The Matterhorn may be divided into three sections-the first facing the Z'Muttgletscher, which looks, and is, completely una.s.sailable; the second facing the east, which seems inaccessibility itself; the third facing Breuil, which does not look entirely hopeless. It was from this last direction that all my previous attempts were made. It was by the southwestern ridge, it will be remembered, that not only I, but Mr.

Hawkins, Professor Tyndall and the cha.s.seurs of Val Tournanche, essayed to climb the mountain. Why, then, abandon a route which had been shown to be feasible up to a certain point?

I gave it up for four reasons: 1. On account of my growing disinclination for aretes, and preference for snow and rock faces. 2. Because I was persuaded that meteorological disturbances (by which we had been baffled several times) might be expected to occur again and again. 3. Because I found that the east face was a gross imposition: it looked not far from perpendicular, while its angle was, in fact, scarcely more than 40. 4.

Because I observed for myself that the strata of the mountain dipped to the west-south-west. It is not necessary to say anything more than has been already said upon the first two of these four points, but upon the latter two a few words are indispensable. Let us consider, first, why most persons receive such an exaggerated impression of the steepness of the eastern face.

When one looks at the Matterhorn from Zermatt, the mountain is regarded (nearly) from the north-east. The face that fronts the east is consequently neither seen in profile nor in full front, but almost halfway between the two: it looks, therefore, more steep than it really is. The majority of those who visit Zermatt go up to the Riffelberg or to the Gornergrat, and from these places the mountain naturally looks still more precipitous, because its eastern face (which is almost all that is seen of it) is viewed more directly in front. From the Riffel hotel the slope seems to be set at an angle of seventy degrees. If the tourist continues to go southward, and crosses the Theodule pa.s.s, he gets, at one point, immediately in front of the eastern face, which then seems to be absolutely perpendicular. Comparatively few persons correct the erroneous impressions they receive in these quarters by studying the face in profile, and most go away with a very incorrect and exaggerated idea of the precipitousness of this side of the mountain, because they have considered the question from one point of view alone. Several years pa.s.sed away before I shook myself clear of my early and false impressions regarding the steepness of this side of the Matterhorn. First of all, I noticed that there were places on this eastern face where snow remained permanently all the year round. I do not speak of snow in gullies, but of the considerable slopes which are seen in the accompanying engraving about halfway up the face. Such beds as these could not continue to remain throughout the summer unless the snow had been able to acc.u.mulate in the winter in large ma.s.ses; and snow cannot acc.u.mulate and remain in large ma.s.ses, in a situation such as this, at angles much exceeding forty-five degrees.(49) Hence I was bound to conclude that the eastern face was many degrees removed from perpendicularity; and to be sure on this point, I went to the slopes between the Z'Muttgletscher and the Matterhorngletscher, above the chalets of Staffel, whence the face could be seen in profile. Its appearance from this direction would be amazing to one who had seen it only from the east. It looks so totally different from the apparently sheer and perfectly unclimbable cliff one sees from the Riffelberg that it is hard to believe the two slopes are one and the same thing. Its angle scarcely exceeds forty degrees.

A great step was made when this was learned. This knowledge alone would not, however, have caused me to try an ascent by the eastern face instead of by the south-west ridge. Forty degrees 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 three thousand feet.

1 do not think that the steepness or the height of this cliff would have deterred climbers from attempting to ascend it, if it had not, in addition, looked so repulsively smooth. Men despaired of finding anything to grasp. Now, some of the difficulties of the south-west ridge came from the smoothness of the rocks, although that ridge, even from a distance, seemed to be well broken up. How much greater, then, might not have been the difficulty of climbing a face which looked smooth and unbroken close at hand?

