towards the Atlantic Ocean. Though the sea was not quite free
around the ship, channels opened by which Louis Cornbutte wished
to profit.
On the 21st of May, after a parting visit to his father's grave,
Louis at last set out from the bay. The hearts of the honest
sailors were filled at once with joy and sadness, for one does
not leave without regret a place where a friend has died. The
wind blew from the north, and favoured their departure. The ship
was often arrested by ice-banks, which were cut with the saws;
icebergs not seldom confronted her, and it was necessary to blow
them up with powder. For a month the way was full of perils,
which sometimes brought the ship to the verge of destruction; but
the crew were sturdy, and used to these dangerous exigencies.
Penellan, Pierre Nouquet, Turquiette, Fidèle Misonne, did the
work of ten sailors, and Marie had smiles of gratitude for each.
The "Jeune-Hardie" at last passed beyond the ice in the latitude
of Jean-Mayer Island. About the 25th of June she met ships going
northward for seals and whales. She had been nearly a month
emerging from the Polar Sea.
On the 16th of August she came in view of Dunkirk. She had been
signalled by the look-out, and the whole population flocked to
the jetty. The sailors of the ship were soon clasped in the arms
of their friends. The old curé received Louis Cornbutte and Marie
with patriarchal arms, and of the two masses which he said on the
following day, the first was for the repose of Jean Cornbutte's
soul, and the second to bless these two lovers, so long united in
misfortune.
[Illustration: The old curé received Louis Cornbutte and Marie.]
THE FORTIETH FRENCH ASCENT OF MONT BLANC
BY PAUL VERNE.
I arrived at Chamonix on the 18th of August, 1871, fully decided
to make the ascent of Mont Blanc, cost what it might. My first
attempt in August, 1869, was not successful. Bad weather had
prevented me from mounting beyond the Grands-Mulets. This time
circumstances seemed scarcely more favourable, for the weather,
which had promised to be fine on the morning of the 18th,
suddenly changed towards noon. Mont Blanc, as they say in its
neighbourhood, "put on its cap and began to smoke its pipe,"
which, to speak more plainly, means that it is covered with
clouds, and that the snow, driven upon it by a south-west wind,
formed a long crest on its summit in the direction of the
unfathomable precipices of the Brenva glaciers. This crest
betrayed to imprudent tourists the route they would have taken,
had they had the temerity to venture upon the mountain.
The next night was very inclement. The rain and wind were
violent, and the barometer, below the "change," remained
stationary.
Towards daybreak, however, several thunder-claps announced a
change in the state of the atmosphere. Soon the clouds broke. The
chain of the Brevent and the Aiguilles-Rouges betrayed itself.
The wind, turning to the north-west, brought into view above the
Col de Balme, which shuts in the valley of Chamonix on the north,
some light, isolated, fleecy clouds, which I hailed as the
heralds of fine weather.
Despite this happy augury and a slight rise in the barometer, M.
Balmat, chief guide of Chamonix, declared to me that I must not
yet think of attempting the ascent.
"If the barometer continues to rise," he added, "and the weather
holds good, I promise you guides for the day after to-morrow--
perhaps for to-morrow. Meanwhile, have patience and stretch your
legs; I will take you up the Brevent. The clouds are clearing
away, and you will be able to exactly distinguish the path you
will have to go over to reach the summit of Mont Blanc. If, in
spite of this, you are determined to go, you may try it!"
This speech, uttered in a certain tone, was not very reassuring,
and gave food for reflection. Still, I accepted his proposition,
and he chose as my companion the guide Edward Ravanel, a very
sedate and devoted fellow, who perfectly knew his business.
M. Donatien Levesque, an enthusiastic tourist and an intrepid
pedestrian, who had made early in the previous year an interesting
and difficult trip in North America, was with me. He had already
visited the greater part of America, and was about to descend the
Mississippi to New Orleans, when the war cut short his projects and
recalled him to France. We had met at Aix-les-Bains, and we had
determined to make an excursion together in Savoy and Switzerland.
Donatien Levesque knew my intentions, and, as he thought that his
health would not permit him to attempt so long a journey over the
glaciers, it had been agreed that he should await my return from
Mont Blanc at Chamonix, and should make the traditional visit to
the Mer-de-Glace by the Montanvers during my absence.
On learning that I was going to ascend the Brevent, my friend did
not hesitate to accompany me thither. The ascent of the Brevent
is one of the most interesting trips that can be made from
Chamonix. This mountain, about seven thousand six hundred feet
high, is only the prolongation of the chain for the Aiguilles-Rouges,
which runs from the south-west to the north-east, parallel with that
of Mont Blanc, and forms with it the narrow valley of Chamonix. The
Brevent, by its central position, exactly opposite the Bossons
glacier, enables one to watch the parties which undertake the ascent
of the giant of the Alps nearly throughout their journey. It is
therefore much frequented.
