holes up these long stone galleries, so that we went steadily on, and never stopped from the moment of commencing until we had achieved our self-imposed task.
In some parts we received a variation of our labour, as in place of steps we came upon inclined planes, nearly, if not quite, as steep as the steps themselves, and polished by wear so smooth, that, had there not been ridges of stone-work at intervals of about two feet, foothold would have failed us, and we must have had recourse to all fours. Here a painful doubt crossed my mind: “Do these inclines reckon towards the four thousand?” said I. “All right,” responded one of our party, who had been here before, “everything reckons;” and with easier minds onwards we went. Towards the top we crossed several little wooden draw-bridges, occupying the whole breadth of the galleries. On looking through an opening in their flooring, we could see that we were crossing ravines in the rock, perhaps two hundred or more feet deep, studded at the bottom with the needlessly additional malevolence of pointed stakes.
At last, after about one hour and a-half, or perhaps a little more, of incessant getting-upstairs, reaching the looked-for bell-rope, we gave a hearty pull, and in due course the upper serjeant unbarred, unbolted, and unlocked a door bearing a strong family likeness to the one far, far below; and receiving the general’s permit, he allowed us to emerge once more into the open air and sunlight—but into air and sunlight of a far colder climate than that we had left in the hot valley below.
On a bright day in September the contrast, though considerable, is of course not so great as under other conditions; but from the change we ourselves experienced, we could readily understand that 4000 steps (giving an altitude of at least 2500 feet) must in early spring, when sunshine and mild breezes have almost restored summer to the valley, still leave the crowning height embosomed in snow, and beaten by the icy blasts of winter, and thus there may be literally under the same roof (for the vaulted roof of the galleries is uninterrupted) the temperatures of summer and winter at times united. Indeed, as it was, some of last winter’s snow lay still unmelted on the opposite side of the valley, at a height very little exceeding that of the ground on which we stood.
From the citadel of St. Elmo the panorama is striking. We are presented with a bird’s-eye view of the forts leading down the ridge of the mountain, and of the town of Fenestrelle lying far down at our feet; while an extensive range of the road, both up and down the valley, is descried for a considerable distance; and far away beyond the lesser intervening mountains are seen the plains of Italy. Was it, whilst passing over this very route from Gaul, that Hannibal caught his first glimpse of these hardly sought plains? This or a neighbouring pass he probably took; but without either paths or bridges, what difficulties he must have met with! and what wonderful pluck and determination he must have shown, in bringing an army at last successfully into Italy in spite of them! That elephants could, however, have passed these roads before they were made[1] is almost as difficult of belief as the well-known legend of blasting the heated rocks with vinegar. Certain it is, that over these giant mountains, at this or one of the neighbouring passes, Hannibal did lead the army which brought Rome to the verge of ruin.
A glance in the other direction carries the eye towards the mountains behind, under which lies the Pré Catinat, whence that general directed his unsuccessful attack against the fort; at a little distance is seen a small village lying on a steep slope of cultivated land, stretching from the bare cliffs to a precipice overhanging the town of Fenestrelle. This little village, some years back, was swept away by an avalanche, but it is now protected by an angular stone-work of massive proportions, which affords it a more secure position than formerly, though terribly cramped for space.
We now prepared to descend, but not by the steps. To do so was pronounced quite out of the question, short of absolute necessity. Although from some mountain experience well aware of the difference between ascending and descending for any length of time, I was still much inclined to try the descent of so large a number of steps, as I might never again have the opportunity of trying such an experiment; but I was assured that if I did, I should not have a leg to stand upon at the end of my experiment; and (which was clearly conclusive) that the donkey which hebdomadally walks up-stairs with supplies, never comes down the same way. Resigning myself, therefore, to do at Fenestrelle as the donkey does, we trudged down by the thirty odd zig-zags of road which lead outside the defences back to the town, arriving just one hour after the time fixed for dinner; but our landlady, who knew better than we did how long our task would require, had by no means spoilt a very fair, and certainly very seasonable, dinner.
A nine-miles walk from Pomaret to Fenestrelle in the morning, a climb up 4000 steps, and down again by a circuitous road, nine miles home again, besides a little walking about, constituted a good day’s work for a middle-aged paterfamilias of sedentary habits. But in case this paper should come before either of the valued friends with whom I made the excursion (two of the excellent pasteurs of the Vaudois, Protestant valleys of Piedmont) let me add, that I never remember to have passed a happier day than when viewing these novel and striking combinations of art and nature in their pleasant and very instructive company.
THE DUST IN A SUNBEAM.
You must frequently have watched the whirling cloud of dust in the sunbeam aslant a somewhat darkened room; and perhaps were a little staggered at this sudden revelation of the invisible air not being quite so pure as you had imagined. It is true that unless your housemaid is a woman of stern conscientiousness, the mortal enemy of spiders, implacable on the subject of clean-
- ↑ See the memorable lines on the Scotch military roads:
Had you seen these roads before they were made,
You’d hold up your hands, and bless Marshal Wade.
