'Twixt France and Spain; Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees
by E. Ernest Bilbrough · English · Gutenberg #10403 · 460,127 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of 'Twixt France and Spain; Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: 'Twixt France and Spain; Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees
Author: E. Ernest Bilbrough
Release date: December 1, 2003 [eBook #10403]
Most recently updated: October 28, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10403
Credits: E-text prepared by Carlo Traverso, Lois Gaudard, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders. This file was produced from images generously made available by the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'TWIXT FRANCE AND SPAIN; OR, A SPRING IN THE PYRENEES ***
'TWIXT FRANCE AND SPAIN;
Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees
BY
E. ERNEST BILBROUGH.
[Illustration: MAP OF THE PYRENEES
(To accompany "TWIXT FRANCE & SPAIN")
With the Principal Peaks, Rivers & Roads.]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAU.
Trains and steamers--Bordeaux and its hotels--Lamothe
--Morcenx--Dax--Puyoo--Orthez--First impressions of Pau--The hotels and
pensions--Amusements--Pension Colbert--Making up parties for the
Pyrenees--The Place Royale and the view--The castle of Pau and its
approaches--Origin of name--Historical notes--The towers--Visiting
hours--The tapestries--The wonderful bedstead--The delusive
tortoiseshell cradle--The "Tour de la Monnaie"--The park--The Billères
plains--Tennis and golf--The Route de Billères and the Billères
woods--French _sportsmen_--Hunting--Racing--Lescar and its old
cathedral--Fontaine de Marnières--The bands--The Parc Beaumont
--Ballooning--The Casino--Polo--The cemetery--The churches of
St. Martin and St. Jacques--The "old world and the new"--Rides and
drives--to Bétharram--The start--Peasants and their ways--Vines
trained by the roadside--Sour grapes--The "March of the Men of Garlic"
--Coarraze--Henry IV.'s Castle--Bétharram--The ivied bridge--The
inn--The "Via Crucis"--Assat and Gélos--The Coteaux--Perpignaa
--Sketching with a donkey-cart--Over the Coteaux to Gan--The
drive to Piétat--Picnicking and rejected attentions--The
church--Feather moss--Bizanos--Carnival time--"Poor Pillicoddy"
--"Idyllic Colbert."
CHAPTER II.
BAGNÈRES DE BIGORRE.
Backward spring--Hôtel Beau Séjour--Effect of the war of '70 on the
English colony--The "Coustous"--The Church of St. Vincent--Géruzet's
marble works--Donkeys--Up the Monné--Bains de Santé--Bains de Grand
Pré--Salut Avenue and baths--"Ai-ue, Ai-ue"--Luncheon--Daffodils--The
summit and the view--The "Castel-Mouly"--The Tapére--Mde. Cottin--Mont
Bédat--Gentians--The Croix de Manse--"The Lady's Farewell to her
Asinine Steed"--Market-day--The old iron and shoe dealers--Sunday--A
cat fight--The English Church--To the Col d'Aspin--"The Abbé's
Song"--Baudéan--Campan, its people and church--Wayside chapels--Ste.
Marie--The route to Gripp, &c.--Payole--The pine forest--The Col
d'Aspin--The view from the Monné Rouge--"The Plaint of the Weather-beaten
Pine"--The Menu at Payole--Hurrah for the milk!--Departures--Divine
music--Asté--Gabrielle d'Estrelle--The ivied ruins--The church--
Pitton de Tournefort--Gerde--The pigeon traps--The cattle market
--The Jacobin tower--Theatre--Grand Etablissement des Thermes
--Hospice Civil--Eglise des Carmes--Mount Olivet--Madame Cheval,
her cakes and tea--Bigorre in tears
CHAPTER III.
LOURDES.
The journey to Tarbes--The Buffet and the Nigger--Lourdes station in
the wet--Importunate "Cochers"--Hôtel des Pyrénées--"Red tape" and
Porters--Lourdes in sunshine--Sightseeing--The "Rue de la Grotte"--
"The Cry of the Lourdes Shopkeepers"--Candle-sellers--The
Grotto--Abject reverence--The Church--Saint Bernard--Interior of
church--The panorama--Admirable effect--Rue du Fort--The castle--The
view from the Tower--Pie de Mars, or Ringed Ousels
CHAPTER IV.
ARGELÈS.
Road _v_. rail--Scenes, sublime and ridiculous--Hôtel
d'Angleterre--Questions and "The Argelès Shepherd's Reply"--A forbidden
path--The ride to Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous--Argelès
church--Route Thermale--Ges--The tree in the path--"A regular
fix"--Serres--"It's a stupid foal that doesn't know its own mother"
--A frothing stream--A fine view--Pigs in clover--Salluz
--Ourous--Contented villagers--The high road--The bridge on the
Pierrefitte road--Advice to sketchers--"Spring's Bitters and
Sweets"--The "witch of the hills"--Large green lizards--"Jeannette's
Lamb"--Round the Argelès valley--Château de Beaucens--Villelongue--
Soulom--The old church--Hôtel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--St. Savin--The
verger and the ancient church--Cagots--"The Organ's Tale"--St. Savin's
tomb--The Château de Miramont--Jugged Izard--Market-day--Sour bread and
the remedy--Arrival of the first parcel.
CHAPTER V.
CAUTERETS.
Hôtel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--The Gorge--Its majestic beauty--The
resemblance to the Llanberis Pass--Mrs. Blunt becomes poetical--Zinc
mines--Le Pont de Médiabat--Entering the town--The Rue Richelieu and
Hôtel du Parc--Winter's seal upon them still--Thermes des
Oeufs--Thermes de César--The Casino and Esplanade des Oeufs--A good
dinner and the menu--The start for the Col de Riou--The Grange de la
Reine Hortense--The pines--Miss Blunt's "Exhortation to the First
Snow"--The dogs and their gambols--Defeated, but not discouraged--To
the Cérizey Cascade--The baths of La Raillère, Petit St. Sauveur, and
Le Pré--Cascade de Lutour--The Marcadau Gorge--Scenery--Pic de
Gaube--At the Cérizey Cascade--The Pont d'Espagne and Lac de
Gaube--Pont de Benqués--Lutour valley--Various excursions up same--The
"Parc"--Allées de Cambasque--The Peguère--The "Pagoda" villa--
Promenade du Mamelon Vert--The road's up again--Blows and blasts--The
bishop's arrival--Enthusiasm, pomposity, and benedictions--The pilgrims
at large--They start on an excursion--The market and Hôtel de
Ville--The grocer's opinion--Pyrenean dogs and their treatment--The
dog-fancier--Smiles and temper--Bargaining displaced--No dog after all!
CHAPTER VI.
LUZ AND BARÈGES.
Rain at starting--A blighted view, yet lovely still--Pont
d'Enfer--Nature's voice--Sère and Esquiez--Luz--Its situation and
status--An old house--The ancient church of the Templars--La Chapelle
de St. Roch--Pyrenean museum--Hôtel de l'Univers--Château de Ste.
Marie--"The Jackdaw's Causerie"--A new "diet of worms"--The new
bathing establishment--To Barèges--Pic d'Ayré--Esterre--Viella
--Betpouey--Mill conduits--Cercle des Etrangers--Opinion of the
town--Grand Etablissement--Promenade Horizontale--Hospice de Ste.
Eugénie--"The Jay of Barèges"--Wood anemones--Hepaticas--Valley
of Lienz--Pic de Lienz--Pic d'Ayré's summit--Pic de Néouville--Mountain
rhododendrons--_Anemone vernalis_
CHAPTER VII.
ST. SAUVEUR.
Pont de Pescadère--Sassis--Gave de Gavarnie--St. Sauveur--Hôtel de
France--Pont Napoléon--Napoleon's pillar--Bee orchids--Chapel of
Solferino--The view from thence--Ne'er a hermit but for gold--Luz
cemetery--Luz post-office--Short cuts--Pharmacie Claverie--Jardin à
l'Anglaise--Ascent of Pic de Bergons--Villenave--The shepherds'
huts--Lunch--Snow, its use and abuse--On foot--"Excelsior"--Dangerous
footing--The last crest but one--The view--Gavarnie and Argelès in
sight--A lazy guide--A "fast" bit--Mountain flowers--Mr. Sydney to the
fore--A short walk and a good view--To Sazos and Grust--The bathing
establishments--Sazos: the old church--The belfry--Chiming
extraordinary--Various promenades--Gems of hill and vale
CHAPTER VIII.
GAVARNIE.
A "falling glass"--The wonderful echo--Cascade Lassariou--Sia and its
bridge--Pont de Desdouroucat--"Changing scenes"--Bugaret torrent--The
Piméné--Bué--Gèdre--Brêche de Roland in the distance--The
"Grotto"--Scenery at fivepence per head--Daffodils--Lofty
summits--Cascade d'Arroudet--Chaos--Valley of the "Ten Thousand Rocks,"
Amoy--A dirty avalanche--The Sugar-loaf--Travellers' troubles
--Importunate females--Hotel des Voyageurs--Poc--Guide or no
guide--Chute de Lapaca--The guardian summits of the Cirque--Cascade du
Marboré--Chandelles du Marboré--The Cirque--Its marvellous
beauty--Reluctantly returning--"The Guide's Auction"--"Two women
enough for a market, and three for a fair"--A Yankee tale--Sketching
and flowers--Tempers and appetites
CHAPTER IX.
FROM LUZ AND ST. SAUVEUR TO BAGNÈRES DE LUCHON.
A smiling valley--Lourdes again--The chapel in the crypt--St. Peter's
statue--Burnished toes--Solemn quietude--Preparing for the great
pilgrimage--"Ornamented" crosses--Mr. Sydney's new vocation, "Guide,
Philosopher, and Friend"--Bigorre again--An open-air concert
--Harmonious echoes--Paying through the nose--The fête at
Payole--Sport à la française--Costumes--The view from the Col
d'Aspin--Arreau--Quaint houses--La Chapelle de St. Exupère--A whining
"gardien"--Eglise de Notre Dame--The river Neste--Hôtel de
France--Bordères--Avajan--Louderville--Oxslips and cowslips--Wild
narcissus--Col de Peyresourde--The view--Garin--Cazaux--St.
Aventin--Lovely avenues--Our destination
CHAPTER X.
BAGNÈRES DE LUCHON.
The bathing establishment and its surroundings--The lovely
_Allées_--Montauban church and cascade--The Villa Russe and its
genial host--Various excursions--Orphanage of Notre Dame de
Rocher--The Vallée du Lys--The Rue d'Enfer and cascades--A lively
scene--The view from Superbagnères--Loading wood--"The Oxen's
Appeal"--Visit to the Orphanage--A "holy" relic--To Bosost--St.
Mamet--"A stumbling-block"--Cascade of Sidonie--Horse tricks and
jockey dodges--Lizards in flight--Fashion on a donkey--On the Portillon
'twixt France and Spain--The valley of Aran--Snug Bosost--A curious
inn--Children with artistic bent--A bright pathway--Missing much, but
thankful still
CHAPTER XI.
ST. BERTRAND DE COMMINGES.
Keeping to old friends--Valley history--Entering the Garonne
valley--The picturesque St. Béat--St. Béat to Viella--Memories of the
lovely Thames--Baths of Ste. Marie--Loures--The cross-roads--Weak
walls--Entering St. Bertrand--An ancient house--The inn--A charming
garden--The cathedral--A national disgrace--"The Crocodile of St.
Bertrand"--The tomb of Hugues de Chatillon--Travelling desecraters--St.
Bertrand's rod--The ruined cloisters--Desolation--Swine
feeding--Montrejeau--The buffet--No milk!--French railway
officials--Trying experiences
CHAPTER XII.
EAUX BONNES AND EAUX CHAUDES.
Carriage _v_. diligence--Early birds--Height of absurdity
--Diminutive donkeys--A whitened region--"Crystal clear"--Washerwomen
and their gamps--A useful townhall--A half-way house--Moralising--A
much-loved pipe--An historic ruin--A noteworthy strong box--"Ici on
rase"--Where are the bears?--Women in gaiters--Picturesque costumes--A
lovely road--A "perfect" cure--A spring scene--A billiard-playing
priest--A well-placed pavilion--The Valentin and its cascades--
Through solid rock--Gaps in the road--A grand scene--Wanted, an
artist--A fine torrent--Professional fishers--Lucky guests
--Musings--Poor Mr. Tubbins--Bonnes _v_. Chaudes--Over the
Col de Gourzy--Peculiar teams--Guelder roses--Spinning
CHAPTER XIII.
BIARRITZ.
A warm ride--Bayonne--A "Noah's ark" landscape--
Amusements--Bathing--Shells--Cavillers--A canine feat--The pier and
rocks--A restless sea--"The Three Cormorants"--Dragon's-mouth Rock--To
the lighthouse--Maiden-hair ferns--Mrs. Blunt's adventure--The drive
round the lakes--_Osmunda regalis_ ferns--The pine-woods near the
bar--St. Etienne and the Guards' cemetery--Croix de Mouguère--Cambo and
the Pas de Roland--Anemones--A fat couple--A French scholar--Hendaye--
Fuenterabia--A quaint old-world town--The Bidassoa--Pasages--San
Sebastien--The Citadol and graves--The "Silent Sisters"--Raised
prices--Parasols and spectacles
CHAPTER XIV.
CONCLUSION.
"Where duty leads"--Resorts in the Eastern Pyrenees--Caen--"Riou"--Our
paths diverge--"The Lesson of the Mountains"--Farewell
* * * * *
APPENDIX A
APPENDIX B
APPENDIX C
APPENDIX D
INDEX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
MAP OF THE PYRENEES
DAX
THE TOWER OF MONCADE, ORTHEZ
PAU (FROM THE JURANÇON SIDE OF THE GAVE)
THE CASTLE COURTYARD
IN THE CASTLE PARK
THE PINE FOREST NEAR THE COL D'ASPIN
THE "PALOMIÈRES DE GERDE"
LOURDES (A SMALL GENERAL VIEW)
THE "OLD FORT" AT LOURDES
ON THE ROAD TO ARGELÈS
A "REGULAR Fix" (by Miss BLUNT)
A PRETTY BIT AT ARGELÈS
CAUTERETS
THE ASCENT OF THE COL DE Riou (by Miss BLUNT)
THE LAC DE GAUBE
THE GORGE NEAR PIERREFITTE
THE ANCIENT CHURCH OF THE TEMPLARS AT LUZ
THE CASTLE OF STE. MARIE
BARÈGES
ST. SAUVEUR
PONT NAPOLÉON, ST. SAUVEUR (by Miss BLUNT)
THE VILLAGE OF GÈDRE
THE CHAOS NEAR GAVARNIE
THE CIRQUE OF GAVARNIE (IN SUMMER)
"ON THE TAREES ROAD"
THE PEARL IN THE PEERLESS VALLEY
THE CHURCH OF MONTAUBAN (by Miss BLUNT)
THE RUE D'ENFER AND THE CASCADES
ON THE ROAD TO SUPERBAGNÈRES
ST. BERTRAND DE COMMINGES
THE CROCODILE OF ST. BERTRAND (by Miss BLUNT)
IN THE OLD CHURCH AT LARUNS
CASCADE DU VALENTIN
CRABE BRIDGE, IN THE EAUX CHAUDES GORGE
THE BIOUS-ARTIGUES
THE PIC DE GER
THE ROCKS OF BIARRITZ
THE VILLA EUGÉNIE
MRS. BLUNT'S ADVENTURE (by Miss BLUNT):--
SCENE I.--BEFORE THE START
SCENE II.--THE ANCIENT STEED GREW YOUNG ONCE MORE
SCENE III.--WHO'S MY DRIVER?
"MY PAW IS ON MY NATIVE HEATH, AND MY NAME IS 'Riou'" (by Miss BLUNT)
"SEE MORNING'S GOLDEN RAYS," &c.
"TOWERING ABOVE THE PLAIN"
PANORAMA OF THE CIRQUE OF THE VALLÉE DU LYS
PANORAMA OF THE PIC DU MIDI DE BIGORRE
PREFACE.
It has been my endeavour in this volume to provide an illustrated
gossiping Guide to the Spas of the Pyrenees. Unlike previous books
on the same region, it deals with the resorts in spring, when they
are most charming. A certain amount of detail--which is unavoidable
in all guide-books--has been unavoidable here, and the rhymes have
been introduced in the hope of lightening the reading. These
rhymes, as a rule, have a distinct bearing on the subject under
discussion; but they are inserted in such a manner that the reader
can omit to read them--if he objects to such frivolities--without
losing the sense of the prose.
Very little really fresh information has been gained about these
beautiful mountains since Mr. Charles Packe published his 'Guide to
the Pyrenees' in 1867: a few more springs have been discovered, a
few more mountains have been successfully ascended, and the towns
have gradually increased in size. There have been very few of those
melancholy accidents that we so often hear of from Switzerland,
because, probably, considerably fewer tourists attempt these
mountains than attempt the Alps. In this volume no descriptions of
scaling ice-walls, searching for the lammergeiers' nests, or any
other great feats, will be found. It contains a plain account of
what may be seen and done by any party visiting the mountain
resorts in spring, without much trouble or fatigue; and the
narrative form has been adopted throughout.
M. Doré's illustrations speak for themselves; and Miss Blunt's
spirited sketches are a valuable acquisition.
The Appendices have been compiled with great care; and--at the
suggestion of an experienced M.D.--brief comments on the chief
springs at the various Spas, and their healing properties, have
been included in the general information.
I beg to acknowledge my indebtedness to M. Joanne's 'Pyrenees' and
Mr. Black's 'Summer Resorts;' and I have also great pleasure in
thanking Miss Blunt for her sketches, and my friend Mr. A. H. Crow,
F.R.G.S., for his kindly assistance in correcting inaccuracies. As,
however, it is extremely difficult to completely avoid them, I
shall feel obliged for the notification of any others that may
happen to exist.
E. E. B.
INTRODUCTION.
Considering the number of English and Americans who yearly visit
Switzerland and the Riviera, it is astonishing that so few,
comparatively, ever think of approaching nearer to the Pyrenees
than Pau. And it is more astonishing still, that those who have
been enabled to enjoy the beauty of these mountains from the Place
Royale at Pau, should ever think of leaving their vicinity without
a more intimate acquaintance with them.
It may be, that since the various resorts have gained celebrity for
the healing powers of their waters, healthy travellers are of
opinion that they will be surrounded by a crowd of sickly
individuals, whose very appearance will spoil all the pleasure that
they might otherwise experience. That this _might be_ the case _in
the season_, at a few spas, is not to be denied, but _in spring_
not an invalid of that kind is to be met with, and the bathing
establishments have no customers; but the scenery is everywhere at
its best. Dr. Madden writes: "The attractions of the Pyrenees are
not, however, confined to the invalid traveller, but even for the
pleasure tourist offer inducements for a pedestrian excursion in
some respects superior to any in Switzerland;" and there can be no
doubt that they have a beauty of their own quite distinct from the
grandeur of the Alps, and yet equally as wonderful in its style.
Extending for nearly 300 miles from the foaming billows of the
Biscay to the azure waters of the Mediterranean, they form a huge
barrier "'twixt France and Spain"; gaining their name of Pyrenees
from the words "Pic Nérés," which in the _patois_ of the country
signifies "black peaks!" That this title is a misnomer for all but
three months of the year--viz., from July to October--must be
already a well-known fact; for who would call them "black" when
clothed in their garments of snow?
The highest summits are in the Maladetta group, and the Pic Nethou
(11,170 ft.) is the highest of all; while the average height of
this magnificent range of mountains is between five and six
thousand feet.
Luxurious valleys branch out in all directions, fed by the mountain
streams, and among the central heights the wonderful natural
amphitheatres known as Cirques stand in majestic solitude. The
Cirque of Gavarnie--the best known--possesses on a bright day in
spring such a charm, in its snowy imperial splendour, as the Alps
would fail to surpass. In scenes where a lake adds such wonderful
effect, Switzerland is quite supreme; we know of no view in the
Pyrenees, of a comparable nature, that could pretend to vie with
the harmonious loveliness of the panorama that can be seen at
sunset from Montreux across Lac Leman, when the water is rippleless
and the mountains are bathed in a rosy flood. But for all that, in
other ways--in flower-clothed slopes, in luxurious valleys, in
winding rivers and foaming cascades--the Pyrenees present pictures
that, with the freshness of springtime to aid them, cannot fail to
delight and charm.
Four roads cross the Pyrenees from France to Spain: the Route
Nationale, from Paris to Madrid _viâ_ Bayonne; the Route
Départementale, from Bayonne to Pampeluna _viâ_ the Col d'Urdax; the
Route Nationale, from Perpignan to Barcelona _viâ_ Gerona; and the
route from Pau to Jaca _viâ_ Oloron. There are other ways of entering
Spain by the Cols (passes), but over these a horse track is the
broadest path.
The principal bathing resorts on the French side are connected by
the splendid Route Thermale, which extends for 70 miles; but, owing
to its exposed position in some parts, especially between Eaux
Bonnes and Argelès, and Barèges and Ste. Marie, it is only wholly
open three or four months in the year!
Of the mineral springs it is sufficient to state here that, within
the same extent of country, no other part of Europe can present
such a wonderful choice. There are three principal kinds--the
sulphurous, the saline, and the ferruginous; and over 200 springs
contribute to them. Some resorts have waters of each of these
classes, and many have at any rate two out of the three.
Of these, fuller information is given in the Appendix, as well as
the chief uses of each, and the affections for which they have been
successfully used.
As regards sport, unattended by much labour or fatigue, the
Pyrenees can hardly be recommended, except perhaps for fishing.
There is very good fishing in several of the rivers, but unhappily
French conservancy laws are so lax--if indeed they have any at all
--that peasants may frequently be seen at the waterside with a rod
in one hand and a capacious net in the other, so that if
unsuccessful with the first, they will at any rate not come home
empty-handed; unless some brother "sportsman" has just preceded
them over the same pools!
