The hut is small, and we found it already overcrowded. But going straight down to Breuil was not to be thought of. The two sleeping bunks arranged one above the other were full of inmates sleeping off the effects of their labours: most had walked up from Breuil, and were to return next day. I made up my mind to sleep either on the floor or sitting by the table; either course, uncomfortable though it might be, was more enticing than the questionable comfort and warmth of the sheep-skins that served as bed-linen. Padrun, the indefatigable, set about clearing a space on the littered table, prior to preparing a meal. Finding that there was no water in the hut, he picked up two buckets and went forth in search of ice; something of a quest on the Matterhorn during last year’s phenomenally fine summer. Meantime, my husband proceeded to build a fire in the stove and soon had it alight. Padrun presently returned with a supply of ice. After removing as much of the superficial lining of the pans as he could, he filled them with the ice and put them on to boil. The noise of these activities began to communicate itself to the other occupants of the room, as also did the dense smoke from the fire. Blowing their noses, coughing and wiping tearful eyes, sleepily stretching themselves, they slowly forsook their couches. I put on my snow-glasses to ward off the attacks of smoke and, having ensconced myself in a corner near the window, interestedly watched further happenings.
There is no crowd so amusing as a crowd of Italians. Good-naturedly they jostled each other, all talking at once. A change this from the last fifteen hours. Mountaineering is almost as silent as whist! Scarcely a word is spoken while the game is in progress, save as command or assurance—or when a player is argumentative or more than usually clumsy, in which circumstances the leader waxes eloquent indeed! The spirit of emulation was strong within the inmates of the hut. I watched thirty of them all trying to regale themselves at once—from Padrun’s precious water pans! Presently my attention became riveted to one quarter. A youth stood lolling against the door. Every few seconds he expectorated in the direction of the fire. Fearful, but undeniably fascinated, I regarded Padrun’s cooking-pots. That boy had a beautiful aim. The pots took half an hour to boil, and during all that time the water remained undefiled.
We had tea seasoned with loads of sugar and lemon. Then we had soup; at least, that is what they call the concoction in the mountains. A spoon will stand upright in it. The chief ingredients are macaroni, chunks of bread and cheese and a tin of beef. A good chef will make his own little distinctive additions and alterations. The meal over, I went outside. Interested as I was in our gaily-chattering companions, it was scarcely fair to keep a seat that another hungry being would welcome. Besides, the atmosphere within was stifling; the window was closed and the fire smoking as furiously as ever. Without was the sweet cool mountain air and the silence of open spaces, broken only by the roaring of the stone avalanches that made all the south face of the great mountain alive.
The Matterhorn from the Dent d’Hérens.
“... it stands utterly alone, ... surely the most wonderful mountain in the world.”
Facing page 178.
Dusk fell. Padrun came out and fetched me. Would I like to lie down and rest? He had obviously seized an opportunity! The idea of the bunk and the sheep-skins was no longer so repugnant, for I was very weary. I stepped inside. Padrun had found a place for me in the lower bunk, and begged me to accept his coat as covering. Sleep was out of the question. The incessant talk and bustle precluded any idea of such a thing; but just to stretch out and relax every muscle was sheer luxury of feeling. About ten o’clock the entire family was abed. The floor space was all utilised, likewise the little loft where the wood was stored. I lay all night long in the same position—on my right side, and so squeezed up against the wall of the hut that I dared not budge an inch for fear of bumping my nose. The breadth of my “bed” could not possibly have exceeded nine or ten inches. But I slept.