From Modane to Paris--Lovely scenery--St. Michel--St. Jean de Maurienne --Epierre--Paris--Notre Dame--French immorality--La Manche--"Dear old foggy London"--Reflections and conclusion.
After a thorough examination of our luggage by the French authorities, we leave Modane for Paris, a very powerful engine taking us in tow. At Modane the scenery is very grand: fine waterfalls, rocky mountains with great pine forests, and their slopes sometimes enlivened by the pink blossom of the almond tree--a capital place for Alpine climbers.
In consequence of the immense masses of loose overhanging rock, we had to advance slowly and cautiously, and we frequently looked up with some dread lest they should fall upon and utterly crush us. It was interesting to see the congealed waterfalls among the fir-crowned heights above, and some of the great romantic ravines filled with masses of frost-bound snow; while here and there we came upon small wooden crosses, marking the grave of some too adventurous climber or poor peasant guide. By-and-by we pass through a series of short tunnels, great care being necessary, as works are constantly going on to support the weight of the great mountain boulders and to prevent the tunnels falling in; for the water drainage saturates and loosens the masonry. One now obtains some idea of the enormous expenses of the line, and the difficulties contended with it. Descending, we lose for a time the snow-clad hills, which have been our companions for so long; the rivulets join and increase to a rushing, tumbling stream, following madly after us, until we stop at St. Michel, the first station after leaving Modane. Here a great mountain close to us completely covered with snow rendered the air around intensely cold. Continuing our route down into the valley, still accompanied by the lively, chattering stream, now widening into a roaring river, we have a great mountain range on either side, and pass through a lofty narrow gorge. Looking back, I could scarcely discern the cleft in the rocky barrier through which we had come.
And now we see a pretty homely scene among these snow-clad hills. At St. Jean de Maurienne, close to the railway, was a road leading to the valley down which troops of school-children tripped merrily along, led by Sisters of Mercy in their quaint, white winged caps, the healthy, joyous faces of the little ones evidencing to the kindness and care of these good women. What indeed would the inhabitants of these wintry mountain regions, so far from the civilization of great cities, do without their clergy, and the noble sisterhood who devote themselves to a life of usefulness and charity?