The spot on which we were standing was a high, bare mountain rock, which, however, produces a sort of grass as food for the cattle, which are here a great source of gain. This the conceited lord of creation may yet make his own; but those rocks before his eyes are like a train of holy virgins, which the spirit of heaven reserves for itself alone in these inaccessible regions. We tarried awhile, tempting each other, in turn, to try and discover cities, mountains, and regions, now with the naked eye, now with the telescope, and did not begin to descend till the setting sun gave permission to the mist—his own parting breath—to spread itself over the lake.
With sunset we reached the ruins of the fort of St. Cergue. Even when we got down in the valley, our eyes were still riveted on the mountain glaciers. The farthest of these, lying on our left in Oberland, seemed almost to be melting into a light fiery vapour: those still nearer stood with their sides toward us, still glowing and red; but by degrees they became white, green, and grayish. There was something melancholy in the sight. Like a powerful body over which death is gradually passing from the extremities to the heart, so the whole range gradually paled away as far as Mont Blanc, whose ampler bosom was still covered all over with a deep red blush, and even appeared to us to retain a reddish tint to the very last,—just as, when one is watching the death of a dear friend, life still seems to linger, and it is difficult to determine the very moment when the pulse ceases to beat.
This time, also, we were very loath to depart. We found our horses in St. Cergue; and, that nothing might be wanting to our enjoyment, the moon rose, and lighted us to Nyon. While on the way, our strained and excited feelings were gradually calmed, and assumed their wonted tone; so that we were able, with keen gratification, to enjoy from our inn window