We started about seven o'clock in the morning. As we went along,
I thought of the mysterious words of the master-guide; they
annoyed me a little. Addressing Ravanel, I said,--
"Have you made the ascent of Mont Blanc?"
"Yes, monsieur," he replied, "once; and that's enough. I am not
anxious to do it again."
"The deuce!" said I. "I am going to try it."
"You are free, monsieur; but I shall not go with you. The
mountain is not good this year. Several attempts have already
been made; two only have succeeded. As for the second, the party
tried the ascent twice. Besides, the accident last year has
rather cooled the amateurs."
"An accident! What accident?"
"Did not monsieur hear of it? This is how it happened. A party,
consisting of ten guides and porters and two Englishmen, started
about the middle of September for Mont Blanc. They were seen to
reach the summit; then, some minutes after, they disappeared in a
cloud. When the cloud passed over no one was visible. The two
travellers, with seven guides and porters, had been blown off by
the wind and precipitated on the Cormayeur side, doubtless into
the Brenva glacier. Despite the most vigilant search, their
bodies could not be found. The other three were found one hundred
and fifty yards below the summit, near the Petits-Mulets. They
had become blocks of ice."
"But these travellers must have been imprudent," said I to
Ravanel. "What folly it was to start off so late in the year on
such an expedition! They should have gone up in August."
I vainly tried to keep up my courage; this lugubrious story would
haunt me in spite of myself. Happily the weather soon cleared,
and the rays of a bright sun dissipated the clouds which still
veiled Mont Blanc, and, at the same time, those which overshadowed
my thoughts.
Our ascent was satisfactorily accomplished. On leaving the
chalets of Planpraz, situated at a height of two thousand and
sixty-two yards, you ascend, on ragged masses of rock and pools
of snow, to the foot of a rock called "The Chimney," which is
scaled with the feet and hands. Twenty minutes after, you reach
the summit of the Brevent, whence the view is very fine. The
chain of Mont Blanc appears in all its majesty. The gigantic
mountain, firmly established on its powerful strata, seems to
defy the tempests which sweep across its icy shield without ever
impairing it; whilst the crowd of icy needles, peaks, mountains,
which form its cortege and rise everywhere around it, without
equalling its noble height, carry the evident traces of a slow
wasting away.
[Illustration: View of Mont Blanc from the Brevent.]
From the excellent look-out which we occupied, we could reckon,
though still imperfectly, the distance to be gone over in order
to attain the summit. This summit, which from Chamonix appears so
near the dome of the Goûter, now took its true position. The
various plateaus which form so many degrees which must be
crossed, and which are not visible from below, appeared from the
Brevent, and threw the so-much-desired summit, by the laws of
perspective, still farther in the background. The Bossons
glacier, in all its splendour, bristled with icy needles and
blocks (blocks sometimes ten yards square), which seemed, like
the waves of an angry sea, to beat against the sides of the rocks
of the Grands-Mulets, the base of which disappeared in their
midst.
This marvellous spectacle was not likely to cool my impatience,
and I more eagerly than ever promised myself to explore this
hitherto unknown world.
My companion was equally inspired by the scene, and from this
moment I began to think that I should not have to ascend Mont
Blanc alone.
We descended again to Chamonix; the weather became milder every
hour; the barometer continued to ascend; everything seemed to
promise well.
The next day at sunrise I hastened to the master-guide. The sky
was cloudless; the wind, almost imperceptible, was north-east.
The chain of Mont Blanc, the higher summits of which were gilded
by the rising sun, seemed to invite the many tourists to ascend
it. One could not, in all politeness, refuse so kindly an
invitation.
M. Balmat, after consulting his barometer, declared the ascent to
be practicable, and promised me the two guides and the porter
prescribed in our agreement. I left the selection of these to
him. But an unexpected incident disturbed my preparations for
departure.
As I came out of M. Balmat's office, I met Ravanel, my guide of
the day before.
"Is monsieur going to Mont Blanc?" he asked.
"Yes, certainly," said I. "Is it not a favourable time to go?"
He reflected a few moments, and then said with an embarrassed
air,--
"Monsieur, you are my traveller; I accompanied you yesterday to
the Brevent, so I cannot leave you now; and, since you are going
up, I will go with you, if you will kindly accept my services. It
is your right, for on all dangerous journeys the traveller can
choose his own guides. Only, if you accept my offer, I ask that
you will also take my brother, Ambrose Ravanel, and my cousin,
Gaspard Simon. These are young, vigorous fellows; they do not
like the ascent of Mont Blanc better than I do; but they will not
shirk it, and I answer for them to you as I would for myself."
