•j*l 
 
 •41 
 
 

 
 Y'lTOS
 
 Strahan and Preston, 
 Printers-Street, Londoa.
 
 TRAVELS 
 
 in 
 
 THE PYRENEES; 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 A DESCRIPTION OF THE PRINCIPAL SUMMITS, 
 PASSES, AND VALUES. 
 
 TRANSLATED 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF M.RAMOND, 
 
 BY 
 
 F. GOLD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PANTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REBS, ORUE, AND BBOWNS, 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 I8l3-
 
 TO 
 
 C, J. HARFORD, Esq. 
 
 THIS DESCRIPTION OF THE PYRENEES 
 
 IS DEDICATED, 
 AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT, 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR.
 
 •
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A FTER the memorable expedition to 
 Egypt, under Sir R. Abercrombie, to 
 which I was attached, I obtained permis- 
 sion to return to England by the way of 
 the Continent. At the commencement of 
 the present war I happened to be in 
 France, and was detained there. During 
 my captivity, from which I owe my libera- 
 tion to the kind interposition of Dr. Jenner, 
 the work, of which I profess the following 
 sheets to contain a translation, fell into 
 my hands. In all probability it never 
 would have met the eye of the public, but 
 for the actual situation of our affairs in the 
 14 Peninsula.
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 Peninsula. I have been persuaded that, 
 at a moment when the banners of British 
 soldiers are floating over the Pyrenees, a 
 description of these mountains cannot be 
 otherwise than acceptable to the nation.
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 I DOUBT whether there exists a chain of 
 ■*■ mountains more worthy the observa- 
 tion of the geologist than that of the Py- 
 renees. This chain is simple and regular 
 through almost the whole of its extent, and 
 will soon suggest correct ideas both of the 
 order which must have presided at the ori- 
 ginal formation of all mountains, and of 
 the laws to which their gradual degrada- 
 tion is subject. A little consideration only 
 will be necessary to perceive a symmetry 
 in what is apparently mishapen. The vast 
 accumulations of the matter, the fantastic 
 labyrinth of the vallies of the mass, will 
 then assume a decided disposition j and, in 
 the various circumstances of the situation, 
 the height, and relation of its different 
 parts to each other, will be quickly im- 
 pressed upon the mind, the influence and 
 visible operation of those uniform laws, 
 
 b whose
 
 3 GENERAL VIEW OF 
 
 whose very existence would elsewhere be 
 with difficulty discovered. 
 
 The chain of the Pyrenees extends from 
 the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, and 
 rarely deviates throughout the whole of its 
 course from the shortest possible line. It 
 is composed of many parallel bands of 
 mountains, which rise in gradation from 
 the plains of France and Spain. The 
 highest band of the whole mass is the crest 
 of the chain ; it forms the natural and 
 political frontier of the two kingdoms, and 
 separates at their source the waters which 
 flow towards each. 
 
 The gradation of the mountains as they 
 rise above one another in the vicinity of 
 Roussillon is much less regular. This irre- 
 gularity in some degree appears to modify 
 the general law, which determines the 
 height of all primordial mountains, for in 
 general they are higher or lower in pro- 
 portion as they approximate the crest of 
 their chain on the sea shore. It is owing 
 however to a peculiar arrangement, in con- 
 sequence
 
 THE PYRENEES. «5 
 
 sequence of which the chain appears to 
 rise from north to south, and from the 
 ocean to its central parts, by degrees which 
 are less perceptible, than those by which 
 it descends towards Spain and the Medi- 
 terranean. 
 
 A constant and regular proportion may 
 be observed between the mountains, the 
 torrents, and the vallies of the chain : the 
 extent of the vallies depending upon the 
 volume of the waters which traverse their 
 beds ; and the volume of the waters upon 
 the elevation or magnitude of the moun- 
 tains from whence they are derived. 
 
 In the Pyrenees, as in the Alps, and as 
 is necessarily the case in all the mountains 
 of the world, the ordinary direction of the 
 vallies is contrary to that of the chain. 
 Thus all the great vallies of the Pyrenees 
 run in a direction north and south, their 
 upper extremity being always toward the 
 crest of the chain, and their opening to- 
 wards the plains of France or Spain. 
 
 b 2 On
 
 4 GENERAL VIEW OF 
 
 On the borders of the rivers, and at some 
 distance from the entrance of the vallies, 
 are situated the towns, -which form the 
 keys of the passes; but far from preserving 
 that relation which prevails between the 
 mountains, the vallies, and the rivers, the 
 population of thefe towns is found to be 
 greater in proportion as the passes are 
 easier, so that the most considerable towns 
 correspond to those parts of the chains 
 which are the least elevated and the most ac- 
 cessible. Thus we may observe that the two 
 great passes between the Pyrenees and the 
 sea on each side are indicated by the towns 
 of Bayonne and Perpignan, and from the 
 one to the other of these we find an unin- 
 terrupted line of towns. These towns are 
 erected at the openings of the intermediate 
 communications between the two countries, 
 and founded on a mass of flints composed 
 of the ruins of the highest summit of the 
 chain. 
 
 They all of them command a number of 
 vallies, and for the most part are situated 
 near some elevated peak, which from its 
 
 vicinity
 
 THE PYRENEES. : 
 
 vicinity appears to overtop even the crest 
 of the chain. Such peak is ever the Pic 
 du Midi of its particular town, and is 
 generally considered by the inhabitants 
 underneath as the most elevated mountain 
 of the district. to which they belong, if not 
 of the chain itself. The first naturalists 
 *.vho visited this region employed them- 
 selves in the observation of these privileged 
 mountains, and attempted to ascertain their 
 respective heights. Thus the Pic du Midi 
 of Pau was measured about two centuries 
 since by the Sieur de Candale, and lately 
 by M. Flamichon. We are indebted also 
 to the same gentleman for the measurement 
 of the Pic du Midi of Asson, or Gabisos. 
 The height of that of Bigorre has been 
 taken at many different times, and at last 
 with the utmost correctness by Messrs. Vi- 
 dal and Reboul. The Canigou or Pic du 
 Midi of Roussillon was long since ren- 
 dered famous by the operations of 
 M. Cassini ; and that of Bigorre by the 
 death of M. de Plantade, and the observa- 
 tions of M. Darcet. 
 
 b 3 It
 
 6 GENERAL VIEW OF 
 
 It was soon however conjectured that 
 the elevation of these peaks was not so 
 great as that of the Pyrenees in general. 
 M. de Marca long since observed, that the 
 summits, which command the Col de la 
 Perche attained a greater elevation than the 
 Canigou. M. Darcet also, when standing 
 at the top of the Pic du Midi of Bagneres, 
 remarked an eminence which appeared to 
 him to be greater than that on which he 
 stood. The author of the essay upon the 
 Mineralogy of the Pyrenees has expressed 
 a similar opinion ; and the various natura- 
 lists who have brought their instruments to 
 the spot, have, by degrees, established the 
 fact as an undoubted truth. I may venture 
 then to affirm, that the observer who will 
 bestow a moment's attention upon the topo- 
 graphy of the chain, will be well convinced 
 from the very position alone of the greater 
 part of these peaks, that they occupy only 
 a second or third rank with regard to its 
 general elevation. 
 
 The highest part of the Pyrenees appears 
 to be that which separates Bigorre, the 
 
 country
 
 THE PYRENEES. J 
 
 country of the four vallies, and a part of 
 the county of Cominges, from Arragon and 
 Catalonia. From the vallies of Aspe and 
 Ossau the mountains rapidly ascend to 
 their greatest height, and descend in a 
 similar manner from the valley of Aran to 
 the county of Cominges; from thence they 
 rise again considerably, as if to form a se- 
 cond chain, and support this elevation for 
 some extent : in Roussillon they suddenly 
 fall upon the sea. It is in this part of the 
 Pyrenees, the height of which is an inter- 
 ruption to the gradual degradation of the 
 chain, that is situated the Canigou, together 
 with the lofty range of mountains, of which 
 it forms, as it were, the van ; and as the 
 height of all mountains in the same chain 
 is in proportion to its breadth, this greater 
 degree of elevation appears to proceed in 
 some measure from the Corbieres, which 
 join the Pyrenees at this spot, and announce, 
 whatever their origin may have been, that 
 a greater primeval accumulation has been 
 made here of the matter of mountainous 
 formations in general. 
 
 b 4 From
 
 GENERAL VIEW CT 
 
 From Perpignan, if we take it as a centre, 
 this part of the Pyrenees may be visited by 
 following up the Tet, and the various tor- 
 rents which flow into it. The mountains 
 here descend towards the Mediterranean, 
 each diverging somewhat from its neigh- 
 bour, so as to form a sort of fan, of which 
 the Canigou is the centre. Hence (as the 
 course of all torrents is perpendicular to 
 the direction of the mountains from which 
 they flow,) it follows, that another fanlike 
 form mull be exemplified in the course of 
 their waters, which approach each other 
 towards Perpignan. 
 
 As for the central part of the chain, it 
 may be attained by Pau, Tarbes, and 
 St. Gauden's. From Tarbes, or from Pau 
 the course of the Adour, or the Gave, may 
 be followed. The Adour will lead us 
 through the valley of Campan towards the 
 heights ; the Gave, through the valley of 
 Bastan in which the town of Bareges, is 
 situated, or through those of Gavarnie and 
 Cauterets. From St. Gauden's we may take 
 the course of the Garonne, or the nume- 
 12 rous
 
 THE PYRENEES, 9 
 
 rous torrents of which this" river is formed : 
 we shall thus ascend by the vallies of Aran, 
 ofLuchon,andof Arboust,orthoseofLuron 
 and Aure, with their various subdivisions. 
 
 The approach from Spain is by Sara- 
 gossa,Balbastro, and the Con que deTremps 
 towards the sources of the Gallego and the 
 Ara, of the Cinca, the Essera, and the two 
 Nogueras. These rivers, if not the source, 
 are at least the most considerable tributa- 
 ries of the waters of the Ebro. 
 
 The Pyrenees are seen from a vast dis- 
 tance, and, whatever aspect they present, 
 appear like the Alps to be a stupendous 
 mass of sharp, ragged, and pointed summits, 
 partaking either of the whiteness of the 
 clouds or of the azure of the sky, as they 
 reflect the light or are covered with shadow. 
 Nothing can be more striking than the 
 eastern part of the chain. Situated on th : 
 borders of the sea, it unfolds itself as it 
 were in the view of all Languedoc ; and 
 when viewed from the mountain of Cette 
 is seen like avast promontory jutting up 
 
 from
 
 10 GENERAL VIEW, &C 
 
 from the very water, while the plains of 
 Roussillon, which were originally raised 
 above the sea by the gradual accumulation 
 of the deposit of the rivers, at fuch a dis- 
 tance, re-assurne the appearance of their 
 native element. 
 
 The centre of the chain remains for a 
 longer time hidden as it is approached by 
 the way of Auch. Various groups of 
 mountains, mostly of the secondary order, 
 but doubtless depending on its primordial 
 mass, continue successively to intercept the 
 view of it, until from an eminence at some 
 distance from Mirande, between Miellan 
 and Rabastens, this noble barrier is sud- 
 denly discovered at the extremity of an im- 
 mense plain. From Tarbes, however, may 
 be had the most magnificent view of these 
 mountains.
 
 C ii ) 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 TARBES. PAU. — LOURDES. — VALUES OF 
 
 CAUTERETS, OF SAINT SAUVEUR, AND 
 BAREGES. 
 
 TPARBES, the capital of the people of 
 Bigorre, was known during the time 
 of Caesar by the name of Bigorra, in later 
 ages by that of Turba, and, lastly, by the 
 denomination of Tarba. This city, which 
 was classed at first among the principal 
 towns of the third Acquitania, and after- 
 terwards among those of Novempopulania, 
 received the truths of Christianity in the 
 early period of the third century of our 
 era, and was rendered illustrious by an 
 unshaken perseverance in orthodoxy, at a 
 time when Arianism, under the protection 
 of the Kings of the Visigoths, united 
 against her the seductions of heresy and 
 the trials of persecution. Tarbes, indeed, 
 possesses advantages worthy of her fame, 
 a delightful situation in a fertile plain, a 
 vicinity where nature displays her majesty 
 
 in
 
 1 2 TAHBES, 
 
 in every surrounding object, and her 
 beneficence in the abundance of her pro- 
 ductions ; with these a serene sky and 
 prospects which are wanting to the capital? 
 of empires, are titles which add a new 
 lustre to her history. 
 
 From Tarbes the course of the Adour 
 leads to Bagneres and the valley of Campan. 
 In no other part is the approach to the 
 Pyrenees so easy, but this beautiful valley 
 scarcely rises to the middle region of the 
 mountains. The vallies which penetrate 
 the chain as far as the Spanish frontier, 
 can only be attained by the borders of the 
 Gave ; and Pau or Lourdes are the towns 
 which must be sought. 
 
 Pau, like Tarbes, is situated near the 
 Pyrenees. Its soil is only an accumulation 
 of fragments brought down by the torrents. 
 Pau has much less claim to antiquity than 
 Tarbes, but holds, nevertheless, a distin- 
 guished place in history. Here it was 
 that Henry IV. was born, amidst a people 
 the most amiable of the earth. His chateau 
 
 is
 
 PAU. 13 
 
 Is still remaining just as he left it, is re- 
 spected even in its interior, is occupied by 
 bis old furniture, and ornamented by the 
 portraits of his family. It seems almost 
 to expect him from a temporary absence ; 
 but when we reflect upon the impossibility 
 of such return, when we recollect that we 
 have seen the mausolea of three succeeding 
 kings in front of his, we kiss his cradle as 
 a sacred relic, and can only consider his 
 ancient residence, so filled with the mute 
 contemporaries of his youth, as the saddest 
 but most interesting of monuments. 
 
 Nothing can be more delightful than the 
 environs of Pau, than the meanders of the 
 Gave, than the undulations of its hilly 
 banks, directing, as they do, its waters, 
 and opposing its inundations. Nothing 
 can be richer than the vineyards round 
 about, than the declivities and surrounding 
 uplands waving with harvests, than the 
 orchards of the spot, and those scattered 
 habitations, where the gentleman and the 
 peasant, the proprietors of the land, 
 sdike subsist upon the produce of their 
 
 fields.
 
 14 PAL\ 
 
 fields. And what is there so inte- 
 resting as a people who can be happier and 
 more free from their native character and 
 manners, than either from charter or pri- 
 vilege ? With such men old customs and 
 an old language must ever be in honor, 
 they testify and nourish their attachment to 
 their country. In such a people may be 
 seen their ancestors ; and such were those 
 old Bearnese, somewhat, indeed, more sa- 
 vage, when they sacrificed to their liberties 
 their chieftains who betrayed them, but 
 surely possessed of littleless simplicity when, 
 in choosing themselves a master from two 
 infants in the cradle, they fixed upon the 
 child who slept with his hands open. 
 
 The mountains of the valley of Ossau 
 terminate the horizon to the south of Pau, 
 and the Pic du Midi rears above their sum- 
 mits its pointed fork, which may be distin- 
 guished at a considerable distance. This 
 peak is situated near the Pyrenees, and is 
 actually inaccessible. To the author of the 
 Essay on the Mineralogy of the Pyrenees it 
 appeared to be calcareous. The Sieur da 
 1 1 Candale a
 
 PAV. I£ 
 
 Candale, of the house of Foix, attempted, 
 two centuries ago,to measureitsheight; and 
 an account of this expedition may be seen 
 in the Memoirs of M. de Thou. By these 
 it should appear that several young men 
 who wished to accompany the Sieur, but 
 were lightly clad, had scarcely ascended to 
 the region of the clouds before they found 
 themselves so chilled as to be obliged to re- 
 turn, the Sieur, however, well knowing what 
 it was to travel in a mountainous country, 
 had carried with him a well furred cloak, 
 and with such assistance ascended in com- 
 pany with only a few followers above the 
 retreats of the wild goats, and the crags 
 where the eagles build. Thus far he had 
 met with steps in the rock, but at this point 
 no further path was to be discovered. The 
 cold and keenness too of the air here occa- 
 sioned so general a stupor and weakness 
 among the party as to oblige them to rest 
 and take refreshment, but at last by break- 
 ing out a path, and with the help of ladders 
 and grappling irons, they attained a plat- 
 form very near the summit. Here the 
 leader of the expedition took his quadrant 
 
 and
 
 1 6 PAU. 
 
 and found the height of the mountain to be 
 noo toises. M. de Thou having given 
 this account begins to reason after the 
 manner of his age, upon this elevation, 
 which he judges to be very near the truth, 
 since it was the opinion of the ancient 
 geometricians that Olympus, the highest 
 mountain of the world, could not be more 
 than 10 stadia in height, nor the sea more 
 than about the same in depth. Xenagoras, 
 however, when he measured 01ympus,ascer- 
 tained it to be about half a stadium higher. 
 Now the stadium being equal to 125 
 geometrical paces, ioi stadia will be about 
 65604 feet, which agrees with M. de Thou 
 within 40 feet ; but in all these measure- 
 ments there is no mention made of any fixt 
 base, the calculations, in consequence, are 
 not in any way to be depended on ; and 
 what is clearest both in this account and in 
 the reflections which accompany it, is that 
 M. de Candale and M. de Thou considered 
 the Pic du Midi of Pau as the highest 
 mountain of the Pyrenees, and together 
 with Olympus, as the highest in the world. 
 
 M. FIa«
 
 pau. iy 
 
 M. Flamichon has given us a measure- 
 ment of which we can better judge. Ac- 
 cording to him the summit of this peak 
 is about 1407 toises above the bridge of 
 Pau. 
 
 It is in the valley of Ossau that we 
 find the mineral springs which the inha- 
 bitants call Les Eaux Bonnes (the good 
 waters). They have been analyzed by 
 M. Bayen, but do not appear to contain 
 any remarkable principle excepting a liver 
 of sulphur, which may be immediately 
 perceived by the smell, and is afterward de- 
 tected by experiment. Les Eaux Chaudes 
 (the warm waters) are at some distance ; 
 their constituent principles vary but little 
 from those of the former. These last have 
 been frequented for a long time. An ac- 
 count is preserved, in a pompous inscrip- 
 tion, of the residence which the" sister of 
 Henry IV. made at them in 1591. The 
 Sieur de Candale was there in the suite of 
 Henry d'Albret King of Navarre, at the 
 time when he undertook to climb the Pic 
 du Midi, M. de Thou also visited the 
 c spot
 
 1 8 PAU. 
 
 spot in 1582. He was in the habit, says he s 
 of drinking 25 glasses of the waters every 
 day, but more from choice than necessity. 
 A young German, however, of his suite, 
 carried the quantity to 50 glasses in an 
 hour. From these accounts we can no 
 more doubt of the high estimation in which 
 their virtues were at that time held, than 
 of the potent doses which the stomachs 
 of our ancestors were capable of sus- 
 taining. 
 
 The road from Pau to Lourdes by the 
 course of the Gave is at once of the most 
 interesting and picturesque description. 
 This road forsakes the valley of Ossau to 
 the right. Its Pic du Midi is called the 
 Peak of Gabisos, and being more distant 
 from the crest of the Pyrenees than that 
 of Pau is (according to M. Fiamichon) 152 
 toises less in elevation. 
 
 At Lourdes we have the entrance to the 
 the mountains. Here nature begins to 
 assume a ruder aspect, and the rocks to 
 straiten, while the town itself in part shuts 
 
 up
 
 LOURDES. 19 
 
 up a defile, of which the bottoms are com- 
 manded by its castle. Under these towers, 
 the gothic structure of which so well ac- 
 cords with the severity of the landscape, 
 under these walls, the witnesses of events 
 so sadly celebrated, and destined at the 
 present day to reply only to the groans of 
 wretches who are hidden in them from the 
 pity of the public, the painter and the his- 
 torian may be induced to stop, but the 
 friend of man averts his eye, and paffes on 
 in silence. 
 
 Beyond Lourdes the gorges of the moun- 
 tains are narrow, but of the most savage 
 aspect. Oddly shapen rocks, — the thickest 
 umbrage in their interstices, — here and 
 there some fewsmall orchards enclosed with 
 great tables of slate set on end, — everything, 
 in short, announces that we are sinking fast 
 into the Pyrenees, when the defile expands 
 at once into the plain of Argeles. Here 
 the mountains retire on all sides, and a 
 bason is discovered, which has been levelled 
 by the deposit of its torrents, but at pre- 
 sent is indebted to them for its fertility. 
 c 2 It
 
 20 CAUTERETS. 
 
 It is covered over with fruits and harvest : 
 the sun, too, which seemed to have lost his 
 power in the chasms of the defile, resumes 
 the fulness of his force in the plain, to 
 ripen the production of its soil. 
 
 But here we must bid adieu to the vine 
 and the fig tree, to the orchard and the 
 garden. Further on we shall recognize 
 no traces of that elegant cultivation which 
 meets the eye in Beam and Bigorre : 
 those scattered beauties, which henceforth 
 are to be met with, are solely of the pas- 
 toral order. 
 
 At Pierrefitte the plain of Argeles 
 divides into two narrow vallies, which 
 run towards the crest of the Pyrenees; 
 that to the right contains the town of 
 Cauterets, so celebrated for its mineral 
 waters. The mountainous region which 
 is traversed by this valley is of con- 
 siderable height, and from the upper part 
 of it the Pyrenees attain their greatest 
 elevation. 
 
 The
 
 LUZ. 2t 
 
 The other valley which opens to the 
 left is still more remarkable for the majesty 
 of its natural aspects, as well as for the 
 boldness in the constructions of man which 
 it displays. It leads to the plain of Luz, 
 from whence we may proceed either to 
 the valley of Bastan, which contains the 
 town of Bareges, or directly to the very 
 crest of the Pyrenees by that of Ga- 
 varnie. 
 
 The high vallies of the primordial 
 mountains frequently offer scenery less 
 extraordinary than that of those lower 
 chasms which are excavated by the torrents 
 at their feet. The narrow valley which 
 runs from Pierrefitte to Luz exemplifies 
 both beauties and horrors which are alike 
 unknown to the more elevated vallies. In 
 the same way the route of Schellenenthal, 
 at the foot of St. Gothard, has scenery of 
 which the higher part of the pass is 
 entirely devoid. Between these two vallies 
 indeed there is a very close resemblance ; 
 the same obstacles to be overcome ; the 
 same efforts of man attended with a like 
 c 3 success.
 
 11 LUZ. 
 
 success. They are both of them traversed 
 by a furious torrent, and in both of them 
 this torrent is encased at the foot, and flies 
 over the bases of the most stupendous 
 precipices. In both of them the road is 
 hewn on the precipitous flanks of the rock ; 
 suspended frequently and salient over 
 vaults projected from beneath it. Where a 
 Drop is entirely wanting, it passes the abyss, 
 and seeks, upon the opposite mountains, a 
 less rebellious declivity. In the deeps 
 the same din, on the heights the same 
 silence is ever observable. In the same 
 way, between the rugged and jutting 
 summits above, may be seen a heaven as 
 straitened as the waters in the abysses are 
 contracted ; but nature in the Schellenen- 
 thal is still more majestic in her works, 
 and man more astonishing in his endea- 
 vors. The precipices are more abrupt, the 
 summits more projecting. The Swiss has 
 hewn himself a passage in the hardest 
 granite, and to attain the bason of Luz 
 there is no Devil's Bridge to cross, no rock 
 of eighty yards in thickness to traverse. 
 
 The
 
 LUZ. 23 
 
 The bason of Luz recalls that of Ar- 
 geles to mind, but is one degree higher in 
 the mountains. It is of less extent, less 
 fertile, and possesses beauties of a severer 
 kind, nevertheless, from whatever quarter 
 the traveller arrives, he has here a place of 
 repose in every sense. The meadows are 
 still gay, the cottages neat and numerous, 
 the two Gaves also, whose waters are here 
 united, have lost the fury of their waves, on 
 issuing from their savage vallies, and re- 
 appear as threatening torrents only when 
 they quit this privilege;! and peaceful spot. 
 The surrounding mountains have sub- 
 mitted to the hand of cultivation : notning 
 appears to threaten this retreat ; and here 
 the shepherd finds a certain refuge when 
 the heights in which he wanders with his 
 flock are buried under the snows of 
 winter. 
 
 Luz is situated at the extremity of this 
 plain, at the foot of the peak of Leyrey,a 
 mountain easy of ascent, and the scene of 
 many of the meteorological experiments 
 of M. Darcet. The summit, according to 
 c 4 his
 
 24 ST. SAUVEUR. 
 
 his calculation, is 887 toises above the 
 church of Luz. 
 
 The baths of St. Sauveur are at a very 
 small distance from Luz, in the valley of 
 Gavarnie, which may be considered as a 
 continuation of that of Lavedan. The 
 chief town of this latter is Lourdes, and 
 the valley rises as far as the crest of the 
 Pyrenees, in a direction north and south, 
 which is common to all the great vallies of 
 these mountains. 
 
 Bareges is still more distant from Luz. 
 The road to this town is by the borders of 
 the Gave of Bastan, and mounts through 
 the naked and melancholy valley, which is 
 traversed and desolated by this torrent. 
 The entrance to the valley is marked by 
 the ruins of the castle of Sainte Marie. 
 Bareges is situated two leagues further on, 
 in a part of the valley so contracted, that 
 the only street which runs through the 
 town throws the houses on one side 
 against the mountains, and on the other 
 suspends them over the Gave. All around 
 
 this
 
 BAREGES. 25 
 
 this spot is ruin and desolation ; the primi- 
 tive design of the valley is lost ; the sides 
 of the mountains have given way ; and at 
 the foot of the wreck are placed the baths, 
 under the protection of a wood, which like 
 the wood of Urseren is their defence against 
 the avalanches from above. On the other 
 side of the Gave, and on the surface of a 
 similar mass of ruins, the shepherds of the 
 place have laid out meadows, and con- 
 structed habitations. 
 
 We have seen that, excepting the valley 
 of Bastan, all the vallies which I have men- 
 tioned rise in a direction north and south 
 to the crest of the Pyrenees. At this 
 point they meet with similar vallies, which 
 descend in the same direction towards the 
 plains of Spain. The junction of these 
 vallies is necessarily effected in the inter- 
 vals between the peaks of the crest, which 
 form, when accessible, the communications 
 between the declivities of the Pyrenees. 
 These passes, in the language of the conn- 
 try, are called ports ; they are more or 
 less elevated, more or less practicable. 
 
 The
 
 26 BAREGES. 
 
 The same name is given to the interior 
 passes, which open between the parallel 
 or converging vallies of the mountains. 
 Thus the valley of Bastan, which runs 
 from the south-east to the north-west, a 
 direction different from that of the prin» 
 cipal vallies, communicates by means of a 
 port, named the Tourmalet, with the val- 
 ley of Campan, which follows the general 
 direction. 
 
 The waters of Bareges, those of Saint 
 Sauveur, and Cauterets, differ from each 
 other only in the proportion which they 
 contain of the same principles. In those 
 of Bareges are found a small quantity of 
 sulphur, natron, sea-salt, a calcareous earth 3 
 another earth of an argillaceous nature, and 
 a fatty substance, which is found in a soapy 
 state. The temperature of the warmest spring 
 at Bareges is about 39 of Reaumur's ther- 
 mometer, that of Cauterets about 44°; 
 that of Saint Sauveur 32 . But the de- 
 gree of heat of these springs experiences 
 many, variations ; and as thermometers in 
 general are not very easily compared 
 
 with
 
 BAREGES. 27 
 
 with each other, I have not found much 
 agreement between observations of this 
 nature, which have been made at different 
 times.
 
 ( 2 9 ) 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 ENVIRONS OF BAREGES. THE TOURMALET. 
 
 — VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 
 
 r F , HERE are few who would be inclined 
 to linger at Bareges were they not de- 
 tained there at the urn of its Naiad. The 
 valley itself is narrow and melancholy; it 
 is still further contracted by the fall of its 
 declivities. The mountains in consequence 
 are mishapen, the air of the valley close, 
 and we leave the spot in haste. 
 
 This valley leads us to the Tourmalet by 
 a road which winds between the Gave and 
 the southern mountains. These mountains 
 are steep, surcharged with sharp and naked 
 peaks, and form the lowest degree of a 
 mass of primitive rocks, which appear to 
 occupy the whole of the interval between 
 the vallies of Aure and Gavarnie, from 
 that of Bastan as far as the crest of the 
 Pyrenees. Two chasms of the most 
 
 ruinous
 
 30 THE TOURMALET. 
 
 ruinous aspect descend from this desert 
 region into the valley of Bastan. The 
 road to the Tourmalet is traversed by two 
 torrents which come down from these 
 vallies to the Gave : their openings expose 
 to view the stupendous precipices which 
 overhang them, broken only by a few 
 meagre pastures, in situations the most 
 difficult of access. The first of these 
 torrents is the Lienz, and the valley 
 through which it flows the least in depth ; 
 the second descends from the lake of 
 Escobous : they both bring down con- 
 siderable blocks of granite and gneiss, 
 together with some few fragments of a 
 primary marble, which is thinly scattered 
 over the inferior strata of the adjoining 
 granite. In the intervals of the mountains 
 of the latter substance, this marble is here 
 and there accumulated in large masses. 
 
 It is in this region, and on the borders of 
 its torrents, that we find a gray marble in- 
 terspersed with small dodecahedral grenats. 
 It is from thence also that I have seen de- 
 scend a number of blocks of granite, the 
 1 5 sur-
 
 THE TOURMALET. 3 I 
 
 surfaces of which were marked with bands 
 of a substance the same as that which 
 forms in general the rocks of the place : 
 these bands are incorporated with it, and 
 intersect it in every direction. Such irre- 
 gularity though as yet but little observed 
 is nevertheless particularly remarkable, and 
 well deserving the attention of the litho- 
 logist. It is also on the peaks with which 
 this region abounds, from that of Eslitz to 
 the Cau d'Espada, that we find rock crystal, 
 schorls, the amianthus, and the tourmaline. 
 
 The opposite bank of the Gave presents 
 an appearance entirely different. The 
 schistous rock, which on this side forms the 
 mountains, has given way in parts, and the 
 wreck at the bottom is covered over with a 
 melancholy but uniform carpet of verdure. 
 It is here and there divided by ravines, 
 the waters of which disappear when the 
 snows are exhausted. Some scattered 
 cottages mark those parts of the declivities 
 where cultivation has been practicable, and 
 which yield a little rye to the labors of the 
 mountaineer. A few smaller huts are oc- 
 casion-
 
 $2 THE TOURMALET. 
 
 casionally interspersed amid the more bar- 
 ren and more elevated pastures. 
 
 We may thus observe that the valley of 
 Bastan, which takes a direction nearly 
 similar to that of the chain of the Pyre- 
 nees, and separates its granite rocks from 
 those in which the principal part is argil, 
 is one of those vallies which are hollowed so 
 easily in the direction of the bands of the 
 chain, between mountains of a different 
 nature. The bottom of this valley has 
 originally been full of intermediate strata, 
 but of these there remain no traces at pre- 
 sent, except the Tourmalet, a sharp ridge 
 connecting the Pic du Midi with the mass 
 of mountains extending to the south. The 
 Tourmalet, from its origin, has formed a 
 point of division to the waters which flow 
 on one side into the bason of Luz, and on 
 the other into the valley of Campan j for 
 the great elevation of the Pic du Midi 
 plainly testifies that there has always ex- 
 isted on this spot a vast accumulation of 
 the matter of mountains. 
 
 The
 
 THE TOURMALET. 33 
 
 The two sides of the Tourmalet have 
 partaken of the gifts of nature in very dif- 
 ferent degrees. The valley of Bastan is 
 devastated by a furious torrent, exposed to 
 the falling of the abrupt declivities by which 
 its boundaries are on every side contracted, 
 is desolated by avalanches, devoid of trees, 
 and produces but a meagre and miserable 
 race of cattle, which are tended by as rude 
 a race of clowns. The valley of Campari, 
 on the contrary, is fertilized by the mildest 
 springs, and surrounded by mountains of 
 easy access, its declivities are less abrupt,its 
 surface clad with a luxuriant herbage, and* 
 consequently, it is frequented by thriving 
 flocks and happy shepherds. 
 
 In the valley of Bareges, as in all the 
 most elevated and wildest vallies of the 
 Pyrenees, I have found, with but little diffe- 
 rence, the pastoral economy of the high 
 Alps. This general similitude embraces 
 such details as might induce the observer 
 almost to imagine that the shepherd of the 
 one of -these countries has been the pupil 
 of the shepherd of the other j but here we 
 
 B must
 
 34 VALLEY OF BAREGES, 
 
 must remember, that man is every where 
 the same in similar situations. 
 
 Wherever indeed the mountains attain 
 a more than ordinary height, and have 
 vallies under the snow for the greater part 
 of the year, which extend to but a small 
 distance from those which are habitable at 
 all times, the shepherds have winter habita- 
 tions in the latter, but fix their summer re- 
 sidence in the higher vallies, wherever the 
 nature of the soil, the gentleness of the 
 declivities, and the vicinity or direction of 
 the waters enable them to form meadows 
 of any extent. In these vallies they pass 
 the better season, conducting thither the 
 waters with precaution, and distributing 
 them with the utmost dexterity by means 
 of small canals, with which they intersect 
 their meadows. These springs are ad- 
 mirably well economized, and fall from 
 one possession to another successively. A 
 bit of slate is sufficient to stop their course : 
 with this, the peasant either turns the cur- 
 rent into other channels, or directs it from 
 meadow to meadow, towards the lowest 
 7 part
 
 VALLEY OF BAREGES. 35 
 
 part of the declivity, which it is destined 
 in its turn to fertilize. 
 
 While these cares and those of getting 
 in the harvest employ the family, the 
 cattle wander up into the more elevated 
 pastures of the mountains, the irrigation 
 of which can be performed only by the 
 clouds. They are attended by a single 
 herdsman, who piles up a hut of stones, if 
 no rock should offer him an asylum already 
 excavated by nature. 
 
 When the productions of the harvest 
 are stored away in the summer habitation, 
 and when autumn obliges the cattle to 
 descend from the heights, the family 
 regularly return to the village ; meantime 
 the herdsman with his flock repairs in his 
 turn to the dwelling which the family have 
 just abandoned. Here he lives alone amid 
 the snows of winter, while the cattle con* 
 sume the provisions which have been pre- 
 pared for their use. It is then that the 
 patience and courage of this solitary wretch 
 are to be fully tried. How much is he to 
 d a be
 
 56 VALLEY OF BAREGES. 
 
 be pitied, when a winter more rigorous than 
 usual, when an extraordinary abundance 
 of snow with impetuous winds and ava- 
 lanches confine and besiege him in such 
 retreat. How many accidents may there 
 not happen against which he alone can 
 provide, what misfortunes has he not to 
 dread, the fear of which he can commu- 
 nicate to none. The distress of his situa- 
 tion may be well imagined, that very year 
 in which I crossed these mountains, a dis- 
 astrous one no doubt, for on the ninth of 
 May the lower pastures were again co- 
 vered with snow, and much of the cattle 
 famished in their stalls. 
 
 And then, with all his labor, such objects 
 
 1 
 
 only can be attained by the unhappy shep- 
 herd, as may be said to be of the strictest 
 necessity. He is not, like the more for- 
 tunate inhabitant of the Alps, possessed of 
 a vigorous and productive race of cattle j 
 the grass of his pastures in itself is less 
 nutritive perhaps, or from his poverty he 
 may be forced to partake with the young 
 of his flock the scanty portion of milk 
 3 which
 
 VALLEY OF BAREGES. 37 
 
 which should form their nourishment. I 
 know not why, but this is certain, that in 
 every part of the Pyrenees which I have 
 visited, I have found the shepherds com- 
 pelled themselves to consume the whole of 
 the milk which their cows produce, the 
 best of them yielding only eight pints 
 a-day, while the worst in the Alps afford 
 six times as much at least. The herds of 
 this country, then, are feeble and timid in 
 comparison with those of Switzerland ; 
 cheese and butter are both of them scanty; 
 in a word, the real produce of the labors 
 of the shepherd consists in young cattle of 
 little value^ from the sale of which he 
 barely draws the means of contributing 
 his proportion to the public charges. 
 
 The shepherd of this country is not, 
 however, like his flocks, either destitute of 
 vigor or devoid of courage. The precious 
 right of defending himself, a right which 
 the state has necessarily left him, fills him 
 with the idea of his own importance. He 
 is armed, and maintains the limits of his 
 country, in defending the pastures which 
 d 3 he
 
 3 8 VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 
 
 he claims as his possession ; he lives, in 
 consequence, in a state of active and direct 
 adherence to the laws, an adherence which, 
 to him, appears to spring from choice j and 
 this is a sentiment equivalent to the idea 
 of liberty. 
 
 The valley of Bareges having itself no 
 immediate communication with Spain, is 
 united with that of Gavarnie for the mu- 
 tual defence of the pass which opens from 
 the latter. I have known shepherds who, 
 in their younger days, were engaged in this 
 sort of border war. I have met with others 
 who have fought more recently valley 
 against valley, for the right of pasturage, 
 and who have shewn me their encamp- 
 ments, their posts, and fields of battle, in 
 stations which I should only have imagined 
 could have served for the encounter of 
 eagles. 
 
 In this description of the high vallies of 
 the. Pyrenees, and of the life of their shep- 
 herds, I have said nothing of the valley of 
 
 Campan.
 
 VALLEY OF CAM PAN. 39 
 
 Campari. Here we have another nature 
 and other inhabitants. 
 
 Two glens, the first of which descends 
 from the Tourmalet, and the other from 
 the mountains of the valley of Aure, are 
 lost in the valley of Campan, near the 
 village of Sainte Marie. Each of these 
 glens brings down to it the tribute of 
 its torrent; and the Adour, which is formed 
 by their united streams, having bathed 
 with its waters the fertile meadows of the 
 valley, at Bagneres enters into the plains 
 of Bigorre ; there, as if delighted with the 
 countries which it has quitted, and with 
 that through which it now directs its course, 
 it seems by the continual meanderings of 
 its stream to struggle against the common 
 destiny of rivers ; at last, uniting with the 
 Gave of Bayonne, they are both directed 
 towards the ocean. 
 
 I shall attempt only a cursory de- 
 scription of the beautiful valley in which 
 this river has its source ; a valley so 
 known, so celebrated, so worthy of being 
 d 4 so.
 
 40 VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 
 
 so. But I cannot refrain from noticing 
 the neatness and convenience of its 
 habitations, each of them surrounded with 
 its meadow, or the meanders of the Adour, 
 more lively than impetuous, impatient of 
 its banks, but respecting the slightest 
 of its reeds ; neither must the soft in- 
 flexions of the soil, undulated as it is like 
 the waves of the sea under a light and 
 pleasant wind, with the gaiety of the 
 flocks, and the riches of the shepherd, be 
 passed without remark, nor those bourgs, 
 so opulent, and formed fortuitously, as it 
 were, by the greater proximity of the 
 dwellings, which are scattered over the 
 country. In the number of these may be 
 reckoned Bagneres, a town where pleasure 
 has her altars at the foot of those of 
 lV;eulapius. It is a delicious spot, and 
 placed between the fields of Bigorre and 
 the meadows of Campan. Lastly, I cannot 
 but advert a while to that frame-work of 
 the picture, to that savage girdle, where 
 nature has opposed the wild to the pastoral, 
 her caverns, her cascades, and given them 
 an accessibility which has invited thither 
 
 what-
 
 VALLEY OF CA'MPAN. 4 1 
 
 whatever is amiable or illustrious in France. 
 But these rocks, of which the nudity con- 
 trasts so strongly with -the luxuriance of 
 the bottoms, are much, I fear,. too vertical ; 
 and the Pic du Midi suspended over the 
 tranquil retreats below, like the sword of 
 the tyrant over the head of Damocles, to 
 my apprehension, is a rampart which makes 
 me tremble for the Elysium which it en- 
 closes. 
 
 . Adverting, however, to the causes of the 
 fertility of the valley of Campan, I shall 
 conduct the observer to the crest of the 
 Tourmalet, to the jagged rocks of the valley 
 of Bastan, and to the rounder summits of 
 the Escalette. On the one side of the 
 landscape I shall point him out the Gave, 
 loaded with the fragments of the mountains, 
 on the other the Adour scarcely agitating a 
 rush. We shall follow together the active 
 yet beneficent current of the latter. Its 
 borders may be traced by the verdure of 
 the turf, and by the mossy rocks which 
 break its current. At Tramesaigues it 
 rushes down its rocks, which are covered 
 
 over
 
 42 VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 
 
 over entirely with flowers. Hereabout its 
 hardy leaps are embellished with -tufts of 
 lofty firs, and a vigorous vegetation, for it 
 has long since forgotten its ancient fury : 
 its mountains have been sapped, their last 
 remaining fragments have been levelled: 
 the abruptness of the declivities is every 
 where softened down, so that every thing 
 combines to favour its descent, while 
 nothing irritates or impedes it j and to 
 him who has never as yet observed a torrent 
 thus in peace with surrounding nature, the 
 apparent tumult and agitation of its waters 
 must form a striking contrast with the 
 tranquillity of its banks. 
 
 It is to the gentleness of its declivities, 
 that this fertile valley owes the advantage 
 of being the most delightful retreat of 
 pastoral life. At its first formation it was 
 only a deep ravine, digged out between 
 the Pic du Midi, and the calcareous rocks 
 which rest against it, by those ancient 
 torrents, the rapidity of which must have 
 been proportioned to the abruptness of 
 the primitive declivities over which they 
 
 rushed.
 
 VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 43 
 
 rushed, and whose impetuosity also must 
 have beenfurtheraugmented by theasperity 
 of the forms which were sketched out by 
 the ocean in primeval ages ; but the ruins 
 of the summits have lowered the depths 
 of the precipices beneath them ; the tor- 
 rents rushing from the heights have inces- 
 santly tended to level the soil, the sur- 
 rounding declivities have subsided, repose 
 has succeeded to a series of convulsions, 
 and vegetation overspread the ruin. 
 
 The valley of Campan then is an appari- 
 tion by which we may anticipate the future 
 world. It exemplifies that state of calm- 
 ness and of peace, so well announced, and 
 so ably described, by that naturalist, so 
 capable of foreseeing what may be expected 
 from the perfectibility of the earth. Such 
 will be, hereafter, all the vallies of the 
 Pyrenees and of the Alps, of the Caucasus, 
 of the Atlas and the Andes, when the 
 powers of production shall have attained 
 an equilibrium with those of destruction, 
 when the mountains shall have ceased to 
 descend, and the vallies to rise, when the 
 
 declivi-
 
 44 VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 
 
 declivities shall have attained an inclina- 
 tion incapable of fall, and when vegetation, 
 which is every where so active, so prompt 
 to take immediate possession of whatever 
 enjoys a moment's repose, but is so often 
 repelled from the sides of the mountains 
 by the last convulsions of these expiring 
 giants, shall have rested in peace upon their 
 carcases. 
 
 But if the valley of Campan have not 
 as yet attained this permanent state of 
 felicity and rest, if further revolutions 
 threaten its repose, how many surrounding 
 heights do I behold whose summits must 
 descend to the level of its uplands. On 
 one side the Pic d'Espade overhanging the 
 sources of the river, on the other, the 
 hollow rocks which inclose its caverns, and 
 further on, but still more elevated, the Pic 
 du Midi, which I should willingly see more 
 distant ; for between this peak and the 
 vallies below there lie only a confusion of 
 declivities. Change of form, indeed, at the 
 present day is slow, but should it become 
 sudden, how great must be the wreck and 
 
 devas-
 
 VALLEY OF CAMPAN. 45 
 
 devastation ! In such case adieu to meadow 
 and cottage ; heaps of rocks and furious 
 waters, interspersed only with some few 
 isolated spots of turf, the pasture of the 
 sheep and goat must then be the contents 
 of this now happy valley ; and the remem- 
 brance of the second Arcadia, which it is, 
 might be clad for posterity with the fan- 
 tastic colors of the first.
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 PIC DU MIDI OF BAGNERES. 
 
