The summit of Mont Blanc in 1911.
The partially snowed-up hut seen in the photograph is now completely submerged.
A contrast in mountain tops.
Facing page 170.
It was about a quarter to eight; we had been over six hours en route, having taken our time and extracted as much enjoyment out of the climb as was possible. And now we were to reap at least one of the advantages of guideless climbing. Our time was our own; there was nobody to hurry us off to the summit after a cursory glance round at the view. I felt moved to pity for the girl who had agonised her way up behind me when I saw her ruthlessly bundled off the top after five minutes’ breathing space. I prepared to settle myself comfortably for the next hour and, acting on the assumption that I might never again visit the summit of the Matterhorn, proceeded to indulge in a process of cramming, mental and physical. My husband found a comfortable seat for me, which Padrun padded with knapsacks and coats. They then produced the wherewithal to appease my voracious appetite. I am not of those who, when above a certain altitude, lose all desire for food and perfunctorily nibble at an inadequate morsel of chocolate, nor yet of those who forget physical needs in the intensity of their emotional delight. Like the Persian, my paradise is one which caters for the body as well as the soul, especially after six hours’ scrambling. I clamour for bread, lots of it, and the thicker the better, and a generous helping of cheese. I was given what I craved and a thermos of tea, and therewith settled down to a profound enjoyment of my position and surroundings.
Just how much of the pleasure of being on a mountain-top arises from the view alone, I have so far been unable to gauge. On a clear day, the eye can see for a hundred miles, perhaps two hundred miles, in every direction, and the breath catches at the unexpected width and bigness of nature and the littleness of the man-made dwellings in the far-down valleys. From above, the actual beauty of the rolling, snow-white ranges is, I think, less great than from below. I am of opinion that it is the feeling that one is actually on top of a peak that causes the pleasure, or rather elation, that grips one; and that with thick mist blotting out all view the elation would still exist. One is buoyed up, away from the earth. It is the same indefinite sensation of pleasant wonderment that one experiences during the not uncommon flying or “levitation” dream. One is simply off the earth.
We sat in calm enjoyment of the wonderful panorama. The day was quiet, the breeze was of the gentlest, the sky of the clearest and bluest, and the sun was bright and warm. At our feet the mountain sloped steeply down on all sides. Away below, Breuil lay still asleep; and all around, range upon range of snow and ice-clad peaks stretched to the far horizon. It must have been on just such a day that Whymper made his memorable ascent, and human foot first trod the summit of this noblest of pyramids.
About a quarter to nine, we began to repack in preparation for the descent, and by nine were ready to embark upon what I regarded as the most thrilling part of the day’s work. Padrun went first, I, as before, was middleman, and my husband came last. At a discreet distance followed the three Swiss boys who betrayed some little amusement at my audacity. I thought that the Italian ridge of the Matterhorn was one long succession of vertical, even overhanging precipices, over which one let oneself down on ropes. Like most people who have never climbed, I was possessed of various preconceived ideas regarding precipices, the chief of which was that I would find being on the edge of one so dizzy an experience, that I would immediately lose my head and tumble over. A rather more interesting one was that I would want to throw myself over! I had often when on top of high sea cliffs, watching the waves splash and whiten against the rocks below, been strangely conscious of the uncanny lure of depth. Though I had not been unaware of the presence of appalling steepnesses while ascending the Swiss ridge, I had neither suffered from vertigo nor evinced the slightest desire to fling myself into space. I had not had time. My faculties had been concentrated on what was immediately before and above me, and not on what was behind and below. Precipices were part and parcel of the mountain, and to act like a fly on a wall seemed the most natural thing in the world. It is not to be supposed for one moment that I could walk along the edge of a house roof and escape disaster!