The carriages stood ready at the gates early in the morning. The noise of servants moving hurriedly through the halls awakened Emily from a troubled sleep. During the night, her restless mind had filled her dreams with frightening images and uncertain thoughts about her love and her future.
When she opened her eyes, she tried to push those gloomy dreams away. But the imaginary troubles disappeared only to be replaced by real sorrow. She remembered that she had left Valancourt, perhaps forever, and her heart ached deeply.
She struggled to silence the fearful thoughts that crowded her mind and tried to control the sadness she could not remove. Her face, usually pale with sorrow, now showed a quiet acceptance, like a thin veil covering a beautiful face and making it appear even more touching.
But Madame Montoni noticed nothing except Emily’s usual paleness.
“You have been allowing yourself to suffer over imaginary troubles,” Madame Montoni said. “You should have more respect for proper behavior. You should not let people see that you cannot forget an unsuitable attachment.”
Emily’s pale cheeks suddenly turned bright red, but it was the blush of wounded pride. She said nothing.
Soon afterward, Montoni entered the breakfast room. He spoke very little and seemed eager to leave.
The windows of the room opened toward the garden. As Emily passed by them, she saw the place where she had said farewell to Valancourt the night before. The memory struck her heart painfully, and she quickly turned away.
At last, the luggage was arranged, and the travelers entered their carriages. Emily would have left the château without a single regret if it had not been so near Valancourt’s home.
From a small hill, she looked back at Thoulouse and the distant plains of Gascony. Beyond them, the broken peaks of the Pyrenees appeared on the horizon, shining beneath the morning sun.
“Dear beautiful mountains,” she thought, “how long will it be before I see you again? How much misery may happen before that time comes!”
“If I could only know that I would return to you one day and find that Valancourt still lived for me, I could leave in peace.”
“He will still look upon these mountains, even when I am far away.”
The trees along the high banks of the road slowly began to block her view. The blue mountains remained visible beyond the dark branches, and Emily continued leaning from the carriage window until the trees finally covered them completely.
Soon another sight caught her attention.
A man was walking along the roadside. His hat, decorated with a military feather, was pulled low over his eyes. Emily had barely looked at him when the sound of the carriage wheels made him turn.
Then she recognized him.
It was Valancourt.
He immediately waved his hand, rushed toward the road, and placed a letter into Emily’s hand through the carriage window.
He tried to smile, but despair covered his face as she passed away from him. That sorrowful smile remained forever fixed in Emily’s memory.
She leaned from the window and saw him standing on a small rise beside the broken roadside bank. He rested against the tall trees above him and followed the carriage with his eyes.
He waved once more.
Emily continued watching him until the distance blurred his figure, and finally a turn in the road completely separated them.
After stopping at a château along the way to pick up Signor Cavigni, the travelers continued across the plains of Languedoc.
Emily had been placed disrespectfully in a second carriage with Madame Montoni’s servant. Because the woman was sitting beside her, Emily could not read Valancourt’s letter. She did not want anyone to see the emotions it would surely awaken.
Yet her desire to read his final message was so strong that her trembling hand repeatedly reached toward the sealed letter.
At last, they arrived at a village where they stopped only to change horses. They did not leave the carriage. It was not until they stopped for dinner that Emily finally had the chance to open the letter.
Although she had never doubted Valancourt’s love, his new expressions of devotion brought comfort and renewed her spirits.
She cried gently as she read his words, then carefully put the letter away so she could read it again whenever sadness became too heavy.
After reading it, she thought of him with far less pain than before.
Among his many requests, one touched her deeply because it showed his tenderness and allowed them, for a moment, to feel less separated.
He asked her always to think of him at sunset.
“You will meet me then in your thoughts,” Valancourt had written. “I shall always watch the sunset, and I shall be happy believing that your eyes are looking at the same sky as mine, and that our hearts are speaking to each other.”
