CHAPTER XVI

THE PIZ SCERSCEN TWICE IN FOUR DAYS--THE FIRST ASCENT OF MONT BLANC BY A WOMAN.

It was a mad thing to do. I realised that when thinking of it afterwards; but this is how it happened.

I had arranged with a friend, Mr Edmund Garwood, to try a hitherto unattempted route on a mountain not far from Maloja. He was to bring his guide, young Roman Imboden; I was to furnish a second man, Wieland, of St Moritz.

The hour had come to start, the carriage was at the door and the provisions were in it, and Wieland and I were in readiness when, to our surprise, Roman turned up without Mr Garwood. A note which he brought explained that the latter was not well, but hoped I would make the expedition all the same, and take Roman with me. I was unwilling to monopolise a new ascent, though probably only an easy one, so I refused to go till my friend was better, and asked the guides to suggest something else. The weather was lovely and our food ready, and it seemed a pity to waste either.

Wieland could not think of a suitable climb, so I turned to Roman, who had only arrived at Pontresina two days before, and asked him his ideas.

He very sensibly inquired: "What peaks have you not done yet here, ma'am?"

"All but the Scerscen."

"Then we go for the--whatever you call it."

"Oh, but Roman," I exclaimed, "the Scerscen is very difficult, and there is 3 feet of fresh snow on the mountains, and it is out of the question!"

"I don't believe any of these mountains are difficult," said Roman doggedly, with that contempt for all Engadine climbing shown by guides from the other side of Switzerland.

"Ask Wieland," I suggested.

Wieland smiled at the question, and said he did not at all mind going to look at the Scerscen, but, as to ascending it under the present conditions, of course it was absurd.

"Besides," he added, "we are much too late to go to the Marinelli Hut to-day."

"Why not do it from the Mortel Hut?" I remarked, on the "in for a penny in for a pound" principle.

He smiled again; indeed, I think he laughed, and agreed that, as anyhow we could not go up the Scerscen, we might as well sleep at the Mortel Hut as anywhere else.

"Have you ever been up it?" Roman inquired.

Wieland answered that he had not. Roman turned to me: "Can you find the mountain? Should you know it if you saw it? Don't let us go up the wrong one, ma'am!"

I promised to lead them to the foot of the peak, and Roman repeated his conviction that all Engadine mountains were perfectly easy, and that we should find ourselves on the top of the Scerscen next morning. However, he made no objection to taking an extra rope of 100 feet, and, telling one friend our plan in strictest confidence, we climbed into the carriage.

We duly arrived at the Mortel Hut and were early in bed, as Roman wished us to set out at an early hour, or a late one, if I may thus allude to 11 P.M. He was still firmly convinced that to the top of the Scerscen we should go, and wanted every moment in hand, in spite of his recent criticisms of Engadine mountains. There was a very useful moon, and by its light we promised Roman to take him to the foot of the peak, where its rocky sides rise abruptly from the Scerscen Glacier.

I must here explain that there are several ways up the Scerscen. I wished to ascend by the rocks on the south side, which, though harder, were safer than the other routes. As for the descent (if we got up!) we intended coming down the way we had ascended, little knowing not only that no one had been down by this route, but also that a party had attempted to get down it and had been driven back. As for finding our way up, some notes in the _Alpine Journal_ were our only guide. The mountain had been previously ascended but a few times altogether, and only, I think, once or twice by the south face. No lady had up till then tried it.

We were off punctually at 11 P.M., and by the brilliant light of the moon made good time over the glacier and up the snow slopes leading to the Sella Pass. This we reached in three hours, without a pause, from the hut, and, making no halt there, immediately plunged into the softer snow on the Italian side, and began to skirt the precipices on our left. Even in midsummer, it was still dark at this early hour, and the moon had already set. A great rocky peak rose near us, and Wieland gave it as his opinion that it was the Scerscen. I differed from him, believing our mountain to be some distance farther, so it was mutually agreed that we should halt for food, after which we should have more light to enable us to determine our position.

