XIII AN ASCENT OF MONT VENTOUX i8i 



into scales which yield under one's feet with a sharp, 

 almost metallic sound. For cascades Mont Ventoux 

 has streams of stones, the sound of which, as they 

 roll downward, replaces the murmur of falling water. 



We have reached Bedoin, at the foot of the 

 mountain, arrangements with the guide are com- 

 pleted, the hour of departure is settled, provisions 

 chosen and prepared. Let us try to sleep, for the 

 next night will be a sleepless one on the mountain. 

 But to fall asleep was the difficulty ; I have never 

 achieved it, and this is the chief cause of fatigue. I 

 would therefore advise any readers who propose to 

 botanise on Mont Ventoux not to arrive at Bedoin 

 on a Sunday night. They will thus avoid the bustle 

 of a country inn, endless conversations at the top of 

 the speakers' voices, the echo of billiard balls, the 

 clinking of glasses, with the drinking-songs, the 

 nocturnal couplets of passers-by, the bellowing of 

 wind instruments at the neighbouring ball, and the 

 other tribulations inseparable from this holy day of 

 rest and enjoyment. Could one sleep there on other 

 nights ? I hope so, but cannot answer for it. I 

 never closed an eye. All night long the rusty spit, 

 labouring for our benefit, groaned under my bed- 

 room ; only a thin plank separated me from that 

 diabolical machine. 



But already the sky was growing light ; a donkey 

 brayed under the windows ; the hour had come to 

 rise, and we might as well not have gone to bed at 

 all. Provisions and baggage were loaded, our guide 

 cried " Ja ! hi ! " and we set off. At the head of the 

 caravan walked Triboulet with his mule and ass — 

 Triboulet, the eldest and chief of the Ventoux guides. 



