ExLitri, C. K. OGDEN THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES , y,j< / / /tr//{/ffl&ttW^. &'**- /%' ('** , V S, A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE IN 1863. BY MARY EYRE, AUTHOR OF ' THE QVEEN's PARDON,' ETC. SECOND EDITION. LONDON: EICHAED BENTLEY, NEW BUELINGTON STEEET, publisher in rbinarg to ||tr ^lajtstn. 1865. 10NDOX : PRINTED BY W. CLOWBS AND SONS, STAMFORD STEBBT, ANT) CHARING CEOS*. Stack Annex DEDICATION. To one who pennits me to style him, what he has in- deed ever proved, 'My Friend, and the Friend of my Family,' whom this age honours, and posterity will reverence as one of those God-sent men who act as pioneers in the march of Human progress and educate nations, ^To $e Hortj iSrougDam anfc Uaux, This book is inscribed with the deepest feelings of grati- tude and veneration by the Author, MARY EYRE. December, 1864. 1C622S1 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. I WISH to write a few brief words by way of Preface to the Second Edition of 'A Lady's Walks in the South of France.' They are very pleasant words to write. I have to thank my publisher, Mr. Bentley, whose en- terprise and energy in bringing out the book has helped materially to make it a success : and to thank the many friends who have zealously interested themselves about it, and the public at large, whose cordial reception has rendered a Second Edition so soon necessary. Further, I have to acknowledge gratefully the generous and frank recognition of my book's merits, by many of the leading journals who influence public opinion, and whose praise is to a work what the die of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England is to the piles of square, cut, white paper conferring on them an intrinsic value which turns them into gold. To my unfriendly critics to those who write spitefully, simply because it is easier to abuse than to praise, and less trouble to attack an author personally than to read her book I have also a word to say. It is this. Whatever these would-be critics may say, I do not blush for honourable poverty. I esteem it a duty to live within my income, to economize ' half-francs,' or quarter-francs if necessary ; so that I may pay everybody their just due, and have a little to give away to those still n PEEFACE TO SECOND EDITION. poorer than myself; and that, to my mind, there is true nobility in a well-born and delicately brought-up woman's struggling, single-handed, with undeserved misfortune, and winning her way back to ease and affluence by honourable exertion. Lastly, I benefited so much personally in health and spirits by my free mountain life, and living almost per- petually in the open air ; I found so much more amusement and gained so much more real information as to the cus- toms and character of the Pyreneans, the nature and pro- duce of the country ; I saw so many more picturesque glens, and lovely shady little nooks, carpeted with wild flowers, in the lonely recesses of the hills, tha*n I should have done had I been rolling luxuriously through the country in a carriage, and merely seeing, as such travellers do, the regular stock-sights of every place I came to and I have travelled formerly in that way too that if anybody (and I wish somebody may be so charmed with my books as to do it) would leave me three thousand a-year, I should prefer when I travelled to go precisely as I went to the Pyrenees, unencumbered by heavy trunks, and untroubled by pack- ing, rambling from village to village with my dog and my knapsack. The encouragement my first Walk has met from the public, has induced my publisher to propose to me a second tour through the Eastern Pyrenees to Spain, which I hope to present to my readers in the autumn. MARY EYRE. March 10, 1865. PREFACE. IN offering this book to the public, I have a few brief words to say. Though many other works have been pub- lished on the South of France, none of their writers travelled under the same circumstances, or probably searched for the same kind of information as myself. I bring, therefore, a collection of nearly entirely new facts to my readers. My extremely slender means compelled me to travel humbly, and to mix a good deal with the people ; I saw, therefore, much more of actual French life among the middle and laborious classes, than most travellers do. I flatter myself that though English, I am unprejudiced ; and that in comparing the customs of the two countries, and the manners of their people, the balance has been fairly struck. It was not always on the side of my own country-folks. The great mistake that most English wanderers make is to look at everything in the countries through which they travel from an English point of view. It is the same with some of our newspaper correspondents. They abuse the French Government for not allowing the same free comments on its acts in the public press that are allowed in England ; not recognizing, or not choosing to recog- nize, the very different characters of the nations ; and that, while the phlegmatic Englishman will content him- Vlll PEEFACE. self with a mere grumble over an unpopular edict, or revenge himself by a satirical caricature in ' Punch,' the more inflammable Frenchman will try to excite an emeute. The first Eevolution has 'left deep traces on the mind of the people ; they have not forgotten how humble peasants and petty shopkeepers rose to power, to wealth, and even to thrones ; as in the cases of Murat and Bernadotte. Every fiery, idle, and ambitious young man is ready to believe, that, if the present Government no matter whether that of a King, or a Kepublic, or an Emperor no matter how wise and beneficent that rule may be were overthrown, he, that now insignificant individual, might quit his stool in the counting-house or office, and rise who knows how high ? It behoves him who rules to have, as he has, a strong, brave heart, a quick, far-seeing eye, and a tight rein on these fiery, impatient spirits, or they would soon kick over the traces and upset the state carriage. By the elderly, the more reflecting, and prudent Frenchmen, and, above all, by the Pyrenean peasantry, who love the present Emperor with absolute passion, ' because,' say they, ' he has done us good like his uncle : ' all this is acknowledged and felt. In the above lines, I have not so much expressed my own opinion (though fully subscribing to it) as that of the most enlightened and unselfish Frenchmen with whom I conversed. In every country it is the idle, the dissipated, and the worthless, who are most eager for change, simply because they may possibly gain somewhat, and they have nothing to lose. With regard to the multifarious contents of my book, PREFACE. IX it may be truly said that probably no English traveller has ever before condensed so much information regarding the quaint manners, peculiar customs, language, ancient legends, songs and music, and botany of the Pyrenees, into any work. So far as I know, few of the legends, and none of the beautiful airs and poetry of the country, have ever found their way into English print; and yet the Pyreneans have their poet, who is as much a true poet, and as popular among them as Burns with us, but Despourrins is scarcely known in England by name. Had time served, and if it would not have occupied too great a share of my work, other equally beautiful and little-known gems of music and song might have been given. The difficulty was where so much was beautiful to select. If, therefore, I have failed in making a novel and in- teresting book, the fault is mine. The quarries of rich marbles were there : if the edifice be neither striking nor interesting, the builder is to blame. There is one subject which my readers may perhaps wonder has not been touched on the nature and uses of the Thermal Springs. I left them unnoticed on purpose. I am neither a chemist nor medical man. And Murray's Guide-book tells all that need be known on these subjects. Lastly, my grateful thanks are justly due to the many kind friends, both French and English, who aided me in various ways in my task, especially to the Countess of Carnwath and Miss Le Grice, for copying me some of the Pyrenean airs ; M. Frossard, the French Protestant pastor of Bagneres, and well-known writer on various subjects ; X PREFACE. and Mr. Lyte, the celebrated photographer, who borrowed for my use .various rare and valuable works, now out of print; M. de Soubise, and others, who so kindly lent them,* and Mrs. Teulon, who kindly aided me in correct- ing the proofs of the music. I am deeply indebted to M. Philippe, the well-known botanist and naturalist of Bagneres, for aiding me to class the various plants found in my rambles, which classifi- cation I have verified by reference to the botanical works in the British Museum. And last not least my thanks are due to my old schoolfellow and kind friend, Mrs. Headlam, for the beautiful sketch illustrative of Pyrenean scenery which forms the frontispiece to my work. Surely, a book to which so many have contributed, ought to have some merit MARY EYRE. * Most of the legendary tales are translated from Eugene Cordier, Karl des Monte, whose works are out of print, or from Baron Taylor. The singular customs of Beam and Bigorre are chiefly extracted from the In- troduction to Rivares' ' Airs et Chansons de Be'arn,' and from Tain, Nicolle, and a host of other French writers. December, 1864. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. England to Eaux-Bonnes 1 II. Eaux-Bonnes to Eaux-Chaudes 17 III. Eaux-Bonnes 29 IV. Eaux-Bonnes to Bagneres de Bigorre .... 35 V. Bagneres to Cauterets by Argele"s 52 VI. Cauterets 68 VII. Cauterets 81 VIII. Cauterets to St. Sauveur 92 IX. Cauterets to Argeles 98 X. Argeles Ill XI. Argeles . 118 XII. ArgelSs 135 XIII. Camp de Ce"sar and Pouzac 158 XIV. BagneitM de Bigorre ....... 167 XV. Bagneres de Bigorre Les Palombieres . . . .178 XVI. Bagneres de Bigorre 188 XVII. Bagneres de Bigorre 192 XVIII. Illness in a French House 201 XIX. Bagneres de Bigorre, Cagots 209 XX. The B6arnais Idioms and Customs Amusements, Songs, and Music of the Pyrenees .... 216 XXI. Bagneres A Walk up the Toulouse Road . . .231 XXII. Bagneres Ascent of the Monne" 238 XXIII. Bagneres de Bigorre A Walk to La Bassere . . .249 Xii CONTENTS. CHAP. FACE XXIV. Bagneres to Argel6s and Luz . . . . 258 XXV. Luz to Cauterets 268 XXVI. The Legend of the Lake of Lourdes . . . .274 XXVII. Bagneres to Grip . . ". .' . ., . 296 XXVIII. Bagneres de Bigorre Legends and Myths . . .302 XXIX. Farm Implements and Produce . . . . . 311 XXX. Bagneres de Bigorre The Col d'Aspin . . . 322 XXXI. Bagneres de Bigorre Character of B6arnais and Bigorrais 330 XXXII. Superstitions and Amusements of the Bigorrais . 339 XXXIII. Music and Songs of the Pyrenees .... 346 XXXIV. Bagneres de Bigorre A Bath i la Russe A Ride to Llhgris ......... 384 XXXV. A Last Walk up the B6dat 393 XXXVI. Bagneres de Luchon 401 XXXVII. Bagneres de Luchon 407 XXXVIII. The Castle of the Vampire between Tardets and Oloron 412 XXXIX. Legendary Lore 424 XL. Paris the Beautiful . . 432 A LADY'S WALKS IX THE SOUTH OF FRANCE, CHAPTER I. ENGLAND TO EAUX-BONNES. I LEFT England in the autumn of 1862, intending to try whether the south of France was really, as I had been told, a cheaper place of abode than England. I travelled (for a lady) in rather a peculiar fashion, for I took with me only one small waterproof stuff bag, which I could carry in my hand, containing a spare dress, a thin shawl, two changes of every kind of under clothing, two pairs of shoes, pens, pencils, paper, the inevitable 'Murray,' and a prayer-book, so that I had no trouble or expense about luggage. My plan was to locate myself by the week, in any town or village that took my fancy, and ramble about on foot to botanize, and see all that was worth seeing in the environs ; and as I was ' a lone woman,' I took for my companion a mischievous but faithful and affectionate rough Scotch terrier, to be my guard and companion in my long solitary walks. I resolved also to mix as much as possible with the people. 1 crossed from Newhaven to Dieppe, a far pleasanter passage than via Boulogne, and Dieppe is a far prettier 2 A LADY 3 WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. and more interesting town. Thence I went to Saumur, Tours, Bordeaux, and Pau, staying awhile at each place. I omit all mention of them, partly because this is to be a one volume book ; and to describe all my wanderings would augment it to two. I left Pau for Eaux-Bonnes, on the llth September, taking the early morning coach, which starts from the Rue Serviez at 6 A.M., that I might arrive at my destination earlier, and have time to look for lodgings. I fancied myself again in Germany, when inquiring for my bag, I was told it was dahin dahin, by the hostler, i.e. inside, or ' there.' Then just after I had taken my place, up rushed a little fat man, quite out of breath, who bawled out franti- cally, * Plazas ' (so I understood him) l por tres personas? The idiom here seems to me to be a compound of Bear- nais, Spanish, Latin, Italian, German, and French, and I know not how many other tongues. Half of it, to my un- trained ear, sounds rather like a prolongation of vowels like a-a-i a-o-u than actual syllables ; but when spoken by educated people it is very soft and sweet. Las tres personas arrived : a mother and two daughters, bound for Eaux-Chaudes. We four got in, ' Keeper ' on my knee, and the omnibus started, taking up a passenger here and there, as we bowled through the wet, plashy streets. It seemed full already, when it stopped once more, and a French gentleman and his wife, and their dog, got in, which affronted Keeper very much, and for some time the two canine travellers snarled at each other from their respec- tive mistresses' laps, but finally yielded to representations of the impropriety of quarrelling under present circum- stances, and lay still The day was hot and close, the rain poured down in torrents, hiding the country we were travelling through, in a manner that was most disappointing, and the omnibus was so closely crammed, we could not move ; but French fellow-travellers are usually polite and EA.UX-BOXXES. 6 good-humoured. The ladies crushed those abominable crinolines into the smallest possible compass, and the gentlemen wedged themselves into such narrow spaces, that it was marvellous to behold. I began verily to think those square-built men were compressible, like india- rubber cushions, and inflated themselves for appearance sake. Everybody began to converse, and we got on well enough. By-and-by a postman got on to the step of the omnibus, and went a few miles with us. Most of the gentlemen spoke patois, and began to talk to him. Badly as our English postmen are paid, I learned that the French have still lower salaries, and tins one had a long weary mountain road to traverse twice a-day, in all weathers. Poor fellow ! He was very thankful for a bit of a lift upon the step. Soon after he left us, a neatly-dressed woman sprang into the vacated place, and, clinging to the door, rode in that way, in despite of the pouring rain, till we reached a spot where two roads met, and where the diligence of Eaux- Chaudes relieved us of most of our passengers. The little boy in the corner was hers, he had been staying at Bordeaux with his grand-parents, and was now going with them to Eaux-Chaudes, and this wet ride was nothing to her, so she caught a sight of her child's face, and those of her parents. Having embraced them, and seen them into the Eaux-Chaudes omnibus, into which almost all my late fellow-travellers also mounted, she went and washed her gown, which had got splashed nearly up to her knees with mud, while she rode on the step, and her neat lady's kid boots, in the brook that ran by the road-side, and then took her seat with me for Eaux-Bonnes. One of my fellow-travellers had told me I should find cheap accommo- dation at an hotel I will not name. 1 went there, and had scarcely entered, when the rain fell again in torrents, and I had no choice but to engage a room, for I knew what 4 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. mountain storms are, and there was every appearance of this lasting all day. I had left my two bags at the omni- bus office, and so could neither get out a book to read, nor eat the provisions I had brought with me therein, though I was desperately hungry. There was no table d'hote before 5 o'clock, and anything ordered expressly for myself would cost a good deal, while I had provisions in my sac. Moreover everything around looked so filthily dirty, I could not make up my mind to eat in the house, and felt an unspeakable horror at the thought of passing a night there. The landlady came into the room to take the sheets, that had been slept in the night before, off the bed, and in so doing she found two half loaves of bread, the long pains used here, in lieu of our square loaf, which is not made in France, secreted there by the servant girl for her own use, which did not add to my desire to eat in that house, as I felt very sure those loaves would not be thrown away, because they had been put between soiled sheets. For two hours I alternately watched the rain falling in torrents; and the proceedings of my opposite neighbours, whose wide open windows gave me as clear a view of their doings, as if I had been their inmate, and patted Keeper, who yawned, stood on hig hind-feet, and looked inquiringly and beseechingly into my face, as much as to say, ' Why don't we go away from this horrid place ? ' There was not even a strip of carpet by the bed- side ; and that to Keeper's mind, who is a dog accustomed to civilized society and carpets, betokened that it was not ' a hole fit for a dog to live in.' Neither of us felt very comfortable, and we consoled one another, as friends should do under misfortunes. The opposite view was not very entertaining. I saw the lonne make the beds in two of the rooms, and then the occupants, father and son, weary like me, apparently of the wet weather, sit down to cards ; and the Uanchisseuse folding and ironing her linen in a EAUX- BONNES. third ; and then Keeper and I adventured to the other side of the house to see what could be seen there. On this side, each floor had a long wooden gallery, running the whole length of the house, and it fronted a green sloping hill dotted with trees, at whose base foam- ing and roaring, and covering the huge boulders that obstructed its path with wreaths of snowy foam, dashed a mountain torrent. Every now and then, when a gleam of sunshine broke out, and the misty veil parted a little, I caught sight, far beyond, of an emerald valley, shut in by hills robed in grey mist, which ever and anon, as the sun struggled more and more with the roke and partially dispersed it, revealed a grand and lofty mountain, one of the long chain of the Pyrenees. From these galleries I watched the glorious view, glorious in spite of storm and mist, and perhaps even more glorious for them, as long as the horrible smells would permit me to remain. If the bedrooms and sitting-rooms had all opened on to these galleries, and creepers and flowers been twined around them instead of their being devoted to unseemly pur- poses, and the inn itself had been comfortable and clean, travellers need not have wearied here, even in wet weather. A mountain view never wearies anyone who has a heart or soul for the beautiful. You may look at it for ever. It is never twice the same. I like to gaze upon mist-covered mountains, and to see the clouds that veil them suddenly unroll and display all their grandeur, while here and there the sunlight lies lovingly on little patches of emerald sward, which gleam out in transparent tender greenness, and contrast so beau- tifully with the sombre and darker lines around, and little rills of water trickle down the steep mountain sides, looking like white threads, or wavering like a ribbon of satin among the grey crags, stopped here and there in their course by some huge fragment of rock, and anon 6 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. catching the sunlight, dazzle one's eyes by their diamond- like radiance, and then flow down again a long snowy wreathe to form the torrent that foams in the ravine below. I leant over the balcony and looked into the dark depths of the chasm beneath, upon huge stones that had been hurried downwards from the mountain top by the force of the water, perhaps ages ago when the world was young, and that were now covered many inches thick with green and black-looking moss, the growth of centuries, over which the white foam whirled ; while from the abrupt and broken sides of the fissure, young trees and brushwood sprouted, and white con- volvulus, and sweet-scented clematis, and other plants stretched in long fantastic wreaths. It was a scene worthy of an artist or a poet ; and the proprietaire of the hotel and his tenant, the landlord, preferred an interior view of the apartments of a cordonnier and a Uanchisseuse ! At last the rain ceased a little, and Keeper and I sallied forth to see if we could better ourselves. We had not far to go. Eaux-Bonnes is literally built in a cul-de-sac ; there is one long principal street, on one side of which is a narrow green, shaded by a few trees with benches underneath them, called the English garden. The houses on each side of this street are built so im- mediately under the hills, that they look as if they would some day be buried beneath their debris; and it slopes upwards till it ends in the rock, part of which has been blasted away to make room for a row of houses. In one of these, La Maison Courtade, a large house with a flight of stone steps leading to it, and hidden from the street by the Hotel de la Paix, of which M. Courtade is the pro- prietor, but not the landlord, and to which it is a Maison succursale, I engaged a small room. Then I went back to the dirty inn, and gladly paid a franc not to sleep there, and selected my bags from the omnibus office, and after EAUX-BOXXES. refreshing myself and Keeper from their contents, sat down to write my journal. My new apartment is at the back of the house, and looks into a little garden of three terraces, one above the other, cut out of the overhanging rock, and which are reached by little white wooden bridges, springing from the gallery in front of my room, across the deep area between the house and the rock. Madame Courtade is very civil, and my wee room is very clean, free from b flats and / sharps. At dinner- time I sent Luisa, the bonne, to the Hotel de la Paix, for a portion of fowl and a potage, for each of which I paid a very moderate price, namely, ten sous, and dined without incurring what I cannot, alas, afford, the expense of a table-dhote. I say alas ! not altogether for the sake of the dinner, for I am not gourmande, and can dine well content for weeks on fruit and bread. Nay, I rather prefer it, but because even in France, where money is not quite so much thought of as in England, because the people in general are not so wealthy, and property is, as it ought to be, more generally and evenly divided owing to the French law of inheritance, a poor gentlewoman has much to contend with. It is not what one goes without oneself, it is the way one is looked down upon for going without ; it is the being ihouglit mean when one is generous. The being forced to economize sous and half francs, and the bitter knowledge that one is disdained for doing so, when one can only pay one's way by the closest, sternest self-denial of the common daily comforts of life, that is hard. Why, then, go to the expense of travelling ? says my reader. Dear reader, I live upon so little, that I do not spend much more than I should in cheap lodgings at home in England, and I hope that this book may win me some fame and some profit, while away a few sad moments from other sad hearts, and show other poor gentlewomen 8 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. brought up like myself to no occupation, that they may do better than stay lamenting over their past prosperity in gloom and isolation and discomfort at home. There is something enlivening in the very change of country. Every thing and every person one sees has something quaint, peculiar, and picturesque about them unlike what one has ever seen before, that turns the mind from dis- agreeable prospects, and enlivens one in spite of oneself. To travel about with what ladies generally consider the necessaries of life, namely, two or three heavy trunks filled with shawls, dresses, &c., would be impossible for women of very limited means, for the expense of all luggage beyond the very small weight allowed to each person by continental railways and diligences, would cost half as much as the actual journey ; bat a woman who is content to rough it a little, may go far and see much for a small sum. There are disadvantages, however, in this gipsy style of travelling which I did not foresee when I set out. It is impossible to get one's linen home from the laundress before the week's end, and sometimes they keep it eight or even ten days ; though, as a rule, the linen sent on Monday is brought back the following Saturday. They wash everything au ruisseau, in the cold water of the brook, using wood ashes instead of soap. The articles are all put to soak on the Monday night in a strong ley, previous to their being taken the next day to the stream ; and if you send clothes in the middle of the week, they will be kept for the following week's wash. In many places they are neither starched nor ironed, but simply sent home rough dry, though an Englishwoman will be charged the same prices as if they were properly got up, until she has learnt the real prices of the country. Everywhere, and in everything > an English person must expect to be charged twice as much as a Frenchwoman. The French EAUX-BONNES. 9 ladies usually have their clothes washed by a Uanchisseuse, and starched and ironed at home by a repasseuse or ironer, who goes out by the day. If, therefore, like me, the traveller have but three of each article, she must wash them herself and wear them rough dry. It requires, too, a good deal of philosophy to bear the contemptuous looks of Misses, who seem to think that if* 'worth makes the man,' dress makes the woman; and the supercilious sneers of those demi-demoiselles, yclept swells or dandies, as they gaze on the plain, dark water- proof cloak, rain-cottered, rumpled gown, pilgrim hat, and stained gloves, that must be the result of travelling through wet and storm, climbing hills, and gathering wild flowers. Continental nations think even more of costume than English misses and dandies. They never travel them- selves, except aux eaux, or to a bain-mer, rather to show off themselves and their habiliments, than for any real love most of them have for picturesque scenery. There is to me something excessively ludicrous were they not so fearfully dangerous in seeing a lady tourist in one of those wide crinolines, so ill adapted for getting into, or out of, railway carriages and steamboats, or for scrambling among rocks. In descending, they are always catching on some point or corner, and jeopardizing your life twenty times in a walk ; and in ascending, one is for ever hitching one's feet in them, and running the risk of falling under a railway train, down a ravine, or into the sea, as the case may be. When will good taste and simplicity again regulate women's dress? Not in my time, I fear. Show and parade seem the order of the day. The costume de rigueur, at les bains this year, seems a black chip hat, almost like a * ' Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, The rest is nought but leather and prunella.' 10 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FKANCE. man's, with two long ends of velvet and lace hanging down behind from the band of the same encircling the crown, and a bouquet of poppies, roses, or some gay- coloured flower in front, often placed in a nceud of black ribbon, lace, or velvet, a very wide skirted dress, with a long jacket of the same material, and irreproachable gloves, fitting the hand like a skin. How those gloves are ever got on is a mystery to me. The colours most in vogue are some shade of grey, stone, or buff, and both dress and jacket are trimmed with black velvet, or richly braided with narrow black braid. The gown is looped up to show the ornamental coloured skirt underneath, which is sometimes black, with a broad band of dark blue, bright crimson, or scarlet at the bottom. The prettiest too pretty indeed forjupons are of a narrow black and white stripe, trimmed with several rows of black velvet, or one narrow flounce of the same material as the petticoat itself, edged with black velvet. The brodequins, collars, cuffs, parasol, &c., are irreproachable as the gloves, all better fitted for the Champs Elysdes or the boulevards of Paris, than for donkey riding, climbing mountains, or walking along muddy, boggy paths, through wet copses, to views and waterfalls. There is a want of true taste in all this. The full dress of a court, or a race ground, is ill adapted to the country, and therefore in bad taste. I think it was last year that some English gentleman was kind enough to write repeated letters to ' The Times,' complaining that his patriotic feelings were cruelly wounded by the appearance his countrywomen made on the Continent, where 'they walked about foreign watering-places and gay cities in battered crinolines, rumpled skirts, and hats and cloaks that bore evident traces of repeated wettings.' ' I was ashamed of them,' these are his words, * when I contrasted them with the elegantly-dressed ladies of other nations.' The writer of EAUX-BONNES. 11 this letter forgot that foreign ladies, in general, are neither sketchers, botanists, nor hearty lovers of beautiful scenery they are simply dressers. Dress is the thought and passion of their lives ; and it is a known fact that many a French husband has been ruined and forced to sell his property by his wife's inordinate passion for dress.* The English woman travels through a wide expanse of country, perhaps through two or three empires, to improve her mind, and store her heart with images of beauty. The Continental woman goes to some one lad, or lain, for the season, to show off her finery. It is impossible for a crinoline that has been squeezed up, day after day, in diligence or omnibus, or worse still, broken and bent by riding on a donkey, to be otherwise than ' battered ' by such cruel usage. Our wiser grandmothers only wore their hoops in full dress. We, and our servants, wear them at the washing tub and the kitchen fire ; our mill girls wear them in the manu- factories, and sad and horrible have been the many accidents of all kinds this hideous, inartistic, ungraceful fashion has caused ! I should like to have the statistics of crinoline, and to know how many unfortunate women and girls have died a dreadful death from wearing crinoline. I spent my first evening at Eaux-Bonnes shut up in my little bedroom, writing my journal. The next morning, between the storms, I got out, and went the whole length of the beautiful walk called La Promenade Horizontale, which was begun and completed during the season, in forty days. It is really a wonderful work and so are the two smooth roads or terraces, as, in fact, they are, that wind below it all blasted out of the solid rock, or cut through the rough copse and brushwood, or raised above * I heard from Lady , who had lived in Brussels, that many a man had to sell his estate because his wife would have a ball-dress of Brussels lace. In Paris, years ago, I heard from French people that many a family was ruined by the wife's love of dress. 12 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. the hollows and bogs on solid masonry. The promenade is so even and flat, that invalids can be drawn along it in a Bath chair, or cripples walk fearlessly over its smooth surface. To the left, winding walks are cut through the woods above it for the younger and more adventurous pedestrians ; to the right, this terraced walk looks down on the beautiful valleys of Aas and Ossau, sprinkled here and there with villages built of greystone, and small white churches, resembling those in Wales, or at the English , lakes, girdled in by mountains, while below them the Gave brawls, and foams, and leaps in his rocky bed, adding the exquisite music of its dash and murmur to the charm of the scenery. There, on that round hill, is the little hamlet of Aas ; a few houses clustered round a small white church. Yet Aas deserves mention, for there lives Pierre Gaston Sacaze, one of those self-made men, of whom France has so much right to be proud, and of whom every Pyrenean town or valley seems to have one or more. He has been a mountain guide, but being now too old for such toil, has returned to the employment of a shepherd, exposed in ad- vancing years to all the inclemencies of the weather. It seems to me, that it would be worthy of a great nation like France to grant small pensions to Sacaze, and men like him, who confer an inestimable benefit on science by collecting and preserving materials for the natural and geological history of the country. Gaston Sacaze is a good poet, a painter, a geologist, and one of the best botanists in France, although entirely self-taught, except that an elder brother, who is a priest, instructed him in the elements of Latin. He is said to be as humble-minded and modest as he is full of genius and information. * You must go and see Sacaze,' said one of my pleasant companions in the omnibus, the husband of the lady with the little dog, to me ; ' everybody knows Sacaze. He is the best botanist we have.' ry^c^i '> EAUX-BONNES. 13 I hoped to know him too, and to see the beautiful col- lection he has made of Alpine plants ; and if he were dis- posed, and equal to the exertion, to have him as my guide on a botanical excursion but man proposes, and God dis- poses. Aas was only three short miles from Eaux -Bonnes, but the incessant rain never suffered me to go even that small distance. Farther on, as the path curves gently round the bold brow of the hill, the scenery grows grander. The view opens into a gorge or defile between lofty mountains, all varying from one another in colouring, form, and outline, and all grand and august. I supposed this to be the valley of Ossau, but I had no one to tell me. Green fields divided by the rough walls of unhewn stone, common in Lancashire and Cumberland, trees, and boxwood, clothe some of these mountains to the very summit. One stands prominently forth, rugged and bare of trees; round its head, which towers higher than the others, rest grey clouds ; patches of green sward and lichens give it a solemn beauty of its own. It is not so sternly grand as the barren rocky escarped Pic de Ger, on whose peaks no mosses or verdure grow ; but it is a glorious mountain, magnificent in form, tinted with every shade of blue-grey, with spaces of the most vivid brilliant green scattered here and there among the darker shadows that painters love. Below it to the right winds the green valley leading to Pau, with the small town of small greystone houses through which we passed in coming here seeing nothing of all this loveliness for rain and mist. As I slowly walked along the terrace, I felt this was one of the golden hours of life. I was scarcely conscious of the want of a com- panion my heart was too full for speech rapture has no 14 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. words. Never since I left my dear cousin Cassandra's house at Coniston, have I seen anything so gloriously beautiful as -these green valleys shut in by the sublime range of the Pyrenees. The hill above me was richly fringed with wood, through which I saw winding paths, and under their shade grew beautiful wild flowers, gen- tianellas, and saxifrages, and the pale heath, which to niy fancy is not so pretty as the purple, and silver clear water trickled in little drops down its sides, through the over- hanging roots of the beech trees, from which the earth had crumbled away since the road was made, or from the green mosses and flowers that overhung its ledge ; and one rill, larger than the others, rushed foaming down a small ravine. On the wet swampy ground, and on the damp rocks, the white grass of Parnassus grew more thickly than I had ever seen it grow before, and the small delicate pale yellow-green leaves of a plant whose flower was over but which I am sure was Pinguicula* clung like lichen to the damp rocks in little green stars. I thought I saw a primula on one cliff, and with some diffi- culty, and even danger, on account of my lameness, I scrambled after it over the loose boggy ground, expecting every moment to be knocked down by Keeper, who in- sisted on following me, and seeing, I suppose, an anxious expression in my face, tried to encourage me by frisking in front of me, and endeavouring to jump upon me, which I parry by threatening him with my umbrella, on which he darts off, but returns two minutes after, just as I have got one foot on a loose stone and the other in the bog, and * It was the Pinguicula. I afterwards saw plenty at Bagneres de Bigorre. Its lateral leaves clasp the damp ledges of rocks, like a lichen, aud from their centre rises a little rosette of green leaves of the most ex- quisite tender hue. EAUX-BONNES. 15 am feeling my way with my umbrella. At last I reach the point, in spite of Keeper ; but it is not the Alpine pri- mula, it is only the common bugle but such a bugle ! This plant sometimes produces larger, handsomer, deeper, blue flowers in the autumn, than in spring, in England ; but the labiated petals of this are as long as those of a sal via, and its bright purple colour is enhanced by the rich dark velvety Vandyke-brown of its calyxes. It is a floral gem, and might furnish a beautiful design for a jeweller with its central whorl or wheel of deepest, loveliest brown, . from which radiate the long purple flowers. I could not believe it was a common bugle, till I found it growing on the same root with the smaller flowers. I gathered a nose- gay of these rich hued blossoms, which contrasted well with the pale yellow leaves of a plant I did not know, but suspected to be the winter cherry * (farther on, I found it still green and in blossom), and the autumnal tints of the box, which assumes every shade of vermilion and orange, the delicate grass of Parnassus, and the dear blue English harebell, than which no lovelier flower grows. I returned home with quite a gerbe in my hand, and the fine people who had meanwhile come out like flies in the sun, looked at my bouquet as I passed, and seemed to won- der at niy gathering such trash, but added to one another, ' Mais cest beau.' It was beautiful, and I had it on my table all the five dreary days I spent at Eaux-Bonnes to cheer and delight me, and left it still beautiful on my mantelpiece when I departed. I can see it now. 'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.' I am often told ' field flowers do not live in water.' It is because people do not take the trouble to make them live. When I get home after a walk, I always put the stalks of my flowers in water, * It proved to be the Winter Cherry. 16 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. in my washhand-basin, taking care the flowers do not crush one another, and that the air can circulate freely between the leaves and stalks, and then, with a delicate hand, sprinkle a few drops of water over them. When they are quite revived, I take them out, pull off all the lower leaves, that they may not putrify, cut the ends of the stalks afresh, and put them into vases. Thus treated, most wild flowers will live for a week, if the water be daily changed. CHAPTEE II. EAUX-BONNES TO EAUX-CHAUDES. SATURDAY proved a beautiful morning. The sun shining in at my window awakened me betimes. I jumped out of bed, ran to the casement, and looked out ; the misty veil which had covered the face of all things was withdrawn, and I determined, if possible, to walk to Eaux-Chaudes. I could not judge much of the weather from my bedroom, for the space the Maison Courtade stands upon has evidently been blasted away from the rock behind, which, like a great wall, covered with bushes and creepers, rises up beyond the three narrow little terrace gardens, to the very sky ; and effectually intercepts all view. I dressed and breakfasted, called Keeper, and set off. One great advantage of a mountainous country is the rapidity with which the roads dry even after heavy and continuous rain. When I walked up the street yesterday evening, it was slippery with mud and rain, this morning the water had all run off, and except here and there in a deep rut the road was firm, smooth, and dry. The meadows looked green and beautiful in the sunshine, the Gave seemed to sing a song of gladness, and every hill and mountain rose clear, defined, and distinct, in the ambient air. I asked the way to Eaux-Chaudes, and was directed to take the lower of the two roads I had seen from the Promenade Hori- zontode. As I went down the hill, a woman with a basket offered me some grapes at a moderate price, and I was glad to purchase about a pound for douze sous. Fruit is dear at c 18 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Eaux-Bonnes, for it has to be brought all the way from Pan. In England, if fruit were cheap and plentiful in a district less than thirty miles off, it would be brought in quantities to watering-places so much frequented as Eaux- Bonnes and Eaux-Chaudes. I cannot help thinking the octroi, or duty paid upon every article of food or commerce going into a town, from fruit to wood, is a great hindrance to the comfort and prosperity of both France and Ger- many. I know that no government can go on without means, and that taxes are necessary to raise those means, but the octroi seems to me a bad way of raising them. It prevents a free exchange of the surplus productions of one town or province, against the different surplus productions of other places. Each town and village contents itself with its own produce, as far as it is possible, and articles that are plentiful in one department are wholly unknown in another. A lady I knew lived at Bieberich on the Khine. Bieberich is a miserable place, not deserving the name of a town, and it was very difficult to get anything for dinner. If one butcher had veal, the other butcher had veal, and nothing eke. There was no regular market, and no poulterers' shops. Just across the river was Mayence, where there was plenty of fruit, poultry, game, &c., but she could riot buy a fowl or a goose, or even a basket of cakes or fruit in Mayence, without having to pay the octroi. It is a worrying inquisitional kind of system that peeping into carts and carriages and baskets that impos- sibility to shop at the nearest town, and to get the best goods at the most moderate price, and must be a great bar to the prosperity and progress of the country. So here, though the markets at Bordeaux and Pau and Tarbes were over-supplied with fruit, butter, poultry, and eggs, all these things, and indeed everything from a bottle of ink to a muslin dress, were bad and dear at Eaux-Bonnes EAUX-BONNES TO EAUX-CHAUDES. 19 and Eaux-Chaudes, or not to be had at all. I had gone without fruit since I came, and this hot sunny day my six- pennyworth of grapes was a great luxury. When I had descended the long, steep hill below Eaux- Bonnes, I came to a place where three roads met, and felt quite uncertain which of the two before me I ought to take. While I was considering, a peasant woman came up, and I asked my way. ' Je ne eomprends pas lefran- qais? was her answer. ' Eaux-Chaudes,' I said. ' Je ne eomprends pas le franqaisJ I held out both my hands, pointing to the roads 'Eaux-Chaudes?' interrogatively. ' Je ne comprends pas le franqais? Now as the names of places do not alter in patois, I thought she might have guessed from my pantomime that I s wanted to go to Eaux- Chaudes ; but the peasants have no quickness about them. They seem to go on in one jog-trot way, and not to have a thought beyond it. Even when they do speak French, they take no interest in anything that does not imme- diately concern themselves. If one sees a rained castle, they can tell you nothing of its history there are no local traditions : * It belonged to un monsieur, or un comte, long ago' ' Cetait brule, a long time ago ;' that is all you can ever obtain. Madame Reybaud mentions in her interest- ing tale of ' Mademoiselle de Malepierre,' that thirty years after the Revolution, all memory of the family that had been seigneurs of Malepierre was forgotten. I hoped, in my wanderings in France, to learn many interesting traditions, such as attach to old castles in Ireland and Scotland. I have not been able to obtain one. Fortunately, some haymakers they seem always making hay in the Pyrenees, where they have two or three crops a year came up, and one of the men could speak French. He was going the same way as I was, for some time, and he would tell me where I must turn off for Eaux-Chaudes. So he accompanied me, and the rest 20 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. of his party struck off the nearer way, across the meadows to a little village it looked a very pretty walk, and I longed to leave the high road, and go with them ; but then I might not have another fine day to visit Eaux- Chaudes, so I went on. My companion told me the chil- dren were all obliged to. learn French at school ; but as they grew up, they usually forgot it, more especially the women. They learnt to write in French, as well as to read it ; but as patois was the habitual dialect of the country, they did not keep up their knowledge after they left school, unless they went into service. I observed, the country was very beautiful. ' Yes, in summer ; but it was a triste pays in winter.' So I should think it was. One misses in France the gentlemen's parks and houses, which enliven an English landscape. One misses them more as centres of civilization. I never knew the infinite use our country squires and clergymen, and their families, were of, in keeping up habits of cleanliness, order, and decency, till I came to France and especially to the Pyrenees. Here, wretched as they look, almost every peasant one meets is a landed proprietor. I think it is Henri Taine, one of their own writers, who expresses his amazement at learning during an excursion in some of these mountains, that a farm- house and farm he saw at a distance belonged to the bare- legged girl who had waited upon him at the small inn where he had passed the night ; and, again, that he was just about to bestow a franc or two on an old shepherd to whom he had been talking, and who was a mere bundle of rags, when the man prevented him, by saying lie had been very unfortunate the preceding year the roof of his stable having fallen in, and killed two thousand francs' worth of sheep i. e. a hundred pounds' worth. There is no progressiveness in the Pyrenees, and little in the heart of France, in the habits or dwellings of the EAUX-BONNES TO EAUX-CHAUDES. 21 peasantry, however well off they may be. I should ima- gine that if one could resuscitate one of Henri Quatre's old soldiers, or even an ancient Celt, he would find himself very much at home in most French cottages of the pre- sent day. He would probably be disgusted by the change of costume ; but I do not fancy he would feel any annoy- ance from the increase of refinement. And, to judge by their clumsy appearance, I should imagine the carts, ploughs, harrows, and other implements of husbandry, were just what he had been used to. It is impossible to describe the total want of all the commonest and most necessary decencies of civilized life, even among those whose amount of property would render them in England well-to-do farmers. What can these people do in sickness ? However, they are always kind and civil to the wayfarer. I feel no fear in walking alone among their mountains and valleys, with no other guard but Keeper. So far, thank God ! I have met nothing but courtesy ! The peasant went with me till we came nearly to the new road leading to Eaux-Chaudes, and then, pointing out to me that I must go by that, and not by the old road, he left me. I followed his directions, and soon came to it. What a road it was ! It was as smooth, wide and even, as that of Mary-le-bone Road, but blasted with great labour and ingenuity out of the living rock which towered above it, making one feel as if at any moment one of those im- pending crags might topple over and crush one. Some carriages came behind me just as I reached the bridge, and I instinctively squeezed myself as close as I could to the parapet while they passed ; but there was no danger, there was plenty of room for them to pass each other with- out endangering the foot passenger. Water trickled down from the rough cliffs on my left hand, and formed a little brooklet along their base ; and in the clefts and fissures of the rock grew the bright green 22 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. stars of the pinguicula leaves, and quantities of the grass of Parnassus, the beautiful pale lilac-fringed pink, and the pink centaury, as well as the blue centaury. By the way, why have botanists agreed to give the same name to two flowers belonging to two perfectly different classes? the one a cruciform, the other a compound flower, and having no similarity of structure in stem, leaf, or root. Just opposite the ruined bridge, belonging to the disused old road, I stopped to have a talk with the cantonnier. Each cantonnier has a certain distance of road allotted to him, and within that distance he is expected to be found every day at work. Meanwhile the dog had spied a young goat browsing on the banks of the Gave and immediately gave chase, frightening the poor thing so, I was afraid it would leap into the torrent in its fear. I bawled, and the cantonnier bawled, and two boys who were herding the goat bawled, but that villain Keeper regarded none of us. At last, when he had had his fun, he came up panting and breathless ; I caught him by the scuff of the neck, the cantonnier pulled out a cord from his pocket for which I gave him ten sous, and the sinner was made fast, and condemned to be led the rest of the way to Eaux-Chaudes, but bound as he was, he forthwith commenced a fight with the cantonnier s dog ; and I was obliged to drag him away, and leave cantonnier statistics for a future time. And now the road grew wilder, and grander, huge mountains hemmed me in on each side, like a wall, reaching from earth to heaven. Not a human creature was in sight, not a bird winged its way across the clear deep-blue sky, There was no sound save the continuous incessant chirping of the grasshoppers, and the roar of the Gave dashing ceaselessly among its huge boulders. I never saw any scenery before so wild and so magnificent as that mountain defile. As the road wound round the EAUX-CHAUDES. 23 brow of the hill, I turned to look behind me at the ground I had traversed ; an apparently impassable barrier of huge, rugged, majestic mountains, barred all exit. Their heads touched heaven, their bases seemed to meet ; all trace of the way by which I had come was lost. On each side rose the rocky walls upon which the blue sky seemed to rest ; while before me, still loftier mountains appeared to hem me in. The whole scene was inexpressibly awful and solemn ; it seemed a temple to the Divinity built by his own hands in the wilderness, its roof the sky, its choir the murmuring Gave. I never before so completely realized the majesty of God. I could hardly breathe, I was oppressed even to tears, and I felt thankful that I was alone. One cannot amidst the noise and laughter of a party of friends feel the full grandeur of the mountains as one does alone. I seemed lifted above earth, and nearer to God. I forgot all my bitter troubles and trials, and had no feelings left, but those of silent adoration. So I walked on ; every turn in the road, every clump of pines upon the heights, every fresh view of the foaming Gave, adding new beauty or sublimity to the scenery, till I entered the valley of Eaux-Chaudes, and advancing up it saw a wooded height on my right hand above the torrent ; on my left, high broken ground backed by lofty mountains, before me a narrow rocky valley with a few white-washed and stone houses, rising amid trees ; this was Eaux-Chaudes. There is nothing in it to describe. There are two apparently good inns, and two narrow streets, consisting mostly of lodging-houses. I had the curiosity to enter one or two, and was asked twice as much for very inferior lodgings, as I was paying at Eaux-Bonnes, though here, as there, the season was over. Here too, as in most French towns, the lodging-house keepers objected to letting by the week and wanted to pin one down to stay a month. I thought I should very much like to spend a week here, 24 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. but a month alone, in comfortless lodgings, would be loo much, and, besides, prevent my seeing Bagneres, and other places I wish to visit. I felt hungry and went into a baker's shop, where I bought a large flat cake of bread ; I suppose it was maize, for it was dark-coloured, sweet and sticky. It tasted very much like bread made of sprouted corn. Keeper despised it, for he will only eat the best white bread, and tossed the bits I threw him disdainfully into the air, and played at ball with them as he always does with food he disapproves; but I thought it very eatable, and sat down upon a bench under the trees of the little Place, to eat it, and quenched my thirst with some water trickling from a rock into a natural basin a little farther on. My repast finished, I followed the road, which I was told led to Gabas. Here I met las ires personas, with whom I had travelled from Pau. They asked me what I paid at Madame Courtade's, and told me they paid six francs a day for the rooms they occupied, exclusive of food, and that that was considered wonderfully cheap. One of the daughters had a bad hand, and they had come to Eaux-Chaudes on her account, I wondered they had not rather gone to Eaux-JBonnes, where the water is considered so healing that y according to Murray, 'the wounded soldiers of Henri d'Albret, after the battle of Pa via, resorted to it for the cure of their injuries, and first gave it its name of Eau d'ArquebusadeJ I remember, in reading old magazines and receipts, being sorely puzzled as to what the same Eau d'Arquebusade could be; I believe, nay, I am sure, I once went the length of inquiring concerning it of a druggist, who was as ignorant as myself ; little did I dream it was a mineral water of the Pyrenees. I followed the road across a bridge, and after crossing it, the Gave, which for some time had flowed at nay right hand, now flowed at my left, until I came to the second of EAUX-CHAUDES. 25 two saw-mills its waters turn. I should have liked to walk on to Gabas, but I considered I had to get home that night, and unwillingly left the blue mountain ravine, which seemed to stretch forth so invitingly before me to return. The whole of this walk is beautiful. On one side a steep shingly hill, on the other the Gave, wider and more like a river than before reaching Eaux-Chaudes, with a lofty hill clothed with pine and beech trees rising abruptly beyond it, and in front a mountain defile that promised to be yet wilder and grander than any I had passed through. Some carts and horses were standing near the second saw-mill, the horses seeming very restless and unquiet, stamping their feet and tossing their heads and manes, every move- ment producing a wild musical clang which yet did not sound like bells. No one was near them, and I really thought they were all about to set off at full speed by themselves; I went cautiously near to them, to ascer- tain what caused the sounds, and found their bridle reins passed through coloured glass rings, and was wondering whether these glass rings would bear the strain of a hard pull, in going down a steep mountain road, and trying to discover whether there were not also iron ones, though my short sight did not enable me to see any, when I found out the cause of the poor brutes' restlessness, and was my- self attacked by the hornets which were tormenting them. One hornet was most pertinacious. It buzzed menacingly about me, round my gown, under my umbrella, which I was holding up for a shade, and under my hat. In vain I walked away, it followed me, so I determined to attack it. I furled my umbrella and tried to hit it, and at last it flew away, and I escaped unstung. On my way back, I met two women and a girl walking from Eaux-Chaudes, and with the familiarity common among the working classes in France, they turned and joined me. They were at Eaux-Chaudes for their health. One of them 26 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. came from Oleron, which town she told me was situated ill a very pretty country. All three were knitting busily. Indeed the women one meets are always twirling the spin- dle or knitting. This sounds as if they were very indus- trious, whereas the fact is they are very idle. They walk about, or gossip together at their doors, or congregate in the public walks, knitting in hand, just as the Bedfordshire girls and women do with their straw plaiting ; and the con- sequences in both cases are untidy, dirty, slovenly, neg- ; lected homes, though the Bedfordshire cottages are neat, compared with those of the Pyrenees. I was desperately hungry when I again reached Eaux-Chaudes, so I went into one of the hotels and ordered a mutton-chop and some wine, and while I sat at my repast in the salle a manger, in came another of my fellow-travellers the mistress of the little dog of whom Keeper had been so jealous in the omnibus. She had a present for le chien, she said bashfully. She and her husband lived at the table d'hote, and she had a hamper with fowls, &c., in it, and, in short, they could not get through their provisions, and when she saw Keeper at the door of the hotel she knew I must be there too, and had come into the salon to look for me. She hoped I would not feel offended by such an offer, but she wished to give le chien a chicken. I knew quite well this was a pretty way of giving me a cold roast fowl, but I like to take things exactly as they are meant. I had been very much pleased with both this lady and her husband, who was an ancien militaire, and come to the baths in hopes of their removing his lameness ; so I followed her to her room, and had a quarter of an hour's pleasant chat with her and Monsieur, and they promised to return my visit at Eaux-Bonnes on Sunday ; and then they wrapped the cold fowl in paper and gave it me for Keeper, and I set off homewards, with many injunctions from Monsieur to be sure and visit Sacaze the botanist. EAUX-CHAUDES." 27 When I got to the place where Keeper had chased the goat, I saw, to my amaze, that a couple of yards of the low stone wall which protected the road from the Gave had given way since I passed it So I went up to my friend the cantonnier, who was still sitting on his stool, breaking stones close to the bridge, and asked what had happened. Five minutes after Madame had passed, there had been an eclat de rocher ; a large piece of rock sapped by the con- tinuous rains of the preceding week, had been loosened from its bed of earth and fallen right across the road, car- rying part of the wall with it into the Gave, 'but, as God willed/ nobody had been hurt, though it fell precisely between two carts ; the first one full of young girls, M'ho were terribly frightened, the other, which a man was lead- ing, laden with wood. Five minutes after I had passed ! There had therefore been but Jive minutes between me and a dreadful death ! For the eclat had fallen on the very spot where I had been botanizing as I passed on my way to Eaux-Chaudes. Surely, a special Providence guided the fall of that huge fragment of rock, so timing it that no one was hurt, though so many people passed just before or at the time of its fall. The neighbourhood of Eaux-Bonnes and Eaux-Chaudes seems particularly liable to such eclats de rocher, as they are called ; and I would advise no one to ramble far among the hills without a guide who knows the nature of the ground. There is one terrible and melancholy history of such an accident attached to Eaux-Bonnes. Madame la Marquise de Thuisy, a young, beautiful, and accomplished woman, was at Eaux-Bonnes for her health, which had been seriously affected in 1835, and, to the great joy of her friends, was fast recovering. She was walking on the mountains with her husband and her mother, the Countess de Beam, when she was carried away by the fall of a rock before their eyes. The shock was so violent, and the dis- 28 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. appearance so prompt, that at first they did not know where to seek for her. It was only some hours afterwards that her bruised and broken body was found on the other side of the Gave. I thanked God for my escape when I heard the cantonni&r's story, and walked on subdued and thoughtful. How continually death is close to us, and we know it not ! The grey shadows of evening began to close in long before I came to the bottom of the steep hill there is to climb, before reaching Eaux-Bonnes. First one mountain, and then another, seemed to fade out of sight, and only the abrupt, peaked, barren Pic de Gers, whose yellowish- white rocks showed clear in the twilight, was visible. I began to feel I had delayed my return too long, and that I ought not to be out so late. I met several men return- ing from their work, who asked me where I was going, and if I was not afraid to be out alone at that hour. I answered, boldly, ' No ; I was going to the Maison Courtade, where I was expected ; ' but my heart beat violently, and I breathed a silent prayer to God, who had protected me from the falling rock, that he would protect me from all danger now, and bring me safely home ; and just then three women came up, and they also asked if Madame was not afraid to be out so late at night alone, and I joined them and walked in their company to the bottom of the ravine, in which Eaux-Bonnes is built : there they left me. The lamps were lit as I walked up its one street. I reached Madame Courtade's weary and thankful. My first act was to kneel down and thank God for keeping me safe throughout the day. Then I had some food and went to bed. CHAPTER HI. EAUX-BONNES. TO-DAY is Sunday ; the rain pours down incessantly. No getting out to church or chapel, as I had intended. I could do nothing but read my own prayer-book at home, and write. Whether my long walk yesterday, or the shock of seeing the danger I had so narrowly escaped, or the proximity of my bedroom to the rock, and the torrent that dashes down it, or the incessant damp from the rain, has affected me, I know not, but I am very un- well, and suffering from slight cholera. Monday. Wet weather again, and again I am very un- well ; yet I was so tired of being shut up in my little bedroom, with nothing to look at but a rock covered with shrubs and creepers, all dripping with the rain, that I availed myself of an hour's cessation in the afternoon, and went again to the Promenade Horizontale. I do think mountain scenery is even more beautiful in wet weather than in fine. I never see the clouds veiling a mountain summit without thinking of Horeb, and how the Almighty spoke to Moses out of the cloud. There is something so grand in these processions of grey clouds sweeping across the mountains ; and when every now and then they part for a moment, and one sees between them a lovely emerald valley, glittering in the momentary gleam, it seems like a glance into Paradise. Just as I got to the end of the Promenade Horizontale, it began to rain again, the fine, small rain, like mist, that wets one more thoroughly than a driving shower, and it did not cease till I reached the 30 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. village. In front of Madame Courtade's, a Capuchin monk the first I had seen was walking up and down, talking to two priests, who were staying in the same house as myself. He was a very tall, handsome man, and his picturesque costume, brown-hooded cloak, and sandalled feet became him greatly. The people of the house told me he came from a neighbouring valley, was a celebrated preacher, and had delivered a most beautiful discourse the preceding day. A Kussian family of distinction has been two or three mouths in the Maison Courtade, and as I passed through the hall, some of their goods and chattels were packing up. On the floor stood an immense heavy urn, about twice as big and twice as high as an English urn, which I was informed by the file, was 'pour fair e le the.' It had a little grate under it for charcoal, and I suppose both heated the water requisite and served also as a teapot, but it seems a huge cumbrous machine to carry about into foreign lands. I have read in a French trans- lation of a Russian novel, that the Russians even officers never travel without their tea equipage. Tuesday. Wet again, and I am still ill. The only incident of to-day was that horrid Keeper running after one of Madame Courtade's fowls, and nearly killing it. I told Pierre, the man servant, that I would give him a franc if he would give Master Keeper a good flogging the next time he ran after the fowls, as I cannot beat him severely. Accordingly in the afternoon, I heard three very slender squeaks, just loud enough to let me know he had been struck, but not by any means the howl of a well-thrashed dog. The villain makes friends with everybody, notwith- standing his naughtiness, and I can't get anybody to give him a good thrashing even by paying for it. A while after, I met one of the priests in the corridor. ' Ah, madame I ' said he, ' I heard your petit chien cry ; it gave me pain. I also had a dog, and whom I loved greatly ; EAUX-BONNES. 31 but he, too, would run after fowls, and sheep, and everything, and I thought there was no curing him, and when I heard your dog cry, it made me quite sad. I shall always regret my own, and I blame myself now for having had him .killed, he was such a beautiful dog, and he loved me ! ' The old man was ready to cry. It was a pity,' said I, sympathizingly. ' I hope to cure mine in time ; but you must get another dog.' ' No I can never have another dog; he would always bring back the first to my mind. I loved him so much, and was so grieved to have him killed ; and when I see yours, I think of him.' I understand from Pierre, that Keeper has found out that the old priest is a lover of dogs, and visits him every day at dinner time. There seems to be a great number of priests and nuns at the different watering-places in France. Go where I will, I am sure to travel part of the way with one or the other, or both. There are four nuns now in the Maison Courtade, and how many priests I do not know. Two nuns are located opposite my bedroom, and two of a different order are lodging in the front of the house. They seem to live very well, to judge from all the plates and dishes I see outside their bedroom door ; and one day I was in the corridor when the dinner was carrying in to the two occupying the front room. There were six dishes in the box which the lonne of the Hotel de la Paix had just brought in, including one of fruit and a salad, and they all looked very good and tempting. Wednesday, Still unwell, and forced to take brandy continually ; yet I managed between the showers to go to the new walks now making, which are to be called Promenade de 1'Imperatrice, in honour of the empress, who was here for a day or two last year. They are formed in a little ravine, which branches out sideways behind the hill forming one side of the cul-de-sac, in which Eaux- Bonnes is situated ; and are really very pretty, with lovely 32 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. views from them, here and there. This is a most enchanting country, if it did not always rain, and if my dresses, by being always damp, did not give me cholera. I told Madame Coin-fade to-night, that I felt so unwell, I thought I must return to Pau, and that I fancied my room was cold and damp from its vicinity to the rock which kept out all sunshine, and down which a stream poured into a ravine below. She very courteously offered me my choice of any room vacant at the same price, and I looked at several, and had half made up my mind to stay. I want so much to see Lacaze, and the walks round Eaux-Bonnes are so exquisitely beautiful, if the weather would but clear up ; but towards evening I grew so much worse, I dared not remain. A serious illness in a strange country, where I have neither friend nor maid with me, and by which my slender resources would soon be exhausted, would be a terrible thing. So I put on my hat, went down to the coach-office, and bespoke a place in the diligence, that starts for Pau to-morrow morning. By the way, there are two prices, even at the coach-offices, one for the English, the other for the French. I was let into the secret by one of the office-keepers here, who thought it his duty to protect the English, because ' his daughter was an English- woman,' that is,' said he, 'she married the son of Sir Humphrey Davy.' ' But,' said I, ' Sir Humphrey Davy had no son. I read his life lately, and it expressly stated that he had no child.' ' Ah ! hih ! ' said he, ' then it was his nephew, it is all the same ; look here, this was my dead son-in-law's ; ' and he showed me a telescope, with ' William Davy ' engraved upon it. Thanks to the Davy connection, I paid only the French price at the other office from which the morning diligence started, though perhaps it was rather a spirit of rivalry EAUX-BONNES. 33 with the other office, that my friend had betrayed the secret to me. Before I conclude this chapter, I must describe the picturesque costume of these valleys, which I here saw for the first time. One of our pretty maids comes from the valley of Ossau, and wears a scarlet capulet or hood, and a broad band of black velvet, fastened by a golden heart round her neck. There is nothing peculiar in the rest of her dress. The capulet is a sort of cloak, resembling a sack split up one end, and one side, and falls, in heavy graceful folds, a little below the shoulders. It is never laid aside, even when she is making the beds, or hanging out linen ; but sometimes she folds it into a sort of square, which lies on the top of her head, to be more out of the way. I asked her if she did not find it very hot, and very inconvenient, but she replied, she was used to it. This costume is very becoming, and gives an air of grace to all her movements. I watched her one day aiding Luisa to take down the linen that was drying in the small garden before my window. They doubled all the sheets and towels into squares, and piled them on Marie's head. Luisa was called away, and Marie went on folding and piling linen on her head, till she had a pile more than half a yard high upon it ; and it was astonishing how easily and grace- fully she did it, though her capulet was hanging down to her waist, and, I should have thought, would have impeded the free motion of her arms. Madame Courtade also wears the capulet, but as hers is black as well as the rest of her dress, I took her for a widow, till one day, when I had occasion to go into her domains in the lower part of the house, and she was speaking of the great charge such an establishment was ' especially,' said I, ' for a widow.' I heard a hearty laugh from a tall, red-faced, jovial kind of farmer-looking man, who was going up the passage ; and who came into the room where we were, as if to show D 34 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. M. Courtade was yet in the land of the living. Cest mon mari,' said Madame. How oddly people are mated, not matched in this world. Madame has a low soft voice, a nun-like meekness, and even grace of manner ; who could have supposed that red-faced man was her husband I I feel quite sorry to leave Eaux-Bonnes, the house is so clean, so free from insect plagues, and the mistress so civil and even kind. If it were not for the rain and the cholera, I should like well enough to winter here; but I have made inquiries, and am told there is a great deal of wet weather here in winter. So to-morrow I shall go back to Pau, and thence to Bagneres de Bigorre, which the all- knowing 'Murray' affirms to be a very pretty, pleasant place, and ' a good deal resorted to by English families, to whom cheap lodgings are an object, as apartments are very reasonable, when the season is over.' If I find this Account correct, I shall winter there. CHAPTEE IV. EAUX-BONNES TO BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. IT rained heavily as I walked down the hill in the grey of the early morning to the diligence. It rained all the way down the beautiful hills and valleys through which we passed, so that we could see none of their beauties, and we were obliged to amuse ourselves by talking. French fellow-travellers are much more conversable than English ones. They are not so dreadfully afraid of making a low acquaintance. One of my companions was an engineer ; he had set oft' to walk to Eaux-Chaudes the same day I did, and coming a little later, witnessed the fall of the rock. There was a wonderful contrast, he said, between the calm demeanour of the man leading the cart laden with wood who was in much more danger than the other cart full of women, which was a good way in advance of the spot where it fell and the screams of the girls in it, who were in no real danger at all. He was very severe upon their want of self-command, which, he said, was 'just like women? I asked him what bethought of Eaux-Chaudes. ' I did not see it,' said he. 'I thought you were on the road when the eclat oc- curred ? ' ' Yes ; I set off, meaning to go there ; but I was so shocked by the eclat, that it made me quite ill. I felt it quite impossible to continue my walk ; and I returned to Eaux-Bonnes. In fact, I was ill the whole day in conse- quence of the shock to my nerves.' 36 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. ' Here is a pretty hero, to find fault with the cowardice of a set of young girls,' thought I ; but I did not say so. The engineer is not the first person I have known who can be virtuous and valiant for others, and show great moral qualities by finding fault with their conduct, but who, when put to the test, fails still more pitifully. As we left the mountains, the sun broke out, and the mist gradually dispersed. When we got into the level plain in which Pau stands, it was quite fair. A good big boy came to the door of the diligence in a village where we stopped for a moment, and begged for a sou. No one was inclined to encourage him, and, barefoot as he was, he ran nearly a mile after us, crying out ' Un sou, s'il vous platt? Seulement un sou pour du tdbac un sou pour du tabac.' At last a lady relented, and gave the desired sou, more, I believe, to be rid of his noise and importunity than anything else. Tobacco, t. e. snuff, seems a necessary of life to the Pyrenean peasants, and indeed to most French people of the middling and poorer classes. Men, women, and boys of sixteen, all prisent ; and the consequence of this disgusting, filthy habit is, that when they grow old, they have generally a black drop hanging at the end of their nostrils. I have no objection to men's smoking in moderation ; and I know by experience that, shocking as it may sound, a cigar is the only thing that relieves in- tense toothache or tic-douloureux in the face. Thank God ! it is two years since I had any necessity for smoking one ; but, at a time when continual money losses, and the being obliged in consequence to break up my home had fear- fully shattered my nerves, nothing relieved the intense and excruciating pain I suffered in the face, but smoking for a quarter of an hour, and then laying the hot cigar on the outside of the cheek over the part affected (taking care not to burn the skin), till it drew the inflammation out- wards. It often puffed the cheek up to a level with my EAUX-BONNES TO BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 37 nose iii about twenty minutes, and then the pain imme- diately ceased. But there seems no earthly benefit to be derived from a custom so contrary to instinct and nature, as choking the nostrils and brain up with a pungent dust. I firmly believe this beastly habit brings on disease in the brain, and the more, because I knew one great snuff-taker whose voice was entirely spoiled by it, and who died of apoplexy when quite a young man. When we reached Pau, behold it was a brilliantly fine day. The streets were as dry as a bone, and not a drop of rain had fallen for at least twenty-four hours. I had just time, as I passed through the streets, to buy two yellow peaches to quench my thirst, before setting off for Bagneres. I felt quite a new creature the moment I got out of the damp atmosphere of Eaux-Bonnes into the blessed sunshine. All faintness and inclination to cholera vanished, as if by magic. I took my place in the dili- gence in connection with the Paris Messageries, and had to pay two or three francs more for it than all my late fellow-travellers had done, which I thought was hard, as I had no luggage, save a little plaid bag ; but it was the only one which started in the middle of the day for Tarbes, so I could not help myself.* The sole other occupant was an elderly gentleman, who had travelled a great deal in Switzerland, Germany, England, and elsewhere, and who was not therefore so prejudiced as untravelled Frenchmen usually are, and was very well-informed and agreeable. He had been to Bagneres de Luchon, and left it because of the rain, and was now going like myself to try if Bagneres de Bigorre had a better climate. We passed through a very pleasant country, and had a splendid view before us of the distant mountains we were going to visit ; * Another instance that my friend the office-keeper at Eaux-Bonnea was right when he said there were always two charges made at the diligence- offices, one for English travellers, a lower one for the French. 38 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. but, alas ! as we drew nearer to them, we got into the region of clouds and mist; the ground was wet, the hedges were wet, the ends of the tree-boughs hung down loaded with moisture, and the rain-drops trickled from their leaves just as at Eaux-Bonnes. * Je suis venu de Paris pour mon plaisir,' said the Frenchman, grimly, grinding his teeth fiercely, and shrugging his shoulders, as he pronounced the word plaisir. ' tTai quitte Luchon parcequil pleuvait toujours, et voila qu'il va pleuvoir a Bagrieres de Bigorre. S'il fait mauvais temps, je m'en vais demain matin' When we reached Tarbes, it rained heavily. Tarbes is a dreary, dirty, dull-looking little town, with narrow streets ; and when I got out of the diligence, the coach- man and the office-keeper made me pay four francs for Keeper's journey, which, as I was entitled to a certain amount of luggage, and had literally nothing but a few things tied up in a small, thin, plaid bag which I had made myself, and could carry in my hand, I thought very unfair. I had never been charged anything for him either in going to or coming from Eaux-Bonnes ; they had con- sidered him as my baggage. This charge, with the three francs I had paid above the prices, my fellow-travellers had told me, I ought to pay for my fare from Pau to Tarbes, made an unexpected extra expense of seven francs ; and this, and the rain, did not incline me favour- ably to Tarbes. My elderly companion and myself paid our fares, and hastened to mount into another diligence, which was crammed full of people. One of the passengers was a nun. The nuns seem to be always gadding.* The * There is a cause for this. Kising early in the morning, watching and praying in the church at night, and severe manual labour in washing the clothes of the sick and tending upon them, or the exhausting labour of teaching poor children in small ill-ventilated rooms, soon enfeeble the con- stitution of the uncloistered and most useful nuns. ' Few sisters,' said a French lady to me, ' can teach more than a year without their health giving way.' EAUX-BONNES TO BAGNEBES DE BIGOBEE. 39 old gentleman glanced out of the window at the dense mist and falling rain view there was none shrugged his shoulders, and ground his teeth in despair. ' Gen estfait,' said he to me ; ( je m'envais demain matin. H phut toujours dans cepays-ci' Kain, rain, rain. The old gentleman was cross because it rained. I was cross because I had spent seven francs more than I ought to have done, and seven francs would nearly have kept me in food seven days. The other people were cross because it rained, and because we were all so jammed together we could not move. We were not un- civil to one another, but we were all clearly in low spirits and unsociable, and thankful when at last we reached Bigorre. ' Do you know of a reasonable inn ? ' said I to the cross old gentleman, as we all got out. * Je men vais a V Hotel de Paris ' ' I am told it is a good hotel, and it is but for one night,' answered he, grimly. ' Where is it ? ' said I, desperately following him ; for it was dark, wet, slippery, and I was impatient to be housed, as it was 9 o'clock in the evening. He did not seem much gratified by my company, but as we entered the hotel he relented. ' (?est une dame qui est venu avec moi de Paw,' said he, presenting me to the hostess. ' She wants a room.' Then he asked if some ladies he expected to meet were there, and was answered in the affirmative. This smoothed his temper. I went up to my room, and when I entered the salle a manger to have a chop and some wine, for I had had nothing but two yellow peaches, a bit of bread, and a little brandy all day he was radiant. * I found my family here,' said he to me. ' Mais je nien vais demain.' I could not eat my chop after all. Bed was what I wanted. I commended Keeper to the care of the stable- 40 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. boy, saw him fed, and went to my room ; it was clean and comfortable, and I slept well. In the morning the first thing I did was to look out of the window. Bain, rain, rain. I had some French tea, cold, weak, and insipid, for breakfast, and then I went to the post-office to look for letters which were awaiting me. I returned and read them, hoping the day might clear. But still the rain fell. It was clear this large hotel, and a table d'hote dinner, of three or four francs, would not suit my purse ; there was no use in waiting for fine weather to go lodging-hunt- ing. I had brought an introduction to M. Frossard, the French Protestant Minister, from Madame Lauga. Lord Brougham's kind introductory letter had served me well in my distress at Pau, and was now to serve me here. M. Frossard was not at home, but his sister who lives with him, gave me the address, ' Maison Jalon.' In an hour's time I was located there. I had told Madame Llias, the mistress of the Hotel de Paris, I was not rich, and I had had little. My bill there was, therefore, moderate, yet it came to about nine francs for those few hours. I paid it, took Keeper and my bag, and departed. No untravelled English reader could imagine what strange places these French or rather Pyrenean houses are. How am I ever to describe Mademoiselle Jalon's, which by the way is greatly resorted to by the English families who come here, as it is large and well furnished, and the apartments are regularly waxed, so that there are no fleas ? A very necessary thing at Bagneres, which swarms with . them as much as Dieppe, but sadly neglected by most of the lodging-house keepers here, who content themselves with making their rooms clean, but make no attempt to keep them so after they are let, for cleanliness and house- wifely activity are not indigenous among these mountains. I thought, as I entered Maison Jalon, I had never seen so strange a house; I have seen many like it since. It is BAGNERE8 DE BIGORRE. 