Little Dorrit - Page 377/462

Blackened skeleton arms of wood by the wayside pointed upward

to the convent as if the ghosts of former travellers overwhelmed by the

snow haunted the scene of their distress. Icicle-hung caves and cellars

built for refuges from sudden storms, were like so many whispers of the

perils of the place; never-resting wreaths and mazes of mist wandered

about, hunted by a moaning wind; and snow, the besetting danger of the

mountain, against which all its defences were taken, drifted sharply

down. The file of mules, jaded by their day's work, turned and wound slowly

up the deep ascent; the foremost led by a guide on foot, in his

broad-brimmed hat and round jacket, carrying a mountain staff or two

upon his shoulder, with whom another guide conversed. There was no

speaking among the string of riders. The sharp cold, the fatigue of the

journey, and a new sensation of a catching in the breath, partly as if

they had just emerged from very clear crisp water, and partly as if they

had been sobbing, kept them silent.

At length, a light on the summit of the rocky staircase gleamed through

the snow and mist. The guides called to the mules, the mules pricked up

their drooping heads, the travellers' tongues were loosened, and in a

sudden burst of slipping, climbing, jingling, clinking, and talking,

they arrived at the convent door.

Other mules had arrived not long before, some with peasant riders and

some with goods, and had trodden the snow about the door into a pool

of mud. Riding-saddles and bridles, pack-saddles and strings of bells,

mules and men, lanterns, torches, sacks, provender, barrels, cheeses,

kegs of honey and butter, straw bundles and packages of many shapes,

were crowded confusedly together in this thawed quagmire and about the

steps.

Up here in the clouds, everything was seen through cloud, and

seemed dissolving into cloud. The breath of the men was cloud, the

breath of the mules was cloud, the lights were encircled by cloud,

speakers close at hand were not seen for cloud, though their voices and

all other sounds were surprisingly clear. Of the cloudy line of mules

hastily tied to rings in the wall, one would bite another, or kick

another, and then the whole mist would be disturbed: with men diving

into it, and cries of men and beasts coming out of it, and no bystander

discerning what was wrong. In the midst of this, the great stable of the

convent, occupying the basement story and entered by the basement door,

outside which all the disorder was, poured forth its contribution of

cloud, as if the whole rugged edifice were filled with nothing else,

and would collapse as soon as it had emptied itself, leaving the snow to

fall upon the bare mountain summit.