They see it bend or hear the rattle of its leaves.
The _coup de Joran_, most sudden and devastating of mountain winds, is
on the way from the precipice of the Creux du Van. It comes howling
like artillery down the deep Gorges de l'Areuse. They run to fasten
windows, collect the washing from roof and garden, drive the cattle
into shelter, and close the big doors of the barns. The children clap
their hands and cry to Gygi, 'Plus vite! Plus vite!' The lake turns
dark. Ten minutes later it is raging with an army of white horses like
the sea.
Darkness drapes the village. It comes from the whole long line of
Jura, riding its troop of purple shadows--slowly curtaining out the
world. For the carpenter's house stands by itself, apart. Perched upon
a knoll beside his little patch of vineyard, it commands perspective.
From his upper window Rogers saw and remembered....
High up against the fading sky ridges of limestone cliff shine out
here and there, and upon the vast slopes of Boudry--_l'immense geant
de Boudry_--lies a flung cloak of forest that knows no single seam.
The smoke from _bucheron_ fires, joining the scarves of mist, weaves
across its shoulder a veil of lace-like pattern, and at its feet, like
some great fastening button, hides the village of the same name, where
Marat passed his brooding youth.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179