_ASCENT OF THE JUNGFRAU._
I had spent nearly a fortnight at the Æggischhorn in 1863, employing
alternate days in wandering and musing over the green Alps, and in more
vigorous action upon the Aletsch glacier. Day after day a blue sky
spanned the earth, and night after night the stars glanced down from an
unclouded heaven. There is no nobler mountain group in Switzerland than
that seen on a fine day from the middle of the Aletsch glacier looking
southwards; while to the north, and more close at hand, rise the
Jungfrau and other summits familiar to every tourist who has crossed
the Wengern Alp. The love of being alone amid those scenes caused me,
on the 3rd of August, to withdraw from all society, and ascend the
glacier, which for nearly two hours was almost as even as a highway,
no local danger calling away the attention from the near and distant
mountains. The ice yielded to the sun, rills were formed, which united
to rivulets, and these again coalesced to rapid brooks, which ran with
a pleasant music through deep channels cut in the ice. Sooner or later
these brooks were crossed by cracks; into these cracks the water fell,
scooping gradually out for itself a vertical shaft, the resonance of
which raised the sound of the falling water to the dignity of thunder.
These shafts constitute the so-called moulins of the glacier, examples
of which are shown upon the Mer de Glace to every tourist who visits
the Jardin from Chamouni. The moulins can only form where the glacier
is not much riven, as here alone the rivulets can acquire the requisite
volume to produce a moulin.
After two hours’ ascent, the ice began to wear a more hostile aspect,
and long stripes of last year’s snow drawn over the sullied surface
marked the lines of crevasses now partially filled and bridged over.
For a time this snow was consolidated, and I crossed numbers of the
chasms, sounding in each case before trusting myself to its tenacity.
But as I ascended, the width and depth of the fissures increased,
and the fragility of the snow-bridges became more conspicuous. The
crevasses yawned here and there with threatening gloom, while along
their fringes the crystallising power of water played the most
fantastic freaks. Long lines of icicles dipped into the darkness, and
at some places the liquefied snow had refrozen into clusters of plates,
ribbed and serrated like the leaves of ferns. The cases in which
the snow covering of the crevasses, when tested by the axe, yielded,
became gradually more numerous, demanding commensurate caution. It is
impossible to feel otherwise than earnest in such scenes as this, with
the noblest and most beautiful objects in nature around one, with the
sense of danger raising the feelings at times to the level of awe.
My way upwards became more and more difficult, and circuit after
circuit had to be made to round the gaping fissures. There is a passive
cruelty in the aspect of these chasms sufficient to make the blood run
cold. Among them it is not good for man to be alone, so I halted in
the midst of them and swerved back towards the Faulberg. But instead
of it I struck the lateral tributary of the Aletsch, which runs up to
the Grünhorn Lücke. In this passage I was more than once entangled in a
mesh of fissures, but it is marvellous what steady, cool scrutiny can
accomplish upon the ice, and how often difficulties of apparently the
gravest kind may be reduced to a simple form by skilful examination.
I tried to get along the rocks to the Faulberg, but after investing
half an hour in the attempt I thought it prudent to retreat. I finally
reached the Faulberg by the glacier, and with great comfort consumed my
bread and cheese and emptied my goblet in the shadow of its caves. On
this day it was my desire to get near the buttresses of the Jungfrau,
and to see what prospect of success a lonely climber would have in an
attempt upon the mountain. Such an attempt might doubtless be made, but
at a risk which no sane man would willingly incur.
On August 6, however, I had the pleasure of joining Dr. Hornby and Mr.
Philpotts, who, with Christian Almer and Christian Lauener for their
guides, wished to ascend the Jungfrau. We quitted the Æggischhorn at
2.15 P.M., and in less than four hours reached the grottoes of the
Faulberg. A pine fire was soon blazing, a pan of water soon bubbling
sociably over the flame, and the evening meal was quickly prepared
and disposed of. For a time the air behind the Jungfrau and Monk
was exceedingly dark and threatening; rain was streaming down upon
Lauterbrunnen, and the skirt of the storm wrapped the summits of the
Jungfrau and the Monk. Southward, however, the sky was clear, and there
were such general evidences of hope that we were not much disheartened
by the local burst of ill-temper displayed by the atmosphere to the
north of us. Like a gust of passion the clouds cleared away, and
before we went to rest all was sensibly clear. Still the air was not
transparent, and for a time the stars twinkled through it with a feeble
ray. There was no visible turbidity, but a something which cut off
half the stellar brilliancy. The starlight, however, became gradually
stronger, not on account of the augmenting darkness, but because the
air became clarified as the night advanced.
