IfflDERlNGS BY a W Be Vk q ' :mm^ ^§i'^i-^'X S i \rA '^mi '<';^lk iMMi^g^^ r^'£^C>i^ SLj^&y/'^lb. CATN. '^■iv J-^ WANDERINGS BY SOUTHERN WATERS A I'.U (Ji ULlJ 111. LAC. Frontispiece. WANDERINGS SOUTHERN WATERS EASTERN AOUITAINE EDWARD HARRISON BARKER AUTHOR OF ' U AVFAklNti IN FRANCE Wnil ILLUSTRATIONS LONDON RICHARD BENT LEY AND SON gublisher-:; in Q^riiinavu to 3:)cr ittajcsti) the Queen 1893 \Alt rights reserved \ ill CONTENTS THE VALLEY OF 'JHE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR FROM THE ALZOU TO THE DORDOGNE WAYFARING UNDERGROUND - IN THE VALLEY OF THE CELE IN THE ALBIGEOIS - - - - ACROSS THE ROUERGUE THE BLACK CAUSSE - - - - THE CANON OF THE TARN - IN THK VALLEY OF THE LOT X 48 91 108 209 248 279 IGgS'i?'? OAR CHIMNEY-PIECE AT THE SE^fECHAUSSEE (nOW HOTEI, I)K \H,LE) OF MARTEL. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A BIT OF OLD FifiEAC - - - - Frontispiece OAK CHIMNEY-PIECE AT THE SENECHAUSSEE (NOW HOTEL DE ville) of MARTEL THE PONT VALENTRE AT CAHORS - ROC-AMADOUR - - - . PORCH OF THE CATHEDRAL OF ALP,I AMBIALET ----- CIGALA, THE SHOEBLACK - Fage VI )) I To face page lO )) 1 60 )) 182 )) 288 THE PONT VALENTRK AT CAHORS. WANDERINGS BY SOUTHERN WATERS THE VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AM A DOUR. From the Old-English town of Martel, in Guyenne, I turned southward towards the Dordogne. For a few miles the road lay over a barren plateau ; then it skirted a desolate gorge with barely a trace of vegetation upon its naked sides, save the desert- lovin"- box clinofino- to the white stones. A little Stream that flowed here led down into the rich valley of Creysse, blessed with abundance of fruit. Here I found the nightingales and the spring flowers that avoid the wind-blown hills. Patches of wayside 2 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE ASD ROC-AMADOUR took a yellow ting'e from the cross-wort galium ; others, conquered by ground-ivy or veronica, were j)urple or blue. Presently the tiled roofs of the village of Creysse were seen through the poplars and walnuts. A delightful spot for a poetical angler is this, for the Dordogne runs close by in the shadow of prodigious rocks and overhanging trees. What a noble and stately river I thought it, as the old ferry- man, with white cotton nightcap on his head, punted me across ! I took the greater pleasure in its breadth and o^randeur here because I had seen it an infant river in the Auverofne mountains, and had watched its growth as it rushed between walls of rock and forest towards the plains. What witchery of romance and spell-bound fancy is in the song of the Dordogne as it breaks over its shallows under high rocky cliffs and ruined castles ! Everything that can charm the poet and the artist is here. The trrandeur of ruo-cred nature combines with the most enticing beauty of water and meadow, and the voices of the past echo with a sweet sadness from cliff to cliff It is said that several of theSe castles were built to prevent the English from coming up the river, but this may be treated as one of the many fanciful legends respecting the British period which are repeated throughout Aquitaine, By cutting off a curve of the Dordogne I soon came to the river-side village of Meyronne, and here I stopped for a meal at a very pleasant little inn, where to my surprise I found that I had been pre- THE BANKS OF THE DORDOGNE ceded a few days before by another Englishman, who, accompanied by a Frenchman, had come up from Bordeaux in a boat. They must have found it very hard work rowini^ against the rapids. The hostess here was evidently a woman who treasured her household gods, but who liked als(j to show them. She gave me my coffee in a china cup that looked as if it had belonged to her great-grand- mother ; and in the bright little room where she served my lunch was a large walnut buffet elaborately and admirably carved, bearing the date 1676. After Meyronne my road ran for a few miles beside the broad and curvinof river. The forms of the great cliffs on each side were ever changing. Over a sky intensely blue sailed the fleecy April clouds before the soft west wind, and whenever the sun shone out with unveiled splendour, the rays fell with summer warmth. While the tinkling of sheep- bells from the ledges of the rocks came down to me, the passionate warble of nightingales, that could not wait for the night, must have risen from the leafy valley to the ears of the listless shepherd-lx)y gathering feather-grass where goats would not dare to venture, or eating his dark bread in the sun on the edge of a precipice. Time flowed gently like the river, and I was surprised to find myself at Lacave so soon. This village is near the spot where the Ouysse falls into the Dordogne. A little bc^yond the clustering houses, upon the edge of a high rocky promontory overlooking the Ouysse, is the 4 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR castle of Belcastel, still retaining its feudal keep and outer wall. In this fortress the English are said to have kept many of their prisoners, I now left the Dordogne and ascended the valley of the Ouysse. This stream is one of the most remarkable of the natural phenomena of France. To judge from its breadth near the mouth, one would suppose that it had flowed fifty or a hundred miles, but its entire length is less than ten miles. It is already a river when it rises out of the depths of the earth. The narrow valley that it waters is a gorge 500 or 600 feet deep through the greater part of its distance. The traveller at the bottom sup- poses, or is ready to suppose, that he is in some ravine of the high mountains ; in reality, it is simply a fissure of the plateau that was once the bed of the sea. There is no igneous, no metamorphic rock here ; nothing but limestone of the Jurassic forma- tion. The convexities on one side of the fissure correspond with marked regularity to the concavities on the other. For awhile I walked on the lush grass by the brimming river, where in the little creeks and bays the water-ranunculus floated its small white flowers that were to continue the race. Then 1 left the water and the green ribbon that followed its margin, and, taking a sheep-track, rose upon the arid steeps, where the thinly-scattered aromatic southernwood was putting forth its ciusty leaves. The bare rocks, yellow, white, and gray, towered above me ; they A FLOWERY DESERT were beneath me ; they faced me across the valley ; wherever I looked they were shutting me off from the outer world. No nightingales were singing here, but I heard the melancholy scream of the hawk and the harsh croak of the raven. And yet, when I looked down into the bottom of this steep desert of stones, what soft and vernal beauty was there ! Over the grass of living green was spread the gold of cowslips, just as if that strip of meadow, with its gently-gliding river, had been lifted out of an