A more serious hindrance to mounting the south-west ridge is found in the dip of its rocks to the west-south-west. The great ma.s.s of the Matterhorn, it is now well ascertained, is composed of regularly stratified rocks, which rise toward the east. It has been mentioned in the text, more than once, that the rocks on some portions of the ridge leading from the Col du Lion to the summit dip outward, and that fractured edges overhang. This is shown very clearly in the annexed diagram, Fig. 1. It will be readily understood that such an arrangement is not favorable for climbers, and that the degree of facility with which rocks can be ascended that are so disposed must depend very much upon the frequency or paucity of fissures and joints. The rocks of the south-west ridge are sufficiently provided with cracks, but if it were otherwise, their texture and arrangement would render them una.s.sailable.(50)

[Figure 1]

It is not possible to go a single time upon the rocks of the south-west ridge, from the Col du Lion to the foot of the Great Tower, without observing the prevalence of their outward dip, and that their fractured edges have a tendency to overhang; nor can one fail to notice that it is upon this account the debris which is rent off by frost does not remain in situ, but pours down in showers over the surrounding cliffs. Each day's work, so to speak, is cleared away-the ridge is swept clean: there is scarcely anything seen but firm rock.(51)

The fact that the mountain is composed of a series of stratified beds was pointed out long ago. De Saussure remarked it, and recorded explicitly in his _Travels_ (Section 2243) that they "rose to the north-east at an angle of about forty-five degrees." Forbes noticed it also, but gave it as his opinion that the beds were "less inclined, or nearly horizontal." He added, "De Saussure is no doubt correct." The truth, I think, lies between the two.

I was acquainted with both of the above-quoted pa.s.sages, but did not turn the knowledge to any practical account until I re-observed the same fact for myself. It was not until after my repulse in 1863 that I referred the peculiar difficulties of the south-west ridge to the dip of the strata, but when once persuaded that structure and not texture was the real impediment, it was reasonable to infer that the opposite side-that is to say, the eastern face-might be comparatively easy; in brief, that an arrangement should be found like Fig. 2, instead of like Fig. 1. This trivial deduction was the key to the ascent of the Matterhorn.

[Figure 2]

The point was, Did the strata continue with a similar dip throughout the mountain? If they did, then this great eastern face, instead of being hopelessly impracticable, should be quite the reverse. In fact, it should be a great natural staircase, with steps inclining inward; and if it were so, its smooth aspect might be of no account, for the smallest steps, inclined in this fashion, would afford good footing.

They did so, so far as one could judge from a distance. When snow fell in the summer-time, it brought out long terraced lines upon the mountain, rudely parallel to each other; and the eastern face on those occasions was often whitened almost completely over; while the other sides, with the exception of the powdered terraces, remained black, for the snow could not rest upon them.

The very outline of the mountain, too, confirmed the conjecture that its structure would a.s.sist an ascent on the eastern face, although it opposed one on all other sides. Look at any photograph of the peak from the north-east, and you will see that upon the right-hand side (that facing the Z'Muttgletscher) there is an incessant repet.i.tion of overhanging cliffs and of slopes, all trending downward; in short, that the character of the whole of that side is similar to Fig. 1; and that upon the left hand (or south-east) ridge the forms, so far as they go, are suggestive of the structure shown by Fig. 2, above. There is no doubt that the contours of the mountain, seen from this direction, have been largely influenced by the direction of its beds.

It was not therefore from a freak that I invited Mr. Reilly to join in an attack upon the eastern face, but from a gradually-acquired conviction that it would prove to give the easiest path to the summit; and if we had not been obliged to part the mountain would doubtless have been ascended in 1864.

My guides readily admitted that they had been greatly deceived as to the steepness of the eastern face, when they were halted to look at it in profile as we came down the Z'Muttgletscher on our way to Zermatt, but they were far from being satisfied that it would turn out to be easy to climb, and Almer and Biener expressed themselves decidedly averse to making an attempt upon it. I gave way temporarily before their evident reluctance, and we made the ascent of the Theodulhorn to examine an alternative route, which I expected would commend itself to them in preference to the other, as a great part of it led over snow.

