Edward Whymper was born in London in 1840. Following in his father’s footsteps, he pursued a career as an illustrator. In 1860, however, he was commissioned to produce illustrations for a collection of mountaineering accounts published by the Alpine Club, and this opportunity led him to the European Alps. Until then he had been merely an amateur climber, but once captivated by the Alps he returned repeatedly to the mountains. After overcoming six failures, he finally achieved the first ascent of the Matterhorn in 1865. The tragic accident during the descent, in which several of his companions fell to their deaths, became one of the most famous episodes in mountaineering history.
Scrambles Amongst the Alps is a collection of travel narratives and reflections written during those years, culminating dramatically in the intertwined story of triumph and tragedy on the Matterhorn. The first edition was published in 1871, but Whymper continued revising and expanding it until 1900. The Japanese translation appeared in 1936, translated by the mountaineer Samitarou Uramatsu.
As Whymper himself wrote:
“I have written of mountaineering purely as a sport, and of nothing else. The delight experienced among the mountains cannot truly be conveyed to others. Even the greatest writers have never succeeded in fully describing the grandeur of the Alps, nor ever will. Readers may perhaps create magnificent landscapes within their imagination, yet compared with the reality of the mountains, such images remain pitifully inadequate.”
Beginning with the ascent of Mont Pelvoux in the French Dauphiné region, Whymper describes how he was driven onward from peak to peak toward unknown worlds and ultimately toward the Matterhorn itself. Even while providing extraordinarily detailed descriptions as an artist, he repeatedly laments the impossibility of fully communicating the experience to his readers. Indeed, unless one has stood there oneself, the true emotion cannot be understood. “Seeing once is better than hearing a hundred times.” Words alone cannot fully evoke the reality of the mountains. Yet today, with internet photography and tools such as Google Earth, modern readers may at least gain some assistance in visualizing those landscapes while reading.
Whymper’s first attempt on the Matterhorn took place in 1861 from the Italian side to the south. Viewed from the northern side above Zermatt, the mountain appeared as an utterly sheer wall, whereas from the south it resembled a pyramid built of successive tiers and therefore seemed more approachable. Consequently, the early attempts were all made from the Italian side. Starting from the village of Breuil, he aimed for the Col du Lion and reached the southwest ridge, but his progress was blocked by a chimney.
In 1862 he tried the same route again, but poor weather and the exhaustion of the porters forced another retreat. Undeterred, he returned alone, climbed beyond the chimney, and reached a great rock tower. Beyond that point, however, the rock strata tilted unfavorably and became dangerously rotten, compelling him to retreat once more. He had used iron hooks and rappel rings to facilitate descent, but because he had left his ice axe behind in the tent, it hindered him on an icy slope and he slipped. Hurled through the air from cliff to cliff, he finally came to rest in a narrow rock gully just above a precipice. Blood streamed from more than twenty wounds, and though he briefly lost consciousness, he somehow staggered back to Breuil. Astonishingly, only a week later he returned yet again to the same rock tower, this time accompanied by the veteran guide Jean-Antoine Carrel. Once more, however, a sudden snowstorm forced them down.
Carrel seemed intent on securing the first ascent from the Italian side himself and proved less than cooperative. Whymper therefore engaged other guides and pushed beyond his previous high point, only to be stopped by a vertical cliff.
In August 1863 he attacked again from the Col du Lion. Yet again snowstorms and thunder drove him back just below the “Shoulder” near the summit. Curiously, while the Matterhorn alone was enveloped in cloud, the valleys below reportedly remained under clear blue skies.
By 1865 Whymper radically changed his strategy. The crucial realization was that the rock layers of the Matterhorn dipped toward the west-southwest. Climbing from the southwest ridge therefore meant ascending against the grain of the rock, like climbing up overlapping roof tiles, whereas the Hörnli Ridge and eastern face offered more favorable formations. He also concluded that the east face, despite its terrifying appearance, never exceeded an angle of forty degrees. Previous weather difficulties and his growing preference for climbing rock and snow faces rather than ridges also influenced his new plan.
At the end of June he attempted the southeast ridge and east face with four guides including Croz, but falling rocks forced retreat. In July he proposed an ascent via the east face to Carrel, who reluctantly agreed. Yet Carrel and his companions had already secretly arranged an expedition with the Italian party led by Giordano, effectively betraying Whymper.
Furious and desperate to regain the advantage, Whymper devised a counterplan. He hurried from Breuil back to Zermatt in order to hire guides. There he encountered a young Englishman, Lord Douglas, accompanied by Peter Taugwalder. Whymper learned that the elder Taugwalder had already climbed high on the Hörnli Ridge and believed the summit attainable. He therefore hired the Taugwalders and agreed to climb with them. Lord Douglas asked to join as well.
Upon arriving in Zermatt, Whymper unexpectedly encountered his trusted guide Croz outside the Hotel Monte Rosa. Croz explained that he intended to climb the Matterhorn with Hudson and Hadow. After discussion, they all agreed that it would be foolish for two separate expeditions to pursue the same objective simultaneously. Whymper therefore invited Hudson and his companions to join forces with him. That night, lying in bed, he reflected upon the strange chain of circumstances that had brought them together.
Thus, in opposition to the Italian party, an improvised expedition was assembled.
At 5:30 in the morning on July 13, they departed from Zermatt beneath a cloudless sky. They ascended the Hörnli Ridge and traversed toward the east face. The rock proved easier than expected. Before noon they pitched their tent. Croz and young Peter went ahead to prepare the route for the next day and climbed remarkably high on the east face. Returning after three o’clock, they declared, “There is not a single difficult point. Had we wished, we could have reached the summit and returned today.”