 1VTOT a ste P can De taken in any part of 
 the Pyrenees, which I have just tra- 
 versed, without continually turning to the 
 Pic du Midi. It commands almost all the 
 known part of the country, and every 
 where formsthe most striking object in the 
 landscape. Its situation, indeed, in the 
 vicinity of the plains presents them with an 
 elevation which they rarely behold so near 
 them, and its apparent dimensions, which 
 are very deceptive with regard to its 
 height, appear to place in an inferior rank 
 the higher mountains which are scattered 
 behind it. Yet, however inaccessible it 
 may be on that side where it shews itself 
 in its greatest majesty, it possesses many 
 winding avenues, which lead to its summit 
 with so much facility as to place it within 
 the reach of the most ordinary strength, 
 so that the bathers of Bareges and Bag- 
 
 neres,
 
 48 PIC DtJ MIDI 
 
 neres, who ascend thither to enjoy one of 
 those views which nature refuses to the 
 central summits of the chain, procure this 
 advantage only at the expence of such 
 labor as is requisite to give it proper zest. 
 
 It is therefore by more than one title 
 that the Pic du Midi is become the rival 
 of the Canigou, which perhaps is ennobled 
 by the neighbourhood of Perpignan as much 
 as by the labours of M. Cassini. Both 
 these mountains indeed are very lofty. 
 Their summits are in the region of the 
 clouds, but they do not attain those unin- 
 habitable altitudes where existence is sup- 
 ported with pain, where the naturalist loses 
 his courage, and where the cares of pre- 
 serving life must be substituted for those 
 of contemplation. 
 
 It was with the design of casting a 
 glance over the southern mountains from 
 the top of this observatory that I ascended 
 it for the first time. This general survey 
 might, I thought, direct me in the excur- 
 sions which I purposed to make, with a 
 
 view
 
 OF BAGNERES. 49 
 
 view of comparing the centre of the Py- 
 renees with the corresponding part of 
 the Alps, and of forming a just idea with 
 regard to the state of the snows of the 
 former. I could hardly doubt but that at 
 the summit of the Pic du Midi I should 
 have attained a sufficient degree of eleva- 
 tion, to enable me to arrange, in some 
 degree, this chaos of rocks, and ascertain 
 whatever was really higher than the level 
 upon which I stood. 
 
 To ascend the Pic du Midi from 
 Bareges, the borders of the Gave are 
 generally followed as far as the Tourmalet, 
 and from thence the way is to the north, 
 along the valley, which rises to the base 
 of the cone of the peak ; but in order to 
 quit the sooner the melancholy abyss in 
 which Bareges is buried up, I preferred to 
 pass the Gave below the town, and to 
 ascend directly towards the heights which 
 were known to me ; from thence a shepherd, 
 whose hut was sometimes my asylum, had 
 undertaken to point me out a road to those 
 regions, which would open to my view 
 e the
 
 5© PIC DU MIDI 
 
 the whole extent of the country which I 
 wished to notice. Two persons but little 
 accustomed to thefatiguesof the mountains, 
 were my companions. The first part of our 
 journey wasby no means the most easy. 
 
 The declivities we found herbaceous; 
 some meadows have been formed upon 
 their first platforms, and a few habitations 
 erected which are scarcely visible from 
 the bottom of the valley. In one of 
 these I chose my guide. Higher up the 
 turf is shorter, and nothing to be found 
 but huts of shepherds and scattered flocks; 
 not a tree, not a shrub, nothing, in short, 
 above the level of the turf, excepting the 
 Rhododendron, which is first perceptible 
 at about 200 toises above the level of Ba- 
 reges, and whose pretty crimson flower 
 enlivens the monotonous verdure of this 
 region. This humble shrub is the only 
 combustible which the inhabitant of these 
 elevated pastures has within his reach ; 
 and in the Pyrenees, as well as in the 
 Alps, its presence informs the naturalist, 
 
 at he has attained an elevation of from 
 
 eight
 
 OF BAGNERES. 51 
 
 eight to nine hundred toises above the 
 level of the sea. 
 
 We kept ourselves at about this height, 
 but soon turned off into the valley of the 
 Pic du Midi, leaving beneath us pas- 
 tures, in which the Iris had formed an 
 entire carpet of the most lively purple. 
 The narrow valley into which we now had 
 entered is just as dull as the declivities by 
 which we had ascended. Its rocks are 
 vertical, and the sides of the mountains 
 covered with fragments. Here it is, that ter- 
 minates the sphere of the activity of the shep- 
 herds of Bareges, for they are not possessed 
 of a sufficient extent of meadow to nourish 
 the cattle with which in summer they 
 might cover their hills ; and are too poor 
 to give themselves up in any way to com- 
 mercial speculations. They abandon then 
 the Pic du Midi to the Bearnese, who, en- 
 couraged by a form of government which 
 affords more incitement to industry, are 
 in the habit of purchasing the right of 
 conducting their sheep thither. Indeed, 
 at the very moment when we were en- 
 e 2 tering
 
 52 PIC DU MIDI 
 
 tering this valley, we had seen a flock 
 upon the heights, where they appeared to 
 be in peaceful possession of the pastures. 
 But the shepherd who conducted us was 
 not a man to be mistaken ; by the dispo- 
 sition of these flocks he soon was capable 
 of guessing that their conductors were 
 not the lawful tenants of the canton ; and 
 in fact he had scarcely mentioned his 
 suspicions, before we saw the dogs col- 
 lecting the sheep, and the shepherds mak- 
 ing their appearance. These were Bearnese 
 in the act of fraudulently traversing these 
 high vallies. Our guide, who recognised 
 them at an incredible distance, was very 
 eager to be up with them ; but the enemy 
 had put himself in motion, and kept the 
 interval which separated him from us. All 
 was on the watch, nothing strayed ; the 
 dogs, the very sheep themselves, appeared 
 to be aware of danger j and, continuing 
 to graze as they proceeded, had soon at- 
 tained the upper passes of the mountains. 
 
 We were still discoursing upon these 
 remains of Tartar-like manners, when we 
 
 arrived
 
 OF BAGNERES. 53 
 
 arrived upon the borders of a beautiful piece 
 of water called the Lake ofOncet. This 
 lake lies very high, being scarcely 320 
 toises below the summit of the peak. Its 
 length, according to M. Moisset, is 250 
 toises, its breadth 150. The scenery 
 around is grand, To the south it is en- 
 closed by rocks, which are only visited by 
 the Izard and the Hunter. One of their 
 ravines, the deepest and most rugged of 
 them all, had conducted from the region 
 of the clouds to the level of its frozen 
 surface an immense body of snow. On 
 the opposite side, however, are small vallies 
 and the freshest verdure. In front the 
 peak rose rapidly, meanwhile to the south 
 the view extends as far as the points of 
 Granite, whose bases form on this side the 
 boundary of the valley of Bastan. — The 
 place, indeed, is a fine desert ; the moun- 
 tains well connected, the rocks of a ma- 
 jestic form, the outlines wild, the summits 
 pointed, their precipices profound ; and 
 they that have not sufficient strength to 
 seek the centre of the hills, where nature 
 is more sublime, and her solitudes more 
 e 3 rude,
 
 54 PIC DU MIDI 
 
 rude, may here obtain at little coft a very 
 good idea of those aspects which are ex- 
 emplified in mountains of the firft order. 
 
 The heat of the sun was now felt 
 strongly, and obliged us to rest a moment. 
 We resumed our march at a slower pace. 
 Here it was that the flowers of a short and 
 vigorous turf, but just forsaken by the 
 snow, which was still apparent in patches, 
 recalled to my remembrance the high 
 vallies and the pastures of the Alps. The 
 air was calm and loaded with perfumes ; 
 the Daphne Cneorum but juft in blossom, 
 for the dog-days are the spring of these 
 high regions of the earth. I had now be- 
 gun to feel that charm, which I have so 
 often known, so often tasted upon the 
 mountains, that vague content, that light- 
 ness of body, that agility of limb, and that 
 serenity of mind, which are all so sweet to 
 experience, but so difficult to paint. My 
 steps became more rapid : at last, I could 
 no longer wait for my companions, but, 
 leaving them and my guide, began to climb 
 in a straight line towards the summit of 
 
 the
 
 OF BAGNERES. $$ 
 
 the mountain. I had soon attained it ; and 
 from the brink of a hideous precipice be- 
 held a world beneath my feet. 
 
 The confused mass of southern rocks, 
 which till now had confined my sight, and 
 bewildered my conjectures, extended be- 
 hind me in a vast crescent, and towered 
 with its" superior eminences at a distance 
 where greatness ceases to be overwhelm- 
 ing. Placed in the apparent centre of the 
 curve, I could see its extremities die away 
 on either hand: nothing interposed between 
 me and the plains. Here, then, as from the 
 height of the clouds, I gazed down on 
 the vallies and their hills, and with one 
 glance embraced all Bigorre, Beam, the 
 Conserans, and even Languedoc itself, to 
 that extreme difiance where a light vapour, 
 confounding the limits of the horizon with 
 the immensity of the heavens, assists the 
 eye, and leaves it nothing to regret. 
 
 But what incessantly attracted my re- 
 gards, and afforded them a delicious repose, 
 were the hillocks and the pastures which 
 e 4 rise
 
 56 PIC DU MIDI 
 
 rise from the bottom of the precipice 
 towards the steep declivity of the peak, 
 and from a resting point betwixt its sum- 
 mit and its base. There I perceived the 
 hut of the shepherd surrounded with the 
 fresh and verdant herbage of his meadow, 
 the windings of the waters describing the 
 figure of the heights; and the rapidity of the 
 torrents perceptible by the foaming of their 
 waves. Some points especially rivetted 
 my attention. I fancied that I could dis- 
 tinguish a flock and discern their shepherd, 
 who, perhaps, was gazing from below at an 
 eagle, which I beheld beneath me, describ. 
 ing vast circles in the air. 
 
 The spot itself on which I stood was the 
 last to attract my notice. I had already 
 exhausted the little strength which man is 
 possessed of for contemplating the im- 
 mensity of nature, when I began to con- 
 sider my narrow situation. I now beheld 
 that even upon this barren rock there are 
 other things to examine besides ruins, and 
 that the pointed plates of the very hard 
 schiste, which compose it, protect a ver- 
 dure
 
 OF BAGNERES. $y 
 
 dure and flowers from the cold and storms 
 of the place. The Silene Acaulis, the orna- 
 ment of lofty rocks, and two or three roots 
 of Gentian, a plant which delights in 
 situations for a long time buried and 
 moistened under snow, were flourishing 
 here, exiled upon this desert summit. A 
 few insects buzzed about me ; even a 
 butterfly, which had arrived at this height 
 by ascending the southern declivities, 
 fluttered for a moment from flower to 
 flower, but soon was borne towards the 
 brink of the precipice, and confided its 
 frail existence to the ocean of the air. 
 
 Such however is not the aspect, nor 
 such the decorations of the central moun- 
 tains of the earth. Very different are 
 those desolated heights, under which the 
 vallies sink into an abyss, which the eye 
 dares not sound ; far other are those sum- 
 mits, the view from whence shows only 
 other summits, which seem to swim above 
 the terrestrial vapours, and those deserts in 
 which the eye finds no repose, where the 
 ear catches not a sound of life, nor the 
 
 tho?jght
 
 $H PIC DU MIDI 
 
 thought an object of contemplation, which 
 does not seem to overwhelm it with the ap- 
 proaching ideas of immensity and eternity. 
 In such scenes the traces of the habitable 
 world expire, and that gloomy state of 
 mind succeeds which recoils upon the 
 idea of the nothingness of itself. Here upon 
 the Pic du Midi we are not beyond the 
 sphere of the world ; we are above it and 
 observe it ; the dwellings of man are still 
 beneath us ; their agitations fresh in the 
 memory, and the expanding heart still trem- 
 bles with a somewhat of remaining passion, 
 
 I had recollected, rather than reposed, 
 myself, and with the air of the region was 
 inhaling peace of mind, when my com« 
 panions arrived, and recalled my attention 
 to the object of my journey. While they 
 enjoyed, in their turn, this view,- which 
 overpays us for all fatigues, I was exa- 
 mining the southern mountains. One look 
 was sufficient. The chaos was unravelled, 
 and I had no longer any doubt as to 
 the relative height of its various moun- 
 tains, or the road towards the principal 
 
 eleva-
 
 OF BAGNERES. 59 
 
 elevations. Many ranks of mountains rise 
 in succession, like a vast amphitheatre, 
 from the Pic du Midi as far as the frontiers 
 of Spain. They are united in distinct 
 groupes. One sharp and snowy peak com- 
 mands the groupe, which is nearest the Pic 
 da Midi and the valley of Bastan. It is 
 marked in the great map of the Pyrenees, 
 but has no name assigned it. The inha- 
 bitants of the country call it Neou-vielles 
 (old snows). Another peak, the name of 
 which I could not ascertain, commands 
 another groupe, which is situated to the 
 west of the first, but nearly in the same 
 line, and on the same degree of the 
 general amphitheatre. Behind these are 
 others still more considerable, the highest 
 of which compose the crest itself of the 
 Pyrenees, and make a line of separation to 
 the two kingdoms. It is there that, at the 
 distance of 16,000 toises, are seen the 
 towers of the Marbore, so remarkable for 
 their blunt and rounded forms, which they 
 owe to the singular disposition of their 
 strata. To the left we have Vignemale, 
 surrounded by its numerous attendants; to 
 
 the
 
 Go PIC DU MIDI 
 
 the east Mont Perdu ; the latter may be 
 considered as belonging to the Marbore, 
 of which it forms the most elevated point ; 
 and further on may be distinguished, as a 
 confused accumulation, the very consi- 
 derable mass of mountains, which are 
 traversed by the Port of Pez, and sepa- 
 rate the valley of Aure from Spain. 
 
 Here then we see the same arrange- 
 ments as may be observed in the Alps. 
 We see the chain of the Pyrenees com- 
 posed of many separate and distinct chains, 
 all of them pursuing one direction ; low 
 towards the plains, higher in proportion 
 to their distance from them, and thus by 
 degrees or stages ascending to compose 
 the crest. But farther still we may ob- 
 serve that each of these smaller bands is 
 composed in its turn of a small number of 
 principal mountains, which leave between 
 their summits so many intervals occupied 
 by their dependants. 
 
 At the same time that these observations 
 instructed me not to seek between the 
 
 Pic
 
 OF BAGNERES. 6l 
 
 Pic du Midi and the frontiers of the 
 kingdom, the more elevated mountains 
 which I wished to visit, they gave me an 
 idea of the heights of the summits, which 
 form the crest of the chain. In fact I 
 could now no longer doubt that the Pic 
 du Midi exceeded the Canigou in height ; 
 and that M. Flamichon, in assigning to it 
 an elevation of 137 1 toises above the 
 bridge of Pau, has nearly approached the 
 truth. I could see, however, that this peak 
 is sensibly inferior in height to that of 
 Neou-vielles, and that Neou-vielles itself 
 is very much below the principal moun- 
 tains of the crest. This increase of eleva- 
 tion would have appeared indeed exceed- 
 ingly rapid, if I had considered only the 
 increase of snows by which it is accom- 
 panied, but knowing that these augment 
 in a proportion much greater than that of 
 the heights which support them, so that 
 the mountains next the plains lose the 
 snows which they ought to preserve, and 
 those which are near the centre of the 
 chain preserve those which they ought to 
 lose, I reduced this increase of elevation 
 
 to
 
 6l PIC DU MIDI 
 
 to quantities, which I have since found to 
 be much about the mark ; and from the 
 considerable quantity of the snows of the 
 crest had hopes of finding a still greater 
 similitude between the higher region of 
 the Pyrenees, and that of the Alps, than I 
 had as yet been enabled to suppose. 
 
 My companions had rested themselves 
 for about an hour at the summit of the 
 peak, when they proposed to quit it. We 
 descended rapidly to the Hourque des 
 Cinq Ours, a small platform which is situ- 
 ated between the top of the mountain and 
 the lake. It is at this point that the valley 
 which rises from the bottom of that of 
 Campan to the summit of the peak is met 
 by that through which we had ascended j 
 and it was at this spot that in 1748 M. de 
 Plantade, at the age of 70 years, died 
 suddenly by the side of his quadrant, in 
 the arms of his guides. Here we found a 
 hunter. The Izard frequents this region, 
 and in the windings of its valiies avoids 
 the heat of the sun, which it cannot 
 endure. The Izard is the chamois of the 
 1 Pyrenees,
 
 OF BAGNERES. 6$ 
 
 Pyrenees. I found it smaller and of a 
 lighter colour than that of the Alps ; and 
 if I may judge from the information which 
 I have received from the hunters, with re- 
 spect to its manners, and the method of 
 pursuing it, I have reason also to believe 
 that it is weaker and less active. 
 
 In less than three quarters of an hour from 
 the time of our departure, we were on the 
 borders of the lake. We rested there a 
 moment. The heat was insufferable. The 
 very sheep that here were scattered over 
 the pastures were reposing, some under 
 the shadow of the rocks, others on the 
 snow ; their shepherds had thrown them- 
 selves out upon -the top of an enormous 
 fragment. The sight was at once pictu- 
 resque and pleasing; and this time nothing 
 fled at our approach. We were soon ac- 
 costed by two young mountaineers, hand- 
 some and well made ; they were walking- 
 barefooted, but with that grace and agility 
 which so particularly distinguish the na- 
 tives of the Pyrenees. Their bonnets were 
 tastily ornamented with mountain flowers \ \ 
 
 and
 
 04 PIC DU MIDI 
 
 and an air of adventure about them inte- 
 rested me exceedingly. They were as- 
 cending to the peak, said they, and asked 
 if the plain were visible and free from va- 
 pours : for curiosity alone it seems had 
 conducted them thither from the moun- 
 tains of Beam. Never had I seen in the 
 Alps a similar instance of curiosity. It 
 supposes that inquietude of mind, those 
 wants of the imagination, that love of what 
 is extraordinary or famous, with which the 
 peaceful felicity of the Swiss has never yet 
 been troubled ; but of this the more ro- 
 mantic happiness of the inhabitant of the 
 Pyrenees is composed * for independent of 
 liberty, of ease, or of education, an elevated 
 train of ideas are here discernible in the 
 language of the shepherd, whose appear- 
 ance would bespeak him the most gross of 
 men. In fact, the true inhabitant of the 
 Pyrenees, the native shepherd of these 
 mountains, however uncultivated or poor 
 is lively, generous, and noble ; proud even 
 in a state of degradation, and under every 
 reverse of fortune ; ever amiable, ever alive 
 to the soft illusions of sentiment, and the 
 
 noble
 
 OF BAGNERE3. 6$ 
 
 noble charms of glory, and thus is ever to 
 be recognized by that inheritance which he 
 has received from race, not climate, a true 
 nobility, from which he has never dero- 
 gated, and which follows him alike in every 
 condition. 
 
 From the borders of the lake we directed 
 our course towards those heights to the 
 south of the valley of Bastan, which we 
 had traversed in ascending to the peak, 
 but kept the path a little higher. I then 
 conducted my companions to the most 
 elevated huts of the whole country. As I 
 knew the shepherd, I expected to be able 
 to procure some milk there. The milk of 
 the Pyrenees is as inferior in quality, as it is 
 in quantity, to that of the Alps, but even 
 what we found, from its delicious freshness, 
 was the most agreeable beverage that we 
 could desire. The shepherds cover up 
 their milk from the burning heats, which 
 upon the southern declivities are felt dur- 
 ing part of the day, by plunging the vessels 
 which contain it, into the nearest current of 
 water. For this purpose they form a re- 
 f servoir
 
 66 PIC DU MIDI 
 
 servoir in the torrent, dividing the stream 
 across a portion of its width, by two pa- 
 rallel layers of stones, which leave between 
 them intervals sufficiently large for the 
 waters to find a passage. The vessels, 
 when plunged into the current, and shel- 
 tered from the sun by tables of stone which 
 cover the reservoir, are kept in a tempe- 
 rature below the freezing point. They 
 are made of wood, of a single piece ; and 
 large ladles of the same substance, neatly 
 made, and perfectly similar to those which 
 the shepherds of Switzerland make use of, 
 swim on the surface of the milk, to serve as 
 they are wanted. The reservoirs are ge- 
 nerally situated at a considerable distance 
 from the huts, and abandoned to the faith 
 of the public, but all is so well concealed 
 from the eye of the stranger, that he 
 passes above without even suspecting its 
 existence. 
 
 The shepherd to whose hut I led my 
 companions, is one of those unfortunate 
 men, whom I have described as con- 
 demned to perpetual solitude. Alone, 
 15 with
 
 OF BAGNERES. 67 
 
 with his herds on their summer pastures, 
 he returns with them, and lives in as 
 lonely a way in their winter stables. His 
 long association with his cows and sheep 
 has given him so extensive a knowledge of 
 their tastes and passions, so perfect an ac- 
 quaintance with the least of their desires and 
 affections, that he scarcely dares maintain, 
 with regard to them, his pre-eminence as 
 one of the human race. One day, as he was 
 compassionating their wants, with a sen- 
 timent of equality, he cut short the ex- 
 pression, and frankly avowed that, saving 
 the light of Christianity, he could find but 
 very little difference betwixt their condition 
 and our own. 
 
 It is thus that at a very small distance 
 from Bareges, there are still to be found a 
 number of men entirely without the sphere 
 of its influence j and dwellings, which how- 
 ever easy of access to such as wish to seek 
 them, are nevertheless sufficiently elevated 
 to forbid the adventures of the townsman. 
 The simplicity of the mountaineer, then, is 
 little altered. I have lived in these spots, 
 f 2 and
 
 68 PIC DU MIDI 
 
 and with this order of men. I have stopped 
 wherever I found a family of shepherds, in- 
 different to every other pursuit but their 
 own ; and whose ambition was bounded to 
 their meadows and flocks ; with them I was 
 sure of having friends ; and arriving early 
 in the morning before the shepherd, who 
 follows the cattle into the higher moun- 
 tains, had brought in his leathern bag, 
 could partake of their bread and milk, and 
 not believe myself above their gratuitous 
 hospitality, whenever I perceived them a 
 little at their ease ; at the same time not 
 forgetting when I payed for any tiling in 
 the houses of the poor, that to live with the 
 simple, and be acquainted with them, we 
 must avoid usurping, by the miserable su- 
 periority which the power of spending a 
 little money bestows, a consideration which 
 is hurtful to all free communication, if not 
 obtained by those advantages which tend 
 to equalize the conditions of all. I have 
 conversed, then, with the fathers of these 
 families, and have played with their 
 children. I have followed the young 
 huntsman and the young shepherd to the 
 
 moun-
 
 OF BAGNERES. 6g 
 
 mountain. More curious with respect to 
 their manners, than the singularities of 
 nature, I have made myself their compa- 
 nion or their guest, without any interest 
 which they could perceive. In this way 
 they have seen me bare-footed upon their 
 declivities, where the use of shoes, without 
 my cramp-irons would have given me only 
 a ridiculous disadvantage ; and they have 
 neither laughed at me for dreading their 
 precipices, nor treated me with that 
 feigned deference, which they pay to the 
 pretensions of the citizen. 
 
 In nine hours' time, on foot, we had 
 finished our journey. My companions 
 indeed were much fatigued, but the access 
 to this famous mountain is of the easiest. 
 
 * 3
 
 ( 7* ) 
 
 \ 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 GAVARNIE ITS VALLEY — ITS CASCADE AND 
 
 BRIDGE OF SNOW. THE MARBORE AND ITS 
 
 GLACIERS. 
 
 T^HE Pic du Midi had shown me my 
 way to the most elevated mountains. 
 I had formed an intention of visiting the 
 Marbore. Below it, is situated the village 
 of Gavarnie, well known to the traveller, 
 who passes over this elevated region of the 
 Pyrenees, towards the port of the same 
 name, and to the curious, who visit its 
 cascade and bridge of snow in the same 
 manner as in the Alps they frequent the 
 glacier of Grindelwald, and the cascade of 
 Lauterbronnen. At Gavarnie I purposed 
 to leave the beaten track, and take a near 
 view of those perpetual snows, which had 
 fixt my attention from the Pic ; for of these, 
 to the present moment, so imperfect an 
 idea has been given, that the word ice 
 f 4 which
 
 72 GAVARNIE. 
 
 which I have often found employed, where 
 mention has been made of the snows of 
 the Pyrenees, had hitherto appeared to me 
 to have been used indefinitely; and though 
 I had heard of the bridge of ice under 
 which the cascade ofGavarnie descends, I 
 had every reason to believe that it con- 
 tained not the smallest particle of such 
 substance. 
 
 But although it was my idea that the 
 snow-bridge ofGavarnie was not a bridge of 
 ice, and though, from the testimony of tra- 
 vellers, I judged its indestructibility to be as 
 little ascertained as its nature, I had ever 
 thought differently of the summits of the 
 mountains which command it. With my 
 previous measurements and reasonings, the 
 view which I had taken of the southern 
 mountains from the peak, had tended to 
 convince me, that there existed heights 
 in this part of the Pyrenees, superior by a 
 quantity which I could not value at less 
 than 300 toises to the Canigou or Pic du 
 Midi ; and it was impossible for me not to 
 conclude, that the snows of the Pyrenees, 
 
 which
 
 OAVARNIE. 7 
 
 which form a zone of from 500 to 600 toises 
 in width, were exposed to the influence of 
 all the combinations of elevation of aspect, 
 and alternate frost and thaw, which in- 
 fallibly produce so many perfect glaciers. 
 
 I took, then, the road to Gavarnie, in 
 company with some persons who had set 
 out from Bareges, to see the cascades and 
 bridge of snow. It is from the bason of 
 Luz that we enter into the valley of Ga- 
 varnie, the latter being the higher part of 
 that of Lavedan, the entrance to which is 
 from Lourdes, or rather from Pau itself. 
 At Lourdes we have seen a defile opening 
 a way across the rocks to the bason of 
 Argeles, from whence another defile con- 
 ducts to the less extensive bason of Pierre- 
 fitte. From Pierrefitte to Luz is another 
 defile till more narrow ; it opens into a 
 bason of still less extent. The same series 
 of objects, which we have seen from 
 Lourdes to Luz, we may expect again to 
 meet with from Luz to Gavarnie ; the 
 same alternation of defiles continually 
 shortening, and of basons as uniformly 
 
 con-
 
 74 GAVARNIE. 
 
 contracting in extent, as far as that which 
 is placed under the very crest of the moun- 
 tains of the frontier, and receives their 
 first waters. All these basons have been 
 formerly so many lakes, all these defiles so 
 many channels, through which the waters 
 have fallen from stage to stage, in the form 
 of long and terrible cataracts, before they 
 had digged themselves the bed through 
 which they at present flow. 
 
 In fae"l M. de Saussure has observed in 
 the Alps, and M. PAbbe Palasso in the 
 Pyrenees, that these mountains appear to 
 be composed of bands of rocks, more or 
 less parallel to the direction of the chain. 
 The primeval vallies must therefore have 
 either existed or been formed in the same 
 direction upon the different stages of the 
 mountains, between those which had the 
 least adhesion to each other. These vallies 
 have not been hollowed out to any con- 
 siderable depth, having offered but little 
 resistance to the course of the waters, 
 which quickly collected in their prin- 
 cipal depressions. From these hollows, 
 
 how-
 
 GAVARNIE. 75 
 
 however, they soon began to flow upon the 
 lower stages of the mountains, sometimes by- 
 wearing away the intermediate strata, some- 
 times by violently overturning them, and 
 seeking thus the shortest way to the plains 
 in a direction perpendicular to that of the 
 chain. Accordingly in all these passes 
 may be successively remarked the monu- 
 ments of their long stagnation, or those of 
 their tumultuous violence ; deposits or 
 ruins by which the primitive plan of the 
 Pyrenees is every where degraded. The 
 name of transverse has been given to 
 these latter sort of vallies by M.deSaussure, 
 in order to oppose them to the longitudinal 
 valleys of the chain, the history of which 
 has been traced by M. Darcet. 
 
 We arrived at the bason of Luz before 
 sun-rise, and in a short time reached the 
 entrance of the valley of Gavarnie. A 
 Gave, the volume and impetuosity of which 
 is equal at least to that of Bastan, flows 
 from this valley to join the latter. In these 
 countries those torrents, whose streams 
 unite before they leave the Pyrenees, are 
 
 rarely
 
 Jb GAVARNIE* 
 
 rarely distinguished by different names, 
 Almost every one of those of which the 
 Gave is composed, has the name of Gave 
 also, which in Celtic signifies water; for in 
 times anterior to the fixation of limits, the 
 same horde was always contained within the 
 same valley, or its immediate dependencies, 
 and could not think it necessary to distin- 
 guish by various appellations, those waters 
 which were the common property of all. 
 And such in this chain (for its simplicity 
 places in their clearest light the original 
 plans of nature) is still the empire which 
 the disposition of the earth has exercised 
 over the distribution of mankind, that to 
 this day its various districts are composed 
 of the aggregate of all those vallies, whose 
 waters are united in the same torrent. 
 Thus the particular district, to which is 
 given the name of the Valley of Bareges, 
 contains all the Gaves which are united 
 higher up than Pau, so that the valley of 
 Gavarnie, which is the principal trunk of 
 all these branches, bears, by way of emi- 
 nance, the name of the valley of Bareges ; 
 and that of Bastan, in which Bareges is 
 
 situated,
 
 GAVARNIE. 77 
 
 situated, though it be one of the primeval 
 vallies of the Pyrenees (since it lies be- 
 tween the parallel bands of the moun- 
 tains), is second in importance to one of 
 those secondary vallies, which run from 
 north to south, and which have either 
 effaced or rendered subordinate to them- 
 selves, the longitudinal vallies of the 
 chain. 
 
 The entrance to the valley of Gavarnie 
 partakes of the charming dress of the 
 bason of Luz. The Gave which escapes 
 it, has not, like its brother of the valley of 
 Bastan, a desolate border ; its course is 
 approached by trees ; it is overhung with 
 habitations ; for a short time we see it 
 covered with a fine arch, which leads to 
 the baths of St. Sauveur. Hereabouts, 
 indeed, it is more encased within its banks ; 
 but these are formed of living rock and 
 not of melancholy ruins. It passes thus 
 below St. Sauveur, the houses of which, of 
 a simple and rustic construction, are sus- 
 pended on its precipices, and at about 200 
 toises from the baths, a fine torrent, half 
 
 hidden
 
 78 GAVARNIE. 
 
 hidden with thick and dark green foliage, 
 just lets us see the fall by which it is pre- 
 cipitated towards the Gave. 
 
 Meanwhile the road continues to as- 
 cend, and the Gave to sink. We now 
 have to traverse a projecting rock, from 
 whence will be soon effaced the last re- 
 mains of the fort of Escalette. It was 
 formerly erected to shut up, at this point, 
 the narrowest part of the defile. Here 
 the rocks are extremely steep, and no 
 further habitations can be met with ; but a 
 number of torrents, whose source is in 
 the western mountains, roll and plunge 
 towards the Gave. They assume every 
 variety of form ; in one place being vo- 
 mited from wild ravines j in another, mak- 
 ing their tranquil escape from the shadows 
 of the thickest forests j elsewhere, they are 
 opposed by a long succession of saw-mills, 
 which turn by turn take possession of their 
 waters, and restore them to nature, only 
 when the work of man is done. 
 
 At
 
 GAVARNIE. 79 
 
 At about a thousand toises from the 
 ruins of the fort of Escalette, some cot- 
 tages are suddenly discovered below the 
 road. They stand upon a small platform, 
 which is nearer the level of the Gave, are 
 overshadowed with fine walnut trees, and 
 separated from each other by great blocks 
 of stone. This is the hamlet of Sia. 
 Hereabouts we descend by the zig-zags of 
 a steep and rugged path, and cross a 
 bridge of a single arch ; it is ninety feet 
 above the torrent ; meanwhile the hamlet 
 has disappeared. From this bridge we 
 may see the Gave profoundly imbedded, 
 and forming a long and terrible cataract, 
 under shadow of the thickest umbrage. 
 Presently the waters redouble their ra- 
 pidity, and shoot along under the bridge, 
 without either foam or waves, into a 
 tortuous labyrinth of rocks, overhung with 
 tranquil verdure. The bridge itself is 
 ancient, and clad with ivy ; it thus assumes 
 in some degree the uniform of nature, 
 and ceases to be a foreign object in this 
 wild and savage landscape. 
 
 We
 
 8o GAVARNIE. 
 
 We have now the torrent to the left, 
 and the landscape, still more melancholy. 
 From the borders of the Gave, to which 
 the path descends, there is nothing to be 
 seen but lofty mountains and uniform de- 
 clivities, without repose, without verdure, 
 without habitations. It is only from dis- 
 tance to distance that an isolated cabin 
 is here and there to be discovered on the 
 side of some vast ruin of the mountains, 
 of which a portion has been clad with 
 verdure, or some saw-mills scarcely distin- 
 guishable, amid the enormous fragments 
 with which the borders of the torrents 
 are loaded. 
 
 At the end of this dismal valley, the 
 traveller must pass a long bridge, sup- 
 ported in the middle by a pile of stones. 
 They have been negligently thrown to- 
 gether upon a rock which divides the cur- 
 rent. Scarcely has he passed this bridge 
 before he beholds the mountains which 
 contracted the bed of the torrent expand 
 before him, and close behind him. 
 
 All
 
 GAVARNIE. 8 1 
 
 All along the narrow pass which I have 
 just been painting, we had fallen in with 
 the shepherds of the neighbouring moun- 
 tains of Spain, who were descending from 
 thence to change their pastures. Each of 
 them was driving his cattle before him. 
 A young shepherd led the way ; his voice 
 and bell were continually heard encourag- 
 ing the sheep, and serving as a direction 
 to the goats, which were incessantly wan- 
 dering from the path. The next in the 
 proceffion came the cows ; then the mares 
 with their foals, and then the mules; laft 
 of all appeared the patriarch and his wife 
 on horseback, the young children behind, 
 the infant in the arms of the mother, co- 
 hered with a fold of her great scarlet cloak; 
 the daughter busy in spinning as she 
 rode along ; the little boy on foot, with a 
 kettle for his cap; the young man armed as 
 a huntsman ; and the son to whom in par- 
 ticular the family had confided the care or 
 the cattle, distinguished by the sack of 
 salt, adorned with its great red cross.— 
 Such is the man who has accomplished the 
 first compact of his race with the earth ; 
 g such
 
 82 GAVARNIE. 
 
 such is the lively portrait of the inhabitant 
 of all the mountains of the world, the con- 
 temporary of every age. In this way 
 marched the shepherd, whom Moses has 
 described to us three thousand years ago ; 
 such was the government of those flocks of 
 the desert when the Greeks, for the first 
 time, observed them ; such have I found 
 it in the Alps, such have I traced it in the 
 Pyrenees, and such should I find it every 
 where ; a soft and rustic picture, the de- 
 sign of nature only ; like her, it unites 
 the venerable stamp of antiquity with the 
 charms of an immortal youth, and renews 
 itself with each succeeding year, as the 
 leaf of the tree, as the herbage of the 
 meadow. This rencounter was a lucky 
 chance for the troop of which I formed a 
 part; a novel spectacle to them, but no — 
 not one of them could experience like 
 myself that charm for which I was indebted 
 to comparison and recollection ; for long 
 since the friend of flocks, I could accost 
 them as a friend, and enjoy at once their 
 curiosity, their fears, and wild astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 We
 
 GAVARNIE. bj 
 
 We had already passed the bridge, and 
 were traversing the beautiful bason, whose 
 entrance it had opened to us. The moun- 
 tains which were crossed behind us, seemed 
 to have shut up entirely the pass. It was 
 now nearly eleven o'clock, when the sun 
 shone for the first time upon us. We were 
 entering into Pragneres, a pretty village, 
 situated about the middle of the bason, on 
 the very spot at which a Gave, which 
 comes from the east, is lost in the Gave by 
 which we were ascending. This Gave has 
 its source in the heights of Neouvielles. 
 The mouth of its valley is rich and gay j 
 the valley of Pragneres is still more so. 
 A number of the clearest rivulets, over- 
 shadowed with trees, divide it in its whole 
 extent j the base of its conic mountains 
 is covered with meadows and fields j in 
 short, it is an asylum in the midst of a sa- 
 vage country, and to us appeared de- 
 licious. 
 
 This, then, is another of those basons 
 
 which the waters have abandoned to man, 
 
 and from whence we must expect another 
 
 g 2 defile.
 
 84 GAVARNIE. 
 
 defile. In fact, we found it at a little dis- 
 tance, though somewhat less savage than 
 the last. Here the declivity of the moun- 
 tains is less rapid, and divided by culti- 
 vated platforms. The cottages are each 
 of them distinguished by a clump of afh- 
 trees. The sun, indeed, had shone upon 
 us at Pragneres, but was not as yet arisen 
 for the bottom of this valley, the Gave of 
 which is coasted by a convenient road, at 
 times on a level with its waters, and at 
 others elevated above them, but every 
 where bordered with a thick hedge of 
 box, which covers the whole uncultivated 
 part of the hills, and here attains a very 
 considerable height j meanwhile the land- 
 scape becomes more melancholy, but pre- 
 sently a very beautiful mountain rises in 
 front. It is the Comelie. In proportion 
 as we proceed towards it, the aspect of 
 nature grows more smiling j the Gave 
 loses its violence j and as the valley en- 
 larges, it is covered with habitations ; not- 
 withstanding which, a little farther on, 
 it again contracts for a moment at Sarre 
 de Ven, a hamlet placed upon a promon- 
 tory,
 
 GAVARNIE. 85 
 
 Wry, and celebrated for the violent gusts 
 «f wind which are felt there. Here, too, 
 may be seen the remains of a dyke of 
 rocks, which the waters overturned when 
 they effected their escape from the bason 
 into which we were about to enter. 
 
 This new bason is a little more extensive. 
 Here again we had the sunshine, and per- 
 ceived the silvery summit of the Marbore, 
 but the prospect was soon interrupted by 
 the projection of a rock, which supports 
 the first houses of Gedro, and at the foot 
 of which we found this village, with its 
 charming valley. Into this there branches 
 out, under the name of the valley of Heas, 
 one of the largest and deepest vallies, 
 which descend from the region of granite, 
 which is situated between the valley of 
 Bastan, that of Aure, and that of Gavarnie. 
 Its torrent rolls down the fragments of this 
 granite, and the various contractions of 
 the valley of Gavarnie appear to corres- 
 pond to the principal bands of rock which 
 surround it. The lateral valley of which 
 I speak, takes the name of one of its 
 g 3 branches,
 
 86 GAVARNIE. 
 
 branches, which is distinguished by a chapel, 
 not less famous for the singularity of its 
 situation, than the devotion of the moun- 
 taineers. Two other principal branches are 
 detached from it; that which is the least in 
 depth, rises directly to the east towards the 
 Piclong; the other, much wilder and deeper, 
 is the valley of Estaube, which traverses 
 this desolate region as far as the base of 
 Mont Perdu, the principal summit of the 
 Marbore, which is seen from thence on 
 its more inaccessible side, supporting to 
 the greatest height which the Pyrenees 
 attain, the homogeneous marble of which 
 it appears to be formed to its very summit. 
 
 Gedro and its bason are at the foot of 
 the Comelie. When we arrived there, the 
 heat was very sensible, and the climate of 
 the spot appeared to us as mild as the soil 
 was rich and fertile. A beautiful arch 
 crosses the Gave of Heas. This bridge, 
 and the cataracts of the torrent, were 
 shaded with lime trees in blossom, and 
 formed a singularly interesting object. 
 From a house, too, of the village, belong- 
 ing
 
 GAVARNIE. Sy 
 
 ing to one Palasser, there is an easy de- 
 scent towards the level of the Gave, where 
 the torrent, rolling in the deep obscurity 
 of the shades which cover it, is seen to 
 form a beautiful and thundering cataract ; 
 and rushes furiously from a vault of ver- 
 dure, as from the entrails of the earth. 
 
 After having passed Gedro, the road rises 
 considerably upon the base of the Comelie. 
 Here we have nothing but ruins, and these 
 ruins are enormous. A vast declivity of 
 blocks of granite, confusedly piled together, 
 descends from the very summit of the 
 mountains to the lowest depths of the 
 valley. It is the terrible monument of the 
 fall of almost an entire mountain. These 
 blocks are formed of masses of from ten 
 to a hundred thousand cubic feet each, and 
 are heaped up and suspended one above 
 another as the little pebbles of our 
 torrents are. The Gave, compressed, re- 
 pelled and divided by these ruins, which, 
 with all its fury it cannot stir, escapes with 
 a bellowing sound from amidft them, and 
 adds to the horror of this chaos, the 
 g 4 tumult
 
 88 GAVARNIE. 
 
 tumult of its cataracts, and the thunders 
 of its waves. 
 
 We were not less than half an hour in 
 traversing this hideous solitude, which the 
 people of the country call the Peyrada. 
 On leaving it, the beautiful cascade of 
 Saousa is seen descending from a moun- 
 tain of the same name into the Gave. 
 The snows of the Mai bore are now in 
 front. From this point, indeed, the snows 
 are already seen on all sides terminating 
 the different views, which by the lateral 
 vallies may be had of the interior moun- 
 tains. At the same time the Comelie 
 changes its form, and presents itself under 
 the singular aspect of a very sharp peak, 
 which is crowned nevertheless to the very 
 top with trees. At the bottom of it, is the 
 road, and as we advance by a series of 
 defiles continually shortening, and of 
 basons gradually more contracted, the 
 surrounding boundary of the rocks of 
 Gavarnie unfolds and enlarges. The 
 Gave is passed for the last time at the 
 bridge of Barygui, which is often con- 
 sidered
 
 GAVARNIE. 89 
 
 sidered as the limit between the pastures 
 on the French and Spanish side, and here 
 is situated what is called the Inn of 
 Gavarnie. A little further lies the village 
 itself, from whence the mountains of the 
 bottom present almost entirely to the view 
 their semicircular wall, the snows which 
 load its stages, the tower-like rocks which 
 crown its heights, and the numerous cas- 
 cades which are precipitated into the 
 inferior circus. This beautiful mass is 
 the most known part of the Marbore. 
 Its volume and its height would make 
 it appear to be very near Gavarnie, but 
 its colour, which partakes of the azure of 
 the high regions of the atmosphere, and of 
 that golden light which lies upon distant 
 objects, is a good warning, that before it 
 can be reached, there are many vallies yet 
 to pass. It is a magnificent picture, set as 
 it were in the nearer mountains j and, con- 
 trasting with them both in form and tint, 
 appears to have been coloured by a more 
 brilliant, a lighter and more magic pencil ; 
 for such as are not acquainted with the 
 mountains of the first order, can have no 
 
 idea
 
 90 GAVARNIE. 
 
 idea of that golden and transparent hue, 
 Which tinges the highest summits of the 
 earth. It is often by this alone, that the 
 eye is informed of their prodigious eleva- 
 tion ; for, deceived in its estimation of 
 heights and distance, it would confound 
 them with every thing which, either by its 
 form or situation, is capable of imitating 
 their magnificence, did not this species of 
 celestial light announce that their summits 
 inhabit a region of perpetual serenity. 
 
 Gavarnie belongs to the order of Malta. 
 It formerly belonged to the Templars. 
 The presbytery is still composed in part 
 of the fragments of the walls which made 
 a part of their house ; other vestiges exist 
 near it \ and in the church, upon a beam 
 which is near the altar, may be counted 
 twelve heads, the number of those un- 
 happy knights, who were decapitated here 
 on that day when the whole order, and the 
 mysterious motives of so horrible a pro- 
 scription, were buried alike within the 
 tomb. 
 
