbutte gravel 3*, 
 " if my father dies, you will be his murderer ; and I will 
 kill 3'ou like a dog ! " 
 
 Andre and his accomplices retired to the other end 
 of the cabin, without replying.
 
 240 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 The}' then had to renew their snppl}' of fuel ; and, 
 d^pite the cold, Louis went on deck, and began to cnt 
 awa}' the bulwarks, but was forced to return in less 
 than quarter of an hour, chilled to the bone : as he 
 passed, he glanced at the thermometer, and found that 
 the mercur}' was frozen. It was therefore more than 
 forty-two degrees below zero. The air was clear and 
 dry ; and the wind blew from the north. 
 
 On the 2Gth the wind changed to the north-east, and 
 the thermometer outside rose to thirt^'-five degrees. 
 Jean Cornbutte was d^ing ; and his son sought vainly 
 for something to alleviate his pain. That day, how- 
 ever, coming on Andre Vasling unexpectedly*, he 
 succeeded in snatching from him a lemon he Avas suck- 
 ing. Andre never tried to recover it. It seemed as 
 if he were waiting for an opportunity to accomplish 
 his wicked plans. 
 
 The lemon-juice revived Jean ; but the remed}' should 
 have been continued. Marie implored Andre on her 
 knees, but he did not answer ; and Penellan heard the 
 wretch say to his companions, — 
 
 " The old man is dying. Gervique, Gradlin, and 
 Pierre Nouquet will never get well. The others are 
 losing strength every day. The time is coming fast 
 when their lives will be in our hands." 
 
 Louis and his comrades then resolved to delay no 
 longer, but to profit by what strength remained to 
 them. They determined to act on the following night,
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS, 241 
 
 and kill the wretches, that they might not be killed by 
 them. 
 
 The temperature was somewhat higher, and Louis 
 ventured out Avith his gun in search of game. 
 
 He wandered about three miles away from the ship ; 
 and, often deceived by mirage or reflection, went farther 
 than he intended. This was imprudent ; for the ground 
 was covered with fresh tracks of wild beasts. How- 
 ever, he was unwilling to return without fresh meat 
 of some kind, and continued his walk ; but he felt an 
 odd sensation, which made his brain reel. It was what 
 is called " snow-sickness." 
 
 In fact, the reflections from the ice and snow affected 
 him from head to foot ; and it seemed to him as if the 
 very color pierced him through and thi-ough, and nau- 
 seated him unspeakabl}'. His eye was tainted with it, 
 his very brain soaked in it. He thought he should 
 go mad with the white glare. Without heeding this 
 dreadful feeling, he went on, and soon started a ptar- 
 misran, which he chased eagerlv. The bird fell ; and 
 Louis, jumping from an ice-hill in pursuit of it, dropped 
 hea\T.ly to the ground, for he had fallen ten feet, 
 refraction making him think he was onlj- jumping two, 
 Vertigo seized upon him ; and, almost unconsciously, 
 he shouted for help for several moments, although he 
 had broken no bones in his fall. Feeling verj- cold, he 
 revived, and rose painfully. 
 
 Suddeuh', without his being able to account for it. 
 
 21
 
 242 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 an odor of burning fat filled his nostrils. As lie vras 
 in the wind of the ship, he supposed the smell came 
 from her, and could not imagine whj- they should be 
 burning fat ; for it was ver}- dangerous, as the scent 
 might attract white bears. 
 
 He therefore turned back to the brig, devoured by 
 anxiet}', which, in his excited state, soon became 
 terror. It seemed to him that colossal forms were 
 moving on the horizon ; and he wondered if the ice 
 were breaking up again. Several of the shapes came 
 between him and the ship ; and it seemed as if they 
 were on the brig's side. He paused to examine them 
 more particularly ; and his alarm was great when he 
 recognized them to be a party of huge bears. 
 
 These animals had been attracted by the smell of 
 burning grease which had sui^jrised him. He concealed 
 himself behind a hummock, and counted three which 
 were hurriedly scaling the ice-blocks on which "The 
 Young Adventurer " lay. 
 
 There was nothing to make him suppose that the 
 danger was known on board ; and his heart throbbed 
 with anguish. How could thc}^ resist such formidable 
 foes ? Would Andre Vasling and his allies join the 
 crew in warding ofi' this common danger ? Could Pe- 
 nellan and the rest, half-starved, and numb with cold, 
 withstand these horrid beasts, who were urged on by 
 hunger ? And would they not be taken by surprise ? 
 
 Louis Cornbutte made these reflections in a single
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 243 
 
 instant. The bears had crossed the ice, and were 
 besieging the vessel. Louis now left his shelter, 
 crawled along on the ice, and was soon near enougli to 
 see the monsters tear awaj'the awning with their claws, 
 and leap upon deck. He thought of firing his gun 
 lo warn his comrades : but, if they should run out 
 unarmed, ihey would inevitably be torn to pieces ; and 
 there was no token that they knew of their frightful 
 danger. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE WHITE BEAKS. 
 
 After Louis' departure, Penellan had carefully 
 closed the cabin-door, which opened on the companion- 
 ladder. He then drew up to the stove, which he had 
 undertaken to tend, while his companions went back to 
 bed to get warm. 
 
 It was six o'clock in the evening, and Penellan set 
 about preparing supper. He went down to the caboose 
 for some salt meat, which he was going to soak in boil- 
 ing water. When he came back, he found his seat 
 occupied by Andre Vaslitig, who had put some bits of 
 tallow on the fire in a pan. 
 
 " I was there first," said Penellan sharply. " Why 
 did you take my place?"
 
 214 .1 WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS 
 
 "For the same reason that you reclaim it," replied 
 Audre, " because I -vrant to cook my supper." 
 
 "Take it awa}-," replied Penellau, " or we shall see ! " 
 
 " "We sha'n't see an}' thing," said Andre ; " and I'll 
 finish this in spite of 3'ou." 
 
 " You sha'n't taste it then ! " cried Penellan, rushing 
 at Andre, who di-ew his dirk, shouting, — 
 
 " Help, Norwegians ! Help, Aupic ! " 
 
 In the twinlding of an eye they were on the alert, 
 armed with daggers and pistols. The whole thing was 
 a plot. 
 
 Penellan fell upon Andre, who had undoubted!}' un- 
 dertaken to fight him alone ; for his comrades hurried 
 to the beds of Misonne, Turquiette, and Pierre iSTou- 
 quet. The latter, defenceless, and weakened by disease, 
 was at the mercy of Herming. The caqjenter seized 
 an axe, and, springing out of bed, rushed at Aupic. 
 Turquiette and Norwegian Jocki struggled madly. 
 Gervique and Gradlin, a prey to frightful suflferings, 
 were quite unconscious of what was going on around 
 them. Pierre Nouquet was soon stabbed in the side ; 
 and Herming returned to Penellan, who fought f jriously. 
 Andre Vasling had closed upon him. 
 
 But, at the beginning of the struggle, the pan had 
 been upset on the fire ; and th'e fat, spreading over the 
 burning coals, filled the air with its nauseous odor. 
 Marie awoke with shrieks of despair, and flew towards 
 the bed where old Jean Cornbutte laj- groaning.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 245 
 
 Andre, less vigorous than Penellan, was soon repulsed 
 h\ the helmsman. The}- were too close together to 
 use their weapons. The mate, seeing Herming, 
 cried, — 
 
 " Help, Ilenning ! " 
 
 " Help, Misonne ! " cried Penellan in his turn. 
 
 But Misonne was wrestling on the floor with Aiipic, 
 who was trying to stab him. The caipenter's axe 
 proved a ver}- clumsy weapon ; for he could not handle 
 it, and had all the trouble in the world to ward off 
 Aupic's blows. 
 
 Meanwhile blood flowed fast amid howls and cries. 
 Turquiette, overthrown by Jocki, a man of uncommon 
 muscle, had been stabbed in the shoulder, and was mak- 
 ing vain efforts to snatch a pistol from the Norwegian's 
 belt. The latter held him in a vice-like clasp, and he 
 could not stir an inch. 
 