Two of our party occupied the upper cave, and the guides took
possession of the kitchen, while a third lay in the little grot below.
Hips and ribs felt throughout the night the pressure of the subjacent
rock. A single blanket, moreover, though sufficient to keep out the
pain of cold, was insufficient to induce the comfort of warmth; so I
lay awake in a neutral condition, neither happy nor unhappy, watching
the stars without emotion as they appeared in succession above the
mountain-heads.
At half-past 12 a rumbling in the kitchen showed the guides to be
alert, and soon afterwards Christian Almer announced that tea was
prepared. We rose, consumed a crust and basin each, and at 1.15 A.M.,
being perfectly harnessed, we dropped down upon the glacier. The
crescent moon was in the sky, but for a long time we had to walk in
the shadow of the mountains, and therefore required illumination. The
bottoms were knocked out of two empty bottles, and each of these,
inverted, formed a kind of lantern which protected from the wind a
candle stuck in the neck. Almer went first, holding his lantern in his
left hand and his axe in the right, moving cautiously along the snow
which, as the residue of the spring avalanches, fringed the glacier.
At times, for no apparent reason, the leader paused and struck his
ice-axe into the snow. Looking right or left, a chasm was always
discovered in these cases, and the cautious guide sounded the snow,
lest the fissure should have prolonged itself underneath so as to cross
our track. A tributary glacier joined the Aletsch from our right--a
long corridor filled with ice, and covered by the purest snow. Down
this valley the moonlight streamed, silvering the surface upon which it
fell.
Here we cast our lamps away, and roped ourselves together. To our left
a second long ice-corridor stretched up to the Lötsch saddle, which
hung like a chain between the opposing mountains. In fact, at this
point four noble ice-streams form a junction, and flow afterwards in
the common channel of the Great Aletsch glacier. Perfect stillness
might have been expected to reign upon the ice, but even at that early
hour the gurgle of subglacial water made itself heard, and we had to
be cautious in some places lest a too thin crust might let us in. We
went straight up the glacier, towards the col which links the Monk
and Jungfrau together. The surface was hard, and we went rapidly and
silently over the snow. There is an earnestness of feeling on such
occasions which subdues the desire for conversation. The communion we
held was with the solemn mountains and their background of dark blue
sky.
‘Der Tag bricht!’ exclaimed one of the men. I looked towards the
eastern heaven, but could discover no illumination which hinted at the
approach of day. At length the dawn really appeared, brightening the
blue of the eastern firmament; at first it was a mere augmentation of
cold light, but by degrees it assumed a warmer tint. The long uniform
incline of the glacier being passed, we reached the first eminences of
snow which heave like waves around the base of the Jungfrau. This is
the region of beauty in the higher Alps--beauty pure and tender, out of
which emerges the savage scenery of the peaks. For the healthy and the
pure in heart these higher snow-fields are consecrated ground.
The snow bosses were soon broken by chasms deep and dark, which
required tortuous winding on our part to get round them. Having
surmounted a steep slope, we passed to some red and rotten rocks, which
required care on the part of those in front to prevent the loose and
slippery shingle from falling upon those behind. We gained the ridge
and wound along it. High snow eminences now flanked us to the left,
and along the slope over which we passed the _séracs_ had shaken their
frozen boulders. We tramped amid the knolls of the fallen avalanches
towards a white wall which, so far as we could see, barred further
progress. To our right were noble chasms, blue and profound, torn into
the heart of the _névé_ by the slow but resistless drag of gravity on
the descending snows. Meanwhile the dawn had brightened into perfect
day, and over mountains and glaciers the gold and purple light of the
eastern heaven was liberally poured. We had already caught sight of the
peak of the Jungfrau, rising behind an eminence and piercing for fifty
feet or so the rosy dawn. And many another peak of stately altitude
caught the blush, while the shaded slopes were all of a beautiful
azure, being illuminated by the firmament alone. A large segment
of space enclosed between the Monk and Trugberg was filled like a
reservoir with purple light. The world, in fact, seemed to worship, and
the flush of adoration was on every mountain-head.
