An Ascent of Mont Ventoux 



mountain. The arrangements with the 

 guide have been made, the hour of the start 

 fixed; the provisions are being talked over 

 and got ready. Let us try to rest, for we 

 shall have to spend a sleepless night on the 

 mountain to-morrow. But sleeping is just 

 the difficulty; I have never managed it and 

 that is where the chief cause of fatigue 

 lies. I would therefore advise those of my 

 readers who think of making a botanizing 

 ascent of the Ventoux not to arrive at Be- 

 doin on a Sunday evening. They will thus 

 avoid the noisy bustle of an inn with a cafe 

 attached to it, those endless loud-voiced con- 

 versations, those echoing cannons of the bil- 

 liard-balls, the ringing of glasses, the drink- 

 ing-songs, the ditties of nocturnal wayfarers, 

 the bellowing of the brass band at the ball 

 hard by and the other tribulations inse- 

 parable from this blessed day of idleness and 

 jollification. Will they obtain a better rest 

 on a week-day? I hope so, but I do not 

 guarantee it. For my part, I did not close 

 an eye. All night long, the rusty spit, work- 

 ing to provide us with food, creaked and 

 groaned under my bedroom. A thin board 

 was all that separated me from that machine 

 of the devil. 



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