unfortunate prisoner was made to kneel before an image of the Virgin,
while the treacherous floor, falling beneath him, precipitated him into
a well forty feet deep, where he was left to die of broken limbs and
starvation. Below this well was still another pit, filled with knives,
into which, when they were disposed to a merciful hastening of the
torture, they let him fall. The woman has been herself to the bottom of
the first dungeon, and found there bones of victims. The second pit is
now walled up....
To-night, after sunset, we rowed to Byron's "little isle," the only one
in the lake. O, the unutterable beauty of these mountains--great, purple
waves, as if they had been dashed up by a mighty tempest, crested
with snow-like foam! this purple sky, and crescent moon, and the lake
gleaming and shimmering, and twinkling stars, while far off up the sides
of a snow-topped mountain a light shines like a star--some mountaineer's
candle, I suppose.
In the dark stillness we rode again over to Chillon, and paused under
its walls. The frogs were croaking in the moat, and we lay rocking on
the wave, and watching the dusky outlines of the towers and turrets.
Then the spirit of the scene seemed to wrap me round like a cloak. Back
to Geneva again. This lovely place will ever leave its image on my
heart. Mountains embrace it.
BY RAIL UP THE GORNER-GRAT[44]
BY ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL KNOWLES
To see the splendid array of snow peaks and glaciers which makes the sky
line above Zermatt, one must leave the valley and walk or climb to a
higher level. An ideal spot for this is the Hôtel Riffel Alp. Both the
situation and the Hôtel outrival and surpass any similar places in the
Alps. "Far from the madding crowd," on a little plateau bounded by pines
and pastures stands the Hôtel, some two thousand feet above Zermatt
and at an altitude of over 7,000 feet. The outlook is superb, the air
splendid, the quiet most restful. Two little churches, the one for Roman
Catholics, the other for members of the Church of England minister to
the spiritual needs of the visitors and stamp religion upon a situation
grand and sublime.
Those who come here are lovers of the mountains who enjoy the open life.
It is a place not so much for "les grands excursions" as for long walks,
easy climbs and the beginnings of mountaineering. Many persons spend the
entire day out, preferring to eat their déjeuner "informally," perched
above some safe precipice, or on a glacier-bordered rock or in the shade
of the cool woods, but there are always some who linger both morning and
afternoon on the terrace with its far expanse of view, with the bright
sunshine streaming down upon them.
One great charm of the Riffel Alp is the proximity to the snow. An hour
will bring one either to the Gorner Glacier or to the Findelen Glacier,
while a somewhat longer time will lead to other stretches of snow and
ice, where the climber may sit and survey the séracs and crevasses or
walk about on the great frozen rivers. This is said to be beneficial to
the nervous system as many physicians maintain that the glaciers contain
a large amount of radium.
Before essaying any of the longer or harder trips however, the traveler
first of all generally goes to the Gorner-Grat, the rocky ridge that
runs up from Zermatt to a point 10,290 feet high. Many people still walk
up, but since the railroad was built, even those who feel it to be a
matter of conscience to inveigh against any kind of progress which
ministers to the pleasures of the masses, are found among those who
prefer to ascend by electricity. The trip up is often made very amusing
as among the crowds are always some, who knowing really nothing of the
place, feel it incumbent upon themselves to point out all of the peaks,
in a way quite discomposing to anybody familiar with the locality or
versed in geography! Quite a luxurious little hôtel now surmounts the
top of the Gorner-Grat. In it, about it and above it, on the walled
terrace assembles a motley crowd every clear day in summer, clad in
every variety of costume, conventional and unconventional....
An ordinary scene would be ruined by such a crowd, but not so the
Gorner-Grat. The very majesty and magnificence of the view make
one forget the vaporings of mere man, and the Glory of God, so
overpoweringly revealed in those regions of perpetual snow, drives other
impressions away. And if one wishes to be alone, it is easily possible
by walking a little further along the ridge where some rock will shut
out all sight of man and the wind will drive away the sound of voices.
