THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.
“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,
A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”
ÆSCHYLUS.
Michel Croz now parted from us. His new employer had not arrived at
Chamounix, but Croz considered that he was bound by honour to wait for
him, and thus Christian Almer, of Grindelwald, became my leading guide.
Almer displayed aptitude for mountaineering at an early age. Whilst still
a very young man he was known as a crack chamois-hunter, and he soon
developed into an accomplished guide. Those who have read Mr. Wills’
graphic account of the first ascent of the Wetterhorn(191) will remember
that, when his party was approaching the top of the mountain, two stranger
men were seen climbing by a slightly different route, one of whom carried
upon his back a young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all. Mr. Wills’
guides were extremely indignant with these two strangers (who were
evidently determined to be the first at the summit), and talked of giving
them blows. Eventually they gave them a cake of chocolate instead, and
declared that they were good fellows. “Thus the pipe of peace was smoked,
and tranquillity reigned between the rival forces.” Christian Almer was
one of these two men.
This was in 1854. In 1858-9 he made the first ascents of the Eigher and
the Mönch, the former with a Mr. Harrington (?), and the latter with Dr.
Porges. Since then he has wandered far and near, from Dauphiné to the
Tyrol.(192) With the exception of Melchior Anderegg, there is not,
perhaps, another guide of such wide experience, or one who has been so
invariably successful; and his numerous employers concur in saying that
there is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be found amongst the Alps.
[Illustration: CHRISTIAN ALMER.(193)]
Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte.
In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction
in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be
made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th
from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will
speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at
having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the
most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.
Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace—the glacier made famous by De
Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was over, but the little rills
and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep
troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the
water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over
the precipitous walls of the great crevasses, sometimes in bounding
cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the
perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.(194) As night came on,
their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills
ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost,
were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted
until the sun struck the glacier once more.
[Illustration: ON THE MER DE GLACE.]
We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next
morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent
and of the food. Two hours’ walking over crisp snow brought us up more
than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other
direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the
mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a
natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of
the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up
them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the
Glacier de Talèfre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the
summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the
route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully
narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some
chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the
east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by
side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected
the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the
whole of the intervening route. “Oh! Aiguille Verte,” said my guide,
stopping as he said it, “you are dead, you are dead;” which, being
translated into plain English, meant that he was cock-sure we should make
its ascent.
Almer is a quiet man at all times. When climbing he is taciturn—and this
is one of his great merits. A garrulous man is always a nuisance, and upon
the mountain-side he may be a danger, for actual climbing requires a man’s
whole attention. Added to this, talkative men are hindrances; they are
usually thirsty, and a thirsty man is a drag.
Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their
throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of
the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same
time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to
keep the mouth shut, without any pebbles inside,—indeed, I think, better;
for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without
swallowing any pebbles.(195) As a rule, amateurs, and particularly
novices, _will not_ keep their mouths shut. They attempt to “force the
pace,” they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open
their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become
parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted,
declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air
(everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts,
therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at
his work.
At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into
the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last
ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming
rocks they were; granitic in texture,(196) gritty, holding the nails well.
At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of
snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15
we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a
good appetite.
I have already spoken of the disappointing nature of purely panoramic
views. That seen from Mont Blanc itself is notoriously unsatisfactory.
When you are upon that summit you look down upon all the rest of Europe.
There is nothing to look up to; all is below; there is no one point for
the eye to rest upon. The man who is there is somewhat in the position of
one who has attained all that he desires,—he has nothing to aspire to; his
position must needs be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of the Verte there
is not this objection. You see valleys, villages, fields; you see
mountains interminable rolling away, lakes resting in their hollows; you
hear the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises through the clear
mountain air, and the roar of the avalanches as they descend to the
valleys: but above all there is the great white dome, with its shining
crest high above; with its sparkling glaciers that descend between
buttresses which support them: with its brilliant snows, purer and yet
purer the farther they are removed from this unclean world.(197)
Even upon this mountain-top it was impossible to forget the world, for
some vile wretch came to the Jardin and made hideous sounds by blowing
through a horn. Whilst we were denouncing him a change came over the
weather; cumulous clouds gathered in all directions, and we started off in
hot haste. Snow began to fall heavily before we were off the summit-rocks,
our track was obscured and frequently lost, and everything became so
sloppy and slippery that the descent took as long as the ascent. The
schrund was recrossed at 3.15 P.M., and thence we raced down to the
Couvercle, intending to have a carouse there; but as we rounded our rock a
howl broke simultaneously from all three of us, for the porter had taken
down the tent, and was in the act of moving off with it. “Stop, there!