English dale and dropped into the midst of the sternest scenery of Southern France. As I went on I soon found that the stony wastes had their flowers too. It would seem as if Nature had wished to console the desert by giving to it her loveliest and most enticing blossoms. I came upon colonies of the poet's narcissus, breathing over the rocks so sweet a frao-rance that it was as if a miracle had been wrought to draw it out of the earth. I walked knee -deep through blooming asphodels, beautiful and strange, but only noticed here by the wild bee. I gathered sprays of the graceful alpine- tea, densely crowded with delicate white bloom, and marvelled at the wanton splendour of the iris colour- ing the gray and yellow stones with its gorgeous blue. Still following the Ouysse, I came to a spot where the valley ended in an amphitheatre formed by steep hills more than 600 feet high, and covered for the most part with dwarf oak. In the hollow under the VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR dark cliffs was a little lake or pool forty or fifty yards from shore to shore. The water showed no siofn of trouble save where it overflowed its basin on the western side, and formed the river that I had been keeping in sight for hours. The pool filled the Gouffre de St. Sauveur. Until the Ouysse finds this opening in the earth it is a subterranean river, and it must flow at a great depth, probably at the base of the calcareous formation, inasmuch as it continues to rise from the gulf the whole year, althouoh from the month of Aucrust until the autumn rains nearly every water-course in the country is marked by a curving line of dry pebbles. The funnel-shaped hole descends vertically to the depth of about ninety feet, but there is no means of knowing how far it descends obliquely. The tourist may occasionally catch sight of a shepherd boy or girl with goats or sheep upon the bare or wooded rocks, but his feeling will be one of deep loneliness. He will see ravens and hawks about the crags, and about the river half covered in summer with float- ing pond-weed, watercress, and the broad leaves of the yellow lily, he will notice many a water-ouzel bobbing with white breast, water-hens gliding from bank to bank, merry bands of. divers, and the bril- liant blue gleam of the passing kingfisher, which here is allowed to fish in peace, like the otter. The Gouff^re de St. Sauveur has its leofend. It is said that when the church of St. Sauveur, on the neiirhbourinof hill, was in imminent dangrer at the APRIL VOICES IN THE SOUTH time of the Revolution, the bells were thrown into the pool so that they should not fall into the hands of the enemy. Imaginative people fancy that they can sometimes hear them rinofinof at the bottom of the water. After leaving the pool — now very sombre in the shadow of the wooded hill — I crossed a ridge sepa- rating me from the Gouffre de Cabouy, out of which flows a tributary of the Ouysse. Thence I reached the deep and singularly savage gorge of the Alzou, which brouQfht me to Roc-Amadour, when the after- light of sunset was lingering rosily upon the naked Rocks reach far overhead, dazzlingly white where the sunbeams strike them, and below is a green line of narrow valley. A tinkling of bells comes from the stony sides of the gorge, where sheep are browsing the scant herbage and young shoots of southernwood ; and from the curving fillet of meadow, where the grass seems to grow while the eye watches it, rises the shrill little song of the stream hurrying over its yellow bed, which may be dry again to-morrow. This Alzou is no more to be depended upon than a coquette. After a period of drought, a storm that has passed away hours ago will cause it suddenly to come hissing down over the dry stones ; but the next day no trace of the How may be found save a few pools. Or it may 8 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOU R grow to a torrent, even a river, that in its wild career scoffs at banks, and spreads devastation through the valley. It is April, and the nightingales, the swallows, the flowers, the bees, and the kids, whose trembling voices are heard all about the rocks, tell me that the spring has come. I cannot rest in my cottage on the side of the gorge, not even on the balcony that seems to hang in the air over the depth ; the sounds from the valley, especially those that the imagination hears, are too enticing. Upon a high ledge of rock to which I have climbed, not without some unpleasant qualms, 1 stretch myself out upon a strip of short turf sprinkled with the flowers of the white rock-rose and bordered with candytuft, and try to drive out of mind the only disagreeable thought I have at this moment — that of getting down to the path, where I was safe. The worst part of climbing precipitous places is not the going up, but the coming down. Not a human being or dwelling is in sight, so that I can con- template the wildness of the scene to my mind's content. But a very hoarse voice not far above tells me that I am not alone, A raven perched upon a jutting piece of rock, that curiously re- sembles some monstrous animal, is watching me, and he looks a very crafty old bird who could speak either French or English if he liked. Presently he flaps heavily off to the opposite side of the gorge, and fetches his wife. They fly over me almost THE RA VENS' SOLITUDE within gunshot, going round and round, expressing an opinion or sentiment with an occasional croak, but apparently quite willing to make their dinner- hour suit my convenience. Do they suppose that I have really taken the trouble to climb up here to die out of the world's way and the sight of my fellow-creatures, like that very unearthly poet whose story Shelley has written ? Do they think that they are going to make a hearty meal upon me this evening or to-morrow morning ? 1 remain quite still, pleased at the thought of cheating the greedy, croaking scavengers of Nature, and hoping that they will grow bold enough to settle at length somewhere near me. But they are too suspicious ; perhaps with their superior sight they note the blinking of my eyes as I look upwards at the dazzling sky, or instinct may tell them that I am not lying down after the manner of a dying animal. Their patience is more than a match for mine, and so I come down from my ledge and make my way back to my cottage before the phik blush of evening has faded from the rocks. When the angelus has sounded from the ancient sanctuary, and all the forms of the valley are dim in the dusk, the silence is broken again by a very quiet little bell, which might be called the fairies' angelus if it did not keep ringing all through the spring and summer nights. It is like a treble note of the piano softly touched. It steals uj) from amongst the Hags, hyacinths, and box-bushes of the lo VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR neglected little garden which