




                          [Illustration: Cover]

[Illustration: "THEY SAW MASSES OF ROCKS, BOULDERS, AND STONES, DART ROUND
                              THE CORNER."]





                               THE ASCENT

                                   OF

                             THE MATTERHORN

                                   BY

                              EDWARD WHYMPER

                         [Illustration: Vignette]

WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS


              Toil and pleasure, in their natures opposite, are yet linked
                         together in a kind of necessary connection.--LIVY.


LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1880

_All rights are reserved_





                                 PREFACE.


In the year 1860, shortly before leaving England for a long continental
tour, the late Mr. William Longman requested me to make for him some
sketches of the great Alpine peaks. At this time I had only a literary
acquaintance with mountaineering, and had even not seen--much less set foot
upon--a mountain. Amongst the peaks which were upon my list was Mont
Pelvoux, in Dauphine. The sketches that were required of it were to
celebrate the triumph of some Englishmen who intended to make its ascent.
They came--they saw--but they did not conquer. By a mere chance I fell in
with a very agreeable Frenchman who accompanied this party, and was
pressed by him to return to the assault. In 1861 we did so, with my friend
Macdonald--and we conquered. This was the origin of my scrambles amongst
the Alps.

The ascent of Mont Pelvoux (including the disagreeables) was a very
delightful scramble. The mountain air did _not_ act as an emetic; the sky
did _not_ look black, instead of blue; nor did I feel tempted to throw
myself over precipices. I hastened to enlarge my experience, and went to
the Matterhorn. I was urged towards Mont Pelvoux by those mysterious
impulses which cause men to peer into the unknown. Not only was this
mountain reputed to be the highest in France, and on that account was
worthy of attention, but it was the dominating point of a most picturesque
district of the greatest interest, which, to this day, remains almost
unexplored! The Matterhorn attracted me simply by its grandeur. It was
considered to be the most thoroughly inaccessible of all mountains, even
by those who ought to have known better. Stimulated to make fresh
exertions by one repulse after another, I returned, year after year, as I
had opportunity, more and more determined to find a way up it, or to
_prove_ it to be really inaccessible.

The chief part of this volume is occupied by the history of these attacks
on the Matterhorn, and the other excursions that are described have all
some connection, more or less remote, with that mountain or with Mont
Pelvoux. All are new excursions (that is, excursions made for the first
time), unless the contrary is pointed out. Some have been passed over very
briefly, and entire ascents or descents have been disposed of in a single
line. Generally speaking, the salient points alone have been dwelt upon,
and the rest has been left to the imagination. This treatment has spared
the reader from much useless repetition.

In endeavouring to make the book of some use to those who may wish to go
mountain-scrambling, whether in the Alps or elsewhere, prominence has been
given to our mistakes and failures; and to some it may seem that our
practice must have been bad if the principles which are laid down are
sound, or that the principles must be unsound if the practice was good.
The principles which are brought under the notice of the reader are,
however, deduced from long experience, which experience had not been
gained at the time that the blunders were perpetrated; and, if it had been
acquired at an earlier date, there would have been fewer failures to
record.

My scrambles amongst the Alps were a sort of apprenticeship in the art of
mountaineering, and they were, for the most part, carried out in the
company of men who were masters of their craft. In any art the learner,
who wishes to do good work, does well to associate himself with master
workmen, and I attribute much of the success which is recorded in this
volume to my having been frequently under the guidance of the best
mountaineers of the time. The hints and observations which are dispersed
throughout the volume are not the result of personal experience only, they
have been frequently derived from professional mountaineers, who have
studied the art from their youth upwards.

Without being unduly discursive in the narrative, it has not been possible
to include in the text all the observations which are desirable for the
general reader, and a certain amount of elementary knowledge has been
pre-supposed, which perhaps some do not possess; and the opportunity is
now taken of making a few remarks which may serve to elucidate those which
follow.

When a man who is not a born mountaineer gets upon the side of a mountain,
he speedily finds out that walking is an art; and very soon wishes that he
could be a quadruped or a centipede, or anything except a biped; but, as
there is a difficulty in satisfying these very natural desires, he
ultimately procures an alpenstock and turns himself into a tripod. This
simple implement is invaluable to the mountaineer, and when he is parted
from it involuntarily (and who has not been?) he is inclined to say, just
as one may remark of other friends, "You were only a stick--a poor
stick--but you were a true friend, and I should like to be in your company
again."

                   [Illustration: Point of Alpenstock]

Respecting the size of the alpenstock, let it be remarked that it may be
nearly useless if it be too long or too short. It should always be shorter
than the person who carries it, but it may be any length you like between
three-fifths of your height and your extreme altitude. It should be made
of ash, of the very best quality; and should support your weight upon its
centre when it is suspended at its two ends. Unless shod with an iron
point it can scarcely be termed an al