“You cannot know, Emily, how much comfort I expect from those moments. I hope you will feel the same.”
That evening, Emily watched the sun slowly sink across the endless plains. She saw it disappear toward the province where Valancourt lived.
No words could describe the emotions she felt during that moment.
Afterward, her heart became much calmer and more peaceful than it had been since Montoni’s marriage to her aunt.
For several days, the travelers crossed the plains of Languedoc. Then they entered Dauphiny and traveled through the romantic mountains of that region before leaving their carriages and beginning their journey across the Alps.
Here, Emily saw scenes so magnificent that no words could fully describe them.
Her mind became filled with new and wonderful images. Sometimes these sights pushed thoughts of Valancourt away, but more often they reminded her of him.
The mountains brought back memories of the Pyrenees, where they had once admired the scenery together and believed that nothing could surpass its grandeur.
How often she wished she could tell him about the feelings these new landscapes awakened in her.
Sometimes she imagined what he would say about them and almost felt that he was beside her.
She felt as if she had entered another world and left behind all small worries and ordinary concerns. Only thoughts of greatness and beauty filled her mind, lifting her emotions higher.
At sunset, the hour when she and Valancourt had promised to think of each other, Emily wandered among the Alps and watched the golden sun sink behind the mountain peaks.
The final rays faded upon the snowy summits, and darkness slowly covered the scene.
She turned her eyes away from the west with the same sadness one feels when a beloved friend departs.
The loneliness around her increased the emotion—the growing shadows, the rustling leaves moved by the wind, the final whisper of the evening breeze, and the distant sound of streams flowing through the valleys.
During the first days among the Alps, Emily saw a remarkable mixture of loneliness and human life.
Villages, church towers, and convents appeared on the edges of terrifying cliffs and inside deep valleys where clouds often floated below.
Green fields and vineyards spread beneath enormous cliffs of marble and granite. Their peaks, covered with mountain plants or standing as bare rocks, rose higher and higher until they reached the snow-covered mountains above.
From those heights, streams rushed downward, roaring through the valleys.
The snow still covered the top of Mount Cenis when the travelers crossed it. But as Emily looked at the clear lake and wide plain surrounded by broken cliffs, she imagined how beautiful it would become when spring returned.
She pictured shepherds leading their summer flocks from Piedmont to graze on the flower-covered mountain fields, adding a peaceful beauty to the already magical landscape.
As Emily descended into Italy, the cliffs became even more frightening and the views more wild and majestic.
Changing sunlight painted the mountains with endless colors.
She loved watching the snowy peaks change beneath the passing hours—pink in the morning, bright beneath the noon sun, and softly purple in the evening light.
Human presence almost disappeared.
Only simple shepherds’ huts, hunters’ shelters, and rough wooden bridges across rushing rivers showed that people lived among these mountains.
One of these dangerous bridges inspired Emily’s imagination. Looking at a narrow wooden crossing above a roaring waterfall, she later created a poem in her thoughts.
The Lonely Mountain Shepherd
A tired traveler, after climbing all night
Among the terrifying heights of the Alps,
Walking beside dangerous cliffs where every step
Brings fear and uncertainty,
Feels sudden joy when he sees far away
A lonely shepherd’s home beneath moonlit trees.
But if a terrible valley opens before him,
And a broken pine forms a doubtful bridge,
He stands alone at the edge in silence,
Looking down into the deep darkness below.
The rushing river rises far beneath him,
Its wild roar fills the air.
He looks into the depth and trembles.
He fears returning, yet dares not cross.
At last, desperate, he steps onto the fragile wood.
His weak feet slip.
He cries out.
He falls.
He dies.
Emily often traveled among the clouds and watched their great waves rolling beneath her.
Sometimes the clouds completely covered the world around her, creating a strange scene of confusion and mystery.
At other times, they opened briefly, revealing pieces of the landscape—the roaring waterfalls, huge cliffs covered with snow, or the dark forests of pine spreading across the mountain slopes.
