Personal narrative of an excursion to the hospice of the Great St. Bernard / By R. Hibbert Taylor.

  • Taylor, R. Hibbert.
Date:
1846
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: Personal narrative of an excursion to the hospice of the Great St. Bernard / By R. Hibbert Taylor. Source: Wellcome Collection.

    17/18 (page 17)
    Members of the Convent and their domestics have both occasionally been sufferers from these terrible visitations, and perished in the effort to save the lives of others. On the I7tli of December, 1825, three domestics of the Hospice, with two dogs, having descended to the Vacherie, on the Italian side of the pass, were returning with a traveller, when an avalanche over¬ whelmed them. All perished except one of the dogs, which escaped by its prodigious strength, after having been rolled to some distance. The bodies of the victims were not recovered till the snow melted on the following sum¬ mer. One of the unfortunates was Victor, a fine old domestic of the Con¬ vent. The year before I visited the Hospice, a courier, with a servant and two dogs, all belonging to the establishment, perished beneath an avalanche on the Valais side of the pass. The number of victims from these mishaps is, however, by no means so great as might be supposed from the difficulties of the route and the severity of the climate. The accurate knowledge which the monks and their servants possess of the situations in which danger is likely to assail the traveller, and the constant watch which they maintain in case of storms, enables them to save the lives of very many who, but for their timely aid, would swell the list of sufferers. The sagacity of the dogs also, on occasions of difficulty and danger, contributes not a little to diminish the number of casualties. It is astonishing with what precision these intelli¬ gent animals will follow the line of route, although it is buried many feet un¬ der the snow; and, as if conscious of the peculiar nature of their duties, will range about on each side of the road, searching beneath the snow with paws and nose for any unfortunate who may have dropped by the way. The twilight of evening was now darkening into the deeper shadows of night, and the snow-clad peaks were gleaming in their gigantic proportions, like spectres in the surrounding gloom. I retired to my chamber with no very lively anticipations of comfort. On trying the temperature with a thermo¬ meter outside of the window, I found it to be 46°, while at Martigny it would probably be 70° or 80°. The sudden transition from such extremes rendered one more than usually sensible to the change, and I felt as cold as in Paris in the dead of winter. The water in the bed-room to wash in was painfully cold to the hand. I lay awake for some time, notwithstand¬ ing the fatigues of the previous day, impressed with the novelty of my posi¬ tion in this the loftiest habitation of Europe, and awed by the unbroken still¬ ness which reigned around. Soon after four o’clock next morning I was awoke by the sound of music, and on listening heard the deep voices of the monks chaunting in the chapel, and a fine-toned organ, touched by a skilful hand, was pouring a flood of harmony through the echoing corridors of the building. There was some¬ thing unearthly in this choral symphony—heard at such an hour and in such a situation, it fell upon the ear with startling effect—and its practised strains seemed wholly foreign to the savage wildness of an Alpine fastness. We came dov/n stairs about half-past seven, and found that the other tra¬ vellers had already departed ; so we breakfasted alone, being waited upon by one of the younger monks. He afterwards conducted us to what may be termed the museum, containing specimens of the minerals, plants, and other natural productions of the surrounding district, principally collected by a former prior, M. Meurith, who was a zealous student of natural history.