Monthier is perched on a hill-side amid grandiose mountains, and is hardly less picturesque than Ornans, though not nearly so enticing. In fact it is a trifle dirty when visited in detail, though charming, viewed from the high road above. Here we sat down to an excellent dinner at one end of the _salle-à-manger_; at the other was a long table where a number of peasant farmers, carters, and graziers--it was fair day--were faring equally well: our driver was amongst them, and all were as quiet and well-behaved as possible, but given to spit on the floor, "as is their nature to." The charges were very low, the food good, the wine sour as vinegar, and the people obliging in the extreme. The hotels in these parts are very much on a par with caravanserais in Algeria; bells, fire-places, and other necessities of civilized life are unknown, the bed-rooms are often reached by an outside staircase only, and afford such accommodation we should not think luxurious for a stable-boy in England, and these often, moreover, adjoin a noisy upper _salle-à-manger_, where eating, and drinking, and talking go on all day long.
After having stopped to look at the beautiful old wood carvings in the church, we continue our way, climbing the mountain road towards Pontarlier; hardly knowing which to admire most, the deep-lying valley at our feet, where the little imprisoned river curls with a noise as of thunder, making miniature cascades at every step, or the limestone rocks of majestic shape towering above on the other side. One of them, the so-called _Roche de Hautepierre_, is nearly nine hundred yards high; the road all the time zigzags wonderfully around the mountain sides, a stupendous piece of engineering which cost the originator his life. Soon after passing the tunnel cut in the rock, we saw an inscription telling how the engineer, while engaged in taking his measurements, lost his footing and was precipitated into the awful ravine below. The road itself was opened in 1845, and is mainly due to the public spirit of the inhabitants of Ornans.
Franche-Comté is rich in zig-zagging mountain roads of daring construction, and none are more wonderful than this. As we crawl at a snail's pace between rocks and ravine, silvery grey masses towering against the glowing purple sky, deepest green fastnesses below that make us giddy to behold, all is still but for the sea-like war of the little river as it pours down impetuously from its mountain home. The heavy rain of the previous night unfortunately prevents us from following it to its source, a delightful excursion in tolerably dry weather, but impracticable after a rain-fall. By far the best, way is to sleep at Monthier and visit the source on foot, but fatigue may be avoided by taking a carriage from Pontarlier. Between Monthier and the source of the Loue is a bit of wild romantic scenery known as the _Combes de Nouaille_, home of the Franc-Comtois elf, or fairy, called _la Vouivre_. _Combe_, it must be explained, means a straight, narrow valley lying between two mountains, and Charles Nodier remarks: "is very French, and is perfectly intelligible in any part of the country, but has been omitted in the Dictionary of the Academy, because there is no _combe_ at the Tuileries, the Champs Elysées or the Luxembourg!" These close winding _combes_ form one of the most characteristic and picturesque features of Franc-Comtois scenery. Leaving the more adventuresome part of this journey therefore to travellers luckier in respect of weather than ourselves, we turn our horses' heads towards Ornans, where we rest for coffee and a little chat with friends. As we set out for Besançon, a splendid glow of sunset lights up Courbet's birth and favourite abiding place, clothing in richest gold the hills and hanging woods he portrayed with so much vigour and poetic feeling. The glories of the sinking sun lingered long, and, when the last crimson rays faded, a full pearly moon rose in the clear heavens, lighting us on our way.