Above the Snow Line: Mountaineering Sketches Between 1870 and 1880

by C. T. Dent

CHAPTER VIII.

A SENTIMENTAL ALPINE JOURNEY

Long “waits” and entr’actes—The Mont Buet as an unknown mountain—We hire carriages—A digression on a stationary vehicle—A straggling start—The incomplete moralist—The niece to the moralist—A discourse on gourmets—An artistic interlude—We become thoughtful, and reach the height of sentiment and the top of the Mont Buet—Some other members of the party—The mountaineers perform—How glissading ambition did o’erleap itself—A vision on the summit—The moralist leaves us for a while—Entertainment at the Bérard Chalet—View of the Aiguille Verte—The end of the journey.

A fair critic—in the matter of sex—discussing a recently published work with the author, remarked that it was the most charming book she had ever read. “I was told it would not interest me,” she remarked most seriously to him, “but really I found it delightful: there are such lovely wide margins to the pages, you know.” On much the same principle a highly intelligent lady, noted for her theatrical discrimination, once remarked that she liked those theatres best which afforded the longest entr’actes. So in the Alps we felt from time to time the necessity, between the more stirring episodes resulting from [pg 267]higher mountaineering, to interpose minor expeditions, on which no less care and thought was often lavished to make them worthy of pursuit. These were our entr’actes. Of such expeditions it is customary to say that they are the most enjoyable of any undertaken. Without going so far as this, it may be conceded that they have a pleasure of their own, and it is at least no more difficult to discover a novel form of sub-Alpine expedition than to vary the details of a big climb. One of these episodes, undertaken while we were barred from the higher mountains by a fall of snow, consisted in a night attack on the Mont Buet.

Mont Buet

Now the Mont Buet, although it lies close to the regular highway to Chamouni from the Rhone valley, is a peak but rarely even seen of the ordinary tourist; and, considering the numbers of our countrymen that flock to the village whence they imagine that they see the summit of Mont Blanc, the English folk who make the ascent are strangely few. Yet the walk is not a laborious one; not more fatiguing, for example, than the tramp from Martigny to Chamouni over the Col de Balme on a hot day. Fashion in the mountains is very conservative, and probably it is too late in the day now to hope that this mountain will ever gain all the reputation it deserves, for, though comparatively unknown, its praises have been by no means left unsung. Possibly the lowness of the guides’ [pg 268]tariff for the peak may have something to do with the matter, and may serve to explain why it is so much left out in the cold; for this is a very potent agent in determining the attractiveness of special localities. How many go to Chamouni, and never wander along one of the most beautiful sylvan paths in the Alps, that leads to the Glacier des Bossons through the woods, where the view, as the spectator suddenly finds himself confronted with the huge stream of pure glacier, topped by a most magnificent ice-fall, and backed by the crags of the Aiguille du Midi, compares by no means unfavourably with the more frequently photographed panorama from the Montanvert. Ask a dozen persons at haphazard who are staying at Chamouni where the Mont Buet is, and ten out of the number will be unable to answer you. But the pictures hung on the line are not invariably the best in an exhibition; and the Mont Buet is a masterpiece, so to speak, “skied.”

We hire carriages

Our party that summer at Chamouni was a large one, for we had stayed a long time in the hotel, and knew, as the phrase goes, a great many to speak to—quite a different thing to answering for them. We conceived the plan of so timing our modest expedition as to arrive on the summit of the Mont Buet about sunset. It was agreed by some members of the party that it would be “such fun, you know,” to come down in the dark. The inference to be gathered from this [pg 269]is that the party was not exclusively composed of the male sex. Two of us, reputed to be good at a bargain, were deputed to charter carriages to convey the members of the expedition up to Argentière, where the ascent commenced. The carriages of Chamouni, though no doubt practical and well suited to the mountain roads, were not found to be of uniform excellence. Availing ourselves of a proper introduction, we made the temporary acquaintance of an individual interested officially in vehicular traffic, who possessed that remarkable insight into character noticeable in all who are concerned with horses, and knew exactly what we wanted without any preliminary explanation on our part. “Voilà votre affaire,” he said, and indicated a machine that would have been out of date when the first char-à-banc was constructed. We inquired if the somewhat unsavoury load (it had, apparently, been in recent requisition for farming purposes) which the cart contained might be removed, and he said there was no objection to this. “See,” said the proprietor, “the seats have backs.” “But they tip up,” we remonstrated. “That is nothing,” rejoined the proprietor; “they can be tied down: the carriage is good, and has gone many miles. However, Monsieur is evidently particular; he shall be satisfied. Behold!” and the proprietor threw open the creaking door of a shed, and revealed to our gaze a pretentious landau with faded linings and [pg 270]wheels which did not seem to be circular. This “machine,” he assured us, it would be hard to equal for locomotive purposes. Two strange beasts were connected to it, chiefly, as it seemed, by bits of string. One of the animals was supported on two very puffy hind legs and two very tremulous fore-legs, and seemed perpetually on the point of going down on its knees to supplicate that it might be allowed to go no further. Its companion was a horse of the most gloomy nature, that no amount of chastisement could stir from a despondent and pensive frame of mind. Both these treasures had a capacity for detecting an upward incline that was marvellously acute. Then there was a structure like a magnified perambulator, of which one wheel was afflicted with a chronic propensity for squeaking, while the other described a curious serpentine track as it rolled along. Not being, however, in any particular hurry, we decided to avail ourselves of such assistance as these vehicles might afford, and did, as a matter of fact, ultimately reach our destination, if not in, at least with them.

The incomplete moralist

From Argentière we followed the familiar track of the Tête Noire for some little distance, and then bore away to the left up the valley leading towards the Bérard Chalet. The party, which had kept well together for the first few minutes after parting with the carriages, were soon straggling off in every direction, and the chief organiser of the expedition, desperately anxious [pg 271]lest some should go astray and be no more found, ran to and fro from one little group to another, and got into a highly excitable frame of mind, like a busily minded little dog when first taken out for a walk. Chief among the more erratic members was an elderly person who had, unwisely, been asked to join the party for no very definite reason, but because some one had said that it would be obviously incomplete without him. The old gentleman had no previous experience of mountain walks, but had very complete theories on the subject. He had made great preparations for his day’s climb, had carefully dieted himself the day previously, and was not a little proud of his equipment and attire. He was furnished with a spiked umbrella, a green tin box, and a particularly thin pair of boots; for he wished to prove the accuracy of a theory that man, being descended from the apes, might properly use his feet as prehensile members, and he held that this additional aid would prove valuable on rocks. It was currently reported, notwithstanding his loquacity, that he was a very wise person, and indeed he dropped hints himself, which he was much annoyed if we did not take, on the subject of a projected literary work. We were given to understand that the publishers were all hankering after the same, and he had a manner in conversation of tentatively quoting passages and watching eagerly for the effects. He was known to [pg 272]us as the incomplete moralist, and proved to be a very didactic person.