 At
 
 GAVARNIE. 91 
 
 At Gavarnie the road to Spain turns 
 into one of the lateral vallies, and rises 
 upon the declivity of its hills. It passes 
 the crest of the mountains to the west of 
 the heights of the Marbore, may be tra- 
 versed for miles, and offers to the paffen- 
 ger a port, as easy as the height to which 
 it rises can be supposed to afford. To 
 visit, however, the bridge of snow, this 
 road must be left to the right, and that 
 along the Gave be followed. 
 
 From Gavarnie to the bridge of snow is 
 not less than three quarters of an hour's 
 walk. Of the different basons which must 
 be passed, the most remarkable is the last. 
 It is an oval tolerably regular, the soil of 
 which is perfectly level. It cannot have 
 been dried up at any very distant period, 
 its gravel being still discernible ; and if its 
 Gave be no longer capable of filling it, it 
 has not as yet so far abandoned it, as not 
 to ravage it from time to time. This, 
 however, must have an end, for the canal 
 by which it escaped is continually growing 
 deeper. In this bason two torrents add 
 
 their
 
 9 2 GAVARNIE. 
 
 their waters to the Gave. They descend 
 symmetrically from two opposite ravines. 
 The waters of that to the east have the repute 
 of being the lightest of the whole country. 
 This they owe to the recommendation of 
 an old priest of Gavarnie. 
 
 From this bason there is still another 
 declivity to ascend ; it is the first dyke 
 which the upper waters have had to 
 force ; for the traveller who has passed 
 it, is then in the very circus of the Mar- 
 bore, upon its inferior snows, and in front 
 of its cascades. 
 
 Imagine a semicircular area, the en- 
 closure of which is a vertical wall, the 
 bottom a sort of tunnel ; suppose this wall 
 to be from a dozen to fourteen hundred 
 feet in height, surmounted by the vast 
 degrees of an amphitheatre, which is 
 whitened by eternal snows, and crowned 
 with rocks in the form of towers, sur- 
 charging its horizontal summit. Such is 
 the scene. Ten or twelve torrents tumble 
 from this amphitheatre into the circus. 
 
 One
 
 GAVARNIE. 93 
 
 One of them is more considerable than the 
 rest ; it precipitates itself from a jutting 
 i^ck, and is twice collected on projections 
 of he same, before it gains the bottom. 
 Th.3 torrent is considered as the source of 
 the Gave of Pan, Such is here the size 
 of the surrounding objects, that most 
 persons would hardly assign its fall a 
 height of three hundred feet. More ac- 
 customed myself to dimensions of this 
 kind, I should have judged it to be only 
 about three times as considerable ; when 
 measured, however, geometrically by 
 Messrs. Reboul and Vidal, its altitude was 
 found to amount to 1266 feet, notwith- 
 standing which it disappears almost en- 
 tirely under those enormous rocks with 
 which it is surmounted. It is therefore, 
 excepting a fall of 1800 feet in America, 
 the highest which has ever been measured. 
 It exceeds that of Lauterbrunnen by 300, 
 but being broken in the middle, it does 
 not exemplify the singular phenomena 
 which might be inferred from its eleva- 
 tion ; the latter, therefore, has still the 
 advantage of shewing a very considerable 
 
 body
 
 94 GAVAKNIE. 
 
 body of water entirely dissipated in the 
 air. 
 
 The bottom of the tunnel being rarely 
 visited by the rays of the sun, preserves 
 its snows at all times ; but in small quan- 
 tity, and that only when they are under 
 shelter. A portion of the snows under 
 which the Gave has formed a passage, and 
 whose vault receives the waters of an 
 auxiliary torrent, is what is called the 
 bridge of snow or of ice, but it has no ice, 
 and does not always exist. This time, 
 indeed, we found it entire, but it fell the 
 thirtieth of August of the same year, not- 
 withstanding the extraordinary quantity of 
 snow, with which the preceding winter had 
 loaded the mountains. 
 
 I had not, however, come thus far, 
 without perceiving what I sought, and 
 could not hesitate to acknowledge, that 
 if the bridge itself were not of ice, I had 
 only to raise my eyes towards the stages 
 of the Marbore to find it. In fact the 
 ices of those degrees are beautiful and 
 
 1 1 dis-
 
 G A YARN IE. 95 
 
 distinctly to be seen amidst the snows. 
 At a very considerable distance, I had per- 
 ceived that bluish tint ; that sharpness of 
 edge, those clefts which cannot be mis- 
 taken ; that indescribable disposition, in 
 fine, by which may be recognized at any 
 distance the lofty glaciers of the Alps; for, 
 placed upon the brink of the precipices, 
 their very situation deprives them of the 
 power of extending themselves. The 
 parts which increase, are suspended, and 
 project over the hollows ; thus they can 
 only descend by breaking ; and, in detach- 
 ing themselves, incessantly renew that 
 vitreous and semi-transparent surface, 
 which the glacier offers to the eye. 
 
 It was much my wish to get a nearer 
 view of thefe ices ; but the crescent which 
 sustained them was apparently insuperable; 
 I therefore questioned our guides. One 
 of them told me that the part which is op- 
 posite to the great cascade might be scaled, 
 and that the smugglers avoided the guards 
 of the pass of Gavarnie by taking that 
 road, so as to traverse the famous Breche 
 
 de
 
 96 GAVARNIE. 
 
 de Roland. He did not fail, however, to> 
 describe the pass as extremely dangerous,, 
 both from the steepness of its rocks, and 
 that of its declivities of snow and ice ; but 
 as he informed me at the same time, that 
 he had more than once ascended it, and 
 being in hopes myself, that when once upon 
 the summit, I might be able to make the 
 tour of the cascades, I resolved at least to 
 reconnoitre the spot, and to repair thither 
 immediately. 
 
 I quitted therefore my companions, and 
 proceeded at once with my guide, both of 
 us very ill prepared for such a journey — 
 without poles, without cramp-irons, and 
 without provisions. This good moun- 
 taineer, who, it seems, was pretty well per- 
 suaded that I should not go far, did not 
 even give himself the trouble of pointing 
 out to me the precautions which he had used 
 himself for the passage. 
 
 It was already past mid-day when we 
 began to ascend by the side of the western 
 rocks, at first on snows of but little inclina- 
 tion,
 
 THE MARB0RE. 97 
 
 tlon, and afterwards upon a ruinous de- 
 clivity of schist, which it was extremely 
 troublesome to pass. This first part of the 
 journey is little fatiguing, but the inha- 
 bitants of Gavarnie, who undertake it only 
 when loaded with the wool which they 
 smuggle into Spain, never fail to halt, for 
 a short time, at the foot of the rock, in a 
 cavity which is situated there. From this 
 spot 'my guide shewed me a kind of ravine, 
 horribly steep, and hollowed in the naked 
 and rugged rock; — this was our road. He 
 now asked me with a very serious air, if I 
 were really disposed to try this adventure. 
 I informed him that it was nothing new 
 to me ; and we instantly set out. His last 
 words to me were, that I should be sure of 
 a firm hold before I made a step. This I 
 knew as well he did, and from that time 
 each of us busied himself alone with his 
 own individual safety; themountaineer how- 
 ever climbed before me, that his steps might 
 be a rule for mine. Not a word passed be- 
 tween us till we had attained the heights. 
 This rock is formed of a slaty stone with very 
 thin and very fragile layers, which, some- 
 h what
 
 98 THE MARBORE. 
 
 what diversified in their direction east 
 and west, incline from the perpendicular 
 to the north. In one place the foot- and 
 hand are supported by small steps, which 
 have been formed by the regular degrada- 
 tion of its slate-like tables ; in other places 
 the schists present themselves in the form 
 of so many long inclined planes, entirely 
 devoid of eminences, and whose inclina- 
 tion is such, that if the foot were not to find 
 a hold upon the transverse fissures, and the 
 hand a projection now and then from 
 above, the way could only be continued 
 with the help of a hatchet. Thus at one 
 moment we were forced to climb the rock, 
 at another to wind about the precipice, 
 describing in profile a zigzag every angle 
 of which obliged us to turn ; further on, a 
 fall of water was to be passed, whose high 
 cascades would have informed us of the 
 steepness of the descent, had we not 
 already been aware of it by the precipice 
 which we were coasting. Many times the 
 path changes its rock, and passes from one 
 to another by very steep declivities, some 
 of which are covered with small and loose 
 
 stones,
 
 THE MARBORE. 99 
 
 stones, and others with a dry turf, the 
 tufts of which are long and smooth, and 
 slippery as ice. Four passes of this kind 
 divide the rock into five parts, and the 
 most imminent dangers of the road are 
 met with upon these declivities, where the 
 way is only to be traced from distance to 
 distance, by light depressions denoting the 
 steps which the hardy mountaineers of this 
 region have fixt with more force and 
 greater precaution. 
 
 We were full half an hour in gaining 
 the top of the precipice. We were then at 
 the height from which the cascades begin 
 to fall, and had before us another ascent, 
 covered with grass indeed, but very rapid, 
 by which we were to rise to the first stages 
 of the towers of the Marbore. We fol- 
 lowed it and reached a wall of rocks, a pro- 
 longation of these stages, beneath a projec- 
 tion of which we met with two Spanish 
 shepherds. They had arrived the evening 
 before with their gaots and sheep at this 
 pasture, which is more accessible from the 
 side of Spain. It was a happy meeting 
 
 h 2 for
 
 IOO THE MARBORfi. 
 
 for me. I was hungry — and found there 
 a pan of goat's milk and bread, which 
 they abandoned to me, with the utmost 
 readiness. 
 
 This situation is one of those where a head 
 unaccustomed to the sight of precipices 
 would not be much at ease. All around was 
 either declivity or precipice : I had com- 
 plete possession of myself, however, having 
 travelled in the Alps, and experienced 
 only an agreeable emotion; for those feel- 
 ings are always pleasing which arise from 
 the knowledge of dangers to which we are 
 superior. 
 
 We might now see beneath our feet the 
 source of those numerous cascades, which 
 fall into the circle of rocks which we had 
 climbed. The tunnel which receives them 
 is an obscure abyss, and absorbs them like 
 a gulph. The great cascade which falls 
 from the eastern side was the only one 
 which was touched with light, the sun in- 
 deed was fast declining, and in the vapour 
 
 of
 
 THE MARBORE. ioi 
 
 of the torrent had formed an entire 
 rainbow. 
 
 This pasture is distinguished by the 
 name of the Malhada de Serrades. It 
 is easier of access from the Spanish side of 
 the mountains, and delivered up by nature 
 to the Arragonese in despite of politicians. 
 Such, circumstances have occasioned many 
 sanguinary quarrels, for nature, when she 
 herself interposes limits, will not be con- 
 tradicted, and punishes severely the so- 
 cieties which appeal from her decrees to 
 those of statesmen. The Spaniards how- 
 ever have frequently encroached upon the 
 rights of the French ; but this is again 
 another decree of nature. The southern 
 declivities] of the Pyrenees are richer and 
 more open, are possessed of stronger herds, 
 and more enterprising shepherds. The 
 French have often yielded to such ascen- 
 dancy, and voluntarily abandoned a part 
 of their rights, at a fixt price; and thus it 
 is a common circumstance in the northern 
 vallies, to see the Spaniards pass the crest 
 of the Pyrenees, wherever the access is 
 h 3 easy
 
 102 THE MARBORE. 
 
 easy on their side ; but these invasions, 
 when altogether unlawful and condemned 
 by nature, have frequently excited re- 
 prisals, and involved both flocks and shep- 
 herds in a common massacre. 
 
 After some moments of repose and 
 tranquil conversation, we again set off, 
 and ascended to the west, in order to view 
 those ices, which were as yet concealed 
 from us. We soon attained a valley of 
 snow, which rises in a direction parallel 
 to that of the bands of the mountains, and 
 is consequently primitive. Scarcely had 
 we entered it, when I beheld upon the 
 heights above us, a very stout fellow armed 
 with a gun, and descending with an air of 
 agility and boldness, which I could not 
 enough admire. This was an Arragonese 
 smuggler. As soon as he perceived us, 
 he stopt, and put himself on his guard j 
 'but seeing me approach him with con- 
 fidence, and that I was not armed, he 
 continued to descend, preserving how- 
 ever the advantage of the heights, until 
 he had well observed us. He informed us 
 
 that
 
 THE MARBORE. 103 
 
 that the snows of the pass were good, and 
 that he had descended from the Breche de 
 Roland with ease: but after all, a smuggler 
 does not travel as a philosopher, and when 
 I remarked his cramp-irons hanging from 
 his sack, and the small hatchet which he 
 carried at his side for hewing out his way in 
 the ice, I could easily guess, that if he 
 had not had occasion for them, I might. 
 
 In the countenance of this man I could 
 perceive a mixture of boldness and confi- 
 dence; his thick and frizzled beard was con- 
 tinued up into his black and curling hair ; 
 his broad breast was open, his strong and 
 nervous legs naked ; all his clothing con- 
 sisted of a simple vest ; the covering of 
 his feet, after the manner of the Romans 
 and Goths, of a piece of cow's skin applied 
 to the sole of the foot, and bound round it 
 like a purse, by means of two straps, which 
 were afterwards crossed and fastened 
 above the ancles. Such is the dress of the 
 true mountaineer, of the smuggler, of the 
 hunter of the Izai*d, of the shepherd even 
 of these high regions; but what can never 
 h 4 be
 
 104 THE MARE0RE. 
 
 be described is, that grace and agility 
 of step which they possess, that vigor 
 which pervades their every movement, and 
 that air of their countenance at once so 
 wild and noble. 
 
 When arrived at the highest part of the 
 valley of snow, I discovered another still 
 more considerable valley before me, of a 
 direction similar to that which I had just 
 ascended, but divided lengthwise by many 
 bands of rocks. To the north it is 
 bounded by the rugged and pyramidical 
 crags of a fine but nevertheless a calcareous 
 mountain : to the south, appears the very 
 base of the towers of the Marbore, the 
 highest degree of the amphitheatre which 
 supports them, and the rock in which is 
 excavated the Breche de Roland. This 
 rock ranges like a wall, and is so regular, 
 that at the distance from whence I beheld 
 it, it is not an easy matter to distinguish 
 whether it be the work of art or of nature. 
 It is the boundary of the two kingdoms. 
 
 At
 
 THE MARBORE. 1 05 
 
 At the very moment when I was entering 
 this valley, I heard and saw an avalanche. 
 It broke with the sound of thunder, over 
 the vast degrees of the Marbore. This 
 phenomenon, so terrible to every thing 
 below, is called by the inhabitants of this 
 country, a Lid or Lit. They distinguish 
 also, like the mountaineers of the Alps, 
 the lid de terre, which rolls like a torrent 
 into the vallies, from the lid de vent, 
 which is raised in vortices, by the whirl- 
 winds of the higher regions. Their causes 
 and consequences are alike. 
 
 From the spot where I was standing I 
 had a tolerable view of what had appeared 
 to me to be ice and glaciers, and not only 
 was I confirmed in my opinion, but could 
 discover all about the stages of the 
 Marbore new matter of conviction. It 
 was nevertheless impossible for me to 
 examine these ices nearer, the highest 
 part of them, though accessible, being 
 covered with a thick bed of snow, and 
 presenting only their side to me, which 
 was as perpendicular as the precipice on 
 
 which
 
 106 THE MARB0RE. 
 
 which they leant. My guide informed 
 me, that these ices would not be visible 
 before the first day of September, and 
 not even then, if the end of August were 
 not very warm. 
 
 I contented myself therefore with climb- 
 ing the rocks of the mountain to the north, 
 with a view of remarking the above 
 objects in front, and all those of a like 
 nature, which might bethence discoverable. 
 Arrived at about a quarter of its height, 
 I then began to coast it along by means 
 of a projection of a considerable extent, at 
 the end of which I could look down over 
 the whole desert, having nothing before 
 me to intercept my view excepting the 
 very boundary of the scene itself, that is 
 to say, the rock in which the Breche de 
 Roland opens. I now could see that the 
 rocks on which I stood turned off towards 
 the right inclining to the south, and that 
 the great valley of snow which I com- 
 manded, turned also with them, and rose 
 in the same direction. At the same time 
 I perceived that the widest part of the 
 
 valley
 
 THE MAHBORE. 1 Oj 
 
 valley was that which I commanded, and 
 that it formed a sort of bason, the southern 
 boundary of which rose rapidly as far as 
 the wall of the rock, and the Breche de 
 Roland. I could see also, and this in a 
 short time attracted my whole attention, 
 that a vast oval of a grey colour, inter- 
 rupted the whiteness of the snow which 
 covered this descent. Its colour and form, 
 the fissures by which it was traversed, its 
 situation, every thing indeed appeared to 
 indicate it as one of those nuclei of ice, 
 which are the origin of all glaciers, and 
 form the summit of them. So totally 
 unprovided with any thing as I was, I 
 could not attempt to visit it ; but satisfied 
 with knowing that there at least existed 
 in this region an accessible glacier, I 
 contented myself with examining for this 
 time, an object which would soon occasion 
 my return to it. 
 
 I had now ascertained that all the snows 
 within my view affected a northern aspect, 
 that they sustained the snows of the east, 
 and only by accident resisted the rays of 
 
 the
 
 108 THE MARBORE. 
 
 the west, or of the south. I discovered 
 that the vast mass which loaded the de- 
 grees of the Marbore, contained true 
 glaciers ; but that these glaciers, although 
 accessible, could not be examined from 
 any nearer point than that on which I 
 stood, until the snows should be melted 
 from their surface. I was equally con- 
 vinced that the grey oval which barred 
 the approach to the Breche de Roland was 
 a real glacier, just beginning to be disen- 
 gaged, and that a torrent which rolled 
 beneath me, had its source among its 
 cavities. I could not doubt of its extent, 
 and the permanency of its ices, especially 
 when informed by my guide, that when en- 
 tirely exposed, it occupies all the avenues 
 of the breach, and was only passable 
 with a hatchet. My guide gave me also to 
 understand, that these ices, though com- 
 mon on the side of France, did not exist 
 on the Spanish side : lastly, he told me, that 
 they were called Sernelhes or Serneilles, 
 and arose from the extraordinary, accumu- 
 lation of the snows in those places where 
 they are raised and collected by the wind. 
 
 Here
 
 THE MARB0RE. I09 
 
 Here then we have glaciers formed by 
 windy avalanches, as in Switzerland, where, 
 the shepherds say, that there arises one in 
 every part, where the snows of winter, 
 accidentally accumulated, have been able 
 to resist the heat of the succeeding 
 summer. 
 
 But these glaciers are banished to re- 
 gions of considerable elevation, from 
 whence they do not descend, and are 
 similar in this respect to those of the 
 canton of Glarus, and indeed to those 
 of all the lower part of the Alps j for in 
 mountains of this order, the superior 
 snows are not sufficient to extend them. 
 Being thus deprived of those immense 
 reinforcements which give to the glaciers 
 of the high Alps, the power of pushing 
 their frosts into the midst of the harvests 
 of the plain, the glaciers of inferior moun- 
 tains cannot leave their birth-place, with- 
 out being abandoned at once by all those 
 local causes, which occasion their forma- 
 tion. From the smallness too of their 
 volume, the heat of the vallies must 
 
 oppose
 
 IIO THE MARE- ORE. 
 
 oppose an insurmountable obstacle to their 
 usurpations. 
 
 • I had nothing further to do in this cold 
 region. I descended, therefore, towards 
 the retreat of the shepherds, designing to 
 pass the night there, and send my guide 
 to get me my cramp-irons. But after ex- 
 amining the spot with more attention, I re- 
 nounced my project, having nothing to 
 guard me from the cold, and the shepherds 
 nothing to spare me ; the rock, besides, 
 under which they were to sleep, projected 
 but little, and to defend themselves from 
 the wind, they were obliged to hang out 
 the only two blankets which they possessed, 
 so as to form a sort of screen towards the 
 north. Thefe two blankets were but small, 
 and even with their help they were not 
 the less exposed to the open air ; their 
 fire, too, which woefully bespoke the scan- 
 tiness of fuel, experienced at such a height, 
 and was only fed with the small branches 
 of the Rhododendron, diminished but little, 
 even for them, the inconveniences of the 
 situation, and would have ill defended me 
 14 against
 
 THE 3IARB011E. I II 
 
 against the piercing cold, to which the 
 lightness of my clothing would have ex- 
 posed me. 
 
 I adopted therefore the resolution of de- 
 scending from the rock, which I did more 
 easily than I could have imagined. I left 
 my guide at Gavarnie, and resumed the 
 road of Gedro, where I arrived at sunset. 
 At every step I could perceive the tem- 
 perature changing. From the heights of 
 the rock to Gavarnie I had passed from 
 winter to spring ; from Gavarnie to Gedro 
 I passed from spring to summer. Here I 
 felt a mild and pleasant warmth. The 
 new-mown hay was lying in the fields, and 
 the various plants exhaling their per- 
 fumes. The lime trees were in blossom. 
 I entered the house, from whence in the 
 morning I had examined the almost 
 hidden cataracts of the Gave of Heas. At 
 the bottom of the court was a rock which 
 overhung them : I sat myself upon it. 
 The night was now descending, and the 
 stars, according to their magnitude, be- 
 ginning to appear. I quitted the torrent 
 
 and
 
 112 THE MARBORE. 
 
 and the tumult of its waves, to breathe 
 again the air of the valley, and inhale its 
 fragrance. Retracing so my steps, I en- 
 deavoured to account with myself for that 
 portion of my voluptuous sensations, for 
 which I was conscious of being indebted to 
 recollection. There is a somewhat in 
 perfumes which powerfully awakens the 
 memory of the past. Nothing so soon 
 recalls to the mind a beloved spot, a re- 
 gretted situation, or moments whose pas- 
 sage has been deeply recorded in the 
 heart, though lightly in the memory. The 
 fragrance of a violet restores us to the 
 enjoyment of many springs. I know not 
 to what exquisite moments of my life, the 
 lime in flower was ever witness, but I 
 could plainly feel that it occasioned a vi- 
 bration which had long been dormant, 
 that it awakened recollections connected 
 with happy days. I could feel between 
 my heart as it were and my thoughts, that 
 there was spread a veil, which perhaps it 
 would have been pleasing, perhaps the 
 contrary, to have" removed. I indulged 
 then in my reverie, though somewhat bor- 
 dering
 
 THE MARBORE. 113 
 
 dering upon the melancholy, which is ever 
 occasioned by the images of the past, and 
 extended over nature that illusion which I 
 had caught from her ; for by this time I 
 had ceased to be alone amidst these wild 
 retreats, and had established between them 
 and myself a secret and indefinable intel- 
 ligence. Alone, upon the borders of the 
 torrent of Gedro ; alone, but under a 
 heaven the witness of all things, I aban- 
 doned myself with emotion to that soft 
 security, to that delicious sentiment of 
 co-existence, which we can experience 
 only in the fields of our native country. 
 Invisible Being, who interposest in our 
 lives some happy moments, be blessed for 
 those fleeting hours when the unquiet 
 spirit is at peace, when the heart is in 
 unison with nature, and enjoys ; for en- 
 joyment is ours, frail but sensible beings 
 that we are; and knowledge is thine, who, 
 in abandoning the earth to our possession, 
 and the universe to our disputes, hast 
 extended between us and creation, be- 
 tween us and ourselves, the sacred obscu- 
 rity with which thou art enveloped. 
 1
 
 ( »5 ) 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 THE BRECHE DE ROLAND AND ITS ICES. 
 
 T seven in the morning, I was on my 
 return to Gavarnie. Half an hour 
 afterwards, I had procured my guide ; and 
 both of us, with pointed poles and cramp- 
 irons, at nine o'clock, were at the foot of 
 the rocks. We rapidly ascended this rude 
 path, and in three quarters of an hour had 
 attained the spot where the evening be- 
 fore we had left the Spanish shepherds. 
 At this hour their flocks were still about 
 them, their sheep justbeginningto separate, 
 and their goats to climb upon the rock, 
 which overhung the asylum of their owners; 
 but, curious as they always are, and ap- 
 proaching the brink of the precipice to 
 examine us, they put us to much incon- 
 venience, by rolling down a quantity of 
 loose earth and stones. In our turn, then, 
 we were obliged to declare war against 
 them, and drive them from their post. 
 i 2 Four
 
 Il6 BRECHE DE R0LANJ5. 
 
 Four Spanish smugglers, who were march- 
 ing in company, completed this strange 
 assemblage of different objects, united in 
 one of the wildest, and least accessible 
 deserts in nature. These smugglers are 
 as adroit as they are determined, are 
 familiarized at all times with peril, and 
 march in the very face of death: their first 
 movement is a never-failing shot, and cer- 
 tainly would be a subject of dread to most 
 travellers ; for where are they to be 
 dreaded more than in deserts, where crime 
 has nothing to witness it, and the feeble no 
 assistance. As for myself, alone and un- 
 armed, I have met them without anxiety, 
 and have accompanied them without fear. 
 We have little to apprehend from men 
 whom we inspire with no distrust nor envy, 
 and every thing to expect in those, from 
 whom we claim only what is due from man 
 to man. The laws of nature still exist, 
 for those who have long shaken off the 
 laws of civil government. At war with 
 society, they are sometimes at peace with 
 their fellows. The assassin has been my 
 guide in the defiles of the boundaries of 
 
 Italy 5
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. I17 
 
 Italy ; the smuggler of the Pyrenees has 
 received me with a welcome in his secret 
 paths. Armed, I should have been the 
 enemy of both ; unarmed, they have alike 
 respected me. In such expectation, I 
 have long since laid aside all menacing ap- 
 paratus whatever. Arms may indeed be 
 employed against the wild beast, but no 
 one should forget that they are no defence 
 against the traitor ; that they irritate the 
 wicked, and intimidate the simple ; lastly, 
 that the man of peace, among mankind, 
 has a much more sacred defence, — his 
 character. 
 
 My guide was lamenting with the 
 Spaniards the death of one of their com- 
 rades, who had been killed at his side 
 some few days past, at the very Breche de 
 Roland. The shot came from a cavern in 
 the rock. A guard of his nation had gone 
 up with the purpose of committing the 
 crime, but the wretch is known, and must 
 perish in the same manner. All the in- 
 habitants of Gavarnie were wholly occu- 
 pied with this event : the guard the object 
 1 3 of
 
 1 l8 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 of public execration, and his victim a 
 young man beloved and regretted by every 
 one ; but, doubtless, it must one day be a 
 common truth, that there should be ho 
 limitations set to commerce, no barriers 
 which should stop the free exchange of 
 the productions of cultivation and industry; 
 for all prohibition can only be a vain en- 
 deavor to give to states and their produc- 
 tions a value which they do not in reality 
 possess. The prosperity of a nation, in 
 fact, must be proportionate to the equity 
 and simplicity of its laws ; and surely it 
 was an error worthy of the barbarism of 
 the middle ages, which erected between 
 men so many political, so many civil and 
 fiscal barriers. What better laws of com- 
 merce can there be established, than those 
 which arise from personal interest, en- 
 lightened by experience, and with these 
 what has government to do? The day must 
 arrive, when nations will be convinced, that 
 justice and injustice are not to be deter- 
 mined according to our caprices, and that 
 the greatest possible of crimes is the arbi- 
 trary erection into faults of actions in them- 
 selves*
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 119 
 
 selves legitimate. The natural law suf- 
 fices : it is the best support of the throne 
 and of the cottage; for wherever this is in- 
 fringed, wherever the force which it pos- 
 sesses is translated, both the conscience and 
 morals of the nation must be corrupted, 
 and injured justice be avenged by perpe- 
 tual disorder. Should we behold these 
 happy days, we should cease to witness that 
 lamentable variance which has arisen be- 
 tween law and custom, between precept 
 and action. The magistrate would have 
 ceased to condemn before men, what he 
 cannot condemn before his conscience, and 
 the poor man to avow himself convicted 
 without acknowledging himself guilty. 
 
 Our breakfast was again made at the 
 expence of our shepherds; and now being 
 much refreshed with the warmth of a 
 gentle sun, and my lungs accustomed tc 
 the light arid searching air « ' hi 
 
 regions, I again set out, af> 
 another glance ovei the mountains in froi ,. 
 The shepherds named them to me. T) y T 
 reckoned three besides'the Marbore ; die 
 1 4 nearest
 
 12© BItECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 nearest to which is the Stanzona, the next 
 the Fourchetta, and the nearest to Ga- 
 varnie the Pic cPAllanz. It is from 
 the first that the great cascade de- 
 scends. The strata of these mountains 
 are all of them nearly vertical, although 
 calcareous ; such disposition gives them a 
 very rugged and pointed appearance. 
 Nevertheless, I could see that there were 
 many verdant pastures on their heights ; 
 and a Spanish flock, which seemed as if it 
 could only have come from heaven, was 
 feeding upon the brink of a tremendous 
 precipice. The Marbore, on the contrary, 
 which here comprizes the crest of the Py- 
 renees, and is prolonged in the direction 
 of the chain, like a long rampart with 
 which the above-mentioned mountains are 
 connected at right angles, is covered only 
 with snow, its regular mass being divided 
 into great horizontal strata, and seeming 
 to be the tranquil deposit of the waters, so 
 simple are its forms. Not a morsel of 
 granite is to be met with in all this region : 
 its last masses are perceived under the Pic 
 d J Allanz, of which they form the base, and 
 
 whence
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 121 
 
 whence they rapidly plunge, under the 
 gigantic mass of calcareous accumulations 
 with which the crest of the earth is here 
 surcharged. 
 
 We now were rising towards the great 
 valley of snow ; at one time ascending by 
 its different subdivisions, at others directly 
 crossing them. At last we reached its 
 highest part. From thence I could dis- 
 tinguish at once seven Sernelhes of ice, 
 all exposed to the north, or nearly so. 
 Between the Stanzona and the Fourchetta 
 were two, from each of which there gushed 
 a torrent; another in the Stanzona was di- 
 vided into two parts, immediately above the 
 great cascade, which appeared to have its 
 source there. Of three upon the Marbore, 
 one is at the bottom, fronting the road to 
 Gavarnie : this was the first which I saw. 
 The other two are more to the west, upon 
 different platforms. Lastly, came the 
 great Sernelhe, placed below the breach ; 
 it is, consequently, named the Sernelha de 
 la Breja. 
 
 At
 
 122 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 At about half past ten, I had arrived at 
 the higher part of the great valley, where 
 its different branches unite. I found myself 
 between the rock which I had ascended 
 the evening before, and the more elevated 
 wall in which the breach itself is pierced. 
 The first was now to my right, that is to 
 the north, the other to my left or the 
 south ; for, as I have said before, the valley 
 rises from east to west. 
 
 We were now to ascend directly towards 
 the wall, by climbing up a declivity of 
 snow of more than 45 degrees of inclination. 
 We accordingly put on our cramp-irons ; 
 but I was much incommoded by the man- 
 ner in which the people of the country fix 
 them to their feet ; and since that time I 
 have not failed to have them by me of a 
 more convenient form. 
 
 The snow was good, though a little dis- 
 posed to fall. Wherever -the declivity is 
 rapid, with cranfp-irons, it is better to find 
 it harder. We therefore measured our 
 steps with slowness and precaution, and 
 
 turned
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. I 23 
 
 turned the glacier at a distance, by follow- 
 ing the steps of the smugglers who had 
 avoided it with care ; for the sort of boss 
 in which it rises renders its sides impracti- 
 cable, especially towards the lower part, and 
 I was desirous of approaching it only to- 
 wards the top. 
 
 We arrived at last above the glacier, and 
 were approaching the breach, when at the 
 end of a point of view which opens to the 
 right, I beheld a very high mountain. Its 
 summit appeared to command the valley of 
 Cauterets, and is loaded towards the north 
 with a beautiful amphitheatre of ices. My 
 guide was of the same'opinion as myself 
 with regard to its position, and recognized 
 it to be one of the mountains of the crest, 
 but he named it the Plan del Aubo, while 
 the angle under which I saw it made me 
 think that it was Vignemale. For want 
 of points of comparison, we remained in 
 doubt as to the fact ; for nothing is more 
 common in the mountains than to see 
 them change their names as often as they 
 change their aspect. The people of the 
 
 country
 
 J 24 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 country themselves do not always recog- 
 nize them, as they pass from place to 
 place, but sometimes confound different 
 mountains under the same name, and 
 sometimes multiply a single one by various 
 denominations j and then so little assistance 
 is to be derived from instruments, that 
 there must be much confusion, even in 
 the bell of maps. 
 
 On arriving in front of the breach, I 
 fancied that I was to pass it on a level sur- 
 face, and I was much disconcerted to find 
 between it and myself a foss hollowed out 
 like a tunnel, and thirty feet deep. This foss 
 was the work of the sun, whose rays are ad- 
 mitted at mid-day through this immense 
 gate-way ; and by a singular concurrence 
 between the effect of the heat, the height 
 of the snows, and the depth of the breach, 
 it had happened, on the one hand, that the 
 semicircular foss, of which the diameter 
 was formed by the threshold of the port, 
 debarred all access to the issue, and on the 
 other hand, that the issue itself was cut 
 only to the level of the surrounding snows, 
 
 so
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. I 25 
 
 so as neither to be accessible from the 
 point on which we stood, for want of a 
 bridge, nor from the bottom of the foss, 
 for want of a ladder. It was necessary, 
 therefore, to turn the foss to gain one side 
 of the breach, and cling to its walls with 
 all the address of mountaineers, in order to 
 glide into Spain. Never by so gigantic 
 a gate was made an entrance in so oblique 
 a manner. 
 
 Let a wall of rocks be imagined from 
 three to six hundred feet in height, and 
 rising between France and Spain, so as 
 physically to separate the two kingdoms. 
 Let us fancy this wall to be curvedjike a 
 crescent, with its convexity towards France. 
 Lastly, let us suppose, that in the very 
 middle of the wall a breach of three 
 hundred feet wide has been beaten down 
 by the famous Roland, and we may have a 
 good idea of what the mountaineers call 
 the Breche de Roland. This wall is not 
 very thick, but is thicker towards the 
 towers of the Marbore, which rise majesti- 
 cally above the breach and all its avenues, 
 
 like
 
 126 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 like a citadel, which Roland might have 
 placed there to defend the pass. Besides 
 this gate there are two windows open in 
 the same wall, in the two horns of the 
 crescent, at an equal distance from its 
 centre ; and opposite the points of these 
 horns two pyramidical mountains, placed 
 at similar distances, serve as the vanguard 
 of the edifice, as if to protect the circus 
 which it encloses ; for every thing is here 
 symmetrical, and Roland has wrought 
 upon a plan which does as much honor to 
 the order and method of his ideas, as to the 
 strength of his arm. 
 
 A dreadful desert is all this place, not 
 a trace of vegetation to be seen, but snows 
 on all sides accumulated on the side of 
 France, and rarer on the Spanish side, 
 where, as they yield to the heat of the 
 south, they expose a waste of long ravines 
 and wrecks which nature has not fertilized. 
 Around it all are rocks, more rugged and 
 pointed towards France, more degraded 
 towards Spain, and suspended more stu- 
 pendously over the precipice j to the north, 
 15 are
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. I 27 
 
 are mountains, the form and whiteness of 
 which recall to the mind the idea of a 
 succession of waves; to the south, they 
 descend more rapidly, and with their green 
 and rounded summits resemble the undu- 
 lations of a more tranquil ocean. 
 
 From hence there opens to the view an 
 immense perspective. From the windows 
 of the circus, and from the circus itself, 
 the eye overruns the whole of Arragon, — • 
 nothing rises between it and an immense 
 expanse of plain. The mountains descend, 
 the vallies untold, under the glance of the 
 spectator; and if from the summit of the 
 mountains we could discern whatever 
 lies beneath us, I should have seen 
 Huesca, and Saragossa itself, which, both of 
 them, have the Breche de Roland upon 
 their horizon. 
 
 Thus the Breche de Roland and the Pic 
 du Midi have, in different directions, a 
 perfect similarity of view, and two obser- 
 vers discernible upon these two points, 
 the one from Saragossa, the other from 
 
 I oulouse,
 
 128 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 Toulouse, would establish between the 
 two capitals a correspondence of at least 
 120,000 toises. But when I cast my looks 
 upon the mass of mountains which sepa- 
 rate these two points, how different was the 
 aspect under which I now beheld it, from 
 that in which I had viewed it formerly. 
 These summits, which, when observed from 
 the Pic du Midi, appeared to be classed 
 before me, and to rise the one above the 
 other as far as the towers of the Marbore, 
 at present were all in confusion, the 
 nearest commanding the more distant, and 
 bewildering my sight amidst an accumula- 
 tion of naked rocks and desolated summits. 
 
 The immense perspective which the 
 Breche de Roland opens to the south, the 
 view so long intercepted which it offers to 
 the north, the mountains of Upper Arragon 
 reduced to a scale of absolute inferiority to 
 those of Beam and Bigofre, the plains of 
 France, which are visible only above the 
 intermediate mountains, at a distance of 
 thirty or forty thousand toises, while the 
 visual ray directly plunges upon the 
 
 country
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 1 29 
 
 country of Spain, every thing, in fine, 
 announces that there is a great difference of 
 inclination between the two declivities of 
 the Pyrenees, and that the southern moun- 
 tains decline more rapidly than those to 
 the north, notwithstanding the height of 
 the level of the Spanish vallies ; from 
 whence it results that the Marbore is 
 more accessible on that side ; and not- 
 withstanding the ruggedness of the soil 
 of Arragon, which is much more moun- 
 tainous than ours, and upon which new 
 chains of mountains, immediately sub- 
 stituting themselves for those chains which 
 expire, apparently prolong the southern 
 descent of the Pyrenees as far as the 
 borders of the Ebro. In fact the Pyrenees 
 do not form from the Marbore to the Ebro 
 a continued mass, as from this mountain 
 they do to the plains of Beam and Bigorre. 
 Between Jaca and Huesca the principal 
 chain descends ; and great longitudinal 
 vallies are met with, where many rivers, 
 abandoned by the declivity of the chain, 
 appear to feel the inclination of the con- 
 tinent. Jaca, situated only at fourteen 
 k thousand
 
 130 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 thousand toises from the crest, is as much 
 at the foot of the Pyrenees, properly so 
 called, as Lourdes, which is eighteen thou- 
 sand toises distant from the same ; and 
 Huesca is separated at once from the mass 
 of these mountains by another group, 
 which is totally detached from them. 
 
 The crest of the Pyrenees in this place 
 presents also another consideration of 
 great importance in the history of the 
 earth. This higher part of the chain is 
 entirely composed of secondary matter, 
 for a length which cannot be estimated at 
 less than 12,000 toises; for I do not believe 
 that the continuity of such matter is inter- 
 rupted from Vignemale, at the extremity of 
 the valley of Cauterets, to Mont Perdu, 
 the most elevated summit of the Marbore, 
 and, perhaps, of the entire chain; so that, 
 in the Pyrenees, this secondary matter, 
 which decidedly prevails to the west of the 
 chain, as far as the valley of Aspe, and 
 which soon after resumes its superiority, and 
 loses it only towards the valley of Aure, 
 maintains so eminent a place on the very 
 1 2 crest
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 131 
 
 crest of the chain, and is rendered so re- 
 markable by its volume and its height, 
 that in the whole of our hemisphere, per- 
 paps, there cannot be found a chain of 
 mountains exemplifying such prodigious 
 monuments of the labors which every 
 system attributes to the sea. 
 
 All that I have seen of the Marbore, 
 makes me conceive it to be an enormous 
 mass of grey marble, of the finest and most 
 regular grain, without any traces of a fo- 
 reign substance. Long clefts which are 
 parallel to the horizon, and very distant 
 from each other, appear to cut the mass 
 into thin strata, and this disposition, which 
 determines the form of what are called the 
 towers of the Marbore, and of the amphi- 
 theatre, whose summit they crown, oppos- 
 ing horizontal stages and blunted angles 
 to the torn and rugged forms of the up- 
 right strata of the calcareous mountains 
 immediately in the vicinity, concurs with 
 the volume and height of the Colossus, to 
 create a great problem in geology. Never- 
 theless, I do not believe that the strata of 
 k 2 the
 
 I32 I3RECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 the Marbore are horizontal from north to 
 south, as they are from east to west. If 
 there exist any strata, which are, in every 
 sense, parallel to the horizon, it is only 
 towards the summit of the towers that 
 they are to be found ; lower down, the 
 appearance of the declivities on the Spanish 
 side persuades me that the strata incline 
 towards the south ; and this conjecture is 
 strengthened by the disposition which 
 these same strata affect at the bottom of 
 the valley of Estaube, where an observer 
 has told me that he has seen them plunging 
 towards Spain, under an angle of about 
 45 degrees, so that the base of the Mar- 
 bore appears to rest obliquely upon the more 
 upright strata of the calcareous mountains 
 which are below it, and which themselves 
 repose upon the granite, that forms the 
 foundation of the mountains of the northern 
 region. 
 
 The facts which I have here set down, 
 and those which I shall notice in the 
 course of these travels, should induce the 
 naturalist, who is traversing the Pyrenees, 
 
 to
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 1 33 
 
 to leave behind him those mountains which 
 are vulgarly famous, and visit those passes 
 which are only known to such as inhabit 
 the bases of their central summits ; to 
 abandon himself, in short, in company with 
 the shepherd, the hunter of the izard, and 
 the smuggler, to the dangers of their 
 secret paths. Here, on the frontiers, on 
 the very crest of that elevated line which 
 separates the two kingdoms, because on 
 either side of it every thing descends, 
 because it divides the waters of the two 
 countries, and in general is a powerful ob- 
 stacle to the free communication of the 
 two people, here on the very crest, I say, 
 there are still great treasures of observa- 
 tion for the geologist ; and the look which 
 may be cast at once upon the opposite de- 
 clivities of the chain, is the only thing 
 which can clear up the doubts winch may 
 have arisen at its base. 
 
 I had now considered every thing about 
 me, and abandoning myself to that in- 
 activity of body and of mind, which the 
 air of these heights insensibly inspires, had 
 k 3 seated
 
 I34 BRECHE DE KOLAND. 
 
 seated myself on a stone in the mild rays 
 of a cloudless sun. Having rested for a 
 long time in the profoundest peace, I de- 
 termined at last to quit my station, and 
 visit in detail the region of ice which I 
 had just been traversing. 
 
 I repassed then the breach, and turning 
 to my right, began to coast along the wall 
 of rocks : the snow was a little separated 
 from its sides, and in the interval I could 
 see the frozen cavities which supported it. 
 I endeavored to descend into them : the 
 ruggedness of the rock was in favor of my 
 attempt, and I succeeded. Arrived at the 
 bottom of these cavities, I perceived that 
 the older snows were not in this part more 
 than twelve feet thick, but that further 
 from the wall they were more than the 
 double of this, for all along the wall there 
 ranged a foss of thirty or forty feet wide. 
 During the winter perhaps the height of 
 the wall itself is a shelter to its base, when 
 the southern and western winds, which 
 bring up the clouds, incline their snows ; 
 or perhaps in summer time its direction 
 
 may
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 1 35 
 
 may expose them to the influence of a re- 
 flected light ; perhaps, also, from its want 
 of thickness, it may transmit to them a 
 somewhat of the heat which the southern 
 surface imbibes. Whatever might have 
 been the origin of this foss, I descended 
 into it. 
 
 On these ancient snows, there lay as yet 
 about thirty feet of those of the preceding 
 winter : these were probably destined to 
 be thawed in the course of about six weeks, 
 and before the fall of the snows of autumn, 
 would probably be reduced in thickness 
 to a few inches. The thaw is commonly 
 more advanced than I found it in the 
 month of August, but the winter of j 786 
 had been long, and on the ninth of May 
 there had fallen so great a quantity of 
 snow, as to cover up during the whole of 
 the ensuing summer a number of the 
 glaciers of those mountains, and to give 
 them a greater increase than they usually 
 acquire in the process of many years. In 
 the same way, ten years before, I was 
 a witness in the Alps to the almost un- 
 k 4 heard
 
 I36 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 heard of accumulation of the snows of the 
 winter of 1776. 
 
