Carrel and I wandered out again in the afternoon, and went, first of all, to a favourite spot with tourists near the end of the Gorner glacier (or, properly speaking, the Boden glacier), to a little verdant flat-studded with _Euphrasia officinalis_-the delight of swarms of bees, who gather there the honey which afterwards appears at the _table d'hote_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WATER-WORN ROCKS IN THE GORGE BELOW THE GORNER GLACIER.]

On our right the glacier-torrent thundered down the valley through a gorge with precipitous sides, not easily approached; for the turf at the top was slippery, and the rocks had everywhere been rounded by the glacier,-which formerly extended far away. This gorge seems to have been made chiefly by the torrent, and to have been excavated subsequently to the retreat of the glacier. It seems so because not merely upon its walls are there the marks of running water, but even upon the rounded rocks at the top of its walls, at a height of seventy or eighty feet above the present level of the torrent, there are some of those queer concavities which rapid streams alone are known to produce on rocks.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STRIATIONS PRODUCED BY GLACIER-ACTION (AT GRINDELWALD).]

A little bridge, apparently frail, spans the torrent just above the entrance to this gorge, and from it one perceives, being fashioned in the rocks below, concavities similar to those to which reference has just been made. The torrent is seen hurrying forwards. Not everywhere. In some places the water strikes projecting angles, and, thrown back by them, remains almost stationary, eddying round and round: in others, obstructions fling it up in fountains, which play perpetually on the _under_ surfaces of overhanging ma.s.ses; and sometimes do so in such a way that the water not only works upon the under surfaces, but round the corner; that is to say, upon the surfaces which are _not_ opposed to the general direction of the current. In all cases _concavities_ are being produced. Projecting angles are rounded, it is true, and are more or less convex, but they are overlooked on account of the prevalence of concave forms.

Cause and effect help each other here. The inequalities of the torrent bed and walls cause its eddyings, and the eddies fashion the concavities. The more profound the latter become, the more disturbance is caused in the water. The destruction of the rocks proceeds at an ever-increasing rate; for the larger the amount of surface that is exposed, the greater are the opportunities for the a.s.saults of heat and cold.

When water is in the form of glacier it has not the power of making concavities, such as these, in rocks, and of working upon surfaces which are not opposed to the direction of the current. Its nature is changed; it operates in a different way, and it leaves marks which are readily distinguished from those produced by torrent-action.

The prevailing forms which result from glacier-action are more or less _convex_. Ultimately, all angles and almost all curves are obliterated, and large areas of flat surfaces are produced. This perfection of abrasion is rarely found, except in such localities as have sustained a grinding much more severe than that which has occurred in the Alps; and, generally speaking, the dictum of the veteran geologist Studer, quoted below, is undoubtedly true.(77) Not merely can the operations of extinct glaciers be traced in detail by means of the bosses of rock popularly termed _roches moutonnees_, but their effects in the aggregate, on a range of mountains or an entire country, can be recognised sometimes at a distance of fifteen or twenty miles from the incessant repet.i.tion of these convex forms.

We finished up the 3d of August with a walk over the Findelen glacier, and returned to Zermatt at a later hour than we intended, both very sleepy.

This is noteworthy only on account of that which followed. We had to cross the Col de Valpelline on the next day, and an early start was desirable.

Monsieur Seiler, excellent man, knowing this, called us himself, and when he came to my door, I answered, "All right, Seiler, I will get up," and immediately turned over to the other side, saying to myself, "First of all, ten minutes more sleep." But Seiler waited and listened, and, suspecting the case, knocked again. "Herr Whymper, have you got a light?"

Without thinking what the consequences might be, I answered, "No," and then the worthy man actually forced the lock off his own door to give me one. By similar and equally friendly and disinterested acts, Monsieur Seiler has acquired his enviable reputation.

At 4 A.M. we left his Monte Rosa Hotel, and were soon pushing our way through the thickets of grey alder that skirt the path up the right bank of the exquisite little valley which leads to the Z'Muttgletscher.

