An Ascent of Mont Ventoux 199 



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 Bedoin 

 on a Sunday evening. They will thus avoid the 

 noisy bustle of an inn with a cafe attached to 

 it, those endless loud-voiced conversations, those 

 echoing cannons of the billiard-balls, the ringing 

 of glasses, the drinking-songs, the ditties of 

 nocturnal wayfarers, the bellowing of the brass 

 band at the ball hard by, and the other tribula- 

 tions inseparable from this blessed day of idle- 

 ness 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, working 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. 



But already the sky is growing light. A 

 donkey brays beneath the windows. It is 

 time to get up. We might as well not have 

 gone to bed. Foodstuffs and baggage are 

 strapped on ; and, with a ' ]al Hi I ' from 

 the guide, we are off. It is four o'clock in the 

 morning. At the head of the caravan walks 

 Triboulet, with his Mule and his Ass : Triboulet, 



