DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61635#0040
[ 36 ]
-1 was so stupefied by his impudence or ignor-
ance that at first I could say nothing. Then,—-
“ We ride together,” said I; “ and we’ve come
from England, and we’re going to Paris and Lyons,
into Savoy, and over the Mont Cenis pass.”
—And with that I turned my back and left
them, open-mouthed, in the middle of the road.
But their unconscious sarcasm had its sting.
The thought that, if these hills went on, I might
really have to walk half-way to Italy almost brought
sentiment to an end.-
“ Boulogne ! and ’tis but half-past three. We’ll
go on,” said J-.
—As we did not even enter the town, I cannot
of my own knowledge say if there is anything in it
worth seeing. But from the outside we learned
that it has a picturesque old city-gate under the
shadow of the dome; that the people are polite,
and some of the men wear baggy blue breeches;
and that close to the grim grey walls is an unpaved
tree-lined boulevard which is very good riding. It
led to a down-grade which a woman called a terrible
mountain, though she thought it might be “good
for you others.”
Only the highest ranges are mountains to an
Italian, but to a Frenchman the merest hillock is
une montagne terrible.—The hill outside of Boulogne
was
-1 was so stupefied by his impudence or ignor-
ance that at first I could say nothing. Then,—-
“ We ride together,” said I; “ and we’ve come
from England, and we’re going to Paris and Lyons,
into Savoy, and over the Mont Cenis pass.”
—And with that I turned my back and left
them, open-mouthed, in the middle of the road.
But their unconscious sarcasm had its sting.
The thought that, if these hills went on, I might
really have to walk half-way to Italy almost brought
sentiment to an end.-
“ Boulogne ! and ’tis but half-past three. We’ll
go on,” said J-.
—As we did not even enter the town, I cannot
of my own knowledge say if there is anything in it
worth seeing. But from the outside we learned
that it has a picturesque old city-gate under the
shadow of the dome; that the people are polite,
and some of the men wear baggy blue breeches;
and that close to the grim grey walls is an unpaved
tree-lined boulevard which is very good riding. It
led to a down-grade which a woman called a terrible
mountain, though she thought it might be “good
for you others.”
Only the highest ranges are mountains to an
Italian, but to a Frenchman the merest hillock is
une montagne terrible.—The hill outside of Boulogne
was