what are you doing?” He observed that he had thought we were killed, or at
least lost, and was going to Chamounix to communicate his ideas to the
_guide chef_. “Unfasten the tent, and get out the food.” Instead of doing
so the porter fumbled in his pockets. “Get out the food,” we roared,
losing all patience. “Here it is,” said our worthy friend, producing a
dirty piece of bread about as big as a halfpenny roll. We three looked
solemnly at the fluff-covered morsel. It was past a joke,—he had devoured
everything. Mutton, loaves, cheese, wine, eggs, sausages—all was gone—past
recovery. It was idle to grumble, and useless to wait. We were light, and
could move quickly,—the porter was laden inside and out. We went our
hardest,—he had to shuffle and trot. He streamed with perspiration; the
mutton and cheese oozed out in big drops,—he larded the glacier. We had
our revenge, and dried our clothes at the same time, but when we arrived
at the Montanvert the porter was as wet as we had been upon our arrival at
the Couvercle. We halted at the inn to get a little food, and at a quarter
past eight re-entered Chamounix, amidst firing of cannon and other
demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of the hotel-keepers.
One would have thought that the ascent of this mountain, which had been
frequently assailed before without success, would have afforded some
gratification to a population whose chief support is derived from
tourists, and that the prospect of the perennial flow of francs which
might be expected to result from it would have stifled the jealousy
consequent on the success of foreigners.(198)
It was not so. Chamounix stood on its rights. A stranger had ignored the
“regulations,” had imported two foreign guides, and, furthermore, he had
added injury to that insult—he had not taken a single Chamounix guide.
Chamounix would be revenged! It would bully the foreign guides; it would
tell them they had lied,—that they had not made the ascent! Where were
their proofs? Where was the flag upon the summit?
Poor Almer and Biener were accordingly chivied from pillar to post, from
one inn to another, and at length complained to me. Peter Perrn, the
Zermatt guide, said on the night that we returned that this was to happen,
but the story seemed too absurd to be true. I now bade my men go out
again, and followed them myself to see the sport. Chamounix was greatly
excited. The _bureau_ of the _guide chef_ was thronged with clamouring
men. Their ringleader—one Zacharie Cachat—a well-known guide, of no
particular merit, but not a bad fellow, was haranguing the multitude. He
met with more than his match. My friend Kennedy, who was on the spot,
heard of the disturbance and rushed into the fray, confronted the burly
guide, and thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.
There were the materials for a very pretty riot; but they manage these
things better in France than we do, and the gensdarmes—three strong—came
down and dispersed the crowd. The guides quailed before the cocked hats,
and retired to cabarets to take little glasses of absinthe and other
liquors more or less injurious to the human frame. Under the influence of
these stimulants, they conceived an idea which combined revenge with
profit. “You have ascended the Aiguille Verte, you say. _We_ say we don’t
believe it. _We_ say, do it again! Take three of us with you, and we will
bet you two thousand francs to one thousand, that you won’t make the
ascent!”
This proposition was formally notified to me, but I declined it, with
thanks, and recommended Kennedy to go in and win. I accepted, however, a
hundred franc share in the bet, and calculated upon getting two hundred
per cent on my investment. Alas! how vain are human expectations! Zacharie
Cachat was put into confinement, and although Kennedy actually ascended
the Aiguille a week later, with two Chamounix guides and Peter Perrn, the
bet came to nothing.(199)
The weather arranged itself just as this storm in a teapot blew over, and
we left at once for the Montanvert, in order to show the Chamouniards the
easiest way over the chain of Mont Blanc, in return for the civilities
which we had received from them during the past three days.
[Illustration: WESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.]