Instead of taking the easier road that followed the foot of the Pyrenees toward Languedoc, St. Aubert chose a more difficult route across the mountain heights. The path offered wider views and a greater variety of beautiful and wild landscapes.
Before beginning the journey, he made a small detour to visit his old friend M. Barreaux and say farewell. He found him in the woods near his château, studying plants as usual.
When M. Barreaux heard the reason for St. Aubert’s visit, he was more deeply moved than St. Aubert had ever expected.
“If anything could have persuaded me to leave my quiet retreat,” Barreaux said, “it would have been the pleasure of joining you on this little journey.”
“I do not often give compliments,” he continued, “so you may trust me when I say that I shall eagerly await your return.”
The two friends parted with genuine sadness.
The travellers continued onward. As they climbed higher into the mountains, St. Aubert often turned back to look at the château lying far below in the valley.
Many tender memories filled his mind. His imagination, always touched by sadness, whispered that he might never see his home again.
He tried to dismiss the thought, but he continued looking back until distance and mist slowly blended the château into the surrounding landscape.
It felt as though every step away from home added another link to a chain pulling him farther from everything he loved.
For several miles, St. Aubert and Emily travelled in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
At last, Emily was the first to awaken from this melancholy mood. The magnificent scenery around her gradually filled her young heart with wonder and delight.
The road descended into deep valleys surrounded by enormous walls of rock.
The cliffs were grey and bare, except where small bushes grew along their tops or where patches of weak vegetation colored their hidden corners. Wild goats often wandered there, searching for grass among the stones.
Soon the road brought them to high cliffs where the entire landscape opened before their eyes in breathtaking beauty.
Emily could hardly contain her excitement.
She looked beyond the pine forests covering the mountains and saw endless plains spreading beneath them. The land was filled with forests, towns, vineyards glowing with color, and fields of almonds, palms, and olive trees.
Far away, all these different shades blended together until earth and sky seemed to meet.
Through this magnificent scene flowed the noble Garonne River.
It came down from its source among the Pyrenees and carried its blue waters toward the Bay of Biscay.
The rough mountain road often forced them to leave their small carriage and walk.
Yet they considered this inconvenience a small price to pay for such wonderful sights.
While the muleteer slowly guided the animals across the broken ground, St. Aubert and Emily had time to wander among the lonely mountains and reflect on the greatness of nature.
The beauty around them filled their hearts with humility and peace.
But even while enjoying these scenes, St. Aubert’s happiness was mixed with a quiet sadness that seemed to soften every view and add a deeper charm to everything around him.
Because they knew that good inns would be rare along this road, they had prepared carefully.
They carried food in the carriage so they could eat wherever they found a pleasant place outdoors.
At night, they planned to stay wherever they could find a simple but comfortable cottage.
They also brought books to entertain their minds.
Among them were M. Barreaux’s writings on botany and several works by Latin and Italian poets.
Emily carried her drawing materials, allowing her to capture some of the beautiful scenes that delighted her at every turn.
The loneliness of the road made the scenery even more impressive.
Only occasionally did they see a farmer leading a mule or children of mountain villagers playing among the rocks.
The peaceful isolation affected St. Aubert deeply.
He decided that, if he could discover a suitable road, he would travel farther into the mountains, turn southward, enter Rousillon, and then follow part of the Mediterranean coast toward Languedoc.
Around noon, they reached the top of a great cliff decorated with palm trees.
These trees grew among the rocks like jewels placed upon a giant stone wall.
From this height, they could see much of Gascony and part of Languedoc.
A clear spring flowed nearby.
Its water moved gently through the grass beneath the trees before falling from rock to rock into the depths below.
The sound of the falling water disappeared into the valley, but its white foam could still be seen shining among the dark pine trees far beneath them.
The place was perfect for a rest.
The travellers stopped to eat, while the mules were released to feed on the rich grass covering the summit.
For some time, neither St. Aubert nor Emily could take their eyes away from the surrounding beauty.
Finally, sitting beneath the palm trees, St. Aubert began explaining the landscape to Emily.
He pointed out the paths of the rivers, the positions of distant towns, and the borders of different provinces.
Many of these details were known to him through knowledge rather than sight.
But after speaking for a while, he suddenly became quiet.
His expression grew thoughtful, and tears often appeared in his eyes.
Emily noticed his sadness.
Her own heart immediately understood its cause.
The scene before them reminded both of them of a favorite place that Madame St. Aubert had loved near the little fishing house.
They imagined how happy she would have been to see this magnificent view.
But they also remembered that her eyes would never again open to admire the beauty of this world.
St. Aubert remembered the last time he had visited that place with his wife.
He remembered the painful feelings that had come over him then, feelings that seemed to predict her death.
Now those fears had become reality.
The memories overwhelmed him.
He suddenly stood up and walked away to a place where no one could see his grief.
When he returned, his face had regained its calm expression.
He gently took Emily’s hand and pressed it affectionately without speaking.
Soon afterward, he called the muleteer and asked about a road through the mountains toward Rousillon.
