THE SIMPLON IN JUNE--VISPACH TO ZERMATT--THE MATTERHORN--A FINE VIEW
FROM THE SNOWS OF GORNER-GRAT.
Crossing from Italy to Switzerland by the Simplon Pass early in June,
we found the remains of a great snow-drift near the summit. The crest
of the heap rose above the top of our carriage. On the Italian, or
south, side of the Alps the weather had been quite warm and even
enervating. Although the sky was overcast and rain fell at intervals,
I became unpleasantly heated whenever I walked, to ease the horses
and pick flowers. But the moment we began to descend from the extreme
height of about 6,500 feet, a cold wind struck us in front and flank.
Rugs and shawls which had been carefully strapped up were unbound and
put to use. The road was as good as when Napoleon made it, and the
horses were fresh from a night’s rest at the half-way inn of Isella.
The carriage rattled down the steep grade, the driver cracking his
whip merrily, and making echoes in the deep and narrow gorges. We knew
that a few hours of this pace would bring us to Brieg and warmth. I
never before realized the full difference between a northern and a
southern aspect. As we made the gradual ascent from Domo d’Ossola, snow
had been occasionally seen, but always far above us. It filled crevices
at the height of 7,000 feet, or crowned the very peaks. But when we
had passed the little village of Simplon and neared the Hospice, there
was snow in patches far below us. And from the road upward it still
covered large tracts, and at times threatened avalanches. These,
however, are of rare occurrence on the Simplon in the first half of
June. Rude crosses mark the spots where travelers had been swept into
the profound gulf which yawned on our left. At one place, the driver
said, four men had been carried to that awful but immediate death. An
enduring crucifix of bronze had been firmly set in a stone socket, just
where they were overtaken. This is the part of the road where so many
“refuges” have been provided. Those places of shelter, as well as the
more comfortable Hospice, have saved the lives of many persons crossing
the pass in the fall, winter, and spring. The _tourmente_, or whirlwind
of snow, is a cause of more deaths than avalanches in the high Alps.
It is bitterly cold and blinding, and in a few minutes raises mounds of
snow through which horses and men can hardly make their way. We were
glad to know that the icy plague was out of season at the time of our
crossing.
The waterfalls--among the greatest charms of the Simplon Pass--were at
their best. The rains had been heavy for some days, and the sun was
melting the snow in all but its highest lodgments. The white peaks
of mountains, ranging from 9,000 to 11,000 feet above the sea, were
sublime and beautiful. One never tires of gazing at them and using some
more familiar mountain at home as a sort of measuring-scale in order
to form a better idea of their height. Americans are in the habit of
recalling their impressions of Washington, Mansfield, Graylock, or the
Catskills for this purpose. In the Alps, however, this plan does not
help us much. For some of the most majestic of the range have their
bases at a height of 5,000 feet to begin with, and never seem to be
as high by several thousand feet as they really are. A mountain of
much less stature would look just as lofty springing from a foundation
nearer the sea-level. I soon gave up Washington, Moosilauke, and the
rest, and began employing Trinity Church steeple and the Produce
Exchange tower as wands of memory in trying to measure Monte Leone and
the Aletschhorn. The system was amusing if not satisfactory.
But when no lofty mountains are in sight then one’s spirit is refreshed
by the waterfalls. I never before conceived of the widely different
forms which falling water could assume. We passed hundreds of
cascades between Domo d’Ossola and Brieg, and no two were alike. They
resembled each other as little in shape as in size. Some were simple
mill-streams. They came rushing down the mountains in great volume to
turn wheels. But they found no corn to grind or logs to saw. They were
only conducted off through culverts beneath the road-bed, where they
could do neither harm nor good. What might be called lace-patterns were
innumerable. They were flat waterfalls, thin and very wide, slipping
gently over smooth rocks of easy slopes. Wavy bands of lines made the
breadth of these falls look in the distance exactly like snow-white
lace. Bridal veils of the most exquisite texture were common. Some kept
their symmetry in leaps of at least five hundred feet. There were falls
which reminded one of the dropping of brilliants from fireworks high
in the air. Each flashing wavelet seemed to preserve its unity as it
fell over the precipice, and to come down slowly till broken up by some
jutting rock below. A fall that always pleased us dissipated itself
in a transparent vapor, and sparkled in the sunshine like a cascade of
diamonds. This is the sort of fall that Swiss innkeepers are said to
manufacture in the dry season. It only needs a small boy with a few
pails of water. He is out of sight on the heights, and turns on the
fall when he sees a carriage coming through the pass. There were too
many falls of this kind to make us question their genuineness. Another
style that never tired came down in numerous short leaps. The effect
was that of stairs made of silver. Sometimes they were solid--as one
might say--and made so little spray that they seemed to be shining
steps leading from the gloomy depths of the ravine to the white and
serene land above.
