So much my map told me, and this mixture of roads and paths and rock
climbs that I had planned out, I exactly followed, so as to march on
as directly as possible towards Rome, which was my goal. For if I had
not so planned it, but had followed the highroads, I should have been
compelled to zig-zag enormously for days, since these ridges of the
Jura are but little broken, and the roads do not rise above the
crests, but follow the parallel valleys, taking advantage only here
and there of the rare gaps to pass from one to another.

Here is a sketch of the way I went, where my track is a white line,
and the round spots in it are the towns and villages whose names are
written at the side. In this sketch the plains and low valleys are
marked dark, and the crests of the mountains left white. The shading
is lighter according to the height, and the contour lines (which are
very far from accurate) represent, I suppose, about a thousand feet
between each, or perhaps a little more; and as for the distance, from
the Ballon d'Alsace to Soleure might be two long days' march on a flat
road, but over mountains and up rocks it was all but three, and even
that was very good going. My first stage was across the plain of
Belfort, and I had determined to sleep that night in Switzerland.

I wandered down the mountain. A little secret path, one of many, saved
me the long windings of the road. It followed down the central hollow
of the great cleft and accompanied the stream. All the way for miles
the water tumbled in fall after fall over a hundred steps of rock, and
its noise mixed with the freshness of the air, and its splashing
weighted the overhanging branches of the trees. A little rain that
fell from time to time through the clear morning seemed like a sister
to the spray of the waterfalls; and what with all this moisture and
greenery, and the surrounding silence, all the valley was inspired