The Alps

by Sir William Martin Conway

River Bed filled by avalanche. Basodino in the distance.

The extent and development of the alpine belt vary greatly, not merely in different regions, but in different parts of the same region. On descending some mountains, rocky débris are found to cover a large area of undulating ground, and then the grass slopes plunge steeply to the forest, and are quickly traversed. On others the grass reaches high and undulates slowly down, so that you may be walking over it for hours before you reach the trees. These lazily sloping alps are most charming when rightly used and approached, though to the climber, eager to gain the snowy heights, their extent may seem tedious, especially when they have to be traversed in the dark.

There are some magnificent alps along the north side of the Rhone valley above Sierre. The slopes that support them rise rapidly from the valley with an equal and continuous slant. When those are surmounted there comes a great area of undulating land which begins amongst the trees but soon opens out to the sky and stretches far back towards Wildhorn, Wildstrubel, and the rest. On these great alps there lie many small lakes, and all the alpine region hereabouts is very diversified, and filled with foregrounds of all characters and kinds of picturesqueness—and then what distant views they have to set off, for across the Rhone valley to the southward is all the splendour and extent of the Pennine range, with Mischabel or Weisshorn standing out in front in overpowering magnificence.

Perhaps we shall be held justified in claiming that the views from the region of the high pastures are their chief charm, rather than the nearer views upon them. Certain it is that most of the great peaks are best seen from the alpine level, and that the favourite views of them, the characteristically memorable and popularly best remembered views, are from alps. Such is the view of Mont Blanc from the Flégère, of the Matterhorn from the Riffel alp, of the Weisshorn from the Täsch alp, of the Mischabelhörner from above Saas-Fée. The spectator stands high enough and not too high; he can be near enough at this level and yet not too near. The mountain still retains its individuality, its existence separate from its neighbours, and yet can be seen as a whole. A little nearer and it begins to disclose the details of its structure, whilst its mass fills a larger area than can be embraced at a glance. A little further away and the mountain is only beheld as one of several, part of a larger mass, a component element of another effect.

From the alpine level you look down as well as up. The depth beneath and the height above may be, or appear to be, approximately equal. Moreover, the distance to which the sight penetrates, the area over which it ranges, bears some moderate proportion to the size of the mountain-masses included in it. In the view from a high peak, visible distances are so great, the area embraced is so vast, the peaks visible appear to be so countless, that each of them may shrink into individual insignificance. It is the multitude of peaks rather than the mass of any, their abundance rather than the form of any, that causes the overwhelming impression upon the spectator. But in views from the alpine level there is a greater simplicity and a no less effective moderation. The mountains in sight are few, and of them one is sure to be most prominently placed, one will be central if not unique; and that mountain, in the typical view from an alp, will be seen from base to summit, not merely its superstructure of rock and snow, but its wide foundation also, reaching down into the depths of the valley and spreading broadly with all needful amplitude.

It is not thus that mountains are beheld from the valleys. As you traverse the whole Vispthal from Visp to Zermatt, you do indeed behold the summits of most of the great flanking peaks from successive points on the valley floor, yet it is only the expert who can recognise them, or tell which white fragment far aloft is the top of a great mountain and which are the mere shoulders of lower buttressing ridges. The knees of the hills hide their breasts and generally also their hoary heads from the view of one who passes along at their feet. If you would behold a great mountain as a whole, it is from the knees or the grassy lap of some other that you must look. Foreshortened foundations are then withdrawn; each component part of the whole vast structure takes its proper place and is seen to fulfil its own function. Buttresses stand forward and widen out below; high valleys can be traced into the heart of the mass; minor peaks are duly subordinated. The mountain, in fact, can be seen as a whole. It is thus you behold the Mischabel from the alp at the base of the Weisshorn or the Fletschhorn; thus the Matterhorn from the Riffelalp; thus the Jungfrau from Mürren. A true instinct has selected and made such points of view famous.

IN THE VAL D'AOSTA

The Mont Blanc group of mountains hidden in clouds.

We have left ourselves little space to discuss the value of the high pastures as an element in the mountain landscape, parts of the scene to be looked at, not positions to gaze from. That their value in this respect also is very great must be obvious enough, for in most mountain views the grassy belt fills the largest part. Of course it is not the most impressive. We look at the mountains, or at some mountain, some glacier, waterfall, or cliff, and make it the centre of our observation. As a rule, however, except when we stand in the midst of the snowy world, the mountain that is centrally gazed at does not occupy so large a part of the field of view as is filled by the grassy expanse at its foot. The grassy alp, in fact, generally bears to a mountain the relation that the background does to a Madonna in a picture. Or we may say that alp and sky are the fabric on which the mountain is embroidered.