CHAPTER XI.

VAL D'AYAS.-VAL DE LYS.

Start from Châtillon-Festival of St. Grat Ascent of Col de Jon- Summit- View into Val d'Ayas-Glimpse of Monte Rosa - "Les Allemands d'Ayas" - Torrent Blanche-Night-quarters "chez l'Enfant' Châlets of Susselle - Furca di Betta - Descent into Val de LysNoversch Gressoney St. Jean.

A HARD-worked stout-built mule, and a very dull but wellmeaning guide, Berthon by name, and long past his prime, presented themselves at so late an hour that we were not able to start until nearly ten. The saddle and baggage had received the last finishing touches of adjustment during our stay at Châtillon, and their poise and compactness were now perfect. We were on the point of starting after a most complimentary farewell from the padrone and his wife, whose bill we had just cut down one third, when we were delayed by a long procession, which kept us for half an hour waiting until it filed past.

It was the festival of St. Grat, the great patron saint of the valley, and all business and labour were suspended, the shops closed, and the people dressed in their holiday clothes. The members of the procession were chiefly robed in white, and a number of sisters of charity wore white veils ; the Host borne under a canopy was attended by banners, crosses, and lanterns as at Aosta, the priests in gold embroidered vestments and crimson copes chanting the service—the little acolytes, in surplices and crimson tippets, had great difficulty in keeping their large tapers alight, constantly borrowing fire from each other. The bells were jangling in the Italian fashion, and guns firing incessantly. A number of men and women, two and two, carrying enormous rosaries,

closed the procession, and when the last had passed we were allowed to set out.

On the road down to St. Vincent the numbers of peasants in holiday dress flocking into Châtillon were greatly taken with E.'s mule equipments, herself doubtless included, and expressed undisguised astonishment. Passing the mineral spring, we ascended for an hour through a beautiful little glen, under the cool shade of chesnut and walnut trees, with a delicious breeze to temper the heat, and the cheerful bubbling of a bright little burn which we skirted. The forest, as usual at a certain altitude, was succeeded by larch thickly studding the rocky knolls, and through their feathered boughs we had exquisite views of the opposite peaks of Mont Emilius, the Mont Jovet, Champ de Praz, and the ranges of Mont Barbeston above us. Beyond the larches, on a slope of green pastures where was a little chapel dedicated to St. Grat, all the peasants were holding high holiday, grouped on the surrounding walls and banks. A small cannon was firing salutes which echoed far and wide among the mountains, and a number of young people were chanting in effective harmony when softened by the distance. Our appearing amongst them created great excitement, but all greeted us most civilly and kindly.

The view from above the church, of the valley for many miles beyond Aosta, is one of surpassing beauty and richness. The sinuous course of the Doire, with its innumerable bends, glanced in the midday sun like polished silver. Above its banks stood the castles of Usselle, Fenis, St. Denis, and Châtillon; St. Vincent lay at our feet, and Aosta glittered in the far blue distance. The Val to the east was shut out of sight by the intervening mountain of Amaye, but over the crest was visible the vast bed of débris which the torrent issuing from behind the ranges of the Mont Emilius brings down in devastating floods overwhelming the valley. On our left we had the richly-tinted rocks of Mont Zerbion, until we reached the summit of the Col de Jon at one.

It hardly deserves the name of a Col, being a scattered forest of larch and spruce, abounding in beautiful grassy glades of short soft turf. In one of these we seated ourselves for the midday halt on a bank covered with bilberries and Alpine strawberries, with a gurgling rivulet at our feet, and picketed the mule at a little distance. A delicious Cantalupe melon from Turin, with gressins, sparkling water from the cool stream, and wild fruit, made our dinner.

The Val d'Ayas now lay outspread below us, and light fleecy wreaths of cloud were every now and then whirled up, in astonishingly rapid eddies, from the deep bottom of the valley to the mountain tops; where they joined the pack which hid the outlying peaks of Monte Rosa from our view. Just opposite us was the little clustering village of Brussone, nestled at the foot of the steep and lofty Mont Nery, a stern grey-hued peak, over the northern flank of which we could distinguish the Col de Ranzola, leading over to Gressoney in the Val de Lys, and marked by a little white chapel on the route. A slope just above the village had a very singular appearance, being a closely chequered patchwork of alternate fields of corn and loose stones, the latter having been cleared off from the intervening spaces.