There is an immense gully in the Matterhorn which leads up from the Glacier du Mont Cervin to a point high up on the south-eastern ridge. I proposed to ascend this to its head, and to cross over the south-east ridge on to the eastern face. This would have brought us on a level with the bottom of the great snow-slope shown upon the centre of the eastern face in the engraving. This snow-slope was to be crossed diagonally, with the view of arriving at the snow upon the north-east ridge, which is shown upon the same engraving about half an inch from the summit. The remainder of the ascent was to be made by the broken rocks, mixed with snow, upon the north side of the mountain. Croz caught the idea immediately, and thought the plan feasible: details were settled, and we descended to Breuil. Luc Meynet the hunchback was summoned, and expressed himself delighted to resume his old vocation of tent-bearer; and Favre's kitchen was soon in commotion preparing three days' rations, for I intended to take that amount of time over the affair-to sleep on the first night upon the rocks at the top of the gully, to make a push for the summit, and to return to the tent on the second day; and upon the third to come back to Breuil.

We started at 5.45 A.M. on June 21, and followed the route of the Breuiljoch for three hours. We were then in full view of our gully, and turned off at right angles for it. The closer we approached the more favorable did it look. There was a good deal of snow in it, which was evidently at a small angle, and it seemed as if one-third of the ascent, at least, would be a very simple matter. Some suspicious marks in the snow at its base suggested that it was not free from falling stones, and as a measure of precaution we turned off on one side, worked up under cover of the cliffs, and waited to see if anything should descend. Nothing fell, so we proceeded up its right or northern side, sometimes cutting steps up the snow, and sometimes mounting by the rocks. Shortly before 10 A.M. we arrived at a convenient place for a halt, and stopped to rest upon some rocks close to the snow which commanded an excellent view of the gully.

While the men were unpacking the food I went to a little promontory to examine our proposed route more narrowly, and to admire our n.o.ble couloir, which led straight up into the heart of the mountain for fully one thousand feet. It then bent toward the north, and ran up to the crest of the south-eastern ridge. My curiosity was piqued to know what was round this corner, and whilst I was gazing up at it, and following with the eye the exquisitely drawn curves which wandered down the snow in the gully, all converging to a large rut in its centre, I saw a few little stones skidding down. I consoled myself with thinking that they would not interfere with us if we adhered to the side. But then a larger one came down, a solitary fellow, rushing at the rate of sixty miles an hour-and another-and another. I was unwilling to raise the fears of the men unnecessarily, and said nothing to them. They did not hear the stones.

Almer was seated on a rock, carving large slices from a leg of mutton, the others were chatting, and the first intimation they had of danger was from a crash, a sudden roar, which reverberated awfully amongst the cliffs; and looking up they saw rocks, boulders and stones, big and little, dart round the corner eight hundred feet or so above us, fly with fearful fury against the opposite cliffs, rebound from them against the walls on our side, and descend; some ricochetting from side to side in a frantic manner, some bounding down in leaps of a hundred feet or more over the snow, and more trailing down in a jumbled, confused ma.s.s, mixed with snow and ice, deepening the grooves which a moment before had excited my admiration.

The men looked wildly around for protection, and, dropping the food, dashed under cover in all directions. The precious mutton was pitched on one side, the wine-bag was let fall, and its contents gushed out from the unclosed neck, while all four cowered under defending rocks, endeavoring to make themselves as small as possible. Let it not be supposed that their fright was unreasonable or that I was free from it. I took good care to make myself safe, and went and cringed in a cleft until the storm had pa.s.sed. But their scramble to get under shelter was indescribably ludicrous. Such a panic I have never witnessed, before or since, upon a mountain-side.

This ricochet practice was a novelty to me. It arose, of course, from the couloir being bent, and from the falling rocks having acquired great pace before they pa.s.sed the angle. In straight gullies it will probably never be experienced. The rule is, as I have already remarked, that falling stones keep down the centres of gullies, and you are out of harm's way if you follow the sides.