This young man inspired me with all confidence. I accepted his
proposition, and hastened to apprise M. Balmat of the choice I
had made. But M. Balmat had meanwhile been selecting guides for
me according to their turn on his list. One only had accepted,
Edward Simon; the answer of another, Jean Carrier, had not yet
been received, though it was scarcely doubtful, as this man had
already made the ascent of Mont Blanc twenty-nine times. I thus
found myself in an embarrassing position. The guides I had chosen
were all from Argentière, a village six kilometres from Chamonix.
Those of Chamonix accused Ravanel of having influenced me in
favour of his family, which was contrary to the regulations.
To cut the discussion short, I took Edward Simon, who had already
made his preparations as a third guide. He would be useless if I
went up alone, but would become indispensable if my friend also
ascended.
This settled, I went to tell Donatien Levesque. I found him
sleeping the sleep of the just, for he had walked over sixteen
kilometres on a mountain the evening before. I had some
difficulty in waking him; but on removing first his sheets, then
his pillows, and finally his mattress, I obtained some result,
and succeeded in making him understand that I was preparing for
the hazardous trip.
"Well," said he, yawning, "I will go with you as far as the
Grands-Mulets, and await your return there."
"Bravo!" I replied. "I have just one guide too many, and I will
attach him to your person."
We bought the various articles indispensable to a journey across
the glaciers. Iron-spiked alpenstocks, coarse cloth leggings,
green spectacles fitting tightly to the eyes, furred gloves,
green veils,--nothing was forgotten. We each had excellent
triple-soled shoes, which our guides roughed for the ice. This
last is an important detail, for there are moments in such an
expedition when the least slip is fatal, not only to yourself,
but to the whole party with you.
Our preparations and those of the guides occupied nearly two
hours. About eight o'clock our mules were brought; and we set out
at last for the chalet of the Pierre-Pointue, situated at a
height of six thousand five hundred feet, or three thousand above
the valley of Chamonix, not far from eight thousand five hundred
feet below the summit of Mont Blanc.
On reaching the Pierre-Pointue, about ten o'clock, we found there
a Spanish tourist, M. N----, accompanied by two guides and a
porter. His principal guide, Paccard, a relative of the Doctor
Paccard who made, with Jacques Balmat, the first ascent of Mont
Blanc, had already been to the summit eighteen times. M. N----
was also getting himself ready for the ascent. He had travelled
much in America, and had crossed the Cordilleras to Quito,
passing through snow at the highest points. He therefore thought
that he could, without great difficulty, carry through his new
enterprise; but in this he was mistaken. He had reckoned without
the steepness of the inclinations which he had to cross, and the
rarefaction of the air. I hasten to add, to his honour, that,
since he succeeded in reaching the summit of Mont Blanc, it was
due to a rare moral energy, for his physical energies had long
before deserted him.
We breakfasted as heartily as possible at the Pierre-Pointue;
this being a prudent precaution, as the appetite usually fails
higher up among the ice.
[Illustration: View Of Bossons Glacier, Near The Grands-Mulets.]
M. N---- set out at eleven, with his guides, for the Grands-Mulets.
We did not start until noon. The mule-road ceases at the
Pierre-Pointue. We had then to go up a very narrow zigzag path,
which follows the edge of the Bossons glacier, and along the base
of the Aiguille-du-Midi. After an hour of difficult climbing in
an intense heat, we reached a point called the Pierre-a-l'Echelle,
eight thousand one hundred feet high. The guides and travellers
were then bound together by a strong rope, with three or four yards
between each. We were about to advance upon the Bossons glacier.
This glacier, difficult at first, presents yawning and apparently
bottomless crevasses on every hand. The vertical sides of these
crevasses are of a glaucous and uncertain colour, but too seducing
to the eye; when, approaching closely, you succeed in looking into
their mysterious depths, you feel yourself irresistibly drawn
towards them, and nothing seems more natural than to go down into
them.
[Illustration: Passage Of The Bossons Glacier.]
You advance slowly, passing round the crevasses, or on the snow
bridges of dubious strength. Then the rope plays its part. It is
stretched out over these dangerous transits; if the snow bridge
yields, the guide or traveller remains hanging over the abyss. He
is drawn beyond it, and gets off with a few bruises. Sometimes,
if the crevasse is very wide but not deep, he descends to the
bottom and goes up on the other side. In this case it is
necessary to cut steps in the ice, and the two leading guides,
armed with a sort of hatchet, perform this difficult and perilous
task. A special circumstance makes the entrance on the Bossons
dangerous. You go upon the glacier at the base of the
Aiguille-du-Midi, opposite a passage whence stone avalanches often
descend. This passage is nearly six hundred feet wide. It must be
crossed quickly, and as you pass, a guide stands on guard to
avert the danger from you if it presents itself. In 1869 a guide
was killed on this spot, and his body, hurled into space by a
stone, was dashed to pieces on the rocks nine hundred feet below.