 At Andre Vasling's shout, when Penellan hurled him 
 against the door-post, Herming ran up. Just as he 
 was going to plant his cutlass in the Breton's back, the 
 latter stretched him on the ground with a well-aimed 
 kick. The effort which he made permitted Vasling to 
 draw his right arm from Penellan's pressure ; but the 
 door, against which they leaned their whole weight, 
 suddenly gave way, and Andre Vasling fell backward; 
 
 All at once a terrible roar burst forth, and a huge 
 Dear appeared at the top of the ladder. Andre wag 
 'he first to see him, not being four feet awaj' from him. 
 
 21*
 
 24G A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 At the same moment, an explosion was heard ; and the 
 bear, wounded or frightened, turned tail, and ran. 
 Andre, who had managed to get up, ran after hiiii, 
 leaving Penellan behind. 
 
 The helmsman replaced the broken door, and gazed 
 around. Misonne and Turquiette, tied down hy their 
 enemies, had been thrown into a corner, and were strug- 
 gling vainly to break their bonds. Penellan hastened 
 to their aid, but was overthrown b}^ Aupic and the two 
 Norwegians. His exhausted strength did not suffice 
 to resist the three men, who fastened him so that he 
 could not budge. Then, at the mate's call, the^^ 
 hastened on deck, thinking to deal with Louis Corn- 
 butte. 
 
 There the}' found Andre Vasling struggling with a 
 bear, whom he had already' wounded twice with his 
 knife. The animal, beating the air with his enormous 
 paws, strove to get hold of him. He, driven gradually 
 into a corner, was on the point of j-ielding, when a 
 second explosion rang through the air. Vasling raised 
 his eyes, and saw Louis Cornbutte, rifle in hand, in the 
 mizzenmast rigging. Louis had shot the bear through 
 the heart, and he dropped dead. 
 
 Hati'ed dominated gratitude in Vasling heart ; but, 
 before satisfying it, he looked about. Aupic had his 
 brains dashed out b}' the bear's paw, and lay lifeless on 
 the deck. Jocki, axe in hand, was parrjing, with 
 great difficulty, the attacks of the second bear, who had
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 247 
 
 killed Aiipic. The animal had been twice wounded, 
 and 3'et he fought savagely. A third bear was rushing 
 to the ship's head. 
 
 Andi'e Vasling let him alone, and, followed by Herm- 
 ing, went to Jocki's relief. But Jocki was crushed in 
 the bear's embrace ; and, when the beast fell dead under 
 Vasling and Herming's balls, he held a corpse in his 
 arms. 
 
 " There are but two of us left," said Vasling 
 gloomih' and fiercely ; " but, if we must jield, it sha'n't 
 be without a desperate struggle." 
 
 Herming reloaded his pistol without replj'ing. The 
 first thing to be done was to get rid of the third bear. 
 Andre looked forward, and saw nothing of him. Rais- 
 ing his eyes, he spied him at last upon the bulwarks, 
 climbing up the ratlines to get at Louis Cornbutte. 
 Andre cb'opped the gun, which he had aimed at the 
 animal, and his ej-es gleamed with cruel J03'. 
 
 " Ah ! " he cried, " ^-ou owed me that revenge ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Louis took refuge in the mizzentop. 
 The bear went on, and was hardly six feet from Louis, 
 when he shouldered his gun, and aimed at the creatui-e's 
 heart. 
 
 On his side, Andre shouldered his gun to strike 
 Louis if the bear fell. 
 
 Louis fij-ed ; but it seemed as if the creature wore 
 unharmed, for he sprang with one bound into the top. 
 Tho whole mast quivered.
 
 248 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 Andre Vasling uttered a cr^- of joy. 
 
 " Ilerming," he cried to the Norwegian sailor, 
 " call Marie ! Call mj bride ! " 
 
 Ilerming ran down into the cabin. 
 
 The furious animal now fell upon Louis Cornbutte, 
 who tried to shield himself on the other side of the 
 mast ; but, just as one enormous paw was uplifted to 
 dash his brains out, he seized one of the backstays, 
 and slipped down, not without danger ; for midway 
 a ball whistled h\ him. Andre Vasling had fired at 
 him, and missed. The two foes stood face to face, cut- 
 lass in hand. 
 
 This combat was to be decisive. To sate his 
 vengeance to the full, to have the 3'oung gM in at her 
 lover's death, Andre had deprived himself of Herming's 
 aid. He must reh' on himself alone. The two men 
 collared each other, taking a firm hold. One of the 
 two must die. The}- dealt fearful blows, which could 
 not be wholl}' parried ; for blood soon flowed on both 
 sides. Andre tried to throw his right arm round his 
 adversar3''s neck to floor him. Louis, knowing that he 
 who fell was lost, prevented it, and succeeded in seizing 
 him by both arms ; but, in doing so, his du'k escaped 
 his hand. 
 
 Frightful cries pierced his ears. It was Marie's 
 voice, whom Herming was trying to drag on deck. 
 Hage gained masteiy in Louis Cornbutte's heart. He 
 stiffened himself up to break Andre's back ; but at this
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ic 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 tl 
 
 ;^ 
 
 
 o 
 
 ill 
 
 
 CS 
 
 ^ 
 
 e. 
 
 
 
 
 
 s^ 
 
 
 O, 
 
 
 c 
 
 
 c 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 E 
 
 
 
 
 
 h 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 ■5 
 
 
 
 « 
 
 C 
 
 fc 
 
 
 0, 
 
 r^ 
 
 t. 
 
 
 
 Qi 
 
 ^ 
 
 sz 
 
 
 rr 
 
 
 
 ce 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 f< 
 
 ^1 
 
 T. 
 
 
 e! 
 
 is 
 
 ^ 
 
 05 
 
 c; 
 
 c 
 
 T 
 
 
 
 c- 
 
 ^- 
 
 c 
 
 
 
 
 a-. 
 
 
 
 
 •= 
 
 J 
 
 iC 
 
 c 
 
 
 .— 
 
 
 
 71 
 
 
 C 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 tl 
 
 
 c 
 
 •^ 
 
 t< 
 
 ^ 
 
 4-^ 
 
 ■< 
 
 f/l 
 
 
 c; 
 
 ■_ 
 
 « 
 
 
 
 ;= 
 
 ^ 
 
 .-^ 
 
 c
 
 A WIXTER A^[ONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 249 
 
 instant the tvro foes were both clasped in one powerful 
 hng. 
 
 Tlie bear, who had come down from the mizzentop, 
 hj?d sprung upon the two men. 
 
 Andre Vasling was pressed to the creature's heart. 
 Louis Cornbutte felt the monster's claws buried in his 
 flesh. The bear was strancrlins: them both. 
 
 " Help, help, Ilerming ! " cried the mate. 
 
 " Help, Penellan ! " shouted Louis. 
 
 Steps were heard on the stairs. Penellan appeared, 
 cocked his pistol, and discharged it into the bear's ear. 
 The animal uttered a loud growl. Pain made him open 
 his arms for an instant, and Louis fell fainting to the 
 deck ; but the beast, reclosing them with a supreme 
 effort, dropped, dragging with him the wretched Andre, 
 whose corpse was crushed beneath him. 
 
 Penellan rushed to Louis Cornbutte's rescue. No 
 serious wound endangered his life ; and his breath had 
 onlj' failed him for a moment. 
 
 " Marie? " said he, opening his eyes. 
 
 "Safe," replied the helmsman. " Herming lies 
 3'onder, with a dirk-wound in his stomach." 
 
 "And the bears?" 
 
 " Dead, Louis, dead as our enemies. But I maj' sa}' 
 that these bears have been our preservers ; indeed, they 
 came to our rescue. Let us thank God." 
 
 Louis and Penellan went down into the cabin ; and 
 Marie rushed into their arms.
 
 250 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Herming, mortally wounded, was put to bed by Mi- 
 sonne aud Turquiette, who had succeeded in breaking 
 their bonds. The wretch was at his last gasp ; and the 
 two sailors turned to Pierre Nouquet, whose wound was 
 fortunately trifling. 
 
 But a still greater blow was to be dealt Louis Corn- 
 butte : his father gave no signs of life. Had he died 
 of grief at seeing his son in the enemy's hand ? Had 
 he perished before that terrible scene? They could 
 not tell. But the poor old sailor, worn out by disease, 
 had ceased to live. 
 
