The Roof of France | Page 6

could we; earth could hardly show fairer or more
striking scenes than these highlands of the Lozère.

The first part of our way lay amid wild mountain passes, deep ravines,
dusky with pine and fir, lofty granite peaks shining like blocks of
diamond against an amethyst heaven. Alternating with such scenes of
savage magnificence are idyllic pictures, verdant dells and glades,
rivers bordered by alder-trees wending even course through emerald
pastures, or making cascade after cascade over a rocky bed. On little
lawny spaces about the sharp spurs of the Alps, we see cattle browsing,
high above, as if in cloudland. Excepting an occasional cantonnier at
work by the roadside, or a peasant woman minding her cows, the
region is utterly deserted. Tiny hamlets lie half hidden in the folds of
the hills or skirting the edges of the lower mountain slopes; none border
the way.
During the long winter these fine roads, winding between steep
precipices and abrupt rocks, are abandoned on account of the snow.
The diligence ceases to run, and letters and newspapers are distributed
occasionally by experienced horsemen familiar with the country and
able to trust to short cuts.
What the icy blasts of January are like on these stupendous heights we
can well conceive. At one point of our journey we reach an altitude
above the sea equal to that of the Puy de Dôme. This is the lofty plateau
of granitic formation called Le Palais du Roi, a portion of the
Margéride chain, and as the old writer before mentioned writes, 'la
partie la plus neigeuse de la route'--the snowiest bit of the road. On this
superb September day, although winter might be at hand, the
temperature was of an English July. As we travelled on, amid scenes of
truly Alpine grandeur and loveliness, the thought arose to my mind,
how little even the much-travelled English dream of the wealth of
scenery in France! Our cumbersome old diligence carried only French
passengers. Nowhere else in Europe does the English tourist find
himself more isolated from the common-place of travel.
Many of the landscapes now passed recall scenes in Algeria, especially
as we get within sight of the purple, porphyritic chain of the Lozère.
We gaze on undulations of delicate violet and gray, as in Kabylia,
whilst deep down below lie oases of valley and pasture, the dazzling

golden green contrasting, with the aerial hues of distant mountain and
cloud.
Nothing under heaven could be more beautiful than the shifting lights
and shadows on the remoter hills, or the crimson and rosy flush of
sunset on the nearer rocks; at our feet we see well-watered dales and
luxuriant meadows, whilst on the higher ground, here as in the valley of
the Allier, we have proofs of the astounding, the unimaginable patience
and laboriousness of peasant owners.
In many places rings of land have been cleared round huge blocks of
granite, the smaller stones, wrenched up, forming a fence or border,
whilst between the immovable, columnar masses of rock, potatoes, rye,
or other hardy crops, have been planted. Not an inch of available soil is
wasted. These scenes of mingled sternness and grace are not marred by
any eyesore: no hideous chimney of factory with its column of black
smoke, as in the delicious valleys of the Jura; no roar of millwheel or of
steam-engine breaks the silence of forest depths. The very genius of
solitude, the very spirit of beauty, broods over the woods and
mountains of the Lozère. The atmospheric effects are very varied and
lovely, owing to the purity of the air. As evening approaches, the vast
porphyry range before us is a cloud of purple and ruddy gold against
the sky. And what a sky! That warm, ambered glow recalls Sorrento.
By the time we wind down into the valley of the Lot night has
overtaken us. We dash into the little city too hungry and too tired, it
must be confessed, to think of anything else but of beds and dinner;
both of which, and of excellent quality, awaited us at the old-fashioned
Hôtel Chabert.
CHAPTER II.
MENDE.
Mende was the last but one of French bishoprics and chef-lieux to be
connected with the great highroads of railway.
That tardy piece of justice only remained due to St. Claude in the Jura
when, owing to the Republic, Mende obtained its first iron road. Much

time and fatigue will henceforth be spared the traveller by these new
lines of railway, now spreading like a network over every part of
France; yet who can but regret the supersession of the diligence--that
antiquated vehicle recalling the good old days of travel, when folks
journeyed at a jog-trot pace, seeing not only places, but people, and
being brought into contact with wholly new ideas and modes of life?