[Illustration: Crevasse and Bridge.]
We were warned, and hastened our steps as fast as our
inexperience would permit; but on leaving this dangerous zone,
another, not less dangerous, awaited us. This was the region of
the "seracs,"--immense blocks of ice, the formation of which is
not as yet explained.
[Illustration: View of the "Seracs".]
These are usually situated on the edge of a plateau, and menace
the whole valley beneath them. A slight movement of the glacier,
or even a light vibration of the temperature, impels their fall,
and occasions the most serious accidents.
[Illustration: View of the "Seracs".]
"Messieurs, keep quiet, and let us pass over quickly." These
words, roughly spoken by one of the guides, checked our conversation.
We went across rapidly and in silence. We finally reached what is
called the "Junction" (which might more properly be called the
violent "Separation"), by the Côte Mountain, the Bossons and
Tacconay glaciers. At this point the scene assumes an indescribable
character; crevasses with changing colours, ice-needles with sharp
forms, seracs suspended and pierced with the light, little green
lakes compose a chaos which surpasses everything that one can
imagine. Added to this, the rush of the torrents at the foot of the
glaciers, the sinister and repeated crackings of the blocks which
detached themselves and fell in avalanches down the crevasses, the
trembling of the ground which opened beneath our feet, gave a
singular idea of those desolate places the existence of which only
betrays itself by destruction and death.
[Illustration: Passage of the "Junction".]
After passing the "Junction" you follow the Tacconay glacier for
awhile, and reach the side which leads to the Grands-Mulets. This
part, which is very sloping, is traversed in zigzags. The leading
guide takes care to trace them at an angle of thirty degrees,
when there is fresh snow, to avoid the avalanches.
After crossing for three hours on the ice and snow, we reach the
Grands-Mulets, rocks six hundred feet high, overlooking on one
side the Bossons glacier, and on the other the sloping plains
which extend to the base of the Goûter dome.
[Illustration: Hut At The Grands-Mulets.]
A small hut, constructed by the guides near the summit of the
first rock, gives a shelter to travellers, and enables them to
await a favourable moment for setting out for the summit of Mont
Blanc.
They dine there as well as they can, and sleep too; but the
proverb, "He who sleeps dines," does not apply to this elevation,
for one cannot seriously do the one or the other.
"Well," said I to Levesque, after a pretence of a meal, "did I
exaggerate the splendour of the landscape, and do you regret
having come thus far?"
"I regret it so little," he replied, "that I am determined to go
on to the summit. You may count on me."
"Very good," said I. "But you know the worst is yet to come."
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, "we will go to the end. Meanwhile, let
us observe the sunset, which must be magnificent."
The heavens had remained wonderfully clear. The chain of the
Brevent and the Aiguilles-Rouges stretched out at our feet.
Beyond, the Fiz rocks and the Aiguille-de-Varan rose above the
Sallanche Valley, and the whole chains of Mont Fleury and the
Reposoir appeared in the background. More to the right we could
descry the snowy summit of the Buet, and farther off the
Dents-du-Midi, with its five tusks, overhanging the valley of the
Rhone. Behind us were the eternal snows of the Goûter, Mont
Maudit, and, lastly, Mont Blanc.
Little by little the shadows invaded the valley of Chamonix, and
gradually each of the summits which overlook it on the west. The
chain of Mont Blanc alone remained luminous, and seemed encircled
by a golden halo. Soon the shadows crept up the Goûter and Mont
Maudit. They still respected the giant of the Alps. We watched
this gradual disappearance of the light with admiration. It
lingered awhile on the highest summit, and gave us the foolish
hope that it would not depart thence. But in a few moments all
was shrouded in gloom, and the livid and ghastly colours of death
succeeded the living hues. I do not exaggerate. Those who love
mountains will comprehend me.
[Illustration: View of Mont Blanc from Grands-Mulets.]
After witnessing this sublime scene, we had only to await the
moment of departure. We were to set out again at two in the
morning. Now, therefore, we stretched ourselves upon our
mattresses.
It was useless to think of sleeping, much more of talking. We
were absorbed by more or less gloomy thoughts. It was the night
before the battle, with the difference that nothing forced us to
engage in the struggle. Two sorts of ideas struggled in the mind.
It was the ebb and flow of the sea, each in its turn. Objections
to the venture were not wanting. Why run so much danger? If we
succeeded, of what advantage would it be? If an accident
happened, how we should regret it! Then the imagination set to
work; all the mountain catastrophes rose in the fancy. I dreamed
of snow bridges giving way under my feet, of being precipitated
in the yawning crevasses, of hearing the terrible noises of the
avalanches detaching themselves and burying me, of disappearing,
of cold and death seizing upon me, and of struggling with
desperate effort, but in vain!
