The nearer we approached the more nearly vertical became its slope. Besides, several crevasses which we had not perceived yawned at its base.
We nevertheless began the difficult ascent. Steps were begun by the foremost guide, and completed by the next. We ascended two steps a minute. The higher we went the more the steepness increased. Our guides themselves discussed what route to follow; they spoke in patois, and did not always agree, which was not a good sign. At last the slope became such that our hats touched the legs of the guide just before us.
A hailstorm of pieces of ice, produced by the cutting of the steps, blinded us, and made our progress still more difficult. Addressing one of the foremost guides, I said,—
“Ah, it’s very well going up this way! It is not an open road, I admit: still, it is practicable. Only how are you going to get us down again?”
“O monsieur,” replied Ambrose Ravanel, “we will take another route going back.”
At last, after violent effort for two hours, and after having cut more than four hundred steps in this terrible mass, we reached the summit of the Corridor completely exhausted.
We then crossed a slightly sloping plateau of snow, and passed along the side of an immense crevasse which obstructed our way. We had scarcely turned it when we uttered a cry of admiration. On the right, Piedmont and the plains of Lombardy were at our feet. On the left, the Pennine Alps and the Oberland, crowned with snow, raised their magnificent crests. Monte Rosa and the Cervin alone still rose above us, but soon we should overlook them in our turn.
This reflection recalled us to the end of our expedition. We turned our gaze towards Mont Blanc, and stood stupefied.
“Heavens! how far off it is still!” cried Levesque.
“And how high!” I added.