Though the wolves have nearly all been poisoned, there are still
some bears to shoot in winter, and izard (a species of chamois) and
capercailzie to pursue in autumn; but the "sportsmen" are many and
the game few, and the way to their haunts lies by bad and
unfrequented paths; so that "le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle." To
the botanist and the geologist, however, there is a splendid field,
which, varying in richness according to the locality, is more or
less rich everywhere; and besides these, the entomologist will not
visit this territory in vain. To the mountaineer these almost
numberless summits offer attractions of all kinds, from the wooded
slope with its broad mule-path, to the ice-wall only to be scaled
by the use of the rope and the hatchet. There are ascents which a
child almost might attempt in safety, and there are others where
the bravest men might well quail.
For the ordinary pedestrian, beautiful walks abound in the vicinity
of nearly every Spa, but near St. Sauveur, Luchon, Eaux Chaudes,
and Argelès they are, we think, most charming. The roads on the
whole are excellent, and the hotels, with hardly any exceptions,
particularly clean and comfortable; and, with the one drawback of
the bread (see Appendix D)--which can be easily remedied--the food
is well cooked and well served.
It must be understood that the succeeding chapters only describe--
or attempt to describe--scenes that every one in moderate health
can go and enjoy for themselves, and it is in the hope that a few
more may be induced to visit the region about which they speak,
that they have ever seen the light. For accurate information about
the mountains and the best means of ascending them, no better
guide-books could be wanted than Count Russell's 'Grandes
Ascensions des Pyrénées' [Footnote: Hachette et Cie., Paris.] in
French and English, and Mr. Chas. Packe's 'Guide to the Pyrenees';
[Footnote: Longmans and Co., London.] while for information of all
kinds Monsieur P. Joanne's 'Pyrenees,' [Footnote: Hachette et Cie.,
Paris.] in French, could hardly be surpassed. For the ordinary
traveller Mr. Black's 'South of France Summer Resorts, Pyrenees,'
&c., is a compact and useful companion; and for guidance in matters
medical, Dr. Madden's 'Spas of the Pyrenees' and Dr. Lee's 'Baths
of France' are exceedingly valuable.
With these preliminary remarks we beg to refer the reader to our
experiences of 'A Spring in the Pyrenees.'
CHAPTER I.
PAU.
Trains and Steamers--Bordeaux and its Hotels--Lamothe--Morcenx--
Dax--Puyoo--Orthez--First impressions of Pau--The Hotels and
Pensions--Amusements--Pension Colbert--Making up parties for the
Pyrenees--The Place Royale and the view--The Castle of Pau and its
approaches--Origin of name--Historical notes--The Towers--Visiting
hours--The Tapestries--The Wonderful Bedstead--The Delusive
Tortoiseshell Cradle--The "Tour de la Monnaie"--The Park--The
Billères Plains--Tennis and Golf--The Route de Billères and the
Billères Woods--French _Sportsmen_--Hunting--Racing--Lescar and its
old Cathedral--Fontaine de Marnières--The Bands--The Pare Beaumont
--Ballooning--The Casino--Polo--The Cemetery--The Churches of St.
Martin and St. Jacques--The "Old World and the New"--Rides and
Drives--to Bétharram--The Start--Peasants and their ways--Vines
trained by the roadside--Sour Grapes--The "March of the Men of
Garlic"--Coarraze--Henry IV.'s Castle--Bétharram--The Ivied Bridge
--The Inn--The "Via Crucis"--Assat and Gélos--The Coteaux--
Perpignaa--Sketching with a Donkey-cart--Over the Coteaux to Gan--
The Drive to Piétat--Picnicking and Rejected Attentions--The
Church--Feather Moss--Bizanos--Carnival time--"Poor Pillicoddy"--
"Idyllic Colbert."
Few Winter Resorts have gained a greater celebrity than Pau, and
its popularity yearly increases. Fifty years ago its English
visitors might have been counted by tens; to-day they must be
reckoned by thousands. But this is only during the winter and
spring; in summer it is almost entirely deserted by foreigners, few
people in fact, unless compelled by circumstances, staying after
May has passed into June.
For many reasons it has become a favourite resort for invalids, an
important one being, its exceedingly accessible position.
Notwithstanding that it is 776 miles distant from London, fewer
changes are requisite than for many a journey of less than a
quarter of the distance. The quickest way from London is _viâ_
Dover, Calais, Paris, Bordeaux and Dax; and as a through sleeping
carriage can be obtained from Paris to Pau, that part of the
journey is anything but formidable. For those who prefer the sea
route, the fine boats of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company which
start from Liverpool are the most preferable conveyance, though the
less expensive steamers belonging to the General Steam Navigation
Company, sailing from London, are comfortable enough in fine
weather. The former land their passengers at Pauillac, whence they
proceed to Bordeaux by tender or train; but the latter boats, being
smaller, can come right up to Bordeaux, which is a decided
advantage.
Though the third port in France, Bordeaux can certainly not be
recommended as a stopping-place unless necessity requires it, for
the hotel-keepers generally succeed in reaping a rich harvest from
travellers passing through.
The Hôtel de Nantes is the nearest to the quay, but the Hôtel
Richelieu will be found more moderate and more comfortable. In the
town, the grand Hôtel de France has the best reputation, but "birds
of passage" have apparently to pay for it, whereas old stagers
concur in saying that for _gentlemen_--especially those who
appreciate a good dinner--the best place is the Hôtel de Bayonne.
Bordeaux has many fine buildings and objects of interest over which
a week can be easily spent, and for this length of time the hotel
prices are in proportion considerably less per diem; but in winter
it is especially bleak and cold, and travellers are advised to get
on to Dax or Pau as quickly as possible. The railway journey of one
hundred and forty-five miles to Pau occupies as a rule about six
hours, passing Lamothe, Morcenx, Dax, Puyoo, and Orthez. Lamothe
[Footnote: See Appendix.] (25 miles) is the junction for Arcachon,
[Footnote: See Appendix.] the celebrated winter station among the
pines, situated on the shores of a landlocked bay; and Morcenx
[Footnote: See Appendix.] (68 miles), is likewise the junction for
the Tarbes line and Bigorre.
Dax [Footnote: See Appendix.] (92 miles) has a well-deserved
reputation for its baths, and possesses several mineral bathing
establishments, of which the "Grand Etablissement des Thermes"
stands first. The mud baths are perhaps more celebrated than those
of steam or water, being especially efficacious in severe, and
often apparently otherwise incurable, cases of rheumatism. There
are also some pleasant walks by the River Adour, and in the
neighbourhood there is a bed of fossil salt.
Puyoo [Footnote: See Appendix.] (111-1/2 miles) is the junction for
the Bayonne line, but is without other interest.
[Illustration: DAX.]
Orthez [Footnote: See Appendix.] (120-3/4 miles) is of historic
interest and possesses some noteworthy remains. M. Doré has
represented the Tour de Moncade, built in 1240, with mediaeval
surroundings, and not quite as it may be seen now. It was the scene
of many of Gaston Phoebus' greatest crimes. The old fourteenth-
century bridge over the river, with its central tower, could tell
some tales too, if we could discover "sermons in stones"; and the
plain below the town was the scene of one of Wellington's many
victories in 1814.
Two coaches start from Orthez, one to Salies (10 miles), celebrated
for its salt springs, and the other to Mauléon-Licharre, a
picturesque spot where fine views, cascades, and ruins abound.
[Illustration: THE TOWER OF MONCADE, ORTHEZ.]
Passing the ancient town of Lescar (140-1/2 miles)--of which we
shall have more to say later--the train is soon drawn up in the
station of Pau, and directly the traveller shows his face outside,
he is hailed by the "cochers" from the various hotels in a
bewildering chorus. This is the same, _more_ or _less_, at every
French town where English people congregate, and Pau only inclines,
if anything, towards the "_more_."
The first impression conveyed when leaving the station and passing
along the Avenue de la Gare, is, that the town is mainly composed
of the castle and magnificent hotels which tower above the station.
This, to a certain extent, is correct, for they occupy a large
area, and the views from the windows of the hotels, as well as from
those of the castle, are the finest in the town. Issuing from the
Avenue into the "Place de la Monnaie," the ruins of the "Mint"
tower, and above them the castle itself, come into full view, after
which the road continues along the Rue Marca for a short distance,
branching afterwards to the right into the most ancient square of
the town, the Place Grammont.
The hotels de la Poste and Henri IV. are here situated, but the
roads to the various other hotels and pensions diverge in different
directions. To the right up the Rue Bordenave and along the Rue
Henri IV. is the route to all the finest hotels, of which the
"France" is the best, and the "Gassion" the most imposing; the
others are the Belle Vue, Splendide, Beau Séjour, and de la Paix,
all with the exception of the last possessing the magnificent
mountain view, but although from the windows of the "Paix" only a
side glimpse can be obtained, yet at the same time this hotel faces
the "Place Royale," the popular resort of all classes in Pau. From
the left-hand corner of the Place Grammont a narrow street leads to
the fine church of St. Jacques, which is also the nearest way to
the grand Hôtel Continental near Trinity Church, and the Pension
Hattersly in the Rue Porte Neuve. But the route more to the left
still, leading up the hill and joining the Route de Bordeaux, past
the Haute Plante parade ground, is the usual one followed,
especially for the Pensions--Lecour, Nogués, and Maison Pieté in
the Rue d'Orléans; Pension Etcherbest, in the Passage Planté Hôtel
de Londres, on the route de Billères; and Maison Colbert, in the
Rue Montpensier.
Well knowing the comfort of a good pension, and intending to make a
long stay, we drove straight from the station to the well-known
Maison Colbert, and were soon as comfortable as we could wish.
There are many people we are aware who detest "pensions." "We don't
approve," say they, "of meals at fixed hours, of a drawing-room
common to all, and of such a small house that everybody must know
everyone else before the first dinner is over!" Well! why should
they? They can go to the hotels; but let all those who are
suffering or delicate put away thin-skinned feelings of
superiority, till they have a good enough constitution to support
them, and in the meantime seek peace and kindness, such as may be
experienced at the Pension Colbert.
If, on the other hand, it can be taken as a criterion that those
living in hotels are not invalids, then the visitor contingent of
Pau must consist principally of healthy people, who prefer a good
climate and lively society to the attractions that England and
America have to offer from October to May. This is hardly correct,
but there can be no doubt that more than half the foreigners
[Footnote: From the French standpoint--i.e., English and American.]
who come for that period, do so for comfort and pleasure alone. And
it is not to be wondered at. Who, that was untrammelled by the
cares of business, or shortened purse-strings, but would not gladly
exchange the bill of fare England has to offer, of London fogs,
east winds, Scotch mists, and Irish dynamite, for the handsome menu
awaiting him at Pau? Drives, kettledrums, dinners, balls, lawn
tennis, polo, pigeon-shooting, golf, racing and hunting; and, if he
particularly wishes it, a balloon ascent as well. This last-named
is an expensive pleasure, as the aeronaut, judging by the prices on
the bill, requires a substantial fee, and it is besides an
amusement life insurance companies do not readily countenance.
Of course, if one comes to Pau merely for enjoyment, hotel life may
be preferable to that in a pension, though our experiences of the
latter mode have been very pleasant ones. It is so easy to make up
a small party for a drive or a picnic, and being all in one house
there is but little chance of any mishaps before starting, such as
individuals forgetting the time that had been fixed and keeping the
rest waiting. Above all, when planning a tour into the Pyrenees, it
is essentially necessary to form a party of some sort, if the trip
is to be carried out in the spring; for although, as we shall
endeavour to show later, the scenery is then at its best, still,
since it is not _the_ season, only one or two hotels are open in
each resort, and society is "nil."
Then further, when people are going to travel in company for
several weeks it is well that at least they should know something
of one another, for if they all commenced "pulling different ways"
up in the mountains, the safety, or at any rate the composure of
each, would be likely to suffer. My own relations, who were with me
at first, left for England long before the mountain trip was
arranged, but we made up a very pleasant quartette before the time
for starting arrived, and accordingly visited Pau in company as
well as the mountains. This quartette consisted of Mrs. and Miss
Blunt, Mr. Sydney and myself, and though it will be seen by
subsequent chapters that the trio decided on staying a fortnight at
Biarritz in preference to following my example and spending the
time at Bagnères de Bigorre, yet we made arrangements to meet
either at Lourdes or Argelès and thenceforward to travel in
company.
To see Pau in its beauty, winter must have given place to spring.
When the grass once more begins to grow, the trees to unfold their
tender leaves, the rivers to swell, and the birds to sing; while
yet the sun's rays cannot pierce the snowy garment on the distant
heights; then Pau is in her beauty. Passing--as we so often passed
--down the Rue Montpensier and the consecutive Rue Serviez, into the
Rue du Lycée, then turning from it to the right for a short
distance, till, with the English club at the corner on our left, we
turned into the Place Royale, and, with the fine theatre frowning
on our backs, quickly made our way between the rows of plane-trees,
but just uncurling their leaves, to the terrace whence the whole
enormous expanse of mountain can be viewed, our admiration at the
magnificent scene unfolded before us never diminished. But our
favourite time was at sunset, especially one of those warm ruddy
sunsets that tint the heavens like a superb red canopy.
Then, leaning on the terrace wall, we admired in silence. Beneath
us lay part of the town and the railway station, the river beyond,
in one part divided and slowly flowing over its stony bed among the
alder bushes; at another, gathered together again, rushing
furiously along as though impatient to lose itself for ever in the
depths of the ocean.
[Illustration: PAU (FROM THE JURANÇON SIDE OF THE GAVE).]
Beyond the river, amid the varied green of tree and meadow, nestled
the scattered villages, with the hills above, here brown with bare
vineyards, there vying with the meadow's green; and in the
background behind and above all, the mighty range of snow mountains
extending as far as eye could reach, and fading in the dim haze of
distance. Then, as the sun sank lower, the soft rosy hue shone on
the castle windows, glinted through the trees of the Château Park,
dyed the swift waters of the river, and tipped the snowy crests
afar. There are few, we think, who would not, as we did, enjoy
fully the contemplation of such a scene.
From the Place Royale to the Château is a very short distance;
turning to the right past the Church of St. Martin--a fine well-
built edifice--and the Hôtel Gassion, it stands in full view, and
the broad walk passing beneath the side arches leads into the
courtyard. In order to obtain a good view of the entrance and the
towers that guard it, it is preferable to approach the castle by
the Rue Henri IV. (a continuation of the Rue du Lycée that passes
between the theatre and the end of the Place Royale), which, when
the shops are left behind, suddenly curves to the left, to the foot
of the bridge leading direct to the main entrance. It is worth
while to stand on the bridge for a short time, and survey the whole
scene, which can hardly fail to carry the thoughts back to olden
times, and as the castle is so intimately connected with the town
of Pau, a few explanatory historical facts will not, we trust, be
considered out of place before continuing the inspection of the
edifice. The origin of the name of Pau is the Spanish "Palo," a
"stick" or a "stake," and takes us back to the time when the
Saracens had taken possession of a large part of Spain and were
making raids beyond the Pyrenees. Feeling their unprotected
position, the inhabitants of the Gave Valley made over a piece of
ground to a Prince of Bearn, on the condition that he should erect
a fortress for their defence thereon. This he agreed to do, and as
the extent of his allotment was marked out by "stakes," the castle
became known as the castle of "stakes" or Palo, which in time
became Pau.
Its commanding position and appearance inspired confidence, and
houses soon sprang up around; and, at least a century before the
birth of Henry IV., Pau had become an important place. In time it
became the capital of the kingdom of Navarre, and later, when
Navarre, Bearn, and the "Pays Basques" were constituted as one
department in 1790, it still retained its position as chief town.
Now to resume our inspection from the bridge. The two towers in
full view on either side of the sculptured façade, are the finest
and most prominent of the six that flank the castle, but there is
one in the interior of the court of more interest. The highest of
these two is the donjon on the left, built of brick, and known as
"La Tour de Gaston Phoebus" (112 feet). Its walls are over eight
feet in thickness. The tower on the right is known as "La Tour
Neuve," while the most interesting is that known as "La Tour de
Montaüset" or "Monte-Oiseau," in which are the ancient dungeons and
oubliettes. The porter has rooms on the ground-floor of the Gaston
Phoebus Tower, and his wife sells photographs singly and in books.
Outside, underneath and adjoining the same tower, is a small modern
(1843) chapel.
The hours for visiting the interior of the Château are between 10
and 12 and 2 and 4 daily, and the entrance is free, though the
guide expects a gratuity, say of one franc for one person, two
francs for three. As we were always lucky enough to be the only
people wanting to inspect, at the particular hour we went--which
was always as near ten as possible--we managed by judicious means
to calm the impetuosity of the guide, and induce him to tell his
tale slowly. If, as usually happens, other people are there at the
same time, he rattles off his lesson at such a pace that it
requires very good French scholars to even _follow_ him; to
remember what he says is out of the question. Whether by "more
judicious means," it would be possible to induce him to go round
out of hours, we do not know, never having had occasion to try, but
we certainly think it would be worth an attempt, if the visitors
could not otherwise manage to hit a time when they could go over
alone.
Passing under one of the three arches of the façade, we traversed
the courtyard to the extremity, and while waiting for the guide to
come to us at the small side door, examined the curious sculptures
surrounding the window on the left. On the door being opened we
passed into the Salle des Gardes, and from that into the Salle à
Manger, where stands a statue of Henry IV., supposed to be more
like him than any other. Then through a succession of rooms and up
flights of stairs, and through rooms again, to describe which as
they deserve would alone fill up a small volume, but this we do not
intend to do, contenting ourselves with simply mentioning as much
of what we saw as we hope may induce everyone to follow our
example, and see them for themselves. To any lovers of a grand
view, that which may be seen from the upper windows of the castle
is almost alone worth coming for, and the tapestry which lines the
walls of many of the rooms is simply exquisite.
The "Sports and Pastimes of the various Months" of Flanders work,
in the "Salle des Etats"--the six pieces of Gobelin work in the
Queen's Boudoir on the first floor--the five pieces of the same
work, including "Venus's toilet," in Queen Jeanne's room on the
second floor, and the four pieces of Brussels in Henry IV.'s
bedroom--also on the second floor--are only a few of the many
wonderful pieces of tapestry.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE COURTYARD.]
In the "Grand Reception Room," in which the massacres took place in
1569, is a fine mosaic table and Sèvres vases, besides the Flanders
tapestry.
There are several objects of interest in Henry IV.'s room, in which
he is said to have been born 13th December, 1553, including the
magnificently carved bedstead; but the chief attraction is the
tortoise-shell cradle, which as a rule Frenchmen come only to see.
Why they should come is quite a different matter, seeing that
although a tortoise's shell might make a very comfortable cradle
for even such an illustrious infant as was Henry IV., yet as he
never had anything to do with the one in question, it is rather
absurd that year after year they should flock to see it out of
respect to him; and the absurdity is greater, since in a statement
on the wall hard by this fact is made known. None of the northern
rooms are open to the public, but the chief objects of interest
have been transferred to the other wing!
Leaving the courtyard by the road under the side arches that leads
to the terrace, the tasteful gardening of the surroundings is
noticeable, and as soon as the lower walk is reached, the "Tour de
la Monnaie" lies in full view below. No efforts are made to keep
these ruins, in which Calvin used to preach, from crumbling into
dust. _"O tempora! O mores!"_
From the terrace on the other side of the Castle, the remains of
the old fosse may be seen, though houses are now built where the
water used to lie. A broad pathway encircles the edifice, and a
bridge leads from the extreme end over the Rue Marca into the
Castle Park, called also "lower plantation" (basse plante) in
distinction from the "upper plantation" (haute plante), which
surrounds the barracks. Near the road the trees are planted stiffly
in rows, but when another and smaller bridge has been traversed,
the beauty of the Park is manifest.
[Illustration: IN THE CASTLE PARK.]
Following the course of the river, and filled with the finest trees
and shrubs, through which the beautiful little nuthatch may
occasionally be seen flying, and among which many other birds sing--it
is indeed, with its long cool walks and pleasant glades, a lovely
promenade. The Bayonne road is the boundary on the opposite side from
the river, and just beyond the limits of the Park a path branches off
river-wards to the Billères Plains, where tennis and golf are played.
In the opposite direction another leads up under the shadow of an old
church, and joins the Route de Billères, which, starting from the Bordeaux
road, passes the Villa Lacroix and other handsome houses, and
descending throws off another branch into the Bayonne road. It then
curves in an opposite direction, and ascends, while at the same
time skirting the grounds of the Château de Billères, to the
favourite Billères woods. From the woods it communicates in a
nearly straight line with the Bordeaux road again, so that in
reality it describes three-quarters of a circle.
These woods, though sadly disfigured by the demand for fire-wood,
are pleasant to ramble in when the soldiers are not in possession,
and there are drives through them in all directions. At one time
wild duck, pigeons, and woodcock were plentiful there, but that
time has passed, though the gallant French _sportsmen_ may still be
seen trooping through with their dogs after blackbirds and tomtits!
Pau dearly loves excitement. Three times a week in the winter the
hounds meet in the vicinity, and many are the carriages and many
the fair occupants that congregate to see the start. It is
generally a very gay scene, with no lack of scarlet coats and good
steeds, pretty dresses and sometimes pretty faces too; and though
afterwards they enjoy many a good run, there are but few falls and
fewer broken heads. But it is over the races that Pau gets really
excited. Hunting only attracts the well-to-do, but all who can hire
or borrow even a shandry make a point of not missing the "races."
And these meetings are not few and far between, but about once a
fortnight, for there is no "Jockey Club" at Pau, and consequently
it pleases itself about the fixtures.
The course, which is some two miles from the town on the Bordeaux
road, is overlooked by an imposing grand stand, which generally
seems well filled, though the betting is not very heavy on the
whole. We drove over one afternoon, and after waiting for three
events which to us were not very exciting, proceeded towards
Lescar. The nearest way would have been by turning to the right by
a white house on the Bordeaux road (not far from the race-course),
but we continued along it instead for some distance, finally
turning off down a narrow lane without any sign of a hedge. After
following this for a length of time, we took the road at right
angles leading between fields covered with gorse, and later,
descending one or two steep hills with trees on either side, we
reascended and entered the ancient town of Lescar, only to dip
under the tottering walls of the ancient castle--a few minutes
later--and mount again under a narrow archway to the church.
