Франкенштейн

           Theweatherwasfine;itwasaboutthemiddleofthemonthofAugust,nearlytwomonthsafterthedeathofJustine,thatmiserableepochfromwhichIdatedallmywoe.TheweightuponmyspiritwassensiblylightenedasIplungedyetdeeperintheravineofArve.Theimmensemountainsandprecipicesthatoverhungmeoneveryside,thesoundoftheriverragingamongtherocks,andthedashingofthewaterfallsaroundspokeofapowermightyasOmnipotence—andIceasedtofearortobendbeforeanybeinglessalmightythanthatwhichhadcreatedandruledtheelements,heredisplayedintheirmostterrificguise.Still,asIascendedhigher,thevalleyassumedamoremagnificentandastonishingcharacter.Ruinedcastleshangingontheprecipicesofpinymountains,theimpetuousArve,andcottageseveryhereandtherepeepingforthfromamongthetreesformedasceneofsingularbeauty.ButitwasaugmentedandrenderedsublimebythemightyAlps,whosewhiteandshiningpyramidsanddomestoweredaboveall,asbelongingtoanotherearth,thehabitationsofanotherraceofbeings.

           IpassedthebridgeofPelissier,wheretheravine,whichtheriverforms,openedbeforeme,andIbegantoascendthemountainthatoverhangsit.Soonafter,IenteredthevalleyofChamounix.Thisvalleyismorewonderfulandsublime,butnotsobeautifulandpicturesqueasthatofServox,throughwhichIhadjustpassed.Thehighandsnowymountainswereitsimmediateboundaries,butIsawnomoreruinedcastlesandfertilefields.Immenseglaciersapproachedtheroad;Iheardtherumblingthunderofthefallingavalancheandmarkedthesmokeofitspassage.MontBlanc,thesupremeandmagnificentMontBlanc,raiseditselffromthesurroundingaiguilles,anditstremendousdomeoverlookedthevalley.

           Atinglinglong-lostsenseofpleasureoftencameacrossmeduringthisjourney.