Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[graphic][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

with verdant chesnut foliage, and overhung by vast snowy tops, and from this wild region a child has just brought us a bunch of roses. We are skirting a fine inland gulph, the cord across it being formed by the mighty snowy heights of Mont Cenis, and the clouds are sailing nobly down beneath its tops; perpetual cascades are rushing on our left. It is curious to observe the beauty or deformity that objects assume from various heights. Susa, lately seen as amidst lofty mountains, is now reduced to a mere model on dingy mounds; and we are tracing the silvery lines of the Doria and Ceneschia as they wind towards the plains of Turin. The road is a most ingenious work; conduits cut in the rocks convey the roaring torrents beneath it. Our left is bordered by vast masses of greenish slate, intermingled with the bright green foliage of the chesnut; the children are continually bringing their offerings of woodstrawberries, and roses. They beg with peculiar modesty. As we refreshed ourselves by a momentary walk, we gathered a fine bunch of rhododendron, still in bloom. On the opposite side of the Ceneschia is a fine cascade; above are ravines filled with ice, and the vast regions of snow, still higher, supply inexhaustible streams; and far above all, is a noble amphitheatre forming the highest ridge of Mont Cenis. A rich slope of very peaked pines, with their light spring shoots, beautifully green, is on our left. We are stopping at the first refuge of the thirty-six made by Buonaparte, and have long been catching at every turn of the road the vale of the Doria in its whole length. The lofty point of San Michele, crowned by its ruined fortress, stands boldly up over San Ambrogio; and yet further are the hills beyond Turin, upon one of which rises the noted church of the Superga. Susa is beneath, em

[blocks in formation]

bosomed in Alps, and watered by mountain-torrents. It forms an entrance most romantic to the still more beautiful kingdom of Italy. Nature, and poesy, and history, leave her without a rival,-and" Il tient de l'Italie," gives interest to every stone. This loved Italia we were now leaving, but we still heard her accents, and it is not till the chilling blasts of Mont Cenis are felt, that her harmony is exchanged for the discordant notes of France. Still ascending, we reached that part of the road subject to the avalanches of Venaus. The road, cut along the rocks, is defended on the side of the precipice, by posts of brick and rails of wood;-on the left is the Glacier of Venaus. You perceive the destructive effect produced-pines cut off as with a knife,-huge masses of falling stones, that have precipitated every thing before them-prodigious ledges of snow filling every angle, and from beneath them numberless torrents pouring down to deep abysses ; and above all, are mighty peaks and stores of snow, foretelling eternal avalanches.

Here a sharp piercing wind began to blow, and to ride or to walk was equally freezing. Rough winter has established here a despotic and unchanging sway; and, whilst suffering from the blast, it was suggested that no human being could dwell in such a region-and yet beneath and about are the villages of Ferriere, and Barton, and St. Roche. No human ingenuity can defend the traveller from the ponderous masses of rock frequently sent down by the violent blasts and currents which spring up between the more lofty mountain points. At a vast height on your left, you observe the road formed by Buonaparte, on rocks of granite, for the space of two hundred and sixty-two yards, but avalanches and perpetually falling gra

PLAIN OF MONT CENIS.

271

nite have rendered it too formidable to be passed. Three years since some travellers were dreadfully injured. You now see the wall of the gallery which was cut in the granite rock, at an eagle's height above you,-whilst you yourself cross the plain of St. Nicholas, a sort of basin into which rush hundreds of mountain torrents, but from the effects of which the chaussée is guarded by the most ingenious conduits. You cannot, however, feel yourself safe;-as you gaze upwards, continued desolation and unavoidable destruction seem near you. It appears incredible that some one of the furious torrents should not increase, or an avalanche descend to overwhelm you. The snows which supply the Ceneschia here send down their melted waters in tumultuous roarings. The Yselles is a serpentine road up the flank of the mountain, guarded by posts of brick and wooden rails; and a very high wall, on the side nearest the crumbling rock, defends the road from the thousand torrents, which are made to pass behind the wall, and beneath the road; but the spray from above reached us in our open vehicle. At this moment the snow is beating into our faces, and all our ingenuity is exercised to look at this noble scene and yet to defend our faces from the effect of the spray and snow, added to the wind and the cold, which is now intense. Yesterday and to-day are the first real wintry blasts we have felt since the year 1825.

We now ascended to what is called the plain of Mont Cenis. Clouds came driving on; and although what immediately surrounded was green, three thousand feet above and around us was inaccessible snow, bringing over our minds a sense of ignorance and impotence, as conveyed by the words of Job," Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail?

272

LES TAVERNETTES.

The waters are hid as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen." On our right was the Hospice-three monks now reside there. It is open to all the fraternities who pass the mountain, and is said to have been established by Charlemagne. I had fancied a small solitary retreatbut no, the solitude is past-Napoleon established here a post-house, barracks for troops, and for horses, built a church, and established douanes for passports.

A quarter of a mile beyond are the houses called "Les Tavernettes," one of which we gladly entered to shelter ourselves from the cold: its odours, its dirt, were nothing compared with the cold we had endured, and we took with gratitude some hot milk, coffee, and ham. On inquiring for the trout of the lake, we were told it was monopolized by the monks, and sold by them at thirty sous per pound. Opposite to this cold lake we were seated for three hours: it is five thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight feet above the level of the sea; and the peaks around are said to be nine thousand two hundred and sixty-one above its level. The post-house of La Grande Croix, which we passed, is six thousand two hundred and sixty-one, and there we found ourselves on the highest spot of the earth I had yet trod. The Tête Noire, the Simplon, Vesuvius, Montanvert, the Col di Tenda, Ben Lomond, Snowdon, all were below our present level. As we gazed from the windows, all looked immoveably fixed-the roaring, piercing winds that blew in our ears moved not the lake-the wide spread wilderness of snow melted not-the black precipices stood as if they would be the last to obey the summons of dissolution-all that was not white was grey, and brown, and dusky green. The lake was bordered by a curious rock, looking like a concretion of gypsum-unlike any

« AnteriorContinuar »