A delicious scene this, and
wonderfully contrasted to the sombre splendour of St. Claude, tenderest
_allegro_ after stateliest _adagio maestoso_, droppings of pearly rain
after heavy thunder-claps. Nantua must be seen from above its
interesting Romanesque old church to be appreciated. It lies at the end
of a mountain gorge, black with pines from summit to base, the
transparent fairy-like lake opening beyond, shut in with violet hills.
No less delightful is the walk to La Cluse alongside the lake, an
umbrageous avenue, the shadows of which are grateful this hot June-like
October day. Through a light screen of foliage you look across the blue
waters upon bluer hills, and still bluer sky. Nantua, in spite of its
smiling appearance, is inevitably doomed one day to destruction,
Straight over against the town impends a huge mass of loosened rock,
which, so authorities predict, must sooner or later slide down, crushing
any thing with which it comes in contact. People point to the enemy with
nonchalance, saying, "Yes, the rock will certainly fall at some time or
other, and destroy a great part of the town, but not perhaps in our
time." Be this as it may, the gigantic fragment of rock hanging so
menacingly over Nantua, is a curious object of contemplation.
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