 I was buried then under forty feet of 
 snow, and could distinguish all its layers. 
 Those of the most considerable winters, 
 which had been separated by an interval of 
 many years, were distant from each other 
 only a few inches. The hottest summers 
 were marked by thinner and more transpa- 
 rentbands,the milder by more porous bands. 
 I could remark especially throughout the 
 whole of the mass, the insensible passage 
 of a light and hexagonal snow, to a globu- 
 lar and more heavy snow, and the passage 
 from this again to a half formed opake 
 and brittle ice, which w r as easily reducible 
 into spherical particles. Under this sort of 
 ice there lay a more transparent and 
 harder ice, but presenting a surface, when 
 broken, which was marked with stria?, de- 
 noting the soldering (if I may use the 
 expression) of its different parts ; and, 
 finally, this harder ice was succeeded by a 
 band of ice so hard and of such trans- 
 parency, that I could perfectly distinguish 
 
 the
 
 BRECIIE DE ROLAXD. 1 37 
 
 the smallest objects, through fragments of 
 it four inches in thickness. This ice 
 nevertheless had still within it many 
 bubbles of air, was still light, and did not 
 break in perfect planes. The layer of it 
 also was very thin ; it extended only beneath 
 the interior surface of the snows, and 
 encrusted the vaults of its caverns. 
 
 This mass of snow then, although ap- 
 proaching to ice, is not therefore a glacier. 
 It contains only the very small portion of 
 ice, which circumstances of very limited 
 influence have allowed it to form. We 
 have here an example of the condition of 
 those permanent snows, when from great 
 elevation, or any particular shelter, their 
 prompt dissolution is opposed : in this 
 way their accumulation is limited less 
 by the operation of successive thaws, than 
 by the falling of their superfluous parts in 
 avalanches, and by the continual evapora- 
 tion of their surfaces. If we now com- 
 pare the imperfect state of their conge- 
 lations, with the solidity of ices observable 
 under the same line, and the same aspect, 
 
 we
 
 I38 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 we may see that such difference may be 
 caused by a degree more or less of shelter, 
 and that it is not to the action of the 
 heat of the earth, that we must attri- 
 bute the partial thawing of the snows, 
 and the formation of glaciers, but to 
 the presence of the sun, and a just pro- 
 portion between the resistance of the 
 snows, and the power of this luminary. 
 We may thus conclude that there can 
 exist no glaciers in situations where the 
 sun is victorious in summer over the snows 
 of winter, nor in those spots where its 
 influence is not considerable. 
 
 I left these caverns half frozen, and de- 
 scended towards the Sernelhe of the 
 Breach. We were now obliged to pro- 
 ceed with the greatest precaution. It was 
 one o'clock, and the mobility of the 
 snows, augmented by the heat of the sun, 
 had rendered their inclination extremely 
 dangerous ; this inclination too was be- 
 coming still greater, in proportion as we 
 approached the glacier. Had we stopt, or 
 had the snows but moved for an instant 
 
 beneath
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 1 39 
 
 beneath us, we must have perished, for a 
 fall would have carried us to the declivity 
 of the glacier, where there would have 
 been no possibility of stopping, and from 
 whence we must have been precipitated 
 into the bosom of the hills. Each step 
 therefore was an affair of labor and deli- 
 beration ; and precaution became more 
 necessary in proportion as we approached 
 the varnish of ice, which announced the 
 Sernelhe. At last it was impossible to 
 hazard another step, but I was very de- 
 sirous of examining these ices. Ac- 
 cordingly I began to look about me, and 
 remarked a little further down a trans- 
 verse fissure, about 24 feet wide only, but 
 which extended for a considerable distance. 
 This at once decided me, and, certain of 
 stopping myself against its opposite walls, 
 I sat down and suffered myself to glide 
 into it quietly, with the help of my pole 
 and cramp-irons. In fact, I stopt short 
 there, and directly within the crevice had 
 the pleasure of seeing that it penetrated 
 to a great depth, and recognized a real 
 glacier. This ice had all the hardness of 
 
 that
 
 14© BKECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 that which is formed at the origin of 
 glaciers ; my stick and cramp-irons made 
 little impression upon it ; its colour was the 
 beautiful blue of the sky, which is the 
 shadow of ice; it broke in vitreous planes; 
 its fragments were very transparent, and 
 under it were beautiful vaulted cavities ; in 
 a word, it was a true glacier, solid and 
 permanent, of the species of those which 
 are found in the Alps at great heights, 
 and which have neither chasms in them, 
 nor channels, nor asperities, because they 
 are perfectly at rest, and because such 
 accidents can happen to those only which, 
 in their descent towards the vallies, drag 
 the fragile mass of their ices over the 
 inclined and rugged plane which supports 
 them. 
 
 The glacier which I was now observing 
 has no such extensions, for being fed with 
 economy, it cannot like those of the high 
 Alps overwhelm the vallies, and in pro- 
 portion as it descends, it is devoured by a 
 burning sun. In its present state, then, it 
 is in its cradle, but at the same time at its 
 
 extreme
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 141 
 
 extreme of power, and can no more extend 
 for ten toises, than it can for ten thou- 
 sand. 
 
 This I myself had an opportunity of 
 verifying in its inferior part, for having ex- 
 tricated myself with much labor and pre- 
 caution from the situation in which I had 
 placed myself, I descended by turning 
 round the glacier. There I found that 
 both its ices and snows were drowned 
 alike in the waters of their own dissolution, 
 and in those which issued from its cavities, 
 and could perceive that this portion of 
 the mass was struggling with disadvantage 
 against the milder atmosphere of the 
 valley, and against the rays of the sun re- 
 flected from the opposite rocks. A torrent 
 too was rolling invisibly under my feet, 
 and made its appearance about fifty toises 
 lower, where it fell from the top of a pre- 
 cipice into the great valley of snow. My 
 position, I thought, might become dan- 
 gerous ; I quitted it therefore, and gained 
 the valley, by which I approached as near 
 as I could the Sernelhes, which I saw upon 
 
 the
 
 142 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 the steps of the Marbore ; after which, by 
 the assistance of our poles, we slid down 
 rapidly to the habitation of our shepherds. 
 
 With these good people we again sat 
 down upon their rock, and seizing on their 
 wooden spoons, partook of their repast. 
 It was not without regret that I bade them 
 adieu, no doubt for ever ; and scarcely 
 would they consent to receive a slight re- 
 muneration, which I should not have 
 ventured to offer, had they themselves 
 been the masters of the flocks about 
 them. v 
 
 I descended the rock very much fatigued, 
 being almost without shoes : the snows 
 had destroyed them. Whenever, as at 
 times I was forced to rest, I examined this 
 strange path, I was more and more con- 
 vinced that without a guide it would be 
 impossible to follow it. I was now passing 
 it for the fourth time, and nevertheless, on 
 trying myself to find the way, I had 
 scarcely made ten steps before I found 
 myself on the brink of a precipice, and in 
 
 so
 
 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 1 43 
 
 so perilous a situation as to oblige me to 
 return to the spot from whence I had de- 
 parted. In fact, its windings are innu- 
 merable. 
 
 After having passed the Circus and the 
 first bason which follows it, I perceived 
 a beautiful Sernelhe in the same direction 
 as the rock, the southern side of which I 
 had climbed the evening before. I had 
 seen from the breach the mountain on 
 which this Sernelhe was situated, but it 
 there presented me a naked summit. As 
 I arrived at Gavarnie, I remarked also 
 that the mountain of Allanz had one to 
 the north, which was visible from the 
 inn. In this day's journey, therefore, I 
 had visited, or had seen a sufficient 
 number of glaciers, to prove their ex- 
 istence in the Pyrenees as a general fact, 
 and to make me desirous of comparing 
 the glaciers which I had just observed, 
 with those of some other equally elevated 
 region of the same mountains. 
 
 I passed
 
 144 BRECHE DE ROLAND. 
 
 I passed the evening at Gavarnie, 
 amidst its inhabitants, and with the vicar 
 of the place, a man of much merit. An 
 intercourse with these mountaineers is far 
 from -being devoid of interest. They are 
 a spirited, enterprizing, and noble race of 
 men. Their neighbours are said to be 
 much in awe of them : this however I 
 cannot determine, not having had any 
 thing to do with their passions. I have 
 indeed conversed with the most remarkable 
 of them on many occasions, and have 
 always found in them a firmness of tone, 
 and great decision ; but then they are 
 naturally polite, and 1 was much surprized 
 at the delicacy and choice of their ideas. 
 I allow, that such an exterior supposes 
 much irritability, and no doubt they have 
 a taste for perilous adventures, and a 
 decided inclination to that sort of warfare 
 which is waged on such a frontier. Such 
 disposition also is favoured by their innate 
 sentiment of liberty, their contempt of 
 prohibitory laws, and their insuperable 
 bulwalks. With such a character, they 
 must be exceedingly difficult to manage.
 
 ( i45 ) 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 OF THAT PART OF THE PYRENEES WHICH IS 
 COMPRIZED BETWEEN BIGORRE AND THE 
 
 VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. COUNTRY OF 
 
 THE FOUR VALLIES. PASSES OF BIELSA. 
 
 LA PEZ AND CLARBIDE. VALLEY OF 
 
 ARBOUST. 
 
 WAS impatient to visit in other parts 
 the high chain of mountains which forms 
 the crest of the Pyrenees, from the valley 
 of Ossau to that of Aran. I had already 
 observed it in its centre, from whence I 
 could judge, that it rose to its greatest 
 height in the vicinity of the valley of 
 Cauterets, and that to the west of Vigne- 
 male, the sources of the Gave of Oleron 
 would shew me nothing to dispute the 
 palm of altitude with -the icy summits 
 from whence the Gave of Pau descends. 
 
 My views were therefore directed to- 
 wards the east, where, from the heights of 
 l the
 
 146 COUNTRY BETWEEN BIGOHRE AND 
 
 the Pic du Midi, I had seen a long series 
 of arid summits losing themselves in the 
 clouds. It is there that the rapid Neste 
 descends from the elevated ports of the 
 vallie*s of Aure and Louron, that the 
 Pique rises in the celebrated heights of 
 Arboust, and those of the valley of Lu- 
 chon, and that the most beautiful river of 
 the Pyrenees has an origin worthy of the 
 majesty of its course. 
 
 I was particularly desirous too of observ- 
 ing the valley of Aran, which Spain has re- 
 tained under her dominion, notwithstand- 
 ing the contrary indication of nature. The 
 heights above this valley I judged to be 
 well worthy of a comparison with those 
 which I had just observed. 
 
 I resolved therefore to repair directly to 
 the sources of the Garonne, by crossing 
 whatever vallies should interpose sufficient- 
 ly near the origin of these sources for me 
 to determine, from the view of the country 
 and the conversation of its inhabitants, 
 13 in
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 1 47 
 
 in which of the intermediate mountains I 
 should find my purposes best answered. 
 
 Having thus formed the plan of my 
 journey, I set out from Bareges on the 
 1 6th of August, and took my way to the 
 Tourmalet, in company with one man only 
 of the valley of Bastan, who was acquaint- 
 ed, to a considerable distance, with the 
 lateral communications of the vailies in 
 my road. We passed the isthmus of the 
 Tourmalet, which connects the Pic du 
 Midi with the southern mountains. A 
 rapid path winds up it, and descends m the 
 same manner. The Can de Spada, a sharp 
 and naked rock, immediately overhangs 
 the path to the south, and is the last of the 
 chain of menacing rocks which begins at 
 the peak of Eslitz, and encloses the valley 
 of Bastan on that side. This Cordon, 
 when extended beyond the Tourmalet, 
 entirely changes its aspect, and, descend- 
 ing towards the valley of Campan, is clad 
 with verdure, and sinks into the level of 
 its hills. 
 
 L 2 TlM
 
 I48 COUNTRY BETWEEN BIGOIIRE AND 
 
 The eastern declivity of the Tour- 
 malet forms a small valley, in which we 
 followed the course of the Adour, as far 
 as the first village which is met with 
 there. It has a singular appearance, and 
 consists of a number of small and low huts, 
 which have each of them an adjoining 
 court, surrounded by a rustic peristyle 
 of the trunks of trees, or of long stones 
 set up on end : this peristyle supports a 
 roof of turf, under which the flock is 
 sheltered from the sun, or from bad 
 weather. The Pic du Midi overlooks the 
 valley with one of its steep and rugged 
 faces, and seems to threaten its pastoral 
 asylum with a near approaching fall. 
 
 At these huts we quitted the more 
 beaten road, which would have led us to 
 the village of Grip, and turned towards 
 the right upon the declivity of the green 
 and cultivated hills, from whence we had 
 a prospect of it. The valley of Campan, 
 properly so called, commences at this 
 village, which reminded me of those of 
 Appenzell. The houses are separated by 
 
 15 gardens
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 1 49 
 
 gardens and meadows, and lose themselves 
 so insensibly in the almost continual 
 hamlet, which covers the valley of Campan, 
 that scarcely can we fix the spot where the 
 hamlet ceases, and the country begins. 
 
 From the heights of Grip, we turned 
 away directly to the south, and found 
 ourselves at the summit of the verdant 
 hills, which separate the Adour of the 
 Tourmalet from the Adour of Aure. 
 Their rounded tops are interspersed with 
 sheep-folds, and covered over with flocks; 
 and were any one to be suddenly trans- 
 ported to them, by the wildest hurricane 
 of the Pyrenees, he could not mistake the 
 dependencies of the valley of Campan. 
 
 From these hills we descended to the 
 valley which conducts into the Adour of 
 Campan the waters of the mountains 
 which border upon the valley of Aure. A 
 farm of the name of Paillole is the last 
 habitation of the Campan district. Here 
 there opens an immense bason, of an aspect 
 much less mild, and ill defended against 
 l 3 the
 
 t$0 COUNTRY BETWEEN BIGORRE AND 
 
 the caprices of its torrent, It is sur- 
 rounded with mountains., covered over 
 with wood ; and towards the heights of the 
 valley of Aure the black verdure of the fir 
 gives a melancholy appearance to the scene. 
 
 Opposite the farm of Pailiole is the little 
 valley which encloses the marble quarries 
 of Campan, and by which there is a com- 
 munication with Sarrancolin, a town of 
 the valley of Aure. The marble of this 
 spot belongs to the same mass, but is now 
 entirely abandoned. It has been worked 
 for the King, but experience has proved it 
 to be little capable of sustaining the in- 
 juries of the weather, and only good for 
 the interior of edifices. M. Bayen has 
 discovered, in the considerable portion of 
 argil which enters into its composition, 
 the reason of its sensibility to the changes 
 of the atmosphere ;. indeed this earth, 
 wherever it exists, is the destruction of 
 the most solid rocks. 
 
 This bason of Pailiole then we crossed 
 -entirely, and on arriving at the forests 
 
 which
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 151 
 
 » 
 
 which belong to the valley of Aure, though 
 still at the issue of that of Campan, per- 
 ceived a narrow valley turning to the right 
 and rising to the base of the Pic d* Arbizon. 
 We traversed this valley by the path of its 
 eastern side. In the perpetual shade of its 
 forest of firs, a charming fountain is met 
 with. It springs from a rock, the form of 
 which is like an ancient altar, such as 
 might formerly have been erected to the 
 honour of its nymph. 
 
 Having attained the summit of the 
 mountain by this path, we had reached 
 the boundary of the forest, and the foot 
 of the Pic d* Arbizon. This peak is very 
 majestic, but entirely covered with the 
 turf with which its base is clothed. The 
 spot indeed is a desert, but overspread 
 with an uniform and soft verdure up to 
 the very summit of the peak. The whole 
 of the view is tranquil and grave, and 
 strongly contrasts with the peak of Bag- 
 neres its naked rocks, its threatening ruins, 
 and rugged avenues. 
 
 l 4 From
 
 I52 COUNTRY BETWEEN J3IGORRE AND 
 
 From thence we had to cross the wide 
 back of the mountain which intercepts all 
 other view, but soon arrived upon its op- 
 posite borders, whence a narrow passage is 
 cut directly into the valley. It serves for 
 the conveyance of timber. Here the veil 
 is rent as it were by magic ; it is the valley 
 of Aure, which extends itself beneath the 
 eye of the spectator, adorned with its nu- 
 merous villages, its antique forests, its 
 fields and meadows. The chief town of 
 this valley, and he discovers it at his feet, 
 is Arreau. It is situated at the base of a 
 group of hills, the vallies of which appear 
 but as winding furrows, highly traced upon 
 the verdure of its carpet. At the same 
 time, the boundaries which surround the 
 valley present themselves under the most 
 majestic outline, and close the view on all 
 sides. In front, in succession, are its rocks 
 and woods, its ravines and pastures. To 
 the right, and towards the origin of the 
 valley, particular objects are alike con- 
 founded : in the distance the summits 
 rise one above another ; and in the 
 distant horizon the peaks which sepa- 
 rate
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 1 53 
 
 rate it from Spain are detached from 
 the azure of the heavens, in the boldest, 
 the most pointed, and the most fantastic 
 forms. 
 
 I had now been walking for eight hours. 
 I stopt for a moment, and, resting myself 
 near the cross which marks the most 
 elevated point of the pass, continued to 
 gaze upon the picture before me. I consi- 
 dered the rugged summits, between which 
 is carried up the road to the port of Bielsa, 
 so often traversed by the restless lords of 
 the valley of Aure. I contemplated the 
 beautiful valley at my feet, so often ra- 
 vaged, so often bathed with the blood of its 
 inhabitants, in that age of calamity when 
 the feudal lords of France, at variance 
 among themselves, so seconded the devour- 
 ing policy of Lewis XI., and could not 
 but be pleased to see a country so tranquil, 
 which was formerly the theatre of the 
 wildest anarchy, the witness of the most 
 famous misfortunes, and which descends 
 to us the spoils of the haughty race of 
 Armagnac, a living monument of the 
 
 crimes
 
 154 COUNTRY BETWEEN BIGORRE AND 
 
 crimes and destruction of the last of its 
 possessors. 
 
 None of the great vassals in that age 
 of folly exhibited a more terrible ex- 
 ample of the degradation and misfortunes 
 of an illustrious race, than John V., the 
 last Count of Armagnac. Born as it were 
 in the bosom of revolt and perfidy, guilty 
 with his family, and a fugitive during the 
 captivity of all his relations, he imitated them 
 only in their perverseness, and scarcely had 
 become the peaceful possessor of his do- 
 mains, from the indulgence of Charles VIL 
 to his father, before he manifested that con- 
 tempt of law which afterwards character- 
 ized his whole conduct, and that spirit of 
 intrigue which was his only guide* 
 
 The first of his errors was a new scandal 
 to the Christian world, and placed him at 
 the head of those men who, corrupted by 
 the delirium of their passions, and intoxi- 
 cated with their power, suppose that every 
 thing must yield to their rank, and be 
 permitted to their desires. Passionately 
 
 ena-
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 1 55 
 
 enamoured of his sister Isabella, whose 
 beauty was at that time famous, and 
 scarcely absolved from an excommunica- 
 tion which the publicity of his commerce 
 with her had drawn upon him, he pre- 
 sumed to solicit a dispensation to marry 
 her, and failing in this, to avail himself of 
 a forged dispensation, and celebrate with 
 splendor so monstrous a connexion. 
 
 An historian asserts, that the remorse of 
 Isabella suggested this deceit to the ex- 
 travagant passion of her brother. The 
 idea is a consolation. 
 
 Meanwhile the Pope had fulminated 
 against the incestuous couple. The King, 
 too, with the kindness of a father, had re- 
 monstrated with the Count. He sent him 
 Bernard of Armagnac, his uncle, sur- 
 rounded him with his relations, and looked 
 to the sacred connexions of blood for the 
 purification of the stains which it had 
 suffered. The Count, however, insulted the 
 monarch, and abetted the revolt of the 
 Dauphin. He drew upon himself at length 
 
 the
 
 I56 COUNTRY BETWEEN BIGORRE AND 
 
 the indignation of his prince, and an army, 
 commanded by the Count of Clermont ; 
 but devoted to love, and fearing for his 
 love alone, he could not fight. The cre- 
 dulous and deceived Isabella, the re- 
 pentant and afflicted Isabella, might escape 
 him. He abandoned his domains, then, 
 rather than his love, and fled first into the 
 valley of Aure, and afterwards to the King 
 of Arragon his relation, while the French 
 army ravaged his country. 
 
 The parliament having proceeded to cite 
 him, he ventured to obey their summons, 
 and was immediately imprisoned. He 
 effected his escape, however, but his con- 
 demnation followed of course, and a sen- 
 tence of perpetual banishment was passed 
 upon him ; his domains also were declared 
 to be forfeited. Of these, however, his 
 sister received from him as her dowry the 
 four vallies of Magnoac, of Neste, of 
 Aure, and of Barrousse. After this we 
 find him in the deepest misery, and re- 
 duced to the last degree of degradation, a 
 prey, however, to remorse, which, excited 
 
 perhaps
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 1 57 
 
 perhaps by that of Isabella, carried him to 
 Rome, in his way to which he begged his 
 bread. At Rome, he solicited for himself 
 and for his sister, who had voluntarily re- 
 tired to the monastery of Montsion at 
 Barcelona, an absolution which was granted 
 to him, although on hard conditions. 
 
 In this way was he suffering, when 
 Lewis XI. ascended the throne of France, 
 and, remembering his perfidious services, 
 replaced him in the rank from which he 
 had been thrown. He married the daugh- 
 ter of the Count of Foix, was reconciled 
 to his family, and his past errors were 
 buried in oblivion. 
 
 But he himself appeared to be the demon 
 attached to his own destruction ; that in- 
 gratitude, of which he had been guilty 
 towards Charles VII., he manifested to- 
 wards Lewis XI. He received, however, a 
 pardon, even from Lewis XL, a monarch so 
 seldom known to pardon. His perfidies 
 and ingratitude, notwithstanding, were 
 soon again repeated, and at the head of 
 
 every
 
 I58 COUNTRY BETWEEN BIGORRE AND 
 
 every cabal, or plot against the state, was 
 ever to be found the Count of Armagnac : 
 the Duke of Britanny, the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, every one, in short, was sure of 
 finding a friend in him, excepting his 
 lawful prince. Again was he punished, 
 and driven from his domains, again was he 
 reinstated in them, under the protection 
 of the feeble and unfortunate Duke of 
 Guyenne. He was driven from them 
 anew after the miserable death of that 
 prince, when the perfidy of the Cadet 
 d'Albret made him master of his capital. 
 He retook it, and imprisoned Peter of 
 Bourbon, who held it for the King ; but 
 his crimes and intrigues were now to have 
 an end. 
 
 His destruction was at last resolved by 
 Lewis XI., a prince no doubt commissioned 
 from heaven to punish such men, and 
 such an age. The hermit Tristan now 
 appears upon the stage, the Cardinal 
 d' Alby, Ives de Fau, and all the sanguinary 
 cohort to whom the monarch was accus- 
 tomed to confide his publie and his secret 
 
 ven-
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. 1 59 
 
 vengeance. Leictoure, the capital of the 
 Count, was soon laid siege to by the Car- 
 dinal, but here, for the first time, we find 
 the Count intrepid. The siege was mur- 
 derous. His son, the son of Isabella, was 
 making there his first attempts in arms, 
 and seemed to be the soul as well as the 
 bulwark of his party. But the moment 
 was now arrived, when the crimes of love 
 were destined to be expiated. After a 
 manly resistance for two months, the young 
 hero perished in a sortie, and then, says our 
 historian, the Count no longer cared for 
 life, and looked upon his destruction as 
 certain. He capitulated, therefore, on the 
 5th March 1473, and the capitulation was 
 sworn to between him and the Cardinal 
 d'Alby, at the holy communion, of which 
 they partook together ; but scarcely were 
 the French admitted into the town, when 
 William of Montfaucon, lieutenant of the 
 Seneschal of Beaucaire, at the head of a 
 troop of soldiery, surprized him in a house 
 near the castle, and stabbed him among 
 his servants. 
 
 Thus
 
 l6o COUNTRY BETWEEN BI60RRE AND 
 
 Thus by an abominable perjury were pu- 
 nished so many crimes. Meanwhile the 
 town was sacked, and the inhabitants put 
 to the sword. The Countess of Armagnac, 
 the daughter of the Count of Foix, big 
 with child, was dragged into a dungeon 
 and poisoned. The Cadet d'Albret be- 
 headed and put into his coffin loaded with 
 the chains which he had borne when alive. 
 All his known accomplices were delivered 
 into the hands of the executioner. The 
 prevot Tristan secretly made away with 
 the suspected ; nothing was to be seen but 
 vengeance and executions. Charles the 
 brother of the Count was thrown into the 
 Bastille, merely from proximity of blood, 
 and tortured for the fourteen remaining 
 years of his life. Jacques of Armagnac, his 
 cousin, more guilty, but less unfortunate, 
 died upon the scaffold ; his blood was made 
 to trickle on the heads of his youug chil- 
 dren. From this fatal moment the exter- 
 minating angel appears to have descended 
 on this unfortunate family. 
 
 But
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE GARONNE. l6l 
 
 But what shall we say of Isabella ? Our 
 remaining memorials seem to show her 
 with regret, and drag her from obscurity 
 like a phantom which is lost again before 
 its form is distinctly seen. She was present 
 at Leictoure, but of her presence there we 
 are not informed by the scrupulous enume- 
 rators of the crimes of the age. A particu- 
 lar act records it. With what design was 
 Isabella at Leictoure ? Abandoning the 
 monastery, into which she had retired 
 since the year 1460, some great motive 
 must doubtless have occasioned her re-ap- 
 pearance in the world. Was it to assure 
 her brother of approaching succour from 
 the King of Arragon, which in fact he was 
 expecting ; to afford him the counsels of 
 piety, and the exhortations of repentance? 
 Who would willingly believe that her pre- 
 sence there had not an honourable motive? 
 And if there be an historian, inexact in 
 other respects, and more than once con- 
 victed of errors, whose vague accusations 
 would lead us to believe that Isabella, at 
 an age of 45 years, and at a moment when 
 a legitimate spouse intervened between 
 m herself
 
 l62 COUNTRY OF 
 
 herself and her brother, again had made 
 her exit from the monastery of Montsion, 
 with the inextinguishable ardor of her past 
 desires, let us reject so suspicious an au- 
 thority, and not refuse her the compassion 
 which her afflictions must inspire. The 
 heart which is shut against the miseries of 
 guilt, should be open to the sorrows of re- 
 pentance. 
 
 It was Gaston of Lyon, the Seneschal 
 of Toulouse, and one of the chiefs of the 
 royal army, who saved her from the mas- 
 sacre. This we learn by the donation 
 which she made him, two months after- 
 wards, of all her patrimonial possessions, 
 and of the four vallies which her brother 
 had given her in 1462. This is the last 
 monument which we have of her life. It 
 proves that it was then, and not before that 
 time that she took the veil at Montsion of 
 Barcelona. 
 
 The inhabitants of the four vallies of 
 Aure, of Neste, of Magnoac and Barrousse, 
 refused to subscribe in what concerned 
 
 them
 
 THE FOUR VALUES. 1 63 
 
 them to her donation, and asserted their 
 right of choosing for themselves a sove- 
 reign. Solicited by Lewis XL, and by the 
 King of Arragon, they declared for the 
 first by the intrigues of the Bishop of 
 Lombez. These vallies were accordingly 
 annexed to France, by a solemn treaty, 
 dated 1475. 
 
 The spot from which I commanded the 
 valley of Aure, is the most elevated point 
 of the mountain and port, which, both of 
 them, go by the name of the Hourquette 
 or Fourchette d'Aure. I descended 
 from them by the straight and steep path 
 which is made for the conveyance of tim- 
 ber, and had soon engaged myself in a 
 forest of firs. At issuing from thence, 1 
 had reached some little vallies, intersected 
 in every direction with thick and high 
 hedges, which conducted me, by a cir- 
 cuitous path, in front of the ruins of an 
 old chateau, situated on the summit of a 
 steep and shrubby hill. Its effect was sin- 
 gular and picturesque. Below the cha- 
 teau, we found a village built upon the 
 m 2 borders
 
 I64 COUNTRY OF 
 
 borders of the Neste of Aure, from whence 
 we took the road to Arreou. The rapi- 
 dity of the Neste, its azure waters, the 
 rocks of its bed and banks, render the 
 situation of this little town remarkable. I 
 crossed it only to gain the valley of Louron, 
 which branches out into that of Aure, and 
 is one of its dependencies. 
 
 This valley, which is narrow at its en- 
 trance, and bounded by steep and abrupt 
 rocks, by no means prepares the traveller 
 for the vast extent which it assumes, be- 
 fore it is lost amid the mountains of snow 
 at its bottom. For a long time it presents 
 a rural and contracted landscape, small 
 meadows on the borders of the Neste, tufts 
 of trees, and some few rustic habitations. 
 It is not without astonishment, then, that 
 we find it opening into an immense plain, 
 the villages of which are surrounded with 
 a vast extent of cultivation. In this plain, 
 the Neste meanders upon a level soil, 
 which it often ravages with its inundations. 
 Nothing can be more striking than the 
 mass of mountains at the bottom of the 
 
 bason.
 
 THE FOUR VALLIES. 1 65 
 
 bason. Their enormous masses appear to 
 be regularly laid down upon its horizontal 
 surface. They cross each other without 
 confusion, and we may easily imagine, 
 that a level valley winds between their 
 bases into Spain : we must have passed 
 them indeed before we can suppose that 
 they are only practicable by two ports, the 
 least dangerous of which is not without its 
 perils. The port of Pez is only accessible 
 by travellers on foot ; that of Clarbide 
 offers difficulties even to the pedestrian : 
 they are both of them shut up with snow 
 for a part of the year, and at all seasons are 
 subject to the most terrible hurricanes. 
 
 On a future occasion I visited these two 
 ports, but was prevented by fogs and 
 winds from examining the glaciers which 
 must be near them. I consider my journey 
 tliither as one of my most perilous adven- 
 tures. Storms, and fogs, and rains were 
 all against me, and that at a time when, 
 without cramp-irons, I was crossing over 
 snows of a most frightful inclination. 
 
 m 3 What
 
 1 66 LA PEZ AND CLARBIDE. 
 
 What I discovered, however, in my 
 journey, appeared to be of the grandest 
 form. The elevated point, where the two 
 passes separate and the two torrents unite, 
 is a magnificent desert commanded by the 
 Pic du Midi of Genos. Its enormous ruins 
 are mingled here and there with firs ; and 
 among these ruins we may easily distinguish 
 the granite which is brought down by the 
 torrent of Clarbide, from the calcareous 
 and argillaceous ruins of the torrent of 
 Pez. 
 
 A strange attempt has been made in the 
 Port of Pez. An idea was conceived of 
 piercing the mountain about its middle, by 
 a long tunnel which should open into the 
 middle of the forests of the Spanish valley 
 of Gistan, and through which the firs of 
 those forests might readily have been 
 drawn into the valley of Louron : their 
 conveyance from thence would have been 
 easy. The success of this undertaking 
 would doubtless have been attended with 
 many advantages to the valley of Louron, 
 independently of those which were ex- 
 pected
 
 LA PEZ AND CLARBIDE. 1 67 
 
 pected from it, but the attempt was above 
 the strength of those who undertook it. 
 I have seen what has been effected : it is 
 nothing more than an horizontal gallery, 
 about two hundred feet long, thirty wide, 
 and a little less in height. It is excavated 
 in strata of a hard schist, which run in 
 nearly a perpendicular direction. The 
 waters filter into this cavern, and make a 
 pretty cascade towards the top of it, where 
 they issue as from a nitche, and after tra- 
 versing the gallery are precipitated into 
 the bottom underneath its opening. 
 
 Here it must be observed with astonish- 
 ment, how quick the degradation is of 
 mountains composed of a slaty stone. A 
 large and convenient road had been cut 
 out to the opening of the gallery, and rose 
 beyond it as far as a house, which was 
 built a little way above for the use of the 
 workmen. It is but a few years since the 
 project was abandoned, and the road is 
 gone. An almost vertical precipice has 
 taken place of it, and it was not without 
 risk that I reached the gallery, by climbing 
 m 4 up
 
 1 68 LA PEZ AND CLARBIDE. 
 
 up the narrow steps which are formed by 
 the irregular destruction of the strata of 
 the rock, and at present overflowed by the 
 rivulet of the cavern. The ruins of the 
 above-mentioned house accordingly are 
 suspended upon a projection, which they 
 have defended against the injuries of the 
 air ; but the access to them I believe is 
 actually impossible. It is thus that the 
 water which has filtrated between the strata 
 of these schists, and frozen in their inter- 
 stices, by forcibly bursting them, has de- 
 stroyed in fifteen or twenty years a mass 
 of rock of twelve feet at least in thickness, 
 and nearly a hundred in height. 
 
 The highest dwellings of the shepherds, 
 are about a league below this gallery* 
 They can only be occupied from the end 
 of June to about the fifteenth of August. 
 They are therefore nearly in the same tem- 
 perature as the highest habitations of the 
 shepherds of the Alps, and consequently in 
 a situation sensibly more elevated above 
 the level of the sea. 
 
 The
 
 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 169 
 
 The valley of Louron, thus separated 
 from Spain, by mountains so difficult of 
 access, communicates with the valley of 
 Arboust, by the most beautiful road of the 
 whole country. The mountainous division 
 which rises between these two vallies, has 
 attracted the notice of government, and 
 an excellent causeway at present forms 
 upon their declivities a gentle and re- 
 gular descent. I was desirous of gaining 
 the port of Peyre Sourde, and accordingly 
 made haste to cross the valley of Louron, 
 foreseeing but little the dangers which 
 awaited me in the mountains bordering 
 upon Spain. The day was fine, but I 
 had reason to suspect a change of weather 
 at hand. At such a moment then my 
 views were only directed to the sources 
 of the Garonne, and I contented myself 
 with obtaining some information w r ith re- 
 spect to the state of the higher moun- 
 tains, which I intended at a future time to 
 examine. A mistake of some of the good 
 people of the place procured me a more 
 intimate acquaintance with these parts 
 than I should have obtained by urging a 
 
 motive
 
 170 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 
 
 motive of curiosity. From the pains which 
 I took to enquire of the least accessible 
 spots, two inhabitants of the valley, who 
 were following the same road as myself, 
 mistook me for a fugitive, and did not 
 conceal from me their suspicions of my 
 being a deserter. My guide from Bareges, 
 conceiving his honor to be much in- 
 terested in the figure which I should 
 make in the valley of Louron, protested 
 the contrary in vain, and, to dissipate their 
 suspicions, I found it necessary to give 
 them an idea of the motives of my journey. 
 My curiosity, however, was unintelligible 
 to them. I was no longer among the race 
 of Celts, who inhabit the western part of 
 the Pyrenees, no longer amid the Bearnese 
 of the Pic du Midi, — a too powerful dose 
 of the thick blood of the Visigoths has 
 here been mingled with the blood of the 
 Aborigines, — they could not understand 
 me. In short, I could only be a fugitive, 
 though more discreet perhaps than others, 
 and accordingly, with an air of cunning 
 and mystery, they directed me to spots 
 which might have eased the most timid 
 
 deserter
 
 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 171 
 
 deserter of his fears. They informed me 
 of the dwellings of their relations, of their 
 friends, who inhabited the most retired 
 glens, and of shepherds who, in the moun- 
 tains of Clarbide and Oo, would point 
 me out the most difficult passes. Never 
 have I received such good instructions 
 respecting the topography of so rude a 
 country. 
 
 To these then I listened, but declined 
 their hospitality on account of the distance 
 of their abodes. A girl, however, of Viella, 
 who was travelling with them on horse- 
 back, had heard with a more favourable 
 ear the justifications of my guide, and pro- 
 posed to shew me the nearest way to the 
 port of Peyre Sourde, on condition of my 
 consenting to take a glass of wine with her 
 at her house ; and a glass of wine she 
 judged would not be unacceptable to one 
 who had been for eleven hours on the 
 march. She had an uncle, she told me, 
 who had risen to the honour of being a 
 captain of infantry, and never had this 
 uncle seen an honest man pass on foot by 
 
 Viella
 
 172 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 
 
 Viella without asking him if he were 
 thirsty. He was not at present at home, 
 but his absence had devolved his duties 
 upon her. It would have been a sin to 
 have refused a glass of wine so offered. O 
 laws of our legislators ! For once then be in 
 unison with nature : the very deserter has 
 a claim to the friendship and hospitality of 
 his kind. 
 
 From Viella, my hostess conducted me 
 across the meadows, to a bridge over the 
 Neste, from whence a path-way leads 
 directly to the middle of the road of Peyre 
 Sourde ; but this was not the end of her 
 good offices ; and what I had received was 
 only the pledge of what I was afterwards 
 to receive from her, when on my return 
 my guide and myself were deceived by the 
 road which expires in the meadows of the 
 valley of Louron, and seems on purpose 
 to lead the traveller astray. Suspecting 
 nothing from such a causeway, we were 
 surprized by the night, and pursued by a 
 storm upon the borders of the furiously 
 agitated Neste j the bridge we had sought 
 
 in
 
 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 1 73 
 
 in vain, and could no longer recognize any- 
 thing in this vast and uniform extent of 
 inundated meadows. All the night then 
 we were climbing saw-mills, or destroying 
 bridges for the sake of their fragments, to 
 assist us over the canals with which the 
 meadows are intersected. Such was the 
 work of the night, until after a dreadful 
 series of labors, having found the bridge 
 which by this time was almost isolated, 
 and trembling amid the torrent, we suc- 
 ceeded in passing it, and reached Viella, 
 where the most friendly and disinterested 
 hospitality succeeded that which I had 
 already received. In this world no gene- 
 ration is so certain as that of benefits. 
 
 In rising by the way of Peyre Sourde, 
 towards the valley of Arboust, the beautiful 
 valley of Louron is not for an instant out 
 of sight, and from the highest part of the 
 pass the view extends over the whole of 
 it, under an aspect which does not 
 yield to that of the valley of Aure, when 
 seen from the crest of the Hourquette. 
 The grand and venerable masses which 
 
 bound
 
 174 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 
 
 bound it to the south, when observed 
 from this height, appear to be still more 
 colossal. To the north we perceived 
 with difficulty the narrow and winding 
 issue which the waters have formed, 
 when they burst from this vast bason into 
 the valley of Aure. In front we have the 
 lateral boundary of the valley, and there 
 its fertile amphitheatre is entirely under 
 the eye. Its heights are wooded, its 
 bottom in a high- state of cultivation, the 
 lower parts of the declivities being covered 
 with corn, and separated by numerous 
 villages from the meadows which occupy 
 the bason. These villages are placed at a 
 sufficient height above the course of the 
 Neste, to free them from all fear of its 
 inundations. 
 
 It is here that the descent com- 
 mences into the valley of Arboust. A 
 step further, and we enter into one 
 of its branches. The vast picture of 
 the bason of Louron has now disap- 
 peared, and the view is confined within 
 the narrow windings of a valley for a long 
 3 way
 
 VALLEY OF ARBOUS'T. 175 
 
 way devoid of habitations, and covered 
 with an uniform verdure. Its forests have 
 been the victims of the thoughtlessness of 
 man. In vain have the mountains on each 
 side been their refuge ; in vain do they 
 actually present upon their summits some 
 few tufts of firs, which attempt to regain 
 the declivities which they have abandoned. 
 The winds and the herds are alike their 
 enemies, and nature refuses to replace 
 the losses which she has been forced to 
 surfer. 
 
 In proportion as we advance, the valley 
 grows wider, and deeper j its pastures 
 retire towards the heights ; its meadows 
 occupy the bottom : the means of irriga- 
 tion mark the subdivision, every thing 
 above the waters being abandoned to the 
 care of nature. By the meadows, villages 
 are announced : they are soon observable 
 upon the borders of a small river, which is 
 the tutelar divinity of the country. By 
 degrees they multiply, and further on we 
 find a village at the mouth of every little 
 
 valley,
 
 176 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 
 
 valley, which brings to the river its stream 
 of water. 
 
 We arrived at last at the bottom of the 
 mountain, and entered the principal 
 branch .of the valley of Arboust. Here 
 we passed a number of beautiful villages, 
 the view extends, every thing is enliven- 
 ing. At about a league from the town of 
 Bagneres de Luchon, I particularly re- 
 marked a village in a most extraordinary si- 
 tuation, and before me a tower situated upon 
 a rock so elevated, and commanded itself 
 by mountains so abrupt, that never did 
 ancient dwelling of the savage lords of 
 the mountains so perfectly resemble an 
 eagle's nest. On the borders of the road be- 
 side it, there is a small chapel; it is but little 
 frequented, however, its pavement being 
 overgrown with shrubs. I stopt for a mo- 
 ment before this chapel, to admire the 
 magnificence of the landscape which sur- 
 rounds it. The declining sun had spread 
 over it the charm which arises from the 
 approach of evening. It is then that the 
 immensity of nature adopts that unity of 
 4 , colors,
 
 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. I 77 
 
 colors, and that regular disposition of 
 shade, which simplifies her forms, con- 
 nects them in great masses, and gives 
 them that harmony and gravity of tone, 
 in which both the eye and the mind may 
 alike be at rest. 
 
 I had perceived the rough and snowy 
 summits which command the port of Oo. 
 This view reminded me of the description 
 which the peasants of the valley of Lou- 
 ron had given me of them, and in turning 
 towards this elevated region, I should be 
 approaching the sources of the Garonne. 
 Accordingly I quitted the road of Bag- 
 neres, and descended by an abrupt path 
 to the village of Oo. It is situated at the 
 bottom of a precipice, and commanded 
 from on all sides by mountains of a most 
 stupendous altitude. The night, too, was 
 at hand, and the spot might well have re- 
 presented the boundary of the habitable 
 world. There I found, according to the 
 information of the people of Louron, a 
 guide who undertook to conduct me on 
 the morrow among this frightful labyrinth 
 
 n of
 
 178 VALLEY OF ARBOUST. 
 
 of mountains, but as for my bed, never 
 was there a resting place less proper for 
 repairing the fatigues of a walk of seven- 
 teen hours.
 
 ( >79 ; 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 PORT D'OO AND ITS ICES. VIEW OF THE 
 
 ICES OF THE SPIJOLE, AND THE ASTOS DE 
 VENASQUE. VENASQUE. 
 
 T WAS again on foot before day-break, and 
 under the conduct of my guide of Oo, 
 though still accompanied by my Bareges 
 friend. This latter was not acquainted 
 with the mountains which I was about to 
 pass ; but his agility, his courage, and 
 prudence, had determined me to make him 
 the companion of my journey, and I had 
 reason, more than once, to applaud myself 
 for the resolution. 
 
 A narrow valley, the bottom of which 
 is traversed by a torrent, rises southward 
 from the melancholy tunnel, of which the 
 centre is occupied by the village of Oo. 
 This valley, though it belongs to that of 
 Arboust, assumes the name of the Val de 
 n i Lasto,
 
 i8o tort 0*00. 
 
 Lasto, and its torrent, though one of the 
 sources of the Pique, changes also its de- 
 nomination, and is properly called the Go. 
 Sometimes, however, the names of the 
 Pique and the Neste are given it. These 
 are epithets which, in the Celtic language, 
 design the nature of the bed, the waters, 
 and the velocity of a torrent, rather than 
 its geographical situation: 
 
 The part of the valley, near the village, 
 is shaded by cherry trees and ashes. From 
 the inclining base of the mountains, a 
 number of beautiful meadows descend to 
 the borders of the torrent ; and the fertile 
 pastures of the crest of these mountains are 
 peopled, during the summer, with numerous 
 flocks of cattle. In the bottom are the 
 ragged rocks, and eternal snows, which 
 at this point separate the two countries 
 of France and Spain. My purpose was to 
 cross them. 
 
