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THE MATTERHORN

:f .

• *■

■ /

.ja^^IH 3HT ViO^-A ZHOHHHTTAM HHT

.^:>Vi\ii\wo't'^]

THE MATTEBHORN FROM THE KIFFEL.

THE MATTERHORN

GUIDO REY

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

EDMONDO DE AMICIS

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN BY J. E. C. EATON

WITH 14 COLOURED PLATES AND 23 PEN-AND-INK DRAWINGS
BY EDOARDO RUBINO AND 11 PHOTOGRAPHS

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

«53-«S7» FIFTH AVENUE
1907

c.<^

413574

CONTENTS

PAGE

Introduction by Edmondo de Amicis ; ii

CHAPTER I

The Pioneers — From 1792-1855 — What had we done during

THIS Period? 19

CHAPTER II

The Three Inns — ^The Men of Valtournanche — Pasquier —

JoMEiN — Saint Theodul — The Early Guides . . 51

CHAPTER III

The Conquerors — First Attempts — ^Tyndall and Whymper —

Carrel and Giordano — 1865 — After the Conquest . . 105

CHAPTER IV
My First Sight of the Matterhorn 161

CHAPTER V

The Zmutt Ridge of the Matterhorn 201

6 CONTENTS

CHAFFER VI

PAGE

The Furggen Ridge of the Matterhorn 237

Notes 289

Index 327

LIST OF PLATES

The Matterhorn from the RiFFEr,

The Matterhorn

The Matterhorn : East Face
The "Marmore" Torrent .

Paquier

Paquier in Winter

The Matterhorn from the Upper Theodul

The Michellina

The St. Theodul Pass

The Matterhorn Hotel on the Jomeix .

The "Col du Lion"

J. A. Carrel, known as the Bersagliere .

New Snow on the Matterhorn .

The Hollow of Breuil (from the Jomein)

The Montabel Glacier

The Matterhorn in Winter

" Iter para tutum "
The Village of Crepin

Frontispiece

To face

page

■38

»»

♦1

104

118

130

»>

134

«>

140

1»

146

f»

156

♦ ♦

160

170

8 LIST OF PLATES

J. J. Maquignaz To face page 172

" Solo come un pensiero superbo "... „ 178

The Summit of the Matterhorn from the

JOMEIN „ 184

The Schwarzsee „ 192

Zermatt. Old Chalets „ 206

The Matterhorn : Zmutt Face .... ,, 212

The Matterhorn : Tiefenmatten Face „ 216

The Nose of Zmutt „ 220

The Matterhorn at Sunset from the Upper

Theodul Glacier „ 234

The Matterhorn „ 242

Summit of the Matterhorn from the East „ 250

The Furggen Shoulder „ 254

A Pitch on the Furggen Ridge .... „ 260

Matterhorn and Monte Rosa .... „ 264

The Furggenjoch „ 268

The Cliffs of Eura „ 278

The Blue Lake near the Jomeix ... „ 282

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS INSERTED

IN THE TEXT

Breuil. Maison de Saussure

Paquier

The Eura Alp

Monte Rosa Hotel at Valtournanche
St. Theodul Hotel ....

Chalets at Avouil

The Hut on the Gravate

BUSSERAILLES ChAPEL ....

Breuil Chapel

Zermatt Steeple

Staffel Alp

The Breuiuoch

The Telescope on the Jomein

PAGE

105

147

169

177

205

211

247

271

INTRODUCTION

A WHOLE book about a mountain !

However great the latter be, it will seem to many a small
subject for a large volume.

But let them read, and they will see that with every page
the subject gains breadth and height, that the mountain grows
more and more alive and acquires the importance and the
attractive virtue of the hero of a poem, and that at last the work
seems all too short ; for in it is gathered a treasure of know-
ledge, of observations, and of ideas, only to be found in those
books that are the spontaneous product of a great passion
and of long experience, the intellectual offspring of a man s
whole life.

One of the first chapters of the book, based on valuable
documents which no other besides the author has handled, full
of life and moving as a drama, filling our minds with admiration
and awe, tells how the now famous mountain — one of the
strangest and most wonderful in the world — which was once
almost unknown outside the region it dominates, drew little by
little the attention and awoke the admiration of travellers of
all nations, who successively approached, studied, and described
it, and bequeathed to others the fascination it exercised over
their minds ; how the old and widely spread conviction that its
summit was on all sides inaccessible was succeeded by the hope

12 INTRODUCTION

of conquest, now by one, now by another route, which in turn
were abandoned and resumed; it tells of the long succession
of the earliest unsuccessful attempts, of hopes dashed to the
ground and rising again, of patient preparations, of mortal
anxiety, of the rivalry and the struggles of the different expedi-
tions, foiled by every kind of natural and fortuitous mishap ; it
tells the story of the two attempts, at last successful, made
almost simultaneously from the Italian side and from the Swiss,
in which the pride of a daring Englishman and the patriotic
feeling of a great Italian met here and there in conflict, and the
former's triumph was tragic, and the revenge of the vanquished
was no less glorious than the first conquest.

But all this, sufficient matter indeed for a book, forms but a
part of Rey s work. It is preceded by a most telling picture of
the people who live under the great mountain s sway, as they
were before their Matterhorn became the fortune and the glory
of the valley, poor and austere, almost shut off from the world,
simple and rude in their habits, believing in wondrous legends
of giants and fairies ; to whom the mighty pyramid towering
over their hills was as a mysterious and terrible monster, to be
for ever a mystery ; and from among these people there stand
out weird figures, now lost to us these fifty years and more,
whose very mould had disappeared : innkeepers, shepherds,
hunters, solitary and simple old priests, who in our imaginations
are almost confounded with the personages of the fables told
and believed in by their people while they lived. In the
relation of the long struggle for the conquest of the peak, the
author shows us, with new details and the happy touch of an
artist, all the pioneers, actors, and their helpers, present and afar
off, illustrious and obscure, in the memorable enterprise ; among
them there pass before us guides, scientists, artists, priests,
Tyndall and Whymper, the abbé Gorret and the geologist
Giordano, the hunchback of Breuil and Quintino Sella — a group
of figures that are indelibly impressed on our memories in a
hundred different ways, in strenuous thought, in violent effort,

INTRODUCTION 13

in pain, in fatigue, in triumph ; and behind each one of them we
see the formidable Titan, from whose brow they have torn the
veil of ancient mystery, and on whose summit they have planted
their banner.

After relating the ascents of the pioneers, the author tells of
his own, and of his attempts by new routes, and these are the
finest p^ges in the book. In their graphic descriptions we seem,
indeed, to follow the daring climber step by step, and in them
the strange psychical phenomena produced by the fatigue and
the dangers of great ascents are analysed and portrayed with
such success, that we struggle with him in dangerous places,
we feel the horror of the abyss, we tremble for his life, and
when we see him win through to safety we breathe again : we
are soothed and rejoice as at a victory of our own.

Throughout the book, with the rapidity of weather changes
in the Alps, we have a succession of triumphs and mishaps,
smiling and gloomy aspects of nature, episodes of ascents,
pleasant, sad, and terrible ; and alternating with these in natural
sequence, description and narrative, history and poetry, argu-
ment and anecdote ; and throughout all is manifest in varying
form the versatile and acute mind of the author, brooding over
all and drawing from all lessons for himself and for others.
And in every page, even where he quits for a time the mighty
and silent protagonist of the book, there vibrates like a subdued
musical accompaniment a deep and exquisite feeling for the
mountains, which at last enters into the soul even of him who
has as yet had no inkling thereof, and admits to his mind a host
of new ideas, a new curiosity, an earnest longing (happy is he if
his age still allows him to satisfy it ; sad, if such time for him
is past) for the unknown world to which the author attracts and
raises him. In this feeling for the mountains Guido Rey lays
his whole soul bare.

After reading his book we see that if not this then some
other great passion, action-compelling and prolific, must needs
have set him aflame ; that, had chance and circumstances

14 INTRODUCTION

allowed, he would have explored Africa or the Polar regions, or
founded a colony, or sought new paths of commerce afar off, or
have yielded himself up to some science or some art, with a
success only equalled by his ardour.

Opportunity turned him towards mountaineering, the birth
of which in his land coincided with his early youth ; but in it
the nobility of his mind led him to seek not so much the delights
of the eye and of fame, as that solitude which inspires great
thoughts and the joys that are bom of the triumphs of the will,
and effort and dangers, not from a vain desire for strong
emotions, but to strengthen his own intellect and to probe by
those emotions the depths of his nature. In the mountaineer
are bound up the poet, the painter, the thinker, the citizen ; in
him are a heart open to all fine feelings, a mind thirsty for all
knowledge, an observer who on the mountains sees far into a
thousand things around him and within him that most men do
not see, and which serve as food for his own mind and create a
living and bright subject for the thoughts of others. In him,
too, there is the writer.

Pedantry may find fault with phrases and words in his book,
and the subtle critic may discover there inequalities and lack of
sequence, and even in parts lack of art. But it has the
effectiveness which is only to be found in the books of those
who have a deep feeling for their subject, and who have
revolved it in their minds for many years, have developed it
lovingly, living again the life and almost doing again the work
they describe.

Where lack of art there is, this very lack is pleasing : it is
replaced by sincerity, and the writer s ingenuousness is original
and graceful. You observe his occasional pursuit of an elusive
phrase required to express a complex thought or a hidden senti-
ment, with the same curiosity and sympathy with which you
mentally accompany the climber up a difficult pitch ; and for
those few passages where his pen is uncertain or halts among
details that appear superfluous, you are well repaid by many

INTRODUCTION 15

beautiful, clear, and facile passages that flow and glisten like
springs of mountain water. A fragrance of Alpine herbs and
flowers is wafted up from those pages ; on your brow, bent
over the book, blows the keen, pure breeze of the Matterhorn,
and you feel the coolness of pines and snows, and almost as you
read you feel the air grow fresh about you.

In this book more than any other on such a subject, we feel
the strange and pleasurable effect produced on the reader by
the constant sight of the author going before and helping him
on his upward way like a stalwart guide, and the gradual but
continuous uplifting of his thoughts and all his sentiments, the
steadfast straining of all his aspirations and all his efforts
towards a goal that is hardly to be won and that towers alone
above the world. At intervals throughout the book we seem,
our imagination captured and dominated by the mountain, to hear,
as in the illusion of a dream, the rumbling of avalanches, the
cleaving of glaciers, the shriek of the storm, and to catch as
through a sudden rent in the clouds lightning glimpses of
mighty walls of rock and of boundless spaces on the horizon.
From time to time our thoughts turn to common books that
portray social life, as if we looked down from a summit bright
with the dawn on to the misty plain, and after this downward
glance we breathe the limpid air with a more intense delight,
rejoicing in the silence and the solitude, drunken with freedom
and grandeur.

And these continued descriptions and relations of strivings
and struggles bodily and mental, of examples of endurance
against privations and fatigue, of keen attempts and inventive
efforts to overcome the obstacles and insidious strokes of nature,
of self-confidence, of daring, of indomitable perseverance in a
purpose, fire our blood at last, attune our nerves, and send us
back from the reading of them more resolute to begin or resume
any work, to combat any difficulty or danger that may block
our path. And, most admirably! the voice that tells such
mighty things is ever modest and gentle.

i6 INTRODUCTION

A fine book, and certainly a useful one. It will admit him
who knows not the mountains into a world strangely different
from that he dwells in, a world in which he will find characters,
passions, forms of virtue and of mental greatness hitherto un-
known, and will teach him how Italian mountaineering was
born, whose first glory was the conquest of the Matterhorn
itself, and will give him the quintessence and the noblest fruits
of the love of mountains.

Those who have passed among the mountains withoi
studying them, and who have kept but vague memories of th
beauty, together with much unsatisfied curiosity, will find he
great store of topographical and historical notes in pleasant form ,
and a profusion of quotations skilfully selected and suitably dis-
tributed will make known to them the existence of a European
Alpine literature, scientific and artistic, rich and varied, whose
works they will feel moved to seek out.

New-fledged mountaineers will learn here from an incom-
parable master how daring must be wedded to prudence, with
what foresight bold undertakings must be prepared for, how
from a pursuit which for many is a mere physical exercise may
be derived the highest intellectual pleasures, strength and
courage for life s battles and a treasury of memories for the
comfort of their old age.

And all will rejoice to acquire an intimate acquaintance with
a fellow-countryman, who has earned the exceptional distinction
of having ascended the highest peaks in the Alps, reached a
rare degree of culture and become a writer in a brief leisure
vouchsafed him by his business ; a man to whom the motto
** Excelsior" has not been merely his climbing motto, but the
guiding principle of his whole life ; an Italian who possesses,
besides the best qualities of his own race, all those with whose
lack we are reproached by peoples of graver and firmer tempera-
ments ; a tranquil mind, a good and fearless heart a poetic soul
governed by an iron will.

*^Let me ask leave to pay a tribute
of respect and admiration to the once
desired Matterhorn, before his head
has lost the last rays of a sun depart-
ing to gild loftier and more distant
ranges, and before he is covered by
the waters of oblivion.**

F. Craufurd Grove, 1868.

" Felices animos,quibushaec enfiti oscere prim
Inque domos superas scandere cura fuit !
Credibile est illos pariter vitiisque locisque
Allius humanis exeruisse caput."

OviD, Fasi.

CHAPTER I

THE PIONEERS

In the beginning the mountain was enclosed in a mighty range,
as is the work of art in the rude block of marble. The
revelation of its wondrous form cost the Sculptor many thousand
years of labour. None stood by to applaud ; the Creator
alone, unsatisfied, laboured at His task with the ceaseless,
strenuous toil of the artist who hurries not, content if his work
but grow beautiful and great. With frost and snow, with rain
and sun He perfected His monument; with these He cut the
grooves on its mighty walls, carved the gigantic battlements of
its summit, and sharpened its sky-piercing apex ; while time,
the great colourist, was clothing the completed parts with a
mysterious veil of hues that varied with the changing lights of
the sky, and enamelling with a brown metallic rust the mighty
serpentine strata, painting with a fair golden colour the
limestone masses, and making bright the delicate slabs of
mica. *■

20 THE MATTERHORN

Huge streams of ice enclosed the giants base and filled
the valleys, chiselling on their lofty walls the marks of their
passage ; thence they flowed down to the plains, carrying
before them a mighty offspring of blocks, stones, and mud.
These were the fragments of Alpine monuments — fragments
so huge as to build other smaller mountains on the distant
plains.

Then the ancient, inhospitable, and savage landscapes on
the mountain's side were succeeded by others more smiling
and more gentle. The large, turbid stream in the main valley,
the clear torrents in the lesser, flowed again in the beds
which the glaciers had once filled, and the mountain-sides,
made fruitful by the waters, gave joyful birth to new woods
and meadows.

The earth was now ready to receive man, its future lord.
What manner of man was he, who venturing up the lonely
valley in pursuit of his quarr)% first viewed the vast and
lofty pyramid ?

Maybe 'twas not the Matterhorn as seen to-day, a dilapidated
and wrinkled ruin, but a far vaster and more colossal peak.
That wild man doubtless gazed on it in admiration and in
wonder, and heard with terror the thunder of the avalanches.
On his return to his home below, he told his family assembled
in their cave of the wondrous things revealed to him above ; of
the sweet-smelling pine woods, of the flowering pastures, of the
glistening glaciers, of huge eagles, of strange goats with
mighty curving horns, of snakes and dragons ; and how he
saw a peak so sharp and lofty that no man had ever viewed
its like, and how on the mountain there dwelt a demon that
yelled and hurled down rocks.

The first families went up to dwell at the giant's feet,
driven upwards by fear of other men more fierce and strong
than they, who overran the lower valleys ; or they were drawn
thither by the good pastures for their flocks. They were rude
shepherds, long-haired, clad in sheepskins, mighty hunters of

THE PIONEERS 21

wild beasts, and to them was vouchsafed long contemplation
from the upper pastures of the mysterious pyramid, now
smiling in sunshine, now frowning in cloud ; and maybe they
worshipped it as the throne of the mysterious god Penninus,
ancient genius of these Alps.

The centuries rolled by ; the peoples at the mountain's foot
took names : Salassi they were called on this side, Seduni on
the other.

Up through the main valley came the legionaries of Rome,
building bridges, daringly conceived and executed, and setting
up their solid milestones by the way. The ancient Salassi
succumbed after prodigies of valour, and the Imperial eagle s
claws rested on the Alpine capital. Hordes of barbarians came
down from across the Alps and passed by, raging and destruc-
tive ; Augustus' massive walls, his theatres and his temples fell.
Other temples arose with a new faith, other strongholds with
new ideals of life, of art, of love. But in their turn the fragile
towers of Challand s manors fell to pieces ; and after ringing
for a short space with the clash of arms and the harmony of
song, the halls of the knights and troubadors were left in ruins
and solitude.

Thus in rapid alternations of periods obscure and glorious, of
perfect peace and fierce strife, the centuries went by ; the grey
and ancient Dora rushed down towards the plain, roaring and
telling of the glories of the valley, from the mythical legend of
Cordelus, a comrade of Greek Herakles, founder of the first
Salassian city, to the true history of Santo of Mentone, who
built the first Alpine refuges on the lofty passes, beside the
pagan altars. And at the upper end of that short valley,
whence rushed headlong the Marmore torrent, the great
mountain towered alone, clad in the shadow of a holy awe.

But already m en had given the peak a name, though «
confusedly : ( Mq tis Silvius ji^hey called it, and perhaps the /
name was derived from an illustrious Roman leader, or more /
simply, from the woods that embraced the mountain s foot.*]

22 THE MATTERHORN

^The name was at any rate a generic one, applied to the whole
range of which the mountain formed a part, rather than to the
mountain itself ; a family name, not yet a personal one ; for the
ancients did not know, as we know, each separate summit ; they
recognised the fearful peaks only where these vouchsafed a
passage across the Alps, and *twas the passes, and not the
lofty summits, which earned a name and propitiatory altars to
their gods. Thus the pass which opens out to the east of the
mountain and which connected the valley of Augusta (Aosta)
with the land of the Seduni was famous of old, while the lofty /
p eak wa s unknown.

There is no certain proof that the pass, now called the
St. Theodul, was ever crossed by the Romans; it was, however,
surely known during the early, dark, and troubled centuries of
our era to the fugitives from Augusta, who, when the protection
of Rome failed them, sought in despair up on the bleak pass a
refuge from the barbarians who were sowing death down in the

I great valley ; ^ they carried their treasures with them over the

I rough glaciers of the Silvio and lost them on the way, or buried
them up there amid the rocks of the pass ; and now from time

/ to time these treasures return, after so many centuries, to the

I light of day. 3

The sisters of St. Catharine are said to have crossed the
Silvio when, in the twelfth century, during times of cruel war,
they abandoned their rich possessions and the convent of
Vallesia, and crossed over to the valley of Augusta, taking
refuge in the modest hermitage of Antey.4

The pass became known to the Valdostan pilgrims who
travelled, praying as they went, to the shrines of the Valais and
of Schwyz, urged by their faith to cross these snows ; perhaps
they raised their eyes in terror to the gigantic and threatening
mountain, and thought that to brave the dangers of its glaciers
was an expiation of their sins. Other rude and unknown
people ascended the Monte Silvio : German families migrating
into Italy, soldiers occupying the pass in years of war 5 or

THE PIONEERS 23

pestilence ; and on their return they told fearsome tales of
demons and of saints, of chasms yawning at every step of the
way, of wondrous echoes, of sudden-forming clouds, and of
destructive avalanches rushing down the mountain flanks. The
obscure record of these passages was consecrated by the popular
legend of Ahasuerus, the unresting traveller who had crossed
the pass at least three times, at intervals of hundreds of years,
and had cursed it.^

But none admired the Cervin ; neither the mystic terror of
the pious pilgrims, nor the calm and stolid contemplation of the
shepherds of Val Tornina and Praborgne 7 had given birth to
the idea of its sublime beauty. The Monte Silvio was not
made for man.

To us in our time it seems strange that men s souls should
have remained so long untouched by Nature's weighty and
serene teaching in the mountains, and that they should have
been so fettered by mean or stupid prejudice as not to rise to
the simple and natural enjoyment of the beautiful and great ;
that it should have needed some of those rare moments when
wider and clearer visions of truth and beauty seem to reveal
themselves to the minds of men, before certain noble spirits
came up into the mountains with feelings other than those of , k

base repulsion and superstitious fear. It^was menjnspired by^ N;^ ^'1
thfi bra ring hrf?ff^_i of the Renaissance who first felt the /
mystenous^fasdjaation^JoTTfiè mountains arid a desire t o know J
their, dangers.

Ae ^idius Tschudi. oldest of Alpine topographers and his-
torians, was the first to make mention of the pass In his work n
** De Prisca ac Vera Alpina Raethia,*' published at Bale in 1538.L
He approached the Cervin as a student wh^ in his Alpinej
travels he reached the summit of the pass. There are traces of
this visit of his to the Silvio in a fragment of his autobiography
which precedes the second book of the ** Gallio Deceived,"
another of his works, in which the pass is described ^ at
length ; but he does not seem to have paid any particular

24 THE MATTERHORN

attention to the lofty Matterhorn. And even Josias Simler,
who is considered the ancient father of mountaineering, is silent
concerning the wondrous mountain. In his work, ** De Alpibus
Commentarius," published in 1574, he wrote (p. 74): **Apud
Sedunos mons est quem quidam Siluium nuncupant. Salassi
Rosae nomen ei imposuere : in hoc monte ingens est glaciei
perpetuae cumulus per quem transitur ad Salassos," and briefly
added : ** et tamen illi adhuc altiora et magis rigida juga
imminent." More than this he did not say. The Cervin
remained for yet two centuries in deepest oblivion, till a man,
nurtured amid the new ideals that heralded the Revolution,
came and observed with understanding eye the secrets of the
lofty monument^^aiid-Igvealed its beauty to mankind.

his was ^De Saussure Qthe same who already had dis-
covered and^tudfei_aru)th^

Bianchi In 1787 Horace Benedict. De Saussure». a Genevese
philosopher and geologist, climbs to the top of Mon t Blanc ;
two years_aiterwards_Ji^j^^ of the Ce rvin, and is

filled with admiration.

But the Cervin has no cause to fear him ; he, the one ardent
dream of whose life had been for so many years t he conques t
of the highest Alpine summijU-and who had at last realised his
dream, is not moved in presence of the marvellous pyramid by
the desire to ascend it ; he has no hope of measuring its altitude
by taking the barometer to its summit. ** Its precipitojjs^ides,"
he writes, ** which give no hold to the very snows, are such as
to afford no means of access. ^^ Yet a great scientific interest, a .
boundless admiration blaze up in him, in the presence of ** the \
proud peak which rises to so vast an altitude, like a triangular
obelisk, that seems to be carved by a chisel." His keen and
searching eye fixes itself on that gigantic rib, which protrudes in
its nakedness from the skin which covers the earth, and which
reveals to him endless secrets of the anatomy of that great
body. His mind, ever eager for novelty, boldly and intuitively
grasps the causes which gave to the peak its present precipitous

THE PIONEERS 25

and fleshless form : the Cervin had not come thus, like a per- Ì
fected crystal, from the hands of Nature ; the centuries had
laboured to destroy a great part of that which ancient con>
vulsions of the earth had built.

And the sage meditates on the immense forces which split
up and swept away all that the pyramid has lost, and finds
again afar its mighty debris, brought down in ruins from above
into the sub- Alpine valleys and hollows.*' He plans to return
next year for a closer examination of the magnificent rock.

In order to realise how little the valleys and passes sur-
rounding the mountain were at that time known we must read
Griiner s work on the Swiss '2 glaciers, in which the valley of
Matt (Zermatt) is described. ** On fait six lieues sur la glace
pour se rendre de Paraborque, qui est dans le Val Vicher, à la
vallèe de Tornenche ; ce chemin est rempli d'élévations, de
cavités et de crevasses difficiles et dangereuses pour les
voyageurs. . . . Les passages dont j ai parie ne sont prati-
cables que dans les plus grandes chaleurs de Tété ; partout
ailleurs cette vallèe de giace est inaccessible ; personne n*ose
s y risquer, et je ne peux en donner ni dessein ni description
détaillée."

To Marc Bourrit, a Genevese who passionately loved the
mountains, who had preceded De Saussure himself in certain
investigations round Mont Blanc, the Cervin seems to have
been at that time unknown.

During his travels among the mountains of the Valais, in
search of a mysterious valley of immense glaciers, * 3 he had
drawn nigh to it, making his way from Bagnes towards the
Mont Vélan, and, from the heights of Chermontane, he had
seen the enormous group of peaks ** weather-worn, and in great
measure free from snow, beyond which the Lombard plain
must lie.*'

But in the joyous narrative of the discovery there is no
mention of the Cervin's name. Bourrit intended to return and
explore that chain, but was forestalled by De Saussure.

I
t
I

]

< 26 THE MATTERHORN

* The latter, the first time, had come from Ayas to the Col

\ des Cimes Blanches, whence the Cervin had been revealed to

him in all its grandeur ; descendinff to Breuil. he ascended to
the The odul, ta king with hini a certain Jean Baptiste HidOr-the
first Valtournanche guide whose name appears in a traveller's

; book.H On his second journey, which took place i n i^Qi ^e

comes to the Val Tournanche, studying and describing it ; he
ascends to the Theodul Pass, where he spends three days,
analysing the structure of the Cervin, whose height he is now

't the first to measure, and collecting stones, plants, and insects.

Nothing escapes his careful observation, from the sparse lichen
that clings to the rocks to the tiny but vigorous glacier fly that
flutters over the cold snows, and whose existence at such
heights is full of mystery. At night he takes refuge under
the tent erected near the ruins of the old fort at the top of the
pass.* 5 Dnriq g these d;^ys he ascends the L ittle Cerviii^hich ^
he names the Cime Bjaone^du BreithQfn.

The appearance of this first traveller and his long stay on
the pass made a lasting impression on the imagination of the
mountain folk ; for many years the great man lived in the
memories of the shepherds of Breuil — as M. Hirzel Escher,
who passed there in 1822, testifies — and they were wont to
speak of him with a kind of veneration ; the modest wooden
hut where he lodged at Breuil bears to this day the name of
Maison De Saussure.

This was his seventh journey in the Alps, and his last ; he
has left us in his writings a treasury of profound and inspired
observations ; but, amid his earnest scientific research, every
page shows his boundless enthusiasm for the beauties of the
Alps ; he seems to repay the mountains with passionate love
for the knowledge they bestow upon him. In him the scientist
frequently changes into the poet and the painter ; his narrative
is smooth and plain, free from outbursts of conventional
enthusiasm ; but his simple and quiet language bring home
to us the mountain calm in all its completeness. And that is

THE PIONEERS 27

why the ** Voyages" is full of vivid interest even for the
uninitiated, and why this work has preserved its freshness and
its youth for all these years, and is to this day a model for him
who studies mountains and writes of them.

Topffer has pointed out, as a noteworthy fact, that he who
has best understood and interpreted the Alps, one of the few
who have infused into their style the characteristics and the
grandeur of the mountains, was a student of positive science,
a man accustomed to the use of the barometer and hygrometer,
and that of all the poets and artists who came after to sing of
these same places and to paint them, not one has been able to
equal him. To us, to whom it is given to follow the different
phases of the slow growth of human interest in the Alps, it
seems natural that (before all others) the geologists should have
sought the Alps, for they were the first handbooks of their
science.

De Saussure was not content with platonic contemplation of
Alpine landscapes, which filled with a poetic calm and comforted
the troubled soul of his great fellow-citizen Rousseau.

The geologist must needs touch the summits, test them with
his hammer, take away with him fragments of them, wrestle
hand to hand with the mountain, in order to pierce its mystery ;
and that is why the science of geology was the real mother of
mountaineering.

The publication of De Saussure s book, in 1 796, revealed to
all scientists and travellers the beauties of places till then almost
unknown.

The first inquirers began to come to the Cervin. They
came from afar : there is a record of a party of Englishmen who
in the summer of 1800 crossed the Great St. Bernard, a few
months after the passage of Bonaparte ; they came to Aosta
and thence to Valtournanche, slept at the chalets of Breuil, and
traversed the Theodul Pass, which they called Monte Rosa.*^
The Cervin was to them an object of the most intense and
continuous admiration.

28 THE MATTERHORN

Mr. Cade, one of the party, who described the journey,
relates that on their way up the valley they everywhere attracted
the attention of the good mountain folk, who would leave
their work in the fields and come running up, curious to see
these rare wayfarers and to ask them questions.' 7 To the inhabi-
tants accustomed to the isolation of these unknown valleys the
arrival of those travellers, with their outlandish form of dress
and their strange speech, must have presented a curious
spectacle. They felt that these travellers were rich, they were
even at times inclined to think them richer than they were ;
with their rough good sense they could not understand why
people who had every comfort in their homes should come
and adventure themselves in a poverty-stricken country
among inhospitable mountains ; why people, who had at their
disposal good roads and horses and carriages, should walk up
toilsome paths, and they wove about them the most absurd
hypotheses.

At that time the mountains, for those who dwelt among
them, were divided into two zones : the useful, that which pro-
duced the grass of the pastures and the timber of the forests,
where mines were found, where the mill-wheel could revolve,
which gave easy communication with the neighbouring valleys,
and where at the furthest the chamois could be hunted ; and
the useless, that which stretched up to heaven from the line
of eternal snow.

And at the sight of those travellers braving without any
apparent object the dangers of the glaciers, the mountain folk
were led to imagine a thousand divers and fantastic reasons for
their coming, but never the real one of pleasure and study.
When they surprised the geologist chipping the rocks with his
hammer and filling his pockets with useless pebbles they sus-
pected him of being a seeker after treasure ; the botanist
storing grasses in his mysterious green box was an alchemist ;
and those others who were sketching or looking intently about
them, taking notes of everything, were the secret agents of

THE PIONEERS 29

some foreign Government, or at best they were cranks or mad-
men. Therefore they looked upon them with suspicion.'^

When we reflect on the ease with which we travel in the
Alps at the present day, when the railways bring us rapidly to
the foot of the mountains and far up the valleys, carriage roads
wind up to a height of 5,000 feet, a decent inn is to be found in
almost every village, and we climb the peaks with an excellent
guide-book like Martelli s or Vaccarone*s or Bobba's in our
hands, we think with admiration of those travellers, unpractised
and misjudged, who after much journeying forced their way
into regions (almost unknown) of bad paths and worse
quarters ; who, full of new-born wonder, came among the
Alpine folk who were still living the same obscure lives as
of old, all unknowing that poets and men of science were
celebrating their mountains in song and studying their
beauties and their secrets, unconscious of the new love that
was arising in the civilised world for their rude houses and
their inhospitable rocks.

Some of these travellers doubtless had with them that
primitive guide-book to Switzerland by Johann Gottfried
Ebel, which was published at Zurich towards the end of the
eighteenth century, and translated and adapted to the use
of the English in 18 18, and which was as the Alpine travellers'
ABC. Among the very detailed information which it gave
as to the way in which the dangers of the Alps should be
met, we find the following curious rule : ** Before venturing
into a difficult passage, gaze your fill at the precipices until
the impression which they may make on your imagination passes
off, and until you have made yourself able to look upon
them unmoved." In it tourists were specially enjoined, if
they wished to draw pleasure and profit from their excursions,
to salute in a friendly manner all those whom they met by
the way, and to converse affably with the mountain people,
in order to put away all pride and vanity, leaving at home
^11 the prejudices of caste and high birth, and bringing with

30 THE MATTERHORN

them into the high mountains the man alone. In this book
Valtoumanche is only mentioned incidentally in the indices ;
the Cervin appeared in it under the three names of Silvius,
Matterhorn, and Mont Cervin, and was briefly described as
one of the most splendid and wonderful obelisks in the Alps.
On Zermatt there was this curious note : " A place which
may, perhaps, interest the tourist is the valley of Praborgne ;
it is bounded by huge glaciers which come right down into
the valley ; the village of Praborgne is fairly high, and
stands at a great height above the glaciers ; its climate is
almost as warm as that of Italy, and plants belonging to
hot countries are to be found there at considerable altitudes,
above the ice." The routes in that first guide-book were
for the most part incomplete and poorly described. Murray's
Handbook, which was destined to be the model of all
guides for Alpine travellers, only made its first appearance
in 1838, and Johannes ** Itinéraire " in 1841.

The railways, where there were any, terminated a
hundred miles from the Alpine centres, and no one had even
dreamt of tunnelling through the mountains. Aosta could
only be reached by many stages in a coach ; it took three
days to go from Turin to St. Vincent ; at the present day
the journey from Paris to Zermatt requires eighteen hours.
Brigands prowled about Ivrea, bears and wolves infested
the neighbourhood of Chàtillon.'9 The journey was neither
comfortable or safe, and now and then it was necessary to
draw one's pistol from one s pocket, as happened to the
painter Brockedon, who, in 1821, came into conflict with the
brutal customs officials of Paquier.^o

Now the bears and the brigands have disappeared, and the
customs officials have become good fellows.

In those days an exceptional strength of character, together
with a certain spirit of adventure and of eccentricity, were needed
in order to face the vicissitudes of Alpine journeys. The
state of mind in which our ancestors ventured into the unknown

THE PIONEERS 31

regions of the snows was very different to that of the climbers
of the present day. Perhaps they called to their aid a super-
fluous degree of heroism, and saw dangers where we see only a
few difficulties ; but in exchange for their discomforts and
impediments, they enjoyed the unforeseen ; the valleys were
revealed to them in all the poetry of solitude, in unprepared
primitive simplicity ; the mountains whispered shyly to them
the secrets they had not yet told to others.

A great feeling of curiosity, of uncontrollable admiration,
the joyfulness and enthusiasm of youth opening the mind
to new ideals, are manifest in the pages written by these
pioneers.

A new world began to show itself.

Those strangers, men of noblest intellect, climbing the Alps,
and reaching the summits of the passes, gazed eagerly out over
our land : from the cold, snowy heights their glances sought the
country where the orange blooms, and already they seemed to
see a bluer sky on our horizon and gentler slopes in our valleys ;
far below lay the mirage of fair Italy, eternal dream of northern
minds.

They were the first to tell us that our valleys contained
wondrous monuments, and teach us to admire them. The
mountain people had thought them seekers after treasure, and
they were not wrong, because these men discovered and
bequeathed to us a treasury of enthusiasm and study which is
still unexhausted.

Mr. William Brockedon, who came here in 1825, considered
the crossing of the Theodul Pass from Breuil to Zermatt a
difficult undertaking, and caught fever on his return. 21 He
tells us that on the way over the glacier small wooden
stakes were fixed to point out the dangerous places and the
right road ; when two stood together it was a sign that on that
spot was a bridge of ice over a crevasse, and that the greatest
care was needed. On the ascent he suffers from the rarefaction
of the atmosphere, and has to halt at every step. When he

32 THE MATTERHORN

arrives panting, exhausted, on the top of the pass, he gazes *' on
the beautiful pyramid of the Cervin, more wonderful than aught
else in sight, rising from its bed of ice to a height of 5,000
feet, a spectacle of indescribable grandeur." In this ** immense
natural amphitheatre, enclosed from time immemorial by snow-
clad mountains and glaciers ever white, in the presence of
these grand walls the mind is overwhelmed, not indeed that
it is unable to contemplate the scene, but it staggers under the
immensity of those objects which it contemplates." Thus does
Brockedon give expression to his enthusiasm, and the same
feelings must have inspired those others who at that time drew
nigh to the Cervin.

Those who made their way up* through the Valtournanche
to the foot of the mountain were few in number. Mr. Coolidge,
a most diligent collector of old and new stories of the Alps,^^
mentions during those years, besides Brockedon, only Mr.
Hirzel-Escher, of Zurich, who crossed the Theodul in 1822,
starting from Breuil, accompanied by the local guide, Jean-
Baptiste Menabraye23 and a French gentleman from Algiers,
who in 1837 made the same ascent The greater number came
from the Valais up the Visp valley to Zermatt.24

In 18 1 3, a Frenchman, M. Henri Maynard, had climbed to
the Theodul and attained the virgin summit of the Breithorn ;
he was accompanied by numerous guides, among them old
J. M. Couttet, of Chamonix, the same who had gone with
De Saussure to the top of the Little Cervin in 1792.25

In 1 82 1 the ascent of the Breithorn was repeated by the
illustrious English astronomer, Sir John Herschel, with a
Chamonix guide, and again in 1830 the summit was attained
by Lord Minto, with a gang of twelve Chamoniards. All
these thought they were ascending Monte Rosa.

Lord Minto left a diary of his journey, full of curious notes
of great value for the history of early mountaineering.^^ He
took with him a small piece of blue paper in order to compare it
with the colour of the sky at different altitudes ; it was the same

THE PIONEERS 33

piece that Dr. Paccard had taken with him on the first ascent
of Mont Blanc.

On the pass he found the four walls of the hut that De
Saussures guides had built, and he spent the night there.
Overtaken by bad weather he returned to Zermatt, whose
worthy inhabitants received him with acclamation and joy at
seeing him return alive from a night spent among the glaciers
of the Cervin. Lord Minto called the Theodul Pass the Mont
Cervin, and the Cervin the Matterhorn ; the Breithorn he
called Monte Rosa-
It was only when he reached the top of the Breithorn that
he became aware of his error, by the discovery of another
distant summit, towards Macugnaga, which he supposed to be
higher than his own. From up there he saw Mont Blanc, but,
turning his gaze on the Cervin, he gave voice to his great
wonder : ** It is impossible," he said, **for words to convey any
idea of the immensity of this pyramid, regular and symmetrical
in form, as if it had been designed by an architect, and rising
to a prodigious height above the glacier on which it rests."

Above all the eye of those early worshippers was struck by
the rare, symmetrical form of the mountain, which did not seem
the blind, indifferent work of Nature, but the masterpiece of a
whole thinking, resdess people, which had given to it a human
impress, expressive of its own power.

Dr. Forbes writes: ** It is so very different from what we
have been accustomed to find in natural scenery, that among the
ideas that crowd the mind in first contemplating it, those of
Art and the Artificial come with the rest." 27

Their stupefaction, their loss of mental balance, manifested
themselves in the most fervid exclamations, in the boldest
imagery.

Some compared it to a ruined tower, some to an obelisk
piercing the sky, some to a sphinx that keeps mysterious watch
in silent space on its pedestal of ice ; some, again, to the bust of
a giant with weary shoulders and mighty flanks, wrapped round

34 THE MATTERHORN

the elbows in the wide folds of a white veil that sweeps down
from his head in majestic curves till it covers his feet (Topffer) ;
some there were who saw in it the form of a couchant lion, and
some of a rearing horse (Ruskin) ; some called it the Leviathan
of mountains, and others the monument that an archangel had
erected to himself before he left the earth.

Others, again, it inspired with visions of ancient mythology.
To John Ball the summits of Monte Rosa seemed like the
solemn conclave of the Scandinavian gods, whose white beards
flowed down even to their feet, and the Cervin was the mythical
hero who burst into the midst of the majestic assembly ; to
Dollfus Ausset the Cervin was among the other peaks as
Achilles among the Grecian heroes, drawing to himself alone
the glances and the admiration of all mankind. It was the
marvel of marvels, as Hinchliff felt himself compelled to say.

The writings of these pioneers are full of its great name ;
the bare and inert rock is gradually quickened into life by men's
enthusiasm, and clothes itself with the bright veil of their
dreams.

" Stronger minds," remarks Edward Whymper, " felt the
influence of the wonderful form, and men who ordinarily spoke
or wrote like rational beings, when they came under its power
seemed to quit their senses, and ranted and rhapsodised, losing
for a time all common forms of speech."

Among the poets of the Cervin during these years (1834 to
1840) were Elie de Beaumont, a famous French geologist;
Désor, 28 a naturalist of Neuchàtel, who went up there with
a party of friends, two of whom, Agassiz and Bernard Studer,
had names illustrious in science ; Engelhardt, a native of Strass-
burg, who was so filled with admiration for Zermatt and
its neighbourhood, that he returned there at least ten times
(from 1835 to 1855), and described these places in two valuable
volumes,-9 drew panoramas and maps, and collected most minute
notes on the mineralogy and botany. He was one of the
earliest and warmest friends of Zermatt.

THE PIONEERS 35

Zermatt was at that time a quiet little village, and travellers
found simple hospitality there at the parish priest's, or at the
village doctor's, Herr Lauber by name. Besides students there
came only a few collectors of Alpine crystals, insects, and plants,
of which they reaped a rich harvest, and which they afterwards
sold. Of tourists pure and simple there was as yet no sign,3o
and Désor was able to write at that time : '* In the visitors'
book (Herr Lauber's), which is in its first year, I saw that the
names of the five or six travellers who had preceded me all
belonged to persons known to me, being Swiss botanists and
zoologists ; decidedly this valley is not yet infested by
tourists ! "

In 1 84 1 there comes James David Forbes, professor of
natural philosophy at the University of Edinburgh. An eminent
philosopher and geologist, and a most observant traveller, he
continues, in his journeys and his writings, the work of
De Saussure. He is full of admiration for the Cervin, and he
calls it the most wonderful peak in the Alps, unsealed and un-
scalable.3< These words, pronounced by a man noted among
all his contemporaries for his thorough knowledge of mountains,
show what men's feelings then were towards the Cervin, and
how at a time when the idea of Alpine exploration was gaining
ground in their minds, the Cervin stood by itself as a mountain
apart, of whose conquest it was vain even to dream.

And such it remained till long after this ; as such it was
described by John Ball twenty years later in his celebrated
guide-book. Incidentally I may point out that Forbes calls it
the Mont Cervin and rarely uses its German name of
Matterhorn. 32

Professor Forbes ascended the Theodul in 1842, climbed the
Breithorn, and came down to Breuil and Paquier ; as he de-
scended from the savage scenery of the Mont Cervin, the
Italian landscapes of the Valtournanche seemed to him like
paradise. ^^

Meanwhile Gustave Studer, the geographer, together with

;6 THE MATTERHORN

Professor Ulrich, was describing and mapping the topographical
features of the Zermatt peaks. And behold, amid the chorus of
those who found in the Cervin subjects for study, there arises
the voice of one who demands of it nought but a simple, pure
delight for his eye and his soul ; he is an artist and a philo-
sopher, and the author of the exquisite ** Voyages en Zig-zag,*'
the Genevois Rudolph Topffer.

I have again opened the pages of that golden book, once
the delight of my youth, to see what was the Cervin*s message
to that noble and high-souled man, and I have found them still
as full of freshness and wholesomeness and honesty as before ;
and I remember the time when, reading them eagerly and
gazing at their curious engravings, I dreamt ever of lengthy
marches in joyous company, up through green valleys and over
lofty passes, of delicious meals beside Alpine lakes, and of
suppers in the simple mountain inns, eaten with the sauce of
the exhaustless gaiety and tremendous appetite of youth. In
that book I have, as it were, found again an old friend,
who perhaps was the first to inspire me with an eager desire for
the mountains.

Topffer, who first accompanied and guided youth to the
Alps for purposes of education and amusement, began his
zig-zag journeys in 1832, but it is only in 1840 that he mentions
the Cervin.** Déjà on parie de la Vallèe de Zermatt qui s ouvre
à Viège, et des glaciers du Mont Cervin, comme offrant
des beautés et des horreurs d'un caractère plus grand ou plus
interessant que ce que Ion va voir à Chamonix et dans l'Ober-
land." Happy was he who lived at a time and in a place
that gave him, almost at a stone s throw from his own home,
unknown and wonderful objects to discover !

Two years later Topffer and his pupils came to Zermatt. He
has described this journey of his in a chapter entitled ** Voyage
autour du Mont Blanc," one of the finest he has written, the
most complete, the fullest of experience ; it seems as if, fore
seeing the nearness of his end he had wished to collect in these

THE PIONEERS i7

last pages of his the most exquisite reminiscences, the most
fervent interests of his whole life. 34 Here he sings a real
hymn of praise to the Cervin. In pages at once comprehensive,
precise, and magnificent he describes its form, comparing it with
a huge crystal of a hundred facets, flashing varied hues, that
softly reflects the light, unshaded, from the uttermost depths
of the heavens. Then mastering himself, he asks whence comes
this emotion that he feels : ** D*où vient done, d'où vient
l'intérét, le charme puissant avec lequel ceci se contemple Ì "
And he answers this question with a profound analysis of man's
sensations in the presence of the mountain : ** Ce n est pourtant
ni le pittoresque, ni la demeure possible de I'homme, ni méme
une merveille gigantesque pour Tceil qui a vu les astres ou pour
l'esprit qui con9oit lunivers ! La nouveauté sans doute, pour
des citadins surtout ; Taspect si rapproché de la mort, de la
solitude, de Téternel silence ; notre existence si fréle, si passagère
mais vivante et douée de pensée, de volonté et d affection,
mise en quelque sorte en contact avec la brute existence et la
muette grandeur de ces étres sans vie ; voilà, ce semble, les
vagues pensées qui attachent et qui secouent Tàme à la vue de
cette scène. . . . Poesie sourde mais puissante, et qui, par cela
méme qu elle dirige la pensée vers les grands mystères de la
creation, captive Tame et l'élève." And he concludes with a
profession of his faith : ** Plus d'un homme qui oubliait Dieu
dans la plaine, s'est ressouvenu de lui aux montagnes."

Topffer's book was illustrated by Calame, his master and
friend, with drawings of the Cervin, executed in the romantic
style of the period. It is an artificial Cervin, of conventional
beauty, and of too slender a shape, that we see in those early
drawings, as also in Engelhardt's ; a fantastic Cervin, fearfully
smooth, such as it might appear in a troubled dream to a
mountaineering novice planning to ascend it ; a picture cor-
responding rather with the exaggerated effect it produces on
the astonished mind of the artist, than with the real form of
the mountain.

> : 1 .

./IJA'I I^/ i Z'/lOHHfTT/r/ Mill

THE PIONEERS 39

but he returned, studied and dreamt for long at its feet, and at
length he pronounced it ** the most noble cliff in Europe." 36

Round about the noble cliff we see him busily analysing the
perspective of its outlines, calculating the angles of inclination
of its various ridges, intent on determining which point is the
real summit ; 37 we see him deducing its internal structure
from the twisted curves of the strata, which appear on its
lofty walls, and seeking to read the mountain's true nature
in its outlines.

Edward Whymper, examining a drawing of the Cervin
executed by Ruskin in 1848, remarks in it certain details,
which a draughtsman pure and simple would have neglected,
and which only he who climbs its rocks and struggles hand
to hand with the mountain discovers to be the essential features
of its anatomy.

Ruskin would have been an ideal illustrator of books on
mountaineering ; by the side of his concise, analytical, and yet
emotional drawings, the pleasant and poetical syntheses of
TSpffer and Calame appear superficial ; but he was no
mountaineer, nor a great friend to mountaineering ; other
ideals filled his soul ; he drew sketches of the mountains
merely as an illustration of his teaching of the beauty of
natural forms, which was the object of his whole life. In his
work on Modern Painters 38 he makes continual use of the
mountains as an example of beauty and an incentive to
morality. In laying down the principles which are to guide
him in his description of the historic Stones of Venice, he
quotes as a model the mighty mass of rock, which he
considers more sublime than any human building, and it
is strange to us, when we open that wonderful book of his
(•'Stones of Venice"), so full of the ancient splendour of
the city of lagoons, to read almost at the beginning this
passage : —

*' But there are sometimes more valuable lessons to be
learned in the school of nature than in that of Vitruvius, and

40 THE MATTERHORN

a fragment of building among the Alps is singularly illustrative
of the chief feature which I have at present to develop as
necessary to the perfection of the wall' veil.

*^ It is a fragment of some size ; a group of broken walls,
one of them overhanging ; crowned with a cornice, nodding
some hundred and fifty feet over its massive flank, three
thousand above its glacier base, and fourteen thousand
above the sea, — ^ wall truly of some majesty, at once the
most precipitous and the strongest mass in the whole chain
of the Alps, the Mont Cervin."

And elsewhere he again dwells tenderly on this idea of the
Cervm as an architectural work (in a passage in which he
likens it to an Egyptian temple).

Certainly the style of Ruskin's admiration and teaching
is very different to De Saussure's classical simplicity and
Tòpffer's calm romanticism ; the occasional intricacy of his
writing, and the mystic hymns with which he ends some of
his chapters, may be less pleasing to more prosaic students
of the Alps ; yet they cannot but rejoice that this great genius
has let fall the life-giving dew of his admiration on one of
their ideals, and has been the first to create a new worship,
and to weave about the Cervin lofty dreams of art and
beauty. 39

We have said that Ruskin was no friend to mountaineering ;
it is to him that we owe the celebrated definition of difficult
ascents, comparing them with greased poles, up which men
climb in rivalry to gain the small prize hanging from the top ;
the climbers of Mont Blanc were alluded to by him in this
ironical simile. He had never known the mysterious, ineffable
joy of conquering a virgin peak ; to him also the Cervin was
inviolable ; 4o he was content with admiring it. Nevertheless
the publication of Ruskin s work 4^ certainly produced a great
impression at the time on educated people in England, and
spread wide a desire to see the mountains to which the young
apostle of beauty had dedicated his throbbing, enthusiastic

THE PIONEERS 41

pages. We may infer as much from the frequent discussions to
which his work gave rise, and from the quotations therefrom
in Alpine writings and guide-books printed in the following
years. 42

Other men of high attainments followed, paying to the
Cervin their tribute of admiration and research ; John Ball, that
tireless and learned traveller, and writer of works on travel,
afterwards the first president of the English Alpine Club ; 43
Jacob Siegfried, who about that time was the first to cross the
Allalin Pass ; 44 Von Tschudi, author of '* The Swiss Guide "
(Schweizer fiihrer), published in 1855 ; the brothers A. and H.
Schlagintweit, who stopped for three days on the Theodul in
order to make observations, and attempted the highest peak
of Monte Rosa; Adams Reilly, the same who drew the
celebrated topographical chart of Monte Rosa; and others
besides.

Every one of these high souled and determined men left
behind him a part, however small, of his enthusiasm and his
experience. We at the present time think it natural, on reach-
ing the foot of the Cervin, to immediately conceive the idea of
ascending it ; but then it needed the sum of those men's
admiration to slowly prepare this new sense of desire. Mr.
Coolidge remarks that the presence at Zermatt in 1851 of
Alfred Wills, one of the foremost champions of English
mountaineering, marked the close of the timid attempts, and
the beginning of the era of conquest.45

The army of students and poets was now about to be
succeeded in the tourney at the Cervin's feet by the company
of the real climbers, the knights errant girding themselves up
for the conquest of the fair virgins of the Alps ; they were not
urged on by the love of science or of art alone, but also by an
inexplicable passion whose fascination, whose very existence,
lay in the difficulty of the struggle. They entered the lists
brandishing their new weapon, the ice-axe, and followed by
their faithful esquires, the new guides. The battle began with

42 THE MATTERHORN

the highest peak of Monte Rosa, and it lasted fully nine years
(i847-i855).46

The passes and peaks round Zermatt were explored little by
little. Monte Rosa was conquered ; but the Cervin remained
still the. mysterious mountain of the past ; the idea that it
might be accessible to man 47 had not yet arisen, but its
mystery filled men's minds more and more.

** L'ascension au Mont Cervin (Matterhorn) est possible :
un ballon d une enveloppe excessivement solide, cuirassé pour
ainsi dire et d*une forme speciale, maintenu par une forte
corde qui se déroulerait lentement et qui, à volonté, pendant
Tascension, permettrait au touriste aérien de diriger Tembarca-
tion et d arriver à la cime par des circonstances météoro-
logiques de calme plat," wrote Dollfus-Ausset, an Alsatian
scientist, in 1855.

They were still in Utopia ; and the same year a poet,
hearing in imagination the unconquered Cervin calling to
Monte Rosa vanquished by man, poured forth this song : — 4^

" Frère, console toi ! Le Mont Cervin te venge !
Pour me vaincre jamais, il faudrait qu'un archange
Pretat son aile à Thomme, ou qu^un rapide eclair
Le saisit palpitant et Temportàt dans Pair ;
II faudrait que son corps, léger comme un fluide,
Put s'éléver sans peine aux regions du vide.
Jusque là, méme en réve, il n'essaiera jamais
De péser un instant sur mes àpres sommets.

Je ne laisse arriver à mon sublime faite

Que les supirs ardents du juste et du poéte ;

Que les flots du deluge, et les ésprits du feu

Et mon front ne fléchit que sous Tombre de Dieu."

Ten years later man trod the Cervin's summit

THE PIONEERS 43

And meanwhile what had been done by us Italians?
Though dwelling close to the Cervin, though masters of one
half of it, we were leaving to foreigners the joy of admiring
it, the* credit of studying it. The wondrous Alps appeared
to be unknown to us ; their fascination had not yet reached
to us. Thus it is with the flash of a lofty lighthouse, which
lights and guides far distant ships, but is invisible to those
who stand at the foot of its tower.

Italians, indeed, had at that time much else to think about
and do ; they had before them a great and difficult task — the
creation of Italy — and their efforts were directed towards this
goal, their thoughts were all absorbed by this ideal. The
notion that by strengthening their limbs with gymnastic
exercises youths became vigorous to take part in their
country's battles, had already arisen. Leopardi had poured
out the following hymn to a victor in the pallone : —

"Te rigoglioso dell'età novella
Oggi la patria cara
Gli antichi esempi a rinnovar prepara."

(Filled with pride in the new age, thy dear country prepares thee
to follow the example of the ancients.)

And the pupils of the gymnasium at Turin, founded by Ricardi
of Netro, a future hero of Goito, sang with enthusiasm the
hymn that Felice Romani, the patriotic librettist of the
** Norma," wrote for them about 1840: —

** I sudati ed aspri ludi
Affrontiam sereni e lieti,
Alle prove degli atleti,
Afforziam le membra e il cor.
A palestra ancor più rude
Pronti un di farem passaggio,
Che la forza dà coraggio
E il coraggio dà valor."

44 THE MATTERHORN

Joyful and unmoved
We face the strenuous and rough
games. With athletes' struggles
we strengthen our limbs and our
hearts. Some day we will readily
pass to a yet rougher arena, for
strength gives courage, and cour-
age valour.

Poor verses, but a fair song bravely and calmly sung by youths
who were full of faith and hope ! Would that we did sing it
on the lofty peaks with the same untainted enthusiasm with
which our fathers chanted it during their first school walks
on the hills around Turin, under the guidance of one of the
first teachers of gymnastics, Obermann.

But the lists of the Alps were not yet open, and the destiny
in store for those young men was the redemption of their
country. Their alpenstock was a rifle ; the summits for which
they strove with the alien, to which the youth of Italy raised
their longing eyes, were the Cathedral of Milan, bristling with
countless spires, that shone white as the snow of Mont Blanc ;
and the Campanile of Venice, rising straight and smooth from
the green lagoon, like a Dolomite tower above the silent lakes
of the upper Cadore. On these heights the Italians, who were
making ready for that last difficult ascent of the distant Seven
Hills, for which they had so long yearned, wished to plant
their banners. And already the victims of their brave
attempts and of their first glorious efforts were counted by
hundreds.

Their glances and their thoughts were at that time only
turned towards the Alps, as to a bulwark against the foreigner,
on which Garibaldi's chasseurs were to repeat the heroic
feats of the soldiers of the Duke of Savoy on the Col de
TAssiette.

The poetry of that time mirrored the minds of the people,
and in the verses of Giovanni Prati the mountains wept at the

THE PIONEERS 45

misfortunes of their native land. No man as yet thought
of the mountains for the mountains' sake. Those few, poets
or men of learning, who sallied forth from the circle of the
subalpine cities to seek among the Alps inspiration or know-
ledge, did not venture to leave the paths that led up through
the bottoms of the valleys.

Baruffi, in his ** Peregrinazioni Autunnali " (Autumn Wan-
derings) sought after ancient histories on the great roads that
converged at Aosta. The illustrious historian Luigi Cibrario
collected with filial affection the chronicles of his native valley
of Usseglio. Norberto Rosa and Giuseppe Revere would
sojourn in Alpine villages and thence gaze from afar on the
glistening summits that were the kingdom of the winds and
the poets ; and the waters that flowed sluggishly in Giuseppe
Regaldi's stanzas did not bring down to Piedmont the sublime
vision of the lonely glaciers whence they sprang.

The Abbé Stoppani had not yet given us his work that
was, perhaps, the first to make Italians acquainted by poetic
teaching of patriotic ideal with their beautiful country.

There were, it is true, works at that time which described
the Alpine regions ; a Dictionary by Casalis (1833-56), Captain
De Bartolomei's Notes ( 1 840) ; Annibale di Saluzzo s book,
entitled "The Alps that encircle Italy" (1845), ^'1 learned
and painstaking studies, full of notes that are still valuable ;
works of such magnitude that perhaps at the present day none
could be bold enough to undertake them ; but when we refer
to them now, we cannot but consider that the current notions
of the high mountains were vague, 49 and that the authors'
aspirations never rose higher than the inhabited regions ; that,
if it be lawful to use an odious phrase, hurled at that time by
Metternich against Italy, the Alps were also but a ** geographical
expression." The high mountains were not yet in the conscious
possession of the Italians; they were like a wondrous piece of
scenery painted at the back of the stage, with the actors
missing.

46 THE MATTERHORN

Nor had our painters perceived that there, close to the city,
was a treasury of marvellous beauties of outline and of colouring ;
and Massimo d'Azeglio, though he had gazed at them and
studied them in the valleys, painted them in his landscapes as
objects still far off, purely decorative, conventionally misty on
the horizon. 5o

The researches of geologists, who alone at this period
ventured off the beaten tracks in the Alps, remained concealed
in the minutes of the Academies of Science.

Angelo Sismonda, a Piedmontese geologists» who had been
Elie de Beaumont's and Studer s companion on many of their
excursions, and Bartolomeo Gastaldi's predecessor, after travel-
ling for many years among our mountains, and visiting the very
highest part of the Val Tournanche and examining the Cervin
in 1844, collected the results of his ceaseless wanderings in
a large volume of memoirs, to be found among those minutes,
and he ended with these words : '* The necessity of visiting
the Alps again and again, in order to understand something of
them, was fully realised by the immortal De Saussure, who,
after giving up thirty-six years of his strenuous life to explor-
ing them on all sides, expressed an ardent desire to start again
from the beginning." 52

This was a scientists noble reverence for the mountains,
and a beginning of love ; in fact it was the geologist, with us
as with other nations, who first impelled the men of the towns
to draw nigh to the lofty mountain regions, which they had till
then looked upon as a wretched land where a poverty-stricken
people lived a life full of hardships and dangers ; a land of
eagles, of marmots, of smugglers, and of cretins. 53

Was there, then, no man in this small kingdom, which
occupied both slopes of the Alps, which contained the whole of
their greatest giant, whose population was in so great a measure
scattered in the heart of the mountains, which withal had given
to De Saussure, half a century before, the earliest guides for
Mont Blanc, 54 was there indeed none to turn his thoughts

THE PIONEERS 47

to those near summits, to feel the simple desire to ascend
them ?

If we read the letters of Francesetti of Mezzenile, written
in 1820,55 we are surprised to find ourselves confronted by a
would-be mountaineer. He seems a youth who as yet knows
not love, but is already full of desire ; he does not aspire to
conquest, and is content to gaze at his lady and to praise her
beauty.

The modesty of the prologue to his letters betrays his fear
of being unworthy of the beauty he describes, a shame-faced
concealment of the enthusiasm which might appear childish and
vain to others, almost a fear of derision ; feelings that are not
unknown to us at the present day, with all our experience.
And, going on from aspirations to deeds, we find some noble
conceptions, men who were true mountaineers : the Italians
Pietro Giordani, in 1801, Vincent and Zumstein in 1819,
Gnifetti and his companions in 1842, had been the first con-
querors of the peaks of Monte Rosa, at whose feet they had
been born, and in the same year (1842), the Abbé Chamoix,
also a son oft he mountains, had climbed his fair Tersi va. 5^
These exploits made no noise, nor did the climbers boast of
them. In the same way Alpine history is silent concerning
chamois hunters, who in pursuit of their game had more than
once ascended, unconscious pioneers, peaks where no man
had set his foot before them.

But Italian history does mention a mountain hunter, the
greatest of all, " Bella speranza del regno. Primogenito figlio
di Carlo Alberto Re. Varcate più montagne erte, asprissime.
Famose per natura o per subalpino valore. Qui salì ai xxii.

di Luglio MDCCCXXXIII."

These lines, which the Commune of Susa caused to be
engraved in. marble and placed on the summit of the Roche
Melon, 3,500 metres high, in memory of the first Alpine ascent
of the young Duke Victor Emmanuel, correspond with those
others of two centuries before, which commemorated the ascent

■ I

.^ ■"■ -r. ■ ;-
■. • ■

THE MATTERHORN

of that peak by Charles Emmanuel IL, "followed by his cour-
tiers, in the flower of his age, full of fervent devotion, in order
to adore the Virgin, his protectress, from the highest spot in
his States."

The princes of this true Alpine race made a habit of braving
the hardships of the Alps ; they were accustomed to fight in
their mountains, to cross and recross the high ranges in winter
and in summer, on which, as on a crystal pivot, rested the scales
of their ancient policy, until, to our great good fortune, the
balance inclined to the side of Italy.

Victor Emmanuel II. professed publicly, perhaps before
any other in Piedmont, a passion for the mountains. Before
1842 he had already climbed, under his fathers guidance, to
the foot of Monte Rosa, in the Gressoney Valley ; later on he
came by the pass, at that time seldom used, of the Fenétre de
Champorcher, to Cogne, on whose heights he learned to love
hunting the chamois and the bouquetin. This sport, which he
began to follow in 1850, was afterwards assiduously followed by
him in the great Italian group of the Grand Paradis, which he
covered with a network of roads, right up to the glaciers. He
was a lover of the chase, and sought in the Alps the joy of
laying low his nimble quarry with a straight shot from his rifle,
rather than that of ascending them ; but he yearned after them
also for the sake of the rough life and the difficult passages
which he found there, and which satisfied the need he felt to
strive and conquer. And the talk to which the young king's
hunting expeditions gave rise in Piedmont, the anecdotes
which were told of his simple life upon the heights, of the
kindly affability of his converse with the Alpine folk, 57 and
above all the confidence which was felt in him. the goodwill
with which his every action was followed in Italy, as if his
country's weal depended upon it, undoubtedly assisted in
inspiring other noble hearts with a desire for the Alps, and in
attracting the attention of the multitude to the hitherto un-
known mountains. Something beautiful and great there must

t 1

THE PIONEERS

have been up there for Victor Emmanuel to return thither
every year ; and men*s glances were turned with curiosity and
respect, upwards to the white summits among which the king
sought new strength to serve his people.

Italy, busied for so many years with the winning of her
liberty, had lagged in many respects behind other nations ; but
as she was now attaining step by step unity and a conscious-
ness of her own strength, she felt the need of an intellectual
revival and of aspirations towards a higher civilisation. In
that generous spring-time of ideals it seemed to men of high
attainments that the love and exploration of mountains, the
struggle with rocks and ice, might be made a mighty instru-
ment of progress. It seemed to them good that youths should
mount to the summits of the Alps to cry out joyfully to the
peoples over the border that all Italy, or nearly all, belonged
to the Italians. And the Alpine Club sprang from the mighty
brain of Quintino Sella, like Minerva from the head of Jupiter,
armed at all points.

:s of Mont Blanc nnd the cliffs of
Ihc Miilterhom would have their charm in (he
midst tt( n wilderneaa ; hut Iheir beauty is
nma/ingly incrc.iaed when ii wealher-ataintrt
chalet rises in the foreground ; when the
sound of cow-bells comes down throuKh the
thin air ; or the little troop o( goats returns at
sunset to the quiet village."

Leslie Stephen, The I'laygtouml af Europe.

CHAPTER TI

THE THREE INNS

I CAN see in my mind's eye one of those romantic travellers
of the first half of the century, come from afar to venture
among the Alps, in the days when they were known only
through the studies of a few men of science or the vision of
certain poets. I can see him climbing for the first time up the
lonely valley path, his mind filled with the dream of an idyllic
peace, of a free and primitive life, awakened in him by the
writings of Haller ' and Rousseau : he recalls in memory the
poetic images of the bold chamois hunter in " Manfred," and
of the mountain heroes in " William Tell " ; the sweet melodies

52 THE MATTERHORN

of •* Linda " and of the ** Sonnambula," which he lately ap-
plauded in the theatres of the town, still ring in his ears. It
seems to him that the lives of the men who inhabit those
small chalets, who breathe so pure an air, who slake their thirst
at such crystal-clear springs, amid natural scenes so full of
light and sound, must needs be full of harmony and peace ;
that the hearts of the mountain people must be as tran-
quil and as noble as the objects which surround them. And
already he dreams that the happiness of the pastoral life is
about to be revealed to him, that at some turning of the path
a joyous band of Alpine folk will rush forth, and that some
Linda or Amina in a velvet bodice will appear among the
flowers at the window of a chalet and sing a greeting to him.

But, when he enters the village street, he sees that things
are not as the poet has portrayed them ; a sense of something
forbidding, almost akin to terror, is conveyed by the sight of
the low, dark houses, huddled one against the other for pur-
poses of mutual protection against the cold and of resistance
to the shock of the winds ; the garments of the hill-folk are
poor and ragged ; their forbidding faces are never lit up by a
smile ; their life is a hard one, as is that of all things which
live and grow in those high places, and man s fate up there is
like that of the pines, which fill the fissures of the rocks with
their deep-burrowing roots, suck up their nourishment from the
barren soil, and grow in serried groups strong enough to stand
the weight of the snows, and live till the hurricane uproots
them or the avalanche sweeps them away ; or else die slowly
of old age when the sap of life is in them no more. No
man notices that there is a pine the less in the forest, or a
cross the more in the little cemetery. Perhaps the troubles and
the worries that pertain to town life are not apparent in the
mountains, but there is instead a sort of stupor, of dull,
continuous suffering.

The summer is short : the rest of the year is winter, and
the mountain dweller patiently awaits in his closed stable the

THE THREE INNS 53

sun's return ; the time for harvest is short, and the work of
gathering it in is heavy ; the placid joys of labour do not seem
to brighten mens lives in these high places, but hopeless
resignation to fate shapes their course.

In the midst of the wretched hovels rises the church, which
differs from them but little, save for its belfry, whose bells fill
the air with their sad or joyful peals, and which presides over
the births, weddings, and funerals of this small group of men in
their isolation from the world.

And the religion of these men appears one of terror to the
thoughtful stranger, when he enters the little church and finds
it full of strange baroque images and fearsome paintings of
sacrifices and torments, and sees the women in their white veils
grouped together praying with the gloomy fervour of an ancient
faith, and hears the voice of a minister of God threatening his
people with the vengeance of heaven, while the avalanche
thunders without, and exhorting the faithful to despise earthly
riches and human vanities, while they have no joys and but few
wretched possessions.

In the upper part of the valley where the jpath grows
rougher and skirts dangerous ravines, he frequently meets
with small black crosses that commemorate some accident,
and. if he forces his way to the very summit of the pass, he
sees that it is bestrewn with bones that lie bleached among the
snows ; and he feels that here death is nearer to men than
elsewhere. The idyllic dream vanishes : Amina becomes in
reality a woman who descends the weary path bent double
under a heavy load of hay; and in place of the strong and
healthy mountaineers, who are at work far off in the fields or
pastures, there appears before him an object of pity and disgust,
a grotesque and misshapen creature that holds out its hands for
alms : the cretin.

To this day we who read the writings of the early travellers
are grieved to find in them a feeling of pity, and at times of
contempt, for the rude inhabitants of the Alps ; and when John

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THE THREE INNS 55

sumptuous buildings, nor of the hum of the streets in our
towns with the same eager longing with which the native of
the Alps yearns in exile for his hovel, for the little white
church tower, for the peace of its valley and its songs.

It is not difficult, even at the present day, to imagine the
village of Valtournanche as it was fifty or a hundred years
ago. The natural scenes which surround it are unchangeable,
and the work of man among the rugged mountains progresses
right slowly. There are now a few forests the less in the
valley,4 and in exchange there are the telegraph posts and the
carriage roads ; the church has been repaired and the old tower
restored ; here and there a chalet freshly done up and roofed
with new tiles introduces a patch of brightness among the
brown and grey mass of the old houses ; but all around are the
same meadows, the same fields of rye or potatoes, supported on
the slopes by low stone walls, and the same rocks rise bare and
threatening above the village. The road leading up the valley
was, till after the middle of the century, the same wretched
mule-track which De Saussure had used in 1 792. Paquier was
the chief hamlet, the Grande Paroisse. the highest church in the
valley, the mother of a brood of little scattered villages whose
inhabitants scratch the barren mountain soil for the little
nourishment that it was in its power to give.

The Valtorneins — such is the local name of the inhabitants
— were shepherds and tillers of the soil ; the chase afforded
them recreation from their arduous labours, and smuggling
yielded them a rare, risky, and uncertain profit. Little news
came up from the plain ; they had heard of Bonaparte s swift
passage through the great valley down below ; they had learnt
of the various changes of government by the alterations in the
arms over the tax-collector s office, or by the watchwords of
liberty written up on the tavern doors ; they had heard an echo
of the great wars in the simple tales brought up thither by some
relative or friend who had been discharged from the Sardinian
army or survived Napoleon's campaigns.

56 THE MATTERHORN

There lives still in the valley the memory of those veterans,
who after following willy-nilly the French eagles, after deserting
them even, boasted themselves loudly to be the soldiers of the
Grande Armée ; among the rest was a certain Bernard Meynet,
known as Kikolin, and an Aymonod, nicknamed des Clous, who
had belonged to a regiment that had been sent to Spain, and
who told the story of his journey so well that he seemed a
professor of geography and history. So say the old men who
used to know him.

They knew that they had a king to whose house they had
been loyal for centuries, a king who desired soldiers, a govern-
ment which exacted taxes ; the salt that gave savour to their
soup was dear, and the tobacco that they smoked in their pipes
and that reeked in their pouches was indifferent ; across the
Theodul Pass there was better and cheaper for sale, but the
guards — the préposés — did their best to prevent any from
coming across the mountains. Authority was represented by
the custom-house officer, who was also the policeman. He was
in charge of their property, while the parish priest took care of
their souls. But the supreme family authority, the queen bee
of the hive, was in those days the mother, who kept the money,
prepared the food, sewed the men's clothes, washed the linen,
dressed the children, beat them, and made them say their
prayers. The men had many other things to do ; almost all
the Valtournanche families had some small farm in the great
valley, near the stony banks of the Dora, between Chatillon
and Chambave ; the land there was divided between the inhabi-
tants of Paquier, Chamonix, Madelein, Antey, and the other
little communes of the Valtournanche, in a quasi-freehold
granted them of old by the feudal lord of that district ; 5 and
at Chatillon the church of the Valtorneins was that of Our Lady
of Grace, whither they descended in solemn procession, pre-
ceded by their venerable white banner, when it behoved them
to pray to Heaven for rain.

It was these possessions of theirs in the plain, dti plan.

