Here indeed--minus the dreaded sea above us--was an experience of the horrid discomfort of the insanely wished-for Channel Tunnel, and I heartily prayed the scheme might never be accomplished. We entered the tunnel at about 12.7 p.m., and emerged at about 12.35, having been about half an hour in going through. Yes! we have really pierced the great Groge range of the snowy Alps at a height of some 8000 or 9000 feet, and can form some faint idea of the God-given power of Man over Nature. Hovering on the outskirts of this thought, there comes a far-off glimpse of the infinite greatness and goodness of God; and where indeed could such a reflection more fitly come than here, amid the grandeur and beauty of these mighty, snow-clad hills, rearing their icy summits to the skies; the wild passes, with their solemn rocky chasms and narrow defiles; the rushing torrents and sparkling cascades; the cloudless blue sky; and the innocent bluebells and primroses lying so trustfully at the feet of the great frowning rocks above--all working together like the moving light and shadow in such perfect majestic harmony?
In beauteous vale, on Alpine snow-clad heights, In splendours of the days or glories of the nights, In frowning rocks o'erhanging depths below, On mossy banks where sweet flowerets grow, We see God's power and love infinitely wide-- "Thy Truth, most mighty Lord, on every side."
As a tunnel, Mont Cenis is of no very extraordinary length; but, being composed of almost solid rock, the boring operation for so great a distance must have proved exceedingly difficult, the width being twenty-six feet, and the height nineteen feet. Some 2000 men were constantly employed at each end for nearly nine years. The steep ascent, of some 8000 feet, is another marvellous feature. The total cost was, I believe, about three millions of pounds sterling. The boring machines were worked by compressed air. The men who accomplished this great work should not be forgotten--their names were Sommellier, Grandis, and Grattoni.
Before leaving the tunnel there was an evident feeling that we were already descending, and when at length we emerged a grand and wonderful panorama burst upon our view, all the more beautiful and refreshing after our late dark imprisonment, which made us dread the very thought of a Channel Tunnel. The great snow-capped mountains were still on our left and behind us; while beneath, almost buried in the valley, lay a little town, Stazione 86. Yet once more we are engulfed in a long tunnel, almost seeming to fly down the rapid descent. We now leave the great Alpine range circling in our rear; and now precipitous mountains tower on our right hand, the fir-tree forests with which they are clothed evidently a source of great profit to the good people here, who are felling, cutting, sawing, and evidently preparing to send the timber away. And now, at 12.45 p.m., we reach Modane, are past the Italian boundary, and once more in _la belle France_.