A sharp, horrible noise is heard at this moment
"The avalanche! the avalanche!" I cry.
"What is the matter with you?" asks Levesque, starting up.
Alas! It is a piece of furniture which, in the struggles of my
nightmare, I have just broken. This very prosaic avalanche
recalls me to the reality. I laugh at my terrors, a contrary
current of thought gets the upper hand, and with it ambitious
ideas. I need only use a little effort to reach this summit, so
seldom attained. It is a victory, as others are. Accidents are
rare--very rare! Do they ever take place at all? The spectacle
from the summit must be so marvellous! And then what satisfaction
there would be in having accomplished what so many others dared
not undertake!
My courage was restored by these thoughts, and I calmly awaited
the moment of departure.
About one o'clock the steps and voices of the guides, and the
noise of opening doors, indicated that that moment was approaching.
Soon Ravanel came in and said, "Come, messieurs, get up; the weather
is magnificent. By ten o'clock we shall be at the summit."
At these words we leaped from our beds, and hurried to make our
toilet. Two of the guides, Ambrose Ravanel and his cousin Simon,
went on ahead to explore the road. They were provided with a
lantern, which was to show us the way to go, and with hatchets to
make the path and cut steps in the very difficult spots. At two
o'clock we tied ourselves one to another: the order of march was,
Edward Ravanel before me, and at the head; behind me Edward
Simon, then Donatien Levesque; after him our two porters (for we
took along with us the domestic of the Grands-Mulets hut as a
second), and M. N----'s party.
The guides and porters having distributed the provisions between
them, the signal for departure was given, and we set off in the
midst of profound darkness, directing ourselves according to the
lantern held up at some distance ahead.
There was something solemn in this setting out. But few words
were spoken; the vagueness of the unknown impressed us, but the
new and strange situation excited us, and rendered us insensible
to its dangers. The landscape around was fantastic. But few
outlines were distinguishable. Great white confused masses, with
blackish spots here and there, closed the horizon. The celestial
vault shone with remarkable brilliancy. We could perceive, at an
uncertain distance, the lantern of the guides who were ahead, and
the mournful silence of the night was only disturbed by the dry,
distant noise of the hatchet cutting steps in the ice.
We crept slowly and cautiously over the first ascent, going
towards the base of the Goûter. After ascending laboriously for
two hours, we reached the first plateau, called the "Petit-Plateau,"
at the foot of the Goûter, at a height of about eleven thousand feet.
We rested a few moments and then proceeded, turning now to the left
and going towards the edge which conducts to the "Grand-Plateau."
But our party had already lessened in number: M. N----, with his
guides, had stopped; his fatigue obliged him to take a longer
rest.
About half-past four dawn began to whiten the horizon. At this
moment we were ascending the slope which leads to the Grand-Plateau,
which we soon safely reached. We were eleven thousand eight hundred
feet high. We had well earned our breakfast. Wonderful to relate,
Levesque and I had a good appetite. It was a good sign. We therefore
installed ourselves on the snow, and made such a repast as we could.
Our guides joyfully declared that success was certain. As for me, I
thought they resumed work too quickly.
M. N---- rejoined us before long. We urged him to take some
nourishment. He peremptorily refused. He felt the contraction of
the stomach which is so common in those parts, and was almost
broken down.
The Grand-Plateau deserves a special description. On the right
rises the dome of the Goûter. Opposite it is Mont Blanc, rearing
itself two thousand seven hundred feet above it. On the left are
the "Rouges" rocks and Mont Maudit. This immense circle is one
mass of glittering whiteness. On every side are vast crevasses.
It was in one of these that three of the guides who accompanied
Dr. Hamel and Colonel Anderson, in 1820, were swallowed up. In
1864 another guide met his death there.
This plateau must be crossed with great caution, as the crevasses
are often hidden by the snow; besides, it is often swept by
avalanches. On the 13th of October, 1866, an English traveller
and three of his guides were buried under a mass of ice that fell
from Mont Blanc. After a perilous search, the bodies of the three
guides were found. They were expecting every moment to find that
of the Englishman, when a fresh avalanche fell upon the first,
and forced the searchers to abandon their task.
[Illustration: Crossing the Plateau.]
Three routes presented themselves to us. The ordinary route,
which passes entirely to the left, by the base of Mont Maudit,
through a sort of valley called the "Corridor," leads by gentle
ascents to the top of the first escarpment of the Rouges rocks.
The second, less frequented, turns to the right by the Goûter,
and leads to the summit of Mont Blanc by the ridge which unites
these two mountains. You must pursue for three hours a giddy
path, and scale a height of moving ice, called the "Camel's
Hump."