We used up the best part of two days traveling from Pallanza (on the
Lago Maggiore), Italy, to Brieg, Switzerland, which is the upper end of
the Simplon road, and would not have abridged the journey by a single
hour. It is delightful and exhilarating to every lover of Nature--in
fine weather. Few persons who seek the Alps for health and pleasure
will be sorry to learn that the proposed tunnel of the Simplon is
likely to remain a dream many years longer. In a shed of the little
_auberge_ at Isella may be seen a boring-machine which has been tried
on the Italian side and laid up for want of funds. The tunnel would
be about twelve miles long, and nobody knows how much it would cost.
And nobody in Italy, at least, seems to care. The scheme is of French
origin, though the Swiss are very friendly to it, and its projectors
have hoped that Switzerland would subscribe liberally toward its
execution. But, at present, there is little prospect that help will
come from that quarter or any other. Admirers of the picturesque who
do not want to see the noble Simplon road discarded will not, however,
object to the construction of a narrow-gauge railway between Domo
d’Ossola and the Italian lakes. This would save them the delay and
expense of a carriage-ride of four or five hours through a somewhat
monotonous country. I can testify to the solidity of the road-bed
as far as built. The bridges are particularly strong. Work is now
suspended on this enterprise, also for lack of money, and the natives
told me that they did not expect to see it in operation under four
years--if ever.
At Brieg we took carriage for Vispach, though the railway from the
former place connects the two villages and continues on to Geneva.
Vispach is the only point of departure for the Zermatt country, where
the Matterhorn reigns supreme. Thousands of persons--mostly Alpine
climbers--visit Zermatt in July and August. It is strange, therefore,
that for half the way there is no carriage-road where one could be
made at moderate cost merely by widening the present bridle-path. As a
walk, the distance is a good nine hours, and is readily taken by many
English men and women. But people like ourselves, not used to such
performances, are glad to mount horses, or, if timid or not strong,
prefer to be borne on the chair with poles (which one sees everywhere
in these mountains) by the strong hands of two young Swiss giants, with
two others to “spell” them and carry the “traps.” Light-weight ladies
are greatly in favor with these porters. They trot off with their
little burden at a rate which soon distances my horse. It is fun to
notice that sometimes they pretend to find the load heavy and slacken
their gait, as if fatigued. The object of this artifice is to justify
the employment of the second pair of giants, one of whom has a bundle
of umbrellas and the other a small black hand-bag, which is popularly
supposed to be full of money, but in fact contains only bottles.
The horse is led by a fifth man, not, I flatter myself, because the
rider does not know how to ride, but in order to make number five
seem indispensable. This man carries a small package of shawls. It is
the poor horse that does most of the real work and receives no _pour
boire_. For, besides the person on his back, he bears the only piece
of baggage worth mentioning. This is a leather valise of modest
dimensions. Wise people who go to Zermatt get themselves up in light
marching order, leaving their trunks behind to be picked up on their
return. For you are obliged to come out of the Visp Valley the same way
you go in, unless you cross into Italy on foot over a glacier about two
miles high, which we do not propose to do.
If one were not looking so sharply after his horse and his scattered
property, and keeping the little procession on the go in order to lose
no time, he would enjoy the scenery between Vispach and St. Niklaus
more than he does. It is always wild and in places is magnificent. On
both sides of the valley are crags of great height and occasionally
a snow-tipped peak. Sometimes we rise far above the river Visp, and
then again descend to its level. We are always within hearing distance
of its deep gurgle. On the whole, it was a relief to change off for
a rough mountain-wagon at St. Niklaus and do the rest of the way
with no attendant but the driver. Rain came on about that time, and
we lost some of the finest views to be had before reaching Zermatt.
But we did see the enormous blocks of stone which were shaken down
by the earthquake of 1885 and rolled to the middle of the valley.
The force required to detach these masses from their everlasting
foundations is comprehensible. But it is not so easy to believe that
an immense section of the Bies glacier which overhangs the village
of Randa, slipped with such initial velocity as to clear that hamlet
completely and fall on the other side. The story goes that, although
this monstrous ice-cake missed the village, the wind of it blew down
all the houses! But we prefer to accept all the astonishing statements
about glaciers, and thereby heighten our enjoyment of those remarkable
objects.
At half-past five the next morning, I obtained my first and best view
of the sublime Matterhorn from a chamber of the Hôtel du Mont Rose.