Nothing can well seem more inaccessible than the Matterhorn upon this side; and even in cold blood one holds the breath when looking at its stupendous cliffs. There are but few equal to them in size in the Alps, and there are none which can more truly be termed _precipices_. Greatest of them all is the immense north cliff,-that which bends over towards the Z'Muttgletscher. Stones which drop from the top of that amazing wall fall for about 1500 feet before they touch anything; and those which roll down from above, and bound over it, fall to a much greater depth, and leap well-nigh 1000 feet beyond its base. This side of the mountain has always seemed sombre-sad-terrible; it is painfully suggestive of decay, ruin, and death; and it is now, alas! more than terrible by its a.s.sociations.

"There is no aspect of destruction about the Matterhorn cliffs," says Professor Ruskin. Granted;-when they are seen from afar. But approach, and sit down by the side of the Z'Muttgletscher, and you will hear that their piecemeal destruction is proceeding ceaselessly-incessantly. You will _hear_, but, probably, you will not _see_; for even when the descending ma.s.ses thunder as loudly as heavy guns, and the echoes roll back from the Ebihorn opposite, they will still be as pin-points against this grand old face, so vast is its scale!

If you would see the "aspects of destruction," you must come still closer, and climb its cliffs and ridges, or mount to the plateau of the Matterhorngletscher, which is cut up and ploughed up by these missiles, and strewn on its surface with their smaller fragments; the larger ma.s.ses, falling with tremendous velocity, plunge into the snow and are lost to sight.

The Matterhorngletscher, too, sends down _its_ avalanches, as if in rivalry with the rocks behind. Round the whole of its northern side it does not terminate in the usual manner by gentle slopes, but comes to a sudden end at the top of the steep rocks which lie betwixt it and the Z'Muttgletscher; and seldom does an hour pa.s.s without a huge slice breaking away and falling with dreadful uproar on to the slopes below, where it is re-compacted.

The desolate, outside pines of the Z'Mutt forests, stripped of their bark, and blanched by the weather, are a fit foreground to a scene that can hardly be surpa.s.sed in solemn grandeur. It is a subject worthy of the pencil of a great painter, and one which would tax the powers of the very greatest.

Higher up the glacier the mountain appeared less savage although not less inaccessible; and, about three hours later, when we arrived at the island of rock, called the Stockje (which marks the end of the Z'Muttgletscher proper, and which separates its higher feeder, the Stockgletscher, from its lower and greater one, the Tiefenmatten), Carrel himself, one of the least demonstrative of men, could not refrain from expressing wonder at the steepness of its faces, and at the audacity that had prompted us to camp upon the south-west ridge; the profile of which is seen very well from the Stockje.(78) Carrel then saw the north and north-west sides of the mountain for the first time, and was more firmly persuaded than ever that an ascent was possible _only_ from the direction of Breil.

Three years afterwards I was traversing the same spot with the guide Franz Biener, when all at once a puff of wind brought to us a very bad smell; and, on looking about, we discovered a dead chamois half-way up the southern cliffs of the Stockje. We clambered up, and found that it had been killed by a most uncommon and extraordinary accident. It had slipped on the upper rocks, had rolled over and over down a slope of debris, without being able to regain its feet, had fallen over a little patch of rocks that projected through the debris, and had caught the points of both horns on a tiny ledge, not an inch broad. It had just been able to touch the debris, where it led away down from the rocks, and had pawed and scratched until it could no longer touch. It had evidently been starved to death, and we found the poor beast almost swinging in the air, with its head thrown back and tongue protruding, looking to the sky as if imploring help.