The third route consists in ascending directly to the summit of
the Corridor, crossing an ice-wall seven hundred and fifty feet
high, which extends along the first escarpment of the Rouges
rocks.
The guides declared the first route impracticable, on account of
the recent crevasses which entirely obstructed it; the choice
between the two others remained. I thought the second, by the
"Camel's Hump," the best; but it was regarded as too dangerous,
and it was decided that we should attack the ice-wall conducting
to the summit of the Corridor.
When a decision is made, it is best to execute it without delay.
We crossed the Grand-Plateau, and reached the foot of this really
formidable obstacle.
The nearer we approached the more nearly vertical became its
slope. Besides, several crevasses which we had not perceived
yawned at its base.
We nevertheless began the difficult ascent. Steps were begun by
the foremost guide, and completed by the next. We ascended two
steps a minute. The higher we went the more the steepness
increased. Our guides themselves discussed what route to follow;
they spoke in patois, and did not always agree, which was not a
good sign. At last the slope became such that our hats touched
the legs of the guide just before us.
A hailstorm of pieces of ice, produced by the cutting of the
steps, blinded us, and made our progress still more difficult.
Addressing one of the foremost guides, I said,--
"Ah, it's very well going up this way! It is not an open road, I
admit: still, it is practicable. Only how are you going to get us
down again?"
"O monsieur," replied Ambrose Ravanel, "we will take another
route going back."
At last, after violent effort for two hours, and after having cut
more than four hundred steps in this terrible mass, we reached
the summit of the Corridor completely exhausted.
We then crossed a slightly sloping plateau of snow, and passed
along the side of an immense crevasse which obstructed our way.
We had scarcely turned it when we uttered a cry of admiration. On
the right, Piedmont and the plains of Lombardy were at our feet.
On the left, the Pennine Alps and the Oberland, crowned with
snow, raised their magnificent crests. Monte Rosa and the Cervin
alone still rose above us, but soon we should overlook them in
our turn.
This reflection recalled us to the end of our expedition. We
turned our gaze towards Mont Blanc, and stood stupefied.
"Heavens! how far off it is still!" cried Levesque.
"And how high!" I added.
It was a discouraging sight. The famous wall of the ridge, so
much feared, but which must be crossed, was before us, with its
slope of fifty degrees. But after scaling the wall of the
Corridor, it did not terrify us. We rested for half an hour and
then continued our tramp; but we soon perceived that the
atmospheric conditions were no longer the same. The sun shed his
warm rays upon us; and their reflection on the snow added to our
discomfort. The rarefaction of the air began to be severely felt.
We advanced slowly, making frequent halts, and at last reached
the plateau which overlooks the second escarpment of the Rouges
rocks. We were at the foot of Mont Blanc. It rose, alone and
majestic, at a height of six hundred feet above us. Monte Rosa
itself had lowered its flag!
Levesque and I were completely exhausted. As for M. N----, who
had rejoined us at the summit of the Corridor, it might be said
that he was insensible to the rarefaction of the air, for he no
longer breathed, so to speak.
We began at last to scale the last stage. We made ten steps and
then stopped, finding it absolutely impossible to proceed. A
painful contraction of the throat made our breathing exceedingly
difficult. Our legs refused to carry us; and I then understood
the picturesque expression of Jacques Balmat, when, in narrating
his first ascent, he said that "his legs seemed only to be kept
up by his trousers!" But our mental was superior to our physical
force; and if the body faltered, the heart, responding "Excelsior!"
stifled its desperate complaint, and urged forward our poor worn-out
mechanism, despite itself. We thus passed the Petits-Mulets, and
after two hours of superhuman efforts finally overlooked the entire
chain. Mont Blanc was under our feet!
[Illustration: Summit of Mont Blanc.]
It was fifteen minutes after twelve.
The pride of success soon dissipated our fatigue. We had at last
conquered this formidable crest. We overlooked all the others,
and the thoughts which Mont Blanc alone can inspire affected us
with a deep emotion. It was ambition satisfied; and to me, at
least, a dream realized!
Mont Blanc is the highest mountain in Europe. Several mountains
in Asia and America are higher; but of what use would it be to
attempt them, if, in the absolute impossibility of reaching their
summit, you must be content to remain at a lesser height?
Others, such as Mont Cervin, are more difficult of access; but we
perceived the summit of Mont Cervin twelve hundred feet below us!
And then, what a view to reward us for our troubles and dangers!
The sky, still pure, had assumed a deep-blue tint. The sun,
despoiled of a part of his rays, had lost his brilliancy, as if
in a partial eclipse. This effect, due to the rarefaction of the
air, was all the more apparent as the surrounding eminences and
plains were inundated with light. No detail of the scene,
therefore, escaped our notice.