 B}^ this unexpected stroke Louis and Marie were 
 plunged in profound despair. They knelt beside the 
 bed, weeping, and praying for Jean Cornbutte's soul. 
 
 Penellan, Misonne, and Turquiette left them alone, 
 and went on deck. The bodies of the three bears were 
 drawn afore. Penellan resolved to preserve their skins, 
 which would prove very useful ; but he never thought 
 of eating their flesh. However, the number of men to 
 be fed was greatly diminished. The corpses of Vas- 
 ling, Aupic, and Jocki, cast into a trench dug on one 
 side, were soon joined by that of Herming. The Nor- 
 wegian died during the night, without remorse or re- 
 pentance, foaming at the mouth with rage. 
 
 The three sailors repaired the awning, which, torn
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 251 
 
 in several places, permitted the snow to sift through. 
 The weather was exceedingly cold, and continued so 
 till the return of the sun, on the 8th of January. 
 
 Jean Cornbutte was buried on the coast. He had 
 left home to find his son, and had died in this frightful 
 climate. His grave was dug on the heights ; and the 
 sailors erected a simj)le wooden cross over it. 
 
 From that day forth Louis and his men endured 
 cruel trials ; but the lemons, which the}' recovered, 
 restored their health. 
 
 Gervique, Gradlin, and Pierre Nouquet were able to 
 rise and take a little exercise a fortnight after these 
 dreadful events. 
 
 Soon game became more abundant. Water-birds 
 returned in large flocks. They often killed a kind of 
 wild du^i, which proved to be excellent eating. The 
 hunters had no other loss to deplore than that of two 
 dogs, who were lost on a reconnoitring expedition, 
 twenty-five miles southward, to examine into the state 
 of the ice-fields. 
 
 The month of February was marked by violent 
 storms and frequent snow. The mean temperature was 
 still twentj'-five degrees below zero ; but the exiles did 
 not suffer from it, in comparison with what it had been. 
 Besides, the sight of the sun, which rose higher on the 
 horizon every da}', delighted them, and announced a 
 speedy close of their torment. It seemed as if Heaven 
 took pity on them, for it grew warm uncommonly soon
 
 252 J WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 that year. As earl}^ as March, crows were seeu fluttering 
 about the brig. Louis Cornbutte caught some cranes, 
 which had pushed their way thus far north. Flocks of 
 wild geese were seen flving from the south. 
 
 The return of these birds marl^ed the approach of 
 ■v» arm weather. But "one swallow does not make a 
 summer ; " and with a change of wind, or with a new 
 or full moon, the thermometer sank suddenh', and the 
 sailors were obliged to renew their precautions against 
 the cold. They had alread}' burned the bulwarks of 
 the vessel to keep warm, as well as the cabin-partitions, 
 which they had taken down, and a great part of the 
 orlop-deck. It was time the winter-siege should end. 
 Fortunately, the mean temperature for March was 
 not more than sixteen below zero. Marie busied her- 
 self in making fresh garments, necessitated by the pre- 
 cocious summer. 
 
 Since the equinoctial storm, the sun had kept 
 steadily above the horizon. The eight months of da}-- 
 light had begun. The perpetual glare and continual 
 warmth, though very slight, soon acted on the ice. 
 
 Great care was necessarj' in launching " The Young 
 Adventurer" from her loftj- bed of ice. The ship was 
 firmty propped, and it was thought best to wait till the 
 ice was broken up ; but the lower layers, resting in 
 waiTQcr waters, were detached little bj^ little, and the 
 brig descended insensibly. By the first days of April 
 it had regained its natural level.
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 253 
 
 "Willi the monlli of April, torrents of raiu set iu, 
 which flooded the ice-fields, aud hastened their destruc- 
 tion. The thermometer rose to ten degrees below zero. 
 Some of the men laid aside their seal-skin wraps, and 
 it was no longer necessarj' to keep a fii'e bm-ning 
 day and night. The alcohol, which was not j'et ex- 
 hausted, "was only used for cooking now. 
 
 Soon the ice began to crack. Chasms formed with 
 marvellous speed ; and it became imprudent to walk 
 abroad without a stick to sound the ice ; for the fissures 
 wound in every direction. Several sailors even fell into 
 the water, but escaped with a cold bath. 
 
 The seals returned, and the crew often hunted them ; 
 for their fat was very useful. 
 
 Their health remained excellent. The time was 
 taken up with preparations for departure and the chase. 
 Louis often studied the straits, and at last resolved to 
 try the southernmost channel. The ice had already 
 melted in spots, and loose cakes were di'ifting towards 
 the open sea. The 25th of April, the brig was made 
 ready. The sails, released from their casing, were in 
 perfect order ; and the sailors were overjoyed to see 
 them tremble in the wind. The whole ship quivered, 
 for it had recovered its water-level, and, although it 
 could not 3'et move, it lay in its natural element. 
 
 In May the thaw made rapid progress. The snow 
 which covered the shore melted, and formed a thick 
 mud, making it almost inipossible to land. Little piuk- 
 22
 
 254 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 
 
 and-white heather-bells peeped shj'lj' from the snow, 
 ■which still lingered, and seemed to smile at the feeble 
 warmth. The thermometer at last went up to zero. 
 
 Twenty miles south of the brig, the icebergs were 
 floating down to the Atlantic Ocean. Although the sea 
 was not 3'et entirely' open round the ship, there were 
 channels, by which Louis Cornbutte resolved to profit. 
 
 The 21st of May, after a last visit to his father's 
 grave, he left their winter-harbor forever. The brave 
 sailors' hearts throbbed at once with joy and sorrow ; 
 for they could not leave the spot where their friends had 
 died, without regret. The wind blew from the north, 
 and favored the brig's departure. It was frequently 
 blocked b}' ice-cakes, which were sawed asunder. Some- 
 times icebergs rose before them, and had to be blown up 
 with gunpowder. For another month naAagation was 
 dangerous ; and the brig often came within an inch of 
 destruction ; but the crew were bold, and well accus- 
 tomed to these dangerous mancBuvrcs. Peuellan, Pierre 
 Nouquet, Turguiette, and Fidcle Misonne alone did the 
 work of ten men ; and Marie had grateful smiles for 
 every one. 
 
 "The Young Adventurer" at last got free of the 
 ice at the Island of Jean Mayen. Towards the 25th of 
 June, the brig fell in with one of those ships which go 
 north for the seal and whale fisheries. It had taken 
 them nearly' a month to get out of the Polar Sea. 
 
 Tlie IG.h of August "The Young Adventurer" hove
 
 A WINTER AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS. 255 
 
 in sight of Duukirlv. She was signalled by the man on 
 the lookout ; and the whole population of the town ran 
 down to the pier. The crew were soon in the arms of 
 their friends. The old priest clasped Louis and Marie 
 to his heart ; and, of the two masses which he said on 
 the two following daj^s, the first was for the repose* of 
 Jean Cornbutte's soul, and the second a benediction on 
 the two lovers, so long united by misfortune.
 
 FOETIETfl FEENCH ASCENT OF MO.M BLAJN'C. 
 
 BY PAUL VERNE. 
 
 A UGUST 18, 1871, I reached Chamonni, with the 
 fii'm intention of ascending Mont Blanc, let it 
 cost me what it might. My first attempt, in August, 
 1869, had been unsuccessful. The weather had pre- 
 vented m}^ getting beyond the Grands Mulcts. This 
 time things did not look much more favorable ; for the 
 weather, which had been fine all the morning, changed 
 suddenly towards noon, Mont Blanc, according to 
 the country' phrase, "put on his night-cap, and began 
 to smoke his pipe ; " which, in less fanciful terms, 
 meant that it was covered with clouds, and that the 
 snow, drifted about by a strong south-east wind, had 
 foraied a long plume on the summit, pointed towards 
 the insurmountable cliflTs of the Brenva Glacier. This 
 plume warned imprudent travellers of the road they 
 would unwillingly take, if they dared to climb the 
 mountain. 
 
 The following night was very storm}'. The wind and 
 
 256
 
 "At last the slope was so vertical, that our hat brims touched 
 the legs of the guide who preceded us " Page 274.
 
 MONT BLANC. 257 . 
 
 rain struggled hard to outdo each other ; aad the ba- 
 rometer, below variable, was provokingly quiet. 
 