41 entered by an immensely wide passage, up which a car- riage could have been driven with ease, though it must have backed out again. At the end of this passage were low white gates, about a yard high, dividing it from the rest of the passage leading to Dr. Subervier's consul- tation rooms, and to the kitchens which faced the front entrance, but were masked, as it were, by a door which always stood open, and a huge glass window, or rather wall, which gave the first kitchen a borrowed light the only one it had. Behind this wall was a small flagged court, always damp and open above to the sky, upon which the two kitchens opened. Beside the window of the first, some old Roman pilasters were incrusted into the wall. On the wall opposite the front door, over what was termed la fontaine, but which was no fountain at all, but merely a tap whence water was drawn, was a full-sized female figure in white plaster. Entering the gate, but leaving the kitchens on one's right, one ascended a wide, handsome staircase, which led to the first floor, where there are good large salons and bedrooms. On the landing- place, at the foot of the stairs, is a glass door, which leads to a gallery running round the four sides of a square, open at top to the sky, and overlooking the court in front of the kitchens ; some of the rooms whose windows open upon it, occupied by Dr. Subervier, have, of course, only a borrowed light. These rooms are one story high, and the roof comes down to the top of their walls, just as if they were outside a house, not within it. Re-entering the glass door, one ascends another wide staircase over the first ; then comes a long corridor, with rooms on each side, like the first floor it opens by a glass door on to a wooden gallery running the whole length of the house, and com- manding a pleasant view of the Thermes or Baths, and Mont Olivet. I have two little rooms at the end of this corridor, opening on to the gallery, and find them very 42 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. pleasant; but they would not do for me in winter, as there are no fire-places in them. After having settled myself, I went out in despite of the rain to look about me. Bagneres seemed to me rather prettily situated on the slope of a green hill. I met my fellow-traveller from Pau, buttoned up to the throat, and grimmer than ever. ' You are walking in this charming weather,' he began. 1 1 have been walking, too. There is really a pretty walk over that hill (Mont Olivet), if one could see it. I recom- mend you to go there when you can. As to me, je pars demain matin. I cannot live in a place where it does nothing but rain. It rained at Luchon. I left it ; it rains here. To-morrow I am going to Vichy ; if it rains there, I shall go back to Paris. I hate rain. Humph ! ' The little man looked so stern and grim as he said this, as if he meant to punish the weather by departing, that it was impossible to forbear laughing. * Ah 1 ah ! vous riez, vous ? Moi, je ne ris pas. Je m'en vais.' I suppose he went, for I saw him no more. If he had only had twenty-four hours' patience ! The next day it was beautifully fine, and I saw that Bagneres de Bigorre was not merely situated at the foot of a hill, but surrounded by mountains. I took the walk the little man and Murray both recommended, along a sort of terrace cut through a hanging wood above the Thermes, named Mont Olivet, and which is a continu- ation of the small mountain directly above the town, known as the Bedat. The whole of this wood and the base of the Be'dat are intersected by winding walks, but I followed the straight one, leading towards La Bassere. There is a beautiful view from it in all directions. Below in the green valley, watered by the clear, ever- murmuring Adour, lies the small white town of Bagneres, with its strange ugly cathedral, with one little pepper-box stuck on one side of its gable end, as if it had never been BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 43 finished, and the graceful octagonal tower of the Eglise des Jacobins, which was pulled down in the mad, blind fury of the Revolution, and nothing left of it but the tower, the new Eglise des Carmes, the small chapel belong- ing to the Carmelite nuns, and the Carmelite monastery and nunnery. Two or three villages lie beyond Bagneres. One of them, Pouzac, has a very pretty square-towered church, with a wooden gallery running all round it, and above that a small spire. There were not so many flowers on Mont Olivet as on the Promenade Horizontale at Eaux- Bonnes, nor were the bugles so intense in colour. They were more of a deep lilac, but still very pretty. I found no gentianellas, but the meadow saffron grew under some of the trees, and the delicate little parasite dodder, and the graceful and delicate pale-blue ivy-leaved campanula. I have no work on botany with me, now that I am constantly wandering about. When I get settled I shall buy Philippe's ' Flore des Pyrenees,' and then I shall be able to give the proper Latin botanical names of the plants I find. I hate those Latin names, and though Shakespeare does say that 'the rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' the common names of plants are much more poetical and descriptive than the Latin ones. The word snowdrop awakens a thousand associations, but what poet could write about the 'Gralanthus nivalis?' Dr. Walter Johnson, of Malvern, once told me that he was walking one day with the Laureate, when they found a flower the latter was unacquainted with, he inquired its name. Dr. Walter proceeded to give him a learned botanical name. * I don't want that,' said the poet, ' what I want is the common name the ploughmen and milkmaids I returned from Mont Olivet with a lovely bouquet, arranged it, and put it in water, rested awhile, and then went through the town of Bagneres. There is not much 44 A LADYS WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. to see in it. The Thermes is a handsome square building of grey marble, as Murray informed me. But for the red book, I should, with my bad sight, have taken it for grey- stone, as it is simply hewn, and not polished marble. In like manner, I should never, but for Murray, have dis- covered that all the door-posts, lintels, and window-sills of the houses in Bagneres are of the same marble of the country. But I should have found out for myself, that a little brook of running water runs down each side of the street and keeps the houses cool and the streets clean, while some of the bath-houses are surrounded on two sides, at least, by broad streams looking like canals. A very small boat might certainly row along them. There is a good deal to say for and against these street rivulets. They are very convenient for the dogs, and they wash away all refuse ; but I should not like, were I living at No. 20, to have my wine decanters, and my saucepans, and my vegetables washed as I see these things continu- ally done, in the stream at which the dog of No. 19 had just been drinking, the shopman of No. 14 rinsing his hands, and the mistress of No. 17 washing some exceed- ingly dirty linen. To do the Bigorrais justice, they do not usually fill their drinking vessels from le ruisseau, the women fetch the water from the fountains, of which there are several in the town. But, with all this abun- dance of water, the Bagnerais are not a clean race. It is not the custom to wash the floor of the rooms, or the passages, or the shop floors, or the counters, or tables, or anything that is commonly washed every day in England. The peasants are consequently walking menageries of f sharps, not to say of other things which I have heard a Bagneraise lady declare were to be caught on the benches of the public walks. The peasant women lounge all day, with their knitting, on the seats in the Place des Coustos, where the stalls of knitted work are spread out under the BAGNERES DE BIOORRE. 45 trees, and on those in the walks of Mont Olivet, and sometimes leave testimonies of their having done so, not over-pleasant to ladies and gentlemen. The peasants' dress is much more respectable-looking and whole than that of our working people. The men wear round jackets, waistcoats, and trousers of brown un- dyed home-spun wool, and blue or brown flat caps, called berets, resembling the Scotch bonnet, only larger, on their heads. In bad weather, they wear a huge brown cloak of very thick felt-like cloth, with a peaked hood to it, which they draw over the head like a Capuchin friar. It seems very droll to see a man digging in this costume, when an Englishman would be working in his shirt sleeves ; but I suspect it is the wiser plan to protect themselves from the weather. Anyhow, they look very picturesque. Some- times the men wear a brown or blue woollen nightcap with the end hanging down instead of the beret. The women's dress is not becoming ; they wear a handkerchief twisted round the head, a pretty enough head-dress for a young woman when the colours are well selected and it is coquet- ishly put on, but the elder women always choose shades of yellow and maize and feuille morte intermingled, which does not set off a wrinkled, yellow skin ; over this they lay another folded in half, the corners hanging down be- hind, and the two ends, which are rarely tied, floating on the shoulders like the Bordelaises ; I always wonder they don't blow off into the ruisseau. Their gown is usually of dark-coloured linsey-woolsey or merino, and over this is a handkerchief, very untidily pinned across the bosom ; knitted stockings, and generally sabots or wooden shoes usually complete their attire, but many go barefoot. The capulet is rarely red here, and is generally made of white flannel, the grey selvage forming a stripe down the back. In bad weather they wear a dingy, dark-coloured cloth cloak, of the same sack-like shape, that reaches nearly to 46 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. the ankles. The bourgeoise wears a cap in fine weather ; in wet, a sort of cloak of black merino, generally lined with purple silk, and shaped something like a Talma cloak, but with a small semicircle cut in the middle for the face, and it is held together under the chin by one hand. Bon- nets are not in vogue, except for ladies, and hats still less so; but even the peasants, at least the smart ones, wear crinoline. I think the cleanest creatures in Bagneres are the pigs, which are regularly driven into the water every day ; they seem to enjoy it amazingly, and to be far more sensible of the benefits of ablution than the dirty men and women who drive them to the streams. The pigs, indeed, and all the animals, seem highly civilized here ; I suppose, because they are kindly treated and frequently spoken to. They come when called; and when, in walking among the mountains, I hear the shepherds calling to their flocks, and see the docile sheep going the way they are directed, I am often forcibly reminded of our Saviour's words, ' My sheep know me, and hear my voice.' The horses are also often washed, but not the poor cattle that draw the teams and plough the fields, who need it more, and whose buttocks are often covered with dry clotted cow-dung, that must make their skin very sore and painful. The female sex have not a good time of it in the Pyrenees. One sees the women and girls working bare- legged in the fields, following the plough, and spreading manure with their hands, and sometimes ploughing, while their husbands and brothers have good warm stockings, as well as sabots or shoes : and the ploughs and carts are more frequently drawn by cows than by oxen. These cattle are something like the Breton cows, but rather larger, pretty, gentle, fawn-coloured creatures, with beautiful soft large eyes. Juno never could have been the vixen she was, if she had really been ox-eyed. , O BAGNEBES DE BIGOBBE. 47 There are large fields of maize about Bagneres; they tell me it is planted as a second crop after the corn has been reaped. Here too, they seem to be always hay- making. The fields are nearly all water meadows, and in all are dams and sluices, by means of which irri- gation is carried on. The land seems wonderfully fertile if it were well farmed, but everything here is done in a slovenly sort of manner, and the farm implements are of the rudest, clumsiest make. There is a pretty walk to the left of Mont Olivet, past the French Protestant church, called Salut,*from a mineral spring which rises there in the fields ; the path lies through emerald meadows, and the stream runs part of the way close beside it, and farther on, murmurs under the trees at the verge of the meadow. White cottages dot the hills here and there, each under its own chestnut trees, and all around rise the mountains, no two resembling each other in form and outline, but all beautiful. This walk leads through a plantation to Les Bains de Salut, and if you please to vary your walk, you may return home by the shady road. A French lady joined me one day as I was walking up towards some chestnut trees on the base of the Bedat, and proposed we should ascend it together. So we got a little shepherdess from a neighbouring metairie^ to guide us, and went to the summit, from whence there is a very beau- tiful view on all sides. On one side, the wide fertile plain dotted with villages and chestnut trees, and ,ending in a blue haze, that made one almost sure one saw the sea be- yond ; on the other, mountain after mountain rising like huge waves that have suddenly been stiffened into rock. It is impossible to look at the Pyrenees when thus seen from a mountain height, without thinking that they must once have been fluid. * Salut signifying health. t A dairy farm. 48 From the Be'dat one sees most of the principal moun- tains of this range. The Monne, the Pic du Midi de Bigorre, the highest of all, and rarely, except in the height of summer, free from snow (now in September it was quite white, forming a beautiful contrast with the green Bedat, and the brown fern-covered Monne) ; Lheris with its pine wood, and many others. As we came down, I gathered quite a large bouquet of the beautiful fringed pink, -which scented my room with its sweet perfume for many days after. Mademoiselle D'Orville was at the baths with an invalid mother, and had no walking companion, so we agreed, as I too was alone, to make some excursions together. She spoke English well, and was a pleasant, well-informed person. One day we hired donkeys, and rode to the valley of Campan, whence the white, and green, and flesh-coloured marbles are quarried. On our way, in passing through the dirty little village of Baudean, we saw a slab in the wall of a house commemorating the birth there of Baron Larrey, the friend and physician of Buonaparte ; and his erection of the village schools. There is nothing to see at Campan, except the pretty green valley up which one rides, hemmed in by mountains. The Adour murmurs through it all the way, and not only sings, but works, for it turns several marble works and saw-mills. In one respect Campan is better off than Bagneres, for it has a covered market-place. There is also a pretty stone fountain in the centre of the village. Another day we hired a carriage, and set off at 8 o'clock A.M., to the Col d'Aspin. It was a gloriously beautiful morning, and the meadows and mountain peaks seemed to exult in the sunshine and put on new beauty. One never tires of mountain scenery, for every day varies its aspect, by some enchantment of light or shade. Thus Campan to-day looked brighter and greener than Campan the other day. We passed several other villages beyond, BAGNKRES DE BIGORRE. 49 gradually ascending the mountain, until we came to an inn belonging to three different parishes, where we stopped to bait our horses, and while they were feeding, we walked to a pine-wood across the meadow. Mademoiselle D'Orville had a fancy for entering it ; I thought we might lose our way, and proposed following the beaten track which led up a pretty little valley watered by a murmuring stream. Here we lingered and botanized, but found nothing rare, and then Mademoiselle would go into the pine-wood, where we got bogged. Some of the pine-trees were very large and old, and from their branches hung a curious brown moss, like coarse human hair, some of which, as also a young sapin, I gathered and preserved in * Murray.' When we got back, our guide was very angry. He declared we might have met with wolves, which are very common in the higher mountains, and we should reach the Col after the sun had set, too late for the view ; but nevertheless, he dawdled another half-hour, during which time we sat down on the hay in the meadow, and ate the cold fowl arid grapes we had brought with us, and went into the house and got some execrable sour wine to drink alter it. The house was full of flies. I never saw such a quantity, except once at a house on the Niederwald, also on high ground. I suppose they like mountain regions. At last the carriage was pronounced ready, we took our seats and ascended the mountain. Such a glorious view it was all the way ! The road wound up the side of the Col, from which we saw all the neighbouring mountains ; in many places there was nothing, not even brushwood, at its edge. It was a relief to my mind when the trees of a sapin wood seemed to break the sheer descent, though I knew if we had been upset, they would not have afforded any safety. Happily, God watched over us, and we had good horses, and a careful though bold driver. The higher we advanced up this terraced road, which had 50 A LADYS WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. evidently been blasted out of the solid rock, the wilder and the grander grew the scene. Mountain after moun- tain appeared in the blue distance. At last we reached the Col, and got out to walk to the point whence we could best see the view. The whole chain of the Pyrenees lay spread out like a map before us, but as the guide had predicted, we were half-an-hour too late to see the more distant ones distinctly. Nevertheless it was the grandest sight I ever saw. Far grander than the defile between Eaux-Bonnes and Eaux-Chaudes. A very old white-haired shepherd came to us and told us the names of the prin- cipal mountains. We could even see some that rose in Spain. Mademoiselle D'Orville could not forgive herself for having dawdled so long in the pine-wood and lost the sunset glow, and the distant view. The old shepherd told us there had been a most magnificent sunset half-an-hour ago. What a place to see it from ! He pointed out the Maledetta, and the Pic du Midi, and Mont Perdu, and the Vignemale, and we ought to have seen la Breche de Koland, had we but been in time. There was another party just before us. They also had come too late. Our guide summoned us to return ; very unwillingly we turned away from the magnificent view, over which the shadows of evening were now rapidly darkening. And this is the road to ' Luchon par la Montagne.' When I read those words on Eibette's coach-office, at Bagneres, how little I realized what a road it was. Oh! I hope next year I shall go to Luchon par la Montagne, and see that mag- nificent chain of mountains again. I wanted to see Cauterets and Argeles. The diligences had ceased to run, for the Bagneres season was over. But Monsieur Gazave, of whom I bought some boots, told me I could go for two or three francs with Madame Anniral, the dyer, who went every market day to Argeles. To Madame Armiral, therefore, I went. She told me she BAGNERES DE BIGOBBE. 51 started at half-past 5 A.M., and waited for no one ; so if I wished to go with her, I had better sleep at her house. She could give me a clean bedroom, and it would only cost me a franc, to which I agreed. Then I made arrange- ments for returning to lodge at Bagneres in a fortnight, but not with Mademoiselle Jalon. Her servants do not cook for people, and it would cost me three francs a day to have a dinner sent in from an hotel. Hitherto I have lived on bread and yellow peaches and grapes ; but in the whiter I shall need meat. CHAPTER V. BAGNERES TO CAUTERETS BY ARGELES. I BADE adieu to Mademoiselle Jalon about 8 o'clock in the evening, and went to sleep at Madame Armiral's. The room was clean and even handsomely furnished, and the bedding good, as is usual with France ; but alas ! for the / sharps ! Small rest did I get that night. It is no use com- plaining of fleas to a Pyrenean. ' H y en a partout,' is the invariable answer. If one suggests that the curse for to people with sensitive cuticles it is as a curse might be obviated by washing the floors regularly, they reply, ' On ne lave jamais le plancher id, $a gate le lois,' seeming to consider that argument irrefragable ; but if with insular pertinacity you continue to urge the multiform advantages of cleanliness, and gently intimate that it rather on the contrary benefits the wood, and that in the houses of re- spectable people in England, where it is not so necessary, as the climate is not so hot, and insects are fewer, the floors of uncarpeted rooms are regularly washed, they clinch the argument by adding, ' Personne ne lave les planchers id, meme dans les bonnes maisons. Vous irez partout ou vous voudrez on ne laverait pas les planchers non plus. Ce n'est rien, les puces 7 ' I comforted myself with the thought it was only for one night. Glad was I when, at 5 o'clock, one of Madame Armiral's granddaughters came to call me. I was already up and dressed, thanks to the fleas. It was a raw, bleak morning that 30th of September, when, by the dim light of a lantern on one side held by BAGNERES TO CAUTERETS BY ARGELES. 53 the hostler, and a guttering tallow candle that flared in the wind held by the maid, I and Keeper ascended into the front seat of the little double phaeton, in which we were to travel to Argeles, while Madame Armiral got up behind, and packed herself tightly in with bundles of wool, cloth, and flannel. We could scarcely see the dim outline of the houses as we drove out of the town. I could not recognize the road we were taking. By-and-by the black of night yielded to grey, which became every moment lighter, and by the time we reached a village I was informed was called Pouzac, day had dawned. The whole country round Bagneres is pretty throughout the long, flat, fertile valley in which it stands, with sloping hills and woods bounding the distance in most parts ; while the range of lofty mountains, at whose feet it lies, closes in the view. I lost, of course, the most beautiful prospect, as the mountains were all behind me, except the wooded slopes of Mont Olivet and the Camp de Cesar, which last is directly above Pouzac. We passed through two or three other villages, but saw nothing particularly interesting till we turned off towards Lourdes, when the road grew more beautiful every moment. The scenery is much wilder and more romantic there than at Bagneres, but it is not a place to live in. On each side of the road were steep, rocky, blue-grey mountains, down whose ravines rushed mountain torrents, foaming and splashing over the stones. Every now and then we crossed small stone bridges over narrow, clear, winding streams, getting, as it seemed, more and more into the fastnesses of the mountains, till we turned the shoulder of a hill, and saw the gloomy-looking, strongly-fortified Castle of Lourdes,* standing on the summit of a steep, abrupt rock dominating the plain before us, and a few seconds afterwards, the town below it came into sight. * Lourdes is a kind of border fortress between France and Spain. 54 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Lourdes, as we drove through it, seemed rather more of a town than Bagneres. It was clean and dull-looking. It is a garrison town, but it was too early for any of the military to enliven its streets by gay uniforms. Few of the windows were yet unclosed. We stopped more than twenty minutes in front of one of the inns, not to rest or feed our poor weary steed, who, small as he looked, and heavily as he was laden, had done his journey wonderfully well, but that our driver might go to a barber, 'pour faire sa barbe,' as Madame Armiral informed me. Out he came at last, quite a new man, well shaved, his hair curled, and a smart Magenta tie replacing the old woollen comforter round his neck. ' Les jeunes gens aiment a se faire beau pour le marche? said Madame Armiral, approvingly, in my ear. Meanwhile, I had been regaling myself and Keeper, who had been allowed to run most of the way, and was highly indignant at being put back into the carriage, with a roll I had taken with me. Madame Armiral called a gamin out of the street, and proffered him a sou if he would go and buy her a new roll. He returned with an old, dry one. 'Je ne puis pas le manger,' said she, 'with my old teeth ; I am seventy-seven, and can't do with such hard crusts.' Of course I offered her part of mine, which she declined, saying we should soon reach Argeles. ' You surely are not seventy-seven ? ' said I, looking at her. ' Soixante-dix-sept ans Hen sonnes? ( And do you often go this long journey, and so thinly clad ? ' said I, looking at the hardy old woman in amaze, for she had nothing but one cotton handkerchief tied round her head ' a la mode du pays,' and a thin shawl over her gown. ' Toujours,' she answered ; * tputes les semaines, I'ete et I'hiver. Meme quand la route est tout couverte de neige.' Think of an old lady of seventy-seven getting up once BAGNERES TO CAUTEBETS BY ARGELES. 55 a week out of her warm bed, before 5 o'clock in the morning, and driving, without her breakfast, across the mountains, for hours. Her husband, she told me, had been dead thirty years ; but one son and his family lived with her ; the other was cook to a regimental mess, and had been in England seventeen years. He talked of coming to see them this year, but he had talked of it every year. She thought it would end in talk. She was a fine, stout, stalwart old lady, clearly quite accustomed to hold the reins, and to see everyone bend to her will ; but the tone of command in which she addressed everybody even me, whom she told what I ought to do and to leave undone, and how I ought to manage my journeys had a touch of motherly kindness and warm-heartedness in it which made her obvious love of governing very different from the dictatorial manner of a hard, cold, bitter, domineering old maid, who expects human hearts and feelings to go like machinery, and never get out of order ; and, having suffered herself, finds a certain grim consolation in seeing others suffer. I cannot help it. I am a maiden aunt myself; but I do think maiden aunts (when they take to managing, or rather Tms-managing, their nephews and nieces) are the pest of creation, and worse in their cold, deliberate murder of human hopes, hearts, and affections, than any murderer of the body that ever was gibbeted. But the mother who has loved, and been beloved, usually retains some sympathy for the young and their trials. She loves to order as much as a single lady, but, then, one sees and feels that it arises from the habit she has acquired of having a set of young people to think for, and provide for. By dint of continual clucking, and spreading her wings to shelter her own chickens, she ends by considering all who are a little younger than herself as a part of her brood. She tells you home truths in the roundest manner, and settles all your affairs for you just 56 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. as if you were a baby ; but, somehow, it is all done in such a kind, hearty manner, and is so entirely for your good, and she generally (unlike the strong-minded spinster) takes so sound, and practical, and genial a view of every- thing, that you resign yourself meekly to her guidance with a mental smile, and 'I do believe she thinks I'm an infant still ' and do just as you are bid. 'Nous arriverons a Argeles a midi,' said Madame Armiral to me ; ' aussitot que fai ouvert ma boutique, je dine. On m'apporte une soupe et un plat et tout ce qui me faut de Thotel. Une soupe vous fera du lien : vous dinerez avec moi, et puis vous irez vous promener pour voir le pays.' Our driver whipped the horse. Away we clattered over the stony road of the stony, rocky, bare valley 'the unpromising vestibule/ as Murray calls it, ' which leads into what has been called the paradise of Argeles.' I did not think it unpromising. To me there is something grand and sublime in rocks piled upon rocks grey, bare, and stern, almost to the sky, with water-courses rushing and tumbling down their ravines, whose white foam relieves, and gives life and light to the dark, sombre, blue-grey and brown hues of the crags, while their glad, fresh murmur breaks a silence that might otherwise soon become oppres- sive. We rounded a hill, and then the scene widened into a plain, above which, on the left hand, was a small monticule, partly fringed with wood, and surmounted by a ruined tower, grey, bare, naked, and desolate, that com- manded the whole valley below. This tower was Vidalos. The valley of Argeles is a long, low, oval basin, richly cropped, especially with maize, and surrounded on all sides by hills or mountains. Through it flows the Gave, the same river that runs by Pau ; but it is not a distin- guishing or beautiful feature in the landscape, being divided by shallows and sandbanks into innumerable small ARGELES TO CAUTERETS. 57 streams, and lost, as it were, in an ocean of sand. I was disappointed in Argeles. It is, no doubt, beautiful, but it is a tame kind of beauty. It is not half so beautiful as the vale of Abergavenny, with its old grey castle, from whence one looks on rich green meadows, golden with buttercups ; the broad Gavenny and its double-arched bridge that for passengers and carriages, and the one for tram-carts above giving it the appearance of a Roman aqueduct ; the beautiful hanging wood near Llan-Ellen, the broad-shouldered Blorenge, and the blue, abrupt Skyrid beyond. To the right of Argeles, just a little before you enter it, is a modern castle or chateau, belonging to Madame de Sales, the widow of a former juge de paix there. She is an Englishwoman, and, as Madame Armiral informed me, takes boarders. The town of Argeles is about as dirty and uninteresting a place as ever I saw. My intentions of wintering there vanished at once. 'Ma chere, c'est un pays de loup,' had been the remark of a French lady to me, to whom I confided my doubt as to whether Argele's or Bagneres would be the more desirable winter abode ' Id vous pourrez vivre, mats Id vous mourirez d 'ennui' Yet there was an English family obliged to leave Pau in consequence of reduced means, who lived and died here. Madame Armiral pointed out the house where they had lodged, at the corner of the market-place, opposite her own shop, as we drove past. What a dreary existence theirs must have been in this town of peasants, without books, without society, without comfort of all kinds ! The carriage stopped, and out we got. Madame Armiral fetched the key of her shop from a neighbour's, and pro- ceeded to open it, lifting heavy packages out of the phaeton and into the shop, and arranging them more like a strong man than an old lady of seventy-seven. When all was laid in order to her satisfaction, she went to the 58 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. hotel, next door, to order our dinners. I had said I would have no soup. * Je vous ai commande une soupe, cest "bon pour Testomac? said she, on her return. I saw I was doomed to soup, and did not argue the point ; and she cleared her shop-counter, dragged two old chairs out of a corner, one for herself within the counter, and one for me without it, and I sat down, waiting till the dinner should come, and looking on the market-place of Argeles, all full of life and bustle, with groups of paysans in their blue beret caps, and suits of brown homespun wool ; jacket, vest, and trousers usually alike ; a smart silk neck- tie, as fashionably narrow as those in London or Paris ; a snowy shirt, and sometimes the end of the scarlet or green woollen sash just peeping from under the vest, being the only approach to a costume among the men ; while the paysannes wore dark-coloured gowns, often of woollen, sometimes a jacket, and sometimes a cotton handkerchief pinned over the bosom, and the handkerchief twisted round the head, those who came from a distance frequently wearing, also, the white or red capulet ; but there was none of the gay colouring I had expected to see in a foreign market-place. Costumes are fast dying out everywhere. The more the pity, for they are replaced by ugliness and dirt. The sombre, dirt-hiding hues of a Pyrenean peasant woman's dress is certainly far better than the tawdry finery of women of the same rank in an English town, but there is nothing gay or picturesque about it. The girl now brought our dinner from the inn, and after spreading a snowy table-cloth on the counter, placed before each of us a large piece of bread and a clean napkin and a pint bason of soup (nobody ever dines without a napkin and a potage in France). The potage was full of bread, and unlike any I had ever tasted before, but it was good, and I ate it all, to Madame Armiral's great content. AEGELES TO CAUTERETS. 59 ' Ca vous /era du lien ! ' she exclaimed, for the sixth time. Then we had some veal aux tomates, good also, and half a bottle of vin ordinaire, between the two, of which we took what we thought fit ; chasse cafe accompanied by a small glass of eau de vie, and a little saucer of six or seven lumps of sugar, was set before each of us. I had refused cafe and brandy altogether at first, but I was not well. I had not eaten the meat, not because it was not good, but because I felt sick and squeamish, and I thought with Madame Armiral, some strong coffee and brandy would do me good, and took it. After dinner she brought out some grapes, and seemed quite hurt when I refused them. ' Tiens,' said she, ' I bought them on purpose for you, when I went to order dinner.' When the fille came to clear away and be paid the bill, our dinner had cost us douze sous, sixpence, and the chasse cafe, six sous. ' And now,' said Madame Armiral, ' I have my shop to look after, there is not much room in it, and all the pea- sants will be coming to fetch the things they have had dyed, so you had better go and look about you. If you go down straight through the market, past the H6tel de France, you will have a pretty view of the country/ So 1 and Keeper, who had dined well on the veal I could not eat, and the soup-meat, set off together. We went down the hill towards Pierrefitte. The view on all sides was lovely, and the road was bordered nearly to the bridge with beautiful green tree-shaded meadows, and watered by silver runnels cut across them in all parts, and reflecting the clear blue sky. I took Keeper into them, and after much difficulty succeeded in capturing him (for he makes a point of never coming within my grasp out walking, though he will play with me for hours in the house), and put him into the brooklet and gave him a thorough wash, after 60 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. which I threw sticks for him to catch, and he ran after them, played at ball with them, rolled on the grass, and threw them up into the air and caught them, and when I drew near, bounded off with them again, as if defying me to catch him. Then I continued my walk. I passed a very pretty house on the right-hand side standing back from the road, in front of which were a pair of tall iron gates, leading up to an avenue of monthly roses in full flower, shaded by a second avenue of that favourite French tree the poplar. This pretty chateau is let in apartments during the summer months to visitors, and the inside is as clean and tempting, as the delicious view from the windows, and the shady garden around it, is alluring. I longed to lodge there. Farther on still was a dirty little village, whose name I forget. I went into the church, but there was nothing worth seeing there. I asked a peasant woman I saw at one of the best houses to let me go into her house, and she took me up stairs into her bedroom. It was a good large room with two windows, both, as was that on the staircase landing, as large as bedroom windows usually are in a gentleman's house in England, and both wide open. For- tunately, the French peasants are particular in ventilating their houses, doors and windows generally stand wide open all day, or the consequences of their filthy habits would be terrible. The room was as dirty as I expected to see it, and strewn with cobs of the maize drying, but the beds were good, and the coarse homespun sheets, for the beds were still unmade, perfectly clean. On the mantel-shelf was a statuette of the Virgin, with a few cheap artificial flowers round it, and a crucifix with two cheap coloured prints of saints hung over it. I saw most of the house, and sat some half-hour to rest myself, and have a gossip with the mistress, whose heart I won by admiring a fat chubby bright-eyed baby, who lay wide awake in his cradle, the ARGELES TO CAUTERETS. 61 only thing there was to admire in the whole establishment, and as I talked I looked about me. The floor was several inches thick with dust, and made of a sort of composition that looks like stone, with which I have seen cottages floored in England. In one corner lay fagots of wood not for immediate use, but at least a week's provision. A pot was boiling over a smoky fire, and a very dirty bare- footed old woman was raking the embers together and blowing them by her breath into a dull flame. ' (Jest ma mere' said my hostess, whose tanned skin and filthy dress were worthy of such a mother. * And does she always go barefoot ? ' I asked. ' No, not in winter, but it is hot weather now.' N.B. All the peasant women think it necessary for their health to go bare foot part of the year, though the men are almost invariably well shod with shoes, boots, or sabots. 1 Is this farm-house your own, madame ? ' ' Oh yes, it is our own, and we have several fields also. We are proprietairesS Landowners. So I understand are the greater part of the miserable- looking men and women I meet, and I suppose five hundred years hence their descendants will look equally dirty and miserable. It seems necessary for man to have something to look up to ; some higher standard of refinement and intelligence than his own, or that of his own immediate circle. I never knew the infinite value, the moral use, of our English nobility and gentry in setting an example of order, cleanliness, and intelligent management of their lands and households, till I saw the Pyreneau peasants. Argeles is an Arcadia of beauty and fertility, but alas for the Arcadians! When one sees the girls haggard and wrinkled for want of bonnets or hats to shade their eyes from the sun, exposure to which makes them contract a perpetual frown before they are women ; the women tanned till their skins resemble York-tan leather, and old at thirty ; 62 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. the number of females one meets who are blear-eyed or suffering from goitre, or worn out before their time the cretins, the many maimed and deformed children from bad nursing, or accidents, arising from having been left alone while their parents were at work in the fields, and the filthy homes, where dogs and pigs and fowls run about as they like over the never-washed floors ; the miserable dwell- ings, some of which have no windows, but merely shutters, while others are almost dark, having little light but what comes through the open door, and contrasts these filthy homes and people with the tidy home and clean bright- faced wife and rosy children of the Yorkshire labourer, one cannot but feel these people would have far more real com- fort if the land belonged to intelligent, kind landlords,* able to cultivate it properly, and who would take care that the cottages on their estates were well built, well venti- lated, well drained, and fit abodes for human beings, instead of tumble-down pigsties, and whose example would civilize and stimulate the people to attain habits of cleanliness and decency. There is another cause for the coarse, hard look of the women. It is the demoralization consequent upon the custom of girls working in the fields with men. Their roughened voices, their coarse language and beha- viour, all bear witness to its frightful effects on their cha- * Such landlords as our Yorkshire ones men who take a pride in having the labouring classes in the villages belonging to them well and comfortably housed, not herding together like pigs, or forced to walk two or three, or even six miles, to their work in all weathers, and the same distance back again when they are worn out with fatigue for want of proper house accom- modation near their employment, as seems to be the case in too many of the southern and midland counties. It is a disgrace to any man to draw a large annual income from the soil, and not to build proper cottages near the scene of their work for the labourers who are to cultivate it. It was the utter neglect by the rich of the miseries and necessities of the industrious classes that led to the French Revolu- tion, and the fearful war now raging in America is undoubtedly God's judgment upon the Americans for years of cold non-intervention on the one hand, and holding their fellow men as slaves on thf-, other. Neither nations nor individuals can afford to neglect a plain duty. If they do, the conse- quences always recoil upon their own head. ARGELES TO CAUTERETS. 63 racter. The Pyrenean men make wretched husbands drink and abuse their wives. The women also drink as their own songs avouch, and young women invite the young men to drink, and pay for them. The blessedness of home is unknown. The tired peasant returns to a filthy house, where smoulders a piece of charcoal covered by ashes. No pleasant, cheerful meal awaits him. His children have cried themselves to sleep in a corner, or perhaps one of them has burnt his arms off. How can it be otherwise? The wife and the eldest girls have fol- lowed his plough all day. The weary, footsore, hard-worked set get a little bread and curdled milk (a chief article of diet in peasant life), and some fruit or chestnuts, and retire to rest unwashed, in company with their dirty animals. As I went back to Argeles I passed one clean cottage, the only one I have seen in this part of France, yet the owner had more to struggle against than most of those around. She had only been confined three weeks ago and was in bad health. She was standing at the door as I passed, and on my asking a question she invited me to go in, and I sat down and had a chat with her. She was not a native of Argeles, and seemed as much horrified at the dirt around her as myself. When I got back to Madame Armiral's shop, she thus addressed me : ' J'ai tout arrange. You said you meant to stay a week at Argeles and a week at Cauterets. Cauterets is colder than Argeles, you had better go there first. I have ar- ranged with Canon to take you back in his voiture ; cest un bon enfant, his wife and daughters will take care of you, and will cook for you if you wish it, and next market- day he will bring you back to Argeles. You can stay a week here, and return this day fortnight with me to Bagneres.' I thought the arrangenent good and agreed to it, and Madame sent her man to conduct me and my bag (which 64 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. I carried in my hand) to Canon's carriage, but scarcely had we reached the middle of the market-place, before a man came up and took it from me, crying 'La voiture vous attend Venez.' My guide turned round and left me, so I thought it was all right. ' Are you Canon ? ' said I. ' No, not Canon, but I will take you to his carriage it is there, en face of the Hotel de France.' ' I knew that before,' said I, rather glumpily. When we got to the hotel, Canon was not there, he had not sent my self-elected guide, and the voiture was not ready. I took my bag and the man wanted a franc. A franc for carrying a light bag (not a carpet bag, but one I had made myself) about thirty yards ! I retained possession, telling him I wanted no porter, and should never have let him take it, if he had not said Canon had sent him for me. He threatened me with a proces and made a terrible noise, and the French gentlemen standing round the many voitures seemed to think it was very disreputable, and that as a lady I ought to pay the franc. I would not, on principle I hate to be cheated, and the Hotel de France could be seen from Madame Armiral's shop, just a few yards beyond the market-place, while he had only carried the bag half that small distance and that unasked. I offered him six sous, which he refused with disdain, saying majestically, ' Je vous fais cadeau de mes services.' ' Oh ! very well,' said I, quietly putting them back into my purse, and taking my seat on a low walk by Canon's voiture. He waited, but seeing no signs of a franc or even half a franc, burst forth furiously : ' Je vous ferai un proces Je vous citerai devant le maire? &c., &c. ; ' vous refusez de me payer apres m avoir employe,'' &c. ' I did not employ you,' said I. ' You took my bag out of my hand, saying Canon had sent you. I offered you ARGELES TO CAUTEBETS. 65 six sous, more than enough for carrying a light bag across half the market-place, and you said, rather than take so little, you made me a present of your services.' ' Well, give me the six sous then.' I gave them, glad to be rid of him, and he went off grumbling as if he was ill-used. Travellers should never let people seize their luggage in this way that is, if they can hinder them. Canon came up at last, helped me and Keeper and the bag into a carriage belonging to him, and full of people returning from the market, and which one of his men was to drive, he himself conducting the other, as they have it in French, and we set off. It was a glorious evening, the light lay lovingly upon the blue mountains at the foot of the valley of Argeles, and touched the fading chestnut groves on the slopes at our right with gold. We passed the church and village of St. Savin, perched upon a high cliff, from whence my companions told me there was a magnificent view, and that of Ste. Marie, a little farther on. Then a large handsome-looking house, whose high terrace overhung a wooded slope, formerly the property of a Marquis. A peasant had bought it, and eighty journaux of land for about eighteen hundred pounds; and now he and his family, though rich (he was stated to have above a thousand a year English money), lived like other peasants in the kitchen, and made the beautiful upper rooms into corn lofts and hay cham- bers. Even my French fellow-travellers agreed that * cetait bien dommage, car cetait une belle maison' We passed through Pierrefitte, a cleaner-looking village than Argeles, from whence one road branches off to Luz and St. Sauveur. We took the other to the right, and began a steep ascent up a road such as I never saw. It was as smooth and level as any street in London, but blasted out of the lofty rock that towered, wall-like, above it, or built on solid masonry flanked by strong buttresses 66 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. that protected it from the incursions of the Gave in the ravine below. Onward we drove. A wall of grey pre- cipitous rocks sometimes clothed with foliage, with here and there small cascades dashing like long white ribbons down their sides, and lovely little green fields, shaded by rees fields one longed to walk in and to sit in perched on the top of the crags, or lying between the rocks or at the base of the mountains on each side of us, and I gazed and gazed, and drank in large draughts of beauty and grandeur, until the shadows of evening deepened over the grey rocks the green fields became no longer distinguish- able, and the woods looked a sombre black, for there was no moon. There was something awful in that evening drive, when one could only just dimly see the white curves of the road, and the huge masses of mountain on either side, while the torrent roared hoarsely and wildly in the deep ravine below. We had nearly reached the Col du Lirnac.on, when our driver lashed the spirited horses, and checked them at the same time ; they swerved suddenly, and wheeled half round, the back of the carriage actually touched the low parapet wall that protected us from the precipice ; there was but that low wall of some four feet between us, and a fearful death. I prayed mentally to God to bring us safe to our journey's end, and my gentlemen fellow-travellers coolly remarked Our driver has had a cup too much.' He still flogged and curbed the horses, and they grew momentarily more unmanageable. ' We shall be thrown down the precipice/ said I. ' Not so, I hope/ said a French priest ; ' but if Made- moiselle is afraid, she had better get out and walk up the Col there is a footpath which is shorter than the road.' I gladly assented, got out, and walked up it. At the top of the Col they took me into the carriage again, but ABGELES TO CAUTERETS. 67 my heart beat all the rest of the way. I expected our tipsy driver would upset us. We stopped at last at a house on the slope of the steep hill, the driver got out to ' get a light/ he said ; he did not return directly, and the horses set off. Now it was the gentlemen's turn to be alarmed they vociferated and scolded the priest quietly got out of the carriage, seized the reins which had fallen with a firm hand, and stopped the horses. ' Thank God,' said I. ' Que diable faites-vous id ? ' said a hearty voice, as another carriage came up behind us. ' The driver is drunk,' said the gentlemen. * We shall certainly be upset,' cried I. * Oh I que non,' said Canon, cheerfully. ' Nous sammes a Cauterets.' We dismounted each went their way, and Canon es- corted Keeper and J! up a short steep street ending in a long flight of steps, at the top of which a woman with a candle in her hand met us, and lighted us the rest of the way to the house. It was Madame Canon. A few minutes afterwards I was in possession of a large room with two beds in it. Sheets were put on one of them towels and water placed on a table Keeper laid down in a corner quite tired out with his journey, and I, equally tired, after having thanked God for preserving us from all accidents, undressed and went to bed. CHAPTER VI. CAUTEKETS. OP course, the first thing I did on arising, was to look out of my window. The view was rather cheerless, for the day was foggy; Canon's house was in a very narrow street, with a row of poor-looking dwellings on the opposite side the way, and beyond I caught sight of a high mountain. I dressed, had some cafe au lait, and sallied out. Cau- terets is built on the side of a mountain, which rises so suddenly and precipitously, as it were overhanging a part of the town, that one cannot help feeling rather nervously afraid lest it should fall down, and crush one to death. I passed through the small town. What a contrast to dirty Argeles, are those lofty white stuccoed handsome houses with their gilt and bronzed balconies! Many of their doors and balconies are painted a kind of bronzed pale- green, which I never saw used in house decorations before, but which has a very good effect. It is a gay, clean- looking, pleasant little town, whose houses, with their wide open lofty windows, spotless muslin curtains, and ever- open doors, seem to say to the passing traveller, < Come and lodge here. You will find yourself comfortable.' Even the back streets, like that in which Canon's house stands, have a more respectable appearance than the mar- ket-place of Argeles. I found the steps I had gone up the night before led to the principal bath-house, which is large and handsome, and contains comfortable bathing-rooms. But there are CAUTERETS. 69 many different springs at Cauterets, some in the town, some nearly two miles beyond it, as La Railliere and the Petit St. Sauveur. The waters of Cauterets are very powerful, and should not be taken without good advice. Every year some one or other hastens their death by in- cautiously using them. Just before I went there a young man who was consumptive took them ; they brought on spitting of blood, and he died within a fortnight ; yet they are said to be good for consumption, and the doctors frequently order them for that complaint. It was not fine enough for climbing mountains. Madame Canon advised a walk to La Railliere, and directed me thither. Passing from the flight of steps before the Thermes, what is grandiloquently called the market-place, but is merely a little space of ground, rather wider than usual there, between two rows of houses, one turns to the left, up what I consider the main street, for the best houses are there, and follows the road till it reaches the bridge. No fear of losing your way. On either side rise steep, black, sombre-looking mountains, whose sides are covered with loose rough stones of all forms and dimensions. Stones, stones, nothing but stones, their hues varied by lichens, meet the eye in walking up the narrow valley by the side of the Gave, which chafes as if it were angry at being unable to force a passage through the huge massy rocks that confine it as in a prison. Yet desolate, bare, and tree- less as the view is, it had a wild picturesque grandeur of its own, that pleased me. I thought as I sat and rested on one of the large boulders, that were I an artist, I could make a grand picture of this gloomy valley. When, for instance, those sharp peaks are lit up by the glow of sun- set, and the rocky, stony valley is flooded with the purple shades of approaching night, or seen as now in a grey October morning, with masses of dense vapour curling upwards, and veiling parts of the hills, while the white 70 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. foam of the river gives the necessary contrast and relief to the sombre granite rocks. La Bailliere seems the favourite bath, for the few people still left at Cauterets were all going there, or re- turning homewards, or drinking the waters. I peeped into the baths, which seemed just like all other foreign baths in their arrangements. I never taste mineral waters, and cannot imagine why travellers seem to think it their bounden duty to taste every nasty spring they come to, any more than they would taste every bitter drug in every apothecary's shop they went into. Life has bitters enough. I like something sweet. I pursued my walk by the side of the torrent, curious to see if my ignorance could discover ' where the granite and the slate formation met,' as ' there,' a geologist told me, * the thermal springs always rise.' At the end, as it were, of the valley, a white stream foams down from the mountain on the left, crosses it, and falls into the Gave on the other side. These waters are so strongly impregnated with sulphur, that the very air is, as it were, tainted. I turned quite sick from the mere smell, and continued so most of the day ; and the same effect was produced, but in a less degree, every time I walked to La Kailliere. Two priests were walking up the ravine be- tween the hills at the end of the valley, and I longed to walk up that steep path beside the roaring, tumbling, foaming water, too, especially as the disagreeable odour from the water ceased after one had passed the Bains du Petit St. Sauveur, but alas, the ancle I had sprained at Bordeaux, gave me notice that climbing up rocks whose sides were strewn with steep stones did not suit it, and I returned home. I had learned a lesson by living at Bordeaux with Pauline, and I inquired whether I could not have a pdage and a small plat or dish of meat fetched from a decent- looking second-rate hotel near Canon's. The master of it CAUTEKETS. 71 agreed to supply me with a soupe and a plat for fifteen sous, about eightpence a day, if Canon's daughter would fetch them and take back the empty plates, and I found it far more economical and better than attempting to cater for myself. They sent me daily a large basin of soup and a plat or dish of good wholesome well-dressed meat, quite enough both for Keeper and myself. The pled was evidently the remains of the table d'hote; once, for instance, I had the leg of a duck, two necks and part of the wing and breast of a fowl. What did that signify ? it was not off people's plates, and it was far more comfortable than eating day after day the same dry, disgusting piece of meat ; ill-cooked on Monday to begin with, cold on Tuesday, warmed up Wednesday and Thursday, till in utter despair at seeing the dried-up, greasy, tasteless food, will last yet another day, I give it to Keeper. What kind of a dinner can a single woman who is poor have cooked for herself? Steaks and chops are far dearer than a joint, and one gets tired to death of them. The French who are en garni always dine at a table d'hote, or have their dinner from an hotel, but the masters of hotels do not like the English to know the prices at which they serve their French customers. Mademoiselle D'Orville advised me to have my dinner sent to me while I was at Bagneres, as the servants of the house I lodged in would not cook for anyone, and re- commended the Hotel du Soleil, from whence she and her mother had theirs. But the Sun would not help to vivify me. They would not serve me under three francs a day, more than I could afford to spend for dinner and lodgings too. Wherever the English congregate, everything grows dear to them. Those who have money at command are always comparing French prices, and English prices, and will overpay. They do not consider the serious injury they are doing their poorer countryfolks who emigrate for 72 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. cheapness, and who will ever after be charged at the same rate their richer countryman or woman has voluntarily paid. In the prices of apartments, the hire of carriages, horses, and guides, and even of the very fruit in the market, there are two prices, one pour les Anglais, another for the natives. This foolish ostentation of the rich English sadly cramps and mars the comforts and enjoy- ments of the poor, and it is money thrown away, for it wins them no gratitude ; their generosity is all set down to the English whim of appearing plus grand que les autres, or to their being so rich, that they really do not know what to do with their money. I went one day to the Grange de la Eeine Hortense, from whence there is a beautiful view down the valley. A boy there and his mother were preparing to carry two loads of fagots on their backs down the steep hill, very hard work, for which they are very badly paid, a large load of wood carried from the mountain to a house in the town costing only thirty sous, wood included. I offered the lad ten sous, the French equivalent for sixpence, to show me the way to the top of the hill, mountain it could hardly be called. An English boy would have accepted it gleefully, not so the French one. My request had immediately elevated him in his mother's eyes and his own to the rank of a guide. ' Dix sous pour oiler au sommet de la montagne ! ' ex- claimed both, in a tone of injury ; ' qa ne vaut pas la peine pour si peu.' ' Oest un travail nioins fatigant que de porter cela a la ville, et peut-etre sans le vendre ; ' said I, ' mais ce mest Hen egal, je connais la route.' It was even so, Canon had told me I might safely walk to the top; so I set off alone. The path was clearly CAUTERETS. 73 marked ; and when I reached a sapim wood, I found a whole party of men busily engaged cutting through rocks, levelling hollows, and cutting down trees, to make as they told me a bridle-road to the summit against next season. ' Are you not afraid to go about alone ? ' said they. * Afraid what in France ! I have travelled all through the middle of France, and walked about everywhere with no companion but a dog, and I never yet found a Frenchman uncivil to me. They have always been courteous and kind.' * But you had better have a guide ; you may lose your way, else.' ' I will guide you,' said a bright-eyed lad of sixteen. ' I am afraid you would ask too much. I can only afford to give ten sous. ' Trois francs, fir ai avee vous pour trois francs,' said he, insinuatingly. * Ten sous,' said I, in the most uncompromising manner. ' I know the road already. Canon has told it me. You know Canon ? I live at his house.' (I thought Canon's well- known name might be a protection to me.) ' I am not rich, and I cannot afford more.' ' Not rich ! ' said the boy, unbelievingly. ' You are English, you are dame, et vous portez chapeau I ' * It is my costume,' said I ; * everybody in England, even the beggars, wear chapeaux. So they do in Switzerland, and even in many parts of France ; a chapeau is no sign of wealth.' ' C'est vrai,' said one of the men, ' les pauvres les portent a Paris ; fy ai ete.' ' Vous m'excuserez, mademoiselle,' said the youth, with the courtesy of a gentleman. ' (Jetait mon ignorance. Je nai jamais quitte ce pays-ci.' I went on alone, and the workmen said nothing uncivil to me, though they were clearly annoyed at not getting three francs out of I'Anglaise. When I was about half-way 74 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. up the mountain, a mist came on. It rose from below, and as the -height seemed clear, I thought it best to go on ; but it increased rapidly in density, the grey vapour shut out not only the valley, but the sapin wood I had just passed, like a wall. I dared not turn back, and I could only dimly see for about a yard before me. I just managed to keep the track, and that was all. Now I began to feel seriously alarmed. I felt glad the peasant boy from the Grange de la Reine Hortense had not accompanied me glad that I had left my little dog at home, lest he should run the sheep. I recalled all the stories I had ever heard or read of people lost in the mist, and I felt glad that if such was to be my fate, I should die alone. I knelt down on the grey rock, and besought the Almighty to preserve ma A feeling that I was as safe there, under His pro- tection, as anywhere else, came over me, and rising, I walked steadily on. I saw a little wild pink among the grass at my feet, it looked like an eye watching over me. I gathered it, and have it now. Every now and then the dense mass of mist moved a little, and seemed lighter, and then grew darker than ever, and again and again my heart failed, and I said to myself, * I shall die here ; ' and each time I felt this terrible dread, I came upon some solitary flower another pink, or a meadow crocus and absurd as it may sound, they seemed to me like living eyes, looking upon me to cheer me, and assure me that the God who preserved them from the browsing sheep and the devastations of insects, and blight and storm, to blossom there so far apart on the solitary mountain, would protect and watch over me ; and no words can tell the sustaining power their beauty shed upon my heart. At last I could go no farther. The mist was so dense I could only dimly see my own hand. It closed me in on every side like a wall, and I sat down fearing I might unknowingly walk to the edge of some precipice and tumble down. I sat there CAUTERETS. 75 about ten minutes, not daring to move, and praying the Almighty to preserve me. Then the heavy mass of vapour began to move. It grew a little lighter for a brief moment or two, the mist cleared a little above and below me, and I saw above me something like four white pillars, which I concluded was the Chalet I knew to be on the top of the mountain ; below me was a sheer descent, I was sitting upon the very edge of the precipice. 'Thank God for the light!' said I, with a full heart; and then I turned carefully round, and crawled on hands and knees up to the top of the little cone above the ledge on which I was sitting. I got to the white pillars they were the legs of a rough deal table, before the front of the Chalet. First I thanked God for having brought me safe through the fog ; and then finding the Chalet door locked, and the ground wet and cold, I lay down on the table to rest, and again the dark, grey mist closed in, so that I could not even see the door of the Chalet, though it was not more than a yard from me ; then even the dim outlines of the Chalet itself faded. I could see nothing but the thick, grey vapour which invested me like a shroud. I should think I lay there twenty minutes ; but I had no watch, and could not have seen the time had I possessed one, and then the darkness grew lighter. I could see the outline of the Chalet, then I saw it distinctly, then all the platform on which it stood, and a rock behind, and I got up and looked about me. The door of the stable that ad- joined the Chatlet was unfastened, and I opened it and went in. The clay floor was a mass of wet mud from the trampling of sheep, and there was not even a truss of hay, or an empty bucket that I could turn down to sit upon. The prospect of passing the night there was not pleasant There was a wheelbarrow wedged into an empty pig-sty, and I began seriously to consider the feasibility of getting it out, that I might have something better than wet mud 76 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. to sit upon if I had to stay up there all night. But the mist suddenly rolled off for a moment, and I went to the edge of the platform and looked down. I could see trees and fields, and silver streams glistening in the green valley below, and then it rolled together again an opaque grey wall. It was rather tantalizing, for Canon had told me I should have a magnificent view into the valley below, from the Col ; but I was too thankful to God for having preserved me from falling down the steep, rocky precipice, and being dashed to pieces, to be inclined to grumble; and when at intervals the dense grey vapours rolled off for a minute, there was something singularly beautiful in the gleams of light upon the green hill sides and meadows. It was like a glimpse into Eden, and then the clouds came together again, and veiled it with a vapoury curtain from my sight. I could only see for a yard or two around me, and durst not yet attempt to descend. I amused myself by botanizing on the rock behind the Chalet. I was sur- prised to find meadow saffron growing so high. A little lady's bedstraw,thyme, and the small, yellow creeping poten- tilla, were the only other plants I found besides grass. The mist did not grow denser, but if anything, a little lighter ; but I could still only see about a yard around me. So I knelt down again, committed myself to the care of God, and then set off to try and find my way down to Cauterets. It was a curious feeling I had as I walked slowly on ; it seemed as if I myself had been a living lantern, for I could only see about a yard, or two yards at most, all round my- self ; but beyond that circle, all was grey mist. When I had gone a few yards perhaps thirty I turned to look at the little platform and the Chalet upon it ; neither was visible, nor could I see anything of the hill side before me, or the mountains that I knew rose beyond the valley of Cauterets. I felt as if my guardian angel hovered CAUTEBETS. 77 above my head, and shed a radiance upon me, and perhaps he did. For a small circle of perhaps, at most, four yards in diameter, but I should say three, everything was faintly but plainly visible in a kind of moonlight I could see the blades of grass, the tiniest moss at my feet, and notice every shrub and plant I passed ; beyond that circle all was like a dense grey smoke. I noticed in descending and gathered seeds of the Rose des Alpes, the first time I had ever seen the rhododen- dron growing in its native wildness. When I got nearly half way down, the mists began to look thinner and fleecier ; I could see the tall dark sapins directly through them, and by the time I reached the wood, it had cleared away entirely, the fog only covering the upper part of the mountain. As I passed through the wood, the labourers, who were collecting their tools previous to leaving work, hailed me ' Vous avez eu du brouillard; were you not frightened all alone up there ? ' * Rather ; but I trusted in God, who always protects those who trust in Him ; I prayed to Him to bring me down safe, and you see He has done so.' ' Gest vrai,' said one of them, crossing himself devoutly. 'llfaut toujours sefier a Dieu.' ' Cependant,' said another, ' you must have been frightened if the fog had not lessened ? And who knew where you were ? ' * Canon,' said I, stoutly, ' for it was he who told me I could go up safely alone, as there was a good path to the top, and if I had not returned by dinner-time, he would have got guides and sought me.' I am afraid this was a stretch of my imagination. Canon had advised me to take this walk on account of the beautiful view from the Col ; but did not know I had done so to-day. My interlocutor was silent a moment, and resumed 78 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. * H est bon enfant, Canon' 1 Oui, tres bon enfant,' said I ; * but the evening falls. I shall be late for dinner, and frighten them all Ion soir.' ' Bon soir, madame,' cried he. ' Bon soir, madame,' cried the whole twenty heartily. If they had been English navvies, they would probably have cheered me for finding my way so well down in the mist. There is nothing bodies of men respect so much, as a little pluck. I was once living alone, with only a maid servant, in a semi-detached house, the other half of which was unlet, the backs of both looking on open fields, while above sixty navvies were employed in constructing huge drains along the road in front of my house, for nearly five months. I always spoke in a friendly, open manner to them, as I passed out of my garden, and never showed the least fear of them. Not only they never showed me the slightest rudeness, but they were even thoughtfully courteous to me, placed planks at my gate, when their work and the rains made a large puddle there ; and when I returned home one evening in the dusk, after drinking tea with a friend, stumbled over one of their heaps of earth, and fell, two or three of them ran to me, picked me up, hoped I was not hurt, and lighted me to my own gate with their lanterns, lest I should fall again. I never gave them a farthing not because I should not have gladly done so, but because at that time I was in great pecuniary distress and had not the means. Once they asked me for some beer. I answered, ' I have not a drop of beer in the house, my men, and you are more than sixty in number, and I am very poor, how can I give drink to more than sixty men ? If I were well off, I would gladly give you all a glass.' ' Thank you for that,' they replied, ' it's true, we are a lot ; and I wish you were well off.' So much for the good feeling and character of the roughs. GAUTERETS. 79 both in France and England.* Kough oak has often a closer, finer grain, than common wood covered with French polish. When I reached the Grange de la Reine, the mother and son were still dawdling about the premises. ' Bon soir,' said I ; 'I have been to the top of the Col.'/*' 1 ' And you found your way alone ? ' answered she, discon- tentedly, and scowling as if she wished 1 had not.' 1 Yes ! I found my way alone ; Canon had told it me, I got to the chalet, but it was locked. I sat down upon the table in front of it, and carved my name, Mary Eyre, upon it ; bon soir.' As I descended the hill quite clear towards the base from all fog, I heard steps clattering behind me. It was the whole army of roughs, each with a huge load of wood upon his back, that I think none of our sturdy Yorkshire labourers could have lifted, and all running down the steep, abrupt hill in their sabots, as nimbly as if they had not done a hand's turn of work that day. So much for habit. Since I have been at Cauterets, and seen the enormous loads of wood, women and children carry up and down these steep slippery hill sides, I begin to believe there may be truth in the story of the Persian Sultana, who beginning by carrying a young calf up a ladder daily was found by her lord and master (who had discarded her for replying dryly, ' Practice makes perfect,' when he boasted of his skill in the chase) carrying a full-grown cow up it. ' Good-night,' said each, as he passed me swiftly. * Since this was written one of the navvies employed in making a tunnel for the Atmospheric Parcels Delivery Company pelted me with heavy brick- bats because a street urchin had mischievously set his dog to fight mine, aud a battle ensued between them his companions looking quietly on all the while. If one of these half-bricks had hit my head and killed me, I presume they would then have fetched a shutter to carry my dead body on to the police station. I could not help telling the man who pelted me so savagely, it was a cowardly tiling to strike a woman wlio had not done any- thing to provoke him, to which he replied, ' He did not care if he killed uie and my dog too.' 80 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. They were all out of sight but one when I reached a piece of wild stony ground, watered by a little stream betwixt the mountain, and that on whose base Cauterets stands. Some women who had been standing in the brook there, washing linen as I passed in the morning, were standing there still, bare-legged and miserable-looking, washing. Theirs too, is a hard life. It seems astonishing to me, that modern conveniences should have been brought to bear so little upon the habits of the Pyreneans, and indeed of the French peasants generally; but they set themselves against any innovation, and would rather endure any amount of discomfort and fatigue, than do differently to what their grandfathers and grandmothers did ; and it is my firm belief, they will never wash their kitchen floors, keep the pigs and fowls out of their houses, or wash anywhere except au ruisseau, as Nausicaa did, till the Millennium. It was dark when I reached Cauterets, tired and hungry. CHAPTER VII. CAUTERETS. JOYE sometimes nods, and Murray is not always to be relied upon. He says 'several formal avenues and alleys on the outskirts of the town, by the side of the road to Pierrefitte and the Parc,_on the margin of the Gave, satisfy the wants of French visitors as promenades, but must appear wearisome to English ; indeed, except in the society of friends, or with the inducement of illness to make one tarry, the attractions at Cauterets are few.' Jove was certainly not only nodding, but dreaming when he thus wrote. Where did he find those formal avenues and alleys on the road to Pierrefitte? There is but one road to Pierrefitte, the magnificent one by which I came, and certainly no alleys or avenues are near there. I often walked down that road to admire its grandeur, and the wild beauty of the ravine through which it passes. Once I walked as far as the Col du Limacon. I met two girls on asses, who begged importunately, indeed, as a rule, all the children, and most of the women, in the Pyrenees beg. ' Donnez-moi un petit sow,' is the certain salutation whenever you pass a group of people or meet a solitary wayfarer. They seem to think travellers, les Anglais especially, are walking money-bags come to the Pyrenees to thin themselves, and obtain beautiful figures, by scat- tering showers of gold, silver, and sous, on everybody they meet with. These girls were well-dressed for their rank in life, mounted on good donkeys, and yet not ashamed to beg. Next I met a poor woman holding a handful of 82 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. peeled osiers, got into a talk with her, and finally accom- panied her to cut fresh ones. She dared not take any in the fields which belonged to private owners, but thought it no harm to take them from Government lands, on the waste grounds bordering parts of the Gave. She asked if I was married. ' No, I was not.' ' Ah ! Madame ! vous etes lien heureuse d'etre seule.' I told her I did not find solitude so agreeable. We talked of the condition of women in the South of France. She said they were very miserable worked to death in the fields les hommes le voulaient, and if they did not work they were dbattus de coups de baton. Men never thought women worked enough. Her husband did not drink, but scolded her for ever, work as hard as she could ; and she always worked hard so hard. Both husband and wife were basket-makers, she had taught him the trade. She earned a franc a day. ' I wish I could earn as much,' quoth I. She stared. It is so hard to convince any of the labouring classes, that a lady can be poor as well as themselves ; and yet a poor gentlewoman is the poorest of all poor. She is fit for so few things. She cannot dig, to beg she is ashamed, and it is so difficult, not to say impossible, to procure remunerative employment. There is but the dreary resource of teaching and, alas! that profession is so overstocked that few obtain more than a bare pittance, hardly enough to buy clothes nothing out of which they can save for a rainy day. I know one case in which a countess is not ashamed to give a highly accomplished woman twenty pounds a year, less probably than her maid's gains, who has I should suppose the usual wages, which are twenty pounds a year and all her mistress's cast-off clothes, often worth from thirty to fifty pounds a year, if her lady goes much into society, and CAUTERETS. 83 attends Court. In these days parents had better bring up their children to be cooks, than governesses. To return to my basket-maker. The French need not, as they often do, reproach the English with beating their wives. This is the second French wife who has told me how customary wife-beating is in France; the basket- woman did not say her husband beat her, but it was clear he did. Poor woman ! She looked hollow-eyed, and sad enough ; I never saw anyone who seemed more utterly broken down. She had lived,' she said, ' twelve years as bonne with an English family at Pau,' and she sighed heavily, and paused as if looking back. Those were her beaux jours. Then she married, and he was ten years younger than she was. 'Ah!' said I, 'there it is. It should have been dies ans de Tautre cote? I went with her through some of the loveliest fields I ever remember to have seen. The turf was as fine as that of any gentleman's lawn, and of the most vivid emerald green. Nothing, indeed, can exceed the beauty of the pasture here. Besides the sparkling Gave, whose clear waters rippled over stones, and here and there eddied round the large boulders in jets of white foam, in- numerable little runnels of clearest water ran sparkling and singing, silvery bright, through the thick grass, which was starred over with the brightest hued lilac autumnal crocuses I ever saw. Their deep vermilion tinted orange stamens were longer than I ever remember seeing them before, in the half-blown flowers, they often rose an inch above the cups, forming a rich and beautiful contrast with their deep glowing lilac hue. The flowers of foreign countries are often the same kinds that grow plentifully in England, but their hue and manner of growth are rarely the same. In Germany, I noticed that many were of a paler hue, and more straggling and luxurious growth. A LADY S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. Here, in France, their colours are generally more vivid and intense, and they are scarcely ever infested in either country by insects, which I attribute to the want of the high, close hedges, which in England intercept the free current of air, and I am convinced cause the plagues of insects that have of late years been so common. 'Nothing to attract anyone in Cauterets!' I shall remember that field full of graceful self-sown ash trees, mostly of three or four stems rising from one root ; the fine velvety green turf studded with lilac crocuses, the silver clear streamlets that ran nearly round it, making it almost an island, the murmuring Gave flowing in its rocky bed between green meadows fringed with trees, and dotted here and there with white cottages that looked at a distance the perfection of rural cleanliness and felicity, the small fawn-coloured deer-like cattle on the slopes, that gazed at me with their beautiful large soft-brown eyes, the tinkle of their bells as they moved along, and the high, rugged, peaked mountains that framed in the picture, to my dying day. Well may Shelley say : 4 A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.' To descend to prosaics. The female sex seems gene- rally over-worked and ill-treated in the Pyrenees. Not only the poor women work in the fields, but the poor cows work also. Beside what we consider cows' duties in England namely, to rear calves and give plenty of good milk they have in France to plough all the fields, draw all the carts, and even terribly heavy loads of timber, up and down those break-neck, stony, ill-made mountain roads, for the good roads are confined to les grandes routes, and those leading from farm to farm are horrible. The Pyrenean peasant-farmer does not, like the Jewish ones of old, plough or draw with two yoke of oxen, but with two poor cows. They must also suffer dreadfully sometimes, CAUTERETS. 85 from the filthy farm-yards and stables they repose in after their work is done. One sees them with their haunches covered with dry cow-dung, clotting the hair together, and of course putting them to torture at every step they take. It is painful to contrast these poor animals, with their sore skins, and the few better-kept ones, one now and then meets, covered with good clothes to protect them from the flies, a white, or gay-coloured, dyed lamb-skin under the yoke to keep it from pressing on the flesh, and their fawn- coloured coats all sleek, and bright, and shining. I de- light in the cows of this country ; and one of my wishes is, that I could but have a home of my own, and two or three of these pretty, gentle, intelligent animals. At home I am afraid of cattle, for they are often wild and fierce. Here, they seem always tractable ; and the most they ever do, is sometimes to stand and gaze at Keeper, pointing their long, curved horns at him, and sometimes even threatening him with them, when his war-dance and outrageous barking is too insulting for cow patience to endure longer. Then the peasant brandishes his cudgel 'Ce n'estrien,ils ne sont pas mechants Va done' Some sounds follow, which I do not understand, but the cows evidently do ; and the herd march on, calm and dignified. There appear to be several breeds, one which seems to have a cross of the buffalo I admire extremely. When one does see oxen, they are commonly of this race. They are larger, and squarer built than the pure fawn-coloured ; locks of shaggy black or dark mouse-coloured hair fall over their foreheads, and a stripe of dark hair goes from the neck nearly to the haunches, and blends gradually into the dun-grey or pale-fawn of the under parts. They are very handsome creatures. The milk these cattle give is deliciously rich, and throws up quantities of yellow cream ; and the butter would be excellent if the peasant-women understood how to strain 86 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FBANCE. the milk, and make it proper] y, and, above all, if they pressed out the buttermilk, instead of leaving it in to make the butter weigh heavier in the market, and turn sour when bought. Pyrenean butter is often cheesy and curdy, and has a bitter, rancid flavour, like the butter made from turnip-fed cows at home. A dairy requires cleanliness above all things, and it is only a wonder to me these dirty Pyrenean women ever make eatable butter at all. Now and then one gets excellent in the market. The new milk is brought down from the mountain farms in bottles, each of which holds about a quart. I have a bottle a day, for which I pay four sous, not quite two- pence. When we got to a large marshy piece of waste ground, full of a very small-stemmed, narrow-leaved willow, not so common as most other kinds in England the Salix rubra I left the unfortunate basket-weaver to cut twigs, and pursued my walk alone, botanizing as I went. The stone walls were covered with a kind of creeping sorrel I do not remember to have seen in England. Instead of the leaves being lanceolate, as is usual, they were shaped rather like a horse-shoe, and sometimes this horse-shoe extended, as it were, into a wing at each side of the foot-stalk. Near the Col du Limac/m 1 found two Antirrhinums one small, with a grey, rather woolly leaf, which grew plentifully also on the old walls near Cauterets ; another very lovely one, resembling a dwarfed plant of our common garden kind,* but with rather smaller leaves and flowers, the latter of a cream-coloured white, with a purple streak on the lower lip, and the whole of the plant only half a foot high. I gathered also the common, small, dark-blue autumnal * Antirrhinum semper virens. I could not find out the name of the other, as I had no books on botany with me nor means for drying plants. CAUTEEETS. 