It is doubtful if there is any view comparable with that of the
Gorner-Grat. There is what is called a "near view," and there is also
what is known as a "distant view," for completely surrounded by snow
peak and glacier, the eye passes from valley to summit, resting on that
wonderful stretch of shining white which forms the skyline. To say that
one can count dozens of glaciers, that he can see fifty summits, that
Monte Rosa, the Lyskamm, the Twins, the Breithorn, the Matterhorn, the
Dent Blanche, the Weisshorn, with many other mountains of the Valais
and Oberland form a complete circle of snow peaks, may establish the
geography of the place but it does not convey any but the faintest
picture of the sublime grandeur of the scene....
An exciting experience for novices is to go with a guide from the
Gorner-Grat to the Hohtäligrat and thence down to the Findelen Glacier.
It looks dangerous but it is not really so, if the climber is careful,
for altho there is a sheer descent on either side of the arête or ridge
which leads from the one point to the other, the way is never narrow and
only over easy rocks and snow.
The Hohtäligrat is almost 11,000 feet in altitude and has a splendid
survey of the sky line. One looks up at snow, one looks down at snow,
one looks around at snow! From the beautiful summits of Monte Rosa, the
eye passes in a complete circle, up and down, seeing in succession the
white snow peaks, with their great glistening glaciers below, showing in
strong contrast the occasional rock pyramids like the Matterhorn and the
group around the Rothhorn.
THROUGH THE ST. GOTHARD INTO ITALY[45]
BY VICTOR TISSOT
This is Geschenen, at the entrance of the great tunnel, the meeting
place of the upper gorges of the Reuss, the valley of Urseren, of the
Oberalp, and of the Furka. Geschenen has now the calm tranquility of old
age. But during the nine years that it took to bore the great tunnel,
what juvenile activity there was here, what feverish eagerness in this
village, crowded, inundated, overflowed by workmen from Italy, from
Tessin, from Germany and France! One would have thought that out of that
dark hole, dug out in the mountain, they were bringing nuggets of gold.
On all the roads nothing was to be seen but bands of workmen arriving,
with miners' lamps hung to their old soldier's knapsacks. Nobody could
tell how they were all to be lodged. One double bed was occupied in
succession by twenty-four men in twenty-four hours. Some of the workmen
set up their establishments in barns; in all directions movable canteens
sprung up, built all awry and hardly holding together, and in mean
sheds, doubtful, bad-looking places, the dishonest merchant hastened to
sell his adulterated brandy....
The St. Gothard tunnel is about one and two-third miles longer than that
of Mount Cenis, and more than three miles longer than that of Arlberg.
While the train is passing with a dull rumbling sound under these
gloomy vaults, let us explain how the great work of boring the Alps was
accomplished.
The mechanical work of perforation was begun simultaneously on the north
and south sides of the mountain, working toward the same point, so as to
meet toward the middle of the boring. The waters of the Reuss and the
Tessin supplied the necessary motive power for working the screws
attached to machinery for compressing the air. The borers applied to the
rock the piston of a cylinder made to rotate with great rapidity by the
pressure of air reduced to one-twentieth of its ordinary volume; then
when they had made holes sufficiently deep, they withdrew the machines
and charged the mines with dynamite. Immediately after the explosion,
streams of wholesome air were liberated which dissipated the smoke; then
the débris was cleared away, and the borers returned to their place. The
same work was thus carried on day and night, for nine years.
On the Geschenen side all went well; but on the other side, on the
Italian slope, unforseen obstacles and difficulties had to be overcome.
Instead of having to encounter the solid rock, they found themselves
among a moving soil formed by the deposit of glaciers and broken by
streams of water. Springs burst out, like the jet of a fountain, under
the stroke of the pick, flooding and driving away the workmen. For
twelve months they seemed to be in the midst of a lake. But nothing
could damp the ardor of the contractor, Favre.
His troubles were greater still when the undertaking had almost been
suspended for want of money, when the workmen struck in 1875, and, when,
two years later, the village of Arola was destroyed by fire. And how
many times, again and again, the mason-work of the vaulted roof gave way
and fell! Certain "bad places," as they were called, cost more than nine
hundred pounds per yard.
In the interior of the mountain the thermometer marked 86 degrees
(Fahr.), but so long as the tunnel was still not completely bored, the
workmen were sustained by a kind of fever, and made redoubled efforts.
Discouragement and desertion did not appear among them till the goal was
almost reached.
