Still the enjoyment of
St. Aubert was touched with that pensive melancholy, which gives to
every object a mellower tint, and breathes a sacred charm over all
around. They had provided against part of the evil to be encountered from a
want of convenient inns, by carrying a stock of provisions in the
carriage, so that they might take refreshment on any pleasant spot, in
the open air, and pass the nights wherever they should happen to meet
with a comfortable cottage. For the mind, also, they had provided, by a
work on botany, written by M. Barreaux, and by several of the Latin and
Italian poets; while Emily’s pencil enabled her to preserve some of
those combinations of forms, which charmed her at every step. The loneliness of the road, where, only now and then, a peasant was
seen driving his mule, or some mountaineer-children at play among the
rocks, heightened the effect of the scenery. St. Aubert was so much
struck with it, that he determined, if he could hear of a road, to
penetrate further among the mountains, and, bending his way rather more
to the south, to emerge into Rousillon, and coast the Mediterranean
along part of that country to Languedoc. Soon after mid-day, they reached the summit of one of those cliffs,
which, bright with the verdure of palm-trees, adorn, like gems, the
tremendous walls of the rocks, and which overlooked the greater part of
Gascony, and part of Languedoc. Here was shade, and the fresh water of
a spring, that, gliding among the turf, under the trees, thence
precipitated itself from rock to rock, till its dashing murmurs were
lost in the abyss, though its white foam was long seen amid the
darkness of the pines below. This was a spot well suited for rest, and the travellers alighted to
dine, while the mules were unharnessed to browse on the savoury herbs
that enriched this summit. It was some time before St. Aubert or Emily could withdraw their
attention from the surrounding objects, so as to partake of their
little repast. Seated in the shade of the palms, St. Aubert pointed out
to her observation the course of the rivers, the situation of great
towns, and the boundaries of provinces, which science, rather than the
eye, enabled him to describe. Notwithstanding this occupation, when he
had talked awhile he suddenly became silent, thoughtful, and tears
often swelled to his eyes, which Emily observed, and the sympathy of
her own heart told her their cause. The scene before them bore some
resemblance, though it was on a much grander scale, to a favourite one
of the late Madame St. Aubert, within view of the fishing-house. They
both observed this, and thought how delighted she would have been with
the present landscape, while they knew that her eyes must never, never
more open upon this world. St. Aubert remembered the last time of his
visiting that spot in company with her, and also the mournfully
presaging thoughts which had then arisen in his mind, and were now,
even thus soon, realised! The recollections subdued him, and he
abruptly rose from his seat, and walked away to where no eye could
observe his grief. When he returned, his countenance had recovered its usual serenity; he
took Emily’s hand, pressed it affectionately, without speaking, and
soon after called to the muleteer, who sat at a little distance,
concerning a road among the mountains towards Rousillon. Michael said,
there were several that way, but he did not know how far they extended,
or even whether they were passable; and St. Aubert, who did not intend
to travel after sunset, asked what village they could reach about that
time. The muleteer calculated that they could easily reach Mateau,
which was in their present road; but that, if they took a road that
sloped more to the south, towards Rousillon, there was a hamlet, which
he thought they could gain before the evening shut in. St. Aubert, after some hesitation, determined to take the latter
course, and Michael, having finished his meal, and harnessed his mules,
again set forward, but soon stopped; and St. Aubert saw him doing
homage to a cross, that stood on a rock impending over their way. Having concluded his devotions, he smacked his whip in the air, and, in
spite of the rough road, and the pain of his poor mules, which he had
been lately lamenting, rattled, in a full gallop, along the edge of a
precipice, which it made the eye dizzy to look down. Emily was
terrified almost to fainting; and St. Aubert, apprehending still
greater danger from suddenly stopping the driver, was compelled to sit
quietly, and trust his fate to the strength and discretion of the
mules, who seemed to possess a greater portion of the latter quality
than their master; for they carried the travellers safely into the
valley, and there stopped upon the brink of the rivulet that watered
it. Leaving the splendour of extensive prospects, they now entered this
narrow valley screened by

Rocks on rocks piled, as if by magic spell,
Here scorch’d by lightnings, there with ivy green. The scene of barrenness was here and there interrupted by the spreading
branches of the larch and cedar, which threw their gloom over the
cliff, or athwart the torrent that rolled in the vale. No living
creature appeared, except the lizard, scrambling among the rocks, and
often hanging upon points so dangerous, that fancy shrunk from the view
of them. This was such a scene as _Salvator_ would have chosen, had he
then existed, for his canvas; St. Aubert, impressed by the romantic
character of the place, almost expected to see banditti start from
behind some projecting rock, and he kept his hand upon the arms with
which he always travelled. As they advanced, the valley opened; its savage features gradually
softened, and, towards evening, they were among heathy mountains,
stretched in far perspective, along which the solitary sheep-bell was
heard, and the voice of the shepherd calling his wandering flocks to
the nightly fold. His cabin, partly shadowed by the cork-tree and the
ilex, which St. Aubert observed to flourish in higher regions of the
air than any other trees, except the fir, was all the human habitation
that yet appeared. Along the bottom of this valley the most vivid
verdure was spread; and, in the little hollow recesses of the
mountains, under the shade of the oak and chestnut, herds of cattle
were grazing. Groups of them, too, were often seen reposing on the
banks of the rivulet, or laving their sides in the cool stream, and
sipping its wave. The sun was now setting upon the valley; its last light gleamed upon
the water, and heightened the rich yellow and purple tints of the heath
and broom, that overspread the mountains. St. Aubert enquired of
Michael the distance to the hamlet he had mentioned, but the man could
not with certainty tell; and Emily began to fear that he had mistaken
the road.