There would have been singularly little amus.e.m.e.nt and very great risk in mounting this gully, and we turned our backs upon it with perfect unanimity. The question then arose, "What is to be done?" I suggested climbing the rocks above us, but this was voted impossible. I thought the men were right, but would not give in without being a.s.sured of the fact, and clambered up to settle the question. In a few minutes I was brought to a halt. My forces were scattered: the little hunchback alone was closely following me, with a broad grin upon his face and the tent upon his shoulder; Croz, more behind, was still keeping an eye upon his monsieur; Almer, a hundred feet below, sat on a rock with his face buried in his hands; Biener was nowhere, out of sight. "Come down, come down," shouted Croz, "it is useless;" and I turned at length, convinced that it was even as he said. Thus my little plan was knocked on the head, and we were thrown back upon the original scheme.

[MY TENT-BEARER-THE HUNCHBACK.]

MY TENT-BEARER-THE HUNCHBACK.

We at once made a straight track for Mr. Morshead's Breuiljoch (which was the most direct route to take in order to get to the Hornli, where we intended to sleep, preparatory to attacking the eastern face), and arrived upon its summit at 12.30 P.M. We were then unexpectedly checked. The pa.s.s, as one, had vanished! and we found ourselves cut off from the Furggengletscher by a small but precipitous wall of rock: the glacier had shrunk so much that descent was impracticable. During the last hour clouds had been coming up from the south: they now surrounded us, and il began to blow hard. The men cl.u.s.tered together, and advocated leaving the mountain alone. Almer asked, with more point than politeness, "Why don't you try to go up a mountain which _can_ be ascended?" "It is impossible," chimed in Biener. "Sir," said Croz, "if we cross to the other side we shall lose three days, and very likely shall not succeed. You want to make ascents in the chain of Mont Blanc, and I believe they can be made. But I shall not be able to make them with you if I spend these days here, for I must be at Chamounix on the 27th." There was force in what he said, and his words made me hesitate. I relied upon his strong arms for some work which it was expected would be unusually difficult. Snow began to fall: that settled the matter, and I gave the word to retreat. We went back to Breuil, and on to Val Tournanche, where we slept; and the next day proceeded to Chatillon, and thence up the valley of Aosto to Cormayeur.

I cannot but regret that the counsels of the guides prevailed. If Croz had not uttered his well-intentioned words he might still have been living. He parted from us at Chamounix at the appointed time, but by a strange chance we met again at Zermatt three weeks later; and two days afterward he perished before my eyes on the very mountain from which we turned away, at his advice on the 21st of June.

[Decoration]

PART IX.

CHAPTER XVI. VALLEY OF AOSTA, AND ASCENT OF THE GRANDES JORa.s.sES.

The valley of Aosta is famous for its bouquetins and infamous for its cretins. The bouquetin, steinbock, or ibex, was formerly widely distributed throughout the Alps. It is now confined almost entirely, or absolutely, to a small district in the south of the valley of Aosta, and fears have been repeatedly expressed in late years that it will speedily become extinct.

But the most sanguine person does not imagine that cretinism will be eradicated for many generations. It is widely spread throughout the Alps, it is by no means peculiar to the valley of Aosta, but nowhere does it thrust itself more frequently upon the attention of the traveler, and in no valley where "every prospect pleases" is one so often and so painfully reminded that "only man is vile."

It seems premature to fear that the bouquetins will soon become extinct.

It is not easy to take a census of them, for, although they have local habitations, it is extremely difficult to find them at home. But there is good reason to believe that there are at least six hundred still roaming over the mountains in the neighborhood of the valleys of Grisanche, Rhemes, Savaranche and Cogne.

It would be a pity if it were otherwise. They appeal to the sympathies of all as the remnants of a diminishing race, and no mountaineer or athletic person could witness without sorrow the extinction of an animal possessing such n.o.ble qualities; which a few months after birth can jump over a man's head at a bound, without taking a run; which pa.s.ses its whole life in a constant fight for existence; which has such a keen appreciation of the beauties of Nature, and such disregard of pain, that it will "stand for hours like a statue in the midst of the bitterest storm, until the tips of its ears are frozen"! and which, when its last hour arrives, "climbs to the highest mountain-peaks, hangs on a rock with its horns, twists itself round and round upon them until they are worn off, and then falls down and expires"!!(52) Even Tschudi himself calls this story wonderful. He may well do so. I disclaim belief in it-the bouquetin is too fine a beast to indulge in such antics.

