We left Dresden more than an hour later than the time appointed—a disaster, as we were to crowd so much into one day. We took the road on the left of the Elbe, to Pilnitz and Lohmen. The road grew more varied as we advanced, but I looked out in vain for traces of the mountainous region which we were to visit. The landscape was pretty, but tame, and when we reached the little village of Uttervalde, I wondered why it was necessary to leave the carriage; what road could be here that would not admit a dozen waggons abreast if need were? However, in obedience to our instructions, we did alight, and ordering the carriage to meet us at the Bastei, we hired a sort of open sedan, a comfortable arm-chair placed on poles carried by two men, for me; my companions were to walk, and we set out, as it seemed, to look for wonders where none could be.
But immediately on quitting the village the portals of the mountains opened before us, and we plunged into their recesses. It is difficult to describe the peculiarity of this region; it differs so much from every other. Rabenau shared in some degree in its characteristics. Generally, when you see mountains, they seem (as they are) upraised above the plains which are the abodes of men; lifting their mighty