 However, as dawn came on, a few claps of thunder 
 announced a change in the temperature. Soon the sky 
 cleared. The Brevent and the Aiguilles Rouges re- 
 appeared. The wind, veering to the north-east, blew 
 up light fleecy clouds above the Col du Balme, which 
 closes the Valley of Chamouni on the north ; and I 
 hailed them as omens of fine weather. 
 
 In spite of these favorable signs, and although the 
 barometer rose slowly, M. Balmat, the giude chef, de- 
 clared that we must not dream of making the ascent. 
 
 "If the barometer continues to rise," he added, 
 " and if this weather holds, I promise you shall have 
 guides day after to-morrow, perhaps to-morrow. Mean- 
 while, lest 3'our patience should give out, and your legs 
 grow stiff, I invite you to climb the Brevent. The 
 clouds are breaking aw^a^- ; and you can get an exact 
 idea of the road you'll have to traverse to reach the 
 summit of Mont Blanc. If your heart still bids you 
 go, you shall try j-our luck." 
 
 This speech was not very re-assuring, and gave me 
 reason to reflect. However, I accepted his offer, and 
 he selected Edouard Ravanal as m}- guide, — a cold but 
 faithful fellow, who knew his business thoroughly. 
 
 I was accompanied by my friend and fellow-countiy- 
 man, M. Donatien Levesque, a man who Avas mad for 
 travelling, and a daring pedestrian, who had just re- 
 
 22*
 
 258 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 turned from an instructive though often painful jour- 
 ney in North America. He had ah'eady visited the 
 principal cities, and was on his way to New Orleans, 
 when the war cut his projects short, and recalled him to 
 France. "We met at Aix-le-Bains, and, our course of 
 treatment once concluded, resolved to make a trip 
 through Switzerland and Savoy together. 
 
 Donatien Levesque knew my plans ; and, as he feared 
 his health would not permit his taking so long a tramp 
 over the glaciers, it was agreed that he should wait my 
 return from Mont Blanc, at Chamouni, and should 
 make the traditional visit to the Mer de Glace from the 
 Montanvert during my absence. 
 
 Wlien he heard that I was going up the Brevent, my 
 friend did not hesitate to accompan}- me. The ascent 
 of the Brevent is one of the most interesting trips to 
 be made from Chamouni. This mountain, 2,525 feet* 
 high, is merely a continuation of the Aiguilles Rouges, 
 which run from north to south-east, parallel with Mont 
 Blanc, forming the narrow valley of Chamouni. 
 From Brevent, owing to its central position, just op- 
 posite the Glacier des Bossons, one can watch parties 
 ascending the Giant of the Alps throughout the greater 
 part of the journe}^ It is therefore much \T.sited. 
 
 We started about seven o'clock in the morning. On 
 the way, the guide chefs ambiguous words recurred to 
 
 * The feet mentioned in tliis nan-ative are Frencli metres, one o 
 wliicli is equal to a little more than thi-ee feet English.
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 259 
 
 me, aud annoyed me. So, turning to Ravanal, I 
 asked, — " 
 
 ' ' Have you ever been up Mont Blanc ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," he replied, " once ; and that vras enough 
 for me. I've no desire to tr}' it again." 
 
 " The dense ! " said I, " and here am I bound to do 
 it." 
 
 " As 3'ou like, sir ; but I cannot go with you. The 
 mountain is not in good humor this year. Several 
 attempts have already been made ; only two successful 
 ones. The second of those thej^ tried twice. Besides, 
 last gear's accident has rather chilled amateurs." 
 
 " An accident ! What was it? " 
 
 "Oh! monsieur has not heard ? It was as follows. 
 A part}^ of ten guides and porters, with two English- 
 men, started in mid-September for the top of Moat 
 Blanc. They were seen to reach the summit, then, a 
 few moments after, they vanished in the clouds. When 
 the clouds broke away, no one was to be seen. The 
 two travellers, with seven guides and porters, were car- 
 ried away b}' the wind, and dashed from the Courma- 
 yeur side, probably- into the Brenva Glacier. The most 
 careful search has been made ; but their bodies were 
 never recovered. The three others were found one 
 hundred and fifty feet from the summit, near the Petits 
 Mulets. They had turned to blocks of ice." 
 
 "• But these men must have done something impru- 
 dent," said I. " "What madness to start on such an
 
 2G0 FORTIETH FEEXCH ASCENT 
 
 expedition so late in the season ! They should have 
 gone in Au2:ust." 
 
 In vain I strove to forget it : this melancholy storj' 
 haunted me. Luckily, the sky soon cleared, and the 
 beams of a bright sun melted the clouds which still 
 veiled the summit of Mont Blanc, and at the same time 
 those which obscm'cd my mind. 
 
 Oiu" ascent was ever}' thing that could be desired. 
 On leaving the chalets of Planpraz, 2,062 feet above 
 the level of the sea, we climbed through broken stones 
 and heaps of snow, to the foot of a rock kno'^'n as the 
 Chimney, which we scaled on hands and knees. 
 Twenty minutes after, we were on the top of Brevent, 
 whence the "view was admirable. The chain of Mont 
 Blanc loomed up in all its majesty. The huge mountain, 
 firmly based on solid strata, seemed to defj' the storms 
 which beat against his icy buckler, without ever im- 
 pairing it ; while the mass of needles, peaks, and moun- 
 tains, which form his court, and rise around him in 
 emulation, without equalling him, bear evident marks 
 of slow decaj-. 
 
 From our fine standpoint, we began to reckon, some- 
 what imperfectly, the distances to be traversed before 
 reaching the summit. The peak which from Chamouni 
 had seemed so near the Dome du Goute recovered its 
 true position. The different plateaus, which form so 
 many steps to be mounted, and which are invisible 
 from below, revealed themselves to our e^'es, and, by
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 261 
 
 tlie laws of perspective, made the much-desired sum- 
 mit seem still farther away. The Glacier des Bossons, 
 iu all its splendor, bristled with ice-needles and 
 seracs * (blocks of ice, sometimes measuring ten feet 
 sidewise), which, like the waves of an angry sea, 
 seemed to beat against the rocky walls of the Grands 
 Mulcts, whose base disappeared in their midst. 
 
 This wonderful spectacle was ill calculated to chill 
 my ardor ; and I resolved more firmlj- than ever to ex- 
 plore this world, as 3'et unknown to me. 
 
 My companion was equall}- enthusiastic ; and I began 
 to think that I should not be left to go up Mont Blanc 
 alone. 
 
 We went down to Chamouni. The weather was clear- 
 ing b}' degrees. The barometer continued to rise 
 slowlj^ : every thing looked favorable. 
 
 The next day, at dawn, I hurried to the head guide. 
 The sky was cloudless : the wind, hardly stirring a 
 leaf, was firm north-east. The Mont Blanc range, 
 whose principal peaks were gilded b}' the rays of the 
 rising sun, seemed inviting travellers to a visit. One 
 could not refuse so amiable an invitation, without 
 rudeness. M. Balmat, having consulted his barome- 
 
 * In the chalets of Savoy, after the richer curd has been pre- 
 cipitated by rennet, a sti'onger acid is used to throw down what 
 remains: an inferior kind of cheese, called se'rac, is thus formed, 
 the shape and color of which have suggested the application of 
 the term to these cubical masses of ice.
 
 262 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 ter, declai'ed an ascent feasible, and promised me two 
 guides, and the porter prescribed bylaw. I left him 
 to choose them. But an unexpected event somewhat 
 disturbed my preparations for departure. 
 
 As I left the office, I met Edouard Raranal, my 
 guide of the previous day. 
 
 '' Is monsieur going up Mont Blanc?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, of course ! " I answered. " Don't you think 
 it's a good day ? " 
 
 He thought a few moments, and, with a look of con- 
 straint, said, — 
 
 "Sir, 3'ou are my traveller: I took yow. up Brevent 
 j'esterda}'. I cannot desert you ; and, if j'ou insist 
 upon going up, I will go with you, if jovl will accept 
 my services. You have the right to do so ; for, in all 
 dangerous ascents, the traveller may choose his own 
 guides. Only, if 3'ou accept my offer, I should like 3'ou 
 to take vay brother, Ambroise Ravanal, and my cousin, 
 Gaspard Simond, too. They are brave young fellows. 
 They don't lilie such a trip any better than I do ; but 
 they won't shirk their work, and I can answer for 
 them as for m3'self." 
 
