There is a strange contrast between the calm valley of Gerardmer, a
little haven of tranquil loveliness and repose, and the awful solitude
and austerity of the Schlucht, from which it is separated by a few hours
only. Not even a cold grey day can turn Gerardmer into a dreary place,
but in the most brilliant sunshine this mountain pass is none the less
majestic and solemn. One obtains the sense of contrast by slow degrees,
so that the mind is prepared for it and in the mood for it. The acme, the
culminating point of Vosges scenery is thus reached by a gradually
ascending scale of beauty and grandeur from the moment we quit Gerardmer,
till we stand on the loftiest summit of the Vosges chain, dominating the
Schlucht. For the first half-hour we skirt the alder-fringed banks of the
tossing, foaming little river Vologne, as it winds amid lawny spaces, on
either side the fir-clad ridges rising like ramparts. Here all is
gentleness and golden calm, but soon we quit this warm, sunny region, and
enter the dark forest road curling upwards to the airy pinnacle to which
we are bound. More than once we have to halt on our way. One must stop to
look at the cascade made by the Vologne, never surely fuller than now,
one of the prettiest cascades in the world, masses of snow-white foam
tumbling over a long, uneven stair of granite through the midst of a
fairy glen. The sound of these rushing waters is long in our ears as we
continue to climb the splendid mountain road that leads to the Schlucht,
and nowhere else. From a giddy terrace cut in the sides of the shelving
forest ridge we now get a prospect of the little lakes of Longuemer and
Retournemer, twin gems of superlative loveliness in the wildest
environment. Deep down they lie, the two silvery sheets of water with
their verdant holms, making a little world of peace and beauty, a toy
dropped amid Titanic awfulness and splendour. The vantage ground is on
the edge of a dizzy precipice, but the picture thus sternly framed is too
exquisite to be easily abandoned. We gaze and gaze in spite of the vast
height from which we contemplate it; and when at last we tear ourselves