The Tyrol Mountains.--Intense cold.--Delight on beholding human
habitations.
Augsburg, 20th January, 1781.
For these ten days past have I been traversing Lapland: winds whistling
in my ears, and cones showering down upon my head from the wilds of pine
through which our route conducted us. We were often obliged to travel by
moonlight, and I leave you to imagine the awful aspect of the Tyrol
mountains buried in snow.
I scarcely ventured to utter an exclamation of surprise, though prompted
by some of the most striking scenes in nature, lest I should interrupt
the sacred silence that prevails, during winter, in these boundless
solitudes. The streams are frozen, and mankind petrified, for aught I
know to the contrary, since whole days have we journeyed on without
perceiving the slightest hint of their existence.
I never before felt so much pleasure by discovering a smoke rising from
a cottage, or hearing a heifer lowing in its stall; and could not have
supposed there was so much satisfaction in perceiving two or three fur
caps, with faces under them, peeping out of their concealments. I wish
you had been with me, exploring this savage region: wrapped up in our
bear-skins, we should have followed its secret avenues, and penetrated,
perhaps, into some enchanted cave lined with sables, where, like the
heroes of northern romances, we should have been waited upon by dwarfs,
and sung drowsily to repose. I think it no bad scheme to sleep away five
or six years to come, since every hour affairs are growing more and more
turbulent. Well, let them! provided we may enjoy, in security, the
shades of our thickets.