 The fellow inspired confidence. I accepted, and 
 retiu'ned without loss of time, to warn the head guide 
 of the choice I had made. 
 
 But, during this parlej', M. Balmat had made appli- 
 cation to his guides in turn. Only one had accepted, 
 Edouard Simond. He was waiting a replj- from i\
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 265 
 
 second, named Jean Carrier. There was no doubt as 
 to what it would be ; for he had alread}' been up Mont 
 Blanc twenty-nine times. I was ver}' much embar- 
 rassed. The guides I had chosen were all from Ar- 
 gentiere, a district six miles awa}' from Chamouni. 
 The Chamouni guides would, therefore, accuse Ra- 
 vanal of prejudicing me in favor of his family, which 
 was against the rule. 
 
 To cut short the discussion, I took Edouard Simond, 
 ^'ho had ah'eady made his preparations, as third guide. 
 
 He would be of no use if I went up alone ; but I 
 should need him if m^- friend went with me. 
 
 TMs settled, I went to wake Donatien Levesque. 
 
 T found him sleeping the sleep of the just, who has 
 
 travelled fifteen miles on a mountain the da}- before. 
 
 It was rather hard to rouse him ; but by dint of pulling 
 
 off, fii-st the sheets, then the pillows, and finalh' the 
 
 mattress, I made some impression, and succeeded in 
 
 making him understand that I was preparing for my 
 gi'and journe}'. 
 
 "Well," said he, yawning, " I'll go with you as far 
 as the Grands Mulcts, and wait your return there." 
 
 "Bravo!" I replied. " I have just one guide too 
 many, and I'll attach him to 3-our person." 
 
 We bought such things as are requisite for a journey 
 over the glaciers, — alpen-stocks, thick cloth gaiters, 
 green spectacles fitting close to our eyes, fur gloves, 
 green veils, &c., forgetting nothing. We had each
 
 264 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 good triple-soled shoes, which our guides sent to be 
 rough shod. This latter detail is most impoitant ; 
 for there are moments in such an expedition, when a 
 slip would be fatal, not only to one's self, but to the 
 whole part}'. 
 
 These preparations consumed nearly two hours. 
 About eight o'clock our mules were brought round, 
 and we started for the chalet de la Pierre Pointue, 
 which stands two thousand feet high, perhaps one 
 thousand feet above the Chamouni Valle}', and two 
 thousand and eight hundred feet below the summit of 
 Mont Blanc. 
 
 On reaching Pierre Pointue, at ten o'clock, we found 
 
 a Spanish traveller, M.'N , with two guides and 
 
 a porter. His chief guide, Paccard, a relative of Dr. 
 Paccard, who made the first ascent of Mont Blanc, 
 
 had alread}' been up eighteen times. M. N was 
 
 also intending to make the ascent. He had travelled 
 a great deal in America, and crossed the Andean Cor- 
 dilleras from the Quito side, wading through snow in 
 the highest passes : he therefore felt that he could 
 easil}' carry through this fresh undertaking ; but he 
 was deceived. He had not taken into accoiuit tlie 
 steej)ness of the peaks he was to climb, nor the raritj' 
 of the air. 
 
 I hasten to add, in his honor, that, if he reached the 
 top of Mont Blanc, it was thanks to rare moral energy ; 
 for phj'sical force had long since been exhausted.
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 265 
 
 Wo ate as inucli breakfast as possible at PieiTe 
 Poiutiie. This was a precautionary measiu'e ; for the 
 appetite generally disappears on entering frozen 
 regions. 
 
 M. jST and his guides started for the Grands 
 
 Mulets at eleven. "We did not get off till noon. The 
 mule-track ceases at Pierre Pointue. We then climbed 
 up a steep zigzag path, following "the course of the 
 Glacier des Bossons, and running along the base of 
 the Aiguille du Midi. After an hour's hard work in 
 intense heat, we reached a point called Pierre a 
 TEchelle, twentj'-seven hundred feet up. There, trav- 
 ellers and guides fastened themselves together with a 
 strong rope, leaving a space of three or four j-ards 
 between each couple. Here, in fact, we entered the 
 Glacier des Bossons. This glacier, difficult of access, 
 is filled with yawning and bottomless crevasses on every 
 hand. The steep walls of these crevasses are of a 
 vague bluish green, too seductive by far ; for if one 
 draws cautiouslj' near, and peers into their mysterious 
 depths, he is violently' attracted downwards, and noth- 
 ing seems more natural than to take a turn there. 
 
 "We ad^'auced slowly, sometimes passing round the 
 crevasses, sometimes crossing them with ladders or on 
 snow-bridges of problematic strength. Here the rope 
 came into pla}-. It was drawn taut during the danger- 
 ous passage : if the snow-bridge should break, guide 
 or traveller would be left suspended over the abyss. 
 
 23
 
 2Q6 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 He could then be drawn up, and escape with a fex; 
 bruises. Sometimes, if the crevasse was very wide, 
 but not deep, we went down it, and came up on the 
 other side. In this case, steps were cut in the ice ; 
 and the two head guides, armed with hatchets, or 
 rather adzes, addi'essed themselves to the painful and 
 perilous task. 
 
 One thing rendered the entrance to the Bossons 
 specially dangerous. We took the glacier at the foot 
 of the Aiguille du Midi, and opposite a pass where 
 avalanches of stones often occurred. This pass was 
 about two hundi'ed feet wide. We crossed quickty ; 
 and, during the passage, one of the guides stood sen- 
 try, to warn us if danger threatened. 
 
 In 1869 a guide was killed on this spot ; and his 
 bodj', hurled into space b}- a stone, was cmshed on the 
 rocks three hundred feet below. 
 
 We were forewarned, so hastened our steps as much 
 as our inexperience permitted ; but, on leaving this 
 dangerous zone, another no less frightful awaited us. 
 This was the region of seracs, huge blocks of ice, 
 whose formation is not j'et thoroughlj^ understood. 
 These seracs are generallj' arranged along the edge of 
 a plateau, and thi-eaten the whole valley" beneath. A 
 simple movement in the glacier, or even a slight vibra- 
 tion of the air, would determine their fall, and cause 
 most serious accidents. 
 
 " Gentlemen, silence here, and move quickly ! "
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 267 
 
 These words, uttered in harsh tones by one of our 
 guides, put an end to conversation. We moved quickly 
 and in silence. Finally, from emotion to emotion, we 
 reached the Junction, which might more justly be called 
 the violent Separation^ by the Montague de la Cote, 
 Glaciers des Bossons and Taccona}'. Here the scene 
 assumed a weird character. Crevasses of rainbow hues, 
 slender ice-needles, transi^arent, overhanging seracs, 
 and little blue-green lakes, formed an unimaginable 
 chaos. Add to all this, the rumbling of torrents below 
 the glacier, the sinister and oft-repeated cracks of 
 masses which break loose, and are dashed to the bot- 
 tom of creva,sses, tremblings of the ground which 
 gives way under j'ou, and you will have some idea of 
 these gloomy and desolate districts, where life is only 
 revealed in destruction and in death. 
 
 Having passed the Junction, we followed the Glacier 
 de la Tacconay for some distance, and reached the 
 slope which led to the Grands Mulcts. This slope is 
 very steep, and had to be climbed by zigzags ; the head 
 guide taking care to trace them at an angle of thii'ty 
 degrees, where the snow was soft, for fear of avalanches. 
 
 Finally, after thi'ee hours' scramble over snow and 
 ice, we reached the Grands Mulcts, rocks two hundred 
 feet high, overlooking the Glacier des Bossons on one 
 side, and the inclined plains of neve, which stretch to 
 the foot of the Dome du Goute, on the other. 
 
 A small hut, built by the guides near the summit of
 
 268 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 the fii'st cliff, and standing 3,050 feet above the level 
 of the sea, offers a shelter to travellers, and permits 
 them to wait the horn* of departure for the top of Mont 
 Blanc under cover. 
 
 TVe dined here as best we could, and slept the same ; 
 but the proverb, " Who sleeps dines," had no meaning 
 at this height ; for we could do neither the one nor the 
 other in earnest. 
 
