332 Historical 



It is not only walking that becomes painful. The slightest 

 weight wearies the shoulders; a task, moderate in ordinary regions, 

 cannot be carried out in the mountains without real sufferings, 

 sometimes dangers. "We could not use our arms," said Dr. Gerard 

 (page 136) , "to break off a piece of rock with a stroke of the ham* 

 mer." Hamel says that "even talking tires one" (page 90) . And the 

 Schlagintweit brothers, who make the same observation, add that 

 "one heeds neither comfort nor danger" (page 155) . 



I have found convulsions mentioned only in the narratives of 

 Mistress Hervey (page 147) and, in spite of the disrespect of the 

 connection, in the horses whose story is reported by Liguistin 

 (page 272) . But in both cases there is perhaps some other cause in 

 addition to the effect of lofty places. 



Innervation. At the head of this category come the headaches, 

 which are so violent and unendurable, compared to "an iron ring 

 compressing the temples" (Guilbert), as if "the head were going 

 to split in two" (Mrs. Hervey), of which travellers in the Himal- 

 ayas complain in particular. 



The sensory modifications, and especially the mental depression, 

 have been noticed much less than the preceding symptoms. How- 

 ever, rather frequent mention is made of buzzing in the ears and 

 a blunting of hearing and taste. The weakening of hearing is 

 explained by the lessened intensity of noises transmitted by the 

 thin air. Mention is more rarely made of sight, although we have 

 quoted examples of travellers whose sight failed or who com- 

 plained of dazzled or dimmed vision, etc. (see pages 94, 147) . Loss 

 of consciousness, total swooning as a result of syncope, they say, 

 is also mentioned. But only an unwilling report is given of what 

 Captain Gerard frankly called "mental depression" (page 138), 

 and Henderson called "great prostration of body and mind" (page 

 158). 



And yet when we read travellers' accounts carefully, we almost 

 always find the manifest trace of it. Many disguise it under the 

 name of drowsiness; there is no hesitancy about speaking openly of 

 a desire to sleep which sometimes becomes unconquerable; but 

 we do not admit so willingly that the senses are dulled, the intel- 

 lect weakened, the energy lessened, that the mind like the body is 

 invaded by extreme indolence, or, by a strange reaction, thrown 

 into unhealthy exaggerations. 



Count de Forbin, however, declares (page 72) that he was 

 "enfeebled, agitated by the terrors of a feverish brain. Weariness 

 of the senses, exaltation of the imagination cast one into a state 

 of near-delirium." Henderson also speaks, and de Saussure had 