THE THREE INNS 57

which they valued, and still value, greatly, because from them
they obtain those fruits of the earth which their poor native
soil 5,000 feet above the sea does not produce : walnuts, chest-
nuts, maize for their polenta, a little wheat to knead with the
rye for their bread which they bake once or twice a year ; their
brown bread which must last them six or twelve months, and
which, when it has grown hard, they have to cleave with
hatchets or soak in milk to soften. The bread-baking was a
solemn function in each family, and its tradition is still
religiously preserved. Those possessions entailed the descent
of a part of the family, in spring for the ploughing, in autumn
for the harvest.

Happy was he who owned also a patch of those pergola
vines, supported on the hillsides by stone walls, and upheld by
small white posts, which give so ancient, so Italian a character
to the vineyards of the Aosta valley. La vigne du plan ! It
was the pride of a whole family ; it yielded a few barrels of
rough but genuine wine which sufficed for the whole year, and,
when any was over, it was not sold, but given to the less
fortunate.

But there were bad years sometimes ; old men remember a
terrible winter ; for two years, owing to a disease of the vines,
no wine had been made ; the wheat and potato crop had been
poor throughout the whole Aosta valley ; the Swiss had come over
in the autumn to buy, and the small proprietors had been obliged
to sell them all their produce in order to pay their taxes ; the
spectre of winter and famine and the proclamation of new taxes
terrified and excited the poverty-stricken people ; the parish priests
preached the duty of charity from the pulpit and collected alms
for the poorest families. It was the terrible winter of 1853 ; the
popular excitement overflowed unexpectedly in the sad and use-
less insurrection of the 26th of December, when a handful of the
hill-folk, descending with weapons and sticks from Champorcher,
and joined on the way by contingents from the other lateral
valleys, awoke once more at the gates of the good city of

58 THE MATTERHORN

Aosta the terror that half a century before had been inspired
there by the peasant hordes of the famous Regiment des Soques.

About the time of the feast of St Bernard of Mentone, in
the middle of June, the greater number were wont to depart for
the high pastures with their own flocks, or to take service in the
common '' Alps " as shepherds or cheese makers ; and up they
would go from pasture to pasture, as the season permitted, and
as the grass was gradually eaten off, up to the highest places,
where the grass is scanty and the pastures are dangerous for the
flocks, up almost to the moraine, to the foot of the Chateau des
Dames, the Tou^nalin, the Cervin. Often they would take with
them the youngest children of the family, as lappa borras.^ The
child found fresh milk and good air, cost its family but little, and
grew up strong and healthy, with rosy cheeks, in the smiling sun-
light And thus were bred the men who were to conquer the
Cervin.

A son of Valtoumanche, the clever and learned Abbé Amé
Gorret, whose name is well-known and dear to climbers, and by
whose courtesy I obtained the greater part of these notes on the
customs of the valley, has described the life of those children
who were taken up to the highest chalets, poetically recalling
the memories of his own childhood in the chalet of Cheneil :
*' Combien ce Cheneil me rappelle des doux souvenirs ! C est
un chalet de consorterie entre vingt-sept particuliers. Autrefois
les meres de famille y allaient passer Tété avec leurs enfants ;
cest là que jai été élevé. Nos meres navaient guère à
s'éloigner de la maison ; elles soignaient le lait et les poules, et
rapiégaient nos habits ; nous enfants, nous servions tous de
bergers. Ces jours me sont encore si presents ! Aussitót jour,
nos mères nous appelaient, elles nous faisaient la prière et le diner
en méme temps ; à larrivée du soleil nous alliens manger notre
blanche bouillie sur le roc devant la maison, nous bourrions nos
poches de pain, et nous partions gais et affaires après nos
vaches. Arrives aux pàturages, quelle joie, quels amusements
bruyants! Le jeu du bacculó ou fiolet, spécialité de la vallèe

: <: "• '»

THE THREE INNS

d'Aoste, le jeu du Colin Maillard, ou Ciappo fo (attrape fou), les
défis pour la course, pour sauter les torrents, pour gravir les
rochers, tous jeu de veritable gymnastique. Le soir nous
ramenions nos vaches à la maison, et le lendemain nos plaisirs
recommen^aient. " 7

At Michaelmas they would come down, deliver the
children to their mothers, together with the summers pay
and the sheets still fragrant with hay ; then they would be off
again for the vintage. For the feast of All Souls they would
all be back at the village.

These periodic migrations, which still continue to a certain
extent, are a real characteristic of the population of the VaK
tournanche. ** It was the • life of our good and sturdy
ancestors," writes the Abbé Gorret, ** before the invasion of
tourists and the opening of taverns and hotels ; a life spent with
the family in patriarchal style, far from all disturbance. Our
temporary migrations were punctuated by short visits to our
homes, that we might lighten our purses by handing over to the
mother the money we had earned, and our consciences by con-
fessing to the priest."

Life in the summer was one of fatigue high up on the sunlit
pastures, in sight of the glaciers and the sky, in the winter one
of repose in the darkness of the stable. During the latter season,
when the little chalets are buried in the snow, when long, silver
festoons hang down from the eaves, when the torrent is silent
in the grip of the frost and the steps of the rare wayfarers are
no longer heard on the soft layer of snow that covers the path,
when the sun is only seen for a few hours above the horizon,
the mountain people take their rest. Only at times, on fine
days when the sun shines bright but cold on the vast white
canopy and makes the trees with their icy beards glisten, do
they leave their houses and go forth up the valley to look for
the heaps of wood that they have made ready in the summer,
and the hay they have stored in the highest chalets that they
may bring it down on the useful highway of the snow ; and the

6o THE MATTERHORN

loaded sledges slide silently down the deep chute between two
white walls.

This is the season when feast days are celebrated in the
family circle : Christmas, the New Year, and, the most solemn
of all, that of St. Anthony ; on that day the old wine and the
new flow merrily, gloomy hearts brighten with unwonted gaiety ;
and in the evening, in the largest room called the poele, the only
warm room in the chalet, two or three families of neighbours are
gathered together, and while the old folks chat, the young man
eyes the njaiden who already owns his heart. He has known
her from a child, he has seen her in the summer brave and
strong up on the *' Alp " ; he knows that she loves children, that
she does not fear hard work, that she is thrifty, and that her
feminine vanity is content with a piece of bright-coloured silk
to put round her head, and a pair of little golden rings to adorn
her ears. She is the woman for him ; they exchange the first
light words which shape the course of their whole future. Some-
times a musician puts a ribebba to his lips, and dancing begins ;
a dance full of gravity, with serious faces, stiff bodies, the partner
held respectfully at a distance, feet sliding in a monotonous
cadence, until the old mother gives the -conge and sends all off
to bed.

But not every day is a feast day. In the long winter
evenings, following days of torpor, when, owing to the fury of
the storm, no man has been able to put his head outside the
door, in the warm stable, whose windows are stopped with
straw, while the oil burns slowly in the little lamp, the old grand-
father tells the family the tales he has learnt from his forefathers.
They are tales old and beautiful as mythology ; none knows
whence they come ; they are a strange mixture of pagan and
Christian ideas, a survival of traditions that live on in mountain
regions with a tenacity unknown elsewhere.

They are the usual tales of fairies (fayons) dancing in a ring
at dawn on the grass where the dew-drops hang like pearls,
and leaving there the traces of their gay festival ; or the souls

THE THREE INNS 6i

in purgatory wandering by night flame-like up and down the
quiet, winding torrent ; or, again, of miserly dwarfs who at
sunset hour come forth from the cave where their treasure lies
concealed, and who from afar seem to see gold and gems
scattered among the rocks and sparkling in the last rays
of the sun.

The thought of riches buried in the bosom of the mountain
has always fired the imagination and kindled the desire of the
poor mountain folk, and to this day we may see, near certain
mysterious rocks in almost inaccessible places, the traces of
laborious but misguided seekers after treasure.

It was known to all that up there, near the Becca (as the
Cervin was called), where the storms were born and whence the
clouds arose black as the smoke of hell, the devil himself abode ;
he it was who unceasingly hurled rocks down into the valley.
And the old man who was telling the tale would lower his voice
as he pronounced that name ; a shudder would run through
the audience ; the children, already in bed, would listen in the
shadow with their eyes wide-opened by curiosity and fear.
He would tell of the Wild Man, and this legend was the
dearest of all to the Valtourneins, because it was full of the
savour of their own lives. It seems like a true tale : —

One day the ** Omo Servadzu " ^ came up thither: whence
he came and when no man can tell, for at that time there was
no living soul in all the valley. He was the first man, and he
must have been a wise one, because he foresaw the storms and
was learned in many matters : the shepherds, attracted little by
little by his presence, came up with their flocks, and he began
to educate the small community, and to instruct them in the
useful things of life ; he taught them how to cure the diseases
of their cows, how to make toothsome cheeses, good creams,
and the other products of milk. The shepherds at once loved
and feared him.

That strange man lived in the chalets of Enra, which means
the wind ; they are the furthermost, the highest, at the foot of the

62 THE MATTERHORN

Becca ; when the weather was fine he might be seen caring for
the docks, and moving about with a little sack of salt, which he
sprinkled on the grass ; and the shepherds were confident that
all was well under his supervision ; but when the wind began
to blow fiercely he would hide himself, and no man knew where
he lay concealed. Whence arose the local proverb, " When it
rains, it rains ; when it snows, it snows ; when the wind blows,
the weather is bad. and it is well to do as the Wild Man
does — hide oneself." " Fo fare comnien l'omo servadzu et
se cazé."

When the men of the mountain thought they had learnt
everything, they offended him grievously, and he disappeared
as he had come, taking with him certain secrets, which to this
day are sought for in vain— how to make use of the buttermilk
and how to mend the broken limbs of the goats.

Another legend there is that is strangely analogous to this
one. It is said that once upon a time a giant (named Gar-
gantua) lived in the Aosta valley ; he was a kindly genius of
the valley, which in his time was full of flowering meadows,
and in it the shepherds played ninepins with balls of butter or
with discs of cheese ; there was such an abundance of milk
that it formed rivulets, at which the lambs quenched their
thirst. The climate was mild ; there were years in which the
flocks were able to stop up at the highest pastures, at Breuii,
till near Christmas ; the old grandfathers remembered them ;
in those days all were happy and contented ; evil was unknown.

The fancy of primitive peoples has always delighted to attri-
bute to heroes the mighty works that the forces of nature have
performed, and at times tradition has darkly seen glimpses of
a period in the earth's geological history which science has
subsequently explained and fully established.

Now the legend tells how in those far-off days the mountains
did not present, as they do to-day, an alternation of towering
peaks and deep clefts ; one simple, uniform ridge, as lofty as
the Becca itself, extended over the place where the Cervin now

THE THREE INNS 63

Stands and shut in the small valley below. One day the giant
was seized with the desire to see the country that lay beyond
the mountain; it was but a step for him to cross the lofty
barrier ; he strode over the range, and while one foot was still
on this side, and the other rested in the country of the Swiss,
it befell that the surrounding rocks all fell to pieces. The
narrative does not say whether this was brought about by the
enormous weight of the giant's body, or by other causes. The
pyramid of rocks which was caught between his legs alone
remained upright. Thus was the Becca formed.9

A murmur of incredulity went the round of the audience
when they heard the end of the tale ; but the old narrator, stung
to the quick, rebuked the unbelief of his young hearers ; these
things were related by our forefathers ; they were believed in
by them, who knew more than we do, and who were better
men than we.

In those days the kindly Deity loved the Val Tournanche,
because its inhabitants were simple and devout, and He sent
them protectors from time to time, and saints who performed
miracles. That was the time when the hermit of Tornaleis,^^
by dint of much kneeling in prayer, left the impress of his
knees on the rock, as may be seen to this day ; it was the
time of the famous St. Theodul. He was a great saint indeed,
sturdy and strong, who crossed the mountains in summer and
in winter, and surpassed the devil in cunning : a true moun-
taineer! And the old man told the tale, a hundred times
re-told, of St. Theodul, Bishop of Sion, in the Valais."

One day St. Theodul, who was already a bishop but
not yet a saint, crossed over from the Valais into the Val
Tournanche, using the pass that afterwards received his name ;
he came to visit his brothers in Christ, Evantius and Juvenal,
who led the life of hermits, the one on the heights of Chàtillon,
the other on those of Fenis.

It befell that on his way through Breuil he stopped in those
poor chalets, where the shepherds received him with respect,

64 THE MATTERHORN

and shared with him their modest provisions. In return the
bishop l'ave them his episcopal blessing, and went on his way.

On his return he stopped once more at the chalet, and
found that misfortune had cojne upon the house ; a child had
been bitten by a terrible serpent, and the mother was weeping
hot tears in her helplessness to save her little one. Then the
bishop, moved to pity, invoked the Grace of God. murmured a
prayer over the wound, and forthwith the child recovered.

Theodul then left the house amid the repeated thanks of the
good people, and, raising his hand, blessed that plot of soil, and
commanded that serpents and other venomous beasts should
flee to the other side of the torrent. Immediately a great
hissing was heard in the air, and serpents, scorpions, and toads
were seen departing.

Theodul's piety, his good works, and the miracles he was
wont to perform made him famous in the valleys of Viège and
of Tournanche. The devil, by nature envious of all virtue.
sought by every opportunity to diminish the holy man's
prestige and to cause him annoyance. One day at Praborne,
while his lordship was on his way up to the pass, Satan
approached him respectfully and offered to go part of the way
with him. Theodul agreed ; as they went on their way,
talking of various matters, the devil boasted that he was more
powerful than a bishop. Theodul was quite unmoved ; he
said he knew that he was a miserable sinner, frail as other men,
and requested his companion to give him a proof of his power ;
and as they were pjissing certain chalets, he pointed out a great
cauldron which the shepherds used for cheese-making, and
promised him, on the word of a bishop, that if he succeeded
in carrying it on hts shoulders across the pass as far as Paquier,
he would be his slave for ever after. No sooner said than
done ; the devil shouldered the cauldron and toiled laboriously
up the glacier, but when he drew near the pass, where the
ascent is steeper, he slipped and rolled with his cauldron
right down to the bottom of the valley.

THE THREE INNS 65

There might be some doubt of the accuracy of this story, on
account of the devils unwonted simplicity and the dubious
honesty of the conduct of the bishop, who is suspected of
having tripped him up ; but we have an authentic proof of it
in an ancient painting in the church at Crépin, that depicts the
devil in the act of tumbling down the glacier with the cauldron,
and the bishop rubbing his hands with delight. '2

The old story-teller used to relate another tale, which was
current in the valley of Viège,'3 and which also dealt with the
devil's tricks, and with certain bells that Theodul brought
through the air from Rome to Sion, flying across the pass ; and
this one, too, ended in the discomfiture of the evil spirit, as
popular comedies close with the triumph of virtue and the
punishment of vice.

And so these tales were appreciated by the simple audience,
who rejoiced at the ridicule with which the devil, their enemy,
was covered, and were filled with a sense of safety and of pride
by the thought that the machinations of Satan could in nowise
prevail against their patron saint.

And through the veil of legend they dimly saw the fears,
the articles of faith, the deeds of their remotest ancestors, as if
the events of long ago appeared through a rift in the mist of
ignorance. The spirit of legend was in their minds, handed
down to them by their forefathers like a hereditary instinct.
They loved it because in their native shrewdness they felt that
it was alive and human, because it described places familiar to
them, and because it told of dangers and struggles which
formed a part of their own lives.

The Cervin itself often appeared in the legends ; all these
stories seemed to be its offspring and to hover still about its
mysterious rocks. But modern life and countless modern ideas
invaded the valley by the roads that were now so easy for the
traveller, and a blast of positivism withered for ever the primi-
tive flora ; legend s last hour had struck, even at this height.

When the first shepherds of Breuil had thought that they

66 THE MATTERHORN

knew more than the Wild Man, and had offended him, he had
disappeared. And so it befell with the demon of the Cervin :
when no longer believed in, he departed. The winged dragons
turned to stone in the depths of their caverns ; the timid fairies,
who had found their last refuge in these places, vanished slowly,
reluctantly, from these haunts, where they had lived so peace-
fully ; but, as they went, they lighted up the valley once more
with a last glimmer of truest poetry.

To us late comers it is rarely vouchsafed to catch a glimpse
of this beauty. Knowledge of the ancient stories grows gradu-
ally less ; so also the old style of dress, the tail coal, and the
breeches, tight at the knee, have disappeared ; they were relics
of the previous century which had long survived in this corner
of the earth whither the fashions come fifty years late.

One single thing still remains: the dialect, the fine, vigorous,
Vahornein patois, the pride of the valley. There are still a few
who believe in the demons of the Cervin, but they conceal their
belief in their hearts, being almost ashamed to believe. Once
only, being with a young guide on the Col du Lion, whilst we
watched dense mists rising from the chasm of Tiefen Matten,
as from an enormous seething cauldron below, and threateningly
enveloping the flanks ol the Cervin, 1 heard the guide exclaim,
" J'avais bien dit que là bas il y avait les bacans ! " He meant
evil spirits. That terrible scene conjured up visions of a
malignant power in his untutored mind; and I myself, under
the spell of that simple man, who was simple indeed but stronger
than I, felt my blood run cold, as if I myself believed. And
this showed me how easy it was for the wonderful phenomena
of nature to have been attributed by these primitive-minded
men to maleficent forces against which it was necessary for the
saints to descend with their miracles.

From that height, whence a single glance takes in all the
peaks in the valley, and whence they all seem huddled close
together, it is easy to understand the story of the three hermits
who, standing each on a different summit, had agreed to say a

THE THREE INNS

prayer each day at the same moment, and threw over to each
other their single hatchet for splitting their wood.

Up there, where the Theodul Pass seems so near to the
green pastures of the Jomein. we can understand the birth of

the legend of a mysterious city which once stood on the pass,
among flowering meadows, and is now buried under the ice.

The Abbé Gorret calls his fellow Valtorneins " le peuple le
plus casanièrement nomade qu'il ma été donne de connaitre."
And indeed, while they spent three-quarters of the year in
wandering about, they dearly loved their native soil, owing to

THE MATTERHORN

the innate desire of the mountain folk to possess the land, whichd
is here more precious than elsewhere; instinctively they love»
the house where they were born, because it received
sheltered them in the season of foul weather ; in fine weather!
the whole valley was their home, a short valley which can bel
traversed from end to end in ten hours' walking. Hut in the!
course of those ten hours you pass from the warm, sunlit vine- I
yards of Chambave to the windy pastures of the Eura ; fromj
Chàtillon, where the oleanders bloom and the Italian thymej
may be picked, to Hreuil. where the edelweiss grows, and to thtis
Theodul, where the Ranunculus glacialis and the sparse lichei
of Iceland cling to the rocks.

And in their constant wanderings up and down the valleyj
in their alternation of diverse kinds of labour and of cultivation^
the mountaineers of Val Tournanche gained a more open min4
and wider knowledge than the stay-at-home inhabitants of the
neighbouring valleys. In their lives was the motion whichl
makes clear and pure the rushing waters of the torrent; the I
curse of cretinism rarely visited them ; '4 whilst it prevailed to-|
a .sad extent in the other tributary valleys of the Dora.

Of great utility also was the continual passing to and fro ofj
people from other places, who for purposes of trade or rellgiouaV
motives crossed the Theodul Pass, which was then known
the Mont Cervin Pass, or simply as the Mont Cervin.'S Thesa
were cattle-dealers from the valley of Viège, who were wonQ
every autumn to drive herds of cows and oxen across the pas^
to the fairs in the Aosta valley ; these parties were guided by»
certain men, named Jo.seph Taugwalder and Peter Burchner.j
who were thoroughly familiar with the col ; '^ or they were meta
of Ayas and of Valtournanche, loaded with great wineskins;
who crossed the pass to Praborne, in order to sell the Valdosiai
wine, which was much prized there ; and it is said that, on theii
arrival at Praborne. the skins were not always as swollen na
as heavy as when they left Paquier.'?

They were smugglers who cro.ssed the snows of the

THE THREE INNS

Mont Cervio into Piedmont, with their bricolla full of tobacco,
coffee, chocolate, the finest English musHns,'^ Swiss watches,
and the famous gunpowder of Bern ; or pilgrims who faced
the hardships of the road or the dangers uf the glaciers on
their way to Sion, the holy city of the Valais, and to Einsiedeln,
in Canton Schwyz, to fulfil a vow at the sanctuary of Our Lady
of the Hermits, to whom the Valdostans, and especially the
Valturneins, owed an ancient allegiance.

Old men relate that in the great ice plateau, which lies
below trie pass on the Swiss side, at a place called Tour de
Gomba, there was a miraculous echo. When the way was
doubtful, owing to thick mist, the pilgrims would join their
voices together in order to ask the saint whether they were
on the right road. If they had gone wrong, however little.
the saint would be silent. When he answered they were safe.

It has been believed that the pass was easier formerly
than it is in our time. '9 We cannot know of all the victims
whom the glacier claimed in past centuries, but it is certain
that the passage of people who were unacquainted with the
place, and were poorly provisioned and clad, cannot have
been unattended by disasters and misfortunes. In the village
they told of a party of muleteers lost on the pass. A mule,
which arrived alone with its load at Zermatt, made the dis-
aster known, but no one of the party was ever seen again.
The traveller, Hirzel-Escher, was shown the place where a
Piedmontese noble, a fugitive in 1S20 owing to political
offences, had met with his death amid the ice. They related
how in 1S25 a merchant with his horse disappeared for ever
in the glacier, and they regretted most of all that he had with
him ten thousand francs. ^°

Hinchliff, passing over the glacier in 1855, discovered the
sad remains of a party which had undoubtedly peri.shed many
years before. Scattered about over an area of eight or ten yards
they found shoes of the kind worn by peasants, and pieces of
rough woollen stuff ; a sack protruded partially from the snow ;

70 THE MATTERHORN

bleaching human bones lay strewn abont in all directions,
mingled with the skeletons of mules and horses. They had
been surprised by a snowstorm while trying to cross the pass,
and had perished of cold and exhaustion.-' The description
Hinchliff gives of the attitudes in which he found the corpses
of some of these victims makes us think with horror of their
sufferings. "Guides and all," writes the English climber,
" looked at this melancholy sight in perfect silence ; no one
knew anything of the lost party, nor had our guides ever heard
of their bones being there. What a .scene of suffering must
have been here ! " These were the first unknown victims of
the Cervin. Their bones disappeared by degrees, buried in the
snow, engulfed or swept away by the glacier ; other parties
were preparing to cross the pass, ignorant or careless of the
others' fate.

At Praborne they would muster in large numbers, fifteen or
twenty, with horses and mules, to attack the pass ; even at the
present day the old men of Vallournanchc remember those
assemblies of rude Valaisans. who were mostly guided by a
certain Brantschen,=^ an old man who knew the pass well and
was the only one who could speak a few words of French, and
such French !

They took their provisions with them, and, in the kitchen
that was lent them by the parish priest of Paquier, they boiled
their salt meat together with a few unpeeled potatoes, and this
made the civilised Valtorneins smile. On the way back, if
the sky was cloudy, they caused themselves to be accompanied
up to the pass by men of Valtournanche ; these were the
earliest guides. But their mothers and their sisters wept at
seeing them depart, and invoked the mercy of Heaven for
them. At that time the guide's calling did not exist in the
valley, nor did that of innkeeper. The only refuge for way-
farers was the priest's house, the cure.

About 1850 a worthy man, the Rev. Bore, was chief priest
at Paquier ; he was one of the many simple mountain priests

THE THREE INNS 71

who fulfil their mission of instructors and consolers in the high-
level villages. Poor amongst the poor, mentally superior to
their neighbours, often men of culture and lovers of study and
of books, sometimes men of genius, they spend their life of
self-sacrifice, stifling the secret rebellion of their souls, in
alleviating the sufferings of others. But they too are sons
of the mountains, and therefore their modest Alpine parish
is dear to them ; they love their flock because they know how
kindly is its nature for all its roughness ; they live obscure in
the healthy air of their native valley, and, when their mission
is at an end, they will rest at the foot of the church tower, and
a small head-stone will record their names in that churchyard
which they have looked upon from their window every day of
their lives. 23

A great affection, almost a feeling of jealousy, has always
bound the Valdostan clergy to their own Aosta, where they
are educated, and to their mountains where they are born
and where they fulfil their mission. It is largely due to them
c|.nd to their conservative instinct, that the ancient tongue, the
French, is preserved in the valley. ^^

I do not dislike the tenacity with which the Valdostans
cling to the speech of their forefathers ; it pleases me because
they are none the less true and ardent Italians ; they adhere
to it in the pride of an ancient people, jealous, like islanders,
of the purity of their race. For them it is not the language
of France, but their own, the tongue which was spoken of old
in the castles of their Counts, and which has been heard for
centuries past under the arches of their humble churches
and of their simple schools, an emblem of uninterrupted
traditions and of immemorial fealty to a royal race. It is
the shield with which the modern Salassi protect themselves
from the onslaught of modern corruption.

Italian mountaineering owes a great debt to the Valdostan
priests of that period. Some of them had ascended the peaks
at a time when mountaineering was as yet unknown to us ;

n THE MATTERHORN

afterwards when it came into being and made known to all

that the climbing of mountains had its intellectual and moral
uses, those sturdy, untiring priests, who were already inured
to hardships and familiar with the mountains and their diffi-
culties, were more ready than all other men to further the
j^ood work.

Perhaps it afforded them an unexpected comfort, a new
occupation for their monotonous lives, a thrilling pleasure which
was not forbidden them by their austere rules, a pure and lofty
ideal in harmony with their faith ; perhaps they were filled
with a sense of noble pride because the men of the plains had at
last learnt to luve their mountains. And in some of them was
kindled a noble enthusiasm for that ideal, which became a part
of their lives ; their names are written in letters of gold among
the first of Italian mountaineers : Canon Carrel of Aosta, the
Abbé Chamonin of Cogne, the Abbé Chanoux of the Little
St. Bernard.-S

But the chief priest, Bore, was a stranger to these new
enthusiastic ideals ; during the twenty-six years he spent at
Paquier his efforts were wholly devoted to his modest but
holy mission. Those who knew him say that his was a head
of iron and a heart of gold, that he was inflexible but gentle,
rough but full of kindness at the core. He was the cause of
the rebuilding of the priest's house and of the church, and he
himself with his strung arms joined in the work among his
parishioners ; -^ and he restored the fine tower which makes the
view of the village so picturesque ; he established schools in
almost all the sections of the Commune, and when he died
(1858) there was not one child in the neighbourhood that did
not know how to read and write.

An unpublished autobiography of a candidate for admission
to the seminary at Aosta describes to us the elements of the
teaching in Valtournanche. It was in 1846; the youth,
destined by his parents, simple mountain folk, for the Church,
was admitted by the stern parish priest to his house, in order

THE THREE INNS 73

to begin his studies under the guidance of the vicaires cane.
The latter, after following the trade of a chimney-sweep in
Piedmont, had found his vocation in the seminary, and was full
of willingness to impart to his rustic pupil what little he himself
knew. I let the young student speak for himself: —

** S'étant assure que je savais déjà passablement lire, le
vicaire me fit de suite attaquer simultanément les deux gram-
maires, la fran^aise et la latine. La grande difficulté était que
ni Tun ni lautre nous n avions les livres requis pour ^éla. Le
cure réussit à nous déterrer dans sa bibliothèque ses vieux livres
des premieres classes ; nous voilà done définitivement enfoncés
dans rétude. Le papier coùte, se salit vite et dure peu ; il faut
aviser et chercher à s en passer. Nous finissons par découvrir
une belle pierre calcaire, au grain très fin et onctueux, et voilà
plus d'une semaine à lui donner le poli voulu. Entre chaque
legon, frotte la pierre. Pour encre une decoction de toutes
les baies noires que je rencontre dans les buissons. Une
enorme piume daigle me dura trois ans.

" C'est un riant souvenir maintenant quand je me rappelle
que quatre à (jinq fois par jour je devais aller à la fontaine pour
laver mon Cahier et ensuite le faire sécher, détruire mon devoir
aussitòt accompli."

This boy, who wrote his Latin essay on a stone with an
eagle s feather for a pen, was destined later to write on the
rocks of the Cervin, together with other worthy comrades, one
of the finest pages in the history of Italian mountaineering ; he
was Amé Gorret.

Other boys were growing up at the same time in the little
classes of Valtournanche. I like to think of the future con-
querors of the Cervin seated on small benches in the humble
room that was used for a school, unruly and impatient for the
lesson hour to come to an end, that they might run out and
give chase to the squirrels in the trees, or set snares for the
birds ; paying more attention to shepherding the flocks on
the pastures, or to watching for the marmot near its hole,

74 THE MATTERHORN

than to the catechism or the grammar lesson on the narrow
benches. I can imagine their leader, a Carrel, already restless,
already a bersagliere, the author of all the naughty tricks
played in and out of the school, of all the excursions up the hills,
of the snow-fights, the terror of masters and school -fellows. A
Bich, calm, thoughtful, and docile, a Maquignaz, taller and
thinner than his comrades, more silent and more serious ; slow
to learn, but having once learnt it, knowing his lesson well-
Standing before them, with his terrible cane in his hand, a
rough master who warned them that if they were not good the
Cervin would devour them.

At that time the Cervin was nought but an ogre that
threatened the farmer with storms and the hunter with snow ;
no one of those children dreamt that man could ascend it ;
they knew that not even the chamois ventured on to the Becca.
The education of the future heroes progressed on primitive
lines ; stripes, ear-puUings, an occasional application of the
master's toe — these methods were those then in vogue in all the
schools in Fiedmoiu, and, after all, they were not so bad, for
they were the ones which fashioned soldiers for the redemption
of Italy, and guides for the conquest of the Cervin. " If you
are not good the Cervin will devour you ! " the master would
repeat, as he raised his threatening cane. And the mountain
did in truth devour some of them : it claimed the whole soul,
held them in bondage all their lives, made them famous and
then — slew them.

Paquier. — Murray, in his Guide Book of 1852, writes that
there was no hotel at Valtournanche, but that the cure took in
travellers, ladies as well as gentlemen ; five or six francs were
the oboi that it was customary to leave him for bed, supper, and
breakfast. The first hotel in the valley was then a priest's
house. ^? It appears, however, that the parish priest Bore
was more Inclined to receive the muleteers of Praborne than
strangers, who were more exacting, owing to the comfortable

THE THREE INNS

life they were accustomed to and the fatigue of the long
journey. And Murray, in his '54 edition, comments on the
good priest's hospitality in these terms : " Very bad accom-
modation."^^

Alfred Wills, who subsequently became one of the foremost
English climbers, supplies such discouraging particulars of the

r VA LTOUHS ANCHE.

rudimentary simplicity of these lodgings that 1 do not venture
to quote them. Fortunately the parish priest Bore remained in
ignorance of these unflattering expressions concerning his
house and himself.

We should take into consideration that these strangers,
mostly Englishmen, were some of the most civilised and of the
richest of the men of the nineteenth century, and that they came

76 THE MATTERHORN

up among these humble people, who were still leading a life of
almost medieval simplicity ; they were accustomed to the most
scrupulous northern cleanliness and they came to a district
where soap was not looked upon as an article of prime
necessity. Since that time the Italians have made much
progress, and, on the other hand, the English of the present
day, being more accustomed to travel and to the discomforts of
Alpine life, are more easily satisfied ; but those ancestors of
theirs, men of unbending type, tenacious of their habits, who
brought with them all the needs and prejudices of their
civilisation, must have been ill at ease in the wretched beds
at the priest's, or in the shepherds' hayloft ; the rough grissini
at the Paquier cure's, and the jfolden polenta at the hamlet of
Breuil, cannot have llattered their palates. This explains the
outbursts of indignation which appear in the Guides and other
books of that period.

But in 1855 King='J finds in Valtournanche a little house,
which had been recently fitted up as a hotel, entitled the " Mont
Cervin," where the landlord does his best to please his guests
with the modest resources at his disposal, and the wine is good.
So says King, It may seem childish to pass in review the
opinions of travellers on the goodness of the wine and the
greater or less degree of cleanliness of the lodgings in
Valtournanche, but when a reliable man like Mr. King
arrives, and tells us that in that year a good little hotel has
been opened, we feel, as it were, a sense of pride, and our
Italian hearts swell, unaccustomed as they are to gentle words
of praise. The hotel was kept by Nicholas Pession, and
belonged to him and his brothers. King relates thus his
impressions : '• Our beds were shown us in the two corners of
the room used as a salie à mattger — one a berth in the wall, as
in a Highland cabin ; but they answered all the purpose, and,
moreover, were tolerably clean." And, last of all, the bill was
most moderate ; it is well to record this fact, and point it
out to hotel keepers of the present and the future ; one franc

THE THREE INNS ^^

for each bed ; four dinners, four suppers, breakfast, two dozen
eggs, beer, &c., eight francs in all !

It is true, alas! that not all the travellers who came after-
ward^ took away with them so favourable an impression, and
that Hinchliff in the same year found the hotel dirty,3o and that
in the following year a Mr. Longman described it as the most
miserable of hotels, 3> and considered that the host had the
appearance of a real Italian bandit. Poor honest Pession !
The same illusion which made the sky appear of a deeper blue
to the stranger who approached the Alpine frontiers of Italy,
showed him a brigand in the garments of a peaceful innkeeper.
Some, who stopped and spent the night there, took the
precaution to bar the door of their room with their alpenstocks,
and others, again, passing by, declared that only dire necessity
would induce them to cross the threshold.32 No matter :
Valtournanche had its inn as had Zermatt.33

This was the first step forward ; the inn was d^tined to
progress gradually, the landlord to learn better the art of
making himself attractive to the travellers who began to
frequent the valley,34 till the exacting Murray 35 Guide Book
was able to declare it ** homely, but clean and cheap " ; the
highest praise, this, for an Alpine hotel, as we understand
them. And from thenceforward the inn, under its altered
name of the Monte Rosa Hotel, 3^ had also its humble place in
the great story of the Cervin.

In the modest room which did duty as salle à manger in the
Monte Rosa Hotel, a few years ago I was waiting for fine
weather. At the present day it is all newly done up, but then
it was the old historic room, papered with blue-flowered wall-
paper, the same the first comers had known ; there, too, on the
small chimney-piece stood the two little painted plaster cats
who, with their round, unmoving eyes, had watched the first
admirers of the Cervin go by ; two weeping willows, made
of ornamental green paper, framed a mirror covered with
pink gauze, which prevented both indiscreet flies from con-

78 THE MATTERHORN

taminating the glass and the vain traveller from gazing at
himself therein.

It was raining in the valley, the mountain summits were
covered with snow. With my forehead pressed against the
panes of the little window, I was watching the dismal mists
come floating up the valley ; it was a day of failure, one of
those which make one hate the mountains. I was thinking
sadly of the time 1 was losing, of the climbing projects that
were becoming illusory ; there were no newspapers, and a few
old volumes, loose and torn, among them the first numbers
of the Alpine Club Bullelin. which I knew almost by heart,
formed the only resources of the library.

On a plank, near the cleared dinner-table, was an old
collection of loose leaves ; it was like an account book, or a
washerwoman's list. Driven by my boredom I opened it: a
fragrance of cheese, wine, and tobacco arose from those loose,
crumpled pages. It was the old visitors' book, and on the first
page was the inscription, written in large letters by a local
scribe : " Noms et prénoms de Messieurs les Voyageurs qui
passent à Valtournanche pour traverser le Col St. Théodule
pour Ayas, les Cimes Blanches, Valpelline, &c. Dés le 17
Aoiìt, 1S60." I thought Ht first it was one of the ordinary
commonplace hotel books, which are all alike :

" Exactly ! page on page of gratitude
For breakfast, dinner, supper, and the view ! " 3'

The usual praises of the cooking, of the host's courtesy, of the
moderation of the bill ; the usual expressions of admiration into
which the most matter-of-fact man breaks out before the beauties
of the mountains ; when for the first, and perhaps the only time
in his life, he has felt, after dinner, that he is a poet.

But something worthy of respect was discoverable in those
old pages, for all their homeliness ; on the crumpled sheets,
written with ink yellowed by age, the words had acquired the
status of antiquity ; by degrees I was led to recall those dead

THE THREE INNS 79

words to lite, and I found myself, not unmoved, in the presence
of some of those unexpected revelations which occasionally
flow from a simple name or a date. I remarked first of all that
the Cervin was not mentioned in the inscription ; at that date it
was not yet spoken of in Valtournanche.38 In the first pages
the visitors' names were written in columns, in excellent order,
without remarks or comments ; they are mostly Englishmen's
names. Then by degrees the travellers* pen became less
reserved, and it was curious to observe how the statements
written down by one were often corrected or derided by him
who followed in the register ; there were ironical comments,
and emphatic denials one day of that which another man had
emphatically affirmed the day before ; outbursts of international
antipathies, or of antipathies between travellers of the same
nationality who did not know one another and were destined to
follow one another about the world from hotel to hotel, without
perhaps ever meeting or understanding one another.

One climber came down from the Theodul and ingenuously
described his impressions ; another followed and commented
thus : ** Peut-on étre monte si haut et en étre redescendu si
bete ì " But on one point all are agreed, and that was in their
unqualified praise of the eggs à la reine, a dish dating from the
foundation of the hotel, and vaunted in every European
language on every page of the book. ** Chef d'oeuvre ! "
exclaimed one, and another declared it a ** plat inimitable
qu'on ne peut faire qu'à Valtournanche."

But among the commonplaces of these outbursts there stood
out the respected and welcome names of those foreign moun-
taineers whom I had learnt to know and to admire through
their writings and their expeditions : the signatures of Bonney,
of Adams Reilly, of Barnard the painter of the Cervin, of
Tyndall, Craufurd Grove and Hawkins, of Leslie Stephen, of
Mathews and Morshead, of F*reshfield and Mummery. They
all came to admire our Cervin and some to ascend it.

Behold the name of Edward Whymper ; he came by for

8o THE MATTERHORN

the first time on the 28th of August, i860, from Biona in the

Valpelline, on his way to Breuil. He was there again on the

27th of August ill the following year, and wrote in a firm, bold

hand the book " Edward Whymper, c-n route for the Matter-

hor " This was the expression of his faith. The resolute

man' pes were already high, but four years yet were to pass

before conquered. But immediately after his entry another

id, 1 Ì firm and noble than his. had written in the register

F^se s in English : "This gentleman is always attempting

" ' ; ' ' ' !is everybody because he fails

I his ' And another, full of envy, adds

n e went, and saw. and conquered."

; n like the satires and the insults which the

' n. iicd at the hero in his triumph, on his way

the Capitol.

At this point the interest in the book became most
poignant, as if an old man had been telling me tales of an
ancestor of mine whom he had known, for I now came upon
the names of the very few Italians who had come up here
during those years, when the very idea of mountaineering was
still unknown in Italy, and, among many names that were strange
to me, the following woke an echo in my heart, for they were
names of friends, and dear to me as such. In i860 there was
Count Csesar Merani, a Tuscan ; in 1861 Giovanni Barracco,4°
a Calabrian, who subsequently accompanied Quintino Sella
on the first Italian ascent of Monte Viso ; then a party of three
men of light and leading from Milan : G. Visconti Venosta, C.
Prinetti, and R. Bonfadini ; and further on the Abbé Benedetto
Rignon of Turin,*' and G. Battista Rimini, a topographer in
the Royal Corps of the General Staff of the Army, and one
of the first and most enthusiastic members of the Italian Alpine
Club.

It was not yet the habit of the Turinese to come and spend
the hot season in this valley ; so that while at Courmayeur and
Gressoney, where more progress had been made, the hotels

THE THREE INNS 8i

were, during those years, crowded with town dwellers who had
fled from the heat of the capital, the Valtournanche host but
rarely saw Italian travellers passing through ; it was only in
1865, the Cervin year, that their numbers increased. Evidently
the fame of Whymper s disaster and of Carrel's victory had
echoed even in our cities and attracted men curious to see the
bloodstained, glorious Cervin.

In the pages of the book, which were at first written in
foreign languages, notes in Italian now begin, and there
appear, alas ! only now the first sketches with which we,
natives of the land of art, rejoice to illustrate our enthusiasm.
In that year there appeared in the book the actors in the high
comedy of the Cervin. Felice Giordano, who came up to con-
test the victory with Whymper, wrote his name ; Amé Gorret
wrote his and those of his companions who planted the three-
coloured flag on the summit on the 17th of July .42 And as I
gazed upon those names, written immediately after the contest,
I was filled with an intense interest, a deep emotion, and the
names seemed to me to be redolent of all the pristine enthusiasm
of that day.

Ah ! Gorret s heart must have overflowed with joy when he
signed that page ! How sad must Giordano's have been when
he turned his face to the plain without having taken part in the
conquest ! I thought how, at the table where I sat, those brave
men met to celebrate the victory. I saw the Abbé drinking a
toast with the bersagliere, I heard the shots and paeans of joy
with which the Valtorneins greeted the good news ; the com-
monplace list which I held in my hands seemed to me a golden
book of glorious deeds, and the little room a sanctuary in which
the noble passions of those valiant men still hovered. A breath
of new life had blown down the valley from the Becca, and
caused the peaceful mountain folk of Valtournanche to thrill
with proud hopes.

But in that year the Matterhorn had overcome the Cervino ;
the Englishmen reached the summit three days before the

THE MATTERHORN

Italians ; the rival Praborne, thanks to the intelligent enterprise
of the Swiss, was about to become the great Zermatt, one of
the most important Alpine centres, to which travellers flock from
all parts of the world. Valtournanche remained lonely and quiet
in its grassy corner.

Ah! remain as thou art, small and obscure; then we who love
the mountains for the simplicity of the life we lead among them,
for the peace we find in their stern solitudes, will love thee the
more. The rude mountain dress befits thy modest aspect much
better than the rich garment of cities ; if the crowd comes not
to thee, do not stoop to the crowd ; live concealed among the
foliage of thy pine-trees. To thee is left thy Cervin, which thy
sons, and none other, have conquered.

And thou, ancient Monte Rosa Hotel, keep thyself as
thou wert known to the first ardent lovers of the Alps, as we,
their successors, see thee. Let not the cosmopolitan champagne
foam in thy glasses, In which the pure, unpretending white wine
of Asti has quenched the thirst of so many valiant guests. Pre-
serve thine (eufs à la reine, whose fame has been spread abroad
in all languages for half a century, and remain a typical Italian
inn, with the small outside staircase, In the old fashion, with
the shutters gaily painted green, and the wooden terrace from
which I had my first view of my Punta Bianca.43 Do not
suffer the removal from the little path near thy door of the
ancient log on which the guides and elders of the village come
to sit and smoke their pipes, and tell the simple tales of the
mountains.

Jomein. — -" Three miles higher still there stood the hamlet of
Brivldum, whose environs are rich In excellent pastures ; at the
present day there are also the huts of Brevil, which are only
habitable in the summer, and even then days are not so rare In
which men and beasts are surprised for a few moments by
Intense cold which causes sudden shivers. The old name of the
place, therefore, expresses very well the brivido (shivers) of the

THE THREE INNS 83

Tuscans, and the same word indicates the same idea and
sensation. "44 Thus wrote Durandi in 1804.

I will not concern myself with the correctness of this or
other suggested etymologies. 45 Nor will I inquire whether
the correct name be Breuil, as De Saussure always wrote it,
and as modern maps have it, or Breil, as the Chanoine Carrel
called it, and as the inhabitants of the valley pronounce it. It
is certain that when, fatigued by the steep ascent, we reach the
little plateau of Breuil, after emerging from the close valley, we
are met by a feeling of unwonted coolness, even in the hottest
days of summer ; the flat, open space is exposed to the winds of
the Cervin, the waters which flow over it bear with them the
cold draught of the mountain air, and the sight of the glaciers
close at hand helps to intensify the sensation of coolness ; the
traveller who is as yet unhardened hastens to wrap himself in
his shawl, while the climber quickens his step, rejoicing in his
heart because he has recognised the keen air of 7,000 feet ; and
already he sees afar, somewhat higher up, the smoking chimneys
of the well-known hospitable hotel, holding out promise of a
good supper.

But when De Saussure came, there was no hotel, and no
man could have predicted that so fine a one would have been
built up there, near the wretched hovels where the great
Genevese had received hospitality. ** Nous retrouvàmes au
Breuil," he writes in 1792, *' notre bon bote Erin, et notre petite
et mauvaise chambre sans lit, et sans fenétre, et toutes les
privations et les petites souffrances dont Taccumulation ne
laisse pas de causer beaucoup d ennui."

Equal hardships beset Brockedon, who came up in 1825,
and, while waiting to cross the Theodul, spent three days in bad
weather at the huts of the Jomein, which he calls the Mont
Jumont, and passed the nights on a wretched bed of insufficient
hay, which he shared with innumerable parasites, amid the
exhalations of the stable underneath, covered by a disjointed
roof through which filtered the starlight and the raindrops.

84 THE MATTERHORN

For food he had only three eggs, some milk, and black bread
that had been baked six months before. The worthy Mr.
Brockedon assisted the good woman, the hostess, to cook the
polenta, but did not taste the mess ; repugnance overcame
hunger.

At the present day the fumes of an exquisite cuisine, which
delight the nostrils and whet the appetite, are wafted up the
staircase of the Mont Cervin Hotel ; the weary climber finds a
hot bath ready and sleeps in a soft bed in a neat and cheerful
little room, and the telegraph affords communication between
this place, formerly so wild, and the civilised world. But here
also the beginning was humble and progress very slow.

Mr. King, who passed this way in 1855,46 relates that in the
chalets of Breuil one floor had been fitted up with simple
comforts ; there were two small rooms, with beds, a table and
a few benches, which afforded the traveller " as good a night's
quarters as a mountaineer ought to expect."

This was the so-called " Logement de De Saussure," done
up and embellished, and in an old journal of that year I find it
described as " Hotel récommandable d'Ambroise d'Hérin."
Certain victuals, in addition to the usual food of the mountain
folk, were obtainable at that time also at the Mtchellina, a
small house belonging to the Jomein pastures. However,
Chanoine Carrel wrote at that time : " Le Breuil est un séjour
charmant ; c'est fort regrettable qu'on ne puisse s'y loger. Mais
que les voyageurs se rassurent ; j'ai I'assurance que cette année,
1855, on y bàtira une modeste auberge confortable. Le plan
en est dressé et les engagements sont pris."

It was Signor Favre, of Aosta, who had this first inn*?
built among the pastures of the Jomein, and we immediately
find it mentioned with much approval in travellers' notes, under
the name of the Mont Jumont Inn, a name which was changed
two or three years later into the present one of Mont Cervin
Hotel. Mr. Cole48 writes thus about the little Alpine inn :
" Good food, good rooms, and great civility. What more could

THE THREE INNS 85

man desire at 6,600 feet above the sea, in the year of grace
1858?"

And Mr. Tuckett,49 who came past there in the following
year, rejoiced to find that a comfortable and hospitable house
had replaced the wretched huts which had been the only refuge
open to him four years before. Signor Favre's hotel-register
has been lost. 5^ I regret it immensely, because it would give
us a great store of valuable information about the first develop-
ment of mountaineering in this region ; we may deduce as
much from the fact that several important accounts of ascents,
which were published in the earliest volumes of the Alpine
Club Bulletin, were drawn from that register. There remains
to us the new visitors list, which bears the same relation to the
former one as the fashionable intelligence in a newspaper does
to the ancient songs of the troubadours. I have turned over
its pages a hundred times during the long days I have spent
waiting at the hotel, and I have found in it few things that
have made me think and many that have made me laugh ; but
those who wrote them are still living, and their modesty forbids
that I should quote in these pages passages from their prose or
poetry.

We shall meet with the Jomein again and again at every
stage of the Cervin's history : it was Whymper's and Tyndalls
starting-point for their attempts ; it was the scene of the pre-
parations for the Italian expedition. In my narrative that dear
name will recur on every page, as it recurs frequently and
lovingly to my memory. I still remember the little narrow
room, with its white plaster, as I saw it the first time I came, in
which a worthy woman with a scarf on her head served me with
the simple food that she herself had prepared.

One day I found that a fine dining-room, all panelled with
pitch-pine wood, had taken the place of the old room, and that
the first waiter's evening coat had appeared at the hamlet of the
Jomein. The hotel grew still larger, and the dining-room became
capable of holding two hundred guests. But notwithstanding

86 THE MATTERHORN

these improvements, the place has remained simple, the life
there keeps hearty, and free from the luxury of cities, which the
stern presence of the Cervin would not brook. In that place
one sole thought, one sole image impress themselves on the
minds of climbers and non-climbers : the great mountain, attrac-
tive but terrible, exhaustless themes for men's discourse, a
fascinating cynosure of all eyes, is a continual source of new
emotions. It seems as if every guest at the hotel looks upon
the Cervin as being in some measure his own, and feels a pride
in it like him who enjoys the familiar friendship of a great man.
And at break of day he hastens to see if the Cervin be visible :
when the Cervin smiles the whole hotel smiles ; when it dons
its gloomy covering of cloud a veil of sadness seems to descend
on all things.

Such unison of feeling naturally produces among the guests
a harmony which is rare in large hotels. The height and
isolation of the place helps to promote this union ; the Jomein
is 2,070 metres above the sea, a height at which Quintino Sella
wished that the conventional forms of civilised salutation should
be abolished. It is far from all inhabited centres ; the flower-
decked plateau on which the hotel stands is bounded on either
side by torrents which flow down, the one from the Theodul,
the other from the Cervin, and the little valleys in which they
run offer solitary nooks to lovers of quiet. In them there grow
modest and sweet little flowers like the white Alpine viola, the
mountain sempervivum with its golden corolla, and the curious
saponaria which covers the hottest slopes with its bright yellow
blossoms. In a few steps we reach the cover of the thick
pine-woods, whence, through the dark foliage, we see the white,
glistening glaciers ; while if we ascend a few hundred metres
we find ourselves on the wild, bare mountain-side, before a
boundless view of peaks and sky, and there, in the remote
solitude, we forget the hotel and our daily life.

Every now and then we see the arrival of parties of climbers
and guides from the neighbouring summits ; their faces bear the

THE THREE INNS 87

mask that the sun sets upon them in the high mountains ; they
have in their eyes a strange reflection of the distant horizon
they have seen on the heights, and their drawn features seem
still to show traces of the emotions they have felt. And the
whole hotel appears to thrill at their arrival.

For these reasons the Jomein is dear to me. I have
returned there continually for more than ten years, and each
time I discover new picturesque poetic nooks. Between me
and these spots a deep intimacy has grown up. When I am
far from them, and I think of the mountains, my thoughts
always end by straying to that place. I half close my eyes and
I see it once more ; and so, when I have a pencil in my hands
and absent-mindedly let it run over a blank page, the outline of
the Cervin appears.

Few places can claim so deep an affection from me as this,
which has given me so many hours of freedom and health, and
which is bound up with some of my dearest dreams of Alpine
life. There, in its quiet little rooms, I have mastered my hot
impatience at delay, I have cradled my hopes of an undertaking
long desired, I have tasted the undefiled joy of victory, I have
concealed the bitterness of a defeat which to-day is as dear to
me as a triumph. I have looked upon it as I came from the
city, from the bottom of the plateau of Breuil, a tiny spot at the
foot of the Cervin, and it has seemed to me a strong fortress
whence I could begin my campaign ; I have seen it from the
lofty summits of the mountains which surround it, a white point
barely visible, vertically under my feet, promising me rest after
the contest ; I have yearned for it during the long descent ;
I have seen from lofty bivouacs its light, lit for me, shining
down in the dark valley, as the lighthouse shines for the storm-
tossed mariner, and moving, as if to tell me that down there
some one was thinking of me as I wandered among the moun-
tains. . . .

I think I am suffering from home-sickness for the Jomein !

88 THE MATTERHORN

The St. Tkeodul. — One day as I was ascending to the
Theodul Pass, my guide, who had turned aside from the

ordinary way, found in the valley at the foot of the glacier two
small pieces of wood, rudely carved, one of which represented a
clenched hand in the act of clasping some object, and the other,
which fitted exactly into the empty space in the hand, was
shaped like a small carved staff. The guide, as he handed
them over to me, gave It as his opinion that they must have
belonged to the statue of a warrior grasping a sword.

ST. THEODUL H

From time to lime old relics, such as coins, and rusted arms
and horseshoes, are found on the way up to and at the top of
the pass. They are vestiges of travellers of yore, records of
unchronicled struggles, of hasty flights, of misadventures.
Therefore I examined those relics, in the hope of learning, from
the mode of their fashioning, to what period they belonged.
They must have been of very great antiquity, because the wood
was black and utterly rotten ; but as they had no artistic stamp
I was unable to decide whether they had been made five lustres
or five centuries before ; the ruder things of every age are all
alike. I put the two pieces of wood into my pocket, and kept

THE THREE INNS 89

them, owing to that feeling of respect that we have for those
things which contain a mystery ; but I thought no more about
them.

One day, as I was reading the narrative of Philibert Ama-
deus Arnod, bailiff of Aosta and judge of the Aosta district,
which was written in 1 69 1 , and discovered in the archives by
Luigi Vaccarone, I came across a passage in the midst of an
interesting description of the pass that turned my thoughts
again to the wooden hand : ** A la sommité Ton y trouve une
vieille et grossière statue de bois, appelée St. Theodule, que
Ton dit par lancienne tradiction avoir esté mise en ce lieu par
les Vallésiens soub un motif de veneration et de protection
envers le dit saint."

This was a revelation to me ; I looked for the old hand,-
fitted the other piece into it, and immediately saw the hand of
the Bishop of Sion, grasping his pastoral staff; there was no
doubt about it, I was in possession of the saint's left hand.
Some of the excrescences of the wood, though rotten, suggested
the shapes of the arabesques which usually adorned the upper
part of the crook of pastoral statues in the fifteenth and six-
teenth centuries. I rejoiced at the thought of being in the
presence of a fragment of the statue which the devout Valaisans
had carried up so many centuries before, and my fancy easily
conjured up the image as it must have been, with its cloak
and mitre, when, from its rude niche of heaped-up stones, it
solemnly gave its blessing to the ancient visitors to the Mont
Cervin. 5>

I had then a vision of the traffic on that remote pass as it
developed under the protection of the saint's image. Up from
the Val Tournanche came long lines of pilgrims, weary and
breathless from the steep ascent, on their way to Sion, the little
Valaisan Jerusalem ; bands of armed men came stealthily up
from both sides of the pass, and met and fought on the summit :
these were the men of the Viège valley and those of the Aosta
valley, who fitfully carried on their traditional contest. 52

90 THE MATTERHORN

Parties of Zermatt muleteers and Chàtillon merchants came

past ; they brought with ihetn long beams, with which they
bridged the crevasses; 53 all the way up the slope the air
resounded with the oaths that were hurled at the mules when
they sank into the snow under the weight of their load, and,
terrified, refused to proceed. A crowd of Germans came
across, who were sent by a bishop of Sion to colonise his fiefs
in the Lys valley and to found Gressoney ; on reaching the pass
they looked with curiosity on Italy, and on the neighbouring
heights behind which their new homeS"* lay concealed. Then
came the soldiers of Victor Amadeus II., who, with the assist-
ance of the Valaisans, hastily built a wall of defence to prevent
the brave Waldenses. who had been cast out of Piedmont, from
returning to their native valleys ; and that lofty outpost was
called the " Monservin Fort," 55

At times there came men walking with stealthy steps, ever
seeking cover and watching till the mist or the darkness should
grant them a favourable opportunity to cross the pass and
safely store their precious load, without being seen by other
men who stood motionless and waited for them hour by hour
behind a rock.

On the snows of the pass, before the holy niche, hands
already frost-bitten were stretched out despairingly towards the
image ; women weeping with the cold, amid the thick mists,
prayed that by its intercession a ray of sunshine might come to
lighten the perilous way ; hymns of thanksgiving arose from
the pilgrims when on their return they beheld from the heights
the green meadows of their native valley, and saw that the end
of their weary march was near at hand.

Amid the oaths of the muleteers, the prayers of the pilgrims,
and the challenges of the sentries of the Monservin, the
wooden saint, motionless within his humble niche, continued to
give his blessings, an emblem of peace on the desolate pass.

Then there were the long, lonely winters. How many of
these did the little statue pass up there ? Did some sacrilegious

THE THREE INNS 91

hand, impelled by the cruel cold, snatch it from its altar and
burn it like a common log of wood ? Or did a blast of wind,
which tore the niche asunder, hurl the saint into the air and
scatter his limbs on the glacier that swallowed them up and
carried them afar in its bosom ?

To us nought remains but the mysterious hand, broken and
blackened, grasping a splinter of the pastoral staff like the hilt
of a sword.

After the disappearance of the saint, a ray of new light is
shed upon the pass and brightens it. It is the pure light of
science ; the ruins of the rampart built by the fanatical
muleteers of Savoy are now used to prop the tent of
De Saussure ; the self-same stones serve to build a peaceful
shelter for the learned GeneveseS^ in his studies.

Among the guides who accompanied De Saussure on his
second journey round the Cervin was one J. Jacques Meynet,
of Valtournanche.57 It seems as if he took fire at the flame of
enthusiasm that burnt in De Saussure, and was from that day
forth bound by a special affection for that inhospitable region of
the pass, and that that flame was transmitted as an heirloom to
all his humble family. In fact, about sixty years later, one
J. Pierre Meynet, a nephew of the above, was on the pass
repairing the remains of De Saussure*s hut, when he found
some straw and certain coins still there.

Engelhardt, the constant visitor to Zermatt, is the first to
mention the fact; during his journey in 1851 he had been told
at Zermatt that a house was being built on the very top of the
pass. *• This piece of news," he writes, ** is too interesting not
to be mentioned : a native of Valtournanche, named M inette,
encouraged by the increasing number of visitors to these parts,
has lately put up a tent on the pass, and there visitors now find
unexpected refreshment and a refuge for the night."

It was also reported that an Englishman, of high standing
in the diplomatic service, whom Engelhardt believes to be no
other than Robert Peel, English ambassador to Switzerland

93 THE MATTERHORN

during the Sonderbund War, had spent a night up there, and
was so surprised and pleased at the hospitaHty he met with.
that he gave his host a twenty franc piece, and promised to
lend him six thousand more if he built a house up there.58
Whether or not the worthy Minette received Sir Robert Peel's
money is not known, and the Vallorneìns never believed that
he did. The humble architect of the Theodul remained as poor
as he was before, with no other resources than his own arms and
those of his wife, a worthy woman of Zermatt, who shared his
labours and his hopes.

The travellers who ascended to the pass marvelled to find
on its highest point, in a place that was but ill protected by a
few rocks protruding from the glacier, that wretched little tent,
all patched and repaired, and, under the tent, the man and his
wife who served them with good bread, cheese, a glass of
cognac, or a certain wine that was as sharp and as light as the
air on the pass. And, while the woman busied herself in their
service, the man would point out to them a rude stone building
barely begun ; it was his daily task, the aim of his life to
complete it ; it was to be a hotel with four well-closed little
rooms, and beds, and it was to be called the " Hotel Bouquetin."

All through the summer this courageous couple braved,
under their frail canvas shelter, the wind, the cold, and the
blizzard, at 3,300 metres above the sea. Whenever their
modest stock of provisions was exhausted the old man made
his way down to Valtournanche, or to Chàtillon, to replenish it,
leaving his wife to guard the tent alone on the wind-swept pass.
Mr. Wills, who found Meynet up there in 1852, describes him
to us : he was an old man of lofty stature, sound of limb,
stiuight as a pine-tree. His bronzed countenance, furrowed by
the hand of time, his vivacious grey eyes, his piercing glance,
his skull which protruded as if carved in wood, his long grey
beard that fiowed down to his chest, and a certain gravity of
bearing, gave him an appearance of dignity and strength, so
that he seemed like the wild monarch of that desert. A long,

THE THREE INNS 93

ragged grey smock reached down below his knees, and a strange
goat-skin cap covered his head ; he seemed another Robinson
Crusoe on his desert isle. He spoke excellent French, and
his conversation and his ideas were far superior to those
usually pertaining to men of his condition.S9 And when some
traveller showed an interest in him, he opened his heart and
poured forth his enthusiasm for the glories of his pass, and
described in glowing terms the wondrous sights he enjoyed up
there, and proclaimed aloud that by building a refuge for those
who could not otherwise have viewed those sublime scenes of
nature, he had shown himself a benefactor to the human race.
And then he would humbly ask for a contribution towards the
construction of his house on the snow ; it was not, he said, the
greed for gain that impelled him, but the wish to make known
the beauties of a sunrise on his pass. ** Gentlemen," he would
say, '* I work for humanity ! " and he told how he purposed to
walk about the world, to London, to Paris, on a pilgrimage
collecting funds for his undertaking. He must have been an
oddity in the completest sense of the word, and a man of great
intelligence. The old men of Valtournanche remember him
still.

He had made some study of Latin, was acquainted with
the laws of prosody, and was wont to adorn his speech with
classical quotations. His life is full of strange mysteries; no
man knows why he abandoned his studies in their midst ; he
did a little of all things ; he was for a few years schoolmaster at
Paquier, he was engaged in commerce with some of his friends ;
but it appears that neither trade, nor teaching, nor his specu-
lations in building in the high Alps were profitable to him,
because he was generally penniless. Poor dreamer! His ideas
were in strong contrast with those of his fellow-citizens, who
were less excitable and more practical ; and yet he belonged to
the same breed, he possessed their gifts of self-denial and self-
respect, he was a symbol of their rude idealism, their natural
and unconscious love of the beauty of the mountains, he

94 THE MATTERHORN

embodied their timid hopes of a happier destiny for their
valley.

From time to time such strange men appear among the rude
peasants ; had they been born among educated people they
would perhaps have been poets and artists ; up in the
mountains they are looked upon as visionaries, as harmless
madmen, at whom children point their finger, and whose strange
doings are related in the rustic village assemblies for two or
three generations.

He was rarely seen in the village ; he would descend to get
provisions, and then return to his hermitage, where, wrapped in
the peace of the lofty glacier, he would dream of the future.
He came before his time ; had he lived twenty years later, he
had perhaps become another Seiler of Zermatt. But. modest
though he be, he counts for something in the valley's progress ;
he too has a right to a humble place among the worshippers
and the prophets of the Cervin. Without having shared the
heroic inspiration that shortly after was breathed upon Carrel,
he foresaw the day when the multitude should come over the
pass, proclaiming the wonders of the mountains and bowing
low before the majesty of the Cervin. Like all the pioneers,
he did not see the fulfilment of his dream. One fine morning
the good Meynet departed from his valley, leaving his stone
house on the col incomplete and roofless, and never returned to
gaze from that spot on the glories of the sunrise. The
strangest surmises were made concerning his disappearance ;
some said he had been robbed and slain by brigands, others
that he was roaming about the world preaching the beauty of the
Theodul ; others said other things that it skills not to repeat.

" The harmless and adventurous enthusiast has disap-
peared," exclaims Wills, on his return to the pass some time
after, "and the cabin, in the midst of the glacier, remains
as he left it, and will remain so until the violence of the storm
has prostrated its walls, or some successor shall be found to
inherit the old man's enthusiasm and love of nature."

THE THREE INNS 95

The successor came, and he was again a Meynet.

The old J. Pierre, before leaving his native land, had made
over the possession of the Theodul to his cousin Ant. Francois
Meynet, a notary of Aosta, and son to the J. Jacques who had
accompanied De Saussure ; and, in the deed of sale, dated
December 28, 1852, are written these solemn words: ** A
cabin which the vendor, animated by sentiments of humanity,
has had the excellent and daring idea of building for the
purpose of harbouring travellers."

The new owner caused the hut to be covered with a roof,
added a small wooden hut hard by, and entrusted the whole to
the care of his brother, J. Baptiste.^ Thus those who passed
by in 1855 found another greybeard there, another enthusiastic
and eccentric Meynet, who extended hospitality to travellers
and expounded to them the beauties of the Alpine scenery.
The spirit of the old Minette lived again in his successor.^'

The tradition of the ancient founder was carried on. The
new greybeard delighted to relate to his guests the story of his
campaigns in Napoleon s army, in which he had served under
Marshal Junot. He opened his heart to Mr. Hinchliff, dis-
closing all his paternal pride in his two sons who were fighting
on Crimean battlefields, and, drawing some excellent wine from
a small cask that was concealed in the wall, he insisted on the
Englishman's drinking with him to the success of the allied
armies ; and the Englishman and the Piedmontese fraternised
up there at 3,300 metres above the sea, thinking of their fellow-
countrymen fighting side by side in a distant land.

That must have been a great day for the good Meynet —
on whom Hinchliff there and then jestingly conferred the
title of Count of the St. Theodul — one of those rare moments
which made up to him for his long hours of frozen solitude.

A feelinsf of deep sympathy is awakened in us when we
read these unimportant records of Alpine life in simpler times,
when the innkeeper was a peasant somewhat more intelligent,
and the guide a mountaineer somewhat bolder than the rest.

96 THE MATTERHORN

Neither existed as yet professionally, and the traveller who
came more frequently into contact with the rude inhabitants
of the mountains, and who was not as yet separated from them
by that kind of interpreter, the modern hall porter of the
large hotel, took an interest in them and their way of life much
greater than at the present day.

It is this community of life with the natives of the Alps
which lends such beauty to the writings of De Saussure and
the climbers of the good old times. At the present time
accounts of Alpine expeditions contain other ideas, other
conceptions of noblest import, which were then undreamt of ;
but those other things are no longer there, and it is a sad
loss because they were so full of beauty !

It is well worth while at the present day to record the
struggles, the hopes, the humble resources and the modest
joys of those early innkeepers on the high mountains, because
the record helps to broaden the minds of modern Philistines,
who, when they arrive in panting crowds on the pass, consider
, it a matter of course that there should be a house to harbour
them, and cry out if the bread be stale, or if the grog be not
ready for their refreshment. Let these gentry think of De
Saussure, who spent three days and three nights on the pass
before the hotel existed ; let them think of old Minette and his
brave wife, who spent three long months in every year up
there under a miserable tent, for the good of humanity.

Baptiste was succeeded in 1857 by his son, J Augustin, in
the " government " of the Theodul. The testimonials written
at that time in the visitors' book of the hotel on th e pass by
certain Valtournanche friends are full of enthusiasm for
J. Augustin 6^ and his brave sisters. It would seem that
the Valtorneins were beginning to see that the visionary
Meynet was right.

Travellers came up to the pass each year in greater
numbers; the rush to the mountains had begun; ^3 waves
of travellers broke over Zermatt, and the spray was hurled

THE THREE INNS 97

up as far as the pass. The worthy Meynet must have been
well pleased — not, indeed, that the hotel yielded much profit,
because the carriage of fuel and provisions to so great a height
was a costly matter and the season was short ; but thenceforth
the Theodul was much frequented and the evenings were
cheerful.

When business was most flourishing and the hotel increasing
its custom by leaps and bounds, we see the rise of another
dynasty, that of the Pessions, who laid claim to the lordship
of the Theodul. With reference to the contest between the
Meynets and the Pessions for the possession of that barren
islet of rock, there appeared for the first time in our Alpine
literature the question of the ownership of glaciers ; ^4 the law
stretched its arm up to that height, where nature had seemed
to be superior to human jurisdiction and the civil code to have
renounced its sway.

The Pession family, who owned an ** alp " beside the
glaciers of the pass, claimed possession, showing an extract
from the land-register which indicated Switzerland as the
boundary of their *'alp." The matter was brought before
the court and was settled by a compromise, according to which
the Pessions paid for the improvements, and the Meynets gave
up the ** county " of the Theodul to the Pessions, who, in
partnership with the Perruquets and others, hold it still.^5

Parallel with the history of the early innkeepers runs- the
equally modest one of the first guides. The guides, as we
understand them, did not yet exist in the valley ; they were
men who showed the way, stout carriers of baggage, mostly
jovial fellows who chatted, smoked, and . . . drank. The few
travellers who came to Paquier before 1848 were sometimes
forced to wait whole days at the priest's before a guide — and
such a guide! — was found and brought to them. He had
perchance that very instant put off his smuggler's pack ; it
was all one to him to drive the Zermatt herds and the mules
of Valdostan merchants over the snows of the pass, or to drag

98 THE MATTERHORN

the unpractised climber on his way. There was no question
of roping on the glacier ; the iron-shod stick was an article
of luxury.

At Paquier and in its neighbourhood those who were
thoroughly conversant with the way over the Theodul Pass
could be counted on the fingers of one hand. It was called
■■ traversing the Mont Cervin," and was described as most
dangerous to those strangers who desired to make the attempt ;
not one of the guides would have ventured on the pass alone
with the traveller for all the money in the world ; at least two
were required to cross the glacier of "La Rouièse," as they
called it, and if the weather was not fine they would not
start.

Brockedon was made aware of this when he was obliged,
owing to a slight fall of snow, to stop two days and two nights
in the inhospitable quarters of the " Mont Jumont," because his
guide. Jean Baptiste Pession, insisted on waiting fora caravan
of mules to come up from Valtournancbe, so that they might cross
the pass together ; and, as the muleteers failed to arrive, he
finally procured a second guide.

On the way up to the pass Pession sought to hearten
his weary traveller with these encouraging words : " Be of
good cheer, sir ! No man can stop here and live " ; a thing to
make the bravest shudder. When they reached the pass the
second guide, a Meynet (Pierre Antoine), to amuse him, told
him that Hannibal had crossed the Mont Cervin ; that the
insignificant ruins they saw there were walls that the Cartha-
ginian general had built ; and in support of this he quoted
Livy and Polybius ! They must have been strange characters,
these primitive guides ! It seems to me that in their humble
local pride they must have treated their " Monsieur " with
a certain rustic arrogance and with a simple familiarity which
could not fail to recommend them to the traveller, andto afford
the latter a store of interesting anecdotes.

To the men of Valtournanche all strangers, even Germans

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THE THREE INNS . 99

and French, were Englishmen ; Quintino Sella himself, when
he climbed the Breithorn in 1854, did not escape being taken
for an Englishman. ** Fortunately for us," writes Gorret, **he
was an Englishman . . . from Biella."^

John Ball, who crossed from Zermatt to Ayas in 1854,
relates a very significant instance of the mountaineering usages
of that time. His guide, on his way back to Zermatt alone,
found on the glacier below the pass an English gentleman,
also alone, and in a pitiful state of prostration and helplessness.
It had happened shortly before that the Englishman's guide, a
man from the lower part of the Val Tournanche, who had been
preceding him, unroped, by a few steps, had suddenly disap-
peared in a deep, snow-covered crevasse. The arrival of the
fresh guide removed the Englishman from his evil predicament,
but as they were both without ropes, they were not able to
succour the unfortunate victim, who was left in the abyss,
while the Englishman was taken in safety to Zermatt. As it
was understood there, from the lost guide s name, that he was
not one of the three or four who made a profession of guiding
travellers across the pass, but an interloper in the business,
his fate roused no compassion ; it was only when the English-
man said that his money was in the sack which had fallen
in with the guide that active researches after the victim
were set on foot.