[THE BOUQUETIN.]

THE BOUQUETIN.

Forty-five keepers, selected from the most able cha.s.seurs of the district, guard its haunts. Their task is not a light one, although they are naturally acquainted with those who are most likely to attempt poaching.

If they were withdrawn, it would not be long before the ibex would be an extinct wild animal, so far as the Alps are concerned. The pa.s.sion for killing something, and the present value of the beast itself, would soon lead to its extermination. For as meat alone the bouquetin is valuable, the gross weight of one that is full grown amounting to from one hundred and sixty to two hundred pounds, while its skin and horns are worth ten pounds and upward, according to condition and dimensions.

In spite of the keepers, and of the severe penalties which may be inflicted for killing a bouquetin, poaching occurs constantly. Knowing that this was the case, I inquired at Aosta, upon my last visit, if any skins or horns were for sale, and in ten minutes was taken into a garret where the remains of a splendid beast were concealed-a magnificent male, presumed to be more than twenty years old, as its ma.s.sive horns had twenty-two more or less strongly-marked k.n.o.bby rings. The extreme length of the skin, from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail, was one metre sixty-nine centimetres (about five feet seven inches), and from the ground to the top of its back had been, apparently, about seventy-seven centimetres. It is rare to meet with a bouquetin of these dimensions, and the owner of this skin might have been visited with several years'

imprisonment if it had been known that it was in his possession.

The chase of the bouquetin is properly considered a sport fit for a king, and His Majesty Victor Emmanuel, for whom it is reserved, is too good a sportsman to slaughter indiscriminately an animal which is an ornament to his domains. Last year (1869) seventeen fell to his gun at one hundred yards and upward. In 1868, His Majesty presented a fine specimen to the Italian Alpine Club. The members banqueted, I believe, upon its flesh, and they have had the skin stuffed and set up in their rooms at Aosta. It is said by connoisseurs to be badly stuffed-that it is not broad enough in the chest and is too large behind. Still, it looks well-proportioned, although it seems made for hard work rather than for feats of agility.

From this specimen the accompanying engraving has been made.

It is a full-grown male about twelve years old, and if it stood upright would measure three feet three and a half inches from the ground to the base of its horns. Its extreme length is four, feet seven inches. Its horns have eleven well-marked rings, besides one or two faintly-marked ones, and are (measured round their curvature) fifty-four and a half centimetres in length. The horns of the first-mentioned specimen (measured in the same way) had a length of only fifty-three and a half centimetres, although they were ornamented with nearly double the number of rings, and were presumably of double the age, of the other.(53)

The keepers and the cha.s.seurs of this district not only say that the rings upon the horns of the ibex tell its age (each one reckoning as a year), but that the half-developed ones, which sometimes are very feebly marked indeed, show that the animal has suffered from hunger during the winter.

Naturalists are skeptical upon this point, but inasmuch as they offer no better reason against the reputed fact than the natives do in its favor (one saying that it is not so, and the other saying that it is so), we may perhaps be permitted to consider it an open question. I can only say that if the faintly-marked rings do denote years of famine, the times for the bouquetin are very hard indeed; since in most of the horns which I have seen the lesser rings have been very numerous, and sometimes more plentiful than the prominent ones.

The chef of the keepers (who judges by the above-mentioned indications) tells me that the ibex not unfrequently arrives at the age of thirty years, and sometimes to forty or forty-five. He says, too, that it is not fond of traversing steep snow, and in descending a couloir that is filled with it will zig-zag down, by springing from one side to the other in leaps of fifty feet at a time! Jean Tairraz, the worthy landlord of the Hotel du Mont Blanc at Aosta (who has had opportunities of observing the animal closely), a.s.sures me that at the age of four or five months it can easily clear a height of nine or ten feet at a bound!