The great tunnel passed, we find ourselves fairly in Italy. The mulberry
trees, with silky white bark and delicate, transparent leaves; the
chestnuts, with enormous trunks like cathedral columns; the vine,
hanging to high trellises supported by granite pillars, its festoons as
capricious as the feats of those who partake too freely of its fruits;
the white tufty heads of the maize tossing in the breeze; all that
strong and luxuriant vegetation through which waves of moist air are
passing; those flowers of rare beauty, of a grace and brilliancy that
belong only to privileged zones;--all this indicates a more robust and
fertile soil, and a more fervid sky than those of the upper villages
which we have just left.
X
ALPINE MOUNTAIN CLIMBING
FIRST ATTEMPTS HALF A CENTURY AGO[46]
BY EDWARD WHYMPER
On the 23d of July, 1860, I started for my first tour of the Alps. At
Zermatt I wandered in many directions, but the weather was bad and my
work was much retarded. One day, after spending a long time in attempts
to sketch near the Hörnli, and in futile endeavors to seize the forms
of the peaks as they for a few seconds peered out from above the dense
banks of woolly clouds, I determined not to return to Zermatt by the
usual path, but to cross the Görner glacier to the Riffel hotel. After
a rapid scramble over the polished rocks and snow-beds which skirt the
base of the Theodule glacier, and wading through some of the streams
which flow from it, at that time much swollen by the late rains, the
first difficulty was arrived at, in the shape of a precipice about
three hundred feet high. It seemed that there would be no difficulty in
crossing the glacier if the cliff could be descended, but higher up and
lower down the ice appeared, to my inexperienced eyes, to be impassable
for a single person.
The general contour of the cliff was nearly perpendicular, but it was a
good deal broken up, and there was little difficulty in descending by
zigzagging from one mass to another. At length there was a long slab,
nearly smooth, fixt at an angle of about forty degrees between two
wall-sided pieces of rock; nothing, except the glacier, could be seen
below. It was a very awkward place, but being doubtful if return were
possible, as I had been dropping from one ledge to another, I passed at
length by lying across the slab, putting the shoulder stiffly against
one side and the feet against the other, and gradually wriggling down,
by first moving the legs and then the back. When the bottom of the slab
was gained a friendly crack was seen, into which the point of the bâton
could be stuck, and I dropt down to the next piece.
It took a long time coming down that little bit of cliff, and for a few
seconds it was satisfactory to see the ice close at hand. In another
moment a second difficulty presented itself. The glacier swept round an
angle of the cliff, and as the ice was not of the nature of treacle or
thin putty, it kept away from the little bay on the edge of which I
stood. We were not widely separated, but the edge of the ice was higher
than the opposite edge of rock; and worse, the rock was covered with
loose earth and stones which had fallen from above. All along the side
of the cliff, as far as could be seen in both directions, the ice did
not touch it, but there was this marginal crevasse seven feet wide and
of unknown depth. All this was seen at a glance, and almost at once I
concluded that I could not jump the crevass and began to try along the
cliff lower down, but without success, for the ice rose higher and
higher until at last farther progress was stopt by the cliffs becoming
perfectly smooth. With an ax it would have been possible to cut up the
side of the ice--without one, I saw there was no alternative but to
return and face the jump.
It was getting toward evening, and the solemn stillness of the High Alps
was broken only by the sound of rushing water or of falling rocks. If
the jump should be successful, well; if not, I fell into the horrible
chasm, to be frozen in, or drowned in that gurgling, rushing water.
Everything depended on that jump. Again I asked myself "Can it be
done?" It must be. So, finding my stick was useless, I threw it and the
sketch-book to the ice, and first retreating as far as possible, ran
forward with all my might, took the leap, barely reached the other side,
and fell awkwardly on my knees. At the same moment a shower of stones
fell on the spot from which I had jumped.
The glacier was crossed without further trouble, but the Riffel, which
was then a very small building, was crammed with tourists, and could
not take me in. As the way down was unknown to me, some of the people
obligingly suggested getting a man at the chalets, otherwise the path
would be certainly lost in the forest. On arriving at the chalets no man
could be found, and the lights of Zermatt, shining through the trees,
seemed to say, "Never mind a guide, but come along down; we'll show you
the way"; so off I went through the forest, going straight toward them.