This gloomy picture of times when it was customary to
walk confidingly on the glaciers alone, unroped, without the
most elementary precautions and with little or no experience,
brings home to us the enormous difference there is between
those who were called guides then and the guides of to-day.
On the Zermatt side also the guides were most primitive.
Peter Damatter, who accompanied Professor Forbes up to
the pass in 1842,^7 instead of taking with him a rope and
a good iron-shod stick, had provided himself with nothing
more than an umbrella ; as soon as he came on to the glacier,
he was so disturbed by the sight of a few crevasses that he

loo THE MATTERHORN

begged for the loan of a stick, and it appears that he was
incapable of handling even that with any skill. And it is
rela of two other guides that they refused to proceed unless
the vellers would walk in front of them and cut steps in

2 profession of a guide as it was understood in those

annot have been a very difficult one : a pair of good

;rs, a certain amount of eloquence, and no more was

! The sickle or the spade was laid aside, the cattle were

ina the traveller was taken in charge.

neers of Paquier. seeing that travel-

I uj arrive in considerable numbers, recol-

[ had known the pass, from father to son ;

■ saw il e was money to be made, and they felt that

jey were guides. A real frenzy took possession of the

inhabitants of the village ; almost every family gave up one

or two of its members to the new profession; but the daring,

emulous, self-sacrìfìcìng ideals, the desire for conquest, the

thirst for glory which are the essence of the modern guide

were far removed from those patient, sturdy, and courteous

men ; they were excellent mountaineers, not guides.

It often happened that Chamonix guides, famous ones, on
their way through this region with their employers, hired the
men of Valtournanche to carry the baggage. They preferred
them to the Zermatters because they spoke their language and
were, perhaps, more easily satisfied in the matter of wages. It
is probable that the Chamoniards did not treat their Valtornein
colleagues very well either in respect of manners or of money ;
they undoubtedly considered them their inferiors.

In the hotel books, and particularly in that of the Theodul,
I often find the names of these Chamonix guides written ; they
were Michel Payot, Jean Tairraz, Michel Charlet, Gédeon
Balmat, J. P. Cachat, and more besides ; and below these
names are modestly inscribed those of their Valtournanche
comrades.

THE THREE INNS loi

The latter, who were not lacking in intelligence, gradually
learnt from the others how to lead a party and how to behave
to travellers ; they found out how much a good guide's pay
amounted to, and it occurred to them that if they made them-
selves independent of the tutelage of their Savoyard colleagues
they would earn greater fame and keep all the profits to
themselves.

After that the men of Valtournanche were seen to descend
to Chàtillon and offer themselves, with a persistence that
was sometimes tiresome, to the travellers who came up
the main valley in the diligence or in carriages ; and they
would spend whole days and weeks there, waiting for the
English,^ whom they would guide up the Cimes Blanches, to
the Theodul, sometimes, but rarely, up the Breithorn.

In Nicolas Pessions little book I find, between 1857 and
1865, the ascent of the Theodul horn mentioned three times,
and that of the Breithorn twice only.

Certificates of competency were delivered by the customs
officer at Valtournanche. I have seen one of these documents,
which was given in 1855 to '* Messrs. Charles Gorret and
Augustus Meynet^' in which there is a declaration that '* to my
personal knowledge these men have this year already crossed
the Mont Cervin several times, and are the best known guides
in the village and thoroughly familiar with the pass, and with
other mountains as well, wherefore travellers have always
expressed their complete satisfaction. I also certify that,
considering the well-known honesty and trustworthiness of
the aforesaid two guides, travellers may unhesitatingly entrust
their lives and their money to them."

They were very willing, these Valtorneins, who were
awaking at the breath of the new pursuit of mountaineering !
A self-written recommendation on the first page of the book of
an ex-guide, about 1856, is not devoid of local colour, in the
naivete of its self-praise : ** The brothers Augustin and Gabriel
Meynet, keepers of the inn on the Theodul Pass, opposite the

loi THE MATTERHORN

Mont Cervin, with a well-furnished restaurant, offer their services
to visitors, artists, and tourists! They have rehable guides to lead
travellers to the finest view points, mountains, valleys, glaciers.
and other beautiful spots near Valtournanche. They are proud
of the confidence with which travellers have honoured them."

Some of these guides must have been really good ; even
Wills, though expressing a preference for the men of Zennatt.
adds nevertheless that Pierre and Charles Emmanuel Gorret
were excellent guides ; 7° and Jean Tairraz, one of the best
known Chamonix guides, who enjoyed the confidence of the
mountaineers of that date, often sent them to Nicolas Pession,
of whom the testimonials in his book all speak in terms of
nothing but praise.?'

The following must also have been good guides for that
time: Joseph Bich, one of the oldest, who is said to have
taken to the profession in 1845 ; Augustin Pelissier, known as
Theodul, who was Barracco's and Benedetto Rignon's guide ;
Antoine Gorret, the Abbé Amé's father; Antoine and Charles
Pession ; Pierre and Gabriel Maquignaz, the latter of whom
accompanied Mr. Jacomb in t86o; Augustin Perron ; Solomon
Meynet, who climbed the Cervin (Matterhorn) with Craufurd
Grove in 1867, and others besides ; and above all Jean Jacques
Carrel, a mighty hunter, the future companion of Hawkins and
Tyndail, an adventurous spirit, a daring mountaineer, who took
part in the very earliest attempts on the Becca, and who had in
him the stuff of which real guides are made. 7^ Carrel the
Bersagliere, on his return from the Novara campaign, had
turned his keen glance on the Cervin in the first half-hearted
attempts, and had then gone back to fight on the San Martino
hills. Jean Joseph Maquignaz was still working peacefully at
his mason's trade.

Thus, while on the Valais side the local names of Johann
Kronig, Biner, Franz and Alexander Lochmatter, and Joseph
Moser were connected, even before i860, with some of the first
important ascents in that group of mountains, on our side there

THE THREE INNS 103

were as yet none but humble names ; no great guide had yet
arisen ; opportunity was lacking.

If I may be allowed to compare a guide with a pilot, those
of Zermatt seem to me like sailors already grown daring, who
seek to be the first discoverers in the unknown seas of the
Dom, the Dent Blanche, and Monte Rosa, while those of
Valtournanche are still worthy boatmen who ferry the traveller
from one bank to the other of their peaceful river, the Theodul.

But neither the Theodul nor the Breithorn could ever create
great guides. It was the Matterhorn that saved these men
from mediocrity. Till then the Cervin had not taken any part
in the life of Valtournanche ; a cloud of ancient and terrible
traditions still enshrouded it. Men looked upon it with indif-
ference as something not essential to their lives.

But a new breath came and blew that cloud away, and the
Cervin was revealed in all its beauty, promising fame and riches
to those unknown men. And they were not unworthy of the
peak ; unconsciously they had been trained by the whole course
of their own and their fathers' lives, that had been spent among
the rough rocks in the valley, on the steep, rocky hills that
form the giant's spurs, working and hunting, with the Cervin
ever before their eyes.

Then a miracle was worked ; a group of wonderful guides
sprang up ; it seemed as if a foot stamped upon the ground in
Valtournanche and called forth these valiant men ; and in a few
years their names echoed far and wide.73 The demon that had
so long dwelt among the rocks of the Becca vanished as if at
the exorcism of a saint ; thenceforward the demons of the
Cervin were called Whyftiper and Carrel.

But how did it come to pass that those mountain folk, so
tenacious of their ancient primitive ways, so slow to grasp new
ideas, who but a few years before had looked with suspicion on
the new visitors who came up their valley from the city, how
did it come to pass that they were fired with such enthusiasm ?
Before that time they had been shepherds, hunters, muleteers,

r I

104 THE MATTERHORN

or smugglers, and had lived in the bondage of their narrowing
egotism, of their miserable self-conceit. They now cast away
their nets like the apostle and followed the Master ; a new
mora] meaning of life displayed itself to their minds, a ray of
idealism filtered through to their unenlightened souls, and their
hearts seemed to grow greater and stronger.

Who was the fiery monk who first preached the new crusade,
who incited them to attempt to scale that inaccessible mass
which bounded the horizon of their valley and seemed to be the
end of the earth, who stirred them and made them daringly
attack the rocks of the peak, intoxicating them with a new
enthusiasm ? Who was the first pilgrim who came from afar
to whisper in the ear of Carrel the magic name : the Cervin ?

The humble in spirit feel instinctively the beauty of grea
objects ; the noble frenzy that no other had understood seemed
natural enough to these simple-minded men. Valtournanche
was slowly awaking, and in its last sleep it had dreamt of
the Cervin.

.KI3MOI SHT MO JaTOH ZflOHHJITTAM 3HT

CHALETS AT AVOUIL.

" Celte noble folic et que nul ne comprìt
Apparai! toute claire à cea simples d'esprit.'
E. Rostand, La Princesse Lointaint.

CHAPTER III

THE CONQUERORS

Thev had arranged to meet before dawn at Avouil, which
consists of a group of isolated chalets at the lower end of
the basin of Breuil ; they were to arrive there separately,
each by a different way, so as not to arouse suspicion.

They were punctual at the meeting-place ; the last stars
were growing dim in the sky, the valley was still shrouded
in darkness when they all three left Avouil and stealthily
made their way up towards the mountain. They had told
the dwellers in the chalets that they were going after
marmot, and, in order to give colour to their statement, they
had with them their "grafios," ashen sticks with an iron
hook at one end, which the mountain people use to pull the
animals out of their holes.

They were a strange trio, differing much one from the
other. One, Jean Jacques Carrel, who, as the oldest, seemed

io6 THE MATTERHORN

to be in command of the party, was a mighty hunter in the
sight of the Lord ; he had no equal in the whole valley as
a hunter of the chamois on the steep slopes. His wrinkled
and sunburnt face bore witness to the long hours he had
spent up on the rocks, amid heat and cold, watching for his
prey. He was a man inured to all kinds of exertion and
ready for any daring venture. When poor Pierre Vallet,
known as "de la Dodet," had fallen into a crevasse on the
Theodul glacier in the year 1842, and a large number of
men, under the guidance of the priest, had started from
Paquler to try and save him, Jean Jacques was the only
one who dared go down Into the crevasse on the rope to
pull out the victim. The back pocket of his coat was
bulging and heavy, for in It were concealed the day's
provisions ; a large piece of the biennially-baked bread, a
slice of cold polenta, and a small flask of grappa, the
brandy of our mountain people ; between his shirt and his
waistcoat he carried, as wood-cutters are wont to do, a
hatchet, to be used in the day's undertaking.

Another, Jean Antoine Carrel, was a man of about
thirty, short of stature, thick-set but agile, with a vivacious
eye and a martial cast of countenance, and wore a pair of
brown moustaches and an "imperial." as was customary with
the soldiers of that date — an 1848 fellow, as they are
called ; he was a discharged soldier and had fought at
Novara.

The third, one Alme by name, the oddest of all, was
in strange contrast with the others. He was a beardless lad
of about twenty, something between a cleric and a shepherd,
tall, bony, straight as a pine-tree, with a certain mixture
of timidity and resolution in his bearing and gait ; a cheer-
ful companion withal, ready and quick In discourse, and
endowed with a most serviceable pair of legs. His search-
ing glance and his open and thoughtful brow bore witness
in him to a habit of study and reflection that the other

THE CONQUERORS 107

two did not share. His face was not bronzed like theirs,
because he spent almost all the year at the seminary, and
only came home for the holidays. But ah ! what grand
expeditions he made then, during the bright days of the
Alpine summer, through fields and meadows, up hill and
down dale, from Paquier to Cignana, from Cheneil to
Avouil, to recuperate after the nine months he had spent in
study at Aosta.

Those solitary rambles of his were spent in prolonged
contemplation of the summits of the mountains. They
seemed to him more beautiful than when, as a child, he
had left his village with eight sous in his pocket on his
way down to the great city where they had shut him up
in a school.

He now began to realise the feeling of freedom that they
suggested, to understand their beauty, and he gazed upon
them with an undefined sense of longing. He spent many
hours alone in the upper pastures, comparing one peak with
another, measuring them with his eye in order to learn which
was the highest; they stood all round him and he did not
even know their names ; he knew of two only, the most
conspicuous : that one was called the Tournalin, the other
the Cervin. This was the highest of all, and his comrades
called it the Becca. It filled him with curiosity and
admiration.

To-day when it, and no other, was his goal — for they had
set forth to actually attempt to climb the Becca itself — the young
seminarist's heart was beating with impatience and with joy.
It seemed to him too good to be true, and he besieged his
sponsor, the hunter, with a hundred questions. But the
sponsor himself knew not what to reply and just went on
his way, chewing tobacco and frequently raising his eyes to
the precipitous Becca, on whose summit the first rays of
the rising sun had just lighted. No man knew what was to
be found beyond on those mighty vertical walls, for no man

io8 THE MATTERHORN

had yet set foot there. Old men indeed remembered having
heard, when they were children, of the two daring hunters
who had reached the shoulder of the mountain many years
before in their pursuit of chamois ; and the names of these
two, now forgotten, had even been mentioned; ' but, the
story has more legend than history. The event had happened
in the previous century, and, on mature reflection, Ìl seemed
impossible, for chamois hardly ventured on the Becca ; and
nought but a dim regret was left of the tale in the minds of
the later inhabitants.

It was said that some Englishmen, who had lately passed
through Valtournanche, had asked whether it were possible
to climb those precipices,- but no one. either native or foreigner,
had ever thought of it seriously. Only Aimé's uncle, the
chanoine, had once said to his relatives that if it were possible
to ascend the Becca it would be a source of gain for the whole
valley.3

The chanoine, who lived at Aosta, was a learned man,
and his words carried great weight ; even the English who'
came up to the Val d'Aosta, knowing htm to be a great student
and a lover of mountains, did not fail to visit and consult
him, so much so that he was called in the neighbourhood " the
friend of the English." 4

By talking with them and hearing them express their
curiosity concerning the Cervin and their admiration for it,
he had perceived before any one else that the mountain at
whose foot he had been born might become the glory and the
blessing of his valley, and he had imparted his opinion to
his fellow-villagers, who were unaware of their hidden
treasures

Our three friends, who were related to him, had listened
to his words, and, after much discussion and much planning,
had at last set forth to search for the way. On that morning
the sun was shining brightly on the roseate rocks of the
Becca, which was almost free from snow, for the season

THE CONQUERORS 109

was midsummer ; and in the bright morning air the peak
seemed quite near. They were excellent walkers and they
rose rapidly, their hearts full of hope.

At the chalets of Planet they found Gabriel Maquignaz
and Carrel, ** the painter," and told them of their plan. They
said that they would gladly join in such an expedition, that
it pleased them, but they had no wish to follow those three
madmen, and they bade them farewell.

Higher up our friends met a shepherd, who was surprised
to see them coming up that way. They showed him the
'' grafios'' \ it was to be a bad day for the marmots! The
motionless cows watched them passing, fixing their stupid,
large eyes upon them. On the highest pastures a few
goats, full of curiosity and grace, accompanied them for a
short way, hoping for a pinch of salt. After that they were
alone.

The marmots, having sallied forth at dawn for their
first meal, hastened back into their holes, whistling with alarm
at the approach of the party, but no one of the three gave
them a thought.

They had no fixed plan. When they reached the moraine
they made their way upwards by the rock-face which closes
in the glacier on its left bank. This was the Keu de
Tzarciglion, as it was called by the hunter who had been
there on former occasions hunting chamois, and who knew
the way.

For the time being everything was going well. They
climbed up the enormous precipitous and riven face for three
or four hours, but when they were nearing the top the hunter
took to the glacier, while the other two continued on the
rocks, thinking them safer. Shortly after they heard their
companion shouting for help. They hastened towards the
spot whence the cries came and saw their comrade motionless
on the slope of the glacier, in such difficulties that he was
unable to move a single step forwards or backwards. A single

I IO THE MATTERHORN

.movement would have sent him rolling down to the bottom,

for the slope of the glacier Is very steep at that point, and
he would have perished.

The soldier and the seminarist came to the hunter's assist-
ance. With every precaution, holding on to one another
by means of the marmot stick, they succeeded in approaching
him, and, pulling out of his pocket the hatchet he had with
him, they cut holes in the ice, which allowed of their all
returning in safety to the rocks. They were exhausted and
breathless. A few steps more brought them to the top of the
wall where it comes to an end on the ridge which bounds
it. This point, which lies between the Téte du Lion and
the Dent d'Hérens, is now known as the Col Tournanche.
At that time it had no name.

The opposite face, which falls precipitously for 1,600 feet
to the Tiefenmatten glacier, is revealed at this point. To our
three friends it was a completely new sight ; they had heard
confused accounts of how the pays d'Hérens lay behind the
Cervin, and their wonder was great when they found instead
a valley completely covered with ice, and enclosed by rocks
of enormous height.

They stood there for a few moments speechless, almost
terrified, at the sight of its savage beauty ; it was so different
from their native valley, all clothed in green ! They sat
down on the snow and broke their fast ; then they began
pushing rocks over into the abyss. They followed the course
of the heavy blocks with childish delight as they struck the
slope of the Col, throwing up clouds of powdery snow, and
then rebounded and described huge parabola;, finally splitting
in pieces in mid-air, or disappearing with a dull thud in the
mysterious crevasses on the glacier below. They were in no
hurry ; like good hill-men they recked little of the time.

The Becca was now near at hand and would not move ;
if they did not reach it that year they would the next ; they
were masters of the peak, and no one would come and take

THE CONQUERORS iii

it away from them. Thus thought our three heroes, with
enviable sang-froid, and thus they continued to think in
the following years, until there came another, more resolute
and less of a hill -man, who bore off the prize.

After amusing themselves for a time they turned their
thoughts to Cervin once more, and started to climb again.
They found no difficulty in reaching the Téte du Lion, which
they considered the first step of the pyramid, but when they
arrived there they saw the wide gap which separated them
from their peak, and beheld its precipitous face rising on
the other side, far off, inaccessible.

They gave up the attempt, and, on the descent, they
saw a ledge of rock on the face of the Téte du Lion, which
seemed to afford easy access to the base of the Cervin.
But it was growing late ; they thought the way was found,
and for that day they left the mountain in peace. They drank
a glass at Breuil in the De Saussure tavern, and slept the
sleep of the just in the hayloft at Avouil.

Such was, in all its simplicity, the first attempt made to
ascend the Cervin, and it took place in 1857. They started
without provisions, without proper gear, naively unprepared.
Reaching a spot which pleased them, they wasted several
hours in throwing stones into a well like children ; they
mistook the way . . . No matter ; this was the first occasion
when man had set forth to climb to the summit, and in
the mountain's history this moment is as fine as is the first
word that comes from the halting lips of a babe, making
all the household smile with joy.

In Valtournanche the attempt was much discussed. The
majority declared that the three were madmen, that the
Becca was unassailable ; others expressed the opinion that
**the Cervin was only for the English"; some few approved
and thought of renewing the attempt, and among them were
those two who had refused to follow the three madmen at
the chalets of Planet.

112 THE MATTERHORN

When the chanolne, their uncle, heard of it. he exclaimed
that it was but a mad, ill-considered venture.^ But i» liis
heart of hearts he must have rejoiced, and 1 will wager
that he would fain have been of the party.

At that time the good chanoine did not come often to
Valtournanche ; not, indeed, that the religious quiet of the
cathedral stalls or peaceful siestas in the shade of the ancient
willow in the chapter-house of Sant 'Orso had dulled his love
of his native place, or his insatiable longing for the mountains.
Other work kept him far from Valtournanche ; the excursions
on passes and peaks that he was making with famous men of
science, such as Forbes, Sismonda, and Studer ;? the first
small observatory which he had set up on the roof of his
house in 1840, when as yet no one in the valley had thought
of studying the phenomena of the Alps : there he assiduously
added to his knowledge and his hopes. It was the little fortress,
whence in the name of science he carried on alone his campaign
for the glory of his mountains.

He fought against the inditference and the prejudices of his
own fellow-countrymen, and his doggedness of purpose un-
doubtedly made men secretly suspect him of harmless insanity,
before his ideal was understood, and the encouragement of
sympathy and praise ^ reached him from the cities.

The smiling slopes round Aosta, the chalets of Comboe
and of Chamolé were more frequented by him during those
years than his paternal cottage at Cheneil ; the Becca di
Nona and the Becca des-dix-heures (as the Mont Emilius
was then called) seemed to attract him more than the
precipices of his native Tournalin ; but from those peaks he
saw the Cervin, and during the long days he spent on the
summit of the Nona drawing the panorama of the Pennine
Alps.9 he had before his eyes and his mind the wondrous
pyramid which, in his opinion, " if it could not claim the
glory of being the highest peak in Europe, was undeniably
the most beautiful."^ And when he spoke of it he was wont

THE CONQUERORS 113

to say, " my Cervin " ; and even then he would affirm to
his friends the probability of its being conquered, and would
give utterance to his earnest hope of climbing it himself
some day."

The pleasant figure of the Chanoine Carrel appears in
this history as that of the pioneer of mountaineering in his
native valley, and I rejoice that the evidence of his co- dwellers
in the valley agrees with that of his old friends in attributing to
him a share in the honour of the first attempt. He was the
spark which kindled a great fire ; he was the creator of the idea,
the others merely carried it out. No man could perceive better
than he, so learned and so gifted, the beauty and the utility of
the Cervin, that seemed so repulsive and so useless : none
better than he could foresee how, thanks to that mass of rock,
his fellow- Valtorneins would be inspired with a higher ideal
of life, and his native valley enriched by the new influx of
strangers. He deeply loved his church tower and that other
lofty tower of rock which dominates the whole valley. The
son of many generations that had lived at the mountain s foot,
he was full of the pride of his race,'^ and knew well its great
strength and bravery.

A man of science, he was the first to feel an inclination for
research. He had read in the books of strangers of the enthu-
siasm of the mountain s first worshippers, and he carefully followed
the accounts of the expeditions which were taking place in
the Alps, '3 and, above all, of the attempts on Monte Rosa;
and the victory of Gnifetti, likewise a priest and a son of the
Alps, must have awakened in this worthy son of the Cervin
a feeling of keen rivalry.

Perhaps, when he heard of the naive attempt of the semi-
narist and his companions, he thought it a profanation of
his beautiful mountain, and hence came, perhaps, the severity
of his judgment.

But the first step had been taken : the idea of climbing the
Becca had arisen in the village ; men of Valtournanche had

114 THE MATTERHORN

been the first to doubt its inaccessibility. And the matter
was not to be allowed to end thus ; the three who had
reached the Téte du Lion were henceforward bound with
indissoluble ties to the Cervin ; the thought of climbing it
was ever with them from that day forward. '4

When we think how long it was before the idea of moun-
taineering commended itself to the educated men in our
cities, and with what difficulty a superstitious terror of the
monster was converted in the minds of the mountain folk
into a keen desire to attack it, we see that the first attempt
was the decisive moment of a new era in the history of the
valley.

It may be that others, among the distinguished foreigners
who passed by and admired it, felt its immense fascination,
but the mountain's tragic aspect must have set it above any
hope of conquest. Thus Mr, King, a famous English moun-
taineer, in his book published in 1858,^5 declares that the
Cervin is an absolutely inaccessible obelisk of rock. And
if the bold thought flashed through the mind of any one of
them, it would seem that none ventured to express it.

It is said that in the following years other attempts were
made by men of Valtournanche.^^

Of our three scatter-brains, one was absent for some years
from his native village, deep in his theological studies, and
became the Abbé Gorret ; the second was recalled to the
army, fought at San Martino, and won his sergeant s stripes,
and he was Carrel the Bersagliere. The hunter, who
remained at home, was left ready to accompany the first
Englishman who came to attempt the ascent.

The English did not long delay their coming. These were
exeptional years for the valley : a breath of progress was blow-
ing up through it ; it seemed as if something new and great
were about to take place.

The fine church of Paquier was finished, and was smiling in
its whiteness among the dark pines and the old grey cottages ;

THE CONQUERORS 115

the parish priest Bore was proud to see his work complete
before he died. The Chanoine Carrel had published his
** Panorama from the Becca di Nona/'

A painter from Paris, named Aubert, visited the Aosta
valley and went up to Valtoumanche in order to draw its
picturesque landscapes and to collect notes on places and on
their history. Drawings and notes were destined to proclaim in
foreign lands the beauties of the valley. '7

The stream of visitors had swelled. Since the conquest of
the highest peak of Monte Rosa had been effected (1855) from
Zermatt, it was only natural that the thoughts of the boldest
should turn at length towards the Matterhorn,

An English book, published in 1858, mentioned the first
attempt of the Valtoumanche hunters, and observed that the
Mont Jumont (Jomein) would be thenceforth the starting-point
for every daring mountaineer who should make the venture, and
that if the mountain were to be climbed it would probably be
from the Italian side.'^ This was the first published allusion to
the possibility of the attempt being made. And so men were
busy with the problem of the Matterhorn.

Kennedy, an excellent climber, prowled round the mountain
m 1858, and considered that the ascent to the summit on the
Breuil side was impossible. ^9

Vaughan Hawkins (1859), after examining it on every side
with the Swiss guide Bennen, was almost absolutely convinced
that it was possible to conquer it ; but he concluded that it would
be no easy matter: ** Accessible or not," he says, **the Mont
Cervin is assuredly a different sort of affair from Mont Blanc or
Monte Rosa, or any other of the thousand and one summits which
nature has kindly opened to man." 20

Hawkins and Bennen returned in i860, and with them
came Professor Tyndall, the famous scientist. They inquired
at Breuil for a man to carry their sacks. Jean Jacques Carrel,
he of the first attempt, was pointed out to them as the best
mountaineer in the whole valley. ** Uncle Carrel " came forward ;

ii6 THE MATTERHORN

a rough, good-humoured fellow, an ordinary specimen of the
peasant class. He is thus described by Hawkins in his

narrative.

They set forth. Carrel was put last in the party ; the guides
from the other side of the Alps, who had already acquired
greater skill, felt the profoundest contempt for our mountain
guides. Bennen, as they made their way up to the Col du Lion,
answered all Carrel's suggestions as to tlie choice of route with
glances of miid pity, and kept muttering : " Er weiss gar nichts "
(He knows nothing about it).-'

They reached the Col du Lion, proceeded as far as the
spot to the east of the couloir, which was subsequently called the
cheminée, crossed the gully, and climbed up about 300 feet.
Carrel was left with Hawkins, while Bennen conducted Tyndall
a short distance further; but they soon gave up the
undertaking.""

Bennen returned from the attempt full of confidence in
future success ; but he had seen how long and difficult it
would be.

Hawkins observed: "The mountain, too, has a sort of
prestige of invincibility which is not without its influence on the
mind, and almost leads one to expect to encounter some new
and unheard-of source of peri! upon it. Hence I suppose it is
that the dwellers at Zermatt and in Valtouriianche have
scarcely been willing to set foot upon the mountain, and have
left the honour of doing so to a native of another district "
{" Mountaineering in i86i,"pp. 86,87). He was alluding to his
guide Bennen, a native of Laax in the upper Rhone valley. But
the eminent climber was wrong in so far as concerned the
Valtournanche guides ; and in our turn we may ask why Bennen
himself, on returning to Breuil with Professor Tyndall for the
third time in the following year, and making another attempt,
should have been so inexplicably lacking in courage to go
through with the undertaking, and should have answered the
exhortations of his employer to attempt at least the ascent of

THE CONQUERORS 117

the lower peak with the discouraging remark that the peak
** had neither name or fame." 23

In the same year the Messrs. Parker made an attempt from
Zermatt, by the Hornli ridge. They tried again in the following
year (1861), but only reached a height of about 1 1,000 feet.

Now Edward Whymper came upon the scene. Into the bull-
ring, under the burning sun, before thousands of eager spectators,
the espada steps forth eager and brave ; the eyes of all are fixed
on him. The arena is now empty ; the bull alone awaits him
in the centre of the circus, motionless, with horns erect. The
struggle is to be terrible, unceasing, full of daring stratagems ;
one of the two must fall. The espada scans the monster and
strides up to him with resolute gait. Now is the critical
moment.

In the same way Whymper appeared in the majestic amphi-
theatre of mountains, among which the Matterhorn rears his
dark head aloft in sign of defiance. Here too, as in the arena
at Seville, it is not the bull which seeks the encounter : the man
attacks, the bull defends himself, dies or kills ; and in the duel
the Matterhorn had all the material advantages of its enormous
strength, of its fits of brutal rage ; the man's weapon was his
iron will.

The history of the contest between this man, young, strong,
and confident, and the hoary, cold, and unresponsive rock is
perhaps one of the finest and most telling in the whole history
of mountaineering, and, apart from mountaineering, it is a not
unimportant episode in the hard-won conquest of unknown
territory.

Whymper was at the outset of his Alpine career. He came
to the Val Tournanche for the first time in 1 860, and saw and
desired the Matterhorn. In the following year he came again :
two peaks, still virgin, drew him to the Alps — the Weisshorn
and the Matterhorn. Rumours were current that the former
was conquered at last, and that the victor, Tyndall, was at
Breuil to subdue the latter.

ii8 THE MATTERHORN

Whymper hastened up to Breuil and inquired for a man fit
to be his guide. All unanimously declared Jean Antoine Carrel
to be the man for him. Jean Antoine, the cock of the valley,
made an excellent impression on him ; his determined look, the
defiant expression on his face, pleased the Englishman, who
immediately proposed to him that they should attempt the
ascent. Carrel temporised, wished to take a friend, would not
start without him. All this did not suit the Englishman ;
negotiations were broken off, and thus, at their very first meet-
ing, the two revealed their obstinacy to one another.

Whymper had with him an unknown guide who had been
given up to him at Chàtillon by some other climbers. He made
vain attempts to induce another to accompany him. There were
at Breuil many famous Swiss guides, among them Mathias zum
Taugwald, but they all refused to set forth ; one of them, old
Peter Taugwalder, was willing, but made exorbitant demands. ^4
All of them, good and bad, brave and timid, displayed an in-
vincible aversion to the Matterhorn.

" The men who went had no heart in the matter, and took
the first opportunity to turn back. For they were, with the
exception of one man, . . . universally impressed with the
belief that the summit was entirely inaccessible."

This solitary one who had faith was Jean Antoine Carrel,
known as the Bersagliere. ^5

Whymper was obliged to start alone with his chance guide.
He spent the night in his tent on the Col du Lion, reached
his chimney,-^ and climbed it, but his guide refusing to follow
him any further, he was obliged to give up.

In the meantime Carrel had prepared one of those surprise
tricks to which Whymper must later have become quite accus-
tomed. Taking with him his uncle, Jean Jacques — the same who
had been out with Bennen — he set forth, and, climbing in front
of Whymper, he came to a point on the ridge that no other had
yet reached, and there, on the rock man had not yet touched,
cut out with the iron spike of his axe the date, a cross, his

r .

yj)i.i 'KT .i,>3 •«

THE CONQUERORS 119

initials, and the rough design of a tiara.27 It was his mark of
ownership.

So Carrel had climbed about 3CX) feet higher than Tyndall
the year before. He was content for that day with so much
progress, proud in his heart at having taught the Englishman
the Bersaglier s worth. For the first time he revealed his in-
most thoughts ; it is plain that he had hastened up thither to
watch the invader s movements ; he was an advance guard
disputing the passage with the enemy, and undoubtedly, if
Whymper had continued to ascend that day. Carrel would have
climbed far ahead, from rock to rock, in the certainty of reach-
ing the summit and of reaching it first. For Carrel considered
the Matterhorn a thing of his own, and the attempts of others
as an invasion of his own territory. This mighty jealousy of
his, full of the impetuousness that was typical of him, explains
his conduct in these transactions — conduct whose good faith
has seemed to some most questionable ; conduct which was
swayed at one time by the desire for the Matterhorn to be

conquered, at another by his selfish eagerness to keep it for
himself. 28

A rich and powerful man is rarely inclined to admit that the
poor and the ignorant may have wills of their own. Those who
have wished to judge Carrel have not considered that he was
rough and not servile ; they thought that he was formed like
so many others, to obey, whereas he was born to command.
He was not the man to passively serve the ambition of another,
because he had his own ; and this it was, together with his
profound conviction of his own worth, which clouded his
judgment to the end and prevented his being the first to reach
the summit.

The Matterhorn had the same fascination for Carrel that
Mont Blanc formerly had for Jacques Balmat. It was the
aim and object of his life, and he wished to climb it from his
native valley for the honour of the Valtorneins. And he did
not see, he would not believe, that the mountain might be

I20 THE MATTERHORN

conquered from the other side ; he wrapped about him the
proud illusion that without him none could reach the summit,
and he made no haste. He was forestalled, and no harder
punishment could have befallen him. The discovery of the
right way proceeded, almost foot by foot, slowly and painfully.

The Chanoine Carrel at Aosta eagerly followed the attempts.
Seeing how the mountain repelled attacks time after time, he
continued to indulge his ardent dream that the glory and the
profit of victory should go to his fellow- Valtorneins, and, early
in 1862, he wrote to Mr. Tuckett, a distinguished English
climber, and a friend of his, recalling how De Saussure had
offered a reward in 1760 to any one who should find the way
up Mont Blanc, and proposing that the same should be done
for the Matterhorn. There was no lack, he said, of competent
and willing men in the Val Tournanche ; and he begged him
to mention the matter to the president of the English Alpine
Club. Tuckett then answered that he did not think it right
to tempt poor men with promises of money to risk their lives
on an expedition which was without any scientific aim ; 29 and
the matter was dropped.

But the Matter«horn had never yet been in such danger
as in that year 1862, when the contest for the great prize took
place between Tyndall and Whymper. 3° Both arrived fully
conscious of the difficulty of the undertaking.

Whymper came first. He had engaged the guides, J. zum
Taugwald and J. Konig, at Zermatt, and was accompanied
by Reginald Macdonald. Adding Luc Meynet, the hunchback,
to his party, in the capacity of a porter, he set forth. He slept
in a tent on the Col du Lion ; the next morning he was repulsed
by the cold and the wind. Returning to Breuil, he found
Carrel there, the news of Whymper's presence having brought
him up thither. Carrel agreed to accompany him, together
with a Pession ; the Swiss guides were dismissed.

The party started up and bivouacked beyond the pass at
the foot of the famous cheminée ; they reached the base of

THE CONQUERORS 121

the Great Tower, but were then obliged, by an indisposition
of Pession s, to return.

For the third time Whymper had made an unsuccessful
attempt, and had not even passed the point his adversary had
reached. Indefatigable as ever, he hastened to Zermatt and
inspected the Hornli route, which he judged to be impracticable.
The want of guides 3' at Zermatt drove him back to seek Carrel
and Meynet again, but the exigencies of their trades prevented
their accompanying him.

The conception of the professional duties of guides had not
yet penetrated to the minds of the men of Valtournanche.
Carrel practised guiding as an amateur, as we should say
nowadays ; he was a hunter, not a guide. The climbing of
mountains was with him an instinct, a pursuit to which he was
passionately devoted, not a calling. Intolerant of the rules of
war, he carried on his campaign with bold strokes, varying as
the independence of his mind dictated ; and though Tyndall was
pleased to call his beloved Bennen *'a Garibaldi of guides,"
the honour of such a name more properly belonged to Carrel.

Whymper, impatient of delay, set forth without guides ; the
shepherds who saw him making his way thus, all alone, towards
the mountain, marvelled greatly. By that time they must have
known him as the Matterhorn's antagonist, and on that day
more than ever he must have seemed to them a madman.

He safely reached the tent, which he had left on the site of
his last bivouac, and he found it buried in snow. One of the
fairest of the pages in Whymper s book is that in which he
describes his daring climb, and tells of the lonely hours he
spent on the threshold of his little tent at the height of about
1 2,000 feet, in view of the mighty circle of mountains, and in
which he describes the wondrous sunset he beheld that evening,
and the moonlight reflected from the icy walls of Monte Viso,
a hundred miles away.

Next morning he continued his.ascent, climbed thecheminée,
reached the base of the Great Tower, attained a height of more

122 THE MATTERHORN

than 4,000 metres, or 13,200 feet, and returned to his bivouac
well satisfied with the progress he had made by his own unaided
efforts. But, on his descent towards Breuil the same evening,
while he was traversing the rocks of the Téte du Lion, and
was trying to punch steps in the hard snow with the point of
his alpenstock — he had left his ice-axe in the tent — he slipped
and fell.

Who, of all those who are familiar with Alpine books,
does not remember Whymper s picture which portrays this
incident.»^ It shows a man falling through the air down the
side of a horrible precipitous ice-slope. I saw that picture
when I was ten years old, and I still remember the emotion
it then aroused in me ; to me that man flying headlong down-
wards seemed in a hopeless case. Whymper extricated himself
from his predicament at the cost of a few scratches, stopped
seven or eight days at the Jomein with his head bandaged,
thinking of the hardness of rocks and of man's comparative
fragility ; then he started once more for the Matterhorn.

This time Jean Antoine decided to accompany him. The
proud hunter must have felt some admiration for the English-
man s perseverance and courage. They set forth with Cesar
Carrel and the porter Meynet, and climbed up past the Great
Tower, but were overtaken by bad weather, and were again
obliged to descend.

Whymper wished to try again the very next day ; Jean
Antoine, a past master in the art of procrastination, had dis-
appeared with the other Carrel, leaving word that they had
gone marmot shooting. Whymper started out with his trusty
Meynet.

The figure of the poor hunchback of Breuil — for so Whymper
is wont to call his porter — is one of the most pleasing and most
interesting in the whole story. Always ready and willing to
start, he was always excellent when at work, and his very
deformity enabled him to carry the tent ; in the bivouacs he
was a useful and cheerful companion. Throughout Whymper

THE CONQUERORS 123

speaks of him with sincere liking, whether it were when
he saw him at the Col du Lion, full of humility and tact, con-
tenting himself with the remains of his ** Monsieur's " meal, and
showing gratitude at being granted a poor sleeping-place on
the threshold of the tent ; or when he saw him fall on his knees
in adoration and weep with enthusiasm on the rocks of the
Col, at the sight of the vast panorama that he then beheld for
the first time.

It was vouchsafed to Luc Meynet to reach the summit
some years later, and he is said to have exclaimed, on arriving
there, that he could hear angels singing and that he could now
die happy. 32 His was a pure and beautiful mountaineer's soul.

So Whymper and Meynet ascended to the Col du Lion,
and thence to the foot of the Tower ; they passed the furthest
point Whymper had reached, but overcome by the difficulties,
they then returned. This was Whymper s fifth attempt, and
his last for that year.

Returning to the Jomein he found there, to his great
surprise, his rival, John Tyndall, who had engaged Jean
Antoine and Cesar Carrel as porters, and had with him the
guides Bennen and Walter. They formed a strong and deter-
mined party.

Whymper concealed his annoyance, reascended all alone
as far as the tent which he had left at the Tower, and, having
awaited Professor Tyndall there, he put the tent at his disposal ;
then he returned to Breuil and waited on events with anguish
in his soul.

The next day he saw a flag fluttering on the peak which
subsequently took Tyndalls name. The latter had succeeded
in climbing higher than any one else had yet done. A wooden
ladder, which he had taken with him, had helped him over the
most difficult passage, subsequently named the **grande corde";
but he too was forced to retreat ; at the ** enjambée" 33 — a, cleft
in the mountain which separates the Shoulder from the final
peak — the Matterhorn shut its door in his face.

144 THE MATTERHORN

Bennen had made a mistake : when they reached the first
peak he had said that in another hour the people of Zermatt
would see the flag planted on the highest summit. By a
strange delusion they thought they had reached one of the
summits of the Matterhorn.

In his heart of hearts Carrel must have mocked at the
mistake and have rejoiced at the failure. He perhaps felt that»
had he wished, he could that day have guided Tyndall to the
summit ; but in his jealousy and pride he would not share
the glory of the conquest with alien guides, who would too
cheaply boast of it thereafter.

It is sad to think that Bennen and Carrel, fine men both,
did not appreciate each other. On one side there was the
deeply rooted, and at that time not altogether unreasonable,
conviction that a Swiss guide was superior to an Italian one;
on the other there was the antagonism felt by the mountaineers
of Valtournanchc against those strangers who invaded their
territory and sought to deprive them of their gains and their
glory. There was also the language difficulty between them, for
Bennen only spoke German and Carrel only his own particular
French ; they did not understand one another. Finally, there
was Carrel's personal temperament, which was impatient of
control and could not brook a superior. He meant to climb
the Matterhorn in the position of leading guide, whilst on that
day he was subordinate toothers; and, at the enjambée passage,
when asked by Tyndall to give an opinion as to the possibility
of proceeding, he answered: "Ask your guides ; we are only
porters."

That answer embodied all Carrel's pride. His old comrades
still remember having heard him declare many times when
telling of that day : "Sij'avais été moi chef, j e lui aurais fait
voir par oìi on passait pour arriver au sommet."' Bennen,
being thus saddled with the sole responsibility as leader, was
forced to accept defeat.

Tyndall subsequently affirmed that Carrel had not dared to

THE CONQUERORS 125

proceed. 34 He wrote that ** Of the guides and porters, Bennen
was the man who entertained a thought of going on, and
both Walter and Carrel shrank from the danger of the last
ascent." No one who has known Jean Antoine can believe
this statement : he was obstinate, easily offended, but not
cowardly.

Whymper had anxiously waited for his rivals return ; the
account the latter gave of the difficulties of the undertaking
was such that the former gave up hope and departed.

The mountain was left in peace for the rest of that year.
The Matterhorn had fought and still held out. In this contest
of mighty passions it was quickened into life ; it became an
essential personage in the drama, intimately connected with the
thoughts of its antagonists ; it was no longer a rock, but an
ideal which spurred men on or filled them with fear. It had
acquired an influence over men, and it shaped their ends ;
it conquered them and urged them on to further efforts.

Who can describe the anxieties, the strenuous efforts, the
hardships and the emotions of those men who were enthralled
and fascinated by the mountain ? Who can tell of their sleep-
less nights, the snowstorms and tempests, the falling stones,
the Matterhorn's fearful cannonade, the violent disputes with
the guides, the mutual threats,35 the disappointments, the
annoyances ? Verily these adventures form one of the most
life-like pages in the history of mountaineering. A grand
struggle of noble souls towards a pure and lofty ideal !

In the preface to the first volume of the London Alpine
Journal, which appeared in 1863, the editor, Mr. H. B. George,
after remarking that nearly all the highest peaks in the Alps
had by then been conquered, writes the following words,
which sound an appeal to English climbers : ** While even
if all other objects of interest in Switzerland should be
exhausted, the Matterhorn remains (who shall say for how
long?) unconquered and apparently invincible.'* And at the
same time as this public call rang out from the English

126 THE MATTERHORN

Alpine Club, a conspiracy was going on in Italy. At Turin,
in 1863, a few men of character and standing had met in
the Valentino Castle, in order to discuss a project for the
formation of an Alpine Society ; and it was secretly proposed
there to attempt at once some feat that should bring honour to
the institution at its birth.

English climbers had deprived Italians of the first-fruits
of the conquest of Monte Viso, the Piedmontese peak par
excellence ; the Matterhorn remained, and this was the victim
that was chosen.36 They were full of ardour, those carbonari
of Italian mountaineering. They were young scientists of
great genius and noble character — Quintino Sella, Bartolomeo
Gastaldi, Felice Giordano, and beside them Benedetto
Rignon, Perrone di San Martino, Di Saint- Robert, Rimini,
and a few more.

They knew of the attempts that had been secretly made
by the guides of Valtournanche ; the soil seemed to be well
prepared. Neither Gastaldi, owing to his temperament, nor
Sella, because of the important occupations which kept
him a prisoner in the sub-Alpine capital, could undertake
the work of studying and fitting out the expedition ; the
honour of the arduous task was offered to Giordano, who
accepted it.

Meanwhile Whymper had returned to the foot of his
beloved mountain. He was not the man to give up the Matter-
horn, or to bear Carrel malice; he had need of him. *' With
him I had hopes, without him none": thus he wrote, and
he added that Carrel knew he was indispensable to him,
and that he did not conceal the fact from him.

When he arrived at Valtournanche, he re-engaged him,
made an excursion round the Matterhorn, by Zermatt and
the Valpelline, and then started from the Jomein for his sixth
attempt.37 Besides Jean Antoine, he had with him Cesar
Carrel, Luc Meynet, and two other Valtournanche porters.

At the foot of the Great Tower he was overtaken by a

THE CONQUERORS 127

violent snowstorm, that forced him to halt and spend a terrible
night in his little tent, which was buffeted by the wind, while
outside the Matterhorn was wondrously illuminated by lightning,
and the rumblings of thunder were hurled back in mighty
echoes from the rocks of the neighbouring Dent d'Hérens.
In the morning the snow ceased to fall ; they set forth again
immediately, and climbed for two hours up the rocks, which
had become most difficult ; then the snowstorm began again
and Whymper was vanquished once more.

When he returned to the Jomein and told of those twenty-
six hours of storm, Favre, the landlord, answered in surprise
that the weather had been quite fine down below, and that only
a small cloud had been seen on the mountain.

** Ah ! that small cloud ! " exclaimed Whymper. That was
the last time he attempted the Breuil aréte.

In the following year (1864), it seemed as if there were a
truce between the Matterhorn and mankind. But whilst the
mountain rested, man was preparing his weapons.

Giordano, returning from an ascent of Mont Blanc, 38 came
to Zermatt, and stood for the first time face to face with
the mighty Matterhorn. He filled his travelling note-book
with sketcnes of the beautiful pyramid, and among his
numerous notes and barometrical and geological observations
the mountaineers interest stands out most prominently. He
writes that ** The Matterhorn is a magnificent sight from
this point ; it is an irregular but real obelisk, which seems to
threaten the beholder."

Beside a sketch of the mountain taken from the Riffe!
is a note, which in the sketch corresponds with the height
of the Shoulder, to the effect that : ** This is the highest point
which has hitherto been reached on the other side " ; and
further on is this observation: ** From information received,
we gather that the western face has been ascended to within
about five hundred feet of the summit. In order to complete
the ascent it would be necessary to cut steps and do other

128 THE MATTERHORN

work in the rock for a height of about a hundred feet ; eight
or ten days, and three or four stone-cutters at twenty francs a
day would be required." I quote these notes in the simple
form in which they are hastily jotted down in pencil, because
when I found them in that note-book I was filled with a deep
emotion of which I will not deprive the reader.

Giordano came to the Jomein over the Theodul Pass. " On
the Col," he says, " I met Carrel, a Valtournanche guide,
who had attempted the Matterhom and had spoken with
Sella." We see here the sequel to the conspiracy of 1863 :
the chief of the conspirators had summoned Carrel to him.

Sella had, in fact, charged his friend, Giuseppe Torelli, who
was going to Breuil towards the end of July, to seek out
Jean Antoine and to send him to Biella. Giuseppe Torelli,
a politician and an elegant writer, well known under the
pseudonym of ** Ciro d'Arco," inquired for Carrel, found him
out, was filled with admiration for him, and after an hours
conversation with him induced him to accede to his request
to go and meet Sella in accordance with the latter s wish.39
He also gave Carrel thirty francs for his journey from
Breuil to Biella, which sum, as the jovial writer is careful
to point out, was afterwards scrupulously returned to him
by the future minister of the Italian kingdom.

Returning to Giordano's note-book, I find in it the following
note, which seems to me significant : ** Spent a whole evening
at the Jomein with Carrel and the Chanoine Carrel." Of what
can those three great men have talked but of the Matterhorn,
the thought of which lay so close to the heart of each of them ?

A few days later Giordano was at Biella, in order to attend
the meeting of the Italian Society of Natural Sciences, and
stopped, as was his custom, at Quintino Sellas hospitable
house. There is no doubt that the ascent of the Matterhorn
was the subject of conversation between the two great
geologists. Giordano's laconic notes do not affirm it, but
some who were intimate with Sella have told us how he

THE CONQUERORS 129

did not desist from talking of that plan, amid the mass of
labour which politics had laid upon his shoulders during
those years.

He knew of all Tyndalls and Whymper s attempts, and
a patriotic feeling of rivalry urged him to emulate those
foreign champions, whom he greatly admired, and by whose
example he wished young Italians to benefit.

He had chosen Giordano, a devoted and well-tried friend,
who was at once young, adventurous, and confident, and a
serious man of science, to make all preparations and to lead
the daring expedition ; for these were the qualities which
Sella considered necessary to the mountaineer, because he
had in his mind, besides the difficulties in the projected
conquest of the mountain, a high scientific ideal.4o

1865.

We now come to the last act. Tyndall and Bennen have
retired from the contest ; Whymper and Carrel remain on the
stage, and a new personage comes upon the scene — Giordano,
whose presence hastens the denotement of the drama.

Whymper, weary of the defeats he has sustained on
the Breuil aréte, tries new ways. The stratification of the
rocks on the east face seems to him favourable, and the
slope not excessive. His plan of attack is very complicated :
a huge rock couloir, the base of which lies on the Italian
side below the Breuiljoch, on the little Matterhorn glacier,
is to take him to a point high up on the Furggen aréte ;
from there, traversing the east face of the mountain, he means
to reach the Hornli ridge, and by it the summit.

A mad plan ; we may call it so after Whymper s own and
Mummery s subsequent experience of it. Michel Croz, the
famous Chamonix guide who had accompanied Whymper in
the difficult first ascent of the Barre des Écrins, thought the
route practicable, and agreed to try it.

-i-

130 THE MATTERHORN

They started from Breuil together with the Bernese guides,
Aimer and Biener, and the faithful porter, Luc Meynet. They
had reached a certain height in the rock couloir when the
Matterhorn discharged such an avalanche of stones upon them
as to nearly sweep them all away. They descended dis-
heartened. Whymper would have attempted the Hornli
ridge with the same guides. They refused, however. Biener
repeatedly pronounced the word ** impossible ! " ** Any ascent
you please, my dear sir, but the Matterhorn,'* was the reply
of Aimer, who sarcastically added, ** Why do you not attempt
a mountain that can be ascended ? " Croz had an engage-
ment at Chamonix ; the party broke up, and Whymper once
more looked out for Carrel.

From time to time he returned to him who was alternately
his friend and his adversary, who one day appeared to be
the good genius of his undertaking, the next its evil genius.
But Carrel alone had understood him when all others thought
him mad ; Carrel alone had shared his faith ; therefore
Whymper based his hopes on him.

The Englishman's tenacity throughout all these difficulties
was indeed admirable. Though repulsed by the dangers, warned
to desist, and abandoned by the most able guides, he persevered
and made fresh attempts, each more vigorous than the last ;
each repulse seemed to harden his iron will the more.

Tyndall, who had listened to his guides, was forced to
desist ; Whymper knew how to persevere, and he succeeded.
Although we are not impartial judges of this contest, we
cannot but admire this man and his passionate admiration
of the mountain as of a noble ideal. It is a contest which
reminds us of old-time jousts, when men would risk their
lives for the sake of a flower.

Our friend Giordano appeared upon the scene. He had
made serious preparations for the enterprise, and had made
calculations and experiments concerning the strength of ropes,
and provided himself with barometers and tents. On the

'■.*

,».

J. A. CARREL, KNOWN AS THIi BERSAGLIERE.

}

THE CONQUERORS 131

8th of July he went up to Valtournanche, and there met
Carrel, who had just returned with some other men (C.
Carrel, C. E. Gorret. and J. J. Maquignaz) from reconnoitring
the Matterhorn in his (Giordano's) interests. They had come
down because the weather was misty, and they had not been
able to see very much.

In the meantime Carrel had spoken with Whymper and
had engaged himself to him for an attempt on the Swiss
side. ** Carrel was engaged to the Englishman till Tuesday,
the nth, inclusive, if the weather were fine; but the weather
being bad he was free, and he stopped with me." This
statement appears dated Monday, the loth, in Giordano's
note-book. I quote the lines because they clearly and loyally
explain a circumstance which was made use of to accuse
Carrel of breaking his word to Whymper.

On the morning of the 9th Whymper, as he was descending
to Valtournanche, was surprised to meet Carrel with a traveller,
who was coming up with a great deal of baggage. He ques-
tioned Carrel, and was told that the latter would be unable
to serve him after the nth, because he had an engagement
with a ** family of distinction " ; and when Whymper re-
proached him for not having told him so before, he replied
frankly that the engagement dated from a long time back,
and that till then the day had not been fixed. The English
man was unable to find any fault with the answer.

This is Whympers own account, and, although he was
vexed at being left again without guides, he was not angry
with Jean Antoine. He said to him, ** Well, it is no fault
of yours," and that same evening they drank together like
good friends in the hotel at Valtournanche and talked over
their old adventures.

Whymper had as yet no suspicion that the ** distinguished
family " was Giordano himself ; he became aware of it at the
Jomein on the morning of the iith, when the guides had
already started to reconnoitre, and he learnt that everything

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132 THE MATTERHORN

had been made ready long before for the expedition which was
Lu prepare the way for Quintino Sella. His annoyance was
unbounded, and he gave vent to it in bitter words.4' He
considered that he had been shamefully deceived ; but, even
if his resentment and his grievous disappointment were natural
enough, it does not seem to us that he ought to blame Carrel
and his companions for concealing Giordano's name and inten-
tions from him, or accuse the Italians of bad faith.4^

Whyniper afterwards forgave Carrel, and when Professor
Tyndall, writing in defence of Bennen, attempted to belittle
our guide's merits and the importance of the Italian victory
by declaring that Carrel benefited by Bennen's experience,
and that, without the latter's example, Carrel would perhaps
never have set foot upon the Matterhorn, Whymper nobly and
vigorously took up the cudgels in his defence.43 In the heat
of the contest men's passions break out with greater violence.

Giordano alone, ignorant as yet of the surprises the
Matterhorn had in reserve, was calmly awaiting his victory.
Here I will let the letters which he wrote during those
days to Sella 44 speak in their frank simplicity. They are
pages thrilling with energy and hope, and they reveal fully
the intimacy subsisting between the two friends, who completely
trusted one another and who throbbed with the same passion.

"Turin, July 7, 1865.
" Dkar Quintino, — I am starting off. heavily armed, for
the destination you wot of. I sent off the day before yester-
day the first tent, 300 metres of rope, and some iron hoops
and rings, besides various kinds of provisions for ourselves,
a spirit-lamp for heating water, tea, &c. All these things
together weigh about 100 kilos. I have also sent Carrel
200 fcs., in order that he may meet these articles at Chàtillon
and transport them to Valtournanche and Breuil at once. 1
shall be up there myself to-morrow evening, to superintend
the work.

THE CONQUERORS 133

** I am taking with me a second tent, three barometers,
your own among them, and the * Annuaire du Bureau des
Longitudes/ As soon as I reach the scene of operations I
will write to you again.

** You need only trouble about your own personal require-
ments, viz., your headgear, a few rugs, &c., and — some good
cigars ; if possible, also a little good wine and a few shekels,
because I have only been able to bring about 3,000 fcs.
with me.

** Let us, then, set out to attack this Devil's mountain,
and let us see that we succeed, if only Whymper has not
been beforehand with us."

" Breuil Hotel, at the Foot of the Theodul.

^^July iithj evening.

**Dear Quintino, — It is high time for me to send you
news from here. I reached Valtournanche on Saturday at
midday. There I found Carrel, who had just returned from a
reconnoitring expedition on the Matterhorn, which had proved
a failure, owing to bad weather.

** Whymper had arrived two or three days before ; as
usual, he wished to make the ascent, and had engaged
Carrel, who, not having yet had my letters, had agreed, but
for a few days only. Fortunately the weather turned bad.
Whymper was unable to make his fresh attempt, and Carrel
left him and came with me, together with five other picked
men who are the best guides in the valley.45 We imme-
diately sent ofif our advance guard, with Carrel at its head.
In order not to excite remark we took the rope and other
materials to Avouil, a hamlet which is very remote and
close to the Matterhorn, and this is to be our lower base.
Out of six men, four are to work up above, and two will
act continuously as porters, a task which is at least as
difficult as the other.

** I have taken up my quarters at Breuil for the time

134 THE MATTERHORN

being. The weather, the god whom we fear and on whom
all will depend, has been hitherto very chantfeable and
rather bad. As lately as yesterday morning it was snowing
on the Matterhorn, but yesterday evening it cleared. In
the night (loth-iith) the men started with the tents, and I
hope that by this time they will have reached a great
height : but the weather is turning misty again, and the
Matterhorn is still covered ; I hope the mists will soon
disperse. Weather permitting, I hope in three or four days
to know how I stand. Carrel told me not to come up yet,
until he should send me word ; naturally he wishes to per-
sonally make sure of the last bits. As seen from here they
do not seem to me to be absolutely inaccessible, but
before saying that one must try them ; and it is also
necessary to ascertain whether we can bivouac at a point
much higher than Whymper's highest As soon as I have
any good news I will send a message to St. Vincent, the
nearest telegraph office, with a telegram containing a few
words ; and do you then come at once. Meanwhile, on
receipt of the present, please send me a few lines in reply,
with some advice, because I am head over ears in difficulty
here, what with the weather, the expense, and Whymper.46

" 1 have tried to keep everything secret, but that fellow,
whose life seems to dei)end on the Matterhorn, is here,
suspiciously prying into everything. I have taken all the
competent men away from him, and yet he is so enamoured
of this mountain that he may go up with others and make
a scene. He is here, in this hotel, and I try to avoid
speaking to him.

" In short, I will do my best to succeed, and 1 have
hopes. Provided yEolus be on our side !

" 1 will write no more at present, hoping soon to send
you a favourable sign. 1 trust this news from the Alps
will refresh you somewhat in the heat of Turin and the
oppression of ministerial affairs, "47.

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THE CONQUERORS 135

While Whymper was restlessly prowling about the
Jomein, watching Carrels movements with a telescope, and
meditating a counterstroke, Giordano was calmly spending
his time in study and in excursions ; he had met up
there the Abbé Gorret, the young and sturdy curate of
Cogne, who had ardently desired to join the exploring party,
but had not been included. Together they ascended the
Theodul Pass, the Mont Pileur, the Pointe de Plété ; they
conversed, sketched, made barometrical observations, and
continually gazed upon the Matterhorn.

Whymper, deprived of Carrel, had been left like a
general without an army ; his plans were frustrated, and
his only comfort lay in the thought that Carrel and his
men would lengthen out the work of preparing the route,
in order to consume the large stock of provisions, and he
rejoiced because the bad weather would delay them.
Having rolled up his tent and packed his luggage, he
wished to hasten to Zermatt and attempt to reach the
summit from that side,48 but he could find no porters ;
even the hunchback of Breuil refused this time.

A young Englishman arrived with a guide. Whymper
made himself known to him, and learnt that he was Lord
Francis Douglas, who had lately ascended the Gabelhorn ;
he told him the whole story, and confided his plans to
him. Douglas, declaring himself in his turn most anxious
to ascend the Matterhorn, agreed to give him his porter,
and on the morning of the 12th they started together for
Zermatt. Whymper is said to have been weeping with
anxiety and vexation as he set out.

This day and the next one were spent in quiet ex-
pectation at the Jomein. Giordano descended (on the 12th)
to Carrels chalet at Avouil, and was told there that two
of his men had come down thither the evening before to
get provisions, and had already returned to the mountain ;
they had reported that their four comrades had gone to

136 THE MATTERHORN

pitch the tent very high up, below the Shoulder. On the
13th enormous icicles were seen through the telescope
hanging from the rocks of the Matterhorn ; Luc Meynct
said he had seen the guides at work beiow the Shoulder,
The evening was beautiful, and the stars shone most
brighdy : Giordano's hopes ran high. On the following day
he wrote as follows : —

"Breuil Hotel, yw/y 14111.

" Dear Quintino, — I am sending a telegram for you
by express'fy to St. Vincent, seven hours' walk from here;
at the same time, to make assurance doubly sure, I send
you this letter.

" At 2 p.m. to-day I saw Carrel and Co. on the top
peak of the Matterhorn ; many others saw them as well as I ;
so success seems certain, notwithstanding that the day before
yesterday the weather was very bad, so that the mountain
was covered with snow. So start at once if you can, or
else telegraph to me at St. Vincent. Fancy, I do not
even know whether you are at Turin! I have had no news
from there for a week ; so I am just writing on the chance.
If you do not come or telegraph by to-morrow evening I
shall go and plant our (lag up there, that it may be the first.
This is essential. 1 will, however, do all I can to wait for
you, so that you may come yourself. W'hymper has gone off
to make an attempt on the other side, but I think in vain."

1 have this letter here, and 1 gaze u[jon it with respect. 1
think of the quiet joy the writing of it gave Giordano : his
emotion is betrayed by these few words : these few disconnected
lines, meandering over pages, speak of his haste to send his
friend the good news : we no longer trace the steady hand
of the engineer, but a hand trembling with enthusiasm. 1 seem
to see Bella's stern countenance relax into a smile when he
received the letter ; and then my heart aches when I think
that all this was but an illusion !

THE CONQUERORS 137

"Breuil, yuly 15///;

** Dear Quintino, — Yesterday was a bad day, and
Whymper, after all, gained the victory over the unfortunate
Carrel. Whymper, as I told you, was desperate, and seeing
Carrel climbing the mountain, tried his fortune on the Zermatt
slope. Every one here, and Carrel above all, considered the
ascent absolutely impossible on that side; so we were all easy in
our minds. On the 1 1 th Carrel was at work on the mountain,
and pitched his tent at ^certain height. On the night between
the I ith and 12th, and the whole of the 12th, the weather was
horrible, and snow on the Matterhorn ; on the 13th weather
fair, and yesterday the 14th fine. On the 13th little work was
done, and yesterday Carrel might have reached the top, and
was perhaps only about 500 or 600 feet below, when suddenly,
at about 2 p.m., he saw Whymper and the others already on
the summit. Whymper must have promised a considerable
sum to various Swiss guides if they could take him up, and
having been favoured with an exceptionally fine day, he suc-
ceeded. I had, it is true, sent Carrel word of Whymper s
proposed attempt, and had enjoined on him to get up at any
cost, without loss of time to prepare the way, but my warning
did not reach him in time, and moreover Carrel did not
believe the ascent from the north to be possible. However,
yesterday, as I saw some men on the Matterhorn, and was assured
by every one that they were our party, I sent off the telegram to
you, bidding you come up. Poor Carrel, when he saw that he
had been forestalled, had not the courage to proceed, and beat a
retreat with his weapons and his baggage. He arrived here late
this morning, and it was then that I sent off another telegram by
express to stop you from coming. As you see, although every
man did his duty, it is a lost battle, and Lam in great grief.

** I think, however, that we can play a counter-stroke by
some one's making the ascent at once on this side, thus proving
at any rate that the ascent is feasible this way ; Carrel still
thinks it possible. I was only vexed with him for bringing

138 THE MATTERHORN

down the tents, the ropes, and all the other things that had
been carried up with so much labour to a point so near the
summit. He puts the blame on the party, who had com-
pletely lost heart, and on his fear that I should be unwilling
to go to any further expense.

" At any rate, in order not to return ridiculous as well
as unsuccessful, I think that we ought at least to plant our
flag on the summit. I at once tried to organise a fresh ex-
pedition, but hitherto, with the exception of Carrel and •another,
I have not found any men of courage whom I can trust. Some
others might, perhaps, be found if I paid them extravagantly,
but I do not think it wise to go to such expense ; and then,
if their courage is deficient, there would be no certainty of
success.

** I am therefore trying to fit out the expedition cheaply
and will only give up if this one is unsuccessful. Now I shall
not even have the satisfaction of going up myself, because
Carrel says that, for the sake of quickness and in order to
make the best of the short time we have at our disposal, it
will be better that they should not have any traveller with them.

**We must also remember that we are threatened by the
weather, which is doubtful.

*'Just see how annoying it all is!

'* Yesterday the Val Tournanche was already en fete
thinking that we were victorious ; to-day we were disillusioned.
Poor Carrel is to be pitied, the more so as part of the
delay was due to his idea that Whymper would not be able
to ascend from Zermatt. 1 am trying to act like Terentius
Varrò after the battle of Cannae.

** PS. — Nothwithstanding what has happened, you might
still make the first ascent from the Italian side, if you had
the time ; but till now Carrel has not assured me that the
way is feasible right to the top. That is why I have not
telegraphed to you again ; perhaps I shall come to Turin
myself in a couple of days."

THE CONQUERORS 139

So the men who had been seen on the summit were the
Englishmen. Carrel, who with his companions was on the
Shoulder not far from Tyndall's flagstaff, heard Croz's shouts
of victory, 5o and the crash of the stones which the Chamoniard
hurled down from the summit to attract the Italians* attention ;
raising his eyes he recognised Mr. Whymper s white trousers.

Whymper in that moment wished that he had by his side,
sharing his joy, that brave man who, far below, was leading the
little party of vanquished Italians ; but assuredly he did not
realise that his shouts of victory cruelly sounded the knell of
the hopes and aims of that man s whole life.

The feelings of Carrel and his companions may be imagined
but not easily described. Many suppositions were formed as to
the reason why they did not continue the ascent : was Carrel
not quite sure of his comrades ? had discord broken out between
the members of the little party? It was said that Carrel and
Maquignaz wished to proceed, whilst the others thought it
useless to do so ; that Carrel then cried out, ** All or none,"
and that they thereupon descended. 5' But how can it be that
Jean Antoine's influence over the others, which was absolute,
was not able to drag them to the goal ?

Carrels judgment failed him at this critical point. He did
not see what a fine rà/e was still within his reach : namely, to
proceed at all costs, to reach the summit a few hours after his
rival, and, having solved the problem of the Italian ascent
of the Matterhorn, to bring it as a gift to Giordano. It
would have been a victory far more hardly won than the
Englishman's ! How came it to pass that Carrel did not see
this was his duty.'^

But no man can answer these questions, and perhaps
Carrel himself could not answer, if he were alive. Only he
who has been in places of great difficulty, a prey to doubts
and fears, in face of the unknown, can know how under
such circumstances a moral shock can paralyse in an instant
all the energy that has been hoarded for years.

140 THE MATTERHORN

Carrol, vanquished, descended and hastened to hide him-
self in his own hamlet of Avouil ; only on the following day
did he dare to show himself to Giordano.

"An evil day!" wrote the latter in his diary, dating the

e ; 15th. "Early in the morning Carrel, more dead

n s, came to tell me he had been forestalled. He had

on climbing to the top to-day, and expected to be

orce a passage not by the highest tower, which he

impossible, but on the Zmutt side, where the snow is.

^ '""'"' 1' ' ' and others shall at least try and

t o, with renewed vigour, intent on hastily

ter the defeat. He was in a most un-
le po: 1 : he was at any rate uncertain whether the
Dit were passable. The men who had been with Carrel
^ily refused to try again, as if they were overcome with
ror of the mountain. It was in vain that Giordano attempted
to rouse them out of their depression, and explained to them
that till that day he had expended money and labour for himself,
with the object of being the first to reach the top ; but that now,
such good fortune being denied to him, he was only acting for
the honour and in the interests of the guides of Valtournanche.
The guides' replies were most discouraging. Amé Gorret
came forward and offered to accom[jany Carrel ; the fire of the
former seminarist was not quenched in the priest ; his early love
of the mountain had been rekindled. Carrel accepted the sturdy
volunteer, and thus two of those who, eight years before, had
taken the first steps towards climbing the Matterhorn, were
together in the last attempt.

The others round them went about saying ironically, " Oh !
if the abbé is in it success is assured ! "

J. Augustin MeynetandJ. Baptisle Bich, servants of Favre
the innkeeper, and two porters were added to the party, and the
attacking force was ready to start. Giordano would fain have
joined them, but Carrel refused absolutely to take him with

-ì

C-

b)
X
H

THE CONQUERORS 141

them ; he said he would not have the strength to guide a
traveller, and could neither answer for the result nor for any
ones life. Giordano, for his own credit, desired Carrel to
state as much in writing.

At the end of that stormy day he makes the following note
in his pocket-book: ** Walked a mile, suffering the pangs of
disappointment. A very bad night with fever. Only one
barometrical observation.**

On Sunday, the i6th, after hearing Mass at the chapel of
Breuil, the little party started. Giordano was left sad and
lonely at the Jomein.

** I have once more made the great sacrifice of waiting
at the foot of the peak instead of climbing it,*' he writes in
another letter to Sella, **and I assure you that this has
been most painful to me.**

He saw them through his telescope pitching their tent at
the customary bivouac at the foot of the Tower at 2 p.m.
Amé Gorret has described this ascent with youthful enthusiasm :
*• At last we crossed the Col du Lion and set foot upon the
pyramid of the Matterhorn ! *' On the following day they con-
tinued the ascent and reached Tyndall's flagstaff. ** We were
about to enter unknown country,** writes Gorret, ** for no man
had gone beyond this point.** Here opinions were divided ;
Gorret suggested ascending by the ridge and scaling the last
tower 52 straight up. Carrel was inclined to traverse to the
west of the peak, and thence go up on the Zmutt side.
Naturally the wish of Carrel prevailed, for he was the leader
and had not lost the habit of command, notwithstanding his
defeat.

They made the passage of the enjambée, and traversed the
giddy slope to reach the Zmutt ridge. A false step made by
one of the party and a fall of icicles from above warned them
to return to the direct line of ascent, and the traverse back to
the Breuil ridge was one of the greatest difficulty. A falling
stone wounded Gorret in the arm.

142 THE MATTERHORN

At last they reached the base of the final tower. " We
stood," writes Gorret, " in a place that was almost comfortable.
Although it was not more than two yards wide, and the slope
was one of 75 per cent., we gave it all kinds of pleasant names :
the corridor, the gallery, the railroad, &c.. &c."

They imagined all difficulties were at an end ; but a rock
couloir, which they had hitherto not observed, lay between
them and the final bit of ridge, where progress would be
perfectly easy.

It would have been unwise for all four to descend into the
couloir, because they did not know where to fix the rope that
would be needed on their return. Time pressed ; it was neces-
sary to reduce the numbers of the party ; Gorret sacrificed
himself, and Meynet stopped with him. Very soon afterwards
Carrel and Bich were on the top, "and as for me," writes Gorret,
"in order not to be overcome by sleep, I pointed out to
Meynet the beauty of the mountains and of the meadows in
the valley." 53

Meanwhile Giordano at the Jomein was writing in his diary
as follows: "Splendid weather; at g.30 saw Carrel and his
men on the Shoulder, after that saw nothing more of them.
Then much mist about the summit. Lifted a bit about 3.30,
and we saw our flag on the western summit of the Matterhorn,
The English flag looked like a black shawl lying on the snow,
in the centre." After these words in the note-book comes a
sketch of the summit with the two flags, and beside one of them
is written the word " Italy ! "

On the following day at noon the victors were back, safe
and sound. During the descent they had seen the flags waving
over the Jomein as a sign of rejoicing ; fatigue, the strain of
the struggle, the excitement of danger — all these were past.54
Their arrival was a triumph. Giordano's pocket-book men-
tions " Great hilarity all day at the hotel and at Hreuil, bonfires
and songs. Amid the rejoicing 1 alone was sad ; 1 had not
personally climbed the Matterhorn."

