The Idea Of A Fur Coat Seemed So Supremely Ridiculous To
Us, There Was No Making Us Believe We Ever Should Or Could Want It.
That was the most unpleasant day's ride I had in the Alps.
We stopped
to take dinner in the little wretched village of Liddes. You have no
idea what a disagreeable, unsavory concern one of these villages is.
Houses, none of which look much better than the log barns in our
Western States, set close together on either side of a street paved
with round stones; coarse, sunburnt women, with their necks enlarged
by the goitre; and dirty children, with tangled hair, and the same
disgusting disease, - these were the principal features of the scene.
This goitre prevails so extensively in this region, that you seldom
see a person with the neck in a healthy condition. The worst of the
matter is, that in many cases of children it induces idiocy. Cases of
this kind were so frequent, that, after a while, whenever I met a
child, I began to search in its face for indications of the approach
of this disease.
They are called _cretins_. In many cases the whole head appears
swelled and deformed. As usual, every one you look at puts out the
hand to beg. The tavern where we stopped to dine seemed more like a
great barn, or cavern, than any thing else. We go groping along
perfectly dark stone passages, stumbling up a stone staircase, and
gaining light only when the door of a kind of reception room opens
upon us - a long, rough-looking room, without any carpet, furnished
with a table, and some chairs, and a rude sofa.
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