_Turin, November 7, 1739_. I am this night arrived here, and have just
set down to rest me after eight days tiresome journey. On the seventh
day we came to Lanebourg, the last town in Savoy; it lies at the foot of
the famous Mount Cenis, which is so situated as to allow no room for any
way but over the very top of it. Here the chaise was forced to be pulled
to pieces, and the baggage and that to be carried by mules. We ourselves
were wrapped up in our furs, and seated upon a sort of matted chair
without legs, which is carried upon poles in the manner of a bier, and
so began to ascend by the help of eight men.
It was six miles to the top, where a plain opens itself about as many
more in breadth, covered perpetually with very deep snow, and in the
midst of that a great lake of unfathomable depth, from whence a river
takes its rise, and tumbles over monstrous rocks quite down the other
side of the mountain. The descent is six miles more, but infinitely more
steep than the going up; and here the men perfectly fly down with you,
stepping from stone to stone with incredible swiftness, in places where
none but they could go three places without falling. The immensity of
the precipices, the roaring of the river and torrents that run into it,
the huge crags covered with ice and snow, and the clouds below you and
about you, are objects it is impossible to conceive without seeing them.
We were but five hours in performing the whole, from which you may judge
of the rapidity of the men's motion.