Gradually the warmth of dawn crept over the sky, and soon the beautiful spectacle of an Alpine sunrise was before us, with the wonderful "flush of adoration" on the mountain heads. There was no doubt now where we were; our peak was some way beyond, and the only question was, how to go up it? I repeated to Roman the information I had gleaned from the Journal, and he thanked me, doubtless having his own ideas, which he intended alone to be guided by. Luckily, as we advanced the mountain became visible from base to summit, so that Roman could trace out his way up it as upon a map. We walked up the glacier to the foot of the mighty wall, and soon began to go up it, advancing for some time with fair rapidity, in spite of the fresh snow. After, perhaps, a couple of hours or so, we came to our first real difficulty. This was a tall, red cliff, with a cleft up part of it, and, as there was an evil-looking and nearly perpendicular gully of ice to the right and overhanging rocks to the left, we had either to go straight up or abandon the expedition. The cleft was large and was garnished with a sturdy icicle, or column of ice, some 5 feet or more in diameter. Bidding me wedge myself into a firm place, Roman began to cut footholds up the icicle, and then, when after a few steps the cleft or chimney ended, he turned to his right and wormed himself along the very face of the cliff, holding on by the merest irregularities, which can hardly be termed ledges. After a couple of yards he struck straight up, and wriggling somehow on the surface, rendered horribly slippery by the snow, he at last, after what seemed an age, called on Wieland to follow. What was a _tour de force_ for the first man was comparatively easy for the second, and soon my turn came to try my hand--or rather my feet and knees and any other adhesive portion of my person--on the business. The first part was the worst, for, as the rope came from the side and not above till the traverse was made, I had no help. Eventually I, too, emerged on to the wall, and saw right over me the rope passing through a gap, behind which, excellently placed, were the guides. I helped myself to the utmost of my capacity, but a pull was not unwelcome towards the end, when, exhausted and breathless, I could struggle no more. As I joined the guides they moved to give me space on the ledge, and we spent a well-earned quarter of an hour in rest and refreshment. The worst was now over, but owing to the snow, which covered much of the rock to a depth of about 2 or 3 feet, the remainder of the way was distinctly difficult, and as the mountain was totally unknown to us we never could tell what troubles might be in store. However, having left the foot of the actual peak at 5.40 A.M., we arrived on the top at 10.40 A.M., and as we lifted our heads above the final rocks, hardly daring to believe that we really were on the summit, a distant cheer was borne to our ears from Piz Bernina, and we knew that our arrival had been observed by another party.

So formidable did we consider the descent that we only allowed ourselves ten minutes on the top, and then we prepared to go. Could we cross the ridge to Piz Bernina and so avoid the chimney? It had a great reputation, and we feared to embark on the unknown. So at 10.50 A.M. we began the descent, moving one at a time with the utmost caution. Before long the difficulties increased as we reached the steeper part of the mountain. The rocks now streamed with water from the rapidly melting snow, under the rays of an August sun. As I held on, streams ran in at my wristbands, and soon I was soaked through. But the work demanded such close attention that a mere matter of discomfort was nothing. Presently we had to uncoil our spare 100 feet of rope, and now our progress grew slower and slower. After some hours we came to the chimney. No suitable rock could be found to attach the rope to, so Roman sat down and thought the matter out. The difficulty was to get the last man down; for the two first, held from above, the descent was easy. Roman soon hit upon an ingenious idea. Wieland and I were to go down to the bottom of the cleft. Wieland was to unrope me and, leaving me, was to cut steps _across_ the ice-slope to our left till leverage was obtainable for the rope across the boss of rock where Roman stood, and where it would remain in position so long as it was kept taut, with Roman at one end and Wieland slowly paying out from below. The manoeuvre succeeded, and after about two hours' work Wieland had hewn a large platform in the ice and prepared to gradually let out the rope as Roman came down. He descended in grand form, puffing at his pipe and declared the difficulty grossly over-rated, though he did not despise the precaution. At 2.30 A.M. we re-entered the Mortel Hut, somewhat tired, but much pleased with the success of our expedition.

Our second ascent of Piz Scerscen is soon told.

Four days later Roman casually remarked to me: "It is a pity, ma'am, we have not crossed the Scerscen to the Bernina."

"It is," I replied. "Let us start at once and do it."

Wieland was consulted, and was only too delighted to go anywhere under Roman's leadership. Our times will give an idea of the changed state of the mountain, for, leaving the Mortel Hut at 12.30 midnight, we were on the top of the Scerscen at 8 A.M. At nine we set off, and taking things leisurely, with halts for food, we passed along the famous arête, and, thanks to Roman's choice of route, met with not one really hard step. At 2.30 P.M. we found ourselves on the top of Piz Bernina, and had a chat with another party, who had arrived not long before. I waited to see them start, and rejoiced that I had kept two plates. Then we, too, set forth, and were in the valley by 7 P.M.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF MONT BLANC BY A WOMAN, AND SOME SUBSEQUENT ASCENTS

The first woman who reached the summit of Mont Blanc was a native of Chamonix, Maria Paradis by name. Her account of her expedition is so admirably graphic and picturesque that I shall give a translation of it as like the original as I can. Though it was so far back as the year 1809, Maria writes quite in the spirit of modern journalism.