We had no such excitement as this in 1863, and crossed this easy pa.s.s to the chalets of Prerayen in a very leisurely fashion. From the summit to Prerayen let us descend in one step. The way has been described before; and those who wish for information about it should consult the description of Mr. Jacomb, the discoverer of the pa.s.s. Nor need we stop at Prerayen, except to remark that the owner of the chalets (who is usually taken for a common herdsman) must not be judged by appearances. He is a man of substance; he has many flocks and herds; and although, when approached politely, is courteous, he can (and probably will) act as the _master_ of Prerayen, if his position is _not_ recognised, and with all the importance of a man who pays taxes to the extent of 500 francs per annum to his government.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHAMOIS IN DIFFICULTIES.]

The hill-tops were clouded when we rose from our hay on the 5th of August.

We decided not to continue the tour of our mountain immediately, and returned over our track of the preceding day to the highest chalet on the left bank of the valley, with the intention of attacking the Dent d'Erin on the next morning. We were interested in this summit, more on account of the excellent view which it commanded of the south-west ridge and the terminal peak of the Matterhorn, than from any other reason.

The Dent d'Erin had not been ascended at this time, and we had diverged from our route on the 4th, and had scrambled some distance up the base of Mont Brule, to see how far its south-western slopes were a.s.sailable. We were divided in opinion as to the best way of approaching the peak.

Carrel, true to his habit of sticking to rocks in preference to ice, counselled ascending by the long b.u.t.tress of the Tete de Bella Cia (which descends towards the west, and forms the southern boundary of the last glacier that falls into the Glacier de Zardesan), and thence traversing the heads of all the tributaries of the Zardesan to the western and rocky ridge of the Dent. I, on the other hand, proposed to follow the Glacier de Zardesan itself throughout its entire length, and from the plateau at its head (where my proposed route would cross Carrel's) to make directly towards the summit, up the snow-covered glacier slope, instead of by the western ridge. The hunchback, who was accompanying us on these excursions, declared in favour of Carrel's route, and it was accordingly adopted.

The first part of the programme was successfully executed; and at 10.30 A.M. on the 6th of August, we were sitting astride the western ridge, at a height of about 12,500 feet, looking down upon the Tiefenmatten glacier.

To all appearance another hour would place us on the summit; but in another hour we found that we were not destined to succeed. The ridge (like all of the princ.i.p.al rocky ridges of the great peaks upon which I have stood) had been completely shattered by frost, and was nothing more than a heap of piled up fragments. It was always narrow, and where it was narrowest it was also the most unstable and the most difficult. On neither side could we ascend it by keeping a little below its crest,-on the side of the Tiefenmatten because it was too steep, and on both sides because the dislodgment of a single block would have disturbed the equilibrium of all those which were above. Forced, therefore, to keep to the very crest of the ridge, and unable to deviate a single step either to the right or to the left, we were compelled to trust ourselves upon unsteady ma.s.ses, which trembled under our tread, which sometimes settled down, grating in a hollow and ominous manner, and which seemed as if a little shake would send the whole roaring down in one awful avalanche.

I followed my leader, who said not a word, and did not rebel until we came to a place where a block had to be surmounted which lay poised across the ridge. Carrel could not climb it without a.s.sistance, or advance beyond it until I joined him above; and as he stepped off my back on to it, I felt it quiver and bear down upon me. I doubted the possibility of another man standing upon it without bringing it down. Then I rebelled. There was no honour to be gained by persevering, or dishonour in turning from a place which was dangerous on account of its excessive difficulty. So we returned to Prerayen, for there was too little time to allow us to re-ascend by the other route, which was subsequently shown to be the right way up the mountain.

Four days afterwards a party of Englishmen (including my friends, W. E.