87 scabious the larger blue one, the beautiful sweet-scented, fringed pink, eye-bright, saponaria, and ling. I took another lovely walk one morning. I passed through what is called the market-place, crossed the bridge, and walked to the Mamelon Vert, the fashionable promenade of Cauterets, I am informed. The Mamelon Vert is merely a remarkably smooth, round green hill, on which one or two cafes are built, with a road winding below it commanding a pretty view of the clean, white, cheerful-looking town of Cauterets, and the overhanging mountain which threatens momentarily to destroy it the Gave flowing through green, well-wooded meadows, and the wild mountain pass beyond. As I returned, I extended my walk in the oppo- site direction, instead of turning down towards the bridge, and came to a very smart stable of yellow and red brick, in which some cows were peacefully breakfasting, and on the walls of which was a placard, with this announcement, ' Appartement a louer.' I was curious to know what sort of an appartement was over a stable ; so I boldly walked round to what seemed a cottage a little behind it. There I only found three or four small children, who did not understand what I wanted, but told me ' Papa est Id,' pointing to a garden on the slope of the hill ; upon which I opened the gate indicated, and went in. It was full of purple, and grey, and white petunias, dahlias, roses, and all sorts of flowers, as thick as they could grow ; and inter- mixed were pots of oleanders, Cape jessamine, and orange- trees ; and the whole air was so perfumed with mignonette and heliotrope that I really thought I should like to lodge over the stable for a while, if I might walk and sit at will in this pretty garden. At the farther end was a fantastic sort of cottage or chalet partly built in the Swiss style, with striped projecting blinds curving like the sails of a vessel from the windows down to the ground. Walking past, I saw and hailed the gardener, who told me ' the 88 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FBANCE. cottage, garden, and stable belonged to a Russian princess, whose name I forget. She lived herself in the cottage, but was not there now. The rooms over the stable were, as the affiche set forth, to be let.' 'And the cottage?' * The princess did not let that, and it was not allowed to be seen.' ' Not now she was absent ? ' 'No.' This was disappointing. I should like to have known in what style Eussian princesses lived, 'in cottages of gentility.' I peeped in at the window, however, under the striped awning, and saw a very pretty fanciful little drawing-room, furnished much as any English lady of fortune's drawing- room is furnished, and full of china and alabaster figures, and other artistic toys. The gardener said he would show me the lodgings ' they were very pleasant communi- cated with the garden and I might even sit in the little bit of grounds under the windows and breathe the scent of the flowers, but not walk farther, as that would annoy Madame la princesse.' I went up some stairs at the back of the stable, and through three rooms, which were on a level with, and two of which opened upon, the garden. They were very plainly almost poorly furnished, but looked clean and gay from the white and green paint which decorated them. ' My wife would wait upon Madame ; she is an excellent cook, and Madame would find herself tres bien here, et puis lesfleurs,' said the gardener insinuatingly. ' And the price ? ' ' Oil, not much ! ' said his wife, who just then came up in answer to her husband's repeated calls. ' Not much ! ' said the gardener, with the air of a man resolved to make a sacrifice. CAUTERETS. 89 ' But how much ? ' said I. 4 Oh ! very little indeed very moderate only eight francs a-day for the appartement, as Madame is seule Madame est seule ? ' interrogatively. ' Yes, I am alone.' * Bien, that would just do it would not be much, as Madame sees, only eight francs a-day for three rooms such pleasant rooms looking into a garden full of roses and heliotropes and the services of my wife, who is a most capital cook, and whom Madame would pay as her bonne ; oh, Madame would be well served she would be contented 1 Eight francs a-day that makes nearly three thousand francs a-year, without attendance or food ? ' ' Just so, madame.' ' One could buy a house for that sum in two or three years' time,' said I ; ' and, moreover, the season is quite passed I know that an appartement sometimes fetches eight francs a-day in the height of the season ; but now people are glad to let on any terms.' ' That is the price, however ; Madame la princesse never lets them for less.' ' It is a price that does not suit my pocket.' ' What then would Madame give ? ' ' The price Madame gave for her lodgings was so small compared to that they had asked for these, that it was no use thinking about them.' ' What did you come to trouble us for then, if you did not want them ? ' said both, aggressively. 'What business had you to give me the trouble of coming out of the garden ? ' ' And me, of coming running myself out of breath up stairs ? ' &c., &c., &c. To all this volley of abuse, I made no reply, but walked as quickly away as I could ; but they were wrong. I did 90 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. not ask to look at these lodgings from pure curiosity. Cauterets pleases me ; but though Canon's family are honest, kind, and civil, their unwashed, dirty floors annoy me, and if I could have got these rooms for the same price, I should probably have wintered here; but my small means will not allow me to give eight francs a-day, even for rooms that look upon a garden, and for the honour of having a princess for my landlady. As I strolled on beyond the princess's house, I thought I should like to walk through a wood I saw on the slope of the hill behind. Some peasant women who came up, told me there was a very pretty view from the top of the hill, and that the princess had had alleys cut all through the wood in various directions. I followed the path they pointed out, and came to an open bare hill side, on the edge of which a peasant boy sat watching a goat, which was feed- ing beside him, and a flock of sheep, that were grazing in the ravine between this mountain and the opposite one. I saw a narrow path running along its side, and he told me it led to a pretty waterfall ; I should have liked very much to follow it, but Keeper first began teasing the goat, which butted at, and rather frightened, him, and being driven off from her, next ran after the sheep in the ravine. The shepherd boy seemed to think it capital fun, and when I called him back again, encouraged the goat to butt at Keeper, and Keeper to worry the goat, in spite of all I could say; and seeing the animal was in one of his naughty fits, I thought it best to go homewards. So I rose from the crag where I had been resting, and retraced my steps. This gorge or ravine between the hills is called the valley of Cambasque. I went a little farther down homewards, and then again sat down to rest, and to survey the country. What a land- scape for a painter ! In the foreground, a winding alley sloping gently down the richly-wooded hill, here and there CAUTERETS. 91 on the ground among the trees and shrubs on the left of the path, huge, mossy boulders, placed by Nature, as if on purpose for her visitors to sit down and rest upon them. On the slope beyond them rise two graceful twin beech trees, and nearer to me one or two other smaller ones tower above the copsewood. On the right hand, the upland is densely covered with young beech and hazel; here and there, two or three stand out clear and distinct from the rest, and lower down they close the wood in with a long line of graceful fringe, their golden brown hue relieved occasionally by a dark fir-tree. Behind rises the moun- tain, indigo grey, cold, bleak, and stern, that frowns above Cauterets, patches of black sapins clothe its sides here and there a white fleecy cloud rests upon one part the far- thest mountain peak rises pyramidal and clear and be- yond all, a line of browner mountain, which I know to be in reality the loftiest of the range, because already here and there white with snow, close in the view. CHAPTER VIII. CAUTERETS TO ST. SAUVEUR. AN English party were going to the Luz de Qaube. Canon thought it would be possible to arrange that I should go with them, but, not unnaturally, they did not relish the idea of being joined in their excursion by an unknown stranger. I was rather disappointed. To con- sole me, Canon said, " Mademoiselle, I am going to take my children, on Sunday, to St. Sauveur, a treat I have long promised them. It will cost you nothing but your dinner, if you will go with us." Of course, " I accepted" as the French say, resolving in my own mind I would repay Canon in some other way. Sunday proved fine, and we set off. Our carriage was a large coach, like the old-fashioned English family coaches which were so con- venient for ladies going to balls in wide ball-dresses, but which unluckily went out of fashion before crinoline hoops so unfortunately revived. The children were two young girls about nineteen or twenty, and two young men, probably their admirers. Canon was to drive, and I requested to share the box with him, that I might see the country better, and not interfere with the enjoyment of the others. We drove down the magnificent road by which I had come to Cauterets, turning off at the bottom of the pass, through Pierrefitte, instead of taking the road to Argeles. From this point the scenery was all new to me. I want words to describe it, for how can words paint the effects of light and shade upon the projecting or retiring crags ; the wild flowers streaming fantastically out from some rocky CAUTERETS TO ST. SAUVEUR. 93 pinnacle in one place ; the tree that sprang so boldly out of a fissure in another ; the white foaming cascades that drooped down the granite rocks like snow-wreaths ; the various tints of the lichens in some places ; the weather stains and the deep red from the iron it contained, that coloured other parts of the immense wall of rock that rose almost perpendicularly to the sky, and out of which this grand road was blasted on the left hand, while on the right sloped emerald green fields, with grey rocks jutting up here and there through the grass, and white cottages and green trees peering out among and above them ; the snowy- wreathed cascades foaming down the hill sides to the Gave, and the mountains rising so grandly beyond ? By- and-by the valley opened and widened, the Gave grew more of a stream, and, instead of leaping, and murmuring, and foaming through rocks that sometimes nearly touched each other, flowed a clear, beautiful river, through rich meadows on the left hand, instead of on the right. We passed two or three villages, one with its grey church perched upon a hill to the left ; above the stream and before us was a small white town, at the foot of a hill, crested by an old grey ruined castle. This was the town and castle of Luz ; behind it rises a lofty mountain, the Pie de Bergous. The flat valley below was traversed by long alleys of poplars, and upon another little monticule rose a pretty white modern church. Far to the right, on a wooded hill-side, white houses were faintly discernible among the trees, which Canon informed me was St. Sauveur. We drove to a small inn, where I desired Canon to order dinner, intimating that, as he had franked me to Luz, I invited him and his daughters to dine with me ; I left the young men to pay for themselves. While it was preparing, and while he went to the stable to see that his horses really ate their provender, as a good voiturier should, the two girls and I went sight-seeing. 94 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. We got a little boy to show us the way to the old church of the Templars, which, Murray says, ' enclosed within a castle, famished with battlements and loop-holed walls, is a great curiosity.' The battlements and loop-holed walls are there, but I saw no castle. A high wall, which has clearly once been fortified, simply runs round the church. On the coping stone of each battlement a big stone boulder is placed, but whether for ornament or to keep the roofing from blowing away, I cannot say. These stones look, at a distance, like a row of human heads. I looked among the gravestones in the churchyard, at the back of the building, to see if I could find any of the Templars' graves, but in vain. Some masons, who were busy making repairs not before they were needed told me there were none remaining. We entered the church through a rounded arch veiy much resembling one that I remember in my childhood, in the church of Stillingfleet, near York, but not nearly so richly carved. That, also, was considered very beauti- ful, and strangers sometimes came to examine it. The roof and sides of the porch were covered with half-oblite- rated grotesque paintings in fresco. Within the church itself my ignorance saw no beauty. A row of round heavy pillars, without capitals or ornament, from which sprang rounded arches, separated the aisles from the nave, and the roof appeared as if it had been painted in fresco in former times ; in one place 1 made out the Templars' well- known emblem of the Lamb. There were the usual tinsel- decorated altars at the upper end of the aisles and the chancel, and an ' autel particulierj all decorated with cut- tings-out of blue and gold paper, as well as one or two side altars, and a chapel, which we reached by going up some steps, through a poking little room with an oaken armoire in it, which I suppose was the vestry. I am no archaeo- logist, unfortunately. It seemed" to me only a dirty, ugly CAUTERETS TO ST. SAUVEUR. 95 village church, with a very handsome porch and a rather unusual form. The rounded chancel is common about this part of the country. St. Sauveur has a rounded chancel, so has the church of Pierrefitte, so, probably, have many others. From the old church we walked to the monticule of St. Pierre. The ruined hermitage of which Murray speaks no longer exists. In its place stands a very pretty white modern church, and opposite it, nearly on the spot where the hermit's bones were found, a handsome pyramidical pillar with a cross on the top. The following inscription is graven on it: 'A la Memoire du R. P. Ambroise de Lombez, mort en odeur de saintete, a VErmitage de St. Pierre, en 1778.' On the pedestal: 'Erige par les ordres de sa Majeste Napoleon III., 1861.' From this hill there is a most beautiful view of the plain, intersected by long alleys of tall poplars, and watered by the clear crystal Gave ; and the two white villages we had seen as we entered the valley all shut in, like an amphitheatre, by lofty mountains. We descended the side of the hill by a narrow path, and reached another running along the base of a hill on the left, scarcely high enough to be called a mountain, which we followed till we came to the magnificent bridge of one single arch, springing from rock to rock across the deep chasm in which flows the Gave. It is built of white stone, and the balustrades on each side are also painted white. Over the centre of the arch is an Imperial Crown, surmounting the letters L. N. It is indeed an Imperial work. So grand in its bold simplicity, bridging over that vast black chasm, and the surging, foaming torrent boiling up in the abyss below, so beautiful beyond description are the richly-wooded sides of the ravine be- yond, and the magnificent mountains, rising peak above peak behind, that one gazes up at it breathless and awe 96 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. struck.* This bridge, and the Arc de Triomphe at Paris, are the two grandest monuments erected by the hand of man that I have ever seen. They are both actually sublime. After gazing at it till it was photographed on my memory, we crossed over it, stopping at the entrance to admire a very handsome pillar, surmounted by the Imperial eagle, and bearing this inscription : ' A leurs Majestes Imperiales Napoleon III. et Tlmpera- trice, les habitants de Luz et St-Sauveur, Eeconnaissants. I860.' It is only on traversing it that one becomes aware of its immense length, and one does not even then fully realize what a wonderful work it is, till one descends to the bottom of the ravine, through what is called the English garden. The steep cliff is cut into innumerable little terraces, protected by walls of turf, with shrubs or flower beds, here and there seats are placed, wherever the nature of the ground affords space for them ; and nearly at the base, there is a good-sized tree, with a circular wooden seat running round it, where travellers may rest, and admire this wonderful union of nature and art. And this descent is so artistically contrived, that the weakest head, and the most delicate person can accomplish it with- out either giddiness or fatigue. Still lower down, a wooden platform, protected by a rail, runs round the base of the rock, where one may stand and look down into the seething waters below, a mingled chaos of intense black, and snowy foam, and up to the wonderful arch that spans the chasm. It is a sight to make one giddy. One wonders first how one ever could have had courage to cross such a frightful ravine. It seems as if the bridge, which felt so firm to the tread, and was so broad and wide, as well as long, was * There is a photograph of this view by Mr. Maxwell Lyte, of Bagneres de Bigorre, which is the finest specimen of photography I ever saw, and which conveys as clear an idea of its sublimity as human art can give. CAUTERETS TO ST. 8AT7VEUR. 97 breaking from the rock whence it sprang. Next, how mortal hands could ever build that arch across that immense width as it were in the very air. It is worth while to come from England to the Pyrenees, only to see this wonderful work of human skill and intrepidity. We reascended the sloping terrace, and regained the high road, which brought us to St. Sauveur, a village of very handsome lodging-houses and hotels, forming one long street, in the centre of which nearly, are the baths, which have a handsome marble faqade, supported by stone pillars. Passing through this, we descended a flight of steps into a square court, ornamented with flowering shrubs, on three sides of which are baths. Just as we got out of the village, it began to rain, and it rained heavily by the time we reached Luz. We dined well the dinner for four persons costing me sixteen francs, wine included and then the carriage was ordered. There was no more sight-seeing that evening. The mountains were clothed with a dense vapoury robe. I was glad to resign my seat beside Canon, and to go inside the coach, especially as I had not been well all the day. Canon's daughters had lost all shyness, and chatted gaily with the two young men. While I sat quiet in my corner, one of them began to hum a tune ; she had a pretty voice, and I asked her to sing. After a little hesitation, she began, and her sister joined in very sweetly. Then one of the young men sang, and then the three together; and so, singing and talking, we had a very pleasant drive home to Cauterets, notwithstanding the mist and rain had made the evening close in before the time. A talent for music is almost universal in the Pyrenees ; and I have seldom heard richer or sweeter toned voices than most of these mountaineers possess. Their music is wild, plaintive, and original very unlike French music. CHARTER IX. CAUTERETS TO ARGELES. WHEN the day came, I was really sorry to leave Cauterets, and to say good-by to the Canon family, who had one and all been most civil and attentive to me. If one could but infuse a little love of cleanliness into these mountaineers, if they could but be induced to wash the floors of their rooms, their corridors, and stairs, and if the holes and corners of the houses were clean as in England ; if, in short, that false pride, which is an effectual hindrance to all improvement, and which so strongly marks the Gael, whether French or Irish, could be got rid of, the Pyrenees would be a perfect Paradise. The people are so courteous and kind, and one cannot help liking them so much, that one feels a desire for their improvement and welfare beyond one's own mere personal interest in the matter, and wishes one could persuade them to keep all parts of their houses clean for their own sakes. Unluckily, a Pyrenean thinks it would degrade lier to go down upon her knees to scour a passage or a room, and more still to use her hands and a wet cloth to wipe up anything dirty. The nearest advance to cleaning she can be persuaded to make, is to brush off the dirt with a long brush, pour a little water on the soiled part, and brush that about, generally leaving all worse than it was before. I pointed out to one of Canon's daughters, that part of the house was very dirty. She was a gentle, obliging girl, and did not refuse to clean it, but tears came into her eyes as she answered in the tone of a martyr about to be led to CAUTERETS TO ARGELES. 99 the stake ' il faut savoir souffrir? There is the fault of the French servants generally, they do not look upon their work as work, but as a degradation, a ' souffrancej and yet you see these same girls who will not condescend to clean a house properly, spreading dung with their hands upon the fields, and eating their dinner by a hedge side after- wards, with those same hands unwashed, though a brook runs close beside them. , Every market-day all the voituriers of Cauterets go to Argeles. Canon always runs two or three coaches there and back, and in one of these I took my place, selecting that he drove himself. Before I go on to Argeles, dear reader, let me say, that if you ever take it into your head to visit Cauterets, you will find Canon a most excellent trust- worthy guide a ' guide de premiere classe,' as the French say. He has a whole pocket-book full of certificates of his abilities and obliging character from ladies he has escorted to mountains and waterfalls, and gentlemen with whom he has hunted Izards.* He is a fine, genial, open-hearted man too, whose frank, pleasant, cheerful countenance makes you like him at once. If you go to Cauterets and need a guide, as you must take Canon. The carriage I got into, was quite full within and with- out, and I travelled in high society, for Monsieur le Cur6 sat beside me, and Monsieur le Maire opposite. Every little village in France has its mayor. Monsieur le Cure and Monsieur le Maire fell into talk, and I first listened and then joined in. The Maire informed us in a grandiose, pompous, and self-satisfied manner, that he was of a studi- ous turn, and had nearly read through Buffon, being ' au dixieme tome.' ' Ah ! ' said the Cure, ' that's all very well, but there have been many discoveries since his time ; ' and he named * The Izard and the chamois are one, but in the Pyrenees the animal is always called by the first name. 100 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. other works on Natural History and Science, in a way which showed him to be a highly-educated and well-read man. Monsieur le Maire looked taken rather aback at the idea that he had purchased, and been studying so hard at a learned work which later discoveries had proved to be in- correct in many of its deductions. He knew nothing of Humboldt and Cuvier, and numberless other sages quoted by the Cure. I was glad to be accidentally thrown into the company of a well-informed Frenchman, for in my mode of travel- ling, I see no one but the people I lodge with, and the pea- sants I talk to in my walks, so I told him I was thinking of writing a book on the country, and asked him if he could give me any information about the peasants and their mode of life * They seem,' added I, ' to be very wretched, their homes are so filthy and miserable, and they themselves look so poor and dirty, while at the same time they are so courteous and civil, one cannot help liking them.' ' The peasant is generally Ion enfant ' (a good sort of fellow), he replied, ' but he is not so miserable as you think. I cannot deny that the people are dirty both in their homes and in their persons, but there is no actual want in the Pyrenees. Nobody could give you better information on this subject than I can not because I am a priest and mix with the people, but because (though it is against rule) I was (by the permission of my superiors) employed for some years by the government in furnishing the reports of the annual produce of every kind. I had three clerks under me, and I made them work. We had plenty to do. Every year a return is made to the government of the crops each district has produced, and thus the minister de TInterieur kuows exactly what is wanting in each district, and sup- plies that deficiency at once, so that there is never any actual want of the means of life. I have given up that CAUTEKETS TO ABGELES. 101 employment under government, but as a Cure I go much among the poor, and I do assure you they are well cared for. I have always money in my hands to relieve the ne- cessitous ; no one need starve here.' ' Yet I see most of the women looking the picture of misery ; they have to work like horses in the fields, and they are generally bare-footed.' ' That is true. It is customary here for women to work in the fields, nor do I see how it can be prevented. The Pyrenean peasant likes to be always in the air, and re- quires it. If they are shut up in houses they die rapidly of consumption. I have seen this again and again, N'est-ce pas, Monsieur le Maire?' The Maire corroborated him, and instanced some young girl who leaving field for house work, had just died of de- cline. The Cure continued : 'As to the bare feet, that also is in some sort a necessity. The people here are subject to a disease in the feet, if they wear shoes and stockings in the summer.' I wondered in my own mind, if this disease only attacked women, since I saw most of the male peasants with good shoes and stockings, while the women went barefoot, but did not like to say so, lest he should think me pert. ' But their wretched homes,' said I ; ' surely if they were not very poor, they would have more comfort in them.' * You must not judge of the comfort from your point of view, madame,' he answered, ' but from theirs. And then you must remember also how little they are in their homes our peasants' life is spent in the open air. They are besides very close-handed, and will not spend a penny they can avoid spending but they are not wretched as you think. From what I have read, mademoiselle, there is more actual distress and starvation among the poor of ymvr own country* As Cure, and constantly visiting them, I * Looking at English statistics as reported in the ' The Times ' for this 102 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. must know ; and I do assure you that except in seasons of sickness, there is no actual want among them, and in those cases, I have always the means of giving relief through the donations of charitable persons. I have always more money in my hands than is required.' He told me, further, what my own eyes had told me, that the country was very fertile, the rich low lands gene- rally yielding two crops a year. It is usual to plant maize after some earlier crop has been gathered in, and the hay- making in the water meadows seems never ending. Even on the high hill-sides the springy nature of the soil enables the peasant generally to flood his fields with the fertilizing water by innumerable little trenches cut in the turf. It is to this practice, and to the innumerable mowings, that the meadows here doubtless owe their fine emerald green turf, and their lawn-like appearance. The greater part of the land round Cauterets and Argeles and indeed all over the Pyrenees seems to belong to peasant landowners. I never scarcely see a gentleman's house. Even the chateau which I was told had once belonged to Henri IV., and which even now looks an imposing structure from the road between Pierrefitte and Argeles, is owned by a peasant. He was a very strange man, I was told, and lived in the same hugger-mugger way as the other peasants, except being rather more morose and solitary, living quite alone, and having several ferocious dogs that would fly at a stranger in his courtyard. He is said, however, to pos- current year of 1863, the number of women returned by the census as em- ployed in field-labour, and the fearful report published by the commission appointed to inquire into the state of labourers' dwellings, at the repeated accounts of the extreme poverty of the agricultural labourers in the Southern and Midland districts of England, whose low wages (eight or nine shillings a-week when bread is tenpence the quartern loaf) but barely pro- vide them with bread and water for a meal, and nothing else, while they have often to walk two, four, or six miles off to earn even that, returning the same distance at night when worn out by a day's hard labour, J fear the French priest was right, and that our English peasants are worse off than the Pyreneans. ARdELES. 103 sess a wonderful talent for music, is the best musician in the country, and has actually published some of his com- positions, which are very beautiful. His name I could not learn. It is astonishing how incurious the Pyrenean is about all that does not closely concern himself. He often does not know the name of a mountain in sight, or a village three miles distant from his home. We reached Argeles about half-past eleven in the fore- noon. I continued very unwell ; in fact, I had an attack of cholerine ever since the day I had been lost in the fog. Madame Armiral's shop was not open, and I did not know what to do with myself and my bag. I had calculated upon her assistance in obtaining lodgings, as she seemed to know everything and everybody ; so I wandered about the market-place, after committing my precious sac to a person whom I had seen with her the previous Tuesday. But a Pyrenean market is not so amusing as many other foreign ones. There are no gay costumes, only a few scarlet or white Capulets just break the monotonous tone of the universal dark-browns and blues ; and there is no- thing pretty or tempting at any of the stalls. There were the same second-hand gowns I had seen the previous mar- ket-day, and for two other market-days at Bagn^res de Bigorre ; and rags and chiffons of all kinds at one stall, among them cuttings of the gay-coloured materials used for covering chairs and making window curtains, which the peasant women were buying up eagerly. To amuse myself I also went and expended about nine sous in three of the prettiest pieces, intending to make therewith a bag, and a dressing-table pincushion neither of which I have ever found time to make yet. And as I turned them over, I inquired what use they were put to, and was in- formed the peasants made caps for their children out of them. It may be so ; but from that day to this, I have never seen a child with one of those gay roses in the crown 104 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. of its cap. I see nothing but dingy black skull caps, or a few made of equally dingy brown calicoes, on every child's head that is under six years old. Then I admired the fountain a large, handsome stone vase, pouring out water into another larger, shallow octa- gonal vase below, which, rushing over its sides, flows into the ruisseau or stream that runs in front of the houses, on each side, of all the streets ; and then I went back to the dye-shop, which was opened now, but by Monsieur Armiral, of whom I knew nothing, instead of my patronizing, hearty old friend his mother. He was far too busy to have time to talk to me, but I left my bag there while I went to get something to eat, and to look for lodgings, having agreed that he was to take me back to Bagneres that day if I could not find any, and the following market-day if I could. I was sick and faint, so I went to the inn whence Madame Armiral had ordered our dinner, and bespoke a cotelette. The bonne showed me upstairs, such filthy stairs, into a bedroom, with whose floor the street seemed white by comparison, so deeply was it ingrained with the dirt of ages. It might have been mediaeval dirt it might even have dated from the Deluge so black it was ; and this blackness was further set off, and enhanced, by two beds on either side the door, each with long snowy curtains, edged with lace, depending to the ground, and covered with splendid scarlet coverlets knitted of the fine Pyrenean wool, which I coveted as shawls for myself and a friend. The tables were nearly as dirty as the floor, and they, too, were Pyrenean, and peculiar. They were like small dressing-tables, with small, square spindle legs, the tops covered with oil cloth, painted to represent mahogany, which was fastened on by a narrow wooden beading, that ran all round the edge; the crevice between it and the table, forming, of course, a most convenient receptacle for crumbs and dust. They were all dusty, and all slopped. ARGELES. 105 But I came to study life and manners in Boeotia, and was not to be turned from my purpose by a dirty table. An English proverb says that ' Every one must eat a peck of dirt before he dies.' I made up my mind that I should eat a good part of my peck in the week I meant to stay at Argeles ; so down I sat before the cleanest-looking, and resolutely ordered a potage and some veau aux tomates. The waitress quitted the room to order them, and left me to continue my ' pursuit of knowledge under difficulties.' I had not sat there long before I heard the clomp of heavy shoes upon the stairs, and three or four peasants, in their holiday costume, entered. Soon the three small tables besides that at which I sat in solitary grandeur, were all filled. Taking the in-comers as to mere outward appearance, they were undoubtedly a fine, healthy, stal- wart set of men. The Pyrenean peasant, as a rule, is tall, and well made ; and notwithstanding the continual use of the heavy wooden shoe, or sabot, when at work, has none of the boorish, slouching awkwardness of our own working men. Nor is his dress a torn, worn, dirty fustian, or greasy, shabby, ragged coat and et ceteras of fine cloth, white at the seams, if not full of holes at the elbows, and a world too tight or too loose for him, showing clearly in all ways it was never made for the wearer. No! the Pyrenean peasant is a SELF-KESPECTER. He is not ashamed of being what he is, and does not want to be taken for a gentleman ; and therefore, so far as outward manners go, he is one. He speaks to others on terms of equality. To any one he very much respects, with a sort of proud humility, saying, plainer than words, that he holds, with Burns ' A man's a man, for a' that' He never aims at being anything but a peasant. Perhaps he carries this a little too far, as we shall see to be the 106 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. case hereafter, when I have time to enter more fully into the habits of the peasantry, and their mode of life ; but there is something grand in this self-respect. The block may be rudely quarried, but the marble is pure ; out of it God may one day carve noble men. These men were dressed in neat brown jackets, vests, and trowsers of the same the gay neck-tie, or the scarlet or green worsted sash, universally tied round the waist, some- times just allowed to peep out, being their only finery. One man alone wore a black frock coat ; he had clearly travelled beyond the Pyrenees. As they entered the room, each saluted me by as graceful a bow as an English gentle- man could have made, and a ' Bon jour, madame,' which I, of course, returned, and then each knot of friends and neighbours selected a table for themselves, and began to converse, till their dinner was served; and, of course, * their talk was of beeves.' Presently up came the waitress, and placed a bowl of steaming potage and a plate of stew before me; then she served the other tables, and the clatter of knives and forks began. I was neither well, nor hungry, and soon laid mine down ; whereupon, the man in the frock-coat, thinking doubtless I was dull, opened a conversation with me. * Madame is English ? ' ' Yes.' ' Madame is come to see the Pyrenees ? ' interrogatively and insinuatingly. 'Yes, I am making a tour through this beautiful country.' ' Ah ! it is beautiful ! Madame does well to visit it the country is worth seeing but Madame will find many things she is unaccustomed to, especially as she is English. This floor, for instance,' touching it with his foot ' I have travelled I have been in Germany and in England one does not see such floors there.' ABGELE8. 107 'No, indeed,' said I, continuing the conversation ex- pressly for the inn-maid's benefit, who just then entered the room with a pile of plates and dishes, * in England our smallest inns are perfectly clean the floors are regularly washed, and as white as my hand.' * It is not the custom here, you see, madame,' joined in another peasant. 'No doubt it is a good plan to have things clean, and to wash the floors ; but then you see no one does it.' ' No,' said my first friend mournfully, as he again tapped the floor (on which one might have sown mustard-and- cress, with a fair chance of a good crop) with his boot (which, though it was a wet, dirty day) was certainly the cleaner of the two, and, perhaps, suggested a comparison to his mind : ' what Monsieur says is true ; the people hereabouts do not like the trouble of cleanliness as you understand it, and as I, who have travelled in your coun- try, understand it. What we think clean here, you will think dirty.' And again he sighed, and turning to his three com- panions, resumed his conversation with them. I rather pitied him. He had, no doubt, been a courier, or some- thing of the sort, to some English family, and now that he had returned home, found the ideas of refinement and cleanliness he had acquired in his travels very incon- venient. I paid about a franc for my dinner, and a few sous for some brandy rather more than I had paid when I dined with* Ma'ame Armiral in her shop, but then I was an Anglaise. I had seen what I wanted to see how the peasants dined in the peasants' inn, and partaken myself of the cheap, good, wholesome food and the noise and heat were * The common French people say ' Ma'ame ' instead of ' Madame,' just as our servants say ' Missus.' 108 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRAN~E. oppressive to me, so I rose to go. The men assembled, all bowing courteously to me again, and civilly wishing me good-day, as I passed out. After descending the filthy stairs, I found my way into the kitchen. It was a busy place ; at the wide open chimney cooking of all sorts was going on ; piles of clean plates and dishes, bottles of wine and glasses covered a table, behind which, as behind a counter, sat Madame, and from her seat as from a throne, she issued her commands, every now and then starting up and whisking off into some neglected corner to seize some forgotten thing, and demand quickly and shortly ' pour- quoi ' that had not been carried to such a place before. Round three sides of the room peasant men and women were dining on heavy deal tables, such as one sees in old- fashioned farmhouse kitchens, but without cloths on them, and if the din and confusion had been great in the cham- ber where I had dined, and in the other chambers I had passed in coming down stairs for every bedroom seemed full of diners it was greater here. But it was a comfort to see that all the utensils used in cooking, and the table at which they were even then trussing fowls, was scrupu- lously clean it generally is so in France. Dirty as they are in some things, in all that regards their cookery, in their linen, and in their personal cleanliness and neatness, the French maid-servants excel ours. I was thankful, however, to leave the heated atmosphere and get out into the air again ; and I walked up and down the town, looking for apartments. The small quantity of rain that had fallen had laid the dust, and the ground of the market-place looked clean in comparison to the rooms I had just quitted. Lodging-hunting is never a pleasant thing ; but it is worse in France than in England, because, as the police order is, that every one who lets lodgings shall have a board signifying the same always affixed to the walls of the house, and people do not, as at home, put ABGELES. 109 cards with ' Furnished Apartments to let ' in the window it is impossible to know, without ringing at the door and inquiring, what lodgings are let and what are empty. Mine was a troublesome search, and to save others the same, I may as well state that there is but one good set of lodgings, those over a druggist's shop in the market-place, and two boarding-houses or pensions at Argeles. The first were let. The mistress of one of the pensions had gone to Pau on a visit, and in her absence her servants would not receive me. I had, however, no cause to regret my walk to Madame La Sales' house, a castellated building, over- looking the whole of the beautiful valley, shut in on three sides by lofty mountains. Her servant showed me the sit- ting-rooms, and one or two bedrooms, which had all an air of cleanliness and comfort, at which I should have wondered had I not known previously that she was an English woman. A French house is in all points most unlike an English one. It is not merely in the absence of carpets on stairs and in rooms, or the hard settees instead of soft luxurious spring-cushioned sofas, which do not yet appear to be commonly known in the Pyrenees, that the difference lies the French house, in its own style, is often quite as prettily decorated as an English one, and, as a rule, more taste is often displayed in the dwellings of the middle class than you would see in our own country ; but there is an ab- sence of comfort, which is, in fact, a word unknown in France. It has no equivalent in their language, for they do not understand the thing. The rooms in this house looked really comfortable, and the view was lovely. Yet Argeles, on the whole, disappointed me. From Murray's description of it, I had pictured to myself a fertile valley shut in by mountains, through whose green fields mur- mured a clear, sparkling, winding stream, like one of our own Cumbrian or Lancastrian valleys, but with the softer climate, for which ' the paradise of Argeles ' is renowned. 110 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. All this is there, and yet it is not so beautiful as it sounds ; for, except you are close upon it, the river is almost invisi- ble. Its course is impeded by shallows and osier beds, dividing it in places into innumerable small channels, and it is nowhere of sufficient width to form a feature in the distant view. There can be no doubt, that as a whole, the Pyrenean scenery is of a grander character than that of our English lakes ; but they are, I think, more beautiful, with their tranquil meres reflecting the golden sunlight, and the towering mountain crags beneath which they lie. As I left Madame de Sales' house and walked disconso- lately down the street, wondering what would become of me, my eye was caught by a bunch of hiis or box, hung up in front of a small new-built wayside inn ; I asked if I could have a bedroom there, and being answered in the affirmative, Keeper and I went back to M. Armiral's dye- shop to fetch the carpet bag, and having got it, settled our- selves for the night in our new abode. CHAPTER X. ARGELES. KEEPER may have had a pleasant night of it; he has slept coiled up on the skin of a large handsome dog, which serves as a bedside carpet, who, as my hostess in- forms me, was killed because he was savage ; but I was devoured by / sharps. No wonder. I hear from my handsome host's pretty young wife, that ' they never dress the feathers in Argeles, but stuff them into pillows or beds just as they come from the fowls.' What do they do in Argelest I should like to know. Certainly they do not wash the floors ; for in this new house, by far the cleanest I have entered, except that of the juge de paix's widow, the stains of the mortar and whitewash are not yet cleaned off the floors and stairs, and I suppose never will be. In other respects, the fittings-up are rather superior to those of a small road-side public-house in England. Each of the two upper front bedrooms has an open chimney-piece, with a white painted compartment above it, meant to hold a mirror, ornamented at the top with an angel's head, very finely carved. In that of the room I occupy, there is a good mirror, the other room is not yet completely furnished. A handsome mahogany wardrobe stands in a corner ; the bed would be good if it had not an animated featherbed, and its frame is of handsome beech wood ; a table for washing materials ; the slender oil-cloth covered table, with a beading round to collect all the crumbs and dirt, which seems peculiar to Argeles ; and a few rush chairs, 112 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. complete the furniture. The room itself has two large windows, and is good-sized ; and on the open chimney- piece stand two large scarlet geraniums, which give it a cheerful look. It wants nothing but a clean floor, and the removal of that featherbed, to be fit for the highest person in the land to occupy temporarily, without com- plaint. There are, however, unmentionable objections. I would advise no lady traveller, who can help it, to quarter herself at a Frencli way-side inn. What we consider the absolute necessaries of life is to the French mind super- fluous luxury. My landlord and landlady are just married, and a very handsome couple they are, and very good humoured and obliging, notwithstanding my English ideas are probably as strange to them as their Pyrenean ways to me. Madame has provided me with a large pitcher of water, in addition to that on my washhand table, and a pancheon, or terrine as it is here called, of brown ware, which I use as a bath. I called her after breakfast to-day, and told her / posi- tively must have the featherbed removed, and the room scoured, both which she promised should be done while I was out walking. Keeper and I then sallied forth. I passed the Chateau, as Madame La Sales' house is called, and walked along the high road leading towards Lourdes, passing one or two straggling, unimportant, dirty villages on the left-hand side. One of them contained a large handsome building above a large walled garden full of fruit-trees, which, I was told, belonged to Madame la Marquise, as did the village the first gentleman's or gentlewoman's house, except Madame La Sales', I have met with in my rambles among the Pyrenees. I passed also a very pretty large two-story house, with green persiennes, sheltered by a noble chestnut wood at the back. It could not, I thought, be a gentleman's house, for the farm-yard was in front of ABGELE3. 113 the dwelling, and for a peasant-farmer, it looked too good. A man I met on the road solved the difficulty. 'It is a peasant's house/ said he, ' and he owns all the fields in front and close around.' I continued my walk, rather envying, if truth must be spoken, the master of that beautiful home, and thought how I should like to have it to knock down the farm buildings in front, lay out a beautiful garden instead, and to sit or lie, and read, under my own chestnut trees, watch- ing the rays of the setting sun fade upon the distant mountains. My reverie was broken by a sharp, vicious bark from Keeper, who, with head erect, and tail curled up so high, that I think he must be a direct descendant of that celebrated dog whose tail curled so high that it took his hind legs off the ground, was standing at bay, growling and barking at a very large white sheep-dog, with a bloody head, who looked as if he had been in a battle already, and I called to a beggarly-looking man in a field of maize on the right-hand side of the road, to call off his dog, which he immediately did, very civilly. This emboldened me to go into the field to ask him the name of some pretty church spires and villages I saw peeping up among the trees at the base of the mountains opposite. He told me their names, which I forget ; and then I asked him if he were the owner of the pretty house. He smiled, with a gratified air, and answered, * Yes ; and all these fields around were his too.' His farm was very convenient, large enough to support him and his family comfortably, and not too large. It was capital soil, and he could see every field he had from his house, so that no one could rob him of an ear of maize a very desirable thing, doubtless, as the Pyreneans them- selves say, the fields are usually a good deal robbed. I said, ' Your house must have cost a good deal building.' 114 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. ' Not so much as to another, for I led my own materials when not busy ; and wood and some other things I had.' He named the sum in francs it came to nearly two thousand pounds. His farm, he said, was worth what was equivalent to three more. And here was this man owning a property, which in England would have made him a gentleman, in a rusty hat, patched and darned clothes, only fit for a scarecrow, bare legs, and wooden shoes. 1 asked him how property descended in Argeles, as I had heard the customs of Lavedan* were rather peculiar. He said the law allowed a father to select among his children the one he thought likeliest to keep the family property together, provided he portioned off the others suitably to their social position in his lifetime. He had had his property from his father, and could not think of dividing it; he should choose the one he thought least likely to waste it among his children, and marry and establish the others in his life- time. He thought it a pleasant thing for a father to see all his children settled and happy before he died, and I agreed with him. How much better is the French law, which compels a man to provide for the children he has been the means of bringing into the world according to tlie property he himself possesses, than ours, which, leaving the parent to do as he pleases, occasions many a family of girls, accustomed to every comfort during the lifetime of a selfish, luxurious father, who spends all he has, to be left at his death portionless upon the world. I think a man ought to be obliged to provide for the children who owe their birth to him, according to the position of life in which they are born, out of his annual income, if he has no vested property, as in France. We should not then have so many officers' daughters, * Lavedan includes Argeles, Pierrefitte, St. Savin, and many other valleys and villages, under the generic title of the Valley of Lavedan. ARGELES. 115 clergymen's daughters, merchants' daughters, and even daughters of men with good estates, left late in life to struggle with bitter poverty, after having been used, during their father's lifetime, to the comforts of a home, where from eight hundred to a couple of thousand pounds were spent yearly. How can any man, who has had a rosy, loving child seated on his knee, fondling ' dear papa,' go to his grave in peace, knowing that he has spent all he had upon him- self, and that that child, now an old woman, has to live upon a beggarly pittance the tenth share, perhaps, of some old relative's property, or worse still, is left with nothing. Unfitted by taste, by habit, and by an imperfect education (for the selfish parent rarely spends much on his children's education), even to earn her bread as a governess. I know of two general's nieces, and two general's daughters, four ladies brought up in luxury, who were, without misconduct on their part, solely from this cause, left to starve on the poor pittance they could earn as needlewomen in advanced old age, rendered yet more helpless by the utter bodily prostration of one of them, occasioned by years of sorrow and privation; and this when the sacrifice of a few pounds yearly to insure the father s life, would secure independence to his daughters. Why don't parents, if they know they either can't or won't leave their daughters a gentlewoman's competence, bring tliem up to work, and place them out in shops, as governesses, or in other ways, as they place out younger sons ? I fear it is owing to that false pride which seems so peculiarly English, and from which all foreign nations are happily free. But this is a digression the reader will probably think I could not help such thoughts passing rapidly through my mind, as this beggarly-looking peasant-far- mer, with his clear head and sound heart, went on de- 116 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FKANCE. tailing to me what he meant to do for his children during his life. ' I don't wonder you wish to keep such a property together,' said I ; ' it's a beautiful home, I envy you.' ' It is a beautiful spot,' he answered, smiling proudly as his eye rested lovingly upon his home ; ' and I am a happy man, for I am content. I can live by my work, and keep my family, and lay by something. I am rich, for I am content. I have the sense to know when I am well-off, and would not change my lot with anyone. I have a good wife, and five healthy children. Yes! I esteem myself a happy man.' His wife came up as he spoke ; she was quite as dirty- looking and very nearly as ragged as himself. Two of the elder children were with her, both barefooted ; she had shoes and stockings. One of the children had his feet bound up with a clean linen rag I asked what was the matter ? 'Nothing,' was the reply. 'His foot is a little sore, that is all the air will do it good. Thank God my children are all healthy.' With the family came up the white dog, who, seeing I was talking amicably with his master and mistress, looked upon me as a friend, and invited master Keeper in dog- language to a gambol, which invitation was promptly ac- cepted. I inquired whether he had been fighting, and was told the wound on his head, which was as large as my hand, was caused by the flies biting him, and that he was so every year. The flies are a sad pest to the cattle in the Pyrenees, and the hornets are worse. I have seen the cows dash madly through hedges and brooks, and over the low stone fences goaded by their stings, while the herds- man raced after them with a heavy cudgel, which he flung at them from time to time. At all other seasons the Py- renean cows are a gentle, quiet race, whom even I, a cow- fearer by nature, do not feel afraid of. I told the good- ABGELES. 117 natured looking dame how much I had been admiring her house, and complimented her upon its beauty and size. ' It is not too large,' said she ; ' we are quinze personas, children and servants included.' I notice that many words are pronounced like Italian in the patois, and even the French spoken by the peasants of these districts is a sort of mongrel dialect between French and the patois, in which Italian and Spanish terminations prevail. After this long talk, I called Keeper from his friend, and we returned home, I to dine on omelettes, Keeper to go shares with the dog of the house, an ugly black mongrel pointer puppy, who was always racing upstairs or down- stairs, after or with him, and even invading my very sanctuary my bedroom if the door was left ajar. He used first to poke his black head in, then if unrebuked, to enter the room, still keeping close to the door, asking as it were permission to come in so clearly by his intelligent eyes, and by his tail, not wagging but moving with a quick vibratory movement, by which I observe dogs express their wish to do something ; then, suddenly, he would turn round, Keeper after him, and both would dash into the next room or downstairs, upsetting chairs, tables, besoms, or anything else they found in their way. The noise they made was terrific, and would have driven any nervous, irritable person, mad. My host and hostess, and I myself, were only amused by their pranks. When Madame came to take away my empty plate, I asked why the room had not been washed according to promise, and received for answer that ' mon mari ' had been absent all day, and so she could not do it. I could not understand what ' mon mari ' had to do with scouring a room, but suppose Madame was busy attending to all the customers in his absence. However, the featherbed has been removed, and to-night I hope to sleep. P.S. I didn't. The animated featherbed had founded a new colony in the mattress ! CHAPTER XI. ARGELES. I HAVE seen Vidalos. 1 walked that way this morning with the intent to reach it if possible, passing the peasant- farmer's pretty house and chestnut-wood on my way. The old white sheep-dog was in the lane, and recognized us, coming up wagging his tail to claim acquaintance, and have a pat from me, and a gambol with Keeper, after which he returned home ; while Keeper, I am sorry to say, conducted himself in his usual puppy-fashion. What shall I do with that good-for-nothing animal ? He ran after my peasant-friend's poultry, frightened them all into the wood, and nearly caught a very fine cock, and all this, after that flogging which cost me a whole franc at Eaux- Bonnes. I shall have to order him to be hung, and the little wretch is so playful, amusing, and affectionate, in short so nice a dog (though he is a mongrel), when he doesn't run after ducks and chickens, that I can't bear to think of putting an end to him. I beat him for his crimes, when I can catch him ; but he generally makes off after a misdeed of this sort, and keeps at a respectful distance, stopping every now and then till I come nearly up, and gazing at me from a bank or a heap of stones, or the top of an old wall, with a sort of twinkle in his brown eyes as if he were laughing at me in his heart, which I believe he is ; and the moment I near him he wags his tail, in the sauciest manner, turns round, and darts off again. I passed through several insignificant villages, before I reached Vidalos. When I did, I found there was no visible ABGELE8. 119 way of getting to the tower. I tried a field, but found a high hedge I could not pass. A peasant-boy offered to show me the way and led me through an orchard-garden to the base of the hill, where a sort of rough pathway was rather trodden than cut, through the thorns and brambles. When he had scrambled half-way up, an old woman rushed out of a cottage near, declaring we had no business there, we ought to have gone through her garden, where there was a good path. It was clear she considered the boy had robbed her of her legitimate perquisite, by taking me that round-about way. However, we were half-way up now, and I was no ways disposed to come down again, so I gave the boy a few sous for his trouble, with which he ran off, carefully avoiding the virago below, who continued to scream and vituperate both him and me, and plodded up- wards alone. It is a bare, naked, single town, no more. Not half so interesting as I expected from the imposing figure it makes, seen from the road, surmounting its lofty conical mound, and looking grandly over all the valley ; but the view from it is lovely. From hence the Gave shows to advantage, even despite the shallows, forming a silver lakelet, there round that point, flowing a steady sensible river, and lower on again divided by shallows rippling off into so many innumerable streams, that one scarce knows at first which to call the Gave. It was a very windy day, the side next the river was very bare of shrubs to hold on by, and the grass very dry and slippery from the heat. Thus I had a tolerable chance of falling into the Gave if I went down that wav, and if I went the other I must encounter the old witch below. Scylla and Chary bd is were before me. I chose Scylla, and not daring to trust to my feet commenced a sliding descent as I sat towards the field below, where some twenty or more peasant men and women were making hay, doing a little botany on my way. I found a 120 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. small pink flower, the sand-garlic, and a sort of aromatic thyme I had never seen before, together with a small kind of broom peculiar to the country ; but as I had no bo- tanical works with me, and no means of drying specimens of the plant, which was, moreover, out of bloom, I could not ascertain its name. Lower down I found common bladder campion, corn-fumitory, and the lovely-fringed mountain pink.* I returned home, well satisfied with my walk, and as we passed the green shuttered farm, that animal Keeper dashed after the poultry again, and caught a cock by the wing, while I screamed after him in vain. Happily the cock got away and flew off, but I am afraid he is hurt and that I shall have to pay for him. My con- science will not allow me to let Keeper lame fowls without paying for them, and I can't afford to spend money in that way ; the silly little brute will compel me to order him for instant execution. When I got home I found my host on his knees scrub- bing the floor, not with soap and water and a brush, but sciure de bois, i. e. sawdust, put on with a cloth, which the Pyreneans use instead, and his pretty little wife, in her trim gown and smart, coquettishly-adjusted mouchoir, standing by, admiring his work and doing nothing. What a model husband ! Fancy an Englishman scouring a floor while his wife stands idly by ! Monsieur and Madame both immediately called upon me to admire how clean it was, declaring it had taken four hours to do, which I can readily believe, since it took at least twenty minutes to finish the little bit that remained undone when I returned. I must say the sciure de bois answers the purpose as effectually as * M. Philippe, the botanist of Bagneres, doubts "whether this lovely fringe-petaled pink is a variety of Dianthus sup&rbus, or a genus of itself Dianthus monspe&sulanvs, as it varies continually in form, scent, scales, and hue. It is found throughout the chain of the Pyrenees. AKGELES. 121 soap, only that as time is money everywhere except in the Pyrenees, and it takes four hours to scour a room in this manner, which any English maid would scour in half-an- hour, I see no true economy in it. It gives the boards, moreover, a yellowish tint, instead of whitening them ; but the Pyreneans, especially the Pyrenean peasants, would do anything rather than spend a sou they can avoid spend- ing. To save a Hard,* they waste time which might earn francs, or let things fall to pieces for want of a few nails, a little mortar or thatch. It is a known fact, and related as such by French writers, that the cattle frequently die of infectious diseases, because their owners will not go to the expense of having their sheds cleaned out or white- washed. Another day, I, and the shiner Keeper, who is still un- hung, though under sentence of death, rambled down the valley, across the bridge over the Gave near some saw- mills not that on the high road to Pierrefitte and up a winding-path among some rocks, hoping to attain one of the pretty churches whose spire I saw towering above the trees from Argeles. What a lovely walk it was ; far lovelier than that to Vidalos. Yet I could direct no one to it, and I don't know that I could find it again myself; for I kept asking everyone I met the way to that tall spire pointing to the church and everyone I met gave me a contrary direction ; and as I followed each in turn, I went zigzag, and backwards and forwards, and round and round, and never seemed to get any nearer the church I desired to reach. I was very thirsty, for it was a broiling day ; and seeing a white farmhouse gleaming among fields and orchards, I made towards it, hoping to get some milk. I never saw a place that looked more peaceful or lovelier * -A liard is less than a farthing. 122 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. than it was nestled under apple, and plum, and peach trees with vines trailing up the stems of some of the oldest trees," and looking down on the lovely valley of Argeles and the low range of hills behind, while mountains closed in the view at either end. Outside it looked the picture of domestic cleanliness and comfort ; but when I entered The floor was earth-coloured in fact, a tole- rable coating of earth and mud had been brought and laid upon it by the united tramplings of men, women, children, dogs, cats, fowls, lambs, and, most probably, pigs also ; for I heard a Pyrenean gentleman say that all these animals were usually allowed to run about the peasants' cottages. Upon this dirty floor some bonny, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired children English in the type of their countenance were playing ; a good-natured but miserably dirty-looking dwarf, with a dirty handkerchief on her head, was rocking a dirty child lying in a cradle, whose quilt and blankets looked as if they had never been washed ; and the fowls were amusing themselves where they liked. My entrance scared them. One perched on the cradle-head, two flew on to the dresser, and some took refuge on the two beds which stood at separate corners of the room. ' Oh ! look at the fowls ! ' exclaimed I. ' Oil ! ce n'est rien,' was the inevitable reply. It always is in the Pyrenees. If you complain of well! it must out fleas, l Ce n'est rien; 1 if there is any- thing dirty or untidy about your apartment, ' it is nothing.' I verily believe that if a cow walked into the room, it would still be ' rien' I told the little dwarf I was thirsty and longing for milk, and she instantly jumped up, with the ready kindness and politeness which, I must say, honourably distinguishes the Pyrenean peasant, and climbed on a chair to get me a glass from the closet. I followed to help her, seeing she was not tall enough to reach them. What glasses they were ! I should not think they had ARGELES. 123 ever been washed since they were glasses. The dwarf held out a dirty hand to take the one I had reached, and said she would wash it in the pail of water on the sink hard by. I asked to be allowed to wash it myself, well knowing that I could not drink out of the glass she would think clean ; and I rinsed it three several times, nibbing the dirt off with my fingers before it was usable. I trembled for the milk However, she led the way out of the house to a sort of cupboard placed across a little rill of running water that trickled from the hill-side above, and opening the door with a key, showed me a clean actually, a really clean pan full of milk, on which stood a thick, rich cream. I dipped my glass in, again and again ; for I meant to pay for my milk and to have my money's worth, and I had now been walking three hours in a broiling sun, and then I thanked her and tendered payment ; but no she would take nothing ; I was welcome to the milk. Would I have more ? Madame was heartily welcome to it. I thanked her, and again begged to pay, and again was refused with a pleasant smile. Can one help liking a people like this, with all their dirt ? We went back to the house, and again thanking her, I bade her good-by, and went on my way refreshed. After this, I dropped somehow into a little combe, so small and so green, all shut in by mountains on three sides, and with one or two white farmhouses gleaming in its green depths, and there I sat me down to rest, with Keeper at my feet. A lofty mountain was at my right hand, another at my left, and through the opening between, the only one in the wall of mountains encircling that little green valley, itself perched half-way up a mountain, I looked down upon the green valley of Lavedan, through which, from this height, the Gave was seen meandering like a silver ribbon, adding beauty, by the contrast of its pellucid waters, to the brown, and blue, and green tints of the surrounding 124 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. scenery ; and far beyond the long green valley rose the church spire and high-peaked roofs and balconies of the town of Argeles, against a long, low line of dark grey hills. Where can I find so fit a place to read the legends of the country as this ? Lie still, Keeper ; don't snap at the flies, lest you catch a Tartar in the shape of a wasp, as you nearly did just now; and don't run after the cock that crows from yonder homesteads and his wife Partlett, but close your eyes and sleep, while I read THE DEVIL AMONG THE PEASANTS. 'A very long time ago there was a dairyman and his family living near the village of Pouyierre",* who called upon the devilt much oftener than upon God. So one day the devil took them at their word, and came and sat down among them by the kitchen hearth. They were horribly frightened at first, when they saw him come in all dressed in red. However, they consoled themselves after he was gone again, by thinking that once is not always, and that perhaps he would never come again, so they went to bed and slept well. But the day following, the devil came back at the same hour, and without more ado, sat down in the self-same place. The peasants were horror-struck at this second visit, and when he departed this time, prayed to God a little more fervently, and slept a little less soundly. The day following, they anxiously awaited the hour at which the devil had appeared the two preceding days. He was very punctual, came in without a word, and sat himself down in the chimney-corner. This time the peasants began to tremble a good deal, for they saw clearly that the evil one felt himself quite at home among them ; and they * Pouyferre' is in Lavedan. t ' Diable ! Que (liable ! ' &c., is constantly in the mouth of the Pyreneans, both male and female. AEGELES. 125 began to reflect and consult as to how they might get rid of him. Having come to the wise conclusion that he was to be dislodged at any rate, they next went to their priest and candidly told him of their unfortunate case. The priest represented to them that they had only themselves to thank for it, as they had, so to speak, invited the devil, by always having his name on their lips ; but he added, that as they seemed repentant, he would do all he could to relieve them of a guest whose presence was so much against their chance of salvation. He kept his word as to the trouble he took about it, but it was all in vain. In spite of Paters and Aves, and holy water, and exorcisms, the devil came re- gularly at the same hour every day and sat down in the chimney-corner. The poor peasants lost all their health and gaiety ; and sometimes wondered whether they were awake or asleep, for the red visitor seemed to weigh on their breasts like the nightmare, and they rubbed their eyes and tried to wake up and find it a dream but no there he was ! At last they sent a petition to the bishop, beseeching him to help them. The bishop listened benignantly to their request, and promised to come himself to Pouyferre. He set out in great pomp attended by all his clergy, so that it was a grand sight to see the procession, and he came to the house when the scarlet guest was sit- ting there. He pronounced holy words and scattered holy water very plentifully, and as the devil never got up and went out, and everyone was afraid that after his usual custom, he would disappear through the roof, leaving a hole that no one could ever repair, it is said that the bishop actually put his own stole upon the devil's shoulders and dragged him to the door. When the evil one got there, he vanished, calling on the elements to avenge him, and immediately a black cloud broke into such a terrible storm of large hailstones, that there was no grain of any kind that year in the whole country.' 126 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. * About the same time that these events occurred in the plain, a strange thing happened to a peasant who lived near the Great Gave, which is still remembered in the valley of Davantaigue. This peasant was on the point of losing a valuable meadow, because the paper containing his title-deed was lost. The title had been placed in the hands of his uncle, but when the unfortunate peasant went to fetch it, he found his uncle dead, and the paper missing. * In great sorrow of heart, he went to the meadow that was lawfully his. " Alas ! " said he, " am I then to be de- spoiled of what is my just right ? I had a title, but it is lost. Where shall I find it now? The devil only could help me, if the devil would. If he will but help me now in my extremity, I will give him my best pair of oxen." ' The devil replied, " I hold you quits as to the oxen, and I will still help you but on condition that you let me have your wife." ' " I would with all my heart," replied the peasant, " but you see I can't, I can't dispose of my wife. The woman does not belong to man, but to herself." ' The devil did not insist further. He transported the peasant into a magnificent hall, where individuals of all ages were seated on soft luxurious-looking arm-chairs, and his uncle was sitting among them. The devil then showed him an empty seat, saying, " I will restore your meadow to you, but you must make me a present of your person. I shall place it some day in that delightful seat, in the midst of this honourable assembly." ' The peasant made no reply ; he felt doubtful as to the comfort of the place, but going up to his uncle whom he had recognized at once, he said, " You seem to be sitting very comfortably there, my dear uncle, and look as if you were quite at your ease." ' "As to that," said the uncle, " just touch my arm-chair with the end of your stick." AEGELE8. 127 * The peasant touched it, and flame ran from the arm- chair to the stick and trom the stick to him, and frightened him terribly. " Ah ! Ah ! " said he, " I comprehend now where I am, is not this hell ? " ' " Certainly it is," said the uncle ; " I live here now for my sins, and as you may see among a large company." ' " But," said the peasant, whose memory never lost sight of the object of his journey, " where is the title-deed of my meadow ? " * " Keturn to my house," said the uncle, " and at the back of the chimney behind one of the stands we place the resin* on, in the evenings, you will find it/' ' The peasant asked nothing more ; he was iu a hurry to get out of the place, and one must admit that the devil was complaisant in conducting him out again. No sooner had he got free than profiting by the information his uncle had given him, he returned to his house to look for the title-deed ; and there it was sure enough, at the back of the chimney as the uncle had said, and he got possession of his meadow. But at the precise moment he did so, he lost the use of his speech, and a year afterwards he was dead. 5 The beautiful and melodious-voicedt maidens of Lave- dan still believe that if they perceive a thread lying on the ground near the fountain, they must pick it up, and wind it as quickly as possible. The thread will lengthen under their fingers, and form a marvellous ball, out of which will come a fairy, who, delighted at being delivered from her inconvenient prison, will either give her libera- trix some handsome present, or lend her a fairy wand. The belief in fairies is universal; and many are the * The peasantry in the Pyrenees bum resin instead of tallow. It is twisted into long coils about the thickness of a little finger, and in this form ready for use, or in large cakes, is constantly sold in the markets. t ' Melodious,' so in the original, and well do the sweet-voiced daughters of Lavedan merit the epithet. 128 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. legends concerning them recounted by the Pyreneans as they sit round the winter fire. All mountaineers are superstitious, in the popular sense of the word. They live with Nature, and are accessible to influences to which the worldly-minded would turn a deaf ear, a shut eye, and a dead heart. The grand forms of the mountain, the solemn rustle of the breeze through the pine-woods resembling the ceaseless dash of the waves against the shore, the rushing torrent pouring down the mountain side, whose white foam- wreath looks spectre-like and unearthly, half seen through the mists of night, and the exquisite beauty of their green valleys, felt even when they cannot express it take deep hold of their imagination and their feelings, and impel them to a belief in the Unseen and the Wonderful. They have the simple faith of a child, and probably for that reason are more open to impressions from the Spirit- world. Their legends and their music are alike the echo of this close communion with Nature; both are wild, fanciful, and tinged with a touch of sadness. Here are two of the prettiest Fairy legends. THE FAIRIES. ' Once upon a time, long, long ago, two shepherds were sitting upon a green hill-side, watching their flocks feed, when, like a dream as it seemed to them, two beautiful damsels stood by their side. The two young men were also very handsome, and, after having contemplated them for a moment, the maidens said, blushingly * " Shepherds, will you marry us ? We will give you much treasure, and make you happy besides, and your children will be so beautiful that all your neighbours will envy you." ' The two young men, though greatly surprised, were charmed by the fairies' youthful beauty. They felt highly ABGELE8. 129 flattered at being selected from their companions by fairies, and signified their ready acquiescence. And the fairies, seeing them disposed to do what they desired, continued thus : * " Return to-morrow morning to the side of this mea- dow, but come back fasting, so that in marrying us you may be able to break the charm which retains us captive. We shall then cease to be fairies, and become your real wives. Beware, therefore, both for your happiness and ours, of eating anything whatsoever before we are wedded." ' The next morning, the two young men returned full of hope to the place where they had met the beautiful dam- sels, and soon espying them on the hill-side, hastened to- wards them. It was the time when the rye was swelling. One of them, as he walked along, carelessly gathered an ear, and detaching a grain broke it between his teeth, to know if it was ripening. Immediately the fairy to whom he was betrothed cried, trembling, " Thou hast replaced me under the power of the charm from which I hoped to get free. Alas ! alas ! thou hast made me a fairy for ever ! " And she disappeared instantly. ' But the other fairy, whose lover had been more attentive to her advice, said to him, " Consider now, O shepherd ! that I am about to become thy wife, for thou hast de- stroyed the enchantment which kept me far from man- kind. But if thou wouldest always keep me with thee, remember never to call me fairy or fool. Above all, trust in me, and have no fear of that which is about to happen." ' While the beautiful fairy thus encouraged him, a serpent rose out of the earth, and twining round the shep- herd's stick, put his mouth to that of the youth a kiss, which was the superhuman consecration of the man's alliance with the fairy. The shepherd received it in K 130 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. silence, with his eyes tenderly fixed on her for whose sake he endured .such a caress. ' The fairy then took him by the hand, and conducted him into a cavern, where there was much gold and silver ; and the husband and wife loaded two mules with treasure, with which they afterwards bought themselves a rustic house, and the finest land in the country. ' There they lived happily and quietly upon their farm, and beautiful children were born to them, and the years passed on. ' Now it happened one day, that the still young and beautiful wife, who had retained from her state of enchant- ment some faculty of divination, looking at the sky where common eyes would only have seen present serenity read there the signs of a terrific hurricane, which would burst over the country towards evening. So, like a prudent housewife, she ordered her servants to cut down the harvest, although it was scarcely quite ripe, and had all the grain safely housed in her granaries. Her hus- band, who was absent, returned while they were about it, and seeing the farm-labourers busy carrying off the corn before it was thoroughly ripe, angrily demanded who had set them to such a task ? And as the trembling servants replied that they only executed the orders of his wife, she herself came out to meet him. ' " Oh, thou fool ! " cried he, angrily ; " how could such a thought as cutting the unripe wheat ever enter thy head ? " 'At this fatal word, the poor wife, heaving a profound sigh, disappeared from her horrified husband, and fell suddenly once more under the power of the enchantment, from which her marriage had freed her. 'In the evening, a frightful hurricane desolated the valley. The waters broke their dams, inundated the fields, and ruined the harvests. Then the sorrowful ARGELES. 131 shepherd, who saw his grain preserved by his wife's fore- sight, rendered her tearfully a tardy justice. He called her back to him with sobs, but it was in vain. Neverthe- less, she returned with the dawn of every day to a lonely chamber in the house, where her children, who were as beautiful as the day, met her; and she loved to caress them, and to comb their golden hair carefully, but she begged them to tell no one that she thus came back in secret, and they obeyed her. The father could not com- prehend how their hair was always so beautifully smooth and well arranged, and questioned them as to who combed and washed them in this manner every day, but they would say nothing. So at last he followed softly one morning, when he saw them silently stealing up stairs, and stood behind the door, and saw through the chink his wife, looking younger and more beautiful than when he married her, combing the bright hair of her youngest son with a golden comb ; but so soon as she saw her indiscreet husband, she vanished like a dream, and the children and their father never saw her again.' There is a still prettier story, which is said to have happened at Bagneres de Bigorre. THE INNOCENT. ' There was in a mountain village, near Bagneres, a poor family of many children, one of whom was an innocent,* and could do nothing for himself. The father, and brothers, and sisters troubled themselves little about the poor creature ; but his mother loved him, and cared for him tenderly until she died. All the household grieved for her greatly, except the poor fool, who slept in the same room with the others. When they rose at break of * Innocent I retain this term which is commonly used in Yorkshire, and is so much more touching and endearing than the word idiot. 