The “Rolla” is so sensitive that by merely hauling in a few yards of the guide-rope, we gently descend on the tops of the trees, lightly skipping from one to the other; we brush by an elm, a poplar, or an ash, and as we pass, pick their fresh green leaves.
This weird performance is fascinating beyond words. I have never heard of a “promenade” on the crest of a forest, and I wonder now and then if I am dreaming.
Such accuracy of movement is only possible with a very small balloon, in the early hours of the day, and with a perfectly even temperature. Of course, it is always dangerous, as a slight mistake would instantly lead to a hopeless disaster.
Suddenly, while crossing a deep ravine, the coolness of the air drags us down. The rocky banks of the torrent are upon us.
As I open my mouth to offer a mild objection; a hatful of ballast goes overboard; we instantly shoot up in the air, and, before I can realize what has occurred, the barometer marks six and seven thousand feet.
“C’est d’en haut qu’on apprécie bien les choses humaines et il faut avoir passé sur les points élevés pour connaître la petitesse de celles que nous voyons grandes.”
Alf. de Vigny.
III.
I SHALL never forget this first and sudden leap to such terrifying altitudes. I thought we would never stop rising, and stood breathless as I saw the earth leave us, sink in at the centre, and swell out at the horizon like a bowl.
How often have we not followed with delighted eyes the majestic flight of the clouds, and longed for their liberty and the freedom of their voyages in the skies?