 "BUT WHAT IS THIS?" |
CHAPTER VI.
THE VAL TOURNANCHE—DIRECT PASS FROM BREIL TO ZERMATT (BREUILJOCH)—ZERMATT—ASCENT OF THE GRAND TOURNALIN, ETC. ETC.
"How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of a fleeting year!"
W. Shakespeare.
I crossed the Channel on the 29th of July 1863, embarrassed by the possession of two ladders, each twelve feet long, which joined together like those used by firemen, and shut up like parallel rulers. My luggage was highly suggestive of housebreaking, for, besides these, there were several coils of rope, and numerous tools of suspicious appearance, and it was reluctantly admitted into France, but it passed through the custom-house with less trouble then I anticipated, after a timely expenditure of a few francs.
I am not in love with the douane. It is the purgatory of travellers, where uncongenial spirits mingle together for a time, before they are separated into rich and poor. The douaniers look upon tourists as their natural enemies; see how eagerly they pounce upon the portmanteaux! One of them has discovered something! He has never seen its like before, and he holds it aloft in the face of its owner, with inquisitorial insolence. "But what is this?" The