The distant chimes of the bells of Brussone, in honour of the festival of St. Grat, floated softly up from the valley, reminding us of some village church at home, and the whole scene was exquisitely peaceful and happy. After an hour spent in the enjoyment of it, and consulting guides and maps as to our resting-place for the night, without coming to any definite plan-as Berthon seemed to know nothing of the mountains -we prepared to descend, tightened the saddle-girths and packed the bags for the comfort of the mule, E. descending on foot as usual. Our path up the Val d'Ayas lay through a dark pine forest, which clung to a steep acclivity on the sunless side of Mont Zerbion, whose overhanging mass deepened the sombre shade of the grand old pines and

larches. Among the damp and dripping rocks a profusion of ferns and mosses flourished in great beauty and luxuriance, especially P. calcareum, exceedingly fine, P. dryopteris, phegopteris, and A. viride. The track had been rendered unsafe in one or two places by the giving way of the mountain side, which had barely left a narrow ledge for the mule, and once the only footing was along a couple of pine-trees with an awkward chasm below, but the animal got safely

over.

Every now and then, at a point in the forest where we could see over the pine tops, we looked down on the verdant valley below, watered by a glacier torrent of a remarkable blue tint. The hill sides above it were highly cultivated, and covered with golden patches of uncut grain, which had a most rich and thriving aspect. It was, however, hardly possible to imagine two valleys-each so fertile in its own way-more dissimilar than the Val d'Ayas and the Val d'Aosta, with only a short three hours' walk between them. On the south side of the Col de Jon the corn was cut in June, here it was standing untouched in the second week of September. But the cause was soon apparent. Just as we emerged from the obscure forest into daylight again, the fleecy wreaths of cloud lifted themselves from the extreme end of the valley, and showed to our delight the glorious uprearing snow-fields of part of the Monte Rosa range-but only fitfully revealed as the clouds drifted for a moment. Probably the peaks were only the secondary range of the Lyskam and the Jumeaux, but the mystery greatly enhanced the sublimity of the sudden apparition, and no effect is more exciting in Alpine scenery than the unexpected glimpse of a dazzling snow-peak framed in a narrow rift of blue sky among the clouds, where its height seems enormous.

We now felt that we were at length approaching the chief object of our tour, the Queen of the Alps and its southern valleys, and were about to realize the long antici

pated pleasure of thoroughly exploring them. From the Cervin pass we had scarcely seen any portion of Monte Rosa, the greater part being necessarily obscured from view by the intervening Breithorn. From the Cramont the range, though finely seen, was fifty miles distant, but now we had the prospect of contemplating it the next day in close proximity; if we were favoured with good fortune and fair weather to cross by the Betta Furca, or Col de Betta.

Quickening our steps, a short descent brought us down to the bottom of the valley. The high state of cultivation, the well-cared-for look of every available patch of ground, and the universal evidences of extreme industry, were most remarkable, especially after the slothful culture and habits of the Val d'Aosta. A vast quantity of slaty fragments of rock had been carefully cleared from the ground, and piled up in heaps under the fir-trees, out of the way, leaving little garden plots which were patterns of neatness; while field above field of ripe corn covered the hill side on our left, in the middle of which were one or two villages. A great quantity of barley had been grown here of late years for the making of beer, which since the failure of the vines has come into much more general vogue in Piedmont. The right side of the Val was a gentle incline of emerald green pasturages, on which, in a loop formed by the blue waters of the torrent, the picturesque châlets of Sapaye (Strapire of the maps) were closely squeezed together round a little white spire, as if not to waste a blade of the valuable pasture.

The upper valley in fact bears on it the stamp of a population of original character and entirely different from that of the lower, the Val de Challant-and their physiognomy, habits, and occupations are as dissimilar. Though Forbes, in his notes on the remarkable German colonies, has made no mention of the Val d'Ayas, nor has De Saussure included it among them, yet there is very good reason for concluding