Gautier, Théophile, 1811-1872 -- Travel -- Spain; Spain -- Description and travel; Spain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century
Thin streaks of snow now began to show themselves, scattered
here and there, in the shade; the air became more rarified and
the rocks more steep and precipitous; soon afterwards, the snow
appeared in immense sheets and enormous heaps which the sun was
no longer strong enough to melt. We were above the sources of
the Gruil, which we perceived like a blue ribband frosted with
silver, streaming down with all possible speed in the direction
of its beloved city. The table-land on which we stood is about
nine thousand feet above the level of the sea, and is the highest
spot in the range with the exception of the peak of Veleta and
the Mulhacen, which towers another thousand feet towards the
immeasurable height of heaven. On this spot Romero decided that
we should pass the night. The horses, who were worn out with
fatigue, were unsaddled; Louis and the guide tore up a quantity of
brushwood, roots, and juniper plants to make a fire, for although
in the plain the thermometer stood at thirty or thirty-five
degrees, there was a freshness on the heights we then occupied,
which we knew would settle down into intense cold as soon as
the sun had set. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon; my
companion and the young German determined to take advantage of the
daylight that remained, to scale alone and on foot the last heights
of the mountain. For my own part, I preferred stopping behind; my
soul was moved by the grand and sublime spectacle before me, and
I busied myself in scribbling in my pocket-book sundry verses,
which, if not well turned, had, at least, the merit of being the
only alexandrines composed at such an elevation. After my strophes
were finished, I manufactured some sorbets with snow, sugar, lemon
and brandy, for our dessert. Our encampment presented rather a
picturesque appearance; our saddles served us for seats, and our
cloaks for a carpet, while a large heap of snow protected us from
the wind. A fire of broom blazed brightly in the centre, and we
fed it by throwing in, from time to time, a fresh branch which
shrivelled up and hissed, darting out its sap in little streams
of all colours. Above us, the horses stretched forward their thin
heads, with their sad, gentle eyes, and caught an occasional puff
of warmth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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