We went into the Chief’s office.  There were maps of mountains on the walls; also one or two lithographs of celebrated guides, and a portrait of the scientist De Saussure.

In glass cases were some labeled fragments of boots and batons, and other suggestive relics and remembrances of casualties on Mount Blanc.  In a book was a record of all the ascents which have ever been made, beginning with Nos. 1 and 2—­being those of Jacques Balmat and De Saussure, in 1787, and ending with No. 685, which wasn’t cold yet.  In fact No. 685 was standing by the official table waiting to receive the precious official diploma which should prove to his German household and to his descendants that he had once been indiscreet enough to climb to the top of Mont Blanc.  He looked very happy when he got his document; in fact, he spoke up and said he was happy.

I tried to buy a diploma for an invalid friend at home who had never traveled, and whose desire all his life has been to ascend Mont Blanc, but the Guide-in-Chief rather insolently refused to sell me one.  I was very much offended.  I said I did not propose to be discriminated against on the account of my nationality; that he had just sold a diploma to this German gentleman, and my money was a good as his; I would see to it that he couldn’t keep his shop for Germans and deny his produce to Americans; I would have his license taken away from him at the dropping of a handkerchief; if France refused to break him, I would make an international matter of it and bring on a war; the soil should be drenched with blood; and not only that, but I would set up an opposition show and sell diplomas at half price.

For two cents I would have done these things, too; but nobody offered me two cents.  I tried to move that German’s feelings, but it could not be done; he would not give me his diploma, neither would he sell it to me.  I told him my friend was sick and could not come himself, but he said he did not care a VERDAMMTES pfennig, he wanted his diploma for himself—­did I suppose he was going to risk his neck for that thing and then give it to a sick stranger?  Indeed he wouldn’t, so he wouldn’t.  I resolved, then, that I would do all I could to injure Mont Blanc.

In the record-book was a list of all the fatal accidents which happened on the mountain.  It began with the one in 1820 when the Russian Dr. Hamel’s three guides were lost in a crevice of the glacier, and it recorded the delivery of the remains in the valley by the slow-moving glacier forty-one years later.  The latest catastrophe bore the date 1877.

We stepped out and roved about the village awhile.  In front of the little church was a monument to the memory of the bold guide Jacques Balmat, the first man who ever stood upon the summit of Mont Blanc.  He made that wild trip solitary and alone.  He accomplished the ascent a number of times afterward.  A stretch of nearly half a century lay between his first ascent and his last one.  At the ripe old age of seventy-two he was climbing around a corner of a lofty precipice of the Pic du Midi—­nobody with him—­when he slipped and fell.  So he died in the harness.