Yesterday we and the Gleichens went to the Rosegg Glacier, and to get there had to go from Pontresina in little Bergwagen, which are strong miniature Leiterwagen without springs, and we went over a horrid path with quantities of stones, so the shaking was beyond description.
Victor and Lolo go mostly with us and we always dine together.
I take three glasses beginning at seven in the morning, and a bath at eight. One lies in a wooden thing, covered over up to one’s chin with boards, and remains so twenty minutes.
We lunch at twelve and dine at half-past six, and go to bed early. We are out nearly all day long. It is very warm, the sun scorching; my face is quite red-brown, in spite of veils and parasols. I feel already very much better, and Louis says my face is quite fat. I wish we could remain longer than the end of the month, but Louis must be home.
I hope you notice the pains I take with my writing, for you complained of it at Osborne—I fear, justly—and I am trying to improve it again.
St. Moritz, August 16th.
Yesterday we made a beautiful expedition, which it may amuse you to hear of, as in an exaggerated way it reminded me of our nice Scotch ones. The evening before we left with Victor and Lolo (without servants) about eight o’clock for Pontresina. The country looked more beautiful than ever in the brightest moonlight. We found two very small but clean rooms in an hotel outside the village.
The next morning we got up at half-past four, dressed, and breakfasted, then got on four horses with most uncomfortable saddles, with our guide Adam Engler, an amusing man, most active and helpful. We saw the sun rising over the snow-covered mountains, and the valleys gradually coming out clearer.
We were to ascend the Piz Languard, a mountain 1,200 feet high. We rode for two hours by a worse and much steeper road than up the Glassalt, then walked over rocks, sand, and slippery grass, so steep that one could not look up to see where one was going to, quite precipitous on each side, leaving snow and glacier below us. The last bit has a sort of immensely high steps hewn in the rock. After an hour and a half’s hard labor we reached the summit, which is rocky and small—enormous precipices all round. Poor Lolo was giddy for some time, which was very unpleasant. The view from the top is most extensive. The Italian, Swiss, and Tyrolese Alps are all to be seen, but the view was not very clear. We rested and ate something, and drank some Lochnagar whisky. The sun was getting intense. We commenced our descent at eleven o’clock, and had to walk the whole way back, for one can’t ride down. We did not reach Pontresina till nearly four, as we had to rest several times, our limbs ached so, for there is no level ground the whole way, and the stones slip, and it was very hot. I had quite sore feet with blisters all over, so that the last hours were really agonizing. But it is a thing to have done, and the view amply repaid one, though one does not feel tempted to do it a second time. I feel very well, excepting my face, (which is still burning and quite red), and my unfortunate feet.
Poor Christa wrote to me yesterday, and says:—