I call mine, terraced upon the side of the gorge just beneath the balcony. Now, Irom all the terraced gardens planted with fruit - trees, comes the same sound of low, clear notes, some a little higher than others, but all in the treble, feebly struck by unseen musicians. How sweetly this tinkling rises from the earth, that trembles with the bursting of seeds and the shooting of stems in the first warm nights of spring ! And to think that the musicians should be toads — yes, toads — the most despised and the most unjustly treated of creatures ! This cottage is at Roc - Amadour, and before writing about the place I cannot do better than go down to the level of the stream, and look up at the amazing cluster of buildings clinging to the rocks on one side of the iroro-e, while the old walls are whitened by the pale brilliancy of the moon. Above the roofs of all the houses is a mass of masonry, vast and heavy, pierced by narrow Romanesque windows — a building uncouth and monstrous, like the surrounding crags. It stands upon a ledge of the cliff, partly in the hollow of the rock, which, indeed, forms its innermost wall. Higher still a great cross shows against the sky, and near to it, upon the edge of the precipice, are the ramparts of a mediaeval fortress, now combined with a modern buildino-, which is the residence of the clergy attached to the sanctuary of Notre Dame de Roc-Amadour. KOC-AMADOUK. Tp/acc fiagc lo. THE DARK VALLEY l.I The sanctuary — it is inside the massive pile under the beetling^ rock, and over the roofs of the houses — explains why men in far-distant times had the strange notion of gathering together and con- structing dwellings upon a spot where Nature must have offered the harshest opposition to such a project. The chosen site was not only precipitous, but lay in the midst of a calcareous desert, where no stream nor spring of water could be relied upon for six months in the year, and where the only soil that was not absolutely unproductive was covered with dense forest infested by wolves."^ And yet, in course of time, there grew up upon these for- bidding rocks, in the midst of this desert, a little town that obtained a wide celebrity, and was even fortified, as the five ruinous gateways, with towers along the line of the single street, prove even now, notwithstanding the deplorable reck- lessness with which the structures of the ancient burg have been degraded or demolished during the last half- century. Nothing is more certain than that the origin of Roc-Amadour. and the cause of its development, were religious. It was called into existence by pilgrims ; it grew with the growth of pilgrimages, and if it were not for pilgrims at the present day half the houses now occupied would be allowed to fall into ruin. It is impossible to look * Robert du Mont, in his supplement to Sigibert's Chronicles, wrote, more than five hundred years ago, of Roc-Amadour : ' Est locus in Cadurcensi pago montaneis et horribilc solitudine circumdatus.' 12 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR at it without wonder, either in the daylight or the moonlight. It appears to have been wrenched out of the known order of human works — the result of common motives— and however often Roc-Ama- dour may suddenly meet the eye upon turning the gorge, the picture never fails to be surprising. It has really the air of a holy place, which many others famed for holiness have not. The founder of the sanctuary was a hermit, whose contemplative spirit led him to this savage and uninhabited valley, whose name, in the early Christian a^es, was Vallis tenebrosa, but in which Nature had fashioned numerous caverns, more or less tempting to an anchorite. He is called Amator — Amator riipis — by the Latin chroniclers — a name that, with the spread of the Romance language, would easily have become corrupted to Amadour by the people. According to the legend, however, which for an uncertain number of centuries has obtained general credence in the Ouercy and the Bas-Limousin, and which in these days is much upheld by the clergy, although a learned Jesuit — the Pere Caillau — who sifted all the annals relating to Roc-Amadour felt compelled to treat it as a pious invention, the hermit Amator or Amadour was no other than Zaccheus, who climbed into the syca- more. The legend further says that he was the husband of St. Veronica, and that, after the cruci- fixion, they left the Holy Land in a vessel which eventually landed them on the western coast of THE LEGEND OF ZACCHEUS 13 Gaul, not far from the present city of Bordeaux. They became associated with the mission of St. Martial, the first Bishop of Limog-es, and at a later period Zaccheus, hearing of a rocky solitude in Aquitania, a little to the south of the Dordognc, abandoned to wild beasts, proceeded thither, and chose a cavern in the escarped side of a cliff for his hermitage. Here, meditating upon the merits of the Mother of Christ, he became one of her most devoted servants in that age, and during his life he caused a small chapel to be raised to her upon the rock near his cavern, which was consecrated by St. Martial. All this is open to controversy, but what is undoubtedly true is that one of the earliest sanctuaries of Europe associated with the name of Mary was at Roc-Amadour, It is recorded that Roland, passing through the Ouercy in the year yyS with his uncle, Charle- magne, made a point of stopping at Roc-Amadour for the purpose of ' offering to the most holy Virgin a orift of silver of the same weight as his bracmar, or sword.' After his death, if Duplex and local tradi- tion are to be trusted, this sword was brouofht to Roc-Amadour, and the curved rusty blade of crush- ing weight which is now to be seen hanging to a wall is said to be a faithful C()i)y of the funous I)ur- andel, which is supposed to have been stolen by the Huguenots when they pillaged the church and burnt the remains of St. Amadour. That in the twelfth centurv the fame of Roc- 14 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR Amadour as a place of pilgrimage was established we have very good evidence in the fact that one of the pilgrims to the sanctuary in 1 170 was Henry II. of England. He had fallen seriously ill at Mote- Gercei, and believing that he had been restored to health through the intercession of the Virgin, he set out for the ' Dark Valley ' in fulfilment of a vow that he had made to her ; but as this journey into the Ouercy brought him very near the territory of his enemies, the annalists tell us that he was accom- panied by a great multitude of infantry and cavalry, as though he were marching to battle. But he injured no one, and gave abundant alms to the poor. Thirteen years later, the King's rebellious son, » Henry, Court Mantel, pillaged the sanctuary of its treasure in order to pay his ruffianly soldiers. This memorable sacrilege had much to do with the insurmountable