THE CONQUERORS 143

At Valtournanche, amid the dancing and wine-drinking, they
composed a little song, whose chorus was somewhat as follows :

** Vive le Monsieur Italien ** Hurrah for the hero, Italian born,

Qui a vaincu le Mont Cervin ! " Who has conquered the mighty

Matterhorn ! '*

Giordano, sad at heart, fled from these festivities. Important
business called him back to Turin ; the weather had turned
bad.55 Yet he wrote to Sella from Turin, saying: ** I wished
to tell you that, if you wish, you may still climb the Matterhorn
and gain some honour as the first * Monsieur' to do it from
the Italian side.56 So I have had the tent and some ropes left
up there.

** Although we have been forestalled by Whymper, the
victory from a practical point of view is ours, because we have
now proved that the peak is accessible on our side, while it
does not seem as if any other ascent would be attempted in a
hurry from Zermatt. Poor Whymper is overcome by his
ephemeral victory, while the Val Tournanche is full of joy at
the sight of tl^e three-coloured flag calmly waving on the lofty
peak. You could still make scientific geological and baro-
metrical observations up there ; the peak might still be con-
sidered as virgin from this point of view, and we should thus
give a solemn proof of the feasibility of the route on the Italian
side, and of our calm perseverance in the face of the tragic
upshot of the Zermatt ascent."

*' What next ? If any one of the links of this
fatal chain of circumstances had been omitted,
what a different story I should have to tell ! " —
E. Whymper.

Zermatt was in tears. The black flag seen by Giordano
on the snow at the top was at that very time a signal of mis-

144 THE MATTERHORN

fortune. An unheard-of disaster had stained the fair record of
the Englishman's victory with an indelible blot of sorrow.

How this happened is well known : VVhymper had left the
Jomein in a very excited state ; his repeated failures on the
mountain, the remembrance perchance of the day on which the
Matterhorn had chastised him even to drawing his blood, the
fear lest all his efforts were soon to prove fruitless— all these
things agitated him. The thought that Carrel was up aloft,
approaching the summit step by step, and his anger at that
which he considered a betrayal, committed him heart and soul
to the struggle from which he meant to issue the victor at
any cost.

He had thought himself the Matterhorn's master ; thence-
forth the Matterhorn was master of him.

The first link in the fatal chain of circumstances which were
to lead him up to the catastrophe was the arrival of Douglas ;
when he reached Zermatt fate willed that he should find Michel
Croz there, on the point of attempting the ascent ; with the
latter were Messrs. Hudson and Hadow. Whymper, content
if only he might have Croz with him, admitted them all to a
share in his expedition, as he had already admitted Douglas ;
and so these four brave men, who were all nearly unknown to
one another,57 were joined together to attempt to conquer one of
the hardest peaks in the Alps.

That same evening everything was settled ; they were to
start immediately, the very next day. Croz and old Peter
Taugwalder and his son were to be the guides : and Whymper,
during a sleepless night, marvelled at the strange fate which
had brought him once more into the company of his faithful
Michel Croz, and at the hasty march of events, from Carrels
desertion to the meeting with Hudson and the others, and
perchance he asked himself in the night how it would
all end.

Two days after they had conquered the Matterhorn, and on
the summit, where no man had yet stood, the brave Croz's blue

THE CONQUERORS 145

shirt waved, a modest but glorious standard. The victory had
not been a difficult one ; but, on the descent, when they were
barely an hour from the summit and were all on the rope,
Hadow slipped and fell on Croz, who was in front of him. Croz,
who was unprepared, was unable to withstand the shock ; they
both fell and pulled down Hudson and Douglas.

On hearing Croz's shout Whymper and Taugwalder clasped
the rocks ; they stood firm, perhaps they might have held up
their companions, but the rope broke. Whymper saw them
slide down the slope, trying with convulsive hands to stop
themselves, and then falling from rock to rock and finally
disappearing over the edge of the precipice.

It was all over in a second ! The great victory was turned
into an overwhelming disaster. 58 The torn and mangled bodies
were soon after picked up at the foot of the mountain, on the
Matterhorn glacier, 1,300 feet below the spot from which they
fell, and buried in a small tomb in the Zermatt cemetery.
Douglas alone was never found. His body remained up on
the mountain, mysteriously hidden among the mighty rocks. 59

The news of the catastrophe gave rise to a universal cry of
horror. Of all Alpine disasters, not one, not even of those
which had a larger number of victims, ever moved mens minds
as this one did. The whole of Europe talked of it ; the
English papers discussed it with bitter words of blame ; Italian
papers invented a tale of a rock detaching itself from the
summit, and sweeping the helpless victims to destruction, or of
a hidden crevasse opening wide its terrible jaws to swallow
them. An intelligent German published to the world a news-
paper article in which Whymper was accused of cutting the
rope between Douglas and Taugwalder, at the critical moment,
to save his own life. Gustave Dorè made a fantastic, terrible
drawing to illustrate the catastrophe. The superstitious moun-
tain folk whispered among themselves, foolishly reminding one
another of the unlucky dates of the enterprise : the 13th for the
start, a Friday for the victory.

146 THE MATTERHORN

Whymper had then to answer grave charges of responsi-
bility and the aforesaid absurd accusation of having betrayed
his companions. Under the influence of passion men are
wont to allow themselves to make cruel and unjust statements.
Whymper cleared himself by the simple narrative of his mis-
fortune. Taugwalder was accused, tried, and acquitted ; but all
his life he lay under the burden of the shameful, unjust suspicion.

Perhaps some of the old men of Zermatt may have exclaimed
that time as the mountain dweller cried to Manfred —

" Hold, madman,
Stain not our pure v.ites with thy guilty blood."*"

It occurs to us, even now, so long after the sad event, to ask,
with all respect due from us to the illustrious name of the
conqueror of the Matterhorn, how he, who had almost always
attacked the mountain alone, refusing all company, ever agreed
to give battle at the last with a targe party, collected at hap-
hazard, made up of people who were unknown to him, among
them being a youth who was quite devoid of mountaineering
experience ; ^^ how he, who knew so well the difficulties of the
mountain, ever put himself at the head of a party containing
only two guides to four amateurs.

The terrible mistake he was led to make by his feverish
anxiety to reach the summit before his rival cost Whymper
many a bitter pang of grief. At the conclusion of his sad
narrative he wrote these words, which sound a solemn note of
warning to Alpine climbers —

" There have been joys too great to be described in words,
and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared to
dwell; and with these in mind I say: Climb if you will, but
remember that courage and strength are nought without pru-
dence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the
happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste ; look well to
each step ; and from the beginning think what may be the end."

There is something of ancient tragedy in this story, which

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THE CONQUERORS

147

shows us weak mortals revolving in grief and in joy about a
mute, inexorable Destiny, the Matierhorn, which sets their
valour at nought. But, amid the tumultuous passions, amid the
shouts of triumph and the lamentations of misfortune, amid the
curses and the accusations, the voice of those who know how to
suffer and to hope rises calm and full of human dignity. On the
tomb of Hadow, the youthful victim, his parents, with admirable

THE HUT ON THE CRAVATE.

resignation, wrote this verse from the Gospel ; " Ita, Pater,
quoniam sic fuit placitum ante te."

The people of Zermalt had taken no interest in Whymper's
victory ; its terrible sequel made it appear a defeat, a blot which
time alone could wash away. That is why Zermatt did not at
once see what great material profit would follow the event.

On our side it was different ; Carrel's victory was considered
a most fortunate occurrence, as a local triumph for the valley.

148 THE MATTERHORN

The feat had been performed by one of its inhabitants, and, as is
the case in all popular successes, it was bound to make a deep
impression on men's hearts and to excite enthusiasm and
ambition.

Giordano modestly disappeared behind Carrel ; the Alpine
Club's work was not seen ; the sons of the Matterhorn had
conquered alone.

A new era seemed to be dawning for the valley, and I think
that thenceforth the Valtorneins looked upon their mountain in
the same way as medieval artists and burghers viewed with a
new sense of life the Gothic cathedral that their labour and their
faith had built.

Our fellow-countrymen had conquered where the best
strangers, amateurs and guides, had tried in vain for five years.
Some foreigners wished to explain the Italian victory by
alleging that the Matterhorn had presented fewer difficulties
that summer than in the foregoing years ; but Giordano's obser-
vations tell us that the weather was bad during those days, that
fresh snow had fallen on the mountain, and that huge icicles
were hanging from all the rocks.

In Italy they let men talk and they held high festival. • Not,
by Heaven ! that there were many in our land who were
interested in that victory. They were few indeed : Giordano,
the Chanoine Carrel, Quintino Sella and his friends, and the
members, as yet far from numerous, of the Alpine Club.

But these few were ardent ; the new-born Club rejoiced as
one man at the triumph which heralded a happy future ; the
pages of the Jou7'nals of those years are full of the note of
victory, and active, vigorous steps were taken to profit by it.

A project was formed to facilitate future ascents, by fixing
ropes in the most difficult places, and setting up a refuge on the
mountain, in which the night might be passed. A subscription
was started for " hollowing out a cave on the Matterhorn,'* and
in a short time a sum of 1,400 fcs. was collected. The hut
was to be built on the Gravate^- at a height of about 4,000 metres

THE CONQUERORS 149

(13,200 feet circa), in a spot where the overhanging rock formed
a natural roof, which with very little labour could be made into
a rudimentary refuge, by means of a little blasting, and a small
dry stone wall. The climbers of that period were easily
satisfied.

An Aosta paper observed : ** If a safe and comfortable refuge
be built four hours* climb below the summit, the ascent will be
accomplished without difficulty. On the second day it will be
possible to be on the top by eight or nine in the morning ; five
or six hours may then be spent there, if the weather be good,
in sublime meditation ; return to the cave before nightfall. On
the following day it will be merely a delightful stroll back to the
hotel." So the former fears were replaced by over- weening
confidence, and the Matterhorn, which had been so lately
reputed invincible, was brought down by foolish enthusiasts to
the status of a delightful stroll.

After the double conquest opinions were divided concerning
the relative difficulty of each of the two slopes of the mountain ;
but the prevalent idea, due to the terror excited by the catas-
trophe on the Zermatt side, w^s that the Swiss slope was the
more dangerous.63 The London Alpine Journal 2X that time ^4
pointed out that it was natural for Italians to consider their own
side less difficult and dangerous than the northern route, and
that the question would perhaps be decided in the following
summer. It added, however, that it was doubtful whether the
Matterhorn would attract so many climbers as before, now that
it no longer possessed the prestige of inaccessibility. No one
foresaw in the least at that period to what lengths we should be
led by ** cervinomania," to use an expression of the Abbé
Gorret's.

In the year following that of the conquest, no foreigner
appeared to attack the Matterhorn. Giordano alone returned,
being impatient to finish the work he had begun, and to fulfil
the vows he had made to the cause of Italian mountaineering.
He wished to complete a geological study of the mountain, and

15Ò THE MATTERHORN

personally to inspect the spot where it was intended to erect the
refuge which the Alpine Club had sanctioned ; and, indeed,
Carrel, Bich, and Meynet went up as far as the Gravate, towards

the end of June, for the same purpose.

The fact that Italy was then at war allowed Giordano very
little leisure ; but one day in July he left Sella, Perazzi, and Brin
in the capital, and flew off to his beloved Alps.

At this point I am helped by another of his diaries, which is
full of valuable and accurate notes, and when I read those pages,
so rich in memoranda and in calculations, in practical observa-
tions and in curious anecdotes, with occasional mention of names
illustrious then or subsequently to become so, I seem to see
ajjain that strange man, who was at once a dreamer and a
scientist, absent-minded as a poet and accurate as a mathema-
tician, an acute observer and a naive enthusiast, with a mind
both gentle and strong, and capable of the most delicate
sensibility and of the boldest deeds. I seem to see his tall,
slender figure, such as I knew it in my early youth ; I feel his
grey eyes fixed on me, through the searching lenses of his
glasses ; I fancy that his gentle, kindly smile comforts me when
I halt in my work and tells me that I do well to recount to the
youth of to-day the noble enthusiasms of the youth of that
past time.

No desire for popular applause urged them on, but the
conviction that they were doing a fine and useful work. By
climbing mountains they honoured their country ; for us. their
successors, they opened out a path, which following, we found-
great joy of the noblest kind.

The feats which to them appeared arduous and glorious may
seem easy and modest to us; but now that almost all the actors
in that story have disappeared it is well to recall their memories
and to cultivate once more those early ideals. It Is our duty to
preserve the poetic worship of the past history of mountaineering.
Craufurd Grove, the second amateur who climbed the Matter-
horn, wrote the following : —

THE CONQUERORS 151

*'. . . But let not the younger generation of mountaineers,
exulting in easy victories over the once dreaded Cervin, look with
scorn on the slow progress of the pioneers of civilisation."

Giordano, on his arrival at Aosta, went to see the Chanoine
Carrel ^5 and his observatory, which had now been enriched with
instruments provided by the Government, and from which an
account of the observations was sent off every day to the
Capital. On his way up the Val Tournanche he visited with
much interest the gorge of Busserailles, lately discovered and
made accessible by J. Joseph Maquignaz. At the Jomein he
summoned his guides for the ascent of the peak : they were
Carrel, Rich, and Meynet, with the porters Pierre, J. Joseph,
and Aimé Maquignaz, and Solomon and Gabriel Meynet. After
three days* doubtful weather, spent by him in continual observa-
tions, he started on the 22nd of July, before daylight. He went
up by the glacier almost to the Col du Lion, and there he set up
a barometric station.^ When he reached the spot where
Whymper had been wont to pitch his tent, he left his porters
there with the tent, and made his way up beyond the Vallon des
Gla9ons, to a point on the ridge 300 feet above the tent ; and
there on a tiny plateau, on the buttress which separates Breuil
from Zmutt, at a height of about 12,500 feet, he spent the first
night. ^7 On the second day he climbed up to the Gravate and
took up his position there.

At that point Giordano took notes like a peaceful burgess
visiting a farm with a view to building a villa on it. "In order
to reach the balma, or natural grotto, where it is proposed to
construct the hut, we cross a very steep snow slope (35° to 40P)
which forms the Gravate. The passage is somewhat blocked
with snow, and when it is thawing icicles fall there, and perhaps
even a few stones ; but, as the lofty rock is perpendicular, they
fall a good way off. The guides say there is very little danger."
A sketch of the place follows, with a section of the grotto, show-
ing the height and depth (4 yds. by 2^ yds.), and a little plan
of the proposed hut.

IS2 THE MATTERHORN

**The place is very suitable for the hut. Altogether there is
clear space for walking about twenty yards long ; it faces due
south, and looks towards M. Viso ; it begins to get the
sun by about 9.30 a.m. until 5 p.m. — a very quiet spot and
sheltered from the north wind. Water boils at 86° C. ;
barometer (mean), 462 mm." ^

In this lovely spot, facing south and very sheltered, at a
height of 13,596 feet, Giordano lay encamped for five days and
five nights, alone with his three guides, with a single rug for
all of them, and with a temperature that sank as low as —9° C.
inside the tent.

The weather was stormy, the mountain in bad condition ;
three inches of snow lay on the tent on the first morning ; the
choughs that had their nests close by hovered round restlessly
and cawed — a bad sign. High up the struggling winds
whirled the powdery snow in eddies round the top of the
Matterhorn ; down below was a mass of mighty clouds,
which seemed to rise from all the surrounding valleys.

Brandy and wine were running short, and Giordano, strong
in the faith of a man of science, observed his barometer, and
found on the third day that it had risen slightly. The follow-
ing day dawned cold and clear. Giordano was left alone with one
guide ; the two others had gone down to the lower tent to fetch
rugs and provisions. He contemplates and describes the won-
drous panorama which the clearness of the atmosphere at last
presented to his admiring gaze. In the evening the two guides
returned. The fourth night was passed amid fearful cold,
the morning was clear and mild. Giordano and the guides
attempted the ascent ; they reached Tyndall's flagstaff, and
proceeded along the whole aréte of the Shoulder.

**We reached in this manner," says the note-book, **the
foot of the final peak, and I saw the route we must follow to
the summit ; but there was much fresh snow, and Carrel
thought it dangerous to proceed. The guides decided to go
no further. I was forced to obey, much to my regret. I was

THE CONQUERORS 153

very well and in excellent condition that day, and I should
certainly have reached the top if they would have come.
I could already see our last years flag on the summit."

They turned back ; they spent the fifth night under the
rock of the Gravate, whither the porters had brought Giordano
papers, letters, and telegrams that summoned him in all haste
back to the town. Never did the post come up so high, nor a
telegram arrive so inopportunely !

It was already the seventh day Giordano had spent on the
mountain ; the bad weather induced him at last to renounce
the undertaking. The descent was tedious and difficult, but was
at length accomplished. It had been thought that he had died
of cold and hunger, and he was received with joy. ** At the
Jomein rejoicings, which I did not appreciate," says his
note-book. ** I had not reached the summit."

His perseverance deserved success. Never, to my know-
ledge, had any man showed such strength and self-denial in an
Alpine enterprise.^ Giordano's equanimity and iron will were
needed to withstand such discomfort and such prolonged
failure ; all the influence of a strong and good man was
needed to keep his guides with him for so long a time.

Nevertheless, the attempt was rich in scientific results.
Giordano, during those days, by his copious observations,
started his geological and orographical study of the mountain,
which he subsequently completed with the observations he
made during his ascent in 1868. These researches, whose
results were first communicated by him to the Natural Science
Congress at Vicenza in 1868, redounded to the honour of
Italian science and of the Alpine Club. They are preserved
in the Minutes of the Italian Society of Natural Sciences in
Milan (vol. xi.), which contain his excellent geological sketch
of the Matterhorn, that Whymper subsequently used to
embellish his own book.7o

In the following year (1867) the Valtournanche guides
began to derive benefit from Carrel's victory ; indeed, the

154 THE MATTERHORN

names of these Italian guides are associated with almost
all the events which followed the conquest.

J. A. Carrel, J. Bich, and S. Meynet guided Mr. Florence
Craufurd Grove to the summit ; it was Carrel who had per-
suaded him to prefer the route on the Italian side. Grove was
delighted with Carrel, and gave him a most flattering testi-
monial ; 71 and in his report to the English Alpine Club he
praised the almost excessive energy of the Valtournanche
guides, whom he found wonderful mountaineers, and the zeal
with which they had made easy almost all the awkward bits
of the ascent.

*' . . . The comparative ease," he writes, "with which
it is now traversed is due to the Valtournanche guides, who,
with a zeal for which the traveller does not feel unmixed grati-
tude, have put a ring in the nostrils of the leviathan, or, to
change the metaphor, have bound their captive with cords." *

When Grove made the ascent there were no ropes above
the Shoulder ; from there up to the top he followed Carrel's
original route.

A month later, J. Joseph Maquignaz and J. Pierre, accom-
paned by Victor Maquignaz, Cesar and J. B. Carrel, started
for the Matterhorn, without amateurs. The enterprising spirit
of the men of Valtournanche did not belie itself. 72 J. Joseph
meant to find a new route, shorter and more direct, to the
summit, surmounting the final tower by the ridge facing Breuil,
without traversing over to the Zmutt face on the Swiss side.
This line of ascent had already been traced out by the Abbé
Gorret in 1865, and Giordano, looking at the summit from the
Shoulder, had made the following note in his diary in 1866:
** I do not see why one should not go straight up by the ridge.
Perhaps it may be very difficult, because the first part seems
to be perpendicular, nay, even overhanging.**

* Mr. F. C. Grove did not, I think, altogether approve of the
Valtournanche guides* action in roping the mountain to so great an
extent. See Alpine journal, vol. iv. p. 188.— Translator's Note.

THE CONQUERORS 155

Jean Joseph may have thought the Italian victory incomplete
until the top had been reached without any point of foreign
territory being touched — in fact, he was subsequently wont to
call his **the first completely Italian ascent of the Matter-
horn/* He was certainly moved by a feeling of rivalry with
Carrel, who had till then held a monopoly of the mountain.
J. Joseph and J. Pierre reached the summit, not without great
difficulty, by the way the former had marked out, which was
subsequently always followed. Their companions were left
about 300 feet below the top. With them was a brave girl,
called Felicita, a daughter of J. B. Carrel. The spot was
thenceforth called by the happy name of Col Félicité.

J. Joseph Maquignaz, the humble porter who had been
enrolled by Carrel in 1865 to work as a stone-cutter, had
suddenly become a great guide. That was the heroic age,
when men lay down to sleep as private soldiers and awoke
as field-marshals. Directly afterwards he found himself at the
head of Mr. Leighton Jordan's party, guiding it to the summit
by the recently discovered route, which shortened the ascent by
about an hour.

In the following year (1868) John Tyndall had the pleasure
and the honour (style of the period) of climbing the Matter-
horn ; he also had J. Joseph as a guide, and he wrote of him,
happily enumerating all the qualities which go to make a first-
rate guide, that he was an excellent companion, calm in
perilous places, and strong wherever strength was needed.
In his opinion a better guide for the Matterhorn could not
be desired.

Tyndall was the first to accomplish what in Alpine slang is
called the traverse of the Matterhorn — that is, the ascent from
one (the Breuil) side and the descent by the other. À propos
of this expedition, I may remark that Tyndalls party unroped
on the descent towards Zermatt, before reaching the site of the
Alte Hiitte, and I do not think that Maquignaz, when I knew
him in his old age, would ever have allowed me to do such a

■56

THE MATTERHORN

thing, but would have rightly considered it most imprudent.
But times had changed ; Mummery, the valiant explorer of the
Matterhorn, has pointed out with the incisiveness that was
peculiar to him, the apparent falling off in the quality of
climbers : —

"The Matterhorn," he writes, "gives a curious illustration
of the way in which the modern amateur is deteriorating. The
early climbers roped at the ' Shoulder.' In 1873 they roped at
the old hut. In 18S6 they roped some distance below the old
hut. Now they rope at the new hut, and the exploits of a
gentleman in 1893 render it not impossible that future climbers
will rope at the Hornli."73

Again, in 1868, Messrs. Thioly and Hoiler crossed the
Matterhorn from Zermatt to Breuil, and M. Sauzet climbed it
from the Italian side, and they all had Italian guides.
Giordano came and reached at last the summit he had so long
yearned to attain ; and his guides, as was fitting, were the
champions of the Matterhorn— -Carrel and Maquignaz.

In the same year the Swiss guides awoke, and the first
ascent on the north side, after the catastrophe, was accom-
plished by the Rev. Elliott, with the guides J. M. Lochmatter
and Peter Knubel, and other ascents followed immediately
afterwards. Thus we have four ascents from the 1 lalian side and
seven from the Swiss. The rush to the Matterhorn had begun.

I end this list M by the mention of one of the ascents
in 1869, that of Mr. R. li. Heathcote, with the guides Joseph,
Pierre and Emmanel Maquignaz and B. Bich ; it was nn this
occasion that the guides fixed at the last bit the rope ladder
which was called the Echelle Jordan, from the name of its
donor. Let every one who is responsive to the influence of
memories, when he passes Busseraiiles, make his way into the
wooden shed which forms the entrance to the gorge; he will
see there Jordan's old ladder nailed to the small, dark wall.
The first of the Matterhorn ladders, which stood in its lofty
perch for nearly twenty years, exposed to the sun at 14,500 feet

THE CONQUERORS

'57

abo\e the sea, a target for stones and buffeted by storms, is
now at peace, a white and worn-out relic, kept with veneration
by the grandchildren of old Maquignaz.

The spell of the Matterhorn was gone, but yet its great
name for difficulties and peril still endured. The writings of that
time bear witness to the fear inspired by the avalanches which
fell on both sides of the mountain. Whymper wrote that rocks
and stones rained day and night from the Matterhorn^i The
Alpine Journal {\'o\, ii.) called attention to this danger on the
Italian side, and Giordano mentioned it on the Swiss.

He wrote as follows to Tyndall after his ascent : "As for
me. I may say that I found the peak fairly difficult this time.
. . . On the descent to Zermatt I was exposed to real danger
by the avalanches of stones ; one of my guides had his sack cut
in two by a rock, and 1 was somewhat bruised myself." It is
strange to notice that for many years after this danger was no
longer mentioned, either because the disintegration of the
mountain was really checked by special climatic conditions, or
because experience of the route had taught how the line of
falling stones might be avoided ; and no accident due to this
cause happened to any of the innumerable parties which used
the two ordinary routes, excepting. I think, the case of the
guide who was hit in 1900 by a stone on the Swiss side.

1 have gone over the Zermatt aréte four times, up or down,
at different hours of the day, and the Breuil arète three times,
without ever noticing any falling stones, except those started
by the parties themselves ; but it is not to be supposed that
climbers' footsteps have sent down all the movable material on
the mighty peak. The mountain is alive with a life that is
gradually wearing itself out, and from time to time it gives
dangerous proofs of this living state.

The Matterhorn became a field for rival feats of daring. In
1871 came the first ascent by a lady. Miss Walker; in 1S76 the
first by amateurs without guides, Messrs. Cust, Colgrove, and
Cawood. There followed a man who dared to climb the

158 THE MATTERHORN

mountain alone, and then those who made the ascent on their
honeymoon. Lord Wentworth spent the night on the summit,
and remained there fully seventeen hours ; Mr. Jackson {1872)
ascended from Breuil and descended to Zerniatt in a continuous
day of eighteen hours. This was the first time such a speed was
attained.

Vittorio Sella ( 1 882) reached the summit, after two
attempts, in the winter season. Such an undertaking as this
required, owing to the danger of iced rocks, the shortness of
the days, and the intense cold, unshakable courage, great skill,
and exceptional powers of endurance ; and it was rightly
considered one of the boldest feats of mountaineering known.
Once more did the annals of the Matterhorn ring gloriously
with an Italian name— the name of Sella.?^

Finally, in 1902, the guides of Valtournanche carried to the
summit a cross, as a symbol of their faith and their love, and
on September 24th a priest said Mass there. This was the
Abbé A. Carrel, great-nephew of the famous guide.

Whilst the zeal of the boldest thus incites them to seek on
the Matterhorn new and thrilling emotions, the common herd,
attracted by the mountain's fame, climbs in crowds from
Zermatt, hauled by guides up the route which is now made
easy by numerous stout ropes, to the very summit of the
Matterhorn, which seems to have been tamed. On a fine day
in 1892 the top was seen to be crowded with at least twenty-
three people and their numerous guides,

The sad result of this overwhelming number of ascents, by
men among whom there were weaklings, novices, and reckless
climbers, was the accidents. The Zermatt side is responsible,
up to 1900, for six victims,?? besides those of the first disaster ;
the Breuil slope, a more difficult one, for only two.7''

But fortune was evidently inclining towards the Zerniatt
side ; statistics in 1880 show approximately, out of i 59 ascents,
132 on the Swiss side, and only 27 on the Italian. Fortunately
for us, the Italian side of the Matterhorn kept up its name for

THE CONQUERORS 159

difficulty. Emile Javelle, a famous Swiss climber, one of those
who knew the Matterhorn best, and who idealised it most in
writing,79 has left us this statement : ** When the Zermatt
Matterhorn has become as commonplace a mountain as the
Faulhorn or the Brévent those tourists who wish to see it in
all its pristine ruggedness, and to realise the difference between
a common ascent and a serious expedition, need only descend
it on the Italian side" (1875). The Matterhorn was now
reckoned among the wonders of the world ; its photograph was
on show in shops in capital cities, side by side with those of
great monarchs ; the cosmopolitan travellers who, under the
spell of an insatiable curiosity, rushed about the globe in all
directions, told one another how they had "done " the Matter-
horn, as if they were talking of having gone up to the propylaea
of the Acropolis or the dome of St. Peters in Rome.
Telegraphs and railways were brought to its foot, and
threatened to storm its very summit.^

The first intense enthusiasm of the few was spread out
among the many, and lost in depth what it gained in breadth.
Thousands came and gave expression in ten different languages
to their wonder at the mighty monument, but it may well be
that the primitive, simple desire of the Valtournanche moun-
taineer and the deep feeling and the suffering of the ambitious
Englishman were a purer offering to the giant on his throne
than the chorus of the many-headed throng. It seemed as if,
by degrees, the best climbers abandoned the mountain to the
mediocrities. Real mountaineers now go far afield, seeking new
and profitable glories, aiming at the summits of the Caucasus,
the Andes, the New Zealand Alps, the Himalayas, and continue
thus to contribute to the discovery of the unknown corners of
the earth. Yet from time to time a few idealists still prowled
mysteriously about the mountain, scanning with eager eye its
huge faces bristling with difficulties, and as yet unexplored.
They were ardent worshippers of the Matterhorn, alone amid
the crowd which had invaded the temple, and they strove to

i6o THE MATTERHORN

lift the last folds of the veil which still covered the idol, hoping
thereby to set free the rays of some new bright light. They
thought in their hearts that the mountain was still, in spite of
all. the mysterious mountain of the past, and they yearned to
feel for themselves the emotions of the first discoverers. The
darle and awful chimneys on the Zmutt aréte gave Mummery
and Penhall**' scope for fresh victories; and the knife-edged
ridge of Furggen, which rises in a few aerial leaps to the
summit, afforded the brave Mummery,^' and after him another,
an obscure enthusiast, indescribable emotions. But these were
the last idealists of the Matterhorn.

The common herd will continue to climb the mountain,
unmindful of the sacrifices that have been made for it,
perchance unconscious of the nobility of the feat that they
are performing, ignorant of the value of the prize, because it
is so lightly won.

The Matterhorn, for a short hour the goal of ardent desire,
echoing with cries of grief and of victory, will pass away, as
othef ideals have passed. The chains with which man has
bound it will fall ; the ancient monument will be broken to
fragments by slow disintegration, and perchance, many
centuries hence, men passing by its foot will turn their eyes
upon the ruins of the mountain, standing alone in the desert
waste of snow, as upon a mysterious menhir, inscrutable symbol
of an ancient and forgotten relii(ion.

CHAPTER IV
MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN

"To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like
A full-hot horse who being allow'd his

way,
Self-mettle tires him."

Shakespeare, Henry VUL

My first sight of the Matterhorn ... ! When I think of it I
seem to grow young again ; a host of memories crowd into my
mind and strive to free themselves as if each one desired to be
the first to find an issue, and I must needs throw the door wide
open and let them force their way out en masse, singing and
laughing, like boys issuing from school, and rejoicing to be
once more in the sunshine and to breathe the fresh, pure air.

The first time I saw the Matterhorn I was thirteen years
old, a pleasant age when everything is new. I was making my
first Alpine ascent. From the modest summit of a mountain
6,600 feet high, in the clear dawn of a summer's day, a great
man pointed out to me and my companions a mighty dark blue
pyramid in the far distance. No cloud darkened the horizon
of the view and of our own hearts. **That is the Matterhorn,"
he told us, and a tremor of admiration filled our young minds
at the sight of that wondrous pointed shape rearing itself aloft
amid the vast sea of other mountains.

That great man was Quintino Sella, and he was worthy to

I I «6»

1(52 THE MATTERHORN

point out that mountain and to tell us of its charm. We stood
round him, a group of eight or ten boys, awestruck, and intent

upon the novel spectacle, whose beauty was not as yet entirely
comprehensible to us, in the same way as we did not yet
completely realise the nobility of soul of him who was interpret-
ing it all to us, and who earnestly desired that we should
admire and learn.' Later I learnt to appreciate the greatness
and nobility of the mountain and the man, and they have held
a place together in my mind, equal in greatness, because the
concrete form of the one seems to me to illustrate the moral
virtues of the other ; and to both I am deeply grateful for the
good they have done me.

But the impression, though unconscious, must needs have
been a deep one for the image of that first view to have
remained so clearly stamped upon my mind after so many
years. Perhaps it was at that instant, in view of the distant
Matterhorn, during those first happy hours of life when the
simple aims are born which shape our future, that that ideal was
first formed which was destined to fill so large and so worthy
a part of my life, and "which, as you see, has not yet left me"
("e che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona").

But on that day 1 thought 1 had climbed up to heaven in
that 1 had reached a height of 6,6oo feet. 1 was tired, and
1 had no wish whatever to climb any higher. And when I
looked at that summit, which I knew must be so difficult, and
so much higher than the point where we stood, when 1 heard
Sella talking of over 14,000 feet, and tell of Whymper and
how he had lost four of his companions on that peak, and of
Giordano, and how he spent five days and five nights up there,
methought these were superhuman deeds and tales of fabulous
heroes.

No, indeed, 1 did not then aspire to ascend the Matterhorn ;
1 little thought that 1 should attain its summit many times.
We eight or ten boys who stood round Sella - on that morning
in 1874 have all more or less been lovers of the mountains.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 163

He wished that all Italians might be climbers, and in the
meantime he made climbers of his sons and nephews. With
this object he opened before our eager eyes the first pages
of the great book of the mountains, which is so full of wondrous
tales, and which we have read and re-read again and again
with such keen zest ; he expounded it to us, and commented on
it with great wisdom and with a lofty and untroubled faith, and
we, before believing in the mountains, believed in him.

Those early expeditions have left a strange impression on
my mind. We would leave our uncles hospitable house, a
numerous party, very early in the morning. For me, a son of
the town, to rise before the sun was a great sacrifice, but in
that dear house all woke early, even to Quintino's venerable
mother, who would always bid her son and her grandsons
farewell before they started. My cousins, although they were
about the same age as myself, were more accustomed to Alpine
excursions. I, a novice, and often the youngest of the party —
which is nowadays no longer the case — felt very insignificant
beside them. They had real alpenstocks, that excited my
envy and my admiration, and round which were burned in
small letters the names of passes and peaks they had ascended,
strange names like Betta-Furka, Weissthor, Lysjoch, Breithorn.
They had already been on glaciers, and this fact filled me with
respect for them. Ah! how I too yearned to see how a
glacier was made, and to climb one of those peaks whose name
ends in '* horn " ! Now that those days are so long past, it
seems to me that one's first love of the mountains is largely
the fruit of a sense of rivalry.

At that time I knew the mountains by having seen them
from the far distant hills of my native place, or by having
studied a few coloured prints, of the most primitive description,
which came to us in those days from Switzerland. I had
formed in my own mind visions of imaginary mountains, like
those which children make at Christmas for the creche. And
the first time I was taken among the real mountains I was.

104 THE MATTERHORN

I confess, somewhat disillusioned. I did not recognise the
beautiful blue peaks I had gazed at from afar ; here there was
only an oppressive, melancholy, and massive heap of ruins.
I sought in vain for the Alpine landscape such as it had been
portrayed in the romantic vignettes, in which every scene is
symmetrically drawn, with a background of peaceful and harm-
less glaciers, encased amid thick pine forests ; a path edged
with flowers winding along the bottom of the valley ; at
Intervals a neat and picturesque chalet ; the liny cascade which
falls down the well-proportioned mountain-side, and in the
centre of the picture the silver torrent flowing under the
little wooden bridge.

1 did not then find this Arcadia in the Alps. The mountain-
sides, bare and stony, seemed hideous to me. Instead of the
poetical wooden chalets I was confronted with wretched stone
hovels, filthy dark lairs, which, when approached, exhaled an
acrid smell of smoke and dung ; instead of the flower-decked
path, a track bristling with rocks and stones, a way of dreadful
steepness, which wearied my small lungs ; and in my heart of
hearts I thought the mountains as described in books or painted
in pictures were more beautiful than those of reality.

During these first attempts 1 suffered at times from the
strange disease that is known as mountain-sickness, and, had
it not been for the presence of my cousins, to whom 1 would
not for all the world confess my condition, 1 should have
allowed myself to fall to the ground. The feeling of self-
respect is a mighty factor in the formation of the climber. And
when our leader asked if I was tired, I lied bravely, and my
little legs, weak as yet, performed prodigious feats of energy,
so that I might not fall behind the others on the ascent.

I remember still certain springs at which we halted. Sella
allowed us to drink but sparingly, for he said cold water, drunk
on the ascent, was harmful, and he was quite right ; but I felt
a burning in my throat and a shortness of breath which I
thought water would have cured.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 165

The first steps in the mountains are wearisome, as our
uncle, who knew his Dante by heart, often told us—

" Questa montagna è tale, This peak is toilsome in its lower
Che sempre il cominciar di sotto è part, but as one rises, so the way

grave grows easier.

E quant'uom più va su, e men fa

male."

At that time I should have liked much better than Dante's
lines another draught of the cool water which gurgled so
temptingly close at hand, but Sella was not to be disobeyed.
But when we reached the ridges, high up near the summit,
and saw the valleys far below at our feet, and the glaciers and
distant ranges and the boundless horizon were revealed to us,
then I understood that he was right.

I saw the mountains as none had ever painted them, as no
book had ever described them to me ; full of new wonders that
no fairy-tale had ever shown me even in dreams. I knew
sensations that nothing had ever afforded me till then — the
instinctive pleasure of rising above the plain, the delight of
great exertion, and of complete repose that followed. The
bread I ate so hungrily up there had a sweet savour hitherto
unknown to me, and I tasted the fresh, ineffable joy of reaching
the highest point — the summit ; the spot where the mountain
ceases to rise and man's soul to yearn. It is an almost perfect
form of spiritual satisfaction, such as is perhaps attained by the
philosopher who has at last discovered a truth that contents
and rests his mind.

On my return home, and after I had slept fifteen hours
at a stretch, I would awake with an infinite number of
new ideas and aspirations, and with a mad desire to return
to the heights, to climb higher still, and to attempt more
difficult ascents. The mountains must possess some secret
fascination to lead us on to seek greater and greater diffi-
culties and fatigue, and to make us love them more in

i66 THE MATTERHORN

proportion to the sacrifices we have made for them. But
these are secrets that the mind of youth does not analyse:
it rushes headlong towards that which attracts it, without
asking why.

One fine day, many years afterwards, I came to see the
Matterhorn quite close. Imajjine my eagerness in approach-
ing that mysterious, cruel mountain, after all 1 had heard
about it ; imagine my earnest desire to know the men of
the Matterhorn, those famous guides of whom Englishmen
and Italians had written with such respect and such affection!

Alexander Sella, one of the companions of my earliest
expeditions, had done me the honour to take me with him,
promising me an ascent with J. Joseph Maquignaz. 1 did
not care what the ascent might be ; it was enough for
me to know that I was to climb beside a great moun-
taineer, behind a famous guide ; I had risen greatly in
my own esteem. Till that season I had modestly used
an alpenstock, but on that occasion 1 thought my dignity
required that I should exchange it for an axe, such as real
climbers had.

The young men of the present day carry an axe from
the very beginning of their Alpine career, and they do
right, for in this way they learn quite early to handle the
weapon of the Alps; but for a climber in 1883, the day
on which he was promoted from the alpenstock to the
axe was as solemn as that on which the youth of Rome
assumed the toga vii-ilis.

They had given me a heavy, solid, somewhat ill-
balanced instrument, too long in the spike, and studded
with nails which wounded the hand that grasped it. I
did not know how to handle it ; it was much in my
way, but it was my first axe, and I looked upon it with
pride and clasped it tenderly.

The lapse of years will change what was then a
childish delight in a new toy into a kind of friendship.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 167

We shall find in the axe something more than a material
support ; it will be bound up with our Alpine memories,
and habit will unite its humble existence with our own.
When we find some weak point in it, some split in the wood
that was once so smooth and fine, some crack in the iron
which has lost its temper, it will be as painful to us as the
sight of the first wrinkle on our brow, or the first white hair
on our head. When its defects make it useless, we shall
part from it unwillingly. We will give it a successor — a, fine,
new, bright axe, better made, more slender. But the old
one, which has served us in our youth, will continue to be
dearest of all to us.

I religiously preserve my own first axe, which shared so
many keen delights with me. One day, when I was
descending the ice-slope on the Barre des Ecrins, and was
on the edge of the great bergschrund, in a most difficult
place, it gave under my weight, but, although cracked, it
supported me. Since then it has lain in honoured repose in
a corner of my room, beside another axe, broken also and
less fortunate than mine, for the climber who owned it fell
with it and lost his life.

But to return to 1883. Besides the axe, I had provided
myself, for the solemn occasion, with a pair of boots as
much like Sella s as was possible, a mighty pair and bristling
with nails, like those which Teja had at that time made
famous in his caricatures of Father Quintino. I thought I
had donned the famous seven-league boots.

I was going up the path in the Val Toumanche — the
carriage road was not yet built — full of modesty, but full of
pride as I walked by my companion's side, regulating my
steps by his. I listened eagerly to the tales of his Alpine
adventures, which he told me as we went along. One
among them has remained in my memory.

I must premise that Alexander had a thick black beard,
a keen cast of countenance, a fine pair of shoulders, and

»^-^nw^r --

i68 THE MATTERHORN

was wont to dress very carelessly in the mountains, eschewing
those typical garments which at first sight denote the
climber. One day, as he was walking up this valley all
alone, with his axe under his arm and his pipe in his
mouth, he came up with a German gentleman who mistook
him for a guide, and asked him to carry his knapsack.
The black-bearded man took the sack, a very heavy
one, lifted it on to his shoulders, and, followed by the
German, carried it as far as the hotel, which was a long
way off. When they reached the hotel, the landlord, who
knew Alexander very well, came out to meet him with
much empressement, and hastened to relieve him of the
sack, and altogether to make much of him, whilst the
German gentleman waited in astonishment, and learnt to
his great surprise that his porter was the son of the
Finance Minister of the kingdom of Italy. How Alexander
laughed as he related this anecdote ! And, above all, he
rejoiced at having been mistaken for a guide.

Meanwhile we drew near to the turning of the Grands-
Moulins, and my companion said, "Prepare yourself; in
two minutes* time you will see the Matterhorn." My heart
beat fast. No pilgrim, full of faith, before whose eyes the
dome of St. Peter's suddenly appeared in all its grandeur,
after his long journey, ever felt his heart palpitate more
violently than did I when I saw the Matterhorn rising,
huge amid the mist, and framed by the two green sides
of the valley. I was utterly fascinated ; it was loftier and
grander than I had fancied. At the same time I felt deep
discouragement, together with a great longing to reach the
summit myself, at some far distant date, when I should be
worthy. And even to-day, whenever I see it again, I am
seized once more with this feeling of uneasiness and of
desire, a feeling which is perhaps only known to those
whose minds are bewitched by this noble passion of
mountain climbing.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 169

I think that few Alpine peaks can create so sublime,
so stern an impression as this one does, when it is seen
from this point, at certain hours, at sunrise or at sunset, when
the walls of the valley which frame it are sunk in shadow,
and the whole towering pyramid is wrapped about with light
and seems to shine in glory. At such times we have before

BUS8BRAILLES CHAFBL.

our eyes no reality, but an apparition. No other mountain
is revealed in so personal a manner to our gaze ; we are
tempted to expect to find it has- a countenance, like a man
or a monster, to believe that head contains a conscious
thought, to read upon its stony brow the expression of its
pride and its strength ; and if the clouds, chasing one
another round it, assist the optical illusion ever so slightly.

lyo

THE MATTERHORN

our fancy seems to see it move, bending its head in sorrow,
or raising it with a Titan's pride, and we think with terror
what its power wouid be if it moved indeed.

Every time the Matterhorn appears upon the landscape
it is wise for the writer to cease his description, and to refer
the reader to — the Matterhorn. If the reader has already
seen it. even once, he will not have forgotten it ; while, for
him who has not seen it, no words can describe the magni-
ficence of the rock which rises perpendicularly towards the
sky for g.ooo feet from the bottom of the valley, an ever-
changing apparition which fascinates and threatens by turns,
and appears at one time to be the product of a tremendous
cataclysm, at another a mighty work of peaceful nature,
given to man to ennoble his mind.

As we made our way up the valley the ghostly Matter-
horn disappeared from view, artd was not seen again till
some hours afterwards, when we had reached its foot. After
a short halt at the village of Valtournanche, we walked up
to Crépin, a picturesque little hamlet, where Maquignaz's
house stands. Alexander inquired for his guide, and was
told that he had gone up to await us at the Jomeìn. We
pushed on the quicker ; we were anxious to meet him, and
to hear what plans he had made for us.

Half way between Valtournanche and the Joniein, where
the valley narrows and seems to come to an end, there
stands a plain little white church, built on the rock at the
edge of the cliff of Busserailles. The path winds steeply
up the rocks and passes in front of the church before
entering the dark gorge, vertically above the ravine. It
is the only way up the valley — the way which leads to the
Matterhorn.

Two mountaineers were coming down, and, as they
passed the church, they devoutly uncovered their heads. It
is the chapel of Our Lady of La Garde ; when I came
up to it 1 read an inscription on the door: " It^r para

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHOKN 171

tutum." I thought then, as ever after, that that pious line
was wonderfully appropriate to the place. It is the hasty
prayer of all those who go to brave the dangers of the
mountains ; it seems as if the good priest of Val to u manche,
who built the chapel in 1679, had the future climbers of
the Matterhorn in his mind as he wrote that simple poetic
prayer.

In the presence of the majesty of the high mountains, man.
who has never yet grown accustomed to the terrors of primitive
nature, is assailed by unwonted fears ; he becomes vaguely
conscious of a trace of that instinct which he has inherited in a
modified form from his remotest ancestors, who used to struggle
unarmed with the invincible forces of Nature. He shudders
like a child left alone in a great forest full of strange sounds,
and is overwhelmed by some secret sense of the infinite powers
ot the unknown which surround our life, like the "timor
panicus" of the ancients. In this place, where mountains rise
threateningly on all sides, and the great voice of Nature is heard
close at hand in the rumbling of the stone avalanches that fall
3.000 feet from the Becca di Creton down in the valley— in the
roar of the falls of Marmore. which, hidden in a chasm, seem
to make the ground tremble under our feet^ — in this place our
instinctive feeling of weakness is renewed ; we feel insignificant
and once more like little children. Ah! blessed mountains!
Here the scoffer is silent, and the sceptic does not laugh if
he sees a guide drop his oboi into the alms-box and uncover
his head as he passes before the little statue of the Madonna.

1 was beginning to be aware of the neighbourhood of the
vision hidden behind the rocks that was about to be revealed
to me once more. At last we reached the basin of Breuil.
The Matterhorn was before us ; we could scan the whole of it
with one glance from head to foot. We were in its dominions.

Le Breuil is a large flat space, 500 yards broad and 3.000 long,
and it abuts on the base of the Matterhorn. Down its centre
winds the Marmore, a small torrent whose waters come down

172

THE MATTERHORN

grey from the glaciers, amid meadows and heaps of stones ; on
the left, as one goes up the valley, stretches a curtain of steep
battlemented mountains which runs from the Chateau des
Dames to the Dent d'Hérens, a wall of rock whose mean
height is about 12,500 feet.3 Fragments of glaciers break off
and fall from its steep, smooth sides. Only a marvellous balance
keeps the glaciers in place, for at any moment they seem
as if they must rush down into the valley. The wall falls
rapidly to the Col du Lion, and thence rises in one last
leap to the culminating point, the Matterhorn, which lifts its
cone, " lonely as a noble thought," to heaven amid the savage
architecture of its rocks and glaciers. Then the mountain
rests, as if tired of rising, and the background on the right of
the scene consists of a peaceful mass of white, undulating
summits; Nature seems to have exhausted all her ferocity on
the other side of the valley. I remember that from that point
the Matterhorn seemed to me squat and unimposing. It was no
longer the same vision which had appeared to me but a few
hours before at the Grands-Moulins. The monster appeared
to have squatted as the gentle dromedary kneels to put his
swelling hump within reach of the traveller in the desert.

I confessed my feeling to my companion. Alexander was
almost displeased, and answered with some severity that in order
to judge the mountain it was necessary to have been on it.
"Look at the Great Tower," he said to me; "you would
think you could reach it with your hand, but six hours are
required to reach the foot of it. Those small needles which
standout against the sky are gigantic rock teeth. The nearer
summit, which seems to be joined on to the Matterhorn, and to
be almost as high, is separated from it by a long ridge, from
which to the summit there is still a climb of t.ooo feet." Then
he pointed out the Jomein Hotel, a tiny white spot, a mere
point on the highest pastures, at the foot of the Matterhorn. I
began to be convinced, because comparison with the insignificant
work of man is the only means of realising the vastness of nature.

J. J. MAQUIG.SAZ.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN

In three-quarters of an hour we reached the hotel, near which
was seated on a low wall, with his legs crossed, and smoking a
pipe, a tall, thin man, red-haired, hooked-nosed, with a small,
eagle eye and a somewhat contemptuous cast of countenance.
" This is Joseph Maquignaz,"said Alexander in a tone of great
respect ; " say How do you do ? to him." Maquignaz seemed to
me like a strict guardian of the Matterhom, and when I per-
ceived Alexander's respectful affection for the brave companion
of his ascent of the Dent du Géant, I became more deferential
still to the great guide, and presented myself to him with
increasing awe.

" I have brought you a pupil," said Alexander ; and knowing
Maquignaz's natural distrust of novices, he at once gave him a
list of my expeditions. They were not much — the Grand
Combin. the Bessanese, the Ciamarella, the Pelvoux ; but my
legs were good, and I was full of zeal. Alexander knew it, and
made himself responsible for me. " We will see about that
to-morrow," was Maquignaz's laconic reply, as he surveyed me
from head to foot ; and on the morrow we all made a long and
difficult expedition together. We climbed the Punta dei Cors,
which stands right opposite the Matterhorn. For fourteen
hours I had the latter before my eyes, and I understood he was
really great. It appears that I acquitted myself well ; I saw
that Maquignaz was pleased with me ; he took good care not
to tell me so, but in the following years he accompanied me in
the mountains often and willingly.

The confidence with which guides at that time inspired me
was boundless. I was convinced that when I was with them no
mishap could befall me. And this trust, though weakened by
the fatal experience of others, is still with me, and continual
comparison of my own ability with theirs, which was infinitely
superior in the contest with the mountains, has always prevented
me from being self-reliant.

Jean Joseph seemed to me invincible; if any one had at
that time predicted his death on Mont Blanc I should have

174 THE MATTERHORN

laughed heartily. Maquignaz would have contemptuously
shrugged his shoulders, while Alexander would have taken the
insult to himself, and threatened the rash prophet with his
stick.

I think that Alexander was jealous of his guide. He would
have no other guide but. J. Joseph, and perhaps he wished the
latter to have no other amateur but himself; a naive jealousy
that is rarely met with in our day, and that shows plainly what
the relations between a climber and his guide were at that time.

Alexander s was an excellent school ; modest himself, he
taught modesty, which is a fine thing in mountaineering, as in
everything else. By precept and example he discountenanced
all stage effects and all useless paraphernalia. ** Knickerbockers
be hanged ! " he was wont to say at that time ; ** take the most
ragged suit in your wardrobe and start for the mountains in it."
His was a school of prudence and moderation; in his opinion
ten years* practice was required to fit a man to attempt the
Matterhorn. He firmly believed that the climbers first steps in
the Alps should be taken under the aegis of a good guide ; in the
same way, he said, as the weakly child of a rich family would be
given to a sturdy peasant woman to suckle. He continually
urged me to watch how guides placed their feet, if I wished to
learn to walk properly ; he insisted on my going slowly up-hill ;
on the way down the valleys he rebuked me if I walked care-
lessly and did not admire all the beautiful objects that we passed
on the road.

As I recall these memories, I see the dear form of my
former comrade take shape before me, as in a distant mirage of
my youth. At that time I loved the mountains and trusted them
blindly ; I enjoyed them with all the abandonment of a first love.
Perhaps I looked about me but little and thought less. I was
satisfied with the delight of moving my legs, climbing, reaching
the summit, and, after devouring the provisions, rushing down
the slope to find a good dinner and a bed below. And yet
I can still see and hear what was then revealed to me — the

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 175

important incidents in an ascent, the guides' movements, and
even the words they said to me at certain given moments. I
can see and hear them almost more clearly and sharply than
things seen and heard last year ; and the smell of the smoke of
Alpine chalets always reawakens in me a great longing for
those evenings of long ago, which I spent in haylofts, planning
and laughing with my friends, whilst the bells of the herd rang
their chime in the stable below. I had a respect for the
mountains, but I had not yet learnt to fear them. Until mis-
fortune has fallen close to us, we do not believe in misfortune ;
but the fatal stroke that falls near to us wounds us deeply.

One day — eighteen years have gone by since then, and I
still grieve at the thought — I was induced by some friends,
bolder than myself, to attempt the Matterhorn without guides.
The undertaking seemed to me a glorious and difficult one, but
I had no fear of it. When I think it over now I feel I was ill-
prepared, and that I made a great mistake in giving way to
temptation, but I confess that at the time I agreed with
enthusiasm. We were ready ; only a few days separated us from
the date of our departure, when a terrible warning came to me
from the mountains : a youth who was very dear to me, one full
of strength and intelligence, had met with his death by falling
from a rock as he was ascending to the Col du Géant alone
with a young friend. I did not climb the Matterhorn that year,
and as to doing so without guides, I have never thought of it
again.

From that day forward I have looked upon the mountains
with different feelings. They have appeared to me stronger and
more cruel ; I have seen that the way I tread is more difficult,
and my love has become deeper and more serious. I had
learned in sorrow how mountains should be loved.

In 1893 ^ came up to climb the Matterhorn. These were
the happiest days in my Alpine career. Why, I do not know.
There are days on which we chance to awake in a happy
humour, when we feel healthier and stronger and more sure of

176 THE MATTERHORN

ourselves, when the most difficult things appear easy, and when
we almost long to meet with obstacles for the pleasure of over-
coming them. These are exceptional days, but they certainly
recur more frequently in the mountains than in cities.

The Matterhorn, too, was in an excellent humour and looked
very handsome and clean ; the summer sun had divested it of its
cold mantle of snow, and had melted the formidable necklaces
of icicles which at times encircle its neck. The ancient rock,
bare and gilded, burnt by the suns of centuries, and eaten away
by the elements, seemed to be alive, and to be enjoying one of
those rare moments of peace and joy that the short summer
season vouchsafes to it. The Matterhorn. like Dante's monster,
" had the just man's face " during those days. Since my first
sight of it. i had year by year passed my examinations, each
one more difficult than the last, in mountaineering. I felt
specially competent in the matter of rock climbing, and I was
ready to undergo with honour this last lest.

We who stand between the old and the new generation of
climbers, approach the Matterhorn respectfully and realise
its prestige to an extent unknown to the younger members of
our fraternity. The legend, still recent, of its inaccessibility, is
yet present in our minds, as is the story of the noble efforts men
made to ascend it — men some of whom we have known and
heard speak ; there still rings in our ears the joyous echo of the
first victory, "which stirred our hearts as children."

It was a Sunday. The guides, as is their custom, wished to
hear Mass before starting. 1 also went down to the little church,
which stands not far from the hotel at Breuil. It is an unpre-
tending structure of stone, built with rough mortar and flanked
by a slender tower. The priest who was to celebrate Mass had
arrived ; he had had a two hours' walk and an ascent of
1,500 feet to reach the place. I looked through the bars at
the interior of the chapel ; its walls were all denuded of their
plaster, and spotted with the damp ; an old altar occupied
almost the whole space ; there were no ornaments except two

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN

177

wooden candlesticks and a white cloth. It was a poor and
simple place, like what an early Christian temple must have
been. Four or five women from the neighbouring hamlets were
kneeling on the boards, their faces hidden by their white hand-
kerchiefs ; outside, near the threshold, under the overhanging

roof, stood a group of guides and shepherds ; a short way off a
few cows were grazing, the little stream was gently murmuring,
and from the glacier of Montabel, as the rising sun struck it,
the avalanches began to thunder. My guides knelt down and
bared their heads. The young wife of one of them had arrived
from Crépin to greet him, and she prayed by his side.

178 THE MATTERHORN

I alternately looked upon this group and upon the Matter-
horn which rose above the heads of the worshippers : a deep
harmony reigned between them and the mountain. The priest
as he prayed was to them a divine messenger who scattered the
hostile forces of the mountain with unintelligible words, as
St Theodul had in days gone by cast out the demon and the
serpents from these places. And when the priest's strong voice
pronounced the " //e niissa, est" it seemed to me that he was
saying to the guides: "Go, climb the Matterhorn, now that
you have done your duty,"

I deeply regret that I did not take any notes or write any
account of that ascent. The pleasure of climbing the Matterhorn
was enough for me ; it did not seem to me that there was any
need for relating the ascent. We are silent concerning certain
things that are infinitely dear to us; it is only later, when we
begin to live in memories, that we regret the gap that those too
happy hours has left in our niìnds. In order to realise exactly
what are the first sensations that the Matterhorn creates in the
youthful mind, 1 should wish to climb it with a youth who had
never yet ascended it, and to read in his eyes and hear from his
mouth his impressions at every step on the ascent. But perhaps
the youth would prefer to climb alone and to enjoy in silence
the intimacy of his first meeting with the beautiful mountain, as
I myself did on that occasion.

The first violent emotion I underwent was at the Col du
Lion.-t This is a place of tragic splendour and vastly horrible.
That narrow tongue of snow that stretches from the rocks of
the Tétc du Lion to those of the Matterhorn, like a bridge
hanging over an abyss, gives us our first impression of the
mountain's vastness. Being now close to it we see it as an
enormous heap of broken rocks, of walls furrowed with cracks,
of crumbling towers, of torn lace-work, like a tower of Babel
destroyed by lightning and by time. It is only now that we
realise the inclination of its walls ; the lines that fall headlong
from the top down those mighty precipices give the eye an

I*. •

J ■ •

•' I

I '

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 179

impression of a whole that is continually moving, that is
unceasingly falling into ruin, stone by stone and fragment by
fragment.

The thought of the struggles of the first climbers for victory
over this first part increases the natural fascination of the place.
The stretch which lies before us is the most famous in the Alps;
in this stone staircase, three thousand feet high and more, every
step has its history. Here, on the Col, Whymper s first tent
was pitched ; below there is the ice-slope on which he slipped
and fell in a solitary attempt ; a little higher up on the right-
hand side was the base of the celebrated Chimney: now no
recognisable trace of it is left, for it has been destroyed by
continuous disintegration. Thus does the aspect of the moun-
tain change in its details from time to time, its destruction goes
slowly on ; but the Matterhorn is so huge that thousands of years
will be required to change tts general appearance and to spoil
the beauty of its form. 5

The first few steps on the ridge above the Col du Lion are
easy, and one immediately inclines to think that all the accounts
have exaggerated the difficulties of the mountain, and that what
seemed stifif to a climber in 1865 is all plain sailing to xki^fin de
siede climber. The sight of a rope attached to the rocks comes
opportunely to remind us that difficulties do exist, and that the
first climbers, who ascended when there were as yet no ropes,
were not devoid of skill and courage. At first these ropes,
which curve in a white line among the rocks, inspire the inex-
perienced climber with a sense of distrust : they appear slender,
frayed, and insecure, and he can hardly bring himself to trust to
them, suspecting as he does that they may break or become
detached. It is only when he sees the guides using them con-
fidently, that he also gains assurance. But it is not as easy as
it might appear to profit by these ropes : the weight of the body
pulls them out of place, and they give unexpected jerks which
threaten one's already precarious balance and paralyse one's
movements and one s efforts : long practice is required to know

i8o THE MATTERHORN

the caprices of the ropes and to learn how to watch them and
to make use of them.

There is only one case on record of one of the Matter-
horn ropes breaking during an ascent, and that occurred on
the occasion of Quintino Sella s climbing the mountain ; but
at heart we still have a certain instinctive dislike for this
way of climbing, a feeling that it is not natural, and every
time we come to the end of a pitch that is roped, it is with
delight and with a feeling of greater security that we once
more entrust ourselves to the rock alone.^

On the ascent between the Col and the hut there is an
angle of rock about thirty feet high, and formed by two
perfectly smooth walls. Down this a rope hangs vertically.
Here is the first trial for novices on the Matterhorn. It has
happened that inexperienced travellers have stopped short at
this obstacle, not daring to proceed, even though the guides
have urged them to ascend, and have pointed out to them
the hut close above. After surmounting this place by sheer
strength of arm, one reaches a small, flat space ; this is the
site of Whymper's second camp, a stage in his long and weary
contest. I saw there a gang of about ten men ; they were the
workmen who were building the new hut that was to take its
name from Luigi Amedeo di Savoia.

In that year the Prince had begun his Alpine expeditions,
and the report of them already rang gloriously and joyfully in
the ears of Italian mountaineers. It was such a strange thing
to find at that height and in so rude a place these artisans,
quietly busied with their work, to see huge beams and tools
scattered about on the rocks, and it made a most extraordinary
impression on me. The Matterhorn seemed to me to have
become a familiar and a tame mountain, in touch with civilisa-
tion, and the small wooden skeleton whose outline had begun
to take shape was like the first house that industrious colonists
build on the border of the desert Those men were in pleasant
harmony with the tamed Matterhorn. But when one looked at

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN i8i

their faces, lean, dark, and wrinkled as the surrounding rocks,
and at their ragged clothes, when one heard them tell how slow
and toilsome a work it was to carry up the materials, and how
much inferior their capacity for labour was at this height com-
pared with the lower levels, one understood how painful and
grievous a task it was to erect that little hut on the great
mountain.

Some of these men had seen the fatal fall of young Seiler
and his guide Biener, which had occurred a few days before not
far from the hut. They told us that the spot whence those poor
victims had fallen was one which they themselves had passed
time after time, with their loads on their shoulders, handling
and lifting the beams for the hut, and they could not understand
how the accident had happened. It had occurred with lightning
rapidity : not a cry ; the pair had disappeared, roped together ;
a crash of falling stones had been heard far below.

They told me all this quite calmly, with the fatalism of rough,
uncultured men, who are ever impassive in the face of destiny.
I stopped a while among them. I should have wished to offer
them a drink ; I said so to . Ansermin, the guide who was
carrying our wine-flask. Ansermin, who is a philosopher,
replied that I might give them all my money, if I so pleased,
for money would be of no use to me on the Matterhorn, but
that I must keep the wine. He was right : he was uncon-
sciously pointing the ancient moral of the fable of the man who
was dying of thirst in the desert and would willingly have
exchanged his sack of precious stones for a draught of
water.

The men had finished their day's work ; they roped, and
started downwards towards their bivouac, which was almost two
hours lower down. We continued our ascent as far as the
Great Tower hut. Thence I looked downwards : the men had
reached the Col, and were traversing in shadow under the Téte
du Lion ; I saw their line moving among the dark rocks ; I
shouted a greeting to them, and they answered several times ;

\ %

. ' \

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 183

of orange. The sun has gone down behind the further peaks,
whose outlines stand out blue and clear against the sky ; a few
of the highest points glow for a short time longer, like brands
amid the ashy grey of the snows ; a little cloud, floating alone
in the sky, is flushed with a last gleam of light, like a flame
that burns and flickers out. Now all light fades, and night falls,
first transparent and then black.

I had promised my friend Vaccarone, who was at the
Jomein, to burn some magnesium wire at a given hour : the
small space before the hut glowed with the dazzling light for a
few seconds, and then returned to darkness blacker than before.
But down below in the valley a distant point of light appeared.
It was my friend s reply to my greeting ; I re-entered the lonely
hut full of the pleasant thought that some one was thinking of
me down on earth. . . .

The alarum sounded in the hut ; the guides had been up for
more than a hour, busied about the stove, and talking softly
among themselves. Between sleeping and waking one was
dimly aware of what they were doing. I asked what time it
was, but before they answered I was asleep once more. The
light of the lantern was thrown strangely round on the walls of
the hut, and the men's shadows, enormously magnified, were
outlined there likewise. A voice informed me that the coffee
was ready ; more than half asleep I descended from my couch,
my guide put on my boots and laced up my gaiters, I submit-
ting like a weak, unresisting child. Seated on the bench hear
the stove I gazed uncomprehendingly at the preparations for
departure, as at something that did not concern me, and
unwillingly swallowed the black decoction which the guide
handed me in an iron cup. My legs ached and felt as if they
would be too weak to carry me. My keen desire was quenched ;
I should have been almost glad if the weather had been
threatening and prevented us from starting. I instinctively
asked what the weather was like. Fine! answered the guide.
I at once woke up and . grew impatient to start, chafing at the

i84 THE MATTERHORN

time the guides were taking to set the hut in order. We
roped because the bad bits begin immediately outside the
hut ; we went outside.

Ah ! that first mouthful of pure, fresh air, how it penetrates
to the very base of the lungs ! We revive, we feel (hat our l^s
are equal to their task, that our hearts are stout and gay.
It is a real transformation. At last I was about to ascend
the Matterhorn !

" E vidi cose che ridire
Ne sa né può qua! di lassù discende ;
Perchè, appressando sé al suo disire,
Nostro intelletto si profonda tanlb,
Che retro U memoria non può ire."

Paroditi) I.

Between the moment when I entered the dark Vallon des
Gla^ons and first began to face the mysteries of the Matterhorn
in the uncertain light of dawn, and the moment when I
emerged on the glorious summit, there lies the gap which I
mentioned above. My memory is a blank concerning those
hours ; a veil has descended upon it, through which I dimly see
fearful chimneys, where an icy cold reigns as in a deep crypt,
lofty walls down which hangs a single rope ; narrow, jagged
ridges rising skywards. 1 see a white peak glistening close at
hand, as it is kissed by the first rays of the rising sun, and a
long ridge, the only level stretch among the vertical lines,
leading up to the base of the topmost buttress ; then a deep
cleft that seems to divide one peak from the other, and again
vertical walls and crags and ridges, and finally near the summit
a lofty, slender, aerial ladder swinging over an enormous
precipice.

As I worked my way upwards amid the rocky labyrintl
every detail seemed to be largely magnified. The celebrat(
places went by rapidly as in a dream; the Mauvais Pas,

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 185

Linceul, a patch of snow lost among the infinite mass of rock,
the Grande Corde, the Créte du Coq, which resembles the
battlemented curtain of a great fortress, and the Gravate, a
white ribbon that encircles the neck of the mountain. The
givers of these names were poets, though uncultured ones. I
remember certain insignificant details : a few barely visible
initials, with a date and a cross, which the first explorers had
rudely scratched upon a rock, just as lovers cut their names and
a transfixed heart on the rough bark of an oak. On the snow
of the Pic Tyndall was planted a small black stick, the English-
man's ancient mark. From that point I had my first near view
of the top of the Matterhorn ; it reminded me of the wondrous
cherub of the Babylonian temples, that had the body of a bull
and the bearded and mitred head of a man, at once monstrous
and serene. On the Shoulder, where we halted for breakfast,
I smoked a pipe astride the ridge, with one foot over the
Valtournanche precipice, and the other over that of Tienfen-
matten ; then there came the Enjambée, that great swallower of
ice-axes, which slip from the climber's arm as he takes the long
step. I remember that the Matterhorn exhaled a good smell of
rock under the hot sun ; the light of heaven streamed vertically
down upon us, barely touching the lofty walls : our voices
sounded muffled, as in a subterranean place. Ansermin now
and then broke the wonderful stillness of the air with a jodel in
the Swiss guide's style. Ah ! how the plain golden rings he
wore in his ears glistened against his skin, that was brown as
any corsair's ! Our little party, compact and well chosen,
brought its gay humour with it up the Matterhorn. It was a
happy journey ; I did not seem to walk, but to fly that day. At
such times our minds are assuredly in a rare state of happiness ;
we carry with us no weight of mundane cares, we are untouched
by any saddening thought ; we make our way wrapped in
glamour to the supreme good, the summit ; when we reach
it, we are not yet in heaven, but we are no longer of the
earth.

i86 THE MATTERHORN

When the guides told me we were on the top of the Matter-
horn, I said: "Already!" and 1 ought to have exclaimed:
"At last! " But if they had asked me at that instant whether
the Matterhorn were easy or difficult. I could not have
answered. The Matterhorn was as I had imagined it to
be, and God knows I had imagined it to be beautiful ! We
shook hands, and sat down side by side on the snow on the
summit, at nine in the morning. Still wrapped in the stupor
produced by the rapid ascent, I saw the guides get out the
provisions ; the bread was still warm from the heat of the
sack, the meat wrapped up in paper was beaten soft by the
blows it had received ; the wine, which had acquired a rough
taste of iron from the vessel that contained it, was thick
and bubbly. We had but frugal fare, but up there it seemed
a banquet ; the meal did not appear commonplace ; it was a
solemn function, a reward. I lifted my little cup towards
my guides, to thank them for the victory ; but Ansermin,
who is a believer, notwithstanding his barbarous appearance,
said, as he lit his pipe: "Do not thank us, thank Him who
gives litde birds their tails." He meant Almighty God.

The sudden thought that Vaccarone at the Jomein was
probably just then searching for me with a telescope among
the rocks of the Matterhorn, made mc start to my feet, and
raise my arms above my head, waving a handkerchief
and shouting, ;is if my invisible friend, ó,ooo feet below
me, could hear my voice. Perhaps a wave of sympathy
did reach him from me at that instant, spreading through
the thin air, just as the mysterious inlliience had come to
me shortly before and made me jump up and send him my
greeting. My guides lay in peace and smiled : they too were
happy, though they had been up so many times before. The
infinite horizon was free from cloud ; I thought 1 was on
the uttermost point of the earth, on the shore of an endless
sea. One object alone was higher than we : the sun which
shone above us, hurling down cascades of light on all sides.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 187

It was the light that fell from heaven, and rose again from
below as if strongly reflected by crystal prisms ; our eyelids
closed to shut out the glare ; the whole atmosphere shivered
with heat ; we were on ice and our faces burned.

Round about us lay one of the most sublime panoramas
in the world. Almost the whole range of the Alps was
grouped around us, from Monte Viso to the Monte Disgrazia,
and stood out as clearly as the figures in a raised model,
painted in conventional colours, the snows in white, the rocks
in purple, the valleys in dark green. One could mark the
divisions of the chief Alpine groups : close at hand the
chain of Monte Rosa, beyond the Oberland, and then Mont
Blanc, which looked like a small, snowy hump and is yet
the highest of all ; to the north a deep furrow indicates the
Valais, on the opposite side another furrow, almost parallel
to the other, marks the Aosta Valley.

We stood on the boundary between two great tribes of
mountains : on one side were the Alphubel, the Finsteraarhorn,
and the Jungfrau ; on the other the Diablerets, the Combin,
the Jorasses, then the Gran Paradiso, the Grivola and Monte
Viso ; and the names the guide pronounced reminded us
that our eyes were sweeping from Teutonic away to Latin
lands and were freely leaping over the irksome barriers that
lie between the nations. I instinctively sought among the
numerous peaks the familiar outlines of the few I had
ascended, and when found, I recognised them with joy ;
but when I thought of the time needed to ascend them all,
I began to pant like a man who has an enormous amount of
work to finish in a very short time. This is the real incubus
of the mountaineer.

Experience has taught me that the view forms only a
small fraction of the delights of climbing. On subsequent
occasions, when I have again been on the top of the Matter-
horn, in thick mist, in threatening weather, in fear of not
being able to descend safely, my emotions have been just

i88 THE MATTERHORN

as strong as on that bright, still day. This explains how
the blind climber who ascended the Matterhorn was filled
with intense delight when his guides told him he had reached
the summit. Like us, he must have smiled, as he had smiled
but rarely in his Hfe. Would that I had seen his poor,
sightless eyes light up with an internal vision of a wondrous
panorama. Like us, he experienced that sweet, wholesome
fixtigue, which is one of the keenest delights that the
mountains can afford us, and he felt the unwontedly hot
sun kiss his forehead, and a delicious breath of wind caress
his cheek; he breathed the pure, fine air at 14.000 feet
above the sea, the air which is so light, which tastes so
sweet, which cools the burning chest like pure water, and
is invigorating as a generous wine. Like us, he revelled in
the eternal silence of those lofty regions ; no one was about
him, except his simple, friendly guides, who had helped him
to ascend ; and he groped for their rough hands and pressed
them in token of his joy.