Hall, Craufurd Grove, and Reginald Macdonald), arrived in the Valpelline, and (unaware of our attempt) on the 12th, under the skilful guidance of Melchior Anderegg, made the first ascent of the Dent d'Erin by the route which I had proposed. This is the only mountain which I have essayed to ascend, that has not, sooner or later, fallen to me. Our failure was mortifying, yet I am satisfied that we did wisely in returning, and that if we had persevered, by Carrel's route, another Alpine accident would have been recorded. Other routes have been since discovered up the Dent d'Erin. The ascent ranks amongst the more difficult ones which have been made in the Alps.(79)

On the 7th of August we crossed the Va Cornere pa.s.s,(80) and had a good look at the mountain named the Grand Tournalin as we descended the Val de Chignana. This mountain was seen from so many points, and was so much higher than any peak in its immediate neighbourhood, that it was bound to give a very fine view; and (as the weather continued unfavourable for the Matterhorn) I arranged with Carrel to ascend it the next day, and despatched him direct to the village of Val Tournanche to make the necessary preparations, whilst I, with Meynet, made a short cut to Breil, at the back of Mont Panquero, by a little pa.s.s locally known as the Col de Fenetre. I rejoined Carrel the same evening at Val Tournanche, and we started from that place at a little before 5 A.M. on the 8th, to attack the Tournalin.

Meynet was left behind for that day, and most unwillingly did the hunchback part from us, and begged hard to be allowed to come. "Pay me nothing, only let me go with you;" "I shall want but a little bread and cheese, and of that I won't eat much;" "I would much rather go with you than carry things down the valley." Such were his arguments, and I was really sorry that the rapidity of our movements obliged us to desert the good little man.

Carrel led over the meadows on the south and east of the bluff upon which the village of Val Tournanche is built, and then by a zig-zag path through a long and steep forest, making many short cuts, which showed he had a thorough knowledge of the ground. After we came again into daylight, our route took us up one of those little, concealed, lateral valleys which are so numerous on the slopes bounding the Val Tournanche.

This valley, the Combe de Ceneil, has a general easterly trend, and contains but one small cl.u.s.ter of houses (Ceneil). The Tournalin is situated at the head of the Combe, and nearly due east of the village of Val Tournanche, but from that place no part of the mountain is visible.

After Ceneil is pa.s.sed it comes into view, rising above a cirque of cliffs (streaked by several fine waterfalls), at the end of the Combe. To avoid these cliffs the path bends somewhat to the south, keeping throughout to the left bank of the valley, and at about 3500 feet above Val Tournanche, and 1500 feet above Ceneil and a mile or so to its east, arrives at the base of some moraines, which are remarkably large considering the dimensions of the glaciers which formed them. The ranges upon the western side of the Val Tournanche are seen to great advantage from this spot; and here the path ends and the way steepens.

When we arrived at these moraines, we had a choice of two routes. One, continuing to the east, over the moraines themselves, the debris above them, and a large snow-bed still higher up, to a kind of _col_ or depression to the _south_ of the peak, from whence an easy ridge led towards the summit. The other, over a shrunken glacier on our north-east (now, perhaps, not in existence), which led to a well-marked _col_ on the _north_ of the peak, from whence a less easy ridge rose directly to the highest point. We followed the first named of these routes, and in little more than half-an-hour stood upon the Col, which commanded a most glorious view of the southern side of Monte Rosa, and of the ranges to its east, and to the east of the Val d'Ayas.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY SCATTERED IN A PANIC WHEN SALUTED BY THE CRIES OF MY EXCITED COMRADE."]

Whilst we were resting at this point, a large party of vagrant chamois arrived on the summit of the mountain from the northern side, some of whom-by their statuesque position-seemed to appreciate the grand panorama by which they were surrounded, while others amused themselves, like two-legged tourists, in rolling stones over the cliffs. The clatter of these falling fragments made us look up. The chamois were so numerous that we could not count them, and cl.u.s.tered around the summit, totally unaware of our presence. They scattered in a panic, as if a sh.e.l.l had burst amongst them, when saluted by the cries of my excited comrade; and plunged wildly down in several directions, with unfaltering and unerring bounds, with such speed and with such grace that we were filled with admiration and respect for their mountaineering abilities.