132 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. day, they were surprised to see him sitting on a chair quite dressed, with his clothes properly put on, and his hair combed, and they asked him how it was. '"My mother came," said he, "while you slept, and told me to get up, and she dressed me herself. Then she gave me a bowl full of milk and bread, and I ate it." ' The innocent did not know what death meant, and he saw his mother every day, and was happy. But his relations were uneasy that so strange a thing should happen in their house, and they went to the curate. ' " Good people," said he, " cause prayers to be said for the dead ; and, in future, take the same care of that poor child that his mother did." ' So the peasants returned home, and fetched money to pay for the masses. But the spirit of the dead woman returned every day until the ninth mass had been said. Then her soul had peace, and her son obtained the affectionate care of his relatives.' ' There, Keeper ; we have rested, reading, and moralizing long enough get up, and let us be off, or we shall never reach that village, and never get home to-night.' Keeper trotted on by my side, and we ascended the steep hill by a road a passing peasant pointed out to me, but it suddenly ended at a cottage farm ; and while the pretty spire of the church I wanted to reach peered up among the trees provokingly close to me, I saw no way of getting to it but up a lane so horribly filthy, for there are no drains in the villages or farms, it was impossible to tread it. So I went up to the cottage, and rather by signs than words, for the old woman who came to the door spoke nothing but patois, made known my desire to reach the church. The magic word sous enlightened her a little as to my meaning. She called her little grandchild, and made me understand that for sous the girl would show me ARGELES. 133 the way. The child came out, turned the corner of the cottage, and began ascending that horrible path. I told her it was impossible I could go up there, and if there were no other way, she might go back, as I knew of that before I came to the cottage. What it was, no pen can tell ; suffice it to say that a farmer's midden is clean in comparison. The child had not gone a step beyond the cottage walls, and so I did not think it necessary to give her any sous ; and the old mother came out and abused me roundly ; and though I did not understand patois, I could make out plainly enough that she was telling me ' there was nothing the matter with the road. I had promised sous, and ought to give them.' ' So I would, and gladly,' said I, * if the road were not so filthy, no lady could tread it ; but I will not give sous to such dirty people.' And so saying, I turned home- wards, leaving her to vociferate as much as she pleased. The last sounds that met my ears, as I descended, were ' Anglaise' and 'sous.' Lest you think me mean, dear reader, I beg to observe I refused the money on principle. There is nothing a peasant will not do for sous ; and I hoped the loss of the expected guerdon might lead her to amend her ways. The sun was setting when Keeper and I reached Argeles. Next day I was unwell, from the effects of my long walk ; and fancying coffee disagreed with me, went out to try and get some tea. I went to three shops before I got any, and then I learnt I could procure it at a small shop in the market-place. Thither I proceeded. Had they tea ? Yes, they had ; and they produced perhaps a quarter of a pound in an uncovered glass lottle, that looked as if it had stood there for years, and was utterly scentless. However, I bought an ounce, and made tea with it that evening. I am convinced that tea had never been in China. Its colour was peculiar, inclining to a 134 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. sage green,, and its flavour was that of herbs. Being, however, feverish and thirsty, I drank it, and found, as I expected, that it was a tolerable tisane. I was curious to know the mechanism by which the beautiful roads all round were kept up, for there never seemed to be any great repairs going on. So one day I asked the cantonnier of Argeles, whom I passed at his work, how it was managed. He showed me his livre d'ordonnance, containing the rules to be observed by every cantonnier.* 'The cantonniers must be at work from 5 A.M. to 7 P.M. in the summer, in winter from sunrise to sunset.' They are divided into three classes. The third and lowest receive thirty-seven francs a month ; the second, thirty-nine francs ; and the first, forty-two francs a month. Each has charge of a hundred metres of road, within which he is bound to erect a staff, with his number on a plate at the top, so that the inspector going his rounds may see it, and to be in some part of that space. If absent, he is to be called three times, and ten minutes allowed for his appearance. If he is not forthcoming at the end of that time, he is fined two days' pay for this first dereliction of duty, six days' pay for the second, and dismissed from his employ for the third offence. Inspectors come at all hours, and especially when least expected. The plan answers, for I never saw such well-kept and magnificent roads as in the Pyrenees. The wages are low in England they would be fright- fully low but the necessaries of life are cheap in the Pyrenees, with the exception of bread, which cost me as much as in England. But then I am an Anglaise ; and no French man or woman, whatever their rank or position, will tell an English person they have paid too dear for any article, so that it is difficult to ascertain the true prices. The French people hang together like a cluster of bees. * Cantonnier one charged with keeping the road in repair. CHAPTER XIL AEGELES. I DID not recover my long walk even by a day's thorough rest, and was too unwell to go out yesterday. My pretty little landlady came into my room to get out her Sunday handkerchief, and I had a chat with her while she did so, which ended in her showing me all her wedding handker- chiefs for the head. The peasants spend a good deal upon these articles, and their mouchoirs are often both very ex- pensive and very elegant. The one Marie selected for to- day was a rich figured white silk fringed with purple. She had others still handsomer, of maize, rose colour, orange, and plaid, all of thick, rich, wasliing silk. When she had dressed, she came back again to show me how pretty the white mouchoir looked, well aware, the little coquette, that she looked very pretty in it I told her so and the com- pliment was evidently not unpleasant nor unexpected she was wonderfully smart. She had on a very pretty gown, somewhat like that thin, silky stuff, which has been so much in vogue lately a kind of woollen silk, if I may use such an expression. Round her neck she wore a collar, made of white beads, fastened by a little brooch, and she also wore lace net sleeves trimmed with lace. The edge of a white worked petticoat peeped from under the folds of her pale, lavender-coloured dress, and as she stooped to pick up something, I saw she wore neatly-tucked white drawers, and faultless stockings and bottines. The better 136 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. class of Pyrenean women, and even the servants, are very particular about their under-garments, and would not, like too many of our dressy maids, consider themselves smart, unless they were clean, whole, and good, and of a piece with the rest of their attire. But finery and neatness both are reserved for fair-days and Sundays. The pretty Marie goes about in a soiled gown, uncombed hair, and a yellow handkerchief, doubled in half and loosely thrown over her head, and tied under the chin at other times, for which I sometimes reprove her, telling her that she ought always, now she is a married woman, to set herself off to the best advantage, and look well in her husband's eyes. But hand- some as he is, Marie seems rather indifferent to him. I asked her some questions to-day about the peasant who owned the beautiful green-shuttered house with the chest- nut grove behind it, on the road towards Vidalos. * His wife, madame, was rich too,' Marie said, with a sub- dued sigh. ' Do you know them, Marie ? ' 'Ah, ouil autrefois! Madame had ten thousand francs when she married. Her father was rich, and she and her sister had air here Marie heaved a deep sigh 'all the brothers and sisters had as much ah ! I might have been very happy!' she added, half to herself, and half to me. ' And are you not happy, Marie ? You seem to have a good, kind, handsome husband. Are you not happy ? ' * Comme $a,' said Marie, doubtfully ' ah ! the other madame's brother was a handsome man he was my first love ! ' 1 But your husband is very handsome, Marie ! ' * Yes, but not like him ! and he was rich, he had ten thousand francs this man has nothing. ' Then the house is yours, Marie ? ' 'It is my mother's, and my aunt's and mine, and my AKGELES. 137 sister's it belongs to us all, and we all live together and Jacques' brother lives with us too.'* ' Well, Marie, that does not seem to me to signify much. It does not matter which of you had the money, if your husband is, as he seems to be, steady and industrious you may be very well off some day. Canon, with whom I lodged at Cauterets, was only a voiturier and guide, like your husband, and now he has two good houses, besides several carriages and horses of his own. What was your first lover ? ' ' He tilled the earth.' ' Well, then, I think the voiturier is the better match if that be all you are not strong, Marie, and the hard life of a peasant would not have suited you you could not have worked in the fields.' ' Perhaps I should not have needed to do so Madame does not work in the fields, ever.' ' No but then her husband has much more than ten thousand francs in England, his estate would enable him to live like a gentleman ; but you could not have lived upon the produce of five hundred pounds.' But Marie only shook her head, and repeated, ' L'autre etait si leau I ' ' Then why did you not marry him, Marie ? ' ' Oh, I was foolish ! I might have been so happy, and I would not. My father did not wish me to marry this one none of my family wished it and I would. We had had some words the other and I and I was foolish. Ah, * The tie of blood is very strong in the Pyrenees, and all this family seemed to live very amicably together, for during the week I stayed I never heard an angry word from one to the other. And one constantly sees mothers or grandmothers living with married children, or two or three uncles living with a niece. The members of a family do not appear to separate on reaching maturity as they do in England, but rather to live together and throw their earnings into one common stock for the good of the whole. 138 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. well ! it is no use thinking of that now. It is done, and I must make -the best of it and after all, this one nest pas meehant,' said Marie, suddenly changing her pathetic tone to cheerfulness, and with a half smile, she scampered down stairs to go to mass. In the evening I saw the whole family seated on chairs in front of the little shop kept by the aunt playing at cards. The other sister, who was quite as pretty as Marie, was dressed exactly like her, except that she had a lace collar on instead of a bead one ; and I could not help thinking, as I looked at them, how strange it was that two such neat, nice girls should live in a house whose floors were never washed, though I must do them the justice to say, it was well swept, and cleaner than any other house of the same class I entered in Argeles. This Sunday card- playing is almost universal in France, and I wonder that the priests, who set their face against much less objection- able things, do not put it down. When twilight made it im- possible to see the marks on the cards any longer, Marie and her sister began to sing some of the old pathetic popular airs of the country. A girl on the opposite side of the street joined in the song ; and I lay in my bed, and listened to their fresh, sweet, young voices till near midnight. I think I never heard any female voices so liquid, and so round. They had not a harsh or shrill note in them ; and this seems to me peculiarly characteristic both of the singers and the music of the Pyrenees. This music is an inspiration. It seems an echo of the warble of the birds, the hoarse and continuous dash of the torrent, the soft trickling of the meadow-runnel through the green grass, and the murmur of the brook over the stones: and, as in the wild bird's song, one long note is often prolonged for a minute or two above the chords sung by the other voices, and yet blends with them into one harmonious whole. These lengthened sustained notes, which seem prolonged more or less accord- ARGELES. 139 ing to the taste of the singer, are peculiar to the music of the Pyrenees. To-day, Monday, October 13th, 1862, 1 have taken my last long walk at Argeles. I walked to the church, as directed by Marie, and then inquired my way to St. Savin. A little lane near the church soon leads one into an upper road parallel to, but above, that which leads to Pierrefitte ; this led me into a noble chestnut wood, nearly three miles long, and some of the trees were really majestic, and be- tween their large massive trunks and far-reaching branches, every here and there, were green glades and openings, whence one got a magnificent view of the mountains, and the valley of Argeles below. The chestnut crop was already gathered, and a drove of pigs and a few merry children were contesting for the stray fallen ones hidden under the leaves. It is customary here to drive the pigs into the chestnut woods after the gathering is over, and the refuse fattens them well. I can't make out why pork is comparatively so much dearer than other meat in the Pyrenees, seeing the pigs appear to get half their keep for nothing. Every commune seems, as at the English lakes, to have a certain portion of uncultivated land on the mountain side belonging to it, whence the wood for the district is procured. The acorns are considered a crop, and the pigs from one village must not eat acorns off the lands belonging to another commune. There was a little crispness in the air to-day that was very refreshing, and it was very pleasant walking up to one's ancles in the crackling brown chestnut leaves that formed a thick, soft bed under the trees, and hearing them rustle under one's feet, the bright sunshine above playing upon them here and there in streaks of red light, or glancing through the boughs overhead, and turning the fading leaves to crimson and gold, or shedding a soft gleamy light upon the green hollows below. The flowers are nearly over. I 140 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. gathered a few of the smaller scabious, the giant bindweed, a stray honeysuckle, some wild marjoram, harebells, and one or two of the beautiful fringed pinks. That was all ; but I never had a lovelier walk. I thought how pleasant it would have been to have sat whole days under this chestnut wood with a friend, reading Shakespeare or Shelley, the best landscape-painters I know, with a faith- ful dog at one's feet, one's hand lying on his smooth head, and looking down every now and then between whiles at the beautiful world below. The path through the chestnut wood conducted me nearly to St. Savin, a village whose neat outward appearance contrasted favourably with that of the duty Argeles. The market-place is square, and in the centre stands rather a handsome cross ; but I saw no pretty drinking-fountain like that of Argeles, as is common in villages of its calibre and importance. The upper parts of many of the houses project, resting on wooden pillars, while the ends of the timbers, on which these upper rooms are built, jut out, and form a sort of ornamental border as it appears seen from below. The streets were quite clean, although it has not, like Argeles, the advantage of a running stream before every door, that bears all impurities away. St. Savin, to whom the church is dedicated, is the chief saint of Lavedan. ' The valley of Lavedan includes those of Azun, Davau- taigue, Batsouriguere, Estreme de Salles, and Pierrefitte, or St. Savin.' I fancy it also includes Lourdes, Argeles, and Cauterets; for they are always spoken of as in Lavedan. The saint, however, was of Spanish origin, being, it is said, the son of a Count of Barcelona, supposed to have been the brother of Hentilius, Count of Poictiers, and of the kindred of the Kings of France. He lost his father early, and was the sole hope and consolation of a tender mother, who brought him up with the most loving care, occupying herself with his education, in the hope it AKOELES. 141 might render him worthy of the lofty destiny which awaited him. Poor mother ! she instilled into his mind an earnest sense of duty and a deep religious feeling, which in that age, when both men and women thought they served God best by breaking up all family ties, and neglecting all near duties, to throw themselves into a cloister, was to become afterwards ' a sword to pierce through her own heart.' Savin grew in goodness as he grew in years. He showed himself in early youth to be worthy of the power and wealth with which God had entrusted him, and employed both in relieving the sufferings of the poor. He was yet young when he felt a desire to visit his uncle Hentilius, Count of Poictiers. His mother, knowing the great renown of this Count^ who was one of the greatest lords of that time, thought a voyage to his country and a residence in his court might be very useful to the heir of Barcelona, by enabling him to study the manners and civil polity of a great nation, and become initiated under so great a master into the secrets of administration, which he would himself be called on to exercise in his own county, and therefore consented reluctantly to his departure. Savin left his home sorrowfully and with tears; he knew well that he was bidding his mother adieu for ever. He had not undertaken this journey to gain instruction in the ways of the world, or to satisfy a laudable curiosity. He avoided all great towns on his route, preferring the solitudes wherein the disciples of St. Benedict had founded their monasteries, that he might learn of them the abnegation which makes a saint Old legends tell that he traversed the county of Foix, passing through the little town of Mas d'Azil, ' and so came at last to Poictiers to his uncle's abode, where he hastened to make his obeisance to the count, and was by him received as an angel, caressed as one of his kin, and treated like a young prince.' Hentilius soon appreciated the precocious merit and 142 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. intelligence of his nephew, and gave him the highest mark of his esteem by charging him, young as he was, with the education of his eldest son and heir. But though loaded with the gifts of his uncle, and living in the midst of a luxurious court, Savin retained his simplicity of character and his charitable and devout habits. He divided his time between his duties as a teacher, the care of the poor, and prayer to Grod, denying himself everything but bare neces- saries, that he might give away the rest. The son of Hentilius was a docile pupil, and Savin painted the mysterious charm of a life devoted wholly to solitude and contemplation, and the dangers and temptations of the world, in such glowing colours, as easily to persuade the youth that the cloister was the only sure refuge, and that his duty was to devote his whole life to the service of God, who gave it. The young disciple fled from his father's house, and forsook his future countship, to retire into a Benedictine monastery dedicated to St. Martin. The Countess of Poictiers, overwhelmed with grief at her son's departure, sought out Savin, and, throwing herself at his feet, conjured him to seek the beloved son who had been confided to his care that he might become worthy of his high destiny as ruler of a people, and not that he might be thus withdrawn from his duties and his family. Savin answered her no word, but set out at once for the monastery; not, however, to persuade his cousin to re- turn home, but to encourage him to persevere in the course he had chosen. He himself followed his example ; and the same day saw the two cousins, both sons of counts, clothed with the coarse habit of the order of St. Benedict. While one admires the devotion and purity of mind these two young men evinced in a licentious and dissolute age, one cannot help feeling how much more heroic their conduct would have been had they resisted temptation, instead of fleeing from it, and had they used the ARGELES. 143 fine talents and wide charity with which God had endowed them, in endeavouring to ameliorate the condition of their respective subjects. It seems strange that even the most devout should so often be blind to the truth that there is no religion in neglecting a plain duty. God had called them by their birth to be princes, not monks ; and had they remained manfully fighting in the posts where the General and Lord of all had placed them, they would have fulfilled a much higher duty than by leaving them to be filled up by less highly-principled men, and becoming ascetics. The rigours of a cloistral life, however, were not suffi- cient for Savin. He pined for the complete seclusion of an anchorite. He confided his design to the abbot of his monastery who neither dared blame it, lest he should hinder the work of God, nor yet encourage the departure of a monk who edified the whole convent by his exacti- tude in observing its rules, and his devout and virtuous life. But the perseverance of Savin overcame all ob- stacles, and he obtained at last the abbot's permission to depart with one companion only. The two hermits directed their steps towards the moun- tains of Bigorre. As they passed through Tarbes, Savin did not omit to pay his respects to the bishop who then occupied the chair of St. Justin and St. Faustus, and to ask his blessing upon their undertaking. Thirty-six kilometres* from that town, upon the side of a mountain overlooking the valley of Lavedan, was a Benedictine monastery, which had been founded on the ruins of an ancient castle or fort, probably Gallo-Roman, as the old name of Palatium-Emilianum, which it retained until after the death of St. Savin, seems to indicate. Here the two travellers were cordially received by * A kilometre is a thousand metres ; 1 metre is equal to 3 English feet, and 281 decimal parts. 144 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Forminius, then abbot; and Savin opening his heart to him, told him of his desire to flee into the deserts of the mountains, and practise the austere life of a hermit. Forminius considering this wish as the inspiration of God, did not seek to dissuade him ; and recognizing in him all the signs of a true vocation, wished, if he could not retain such a treasure in his convent, to keep him at least in the neighbourhood, and conducted him to a retired place three or four kilometres from the monastery. They fixed their choice upon the plateau called Pouey- Aspe, from whence the rich and beautiful valley is seen in all its extent. But Savin's choice of the spot was deter- mined by the fact, that from this elevation he could see between two bare rocks which shut in a solitary valley opposite, a hermitage which had been sanctified long be- fore by being the abode of a young Spaniard named St. Orens, who came from Huen^a about the beginning of the fifth century, to live as a solitary in a cave surrounded by dense forests a daily memento, as it were, to him, not to stumble or fall away from the life of austerity he had chosen. Savin's first care was to construct himself a rude shelter against the ferocity of wild beasts ; but as it was only seven or eight feet long, and four or five wide, its construc- tion could not have cost him much time, notwithstanding the difficulty of transporting materials up almost inacces- sible mountain paths. The Abbot Forminius, who had, no doubt, aided him in this work, often went to visit him, that he might be edified by the example of such perfect holiness. Savin thinking his narrow prison too luxurious, after a time dug a grave seven feet long and five deep, thus literally * making his bed in the tomb ' during his mortal life, ' although the damp trickled down from all parts, above all in rainy weather, as a beautiful passage from the Office of the Saint informs us' (sic). ARGELE8. 145 Forminius returning some time after, was quite asto- nished to see that Savin had dug this grave without pre- viously informing him of his intention, and inquired the reason of this exaggeration of penitence. ' I only know the secrets of my heart,' replied the hermit ; ' therefore I only can measure the punishment with the extent of my faults. Each one must do what he can. I do what 1 ought.' Here, like Elias upon Mount Carmel, the saint gave himself up to prayer, contemplation, and the rough prac- tices of a mortified life. He outwatched the stars, and his fasts were nearly perpetual. His occupation was contemplation. Clothed in a coarse robe, which miracu- lously lasted thirteen years, he walked barefoot on the pointed mountain rocks, even in the severest weather. Alone in this savage retreat; and often iced with cold, his frail cell shaking with the violence of the stormy winds, and threatening to leave him without defence against the wild beasts which abounded in the neighbouring forests, he maintained his soul in a calm above all human fear, entirely absorbed by the love of God, and the burning desire to be reunited to Him whom he loved. Being no longer able to relieve their bodily necessities since he had renounced all wealth, Savin opened his cell and his heart to all the poor and unhappy who came to him for advice or consolation, endeavouring by his exhor- tations to destroy the reign of sin in their souls, and re- establish that of justice. Ingratitude and ill-treatment did not wear out his inexhaustible charity. He looked upon men as sick people, more worthy of compassion than anger ; recommended them to the mercy of God in the silence of his retreat, and ceased not to solicit His compas- sion for them. None of those who visited the hermitage went away without having obtained by his intercession L 146 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. either health of body, or some grace still more precious for the soul. Many were the miracles he performed, some of them by letters, as may be read in the 'Monographic de Si. Savin de Lavedan, par M. Lagreze! ' Once a priest, who was on his way to exercise some of his ministerial functions, had to traverse on horseback the swollen torrent of the Gave of Cauterets, at a point near Pierrefitte. The horse was borne down by the current, and the priest himself fell into the waters, and was momentarily threatened with a dreadful death by being either swallowed up in their deep abysses, or crushed to death between the huge rocks brought down from the mountains by the melting snows. In this extremity, he retained sufficient calmness to put all his trust in God, and to recommend himself to the prayers of the solitary of Pouey-Aspe. All at once he felt himself gently pushed towards the bank, which he regained safe and sound, find- ing, with surprise, his horse standing on the same bank, miraculously saved as well as himself. A poor mother, named Gaudentia, found that she had no longer milk enough to nurse her starving child. After trying all earthly means in vain, she turned her thought solely to God ; but recognizing her own un worthiness, resolved to implore the prayers of St. Savin. Accompanied by her husband, she undertook a pilgrimage to Pouey-Aspe, and with tears in her eyes, presented to him the frail and innocent creature, beseeching him to save its life. The saint, touched by compassion, prayed like a second Elisha ; and forthwith God restored her milk to the mother, and the child's life was saved. ' Moreover,' says the legend, * Savin was so inflamed by the love of God, that wishing one evening to dissipate the darkness of his cell, he had only to put a small wax candle that he held in his hand near his breast, and it ABGELES. 147 flamed immediately ; while, by a double miracle, this candle lighted him the whole uight Avithout being con- sumed.' Although the holy saint's time was chiefly occupied by his devotions, physical needs sometimes made themselves felt ; and as in the hot season the springs near his cell dried up, he had to go through a meadow belonging to a man named Chromatius, who dwelt in the little village of U z, to fetch water. The wicked proprietor of the meadow refused him this feeble succour, unless he would pay for it, and ordered one of his servants to drive away the daring solitary who ventured to intrude upon his property. The savage order was well obeyed. The servant, after having abused the saint, struck him brutally. But God, who sometimes suffers the just to be tried by the wicked- ness and cruelty of the evil, and yet often vindicates the innocent when His wisdom thinks fit, avenged him. He who had thus outraged his saint became immediately possessed by the Devil, while the master lost his eyesight at the same moment. Savin, whose charity was bound- less, was grieved at heart to find himself thus the cause of a double misfortune ; and falling on his knees, entreated the Lord to have pity on those who had used him so un- worthily. His prayer disarmed the Divine vengeance ; the man-servant was at once delivered from the demon, and could not help owning that he owed his deliverance to the very man he had so cruelly beaten ; but the master, Chromatius, who had ordered the outrage, remained blind. , In consequence of these things, Savin determined to fetch water no more out of that field; and 'putting his whole faith in God, like another Moses/ so runs the tradition, ' he struck the rock with his stick, and a slender thread of pure water trickled out, and the spring remains until this day, though the supply of water be small.' And now the hour came when St. Savin felt that he 148 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. was about to die, and lie sent to tell the Abbot Forminius of his approaching end, and to desire that he would come to be with him in his last moments, and give him his bene- diction. The abbot, hindered, no doubt, by necessary cares, made answer that he could not come till the day following ; and the more because two of his monks, Sylvien and Flavian, had been for some days attending on the sick anchorite, and spoke of him as recovering. Saint Savin despatched a second messenger to Forminius, adding that the day following he would have a more pressing occupation still than that which now withheld him from coming alluding thereby to his own approach- ing death. But Forminius thought he might safely wait till the morrow. He was deceived. During the thirteen years that he had passed in soli- tude, the saint's chief aim had been to evangelize the inhabitants of Lavedan ; to that his prayers and his lacer- ations alike tended ; and now he was dying, he chose himself the person who should succeed him in his hermitage, and continue his charitable endeavours: and having disposed of the few trifles he possessed, prepared for the unspeak- able happiness of receiving, for the last time, the bread of angels, which was to serve him instead of the viaticum. Then, with his dying arms stretched out towards heaven and his eyes fixed on the image of his Saviour, he sur- rendered his soul to God, and fell asleep. When the sound of the passing bell warned the inhabit- ants of Lavedan that their friend was dead, they all mourned greatly. The Abbot Forminius ordered that the body should be conveyed to the monastery, there to receive sepulchre, and prepared himself, with all his monks, to go and receive the holy remains with all the pomp and honours of the church. Chromatius, who had been struck blind for his cruelty to the holy man, touched by a late repentance, bewailed his fault ; and full of faith, ARGELES. 149 had himself led to a spot that the procession must pass in going through Uz. He was told when the coffin passed, and going up to it with confidence, touched it, beseeching the saint to pardon his former brutal conduct and restore his sight. He recovered his sight immediately, at which all the assistants shouted for joy. The memory of this miracle, which the Roman Catholic priests affirm to be well attested, is preserved in one of the eight pictures in the basilica of the church of St. Savin, and there is yet to be seen on the facade of the house in Uz, before which the funeral convoy stopped, a niche, containing a statue of the saint, placed there in memory of the miracle. Later, the body of St. Savin was solemnly laid in the church, which replaced the Emilian Palace that same beautiful church in the Roman style which exists to this day, and which merits to be classed among the historical monu- ments of France. The inhabitants of the place, full of gratitude and veneration for the memory of the holy anchorite, had a chapel constructed where his hermitage had stood, and taking from their commune the name of Villabencer, which it had hitherto borne, called it St. Savin, by which title it has since been known. This chapel, after the lapse of so many centuries, fell into ruins. At the desire of many pious Roman Catholics, the cure of the parish raised sub- scriptions for its reconstruction, and the foundations are now digging. I have by me a flourishing description of the church of St. Savin, from which most of these details are taken. As I am no archaeologist (I wish I was), I hope, dear reader, you will pardon my ignorance when I say that these grand descriptions by no means prepare one for what one actually finds a very dilapidated, very curious, and dirty old church, supported by large, low pillars, and arches, with a round end to the chancel instead of a square one. 150 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Hound this chancel and the high altar, hang eight ver dilapidated, curious old pictures, illustrative of the life of the saint; but they are so faded, that it is rather difficult to make out their subjects. The chief altar was built in the time of Louis XV., and is of various kinds of marble, and richly ornamented ; but it has never been completely finished, and like our own Westminster Abbey, the whole place is lost in dirt. The organ appears very old, and is very remarkable for its caryatides, its sculptural ara- besque, and its greyish paintings of subjects from the Old Testament. The space between the groups of pipes is ornamented by open carved wood-work, forming a sort of drapery. Underneath, are three great masques, which roll their eyes, and open and shut their mouths, when certain pedals are touched, so as to mark the time of the music. Above the keyboard is this inscription : ' Hoe organum fadum fuit ad honorem totius cwise celes- tis, anno 1557.' The tomb of St. Savin is at the bottom of the chancel, and on each side are two rows of coarsely- sculptured wal- nut-wood stalls. For many centuries the tomb served as was then customary for the chief altar. It was built before the construction of the church, and is surmounted by a gilt pyramid of open-work of the thirteenth or four- teenth century. The church of St. Savin, constructed on the ruins of an ancient Roman palace, enriched by Charlemagne, and afterwards burnt by the Normans, was rebuilt in the tenth century by Raymond L, Count of Bigorre, who richly en- dowed it and the monastery attached to it. Henry IV., King of France and Navarre, confirmed the charters given to the monks by his predecessors, the Counts of Bigorre. The relics are of an extraordinary nature ; among them is a curious reliquary, containing some of the saints' bones, which is solemnly carried in procession on the day of his ARGELES. 151 fete, the llth of October. It may be seen by applying to the curate, and is said to be of very beautiful workmanship. 1 did not see it, because not having at that time read the life of St. Savin (which by the way is written by the pre- sent cure M. Abbadie, and sold by him for the benefit of the poor of St. Savin), I knew nothing about it, as it is not mentioned by Murray. The monks belonging to the mo- nastery of St. Savin were very rich, and had great powers and privileges granted to them, both by the Counts of Bigorre and the Kings of France, and by the bulls of Popes Urban XL in 1006, and Alexander III. in the year of grace 1168, and by briefs from many succeeding popes. They were of the congregation of St. Maur and the order of St. Benedict ; and in an inventory of the goods and revenues of the monastery, signed by Dom Charles Gerard, the last prior, it is stated that the convent fed 600 poor during Lent. The monastery is now the property of the State, and so modified, that nothing of its cloistral charac- ter remains, except the small chapter-house and the refec- tory. It is not shown to strangers, but I was told that a speculative cook had taken it as a season boarding-house, and, I should think, it would be a very pleasant summer pension, from the beauty of its site. I was told there was a handsome church about a mile off, dedicated to Ste. Marie, that is, to the Virgin, and as the day was most enchanting, and the views from this high natural terrace, lovely beyond expression, I continued my walk. Ste. Marie is but a short distance from St. Savin. It is rather a handsome village church, but looks better from the outside than from within. The door, as is common in Catholic churches, stood wide open, and I walked in, and went round it by myself ; but as I was coming out, an old woman, who sat there knitting, demanded something for showing the church which I refused My means are so 152 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. limited, I cannot give half-francs to every one who chooses to ask for them, and the demands of the Pyrenean peasants are unceasing. So I quietly walked off; the old woman following, scolding and screaming after me till I was quite out of hearing. I might have descended the steep rock on which Ste. Marie stands, by a narrow winding path, and so reached the high road, and returned to Argeles ; but I could not find it in my heart to turn back ; I could have walked on and on for ever, as long as strength remained, on that beautiful day, and in that beautiful country. So Keeper and I went through another long chestnut wood towards Pierrefitte, the entrance to which town we reached about five o'clock. I thought it had been two or three and was amazed to find it so late when I inquired the time. The days were shortening, and I had to hurry on, that I might get back to Argeles before dusk. The high road was not very interesting after the beautiful natural terraces and their chestnut woods, and as I plodded on- wards, I found out now that my mind was no longer kept in a state of excitement by the extreme beauty of the country that I was very hungry. I had no resource but to enter a field, where I saw some peasant women at work, and ask them to sell me a cob of Indian corn ; the girls looked highly amused by my request, and picked me out a fine one, which I devoured on my way home, and thought very good. It was past seven o'clock when I reached Ar- geles, and Marie had been quite uneasy about me. The next day I was to leave Argeles. I was glad when it came, civil as Marie and Jacques had been to me. It is a most inconvenient place of abode there is no fruit to be got, except on the market-day no regular butcher, except on the market-day no butter no eggs no nothing in short, not even vegetables, except on the market-day ; few articles of any sort in the dirty little shops, and those abominably dear, and bad. I loathed even the very bread AKGELES. 153 I ate, after I had once, in walking through the town, seen the hot loaves, fresh from the oven, placed on the filthy floor to cool. Going one day to buy some bread, I found the bakeress's family refreshing themselves with a joint of meat that stood on the table ; there were no plates, but each person had a slice of meat, or a bone, in his or her hand. Upon my asking for bread, the bakeress put down the huge piece she was devouring, and was about to hand a loaf to me with her greasy fingers, when I forestalled her, and begging leave to help myself, suited the action to the word ' You don't like the meat cependant c'est Ion,' said a young man. ' I don't like my bread greased, certainly,' replied I. * Ah ! I knew that was it ; I have travelled, and I know the ways of other places are different to those of Argeles. Tell me, now, what you think of the place and the people.' ' Perhaps you will be affronted.' ' no.' * Well, then ! I think the place a paradise for beauty and climate ; the inhabitants most civil, and even kind ; but I would not live among them for the world their ways are so dirty the unwashed floors are enough to sicken one, and yesterday I saw your neighbour, the other baker, cooling his loaves on that filthy floor. I cannot conceive, when water is so plentiful in Argeles, why people do not scour down their tables, shop counters, dressers, and floors, as we do in England.' ' No one scours floors here. The floors are not washed once in twenty years in Argeles,' said a very pretty, smartly-dressed girl, who was on a visit to the family, in rather a contemptuous tone, as if she felt herself very superior to, and much above, my vulgar insular prejudices. * it is true,' said the travelled peasant, ' no one does it.' 154 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. ' I suppose they do in respectable houses I mean among the gentry of -the place,' quoth I. * They don't,' he returned ; ' if the great people had their houses scoured, the little people would follow their example. But when you leave Argeles, you will find that in the Pyrenees no one has their houses scoured.' Les convenances are not much attended to by the bakers. I generally bought my own bread ; and the first time I went for some, I was startled by seeing as I entered the shop two men naked to the waist, beating up the dough in a large tub, and between every thump giving a deep gut- tural kind of groan, as sailors sing out ' Yo-ho ! ' when they heave an anchor, and looking exactly like the en- graving of ' Egyptian bakers at work,' in Wilkinson's * Egyptian Antiquities.' I drew back in dismay, and ever after bought my bread at the bakeress's next door. On Tuesday, Marie and her sister came out as smart as on Sunday they were each going to keep a cake-stall in the market-place of Argeles, and their man-servant had charge of another, a few yards down our street. They were certainly an industrious, striving family, and had many strings to their bow. They kept a cabaret, or way- side inn, where wine, not beer, 'was drunk on the pre- mises ;' but, except on the market-day, it was not much frequented, and I found no annoyance to speak of from it. Jacques was a guide to strangers and a voiturier. They had a small shop for soap and candles, and thread, &c., chiefly managed by the aunt ; and the mother made pastry and cakes of various kinds for sale. They had all been very civil and kind to me; and notwithstanding my English ways, I think they liked me ; so before I left, I shook hands with them all round, and, moreover, gave them a lesson in scouring floors with Keeper's brush, by which I am afraid, as the custom is new to Argeles, they would not profit. I really was sorry to say good-by to BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 155 them. After I had packed my wee bag, I carried it down to M. ArmiraTs shop, and then 1 strolled through the market, and found out Marie's stall, and bought a sponge- cake, which the good-hearted girl wanted to give me as a souvenir, and which was very good too ; and then Keeper and 1 wandered up and down lanes, and sat on walls look- ing at the beautiful mountains, till the market of Argeles closed, and it was time to get into M. Armiral's coach. It was night when we reached Bagneres, and I was glad to get to my new lodgings and to bed. October 16th, 18b'2. I had such a pleasant walk yesterday. You cannot imagine how beautiful this country is now, in autumn, when the changing leaves, with their crimson and brown and pale yellow hues, contrast so beautifully with the spring-like verdure of the ' emerald meadows. Down between mountain passes or sombre chestnut and oak woods one gets glimpses of lovely green valleys watered by clear streams, and under the trees grow the beautiful large bugle ; the delicate-fringed, sweet-scented dianthus springs from the rocky ledges of the mountains ; and there are so many other flowers, and everything looks so gay and bright, that as I walk along I am involuntarily re- minded of some lines out of one of the old poets, which I was fond of repeating in my youth The winter here, a summer is No waste is made by Time Nor doth the autumn ever miss The blossoms of the prime.' I found pink centaury, the larger and the lesser scabious, torrnentilla, wild reseda, and a little low-creeping poten- tilla, that at first sight I took for a strawberry. The view from the Bedat is exquisite. One looks upon mountain piled behind and upon mountain, with such lovely little valleys dotted over by trees, and white cot- tages nestling under chestnut trees and copses, cresting 156 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FEANCE. picturesque ledges of rocks lying in their green depths and hollows. As I came down again from the top, I gathered quite a gerbe of flowers ; and when I got to the chestnut trees, instead of turning down the road to Bagneres, I went upwards through a long lane at the back of Salut where I gathered a quantity of the beautiful wild spindle-berries and came out into some green fields forming a sort of natural terrace in front of Castel-Monne and the Monne. Several white farmhouses, surrounded by orchards, lay scattered about ; high hedges of wild box- trees sheltered the green meadows from the wind ; and as I sat resting on the thick, fine grass, with Keeper at my feet, and basking in the sunshine, arranged my beautiful bouquet, I could hardly believe it was not the early summer-time, and the illusion was completed by the bleat- ings of some young lambs, who were frisking beside their mothers on one of the sunny banks. An indescribable feeling of holy calm and peace, such as I have not felt for years, steals over me as I wander alone among these mountains a sense of the majesty and the power of God such as I never before experienced ; and, like the Apostle on the Mount, I feel inclined to say, ' Master, it is good to be here ; here let me build a tabernacle.' When I got home, I made my room look really pretty with my wild flowers. Madame kindly lent me all the flower-vases in the house, and I put three on the side- board and one on each table, besides those I took her for her salon. That on my book-table was so pretty that I must describe it, dear reader. It was made entirely of the lilac-fringed pinks, and the spindle-berries, and you cannot think how beautifully the pale-pink capsules of the spindle-berries, with their four bright orange seeds, one in each cell, harmonized with the delicate lilac dianthus. I wonder that Ruskin has never written about the 'Complementary Colours' of flowers. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 157 There is such a thing ; and the French lady's maitre d'hotel was right, when he excused himself, as he put a less beautifully-arranged bouquet than usual in the centre of the dinner-table, by saying, ' he had not had time that day to study its composition? I was always fond of grouping flowers from iny childhood; and my mother, who had always nosegays in her room, entrusted the making them up to me, as, she said, I made prettier bouquets than she could. We had not a great variety of flowers in that old- fashioned vicarage garden, and I was sometimes at a loss for contrasts. When flowers grew scarce towards the close of summer, the everlasting peas were in full beauty. Growing round the two cherry-trees, a rich mass of Magenta colour, they looked beautiful ; but they marred every nosegay I put them into. Those everlasting peas were my cauchemar. It was years before I found out what other flowers would harmonize with them; but when I lived at Hampstead, I discovered that they made an ex- quisite nosegay mixed with the flowers of the lime-tree, after most of the dark-green leaves had been cut away. Their pale, tender, yellow-green is the complementary colour that the deep-red of the pea requires. Its own young leaves and tendrils are of somewhat the same shade, especially when the sunlight glances through them for Nature, or, rather, Nature's Almighty framer, always mingles, both in animals and plants, those colours which harmonize best together. The only exception that I know of to this rule is in the monkey tribe, some of whom seem actually made for the purpose of disgusting. CHAPTER XIII. CAMP DE CriSAR AND POUZAC. I WENT today along tlie beautiful upper terrace cut through the wood of Mont Olivet, from whence one has a lovely view of the valley of Bagneres, besides delightful peeps at the blue mountains through vistas cut among the trees. I found here, for the first time, the delicate ivy- leaved campanula, a creeping plant, whose slender stalk is scarcely thicker than one of my hairs, and bears several small bells of the loveliest pale cerulean blue. It twines round the stalks of the long grass, or creeps under the furze, drooping from the bank in low, graceful festoons. I found dodder also. Do you know that pretty little parasite? It looks like tangled threads of red silk, thrown carelessly upon the heath and furze, and has a delicate blush-coloured flower, like a minute Hoya, and like it is honey-scented, and covered with a sort of honey- dew. I fancy it is not very common in England, for though I have been a flower-seeker all my life, I never met with it except at Tunbridge Wells, where it grows on the upper common above the town, not far from Dr. Cummings's cottage. From Mont Olivet I turned into the high road to La Bassere, followed it a little way, and then struck into a footpath across a field, below a wooded hill, on the right- hand side. There was a very pretty bit of woodland scenery here ; it only wanted a few cows grazing to make it quite a subject for a painter. Nearly at the foot of the hill the meadows were divided by a little brook, forming endless BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 159 pools and shallows and windings, overshadowed by alders, and bridged in its widest part by one large slab of unhewn stone, so slightly to all appearance poised up on a large roundish one, that as I crossed it I wondered whether it might not give way under me and give me a sousing in the water. Keeper who always takes care to keep at a respectful distance from me out of doors, except when we are both tired out and lie down to rest on the grass would by no means adventure his precious carcase upon it while I was there. He put a paw on the stone, looked cunning; drew it off, and scampered to the other end of the field. Once he got as far as the middle, but upon my turning to call him he ran away again. His coyness irresistibly suggested a ducking. A wash does him good now and then, and go into the water he won't ; so I walked up towards the opposite wood and sat quietly down on a felled tree. Now Mr. Keeper thought himself safe, and he came and lay down beside me. Alas! he was once more deceived by his faithless mistress. I caught him by the scuff of his neck, carried him, fighting and scratching like a rabbit with his hind feet, back across the brook, sat down under the alder bush, and laved him well in the deep pool at its root. As soon as I let him go he shook himself, whisked his tail in defiance, and bounded off into the very muckiest part of the swamp, as much as to say, ' You've had your fun and now I'll have mine.' Nor would he come back or approach me or cross the brook again till he saw me half way up the wooded hill opposite, when he dashed after me. I followed a narrow path out through the low brushwood and met some peasant women who were gathering dead boughs to burn, and dry fern leaves to fodder their cattle, and they told me it would lead me to the next village, called Pouzac. Here and there the path was a little wider, the sun shown in upon a dry sandbank under some holly trees, and the little lizards ran in and 160 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. out of their holes, or stopped an instant to look timidly at me, and then waggled off as fast as they could. They seem to live in communities, for one scarcely ever sees a solitary one ; but I am told they are very pugnacious, and often have terrible battles with one another. They are always a dull brown and ash colour, never green as in Italy and Germany, and are singularly like crocodiles, if one may compare small things with great ones. After I got out of the wood I came to a meadow, bordered by grand old chest- nut trees. The ground beneath them was sprinkled all over with the beautiful flowers of the meadow saffron. In the wood at the side of this meadow I noticed our common garden shrub, St. John's wort, and also that creeping kind which bears a large handsome golden-coloured flower, and is often called the rose of Sharon. I wonder this plant is not more cultivated, for it is one of the few that grow well under trees. I remember a show place at Torquay where the shrubbery was absolutely carpeted with it, and whether in or out of flower the effect was very good. It is an ever- green, and never grows in a straggling untidy manner, but of one uniform height, forming a compact dark green carpet. A peasant who was at the far end of the meadow came up to see whether I was not gathering up his chestnuts for though the crop had been got in, a few missed ones still hung on the trees or lay on the ground and seemed much relieved to find I was only pulling crocuses. He asked, ' What I was going to do with all those flowers ? ' as I am often asked. The peasants here cannot under- stand one's taking pleasure in a thing merely on account of its beauty. I inquired the way up the hill ; he pointed it out, and I began the ascent. I had not gone far, when a man leading a cart overtook me, and we fell into talk. * Madame est Anglaise ? ' 'Yes.' BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 161 ' What did Madame think of the country ? ' ' It was beautiful as heart could wish ; Madame had never seen a finer country.' ' Yes, the country was well enough, and one could get a living in it ; but then one must work hard for it. How did Madame like the people ? ' ' Madame thought the people a fine race, and always civil and kind ; but she did not approve of the women working in the fields they did not work in that manner in England.' * ' It is the custom here, that.' C'est la coutume, appears to the Pyrenean an unanswer- able argument ' May be so,' said I ; ' but it's bad policy. In the first place, it destroys your women's health and good looks they are old at thirty.' ' Yes, that is quite true they are quite old at that age.' ' And in England they are still young and pretty, be- cause they do not work in the fields.' ' But they must work here people must work hard here to get a living.' ' They must work harder in England, where every necessary of life is so much dearer. But there is no economy in your women doing field work ; they not only get old soon, but their health is ruined ; you have to send for the doctor, and to pay for medicine ; and besides all that, you actually spend more money in various ways than you would do if your wives remained at home. Your houses are neglected and dirty, because, when the wife * It appears from the returns of the last census that Madame only showed crass ignorance of the real state of her own country in asserting that women did not work in the fields in England as they do in the Pyrenees, merely because they do not do so except a few days' weeding, hay-making, or liar- vesting in the year, in the county (Yorkslu're) in which she lived most of lier life. This women's field-work is a disgrace to two nations that call themselves civilized! 162 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. goes home at night after a day's hard labour, she is too tired to clean it up. For the same reason, you never have a comfortable meal. When the Yorkshire labourer comes home, he finds a good supper ready by the fireside for him, and his children awaiting his return with clean- washed hands and faces, hair nicely combed, and clean pinafores on ; his kitchen and hearth all clean swept up, neat and comfortable, and a good fire burning in the grate ; while you come home to a cold hearth and a dirty house. Then, as your wife is working all day afield, she can neither mend your clothes, nor make her own or her children's ; so, for want of timely repair, your clothes wear out and you have to buy new ones ; and, last and worst of all, your poor children often meet with dreadful accidents and get lamed for life, or burned to death, because they have no mother at home to take proper care of them, and then again the doctor has to be sent for ; so that, if you put all these expenses together, I think you would find you saved more if the women stayed at home and attended to their own proper work.' ' There may be truth in that,' answered the peasant ; ' mais que voulez-vous ? c'est la coutume.' I don't believe anything but an ordonnance of Govern- ment, forbidding women to work in the fields, would put a stop to this practice ; and it is so demoralizing, that the subject is worthy the Government's attention it forbids a great many more innocent things. Then the peasant next asked if I had seen Le Camp de Cesar. The view from it was magtnifique ; and if I would accompany him to the top of the mountain, he would direct me to it. He was going nearly as high to set potatoes. Potatoes grew well on the mountains ; and last year, when all the potatoes in the lowlands were blighted, there was not one touched on the mountains. This tallied with what I had always thought, that the BAGNERES DB BIGORRE. 163 disease arose from a superabundant degree of moisture in the soil.* When I was a child living near York, the potatoes grown on the dry sandy soil, which abounds in some places there, were very superior to those grown on the clay. The oxen dragged the cart slowly up one of the zigzag roads cut in the mountain, which at a distance look like a huge pair of idle-tongs laid on its flank ; and as he went along the peasant told me the names of some of the smaller mountains. There was the Twelve o'clock Moun- tain, so called because, when the sun rested just above that, it was always twelve o'clock ; and the Four o'clock Mountain, and many others. But numbers in this range have no name ; and when they have, the peasants do not always know them. ' C?est la montagne? is often the only answer you can get to a question about their nomen- clature. We reached the brow of the hill at last, and before turning into another road, my friend directed me to hold on towards the top of the hill, where I should find a road that would lead me to Caesar's Camp, and see a most mag- nificent view ; ' And don't forget,' added he, ' that 1 told you how beautiful it was, and took you up this mountain, and told you the names of the Twelve o'clock and the Four o'clock Mountains ; but put ME into your look, since you say you came to this country to write a book about it, and say, " The peasant I met near the Camp de Cesar told me all this." ' I laughed, and promised I would ; but, alas ! he forgot to tell me his name, and I to ask it, so I cannot immortalize him. About half-an-hour's good walking brought me to the farmhouse called Csesar's Camp, which once belonged to an Englishman, and had been a very pretty semi-French, * I was told in France that if beans were planted with potatoes in the low lands, the beans prevented the disease, by absorbing the superabundant moisture. 164 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. semi-English cottage of gentility. It stands upon a sort of natural .platform on the very brow of the hill, with a fir wood sheltering it behind. A pretty garden has once clearly sloped from its front. ' Near yonder copse where once a garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild.' The Englishman's ' modest dwelling ' still stands ; but ah ! how changed and degraded. I went up to it, and peeped in no one seemed at home. The paper was torn down from the walls, enough only remaining to show it had been papered. The floor of what had been the drawing-room was covered with maize, while on the ceiling above was the circle and hole from which a chandelier had evidently once been suspended. The other apartment, which the peasants made their kitchen, was even more destroyed and more dirty ; and in both, and on the stairs for both door and windows were wide open the fowls hopped and clut- tered, and flew about as they liked; while outside the house was a sort of dry midden on what had been a smooth grass-plat, where the pigs lay basking in the sun. Yet when the Englishman left it with a sad heart, forced by heavy losses to seek his fortune in a strange land, where he found death instead, there was a comfortable, elegant house, with every necessary outbuilding for a farm. But the peasants could not use the outbuildings for their fowls and cattle, and the house for themselves, but must needs live in the same state of dirt and squalor that they would have done had they merely had one of the hovels in a mountain summer pasturage. The view from the front door was a perfect panorama of mountains. Bagneres was hardly to be seen, though one knew where it lay. Kock was piled upon rock, and mountain upon mountain, till the farthest oif melted into the distant haze of clouds, sublimely beautiful. A lame BAGNEBES DE BIGOEEE. 165 boy came up to the door while I stood gazing, and seemed at first surprised to find me there. I said I had come to see the beautiful view ; and he replied that many people did, and there was another equally beautiful from a seat in the fir-wood behind the house. I bought an apple from him to refresh myself with, which I gathered myself from the tree, for I could not have touched anything out of his dirty hands, and then I went to the spot he indicated. It was curious how completely different this view was from the other. That was all mountains this stretched over a wide level expanse towards Tarbes. I sat down for a few moments on a circular bench, surrounding an immense round table of slate, scrawled over with innumerable names, to drink in its quiet beauty. I could not help thinking, also, much of the family that had once sat on that bench admiring the same view. Many a merry party had, doubtless, gathered round that table in former days, when the rich Englishman bought the property, built a " house on it, and brought home a fair young bride to be its mistress. There they lived a few years in peace and prosperity, and children were born to them ; and then some speculations of the husband failed, and the young wife sickened and died ; and he re-married, and struggled on a year or two longer. But his second wife was reck- lessly extravagant a drag, and not a help-mate and he was forced to leave her, and go to America to try and redeem his fortunes there ; and there he fell ill and died, away from the home he had built and delighted in, from the wife who had injured his fortune, and the children he had loved. After his death, his creditors claimed the estate, let it to a peasant, and it became what it is. I gathered some sprays of box from what was once the avenue hedge. The wind and the frost had turned the leaves to a burnished-coppery hue, which is very beautiful when the sun shines on it, or in a nosegay mixed with the 166 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. large purple bugle, or the lilac autumnal crocus. There is a wide road leading from the fir-wood, and winding below it, down the steep hill to Pouzac, which, no doubt, was the carriage road to the Camp de Cesar in its palmy days. I went down it, passing some fine old chestnut trees in one of the sloping hollows of the hill side, and walked on till I reached the village. It has two towers. One deco- rates the Mairie, the other adorns the village church. The church is rather handsome, and a wooden gallery runs all round its tall, square tower (from which rises an ex- tinguisher spire), where one may stand and look out over the distant country. The little boy, who showed me the church, was very anxious I should go round it, and assured me ' quit ifiy avait pas de danger ; ' but I felt giddy and dared not adventure. I had a pleasant walk home through the maize fields and meadows, having before me one of the loveliest views to be seen about Bagneres, of the dear, pleasant little town, lying among green meadows at the feet of the mountains, and got back in time for dinner. By the way, I wonder why the Bagnerais are so dilatory in cutting the maize. At Argeles, they were reaping it long ago, and it looks quite ripe here also.* * Some years ago, I am told, there were visible traces of a Roman en- campment on this hill-top, from whence it derived its name, Camp de Ce'sar. They have all been destroyed. CHAPTER XIV. BAGNERES DE BIGOKRE. IT rains to-day, and a thick mist, as dense as a London fog, hides the mountain peaks that I usually see rising distinct, and clear, and verdant, behind the houses on the Coustos ; so I have piled up my fire with logs to make a cheerful blaze, and am about to crouch down beside it, and study old myths and legends, if Keeper, who always considers the very front of the fire as sacred to himself, will let me. Keeper retreats very discontentedly to a mat made of the stalks of the Indian corn, which I bought for myself, as there are neither carpets nor hearth-rug in these lodgings, but of which he has taken entire possession* When the cobs are gathered, they are plaited together while the stalks and leaves are pliant, and suspended from the balcony roofs, exposed on one side to a current of air. They keep better thus than in a closed granary, and look very ornamental and pretty besides. As they are wanted, the strings of maize are taken down, and the cobs cut off them, and the plaited band left, serves to make mats, which when new, are white-looking and pretty, and wear well. Every part of the Indian wheat seems valuable; the tender leaves are stripped off the plant while it is yet growing, as fodder for the cattle, and the ears seemed to ripen best when thus exposed to the sun and air. The mattresses throughout France are made of the inner husk, or soft leaf, enveloping the cob. They make the cleanest and softest mattresses I ever slept on ; and even poor people usually have the case washed, and refilled \vith_fresh 168 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. leaves, once a year. The very refuse of the cob is service- able, and is sold after the grains have been shelled oif with a knife, under the denomination of charbon llanc. It burns out very rapidly, of course, but throws out great heat, and is very useful in lighting a reluctant fire. Now for the legends THE SERPENT. ' There is a terrible and mysterious serpent, who figures in all early mythologies and legendary lore, and whose existence is probably derived by tradition from the old serpent of the Bible history. The fear and the dread thereof seem coeval with the human race, and an instinct rather than the result of reason. The tradition of the fall has doubtless been handed down to father and son, grow- ing ever more hazy and indistinct, and enlarged, or altered, by each generation, till it becomes no longer recognizable. ' Even at this day the shepherds of the Bigorraise valleys believe the serpent to be endowed with an extraordinary power to do harm. They say that as soon as the cock has laid his eggs he buries them in a dunghill, whose heat hatches them, and thence comes out the frightful cocka- trice, whose breath, like flame, draws everything to it that he may devour it. Not only beasts and birds thus become his prey, but even little children. 'Now the largest serpent that was ever seen, crawled upon the plateau of a beautiful green mountain, at whose base, surrounded by others of sublime and lofty forms, so as to form a wide amphitheatre, stretched a valley so calm and beautiful that it soothed and enchanted the saddest heart. Large flocks of sheep and cattle fed in the emerald meadow of this paradise, bounding gaily under the watch- ful care of their shepherds and the loud-barking* snow- * The Pyrenean sheep-dogs equal the largest Newfoundland in size ; they are very sagacious aud tractable, and usually snow-white. I have BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 169 white dogs. But, alas! a horrible fate befell them all. Shepherds, watchdogs, and flocks, drawn thither by some mystic and irresistible force, rushed up to the magic plateau, and became the prey of the hideous reptile ; and this had gone on for a long, long time, and innumerable victims had been devoured, so that the whole country side was filled with tears and lamentations. ' Now there was in the village of Arbouix, which is built on the side of that green mountain, a man who had great courage, and was as subtle as he was brave, and he resolved to deliver the country from the monster. To this end he established a forge in the most hidden depths of the moun- tain and forged iron, and when it was red-hot he laid it, at the hazard of his life, in the serpent's way, and then has- tened to hide himself. The monster, who was gliding about seeking prey, seeing the hot iron lying there, aspired it, as he did everything else, and by means of his fiery breath drew it up into his mouth, and swallowed it at one gulp. But the hot iron set his entrails on fire, and he drank so much cold water to quench it that at last he burst. The water which he had imbibed gushed out and formed a lake, and that is the lake of Isabit. Then the inhabitants of Arbouix, in testimony of their gratitude, gave to their deliverer the right of pasturing his flocks without payment on the slopes he had freed from the monster, and his descendants enjoy the right to this day. And they took the ribs of the reptile and used them to build a church, believing that it would be pleasing to God ; but as soon as the church was built, hail fell incessantly. Then the people saw that the serpent's bones were accursed, and ought to be burnt, so they made a bonfire of them, and as soon as they were consumed the hail ceased.' been told they are uncertain in temper, but I never heard of an accident caused by them during the nine months I spent at Bagneres. 170 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. Bos DE BENAC. ' In the reign of the most Christian King, Louis IX., of France, there lived at Benac, in Bigorre, a Baron named Bos, who went to join the Crusaders, and he said to his wife, as he bade her good-by, " I have taken the cross for our Lord's sake, and I go to the Holy Land to fight against the infidels. If it please God I shall return home, but if I do not come back again before seven years are passed, thou art free, my wife, to take another spouse." Then he embraced her tenderly and set out. 'The years passed away and yet Bos did not return, and there wanted but three days to complete the seventh year. The lady of Benac had wearied of watching for tidings from the Holy Land ; and believing she should never see her husband again had nourished other thoughts, and had pro- mised her hand to the Baron d'Astugue as soon as the seven years should have expired. The good knight Bos de Benac had followed the King Saint Louis, by whom he was much beloved, and he had fought right valiantly, and killed a great many Saracens for the good of his soul ; but at last the French army was defeated, and Bos de Benac was left for dead upon the field. He was carried away captive to the Land of Egypt by the infidels, who set the brave knight to keep their flocks, and beat and ill-used him because he was a Frank and a Christian, so that he wished to die. Now one day as he lamented to himself, and thought of his lady and the fair castle of Benac, a black man with two horns on his head and the feet of a goat stood suddenly before him. Bos was so accustomed to see black men that he forgot to make the sign of the cross. So the black man who was the devil himself said to him, sneeringly, "What have you gained, Bos, by fighting for God? He leaves you the servant of my Nubian slaves. The very dogs in thy castle at Benac are better treated BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 171 than them. Thy people think of thee as dead; and to- morrow thy wife re-marries. As to thee, good knight, thou mayest go and milk thy cows." ' Then Bos lifted up his voice and wept, for he loved his wife passing well. And the devil pretended to pity him, and said, " Only give me a drop of thy blood, and I will carry thee home to Benac before the marriage takes place." ' But Bos answered, " Nay ; for my blood belongs to my Lord, who shed His for me, and I owe it Him to the last drop." * " Then," said the devil, " at least thou wilt promise to be mine. Thou canst do no less if I take thee so long a journey, and bring thee to thy castle of Benac before thy wife marries the Baron d'Astugue ? " ' But Bos refused this also. ' " Well," said the devil, " but if I take thee thou must own I deserve something for my pains. Promise me, therefore, that thou wilt give me something in exchange for my help as soon as thou shalt arrive at thy castle." ' The baron was very eager to get home in time to pre- vent the marriage, so he promised the Evil One the reward he asked. ' Then the devil took Bos upon his shoulders, and the grip of his hand was like an eagle's talons, and he went quicker than the wind. He flew through the clouds with Bos upon his back, and they traversed mountains and rivers and seas like a flash of lightning. And as they thus journeyed, he tried to persuade Bos to give himself to him, and tempted him, saying, " Surely thou oughtest to give thyself to me, for I could let thee fall into the sea, down among the fishes: but I love thee so much that I will take thee safe home to Benac." ' But Bos was a man who knew no fear, and he merely an- swered, " Go on ; and take me whither thou hast promised." 172 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. 'They traversed a wall of clouds and stood upon the Peak of Anhie, and at the same instant the lightning separated the mass of vapours, and Bos saw a phantom as tall as a pine tree, enveloped by red clouds, with a face that flamed like fire. A violet aureole waved and flickered round his head, the thunders growled beneath his feet, and his body shone like white lightnings. The thunderclap burst the mountain peak crumbled the rocks fell down and smoked, and Bos heard a voice like thunder shout, " Bos is come back ; Bos is the friend of our master ! " 'A moment afterwards Bos was before another moun- tain, which he knew by the light of the stars. It was Campana, which always rings before misfortune happens to the country. ' Without knowing how, Bos then found himself within the mountain, and saw that it was hollow to the top. A huge silver bell hung from the highest vault, and a troop of black goats were attached to its iron tongue, and Bos understood well that these goats were devils, for their eyes were like glowing charcoal, their horns pointed and crooked like Syrian swords, their bristles waved in the air like the branches of trees, and their tails wagged like that of a dog. They all glared fiercely upon Bos, and danced about him like wills o' the wisp ; and then they formed into a long line and ran forwards, and the huge bell rang ding-dong ding-dong dong ! and a loud voice thundered above the sound of the bell, and Bos seemed to hear it to the bottom of his marrow, and he trembled like a man in drink as he heard the bell toll out " Bos is come back ; Bos is the friend of my master ! " ' Then he felt himself lifted up again, and he was at the foot of Bergouz, before a stone-door he had never seen before. The door opened of itself, with a sound sweeter than the carol of a bird; and they entered a hall of crystal, a thousand feet high, which glittered as if the sun BAGNEBES DE BIGOREE. 173 shone on it. Bos saw there there little women as high as one's hand, sitting on agate chairs. They had eyes like the clear, green waters of the Gave ; their cheeks were as red as the rose without a thorn ;* their white robes were like the mist above cascades, and their scarfs the colour of the rainbow ; and they spun, turning their spindles so fast that the wheels could not be seen : and when they saw the baron enter, they rose, and cried, with their silvery voices ' " Bos is returned ! Bos is the friend of our master ! Bos, we will spin thee a robe of silk instead of thy Cru- sader's mantle ! ' * At last, poor Bos, trembling with a cold sweat at these awful sights, was carried to the door of his own castle of Benac, and there the devil placed him on the ground, and said, sneeringly ' " Now, then, good knight, go, seek thy loving wife." ' Then he laughed, with a sound like that of a tree rent by the storm, and disappeared, leaving behind him a strong smell of sulphur. ' The morning dawned cold and frosty, the ground was wet, and the wretched Bos shivered under his rags, when a gay cavalcade came up to the castle portal. The ladies were all clad in rich brocade, and the knights in their harness of polished steel, over which they wore chains of gold, and they were all mounted on palfreys with scarlet housings, led by pages in black velvet. And last of all came an escort of men-at-arms, whose cuirasses glittered in the sun. It was the Baron d'Astugue, who came to wed the fair Chatelaine of Benac ; and he and the whole train entered the courtyard of the castle. Bos also hastened to the portal ; but the warder put him back, saying ' " Good friend, return at noon, and thou shalt have thine alms with the other poor. " * The rose without a thorn is indigenous on the mountains near Luchon. 174 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. ' He went out, therefore, and sat down upon a rock, and thought how the Baron d'Astugue was going to take from him both his wife and his lands : and when he thought thereon, he wept. 'All the poor in the neighbourhood came by-and-by to beg alms, and Bos went into the courtyard with them ; and as he crossed the moat, he saw in the water his own face blackened by the hot sun of Egypt ; his hair all rough and uncombed like that of a wild beast ; his wasted body, and fierce, haggard eyes; his sackcloth garment covered by an upper coat of goat-skin ; and knew he looked more miserable and hideous than any beggar there. As he entered the great door of the courtyard, his dog came up to him, and knew him again, and fawned on him joyfully, and licked his hands ; and Bos stroked him, and called him by his name ; and his favourite courser heard his voice in his stall, and whinnied in his stable for joy. But when he reached the hall where the Baron d'Astugue and the company feasted, his wife knew him not. She sat by the side of the Baron d'Astugue, and smiled on him as she had often smiled on her husband. Then he went up to her, and said that he was Bos de Benac, her husband ; but she turned away, saying she knew him not ; and the Baron d'Astugue ordered him to be driven from the hall. Then Bos cried out, mournfully ' " My horse whinnies in his stable at the sound of my voice, and my dog knows and fawns on me ; but my wife will not own me for her husband." ' And he took from his breast half of a diamond which they had divided together before they parted, and as the lady of Benac had kept her half, she put the two together, and they fitted exactly ; and she knew, and acknowledged, that Bos was her husband and lord. And while the guests looked at one another, wondering what they should do for they saw plainly there would be no wedding now, and BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 175 the Baron d'Astugue would fain have chased poor Bos away, and the lady grew pale as death, for she had forgot- ten Bos, and given her love to the Baron d'Astugue the devil suddenly appeared among them, and claimed his reward. One may guess how frightened everybody was ! Only the Baron de Benac did not tremble, because he had a great heart ; and he answered the devil ' " Be it so : thou wert to have something from the feast here, take this plate of nutshells for thy recom- pense." ' At these words the Malicious One, who had reckoned on receiving one of the aliments which preserve man's life, and which are therefore in the country called the " Grace of God," seeing his desires frustrated, went into a horrible rage. He made an enormous bound, and bursting the thick wall of the seignorial chimney, flew through it with a cry of fury. Since that time no one has ever been able to repair the chimney, however carefully they try ; and it is said, that this breach in the wall could be seen still when the Revolution began, after which the castle was entirely destroyed. ' However, the baron, whose heart was touched by so strange an adventure, and who was uneasy both about his wife and his own civilities to, and intercourse with the devil, determined to become an anchorite. ' " Adieu, forgetful wife ! " said he. " I go into soli- tude, where I shall only remember God." ' The Sire d'Astugue, deceived in his expectations of uniting his fortune to the rich portion of the Lady of Benac, followed his example ; and the lady was left with- out a husband. But the devil, still angry at the trick played him, six hundred years ago, comes back to the old castle of Benac under the form of a white dog, and tor- ments the peasants who inhabit its ruins.' 176 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. THE SHEPHERD WHO WAS 909 YEARS OLD. ' In the valleys of Arize, where stretch the wide green pastures, from whence rises the Pic du Midi de Bagnere, there lived in ancient times a very old shepherd. He fed his sheep upon the sweet green grass of the hills, but he had never seen snow upon the mountain. When he had attained his nine hundred and ninth year, he saw the snow fall for the first time, and beholding it he knew that his end approached, and called for his two sons. They who knew how very old he was, and had sometimes looked with wonder upon the long beard of moss, which hung from their father's chin as from an old fir-tree,* tried to renew his strength by bringing him wine. The old man wet his lips therein, and he wet them again. ' " What fruit is this made from ? " asked he. ' " It is not made from the fruit of the bramble/' replied his sons, smiling. ' But the new and generous liquor only gave him mo- mentary pleasure, and warmed his old blood for a minute. It was merely the flaring-up of a lamp just before it dies out. And when the first snow fell, it snowed without ceasing. ' " My sons," said the old man, " I am dying. Nothing can now keep me among you. This is my appointed end. I knew it, for it was foretold me long ago. These white flakes are my winding-sheet, which unfolds, and spreads itself. But for you, take courage, and when I am no more, follow as your guide this fair heifer with the tinkling-bells. She will lead you to the region of the hot springs, to Bag- neres. Go wherever she conducts you, and stop where she stops." * A moss whose fibres resemble human hair hangs from the lower branches of the old piue trees. I gathered some in the pine woods of the Col d'Aspin. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 177 ' The old shepherd, the patriarch, the ancient of ancients, the great master of healing, the inventor of powerful remedies composed of simples, and the milk of the flock died, after having thus spoken, amid the soft sounds of the falling snow which was to be his shroud. Then his sons, seeing the heifer set off alone, followed her at once in pious obedience to their father's commands. She went first, and they followed, until they came to the marvellous thermal springs known as the waters of Bag- neres. And it snowed still. Then the heifer, whose faintly-tinkling bell could scarce be heard because it got continually choked up by the falling flakes, went on and on, without stopping ; a superior spirit guided her. And descending the banks of the Adour, then a torrent roll- ing down golden sand, but which now only washes along great stones and water tumultuously together, she stayed her feet in the place where now rises the rich and pleasant village of Montgaillard. There the sons of the old shep- herd stayed also, and the snow fell no more. A rock above the village preserves the form of the heifer, and the memory of this event, and from that time there has always been snow on the mountains. But the corpse of the great pastor did not remain unsepulchred. He was piously in- terred, and a slab of white marble placed over his grave, on which unknown characters seem to be engraved. In time his virtues, his wisdom, even his very name, were forgotten, and sacrilegious persons violating the sanctity of the grave, took away the marble covering. Immediately it began to rain, and the rain kept falling falling day and night forty days without ceasing; then they were obliged to restore his stone to the angry spirit.' OHAPTEB XV. BAGNERES DE BIGORKE LES PALOMBIERES. I WONDEK if my reader knows what a palorribe is ? I did not till this morning. It is a wild pigeon resembling those of our dovecote, but larger, and with rather bluer feathers. At least, so the three I saw to-day in the Bagneres market appeared to me. When I went home and spoke of them, Madame said I ought to go and see the Palombieres everybody went to see the palombieres. Of course I went. The palombieres are a row of trees at the top of a high hill above Gerdes, which is reached by a very round- about, long, but pretty walk, by going down the street leading to the Toulouse road ; and when you get nearly opposite M. Lavalette's pretty house, going up through a chestnut wood on the right-hand side, and a long, dreary lane, ending in a wood above Gerdes, which you leave as it were behind you, following the upward path that, shortly after quitting the trees, winds up a very steep hill, at the top of which are the palombieres. When I got there I found nets stretched from tree to tree ; a man concealed by a little hut under the trees made of boughs with their leaves on was watching them, while another man, perched at the top of an immense long pole, kept a look-out for the palonibes. I had the patience to wait above an hour, but the palombes were inflexible ; they would not come and be caught. I cannot say I was sorry, for I hate to see any- thing put to pain ; and I merely went to the palombieres because the catching these wild pigeons is a sort of feature of Bagneres life. BAGNERES DE BIGOKRE. 179 After waiting in vain all this time, the man in the hut asked me if I would like to see how they were caught, when they did come. If I would give half a franc the man at the top of the pole would show me. I assented ; indeed I pitied the poor fellows for their weary, disappointing watch, and would gladly have given them three francs could I have afforded it. The man at the top of the pole then threw down a piece of wood shaped somewhat like a bird, which, coming swiftly down with a whirring noise, rudely imitates the swoop of a hawk, and frightens the pigeons into the nets spread among the branches. These palombes breed in Spain, and usually come to Bagneres about September and the early part of October, sometimes in large flocks, but this year there had been very few. I thanked the men, paid the half franc, and walked on over the brow of the hill. The view from a little above the Palombieres is magni- ficent. One sees Bagneres below the wooded heights of the Bedat and Mont Olivet; a little to the left, the Adour flowing past Gerdes and Aste to Campan ; while above these white villages rise a darkly-wooded hill, that partly hides the Penne de Llheris (so renowned for flowers), the Pic du Midi, and Mont Aigu. Crossing the meadows be- hind the Palombieres, the view is grander still mountain rises above mountain, a sea of hills and the sun gleaming in the hollows, and the passing clouds, casting here and there long grey shadows, render the scene exquisitely lovely. I met some peasant women here, herding sheep ; the sheep of the Pyrenees are not timid, but, on the con- trary, sometimes aggressive. One of the voung rams, dis- pleased at the appearance of Keeper, came up, and butted rather savagely at me ; the women called to him by his name like a dog, the younger taking him by the head and pulling him away, upon which, he nestled up to, and rubbed his head against, her, just as a dog would ; but if I 180 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FEANCE. approached, he butted again, as if he were resolved to pro- tect his mistress from all strangers. They told me, the wood that clothed the descent of the hill on which we stood, led to a village called Bagnos, and that it was about three miles off. I called Mr. Keeper, and set off to walk thither. In summer it must be a very lovely walk; the road winds along a hill side, through a pleasant wood, and wherever there is an opening, one sees the blue mountains towering aloft the trees, or catches a glimpse of distant hills bounding distant valleys ; but now the branches were nearly bare the dead stalks of what had been lovely flowers, bent, dry, and withered, to the long, dewy, fading grass and the gossamer, full of raindrops, glittering in the sunlight, hung a fairy fabric against the sides of the banks. When I had passed through the wood, I came to long green lanes ; many of the edges were of wild holly, thickly covered with beautiful scarlet berries ; under their shelter the flowers still lingered. Beneath the hedge-rows I gathered a large bouquet of sweet-scented wild pinks, blue scabious of the larger kind, marguerites, spindle berry and holly berries. In a field peasants were making hay, and I asked the way to Bagnos, and reached it in about half-an-hour. The road was pretty good all the way to the entrance of Bagnos, when it became full of ruts, and filthy. I went to look at the church, which is not worth seeing, and then I sat down on a low wall in front of a farmyard, in the middle of the village, to rest. The owner of the farm came out to have a talk with the Anglaise, and two or three women gathered round, to whom he trans- lated what I said, into patois. He had been a soldier. The becoming one seems to me a very good thing for these illiterate peasants, now there is no war, since it is an edu- cation. The men who have served are always better in- formed and less prejudiced than peasants who have never quitted their village. BAuNKRES DE BIGORRE. 181 This man put very sensible questions to me. He wished to know, how people of his class lived in England, and if they were better or worse off. I have never been in the extremely wretched Midland districts of England, where men, women, and children, according to ' Punch ' and the statistics, are worse lodged than pig's. In my beloved York- shire, our country gentlemen deem it a duty incumbent on the owners of landed property, to see that their cottage tenants are well lodged, and in Lancashire and Cumberland, as in the Pyrenees, most of the agricultural working class are small landowners, owning a garth or two, and the cottage they live in. Therefore, without intending to say wliat was false, I told my Bagnos friend, that the English cottages were far tidier, and more wholesome and clean, than those of the Pyrenees, being well drained, and having glass win- dows. His cottage, and many others around, had only wooden shutters, and were unglazed. Alas ! what a sad thing it is to reflect on how the selfish luxury of the few, not merely embitters the whole life of others, but positively forces them into crime. What sense of modesty or decency can there l)e in a peasant family, obliged, by want of room, to sleep six or eiglit of all sexes and ages in one room ? And where the sense of decency and self-respect is once lost, the whole character becomes speedily degraded. In my opinion, no man has a rigid to be the owner of a large estate, without fulfilling the duties his position entails on him. He is God's steward, set by Him over his poorer brethren, and will assuredly have one day to render a strict account of his stewardship. He has no right to accept tlie pleasures and the emoluments of the office and to shirk its duties. Every soul corrupted by a life spent in misery, filth, and vice, caused by inability to attend to the common decencies of life, because a proper dwelling, within his means to rent, is not provided for him : will be required of the proud gentleman, who, in life, had his 182 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. grooms, his hunters, his packs of hounds, his ' ordered gar- dens great,.' his stately mansion with its twenty, thirty, or forty rooms by the Lord and Master of both. I told the Pyreneans gathered round me, through the medium of my interpreter, that they ought to try and keep their houses and the approaches to them a little cleaner ; and I am bound to say, they listened civilly and deferen- tially ; but no one person likes to differ from all his neigh- bours, and thereby gain their hatred and ill-will. It is the government who must make proper drains for every house, and force the people to attend to the decencies of life, as it is the government that has compelled the people to do what they would never have done for themselves, and has made good roads from village to village. They are very sensible of the benefits the present Emperor has conferred on them by laying down this regulation,* and, probably, if their villages were once well drained, would be equally grateful for that. But in endeavouring to inculcate a higher civilization, the government ought to begin with the schools and school children. Every school in every village ought to have all necessary conveniences attached to it, and strict cleanliness ought to be enforced on the children ; from them it would spread to the parents. It is delightful to see how much the services rendered to the country by Napoleon III. are appreciated by these peasants. If the Emperor is not popular among a set of idle, worthless men, who see in war and revolution a chance of elevating themselves, and belong to the class of people who would burn down their neighbour's house to roast themselves an egg, the industrious and thinking classes revere and love him. I am a great admirer of his wonderful genius ; and, so long as he keeps peace with * The regulation that there must be a road wide enough for two car- riages to pass abreast between village and village. For which most wise and beneficent law the people have to thank his Majesty Napoleon III. BAGNEEES DE BIGOERE. 183 Mfc England, most sincerely wish him long life and prosperity ; and it always gives me pleasure to find how popular he is, when, as is my custom, I have a chat with the peasants I meet in my walks. They speak of him with absolute affection.* ' He has done us good,' say they. ' We voted for him because we loved his uncle. He did us good, too ; and the nephew has been our best friend. Why, the people in Paris wanted to tax corn more, and the Emperor said, " If you do, there will be an army three days hence at the gates of Paris ; " and so there would have been. There would have been another revolution. We want a man like Napoleon III., and I hope he will live long, and that his son will reign after him.' I came home tired enough, but charmed with my walk, which I recommend everyone who visits Bagneres to take. November lOfA, 1862. To-day and to-morrow are, I understand, fair-days. There are three fairs in the year St. Barthelemi, the day after Pentecost, and this. The principal articles of merchandise to-day are old clothes. To-day the peasants come down from the hills to exchange their summer garb with the fripiers of Tarbes, and other neighbouring towns, for winter clothes ; or to sell the coarse, home-spun cloth they have themselves woven. From the top of the Place des Coustos, and half-way down the Allee des Platanes, there is no getting along for the crowd. The buzz of hundreds of voices, perhaps I ought to say thousands, reminds one irresistibly of that of a beehive ; but there is little of gaiety in the scene. An English village feast, with the women flaunting in gay- coloured ribbons, and many-hued dresses, is a far prettier sight. The costumes of France have nearly departed, and what * This does not apply especially to the inhabitants of Bagnos. I heard the same warm expressions of gratitude from peasants belonging to Bag- neres, Pouzac, in short, from every peasant proprietor I conversed with tliroughout the Pyrenees. 184 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. remains of them is precisely what is most ugly and least picturesque. The mass of clustered peasants collected in Coustos, on which I look down from my gallery, resemble a swarm of bees, not only in their hum, but in their sober colours. Their suits of brown, the jacket cut like an English sailor's vest, and trowsers, are generally of the dark- brown hue, which is the natural colour of the undyed wool. Here and there the sombre hue of the crowd is relieved by a blue leret, or cap, a scarlet or green sash, an immaculately white shirt front, and a flaming waistcoat, or a red umbrella. The older men walk about, stick in hand, with a brown woollen nightcap on their heads, and a huge, rather picturesque covering, also of undyed brown wool, which is a sort of hybrid between a great coat and a capuchin's cloak, and more comfortable than either. It would tell well in a picture, but is ugly enough in real life. How odd this is, by-the-by, that a dilapidated, untidy, un- repaired cottage, with the thatch hanging in shreds, old clouts or wood filling up the broken casements, a few ragged clothes suspended between bare poles to dry, and a tumble -down garden wall and ruinous pigsty, should make a prettier picture than what is far pleasanter to the eye in reality, a comfortable modern house, and its trim flower garden. The Pyrenean garment in question con- sists of an ample cloak with sleeves, with a cape reach- ing to the waist, and a capuchin's hood, which covers the head and most of the face. In this he walks about almost secure from weather as to the upper part of his person, as a snail in his shell ; and except that the colour is different, resembles not a little, a walking sentry-box. No doubt such warm clothing is necessary for men who spend days, and even nights, herding their flocks on the snowy mountains; but I must say it rather amused me the first rainy day after my return to Bigorre, to watch from my gallery a man employed about some repairs that BAGNERES DE BIGOREE. 185 were making in a house opposite, shovelling earth and lime, and wheeling stones, and digging in one of these portable pent-houses. I could not help thinking how one of our broad-chested, herculean-limbed, hardy navvies, who work in all weathers in shirt sleeves, and with open breast, or at most a fustian vest and jacket, would have laughed at the sight. I have myself often gardened in heavier rain, in my usual dress. The costume of the women is as sombre as that of the men, only here and there a few scarlet or white capulets gleam like tulips among a bed of brown fritillaries. I have been out to the fair. The elm trees in the Place des Coustos had garments that clearly once belonged to ladies hanging from their lower boughs instead of leaves. Farther on, a group of peasant women were examining an old petticoat, turning it inside out, and holding it to the light, to discover rents and stains. There, second-hand sheets and towels were unfolded and displayed at full length, by seller and buyer. There were rows of old shoes and boots, all apparently shining in Warren's im- mortal blacking, to gar them leuk amaist as weel as new.' Peasant women walked about with thick home-spun wool- len petticoats on their arms, gathered, but not sewn, into a waistband, that they might be arranged to fit any purchaser. Before others, were heaps of chiffons of all sorts, bodies of gowns, stray sleeves, faded ribbons, soiled blonde, odd stockings, bits of lace and work. One heap always consists of cuttings of furniture, which the peasants buy to make thick, warm caps, for their children, which they always wear till four or six years of age. Some of this damask is very elegant in design, and the colours being new, are most brilliant. There were also several stalls of the staple manufacture of the country, shawls, quilts, mittens, hair-nets, and other articles knitted, 186 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FEANCB. of Pyrenean wool ; and the space in front of M. 's door was filled up, as it is every sale day, by groups of market-women, chaffering over huge bundles of dyed and undyed wool, for knitting stockings. There was one stall of knick-knacks. Some of them were made of the marbles of the country, and were really pretty ; but the prices were enormous. In fact, one sees nothing in foreign countries that one cannot buy/ar cheaper in London. I had the curiosity to ask the price of a pair of glass ear- rings. ' Six francs] was the reply ; but perhaps this price was asked out of respect to my chapeau Anglais. Certainly the French and German shopkeepers, and market-women, look upon us as a nation of fools, possessing more money than wit. Files of horses and mules were also led up and down the streets, for this is also a horse fair. I saw, how- ever, nothing to interest or amuse me in the scene, so I returned home. November llth. There was a perfect tempest of wind and rain last night, and the large trees in the Coustos creaked and groaned like the masts of a vessel. When day dawned the mountains were clouded over, and torrents of rain, elect, and snow have poured down at intervals all day. A sad fair time. Nevertheless, the booths of yester- day have been re-erected, and a good many peasants are higgling and bargaining, chattering and scolding, under the shelter of huge umbrellas. I think I never saw so many um- brellas in one place before conspicuous among them are one or two bright red ones. Some of the peasants drive in, in strange, long, heavy carts, formed apparently of nearly half the trunk of a tree, with a long and very thick plank on each side. One miserable little ass has just gone past, drawing one of these vehicles, and in it I counted nine persons. What a load for the poor animal ! Truly, man in all grades of life has small mercy on the useful beasts that are his slaves. BAGNERES DE BIGOKRE. 187 I meant to have gone and seen whether this second day's fair were better worth looking at than the first, but the weather never clears for more than half-an-hour, and I detest walking in the mud when I can avoid it. I spent the evening with Madame T . Old M. La C came in, and I mentioned the number of peasants I had seen in the cart drawn by one poor ass. ' That is a common sight,' said M. La C ; * I have often seen more people than that in a cart drawn by one poor ass, the peasants have no mercy on their cattle. And look at their oxen and cows! They let the poor things' hides be covered with cow-dung, so that every step they take must pain them and fray the skin. But what can you expect ? They do not keep themselves clean is it likely they will care for their cattle ? Go into their cottages they are filthy beyond description. Men, women, children, dogs, fowls, and sheep often eleep in the same room; and they go about bare-legged, treading in all manner of dirt, and go to bed without washing it off.' Such is a Frenchman's account of the peasantry ! CHAPTEE XVI. BAGNERES DE BIGOREE. November 22nd, 1862. No more beautiful nosegays of wild flowers. I came home on Monday with such a beautiful gerbe of sweet-scented Dianthus, Scabious, Cistus Marguerites, and berries of all kinds. The day was quite summer-like, and I spent most of it in my gallery, where I sat without hat or shawl on, making moss baskets for my flowers, and arranging them afterwards. The next day was cold and sleety as unlike Monday as May is to December ; and when I got up on Wednesday, the ter- races and roofs of the houses, and the Coustos were several inches deep in snow, and the mountain-peaks glittered white in the sunshine. The fault of the Pyrenean climate is these sudden changes. One hardly knows how to dress ; for one day it is so warm that a thin muslin would be pleasant wear, if not strictly appropriate to the season, and the very next perhaps, one is shivering over a log fire, wrapped up in a thick shawl. I often wonder that doctors should send consumptive patients abroad. First, the in- valid has to encounter a lack of all the customary comforts of an English home, which is very trying. It is true the rich can obtain even most English comforts what will not money obtain ? but the poorer and the middle class have much inconvenience to endure. I hear continually in England that such a person is recommended to try a warmer climate. It is become a fashion to abuse the English climate, and to speak of it as if fine days were few and rare, and the land was generally enveloped in fog. BAGXERES DE BIGORRE. 189 In my girlhood I looked forward to going to ' sunny France ' and the glorious clime of Italy, as I looked for- ward to being a grown-up woman as a sort of entrance into Paradise. Growing-up and sunny France have both proved to be mere delusions. I have a notion which I will only venture to whisper to you, dear reader, as it is treason against all received dogmas and opinions it is that the climate of Italy will prove a delusion too, if I am ever rich enough to try it. I have now been three times in France, for periods varying from seven months to thirteen, and twice in Germany for about six months at a time, and I must honestly confess that go where I would, from Paris to the Pyrenees, or on the grape-clad slopes of the Rhenish pro- vinces, I have never seen any difference between the climate abroad and that of England, except that the summers and autumns are hotter and last longer than our English ones, while the winters are shorter and more variable in tem- perature. One feels the cold more when these sudden changes of temperature occur ; and I declare that I saw fog, and sleet, and rain, and hail, and snow, and dull days every- where, just as I used to do in England. When mist came down from the mountains upon rare occasions at Bagneres, I have been as unable to thread a needle, to work, or to read at one o'clock in the day, as in a London fog. When I say that I do not see that the climate abroad is better than in England, I am immediately told that this is ' une annee exceptionnelle? It is very hard and very strange that I should never travel except in une annee exceptionnelle, and I believe that ' Mr. Burchell ' would have uttered the word 'Fudge!' if he had been told that we had no sun in England, or that foreign lands were so much more favoured by Heaven as to climate. For my part, if one could choose, I like an old-fashioned English winter hard frosts and deep snows in their season and then a warm, genial 190 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. spring, and a glowing summer and autumn. We have no hot April and May and September, such as I remember in my childhood, and no such hard winters, in England now. At the same time I must admit that there is a purity and clearness in the air of France and Germany that is most exhilarating and delightful ; and it is in this, and not in the weather, which is as variable and uncertain abroad as in England, that the true superiority of foreign climates consists. As soon as the snow had partly melted away from the high roads and fields I hastened to ascend the Bedat, that I might see how the range of the Pyrenees looked in snow. I have just returned from my expedition, and want words to express how beautiful and grand they were. The day was balmy and mild, and the sky a clear deep blue, un- known in England. From the signal-staff on the Bedat I looked, as I sat, upon a magnificent panorama of hills piled upon hills, and mountain towering above mountain in solemn, sublime majesty, all keenly glittering, white, clear and distinct and pure as angels' robes, against the blue of the summer-like sky. They seemed the throne of God the visible image of His unspeakable purity, His power and majesty and might. Does the all-pervading spirit of the Almighty rest peculiarly upon the mountains ? It was on a mountain that God talked to Moses ; to a mountain Christ often retired to pray ; it was on a moun- tain that He was transfigured before the eyes of his wondering and a we- struck disciples; and there is some- thing elevating and ennobling even to poor, weak humanity in the solitary mountain-top. One feels for the time lifted above earth and earth's petty cares and vanities nearer to heaven and to God. I like Bagneres very much as a winter residence; in short, since I was forced to give up my little Hampstead BAGNERES DE BIGORBE. 191 cottage, and thrown poor and solitary upon the world, I have never liked any place so much. It is a lovable place. I don't wonder mountaineers are always so attached to this country. These glorious mountains soon become to one dear friends. I could be well content to end my days here if I could afford to buy a farm with some chestnut trees near it. CHAPTER XVII. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. January fflnd, 1863. January is come and well-nigh gone too, and winter is nearly over. On the whole it has been a very fine one, and I have enjoyed it greatly, notwith- standing the sudden change from summer warmth to snow and frost. To-day the air is quite soft arid balmy, and like the rest of the Bagneres world I have been up to La Cote, i.e. the side of a hill above the town on the road to Toulouse, to see the peasants dance. To-day is the feast of St. Vin- cent, the patron Saint of Bagneres, and the people are all in holiday costume, feasting and dancing. You cannot imagine what a pretty sight it was. Fancy a regular drop scene for a theatre. A green meadow by the road side, in the middle of which three menetriers, or fiddlers, were seated in chairs placed upon a deal table, fiddling away merrily to two or three hundred peasant lads and lasses, all decked out in their holiday suits. The men in their neat self-coloured brown jackets, vests, and trowsers, with clean white shirts, and gay neckties of the newest fashion the girls chiefly in their neat-fitting dark gowns, white or co- loured aprons, with deep pockets in them, and mouchoirs as varied in colours and blending of shades as a bed of tulips, and this gay, pretty picture framed in as it were by a background of snow-covered mountains. It was thoroughly foreign and theatrical. The Pyrenese are passionately fond of dancing, and although the priests reprobate it, and even refuse the sacrament to those who have been at a ball, take BAGXERES DE BIGORRE. 193 advantage of every holiday to pursue their favourite amuse- ment. They usually dance remarkably well, their move- ments are never awkward, and always accord with the measure. Why is it that the English working classes are so much more clumsy and vulgar than French people of the same rank ? I can only repeat my idea, that it is because the French peasant respects himself, and is not ashamed of being a peasant. While the Englishman is always trying to impress you with the idea that he belongs to the class above him, whom he apes in dress and manners, and thereby only succeeds in making himself vulgar and ridiculous. Only one large double quadrille, or a very long country dance, was danced at a time ; the rest of the company stood, or sat on the ground looking on. I sat some time on the road-side bank talking to a young and rather pretty peasant girl beside me. I hoped to see some of the national dancing of the country, a branle, or a saut, and I asked her if any would be danced. ' L'on ne danse que les quadrilles, ou les contre-danses,' said she, very indignantly. It was clear she felt huffed at my supposing anything so vulgar and old-fashioned as a saut or branle could be danced in that polite and fashionable assembly. Poor human nature ! It is the same everywhere, among the Browns, Smiths, Ledburys, and De Robinsons of Islington and Pentonville, and here among peasants danc- ing in a meadow by the road side, and would as soon be accused of absolute crime, as have it supposed possible that its ways and fashions differed from the ways and fashions of the Tuileries or St. James. Most of the English families in the town came to look at the dancing, and among them two pretty English girls, with their brother, who won all hearts by joining in the fun ; the young ladies dancing with some of the lads, and the young man with two or three of the lasses. It is'a pity the travelling English do not oftener lend themselves to the o 194 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FEANCE. customs of the country. The French are so sensitive to haughty demeanour, and so grateful for courtesy and kind- ness, and unlike vulgar English people, they do not pre- sume upon it. At an out-of-doors fete at Coblentz, I have seen a German countess of high lineage, dancing with a tobacconist from the town. There was no assumption in the one, and no vulgar obtrusive familiarity in the other. St. Vincent's is a very great fete to the Bigorrais. Every- body asks their friends to dinner, and the peasants dance for two or three days in the meadows during the daytime, and in a large room at night. The ball at La Cote began at three o'clock in the day, and I am told will last till dark. There was a small public-house adjoining the field where the dancing was going on, where numbers of the young men were sitting drinking for drinking is as com- mon a vice in the Pyrenees as it is in England. Some of them had beautiful voices, and they sung several glees and part-songs most harmoniously. After I had sat about an hour looking at the dancing, I rose to return home, but thought I would first stroll up the hill to gaze on the snowy mountains, and while I was as- cending it, a band of more than thirty young men issued from the public-house and came up arm-in-arm, in two long rows, singing most exquisitely. I was quite alone and no other creature on the road except Keeper and myself, but I felt no fear. The Pyrenean peasant is always courteous. I went a day or two ago with Madame T to see an exposition of priestly vestments, worked for the priests of poor parishes by a society of la 'lies, who are affiliated with a similar society in Paris, which provides them with elegant designs, and charges itself with making up the embroidery when done. I assure you this needlework was very beau- tiful, and as I examined it I could not help thinking that BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 195 similar embroidery applied to the less holy use of decorat- ing curtains, sofas, and table-covers, might be made a means of supporting many distressed gentlewomen in Eng- land, as it costs next to nothing and is very effective. I even had a vision of working a table-cover myself for Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales, and requesting Miss Parkes to allow it to be exhibited at the office of the ' Eng- lishwoman's Journal,' in order to set the fashion. But, alas ! the means on which I had calculated did not come, and my scheme fell to the ground. Truly does Shelley say ' Such thoughts of good Oft come and leave us in our solitude.' The thing, however, is feasible, and may perhaps some day be taken up by other hands. Mademoiselle Feraud, the 2)residente of the society at Bagneres, was very kind, and explained the whole process to me. The beautiful work is entirely composed of chiffons. The sole expense incurred by the society is the cost of the silk on which it is applique, and the sewing silk, beads, gold thread, and braid em- ployed in the work. The ladies of the society give them- selves, and beg from their friends, old velvet bonnets, silk and satin gowns, remnants of ribbon, milliners' and mer- cers' clippings, &c. ; the smallest article being turned to account One of the most magnificent vestments was embroidered with parts of what had once been a lady's worked Canton crape shawl. The next handsomest was, as Mademoisselle Feraud informed me, fabricated out of an old black velvet bonnet. It consisted offleurs de lys of black velvet, bordered with a gold thread seme upon rich white moire silk. The pattern having been decided upon, the materials to be used are cut out in little bits, neatly tacked on the silk any foundation could, of course, be used; merino, cloth, or whatever material was thought best suited for curtains, table-cloths, &c. and fastened 196 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. down with gold or silk braid in one mode of work, and crossed all over with coloured silk in regular lines in the other, but two stitches or modes of embroidery being used. It is far more quickly done than floss-silk embroidery, and far cheaper, while equally beautiful and effective. How much is annually wasted in a great city, that might employ and maintain thousands if rightly employed! I remember reading in the account of a ' refuge,' that a lady connected with it once asked a milliner to contribute the odds and ends of rubbish in the workroom which she had habitually burnt every Saturday night, and these bits the produce of one workroom in one week were given to a poor woman who had sought shelter at the refuge in the deepest distress. She manufactured them into caps, which were sold for three shillings, and since that time this poor widow has been enabled to maintain herself and her two children in tolerable comfort, by making up the remnants given her by one milliner into cheap caps. If there were a depot where old dresses, gauzes, laces, gloves, and ribbons could be received by a competent lady manager, who would also supply patterns procured from Paris, all these things, which are now wasted, might be turned to good account. The educated woman, with her refined eye and artistic taste, could convert a part of them, in the seclusion and retire- ment of her own house, into costly and delicate embroidery, and the others might be made into caps, bonnets, jackets, children's frocks, &c., and sold at a moderate price to the shops ; the receiving, sorting, and giving-out these materials and work patterns, and the disposing of the work when done, giving respectable homes and maintenance to one set of impoverished ladies, while the work itself furnished means of support to others. So again with our markets. In England the cooks throw away the tops of the celery, and the outer leaves of the cabbages ; in France they are all put into the pot au BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 197 feu* for soup. The French, too, make an excellent soup from a puree formed of potatoes, to which a very little meat is added. If some of the idle boys and girls in the streets of London were employed to go round to the market-stalls and greengrocers and collect the cabbage and turnip leaves, the onion and celery tops, and small potatoes they throw away as refuse, and others to collect remnants of meat and bones from the butchers, and carry them to poor women selected for the office, these women, once properly taught to prepare soup and savoury stew from such remnants, might keep a humble sort of restaurant, where the very poor and starving might always get a basin of good whole- some soup, or a plate of savoury stew and a piece of bread, for a penny or a ticket. I would make a moderate charge for the soup or stew, both to supply the bread, and to pay the boys who collected the materials and the women who cooked. It has been found by the Shoeblack Society that the plan of collecting rags that were formerly burnt from house to house answers; why should not a society be formed for collecting the waste of our markets, our houses, and our butchers' and bakers' shops, and turning it also to good account for the starving and destitute ? Among the priests of poor parishes to whom vestments were given, was the Cure of Uzer, a small village lying on the left hand of the Toulouse road. Thither I walked one dav with * Pot au feu. The pot au feu is used in all French families, from the very highest to the lowest. It is a brown earthenware vessel with a cover, which is filled with a sufficiency of water, and placed close to the fire as soon as it is lighted. Into this pot the bones and fragments of bread and vegetables remaining from yesterday's meals are thrown, and to it are added from time to time stray bits of butter or grease, or meat, fowls' feet and heads anything in short, from a cabbage-leaf to an onion top. Tlie hedges and fields are ransacked for wild sorrel and other vegetables, and this con- stant feeding of the ever-simmering caldron goes on all day bean-husks, peas-cods, stalks of spinach all we think refuse, goes to the pot au feu abroad, und in our great London hotels, whose proprietors know its value as excellent soup. So a first-rate cook told me. 198 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Keeper, along a beautiful winding road, whence there were delicious peeps into green shady valleys, watered by clear streams and environed by mountains. On arriving at Uzer I went, as is my custom, to look at the church, which is no way remarkable, and when I came out I met the Cure talk- ing to a woman in the churchyard. He recognized, and invited me in to rest, telling me he should like to know me, as he was sure he should soon make me a bonne Catholique. I laughed, and followed him ; the woman, with the freedom of a peasant, accompanying us. The good old priest led me into a cabin little better than any of those inhabited by the labourers around. His bed and a shelf with a few books, stood in a recess of the kitchen, and a table on which he could write was the only furniture dis- tinguishing it from the merest hut. ' Here I live,' said he, smiling, ' nor do I desire better. I have lived here twelve years, and am as well lodged as my predecessors, the apostles. But you must be tired. It is a long walk from Bagneres to Uzer. You must at least eat a piece of bread and drink a glass of wine with the poor priest.' I declined the bread, but accepted the wine, for I was thirsty, while Keeper, always in mischief, occupied himself in hunting for the cat. ' Nay,' said the Cure, * that I cannot permit. Thou art a pretty dog, but my cat is my friend and companion.' So Keeper's mistress held him by main force, struggling and scratching with his hind feet, while the Cure and the woman who entered with us and the priest's bonne caught the cat with equal difficulty, and shut her up in another room, and then we settled ourselves again for a chat. ' Your religion is only three hundred years old,' he began, striking his staff" upon the ground. What is three hundred years? The CathoUque religion dates from the Apostles ; yours, from your adulterous King Henry VIII.' BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 199 ' Ecoutez-le ! Est-il savant ? Monsieur le pretre sait tout,' cried the admiring women. * But answer me,' he went on ; 'is it so, or not ? Do I speak truth ? Does not your Reformation, as you call it, date from Henri Huit ? ' ' Impossible to deny it,' said I. ' Voyez done Monsieur le cure avait raison ! ' cried the women. 1 And why have you left the Church of Rome, and for what ? For a church that is no church.' I could have answered ' Because your clergy made themselves princes and not priests because Rome defiled herself ivith innocent Hood by luxury, and by crime ; ' but I would not. I could not defend myself without wounding him ; so I was silent. After awhile he took me to see the garden of the pres- bytery, for the cottage was his parsonage. It was of a piece with the house a mere square plot of garden ground, full of cabbages, peas, and onions, with two or three common pansies, on the edge of the borders, of which he seemed very proud, and all of which he desired his bonne to pull for Madame, if Madame liked flowers. I would not have them all pulled, but I took a few, not to wound him by seeming to undervalue them ; and then, thanking him for his hospitality, I withdrew. I honour these poor priests, whose lives are spent in poverty and seclusion, and in leading a poor and ignorant population to good. Their power over the minds of their parishioners is great for their lives are pure and their practice agrees with the doctrines they preach. I honour, too, the nuns, who labour in nursing the sick, and teaching the poor, or who take charge of young infants while their mothers go out to work. There is much in Catholicism that is noble, real, and true ; and while I cannot assent to 200 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. all her doctrines the lichens which have overgrown the original temple I cannot help looking forwards to a time when all religions and sects shall be fused into one, and all men shall know the Lord, from the least to the greatest ; for ' the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea ;' and believing that these men and women are also, in their generation, doing a good work, and labouring in the great harvest-field of the Almighty. If they were not, He would not so long have suffered them. CHAPTEK XVIII. ILLNESS IN A FRENCH HOUSE. I HAVE just been enabled to compare the way sick people get treated in lodgings in France with the treatment they receive in English lodging-houses ; it is just the difference between six and half-a-dozen. I went on Sunday to church, and took a walk afterwards. In the evening I had a pain in my foot, of which, as it was not very severe, I took no notice. When I took my stocking off at night, I found a little blister, the size of a pea, in the middle of a long white line, crossing the whole foot, which was very painful to the touch. The next day it was worse, and by the fourth day it had enlarged to a regular abscess, the size of half- a-crown, whose constant discharge and great pain confined me entirely to bed. Marie, the maid, brought me my coffee as usual, and inquired what I would have for dinner that day. ' Nothing, Marie, thank you ; I am too ill to eat.' ' Too ill to eat ! ' shouted Marie, colouring up with anger. ' Too ill to eat! Then you may get a garde malade to wait upon you who you will for I won't. I've something else to do than to wait on sick people.' * Marie,' said I, * I don't want much waiting upon. When I am well and about, you have my two rooms to keep clean, and my fire to light ; you cook my dinner, and make me coffee twice a day. Now I am too ill even to have my bed made ; all you have to do, therefore, is to light my fire, to dust my room, bring nie water, and 202 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. make me some coffee twice a day, as I have no appetite, and cannot eat meat.' ' It's well you want nothing,' bawled Marie, wrathfully ; 4 if you did, you wouldn't get it. I'll bring you coffee twice a day, that's all ; but ' coming up to my bed, and pushing a red face close to mine, and shaking her fist ' if you ring for anything, mind ! I'll send Jean ! I won't come, not I. I'll send Jean n n ! ' I had long suspected Marie of what the French call ' faisant I'anse du panier' making a handle of the basket, i.e. charging me more for everything she bought than she gave. Now, I was sure of it ; for there could be no other reason for her flaring up into this violent rage, when I said that I could eat no dinner, but that she lost the half franc's profit she had calculated having upon it. I know very well most of my friends would say I ought to have bought everything myself. Those who have been like me, obliged at one time of their life to live upon a small in- come, know that one is compelled to submit to these pecula- tions, to prevent the greater expense and inconvenience of continually changing lodgings. Whenever I spoke to Madame about the price of food, she always asserted it was the price Marie said ; if ever I bought anything in the market myself, it gave Marie mortal offence j and Marie, who was a good cook, and made them comfortable, ruled both Monsieur and Madame . My lodgings suited me in other things, and I tried to economize the three or four francs a week I knew Marie overcharged me, by various other small savings. When Madame came upstairs to inquire after me, I told her of Marie's insolence ; but, as I expected, she made a hundred undeserved excuses for her. I passed a dreary time, con- fined for nearly three weeks to my bed, and for thirteen days too ill even to rise to have it made. Marie, who did nothing for me but light my fire, replenish my water-jugs, BAGXERES DE BIGORRE. 203 and bring me coffee twice a day doing that little in the most unwilling manner, and usually repeating, as she went out of the room, slamming the door after her ' Oui, vous ferez mieux de ne pas sonner, car je ny viendrai pas.' Madame had long been in the habit of spending her mornings in my sitting-room, Marie having requested that I would invite her to do so, 'because,' said she, ' Madame ne vent pas depenser son argent, elle ne fait pas de feu toute la jour nee, et elle se rend malade ; a son age elle a besoin de se bien chauffer! I thought so, too, and as I could not do without a fire, I invited Madame, though I well knew she could afford to have as many fires as she had rooms, to come and warm herself by mine. Now, therefore, that I was ill, she came as usual, and brought her work, and sat by my fire, so that in fact I was not so ill oft' as I otherwise should have been with that l bon coeur, Marie,' as Madame used to call her. I liked Madame in those days, and her economies used to amuse me, and I kept to the plan on which I started to vex myself about nothing and considered Marie, in the light of a model, sitting to me for her portrait a mere study of character. Once I was very much amused. I have stated how Madame had cheated me out of the window-curtains which were in the rooms when I engaged them, in order to save their wear and tear, and washing during the winter. One day she came in as usual to work by my fire, trailing six or seven yards of dimity behind her, and sitting down by the window, began with melancholy looks to cut, and patch, and shape ' Mais qu'est-ce que vous faites done, madame,' said I mis- chievously, seeing perfectly well from my bed what her work was. ' Je fais des reparations ' (a deep sigh) ; ' I mend the curtains that belong to these rooms I had put them dans le grenier against spring, when I meant to have 204 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. thorn washed clean, and put up before les etrangers came ; and, voyez-vous ! ' holding them up ' les rats me les ont tout mange? I couldn't for the life of me help laughing outright. She would not let me have them; and Nemesis had avenged me in the form of a rat. However, Madame was kind to me in her way. She used to bring me apples and pears, and books to read. She was always willing to show any kindness that did not cost money, but to save had be- come an instinct with her. It was stronger than she was. A strange thing happened one day as she sat with me. We were talking of the sorrow that there is for everybody in the world, in some form or other, at some time or other of their lives. * Yes,' said I ; ' and not only for human beings, but for animals, as St. Paul says, " the whole creation groaneth and travaileth together, waiting for the restoration of all things." If one considers it how sad it is that there should be so much pain and death in the world from the inferior creatures preying one upon the other, as they do. Ah ! this is a dreary world ! ' As I spoke a robin perched upon the railing of the gallery outside my window, and resting there for a moment, looked almost wistfully in, with its large black eyes, and then fled away. It had not been gone an instant when a hawk flew to the very spot, and he also rested on the paling and looked in at the win- dow. I called to Madame to drive him off, and frighten him away, but could not persuade her to move. And, after a second or two, he flew off in the same di- rection as the robin had done. Was it not a strange com- mentary on the conversation we had just been holding ? As I looked at the fierce, bold, beautiful bird, I almost felt as if he were Satan himself in visible form, triumphing in his power to injure and destroy me, and the creatures I pitied. There is no promise more soothing to my feelings BAGNERE8 DE BIGORRE. 205 or more beautiful, than that the time will come, 'when the wolf shall lie down with the lamb ; and the weaned child put his hand on the cockatrice den;' 'when there shall be no more sorrow, because there will be no more sin.' ' For the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea. Amen, Lord Jesus, even so, come quickly.' I am well now of my abscess, and able to walk about again, but the consequences of my illness do not end with it. Marie has taken a violent dislike to me. I believe she is afraid Madame likes me too much. ' Madame va lui leguer toute sa fortune,' said she, spitefully, one day. ' Madame has nephews and nieces, Marie,' said I. ' Oh ! die en a bien assez pour vous, et pour eux.' In short Marie has taken it into her head to turn me out of the house, and I have no doubt will effect her end. I know I could get plenty of lodgings quite as good, and better furnished, for the same terms, but I hate changing ; and every change, if only to the next street, is a waste of money, so, if I can, I shall rub ou till the season draws near. March 14th, 1863. I have been at a very gay ball, and I absolutely went to it in my plain black mousseline-de-laine dress, for I had no other. The English gentlemen gave a ball on the 10th March, to all the English residents at Bag- neres, in honour of the Prince of Wales' marriage, and sent me an invitation among the rest, and as the note stated that 'high dresses would be worn,' I determined to go, and make acquaintance with my country folks. The room was very prettily and appropriately decorated, with the arms of England and Denmark surrounded by 206 what looked a wreath of moss, but was in reality a wreath of box, and the .crossed flags of the two countries above them on one side of the room, and on the other the arms of France wreathed with box, and the French ensigns above them. The musicians were screened off by a hedge of lauriers rose and orange trees, and orange and oleander trees formed a sort of bower at the end of the apartment, where the principal English ladies were seated. I felt a little awkward at walking in by myself among so many strangers, for I knew no one. The rule at Bagneres is for the stranger to call upon the English residents, and I did not know this, and called on no one. I afterwards learned there had been some talk about calling on me, but that M. Frossard, the French Protestant pastor, knowing I came with the intention of writing a book on the Pyrenees, had given it out, I was too busy to enter into society from M. Frossard himself which was quite a mistake, however, as I should have been very glad of English acquaintances. I was not long left in the corner I had selected. On entering the ball-room, Mr. Bradstreet, one of the oldest English residents in Bagneres (I think his family have lived there twenty years), came up and shook hands with me, and expressed his pleasure at seeing me there. We exchanged a few words as to the pretty decora- tions, and then he took me up to the top of the room, and introduced me to the Countess of Carnwath, and his own wife and sister. I spent a very agreeable evening in talking with my new acquaintance and looking at the dancing, and thenceforth I was free of the English society in Bag- neres. There was a good sprinkling of French gentlemen and ladies among the English ; and as almost all the lady- dancers were young and pretty, it was a very pleasant sight to look upon. I like to see people enjoy themselves, and felt very glad I went. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 207 A day or two after, Lady Carnwath invited me to dinner, and all the other English families called on me as soon as I got into my new lodgings ; for Marie became so inso- lent, that I was obliged to quit Madame 's the week after the ball. From the time of my illness Marie had shamefully neglected my rooms, and as they were neither washed nor cire, they were full of fleas and one day I hired a woman to scour them at my own expense ; but when she came, Marie refused to allow her to go upstairs, pretending the day was damp, and the floor would be spoiled by wetting ! 1 Vous ferez mieuz,' said she, * de vous en alter ; cest moi qui vous le dis. You may stay till the end of the month if you choose it, but no longer Pve been told to tell you so.' ' I don't take warnings from servants, Marie,' said I ; ' I hired the rooms from your mistress not from you and I shall make any arrangements I think needful with her.' So, after breakfast, I sallied forth, and speedily found other lodgings, which I engaged ; and then returning home, I requested to speak to Monsieur , and quietly handed him myself (as I could neither trust Marie nor Jean to deliver it) a note, in which I politely informed him of my intention to quit his apartments that day week. After this, Madame paid me no more visits, but held her- self stiff and stately if I passed her in coming in or going out, and merely acknowledged me by a bow. I wished to part on friendly terms with the s, after being there so long ; but Madame and Monsieur chose to make a quarrel of my departure, Why they should, I don't know, for I certainly had been a good, quiet lodger to them, and put up with Marie's insolence till I could stand it no longer. I don't envy Madame if she has that woman about 208 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. her when she becomes sick and infirm ; she will have an awful tyrant. My new lodgings are clean, light, and airy ; but, alas ! though they profess to cook for me, they don't do it. I am half starved for Ma'mselle does not choose to cook any- thing properly, except an omelette, which takes only five minutes to make, and is no trouble to her. CHAPTER XIX. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE, CAGOTS. FRENCH writers seem unable to trace with certainty the origin of the prescribed and unhappy race named Cagots ; but all the authors I have consulted, Baron Taylor, La- greze, Deville. &c., assert that they must by no means be confounded with the Cretins. Like the gottre, cretinism is a disease, to which, from various causes, some families are more subject than others.* The Cretin in Beam and Bigorre is, unhappily, an object of dislike. His outward appearance is uncouth and repulsive, often hideous; his awkward shambling gait, misformed limbs, thick protrud- ing lips, from which the saliva is often flowing, and unin- telligible mutterings, create, even in the mind of the humane, an irresistible feeling of disgust. I have seen several. The poor creatures are generally, if not always, harmless ; yet I felt it almost impossible to look at them. I had to tell myself again and again that they were God's creatures as well as myself, and that their physical and mental defects only rendered them the objects of a ten- derer compassion. Probably they are born with some or- ganic defect, for, happily, they seldom live long. They seem to me to be most frequent in those towns and villages where the inhabitants are the dirtiest and most degraded * It is well known now that the crttin, or idiot, is susceptible of improve- ment, both by the results of the Bicetre at Paris and the Hospital for Idiots near London ; in both which institutions these unhappy beings have been proved to be capable of learning various useful trades. It is a pity that similar hospitals should not be founded in every province in France and every county in England. P 210 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. in their habits. I saw several in Argeles and Aste, only one at Bagneres de Bigorre, where the people are rather more cleanly; but I was told that one belonged to a family of five, all Cretins. The Cagots, on the contrary, seem not to have been a people originally marked with disease by the hand of God from their birth, but with reprobation and hatred, as the descendants of an invading race, by the original owners of the soil. Deville states that Clovis having conquered the Visigoths at the battle of Poictiers, where their wise king Alaric perished, some of the vanquished fled into Spain, while others, confiding in the generosity of the conqueror, bowed to the yoke, and became scattered throughout the kingdom. But Clovis tried to protect them in vain. The clergy, burning for revenge on account of the ill-usage they had received from Evaris, one of their kings, and dis- liking them as Arians, neutralized all his efforts, without regard to that gospel which commands Christians to return good for evil. They refused them the holy sacra- ment, and the rites of sepulture, forbade them to enter into the churches by the same door, or to use the same benitier as the faithful, or to appear in public without the mark of a goose foot upon their clothes, as the sign of the leprosy with which they proclaimed them to be infected ; and as they could not deny that they were a handsome, well-formed race, they declared ' qiiils avaient la lepre en dedans ; ' and, to crown all, gave them the name of ' Ca- got,'* dog of a Goth, from Ca, or Caas, the patois, or Bearnais idiom for a dog. They were treated as slaves. They were condemned to follow the profession of wood-cutters (buche- rons\ their touch was accounted pollution ; and by one of the ancient fors, or customs of Beam, the testimony of one Bearnais, was held equal to that of seven Cagots. Does not, * Throughout Beam and Bigorre ca is still the common term for a dog, chien being rarely used among a people who habitually speak patois. BAGNERES DE BIGORBE. 211 tliis remind one of the still more cruel and unjust American statute, by which the evidence of a negro is not received against a white man. This universal reprobation in the course of long centuries of misery, semi-starvation, and filth, necessarily ended by degrading them physically. From a fine, healthy, athletic race, they became scrofulous and diseased, but they are not to be confounded with the Cretins. Before the Revolution, there were still families who were pointed out as Cagots, though no sign of leperism existed about them. Their enemies pretended to distin- guish them by the round shape of their ears, and the ab- sence of the lobe. Now, the term is frequently applied to the poor, diseased, and idiotic Cr&in. Goitre is fearfully common in the Pyrenees, and it is chiefly the women who suffer from it, though I have (but rarely) seen men with very large ones. The learned dis- pute as to the cause of this deformity some referring it to the use of melted snow for water, as in the colder parts of Switzerland others to the presence of talc in the water. The scientific and excellent French Protestant pastor of Bagneres, M. Frossard, well known by his ' Tableau Pitto- resque et Scientifique de Nismes,' his graphic and amusing ' Lett res ecrites de t 'Orient ,' &c., says, in his ' Guide du Geologue dam les Pyrenees Centrales* ' some learned men attribute goitres to the presence of talc in the waters. It is a fact, that those places where this hideous deformity reproduces itself most frequently, and with the greatest intensity St. Mamet, pres Luchon, Gerdes et Aste, pres Bagneres de Bigorre, Davantaigue, in the valley of Argeles, the valley of Azun, &c., are eminently regions of talc.'* * M. Frossard arlds, ' When will a society be formed for the extinction of goitres in this country ? ' Ah ! how many human evils might be put an end to if men would only live more for others and less for themselves if the great principle that it is everyone's duty to work for the amelioration of humanity were once generally recognized and acted upon by all. God alone 212 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Without disputing the dictum of those far better able to judge of its cause than myself, I cannot help attributing goitres, in a great degree, to the continual strain upon the muscles of the neck, from the immense burdens the women carry on their heads, and the fact that it is gene- rally women who suffer from them, seems to support this theory. I have frequently seen peasant women carrying heavy loads of wood (which an Englishman would have had difficulty in merely lifting) on their heads, down steep mountain paths. I once tried the weight of one when the bearer laid it down for a moment to rest herself for a woman I am tolerably strong in the arms, but I could not trail it along the ground, nor even move it. Yet this poor delicate- looking, half-starved woman far slighter built and less than myself, carried it a couple of miles down a mountain-side, so steep, that I, carrying nothing, could scarcely preserve my equilibrium. I walked one day to the village of Aste, and, as my cus- tom is, entered the church to look at it. I always kneel down and pray when I enter a Catholic church, for two reasons first it is the house of God and therefore sacred ; next, my doing so prevents the worshippers present from feeling hurt or wounded, when I afterwards walk round to inspect it. As I came out, a peasant girl, who no doubt took me for a Catholic, dipped her fingers into the benitier, and touched mine with holy water, and after we got into the street, offered to show me a beautiful view from some fields behind a gentleman's house. When we reached the spot we sat down on a garden wall to rest, and I then no- ticed that my companion had an incipient goitre. ' You have a tendency to goitre,' said I to her, ' though can destroy Satan and the evil he has brought upon the world ; but if men would but unite as brethren, they could biud the spirit of evil by their united efforts, as the Lilliputians bound Gulliver. Most of the misery on earth is caused by the selfishness tLe cruelty and the ambition of man, who lives only for self. BAGNEEES DE BIGORRE. 213 not more than I had myself at seventeen. I wish I had the prescription which cured me here with me and I would cure you.'* ' Ah ! I wish you had ! ' cried she eagerly. ' Can't you send for it ? I would take it at once. I had no goitre till last year. I went last summer as servant to the Hotel de Paris, and I had to carry out dinners. It ivas carrying the Jieavy dinner box on my head that made the nerves of my neck swell, and I have had it ever since. The work was too hard for me, and I left as soon as the season was over.' ' And what do you do now ? ' ' I work in the fields.' ' How much can you earn a day by that ? ' 'About a franc (tenpence).' ' And you find that easier than house-work ? You would not have dinners to carry out in a private family.' ' No ; but I prefer to work in the fields.' Thus it is; there are no real good servants in the Pyrenees. Few families keep more than one, or at most two maids ; and servants do not, as with us, go out as little girls, and learn their work under experienced and efficient domestics. They go when they are grown up, and disinclined to learn, straight from the fields into domestic service. They pick up a little knowledge of cookery and house-work ; but they retain their lazy, sluggish, filthy habits, their love of independence, and their custom of loitering and gossiping in the market, or on errands. Well may the men say they are ' oisives et bavardes.' Their work is not done, but slurred through. * This prescription was given me by an uncle who was a very skilful medical man, who lived in the mountainous district of Wales, and had in his time cured many goitres by it. The chief ingredient was calcined sponge made into lozenges, with a little honey. One of these was to be placed under the tongue on going to-bed at night, and not >tcked, but allowed to dissolve as slowly as possible. The result was a perfect cure. To be effi- cacious this remedy should be taken at the commencement of the swelling. 214 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. If they spill any water on the chamber floor, or the passage, they never wipe it up. ' fa ne fait rien. fa se sechera bientot.' They empty the slops out at your window, to trickle down the roof into the gutter, or on to the balcony ; and the more anything requires cleaning, the more obstinately they refuse, with an air of ineffable disgust, to clean it. When I used to see those vulgar, coarse Pyrenean girls, standing with flashing eyes and open mouth, wondering that I should ask them to do any- thing so horrid, and contrasted them mentally with our neatly-dressed, lady-like looking maids, who do all these things as a mere matter of course, and would deem them- selves disgraced if such needful work were left undone, I used to feel out of all patience. Those hands that lately spread dung on the fields, now disdain contact with any soil. Your room is half swept and undusted. You point it out. ' fa ne fait rien.' If you insist on amendment, and com- plain, woe to you. They tell you you may be thankful they are honest they don't want to be told their work, &c. They are hard mistresses, not maids. To return to the girl I met at Aste. I asked her if she were married ? ' No ; and I will never marry.' Why?' ' Because les hommes sont mediants id, Us vont au calaret, et boivent, puis Us retournent chez eux et battent leursfemmesJ .The men on their part, say ' Lesfemmes sont mechanics id, elles sont oisives et bavardes.' I believe both parties. I have frequently met men in a state of inebriety ; and it is said the women are too often given to drink also. One of their own patois songs on the change of the coutumes dc Lavedan (or ancient laws), more than hints, that provided the ci-devant heiresses have plenty of wine, they will not mind losing their rights of BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 215 first-born.* I give the verse as an example of the patois dialect, with its translation : f ' Lon lengatye de las d Azun, ' Le langage de celles d'Azun Que'n-ey mes dous et mes segur, Est plus calrne, et plus positif, Pourbu qu'ayen bi Pourvu qu'elles ont du vin, Noun liars nad chagrin. Elles n'ont aucun chagrin. Es datz-en bere tasse Donnez-en done une tasse ; Bet safe amigous Allons, petits amis, Si n-etz amourous Si vous etes amoureux Coupe tey en amasse.' Vidons la coupe ensemble.' How would you like a Pyrenean damsel for your maid, my fair readers ? * The coutume de Lavedan was that the first-born child inherited the estate, whether male or female. This law is abrogated, and property now descends to the first-born son ; or the father, by portioning off his other, children in his life, may select as heir the child he thinks most likely to keep the property together, or whom he prefers to the others. t ' Celles d'Azun,' i.e. of the heiresses of Azun. CHAPTEK XX. THE BEAKNAIS IDIOM AND CUSTOMS AMUSEMENTS, SONGS, AND MUSIC OF THE PYEENEES.* THERE are two idioms, or separate languages, in the adjacent provinces of Beam and Bigorre. The Bigorrais accent is harsh and untunable, notwithstanding the multi- plicity of vowels, at least when spoken by the peasants ; of the other, hear what Kivares says : ' Few idioms can compare with the Bearnais in richness and harmony. The verbs are extremely numerous, and there are many for expressing the same idea by modifying it. Thus, beside the verb brusla, burn, there are cresma^ creseca, ary, arde aslama, ahouega, whose force augments successively, and most substantives can be made into verbs. From taiile, table-tauleya, to remain at table ; from ardit Hard, a farthing, arditeya, to gather a little money ; from pot-a-kiss, pontiqueya, to give kisses, &c. The innumerable synonymous substantives allow of a great variety of expressions, enabling the speaker to select the fittest, and render them strong, or soft, at will. The gender can easily be modified, and many are indifferently employed for both masculine and feminine. Thus, gourg, or gourge, a collection of water ; clot, or clotte, a ditch or grave ; arram, or arame, a branch of a tree. All substantives and adjectives have, besides, diminutives and augmentatives, which attach to the words at the will of the person using them, either agreeable or disagreeable * Most of this chapter is quoted from Kivares, from whom also most of the music and songs are taken. THE BEAKNAIS IDIOM AND CUSTOMS. 217 ideas. The diminutive is formed by adding et or ette to the end of a word, to express joy or pleasure ; in or ine, to express friendship, tenderness, or love ; on, ot, or otte, to express pity or contempt. The augmentative is formed by adding the syllables as, asse. It serves to express hatred, disdain, ridicule, or some disagreeable idea. Thus kenne, a woman; hennette, a pretty little woman, pleasant to sight; hemnine, pretty little woman, that one loves and cherishes ; hemnon, or hemnotte, poor little woman, that one pities or despises ; hemnasses, disagreeable or hated by one i.e. people even say hemnass-asse, to increase the strength of the expression.* The Bearnais are full of deep religious feeling, though they allow the clergy small influence over their minds, and like the inhabitants of the Pyrenees generally, have a most especial devotion for the Holy Virgin. Be'tharram, Heas, Sarrame, attract at certain times of the year such crowds of pilgrims, that a stranger would rather believe he was in the midst of a fair than in places which have been looked upon for ages with respect and veneration. The inevitable disorders which arise when so great a multitude congregate together, are rather a cause of scandal than of edification, and for this reason the priests somewhat dis- countenance the faithful from these pilgrimages. In re- turning home the pilgrims unite in bands, singing, as they take the homeward path, to their different villages ; while others, provided with mirlitons, play the wildest accom- paniments to these chants. ' The custom of assembling and watching together, during Advent, and especially before Christmas, has given birth to innumerable songs, many of which are composed * Much of what follows is extracted from 'Chansons et Airs populaires de Beam,' par F. Kivares, a work much prized by the French, and now out of print and difficult to obtain. It was procured for me by the kindness of the excellent and learned M. Frossard, pastor of the French Protestant Church. 218 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. of couplets alternatively in French and Bearnais.' The 'Noel,' by Andichon, is an instance of this: the angel speaks French, the pastor replies to him in patois. In translating this 'Noel,' I have been obliged wholly to abandon all attempts at rendering it in the same metre as the original, the lines being often so excessively short, that in English they would have degenerated into mere dog- grel. I have, therefore, given a paraphrase of it, adhering as closely as possible to the thoughts, but altering the rhythm entirely. These short abrupt lines, and the fre- quent and sudden change to others of ten or eleven syllables, rather remind one of the old poems of Lovelace and Withers, but often want their grace and sweetness. The thought is often indicated rather than expressed in irany; and were a literal translation attempted, it would sound utterly bald and poor. When I have given both music and words, I have adhered as closely as possible to the metre of the original. ' A people so lively and fond of pleasure as the Bear- nais, were sure to give themselves up with ardour to the amusements of the Carnival.' Nevertheless, there are few songs connected with it of any poetical merit. But Rivares gives so curious an account of a custom nearly obsolete at Pau, that I transcribe it. It still exists in full force in other parts of Beam, and also in Gascony. This is the trial and condemnation of the Carnival,* on Ash- Wednesday : ' His advent has been celebrated by songs, and cries of joy ; but, woful example of the fluctuations of popular favour, he is now exposed to the hatred of the same persons who exalted him to the skies a few days ago. He is a fallen monarch, and his reign is ended. At a fixed hour, which has been loudly announced beforehand, a crowd of masks throng into a theatre prepared the pre- vious day. The judges take their seats, the advocates are * Carnival is represented by a stuffed figure, like our Guy Fawkea. AMUSEMENTS OF THE PYRENEES. 219 at their posts. The unhappy Carnival arrives on a cart drawn by an ass, and surrounded by gendarmes, and most grotesquely dressed. He is lifted into his place the accusation is made the witnesses against him examined ; he is defended by his lawyers, but in vain. He is con- demned to an ignominious death usually to the double torture of fire and water. Some of the by-standers address him in mocking songs, others deplore his fate. In this manner he is conducted to the bridge, when, after a harangue suited to the gravity of his functions, the pre- sident of the court executes the sentence he has himself pronounced, by setting fire to the accused's clothes, and precipitating him thus flaming into the river. ' Adiii praiibe, praiibe, pratibe, Adiii praiibe Carnabal ! ' ' The mountaineers' custom of traversing the streets in a company divided into bands separated by a considerable distance from each other, and the members of each band, holding each other by the arm, is well known. The first group sing a verse, which the second repeat from the dis- tance. No words can give the picturesque effect of these chants, generally of a mournful cast which seem as if repeated by the distant mountain echoes. How often, seated on the edge of the road leading to Eaux-Chaudes, towards sunset, have I listened attentively to this sweet and touching music. The breeze of evening brought to my ear the entire couplet, and, like a faint murmur, the voice of the farthest singers. At other times the different parties seemed lost in the winding path that sank deep into the hollows of the mountain, and the most profound silence reigned in the valley. All at once they reappeared at some angle of the road, and their voices again reached me, softened and prolonged by the distance, till at last the sound ceased entirely, leaving me plunged in sweet and tender reveries.' 220 A LADY'S WALKS IX THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. This custom used to prevail at Bagneres also, and gave much pleasure to the visitors ; but the present Maire, Monsieur d'Uzer, has forbidden all singing in the streets, and thus deprived both the people, and the strangers who throng the place during the season, of a very great enjoy- ment. I often mentally quoted Shakespeare's well-known lines, when I thought of this act of petty tyranny : ' The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved by concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treason, stratagem, and spoils.' ' The Montagnards' national dance is the branle.* Youths and maidens hold each other by the hands, singing and executing diiferent evolutions at the same time, ac- companied by cries and bounds. The most nimble dancer is placed at the head of the branle, and every one imitates the proofs he gives of strength and agility as well as they can. There are, as may be imagined, innumerable branles, but they are all formed on the same model. Some consist of the same burden, repeated alternately by lads and lasses : others are rather longer. Among the first, is " Gageat ! pastoure rencountrtf a Foumpre de la rose ;" and the interminable Odyssey of Capitaine Salies,^ whom the poet takes up as he jumps out of bed (Capitaine Salies, de ban Maty se Iheba), to conduct him through such a crowd of adventures, that the legs of the young girls of Laruns, accustomed as they are to rough exercise, and the strong lungs of young men who converse with each other from the heights of opposite mountains, can hardly succeed in following them to the end. ' When a dance is to take place the fiddlers traverse the * I wonder whether the brawl danced by our ancestors and immortalized in ' The Long Story,' is derived from this ? ' The grave lord-keeper led the brawl, The seals and rnaces danced before him.' t This song of Capitan Salies relates a predatory inroad of a Capitan Salies on the lands of the Laa family. AMUSEMENTS OF THE PYRENEES. 221 village streets playing their utis. Few young men resist this clear invitation, and the yougadous (i.e. fiddlers), who set off alone, soon find themselves at the head of a numerous company, increasing every moment, which they conduct to the grand place* But the girls have not yielded to the temptation ; they dare not show so openly their passion for dancing. They will come later, and in succession. " Yougadous u saut I " Fiddlers, a spring ! The flageolet sounds "Muchichou " or " Monein" and numberless quadrilles are formed for executing a saut Basque. This characteristic- dance is borrowed from our neighbours, but has acquired such rights of citizenship in Beam, that while preserving the name, which testifies its origin, there is neither great town nor small village hamlet where it is not had in honour. It is danced exclusively by men. Their severe grave air and stiff bearing recall the military dances of the ancients. Often holding their sticks in their hands, they add gestures to the figures. People press round the best dancers, and the crowd, who are always warmly interested, applaud the nimble and ridicule those whose inexperience spoils the quadrille, or whose fatigue forces them to quit the circle. A person must have both agility and strength to execute a good saut. ' " Muchichou " has no less than eight burdens or choruses, which are twice repeated, and the figures of which, always different, follow one another like those of a ballet. I have seen a quadrille composed of a dozen vigorous young men successively reduced to three or four, then to two, * As Rivares' book was published in 1844, it is probable that many of the customs spoken of no longer exist in full force. Every year some old coulume dies out as the people become more fashionable, for fashion and hoops have invaded the mountains, and conquered, though cleanliness is still kept at bay. The priests of the present day, unlike the younger Despour- rins, disapprove both of theatres and dances, and, as respectable people in- formed me, refuse the Sacrament to those who frequent either. Nothing, however, can stay the people s inordinate passion for dancing, and they dance every Sunday in the meadows at Carnival time, and on all feast-days, holidays, and weddings. 222 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. finally to one, who, bathed in perspiration and breathless, danced on, finding in his vanity and the frenzied acclama- tions of the mob strength to execute the most brilliant sauts. ' " Jean-Petit " is rather a game than a dance. A circle is formed, in the midst of which stands a singer, armed with a long stick. The first burden is danced like a lyranle, but at the second he says " dap Ion pe," " dap Ion dit," and at these words the dancers are obliged to strike the ground in time, with foot or finger, or whatever part of the body is indicated, and rise promptly enough to execute a pirouette on the last notes of the air " Atau, danse Jean-Petit " thus dances Jean-Petit. It is clear that when a mischievous singer chooses to designate the back, for example, instead of the foot or hand, it needs singular quickness to rise in time for the final pirouette. He who is behindhand is stimulated by blows with the stick. This is an understood thing, so that no one thinks of taking offence ; besides which, the time of retaliation soon arrives. ' I,' concludes Rivares, ' have only spoken of the Bear- nais and their customs as connected with popular songs and dances, but I believe an interesting book might be written on the subject, though I am obliged to content myself with a very brief and incomplete notice of it. Another will perhaps some day do for these original man- ners and quaint usages, what I now do for our songs.' This book, which would be so desirable, remains still, so far as I know, unwritten. Ancient habits are fast dying out, and the stranger passing rapidly through the country, or even residing in it for years, but never mixing with the peasants, has no chance of becoming familiar with their customs and way of life. Pity that some man of genius like Kivares does not arise to collect together, into one pleasant volume, the ancient customs and traditions of the Pyrenees, and let us know how people amused themselves, AMUSEMENTS OF THE PYRENEES. 223 and thought and acted, in the times of Henri IV. and le bon Rene. The preface to Eivares' book is full of interesting infor- mation as to customs formerly universal in these mountains, but now nearly as obsolete as others of which, but for his brief notice, and that of a few other old and rare authors, all memory would soon be lost. As he pathetically says : ' I say it with regret, Notre Beam sen va tons les jours manners, language, songs, customs, all are melting away ; in a little while we shall be morally, as we are topogra- phically, only a department of France. One hardly finds now in a few distant villages the old customs, whose obser- vation at their weddings and funerals seemed as necessary to our fathers, as the benediction of the priest. Taut le monde devient Franciman, a rare and ridiculous exception forty years ago ! The young men have cut their long hair, the causse (knee breeches) no longer outlines their athletic limbs. The women of the plain have replaced the rich and graceful folds of the coyfe by the handkerchief of the grisette. The whole valley of Aspe has repudiated the national costume, and if it yet survives in that of Ossan it is modified every year, and will soon disappear entirely. The national songs are going out of vogue also, and are replaced by villanous French romances, whose airs and words equally mangled, inflict a double torture on the ear. ' The scope of my work being principally to make known the most remarkable of our national airs, I was much re- stricted in the choice of songs. Nevertheless, we possess a great number of very curious ones which are not set to original music, or which is of sufficient merit to be admitted into this collection. To collect these ballads would be a new and different work, more interesting perhaps than this ? inasmuch as it would give a complete idea of poetry that deserves to be known, and would produce a book that 224 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. would have no small intrinsic value. We have songs that are really popular, upon the invasion of the Moors ; others recall the battles fought under Henri IV. The first of our poets, our favourite author, him of whom we are most proud, is Despourrins. Virgil and Theocritus have not in our eyes more charms, sweetness, and passion. Nothing can be more touching than " La, haut sur las Montagues ; " or more original than " De cap a tu soy Marion" which Louis XV. delighted to hear sung by the famous Jeliotte." Des- pourris was born at Accous, in the valley of Aspe, in 1698. His ancestors were shepherds. One of them having made a fortune in Spain, bought the Abbey of Juzan on his re- turn home and was ennobled. Pierre, the father of the poet, served with some distinction and obtained the king's leave to add three swords to his arms, in memory of a triple victory over three foreign gentlemen with whom he had quarrelled. An anecdote will prove his coolness of temper. The poet, being at Eaux- Bonnes, sent his servant home one day to get his sword. The old man let the mes- senger take it and depart, but suspecting an affair of honour he followed him closely. On his arrival he heard that his son was shut up in a room with a stranger ; ran to the door, and heard the clash of arms within. He stood still, stoically awaiting the issue of the combat, and when the young Despourrins rushed out hastily, lie found his old father listening, with his sword under his arm ready to take his place had he succumbed. ' The poet had two brothers, one of whom was Cure,* the other Vicaire of Accous. Both were musicians. Every Sunday they assembled the young people of their parish in the court before their house, and from a window they played joyous branles, while the young folks danced gaily till the bell tolled for vespers, when everyone followed the good * Our terms are reversed in France the Cure is the village priest, the Vicaire his assistant. AMUSEMENTS OF THE PYRENEES. 