In the south-east, the mountains of Piedmont, and farther off the
plains of Lombardy, shut in our horizon. Towards the west, the
mountains of Savoy and Dauphiné; beyond, the valley of the Rhone.
In the north-west, the Lake of Geneva and the Jura; then,
descending towards the south, a chaos of mountains and glaciers,
beyond description, overlooked by the masses of Monte Rosa, the
Mischabelhoerner, the Cervin, the Weishorn--the most beautiful of
crests, as Tyndall calls it--and farther off by the Jungfrau, the
Monck, the Eiger, and the Finsteraarhorn.
The extent of our range of vision was not less than sixty
leagues. We therefore saw at least one hundred and twenty leagues
of country.
A special circumstance happened to enhance the beauty of the
scene. Clouds formed on the Italian side and invaded the valleys
of the Pennine Alps without veiling their summits. We soon had
under our eyes a second sky, a lower sky, a sea of clouds, whence
emerged a perfect archipelago of peaks and snow-wrapped
mountains. There was something magical in it, which the greatest
poets could scarcely describe.
The summit of Mont Blanc forms a ridge from southwest to north-east,
two hundred paces long and a yard wide at the culminating
point. It seemed like a ship's hull overturned, the keel in the
air.
Strangely enough, the temperature was very high--ten degrees above
zero. The air was almost still. Sometimes we felt a light breeze.
The first care of our guides was to place us all in a line on the
crest opposite Chamonix, that we might be easily counted from
below, and thus make it known that no one of us had been lost.
Many of the tourists had ascended the Brevent and the Jardin to
watch our ascent. They might now be assured of its success.
But to ascend was not all; we must think also of going down. The
most difficult, if not most wearisome, task remained; and then
one quits with regret a summit attained at the price of so much
toil. The energy which urges you to ascend, the need, so natural
and imperious, of overcoming, now fails you. You go forward
listlessly, often looking behind you!
It was necessary, however, to decide, and, after a last
traditional libation of champagne, we put ourselves in motion. We
had remained on the summit an hour. The order of march was now
changed. M. N----'s party led off; and, at the suggestion of his
guide Paccard, we were all tied together with a rope. M. N----'s
fatigue, which his strength, but not his will, betrayed, made us
fear falls on his part which would require the help of the whole
party to arrest. The event justified our foreboding. On
descending the side of the wall, M. N---- made several false
steps. His guides, very vigorous and skilful, were happily able
to check him; but ours, feeling, with reason, that the whole
party might be dragged down, wished to detach us from the rope.
Levesque and I opposed this; and, by taking great precautions, we
safely reached the base of this giddy ledge. There was no room
for illusions. The almost bottomless abyss was before us, and the
pieces of detached ice, which bounded by us with the rapidity of
an arrow, clearly showed us the route which the party would take
if a slip were made.
Once this terrible gap crossed, I began to breathe again. We
descended the gradual slopes which led to the summit of the
Corridor. The snow, softened by the heat, yielded beneath our
feet; we sank in it to the knees, which made our progress very
fatiguing. We steadily followed the path by which we ascended in
the morning, and I was astonished when Gaspard Simon, turning
towards me, said,--
"Monsieur, we cannot take any other road, for the Corridor is
impracticable, and we must descend by the wall which we climbed
up this morning."
I told Levesque this disagreeable news.
"Only," added Gaspard Simon, "I do not think we can all remain
tied together. However, we will see how M. N---- bears it at
first."
We advanced towards this terrible wall! M. N----'s party began to
descend, and we heard Paccard talking rapidly to him. The
inclination became so steep that we perceived neither him nor his
guides, though we were bound together by the same rope.
As soon as Gaspard Simon, who went before me, could comprehend
what was passing, he stopped, and after exchanging' some words in
-patois- with his comrades, declared that we must detach
ourselves from M. N----'s party.
"We are responsible for you," he added, "but we cannot be
responsible for others; and if they slip, they will drag us after
them."
Saying this, he got loose from the rope. We were very unwilling
to take this step; but our guides were inflexible.
We then proposed to send two of them to help M. N----'s guides.
They eagerly consented; but having no rope they could not put
this plan into execution.
We then began this terrible descent. Only one of us moved at a
time, and when each took a step the others buttressed themselves
ready to sustain the shock if he slipped. The foremost guide,
Edward Ravanel, had the most perilous task; it was for him to
make the steps over again, now more or less worn away by the
ascending caravan.
