The Story of a Mountain

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1890. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XIII. A CATASTROPHE. Ernest Bizet felt no great desire to sleep. The serious conversations which he had held for the last few days with men of science like Professor Morian, Mr. Monteil, and Uncle Bizet had opened his eyes to a new world. His childhood had been unhappy, and his young mind had cared little for hard study, although it was full of poetical dreamings. As he grew up, the love of beauty had occupied all his faculties, and had left him no time for curiosity about the mysteries which are hidden under the commonplace appearances of things. But he had now begun to see that the world is not made only of shapes and forms intended to excite the imagination of artists. He saw, through the ideal veil which his spirit had thrown over, under, and above the reality, unknown phenomena, an energy always in motion, a field of struggle and of triumph opened to the human intelligence. The unknown attracted him. He began to compare his own career with the life of hard work of the geographer, the engineer, and the geologer, and he ended by finding his own existence lazy, empty, useless, almost despicable. Oh, he cried, with tears in his eyes, am I a coward? am I afraid of trusting myself in the glorious combat of life like these men, --my uncle, Mr. Monteil, and Professor Morian, and especially the father of Theresa? That name was like a balm which destroyed the bitterness of his thoughts. Yes, he continued, like a true artist, I have been dreaming. I believed that I was working only for art, and was in love with a Blue Mountain, and at bottom I love the mountain because Must I give up these dreams? He raised himself upon his couch and gazed into the darkness. Why not rather try to realize it? he added. It will be enough if I determine to become...