We all resemble that blind man. It is no blasphemy to
say that one does not climb the Matterhorn for the view;
Emille Javelle, an ardent worshipper of the mountain, has
said so. It is not, as the vulgar think, the desire simply to
admire a material spectacle, that attracts us to the summit ;
it is not a passing momentary impression that we bring
down with us, but a memory that lasts a lifetime. I wish
that all the youths in Italy, who arc mentally and physically
fit, would ascend the Matterhorn once at least, so that their
unknown powers of mind might be revealed to them, and
that a noble pride in their physical feat might purify them
and make them more capable of high resolves, and more
sincere lovers of their beautiful country.

I spent on the summit one hour of joy and infinite peace,
feeling as proud as a conqueror of the world, indifferent as
an ascetic to ail human affairs. The hour passed as all the
good things of life must pass ; the guides said it was time to

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 189

start. I put in my pocket a stone I had picked up on the
summit, and we started.

The Matterhorn has no real top ; it may have had one
in past ages, but it must be in ruins below, and undoubtedly
it fell on the Italian side, leaving on the brow of the mountain
that sharp outline which is typical of its shape. The huts
which appear below, tiny dots in the green basin of Breuil,
are perhaps built with pieces of the ancient top of the
Matterhorn. Any one looking up from the Theodul glacier,
whence the summit looks like the peak of a friars hood,
would never think that the mountain ends in a long ridge
on which half a company of an Alpine regiment could sit
almost in comfort in a row. The eastern extremity of the
ridge forms the Swiss summit, the western the Italian. We
crossed from one to the other, from the Cervin to the
Matterhorn. The Matterhorn was deserted also ; a party
from Zermatt had already commenced the descent, and I
could see their track in the snow on the upper part of the
slope. The crows had been left in possession of the summit
for the rest of the day, for it is very rarely that any one
reaches the top after the early hours of the morning.

The crows of the Matterhorn are strange, large birds with
jet-black, shiny feathers, with long bills and with beautiful
blood-red claws. They are a strange tribe, who live up in
the heights in the summer, concealed in unexplored recesses
on the inaccessible precipices of the Zmutt and Furggen
faces. They are well disposed towards the few men who
climb the mountain ; they know they are harmless folk, and
much too busy with other matters to wish to go after them.
When the weather is fine, they watch from above parties
of climbers as they make the toilsome ascent ; they fly down
to meet them and circle about them, as dolphins in the sea
swim about in the wake of a ship, expectant of its refuse.
If the weather be threatening, they utter their sad, unpleasing
cry, as if to tell men of the coming tempest. They restlessly

190 THE MATTERHORN

come and go and beat up against the wind with their strong
wings, sometimes hovering almost motionless in the air ;
then 1 y dash headlong into the mist with folded wings,
droj down like stones, to flee the storm.

gilded St. Mark's at Venice has its emerald-winged

which build their nests among its pink marble

and coo gently in the sunshine, and peck at the

a child's tiny hands. The Matterhorn has its black

lich nest in the cracks of its iron-hard rocks; they

■ an instant «^f» the snow, quarrelling over their

sLai and hurl their hoarse cry up to the clouds,

in ising strife with the wind and the hawk. The

< of St. Mark are fair and lovable, but the savage

s of the Matterhorn leach us more of the realities

V,. life.

Once more the guides warned me that the way was long
and that it was time to start. I there and then silently and
fervently vowed to return once more. The descent on the
Swiss side appeared to me as long as the ascent on the Italian
had seemed short. I descended and descended, and the
horizon continued to be boundless, and the bottom of the
valley, though it looked close enough, never seemed to come
any nearer. On the Zerniatt side the Matterhorn is a regular
pyramid, grand yet simple in outline;? it is this formation
which renders the climb there more monotonous than that on
the Valtournanche side, where the lines are broken, and where
the aspect of the mountain changes every moment. May
the Matterhorn forgive me ! The descent seemed to me
never-ending and most wearisome. Perhaps I myself was
weary : as long as one ascends, one's mind aspires, one s body
makes vigorous efforts ; but once one has attained the goal
and tasted a moment's ideal joy, the mind is sated and
desires no more, and the body, now weary, goes listlessly
on its downward way. To this lack of energy, to this
relaxation of tension in the muscles and the mind on the

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 191

descent, may be attributed some of the most serious accidents
that have occurred in the Alps.

If there is a place where the greatest care is necessary
both for amateurs and guides, it is just here, where peril is
hidden under an appearance of safety. The stage between the
summit and the Alte Hiitte — the old Swiss hut — has witnessed
the occurrence of catastrophes whose horror has only been
equalled on the tragic theatre of Mont Blanc. The fame of
the Matterhorn is not due merely to its beauty. Ruskin and
the others who admired it before Whymper's conquest, saw
the mountain in the guise of a pagan god, majestic and
impassive ; but when trodden by man, the god-like mountain
roused itself in anger, and retaliated by causing suffering
to men and taking their lives; then the Matterhorn awoke
in us that essentially human feeling of terror and of wonder
which makes it the object of our fear and our desire.

I neither asked my guides, nor did they offer to show me
as we passed them, the places made famous by accidents,
and I was grateful to them for their reticence on a day when
I wished to taste nought but joy ; but memories of the sad
stories I had read kept recurring to my mind against my will,
during the long descent ; I was unable to resist the curiosity
that led me to carefully observe these places where it was so
easy to be killed, and I kept furtively on the look-out for them.
There, on the ridge to the left, where the slope drops down
sheer towards Zmutt, that must be where the fatal rope broke
and Croz and his employers fell. Down below there, that
small, flat space overhanging the precipice, was the death-bed
of poor Borckhardt, who, after a terrible night, abandoned
by his friend and his guides, died of weakness in the morning,
while the snow-flakes gradually covered up his body.^

Great catastrophes seem to stamp the places where they
have occurred with the impression of their own solemnity and
gloom. As I passed those spots, I was filled with a sense of
awe which I have felt nowhere else, almost as if I were on

IQ3

THE MATTERHORN

sacred ground, and as if the ghosts of the victims were
hovering round me among the bare rocks ; and the guide
who followed me did not cease to urge me to be careful,
and I feh him holding me by the rope even in places where
it seemed to me unnecessary. The guides do not forget that
the Matterhorn is dangerous even in its easy places, and I
think they are less anxious on the other more difficult side
than on this — they know that the amateur is more careful in
the harder places.

Every year an increasing number of parties climbs to the
top on fine days, but the Matterhorn will never be a
vulgar mountain. Though tamed by mankind, who in their
fear have fettered its flanks with ropes and chains, it still
rebels from time to time, and the scale of its vengeance
terrifies us ; and if the chains were removed, and all its pristine
power were restored to it, then the mountain would become
once more the most worthy of human desire and effort.^

Compared with the hempen ropes on the Italian side, I
found the iron cables which are fixed near the summit of the
Matterhorn on the Swiss side most strong and secure. One
slides quickly down them, then one climbs more carefully down
the broken rocks of the Shoulder and over a small, very steep
strip of glacier, the " Linceul," which overhangs the edge of
the precipitous Furggen face, and is the most delightful part
of the descent. The way leads down the monotonous slope,
which is already easier, to the old hut that for many years
harboured the climbers of the Matterhorn ; it is now half in
ruins, and full of ice, and looks like a deserted nest. And
so for hours and hours we thread our way among the deep
wrinkles of the mountain to the Hornlt buttress, where the new
hut stands. Here the Matterhorn ends.

The hut was already filling with other parties, who would
ascend the following day. Not all of them would reach the
summit : some would suffer by the way from the horrors of
mountain-sickness and would spend some of the most painful

"■'-<(^jl*-n^'

'Sa:.

--^^J^^

^""^frn*

iMi^k^ ^

THE SCHWARZSEE.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 193

moments in their lives ; and when they came down, they
would say it was not worth while ; others would calmly enjoy
the delights of the summit, and sound the praises of the
Matterhorn on their return.

I did not stop at the Hornli ; I cast one glance from there
at the lonely, romantic Schwarzsee, which seems to have
collected in its deep basin at the foot of the Matterhorn the
tears of sorrow and of joy that the mountain has caused
to flow; then I hastily turned my steps towards Italy. I
crossed the Furggenjoch, and reached the Jomein, late in
the evening. Vaccarone was expecting me ; he had followed
me on my ascent with his telescope, and had looked long
at me while I was on the summit. I saw on his face the
reflection of the joy that shone on my own ; he pressed my
hand, as if to say that he esteemed me more than before, now
that I had " done " the Matterhorn.

The Jomein is the furthest point to which platonic lovers
of the mountains venture. Some come up to see the Matter-
horn and return leaving their names inscribed in the hotel
register, as in the hall of a prince's palace. Others come
back every year for the fresh, health-giving air and for the
untrammelled freedom of the place. Once here, they too
fall under the giant s spell ; they witness the departure of
parties of climbers, they follow their vicissitudes with the
telescope, they thrill with emotion as they make out tiny men
climbing at an enormous altitude, on the rope ladder; and
seeing that they look so small and proceed so slowly, they
understand that the mountain is vast and the way difificult ;
when the climbers return they crowd round them with
curiosity and respect, and listen with pleasure to the narrative
of those who have trodden every stone on the mysterious
mountain which they contemplate all day from below, and
which has at last cast its spell about them. All honour to
these honest pagans who do not mock at mountain worship.
Only once did I happen to meet at the Jomein with a

194 THE MATTERHORN

gentleman, an educated and otherwise right-thinking citizen,
who had brought with him in his luggage, among his bundles of
newspapers, that cordial dislike for climbers which is current coin
in our cities. He gave vent to his antipathy in the following
remarks, which were full of practical common sense. He
liked the mountains as far as one could go in a carriage, or
at most with a mule ; all the rest was vanity or lunacy. He
said that for the last twenty years he had spent the summer in
the mountains, at the best hotels, admiring Alpine scenery
at his ease. That this was much better than our plan of
starting off for our climb directly after arriving at the hotel,
even by night in the dark. That when climbing we pay
much more attention to the place where we are to put our feet
than to admiring the view. That on the top we are so tired
that we can think of nothing but our food, and that as soon as
we get there we are already thinking of the descent. The
day slips by, we slide down the ropes, we plunge panting
and trembling down the steep rocks, and do not pause until we
are in safety once more. ** You have performed marvellous
feats of endurance," he said, " you can boast of having done the
Matterhorn, but in what way have you appreciated its wondrous
beauty, or heard the mysterious voice of Nature on those
hei(i:hts ? " And he ended bv declarinor that he was familiar
with the beauties of the mountains without havinor ever risked
his neckJ^ In my heart of hearts I pitied that gentleman. I
likened him to one who fancies himself a sailor thouofh he was
never left the beach, or believes he has possessed a woman
when he has only serenaded her under her windows.

But the mountains are so kindly and so great that they
reject none of those who turn to them, and they are good to all :
to the men of science who come to study them ; to the painters
and the poets who seek an inspiration in them ; to the sturdy
climbers who zealously seek violent exercise, and to the weary
who flee from the heat and the turmoil of the city to refresh
themselves at this pure source of physical and moral health.

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 195

Mountaineering is merely a more vigorous, more complete
form of this health.

I wish the idea, according to which climbers are a small
company of conceited individuals, who are jealous of their
mountains, and who live in a selfish atmosphere of petty
vanities, could be set aside. I wish it were possible to break
up once for all the ring of distrust and indifference which still
surrounds them. Mountaineering is a human pursuit, which
is as natural as walking, seeing and thinking ; as human as
all passions are, with its weaknesses, its enthusiasms, its
joys, and its disillusions, and like all other passions, it exalts
and matures the human mind. I would that I could
reduce to its proper terms the conception of our ideals,
which do not differ from those which impel men to seek
the nobler and loftier things of life ; that I could show climbers
to be neither wiser nor more foolish than other men. The
only difference is that where others believe the limit of the
habitable world to lie, climbers find the gates of a marvellous
region, that is full of charming visions, and in which hours
pass like minutes, and days are as long and complete as a
year; and that they take with them through those gates
only the better part of themselves, wherefore life there appears
to them purer and more full of beauty. They wish that all
men could share their dreams, and by bivouacking high up
on the rocks they seek to induce others to endure to sleep
on the hay in a chalet or on the planks of a hut. By climbing
to a height of 13,000 feet they try to lead others to go to
7,000 or 8,000. They surmount a hundred difficulties that
others may be tempted to surmount one.

I wish that sceptics could experience the good effects
that a great ascent produces in us. The vanities which
filled our minds before we started now seem trivial to us.
Now we appreciate the comforts to which use had made us
indifferent. We feel a greater love for our home and our
family which awaits us there. For we climbers also have

iQÓ THE MATTERHORN

our affections, and they are much more vividly present in
our minds in moments of danger than to others who are leading
their customary lives ; and when we come down from the
mountains we rejoice to bring back and display to our dear
ones the equanimity we have acquired in the heights, and
to see them smiling upon us because the mountain has restored
to them a healthier, stronger, more affectionate son, brother,
or friend.

The climbing is a means, not an end in life : a means
to temper the character of youth for the coming struggle, to
preserve the vigour of manhood, to check the flight of years,
and to prepare for old age a treasury of memories that shall be
untroubled and free from remorse. I have seen white-haired
men deeply moved at the thought of their early ascents.
Happy are those simple minds that retain their capacity to
thrill as on the first day in the presence of the beauties of the
mountains! My heart goes out in intimate fellow-feeling
to those who return year by year to some familiar corner
of the Alps and climb ten times over, as long as their legs
will carry them, the same peak which was their first Alpine
love.

I found one of these sublimely obstinate veterans one fine
day at the foot of the Matterhorn.

" Intanto voce fu per me udita : A voice called me, saying : Honour
Onorate l'altissimo poeta the great poet, whose shadow was

L'ombra sua torna eh 'erasi partita." hidden from us for a time, but has

come again.

I was descending from the Theodul. Half-way between the
Col and the Jomein I saw coming slowly up towards me a fine,
tall old man, with a ruddy countenance, clean-shaven, clear-
eyed, and with snow-white hair. His face bore the impress of
an iron will ; his body straight as a dart notwithstanding his
years, was full of vigour ; his long, rhythmical gait testified

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 197

to his familiarity with mountains. As I passed him I took
off my hat to him, as is the polite custom of those who meet
in the mountains. He returned my bow and passed on.
My guide had stopped to talk to his. When he rejoined
me he whispered, ** Do you know who that is ? " I answered
that I did not. " Monsieur Whymper ! " And he pro-
nounced the name in a tone of respect. I was as much
moved as if I were in the presence of a ghost. I had
never seen Whymper except in photographs. I at once
turned round to look at him. He had stopped too and was
looking at the Matterhorn, whose aspect was one of marvel-
lous grandeur from this point.

I cannot describe how much I was impressed by that
meeting in that spot. It was not a man I saw, but the
idealised image of the perfect mountaineer, whom I and
others have so often dreamed of imitating. They were
there, the Matterhorn and Whymper, the two great rivals,
and the sight of them in each others presence brought
home to one the superiority of the tiny conqueror to the
conquered giant. He had come back after thirty years to
see once more the mountain that had made him famous. He
found none of his former comrades there. Croz lay at Zermatt,
Carrel at Valtournanche ; only the Matterhorn stood unchange-
able, everlasting. He was looking at it, and was perhaps
recalling the deeds of daring he had performed on the stubborn
peak in the vigour of his youthful years.

I watched, without his noticing it, and with a kind of
veneration, that man who had not feared the Matterhorn when
the Matterhorn was a mystery, and who loved it still though
the crowd had made it commonplace. I saw his snow-white
hair flowing beneath the brim of his grey felt hat, and it
seemed to me that it must have begun to turn white on
the terrible day of victory and disaster. I myself was
harrowed by the thought of what he must have suffered on
that day and afterwards. The Matterhorn had cost him

198

THE MATTERHORN

dear! It was not, however, the struggle with the mountain
that had saddened him. but the contest with his fellow-men
which followed his victory.

I would fain have made some sign, have shown him
some act of reverence, some prool of my sympathetic interest ;
have told him that I had read his book again and again,
that it had done me good, because it had brought me also
up into these places. I would have told him that I understood
and shared his passion ; that I also, though speaking a different
language from his. was a worshipper of the mountain for which
he had done and suffered so much ; have cried out to him
that I too had attempted new ways up the mountain, and
that I had not succeeded ; have asked him for his iron will
that I might try again some day and be successful, and be able
to write and tell him that I also had in some measure conquered
the Matterhorn.

Whymper started again and slowly continued his ascent,
and I was left with my wish unsatisfied. But I too shall
return in my old age to the foot of the Matterhorn. I shall
struggle up step by step, leaning on my now useless axe,
to these dear haunts, seeking comfort in the contemplation
of the familiar peaks. I shall enjoy the final pleasures of
Alpine life, the cool spring that quenches thirst, the refreshing
cup of warm milk, the colour of a little flower, a breath of the
wholesome odour of pines wafted up by the winds from the
neighbouring forest, the silvery sound of bells which rises
in the evening from the peaceful pastures. On the way I shall
find my old guides, once my companions in the happy days
of strenuous effort, and I shall stop to talk with them, and
to recall old memories. Seated on the hotel terrace in the
pleasant mountain sunshine I shall look out down the valley,
over the long basin of the Breuil, for the arrival of parties of
climbers. Young men will appear, full of courage and hope.
Perhaps Fasano, the faithful waiter at the Jomein. will point
me out to them, and say : " That gentleman over there was a

MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE MATTERHORN 199

great climber in his day ; he has passed many a night up on the
mountain here." The young men will look at me incredulously
while I shall straighten my bent back, at the prompting of my
last shreds of vanity ; and I shall take aside those who are
kind enough to listen to me, and bare my arm like a veteran of
many battles, to' show them secretly an old wound received up
in the mountains, and shall encourage them to make attempts
and exhort them to be prudent. Then I shall be content if I
note in them traces of the emotion I felt the first time I saw the
Matterhorn.

CHAPTER V
THE ZMUTT RIDGE OF THE MATTERHORN

*' Von Zeit zu Zeit seh' ich den Alten gem
Und hiite mich mit ihm zu brechen."

Goethe, Fau%t,

A CLEAR September day in the Visp valley. ... At the
station of Randa, the last on the railway below Zermatt, the
little train is boarded by four individuals whose appearance
is not at all in keeping with the smart car that the g^ard has
allowed them to enter. Their chapped hands, their brown faces,
would lead one to think they had been working at lime kilns ;
their clothes show signs of long ill-usage ; they are carrying
canvas sacks like emigrants, they are smoking like sailors, and
they reek like peasants ; they are very silent, their faces look tired,
like those of men who have been hunted far over the mountains.
One might suspect them to be smugglers or deserters, did not
the ropes and axes they have with them betray their true
identity.

They are climbers and guides ; which of them are the
former, and which the latter, is not easy to decide, for nowadays
guides dress like their employers, and the latter do their best
to look like guides. The car, which is full of clean people, is
thrown into a great commotion by this sudden invasion. Little
gloved hands are seen nervously pulling skirts aside to avoid
contact with the new-comers, uneasy glances are cast at one

901

202 THE MATTERHORN

of them who sits down close to one of the occupants ; persons
who find themselves obliged to move are heard <:frumblinjr. a
little foot feels the weight of an iron-shod boot, but a little room
is made at last ; the rough canvas sacks are put up among the
brand new luggage, the axes are deposited in the rack on the
top of the little silk sunshades, and the four men manage
to find a place to sit. They seem glad to sit down.

When the confusion has quieted down, the small collection
of people contained in the handsome car begins to examine
them with curiosity as if they were beings fallen from the moon;
while they, with their somewhat tired eyes, look sleepily round
at the new company in which they find themselves. It is the
usual cosmopolitan collection typical of Alpine railways : there
is a couple of very smart Parisian honeymooners ; some British
spinsters, proper and courteous, who travel about the world
collecting flowers, admiring, sketching, writing letters to their
absent friends, and devouring ten volumes of the Tauchnitz
edition in a month ; grave, broad-shouldered, gold-spectacled
Germans, with field-glasses strapped on to them, and a little
Tyrolese felt hat, bedecked with feathers and flowers, balanced
on the back of their ponderous heads ; whole families of
Americans with children, nurses, and Kodak cameras, which
photograph all that can be photographed. There are light
summer suits and heavy winter shawls, straw bonnets and fur
caps.

This strange, mixed crowd now begins to substitute a lively
interest in their new travelling companions for the distrust it |
felt at first. They have real ropes and real axes, they bear on I
their faces and on certain parts of their clothes evident traces j
of high mountaineering, and it has become known that they come i
from the Weisshorn. A Randa guide has told the guard so,
and has added that they have spent a whole night up there in |
the open, on the glacier.

In an instant the magic word Weisshorn ! is in every mouth. J
Baedekers are consulted for the height of the mountain ; beadsl

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 203

are put out of the window to try and see the peak, and then all
look at those who have been up the Weisshorn, to see how
they are made. An observer of the moral influences of
mountain railways, which are anathema to the climber, is
somewhat comforted to perceive that people who come up for
the first time feel a certain amount of good-will for the
mountaineer. In a mountain landscape the climber is a suitable
detail ; the mountain appears the stronger by comparison with
the weak man who ascends it ; in the same way the sea looks
more vast if a tiny white sail goes past in the distance. The
traveller's own eyes convince him that those strange men really
do exist, of whom he has occasionally read in a paper in the city
that they have performed some daring ascent or met with some
frightful disaster.

On this wondrous stage, before an audience which has come
to the theatre in search of amusement and emotion, the climber
acts the part of the hero in the play, who makes sensitive
hearts beat quicker; the guides' parts are secondary ones,
those of indispensable, well-paid, competent actors who have
taught the hero, and who modestly retire behind the wings
when he is called before the curtain. On the Zermatt stage
the drama of the Matterhorn has been played more than once,
a masterpiece which seems to have lost much of its poetry
nowadays. Between present-day ascents of the Matterhorn
and former ones there is a difference in depth of faith and
enthusiasm as there may be between the Mystery as repre-
sented by the peasants of to-day at Oberammergau and that
of their modest and unknown ancestors. Here at Zermatt, as
there in the picturesque Upper- Bavarian village, the spectacle
which in old days attracted only a few single devout spectators,
now brings together, assisted by clever advertisement, an in-
quisitive crowd from all parts of the world. The plot and the
personages of the play are not changed ; it is the minds of the
actors and the spectators which are changed. One essential
difference does, however, exist between the two spectacles :

204 THE MATTERHORN

in the sacred play at Oberammergau the hero is sure that at
the end he can come down from Calvary and go and enjoy the
toothsome sausages and the good beer of Bavaria, whereas not
all the actors who have departed to climb the Matterhorn have
returned to Mr. Seller's tables-cThSte. In these cases make-believe
ceases, and the noble and terrible poetry of the old drama is
renewed in all its sadness, and a real emotion is generated in
the mind of the spectator. In these cases the ascent of the
Matterhorn ceases to be a comedy.

The light train runs up the valley amid forests of beech and
pine; the attention of the passengers is now claimed by the
changing scenes that every curve of the boldly conceived line
brings into view, by the torrent foaming furiously down the
ravine, by the groups of picturesque chalets, by the miniature
waterfalls which resemble the tails of long comets, as they are
blown to and fro by the wind ; and at the last corner, when
the engine whistles gaily to announce the arrival at Zermatt,
the final scene appears so fair a one that no other Alpine
theatre can show its like. It is the Matterhorn which reveals
itself at last to the eager eyes of those who have crossed the
sea to come and admire it, and the reality surpasses the most
fantastic expectation.

Inside the car every one seems to have gone mad. They
rise to their feet, they push one another aside to look out of
the windows, and in many languages a cry is heard : ** Cervino !
Matterhorn ! Mont Cervin ! ' Even our Weisshorn friends
have opened their eyes, and their faces brighten, but they speak
no word. This outburst of enthusiasm is renewed every day,
at the arrival of every train. And there are some who think
that men's enthusiasm for the Matterhorn, an enthusiasm a
century old, has died out ! No : every year a new generation
is born which, at its proper time, will be brought by the railway
to the base of the great mountain, and which will kindle with
renewed admiration. And from this point of view the high
mountain railways will have conferred a benefit on mankind.

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

205

From the window of my room in the Monte Ros Hotel at
Zermatt I can see the Matterhorn. Lightly veiled by the
mists which rise from the valley in the afternoon heat, the
mountain takes on so aerial an appearance, so transparent a
tint, that it looks unnaturally high and distant ; it resembles
a cloud, or a cone of light smoke, rather than a rock. My
glance descends upon the modest tower of the church near the
hotel, the old tower with its pointed gable and its cleft wooden

1%^

ZtRMATT STEEPLE.

top, through which one can see the little bells. It was they
that rang for the funeral of Croz. Croz lies in the peaceful
cemetery in the shadow of the church. " He lost his life not
far from this spot," says the inscription carved on a headstone ;
" he died like a brave man and a faithful guide." Not far from
him lie side by side two of his employers, Hudson and Hadow.
That little plot of soil which contains, together with other
victims of the mountains, the first victims of the Matterhorn,
fills me with deep emotion every time I visit it ; I think of the

2o6 THE MATTERHORN

eternal peace which has followed upon the hours of fierce
struggle ; I grieve for those young men torn so early in their
lives from the enjoyment of their noble pleasures, and then I
wonder whether it were not a blessed thing to die as they died.
quickly, unexpectedly, painlessly, in a moment of perfect peace,
when life seemed full of beauty, and the mind was purified
by passion and by joy.

In the village round about the smoke rises peacefully from
the old chalets ; down the narrow street pass the cows with
their jangling bells, returning from the pastures ; a sledge laden
with hay slides silently down the hillside, and a little old woman,
seated on a neighbouring knoll and wearing the black head-
dress of the Valais, is watching two goats while she knits a
stocking.

Suddenly a strident sound strikes upon the peaceful-atmo-
sphere, a discord which offends my ears and my inmost
feeling ; it is music, but its intrusion upon the heavenly peace I
was enjoying annoys me. I rush out of the hotel and see a regular
orchestra of ten musicians, solemnly seated before their scores
in a little wooden kiosk, and determined to work through the
whole of their day's programme. A few children are playing
with hoops round the orchestra ; the tourists, stretched out in
their comfortable basket-chairs in front of the neighbouring
hotels, have not ceased to read the Times ; a few ladies are
writing letters in the open air, or sipping their afternoon tea ;
disengaged guides are chatting on the low wall that bounds the
road, and smoking their pipes ; no one listens to the concert or
seems to desire it. For whose benefit does the band play,
then ? For that of the Matterhorn. towering up to the sky. or
for that of the poor victims lying in the sacred churchyard, only
a few feet from the bandstand ? What barbarian brought the
band up here, to break the harmonious silence of the mountains i*

For the little village of Zermatt the harmony of the winds
and the torrents, the sound of the bells of its cattle, the
primitive songs of its inhabitants were sufficient. Zermatt is a

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

207

discordant medley of the old and the new ; the splendid hotels
overwhelm the little chalets of former days, and the white
plaster of the new buildings gives a dirty appearance to the
beautiful brown wood of the chalets that have been washed by
the rains and tinged by the sun. The omnibuses which go
down to the station to meet travellers block up the village
street and throw the peaceful flocks into confusion as they drive
past them ; the new Anglican church, neat and severe, contrasts
strangely with the old parish church with its many coloured
altar and its baroque statues, and seems like an emblem of the
new civilisation that has invaded this remote corner of a
Catholic canton, bringing wealth in its train and seeking
romantic beauty in exchange.

Along the single street of the village innumerable booths
full of Alpine trifles are built up against the houses, and the
little open-air tables, lined with red as in a fair, display among
illustrated postcards and photographs of the Matterhorn,
wooden chamois carved in the Oberland, shell boxes made at
Sorrento, Florentine mosaics and German ornaments. The
fair lasts only for the summer months ; after the September
feast of the Madonna the shopkeepers pack up their wares and
flit away to the lakes or the seaside ; the band put up their
instruments and take their repertoire elsewhere ; the hotels
close ; Zermatt rests for eight months, and dreams that it is
again the peaceful little village of Praborgne. It seems once
more to see De Saussure as he came down from the Theodul
one day in 1789 ; he was the first mountaineer to visit that rude
tribe, and he was received with distrust. Lord Minto seems to
come again to climb the Breithorn, as in 1830, escorted by ten
Chamonix guides. Lord Minto was the guest of the priest, for
there were no hotels, and his reverence's housekeeper kept
saying to him. by way of apology for the plainness of their
hospitality : " Prenéz patience avec nous ; pauvre pays, pauvres
gens " ; and the mountain folk grieved to see his lordship's
sixteen-year-old son start with him up to the mountain ; it

2o8 THE MATTERHORN

seemed to them '' a monstrous thing that so young a lad should
be taken up to perish thus miserably."

These times were far remote and differed much from our
own. Herr Lauber next opened his house to visitors to
Zermatt ; at that time they were few in number, and Desor,
who was one of them, exclaimed, " Heaven grant that the
valley of St Nicholas may be long preserved from tourists ! " '
The cry of a noble egoism! but it was a vain one. In 1854
Mr. Seiler's hotel, the Monte Rosa, which has thenceforth
harboured the pick of climbers of all nations, was grafted on to
the doctor's wooden house.^ Jost, the old porter of the hotel,
convinced me by tapping a wall in the passage that the wood
of Dr. Lauber's house still echoes under the new wall. Those
who know its history can perceive a fragrance of the past still
rising from the little village ; under the modern plaster they can
still trace the romance of the early days of mountaineering.

The railway arrived, and soon it was carried up to a height
of ten thousand feet, as far as the Gornergrat. At the present
day Zermatt possesses eleven hotels, a little museum, a public
garden, a tourist office, a bank, and a florist. Is this develop-
ment a blessing or a curse ? The old Swiss, who dearly love
their country, have wept for the lost romance of their beautiful
valleys, and have bemoaned the disappearance of the former
simple habits of the natives. From Rudolph Topffer to Edouard
Rod a continual protest has arisen against the vulgarisation of
the mountains. ** Switzerland," wrote the gifted author of the
** Voyages en Zig-Zag," '*was formerly a chaste and beauteous
virgin, wild and lonely, whose charms were unknown to the
common herd, and made the hearts of a few real lovers beat.
Foolish babblers, who had not the wit to keep silent concerning
the secret favours vouchsafed to them ! They talked, they
made them known, and behold, all the scum of the Continent,
and every Englishman who was suffering from boredom, arrived
in a never ending stream, so that the chaste virgin was exposed
to the glances of all, and preserved her beauty, but lost all her

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 209

charm." 3 And Rod, who wrote at the time of the construction
of the high Alpine railways, gives utterance to this cry of
alarm : ** They are busy spoiling the mountains for us ! Can
nothing be done to protect them?" 4 In his opinion the
invasion and violation of the small valleys by the ruthless
upheaval of modern progress is just as detrimental to the in-
habitants as to the beauty of the scenery ; the railway is a
source of demoralisation ; the lust for easy gain spreads like the
foul smoke of the engine, and in a short time the so-called
** Fremden Industrie'' supplants the heavy but health-giving
labour of their ancestors, which consisted in the cultivation of
the soil, that, stiff, rough, and sterile though it was, was capable
none the less of abundantly rewarding the toil expended
upon it.

At every fresh proposal for a high mountain railway the
Alpine and non- Alpine papers received the protests of those
who, inspired by their long experience and their deep love of
the mountains, considered that the beauty of the Alps should be
left unsullied, and their difficulties intact, if they were to
continue to be a cradle of energy and enthusiasm. Their cries
were futile ; the days of aristocracies, when only the few had a
right to enjoyment, are past ; Alpine solitudes exist now only in
the vain dreams of poets.

Prometheus, if he were still chained to his rock in the
Caucasus, would see Cook's parties coming up to him ; the nine
Furies would cease to wreak their ancient vengeance on him ;
the vulture would fly away in terror, but the Titan's torture
would be more fearful than before.

It is of no use to bemoan nowadays the profanation of
sublime things. If Piranesi were again to sketch the ruins of
Rome, he would see their magnificent perspective lines inter-
rupted by electric wires and by the trollies of the tramway ; and
the brush would fall from Guardi s hands among the waters of
Canalazzo, if the painter, come to life again, were to see a little
steamer pass whistling and belching smoke under the arch of

2IO THE MATTERHORN

the Rialto which he so loved. We must hope for a future
generation, more refined more appreciative of beauty than our
own, less nervous, and stronger, that shall do away with all the
exaggerations which an eager curiosity and an unbridled com'
mercialism have led us to mistake for progress. Then the Eiffel
Tower and the J ungfrau railway shall fall together ; the
beautiful waterfalls which have been enclosed in iron pipes shall
once more foam freely in the sunlight, amid the green foliage of
the pines ; and, thanks to the genius of the latest inventor, the
telegraph wires and posts shall cease to intersect the view of
the white peaks surrounding the Matterhorn and of the
columns in Trajan's forum.

Meanwhile, let him who wishes to see the Matterhorn with-
out railways, without concerts and evening clothes, avoid
Zermatt and look for unfrequented valleys, for there are some
still ; let him come to the Val Tournanche, where, in the whole
valley, not a single piano is to be found, and where the
porter of Pession's hotel wears no uniform. This advice is for
quiet people. As for climbers, if they do not like to find a crowd
where they go, let them ascend the mountains by new or by
little used routes ; there are also some of these still left. For
instance, let them descend the Weisshorn by the SchalH ridge,
oi- ascend the Matterhorn by the Zmutt ridge ; in these places
they will indeed be alone. The chamois take refuge on the
highest and most difficult rocks in tlie summer when the Hocks
of sheep come up to graze on the high [tastures. The flock
dues not follow them thither; it is satisfied with the peaceful,
easily accessible pastures.

I started off on foot for the Staffel Alp. which is two hours'
walk from Zermatt. The Staffel Alp is situated at the boun-
dary oi ;i beautiful forest and of a huge glacier. The forest,
thick and luxuriant, consists entirely of pines, of the kind
commonly called Arolla, with reddish trunks and dark, hori-
zontal leaves, giving to these icy regions ihe a[Ji)earance of a
landscape on the Metliterranean coast ; the glacier is known by

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

the barbarous name of Zmutt, which Ruskin thought so ugly
that he wished it exchanged for the more picturesque appella-
tion of the Red Glacier, from the colour of the rocks that
enclose its Hanks. The highest growing pines are scattered on
the moraines ; the beautiful southern tree seems as if planted
on the ice itself.

At that uttermost limit of the inhabited world there stands
a lonely Htde hotel, far from the sight and the noise of Zermatt;
there the tender care of the international travelling agencies
ceases, and the traveller, left to himself, drinks a hot grog, his

shivering person wrapped in a shawl, glances at the unknown
waste stretched out before him, and at the dark Matterhorn
towering above him, and hastily returns to Zermatt, where he
feels safer.

The Matterhorn, as seen from the Staffel Alp, is quite
unrecognisable ; it is no longer the sharp, bright knife-edge
that is visible from the Gornergrat, nor the severe, symmetrical
pyramid that is seen from the Theodul, nor the mighty bull as
it appears from the Jomein; it is a grotesque monster, deformed
by an enormous hump that seems to overwhelm Ìl by sheer

212 THE MATTERHORN

weight. It is a sinister caricature of the Matterhorn, a Rigo-
letto who laughs and slays. It was down the great wall that
hangs above the Staffel Alp that Croz, Hudson, Hadow, and
Douglas fell. Douglas s bones are still up there, bleaching in
some cleft in the rock, lying in the mountain's arms, but only
the crows and the eagles which circle round the Matterhorn
know where the young Lord Francis lies. This is the most
savage of all the faces of the Matterhorn ; turned to the north-
west, it enjoys the sunshine only for a few hours late in the
day ; only on a very few days in the year does the sun strike
it obliquely in the morning, afterwards disappearing only to
return late in the afternoon. It seems as if the light were
unwilling to remain there.

I was the only guest at the Staffel Alp. I spent the evening
in freedom with my guides, and, tired of the table-dhóte^ I
supped with them in the kitchen ; with these silent men there
is always so much to talk about. The next morning I started
at four.

A start at night in the high mountains is always full of
poetry ; the unwonted hour, the uncertainty of the way, the
strange light that envelopes, even in the dead of night, the
mountains near great glaciers, fill our minds with a sense of
mystery, as if we were passing through a world other than our
own. We intended to climb the Matterhorn by the Zmutt
ridge. The way was known only to one of the four of us, but he
was Daniel Maquignaz, and therefore I was easy in my mind.
Nevertheless I was filled with intense curiosity. I had read the
whole history of this side of the mountain — a short one, but full
of bold deeds. Whymper had merely said that the fearful
precipices that overhang the Zmutt glacier had deterred him
from making any attempt on that side. Since the time when
Whymper had written this, the art of discovering new ways up
mountains had been much improved, and the climber s eye had
grown sharper. The year 1879 marked the fall of the fortress of
Zmutt ; on the same date — September 3rd — two strong parties

■^^'^\k

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 213

had set forth to the attack, and both had conquered. At the
head of one was Mummery, and with him his followers, the
Valaisans Burgener, Petrus, and Gentinetta ; the leader of the
other was Penhall, who had with him two Macugnaga guides —
Ferdinand Imseng and Louis Zurbriggen. They followed
different routes ; Mummery was more fortunate or wiser — the
two words are often synonymous in mountaineering, as in war
— and was the first to reach the summit. 5

Three days later Mr. Baumann, with the guides J. Petrus
(Swiss) and Emile Rey (Italian), made the ascent with
incredible speed, by Mummery's route, and arrived at the top
at 8.45 a.m. So in one season, and within a few days, nine
people had climbed the Matterhorn by its Zmutt ridge, till then
reputed inaccessible. They were all, amateurs and guides,
men of exceptional experience, strength, and daring ; but when
we recall their names, a disturbing thought presents itself — of
these nine, six have since lost their lives in the mountains :
Imseng in 1881, on Monte Rosa; Petrus in 1882, on the
Aiguille Blanche de Pétéret ; in 1882 Penhall was killed by an
avalanche on one of the Grindelwald mountains ; in 1890 or 189 1
Baumann disappeared in Africa ; in 1895 Mummery was lost on
Nanga-Parbat ; and our own Emile Rey slipped and was killed
on the Dent du Géant. A sad record, ^ that gives rise in our
minds to a host of troublesome questions : Were these disasters
accidental, not to be foreseen ? Was it those men s own excep-
tional daring which made them less careful ? Did their over-
weening confidence in their own ability impel them to undertake
tasks that were beyond the strength of man ? If we look into
them carefully, each of these cases, as far as they are known to
us, is capable of explanation, and an answer can be given to
each of these questions ; but those who propose to perform a
difficult Alpine feat never remember such occurrences ; the fate
of others does not affect them ; like Napoleon the Great, every
climber is prone to think that the bullet that is to slay him has
not yet been moulded.

bi. i-j^-j — ■> ■- --'. ■ ■« i«..i- »j. ^ --^-^ ■ ^ -^^jii^.tSJi

214 THE MATTERHORN

As 1 drew nigh to that wali 1 was chiefly busy with the
thought of the last fair page of its history : the quick and daring
ascent made by Prince Louis Amadeus of Savoy, the only
Itah'an climber who had as yet ascended the mountain by that
route. A veteran mountaineer myself, I was anxious to grapple
with those difficulties which he had found easy in the daring
and energy of his vigorous youth, though he was only at the
threshold of his climbing career.?

We descended on to the Zmutt glacier at that uncertain hour
when the moon has ceased to shine and the light of dawn has
not yet appeared. Before us lay a huge, undeHned, fiat way,
whose surface was white as marble and broad enough for an
army to march over in line of battle, and for a whole nation to
pass along. On either side it was bounded by granite walls of
enormous height ; innumerable blocks, fallen down the moun-
tain-side and deeply imbedded in the ice, had the appearance of
, sphinxes half buried in the sand along the route of a Pharaoh's
triumph. From the main road other lesser ones branched oflf,
likewise white, and rose in half-hidden curves between other
distant walls, towards lofty temples that were coated over with
silver. An enormous staircase of ice seemed to set a limit to
the stately course of the triumphal way at one end, but it turned
aside in a mighty curve and stretched upwards on its slow and
majestic course towards the mysterious Acropolis, losing itself
finally behind the propylxa of the Matterhorn.

The white pavement on which we walked was scarred with
symmetrical clefts like the ruts that the iron-tyrcd wheels of a
cart have worn on an ancient road. liy day these clefts flow
with impetuous rivulets of crystal-clear green water ; by night
they are hidden by n thin coating of ice which deceives the eye
and does not support the foot, so that some of us incautiously
let a leg go through and drew it out all dripping with icy
water.

The royal road is not so smooth as it appeared from a
distance. It is a road fit for giants ; the network of ice-blocks

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 215

which form the pavement is constructed in such a way that wide
and deep clefts are left between the blocks. A giant could
cross these at a stride, but the climber takes ten minutes to turn
them and reach the other side.

Leaping from block to block, slipping sometimes, and help-
ing one another, we were on the look-out, as we skirted the
base of the mighty buttress which juts out and separates the
Matterhorn glacier from that of Tiefenmatten, for a place that
should give us access to the rocks of the Matterhorn. An
open schrund yawned between these rocks and the glacier, and
defended them on all sides from attack. But at one point a
tongue of ice shot up and crossed the schrund, like a half-raised
drawbridge. One by one, treading carefully so as not to break
down our tiny bridge, we climbed up over it, and at the end a
long stride took us on to the rocks, which we grasped, and then
climbed with hands and feet on to the buttress. This we found
covered with debris of rocks of all colours and shapes, bearing
witness to the continual disintegration and destruction of the
rocks above.

We had reached the outer edge of the Tiefenmatten gulf, a
huge chasm bounded on three sides by the precipitous rocks of
the Matterhorn and faced on the fourth by the ice walls of the
Col Tournanche and the Dent d'Hérens; a place shut off from
the rest of the world, from the sight of any green valley, clothed
in dismal uniformity by the dark colour of the rocks and the
whiteness of the snows, and darkened still more by the ever-
present shadow of the mountain towering above it. I do not
know any other scene in the Alps that gives expression to so
sublime a melancholy ; it is one of those spots which God has
only passed by night, to use the poetical Provencal expression.
There is a silence in it such as must have brooded over the
earth during the first days of the creation ; it was eight o'clock
in the morning and still dark. We éat down to breakfast. A
few paces away I noticed a few stones built up against a great
tower with a certain symmetry which was in contrast with the

'^'^vf'.^ryjtVT "''TTiiM^b vw*i"l^f ■T'-J»" ''" ''^"••»,'S'-**-»»*'--"wi

[ 2i6 THE MATTERHORN

confusion of the debris round about. This was not the work of
Nature ; the tiny hand of man had laboured at it. It imme-
diately occurred to me, not without some emotion, that here was
the trace of a bivouac, perhaps Mummery's bivouac, and I do
not think I was wrong. I gazed with respect at the ruined wall,
and my eyes instinctively sought among the ruins some object
that might have been forgotten there and might have belonged
to the first explorer, a sign that might reveal to me some secret
of the hours he passed at the foot of his beloved mountain.

I thought of what must have been in his mind during
? the night before the battle, in that place so full of mysterious

\ suggestions. A modern CEdipus, he stood awestruck before

^ the sphinx of the Alps, which proposed an enigma to him.

But the hero was well prepared and anxious for the fray ;
all the strength he had accumulated in years of physical effort
* was about to be put to the proof. He had been the first who
had dared to believe that the obstacle might be overcome,
and his heart rejoiced at the birth of this idea, and he stood
there trembling with a keen desire to turn the thought into a
deed. That is the ideal moment, the most intense and the
noblest in the life of a climber.

I was envious when I thought that he had not felt the
peace of mind, the freedom from anxiety, that were ours
that day. And yet the mountain had not changed since then ;
the same difficulties, the same perils awaited me on the same
route. But the circumstances were altered for me ; when the
enigma is solved the sphinx dies. Let a man but know that
one of his fellows has succeeded in performing any action,
and that action appears less difficult. The real merit is his
who first does the deed ; but he himself, in doing it, makes
it possible for others, and therefore less noble. The anxieties
and the bold enterprise of the artist who creates are replaced
by the mental calm and the slavish security of the imitator.
And if it comes to pass that some one else repeats the deed,
even though he bring it to greater perfection, he will not earn

' ■- - - - -*»

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

217

either the glory or the joy of the first. This is my small
contribution to the much discussed Alpine theme as to the
value of "first ascents."

We were interested and on the qui vive, but nothing more.
On that morning everything was at peace, both within us and
without. We were in no hurry ; no rival party obliged us
to hasten in order to be the first on the top, no tiresome
observer was watching through the telescope the time it took us
to reach the summit. We were hidden from men's glances, we
were free and alone : we had a whole day before us ; a short
day, if you will, for the middle of September was past, but the
weather was fine, and I was determined this time to enjoy at
my ease the ascent of the Matterhorn.

Round about us was a peaceful, impenetrable twilight ; in
front of us the snowy peaks had been bathed in a golden light,
and then they had turned to silver by a thousand consecutive
soft gradations. The waters were still in the grasp of the
frost, and did not yet flow over the rocks. The top of the Dent
d'Hérens was glowing, and the whole of its icy armour was
sparkling in the sunlight, but the sun's rays had not started any
avalanches ; all that which was to fall from thence had come
away in the summer, and the snows were beginning to con-
solidate once more in the cooler atmosphere and under the
oblique rays of the autumn sun, and were preparing to return
to their wintry state of immobility. There was not a breath of
air ; the sky was of deepest blue, perhaps too clear and too
beautiful. When I consulted my guides as to whether
there was likely to be a change, they invariably answered :
"Qui sail? On ne peut pas dire." Guides never commit
themselves.

It is said that climbers are sometimes childishly superstitious,
and that they are inclined, before attacking a mountain, to toss
coins in the air, just as once upon a time Roman generals con-
suited the flight of crows before a battle. 1 consulted the
oracle by quartering a wretched, skinny fowl which mine host

2!8 THE MATTERHORN

had put inUi the provision bag, and, judging by its flesh, it was
to be expected that the day would be an extremely hard one.

And, indeed, hard and sharp were the rocks of the Zmutt
buttress, which we started to climb immediately afterwards, and
so was a certain chimney with ice-clad sides, devoid of holds,
where we lost the first half-hour. Whilst we were busy inside it,
the stones began to fall round about us, whistling as they came ;
down in the shadow where we were, everything was frozen stiff,
but on the top of the ridge the sun's rays were already shining
and loosening the pebbles — autumn leaves, as it were, falling
from the Matterhorn tree ! When we reached the back-
bone of the buttress, things began to go splendidly ; the
snow on the ridge was so good that it was not necessary to cut
a single step. Seeing that the route was so easy and so good,
we all rejoiced, and became more convinced than ever that we
could ascend lazily, without haste.

The Staffel Alp stands at 7,062 feet, the Matterhorn at
14,790; so there were little more than 7,5CX3 feet to ascend,
of which we had already done one half. Perhaps this com-
fortable laziness was the remains of the fatigue we had
undergone on the Weisshorn two days before ; perhaps it was
due to our preconceived idea that the Zmutt grat was not
difficult. And Daniel, the only one am()ng us who knew the
climb, said th^t on the last part of the ascent, just below
the lop block of the Matterhorn. there are certain slabs of rock,
which arc coated with ice that does not melt till late in the day,
when the sun is on it. It was u.seless. he added, to be in any
hurry to reach that point, and be obliged to wait there in
positions less safe than our present one, and he promised to
pay for a good bottle of wine if we did not reach the Jomein
the same evening, Antoine and Ange, who were not quite
so sanguine as he, took the bet. while I remained neutral
Daniel smiled in a mysterious manner.

Excellent pretexts were not lacking for stopping at every
step. I kept looking down on to the Tiefenmatten glacier.

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 219

whose white crevasses yawned far below in shadow, in ever-
lasting tranquillity like that of a cemetery ; or raising my
eyes to the wall above, whose curving black lines gave it the
appearance of the crater of an extinct volcano, I examined
with curiosity its twisted strata. That which from afar had
looked to me like the veins on a marble surface, waving in
gentle folds like a wind-filled sail, now proved, as I scrutinised
it close at hand, to be a mighty geological phenomenon ; it
appeared like the waves of a whirlpool that had suddenly
stiffened into stone, but had preserved their crystalline trans-
parency and the shape they had at the moment when they
ceased to move.

In this place even the non- votary of science realises the
formation of the Matterhorn, which, strongly built though it be,
consists of most delicate materials. My eyes kept turning
somewhat anxiously towards the precipice that falls away from
the summit to the Matterhorn glacier — a precipice that is in
some places vertical, in others overhanging, and is one of the
most wonderful in the Alps ; the stones which fall down it drop
over 2,000 feet without striking the face.

We halted to take a photograph, and again to test an echo,
known to Daniel, that was hidden away in this neighbourhood.
My guides amused themselves like children by awakening with
their loud cries the voice that dwells in the huge couloir, that
was wont to reply only to the rumbling of thunder and
the crash of the avalanche ; but it awoke and answered us
obligingly, as if it were pleased to hear unaccustomed voices,
and it repeated them eight or ten times, stammering as if
weakened by long silence. It seemed as if the spirit of the
Matterhorn had recognised friends in us and were sending us
greeting ; its cries and ours were blended in the still air in a
sound full of mysterious harmony. When we resumed our
journey, the echo sank once more into silencQ, and who knows
how long it will be before other human voices will awaken
it again!

. r" ~," - "T-- .-1 "■ « . - " -t— • *T

;. I HIIVP" i'9!«H«P^

220 THE MATTERHORN

On the easy ridge a further temptation presents itself : a fine
slab of rock, level and dry, protrudes from the snow ; it seemed to
have been made on purpose for us to rest upon. We stretched
ourselves voluptuously out in the sunshine and went peacefully
to sleep. ... I do not know how long I slept ; I was waked
by the guides shouting energetically with upturned faces, and
seeming to converse with some one at a distance. There
was a party on the top ; every now and then we could hear
the sharp sound of their axes striking against the rocks ; at
last a voice replied from on high, and my guides declared it
to be a Valtournanche voice.

The thought that those others were already near the summit,
while we were still so low down, stirred us up and made us
start with renewed energy. It was eleven o'clock ; we stepped
once more into the shadow of the Matterhorn, and did not see
the sun again till four hours later ; the sun was just then hidden
behind the peak, and its rays formed a luminous aureole about
the dark summit of the Matterhorn. In half an hour we
reached the end of the ridge, where it joins the actual peak ;
the easy snow came to an end and we reached the first of the
mountain s formidable defences. These consisted of four
pinnacles of rock, one after the other, which, as seen from
below, appear a small matter, but when reached prove to be as
high and smooth as towers. The difficulties begin with them,
and the third and fourth are really serious. We climbed up and
down, we sought to turn them on the left : there was a sheer
precipice. We returned to the right : there the rocks were loose
and came away at a touch. Our progress was infinitely slow ;
we took nearly two hours to negotiate the pillars and to reach
the base of the wall.

* I glanced round ; we were but little higher than the Great
Tower. On the left, towards Zermatt, was a deep and narrow
couloir which flowed down the side of the mountain and fell
away to the Matterhorn glacier ; on its opposite side, quite close
at hand, was the strange, overhanging wall which, seen in profile,

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

resembles a huge, distorted, shattered nose. On the right we
could see sideways the deep gap in the ridge between the
Matterhorn and the Tète du Lion, a huge loophole left open in
the wall that divides Switzerland from Italy; through this
opening I perceived in the distance a small azure cone, that was
Monte Viso. In front of me the wall rose steeply, and though
it was quite close, I did not see how it was to be climbed.

Ange started first ; Daniel wished him to be at the head of
the party. " II est le plus jeune." he said, " faut bien qu'il
apprenne à trouver son chemin" ; and he was now watching him
as he picked his way up the steep wall, testing with his hands
the holds above his head, and drawing himself slowly upwards ;
he eagerly followed him with his eyes, like a master putting a
beloved pupil through an examination, and I thought I read
complete satisfaction in his eyes. We followed one by one,
while the rope was slowly drawn in before us. It was strange
but not excessively difficult climbing, though very steep, with
hidden holes far apart from one another, which we could only
reach with the tips of our fingers, stretching our arms to the
utmost and extending our legs ,■ but when once we had grasped
them they held. I was reminded of the first part of the ascent
of the Meije in Dauphiné, above the Duhamel stone man. but
here the pitch was longer.

At first one climbs inside the dark couloir, and then, turning
gradually to the right, one returns to the open face and to light
and air, and one seems to climb more freely ; also the rocks
become more solid, and the strata better placed, and thus one
reaches the ridge ; but I think that if the rocks on this part
were glazed, it would be impossible to ascend them. We had
attained the lofty summit of the great couloir ; just below we
had traversed loose rocks that were most dangerous, During
a halt Daniel told me of a Swiss guide who in that spot had
been wounded in the head by a stone which the feet of one of
the party had started ; Daniel still remembered his painful
impressions when he came past here a few days later, and saw

222 THE MATTERHORN

the snow and the rocks all stained with the unfortunate man s
blood.

We reached the Zmutt shoulder, the point where the ridge
is joined on to the final peak. In the excitement of the climb
we had failed to notice something which was going on, unknown
o us, above our heads : certain fish-shaped clouds floating
above us in the dark blue heights of the sky. Clouds of this
shape are always of bad omen, but these were so high up that I
did not think it possible that they could descend on to the
summit ; in my optimistic mood that day I thought that at the
worst the morrow might not be so fine. Some of our morning's
thoughtlessness was still about us ; the guides were still joking
about the good bottle for which Daniel would have to pay, but
it seemed to me that Daniel was already less confident of
winning his bet. Without looking at my watch I felt that it
was growing late ; the shadow of the Matterhorn marked the
lapse of time for us.

No one who has not again and again explored the flanks of
the Matterhorn at different hours of the day can imagine the
solemnity of the shadow of its cone as it slowly and silently
revolves on the vast field of snow ; it lengthens and it shortens,
fills a whole valley with darkness, or again it covers with a blue
veil a vast glacier, and it stretches away to far distant peaks ;
at other times it casts itself in profile, like an apparition, over
the mist of the dawn or the sunset, on the horizon. In the
morning it is clearly outlined in the Tiefenmatten chasm, like
the shadow of a Gothic cathedral whose long roof terminates in
a sharp pinnacle ; towards evening it lingers on the snows of
the Theodul, sluggish and melancholy as the shadow of a huge
cypress. The shepherds of the neighbouring valleys raise
their eyes to this primitive sun-dial, and regulate their day s
work by it ; when it is touched by the sun's last rays, they
bring their herds back to the stables ; and the climber grows
uneasy and hastens his steps.

Time was passing ; it seemed as if the sun were hastening

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 223

on his downward path ; the fish-shaped clouds had increased in
number and in length ; as the weather changed so did our
spirits. We no longer jested, we moved quickly along the base
of the final peak, towards the Italian ridge and the Corridor
that Carrel had followed on his first ascent. We did not, how-
ever, strike that famous place ; ^ we returned towards the Zmutt
ridge, traversing in a slightly upward direction. We then
found the bad rock slabs of which Daniel had told us, and found
them still glazed with a treacherous film of ice, the worst enemy
of rock climbers ; the sun had only just before come upon this
place, and the thaw had scarcely begun. Icicles and stones
were falling from above, and this was a thing Daniel had not
told us. We would fain have run to get out of danger, but the
difficulties of the way condemned us to a tedious slowness ; we
moved one at a time with the greatest care, and the man who
was not moving always tried to put his head under cover, as
best he could, right up against the wall.

Light puffs of mist came up at intervals. Our illusions
about the length of an autumn day were being shattered. I
was like one who has thoughtlessly reached the half-way point of
his life, and become aware that life is not so simple a matter as
he had thought in his over-confident youth, and that much "re-
mains for him to do before he can reach the goal that had
previously seemed to him so near. I began to regret the time
we had lost ; Daniel must have been thinking privately that he
would now have to pay for the bottle after all.

God so willed it that we won safely through on the Zmutt
ridge. The last part was easy, and we made what haste we could ;
but the weather was rapidly growing worse. The huge, strange,
fish-shaped clouds had disappeared from the sky, and a broad,
grey veil, a lofty dome which covered half the horizon to the
west, had taken their place ; and from it small strips detached
themselves from time to time and floated down suddenly till they
rested on the highest peaks, and moved no more. The other
half of the horizon was still clear, so that while the whole range

224 THE MATTERHORN

of the Graian Alps and a part of the Pennine were enveloped
in darkness, the mountains of the Valais and the Oberland and
Monte Rosa were still resplendent with gorgeous light, that
appeared brighter still by the contrast.

The final peak of the Matterhorn alternately donned and
doffed a veil ; its beauty and its mystery were enhanced thereby.
Mists are to a mountain what a veil is to women : the colour of
the rocks seem more rosy when a thin, white covering wraps
them about ; when the mountain's face appears for a second, it
seems to smile more joyfully to us ; when it is hidden, we
are left with an infinite longing to see it again. But these were
the last smiles ; the sun sank out of sight ; the dark curtain fell
with incredible swiftness over the bright spectacle of Monte
Rosa. The Matterhorn lost its colour, and became the livid
Matterhorn that is seen in bad weather, full of shadows and
sadness. Up from below over its lofty crags came waves of
cloud, like a racing tide ; they hurled themselves against the
ridges, they broke, they returned in more serried masses, until
they conquered and overwhelmed everything in their path. The
highest rocks were swallowed up by them, and so were we,
as we stood on the summit, which we had reached at last.

• Few, perhaps none, can have had the experience of being on
the top of the Matterhorn at about six in the ev^ening* of a day
in hite September, in bad weather. During the few brief
moments I remained there, I reviewed the situation in my
mind. It was serious ; I rapidly thought of the experiences
other parties had undergone when surprised by darkness and
by storm up on the mountain-side, and I did not disguise from
myself how probable it was that we should have to spend a
night up there under similar conditions. A slight shudder
passed through my frame at the thought of the mystery of the
descent ; an undefined uneasiness like that of an animal that
has a presentiment of danger ; and at the same tinie there arose
in me a great curiosity to see this peril, to learn what the terrible
nights on the Matterhorn were like, how disasters came, what

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 225

their setting was, what men's feelings were when they occurred,
how I myself should behave in one. Perhaps I was never so
near to learning these things. I understood then how certain
accidents in the mountains originate and happen in the quietest
and simplest manner, and how they certainly appear more
tragical to those who hear them discussed than to those who
are actors in them. Man's powers of resignation in the face of
destiny's decrees must be unlimited.

Only an hour before I had been climbing upwards free from
all anxiety, jesting with my guides, admiring, as I looked about
me, the effects of light and shade, and the resplendent peaks ;
and now, amid the impenetrable darkness of the clouds, I was
already debating in my own mind my chances of a safe return ;
a disaster appeared to me most probable ; let the weather take
a turn for the worse, the sleet change into drifting snow, and
our fate was sealed. I should descend as far as I could, the
cold would increase, till my hands were almost frozen and my
body no longer under my control ; I should then stop where-
ever I might be, in a place where I could not even sit down,
and there await the sunrise with an infinite longing. Would
the sun ever rise for me ? And in what state would it find me ?
I thought of the labours and difficulties of the relief party
that would be sent up to seek for me, and of the anxiety of those
down below. Yet no! None knew that I was on the Mat-
terhorn ; I had told no one that I proposed to climb it, or
whither I was going. I was alone, at an enormous distance
from all human aid ; my safety depended entirely upon myself
and my guides. And it was the consciousness of this that
gave me strength.9

All these conflicting thoughts chased one another rapidly
and almost unconsciously through my mind, in the mental
duality that such circumstances produce ; they contended with
one another, and destroyed each other in turn, so that, when
we resumed our journey, nothing remained of them in my
mind except great anxiety to make a quick descent. We had

226 THE MATTERHORN

briefly discussed the question whether to descend on the
Swiss or the Italian side ; the former was easier, on the latter
the hut was nearer, and besides, we should be in our own
country. We decided on Italy.

** En route,'' was the sharp command of Daniel, who had
wrapped his head in a handkerchief and knotted it under his
chin, thus making his face look like a woman's. He too was
in a hurry now. We very soon reached the first ropes, and
I was surprised to feel again my old instinctive reluctance
to trust myself to them. I ought to have slid down the rope,
holding on to it with both hands, whereas I grasped it with
one hand only, and with the other I held firmly to the rock.
One is advised to do so on ordinary occasions, but on that
day the precaution was out of place. I thought the guides
were grumbling ; I heard one of them say behind me : ** Si
on ne marche pas plus vite, nous dormons dehors." The
expression **on ne marche pas " was meant for me; I quite
understood that, and the thought of sleeping out, together
with the wound to my vanity, immediately filled me with
a feeling of surprising security ; thenceforth I grasped the
ropes with both hands, without hesitation, only desirous not
to hear the same reproach again.

I have frequently observed that when the weather turns
bad high up in the mountains, the guides become most ill-
tempered. Those same guides who but a short time since
were so obliging and so courteous, who were jesting with
you, and treating you with so much deference, suddenly
become rough and reserved, at times even almost brutal. This
is their way of showing you that matters are growing serious ;
there is no longer any need for courtesy when men's lives
are at stake. They know that the only hope of safety lies
in rapidity of flight, and they have no patience with him who
goes slowly, or with him who argues or complains. On these
occasions you feel them pulling with greater force, almost with
violence, on the rope that unites you to them ; they seize you

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

227

roughly by the arm or the leg, if in your haste you are about
to make a false step ; they do not hesitate to rebuke you if,
through inattention on your part, your rope catches round
a piece of rock, or to tell you plainly that you are ** going"
badly. You may be sure that when the guides resort to these
home truths, there is no time to be lost. The guides* rough
and violent nature has resumed its sway, but, to be candid,
the amateur is no whit behindhand in this respect ; I remember
on that day returning with extraordinary animosity my guides'
tugs at the rope. Fortunately these ill-humours disappear
directly we are safe, and they leave no trace of rancour ; on
the contrary, they are replaced by an affectionate feeling
of greater intimacy than before. During that time of difficulty
a feeling of complete equality has arisen, raising the
guides to the rank of the amateur and making the amateur
not inferior to his guides. And when the goal is reached,
let one of them only tell you you have ** gone " well, and your
anger is appeased, and the gloom of wounded amour propre
disappears completely.

Our desperate descent was barely begun. I slid down, I
crept along at one time on my back, at another with my face to
the rocks ; I hugged the mountain in the attempt to adapt my
body to its shape ; one moment I would go lightly in order
not to put too much weight on a doubtful hold, the next I would
let myself go with my whole weight, having seen out of the
corner of my eye a place on which to put my feet. At
times, at the bottom of a difficult bit, where the rope came
to an end, my legs were too short to reach any hold, and
kicked about in space and explored the rock ; my bended
knees did the work of my feet, my elbows were planted in
the holds instead of my hands, until I found some Heaven-sent
support, and then, arching my back, and supporting myself
with the back of my neck, at last reached a place where I
could stand in safety.

But where is the climber to whom the petty discomforts

f- ■*

228 THE MATTERHORN

of such moments are unknown ? The man below impatiently
urges you to descend, while the one above protests that you
are pulling him down ; the rope of the party becomes entangled
with the ropes that are fixed to the rocks, it becomes twisted
by the damp and stiff with the frost ; it hitches everywhere,
winds round your legs, compresses your chest, rubs against
your face. Everything gets in the way ; your sack will not
keep in its place, your camera catches at regular intervals,
your coat impedes your movements ; the very brim of your
hat is troublesome. The axe is a real plague ; you have
tied it on to your arm with a piece of string in order to have
your hands free, and it swings about on every side, turns
upside down, smites your shins, squeezes your wrist or
wounds your face ; at times it hurts you so much that you
cry out, and you are minded to abuse it as if it were a human
being. It seems to be doing all this on purpose to aggravate
the position of affairs just when they are at their worst ; you
could almost throw it away. With the axe it is as with certain
friends : you wish to have them at your side in time of need ;
but when that is past, the first time they cause you any
annoyance, you weary of them, and in your short-sighted
human egoism you do not reflect that you may shortly need
them again.

We were descending rapidly, but the terrible darkness
fell upon us faster still ; we had hoped for a short space of
twilight, but owing to the thick clouds the night came two
hours earlier. At the Col Félicité one single rift in the leaden
clouds gave us a glimpse of the setting sun ; it was a tiny
shaft of orange yellow amid the gloom, like a tongue of fire
in the smoke of a vast conflagration ; then it too disappeared,
dying sadly away like a last vain hope.

The darkness gradually increased, and the mountain's
outlines became indistinct ; at times a wreath of mist enveloped
them as in a grey veil, but when clear they took on a darker
hue. At the Enjambée the darkness was complete ; of the

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 229

wonderful precipice below I saw nothing at all. The Shoulder
almost free from snow, dimly showed the lean structure of
its crags ; the rocks were somewhat iced, and prudence re-
quired that we should moderate our speed. Thanks to the
violence of our exertions on the descent it seemed to me that
the cold, which had been intense, was somewhat lessened ;
but my hands, which I had left ungloved the better to grasp
the ropes, anxiously sought the warm depths of my pockets
during those short moments when I was able to halt while
the guide sought for the right way.

And so we descended, step by step, growing ever more
doubtful of a happy issue, hastening where we could, spurred
on by our anxiety. That headlong climb created a Matterhorn
as yet unknown to me — a Matterhorn invisible, but tangible in
its shape, in the smallest inequalities of its surface ; and hands
and feet groped for these and recognised them by sense of
touch, and found the holds as if all my visual faculties were
collected, by a phenomenal transfer of the senses, in my ex-
tremities.

We traversed the Créte du Coq, we passed close to the
Gravate without seeing it. Each of us was thinking that if we
could but reach the Grande Corde we were saved, but none had
said so to the others ; we were all silent now. Daniel led
through the darkness with the wonderful precision of an old
pilot, who knew well the perilous precipices of the Matterhorn.

Ah ! the upper end of the Grande Corde at last ! Down I
slid along it — and there are about thirty-five yards of it — with
boundless confidence ; it was a regular leap down the precipice.
A feeling of great strength and security had awoken in me ; I
hesitated no longer, I never made a false step ; I was full of
improvised stratagems, of incredible balancing feats, of leaps
and halts of unheard of precision. I felt myself at that time
the comrade of my guides, and not their ** Herr." When man
scents danger he becomes a man indeed, imbued with all the
primitive excellence and valour of mankind ; brave as a small

230 THE MATTERHORN

animal defending its life from a monster a hundred times bigger
and stronger, impassive as the first man must have been, who
won his livelihood among the obstacles of nature, as wild
beasts do, who suffered and rejoiced, but perhaps did not as
yet weep or laugh. In this hand-to-hand struggle with the
mountain the sick man grows weak and apathetic ; the strong
man delights in the rough pleasures of the contest, and when
he has succeeded in freeing himself from the monsters em-
braces he breathes as he has never breathed in his life before.

Little by little our eyes had grown accustomed to the dark-
ness. After we had passed the Grande Corde there was some
talk of lighting the lanterns, but I objected ; I feared that their
feeble glow would only make the darkness more profound, and
that the lights and shadows dancing on the rocks would lead us
astray. I did not even strike a match to see what time it was,
yet I felt keenly enough the desire to do so ; it was only when
we were close to the Linceul that the reflected light from the
snow allowed me to see the hands of my watch. We had taken
little more than two hours from the summit to this point.

We entered the Vallon des Glaijons ; this desolate couloir,
which is dark even in the day time, was as black as a tomb. We
grouped our way across the mauvais pas. Heaven alone knows
how ; but as I brought my head against it with a fearful blow,
we decided to light the lanterns, one at either end of the party.
Time was required for this, because a breeze was blowing and
the matches were damp , but at last the candle burnt with a tiny
yellow flame. The scene changed ; I once more saw by my side
Daniel, whom I had not seen for more than an hour. Lighted
up as he was from head to foot, his head wrapped in a hand-
kerchief tied under his chin, he seemed to me a strange appari-
tion, a man I did not know. Our range of vision was limited
to a very few yards around us ; I could see that only a few steps
from me the rocks fell away into a dark abyss.

But my strange guide was already on the move, rapidly de-
scending into the chasm with his lantern swinging to and fro as

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 231

he held it in his hand ; I followed close behind him, seeking the
benefit of the light, like a moth round a lamp. From behind I
felt a violent jerk at the rope and heard an oath ; I turned
round and out of the tail of my eye I saw the other lantern
waving fantastically among the dark crags, together with other
strange human forms. If the shepherds of Breuil had seen these
tiny lights wandering along the aréte, they would have thought
them to be restless spirits in torment ; but at that hour the
shepherds were peacefully sleeping on their couches of hay.

A great confusion of ideas was beginning to form in my
head ; it was due to the mental distortion which comes to him
who goes wearily by night. I saw holds where the rock was
really smooth, and where there was a spot to place my foot I
saw an empty space ; sudden gleams of light dazzled my eyes ;
the rocks took on grotesque shapes of savage outline, like
gaping jaws or fallen statues or open tombs, and among these
ruins we hurried like men afraid ; for an instant I thought I saw
the roof of a distant house. . . .

** L ancienne cabane " said a voice, and a few steps brought
us up against an abandoned refuge. Two more ropes to
descend before reaching our goal ; down, down, without rest.
In the shelter of the couloir we had not noticed the cold, but as
soon as we had turned the rocks of the Tower and regained
the aréte, we were exposed to a violent west wind, and I sud-
denly felt chilled through and through ; the very recesses of
my pockets were frozen. But Daniel flees onward like a
spectre, and I after him. I heard the sound of the lantern
striking against his axe, or against the rocks ; the lantern shot
downwards, then rose again, spreading light and shade about it,
and its leaps to and fro suggested to me what gymnastic feats
Daniel was performing. The spectre and the light disappeared
suddenly, to become visible again further on ; the man s dark,
lean profile stood out in an aureole of light. I felt the rope
pulling me from below and I plunged downwards. It was a real
race down the precipice. But the desperate descent was ended ;

232 THE MATTERHORN

the wandering light had stopped. I came up to it and my hand
touched a dark wall ; it was a wooden one. Oh ! how pleasant
was the touch of smooth wood after so much rough rock ! A
little door opened to our push ; I found myself in the hut. We
had descended the Matterhorn in less than three hours. Daniel
had lost his bet ; we were safe.

I cannot describe the feeling of relief, security, and peace
which came over me as I entered. It was cold inside the hut ;
a thermometer would have indicated several degrees of frost,
but to me the temperature seemed tepid compared with the cold
outside. The two lanterns which in the open had given so
poor a light, shone brilliantly inside between those narrow walls.
Outside the wind rushed past in gusts with a roar like that of
distant wagons being dragged over cobble-stones ; in the little
hut complete quiet reigned. We were as if in our own home.
Blessed hut ! Blessed Alpine Club which built it !

