Ski-runs in the High Alps

by F. F. Roget

It has been three times my lot to lay the flat of my ski across the brow of the Diablerets. This in itself would be of but little interest had not a trifling incident occurred each time which may be related with more animation than the ascents can be described.

1. In the month of January, 19—, at a time when the ascent of the Diablerets had not yet been attempted on ski, I marched early in the day out of the slumbering Bahnhof hotel at Gstaad, with a full rucksack on my back and rattled through the village on my ski along the ice-bound main street.

The sun had not yet risen when I knocked at the door of the Bear hotel at Gsteig and presented to the frowsy servant who appeared on the doorstep a face and head so hung about with icicles and hoar-frost that she started back as though Father Christmas had come unbidden.

When she had sufficiently recovered herself, I inquired of her whether she knew of any man in the village who would accompany me to the top of the Diablerets. She looked so puzzled that I hastened to explain that by man I did not mean a guide, but any one who might be foolish enough to enter upon such an expedition with a complete stranger advanced in years. A mere boy would do, provided he could cook soup and could produce a pair of ski with which to follow his employer.

Two lads offered themselves; the brothers Victor and Ernest Marti, sons of an old guide. At first they understood no more of the business than that a gentleman had arrived with whom there was some chance of casual employment. When I had made my intention plain to them, they jumped at my purpose with the eagerness of their age. They had ski which they had made themselves, but was the ascent possible? Anyhow, if I wanted one of them only, he certainly would not go without the other, and when I tackled the other to see whether he would not come alone, they might have been Siamese twins for aught I could do to separate them alive. They went to their mamma, who raised her hands to heaven and would have put them into the fire to rescue her darlings from my dangerous clutches.

In the end the boys, dare-devils much against their wish, sallied forth loaded with ropes, ice-axes, and other cumbersome paraphernalia, among which it would be unfair to reckon their mother’s blessings and their father’s warnings. Indeed, in their sight I was an evil one, bent upon sundry devilries in an ice-bound world. But for the halo thrown for them about my undertaking by the prospect of the beautiful gold pieces to be gained, they would rather have committed me alone to the mercy of the ice fiends.

Lusty of limb, though with quaking hearts, they had no sooner slipped on their ski than their fears were dispelled. They flew to and fro on the snow like gambolling puppies. Who would have thought they bore on their backs a pack that would have curbed the ardour of any ordinary person? They were already prepared in their minds to become Swiss soldiers a few months later, when they would carry, in equipment and arms, more than weighed their present guides’ attire.

Guides, by the way, they were not, but hoped to be some day, when they were soldiers. I discovered that, meanwhile, besides working at the saw-mill, they played the part of local bandsmen. From Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day they had shared as fiddlers in the mummeries, revels, and dances of the season. They had conceived thereby much thirst, as was soon made clear by the flagging of their spirits, and by the loving way in which they bent down to the snow, pressed it between their hands like a dear, long, unbeheld face and kissed it. When they were refreshed their tongues were once more loosened.

We were drawing nearer to the Diablerets. The overhanging rocks seemed to arch themselves threateningly over our heads, and if the young men now spoke glibly, it was with a tremble in their voices and about their renewed fears. It is not without reason that Diablerets and devilry are cognate sounds in languages so distant from each other as the Romance patois of the Vaudois Alps and the gentle speech of the Thames Valley.