antipathy of the Ouercynois for the English. I have before me an old and now exceedingly rare little book on Roc-xA.madour, which was written by the Jesuit Odo de Gissey, and published at Tulle in 1666. In this, Court Mantel's exploit is spoken of as follows : ' Les guerres d'entre nos Rois tres Chretiens et les Anglais en ce Royaume de France guerroyant ruinerent en quelque fa9on Roc-Amadour ; mais plus que tous Henri III., Roi d'Angleterre, ingrat des graces que son pere Henri II. y avait recues, en depit de son ])ere qui affectionnait cette Eglise, THE TROUBADOUR AND THE CANDLE 15 son avarice le poussant, pilla cct oratoirc ct enlcva les plaques qui couvraient le corps de S. Amadour et emporta ce qui etait de la Tresorerie ; mais Dieu qui ne laisse rien impuni chatia le sacrilege de cet impie Prince par une mort malheureuse. De quoi lise qui voudra Roger de Houedan, historien Anglais en la 2 partie de ses Annales.' There are early records of miracles wrought at Roc-Amadour. Gauthier de Coinsy, a monk and poet born at Amiens in 1 177, has left a poem telling how the troubadour, Pierre de Sygelard, singing the praises of the Virgin in her chapel at Roc-Amadour to the accompaniment of his zwc/Zt' (hurdy-gurdy), begged of her as a miraculous sign to let one of her candles come down from her altar. According to the poem, the candle came down, and stood upon the musical instrument, to the horror and discrust of a monk who was looking on, and who saw no miracle in the matter, but wicked enchant- ment. He put the candle back indignantly, but when the minstrel sang and played it came down as before. The movement was repeated again before the monk would believe that the miracle was genuine. The poem, which is in the Northern dialect, and is marked throughout by a charm- ing nawetc^ commences with a eulogium of the Virgin : ' La douce mire du Creatour A I'cglise u Rochemadour Fait tants miracles, tants hauls faits, C'uns moultes biax livres en est faits.' i6 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROCrAMADOUR The hu^-c, inartistic, but imposing block of masonry that appears from a little distance to be clinging, after the manner of a swallow's nest, to the precipitous face of the rock, and which is reached from below by more than 200 steps in venerable dilapidation,* contains the church of St. Sauveur, the chapel of the Virgin, called the Miraculous Chapel, and the chapel of St. Amadour, all distinct. The last-named is a little crypt, and the Miraculous Chapel conveys the impression of being likewise one, for it is partly under the overleaning rock, the rugged surface of which, blackened by the smoke of the countless tapers which have been burnt there in the course of ages, is seen without any facing of masonry. If by looking at certain details of this composite structure one could shut off the surroundings from the eye, the mind might feed without any hindrance upon the ideas of old piety and the fervour of souls who, when Europe was like a troubled and forlorn sea, sought the quietude and safety of these rocks, lifted far above the raging surf. But the hindrance is found on every side. The sense of artistic fitness is wounded by incongruities of architectural style, of ideas which meet but do not marry. The brazen altar in the Miraculous Chapel was well enough at the Paris Exhibition of 1889, where it could be admired as a piece of elaborate brass work, but at * Since the foregoing was written the old slabs have been turned round, and the steps been made to look quite new. THE ROCK-CLIXGING SANCTUARY 17 Roc-Amadour it is a direct challenge to the spirit of the spot. Then again, late Gothic architecture has been grafted upon the early Romanesque. Those who restored the building after it had been reduced to a ruin by the Huguenots in 1562 set the example of bad taste. The revolutionists of 1793 having in their turn wrought their fury upon it, the work of restoration was again undertaken during the last half-century, but the opportunity of correcting the mistake of the previous renovators was lost. The piece of Romanesque architecture whose character has been best preserved is the detached chapel of St. Michael, raised like a pigeon-house against the rock ; but even this has been carefully scraped on the outside to make it correspond as nearly as pos- sible to some adjacent work of recent construction. The ancient treasure of Roc-Amadour has been scattered or melted down, but the image of the Virgin and Child, which according to the local tradition was carved out of the trunk of a tree by St. Amadour himself, is still to be seen over the altar in the Miraculous Chapel. It is probably 800 years old, and it may be older. There is no record to help hypothesis with regard to its anti- quity, for since the pilgrimage originated it appears to have been an object of veneration, and the com- mencement of the pilgrimage is lost in the dimness of the past. Like the statue of the Virgin at Le Puy, it is as black as ebony, but this is the effect of age, and the smoke of incense and candles. Ti, iS VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR The antiquity of the image is, moreover, proved by the artistic treatment. The Child is crowned and rests upon the Virgin's knee ; she does not touch him with her hands. This is in accordance with the early Christian sentiment, which dwells upon the kingship of the Child as distinguished from the later medieeval feeling, which rests without fear upon the Virgin's maternal love and makes her clasp the Infant fondly to her breast. The ' miraculous bell ' of Roc-Amadour has not rung since 1551, but it may do so any day or night, for it is still suspended to the vault of the Miraculous Chapel. It is of iron, and was beaten Into shape with the hammer — facts which, together with its form, are regarded as certain evidence of its anti- quity. The first time that it is said to have rung by its own movement was in 1385, and three days afterwards, according to Odo de Gissey, the pheno- menon was repeated during the celebration of the Mass. All those who were present bore testimony to the fact upon oath before the apostolic notary. Very early in the Middle Ages the faith spread among mariners, and others exposed to the dangers of the sea, that the Lady of Roc-Amadour had great power to help them when in distress. Hugues Farsit, Canon of Laon, wrote a treatise in 1140, ' De miraculis Beatce Virginis rupis Amatoris,' wherein he speaks of her as the 'Star of the Sea,' and the hymn ' Ave maris Stella ' is one of those most frequently sung in these days by the pilgrims THE STORY OF A BRETON PILGRIM 19 at Roc-Amadour. A statement, written and signed by a Breton pilgrim in 1534, shows how widely this particular devotion had then spread among those who trusted their lives to the uncertain sea : ' I, Louis Le Bailie, merchant of the town of Pontscorf, on the river Elle, in