P. Joanne in his excellent guide-book calls it "the ancient
Beneharum, destroyed about the year 841 by the Normans, rebuilt in
980 under the name of Lascurris. In the old chronicles it was
called the 'Ville Septénaire,' because it possessed, it is said,
seven churches, seven fountains, seven mills, seven woods, seven
vineyards, seven gates and seven towers on the ramparts." The
church now restored was formerly a cathedral, and there are some
fine old mosaics (11th century) to be seen under the boarding near
the altar. Jeanne d'Albret and other Béarnais sovereigns are buried
there.
The Castle is very old, though the square tower dates from the 14th
century only.
The whole town, so curious and ancient-looking, is well worth a
visit, and forms a contrast in its fallen splendour to Pau's rising
greatness, such as cannot fail to strike any intelligent observer.
Passing through the town, we took the road to the right homewards,
which joins the Bayonne route, but instead of continuing along the
latter all the way, we branched off into the route de Billères, and
came by the Villa Lacroix and the Hôtel de Londres back to the
pension.
Another road leads from the Villa Lacroix over a brook, and past
the establishment of the "Petites Soeurs des Pauvres" into the
country, and in fact to Lescar. The brook is known as the Herrère,
and by following the path to the left which runs beside it, the
"Fontaine de Marnières" is reached. The water of this fountain is
considered very pure and strengthening, and many people drink it
daily.
The band is another attraction at Pau; twice a week in the
afternoon they play in the Place Royale, and twice in the Parc
Beaumont. The music is of a very good order, and excessively
pleasing to listen to from beneath the shade of the trees. The Parc
Beaumont is quite near the Place Royale, the principal entrance
being at the end of the Rue du Lycée, close to the Hôtel Beau
Séjour.
Balloon ascents were often the chief attraction on Sundays, which
"all the world and his wife" went out to see. There is _a_ casino
in the Park, used occasionally for concerts, but _the_ casino is
behind the Hôtel Gassion, and though it was hardly finished enough
for comfort when we saw it, that defect will soon doubtless be
remedied.
Polo is generally played in the "Haute Plante" (in front of the
Barracks), and bicycle races take place there also occasionally. It
is only a step from this pleasure-ground to the cemetery, and
though this nearness never affects the joy of the children on the
roundabouts or the young people swinging, yet it is another
practical example that "in the midst of life we are in death."
The Rue Bayard--on the left of the Haute Plante--leads to the
cemetery gates, and the tombs extend behind the barracks; those of
Protestants being divided from the Roman Catholics' by a carefully
kept walk leading from the right-hand corner of the first or Roman
Catholic portion!
There is a charm about this last resting-place in spite of its
mournfulness, and the many flowers load the air with a delicious
perfume. The marble statue of a Russian lady in fashionable
costume, over her tomb, is considered a fine piece of sculpture,
and many people go there simply to see it.
The two principal French churches are those of St. Martin and St.
Jacques, but the latter is in every way the more beautiful. The
"Palais de Justice" stands close to St. Jacques, but facing the
Place Duplaa, where many of the best houses are situated. The Rue
d'Orléans, communicating the Place Duplaa and the Route De Bordeaux,
contains many Good French pensions, which have been previously
mentioned.
By following the Rue St. Jacques past the church of the same name
and turning down the street which cuts it at right angles, called
the "Rue de la Fontaine", the ancient part of the town can be
reached. It may be here remarked the peculiar characteristics of
Pau, and yet probably seven visitors out of ten fail to notice it.
the other end of "Fountain Street" leads into the Rue de la
Prefecture. this is one of the very busiest streets in Pau, and if
after leaving one of the magnificent new hotels we traverse this
busy street, and then suddenly plunge down the Rue de la Fontaine
to what was once the bed of the castle fosse--where the houses are
small and dirty, and the walls and slates barely hold together, so
wretchedly old and tottering are they--where, instead of bustle and
grandeur, there is only gloom and poverty, and in place of the
enjoyment of the present, there is the longing for a lot a little
less hard in the future; we feel as though we had gone back several
centuries in as many minutes, and have a decided wish to return to
nineteenth-century civilisation again.
We did not find the rides and drives the least pleasant of our
enjoyments, and there are so many places to visit, that picnics are
plentiful as a matter of course.
The chief excursion from Pau is to Eaux Bonnes and Eaux Chaudes,
but as there is a slight danger of damp beds there--if you get any
beds at all--early in the year, we postponed this grand trip for
another time.
Another long drive is to Lourdes and back, but this we did not
take, as we meant to stop a night there later; but one day we made
up a party for Bétharram, which is a long way on the same road,
and, under ordinarily kind auspices, a delightful day's outing.
If it was less pleasant than it might have been to us, the weather
had a good deal to do with it, and the other causes may develop
themselves in narration. There were ten of us, and we started in a
grand yellow brake with four horses and a surly coachman. The
morning was excessively warm, and some of the party were of such
rotund proportions, that the thin ones were nearly lost sight of,
if they chanced to sit between them, while the warmth approached to
that of a cucumber frame with the sun on it. We attracted a good
deal of attention as we _crawled_ down the Rue Serviez and passed
the entrance to the Pare Beaumont, down the hill to Bizanos; but as
soon as the château that takes its name from the village was
reached, we met with little admiration, except from the good people
jogging along in tumble-down carts and shandries. The peasants
seemed on the whole a good-natured lot, taking a joke with a smile
often approaching a broad grin, and occasionally, but only very
_occasionally_, attempting one in return. The following is an
instance of one of these rare occasions:--We were walking beside
the Herrère stream in the direction of the Fontaine de Marnières;
several women were busy washing clothes at the water's edge, and
above, spread out in all their glory, were three huge umbrellas--
umbrellas of the size of those used on the Metropolitan 'buses, but
of bright blue cloth on which the presence of clay was painfully
evident. We asked the price without smiling, and the women,
wondering, looked up. We said they must be very valuable, and we
would give as much as _six sous_ for any one of them. At this
moment another woman, who had been listening to the conversation
from a little garden behind, came up and said: "Those umbrellas
belong to me, and they _are_ worth a lot of money; but I will sell
you one cheap _if you promise to send it to the Exhibition!_"
But to resume. After crossing the railway line beyond Bizanos, and
leaving the pleasant little waterfall on the right, the sun began
to pour down on us very fiercely, and all we could do, wedged in as
we were, was to appear happy and survey the country.
It was curious to note the method of training the vines up the
various trees by the roadside. The simplicity and efficacy of the
method seemed plain enough, but with memories of the difficulty
experienced in guarding our own fruit even with glass-tipped walls
to defend it, we were forced to the conviction that in the Pyrenees
fruit stealers are unknown. Perhaps, however, the "grapes are
always sour," or sufficiently high up to give the would-be thief
time to think of the penalty, which probably would be "higher"
still.
The road continues nearly in a direct line through Assat (5 miles),
but when that village was left behind, the mountains seemed to be
considerably nearer, and even the snow summits--a bad sign of rain
--appeared within a fairly easy walk.
The painful odour of garlic frequently assailed our nostrils
passing through the hamlets, and though it is not quite as bad as
the Japanese root _daikon_, yet to have to talk to a man who has
been eating it, is a positive punishment. We would fain bring about
a reform among the people, getting them to substitute some other
healthily-scented vegetable in place of the objectionable one. To
this end we composed a verse to a very old but popular tune,
styling it
"THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF GARLIC."
Men of Garlic--large your numbers,
Long indeed your conscience slumbers,
Can't you change and eat cu-cumbers?
Men of Garlic, say!
They are sweet and tender,
Short and thick or slender.
Then, we know well your breath won't smell
And sickness' pangs engender.
Men of Garlic, stop your scorning,
Change your food and hear our warning,
See the day of Progress dawning,
Give three cheers--
Hurray!
Doubtless the fact of the verse being in English will militate
against its efficiency, but before we had time to turn it into
French, we had passed to the right of the quaint old town of Nay,
and were entering Coarraze (10 1/2 miles). As we bore off to the
right across the river, the old castle--where Henry IV. spent a
great part of his childhood like any peasant child--towered above
us, and the scenery around became considerably more picturesque
than any we had passed through that morning. The banks of the river
were more shapely, and the alternation of bushes and meadow, with
the varying lights and shades on the distant peaks and the nearer
slopes, would have seemed more than beautiful, if our wedged
positions and the accompanying warmth had not somewhat evaporated
our admiration. Though the heat remained, the sun had disappeared
behind huge banks of clouds, as we at length entered Bétharram (15
miles), so, instead of pulling up at the hotel, we drove on to the
beautiful ivy-hung bridge, a great favourite with artists. This
really belongs to the hamlet of Lestelle, which adjoins Bétharram,
and is so picturesque that the villagers ought to be proud of it;
doubtless in the old days, when Notre Dame de Bétharram's shrine
was the cherished pilgrimage--now superseded by the attractions of
N. D. de Lourdes--many thousand "holy" feet crossed and recrossed
this ancient bridge!
In order to reach the hotel we had to ascend slightly to turn the
vehicle, much to the consternation of one of the party, who,
clasping the back rail with both hands and endeavouring to look
brave, could not withhold a small scream which escaped from the
folds of her veil.
The dining-room of the hotel smelt decidedly close, so we spread
our sumptuous lunch on tables outside; but Jupiter Pluvius soon
showed his disapproval of our plans, and forced us to go within,
where a fine specimen of a French soldier had done his best to fill
the place with smoke. However, we managed fairly well, in spite of
some sour wine which we tried, under the name of "Jurançon vieux,"
for the "good of the house" and the "worse of ourselves." As the
rain passed off ere we had finished, we afterwards repaired to the
"Via Crucis," where there is a small chapel at every turn till the
"Calvary" is reached at the summit. The first chapel is beside the
road, midway between the hotel and the bridge, and the view from
the summit on a fine day is said to be very good; but when only
half-way, the rain came down in such torrents that we were glad to
return to the inn for shelter. For two hours the downpour lasted,
but it cooled the air and rendered the return journey a little more
supportable; and when we arrived at the house, we also arrived at
the decision that never again to a picnic, as far as we were
concerned, should thinness and rotundity go side by side!
There is no doubt that a landau is the most comfortable vehicle for
a drive of any length, although some very comfortable little T-
carts, with good ponies between the shafts, can be hired too. We
often used the latter for drives to Assat and over the suspension-
bridge--so old and shaky--and home by Gélos and Jurançon; while at
other times, taking the necessaries for afternoon tea, we drove as
far as Nay, crossing the river to enter its ancient square--in
which stand the Townhall and the Maison Carrée, of historical fame
--and then leaving the tanneries and houses behind, sought some
quiet spot down by the water, for sketching and enjoying our tea.
Rides or drives on the coteaux (hills) in the vicinity are very
pleasant, as the views from certain points are particularly fine.
Of these the most popular is to Perpignaa, two hours being
sufficient for the drive there and back. It is a nice walk for an
average pedestrian, and the road is easy to find. We generally
started in the afternoon, passing across the bridge and through
Jurançon, and where the road forks, bearing along the Gan road to
the right. Then, taking the first turning to the right, leading
between fields, we reached an avenue of trees, with a village
beyond. We then followed the road across the bridge to the left,
and kept bearing in that direction till we reached the foot of the
coteau, where there is only one route, and consequently no chance
of taking any but the right one! We heard of a case of two young
ladies going off in a donkey cart, intending to sketch the view
above Perpignaa, who, when they reached the avenue, turned down to
the right and wandered along the bank of the Gave as far as the
donkey would go, and then sketched a church steeple in despair. But
such a mistake is quite unnecessary; and they would doubtless have
remedied theirs, if they had not found it obligatory at last to
push behind in order to make the donkey move homewards. Although
very hoarse and tired when they arrived, they had voice enough left
to say they "wouldn't go sketching in a donkey cart again!"
From the foot of the hill the road zigzags, making a fairly easy
gradient to the summit, on which stands a house whose owner kindly
allows visitors to walk about his grounds and participate in the
view. When riding, we followed the road that continues on the right
for several miles, in order to prolong the pleasure produced by the
exercise and the view.
Another pleasant ride is by way of the coteaux to Gan, and back by
the road, or _vice versá_; but we always preferred the former, as
the horses had the hill work while fresh, and then the level home.
In the first instance we found this track by accident. We had
passed through Jurançon, and at the spot where the road forks
debated which to take, finally deciding on the left one, but this
we only followed for a few yards, taking again the first turning to
the right, which brought us over the railway line direct to the
hills. Winding up through the trees, we passed a tricyclist pushing
his machine before him, who informed us that we were on the way to
Gan. Of this, after we had ridden up and down, wound round
hillsides and passed through pleasant dingles, we were at length
assured by descending into that village, from which we got safely
home in spite of a "bolting" attempt on the part of one of the
"fiery" steeds.
To thoroughly enjoy the longer drive to Piétat it is better to make
a picnic of it. We started about ten one lovely morning, turning to
the left beyond Jurançon, crossing the line to Oloron--on the main
road--and later on, bearing more round in the same direction, and
beginning to ascend. As on the hills to Gan, we were perpetually
mounting only to descend a great part of the distance again, but
ever and anon catching glimpses of the valley in which Assat and
Nay lay, and of Pau itself, besides the lovely snow hills
stretching as far as eye could reach. When Piétat was arrived at,
there was but little to interest us in what we saw there of a half-
finished church and two cottages; but the view on all sides after
we had walked along the grassy plateau was very lovely, especially
as the lights and shades were everywhere so perfect. Having
selected a cosy spot and spread the luncheon, we were besieged by
children anxious to sell us flowers and apples, and to share
whatever we would give them. They were hard to get rid of even with
promises of something when we had finished, and when at last they
did go, an elderly female took their place with most generous
offers of unlocking the church for us. There was an old sweet-toned
bell in front of the western door, and a half-finished sculpture of
the "Descent from the Cross" over it. The interior of the edifice
was sufficiently roofed for a portion to be utilised for prayer,
and the high altar and two lateral ones were already erected.
After culling a quantity of the beautiful feather moss from the
hedgerows, we re-entered the carriage, and descended the hill into
the Gave valley, crossing the suspension-bridge by Assat, and
through the village into the main road, and home by Bizanos. It was
the time of the carnival, and on the following day Bizanos--which
has an evil repute for bad egg-throwing on festive occasions--was
to be the scene of the mumming. Luckily they did not attempt to
practise on us, though as we drove up through the town we met bands
of gaily-dressed individuals parading the streets.
These bands consisted of about thirty, mostly men decked in a
preponderance of red, white, and blue, and usually accompanied by a
tableau arrangement on a cart. Every twenty yards they stopped,
went through a series of antics, supposed to be country dances, to
the tune of the cornet and a fiddle, and then brought round the
hat, frequently embracing any woman who objected to give her sous.
A carnival such as this combines a holiday with money-making to the
mummers, and as long as they can get money in this fashion, they
certainly cannot be blamed for taking their amusement in such a
highly practical manner.
There are several private coaches at Pau, which turn out in grand
style on race days; and balls, concerts, and kettledrums abound,
with private theatricals occasionally. We attempted to get up "Poor
Pillicoddy," but were very unlucky about it. Firstly, when in full
rehearsal, our Mrs. O'Scuttle became unwell, and we had to look for
another, and when we had found her and were getting into shape
again, her nautical husband put the whole ship on the rocks and
wrecked our hopes by losing his voice.
However, our departure was very nigh, and packing is an excellent
cure for disappointment, though we were interrupted in that one
morning with a request to write "something" in the visitors' book.
With the memories of our pleasant stay upon us, we do not think we
can err in reproducing one contribution, which was styled
"IDYLLIC COLBERT."
(_With apologies to_ Mr. W. S. GILBERT.)
If you're anxious for to dwell in a very fine hotel
By the mountain's wide expanse,
You at once had best repair to that house so good though
_chère_
Called the "Grand Hôtel de France."
Or if for food your craze is, you still can give your praises
To the _chef_ of its cuisine_.
Your taste you need not fetter, for 'tis said in Pau, no better
Has ever yet been seen.
But this I have to say, you will not like your stay
As much as if at Pension Colbert you the time had spent,
And such a time, I'm very sure, you never would repent.
If I'm eloquent in praise of those most peculiar days
Which now have passed away,
'Tis to tell you, as a man, what awful risks I ran
Lest my heart should chance to stray.
I never would pooh-pooh! 'tis cruel so to do,
Though often weak and ill,
For they my plaints would stop, with a juicy mutton-chop,
Or a mild and savoury pill!
And this I have to say, you're bound to like your stay,
And never in your life I'm very sure will you repent
The time in Pension Colbert's walls and well-trimmed
garden spent.
And if a tantalizing passion of a gay lawn tennis fashion
Should fire your love of sport,
On the neat and well-kept lawn, a net that's _never_ torn
Hangs quiv'ring o'er the court.
Or if your voice you'd raise in sweet or high-tun'd lays,
You'll find a piano there,
And _birdies_ too will sing, like mortals--that's a thing
You'll never hear elsewhere--
And then you're bound to say that you have liked your stay,
And never in your life I'm very sure will you repent
The time in Pension Colbert's walls and well-trimm'd
garden spent.
If for hunting you've a liking, you can don a costume striking,
And proceed to chase the fox.
Or if you're fond of driving, _perhaps_ by some contriving
You may mount a coach's box.
If picnics are your pleasure, you can go to them at leisure,
And lunch on sumptuous fare,
And though maybe, perforce, you'll get lamb without mint
sauce.
They never starve you there.
And always you will say, that you've enjoyed your stay,
And never in your life I'm very sure will you repent
The time in Pension Colbert's walls and well-trimm'd
garden spent.
As Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney had definitely decided to
spend the time at Biarritz while I stayed at Bigorre, I turned my
attention to discovering if any other acquaintances were proceeding
in the same direction as myself. In this I was successful, and in
company with Mr. H---- and his two daughters, and Mrs. Willesden
and Miss Leonards, bade "au revoir" to Pau, with the prospect of a
long spell of beautiful scenery if the clerk of the weather could
only be controlled, by longings and hopes.
CHAPTER II.
BAGNÈRES DE BIGORRE.
Backward Spring--Hôtel Beau Séjour--Effect of the war of '70 on the
English Colony--The "Coustous"--The Church of St. Vincent--
Géruzet's Marble Works--Donkeys--Up the Monné--Bains de Santé--
Bains de Grand Pré--Salut Avenue and Baths--"Ai-ue, Ai-ue"--
Luncheon--Daffodils--The Summit and the View--The "Castle-Mouly"--
The Tapêre--Mde. Cottin--Mont Bédat--Gentians--The Croix de Manse--
"The Lady's Farewell to her Asinine Steed"--Market-day--The Old
Iron and Shoe Dealers--Sunday--A Cat Fight--The English Church--To
the Col d'Aspin--"The Abbé's Song"--Baudéan--Campan, its People and
Church--Wayside Chapels--Ste. Marie--The route to Gripp, &c.--
Payole--The Pine Forest--The Col d'Aspin--The View from the Monné
Rouge--"The Plaint of the Weather-beaten Pine"--The Menu at Payole
--Hurrah for the Milk!--Departures--Divine Music--Asté--Gabrielle
d'Estrelle--The Ivied Ruins--The Church--Pitton de Tournefort--
Gerde--The Pigeon Traps--The Cattle Market--The Jacobin Tower--
Theatre--Grand Etablissement des Thermes--Hospice Civil--Eglise des
Carmes--Mount Olivet--Madame Cheval, her Cakes and Tea--Bigorre in
Tears.
We had a bright day for our journey to Bigorre, and the country
looked pretty, though very backward for April, but this was owing
to the late frosts, which had been felt everywhere. Bigorre itself
was no exception, and instead of all the charms of spring ready to
welcome us, the leaves were only just taking courage to unfurl. Our
first impressions were consequently anything but favourable, though
our comfortable quarters in the Hôtel Beau Séjour compensated us to
a certain degree. To the French and Spaniards, Bigorre is only a
summer resort, but as it is considered to possess a very mild
climate, many English reside there all the year round. In fact,
before the war of 1870 there was quite an English colony there, but
the chance of a Prussian advance dispersed it, and many were the
hardships endured by some of those who had stayed to the last
moment, in their endeavours to reach the coast.
Our first two days were more or less wet, and by reports of heavy
snowstorms around us, we were unanimously of opinion that we had
come too early. However, with a little sun the place soon began to
look more cheerful, and a few days' fine weather wrought quite a
change.
The hotel looks down on the Place Lafayette and the commencement of
the avenue known as the "Coustous." This name puzzled us! We tried
to find its derivation in French, without success, and Greek and
German were no better. Latin seemed to solve the difficulty with
the word "Custos," since it is said that the ancient guardians of
the town formerly marched up and down beneath these fine old trees;
so we decided to hunt no further but to translate "Coustous" into
the "Guards' Walk." Having settled that knotty point, we took a
stroll in the avenue, and later, paid a visit to the parish church
of St. Vincent which is close by. It is particularly chaste inside,
some portions dating from the 14th century, but the 15th and 16th
have each had a share in the construction. Some of the altars are
made of fine Pyrenean marble, and the Empress Eugenie is said to
have given the wooden image of the Virgin on the pedestal.
As the various marbles obtained in the vicinity are exceedingly
interesting, and in many cases very beautiful, a very pleasant
half-hour can be spent at one of the many marble works which the
town possesses. Fired with this idea ourselves, one gloomy day
after lunch we sallied from the hotel, down the road to the left of
the church, through the public gardens, and--attracted by the
marble pillar--down the lane to the right of it, which at length
brought us to the works of Monsieur Géruzet. The huge blocks of the
rough stone were first inspected, then we saw the various processes
of cutting, ornamenting and polishing, and finally were ushered
into the showroom, where all kinds of articles from a sleeve-stud
to a sideboard were on sale. The cigar-trays and letterweights were
most reasonable, but it is not necessary to buy at all--and
gratuities are not supposed to be permitted.