It was like an instantaneous photograph. Perhaps not a second elapsed
before a drifting cloud covered the summit. But in that fleeting moment
the view was complete. In the pure air of Zermatt (itself 5,300 feet
high) the stars shine with an intensity unknown to lower regions,
and mountains which are miles away seem to overhang the village. The
height of the Matterhorn is about 14,700 feet. This, great as it is,
would not count for so much but for the peculiar shape of the peak. As
seen from Zermatt it presents two sides of a pyramid of solid rock.
These rise at very sharp angles from a slender base and terminate in
the form of a tusk, which actually curves at the top. It recalls to
mind a walrus-tooth or the horn of a rhinoceros. A slight coating of
snow mantles only a part of this rockiest of mountains. Nothing could
seem more difficult than the ascent of the Matterhorn. As one looks at
it the wonder grows that the little churchyard of the hamlet, which
holds the bodies of the three who paid with their lives for the honor
of “conquering” it twenty years ago, is not filled with victims of
the same ambition. In the precious moment of my observation I mark
the route by which those daring men made their ascent. There is the
“shoulder” which they passed triumphantly. There is the steepest of
slopes up which they were the pioneers. There is the precipice of
4,000 feet down which four of the party slipped as they were returning
from their victory. And, somewhere down there among the eternal snow,
perhaps in the fathomless crevasse of a glacier, is still buried
the body of Lord Douglas, one of the most intrepid members of the
expedition. But, while I am making out these points of interest, a
cloud eclipses all. I had seen just enough of the obstacles of the
Matterhorn to increase my amazement at the well-known fact that it is
often ascended with safety now-a-days. It should be remembered that
ropes have been securely fastened to the sides of the mountain in the
worst places, and render the task less difficult than formerly. There
are guides standing in the street in front of the Hôtel du Mont Rose
who would conduct you to the top of the Matterhorn and bring you back
alive for a moderate sum. But they would not start to-day or to-morrow.
They would wait until July, when the snow had melted and left the lower
part of the mountain bare. Even now, however, an offer large enough
will procure the attempt--and probably a successful one--to accomplish
this greatest of Alpine feats.
One day I happened to meet in a shop a veteran guide who had retired
from the business on his fees and laurels. The old fellow had just
dined freely, and was feeling well. Knowing who he was, I playfully
asked him if he would take me up the Matterhorn and plant the American
flag on the top for 1,000 francs? My manner should have showed that I
was joking. The aged guide, entering into the humor of the thing, as I
supposed, said he would think about it and let me know. Sure enough,
that very night he hunted me up and said he was ready to start the
next day, if required, on the terms mentioned. He seemed very much
disappointed when I told him I was only “in fun.” Since then I am
aware that all the guides in the street are watching me anxiously.
They hope that I may prove the first candidate for their services on
the Matterhorn this season. Last year they assisted more than twenty
persons up and down that terrible rock without a single accident.
August is the best month for the ascents.
Taking advantage of a fine morning, I started off with a trusty
guide, and in about five hours gained a height of nearly 10,000 feet.
Our route was by a bridle-path up to the Riffelberg, where there
is a summer hotel 8,430 feet above the sea. This establishment was
tenantless at the time of our visit. It is not usually open before
July. Leaving the horse there, the guide and myself proceeded on foot.
At first snow-patches alternated with naked rocks, but presently we
struck a continuous deposit of snow, which gradually increased in depth
from three to six and eight feet. Fortunately for us, Mr. Seiler, the
energetic proprietor of all the hotels in and about Zermatt--five in
number--had that very day directed his men to break a path through
this immense snow-field. We reaped the benefit of their work, and in
fact followed on their heels. At noon we had reached a point on the
Gorner Grat which commanded all the mountains and glaciers I desired to
see; and, as the sun was fast softening the snow and making our task
more arduous, we rested. At that elevation we had fine views of the
Weisshorn, the Rothhorn, Monte Rosa (15,217 feet, and next in height to
Mont Blanc), the Lyskamm, Castor and Pollux, the Dent Blanc, and nearly
all the Alpine monsters of this region except the Matterhorn--coyest
of the family. Five or six glaciers could be distinctly seen for the
greater part of their length and breadth. While feasting on this
incomparable scene of icy magnificence drops of rain began to fall, the
majestic outlines of Monte Rosa vanished in a cloud, the whole prospect
became blurred, and, most reluctantly, I decided to return to Zermatt.
But, that nothing might be wanting to make the excursion prosperous, we
were, on the way, favored with a view of the Matterhorn only a shade
less admirable than the one I have already described.