At the entrance of Savoy, that natural labyrinth of deep valleys, which
descend like so many torrents from the Simplon, St. Bernard, and Mount
Cenis, and direct their course towards France and Switzerland, one
wider valley separates at Chambéry from the Alpine chain, and, striking
off towards Geneva and Annecy, displays its verdant bed, intersected
with lakes and rivers, between the Mont du Chat and the almost mural
mountains of Beauges.
On the left, the Mont du Chat, like a gigantic rampart, runs in one
uninterrupted ridge for the space of two leagues, marking the horizon
with a dark and scarcely undulated line. A few jagged peaks of gray
rock at the eastern extremity alone break the almost geometrical
monotony of its appearance, and tell that it was the hand of God, and
not of man, that piled up these huge masses. Towards Chambéry, the
mountain descends by gentle steps to the plain, and forms natural
terraces, clothed with walnut and chestnut trees, entwined with
clusters of the creeping vine. In the midst of this wild, luxuriant
vegetation, one sees here and there some country-house shining through
the trees, the tall spire of a humble village, or the old dark towers
and battlements of some castle of a bygone age. The plain was once a
vast lake, and has preserved the hollowed form, the indented shores,
and advanced promontories of its former aspect; but in lieu of the
spreading waters, there are the yellow waves of the bending corn, or
the undulating summit of the verdant poplars. Here and there, a piece
of rising ground, which was once an island, may be seen with its
clusters of thatched roofs, half hidden among the branches. Beyond this
dried-up basin, the Mont du Chat rises more abrupt and bold, its base
washed by the waters of a lake, as blue as the firmament above it. This
lake, which is not more than six leagues in length, varies in breadth
from one to three leagues, and is surrounded and hemmed in with bold,
steep rocks on the French side; on the Savoy side, on the contrary, it
winds unmolested into several creeks and small bays, bordered by
vine-covered hillocks and well-wooded slopes, and skirted by fig-trees
whose branches dip into its very waters. The lake then dwindles away
gradually to the foot of the rocks of Châtillon, which open to afford a
passage for the overflow of its waters into the Rhône. The burial-place
of the princes of the house of Savoy, the abbey of Haute-Combe, stands
on the northern side upon its foundation of granite, and projects the
vast shadow of its spacious cloisters on the waters of the lake.
Screened during the day from the rays of the sun by the high barrier of
the Mont du Chat, the edifice, from the obscurity which envelops it,
seems emblematical of the eternal night awaiting at its gates, the
princes who descend from a throne into its vaults. Towards evening,
however, a ray of the setting sun strikes and reverberates on its
walls, as a beacon to mark the haven of life at the close of day. A few
fishing boats, without sails, glide silently on the deep waters,
beneath the shade of the mountain, and from their dingy color can
scarcely be distinguished from its dark and rocky sides. Eagles, with
their dusky plumage, incessantly hover over the cliffs and boats, as if
to rob the nets of their prey, or make a sudden swoop at the birds
which follow in the wake of the boats.