the diocese of Vannes, declare with truth that, returning from a voyage to Scotland the 13th of the month of February, 1534, at about ten o'clock at night, we were overtaken by such a violent storm that the waves covered the vessel, in which were twenty-six persons, and we w^ent to the bottom. During the voyage somebody said to me : " Let us recommend ourselves to God and to the Virgin Mary of Roc- Amadour. Let us put her name upon this spar and trust ourselves to the care of this good Lady." He who gave me this good counsel and myself fastened ourselves to the spar with a rope. The tempest carried us away, but in so fortunate a manner that the next dav we found ourselves on the coast of Bayonne. Half dead, we landed by the grace oi God and the aid of His pitiful mother, Notre Dame de Roc-Amadour. I have come here out of grati- tude for this blessing, and have accomplished the journey in fulfilment of my vow to her, in proof of which I have signed here with my hand. — Louis Baillk.' Such streams of pilgrims crossed the country front various directions, moving towards the sanctuary in the Haut-Ouercy, that inns or ' halts ' were called 20 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AM A DOUR into existence on the principal lines of route, and lanterns were set up at ni^ht for the g-uidance of the wanderers. The last halt was close to Roc-Amadour, at a spot still called the Hospitalct. Here were religious, who bound up the pilgrims' bleeding feet, and provided them with food before they descended to the burg and completed the last part of their pilgrimage — the ascent of the steps — upon their knees. The sportelle, or badge of Notre Dame de Roc - Amadour, ensured the wearer against interference or ill-treatment on his journey. It is acknowledged that the English respected it even in time of war. At the Great Pardon of Roc- Amadour, in 1546, so great was the crowd of pilgrims, who had come from all parts, that many persons were suffocated. The innkeepers' tents gave the surrounding country the appearance of a vast camp. Sixteen years later, when Roc-Amadour fell into the hands of the Huguenots, and the religious buildings were pillaged and partly destroyed, the pilgrimage received a blow from which it never quite recovered. It ceased completely at the Revolu- tion, but has since been revived, and some thousand genuine pilgrims, chiefly of the peasant class, now visit Roc-Amadour every year. For nearly 300 years the history of the Ouercy and Roc - Amadour was intimately associated with that of England. Henry II. did not at first claim the Ouercy as a part of Eleanor's actual possessions in Aquitaine ; but he claimed homage THE ENGLISH IN THE QUERCY from the Count of Toulouse, who was then suzerain of the Count of Ouercy. Homage being refused, Henry invaded the county, captured Cahors, where he left Becket with a garrison, and thence proceeded to reduce the other strongholds. Roc- Amadour appears to have offered little if any resistance. The Ouercy was formally made over to the English in 1191 by the treaty signed by Philip Augustus and Richard Coeur-de-Lion ; but the aged Raymond V. of Toulouse protested, and the Ouercynois still more loudly. These descendants of the Cadurci found it very difficult to submit to Encflish rule. Unlike the Gascons, who became thoroughly English during those three centuries, and were so loath to change their rulers again that they fought for the King of England to the last, the Quercynois were never reconciled to the Plantagenets, but were ever ready to seize an opportunity of rebelling against them. It is well known that Richard Coeur-de-Lion lost his life at the hand of a nobleman of the Ouercy. While Guyenne was distracted by the family quarrel of the first Plantagenets, the troubadour Bertrand de Born by his gift of words so stirred up the patriotic and martial ardour of the Aquitanians that a league was formed against the English, which included Talleyrand, Count of Perigord, Guilhem (or Fortanier) de Gourdon, a powerful lord of the Ouercy, De Montfort, the Viscounts of Turenne and Ventadour. These nobles swore upon the 22 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR Gospels to remain united and faithful to the cause of Aquitaine ; but Richard, partly by feats of war and partly by diplomacy, in which it is said the argument of money had no inconsiderable share, broke up the league, and Bertrand de Born, being abandoned, fell into the Plantaofenet's hands. But he was pardoned, probably because Richard was a troubadour himself in his leisure moments, and had a fellow-feeling for all who loved the *gai scavoir.' Meanwhile, the Lord of Gourdon was not to be gained over by fair words or bribes, and Richard besieged his castle, some ruins of which may still be seen on the rock that overhangs the little town of Gourdon in the Ouercy. The fortress was taken, and Richard in his fury caused the stern old man who defended it and two of his sons to be put to death. But there was a third son, Bertrand de Gourdon, who, seeking an opportunity of avenging his father and brothers, joined the garrison of the castle of Chalus in the Limousin, which Richard soon afterwards besieged. He aimed the bolt or the arrow which brought Richard's stormy life to a close. Although forgiven by the dying C(eur-de- Lion, Bertrand was flayed alive by the Brabancons who were in the English army. He left no descendants, but his collaterals long afterwards bore the name of Richard in memory of Bertrand's vengeance. A member of a learned society at Cahors has sought to prove that Gourdon in the Ouercy is the ROC-AMADOUR BESIEGED BY THE ENGLISH 23 place where the family of General Gordon of Khartoum fame had its origin. It is true that the name of this town in all old charts is spelt Gordon ; but, inasmuch as it is a compound of two Celtic words meaning raven's rock, it might as feasibly have been handed down by the Gaelic Scotch as by the Cadurcians. The Plantagenets came to be termed ' the devil's race ' by the people of Guyenne. This may have originated in a saying attributed to Richard him- self in Aquitaine : ' It is customary in our family for the sons to hate their father. We come from the devil, and we shall return to the devil.' In 1368 the English, having again to reduce the Ouercy, laid siege to Roc-Amadour. The burghers held out only for a short time, and the place being surrendered, Perducas d'Albret was left as governor with a garrison of Gascons, Froissart quaintly describes this brief siege. Shortly before the army showed itself in the narrow valley of the Alzou, the towns of Fons and Gavache had capitulated, the inhabitants having sworn that they would remain English ever afterwards. ' But they lied,' observes Froissart. Arriving- under the walls of Roc-Amadour, which were raised upon the lower rocks, the English advanced at once to the assault. ' La eut je vous dy moult