Before dawn on July 14 they set out again. Without heavy loads the climbing felt easy. Difficult sections could often be bypassed by traversing right or left, and for most of the route ropes were scarcely necessary. Eventually they encountered a steep wall and traversed toward the north face from the northeast ridge, climbing a mixed wall of rock and ice. Though difficult, the slope never exceeded forty degrees and would have been safe for any competent mountaineer. Hudson required no assistance whatsoever, though Hadow constantly needed help.
At 1:40 in the afternoon, Whymper and Croz stepped almost simultaneously onto the summit. The Italian party remained far below. When stones were thrown down to alert them, they began retreating.
After spending about an hour on the summit, the descent began. Whymper discussed the rope order with Hudson. Croz would lead, followed by Hadow. Hudson, whose ability rivaled that of a professional guide, chose the third position. Lord Douglas came next, followed by the powerful elder Peter Taugwalder. Hudson was instructed to use a rope fixed to the rock at the final difficult section of the ascent.
Whymper himself delayed slightly at the summit while sketching and leaving a bottle containing their names. Roped together with young Peter, he soon caught up with the others on difficult terrain. Everyone descended cautiously, step by step, though no auxiliary rope was in use. Around three o’clock, at Lord Douglas’s request, Whymper also roped himself to the elder Peter.
Croz was supporting Hadow’s feet with both hands when, as he turned to descend himself, Hadow slipped and crashed into Croz’s back, knocking him off balance. From Whymper’s position, the rocks obscured part of the scene, and he saw only fragments of what happened next. One after another, the climbers slid downward screaming. A violent shock struck Whymper and old Peter as the rope tightened—but the rope snapped between Lord Douglas and old Peter. Shockingly, it had been only an auxiliary rope.
Whymper descended in despair, encouraging the shattered Taugwalder father and son while securing the remaining rope to rocks as they made their way down.
Thus the story of the Matterhorn, transformed in an instant from glorious triumph into catastrophe, came to its tragic conclusion. Both Whymper and Peter Taugwalder were later tried in a Swiss court but were ultimately acquitted, though subjected to severe public criticism. After this event, Whymper largely disappeared from the Alps.
Yet Scrambles Amongst the Alps contains far more than the Matterhorn story alone. It also records remarkable first ascents of peaks such as Écrins, Grandes Jorasses, and Aiguille Verte. Whymper was by nature careful, passionate, and relentless in pursuing his objectives. His keen powers of observation extended into botany and geology, and he also contributed to the development of mountaineering equipment. His precise drawings of the Alps conveyed the reality of those mountains in an age before photography had fully developed. These qualities undoubtedly enabled him to accomplish such difficult ascents.
The book also reveals the sharpness and meticulousness of his observational mind through detailed descriptions of railway tunnel construction and theories of glacier formation. Yet there are also signs of a harsher side to his character: his fierce attacks on contemporary scientific authorities, his blunt remarks regarding the poverty and uncleanliness of Alpine villagers, and comments concerning attempts to eradicate cretinism associated with goiter in the Aosta Valley, which today appear insensitive and inappropriate. Still, according to the recollections of his friends:
“He disliked flattery and always spoke his mind plainly. Because he did not actively seek society, he was often misunderstood. Yet he possessed a warm heart, and among trusted friends he was an engaging companion with whom one could speak freely. He had a wealth of stories and a uniquely sharp and ironic eye for observation.”
After leaving the Alps, Whymper remained extraordinarily active, exploring Greenland, making the first ascent of Chimborazo in South America, and pioneering routes in the Canadian Rockies.
In old age, yearning to revisit the days of his youth, he traveled again through Zermatt and Chamonix. He eventually died in a hotel there, reportedly locking his room and refusing medical treatment. Today he rests quietly in the cemetery of Chamonix.
Scrambles Amongst the Alps is, strictly speaking, merely a personal memoir covering the six brief years during which Whymper discovered mountaineering, conquered the Matterhorn, and departed from the Alps. Yet during that short span he stood at the very center of Alpine mountaineering history and achieved its greatest triumph. It was also the final flowering of the Golden Age of Alpinism. At a time when peaks throughout the Alps—including Mont Blanc—were being conquered one after another, the last unconquered fortress remained the Matterhorn.
Whymper’s detailed and often brutally frank accounts have, with the passage of time, become first-rate historical documents. Countless young climbers are said to have read this book and found themselves inspired toward the mountains and toward becoming mountaineers themselves. Even today, the vivid descriptions of climbing icy slopes, leaping crevasses, and descending perilous terrain with primitive equipment are enough to make one’s palms sweat. For lovers of mountains, it is an irresistible book.
I would like to close with the words that Whymper himself perhaps most wished to leave to his readers:
“And still that last sad memory hovers around me, like drifting mist obscuring the sunlight and freezing even my happiest recollections. I have known joys too great for words, and sorrows painful even to remember. Yet, looking back upon it all, I would still say: if you wish to climb mountains, then climb them. But never forget that courage and strength alone are nothing without prudence. And never forget that a single moment’s carelessness may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste. Plant each step firmly, and always think carefully from the beginning what the end may bring.”
Near the entrance to the cemetery in Chamonix stands the gravestone of Edward Whymper. Whenever I visit Chamonix, I make a point of wandering through the quiet, almost deserted cemetery and stopping by his grave.
On the bronze plaque of the monument dedicated to the guides who perished in the Alps, one can still make out the words: “MICHEL CROZ CERVIN 1865.”
At the Matterhorn Museum in Zermatt, the actual auxiliary rope used during their ascent—and ultimately snapped during the tragedy—is still preserved and displayed today.
English version prepared with AI assistance
(Originally written in Japanese)
Japanese version: