The Horseman on the Roof by Jean Giono Read Free Book Online

isn’t you,” said Angelo.
    â€œAt this rate it won’t take long,” said the man; “there’s only six hundred of us here. You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
    â€œNot tonight,” said Angelo, “but tomorrow. Do you know the Château de Ser?”
    â€œYes,” said the man, “it’s on the other side of the mountain, beyond Noyers.”
    â€œIs it far?”
    â€œThat depends which road. The good one goes a long way round. The other—and I must say, with an animal like yours I wouldn’t hesitate—is not so good but it’s much shorter. It begins just ahead of us, there, and instead of going all the way round to the Megron Gap, it climbs very gently through the beech woods and follows a little pass straight down into Les Omergues, a little hamlet of twenty families, on the other side of the main road. From Les Omergues to the Château de Ser is five leagues; take the main road to your right.”
    â€œHow far is it altogether?” said Angelo. “I don’t want to start yesterday’s fun all over again. It looks as if it’s going to be hot again.”
    â€œAnd yet you don’t realize it here,” said the man. “It’s hot enough to bake eggs. Take my advice; leave at four in the morning. Maybe you’ll get a little air on the way up. You ought to reach the pass by ten; it’s called the Redortiers Pass and overhangs Les Omergues, as I told you. From then on, at any rate from the moment you reach the main road, it’s just a promenade. You can get to the château by midday.”
    Angelo left at four in the morning. The beech woods of which the hostler had spoken were very handsome. They were scattered in small groves over thin fox-red pastures, rolling fields that spread out as far as the eye could see under lavender and stones. The track, soft to the horse’s hoofs, wound among clumps of trees in which the slanting light of early morning opened deep gilded avenues, and a vision of enormous rooms with green vaults borne aloft on multitudinous white pillars. Around these high golden recesses the horizon slumbered under black and purple mists.
    The horse moved briskly. Angelo reached Redortiers Pass toward nine. From there he could look down into the valley that he was to enter. On this side the mountain fell away steeply. At the bottom he could see square infertile fields divided by a stream, white and obviously dried up, and a main road bordered by poplars. He was almost directly overhead, some fifteen to eighteen hundred feet above the hamlet that the hostler had called Les Omergues. One thing seemed odd: the roofs of the houses were covered with birds. There were even flocks of crows on the ground, around the door sills. As he watched, these birds all flew off together and came floating upward, level with the pass where Angelo stood. There were not only crows, but also a host of little birds with brilliant plumage: red, yellow, and even, in great abundance, deep blue birds, which Angelo recognized as tits. The cloud of birds circled above the little village, then slowly settled again upon the rooftops.
    Leaving the pass, the way became rough. Finally Angelo reached the fields at the bottom. Though it was still morning, the ground was already covered by a thick layer of scorching, oily air. Angelo felt again the nausea and suffocation of the day before. He wondered whether the stale, sweetish smell that he found here did not come from some plant cultivated locally. But there was nothing but centaury and thistles in the little stony fields. The silence was unbroken save for the twittering of thousands of birds; but as he neared the houses Angelo began to hear a dense chorus of asses braying, horses neighing, and sheep bleating. “Something’s going on here,” thought Angelo. “This isn’t natural. All these animals sound as if somebody were cutting their throats.” There was also