grant assaust et dur.' It lasted a whole day, with loss on both sides ; but when the evenin"- came the Eni^lish entrenched themselves in the valley with the intention of 24 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AXD ROC-AM ADOUR renewino- the assault on the morrow. That night, however, the consuls and burohers of Roc-Amadour took council of one another, and it was unanimously ap-reed that the Eno-lish had shown oreat ' force and o o o virtue ' during- the day. Then the wisest among them urged that the place could not hold out long against such an enemy, and that if it was taken by force they, the burghers, would be all hanged, and the town Ijurnt without mercy. It was, therefore, decided to surrender the town the next day. This was accordingly done, and the burghers solemnly swore that they would be ' good English ' ever afterwards. For their penance they undertook to send fifty mules laden with provisions to accompany the English army on its march for fifteen days. The fact that the burghers owned fifty mules in the fourteenth century shows how much richer they were then, for now they can scarcely boast half as many donkeys, although these beasts do most of the carrying, and even the ploughing. It is difficult now to find a trace of the wall which defended the burg on the side of the valley ; but here, not far above the bed of the Alzou, are some ruins of the castle where Henry II. stayed, and which the inhabitants still associate with his name. It is improbable that he built it ; it is more reasonable to suppose that it existed before his marriage with Eleanor in 1152. His son, 'Short Mantle,' also used it when he came to Roc-Amadour, and behaved, as an old writer expresses it, ' like a KING HENRY'S CASTLE ferocious beast' Some ruined Gothic archways may still be seen from the \^alley, the upper stones yellow with rampant wallflowers in the early spring. The older inhabitants speak of the hij^h walls, the finely-sculptured details, etc., which they remember ; and, indeed, it is not very long- ago that the ancient castle was sold for a paltry sum, to be used as building- material. The only part of the interior preserved is what was once the chapel. It is vaulted and trroined, and the old vats and casks heaped up in it show that it was long used for wine-making, before the phylloxera destroyed the vineyards that once covered the sides of the stony hills. A little below this castle is a well, with an extraordinary circumference, said to have been sunk by the English, and always called by the people ' Le puit des Anglais.' It is lOO feet deep, and those who made it had to work thirty feet through solid rock. *Mt •)!■ Jb ^ ^ ^ TV •«• After wandering and loitering by rivers too well fed by the mountains to dry completely up like the perfidious little Alzou, I have returned to Roc- Amadour, niy headquarters, the summer being far advanced. The wallflowers no longer deck the old towers and gateways with their yellow bloom, and scent the morning and evening air with their fragrance ; the countless flags upon the rocky shelves no longer flaunt their splendid blue and purple, tempting the flower-gatherer to risk a broken 26 VALLEY OP THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR neck ; the poet's narcissus and the tall asphodel alike are gone ; so are all the tiowers of spring. The wild vine that clambers over the blackthorn, the maple and the hazel, all down the valley towards the Dordogne, shows here and there a crimson leaf ; and the little path is fringed with high marjoram, whose blossoms revel amidst the hot stones, and seem to drink the wine of their life from the fiery sunbeams. Upon the burning banks of broken rock — gray wastes sprinkled with small spurges and tufts of the fragrant southernwood, now opening its mean little flowers — multitudes of flying grass- hoppers flutter, most of them with scarlet wings, and one marvels how they can keep themselves from being baked quite dry where every stone is hot. The lizards, which spend most of their time in the grasshoppers' company, appear equally capable of resisting fire. In the bed of the Alzou a species of brassica has had time since the last flood to grow- up from the seed, and to spread its dark verdure in broad patches over the dry sand and pebbles. The ravens are gone — to Auvergne, so it is said, because they do not like hot weather. The hawks are less difficult to please on the score of climate ; they remain here all the year round, piercing the air with their melancholy cries. I needed quiet for writing, and could not get it. Of all boons this is the most difficult to find in France. It can be had in Paris, where it is easy to live shut off from the world, hearing nothing save THE NOISY SOUTH 27 the monotonous rumble of life in the streets ; but let no one talk to me about the blessed quietude of the country in France, unless it be that of the bare moor or mountain or desolate seashore. In villages there is no escape from the clatter of tongues until everybody, excepting yourself, is asleep. The houses are so built that wherever you may take refuge you are compelled to hear the conversation that is going on in any part of them. In the South the necessity of listening becomes really terrible. The men roar, and the women shriek, in their ordinary talk. A complete stranger to such ways might easily suppose that they were engaged in a wordy battle of alarming ferocity, when they are merely discussing the pig's measles, or the case of a cow that strayed into a field of lucern, and was found the next morning like a balloon. It is hard for a person who needs to be quiet at times to live with such people without giving the Recording- Angel a great deal of disagreeable work. I would not have believed that so small a place as Roc-Amadour, and such a holy one, could have been so noisy if my own experience had not informed me on this subject. Every morning at five the tailor who did duty as policeman and crier came with his drum, and, stationing himself by the town pump, which was just in front of my cottage, awoke the echoes of the gorge with a long and furious tambourinade. While the women, in answer to this signal, were coming from all directions, carrying 28 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROCAMADOUR buckets in their hands, or copper water-pots on their heads, he unchained the pump-handle. Now tor the next two hours the strident cries of the exasperated pump, and the screamin^^' gabble of many tongues, all refreshed by slumber and eager for exercise, made such a diabolic tumult and discord as to throw even the braying of the donkeys into the minor key. Of course, sleep under such circumstances would have been miraculous ; but, then, no one had any right to sleep when the rocks were breaking again into flame, and the mists which filled the gorge by night were folding up their tents. I therefore accepted