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Updated: May 9, 2025
But what was our astonishment when we found a mountain before us, and when we reached its top, the cataract loomed up in inconceivable vastness, rushing into a wild abyss beneath, that deafened us with its uproar and bedewed us with its spray. We now approached the village of Maglan, where Vesta lived.
We were to leave Geneva the next morning. Before night our guide came: he was ill, would we take his son? The proposition did not please us; it was a dangerous journey, and many had been lost in the mountain passes. "Erwald knows as much of the passes as I do," said the father, "and he is anxious to go; his sister lives at Maglan, and she is down with the fever." I saw how it was.
Erwald was to go to Maglan to visit his sister; and if the father could arrange for him to go with us, of course he himself would be free to make another engagement. "Do you feel sure that you can guide us safely?" I asked of Erwald. "Certainly, monsieur; I have been over the way many times. If I was not quite sure, I would not offer to go." "Not if you could gain a good many francs by going?"
As we left Maglan, our road, or rather path, led up a deep and fertile valley, watered by the Arve, rich in woods of fir, and bounded by mountains of various forms and of tremendous altitudes; their rugged peaks sometimes lost in the clouds; at others, their heads towered in majesty above them.
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