Having crossed the threshold, untied the rope that had been
on us for the last sixteen hours, and shaken from off our clothes
and our boots the snow which had settled on them, we sat down
and looked into one another's faces. Each of us was privately
thinking of a good supper. Alas for our supper ! Our sacks
were empty, our bottles dry, firewood there was none. But by
degrees we ordered our ideas. From the sack of one of the
guides there issued a horrid piece of meat with more fat than
lean, a few morsels of dry bread, and a squashed and shapeless
slice of cheese. After searching in every corner of the hut, I
found a paper packet containing — oh, blessed sight! — a small
quantity of Neapolitan vermicelli. In the meantime Ange had
recollected a secret hiding-place not far from the hut, unknown to
all but himself, in which he had formerly concealed a little wood.
We roped Ange, pushed him outside the door, and held him from
inside the hut, paying out the rope gradually as he retired.
Intense cold came in at the open door. In five minutes' time
we received the order to pull on the rope, and at its extremity

THE ZMUTT RIDGE 233

Ange reappeared, all numb with the cold, hugging in his arms
a few precious pieces of wood. Very soon a fire was burning
m the midst of smoke in the little stove, crackling cheerily and
slowing melting the snow in the saucepan.

Round the fire we all four sat silently, in pleasant familiarity,
and warmed our hands and feet. Not a word passed concerning
our late adventures ; we only watched with breathless interest
the fat of our meat and the cheese melting in the boiling water,
while a delicate odour of dish-water was wafted about the little
hut. At length we were able to pour out the pale, thin broth,
in which floated sparsely the vermicelli and a few streaks of
cheese. The whole tasted of smoke;, down in the valley we
should have given the soup to a dog, but up there every one
pronounced it a chef-d'oeuvre. Two dried prunes, which I had
in my pocket, completed the feast, and after this we went to bed.

As I wrapped my feet in one of the fur rugs that are in the
hut, I noticed written on the back a few initials and the name
of Jordan, a well-known one in the early pages of the history
of the Matterhorn. He had presented that rug for the old
refuge on the Gravate ; from there it had been brought down
to the hut at the Tower, and thence again down here. It had
been for more than thirty years on the Matterhorn, and it
seemed to me that it might, perhaps, have been wrapped round
Giordano's feet during the five nights he spent on the moun-
tain in the primitive refuge. Oh ! progress enough had been
made between that day and this, and this time I considered
that progress, in the shape of our excellent hut, was not with-
out its advantages.

Outside the wind howled at intervals through the clefts
in the rocks ; the Matterhorn slept a troubled sleep that
night. I, my feet now warm, and wrapped in the historic
rug, myself buried under the excellent coverings, was enjoying
a sense of complete ease and comfort. I was not sleepy, but I
was filled with desire to laugh at something — at anything,
provided I might but laugh. I wished to chat with my

234 THE MATTERHORN

guides, to tell them tales, but they were already sleeping
soundly. Then I thought how delightful it was not to have to
spend the night in the open, on the rocks of the Matterhorn,
and during this my first hours rest I reviewed the impres-
sions received during the day — the impressions that were
destined to remain indelibly stamped upon my memory.

Each one of our expeditions is fixed in our minds by
some characteristic of its own ; we may have forgotten all
that occurred throughout the day, but some given episode,
some spot, will ever recur to our memory, and always under
the same aspect and with the same marvellous clearness. We
remember one ascent by the cold we suffered in a bivouac,
and by a splendid sunrise ; another by a precipitous place
where we watched for three hours a continuous rain of falling
stones; another, again, by a cornice of snow which broke and
fell away just as we were about to set foot upon it. Perhaps
these were the moments in which the greatest number of
emotions filled our minds, and so the name alone of the
ascent reawakens in us in all its intensity the feeling we had
then, and this even after many years. The sight of the cap we
wore, the smell of the leather covering that protected our
camera on that day, the taste of a prune, like those we turned
about in our parched mouth during those hours of fasting,
seem to take us back, as by magic, to those places, and to
cause us to live again for an instant through those far-off
times.

Perhaps I shall never forget the aesthetic emotions produced
in me by the majestic circular chasm of Tiefenmatten and the
fearful Zmutt face, nor the joy of the slow ascent, nor the
curiosity I felt in ascending a Matterhorn that was free from
huts and uncontaminated by ropes ; ^^ but the silent flight
from the summit, the strange descent in clouds and darkness,
our haste to reach our goal, my delight at touching the hut,
will ever remain in the deepest recesses of my soul. It seems
to me that it was only from that night onward that I really

THE ZMUTT RIDGE

235

knew the Matterhom. I had not seen the difficulties, 1 had
touched them, and in the mental concentration produced by
the darkness every rock had made itself felt by me,

That very evening I was reminded of this by my knees,
which ached with the many blows they had received, and
by my burnini;;. skin-stripped hands. After a long rock climb
the tips of the fingers, owing to the continual friction against
the roughness of the rock, are reduced to a most delicate and
sensitive condition, and are covered with little red spots like
pin-pricks, so that touching the board of a table seems like
stroking soap, and a glass feels like a piece of ice. For several
days I carried these marks; my hands bore the peculiar, strong
odour of the rocks; I took about with me in the pores of my
skin, as in my soul, an infinitesimal part of the Matterhom.

Our night in the hut was a cold one. We awoke before
the dawn ; I felt the frost in spite of the furs and rugs in
which ! was wra[)ped. The weather was very bad. the sky
overcast ; it was one of those days when the end of the world
seems near, and when it appears as if the sun will never rise.
A bitter wind was blowing, and sheets of drifting snow appeared
from time to time ; the hut and the rocks were covered with a
coating of frozen snow that made them took like silver. We
must needs wait till the cold had grown less before we could
descend. The guides swallowed the warmed-up remains of
our soup ; I had not the courage to join them. Nine o'clock
came ; the wind had dropped, so we decided to start. I came
out of the hut wrapped up as if 1 were starting for the North
Pole ; I had put on everything I had with me in my sack.
The rocks and ropes were coated with ice, and therefore
dangerous ; we took more than an hour to reach the Col
du Lion. The prospect was infinitely dreary : down in the
valley all was dark ; above our heads was one unbroken black
pall ; some opaque, whitish clouds, full of menace, floated about
between us and the depths below, while a few hovered motion-
less above the hollow valleys.

236 THE MATTERHORN

On a morning drear as this, but far more terrible, Carrel the
Bersagliere had left the hut at the Tower for his last descent,
which came to an end not far below the Col, after a night and
a day of fearful struggle, near a rock by which there now stands
a cross." Ten years have passed since then. The pilgrims
of the Matterhorn stop reverently before that rock. It was
there that the old soldier, weary after his last desperate battle,
his strength all gone, was laid by his comrades ; it was there
that he died.'^ Perhaps in the visions of his last moment
he heard once more the trumpets sounding on the Colle di
San Martino, and the shouts of victory on the conquered
Matterhorn ; these were the two glories of his life. Or
perhaps his mind grew suddenly dark, and he was not even
conscious of his own heroism which had saved his companions
on that last descent. Such was the end of the long contest
between the mountaineer and his mountain ; a contest that
lasted thirty years, full of ardent deeds of daring and of
passive defence, of hard-won victories, and of defeats that
were glorious as any victory. Carrel had ceased to conquer :
his weapons were worn out with long use, blunt with age,
and no longer served the valour and experience of the ancient
warrior. The Matterhorn watched its opportunity and dealt
him his death-blow. But popular rumour immediately lent
a noble shape to the image of the first of the Matterhorn
guides : ** Carrel did not fall ; he died," they said in his
native valley, and Carrel endured in legend invincible as he
had lived.

No fairer death than this could have come to the conqueror
of the Matterhorn. When I left that cross behind me, 1 think
I looked upon my guides with a deeper feeling of affection
and gratitude than before.

CHAPTER VI

THE FURGGEN RIDGE OF THE MATTERHORN

I REMEMBER as if it wcrc a dream — a very vivid one, but
still a dream — being in the courtyard of the Hotel de Londres
at Chàtillon, when I saw, seated on a green bench, two men
who were known to me. One of them was strongly built,
stout, bronzed in face ahd rough in aspect, while the other
was an aristocratic-looking man, with delicate features, a
fine white skin, and a somewhat pallid countenance. They
were smiling at me, and seemed as surprised to see me as
I was to see them. They were Antonio Castagneri, the
guide, and Count Humbert of Villano va, the climber, both
of them my friends. We greeted one another with much
cordiality, and they immediately told me that they were
waiting for Jean Joseph Maquignaz from Valtournanche,
and that they were all going up the Aosta Valley together
to attempt a great ascent, which, however, they did not
name.

Although Castagneri saw me armed with axe and rope,
he did not inquire my destination ; he simply told me that
he knew it, and, drawing me aside, in a mysterious manner he
traced with his finger a line that rose from my right shoulder-
to the top of my head, crossed it, and fell precipitously on to
the other shoulder. He then stood and gazed fixedly at me,

with smiling eyes full of kindliness and roguish fun, as if to

237

238 THE MATTERHORN

ask me whether he had guessed aright. Indeed, he had
guessed rightly! But how had he managed to find out? I
had concealed my plan from every one, for I realised how
ambitious a one it was. How had he guessed it? Had he
read an unwonted excitement in my eyes ? Was it an uncon-
scious suggestion from my mind to his ? Meanwhile he
repeatedly urged me to be careful, by means of certain
dubious shakes of his head. I tried to baffle him as best I
could, and I begged him to take good care of my friend and
to lead him to a successful ascent.

Shortly after we said goodbye, for I was in a hurry to start.
Before reaching Moulins, on the way to Valtournanche, I met
Maquignaz coming down to meet the others, pipe in mouth,
freshly shaven and cleanly clad. He looked as if he were
going to a /eie. He gave me a grave and courteous salute,
we exchanged a few words, then shook hands, and he passed
on. This was the last time he was to descend his native
valley ; I never saw either him or the other two again. A few
days after I learnt that they had mysteriously disappeared on
Mont Blanc.

I do not know why it is, but the figures of these men are as
indelibly impressed on my mind as are the troubled figures we
see in dreams, and every time I enter the courtyard of the
Hotel de Londres I seem to see those two brave men sitting
on the bench and smiling at me, and to feel the pressure of
Castagneri s powerful finger tracing the mysterious line upon
my shoulder ; and whenever I walk up to Valtournanche, in
fancy I meet old Jean Joseph at the same spot with his pipe in
his mouth, serenely descending his native valley for the last
time, with all the vigour of a second youth. And now, when I
compare the reality of what I saw with the imagined details of
the subsequent tragedy, it feels to me as if the two I met were
the ghosts of my friends, and as if the guide's smile contained
at the time a touch of bitterness, whilst the pale, refined face of
the climber expressed resignation to fate ; as if old Maquignaz's

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 239

grave salute were that of a wise man who knew that he was
starting for a place whence there was no return. But more
than ten years have passed since then, and it is so hard to
distinguish between that which is real and that which is a
dream in our lives, when grave and terrible events stir our
emotions!

I went up the valley to attempt my secret climb, which was
to be that ridge of the Matterhorn which rises from the
Furggenjoch and faces south-east. It is the shortest and
steepest * of the four aretes of the pyramid, and it had remained
unconquered ; in fact, I think that after Mummery's attempt to
scale it in 1880, it had not occurred to any climber or any guide
to attempt it — to any guide, I say, except Daniel and Antoine
Maquignaz, with whom I had agreed to try it.

I have described elsewhere 2 my adventures on that ridge,
my three assaults delivered within a week, the nights spent on
the Col and on the aréte ; my anxieties, my hopes, my bitter
disappointment, and the terrible shower of stones which lasted
three hours, catching us at a very great height, and finally
obliging us to give up the attempt. Then I related my
adventures but concealed my feelings, which I considered too
intense to be mentioned. I had come down wounded and
exhausted ; at the time I thought my desire was quenched
for ever, and I wrote to the Alpine Club Review a prudent
declaration meant to convince myself and others of the folly of
the attempt, and I said, using a phrase which I thought a
happy one, that ** reason had at last overcome passion in me,"
and that ** neither I nor my guides would ever try again."
Possibly I was not believed at the time, though I spoke in
good faith, and would have taken my oath on my assertion ;
but certain declarations should not be put down in black and
white. And now, whenever I think of all my efforts and
struggles to ascend the Matterhorn by that blessed aréte, I
cannot help fancying that the guide s finger, as it traced that
mysterious line above my head, must have cast a spell upon

240 THE MATTERHORN

me ; and that the brave Castagneri wished before he died
to commit me irrevocably to the Furggen ridge of the
Matterhorn.

After my first attempts I tried to forget, but could not ; the
old longing would keep returning to me at intervals, when I
least expected it, and with increasing importunity. How could
I hope to forget, when that devil of a Matterhorn is so clearly
visible from everywhere ? If I went up to Superga, and put up
my glass, I saw it through the lens, towering above the smaller
hills that the distance had tinged dark blue ; if I went into the
mountains and dared show my head over the top of a pass,
there it was again, beyond a line of valleys or behind a chain of
peaks, its gigantic summit at one time white with snow, at
another enveloped in a long head-dress of wind-driven cloud.

It seemed to me to raise itself on tiptoe above the shoulders
of the other giants, that it might look at me and mock me.
But far or near it was always the same, straight and sharp and
full of defiance, so different from all other mountains, so proud,
so beautiful !

And that knife-edged eastern ridge, springing in three
bounds to the summit, looked so short and easy, when seen
from a distance.

Each time I looked upon it afresh two different kinds of
feelings awoke imperatively in me ; they were chagrin at my
i defeat and curiosity concerning the unknown. The question,

; What lay beyond the point I had reached ? recurred persistently ;

J it gave me no peace. How was the mountain fashioned

i beyond ? One day — six years had passed since my first

I attempt — the question presented itself to me so clearly,

f demanding an answer so imperiously, that I hastened awe-

I struck to my friend Vaccarone and made the great proposal to

him. He saw that mine was a soul in torment, destined to
wander up and down the Furggen ridge until such time as some
one, ascending by that route, should have redeemed it from its
sentence. And my good friend came with me. We thought we

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 241

would try the descent instead of the ascent ; we climbed to the
summit by another route, as if to take the mountain by
surprise ; but on that day the weather was bad, and the
abundance of snow made the rocks difficult. Our guides, whom
we had not selected in the Aosta Valley, would not be per-
suaded. We returned without giving battle.

The disappointment produced by this pusillanimous attempt
cured me of my desire for a time ; my spirit seemed to be
healed.

Ideas come slowly to maturity. If unhealthy they fall
untimely from the parent bough ; if healthy, they take on
shape and colour, and one fine day we find, to our surprise
and joy, that they are ripe.

But it is necessary that the idea should have hung long on
its parent bough, and that it should be nourished with the best
sap of our thoughts.

One morning in 1899 I awoke with the fixed idea in my
mind that I was to make the ascent during that same year ;
this notion was inexorable — as a duty to be performed. At
first I looked upon the matter with the calm eye of one who is
familiar with the subject and without fear ; I had six months
before me. But as the time for putting the enterprise into
execution gradually drew nigh, I was assailed by fresh doubts.
That thought became my bète noire, which was always watching
me at my work and speaking to me when I was thinking ;
when I was in the company of my friends it sat importunate
between me and them, and prevented my listening to their
conversation. When I turned homewards, it was there
awaiting me at my door, ready to spring upon me, for it knew
that when alone I was weaker and less courageous. Often I
found it comfortably seated at my desk reading a book. I knew
that book, because I had so often read it myself: it was the
story of the ascent of the Matterhorn, written by Whymper ;
and the bète noire with a fiendish smile would point to a chapter
entitled ** The Seventh Attempt."

242 THE MATTERHORN

** The brave Whymper made seven attempts to succeed,
while you have only made three. For shame ! " it would say
to me.

Then it would open Mummery's book at the place where he
describes his attack on the Furggen ridge : ** See how you may
cover yourself with glory," it said, **by conquering a ridge
where another, and he one of the best, failed/'

There was no argument that the astute òé/e did not use to
tempt me.

At night, when I was in bed, its presence was a torment to
me ; in my sleep I saw it more clearly than when I was awake,
and it took on grotesque, ever-changing shapes, appearing at
one time as a dark pyramid of enormous height, at another as
an evil man who dragged me up a knife-edged ridge, up, up to
a point where I seemed to have been already, long before ;
above it rose a dark, inaccessible wall of rock, whilst all around
stones fell hissing through the ain

There my guide would stop and grin. He never led me
any further, for dreams create nothing new.

Then I would fain have uttered, like Doctor Faust, the
terrible exorcism of Incubus! Incubus!

I would seize the Gospel, the Gospel written by myself, in
which appeared the wise words : " Neither you nor your guides
shall ever try again," and in which there was talk of the victory
of wisdom over passion. . • .

It was all nonsense! Even I myself no longer believed in
it. I decided to get rid of my terrible òé/e noire once for all ;
with resolute energy I took up my pen and wrote to my guides,
to engage them definitely for the ascent in question.

While I wrote the bète noire assumed a benign aspect, it
already looked upon me with respect, and directly I had dropped
the letter in the post-box it disappeared.

It was only later that I became aware that whereas it had
previously lived outside me, from that moment onward it had
entered and freely taken up its abode in my brain.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

III my letter to the guides I had made use of all the arts of
suggestion which had served to convince myself. I had worked
upon their feelings of patriotism, of local pride, and of personal
amour propre.

I had pointed out that it was the duty of Italian guides — of
Vakournanche guides, nay, of guides who bore the glorious
name of Maquignaz — to make that ascent, the only one on the
Matterhorn that was still virgin, that it would redound to their
honour and profit. The guides to whom I had applied were
the same pair who had accompanied me on my first attempts,
and who had sworn with me never to try again. They agreed
to come with me. It was settled that they should go up and
examine at close quarters the unexplored part of the route, and
report to me.

I bought 200 yards of rope, and sent it to Valtournanche.
I hung a cross-bar to the ceiling of my little room, and exercised
my arms at great length every day, for 1 knew that on the
climb my arms would be much more in use than my legs ; and I
waited impatiently for news from my guides.

At last there came a letter from Antoine giving me, as his
custom was. a short report, and ending with these words :
" Tenez vous prèt à partir, par telégramme."

Ready to start ! The idea ! I had been ready for six
months, and I had been yearning for this moment for the last
ten years.

That letter threw me into a terrible state of excitement. I
was anxious to start at once, to be up close to the difficulties, to
see them and grapple with them. But now that which I had
longed for was near at hand, I felt a sense of fear ; yes, indeed,
of fear. The project seemed to me a dangerous one, my
strength inadequate.

I had never been assailed by such feelings before, and I
caught myself endeavouring to cast them out of my mind by
the help of other thoughts more terrible still of distant mountains
enormous in height and perilous to the last degree — Ushba,

244 THE MATTERHORN

Kinchinjunga, and other monsters of their kind. I told myself
that 1 was a fool to be thus agitated, but my heart beat quick
for all that! No one in the world was acquainted with my
secret, and this troubled me.

One evening I whispered it to a trusty friend, just as if I
were confessing a crime I was about to commit. Would that I
had not, for my friend shook his head and entreated me to be
careful. This was not what I wanted. I was never before in
such a haste for time to pass as during those days ; 1 think that
if the devil himself had come to ask for my soul in exchange for
that ascent, I would have given it to him.

Such was my state of mind when the postman one day
handed me a telegram.

I looked dubiously before opening it at the little square bit
of paper with my name on it ; 1 knew that it contained my
sentence.

I plucked up courage and tore open the envelope ; the
telegram contained one word only : ** Venez''

A wave of joy impetuously flooded my heart.

Farewell to doubt, to hesitation, to fear !

All these vanished, and a sense of profound peace stole over
me. I was like one who, having prayed long and fervently
with bent head before the image of a saint, raises his eyes and
thinks he sees the head of the stone image bending in sign of
assent, and thenceforth feels certain that the boon he asks shall
be granted to him.

I had waited so long! And the word was, ** Come." It
was the epilogue to my ardent, long-felt desire, to my rigorous
preparation ; it was the consequence of the decision taken
months before, which had cost me such an effort of will. . . .

In the joy of that moment I rushed to the cross-bar hung
up in my bedroom, and I climbed up its ropes to the ceiling four
our five times with my arms alone. Yes ; my muscles were in
good training and worked well.

I was satisfied.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 245

I picked up the yellow paper again, and read a host of things
into the letters of the one short word. I read that the guides
had climbed to a great height, that they had discovered the
secret of the route, and had seen close at hand the beyond
which had caused me such anxious thought. It did not tell
me as yet that the ascent was possible, but it did say that the
attempt was possible.

I was tempted to tell all men, to cry aloud my hopes, to
make my departure known. I kept the secret, and on the
following day I dined at the Jomein.

The secret ! It is easier to keep it in the city than in a little
Alpine village. Even while I was driving up the valley it
seemed to me that it was already divulged, and that men looked
upon me with curiosity.

As I passed through the village I saw that every one knew ;
from behind a half-open door a great brown man was watching
me, in whom I thought I recognised a guide who had contested
the Pointe Blanche with me two years before. He was certainly
not praying for my victory.

I saw another guide seated in the shade and smoking a
pipe.

** You wish to climb that aréte," he said when he saw me,
**but you will not succeed."

Immediately afterwards I met my own guides, Daniel,
Antoine, and Aimé, who filled me with comfort. They gave me
a full report of their reconnaissance, and said that they had
hopes ; the mountain was in good condition, but there was no
time to be lost.

I looked searchingly in their faces, and they seemed to me
to be easy in their minds.

But who can read the countenance of a mountaineer? I
was calm, I even cried out upon myself for being so free from
agitation on that day.

Perhaps my mind was by then sated with emotion, perhaps
my brain was empty as a lodging that is free to receive a new

"* ■ I - - ■-■—■» ^ . AJ.^.^ ^^^^Lu.

246 THE MATTERHORN

tenant. My impatience had ceased ; I could almost have wished
for a day's rest in the excellent Jomein hotel, with the good
company it contained.

There is nothing pleasanter than the day before a long-
expected day.

But it was necessary to hasten our departure,

I ordered the provisions and arranged the plan of battle
with the guides.

Daniel was to ascend to the summit by another route, with
two men and much rope, so as to descend the Furg^gen ridge as
far as possible, and throw down a long rope to us (Antoìne,
Alme, and me), who were to come up the ridj^e ; and the same
night, while the whole hotel slept, I started.

" To-morrow evening at this hour ? "

This is the only entry in my travelling note-book under that
date.

"Iodico seguitando ch'assai prima
Che noi fussimo al pie dell'alta toire
Gli occhi nostri n'andar suso alla òtta."
lH/erno,\m.

We three diminutive human beings, seated on the snow at

the fiiot of the miyiuy Matterhorn, consiinied our cold and
fru'^al rc])a.st by the first uncertain light of the morning (at the
basu nl tlie l'\irggeii ri(.l;^(;, close to tlic Breuiljnch). I was
resignedly and unwillingly satisfying a ni>n-e\Ìstent appetite
alter my five hours' night march.

In tliu inuuntains one must cat when one ha.s time to do so ;
one never knows how things may turn out afterwards.

From that low level we could see nothing but the immense
grno\'cs of the wall in the shadow, and the last shining stars
growing pale in the sky.

1 gave way for an instant to the delights of sleep, that over-
mastering sleep which comes upon one at dawn after a sleepless
night, unyielding and heavy as the rocks which lay about me.

THE FURGGEN ÌITOe 247

But Antoine shook me. There was no time for sleep. "We
will sleep all right this evening," he said.

"Where shall we sleep this evening?" I asked, yawning,
and stiff from the morning chill. I had almost forgotten where
1 was and whither I was going.

Our side of the mountain was still dark as we climbed the
first pitch, which is so difficult that it seems to have been put
there where the ascent begins, as a warning to the imprudent
and a barrier to the unskilled.

It is the gate of entrance to the Furggen ridge, and the dark
words written on the gate of Avernus might be inscribed on the
rock : " Ogni viltà convien che qui sia morta."

But when we reached the ridge, we looked beyond and saw

S48 THE MATTERHORN

the great east face all covered with the morning light and the
peaks of the Oberland shining in the distance, and the bottoms
of the valleys suffused with a rosy hidf-light that was a reflec-
tion of the first flush in the sky. And my glance swept eagerly
up the face of the Matterhorn, whose summit was already aglow.
The whole vast face of the mountain between the Furggen and
the HOrnli ridges was exposed to our view. I could take in its
whole expanse with one glance, and seen thus obliquely from
below its height seemed to be diminished.

Hosts of memories that the years had lulled to sleep
returned to me. I was no longer sleepy ; the high mountain
breeze played soothingly on my face, which felt cool and whole-
some, as if I had dipped it into ice-cold water as soon as I
had awaked.

There was a wondrous silence ; our voices rang out strangely
and crisply in that vast space. And as we gradually rose higher,
the grand lines of the mountain's architecture were displayed to
us in all their splendour as they sprang in their strength and
daring up to the summit of the structure.

This eastern slope of the Matterhorn is built up of enormous,
smooth, ruined steps, and appears, as seen from close at hand,
like the dried-up bed of an immense waterfall that, springing
from the summit of the mountain, and faliin<f a thousand yards
fill- ;i thous;!iul years, has poured the wcìl^Iuv mass of its waters
nn to these rocks, polishing;' t!iem and wearing; them away. But
the cascade is not one of water, but of rocks, and the source of
their supply is not exhausted. They start from abo\e, from the
top of the Matterhorn, as soon as the suii1Ì,l^1u [ouches them,
these unstable stones that are barely held in place by the frost
of the nitjht ; and instantly the mij^hty driecl-uj) bed becomes a
practice _t,^roimd on which the Matterhorn exercises its artillery,
the finest artillery in the world.

And the ground is furrowed by the shells and the rock
in places is shattered by the shock, and worn smooth by the
continual p:issage of the missiles. The practice ground is

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 249

almost perpendicular, and is 4,5CX) feet long. In 1890 I had
witnessed one of these formidable practices, and I still re-
membered the awful grandeur of the spectacle.

I remembered the strange impression I had received from
the smell of gunpowder which was prevalent that day, due
to the shock of the falling stones as they were shattered
against the solid rock, producing that odour of sulphur and
saltpetre which the devil was said to leave behind him when-
ever he went by, in the days when people still believed in
the devil.

But this morning the Matterhorn was quiet ; the guides
had known it would be so, otherwise they would not have
come.

Up the ridge we went, keeping on its eastern side, climbing
quickly, as one man.

It is a noble folly, this climbing to a height, a supreme
delight, which would alone suffice to make life in the moun-
tains fair and beautiful, were it not made so by a hundred
other things. The day was coming on apace, it seemed to
me that I was climbing up to the realms of light ; and as I
saw that the way was so free from falling stones, so unen-
cumbered by ice or snow, and that the sky was so clear, hope
entered my heart.

I was happy that the weather was perfect, that the
Matterhorn was there in front of me, that I had it to myself,
and that it gave no sign of life ; happy that my legs were
doing me good service, happy to feel so calm, to gaze freely
round into space, to fill my lungs with the exhilarating air
that purifies the blood and seems to lighten the weight of
the body at every breath. Few words passed between us
three, but those few were gay and light, the words of men
^ho know no care.

Suddenly a whizzing sound disturbed the silence of the air ;
then a short, sharp crack like that of a whip struck our ears. We
lifted our heads and looked inquiringly upwards. Another whiz,

->k

250

THE MATTERHORN

another sharp sound, which gave us the impression of somethingf
hard and dangerous passing close to us. invisible and swift.

I knew what it was : the little stones leaping from the
summit at the first touch of the sun.

The ancient Matterhorn was jesting with us ; we hahed and
look anxiously around us. Nothing more came. It was a false
alarm. We resumed our ascent, which was exceedingly steep
but not in the least difficult. This first part of the ridge, as far as
the Shoulder, if in good condition, is no harder than the Hornli
ridge above the old hut, and is certainly easier than the Italian
ridge above the Col du Lion.3 We had reached without diffi-
culty the first gendarme, which is about lialf-way up the ridge,
and which is easily seen from Breuil. and is marked on its
upper side by a small white snow patch.

I recognised this place as one where 1 had bivouacked nine
years before, and I marvelled that three of us should have been
able on that occasion to sleep in that narrow slit,

1 remembered that Daniel's pipe had that night fallen to the
bottom of the crack, and had remained there. 1 reckoned by
my eye that we were un a level with the Little Matterhorn,
which stood opposite to us, and that we were therefore at a
height of 1 1.700 feet.

Antoine told me that a few days bcfort^, during his reconnais-
sance with Daniel, he had again slept in this place ; and in fact
there was still a little wood and a saucepan, We lit a fire and we
rested while some wine was being warmed U[i, and talked of
Daniel's pipe, which was at th(^ bottom of the crack, irre-
coverably lost,

In the meantime the sun ruse, and with the sun there came
a strong, cold wind from the north, so keen as to penetrate our
clothes; it really seemed as if we had none on. Instantly,
owing to the change from the rapidity with which we had
hitherto moved, and our present immobility, I felt thoroughly
chilled, b'or an instant I thought I should lose consciousness,
and my life seemed hardly worth a penny's purchase. But

MIT OV THE MATTERHORN FROM THE EAST.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

251

when I had drunk a draught of hot wine I regained my
strength, and even fancied that the short moment of physical
and moral torpor had rested me.

Climbers are not wont to tell of their moments of weakness ;
not that they wish to conceal their frailty, but because in the
final joy of victory their troubles and their exertions are
forgotten.

And I too should have forgotten this little incident ; I
should have imagined that 1 had never been so strong and so
gay as I was then, had I not later found these three entries in
my note-book : " Moment of weakness ; hot wine ; recovery."

What is certain is that 1 took good care not to confess my
condition to my guides, lest 1 should lessen the confidence
which it was so important for them to fee! in me that day ; but
I here honestly set down my slight lapse, as I desire to
be candid.

The climber is not made of iron ; a momentary physical
weakness may assail any one, even a guide.

If the climber had not the frailty of a man, he could not
realise the hardness of the mountain, he could not enjoy the
sense of contrast which comes from his feeling the great dis-
proportion between his own strength and the enormous strength
of his adversary- — a contrast which is, perhaps, one of the
deepest-seated causes of his passion.*

We started on again.

The warm sun was kissing the cold rock, and what little
water there was burst its slender bonds of ice and melted
with secret gurglings.

This was the mountain's first joyous cry as it awoke.

The completeness of my recovery made me throb with fresh
vigour and with fresh impatience. I consulted the barometer
every instant, as a man who is sick of a fever eagerly uses his
thermometer. Rising rapidly from cliff to cliff, without encounter-
ing any great difficulty, we reached a second tower on the
ridge; and the face had already narrowed like the bed of a

252 THE MATTERHORN

river near its source, and had assumed the form of a hollow
channel, the centre of whose curve enclosed snowy strips of
extreme steepness.

On bad days this channel is swept by stones falling from
the summit. I had once crossed it at the double under a hail
of stones, and I now saw on the opposite side the rope which
we had abandoned in our flight ; it had been hanging from the
rock since the day when our first attempt had failed, and the
sight of it once more, slender as it was, and bleached by the
sun of nine summers and the frost of as many winters, filled
me with a feeling of profound discouragement. And yet that
slender rope had saved us then in our hasty retreat before the
threatening stones that whizzed through the air.

And it was with the most intense curiosity that I looked
once more upon the rock in the centre of the channel, under
which we had taken shelter, as in a safe casemate, for three
long hours that day, while the Matterhorn bombarded us
from above.

This year all was still ; the rocks were free from snow, and
on the top of the Matterhorn we saw no signs of those enor-
mous icicles which then were hanging from its head, like a long
white beard of ice. On this day the Matterhorn was brown.

We left the protecting rock on our right. The slope grew
steeper ; our hands now began to assist our legs ; we climbed
as it were a roof of slate, smooth and fearfully steep.

We reached the top of the third tower, the last on the
ridge, and we named it the Furggen Shoulder.5 At this point
the huge buttress which rises from the Breuiljoch and sup-
ports the summit of the Matterhorn comes to an end against
the final peak.

The architecture of the structure grew simpler ; the ribs of
the lateral grooves ran into the main wall and disappeared ;
only the final straight, smooth spire remained, rising majes-
tically, in a last leap, to heaven ; the daring, unparalleled
creation of a superhuman architect. We were at about

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 253

13,000 feet above sea-level, and higher than the Pic Tyndall,
which was visible from this point. So far all had gone well ;
the climb had been neither easy nor difficult ; it was one of
those on which an active climber can manage by himself,
without looking for help to his guides or the rope. We had as
a matter of fact reached this point from the Jomein in
twelve hours.

Probably Mummery had come as far as this in his attempt
in 1880; so far my guides had come in their recent recon-
naissance. Beyond us was the unknown, the unexplored, dark,
smooth, and perpendicular wall of the last cliff, which, as seen
thus from below, seemed about to fall upon us. It was an old
tower whose worn walls had been explored only by the
lightning and touched only by the wings of eagles and
crows.

Mummery considered it so formidable that he did
not attempt to go any further, but preferred to make a
dangerous traverse^ along the base of the peak, by which he
reached the ordinary route on the Swiss ridge. It happened
that he, like myself, made his attempt without proper prepara-
tion ; this is not an ascent which can be carried out by
ordinary methods.

As I scanned the wall I could not, near though I was,
make out any practicable route up the smooth rocks ; yet the
guides were talking of a hidden chimney, by which the ascent
was, they thought, possible, and they pointed out its base to
me 120 or 130 feet above. By that time we supposed that
Daniel's party must have reached the summit, and would
shortly come over the top and down towards us, as far as a
point high above our heads, whence they would let down the
rope to us. We climbed up to a small platform about sixty
feet above the Shoulder, and there I crouched with my back
against the Matterhorn and my face turned to the mighty
Furggen precipice. The guides left me there and climbed
down to the Shoulder again, in order to see Daniel and his

"V**

254 THE MATTERHORN

men, from that snowy buttress, as they reached the appointed
place. From my lofty perch I could see Antoine and Aimé on
the white terrace of the Shoulder, continually raising their heads
aloft towards the spot whence help was to descend ; though
they were, perhaps, only about a hundred feet from me, they
looked very tiny on that enormous pedestal. I photographed
them and obtained a view like those one gets in a balloon
ascent. And, indeed, I was as if hanging in a balloon car;
I could see nothing but distant objects ; the precipice fell away
with marvellous steepness at my feet, and its base was hidden
from me. Beyond the spur of the Shoulder was an immense
void ; the spur concealed the whole ridge up which we had
come, and beyond it the chasm was so deep that my glance
was able to travel unchecked along the utmost limits of the
horizon from the Breithorn to the Mischabel. The huge gla-
ciers of Monte Rosa, as seen from this lofty spot, assumed the
appearance of a distant landscape in the moon, viewed through
a telescope. The remoteness of those gigantic glaciers and
the lack of objects of comparison near at hand gave me the
impression of being at so great a height that I felt as if I were
on a level with the sun. When I turned my head and looked
upwards, I could see nothing but an endless stretch of vertical
wall and the cloudless sky. One precipice fell away at my
feet and another rose above me. I had now been so long
without moving that I was cold, in spite of the sun's rays
which were beating upon me. The guides, from their post,
kept gazing upwards, and from time to time they shouted, like
a sentry giving the alarm. But no sign came from above. In
the mountains much patience is needed. When I consider
that I was crouching in that sublime spot for nearly two hours,
I fail to realise what my thoughts were and to analyse my
state of mind during that time, which, moreover, seemed no
more than an instant. I fancy that my boundless curiosity had
been replaced by a kind of stupor that paralysed all my powers
of thought. One alone of my senses had become exceedingly

■b.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

255

acute — my hearing ; all my desires had become concentrated
in my ear thai awaited the signal.

After an hour and a half we heard a distant voice, which
seemed to fall from heaven. We answered. Antoine and
Aimé moved along the ridge, talking together with excited
gestures ; they had seen their companions from below, and
long consultations now began between my pair and the mys-
terious men who were perched up aloft, vertically above me
and invisible to me.

I did not doubt that the work of preparation was going on
vigorously up there ; that the rope which was to support us all
throughout our whole ascent was being fixed firmly to the rock
by means of an iron stanchion, and lowered in such a way as to
hang down the chimney as desired. It is not easy to direct the
movements of a rope a hundred yards long among the rough
grooves of the mountain-side.

But I was not able to see these preparations.

At last the end of a rope appeared not far above my head ;
it was descending silently, as if it were a small snake crawling
treacherously towards me with strange halts, leaps, and writhings.

It seemed to be alive ; then it stopped a few yards from me.
It was the thread that was to guide us out of the Minotaur's

My guides had now left their post of observation, and were
climbing up to rejoin me.

They spoke to me ; " Nous allons," they said, and tied me
very tightly to our own rope, leaving a great length between
each of us. At last we were beginning the ascent, we were
entering on the new part of the route, where no one had been
before ; our long-standing curiosity was about to be satisfied.

But I was free from emotion. I was in the grasp of a kind
of calm fatalism. It was not courage, but an absolute inability
to think of fear. In such moments as these I think one part
of our minds, perhaps the wiser part, disappears, in order not
to witness what the other is about to do Antoine went first ;

256 THE MATTERHORN

he soon reached the end of the great rope, grasped it resolutely,
and was not long in vanishing from our sight.

Then came Aimé s turn ; I watched him climbing with
hands and feet, and helping himself with the rope, but I could
not understand how he managed to ascend.

I too approached the great rope, and heard the order to
start. I hastily removed my gloves so that my hands might
get a better grip ; our own rope which bound me to Aimé
became taut ; my turn had come ; I too began my attack. The
first piece was a broken chimney with narrow sides, with rare
holds of little value, since the strata of the rock trended down-
wards. I ascended, feeling with my feet for the knobs, one
hand grasping the rock as best it could, and the other almost
always clutching the great rope. The cross-bar exercises I had
worked at before leaving home stood me in good stead at this
juncture. But in my bedroom I had not had that litde Furggen
precipice at my feet. Such gymnastics were new to me, but I
was doing my duty calmly and with the great strength that
zeal imparts.

The sky was deep blue, the sun was shining, the new mode
of climbing interested me. I whistled between my teeth a gay
refrain which I had heard in town a few evenings before, and
which had remained in my memory, I do not know why. But
the narrow sides of the chimney were growing smoother, and at
times, for lack of holds, I had to ascend by planting the soles of
my boots against the rock and pulling myself up the rope by
sheer strength of arm ; on these occasions my body made a
right angle with the wall, and swayed in rather an alarming
manner. Being the last on the rope, I had no one to show me
where to put my fingers or plant my feet. Antoine was leading
and I never once saw him ; of Aimé, who was next above me,
all I saw most of the time was the nailed soles and heels of his
boots scraping against the rock, and he was too busy to afford
me any advice or assistance, except by holding the rope tight
whenever I asked him to do so.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 25;

My axe, which was slung on to my arm, swung about
confoundedly ; the iron part pecked at my face, and the wooden
became entangled with my legs. In some way or another 1
managed to ascend this piece and reached a spot where a few
inches of protruding rock admitted of a short halt, during
which I took breath with much satisfaction, but at each gasp
the notes of the tune I had heard in town still issued from my
chest against my will.

Every one who is accustomed to long walks by himself
is familiar with the strange persistence of some musical snatches
that, after suddenly coming into the head somewhere on the
way, cannot be suppressed. At first they seem a pleasant
pastime, a relief from the silence of the walk, and you sing
aloud, but by degrees they grow wearisome, you tire of them,
you would be rid of them, but you are forced to repeat them
softly. You close your mouth to prevent them from coming
out, and they still sing inside you. You cannot free yourself,
and the most beautiful musical airs thus become as odious as
the sound of a barrel-organ in the court-yard of your house.
The foolish refrain had that day already been with me on the
lower part of the ascent, when I was still walking, and had
forced me to sing it, my panting lungs beating time to it.

But up here, where all regularity had disappeared both from
my gait and my breathing, it ran on disjointedly, without
rhythm ; and my muscular efforts, the jerks of the taut rope,
and the shocks my body received as it came into contact with
the rocks, imparted a mad emphasis to it ; it was a debauched,
savage kind of music, born of hell. Edgar Poe could perhaps
describe the anguish of that struggle between a man hanging
by a rope over a precipice and a musical motif relentlessly
pursuing him.

And it was no place for singing.

Our route was growing more and more difficult. We had
emerged from the chimney by which we had ascended the first
100 feet or so, and the slight assistance its sides had afforded

2s8 THE MATTERHORN

us was now at an end. We were now on the rounded face of
the ciifF, and we were ascending the vertical route indicated to us
by che great rope. I was suffering from a mad desire to call
out to Antoine and ask him how things were going, but 1 dared
not. And there, last on our rope, all alone (for so I seemed
to be) 1 swung from side to side, as 1 ascended by means of
struggles, contortions, and efforts of which I should have
thought myself incapable. My hands tightly gripped the rope
and struck violently against the rock, my feet kicked uncertainly
in space, and from my lips their issued terrible curses at every
blow I received. My hands were ungloved and numb with the
cold, and I remember relinquishing the rope fìrst with one and
then with the other, in order to bring them to my mouth and
warm them with my breath ; then up again with both hands,
and another step was won.

And I was under the illusion that I was acting on my own
account, that I was overcoming the difficulties with my own
energy alone, and I was proud of the thought. Men are wont
in the difficult situations of their lives to think that they are
acting on their own initiative, and conquering by their own
unaided valour, whereas invisible threads are really supporting
and moving them.

The wiru-piiller's box is hidden above. My wire-puller, the
trusty Aimé, made me perform feats that day whose like was
never attempted by the most disjointed harlequin on the little
stage of the Lupi theatre. Hut the feeling nf loneliness weighed
upon me; at times 1 instinctively turned to look for some
CDinpanion behind me, and I saw nulhiiig but the sheer
j)rc-clpice, full of emptiness. I marvelled to fmd myself thus
alone and in the rear ; I thought it monstrous to advance thus
at such a distance from (jne another ; not to be able to exchange
a word, not to see each other's faces, not to look into each
other's eyes. I was aware of iny companion's presence only by
means of the vibrating rope, which squeezed my chest; but it
was not the rope only which vibrated and united us — the hearts

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 259

of our little party beat strongly and in unison with those of the
invisible men who had been stationed up aloft for so many
hours, at the mysterious head of the thread on which our lives
depended.

Daniel told me some days afterwards that at that part of
our climb a large stone had moved at his feet on the little
platform where the rope was tied to an iron stanchion ; the mass
was about to fall, and would have come down sheer upon us,
when Daniel, whose hands were guiding the rope, called out to
his companions to hold him firm, seized the rope in his teeth,
thus freeing his hands, threw himself on the unstable mass, and
held it in place with his hands, and this piece of work cost him
a tooth.

And when I think again of all we went through during
those hours, of those men who worked with such steady courage
for my victory, it seems to me that their self-sacrifice that day
had something sublime in it ; I feel that the confidence they had
in me must have been unbounded for them to have ventured
into such a place, that it must have been equal to the faith I had
in them. And for this their faith in me I shall be for ever
grateful. But up there I looked differently upon those two who
climbed above me, who did not speak to me, and who went up
impossible places. I thought then that they were two fiends
who were inexorably dragging me bound to an unknown
destiny.

Whither were those desperate men about to take me ? My
only comfort lay in the thought that down below, only a few
miles away, Antoine had a dear young wife who had bidden
him farewell but twenty-four hours before, and two fine children
to whom I had given some sweets the previous day on my way
through Crépin.

And for the youthful Aimé, too, I thought some maiden's
heart was beating down in the valley with apprehension
for his safety.

For ten to twenty minutes I rested, standing upright on a

26o

THE MAITERHORN

tiny platform, without relinquishing my grasp of the great rope.
ami then I heard a laconic " Ventz," and I started upwards
oiu:c more, with my face turned towards the mountain.
"What in Heaven's name are you at up there?" I shouted.
A small stone had been dislodged by the feet of one of my
com|).inions, and had hit me on the head.

I candidly confess that I had then to summon all my
resolution in order not to relinquish my grip and let myself fall.

At that instant I was a double personality, consisting of
my.self and another man much greater and stronger than f.
who spoke within me: "Fool!" he cried, "do you not see
that if you let yourself go we shall all fall together?"

"Come, be brave! An effort, another, all right!" It
was the imperious voice of animal instinct, a valuable friend
that the comfort and security of our ordinary life has lulled
to sleep in us, but that awakes in moments of need.

1 had heard it before in other adventures in the mountains,
hill it had never spoken to me so loud and so clearly.

" \'nus y etes, Monsieur? " shouted Ainn5 just then.

"Righi." 1 ansWLTUil, iIi()ul;1i 1 w.is still shaken bv m\

" L'est bien ; aìors j'avancc."

As 1 climbed, eacli time I came into contact with the rock I
received a wound, I felt a pain ; the muscles of my arms were
grnwing tired with the tension of continuous effort ; 1 began to
icel how heavy my body was. Something passed between me
and the sun ; it seemed the shadow of some body travelling
r.ipidly llirough space. Another shadow passed, a swish of
uings was heard; a black object glided past close at hand.
laliing from above and disappearing below like a falling stone.
These were the crows of the Matterhorn, the lords of the
place ; there was a whole family of them, and one did not
know whence they had issued. Up here, among the clefts of
the rocks, they had hitherto been undisiurbcd by man. and
« hen they saw the unaccustomed sight of \'isitors they

L PriCH UN THE FUKGUKX KlUGK.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

(lew restlessly to and fro, with ill-omened cawing, round
about the intruders as they hung on the rope. They troubled
me. One of them brushed my head with its wing ; the
horrible fancy flashed through my mind that they were like
birds of prey hovering about a man on a gallows. . . .

1 was evidently tired : it was fatigue that created that
dark vision in my mind.

I have never understood as clearly as on that day how
the excellence of a climber depends not only on his feet, his
arms, or his lungs, but has a deeper seat in us — in our brains
and our hearts.

But the lung duration of our climb told me that we were
at a great height, and that the end of our difficulties must
be near.

And after a bit which seemed to me steeper and worse
than all the others, I raised my head above the level of a ledge,
and with a last effort I lifted my whole body on to it.

I had emerged on to a small and almost level platform, on
which was still a little snow, the only snow I had met with on
the cliff. I saw my guides standing still at a short distance.
Beyond them a staircase of rock, not quite so terribly steep, led
up to the foot of a wall, which was, as far as I could judge,
about fifty feet high, and on the upper edge of this wall I saw
some heads appear and move about. They belonged to Daniel
and his men. I remember these things with a marvellous clear-
ness. We were about one hundred feet vertically distant from
our comrades ; we could recognise their figures ; we could now
easily talk to them and be understood, we were so near.

The great rope united us to them, the rope alone ; we were
separated by the low wall, whose upper edge overhung its base.
1 was with hesitation approaching the goal of my expedition,
and I already ventured to believe I should succeed. I reckoned
that from where we were tu the summit it was not more than
I IO yards.

Victory depended entirely on that last piece of smooth,

THE MATTERHORN

rope that hung in space. Above that were our friends,
iind they would help us. and the Matterhorn would be mine !

Antoine had advanced without loss of time to the foot of
the wall ; there he stopped, and consulted with those above
concerning the means of overcoming our last obstacle. I
remaiiipd on the patch of snow, without sitting down. It was
four :lock; we had taken four hours to climb up here from
the julder, a height of about 300 feet 1 do not know
how long the con.sultation lasted. Meanwhile, with a view to
lightening our load, Antoine had passed up to the others one of
our sacks, which contained my Kodak.

I watched the sack as it iiscended, tied to the rope, and
swinging to and fro in the air, and I saw it received by Daniel.

Happy litde Kodak! You had conquered the Furggen
ridge of the Matterhorn.

I next saw Antoine advance a few steps, seize the rope
which was hapging inside the curve of the cliff, climb three or
four arms' length, raising himself by sheer pulling on the rope,
and scraping the rock with his feet. He stopped with his boots
planted against the wall ; the rope was swinging uncertainly ;
he lost his footing, and came down again. I asked Daniel to
throw him down a knotted rope, and forthwith the whole long
rope was iKilled up by Daniel, and in the upper laboratory
he and his men employed themselves busily in tying two
ropes together in such a way as to form a single knotted
one. It kept us waiting a considerable time, but at length it
descended.

Antoine fastened it below as best he could, in a fissure of
the rock ; then he began to climb vigorously up it. This was
the attempt that was to decide our fate. Once more I saw him
climb up a few yards, but the rope, though fixed at the bottom,
was pulled out of its [)Iace by his weight, and began to swing
to and fro in the air.

I saw Antoine's body, hanging by the arms, swung right and
left. He was no longer ascending; his efforts were evidently

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 263

paralysed by the uncertain oscillation of the rope. He held
himself for a few instants more by one of the knots, tried to
draw his body near to the rock, shouted a few words to those
above . . . and then, what will you ? Then he began to let
himself down slowly, reached the base of the wall, whence he
had started, relinquished the rope, and came back towards us.

We were defeated.

Antoine, who had led us so bravely to this point, was unable
to climb the last piece.

If he had failed, it was useless for us to try. I instantly and
clearly realised this, and no one else can realise it unless he
makes the attempt himself. It was utterly impossible to ascend
by the strength of the arms alone, owing to the continual swing
of the rope. The men above were in such a dangerous and
circumscribed spot that they could not help us much ; every
movement of theirs would have sent down stones upon us.

The hour was growing late.

We had reached the point that we had feared to reach, namely,
the point where difficulty became impossibility for us. We all
kept silence, and a wave of sadness swept over me. I remem-
bered that turning back meant a dangerous descent by the way
we had come. I waited in the expectation that the guides
would say something. Aimé was silent and depressed ! Antoine
shook his head, his face was stern and impassive. I asked if all
hope were gone. He answered, as I expected, that there was
nothing more to be done.

** II fraudrait une échelle," he added.

But Daniel had none. I glanced round ; there was Monte
Rosa standing impassive in the distance ; a few feet from us
were the jaws of the precipice up which I had come and down
which it behoved me to return. I turned my gaze away.

Ah ! How nearly we had won our victory !

Perhaps less than ten yards had separated Antoine from
those above at the moment when he was forced to retreat. We
were exhausted ; our muscles were trembling with fatigue.

204

THE MATTERHORN

Poor Icarus! who didst take the feathers of an eagle lo
fly towards the sun, and didst fix them on with wax. We
exchanged a few words, and I gave the order to retreat. I
looked at my watch ; it was five o'clock.

The aneroid indicated 14.T95 feet.

At about that time the following telegram was despatched
from Zermatl ; I translate it from the German : " A marvellous '
feat has been lately performed, namely, the ascent of the
Matterhorn by the Furggen ridge. Several times during the ■
past week men have been seen climbing daringly in thai
direction, and have reached a prodigious height.

" Finally, this morning, Thursday, three men well provided
with rope were seen to gain the summit by the ordhiary route,
and to descend thence as far as they could on the Furggen
ridge.

" From the point they reached they let a rope down the
iivrr-li.iiigin|^ cliff to lht;ir comrades, wh(} were enabled in this
inaniiLT m make the ascent, hanging, as they did so, over the
huge pr('ci[)ice-s that yawned at their feet. The whole thing
was watched throvigh the telcsc()[)e Irnm the Schwarzsee.

"Guidr.s. Ijnih bravt; .irid cxjicriunced, .shook their heads at
such fniilhartlincss.

■'The rash climbers arc doubtless two Knglishinfn with
many Italian guides." ?

Now you know who ihu " two Englishmen" wltc, and you
know, tuo, of th<i defeat I had sustained instead uf winning a
viilnry, the news ui which was tc'lcLir.iphcd from Zcrmatt to
the newspapers uf ICun)|)c:.^

That I should have any precise or clear Idea as to how we
managed the descent of the difficult bit is not to be e.vpected.
My mind w,is tuo much occupied with grievous thoughts; a

tV
■%

.'i

. \

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

265

feeling of great sadness weighed upon me. mingled with in-
difference, impotent rage, resignation, and revolt.

Yet the memory of certain moments remains impressed upon
my mind as clearly and as deeply as the brand of a red-hot
iron.

The knotted rope had been pulled up by those above, who
had then hastily departed.

The day was nearing its close ; the sun. the climbers'
dearest friend, had long since left the ridge and hidden himself
behind the mountain. 1 think the crows were no longer visible ;
perhaps they had already withdrawn to their nests.

Antoine fixed one of our ropes to a cleft in the rock on
the edge of the ledge where I stood, and let it down the cliff.

I turned my back on the Matterhorn and went to the edge
of the platform, to where the precipice fell sheer away, and as I
looked down I seemed to be gazing into a bottomless well.

I can see myself again as I seized the rope and began to lead
down in silence.

I remember that the guides fixed the ropes as we descended
and that I told Antoine to cut off the lower end of the last at
the bottom of the cliff with his knife. It was not unfair to
prevent any others from trying to make use of it. But these
ropes, fi.\ed like this, did not serve us as well as the single great
rope that had assisted us in the ascent, in those places where
the rock was smoothest and most rounded they shifted their
position and swung to and fro most abominably. Once, 1
remember, the oscillation was so violent that I was torn roughly
out of the chimney on to the cliff, and I swung right and left in
such a way that I was on the Swiss face one instant and on the
Italian the next. I lost my balance ; first my hands and then
my forehead struck against the rock, while my feet vainly
sought for a hold. I think I swore and shouted angrily to the
guides. The only answer that came from above was a tug on
the rope, which squeezed my chest so tightly as to nearly
suffocate me. My hands were stiff and tired and of little j

THE MATTERHORN

lo Here again 1 was saved by an instinct : I seized the

rupe ill my teeth and rested so. It was the affair of an instant,
but the sense of security and comfort that this expedient
afforded me is unimaginable.

Here was an extra organ, and a firm and unexhausted one,
into play. I Immediately regained my balance and was
i proceed. My men had not answered me, nor had they

seen le ; they were silently doing their difficult and serious
duty, so full of boundless responsibility ; and when, some time
afterwards, I confessed my action to Ancoine, as an offence I
had committed, he laughed and in his turn admitted that he had
been obliged to use his teeth two or three times as an aid to his
hands, and he considered that no hand can be safer or stronger
than the mouth.

The descent of those 250 feet or so appeared to all of us more
difticult than the ascent of them, but urged on by the lateness of
the hour we descended rapidly, and it cannot have been much
after seven in the evening when the difficulties came to an end.

It was still daylight when we reached the snowy terrace of
the Shoulder, and it was strange to us to be once more on an
almost level spot after being so long on a vertical plane.
Whilst we stood still on the Shoulder, we heard joyous cries
comini^' to us from the Swiss ridice ; they came from Daniel and
his men, who had caught sight of us, and were expressing from
alar their joy at seein;^ that we had passed the bad places.

I subsequently IcariU that Daniel had been most anxious
about us during the whole period of our descent to this point.
We had still over 3,000 feet to descend before reaching the
lireuiljoch, but it seemed to us now that we really had nothing
more to do. For six hours we had been hanging at a height
<){ between 14.000 and 14.300 feet, over one of the greatest
jirecipices in the .'\lps ; all the rest was child's play. Now
the blind enerijy of our ascent and the desperate haste of
(jur descent were followed by a dazed stupor and a strange
indifference to everything. I did not talk to the guides of

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 267

our past adventures, nor they to me ; we refrained owing to
a feeling of mutual consideration. I furtively looked round
in order to see once more from close quarters the dark wall,
but I did it in such a way that my companions were not aware
of what I did. The twilight lasted far into the clear summer's
evening, the shadows deepened down in the valley, and
ascended the mountain-sides by slow degrees ; the sunset
fires disappeared one by one from the beautiful snow peaks ;
a dark blue veil was drawn over the huge snow-fields that
were so lately flushed with pink, and, as we descended, the
darkness came on little by little.

We went in silence down the ridge for hours and hours,
stopping now and then for a few moments to drink a draught
of wine. We had now so much time to spare, and yet we
were in haste to reach a safer and a warmer place.

When it became quite dark one of us suggested stopping
and waiting for the moon to rise and light us on our way.
We sat down where we were and ate some food, but without
appetite ; throughout the day we had felt neither hunger
nor thirst; then, in our impatience, we rose again and started
once more, without waiting for the moonlight.

We saw down in the Swiss valley a number of lights shining
in long, regular rows ; they were the lights of Zermatt, the
Alpine capital, but so far off that they seemed like the reflec-
tions of the stars of heaven in a deep, dark lake. That glimpse
of civilisation and the haunts of men, seen from the desolate
mountain-side after a whole day's isolation, first made me
realise what an enormous distance had for so many hours
separated me physically and mentally from mankind.
Suddenly all the lights were extinguished, and only a few
tiny twinkling points remained. It was the hour of curfew
at Zermatt, and nothing remained to us but the stars of
heaven. Henceforth we alone were awake in the whole vast
region of the Matterhorn : travellers were asleep in their
comfortable beds and crows in their lofty nests ; we were

268 THE MATTERHORN

walking on the back of the sleeping giant. But only our
bodies were awake and moving by the force of inertia ; the
cold, light air of the heights kept them awake, while our minds
were already asleep. Such exertions as ours had been can
only be endured high up in the mountains.

At last the moon rose and clothed the night in white.
It was almost full, and touched with light the neighbouring
rocks and the distant snows ; the huge streams of ice which
are enclosed between the Theodul and the Weissthor shone
cold and peaceful as they stretched down towards the shadows
of the valley. In certain places on our route the rocks were
covered with that thin coating of ice that is known as verglas.
At night this appears to be of the same colour as the rock
it covers, and while descending one of the steep pitches of
the cliff the first man on our rope put his hand on the glazed
rock, slipped, and fell till the rope was taut. I had grasped
the rope, and the shock came violently on my hand, but I
held ; we were fated not to come to any harm. I mmediately
afterwards I felt my cold hands grow warm, as if some tepid
liquid were flowing over them and covering them. Later
I perceived that it was blood. We halted once more, and
I noticed that we were near the old bivouac. It was past
midnight ; there was a little wood left with the saucepan ;
we warmed some wine. A few minutes later three men
were lying there huddled close together in a narrow cleft
in the rock ; their coat-collars were turned up and their
hands were in their pockets. Their attitude was so strangely
distorted, and they were so heaped up against each other,
that they seemed like dead men. I fancy no other mortal
men as weary as they lay sleeping in the moonlight at
that hour. One thing only could wake them : the cold ;
and it came and waked them. They shook themselves,
looked about them with dull eyes, striving to discover their
whereabouts, and regained consciousness of life together
with the sudden, acute, and painful remembrance of all that

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 269

had happened on the preceding day. Then they started again
in the moonlight.

Down below, on the F'urggenjoch, and along the whole
ridge that divided Italy from Switzerland, the usual battle
was going on that night between the north wind and the south.
The latter blew up white masses of dense cloud as far as the
ridge ; but there they stopped, unable to cross the frontier, for
they met the north wind there, an invisible foe who defeated
them ; and the clouds retreated in disorder towards Italy, to
reform under the shelter of the ridge, to return to the attack
once more, and again to retreat. From above, by the light of
the moon that was shed upon them, those rounded, distorted
clouds resembled a dense smoke that had issued from the
mouths of monstrous cannon. By now the shadows all round
us had grown grey and transparent ; the light was being
slowly divided from the darkness, as in the Book of Genesis,
and a little life was returning to us.

The dawn came on by imperceptible degrees, the cloudless
dawn of an ideal day for an Alpine climb, whilst we descended,
saddened by our failure, by our defeat in a battle that we
had fought with all our might, and such a one as we thought
we should never fight again. The fine weather, which I
had so ardently desired but thirty hours before, now seemed
to me quite useless ; I almost wished that a fearful storm
might be let loose over the Matterhorn. But no, the
Matterhorn was smiling calmly at the first flushes of the
dawn — smiling, the same as yesterday, its impassive, everlasting
smile. And from the same spot, for the second time, I saw
the sun rise in his glory, and illuminate the invincible cliff with
his rays. A few small stones fell from above ; everything
was as it had been, except my own heart. A day in my
life had gone past. I felt a touch of bitterness, just as if
some grave injustice had been done me. The guides and I
had done all that was humanly possible, but the Matterhorn
had been unjust to us this time, and as I gradually approached

270 THE MATTERHORN

the haunts of men my defeat appeared more and more grievous
and shameful. I unconsciously climbed down the difficult
bit which forms the gate of entry to the ridge, and which now
bore the dark words : '* All hope abandon," like the gates of
Avernus. Then I hastened with long strides down the familiar
paths leading from the pass down to the Jomein.

It was ten in the morning when I reached it, thirty-four
hours after my departure.

As soon as I was seen from the hotel, a friend of mine, who
was also a member of the Alpine Club, hastened courteously to
meet me.

- Wqll Ì " he said.

His simple question affected me terribly ; my throat con-
tracted, a sob arose in it, and if I had answered I should have
wept. But I did not weep, for human prejudices deny this
noble expression of feeling to those who wish to appear strong.
The climber wishes to be thought as hard as the mountain
he climbs, and if I had wept I should have made others laugh.
I entered the hotel and mingled with its denizens, wearing the
mark of indifference. But my clothes, which hung in rags, like
the sails of a ship that has made a long and stormy voyage, spoke
for me.

I glanced at my burning hands : the skin had been torn off
them and they were foul with blood, so that when a gentleman
came civilly towards me with outstretched hands, I hid my own,
like Lady Macbeth. Shaking hands would have been too
painful !

" Dulcia nocturnae portans vestigia rixac
Quam dc virgineis gesserai exuviis.*'

Catullus, La chioma di Berenice,

The instant a climber, on his return from a difficult expedition,
sets his foot on the threshold of his hotel, he begins to be his
guides' superior.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

271

They leave him shortly before, discreetly disappearing without
saying goodbye. They go modestly in by the servants' door and
hide themselves in their underground room, while their Herr
enters triumphantly by the front door, and is received with
distinction by the landlord and his attentive waiters ; and when
he is nice and clean after his bath, he shows himself to the guests
of the hotel, pretending he is not tired, and relates in his own way,
and without inconvenient witnesses, the feats he has performed.

THE TELESCOPE ON THE ]01IEIK.

He estimates with calm superiority the difficulties he has met;
he does not exaggerate them, but an occasional word he lets fall
during his discourse sufficiently indicates that the situation must
have been serious in places.

And he allows it to transpire that the guides were exhausted,
that during the descent he held one of them who slipped — but
he does not say how often he himself was held by the guide.
At the iabk-d'koie, near the end of a good dinner, the climber's
neighbours, who mostly know nothing at all about Alpine

272 THE MATTERHORN

expeditions, but who are nevertheless eager for sensation, are
filled with wonder at the description he has given them ; they
unite in praising his courage, his coolness, and his modesty,
while no one thinks of the guides supping humbly by them-
selves in a dark room on the floor below. It is a severe lesson
in modesty that the guides give us.

But these innocent triumphs on the small stage of the hotel
are denied to a climber s vanity when he has failed.

The mountaineer who returns empty handed must digest his
defeat by himself He avoids talking about what has occurred,
and tries to baffle the importunate curiosity of the friends who
have been waiting for him, and who cannot bring themselves to
believe that so great a climber can have spent two nights and a
day on the mountain and then have nothing to tell.

These are unpleasant moments, and he is sick at heart ; he
feels so very small, and fancies himself unworthy to belong to
an Alpine Club.

And yet he ought to bless these defeats : without them he
would never have the opportunity of comparing the forces of the
mountain with the undoubtedly superior ones of his own mind.
If one is not beaten sometimes, one cannot appreciate the
perfect delight of winning ; and it is a noble, joyous, and most
profitable thing to pass with steadfast faith through delusion after
delusion until one reaches one s coveted goal.

But the climber who has failed does not reason thus. He
hastens to hide his shame and his fatigue in bed until the
luncheon hour ; and lying on his soft couch, between the
fragrant, newly washed sheets, he stretches out his weary limbs
that are all black and blue from the blows they have received,
and as he luxuriously yawns before falling asleep, he reviews his
position.

Here we have a man, he tells himself, a man who does not
lack good sense, and is not without experience of life, making
himself miserable about a matter of ten yards of rope that he was
unable to climb.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 273

If only this man were reasonable, he would say : what is
past is past : let bygones be bygones, for you have done even
more than could be expected of you. Let some one else go and
try, and he will see, and yet ... it would have been a grand
thing to prevail, to be able to come down and tell one's friends
that the Furggen ridge of the Matterhorn had at last been
conquered by an Italian ... !

And now, with this thought, other ideas form confusedly in
the head of the weary climber, who falls asleep at last, and in his
sleep again sees ropes swaying over tremendous precipices, black
crows wheeling round his head, and dangerous slips by night.

An hour later the table-dhSte bell awoke him. His limbs
were aching, his muscles knotted with fatigue, his hands burning
with their wounds, but his mind was calm and perfectly clear.

The sun's cheerful rays were shining in at the little window
in the room and through the white curtains ; the weather was
fine ; hope returned to him.

At the foot of the bed was seated the bète noire^ smiling
and pleasantly whispering that now the difficult part was done,
and that it behoved him to complete the work somehow and at
any cost.

He understood.

He hastily dressed himself, and sent word to his guides that
he wished to speak to them after luncheon.

Then he unconcernedly went in to table-cC hStCy prepared to
lie about his past, and to conceal his future, actions.

" Rem facias rem, si possis recte
Si non, quocumque modo rem."

Ovid.

Two days later I once more entered the Jomein ; this time
I had negotiated all the last unexplored part of the ridge ; the
Furggen arete no longer had any secrets for me. And this
is how it was done. I had not even dreamt of suggesting to my

274 THE MATTERHORN

fjuides that we should follow our former route ; I felt that they
would have refused. That was one of the things that no man
does more than once in his life. Moreover, it seemed to me
that with regard to those few yards of cliff, it was all the same
whether one climbed them up or down. Setting all pedantry
aside, I reasoned like the fox with the grapes.

So we started off to ascend the Matterhorn by the ordinary
Italian route, intending to descend the Furggen ridge as far as
the point we had reached on the ascent, thus making our
exploration complete.

We were provided with two long rope-ladders.

Early in the morning we started from the hut in two
parties.

The morning was perfectly clear ; not a cloud was visible
anywhere on the vast horizon.

Our feet seemed to have wings ; we passed the Grande
Corde, the Créte de Coq, and the Shoulder without my per-
ceiving them ; my mind was so busy with what was to come
that the ascent, fine though it was, made no impression upon
me that day.

And this explains why it is possible to climb up and down
the Matterhorn without seeing or perceiving any of its beauties,
when llie mind is citlici- fearful or inatlt-iuive, too full of
lh<)Li_i(hi or t(ni empty.

■' DiaMe! Le Mont Blanc a mis son chapean ! " exclaimed
one of us during a halt (in the Shoulder fur breakfast.

This was bad news, for \l is well known how quickly a hat
of cloud on the head of ihe [nonarcli of the Al[)s widens its
brim in such a way as soon to cover all the other mountains.

Our halt was a very short one, and we went on faster than
before.

By seven we were on the Pic Tynclall, before nine wc
reached the summit. Tlie wind had bcL;un to blow from a bad
quarter, and the clouds from iMonte Blanc had reached our
neii'hboiir, the Dent d'Hércns,

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 275

On the top we found a single climber with his guide, and
the former, hearing me address the latter in German, recognised
me for an Italian.

He was an Italian too, and we shook hands with much
pleasure ; one meets so few Italians on the summit of the
Matterhorn !

He was most cordial, and he offered me a cup of
champagne.

When my party of porters appeared in a long line on the
snow-ridge, he looked at them with curiosity and asked me
who they were. I denied all knowledge of their identity.

Time pressed, and I cut the conversation short with another
handshake and moved on.

I wonder what my compatriot's thoughts were as he saw us
all starting down in a direction quite different from the one
parties generally take.

I fancied I heard his guide shout out in German that that
way would not **go," but I did not turn round.

The first bit of the descent towards Furggen is broad and
easy, but so broken that at every step one starts and sends
down stones.

The storm was very near, and the tension of our minds was
very great.

We descended about 160 feet, to where the slope begins to
grow steeper as the head of the Matterhorn bends towards the
precipice below.

At eleven we reached the exact spot where Daniel's party
had taken up their stand on the day of the first attempt, and
whence they had sent us down the rope. The iron spike which
had helped in the work was still there, firmly fixed in the rock.

The porters had halted a few steps further back. I was
left alone on the little platform whilst my guides went on to see
whether it was possible to go down further in order to descend
by ordinary means as much of the cliff as might be.

The first mists had meanwhile reached the Matterhorn.

THE MATTERHORN

le guides shouted to me to go slowly, and shortly after-
wards that I had gone far enough. They meant that I had
reached the point desired and that I might come back. How-
ever, I insisted on descending five or six more of the rungs,
then i put my foot on a ledge of rock, but I did not let go the
ladder with my hands. This was how 1 took possession. The
guides up above were calling to mc to make haste, so I climbed
up the swaying rope and was soon by their side again. The
ceremony was over.

And thus, in dismal mist, amidst the howling of the wind
and the rumbling of thunder, the last great secret of the
Matterhorn was revealed to man.

Now it behoved us to flee from the mountain's vengeance,
so we packed up our baggage, but left our ladder hanging
where it was as a witness to what we had done, and for the
benefit of the Schwarzsee telescope.

The second ladder, which we had not used, we took to
pieces, and carried off the rope with us, but threw the wood
into the air, and saw it disappear into the unfathomed mist.

We hastened back to the summit, and it was high time, for
the clouds were condensing and discharging an icy sleet, which
the wind blew with violence into our faces. Nevertheless, on the
Luji \vr CdiiMiined lIic last wl <iur |)n>visii.ins, the clouds mean-
whilr \\r,i[jj)iiii; lis ci.i[n|jl<l(ly abtuji : uu could no longer see
rilliLT precipices at mir tcel iir huri/nii around ljs.

Ul the sk\ wtj >aw imiliiii;^, of the cartli only the little
snuW)' hiinij) till \vliii:li mir Icut n-slci-i.

We were utterly alnrn_-. The i.iIkt parly, uliicli had left the
-summit more than four Imurs ai^o. was without doubt in safety
by iinw, and, if they thought of us at all. must have thought it
likely we had cunie tii i.^rief, It began to h.iil ; wt^ started off
ijiiickly down the Swiss side; it was a rcLjular llight. How-
ever, below the tup, we were sheltered Iruin the wind ; a storm
of large and gently falling snow-llakes replaced the driving
sleet, and suon coated die whole MaLlerhoni with white.

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 277

We could see a few of the upper rungs of the rope ladder,
which was fixed to the rock by iron spikes, but the rest was
lost to view as it hung down the precipice.

Daniel told me to go down alone, but I insisted that Antoine
should be the first to descend, as he deserved. While Antoine
was tying himself on there came a rent in the clouds, which
enabled us to see clearly enough.

Full of curiosity I peeped over the edge of the rock and, by
the momentary gleam of light, I saw the whole piece down
which we must go. It was overhanging. The ladder, which
was about 16 yards long, hung down its whole length, and
reached beyond the base of the pitch ; its lower extremity lay
unfastened on the rocky stair from which Antoine had tried to
raise himself on our first attempt.

