Then There Was Another Rough Climb By A
Difficult Path Up Over The Last Ridge, Called The Weissenstein, And
From Its High Edge And Summit It Was But A Straight Fall Of A Mile Or
Two On To Soleure.
So much my map told me, and this mixture of roads and paths and rock
climbs that I had planned out, I exactly followed, so as to march on
as directly as possible towards Rome, which was my goal.
For if I had
not so planned it, but had followed the highroads, I should have been
compelled to zig-zag enormously for days, since these ridges of the
Jura are but little broken, and the roads do not rise above the
crests, but follow the parallel valleys, taking advantage only here
and there of the rare gaps to pass from one to another.
Here is a sketch of the way I went, where my track is a white line,
and the round spots in it are the towns and villages whose names are
written at the side. In this sketch the plains and low valleys are
marked dark, and the crests of the mountains left white. The shading
is lighter according to the height, and the contour lines (which are
very far from accurate) represent, I suppose, about a thousand feet
between each, or perhaps a little more; and as for the distance, from
the Ballon d'Alsace to Soleure might be two long days' march on a flat
road, but over mountains and up rocks it was all but three, and even
that was very good going. My first stage was across the plain of
Belfort, and I had determined to sleep that night in Switzerland.
I wandered down the mountain. A little secret path, one of many, saved
me the long windings of the road. It followed down the central hollow
of the great cleft and accompanied the stream. All the way for miles
the water tumbled in fall after fall over a hundred steps of rock, and
its noise mixed with the freshness of the air, and its splashing
weighted the overhanging branches of the trees. A little rain that
fell from time to time through the clear morning seemed like a sister
to the spray of the waterfalls; and what with all this moisture and
greenery, and the surrounding silence, all the valley was inspired
with content. It was a repose to descend through its leaves and
grasses, and find the lovely pastures at the foot of the descent, a
narrow floor between the hills. Here there were the first houses of
men; and, from one, smoke was already going up thinly into the
morning. The air was very pure and cold; it was made more nourishing
and human by the presence and noise of the waters, by the shining wet
grasses and the beaded leaves all through that umbrageous valley. The
shreds of clouds which, high above the calm, ran swiftly in the upper
air, fed it also with soft rains from time to time as fine as dew; and
through those clear and momentary showers one could see the sunlight.
When I had enjoyed the descent through this place for but a few miles,
everything changed. The road in front ran straight and bordered - it
led out and onwards over a great flat, set here and there with
hillocks. The Vosges ended abruptly. Houses came more thickly, and by
the ceaseless culture of the fields, by the flat slate roofs, the
white-washed walls, and the voices, and the glare, I knew myself to be
once more in France of the plains; and the first town I came to was
Giromagny.
Here, as I heard a bell, I thought I would go up and hear Mass; and I
did so, but my attention at the holy office was distracted by the
enormous number of priests that I found in the church, and I have
wondered painfully ever since how so many came to be in a little place
like Giromagny. There were three priests at the high altar, and nearly
one for each chapel, and there was such a buzz of Masses going on,
beginning and ending, that I am sure I need not have gone without my
breakfast in my hurry to get one. With all this there were few people
at Mass so early; nothing but these priests going in and out, and
continual little bells. I am still wondering. Giromagny is no place
for relics or for a pilgrimage, it cures no one, and has nothing of a
holy look about it, and all these priests -
LECTOR. Pray dwell less on your religion, and -
AUCTOR. Pray take books as you find them, and treat travel as travel.
For you, when you go to a foreign country, see nothing but what you
expect to see. But I am astonished at a thousand accidents, and always
find things twenty-fold as great as I supposed they would be, and far
more curious; the whole covered by a strange light of adventure. And
that is the peculiar value of this book. Now, if you can explain these
priests - -
LECTOR. I can. It was the season of the year, and they were swarming.
AUCTOR. So be it. Then if you will hear nothing of what interests me,
I see no reason for setting down with minute care what interests you,
and I may leave out all mention of the Girl who could only speak
German, of the Arrest of the Criminal, and even of the House of
Marshal Turenne - - this last something quite exceptionally
entertaining. But do not let us continue thus, nor push things to an
open quarrel. You must imagine for yourself about six miles of road,
and then - then in the increasing heat, the dust rising in spite of the
morning rain, and the road most wearisome, I heard again the sound of
bugles and the sombre excitement of the drums.
It is a thought-provoking thing, this passing from one great garrison
to another all the way down the frontier.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 24 of 96
Words from 23708 to 24724
of 97758