Michael told him there were several paths in that direction, but he did not know how far they went or whether they were safe for travellers.
St. Aubert did not wish to continue after sunset, so he asked what village they could reach by evening.
Michael thought they could easily arrive at Mateau if they stayed on their present road.
However, if they turned farther south toward Rousillon, there was a small village that they might reach before nightfall.
After some hesitation, St. Aubert decided to take the southern road.
Michael finished his meal, harnessed the mules again, and started forward.
But soon he stopped.
St. Aubert saw him bowing before a cross standing on a rock above the road.
After finishing his prayer, Michael suddenly cracked his whip and drove the mules into a full gallop.
The road was dangerous and rough, running along the edge of a cliff where looking down made the eyes dizzy.
Emily was terrified and nearly fainted.
St. Aubert feared that stopping the driver suddenly would create even greater danger, so he remained silent and trusted the strength and judgment of the animals.
The mules, fortunately, seemed wiser than their master.
They carried the travellers safely into the valley below and finally stopped beside a stream flowing through it.
Leaving behind the wide and glorious views, they now entered a narrow valley surrounded by towering cliffs.
Rocks rose above rocks as if they had been piled there by magic.
Some parts were burned and darkened by lightning, while others were covered with green ivy.
The barren landscape was occasionally softened by larch and cedar trees spreading their branches over the cliffs and the rushing water below.
No living creature appeared except small lizards climbing among the rocks.
Some rested on dangerous ledges so high and narrow that even imagining them made the heart tremble.
It was a scene that the famous painter Salvator would have chosen for his artwork if he had lived at that time.
The wild and mysterious beauty of the place made St. Aubert almost expect armed robbers to appear from behind the rocks.
He kept one hand near the weapons he carried for protection.
As they continued, the valley slowly became wider.
The harsh landscape softened, and by evening they reached a region of grassy mountains stretching endlessly into the distance.
The quiet sound of sheep bells drifted through the air.
A shepherd’s voice could be heard calling his wandering flock home.
The shepherd’s small cabin stood beneath the shade of cork trees and holm oaks.
St. Aubert noticed that these trees grew at higher elevations than almost any other trees except firs.
The valley floor was covered with rich green grass.
In small hollows beneath oak and chestnut trees, cattle peacefully grazed.
Some groups of animals rested beside the stream, cooling themselves in the water and drinking from its clear flow.
The sun began to set.
Its final rays touched the stream and deepened the golden and purple colors of the heather and wild shrubs covering the mountains.
St. Aubert asked Michael how far it was to the village he had mentioned.
But Michael could not say with certainty.
Emily began to fear that he had chosen the wrong road.
There was no one nearby who could guide them.
They had already passed far beyond the shepherd’s cabin, and darkness was gathering.
The distant valley disappeared into shadows, making it impossible to search for a cottage or village.
Only a faint glow remained in the western sky, giving them some direction.
Michael tried to keep his courage by singing.
But his song did little to comfort them.
It was a gloomy chant, and St. Aubert soon recognized it as a prayer dedicated to Michael’s favorite saint.
They continued through the evening silence, surrounded by the sadness that loneliness and twilight bring.
The only sounds were the soft wind moving through the trees and the gentle breeze entering the carriage.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a gunshot.
St. Aubert immediately ordered Michael to stop.
They listened carefully.
The sound did not come again.
But soon they heard movement among the bushes.
St. Aubert pulled out a pistol and ordered Michael to continue as quickly as possible.
Not long afterward, a hunting horn echoed through the mountains.
Looking from the carriage window, St. Aubert saw a young man leap from the bushes onto the road.
Two dogs followed him.
The stranger wore a hunter’s clothing.
A gun hung across his shoulders, a hunting horn rested at his belt, and he carried a small spear in his hand.
The weapon added to the strength and elegance of his appearance as he moved quickly and confidently.
After a moment of hesitation, St. Aubert stopped the carriage again and waited for the stranger to approach.
They asked him about the village they were trying to reach.
The young man told them it was only half a league away.
He was going there himself and gladly offered to show them the way.
St. Aubert thanked him.
Impressed by the stranger’s noble appearance and open expression, he invited him to ride in the carriage.
The stranger politely refused.
“I will walk beside the mules,” he said.
“But I fear your accommodation will be very poor,” he added.
“The people living in these mountains are simple folk. They have not only few comforts, but they are almost without what others consider necessities.”
“I see that you are not one of the people who live here,” St. Aubert said.
“No, sir,” replied the stranger. “I am only a traveller passing through.”
The carriage continued, and the growing darkness made the travellers grateful for their guide.
The many valleys opening between the mountains would have confused them without him.
Emily looked up into one of the valleys and saw something shining in the distance like a bright cloud.
“What is that light?” she asked.
St. Aubert looked carefully.
“It is snow,” he answered.
“It is the summit of a mountain so much higher than all the others that it is still catching the sun’s rays, while the lower mountains are already covered in shadow.”
At last, small village lights appeared in the darkness.
Soon they saw cottages scattered through the valley, some of them reflected in the stream beside which they stood.
The water still carried the last glow of evening.