 " "Well," said I to Levesque, after a mere pretence 
 at a meal, " did I exaggerate the splendors of the 
 scene ? and do you regret ha-v^ng come thus far ? " 
 
 " So far from regretting it," he replied, " I have 
 determined to go on to the end. You maj' count upon 
 me." 
 
 "Very well," said I ; " but you know that the hai'd- 
 est part is ^-et to come." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said he, "we'll soon get the better of 
 it. Meanwhile, let us go and look at the sunset, which 
 will be superb." 
 
 In fact, the skj' was wonderfull}' clear. The chain of 
 the Brevent and the Aiguilles Rouges \a.y at our feet. 
 Beyond, the Rochers des Yyz and Aiguille de Varan 
 rose above the valley- of Sallenches, and threw into the 
 background the whole chain of Monts Fleury and du 
 Reposoir ; farther to the left, Buet with his SUOW3' 
 peaks, and the Dent da Midi with its five jagged ix)ints, 
 crowned the Valley* of the Rhone ; behind us eternal 
 snow, the Dome du Goute, Monts Maudits and Mont 
 Blanc.
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 269 
 
 Little by little the shadows crept over the Chamouui 
 valle}', and gained one by one the peaks ■which close 
 it in on the west. The Mont Blanc chain alone re- 
 mained in sunlight, and seemed encircled with a golden 
 aureole. Soon the shadows stole up the Dome du Goute 
 and Monts Maudits. The}- still respected the giant of 
 the Alps. We followed this slow and gradual fading 
 of daylight with admiring eyes. It clung some time 
 to the last peak, insensibly inspiring the hope that it 
 would never quit it. But in a few minutes every 
 thing was dark, and the livid and cadaverous hues of 
 death succeeded the brilliant tints of day. I exagger- 
 ate nothing : he who loves mountains will understand 
 me. 
 
 After assisting at this magnificent spectacle, we had 
 only to await the hour of departure. We were to 
 start at two in the morning. Each one stretched 
 himself on his matti'ess. 
 
 It was vain to think of sleeping, not much less so 
 of talldng. We were absorbed by more or less gloom}' 
 thoughts. It was the night before the battle, with 
 this difference, that we were not forced to go into 
 fight. Two cuiTents of ideas disputed the possession 
 of m}' mind. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, each 
 one gained in turn. Objections to such a trip weie 
 not wanting. What was the use of running such a 
 risk ? If I succeeded, where would be the advantage ? 
 If an accident should happen, how' I should regret 
 
 23*
 
 270 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 going ! Then Imagination lent her aid : every possi- 
 ble catastrophe occurred to me. I dreamed of snow- 
 bridges giving way beneath my feet ; I felt myself 
 dashed down gaping chasms ; I heard the frightful roar 
 of avalanches descending to crush me ; I vanished 
 beneath them : a mortal chill seized upon me, and I 
 struggled frantically. 
 
 A harsh sound, something horrible, was heard. 
 
 " The avalanche, tTie avalanche ! " I cried. 
 
 " What is it? what are you about? " cried Levesque, 
 starting up. 
 
 Alas ! It was a piece of furniture, which, in my 
 nightmare dream, I had knocked noisily over. This 
 prosaic avalanche recalled me to reality. I laughed 
 at my alarm : the contrary current came to the top, 
 and with it its ambitious ideas. It depended upon my 
 own will, with a little exertion, to gain the summit so 
 rarely reached. It was a \ictory in its way. Accidents 
 are rare, very rare; in fact, were there ever any? 
 The view must be wonderful from the top. And then 
 what a satisfaction to do what so few dare undertake ! 
 
 At these thoughts my soul grew strong, and I 
 awaited the hour of departure calmly. 
 
 About one o'clock, steps, voices, opening and shut- 
 ting doors, announced that the time was at hand. 
 Soon M. Ravanal came in, saving, — 
 
 " Come, gentlemen, get up ! the weather is superb. 
 We shall reach the top by ten o'clock."
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 271 
 
 At these words we sprang out of bed, and dressed 
 quickly. Two of our guides, Ambroise Ravanal and 
 his cousin Simond, went before to try the road. They 
 carried lanterns for our guidance, and hatchets to 
 smooth rough places, and cut steps when necessar}'. 
 At two o'clock we were tied together in the following 
 order : before me and at the head, Edouard Ravanal ; 
 behind me, Edouard Simond, then Donatien Levesque ; 
 after him, our two porters (for we had hired the servant- 
 man from the cabin of the Grands Mulcts) and M. 
 N 's whole party. 
 
 The guides and porters divided the provisions be- 
 tween them ; the signal for departure was given ; and 
 we set out in thick darkness, following the lanterns, 
 borne by the guides who had gone ahead. 
 
 There was something solemn about our start. Few 
 words were uttered. The vague unknown awed us ; but 
 the new and strange situation excited us, and rendered us 
 insensible to our danger. The surrounding landscape 
 was weird and grand. All outlines were indistinct. 
 Huge whitish masses, with black spots rather more 
 pronounced, shut in the horizon. The heavenly arch 
 shone with unusual brillianc}'. At an inappreciable 
 distance gleamed the swaying lanterns of the guides, 
 who were cutting a road for us ; and the melancholy 
 silence of the night was undisturbed, save b}' the drj' 
 and distant sound of their axes as they hewed out steps 
 in the ice.
 
 272 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 We 01111113001 the fii*st acclivity slowly and cautiously, 
 tuTDino; towards the base of the Dome du Goute. After 
 two hours' painful scramble, we reached the first pla- 
 teau, called " Petit Plateau," l^ing at the foot of the 
 Dome da Goute, at a height of 3,650 feet. Having 
 rested a few minutes, we resumed our journo}', turning 
 to the left on our way to the Grand Plateau. 
 
 But our little band had already diminished. M. 
 
 N. and his guides had cut loose: their fatigue 
 
 forced them to rest a little longer. 
 
 Towards half-past four, dawn began to blanch the 
 horizon. We were just mounting the incline which 
 leads to the Grand Plateau, whieh we reached without 
 delaj'. We were thirty-nine hundred feet high. We 
 had certainl}' earned our brealvfast. Coutrar}- to cus- 
 tom, Levesque and I had fine appetites. That was a 
 good sign. We sat down in the snow, and made a 
 hearty meal. Our guides were in capital spirits, and 
 felt sure of success. For my part, I thought them 
 rather hasty. 
 
 A few moments later, M. N rejoined us. We 
 
 insisted that he should eat something. He refused 
 obstinatel}'. He felt that contraction of the stomach 
 so common in these regions, and was much depressed. 
 
 The Grand Plateau merits a special description. 
 To the right rises the Dome du Goute. In front is 
 Mont Blanc, which towers nine hundred feet above. Ou 
 the left are the Rochers Rouges and Monts Maudits,
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 273 
 
 The immense circle was dazzlingly white. On every 
 side were enormous fissures. Three of tlie guides who 
 accompanied Dr. Hamel and Col. Anderson in 1820 
 were swallowed up by one of them. Since that time, 
 in 1864, another guide, Ambroise Couttet, has per- 
 ished there. 
 
 This plateau must be crossed with gi'eat precaution, 
 for there are often fissures beneath the snow. Besides, 
 it is frequently swept clear by avalanches. The 13th 
 of October, 1866, an English traveller and three guides 
 were buried under a mountain of ice which fell from 
 Mont Blanc. After long and perilous search, the bo- 
 dies of the three guides were found. Thej' were ever}' 
 instant expecting to find that of the traveller, when a 
 fresh avalanche came thundering down in the first one's 
 track, and forced them to give up their task. 
 
 "We had our choice of three roads. The common 
 road, which goes to the left, at the base of the Monts 
 Maudits, a sort of valley called LaPorche or Le Corri- 
 dor, leads b}' moderate slopes to the top of the first 
 ridge of the Rochers Rouges. 
 
 The second, less travelled, turns to the right by the 
 Dome du Goute, and reaches the summit of Mont Blanc 
 by the ridge which connects the two mountains. You 
 must pursue a dizzy path for three hom-s, and cross a 
 slippery field of live ice, known as the " Dromedary's 
 Humps." 
 