There were some fine turn-outs in the donkey line which deserve
notice, the peculiarity of these animals here being, to go where
they are wanted, and even to trot about it. Looking out of the
window one morning, we were immediately attracted by the tiniest of
donkeys galloping across the "place" with two big men behind it;
and later on in the day, a neat specimen of the same tribe passed
down the "Coustous," dragging a small dogcart, almost completely
filled by the form of a French female, two or three times as large
as her donkey.
But like other things, the "genus asininus" is very variable,
almost as much so as the barometer, and those "on hire" for riding
purposes were quite as obstinate as their relations in other
countries; at least so the ladies declared who tried them, and they
ought to know. Their bitter experience was gained in a trip up the
Monné, the highest mountain in the immediate vicinity, being 2308
feet above Bigorre, or 4128 above the sea. Our party was seven in
all, supplemented by a broken-winded and coughing horse (called
Towser; French, _Tousseux_), two very obstinate donkeys, and a
particularly polite donkey boy. Add to these, three luncheon-
baskets and various sticks, umbrellas, and parasols, and the
cavalcade is complete. We left the hotel and passed up the Coustous
in rather mixed order, which improved as we turned into the Rue
d'Alsace, and leaving the Great Bathing Establishment [Footnote:
Grand Etablissement de Thermes.] and French Protestant Church on
the right, and the Baths of Santé and Grand Pré on the left,
entered the "Salut" avenue, which in due time brought us to the
baths of the same name. The ascent, which by the road is most
circuitous and easy, commences from thence. But though easy, the
donkeys did not attempt to conceal their dislike for the work at a
very early stage, and when the blasting in the quarries was hushed,
"the voice of the charmer" (i.e. donkey boy) might have been heard,
painfully resembling the sounds made by the traveller with his head
over the vessel's side, urging them on, "Ai-ue--Ai-ue." As we
rounded the last of the minor peaks, "the keen demands of appetite"
were not to be resisted; so on a nice green plateau, with the
object of our desires in full view, we discussed the luncheon.
Shawls were spread, plates handed round, bottles gurglingly
uncorked, and chicken and "pâté de foie gras" distributed until
everyone was steadily at work. The mountain air seemed to affect
the "vin ordinaire"; everyone averred it was as good as "Margaux,"
while the chicken was voted delicious, and the pâté superb.
This important business over, a start was again made, and though
the donkeys were still obstinate, we managed to make progress.
Daffodils were growing in profusion as we neared the summit, making
the hill crest seem crowned with gold. At last, after one or two
nasty narrow bits of path, barely affording sufficient footing for
the animals, we gained the top, anxious to enjoy the view.
Unhappily, the tips of the highest peaks were hidden in the clouds,
but the general view was excellent, so we endeavoured to be
content. With our backs to Bigorre, we had the Pic du Midi (9440
ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.) right before us, with the small
Val de Serris and the finer Val de Lesponne beneath. More to the
left, the continuation of the Campan Valley leading to Luchon, in
which, as far as Ste. Marie, the route is visible. On the extreme
left lay the four villages of Gerde, Asté, Baudéan and Campan, with
the Pêne de l'Heris (5226 ft.) and the Ordincède rearing above
them. Looking in the direction of Bigorre, we could see on our
right the trees fringing the hills above Gerde, and known as the
Palomières; and slightly to the left Lourdes and its lake, with the
entrance to the Argelès valley further round in the same direction
and close to the wooded hill known as the Castel Mouly (3742 ft.).
The Tapêre (a small stream) flows from this last-named hill into a
narrow glen, on the left side of which Madame Cottin wrote the
"Exiles of Siberia." The hill above, known as "Mont Bédat," and
surmounted with a statue of the Virgin, is a favourite walk from
the town, the ascent for a moderate walker taking about forty-five
minutes.
After twenty minutes to enjoy this panorama we began the descent on
the Castel-Mouly side, and were very soon forced to make short and
sometimes slippery cuts, to avoid the banks of snow lying in the
path. We easily managed to strike the proper path again, however,
and soon found ourselves at our "luncheon plateau." We now bore
along to the left, finding several large gentians, and gradually,
by dint of short cuts, we reached the Croix de Manse--a plateau
where four roads meet. Taking the one leading from the Bédat, we
were soon deposited at the hotel in safety.
The ladies were inexpressibly glad to give up their donkeys, and
Miss Leonards considered her experiences so bitter as to wish them
to be handed down to posterity under the title of
"THE LADY'S FAREWELL TO HER ASININE STEED."
My donkey steed! my donkey steed! that standest slyly by,
With thy ill-combed mane and patchy neck--thy brown and
cunning eye,
I will not mount the Monné's height, or tread the gentle
mead
Upon thy back again: oh slow and wretched donkey steed!
The sun may rise, the sun may set, but ne'er again on thee,
Will I repeat the sorry ride from which at length I'm free;
I'd sooner walk ten thousand times, though walking would
be vain,
Than ever mount, my donkey steed, upon thy back again.
Perchance in _nightmare's_ fitful dreams thou'lt amble into
sight,
Perchance once more thy cunning eye will turn on me its
light.
Again I'll raise my parasol--_in vain_--to make thee speed,
A parasol is nought to thee, my wretched donkey steed.
'Twas only when at my request some kindly hand would
chide,
Or sharply thrust a pointed stick against thy shaggy side,
That the slow blood that in thee runs would quicken once
again,
For though my parasol I broke, my efforts _still_ were vain.
Did I ill use thee? Surely not! such things could never be!
Although thou wentest slowest when I fain would haste to
tea.
Creeping at snail's pace only--while I couldn't make thee
learn
That donkeys' legs were never made to stop at ev'ry turn.
At ev'ry turn!--such weary work--I knew not what to do:
Oh nevermore!--no, nevermore!--would I that ride renew.
How very wide thy jaws were kept--how far thrown back
thine ears,
As though to make me think thee ill and fill my soul with
fears.
Safe and unmounted will I roam with stately step alone,
No more to feel, on thee, such pains and aches in ev'ry bone:
And if I rest beside a well, perchance I'll pause and think,
How even if I'd brought thee there, I couldn't make thee
drink.
I couldn't even make thee move! Away, the ride is o'er!
Away! for I shall rue the day on which I see thee more!
They said thou wert so meek and good, and I'm not over
strong,
I took their _kind_ advice, but oh! their _kind_ advice was
_wrong._
Who said I'd gladly give thee up? Who said that thou
were old?
'Tis true! 'tis true! my donkey steed! and I alas was _sold._
With joy I see thy form depart--that form which ne'er again
Shall bear me up the mountain-side and fill my soul with
pain.
After such a potent warning posterity will doubtless avoid "donkey
steeds" altogether.
Saturday is the great market-day of the week, and not only then is
the "Place de Strasbourg," at the end of the "Rue du Centre," well
crowded, but even--as happens on no other day--the Place Lafayette,
in front of the hotel, and the top of the Coustous as well. The
first-named is the fruit, flower, and vegetable market; the second,
the grain and potato; and the third, the iron and old shoe market.
The amount and variety of old iron and cast-off shoes exposed for
sale is astonishing. And if the vendors were given to crying their
wares they might indulge in something like the following--of course
translated:--
"Now who's for an 'upper,' a 'heel,' or a 'sole'?
This way for some fine rusty chain!
The sum of ten halfpence will purchase the whole,
And surely you cannot complain!
"Just glance at this slipper, whose fellow is lost;
Here's a boot that was only worn thrice;
A hammer, your honour, at half what it cost;
I'm sure that's a reasonable price."
The curious characters loafing, begging, buying and selling, quite
defy description, though the resemblance of many to the ape tribe
was conspicuous. One ancient individual, presiding over an
"umbrella hospital," presented an interesting spectacle surrounded
by _adult_ shoe-blacks whose trade did not appear to be too
lucrative.
Sunday is usually a very quiet day out of the season, but on our
first Sunday morning the Place de Strasbourg was the scene of a
real cat-fight. The combatants quite tabooed spitting and
scratching, and went to work with their teeth. After a few squeaks
and a great deal of rolling in the dust, a magnanimous dog appeared
on the scene, and after separating them, pursued the victor down
the street. The rest of the day, as usual, passed peacefully, and
the pleasant services in the pretty little English Church were much
enjoyed. It is situated near Dussert and Labal's marble works, just
off the Rue des Pyrenees, leading to Campan, about a hundred yards
beyond the Coustous, and is reached by crossing a small wooden
bridge.
Monday broke very fine, and as the market people had notified that
the Col d'Aspin was now open, we made up a party of ten, just
filling two landaus, for this fifteen-mile drive. We did not start
till eleven, and by that time the clouds had commenced to show
themselves, but hoping for better things, we went ahead. Following
the Campan road, we soon left Gerde and the Palomières above it, in
the distance, and in a few moments the village of Asté as well. A
little further on we met a barouche, lolling back in which sat a
priest. His hands were clasped o'er his breast, his spectacled eyes
were fixed upwards, and judging by the expression of his mouth and
the movement of his lips, he was endeavouring to put some pleasant,
self-contented thoughts into words. We took the liberty of guessing
what he was saying, and set it down as
"THE ABBÉ'S SONG."
Oh! I am an Abbé, an Abbé am I,
And I'm fond of my dinner and wine.
Some say I'm a sinner, but that I deny,
And I never am heard to repine.
'Tis said what a pity I can't have a wife,
But I'm saved from the _chance_ of all naggings and strife,
While in my barouche I can ride where I will,
Feeling life not half bad, though the world may be ill.
I always wear glasses, but that's to look sage,
And not 'cause my eyesight is dim,
For when sweet maids I view of a loveable age,
I contrive to look over the rim.
And when I'm alone with the glass at my lips,
I am ready to swear, as I pause 'twixt the sips,
That as long as the world does not hamper my will,
I think I can manage to live in it still.
A short distance before reaching Baudéan a road strikes to the
right up the Vallon de Serris, and a short distance beyond,
another, in the same direction, strikes up the Vallée de Lesponne,
_en route_ for the Lac Bleu (6457 ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.).
When Baudéan and its quaint old church were left in our rear, and
we were nearing Campan, we witnessed a fierce struggle between a
young bull-calf and a native. The calf objected very strongly to
the landaus, and wished to betake itself to the adjacent country to
avoid them. To this the native very naturally objected in turn, and
a struggle was the result, in which the calf was worsted and
reduced to order.
Campan is a curious old town, with a quaint marketplace, whose roof
rests on well-worn stone pillars. Turning a corner, we came on a
somewhat mixed collection of men, women, oxen, and logs of wood.
The French flag was fixed against a tree, and painted on a board
underneath it were the familiar words, "débit de tabac," with an
arrow or two pointing round the corner, but no tobacco shop was in
sight.
The peasants thronged the windows as we drove down the street, but
the greater number were weird and decrepit females, with faces like
the bark of an ancient oak-tree.
The old church, which stands near the market-place is well worth a
visit. Passing under an archway on the right side of the road, we
entered a court-yard, in which stands a marble statue erected in
honour of the late curé, and on the right of this is the entrance
into the church.
After leaving Campan the road ascends slightly through several
small hamlets, each possessing a proportionately small chapel at
the wayside, till Ste. Marie (2965 ft.) is reached. Here the road
bifurcates, the branch to the right leading to Gripp, Tramesaïgues,
the Col du Tourmalet, and Barèges; the branch to the left, along
which we continued, to the Col d'Aspin, Arreau, Bordères, Col de
Peyresourde (5070 ft.), and Luchon (2065 ft.). From Ste. Marie the
grandeur of the scenery increases. Besides the Montaigu and the Pic
du Midi on the right, on the left are the Pêne de l'Heris (5226
ft.) and the Crête d'Ordincède (5358 ft. about), with their wooded
crests uplifted above the range of lower hills, dotted with the
huts of the shepherds. Still ascending slightly, we passed Payole
(3615 ft.), where a head thrust out of the window of the Hôtel de
la Poste showed us it was at any rate occupied, and as we drove
past at a good pace, visions of a pleasant tea rose before us.
[Illustration: THE PINE FOREST NEAR THE COL D'ASPIN.]
We were soon mounting the zigzags through the splendid pine woods,
and enjoyed the delicious glimpses down the deep moss-grown glades,
with the scent of the rising sap in our nostrils. The glimpses on
the mountains up and down the road were very felicitous also. On
emerging from the forest the road was rather narrow for the
carriage for several yards, the snow being two to three feet deep
on either side, but as soon as this was passed, another three-
quarter mile of open driving brought us to the Col d'Aspin (4920
ft.). The view from this spot is very fine, but to really enjoy the
scenery to the fullest extent, we mounted the crest on the left,
called the Monné Rouge (5759 ft.), and were well rewarded.
Although, as too often happens, the highest peaks were in the mist,
we could see the whole extent of the valleys, and the tops of the
lower mountains. The range of sight is magnificent; the Maladetta
(10,866 ft.) only just visible to the east, the huge Posets (11,047
ft.) standing out frowningly to the south-south-east, as well as
the Pez (10,403 ft.) and the Clarabide (10,254 ft. about), and many
others. While not only the valley of Séoube, just passed through,
and the valley of Aure, in which Arreau lies, are visible, but to
the northwest even the plain of the Garonne as well. As the clouds
were gradually obscuring the scene, we made our way at a smart pace
through the pines back towards the inn at Payole. One weather-
beaten old fir, hung with lichen, devoid of all its former garb of
green, seemed to appeal to us for pity; we noticed it both when
ascending and descending, and its misery at dying when all the
trees around were growing anew, we have set down as
"THE PLAINT OF THE WEATHER-BEATEN PINE."
Behold I stand by the Aspin road, an old and worn-out Pine,
The years I cannot recollect that make this life of mine:
The snows have fallen o'er my crest, the winds have whistled
high,
For tens of years the winter's frost I managed to defy;
But now the fiat has gone forth, the flame of life is dead,
And nevermore I'll feel the storms that beat about my head.
I've watch'd the carriage travellers pass so gaily on their
way,
I've heard the capercailzie's note at early dawning grey;
But now, alas! my doom is sealed, I have not long to wait,
For when the axe has laid me low the fire will be my fate.
Farewell to sun, farewell to storm, to birds and travellers all,
--Oh sad to think that one so great should have so great a
fall!
As some of the party had gone on earlier, we found the table spread
when we reached the Inn de la Poste; and after a warm at the
kitchen fire proceeded to discuss the repast, of which the
following is the _menu_:--
MENU.
* * * * *
SOUP.
Tea._
FISH.
Cold Minnows.
ROASTS.
Remains of Cold Chicken. Remains of Paté de Foie Gras.
COLD.
Household _Bread_--very sour.
MADE DISH.
_Butter._
SWEETS.
Sponge Biscuits.
DESSERT.
Apples and Oranges.
WINES AND LIQUEURS.
Vin Ordinaire, Water with very little Whisky, Kirschwasser.
We were unable to procure any addition to our meal from the
innkeeper, except sour bread and sugar. Our tea had to be drank
without milk, as the cow had gone for a stroll up the mountain and
was out of reach of the post-office. Having suggested to our host
that a telegram might be of use, he disappeared grinning, and in
about ten minutes the servant entered with a bottle containing the
precious liquid. The shout of joy that rose to the rafters rather
startled the quiet female, but it was spontaneous, not to be
suppressed, and told of a happy finish to our not over sumptuous
tea.
The drive from thence home was decidedly chilly, but nothing
exciting happened, though occasional glimpses of the snow peaks
were enjoyed, and many fine specimens of the genus bovus, dragging
carts laden with trees (or all that remained of them), were passed
by the way.
The entire excursion occupied six hours and a half.
A few days afterwards our sociable circle at the hotel was much
reduced, and among others the Clipper family departed. We missed
Mr. Clipper greatly, for though bearing strong evidence to Darwin's
theory about the face, he was a chatty companion and capital
"raconteur," while his facility for remembering names, even of
places visited in his youngest days, was really remarkable.
Nor could we easily spare the four sylph-like Misses Clipper, for
with them vanished all hopes of delicious music in the evening. Ah,
that was music! The way they played together the "Taking of Tel-el-
Kebir" took us by storm. The silent march through the dead of
night, the charge, the cheers, the uncertain rifle fire, and then
the thunder of the cannon was so effective, that the landlord rose
in haste from his dinner, and anxiously inquired if the pier-glass
had fallen through the piano; reassured, he went back to his meal,
but whether the "taking of the redoubt," or the "pursuit of the
fugitives," or even the capital imitation of the bagpipes--which
followed in due course--interfered with his digestion (it might
have been a regard for his piano), we never learnt, but his face
showed unmistakable signs of annoyance for the rest of the evening.
The next morning--which was Saturday--Miss Leonards, Mrs.
Willesden, and myself took a walk to the villages of Asté and
Gerde. They lie on the opposite side of the river Adour, and are
within an easy walk. The market people were coming in a continuous
stream along the Campan road, some in long carts crowded sardine-
like, some in traps, some on donkeys, but the majority on foot. We
stopped two of the most crowded carts and asked them to make room
for us. The inmates of the former took it as a joke and drove off
chuckling; but those in the second took the matter-of-fact view and
began squeezing about, till, having a space of about four inches by
three, one man said he thought they could manage; however, not
wishing to "sit familiar," we thanked him, but declined to trouble
him any further.
The first bridge over the river, built of stone, leads to Gerde and
Asté, but we preferred to take the longer route, which continues
along the Campan road, till, after passing several smaller wooden
bridges, it turns to the left between two houses over an iron
bridge, and strikes straight into Asté. Before entering the town we
glanced over in the direction of Campan, and caught a fine glimpse
of the Houn Blanquo (6411 ft.), and the Pic du Midi, with a bit of
the Montaigu. Asté is interesting, formerly a fief of the Grammont
family; it has been associated with not a few celebrated
characters, and though that does not enhance the value of the
surrounding property (since the Grammont estate is now in the
market), yet of course it renders the village more worthy of a
visit.
The picturesque and ivy-covered ruin is all that remains of the
feudal castle where Gabrielle d'Estrelle [Footnote: So the oldest
inhabitant said!] lived and loved, and whither the renowned Henry
IV. (the object of that love) came over from his castle at Pau on
frequent visits.
The church, with its Campan marble porch, is celebrated for the
image of the Virgin which it contains, and which is greatly
reverenced in the neighbourhood.
Asté was honoured with a long visit from Pitton de Tournefort, a
celebrated French naturalist, and the fact is commemorated by an
engraved tablet affixed to the house in which he passed his nights.
The tablet is on the left-hand side of the main street (going
towards Gerde), and the inscription--which is in verse--runs as
follows:--
"Pitton de Tournefort dans cet humble réduit,
De ses fatigues de jour se reposait la nuit.
Lorsqu' explorant nos monts qu'on ignorait encore,
Ce grand homme tressait la couronne de flore."
MDCCCXXXII. M.B.
Which might be translated--
"Pitton de Tournefort when tired for the day,
In this hole made his bed, on a shakedown of hay.
Our hills, long despised, he was pleased to explore,
And we thank him for lib'rally paying the score!"
1832.
Taking the path leading to the right, we managed by dint of a
little wading to reach Gerde, a village possessing little internal
interest besides the neat church, but otherwise known to fame from
the "palomières," or pigeon-traps, worked between the trees which
fringe the hills above it. During the autumn, when the pigeons are
migrating, huge nets are spread between the trees, and on the approach
of a flock, men, perched in a lofty "crow's nest," throw out a large
wooden imitation of a hawk, at the sight of which the pigeons dip in
their flight and rush into the nets, which--worked on the pulley
system--immediately secure them. There are three species taken in the
traps: the wood pigeon, the ringed wood pigeon, and the wild dove.
Leaving Gerde by the principal thoroughfare, we came back to
Bagnères by the Toulouse road, passing the Cattle Market--held in a
triangular space shaded with trees--on the left; and the Géruzet
Marble Works, and later the Parish Church, on the right.
[Illustration: PALOMIÈRES DE GERDE.]
With the exception of the baths or Thermes, we did not find many
places of interest in the town. The old Jacobin tower, surmounted
by a clock, in the Rue de l'Horloge, is all that remains of a
convent built in the 15th century, but is in a good state of
preservation. The theatre is part of what was formerly the "Chapel
of St. John," used by the Templars. The porch over the doorway was
erected in the 13th century, and is of the Transition style,
utterly incongruous to the use now made of it; but this kind of
sacrilege is unhappily now becoming of common occurrence! Leaving
the theatre, in a short space we were in the "Place des Thermes,"
where the New Casino is being built among the shrubs on the right.
The "Grand Etablissement," which occupies the centre of the
"Place," contains seven different springs, and there is another in
the circular building outside, the latter being only used for
drinking purposes. On the first floor of the building are the
library (to the left), the geological room (in the centre), and the
picture gallery (to the right). The corridors leading to the first
and last are panelled with good specimens of the Pyrenean marbles,
and in the same room with the pictures is a supposed model of a
section of the Pyrenees--anybody gaining any information from it
deserves a prize.
To the left of this establishment stands the "Hospice Civil," a
fine building in grey stone.
The Carmelite Church, on the left of the road leading to Mount
Olivet, where several pleasant villas are situated, is now closed,
the "order" having been dispersed two years ago; so nothing is to
be seen there of interest except the sculpture representing the
"miracle of the loaves" over the door.
One institution must not be forgotten, viz, the afternoon tea or
coffee at Madame Cheval's. This good lady presides over a
confectioner's shop opposite the end of the Hôtel (Beau Séjour), in
the Rue du Centre. Her cakes and coffee are good, and, thanks to
our enlightened instructions, anyone taking some tea to her can
have it properly made, and be provided with the necessary adjuncts
for enjoying it; cream even being attainable if ordered the
previous day. We spent many a pleasant half-hour there, and can
well recommend others to follow our example.
Towards the end of the month Mr. H---- and his daughters moved on
to Luchon, as their time was limited; and the last week saw the
departure of Mrs. Willesden and Miss Leonards for England, whereat
Bigorre was as tearful and miserable as a steady downpour could
make it. I had serious thoughts of moving on to Luchon for two or
three days myself, and a driver who had brought two men thence over
the Col d'Aspin, offered to take me back for twenty francs, but
learning next day that there were five feet of snow on the Col, and
that Luchon was wretchedly cold, I decided to wait till later on, a
decision in no way regretted.