She begins:--"I was only a poor servant. One day the guides said to me, 'We are going up there, come with us. Travellers will come and see you afterwards and give you presents.' That decided me, and I set out with them. When I reached the Grand Plateau I could not walk any longer. I felt very ill, and I lay down on the snow. I panted like a chicken in the heat. They held me up by my arms on each side and dragged me along. But at the Rochers-Rouge I could get no further, and I said to them 'Chuck me into a crevasse and go on yourselves.'

"'You must go to the top,' answered the guides. They seized hold of me, they dragged me, they pushed me, they carried me, and at last we arrived. Once at the summit, I could see nothing clearly, I could not breathe, I could not speak."

Maria was thirty years of age, and made quite a fortune out of her achievement. From that time, tourists returning from Mont Blanc noticed with surprise, as they passed through the pine woods, a feast spread out under the shade of a huge tree. Cream, fruit, etc., were tastefully displayed on the white cloth. A neat-looking peasant woman urged them to partake. "It is Maria of Mont Blanc!" the guides would cry, and the travellers halted to hear the story of her ascent and to refresh themselves.

The second woman, and the first lady to climb Mont Blanc, was a Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle d'Angeville. For years she had determined to make the attempt, but it was only in 1838, when she was 44 years of age, that she came to Chamonix with the intention of immediately setting out for the great mountain. She had many difficulties to surmount. The guides feared the responsibility of taking up a woman, many of the Chamonix people thought her mad, and while one was ready to offer a thousand francs to five that she would not reach the top, another was prepared to accept heavy odds that there would be a catastrophe. At last, however, all was ready, and she started. Two other parties offered to join her. She declined with thanks. After half an hour on the glacier she detached herself from the rope and would accept no help. This was far from being out of sheer bravado, it was simply that she desired to inspire confidence in her powers. During the night on the rocks of the Grands Mulets she suffered terribly from cold and could not snatch a moment's sleep. When the party stopped for breakfast at the Grand Plateau, she could eat nothing. At the Corridor, feverishness, and fearful thirst overcame her; she fell to the ground from weakness and drowsiness. After a little rest, however, she was able to go on, but at the Mur de la Cote she felt desperately ill. Violent palpitation seized on her and her limbs felt like lead. With a tremendous effort she moved on. The beatings of her heart became more suffocating, her pulse was too rapid to count, she could not take more than ten steps without stopping. One thing only remained strong in her--the _will_. During these frequent halts she heard the murmuring of talk between the guides, as in a dream. "We shall fail! Look at her, she has fallen asleep! Shall we try and carry her?" while Couttet cried, "If ever I find myself again with a lady on Mont Blanc!" At these words Mademoiselle d'Angeville, with a desperate effort, shook off her torpor and stood up. She clung with desperate energy to the one idea: "If I die," she said to the guides, "promise to carry me up there and bury me on the top!" And the men, stupified with such persistence, answered gravely, "Make your mind easy, mademoiselle, you shall go there, dead or alive!"

As she approached the top she felt better, and was able to advance without support, and when she stepped on to the summit, and knew that her great wish was at last accomplished, all sensation of illness vanished as if by enchantment.

"And now, mademoiselle, you shall go higher than Mont Blanc!" exclaimed the guides, and joining hands they lifted her above their shoulders.

One more ascent by a lady deserves mention here, that of Miss Stratton, on 31st January 1876. She was the first person to reach the summit of Mont Blanc in mid-winter.

It is difficult to understand why these early climbers of Mont Blanc, men as well as women, suffered so terribly from mountain sickness, a disease one rarely hears of nowadays in the Alps. The question is too vexed a one for me to discuss it here, but I may say that want of training and unsuitable food bring it on in most cases. "The stagnation of the air in valleys above the snow-line," was believed to produce it, and I cannot help thinking that this does have some effect. The first time I went up Mont Blanc I did not feel well on the Grand Plateau, but was all right when I reached the breezy ridge of the Bosses. The second time, ascending by the route on the Italian side of the peak, where there are no snowy valleys, I did not suffer at all. The third time I felt uncomfortable on the slope leading to the Corridor, but quite myself again above.