young friends, because I saw through all their eyes,—and how those eyes beamed!
Monte Rosa and its world were, as yet, concealed from us, by the heights of the Riffelberg. Matterhorn alone enthroned, without a rival, from the east to the south. But the ascent begins to be very difficult for me; I never felt it more so. I am obliged to stop every five minutes, to recover my breath. Is it owing to the increasing rarity of the air, or is it old age? But Louise maintains that it is the air.
We have left behind us the last Alpine huts, and now even the last trees,—the delicate melize-trees, which look as if they, too, like me, had a difficulty in climbing the ascent. The last tree reached a little higher than the others, and stands bowing to the mountain, as if it said, “We can how go no further!”
The shrubs of the Alpine rose, and every other larger kind of plant and shrub, have ceased. There are now only little mountain-flowers—Nancy's little favorites—low grass, as well as mosses and lichens, accompany us still. The wind has become cold, and the piled-up mass of the Riffelberg comes ever nearer to us. At length, after three hours' ascent, we have reached the first great plain of the Riffelberg,—bare, save for a little yellowish grass,—but where La Maison du Riffel, the ugliest and most inconvenient of all Swiss hostels, was welcomed by us with great satisfaction.
A large fire was burning in the saloon, where we rested and had dinner. We had now Matterhorn, so to speak, exactly before our eyes, but Monte Rosa was
- Vol. I.—3