225 pastors to church. In 1746, Despourrins inherited property from the house of Miramon, and quitted Beam to establish himself in the valley of Argeles, where his new domains were situated. His family subsists there still.' Rivares continues ' We possess a great number of airs far from remarkable in themselves, but which borrow in- terest from the curious customs which have consecrated them. The public will probably be glad to have a few details concerning these customs, whose antiquity is so great that we are quite ignorant how they originated, or what their meaning may be. I begin by the marriages.* ' On the morning of the- day designated for the wedding, the guests arrive on horseback, and are saluted on their entrance by firing off pistols. Each individual brings a present, as fowls, fruits, wine. A table is spread, around which the men only sit down. When the time draws near for conducting the bride to the altar, she enters and places herself in the middle of the room, leaning her arms upon the back of a chair. Everyone then advances, kisses her cheek, and places an offering in a plate placed upon the chair before her. The whole party then mount on horse- back, the bride, behind one of her relations, heading the ca- valcade. This is the moment when they chant the song : " Sourtit, sourtit, lous ahumats."t and each improvises couplets to the air, which are re- peated in chorus. It is, in fact, a sort of framework for criticism or praise, and the village humour usually exer- cises itself at the expense of those whom the train happen to meet on their road from time to time. The young men shout the curious cry known under the name of hilhet, and which, like an Indian war-cry, cannot be rendered in writing. Pistol-shot succeeds pistol-shot discharges, hil- * The wedding, funeral, and other customs of Beam, differ from those ot Bigorre, as will be seen later, t Go out, go out the smokers, i.e. of tobacco. Q 226 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. hets, and noise, being in proportion to the wealth and position of the bride and bridegroom. But suddenly the leader of the cavalcade stops short at a turn in the road. A long red sash* has been placed across it, and four men armed with guns stand menacingly at either end. On one side is a table surrounded by numerous lads. This is la segue (la ronue), (the hedge), and at this sight everyone prepares to pay the customary toll, and pieces of money rain upon the table. Then the tollkeepers offer nosegays, the road is strewn with fresh herbs and branches, and the guardians of la segue fire off their guns, and join the wed- ding party. Woe to him who has been remarked as par- simonious in his offering; he is followed to the church- doors by hootings and insulting couplets, while the air resounds with improvised verses in honour of those who have proved their generosity. They reach the church at last, when the bridegroom and his party have already arrived, and during the ceremony flutes and tambourines incessantly play the national airs. On coming out of church the two wedding parties separate, the bride being reconducted to her paternal home where dinner has been prepared. After the repast is over, two of the principal guests are deputed to the husband's father to inquire if it will -be convenient to him to receive his daughter-in-law. During this time, the young men post themselves on the road armed with large bottles, and^/brce, rather than invite, all who pass to drink with them to the healths of the new married couple. 'But here come the ambassadors with a favourable answer, and the bride must bid a last farewell to her mother, to all recollections of childhood, and all the plea- sant and dear habits of the young girl. ... It seems as if the guests sought to drown her grief by noisy exclamations, * The Pyrenean men wear a red or green worsted sash wound round the waist, instead of braces. AMUSEMENTS OP THE PYRENEES. 227 songs, hilhets, and pistol-shots, " que parten coum la brum.e" as, accompanied by her father and friends, she departs for the home of her husband. On arriving they find the doors carefully closed. Nobody to be seen outside, not a sound to be heard within. They knock loud and long. At last the master of the house opens the door, and asks ' " What do you want ? " ' " We bring you," replies the father of the bride, " a maiden who is to become the mistress of your house." 'Permission to enter is then formally refused fresh requests for admittance are made by the party without and at last terms of compromise are agreed upon ; the conditions being mutually debated. The bride's friends will give poultry, wine, a leg of mutton, and the maiden's godfather will bestow a bridal gift. When these matters are arranged, the doors open, and the cortege admitted into the house, find the husband's friends who invite them to sit down around a perfectly bare table. Then begins a dialogue, chanted between the two wedding-parties the bridegroom's and that of the bride. ' The new-comers defend themselves as well as they can, and this strife of improvised couplets is often both witty and full of good sense. Meanwhile the godfather's present has been placed upon the table. It is a pyramid of nine loaves of bread surmounted by a cheese, into which is stuck a tree-branch, bearing nine apples. Then everyone sings "Aii nouste poume" &c. ; and at the end of each verse, the godfather gravely takes an apple from the bough, and lays it on the table ; when he has plucked the ninth apple, the time has come for leaving the maiden in her new home. The bride and groom are conducted with great ceremony to the nuptial chamber, and seated in two chairs at the foot of the bed. The company keep a profound silence, and the father of the bride retires with his friends. No more songs, no more hilhets sadness shadows every 228 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. face they have left there a well-beloved maiden, whose future is uncertain. 'But, to make amends, what tumultuous joy what quips and pranks in the house of the bridegroom ! Restraint is banished, and gaiety too often degenerates into licence, The guests dance all night, and the bridegroom is often obliged to purchase a little repose ; but do what he will, he cannot avoid " la roste" and its accompaniment of quizzing. In the middle of the night, there is a knocking at his door to refuse to open would be useless, as custom gives the right of breaking it open upon the least hesitation or delay. Four young men carry in an arm-chair, upon which a sort of Guy is seated, dressed in white. His apron and white cotton nightcap denote that he is a cook, who comes to oifer the new married couple a dish of his cooking ; and he gravely carries upon his knees a huge jug of highly-spiced wine, in which swim bits of toasted bread (rostes), to both of which the bride and bridegroom are forced to do honour. ' Funerals offer one remarkable peculiarity. No sooner : has the sick man breathed his last, than his body is ex- tended at length upon the floor of the chamber, and sur- rounded by a crowd of women, who pray and watch it, giving vent at intervals to plaintive cries and frightful groans : the wife of the deceased, and his nearest relatives, improvising chants, in which his virtues are celebrated. These testimonies of grief and affection follow the dead to his last home ; and the moment when earth is first thrown upon the beloved remains, is marked by an explosion of cries and lamentations. Nevertheless, Taurost (as this chant is called) often contains something other than praises, and is rather a judgment than a funeral oration ; and the relatives and the clergy have often been scanda- lized by improvisations, more calculated to lower the cha- racter of the deceased, or that of the survivors, than to excite regrets for the departed. L'aiirost, which I repro- AMUSEMENTS OF THE PYRENEES. 229 duce, is an example of this kind. It has been rigorously transcribed from an improvisation of " Marie," formerly sur- named " la blague, la blanche" on account of her beauty, the most celebrated chanter of aurosts in the valley of Aspe. Her great age, the vivacity of her imagination, her charac- ter exalted by the habit of frequenting sorrowful scenes, and the high idea she attaches to the performance of her functions all resemble those of the Pythoness of old.' Mr. Maxwell Lyte, of Bagneres, the well-known photo- grapher, told me of another curious funeral custom which he witnessed in one district, I think, at St. Gaudens. He was breakfasting with a friend at the small inn there, when their attention was attracted by a crowd of people in the street. Going to the window to ascertain why it had col- lected, they saw, what to them seemed a hideous and unnatural sight : the crowd were following the corpse of an ugly, withered old woman of seventy, who was dressed out like a young girl for her first ball, and borne on an open bier to her grave. On her grey hair was a wreath of flowers ; her neck and arms were bare, and she was decked out in satin, and tinsel, and finery, making her poor, faded, shrivelled features look all the more repulsive and hideous. It is the coutume of the place that when a woman dies unmarried, she shall be borne in full dress upon an open bier to the grave. ' Take care, Miss Eyre,' added Mr. Lyte, mischievously, ' that you don't die at St. Gaudens ! ' It is difficult, if not impossible, to break through one of these customs without exciting a popular tumult. ' C'est la coutume du pays' is to the Pyrenean an irre- fragable argument for the continuance of any time-honoured folly or inconvenience whatsover. Before I visited the Pyrenees, an opera used to seem to me ' an excellent piece of fooling.' The music and the acting were beautiful in 230 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. themselves, but the idea that anyone ever scolded, made love, died, or ' went mad to soft music,' seemed to me pre- posterous. It does not seem so to me now. The Pyrenean peasant's life is an idyll, beginning and ending with song. Are they merry, they sing ; are they melancholy, they comfort themselves with music ; does anyone offend them, they vent their indignation by holding him up to ridicule in a charivari song, of which the air as well the words are often improvised, and which will hand the memory of the culprit down to posterity. I met a little boy once in one of my walks, who was piping most melodiously he stopped bashfully as I came up but a little praise and some sous soon made him recommence. * What are you singing ? ' said I. ' It has no name it is a charivari the boys made on a man in our village.' The peasants sing as they go and return from their pil- grimages ; they sing as they return in bands after husking the maize at some neighbouring farm ; they sing at wed- dings and at funerals, and when the ' tir au sort,' the drawing lots for the conscription took place, the poor young lads who drew the evil card, relieved their sadness by song. It was touching to see them go arm-in-arm along the streets of Bagneres, with the fatal card stuck in their hats, singing plaintive farewells to the girl they loved, to their mountain-home, and their families ; and then, with eyes made bright by unshed tears, bursting out into some spirit- stirring chanson de guerre about la patrie and honour. One honoured the poor young fellows for the manliness and courage which were evidently so difficult at that trying moment, and my eyes were wet many times as I heard the refrain, ' Nous partirons demain.' CHAPTER XXI. BAGNERES A WALK UP THE TOULOUSE ROAD. I WENT through the meadows at the back of Monsieur Lavalette's pretty house, La Cote, to-day. I wish I was rich enough to buy that estate, which, with the house, is to be sold for about two thousand pounds, and live upon the produce of my farm and garden, and rear ducks and chickens, sheep and calves. Alas! I have missed my true vocation, not by my own fault, but my aunt's. I was cut out to be a farmer's wife, to skim cream, see to the butter-making, make jams, currant wine, and seed- cakes, and doctor all the old women in the parish. Woe is me ! I am the square woman in the round hole, and my antjles are always sore from rubbing against its sides. M. Lavelette's house is fitted up inside with English comforts, for his brother, who built it, married an English wife ; and when he took me over it one day, I longed for means to purchase it more than ever. The windows com- mand one of the finest views about Bagneres. If I had it, I should set up a school for the rough children in the Rue de Toulouse, and try to teach them a little English cleanliness and decency. There is a very pretty walk behind it, past several other farms, which brings one out across the railway line to the village of Pouzac. As I walked past an old quarry, I was startled by an exquisite small blue flower growing among the brown withered grass. I gathered it, and found it to be the gentianella verna, which I had never seen before. It is not above two or three inches high, scarcely as tall 232 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. as thyme ; and its glossy, oval-pointed, green leaves are about the same size. The flowers are five-lobed, and of the deepest blue, relieved by a little white eye at the base ; it grows rather plentifully on La Cote, and looks like small blue stars scattered among the grass, which it seldom overtops. Farther on, near the next farm, I found sweet-scented white and purple violets, and a large bed of blue periwinkles. The beautiful little gentian is too short stemmed to put in water ; but it makes lovely nosegays, if patches of it are carefully cut out of the turf, and placed in a terrine, or common brown saucer or plate, and the earth hidden by moss, which has the property of keep- ing water sweet. In this waj, delicate flowers may be kept for a week or two, fresh blossoms opening as the first ones wither and die. From these fields, there are such lovely views of the town of Bagneres, and the snowy mountain peaks above. I went there one day with a lady, whose rich endowments I often envied, for she excelled as an artist, a singer, and a musician, besides being a very good linguist, and very quiet and unassuming withal, as all really clever people are, to sketch them, that is to say, she sketched, while I sought for flowers. I don't know how I shall ever bring myself to leave Bagneres. I like the place better every day, and I have met with so much kindness from the French Protestant pastor, M. Frossard, and his sister, and the English families resident here, that Bagneres seems more of a home to me than any place I ever lived in, since I was forced to give up my dear little four-roomed cottage at Hampstead. I was sitting writing one day, when the singing, sketch- ing lady came to ask me if I would join her and two other ladies, and our English clergyman, in a drive to Escala- BAGNKRES DE BIGORRE. 233 dieu. I was only too happy ; and we set out. A merry party we were, though one poor lady was clearly in the last stage of consumption ; but her sweet temper, and bright, cheerful, hopeful character, perhaps also the nature of her disease, prevented her feeling low or anxious about herself. I had walked nearly to Escaladieu before, and should have reached it but for that Keeper. Doubtless the mountain air had made him hungry, and seeing some fowls in a field of maize, he rushed after them, and caught one. He seems to have got it into his dog's noddle, that fowls in a farm yard are human property, whom it would be sinful to touch ; but fowls in a maize field are ferce naturae, expressly for him, Keeper, to eat, and he runs after them in the most hardened manner, never exhibiting the smallest symptoms of penitence when he is punished for doing so. On this occasion, he caught a fine black Spanish fowl, with a scarlet comb, that reminded me of my dear Hampstead poultry. Out rushed a peasant with a- gun whether loaded or not I know not vowing he would ' shoot that dog for killing his fowl.' * No ; don't,' said I, ' for he's mine, and I'll pay you for the fowl.' He still swore and threatened, and seemed ready to shoot me as well as Keeper ; however, at last I got him to listen, and comprehend that his fowl would be well paid for, as was only just. But,' said I, ' I will only pay you on one condition that you give the dog a good beating, which will make him remember that he is not to chase fowls again ;' to which the peasant agreed. But now came a fresh difficulty. Keeper knew well enough he would be punished, and kept at a respectful distance, from which neither calling nor coaxing could induce him to swerve. At last I went into the cottage, and sat down as if going to stay, cruelly practising upon his affections, to his un- doing. When he saw I did not come out again, he came to seek me, and I laid hold of him instantly. * Can you 234 A -LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. give me a cord ? ' said I. The peasant looked for one * H r?y en avait pas' ' Oh, yes ! ' said he, correcting him- self; 'there was a piece tied to the fryingpan.' But where was the fryingpan, do you think ? Why, under the bed. He pulled it out there was no string. ' Ah ! ' said he ; ' Ce nest pas celui-ci c'est I'autre.' L'autre was in the bed. There were two beds both unmade in this hovel, which I should think had never been swept, far less washed, since it was built. The floor was inches thick with dust, and strewn with boots and shoes, and pots and pans, and sticks for firewood, and cobs of Indian wheat not yet tied together and hung up, and the fowls ran in and out among all, and sat upon the beds or perched upon the tables, and did as they liked it was Liberty Hall. Well, the fryingpan string was a mere packthread. So mine host went up to the grenier and came down with a rope. But like all bullies he was a great coward, and clearly afraid to touch the dog. So / had to tie the rope round poor Keeper's neck, and then / had to make him fast to the shafts of a cart which stood in the yard, and then the peasant took a switch and began to belabour him, while I, armed with another, stood by. Poor Keeper sprang howl- ing to me for protection. Alas ! I only gave him a blow with my switch. Then he grew furious, he sprang at the peasant and certainly would have bitten him if he could have reached him. I stayed till he had had, for the first time in his life, a real good flogging, and then I untied him from the shaft and paid the man three francs for his fowl. I had scarcely done so, before another peasant came with a fowl in his hand. He asked the first what I had paid for the black fowl, and then demanded as much for his, which he said Keeper had chased also. ' That is true,' said I, ' he did chase it, but he did not catch it, because we came in here.' BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 235 ' yes ! he had caught it here was the place where the feathers were torn out.' I looked and saw very clearly that the poor fowl's fea- thers had been pulled out to make it look as if it had been injured, and I knew very well that though Keeper had run after it while I was parleying with the owner of the black hen, I had run after him and prevented him from following up the chase, the fowl moreover flying into a tree. ' I shan't pay you for feathers you have pulled out of your fowl yourself,' said I ; 'I can swear my dog never touched your fowls, they flew away into the trees, and I called him off; I was quite willing to pay Monsieur for his fowl, because it was really injured.' ' Killed ! Killed ! ' cried the first peasant, pathetically, * my best fowl ! such a layer ! I would not have sold it for ten francs ! (I knew very well he would have been glad to sell it for two} it layed me an egg every day, it was the best fowl I had you ought to give me more.' ' Can't,' said I ; and indeed I think you are a gainer by my dog's misbehaviour. I have kept fowls, and that hen is an old one. She is a good deal torn, poor thing, but she has no bones broken, and it's my belief, indeed I am sure of it, that she will live, if you take care of her for a day or two, and so you will have both the fowl and three francs.' The peasant insisted upon it he should be obliged to kill her she could not live, and she was worth more ; but I saw he did not think so, and was in reality well content with his bargain, and as they saw I was inflexible, and that no more could be got out of me, the owner of the fowl that was injured, and the owner of the fowl that was not injured, let me depart. As for the convict he was led home with a rope round his neck, and every time we passed a fowl I gave him a slight tap and reproached him with his sin ' you will eat foivls, will you ? ' Upon which the hardened 236 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. sinner put his tail down between his legs and assumed a penitent air for a moment or two, but five minutes after- wards it was insolently curled up as high as it could curl and he was wagging it about and dancing up to me as if we were on the best of terms with each other. Thus it was that I never reached Escaladieu. The drive between Bagneres and Escaladieu is renowned for its beauty. It has everything scenery can have to make it lovely, except a lake. Wood and meadow, and the tranquil river winding in silvery coils through all ; and be- hind, and at one side, the long, long range of the Pyrenees, the lower mountains green with spring the high peaks as they generally are even in summer, white with snow, and in front on a high monticule frowns the grim old ruin of Mauvezin, as it is pronounced, from mal or mauvais voisin, bad neighbour, as doubtless the maurauding barons who once owned it, were to all the valleys around. Old annals tell that more than one of the potent barons of ' the good old times' commanded that every peasant who did not pull off his cap as a sign of homage, in passing the Seig- neurial Castle, should receive a blow from a sword. The Pyrenean peasants were always a fearless, independent race, and often refused the salute, which led to cruel out- rages on them, often ending in death. We had a very pleasant drive, and my companions amused themselves by imagining how they should figure in my journal pretending modesty, and hoping I would only put them in as Mrs. N h, Miss G s, and Mr. B b r, and Mrs. P r s, and I promised, laughing, not to come nearer to the names than this, and, as you see, have kept my word. By dint of a franc's persuasion the driver took us up the steep hill to Mauvezin, where we got out and walked up to the foot of the castle, and sat down and looked at the view, BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 237 stretching over a fertile expanse, gay with the tender green of the sprouting wheat, relieved here and there by the cerulean blue of the flax fields now in full bloom, the river winding between woods and meadows, and the mountain frame that walled all in ; and Miss G s and Mrs. N h sang duets very sweetly, but as for Mr. B b r, by some strange concatenation of ideas, best known to himself, he chose that lovely spot to tell us how butchers killed calves, when with one consent we clapped our hands to our ears and refused to listen. It seemed a strange idea, especially for a gentle, refined, intellectual man but I think now I can follow his thought it was how ill such intense beauty as that of the scene before us, accorded with all the suffer- ing there is on earth, even for the animal creation. ' All things groaning together,' as he quoted from St. Paul, but we were too merry to be moralized to even by our clergy- man, and would not allow him ' to improve the occasion,' by an impromptu sermon. I say nothing of the Castle of Mauvezin, because there is nothing to see in it. It is a mere shell, with no archi- tectural beauty whatsoever. CHAPTER XXII. BAGNERES ASCENT OF THE MONNE. I HAVE just returned from such a pleasant excursion with Lady Garnwath and her daughter, Miss Sharp, Mrs. and the Miss Claytons and Miss Bradstreet, to the top of the Monnd. Two or three of the party walked; Lady Carnwath had engaged donkeys for the more delicate of the party, of whom I was one. We had a most lovely day, the sun shining down into every hollow among the hills, and giving to every tree and bush, and crag, that peculiar aerial clearness and delicacy of colouring, which pen cannot describe, and which Turner's pictures so well render. How can I paint the scene with my poor pale colourless words, as we wound slowly up the mountain, every turn showing us a lovelier view than the last. In about an hour and a half we reached the top, and the whole valley of Bigorre, with all the adjacent mountains, above which the Pic du Midi de Bigorre towered pre- eminent, lay spread before us like a map. The top of the Monne is a narrow level platform thickly covered with heath and short scrub. We got off our donkeys, turned them loose to browze under the care of Marie, our guide, and then walked the whole length of the terrace, admiring the view ; after which we sat down to enjoy a good luncheon. We had filled a bottle with pure water from a spring half way up, which Marie the guide pointed out, and we had flasks of wine with us. It is curious how these springs of delicious water gush out of the hard rock so high up. There are several springs on the Bedat as well as on BAGNKBES DE B1GOBRE. 239 the Monne, and probably upon most mountains. After luncheon we all began to search for flowers. The rhodo- dendrons were not yet in bloom, but we found the globu- laria nudicaulis,* a pale blue flower, somewhat resembling a scabious, but with a much shorter stem, without leaves on it quantities of daffodils and the large gentianella, with its deep azure cups of lapis lazuli blue, a pale yellow wallflower,t the growth of whose flowers, and their size, resemble the common white alyssum, the biscatella, and the dwarf arbutus. And again I remarked the beautiful contrast of the yellow daffodils and the mountain wall- flower, with the rich deep blue of the gentianella. After our return home I went to drink tea with Mrs Alexander, ' the most beautiful hymn-writer of the day,' as she is justly called in the preface to the ' Lyra Anglicana.' One volume of her ' Hymns for Children ' has gone through thirty-two editions, the other two volumes which contain her finest poems, and among them ' The burial of Moses, a poem worthy to rank with ' Hohenlinden,' and ' Ye Mariners of England,' are not so well known. I have often observed that mediocrity is more widely appreciated, and more easily obtains success and fame than true genius. And the cause is obvious. The greater part of the world have merely average abilities, and cannot of themselves recognize the beautiful and the time ; they require to have it pointed out to them again and again by critics, till at last the merit of the work becomes a literary canon, which it would be crass ignorance to dissent from. It took nearly thirty years to establish the fame of Shelley and Words- worth as poets, but Martin Tupper succeeded in making a name at once. Everybody could understand him. A * Gloibulttria nudicautig, Philippe. t Erisimum Ochrolemum, Philippe. The flower-stem, and flowers grow exactly like those of the white alyssum, and are of a lovely chrome yellow or sulphur colour. The Biscatella, like a miniature flowered Erisimium, but much taller in growth. 240 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. century hence, I suspect Wordsworth and Shelley will be read more than ever, and no one will know the name of Martin Tupper. And so it happens that Mrs. Alexander's highest work, the * Poems from subjects in the Old Testa- ment,' is less known than her ' Hymns for Children.' Where can there be more exquisite harp-strains than these from ' The Burial of Moses ' ? ' That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth ; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth Noitelessly as the daylight Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun ; Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves ; ; So without sound of music Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown, The great procession swept.'* What can be more truthfully tender and motherlike than these from ' The Warning Angel ' ? ' Cometh the Angel of the Lord full often And standeth by our homes, Not in his visible presence bright, Passing from Gilgal's paling height, With word and power, and arm of might, Yet evermore he cornea. ' Perchance he takes death by the hand and standeth Low knocking at our door We miss one little lambkin's bleat, The gabbling voice so wild and sweet, The tottering of uneven feet, Along the nursery floor. * The italics are mine. BAGNEBES DK BIGOBBE. 241 ' Perchance he cornea with sickness in his quiver And stirreth all the deeps Of our whole inward life, and tells Where in our bosom's secret cells, In its green grove some idol dwells Some sin unheeded sleeps.' But I shall never have done if I go on picking out for you the beautiful verses that haunt ray memory, and that I catch myself repeating unawares as I sit alone on some hill-side overlooking a world of mountains, or lazily re- posing after a long scramble beside some clear bubbling fountain or tiny streamlet, with Keeper at my feet, and my fingers curling his velvet ears. It is good to go alone into the mountains, and hold there communion with God, but it is better still when one has the privilege of communion with His highest, noblest work a far more sublime and magnificent thing than moun- tain, or lake, or sea when one meets those angels in mortal garb to whom God has given great powers which they use for His glory and the good of the world. People have such a strange, wild idea that all authors are proud, and cynical, and all authoresses conceited and unfeminine. I only know that among all my acquaintance the most gifted with intellectual power are the most ten- der, indulgent, lovable, and natural ; the most truthful, and the readiest to help the unfortunate. It was a great delight to me to know Mr. and Mrs. Alexander, and to see them at home in their family, and one listened with willing attention to Mr. Alexander's elo- quent sermons, because one knew his life to be a practical comment on his doctrines. I went with Mrs. Alexander this evening to the church of the Carmelite friars, where there was a grand ceremony. The church (which as well as the monastery adjoining is newly erected) is a very handsome building, and was brilliantly lighted up, but I do not admire the tawdry 242 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. decorations of blue and white chains, cut out of silver paper and suspended from the ceiling in front of the altar, nor all the bouquets of tawdry artificial flowers. The ceremony began by a mass, and chanting ; then the friars all came out one after the other, looking very pic- turesque in their monkish costume, which consists of a close gown of brown serge, coming down to their bare sandaled feet, and a hood and tippet of very white cloth over their shoulders. They wear this dress summer and winter, and both legs and feet are always bare, but I have seen them occasionally wearing hats, though I believe it is against the rule. The crown and the lower part of the head where it joins the nape of the neck, is shaven quite clear by the Carmelite monks, leaving a fringe of hair about half a hand's breadth in width all round the head, which looks at a distance like a turban, and the whole costume is very striking and becoming. The KomaD Catholics always have an eye to effect. Each monk bore a large lighted taper in his hand, and they placed themselves in two parallel lines in the middle aisle, in such a way that one on the right holding his taper in his right hand, the one facing him held his in the left, so that they resembled living chandeliers. One of them then ascended a sort of temporary pulpit placed in the aisle for the occasion, and chanted a service in Latin, to which the monks responded, bowing their heads till they almost touched the ground. There was something solemn and affecting in the ceremony when, at its close, each silently put out his light, and they all again denied one after the other through the communion rails to their cloister, and were seen no more. Not understanding Latin I could not follow the service, but the putting out of the tapers one after the other seemed to me to be strangely significative of human life. Is not that also a long and often a gloomy procession, when the light of one torch-bearer BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 243 after another is put out ? A friend had accompanied us instead of Mr. Alexander, who stayed behind to prepare his Sunday's sermon, and as we stood behind the Cannes he pointed out to us the extreme repulsiveness of most of their faces. Most of them had a very bad expression, they were men from whom one would instinctively recoil. Mr. had just returned from a tour in Spain and Portugal. He told us that in those Ultra-Catholic countries, not a monastery or nunnery remains. The brethren and the sisterhoods have been all expelled on account of the ex- treme dissoluteness of their lives. * What the sisters of charity, too? ' exclaimed I. ' Yes,' he said ; ' they were found to do more harm than any other community from the mischief they made iu families by their gossiping and prying into private concerns.' One only of the Cannes was a dark-eyed, melancholy- looking, but interesting and almost handsome man. I wondered whether he was Monsieur de Cayhuzac. This gentleman was a member of one of the first families oi' Tarbes. A disappointment in love led him to assume the monastic habit, and his magnificent voice used to draw great crowds to the Carmelite church. On one occasion the lady he had loved came to hear him chant, and on recognizing his voice, fainted away. It was said in Bag- neres that the affection of the young people had been mutual ; but that though M. de Cayhuzac was very rich, the lady's father preferred a still wealthier suitor, to whom he compelled his daughter to give her hand. I don't know whether monks flirt, but I heard that Monsieur de Cay- huzac was very popular among the French ladies, and that they were for ever calling at the convent-door with rolls of music for him, or asking him for music to copy. The rule of the Carmes is very severe. They eat no meat and drink no wine all the year round. They sleep 244 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. on an iron bedstead without mattress, having merely a little straw on it, over which is one blanket, and they have one other as a covering. Their rooms are the smallest possible cells, with tiny little windows not larger than a common-sized sheet of writing paper when un- folded, and just hold a bed, a chair, and a table. They have no fireplace ; nor do the Cannes, I was told, light fires in their refectories or parlours, but there is a fire in one apartment, to which all the brethren are admitted in turn, to warm themselves once a day. It is also said that they scourge themselves with a heavy whip every Friday. When, however, one spoke to any of the townspeople or the peasants about the severe rule of the Carmes, the in- variable reply was ' Us out assez de bon vin dans leurs caves tenez. J'ai vu avec mes propres yeux de gros tonneaux de bon vin qui venaient de Bordeaux, et qu'on faisnit entrer chez eux.' One of the Carmes was a music-master a man, it is said, of infidel opinions and licentious life ' un homme a bonnes fortunes.' The story goes that as he was one day playing on the organ in a Catholic church where he was organist, the Virgin Mary appeared to him in a vision, upon which he fell senseless to the ground, where he was afterwards found lying like one dead. When he came to himself, his whole character was supernatural ly changed. He entered a Carmelite monastery, and devoted all the wealth he had acquired to building the church and monastery at Bagneres. There is a Carmelite nunnery in the same street as the monastery, with a chapel of its own. The abbess died while I was at Bagneres, and I went with a friend to see her lying in state. W T e had to sit for, I should think, three hours, during which the Carmelite brothers were saying masses for her soul, and every now and then going up to a side grating of iron, on one side of the altar, which BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 245 separated the nunnery from the chapel, behind which the body lay, and asperging it through the rails with a long brush dipped in holy water. At last the ceremonies ended ; the crowd left the chapel, and we entered the nunnery, and asked if we might see the dead abbess. The portress was very civil to us, and having obtained the sister's per- mission, took us back into the chapel and inside the com- munion rails up to the side- grating, through which we saw the body of the late abbess stretched upon a bier, with her feet towards the altar. She was so muffled up we could not see whether she wore the dress of the order or not. On her head was a wreath of artificial roses ; and tawdry artificial orange blossoms, such as one sees on bride-cakes in confectioners' shops at home, were strewn over the white satin quilt that covered her body. Her hands seemed to be folded, as if in prayer, and on her breast was a little gilt ball surmounted by a cross. She was seventy-two or three, I was told, but did not look near so old. Probably her face was rouged, for the cheeks were red. Being a cloistered nun, even her dead body could not be removed beyond the grate until it was carried to the grave. I saw the funeral procession go past the windows of my lodging to the cemetery next morning. After the bier, over which was a black velvet pall, edged with white, came all the Carmelite monks, with lighted tapers in their hands, and a vast concourse of the devout Bagnerais followed behind, attended, of course, by all the idlers and children. One of the Carmelite nuns is said to be very beautiful. Her family were greatly averse to her entering a convent, but nothing could dissuade her. I was told, that for two days before she was professed she sat full-dressed at the grating, talking to anyone who liked to visit her, and that some were bold enough to try and dissuade her from the step she was taking, but failed in the attempt After 246 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. profession, a nun is dead to the world, and sees no one except the members of her own family, and that at rare intervals, and by permission. While I was at Bagneres, one of the sisters had the toothache, and it was necessary for a faculty to be sent for to Kome, giving her a dispensation to see a dentist or surgeon, and have her tooth taken out ! It seems to me that these sisters take a very mistaken view of duty. One of them was an only daughter, rich, young, and beautiful ; her mother's death grieved her so deeply, that she took a distaste to the world, and retired into the Carmelite nun- nery, leaving her poor paralyzed father to the care of servants ! No nun was professed while I was at Bagneres, but I saw a Carmelite monk take the vows. The novice sat on a high chair at one side of the altar beside the prior or abbot and two other monks, and the rest of the brethren sat on chairs within the communion rails, with their backs to the assistants. One of the brethren preached the profession sermon, in which he dwelt! upon the difference between the precept or law which was for all, and the counsel or advice meant for the few, who could receive it, by the Bible. He quoted Christ's words, and proved, to his own satisfaction at least, that according to them, celibacy was a higher state than marriage. After the sermon, the postulant was asked whether he would observe 'the three vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience all his life,' and kneeling before the abbot, he placed his hands in those of his superior, and in an inaudi- ble voice took the vows. He then prostrated himself, the shroud was thrown over him, and a hymn was sung ; after which the shroud was taken off, and he again knelt before the superior, who put a wreath of white roses on his shaven head. The wreath was too large, and there was something droll in seeing the prior take it off, and bend in the wires BAGNEBES DE BIGORBE. 247 to narrow it ; after which, he replaced it on the head of the new monk and kissed him on each cheek. The two other principal members of the brotherhood, as I supposed them to be, by their sitting apart from the rest, with the prior and the novice, did the same, and then, still wearing his crown, he went to the row of monks by the alter rails, knelt down before each in turn, and received from them on each side his face the kiss of brotherhood. This terminated the ceremony. The side door by the altar opened, and the new monk followed the others into the cloister. The Carmelite monks are not so strictly cloistered as the nuns of the order. No woman not even a mother or sister is ad- mitted within the walls ; but the brethren are allowed to pay visits at stated times, and to hold intercourse even with the interdicted sex. They usually go out two toge- ther. I often saw two of them pass under the trees of the Coustos to the opposite house where the lawyer of the con- vent lived, from my window, while at M. 's, and I have more than once met a single Carmelite brother in travelling ; on certain days also they take long coun- try excursions, and once or twice I saw two or three of them with large wide-awake hats on, promenading on Mont Olivet. As no woman is allowed within the 'Monastere des Cannes,' so no man is allowed to enter the ' Convent des Carmelites ; ' but, of course, accidents will happen, and re- pairs are required in nunneries as in other houses. I was much amused by a story my mantua-maker told me : her cousin, a carpenter, was sent for to do some repairs in the convent, and the prioress came to speak to him about them, accompanied by the young and beautiful nun I spoke of before, who was the youngest sister in the convent and not yet twenty. The rule is, that when absolutely obliged to speak to a man, the sisters should wear their long black 248 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. veil down, so as to hide their faces, and it was strictly observed on this occasion only the young sister's veil blew aside by accident several times, and my cousin said, continued my informant, ' qu'elle etait sijolie si jolie que c*ftait un plaisir de la voir.' I dare say the sight of a masculine visage was a treat to the poor nun also, although he was but a poor carpenter. CHAPTER XXIII. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE A WALK TO LA BASSERE. I HAVE just been such a lovely walk with Miss Le G and Miss C . We went past Mr. Geruzet's chalet, towards La Bassere, turning up a lane by the water-mill, instead of going up the hill quite to La Bassere. Almost as soon as one rounds the shoulder of Mont Olivet, the rare flowers began to show themselves. The hedges are full of white, blue, and pink hepaticas, Jerusalem cowslips (pulmonaria offidnalis), the chocolate-coloured (geranium- phoeum) pennywort (hydrocotyle vulgaris), large celandine (chelidoninm majus), and the common, but beautiful, white stars of the stellaria. In a ditch on one side of the road, I found a variety of the common arum, with larger leaves than usual, prettily streaked, and variegated with straw colour. Soon after passing the mill, we gathered quantities of a greyish-blue, scentless hyacinth, often cultivated in old English gardens, the scilla, lillo-hyacinthus. We passed up a wild, picturesque mountain gorge, with a clear stream brawling beside the pathway, and taking this streamlet for our guide, followed it till it lost itself in the meadows, and we all agreed we had never had a prettier walk. The sloping bank on the left-hand side was fre- quently covered with bushes of wild box, whose dark, glossy green leaves contrasted beautifully with the pure white stars of the hepaticas, which covered the ground with their lovely blossoms. They are a fairy-looking flower thus seen growing not in a trim flower garden out of 250 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. black mould but scattered thick as spring buttercups among the- green grass. The little stream was thickly fringed with alder and ash trees, and at their foot, almost in the water, often grew large cushions more than a quarter of a yard across, of a curious parasite flower, the Clan- destina rectifolia, which grows on the decayed roots of trees. It is usually a dark brownish purple, with stamens of the same colour, but some few were pale lilac ; and it has no leaf or stem. The flowers, which a good deal resemble a salvia in shape (only that the hood is rather more pro- longed), grow out of a lengthened white calyx, and so close together, that a pin can scarcely be thrust between them. We cut up large round patches of it, and carried them carefully home, planting them in terrines, surrounded by moss, and I edged mine with another most lovely flower that I saw here for the first time the yellow wood anemone. It grows like the white one, springing from the centre of a leaf, but the leaf is a brighter, tenderer green. Under the hedges, too, we found the delicate, fragile Euphorbia, Thalictra Eanunculoides. Its tender green leaf is not un- like that of the pretty pink Spectabilis, which has been so favourite an ornament in our drawing-rooms of late years, and the transparent white flower also somewhat resembles it at a distance, though both are infinitely smaller, the whole plant being scarce a foot high. It is somewhere among the woods above the mill in this lane, and on Lleris, that the beautiful Dentaria digitata grows. I did not succeed in finding the plant myself, but Lady Carnwath kindly gave me a specimen of it. It is a shrubby, handsome plant, whose stems grow about two or three feet high, with palmated leaves, a good deal re- sembling those of the American creeper, and of a dark lustrous green, that makes them look almost artificial. The flower, rising from among the leaves, is like honesty, BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 251 lilac coloured and cruciform. It is well adapted for the garden, in which it is frequently cultivated by the Bigorrais. I do not know whether it would bear the English climate. As I walk through the woods and fields here, I cannot help thinking that most of our old-fashioned garden flowers have probably been brought to England from the Pyrenees during the wars between our early Plantaganet kings and the French. Perhaps some stately dame, or some fair damsel, who had admired the Hepatica in the green lanes and woods of Bigorre, took seeds of it back with her when she returned to her Island home the gentianella, the Jerusalem cowslip, the geranium phoeum, the columbine, the scilla hyacinthus, Solomon's seal, the starch, and the tassel-hyacinth, the fritillaria, and many others that I cannot at this moment recall to memory, are all common flowers about Bagneres. There is another lovely flower, the Erinus Alpinus, to be found in this same delightful lane. When I first saw it on the rock, I thought it was a primula, an illusion which vanished as soon as I gathered it. It has a small serrated leaf, and bright rose-coloured or purple flowers, sometimes, but rarely white ones, growing on a stalk like the alyssuni, but infinitely smaller, and clings to the rock on which it grows almost as close as moss. The flowers are five- petaled, each petal being heart-shaped. The rocks round this La Bassere lane are covered with it, and it always grows where its lovely colours add fresh beauty to the landscape. At the top of the lane, there is a spring oozing out between some large, mossy, greystones, into a natural basin, whence a slender rill trickles away through the grass to join the stream that runs all the way beside the footpath. It is a quiet, secluded nook. High hedges and trees grow up behind it, and in front, on a green slope, 252 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. surrounded by its orchard, stands a solitary white farm- house. The sward near this spring is covered with daisies. Blue forget-me-nots grow in the little pool, and on the stones whence the water issues, glow golden moss, and purple and pink erinus, and a flower no less lovely the Pinguicula grandiftora. It has glaucous, pale green leaves, that look as if they were, but are not, transparent, clinging closely to the rocks like a green star. The flowers are shaped like a violet, but have a much slenderer, longer, mouse-coloured stalk, and are usually of a bright, rich, deep purple ; but I have found some the colour of old port wine, and some of a greyish lilac. Both these flowers bear transplanting well, and will live a week or two in a terrine filled with moss, if taken up carefully with the earth round their roots. Cowslips and great numbers of the purple orchis grow on the high bank behind the farm; and there too, in the early spring, I found the snowdrop in abun- dance, as well as in a little wood behind the chestnut-trees after passing the Tir au Pistolet, on the way to the Bedat, and drooping gracefully from the bank of the stream, above a inill-dam near Aste. The cyclamen, or dog-tooth violet, is another of the lovely spring flowers that grow in the neighbourhood of Bagneres ; it is to be found near the Palombieres, and in a little valley above Aste. But with all these treasures, I miss two flowers, that probably from early association, I think lovelier than any. There are no beds of sjweet-scented bluebells under the trees, and no ' primrose hn the river's brim.' What the Bagnerais, and even M. 1 Philippe, the botanist, call the primrose, is our oxlip, which, as every English country child knows, is a very different flower. Even the cowslip is rare, growing plentifully only in the fields near Aste, at La Bassere and at Grip. I found also in the La Bassere BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 253 Lane the orchis bifolia, London pride, of two kinds, golden moss, and the Welsh poppy. How often, as I walked about Bagneres, I wished that it had pleased God to endow me with artistic power. What exquisite lessons of light, and shade, and colour an artist might learn from the sites selected by wild flowers, and their harmonious contrasts. I use the word selected ad- visedly, for I can scarcely think that it is by chance that one always sees those flowers growing near each other, whose hues blend or oppose each other with the most per- fect beauty. Thus, one usually finds the rich purple orchis growing most plentifully among golden cowslips, and here at La Bassere, at the foot of the ash-trees, close to the purple clandestina, drooped the elegant, pale-yellow cups of the Welsh poppy. Alas ! it grew on the opposite side of the clear mill stream. To leave it ungathered was impossible. I dare say, no lover of wild flowers will be surprised to hear that there being no gentlemen pre- sent ' I kilted my kirtel A little aboon the knee, 1 and waded right across the stream for it. The time fails me to tell of the delicate Scilla verna, a little, pale-blue squill, scarcely so high as my finger, and with only three, or at most, five, flowers on its stem, found near Aste and on Mont Olivet. Of the large blue colum- bines towering above the tall grass as spring advanced columbines of a deep clear, blue colour, and a size such as I never before saw of the purple irises, that were said to grow wild, but which, as they only grew in one hedge near Aste,* were clearly * a garden flower grown wild/ of the white star of Bethlehem that grew in such quantities in * Monsieur Philippe, the botanist, afterwards told me that the purple iria did not grow wild in France. 254 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. the fields near the irises, and of the elegant, purple Cam- panula patula. But my readers will be weary of flowers, and I want to sleep, for it is near twelve. I went again to-day alone to my favourite walk up the little secluded valley near La Bassere. Fancy tall, steep hills hemming you in on either side, and between them just space enough for a narrow rippling stream that turns two or three mills in its course, and a green meadow be- yond it; to the left, another defile, walled in by stony mountains, and a small flock of sheep, and their shepherd and dog winding slowly up the rocky road. It is quite a painter's glen. Farther on one comes to a narrow lane bordered on one side by wild box, which, in early spring- time perfumes the whole air by its rich spicy odour, under whose shade grow hepaticas, blue, white, and pink, and in- numerable other lovely wild flowers ; while on the opposite side of the pathway, the clear stream grows wider, ripples over stones shaded by alder and ash-trees, which skirt a rich meadow with grass of the most vivid green, prankt over with oxlips, marsh marigolds, and ladies'-smocks, and backed by a low range of wooded hills, which keep all the loftier mountains out of sight. Farther on still is a white farmhouse on a high, steep bank, shaded by an orchard, and a plantation of trees behind it, under which the ground is literally carpeted with flowers. I wandered there alone to-day, and something of the in- tense delight I used to feel in my childhood in looking at wild flowers returned to me as I beheld the purple orchises gleaming crimson in the sunlight, fringing, as it were, the green slope above ; and that exquisite fairy flower the Pin- guicula grandiflora, growing like a slender stemmed purple violet from a starry centre of tender green leaves. I could not help thinking what a strange mixture of good and evil thi.i world was, and how singular it was that there should BAQNEBES DE BIGOBEE. 255 be so much sorrow in so beautiful a world. My thoughts at last shaped themselves into verse. I was gathering a nosegay that I meant for Lady Carnwath, who always kindly sends me a specimen of any rare flower she finds and so I dedicated these verses to her, and took them to her with the terrine of pinguiculas, erinus, ferns, and yellow pimpernel. I assure you my terrine was lovely, and I saw all the people in the Place des Coustos gazing at it admiringly, as I carried it along. EARTH'S EDEN. 'Twas in a garden full of flowers And fruits, pleasant to eye and taste, In Eden's paradisial bowers That the first man was placed. 'Tis an old tale yet ever new, And full of import deep How that one slight observance dae To God man failed to keep. How for his sake, God cursed the earth Still sound those accents dread ' Thistles and thorns ' it still brings forth, And man still toils for bread. Man toils Alas ! even children* toil And dreary vigils keep ; Seeing the great wheels whirl and moyle, Half dead for lack of sleep. Toil ever toil beneath the sun, What breaking hearts still cry; Lord, let me earn, by labour done, My daily bread, or die ! Oh, dreary world ! ' Briars and thorns ' Hast thou indeed brought forth ; What dark nights, following dreary morns, Have passed o'er thee, O earth ! * This alludes of course to the children employed in manufactories. 256 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Yet lest man's heart sink in despair- Changed as thou art, and cursed, We dimly trace in all things fair, Thy glory at the first. The grey mist still, the mountain's height, Doth as a robe enfold ; Still in a flood of crimson light, Setteth a sun of gold. Still making music as they run, Dash down a thousand streams Green valleys glisten in the sun, Faint, lovely, as .in dreams. And still when fall the vernal showers, The messenger of God ; The flower-angel leaves Heaven's bowers, To deck with bloom the sod. Invisible to human sight, Yet may his steps be traced ; For flowers spring up beneath his feet, Where stretched a wintry waste. He strews the seeds, ripened in heaven, Of flowers in mead and grove ; Fair types to man in mercy given, Of that fair world above. Perfect in form and hue, each one ; Lilies of whom Christ said That ' in his glory Solomon Was not like these arrayed.' Pale wind flowers, bending down anew, Each time the spring gales breathe ; And purple violets, wet with dew, In the thick lush grass beneath. Kingcups, like streaks of sunlight gold, Glimmering beneath the trees ; Cowslips, that gem the open wold, And purple orchises. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 257 Bluebells, whose rich perfume recalls Youth's fleeting, joyous dreams ; Flowers spring, where'er his footstep fells, By mountains, groves, or streams. Illuminated letters, ye In earth's great missal book, By angel hands written, that we May on your glories look. And read in those fair characters, Still bright with Eden bloom, Of that bright world beyond the stars, That heaven from whence ye come. I hate Latin names. It was the beauty of the Pinguicula more especially that brought these ideas into my head ; but how can one bring pinguicula into a verse ? However, in very truth, flowers always have seemed to me at once a relic of Eden, and a warrant of Paradise. CHAPTEK XXIV. BAGNERES TO ARGELES AND LUZ. I WAS sitting writing yesterday, when I received a wee note from Mrs. Nash, a lady whose acquaintance I made at Bagneres, which acquaintance was further cemented by my lending her ' The Queen's Pardon' to read. She had been seven years in Australia, and like Mr. Howitt and others who have been in that country, said my descriptions of Australian life were graphic and living, down to the ' plop plop ' of the kangaroo, which so entirely described its way of leaping. The note was to say she had hired a carriage to go to Luz, St. Sauveur, Gavarnie, and Cauterets, and if I liked to join her she should be glad to give me a seat in it, and I should have no other expense than my food and beds at hotels, and the horses and guides I required for expeditions. Of course I gratefully accepted such an offer, and we set off the next day. The weather was beginning to change, it was the 2nd of June, and the summer is the rainy season en la Montague. Unluckily, too, that very morning I found on getting up that I was about to have a violent attack of lumbago. To give up Gavarnie, however, was not to be thought of, so when the carriage stopped before my door in I got. We had a beautiful drive from Bagneres past Lourdes to Argeles, and I was glad to see that beautiful valley in the early summer time, and be able to contrast it with what it was when I first visited it in the end of autumn. It is incomparably more lovely in summer, when BAGNERES TO ARGELES AND LUZ. 259 every meadow and reach among the shallows of the Gave are emerald green. As leaving the valley of Lourdes, we entered the valley of Argele"s, we were aware of a peculiar rich, sweet, aromatic scent, which we afterwards discovered arose from the box- wood covering the rocks on our right hand. Among these rocks I soon descried a small, delicate, white lily about a foot high, resembling a very small garden white lily ' Lilium anthericum (Philippe). Our good-natured driver got down and gathered me a handful, and Mrs. Nash, who* is fond of flowers as I am, and a better botanist, and I, ad- mired its delicate scent and texture on a nearer inspection. We reached Argeles about midday, and lunched at the Hotel de la Paix, outside the town on the road to Pierre^ fitte. The Hotel de la Paix is thoroughly Pyrenean. That on the left hand of the road, the new built hotel, is clean and pleasant looking. Of course the apartments let well and it is always full, though the owner has made the common mistake of turning the windows of the principal rooms to the dirty, narrow, little street, instead of to the glorious view over the valley to the mountains. That on the right, opposite, where all the cooking is performed, is in the old Argele"s style, close, suffocating, and dirty. We could not lunch in the first, because there was no room vacant, and were shown into the common salle a manger of the second, where all the voituriers and farmers come to Argeles market were tabled. The day was hot, the atmosphere stifling, and the noise insupportable. We asked to be shown into a bedroom and requested to have our food up there. No, they could not let us, ' a cause des mouches' It would bring flies about to soil the white furniture. Mrs. Nash remon- strated, I backing her. At last the hostess relented and gave us our dinner in her own bedroom, which was on the ground-floor and adjoined the kitchen, for which we were 260 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. very thankful, and I am bound to say we had an excellent meal at a- moderate price. A roast fowl, young peas, potatoes, bread, and wine, a discretion. We had finished our repast before the horses were suf- ficiently rested. So we strolled down the road to Pierre- fitte, leaving orders with the driver of our vehicle to follow and take us up. I found quantities of the Poa vivipara on the top of the old stone walls. It is a singular little grass, every seed is a perfect little bulb, which germinates even while hanging to the parent stem, and it is very curious to examine a tuft of it and see each tiny bulb with its tiny crown of leaflets sprouting at the top, before it shall fall off to the ground and there root. In about half an hour the carriage overtook us and we went through Pierrefitte down the beautiful road I have before described, to Luz, where we were to sleep that night at Madame Cazaux's Hotel des Pyrenees. We ordered tea and a roast chicken on our arrival, and while it was pre- paring went to see the Templars' Church the new church built in memory of the Anchorite, Ambroise de Lombez, and the bridge of St. Sauveur. The sun had long set, and the evening was fast closing in as we passed through the meadows between the hill of the Hermitage and the bridge. It was light enough, how- ever, for me to gather two, to me, new flowers. One re- sembling a delicate teasel, but of a paler and more cerulean blue ; the other, a kind of vetch, whose pink but rather rose-coloured flowers growing from a white bladder-like sheath, had a gay and singular appearance. This is the true ladies -finger, and I now understand the meaning of that trivial name which had often puzzled me. A lady's-finger should be white with rosy tips like this vetch Anthydm vulneraria (Philippe and Withering). I cannot tell you how grand that single arch, springing from rock to rock over the vast chasm, looked in the moon- AKGELES TO LUZ. 261 light ; how beautifully the black masses of shadow, con- trasted with the hushed silvery light ; nor paint the rippling light of the moonbeams on the water, while the moon her- self moved on in calm majesty through vaporous clouds above, and little stars peeped out from the white edges of grey clouds. It was a sight to feel, not to talk of. One of those sights which hush the soul into sublime repose and make one for a time forget the troubles of earth. We went back to our inn, and as I passed along the usual open corridor looking on the court to my bedroom, I had the misfortune to slip on a solitary unexpected step in the middle that broke its level uniformity, and wrenched my back most violently. This completed the lumbago I had felt symptoms of in the morning, and the next day I had the greatest difficulty in moving. I could not put on my own boots, and our driver was fairly obliged to lift me into the carriage. How on earth was I to ride to Gavarnie ? Mrs. Nash suggested that a hot-bath might benefit me, so she stopped at St. Sauveur that I might have one. The spring at Sauveur is a tepid warmth, not so hot as those of Wies- baden, but the water is much pleasanter, and has the same soft satiny feel as the celebrated baths of Schlangenbad. It seems very gaseous. I noticed while in it that my skin was covered all over with very minute grey-coloured bub- bles that looked like small particles of quicksilver. When I rubbed them off with my finger, they all rose to the sur- face of the water, and the moment I lay still they settled on me again. The bath woman said they were caused by the gas in the water. 1 stayed in my bath about twenty minutes, and certainly came out rather relieved. St. Sau- veur is said to be very efficacious in rheumatic complaints. However, I had to be lifted into the carriage again by Fachaii, our civil driver. We drove as far as the little 262 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. village of Gedre, where saddle-horses had been ordered for us the day -before. Leaving Fachan to bait those which had brought us, and mounting on horseback (I being lifted on my horse), set out, with a guide apiece, for Gavarnie. We passed through a village and then up a grand mountain gorge. Kocks were piled upon rocks in wild profusion, and whole beds of broken stones lay scattered around ; while above and on all sides the mountains reared their sublime heads erect, stern, and immovable ; still bearing on them the impress of the Almighty hand that moulded them into their present form aeons of years ago. Here and there in a hollow of their vast flanks, a shady wood, or two or three green meadows nestled, and a white cottage peep- ing out under trees, a few sheep, browsing under the care of a shepherd and his dog, or one or two of the fawn- coloured deer-like cattle, couched in the thick grass, gave life and variety to the scene, which else was wild, savage, and sombre in the extreme. The rocky mountain road was worse than usual, because several gangs of men were employed hi making it better against the expected visit of the Emperor and Empress, who, it is reported, are to visit the Pyrenees this summer. There were a good many Spaniards among these labourers, easily distinguished by their handsome features, dark eyes, and swarthy complexions, as well as by their picturesque costume, which consists of velveteen breeches, decorated by ribbons and open at the knee, so as to show their pur- fled white drawers, a crimson or green sash round the waist, and a gay-coloured handkerchief bound round the forehead, leaving the upper part of the head bare. It seems strange to me that in these hot climates, where sunstrokes are common, at least among the English visit- ors, the Spaniards should only cover the forehead and lower part of the back of the head and never wear a hat. GAVARNIE. 263 I suppose it is the costume of that part of the country from which they come, for those that sell scarves, cambric hand- kerchiefs, and chocolate in the Place des Coustos during the season, wear the well-known, high-pointed Spanish hat, as also velvet jackets of a peculiar form, gaily decorated with braid and tassels, and white stockings knit in ribs or some intricate pattern, which does much honour to their wives and daughters' ingenuity, with lace boots, or more frequently the esjjartilla, or hempen sandal. These workmen were blasting the rocks to make the new road, and the explosion, reverberated on all sides by the mountains, was very grand. In one place the old road had been so narrow, that there was only room for one horse to pass between the cliffs at a time, and even this narrow passage was so blocked up with huge fragments of the blasted rock, that our horses had to pick their way very carefully. I had not mounted a horse for twenty years, and I must plead guilty to being very nervous as we rode along this rough path, sometimes scarcely passable, and generally paved with loose stones, which slipped and rolled under the horses' feet, and often winding along a narrow shelf of rock, with nothing to prevent one rolling down the preci- pitous side, into the Gave that roared at the bottom of the gorge. Just in the very narrowest and most blocked-up part, between two great masses of rock, the horse Mrs. Nash rode stumbled and fell. I saw her legs graze the sharp rocky fragment that impeded the passage, and thought they must be broken by the weight of the animal, but before horror left me power to cry out, the pony righted himself, and she rode on clearly unhurt, while I thanked God inwardly for what was almost a miraculous preservation. This part is called the Chaos, or Peyrada, and as Murray says, ' looks as if a mountain had tumbled to pieces.' It 264 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. was refreshing, after passing this wild and savage scenery, to ride through a narrow lane bordered by flowery meadows on each side, to the village of Gavarnie. I noticed, as we rode along, numerous plants I had never seen before, but refrained from asking my guide to gather any till we should return. We reached the village. I was lifted off my horse, for I was helpless, and the guide led us into a dirty little cottage on the road-side, whence we emerged through a cabbage garden, on to a green sunny slope, and right before us rose the Cirque de Gavarnie. The winter snows were beginning to melt, and the ledges of the Cirque showed bare and distinct in the sunlight, rising one above the other like the tiers of a theatre, and flanked on either side by walls of snow. At its base lay a grand glacier, a sheet of pure white snow, but already beginning to melt toward the edges, and streaming away in conjunction with another torrent of melted snow that rushed dark and turbid down the mountain to the left, into the green valley below. The celebrated Breche de Roland, which the legend says was cleft through the solid rock by the famous Paladin Roland, to enable him to pass over into Spain in pursuit of the Moors, was pointed out to us, just discernible from where we sat. Parties often ascend to the Breche in sum- mer, and those who sit astride the rocky wall may boast that they have one leg in France and the other in Spain. It is through this breche and similar mountain passes that the wandering Spaniards, who frequent the watering-places of the Pyrenees, bring their wares, in order to evade the custom-house duties, as some of them told me. The old woman through whose cottage we passed pointed out and named the mountains The Vigne Male, the Cylindre, the Tours de Marboure, and many others. * Comme c'est magnifique ! ' cried we. ' Oui ! ' answered the old cottager, sadly ; ' C'est ffrand, GAVAHXIE. 265 cest beau, mais c'est bien triste. The snow melts from the glaciers, and falls and kills the poor peasants who are working near. Mbn pauvre homme was killed in this way, with several more, twenty years ago. Twenty years ! I was young then ; a gay young girl. I had not been mar- ried two years ; now I am an old woman ; but I remember how sad it was when they brought the bodies home, and my poor man's among them. Ah! mesdames, croyez-moi, cest un triste lieu en hiver ! ' Poor woman ! we pitied her, and did what we could to console her, by giving rather more than we should have done had we not known her sad story, for which she was very grateful ; and she retreated and left us to ourselves to eat our luncheon, after pulling down some linen that was bleaching on the rocks and spreading it on the grass, for fear ' les dames ' should take cold, out of gratitude, and did not whine or bother us for more money, according to Pyrenean fashion. After our repast we again mounted our horses and rode homewards, and as we passed the meadows I made my guide gather me some of the rare plants. I never saw fields so full of flowers as these. There was the common forget-me-not, but growing to a height and luxu- riance I never before saw ; nor did I ever see before any forget-me-nots * so deeply, darkly, beautifully blue.' Their rich turquoise absolutely dazzled one, as the sun shone on them. Then there were quantities of the elegant globe-flower (Trollius^ or Ranunculus globosus) ; viper's bugloss; burnet, crimson-tipped in the light; squills (Lilio- Hyacinthus) ; the teasel-like Phyteuma sjricata, the leaf of which is used by the Parisians for salads ; vetches, the tall-branching salver-shaped purple Campanula patula ; the ox-eye daisy, known to the French by the more poetical name of Maryuerite ; purple orchises, and tway-blades ; corn-rattle, and the three common kinds of campion ; the slender-fringed ragged robin ; the beautiful tall white 266 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Potentilla rupestris, with its strawberry-like blossoms and leaves ; Asclepia Vince-toxicum (Dompte-venin) ; the Va- leriana montana ; the chocolate-coloured Geranium-phceum, and many others. I saw a shrub that looked like our common cotton-bearing willow, but with white crinkled flower-petals falling very much down, in a hedge, and gathered it as I rode past, and M. Philippe afterwards told me it was the Amelanchier communis. As we went along, our guides told us that the school- master of Gedres was a great botanist, and had collections of all the rare plants found thereabouts, so on dismounting at that village we went to him, and he showed us some of his herbariums. I could have remained looking them over for hours, but Mrs. Nash felt oppressed by the atmosphere of the schoolroom, from which near a hundred scholars had just been dismissed ; and besides, we had to return to Luz for tea, so we gave him a trifle and bade him adieu. He told us he was making a collection of all the plants in that neighbourhood for Mr. Lyte, of Bagneres, who seems much and justly liked and respected by the French, for he patronizes them in the best possible way by employing them. These self-taught botanists and naturalists are to be found in nearly every small town in the Pyrenees, and are of the greatest possible use to science, by preserving and describing any rare plant, insect, animal, or fossil that their more ignorant neighbours would otherwise have destroyed or cast aside as worthless. I wonder the liberal and enlightened French government does not bestow a small pension upon each of them. Anyone wishing to procure dried plants of this district can obtain them, all properly prepared and named, at the school-house, from M. Bordere, Instituteur, Gedre. His wife seemed almost as good a botanist as himself. As we drove home I -noticed again a beautiful plant, with oval hairy primula- shaped leaves, GAVABNIE. 267 from the centre of which, as from a primrose root, grew single-stemmed flowers, with rarely more than one flower on a stem, of the most brilliant lilac hue, the stamens form- ing a point of bright orange colour, like the nightshade and potato, which last flower it much resembled, except that the blossoms were solitary, and the petals all separate. This was the Raymondia Pyrenaica (named after the cele- brated Alpine traveller Raymond), and is rather rare. In Philippe's ' Flore des Pyrenees,' it is said to grow * on damp rocks and in damp valleys, in the Oriental and Cen- tral Pyrenees, at Pratto-de-Mollo, Rocea Galiniera, St. Sauveur, the whole valley of Luz up to Gavarnie, Lac d'Or, Esquierry, Sarrancolin, and the Cirque d'Arbison.' However, we did not go to all those places, and only found it on rocks between Gedre and St. Sauveur. Before starting this morning I tried to purchase some brown terrines, such as I paid twopence apiece for at Bagneres, which sum was double their real price, but seeing I was an Anglaise, the mistress of the crockery shop at Luz demanded half a franc apiece for the smallest, upon which I scornfully retired sans terrine. What was to be done ? To spoil good-humoured Fachan's new voiture was impossible ; impossible also to let my beloved flowers die. I had set my heart on carrying some of those beautiful lilac flowers to the neighbours with whom I exchanged specimens of plants at Bagneres, so I folded up some old newspapers in the form of a tray, and I pinned them again in the quad- ruple folds of an old dressing jacket I had taken with me, and arranged them in wet earth in that, leaving space for the beautiful Raymondia, which I put among them as Fachan gathered it. We took this in the carriage to Cauterets and back to Bagneres ; no water ever leaked through it, and all the flowers lived well except the globe-flower ; so well that Mrs. Nash took a small terrine with a Raymondia in it with her to Switzerland, when she left Bagneres. CHAPTEK XXV. LUZ TO CAUTERETS. THE next day we left Luz for Cauterets, which we reached about noon, passing up the beautiful gorge between St. Sauveur and Pierrefitte, and I was glad to wind once more in broad daylight up that grand road the Col du Limac,on, and see again the narrow secluded valley of Cauterets, where I had spent such a pleasant week the autumn before. We got out at the ' Lion d'Or,' a clean and comfortable inn, and engaged rooms for the night, and then mounted two horses, engaged for us from the hotel at Luz over night not as I should have liked, of my friend Canon, but of another guide, Bararum or Barare, a hunter and guide like Canon, de premiere classe. I have written his name so badly in my note-book that I cannot make it out clearly. He gave us good horses, and was very civil and intelligent, and something of a botanist to boot. I needed a careful guide that day, for though when once lifted on to it I could, strange to say, bear the motion of my horse better than that of the carriage, I could not turn or help myself in any way, had any accident occurred. We were as unfortunate in our day as we had been lucky yesterday. It was grey and hazy when we left Luz, and a thick mist veiled the tops of the mountains. We hoped it would clear off, but it grew denser and denser every moment ; and as we rode up past the hot springs of La Kaillere, following the course of the torrent upwards, we could only just dimly trace how grand the scene would have been if we could have seen it. The path wound among, LUZ TO CAUTERETS. 269' and at the base of, rocks, shaded by lofty pines, the Gave falling in torrents over the rocks at our side, and throwing up clouds of snowy foam and thundering and roaring in the ravine below. Every turn almost brought us to a larger chute, and each fall differed in sublimity and beauty from those before it ; but we could only just see the stems of the pine trees and the white foam curling over the rocks ; the branches and heads of the pine trees, and the summits of the mountains, were alike lost in a dense cloud of mist. There was something eerie in this ride ; I was sorry not to have seen the Pont d'Espagne in all its beauty, for the melting of the snow on the mountains, our guide told us, made the fall peculiarly grand at this season, but not sorry to have travelled through the wild wood and rocky passes in that gloomy mist. It reminded me of the ride through the wood in Undine, and I almost fancied I heard Kiihleborn sweeping in his wrath through the forest. We reached the little platform of green grass, with its little summer-house, under which were tables and chairs, and a small hut where they are housed by an old woman who goes up to the Pont every morning, and returns to Caute- rets every night, and who supplies visitors with cheap wino, spirits, glasses, and plates. We gave her a trifling remuneration for the use of her chairs, tables, and glasses, but drank none of her wine, having taken flasks of our own, as well as provisions, both of which we shared with our guides. Our poor jaded horses were tied to the railing that divided the platform from the Gave, and had nothing ; so I gave them each a good large lump of bread, which they ate very gratefully from my hand, while we regaled the old woman with sponge-cake, which she seemed to enjoy as much as the horses did their bread. Then we walked across the narrow wooden bridge dividing the two lower falls ; as to the upper one, which our guide said was far the 270 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. finest, it was invisible. All we could see was a clear, in- tensely green water, boiling and seething up into wreaths of the whitest foam, whiter than any snow I ever saw, and the stems of the pine trees sprouting from the rock. I have never anywhere seen water so beautiful as that of this Gave de Cauterets. It is the richest, the most intense, blue-green, like that of the malachite shading into aqua marina and chrysophras. We rode home much quicker than we had ascended, and my good-natured, civil guide seeing how fond I was of flowers, gathered me some lovely Alpine primulas and several sprays of rhododendron, which, however, was not quite in bloom. Oh ! I should like to see the Pont d'Es- pagne on a clear, bright day, a fortnight hence, when all the rhododendrons, with their rich lilac and pink blossoms, will contrast so beautifully with the sombre hues of the sapins and Scotch firs, the green waters of the Gave, and their wreaths of white foam. By the way, I don't understand why the bridge over the upper falls is called Le Pont d'Espagne ; it is a decided misnomer, inasmuch as it is not near the Spanish frontier at all. We slept that night at Cauterets, and just before we retired to rest our guide came to be paid, and brought me, as he had promised, one or two dried plants, among them the Ixia Bulbocodium and the Pulsatilla or Pasque Ane- mone, which he said only grew on the tops of the highest mountains. The habitat of flowers in the Pyrenees seems the reverse of the same flowers in England. With us the daffodil grows in woods and by water ; in the Pyrenees it abounds most on the mountain tops. There is a rarer and more delicate daffodil which I am told abounds on the cliffs at Biarritz, and which grows on the Mont Olivet side of the Bedat, while the common daffodil occupies the opposite CAUTERETS AND LE PONT DESPAGNE. 