MONT PELVOUX FROM ABOVE LA BESSÉE.
Nothing prevented our starting at once but the absence of Macdonald and the want of a bâton. Reynaud suggested a visit to the postmaster, who possessed a bâton of local celebrity. Down we went to the bureau; but it was closed: we halloed through the slits, but no answer. At last the postmaster was discovered endeavouring (with very fair success) to make himself intoxicated. He was just able to ejaculate, “France! ’tis the first nation in the world!” which is a phrase used by a Frenchman at times when [pg 20]a Briton would begin to shout, “We won’t go home till morning”—national glory being uppermost in the thoughts of one, and home in those of the other. The bâton was produced; it was a branch of a young oak, about five feet long, gnarled and twisted in several directions. “Sir,” said the postmaster, as he presented it, “France! ’tis the first—the first nation in the world, by its”—he stuck. “Bâtons?” I suggested. “Yes, yes, sir; by its bâtons, by its—its,” and here he could not get on at all. As I looked at this young limb, I thought of my own; but Reynaud, who knew everything about everybody in the village, said there was not a better one, so off we went with it, leaving the official staggering in the road and muttering, “France! ’tis the first nation in the world!”
The 3rd of August came, and Macdonald did not appear, so we started for the Val Louise; our party consisting of Reynaud, myself, and a porter, Jean Casimir Giraud, nicknamed “little nails,” the shoemaker of the place. An hour and a half’s smart walking took us to La Ville de Val Louise, our hearts gladdened by the glorious peaks of Pelvoux shining out without a cloud around them. I renewed acquaintance with the mayor of “La Ville.” His aspect was original, and his manners were gracious, but the odour which proceeded from him was dreadful.
Reynaud kindly undertook to look after the commissariat, and I found to my annoyance, when we were about to leave, that I had given tacit consent to a small wine-cask being carried with us, which was a great nuisance from the commencement. It was excessively awkward to handle; one man tried to carry it, and then another, and at last it was slung from one of our bâtons, and was carried by two of us, which gave our party the appearance of a mechanical diagram to illustrate the uses of levers.
At “La Ville” the Val Louise splits into two branches—the Val d’Entraigues on the left and the Vallon d’Alefred (or Ailefroide) on the right; our route was up the latter, and we moved steadily forwards to the village of La Pisse, where Pierre Sémiond lived, who [pg 21]was reputed to know more about the Pelvoux than any other man. He looked an honest fellow, but unfortunately he was ill and could not come. He recommended his brother, an aged creature, whose furrowed and wrinkled face hardly seemed to announce the man we wanted; but having no choice, we engaged him and again set forth. Walnut and a great variety of other trees gave shadow to our path and fresh vigour to our limbs; while below, in a sublime gorge, thundered the torrent, whose waters took their rise from the snows we hoped to tread on the morrow.
THE GRAND PELVOUX DE VAL LOUISE.
The Pelvoux could not be seen at La Ville, owing to a high intervening ridge; we were now moving along the foot of this to get to the châlets of Alefred, or, as they are sometimes called, Aléfroide, where the mountain actually commences. From these châlets the subordinate, but more proximate, peaks appear considerably higher than the loftier ones behind, and sometimes completely conceal them. But the whole height of the peak, which in these valleys goes under the name of the “Grand Pelvoux,” is seen at one glance from its summit to its base, six or seven thousand feet of nearly perpendicular cliffs.
The châlets of Alefred are a cluster of miserable wooden huts [pg 22]at the foot of the Grand Pelvoux, and are close to the junction of the streams which descend from the glacier de Sapenière (or du Selé) on the left, and the glaciers Blanc and Noir on the right. We rested a minute to purchase some butter and milk, and Sémiond picked up a disreputable-looking lad to assist in carrying, pushing, and otherwise moving the wine-cask.
Our route now turned sharply to the left, and all were glad that the day was drawing to a close, so that we had the shadows from the mountains. A more frightful and desolate valley it is scarcely possible to imagine; it contains miles of boulders, débris, stones, sand, and mud; few trees, and they placed so high as to be almost out of sight; not a soul inhabits it; no birds are in the air, no fish in its waters; the mountain is too steep for the chamois, its slopes too inhospitable for the marmot, the whole too repulsive for the eagle. Not a living thing did we see in this sterile and savage valley during four days, except some few poor goats which had been driven there against their will.