In the old days of mountaineering, Saas was a place more often talked about than visited. The beauty of the scenery around was indeed unquestionable, the number of expeditions of every degree of difficulty seemed almost without limit, first-rate guides could be obtained with ease, and yet there was never any difficulty in finding quarters in the hotels. In ascending the main valley from Visp the great stream of travellers divided at Stalden into a large stream that made its way to Zermatt and a little rivulet that meandered along the much finer valley towards Saas and the Mattmark. It thus fell out that, notwithstanding a small body of indefatigable mountaineers had explored the higher peaks and passes on both sides of the valley with tolerable completeness, there was left a considerable number of smaller expeditions capable of providing good amusement for the climber desirous of acquiring fame or of exploring the less known districts. In these days, when the soaring ambition of mountaineers has led them to climb heights far greater than any found in the Alps, an account of an expedition of an unimportant peak may seem out of place. Indeed, its details were so devoid of sensational incident that the recital may be dull; but, as will appear directly, that is not the writer’s [pg 252]fault; at any rate, he ventures to give it, for the same reason that invariably prompts youthful authors to write unnecessary books; that is, as they say in their preface, to supply a want long felt—a want, it may be stated, usually felt in their own pockets and nowhere else.
With every respect to the older generation of mountaineers, they are much to blame in one matter. The stock of Alpine jokes is scanty; indeed, a well-read author can get them all, with a little arrangement, into the compass of one short description of a day in the mountains. Again, the number of Alpine subjects lending themselves to facetiousness is but small. The supply has been proved beyond question entirely inadequate to meet the demand, but former writers have recklessly drawn on this limited stock and entirely exhausted the topics, if not the readers. Some allowance may therefore be made when the position is considered, and it is realised that the writer is endeavouring to patch together a fabric with materials almost too threadbare for use, and that he is compelled wholly to pass by such attractive topics as the early start and consequent ill-temper, the dirty porter, the bergschrund, the use of tobacco, or the flea. The last-mentioned beast is in fact now universally prohibited from intrusion into polite Alpine literature; he has had his day. But why? he has surely some right to the place. An eminent French [pg 253]composer[6] has written a ballad in his honour; but though, as old Hans Andersen wrote, he was much thought of at one time, and occupied a high position, seeing that he was in the habit of mixing with the human race, and might even have royal blood in his veins, yet he is now deposed. I cannot forbear from paying a last tribute to the memory of a departing, though formerly constant, companion. To find oneself obliged to cut the acquaintance of a friend whom I have fed with my own hand must give rise to some qualms.
Unfortunately, too, the older writings are too well known of many to be dished up again in altered form, like a Sunday dinner in the suburbs; so that even the most common form of originality, videlicet, forgetfulness of the source from which you are borrowing, is forbidden. Plagiarism is a crime that seldom is allowed to pass undetected. There are many people in this world possessed of such a small amount of originality themselves, that they spend their whole time in searching for the want of that quality in others. The human inhabitants of the ark, unless they made the most of their unexampled opportunities for the study of natural history, must have become desperately bored with each other, and no doubt, when set free, said all the good things, each in their own independent nucleus of commencing society, which they had heard while immured. On the whole, it is [pg 254]fortunate for writers that the period known as the dark ages came to pass; it allowed those who commenced their career on this side of the hiatus to make, on the old lines, a perfectly fresh start.
A curious omission
Perhaps no country in the world has had the minute topography of its uninhabited districts so thoroughly worked out as Switzerland. Beyond question the orography is more accurately given than anywhere else; in this respect, indeed, no other country can compare with it. It might seem, even to those who have studied the matter, almost impossible to find any corner of the Alps that has not been described; and the discovery that a few superficial square yards of Swiss territory, arranged on an incline, had not been discussed in detail came upon the writer with somewhat of a shock. It was clearly somebody’s duty to rectify the omission and fill the gap; whether the expedition was of importance from any point of view, or whether any one in the wide world had the smallest desire to read a description of it, was a matter of no moment whatever. There was a vacuum, and it was a thing abhorrent. The mountain, to which reference is made above, lies east of Saas, and is known to such of the inhabitants as have any knowledge of geography as the Portienhorn. Substantially this peak is the highest point of a long rocky ridge running north and south, and called the Portien Grat.
