To Thomas Henry Huxley   3rd, Sept. 1858

Chamonix, 3rd, Sept. 1858.

My dear Huxley,

A dim memory has crossed my soul like a shadow several times during the last 3 or 4 days—namely that I promised to write to you and had not yet performed that promise. It is not the time necessary to write a letter that makes me shun the process, but somehow or other one’s mind gets out of joint—but I won’t explain. Ramsay¹ has told you doubtless of our sojourn at the Eggishorn.² This place I found all you described it to be. We spent 8 days there. The Mergilen See³ was very lovely with its blue waters covered by its white icebergs. I have a spite against the latter, for I thought of using them as rafts, but they turned basely round and popped me into the water. That Aletsch Glacier⁴ is the noblest stream that I have ever seen. We spent many hours upon it. At its source, where it teems through grand corridors formed by the Jungfrau,⁵ Mönch,⁶ Eiger,⁷ Trugberg,⁸ Aletschhorn,⁹ and others of the same kin, its magnificence is indescribable. I walked to the top of the Finisteraarhorn¹⁰ and returned along the Viesch glacier¹¹ to the Jungfrau hotel.¹² I had a most daring devil of a guide.¹³ ‘I am like the Tyroler’¹⁴ he said to me once at a difficult spot on the side of the Finisteraarhorn ‘who went to his priest to confession’—‘How so?’ I asked. ‘Why,’ he replied, ‘he was obliged to confess that he loved women ausserordentlich¹⁵—‘Oh!’ said the priest, ‘mein Freund, Frauen zu lieben und in den Himmel zu kommen, das geht nicht!’¹⁶ ‘Bei Gott es muss gehen’¹⁷ was the Tyroler’s reply—and I say now ‘Bei Gott es muss gehen’, we must get to the top!’ Each took care of himself going up, but in coming down we tied ourselves together. When fastened he exhorted me thus, ‘Slip if you like, fall if you like, throw yourself where you like, I hold you!’ A quieter guide¹⁸ but one equally strong to whom I told this afterwards, shook his head and said it was an ‘unwahrheit’¹⁹ that he could not hold me. At all events I did not give him the chance. In fact I held him once or twice as he was sweeping down en avalanche towards some crevasses. Along the Viesch glacier, which you know is terribly cut up, he led me with wonderful promptitude and hardihood. The crevasses at its upper portion were concealed. He was often half submerged, but always managed to claw himself out. Once he heard the icicles ring in the depth of a fissure into which my legs had gone. It was the only moment in which I saw concern in his face. ‘Gott’s Donner!’²⁰ he exclaimed ‘You have not followed my steps.’ The monosyllable ‘Doch’!²¹ was my only response. He was a gallant devil, and if ever I go to that quarter again I shall be sure to foregather with him.

From the Eggischhorn²² to Zermatt;²³ from Zermatt to the Riffel;²⁴ where Ramsay just looked in and vanished: a fate seems to hang over my companions: an exactly similar, and equally sudden event separated Hirst (he is now in Italy) from me 9 years ago. The morning after my arrival at the Riffel, the candle of my guide²⁵ gleamed in upon me. He pronounced the weather weatherable. I rose, and in an hour we were on our way to Monte Rosa.²⁶ He had never been there but he got some general directions from his brother²⁷ who had been, and we faced the mountain cheerily together. The morning was like a woman—beautiful, but treacherous, and when we had committed ourselves utterly to our enterprise the sunny smile was changed to a frown. The mountain, you know, contracts itself to an edge at its upper portion and along this edge you have to march for hours. The wind had so acted on the snow as to fold it over like an overhanging cornice: underneath was a most awful precipice, and once or twice while endeavouring to secure anchorage with my staff it went right through this cornice, and I could see through the hole the depths below. While crawling up the ‘Kamm’²⁸ the valleys filled with fog, clouds wrapped themselves round the head of the mountain. The former seethed upwards and the latter seethed downwards, and soon your beloved Tyndall was in the midst of the atmospheric embroilment. On we went; reached the crags²⁹ which form the crest of the mountain; balancing, squeezing, climbing up ledge and down rock. We reached the summit. Snow fell thickly, and we feared the obliteration of our footmarks. Nevertheless we boiled water and found its temperature to be 184.92. The snow was lovely, it was all flowers, there was not a breath of wind to destroy their forms, any thing so beautiful I had never seen. I caught them by millions upon my felt hat. They were all of the six-leaved type, but of endless varieties. Down thro’ the gloom, an avalanche was let loose; we could not see it, could not gauge its distance, but the sound reaching us thro’ the obscurity had an element of horror in it. We descended the ‘Kamm’, I first, with a rope round my waist, and my companion afterwards with the said rope round his arm. I did not quite like the arrangement, for I did not see in it the resolution that we were to live or die together. He could readily have slipped me off in case I had been in peril, but with a feeling of grim indifference I said to him I shall give you no chance of doing so. This was not my Eggischhorn guide³⁰ but he proved an excellent one: and I dare say I did him here wrong. He declared to me afterwards that it was because he felt sure that I was perfectly competent to take care of myself that he adopted the arrangement. We made the journey to the summit and back to the Riffel in 11½ hours.

A week afterwards the weather was glorious. I rose at 6 o'clock and, seeing the weather, the thought of the prospect from Monte Rosa rushed upon me. I had lent my guide for the day to a party³¹ who purposed to ascend the mountain. They started at 3 o'clock. I had a swift breakfast, left my coat and neckcloth³² behind me, strapped half a bottle of tea and a ham sandwich on my back. Faced the mountain, met the party in their descent, went to the summit alone, enjoyed the prospect, down the kamm, overtook the party in advance of me and returned in the jolliest manner possible. I had to hang leaden³³ weights on the wings of my imagination when I stood alone upon the top, for if let loose she would have made wild work of it. My guide did good service on that day. At the risk of his own life he saved that of a fine young fellow named Fox—Lane Fox,³⁴ who slipped on the kamm and would have gone over the precipice had he not been prevented.

I came here a few days ago. I have been twice up the Mer de Glace,³⁵ but the fresh snow obscures the surface and defeats me But I have done an immense amount of work. The glaciers of Monte Rosa have taught me a great deal, and the question of structure and stratification is finally settled in my mind.³⁶ But I did not intend to talk science when I commenced, nor shall I do so now. If the weather clears and the snow melts I shall walk with Balmat³⁷ to the top of Mont Blanc³⁸ to sink thermometers there: but I have little hope of this; the quantity of fresh snow is so great that I fear it will not be melted this year. I have met Wills³⁹ and like him, he is an earnest truthful fellow. I have seen the photograph of his wife⁴⁰ and am quite in love with her. The lady I have not seen. Kindest regards to Mrs Huxley.⁴¹ Goodbye old Hal.⁴² I shall be in town on the 20th, my examinations commence then.

Ever and always | Tyndall | I am living with Simond.⁴³

RI MS JT/1/TYP/9/2890–2

IC HP 8:36–8

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