But nothing could compare with her wonder when she first saw Italy.
After passing through a sea of mist, she reached the edge of one of the enormous cliffs of Mount Cenis.
As the clouds drifted away, she looked down and saw the green valleys of Piedmont below.
Beyond them stretched the endless plains of Lombardy, and far away on the faint horizon stood the uncertain towers of Turin.
The lonely greatness of the mountains around her—the towering peaks above, the deep abysses below, the dark forests hanging along the cliffs, and the powerful rivers rushing through the rocks—created a feeling of overwhelming beauty.
Yet this wild magnificence became even more impressive because of the peaceful Italian landscape spreading beneath her.
The distant plains seemed to blend with the sky in the same soft blue color.
Madame Montoni felt only fear when she looked down at the cliffs where the guides moved quickly and confidently, almost like mountain goats.
Emily also felt fear, but hers was mixed with admiration, wonder, and a sense of awe unlike anything she had experienced before.
Meanwhile, Montoni and Cavigni rested and began arguing about Hannibal’s famous crossing of the Alps.
Montoni believed Hannibal entered Italy through Mount Cenis, while Cavigni insisted he crossed through Mount Saint Bernard.
The discussion filled Emily’s imagination with images of that ancient army.
She pictured thousands of soldiers moving through narrow mountain passes, their fires glowing in the darkness, their torches lighting the dangerous paths.
She imagined weapons shining through the night, helmets and spears reflecting the flames, and banners moving faintly in the shadows.
A distant trumpet sounded through the valleys, answered by the sudden clash of weapons.
She saw mountain warriors attacking from the cliffs above, throwing rocks down upon the army below.
She imagined soldiers and elephants falling into the deep ravines.
The sound of falling stones brought the fantasy so close to reality that she shuddered, realizing she herself stood on the same terrifying heights.
Madame Montoni, however, looked upon Italy and imagined only luxury.
She dreamed of magnificent palaces and grand castles where she believed she would become a powerful lady in Venice and the Apennines.
She imagined herself almost like a princess.
Now that she no longer feared giving grand entertainments, she planned concerts, although she had no true understanding of music; elegant gatherings, although she lacked conversational talent; and luxurious parties that would surpass those of Venetian nobles.
Her dreams became slightly troubled when she remembered her husband.
Montoni did not dislike the profits that could come from such displays, but he had always shown contempt for meaningless extravagance.
Then she comforted herself by imagining that his pride would be pleased by displaying his wealth among his old friends in his native city.
Soon her beautiful illusions returned.
As the travelers descended, winter gradually disappeared and spring appeared.
The sky became brighter with the special beauty of the Italian climate.
Young plants, fragrant flowers, and green shrubs appeared among the rocks.
Oak and mountain ash trees began opening their new leaves.
Lower down, orange trees and myrtles appeared in sunny corners, their blossoms shining among dark green leaves.
Scarlet pomegranate flowers and pale arbutus blossoms decorated the cliffs.
Below them stretched the green fields of Piedmont, where early flocks grazed upon the rich spring grass.
The river Doria, which had rushed wildly from the heights of Mount Cenis, now became calmer as it approached the valleys of Piedmont.
Emily found herself surrounded once more by peaceful countryside—fields, animals, forests, and beautiful hills.
She had never seen pastures more beautiful, covered with early flowers such as yellow ranunculus and fragrant violet pansies.
She almost wished she could become a simple peasant of Piedmont and live in one of the charming cottages hidden beneath the cliffs.
She feared the months she would spend under Montoni’s control.
She remembered the days already gone with sadness and regret.
In these beautiful scenes, her imagination often placed Valancourt before her.
She pictured him standing on a cliff, admiring the magnificent landscape, or walking thoughtfully through the valleys.
But whenever she remembered the distance separating them, she felt her heart sink.