The path was lost in a moment, and was never recovered. I was tript up
by pine roots, I tumbled over rhododendron bushes, I fell over rocks.
The night was pitch-dark, and after a time the lights of Zermatt became
obscure or went out altogether. By a series of slides or falls, or
evolutions more or less disagreeable, the descent through the forest was
at length accomplished, but torrents of a formidable character had still
to be passed before one could arrive at Zermatt. I felt my way about for
hours, almost hopelessly, by an exhaustive process at last discovering a
bridge, and about midnight, covered with dirt and scratches, reentered
the inn which I had quitted in the morning....
I descended the valley, diverging from the path at Randa to mount the
slopes of the Dom (the highest of the Mischabelhörner), in order to
see the Weisshorn face to face. The latter mountain is the noblest in
Switzerland, and from this direction it looks especially magnificent. On
its north there is a large snowy plateau that feeds the glacier of which
a portion is seen from Randa, and which on more than one occasion
has destroyed that village. From the direction of the Dom--that is,
immediately opposite--this Bies glacier seems to descend nearly
vertically; it does not do so, altho it is very steep. Its size is much
less than formerly and the lower portion, now divided into three tails,
clings in a strange, weird-like manner to the cliffs, to which it seems
scarcely possible that it can remain attached.
Unwillingly I parted from the sight of this glorious mountain, and went
down to Visp. Arriving once more in the Rhone valley, I proceeded to
Viesch, and from thence ascended the Aeggischhorn, on which unpleasant
eminence I lost my way in a fog, and my temper shortly afterward. Then,
after crossing the Grimsel in a severe thunderstorm, I passed on to
Brienz, Interlachen and Berne, and thence to Fribourg and Morat,
Neuchâtel, Martigny and the St. Bernard. The massive walls of the
convent were a welcome sight as I waded through the snow-beds near the
summit of the pass, and pleasant also was the courteous salutation of
the brother who bade me enter.
Instead of descending to Aosta, I turned into the Val Pelline, in order
to obtain views of the Dent d'Erin. The night had come on before Biona
was gained, and I had to knock long and loud upon the door of the curé's
house before it was opened. An old woman with querulous voice and with a
large goître answered the summons, and demanded rather sharply what was
wanted, but became pacific, almost good-natured, when a five-franc piece
was held in her face and she heard that lodging and supper were required
in exchange.
My directions asserted that a passage existed from Prerayen, at the head
of this valley, to Breuil, in the Val Tournanche, and the old woman,
now convinced of my respectability, busied herself to find a guide.
Presently she introduced a native picturesquely attired in high-peaked
hat, braided jacket, scarlet waistcoat and indigo pantaloons, who agreed
to take me to the village of Val Tournanche. We set off early on the
next morning, and got to the summit of the pass without difficulty. It
gave me my first experience of considerable slopes of hard, steep snow,
and, like all beginners, I endeavored to prop myself up with my stick,
and kept it outside, instead of holding it between myself and the slope,
and leaning upon it, as should have been done.
The man enlightened me, but he had, properly, a very small opinion of
his employer, and it is probably on that account that, a few minutes
after we had passed the summit, he said he would not go any farther and
would return to Biona. All argument was useless; he stood still, and to
everything that was said answered nothing but that he would go back.
Being rather nervous about descending some long snow-slopes which still
intervened between us and the head of the valley, I offered more pay,
and he went on a little way. Presently there were some cliffs, down
which we had to scramble. He called to me to stop, then shouted that he
would go back, and beckoned to me to come up.
On the contrary, I waited for him to come down, but instead of doing so,
in a second or two he turned round, clambered deliberately up the cliff
and vanished. I supposed it was only a ruse to extort offers of more
money, and waited for half an hour, but he did not appear again. This
was rather embarrassing, for he carried off my knapsack. The choice of
action lay between chasing him and going on to Breuil, risking the loss
of my knapsack. I chose the latter course, and got to Breuil the same
evening. The landlord of the inn, suspicious of a person entirely
innocent of luggage, was doubtful if he could admit me, and eventually
thrust me into a kind of loft, which was already occupied by guides and
by hay. In later years we became good friends, and he did not hesitate
to give credit and even to advance considerable sums.