The stranger returned to them, and St. Aubert learned that there was no inn in the village.
There was not even any public house where travellers could stay.
The young man offered to walk ahead and find a cottage willing to receive them.
St. Aubert thanked him and said that since the village was so close, he would walk with him.
Emily followed slowly in the carriage.
As they walked, St. Aubert asked the stranger whether he had enjoyed his hunting.
“Not very much,” he replied.
“Nor do I truly hunt. I simply enjoy this country and intend to spend a few weeks wandering among its beautiful scenes.”
“My dogs are companions more than hunting animals.”
“This clothing also gives people a reason to accept my presence. They might not respect a stranger who appeared to have no purpose for coming here.”
“I admire your taste,” said St. Aubert.
“If I were younger, I would enjoy spending several weeks in such a way myself.”
“I too am a traveller, but my purpose is different from yours. I am seeking health as much as pleasure.”
St. Aubert paused, then continued:
“If I can find a decent road with suitable places to stay, I hope to travel into Rousillon and then follow the coast toward Languedoc. You seem familiar with this region. Perhaps you can advise me.”
The stranger said he would gladly share whatever knowledge he had.
He then described a road farther east that led to a town from which travelling into Rousillon would be easy.
Soon they reached the village and began searching for a place to spend the night.
In several cottages they visited, they found the same mixture of poverty, ignorance, and cheerful simplicity.
The inhabitants looked at St. Aubert with both curiosity and fear.
No proper bed could be found.
He was about to give up searching when Emily joined him.
She saw the tired expression on her father’s face and regretted that he had chosen a road so poorly supplied with the comforts needed by someone in his condition.
The other cottages they examined were slightly better.
They had two small rooms, though calling them rooms was generous.
The first was usually shared by mules and pigs.
The second was occupied by the family, often consisting of parents and six or eight children.
They slept on animal skins and dried leaves spread over a dirt floor.
Light entered through openings in the roof, and smoke escaped through the same places.
The smell of alcohol was often present because travelling smugglers through the Pyrenees had introduced these mountain people to the use of strong drink.
Emily turned away from these scenes and looked at her father with worried affection.
The young stranger noticed her concern.
Taking St. Aubert aside, he offered him his own bed.
“It is a respectable bed compared with those we have just seen,” he said.
“Though in other circumstances, I would hardly dare offer it to you.”
St. Aubert thanked him warmly but refused.
The young man would not accept the refusal.
“Please do not force me to know that a sick man like yourself sleeps on hard skins while I rest comfortably in a bed,” he said.
“Your refusal hurts my pride. It makes me think you believe my offer is not worthy of acceptance.”
“Allow me to show you the way. I am sure my hostess can also provide a place for this young lady.”
At last, St. Aubert agreed, provided Emily could also be accommodated.
He was slightly surprised that the young man had shown such concern for an elderly and ill traveller rather than first offering comfort to a beautiful young woman.
But Emily did not think of herself.
The grateful smile she gave the stranger showed how much she appreciated his kindness toward her father.
On the way, the stranger went ahead to speak with the hostess.
Soon the woman came out and welcomed St. Aubert into a cottage much better than any he had previously seen.
She willingly offered them shelter.
They had no choice but to accept the only two beds available.
The cottage could provide only eggs and milk for food.
But St. Aubert had brought supplies and invited the stranger to share a proper meal with them.
The young man accepted gladly, and they spent an hour talking.
St. Aubert was deeply pleased by the stranger’s honesty, simplicity, and strong appreciation of nature.
He often said that true love of nature could not exist without a sincere and gentle heart.
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud argument outside.
The muleteer’s voice could be heard above all others.
The stranger quickly went to discover the cause.
The argument continued so long that St. Aubert followed.
He found Michael arguing with the hostess because she refused to allow his mules to sleep in the small room where he and three of her sons would spend the night.
The place was miserable, but it was the only space available.
The woman, with more kindness and sense than was common in that wild region, refused to allow animals to share the sleeping room with her children.
Michael considered this a personal insult.
He declared that his mules were the finest and most honest animals in the entire province.
“They deserve respect wherever they go,” he insisted.
“They are as gentle as lambs if nobody offends them.”
“I have only seen them behave badly once or twice in my whole life, and they had reasons.”
“Once, they kicked a boy who was sleeping in a stable and broke his leg. But I told them they were wrong, and by St. Anthony, I believe they understood me, because they never did it again.”
He ended his speech by declaring that wherever he went, his mules would go with him.
Finally, Valancourt settled the argument.
He persuaded the hostess to allow Michael and the animals to use the room.
Her sons could take the bed meant for him, while he would sleep outside wrapped in his cloak.
The woman objected, but Valancourt insisted.
At last, the matter was settled.
Late that night, St. Aubert and Emily retired to their rooms.
Valancourt chose to sleep outside by the cottage door, preferring the fresh air to the crowded cabin and uncomfortable bed of leaves.
Before sleeping, St. Aubert noticed several books in his room.
They were works by Homer, Horace, and Petrarch.
The name written inside them revealed their owner.
They belonged to Valancourt.