271 height on the other side. This is the Narcissus Bulbo- codium, or petticoat daffodil, so called from its resemblance to a lady's hoop. It is a delicate pale yellow, and the narrow coronal of petals might almost be likened to ends of ribbons floating down the petticoat. The flowers are solitary, or nearly so, and the pale glaucous green leaf is very short, and makes no show, there being only two, three, or four to each plant, instead of their growing thickly like those of the Pseudo- Narcissus. The Pulsatilla, also, grows on the open moorland in Yorkshire : here, it seems, it is found only on the mountain tops. We returned next day to Bagneres, and in accordance with my request, Mrs. Nash kindly consented to lunch and bait the horses at Lourdes instead of Argeles. I wanted to explore the lake, and if possible to see the Osmunda reyalis in flower. M. Philippe had told me it grew in such quantities at one end of it as to force the waters to retreat in the opposite direction. While luncheon was preparing, therefore, we set off for the lake, following in the wake of two or three parties who were clearly going on the same expedition. The town and castle of Lourdes, the latter of which is very strongly fortified, look very impos- ing from this road, with the mountains towering up behind them. Mrs. Nash, however, was not a good walker, and seeing an avenue of roses leading to a farm, with two very invit- ing arbours, one on each side close to the gate, she ventured in, declaring she would rest there, while I went on to explore, past the Gendarmerie Imperiale. I followed the parties before named, and soon came to the lake. It is interesting to geologists, as rising in a basin formed among the mountains and fed by no visible source, and to the botanist, because many rare plants grow on its banks ; but not to the artist or the traveller in search of the picturesque. The basin of low land in which 272 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. it lies is perfectly flat, and only a low line of hills on the opposite side is visible, the mountains not being seen from it, and it looks more like a large marshy pond in the midst of flat marshy meadows than anything else. The Osmunda grew at the other end of the lake, and I had not time to go and seek for it, as I knew Mrs. Nash would not like to be kept waiting, or to have the fowl we had ordered for luncheon overcooked ; so I went back as fast as I could, having had nothing but a dusty hot walk on a broiling day for my pains. Mrs. Nash in her arbour had had far the best of it, and when I came up, I found her quite recovered from her fatigue, and holding a gorgeous bunch of rare roses in- her hand. The polite owner of the rose avenue had come, begged her to repose in his arbours as long as she liked, taken her down the avenue, showed her his finest roses, and gathered some of them for her, desiring she would herself pluck as many of the others as she chose. Certainly the French people are very kind and polite. We drove home after lunching at the inn at Lourdes, where the fare was good, but the people uncivil ; they would not give us a room to ourselves as we had at Luz and Cauterets. I wonder the Pyrenean innkeepers have not found out by this time, that travelling English, espe- cially ladies, do not like to dine or lunch in a hot, stifling salle a manger, where there are some twenty or thirty tables, occupied, perhaps, by voituriers and peasants. The only other occupants of the salle at Lourdes were a French baron, dining with Monsieur le Cure. They did not annoy us in any way ; but the low ceiling of the room, its close proximity to the kitchen, into which we could see, and the intense heat and odours arising from cooking the various comestibles, annoyed Mrs. Nash so much, she declared she would never go there again I thought she was right. We reached Bagneres about six o'clock, and to show the untidy, indolent habits of the Bagnerais, I found my LOURDES. 273 rooms exactly as I had left them three days before the bed still unmade the slops yet in the basin and all the flowers which I had left in the vases, pulled out and strewn on the floor of the salon, which Mademoiselle intended to sweep the following day (as she had settled it in her own mind we should be absent four days) no one in the house, and not a drop of water to wash my hands in, after my hot, dusty drive home. I felt rather angry and provoked, but I knew there was no use in making any complaint. French women invariably put off doing their house-work to the last possible minute, letting any idle gossiping or amusement take up their time instead; therefore it is always ill-done, and the houses half-dusted and slovenly except when they belong to rich people, for money can purchase anything it can even buy cleanliness in the Pyrenees. However, in about half-an-hour Madame and Mademoiselle (the latter of whom waited upon me) returned, and then came a host of apologies ' they did not expect me that day; they had been to a sale,' &c., &c., with which I was fain to be content. The Pyreneans are so kindly in general, one wishes tenfold they had English or Dutch habits of order and regularity. CHAPTER XXVI. THE LEGEND OF THE LAKE OF LOUHDES. THEKE is a pretty legend regarding the origin of the Lake of Lourdes.* It runs thus : GOD AND THE LAKES. There was a time, many ages ago, when the Lord God walked to and fro upon the earth, to behold the things that He had made. He wished to see whether men obeyed His laws, and were kind to one another, showing hospi- tality to the poor and the stranger, as He had commanded. Therefore, taking the form of a poor old man, He entered one evening into a town of Bigorre, which was the first Lourdes. And I have been told that this poor old man * There is a somewhat similar story told of the formation of the lake of Wensleydale in Yorkshire, which is of unknown depth. It is said that one day a wayfarer, scantily clothed, hungry, and pennyless, but of noble and engaging aspect, came thither soliciting alms and shelter. He sought in vain, and then turned eastward down the vale. Without the bounds of the city lived an aged couple, too poor and mean to be allowed to take up their residence within the town. The stranger entered their dwelling, and ere his tale of woe could be told they placed before him the best their house afforded, namely, a bowl of milk-cheese and an oaten cake. Having satisfied his hunger, he bestowed his benediction upon their basket and store. Be- neath their roof he passed the night, and on the morrow repeated his benison, which was attended with the effect of making his hosts increase from that day in worldly wealth. Being then ready to depart, he turned his face to the west and uttered this malediction, ' Simmer-water rise, simmer-water sink, And swallow all the town but this little house, Where they gave me bread and cheese and summ'at to drink.' Immediately the earth made a hissing noise, the stream overflowed its banks, and the city was buried in a deep flood. On a calm day it is said the spires of the churches and the tops of the houses can yet be seen. A similar tale is recounted of Lough Neagh in Ulster. Vide ' Chambers' Edinburgh Jour- nal,' No. 177, new series, May 22nd, 1847. LOURDES. 275 went from house to house, all through the town, beseech- ing everyone to give Him something to satisfy His hun- ger ; but everyone refused to help Him, so that, finding He could get nothing to eat, through the wickedness of the men of that place, He looked around, and saw a miser- able cabin, the only dwelling-place at which he had not implored succour, and He went there. In this hut He found only two women and a little child that lay sleeping in its cradle ; but as soon as He entered, the poor women forestalled His request, saying ' Poor man ! What can such as we do for thee ? for we are as poor as thou art, and have nothing. Howbeit, come into our house, and sit down and rest thee a little, and if thou wilt wait awhile, there are two cakes which we have kneaded of ryebread baking under the ashes when they are enough done, we shall eat them, and thou shalt have thy share.' And the Divine poor man taking the seat the women offered, sat down before their hearth, and warmed his limbs, without speaking a word. But the two cakes which were hidden under the cinders began to spread themselves and they grew wonderfully large for wherever the Lord shows Himself, everything prospers, and poverty is changed into abundance so the cakes became very great. When the two women judged that they had been baking long enough, they stooped down and took them from under the ashes, and wondered much to see how large they were. Then they divided them, and gave their guest His part as they had promised, while they tendered Him all the kind- ness it was in the power of two such poor women to offer Him. He assumed an air of mingled authority and bene- volence, and said to them ' Women because of your charity, I will now save your lives, for this town shall be swallowed up immediately with all these wicked people who dwell therein.' 276 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FEANCE. Then He commanded them to leave their house and follow Him,. and they obeyed trembling, carrying with them all the wealth they had the beautiful child asleep in its cradle. When they had gone a good way off, the ground upon which the town stood suddenly sank with all its fine houses and rich buildings, and the people that dwelt in them, and the waters gushed up from the earth and covered them like the Deluge, and formed a lake. No living thing there escaped with life, but the three inhabitants of the poor cottage. And long, long afterwards, another town was built beside the lake of Lourdes, and was called by the same name as the first town, Lourdes. But as a memorial of all this, there is to this day on the water-side, an open cradle of stone, which seems as though still waiting for the beautiful child who once slept in it. And those who look earnestly on the surface of the lake when its waters become shallow, can sometimes even now see the spires and pin- nacles of the great buildings, and the roofs of the houses which adorned the drowned city. Many curious popular customs formerly prevailed in Lourdes. When there was a storm, for instance, all the bells in Lourdes were rung ; a signal, previously agreed upon, warned the Cure to repair to the church. And will he, nill he he was obliged to perform exorcisms, and commence a procession, whether it occurred in the night- time or by day. In vain the Curds protested against the dangers of these nocturnal processions in vain they ap- pealed to their bishop, prejudice was too strongly rooted in the hearts of the populace and they insisted on adhering to the ancient custom. An annual collection was made to pay for the ringing of the bells during storms, and it is but within the last few years that the ringing has been for- bidden; but the ringers, doubtless that something may LOUKDES. 277 remain of the good old custom, continue the yearly col- lection. In Toulouse, in the 16th century, Awakeners traversed the streets of the town, crying ReVeillez-vous, vous qui donnez, ' Awaken you who sleep, Priez Dieu pour les trepasses. 1 And pray God for the dead who weep.' In Lourdes also, until the Revolution, the monks of the Hermitage, true awakeners, went through the sleeping town at all hours every Friday night, crying in a slow and melancholy tone ' Vous qui donnez, ne donnez pas si fort,* Que plus ne vous souvienne de la mort.' Whenever a baptism takes place, all the children in the town hasten to crowd round, shouting untranslatable patois cries, upon which money and fruits are thrown to them in all haste, as the only way of stopping their mouths. When a marriage occurs, that the populace think fit to disapprove of, they make a charivari (equivalent to our term * riding the stang '). Throughout France it has always been so cus- tomary to punish second or ill-assorted marriages by a charivari, or explosion of popular contempt, that even queens who re-married were not exempted from the insult. The custom was continued in spite of the decrees of Par- liament and excommunications of councils, at Paris, to the end of the eighteenth century. Had the charivari at Lourdes been like what is usual elsewhere, it need not have been noticed, but this is what goes on every day in the heart of the town.f If a stranger, whether male or female, marries and settles at Lourdes, all the neighbours on the arrival of the couple, * Anglice ' You, who sleep, sleep not so fast, Lest you forget death i . comes at last.' t If the reader compares the marriage customs of Lourdes with those of Be'arn, he will find considerable difference in them. 278 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. unite to form what is called La segue, tlie hedge. A red sash is held across the bride and bridegroom's door ; two files of young men range themselves on each side to open a way for the wedding party, and as soon as it appears, every- one hastes to offer the bride and bridegroom bouquets of flowers, after which they present to them a waiter on which are a bottle and a glass. The offer of wine is rigorously required by the laws of politeness. This concourse of neighbours spontaneously collecting together, and asso- ciating themselves with a family festival, would be touch- ing, were it disinterested. But the stranger pays dear for his right of entrance ! If his means allow, he must invite all these eager welcomers to a good dinner, at which they feast joyously in honour of the new married couple, who, sore against their will, are obliged to defray the expenses of the festival. Unhappy is the wight who in such cir- cumstances has the temerity to attempt to bargain with the young men de la haie I An infernal concert of frying- pans, kettles, bells, and all sorts of discordant instruments will serenade his doors every night with indefatigable per- severance, deafening his ears, disturbing his rest, and hold- ing the miser up to public contempt and ridicule, while the idle and the curious, of whom there are always plenty, will increase the crowd and the noise. If the police tries to interfere, the charivari disappears at their approach and becomes invisible. No sooner do they turn their backs, than it reappears full gallop. If driven out of the town, it takes refuge on the lofty rocks which dominate it, and the horrible uproar recommences with fresh fury. And the people of Lourdes say that the custom is a just and rational one. ' With us,' say they, ' the relations of neighbourhood are sacred. A neighbour is almost one of our kindred. On the smallest accident occurring, he hastens to assist. In the slightest sickness, he is willing to watch the sufferer ; LOURDES. 279 he will not allow others to bear the coffin of the dead to its resting place. His disinterested help is given without shrinking in all the accidents of life. Is it not just, there- fore, that he should be indignant at the avarice of the stranger, who while willing to accept his help in time of trouble, is not willing he should share in his joy ? The people are frank. They show their sympathy or their hate openly, and give flowers to the first, a charivari to the others.' It is probable, however, that this fashion springs from an old custom, so long disused that most are ignorant that it ever existed. Formerly les forains who intermarried in the town were received voisins, but they were obliged to swear fidelity to the laws, and to pay a sum for letters of neighbourhood (equivalent to our freedom of the city), which were drawn out for them. The mountaineers long believed in fairies and sorcerers ; indeed, many of them do so still. The faith in good fairies has apparently nearly worn out ; but they still believe in the malevolence of sorcerers. Only a few years ago, when any disease was incurable by medicine, the relatives of the afflicted person believed him to be bewitched. A spell had been cast over the house, and to free themselves from it, they received a part of the furniture, and burnt the bed in which the invalid had not obtained a cure, in a kind of auto da fe ; and in order effectually to banish the spirit of evil by the spirit of good, they called in some devout person who had a reputation for sanctity, hoping the prayers of the good would counteract the wicked spells of the sorcerer. The medical men of Lourdes have, at last, with great difficulty, put a stop to the superstitious remedies that used to be administered to the sick, when medical art seemed unavailing. They have another prejudice yet more dif- 280 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. ficult to root out. The people are persuaded that if a stranger accidentally dies away from his own part of the country, he must necessarily receive the honours of sepul- ture in the commune or village, where he has drawn his last breath. To give this hospitality to the dead, is in their eyes a most sacred duty, and could not be violated without exposing themselves to the anger of God, which would manifest itself in the course of the year by a plague of hail. A young attorney of the valley of Azun was drowned in the lake of Lourdes. His family wished to bury his re- mains in the village where he was born. It was found impossible to do so. The whole population of Lourdes, usually so tranquil, rose in tumult. The voice of the ma- gistrates was not even listened to, their firmness was of no avail, their courage in opposing the popular commotion, nearly cost them their lives, and the family of the dead man withdrew their request, fearing that blood would be spilt over the coffin, in the collision that would have been inevitable had they persisted. Nevertheless, the people were not appeased, till they had assured themselves with their own eyes, that the corpse really reposed in the grave in Lourdes, and that they had not been duped by a feigned interment. The heads of the tumult were called to account before the Maire for their conduct; but their punishment took less effect upon them, than a singular circumstance which, occurring at that precise time, was well calculated to show the people the absurdity of their prejudice. This event was followed a few days afterwards, by an unusually frightful storm of hail, which fell over the town, and caused disasters unknown before in the memory of man. In a great part of the Pyrenees, especially in the valley of Lavedan, consisting of the smaller valleys of Azun, Davantaigue, Batsouriguere, Casteloubon, Estremede Salles, Pierrefitte, and St. Savin, the ancient fors or LOURDES. 281 customs obtained.* Landed property passed to the first child born in lawful wedlock, whether son or daughter. But in Lourdes, the law changed between street and street. The rules regarding the rights of succession varied with the quarters of the town. Two neighbouring houses obeyed different legislations. Thus in the street Du Bourg, the eldest of the sons was heir by law to all the property of his father and grandfather, to the exclusion of the daughters (Art. 8, du Commune de Lavedan). In other streets, the eldest, although a girl, excluded the younger children, whether boys or girls, from succession. The Revolution of 1789, by abolishing these contradictory laws, did great service in a country naturally unpro- gressive, and which especially needs a clear written law. Lourdes was at one time in the possession of the English, but Gaston Phoebus, Count de Foix, cruelly murdered the governor whom Edward the Black Prince had placed there, and seized the castle. On the 22nd of January, 1594, the estates of Bigorre were convoked together at Lourdes, to consent to a loan. They then solemnly declared peace, and submitted to Henri IV., and Bigorre was reunited to France. / The castle of Lourdes was long the Bastile of the Pyrenees, in those atrocious times, when any cruel father, or relative of consequence, could obtain from the French court a lettre de cachet, and consign an unfor- tunate young man to years of imprisonment and suffer- ing without trial, and without appeal. Lagreze cites two touching instances of this kind, though I cannot under- stand the false delicacy which makes him abstain from * Before 1789 the province of Bigorre was divided into two parts, one obeying the written law, the other the coutume or for. In 1769 the parlia- ment of Toulouse decreed that parents could choose among their children the one of either sex they thought best of as heir, after providing according to law for the other children. I was told the decree obtains to this day in Argeles. 282 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. giving the name of the prince implicated in the first : * Among the prisoners who have left most remembrances, was a Mazarin, Duke of Valentinois. He had as his rival in love, a young prince whom it is useless to name. Un- fortunately, the two gallants met one day before the lady's door at the same hour. The prince cruelly abused his strength against the young duke, who was paralyzed by a sense of the respect due to the son of his king, and seizing him, hurled him to the bottom of the staircase. The fall broke the duke's leg. ' This adventure made some noise at court. The prince was placed under arrest in his palace. The Due de Valen- tinois was sent to the castle of Lourdes, to be cured both of his broken limb and his passion.' Think of sending a man who had sustained so grave an injury two hundred leagues along such roads, and in such carriages as there were then ! He passed some years in confinement. 'The parish register is lost, and had it been forthcoming,' says Lagreze, ' no doubt the history of these young victims, snatched secretly and suddenly from society by arbitrary power, would have been in as laconic a style as that of destiny.' ^ ' The first care of despotism is to stifle in oblivion the secret of the arbitrary sufferings it imposes' Never was a truer apophthegm penned. Whether ruling over empires with a rod of iron from the throne of absolute power, or domineer- ing over one unhappy family, tyrants always seek to stifle even the very cries of their victims. It is a sin worthy of death, in their eyes, to dare to complain or to weep* ' Popular memory has preserved an intense horror of lettres de cachet, but has forgotten the names and history of most of the * November 28th, 1863. While I revise this sentence, its truth is singu- larly exemplified by the barbarous decree lately promulgated by Eussia, which forbids relations even to wear mourning for the Polish victims, and punishes any infringement of this tyrannical and cruel law, by sending the mourners to the gibbet, the torture, or Siberia. Would to God that He would make bare His sword, and avenge the Poles for the exterminating war carried on by Eussia against them ! LOURDES. 283 victims who suffered from them ; probably neither of them were often known. But one still more lamentable history than that of the Due de Valentinois is yet remembered. A young nobleman, of distinguished talents and extreme susceptibility of character, appeared destined to occupy a brilliant position at court. The future seemed apparently unrolling before him the brightest prospects. He was happy in the world, in the lustre that his father's name shed over him, happier yet in his home, and in the affection of the tenderest of mothers. He had met a heart worthy of his own, and his love, his first love, was returned. But all these brilliant prospects vanished like a dream. * His mother suddenly died when everything seemed to promise that her life would be long spared to bless him. His father soon sought consolation in a second marriage, and the new wife tried to despoil the unfortunate son of every- thing, and even of his father's affection. The feelings of the family with whom he had hoped to ally himself, seemed to chill towards him as his position became less brilliant. Every fresh day withered one of his hopes, or brought him a fresh sorrow, but the love of the woman he worshipped remained to him still- She was his consoling angel, and his only happiness now was to mourn the past with her, and hope for a brighter future. One evening, without knowing why, without being informed whither he was going, without being able to bid farewell to her he loved, he was seized, and dragged far away from Paris, to this barren rock in the centre of the Pyrenees. His mother- in-law had made use of her credit with the minister of the day to obtain a lettre de cachet, by which means she freed i.^ herself from the unwelcome presence of one whose sole crime was to have a right to the affection and the riches of her husband. The young prisoner, shut up in the dungeon of Lourdes, knew well whose hand had struck the blow. He had more sensibility of soul than fortitude, and his 284 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. courage entirely forsook him. In the midst of fellow- prisoners, who strove to forget their misery by idle amuse- ments, he was never seen to smile. He kept aloof from all, and when he could give way to his feelings in solitude, his tearful eye showed the utter desolation of his soul. ' Well might his thoughts be sad. No ray of hope shone through the darkness of his lot. Disinherited of his father's tenderness, and followed by the blind hatred of his stepmother, who could hold out a helping hand to withdraw him from his living tomb? His sudden dis- parition would always be a mystery to his beloved, and the explanation and colouring that might be given to his absence would be fatal to her love for him. When days had followed days, and years succeeded years, would not a time come in which her fidelity, vanquished by a long, vain waiting for one who could not come, would at last yield to the solicitations and prayers of the family, whose only hope she was, and make her take another husband ? * The Commandant of the Castle was struck by a the pro- found affliction of the young man, whose gentle and noble manners attached all who came near him ; but yet it was not without difficulty that he learned from his prisoner the secret of his misfortunes, for he had never uttered a com- plaint But when the heart is brimful of sadness, sooner or later it must overflow into the soul that has won its con- fidence by true and generous sympathy. The governor being enlightened as to the young man's secret history, himself implored his pardon, and the minister finding how he had been deceived, deeply regretted that he had allowed himself to become the instrument of the mother-in-law's wickedness, and ordered the poor prisoner's instant release. The reparation came late, the captivity had been long. Did the young lover find his beloved still faithful to her promises on his return to Paris ? and were the wounds of his heart healed at last by a marriage with her he had LOURDES. 285 desired so long? No one knows. No memory of him remains in Lourdes but that of his never-ceasing tears and his grief.' Lourdes was the last strong place held by the English, and they were driven out from it in 1426 by Jehan, Comte de Foix. But the old hatred of the invaders has not yet quite died out. In this present year of 1863, I have seen peasant women turn aside, and spit as they passed me a common French mode of testifying execration, even among ladies ; for Madame T has told me her sister-in-law used to do it as she passed her. ' Lourdes,' says La Greze, * is a small and very ancient town of the province of Bigorre. It is the chef-lieu judi- ciaire of the 3rd arrondissement of the departement des Hautes- Pyrenees. On one side it is dominated by a pyramidical mountain called the Pic-du-Gers, on the other by a rock surmounted by a fortress.' The ancient name of the town was Lapurdum ; as to the derivation of which, many learned and ingenious hypotheses have been maintained. La Greze dedicates a page and a half to them. I prefer to quote from him the old fabulous legend. ' Once upon a time, long ago, there was a Queen of Ethiopia, who was named Tarbis. One day she took it into her head to make war upon Pharaoh, King of Egypt, and, brave woman as she was, herself led on her armies. Pharaoh, on his part, prepared to receive the visit of the young Amazon suitably. He had about him a young man full of courage and wisdom, who later but at that time he 'was quite in his good graces it was General Moses. Pharaoh made him Commander-in-chief of the Egyptian troops. Moses was already famous, and before fighting him, Tarbis had a curiosity to see him. She demanded, and obtained, an interview. But lo! on be- holding him, the queen felt her heart moved by very different feelings to those an enemy ought to inspire. She 286 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. became suddenly and violently in love with him. Resolved to sacrifice everything to her passion, she thought nothing would be easier than to satisfy it, and she offered Moses her hand and her throne. He refused both ! He was already engaged to Sephora, the daughter of Jethro, and he was not a man to sacrifice his engagements to ambi- tion. The young queen (we are not told whether she was pretty !) was not accustomed to contradiction, and her unhappy passion troubled her reason. When she found Moses would not share her throne, she resolved to abdicate it ; but being ashamed to reappear in her own land after a refusal so humiliating to her charms ' (no doubt it was while Moses wandered forty years in the desert), ' she also,' says the legend, ' undertook a voyage which did not last so long, but which led her to a greater distance. She came to the banks of the Adour, at the foot of the Pyrenees. The country pleased her. Besides, one tires of everything in time, even of wandering. So she built a town, which yet bears her name, Tarbes. This is not all. She had a sister whose name was Lapurda. She wished to have her settled within an easy distance, yet not too near to herself. She sent her to build the castle of Lourdes, which took its old name of Lapurduin from her.' During the time that the Romans had possession of the country, this town was called Lapurduni ; probably it was in reality founded by them. There is yet a metairie, or dairy-farm, called Strade, (belonging to the family of La Fitte, one of the most considerable in the country,) whose name as well as the vestiges which yet remain, prove it to have been an ancient road. It is supposed to be of Roman construction, and was some time back the direct road from Lourdes to Tarbes. In 1844, the French engineers, while making excava- tions in the half-moon of the fort, discovered, at the depth LOUEDES. 287 of three metres from the surface, a marble capital, of the Corinthian order, and a sepulchral inscription, which runs thus D.M. PRD1VLVS PRIMI SIBI ET UXORI RECVXDO FIL ISSBIO. The perpetual-secretary of the Academic des Inscriptions et de Belles-Lettres a Paris, M. le Baron Walckaenna, translates the inscription thus : Am Dieux Manes, Primulas, fils de Primus, Pour lui, pour sa femme, et pour Secundus, son fils tres che'ri. Thus the Roman occupation of the castle of Lourdes is proved. 1 The Saracens,' says Fleury, ' made a last attack upon France in the year 732. Alder ame attaqua en personne V Aquitaine, se jiant a la division quexistoit enlre les Francs, car Charles Martel y etoit venu, fan 731, pourfaire la guerre a Endes, qui eut peine a souffrir son autorite. Abderame entra, Tannee suivante, dans cette province desolee, et ayant d'abord passe la Garonne il ruina la mile de Benearne (aujourd hui Lescar], Oleron et Auch. H prit Dax et Lapurde, que Von croit etre Bayonne. II ravagea le Comminge et le Bigorre' There is an ancient legend perpetuating this invasion of the Saracens ; and not far from Lourdes there are some fields yet known by the name of ' Lannes Mourines ' i. e. ' Landes des Maures.' ' After Charles had broken the innumerable forces of the Saracens in the plain of Tours, as a hammer breaks iron, the conquered retired, flying towards our country. They seized several forts, and attempted the conquest of 288 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Bigorre, at first with some success. But a priest of Tarbes, prebend of St. Jean, named Missolin, essayed to stop the progress of the infidels. The people rose at his voice; and with holy ardour armed themselves to defend their country and the faith of their fathers. ' This Christian hero perished a martyr to his zeal. But his blood was not sterile. From the heights of heaven he seemed to protect the Bigorrais in the terrible strife in which he had himself been engaged before leaving the world. A great and last effort was made to avenge his death, and a glorious victory delivered our country for ever from the presence of the children of Mahomet.' * This battle is not mentioned in history. Our fore- fathers did not write the high deeds of their great men, but they were honoured by the national gratitude.' ' For more than a thousand years a white marble eques- trian statue of Missolin, decorated the peristyle of the church of Arcizac, and every year, on the 24th of May the anniversary of his festival the young girls orna- mented it with ribbons and garlands of flowers. This traditional ceremony was only interrupted by the Revolu- tion. The eighth century raised this statue to Missolin, looking upon him as a saint : the eighteenth century broke and destroyed it, although the saint had been a hero,^and the saviour of his country.' Here is another old legend of these wars with the Sara- cens, taken from the archives of Pau, by Lagreze, and translated from the original Latin : ' As the life of man is fugitive and fragile, to prevent the memory of the taking of Mirambel from perishing, we will relate it to posterity. In those days, Charlemagne, King of the French and Emperor of the Romans, had seized the whole country of Florra, except the castle of Miram- bel. For a long time he had besieged it on three different sides from the side of Ferragut, that of Hyppolyte, and LOUEDES. 289 that of St. George's. Mirat, Lord of Mirambel, had been often summoned to surrender, and become one of Charle- magne's knights, after he should have received baptism ; but he replied, that so long as he could possibly defend himself for a single day, he would yield to no mortal whatsoever. Therefore, the king, fatigued with the weari- ness of so long a siege, thought of retiring. But Sainte Marie, the Mother of God, our Lady of Puy en Velay, in- voked by humble prayers, worked a miracle of grace. An eagle, seizing in his talons an immense fish from the Lake of Lourdes, had left it untouched upon one of the highest parts of the castle, which yet bears the name of the Eagle's Stone. ' The captain, justly surprised, sends it immediately to Charlemagne, with a message to the effect, that the em- peror deceived himself if he thought he should reduce liim by famine, while his fish-ponds furnished him with such fine fish. The king on its receipt was quite disconcerted ; but the bishop of Puy, guessing the truth, reassured liim, saying, " Prince, the Mother of God Holy Mary of Puy, begins to work marvellously;" and the king answered, " Even so be it ! " Then the bishop, as a good servant and ambassador of the said Lady, the Holy Mary, went to seek Mirat, and among other words addressed these to him : " Mirat, since thou wilt not surrender to Charles the Great, the most illustrious mortal in the world since thou wilt not acknowledge a master, acknowledge at least a mistress. Surrender thyself to the most Holy Lady that ever was the Mother of God Sainte Marie du Puy ; I am her ser- vant, do thou become her knight." ' At these words, Mirat, already enlightened by a ray of grace from above, said to him, " I lay down my arms, and I deliver up myself, with all that belongs to me, to the Mother of the Lord, Sainte Marie du Puy ; I consent in her honour to embrace Christianity, and to become her knight u 290 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. but you shall understand, I engage myself freely, and I will, that my country shall hold of her alone, both for my- self and my 'descendants." ' The bishop, who was a good diplomatist, took in his hands a handful of hay from the meadow, where he stood with Mirat, and added, " Wilt thon then grant nothing in sign of homage to the Mother of God ? Offer her at least these blades of grass, to show that thou art become her 'Mirat said, " I will not take counsel of thee I will grant, that I wfll." < a So be ft," replied the bishop. *Then he returned back to Charlemagne, and asked the king his pleasure. The king having convened his council, made this reply : " It pleases me that homage be rendered to our Holy Lady of Puy, and I ordain that it shall be so." ' The bishop then went back to Mirat, and agreements were drawn up, as it has been said, with the king's consent. Mirat and his soldiers putting garlands of hay upon the head of their lances, in token of the surrender of the place, pro- strated themselves at the feet of Sainte Marie du Puy. mak- ing litter of this hay in honour of the Mother of God. Mirat obtained the title of knight for himself and his children. He was baptized by the name of Lorus, all his goods were remitted to him, and he resumed possession of Mirambe), and, according to the custom of gentlemen in. those days, gave his name to the castle, which thereafter was called Lordum (Lordes). This happened in the year 778.' The Castle of Lourdes was long held by the English, who, according to the usage of that time, made it a strong- hold, whence they issued out from time to time to pillage and devastate the country. The Black Prince came to visit it, and as Froissart relates, he said to Pierre Ernault or Arnaut, of the country of Beam, cousin of the Count de L/OURDES. 291 Foix , * Measire Pierre, sith I am come into this country, I make TOO castellan and captain of the Castle of Loonies. See, therefore, that ye look after this castel, so that ye may render good account to my lord, my father, and to me.' * Pierre Arnault and his six captains made in Bigorre, in Toulousain, in Carcassone, and in Albigeois, many toornays and forays ; for as soon as they were out of Loordes they were in the coontry of the enemy, and they crossed other, riding and running over that coontry, and pot themselves at those times foil thirty league* from their fort; and as they went they took nought, bat when they woold come home nothing escaped them and brooght in those times so great plenty of cattle and so many prisoners, they knew not where to lodge them; and they made all the coon- try pay a ransom, except the ooontry of the Count de Foix ; bat in that, they dared not take a hen without pay- ing, from a man who was the Count da Foix's man, or had his safe-conduct, for and if they had angered him, they had not endured.' 'But the Count de Foix entered into secret arrange- ments with the Duke of Anjou to deliver up the Castle of Lourdes to the king Charles Y. ; wherefore he sent for hie cousin, Pierre Arnant, to Orthez, who had thereupon many imaginations, and knew not if he should go, or let alone going ; all things considered, he said that he would go for he dared nothing anger the Count de Foix. Before he departed, he called to him his brother, Jean de Beam, and said to him in presence of all the garrison, "Jean my Lord the Count de Foix has sent for me, and wherefore, I know not but sith it is his will that I shall go and speak with him, I shall go and I doubt greatly that he will re- quire of me to yield the fortress of Lourdes ; for the Duke of Anjou hath not entered into his country of Beam, and I know not what treaty they have had together ; but I tell yon, that so long as 1 shall live, I shall yield this castle 292 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. only to my natural lord, the King of England. I will, Jean, my brother, at this time, that I establish ye here my lieutenant, and that ye swear to me by your faith and gentleness that ye shall hold this castle in the form and manner that I hold it, and that neither for death nor for life shall ye make default." ' Jean de Beam took the oath required, and the knight, Pierre Arnault, set out for Orthez, and was well received by the count, who made him sit at his table, and showed him such fine semblance of love as he could ; and after dinner, he said to him that he must speak to him of many things, and commanded that he should not depart from the castle without taking leave. The third day, the Count de Foix spoke in the presence of the Viscount de Bruniquel, the Viscount de Couzerans, the Lord Auchin de Bigorre, and other knights and esquires, and said to his cousin, " Pierre, I have sent for ye, and ye are come. Know, therefore, that my Lord of Anjou has great ill-will to me, because of the Castle of Lourdes and my lands would have been harried if I had not good friends among his horsemen. He has opinion that I sustain ye, because ye are of Beam, and me likes not the ill-will of so high a prince as the Duke of Anjou. Therefore, I command ye, insomuch as ye can do much against me, by the faith and lineage that ye owe me, that this Castle of Lourdes ye shall render unto me." ' And when the knight heard those words he was sore astonied, and he thought a moment to know what answer he should make, for he saw well that the Count de Foix had a set will. Howbeit, all things considered and thought over, he said ' " My Lord Without doubt, I owe ye faith and lineage, for I am a poor knight of your blood, and of your land, but for the Castle of Lourdes, I shall not render it to ye. Ye have sent for me, ye can make of me that ye will, but LOUKDES. 293 I hold that castle of the King of England, who put me there, and established me, and to him only shall I ren- der it." ' When the Count de Foix heard this answer, his blood stirred in felony and anger, and he cried, drawing his dagger ' " Ho ! false traitor ! Hast thou said this word ? Thou wilt not ? By my head, thou hast not said it for nought," * Then he struck the knight evilly with his dagger many times, and there was no knight or baron who dared hinder him. ' The knight said " Ha, my Lord, ye do not gentleness ; ye sent for me, and ye slay me." ' But the count stayed not, but after he had given him five wounds with the dagger; and then he commanded that he be put in the moat, and he was put therein, and there he died of those wounds.' The crime was useless as crimes generally are. Jean de Bigorre remained faithful to the promises he had made to his brother, and the brutal outrage committed by Gaston Phoebus only increased his hatred to the Duke of Anjou, and this prince was obliged to renounce the hope of con- quering that fortress. The choice made by Arnault was confirmed by the King of England, and Jean succeeded Pierre Ernaut as Governor of Lourdes. There is another pretty legend regarding a lake I did not visit, the Lac de Lhe'on : ' Once upon a time in the early days of the world, the Lord God often took upon Him the form of a man and descended to earth, and walked about among men. Now one night He was belated at the hour when all creatures seek repose, in a village high up in the mountains of Bigorre. He called to beg hospitality at the doors of many rich people, but one and all refused to take Him into their houses, and He could find no shelter except in 294 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. the hut of a poor cowherd. And as the cowherd had nothing to set before the poor traveller for supper, he generously killed his only calf, and made it ready, and set meat before Him. And God said to the poor cow- herd ' " My dear host, put aside all the bones of that calf ex- cept this one, which I will take." 'The cowherd obeyed, and when they had supped, He laid the bones of the calf in a row at one end of the hut, and the two laid down and slept. At daybreak the cow- herd arose and went out, and he saw his calf whose flesh they had eaten the night before, eating the grass before the hut ; and he had got all his bones, except the one which the Lord God had taken, and which sounded merrily in a great bell that hung round his neck. ' But the village, with its wicked and inhospitable in- habitants, was swallowed up entirely, except the cabin into which the Lord God had entered, and in its place there was a great lake, whose clear waters were as blue as the sky. That lake is called Lheon.' The man in the moon and his fagot of sticks is also a Pyrenean, as well as an English legend. ' Everyone knows that holydays and sabbaths were much more strictly observed formerly than they are now. * Well, once upon a time there was a man who worked every day without respecting those days which should have been kept holy, and this offended God, and He said to him ' " I pardon thee the past ; but henceforward only work on those days when it is lawful to work." ' This man, however, paid no attention to the words of God, but worked on without regard to the sacred days. He had sinned thus three times, and the third time he was carrying a bundle of thorns on his back, when God ap- peared, and said to him LOUBDES. 295 ' " What did I say to thee ? Did I not command thee to observe the holy days, and to suspend thy work on the Sabbath ? Thou hast not obeyed me ; now, therefore, I will withdraw thee from earth, and exile thee either to the sun or the moon ; choose to which thou wilt go." ' And the man answered : " What now shall I do ? Shall I choose to live in the sun or in the moon ? I know not. " * The Lord came to his succour, and said to him ; " The sun is a burning fire, and the moon is ice." ' Then the man having thought a moment, replied, " The heat of the sun frightens me ; since I must choose, I would rather go into the moon." ' " So be it," said the good God, and He transported him thither. ' And because all this happened in the month of Febru- ary the man was called Februaiy ; and because he never would repose on holy days, the man has now no repose in that planet, which is for ever in motion. ' It is not difficult when one looks at the moon to see him in it, still loaded with his fagot of thorns. It is his shadow that is on the moon's surface he himself is in the middle of the moon. But it cannot always be seen, for the moon herself is first invisible, then she appears, but seems very small, then she grows bigger, and at last her immense countenance looks down upon men. It is at that time, and while she is on the increase, that the shadow shows it- self, and the prisoner reveals his punishment to the earth. And the punishment will endure. But when the world ends when the stars shall fall from heaven February, purified by repentance, will resume, with his name of man, the freedom of the skies.' CHAPTER XXVII. BAGNERES TO GRIP. I HA.VE been on another pleasant excursion to Grip. The Miss Chapmans were going to drive there with Mrs. Nash, and kindly offered me the vacant seat in their carriage. It was a lovely afternoon, and the drive up the valley of Carapan enchanting. The fields at St. Marie were one mass of gay flowers. There were pansies, hyacinths, orchises, campions, campanula patula, columbine, the tall persicaria, geranium phceum, and in some places the grass was perfectly blue with the elegant flowers of the viola cornuta, so called from its long spur or nectary. This violet has no scent, and in its growth and leaves more resembles a straggling field pansy than a violet. It is, how- ever, a true violet ; its flowers are as large as those of the dog violet, and the same lovely blue, but, pansy-fashion, numbers of blossoms grow on the long branching stems. They look beautiful in the grass, but do not make so pretty a nosegay as many less lovely flowers, because it is so diffi- cult to arrange them on account of their straggling, branch- ing form. Farther on, after we had passed the inn at Grip, little Gerald Potter and I must needs get out of the carriage to scramble after a beautiful white flower I saw on the edge of a rock. We could neither of us reach it, after many vain attempts to do so, so we contented ourselves with such way-side flowers as we could gather, and then ran after the carriage, which Gerald seemed to think had been swallowed up bodily ; he could ' see all down the road, and there was BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 297 no carriage there ! ' His little heart began to fail him at the thought of being left alone with a stranger, but I cheered him up, assuring him it was only concealed from our view by the black rock in front, and that when we turned its shoulder we should certainly see the carriage. So it proved. ' There it is ! there it is ! ' shouted Gerald, joyfully, and he bounded forwards to rejoin his aunts. The first time I went with this same party to Grip we had divided, that Mrs. Potter might take a place in our car- riage, her driver not being sufficiently accommodating to take her on to the cascades, in consequence of which some of us saw the lower falls only, and this time we^were all determined to see the upper falls. I would advise anyone to be very careful in making an agreement witli the Bagneres voituriers to take them to the cascades of Grip, for if Grip only is specified, they take them merely to a wayside inn at the entrance of the com- mune, or property of the village, for the village is distant, and the cascades above a mile off, up a very steep hill. The voituriers always say the road is bad, and their horses cannot go up it, whereas the cascades are not half the dis- tance of the Col d'Aspin, nor is the ascent, up a most excellent road, half so fatiguing for the horses. It is cer- tainly a very steep pull, and for that very reason it is better to drive up than to walk. The upper falls are far the most picturesque and beautiful, and to-day they were quite enchanting from the exquisite contrast between the snowy foam of the water and the beautiful rose-coloured rhododendrons which clothed every rock and hillock, while the dark firwoods, above which towered mountain peaks, added grandeur to beauty. There were a great many workmen employed in con- structing a new road to Bareges one of those wonderful roads which are the glory of the Pyrenees ; and a young man (in the hope of a fee) offered to show us the new road, 298 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. and where the bridge (for which the workmen were now digging, or rather hewing, the foundation through bush- wood and rock) was to be thrown over the torrent ; and so take us down to the lower falls, which we wished to re-visit, that we might compare them with the upper. One of these men told me he had been an old Peninsular soldier, under the first emperor, and was nearly ninety years of age. He was a fine stalwart old man, and did not look much above fifty; but our guide said it was all true. I wished I could have given him something ; but alas ! it is all I can do, under present circumstances, to pay my way, and reserve means for the impending journey to England. / dare not be generous now, and this being obliged to stay my hand so often, when I would willingly give, is one of the bitterest pangs of poverty. Every inch of this road was full of fresh beauties. Gerald bounded among the rhododendrons, which glowed like fire in the rays of the setting sun, and wished to gather them all, and his elders were little behind him in plundering. So large a bouquet was collected that it had to be transferred to the guide to carry for us to the car- riage. The pale bright blue columbine grew here and there among the rhododendrons, adding beauty by con- trast, and no one who only knows the columbine of Eng- lish gardens can have an idea of the beauty of this cerulean blue flower of the Pyrenees. I have often remarked how much the growth, form, or colour of plants is affected by the soil and climate of different localities, so much so, as sometimes to be hardly recognizable as the same. When we got to a certain bend of the road, Mrs. Nash called to us to turn and look back, saying ' the scene before us now was exactly like a Swiss view, though the Pyrenees in general had a peculiar characteristic beauty of their own, unlike that of other mountain scenery.' I also had repeatedly observed the extreme difference of the colouring BAGNERE8 DE BIGOERE. 299 and aerial distances here from those of OUT Lancashire and Cumberland mountains. The green hues of the little val- leys, and the pastures scattered along the mountain sides, are much softer and more vivid than in England ; but mountains and distances are all of a more neutral greyish tint, and there are none of those rich deep-blue shadows, thrown across rock or mountain, which are so gloriously beautiful in Cumberland. It is twenty years since I saw those mountains, lakes, woods, and fells ; but the Pyre- nees, beautiful as they are, do not seem to me to equal the lake scenery on the whole, though we have nothing like the grand chain of mountains visible from the Col d'Aspin. I remember Wordsworth told me he considered ' the English lakes quite as beautiful as the Swiss ones ;' be- cause, said he, * though the Swiss ones are on an infinitely grander scale, yet, as the human eye can only take in a certain extent of vision, it can only see a part of the Swiss landscape ; while it can take in a complete and perfect view of our lakes, and their surrounding mountains.' The view Mrs. Nash called on us to admire, was that of a winding road, losing itself between two steep, precipitous hills thickly clothed with dark firs, while just where they seemed to meet, rose a high cone covered with snow, and flecked here and there with green-blue shadows. We scrambled down a narrow path under the brushwood to the lower fall, but remained of opinion that the higher ones were the most beautiful ; and then we walked through the meadows and hamlet of Grip towards the carriage. On our way, we met a peasant with a copper pot in his hand (nearly all the utensils of the Pyrenees are of copper and brass, fer blanc or tin being excessively dear), and asked him for milk. He uncovered the pot, and gave us some of the most delicious I ever tasted. I have never drunk such milk as on these two visits to Grip ; but, as 300 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. usual, the glasses brought were so filthy we had to rinse them two or three times in the running stream before we could use them, and the peasant wanted a franc for about a quart of milk, which he would have sent six miles to Bagneres, had we not drunk it, to be sold for three sous. We had given him half a franc, considering we were paying him very handsomely ; but he grumbled exceedingly, and said, * If he had known it, we should not have had the milk at all ; and he would take care to make the next party pay for it beforehand.' We, on our side, went off grumbling at the Pyrenean peasants, who, whatever may be their other good qualities, are described even by French authors as ' very avaricious, and never losing an opportunity of extortion.' When we got out of ear-shot, our guide doubtless to ingratiate himself, and unloose our purse- strings for his own benefit said, ' It was very dear and he sends it every day to Bigorre, and sells it for only three sous the bottle. But he is un avare ; and yet he is a very rich man he is the landlord of the hotel at Grip.' That dirty, mean-looking man the owner of a large landed- property, and a good way-side inn! Such are the Pyreneans. When we reached the carriage, just as I expected, the man who had been our guide for some hour and a half, was not satisfied with the/ranc, the price of half a day's labour, which one of the Miss Chapmans gave him. There was, however, more excuse for him than for the rich peasant at Grip. He and his fellows were working en corvee; they were doing government work, for which they were not paid, a fortnight's work in the year being required from every peasant as a kind of road tax. As we drove home, we stopped that the driver might gather me the beautiful white flower. It proved to be the epipactis ensifolia. It grows under the trees, and is about a foot and a half in height, having long lanceolate, striated, BAQNERES DE BIGORRE. 301 alternate leaves all the way up the stem, surmounted by a spike of white flowers rather apart from one another, and of the purest white, that look at a distance like lily bells. When you examine it more closely, there is a faint tinge of pale yellow at the inner part of the lower lip. Alto- gether it is a most graceful and elegant plant. I do love white flowers, they seem to me more pure and perfect than the gayest coloured ones. As we passed through St. Marie, on our way home, Gerald and I got down again to gather the viola cornuta. I found also the white potentilla, and the teasel hyacinth, and one true narcissus ; but as it grew near a cottage, I suspect that in this instance the root had been thrown out of the cottage garden. It is, however, indigenous both in England and in the Pyrenees. I have found the whole end of a large meadow near Abergavenny, covered with it. I believe, in fact, that most of the Pyrenean flowers are to be found in England, Ireland, Scotland, or Wales ; but what is rare with us is common here. The fritillary, for instance, grows in some parts of England as well as on the Monne, in the Pyrenees. Miss Emily Chapman gave me her beautiful columbines when we got home, and the next day I arranged my flowers into the largest and loveliest bouquet I had ever yet made, and took them to Lady Carnwath, followed by admiring eyes all down the Coustos. But as for the epipactis, that I carefully dried, in memory of my last visit to Grip. After all, I am but half a botanist. I hate long Latin names, whose harsh, foreign sound appears to me to mar the endearing homeliness of the flowers, whose greatest charm is that they stud every copse and lea, and are associated with one's earliest and dearest memories ; and I especially hate dried flowers, which seem to me like the dead corpse of what once was fresh, sweet, and beautiful. \Vlio, if they could, would like to keep a friend's corpse dried like a mummy ? CHAPTER XXVIII. BAGNERES DE BIGOREE LEGENDS AND MYTHS. ' THE superstitions of this Celtic race are numerous, and many are the legends and myths related by the peasants round the wood fire at night. Sometimes they tell how a shepherd went into a cave in the mountain, and, to his astonishment, saw some magnificent silver plate, which he hastened to envelop in his smock-frock, and carry home. But unfortunately, when he went out of the cavern, a red cock went out too, and followed him so obstinately, that the poor man, thinking to appease him, threw him, one by one, all the pieces of plate he was carrying off, till his smock-frock was quite empty, upon which the evil bird disappeared.' 'Or how another shepherd, wandering alone on the banks of one of those lakes that rise on the summits of the loftiest mountains, whose grand and solitary waters, blue as the sky, are surrounded by bare and jagged cliffs, saw of a sudden before him a heap of gold shining in the sun, over which a red goat seemed to keep a watchful guard. For you must know that every kind of treasure is guarded by a goat of supernatural kind, and that they are obliged to expose their buried riches to the beneficent rays of the sun three times in every year. The shepherd, dazzled by the vision of so much treasure, ran hastily to fetch one of his companions ; but when they both arrived at the place where it had been, they saw nothing but the mist on the mountain.' They say, also, that when the heroic Bigorrais chased the hated English from their BAGNERES DE BIGORKB. 303 country, those implacable foes avenged themselves by casting a spell over the mines of precious metal they had worked, which should prevent the Bigorrais from making use of them. There are flying deer, too, among the mountains of Bigorre, whose apparition sometimes startles the lonely herdsman in the full noon day, as they rise from the ground, straight as the handle of a sickle, and are lost in the clouds of heaven. They have wings like fire, which make so great a wind when they are agitated, that men at a distance are thrown down by the blast, and marvellous children of another world a perfect diamond adorns their foreheads. ' Sometimes, too, under the blue vault of heaven, a fire- coloured serpent, with a more brilliant diamond on his fore- head than that which shines on the bishop's finger, is seen to ascend into the air, and there can be no doubt that it is the expression of the will and power of Satan himself, the king of all pomp, and the arch-mage of all beautiful delusions.' ' " Let the mountain shepherd, who opened to me the golden folding-doors of legendary lore, speak," says Eugene Cordier ; " he will tell us the story of his own life : " ' When he was yet but an infant, at the breast, he be- came ill, and wasted away daily, refusing his mother's milk. In great anxiety about him, she went to consult a priest, and this priest was a clever man. " Make haste," said he, " before your child withers still further, to empty the pillow upon which he sleeps, you will then find out the true cause of his illness." The good mother opened the pillow, and found, to her surprise, that the feathers it was filled with, were joined and linked together, so as to form a long and compact chain, which it was impossible to break. She threw away the enchanted pillow, and the child recovered. ' But from that time he has always had spirits in his path. If he endeavours to penetrate into a mine where ore is 304 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. supposed to exist, his torch is instantly extinguished or a goat runs up and strikes him with its golden horns. If while he is herding the flocks the rain falls in torrents, and he seeks a shelter under the white rock which over- hangs the side of the mountain there is a frightful noise as if pans and caldrons were knocked together by invisible hands. The fern rustles and speaks, as he walks over it the hollow earth gives forth dismal groans and the wind whispers menaces but where would he be more tranquil ? ' Already aged, under these constant terrors, he passed one day near a fountain, when an old maid, who was drawing water there, looked strangely upon him. He hastened to turn his back to her but the evil eye caught him on the loins. " Peter," she cried, " are you sure you have not got sciatica ? " Alas ! from that moment, he felt a frightful pain, which is dragging him slowly to the tomb.' But there are means by which malignant influences may be averted. The juice of a branch of alder, gathered on the 1st of March, and squeezed into the Paschal holy water, is an efficacious talisman: and if cattle languish and die, from the effects of an evil eye, it is an urgent necessity to spin a dying toad at the end of a bit of pack- thread in the stable. But who can hinder the angry neighbour who is a witch from stopping the flowing of the water in which the linen is washing, by a single gesture ? And who can preserve himself from the deadly effects of unknown sorcery ? ' There was a girl in the valleys, that brought a child into the world, whose father refused to marry her. The faithless man was seeking another alliance. The forsaken mother, listening to no feeling but her burning thirst for revenge, had recourse to magic arts. She made such powerful conjurations, that her seducer first fell sick then his sufferings increased and his body became as full of BAGNEKES DE BIGORBE. 305 holes as a sieve. Pain and remorse brought him back to his mistress; he came fulfilling her most eager desire to offer her his hand. The woman forgave, and tried to save his life, as she had tried to take it but it was too late the terrible witchcraft ran its course. He died.* * Sometimes a shepherd, eager to enrich himself at any rate, goes at midnight to a spot where three roads meet, and asks for the price of his black hen, but ah ! how many a one has had cause to repent it. The devil, thus called for, appears. If the person who summons him can bear his terrible appearance and fantastic conversation, it is true that he sometimes departs, leaving behind him a considerable sum of money ! but, if fear is shown, he darts forward, and throws over his visitor the skin of a were- wolf a white skin, like that of the great mountain sheep-dog. How many times has the belated peasant been tormented by the dumb, silent, circling of these were-wolves. In vain he takes up a stone, and throws it at the animal the * I cannot help believing that evil wishes to one-self or another do give a certain power over human beings to the spirits of evil. In my father's house at Hornsea we had a servant called Jane Beswick ; she was seduced by our next door neighbour, a young butcher named Michael Burn, under solemn promise of marriage he wishing ' that his legs might rot off if he did not marry her.' After the birth of a child, however, he refused to fulfil his promise, and I got the unfortunate girl a place in the family of an old friend. Michael Burn then engaged himself to his cousin Nancy Straker, but just a little before the wedding was to take place, his mother, with whom he lived, sent in to our house one night to borrow a foot-bath, as her son had come home from Beverley fair complaining of violent pain in his legs, and she thought bathing in hot water might do him good. When the foot-bath was brought back next day, he was worse. The doctor was called in, but Michael languished for months, and became a perfect cripple, upon which his cousin Nancy refused to marry him. It is a fact that the bones of his legs did rot, and several of the smatter ones actually worked out. In his pain and remorse he wrote to Jane Beswick, and she came over and married him. Of course I wished to marry him after what had happened,' she said, when people wondered at her doing so. However he never recovered, but went on crutches for about two years, when he died. The singular thing was the sudden fulfilment of the curse he had imprecated on himself ht had nothing the matter with his legs when he went to Beverley Market he rode home as usual on horseback complained of intense pain on entering the house, and became a cripple from that day. 306 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. stone hits the beast who does not bark, but continues his magic round; he fires his gun the ball flattens, and returns towards him ; he utters a cry of despair the were-wolf looks at him, and his voice dies in his throat. 'This magic dog has a peculiar hatred to the canine race. If he meets a real dog, he stands up on his hind feet, lassoes him with a whip loaded with balls of lead, and flays him miserably. ' The were-wolf is a glutton. One of them used to go every night to a lonely dairy-farm, and uncovering the vessel that contains the milk of the herds, lap it all greedily up. One night he was surprised, and received a violent blow on the reins with a hatchet. The next day there was a man dead in the village. 'Some ^shepherds one day found a white skin suspended from a tree. Guessing that it was some sorcerer's left-oif garment, of which he had contrived to rid himself, they lit a fire of leaves, and threw the skin upon it. But it began to crackle, and made three leaps of a prodigious height, after which it allowed itself to burn away. If anyone sees the were-wolf appear by night, it is prudent to wait silently till he departs; for if anyone speak or even only open the mouth, the simple vision becomes a frightful reality, which stands upright, and struggles with the indiscreet speaker. Evil is his fate, if he prove weakest in the strife ; the were-wolf throws his skin upon him, and while the poor chatterer is constrained to go on four feet, and to wander about all night under a form unworthy of an honest man, the wicked sorcerer rejoices that his nocturnal enchantment is finished, and that he has regained henceforth the form of a man.' 'Strange superstition the terror of the peasant and once the belief of the entire people workman, citizen, noble, and judge ! Bodin cites a decree of the parliament of Dole, of the 18th January, 1574, condemning to the BAGNERES DE BIGOEBE. 307 flames one Gilles Gamier, who having bound himself by oath to serve the devil, had been changed into a were- wolf. Shall I speak of the presages drawn in the valley of Argeles from the bleating of calves. Shall I tell how the woodcutter of Ferrieres when afflicted by a painful wound, sought to learn the cause of his disease by blowing through a ram's horn into water which threw up air bubbles ? It is true that in a report drawn up towards the end of the last century, I find these words which go far to explain many of these beliefs : " The inhabitants of Arbeos (aux Ferrieres) are illiterate; ignorance and rusticity are their heritage. There are scarcely four in- habitants among the whole population who know how to write. And I must add, to the shame of our age, that up to the moment of which I write, vaccination is almost unknown to these exiles from civilization." ' But it is not only,' continues Cordier, * the relations of the middle ages, which have traversed time in the memory of the people, there are cotemporary histories, more or less strange, the heroes of which exist, and with whom the curious traveller can converse if he likes to do so.' Two miracles were recently related to me in one of the least known, and most neglected valleys of Bigorre, the valley of Ferrieres : ' A young girl grew weaker every day, the victim of a witch's evil practices ; her tongue unnaturally lengthening, fell down on her bosom, and marred her opening beauty. Tall, thin, and pale, her great black eyes burned with sombre fire, and she bent under the magic influence like a fading plant. No remedy benefited this unknown disease ; the doctors lost * the little Latin they know in these out-of- the-way places, where Latinity never reaches. She sank slowly, as if mined by a secret wound, in a word, she was * 'Perdre son latin ' is an untranslatable French proverb. 00 A LADYS WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. dying. She was at last persuaded to undertake a journey to Jacca in Aragon, and was conducted to the procession of the celebrated and beneficent Ste. Oroise, upon which the young girl's tongue shrank up visibly and went back into its natural place ; her drooping figure gently straightened ; her complexion cleared ; from pale it became white, tinged with roses ; her eyes shone only with the modest fire of a pure youth. The witnesses of the miracle beheld the frail flower recover all its pristine beauty, and the caressing words and admiration of the young men fell on her like the soft breeze falling on a rose that has been beat about by the furious blast of the east wind. ' A child in the same valley of Ferrieres had also suf- fered from the same evil eye. He was then at school in the holy place of Betharam. No one knows how this inno- cent was in a moment transported into a forest near Pau. What is sure is, that he opened his eyes like one awaking from a deep slumber, and thought he had fallen asleep while out walking. Some one happening to pass by, he inquired the way back to his school, and was laughed at to his face, because the person he questioned naturally imagined him to have played truant. However, he obtained sufficient information to enable him to find his way back to Betharam, where he related his adventure, which caused great surprise, and prayers were offered up for him. But after this the child was never well; he had sudden attacks of frenzy, he foamed at the mouth, his blood-shot eyes rolled wildly, he writhed, and twisting himself about, dropped to the ground senseless ; the doctors thought him attacked by the falling sickness, and treated him for that disorder ; but far from benefiting by their remedies, his attacks increased in number, and became more and more severe. His father was then advised to take him to Jacca, and father and son went thither; but scarcely was the child in the presence of the relics of Ste. Oroise, whose body BAGNEBES DE BIGORBB. 309 is all entirely preserved in the church, except the head, than he screamed frightfully, threw a frothy saliva over the faces of those who were near him, and even on the holy altar, and used the most blasphemous and horrible lan- guage. He could scarcely be retained in the temple, and five or six strong Spaniards held him down with difficulty ; while, strange to say, the child who had never before heard a word of Spanish, began suddenly to speak it with the utmost facility, using it the better to insult those who forcibly detained him. He even addressed the priests in Latin, and abused them grossly, but correctly, in that lan- guage ; and what is still more extraordinary, he conversed in Basque* with the men of that province (for people come from all parts of the world to the shrine of Jacca), horrify- ing them by fearful blasphemies, expressed in the purest Basque dialect. The poor father, stupified and ashamed that the demon should bestow the gift of tongues on his son, only that he might make so scandalous an abuse of it, knew not what to think, and prayed the blessed Ste. Oroise, yet more fervently, to work a miracle in his child's behalf. One morning that the relics were exposed to the people with more than ordinary pomp, while the young Ferrarais was held down by force near the holy reliquary, the resistance he had hitherto offered to his best friends suddenly ceased, his countenance lost the expression of blind rage and fury, his hallucinated look was directed up- wards to Heaven, with an expression of angelic piety. The people who held him loosed their grasp, and thus left to himself, the child who till then had writhed in convulsions, as if tormented by the flames of hell, now looked like a cherub out of paradise. At the same time occurred a sin- gular and undeniable fact, which is related in the archives of the Saint Oroise one of the child's boots fell off of its * Basque is said to be the most difficult of all languages, and is supposed to be the same dialect as that of the ancient Carthaginian. 310 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. own accord, leaving him with one foot bare. No one knows if the demon quitted him by the heel, but the thing was so evident and probable, in the eyes of the witnesses present, that it was agreed that the boot should be placed in one of the repositories of the sacristy, in testimony of the miraculous termination of so frightful a case of pos- session. Since this pilgrimage, the young Ferrarais, it is averred, has neither foamed at the mouth, howled, rolled his bloodshot eyes fiercely, or twisted himself about on the ground in convulsions, or uttered foul blasphemies, or had any return whatever, of fits. I have seen him, as well as the young girl, whose marvellous cure is still the subject of the pious conversations of the country.' Thus says M. Eugene Cordier, in his ' Legendes des Hautes Pyrenees,' in 1855, a work now out of print. CHAPTER XXIX. FARM IMPLEMENTS AND PRODUCE. No words can describe the lumbering agricultural imple- ments used by the Pyreneans. One would think they in- herited them from the Celts, their ancestors. Their carts are often the rough stem of a tree, with a few boughs nailed at each side, set upon wheels. The ploughs are small and light, and a woman generally follows the ploughman and breaks the clods after he has turned them with a hoe, or may be seen spreading the manure among the furrows with her hands. It is impossible to estimate the demoralization to which women's working with men, whether in English collieries or Pyrenean slopes, occasions. Bigorre is a fertile country, and were its lands properly tilled would be still more productive. Its crops are com of various kinds, and especially maize, or Indian corn (which is often sown as a second crop on the same land from which a previous crop has been taken), peas, beans, mangold-wurzel, carrots, turnips, vetches, hemp, and flax. Chestnuts are also a recolte, they are not considered as a fruit, but as an article of food, and are commonly sold ready roasted and stripped of the husk in the markets. They are also often parboiled ; the rich adding a small quantity of vanille to them in boiling at least this was done at M. 's, where I lodged. I did not like boiled chestnuts, but Keeper approved of them exceedingly, and ate them greedily, while he did not care for roasted ones, because they were not so tender. 312 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. The fields 011 the lower grounds are almost all water-mea- dows, and in the autumn about November or December (for the Pyrenees are blessed with a second summer, called St. Martin's summer, and October and November are generally far warmer and more beautiful months than July, August, and September, which are the rainy season) ; the water is turned on to fertilize and freshen the grass which has been parched and burnt up by the long months of hot weather. This enables the cultivator to have several crops of hay, for they do not allow the grass to go to seed as we do, apparently. Anything so beautifully green and fine as these meadows are till quite the middle of December, I never saw. They can only be compared to the fine verdant lawns in front of an English gentleman's house. One part of their farming system struck me as singular. They manure the grass in February and March, just when it is beginning to spring. I cannot think the system a good one, seeing it is contrary to nature. Providence provides the earth with a warm coating of dead leaves, to defend the tender buds from the inclemencies of winter, which, gradually decaying, mix with the mould and enrich it when the spring rains set in. To me this practice was a great annoyance ; the meadows were rendered ugly and inodorous just at the loveliest season of the year, when in England one sees them all sprinkled over with yellow cowslips, orchises, primroses, and ladies'-smocks, while ' The wild marsh marigold glows like fire, In swamps and hollows gray.' And I question whether it is not bad farming into the bar- gain. On the sloping lands too, the heavy equinoctial rains to which this country is subject, and which alternate with snow storms, must wash a great deal of the dressing away. I have often thought we have too many and too high hedges in England albeit a neglected old hawthorn hedge, with BAGNEBES DE BIGOBBE. 313 long branches of the wild rose hanging from it, and cle- matis, honeysuckle, briony, and wild hops twining among it, and golden, yellow, and purple vetch straggling up the sides, be a very lovely thing to the poet's eye and heart, and that it is to the immense number of close hedges in- tersecting all the fields, and preventing a current of air, that we owe so much blight. In England our fields, our gardens, our very hedge-flowers are attacked by innu- merable insects, which of late years have increased fright- fully. In my childhood, except upon the beans, currant bushes, and rose trees, this plague of aphides was, compa- ratively speaking, unknown. Now it infests everything, while caterpillars of all kinds have multiplied in the same manner. There must be a cause for this. What is it ? I believe it is the absence of a free, thorough circulation of air, for the reason that all greenhouses, which by their nature are close, are all thus infested. Yet we have mil- lions of little birds who live upon these insects. During the summer and autumn I spent in Germany, I seldom heard the song of a bird except the nightingale, or saw one ; while with us, they flit from bush to bush, and one cannot walk out without seeing hundreds. It was a peculiarly, wet, unfavourable season, yet there was no blight, except upon the vines, either in the gardens or in those large, wide, orchard-like fields, divided from each other only by a trench, or a low turf wall. It is the same in France. In the nine months I have now spent here, con- tinually rambling in the fields, and entering every garden I could, I have never seen any aphides.* Yet certain field- flowers are peculiarly liable to be attacked by them at least in England. I attribute this to the paucity of hedges. A French hedge is a laughable thing to English eyes. It is sometimes made of quickset, planted far apart, with the branches intertwined aujour, like a kind of lace or lattice- * After writing this I saw gome upon a species of wild sage. 314 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. work, and may be a yard high, and every twig is sedulously pruned off that it may preserve its thin lace, wire-like ap- pearance. I notice this hedge only on the lands of careful farmers, who no doubt think they have a perfect clipped . fence a FAnglaisc. What purpose it serves except that of division, I cannot conceive. A cow or a horse could easily break through or leap over it. The palings are as ab- surdly slight, even those meant to protect the railway lines from the incursions of cattle. Sometimes they are made of split stakes, each about the breadth and thickness of two of my fingers, with a similar rail across, or of sawn wood of equally slender dimensions. French practices seem in most things the opposite of English ones, and the advantage does not always lie on the French side. Whatever we in England think ought to be strong and large, the French make slight and small. It is in vain that you point out that owing to this, the conve- nience in question is rendered well-nigh useless ' C'est la coutume id,' is all the reply. Excelling us in all things that strike the eye, as in painting, anatomy, architecture, public fountains, and last, not least, bonnets, caps, artificial flowers, ribbons, and silks, in the country villages the French are far behind us, in the common decencies and comforts of civilized life they all go upon the principle of the farmer's wife, in Elizabeth Hamilton's clever and useful work ' The Cottagers of Glenburnie.' ' Ou, it'll joost du weel aneugh, there's nae use in mak'ing sich a fash.' * I canna be fashed,' was a favourite saying with myself and a girl companion, after we had read that book ; we said it in fun, but it seems the genuine expression of the French heart. Does your servant make a slop in your room ? she cannot be fashed to wipe it up, it will dry in time, * Ca nefera rien? When she sweeps, the dust is left in little heaps, till it suits her convenience to take it away, and I have known it thus lie two days in a large respectable BAQNERES DE BIGOBRE. 315 house. If you object that the draught from the open window will blow it away, and that it was no use sweeping, unless the dust were also taken away, the French equivalent for ' I canna be fashed,' is on their tongue directly, ' Oh, ga nefera rien.' I have heard there is a dust-shovel in Bagneres. I be- lieve it to be a myth ; I never saw one in any French house I ever lived in, except in Paris. How that dust is ever taken away remains a mystery to me. Doubtless it is an Eleusinian mystery not to be revealed to the common herd of women. I have watched the sweeping, I have followed the maid and her broom to the very verge of my lawful domains, man appartement ; she always made some excuse to go downstairs and left it, ' Cela ne fera rien,' she would take it away by-and-by. Never yet could I detect a French bonne in the act of clearing away that dust. My private opinion is that they gather it up in their hands, and thus throw it away. But / Retournons a nos moutons? Sheep constitute a great part of the wealth of the Pyrenees, and a pastoral life is here no fiction. But I am sorry they have abandoned the crook, which, besides looking picturesque, must really have been useful in hooking down nut and apple boughs, and as a staff, and leaping pole, across the mountain springs, and up the rough steep hill sides. Almost all the sheep have large twisted horns, and I notice three pure colours, white, black, and a sort of dark brown, from which the neat useful dark-brown undyed cloaks, capulets, vests, rowsers, and gowns, usually worn by the labouring popu- lation, are made. The shepherds do not keep the breeds separate, so that one sees a white lamb with four black feet and a black tail, &c., ring-straked, speckled, and brown sheep. The mutton of these sheep is generally very small, and excellent in flavour. I have bought legs whose bones were not thicker than a lady's forefinger ; I paid for each thirty 316 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. sous, about fifteen pence. It is common here to piquer a leg of mutton with garlic, that is, small holes are drilled into it before roasting, and a small kind of garlic resem- bling a very young onion, inserted therein. If I had been told of this plan beforehand, I should have declared it was an abomination, but when my first tiny leg of mutton came up dressed in this manner, I ate it without thinking about it, and found it to be a decided improvement, giving the whole joint a high gamy flavour. They do the same thing to lamb, which I think spoils it. Another way of dressing a leg of mutton here, is to stew it whole in vin ordinaire, together with some ham, a little butter, a little garlic, mushrooms or ceps, and a little salt ; a little burnt sugar is added to colour it, and it comes up to table a rich brown colour, like a roasted hare, and is a capital dish. But do not suppose you can always have mutton at Bagneres. No. In January the Maire issued an order that every butcher should have beef in his shop, since which time we have been restricted to beef, lamb, pork, and veal, which latter seems the staple food all the year round. In England we make our soups of beef; here all soup is made of veal. Lamb, and pork, the last especially, are dear in the Pyrenees. Game is very scarce. Poultry and ducks nearly as dear as in London. Geese are fattened like an English prize bullock, and distended with yellow fat, are to English eyes most disgusting. To roast them would be impossible ; the French eat them cut into pieces, and stewed in their own grease ; it must be a dish fit for Laplanders, as they must taste like train oil. They are as dear as in England. Venison I never saw. A stray izard or chamois may be killed now and then, but they become rarer every year, as the mountain heights are more and more invaded by visi- tors, and will soon become extinct. Buck wheat and millet are a good deal cultivated, and the corn made into cakes. The millet is made into oblong rolls of paste, about the BAGNEBE8 DE BIGOEBB. 