My sketches from Breuil were made under difficulties; my materials
had been carried off, nothing better than fine sugar-paper could be
obtained, and the pencils seemed to contain more silica than plumbago.
However, they were made, and the pass was again crossed, this time
alone. By the following evening the old woman of Biona again produced
the faithless guide. The knapsack was recovered after the lapse of
several hours, and then I poured forth all the terms of abuse and
reproach of which I was master. The man smiled when I called him a liar,
and shrugged his shoulders when referred to as a thief, but drew his
knife when spoken of as a pig.
The following night was spent at Cormayeur, and the day after I crossed
the Col Ferrex to Orsières, and on the next the Tête Noir to Chamounix.
The Emperor Napoleon arrived the same day, and access to the Mer de
Glace was refused to tourists; but, by scrambling along the Plan
des Aiguilles, I managed to outwit the guards, and to arrive at the
Montanvert as the imperial party was leaving, failing to get to the
Jardin the same afternoon, but very nearly succeeding in breaking a leg
by dislodging great rocks on the moraine of the glacier.
From Chamounix I went to Geneva, and thence by the Mont Cenis to Turin
and to the Vaudois valleys. A long and weary day had ended when Paesana
was reached. The next morning I passed the little lakes which are the
sources of the Po, on my way into France. The weather was stormy, and
misinterpreting the dialect of some natives--who in reality pointed out
the right way--I missed the track, and found myself under the cliffs of
Monte Viso. A gap that was occasionally seen in the ridge connecting it
with the mountains to the east tempted me up, and after a battle with a
snow-slope of excessive steepness, I reached the summit. The scene was
extraordinary, and, in my experience, unique. To the north there was not
a particle of mist, and the violent wind coming from that direction
blew one back staggering. But on the side of Italy the valleys were
completely filled with dense masses of cloud to a certain level; and
here--where they felt the influence of the wind--they were cut off as
level as the top of a table, the ridges appearing above them.
I raced down to Abries, and went on through the gorge of the Guil to
Mont Dauphin. The next day found me at La Bessée, at the junction of the
Val Louise with the valley of the Durance, in full view of Mont Pelvoux.
The same night I slept at Briançon, intending to take the courier on the
following day to Grenoble, but all places had been secured several days
beforehand, so I set out at two P.M. on the next day for a seventy-mile
walk. The weather was again bad, and on the summit of the Col de
Lautaret I was forced to seek shelter in the wretched little hospice. It
was filled with workmen who were employed on the road, and with noxious
vapors which proceeded from them. The inclemency of the weather was
preferable to the inhospitality of the interior.
Outside, it was disagreeable, but grand--inside, it was disagreeable and
mean. The walk was continued under a deluge of rain, and I felt the way
down, so intense was the darkness, to the village of La Grave, where the
people of the inn detained me forcibly. It was perhaps fortunate that
they did so, for during that night blocks of rock fell at several places
from the cliffs on to the road with such force that they made large
holes in the macadam, which looked as if there had been explosions
of gunpowder. I resumed the walk at half-past five next morning, and
proceeded, under steady rain, through Bourg d'Oysans to Grenoble,
arriving at the latter place soon after seven P.M., having accomplished
the entire distance from Briançon in about eighteen hours of actual
walking.
This was the end of the Alpine portion of my tour of 1860, on which
I was introduced to the great peaks, and acquired the passion for
mountain-scrambling.
FIRST TO THE TOP OF THE MATTERHORN[47]
BY EDWARD WHYMPER
We started from Zermatt on the 13th of July at half-past five, on
a brilliant and perfectly cloudless morning. We were eight in
number--Croz, old Peter and his two sons, Lord Francis Douglas, Hadow,
Hudson and I. To ensure steady motion, one tourist and one native walked
together. The youngest Taugwalder fell to my share, and the lad marched
well, proud to be on the expedition and happy to show his powers. The
wine-bags also fell to my lot to carry, and throughout the day, after
each drink, I replenished them secretly with water, so that at the next
halt they were found fuller than before! This was considered a good
omen, and little short of miraculous.