The chef’s masterpiece
One fine evening we sat outside the inn at Saas just before dinner, seriously discussing the prospect of climbing this mountain. The guides were of opinion that we ought to sleep out, and surmised that the rocks might be found much more difficult than they looked. With some reluctance on our part their views were allowed to prevail on the point, and they started off in triumph, promising to return and report when all the necessary preparations for starting should be completed, while we went in to prepare ourselves for the next day by an early dinner. The inn in those days was somewhat rude, and the cuisine was not remarkable save for the extraordinary faculty possessed by the chef for cooking anything that happened to come in his way, and reducing it all to the same level of tastelessness. On the present occasion, however, stimulated, no doubt, by certain critical rebukes, he had determined to surpass himself. Towards the end of the repast, as we sat chewing some little wooden toothpicks, which were found to have more flavour than anything else placed on the table, we heard the chef cross the yard and go into a certain little outhouse. A few minutes later a subtle and delicate aroma made its way into the apartment, leading us, after a few interrogative sniffs, to get up and close the window. Gradually the savour became more pronounced, and one of the party gave expression to his opinion that there was now [pg 256]satisfactory proof of the accuracy of his constant statement that the drains were out of order. Gradually intensifying, the savour assumed the decided character of a smell, and we looked out of window to see in which direction the cemetery lay. Stronger and stronger grew the perception as steps came mounting up the stairs; the door opened, and all doubt was set at rest as the chef entered, bearing proudly a large cheese. In a moment, to his dismay, he was left undisputed master of the apartment.
An evicted family
We left Saas equipped as for a serious expedition. A stout rustic, who was the most preternaturally ugly man I ever saw, led the way; he had a very large mouth and an odd-shaped face, so that he resembled a frog with a skewer wedged across inside his cheeks. On his back he bore a bag full of very spiky straw, which the guides said was a mattress. In about an hour’s time we arrived at a carelessly built chalet on the Almagel Alp, of which the outside was repulsive and the inside revolting. But the experienced mountaineer, on such occasions, is not easily put out, and exhibits very little astonishment at anything he may see, and none at anything that he may smell. The hut consisted of a single apartment, furnished with a fireplace and a bed. The fireplace was situated in the centre of the room; the couch was separated by a dilapidated hoarding from a shed tenanted by a cow of insatiable appetite—indeed, it may have been [pg 257]originally designed as a manger. The bed, which accommodated apparently the family of the tenant, was found on actual measurement to be forty-eight inches in length and twenty in width; nevertheless the two guides packed themselves into it, adopting in their recumbent position the theory that if you keep your head and your feet warm you are all right. By the flickering gleams of firelight it could be perceived through the smoke that these were the only portions of their frames actually in the bed owing to its excessive shortness; but guides share, with babies in perambulators, a happy faculty of being able to sleep peacefully whatever be the position of their heads. The dispossessed family of the tenant would not submit, notwithstanding strong remarks, to summary eviction, and watched our proceedings with much interest. It was pointed out to them that curiosity was a vicious quality, that it had been defined as looking over other people’s affairs and overlooking one’s own, and that, on the whole, they had better retire, which they did reluctantly, to a little shed in which was a large copper pot with other cheese-making accessories. Apparently they spent the night in scouring the copper pot.
The mattress proved to be so tightly packed that it was easier, on the whole, to lie awake under it than to sleep on the top of it, and less painful. About 4 A.M. one of the guides incautiously moved his head, [pg 258]and having thus disturbed his equilibrium fell heavily on to the floor. Thereupon he woke up and said it was time to start. We bade a cheerful adieu to our host, who was obtaining such repose as could be got by the process of leaning against the doorpost, and made our way upwards.