this noise as if it had been intended for my good, and the crowd in front of the pump was always an amusing picture of human life. It was at its best on Sunday, for then the tailor — who also did a little shavino- between whiles — had put on his fine braided official coat, as well as his sword and best ^{^J>z. (On very grand days he wore his cocked hat, and was then quite irresistibly beautiful.) He had to look after the women as well as the water. The latter was precious, and it was necessary to protect it in the interest of the community. Then the pump was parsimonious, and all the women being impatient to get their allowance and cro, it was needful that someone in authority should stand by to decide questions of disputed priority, and to nip quarrels in the bud which might otherwise lead to a fight. Poor man ! how those women worried him every FLEEING FROM THE WOMEN morning with their badinage, and how glad he was to chain up the pump-handle and turn the key ! But this was only the opening act of the day's comedy, or rather the lever de rideau. The little square by the old gateway, whose immediate neigh- bourhood lent a mediaeval charm to my cottage, was the centre of gossip and idling. I did not think of this when I pitched my tent, so to speak, in the shadow of the old masonry. Knowing full well that the noise of tongues is one of the chief torments of my life, I am always leaving it out of my calcula- tions, and paying the same bill for my folly over and over again. But then I know also that in j^rovincial France, unless you live in an abandoned ruin upon a rock, it is well-nigh impossible to obtain the quietude which the literary man, when he has it not, imagines to be closely allied to the peace that passeth all understanding. The square served many purposes, except mine. The women used it as a convenient place for steaming their linen. This, fashioned into the shape of a huge sugar-loaf, with a hollow centre, stood in a great open caldron upon a tripod over a wood-fire. At night the lurid dames and the grouped figures, illuminated by the glare, were picturesque ; but in the daytime the charm of these gatherings was chiefly conversational. Then the children made the square their playground, or were driven into it because it was the safest place for them, and every Sunday afternoon the young men of Roc-Amadour met there to play at skittles. 30 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AM ADOUR In quest of peace, I was driven at first into the loft of the inn, of which the cottage was a depend- ency. Here the vocal music of the inhabitants was somewhat muffled, hut the opportunities for studying natural history were rather excessive. A swarm of bees had established themselves in a corner where they could not be dislodged, and they had a way of crawling over the floor that kept my expectations constantly raised. The maize grown upon the small farm having been stored here from time immemorial, the rats had learnt from tradition and experience to consider this loft as their Land of Goshen. When I took up my quarters among them they were annoyed, and also puzzled. They could not under- stand why I remained there so long and so quiet ; but at length they lost patience and gave up the riddle. Then their impudence became unbounded ; they helped themselves to the maize whenever they felt disposed to do so, and stared at me with the utmost effrontery as they sat upon their haunches nibbling ; they ran races under the tiles and held pitched battles upon the rafters. Talking one day to the proprietor of the house about his rats and other live stock, I tried to excite and distress him by describing the depredation that went on day and niL>"ht in the loft. But it was with a calm borderino- on satisfaction that he listened to my story. Then he told me that the rats ate about two sacks of maize every year. ' And you do not put it elsewhere T A KIND MAX TO HIS RATS ' Non pas ! I leave it here for them.' ' For the rats ?' 'Certainly, for the rats. If I did not oive them plenty of maize they would eat a hundred francs' worth of linen in a single winter. It is an economy to feed them.' And there were about a dozen string-tailed cats about the place that never ventured into the loft. They must have been either afraid or too lazy to attack the rats in their stronghold. A man who could accept a plague of rodents in this philosophical spirit could not be otherwise than mild in his deal- ings with all animals, including men. My old friend liked to let every creature live and enjoy existence. He became so fond of his pigs that it grieved him sorely to have one killed. Much domestic diplomacy had to be used before the fatal order could be wrung from him. He would have trone on fatten ingf the beast for ever had he been allowed, soothing his conscience over the waste with the vague hope that this pig of exceptional loveliness and vigour would grow to the size of a donkey if it were permitted to take its time. He never worried his metayer over money matters, or insisted upon seeing that every- thing was equally divided. Notwithstanding that he had been made to smart all his life for his trust fulness and indolent good-nature, experience had taught him nothing of this world's wisdom. No beggar, although known to be a worthless rascal, ever asked him for a piece of bread or a night's 32 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR lodging- in his barn without obtaining it. The old man would lock his ragged guest up for the night, and before letting him out in the morning would often carry some soup to him — stealthily, however, so as not to be observed. As he was always ready to give, and hated every harsh measure, it was to his wood that the unscrupulous went in winter, when they wanted fuel. Sometimes an informer would say to him : ' M So-and-so is cutting down your wood.' 'Oh, bast! /e pauvre. It is cold weather !' was the reply that he would be most likely to make. His good qualities would have ruined him had not destiny with great discernment and charity nailed him to his little patrimony, where he was comparatively safe. The bees in the loft were instructive and the rats amusinof, but the fieas were neither the one nor the other — they were merely exciting. And so it came to pass that I forsook the place, and by climbing a little staircase cut in the rock, against which the house was built, reached a cavern far above the roof and found at last my ideal writing-place upon the ledge in front of it, where the mallow and the crane's-bill crept over a patch of turf. Here the voices of the noisy little world below were suffi- ciently toned down by distance. The noisiest creatures up here were the jackdaws, which were constantly Hying in and out of the holes in the church wall that rose above me from another and wider ledge of rock. A pair of sooty-looking rock- THE EVENING GLOW UPON THE ROCKS 33 