Although during the latter part of our stay the weather was
agreeable, and the influence of spring manifest, I was not sorry
when the day for moving forward arrived, and though Madame Cheval,
when I broke the news to her over my solitary cup of coffee, looked
as concerned as she could, and murmured something to the effect
that "all her customers were going away," yet with the assurance
that some day soon a party of us would pay her a visit, she managed
to smile again!
CHAPTER III.
LOURDES.
The Journey to Tarbes--The Buffet and the Nigger--Lourdes Station
in the Wet--Importunate "Cochers"--Hôtel des Pyrénées--"Red tape"
and Porters--Lourdes in Sunshine--Sightseeing--The "Rue de la
Grotte"--"The Cry of the Lourdes Shopkeepers"--Candle-sellers--The
Grotto--Abject Reverence--The Church--St. Bernard--Interior of
Church--The Panorama--Admirable Effect--Rue du Fort--The Castle--
The View from the Tower--Pie de Mars, or Ringed Ousels.
The railway run from Bigorre to Lourdes is by no means a long one,
the actual distance being only twenty-six and a quarter miles, and
actual time in the train about one and a half hours, but the break
at Tarbes considerably prolongs it.
The early morning had been wet, and showers continued till the
afternoon, but the sun condescended to come out as the train wound
slowly out of the station, and the lights and shades up the valley
and hillsides were delightful. Having the anticipatory pleasure of
meeting Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney again at Lourdes; and a
lovely view of the beauties of spring when I looked out of the
window, the time did not take long to pass. One particularly pretty
bit of meadow, trees, and stream led to the building of an airy
castle, which the sudden appearance of the spires and roofs of
Tarbes--suggesting the return to bustle and the haunts of men--soon
banished, and the arrival in the station and the necessary change
eradicated completely.
Thirty-five minutes to wait. Too little to see the town, too much
for twiddling one's thumbs. Then what? Glorious inspiration! The
Buffet! Capital; and into the Buffet I accordingly went. Seated at
a table, a nigger, slightly white about the finger tips, but
otherwise quite genuine--no Moore and Burgess menial--appeared to
do my bidding. "What would Monsieur take? Café?"--"Oui." "Café noir
ou café au lait?" I decided on taking the coffee with milk, adding
that anything in the biscuit line would not be amiss, and away he
went grinning. He soon returned with cakes and coffee, and by dint
of taking my time I had barely finished when it was time to start.
Again I managed to secure a carriage to myself, but this time it
proved a very badly coupled one which jolted considerably. Lourdes
was reached in a wretched drizzle, and the benefit conferred on
passengers by having the station _quite_ free from any covering
whatever, was _apparent_ to all. A sudden activity on the part of
the "cochers" to entrap me to their respective (but by no means
necessarily respectable) hotels, as I emerged from the station--
which proved useless--and I was jolting onward to the Hôtel des
Pyrénées. When arrived, inspected rooms, ordered fires and dinner,
and whiled away an hour till it was time to repair again to the
station, to meet Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney, "Red tape"-ism
dominant there, as it is everywhere in France. In fact, "red tape"
is the French official's refuge. Whenever a system is weak or
underhand, they seek protection behind a maze of stupidity and
fuss. I wanted to see the station-master, to obtain permission to
perambulate the platform till the arrival of the train. No porter
would bestir himself to find this great official, but whichever way
I turned one was always ready with his "Où allez-vous, Monsieur?"
to which the only sensible reply would have been "Pas au ----, comme
vous," but silence and an utter indifference were better still, and
armed with these I ran the gauntlet of the pests, and finding the
"Chef de Gare" in his "bureau," at once received the desired
permission. There was not much time for perambulation, as the train
soon steamed in, though without Mr. Sydney, who was detained for a
day or two longer, and once more, but now a triangular party, we
jolted back to the hotel. The rest of the evening was passed with
dinner, and an endeavour to get warm; the rain and wind still
enjoying themselves without.
[Illustration]
However, with the morn all these miseries vanished, and the sun
shone from a blue sky flecked with a few films of snow. Lourdes
looked very charming under such auspices, and Miss Blunt availed
herself of the balmy air of the morning to wander round the stables
and garden with a speckled pointer and a Pyrenean puppy, between
which and the mountains her attention was divided, though the last
named had certainly the least of it.
Then out we sallied to see the sights, which are more of quality
than quantity. Turning to the right from the hotel door, through
the Place de Marcadal, where the fountain was playing in delightful
imitation of the previous night's rain, we gained the commencement
of the Rue de la Grotte (which bears sharply to the left by the
Hôtel de Paris), and followed its muddy ways with more or less
danger owing to absence of footpath, and presence of numerous
carriages. However, having passed the Hôtel d'Angleterre and the
end of Rue du Fort (leading to the ancient castle), footpaths came
into view, but the joy of the discovery was much minimized at the
sight of the shops and shopkeepers, as the latter gave us no peace.
It was one ceaseless bother to buy, mostly in French; but one
damsel, confident of success assailed us in whining English,
running up and down before her wares, and seizing different objects
in quick succession, while continuing to praise their beauty and
cheapness. Every shop or stall we passed--and there were a good
many--had an inmate more or less importunate, but as what they had
to say was very similar, it can be all embodied in the following
"CRY OF THE LOURDES SHOPKEEPERS."
This way, if you please, miss; and madame, this way;
Kind sir, pause a moment, and see.
Oh! tell me, I beg, what's your pleasure to-day?
Pray enter--the entrance is free.
Some candles? I've nice ones at half a franc each,
Or thirty centimes, if you will.
Some tins, each with lids fitted tight as a leech,
For you, with blest water to fill.
And look at these beads, only forty centimes,
All carved, and most beautif'ly neat.
I've "charms" that will give you the sweetest of dreams,
And _bénitiers_ lovely and sweet.
A cross of pure ivory. Photographs too.
--No good?--You want nothing to-day?--
Alas! what on earth must poor shopkeepers do?
Oh, kindly buy something, I pray!
One candle? You must have _one_ candle to burn
When into the grotto you tread.
Not one? Not a little one? Onward you turn!
Bah! may miseries light on your head!!
As soon as the shops were passed, and even before, women besieged
us with packets of candles, and it was with great difficulty we
made them understand the word No! Then, leaving the Hôtels de la
Grotte and Latapie on the right, and the "Panorama" on the opposite
side, we wound down towards the river and the grotto.
To us, it would be hard to conceive anything more pitiable or
repulsive than the scene which met our gaze as we passed at the
base of the church and came in full view of the grotto. An
irregular opening in the dull grey stone going back only a few
feet, with the moisture oozing over it here and there, and the ivy
and weeds adding picturesqueness to what would otherwise be
commonplace; in an elevated niche on the right, a figure of the
Virgin in white robes and blue sash; in front, on the left, a
covered marble cistern, with taps; and innumerable crutches and
candles, were all the unsuperstitious eye could see. But to those
poor wretches gathered round in prayer, influenced by the "light-
headed" dreams of a poor swineherd, the spot was the holiest of
holy ground. The abject reverence of their attitudes, the stand of
flaming and guttering candles, the worship and kissing of the rough
wet stones, the pious drinking of the cistern's water as they came
away--a few pausing to buy some "blest" token of their visit at the
adjacent shop--and the solemn silence that reigned over all, were
the chief features that made the scene one from which we were only
too glad to turn away. Taking the zigzag path among the pleasant
trees and shrubs, on the right, we soon reached the level of the
Gothic church, which we entered from the farther end. Ascending the
steps, the two statues on either side of the porch came in view,
but neither repaid a nearer inspection; St. Bernard, on the left,
looking about as dejected and consumptive as anyone, priest or
layman, well could. The church itself, from a Roman Catholic
standpoint, must be considered very fine, but the adoration of the
Virgin to the almost complete disregard of her subjection to "Our
Saviour" is most apparent. The windows and many of the altars are
beautiful, and so are many of the banners, while the high altar is
a great work of art; but the _unreligious_ tone that this striving
after effect produces, but without which the religion--or so-called
religion--would soon cease to exist, struck us as we entered, and
increased with every step. It was as if to say, "Look at these
lovely things, feast your eyes on them, and let their beauty be the
mainspring to inspire you with faith." There was no appeal to the
true religion of the soul, that springs from the heart in a clear
stream, and which no tinsel banners, no elaborate statues, and no
flaming candles, can quicken or intensify!
Leaving the church by the high road, with the Convent and "Place,"
--with its neat walks and grass plots,--on the left, we proceeded to
the "Panorama," where, our admiration having been tempered by the
payment of a franc each, we spent an enjoyable quarter of an hour.
The painting as a whole--representing Lourdes twenty-five years
ago--is most effective, and the effect is heightened by the
admirable combination with real earth, and grass, and trees. The
grouping of the figures round the grotto, representing the scene at
the eighteenth appearance of the Virgin to Bernadette--who is the
foremost figure kneeling in the grotto--is particularly fine; but
how that huge crowd standing there were content with Bernadette's
assertion that she saw the vision, when none of them saw anything
but the stones, is a practical question that few probably could
answer, and least of all the priests. [Illustration] Returning by
the way we had come, we bore up the Rue du Fort to inspect the old
castle--or all that remained of it--and enjoy the view. After some
two hundred yards of this narrow street, painfully suggestive, in
the vileness of its odours, of Canton's narrower thoroughfares, we
reached the steps leading up on the left, and commenced the ascent.
As it was, we did not find it very difficult work, though if a
rifle had been levelled from every slit in the two-foot walls, it
is probable that before _two_ of the nearly two hundred steps had
been surmounted, we would have been levelled also. Passing between
once impregnable walls (where English soldiers also passed in days
of yore), we crossed the now harmless-looking drawbridge and rang
the bell. A woman opened the door and requested us to enter, a
request which evidently met with the approbation of two diminutive
youngsters, whose faces were dimpled with smiles wherever the fat
would allow. Keeping along the right wall in the direction of the
pig-sties (O! shades of the Black Prince!!!) we were greeted with
the musical tones of the "porkers" and many _sweet_ odours. Having
entered one of the prisons at the base of the tower for a moment,
we next followed the ever-winding steps till fairly giddy, and
reached the top. Thence the view was exceedingly fine. We seemed to
be at the meeting-point of four valleys, and the snow peaks in the
direction of Argelès were free from clouds. The whole of Lourdes
lay like a map beneath; the church with the "Calvary" on the hill
over against it, the river sparkling in the sunlight, the Pic de
Jer with its brown sides, and the winding roads with the green
fields and budding trees, joining to make a pleasant picture.
Descending again to the hotel, we partook of a capital lunch, of
which the "pie de mars," or ringed ousel--a bird of migratory
habits, little known in our isles (except in a few parts of
Scotland), but considered a great delicacy here--formed a part.
After this, Miss Blunt once again devoted herself to the Pyrenean
puppy, till the carriage came round and we took our departure.
CHAPTER IV
ARGELÈS.
Road v. Rail--Scenes, sublime and ridiculous--Hôtel d'Angleterre--
Questions and "The Argelès Shepherd's Reply"--A forbidden path--The
ride to Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous--Argelès church--Route
Thermale--Ges--The tree in the path--"A regular fix"--Serres--"
It's a stupid foal that doesn't know its own mother "--A frothing
stream--A fine view--Pigs in clover--Salluz--Ourous--Contented
villagers--The high road--The bridge on the Pierrefitte road--
Advice to sketchers--"Spring's Bitters and Sweets"--The "witch of
the hills"--Large green lizards--"Jeannette's Lamb"--Round the
Argelès valley--Château de Beaucens--Villelongue--Soulom--The old
church--Hôtel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--St. Savin--The verger and
the ancient church--Cagots--"The Organ's Tale"--St. Savin's tomb--
The Château de Miramont--Jugged izard--Market-day--Sour bread and
the remedy--Arrival of the first parcel.
Although the railway line takes very nearly the same route as the
carriage road, the drive is decidedly preferable, and when it can
be undertaken for ten francs--as in our case--there is little to
choose between the modes of conveyance on the score of cheapness,
especially as a landau can carry a very fair quantity of luggage.
We considered ourselves amply repaid for our choice as we wound
underneath the rocky crags and by the side of the river, anon
ascending the curve of a small hill with the fresh fields below, a
little church or ivied ruin standing out on the mountain-side, and
high above all, the snowy summits so majestic and so intensely
white. There was occasionally a ridiculous side to the picture too,
when we put a flock of sheep in rapid motion in a wrong direction
and the luckless shepherd had to start in hot pursuit--using the
politest of language; or, again, when some natives on tiny donkeys
or skittish mules came by, their faces breaking into a respectful
grin as they wished us "bon jour." Skirting the railway line for a
short distance, we drove into Argelès rather unexpectedly, our ride
having seemed all too short. However, there was our hotel--the
Grand Hôtel d'Angleterre (everything is grand now-a-days)--standing
boldly by the road, with the quaint, though poor-looking village
about it, and for another few days that was to be our abode.
[Illustration] This hotel, though possessing less of a reputation
than the Hôtel de France, nevertheless commands a finer view on all
sides, and is a pleasanter abode on that account. The afternoon was
still young when we arrived, so as soon as we had stowed our
luggage we sallied out for a walk along the road to Pierrefitte. A
short way from the hotel, an old shepherd was standing in the
middle of the road leaning on his staff, with his flock of sheep
all round him, and the dog lolling idly on the grass. The tall
poplars by the roadside waking into life, the merry stream
meandering at their feet, and the back ground of mountains tipped
with snow, filled up the scene. We accosted the old man with a
good-day, and asked him several questions about the weather and
himself, all of which he answered in a genial way, and which strung
together made up
"THE ARGELÈS SHEPHERD'S REPLY."
Good-day, sir! The weather, sir; will it be wet?
You see, sir, I hardly can say,
We gen'rally know at the earliest dawn
What weather we'll have in the day;
But at night--in these mountains--I couldn't be sure,
And I'd rather not tell you, sir, wrong.
And yet, what does a day here or there make to you?
If it rains, 'twill be fine before long.
Have I always looked after the sheep, sir? Why, No!
I've served in the army, sir, sure.
Let me see--ah!--it's now thirty summers ago
Since those hardships we had to endure.
Ay, I fought with your soldiers 'mid bleak Russia's snow,
Half numb'd in the trenches I worked,
And suffered what few of you gents, sir, would know,
But somehow, we none of us shirked.
Was I wounded, sir? No, sir! thank Goodness for that,
Though I've seen some stiff fighting, 'tis true.
In Africa 'twasn't all sunshine and play,
And in Austria we'd plenty to do.
Do I like being a shepherd, sir, roaming the hills,
Just earning enough to buy bread?
Well, I wouldn't have cared all my days, for the ills
And the life that as soldier I led.
No, sir! no! though 'twas well enough then, Peace, you see,
Is the best when one's hair's turning grey!
Will I drink your good health, sir? Ay, proud I shall be,
And, thanking you kindly--Good-day!!!
Strolling on, we soon reached the bridge over the River Gave
d'Azun, and leaving the old structure "whose glory has departed" on
the right, we crossed over and continued along the road for a short
distance, till we noticed a lane leading off to the left, which we
followed. This in time bore further round in the same direction and
suddenly ended at the entrance to a field. However, keeping
straight on, we came in view of the river's bank and to this we
kept, recrossing by the railway bridge below, and then back by the
fields home, completing a round none the less pleasant because a
captious critic might have called it trespassing.
As lovely a ride or walk as can well be imagined, even by an
imagination as fertile as this lovely valley, passes by way of the
four villages of Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous. Although the
weather was rather unsettled, we started one morning about 9.15,
and following the road towards Lourdes for about two hundred yards,
took the sharp turn to the left (with the telegraph wires) up into
the town. Gaining the church, we bore along to the right into the
open "Place," at the left corner of which the Route Thermale to
Eaux Bonnes and Eaux Chaudes begins. For about half a mile this was
our road also, but after that distance, the Ges route branched off
to the right, and the views of Argelès, and the rest of the valley
from it, as we wound upwards, were particularly lovely. The horses
were very fresh, having only lately been brought from the
mountains, after a winter of idleness, and they walked at a fast
pace fretting at any stoppage whatever, which they did not
endeavour to disguise, any more than their inclination to shy at
anything they possibly could. As far as Ges the way is easy to
follow, but it is wise to inquire frequently afterwards, as so many
equally important (this importance is decidedly on the negative
side) looking paths branch off in every direction. The good people
we saw in Ges, a village of thatched cottages looking the worse for
rain, said we should find the "road vile," but this did not daunt
us, and with a "bon jour" we passed on. We had not gone very far,
however, when to our dismay we saw a huge tree right across the
road. Our position was an awkward one. The road was rather narrow
and without any protection; there was only the steep hillside
above, and the steep hillside below. To go up was quite
impracticable, to go down was destruction! My horse approached the
impediment very quietly, and allowed me to break off several of the
worst branches, and then scramble by. Miss Blunt's horse came close
up to it as though intending to pass quietly, but, instead, wheeled
round on the extreme edge of the path in anything but a pleasant
fashion, either for the rider or the observer. [Illustration]
Dismounting and tying my steed to one of the branches on the near
side of the road, I held back as many of the others as possible,
and the horse came up quietly again, but repeated the disagreeable
business, still more dangerously. Having broken off several more,
and again pulled back the others, the skittish animal consented to
pass. But in passing he bent down a very pliant bough, which, when
released, flew back and hit my peaceful steed sharply on the legs.
For a few seconds his efforts to get free were--to put it mildly--
unpleasantly severe, especially as he became with each effort more
entangled in the tree. When the reins were at length unknotted, he
quieted a little, and after being led a few yards, submitted to be
mounted very peaceably, and we descended, with the fresh leaves
above and below us, into Serres. Here we had occasion to remark
that "It's a stupid foal that doesn't know its own mother," as one
pretty little thing would persist in following our steeds, until a
sturdy "paysanne" turned it back. The correct route all this time
was the upper one (or that to the left), and we now came to a very
lovely bit, where two swift frothing streams dashed down beneath
the trees, near a small saw-mill. A fine view up the valley behind
us, to the snow peaks towering over the ruddy hill-tops, was
enjoyed, as we continued along the ascending and uneven path. In
the fields above, some shepherds were driving a flock of sheep, and
a woman, reposing under a huge blue gingham, was watching the
vigorous onslaught of several pigs in a small clover patch. A few
villagers, in their Sunday best, stood by the wayside discussing
some topic with languid interest, which they dropped, to wish us
"bon jour" and tell us the road. More lovely effects of light and
shade over the hills towards Pierrefitte, with filmy clouds
shrouding the tallest summits, and here and there a glimpse of the
blue sky, and we passed into the straggling hamlet of Salluz, after
which the path branched up--still to the left--through the trees.
Winding down again, we came to Ourous, to which apparently the
inhabitants from all the other villages had come, dressed in their
Sunday best, to mass. "Young men and maidens, old men and
children," women tottering with extreme age, were all assembled
round about the old church, looking contented and happy, smiling,
and wishing us a "bon jour" as we rode in a circular direction
through the village, till we reached a spot where the road forks,
the one to the right leading to Argelès, the one to the left to
Lourdes. The former looked so stony that we chose the other, and
had not gone very far before a smooth and broader path to the right
(from which a grand view of the whole valley opened before us)
brought us down to a few houses, between which we passed, and
reached the high-road. A good trot along this, by the side of the
railway line, and we were back at the hotel, convinced that the
badness of the road and all drawbacks were amply--and more than
amply--outweighed by the succession of beautiful scenery.
Two walks, one ending in rather a scramble, branch off immediately
below the bridge, on the Pierrefitte road. The one we took, at a
respectable hour of the morning, which ascends the left side of the
mound, is the prettier by far, as it discloses lovely glimpses at
every turn. We followed it till it branched off in two directions
(the one to the left being the real continuation), but at this
point we turned off into a field, deep in grass and studded with
flowers, where some comfortable-looking boulders invited us to
rest. Miss Blunt,--whose soul thrills with delight at the vastness
and beauty of nature,--never allowed opportunities of committing
the choicest bits to canvas or paper, to escape her; and, some
picturesque display having caught her eye, directly she had located
herself on an accommodating boulder, she was at work. Herrick's
good advice, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may--Old Time is still a-
flying," might be adapted, she thinks, to sketchers in mountainous
regions, and she speaks from bitter experience when she suggests:
"Paint in your snow-peaks while you may,
If clouds are quickly flying,
For those heights now in bright display
May soon in mist be lying."
The beauty of the scene was without alloy, the colouring splendid,
and up the road above us, beyond which rose the hill, a shepherd
was leading his flock of sheep, now and then clapping his hands or
shouting to a straggler, but as a rule walking quietly on, the
whole flock following in a continuous line. Not wishing to be idle,
I took out my pencil to indulge in a poetic eulogy. How far I
succeeded may be judged from the following lines, which might be
called
"SPRING'S BITTERS AND SWEETS."
Here on a moss-grown boulder sitting,
Watching the graceful swallows flitting,
Hearing the cuckoo's note.
Sheep on the hills around me feeding,
While in their piteous accents pleading,
The lambkins' bleatings float.
--Oh, dear! a fly gone down my throat.
Spring's gentle influence all things feeling,
New life o'er hill and valley stealing:
Buttercups, daisies fair,
Studding the meadow, sweetly smiling,
Bees with their hum the hours beguiling,
Breezes so soft and rare.
--Oh, what a fearful wasp was there!
Grand is the view from this grey boulder,
Each high snow-peak, each rocky shoulder:
Charming, yet wild, the sight.
Cherry-trees, with white blossom laden,
And 'neath their shade a peasant maiden,
Comely her costume bright.
--Oh, how these impish ants do bite!
Onward the winding river's flowing,
Its spray-splashed stones in sunshine glowing,
The peaceful oxen by.
From the tall trees the magpies' warning,
As on their nests intent, our presence scorning,
From branch to branch they fly.
--Oh! there's an insect in my eye.
I've done: such pests one really can't defy.
