It was a new and strange feeling
to be altogether hemmed in by mountains. It was oppressive to a plain-
dweller to be shut in thus, and not to be able to get away from the
immutable sheet of snow, with its jagged summits. Along the valley of
the stream, the road ran between marvellously fresh walnut-trees, plane-
trees, and avenues of apple trees; but sometimes we drove through
valleys so narrow that the sun only shone on them two or three hours of
the day, and there it was cold and damp. Savoy was plainly enough a poor
country. The grapes were small and not sweet; soil there was little of,
but every patch was utilised to the best advantage. In one place a
mountain stream rushed down the rocks; at a sharp corner, which jutted
out like the edge of a sloping roof, the stream was split up and
transformed into such fine spray that one could perceive no water at
all; afterwards the stream united again at the foot of the mountain, and
emptied itself with frantic haste into the river, foaming greyish white,
spreading an icy cold around. The changes of temperature were striking.
Under shelter, hot Summer, two steps further, stern, inclement Autumn,
air that penetrated to the very marrow of your bones. You ran through
every season of the year in a quarter of an hour.
The other travellers were English people, all of one pattern,
unchangeable, immovable.
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