swallows that had made their nest in the roof of the cavern were much irritated by my presence, but, like the rats, they became reconciled to it. The; little martins, always trustful, never hesitated from the first to fly into the cave and drink from the dripping water. When the dusk came on, the bats, which had been hanging by their winged heels all day m dusky holes and corners, fluttered out one after another, and went zigzagging until they were lost to sight over the old stone roofs on which the moss had blackened. A little before the bats canie out was the time when to do aught else but let the sight feast upon the beauty of the rocky little world bounded by the walls of the narrow gorge would have been literally to waste the oolden moments. Then it was that the naked crags, which caught the almost level rays of the setting sun, grew brighter and more brilliantly coruscating, until they seemed ready to melt from the intensity of their own heat ; then this fiery golden colour would slowly fade and wane into misty purple tones, which lingered long when there was no more sun. Why did it linger ? All the sky that I could see was blue, and of deepening tone. But the most wonderful sight was yet to come, when, while the valley was fast darkening, and along the banks of the Alzou's dry channel the walnut-trees stood like dark spectres of uncertain form, those rocks began to glow with fire again as if a wind had risen sud- denly and had fanned their dying embers, and the 34 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR luminous bloom that spread over them was not that of the earthly rose, but of the mystical rose of heaven. What 1 saw was the reflection of the after-glow, but the glow in the sky was hidden. Sometimes, as the rocks were fadino- a^'ain and a star was already glittering like steel against the dark blue, another flush arose in the dusk, and a faint redness still rested upon the high crags, when the owl flew forth with a shriek to hunt along the sides of the gorge. One morning, as I climbed to my eyrie, I was shocked to see my oblong writing-table, which I had hoisted up there with considerable difficulty, in an attitude that my neighbour Decros's donkey en- deavoured to strike in his most agitated moments — it was standing upon two legs, with the others in the air. The heavy branch of a large fig-tree that had been flourishing for many years upon the over- hanging rock far above had come down upon the very spot where I was accustomed to sit, and thus the strange antics of the table were accounted for. From that day the thought of other things above, such as loose rocks, which might also have con- ceived an antipathy for the table, and might not be so considerate towards me as the fig-tree, weakened my attachment to my ideal writing-place, for the discovery of which I was indebted to the indefatig- able tono-ues of the women of Roc-Amadour. The mention of my neighbour's donkey recalls to mind an interesting religious ceremony in which THE BLESSING OF THE BEASTS 35 that amiable but emotional beast figured with much distinction. Once every year all the animals at Roc-Amadour that are worth blessing are assembled on the plain near the Hospitalet to receive the bene- diction of the Church. The ceremony is called La beiK^diction des betes. The animals are chiefly goats, sheep, donkeys, and mules. They are sprinkled with holy water, and prayers are said, so that they may increase and multiply or prosper in any other way that their owners may desire. As the meeting of the beasts took place very early in the morning, I reached the scene just as it was breaking up, and the congregation was dispersing in various direc- tions. I met Decros coming down the hill with his donkey, and saw by the expression of his lantern jaws — he never laughed outright — that something had amused him very much. ' So you have been to the Blessing of the Beasts ? said I. 'He has been,' replied the man, pointing to the ass, and not wishing to be confounded with the betes himself The donkey stuck his long ears forward, which meant, 'Yes, I have,' and there was a deal of humour in the expression. ' And how did he behave ?' * Beautifully ; he sang the whole time. The men laughed, but the women said, " Take the beast away!" "No, I won't," said I. " // cliante la bdn^dictiony ' 36 VALLEY OF THE OUYSSE AND ROC-AMADOUR September brought the retreat, and the great pil- grimage, which lasts eight days. The first visitors to arrive were the beggars and small \endors of objets dc pii^td. Some came in little carts, which looked as if they had been made at home out of grocers' boxes, and to which dogs were harnessed. At their approach all the Roc-Amadour dogs barked bravely, just as in the old days when the song was written of the 'beggars coming to town.' Others trudged in with their bundles upon their backs, hobbling, hungry and thirsty, but eager for the fray. Some in a larger way of business came in all sorts of vehicles, and a bazaar man arrived in a caravan of his own. Then followed the crowd of genuine pilgrims, nearly all of them peasants, humbly clad, but with money m their pockets which they were determined not to spend foolishly upon meat, drink, and lodging, for the good of their souls was upper- most in their minds, and the length of their stay would depend upon their success in making the money last. By far the greater number were women, and the many bent backs and withered faces among them were a pretty safe sign that they had not all come to implore the aid of the Virgin in that special form of domestic trouble from which so many thousands have sought relief century after century in her sanctuary of Roc-Amadour. The plain white linen coif — very ugly, but delight- fully primitive — worn by a large proportion of these peasants showed that they had crossed the Dor- THE SEPTEMBER PILGRIMAGE 37 dogne from the Bas-Limousin. Many had come all the way on foot, taking- a couple of clays or more for the journey, and a few had trudged over the hot roads and stony cansses" barefoot, just like pilgrims of the Middle Ages. Indeed, these people were essentially the same in all social and mental characteristics as their prede- cessors of five or seven centuries ago ; their faith was the same, their daily habits were the same, their language was the same, and their mode of dress, as far as the women were concerned, had scarcely changed. They came down the narrow street and under the old crumbling gateways in a continuous stream, holding their rosaries in their hands, together with their baskets and bundles, and praying aloud, even before they reached the foot of the steps. Arriving there, they dropped down upon their knees, and commenced the arduous ascent, in- terrupted by two hundred genuflexions, during which they repeated an Ave Maria and a special invoca- tion to Notre Dame de Roc-Amadour. Although the stranufer belono-in