Miss Blunt couldn't defy them either, so, as it was getting near
luncheon-time besides, we retraced our steps, but had not gone very
far before we suffered a severe disappointment. Some fifty yards
below us in the path stood a seeming counterpart of "Madge
Wildfire"; a wild, weird, wizened looking creature, whom we
immediately recognised as a "witch of the hills." Her hair unkempt,
her bodice hanging in tatters from her shoulders, her patched and
threadbare petticoat barely fastened round what should have been
her waist (and a _waste_ it was) by a hook and eye held by a few
threads--even such as this, up the path she came. But what a
miserable failure she was! When she came close to us, instead of
pouring out a torrent of mad words, telling of her woes and wrongs,
or at any rate breaking into a disgusting whine such as
"Oh, gentles, I am mad and old,
My dress is worn and thin;
Oh, give me one small piece of gold!
To clothe my wretched skin;"
she didn't even offer to tell our fortunes, but passed timidly by.
It was enough to have disappointed a saint! and we were only
restored to a pleasant frame of mind by finding Mr. Sydney at the
hotel on our return.
[Illustration]
In the afternoon we took the other path--previously mentioned as
branching off below the bridge over the Gave d'Azun,--which leading
sharply to the right, passes beside the river for a short distance,
and then leads among the fields, finally--like others in Argelès--
losing itself there. Just as the poplars which run with it ceased,
we had a lovely view up a dip between two fertile hills, to the
snow-peaks near Barèges; a narrow path skirts the side of the hill,
on the right, in the direction of the morning's sketching ground,
but this we did not take, making, instead, for the hill standing
immediately above the river. Up this a certain distance we
clambered--scaring a few large green lizards that were sunning
themselves on the stones,--by a sheep track we managed to discover,
till we could look down on a mass of tangled brushwood by the
riverside. Scrambling down to this through the wild vines and
briars, we succeeded, after many fruitless attempts, in gaining the
water's edge. There was no place to cross and the current was far
too swift to attempt jumping, so we had to turn back. While
deliberating on the right path, a little girl, looking very
wretched, with blurred face and torn clothes, came round a corner,
and asked us if we had seen a lamb anywhere. We were sorry we
hadn't, very sorry indeed; all we could do was to endeavour to
recollect a rhyme and adapt it to her case, that we learnt in the
nursery when we were something under fifteen, and, although it
didn't seem to assuage her grief much--probably because she didn't
understand a word of English--we think it ought to be quoted in
case it should be useful to others.
JEANNETTE'S LAMB.
Jeannette had a naughty lamb,
That looked like dirty snow;
And wherever Jeannette went
That lamb would never go.
It wandered from her care one day,
(Oh, stupid little fool!)
It made her cry her heart away
While searching brake and pool.
And Jeannette tore her dress to rags,
And scratched her hands and face;
But of her dirty little lamb
She couldn't find a trace.
The lamb fell in the river deep,
But Jeannette never knew.
Though Satan finds some mischief still,
For little lambs to do.
However, she listened very submissively till we had finished, and
then wandered off again still searching for her lamb, while we
retraced our steps.
There is a drive round the Argelès valley, which on a fine day is
simply splendid, and ought certainly not to be missed. At ten a.m.
a landau with two good horses was at the door, and away we went
towards Argelès station, across the line, over a new piece of road,
and then across a rather shaky, but wholly quaint, wooden bridge
(under which flows the Gave de Pau) to the base of the hills. As we
continued along this road in the direction of Pierrefitte, the
views of the mountains on the Argelès side were especially fine.
The Pic d'Arrens (7435 ft.) and the Col de Tortes (5903 ft.), with
the wild Pic de Gabizos (8808 ft.) with its toothed summits, behind
it--in the direction of Eaux Bonnes: over Pierrefitte the Pic de
Soulom (5798 ft.), the Pic de Viscos (7025 ft.), and far up the
Cauterets valley the Cabaliros (7655 ft.), the Pic de Labassa (9781
ft.), and the Pyramide de Peyrelance (8800 ft. about). An
especially interesting part arrives, as the road approaches the
wonderful old ruin of the Château de Beaucens (with "oubliettes"
towers, a "donjon" of the 14th century, and west walls of the 16th
ditto), which stands on the left, not far from the village of the
same name. Crossing the river again, we just managed to pass over
some newly-laid road, to the village of Villelongue--above which,
on the left, towers the imposing Pic de Villelongue--and soon after
found ourselves beside the river again at the foot of the Pic de
Soulom, where it is very lovely, and crossing another bridge,
reached Soulom itself. It seemed to us an old and somewhat dirty
town--not to say filthy--but the church is worthy of a visit. It
was formerly fortified, and the construction of the belfry--if such
it can be called--is curious. The inscription over the door, "This
is the house of God and the gate of heaven," written in Latin,
seems somewhat grotesque for such a building, although the dome is
painted to represent the sky in all the "intensity" of a starlight
night. A few yards along the road and we stood on the bridge over
the "Gave de Cauterets," at the other side of which is Pierrefitte
--and from which point the scenery is especially grand. Passing the
Hôtel de la Poste (recommended) on the left, and the way to the
station on the right, we bore up the hill in the former direction,
towards St. Savin.
This old place--in fact the oldest village in the valley--is an
easy walk from Argelès, and should certainly not be excluded from a
visit. Having passed the dismantled Château de Despourrins and the
statue at the roadside erected in the poet's (Despourrins') honour,
we had a grand glimpse of the valley below; and, leaving behind the
Chapelle de Piétad (16th century), which stands on a point above
the road, we entered the village. The street leading to the ancient
Roman Church is ancient too, reminding one, in the curious
construction of the houses, of Chester, the style of supporting the
upper part on wooden beams, reaching over the road, and leaving a
passage beneath, being very similar. The church has been restored
and is in capital preservation. As there were so many objects of
interest, chiefly connected with the great St. Savin himself, we
sent for the verger, sexton, bellringer, parish beadle, or whatever
the "goîtreux" individual called himself, and paid great attention
to all he had to say. Although a good deal was quite unintelligible,
the following are some of the most interesting facts. Entering
at the small side door, immediately within stands a curious
and very old bénitier (font), with two curious individuals
carved in the stone supporting the basin. These are supposed to
represent two "Cagots," a despised race for whom the font itself
was constructed. Very few people know anything about their origin,
but they were greatly detested by the inhabitants of the country,
and not even allowed to worship in the same church, or use the same
"holy water" as the rest. They still exist about Gavarnie and a few
other spots, and we hope to learn more of them. The old battered
organ next presents itself to the view, with the long flight of
steps leading up to it, but as it wished to tell its own story,
without further description behold
"THE ORGAN'S TALE."
Good people who gaze at my ruinous state,
Don't lift up your noses and sneer:
I've a pitiful story I wish to relate,
And, I pray you, believe me sincere.
I was young, I was "sweet," in the years that are gone,
The breath through my proud bosom rolled,
And I loved to peal forth as the service went on,
O'er the heads of the worshipping fold.
How time speeds along! Three whole centuries--yes!--
Have passed since the day of my birth;
And, good people, I thought myself then, you may guess,
The loveliest organ on earth.
Such pipes and such stops! and a swell--such a swell!!!
My music rang under the dome;
And the way that I held the old folks 'neath my spell
You should know; but alas! they've gone "home."
Then my varnish was bright, and my panels were gay
With devices both script'ral and quaint;
I frightened the _sinner_ with hair turning grey,
But charmed into rapture the _saint_.
Those faces once painted so brightly would smile,
And put out their tongues at my voice;
As the pedals were played, they would wag all the while,
And the children below would rejoice.
Now is it not sad to have once been so grand,
And now to be shattered and old?
To look but a ruin up here, where I stand
Decidedly out in the cold?
Each "pipe is put out," and my "stops" are no more,
I belong to a "period" remote;
And as to the tongues that wagged freely of yore,
They have long disappeared down the throat.
My pedals are broken or gone quite awry,
My "keys"--you may "note"--are now dust;
No longer a "swell"--not as faint as a sigh--
While my bellows, good people, are "bust."
I am twisted and worn, in a ruinous state,
But prythee, good people, don't sneer!
My joys and my sorrows I've tried to relate,
And in judging me don't be severe!!!
Leaving the organ, and passing behind the "high altar," we beheld
the tomb of the redoubtable saint, who is supposed to have been
shut up there at the end of the 10th century, though the gilt
ornament (?) above is some four centuries younger. The set of old
paintings to the right and left represent scenes in the good man's
life, who, if he had only changed the _i_ in his name to _o_--and
the king would have agreed readily--by the perpetual allusion to
_Savon_, would perhaps have done much for the natives generally.
The robing-room, wherein the head of the revered man is kept in a
casket, and the "Salle du Chapitre," with quaint carvings of the
12th century, beyond, are other places of interest.
The "Château de Miramont," which adjoins, is now used as a convent
(or college), and visitors are not permitted to inspect it. We
bought a lithographed print of the church and its environs for half
a franc, from our round-backed guide, besides depositing a
"douceur" in his horny palm, and consequently parted with him on
the best of terms. The road for some distance being rather steep,
we preferred to walk and let the carriage follow, but when nearing
the junction with the Pierrefitte road, we mounted again and bowled
along at a smart pace over the well-known bridge to the hotel.
There was nothing striking about our hotel life, although we found
it pleasant, being a "parti carré." We were generally the sole
partakers of the table-d'hôte, at which the food was excellent, the
jugged chamois (izard) being especially good. Light, however, was
at a premium. It may have been all out of compliment, to bear
testimony to our being "shining lights" ourselves; still, for all
that, we should have been glad to forego the politeness, and
receive, instead, a reinforcement of lamps.
Argelès itself is a peculiar old place; though devoid of much
interest, except on market-days. The curious houses and towers, the
street watercourses (as at Bagnères de Bigorre), the church, and
the strange chapel-like building now used as a diocesan college,
are all that is noteworthy even, excepting the "State schools,"
built three years ago.
On a Tuesday, when the market is in full swing, the square in front
of the post-office looks bright and cheerful, and vegetables
flourish. We took a very pleasant walk after passing through the
stalls, and down past the Hôtel de France. The route we followed
leads to the right, close by the new State schools, among some poor
cottages, where it turns sharply in the opposite direction, and
runs down beside some fine old chestnut trees to the river.
Continuing, the track leads up a fine glen, with views of the snow-
peaks towards Eaux Bonnes, which well repaid our walk.
Returning again by the town, we wandered about through the narrow
streets, taking a farewell survey before leaving for Cauterets,
whither we were next intent.
There is another episode connected with Argelès, that will live in
our memories, and it is one that future travellers, methinks, may
have reason to appreciate, if not to endorse.
Everybody learns from unhappy experience how sour the bread is
throughout the Pyrenees, only excepting two or three resorts, and
as we were aware of the fact before leaving Pau, we arranged with
Monsieur Kern, of the Austrian Bakery, Rue de la Préfecture, to
send us a certain amount of bread every day. The first night at
Argelès was spent without it, but on the evening of the following
day a packet was brought into the drawing-room, where we were
assembled, and at the magical word "bread" every eye brightened,
and every face relaxed into a smile. Let no one cavil. This was one
of the episodes that link Argelès to us with a pleasant charm.
CHAPTER V.
CAUTERETS.
Hotel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--The Gorge--Its majestic beauty--The
resemblance to the Llanberis Pass--Mrs. Blunt becomes poetical--Zinc
mines--Le Pont de Médiabat--Entering the town--The Rue Richelieu and
Hôtel du Parc--Winter's seal upon them still--Thermes des
Oeufs--Thermes de César--The Casino and Esplanade des Oeufs--A good
dinner and the menu--The start for the Col de Riou--The Grange de la
Reine Hortense--The pines--Miss Blunt's "exhortation to the first
snow"--The dogs and their gambols--Defeated, but not discouraged--To
the Cérizey Cascade--The baths of La Raillère, Petit St. Sauveur, and
Le Pré--Cascade du Lutour--The Marcadau gorge--Scenery--Pic de
Gaube--At the Cérizey Cascade--The Pont d'Espagne and Lac de
Gaube--Pont de Benqués--Lutour Valley--Various excursions up same--The
"Pare"--Allées de Gambasque--The Peguère--The "Pagoda" Villa--Promenade
du Mamelon Vert--The road's up again--Blows and blasts--The bishop's
arrival--Enthusiasm, pomposity, and benedictions--The pilgrims at
large--They start on an excursion--The market and Hôtel de Ville--The
grocer's opinion--Pyrenean dogs and their treatment--The
dog-fancier--Smiles and temper--Bargaining displaced--No dog after all!
A Landau with four horses was ready after lunch, to transport us and
our baggage to Cauterets; but having enjoyed Argelès very much, we were
none of us particularly glad at the prospect of the change. The road as
far as Pierrefitte, lovely as it is at this season of freshness,
discloses no other views than those previously described, but when we
turned sharply to the right, after passing the Hôtel de la Poste, and
began the ascent towards Cauterets, then our eyes had indeed a rich
treat. It would require the most dismal of dismal days, with sluicing
rain and clouds low down on every beautiful crag and snow-tipped
summit, to make anybody born with a soul above his dinner, complain of
the grandeur of the gorge, or impugn the unceasing variety of dashing
waterfalls, foaming river, freshly-opened leaves, white heather, and
bright, flower-decked fields.
The same wild majesty as the Llanberis Pass presents, strikes one here:
the enormous crags in threatening attitude far up the heights, the
chasms and fissures brightened by a patch of young grass or a small
tree, and, nearer the road, the scattered boulders luxuriantly covered
with moss and fern, belong to both alike; and, while the bushes of
snowy heather, the constant splash of the cascades falling over the
rocks in feathery spray, and in the distance the hoary-headed monarchs
of the range reaching up towards the sky, make this different from the
familiar Welsh scene, it is only a difference that greatly intensifies
the beauty and the charm of this Cauterets gorge.
Even Mrs. Blunt, who as a rule prefers the matter-of-fact to the
poetical, was lifted out of herself, for she suddenly clutched me by
the arm, and pointing in the distance, murmured something about
"summits proudly lifting up to the sky," and being quite unused to that
kind of thing, it took me some time to recover from the shock.
A little over three miles from Pierrefitte,--where a glimpse at the
zinc mines and the wire tram in connection with them can be
obtained--the road passes over the bridge of Médiabat, and some yards
beyond becomes identical with the old route, which until then lay below
us. The new portion (made in 1874) only extends for about two miles,
as it does not commence till after the zigzag rise from Pierrefitte
leads into the gorge, but the engineering of the whole has been
admirably carried out, and the ascent of nearly 1,700 feet in the six
miles does not tell severely on the horses. Now in an almost straight
line, now by zigzags, we gradually neared the town, the gorge widening
at the same time, though the peaks, some covered with trees, some
snow-covered, seemed to bar the way completely at no very great
distance.
We were quite close before we could really be said to have seen the
town, and ere we could form any opinion of it we drove up the Rue
Richelieu and found ourselves at the Hôtel du Parc. Monsieur
Villeneuve, the jovial and experienced host, and his pleasant spouse,
came out to welcome us, and although the hotel had only been open four
days, made us as comfortable as they could.
[Illustration: CAUTERETS.]
Cauterets (3,254 feet) was only just waking into life, only two or
three hotels, one or two hair-dressers, one confectioner's, one
tobacconist's, and one or two grocers' shops were open; while of the
bathing establishments, the "Thermes des Oeufs," the largest, and the
Thermes de César, were the only ones showing signs of renewed life.
The Esplanade des Oeufs, [Footnote: "Oeufs" because of the water's
scent resembling "rotten eggs."] a large tree-planted space in front of
the principal "thermes" (just mentioned)--which serves as casino,
concert-hall, and theatre as well--seemed utterly deserted; whereas in
summer, with the band playing, the trees in full leaf, the booths
opened, and the crowds of visitors, the scene must be the gayest of
the gay. We had just time to notice so much, on the afternoon of our
arrival, before the sun set behind the huge mountains which surround
this charming spot and the hour of dinner arrived. This dinner was so
excellent, so well cooked and served, that, although we despise with a
deep-rooted scorn the wretched class of individuals who make their
dinner their main object in life, we nevertheless consider that we are
only paying a merited tribute to the _chef_ in saying that the
cooking was always of a high standard, and quoting as a specimen the
evening's _menu_ (May 1):
SOUP.
Gravy.
FISH.
Salmon, with sliced potatoes and melted butter.
MADE DISHES.
Hashed Veal. Sauce Piquante.
Sweetbreads and green peas.
ROAST.
Chicken.
VEGETABLES.
Asparagus. Potatoes (new).
PUDDING.
Sago.
ICE, &c.
Vanilla cream.
Cheese, Jelly, and Biscuits.
When we woke the following morning, the sun shining from a cloudless
sky proclaimed an "excursion morning." Accordingly, we sent for a
guide, to inquire if a visit to the Lac de Gaube was practicable. The
guide arrived, and disappointment ensued. It was possible to go if we
didn't mind a few miles of snow, two feet deep and upwards. But we did
mind very strongly, and said so. Then the burly native spoke again, and
said that the Col de Riou was an easy trip, that we could take horses
to within a short distance of the summit, and that when we got there
the splendid view would include St. Sauveur, Argelès, Barèges,
Gavarnie, &c. &c. And we answered the burly native in his sister tongue
(_patois_ was his mother tongue), or as near to it as we could,
and said, "Have three horses ready by half-past ten at this hotel, and
we will start." Then, delighted, he smiled and bowed, and disappeared
down the street.
At eleven o'clock the cavalcade started, and a noble cavalcade it was:
Miss Blunt on a strong dark bay pony, Mr. Sydney on a similar-coloured
horse, and myself on a grey, formed the van; then came our burly friend
(by name Pont Dominique), and another guide (Berret), carrying the
lunch; and the rear was brought up by a small brindled bull-dog, and a
smaller specimen of unknown breed, which was nevertheless a capital
harmony in orange and white. In this order we left the Rue Richelieu
and ascended the Rue d'Etigny, passing under several wreaths and
crowns, with which the streets were decorated. We had previously
noticed these grand preparations on our arrival, and though sensible of
the good feeling that apparently prompted these attentions, we thought
they were somewhat superfluous. But that is (as they were) by the way.
Having soon reached the last of the houses, we gained the Rue du Pauze
Vieux, and turning sharply to the right, ascended to the two
establishments known respectively as the Pauze Vieux and Pauze Nouveau.
And here a paradox--pause, view, and be convinced! The Pauze Vieux is
the Pauze Nouveau and the Pauze Nouveau is the Pauze Vieux. Should any
well-educated citizen of any country under the sun (or daughter) be
disposed to doubt, let him examine the buildings for himself, and he
must agree.
Half-an-hour after starting we reached the cottage known as the "Grange
de la Reine Hortense," the view from which is excessively fine. Looking
down towards the town, the mighty Cabaliros (7655 ft.), forming a
semicircle, stood above on the right; to the left of this semicircle
reared up the Monné (8938 ft.), the highest mountain in the vicinity,
from which other peaks make another similar formation, ending with La
Brune, beside which, but more to the left and immediately over the
town, rises the Peguère, covered with irregularly-heaped crags, and
pines. The town itself looked very neat and compact: the Mamelon Vert
(a small hill to the right) and the chief thorough-fares being easily
distinguished. Far up the Lutour valley, to the extreme left, the Pic
de Labassa, or de la Sèbe (9781 ft.), and the Pyramide de Peyrelance
(8800 ft.), completed the chief points of the scene in that direction;
but far away in the opposite one we could easily see the Argelès valley
and the Gothic church of Lourdes. Behind us, seemingly facing the
Cabaliros, were the Col de Riou (6375 ft.), our would-be destination,
and the Pic de Viscos. Winding up the hillside, and passing banks blue
with the large and small gentian, we entered the pines, which made a
pleasant change. As at the Col d'Aspin, [Footnote: Vide Bigorre, p.
42.] the rising sap filled the air with its refreshing odour, and the
occasional glimpses of blue sky, mountain, and valley, through the
gently waving branches, were very charming.
[Illustration: ASCENT OF COL DE RIOU]
We had not proceeded very far through the trees when we reached a
break, where one of the party felt that at least something had been
gained. There, partly on the track, partly on the loose stones above
it, lay a bank of snow, and so delighted was Miss Blunt at having
attained the (present) snow-line--say about 4600 feet above sea
level--that her feelings were not to be in any way damped or
suppressed, as they burst forth in an
"EXHORTATION TO THE FIRST SNOW."
Emblem of Purity,
Chilly as Charity,
Oh, what a joy your deep whiteness to view!
Something is gain'd at last,
But you are melting fast,
Why does the cruel sun put you to stew?
Tell me, O long-lain snow,
What of the vale below?
What do you think about people and things?
Do you love forest-trees?
Or love you more the breeze?
Tell me what bird you think most sweetly sings?
What? You've no heart at all?
Cannot help where you fall,
Caring not if you swell to a huge size:
Minding not how you rush,
What you break, whom you crush?
Surely such feelings you ought to disguise.
Ah, well! we won't discuss,
Useless to make a fuss;
For, after all, I am glad that we met.
Emblem of Purity,
Chilly as Charity--
But I won't roll in you. No! you're too wet!
The two dogs were amusing in their absurdity. They were perpetually
endeavouring to detach stones from the side of the pathway, so as to
have the pleasure of pursuing them down the steep. At times, when the
hill was thickly strewn with leaves or particularly steep, they
completely disappeared, though violent pulsations among the scattered
branches and the aforesaid leaves told us they were not lost, but only
temporarily buried.
When we had barely mounted another 400 feet, we came upon regular banks
of snow, right over the path. This was quite unexpected, and we had to
decide whether to leave the horses and tramp through the snow, or to
return. We chose the latter--although the Col de Riou stood out
seemingly very practicable of ascent--and, returning on foot, the
horses and guides following, with the dogs here, there, and everywhere,
we reached the "Grange de la Reine Hortense" and proceeded to lunch.
After giving a very good account of the _paté_ sandwiches, and not
forgetting the guides and the dogs, we made our way slowly back,
defeated perhaps, but certainly not discouraged.
