Cambridge Pieces [7]
girls clad in their Sunday's best, then followed the youths, as in duty bound, then came a few monks or friars or some such folk, carrying the Virgin, then the men of the place, then the women and lesser children, all singing after their own rough fashion; the effect was electrical, for in a few minutes the procession reached us, and dispersing itself far and wide, filled the town with as much life as it had before been lonely. It was like a sudden introduction of the whole company on to the theatre after the stage has been left empty for a minute, and to us was doubly welcome as affording us some hope of our wine.
"Vous etes Piedmontais, monsieur," said one to me. I denied the accusation. "Alors vous etes Allemands." I again denied and said we were English, whereon they opened their eyes wide and said, "Anglais,--mais c'est une autre chose," and seemed much pleased, for the alliance was then still in full favour. It caused them a little disappointment that we were Protestants, but they were pleased at being able to tell us that there was a Protestant minister higher up the valley which we said would "do us a great deal of pleasure."
The vin ordinaire was execrable--they only, however, charged us nine sous for it, and on our giving half a franc and thinking ourselves exceedingly stingy for not giving a whole one, they shouted out "Voila les Anglais, voila la generosite des Anglais," with evident sincerity. I thought to myself that the less we English corrupted the primitive simplicity of these good folks the better; it was really refreshing to find several people protesting about one's generosity for having paid a halfpenny more for a bottle of wine than was expected; at Monetier we asked whether many English came there, and they told us yes, a great many, there had been fifteen there last year, but I should imagine that scarcely fifteen could travel up past Cervieres, and yet the English character be so little known as to be still evidently popular.
I don't know what o'clock it was when we left Cervieres--midday I should imagine; we left the river on our left and began to ascend a mountain pass called Izouard, as far as I could make out, but will not pledge myself to have caught the name correctly; it was more lonely than ever, very high, much more snow on the top than on the previous day over the Col du Lautaret, the path scarcely distinguishable, indeed quite lost in many places, very beautiful but not so much so as the Col du Lautaret, and better on descending towards Queyras than on ascending; from the summit of the pass the view of the several Alpine chains about is very fine, but from the entire absence of trees of any kind it is more rugged and barren than I altogether liked; going down towards Queyras we found the letters S.I.C. marked on a rock, evidently with the spike of an alpine-stock,--we wondered whether they stood for St. John's College.
We reached Queyras at about four very tired, for yesterday's work was heavy, and refresh ourselves with a huge omelette and some good Provence wine.
Reader, don't go into that auberge, carry up provision from Briancon, or at any rate carry the means of eating it: they have only two knives in the place, one for the landlord and one for the landlady; these are clasp knives, and they carry them in their pockets; I used the landlady's, my companion had the other; the room was very like a cow-house--dark, wooden, and smelling strongly of manure; outside I saw that one of the beams supporting a huge projecting balcony that ran round the house was resting on a capital of white marble--a Lombard capital that had evidently seen better days, they could not tell us whence it came. Meat they have none, so we gorge ourselves with omelette, and at half-past five trudge on, for we have a long way to go yet, and no alternative but to proceed.
Abries is the name of the place we stopped at that night; it was pitch-dark when we reached it, and the whole town was gone to bed, but by great good luck we found a cafe still open (the inn was shut up for the night), and
"Vous etes Piedmontais, monsieur," said one to me. I denied the accusation. "Alors vous etes Allemands." I again denied and said we were English, whereon they opened their eyes wide and said, "Anglais,--mais c'est une autre chose," and seemed much pleased, for the alliance was then still in full favour. It caused them a little disappointment that we were Protestants, but they were pleased at being able to tell us that there was a Protestant minister higher up the valley which we said would "do us a great deal of pleasure."
The vin ordinaire was execrable--they only, however, charged us nine sous for it, and on our giving half a franc and thinking ourselves exceedingly stingy for not giving a whole one, they shouted out "Voila les Anglais, voila la generosite des Anglais," with evident sincerity. I thought to myself that the less we English corrupted the primitive simplicity of these good folks the better; it was really refreshing to find several people protesting about one's generosity for having paid a halfpenny more for a bottle of wine than was expected; at Monetier we asked whether many English came there, and they told us yes, a great many, there had been fifteen there last year, but I should imagine that scarcely fifteen could travel up past Cervieres, and yet the English character be so little known as to be still evidently popular.
I don't know what o'clock it was when we left Cervieres--midday I should imagine; we left the river on our left and began to ascend a mountain pass called Izouard, as far as I could make out, but will not pledge myself to have caught the name correctly; it was more lonely than ever, very high, much more snow on the top than on the previous day over the Col du Lautaret, the path scarcely distinguishable, indeed quite lost in many places, very beautiful but not so much so as the Col du Lautaret, and better on descending towards Queyras than on ascending; from the summit of the pass the view of the several Alpine chains about is very fine, but from the entire absence of trees of any kind it is more rugged and barren than I altogether liked; going down towards Queyras we found the letters S.I.C. marked on a rock, evidently with the spike of an alpine-stock,--we wondered whether they stood for St. John's College.
We reached Queyras at about four very tired, for yesterday's work was heavy, and refresh ourselves with a huge omelette and some good Provence wine.
Reader, don't go into that auberge, carry up provision from Briancon, or at any rate carry the means of eating it: they have only two knives in the place, one for the landlord and one for the landlady; these are clasp knives, and they carry them in their pockets; I used the landlady's, my companion had the other; the room was very like a cow-house--dark, wooden, and smelling strongly of manure; outside I saw that one of the beams supporting a huge projecting balcony that ran round the house was resting on a capital of white marble--a Lombard capital that had evidently seen better days, they could not tell us whence it came. Meat they have none, so we gorge ourselves with omelette, and at half-past five trudge on, for we have a long way to go yet, and no alternative but to proceed.
Abries is the name of the place we stopped at that night; it was pitch-dark when we reached it, and the whole town was gone to bed, but by great good luck we found a cafe still open (the inn was shut up for the night), and