Friday, July 3rd.—I have not put foot on shore to-day. For three days past we have had terrible weather, and I wonder whether the shed will be able to resist the fury of such a wind. However, this is an east south-east wind, which would suit perfectly well for the voyage, though the start would be very difficult under these circumstances; this delays the work of the carpenters, and the shed does not rise up very quickly. I felt very dull to-day, and was happy enough to read again all the old journals which had served for packing purposes, as I am not very well stocked with works of a purely literary character, a few volumes only composing my whole library. I also read again the expedition of the Jeannette, which Andrée had lent me, and the dramatic episodes of that story were not calculated to raise my spirits. What an extraordinary climate!
In these regions fine days are very rare, though it is clear all night; but for a long time past the sun has scarcely been seen. The thermometer remains near freezing-point.
But the midnight sun! What a never-to-be-forgotten spectacle is presented by this polar sea in these radiant nights!
As soon as the fog lifts its veil, leaving the eye at full liberty to roam over the horizon, one sees an endless succession of palaces of ice, strong castles, cathedrals, and fantastical structures, some majestically indifferent to the waves which caress their mighty bases, the others slowly rocking to and fro, notwithstanding their ponderous masses, and at each oscillation of their sparkling faces emitting from their alabaster sides rocket-like flashes of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires.
Numerous cascades pour down from the vast sides of these icebergs into basins formed in the very bases of these enormous ice-mountains, subsequently losing themselves in the waters of the sea; and all these waterfalls, large and small, are lit up by the hot, red rays of a brilliant sun.
This polar nature, which one imagines to be so poor, so icy, so inert, in regions which we only know from dull and cold narratives of voyages,—this wonderful nature lavishly spreads out before my eyes the sight of an endless mass of sparkling and flashing diamonds, a veritable pyrotechnic display of another world, which the rays of the sun cause to burst forth, and change twenty times in a minute.
And all this, like a sublime jewel casket, rests on velvet of an unheard-of variety, delicate green, pale pink, orange red, crimson, bright red, purple, golden yellow, violet, sky-blue, a marvellous velvet of deep soft and delicately shaded tints, which the calm and irradiated water seems to spread out for the greater delight of the eye and the soul.
In the presence of all this grand and mighty nature, what becomes of man’s most ingenious artifices invented to charm by the excess of accumulated marvels?
How paltry are the most superb decorations of his theatres compared with what one sees here—here where the water alone and the sun undertake the mise en scène! What are all the marvels hatched by his brain, by his sovereign industry, in the presence of miracles of colouring and brilliancy engendered by a ray of light penetrating a fragment of ice?
Tuesday, July 7th.—We had very bad weather on Saturday; on Sunday the atmosphere calmed down a little, and yesterday (Monday) we had a splendid day. We took advantage of this to make an interesting excursion in the steam launch to Magdaleina Bay. The peninsula contains an immense necropolis, dating back several centuries; it is here that the whalers of Smeerenburg came to bury their dead.
We killed a very large seal, which nearly caused the boat to capsize when we got him on board. Strindberg killed a black fox at the foot of a glacier.
We returned at midnight in brilliant sunshine; in fact, at present we constantly see the sun when the sky is clear. He is describing a circle, of which the Virgo appears to be the centre, and the sunshine is sometimes very hot. This morning the temperature was 68° Fahr. in the sun, and 41° Fahr. in the shade.
The work of erecting the shed is being pushed on as quickly as possible, but it is a gigantic task. To-day they have reached the second storey; there are to be two more storeys above that, and these are the most difficult ones to erect.
In the midst of this feverish work the days pass anxiously by, for I have had no news from Europe. I am already much perturbed, when at last, on the night of July 12th, after a very dull day, the watch all at once signals the arrival of a small sloop, which is sure to bring our mail. In a few moments everybody is on deck, and the captain of the small boat, the Express, hands us an enormous bundle of letters, which Andrée distributes among us. I received fourteen, and it would be difficult for me to express the joy I felt at this moment.
The Express brings six English and German tourists, who have come, somewhat early, to be present at the departure of the balloon. They are received on board the Virgo, and evince a very lively interest in Andrée’s project.