Although neither the Lac de Gaube nor the Pont d'Espagne were
attainable, the Cérizey Fall, which is about one third of the distance
to the lake along the same route, was kind enough to put itself at our
disposal. Not wishing to appear ungrateful, we availed ourselves of a
fine afternoon to order round the horses and our two guides, and
started about two o'clock. For some time we followed the road known as
the Rue de la Raillère, which leads to the baths of the same name from
the Place St. Martin; crossing the river by a very unpretentious
bridge, not far from the town. Leaving La Raillère behind, and passing
in turn the drinking establishment of Mauhourat--near which the Gaves
of Lutour and Marcadau form the Gave of Cauterets--and the baths of
Petit St. Sauveur and Le Pré, and gaining as we mounted a good view of
the "Cascade de Lutour" on the left, we entered the Marcadau valley, or
(more properly) gorge. The scenery, similar somewhat to that at the
entrance to the Cauterets gorge from Pierrefitte, is nevertheless
wilder and more severe. The occasional bright fields and frequent
mountain streams, with their merry music, disappear; but the lofty
heights, the gloomy firs, the mighty crags and boulders, and the
snow-peaks beyond, remain. After a great amount of very rough and steep
ascending--the Pic de Gaube (7644 ft.) the while standing conspicuously
before us--we reached the small hut that is intended as a shelter, near
the fall. Dismounting and taking the narrow path to the right over the
stones, immediately above the hut, we obtained a capital view of this
noisy cascade. Other views were obtained by us from above, by
clambering over the stones and boulders at the side of the torrent; but
this is the best of all. From the hut (mentioned above) one hour's good
walking, over anything but a pleasant track, brings one to the Pont
d'Espagne, and it requires another forty minutes to reach the Lac de
Gaube.
[Footnote: The lake is full of excellent salmon trout, and there is a
small inn on its shores, where visitors can stop the night in summer.
The Vignemale, from whose summit the view is wonderfully vast, rears up
above the lake.]
As horses can be taken for the whole distance when the road is free
from snow, our feelings at not being able to proceed can be better
imagined than described! By Mauhourat, whither we presently returned,
the Pont de Benquès crosses the Marcadau, and the track to the left
leads up the valley of the Gavé de Lutour. We did not pursue it very
far, as the workmen were busy repairing it, and it is also very rough
and steep. Several favourite excursions, however, are reached by it,
among which may be mentioned the Cascade de "Pisse-Arros" (forty
minutes from Cauterets), the "Fruitière" (two hours from Cauterets),
the Lac d'Estom, 5847 ft. (three hours from Cauterets), the Ravin
d'Araillé (three hours forty-five minutes), the Lake of Estom Soubiran,
7632 ft. (four hours thirty minutes), the Lake of Estibaoute, 7744 ft.
(four hours forty five minutes), and the Col d'Estom Soubiran (six
hours thirty minutes).
[Illustration: LAC DE GAUBE.]
Instead of again crossing the bridge below La Raillère, we kept to the
left, along what may have been _once_ a Roman road, but which was
_now_ at any rate a track both unpleasant and dangerous.
For some distance, large boulders, soil, and smaller stones overhung
it, and seemed as though the least rain or slightest push would bring
them down. Gradually this unpleasantness ceased, and as the road
widened we passed a few villas and entered the "Parc," which, according
to the natives, is part and parcel of the Esplanade des Oeufs, the
great summer resort in front of the Casino, from the back of which a
pleasant path of very gentle gradient ascends for about a mile to the
"Allées de Cambasque," up the flank of the Peguère; and to the Cabanes
(huts) de Cambasque beyond.
Although there is but little level road for enjoying a ride, we
nevertheless managed to pass a short time very pleasantly on horseback.
Leaving the Esplanade des Oeufs on the left, we took the road passing
between the back of the Hôtel d'Angleterre and a curious chalet, built
with a pagoda beside it, and little bridges in communication. Following
this road, which is known as the Promenade du Mamelon Vert, [Footnote:
The Mamelon Vert is a green hill near the entrance to the town.] and in
turn passing the "Café du Mamelon Vert"--near which the track to the
Cabaliros branches off--and the commencement of the path to Catarabe,
we bore down to the right at the back of the Mamelon, and crossed the
Gave by a rickety wooden bridge--shortly to be superseded by one of
stone--into the Pierrefitte road. Down this, through the fine gorge
within sight of the mines, and then back to the hotel, constituted the
remainder of the ride.
Our stay at Cauterets was not without excitement, though certainly that
excitement was not of a pleasant kind. We soon discovered that the
decorating of the streets was for the benefit of the "Confirmation
Procession," for which the Bishop was coming from Tarbes. The Rue
Richelieu was "up" all along one side for the laying of gas-pipes, and,
by way of diversion, every now and then--usually when we were at
dinner, or wanting to look out of the window--a penny squeaking trumpet
would sound, then a lad would rush about and close all the shutters,
leaving the rooms in darkness and the inmates in suspense, till it
ended in a series of loud reports, accompanied by the distribution of
various specimens of granite in all directions. The authorities stopped
this nice performance when the Bishop was expected, as the mere chance
of "blasting" a Bishop would have been too painful for the Catholic
workmen's feelings, especially as they hoped for a benediction! As soon
as word arrived of the approach of "Monseigneur's" carriage, the curé
and chief dignitaries of the town, accompanied by a brass band, a
detachment of firemen, and a small regiment of women--decked in hoods
of blue or red or white--passed down the muddy street, bearing banners,
and a gilded canopy with white plumes. In a few moments they returned,
the band playing, the banners waving, the abbés and choir singing, and
in the centre of the throng, with two curés in front of him under the
canopy, came the new Bishop of Tarbes, resplendent in violet watered
silk, trimmed with beautiful lace, gloves of the same hue, with ring on
the outside of the right hand, which he perpetually kissed to the
admiring spectators. Miss Blunt, who was for once able to look out of
the window in safety, had a special one all to herself, and of course
she didn't mind any amount of explosions after that!
Then we had other excitements, in the shape of wretched bands of
pilgrims, who, having a spare day, came up from Lourdes to see the
mountains. They invaded our salon, drank beer at eight o'clock in the
morning, and looked on the whole--in spite of their rosettes of black,
red, and yellow--as disreputable a lot of individuals as ever turned
religion into farce. Whether it was quite worth while suffering their
presence for the fun of seeing them mount, when starting for their
excursion, is open to question, but that it was a unique and comic
sight we were all agreed. The hotel garden, filled with guides, horses,
donkeys, and pilgrims; the delicate exhibition of ankles and feet
--such feet; the chairs to help the rotund damsels; the swarm of
natives round one especially fat woman, who got down after all; the
beaming face of the host, and the gloomy looks of a very fat man, just
the size for a small pilgrim tea party; not omitting the priest, whose
flowing robe nearly hid his _better half_ (viz. the donkey), made
a scene worthy of reproduction in the pages of 'Punch.'
Although we strolled about a good deal, we found but little of interest
in the town itself; perhaps the most fascinating spot was the
Patisserie Suisse, in the Rue César, just below the baths of the same
name. The Hôtel de Ville is a fine building, and in summer perhaps, the
market, which stands in a street to the left of it, may present an
animated spectacle; but at this time it had the appearance of a large
monkey cage, with good strong iron railings in front, a few cabbages
and onions, and a small group of ancient and much-wizened native
specimens inside.
We enjoyed our stay, however, in the midst of all the wild scenery
immensely, and think that but few people, if they came during the month
of June, would be prepared to differ from us. There are always some of
course, and before coming we had the pleasure of meeting two of them,
in the shape of a retired _grocer_ (or something of that kind in
the wholesale line) and his wife. They both declared that "Cauterets
was a vile 'ole, with 'igh streets and showy 'ouses, and that a
sensible 'uman being wouldn't stay there ha _h_our;" but it must
be mentioned in their favour, that the day on which they went was
rather damp, and there was only one grocer's shop open. If anyone
should be disposed to take their verdict as more conclusive than ours,
we can simply say, "Believe neither, but go and see for yourself."
There is one other subject worth mentioning, in regard to which we had
a trifling diversion on the morning of our departure. The true breed of
Pyrenean dogs may be seen at Cauterets, and puppies obtained by any
people who wish to have a specimen of this fine race. The great secret
in rearing them is to avoid meat of any kind, and feed them on bread
with a little milk, or very thin soup. It is not the climate of
England, as has so often been alleged, which gives them consumption,
but the change to rich diet from the meagre fare which in the mountains
they always receive.
The prices vary so much, that it is wisest for a stranger to enlist the
services of some trustworthy native to arrange the purchase, rather
than to do the bargaining himself. Pups from six weeks to three months
sell at from ten francs to one hundred, but a really fine specimen of
two and a half months ought to be bought for thirty-five francs. Dogs
of six months and upwards are expensive; as much as five hundred francs
being asked for them in the season.
As Miss Blunt had a great desire to become the possessor of one of
these fluffy creatures, whenever any were seen inquiries were always
directed at once with regard to their parentage and price. Happening to
perceive a woolly tail disappearing behind a workshop in the Rue de la
Raillère a few hours before we had to start, we passed up a short entry
beside the aforementioned workshop, and asked to see the owner of the
dogs. In a few seconds he stood before us, a weather-beaten Frenchman,
who, as well as his clothes and his intellect, had seen better days--a
man about five feet six inches high, with face deeply lined; moustache,
goatee, and hair, all somewhat sparse and grizzled; a blue berret (the
native hat) in his hand; his shirt fastened by a single stud, barely
hiding what had been once a brawny chest; his loose trousers
half-covered by a leathern apron; and his two coats both threadbare,
and decorated with ribands in an equally worn-out state--such, bowing
and smiling as he approached, was the proprietor alike of the dogs and
the workshop. In spite of his poor appearance and idiosyncrasy--almost
approaching to madness--he had a certain dignity of manner which we
could not fail to notice. But he was very trying to deal with. Whenever
the price was the object of our inquiry, he began in the following
strain: "Very good, very good; which does Monsieur like? which does
Ma'm'selle prefer? The finest of course? Ah yes, the finest! Ah, very
good; take your choice, Monsieur; take which you please. The finest
dogs in the world! See! see! Monsieur" (and here he pointed to the
ribands on his breast), "I gained the prize at the Paris
Exhibition!--at the Paris Exhibition!--the exhibition open to all the
world--I, with the dogs I had brought down from the mountains and bred
myself, I gained the prize. Ha! ha! there were two Englishmen, two of
your fellow-countrymen, who thought they would beat me; but no, no,
Monsieur, it was to me you see (pointing to his breast again),
Monsieur, that they gave the prize." At last, however, he named fifty
francs as the price of either, which was very excessive, and when I
suggested ten--which was proportionately low--he proceeded to take off
his apron, roll up his coat-sleeves, and then, looking at me fiercely,
said, "So, Monsieur, you take me for a ten-franc man, do you? You think
to mock me, do you? I, who gained the prize at the Paris Exhibition,
the exhibition open to all the world, for the finest dogs, you think I
will sell my puppies at ten francs, Monsieur? No, Monsieur. I will not
sell you one for ten francs, and I do not wish to have anything more to
do with you." And then he, who five minutes before had been shaking my
hand with delight because I knew the owner of the parent dog (of his
puppies), with a lofty wave of the hand motioned me to depart. Before
doing so I soothed his offended dignity by a mellifluous explanation,
and he once more, but somewhat loftily, offered me his hand as I bade
him farewell. So, in spite of the pleasant diversion, Miss Blunt did
not get her dog!
CHAPTER VI.
LUZ AND BARÈGES.
Rain at starting--A blighted view, yet lovely still--Pont d'Enfer
--Nature's voice--Sère and Esquiez--Luz--Its situation and status--An
old house--The ancient Church of the Templars--La Chapelle de St.
Roch--Pyrenean museum--Hôtel de l'Univers--Château de Ste. Marie--"The
Jackdaw's Causerie"--A new "Diet of Worms"--The new bathing
establishment--To Barèges--Pic d'Ayré--Esterre--Viella--Betpouey--Mill
conduits--Cercle des Etrangers--Opinion of the town--Grand
Etablissement--Promenade Horizontale--Hospice de Ste. Eugénie--"The Jay
of Barèges"--Wood anemones--Hepaticas--Valley of Lienz--Pic de
Lienz--Pic d'Ayré's summit--Pic de Néouville--Mountain rhododendrons
--_Anemone vernalis_.
Although we had beautiful weather all the while we remained in
Cauterets, directly we prepared to depart down came the rain, the mists
descended over the hills, and until we reached Pierrefitte we were
unable to obtain more than momentary glances at the beauty we had so
delighted in, before. Having crossed the Gave de Barèges by the Pont de
Villelongue, we were soon in the gorge, the rocks on the left of which
were blasted for five miles, when the road was constructed.
Notwithstanding that it still rained, the clouds were a little higher,
and our view consequently less contracted.
[Illustration: THE GORGE NEAR PIERREFITTE.]
The beauty of the scene was indisputable, and yet it was a beauty less
wild and majestic, and more unequal, than that of the Cauterets Gorge.
The heights on the left had frequently the barest and most
uninteresting appearance, when on the other side the eye was enchanted
with the varied spring tints on the trees massed together up the slopes
from the river, whose limpid green pools or foaming rapids gave such a
charm to the picture. The old road is seen in many parts, and several
of the old bridges, but the one about three and three-quarter miles
from Pierrefitte, at a point where the Gorge widens--known as the Pont
d'Enfer, and built partly of wood as well as stone--is by far the most
interesting. The scenery in its vicinity was particularly beautiful.
The wild quinces, with their white blossoms mingling with those of the
cherry and the light green of the maples, larches, elms, birches, and
limes; the bright fields above, and the ever-lovely river below; with
the massive crags and a babbling waterfall, rendered this part
especially--as well as several others in a lesser degree--enchanting.
An enthusiast might easily write a book on the beauty of this gorge
alone, but in this age he would probably find few readers; of those who
did look at his book the greater number would find it probably too
highly-coloured, while the more enthusiastic ones would lament its lack
of warmth. Not wishing to incur the displeasure of either, we refrain
from saying a great deal about the splendour of this drive; knowing
that to a lover of the beautiful in Nature, all we have left unsaid
Nature will herself say ten times more impressively.
After passing the monument in honour of the "Reine Hortense," which is
five miles from Pierrefitte, and crossing the Bridge de la Hiladère, we
soon caught sight of some villages on the left, where poplars--stiffly
prominent in all directions--spoil much of the picturesqueness of the
surroundings. The villages of Sère and Esquiez, that we saw when
nearing Luz, are ancient and worthy of a visit. Together they formed a
"chef-lieu" before the eleventh century, and the Roman church in each,
but especially that of Sère, is exceedingly interesting. A few moments,
during which we crossed a marble bridge over the Gave de Bastan, and,
bearing to the left, we were in Luz.
Denominated by various titles, from a "poor village" to a "small rustic
town," Luz is by no means an insignificant place. It doubtless owes a
great deal to its situation in a pleasant hollow among the hills, with
a pleasant landscape on all sides, and its appearance is certainly more
quaint and rustic than poor. Undoubtedly there are several old houses,
some looking particularly unsafe; undoubtedly the streets are often
very narrow; and perhaps the inhabitants on the whole may be far from
wealthy; but with all this Luz is not a poor looking village. On a
market-day the streets in the vicinity of the old church, built--partly
in the 12th and finished between the 15th and 16th centuries--by the
Templars, assume a wonderfully gay appearance, and towards the back of
the church we noticed one old house whose balconies, if a trifle warped
and weather-beaten under the thin covering of white paint, were
nevertheless bright with pots of geraniums, wallflowers, and stocks.
The church itself is most interesting, and was at one time very
formidable also. Surrounded by a high wall pierced with loopholes in a
double row, lies the graveyard, which is only a narrow strip between
the ramparts and the church, the body of which lies between two towers.
Under the higher of these, facing north, and built for defence with
loopholes and embrasures, is one of the church doors, which leads to
the high altar steps in a direct line from the entrance into the
churchyard. Further to the right, but also facing north, is the most
remarkable entrance, the inscriptions on the arch dating from the 12th
century. On the extreme right is a door leading into the chapel, built
in the 16th century, and dedicated to St. Roch. We found the inside
interesting, without possessing any very striking features.
[Illustration]
The effect from the main gallery is perhaps best, and the smaller ones
running along the sides have a weird and aged appearance. Near the
entrance to the church, low down, is shown what was once the door for
that wretched race of beings, the "Cagots."
[Footnote: We found it difficult to obtain any reliable information
about these creatures. They seem to have led an existence like the
lepers in Palestine, being avoided and despised by the inhabitants
generally, and they appear to have been both diminutive and ugly.(See
St. Savin, p. 73).]
The Chapelle de St. Roch, which we passed into from the gallery in the
main building, is the most striking of the two. The gallery and stairs
were in a very shaky condition, and two candle-stands near the latter
seemed to have been in their prime many generations ago. The vaulted
roof, with the curious wooden groins, and the ancient _bénitier_
near the door, are worthy of inspection. Without scrambling up the
tower to the "Pyrenean Museum," but not forgetting to examine the old
bell-tower and its bells facing west, we walked down to the left and
joined the main road.
The ancient Castle de Sainte Marie--a very interesting and historic
ruin--being in the vicinity, we followed the principal highway to the
right, and passing the much-recommended Hôtel de l'Univers, were soon
in the proximity of the château, which, standing alone on the summit of
a pointed hill, was charmingly conspicuous. The path, after winding up
the hill, leads to an entrance at the back, which is locked, the castle
being now the property of the Précepteur of Luz, who, however, is
always willing to accommodate strangers by allowing them to enter, as
well as to inspect his garden, and the very striking image of the
Virgin which he has had perched on the front walls. A great number of
jackdaws have taken up their quarters in the old towers, and as one of
them kept continually cawing as though anxious to be heard, we append
what we made out to be the meaning of his chatter (it is said they
never speak without _cause_), which we call
"THE JACKDAW'S CAUSERIE."
"THE JACKDAW'S CAUSERIE."
Caw, caw! cried the jackdaw, and cawed again,
As he circled out of the ancient tower:
Caw, caw! and he circled thrice over the plain,
And cawed once more as he reached his bower.
Caw, caw! I was born in this fortress old,
As old as the hills, some folks might say;
Five hundred centuries, caw, have rolled
Since first it stood in the light of day.
Caw, caw! just to think I have built my nest
Where the Black Prince ruled in such royal state.
Caw, caw! I wonder if ever he guess'd
That this would in time be his castle's fate.
Caw, caw! but I never could quite perceive
Why one tower is round and the other square.
If I'd been the prince, I can well believe
I'd have made the architect build a pair.
Caw, caw! by-the-bye, there was old Coffite[1]
And Jean de Bourbon, that fought so well;
And 'tis said that the prince underwent defeat--
At least my mother this tale would tell.
Caw, caw! they've finished with siege and fight;
The castle's too old for that, of course;
They go in for piety on the right,[2]
And we caw away till our voice grows hoarse.
Caw, caw! I'm a Catholic right sincere,
But somehow or other I cannot see
Why they put up the Virgin's statue[3] here--
The place is as wrong as a place could be.
Caw, caw! I must see how my youngsters look
In their quiet nursery 'mid the stones;
Next week they'll be able "to take their hook,"[4]
And--but there they go with their squeaking tones.
Caw, caw! cried the jackdaw, the world is vain,
But I love to dwell in my ancient tower.
Caw, caw!--why the wretches want feeding again,
They've a "diet of worms" nearly every hour.
And he cawed as he flew to the nursery bower.
[Footnote 1: It is said that Jean de Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, and
Auger Coffite of Luz, took this castle in 1404.]
[Footnote 2: The author does not hold himself responsible for the
jackdaw's slang, which refers to the statue.]
[Footnote 3: This statue is in honour of "Notre Dame de Lourdes."]
[Footnote 4: Again the jackdaw indulges in slang!]
Leaving the jackdaw to pursue his paternal duties, we descended again
to the town, and sheltered awhile from a shower under the balcony of
the new and gaudy-looking bathing establishment, that stands in the
outskirts, towards St. Sauveur. These baths, which are only opened
during the summer, are supplied with water from Barèges, whither we
were only waiting for a fine day to make an excursion. But fine days
just then were rather hard to find, so we contented ourselves with one
that did not look very ominous, and taking a good lunch with us,
started in a landau and four at ten o'clock.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF STE. MARIE.]
The road after leaving Luz follows the course of the Gave de Bastan,
skirting in turn the base of the Montaigu [Footnote: Not to be in any
way confounded with the Montaigu near Bigorre. The French mountain
vocabulary is so defective, they often call several heights by the same
name.] and that of the Pic d'Ayré, and, passing through the villages of
Esterre (2 miles), Viella (2-1/4 miles), and Betpouey (3-1/2 miles),
winds in steep zigzags up to Barèges (4064 ft.).
This valley, after what we had seen, did not give us much pleasure; its
appearance on the whole being sterile, though after leaving Luz as far
as Esterre, the brightness of the fields and trees, and the splashing
of the water overflowing the miniature mill conduits, made a pleasant
landscape.
The actual distance from Luz to Barèges is barely four miles, and yet
so great is the height of the latter (1600 ft. above Luz) that it was
nearly one o'clock when we pulled up at the Cercle des Etrangers--the
only specimen of a hotel or café open--for our lunch.
After a pleasant meal we made a move to inspect the town and its
environs, and were not long in forming an opinion, at any rate, on the
former, which we think most visitors at this season of the year would
be inclined to endorse. One long ascending street lined with houses all
shut up, occasional breaks where a narrow alley or the roads to the
hospitals and promenades branched off, the bathing establishments under
much-needed repair, the dirty-looking river dashing down behind, on the
left; the beech boughs clad in dead leaves rustling on the slopes, in
the opposite direction; and a few natives here and there, very untidy
and sleepy-looking, as though with difficulty awaking from the
"dormouse" state, complete the picture of Barèges, which we need hardly
add is in itself a most desolate and dreary-looking place. In
mid-summer, with the sun shining and the trees in full leaf, an
improvement in the scene would be noticeable; but very few, except
invalids specially recommended for a course of the waters, are at
anytime likely to stay there more than a few hours.
