farther. A mule with my luggage will follow us as we pick our way on foot.
Chamouni, Nov. 4, 1779.
Evening, about nine o'clock.It is only because this letter will bring me for a while nearer to yourself, that I resume my pen: otherwise it would be better for me to give my mind a little rest.
We left Salenche behind us in a lovely open valley. During our noonday's rest the sky had become overcast with white fleecy clouds, about which I have here a special remark to make. We had seen them on a bright day rise equally fine, if not still finer, from the glaciers of Berne. Here, too, it again seemed to us as if the sun had first of all attracted the light mists which evaporated from the tops of the glaciers, and then a gentle breeze had, as it were, combed the fine vapours like a fleece of foam, over the atmosphere. I never remember at home, even in the height of summer (when such phenomena do also occur with us), to have seen any so transparent; for here it was a perfect web of light. Before long the ice-covered mountains from which it rose lay before us. The valley began to close in. The Arve was gushing out of the rock. We now began to ascend a mountain, and went up higher and higher, with the snowy summits right before us. Mountains and old pine forests, either in the hollows below, or on a level with, our track, came out one by one before the eye as we proceeded. On our left were the mountain peaks, bare and pointed. We felt that we were approaching a mightier and more massive chain of mountains. We passed over a dry and broad bed of stones and gravel, which the watercourses tear down from the sides of the rocks, and in turn flow among and fill up. This brought us into an agreeable valley, flat, and shut in by a circular ridge