The beauty around her lost its power.
After passing Novalesa, the travelers arrived after sunset at the ancient town of Susa.
The town had once protected the entrance through the Alps into Piedmont.
Although modern weapons had made its old fortifications useless, the sight of the town walls and towers beneath the moonlight created a beautiful scene for Emily.
They stayed overnight at an inn with little comfort.
But travel had given them great hunger, which made even simple food delicious, and great tiredness, which brought peaceful sleep.
Here Emily first heard Italian music on Italian soil.
After dinner, she sat beside a small window overlooking the countryside.
She watched moonlight fall across the broken mountain landscape and remembered another night when she had sat with her father and Valancourt on a cliff in the Pyrenees.
Suddenly she heard a violin playing below.
The sound was so gentle and emotional that it perfectly matched her feelings.
Emily was surprised and deeply moved.
Cavigni approached the window and smiled.
“You seem surprised,” he said. “There is nothing unusual about this. You may hear the same thing at almost every inn along the road. It is probably someone from the innkeeper’s family playing.”
Emily thought the musician must be almost a professional.
The sweet and sorrowful melody soon carried her into a dreamlike state.
She was unwillingly brought back when Cavigni teased her and Montoni ordered a servant to prepare the carriages early the next morning.
He announced that they would dine in Turin.
Madame Montoni was extremely happy to be back on level ground.
After describing at length all the dangers she had suffered—forgetting that her listeners had shared those same dangers—she declared:
“Nothing in the world could persuade me to cross those terrible mountains again.”
Complaining of exhaustion, she soon went to rest.
Emily returned to her room, where she learned from Annette that Cavigni’s guess about the violin player had been correct.
The musician was the son of a peasant living in the nearby valley.
“He is going to the Carnival in Venice,” Annette said. “People say he plays beautifully and will earn a great deal of money.”
“The Carnival is about to begin.”
“But if you ask me, I would rather live among these lovely forests and hills than in a city.”
“They say we will see no forests or fields in Venice because the city is built right in the middle of the sea.”
Emily agreed with Annette.
She felt that the young musician was leaving a peaceful and beautiful life for something less pure and less happy.
When Emily was alone and unable to sleep, memories of her homeland, Valancourt, and her departure returned to her mind.
She imagined a life of happiness surrounded by nature—a simple happiness she feared she had lost forever.
Then she thought again of the young Piedmontese musician leaving his home without understanding what he was giving up.
To escape her own sorrow for a moment, Emily composed a poem.
The Piedmont Shepherd
Ah, cheerful shepherd who laughs among the valleys,
Whose happy pipe makes the mountains echo,
Why leave your cottage, your woods, your fragrant hills,
And beloved friends for anything wealth can offer?
You go to play your music above moonlit seas,
Dreaming of Venetian gold and distant fame.
Yet often your simple songs remember home,
And your steps pause as you climb the final Alps.
Once more you turn to see your native land.
Far below, as the clouds drift away,
You see your little cottage among green pines,
The familiar woods, the clear stream, the happy fields.
You remember friends and parents left behind,
The forest celebrations, dances, and songs.
You hear the faint sound of your old flute,
And your lonely sighs follow the distant music.
So the shepherd traveled onward until mountain shadows fell,
Until darkness covered the land he loved.
Must he truly leave these valleys forever?
Can foreign riches and empty glory satisfy his heart?
No, happy valleys!
Your wild rocks will still hear his music.
He will still lead his flocks beside the clear streams.
He will still watch the evening sky beneath the western trees.
Farewell, Venetian gold.
Your charm has disappeared.
Now his quick steps return to the peaceful valleys,
Where through the leaves his cottage light once again
Guides him toward happy friends and joyful days.
Ah, cheerful shepherd who laughs among the valleys,
Whose happy pipe makes the mountains echo,
Your cottage, your woods, your fragrant hills,
And your beloved friends are worth more than wealth.