MONT BLANC 203 



I turned my eyes more frequently towards these obscure solitudes 

 than towards Mont Blanc, whose brilliant and seemingly phosphor 

 escent snows still retained the sense of life and movement.' [Voyages, 

 401.] 



Next morning, at the unfortunate suggestion of Bourrit, who 

 feared the cold, a start was not made till too late (6.15 A.M.). 

 The party was large, twelve in all, and naturally moved slowly. 

 Fresh snow, fallen two days previously, lay on the steep rocks 

 which form the face of the Aiguille. After five hours' climbing, 

 Pierre Balmat, de Saussure's leading guide, called a halt and went 

 ahead to reconnoitre . At midday he returned to report that there 

 was a great deal more fresh snow on the upper rocks, and a foot 

 and a half on the slopes leading to the Dome . It was consequently, 

 we are told, unanimously resolved to give up the expedition at a 

 point estimated by de Saussure as between 600 and 700 feet below 

 the top of the Aiguille. During the descent de Saussure lingered 

 to take observations . Arrived at the cabin, he found to his surprise 

 the Bourrits, father and son, preparing to descend to the valley. 

 De Saussure spent a second night comfortably in the cabin. 

 Thus ended an ad venture which, he tells us, made him resolve never 

 again to admit companions on a glacier expedition. Some cor- 

 respondence that has lately come to light more than explains his 

 resolve and supplies a humorous side to the story. 



Shortly after his return to Geneva de Saussure learnt that very 

 exaggerated tales as to the perils that had been encountered 

 were running about the town. To him, always anxiously con- 

 cerned to prevent his wife and family being alarmed by his Alpine 

 travels, this was naturally no slight annoyance. But there was 

 worse behind. The legend ran that the cause of the party turning 

 back had been his own failure as a rock climber. These reports 

 were clearly traced to the Bourrits. De Saussure was not the 

 man to allow any perversion of fact to pass unnoticed. The 

 first letter he wrote to Bourrit has not been preserved, but the 

 rest of the correspondence sufficiently indicates its contents. 

 Bourrit replied with more daring than discretion : 



' I could not but notice that the way in which you came down 

 was not the happiest. You might have fallen backwards, you might 

 have been hit by the rocks dislodged by the guides, whom you made 

 keep behind you, and we noticed the trouble they had to take to 