The ridge that led from the Col towards the summit was singularly easy, although well broken up by frost, and Carrel thought that it would not be difficult to arrange a path for mules out of the shattered blocks; but when we arrived on the summit we found ourselves separated from the very highest point by a cleft which had been concealed up to that time: its southern side was nearly perpendicular, but it was only fourteen or fifteen feet deep. Carrel lowered me down, and afterwards descended on to the head of my axe, and subsequently on to my shoulders, with a cleverness which was almost as far removed from my awkwardness as his own efforts were from those of the chamois. A few easy steps then placed us on the highest point. It had not been ascended before, and we commemorated the event by building a huge cairn, which was seen for many a mile, and would have lasted for many a year, had it not been thrown down by the orders of Canon Carrel, on account of its interrupting the sweep of a camera which he took to the lower summit in 1868, in order to photograph the panorama.

According to that well-known mountaineer the summit of the Grand Tournalin is 6100 feet above the village of Val Tournanche, and 11,155 feet above the sea. Its ascent (including halts) occupied us only four hours.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "CARREL LOWERED ME DOWN."]

I recommend any person who has a day to spare in the Val Tournanche to ascend the Tournalin. It should be remembered, however (if its ascent is made for the sake of the view), that these southern Pennine Alps seldom remain unclouded after mid-day, and, indeed, frequently not later than 10 or 11 A.M. Towards sunset the equilibrium of the atmosphere is restored, and the clouds very commonly disappear.

I advise the ascent of this mountain not on account of its height, or from its accessibility or inaccessibility, but simply for the wide and splendid view which may be seen from its summit. Its position is superb, and the list of the peaks which can be seen from it includes almost the whole of the princ.i.p.al mountains of the Cottian, Dauphine, Graian, Pennine, and Oberland groups. The view has, in the highest perfection, those elements of picturesqueness which are wanting in the purely panoramic views of higher summits. There are three princ.i.p.al sections, each with a central or dominating point, to which the eye is naturally drawn. All three alike are pictures in themselves; yet all are dissimilar. In the south, softened by the vapours of the Val d'Aoste, extends the long line of the Graians, with mountain after mountain 12,000 feet and upwards in height. It is not upon these, n.o.ble as some of them are, that the eye will rest, but upon the Viso, far off in the background. In the west and towards the north the range of Mont Blanc, and some of the greatest of the Central Pennine Alps (including the Grand Combin and the Dent Blanche) form the background, but they are overpowered by the grandeur of the ridges which culminate in the Matterhorn. Nor in the east and north, where pleasant gra.s.sy slopes lead downwards to the Val d'Ayas, nor upon the glaciers and snow-fields above them, nor upon the Oberland in the background, will the eye long linger, when immediately in front, several miles away, but seeming close at hand, thrown out by the pure azure sky, there are the glittering crests of Monte Rosa.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LATE CANON CARREL, OF AOSTA.]

Those who would, but cannot, stand upon the highest Alps, may console themselves with the knowledge that they do not usually yield the views that make the strongest and most permanent impressions. Marvellous some of the panoramas seen from the greatest peaks undoubtedly are; but they are necessarily without those isolated and central points which are so valuable pictorially. The eye roams over a mult.i.tude of objects (each, perhaps, grand individually), and, distracted by an embarra.s.sment of riches, wanders from one to another, erasing by the contemplation of the next the effect that was produced by the last; and when those happy moments are over, which always fly with too great rapidity, the summit is left with an impression that is seldom durable, because it is usually vague.

No views create such lasting impressions as those which are seen but for a moment, when a veil of mist is rent in twain, and a single spire or dome is disclosed. The peaks which are seen at these moments are not, perhaps, the greatest or the n.o.blest, but the recollection of them outlives the memory of any panoramic view, because the picture, photographed by the eye, has time to dry, instead of being blurred, while yet wet, by contact with other impressions. The reverse is the case with the bird's-eye panoramic views from the great peaks, which sometimes embrace a hundred miles in nearly every direction. The eye is confounded by the crowd of details, and is unable to distinguish the relative importance of the objects which are seen. It is almost as difficult to form a just estimate (with the eye) of the respective heights of a number of peaks from a very high summit, as it is from the bottom of a valley. I think that the grandest and the most satisfactory standpoints for viewing mountain scenery are those which are sufficiently elevated to give a feeling of depth, as well as of height, which are lofty enough to exhibit wide and varied views, but not so high as to sink everything to the level of the spectator. The view from the Grand Tournalin is a favourable example of this cla.s.s of panoramic views.