 The third plan was to climb directly to the top of
 
 274 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 the Corridor, over a wall of ice two hundred and fifty 
 feet high, which runs along the fii'st ridge of the Rochers 
 Rouges. 
 
 The guides declaring the first route impracticable, on 
 account of fresh fissures which completely blocked it, 
 we were left to decide between the remaining two. I 
 voted for the fii'st, which passes over the Dromedary's 
 Humps ; but it was consideied too dangerous : and it 
 was determined that we should attack the w*ll of ice 
 which leads to the top of the Corridor. 
 
 When a resolve is once made, it is best to carry it 
 out at once. We crossed the Grand Plateau, and 
 reached the foot of the trul}' terrible obstacle. 
 
 The nearer we came, the steeper seemed the incline. 
 Moreover, several crevasses, which we had not noticed, 
 opened at our feet. 
 
 Nevertheless, we began our laborious ascent. The 
 first guide rough-hewed the steps, the second finished 
 them. We made two steps a minute. The higher we 
 got, the steeper grew the incline. Even our guides 
 consulted as to the road to be followed. They talked 
 m patois^ and were not agreed, which was a bad sign. 
 At last the slope was so vertical, that our hat-brims 
 touched the legs of the guide who preceded us. A 
 hail-storm of ice, produced b3'the cutting of the steps, 
 blinded us, and rendered our position still more painful. 
 Then addressing our advance guides, I said, — 
 
 " Come, now ! it's all very well to get up here. It's
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 275 
 
 not a higbwa}-, I admit ; but still it's passable : onl}-, 
 how are 3-ou going to get us down again ? " 
 
 "Oh, sir!" replied Ambroise Ravanal, "we shall 
 take another road coming down." 
 
 Finall}', after two hours of \iolent exertion, and after 
 cutting more than four hundred steps in the^ fearful 
 slope, we reached the top of the Con'idor, quite ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 We then crossed a slightly-inclined plateau of snow, 
 coasting by a huge crcA^asse which barred our way. 
 Hardly had we gone round it, when a cry of admiration 
 escaped us. On the right. Piedmont and the plains of 
 Lombardy lay at our feet. On the left, the snow-cov- 
 ered Pennine and Oberland Alps reared their beautiful 
 heads. Monte Rosa and Mont Cervin alone towered 
 above us ; but soon we should pass them too. 
 
 This thought brought us back to oui- goal. We 
 turned towards Mont Blanc, and stood stupefied. 
 
 ' ' Heavens ! How far away it is still ! " cried Le- 
 vesque. 
 
 " And how high !" I added. 
 
 Il was indeed discouraging. The famous and much- 
 di'eaded Mur de la Cote, which must be crossed, la}- 
 before us at an inclination of fifty degrees ; but, having 
 scaled the Corridor, it did not alaim us. We rested 
 half an hour, then we continued our road ; but we soon 
 saw that the ah* was not the same. The sun beat 
 down with fier}' rays, whose refiection from the snow
 
 276 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 doubled our tortures. The rarefaction of the air 
 began to work cruell}' upon us. We advanced 
 slowl}', maldng frequent haltg, and at last gained 
 the plateau which crowns the second ridge of the 
 Rochers Rouges. We were at the foot of Mont Blanc. 
 He rose, majestic and alone, two hundred feet above 
 us. Even Monte Rosa had bowed to him. 
 
 Levesque and I were absolutely worn out. As for 
 
 M. N , who had rejoined us on the Corridor, we 
 
 may say that he was insensible to the rarefaction of 
 the air ; for he had fairlj- ceased to breathe. 
 
 We now began to mount the last stage. We took 
 ten steps, and paused, from sheer inability to go on. A 
 painful contraction of the thi'oat made our breathing 
 even more labored. Our legs refused to serve us ; and 
 I now understood Jacques Balmat's di-amatic expres- 
 sion, when, in recounting his first ascent, he said that 
 " his legs were only held up by his trousers." But a 
 stronger feeling mastered wearied natui'e ; and, though 
 the bod}' craved grace, the heart cried out, " Excelsior, 
 excelsior ! " stifled the despaiiing cry, and ui'ged on 
 our worn-out frames in spite of themselves. Thus we 
 passed the Petits Mulcts, rocks 4,666 feet above the 
 sea ; and after two hours of superhuman effort we over- 
 looked the whole range. Mont Blanc was below us. 
 
 It was quarter-past twelve. 
 
 The glor}' of success soon restored our strength. 
 We had conquered the redoubtable peak. We towered
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 2"il 
 
 above all others ; and this thought, which Mont Blanc 
 alone can inspire, caused us profound emotion. Ambi- 
 tion was satisfied, and for me, at least, a dream "was 
 realized. 
 
 Mont Blanc is the loftiest peak in Europe. There 
 are a few higher mountains in Europe and America ; 
 but what would be the good of naming them, when 
 there's no possibility of climbing them ? 
 
 Some, such as the Cervin, are more difficult of access ; 
 but we looked down upon its summit, four hundred 
 feet below. 
 
 And then what a view we had to reward us for our 
 pains ! The heaven, still cleai>, assumed a darker 
 blue. The sun, despoiled of some of his beams, had 
 lost his lustre, as if partialh- eclipsed. This effect, 
 due to the rarefaction of the air, was the more appar- 
 ent, that the surrounding plains and mountains were 
 bathed in light. Thus no detail escaped us. 
 
 To the south-east, the mountains of Piedmont, and, 
 farther on, the plains of Lombardy, bounded the horizon ; 
 on the west, the mountains of Savoy and Dauphiny ; 
 beyond, the Rhone Valley ; to the north-west, the Lake 
 of Geneva and the Jura ; then, descending southward, 
 an indescribable chaos of mountains and glaciers, 
 crowned by Monte Rosa, the Mischabelhorner, Cervin, 
 and Weisshorn, the most beautiful of mountain-peaks, 
 as that famous Alpine climber. Prof. Tyndall, calls it, 
 and, farther on, by the Jungfrau, Monch, ^ggischhorn, 
 and Finsteraarhorn. 24
 
 278 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 The extent of our -sdew could not have been esti- 
 mated at less than sixty leagues. At least one hun- 
 di'ed and twenty leagues of country lay before us. 
 
 The beauty of the spectacle was to be even more 
 increased. Clouds collected on the Italian side, and 
 invaded the valleys of the Pennine Alps, vrithout veil- 
 ing their summits. We soon had a second and inferior 
 sk}' below us, — a sea of clouds, from whence issued a 
 perfect archipelago of snow-capped peaks and moun- 
 tains. It was something more magical than a poet's 
 sublimest fancy could paint. 
 
 The summit of Mont Blanc forms a direct line from 
 south-west to north-east, two hundred paces long, and 
 a foot broad at the highest point. It looks like a ship's 
 hull upside down, keel uppennost. 
 
 For a wonder, the temperature was far from low, 
 being ten degrees above zero. There was hardty any 
 air stirring. Occasional!}' a light easterlj' breeze was 
 felt. 
 
 Our guides' first care had been to seat us in line on 
 the ridge fronting Chamouni, that spectators might 
 count" us more easil}', and assure themselves that no 
 one failed to answer the roll-call. Numbers of tourists 
 had gone up the Breveut and to the Jardin to watch 
 our ascent. They could testif}' to our success. 
 
 But it's one thing to go up, and another to come 
 down. The most difficult, if not the most fatiguing 
 part, remains to be done. And then one is always
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 279 
 
 reluctant to leave a height couquered at the price of 
 such labor : the impulse which urged hiru up, the 
 natural and imperious desire for rule, are gone ; he 
 walks languidly, looking back frequently. 
 
 But our time was up. After a last libation of the 
 traditional champagne, we set off. We had rested an 
 hour on top. The order of march was changed. M. 
 
 N 's party went ahead ; and at the request of his 
 
 guide, Paccard, we were all fastened together. M. 
 
 N 's fatigue — his strength, not his will, betraying 
 
 him — caused fears of a fall, which our united efforts 
 might prevent. The event justified our apprehensions. 
 