[Illustration: BARÈGES.]
We took the road leading up, to the right of the "Grand Etablissement,"
to the Promenade Horizontale, the great summer rendezvous, and passing
the "Hospice de Ste. Eugénie" began the ascent up the easy zigzags of
the "Allée Verte." We had not made much progress when we startled, from
what was doubtless a contemplative mood, a very fine jay. He did not
seem to like the disturbance at all, but kept flying from branch to
branch in the vicinity, repeatedly uttering his guttural cries.
As the tenor of his thoughts--uttered in rather a shrill treble--seemed
to bear considerably on topics of general interest, in spite of the
apparent selfishness that was the key-note of the whole, we think it
expedient to let posterity enjoy the enlightenment we received from
"THE JAY OF BARÈGES."
Lawks a mussy! and shiver my feathers!
Why this is a wonderful sight;
In spite of my earnest endeavours,
I can't quite get over my fright.
'Tis so long since the strangers departed,
They ne'er would return, I had thought;
So no shame at their coming I started,
Though perchance I felt worse than I ought.
Still to think through the days cold and lonely
I've wandered about at my will,
With no one to chase me, and only
The need to prevent getting chill.
Well, I say--when I think of the quiet
And rest that is now at its close--
I have doubts of enduring the riot
After such a long time of repose.
It is not that I hate to see pleasure,
It is not that the world I detest;
But I like to have comfort and leisure,
And not to be teased and oppress'd.
I don't mind the smell from the fountains,
--Though a rotten-egg scent is not sweet--
For I always can fly to the mountains
And seek some umbrageous retreat.
Then the season for shooting is over,
So the sportsmen[1] will leave me alone,
And I'll pose as a Go(u)ld Jay in clover,
Avoiding a _dollar_ous tone.
To my doctor, perhaps, 'twould be better
The final decision to leave;
And I'll follow his choice to the letter,
He's a bird I can always believe.
That reminds me 'tis time for my dinner,
And as I don't wish it to wait,
As sure as I'm saint and no sinner,
I'll be off at my very best rate.
[Footnote 1: The jay, with all its sophistry, did not apparently know
that French sportsmen only kill what they can eat, and therefore its
fears would in any case have been groundless.]
And with a concluding chuckle the bright bird disappeared. We were by
this time beyond the "Forest Administration" hut, and close upon the
snow, which lay in narrow but deep drifts among the trees, the wood
anemones and fine hepaticas growing in groups close by.
As we gradually progressed, the snow occupied the greater part of the
way, and we were forced to betake ourselves to the extreme edge; and
when at last we emerged into the Vallée de Lienz, trees and branches
had to be scrambled over to avoid a wetting, although we were obliged
to cross one or two drifts after all. Getting clear of the trees, we
came in full view of the imposing Pic de Lienz (7501 ft.) on the left,
and the rounded summit of the Pic d'Ayré (7931 ft.). Passing the two
cabins constructed among the rocks in the open, we crossed the swift
brook and began the ascent of the inferior but well-wooded hill below
the Pic de Lienz. There is no proper path up to this Pic (as to most
others), and the grass is rather bad for walking; but the views up the
valley to the mighty Pic de Néouville (10,146 ft.), and the whole range
behind the Pic d'Ayré, are very grand. We only went to the bend just
before the summit of the Col, resting awhile among a huge pile of
boulders, brightened by bushes of the mountain rhododendron, before
commencing to descend. A fine specimen of the rather rare _Anemone
vernalis_ was a prize that fell to us as we carefully balanced
ourselves on the slippery tufts which so often, carrying the feet along
at an increased speed, cause the owner to find himself rather
unpleasantly acquainted with mother earth. However, we reached the huts
again in safety, and made considerably shorter cuts on our way back to
the town, encountering a solitary sheep with a very young lamb at one
of our sharp turns.
We arrived at the café just in time for tea, and then the horses were
put in and we rattled back, having, in spite of the barrenness of
Barèges, spent a very pleasant day.
CHAPTER VII.
ST. SAUVEUR.
Pont de Pescadère--Sassis--Gave de Gavarnie--St. Sauveur--Hotel de
France--Pont Napoléon--Napoleon's pillar--Bee orchids--Chapel of
Solferino--The view from thence--Ne'er a hermit but for gold--Luz
Cemetery--Luz Post Office--Short cuts--Pharmacie Claverie--Jardin à
l'Anglaise--Ascent of Pic de Bergons--Villenave--The shepherds'
huts--Lunch--Snow, its use and abuse--On foot--"Excelsior"--Dangerous
footing--The last crest but one--The view--Gavarnie and Argelès in
sight--A lazy guide--A "fast" bit--Mountain flowers--Mr. Sydney to the
fore--A short walk and a good view--To Sazos and Grust--The bathing
establishments--Sazos: the old church--The belfry--Chiming
extraordinary--Various promenades--Gems of hill and vale.
At the bridge known as the Pont de Pescadère the road from Pierrefitte
forks; the branch to the left leads to Luz, while the road to St.
Sauveur branches off to the right, and passes through the village of
Sassis, above which is the more important one of Sazos. Then, keeping
to the riverside till within half a mile of the town, it throws out a
branch over the Gave de Gavarnie to Luz, and bending in the opposite
direction, winds steeply past the baths to the hotels.
Like many of the villages in Japan, and especially along the great
Nakasendo, St. Sauveur possesses one single street. The resemblance
continues further with the fine scenery, but there it ends. The look of
the houses and the comfort of the Hôtel de France find, alas! no
parallel yet in the interior of that wonderful country.
[Illustration: ST. SAUVEUR.]
We came to St. Sauveur direct without stopping at Luz, but as the
latter is the larger town--in fact the mainstay of the former, and also
the nearer to Pierrefitte--we have given it precedence. For situation
and all other qualifications, except as a residence in winter, St.
Sauveur easily bears away the palm. The morning after our arrival, when
the sun was shining brightly, we walked up through the remainder of the
diminutive town to the Pont Napoléon, one of the most remarkable
bridges in the Pyrenees. The bridge itself is 216 feet above the river,
and sixty-nine feet wide; but it is not so much the construction
--though that is well carried out--as the position, which
especially attracts on a lovely spring morning. The river, of a
beautiful light green tint, wandering down the valley towards
Pierrefitte, the trees with varied foliage crowding the slopes above,
the glimpse of Saint Sauveur with its church, and the hills with the
snowpeaks beyond, on either side--made such a glorious _ensemble_
as we were not slow to appreciate.
[Illustration: PONT NAPOLÉON, ST. SAUVEUR.]
But this was not all--nor nearly all--for not only had we the view of
the grand rocky gorge from which the river issues above, but we could
also take the easy gradient down to the riverside itself, which leads
from the near side of the bridge, as well as survey the loveliness from
the terrace at the base of the arch, on the side beyond. Having crossed
this fine piece of engineering, and passed the pillar surmounted by an
eagle erected in honour of Napoleon III. and the Empress Eugénie, we
found the road led at right angles in both directions. The one to the
right, to Gavarnie, we hoped to take thither later; the one to the
left, leading to Luz, we followed there and then. After curving once or
twice within view of the bridge, it bifurcates, forming an upper and a
lower route, both of which lead to Luz, if desired. The lower, which is
the direct route from Gavarnie to Luz, we abstained from taking,
preferring the upper road to the right, which leads past fields
resplendent with flowers (among which the "bee" orchid is noticeable),
to the chapel of Solferino.
The view from the hill on which the chapel is built is an excellent
one. Looking towards Luz, several small villages may be seen up the
Barèges valley, with the Pic de Mont Aigu, and the Pic d'Ayré (7931
feet) on the right, and--immediately over against the town--the Pic de
Néré on the left. Looking towards Pierrefitte, other small villages,
and the whole of the Luz valley; on the left, St. Sauveur, and, above
the almost indistinguishable village of Sassis, the Col de Riou, with
the Pic de Viscos beyond. Looking towards the Pont Napoléon, the Pic de
Bergons (6792 ft.) towers up on the left, and on the right may be
easily noted the toothed Pic du Lac Grand the Col d'Aubiste, and the
loftier Pic (8863 ft.) of the same name, besides a glimpse of pastures
and foaming cascades as well. There is very little in the chapel itself
except its history and its cold atmosphere. It is supposed to be an
exact copy of the ancient Hermitage of St. Peter, which formerly stood
on the same spot. The bones of the last good man, for whom "gaieties
had no attraction whatever," and who consequently shut himself up for
"years and years" in the dismal building, were collected by Napoleon
III.'s command, and buried under the statue erected in front. There is
a woman that calls herself the guardian (not angel) of the place, and
demands a small gratuity in exchange for any amount of unnecessary
talking; judging by her appearance, we decided she was _not_ a
hermit nor a particularly small eater either, though her stature was
decidedly diminutive. Two tracks lead from this hill to Luz. One
winding down on the left forms the branch route to St. Sauveur, the
other, to the right--which we took--passes the cemetery, and leaving
the new church in the same direction, leads to the back of the ancient
fane of the Templars, through the town.
After transacting a little business at the post-office (there is none
at St. Sauveur except in the season), which stands in one of the
principal streets traversed on the route to Barèges, we returned to St.
Sauveur by another way. The ordinary short cut from Luz to St. Sauveur
crosses the bridge over the Gave leaving the Gavarnie road on the left,
and turning sharply up a short distance beyond the river, joins the
high road above the "Pharmacie Clavarie," near an ornamental pillar.
We, however, bore up the Gavarnie road till, reaching a cottage, we
pursued the narrow path obviously conducting to the river, over which a
wooden bridge--whence a pretty view can be obtained,--leads to the
Jardin à l'Anglaise. This garden, much frequented during the summer
months, brought us in turn, by means of zigzags and steps, close to our
hotel, and though it may be slightly longer than the "short cut," we
certainly found it prettier and more agreeable.
There is one excursion from St. Sauveur, which is not very difficult
nor laborious, and which well repays the certain amount of exertion
that is at all times associated with ascents. This is the ascent of the
Pic de Bergons. Although we could tell before we started that the snow
would prevent us from reaching the summit, we nevertheless had hopes of
arriving very near it; and finding a beautiful day, as it were, staring
us in the face, we ordered round the horses and a somewhat aged guide,
and were in motion by ten o'clock. Reaching the further end of the Pont
Napoléon, we found the path striking off immediately before us, and the
work began. The gradient for several minutes rose rather sharply, and
as the road was anything but a pleasant or even one, the labour for the
horses was considerable; but they went very willingly, until, at our
arrival at a couple of cottages, we halted to give them a few minutes'
rest.
Until then we had been winding up the face of the hill, but after
leaving the cottages, the track bearing round to the side brought us
above Luz, over which and the whole valley we had a splendid view. Not
far from this point, the path from Luz, _viâ_ Villenave, joined
in, but no improvement in the general unevenness and stoniness of it
was effected. With a barren gorge on our left, and the green pastures
with the snow-peaks of Bugaret and Maucapéra towering behind them,
straight before us, we followed the disagreeable zigzags, our horses
always on the very edge, as though courting our overthrow, till,
finding on reaching the "cabanes" some shepherds kindly and well
disposed, we repaired to the shelter that their cow-house wall
afforded, to eat our lunch. The meal was a success, as such meals, when
the victuals are good and the appetites hearty, usually are, and the
_vin ordinaire_, cooled to a pleasant extent with snow from a
neighbouring drift, tasted like nectar. But the same snow which was so
delightful in the claret, interfered sadly with our locomotion, and
having finished our luncheon, we had next to dispose of our horses, and
commence the rest of the ascent on foot. Striking straight up from the
hut, we soon attained a narrow track winding up the wooded hill to the
left, and without much difficulty or exertion, found ourselves within
view of St. Sauveur, and a great part of the mountains and valleys.
However, we were yet some way from the summit, or even the highest
attainable point (the summit being unattainable on account of snow), so
we pulled ourselves into form, and whispering to one another to have
"courage," we moved upwards again. A small rocky backbone was next
attained, but still the higher crests remained, and seemed to say,
"Excelsior." The guide got lazy, and preferred to study a little
geology to mounting any higher, so we left him to pursue his researches
and strode on. Between the next point, gained after some little work,
and the last crête below the actual summit, several banks of snow lay,
and rendered progress difficult. In two places a sharp decline, with no
chance of clutching anything in case of falling, presented itself to
dull our hopes, but by dint of using the alpenstocks well, and making
deep tracks in the semi-melting snow, we reached the desired crest,
with nothing but the white and inaccessible summit above. The view was
a very fine one, and fully justified all expectations, although our
lazy guide was effectually shut out from our gaze. The miniature town
of St. Sauveur looked like a tiny model, with every accessory that
could add to its charming position. To the left, high above us, the
mighty Barbe de Bouch (9624 ft.) stood out just below the clouds, in
which the still loftier and very stony Pic d'Ardiden (9804 ft.) was
partially hidden. Further in the same direction the familiar forms of
the Pics d'Aubiste and Litouèse, and further yet, the Tour and Casque
of the Gavarnie Cirque, stood out as snowy and as clear as the most
eager sightseer could wish. Over the town itself the Pic du Lacgrand,
and down the valley to the right, the Col de Riou and the Pic de
Viscos, were plainly visible; while the town of Argelès and the hills
beyond it, required no glass to point out their position at the end of
the splendid gorge. Over against Luz the Col d'Arbéousse and the Pic de
Néré (7880 ft.); with the Pic Bugaret (8859 ft.), the Maucapéra (8893
ft.), and the massive Mont Arrouye (10,299 ft.), facing them, above the
hut where we had lunched, added their attractions to swell the beauty
of our view.
When we thought we had really taken in all that we could, we did not
stay on our lofty perch much longer, fearing the result of our guide's
geological researches; however, we found him still fairly well, and
very little less lazy, so took him for a little jolting down a rather
"fast" bit, which not only woke him up, but brought us quickly down to
our shepherd's hut again. Partly riding and partly walking, the rest of
the descent was successfully accomplished, including the gathering of
gentians, bee orchids, mountain violets, and both _Polygalae_;
[Footnote: _Polygala rosea_ and _P. amara._] while Mr. Sydney
triumphed in the very laudable effort of showing the lazy guide how
things could be managed, by arriving at the foot of the mountain some
twenty minutes before him. A very short trot brought us to the hotel in
time for some half-past five tea, having taken seven and a half hours
over our trip, including the hour spent for lunch.
Between the Hôtel de France and the Pont Napoléon a narrow path strikes
up to the right, almost opposite a large white house a short distance
beyond the church; this we found a very pleasant quarter of an hour's
walk, leading by an easy gradient to a good point of view. Box plants,
with their bright leaves here and there changing into a rich red, lined
the way, and many flowers, including gentians, added their charm. From
the rock at which we terminated our walks, a fine view of the Pic de
Bergons, two cascades, the gorge towards Gavarnie and St. Sauveur, the
Pont Napoléon, and a small defile on the immediate right, was our
reward.
Another pleasant promenade and not a very long one, which we much
enjoyed, was to the villages of Sazos and Grust, in the direction of
the ascent of the Col de Riou and the Pic de Viscos. We followed the
high road down through the town, passing in turn the Roman-like and
commodious baths, the path leading to the Hontalade establishment on
the left, and the Pharmacie Claverie on the right; and just before the
branch route from Luz joins in, took the left track up the side of the
hill. Pretty views of the different valleys unfolded to our gaze as we
continued on our way, while a splendid vista of villages lay before us
when we reached the platform space on which an iron cross is erected, a
short way below Sazos. The village itself, as well as that of Grust,
which lies within easy distance above it, is a quaint, old-fashioned
place. The church is the chief attraction; in fact, immediately Miss
Blunt found herself within the ancient exterior portal, she demanded
paper and pencil, and although all the paper forthcoming was the back
of an envelope and a telegraph form, managed to turn out an efficient
representation of the old Roman fane. In exploring it afterwards at our
leisure, we were struck by several peculiarities which produced mingled
feelings. Inside the doorway, two curious flights of steps lead to the
narrow galleries and the belfry, the final flight being totally devoid
of either "sweetness" or light. Having examined the bells and heard the
clock strike three, we began the descent. In the darkness we certainly
did clutch a vertical rope, but could that simple act--we ask in a
whisper--have had such an unusual effect as causing the clock to repeat
its striking? For, whether or not, before we reached the ground, the
three strokes rang out again. The carving over the altar is good, and
the general effect of the whole church is likewise; but the supposed
model of the grotto at Lourdes, and the awful painting in the side
altar on the left, certainly do not add to its beauty.
The children regarded us with inquisitive looks as we came away, but
seemed to wish to keep at a safe distance. Whether the double striking
of the clock had had a peculiar effect on them we did not, however,
wait to inquire, but after taking a drink at the fountain, proceeded on
our homeward way.
Any one making a lengthened stay can find out plenty of similarly
enjoyable walks; in fact, one of St. Sauveur's chief charms lies in its
favourable situation for such pursuits. The neighbourhood is very rich
in flora, small jonquils, daffodils, oxslips, hyacinths, violets,
_polygala, potentilla_, anemones, _Ramondia pyrenaïca, Primula
farinosa,_ large and small gentians, _linaria,_ and bee orchids
being among the easiest to find.
Before we started on the great drive to Luchon, we successfully
accomplished a delightful day's outing to Gavarnie, but as it is full
of interest and majesty, we give it a chapter to itself.
CHAPTER VIII.
GAVARNIE.
A "falling glass"--The wonderful echo--Cascade Lassariou--Sia and its
bridge--Pont de Desdouroucat--"Changing scenes"--Bugaret torrent--The
Piméné--Bué--Gèdre--Brêche de Roland in the distance--The
"Grotto"--Scenery at fivepence per head--Daffodils--Lofty
summits--Cascade d'Arroudet--Chaos--Valley of the "Ten Thousand Rocks,"
Amoy--A dirty avalanche--The Sugar-loaf--Travellers' troubles
--Importunate females--Hôtel des Voyageurs--Poc--Guide or no
guide--Chute de Lapaca--The guardian summits of the Cirque--Cascade du
Marboré--Chandelles du Marboré--The Cirque--Its marvellous
beauty--Reluctantly returning--"The Guide's Auction"--"Two women
enough for a market, and three for a fair"--A Yankee tale--Sketching
and flowers--Tempers and appetites.
There is no excursion from Luz or St. Sauveur for which it is so
necessary to have a fine day, or which is so wonderfully unique, as
that to the Cirque of Gavarnie. We were forced to wait several days;
the barometer always, stupidly enough, wanting to fall, until on the
third day of the moon it slowly began to rise, and gave us hopes for a
start on the following morning. The following morning arrived, and with
it a heavy fall of snow, decking the hills quite low down with a white
mantle, and gloomily screening the view.
However, about nine o'clock, the sun burst forth, the clouds rose, the
blue sky appeared, and we felt that our opportunity had come. The lunch
and the landau, with four horses, were ordered for ten o'clock, and at
10.15 we were on our way. Through the town, past the church and over
the fine Pont Napoléon we went, our hearts--eager to appreciate
--finding no lack of food.
Keeping along the base of the Pic de Bergons, with the Pic du Lac Grand
rivalling it on the other side of the defile, we soon sighted the chasm
and cascade of Rioumaou on our left, and reached the Pas de l'Echelle.
At 1 metre 50 centimetres, or 43/4 feet, from the extremity of the
ornamental facing which marks the place, we pulled up, to try the
magnificent echo, and were in no way disappointed. Our voices came back
particularly clearly, but from the coach-box the sound was stronger. On
ahead again, still by the base of the Pic de Bergons, with the mighty
Col and Pic d'Aubiste (8863 ft.) majestic across the river; till, at
the foot of the Pic, where the sparkling Cascade de Lassariou comes
tumbling down, the wretched hamlet of Sia, with its "quatre moulins"
and very fine bridge, broke into view. Traversing the Pont de
Sia--distant about three miles from Luz and built when the new road was
made two years ago--we kept the right side of the Gave, and, with the
Pic de Litouèse towering above us, reached the Pont de Desdouroucat (4
3/8 miles), and again passed to the opposite bank, leaving the remains
of the old route on the side whence we came. The sky was clearing more
and more, and before us, over Gavarnie, it was one pure expanse of
blue. The gorge was very wild, but with a wildness of piled-up crags
and blackened sides that the beautiful winding river and the spring
tints helped to beautify and subdue. Presently the massive Brada, up
the grand Gorge de Bacheviron, came in sight on our left, and as we
passed the insignificant hamlet of Pragnères (43/4 miles), where the
torrent of Bugaret dashes down into the Gave, the Brada looked more
massive still. Thus it continued all along the route, every bend of the
road bringing something new--whether a cascade, a valley, or a lofty
peak, always something to claim attention and praise. At such a bend,
shortly after quitting Pragnères, the great snow-crowned Piméné (9193
ft.) seemed to bar the way; while at another, the hamlet of Bué and the
Col de Bué appeared on the right, and at another, again, Mont Ferrat
(10,575 ft.), up the Héas valley on the left. Not very much further,
when bending into Gèdre, we obtained a splendid glimpse of La Tour and
La Casque du Marboré and the Brêche de Roland. Gèdre (8 miles), like
all the rest of the villages or hamlets in the vicinity, is a
miserable, poverty-stricken-looking place, but with picturesque
surroundings. It is a good centre for numerous excursions--notably that
to the Cirque de Troumouse--and possesses an excellent botanist as
well as a celebrated grotto.
[Footnote: The grotto's notoriety is gained, perhaps, by its imposture;
it is in reality no grotto, but a very pretty bit of scenery
nevertheless, on a fine day.]
Stopping at the house by the bridge, we were escorted by the good woman
into her garden and down some steps to a platform, whence the so-called
grotto was to be surveyed. It is a very picturesque spot. The lofty
walls of perpendicular rock, the overhanging bushes and flowers, the
trees above, the field beyond, and the blue water of the Gave de Héas
foaming beneath, are charming enough, with the aid of rays of sunlight,
to make the spot famous, and the good woman chuckle as she pockets the
ha
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/10403