jul 7 ran 



A FORTNIGHT AT LA SAINTE BAUME (PROVENCE). 101 



A Fortnight at La Sainte Baume (Provence). 



By G. T. BETHUNE-BAKEB, F.L.S., F.Z.S., F.E.S. 

 (With Uoo plates.) 

 La Sainte Baume is but fifteen miles from Marseilles, but except 

 on Sunday it is impossible to get through in a day as there is only 

 the early morning motor charabanc. We therefore were obliged to 

 take a slow train to Aubagne on June 28th, and in this case indeed it 

 was slow, for when about half-way there we were pulled up in front of 

 a stranded train, that on enquiry proved to be the back half of a 

 heavily laden goods train, whose engine had been unable to ascend the 

 incline from this point up to Aubagne, where the more level way is 

 resumed. The difficulty had been solved by uncoupling half of 

 the train and leaving it on the line with the signals against us and 

 here we had to wait wbile the two portions of the goods train that 

 preceded us were dragged up the hill by the engine whose powers had 

 been so decidedly over-estimatecl. 



We consequently arrived at Aubagne, a small manufacturing town, 

 about two hours late, but as we were staying there for the night, time 

 was less important than it might otherwise have been and we were 

 content to have arrived there at last, fortunately in plenty of time for 

 dinner. The motor was due to start for la Sainte Baume between 7 

 and 8 o'clock in the morning, and having taken our seats the steep and 

 wonderful ascent soon began, up and up we went round curves and 

 angles . that none but the most experienced chaffeur could have 

 negotiated, but tbe topmost ridge was reached in under three hours 

 and by about 1 1 a.m. we found ourselves drawn up in front of the 

 Hotellerie, and M. Pedone ready to receive and welcome us to his 

 interesting establishment. 



Dejeuner would be served at twelve o'clock, so we had time to look 

 around, to begin to take our bearings and to realise that we were again 

 in " old Provence," and as we now look back to those delightful days 

 I am constrained to give the picture so sweetly sung by our good 

 friend and fellow entomologist writing under the sobriquet of 

 Oliver Grey. 



. . . . Beneath my feet a maze 



Of gemmed mosaic, where the cistus white 



Showers the earth with limpid chrysolite ; 

 Hedges of rosemary, and upland wayr 

 Thick-set with lavender ; warm rocks ablaze 



With red valerian ; and, flashing bright 



Among the black-branched ilex, butterflies 



Sulphur and scarlet-robed, by poets named 



" The Glory of Provence." With such fair dreams 



I cbarm the solitude that darkest seems 



Here in our England when, 'neath sullen skies, 



Spring on the threshold lingers all ashamed. 



This beautiful spot has already been described elsewhere (Entomo- 

 logist, xlvii. 14), by the late Frank Lowe, but so that my readers may 

 be able to visualise it more easily it will be well to say that the 

 Hotellerie stands at the foot of a high rocky escarpment about five or 

 more miles long, whose base northwards is fringed by the remnants of 

 an old forest of various trees, oaks and beeches, poplars and svcamores, 

 June, 1921. 