 In descending the Mur de la Cote, M. N made 
 
 several missteps. His guides, being very strong and 
 skilful, were fortunately able to break his fall ; but 
 oui's, fearing, and with reason, that the whole party 
 might be dragged down, insisted on leaving them. 
 Levesque and I refused ; and, by taking the greatest 
 care, we reached the foot of the giddy slope in safety. 
 No illusion was possible there. The abyss, the almost 
 bottomless gulf, was before us ; and loose fragments of 
 ice, bounding by us with the swiftness of an arrow, 
 plainly marked tlie fate of our party, if we should 
 chance to slip. 
 
 This bad place once crossed, I breathed freely. We 
 descended the slight incline leading to the summit of 
 the Corridor. The snow, softened by the heat, gave 
 way beneath our tread ; we sank knee-deep in it, which
 
 280 FORTIETH FREXCn ASCENT 
 
 made walidng ver^' tiresome. We followed our own 
 tracks; and I was surprised when Gaspard Simond, 
 turning towards me, said, — 
 
 "Sir, we can take no other road. The Corridor is 
 impassable ; and we absolutely- must descend h\ the 
 mur we climbed up this morning." 
 
 I communicated the disagreeable news to Levesque. 
 
 "But," added Gaspard, "I do not think we can 
 remain tied together. However, we'll wait and see 
 how M. X behaves at the outset." 
 
 "\Ye advanced towards the terrible mur. M. N 's 
 
 party began their downward course, and we heard the 
 harsh tones in which Paccard addressed him. The 
 slope became so steep, that we could see neither him 
 nor his guides, although we were still fastened to 
 them. 
 
 As soon as Gaspard Simond, who preceded me, 
 saw what was going on, he stopped, and, after exchan- 
 ging a few words in patois with his comrades, declared 
 that we must separate from M. N 's party. 
 
 " "We can answer for j^ou," he added ; " but we can- 
 not answer for others ; and, if they slip, they will drag 
 us with them." 
 
 So saving, he cut the rope. 
 
 It cost us much to take this part ; but our gi ides 
 were firm. We then proposed to send two of them 
 
 forward to assist M. N 's guides. The}' eagerly 
 
 agreed, but, having no rope, were unable to do so.
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 281 
 
 We then be2;aD our fearful descent. But one of us 
 moved at a time ; and, when he took a step, all the 
 others stood firm, ready to resist the shock if he should 
 fall. The head guide, Edouard Ravanal, had the most 
 dangerous duty : he had to re-cut those steps, destroyed 
 or in^'ured b}' the passage of the foremost party. 
 
 We advanced slowly and with the utmost caution. 
 Our road led in a straight line to one of the crevasses 
 which yawned at the foot of the ridge. When we came 
 "• up, we could not look at it ; but now the green and 
 gaping mouth fascinated us. Ever3- block of ice which 
 we had detached in passing seemed to give the other 
 the cue. With three bounds the}' plunged down, as if 
 into the minotaur's jaws. Only the minotaur's jaws 
 closed after each mouthful : not so here ; the greedy 
 crevasse was alwaj's open wide, and seemed waiting 
 for a more worthy victim. We strained ever}- muscle 
 to escape being that victim. To resist the fascination, 
 the moral vertigo if I may so call it, we tried to jest 
 about our ticklish position, which not even a chamois 
 would have enjoyed. We went so far as to hum a few 
 couplets by MiBstro Offenbach ; but, to tell the strict 
 truth, our jests were feeble, and our singing out of 
 tune. I even noticed, without surprise, that Levesque 
 persisted in singing words from " Barbe Bleue " to 
 music from " Trovatore," which denoted singular 
 absence of mind. In fine, to cheer ourselves up, we 
 imitated those sham heroes who sing in the dark to 
 keep up their courage. 24*
 
 282 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 We hung thus between life and death for an hour, 
 which seemed to us an eternit}', and finally reached the 
 
 foot of that terrible ridge. We found M. N and 
 
 his guides safe and sound. 
 
 After resting a few moments, we resumed our jour- 
 ney. As we approached the Petit Plateau, Edouard 
 Ravanal stopped suddenly, and, turning to us, cried, — 
 
 "See what an avalanche! It has covered our 
 tracks." 
 
 An immense avalanche of ice, falling from the Dome 
 du Goute, had entirely hidden the road which we had 
 taken in the morning over the Petit Plateau. I cannot 
 calculate the magnitude of that avalanche at less than 
 five hundred cubic feet. If it had fallen as we passed, 
 another would have been added to the long list of 
 fatal accidents which have occurred on Mont Blanc. 
 
 In face of this new obstacle, we were forced to seek 
 another road, or pass over the avalanche itself. In our 
 exhausted state, the latter course was assuredly the 
 simpler ; but there was serious danger in it. A wall of 
 ice more than twenty feet high, already partially de- 
 tached from the Dome du Goute, to which it only hung 
 by one corner, overhung our path. The enormous serac 
 seemed just poised in air. Would not our footsteps 
 shake it, and determine its fall? Our guides consulted. 
 Each one examined the fissure between the mountain 
 and the alarming mass, with an opera-glass. The
 
 OF MONT BLANC 283 
 
 sharp, well-defined outlines of the cleft showed that 
 it was freshly made, evidentlj- caused by the ava- 
 lanche. 
 
 After a short discussion, our guides, recognizing the 
 impossibility of finding another road, decided to try 
 the dangerous pass. 
 
 ""We must walk very fast, even run if possible," 
 they said, ' ' and in five minutes we shall be safe. Come, 
 gentlemen, one elf or t more ! " 
 
 A five-minutes' race is a mere trifle to people who 
 are simply tired ; but for us who were utterly worn 
 out, to run, even for so short a time, thi^ough soft 
 snow in which we sank knee-deep, seemed impossible. 
 However, we called up all om- energies, and after three 
 or four stumbles, pulled by some, and pushed by others, 
 we reached a snow-mound, on which we sank exhaust- 
 ed. We were out of danger. 
 
 It was some time before we recovered. "We stretched 
 ourselves out on the snow with infinite satisfaction. 
 The greatest diflBculties were over now ; and, if there 
 were dangers still to be run, we could brave them with- 
 out much fear. 
 
 Hoping to witness the fall of the avalanche, we pro- 
 longed om- halt, but in vain. As day was advancing, 
 and it was not safe to linger in those icy solitudes, we 
 resolved to hurry on, and towards five o'clock we 
 reached the cabin of the Grands Mulcts.
 
 284 FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT 
 
 After a bad nigbt, and a violent attack of fever 
 caused b}' the hot sun, we prepared to return to Cha- 
 roouni ; but before starting, according to custom, we 
 iiiscribed our own and our guides' names, as well as 
 the chief events of our journe}', on a register kept for 
 the purpose. 
 
 Towards eight o'clock we set out for Chamouni. 
 The passage of the Bossons was difficult ; but we ac- 
 complished it without an accident. 
 
 Half an hour before reaching Chamouni, we met 
 some English tourists at the chalet of the Cascade du 
 Dard, who seemed^ to be watching for us. As soon as 
 they spied us out, they hastened to congratulate us on 
 our success, with eager sympathy. One of them intro- 
 duced us to his wife, a charming person. After we 
 had given her a rough sketch of our expedition, she 
 said, in tones that went to our ver^^ hearts, — 
 
 " How much 30U are envied here by everybody ! Let 
 me touch yonx alpen-stocks." 
 
 And these words were echoed by all. 
 
 The ascent of Mount Blanc is very difficult. It is 
 said that the famous Genevese natiu-alist De Saussure 
 there sowed the seeds of the illness which killed him 
 some months later. But I cannot better close this 
 length}' narration than b}- quoting the words of ]\I. 
 ^larkham Sherwill : — 
 
 " Be that as it may," he says, in concluding the
 
 OF MONT BLANC. 285 
 
 account of his ascent of Mont Blanc, "I should ad- 
 A'ise no one to make an ascent, whose success can never 
 be of any importance in proportion to the dangers he 
 runs, and causes others to run."
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return tfiis material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 dL JAlNiidil^
 
 UC SOUTHERM REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 I 
 
 ■31. 
 
 A A 000 322 091 o 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 i 
 
 |i o 
 
 
 y^ -^ ^ 
 
 
 W' - ^9"^^ 
 
 ^^^^^^M 
 
 
 ■^' ^^^^1 
 
 m 
 
 W& ' . ^ rS 
 
 ^"^^^lifll
 
 liiPISliiillL 
 
 Jivii; 
 
 IIJH ..