We descended from the summit by the northern route, and found it tolerably stiff clambering as far as the Col. Thence, down the glacier, the way was straightforward, and we joined the route taken on the ascent at the foot of the ridge leading towards the east. In the evening we returned to Breil.

There is an abrupt rise in the valley about two miles to the north of the village of Val Tournanche, and just above this step the torrent has eaten its way into its bed and formed an extraordinary chasm, which has long been known by the name Gouffre des Busserailles. We lingered about this spot to listen to the thunder of the concealed water, and to watch its tumultuous boiling as it issued from the gloomy cleft, but our efforts to peer into the mysteries of the place were baffled. In November 1865, the intrepid Carrel induced two trusty comrades-the Maquignaz's of Val Tournanche-to lower him by a rope into the chasm and over the cataract.

The feat required iron nerves, and muscles and sinews of no ordinary kind; and its performance alone stamps Carrel as a man of dauntless courage. One of the Maquignaz's subsequently descended in the same way, and these two men were so astonished at what they saw, that they forthwith set to work with hammer and chisel to make a way into this romantic gulf. In a few days they constructed a rough but convenient plank gallery into the centre of the _gouffre_, along its walls; and, on payment of a toll of half a franc, any one can now enter the Gouffre des Busserailles.

I cannot, without a couple of sections and a plan, give an exact idea to the reader of this remarkable place. It corresponds in some of its features to the gorge figured upon page 96, but it exhibits in a much more notable manner the characteristic action and extraordinary power of running water. The length of the chasm or _gouffre_ is about 320 feet, and from the top of its walls to the surface of the water is about 110 feet.

At no part can the entire length or depth be seen at a glance; for, although the width at some places is 15 feet or more, the view is limited by the sinuosities of the walls. These are everywhere polished to a smooth, vitreous-in-appearance surface. In some places the torrent has wormed into the rock, and has left natural bridges. The most extraordinary features of the Gouffre des Busserailles, however, are the caverns (or _marmites_ as they are termed), which the water has hollowed out of the heart of the rock. Carrel's plank path leads into one of the greatest,-a grotto that is about 28 feet across at its largest diameter, and 15 or 16 feet high; roofed above by the living rock, and with the torrent roaring 50 feet or thereabouts below, at the bottom of a fissure. This cavern is lighted by candles, and talking in it can only be managed by signs.

I visited the interior of the _gouffre_ in 1869, and my wonder at its caverns was increased by observing the hardness of the hornblende out of which they have been hollowed. Carrel chiselled off a large piece, which is now lying before me. It has a highly polished, gla.s.sy surface, and might be mistaken, for a moment, for ice-polished rock. But the water has found out the atoms which were least hard, and it is dotted all over by minute depressions, much as the face of one is who has suffered from smallpox. The edges of these little hollows are _rounded_, and the whole surfaces of the depressions are polished nearly, or quite, as highly as the general surface of the fragment. The water has eaten more deeply into some veins of steat.i.te than in other places, and the presence of the steat.i.te may possibly have had something to do with the formation of the _gouffre_.

I arrived at Breil again after an absence of six days, well satisfied with my tour of the Matterhorn, which had been rendered very pleasant by the willingness of my guides, and by the kindliness of the natives. Still, it must be admitted that the inhabitants of the Val Tournanche are behind the times. Their paths are as bad as, or worse than, they were in the time of De Saussure, and their inns are much inferior to those on the Swiss side.

If it were otherwise there would be nothing to prevent the valley becoming one of the most popular and frequented of all the valleys in the Alps. As it is, tourists who enter it seem to think only about how soon they can get out of it, and hence it is much less known than it deserves to be on account of its natural attractions.