“It is thus that I look back upon our first walk at Chamouni, to the Source of the Arveron” (MS VIII; Works [1903])—The Arveyron, a glacial tributary that rises from the Mer de Glace, which in the nineteenth century extended to the village of Bois and was there called the Glacier du Bois. On 14 August 1833, the Ruskins set out from Geneva for the valley of Chamonix (Chamouni, in their spelling), the final major excursion of their summer journey. They arrived in the village on 15 August in rainy weather, prompting Salvador to procure a loan of books, which included a set of Voyages dans les Alpes by Horace‐Bénédict de Saussure, a copy of which Ruskin would receive for his birthday in 1834 (Burd, ed., Ruskin Family Letters, 278, 280 n. 1). Shortly after arrival, John and John James ventured out on a walk to view the source of the Arveyron, while Margaret and cousin Mary stayed behind at the inn. Their courier, Salvador, also remained behind, so it is likely that Ruskin and his father were attended by the youths whom John mentions as competing to lead them to the riverʼs source. Children also swarmed Mary and Margaret when they set out (likewise without Salvador, apparently) to catch up with John and John James. The ladies walked alongside the Arve until they reached a village, where they were told the view lay another quarter‐hourʼs walk ahead, so they decided to turn back, “to the great regret of our little man” who was guiding them “and a number of children who continually kept saying that it was a fine sight well worth seeing, using many times the terms ‘superbe, magnifique’ &c &c”. Returned to the inn, Mary and Margaret were soon reunited with John and John James, who returned “much pleased with the sight” (Diary of Mary Richardson, 1833, 128–30).

According to John Murray III (1808–92), in his 1838 guidebook to Switzerland, the excursion to the source of the Arveyron was “a delightful walk of an hour, along the plain of the valley, crossing beautiful meadows, and a little forest.” The so‐called source is an “affluent of the Arve” that “issues from below the vault of ice with which the Glacier du Bois, the Mer de Glace terminates. . . . The vault of ice varies greatly in different seasons, and the author, at different times, has remarked a change of from 30 to 100 feet of height in the arch. It may be entered, but this is dangerous, and some have suffered for their temerity. . . . The danger is, that blocks of ice may detach themselves from the vault. . . . The scenery around the source is very grand, the deep blackness of the depth of vault, the bright and beautiful azure where the light is transmitted through the ice. The enormous rocks brought down by the glacier from the mountains above, here tumble over, and are deposited in the bed of the Arve. Here, too, the dark forest, and the broken trunks of pines, add to the wild character of the scene”. Through this forest, a steeper and more difficult path also descended to the riverʼs glacier source, leading “active and strong” visitors who had set out first for the Montanvert to visit the riverʼs source before they returned to Chamonix village (Hand‐book for Travellers in Switzerland, 297).

“What variaties of childish beauty we met with in that short walk, . . . all expecting a similar distinction, but who, finding the post of honour preoccupied, followed very gravely, en suite” (MS VIII; Works [1903])—Frances Trollope (1779–1863) similarly encountered child‐guides when touring Germany, where she “constantly found that these little local urchins are excellent in that capacity [of tour guide]. They know every mysterious hole and cranny; and have a marvellous talent of helping out their words, in answer to our imperfect German inquiries, with most amusing and expressive grimaces.” In Heidelberg, as her family party was preparing to ascend the path to the castle, they found themselves “accosted . . . by numberless little boys, who petitioned for the honour of serving us as guides amid the ruins. Their mode of address was very engaging; for they uniformly prefaced the request by presenting to each of us a pretty nosegay of freshly‐gathered flowers, out of the little baskets with which they were furnished, apparently as a sort of professional property. We selected a fine bright‐looking little fellow, who performed the office admirably; and, under his guidance, we now traversed the whole of this amazing fabric [of the castle ruins]”.

In one episode narrated by Trollope, the competition among the boys to proffer their services turned less than charming. Wishing to ascend the heights above the castle, the Trollope family chose a “young rogue [who] testified his satisfaction, by every imaginable demonstration of glee. He smiled, he laughed, he bowed, as he scampered on before us; but, ere we had gone fifty yards, a boy, more than twice his age, presented himself, and, pushing aside the little one, began to chatter forth his own information, with an air of great importance. We wished to get rid of him, but it was impossible, and we proceeded with our double escort. On reaching the top of the ridge, . . . the little fellow stepped eagerly forward to point out the beautiful valley, and its bright clear brook. This was more than the senior could bear; and seizing upon his rival, with no gentle gripe, he thrust him rudely back. The gay smiles of the poor boy gave place to a burst of tears; whereupon I instantly found German enough to make my election clearly understood: ‘Nein geld fur sie’, was sufficient to make the elder stalk off, and my little man remained master the field. I never witnessed a prettier ebullition of happiness than this triumph produced. He has bowed his merry head every time I have looked at him; gathered every flower in our path to present to me; and, in short, made me feel exceedingly well pleased with myself for having protected the weak against the strong”. The episode is summed up in a genre scene amid the sublime landscape: “My little guide sat on a neighbouring stone, with his elbow resting on his knee; looking down upon the river, and its boats, the town, and its castles, with an air of most happy idleness” (Trollope, Belgium and Western Germany in 1833, 280, 265–66, 280–81, 279).

The Montanvert (MS VIII; Works [1903])—An elevated viewpoint overlooking the Mer de Glace, the confluence of three glaciers that in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries advanced into the edge of the valley of Chamounix. A path led from the village to the top of the Montanvert. For the Ruskinsʼ excursion to this scenic outlook, see the poem, “Chamouni” and glosses.