A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

snow and rest, and drink something from a bottle.

After a while they moved on, and as they approached the final

short dash of the home-stretch we closed up on them and

joined them.

Presently we all stood together on the summit! What a view

was spread out below! Away off under the northwestern horizon

rolled the silent billows of the Farnese Oberland, their snowy

crests glinting softly in the subdued lights of distance;

in the north rose the giant form of the Wobblehorn,

draped from peak to shoulder in sable thunder-clouds;

beyond him, to the right, stretched the grand processional

summits of the Cisalpine Cordillera, drowned in a

sensuous haze; to the east loomed the colossal masses

of the Yodelhorn, the Fuddelhorn, and the Dinnerhorn,

their cloudless summits flashing white and cold in the sun;

beyond them shimmered the faint far line of the Ghauts

of Jubbelpore and the Aigulles des Alleghenies; in the

south towered the smoking peak of Popocatapetl and the

unapproachable altitudes of the peerless Scrabblehorn;

in the west-south the stately range of the Himalayas

lay dreaming in a purple gloom; and thence all around

the curving horizon the eye roved over a troubled sea

of sun-kissed Alps, and noted, here and there, the noble

proportions and the soaring domes of the Bottlehorn,

and the Saddlehorn, and the Shovelhorn, and the Powderhorn,

all bathed in the glory of noon and mottled with softly

gliding blots, the shadows flung from drifting clouds.

Overcome by the scene, we all raised a triumphant,

tremendous shout, in unison. A startled man at my elbow

said:

“Confound you, what do you yell like that for, right here

in the street?”

That brought me down to Chamonix, like a flirt.

I gave that man some spiritual advice and disposed of him,

and then paid the telescope man his full fee, and said

that we were charmed with the trip and would remain down,

and not reascend and require him to fetch us down by telescope.

This pleased him very much, for of course we could have

stepped back to the summit and put him to the trouble

of bringing us home if we wanted to.

I judged we could get diplomas, now, anyhow; so we

went after them, but the Chief Guide put us off,

with one pretext or another, during all the time we stayed

in Chamonix, and we ended by never getting them at all.

So much for his prejudice against people’s nationality.

However, we worried him enough to make him remember

us and our ascent for some time. He even said, once,

that he wished there was a lunatic asylum in Chamonix.

This shows that he really had fears that we were going

to drive him mad. It was what we intended to do,

but lack of time defeated it.

I cannot venture to advise the reader one way or the other,

as to ascending Mont Blanc. I say only this: if he is at

all timid, the enjoyments of the trip will hardly make up

for the hardships and sufferings he will have to endure.

But, if he has good nerve, youth, health, and a bold,

firm will, and could leave his family comfortably provided

for in case the worst happened, he would find the ascent

a wonderful experience, and the view from the top a vision

to dream about, and tell about, and recall with exultation

all the days of his life.

While I do not advise such a person to attempt the ascent,

I do not advise him against it. But if he elects to attempt it,

let him be warily careful of two things: chose a calm,

clear day; and do not pay the telescope man in advance.

There are dark stories of his getting advance payers on

the summit and then leaving them there to rot.

A frightful tragedy was once witnessed through the

Chamonix telescopes. Think of questions and answers

like these, on an inquest:

CORONER. You saw deceased lose his life?

WITNESS. I did.

C. Where was he, at the time?

W. Close to the summit of Mont Blanc.

C. Where were you?

W. In the main street of Chamonix.

C. What was the distance between you?