 We now were passing through the rustic 
 avenues of the port of Oo : the sun was 
 risen only for the summits which meet its 
 
 oblique
 
 port n'oo. 181 
 
 oblique rays in the high region of the at- 
 mosphere ; the dawn of the morning had 
 tinged them with a clear and celestial 
 purple. The little fringed carnation, which 
 grows here in tufts upon all the rocks, was 
 exhaling its perfumes most powerfully ; 
 for flowers, as well as animated nature 
 in general, experience the repose of night, 
 the freshness of the morning, and the 
 exhaustion of the day. We were still as- 
 cending by degrees, when a beautiful 
 cascade, to the right, extended like a sheet 
 on the smooth declivity of a rock, attracted 
 my regards, and occasioned me to remark 
 a mountain in which is found a vein of 
 lead containing silver. This mountain is 
 called the Esquiero. It commands an 
 elevated plot of herbage, rich in Alpine 
 plants, and well known to botanists. 
 
 Here, instead of following the road fre- 
 quented by the curious from Bagneres de 
 Luchon, who go to see the lake of Se- 
 culejo, we »took a steep and direct path 
 suspended on the precipice, from the 
 bottom of which are heard the high and 
 n 3 thunder-
 
 182 PORT D 00. 
 
 thundering cataracts of the torrent. The 
 Napellus, a species of aconite, the eiser- 
 hutli of the Swiss peasants, bordered our 
 path with its beautiful tufts of blue flowers. 
 This plant, however, is much less dreaded 
 here than in the high Alps, and has never 
 manifested that degree of virulence which 
 renders it there so famous. 
 
 In less than an hour we had reached 
 the most elevated part of the path, and 
 had discovered already the vast bason in 
 which the Seculejo reposes, together with 
 the highest part of a cascade at the further 
 end of the amphitheatre. The height of the 
 fall may be estimated by the distance from 
 which the spectator may perceive it, and its 
 volume by that of the torrent which is 
 formed by the discharge of the water of 
 the lake. A few steps further, and we 
 attain the borders of one of the most 
 beautiful sheets of water which it is 
 possible to meet with at such an altitude. 
 Its form is a regular oval, entirely sur- 
 rounded with high mountains, excepting 
 on the side of its entrance ; there it is 
 
 retained
 
 PORT D'OO. 183 
 
 retained only by a natural dyke, a little 
 raised above its level, in which is hollowed 
 out the narrow opening by which its super- 
 fluity escapes. In every other part it is 
 contained in the declivities of the moun- 
 tains, which are loftier and more abrupt 
 in proportion to their distance from the 
 dyke ; and so steep in the part which is 
 opposite to it, that a cascade of more than 
 eight hundred feet high falls perpen- 
 dicularly into the magnificent piece of 
 water underneath. This cascade must 
 entirely supply the lake, as the few small 
 rivulets winch flow into it from its sides 
 would scarcely furnish as much as is 
 necessarily absorbed by the evaporation of 
 a surface which I should not estimate 
 at less than two hundred thousand square 
 toises. 
 
 Such is the general aspectof the beautiful 
 lake of Seculejo, the Culq-o of the map 
 of the academy, and an object of curiosity 
 to those persons who pass the summer 
 season at Bagneres de Luclion. i'ew 
 ascend above the lake ; its banks, how- 
 n 4 ever,
 
 184 PORT D'OO. 
 
 ever, cannot fail to attract the notice of 
 such as are not entirely insensible to the 
 savage beauties of nature. 
 
 This lake contains fish. My guide in- 
 formed me that a person who some few 
 years ago was taking the waters at Bagneres, 
 conceived the happy idea of constructing a 
 small bark upon its banks, by means of 
 which his table was supplied with the 
 beautiful trout of the lake. It is not 
 indeed possible that any vessel should 
 resist the violence of the weather in 
 the stormy seasons ; but if the informa- 
 tion of my guide be true, a small ad- 
 vance of money subscribed each year by 
 the society of the bathers, would furnish 
 them with fish of a superior delicacy to 
 any that can elsewhere be procured. 
 
 Some rough wine in a leathern bottle, a 
 little rye bread, and a few onions, were a 
 delicious repast for us on the borders of the 
 lake. We rested there for a few moments, 
 but rather to husband than repair our 
 strength, which was soon afterwards to be 
 
 much
 
 PORT D*00. 185 
 
 much more severely tried, for nature was 
 not in that state of tranquillity which an- 
 nounces favourable weather. The heavens, 
 though clear, were pregnant with tempests, 
 and the south wind fell in gusts upon the 
 surface of the lake, whose agitated waters 
 were breaking against the mole of rocks 
 which sustains its weight, and suspends it 
 above the Val de Lasto. I know not what 
 sort of inquietude was brooding in the air, 
 but it was felt alike by the earth and by 
 the waters, and acted not on the mobility 
 of the foliage alone which fringed the sur- 
 face of the lake, or the floating herbage 
 which covered its banks, and waved in 
 tufts over a shoal which rose above its 
 waters, but seemed to affect even the im- 
 moveable cincture of the desert ; and that 
 involuntary sentiment which makes no at- 
 tribute to inanimate objects, the know- 
 ledge of the presages which they transmit 
 to us in the paleness of the mountains, 
 illumined as they were by a discolored 
 rather than by an enfeebled light, had 
 ample room for supposing them to partici- 
 pate
 
 I 86 port d'oo. 
 
 pate of the secret trouble of nature, and 
 sensible to a presentiment ot the tempest. 
 
 Every thing was a warning for us to lose 
 no time, and we soon set out again. A 
 path which winds about the eastern de- 
 clivity of the boundary of the lake, is that 
 which is usually taken. It passes over a 
 rock which seems to have been broken 
 away in steps, a circumstance which has 
 obtained it the name of Scala. This term, 
 indeed, in the higher part of the Pyrenees, 
 is common to every path where the rocks 
 are ascended by a sort of staircase. 
 
 This path is not at all dangerous, and 
 leads above the great canal to a ravine, 
 which opens into a new bason higher up, 
 and hollowed out at the very foot of the 
 Espingo. This mountain rises to the 
 south, and along it we had to climb to the 
 region of the snows. Here are found two 
 lakes. The first is the immediate source 
 of the great cascade of the Seculejo, and 
 its length about 250 toises. The second 
 is of a less extent, and situated, as I have 
 
 said,
 
 PORT D'OO. 187 
 
 said, at the foot of the very rocks of the 
 Espingo. Nothing can be more dismal 
 than the spot. A few knotty pines con- 
 fined to its entrance ; a short herbage 
 which clothes its surface j blocks of granite 
 covered over with moss, and scattered here 
 and there ; the steepest rocks surrounding 
 it ; and the Espingo overlooking it at its 
 extremity, and divided into its three great 
 naked peaks of an enormous height ; such 
 is the picture. The temperature of the 
 glen besides is cold, and in order to reach 
 it we had already passed a mass of snow of 
 sufficient hardness to form an arch above 
 its torrent. Nevertheless a few sheep are 
 fed here for some few weeks. We soon 
 perceived them, and about the centre of 
 the valley discovered, in a hollow beneath 
 the shelter of a rock, the solitary cabin of 
 their shepherd. We entered it. I found 
 it very low and small, but prettily con- 
 structed of schists well put together. In 
 the middle was a great fire, the smoke of 
 which, after having circulated in the cabin, 
 escaped by an opening in the side. This 
 fire, and even its smoke, was a great com- 
 fort
 
 i88 port d'oo. 
 
 fort to me. The smoke carries the heat 
 into every part of the building, and need 
 enough was there for it, the walls admitting 
 the wind on all sides. Besides, I have 
 often found that it relieves the lungs, 
 which become fatigued with the pene- 
 trating air of so high a region. The 
 shepherd was busy in making his cheese 
 of sheep's milk, an aliment which in itself 
 is but little agreeable, and becomes still 
 less so from the imperfection of the process 
 employed in the Pyrenees for making 
 cheese. 
 
 After having warmed ourselves a little, 
 we continued our journey. The largest of 
 these two lakes is named the Lake d'Es- 
 pingo, although the most distant from the 
 peak of this name. The small lake which 
 immediately bathes its base, is named the 
 Lake of Saounsat. The first, like the lake 
 of Seculejo, is full of fish. The second, 
 being less exposed to the sun and higher 
 up, is too cold for fish to live in it. Did 
 there exist in the Pyrenees but a little of 
 that industry which enriches every part 
 
 of
 
 PORT d'00. 189 
 
 of the Alps, the fish of the lakes of Espingo 
 and Seculejo would become an object 
 either of consumption or of commerce for 
 the poor inhabitants of the country. 
 
 The lake of Espingo receives the small 
 torrent of a ravine which descends from 
 the mountains of the port of Clarbide, and 
 indicates a communication between these 
 twoports. This com municationisfrequented 
 on some occasions by the mountaineers of 
 the country. We approached the ravine, and, 
 trusting to our acquaintance with the dispo- 
 sition of rocks in general, directed our course 
 immediately to the summit of the mountain. 
 This summit, as I have before said, is di- 
 vided into three very lofty peaks, which 
 range in a direction east and west, and 
 between the middle one and that to the 
 west our path lay. Seldom are they ap- 
 proached in so direct a manner. Towards 
 the heights, however, we found from dis- 
 tance to distance a number of piles of 
 stones, collected together by some smug- 
 gler with a view of their serving him as 
 landmarks, in case of fogs, or at night. 
 
 lob-
 
 I90 PORT D OO. 
 
 I observed, with astonishment, that these 
 signals were necessary even to my guide, 
 and that without them he would not have 
 been able to choose those bands of rock 
 which would have furnished openings ; a 
 circumstance the more remarkable, as he 
 had worked for a long time at a lead-mine 
 situated at the summit of the pass, from 
 whence it might have been supposed that 
 he should have known as well as any one 
 those rocks which he had climbed every 
 day for many succeeding summers. How- 
 ever this might be, the ascent was a busi- 
 ness of three hours without an interval of 
 repose. We had fully as much occasion 
 for our hands as for our feet, upon the 
 whole of this declivity ; but I met with 
 nothing really dangerous, excepting the 
 top of a wall of rocks entirely covered 
 with thick tufts of smooth and dry grass, 
 which, with a surface as slippery as ice, 
 and a very considerable degree of incli- 
 nation, would have made it impossible for 
 me to answer for my life, had I not been 
 provided with long and well fixed cramp- 
 irons. 
 
 15 It
 
 PORT D 5 00. IQi 
 
 It was mid-day before we attained the 
 ridge immediately below the peaks. 
 Having arrived at this height by declivi- 
 ties too abrupt to suffer the snows to lodge 
 upon them, I had no idea of my having 
 reached the region in which they should 
 be permanent. I was much astonished 
 therefore to find myself above a lake en- 
 tirely frozen over, and wholly surrounded 
 by snows, which were pierced by three 
 great bands of ice, belonging apparently 
 to a single glacier, the whole extent of 
 which is never perhaps entirely exposed, 
 and which itself appeared to be a prolong- 
 ation of another immense band of ice, ob- 
 servable among the snows of the opposite 
 declivity. This glacier extends towards 
 the mountains of the port of Clarbide, 
 whose vallies are covered with eternal 
 snows, in a situation where it might be 
 supposed that the sun would most effec- 
 tually have opposed their accumulation. 
 These snows indeed have invested almost 
 all the heights which here present them- 
 selves. It was the most beautiful desert 
 of the kind that I had seen in the Py- 
 renees.
 
 I92 PORT D'OO. 
 
 renees. The Breche de Roland itself 
 had offered me nothing like it, either for 
 the grandeur of its objects, or the boldness 
 of their forms j and the unexpected ap- 
 pearance of this vast region of ice and 
 snow, when mingled with the impression 
 which I felt from the suddenness of my 
 view of it, occasioned a sort of astonish- 
 ment, which increased in proportion as I 
 recognised the immensity of its extent. 
 
 The name of the Sel de la Baque is 
 given to the spot on which we stood. The 
 frozen lake is known by the same deno- 
 mination, and a mine of lead, which is 
 situated almost upon the level of its waters, 
 partakes of the name as well as the lake 
 and rock. This mine is rich ; but the 
 working of it was attempted on the very 
 worst of principles, and is at present en- 
 tirely abandoned. 
 
 The storm which had threatened us ever 
 since the morning was now at hand, and 
 the air of the heights in a state of violent 
 agitation. The clouds, which were hurried 
 
 along
 
 PORT D'OO. I93 
 
 along with an extreme rapidity, were 
 breaking against the summits before us, 
 and rolled in confusion along the declivity 
 which we had ascended. The south wind 
 blew in gusts. Benumbed with cold, and 
 threatened at every moment with being 
 tumbled into the bottoms, by the sudden 
 blasts which assailed us, we bent ourselves 
 down under a block of granite, and might 
 have supposed ourselves in the deserts of 
 the frozen zone. My guide from Bareges 
 had seen nothing like it in his country. 
 His lively surprize, and the rustic but 
 strong expression of his admiration, was 
 an interesting episode in the reflections 
 which our situation suggested. 
 
 I was now reminded of the idea which 
 the Alps had given me of the polar coun- 
 tries, and of the rigor of their winters, 
 arid this, in the very midst of summer. 
 Why might not an observer be a witness 
 in these mountains to the frosts and to 
 the storms of December? Why might he 
 not construct, upon a declivity sufficiently 
 steep to prevent the snows from accumu- 
 o lating,
 
 194 port 1/00. 
 
 lating, or under the shelter of a rock where 
 nothing might be feared from their fall, a 
 solid, warm, and well provisioned dwelling, 
 where he might be present at those revolu- 
 tions, from the sight of which to this day 
 have been banished all that breathe? Why 
 might he not subject to calculations and 
 to* measurements the combats of the ele- 
 ments, the swiftness of the winds, the 
 power of the avalanches, the convulsions 
 of the air and earth ? To what unknown 
 and unheard of events would he not be a 
 witness ; what spectacle would he not be- 
 hold, when the tempests of Autumn should 
 have seized upon these spots as their do- 
 main ; when the active izard and the me- 
 lancholy raven, the sole inhabitants of the 
 place, should have fled their heights ; when 
 a light and sustained snow, continually 
 drifting under the blasts from rock to 
 rock, should have buried up their barren 
 surfaces ; and when the summits, robed in 
 clouds, should long have been swallowed 
 up from the sight of man ? What com- 
 bats, what whirlwinds, what whistlings in 
 the air, what murmurs in the entrails of the 
 
 moun-
 
 PORT D 00. I95 
 
 mountains would there not succeed ! and 
 then what silence, when the heavens 
 should at last be at peace, and the winter 
 victorious ; when the sun, enfeebled in the 
 dark profundity of the skies, should only 
 re-appear to cast an oblique regard on sum- 
 mits of ice ; and when, in the long obscu- 
 rity of the nights, the moon should seem 
 to approach them only as if to shed upon 
 them with her light the piercing cold of 
 the etherial regions, and in "consonance 
 with so tranquil a region of peace and 
 death to pass them over, as over the tomb 
 of nature. But the sun resumes his power. 
 At the approach of May, already reigning 
 over our plains, he comes to pursue the 
 winter in his lust retreats. Capricious at 
 first, and veiling his face with light and 
 fleecy clouds, lie dissolves them in gentle 
 rains, which open the earth to the influence 
 of spring, and then proceeds to attack the 
 frosts with all the power of his rays. The 
 atmosphere becomes inflamed, the earth 
 revives j the masses of the snows of De- 
 cember continually disappear ; but his 
 triumph is imperfect, and still more ter- 
 o 2 rible
 
 I96 PORT D'OO. 
 
 rible tban that of winter itself. Not a 
 moment does he allow of silence and re- 
 pose; avalanches roll and break on all sides; 
 torrents, long confined, escape and spring 
 upon the vallies ; rocks, which have burst, 
 fall and cover their declivities with ruins ; 
 the world itself appears to be dissolving ; 
 and the rash observer, who the moment 
 before was conversing with nature, and 
 surprizing her in her most secret opera- 
 tions, dismayed, and at the brink of anni- 
 hilation, must doubt the safety of the 
 rock which supports his dwelling, and 
 tremble for the very mountain of which it 
 makes a part. 
 
 The hurricane was a little abated, but 
 the cold had become insupportable. We 
 set out, and coasted round the greater part 
 of the tunnel of the lake, to find a rock by 
 which there is a possibility of gaining the 
 valley of snow in which it is situated. On 
 our arrival at the bottom of this valley, I 
 hastened towards its ices, but found the 
 three bands which border on the lake en- 
 tirely inaccessible. The highest band, 
 
 how-
 
 PORT D*00. 197 
 
 however, I could easily reach ; and here I 
 perceived that all of them were parts only 
 of a single glacier of a very great extent, 
 the whole of which would not be exposed 
 this present year, the snows having fallen 
 during the spring in a very unusual 
 quantity. The surface of the great band 
 was entirely drenched with water in those 
 parts where it was not entirely laid bare ; 
 and the layer of snow, thus penetrated, was 
 of such a thickness, and extended so far, as 
 to have added very considerably to the 
 mass of the glacier itself. In general 
 the situation of this glacier favors its ex- 
 tension. It is commanded by very con- 
 siderable masses from above; its inclination 
 is not so great as to suffer its waters of dis- 
 solution to escape with facility ; and its 
 mass of ice being tranquilly seated upon a 
 declivity, so gentle as not to allow its 
 descent, has not contracted those fissures 
 which are always the consequence of mo- 
 tion in all glaciers, and which accelerate 
 the evacuation of their waters. The winter, 
 therefore, must find in it much to freeze ; 
 and its rapid usurpations will only be re- 
 o 3 pressed
 
 I98 PORT D*0O. 
 
 pressed by its aspect, which, though north, 
 admits the rays of the sun even at mid- 
 day. 
 
 Meanwhile the wind continued to blow 
 with violence, and the sky was far from 
 clearing up. My guide, therefore, who 
 knew what risks are run in these moun- 
 tains from bad weather, was fearful lest 
 the snow should surprize us upon the 
 heights. We therefore continued our 
 way, leaving to the right the two vallies of 
 snow which connect the superior gorges 
 of the port of Clarbide, and ascended as 
 far as a sharp ridge, which forms the 
 southern boundary of the great bason, a 
 part of which is occupied by the Sehl de la 
 Baque. This is the highest point of the 
 pass. In front, we have a bason similar to 
 that which we had been traversing, but 
 extending in an opposite direction. This 
 last, however, has no lake, and it is evident 
 that the waters which it once contained 
 have escaped to the south. In this point 
 the limits of France should be placed ; and 
 I know not what consideration has pushed 
 
 them
 
 PORT DOO. 199 
 
 them to the southern border of the bason, 
 which forms a much less elevated crest 
 than that on which we stood. 
 
 What stupendous degrees are those 
 which we had mounted ! The avenues of 
 the towers of the Marbore are composed 
 of a long succession of basons, a little 
 raised above each other, and multiplying 
 the stages of the mountains, according to 
 the facility which the torrents have found 
 in overturning here and there a wall of 
 rock, possessing little coherence, and no 
 great solidity j but here, in the mountains 
 of. Oo, the hardest rock of the globe has 
 refused to open itself to the shock of its 
 waters. Its original inclination has mas- 
 tered their course, its platforms measured 
 their falls. Poured in full stream from 
 the bason of the Sehl de la Baque upon 
 that of the Espingo, and boiling under 
 this frightful cataract, from thence in 
 enormous volumes hurried down upon the 
 lake of Seculejo, which at that time im- 
 petuously passed its actual dyke, and was 
 digging out the precipice of the Val de 
 o 4 Lasto,
 
 200 PORT D*00. 
 
 Lasto, they made but three great steps to 
 descend from their highest reservoir to 
 the inferior masses of softer matter, whence 
 their course inclined towards the common 
 level, without encountering any further 
 obstacle which they could not overpower. 
 But with what solidity must not the rock 
 have been endowed, which, in impressing 
 such violence upon its waters, has not been 
 shaken to the very foundations? At the same 
 time, from what an altitude must not these 
 summits have descended, which at present 
 can furnish only an inconsiderable stream 
 of water to those vallies,ravines,and abysses, 
 which once were digged out and filled by 
 the deluge from above. 
 
 This region is all composed of enormous 
 masses of granite. The peaks of the 
 Espingo seem to be accidentally laid down 
 upon it; but the granite of these mountains 
 is distinguishable from every other sort of 
 granite, by crystals of feld-spath of two 
 .inches and a half in length, and con- 
 fusedly interspersed throughout the whole 
 of its substance. These crystals, being 
 
 little
 
 PORT D'OO. 201 
 
 little destructable by the air, project from 
 its surface, and render many rocks ac- 
 cessible, upon whose declivities the foot 
 would otherwise have been unsupported. 
 The granite forms a calotte of very great 
 extent, the port d'Oo traversing it in the 
 most elevated point of its convexity. It 
 extends towards the valley of Clarbide and 
 the port of that name, and afterwards 
 plunges under the mass of slaty rocks which 
 it crosses by the pass of Pez ; hence it 
 happens that on the one side the Go, or the 
 pique of Arboust, carries its fragments to 
 the environs of Bagneres de Luchon, where 
 I have remarked them, and on the other 
 side the torrent of Clarbide brings down 
 considerable masses of the same substance, 
 which the Neste de Louron seizes upon, 
 and transports as far as the environs of 
 Genos and Viela, where also I have traced 
 them ; so that the curious may examine 
 this remarkable rock without exposing 
 themselves to the fatigues and dangers in- 
 separable from any journies which might 
 be undertaken to seek it in the mountains 
 of which it forms the mass. 
 
 We
 
 202 ICES OF SPIJOLE AND 
 
 We were now arrived upon the limits of 
 Spain. Here we had no more snow, 
 though I saw it all about us. The peaks 
 under which I had passed, and which I 
 now was leaving behind me, were loaded 
 with it in those parts, whose inclination 
 was such as to suffer it to accumulate. 
 A very remarkable summit here attracted 
 my attention. It was the Spijole, some- 
 times also called the Portillon. I saw it to 
 the east beyond the three peaks of the 
 Espingo, and upon a line with them, sus- 
 taining two great masses of ice upon it to 
 the north. 
 
 Another bason here succeeded, and we 
 passed it : it extends still further to the 
 south, its boundary on that side being 
 overturned by the waters which it once 
 contained. In this way it forms, like the 
 Breche de Roland, a vast crescent, the 
 horns of which are turned towards Spain, 
 and are accompanied by two fine pro- 
 montories. In front we had a magnificent 
 mountain separated from us by a large and 
 steep valley, the direction of which is 
 
 nearly
 
 ASTOS DE VENASQUE. 20$ 
 
 nearly parallel to that of the chain. The 
 mountain is loaded with an amphitheatre 
 of four beautiful Sernelhes, and is called the 
 Astos de Venasque. To the bottom of the 
 valley, which separated us from it, our 
 road lay; and if the degrees by which we 
 had ascended were abrupt, those which 
 were to bring us to the level of the plains 
 of Spain appeared to be still more so. 
 
 Thus far we had been guided by piles of 
 stones, the sole traces indeed which man 
 could have left of his passage in such a 
 region, and we had charitably paid our 
 tribute to each heap, but at last these 
 signals failed us, and our guide was much 
 in need of them. He kept to the left, and 
 kept too high. We were inarching ob- 
 liquely, neither ascending nor descending 
 but with extreme peril and fatigue, upon 
 the inclined plane of the masses of granite 
 which form the body of the mountain, an 
 inclination really frightful, where some- 
 times slight depressions, and sometimes 
 slighter eminences, formed of feld-spath, 
 were the sole support of our steps. We 
 
 might
 
 2©4 ICES OF SPIJOLE AND 
 
 might have been precipitated at any in- 
 stant from it, as from the top of a wall. 
 
 My guide from Bareges, honest Simon, 
 was the first who suspected that rocks of 
 such a disposition, could not be those of a 
 pass ; in fact he took advantage of the 
 nearest ravine, to descend directly towards 
 the vallies which we overlooked. He was 
 soon at a distance from us ; but scarcely 
 had he continued half an hour in this 
 direction, before he found himself in a 
 worse situation than ourselves. I saw him 
 obliged to descend a rock of a frightful 
 inclination: I could peijceive his incerti- 
 tude, could distinguish his vain attempts, 
 and only encourage him by my cries, which 
 scarcely could he hear. At last he arrived 
 at the bottom of the rock, when I supposed 
 him to be out of danger j but what was my 
 surprize when I saw him hesitate still more 
 than ever, and afraid to put his foot upon 
 the valley of snow which lay before him. 
 I attributed his embarrassment to an in- 
 terval which I observed between him and 
 the snow, perhaps it was a fissure, perhaps 
 
 the
 
 AST0S DE VENASQUE. 205 
 
 the borders of the sheet of snow very 
 likely to give way. My anxiety redoubled 
 at every instant. It became extreme, when 
 I perceived him entirely renounce the 
 issue. I then beheld him turn his eyes on 
 all sides, examine, climb the fatal rock 
 again, again descend, and climb it again. 
 I trembled. His patience and address at 
 length succeeded, and I was somewhat 
 surprized to learn that what had terrified 
 him was the inclination of the valley of 
 snow. This man is one of the hardiest 
 mountaineers of the Pyrenees ; and his 
 pastor has more than once made it a case 
 of conscience to absolve him from the 
 boldness of his enterpnzes; but whether I 
 judged ill from such a distance, or whether 
 the inhabitants of these mountains are less 
 familiarized than those of the Alps with 
 snows and ices, and exaggerate their dan- 
 gers, I know not, but I could not but set it 
 down as a fact, that it is only on rocks that 
 they like to exercise their agility, and dis- 
 play their courage, and that they are ac- 
 customed to regard situations among the 
 
 snows
 
 206 ICES OF SPIJOLE AND 
 
 snows as dangerous, which to me would be 
 indifferent. 
 
 The unfortunate attempt of ray comrade 
 of Bareges had the inconvenience of 
 giving confidence to my guide of Oo, who, 
 proud of the error of the other, persisted 
 firmly that he was keeping the right road, 
 because poor Simon had kept a wrong one. 
 He quite fatigued me with his airs of im- 
 portance, but it soon was his turn to be 
 humbled; for he led us in full confidence 
 to the brink of a precipice of five or six 
 hundred feet in depth, and absolutely per- 
 pendicular, so as to leave no resource 
 to our address, and no excuse for his 
 
 We were now obliged to look out for a 
 passage. This was our business. Dis- 
 covery did not seem the fort of our guide 
 of Oo ; and in fact so little success -at- 
 tended him, in two attempts which he 
 made to recover the dignity from which 
 he had so disgracefully fallen, that he was 
 at last content to follow us humbly. We 
 ?, succeed oil
 
 ASTOS DE VENASQUE. 207 
 
 succeeded in descending the precipice by- 
 means of a crevice, but here we met with 
 a second precipice, which occasioned us 
 fresh doubts, and fresh researches ; at 
 length, by keeping along it, and following 
 up some traces of the passage of the Izard, 
 we found a place in which it was practica- 
 ble, and again descended. No sooner had 
 we got to the bottom of it, however, than 
 we perceived a third precipice j and if our 
 courage increased in proportion with our 
 success, our impatience was increasing also, 
 as the storm approached us. This last cost 
 us many a vain attempt, and gave us no 
 small trouble. A little stream of water at 
 length assisted us, by means"*of the holes 
 which it had worn in its fall. At the 
 bottom of this rock we found ourselves 
 within the sphere of the knowledge of 
 our guide of Oo, and he resumed the 
 lead. 
 
 We were now in the valley of Astos, the 
 highest valley of this region, however deep 
 the length and abruptness of the descent 
 had made it appear to us. It is clothed, 
 
 how-
 
 2o8 ICES OF SPIJOLE AND 
 
 however, with a thick and short herbage, 
 and grotesquely ornamented with knotty 
 firs, so as a little to relieve the sight, 
 which has been wearied with the melan- 
 choly aspect of uninterrupted rocks and 
 snows. The precipice which we had just 
 been traversing, has here a strange ap- 
 pearance : it seems to be an enormous wall 
 crowned with trees, and its chain of sharp 
 rocks, which rise almost vertically to the 
 clouds, and materially present to the eyes 
 the invariable limits of two great empires, 
 is a grand and magnificent object. 
 
 The Spijole, as seen from this valley, has 
 no ices. It is a sharp and menacing peak, 
 the base of which is the valley itself. 
 From the middle of its height there falls a 
 torrent, which is spread out over a rock 
 into a beautiful sheet of water, and rushes 
 down to mingle with another torrent, 
 which rises in the highest part of the 
 valley. These two torrents when united 
 are one of the principal sources of the 
 Essera, a river which flows by Venasque, 
 and swells the waters of the Ebro with the 
 
 produce
 
 astos de venasque: 209 
 
 produce of the snows which are melted in 
 this high region of the Pyrenees. It is at 
 the foot of the Spijole that the union takes 
 place : they pass under a rock there which 
 has only the necessary width for forming 
 a bridge. This bridge has been built by 
 nature only, and is one of the most sin- 
 gular objects of the kind that I have ever 
 met with. 
 
 From hence the descent into the lower 
 vallies, which are entirely covered with fo- 
 rests, is rapid. The torrent, however, 
 plunges down more rapidly than the path, 
 and rolls the bottom of a precipice, 
 overgrown with furz and birch wood. 
 
 The storm had now overtaken us : it was 
 terrible ; and not the smallest shelter could 
 we find. Accordingly we w r ere obliged to 
 endure with patience one of those rains 
 which are known only among the moun- 
 tains, where the clouds, as they come in con- 
 tact with them, are suddenly deprived of 
 their elasticity by the summits which ab- 
 sorb its cause, and fall at once upon the 
 
 p earth
 
 2IO VEXASQUE. 
 
 earth in torrents. This rain continued 
 for an hour; and when it ceased, we 
 had reached a low valley, almost on 
 a level with the torrent, the course of 
 which was bordered by meadow-land, The 
 valley, however, soon again became con- 
 tracted, and its walls were so high and 
 steep, that an avalanche which had fallen 
 between them about six months ago had not 
 as yet been melted, and absolutely barred 
 the way. We passed it, and at a little 
 distance entered the valley of Venasque, 
 that of Astos being only a branch of 
 it. Here we meet the Essera, properly 
 $o called. It was swoln by the waters of 
 the torrent, along which we had been 
 coasting, and, together with this river, 
 having turned to the south, after about 
 a fourteen hours walk, w r e arrived at 
 Venasque. The entrance of the town is 
 commanded by an old castle, the abode 
 pf an officer who has the title of governor. 
 It is guarded also by two companies of 
 soldiery, but its aspect was more picturesque 
 than menacing. 
 
 S I have
 
 VENASQUE. 211 
 
 I have read in some old treatise of geo- 
 graphy, that Venasque is a large and 
 beautiful city, well fortified, rich and flou- 
 rishing. At present this is the contrary of 
 the truth. Its appearance is as dismal as 
 its situation is wild. All the valley is co- 
 vered with the wrecks of the neighbouring; 
 mountains, and its ill-built houses have 
 the air of belonging to those ruins. The 
 title of Comte is all that now remains to 
 this district, of the honor which it an- 
 ciently enjoyed of forming the kingdom of 
 Ribago^a ; a kingdom, whose monarch in 
 the days of his wrath, might with much 
 exertion put on foot perhaps an army of 
 three or four hundred men, and dispute 
 the palm of imperceptibility with those 
 kings of Northumberland who enjoyed 
 for some time the advantage of presenting 
 in a single province of England more 
 crowned heads than all Europe at the pre- 
 sent day can reckon. 
 
 I did not forget that I was in a small 
 
 town of Spain, but was not at the trouble 
 
 of seeking out an inn, or of deciding 
 
 p 2 whether
 
 1 1 2 VENASQUE. 
 
 whether it might be to the class of the 
 Funda, the Venta, or the Poserda that it 
 belonged. I went directly to the Alcade 
 of the place, who not being able to give me 
 a lodging, for reasons which he mentioned 
 "with a frank and obliging politeness, in- 
 formed me of a good citizen who would re- 
 ceive me well. In this he was by no means 
 deceived. I never had a better bed or a 
 better host. For a moment, indeed, my re- 
 pose was interrupted by two fine men in the 
 ancient costume of Arragon, whom I recog- 
 nized to be guards, but I made them my 
 friends ; and some other neighbours of a 
 different class having joined my host, w 7 e 
 all of us sat down together, being served 
 by the mistress of the house and her 
 daughter, and celebrated one of those sa- 
 turnalia, at which only the traveller on foot 
 assists.
 
 ( 213 ) 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 PORT DE VENASQUE. — VIEW OF THE MALA- 
 DETTA AND ITS ICES. — BAGNERES D& 
 LUCHON. 
 
 T7ENASQUE is the point of union oi" 
 many of the ports of the high region 
 which I have been describing. To the 
 west, and towards the end of the valley of 
 Clarbide, there is a passage called the 
 Port de Venasque, because it leads directly 
 to that town. The Port d'Oo is the 
 second which descends from the west; 
 the Port de la Glere is the third. This 
 latter is only practicable by mules, and lies 
 between the Port d'Oo and that of Ve- 
 nasque properly so called, which leads 
 from Venasque to Bagneres de Luchon, 
 and afterwards to St. Beat, St. Bertrand, 
 and St. Gauden's. To the east is the Port 
 of Picade, which establishes a tolerably 
 easy communication between the valley of 
 Venasque and that of Aran. 
 
 p 3 I quitted
 
 214 PORT DE VENASQUE. 
 
 I quitted Vcnasque for the port which 
 leads to Bagneres, and re-ascending the 
 Essera, to the point where it receives the 
 torrent of the valley of Astos, continued 
 my journey to the right of the way by 
 which I had descended from the mountain 
 of Oo. Our former guide was again to be 
 our conductor, but the nature of the pass 
 afforded us no reason for suspecting his 
 want of knowledge. 
 
 The path ascends at first in a tortuous 
 manner through woody vallies. These 
 vallies in a short time open into a small 
 bason of well watered meadow-land; there 
 the ascent begins again. To the left may 
 be remarked a beautiful waterfall extend- 
 ing in a sheet over the smooth declivity of 
 its rock. Falls of water in general assume 
 this form in vallies whose direction more 
 or less approaches that of the strata of the 
 chain; for in this case the w T aters which are 
 precipitated into the vallies proceed in 
 greatest abundance from towards the crest 
 of the chain, and glide upon the smooth and 
 inclined surface of the bands of rock which 
 
 bend
 
 PORT DE VENASQUE* 21$ 
 
 bend towards it, and rest against its base. 
 In the valley of Astos, I have described 
 a similar cascade descending from the 
 Spijole. 
 
 After a two hours march we found our- 
 selves in a very melancholy and naked 
 valley, the mountain offering nothing to 
 the sight but steep and arid rocks. Here I 
 beheld a miserable cabin built over a spring 
 of mineral waters, which have the name of 
 the baths of Venasque. They are fre- 
 quented only by the peasants of the neigh- 
 bourhood. The rocks on which they are 
 situated belong to the bases of an enormous 
 mass of mountains, which forms on this 
 side the crest of the Pyrenees. 
 
 About three hours afterwards we past to 
 our left the ruins of the ancient Spanish 
 inn, (hospice,) from whence might be seen 
 in front the mountains which we had to 
 cross. Its base, to a great elevation, is 
 formed of a white and naked rock, on ac- 
 count of the color of which it is named 
 the Penna Blanca. Upon the declivity a 
 p 4 zig-zag
 
 Sl6 PORT DE VENASQUE. 
 
 zig-zag path has been traced, eighteen 
 turnings of which I counted at this dis- 
 tance. A little afterwards we arrived at 
 the new inn. 
 
 In the frequented passes which are prac- 
 ticable for beasts of burden, there are here, 
 as in Switzerland and in Italy, inns, called 
 Hospitals. In the Alps there is commonly 
 one to every pass at its highest point. In 
 the Pyrenees there are usually two, one, 
 namely, at the bottom of each ascent. 
 
 The inn of Venasque is a building con- 
 structed of great flat stones, ranged in 
 layers, and without mortar, so that the 
 winds blow freely through the walls. The 
 fire is lighted in the middle, and the smoke 
 accordingly must circulate within the 
 house before it escapes, which it does by 
 an octagon turret, placed at the x key of 
 the vault, like the lantern of a dome. 
 This turret is covered exactly, and pierced 
 with a little window on each of its sides. 
 A terrace of stone, narrow enough, or, to 
 gpeak more properly, a great bench reigns 
 
 round
 
 PORT DE VENASQUE. 21 7 
 
 round the circumference of the great hall, 
 which is formed by the four walls of the 
 building -, and on this terrace the guests 
 must lie or sit round the fire, which is ne- 
 cessary here at all seasons. This inn, for 
 what it is intended, is well enough supplied 
 with necessaries. 
 
 ' The white rock is at a little distance 
 from the inn. I soon arrived there. It 
 is formed of a clear grey marble veined 
 with white, which splits easily. Its strata 
 affect an oblique direction, and the sub- 
 stance of it is divisible into plates continually 
 growing thinner, in proportion to the 
 height at which they lie. Towards the 
 top, however, the rock is coarser, its marble 
 being there transformed into a grey cal- 
 careous stone. The pathway made by 
 the Spaniards upon the steep declivity of 
 this rock is well adapted for beasts of 
 burden. 
 
 In proportion as we ascended the Penna 
 Blanca, we beheld the enormous mass of 
 the surrounding mountains unfolding it- 
 self,
 
 21 S PORT DE VENASQUE. 
 
 self; but in a short time all our attention 
 was taken up by a very majestic summit 
 which rose from the chaos behind us. 
 From the heights of the rock, this summit 
 may be seen in all its grandeur, covered 
 with eternal snows, surrounded with large 
 bands of ice, and overtopping everything. 
 It is the Maladetta ; a mountain reputed 
 inaccessible, and named, like Mont Blanc, 
 La Maudite, (the accursed,) because it fur- 
 nishes.no pastures for the cattle of the neigh- 
 bouring vallies. This mountain separates the 
 valley of Venasque from that of Aran ; that is 
 to say, it divides Arragon from Catalonia, and 
 would have separated France from Spain 
 if the treaties of these two nations had 
 not consecrated here a great exception to 
 the law which makes the limits of nature 
 the limits of nations. The situation, the 
 volume, the height and ices of this moun- 
 tain, made a very lively impression upon 
 me, and determined me to verify the pre- 
 tensions which it might have to the title of 
 inaccessible; but the weather at present was 
 too uncertain for the attempt, and I there- 
 fore continued my journey. 
 
 From
 
 PORT BE VENASQUE. 210. 
 
 From the top of the Penna Blanca I saw 
 before me, to the north-east, a narrow and 
 elevated pass, which leads into the valley 
 of Aran. It is the Port de la Picade. 
 "We left this port to our right, and turned 
 to the left, when we found before us the 
 sharp ridge of the crest of the chain. The 
 rock which forms it is cleft, aud on this 
 fissure the path winds. "We found the 
 wind extremely violent in the pass, and 
 met with some muleteers in a dangerous 
 situation ; we assisted them, however, and 
 afterwards waited for them, notwithstand- 
 ing the common adage that, when in the 
 ports, the father should not wait for the 
 son, nor the son for the father. We now 
 had passed this fissure ; but on the rapid 
 descent of the other side, over the ruins of 
 the mountains which had fallen through 
 the fissure, had a zig-zag path so twisted as 
 to make within a very short space four-and- 
 twenty turnings, the first of which are 
 scarcely five or six yards long. 
 
 I stopt for a moment under the shelter 
 of a rock, from whence I could contem- 
 plate
 
 220 PORT DE VENASQUE. 
 
 plate this singular path, as well as the 
 bason towards which it descends. We 
 now were isolated in the desert by a fog 
 which covered the whole of the inferior 
 region, and surrounded us like a sea 
 without bounds. Nothing could be more 
 dismal ; and though I have frequently 
 passed this spot I never found between the 
 heavens and the earth an accord so favour- 
 able to its melancholy appearance. Four 
 lakes occupy the bottom of the bason : the 
 first and second are upon the same level, 
 and communicate with each other by a 
 narrow opening. The third is some feet 
 lower, and receives the waters of the two 
 first, by a torrent. The fourth appears to 
 be isolated. A rock in the shape of a 
 cone, which forms an island in the first, a 
 similar rock in the third, another of a 
 square form in the second, and the borders 
 of each of them divided into small gulphs, 
 and projecting in little promontories, offer 
 a variety of interesting details in the 
 general view; while the last lake, extending 
 towards the only opening between the 
 high and melancholy inclosure of the 
 
 bason,
 
 PORT DE VEXASQUE* 221 
 
 bason, seemed to lose itself in the 
 ocean which was formed by the fog 
 beneath. 
 
 From this bason the descent is more 
 gentle, and at the bottom of it is situated 
 the French inn upon a plot of turf, and in 
 a valley of birch trees. 
 
 This inn has a more inviting appearance 
 than that of Venasque. It is at least a 
 house. The keepers of it also are more 
 favourably situated for pastoral economy, 
 and have a flock. In this way the dwelling 
 resembles somewhat the ordinary habita- 
 tions of the country. A large stable, 
 forming half the house, is annexed to it. 
 The other half is divided into a large hall, 
 warmed by a hearth of considerable di- 
 mensions, and a dairy, above which they 
 have built a habitable loft. After all, how- 
 ever, I did not find this promising ap- 
 pearance to be attended with much of real 
 comfort, and regretted the terrace of stone 
 in the Spanish inn, with the smoke which 
 dispelled the moisture of the air, and 
 
 the
 
 222 PORT DE VENASQUE. 
 
 the great fire blazing in the centre for 
 every one. 
 
 The hopes which the view of the flock 
 inspires, are not less deceitful. Here, as 
 indeed in all the vallies of the Pyrenees, 
 the most proper for making cheese, I have 
 met with nothing which resembles that 
 aliment, so agreeable, so wholesome, and so 
 easily transportable, with which the shep- 
 herds of the Alps are so abundantly pro- 
 vided. But it is not in the Pyrenees only 
 that I have been surprized at the obstinacy 
 with which have been preserved such pro- 
 cesses as are only worthy of the barbarism 
 of the first ages. Even in England, not- 
 withstanding the excellency of her flocks 
 and pastures, I have found only one kind 
 of cheese which I should call well made ; 
 and as for France she has but few which do 
 not represent, in their original grossness, 
 the disgusting nourishment of her first 
 shepherds. Unfortunately the laziness of 
 her peasantry, which is favoured, besides, 
 by fancy and habit, must for a long time 
 reduce the most precious production of 
 
 her
 
 PORT DE VENASQUE. 2 23 
 
 her pastures to unwholesome and putrid 
 concretions, worthy only of the industry 
 of a Nomade, or of the palace of a 
 Tartar. 
 
 The woods which surround and approach 
 the inn have bears in them. These ani- 
 mals are common in those parts of the Py- 
 renees where the forests are not destroyed. 
 I have never seen the bear of these moun- 
 tains as I have that of the Alps ; but I am 
 well assured, that his ferocity must be in- 
 comparably less. His appearance is not a 
 subject of alarm to the neighbourhood j he 
 is hunted without danger ; he flies from 
 fire, and is afraid of dogs. The shepherds 
 of the Pyrenees have no idea of those 
 bloody combats which are fought between 
 the bear and the bull of the Alps, with the 
 same courage and the same obstinacy en 
 either side. Here they do not provoke 
 each other. 
 