317 size of a rolled pudding, and sold in this form in the market. These rolls of paste are cut into thin slices, fried in butter, and covered over with powdered sugar, and taste very well. Semolina is also a good deal sold in the market. Fruit and all kinds of vegetables are very plentiful and cheap, but Bigorre is not a fruit country, being too cold. The yellow peaches and grapes come from Pau and the district about Tarbes, while the oranges which are of a very large kind, and dear, come from Spain. These oranges have still their fresh acid taste in March, when they are quite over with us in England. Potatoes are cheap and good, and are much cultivated on some of the mountain slopes where wheat will not grow, and those grown on this dry soil are always free from the disease which attacks those planted in a damper soil. The potato is sometimes called the parment.iere in France, from Parmentier, a celebrated chemist, who first succeeded in bringing them into common use. They had been grown for some time in the country ; but a prejudice existed in the people's mind against them. They grew them occasionally, as a cheap food for their animals, and that was all. Parmentier was born the 17th of August. 1737, at Mont- Didier, a town in ancient Picardie, Departement de la Somme, of an honourable but poor family. In 1780 he commenced a series of laborious examinations into the qualities and uses of the potato, and finding it contained a great deal of nutriment, endeavoured in many ways to bring it into common use as an article of diet. It was a difficult matter to ask the great and the rich to eat a food that had hitherto been scarcely thought fit for pigs ; but he proved that it contained a delicate and wholesome farinaceous matter of extreme whiteness, which might be made into the most exquisite dishes, or mingled with flour into excellent bread, and would even give a good brandy. 318 A LADY'S WALKS m THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. He invited his friends to dinner, and gave them twenty dishes, all prepared with this precious vegetable ; and by degrees the thing got talked of, and people began to be- lieve that potatoes might be good. For some years the cereal crops had been very insuffi- cient in France, and the people suffered much from scar- city of bread. In 1785, they were in a state of absolute famine. There was a vast arid, uncultivated plain, called Sablons, near Paris. Parmentier had it planted with potatoes, and persuaded the Lieutenant of Police to set a guard of soldiers over it during the day only, in the hope that the people would steal them by night when they saw them considered so valuable a crop as to be guarded by the government. He was right in his conjectures. Every morning people came to tell him that large quantities had been stolen during the night. He was delighted, and recompensed the informers liberally, who went away quite stupified at a man's rejoicing over the loss of his property. But the prejudices of the people were conquered ; and from that time the potato became a common food in France. Parmentier also persuaded Louis XVI. to wear a bouquet of the potato flowers at a public festival, and that helped to bring it still more into fashipn. The potato gives six pints of pure brandy for every hundred pounds of potatoes ; and the liquor being kept some months in new barrels, and slightly coloured with burnt sugar, is equal to common brandies. It is easily made: A hundred pounds of potatoes must be well washed, cooked by steam, and bruised by a cylinder. After 225 pounds of well-water has been first added to them, four pounds of barley-meal are then put into a barrel or tub, and upon this is poured 25 pounds of boiling-water ; this water is stirred about, and the crushed potatoes are then thrown in, and the whole well mixed together. Six or eight ounces of yeast, together with six BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 319 ounces of good brandy, are next added, and the whole well mixed again ; the barrel or tub is then covered up, and the mixture left to ferment quietly. The fermen- tation generally lasts five or six days. It is known to have ceased, when a clear liquid only remains, on un- covering the tub. It is then decanted off the lees, and distilled. This liquor is known by the name of Cohobe. The lees, or refuse, after distillation, is employed in feeding cattle, who drink it eagerly, if mixed with water; and cows thus fed give a quantity of milk. I copy these de- tails, however, from Deville. I did not hear of whole being much used in France. M. Cadet de Vaux also discovered that potatoes helped to make an excellent paint. It gives the paint consistency, aud has not the inconvenience of animal glue. This is the recipe: A pound of potatoes, two pounds of Spanish white, four pints of water. The potatoes are cooked by steam, crushed while in a boiling state, and then mixed with two pints of hot water, which mixture is passed through a horse-hair sieve. The Spanish white is then mixed with the two remaining pints of water and added to the potatoes (more water may be added if necessary). This paint is laid on with a brush, like that made with glue. It is a beautiful milk-white. It can also be coloured grey, by adding porphyrized (sic) charcoal ; yellow, by adding ochre, &c. Two coats may be laid on without difficulty. It holds perfectly either on walls or on wood ; it is neither liable to shell off, nor to fall off like dust; and it does not cost deux centimes (a halfpenny) the square of six feet. Acorns also are a crop, the pigs of each village being driven into the woods belonging to it to feast upon them in their season. Nuts and walnuts are cheap, and plen- tiful. One or two people in Bagneres keep silkworms for profit M. Villeneuve, the proprietor of the bonbon and wine-shop, usually makes about a hundred a year by his 320 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. silkworms, though the mulberry-leaves on which they feed have to be brought from a great distance, as there are none in Bagneres. He lets the insect emerge from the cocoon, and lay its eggs, which are sold under the name of ' La graine de vers de soie? The silk sells, of course, as an inferior article, and is made into the kind of stock- ings called spun silk in England. There are one or two paper manufactories at Bag- neres, and another at Pouzac. The paper made is chiefly of a coarse, inferior kind. A coarse, common kind of cloth, and a strong linen, are manufactured in most of the mountain farms, as they used to be in England seventy years ago, for family consumption. Even among the gentry most of the stockings worn are knit by hand. The knitting of the Pyrenees is renowned for its beauty, and some of it is almost as fine as lace. The finest specimens I saw of Pyrenean were at the shop of Madame Costellat, near the Place des Coustos. There also I saw specimens of the Crepe de Barfyes, which Murray says is manufac- tured at Bagneres, but I could not hear of any manufac- tories of it in the town, though I inquired. Madame Costellat had merely scarves of it. Knitting is the staple work of the female population of the town ; and as one walks up the Hue de Toulouse, and sees the groups of dirty women sitting before their doors, knitting the most intricate and gay-coloured patterns, from some thirty or forty different coloured balls of worsted that lie in their laps, or roll upon the muddy ground, one wonders how those delicate fabrics can ever come out so clean and beautiful. The colours are, I believe, all dyed in grain, and the shawls washed aftqr they are finished. I saw some scarlet ones undergoing that process. The patterns from which they are knitted are worked in cross-stitch on canvas, and look like any other cross-stitch flowers. Turning boxwood is another Pyrenean industry. It is l BAGXERES DE BIGORRE. 321 made into cups and balls, glove stretchers, silk winders, candlesticks, &c. I have seen some of the women making rosaries ; they do it very quickly, stringing the beads on to a ball of fine wire, and twisting the wire into a loop as they break off every bead separately ; like crochet, it seems to be done by a turn of the wrist, and I should think the knack must be acquired in childhood. Straw plaiting does not obtain, as hats and bonnets are not worn by the multi- tude. I went all over Bagneres in vain, to try and get a yard or two of straw plait to enlarge my hat. The bee- hives are not made of straw as with us, but of a coarse, light, basket-work, which is afterwards coated with clay and cow-dung. The basket-work all comes from Tarbes, Pau, or Toulouse. The crockery is of the very commonest description ; it is a coarse brown ware, and not half so pretty as the grey- and-blue kind manufactured in Germany, and common also in the Bordeaux market. Marble is cheap and com- mon ; the thermes or public baths are built of marble, and the door-posts and lintels of nearly every house in Bagneres are of marble. A great variety of very beautiful kinds, pale-rose, green, white, and veined are found among the mountains, and the valley of Campan especially is cele- brated for its marble quarries. Marble works abound in every part of the valley of Bagneres, the Adour turning innumerable wheels, and being apparently more considered and valued as a ' water privilege ' than as a lovely romantic stream ; but the principal works are those of M. Leon Geruzet. He kindly showed Madame and myself over them one day before I left her, and we saw very beau- tiful tables, vases, altars, and ornaments manufactured from the rarest varieties. What struck me most, was the exquisite finish of many of the carvings, executed from models, by his workmen, who had never learned to draw. The French are, undoiibtedly, lorn artists. Y CHAPTER XXX. BAGNEEES DE BIGOKKE THE COL D'ASPIN. I WENT yesterday to the Col d'Aspin with my kind new friends, the Miss Chapmans, their sister Mrs. Potter, and her children, Mrs. Paris and her two little girls. We were a very merry party. Cela va sans dire, where there are children for their quick, keen sense of enjoyment gives zest and life to everything. I wonder whether the far- famed Swiss views are finer than the chain of the Pyrenees seen from the Col on a clear day ? However, the weather was not propitious, and had I been alone, I should cer- tainly have given up the expedition. As I stood at the window awaiting the carriage, a sudden gust of wind blew the dust up and whirled it in the air, and the birds uttered that peculiar chirp, which is always the certain herald of rain. One of our party, however, was about to return to England ; she did not like to give the excursion up, so we went. We drove along the lovely vale of Campan, and then, instead of going on to Ste. Marie, took the road to the right, which wound among the hills to Paillole. It was a regular ascent all the way, and at every step, the view grew wilder and grander till we reached the inn of Les Quatre Vesiaux, which stands on a small plain at the foot of the Col, with a meadow in front of it, closed in by mountains clothed with dark pine woods, called here sapins. There are plenty of wolves in these woods, and some- times, in very severe winters, they come down even to Bag- neres. Some winters ago, the servant of an English lady BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 323 who lived in the heart of the town, on opening the house- door at five o'clock in the morning, to go to early mass, was frightened by two pair of fierce green eyes glittering in the dark two wolves stood there. Fortunately they are very cowardly, and, unless pressed by severe hunger, always run away. Still, I should not like to meet one. My friends had taken all the materials for a good break- fast with them, and, though we had all had one breakfast before starting, the mountain air had made us quite ready for another. We ordered a jug of hot milk, four cups of coffee (we had chocolate in a bottle), an omelette, and a dozen boiled eggs ; bread, butter, and everything else we had of our own ; for this and le service they charged us Jive francs and a half quite enough, we thought. I dare say, they would have charged French people only three. It is quite time English people left off their foolish habit of paying more than the prices of the country. The doing so does not make them a bit better liked, and it is hard upon other travellers, who are also English, but have not the same means, and yet are expected to pay a T Anglaise. After we and our horses* had breakfasted, we began to ascend the steep winding Col through a wood of magnificent sapins, from whence we ought to have had splendid views ; but, alas ! a fine drizzling rain came on, and we were ob- liged to have the hoods of the two carriages up for a while, and when it ceased to rain, a rising mist half veiled the mountains from our sight. The sun never came out for more than a momentary gleam the whole day, and as it was an expensive excursion twenty-five francs for each carriage, which included everything except our private * It is not usual for the party hiring a carriage to pay for the food ot either the driver or his horses ; these items are included in the charge made for the carriage, which is always high enough to cover all. As in one place I lodged at, the house of a muu who let out horses, I had the oppor- tunity of learning practically that there were two tariffs i >f charges, one for the English visitors, the other for the French residents. 324 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. breakfast at the inn, and we could not all of us afford to come again; it was vexatious. There was, however, no use in grumbling we were all ready to be pleased with what we could see, and though we were disappointed in not seeing the Spanish Pyrenees (I missing them for the second lime), we all enjoyed our day thoroughly. It was what painters call a grey day. The effect of the large moving masses of mist now veiling a whole mountain, now rolling heavily off, and showing the peaked crest or part of one side glittering white and keen, or of a rich mossy green, against the grey rocks, was very grand. When we got to the Col, an ill-favoured peasant forced himself upon us as cicerone ; he would tell us the names of mountains we could not see. Nothing of the long chain of mountains that ought to have been visible, could be seen, but one near inconsiderable hill, and the Tourmalet. But we could look down into the valley and village of Aspin and trace part of the road towards Luchon, and beyond that a wall of mist shut everything out. Again it began to rain, and most of the party retreated to the carriages, but three of us were sure the mist was clearing off, and would at all events, walk a little farther to the edge of the hill. It did, in fact, clear a little, and the view of the valleys below the Col in that soft grey light was inexpressibly lovely. 80 lovely that I and Miss Chapman would go farther on yet, leaving the other lady to return alone. We went down the road a good way, and looked into two green vales. There I saw a great many daffodils in a field below the road. My companion said she would sit down and wait for me while I gathered some, and I ran down to them. I never saw anything more beautiful than tbat plain of flowers. At a distance only daffodils were visible, but when we got to them we found the ground covered with innumerable large blue gentianellas also, forming the loveliest contrast with their pale yellow ; and among them, BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 325 here and there, grew two orchises I had never seen before, a bright crimson one with golden spots on the lip, and a pale green one * with small crimson spots, which had a very faint delicate scent ; both kinds grew close to the ground, and their stems were close sheathed in the long pale green leaves. There was also another plant (Gentiana lutea), not yet in flower, with a rounded leaf, crimped longitudi- nally. I never saw such beautiful daffodils before. Their cups were much longer and larger, and the side petals far paler and almost twice as large as is usual. The leaves also were larger and thicker. The gentianellas, on the other hand, were not nearly so deep coloured and lovely a blue as those on the Monne, which I attributed to their being more exposed, and growing on a marshy plain, for the few we had seen peeping from under the heath on the road side, as we ascended the Col, were the true lapis lazuli blue. I gathered a few and returned to Miss Chapman, but we had not gone far towards the carriages, when we met another of the sisters, and her little boy, coming to seek us, and we agreed to go back to the daffodil field. We were busily gathering flowers when a peasant came up, and said it was his field, and we should either pay him something for them, or leave them ; we were injuring the grass by treading on it. It was not true, for cattle were browsing in the field, and moreover the daffodils nearly covered it, and we demurred. The man insisted. We might give what we pleased, but something we must give he was poor. * If you own this field you are richer than I am,' said I ; ' I have no land.' ' But you have money, or you would not be travelling here.' * Orchis sambucina. The other died before I could ascertain ita species. 326 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. ' I earn my bread by writing books, as you earn yours by working in the fields, and I shall put in the one I am writing about this country, that the peasants on the Col d'Aspin want one to pay for the wild-flowers that God has planted there, and which are no use to them. You are the first Frenchman who has ever asked me for such a thing as money for wild-flowers.' ' JWimporte, vous me donnerez ce quil vous plaira, mais je veitx quelque chose.' I felt in my pocket. ' I have only quatre sous,' said I, handing them to him. He took them with half a laugh saw he had an obstinate woman to deal with and de- parted, and we remained to gather gentians, and admire the extreme beauty of the panorama around. Now and then the fleecy clouds of mist rolled off for a moment, but soon from the depths of the valley it came up like a dense grey wall, hiding everything from our sight, and we hastened back to the top of the Col, where our hungry companions, tired of waiting for us, had, as the children informed us, ' dirtied all the plates, and eaten everything up ; ' which being Englished, meant that they had dined. There was plenty left, of course, and we fell to, and the others began by helping us, but the appetite with which we ate, awakened theirs, and they all gathered around, and we had a very merry repast. Our ill-favoured, gaunt, discontented, self-constituted cicerone, a woman who was knitting, and five ragged, barefooted boys, standing for full half an hour watching us with curious eyes. I had taken a roast leg of lamb with me, and as no one would help me to eat it, I cut off a large slice and sent it with a roll to the man, by one of the children. Then we sent the remains of the cold chickens, half the lamb, and some bread to our two drivers ; and lastly, I called the girl and the five boys, and we gave them the leg of lamb and a long roll, with which they retreated to a stone opposite, where they devoured it, each BAGNERES DE BIOGERE. 327 taking a bite in turn. I suppose they were not possessed of a knife, as I concluded they would be, when I gave it them whole. A gaunt, hungry shepherd's dog came behind us, and ate up the bones we threw away, but drove away a younger and leaner cur than himself, as human dogs who are beginning to make their way in the world, sometimes drive away still poorer stragglers. By the time we had dined, and packed up the dinner things again, the mist had turned to rain. We were glad to have the hoods of our carriages put up, and to drive homewards as fast as we could ; but as soon as we began to descend, and left the magnificent prospect which we had not seen behind us, the fog and rain lessened. The distant landscape remained veiled, but it was fine around us. We put down the hoods of the carriages, and I and the children got out to gather asphodels. Our English garden asphodel is a very ugly affair, but Pope knew what he was about, when he wrote of ' Meads of flowery asphodels.' The asphodels here are a transparent white starry flower, growing on a tall, smooth, green stem, about as thick as my finger ; and except that their colour is brown, the un- blown ones resemble a gigantic head of asparagus. They bear a spike of flowers about a yard or a yard and a half high, the lower buds opening first. The flower has six transparent white petals, each of which has a long, narrow, brown line up the middle of the back of the petal, but dimly showing through its transparency ; and when they are freshly gathered, the orange tips of the stamens reflect, as it were, a kind of flame colour in the centre of the white corolla, which has both a singular and beautiful effect, that I never observed in any other flower, and which it loses, though the tips of the stamens retain their orange hue, after being a day or two in water. The leaves are 328 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. about the colour of the daffodil leaf, but more pointed, and twice as long and large. When these fields of asphodels are in full bloom, they must be very beautiful. The root is tuberous, and grows precisely like that of a dahlia, only that the tubers are very much smaller, being little thicker than one's finger in the middle, and tapering off to a point. When we got near Ste. Marie, it was clear and fine, and again we children, the old child and the young ones, got out to gather the beautiful blue horned violet in the rich grass meadows. If we had been asked to pay for our flowers here, we could not have grumbled, for we had no right to climb the hedges and get into fields growing for hay ; but who could re,-ist such violets ? and they do not grow near Bagneres. We got, also, some white narcissi from a stray plant, taken along with manure into the field I suspect, though the narcissus does grow wild near Campan, I believe. We noticed, also, in the meadows hereabouts, great quantities of a little yellow pansy, which some of the party said was very common in Switzerland ; orchises fringed the banks, and the beautiful pink-fringed lychnis marked out the course of the meadow runnels ; lastly, to crown all, we got some white potentillas, of a kind I had never before seen growing wild. It was seven o'clock before we drove into Bagneres ; the baskets that had held our dinner were full of gentianellas, daffodils, and asphodels. The little children had large bouquets of Alpine violets, and the big child had one hand full of asphodels, and the other of violets, as after getting down her companions, she drove in solitary state to her own door. ' Quelles belles Jleurs vous aviez quand vous revlntes du Col d'Aspin ! ' said the butcher's wife to me, when I went to buy Keeper's dinner there this morning as usuaL J& BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 329 Need I say, that despite fog and rain, I enjoyed my day thoroughly. So did my companions. There was not a look of real vexation, or a cloud on anyone's face the whole day. I never was with a merrier party of big children, and little children. It is good to be children again sometimes, and pleased with small pleasures. Yes- terday, at the Col, the heat was really oppressive, the air was so close ; to-day it rains heavily, and after shiver- ing half the day in despair, I ordered a fire. There never was such a changeable climate as this, and yet it seems to suit asthma and consumption in the early stages. CHAPTER XXXI. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE CHARACTER OF BEARNAIS AND BIGORRAIS. MY English friends have sometimes inquired of me what kind of people the Pyreneans were. Here is their character, as I myself observed it, and as it is drawn by French writers. The peasants are astute, close, and avari- cious. They grow rich by saving up sous, and often buy up the property of families who have been expatriated for political offences, or which has been brought to the hammer by the extravagance of the owners. But they do not, upon this, alter their habits or mode of life, as an English nouveau-riche would. The decorations of the Seignorial chateau fall to pieces, the gilding becomes tarnished, the paper on the walls hangs in fragments, or the costly arras, covered with dust and spider-webs, moulders silently away ; the windows remain uncleaned, and by degrees the panes drop out, and the parquet floors are undusted, unwaxed, and unswept. The new lord and his family live in the kitchens, and keep their corn in the richly-decorated salons and bedchambers. They breakfast, as before, on pate, a sort of porridge made of maize flour, previously grilled in the fryingpan, and dine, except on fete days, on soupe aux choux, or aux haricots. The children run about in wooden sabots, or barefooted, and the wife in a faded, soiled mouchoir headdress, and dirty gown, twists thread from the distaff as she herds the pigs; and yet that wife brought a fortune to her husband, and each of her six children will have also from five hundred to a BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 331 thousand pounds, while the favourite child will inherit the estate. ' Disinterestedness,' says a French traveller, ' is not a mountain virtue. In a poor country, money is the first necessity. Beggars swarm in the Pyrenees. I never met a child that did not ask alms, from four years old to fifteen ; this is their trade, and nobody is ashamed of it.' The same writer gives an amusing instance of their dexterity ' in shearing an egg.' A friend of his desired the servant to sew a button on to his trowsers. In the evening she entered the room, pantaloons in hand, and said, with an undecided, anxious manner, as if she feared her demand would be disputed, ' C'est un sou.' The master, without speaking, took a sou from his waistcoat pocket, and laid it on the table. Jeannette went on tiptoe to the door, recollected herself, came back, took the trowsers and showed the button. ' Ah ! it is a beautiful button ! (a pause). I had not one in my box (another, longer pause). I bought that one at the grocer's, cest un sou /' She looked up with anxiety ; the owner of the pantaloons, still without speaking, laid on the table a second sou. It was clear there was a mine of sous in that quarter. Jeannette went out, and a moment afterwards re-opened the door ; she had settled her plans, and with a shrill, piercing voice, and wonderful volubility, she cried, ' I had no thread. I was obliged to buy thread. I used a great deal of thread ; it was very good thread. The button will not come off again, I sewed it on strongly. (Test un sous.' The master pushed towards her a third sou. Two hours after, Jeannette, who has reflected on the subject, reap- pears. She prepares breakfast with minutious care, wipes up the slightest slops, softens her voice, walks gently, and is most ostentatiously attentive ; then she says, in the most obsequious and winning manner possible, ' I must not lose you would not wish me to lose ; the stuff was hard, I 332 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. broke the point of my needle. I did not know it before, I have only just seen it. Cest un sou.' The master drew forth the fourth sou, repeating Ce peuple est innocent : son ing6nuite N'altere pas encore la simple ve'ritS.' Take courage, Jeanette, you will gain a fortune, my child. Happy the husband who shall conduct you, candid and blushing, under the roof of his ancestors ! Go and brush my pantaloons.' 'They are as great bargainers as beggars. You can scarcely cross a street without meeting a guide who prof- fers his services to you. If you are sitting upon a hill, three or four children, fallen apparently from the clouds, bring you butterflies, stones, curious plants, or nosegays of flowers. If you go near a stable, the proprietor comes out with a bowl and tries to force you to buy some milk. I stood looking one day at a young bull, out came the owner and wanted to sell it me.' * Pierre Graston Sacaze, the shepherd, poet, botanist, and geologist of Aas, near Eaux-Bonnes, in his patois poem ' A Promenade to Gabas ' relates, * that being with some gentlemen on the mountain, they were overtaken by a sudden and violent storm, which tearing up fir-trees, beech-trees, and great stones, flung them upon the route, and rendered it impassable. The travellers did not know what to do, the only safe road was through a small meadow surrounded by stone walls belonging to Jean Doulet. They turned their horses' heads thither. Out rushed Jean Doulet, forbidding them to go through his heritage, and they were forced to purchase the right of passage by a double napoleon.' To set against this eagerness for gain, the peasants are kind and civil to the passing stranger, and seem pleased if * See Henri Tain,' a French writer. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 333 one enters into conversation with them. Crime and vio- lence are rare ; and I felt no fear when miles away among the mountains with no guard save Keeper. Was I not there, as in the city, under the protection of God ? They are often, also, scrupulously honest, notwithstanding their avidity. Nicolle, after relating that a mountaineer made him pay ten sous for having walked on his grass at Bun, relates that the same day a traveller from Eaux- Chaudes by the Col de Tortes, to Cauterets, being warned by the clink of metal that the lock of the portmanteau he carried before him on his horse, had given way, and the purse within sprung open also, examined both, and found he had lost twenty-five louis, which he had sown along the road he had traversed. His guide turned back to look for them. Wherever he passed, the pieces of gold had put the people on the alert, and as he went on relating what had occurred, each individual gave up what he had found here two pieces, there three farther on ten, till he had the whole of the twenty-five in his hand. And all these people were poor, hard-working peasants, who found it difficult to gain bread. * How lucky you were,' said some one to the guide. < Bah ! ' replied he ; ' I knew I should find them.' He could not have given his compatriots higher praise. Deville speaks of their love of bargaining. 'When a father, who has marriageable daughters, observes a lad paying attention to one of them, he asks his intentions, and if the word marriage is pronounced, goes at once to the young man's father to inform him of what has oc- curred. If he approves the match, both parents go to a cabaret, pour vider la bouteille, and it is while striking the glasses together, in sign of good fellowship, that they settle what each will give his child, and conclude the affair. When the principal points are arranged, a day is named for signing the contract. On the day appointed the friends and neighbours of both families meet together, and the 334 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. dot is agreed upon. Here the most comical discussions arise. Every object, every piece of cloth, which is to form part of the household linen of the future bride, is the cause of contention. There is a battle about every rag and chiffon, and a marriage is often broken off, because an apron, or a pair of sabots, is refused. I was witness to one such rupture. A young man and girl were to be married, and all the preparations had been made, when they came to- gether to Tarbes to buy the wedding-ring. The girl wanted a gold one, the young man thought silver good enough. A discussion arose between them, and the wed- ding was broken off for four francs. On another occasion, when the contract was signed, the mother of the bride- groom bethought herself of counting over the linen of the bride. A towel was wanting. She counted again, it was certainly missing. There were reclamations on one side, and evasive replies on the part of the girl's mother, who, to shorten the discussion, added, that if they were not satisfied with what there was, the marriage should not take place. Both parties rose, and were about to separate, when the notary solved the difficulty by saying He would give the towel. He actually gave it, and thus a marriage was concluded, which had been on the eve of being broken off for thirty sous (about fifteenpence).' ' The godmother of the bride is expected to give the wed- ding-shift, which is generally very pretty, being trimmed at the hem with lace or flounces, according to the fortune of the giver and the receiver. The eight days before the grand day are spent in preparations for the feast, which are ordinarily very ample. The direction of it is usually confided to the Cure's housekeeper, or the cook of some rich countryman. Kich peasants send for a cook from the nearest town. It is a great affair to them. Most of them date their existence from their wedding repast. Events, age, nothing effaces that day from their memory. It is the BAGNERES DE BIGOKKE. 335 stand-point of comparison for all the succeeding feasts at which they may assist, and even very old people remember its most insignificant details. As soon as the destined day dawns, the village fiddlers hasten under the bride's win- dows, and serenade her with village airs. Officious girls also join her, after having laid all the neighbouring gar- dens under contribution for wedding bouquets, to give the coming guests. "When the bride's toilet is completed, which does not take long, as there is no luxury of dress among our mountaineers, the nobi* and the nobie, each con- ducted by their godfather and godmother, armed with huge bouquets, repair first to the Maine, and thence to church, followed by the wedding train, marching two and two, each donzellon giving his arm to his donzelle. The Cure unites the couple, and afterwards preached to them a sermon in patois which he received from his predecessor, who received it from his, who had it from the one he succeeded, to whom also it had been transmitted.' ' When the ceremony is over, the party return to the bride's house, and on entering she takes a plate which she holds between her hands, kneeling modestly on a chair or stool placed for her. The husband advances first, traces a cross upon her forehead with some pieces of money which he holds in the right hand, kisses her on each cheek, and puts his offering into the plate. Each of the assistants then gives the two kisses, and pays tribute ; and the col- lection thus made is generally abundant, especially if the parties are much beloved. The money serves to defray the expenses of the feast When all have given, and the nobie is etrenn,\ the party sit down to the festival. Two * Dead godfathers or godmothers are replaced by substitutes. The groom is called ndbi, the bride nobie. While the wedding festivities last every young man invited is called donzellon, every young girl donzeUe. It will be seen that the Bigorrais wedding customs somewhat differ from those of Beam. t Elrennt, given gifts, equivalent to our Yorkshire handselled. 336 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. badly-joined planks placed upon stakes driven into the floor, and covered with a resplendent white cloth, form the table, and are loaded with dishes enough for four times the number of guests assembled. Six chairs placed on each side, and two at the ends, support other planks on which the party take their seats, the seat of honour being re- served for the Cure, when he vouchsafes to assist. As the peasants do not understand the art of carving, and the meat is generally tough, any citizen invited, or the Regent (or schoolmaster), the first person in the village after the Maire and the Cure, is charged with this office, as it is sup- posed he must be genteel enough to know how to acquit himself properly of this onerous duty. Unhappy man ! No sooner has he served round the bouilli, than a neigh- bour asks for a little fricassee. He helps to some, and at once most of the company hold out their plates. The fricassee despatched, he hopes for a little respite, no such thing some one who has refused fricassee, wants a chicken leg, and by the time it is cut off, all the empty plates of the fricassee eaters fly back for something else. The poor carver has not swallowed a mouthful, while the rest have partaken of five or six dishes. His only chance is to seize the moment while they are drinking when the good wine cheering all hearts makes their tongues wag. Then he hurriedly repairs lost time by vigorously attacking the remains of the dishes which he has taken care to heap around him. As the repast goes on, the gaiety increases, but it is rarely that it passes the bounds of decency. The Cure, who is generally present on these occasions, would be offended at any such breach of good manners, and soon put a stop to it. Wine is not spared. But there is no in- temperance. After dinner everyone rises, and each don- zellon giving his arm to his donzelle, the party promenade round the village while some place is prepared for the dance, which is to terminate the festival, and to which BAGNEBES DE BIGORRE. 337 amusement they all give themselves up with thorough and hearty enjoyment. Some Cures object to dancing, innocent as this diversion is, but in vain. The flock regret to go against the com- mands of their pastor, but dance none the less. In cases of a second marriage, the caillaouari (charivari) takes place nightly before the intended bridegroom's house, for a week or a fortnight, and he is happy if he does not also find his door hung with horns. A man of the department des Hautes Pyrenees, who re-married within a month of his first wife's death, was obliged to pay a hundred and fifty francs to his tormentors, before he could get rid of the frightful noises made every night before his doors. It is supposed that this custom had its origin in times when there were fewer women, and when each man wishing for a helpmate, he who took more than his share, was held up to shame and reprobation. Man is physically stronger than woman, and this phy- sical force is sometimes wrongly used, and a man beats his wife, 'which,' says Deville, 'although not according to strict rules of propriety and right feeling, has in it nothing unnatural, or contrary to the law of Nature, which seems to indicate that the weaker shall succumb to the stronger, but the laws of Nature are reversed, when the opposite case occurs, and the wife thrashes her husband. How is this abuse to be suppressed ? To punish the wife does not appear noble to the Bigourdans, for while disapproving the violation of the bond between husband and wife, they can- not help admiring her courage and audacity. They prefer, therefore, to shame the weak and craven husband, who has submitted to such chastisement. Whenever it is publicly known that a husband has allowed his wife to beat him, those who are in his own rank of life, meet in masquerade on the public place, and send a deputation to the house of 338 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FEANCE. the victim, which conducts him to the meeting. There they blacken his face with charcoal, and mount him on an ass with his face to the tail, which they oblige him to take in his hands. In this fashion a man leads the ass through all the streets, the rider being received everywhere with shouts of contempt and derision, the cortege stopping every now and then to sing, through speaking trumpets, a patois song alluding to the circumstance, whose burthen is Eh ! rou Ian la I 'azou gue courrera. This farce was particularly common during the three last days of the carnival. The authorities have taken steps to put an end to it, and it is of late years more rarely practised, and only in the villages.' CHAPTER XXXII. SUPERSTITIONS AND AMUSEMENTS OF THE BIGORRA1S. IN 1818, when Deville wrote, and even it may be said in 1863, since I saw in a journal, while resident at Bagneres, the trial of two women for beating a third, whom they sup- posed to have cast a spell upon the child of one of them, sorcery was still an article of faith among the Pyreneans. 4 Nothing,' says he, ' is at once more amusing or more painful than to listen to the conversation of five or six women collected round the burning brands, while the boys and girls of the village listen open-mouthed. Jeanne re- lates, that going one day to market, she could not return home until very late, and as she left the town she saw a pretty little white cat, which she fancied had lost itself, and resolved to have it. She caught it, wrapped it up in a table-cloth, and put it under her arm to bring home. She was rejoicing in her find, when lo ! just as she reached the village and was exactly opposite the house of a woman who was well known to be a bronche (a witch), she felt the cat loosen itself from her arms, and spring lightly on the ground, saying, in a very soft voice, "Thank you, Jeanne ;" and how, half-dead with fear, she ran as fast as she could to her own home, and told her husband, who was as sure as she was, that the little white cat was neither more nor less than a bronche.'' ' Marie, in her turn, relates, that she knows from one of her friends, that some time ago a woman in a neighbouring village being forced de faire aufour (a provincialism for baking), early, got up about midnight, or half-past, opened 340 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. her bedroom door and crossed the yard, when lo ! in the moonlight she saw the form of an immense dog, which rising on its hind feet advanced towards her to seize her with its fore paws. At this sight her hair stood on end, a cold sweat covered her body, and her knees seemed to bend under her. She could not cry out, much as she wished to do so ; however, she had yet strength to drag herself to her room, when with much difficulty (for she was so frightened she could scarcely speak), she related what she had just seen to her husband. He got up directly, loaded his gun with a good charge of powder, and two balls made of the wax of a paschal candle,* went out, fired at the loup-garou, and brought him to the ground. What was his astonishment when going up to the place where he was lying, he found, instead of the immense dog that he had seen sweeping the ground with his tail, a man lying there all his length, whom he recognized as a neighbour, and who said, in a pitiful voice, " / am much obliged to you, neighbour you have saved me from a sore thrall." 't ' Lastly, Annette, who never doubted that there were sor- cerers for a moment, and wishes to convince her auditors of the fact also, tells them that a woman she knew had the misfortune to have one of her daughters taken to a sabbath by a witch, and this is exactly what the little girl related the next morning. The witch, after having frequently caressed her and given her sugar -plums, coaxed her one day into her room under pretext of giving her a doll, but really with intent to enlist her into the service of Belzebub ; for as soon as they got there, forgetting her promised gift, she asked instead if she would like to go to a dance. On her saying yes, the witch went to the hearth, lifted up one of the bricks and took from underneath a pot of very white ointment. After haying washed herself, she put some of * A bullet made of a paschal candle is infallible against were-wolves. t i.e., you have delivered me from the power of evil spirits. BAGNERES DE BIGOEBE. 341 this grease on the end of her finger and anointed her own hands and those of the little girl. This operation per- formed, she put the pot back into its place, and all at once they both found themselves transported to the spot where the witch's sabbath is held, having both passed through the key- hole of the door. It was a great hall, in which she recognized many persons no one would have suspected of being there. The devil, dressed in red, with two horns of enormous size overshadowing his forehead, presided over the assembly, and received them both with marked atten- tion. He inquired what would give them pleasure, and promised to grant them everything they could desire, pro- vided they were faithful. Each took an oath to be so, and then they all gave themselves up to joy and revelry, which did not finish till one of Monsieur Satan's corps announced that day was dawning, when each person returned home by the same way they had come.'* ' About two years ago,' says Deville, further on, ' a woman died at Tarbes, in the firm conviction that she was bewitched, because she was almost completely paralyzed. During her illness, she tried all sorts of extraordinary means to discover the sorcerer. Whenever any one visited her, the servant instantly reared the broom behind the door in such a manner that the twigs or the hairs were uppermost, and the end of the handle upon the floor. This would prevent the guest from going out again, if she was a witch. A person who told fortunes by cards had taught her a number of uncouth magic words, which she made every one repeat who visited her, being quite persuaded that whoever could not say them after her was a witch. One day an empiric gave her a singular remedy against witchcraft. He ordered one of her petticoats to be sus- pended before the door of her house. Two women, armed * C. DeviUe's ' Annales de la Bigorre,' 1818. 342 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FEANCE. with rods, were then commanded to beat it till some one should ask why they beat it so ? None but the sorcerer could make that demand. The floggers set to work, and the rods fell upon the unhappy petticoat with a rapidity beyond belief ; but as nobody asked wherefore, they got tired, and were obliged to leave off, and the bewitcher remained unknown. After this poor woman's death, some of her friends who had shared her belief, opened her featherbed to see if it contained the charm which had caused her death, "when," said one of them, "to our great surprise we found a crown of beautifully variegated feathers,* of a thousand colours." These plumes were so artistically joined, without anyone being able to perceive what held them together, that they were sure it was the effect of diabolic art, and that the deceased had died from the practice of wicked arts. Unable to recall her to life, they resolved in some manner to avenge her on her hidden enemies by burning their work. And to render this ven- geance more complete, they selected the hour when the hideous crew of witches are believed to attend their sabbath, as well as a spot where four roads met.' 'Having put the feather-crown in a paper bag, and furnished themselves with a fagot and a few handfuls of straw, they set out towards midnight to the place. They laid the fire, amid signs of the cross and amens, put the enchanted crown upon the log, and lit it with a wax candle that had been blessed, which they took on purpose, and as soon as the straw was fairly in a blaze they ran away as fast as their legs could carry them, frightened at their own temerity. Having run about thirty yards, they turned for a moment to look at their sacrifice ; the flames which rose into the air made them hope it would be consumed ; and * It is usual in France to wax the ticking of a featherbed. 1 The heat of the sick woman's body had melted the wax, and thus stuck the feathers together. BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 343 they regained their homes content. But as soon as day- light came, they returned once more to the sacrificial spot, and to their astonishment found the sac of paper, with its contents, untouched in the midst of the cinders, and not even singed. Frightened to death at the sight, they both ran away, more firmly persuaded than ever of the power of sorcerers.' The Bigorrais are very fond of dancing, and excel in the art. During the Carnival, the young men and maidens meet every Sunday in some of the meadows to dance to the sound of the tambourin. This is not the instrument we call a tambourine, but a sort of lute with six strings. The player performs on it by striking it with a short stick, made on purpose, with his right hand, while his left holds a fife, which he blows at the same time. Sometimes there is a fiddler instead, and sometimes both these kinds of music. I cannot say much in favour of the fife and tambourin, the two together produce a squeaking, dismal sound, far worse than that of a bad fiddle badly played. However, they serve to mark the time of the dances. In most countries the gentleman pays for the lady. ' In many parts of Bigorre,' says Deville, 'and especially in the valley of Azun, it is the girls who pay the fiddlers, and they also invite the cavaliers to dance. It often happens, likewise, that when the girls go to the public-house, which they sometimes do (but only among the mountains), the lady pays for her lover, instead of his paying for her.' Another favourite amusement of the Bigorrais, is, La Pastorale. La Pastorale consists in acting plays, and the peasants' mode of doing this appears to resemble that of Bottom and his companions. It is Voltaire's tragedies that are chiefly in favour ; an honour on which he hardly calculated when he wrote them. The young men's amusements are, throwing the hatchet, a large stone, or an iron bar. Every Sunday after vespers, 344 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FBANCE. they collect in some spot beyond the village, and challenge one another to feats of strength. Each puts down ten or fifteen sous, and the sum thus collected goes to the most adroit he who has many times thrown the bar, axe, or stone, the farthest. Ninepins seems also a favourite game ; and to English eyes there is something rather absurd in seeing a set of grown men and often two or three young women among them bowling down immense ninepins. The French are more easily amused than we are. I have often on Sundays seen grown men playing at ball in the street. Pilgrimages are still fashionable among the peasants in most parts of France ; and if Deville's account be true, and he says he speaks from actual observation, ought to be put down by law, as leading to demoralization. Heas and Betharam are two of the favourite shrines. The devo- tions last two days ; and so many people congregate, that even by putting them pell-mell together, in the houses of the neighbouring villages, two or three thousand persons remain without a place to rest in. They pass the night in the meadows, under the trees, and even in the streets, joining together in groups of four, six, or eight. The pilgrims almost always go in couples, a man and a woman together ; and the journey, amid religious and profane songs, is as gay as can well be imagined. The pelerine takes the arm of the pelerin, on setting out, and does not quit it till their return home ; such a degree of intimacy reigning between them, that they even share the same couch. ' I have seen,' says Deville, * scenes which decency does not permit me to recall to my readers.' ' There is a fountain at Betharam, which, according to tradition and popular belief, cures all diseases ; but its waters have only a temporary virtue. They are only remedial twice in the year. On the 23rd of June, at midnight, when the dew falls heaviest, and the air is in- BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 345 supportably cool, those who believe in its efficacy plunge into the water, or bathe the part affected with a linen rag, which they afterwards hang as a memento on the neigh- bouring brambles. Without this last formality the waters would be useless. The consequence of these immersions is, that he who was paralyzed in one arm becomes para- lyzed in his whole body. On the 8th of September, at midday, is the other time when pilgrims visit the foun- tain. The road leading to it is exposed to a burning sun, the pilgrims arrived bathed in perspiration, and in that state uncover themselves to apply the wet rags, or to bathe in the fountain. Deville saw there an octogenarian, who was rheumatic in the shoulders from age, and had also some pain in the chest. She had journeyed to the Holy Well in hopes of cure, and was just taking off her shift to bathe in it, when he represented the danger she was in- curring so forcibly, that she desisted. I do not doubt,' says he, ' that her sudden death would have been the result, had she persisted.' What the Americans call a ' husking frolic,' is another amusement of the Pyrenean peasant farmers and their families. They meet at one another's houses to strip the maize cobs of their husks, spend a merry evening in the operation, and return to their village in bands late at night, singing the part-songs in which they so much excel. ' It is delightful,' said a Bagnerais to me, ' as one walks home from a friend's house on a fine autumnal evening, to hear the sweet, plaintive, or joyous songs of the returning maize-huskers in the distance, blending with the ripple of water, the rustle of the breeze through the trees, and the wild wail of the wind.' CHAPTER XXXIH. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. THE patois of Bigorre differs considerably from that of Beam, which is far more liquid and sweet ; but both are true and very rich languages, not mere dialects. * The patois spoken in Bigorre,' says Deville, * is a cor- ruption of the old Roman language, with a considerable sprinkling of Greek and Celtic words. It is sonorous, rapid, beautifully expressive, and very imaginative. More liquid than the French, because many of the words are formed chiefly of vowels, and every letter is pronounced ; it is the language of every-day life. It is spoken in the markets, in fields, in families, and even in society, when strangers are not present, by the gentleman as well as the peasant. The peasant's children learn a little French at school, but it is always a foreign language to them. In the idiomatic patois they are at home. It is the language of their childhood, the first sounds that struck their baby- ears.' I found it no easy matter to obtain any of the popular airs of the Pyrenees, with the words adapted to them. The people learn them in infancy from their mother's lips, and by far the greater part are not even noted down, but transmitted orally from one generation to another. They have a wonderful talent for music, which seems to come as naturally to them as speech to others, and an equal talent (as I was told) for improvised verses. Every event that takes place in a village becomes the subject of song and verse. If it is ludicrous or disgraceful, it brings down MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYEENEES. 347 a caillaouri, or charivari ; if it is of a sorrowful or pathetic nature, it will be handed down to posterity by means of a mournful air. I inquired at all the music shops for Pyrenean songs, but without success. I asked my few French acquaint- ance, but in vain ; until M. Frossard, the excellent French Protestant pastor of Bagneres, who is also a man of the most varied acquirements, a scientific geologist, an elo- quent preacher and writer, and a clever artist, procured for me from a literary friend, a copy of 'Rivares Chansons Populaires de Bearn] a work long since out of print. From this book I chiefly derived the music and songs con- tained in this work. A few others were procured for me by the kindness of other friends. Rivares (a Bearnais') calls his collection * Chansons Popu- laires de Beam]* but they are quite as popular in Bigorre ; and Despourrins, the Burns of the Pyrenees, was born at Accous, which I believe is in Bigorre, and not in Bearn. I have selected from his work those airs which seemed most commonly sung ; and of these, the beautiful one of ' Les haut sus las Montagues] seems the greatest favourite with all ranks of Pyreneans. Many of the songs to which these airs are adapted are real poetry; and as Rivares gave a French translation of all those he published, I was enabled to translate a few of them. In all those of which * It is really a pity that so interesting and charming a book should not be reprinted. M. Rivares is clearly a man of great taste and genius, and by collecting these fugitive songs and their music has conferred a great boon upon his country. But there are numerous other songs and airs of which no collection has been made : and it is to be lamented that good grammars and dictionaries of the various old idioms of France (several of which are not merely dialects, but real languages, as the Bearnais and the Bigorrais) should yet be a desideratum. I wonder that great linguist, Prince Lucien Bonaparte, does not turn his attention to the publication of good grammars and dictionaries of the various French languages, instead of publishing the song of Solomon in the diiferent English dialects, much as I, a Yorkshire woman, and a great admirer of the raciness of that familiar speech, feel glad that his Royal Highness should have felt interested in printing specimens of that and our other country dialects. 348 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. I have given the music, I have endeavoured to preserve the metre of the originals. In those selected as exempli- fying local customs, or for their poetic beauty, I have been obliged to take a few liberties. A single word in patois will express a whole sentence, and had I strictly adhered to the measure, that which was beautiful in the original would have become mere doggerel in a literal English translation. I have done the best I could if not the best that could be done ; and I must beg my readers to have patience with me, remembering my difficulties were great. I had no great means to spend in prosecuting my researches, and buying books, and I found it impos- sible to procure a good grammar, while no patois dic- tionary is yet published, and I did not remain long enough in the country, or mix sufficiently with the people, to acquire their language orally. I think, however, I have done enough to prove to my readers that there are great treasures of true poetry and exquisite melody hidden, like the wild flowers, among the sequestered mountains and valleys of Beam and Bigorre. LAS HAUT SUS LAS MONTAGNES* By DESPOUBRINS. ON THE MOUNTAINS ABOVE. A shepherd forlorn on the mountains abovef Sat bitterly weeping, beneath the beech grove, And bemoaning the change that had come o'er his love. ' Light heart ! wandering heart ! ' moaned the lover forlorn ; ' All my love, and the tenderness of that love born Was it these, cruel maid, that drew on me thy scorn ? 4 Since thou 'midst the great art accustomed to go My poor little cot, in the valley below, For thy high-flying thoughts is a story too low. * The literal translation of Las haut sus las Montagues is, ' There high up ou the mountains.' A peculiar favourite with the Pyreneans. f The measure imitated from the original. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PTKENEES. 349 4 The time when we herded together is o'er ; Thy proud sheep with mine will mingle no more, Or come near, with their horns, but to topple them o'er. Of riches I boast not, nor honour, nor birth ; I am but a shepherd. But are riches worth The true love that has not its equal on earth ? ' And poor as I am, love, and mean, and all that, I'd not give my old bonnet, so shabby and flat, For any proud gentleman's finely-laced hat. ' The riches of this world bring sorrows untold ; And the finest young lord, with his silver and gold, Has not more than the shepherd content with his fold. 1 Farewell, tigress hearted ! without love go find Some rich and great suitor that's more to thy mind. Thou wilt ne'er meet another so faithful and kind ! ' BEROUYINE, CHARMANTINE. DESPOUBBINS. My beautiful, my charming one, My heart's delight, my sun ; Oh, wherefore so much rigour show, My gentle dove ! Wherefore such bitter looks bestow Upon thine own true love ? The little Loves are flying round thee : Nought on earth can drive them from thee ! Bound thee fluttering, night and day, They try thy heart to move ; Thou wilt not listen what they say Thou wilt not love ! The Pleasures to thee offer feasts- Sweet Smiles are their invited guests ; And on thy lips and eyes would stay, Sweet company ! But from thy heart, if driven away, Will doleful be. 350 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FKANCE. That thou may'st know how dear to all Thou art, flowers for thy festival Are gathered, and the sweet-toned flute Awakes the vale : But, if thy heart remaineth mute, With what avail ! How can'st thou be so proud, who art Well known to have a gentle heart ? Alas ! in vain the God of Love Thy beauty gave; If nought thy icy heart can move To pity those it doth enslave ! Farewell, dear maid, good night ! Within thy heart, oh might Him whom thy scorn has grieved, be placed," By some soft dream in sleep, That wakening thou may'st love at last Him who for thee doth vigil keep ! ' THEKE'S A YOUNG LAD I'VE MET. DESPOVBKINS. There's a young lad I've met, and the handsomest youth In the village, who pays me his court : His heart undivided, his faith, and his troth, He has sworn me a hundred times over, in short. The neighbouring girls may be fair but it's me He prefers ; not the least complaisance Does he ever show to them. His manners are free. He treats them with indifference. He brings me each morn violets wet with dew showers ; He scatters my pathway with armfuls* of flowers ; And it' I should e'er be o'ertaken by sleep, No harm comes to my flock, for he watches my sheep. He has always, to please me, new songs, as a treat ; He can play the flute deftly : his voice is so sweet How pleasant the time will with him pass away Never dreary or dull but a year like a day. * Armfuls in the original. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 351 The moment he's leisure, the instant he's free, He leaps rocks and streamlets to hasten to me ; He has no wish to wander he's fond of his chains And delights to share with me my joys and my pains. When I see his soft looks I feel fainting with love, If ten thousand lads sought me still faithful I'd prove. I'd fain offend none, but go search through the town : He's the King of the Shepherds, and shall have the crown'. A FUNERAL DIRGE. CHANTED BY MARIE LA BLAGCE (THE FAIH). From Icherauna I came down : I know not by what road I pass'd. I could not see that pathway lone, Cousin, in hastening here so fast. I reached, at last, the open plain : I heard the church bell toll : ' Is it to-day the feast of some saint ? ' ' It is for thy cousin's soul.' This night I left my home, Where I ought to have been not here. They are burning charcoal at home ; There is no dishonour there ' No dishonour in earning their bread : As the priest his by mass and prayer.' (Before the house.) ' Ho ! cousin ! where have they made thy bed ? Those who long wished to see thee there ! ' ; The maid servant teas sweeping up manure in the courtyard at the time Marie entered it.) ' Where is the graceless wench Who works on a day like this ? For shame and decency's sake, methinks, Thy Sunday's hood had not been amiss ! ' ; The widoicer, to make her keep silence.) ' Where is the widower sad Who has never let fall a tear ? Of consolation he has no need ; He wished for this many a year ! ' 352 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OP FRANCE. ' This sacred wedded room For nine months she never came nigh Until she entered it yester mom Entered it but to die ! ' (It was reported she had been killed by a blow with a cJtair.) ' This silent murdering chair Accuses no one none ! Don't wipe the ground so, there ; The blood shows what thou'st done ! ' (Before the corpse.) ' Bring me a linen winding sheet ! That for the dead not silk is meet. Piteous your state, cousin so wan ; You, who were wife to a holy* man ! ' (The husband's property had belonged to an abbey.) ' For being an abbot's lady gay Your cheeks are hollow and pale to-day.' (The curate is before the house.) ' Sir priest ! the son of old Bedous, Look here reflect see justice done ! Send for the justice ! Look not thus, For here there has been cruel wrong.' ' From Peyronere to Oleron Never before such deed was done ; From Oleron to Peyronere Never was done a deed so drear.' (The funeral tram begins its march.) * While I was on the abbot's ground I spoke not a word breathed not a sound ; But now that I am in the open street I call him adulterer as is meet.' (The curate tries to silence her.} ' Pray God, you who can do it, and keep Silence, and let the afflicted weep.' (TJie curate insists on her silence, and pushes her with the cross.) ' Sir priest ! sir priest ! if you feared God You would not make of the cross a rod.' * She calls the husband a holy man ironically, because his lands had formerly belonged to a monastery, for which reason he was nicknamed the abbot. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYEENEES. 353 (The curate' Let us say the prayers for tlte dead.") ' Sir priest, the curate of little winning,* Asks a farthing for every prayer he'll say ; If he hears in the dish no money ring, Not a pater he'll mutter to-day.' (Before the grave.) ' Farewell, cousin ! a long adieu : Without farewell you have left me here, But I've a thing to beg of you : Give my love to my mother dear ; And God grant that she be with you this night, In the realms of endless joy and delight.' SOXG BY GASTON PHCEBUS, COUNT DE FOIX.f CONTEMPORARY OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. These mountains rising so high above, Lullaby, La, la! Forbid me to see where dwells my love, Lullaby, La, la! If I hoped to see her, or meet on the heath, Lullaby, La, la ! I would swim the wide river, fearless of death, Lullaby, La, la! These mountain heights will seem to lower, Lullaby, La, la ! As I draw nigher to my lover, Lullaby, La, la! * ' Gain-petit, little winning.' Marie calls the cure' by this name ironi- cally, implying he is priest of a very poor parish. The money to pay for a funeral is collected in a dish. t The air of this song is celebrated as very beautiful by all the French writers. I cannot say so much for the words, but I have rendered them as exactly as I could, and as nearly as possible in the same metre. 2A 354 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. MOUN DONS AMIE S'EN BA PAETY. DESPOURRINS. MY GENTLE LOVE is LEAVING ME.* My gentle lore is leaving me ; He goes to La Kochelle. What shall I do, left here alone ? Oh, cruel soldiers tell. Oh ! I shall die, thus forced to part From him who was my life and heart. Wit and good manners both he had And had abundantly ; My shepherd was a handsome lad The flower of shepherds he. He stepped so stately in the dance : He has not left his like in France. Upon the day he drew the lot f He said to me, ' My fair, To serve my lord the king were joy, Except for thy despair. Thy tears, my darling, break my heart, And make it worse than death to part.' Then kissing me he said, with eyes Brimful of tears, ' Good night ! Remember, sweet, thy faithful love Who goes in arms to fight, In hopes by gallant deeds to prove Worthy the treasure of thy love.' Of lovers the most loving, I Unhappy girl have lost ; And without pleasure, life, or love, Must my best days be passed. Flowers and ribbons, all adieu, I am alone and need not you ! The scissors that my love gave me, And the gold ring so gay, Safe in my breast I carry them Hid since that fatal day. I water them with tears each day, Until my tears all dry away. * The measure is imitated from the original. t Was drawn by lot for a soldier, according to the French law. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 355 Great God ! who seest my heavy grief, And knowest my heart is sore, Oh, give that saddened heart relief My bonny love restore. Let me but see his face again, And when thou wilt take Madelaine ! LA PLUS CHAEMANTE ANESQUETTE * DESPOVBBINS. THE CHARMING EWE LAMB. For the charming ewe lamb lost, Shepherds, come and comfort me ; Not long since gambolling on the grass, Not now in my fold ah ! me ! All ! some savage beast of prey Has carried her from me away ; Or perhaps the foolish thing Wants to see me following. I kept her in the meadow green In the sweet time of flowers ; She was my favourite of the flock I petted her for hours ! With kisses ate her up was none Caressed like that beloved one : And, as the most beloved and dear, Handfuls of salt I gave to her.f Of all my flock, so beautiful, She was the flower and pride ; And those who saw how flue her wool, ' Thou happy shepherd ! ' cried. But, alas ! I lost my lamb ! If not restored, too sure I am My heart will be so full of sorrow That I, too, shall die to-morrow. * The measure imitated from the original. t The Pyrenean sheep will follow the shepherd all over the field for salt, frequently given to them, and of which they are exceedingly fond. 356 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE, Wander, sheep, then, where ye will ; Quit your wretched shepherd's side ; There's the salt-bag, here's the crook Heaven give you pastures green and wide ! In the meadows down below, Brother shepherds of the plain, If you meet my wandering ewe Bring her to my fold again. Echo ! who repeatest still The sad sounds of my complaint, Tell me on what rock or hill I shall find the joy I want. Bocks are not so hard but they "Would my sorrow do away ; And could they my grief but know Would have pity on my woe. DE CAP A TU SOY MAEION.* I'M THINE FOB EVER, MARION. I'm thine for ever, Marion ! t By thy gentle manners won : Bound captive from the hour we met So softly, oh ! So sweetly, oh ! That I am in torment yet ; And will thee, nill thee, I must love, Till the grass grows my head above. Never feel I such a pleasure As when I can see my treasure. When those charming eyes I spy, Softly smiling, And beguiling, Ah ! for love of them I die ! And when thou speak'st, the dulcet sound Deeper yet my heart doth wound. * The title literally means, ' From the head I am all thine, Marion.' t The measure of the verses is imitated from the original, on account of the music. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 357 No fine palace can I give, But a cot where thou may'st live ; No rich buildings there will be ; No ornament, Save hearts content : Brave folks content with poverty. But ah ! within that little cell What happiness and peace will dwell ! Can we not live contented, sweet ? Unenvious of the rich or great ? No life a shepherd's life can match ! His sheep he feeds, Has all he needs, And from each hour some joy doth snatch ! And when his flock's safe in the fold, He straight forgets the storm and cold. My God ! how sweet my life would prove If thou wouldst but accept my love. No king would be so blest as me ! Thee I'd obey, And love alway, Ever still caressing thee So much, that thou wouldst try in vain Not to love me in turn again ! A NOEL OB CHRISTMAS CAROL (PARAPHRASED).* By ANDICHON. The Angd. Shepherds, rise the Lord doth call ! To your Saviour hasten, alL The God of thunder gives you peace ! Henceforth sin and war shall cease ! * The measure of this Noel was so irregular, that in English it would have sounded like a mockery of holy tilings. It is a characteristic of Pyre- netvn poetry to vary the lines from long to short. The sense of the lines is strictly adhered to. In the original the angel speaks in French, the shep- herd replies in patois. 358 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. Shepherd. Leave me quiet let me dream Trouble not my wearied brain ! Leave me quiet let me dream On thy journey go again. Of no sentinel I've need : What to me's thy news, indeed ? Leave me quiet let me dream ! The Angel. . Who can sleep, when God doth make Such new wonders ? Thou must wake. Join thy songs to ours ; let earth Echo back our thankful mirth. Shepherd. Leave me, once again I pray. If thou mak'st me leave my bed- Leave me, once again 1 pray, Lest I make thee run with speed. If I leave my bed, indeed, Thou in vain for grace may'st plead ! Leave me, once again, I pray ! The Angel. Hither come ; your homage bring To this new-born babe, your king ! To the Saviour, as a gift, Those proud stubborn hearts uplift. Fearless rise, nor heed your rest, Nor sorrow more, for ye are blest. Shepherd. Blest ! that can we never be ! Bliss is not for such as we ! Sad and dreary is our lot : To poor shepherds joy comes not. What strange jesting may be this, That a child should bring us bliss ? The Angel. His soft voice shall kings obey ; Demons fierce confess his sway ; Hell her weapons shall lay down Before the Conqueror, on His throne. To the Redeemer's sweetness bow The strong heart, the lofty brow. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 359 Shepherd. I will rise ; but take thou heed, If thou boastest false indeed, Thou perhaps may'st chance to find That which is not to thy mind. Worthy men break no one's rest For a silly joke at best. I will rise; but take thou heed, If thou boast, thou'lt pity need ! The Angel. Open, then, those half-closed eyes ; Look up, behold the opening skies ! See what light is flooding earth : Hear the songs of cherub mirth. The God of mercy breaks man's chains ; His hand shuts out both sin and pain ! SliepJterd. God ! what see I ? What a sight ! Is that Heaven that shines so bright ? Ah ! a Saviour must appear Since God's kingdom seems so near ! Heaven opens ! I must be Saved from death from sin set free ! The Angel. Hither come and banish fear ; Doubt no longer hasten here ! Your defence beneath your eyes New born, unlocks to you the skies : Doth your innocence restore, That ye may be blest once more. Shepherd. Yet I fear for mortal ear Never yet such strains did hear. Yet I fear so many run To that village farther on. When I see their ardent zeal I fear ; strange tremors o'er me steaL 360 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. The Angd. In that village, poor and mean, Christ, the Holy Child, is seen. By His poverty He teaches You the lessons that He preaches. He a manger chose that ye, men ! might learn humility. Shepherd. Ha ! What sayest thou ? It can Never be believed by man ! What will all those shepherds do, If they find the Saviour so ? Ah ! Great God ! Who will be able To see the Godhead in a stable? Ah! What sayest thou ? Can it be That Christ puts on humanity ? The Angd. He that has a faithful heart Believes that which I impart ; But the rebel stands aloof- Questions, doubts, and asks for proof. If you would believe, go seek Him of whom the Scriptures speak. Wait no more, but seek the Child Whom God and man hath reconciled ! Shepherd. Farewell, angel ! I will haste Where the little Child is placed. If my speech and thoughts were wrong 1 shall know it before long. Farewell, angel ! There's the star That has guided us from far. CANZON D'ESTELLE.* Koussignoulets atay sat bous, Prado per zou sies pas plus bero, Margalidettes, parpallous Sarneats pas les oueils d'Estelle * I give this song because the air is very pretty. I am not, however, sure that the words are either Be'arnais or Bigorrais patois ; on the con- trary, I believe them to be Gascon. The Countess of Carnwath kindly copied the music for me. MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 361 Ey perdet le plus bel pastourel, Que fasio moun bonnier pecaire Qui ferez comme 1'agnet A qui le loup rabi sa maijre. Au bord d'eau gardou tout flurit Et tout parsemat de violettos Ton bendras plus paoure meuil Coueille de flores per las fillettos Ou foun d'eau bos le loun d'eau jour N'entendrey plus toute pensivo Les ere et las cansons d'amour De la boues douce et ta plaintive. Be siet urouse's aouserons Connechet le maou d Estello Sentisset pas que las dougoua D'uno tendresse mutuello, Abets pas de cruels parents L'amits faous d'amourous boulatyes Cautet tous tern et siet contents Aimeto 1'aygnetto et roumbratye.' FRENCH TRANSLATION OF CANZON D'ESTELLE. Petite oiseaux, taisez-vous, Prairie pour moi ne sois plus belle, Paquerettes et papillons, Ne charmez plus les yeux d'Estelle. J'ai perdu le plus beau pasteur Qui faisait mon bonheur, malheureuse, Je ferai maintenant comme 1'agueau A qui le loup ravit sa mere. Au bord du jardin fleuri Et tout parseme de violettes, Tu ne viendras plus, pauvre ami, Cueillir des fleurs pour les flllettes. Au fond du bois, tout le long du jour, Je n'entendrai plus tout pensive Les airs et les chansons d'amour, De ta voix si douce et plaintive. Soyez heureux, petits oiseaux, Vous ne connaissez pas les maux d'Estelle, Vous ne ressentez que les douceurs D'une tendresse mutuelle. 362 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Vous n'avez pas de cruels parents, D'amis faux des amours volages ; Chantez toujours, soyez contents, Airnez les petits ruisseaux et 1'ombrage. LE POETRAIT DE MA BERGERE. Se counne"chets, ma bergere ? Qu'ey bero coum lou lugra ouero, ouero, Qu'ey bero coum lou lugra ouero la ! Sa taille ben ey ta fino, Que la pouyres empugaa ouero, ouero ! Qu6 la pouyres empugna ouero la ! Ses poupettes soun mes blanques Que la neau d'eau hougara ouero, ouero ! Que la n6au d'eau hougara oue*ro la ! Sus sons oueils, 1'amour que llhe"bo Sus sons co, nous ba paousa ouero, ouero ! Sus sons co, nous ba paousa ouero la ! ' TRANSLATION. Connais-tu ma bergere ? Elle est belle comme 1'etoile du matin regarde, regarde ! Elle est belle comme 1'etoile du matin regarde-la ! Sa taille est si fine Que tu pourrais la prendre a poignee regarde, regarde ! Que tu pourrais la prendre a poigue'e regarde-la ! Son sein est plus blanc Que la neige de la lande regarde, regarde ! Que la neige de la lande regarde-la ! Sur ses yeux 1'Amour se leve Sur son coeur il va nous poser regarde, regarde ! Sur son cceur il va nous poser regarde-la ! ' MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 363 ESTELLA'S SONG. Little birdies, sing no more ! Meads for me no more be bright : Easter-flowers* and butterflies Charm no more Estella's sight ; For I have lost the bonniest lad, Who made me happy night and morn, And now I wander like the lamb Whose mother cruel wolves have torn. To the blossomy garden-hedge, Beneath whose shade the violets grow, No more, alas ! thou'lt come, poor friend, To gather flowers for lasses now. Sing ! Be happy, little birds, Who know not Estella's woe ! Ye feel nothing but the sweets Of mutual love no griefs ye know. Ye no cruel parents have ; No false friends no faithless lovers ! Then sing, birds, sing ! content and gay, By running brooks and woods, blest rovers. MY LOVE'S PICTURE. Dost thou know my shepherdess ? She is fair as the star of morn behold, behold ! She is fair as the star of morn behold her ! She has got so small a waist Thou could'st span 't wi' a hand behold, behold Thou could'st span 't wi' a hand behold her 1 She's a neck that's whiter by far Than new fa'en snow on th' moor behold, behold ! Than new fa'en snow on th' moor behold her ! From her eyes sweet Love doth dart 1 He will fix me on her heart behold, behold ! He will fix me on her heart behold, behold her ! ' Paquerettes are, I believe, marguerites, or ox-eye daisies. 364 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH or FRANCE. DE CAP A TU SOY MARION. Allegro. f p g^g^m^ M i . |j i n i ^ i PH _ j K I x . 1 K I **9: iV J^ --, 3=^^^H^iS&=3 V ' x MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 365 LA HAUT SUS LAS MONTAGNES. ADAPTED TO THE PIANO. KECUEIL DE FKEDC. KITABES. . Adagio molto. 4^=-' i | Jen f i ii j I i jni i MI ii n 1 ! i *^5r= - -^ ^ -- W--V 366 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. UN SAUT. YAN PETIT. =* i h" tz 7ss**=En*&-fc3=iyh^ r= r-^f-r^-^-i V^ -^^ ^ ^- ^^i^ MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 367 BEEOUYINE CHABMANTINE. DESPOUBBINS. MY BEAXJTIFUL MY CHARMING ONE. toderato ddce. fa jdzatzzatati 368 A LADY'S WALKS m THE SOUTH OF FEANCE. CANSON D'ESTELLE. Ecus - si - gnou - lets a - tai - sat- bous, Pra - do - per you sies pas plus & *^ ^ ga - li det - tos, par . . . pal- MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 369 lous, Sa - moats pas plus les oueils d'Es - tel - - - b | , | FZ= | ^-J^q=| lo Ey per-dut le plus bel pas-tou - rel que fa - j I zzrzz: I f sio moun boun hur pe - - cai - - res! A - rd fe- L *i=i 370 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. a qui * ney cou - mo I'a - gnel loup ra- bis s'a may . . . re, rey cou - mo la - gnel a qui MUSIC AND SONGS OP THE PYRENEES. 371 rail. loup ra - bit ca may I .(- :r>- .1=1 ^E=" znp PYRENEAN SHEPHERD'S SONG. Adagio. La haul sus las moun - ta - - gnes ii Pas ton T- ^-- 372 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FKANCE. mal - hu - Tons, se dut aii pi d'u haii, bag - nat de plons, sonnya - be aii cam-bia men de sus a - mous. CHANSON PATOISE. Allegretto. You que n'ay - mi u - no bru - net - to, me tent al MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYKENEES. 373 -- & . v-l I II N ~fc ^ I t=f=2f3z3k===!= co me tent al co. que - nail cou 'fr% P :!=: de may - ma mo rem - bi - I^i taou Cen-deu - mo. Moi j'aime une brunette, Elle me tient au coeur, Mais quand je lui dis de m'aimer Elle me renvoie au lendemain. 374 A LADY 8 WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. Lou lendouma quonan la baou bese Perlin conta Mahe' lou mema coumplimens Et quin malhur ! Amou nseubien 3. Sen scan troubados me's quounate' Quonan refusat Lous aire's deans plus bels flingaires Pus quonan aymat Hillettes non digat yamey I>'aguer a'iguetto non biourey .2. Le lendemain quand je la vais voir Pour lui center fleurette, Elle me fait le meme compliment. Ah ! quel malheur ! Amour ne vient point. 3. On en a vu plus de quatre Qui ont de'daigne Les chansons des plus huppes, Elles ont ensuite aiin^. Fillettes, ne dites jamais, De cette eau je ne boirai pas. LE PORTRAIT DE MA BERGERE. Se' caun - ne' chets ma ber - ge - ra ? Se' caun - ne - chets ma ber - ge - ra ? Quey ve - ro coum lou lu - gra oue - ro c n fc lV - <* If" IS" MUSIC AND SONGS OF THE PYRENEES. 379 DE LA PLUS CHARMANTE ANESQUETTE. Moderate. :* * : I 1 I y^TT^ 380 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. fa ( --S- -S- g ^l *f=l=3 = 2 =: r = \=;r = ir=l == 3 = -\ t=g=g^^^=i=5 S" j ^ res ...... dim. | ^nr^F^^^^ MUSIC AND SOXG8 OF THE PYRENEES. 381 -== i "^i i I I p dim. u Iff P aim. . ^. .... pp^ , . dim pp^ AQUERES MOUNTINES. COMPOSED BY G ASTON PHCEBVS, COMTE DE Foix, COTEMPORABY OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. Allegretto. 382 A LADY'S WALKS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. u A PV a. 4= PI -- -i>- -4 V i * k I ^ :j_t j jy-r r -r ^ -F P=-- * - MUSIC AND SONGS OP THE PYRENEES. 383 -i- 1+ -*- -*- * "iT^ -*- -g- : if- -g- JT V-t i^- 11 i * crjj t J=^=n P *- -