The first view of Mont Blanc from the northwest is obtained at Sallenches, where the traveller enters the bustling courtyard of the hotel of that name and, during the season, ‘never fails to meet numerous travellers going to or from Chamonix; the latter imparting their impressions of the wonders of Mont Blanc, and their adventurous scrambles in the presence of the “monarch” to the listening expectants of such enjoyment; — all is excitement.’
A few miles beyond Sallenches is St Gervais, ‘a little fairy spot, in a beautiful valley, where excellent accommodation may be had en pension; hot mineral baths for the sick, and delightful walks around this little paradise for the convalescent … One of the pleasures of this place is its solitude, amidst scenes so beautiful and wild, that it would be difficult to find it, without a guide.’
This difficulty might have been a positive advantage on 11 July 1892 for, to quote from Edward Whymper’s guidebook to the area, ‘the whole of the central (and oldest) portion of these buildings, and the farther ends of the two wings, were erased by the sudden bursting of a sub-glacial reservoir … The flood first coursed down the valley, and at its mouth half obliterated the village of Bionnay. It then joined the Bon Nant Torrent, and did little further mischief until it was compressed between the walls of the Gorge of Crepin; from the lower extremity of which it issued with tremendous violence, and in a few minutes battered the Baths to ruin, and swept away and drowned the greater part of the visitors. Those who were in the building on the left escaped; but, with few exceptions, all who were in the central and in the farthest blocks perished. How many were lost is unknown. It is supposed that at the Baths alone the number exceeded one hundred and twenty.’
Whymper’s guide, one of the most thorough, tells us in the introduction, under practical matters: ‘Soap. — There is a great opening for soap in Alpine regions, and at the present time it pays to carry a cake.’ As for those who travel light, meaning pedestrians, ‘… inkeepers look with suspicion upon travellers with little or no baggage, and are apt to thrust them into the very worst rooms’.
Chamonix, while not in Switzerland, is dealt with in Murray because of its nearness to Mont Blanc. Out of several good inns he recommends the Hôtel de Londres et d’Angleterre, since this is ‘the oldest establishment, and has never forfeited the reputation of being one of the best held and appointed inns to be found in the Alps; where Victor Tairrez and his excellent wife are so practised in their acquaintance with, and their provision for, the wants of travellers, especially English, that more confort will be found there than in almost any other inn out of England’.
As opposed to this solid praise Murray takes hotel guests to task, sternly reminding them that: ‘At Chamonix and elsewhere, the travellers’ books at the inns are great sources of amusement; often containing, in remarks of preceding travellers, useful information. A most disgraceful practice has too often prevailed, of removing leaves for the sake of autographs; it is difficult to imagine any act more unworthy, for this selfish gratification they destroy what would be pleasure to hundreds.’
Whymper, a great Alpinist himself, discusses with the reader the advisability or otherwise of employing guides, concluding that: ‘Everyone must decide for himself. Some persons are competent to carry out all the excursions that are mentioned. A larger number, however, are not equal to this.’
Baedeker says that the services of a guide are unnecessary in good weather on well-trodden routes, and that: ‘The traveller may engage the first urchin he meets to carry his bag or knapsack for a trifling gratuity.’ Guides were said to be indispensable, however, for expeditions among, ‘the higher mountains, especially on those which involve the passage of glaciers. Only novices undervalue their services and forget that snowstorms or mist may at any moment change security to danger. As a class, the Swiss guides will be found to be intelligent and respectable men, well versed in their duties, and acquainted with the people and resources of the country.’
He tells us in his preface that: ‘The achievements of the English and Swiss Alpine Clubs have dimmed the memory of the pioneers of these icy regions, whilst latterly the fair sex have vied in deeds of daring with those by whom the dangers of adventure are more appropriately encountered.’
A chapter in Whymper’s guidebook is devoted to accidents in the Mont Blanc area, one of which, in 1909, ‘did not present any great novelty. In September a tourist named Eugène Ribaud, who was said to be an architect of Lyons, leant against a balustrade in the Gorge of Trient, which gave way, and he fell to the bottom of a cliff, where his corpse was found.’
Sixty-two climbers and guides were killed from 1820 to 1909, and details are given of each accident. One that did not end fatally is a good example of stiff-upper-lip reporting:
On the 11th of July, 1861, a large party of tourists was assembled on the top of the Col de Miage, with the object of discovering whether an ascent of Mont Blanc could be made from this direction. Whilst the rest were stopping for breakfast, one of the party, Mr. Birkbeck, went aside, and the others did not at first remark his absence. When it was noticed, his track was followed, and it was found that he had fallen down precipitous slopes of snow and ice, and was descried nearly half a mile away, at the foot of the slope, at the head of the French Glacier de Miage. His friends went to his assistance as quickly as possible, but nearly 2½ hs. elapsed before they could reach him.
Between the place where Mr. Birkbeck commenced to slide or fall and the place where he stopped there was a difference of level of about 1700 feet! The slope was gentle where he first lost his footing, and he tried to stop himself with his fingers and nails, but the snow was too hard. Sometimes he descended feet first, sometimes head first, then he went sideways, and once or twice he had the sensation of shooting through the air. He came to a stop at the edge of a large crevasse. When reached, it was found that he was almost half-skinned by abrasion and friction. By his passage over the snow, the skin was removed from the outside of the legs and thighs, the knees, the whole of the lower part of the back and part of the ribs, together with some from the nose and forehead. He had not lost much blood, but he presented a most ghastly spectacle of bloody raw flesh. He was transported to St. Gervais, and remained there in a critical condition for some weeks, but ultimately recovered better than might have been expected.
The worst accident took place near the summit, in 1870, when eleven persons perished. Three Americans who led the expedition did not have any mountain experience, but set out with three guides and five porters. ‘The next day several persons in the Valley of Chamonix endeavoured to watch their progress through telescopes. The weather aloft was bad. The wind is said to have been frightful. Even from below the snow was seen whirling about, and it was noticed from time to time that they had to throw themselves down to escape being carried away by the wind.
‘No one returned, and fourteen Chamonards started, to try to learn something, but snow was falling heavily and drove them back.’ Among those eventually discovered was Mr Bean, ‘sitting down, with his head leaning on one hand and the elbow on a knapsack still containing some meat and bread and cheese’. In his notebook was a letter to his wife: ‘My dear Hessie, — We have been on Mont Blanc for two days in a terrible snowstorm. We have lost our way and are in a hole scooped out of the snow at a height of 15,000 feet. I have no hope of descending. Perhaps this book may be found and forwarded. We have no food; my feet are already frozen, and I am exhausted; I have only strength to write a few words. I die in the faith of Jesus Christ, with affectionate thoughts of my family; my remembrance to all. My effects are in part at the Hotel Mont Blanc, and partly with me in two portmanteaux. Send them to the Hotel Schweitzerhof at Geneva; pay my bills at the hotel, and heaven will reward your kindness.’