I recognised every detail ; I saw a few yards off the spot
where Antoine had swung to and fro, lower down the place
where Aimé had waited, and lower still the patch of snow
where I had stood.

I saw the scene again most clearly, just as I had seen it a
few days before, but this time from above, not from below.

Meantime the ladder swayed gaily, as the wind tossed it to
and fro like a light piece of ribbon. Then the clouds closed
again.

Antoine descended the ladder, while we, his companions,
held him by the rope. He was out of sight for four or five
minutes, I suppose, but I am not sure, for they seemed an
eternity to me.

Then he shouted for us to pull on the rope, and a few
minutes afterwards first his head and then his body reappeared
over the edge of the cliff, like a diver returning to the surface.
He was very much out of breath.

It was now my turn. I grasped the first rung and began to
descend. I did not count the number of the rungs ; there were
certainly seven or eight of them ; I felt the ladder stretching
under my weight and swaying about.

: .... -I

' I lil

■ ;. V
1 1

.■ f

JMUA 'lO ri^^KlJ HHT

tfr-.-Ni

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 279

The ropes and chains were iced and the rocks were
slippery ; our hands were numb and bruised, but now we
neither felt fatigue nor perceived difficulties. One thought
urged us onwards : that of reaching the Jomein the same
evening.

Two hours after leaving the top we passed the old hut ; at
six we descended on to the Furggen glacier without going near
the Hornli hut, and we reached the Breuiljoch at seven.
Thence we saw on the Italian side, amid that sea of stormy
clouds, far away, in the direction of Aosta, the gleam of a
gloomy sunset, which cast a strange, violet hue upon the
mountains and the atmosphere ; the Matterhorn, divided half-
way up by a dark veil which added to its mystery, looked
divinely tall and stern.

Far below the sound of a bell rang out, and the day drew to
its close in an atmosphere of infinite sadness.

My heart was light and joyful ; it seemed as if a heavy
burden had been removed from me : my great curiosity was
satisfied at last. And now, amid that majestic scene, a course
vision presented itself to my mind : it was that of a clean white
table in a warm, well-lighted room, with a steaming dish in
front of me and a pleasant smell of cooking all round. And
as I walked I thought of some particularly well-cooked
toothsome dish that I should order on reaching the hotel.

A bright light appeared quite close to us out of the
darkness of the night ; we saw before us the door of the hotel,
and dark shadows standing out against the light and seeming
to await us. And as I passed among those shadows, I fancied
I heard one of them express his joy at seeing us return alive,
whilst another whispered a word of congratulation which went
to my heart.

But I hardly answered the greetings and questions, for it
seemed to me now that all I had done in those last few days
had been nothing but madness.

The next day, when I reviewed the matter, calm In mind

28o THE MATTERHORN

and rested in body, I had a clear comprehension of what had
occurred.

I had been the first to climb, either up or down, the whole
Furggen 9 ridge, and I had, so to speak, taken possession of it ;
yet I was not satisfied. I felt that I had taken the ancient
Matterhorn by surprise, and that such warfare as this was not
honourable ; that a Cato amongst mountaineers would approve
the cause of the vanquished, not that of the victor. All this
was borne in upon me by the respect I have for my great
adversary ; I ought to have overcome him face to face, the
first day.

No ! the Matterhorn had once more defeated me, not I the
Matterhorn.

But the most unexpected conclusion to my adventures was
afforded me some time after by a Geneva newspaper, which
dealt with a number of Alpine accidents that had occurred that
summer (1899), and added : ** Le clubiste italien qui s'est fait
hisser au Cervin par laréte surplombante de Furggen mériterait
une amende. C est un fou dangereux." '°

On my word of honour I had never known it before ; but
then no man is a judge of himself.

" (^s airs dont la musiquc
a l'air d'etre en patois."

Rostand.

That evening at dinner we were talking of guides and their
songs, a pleasant subject and one that was full of local interest.
One of the diners maintained that, after all, there is not much
difference between the guides' singing and the coarse strains
that one hears issuing from city drinking-shops on the evenings
of fete days, and bewailed the fact that when the guides sing in
chorus in their dining-room on the ground floor, they disturb
the people who are reading in the salon ; as if one came to the
mountains to read !

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 263

We were defeated.

Antoine, who had led us so bravely to this point, was unable
to climb the last piece.

The hour was growing late.

** II fraudrait une échelle," he added.

Ah ! How nearly we had won our victory !

Perhaps less than ten yards had separated Antoine from
those above at the moment when he was forced to retreat. We
were exhausted ; our muscles were trembling with fatigue.

282 THE MATTERHORN

fellow-countrymen to-day. The one I love best of all, one in
which I find the same sad expression of home-sickness, gives
utterance to the complaint of a son of the East, who is
languishing in a cold climate and follows in spirit the flight of
the swallows towards the land of sunshine. How came this
warm ray of southern poetry to find a home among the snows
of the Alps ?

Some of these songs are more than a century old, and have
been handed down, they and their musical settings, from father
to son, together with the tales and legends which form the
modest poetic patrimony of these people. Others, again, are
old songs in new settings ; some are entirely new.

The songs of the city take many years to reach these
remote spots, and when they do arrive — brought, perhaps, by
some soldier in an Alpine regiment who has learnt them in
winter quarters — their tunes, their rhythm, and sometimes even
their words, change so completely that they become unrecog-
nisable. Now and then the best singer in the village adapts
an old tune to a few lines printed on a sheet of paper that he
has bought at Aosta on a fair day ; or he may compose a new
song, which the others learn, and thus the village singer
gradually acquires a reputation. Often enough the melody of
these songs is beautiful even without words ; the simple music
is sufficient, for it is like the natural song of birds.

These men sing instinctively, like the birds, for song is the
only means they have of worthily expressing sadness, joy, or
love, giving utterance to the emotions that uncultured men can
feel but cannot analyse. There is no other channel by which art
can touch their laborious lives or shed its light upon their minds.

At this point two charming young ladies, who had atten-
tively listened to what I was saying, begged me to get my
guides to sing that evening.

I answered that guides suffered from an inborn reluctance
to sing before gentlefolk, but, seeing that they were very much
interested, I finally yielded to their gentle persistence.

■.-..j^..

THE FURGGEN RIDGE

=83

Dinner was over, so we went down to the ground-floor,
where the guides' quarters are ; these consist of a dormitory
and a refectory, like those of a convent. I opened a heavy
black door, went in first, and ushered in my companions.

Ten or twelve strong, broad-shouldered men. with bronzed
faces, were in the room, sitting all close together on wooden
benches, with their elbows resting on a long, massive table.

They were all dressed alike in thick, well-worn clothes, of
a colour between that of ashes and that of tobacco, the colour
of rocks ; some of them were in their shirt-sleeves, while their
coats were thrown carelessly over their shoulders, and their
llannel shirts, which were either red or of a large blue-atid-
white check pattern, alone broke the uniformity of colour with
a warm note. Their hats were on their heads ; they never
take them off except in church, and when they do so you see on
their thick, untidy hair a round mark, which makes you think
of certain fifteenth-century heads as painted by Benozzo
Gozzoli.

Under their crushed and shapeless hats wre saw their
rugged faces, on which it is difficult to discover the traces
of any emotion, for they look as impassive as the face of
a mountain.

All my men were there : Daniel, Antoine, Aimé, Joseph,
Baptiste ; also Perruquet, who had been my guide on the
Pointe Blanche, besides other guides and porters, all
Valtournanche men.

They had finished supper, and were spending the evening
smoking and talking in their incomprehensible dialect. Their
attitudes were those of tired men enjoying their rest and
comfort ; the joy of living brightened their dark faces, and
their little cat's eyes sparkled with unwonted gaiety. These
f periods of pleasant rest after a toilsome ascent must be
* moments of rare delight in a guide's life.

The low room, with its vaulted ceiling, which had once been
white, smelt like a damp cellar. They had drunk their basins

284 THE MATTERHORN

full of hot broth mixed with wine, and the smell of this drink,
of which the guides are very fond, mingled with the odours of
the lamp, of wet clothes, and of bad tobacco.

A small lamp hung from the ceiling and shed a faint but
picturesque light on the scene, in which the mens figures
showed dimly through the dense tobacco smoke. Outside the
night was dark but cloudless.

On our entrance the conversation ceased, and they all, with
rustic courtesy, stood up and touched their hats.

The two girls, struck with shyness, sat down in a corner by
themselves, away from the table, whilst I went towards the
guides, who made room for me in their midst.

I called for some wine to wet my songsters' throats, and
as soon as the glasses were filled Daniel lifted his towards me,
and said : ** Monsieur, si vous etes content, nous buvons
ensemble à notre belle course." I looked at him with astonish-
ment ; he had never made me such a long speech, for he was
generally as unexpansive in temperament as he was lean in
body. All present cordially clinked glasses and drank the
toast. Then Perruquet insisted on paying for a bottle ** pour
l'aréte de Furggen," and lifting his glass, said simply, with an
ultra-serious face, ** Je regrette que je n'étais pas avec vous.*'

And now it was time for us to sing.

What a pity that Ansermin was not with us — Ansermin the
graceful tenor, who could trill, and who knew all the songs of
Savoy and the Valois.

But Perruquet, who was leader of the choir in the parish
church, began to sing with his powerful voice :

Montagues de catte vallèe,
Vous étes mas amours
Cabanas fortunéas
Ou j*ai ra9u la jour. . . .

and the chorus swelled and rose to the low, vaulted ceiling and
filled the narrow room with deafening waves of sound, inter-

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 285

rupted by sudden pauses ; the whole was a medley of strange
discords, high trills, and deep bass notes which issued from the
men's powerful chests like the music of a church organ.
They sang with the delighted fervour of great boys :

Rien n'est si beau que ma patrie ;
Rien n*est si doux que mon amie.

Then the younger ones, who had at first shyly refused to
sing, joined likewise in the joyful chorus, for they felt them-
selves carried away by the fascination of the music and
warmed into enthusiasm by the wine they had drunk. That
evening the duties of a guide seemed easy, gay, as if they
consisted only of drinking and singing.

Oh ! montagnards, chantez en choeur,
De mon pays la paix at le bonheur.

The whole repertoire was gone through, and in this manner
the unassuming conquerors of the Matterhorn celebrated in
their dark cellar-like room their own glory and that of the
mountain.

And, between the songs, there was time for a sip of wine,
an innocent jest, a hasty reference to the adventures of the
past days.

One man jestingly asked me whether we had sung when we
were up on the aréte ; another was slily anxious to know
whether I should be inclined to make the expedition again.

We laughed and jested because we felt safe, but the name
of the Matterhorn kept returning to our thought and our lips,
for outside the house, beyond the narrow walls of the room,
amid the darkness of the night, towered the huge, dark pyramid.
We could not see it, but we were all of us aware of its presence,
because its influence pervaded our hearts, and we felt as if we
were still ascending the sharp ridge. . . . The Matterhorn was
invisible, yet ever-present as God Himself.

286 THE MATTERHORN

The songs we were singing were in its honour ; our voices
vibrated with the memory of the things we had seen in the
heights, and our chorus was instinct with the sympathy men
feel for one another when they have struggled together against
great difficulties.

There are some feelings that are not spoken of between
traveller and guides, even when they are close friends, but
during this pleasant, restful evening we made known to each
other by means of the notes of our songs the feelings we had
not ventured to express otherwise, and the emotions which our
adventures had produced and which had been hitherto known to
ourselves alone. It may be that some unwonted consciousness
of the greatness of their calling had just then been vouchsafed
to my guides, that a sense of the beauty of their lives, of the
ennobling influence of danger, had pierced their rude exterior,
that the low, dark room seemed to them to have become a vast
hill, its walls to have disappeared, and the mountain songs to
rise freely to the Matterhorn. I was so absorbed that I had
almost forgotten the presence of the two girls, who were
modestly sitting by themselves, intenriy studying that scene of
primitive natural life, so free from sham and artifice ; perhaps
that humble music in those strange surroundings struck them
also as something lofty and unusual.

I remember that one of the songs pleased us so much
that we repeated it three or four times, and the last time, when
we came to the final refrain, we heard two pure, silvery voices
rising through the smoke and joining the deep tones of the
guides. They belonged to the two girls, who, carried away by
the mountain melody, had joined us in our song.

I glanced at the guides ; they had not even turned their
heads towards the quarter whence those sweet notes came, they
continued singing the refrain to the end, but instinctively
lowered their voices ; but when the verse was ended they all
rose to their feet and turning towards the girls, greeted our
charming companions with a burst of rapturous applause which

THE FURGGEN RIDGE 287

resounded through the room that their presence had brightened.
They smiled a reply, thus amply rewarding our efforts on the
mountain.

Music and the Matterhorn had filled our minds with peace.

From that moment the pleasures of the evening, which spring
from the remembrance of past fatigue and from present content,
were increased in number by that fresh, delightful incident.

We went out into the open air by the small door which leads
on to the level space in front of the hotel.

In the perfect calm of that Alpine night the summit of the
great mountain stood out in relief against the clear sky, and it
seemed to me as if at that hour the light of the stars fell with
a softer radiance upon the dark and rugged Matterhorn.

;

NOTES

CHAPTER I

' Josias Simler, in his work ** De Alpibus Commentarius," 1574,
(p. 68), gives the following hypothesis on the etymology of the name of
the Monte Silvio : ** Non nulli montes a ducibus et Claris viris qui forte
exercitum per haec loca duxerunt nomen acceperunt ; . . . apud
Vallesianos mons Sempronius qui et Scipionis dicitur (Simplon) et mons
Silvius : a Romanis ducibus haec nomina accepisse videntur."

The most learned T. G. Farinetti readopted this hypothesis, and pro-
duced it in the Bulletin of the ItaHan Alpine Club (vol. ii., 1867, p. 107) :
** Silvius was probably a Roman leader who sojourned with his legions in
the land of the Salassi and the Seduni, and perhaps crossed the Theodul
Pass between these two places. This Silvio may have been that same
Servius Galba whom Caesar charged with the opening up of the Alpine
passes, which from that time onward traders have been wont to cross with
great danger and grave difficulty (Caesar, ** De Bello Gallico," book iii.).
Servius Galba, in order to carry out Caesar's orders, came with his legions
from AUobrogi (Savoy) to Octodurum (Martigny) in the Valais, and pitched
his camp there. The passes which he had orders to open from there
could be no other than the St. Bernard, the Simplon, the Theodul, and the
Moro ; it therefore seems likely that the name of Servius, whence Silvius
and later Servin, or Cervin, was given in his honour to the famous pyramid."
We do not exactly know at what period the new name of Mont Servin,
or Cervin, replaced the old, from which it seems to be derived.

2 We have no proof that the Theodul Pass was known to the Romans ;
it was certainly crossed in the Middle Ages. The Rev. W. A. B. Coolidge
tells me that he has found mention of the passage of the Col in a
document dating from 1218, in Grémaud, *' Documents relatifs a THistoire
du Vallais."

19 289

290 THE iMATTERHORN

3 On the Theodul Pass Roman coins have frequently been found , some
lying alone as if lost by the way, others collected in a heap and stowed
away in secret places. In 1895 a girl from the Theodul inn found fifty-four
hidden under a stone ; they were coins of the Imperial period, from 270 to
350 A.D., some of them with Christian symbols. In the collection of the
Seiler family there appear many coins found on the pass belonging to
various periods, from 200 b.c. to 900 a.d. (v. E. Wymper, " Zermatt and
the Matterhom ").

^ The canonesses of the order of St. Augustine, called Dames de Sain te
Catharine, established themselves at Aosta towards the end of the twelfth
century. Their statutes show that they came from Loeche, a small town
in the upper Valais, above Sion, where their original convent stood. They
were forced to abandon it in times of civil war, perhaps during the troubles
which laid waste the Valais in the reign of the Emperor Frederick II.,
when the barons of Raron, powerful local lords, attempted to oppress
their native place, and to make themselves its masters. See De Tillier,
"Historique de la Vallèe d'Aoste," edition 1888, p. 144. De Tillier
writes : ** According to tradition they entered the country by the Mont
Cervin, numbering only six or seven sisters, and took refuge lirst of all at
Antey (\^altournanche)."

5 Towards the middle of the fifteenth century, during the struggle
between Catharine de Challand and the Duke of Savoy for the succession
of Challand, Catharine had made a treaty with the Valaisans, to the effect
that, at the first onslaught by the Savoyiu-d troops, they (the Valaisans) were
to come to her assistance and occupy the pass of the Mont Cervin, which
was included in the territory of Challand, in the Challand valley, in the
fifteenth century.

^ The Wandering Jew the first time sees on the pass a great and thriving
city, and prophesies that on his second passing by that spot woods and
meadows will be growing on the site of the houses and streets ; and that
when his sad journeying shall bring him up thither for the third time, the
woods and meadows shall be gone, and all shall be covered with snow and
ice (v. J. Grand Carteret, " La Montagne à travers les ages ").

^ Vallis Torni na, or Torniaca, a name representing Valtournanche on
the ancient maps, and derived from Tornionum, or Tornaeum, now
Torgnon, one of the chief villages of the valley. Towards the middle of
the fourteenth century there already appears the name of Vallis Tonienchia,
which may be considered as deriving from Vallis Torniaca.

Praborno : Prato Borno, or Bornus, the old name of Zermatt ; it
appears in the ancient maps as early as the thirteenth century (v. W. A. B.
Coolidge, " Swiss Travels and Guide Books," p. 255). The Valdostans used
this name till about i860 in the form of Praborne, or Praborgne (Para-
borj^ne in Griiner), probably derived from Pre borne, in allusion to the
meadows shut in on all sides by the mountains. Ttie German name of

NOTES 2gi

Matt is not found before about 1500. Simler (** Vallesiae Descriptio," lib. i.)
latinises the name into Pagus Matta and Mattia vallis. Zur-matt and
Zermatt (meaning near the meadows) are names of relatively recent date.
De Saussure writes it Zer-Matt (v. also Coolidge, op. cit. p. 257).

* Aegidius Tschudi writes in his work, '* De Prisca ac vera Alpina
Raethia": "Sunt praeterea et aliae viae ultra Summas Alpes in Italiani
nempe ex superiori Vallesia per montem Gletscher in vallem Ougstal (Aosta
valley).** On his famous topographical map he marks the pass under the
name of Der Gletscher. The date of Tschudi's ascent to the Col is not
stated, but we may suppose it to have taken place about 1528. I am in-
debted for these and for the other notes on Tschudi which appear in the
text, to the Rev. W. A. B. Coolidge. He also kindly showed me certain
MSS. of the book on Josias Simler and the origin of mountaineering which
Messrs. Falque and Perrin of Grenoble are publishing for him, from which
I quote the following passage from Tschudi, translated from the German :
" Silvius Mons, appelé Der Gletscher par les Allemands, parceque sur son
faite s'étend sur une largeur de quatre mille italiens un champ de néve
éternel, et de giace, qui ne fond et ne disparait jamais ; en été on peut
toujours le traverser sans crainte soit à cheval soit à pied ; le mont est très
élevé et séparé les Sedunes (habitants du Haut Vallais) des Salasses
(habitants du Val d'Aoste). Tout à fait sur le faite de ce mont le chemin
se bifurque pour descendre par le Val d* Aoste par deux vallées lateral es,
dont Tune appelée Aiaza (Val d'Ayas), est située à main gauche et méne à
Eporedia ou Livery (Ivrée)." The latter is now known as the Col des
Cimes Blanches (v. also Grand Carteret, " Les Alpes dans TAntiquité,"
p. 212). In Sebastien Miinster's " Cosmography,'* published in 1543, the
name of Matter is given to the pass, and this is the origin of the present
German name of the Cervin (Matterhorn). "A Vespa (Visp) iter extenditur
per montem Saser (Saas) et ab alio latere per montem Matter ad oppida
quaedam Mediolanensis ditionis, item ad vallem Kremerthal (Val Tour-
nanche) quae paret comiti a Zaland (Challand)." On Munster's topo-
graphical chart this group is marked under the names of Augstalberg
(Aosta mountain) and Mons Silvius (v. Coolidge, op. cit. p. 256).

9 As far back as 1760 De Saussure had promised a reward to him who
should find a way to ascend Mont Blanc.

'° v. De Saussure, " Voyages dans les Alpes," vol. iv. pp. 389, 408, 438,

442, 443-

" " Quelle force n'a-t-il pas fallu pour roitipre et balayer tout ce qui
manque à cette pyramide ! Car on ne voit autour d'elle aucun entassement
de fragments ; on n'y voit que d'autres cimes qui sont elles memes
adhérentes au sol, et dont les flancs, égalements déchirés, indiquent d'im-
menses debris dont on ne voit aucune trace dans le voisinage. Sans doute
ce sont ces debris qui sous la forme de cailloux, de blocs et de sable
remplissent nos vallées et nos bassins, ou ils sont descendus, les uns par le

292 THE MATTERHORN

Valais, les autres par la vallèe d'Aoste du coté de la Lombardie **
(De Saussure, " Voyages ").

" ** Histoire naturelle des Glaciers de la Suisse." Translated from the
German and published in Paris in 1770.

'3 " Nouvelle description des Glaciers, Vallées de glace et Glaciers qui
forment la grande Chaine des Alpes de Suisse, d'Italie et de Savoie " (M. T.
Bourrit, 1795).

'^ ^^ . . . notre brave guide, chez qui nous avions logé aux chalets du
Breuil, et que je recommande à ceux qui feront ce voyage " (De Saussure,
" Voyages ").

'5 De Saussure found on the pass the remains, in excellent preservation,
of a rude fort which was called the St. Theodul Fort, and which he believed
to have been built by the Valdostans, centuries before, to prevent an inva-
sion by the Valaisans. Describing the bivouac, he writes : " La soirée fut
très froide et nous eumes beaucoup de peine à allumer le feu ; nos guides
n'avaient apporté ni amadou, ni allumettes. Je crois méme qu'au Breuil
ces inventions passent pour des objets de luxe. Cependant nous nous
rcchaufTames sous nos pelisses, et nous passames une fort bonne nuit."

'^ Mr. Cade, as Scheuchzer had already done in 1705, names the present
Theodul Pass Monte Rosa. The word Rosa is a form of the ancient
generic name given to the glaciers by the dwellers on the southern slopes
of the Alps, which was pronounced roese, roese, or rouise ; while the
inhabitints on the north side called the glaciers Gletscher, and therefore
the Theodul Gletscher mountain.

'7 Alpine Journal^ vol. vii. p. 435.

'8 Professor Forbes relates that, during his first journeys among the Alps
of Savoy, the simple fact of crossing the mountains in places where it was
not customary' to pass, was suflicient to make the traveller an object of
suspicion to the vigilant police ; when in addition he was addicted to
sketching, or to the use of a hammer or a barometer, he ran the risk of
rousing popular prejudice, of whose extent he would never have dreamt
had not some of the extraordinary conjectures current about himself and
his projects come by chance to his ears. (Travels through the Alps of
Savoy.) See Forbes' "Travels," ed. 1900, pp. 12, 13.

De Saussure, referring to his second visit to the St. Gotthard hospice in
1783, said of the monks there : " lis commenccnt à s'accoutumer a voir des
etrangers qui etudicnt les montagnes. Dans nion premier voyage en 1775,
ils crurent que c*était chez moi une espèce de folic. lis dirent à quelqu*un
de ma connaissancc qui passa chez eux pen de temps après moi, que je
paroissais d*un bon caractèrc, mais qu'il ctait bicn malhèureux que j'eusse
une manie aussi ridicule que celle de nimasser toutes les pierres que je
rencontrais, d*en remplir mes poclies et d'en charger des mulcts."

'9 The Conmiune of Chatillon used to pay 200 francs for the capture of
a bear and 100 for that of a she-wolt.

NOTES 293

^ William Brockedon the painter, and author of an interesting volume
— ** Illustrations of the Passes of the Alps" — came to Valtournanche for the
first time in 1824, and again in the following year, crossing the Theodul Pass
on the latter occasion.

" Brockedon relates that on his arrival, in 1824, at the village of
Valtournanche, where it was customary to engage guides for the crossing
of the Theodul, they told him that the Col was impassable for miles on
account of certain wide crevasses which had lately formed on the glacier ;
and that, in order to pass on foot, a great number of guides would be
needed to ensure the traveller's safety, and they counselled him not to
try. They said that a change in the glaciers was a rare occurrence, which
had not taken place for twenty years; but that now the whole of the
glacier on the Valais side was in motion. Attempts had been made to
make another route, but the glacier's movement had destroyed it, and it
was advisable to wait till the disturbance should cease. Brockedon
renounced his project, and came back the following year (** Journal of
Excursions,'' p. 48).

'« The mountaineering history of this pass is discussed at length by the
Rev. W. A. B. Coolidge in the work quoted : " Swiss Travels and Guide-
books."

«3 Mr. Hirzel-Escher's party, on the descent to Zermatt, met M. Paul
Vincent, of Gressoney, who was returning from an attempt to climb Monte
Rosa.

»♦ On the development of Zermatt, consult W. A. B. Coolidge, op. cit.

»5 Note taken from Forbes' *^ Travels," p. 334, note 3. See also
Alpine Journal^ vol. xv. p. 437, and DoUfus, ^* Ascensions dans les hautes
regions," p. 109.

»6 See Alpine Journal^ vol. xvi. p. 117 and 118.

«7 Dr. J. Forbes, "A Physician's Holiday," 1849, P* 232.

'^ " Excursions et séjours dans les glaciers," 1844.

'9 Christian Moritz Engelhardt, " Naturschilderungen," 1840. " Das
Monte Rosa und Matterhorngebirg," 1852.

3** See Coolidge, op. cit. p. 279 and following pp.

3» »< Travels through the Alps," ed. 1900, p, 301.

3» The name of Mont Cervin, formerly used by De Saussure, was applied
to the mountain at that time also by Von Welden, the author of a work on
the topography and natural history of Monte Rosa (Vienna, 1824) and by
the Schlagintweit brothers who published a Physical and Geological Geo-
graphy of the Alps (Leipzig, 1854). The same name is used by Mr. H.
Warwick Cole, who visited Zermatt in 1850 and published the interesting
volume called *^ A Lady's Tour Round Monte Rosa" (London, 1859).

33 In the course of his journey in 1842 Professor Forbes passed from
Valtournanche to Gressoney, where he met M. F. Zumstein of
Gressoney, the same who had ascended one of the peaks (the fourth in

NOTES 295

*7 Marshall Hall, referring to the year 1849, wrote : " As for the giant
Matterhorn, it has never entered the mind of man that its ascent was
possible " (Alpine Journal^ vol. ix. p. 174).

*^ See Dollfus-Ausset, " Works," vol. iv. p. 180.

^^ To support this assertion it is sufficient to quote two passages from
the above works concerning places of interest to us. From Casalis :
** The Commune of Valtournanche is shut in on the north by the Cervin,
whose height and majesty are well known. It rises from about the middle
of an enormous ice reservoir, over which there is a pass to the Valais,
which is, however, not practicable without great risk to life, on account
of the fearful cracks to be met with at every step, and which are hardly
to be seen under the masses of snow that cover them." This is little more
than Simber had written three centures before.

From De Bartolomei's " The Passage of the Mont Cervin " : " The
Mont Cervin Pass may be reached by four different ways : i. Starting
from Biona at the extremity of the Valpelline ; 2. From Valtournanche ;
3. From Ayas ; 4. From Gressoney la Trinité. However, as the pass
of the Mont Cervin is more than two leagues in length, it is advisable to
cross it by other paths which are not marked on the topographical maps."

5® It was only later, about i860, that mountain scenery, under the
influence of Camino, Balbiano, and Perotti (I speak only of the Pied-
montese), and of the Genevese school, became an object in itself.

5' Author of the first geological map of the Sardinian States.

5» " Notes and Explanations of the Grouping of the Piedmontese Alps "
(vol. ix., series ii., from the " Memoirs of the Royal Academy of Sciences at
Turin," 1845).

53 One of the first, and perhaps the first, among us Italians to study and
explore the mountains, was a mineralogist, the Chevalier Nicolis di Robi-
lant, a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Turin ; the narrative
of his travels, published in 1790, bears the significant title, " De Tutilité
et de l'importance des voyages et des courses dans son propre pays."
Another of the pioneers was Count Morozzo della Rocca, a friend of
De Saussure, who in 1876 made an attempt to climb Monte Rosa from
Macugnaga. He wrote : " Sur la mesure des principaux points des Etats
du roi " (Minister of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Turin, 1788-9).

54 As is well known, Chamoix belonged to the kingdom of Sardinia till
i860, the year of the cession of Savoy to France. The men of that village
were the first professional Alpine guides, towards the end of the eighteenth
century, and till 1857 it was difficult to find elsewhere in the Alps such good
guides (see Forbes' " Travels," ed. 1900, p. 483).

55 " Lettres sur les Vallées de Lanzo, 1823." These letters were con-
sidered worthy of being republished, more than thirty years after, in the
" Alpine Journal "of J.T. Cimino (vol. iii., 1864), the first Alpine work pub-
lished in Italy.

296

THE MATTERHORN

56 During the same period some officers of the Sardinian army explored
the highest ridges in the valley of Susa (1820-22), with the intention of
measuring an arc of the mean parallel, and in the Maritime and Cottian
Alps, while preparing the State topographical maps, they had made first
ascents of more than ten peaks of over 3,000 metres (1830-36). (See
L. Vaccarone's Statistics concerning first ascents in the Western Alps.)

57 See Amé Gorret, " Victor Emmanuel sur les Alpes," 1879.

CHAFfER II

' Albrecht von Haller, a Swiss poet of the eighteenth century, who
sang of the life of mountaineers in his poem, " Die Alpen " (1732).

« " Modern Painters," chap. xix. vol. iv. This chapter was first
published in 1856.

3 " Le Ranz-des-Vaches était si cheri des Suisses qu*il fut défendu, sous
peine de mort, de le jouer dans leurs troupes, parce qu*il faisait fondre en
larmes, deserter, ou mourir ceux qui Pentendaient, tant il excitait en eux
Tardent désir de revoir leur pays " (J. J. Rousseau).

♦ With reference to the disafforesting which is, alas ! going on in the
Val Tournanche, as well as in the other Piedmontese valleys, I think it well
to quote an emphatic warning uttered by the distinguished Genevese
botanist, H. Corre von, a sincere friend of the Valtomeins : " Un peuple
qui déboise est un peuple en decadence : souvenez-vous en bien, messieurs
de Valtournanche. C*est très particulièrement dans le pays d'Aoste qu'on
peut dire que Tavenir agricole depend du degré de reboisement des pentes
arides. Autrefois riche et prospère cette grande vallèe, qu'arrosent les
eaux provenant des plus hautes montagnes de TEurope, est dans un état
voisin de la pauvretè. La population s*en prend à tort au gouvernement
et aux impòts. C*est le propre des faibles d'accuser les forts ; il faut que
chacun travaille et que tout individu collabore à la grande oeuvre de
réconstitution des foréts'* (see Bulletin de V Association pour la protection
des planteSy Geneva, n. 14, 1896).

5 Valtournanche had belonged to the Barony of Cly, one of the most
extensive in the Duchy of Aosta, and comprising seven steeples, viz.,
Valtournanche, Torgnon, Antey, Verrayes, Diémoz, Saint-Denis, and
Chambave (see De Tillier, " Historique de la Vallèe d'Aoste '').

^ This word in the Valdostan patois may be translated literally as
" cream-licker " ; it means a child who is as yet helpless.

7 Bollettino Club Alpino Italiano^ vol. 18, p. 238.

8 See G. Corona, " Suir Alpi."

9 See H. Correvon, ** Au pied du Cervia " {BulL Association pour la
protection des plantes^ n. 14, p. 19). This legend seems to foreshadow the
latest scientific theories of the formation of the pyramid of the Cervia.

NOTES 297

A place near St. Vincent.

" See Corona, *' On the Alps." St. Theodul was Bishop of Sion about
the end of the fourth century.

" I do not know whether the old painting still exists in the little church
at Crépin. A fresco, touched up of late by a local artist, named Carrel,
above the small door of the same church, represents the bishop in his
robes, squeezing the juice of a bunch of grapes into a barrel with his hand ;
by his side is a monster bearing a bell.

'3 See Alfred Ceresole, " Zermatt," p. 76.

'* De Bartolomeis and Casalis bear witness to this.

'5 The name of Mont Cervin, as also that of Matter or Mattenberg, was
given to the Theodul Pass and in general to the whole group before it was
restricted exclusively to the principal peak of the group. The name of
St. Theodul, first bishop of Sion, and patron of the Valais, was probably
given to the Col by the Valdostans, who wished by this means to indicate
the pass which led to the land of those who were under the protection of
the holy bishop. In the same way on the Valais side it was called the
Augstlerberg Pass (pass of the Augusta mountain), as being that which
gave access to the valley of Aosta (see Coolidge, *^ Swiss Travels/'
p. 179).

'6 See Engelhardt, " Naturschilderungen " (1840), pp. 228 and 233.
Brockedon met some Swiss muleteers in 1824, who had come down from
the Theodul to buy wine at Valtournanche. Also Lord Minto in 1830
mentions some Chatillon carriers who often crossed the pass.

'7 The name given of old by the Swiss to the Val Tournanche was
Kremerthal, or valley of the merchants. Thus, as Josias Simler has it :
" Mattia vallis incipit a monte Silvio ; per hunc iter est ad Salassos et
Aiazam uallem, et quam nostri vocant das Kremerthal, quod huius incolae
per uarias regiones oberrent, merces diuersi generis circumferentes : hac
uia per glaciem inueteratam aliquot millibus passuum iter faciendum est "
("Vallesiae Descriptio," lib. i. p. 18, ed 1574).

It is, however, well to point out that no tradition or record of this
itinerant trade survives in Val Tournanche ; the Valtorneins consider that
their ancestors, like themselves, have always been shepherds and farmers
but little addicted to trade. In the report which the Marquis of
Romagnano, the governor of the Duchy of Aosta, sent in 16 17 to Charles
Emmanuel I., Duke of Savoy, is the following statement : " In this Duchy
there are no persons engaged in trade, and this is the cause of the poverty
of the district, and many are obliged to travel abroad, especially in the
winter, and they go far. The men of Challant go towards Germany, as do
those of Cly. Those of the Valais go to Dauphiné, those of Valdigna to
Flanders, and those of Cogne and Champorcier to Milan" (see L. Vaccarone,
" The Passes in the Duchy of Aosta in the Seventeenth Century " ; see also
Forbes' '* Travels," in the note to p. 330, 1900 edition).

NOTES 299

impossible, sir ; it is only crossed by those who go on pilgrimage to Macug-
naga, and you, sir, are not a pilgrim." And he refused, saying with the
deepest conviction that he would never attempt the passage except with
that holy object.

'3 See the felicitous pages dedicated by Giuseppe Giacosa to the lonely
priests of the Alps in his " Novelle Valdostane." Two centuries of the
humble and virtuous history of the Valdostan clergy have been collected in
a few short biographies by the Abbé P. E. Due (" Le Clergé d*Aoste dans le
XVII P Siede," and " Le Clergé d'Aoste de 1800 à 1870 "). Almost all the
Valtournanche families have devoted, from generation to generation, one of
their sons to the priesthood. I may mention that of Perruquet, one of the
oldest in the district (it already existed in the sixteenth century), which
gave a parish priest to Valtournanche in 1754, *^ rector in 1784, and another
rector in 1802. The parish priest (Jean Jacques) was he who caused the
Paquier belfry to be built in 1760, and who was the donor of the big bell.
I may mention also the family of Gorret, in which there have been, from
1740 to the present date, six priests.

'^ It was an ancient privilege of the Duchy of Aosta that the French
language should be used in its official documents. De Tiller (" Historique
de la Vallèe d'Aoste," p. 352), writes in 1738 : ^* Les edits doivent étre
con9us et publics en langue fran9aise, et non italienne, pour qu'ils puissent
étre entendus par chacun, ainsi qu*a été dispose par les articles 6 et 7 de la
patente accordée au pays par S.A.S. le Due Emanuel Philibert sous la date
du 24 Juillet, 1578, confirmee par la réponse au 9°*' article du memorial du
4 Octobre, 1650." The said petition, presented by the General Council of
Aosta to Charles Emanuel II., beseeched the sovereign to direct that edicts
published in any other language but the French should be considered void,
and that the inhabitants of the Duchy should not be obliged to observe
them. The feeling of the Valdostans about their right to use the French
language in their churches, their tribunals, their schools, and their public
offices, has remained strong to the present day, notwithstanding the
changed conditions of the valley. Read on this subject the Canon Bérard's
little book, " La Langue Fran9aise dans la Vallèe d'Aoste. Réponse à M.
le Chevalier Vegezzi Ruscalla " (1862).

'5 This is the place to make mention of the Alpine Society founded
about 1865 by the Abbé Chamonin. It consisted of a little colony of priests
who climbed or studied the Alps, that had formed itself in the remote and
smiling islet of Cogne, that was shut in on all sides by lofty mountains, and
blockaded in the winter by snow and ice. The Abbé Chamonin, at that
time cure of Cogne, who was thoroughly familiar with the mountains of
that district, was accustomed to make excursions and ascents every summer,
and in the winter he would write, and examine and correct maps with the
aid of compasses and bussola (mariner's compass), discussing these matters
at length with his young vicaire, the Abbé Gorret, or with the Rev. Vescoz

300 THE MATTERHORN

who succeeded him. As soon as the summer returned they would go up
together to verify on the spot their corrections and heights. Mean^vhile
the Abbe P. J. Carrel founded at Cogne a small meteorological observatory.
The union of these noble spirits gave birth to the " Petite Société Alpine
de Cogne," which in 1870 published in the Feuille (VAoste, and later in
a valuable little volume, its studies on the " Geographie du Pays d'Aoste."
" Etudier les cartes géographiques, surtout celles de TEtat major, examiner
les bulletins du Club Alpin Italien, consulter les Guides des Voyageurs,
c'était Taffaire qui occupait tons nos moments de loisir. . . . M. le
Chanoine Chamonin soupirait plus que tout autre après la publication d'un
livre de ge genre, et il devait avoir beaucoup de choses à dire, lui qui des
son enfance, n*a cesse d'observer insti nctivement les cimes, les cols et les
glaciers. . . ." So runs the preface to the book. The *' Petite Société
Alpine " had no sequel, but the remembrance of that modest attempt at a
local Alpine club ought to be preserved among us with sincere affection,
both owing to the date of its birth and to the men who were its authors.

^ Wills writes : " We saw him only out of the window, working away,
like a common labourer, at some repairs which were being done to the
church."

»7 Brockedon, in 1825, had found at Paquiers "a sort of an inn," where
he had some food. Professor Forbes, in 1842, was lodged by the Customs
officer.

«8 Wills, ** Wanderings," p. 216.

"9 *< Italian Valleys," p. 202, pubhshed in 1858.

^ ** Summer Months," p. 153.

3» *' Journal of Six Weeks* Adventures," p. 97.

3» See *' A Lady's Tour Round Monte Rosa."

33 The Mont Cervin Hotel was founded in 1852. But many years before
that, Herr Lauber, a sort of local doctor, had opened a small and
picturesque wooden chalet of his for travellers. Desor mentions his
hospitality as early as 1839. On to this chalet, which was sold in 1864
to Mr. Seiler, was grafted the Monte Rosa Hotel (see Coolidge, "Swiss
Travels ").

3^ Mrs. Freshtield, ** Alpine By-ways," p. 168.

35 1863 edition.

36 About 1858 Pcssion*s Hotel at Valtournanche changed its name to
that of " Monte Rosa." This was probably in order to avoid confusion with
the little hotel on the Jonicin, which was opened in 1857 under the name of
Hotel du Mont Cervin.

37 R. Browning, '' The Inn Album."

38 I have an old advertisement of the Zermatt Monte Rosa Hotel,
belonging to the Seiler brothers, copies of which were still being dis-
tributed among travellers in 1862, although it had probably been printed
some years before. Among the beauties to be admired in Zermatt and its

NOTES 301

environs, which are accurately set forth in the advertisement, there is no
mention of the Mont Cervin. The great Matterhorn speculation had not
yet begun.

39 Here there was a word scratched out, perhaps because it appeared
to some decent persons to be too insulting.

♦** On that occasion he ascended the Breithorn with the guide Augustin
Pelissier.

4^ He had come up the Valtournanche and ascended to the Theodul
Pass as early as 1857.

*» In the same year I found the signature of Cav. Arturo Perrone di S.
Martino, who came to attempt the ascent and was prevented by bad
weather. Late in the season (September 3rd), I again found the name of
Giordano, who had also returned in the hope of ascending, but was repulsed
once more.

« See the journal of the Italian Alpine Cluh^ vol. xxxii., 1899. G. Rey,
" La Punta Bianca."

^ Durandi, ** Delia Marca d^Ivrea." Turin, 1804.

45 The Chanoine J. Carrel suggests etymologies from Celtic words :
Brel = promontory ; Breil = wood.

^^ Murray's " Guide-book '* mentions the new chalet as early as 1853.
See 1854 edition, p. 259, where the following appears : " The quarters at
Valtournanche are execrable. The new chalet built at Breuil is, perhaps,
better, cannot be worse."

^7 The hotel was opened in 1856 (see " Guide to the Aosta Valley,"
by A. Gorret and E. Bich).

48 ** A Lady^s Tour," p. 579.

49 << Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers," 2nd series, vol. ii. p. 260.

5° The hotel afterwards came into the hands of Gabriel Maquignaz, who
kept it from 1881 to 1886 ; ever since that date it has been managed by
Signor Eusebio Peraldo and his charming family, who, ably seconded by
the owner, Signor Favre, have brought the hotel to its present degree of
excellence and have succeeded in earning for it a well-deserved reputation
for hearty and generous hospitality.

5' The Chanoine Carrel writes that, according to an anonymous manu-
script dating from 1743, a little chapel dedicated to the Saint stood upon the
Col (see Rei'iew of the Alps, the Apennines, and Volcanoes, by G. T. Cimino).

52 The historians Rivaz and Boccard relate that the Valdostans took to
barricading themselves on the Theodul Pass as soon as the inhabitants of
the Valais began to make frequent raids over on to the Italian side (see
Journal of the LA.C,^ vol. iv. p 257). In the valley there is still a tradition
of long struggles between the Valaisans and the Dukes of Savoy, and both
De Saussure and Durandi mention it. The following tale, which was still
current not many years ago among the mountaineers of the Visp Valley,
testifies to the animosity that existed between Piedmontese and Valaisans ;

302 THE MATTERHORN

I quote it from Alfred Ceresole's work, ** Zermatt und Umgebung " : " Once
upon a time all the men of Zermatt who were able to bear arms had gone
down to make war on the banks of the Rhone, from castle to castle. No
one was left at Zermatt but children, women, and the infirm. One day a
report was spread that a handful of Piedmontese was about to cross the St.
Theodul Pass and to come down and sack Zermatt. A terrible panic seized
the defenceless population, but a youth named Charles kept his head. He
caused the women to assemble, ordered them to dress up in their husbands'
clothes, to arm themselves as best they could, and to follow him to the pass.
When they reached it, they built a stone wall and awaited the enemy, who
soon appeared, but, seeing the wall crowded with defenders, understood
that victory could not be easy ; they thought the whole army of the Valais
was opposed to them, and sent a spy to learn what was the strength of the
garrison. The spy, who had never before seen warriors with swelling
bosoms, asked Karl whence his troops came and -why they looked like that.
* My soldiers,' proudly answered the young captain, * have these swelling
bosoms because stout, brave hearts beat in them.' The spy was satisfied
and returned to Italy, and neither he nor his comrades were seen again."

53 In F. A. Amod's narrative it is written that the glacier was very
difficult to pass, ** a cause des crevasses frequents qui obligent les passants
à porter des aix pour les traverser."

54 James D. Forbes, " Travels Through the Alps," 1900 edition, note
3 to page 333. See also J. Ball, " Alpine Guide," 1898, pp. 493 and 524.

55 The researches of Luigi Vaccarone, the learned and indefatigable
student of Alpine history, for whose death the Alpine Club and his friends
are mourning, have thrown light on the greater part of the history' of the
Theodul Pass (see Italian Alpine Review^ vol. ii. p. 97 ; ** Le Alpi fortificate
contro i Valdesi " (1688-1690) ; ** Vie alle Alpi Occidentali," documento 9 and

II ; LA.C, Annualy 1887 ; *^ I valichi (passes) nel Ducato d'Aosta nel secolo
XVIL). It is not without interest to quote some of the orders issued at that
time for the defence of the pass : ** Concernant la garde de Montcervin,
elle sera destinée de la compagnie du Capitaine Quey, avec son Lieutenant
et Enseigne, auxquels seront obliges entre la Communauté de la Baronie
de Cly et Chàtillon de conduire, a ratte de foage, trente douzaine d'ais qui
seront payés par le general du Pays, avec un rup de clous à plancher et
deux maitres charpentiers pour construire un baracon qui puisse contenir
dix hommes ; que les ais soient mises en telle fa9on qu'il n'y puisse point
entrer de l'air, n'y laissant qu'une petite porte qui sera vis-à-vis où sera
posée la sentinelle, et que la sentinelle soit vue de la sentinelle qui sei*a
posée au f ornellet ; auquel f ornellet il y sera construit un autre baracon à la
méme forme que dessus. Au pied de la Royse (glacier) il y sera construit
un retranchement en le rentrant qui puisse battre à fleur toutes les per-
sonnes qui s'exposeront à vouloir passer la Royse, qui puisse contenir cent
hommes derrière du dit retranchement ; au pied du dit retranchement on y

NOTES 303

mettra des ais en fa^on d'heute qui seront charges de terre et pierres par
dessus, pour empécher Pair d'y entrer. . . .

" Le Corps de Garde de dix hommes de St. Theodelle fera une muraille
a pierre sèche au travers du susdit poste, n*y laissant que le passage d*un
homme sur la droicte en descendant en Valleys, attendu que ceux qui
monteront il faut quails viennent à la defilée d^un à un. . . .

" La Garde sera changée chaque vingtquatre heures. . . . En cas que St.
Theodelle fut attaqué, les dix hommes du fornellet iront immediatement
renforcer le poste de St. Theodelle, et les dix hommes du grand retranche-
ment iront immediatement se saisir du fornellet," &c.

And the orders ended as follows : " Le Vicaire de Valtournanche, en
semblable occasion, se tiendra au grand corps de garde, pour y assister
spiri tuellement les malades et y fera faire la prière soir et matin."

56 At the sight of the ruins De Saussure uttered the following ex-
clamation : " Ce sont vraisemblablement les fortifications les plus élevées
de notre planète. Mais pourquoi faut il que les hommes n'aient erige dans
ces hautes regions un ouvrage aussi durable, que pour y laisser un monu-
ment de leur haine et de leurs passions destructives ? "

57 '* Nous eumes pour compagnon dans une partie de ce trajet un riche
propriétaire de ces montagnes nomme L L Meynet, homme de très bonne
conversation qui paroissoit prendre intérét à nos recherches, et qui désiroit
de posseder un exemplaire de ces voyages " (De Saussure).

58 C. M. Engelhardt, ** Das Monte Rosa und Matterhorn Gebirg " (1852)
p. 243. See Wills, " Wanderings amongst the Alps " ; Corona, ** Sulle
Alpi " ; Coolidge, " Swiss Travels."

59 " I was surprised at the vigour and originality of his thoughts, and the
force and elegance of his phraseology, both of which would have done
credit to an educated man" (Wills, " Wanderings," p. 212).

^ See " Le Col de Saint Théodule, lettre à M. B. Gastaldi, President
du Club Alpino, par G. Carrel chanoine à Aoste " {Quarterly Journal of the
Italian Alpine Club, No. 3, p. 63 and following).

^' Hinchliff, who came past in 1855, describes Meynet as follows
(" Summer Months among the Alps," p. 152) : — " We found the hut in
the possession of a very fine old man, who must be either the ghost
or merely the successor of him who Mr. Wills has reason to think
perished by some unfair means. Our friend was very busy about his
house ; and its situation, at more than eleven thousand feet high, did
not seem at all to cool his satisfaction about it. He said he intended to
have another room ready for the next season, and he promised to make the
roof waterproof at the same time."

Mr. King, too, was glad to describe Meynet, who struck him as " a most
singular character," and he adds that the custom of the few travellers who
came that way during the short season could not repay the host for his
trouble and for the labour of bringing everything up to such a height, if be

304 THE MATTERHORN

had not other resources ; " but,** continues Mr. King, suggestively, *^ the
custom of the few travellers who pass in a season, if even all stayed, could
not pay him for his trouble, and the labour of transporting every article to
such a vast height, if he relied on nothing else ; but that matter we left to
his own conscience and the vigilance of the proposes " ( " Italian Valleys,"
pp. 208-213).

^ In the visitors' book at the Theodul, which was begun in 1857, there
is an emphatic inscription written as an epigraph by a certain Signor Bich,
who was the postmaster at Chàtillon, and seems to have been a fervent
admirer of Meynet. The inscription begins as follows : " Riches et
savants voyageurs qui passez par ces deserts glacés, vous tons dont le coeur
tendre et généreux aime éprouver la douce satisfaction de faire du bien,
dites à vos riches cceurs que le bon Jean Augustin Meynet est digne d'un
rayon de votre science, de vos richesses et de votre pouvoir, ..." and
actually ends with the words quoted below : " Oui ! Dans un pays où les
ressources sont très limitées, il a fallu tout le dévouement du brave Meynet,
digne successeur et neveu du courageux et habile feu Pierre Meynet, qui
fonda rasile du Col St. Théodule sur un des murs de I'ancienne tente que
fit construire Pimmortel De Saussure, pour braver tons les dangers et
soumettre à son action philanthropique la rigueur du climat. Enfin puisque
des milliers de families, d*amis, et les Gymnases, les Academies, en un mot
les sciences, et T Europe entière ont les yeux et les coeurs tournés vers le
brave Meynet pour lui recommander un fils, une épouse, un pére, une fille
et un savant ; que des coeurs done, désireux du retour de leur objet
aimé, daignent aussi se souvenir du Guide qui les a conduits, de ses soins
empresses, et de son modeste confortable dans son habitation la plus
élevée de TEurope, à 3,351 metres au dessus du niveau de la mer."
Other exhortations follow, written by the same Signor Bich in Italian,
German, and Latin. The Latin one is even more curious than the French :
** Ego autem sum ille qui nihil est et nihil habet, praeter desiderium
magnum, id est fiat salus hominum, sit gloria montis Cervini, et fiat fortuna
Johannis Agostini Meynet." The signature follows ! !

^3 Coolidge says the rush of climbers to Zermatt began in 1854.

Till 1853 not a single summit of any importance round Zermatt had
been climbed, except the easy Breithorn.

A note by G. Corona (Journal of the I.A.C., p. 138) points out that 476
travellers ascended to the Theodul Pass in 1880.

^^ The Journal of the I.A.C.j Nos. i, 2, 3. The question of the owner-
ship of glaciers was repeatedly dealt with in publications of the I.A.C.

^5 It is worthy of mention that the brothers Schlagintweit stayed on the
Theodul Pass for three days in 1851, and that DoUfns-Ausset was there in
the same year, and afterwards founded a meteorological station, main-
taining there for more than a year (1864-1865), at his own expense, three
keepers, one of whom was the Abbé Gorret's father.

NOTES 305

At that time there were two huts on the pass, one of wood and the
other of stone ; the wooden one was named Noah*s Ark by Dollf us-Ausset.

^ To this expedition belongs an anecdote, which Sella loved to relate :
His companion in the ascent was Count Paar, Austrian Charge d' Affaires
at the Court of Sardinia. The strained relations that existed at that
time from the end of one war to the beginning of the other between
Austrians and Piedmontese is well known ; but Sella and Paar had in
common their geological studies and their love of mountains. Well, during
their march over the glacier, Paar and the guide fell into a deep crevasse.
Sella quickly dug the point of his alpenstock into the snow, and was able to
withstand the pull and hold his companions by means of the rope. Sella*s
position was critical because, if the alpenstock had given way, a disaster
would have been almost inevitable. After many efforts he succeeded in
pulling them out of the chasm. It is said that when Count Paar thanked
him for having saved his life, he replied, with a sly smile, that he would
keep and value the alpenstock which had supported them ; ** if it had not
been for this stick," he added, " perhaps the German nation would have
cursed Latin perfidy " (see Guiccioli, " Quintino Sella," vol. i. p. 33).

^ J. D. Forbes, '* Travels through the Alps/' 1900 edition, p. 322.

^ Murray, " Handbook," 1846 edition, p. 289.

^ Murray's " Handbook " was careful to warn its readers that " The
Chatillon guides are not trustworthy." 1854 edition.

70 Wills, " Wanderings," p. 220.

7« Whymper, the first time he came to Valtournanche, gave utterance
to the following unflattering and perhaps unfounded verdict on the
Valtournanche guides : " Up to this time my experience with guides had
not been fortunate, and I was inclined, improperly, to rate them at a low
value. They represented to me pointers out of paths, and large consumers
of meat and drink, but little more." Those who offered themselves to him
at Chatillon seemed to him " a series of men . . . whose faces expressed
malice, pride, envy, hatred, &c." Whymper had to change his opinion
when he came to know Carrel.

72 In Caesar CaiTeKs book, under date 1868, I find the statement that
his father (Jean Jacques) was a famous guide.

73 See Cunningham and Abney, **The Pioneers of the Alps," p. 127.

CHAPTER III

' I owe this information to the courtesy of the Rev. Chanoine J. G.
Maquignaz, who in his turn had received it from the Abbé J. P. Carrel,
nephew to the Chanoine Carrel.

» See " La Vallèe de Valtornenche en 1867," J. Carrel, chanoine.
Journal of the LA.C.f vol. iii.. No. 12, p. 42.

3o6 THE MATTERHORN

3 Amé Gorret writes : " M. le chanoine Carrel, vrai valtornein, sortit la
première idée : si Ton pouvait gravir le mont Cervin, ce serait de Targent an
pays. Nous, ses parents, nous avons recueilli sa parole, et avons voulu voir
si ce n^était qu'une simple utopie, ou bien s'il y avait peut-etre du bon et du
praticable le long de la Becca."

4 He personally knew John Ball, Adams Reilly, W. Mathews, NicoUs,
Tyndall, Tuckett, and Whymper. See the description of him given by
Tuckett, who visited him in 1859 (" Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers," vol ii.
p. 261).

5 Amé Gorret writes in 1865 : " Le gout pour les courses et les ascen-
sions ne date pas de bien longtemps chez nous ; aussi entourés de men-
tagnes magnifiques, nous les ignorions ; les chasseurs seuls connaissaient
les cols, et les touristes étaient régardés a leur passage comme des mer-
veilles. Le mont Cervin, cette montagne si fière et si belle, que nous
pouvions voir tons les jours, le mont Cervin devant lequel les étrangers
s'arrétaient frappés d*admiration, le mont Cervin ne nous frappait pas "
(Feuille iV Aoste, 1865).

6 " A. Gorret, J. Antoine et J. Jacques Carrel ont gravi la Téte du Lion,
mais leur course ne fùt qu*une velléité" (Chan. G. Carrel, "La Vallèe de
Valtornenche en 1867").

7 With J. D. Forbes up the Crammont in 1842. With A. Sismonda up
the Becca di Nona in 1850. With B. Studer to the Col de Montagnaia in
1850.

Ingegnere Giordano, who visited the observatory in 1866, declared
that it was a meteorological station of the greatest importance to
Italy.

9 See " Les Alpes Pennines dans un jour, soit Panorama Boreal de la
Becca de Nona," published at Aosta in 1855.

'*> The Abbé Gorret writes concerning the Chanoine Carrel : " Elevé
dans sa jeunesse a Avouil ou à Cheneil, il a emporté de Valtournanche à
Aoste le eulte du Mont Cervin, et il était heureux dans les jours de liberté
dialler Tadmirer, le vénérer de Comboè ou au Signal Sismonda, ou à la
Becca de Nona. . . ."

" I obtained this information from the late lamented G. B. Rimini, who
was a friend of the Chanoine Carrel. Even in the last years of his life the
chanoine was wont to say : " Je finirai par faire mon panorama du haut du
Mont Cervin."

But his wish was never granted. He died in 1870. See his biography,
which was compiled by the Abbé Amé Gorret {journal of the I,A,C.,
vol. v.. No. 17).

" He took much pleasure in often mentioning with pride his descent
from the Meynet, who had accompanied De Saussure in 1792 (see
Chanoine Carrel, " Le Col du St. Théodule " and ** Les Alpes Pennines
dans un jour ").

NOTES 307

»3 A fellow-native of his village described the Chanoine Carrel as the
first of mountaineering idealists in Valtournanche.

'^ See Studer, ** Ueber Eis und Schnee," vol. ii. p. 100.

's See " The Italian Valleys of the Alps."

*^ Very little is known about the later attempts made by the men of
Valtournanche.

It is certain that in the same year, 1857, Gabriel Maquignaz and Victor
Carrel le peintre, also started to try and find a route. They took the shortest
way, up the east face of the Téte du Lion, but were prevented from going
on by the falling stones in the couloirs.

The Abbé Gorret says of this attempt in a letter : " Au fond du néve
glacier de la Téte du Lion se trouve un étroit couloir, une cheminée, et une
espèce de barme, où Ton a porte des ollines, et où Ton a dormi quelques
fois depuis.

" Je pense que c*est j usque là que sont allés Gabriel et le peintre Carrel,
et non plus loin.**

The chimney reached by them has nothing to do with the chimney to
which Whymper afterwards came. There is no doubt that Jean Antoine
Carrel tried again several times by himself and with Jean Jacques. Old
guides relate that after his first attempt he made himself a sort of axe with
which to cut steps in the ice on his expeditions.

In one of his letters Whymper writes that the Valtournanche guides in
i860 were excellent rock-climbers, being accustomed to hunting, but that
on ice or steep snow-slopes they were very poor, as they had no experience
whatever of the same. They had no ice axes. Possibly there was not a
single one in the whole valley at that time.

He states that J. A. Carrel had no axe for several years after he began
to accompany him, and he had a photograph, taken about 1863, in which
Carrel appears with an ordinary stick in his hands.

Whymper puts the early attempts made by the Valtournanche men
into one group, dated 1857-1859 ; it seems that Jean A., Jean J., and Victor
Carrel, Gabriel Maquignaz, and the Abbé Gorret took part in them. He
mentions as the furthest point reached the chimney at 3,450 metres
(11,385 feet), probably confusing it with the other chimney, which was
much lower down. He mentions, however, that several attempts were
made before this height was reached, but that those who had taken part in
them did not remember how many times they had tried (E. Whymper,
** The Ascent of the Matterhorn," 1880, Appendix E).

'7 Aubert, *• La Vallèe d* Aoste," published in Paris in i860.

'^ H. Warwick Cole, "A Lady's Tour round Monte Rosa," p. 379.

'9 Alpine Journaly vol. i. p. 77.

^ " Vacation Tourists," pp. 283-289.

»* Hawkins, however, admits that J. J. Carrel did his duty with much
goodwill and courage, and seemed ready to follow him as far as he pleased.

3o8 THE MATTERHORN

" The point they reached was probably that where the hut at the
Great Tower stands.

Whymper estimates its height at about 3,900 metres (12,870 feet), and
states that this party went about (300 feet) 100 metres further than the
farthest point attained by the early explorers.

This information confirms CarrePs having made attempts later than

1857.

According to the statements of some old guides, J. A. Carrel had
attained the spot where the Luigi Amedeo di Savoia hut now stands before
Tyndall did so, and had made this place his usual bivouac.

»3 See " Mountaineering in 1861," pp. 86, 87. Tyndall says, " Bennen
was evidently dead against any attempt upon the mountain." It is curious
that Tyndall and Bennen, observing the mountain from Breuil, mistook the
extremity of the Shoulder (afterwards named the Pic Tyndall) for one of
the two summits of the Matterhorn (Whymper, " Scrambles," p. 97).

** Peter Taugwalder asked for 200 francs, whether the summit were
attained or not.

»5 Whymper wrote concerning J. A. Carrel : " Jean Antoine Wcis . .
the finest rock-climber I have ever seen. He was the only man who per-
sistently refused to accept defeat, and who continued to believe, in spite of
all discouragements, that the great mountain was not inaccessible, and that
it could be ascended from the side of his native valley " (" Scrambles,"
p. 89).

^ As the exploration of the mountain gradually proceeded, the most
striking places received names. Of these names some were suggested b}'
Whymper, but the greater number were due to J. A. Carrel's imagination
see ^* The Ascent of the Matterhorn," E. Whymper, p. 305).

Here are the names in order of ascent : —

Col dn Liotiy 3,577 metres, or 11,804 feet.

La Chcmince (Lo Ciarfiou in the dialect), to the east of the Col du Lion.

La Tenie (about 3,800 metres, or 12,540 feet), where Whymper pitched
his second tent, and where the Luigi di Savoia hut now stands.

Degrés de la lour (Whymper's Great Staircase), the part between the
Tente and the Grande Tour.

La Grande Tour^ the conspicuous gendarme on the south-west buttress ;
at the base of this Whymper pitched his third tent. Here the second
Alpine Club Hut was built (3,890 metres, or 12,837 feet).

Le Vallon des Glafons^ to the east of the Grande Tour.

Le Gite Giordano^ a little platform on the ridge of the buttress, where
Ingegnere Giordano passed the night in 1866.

Le Mauvais Pas^ a narrow ledge of rock at the top of the Vallon des
Gla(;ons, which is negotiated with the aid of a fixed horizontal rope.

Le Linceuil^ a very steep slope of néve, which is either climbed or
skirted on the ascent.

NOTES 309

Corde Tyndall, or Grande Corde (4,080 metres, or 13,464 feet), a stretch
of almost vertical cliff about 30 metres (100 feet) high, at the upper end of
the Linceuil. Tyndall was the first to place a rope there.

La Crete du Coq, the stretch of jagged ridge on the south-west buttress,
which goes from the Grande Tour to the base of the Shoulder.

La eravate (formerly called Le Collier de la Vierge by the natives of the
valley), a ledge of rock which was always covered with snow, and which
runs from east to west under the extremity of the Shoulder, and is
slightly inclined. The first Italian hut was built there (4,122 metres, or
13,602 feet).

UEpaule^ or The Shoulder^ and the Pic Tyndall (4,245 metres, or
14,008 feet).

VEnjambcef the cleft which separates the north-east extremity of the
Shoulder from the final peak.

Le Col Félicitéy a little gap in the ridge, half-way up the final peak, and
so called after Fclicité Carrel, who ascended as far as this point in 1867.

UEchelle Jordan^ the rope ladder below the summit, called after the
English climber, Leighton Jordan, who had it put up at his own expense
by the Valtournanche guides.

Le Gite Wentworth^ a small level space near the summit, where Lord
Went worth spent the night in 187 1.

Le Pas Thiolyj the last corner on the ridge to the south-east before the
summit is reached, at about 20 metres (66 feet) from the latter ; so called
after M. Thioly, who passed it in 1868.

'7 This inscription is still visible on the cliff at the foot of the Créte du
Coq, after the Mauvais Pas is passed. On the same rock, beside the initials
of J. Antoine, E. Whymper and Luc Meynet carved their own in the
following year, 1862.

=^ Regarding the character and adventures of J. A. Carrel, consult the
excellent biography by Luigi Vaccarone in the Journal of the LA.C.^
vol. xxiv., No. 57. From a letter written by the same to the Abbé Gorret
I quote the following valuable opinion : —

" Carrel, in respect of the exercise of his calling, does not lay himself
open to any accusation ; he has always done his duty, and this is stated
and confirmed by the numerous testimonials from persons worthy of all
credit, which can be read in his guide's book."

=9 See " La Vallèe de Valtournanche in 1867," p. 42.

3° The Abbé Gorret writes in 1865 : " En 1862 MM. Tyndall et
Whymper donncrent plus que jamais vie au problème de Tascension, et
légitimèrent les tentatives aux yeux du peuple, piusqu^l y avait gain et
journée."

In the winter of the same year Kennedy made his attempt on the
Zermatt side ; he reached a height of 3,300 metres (10,890 feet) (see
Alpine Journal^ vol. i.).

3iò THE MATTERHORN

3» **Want of men made the difficulty, not the mountain" (Whymper,
** Scrambles," p. 105).

32 Corona, ^* Aria di Monti."

Luc Meynet was wont to relate the following anecdote about his
adventures with Whymper : —

On their return from one of their many adventurous attempts, in the
course of which the whole party had all but been swept away by an
avalanche of stones, Whymper, Croz, the Chamonix guide, and Meynet
were resting on the Furggenjoch. Whymper was making barometrical
observations, Croz was smoking his pipe ; Luc waited patiently till Croz
had finished, and then, taking off his hat, most respectfully asked him to
lend him his pipe because he had left his own at home.

" You might as well have left your head there too, drole dc hossu" was
Croz's reply. " Do you imagine I am going to lend my pipe to a half-man
like you ? "

The poor man did not answer a word, but Whymper, who had over-
heard the dialogue, came up to him with two cigars. ** Here," he said,
" you smoke too."

And Luc proudly lit a cigar, straightened himself to the best of his
ability, and strutted about in front of Croz, puffing clouds of smoke into
his face.

They started for Breuil, and on the way down the Furggen glacier Croz
walked quickly, hoping to make Luc, who was laden with the tent, slip,
but Luc managed the rope in such a way that he saved himself from being
pulled down by the insidious jerks.

It happened that Croz fell into a crevasse and was held up by the
strength and foresight of Luc.

The moral of the story was then pointed by Whymper, who turned to
Croz and said : " Sachez, Croz, qu'on a souvent besoin d'un plus petit
que soi."

This tale shows the keen antagonism which existed at that time between
Valtournanche guides and those from other places.

33 The account of the attempt should be read in TyndalFs work,
*^ Hours of Exercise in the Alps."

The old Bich said that when he ascended the peak with Carrel and
Gorret in 1865, he found at the base of the part called the ^' grande corde^^^
a few pieces of the ladder which Tyndall had used to climb this place.

As regards the Enjanibéc, we must correct Whymper's error in ascribing
this name, or, as he wrote it, ^* TAnge Anbc," to a pinnacle of rock which
rises between the gap at the end of the Shoulder and the final peak (see
'* The Ascent of the Matterhorn," Whymper, p. 90).

The Enjambée is the gap which separates the Shoulder from the final
peak, and was called so because of the long step required to cross it. Some
say that the name was due to the fact that it was necessary to step over the

NOTES 311

stone man built by the Valtournanche guides at the bottom of the cleft (see
Louis d'Orleans, " Dans les Alpes," p. 125).

34 Tyndall did not fail to recognise the excellent qualities of Carrel as
a most useful companion and a first-class cragsman. In Carrel's book he
wrote the following statement : —

" Jean Antoine Carrel accompanied me up the Matterhorn on the 27th-
28th of July, 1862. He proved himself an extremely good man on this
occasion. He is a very superior climber, and, I believe, an excellent guide.
Many times during the ascent I had occasion to observe his skill and
activity. He has served in two campaigns, has been at Novara and
Solferino, and the discipline of a soldier's life renders him acquainted with
many things which are useful to a mountaineer. I can express without
reserve my entire satisfaction as regards Carrel's conduct through a very
difficult day. — Breuil, 29th of July, 1862."

35 See Ciro d'Arco, " Cinque giorni di cura " (A ìnve days' cure) {Review
of the Aipsj Apennines^ and Volcanoes^ 1866).

36 This is the conspiracy to which Studer alludes (*' Ueber Eis und
Schnee," vol. ii. p. loi).

I obtained this information from the late lamented G. B. Rimini, who
was present at the meeting. The foundation of the Alpine Club was
formally proclaimed in the same place, on October 23rd, after Quintino
Sella's ascent of Monte Viso, and it is certain that on that occasion the
execution of that project, which was looked upon as a national vindication,
was again discussed (see Chanoine G. Carrel, " La Vallèe de Valtomenche
en 1867").

37 On the occasion of this attempt, Whymper wrote the following
testimonial in Carrel's book : —

"... He is a first-rate walker, very good indeed on rocks, and very
good at anything. He is a most desirable man for any one who wants to
make new excursions. — Valtournanche, August 11, 1863."

38 Giordano ascended Mt. Blanc from the Col du Géant by the Tacul.
He wished by means of this ascent to show his Italian colleagues how

easily the mountain could be climbed from Courmayeur (see his account in
the journal 0/ the LA.Cj vol. iv. No. 14).

39 See Ciro d'Arco, "Cinque giorni di cura" (A five days' cure) {Review
oj the Alpsy Apennines^ and Volcanoes^ vol. iii., 1866).

^° Giordano afterwards declared in a letter to Bartolomeo Gastaldi, that
the attempt on the Matterhorn in 1865 was chiefly made with the object of
making its ascent feasible for Quintino Sella, who wished to make some
important observations on it,

4' " Scrambles," p. 380.

-♦' The account written by the Abbé Gorret, who was at the Jomein
during those very days, confirms these facts : " Les Carrel venaient de
s'engager à Whymper pour I'ascension du Cervin le 9 et le io Juillet, en

312 THE MATTERHORN

cas de beau temps : Tessai devait se faire sur le versant Suisse. Le jour
precedent, 8 Juillet, arrive de Turin M. Tlngénieur Giordano auquel le
bersalier était engagé depuis un an. Grand embarras pour Carrel ;
Giordano n'aurait jamais voulu que Carrel eut manque à son engagement
avec Whymper ; Carrel ne voulait et ne pouvait quitter Giordano, et
pourtant il était lie. Le temps trancha le question ; il fut mauvais."

« See Alpine Journal^ vol. v. p. 329. The editor of the Alpine Journal
concluded the controversy between Tyndall and Whymper by pointing
out that it was only natural for Carrel to look with a somewhat jealous eye
on any one who came to snatch from him the honour he had so ardently
desired all his life, and that he must not be judged too hardly if he did not
show much anxiety to assist a foreign guide to ascend the mountain.

^* I owe these valuable letters to the courtesy of the Sella family.

*5 Giordano*s other guides were Caesar Carrel, son to Jean Jacques,
Charles Gorret, brother to the Abbé Gorret, and Jean Joseph Maquignaz.
The latter was only in his first mountaineering season, and was enrolled
in order that he might make himself useful in his quality of miner and
stonemason by fixing the steel spikes in the rock.

To him was entrusted the heavy sack containing the iron (see Alfonso
Sella, " Biography of G. Maquignaz/* Journal of the I,A,C^^ vol. xxiv.
No. 57, p. 30).

<^ The guides* pay was agreed upon at 20 francs each, for every
working day in fine weather, with food in addition.

47 It is well known how the minister Sella was beset at that time by
innumerable difficulties of the gravest description, in the matters of the
application of serious financial measures which he himself had proposed in
March, and of the transfer of the capital to Florence (see Guiccioli,
" Quintino Sella," vol. i. p. 107).

*^ It seems clear that Whymper had it already in his mind to try to
ascend on the Swiss side. He says in his book (" Scrambles," p. 289) that
he had gradually acquired the conviction that the east face would afford
the easiest way to the summit, and he adds that in 1864 he had proposed
to Reilly to make the attempt, and that if he had not been obliged to part
from the latter, the mountain would certainly have been conquered in
that year.

