Life, 1922-08-17 · page 23 of 36
Life — August 17, 1922 — page 23: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous first-person account mocking the early 20th-century fad of mountain climbing and adventure tourism, particularly mountaineering expeditions to famous Alpine peaks like Mont Blanc near Chamonix, France. The narrator satirizes weekend adventurers who read about daring Mt. Everest expeditions in newspapers, then attempt their own "conquests" with minimal preparation or actual skill. The joke escalates when the climbing party's safety rope breaks mid-ascent, and the narrator tumbles down the mountain, ultimately dying in the "bargain basement" subcavern—ending with a pun on his own demise ("Requiescat in pieces"). The accompanying illustration and caption about "Mrs. Knagg" add domestic humor: while the husband boasts about mountain adventures, his wife sardonically notes she's endured enough of his ocean (seasickness) without encouraging further misadventures. The satire targets pretentious amateur adventurism and the gap between Sunday newspaper fantasies and actual capability.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIFE With the Chamois at Chamonix OUNTAIN climbing has always had a subtle fascina- tion for me. I have looked at all the Sunday supplement photographs of the Mt. Everest expedition, even reading aloud the captions to the Little Woman, and once I walked up from the 181st Street subway sta- tion in New York, to the street level. Heredity may also account for this orological yearning on my part; our family crest (“Le ciel est ches moi’), literally translated, is “The sky's the limit,” and I for one have always tried to live up to it. So last summer [ decided to do some mountain mounting on my own account, it being at that time large enough to cover all expenses, and in about thirty days longer than it takes to tell it, | found myself at a Swiss village where gullies, glaciers and guides were to be had in abundance. The sun and I rose simultaneously the next, or fatal, morning, and as | had already packed my valise, (suitcase), I checked it and took a fiacre (taxi), to the mountain’s base. I might state here that I do not re- member that mountain’s name; I may have known it at the time—probably did—but I don’t know it now, nor do I care if I never hear it again. The less that mountain and I have to do with each other in the future, the better for all concerned. I was one of the merry party of four, tied up in a long rope from left to right, from the guide back to me and return, the idea being that if one of us should make a faux pas down a ravine, he or she would pull the others after him or her, and the coasting could thus be enjoyed by all. I pointed out that perhaps it would be better if I were allowed to roam free from all entangling alli- ances, so that in case of accident I could run for help. It seemed, how- ever, that in case of accident, help would be unnecessary. I wish now that I had not gone on that trip at all, the way it turned out, for halfway to where we were going, the rope broke. I yelled, “Look out!” and started for the nearest exit, avoiding any sugges- tion of a panic. I cannot vouch for what the others said, as I was too far down the exit, and I never saw them again. My angular accelera- tion, momentum and torque in- creased rapidly per second, until I arrived in the mountain's subcellar or bargain basement, breaking all records for entry thereto. And I will add, the records were not the only things broken. I still lie there, and how long my lifeless form will remain is a question. No one ever passes that way. But if by chance my remains are discovered, I desire the following epitaph: Reguiescat in pieces. A.C. M, A. Complete Howarp: Would you visit a family with skeletons in their closet? Jay: Yes, if they also had spirits in their cellar. Mrs. Knagg (who really wanted to go to the mountains): No, Arthur; I am going in. I have had just about as much of your ocean as I can swallow. comicbooks.com