 The descent from the inn, towards Bag- 
 neres, is by a narrow valley uniformly 
 overshadowed with trees, at the bottom 
 
 of
 
 224 BAGNERES. 
 
 of which there rolls the Pique. Nothing 
 varies its monotonous decoration as far as 
 a narrow passage, formed by a rock, through 
 which the torrent has had some difficulty in 
 opening its way into the bason of Bag- 
 neres. A square tower, which formerly 
 defended the defile, is still an ornament to 
 the highest part of the rock. It is called 
 Castel Viel, or the Old Castle. 
 
 At some distance from this tower, at 
 about the height of St. Mammet, is situated 
 on the Pique M. le Compte de Beust's ma- 
 nufactory of zafYre and smalt. It is the 
 first establishment of this kind which was 
 ever formed in France. M. de Beust has his 
 cobalt from the valley of Gistain in Arra- 
 gon ; but the Spanish government having 
 forbidden this traffick, the manufactory 
 must be supplied from Piemont, till mines 
 of this metal shall have been found on the 
 French side of the Pyrenees. 
 
 From hence the whole bason of Bagneres 
 is discoverable. It is one of the most re- 
 markable of all the Pyrenees, both for ex- 
 tent
 
 BAGNERES. 225 
 
 tent and for richness. It is one continua- 
 tion of meadows, fields, pastures, thick 
 forests, and villages, in the midst of which 
 the town of Bagneres is situated high, and 
 forms one of the most agreeable fea- 
 tures of the landscape. It is seen at the 
 bottom of the plain near the spot where 
 the Pique and the Go unite their lively 
 and beneficent streams, to water a great and 
 rich valley, in which the eye is lost, and at 
 the end of which the Neste receives them, 
 to carry them finally into the Garonne. 
 
 The baths of Bagneres are separated 
 from the town by a beautiful avenue of 
 trees, and rest against the mountains to the 
 east. Their waters are very warm, and 
 raise the thermometer of Reaumur to 52 or 
 53 degrees. Their analysis has afforded 
 liver of sulphur, glauber salt, sea salt, soda, 
 some few atoms of bitumen, and an inso- 
 luble matter, the nature of which has not 
 been ascertained. 
 
 The road from Venasque to Bagneres 
 
 exemplifies as distinctly as that from Oo to 
 
 q Venasque
 
 226 BAGNERES. 
 
 Venasque the consequences of the differ- 
 ence of inclination, which appears from 
 their origin to have prevailed, between the 
 northern and the southern declivity of the 
 Pyrenees. The longitudinal bands of 
 mountain which descend from the crest of 
 the chain to the level of the plains are 
 much more abrupt on the southern side. 
 The waters of the once successive 
 stages acquired in their fall an impe- 
 tuosity proportioned to the steepness of 
 the descent. In a short time the dykes 
 were broken, and the ravages and mischief 
 proportionate to the inclination of the de- 
 clivities below. The formation then of the 
 vallies, which are perpendicular to the 
 direction of the chain, was affected con- 
 fusedly. Almost all the lakes escaped : 
 many torrents disappeared with them ; and 
 there remains of this tumultuous appari- 
 tion only a number of roughly sketched 
 forms, and ruinous precipices, the indeli- 
 ble traces of a great though too early al- 
 teration, and a dismal spectacle of a pre- 
 mature old age.
 
 ( 22 7 ) 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 GOITRES OF THE VALLEY OF LUCHON. — 
 HISTORY OF THE CAOOTS. 
 
 TT7HEN the ingenious observer, to whom 
 we owe the essay upon the minera- 
 logy of the Pyrenees, passed through the 
 valley of Luchon, he was struck with the 
 sight of a great number of persons afflicted 
 with considerable goitres, to whose defor- 
 mity there was joined an air of stupidity, 
 still further increased by an indistinct ar- 
 ticulation. He remarked in these de- 
 graded beings a livid and sallow com- 
 plexion, a weak habit of body, and such 
 apathy as to give them, says he, an aptitude 
 only for repose. To describe these unfor- 
 tunate beings, is to describe the Cretins ; 
 and the Valais would in this respect have no 
 further advantage over the valley of Luchon 
 than in its being able to produce a greater 
 number of these miserable creatures. 
 
 q 2 But
 
 228 g6itres OF Tilt 
 
 But such deplorable superiority is not on 
 the side of the Valais. In the southern 
 parts of France this unfortunate portion of 
 the human race is very widely extended. 
 In the valley of Luchon their state of 
 beggary brings them more into view j but 
 they are found in the valley of Aure, in 
 that of Bareges, in Beam, and even in 
 Navarre. These latter exist in the most 
 retired places only, but when seen, exem- 
 plify a degradation, a dulness, and stu- 
 pidity, which even the imbecility of the 
 Cretins of the Valais does not surpass ; 
 and which deprives them of the last re- 
 mains of the intelligence of man, together 
 with the last traces of his figure. 
 
 It might be readily imagined, in observ- 
 ing; this sad conformity of condition, that 
 the causes of degradation in both countries 
 should be similar, and that to explain the 
 Cretinism of the Alps, would be to ex- 
 plain the Cretinism of the Pyrenees. But 
 in vain should we endeavour to apply the 
 samesytemsto the same fact. The Cretins of 
 the Pyrenees occupy the northern vallies of 
 
 the
 
 VALLEY OF LUCHON. 229 
 
 the chain, are found in extensive basons, 
 on an open soil, in a dry and temperate 
 atmosphere, and are in the habit of drink- 
 ing only fresh and pure waters. Every 
 thing conspires to forbid the inferences of 
 aualogy. It is to the south that are 
 found the Cretins of the Valais, of Savoy, 
 of Piemont ; it was to the south, therefore, 
 that I should have found them in the 
 Pyrenees, in those narrow Spanish vallies, 
 where the rays of the sun, reflected in all 
 directions from naked rocks, concentrate a 
 stifling heat ; and where, in the vitiated air, 
 are suspended unwholesome fluids, dis- 
 solvable only from such an extraordinary 
 degree of expansion ; in those southern 
 vallies also, where, as in the Alps, the 
 declivities are more abrupt, the rocks more 
 steep, and the mountains more decrepid, 
 should I have found those waters which 
 wash a surface of imperfect slate and 
 schists, the calcareous particles of which 
 are dissolved by means of a sulphuric or 
 carbonic acid, and deposited in the vessels 
 of those who are obliged to drink them. 
 This latter cause of Cretinism, indeed, may 
 q 3 probably
 
 230 GOITRES OF THE 
 
 probably exist in some of the northern 
 vallies, but it cannot operate as a general 
 cause ; for Bercugnas, which is watered by 
 the Go, possesses persons afflicted with 
 goitres, while Bagneres, which it waters 
 also, has not any, and Saint Mammet, 
 which it does not water, has even more 
 than Bercugnas. 
 
 A resource remained me in the system 
 which makes the stupidity of the inhabi- 
 tants of the Pyrenees accord with that of 
 the elevation of their vallies, and their 
 distance from the sea. But this explanation, 
 however plausible at its first appearance, 
 and whatever likelihood it assumes from the 
 consideration of the agility of the Basque, 
 when opposed to the dulness of the inha- 
 bitants of the valley of Luchon, loses all 
 its force when the inhabitants of the 
 southern and eastern part of the Pyrenees 
 are examined, and does not at all ac- 
 count for the Cretins of Beam and Navarre. 
 Habituated, on the other hand, from ex- 
 perience and former observations, to look 
 upon force and agility as the lot of the 
 
 inhabi-
 
 VALLEY OF LUCHON. 23 1 
 
 inhabitants of elevated mountains, and 
 having uniformly observed, that sloth, 
 infirmity, and Cretinism, by no means 
 affect a lofty situation, I was forced 
 not only to allow that Cretinism is an 
 accident, independant of such circum- 
 stances, but to consider the different 
 degress of vivacity, of force, and of 
 agility, possessed by the people of the 
 Pyrenees, as the appendage of particular 
 races of men, rather than as the produc- 
 tion of the soil or climate. 
 
 My own observations therefore could 
 throw no light upon the subject ; and the 
 best informed persons whom I consulted 
 could not resolve the problem in a more 
 satisfactory manner. I was obliged then 
 to add another fact to the numerous list 
 of those which show that similarity of 
 effect does not always depend upon iden- 
 tity of cause, when, from my commerce 
 with the people of the country, I found the 
 nature of the question changed entirely, 
 and discovered that the Cretins of the 
 a 4 valley
 
 232 
 
 HISTORY OF 
 
 valley of Luchon were of the unfortunate 
 race of the Carrots. 
 
 *&' 
 
 But this information I drew from the 
 inhabitants as a kind of confession, and 
 could scarcely overcome the shame with 
 which it was made known to me. They 
 informed me that their vallies contained a 
 certain number of families, which from time 
 immemorial had beep regarded as making 
 part of an infamous and accursed race ; 
 that the individuals composing such fa- 
 milies had never been reckoned among 
 the number of their citizens ; that they 
 were every where disarmed ; that they 
 were permitted no other occupation than 
 that of wood-cutters, or carpenters, an 
 occupation become ignoble, like them- 
 selves ; that they derive one of their com- 
 mon appellations from this occupation ; that 
 such appellation is infamous, because they 
 bear it ; that, as carpenters, they are every 
 where obliged to march the first in case of 
 fire ; that, as slaves, they are forced to 
 perform in every community such services 
 as are reputed ignominious ; that misery 
 
 and
 
 THE CAG0T9. 233 
 
 and disease are their uniform portion ; that 
 they are commonly afflicted with goitres ; 
 that their miserable habitations are re- 
 moved into retired spots ; and that, if at 
 present the inhabitants of the country have 
 less aversion to them, and if milder man- 
 ners have a little softened the rigor of 
 their old condition, there is still between 
 the tw T o races nothing in common, no com- 
 merce, and no alliance which is not, in all 
 the villages that witness it, regarded as an 
 object of scandal. 
 
 I thus discovered myself to be in the 
 midst of this people of slaves, whose origin 
 is lost in the stormy night of the first ages 
 of our monarchy. I beheld this rejected 
 cast, upon which so much has been written, 
 without dispersing the darkness which 
 covers the motives of so strange a pro- 
 scription, and the individuals of which it 
 was in vain to question, as, together with 
 the rights and dignity of man, they have 
 lost their traditions, and exist at present 
 only as a monument of the miseries of an 
 
 ase
 
 234 HISTORY dF 
 
 age which has transmitted nothing to us 
 but what is odious or deplorable. 
 
 What fact indeed is worthier of exciting 
 the curiosity of the historian, and the pity 
 of the philosopher, than the existence of 
 this unfortunate people, whose miserable 
 descendants are scattered along the ocean, 
 from the north to the very south of France, 
 and have every where been the objects of 
 the same aversion, the victims of the same 
 inhumanity. In the solitudes of Britanny, 
 we find them treated with barbarity from 
 the remotest of times. Scarcely were 
 they permitted, in a more civilized age, to 
 exercise the trades of rope-makers and 
 coopers. The parliament of Rennes was 
 even obliged to interfere for the purpose 
 of granting them the right of sepulture. 
 At that time we find them known by the 
 name of Cacous, and of Caqueux. The 
 dukes of Britanny had ordained, that they 
 should not appear without a distinctive 
 mark. Towards Aunis, they appear again 
 in the island of Maillezais. La Rochelle 
 is peopled by these Coliberts or slaves. 
 
 They
 
 THE CAGOTS. 235 
 
 They re-appear under the name of Cahets 
 in Guiyenne, and in Gascogny are ba- 
 nished into the morasses and heaths of the 
 country. In the two Navarres they are 
 sometimes called Caffos : they are named so 
 in the ancient For, compiled about 1074. 
 Lastly, they are discovered in the moun- 
 tains of Beam and Bigorre, in the four 
 vallies, and the county of Cominges. 
 There they are the Cagots or Capots, who 
 in the eleventh century were given away 
 by will, were sold as slaves, and reputed to 
 be infected with leprosy and contagion, so 
 much so, as to be obliged to enter the 
 church by their separate door, and use 
 their particular font, and seats, which 
 were placed apart. In many places it appears 
 that the priests would not admit them to 
 confession ; and, as we see by the ancient 
 For of Beam, an act of favor was thought 
 to be granted them, when seven of them 
 were admitted as an equivalent to the 
 testimony of one free citizen. Even as late 
 as the year 1460, they were the objects of 
 a reclamation of the states of Beam, re- 
 quiring that they should be forbidden to 
 
 walk
 
 236 HISTORY OF 
 
 walk in the streets barefooted for fear of 
 infection, and that they should wear upon 
 their clothes their ancient distinctive mark, 
 the foot of a goose or duck. 
 
 The learned, the common people, and 
 these wretches themselves, are equally ig- 
 norant of the sources of such hatred, and 
 the time which gave it birth. The con- 
 jectures of the one, and the fables of the 
 other, have this in common, that they go 
 back alike to the darkest epochs of our 
 history, and advert alike to the ravages of 
 the leprosy j but before the attempt of 
 M. de Gebelin to account for the astonish- 
 ing conformity of fortune, and name, 
 which embraces people divided from each 
 other by such distances, there was no ap- 
 proximation of them even thought of; and 
 the possibility of such approximation must 
 henceforth be the touchstone of every 
 system which has for its object to explain 
 the origin and fate of these hordes, if so 
 they may be called. 
 
 In
 
 THE CAGOTS. 237 
 
 In fact, the Cagots of all France have a 
 common origin. The same event has con- 
 fined them all in the most remote and 
 desert spots ; and whatever this event may 
 be, it must be such as will account for every 
 thing ; it must be great and general ; must 
 have impressed at once upon the whole of 
 France the same sentiments of hatred ; 
 have marked its victims with the seal of 
 the same reprobation, and have disgraced 
 the race, and all its subdivisions, with the 
 opprobrium of a name which every where 
 awakened the same ideas of horror and 
 contempt. 
 
 "But little reliance then can be placed on 
 the account which makes them to have been 
 descended from lepers, banished the so- 
 ciety of men. Lepers have been banished 
 or confined, but have neither been sold, 
 nor left by will, nor given away. And 
 even should it be true, that the Cacous of 
 Britanny were the white lepers of the 
 time of Ambroise Pare, he may have de- 
 scribed their state without having proved 
 any thing respecting their origin. 
 
 Neither
 
 238 HISTORY OF 
 
 Neither does it appear more probable 
 that they are the descendants of the Gauls, 
 reduced to such a state of degradation by 
 the barbarians who usurped the place of 
 the Romans. We are perfectly well as- 
 sured that, under the Goths and the 
 Franks, the condition of the Gaul and 
 Roman had no relation whatever with a 
 state of slavery and infamy, and what we 
 have to explain is aversion, not tyranny : 
 the slave is oppressed, but the Cagot was 
 repulsed : we must account for motives of 
 contempt and vengeance, not the despot- 
 ism of a conqueror. Such victory as may 
 have terminated the conflict of two nations, 
 equally ferocious and inflamed against each 
 other by a long state of rivalry ; the invasion 
 of one barbarian punished by another barba- 
 rian; the re-action of the oppressed against 
 the oppressor, at last completely disarmed ; 
 bloody combats, disastrous defeats j such 
 only could have been the sources of the 
 hatred and fury which could have given 
 rise to miseries like those w r hich we 
 behold. 
 
 But
 
 THE CAGOTS. 339 
 
 But where are we to choose, or on what 
 can we fix in fuch a period ? What com- 
 bat was the most bloody ? What nation 
 the most unfortunate ? In what way can 
 we distinguish between the traces of the 
 conqueror and those of the conquered, in 
 such a series of confusion ? 
 
 A hundred different hordes of barba- 
 rians, all of them born in Upper Asia, were 
 poured at once upon the Gauls, from the 
 east, from the north, and from the south. 
 In their intermediate stations, however, 
 they had been fubdivided, modified, and 
 multiplied, had all of them forgotten their 
 common origin and their common fraternity. 
 Of these barbarians, the last who escaped 
 their eastern deserts were the fiercest. 
 They drove before them their predecessors, 
 and these in their turn fell upon the hordes 
 upon which they were driven. The Alans, 
 the Suevi, and the Vandals, had fled be- 
 fore the Huns, the Goths, and the Francs, 
 but, arrested by the Western ocean, were 
 forced back upon themselves, and ravaged 
 the Gauls. The Goths and the Francs 
 
 arrived
 
 240 HISTORY OF 
 
 arrived upon their traces; after the Francs 
 appeared the Huns, augmented by a mix- 
 ture of Heruli, other Alans, and other 
 Suevi. These were all of them con- 
 founded in the Gauls, which seemed to 
 be without an issue. Meanwhile the 
 Saxons, whose origin was more to the 
 north, had extended themselves over 
 the same unhappy country by another 
 road ; other Vandals also had arrived 
 from their side ; and the nations of 
 Germany, a still more hideous mixture 
 of the refuse of these intermingled races, 
 were rushing into the midst of this uni- 
 versal tempest. A series of battles and 
 dispersions, of alliances and divisions, suc- 
 ceeded ; various races were separated, in- 
 termingled, and annihilated. An issue 
 at last was discovered towards Spain, and 
 a torrent of madmen rushed down be- 
 tween the Pyrenees and the Mediterranean, 
 where new confusions, new massacres, and 
 new dispersions ensued, until a passage into 
 Africa was found. In Africa, these fero- 
 cious hordes had again to encounter the 
 Romans, but struggled with advantage 
 j 6 against
 
 THE CAGOTS. 241 
 
 against the remains of their power, and at 
 last were slumbering in peace on the ruins 
 of their empire, when another torrent from 
 the east precipitated itself by the south 
 upon the west. The enervated Vandal, 
 indeed, had been overthrown by Belisarius, 
 but, notwithstanding this, the Moors pur- 
 sued their conquests, overpowered the 
 Goths of Spain, and fell with the whole of 
 their weight upon the empire of the Francs, 
 where they were finally arrested. 
 
 Many races must doubtless have been 
 proscribed, during such an age of confu- 
 sion, but of these races we know not which 
 was condemned for the longest time to 
 suffer the consequences of its overthrow. 
 Scarcely by the light of his torches can we 
 recognize the Victor j in what way under 
 his ashes should we find the vanquished ? 
 Does the unfortunate cast, which fled into 
 the deserts and marshes where we see it, 
 belong to the nations of those 300,000 
 dead, who in 45 1 were stretched upon the 
 plains of Merry-sur-Seine and Orleans, 
 when the Huns, augmented by a nideous 
 
 E
 
 242 HISTORY OF 
 
 mixture of Heruli, of Suevi, of Alans, of 
 Vandals, and of Ostrogoths, were destroyed 
 or dispersed by the Visigoths, the Gaulo- 
 Romans, and the Francs ? Does it de- 
 scend from the Visigoths of Theodoric, 
 defeated twelve years afterwards at Orleans 
 by Aetius and Childeric, or from those 
 who were dispersed in 507 at the memo- 
 rable battle of Vougle, near Poictiers, which 
 prepared the fall of the kingdom of 
 Toulouse, and set up the throne of Clovis 
 on its ruins ? Is it possible that it should 
 be the remains of that multitude of Sara- 
 cens, whom Charles Martel put to the 
 sword in the neighbourhood of Tours, and 
 of Poictiers ? The theatre of these great 
 defeats near the center and the western 
 part of France, in every case would explain 
 the different directions which the con- 
 quered have taken in their flight ; the num- 
 ber of the combatants renders the extent 
 of country which they covered in their 
 dispersion easy to be conceived; the part 
 which France in general took in these 
 great events explains also' the equality of 
 the condition of the proscribed ; but the 
 10 circum-
 
 THE CAGOTS. 
 
 243 
 
 circumstances of the different nations 
 which have been mentioned would not 
 induce us to suppose that similar conse- 
 quences would have ensued from the de- 
 feat of each of them indifferently. 
 
 M. de Gebelin makes choice of the 
 Alans, and points out the battle of 463, in 
 which they are seen as the allies of the 
 Visigoths, and then disappear. It cannot 
 be disputed but that this system is very 
 proper for explaining the progress of that 
 portion of the Alans, distinguished by the 
 name of Taifaliens, whom M. d'Arcere 
 finds again, about the eleventh century, in 
 the morasses of the country of Aunis. It 
 may also extend with some probability to the 
 Cacous of Britanny, who are but at a little 
 distance from the Coliberts of Rochelle, 
 but I do not believe it possible in such 
 way to explain the origin of the Cagots of 
 Gascony. It would be very extraordinary 
 that the Alans, who were conquered toge- 
 ther with the Visigoths, and fled with them, 
 should themselves be reduced in the very 
 r 2 country
 
 244 HISTORY OF 
 
 country of their allies to the condition of 
 the vilest slaves. 
 
 Neither can it be maintained that the 
 Cagots are Saracens. Would Arabs, aban- 
 doned to themselves in deserts, have pre- 
 served no traces of their language, their 
 religion, or their manners ? 
 
 Should they be the remains then of the 
 Goths, as certain traditions persist in as- 
 serting, and as M. de Marca has believed 
 them to be? I confess that, notwithstanding 
 the authority of M. de Gebelin, I find no 
 reason to deviate from this opinion, and 
 that it is strengthened in my mind by 
 many considerations, which this learned 
 man has not alledged for the support of his 
 system. I cannot believe with him, that 
 the name of these wretches is derived 
 from Caas Goths, dogs of Goths ; for Ca- 
 cous and Cahets would not be derived 
 from thence ; neither should I trouble my- 
 self whether it were in imitation of the 
 treatment of the Gibeonites, that the Ca- 
 gots were condemned to be hewers of 
 
 wood.
 
 THE CAGOTS. 245 
 
 wood. There is no occasion for explain- 
 ing why miserable creatures, who had fled 
 into the forests, should cut down trees. Bad 
 etymology and erroneous quotations from 
 the Bible belong to the age in which this 
 prelate wrote. But I can easily compre- 
 hend how the Visigoths, as Arians, must 
 have been an object of scandal and aver- 
 sion to the orthodox Gauls and Francs; 
 and why, from the time of Childeric the 
 First, they should have been denominated 
 Cagots, Cahets, and Carlos ; that is, ac- 
 cording to M. de Gebelin, leprous and 
 infected persons; for perfume has not been 
 considered as the attribute of or thodoxy with- 
 out reserving infection for heresy. I can 
 equally w r ell comprehend why the Francs, 
 who served the ambition of Clovis from 
 religious motives, and swore by their 
 beards to exterminate the race of Arians 
 who oppoled his throne, should have 
 treated with cruelty the Cagots, who were 
 dispersed at the battle of Vougle, and why 
 the inhabitants of the borders of the Loire, 
 and of the Seine, should have driven them, 
 with as much contempt as resentment, 
 r 3 into
 
 246 HISTORY OF 
 
 into the marshes at the mouths of their 
 rivers. I can easily comprehend also why 
 when the kingdom of the Visigoths was 
 annihilated by the children of Clovis,all that 
 part of the nation which had demeaned 
 themselves by alliances with the women of 
 the country, and were not able to follow the 
 warlike and noble Goths who passed into 
 Spain, should have descended to the same 
 state with the vanquished at Vougle, and 
 why, notwithstanding the favour which 
 Clovis and his successors were pleased to 
 show to the Visigoths, as well as to the 
 Gaulo-Romans, of suffering them to live 
 under their own laws, the same contempt 
 should have soon confounded with the 
 vanquished those men who were aban- 
 doned by their own nation, and detested 
 by the Gauls, whose bishops they had per- 
 secuted. The reason why Septimania, a 
 division comprehending Roussillon and a 
 great part of Languedoc, has no Cagots, 
 is evident, because, being possessed by the 
 kings of the Visigoths of Spain, for a long 
 time after the destruction of the kingdom 
 of Toulouse, it did not pass under the 
 
 dominion
 
 THE CAGOTS. 247 
 
 dominion of the French, until Catholicism, 
 by the abjuration of their king, had become 
 the religion of the Goths. I should not 
 be at all surprized if, in the subordinate 
 crowd of barbarians who were melted 
 down by degrees among the Francs, ther*e 
 should have been found a number of Alans, 
 of Heruli, and of Huns, who increased the 
 cast of the proscribed, by the mixture of 
 their races. There is nothing therefore to 
 contradict the opinion that the Cahets of 
 Bourdeaux may be Alans, as well as the 
 Coliberts of Aunis ; and if the gigantic 
 bones, which have been found at various 
 times in the valley of Bareges, as well as 
 the skeletons which have been digged up 
 near Maillezais, in Aunis, be really the 
 spoils of the human race, there will be 
 sufficient reason for supposing that the 
 Alans, to whom Ammianus Marcellinus, 
 and Sidonius Apollinarius, alike attribute 
 a very elevated stature, have inhabited the 
 mountains of the valley of Bastan, as well 
 as the desert banks of the ocean, in those 
 times when the Goths were proscribed, 
 r 4 upon
 
 2/J.8 HISTORY OF 
 
 upon the very land of which they had for- 
 merly been masters. 
 
 The refusal of the sacraments of the 
 church, and of the right of burial, was the 
 natural consequence of the resentment of 
 the clergy, who had been for a long time 
 persecuted. Being Arians, they were 
 banished from the communities of men, 
 because they were heretics, and not 
 because they were lepers. They became 
 lepers when a successive degeneration, 
 the natural fate of a race devoted to 
 poverty, had naturalized disease among 
 them. By degrees indeed they fell in with 
 the faith of the church ; but the faith of the 
 church could not regenerate their race in 
 its pristine purity. They ceased to be 
 Arians without ceasing to be lepers, and 
 ceased to be lepers without ceasing to be 
 the prey of those diseases which are en- 
 gendered from a vitiation of the blood. 
 
 The feudal institutions, which became 
 the government of the barbarians, as they 
 sunk still deeper into barbarism, were no 
 
 longer
 
 THE CAGOTS. 249 
 
 longer contented to divide the land with 
 the cultivator, but appropriated the per- 
 son together with the soil ; and the Cagot, 
 among a race of slaves, because a slave of 
 the very lowest condition. The common 
 people, indeed, re-acquired, in some degree, 
 their rights ; but the Cagot for his part had 
 only the shadow of liberty, and remained 
 in a state of dependence, so much the 
 more miserable, as in the number of his 
 tyrants he no longer had a master who 
 provided for his wants. 
 
 Such then is the destiny of a nation, 
 which overturned and founded empires ; 
 upon whom the last remains of its parti- 
 cular opinions have drawn down a greater 
 vengeance than even the remembrance of 
 its usurpations. The whole nation of the 
 Goths, exterminated in battle, or mingled 
 with the inhabitants of the country, have 
 disappeared from France and Spain ; a pro- 
 scribed cast is all that we can find of them ; 
 and under features, degraded by twelve 
 centuries of misery, is it that the last re- 
 mains of Gothic pride are buried. A livid 
 
 com-
 
 250 HISTORY OF 
 
 complexion, deformity of feature, the 
 stigmata of disease ; such are now the 
 characteristics which distinguish the pos- 
 terity of a race of conquerors ; for every 
 vestige of their former appearance must be 
 now extinct, excepting perhaps some few 
 traces of a foreign make, which the degra- 
 dation of their species has not entirely 
 destroyed, because such configuration can 
 only yield to the mixture of a people with 
 others, and not to their misfortunes. 
 
 I have seen some families of these unfor- 
 tunate creatures : they are insensibly ap- 
 proaching the villages from whence they 
 have been banished. The side doors by 
 which they enter the churches have become 
 useless, and some degree of pity is mingled 
 at length with the contempt and the 
 aversion which they formerly inspired ; 
 notwithstanding this, I have met with 
 retreats, in which they still apprehend 
 the insults of prejudice, and await 
 the visits of the compassionate. I have 
 found among them the poorest beings 
 perhaps which exist upon the face of the 
 
 earth.
 
 THE CAGOTS. 25 1 
 
 earth. I have seen among them creatures 
 Whom society has not been able to render 
 go vile as it has attempted to make them. 
 I have met with brothers who loved 
 each other with that tenderness which is 
 the most pressing want of isolated men. 
 I have seen among them women, whose 
 affection had a somewhat in it of that sub- 
 mission and devotion which are inspired 
 by feebleness and misfortune. And never, 
 in this half annihilation of these beings of 
 my species, could I recognise, without 
 shuddering, the extent of the power which 
 we may exercise over the existence of our 
 fellow ; the narrow circle of knowledge 
 and of enjoyment within which we may 
 confine him ; the smallness of the sphere 
 to which we may reduce his perfectibility. 
 Alas ! if there exists the benevolent being, 
 who in comparing man with his actions, 
 and beholding before what objects of fear 
 and desire he is prostrated, who in imagin- 
 ing what he might be, and observing what 
 he is, the sport of his legislators and con- 
 querors, has not started as from the dreams 
 of a fearful sleep, and sprung towards a 
 
 futurity,
 
 252 HISTORY OF THE CAGOTS. 
 
 futurity, unapproachable by violence or 
 error, towards a futurity, where he who 
 created us to feel has reserved for the un- 
 fortunate, and the insensate, that inviolable 
 portion of happiness which they should have 
 enjoyed, — of truth, which they should have 
 known ; if so many miseries for such a 
 mind have not their recompence, and so 
 many tombs are shut without return on so 
 many who have been unfortunate, alas, 
 how much is such a being to be pitied !
 
 ( 2 53 ) 
 
 CHAP, XL 
 
 JOURNEY TO THE MALADETTA ITS ICES. 
 
 ONE OF THE SOURCES OF THE GARONNE. 
 
 DESCENT INTO THE VALLEY OF ARTIGUE 
 
 TELLINE. 
 
 T HAD resolved to see the Maladetta. 
 My examination of its bases, with the 
 view which I had taken of its forms and 
 ices, had all persuaded me that I should 
 seek in vain a primitive mountain, at once 
 more elevated, more extended, or com- 
 manding a greater mass beneath it. I 
 considered its summit as the very best 
 point which I could reach, for ascertain- 
 ing the relation of the secondary with the 
 primitive mountains of the chain. My 
 information from the people of the country 
 confirmed me in this opinion, and its re- 
 putation of inaccessibility had no terrors 
 for me. The Maladetta has no accessible 
 pastures : the izard inhabits only its lower 
 region : the neighbouring vallies offer com- 
 munications
 
 254 JOURNEY TO 
 
 munications which render the ascent of 
 its rocks unnecessary. It might therefore 
 have been reputed inaccessible, because 
 neither the shepherd, nor the hunter, nor 
 the traveller, have any interest to examine 
 whether it be otherwise. 
 
 Having therefore engaged the services 
 of a hunter, who had often traversed the 
 lower part of it, and still accompanied by 
 my faithful Simon of Bareges, I repaired 
 to the inn of the valley of Luchon which 
 is the nearest habitation to this mountain ; 
 and by setting out from thence very early 
 in the morning I thought that I might at 
 least reach its ices soon enough to be able 
 to regain some place of shelter at nightfall. 
 A heavy rain however surprized us at the 
 bottom of the gorges, and confined us in 
 the inn, which scarcely defended us from 
 the injuries of the weather. Some mule- 
 teers, who were carrying the wools of 
 France into Spain, retreated there, toge- 
 ther with us; and for the night I abandoned 
 the terrace to them, where, ranged about 
 the fire upon their sacks, I saw them the 
 
 objects
 
 THE MALADETTA. 255 
 
 objects of universal envy. As for myself, 
 I was condemned to lye upon the ground, 
 but rather than be absolutely in the mire, 
 I mounted the loft ; to this, however, there 
 were no windows, and the rain was pouring 
 through the roof on all sides, the slates 
 of which were continually lifted or blown 
 away by the hurricane. 
 
 In the morning the muleteers, as the 
 port was impassable, returned to their 
 homes. An inexhaustible storm enve- 
 loped the mountains, the torrents were 
 swoln, the passes impracticable. Till 
 mid-day we were in hope of seeing the 
 Spanish muleteers arrive, and hearing that 
 on their side the weather was not so bad ; 
 but the muleteers no more arrived than 
 Noah's crow : the deluge was universal. 
 
 We were thus obliged to pass a second 
 night in the inn, and this time entirely 
 alone. No muleteers, no noise, excepting 
 that of the tempest. The loft, too, was 
 inundated. All that remained us to do, 
 was to range ourselves about the fire 
 
 below
 
 256 JOURNEY TO 
 
 below, in the best way we could, and so 
 to pass the night, however much disturbed 
 by blasts of wind, which burst open the 
 doors and window-shutters, or haunted by 
 the cattle which were continually breaking 
 in upon us. 
 
 Towards the end of the night the rain 
 appeared to me to have ceased, and I arose 
 to examine the state of the heavens. The 
 clouds were rent, and, the wind from Spain 
 driving them along with extreme violence ; 
 from time to time the stars might be seen 
 between their openings. I conceived 
 good hopes of the weather, and, convinced 
 that the south was clearing up, I decided 
 immediately to take my departure. 
 
 Suchpersons as have not traversed moun- 
 tains of the first order, will with difficulty 
 form an idea of what repays the fatigues 
 which are experienced, and the dangers 
 which are undergone there. Still less 
 will they be able to imagine that these 
 fatigues are not without their pleasures, 
 and these dangers not without their 
 
 charms.
 
 THE MALADETTA. Itf 
 
 charms. They will be quite unable to 
 conceive how great is their attraction for 
 those who know them, if they do not call 
 to mind that man, by his very nature, is 
 fond of overcoming obstacles ; that from 
 character he is inclined to seek adventures; 
 and that it is a property of the moun- 
 tains to contain within the smallest space, 
 and to present within the shortest period, 
 the greatest possible variety of aspect, the 
 appearances of distant regions and cli- 
 mates ; to connect events which are else- 
 where separated by a length of interval ; 
 and to nourish with profusion that desire 
 of sensation and of knowledge, that primU 
 tive and inextinguishable passion of man, 
 which arises from his perfectibility, and 
 tends to its developement ; a passion 
 greater than himself, which embraces more 
 than he can grasp, conjectures more than 
 he can comprehend, is prescient of more 
 than he can foresee, deceives him frequently 
 as to the proper end of life, but lulls him 
 at least over its miseries, and consoles him 
 for its brevity. 
 
 s When
 
 258 JOURNEY TO 
 
 When we set out, the weather was by no 
 means settled. The wind was blowing 
 with the utmost impetuosity, and the 
 summit of the passage disappearing at every 
 moment in the clouds, which were rapidly 
 traversing the elevated vallies of the 
 mountain. 
 
 We ascended, however, as quickly as we 
 could, impatient to discover from the crest 
 of the port, if Spain would offer us a better 
 prospect. It took us at least two hours to 
 reach the crest, and in doing this we were 
 drenched repeatedly with showers. 
 
 Arrived upon the borders of Spain, we 
 found appearances more favourable ; and 
 although the west was loaded still with 
 clouds, and the Maladctta covered w r ith a 
 fog, which hung upon its declivities, the 
 sun was already victorious, and promised 
 to clear the horizon. 
 
 We rapidly descended then the Penna 
 Blanca, disdaining the windings of its 
 paths, and passing over its rocks and 
 
 slippery
 
 THE MALADETTA. 259 
 
 slippery turf with the assistance of our 
 poles. In this way we soon arrived at the 
 bottom of the precipice which separates it 
 from the Maladetta. It is a narrow and 
 melancholy glen, descending towards the 
 inn and valley of Venasque, from the 
 heights of the crest of the chain, which 
 extends between the Maladetta and the 
 French mountains. We passed it, and 
 having arrived at the base of the mountain, 
 took a moment's repose there, and made a 
 very frugal repast ; a repast which finished 
 the provisions upon which we had subsisted 
 in the inn. 
 
 As we descended the Penna Blanca, I 
 had observed the mountain, which now 
 began to show itself clear of fogs, and I 
 was persuaded that I should not only attain 
 its ices with facility, but be able, without 
 any great danger, to gain its summit ; 
 from whence perhaps I might make for 
 the mountains of the Port of Viel, and 
 find a place of rest for the night, either on 
 this or on the other side of the Port, in one 
 of the nearest vallies of Catalonia. It was 
 s 2 requisite^
 
 260 JOURNEY TO 
 
 requisite, however, to think of a less distant 
 asylum. The rain might surprize us, and 
 arrest us in the middle of our enterprize ; 
 the night too might fall before we should be 
 out of the desert. My hunter had placed 
 his dependence upon a cabin near the spot 
 where we had rested ; to this, indeed, we 
 took our way ; but the carcases of two dead 
 animals had rendered it unhabitable, and 
 some others, which were wandering in its 
 vicinity, and approached us immediately on 
 perceiving us, gave us reason to suspect 
 that the herdsman had perished. It was 
 therefore resolved, that should we be ob- 
 liged to renounce the idea of descending 
 from the summit of the mountain to the 
 Port of Viel, we should turn towards a 
 valley in the dependency of that of Aran, 
 where my guide was acquainted with a 
 hermitage ; and that if any unforeseen 
 accident should detain us in these rocks, 
 we should at the approach of night attempt 
 at least to gain the nearest wood, where we 
 might be able to defend ourselves, with the 
 help of a good fire, from the cold which 
 was most to be dreaded. 
 
 We
 
 THE MALADETTA. 26 1 
 
 We then began to ascend the first de- 
 gree of the mountain. Its declivity was 
 pretty rapid, presenting at one time a 
 mass of rocks, at others plots of turf, in- 
 terspersed with knotty firs of little height, 
 but of considerable thickness for so elevated 
 a situation. Upon the declivity of the 
 same mountain, towards the vallev of 
 Aran, I have met with many trees of a 
 much larger size, but in no part of the 
 Pyrenees have I found any thing worthy 
 of being compared with those enormous 
 pines, to which in the Alps is given the 
 name of Wetterschirm. 
 
 In this ascent, I observed the continua- 
 tion of the strata of the Penna Blanca. 
 Its marble and its grey calcareous stone 
 are both of them disposed alike. It is 
 evident that the valley which I had just 
 been traversing is the work of a torrent, 
 at present exhausted, which formerly dug 
 its bed in this marble, and before the 
 ravages of which, the mountains of the 
 Port of Venasque adhered to the base 
 of the Maladctta, and made a part of it. 
 s 3 As
 
 262 JOURNEY TO 
 
 As the Penna Blanca has formerly been 
 detached from the degree of the mountain 
 which I was now ascending, and presents 
 to it the face of its precipice* so also has 
 this degree been detached from the mass 
 of the Maladetta, and presents to it its 
 own particular precipice. Thus, when I 
 had arrived at its highest part, I found 
 myself on a rampart, with a gulf on either 
 side, and had the mountain immediately in 
 front, in all its elevation and in all its 
 majesty, covered with ruins, surrounded 
 with snows and ices, and furrowed with 
 deep ravines. The most frightful of these 
 ravines appears towards the west, and near 
 the summit. The valley which I com- 
 manded is a prolongation of it, and the 
 rampart ^upon which I stood, the top of a 
 band of rocks which descends from the 
 heights of the mountain, unwinding as it 
 were in a spiral form, and enclosing the 
 ravine and valley ; at last it is lost to the 
 east in the rocks which descend by degrees 
 to the vallies of the Garonne. This ravine 
 is of a frightful steepness. It begins to 
 lose its great inclination and to be clothed 
 
 with
 
 THE MALADETTA. 263 
 
 with verdure at the spot where we were 
 now about to descend, and where in fact 
 we did descend, though not without some 
 trouble, by gliding down the precipice 
 which had stopt us. 
 
 I then perceived that the ravine and 
 valley are hollowed out between the pri- 
 mitive rock of the mountain and its cal- 
 careous covering. The ruins of each are 
 met with in this common receptacle ; and 
 considerable masses of the marble of the 
 rampart, which they had passed, are there 
 confounded with blocks of granite, whose 
 direction is traced by an enormous heap of 
 ruins of the same description, which descend 
 from the region of the snows to the bottom 
 of the valley. 
 
 Over these ruins we ascended the moun- 
 tain. They furnish the only means of tra- 
 versing a torrent, which rises at the head 
 of the ravine, and flies between them, 
 after dividing itself into a thousand little 
 streams. It is frequently entirely hidden 
 under the mass, and flows in the cavities 
 s 4 of
 
 264 JOURNEY TO 
 
 of a soil, which has been formed entirely 
 of the fragments of the mountain, and is 
 at present covered with a layer of earth 
 and turf, the thickness of which attests 
 the antiquity of the revolution which was 
 the occasion of all this wreck This tor- 
 rent must incessantly be passed. It re- 
 produces itself again and again, is some- 
 times entire, sometimes subdivided into a 
 multitude of ramifications, which seem to'be 
 so many distinct sources, and unite at length 
 in a charming meadow, to form a little river, 
 the sole remains of that terrible current, 
 whose fury, in former ages, cleft the moun- 
 tain. There it rolls on a level with the 
 soil, and, winding about in every direction, 
 appears as it were to linger in these secret 
 and tranquil spots, which nature has de- 
 fended from the approach of cattle ; for 
 these retreats she has taken under her 
 especial protection, and, surrounding them 
 with her most stupendous bulwarks, has 
 consecrated them as an asylum, to the in- 
 nocent sports of those free and timid ani- 
 mals, for whom she spreads a carpet of 
 verdure in her most secret solitudes, and 
 
 who.
 
 THE MALADETTA. 265 
 
 who, expecting nothing but from her, have 
 fled from desert to desert, the enemy of 
 all independence. 
 
 In such a place, where never yet the 
 hand of empire has been felt, why might 
 not the man of peace be suffered to reside, 
 who neither wishes to oppress, or be op- 
 pressed ? Submitted to him alone, whose 
 presence is acknowledged alike by the 
 desert and by the inhabited of earth, why 
 might he not avoid the tempests of the so- 
 cieties of men, and bow his head alone 
 under those of nature, have only to fear 
 the winds, the waters, and the rocks j and, 
 like the izard, know no other enemy than 
 those which attack his life, no other 
 agonies than those of death? But alas! 
 the wish is vain : in what way can man 
 avoid his fellow ? A slave to his species, 
 the master of the earth is often con- 
 demned to lament his own pre-eminence. 
 
 We mounted slowly over the heaps of 
 ruins which had opened to us the passage 
 of the torrents, and were leading up into 
 
 the
 
 266 JOURNEY TO 
 
 the region of ice. Already far above the 
 valley which we had traversed, we had 
 nothing about us but blackened rocks and 
 ravines ; the snows were suspended above 
 our heads, and flowers and rivulets the 
 most distant from our thoughts, when a 
 little platform, entirely surrounded with 
 the most menacing ruins, presented us the 
 smiling spectacle of a little lake, whose 
 borders were clad with the freshest turf, 
 and tufts of pines of the smaLerit. strture. 
 This is the last retreat of vegetation, the 
 most secret of her solitudes : the universe 
 disappears at its very entrance: it seems to 
 be the remains of a world which has been 
 buried up beneath its ruins. 
 
 We continued to ascend, however, from 
 block to block. Meanwhile, to the west, 
 the enormous girdle of rocks which I have 
 described was unfolding itself under an 
 imposing form, its highest part being ex- 
 tremely sharp, its middle part much less 
 so. I still beheld beneath me the spot 
 where the frightful ravine, growing gradu- 
 ally less abrupt, begins to be covered with 
 
 herbage ;
 
 THE MALADETTA. l6j 
 
 herbage ; but it was at the bottom of a pre- 
 cipice that I now beheld it, together with 
 the windings of its valley, and the mean- 
 derings of its river. 
 
 In this ascent we separated ; our rally- 
 ing point having been previously fixt at a 
 great fissure in the glacier above us. 
 Being the only one of the three attracted 
 to these heights from choice, I should na- 
 turally have been the first to reach the 
 appointed rendezvous, and in fact I had 
 to wait there for my guides. Simon soon 
 made his appearance ; but informed me 
 that the hunter had been obliged to stop 
 from vertigo and sickness. This some- 
 what deranged my projects, but we had no 
 time for regret, and were to think only of 
 extricating ourselves from our present 
 situation. 
 
