But it is not the only one to be seen on the high summits. It is often
said that these views are not "beautiful"--apparently because they won't
go into a picture, or, to put it more fairly, because no picture: can in
the faintest degree imitate them. But without quarrelling about words, I
think that, even if "beautiful" be not the most correct epithet, they
have a marvellously stimulating effect upon the imagination. Let us look
round from this wonderful pinnacle in mid air, and note one or two of
the most striking elements of the scenery.

You are, in the first place, perched on a cliff, whose presence is the
more felt because it is unseen. Then you are in a region over which
eternal silence is brooding. Not a sound ever comes there, except the
occasional fall of a splintered fragment of rock, or a layer of snow; no
stream is heard trickling, and the sounds of animal life are left
thousands of feet below. The most that you can hear is some mysterious
noise made by the wind eddying round the gigantic rocks; sometimes a
strange flapping sound, as if an unearthly flag were shaking its
invisible folds in the air. The enormous tract of country over which
your view extends--most of it dim and almost dissolved into air by
distance--intensifies the strange influence of the silence. You feel the
force of the line I have quoted from Wordsworth--

The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

None of the travellers whom you can see crawling at your feet has the
least conception of what is meant by the silent solitudes of the High
Alps. To you, it is like a return to the stir of active life, when,
after hours of lonely wandering, you return to hear the tinkling of the
cow-bells below; to them the same sound is the ultimate limit of the
habitable world.