Over the distant Italian Alps rose clouds of the most fantastic forms,
jutting forth into the heavens like enormous trees, thrusting out
umbrageous branches which bloomed and glistened in the solar rays.
Along the whole southern heaven these fantastic masses were ranged
close together, but still perfectly isolated, until on reaching a
certain altitude they seemed to meet a region of wind which blew their
tops like streamers far away through the air. Warmed and tinted by
the morning sun those unsubstantial masses rivalled in grandeur the
mountains themselves.
The final peak of the Jungfrau is now before us, and apparently _so_
near! But the mountaineer alone knows how delusive the impression of
nearness often is in the Alps. To reach the slope which led up to the
peak we must scale or round the barrier already spoken of. From the
coping and the ledges of this beautiful wall hung long stalactites
of ice, in some cases like inverted spears, with their sharp points
free in air. In other cases, the icicles which descended from the
overhanging top reached a projecting lower ledge, and stretched like a
crystal railing from the one to the other. To the right of this barrier
was a narrow gangway, from which the snow had not yet broken away so as
to form a vertical or overhanging wall. It was one of those accidents
which the mountains seldom fail to furnish, and on the existence of
which the success of the climber entirely depends. Up this steep and
narrow gangway we cut our steps, and a few minutes placed us safely at
the bottom of the final pyramid of the Jungfrau.
From this point we could look down into the abyss of the Roththal,
and certainly its wild environs seemed to justify the uses to which
superstition has assigned the place. For here it is said the original
demons of the mountains hold their orgies, and hither the spirits of
the doubly-damned among men are sent to bear them company. The slope
up which we had now to climb was turned towards the sun; its aspect
was a southern one, and its snows had been melted and recongealed to
hard ice. The axe of Almer rung against the obdurate solid, and its
fragments whirred past us with a weird-like sound to the abysses below.
They suggested the fate which a false step might bring along with it.
It is a practical tribute to the strength and skill of the Oberland
guides that no disaster has hitherto occurred upon the peak of the
Jungfrau.
The work upon this final ice-slope was long and heavy, and during this
time the summit appeared to maintain its distance above us. We at
length cleared the ice, and gained a stretch of snow which enabled us
to treble our upward speed. Thence to some loose and shingly rocks,
again to the snow, whence a sharp edge led directly up to the top. The
exhilaration of success was here added to that derived from physical
nature. On the top fluttered a little black flag, planted by our most
recent predecessors. We reached it at 7.15 A.M., having accomplished
the ascent from the Faulberg in six hours. The snow was flattened on
either side of the apex so as to enable us all to stand upon it, and
here we stood for some time, with all the magnificence of the Alps
unrolled before us.
We may look upon those mountains again and again from a dozen different
points of view, a perennial glory surrounds them which associates
with every new prospect fresh impressions. I thought I had scarcely
ever seen the Alps to greater advantage. Hardly ever was their majesty
more fully revealed or more overpowering. The colouring of the air
contributed as much to the effect as the grandeur of the masses on
which that colouring fell. A calm splendour overspread the mountains,
softening the harshness of the outlines without detracting from their
strength. But half the interest of such scenes is psychological; the
soul takes the tint of surrounding nature, and in its turn becomes
majestic.
And as I looked over this wondrous scene towards Mont Blanc, the Grand
Combin, the Dent Blanche, the Weisshorn, the Dom, and the thousand
lesser peaks which seemed to join in celebration of the risen day, I
asked myself, as on previous occasions: How was this colossal work
performed? Who chiselled these mighty and picturesque masses out of
a mere protuberance of the earth? And the answer was at hand. Ever
young, ever mighty--with the vigour of a thousand worlds still within
him--the real sculptor was even then climbing up the eastern sky. It
was he who raised aloft the waters which cut out these ravines; it was
he who planted the glaciers on the mountain-slopes, thus giving gravity
a plough to open out the valleys; and it is he who, acting through
the ages, will finally lay low these mighty monuments, rolling them
gradually seaward--
Sowing the seeds of continents to be;
so that the people of an older earth may see mould spread and corn
wave over the hidden rocks which at this moment bear the weight of the
Jungfrau.[17]
[17] Eight years ago I was evidently a sun-worshipper; nor have I
yet lost the conviction of his ability to do all here ascribed to
him.--J.T., 1871.