 The glacier, at the foot of which I 
 found myself, was a vast and solid head of 
 ice, divided by great crevices from top to 
 bottom : one of these crevices opened just 
 before me, and poured over the declivity 
 
 of
 
 268 JOURNEY TO 
 
 of the mountain, the waters which were 
 collected within its cavities. I entered it, 
 and bade my faithful Simon follow me : his 
 astonishment could find no means of ex- 
 pression. The opening, of about forty 
 feet in height, was here about the thick- 
 ness of the glacier, so that I could easily 
 observe all its layers. The bands of its 
 upper surface were already united into a 
 mass of very compact ice, the gradual dis- 
 solution of which consolidated the more 
 perfect ices below. The density of these 
 last was very considerable, and gradually 
 increased to the very lowest layers, which 
 I found of a solidity and transparency in 
 no way inferior to those of the most per- 
 fect ices of the Alps. 
 
 I remained in these cold caverns only 
 for such time as was necessary to break 
 and to observe the ices of the different 
 bands. This done, I thought of ascending 
 to the summit of the mountain with my 
 remaining companion ; but obliged to put 
 on my cramp irons, I perceived that he 
 had none. The hunter had been charged 
 
 with
 
 THE MALADETTA. 269 
 
 with them : to have sought them would 
 have been to have lost an hour, and to 
 ascend without them was impossible : I 
 would not permit him to make the attempt, 
 whatever was his desire to do so. 
 
 I set out accordingly alone, after having 
 sufficiently examined the form of the 
 mountain and the disposition of its snows, 
 the situation of its rocks, and the direc- 
 tion of its declivities, to be sure of finding 
 my way, in case that the clouds which 
 were passing over my head with extreme 
 swiftness, and sometimes surrounded me, 
 should suddenly accumulate about me. 
 
 I was obliged at first to keep along the 
 borders of the glacier, and afterwards to 
 ascend a part of it. I avoided it as much 
 as possible, because its declivity was con- 
 siderable, and its ices so hard as scarcely 
 to give way under my cramp-irons. Such 
 ices had also the inconvenience of leaving 
 but very imperfect traces of my passage 
 over them. 
 
 Above
 
 270 JOURNEY TO 
 
 Above this glacier, and at some distance 
 from it I found a smaller one partly 
 buried under the snow. I was obliged to 
 pass over one extremity of it. Its in- 
 clination was greater than that of the first, 
 but less than that of a third, which I 
 met with much higher up, and which is 
 the last to be perceived in this region. 
 Upon this last I stood as on a roof, and 
 the sight of the precipice about me was 
 most alarming. But when I reached the 
 snows above it, my situation was still 
 worse, for the snows are ever the more 
 moveable, in proportion to the height of 
 the region in which they lie, and when the 
 inclination is considerable, the danger of 
 their giving way is very great. The danger, 
 however, was not of long continuance : 
 as I ascended, the declivity became more 
 gentle, and I soon perceived that the per- 
 pendicular precipice of a crest of rocks be- 
 fore me was the last obstacle which I had 
 to overcome. These rocks were easy of 
 ascent, but of a most frightful appearance. 
 The eye finds no repose on any side, and 
 rapid declivities only are to be seen, which 
 
 plunge
 
 THE MALADETTA. 27 1 
 
 plunge into the abruptest precipices. Tlie 
 earth seemed to fly beneath my feet, as I 
 was advancing into the storms of an angry 
 sky ; for to the south an equal obscurity 
 had confounded both the heavens and the 
 earth j and the clouds of this region, re- 
 tained by the mountain, which had se- 
 parated since the morning the darkness 
 from the light, were struggling at present 
 to pass the summit, and invade the north. 
 I could see them rising from the bottom of 
 the vallies like the swellings of an ocean 
 from the secret convulsions of its abyss ; 
 and sometimes rolling on high in the 
 atmosphere, and formed over my head 
 in whirlwinds, could perceive them escape 
 the barrier of the mountain, surround me 
 with their mist, and bound upon the wind 
 over the declivities below me. 
 
 According to my estimate, I must now 
 have been at the summit of the mountain, 
 or at a little distance from it, but I could 
 go no further so as to verify my situation. 
 The southern and eastern region besides 
 were entirely obscured by the clouds 
 
 which
 
 lyi JOURNEY TO 
 
 which arrived from thence, and I could 
 only see the mountains accumulated to 
 the north, and the west. I stopt, therefore, 
 and sheltering myself under a rock, re- 
 mained for some time seated in the midst 
 of the conflict of those two parts of the 
 atmosphere which were separated by the 
 mountain. Alone, and in a spot which 
 the foot of man had never trodden, arrived 
 at a height which reminded me of that of 
 the Alps, and the time when I passed 
 them, in face of a heaven which from the 
 height of their summits I had never seen 
 otherwise than serene, but which rarely 
 had smiled upon me on the top of the 
 Pyrenees, and in a silence, interrupted 
 only from time to time by the passing 
 wind, I seemed to command the world. 
 
 On whatever side I cast my looks, I 
 could see nothing entire, nothing which 
 had not been shaken by age, not a form 
 unaltered by time, not a spot whose 
 aspect and use it had not changed. A 
 new world in fact appeared to have risen 
 from the ruins of the ancient world. But 
 
 from
 
 THE MALADETTA. 273 
 
 from the heights on which I stood, how 
 different from disorder were these convul- 
 sions ! In proportion as during my ascent 
 I had seen the surrounding mountains 
 lowered underneath me, all false ap- 
 pearances had vanished ; where I had onl\ 
 beheld a confusion of heaps, I now beheld 
 a regular distribution. Thus it is, that 
 when beyond the sphere of events, the 
 isolated and tranquil mind unravels with 
 ease their chaos. Among them all is 
 hazard and accident : causes escape in the 
 tumult of their effects; and fortuitous cir- 
 cumstances only are to be perceived in 
 the fruitful consequences of their con- 
 nexions. . .. 
 
 The mountains of the port of Venasque 
 were now ranged in the base of the Ma- 
 ladetta. The formidable rocks which to 
 the south-east enclose the valley in which 
 the Spanish inn is situated, belonged to its 
 calcareous girdle ; nothing which I beheld 
 had been originally distinct from this moun- 
 tain ; every thing inclined towards it with 
 that respect which a painter of the Alps 
 
 t has
 
 274 JOURNEY TO 
 
 has so poetically attributed to the needles 
 which surround Mont Blanc ; every thing 
 rested upon it except the mountain of Oo, 
 which showed itself to the north-east en- 
 tirely independent, and surrounded also 
 with mountains, which the revolutions of 
 ages have separated from its venerable 
 mass. 
 
 At this view, the chaos had disappeared ; 
 and I saw what I never could have con- 
 ceived, what no description can render so 
 evident, as one single regard from such 
 heights as those on which I stood. The 
 same idea which struck me, had impe- 
 riously seized upon the mind of M. de 
 Saussure, when upon the summit of the 
 Cram on t he was forced to embrace an 
 opinion, which time and his observations 
 have modified, indeed, but which rests upon 
 immoveable foundations, and must hence- 
 forth confine every variety of hypothesis 
 within the narrow circle of some few in- 
 contestible facts. 
 
 I saw
 
 THE MALADETTA. 275 
 
 I saw then the central mountains which 
 rise above every thing in their vicinity, 
 standing alone, sustained by themselves, 
 and resting the vertical collection of their 
 constituent bands upon their own founda- 
 tions. The surrounding precipices are 
 turned towards them, they rest against 
 them, they bend about them, but are 
 separated from them by vallies which 
 design their forms, and are themselves 
 divided into strata. Every thing obliged 
 me thus to fill up according to a plan 
 which all these directions indicate, those 
 parts which are wanting, and which evi- 
 dently show the alterations which the whole 
 lias undergone. I recalled in my idea upon 
 the summits and the sides of the mountains, 
 those parts of them which in fragments are 
 at present scattered over the face of our 
 continents, and the depths of the ocean j I 
 filled up the vallies j I made up for the 
 ravages of time j and then where a group of 
 mountains, and where a chain of summits, 
 confusedly heaped together, are now ap- 
 parent, could see only a single mountain 
 with a small number of pointed peaks, set 
 t 2 down
 
 2j6 JOURXEt TO 
 
 down upon its enormous base. I fancied 
 that I could perceive in what manner the 
 chain was originally composed of so many 
 pyramids of granite as there were to exist 
 of independent mountains; in what way the 
 deposits at first of granite and becoming 
 more and more of argh\ in what way the 
 calcareous sediments were laid down upon 
 the declivities of these pyramids, at one 
 time distinct, at another alternate, at 
 another confounded with each other, but 
 every where of a greater thickness towards 
 the bottom, and thinner in proportion to 
 their elevation, so as regularly to affect a 
 more horizontal direction, according to 
 their distance from their bases. I thought 
 I could perceive in what way this envelop, 
 in tending to form concentric circles about 
 the principal mountains, was troubled in 
 such tendency by their proximity, the first 
 strata having scarcely embraced the half of 
 the circumference of one of them before 
 it was repelled to embrace the half circum- 
 ference of the next ; and, lastly, it struck 
 me that the matter of these deposits must 
 gradually have obliterated such curvatures, 
 
 from
 
 THE MALADETTA. 277 
 
 from its natural tendency to accumulate 
 more in the concavities than on the con- 
 vexities of the hills, so that at last they 
 must have become parallel to each other, 
 and uniformly have affected the general 
 direction of the chain. Thus in the schists 
 which are formed about a nucleus of 
 quartz, the layers are seen at first to bend 
 about the quartz, and only by degrees 
 assume a disposition parallel to the layers 
 of the schist. In the same way, also, a tree 
 divided lengthwise exemplifies, at the in- 
 sertion of its branches, a sinuosity in the 
 direction of the lignaceous fibres embrac- 
 ing them, which continually decreases 
 in proportion to their distance from such 
 insertion, and soon reverts to the common 
 direction of the fibres which compose the 
 band of which they make a part. 
 
 Such were the primitive mountains, and 
 such their clothing, wherever the labors 
 of the sea were not disturbed. Their 
 summits stood at considerable distances 
 from each other, upon a common base. 
 The highest were in the centre enveloped 
 t 3 by
 
 278 JOURNEY TO 
 
 by adventitious strata of the greatest ex- 
 tent. A regular gradation, in height and 
 volume, as well as in the purity and ela- 
 boration of the matter of their formation, 
 characterized the different stages, both of 
 the primitive pyramids and of the secon- 
 dary masses, from their highest summits to 
 the rocks which at a distance were plunged 
 under the layers of earth, which nature 
 had rejected from her labors about the 
 mountains, and deposited to be the soil of 
 our plains, when they should have been 
 abandoned by the ocean. 
 
 But had the arrangement of these strata 
 been effected by nature, at a time of the 
 most profound repose, already would the 
 regularity of her general plan have been 
 modified by numerous varieties. The 
 primordial mountains have not all been 
 equally favored. The labor which formed 
 them near each other has not allotted to 
 each the same extent, or the same deve- 
 lopment. Each of them has been ob- 
 liged to make to the society which con- 
 nects them some of those sacrifices which 
 
 5 af e
 
 THE MALADETTA. 279 
 
 are required by vicinity of every kind. 
 Contracted forms are the lot of most of 
 them. Their bases are thwarted and con- 
 founded, and their secondary covering 
 having been in such way disturbed, has 
 suffered such fantastic twistings and turn- 
 ings as to have been the occasion of that 
 infinity of forms which is at present dis- 
 cernible. But it is probable that all these 
 labors were not effected in a state of abso- 
 lute peace : the deposits of the sea may 
 have been troubled by the agitations of 
 the globe. The disorder arising from ac- 
 cidents is every where evident amidst the 
 order which characterizes the work of con- 
 stant causes. Shocks have interrupted the 
 uniform continuity of the same operations. 
 Ruins and tumultuous aggregations have 
 troubled the regularity of the edifice, and 
 changes been operated, both in the means 
 and in the materials of the building. Im- 
 portant epochs have marked this series of 
 ages, and impressed their seal upon this 
 succession of tranquil deposits and irre- 
 gular accumulations. Yesterday the sea 
 was a desert, to-day it is peopled, and 
 t 4 plants
 
 2 So * JOURNEY TO 
 
 plants and shells have been mingled with 
 the last of the earths with which the 
 waters had been charged. Events ap- 
 proach us, but they are only the more 
 strange, witnesses multiply, but their tes- 
 timony becomes only the more complicated. 
 Every thing speaks, but speaks as yet at a 
 distance from whence it cannot be under- 
 stood : the uncertainty increases, the ob- 
 scurity is redoubled, and the sea vanishes. 
 
 What is become o^ those waves which 
 rolled at one time above the secondary 
 mountains j how is it that an ocean can 
 have fled ; and where is it at present hidden ? 
 The evidence of the fact is imperious, and 
 overwhelming, the despair of all hypothesis. 
 Let us content ourselves w T ith recognizing 
 if we cannot explain it. 
 
 The element which formed the moun- 
 tains was now descended to their feet, but 
 in vain did they lift into the skies their 
 rocks which had withstood the tempests of 
 the ancient sea ; the waters ascended again 
 in clouds and assailed their summits. The 
 
 hardest
 
 THE MALADETTA. 251 
 
 hardest rocks were covered over with a 
 sheet of snow. The stone imbibed the 
 water of its dissolution, the frosts of the 
 night, of the winter succeeded. In every 
 crevice, in every fissure, was formed a mass, 
 of ice. The stone was burst up leaf by leaf, 
 table by table ; the union of its parts dis- 
 solved ; the mountain undermined. Lower 
 down the while, divesting itself of all dis- 
 guise, the hostile fluid had accumulated in 
 the cavities, filled them up, and overflowed 
 on all sides in long and furious torrents. 
 It forced at last the dykes, and, armed 
 with ruins, attacked whatever resisted it 
 with the united force of the weight and 
 the projection of these masses. Over- 
 whelming thus whatever opposed its pas- 
 sage, it opened its way at once across the 
 plains, and hurried on to the ocean the 
 spoils with which its surges had been 
 charged. 
 
 It was then that the powers of destruc- 
 tion seemed to know no bounds ; that the 
 colossus of the mountains was shaken 
 throughout, and every thing divided. The 
 
 vallies
 
 282 JOURNEY TO 
 
 vallies which were digged about them on a 
 parallel with their convexity, and further 
 on extended in the direction of the chain, 
 were the consequence of the feeble adhe- 
 sion which reigned between the strata of a 
 different nature. The precipices of these 
 long canals are turned towards the cen- 
 tral hill, because the inclination of their 
 strata has every where opposed an edge 
 to the action of the waters; but the 
 volume and the impetuosity of the torrents 
 continually forced these ramparts as they 
 were formed, and, triumphing over the 
 only species of resistance which the rocks 
 were capable of opposing, intersected the 
 ravines which were opened in the length 
 of the chain, with ravines «till more 
 deep and hideous. From that time dis- 
 appeared all primitive form and regularity ; 
 all union between strata of a different 
 nature ; all continuity between those of a 
 kind ; all common support and common 
 direction. The principal masses, excavated 
 and divided in every direction, showus sepa- 
 rate hills in the mass of a single mountain; 
 and the commanding summit, attacked the 
 
 first,
 
 THE M4LADETTA. 283 
 
 first, as in an universal tempest must be 
 every thing which is most exposed, has 
 scarcely preserved a superiority over the 
 more recent collections which surround it. 
 
 Meanwhile the vallies were excavated 
 and the waters divided. The general dis- 
 order was subdivided into particular opera- 
 tions, and great phenomena disappeared 
 with grandeur of form. Mankind had 
 been scattered over the earth, abandoned 
 by the ocean ; and, approaching the moun- 
 tains which nature had opened to them, 
 were becoming witnesses to the efforts 
 which she was making to subject them 
 to their dominion. Already is she moderat- 
 ing for them the immensity of her means ;' 
 but the mountains are still the theatre of 
 great movements, of great revolutions ; 
 and causes of destruction, whose activity 
 can never sleep, as yet must make them 
 descend from their proud elevation, to that 
 modest height from whence they will 
 descend no more. 
 
 Such
 
 284 JOURNEY TO 
 
 Such is at present the condition of the 
 heights which command the glohe. Time, 
 which lightly flies over the rest of the 
 earth, impresses here the deepest traces of 
 his passage ; and while elsewhere he con- 
 ceals from us the rapidity of his course, by 
 hurrying us on more swiftly than the ob- 
 jects which surround us, in the mountains 
 he displays his terrors, by shaking under 
 our eyes an edifice which to our weakness 
 would appear immoveable, and by changing 
 in our presence tho^e forms which at a 
 distance we were accustomed to regard as 
 eternal. In the plains an entire year has 
 scarcely the power of awakening us to the 
 sense of its being plunged into the abyss 
 of the past, for time appears to stop, when 
 he bestows existence, when he develops 
 life, or supports it : we only learn that he 
 is passing on when we see him destroy his 
 work. It is not the spring with her profu- 
 sion of flowers, it is not the autumn, pro- 
 digal of her fruits, it is not the brilliant 
 succession of sunny days, which remind us 
 that the seasons pass away. The melan- 
 choly sentiment of their instability affects 
 
 us
 
 THE MALADETTA. 285 
 
 us only when the leaf is falling, when the 
 days are shortening, and when nature has 
 shut up the circle of her reproductions. 
 In the rocks, on the contrary, in the moun- 
 tains which are girded with the frosts of 
 an eternal winter, there is nothing to dis- 
 tract us from the contemplation of the 
 ravages of time. The fatal clepsydra, un- 
 adorned with flowers, runs on with an 
 uniform rapidity. Each minute marks 
 upon them its passage, each instant stamps 
 them with the traces of its flight ; the snow 
 destroys them without respite; the torrent 
 ravages them without intermission ; their 
 ruins are tumbling without an interval. 
 Insensible to the spring, and faithful to 
 their only tendency, to perish is their only 
 business; and their front, which dissembles 
 nothing of the power of years, has death 
 alone to speak of, while the rest of nature 
 seems inebriated with a plenitude of life. 
 
 The snows upon which I stood were 
 light, and not of a nature to contain ice; 
 in fact, it sufficed to look about me, and at 
 my feet to be convinced, that I was at the 
 
 height
 
 286 JOURNEY TO 
 
 height of the summit of the mountain of 
 Oo, and the most elevated peaks of the 
 chain j in short, that I had attained 
 the boundary of the region where ice 
 is found in the Pyrenees, and was border- 
 ing upon that where the thaws are very 
 little felt. 
 
 My comparisons in consequence could 
 not extend to the southern mountains. 
 It was in vain that I waited for the sky to 
 clear, I was precisely in the region of the 
 clouds. The fog behind me was conti- 
 nuous ; and if I could see to the north and 
 to the west, it was only because the fog, 
 in passing the summit of the mountain, 
 divided itself, and was rapidly carried away 
 in streams, between which my sight had a 
 passage. I could not therefore perceive 
 the mountains of the eastern region, 
 where many elevated summits perhaps are 
 situated over the sources of the Noguera, 
 and could not compare with the Maladetta 
 a very high mountain which was loaded 
 with ice, and commands the valley of 
 Aran, in the same way as the Maladetta 
 
 com-
 
 THE MALADETTA. 287 
 
 commands the rallies of Venasque and 
 Luchon. Between these mountains there 
 is only a small interval; and from Venasque 
 an easy road conducts to precipices which 
 separate them. I have strong reasons for 
 believing that they were not originally 
 distinct ; and that another mountain, situ- 
 ated to the east, and whose ascent ap- 
 peared to be turned towards them, be- 
 longed also originally to the same mass. 
 The popular denomination confounds them 
 all under the name of the Accursed Moun- 
 tains, (Les Montagues Maudites,) and 
 those which are traversed by the Port de 
 Viel are evidently a calcareous appen- 
 dage, which perfectly corresponds, as to 
 relation and situation, with the mountains 
 of the Port of Venasque. 
 
 The day was" now advanced, and it was 
 necessary to think of collecting together 
 my guides, and regaining a habitable 
 country. I descended, therefore, with the 
 help of my pole, in the manner of the 
 mountaineers of the Alps and the Pyrenees, 
 and slid, with extreme rapidity, to the 
 
 spot
 
 288 JOURNEY TO 
 
 spot where my Bareges guide was waiting 
 for me. The motion of the snow occa- 
 sioned me a fall, which carried me twenty 
 or thirty feet towards the precipice, and I 
 could see him somewhat alarmed, but I 
 soon regained my feet, and rendered 
 myself master of my direction. 
 
 The regret of this brave man was ex- 
 treme. The grandeur and novelty of the 
 obj ects before him madehim easily con- 
 ceive what he had lost in not having been 
 able to follow me ; and indeed the con- 
 tempt which he testified for every thing 
 which had before appeared to him as 
 worthy of the curiosity of a mountaineer, 
 was an undoubted proof of the superiority 
 of the scenery about him to any thing 
 which he had previously witnessed. 
 
 We descended together, but in a very 
 different direction from that which we had 
 taken in mounting. We now pursued the 
 eastern branch of the crest of rocks, 
 which I had found on the summit of 
 the mountain, and which descends ob- 
 liquely
 
 THE MALADETTA. 289 
 
 Kquely on both sides. From time to 
 time we called the hunter, who appeared 
 at last, and made us a sign to turn a 
 little more towards the east. He ad- 
 vanced horizontally, and met us in an 
 elevated valley, which in our ascent we 
 had forsaken to the left. This valley is 
 clad with a beautiful carpet of verdure, and 
 traversed by a torrent. The direction of 
 the torrent occasioned me some surprize : 
 it came towards us, instead of retiring, 
 which I expected it to do from its situa- 
 tion, for I had confounded it with that 
 which I had passed in the morning. I 
 soon, however, perceived that it descended 
 from another part of the mountain, from a 
 ravine which separates it from the Malh- 
 etta, and from a third mountain which 
 I beheld at the same time, and whose sum- 
 mit, entirely covered with snow, appeared 
 to me the more elevated, as I could not 
 then compare it with that of the Maladetta, 
 which was hidden by the projection of the 
 rocks of its base. This mountain, which a 
 momentaneous separation of the clouds gave 
 entirely to my view, made me much regret 
 u that
 
 29O ONE OF THE SOURCES 
 
 that I was not able to give more time to 
 my journey. Never had I seen any thing 
 so singular. Its mass, which is absolutely 
 perpendicular on the side of the Maladetta 
 and the Malhetta, seems to lean towards 
 them. Its summit is of the sharpest ; and 
 the declivity, which is opposite to its pre- 
 cipice, being perfectly regular, is loaded 
 with a thick layer of snow, which pre- 
 sented me its side, hollowed into a dozen 
 contiguous caverns, whose exactly semi- 
 circular vaults appeared to be so many 
 arches intended to support it. This 
 needle belongs so evidently to the Mala- 
 detta, that the people of the country do 
 not distinguish it by any other name. 
 
 Hereabouts the river of the valley makes 
 an angle ; and we separated from it to 
 descend a rock of white marble, the de- 
 clivity of which was somewhat alarming, 
 being directed towards a precipice. This 
 marble is the same as is found all round 
 the Maladetta, the same as that of the 
 Penna Blanca : it is every where exposed 
 and in ruins, and at every step displays the 
 10 remains
 
 OF THE GARONNE. 29 1 
 
 remains of one of the great coverings of 
 the mountain. 
 
 Beneath this rock, I found myself on 
 the borders of an oval bason, hollowed to 
 more than a depth of 80 feet in a living 
 mass of calcareous rock, which seems to 
 be disposed in great horizontal strata. The 
 highest of these are finely broken, are co- 
 vered with knotty and twisted pines, and 
 project over the bottom of the precipice. 
 All the waters which flow from the side of 
 the mountains fall into this bason. A 
 river, produced by their union, rolls lightly 
 over the meadows which we had traversed 
 in different directions, and descends to- 
 wards the circus in a beautiful cascade, 
 which, for the first time, interrupts the 
 rapid equality of its course. Arrived 
 within the inclosure, it winds about it, 
 and seeks in vain an issue. It then re- 
 turns upon itself, and, re-approaching its 
 entrance, is suddenly arrested in a gulph, 
 for many ages the receptacle of its waters, 
 and is there absorbed. 
 
 u 2 From
 
 293 ONE OF THE SOURCES 
 
 From tins spot, at the same time that I 
 saw the torrent lose itself, I could see 
 also a part of its sources and course. I 
 could see two torrents of an equal volume 
 uniting with each other in the meadow. 
 The one descending from the snows of a 
 high valley, near the summit at which I 
 had arrived, the other, originating in a 
 valley much less desolate, and rolling in 
 long cataracts to the level of the meadow. 
 Behind it were many tufts of pines on 
 islands of rock. All these torrents, as 
 well as that which I had passed in the 
 morning, are so many of the sources of the 
 Garonne. The gulph which absorbs them, 
 restores them to the valley of Artigue 
 Telline, the spot where they issue being 
 reputed one of the sources of this river ; 
 
 d in fact the Garonne of Artigue 
 
 an 
 
 n' 
 
 Telline soon unites itself with that of Viel, 
 which is already formed in a great measure 
 by the torrents on the back of the Mon- 
 tagnes Maudites and their dependents. 
 At issuing then from the valley of Aran, 
 it is indebted for the greatest part of its 
 
 waters
 
 OF THE GARONNE, 293 
 
 waters to these mountains, as yet but 
 little known. 
 
 I remarked at the side of the circus a 
 cavern like a well, the bottom of which 
 is always filled with snow, and forms a 
 natural glacier. What rendered this cavern 
 more remarkable, was, that it announced 
 a disposition of strata in the rock of the 
 circus entirely different from the horizon- 
 tal one ; and thus, as M. de Saussure has 
 so often observed in the Alps, I had occasion 
 to observe, that there is nothing less con- 
 clusive, than this division of rocks and 
 layers parallel to the horizon, for deter- 
 mining the true situation of their original 
 strata. 
 
 We made the tour of the circus ; and, on 
 our arrival at the opposite point of it, 
 directed our course towards the eastern 
 mountains, leaving to our right the mea- 
 dow and its river. To the left, there 
 rose a long wall of calcareous schists in 
 ruins, and underneath it could be dis- 
 tinguished the marble and grey calcareous 
 u 3 stone,
 
 294 0NE OF THE SOURCES 
 
 stone, supported by the granite. The 
 marble shows itself also to the right above 
 the granite, but scarcely above the surface 
 of the earth. The inclination of the plane 
 towards the Maladetta is here very evident. 
 The soil which I trod was calcareous, and 
 of a cavernous nature. Sometimes I could 
 hear the waters rolling under my feet ; 
 sometimes I met with deep holes which 
 open from the long and winding cavities 
 which are natural to this rock, or from long 
 and accidental crevices which have been 
 filled up with its enormous fragments. 
 These fragments are full of small holes, in 
 the same way as the entire mass is full of 
 caverns. 
 
 From hence, we mounted a little towards 
 the rocks, which form towards the bottoms 
 the boundary of these deserts, and are 
 commanded by a peak of a rude and 
 beautiful form called the Toro. At our 
 arrival near its base, we had to climb some 
 toises of the cellular stone of this region. 
 It is a scale of rocks of very easy ascent 
 for a man, but offers a path so different 
 
 from
 
 OP THE GARONNE. 295 
 
 from those in which animals of a certain 
 size are accustomed to exercise their 
 address, that my guide would have thought 
 himself wanting to the wonders of his 
 country, had he not informed me that the 
 cows of Venasque are accustomed to ascend 
 it. When very young, they learn to pass 
 it on the steps of their mothers. It is a 
 perilous adventure for them ; but the result 
 is so much glory, that had not the self- 
 love of the mountaineer prevailed over the 
 national amour propre of my guide, he 
 would not readily have borne so honorable 
 a testimony to the prowess of the cows of 
 Spain. 
 
 Above this rock may be found, by 
 turning to the left, a crest which is the 
 most elevated point of the valley of 
 Venasque, and from whence there is a 
 descent towards that of Aran. Here, 
 therefore, we pass the limits of Arragon, 
 and enter within the dependencies of 
 Catalonia. 
 
 v 4 One
 
 2C)6 DESCENT INTO THE 
 
 One of the first objects to be remarked 
 in the descent is a great and beautiful 
 lake, commanded to the right by a peak of 
 the boldest form, named the Pomeron. 
 The lake also assumes this name. It is 
 discharged into a smaller lake, the waters 
 of which disappear under a mass of schist, 
 but make their appearance again, though 
 at a considerable distance, in the form of a 
 torrent, which falls into the lower valley. 
 These lakes, with the bason, the naked 
 rocks, and the ruins which accompany 
 them, form altogether one of the most 
 melancholy landscapes that I have ever 
 met with. 
 
 The fog, which had surrounded me at 
 the summit of the Maladetta, had de- 
 scended by degrees to the level of this 
 gorge. All on a sudden the mountains 
 disappeared, and in a couple of seconds 
 the lake also was swallowed up. The mist 
 was flying with such rapidity as not to 
 allow me time to draw the attention of my 
 guides to the singular spectacle which 
 struck me on its first appearance. The 
 1 1 cloud
 
 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLINE. 297 
 
 cloud was opening and closing again with 
 equal promptitude. Sometimes it was the 
 summit of the peak, sometimes the bottom 
 of the valley that were to be seen through 
 its divisions. It stopt only once, and then 
 covered the whole of the country about us, 
 but showed us, through a circular opening, 
 the rich and fertile declivity of the moun- 
 tains of the valley of Aure. This appari- 
 tion, which had something of magic in it, 
 lasted but for a moment, and was the last. 
 Scarcely could we perceive one another. 
 The world was at an end at three steps 
 before us, and we were marching over its 
 ruins. A rapid declivity, which on the 
 right conducted to the lake, and at the 
 same time plunged before us into the deep 
 vallies of which we had a glimpse through 
 the clouds, together with a soil on which 
 the ruins of the neighbouring mountains 
 presented us a mingled mass of the rocks 
 of their summit, their flanks and entrails, 
 every thing, in fine, concurred to render 
 the descent most dangerous ; at the same 
 time, the obscurity redoubling at every 
 
 moment,
 
 298 DESCENT INTO THE 
 
 moment, might have rendered any tardi- 
 ness of consequence. 
 
 The hunter who conducted us was per- 
 fectly acquainted with the passage. He 
 marched before and directed us with his 
 voice, for at every moment we were losing 
 sight of one another. The mass of ruins 
 over which we were passing, appeared to 
 be so extraordinary a mixture of schistous 
 rocks of every kind, that I could not but 
 stop from time to time to break some 
 pieces of them. How much did I regret 
 that I was deprived of the sight of the 
 mountains which have covered this ravine 
 with their ruins, and that I could not ob- 
 serve the general disposition of the strata 
 upon the fragments of which I trod. But 
 this was so much gained for the safety of 
 the march : where a single false step might 
 have been fatal, it was fortunate that the 
 soil should have attracted my attention. 
 
 This dangerous descent led us to a pas- 
 ture ; and as the thick fog which had sur- 
 rounded us was much less prompt than 
 
 we
 
 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLINE. 299 
 
 we were to disengage itself from the laby- 
 rinth of these upper gorges, it remained 
 suspended over our heads. 
 
 In passing suddenly from night to day, 
 we had at the same time past from a scene 
 of the wildest to one of the most smiling 
 nature. All the declivities were covered 
 either with herbage or forests, and de- 
 scended rapidly towards the lower vallies, 
 which I beheld uniting underneath me, 
 and conveying each in its turn to the 
 great valley which rises from their union 
 the torrent which concurs to form its river. 
 The sun was now descended towards the 
 west, and almost cloudless. It enlightened 
 a vast extent of horizon, composed entirely 
 of rounded summits, submitted henceforth 
 to man and the animals of his dominion, 
 which, descending gradually towards the 
 plains, appeared to expire there, like the 
 high waves of the ocean against a distant 
 shore. 
 
 The Rosa Alpina covered almost the 
 whole of this declivity. Its little roses, 
 
 with
 
 300 DESCENT INTO THE 
 
 with their agreeably varied colours, tinged 
 the green extent beneath us, and the air 
 was still perfumed with them for a long 
 time after we had ceased to tread them. 
 Never had I beheld till now so vigorous a 
 vegetation on the mountains. The plants 
 seemed to dispute possession of the soil. 
 The very fragments of marble, which form 
 the rocks that rise above this pasture, 
 cannot descend upon its declivities with- 
 out being stopped by tufts of herbs and 
 shrubs ; and scarcely are they settled, be- 
 fore they are interlaced in every direction 
 by the vegetative powers, at the same time 
 that they afford defence from the wind, the 
 cold, and the waters, to a variety of 
 aromatic plants which spring up at their 
 feet. 
 
 Oar steps were failing us at every mo- 
 ment upon the vegetable soil of this de- 
 clivity ; and it was not without frequent 
 falls, to which the nature of the ground 
 contributed as much as the quickness of 
 our march, that we reached the forests 
 beneath us. 
 
 The
 
 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLINE. 3d 
 
 The virgin soil of those deserts, whose 
 solitude has never been violated, cannot 
 have a more beautiful clothing than this 
 descent has. The immense height of the 
 trees, the luxuriance of their foliage, the 
 size of their ancient trunks, which are half 
 destroyed and covered over with moss, the 
 interfacings of a thousand parasite plants 
 upon them, the strength of those which at 
 their feet have sought a shelter against 
 the air and light, every thing, in fine, dis- 
 plays the powers and the readiness cf 
 nature, to repair the injuries which are 
 done her. 
 
 We rapidly traversed these forests, and 
 upon their rich and humid soil our falls 
 seemed multiplied in proportion as they 
 became less dangerous. No one would 
 have recognized in our walk the steps of 
 persons accustomed to the worst passes of 
 the mountains. 
 
 We were now arrived at the valley of 
 Artigue Teliine. This valley is narrow, 
 and covered with wood. The torrent of 
 
 the
 
 302 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLINE. 
 
 the lake of Pomeron, disengaged at last 
 from its mass of schists, assumes a form 
 which is worthy of its origin, and rolls 
 from cascade to cascade towards the bottom 
 of the valley. We followed its course ; but 
 it was plunging rapidly into the bed which 
 it had digged itself, until on a level with 
 our path I beheld a cavern vomit forth the 
 torrent which I had seen absorbed by the 
 gulph of the Maladetta. It had lost no- 
 thing in its subterranean passage. Its waters, 
 spouting from the bosom of the earth in a 
 double source, soon afterwards unite, and 
 roll between the trees to the bottom of the 
 precipice. The most beautiful river of 
 the Pyrenees could not have had a source 
 more worthy of it. 
 
 From the spot where the Garonne re-ap- 
 pears, we proceeded almost upon level 
 ground, descending insensibly by a fre- 
 quented path. This path was continually 
 suspended over the precipice under which 
 the Garonne rolls, and shaded with those 
 forests which cover all the declivities of 
 the valley. We soon discovered some 
 
 huts
 
 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLINE. 303 
 
 huts surrounded with pastures, and shortly 
 after some small fields covered with corn ; 
 lastly appeared the hermitage, which 
 my guide had marked as the end of our 
 fatiguing journey. 
 
 The hermit was absent, but a house near 
 the hermitage afforded us a refuge, and 
 very opportunely so, for the clouds were 
 now descended from the mountains, and 
 when once detached had assumed the 
 swiftness which the wind impressed upon 
 them. Scarcely were we under shelter 
 before the valley was covered up, and the 
 storm had burst with that tumultuous 
 noise which the thunder and the waters 
 occasion in the sonorous labyrinth of such 
 retreats. 
 
 Tibullus, who is, I believe, an authority 
 in the records of voluptuousness, knew well 
 what charm the whistling of the wind and 
 noise of the rain, when heard from under 
 shelter, are capable of adding to the repose 
 and enjoyment of certain situations. My 
 happiness was certainly not accompanied 
 
 at
 
 304 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLlNlT. 
 
 at that time with all that contributed td 
 the enjoyment of the most amiable of the 
 Komans, but nothing at any rate was want- 
 ing, on the part of tempest, fatigue, or 
 previous privation j and as it is but just that 
 the enjoyments of a poor traveller in the 
 hiils should be much more simple than 
 those of the lover of Delia, to taste that 
 pleasure which he has described with so 
 much grace, it was sufficient for me that I 
 could hear the peals of the thunder, and 
 the noise of the cataracts, in a well-covered 
 house, and at the corner of a good fire, 
 where I was busy with my guide in pre- 
 paring our rustic supper of a couple of 
 dishes. On these we failed not to exercise 
 the best of our knowledge in the art of 
 cookery; and then our appetites were such 
 as the epicures of Rome might well have 
 envied. Our conversation, too, was plea- 
 sant with these good peasants, who after- 
 wards gave us up, at our request, their 
 hay-loft; and in this I passed one of those 
 peaceful nights, which the bounty of na- 
 ture so easily accords to him, who, asso- 
 ciating with simple men only, and possess- 
 ing
 
 VALLEY OF ARTIGUE TELLINE. 305 
 
 ing only their simple desires, is himself in 
 that happy state of freedom from cares 
 and fear, in which he may invite repose 
 by the fatigues of the body only.
 
 ( 3°7 ) 
 
 CHAP. XIL 
 
 VALLEY OF ARAN. PORT DE VIEL. — 
 
 PORTILLOJST. 
 
 HPHE valley of Artigue Telline, which 
 is every where narrow and covered 
 with wood, descends very rapidly from the 
 hermitage to the valley of Aran ; but 
 the level of the torrent, which occupies 
 the greater part of its bottom, is soon at- 
 tained, and the view from thence of its 
 woody declivities is delightful. 
 
 The road, however, which runs through 
 the valley, like all the roads of the middle 
 part of these mountains, is a sort of canal 
 continually deluged by the waters which 
 are destined for the irrigation of the mea- 
 dows. It is into this road that the higher 
 meadows discharge their waters ; it is by 
 this road also that the waters coast along 
 the lower meadows, and are ready to de- 
 scend into them, whenever they are wanted 
 x 2 there.
 
 308 VALLEY OF ARAN. 
 
 there. Thus the irrigation of the country, 
 which is practised in a much less indus- 
 trious manner than it is in the Alps, renders 
 all the roads nearly impracticable, for want 
 of a small canal at one of their sides. It is 
 in consequence a toilsome task for the pe- 
 destrian to avoid these currents of water ; 
 and he will find agility as requisite as habit 
 to enable him to travel whole leagues by 
 leaping from stone to stone, as the in- 
 habitants of the country are accustomed 
 to do. 
 
 In the greater part of the Alps of Swit- 
 zerland, the waters are an object of far 
 other consideration with the shepherd. 
 He takes advantage of the smallest 
 streamlet, and not only frees his roads 
 from them, but conducts them to spots, 
 where the shepherd of the Pyrenees would 
 never have imagined that they could have 
 been conducted. Rocks, whose surfaces 
 would never be covered but with meagre 
 pastures, and which are often inaccessible 
 to cattle, are frequently enriched with 
 beautiful meadows. If water be wanting 
 10 on
 
 VALLEY OF ARAN. 309 
 
 on the spot, he hollows out a number of fir 
 trees, and suspends them upon the sides of 
 his precipices with iron hooks or pieces of 
 wood, which he drives into the interstices 
 of the rock. These pipes convey the waters 
 of the neighbouring streams, and become 
 the pathway of the cultivator of such iso- 
 lated spots. The hay which he grows on 
 them he ties together firmly in small 
 bundles, and, precipitating it to the bottom 
 of the vallies, transports it to his habitation. 
 
 A beautiful village, in a wild but very fine 
 situation, is seen at the mouth of the valley 
 of Artigue Telline. Here we pass the Ga- 
 ronne, upon the first stone bridge which 
 connects its banks, and have a view of the 
 beautiful bason of the valley of Aran, in 
 which the hamlet of Viel is situated. It is 
 here that the two Garonnes follow the 
 destiny of their two vallies. Alike in vo- 
 lume and rapidity, their waters are here 
 intermingled, and henceforward it is a river 
 that we see. It still partakes of the nature 
 of a torrent, because it is still in the vici- 
 nity of its source, and its impetuous surges 
 x 3 murmur
 
 3 1 ' 
 
 VALLEY OF ARAN. 
 
 murmur against the rocks, which in the 
 fury of its inundations it annually drags 
 away with it. It is nevertheless already 
 subject to man, and serves to transport 
 the timber which is cut upon the declivity 
 of the neighbouring hills. The valley re- 
 sounds incessantly with the shocks of these 
 trunks, as they are dashed with violence 
 against the rocks of its current. In this 
 way it descends, towards St. Beat, above 
 which it receives the Pique de Luchon. 
 From thence it flows to Montrejean, and, 
 augmented by the waters of the Neste, passes 
 afterwards under St. Gauden's, a town de- 
 lightfully situated, and the key of this 
 high part of the Pyrenees. Here it re- 
 ceives the waters of the Conserans and 
 the county of Foix, before effectuating, 
 as it does at Toulouse, the junction of the 
 two seas. From thence it inclines towards 
 the ocean ; and, abandoning to the Gave 
 the waters of all the western part of the 
 Pyrenees, but swoln with those of the 
 mountains of Languedoc and Auvergne, 
 advances majestically towards the sea, of 
 whose movements it already partakes. 
 
 If
 
 PORT DE VIEL. 3II 
 
 If we ascend the principal branch of 
 the valley of Aran from that of Artigue 
 Telline, as far as Viel, we find this town 
 situated in a rich and fertile bason, w T hich 
 is traversed by the Garonne, the most dis- 
 tant source of this river being in the 
 mountains of Peyre Blanque, towards the 
 west, by which it is separated from that of 
 Noguera Pallaresa. Another source of 
 the Garonne is in the Port of Viel itself, 
 the valley of which rises to the south, and 
 receives the waters of part of the Mon- 
 tagnes Maudites ; and as all the sources 
 of the Noguera are opposite to those of 
 the Garonne, the Noguera Ribagorcana is 
 found opposite to this last, which has been 
 mentioned. The marble of the Maladetta, 
 the same which every where surrounds the 
 Montagnes Maudites, re-appears at the 
 Port of Viel in considerable masses ; and 
 the granite, which the torrents there- 
 abouts bring down, belongs to the enor- 
 mous primitive rocks on which it rests. I 
 have no reason for believing that there is 
 any summit in the valley of Aran, of equal 
 importance with that of the Maladetta. 
 x 4 My
 
 312 
 
 PORT DE VIEL. 
 
 My observations, indeed, would lead me 
 to conclude, that this mountain commands 
 all those whose waters concur to the forma- 
 tion of the Garonne, with sufficient supe- 
 riority to make it regarded as the term of 
 the most elevated band of the chain. 
 
 I have represented the chain of the 
 Pyrenees as formed of different bands of 
 mountains, which rise by degrees to the 
 very crest of the chain. I shall now 
 attempt to develop this observation, with 
 all the precision of whch it is susceptible. 
 
 In order, therefore, to conceive a just 
 idea of these bands, we must imagine 
 each primordial mountain as forming, 
 together with the ruins of the secondary 
 strata which rest upon it, a link of the 
 great chain, so that in the actual state of 
 the mountains it composes, with its de- 
 pendents, a small chain more or less parallel 
 to the general chain, and this of such 
 description, that the primitive mountain is 
 ordinarily its most elevated point, and the 
 secondary mountains which belong to it 
 
 descend
 
 PORT DE VIEL. 313 
 
 descend as they expire in the universal 
 direction of the strata and stages of their 
 rocks. It results from -this disposition, 
 that the chain must be composed of many 
 bands, each of them much shorter than 
 itself, which are interlaced in such a man- 
 ner, that each of them is lost between two 
 others, and that every rank of the chain, 
 from that which is nearest the plain to the 
 most elevated point of the whole, being 
 formed of these smaller chains thus inter- 
 laced together, the crest of the Pyrenees, 
 and that of every other mass of mountains, 
 must describe a curve continually bending 
 backwards and forwards, as the line of 
 demarcation passes from one chain to 
 another, and from the rank which expires 
 to that which is ascending. 
 