We progressed slowly, taking the most careful precautions. Our
route led us in a right line to one of the crevasses which opened
at the base of the escarpment. When we were going up we could not
look at this crevasse, but in descending we were fascinated by
its green and yawning sides. All the blocks of ice detached by
our passage went the same way, and after two or three bounds,
ingulfed themselves in the crevasse, as in the jaws of the
minotaur, only the jaws of the minotaur closed after each morsel,
while the unsatiated crevasse yawned perpetually, and seemed to
await, before closing, a larger mouthful. It was for us to take
care that we should not be this mouthful, and all our efforts
were made for this end. In order to withdraw ourselves from this
fascination, this moral giddiness, if I may so express myself, we
tried to joke about the dangerous position in which we found
ourselves, and which even a chamois would not have envied us. We
even got so far as to hum one of Offenbach's couplets; but I must
confess that our jokes were feeble, and that we did not sing the
airs correctly.
I even thought I discovered Levesque obstinately setting the
words of "Barbe-Bleue" to one of the airs in "Il Trovatore,"
which rather indicated some grave preoccupation of the mind. In
short, in order to keep up our spirits, we did as do those brave
cowards who sing in the dark to forget their fright.
We remained thus, suspended between life and death, for an hour,
which seemed an eternity; at last we reached the bottom of this
terrible escarpment. We there found M. N---- and his party, safe
and sound.
After resting a little while, we continued our journey.
As we were approaching the Petit-Plateau, Edward Ravanel suddenly
stopped, and, turning towards us, said,--
"See what an avalanche! It has covered our tracks."
An immense avalanche of ice had indeed fallen from the Goûter,
and entirely buried the path we had followed in the morning
across the Petit-Plateau.
I estimated that the mass of this avalanche could not comprise
less than five hundred cubic yards. If it had fallen while we
were passing, one more catastrophe would no doubt have been added
to the list, already too long, of the necrology of Mont Blanc.
This fresh obstacle forced us to seek a new road, or to pass
around the foot of the avalanche. As we were much fatigued, the
latter course was assuredly the simplest; but it involved a
serious danger. A wall of ice more than sixty feet high, already
partly detached from the Goûter, to which it only clung by one of
its angles, overhung the path which we should follow. This great
mass seemed to hold itself in equilibrium. What if our passing,
by disturbing the air, should hasten its fall? Our guides held a
consultation. Each of them examined with a spy-glass the fissure
which had been formed between the mountain and this alarming ice-mass.
The sharp and clear edges of the cleft betrayed a recent breaking off,
evidently caused by the fall of the avalanche.
After a brief discussion, our guides, recognizing the
impossibility of finding another road, decided to attempt this
dangerous passage.
"We must walk very fast,--even run, if possible," said they, "and
we shall be in safety in five minutes. Come, messieurs, a last
effort!"
A run of five minutes is a small matter for people who are only
tired; but for us, who were absolutely exhausted, to run even for
so short a time on soft snow, in which we sank up to the knees,
seemed an impossibility. Nevertheless, we made an urgent appeal
to our energies, and after two or three tumbles, drawn forward by
one, pushed by another, we finally reached a snow hillock, on
which we fell breathless. We were out of danger.
It required some time to recover ourselves. We stretched out on
the snow with a feeling of comfort which every one will
understand. The greatest difficulties had been surmounted, and
though there were still dangers to brave, we could confront them
with comparatively little apprehension.
We prolonged our halt in the hope of witnessing the fall of the
avalanche, but in vain. As the day was advancing, and it was not
prudent to tarry in these icy solitudes, we decided to continue
on our way, and about five o'clock we reached the hut of the
Grands-Mulets.
After a bad night, attended by fever caused by the sunstrokes
encountered in our expedition, we made ready to return to
Chamonix; but, before setting out, we inscribed the names of our
guides and the principal events of our journey, according to the
custom, on the register kept for this purpose at the Grands-Mulets.
About eight o'clock we started for Chamonix. The passage of the
Bossons was difficult, but we accomplished it without accident.
[Illustration: Grands-Mulets.--Party Descending From The Hut.]
Half an hour before reaching Chamonix, we met, at the chalet of
the Dard falls, some English tourists, who seemed to be watching
our progress. When they perceived us, they hurried up eagerly to
congratulate us on our success. One of them presented us to his
wife, a charming person, with a well-bred air. After we had given
them a sketch of our perilous peregrinations, she said to us, in
earnest accents,--
"How much you are envied here by everybody! Let me touch your
alpenstocks!"
These words seemed to interpret the general feeling.
The ascent of Mont Blanc is a very painful one. It is asserted
that the celebrated naturalist of Geneva, De Saussure, acquired
there the seeds of the disease of which he died in a few months
after his return from the summit. I cannot better close this
narrative than by quoting the words of M. Markham Sherwell:--
"However it may be," he says, in describing his ascent of Mont
Blanc, "I would not advise any one to undertake this ascent, the
rewards of which can never have an importance proportionate to
the dangers encountered by the tourist, and by those who
accompany him."
THE END.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905