John Tyndall to Faraday   18 July 1857

Chamouni | Montanvert, July 18th 1857.

My dear Mr Faraday

I think I may fairly allow myself the rest and luxury of writing to you this morning for I have had a week’s hard work as far as limbs and arms are concerned. I reached Paris just in time to learn that the youthful wife¹ of a young friend of mine², whom you once saw (before he was married) at my lodgings in Islington³, was in her coffin. I accompanied my smitten friend to the cemetery of Montmartre, and there accident caused it to fall my lot to shake ashes to ashes, earth to earth, dust to dust. I thought it would never do to leave my friend amid scenes which would incessantly revive the memory of his loss and so persuaded him to come with me⁴. He is now here, and we are working hard together.

At Paris I saw Mr Biot⁵ and he desired me to say to you that he was as happy as man can be. He received me with great kindness. Pouillet⁶ and Chevreul⁷ I also saw⁸, and they were very cordial. [Blank in TS] introduced me afterwards to M. Becquerel⁹, but I found him hard and not cordial¹⁰. I must crave your forgiveness for asking you to write to Dumas¹¹, for when it came to the point I could not render to myself a sufficient reason why I should call upon him; I therefore did not do so. I spent a couple of days in Geneva: Those I knew were all in the country, but DelaRive found me out at my hotel and I spent one delightful afternoon at his country house¹². He is a fine genial loveable man. From Geneva to Chamouni was a day’s journey. The weather was glorious: as we passed Mont Blanc a patch of reddish light was thrown upon the mountain snow from some clouds which floated in the west. Around this patch a subjective green glory spread itself to some distance: it was very curious and very beautiful. I stayed 3 days at Chamouni, and rose one morning to see the sun rise on Mont Blanc. My bedroom opened into a corridor from one end of which the east was visible, and the other commanded a view of Mont Blanc and of the west. The east sky was of an amber hue, fading insensibly into a rosy violet, which again blended with the deep blue of the zenith. The morning star was glistening between east and west, and not far from it the moon turned her pale face towards the rising day. The mountain rose chaste, and cold, and white, as the unsoiled snow could make him. I walked to the other end of the corridor and looked eastward, hoping to see the sun lift his disk above the mountains, wholly forgetful for the moment that if I waited until he appeared, it would be sunrise not only for Mont Blanc, but for the whole valley. People do very absurd things thus unconsciously. I walked to the other end of the corridor, and saw the highest summits smitten by the sunbeams. Peak after peak then lost its severity and melted into a golden smile. It was a glorious scene. I watched it till the morning star was quenched and the moon became invisible, and then being very tired went to bed again!

On last Wednesday¹³ I had all my things carried up to the Montanvert. There is a kind of hotel erected here which possesses three bed rooms. They are divided from each other by partitions of wood, and the noise of the tramping visitors would render sleep in my case an impossibility. I have therefore chosen a little temple as my habitation which was erected many years ago by an Englishman named Blaire¹⁴, and dedicated by him “a la Nature”. Its floor is of stones which are rather wet, its walls of the same material and in the same condition; They have put a bed into it, and given me a goatskin to keep my feet from the flags; and I contrive to drive away a little of the moisture by a pine fire. I never felt more like a philosopher than when I sit there alone at night, listening to the wind moaning over the glacier, and to the distant rumble of the stones upon the moraines as they tumble into the crevasses. Hitherto I have chiefly occupied myself with observing the motion, and obtaining a general notion of the glacier. I have seen Balmat and he informs me that Forbes is on his way over, so that I expect to have the pleasure of seeing him soon. From what I have thus far seen the divergence between us is likely to become wider. But the question is merely shaping itself in my brain, and I can only hope that after a little time it will take definite form. The weather thus far has been so good that I have been every day upon the ice. I am very strong and sometimes admonished by my guide for making use of my strength in jumping the crevasses. I regret that I did not bring a pair of Nichols prisms with me: but I shall have plenty to occupy me without them. With kindest remembrances to Mrs Faraday and Miss Barnard

Believe me always | Most sincerely Yours | John Tyndall

Would you have the goodness to ask Anderson to put the enclosed into envelopes, with the addresses and post them for me? If he would send me my letters once a week until I write to him he would oblige me[.]