*9 The messenger was the Abbé Gorret.

5° Whymper relates that Croz, catching sight of the Italians from the
summit, exclaimed : " Ah ! les coquins, ils sont loin en bas."

5» See Gorret, "Ascension du M. Cervin," and Alpine Journal^ vol. ii.
p. 239. I have followed the Abbé Gorret's account ; he wrote : " lis n'étaient
encore que sur I'Epaule a quelque distance au de^adu Signal Tyndall quand
Whymper et sa bande les avaicnt appelés par leur cris du sommet de la
pyramide." From this it is evident that, when Carrel and his companions
saw Whymper on the summit, they were still ascending. Others, Whymper

NOTES

313

among them, gave a different account ; Whymper says, after he.iring Carrel's
story, that the party had reached the extremity of the Shoulder, at the base
of the final peak, that there opinions became divided ; J. A. Carrel and
J. J. Maquignaz wished to proceed, whilst the others were unwiUing, and
the result of the dispute was that they all retreated, and it was only when
they were on the rocks near the Gravate, on their descent, that they heard
Whymper's shouts. The cause of their retreat was, then, the dispute between
the guides, and not the sight of the Englishman's victory (E. Whymper,
" The Ascent of the Matterhorn," p. 304 D). The first version seems, how-
ever, to be the true one, and it was verbally confirmed to me by the Abbé
Gorret himself. Another complete confirmation of it appeai-s in Felice
Giordano's diary, in which, dated July 14th, is the followingnote : "... At
3 p.m. they saw Whymper and six others on the top ; this froze Ihem, as it
were, and ihey all turned and descended, . . ." Carrel's conduct on that
day, the 14th of July, was commented on and discussed in Italy and abroad.
In an article by Messrs. Adams Reilly and C. E. Mathews, which was
published in the Feuiile d 'Aosle (August 21, 1866). is the following observa-
tion : "On ne pent s'empècher de faire observer que, pour réussir dans ces
ascensions il faut partir de grand matin, aux premiers rayons de l'aurore.
Si les guides de Valtournanche en avaient fait autant le 14 Juillet, 1865, its
auraient pu arriver sur (le) somniet du Mont Cervin avant M. Whymper et
ses malheureux compagnous. Le chef de ces guides n'a pas voulu sortir
de sa tente avaut six heures du matin. Aussi ses compagnous en ont ils été
si iudigncs qu'ils n'ont plus voulu I'accompagner dans l'ascension qui eut
heu trois jours apres." The Chanoine Carrel added (journal of the I.A.C,
vol. iii., No. 12, p. 48) : " D'un autre coté des Messieurs qui prétcndent
bien connaitre les persannes et les choses, unt fait observer que ceux qui
faisaient des grands sacrifices pour l'ascension du Mont Cervin du còte de
l'Italie, auraient pu agir d'une autre manière pour y réussir certainemeut :
an lieu de donuer taut par jour aux guides explorateurs, ils devaient leur
promettre une bonne somme d'argent pour prix de leur ascension. C'est ce
que fait un general d'armée quand il veut emporter d'assaut une batterie ou
une place. II ne faut pas pour les ascensions des hautes cimes des Alpes
de Fabius Cunctator." The Chanoine Carrel's severe criticism of J.
Antoine's conduct is in strange contrast with the unshaken goodwill
with which Giordano speaks of his guide in his writings.

s' Gorret was suggesting the route afterwards discovered by J. J.
Maquignaz.

S3 On the descent Carrel and Bich, having rejoined their companions,
who were awaiting them, followed as far as the Shoulder a route that was
somewhat different from the one they had used on-the ascent, and rather
e.isier : that is to say, they traversed the whole length of the ledge of rock
on the north-west face of the mountain, which ledge they had named the
Corridor, and thus reached the point where the arète of the Shoulder comes

314 THE MATTERHORN

to an end ag«itnst the final peak. This variant was afterwards used by
Mr. Craufurd Grove, both on the ascent and the descent.

54 Gorret writes : ** Du Col du Lion nous vimes flotter un drapeau, puis
deux, puis trois ; la fatigue s*évanouit, nous étions hors de danger, et Fon
nous avait vus. Nous éprouvàmes tous un saisissement de plaisir ^n
remettant le pied sur le gazon. Nous retrouvàines la parole : nous n'avions
presque dit mot en tout le temps, excepté : courage . . . prudence . . .
attention. J*avouais à mes compagnons que je n'avais osé de tout le temps
m'arréter à la pensee que je serais redescendu ; leurs impressions avaient
été les mémes."

55 The very bad weather which had set in also prevented Arturo Perrone
of S. Martino from making an attempt, though he came up to Valtoumanche
shortly afterwards in order to do so. He then made a few expeditions
with Carrel, among which were the Chateau des Dames, the Crammont, the
Col de Valpélline, and the Col du Théodul.

5^ On July 1 8th Carrel decided to write to Sella to excuse himself for
what had occurred. Here is his simple letter : —

" M. Sella, — Vous pouvez penser, M., comme je suis chagriné de ce qui
est arrive, mais sans notre faute. Aujourd'hui M. Giordano voulait encore
vous appeler pour monter au moins le premier Monsieur du Coté d* Italie,
mais le temps s'est gate, et, avant de pouvoir conduire au sommet un
voyageur, je devrais encore arranger un mauvais passage. Ecrivez-moi de
suite si vous pouvez venir, et j^arrangerai. — Votre serviteur, Carrel Jean
Antoine."

Quintino Sella did not come then to the Matterhorn ; grave cares kept
him elsewhere. On the 20th of July he had started for the new capital
to take up his abode there, and he was busily studying with Perazzi the
thorny proposal for the tax on flour, which was destined to make him
popular in Italy by sheer unpopularity.

In August he rushed off to Ancona, where cholera was raging, and spent
several days there during the height of the epidemic. His noble and
perilous task of bringing comfort and succour to the stricken city may well
have consoled him for having failed to be the iirst to climb the Matterhorn.
He did not ascend it till twelve years later, at the age of fifty and then he
took his sons with him. " What a beautiful mountain ! ** he wrote after
his ascent, to a friend of his ; " you understand beauty . . . but you can
form no idea of beauty such as that of the Matterhorn.

** I thought that by now I had a fairly good knowledge of mount;uns, of
their attractions and their poetry ; but when I ascended the Matterhorn I
was forced to confess to myself that I knew nothing, so great is the difference
between this unique mass and other mountains. Therefore you may all
scold me as much as you will, but if the opportunity presents itself I shall
climb the Matterhorn again. A little risk does not matter. At any rate up
there a man does not merely hurt or cripple himself : if his foot slips he

NOTES 315

takes a leap of perhaps half a mile. You will agree with me that that would
at least be a decent death.

" I regretted somewhat having taken my sons with me, for, as regards
myself, I have passed half a century, and there would not be much harm in
ridding Italy of my person ; but it would be a pity to lose vigorous youths.
But they, too, were so happy, so enthusiastic over the stupendous spectacle !
If you only saw their faces when they speak of it.'* (This letter is quoted
by Guiccioli.)

The ascent was accompanied by an incident which might have resulted
in a terrible disaster. J. A. Carrel, when he reached the rope which is
before the part called the Echelle, suspected that the rope was not firmly
fastened, and climbed up the rock in order to make sure. His foot slipped,
however, and he was obliged to have recourse to the rope to support him-
self, when the rope became suddenly detached, with the result that the
guide fell 12 or 15 feet, over Sella*s head. Fortunately Carrel was able to
clutch the rocks firmly and to bring himself to a standstill on a small level
space, whilst Sella had been prepared to withstand the jerk on the rope
which bound them together. Antonio Castagneri, who was in the party,
used to tell how the guide Imseng then tried in vain to climb that piece,
which was now without a rope, and how they had to wait till Carrel had
recovered from the shock and was able to take his post as leader again, and
overcome the difficult bit. Stains of his blood were seen on the rocks by
those who followed.

57 See Alpine Journal^ vol. ii. p. 148.

58 I quote from the letter written at that time by Whymper to the Times^
which was published in the Review of the Aips^ Apennines^ and Vol-
canoes^ vol. ii., 1865 : —

" As far as I know, at the moment of the accident no one was actually
moving. I cannot speak with certainty, neither can the Taugwalders,
because the two leading men were partially hidden from our sight by an
intervening mass of rock. Poor Croz had laid aside his axe, and, in order
to give Mr. Hadow greater security, was absolutely taking hold of his legs
and putting his feet, one by one, into their proper positions. From the
movements of their shoulders it is my belief that Croz, having done as I
have said, was in the act of turning round to go down a step or two
himself ; at this moment Mr. Hadow slipped, fell on him, and knocked him
over. I heard one startled exclamation from Croz, then saw him and
Mr. Hadow flying downwards ; in another moment Hudson was dragged
from his steps and Lord F. Douglas immediately after him. All this was
the work of a moment ; but immediately we heard Croz's exclamation,
Taugwalder and myself planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks would
permit ; the rope was tight between us, and the shock came on us as on
one man. We held ; but the rope broke midway between Taugwalder
and Lord F. Douglas. For two or three seconds we saw our unfortunate

3i6 THE MATTERHORN

companions sliding downwards on their backs, and spreading out their
hands endeavouring to save themselves ; they then disappeared one by
one and fell from precipice to precipice on to the Mattcrhorn glacier below,
a distance of nearly 4,000 feet in height. From the moment the rope broke
it was impossible to help them."

Whymper wrote also at the time to Signor Rimini, the Secretary of
the I.A.C. His letter ends thus : —

** A single slip, or a single false step, has been the sole cause of this
frightful calahiity. . . . But, at the same time, it is my belief no accident
would have happened had the rope between those who fell been as tight,
or nearly as tight, as it was between Taugwalder and myself."

Their rope was a weak one ; it does not appear to have been cut by the
rocks, but to have been broken by the shock and the weight it was called
upon to sustain. It is said Croz held Hadow for an instant, and still tried
to check the fall even after Hudson and Douglas had been pulled out of
their steps, but in vain ; his last word was ** Impossible ! " so the Taiig-
walders said (see G. Studer, *' Ueber Eis und Schnee ").

59 G. Studer asserts that a few years later Lord F. Douglas's body was
found hanging on the rocks, and was brought down with much difficulty
and danger (** Ueber Eis und Schnee," vol. ii., 1870, p. 97). How-
ever, Giordano in 1868 mentions that Douglas's body had not yet been
found.

^ Byron, ** Manfred," Act i.

^' Mr. Hadow was nineteen years old, and this was his first season in
the Alps.

^* In the Review of the Alps, Apennines^ and Volcanoes^ vol. ii. p. 2^2
(1866), there is a splendid illustration of the Matterhorn, in which the site
of the " grotte à faire " is marked on the Gravate.

The proposal to build a refuge on the slopes of the Great Matterhorn
(Gran Cervino), as it was then called, was made by the Chanoine Carrel on
September 13, 1865, in a letter which he wrote to the President of the
Italian Alpine Club.

After enumerating the advantages of such a building, the letter ended as
follows : ** Est-on pris par le mauvais temps ? On pourrait méme au besoin
y passer une semaine, moyennant des provisions suffisantes. Je vous
communique une idée ; communique/, la à vos amis et rcfléchissez-y. La
conservation de la vie vaut bien quelques cent francs."

As an inducement to subscribe, it was proposed to carve the names of
those who did so on the wall of the cave.

^3 Craufurd Grove writes that in 1867 it was the guides' opinion that
the north side was better for the ascent and the south side for the descent,
and that at any rate the southern slope was the more difficult.

The Alpine Journal made the following observation : " However much
the guides may have improved the southern arete, it is not probable that

NOTES 317

this route will be often followed, as the southern side of the mountain is
raked night and day by incessant falls of stones, while on the northern side
no risk is run from this source " (vol. ii. p. 154).

F. Giordano, after his traverse of the Matterhorn (in 1868), rightly
considered the Swiss side to be easier but more dangerous than the more
laborious Italian side.

64 Vol. i.

^s Alpine journal, vol. iv.

^ He had set up another barometrical station on the Theodul Pass.

^7 The place was afterwards called the ** Gite Giordano.'*

^ The modest refuge on the Gravate was erected in 1867, and sufficed
for many years ; in fact, until the hut at the Grande Tour was built. The
proposal for the construction of the latter came from the Aosta section of
the I.A.C. in 1878, and was warmly supported by Sella, Budden, and
Corona, and the hut was completed in 1885. In 1893 the present hut,
which is called after Prince Louis Amadeus of Savoy, was built by the
Turin section in a more suitable spot, about 330 feet (100 metres) lower
down. The first refuge on the Swiss side (Alte Hùtte) was constructed in
1868.

^ In 1877 Signor Luigi DeirOro's and Signora Luigia Biraghi's party
— she being the first Italian lady to ascend the Matterhorn — is known to
have been obliged to spend five days at the Gravate.

7*^ In an account of this expedition, contained in a letter to Bartolomeo
Gastaldi, President of the Turin Alpine Club, Giordano remarked that it
might with reason be called " A week on the Great Matterhorn (Gran
Cervino).*'

Here are some of Giordano's principal measurements : —

Col du Lion 3>6io metres, or 11,913 feet.

First tent platform

Gite Giordano

Refuge at the grotto on the Gravate

Tyndall's stone man (?)

Shoulder

Summit

3,860

12,738

3.963

13,078

4.134

>»

13,642

4,260

14,058

4,273

>»

14,431

4,50s

14,866

M
♦ »

Giordano obtained the last measurement by means of a mercurial
barometer, which he had taken up to the Italian summit.

De Saussure's measurement (by trigonometry) had made the height of
the Matterhorn 4,522 metres, or 14,922 feet. The Dufour map, which was
afterwards followed by the Italian surveyors, gave 4,482 metres, or 14,790
feet, as the height of the Swiss summit.

7' " It is hardly necessary to say that the difficulties to be encountered
in ascending this mountain are of the worst kind. I cannot speak too
highly of the admirable skill with which they were overcome by Carrel and

3i8 THE MATTERHORN

of the care with which, during the expedition, he provided against ex'erj'
chance of accident. — ^Zermatt, August i6, 1867."

7» A proof of the enterprising spirit of the Valtorneins was given by the
discovery of a new passage in July, 1887, by the guide J. B. Aymonod. In
the preceding year a fall of stones had swept away the rope-ladder at the
Passage Jordan ; the ascent of the Matterhorn on the Italian side was
hindered by this, and the local guides suffered. Aymonod, acconipanied
by J. R. Perruquet and J. B. Maquignaz, climbed to a point about sixty
metres (200 feet) below the Passage, and, turning off to the right, reached
the base of the chimney which comes down between the Italian summit
and the Swiss. He went up this chimney by very difficult rocks to the
summit.

This new route was followed in August of the same year by Signor
J. Pigozzi, of the Bologna section of the I.A.C., and shortly afterwards by
Signor P. Morani, of the Milan section, both of them accompanied by
Aymonod.

Dr. Gussfeldt used it to descend in the same year.

The rope-ladder was subsequently replaced on the old route, and
Aymonod's variant was no longer followed.

73 A. F. Mummery, " My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus," p. 357.

74 In E. Whymper^s work, "The Ascent of the Matterhorn," there is an
approximate list of all the ascents of the Matterhorn up to 1879. The first
Italian party to climb the mountain after Giordano was that of Signor
Augustin Pession, who was Mayor of Valtournanche at the time, and Signor
Albin Lucat, a Chatillon notary. Their ascent took place in 1873 (see
Journal of the I.A.C.j vol. viii. No. 22). The first Italian climber who
traversed the Matterhorn after Giordano from Breuil to Zermatt, sleeping
at the eravate refuge, was Alessandro Emilio Martelli, whom I have
much pleasure in mentioning as one of the first and most diligent Italian
explorers of these mountains, and one of the most ardent lovers of the
Val Tournanche.

75 "The Matterhorn rains down day and night rocks and stones, and
stones and rocks."

76 Vittorio Sella, leaving the Jomein at ii p.m. on March i6th, reached
the summit at 2 p.m. on the 17th, and the Swiss hut at 7.30 p.m. The
Alpine Journal declared that this expedition was undoubtedly the most
remarkable one that had ever been made in the winter season (vol. x. p. 494)

77 1879. — William Moseley, of Boston, slipped and fell at a place
near the Alte Hutte, whilst he was descending unroped.

1886. — Mr. Borckhardt, after a terrible stormy night spent on the rocks
at 2,900 metres (9,570 feet), died in the morning of hunger and cold, after
being abandoned by his friend and his guides.

1890. — Mr. Goers, of Strassburg, fell with his guides, A. Graven and
J. Brantschen, from a spot very ne^r the summit.

NOTES 319

1900. — The guide Furrer, of Zermatt, was struck dead by an avalanche
of stones in the couloir at the base of the Matterhorn, which leads down
on to the Furggen glacier.

7^ In 1893 young Mr. Andrew Seiler, of Zermatt, and his guide, J.
Biener, fell near the place called the New Chimney, on their way up to the
Italian hut. I do not class as Alpine disasters proper either the death of
the old guide Brantschen, which occurred in the Gravate refuge in 1879, or
that of J. A. Carrel, which took place on the lower cliffs of the Téte du Lion
in 1890, for both of these were due to exhaustion or to illness.

79 See Emile Javelle*s fine work, " Souvenirs d*un Alpiniste.'*

^ In 1890 the Federal Government was asked simultaneously by the
same contractor for a concession for the Zermatt- Go rnergrat railway, and
for a Zermatt- Matterhorn one. The Gornergrat railway was constructed,
and has been working since 1899, but fortunately there has been no more
talk of the other. An account of Ingénieur Xaver Imfelds* bold project
was pubHshed in Th. Wundt^s valuable work, ** Das Matterhorn." It
essentially consists of a line which goes up to the Hornli, and continues
thence in a rectilinear tunnel about two kilometres (one and a quarter miles
approximately) long, built under the ridge, and issuing near the summit
on the Zmutt side.

®' A. F. Mummery was the first to ascend on the Zmutt side, on
September 3, 1879. Mr. W. Penhall went up the same day by a slightly
different route. Three days afterwards Herr J. Baumann followed in
Mummery's footsteps.

^* On July 16, 1880, Mummery made the first ascent of the Furggen
ridge, up to the level of the Swiss Shoulder. From there he traversed
along the east face and attained at great risk the Swiss ridge, at the point
where the Shoulder joins the final peak of the mountain ; thence he
climbed to the summit by the ordinary route (see A. F. Mummery,
" My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus," p. 24). This work, which is
without doubt one of the finest in Alpine literature, has lately been
translated into French by M. Maurice Paillon, under the title of " Mes
escalades dans les Alpes et le Caucase" (Paris, 1903).

CHAPTER IV

> " Lofty Alps, like lofty characters, require for their due appreciation
some elevation in the spectator " (Leslie Stephen).

» See ** II Biellese," " Youthful Memoirs," p. 372 and ff.

3 This range, which comprises peaks of exceeding difficulty,:had been
partly explored about that time by G. Corona.

Subsequently it was examined by Italians and others, and now the
names it has received make it appear like a page out of the almanack de

320 THE MATTERHORN

Gotha of Italian mountaineering : there is a Punta Margherita ; there are
the Punte Budden, Giordano, Sella, Lioy, Carrel, and Maquignaz.

* The first man to accomplish the difficult and dangerous passage of
the Col du Lion, from Zermatt to Breuil, was A. F. Mummery, with
A. Burgener as guide, on the 6th of July, 1880.

5 Whymper, having revisited the scene of his battle, wrote as follows
in Notes to the Preface of the fifth edition of ** Scrambles Among the
Alps," which was published in 1900 : —

** In August, 1895 (?), I ascended the S.W. ridge as far as the base of
the Great Tower. . . . More than thirty years had passed since my last
visit, and I found that great changes had taken place in the interval.

" The summit of the Col du Lion was lower than it was formerly, from
diminution of the snow ; and the passage across it was shorter than it used
to be. For the next 150 feet or so of ascent there was little alteration, but
thence upwards the ridge had tumbled to pieces, and many familiar places
were unrecognisable.

** No spot on this ridge is more firmly fixed in my recollection than the
Chimney.

** Only a remnant of it was left — more than half of the Chimney had
disappeared ; and from that point upwards everything was altered.
Difficult places had become easy, and easy places had become difficult.

"The angle in which a thick, knotted rope is now dangling, which is
now one of the steepest bits of the ascent, did not exist in 1864."

(Whymper here means the pitch above Seiler's Slab, the little platform
on which the Swiss climber's fatal slip occurred.)

About a fortnight after this visit of Whymper' s, on the 9th of September,
a terrible fall of rock took place on a part of the ridge below the Great Tower,
wreaking havoc on the ridge underneath, destroying and carrying away the
fixed ropes, and quite altering the appearance of this part of the mountain.

Traces of this fall are still visible.

A great English climber, Mr. W. E. Davidson, who has climbed the
Matterhorn six times and traversed it {wCy relates that he was that evening
in the Refuge at the Great Tower, and found himself unable to proceed
any further on the descent, owing to the dangerous condition of the
mountain between the hut and the Col du Lion, the whole distance being
continuously swept by falling stones.

He says that the sight was a most extraordinary one. He descended
the next morning before the sun touched the rocks and started the stones
falling again. Under normal conditions this stretch, like the whole of the
Matterhorn on the Italian side, is free from this danger.

6 The ropes on the Matterhorn are provided by the Italian Alpine Club,
and are fixed by the Valtournanchc guides every time it becomes necessary
to renew them.

On an average, and barring exceptional cases, they last eight years.

NOTES ìit

7 Emile Javelle wrote : " Du coté de Zermatt, le Cervin n*est qu*une
immense pyramide unie et régulière. Plusieurs touristes qui n'ont pas
compris le caractère grandiose de cette simplicité, en ont declare Tascension
tout à fait monotone ; autant vaut dire que Dante n'est pas amusant, on que
la mer est uniforme."

* A great deal was written about the Borckhardt catastrophe and the
way in which his friend and his guides abandoned him (see Alpine
Journal^ voK xiii.). The guides, who were young and inexperienced, did not
see what was their bounden duty ; they started down too late to have any
chance of bringing help in time to the traveller, and too soon in that they
did not stop to close the dying man*s eyes.

The Government of the Valais published after this a new code of rules
for the guides, with strict injunctions and very heavy fines. This code did
not, however, meet with the approval of the Alpine Clubs, and never came
practically into force.

9 Whymper reckons that the total length of the ropes fixed on both
sides of the Matterhorn is about 300 meters (990 feet) (see " Zermatt and
the Matterhorn," p. 182).

Not all these ropes are indispensable ; as far as the Italian side is con-
cerned it seems to me that only four should be retained, namely : the one
in the new chimney below the Luigi Amedeo di Savoia hut, the grande
corde below the Shoulder, the rope before the ladder, and the ladder
itself ; the suppression of the others would make the ascent harder, but
not more dangerous.

»° The real significance of an ascent of the Matterhorn was well under-
stood by Theophile Gauthier, who wrote as follows in a letter from
Zermatt, on the occasion of a climber's return from the summit of that
peak : —

" Quoique la raison y puisse objecter, cette lutte de Thomme avec la
montagne est poétique et noble. La foule qui a Tinstinct des grandes
choses environne ces audacieux de respect, et, a la descente, toujours
leur fait une ovation.

" lis sont la volonté protestant contre Tobstacle aveugle, et ils plantent
sur rinaccessible le drapeau de Tintelligence humaine."

CHAPTER V

' Desor, " Excursions et séjours dans les glaciers," 1844.

» The history of the development of Zermatt is exhaustively dealt with
in the Rev. W. CooHdge's work, " Swiss Travels and Guide Books."

Mr. Alexander Seiler, starting from quite small beginnings, succeeded
in building up a most important industry in his Alpine hotels, of which he
founded several, among them the Riffel and the Riffelalp.

322 THE MATTERHORN

In his later years he frequently had to provide for two thousand guests
daily.

Honest and cordial, he was much beloved by travellers. It was said that,
just as one could not imagine Zermatt without the Matterhom, so it could
not be imagined without Seiler.

He died in 1891 (see Alpine Journal^ 1891, No. 493).

The Monte Rosa Hotel was called by Mathews " the mountaineer's true
home."

3 Topffer, '' Melanges."

* See Gazette de Lausanne, October 27, 1894.

In this paper some most interesting discussions were carried on in 1894
and 1897 concerning the pros and cons of high mountain railways. The
same subject was dealt with in the Swiss magazine, VEcho des Alpes^ by
G. Pfeiffer, ** La mort d'un Sommet" (1891), and by A. de Morsier,
"A propos des Chemins de fer de Montagne" (1896).

See also Rod's novel, " La-haut," p. 185.

In the recently published volume **La Suisse au XIX Siècle" (pubHsher,
Payot, Lausanne, 1901), Rod returns with much ardour to this subject, in
the chapter entitled " La Montagne Suisse," pp. 397-424.

5 See Penhall's and Mummery's accounts, Alpine journal, vol. ix.
pp. 449 and 458.

Mummery ascended by the Zmutt spur, which separates the Matterhom
glacier from that of Tiefenmatten, and, having reached without difficulty
the point where the spur joins the peak, and overcome some hard rock
teeth, went straight up the difficult face, till he attained the upper Zmutt
ridge, and by it the summit.

Penhall started from the Tiefenmatten glacier, went up the west face,
and (crossed) at a certain height the couloir (to the south of the Zmutt
spur), which was afterwards named after him ; he then lost his way, and
lost much time amid indescribable difficulties.

According to Penhall, Mummery's route is the longer of the two, and,
though easier for the first three hours, entails in the middle part greater
danger from falling stones.

He considered that the Tiefenmatten face, up which he climbed,
presented, indeed, greater and more continuous difficulties but less
danger.

Yet Penhall's route has never been followed since, whereas Mummery's
has been used about ten times, either up or down.

The aspect of the wall Penhall climbed is anything but encouraging,
and Messrs. G. Lammer's and A. Lorria's experience of it on the 3rd of
August, 1887, confirms the report of its difficulty, and also shows up its
danger.

Dr. Guido Lammer described the events of that terrible day in the
Oesicncichischc Alpcn Zeitung, vol. ix. No, 188, p. 205.

NOTES 323

The two skilled mountaineers, without guides, had ascended the
Tiefenmatten face by Penhairs route.

At I p.m. they were on a level with the teeth on the Zmutt spur. The
face was glazed with black ice, and in a most dangerous condition.

They decided to turn back

About five o'clock they were crossing the Penhall couloir when a small
snow avalanche fell towards them from above. It did not strike them, but
flowing down at their feet, it made them lose their balance and carried
them down in a leap of 150 to 200 metres (500 to 600 feet).

Dr. Lammer relates that during those very short moments a crowd of
the most varied thoughts flashed through his mind with extraordinary
clearness ; and, while the consequences of such a fall were thoroughly
evident to him, he had time to think of his home, of a certain Alpine and
literary controversy, of indiarubber balls rebounding with prodigious
elasticity, &c., &c., all which led him to the conclusion that death by
falling must be quite painless.

When at last they stopped Lammer felt an intense pain in his foot,
which had been dislocated.

His friend was lying motionless a short distance away. He had a terrible
wound on his forehead and a broken leg ; the rope, which had become
much entangled during the fall, was compressing his neck ; he was un-
conscious, and when he recovered consciousness he was seized with
delirium, unbroken by any lucid interval. Dr. Lammer attempted to drag
him down-hill over the snow, but his companion howled with pain, cursed
imaginary assassins, clutched himself with his hands, and rolled about on
the avalanche snow. Lammer was prevented by his own condition and
the difficulty of the place they were in, from making any other efforts to
convey his friend downwards ; he laid him on a mound of snow, threw his
own jacket over his shoulders, and put his hands into a pair of stockings.
He wished to tie him to a rock with the rope, but it seemed to him cruel
to make it impossible for his friend to move if he should recover
consciousness.

He shouted loudly and frequently for help, but no voice was heard in
reply. He then descended alone, without an axe, without his coat, and
without a hat ; he dragged himself across the glacier to the Stockje hut on
the opposite side. Finding no one there he resumed his journey, and
limped and crawled, as best he could, down the long Zmutt glacier,
till at nightfall he was knocking, quite exhausted, at the door of the
Staffel Alp.

The relief party which he sent off reached the spot where Lorria was
lying at eight in the morning, and found him still unconscious. In his
delirium he had torn off his clothes.

Lorria suffered long from the effects of his fall.

This event was followed by a violent controversy. Some firmly main-

ÌH THE MATTÉkHORN

tained that the accident was due to the absence of guides, while others
were convinced that it would have occurred just the same if a guide had
been with the climbers.

As usual, each party remained of their own opinion. But no controversy
can obscure the heroism of Lammer's wonderfully brave conduct.

I do not know whether it is mountaineering which forms such characters
as these, or whether it is that such characters are instinctively attracted by
mountaineering.

In either case mountaineers may take comfort to themselves.

* Whymper, ** Zermatt and the Matterhorn," p. 182, note (3).

7 H.R.H. the Duke of the Abruzzi made the ascent with Mr. A. F.
Mummery and Dr. Norman Collie, and one porter, Pollinger, junior, on
August 28, 1895.

According to Mummery the weather was threatening, and, the Prince
climbing very well, they went exceedingly fast, so that their time ^vas
probably the quickest possible. They left the bivouac at the foot of the
snow ridge at 3.40 a.m., and reached the summit at 9.50.

A few days afterwards the first descent of the ridge was accomplished
by Miss Bristow, with the guide Matias Zurbriggen, of Macagnaga.

® Mummery, on his first ascent, went nearer than we did to Carrel's
route, and found on the rocks a piece of rusted iron, which had belonged
to the 1865 party, or to Craufurd Grove's in 1867.

9 I know of no description of a disastrous descent more tragic in its
simple truthfulness than that which my friend, Giovanni Saragat, heard
from the lips of the late lamented Giuseppe Corrà, and which he related
in his chapter on " Bivaccki tristi " (Ill-fated bivouacs), in " Alpinismo a
quattro mani."

" AH things considered, the ascent of the Zmutt ridge is not excessively
difficult ; it is certain that no part of it presents the difficulties which
would be encountered on certain passages on the Italian ridge if they
were not roped.

There is some danger of falling stones on the first part of the ascent,
before the snow ridge is attained, and in the last bit when the slabs under
the summit are being crossed, there being no shelter there.

Although at certain points the rock is rotten and unstable, the structure
of this side affords good holds ; the position is, however, most unfavourable.
On cold and windy days the climber suffers more in the shade than on the
other sides, where the sun strikes early ; and it is quite likely that the rocks
in the middle and upper part will be found so glazed with ice as to make it
impossible to continue the ascent.

This is, perhaps, the reason why the guides do not recommend this route
to the travellers who come to Zermatt ; the travellers themselves do not
think of it, and so this '* northern widowed side '' of the Matterhorn is still
reserved for the few real adorers of the mountain. " Tourists, hke trade/*

NOTES 325

observes Whymper in this connection, " drift into the easiest channels "
("Guide to Zermatt and the Matterhorn/' p. 182). It is said that imme-
diately after the first ascents of the Zmutt ridge a proposal was made to
construct a hut on that ridge to facilitate the ascent of it. Mr. Baumann
thought that that route would become the favourite one of those who
intended to traverse the Matterhorn.

In the wake of the hut would have come ropes, chains, and ladders in
the most difficult parts of the route. Baumann was not a true prophet.

The ascents accomplished since then — and more than twenty years have
passed — can, I think, be counted on one's fingers.

" With J. A. Carrel on that descent were Leone Sinigaglia and the
guide, Charles Gorret. Sinigaglia described the fatal expedition in a few
simple but telling pages, which were instinct with the emotion produced
by the sad event ; they ought to be included in a future anthology of Italian
Alpine literature (see LA.C. Review^ vol. ix. p. 293).

" Leone Sinigaglia concludes his account of J. A. Carrel's death with
the following touching words : —

" Carrel died, like a good and brave man, on his own mountain, after
having summoned up all the energy he possessed in order to save his
employer. He died after bringing him out of danger to a place of safety,
exhausted by the supreme effort of sixteen hours of assiduous work, amid
continuous [struggles and difficulties, in a snowstorm which several times
appeared irresistible.

** I shall never think of him without infinite emotion and gratitude."

CHAPTER VI

* Dr. Paul Gussfeldt gives the following comparison of the inclinations
of the different ridges of the Matterhorn : —

S.W. ridge (Col du Lion) length Kilometres 1*5

I» M

S.E. ridge (Furggen)
N.E. ridge (Homli)
N.W. ridge (Zmutt)

« See in " Alpinismo a quattro mani " (Climbing with Hands and Feet),
by G. Saragat and G. Rey, " An Attempt on the Matterhorn."

3 The general inclination of the Furggen face, which appears to be
almost vertical as seen from the Theodul, and at an angle of 70° from the
Riffel, is not really greater than 40°.

inclination

36°

... length

inclination

43-5°

... length

., 2

inclination

39°

... length

„ 3*oi

inclination

37°

326 THE MATTERHORN

** Forty degrees," says Whymper, " may not seem a formidable
inclination to the reader, nor is it for only a small cliff. But it is very
unusual to find so steep a gradient maintained continuously as the general
angle of a great mountain slope, and very few instances can be quoted from
the High Alps of such an angle being preserved over a rise of 3,000 feet *'
(" Scrambles ").

4 De la disproportion méme entre Pinfini <jui nous tue et 9e rien que
nous sommes, nait le sentiment d'une certaine grandeur en nous. Nous
aimons mieux étre fracassés par une montagne que |>ar un caillou. . . .
L'intelligence, en nous montrant, pour ainsi dire, l'immensité de notre
impuissance, nous ote le regret de notre défaite " (Guyau).

5 Times of our ascent : —

Left Breuiljoch at 4.45 a.m.

„ first tower (old bivouac) at 6.15 a.m.

„ second tower at 8.30 a.m.

Reached third tower (Furggen Shoulder) at lo.o a.m.

^ Mummery attained with great difficulty and danger the Hornli Shoulder
at the point where the Swiss ridge joins the final peak (see Mummery,
** My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus," p. 24 if.).

7 Neue Ziircher Zeiiungy August 25, 1899, No. 235.

* Our descent was not visible with the Schwarzsee telescope because
that side of the mountain was then in shadow.

9 I gave an account of my exploration of the Furggen ridge in the
Alpine Journal^ vol. xx. p. 17.

It was also alluded to in the Monthly Review of the I.A.C., vol. x.
p. 210 ; in Whymper's ** Guide to Zermatt," 1900 edition, p. 182 ; and in
the preface to the 1900 edition, p. vii., of Whymper*s work, ** Scrambles
Amongst the Alps.**

Monsieur M. Paillon mentions it also in his translation of Mummery's
work, " Mes Escalades," p. 31.

'° Journal de GencvCy September 15, 1899.

" We find this song on the lips of Lantrei in " Les Avcntures du dernier
Abencerage."

INDEX

Abney and Cunningham, authors of

"The Pioneers of the Alps/' 305
Abruzzi, H.R.H. Duke of, 324
Agassiz, scientist, 34
Ahasuerus, The legend of, 23
Aiguille, Blanche de Pétéret, accident

on, 213
Allaline Pass, The, 41
Aimer, guide, 130
Alphabel, The, 187
Alpine landscape, 27, 30-1

Folk, 28-9, 31. 52-5

Guide-books, 29-30

Italian Club, 80, 148

Railways, 319
Amadeus, Louis, Prince of Savoy, 214,

317
Ancona, 314

Ange, guide. 218, 221, 2^2, 233

Ansermin, guide, 181, 182, 1^5, 186, 284

Antey (Valtournanche), 56

Hermitage at, 22, 290
Aosta, 27, 30, 45, 58, 68, 71, 72, 89, 112,
151, 187,237, 279,290,298

Duchy of, 296, 299
Arco, Ciro d', author of " Cinque giorni

di cura," 311
Arnod, F. A., author, 302
Aubert, painter, 115, 307
Augusta, Valley of, 22
Avouil, 105, 133, 140
Ayas, 26, 295

Men of, 60, 99
Ayas, St. Jacques d*, 294
Aymonod, J. B., 56, 318
Azeglio, Massimo d', painter, 46

B
Bagnes, 25
Balbiano, Signor, 295
Ball, John, 34, 41, 294, 302, 306

Experience with a guide, 99
Balmat, Gedeon, Chamonix guide, 100

Jacques, 119

Bardoux, J., author of "John Ruskin,"

294
Barnard, painter of the Cervin, signature

of, 79
Barracco, Giovanni, 80, 102
Baruffi, author of " Peregrinazioni

Autunnali,'* 45
Baumann, J., Herr, 319, 325

Death of, 213
Beaumont, Elie de, M., French geologist

and poet, 34, 46
Becca, The (Mount Cervin), see Matter-
horn.
Bennen, Swiss Guide, 115, 116, 121, 123,

124, 125, 129, 132, 308
Bérard, Canon, author of "La Langue

Frangaise dans la Vallèe d'Aoste," 299
Bich, Joseph, guide, 102, 140, 142, 150,

151, 154, 156,298, 310, 313
Bich, Signor, postmaster at Chatillon,

304 ^
Biella, 128

Biener, J., guide, 130, 181, 319

Biner, guide, 102

Biona in the Valpelline, 80, 295

Biraghi, Signora Luigia, 317

Bird, Mr., 294

Blanc, Mount, 24. 25, 33, 40, 46, 115, 119,

120, 127, 173, 182, 187, 191, 238, 274,

Dent, 182

Point, 245. 28^
Blanche de Péteret Aiguille, 213
Boccard, historian, 301
Bonfadini, R., 80
Bonney, Mr., signature of, 79
Borckhart, Mr., death of, 191, 318, 321
Bore, Rev. Mr., 70, 72, 74, 115
Bourrit, Marc, 25
Brantschen, Joseph, guide, 70, 298, 318

Death of, 319
Breil, 83

Breithorn, 32, 33, 207, 254
Breuil, 12, 26, 27, 31, 35, 63, 68, 76, 80,
83, 115, 116, 117, 120, 123, 128, 130,
132-3, 141, 158, 171, 250, 308, 320

327

328

THE MATTERHORN

Breuil, continued —

Chalets of, 84

Chapel at, 176-8

Shepherds of, 66
Breuiljoch, 246, 252, 266, 279, 298
Ere vii. Huts of, 82
Erin, Signor, 150
Bristow, Miss, 324
Brividum, Hamlet of, 82
Brockedon, Mr. William, painter, 30, 31,

32, 83, 98, 293, 297, 298, 300
Browning, Robert, 300
Budden, Signor, 317
Eurchner, Peter, guide, 68
Burgener, A., guide, 213, 320
Busserailles, Gorge of, 151, 156

Chapel at, 170

Cachat, J. P., Chamonix guide, 100
Cade, Mr., 28, 292
Calarne, Mr., artist, 37, 39
Camino, Signor, 291J
Carrel, Abbé A., 158

Carrel, Canon of Aosta, 72, 81, 83, 84,
108, 112, 115,420, 128, 148, 151,301,
305.306,311,313,316
Description of, 1 13
Carrel, Cesar, 122, 123, 131, 154, 305,312
Carrel, Félicite, 155

Carrel, Jean Antomc, the Bersagliere,
guide, 121, 130, 144, 150, 155, 197,
223, 305» 306, 307» 308, 309, 310, 312
Makes first attempt on Matterhorn,

106-14
Other attempts, 118, 143, 312-14
Guide to Professor Tyndail, 115, 123-5,

155
Guide to Whymper, 118, 120, 122, 123,

126, 131, 132

Guide to Giordano, 128, 131-43, 15 1-3,

'56

Description of, 118, 119, 125, 131
Tyndall's testimony to, 311
Climbs Matterhorn, 143, 147-8
Accident to, 315

Guide to Mr. Craufurd Grove, 154
Guide to Quintino Sella, 314-15
Deathof, 236, 319, 325

Carrel, J. B., 154

Carrel, Jean Jacques, guide, 102, 109-
14, 115, 116, 118, 305, 306, 307
Description of, 105-6

Carrel, Abbé P. J., 300, 305

Carrel, Victor, 307

Carteret, J. Grand, author of *'La Mon-
tagne à tra vers les ages," 290

Casalis, author, 45, 295, 297

Castagneri, Antoine, guide, 237, 238, 240,

3^5
Cawood, Mr., 157

Ceresole, Alfred, author of "Zermatt/*

297, 302
Cervia, see Matterhorn.
Cervin, The Little (Ceine Brune du

Beithorn), 26
Cervin, Mount, Hotel, 84
Cervin Hotel, see Jomein Hotel.
Challand, Catharine de, 290
Chambave, 56

Valley of, 68^
Chamoix, Abbé, 47
Chamoix, 295
Chamole, Chalets of, 112
Chamonin, Abbe, of Cogne, 72, 299
Chamonix, 56
Chamf)orcher, 57
Chanoux, Abbé, of the Little St. Bernard,

72
Charbet, Michel, Chamonix guide, 100

Charles, a youth of Zermatt, bravery of

302
Chateaubriand, 281
Chatillon, 30, 56, 68, 118, 132, 237

Carriers of, 297
Cheminée, La, 308
Cheneil, Chalet of, 58, 112
Chermontaine, Heights of, 25
Chimney, New, Accident at, 319
Cibrario, Luigi, 45
Cimino, G.T., author of "Alpine Journal,"

295. 301
City, the Mysterious, Legend of, 67

Cly, Barony of, 296

Cogne, 48

Col dcs Cimes Blanches, 26

Cole, Warwick, author of "A Lady's

Tour Round Monte Rosa," 84, 293, 307
Colgrove, Mr., 157
Collie, Dr. Norman, 324
CoUingwood, W. G., author of "The

Life of John Ruskin," 294
Combin, The, 187
Comboe, Chalets of, 112
Continental blockade. The, 298
Coolidge, Rev. W. A., author of " Swiss

Travels and Guide Books," 32,41, 289,

290, 293, 294, 297, 298, 300, 303, 304,

321
Coq, Créte du, 185, 229, 274, 309
Corde, Grand, 185, 229, 230, 274, 309
Corona, G., 226, 297, 298, 303, 304, 310,

317» 319
Corra, Giuseppe, 324

Cor re von, H., GenevQS^ botanist, 296

INDEX

329

Courmayeur, 80, 311
Couttet, J. M., 32
Craramont, The, 306, 314
Gravate, The, 185, 229, 309, 313

Hut at, 148-9, 150, 151-2, 316, 317

Death of Brantschen at, 319
Crepin, 170, 177

Church at, 65

Picture in, 297
Creton, Becca di, 171
Croz, Michel, Chamonix guide, 129, 130,

139, 144, 145, 191, 197, 205, 212, 310,

312, 315, 316
Cunningham and Abney, authors of

" The Pioneers of the Alps," 305
Cust, Mr., 157

Damatter, Peter, guide, 99

Dames, Chateau des, 58, 172, 314

Dauphine, 221

Davison, W. E., 320

De Bartholomeis, author of "The Passage

of the Mount Cervin," 45, 295, 297
Degres de la tour, 308
De Saussure, author of " The Voyages,"

24i 32, 33» 38» 40, 46, 55» 83, 91, 207,
291, 293, 301, 303, 306

Measurements of Matterhorn, 317

Description of, 25-7

Writings of, 96

Offers reward for climbing Mount
Blanc, 120

Second visit to the St. Gothard hospice,

, 292
Desor, M., naturalist, of Neuchatcl, 34,
298, 300

Remarks on tourists, 35, 208
De Tillier, author of *' Historique de la

Vallee d'Aoste," 290, 299
Devil, Legend of the, 61, 64, 65
Diablerets, The, 187
Disgrazia, Monte, 187
Dollfus-Ausset, 305

Influence of the Cervin on, 34

Works of, 295

At St. Theodul Pass, 304
Dora, the river, 56
Dorè, Gustave, illustrates disaster to

Whymper's party, 145
Douglas, Lord Francis, meets E. Whym-
per, 135

Climbs Matterhorn, 144

Death of, 145,315-16

Remains of, 212, 316
Due, Abbé P. E., author of " Le Clergé

d'Aoste dans le XVII^ Siede" and

" Le Clergé d'Aoste de 1800 à 1870," 299

Dufour, The, map of, 317
Duhamel, The stone man of, 221
Durandi, author of *'Della Marca d'Ivrea,"
83, 301

Ebel, Johann Gottfried, Alpine guide-
book of, 29-30

Ecvins, Barre des, 129, 167

Einsieddeln in Canton Schwyz, 69

Elliot, Rev., 156

Emilius, Mont (Becca di Nona and Becca
des-dix-Leures), 112

Emmanuel I., Charles, Duke of Savoy, 297

Emmanuel II., Charles, 48
Petition to, 209

Emmanuel, Duke Victor, 47

Engelhardt, Christian Moritz, of Strass-
burg, 34, 91
Author of " Naturschilderungen " and
"Das Mont Rosa und Matterhorn-
gebirg," 293, 297, 208, 303

F^njambee, The 185, 228, 309, 310

Eura, Chalets of, 61

KavdL, Pastures of the, 68

Evantius, The hermit, 63

Farinette, T. G., 289

Fasano, a waiter, 198

Favre, Signor, of Aosta, built Mont

iumont Inn (Mount Cervin Hotel), 84,
5» 301
Feast days in Alps, 60

Felicitò, Col, 155, 228, 309
Fenétre de Champorcher Pass, 48
Finsteraarhorn, The, 187
Korbes, Professor, 112, 300

Author of " Travels," 292, 295, 297, 302

Climbs Breithorn, 35

Equipment of, 99
Forbes, Dr. J., author of " A Physician's
Holiday," 293

Remarks on the Cervin, 33
Francesetti of Mezzenile, Letters of, 47
Frederick II., Emperor, reign of, 290
French the Court language at Aosta, 299
F'reshfield, Mr., Signature of, 79

Mrs., author of " Alpine By-ways," 300
Furggen Arete, 139, 192, 240, 246, 273,

275, 325-6

Mummery's attempt on, 242, 319
Furggenjoch, The, 193, 239

Weather near, 269
Furggen Glacier, The, 279
Furggen Shoulder, The, 252, 253, 254
Furrcr, guide of Zermatt, Death of, 319

330

THE MATTERHORN

Gabclhorn, The, 135, 182
Gardiner, Mr., Discovery of, 298
Gargantua, The, giant, Legend of, 62-3
Gastaldi, Bartolomeo, 46, 126

Letter to, 311, 317
Gauticr, Théophile, Letter of, 321
Geant, Gent du, 173

Accident on, 213
Geant, Col du, 175, 311
George, Mr. H. B., 125
Gerard, poet, 42
Giacosa, Giuseppe, author of " Nouvelle

Valdostane," 299
Giordano, Pietro, the geologist, 12, 47
Giordano, Felice, 126, 148, 154, 162, 233,
316

Signature of, 81

Describes Matterhorn, 127

Meets Carrel, 128

Description of, 129, 150

Prepares for ascent of Matterhorn,
130-2, 135, 140

Writes to Sella, 136-8, 143

Sends Carrel to climb Matterhorn,
140-1

Attempts to climb Matterhorn, 15 1-3

Climbs Matterhorn, 156-7

Ascends Mount Blanc, 311

Guides of, 312

Goodwill towards Carrel, 313

Remarks on Swiss and Italian sides of
Matterhorn, 317

Measurements of Matterhorn, 317
Giordano, Le Gite, 308, 317
Glaciers, Victims of, 69
Gla(;ons, Vallon des, 151, 184, 230, 308
Gnifetti, Abbé, first to climb Monte

Rosa, 47, 113, 294
Gomba, Tour de, miraculous echo at, 69
Gornergrat, 208, 21 1
Gorrct, Abbé Amé, 12, 9(), 135, 149, 154,
299. 306, 309, 310, 313, 314

Childhood of, in Chalet ot Cheneil,

58-9
Education of, 73

Signature of, 81

Remarks on the Valtorneins, 67

Makes the first attempt to climb

Matterhorn, 106-14
Climbs Matterhorn with Carrel, 140-2
Author of " Victor Emmanuel sur les

Alpes," 296
Author of "Guide de la Vallee

d'Aoste," 298
Account of Whymper's victory, 311-12
Father of, 102, 304

Gorret, Antoine, guide, 102

Gorret, Charles Emmanuel, guide, 131,

312, 335 ; certificate of competency of,

loi, 102
Gorret, Pierre, guide, 102
Graian Alps, The, ^^±
Graven, A., guide, 318
Gremaud, author of "Documents

relatifs à I'Histoire du Vallais," 289
Gressoney, 80

Valley, The, 48

La Trinité, 295
Grivola, The, 187
Grove, Craufurd, 102, 314, 326

Signature of, 79

Remarks of Cervin, 150-1

Testimony to Carrel, 154

Gives guides' opinion of north and
south sides of Matterhorn, 316
Gruner, Herr, 25

Author of "Description des Glaciers
de la Suisse," 298
Guiccioli, author of "Quintino Sella,"

305, 312, 315
Guides, early, 97-100

Chamonix, 100, 295

Valtornein, 101-2, 116. 124, 154, 158,

243» 305» 397i 318» 320
Swiss, 103, 116, 118, 124
Bernese, 130
Valaisans, 213
Of Macugnaga, 213
Influence of the Cervin on, 103-4. 118,

226
Songs of, 280-7
Giissfeldt, Dr. Paul, 318, 325

Hadow, Mr., agrees to climb Matter-
horn with E. Whymper, 144

Accident and death of, 145. 315-16

Inscription on tomb of, 147

Grave of, 205

Place of accident to, 212
Hall, Marshall, 295

Haller, Albrecht Von, Swiss poet, 51, 296
Hawkins, Vaughan, 102

Signature of, 79

Remarks on Mount Cervin, 115, 116

Remarks on Ruskin in "Vacation
Tourists," 294

Opinion of J. J. Carrel, 307
Heathcote, R. B., 156
Herens, Dent d*, no, 127, 215, 274

Description of, 172, 217
Herens group, The, 182
Herin, Jean Baptiste, 26

INDEX

33 1

Hermits, Story of the, 66-7
Herschell, Sir John, 32
Hinchliff, Mr., author of "Summer
Months Among the Alps," 298

Description of Cervin, 34

Discovers remains of party, 69-70

Friendship with Meynet, 95

Describes Meynet, 303
Hirzel-Escher, of Zurich, 69, 293, 298

Crosses the Theodul, 32
H oiler, Mr., crosses Matterhorn, 156
Horn li Buttress, 192

Hut at, 192-3, 279
Hornli Ridge, 117, 156, 250, 325
Hornli route, description of, 121
Hornli Shoulder, 326
Hudson, Mr., 294

Joins Whymper's party, 144

Accident to and death of, 145, 315-16

Grave of, 205

Place of accident to, 212
Humbert, Count of Villanova, 237
Huttc Alte, 155, 191, 317

Accident near, 318

Imfeld, Ingénieur Xavier, projected

railway of, 319
Imseng, Ferdinand, guide, 213, 315
Inpenge, 240

ackson, Mr., 158
acomb, Mr., 102

avelie, Kmile, remarks on Italian side
of Matterhorn, 159
Author of "Souvenirs d'un Alpiniste,"

319^321
Jomein Hotel, 126, 127, 128, 131, 135,

151, 170, 172-3, 183, 193, 218, 245,
246, 270, 273, 279, 318
Beginning of, 83-4
Cuisine at, 84

Called Mount Jumont Inn, 84
Visitors, 85
Description of, 86
Influence of, 87

Whymper meets Tyndall at, 123
Appearance of the Matterhorn from,2i i
Called Hotel du Mount Cervin, 300
Jomein, mountain (Jumont), 115, 271
Green pastures of, 67

Jorasses, The, 187
ordan, Leighton, 155, 233
Rope ladder, puts up, on Matterhorn,

309

ordan, L'Estelle, 156, 309, 315
ost, porter, 208
ungtrau. The, 187

Railway up the, 210
Juvenal, the hermit, 63

Kennedy, Mr., opinion on the Breuil
side of Matterhorn, 115

Attempts Zermatt side, 309
Kentinette, guide, 213
Kin chin j unga, 244

King, Mr., remarks on "Hotel Mount
Cervin," Valtournanche, 76

On Chalets of Breuil, 84

On the Cervin, 1 14

Describes Meynet, 303-4
* Author of " Italian Valleys," ^04
Knubel, Peter, Swiss guide, 156
Konig, J., guide, 120
Kremerthal, see Valtournanche.
Kronig, Johann, 102

Lammer, I>r. G., 322

Accident to, 323
Lauber, Herr, doctor of Zermatt, 35, 208

Provided rooms for visitors, 300
Leopardi, 43

Linceul, Le, 185, 192, 230, 368
Lion, Col du, 66, 116, 123, 141, 151, 1721
180, 181, 235, 250, 308, 320

Reached by Whymper in first attempt,
118

Whymper places tent at second
attempt, 120, 179

Description of, 178, 179

Death of Carrel near the, 236

Height of, 317

Inclination of, 325
Lion, Téte du, no, in, 122, 178, 181,
221

Death of J. A. Carrel near, 319
Lochmatter, Franz, 102
Lochmatter, Alexander, 102
Lochmatter, J. M., 156
Loeche, town in Upper Valais, 290
Londres, Hotel de (Chatillon), G. Rey

meets Antonio Castagncri, guide, and

Count Humbert of Villanova at, 237-8
Longman, Mr., author of "Journal of

Six Weeks' Adventure," 77, 298
Lorria, A., 322

Accident to, 323-4
Lucat, Albin, Signor, 318

332

THE MATTERHORN

Macdonaid, Reginald, 120
Macugnaga, 33, 295, 298
Madelein, 56
Maquignaz, Ainié, 151, 283

Guide to G. Rey up Furggen Ridge,
245, 246, 254. 255, 256, 258, 259, 260,
263, 276, 277
Maquignaz, Antoine, 283

Bets with Daniel Maquignaz on the
Zmutt Ridge climb, 218

Guide to G. Rey up Furggen Ridge,
230, 243, 245, 2a6, 2^7, 250, 25A, 255,
258, 259, 262, 263, 265, 266, 276, 277
Maquignaz, Daniel, 283

Guide to G. Rey up Zmutt Ridge, 212

Bets on climb, 218, 222, 223, 232

Tests an echo, 219

Story of Swiss guide, 221

Danger to party of, 224-32

Skill of, 229, 231

Guide to G. Key up Furggen Ridge,
239, 245, 246, 250

With party on summit of Matterhoru,
253, 261, 262, 263

Averts accident, 259

Anxiety of, 266, 277

Toast of, 284
Maquignaz, Emmanuel, guide, 156
Maquignaz, Gabriel, guide, 102, 109, 139,

301, 307, 312
Maquignaz, Rev. Chanoine }. B., 305
Maquignaz, }. B., guide, accompanies

Aymonod up Mattcrhorn, 318
Maquignaz, }. Joseph, guide, 166, 170, 174

Reconnoitres Matterhorn, 131

Discovers Gorge of Busserailles, 151

Discovers new^ route up Matterhorn,

154-5
Description of, 155

Guide to Giordano, 156, 312

G. Rey introduced to, 173

Guide to Count Humbert of Villanova,

237
Disappears on Mount Blanc, 238

Proposes to climb Matterhorn, 313
Maquignaz, J. Pierre, guide, 102, 151, 154

Climbs Matterhorn by new route, 155

Guide to R. B. Heathcote, 156
Maquignaz, Victor, 154
Mathews, W., 306

Signature of, 79
Mathews, C. E., 313
Matterhorn :

Accidents on, 145, 315-16, 318-19

Associations of, 20-2 1

Called Mount Silvius, 21, 289

Matterhorn, continued —
Called Mount Cervin, 293, 297

The Becca, 61-2
Danger of, 157. 158, 159, 160
Descriptions of, 170, 172, 176, 222
Williani Brockedon, 31-2
Lord Minto, 33
Dr. Forbes, 33, 34
Calarne, 37
Ruskin, 39--41, 294
King, 1 14
Kennedy, 115
Hawkins, no

From the Sta£Fel Alp, 211-12
Quintino Sella, 314
Giordano's Geological Survey, 153
Inclinations of, 325
Influence of, 37, 125, 161-2, 168-9, 178,

204
Measurements of, 317
Swiss and Italian sides compared, 149,

159, 316, 317
Traditions of, 65-6, 298
Mar more Torrent, 171
Martelli, Alessandro Emilius, first Italian

to traverse the Matterhorn, 318
Maynard, Henri, 32
Meije, The, 221
Menabrayc, Jean Baptiste, 32
Merani, Count Csesar, 80
Meynet, A. Francois, Notary of Aosta, 95
Meynet, Augustus, innkeeper, self-recom-
mendation of, 10 1
Meynet, Bernard, 56
Meynet, Gabriel, 151
Meynet, Pierre Antoine, 98
Meynet, J. Augustin, 140
Testimonies to, 96, loi
Description of, 303, 304
Meynet, J. Baptiste, 95
Meynet, J. Jacques, 91
Meynet, J. Pierre, 91, 95

Description of, 92-4
Meynet, Luc, The Hunchback, 136, 150
Porter to E. Whympcr, 120, 121, 122,

123, 126
Refuses to go with Whymper, 135
Climbs Matterhorn with Carrel, 142
Guide to Giordano, 151
Whymper's anecdote of, 310
Meynet, Solomon, guide to Giordano,

151» ^54
" Michellina " House at Jomein, 84

Milan, 80

Cathedral of, 44
Minette, of Valtournanche, 91-2
Minto, Lord, 297

Ascends Br^ithorn, 32, 33, 207

INDEX

333

Mischabel, The, 254
Monservin Fort, 90
Montabcl, Glacier of, 177
Morani, P. Signor, 318
Morshead, Mr. F., 298

Signature of, 79
Morsier, A. de, author of " À propos des

Chemins de fer de Montagne," 322
Moseley, William, of Boston, accident

to, 318
Moser, Joseph, 102
Moulins-Grandes, The, 172, 238
Mountain climbers, remarks on, 194-6
Mountain railways, 319, 322
Mountain sickness, 193
Mummery, A. F., 129

Signature of, 79

Climbs Zmutt Arete, 160, 213, 319, 322
Bivouac on, 216

Attempts to scale Furggen Ridge, 239,

253
Description of, 242

The first to climb Col-du-Lion, 320
Climbs Matterhorn with H.R.H. Duke

of Abruzzi, 324
Death of, 213

Author of " My Climbs in the Alps and
Caucasus," 318, 326
Munster, SebastAan, author of " Cosmo-
graphy," 291
Murray's Handbook, 298, 305

Napoleon Bonaparte, 55, 298
Nanga-Parbat, The accident on, 213
Nicholls, Mr., 306
Nona, Becca di, 306

Oberammergau, 203, 204

Oberland, The, 324

Obermann, 44

" Omo Scrvadzu," Legend of, 61

Ordinaire, M., 294

Orleans, Louis d', 211

Oro, Signor Luigi Dell', 317

Paar, Count, Accident to, 305

Paccar d. Dr., 33

Paillon, Maurice, translator of Mum-
mery's •• Climbs in Alps and Caucasus,"
319.326

Paquier, 35, 64, 72, 98
Customs officials at, 30

Paquier, continued —

Parish priest of, 70, 72, 97

Mountaineers of, 100

Church at, 114

Smuggling at, 298

Belfry, 299, 300

Hotel at, see Monte Rosa Hotel.
Paradiso, The, 187
Paris, 20

Parker, The Messrs., 117
Paroisse, The Grande, 55
Pas Mauvais, Le, 182, 308
Patri, Giovanni, 44
Payot, Michel, Chamonix guide, 100
Peel, Sir Robert, 91-2
Pellissier, Augustin, guide, 102
Penhall, Mr. W., climbs Zmutt Ridge,
160, 319, 322

Death of, 213
Pennine Alps, 224
Peraldo, Signor Eusebio, 301
Peratti, Signor, 295
Perazzi, Signor, 150, 314
Perron, Augustin, guide, 102
Perrone, Arturo, of S. Martino, 314
Pession, Antoine, guide, 102
Pession, Augustin. Signor, mayor, 318
Pession, Charles, guide, 102
Pession, the family of, 97
Pession, lean Baptiste, 98
Pession, Nicholas, Innkeeper, 76, 210
Perruquet, J. R., guide, 283, 284, 318
Perruquet, the family, 97, 299
Petrus, guide, death of, 213
Piedmont, 45, 48, 69, 73, 90

Plain of, 182
Pigozzi, J., Signor, 318
Pileur, Mount, 135
Piranese, painter, 209
Planet, Chalets of, 109, 1 1 1
Pleiffer, G., author of " La Mort d'un

Sommet," 322
Plété, Point de, 135
Pol linger, junior, 324
Praborgne, see Zermatt.
Prinetti, C, 80
Puiseaux, M., 294
Punta dei Cors, 173

Randa Station, 201
Raron, Barons of the, 290
Regaldi, Giuseppe, 45
Reilly, Adams, 306, 312

Drew chart of Monte Rosa, 41

Remarks on Carrel, 313
Revere, Giuseppe, 45

334

THE MATTERHORN

Rey, Emile, guide, death of, 213

Rey, G., author of '* La Punta Bianca/' 301

" Attempt on Matterhorn," 325
Ricardi of Netro, 43
Riffcl, 127

Rignon, Benedetto, Abbé, of Turin, 102,
126

Signature of, 80
Rimini, G. Battista, topographer, 126, 306,

Signature of, 80
Whymper's letter to, 316

Rivaz, historian, statement about the
Valdostans, 301

Robilant, Chevalier Nicolis di, mineralo-
gist, 295

Rocca, Count Morozzodella, 295

Rod, Edouard :

Remarks on Alpine Railways, 208-9
Novel, " La-Haut," 322

Romagnano, Marquis of, 297

Rosa, Monte, 42, 186, 224, 294
Theodul Pass called, 27, 292
John Ball's description of, 34
Adams Reilly's topographical map of,

First climbers of, 47

Victor Emmanuel II. climbs up to foot
of, 48

Conquest of, 113, 115

Death of Imseng on, 213

Derivation of, 292

Attempts on, 293-4
Rosa, Monte, Hotel (Valtournanche) :

Beginning of, 74-5

Called " Mount Cervin," 76, 300

King's description, 76

Hinchliff's description of, 77

Visitors' book at, 77-82
Rosa, Monte, Hotel (Zermatt), 322

View from, 205

Rendezvous of climbers, 208, 300-1
Rosa, Norberto, 45
Rousseau, J. J., 27, 51, 296
Ruskin, John, 54, 211

Description of Matterhorn, 38, 40, 294.

Saint Bernard Pass, Great, 27, 289

Saint Bernard of Mentone, Feast of, 58

Saint Catharine, The sisters of, 22, 290

Saint Gotthard Hospice, 292

Saint Nicholas, Valley of, 208, 298

Saint- Robert, Di, 126

Saint Theodul, Bishop of Sion, 297

Legend of, 63-4, 65, 178, 297

ReHc of, 88-91

Saint Theodul, Col du, 289, 293, 314

Name of, 297

Chapel at, 301
Saint Theodul Hotel, 88, 95-97, 196

Beginning of, 91-4

Matterhorn as seen from, 211

Visitors' book at, 304
Saint Theodul Pass, 22, 26, 31, 41, 83, 86,
98, 135, 268, 293, 301

Called Mount Cervin Pass, 68, 295, 297

Fort on, 292

History of, 289, 302

Mysterious city on, 67

Noah's Ark at, 305

Relic found on, 88

Roman remains found on, 290
Saint Vincent, 30, 136, 297
Salassi, The, 21
Sal uzzo, Annibale di, 45
San Martino, Colle di, 236
San Martino, Perrone di, 126

Signature of, 301
Saragat, Giovanni, 324, 325
Sardinia, The King of, 298
Sauzet, M., 156
Savoia, Luigi Amadeo di. Prince, hut of,

180, 232-5, 308, 321
Savoy, Duke of, 290, 301
Schalli Ridge, 210
Schenchzer, historian, 292
Schlagintweit, A. and H., 41, 294, 304
Schwarzsee, 193, 264, 278

Chapel at, 290
Schwarzthor, The, 294
Schwyz, The shrines of, 22
Seduni, The, 21, 22
Seiler, Alexander, 321-2
Seller, The family, collection of coins, 290
Seiler the Younger, 181, 204, 300

Accident to, 319-20
Sella, Alexander, climbs with G. Rey,

166, 167-8, 170, 172, 174
Sella, Quintino, 12, 49, 80, 86, 126, 148,
150, 180,311,317

Climbs Breithorn, 99

Giordano's letters lo, 132-3, 136-8, 141,

J. A. Carrel's letter to, 314

Climbs with party of boys, 162-5

Anecdote of, 305

Climbs Matterhorn, 314-15
Sella, Victorio, 158

Remarkable climb of Matterhorn, 318
Shoulder, The (I'Epaule), 154, 156, 185,

250, 274,309,313
Siegfried. Jacob, 41, 294
Siniler, Josias, author of " De Alpibus

Comnientarius," 24, 289, 291, 297

INDEX

335

Simplon Pass, The, 289

Sìnigaglia, Leone, 325

Sion, The Holy City of the Valais,

69, 89, 290
Sismonda, Angelo, 46, 112, 306
Sizeranne, De La, author of " Ruskin

et la Religion de la beauté," 294
Smith, Mr., 294
Sorrento, 207

Staffel Alp Hotel, 210-11, 212, 218, 323
Stephen, Leslie, 319

Signature of, 79

Remarks on Ruskin, 294
Stoppani, Abbé, 45
Studer, Bernard, 34

Studer, Gustave, the geographer, 35,
46, 112

Author of *• Ueber Eis und Schnee,"

307» 311» 316
Susa, Valley of, 296

T
Tacul, The, 311

Tairraz, Jean, Chamonix guide, 100, 102
Tangwaller, Joseph, guide, 68
Taugwalder, Peter, Swiss guide, 118, 308

Climbs Matterhorn with Whymper,
144» 145, 315» 316

Accused of treachery, 146
Taugwald, Mathias Zum, Swiss guide,

118, 120
Tente, La, 308
Tersiva, 47
Thioly, Mr., 309
Thioly, Le Pas, 309
Tiefen Matten, è(ì

Glacier, 215, 218, 322

Gulf, 182, 186, 222, 234
Tomina, Val, 23
Topffer, Rudolph, 27, 39, 40, 208

Author of *' Voyages en Zig-Zag," 36-7

Author of " Melanges," 322
Torelli, Giuseppe, 128
Torgnon, 290
Tour, La Grande, 308, 317
Tournanche, Col, no, 215
Tower, The Great, 121, 122, 126, 172,
220, 320

Hut at, 181, 236, 308, 320

View from, 182
Tschiidi, Aegidius, author of " De Prisca

ac Vera Alpina Raethia," 23, 291
Tschiidi, Von, author of " The Swiss

Guide," 41
Tuckett, Mr., 85, 120, 306
Turin, 30, 43, 126, 130, 138, 143
Turner, 38

Tyndall, Professor, 12, 85, 102, 120, 129,
130, 306
Signature of, 79
First attempt to climb Matterhorn,

1 15-16, 117
Second attempt, 123, 124, 125, 308
Climbs Matterhorn, 155, 157
Author of " Hours of Exercise in the

Alps," 310
Controversy with Whymper, 312
TyndaU, Pic, 123-4, 185, 253, 274, 308

Ulrich, Professor, 36, 294
Author of "Die Seiten-Thaler des
Vallis und de Monte Rosa," 294
Ushba, 244
Usseglio, Valley of, 45

Vaccarone, Luigi, 183, 186, 193, 240,
296, 302

Author of " The Passes in the Duchy
of Aosta in the Seventeenth Century,"
297
Valais, The, 32, 187, 224, 301
Valais, The shrines of, 22
Valdostans, The :

Speech of, 71, 290

Enmity with Valaisans, 301-2

Pilgrims, 22

Clerg>s 70-2, 299
Valentino Castle, 126
Vallesia, Convent of, 22
Vallet, Pierre, 106
Valpelline, The, 126, 182, 295
Valpelline, Col de, 314
Valtorneins, the. Life of, 55, 68, 81, 148,
297

Ancestors of, 297

Legends of, 60-66, 298

Dialect of, 66

Sanctuary of, 69

Enterprising spirit of, 114, 307, 318
Valtournanche, 26, 27, 30, 32, 46, 115,
120, 151, 167, 182, 293, 295

The Commune of, 295

Different names to, 290, 297

Disafforestation at, 296

Village of, 55, 82, 89, II 1, 132, 170, 210,
230» 293

Rejoicing at, 143

Precipice, 185
Velan, Mont, 25
Venosta, G. Visconti, 80
Verglas on rocks, 268

33*

THE MATTERHORN

Vescoz, Rev. Mr., 399

Viege, Valley of, 64, 65, 68, 8y

Vincent, Mr. Paul, 47, 293

Viso, Monte, So, izi, 126, 152, 182, i

321

Sella's ascent of , 3 1 1

WaJber, Miss, 157
Walter, 123, 125

Weisshorn.The, 117, 182,102,210,268,298
Welden, Von, 293
Wen (worth, Le Gè te, 309
Wentworth, Lord, 158, 309
Whymper, Col, E„ 11, 34,85, 13a, 133,
134. 151. '57. 24«. 242,306. 308, 310,
3=1. 3^5
Accident to, 132
On Ru&kin,39, 294
Signature of, 79-80
Disaster to party of, 81, 143, 145-7,

162, 212, 315, 316
Attempts on Matterhorn :

Breuil side, 117, 118, 120-3, 126-7
East side, 129
Swiss side, 131, 136
Climbs Matterhorn, 137, 139, 143, 144

Returns to Matterhorn, 197-8, 330
On Valtournanche guides, 305, 307, 308
Testimonial to Carrel, 311
Author of " The Ascent of the Matter-
horn," 153,318

Wills, Alfred, Sir, 41, 75, 102, 300

the High

DescritMs Meynet, 92-3, 94
Author of "Wanderings ii '

Alps," 394, 303, 305

Zermatt (Praborgne), 23, 31, 32, 34, 36,
38,64,68. 82, 91, 99. lis. '31. 'a?,

^ '55. 157. 264. 298. 3«>

Ebel s description of, 30

Inhabitants of, 33

Description of, 35, 206-7, ^67

Muleteers of, 70, 74

Disaster to Whymper's ptarty at, 143,
144-7, 191, 205-6

Derivation of name, 290-1, 298

Development of, 293, 331

Incident in history of, 303
Zermatt, Valley of, 25
Zermatt side of Matterhorn, 159, 303

Accidents at, 158
Zermatt -Gornergrat Railway, 319
Zermatt -Matterhorn Ratlway,3i9
Zmutt side, 140, 141, 154, 234

Ridge, 160, 212, 213, 123,' 324, 325
Zmult Glacier, 210-11, 214
Zmutt Shoulder, 312, 266
Zmutt Spur, 322, 323
Zumstein, M. F., 47, 293
Zurbriggen, Louis, guide, 313
Zurbriggen, Matias, of Macanagga,

324

UUnitl, TBE GRISHUI IVESS, W

OQ 841 .M4 R4 C.I

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3 6105 033 823 258

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Stanford University Libraries
Stanford. California

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