 In a chain, however, which is sensibly 
 more steep on one side than on the other, 
 these windings cannot be traced on the 
 two sides without different consequences. 
 The crest of the mountains is designed by 
 the succession of summits which are 
 nearest each other in situation and in 
 
 height,
 
 314 FORT DE VIEL. 
 
 height, and the northern part, which de- 
 scends more insensibly than that to the 
 south, will furnish summits opposite to 
 almost all the interstices of the upper 
 cordon. We cannot, therefore, fail to per- 
 ceive, that the crest of the Pyrenees must 
 commonly be formed of more elevated 
 summits when it bends to the south, than 
 when it turns to the north. We should 
 expect also to find its more considerable 
 masses of granite to the south, and its 
 calcareous accumulations more common to 
 the north ; and indeed in the passage from 
 one chain to another, we shall perceive the 
 reason of the alternation of granitic and 
 calcareous mountains succeeding each 
 other at the crest of the Pyrenees, an 
 alternation very singular, when we con- 
 sider the enormous elevation of the latter. 
 We shall no longer be astonished to see the 
 crest composed of marble from Vignemale 
 to Mont Perdu, of granite between this 
 mountain and the Port of Bielsa, then 
 again of secondary matter, and further on 
 of granite, the granite again disappearing 
 at the port of Pez, and re-appearing at that 
 
 of
 
 POUT DE VIEL. 315 
 
 of Clarbide, and of Oo, and so on. Each 
 of these isles of granite in fact is a dis- 
 tinct chain, which with its accessaries 
 forms a small separate chain ; and nature 
 has impressed upon them the character of 
 their respective independence, by distin- 
 guishing the banded granite of the region 
 of mountains which rises between the 
 towers of the Marbore and the Port of 
 Bielsa, from the granite with great crystals 
 of feld-spath, which forms the base of the 
 mountains of Clarbide and of Oo, and 
 this again from the simple granite of the 
 Maladetta. 
 
 It cannot, however, be dissembled, that 
 the Marbore is an exception to many of 
 the rules which I might have otherwise 
 established; and in what general consi- 
 derations does it not present itself as an 
 exception ! Not only is it seen, although 
 calcareous, in the highest rank of the most 
 southern inflexions of the chain, but it 
 composes also the crest of itself, and not 
 as the dependent of a primordial moun- 
 tain. We cannot perceive to what mass 
 
 it
 
 316 PORT DE VIEL. 
 
 it may be referred, or in what class it may 
 be ranged. Continually in opposition 
 with every thing about it, it rears to the 
 clouds its horizontal strata ; and this in 
 the very region where the strata of all the 
 other mountains are vertical. At the 
 same time, it affects the form of those moun- 
 tains which are the most distant from the 
 centre of the chain, and an elevation which, 
 perhaps, is not equalled in any other part 
 of the crest. Foreign to everv surround- 
 ing object, it appears to be a work of it- 
 self: one would think that the Pyrenees 
 were finished when it was made. The 
 calcareous mountains with vertical strata, 
 in the middle of which it is situated, were 
 placed before the formation of the Mar- 
 bore, upon those mountains of granite 
 which are seen to plunge beneath them ; 
 and this singular mountain, whose inferior 
 strata appeared to me to partake of the 
 inclination of the soil upon which it is laid 
 down, and whose layers, in proportion as 
 they rise above this support, resume the 
 structure and appearance of a tranquil de- 
 posit of the waters, would, from this their 
 
 stricture,
 
 PORT DE VIEL. 317 
 
 structure, as well as from their substance, 
 afford sufficient reason for believing that it 
 is the production of anterior calcareous 
 matter, re-dissolved, and again deposited. 
 Thus the greatest mass which is formed in 
 the Pyrenees, has originated, perhaps, 
 from an accident, and the most considerable 
 heights of the whole chain must be recog- 
 nized as a tertiary production. 
 
 From the Port of Viel, and the prin- 
 cipal sources of the Garonne, as well as 
 the Noguera, the crest of the Pyrenees 
 has the most considerable curvature of any 
 in the chain. The high rank of the upper 
 mountains expires, and we must go back 
 considerably to the north, to rind the li- 
 mits of the two kingdoms in a much less eler 
 vated rank of mountains, which are the 
 prolongation of an inferior band of primi- 
 tive rocks. The Mont Vallier, which is 
 near the point of union of the two ranks, 
 appears to be the highest summit of this 
 cordon, which hereabouts descends very 
 rapidly; but the chain, after having suf- 
 fered this degradation for the space of 
 
 about
 
 318 PORT DE VIEL. 
 
 about thirty thousand toises, rises again 
 in the county of Foix, turns to the south, 
 and forms, as it were, a new chain, which 
 throws out extensive branches into Lan- 
 guedoc, and regains, in the western part 
 of Roussillon, the greatest heights which 
 it can acquire at such proximity to the 
 sea. The mountains near the Col de la 
 Perche, and the sources of the Segre, may 
 be, as is generally believed, the highest 
 degree of this part of the Pyrenees ; but 
 unless there exists, in the multiplicity of 
 branches which coincide at this point, a 
 cause which should elevate the crest, their 
 height can by no means equal that of the 
 mountains of the centre, since the Cani- 
 gon, which is in the second rank of the 
 chain, is but 1441 toises high, whilst the 
 Pic du Midi of Bigorre, which is only in 
 the third rank, exceeds it in height by 60 
 toises. 
 
 In considering the whole of the Pyrenees, 
 then, I should say that they are composed 
 of two principal chains. The one be- 
 ginning near the ocean, and terminating 
 
 at
 
 TORT DE VIEL. 3 I 9 
 
 at the Maladetta, the other succeeding it 
 and extending to the Mediterranean. 
 Their direction is parallel, — the greatest 
 height of each nearer their eastern than 
 the opposite extremity, — and the first of 
 them, that which attains the greatest eleva- 
 tion, in consequence of its situation to the 
 south of the other. 
 
 The valley of Aran being situated to- 
 wards France, was marked by nature as 
 belonging to that country, but the oddity 
 of its situation, between the commence- 
 ment of one chain and the ending of 
 another, has not failed to weaken the im- 
 periousness of the distributions of nature, 
 wherever they are precisely marked. How- 
 ever this may be, it was united, in conse- 
 quence of a marriage, to the kingdom of 
 Arragon in 1192. At present it makes a 
 part of the county of Catalonia ; but its 
 inhabitants have preserved a variety of 
 relations with their French neighbours, and 
 have much resemblance to them. Their 
 language even yet partakes of this con- 
 nexion,
 
 320 POltTILLON. 
 
 nexion, and essentially differs from the 
 Spanish. 
 
 A number of communications are opened 
 between the valley of Aran and that of Lu- 
 chon, which are sisters as to origin, their 
 waters being united. The highest of these 
 communications is that by which I entered 
 the valley of Luchcn. It is situated a little 
 above Bososte to the north of the ruins of 
 Castel Leon, which we took from the Spa- 
 niards in the war of the succession. This 
 communication is named Portiilon. It rises 
 by a rapid path which is frequented bybeasts 
 of burden, and here we meet with a rock 
 from whence may be enjoyed a magnificent 
 view of the most beautiful part of the valley 
 of Aran, Bososte being directly under our 
 feet. From hence I cast a glance over the 
 southern mountains ; and when I reflected 
 that the descent is continual as far as the 
 very foot of the Portiilon, I could not 
 without astonishment consider the enor- 
 mous extent of the base of the Maladetta, 
 which on the one side contains all the 
 rocks which descend towards the town of 
 
 Venasque
 
 PORTILLON. 321 
 
 Venasque and the Port of Viel, and on 
 the other comprehends the valley of Aran, 
 and its dependencies, as far as Bososte, 
 with that of Luchon as far as Bagneres : 
 this altogether forms a circle of about fif- 
 teen thousand toises in diameter. 
 
 The limits of Spain are at the summit of 
 thePortillon, which is butof small elevation. 
 This mountain, nevertheless, has a base 
 of granite which is very visible, and it 
 appears that the band to which it belongs, 
 after growing narrower in the valley of 
 Aran, acquires the superiority on the 
 other side, and then becomes the crest of 
 the Pyrenees, by forming the chain "which 
 is substituted for that which expires at the 
 Maladetta. 
 
 The descent from the Portillon is so 
 rapid as to require a winding path. This 
 path, however, has not cost the ravine 
 which it descends either a single tree or 
 a single stone, and is probably the result 
 of the address of mules rather than that of 
 the industry of man. 
 
 r Below
 
 3 22 PORTILLON. 
 
 Below this descent are found the charm- 
 ing meadows of Saint Mammet, contracted 
 within a narrow valley, between mountains 
 which are covered with thick forests of 
 beach and oak. The rocks themselves, 
 which are scattered over the declivity, are 
 loaded with trees, and clad with verdure. 
 A more rural situation, or more tranquil 
 solitude, cannot be imagined. The Burbe, 
 which rises in the Portillon, traverses these 
 declivities : their inclination hastens, in- 
 deed, but does not irritate the course of 
 its stream. Mild and lively, like the Pique 
 with which it is soon united, it waters 
 these meadows without ever ravaging 
 them ; and even when it does overflow its 
 banks, it is far from destroying their 
 herbage, and gives them only a fresh 
 vigor. It resembles thus the Pique, 
 the Neste, the Adour, and many' of the 
 rivers of the Pyrenees, and is very dif- 
 ferent from those of the Alps, whose 
 inundations are almost always fatal, even 
 when they do not cover the soil with a 
 thick layer of flints and gravel. An ob- 
 server, whose opinions my own observa- 
 15 tions
 
 PORTILLON. 323 
 
 tions have very much tended to strengthen, 
 appears to me to have found the true rea- 
 son of this difference, when having per- 
 ceived that the ruins of schistous moun- 
 tains are those which are most commonly 
 brought down by the torrents (because it 
 is from these mountains that the largest 
 masses most frequently fall), he afterwards 
 discovered that the schists of the Pyrenees 
 are in general much harder than those of 
 the Alps, and less susceptible of decompo- 
 sition. The same observer has discovered 
 also, that there exist in Switzerland but 
 few quarries of slate, and that the slates 
 of that country are of a bad quality ; 
 at the same time he informs us, that 
 slate is found in great quantities in the 
 Pyrenees, and of an excellent quality; 
 that in the latter crystallizations and 
 veins of quartz abound. In the former are 
 to be found only crystallizations and veins 
 of spath, together with a calcareous earth 
 in large proportions, which hastens their 
 destruction, and being easily dissolvable 
 in water, the torrents, it seems, which 
 carry their cretaceous particles, are those 
 
 which
 
 324 TORTILLOlsr. 
 
 which deposit upon their borders a sterile 
 mud. 
 
 The Burbe unites with the Pique a little 
 above the tower of Castel Viel. Near the 
 spot where this union is effected, I as- 
 cended to the right upon the declivity of 
 the mountains to the summit of a rock, 
 from whence I perceived with pleasure 
 the whitened summits of the mountain of 
 Oo, and the ices which they present to the 
 east. From thence I regained the town, 
 and afterwards the valley of Bagneres, 
 where I terminated: this sketch, which I 
 have offered to the public, of the central 
 part of the Pyrenees. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Strahan and Preston, 
 Printers-Street, London.
 
 
 /^ 
 
 THE 
 
 \^'/&-z^C~ ° /j> /?ts. 
 
 LEPER 
 
 CITY OF AOSTE.
 
 THE 
 
 LEPER 
 
 CITY OF AOSTE 
 
 A NARRATIVE. 
 
 TRANSLATED l'itO.U THE FRENCH, 
 
 HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 PRINTED FOR GEORGK COWIE AND CO. IN THE 
 POULTRY. 
 
 1817- 
 
 \V. WlLSON, Printer, 4, Grtvilk'-Sfrect, London.
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 BY THE TRANSLATOR. 
 
 THE following little Tale, entitled " The 
 Leper of the City of Aoste," and which 
 has lately appeared in Paris, is yet scarcely 
 known to the French Public ; but it has had 
 the good fortune to fall into the hands of 
 some distinguished literati, by whom it has 
 been warmly admired. The Translator 
 caught their enthusiasm, and was sufficiently 
 affected with the narrative to feel the desire 
 of giving it an English dress. Although
 
 VI 
 
 long habit may render a foreign tongue as 
 familiar as our own, we love best to weep over 
 sorrows recorded in that language in which 
 our earliest emotions were felt, and our first 
 accents were uttered. This slight per- 
 formance is presented bij the Translator with 
 great diffidence to the English reader, (al- 
 though in France it has obtained the suffrage 
 of celebrated names,) since there are circum- 
 stances which may have rendered the critics 
 too indulgent. The great interests of the 
 revolution have led almost every eloquent 
 writer in this country to give to politics those 
 powers of mind, which, in calmer periods of 
 human history, would have been devoted to 
 more soothing meditations. When, therefore,
 
 VI 1 
 
 zee chance to meet with a few pages remote 
 from the Order of the Day, we delight, 
 perhaps, too much in the new sensations which 
 they excite. Sickened of the commotions of 
 states, and almost despairing of mankind in 
 the midst of their warring crimes and passions, 
 we turn willingly from the turbulence of pub- 
 lic calamity to hear the complaint of the poor 
 Leper, bewailing the unbroken stillness of 
 his solitude ; while we are ready to answer 
 his regrets in the words of the Traveller, 
 " Oh if you knew the world as I do !" 
 
 Upon the whole, we might perhaps apply 
 to this little production the observation of 
 Mr. Mackenzie, in his preface to the Man of 
 Feeling. " / was a good deal affected," he
 
 Vlll 
 
 says, " with some very trifling passages in it 9 
 and had the name of a Marmontel or a 
 Richardson been on the title-page, 'tis odds 
 that I should have wept. But — one is 
 ashamed to be pleased with the works of one 
 knows not whom."
 
 THE 
 
 LEPER 
 
 CITY OF AOSTE. 
 
 JL HE Southern part of the City of Aoste 
 is almost a desert, and appears to have 
 been never much inhabited ; cultivated 
 fields and meadows are terminated on one 
 side by ancient ramparts, which the Ro- 
 mans raised to serve as a boundary, and 
 on the other, inclosed by garden-walls. 
 This solitary spot may, perhaps, interest 
 some travellers. Near the gate of the town 
 are seen the ruins of an old castle, in which, 
 if popular tradition may be believed, the 
 
 B
 
 2 
 
 Count Piene di Chalans, in the fifteenth 
 century, excited by the fury of jealousy, 
 suffered his wife, the Princess Mencia, of 
 Bragance, to die of hunger ; whence the 
 name of Bramafare, which signifies the 
 cry of hunger, was given to this castle by 
 the people of the country. This record, 
 the authenticity of which may by some be 
 doubted, renders these ruins more interest- 
 ing to persons of sensibility, who confide 
 in its truth. 
 
 Further on, at some hundred steps dis- 
 tant, is a square tower, backed by an 
 ancient wall, and built with the marble 
 by which it was once covered ; it is called 
 the Tower of Terror, because the people 
 long believed it to be inhabited by ghosts. 
 The old women of the town of Aoste re- 
 member very well to have seen a tall wo- 
 man, in white, issue from thence in dark 
 nights, with a lamp in her hand.
 
 This tower was repaired, about fifteen 
 years since, by order of the government, 
 and surrounded with an enclosure, to lodge 
 a Leper, and thus separate him from so- 
 ciety ; procuring him, at the same time, 
 all the comforts of which his melancholy 
 situation was susceptible. St. Maurice's 
 Hospital was appointed to provide for his 
 subsistence, and some furniture was given 
 him, as well as the tools necessary to cul- 
 tivate a garden. There he long lived, 
 seeing no one but the priest, who at times 
 consoled him by his ministry, and the per- 
 son who every week carried him provisions 
 from the hospital. During the war of the 
 Alps, an Officer, who was at Aoste, pass- 
 ing, one day, by chance, near the Leper's 
 garden, the door of which was half open, 
 had the curiosity to enter : he found there 
 a man, simply clad, leaning against a tree, 
 in profound meditation. At the noise
 
 which the officer made in going in, the 
 recluse, without turning or looking towards 
 him, cried, in a mournful tone " Who is 
 there ; and what do you want of me ?" 
 " Excuse a stranger/' answered the mili- 
 tary man, " whom the agreeable aspect of 
 your garden has, perhaps, caused to com- 
 mit an indiscretion ; but who will in no 
 way disturb you." " Come no further !" 
 exclaimed the inhabitant of the tower, 
 making him a repulsive sign with his hand; 
 " come no further ! you are near an un- 
 fortunate man attacked with the leprosy ." 
 " Whatever be your misfortune," replied 
 the traveller, " I shall not withdraw on 
 that account ; I have never shunned the 
 unhappy. Nevertheless, if my presence 
 disturbs you, I am ready to retire." 
 
 " Be welcome then" said the Leper, 
 turning suddenly round, " and remain if 
 you dare, after having looked at me" The
 
 5 
 
 Officer was for some time motionless with 
 astonishment and terror, at the aspect of 
 this unfortunate person, whom the leprosy 
 had totally disfigured. " I will willingly 
 remain/' said he to him, " if you approve 
 the visit of a man, whom chance brought 
 hither ; but who is retained by a lively 
 interest in your sorrows." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Interest ! I have never excited any 
 feeling but pity/' 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " I should think myself happy if I could 
 offer you any consolation/' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " It is a great one to see mankind ; to 
 hear the sound of the human voice, that 
 seems to shun me/'
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " S ufter me then to converse a few mo- 
 ments with you, and to visit your dwelling." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Very readily, if it will give you plea- 
 sure." Speaking thus, the Leper covered 
 his head with a large beaver, the flaps of 
 which concealed his face. " Pass on," 
 added he, " to the Southern side. I cul- 
 tivate a small parterre of flowers, that may 
 please you ; you will find some which are 
 scarce : I have procured the grains of all 
 those which bloom wild on the Alps ; and 
 1 endeavour to make them flower double, 
 and to embellish them by cultivation." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " There are, indeed, some flowers, the 
 appearance of which is quite new to me."
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Remark this little bush of roses : this 
 is the rose without thorns, which grows 
 only on the higher Alps ; but it already 
 loses this property, and brings out thorns 
 when it is cultivated and multiplied." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " This ought to be the symbol of in- 
 gratitude." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " If any of those flowers please you, 
 you may take them without fear, and you 
 incur no risk in wearing them. I have 
 sown them, I have the pleasure of water- 
 ing them ; but I never touch them." 
 
 THE OFFICER, 
 
 " Why so r"
 
 8 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " I should be afraid of polluting them, 
 and I should no longer dare to offer 
 them." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " For whom are they destined ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " The persons who bring me provisions 
 from the hospital are not afraid of gather- 
 ing nosegays. Sometimes, also, the chil- 
 dren of the town come to the door of my 
 garden ; I immediately retire to my tower, 
 lest I should frighten, or do them mischief. 
 I see them playing from my windows, or 
 stealing some flowers. When they go 
 away, they lift up their eyes towards me : 
 ' Good day, Leper /' they cry, smiling ; 
 ;md that diverts me !"
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " You have a large collection of various 
 plants ; and here are vines and fruit-trees 
 of different sorts." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " The trees are still young ; I planted 
 them myself, as well as this vine ; I have 
 carried it up above that old wall, which is 
 broad enough to form a little walk : it is 
 my favourite resort. Go up those stone 
 steps ; it is a stair-case, of which I am the 
 architect : hold by the wall." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Charming retreat ! and how well fitted 
 for the meditations of solitude." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " I love it much. I see from hence the
 
 10 
 
 country, and the labourers in the field ; 
 I see what passes in the meadow ; and I 
 am seen by no one/' 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " I admire the tranquillity and stillness 
 of this spot : we are in a town, and we 
 may fancy ourselves in a desert/' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Solitude does not consist in being 
 amidst forests and rocks ; the unfortunate 
 are every where alone." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " What series of events brought you 
 into this retreat ? is this your country ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " I was born near the sea, in the prin- 
 cipality of Orseille ; and I have resided
 
 11 
 
 here only fifteen years : my history is one 
 long and unvaried calamity." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Have you always lived alone ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " I lost in my childhood my parents, 
 whom I never knew ; a sister remained to 
 me : she died within these two years. I 
 never had a friend/' 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Unhappy man !" 
 
 THE LEPEE. 
 
 " Such is the will of heaven." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 u What is your name ?"
 
 12 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Alas! my name is terrible. I am 
 called the Leper ! the world is ignorant of 
 the name which I hold from my family, 
 as well as of that which religion gave me 
 on the day of my birth. I am the Leper ! 
 This is my only title to the benevolence of 
 men : may they never know who I am !" 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Did this sister whom you have lost 
 live with you ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " She lived five years with me in this 
 habitation. Unfortunate like myself, she 
 shared my sorrows, and I endeavoured to 
 soften hers."
 
 13 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " What are now your occupations in 
 so profound a retreat ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " The details of the life of a solitary 
 man like me must seem monotonous in- 
 deed to a man of the world, who finds 
 his happiness in the activity of social 
 life." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Oh ! you know but little of this world, 
 which has never conferred happiness on 
 me! I often fly to solitude from choice, 
 and there is perhaps more analogy between 
 our ideas than you may think. I confess, 
 however, that an eternal solitude affrights 
 me ; I can scarcely conceive it "
 
 14 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " He who cherishes his cell will there find 
 peace ! The imitation of Jesus Christ in- 
 structs us. I begin to feel the truth of 
 those consolatory words, ' The feeling of 
 solitude is softened by labour ; the man 
 who labours is never completely unhap- 
 py ; of which I am a proof. During the 
 fine season, the culture of my garden and 
 parterre employs me sufficiently ; during 
 the winter I make baskets and mattresses, 
 and work at my clothes. I dress myself 
 the provisions brought me from the hos- 
 pital, and prayer fills up the hours that are 
 left me from labour. 
 
 " Thus the year rolls on, and when it 
 is gone it still seems to be short." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Why, I should think it must appear 
 to you an age."
 
 15 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Evils and sorrows make the hours 
 seem long, but years roll on with the same 
 rapidity. There is besides, at the last 
 point of misfortune, an enjoyment which 
 the world in general cannot know, and 
 which may seem singular ; it is that of 
 existing, of breathing. I have sat whole 
 days in summer motionless on this ram- 
 part, in the enjoyment of the air, and the 
 beauties of nature ; all my ideas are then 
 vague, and floating ; sorrow reposes on 
 my heart, without weighing it down ; my 
 eyes wander over this country, and the 
 rocks that surround it. Those various 
 aspects are so impressed on my remem- 
 brance, that they form as it were a part of 
 myself, and every spot is a friend, that I 
 view with pleasure every day."
 
 16 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " I have often felt something similar 
 when sorrow oppresses me, and I find not 
 in the hearts of others the sympathy I seek. 
 The aspect of nature and of inanimate 
 things consoles me ; I feel an affection for 
 rocks and trees, and it seems to me that 
 all the objects of creation are friends which 
 God has given me." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " You encourage me to define my own 
 sensations. I really love the objects which 
 seem destined to be my companions for 
 life, and which I see continually. Every 
 evening before I withdraw into my tower, 
 I come and salute the glaciers of Ruitors, 
 the gloomy forest of St. Bernard, and the 
 singular peaks that terminate the valley
 
 17 
 
 of the Rheme. Though the power of G od 
 is as visible in the creation of an ant as 
 in that of the whole universe, the sublime 
 view of the mountains makes a stronger 
 impression on my mind. I cannot see 
 those enormous masses covered with eternal 
 ice without feeling a religious awe; but 
 in the vast prospect that surrounds me I 
 have favourite spots, that I view with pre- 
 ference ; of this number is the hermitage 
 that you see yonder, at the top of the 
 mountain of Charvensod. Insulated 
 among the woods, near a desert field, it 
 receives the last rays of the setting sun. 
 Though I have never been there, I feel a 
 singular pleasure in beholding it. When 
 the day is on the decline, seated in my 
 garden, I fix my eyes on this solitary her- 
 mitage, and there my imagination reposes : 
 it is become for me a kind of property. I 
 
 seem to have a confused remembrance 
 
 c
 
 18 
 
 that I lived there formerly, in happier 
 times, the memory of which is effaced. I 
 love above all to contemplate the distant 
 mountains, which blend their summits with 
 the sky at the horizon. Distance, like the 
 future, excites in me the sentiment of hope; 
 my wearied heart believes that there exists 
 perhaps a country far off, where I shall at 
 last taste that happiness for which I sigh, 
 and which a secret instinct continually 
 presents to me as possible." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " With a mind so ardent as yours, you 
 must undoubtedly have made great efforts 
 to resign yourself to your destiny without 
 3 r ielding to despair/' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " I should deceive you did I suffer you 
 to believe that I am always resigned to
 
 19 
 
 my fate. I have not reached thai point 
 of self-denial which some anchorites have 
 attained. For me the complete sacrifice 
 of all human affections is not yet accom- 
 plished. My life has passed in continual 
 agitation, and religion itself is not always 
 capable of repressing the flight of imagi- 
 nation, which draws me on too often, in 
 spite of myself, into an ocean of chimerical 
 desires, that bring me back towards this 
 world, of which I have no idea, and of 
 which the fantastic image is always pre- 
 sent for my torment." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " If I could make you read in my soul, 
 and give you the same idea of the world 
 that I have, all your desires and regrets 
 would vanish in an instant."
 
 20 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " In vain have books instructed me in 
 the perversity of men, and the evils in- 
 separable from humanity ; m} r heart re- 
 fuses to believe them. I am for ever pic- 
 turing to myself societies of sincere and 
 virtuous friends, of congenial hearts, united 
 in connubial happiness, with all the gifts 
 of health, youth, and fortune. I think I 
 see those' favoured beings wandering to- 
 gether under greener and fresher foliage 
 than that which lends me its shade, en- 
 lightened by a sun more brilliant than that 
 which shines on me; and their destiny 
 seems to me more happy, in proportion 
 as mine is more miserable. In the begin- 
 ning of spring, when the winds of Pied- 
 mont blow over our valley, I find myself 
 penetrated by their vivifying heat, I feel 
 an inexplicable desire, a confused senti-
 
 21 
 
 ment of boundless felicity, which I might 
 participate, and which is refused to me. 
 I then fly from my cell, and stray into the 
 country, to breathe more freely. I avoid 
 being seen by those very men whom my 
 heart burns to meet ; and from the top of 
 the hill, concealed like a wild beast in the 
 underwood, I gaze upon the town of 
 Aoste. I see at a distance, with eyes of 
 envy, its happy inhabitants, who know me 
 not ; I stretch out my hands towards them, 
 and, moaning, ask of them my portion of 
 happiness. Shall I confess to you, that 
 in my delirium, I have sometimes clasped 
 in my arms the trees of the forest, praying 
 God to animate them for me, and bestow 
 on me a friend. But the trees are in- 
 sensible ; their cold bark repels me, — it 
 has nothing in common with my heart, 
 which palpitates and burns. Wasted with 
 fatigue, weary of life, I drag myself back
 
 22 
 
 to my retreat, I pour out my anguish be- 
 fore God, and prayer restores some calm 
 to my soul." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Alas ! my poor unhappy friend, you 
 suffer at once all the evils of soul and 
 body." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " The last are not the most cruel." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " They leave then some respite?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Every month they augment, and di- 
 minish with the course of the moon ; 
 when it begins to shew itself my sufferings 
 increase; the disease diminishes after- 
 wards, and seems to change its nature ; my
 
 23 
 
 skin dries and whitens, and I feel my pains 
 no longer. They would indeed always 
 be supportable, were it not for the fright- 
 ful sleepless nights which they occasion/' 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " What, does sleep abandon you ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Ah, sir ! the sleepless, sleepless nights I 
 you can ill conceive how long and melan- 
 choly is a night which a wretch passes 
 without closing his wearied eyes; his 
 thoughts fixed on the horror of his present 
 situation, and knowing that for him the fu- 
 ture is without hope ! No, none can com- 
 prehend it. My terrors augment as the 
 night advances ; and when it is near its close, 
 my agitation is such that I do not know what 
 is to become of me; my ideas are confused, 
 my heartthrobs with a strange feeling, which
 
 24 
 
 I never experience but in these sad mo- 
 ments. Sometimes an irresistible force 
 seems to drag me into an unfathomed 
 gulph. Sometimes I see black spots before 
 my eyes ; but while I gaze upon them, 
 they cross each other with the rapidity of 
 lightning ; they increase as they approach 
 me, and soon become mountains which 
 crush me beneath their weight. Some- 
 times I see clouds rising from the earth 
 around me, like waves that swell, heap 
 themselves together, and threaten to swal- 
 low me in their abyss. And when I en- 
 deavour to rise, and shake off those ideas, 
 I feel as if retained by invisible ties, which 
 deprive me of my strength. You will 
 think, perhaps, that these are dreams ; but, 
 no ; I am oroad awake. I see again and 
 again the same objects, and feel a sensa- 
 tion of horror, which surpasses all my 
 other evils."
 
 25 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " It is possible that you have a fever 
 during those cruel sleepless nights, and 
 which no doubt causes that kind of de- 
 lirium/' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " You think that this may arise from 
 fever ? Ah ! I wish it were so ! I have 
 been hitherto afraid that these visions 
 were a symptom of madness ; and I own 
 that this idea distressed me much : would 
 to God it were only fever!" 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " You interest me sensibly. I confess 
 that I never conceived an idea of a situa- 
 tion like yours ; nevertheless, I think it 
 must have been less melancholy when your 
 sister was alive."
 
 26 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " God himself only knows what I lost 
 by the death of my sister ! But are you 
 not afraid to be so near me ? Sit here on 
 this stone ; I will place myself behind the 
 foliage, and we will converse without see- 
 ing each other." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Why so ? no, you shall not quit me ; 
 place yourself near me." Speaking these 
 words, the traveller made an involuntary 
 motion to seize the hand of the Leper, who 
 withdrew it hastily. 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 u Imprudent man ! you were going to 
 lay hold of my hand."
 
 27 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " And if I had ? I should have taken 
 it with good will/' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " It would have been for the first time 
 that this happiness had been allowed me : 
 my hand was never pressed by any one !" 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Alas ! then except this sister of whom 
 you have spoken to me, you never had 
 any tie, you never were cherished by any 
 of your fellow-creatures ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Happily for humanity, I have no 
 longer a fellow-creature on the earth."
 
 28 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " You make me shudder." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Pardon, compassionate stranger; you 
 know that the unhappy love to dwell on 
 their misfortunes/' 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Speak, speak, unhappy man ! you 
 have told me that a sister formerly lived 
 with you, and helped you to support your 
 sufferings." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " This was the last tie by which I held 
 to the rest of mankind ; it has pleased God 
 to dissolve it, and to leave me insulated, 
 and alone in the midst of the world. Her 
 soul was worthy of heaven, which possesses
 
 29 
 
 it, and her example supported me against 
 the dejection which has often overwhelmed 
 me since her death. We did not live, 
 however, in that delicious intimacy of 
 which I had formed to myself an idea, and 
 which should unite unhappy friends. Our 
 evils were of a nature that deprived us of 
 this consolation ; even when we drew near 
 to pray to God, we mutually avoided 
 looking at each other, lest the sight of our 
 miserv should disturb our meditations: 
 and our eyes no longer dared to meet, but 
 uplifted together towards heaven. After 
 our prayers, my sister generally withdrew 
 to her cell, or under the nut trees which 
 terminate the garden ; and we lived almost 
 always separate." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " Why did you impose on yourself this 
 constraint ?"
 
 30 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " When my sister was attacked by the 
 contagious disease of which the whole of 
 my family had been the victims, and she 
 came to share my retreat, we had never 
 beheld each other. Her terror was extreme 
 on seeing me for the first time. The fear 
 of distressing her, the still greater fear of 
 increasing her disorder by approaching 
 her, compelled me to adoptthis melancholy 
 kind of life. The leprosy had attacked 
 only her breast, and I entertained hopes 
 of her being cured. You see the remains 
 of those intertwining stems which I have 
 neglected ; this was once a hedge of hops, 
 which I carefully kept up, and which di- 
 vided the garden into two parts. I had 
 made a little path on each side, along which 
 we could walk and converse together,
 
 31 
 
 without seeing, and without approaching 
 each other." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " One would think that heaven took 
 pleasure in poisoning the sad enjoyments 
 it had left you/' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " But at least I was not then alone ; 
 the presence of my sister gave life to this 
 retreat. I heard the sound of her steps in 
 my solitude ; when I returned at break of 
 day to pray to God under those trees, the 
 door of the tower opened softly, and the 
 voice of my sister mingled itself insensibly 
 with mine. In the evening, when I wa- 
 tered my garden, she sometimes walked 
 here at sun-set, on the very spot where I 
 am speaking to you ; and I saw her sha- 
 dow pass and repass over my flowers.
 
 32 
 
 Even when I did not see her, I found every 
 where traces of her presence. I now no 
 longer find in my path by chance a leaf- 
 less flower or a branch of a shrub, which 
 she has let fall in passing. I am alone ; 
 there is no longer life or movement around 
 me, and the path which led to her favourite 
 bower has already disappeared under the 
 grass. Without seeming to occupy her- 
 self about me, she studied with unwearied 
 attention whatever could give me pleasure. 
 Returning to my chamber, I was some- 
 times surprised to find pots of new flowers, 
 or some fine fruit, which she herself had 
 culled. I dared not render her the same 
 services ; and I had even conjured her 
 never to enter my chamber. But what 
 can set bounds to a sister's affection ? One 
 incident will suffice to give you an idea of 
 her attachment to me. I was walking 
 one night hastily in my cell, tormented
 
 33 
 
 with horrible pains. In the middle of the 
 night, having seated myself to repose a 
 moment, I heard a slight rustling at the 
 entrance of my chamber. I approach — 
 I listen : judge of my surprise ! my sister 
 was praying to God for me, on the 
 threshold of my door. She had heard my 
 complainings : her tenderness made her 
 fear to disturb me ; but she came to be 
 near me, and give me help in case of need. 
 I heard her recite in a low voice the 
 Miserere. I threw myself on my knees 
 near the door, and, without interrupting 
 her, followed her words mentally : my eyes 
 were filled with tears. Who would not 
 have been sensible to such affection ? 
 When I thought her prayer was finished, 
 ? Adieu ¥ said I to her, in a low voice ; 
 ' adieu, sister! you may withdraw; I 
 find myself better. God bless you! and 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 reward you for your pity/ She withdrew 
 silently; and her prayer no doubt was 
 heard, for I enjoyed afterwards some hours 
 of tranquil sleep." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " How mournful must the first days 
 have seemed to you which followed the 
 death of this cherished sister !" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " I was for a long time in a state of 
 stupor, which deprived me of the faculty 
 of feeling the whole extent of my mis- 
 fortune ; but when at length I was restored 
 to myself, and became sensible of my 
 situation, my reason almost forsook me. 
 That epocha will be ever doubly cruel for 
 me, since it recalls to my memory the
 
 35 
 
 greatest of my afflictions, and the crime 
 which was nearly being its consequence." 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " A crime ! I cannot believe you ca- 
 pable." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " It is but too true ; and, in relating to 
 you this event of my life, I feel that I 
 shall lose much in your esteem ; but I will 
 not represent myself better than I am, and 
 perhaps you will pity while you condemn 
 me. Even before this event, in some of 
 my melancholy moments, the idea of quit- 
 ting life voluntarily had suggested itself to 
 my mind ; but the fear of God always 
 restrained me, when a slight circumstance, 
 little fitted in appearance to disturb me,
 
 36 
 
 had nearly destroyed me for ever. I 
 met with a new affliction. Some years 
 previous to this period, a little dog had 
 wandered hither, and given himself to my 
 sister. We loved him, and I own that 
 when she existed no more, this poor ani- 
 mal became my consolation. We were 
 indebted no doubt to his ugliness for his 
 choice of our abode as a refuge : rejected 
 by every one, he was still a treasure in the 
 dwelling of the Leper. In gratitude for 
 the favour which heaven had granted us 
 in giving us this friend, my sister called 
 him Miracle : his name formed a whimsi- 
 cal contrast with his ugliness, and his ex- 
 treme gaiety had often cheered our soli- 
 tude. In spite of all my care, he some- 
 times strayed out ; but I never thought he 
 could toe hurtful to any one. Some in- 
 habitants of the town, however, took alarm,
 
 37 
 
 and thought he might carry among them 
 the germ of my disease. They made a 
 complaint to the commander, who ordered 
 my dog to be immediately killed. Sol- 
 diers, accompanied by several inhabitants 
 of the town, came hither to execute this 
 cruel order. They put a rope round his 
 neck before me, and dragged him away. 
 When he was at the garden gate, I could 
 not help looking at him once more. I 
 saw him turn his eyes towards me, as if to 
 ask me for help, which I could no longer 
 give him. They wished to drown him in 
 the Loire ; but the populace, who waited 
 for him without, assailed him with stones. 
 I heard his cries ; and I went back to the 
 tower more dead than alive ; my trembling 
 knees could scarce support me. I threw 
 myself on my bed in a state impossible to 
 describe. My grief did not permit me to
 
 38 
 
 see ia this just, but severe order, any thing 
 but an atrocious and useless act of bar- 
 barity ; and though I am at present al- 
 most ashamed of the feelings which then 
 overwhelmed me^ I cannot yet think of 
 this incident without emotion. It was 
 the last living creature which, had been 
 just torn from me, and this new stroke 
 made every wound of my heart bleed 
 afresh. 
 
 " Such was my situation, when the same 
 day, towards sun-set, I came to sit on the 
 stone where you are now seated. I re- 
 flected for some time on my unhappy lot, 
 when yonder, near those two birch-trees 
 which terminate the hedge, two young- 
 married people, who had lately been united, 
 advanced along the path across the mea- 
 dow, and passed near me. That delicious 
 tranquillity which assured happiness in-
 
 39 
 
 spires, was imprinted on their fine coun- 
 tenances ; they walked slowly ; their arms 
 were intertwined. Presently I saw them 
 stop ; the young woman bent her head on 
 the bosom of her husband, who pressed 
 her with transport in his arms. I felt my 
 heart sicken and grow chill within me : 
 envy glided for the first time into my 
 bosom. Never had the image of happi- 
 ness presented itself to me with such force. 
 I followed the lovers with my eyes to the 
 end of the meadow, and was going to 
 lose sight of them among the trees, when 
 cries of joy struck my ear. It was their 
 united families, who had come out to 
 meet them. I heard the confused mur- 
 mur of rejoicing ; I saw among the trees 
 the brilliant colours of their garments ; 
 and this whole group seemed encircled 
 with happiness. I could not support
 
 40 
 
 this sight; the torments of hell had entered 
 into my heart ; I turned away my looks, 
 and precipitated myself into my cell . Oh, 
 God ! how deserted, dark, and frightful it 
 appeared to me ! ■ It is here then/ said I 
 to myself, ' that my abode is fixed for 
 ever ! It is here that, dragging on a 
 miserable existence, I must wait the lin- 
 gering period of my days ! The Eternal 
 has spread happiness every where around ! 
 He has poured it in torrents on every thing 
 that breathes, and I — I alone! without 
 succour, without friends, without a com- 
 panion ! What an horrible destiny !' 
 
 " Full of these sad thoughts, I forgot 
 Him who gives consolation ; I forgot even 
 myself. ' Why/ said I, ' was light given 
 unto me ? why is nature unjust and nig- 
 gardly to me alone ? Like a disinherited 
 child, I behold the rich patrimony of the
 
 41 
 
 human family, and heaven refuses me my 
 share !' 6 No, no/ exclaimed I at last, in 
 a fit of rage, * there is no happiness for 
 thee on earth ! Die, unhappy wretch ! die ! 
 long enough hast thou sullied the earth 
 with thy presence ; may it swallow thee 
 up alive, and leave no trace of thy hate- 
 ful existence!' My madness gradually in- 
 creasing, the desire of destroying myself 
 took possession of my soul, and fixed all 
 my thoughts. I conceived at length the 
 fatal resolution of setting tire to my dwel- 
 ling, and of consuming every thing which 
 could leave any remembrance of me. 
 Agitated, furious, I walked out into the 
 fields ; I wandered for some time in the 
 shade around my habitation. Involuntary 
 howlings burst from my oppressed bosom, 
 and affrighted me in the silence of the 
 night. I flew back raging to my cham-
 
 42 
 
 ber, and crying out, ' Woe to thee, Leper ! 
 woe to thee !" and as if every thing would 
 have hastened my destruction, I heard the 
 echo, which amidst the ruins of the Castle 
 of Bramasan, repeated distinctly, ' Woe to 
 thee f I stopped, frozen with horror, at 
 the door of the tower, and the feeble echo 
 of the mountain repeated long after, f Woe 
 to thee r 
 
 " I took a lamp, and resolved to set 
 lire to my habitation ; I went down to 
 the lowest chamber, carrying with me some 
 brushwood and dry branches. It was the 
 chamber which my sister had inhabited, 
 and I had not entered it since her death. 
 Her arm-chair was still placed as when I 
 had lifted her out of it for the last time. 
 I shuddered at the sight of her veil and 
 parts of her garments, which were scat- 
 tered in the room. The last words she
 
 45 
 
 had pronounced on leaving it were pre- 
 sent to my thoughts — ' I will not forsake 
 you in dying/ said she ; ' remember that 
 I will be present in the day of anguish/ 
 Placing the lamp on the table, I perceived 
 the string of the cross which she wore 
 around her neck, and which she had her- 
 self placed between two leaves of her bible. 
 At this sight I stepped back full of holy 
 awe : the depth of the abyss in which I 
 was about to plunge presented itself on a 
 sudden before my unsealed eyes. I trem- 
 blingly drew near the sacred book : ' Here, 
 here/ cried I, ' is the help she promised 
 me !' And as I drew the cross from the 
 book, I found in it a sealed letter, which 
 my kind sister had left there for me. My 
 tears, restrained till then by desperation, 
 now flowed in torrents. All my fatal 
 projects vanished in a moment. I pressed
 
 44 
 
 for a long time this precious letter to my 
 bosom before I had power to read it, and 
 throwing myself on my knees to implore 
 the divine mercy, I opened it, and read» 
 sobbing, these words, which will be eter- 
 nally engraven on my heart — ' My brother, 
 I am about to leave you; but I will not aban- 
 don you. From heaven, where I trust I am 
 going, I will watch over you ; I will pray 
 God to give you courage to support life with 
 resignation, till it pleases Him to unite us in 
 another world ; then I may display all my 
 affection towards you. Nothing shall longer 
 prevent me from approaching you, and 
 nothing shall then be able to separate us. I 
 leave you this little cross, which I have worn 
 my whole life ; it has often consoled me in 
 my sorrows, and my tears have never had any 
 other witness. Remember, when you shall 
 see it that my last prayer was, that you should
 
 45 
 
 live and die a good Christian.' Cherished 
 letter ! it shall never quit me ; I will bear 
 it with me to the grave. It is this which 
 shall open to me the gates of heaven, 
 which my crime would have shut against 
 me for ever. When I had finished read- 
 ing it, I felt myself fainting, exhausted 
 by all I had undergone. I saw a cloud 
 spread itself before me, and for some time 
 I lost at once the remembrance of my af- 
 flictions, and the sentiment of my existence. 
 When I recovered, night was advancing. 
 As my ideas grew more clear, I felt a sen- 
 timent of ineffable calm ; all that had 
 passed in the evening seemed to me a 
 dream. My first impulse was to raise my 
 eyes to heaven in gratitude for having pre- 
 served me from the greatest of evils. 
 Never had the firmament appeared to me 
 so serene and beautiful ; a star shone be-
 
 46 
 
 Jure my window. I contemplated it for 
 a long time Avith inexpressible rapture, 
 thanking God that he granted me yet the 
 delight of beholding it : I felt a secret con- 
 solation in thinking that one of its rays 
 was destined for the cell of the Leper. 
 
 " I returned to my chamber more tran- 
 quil, and employed the remainder of the 
 night in reading the book of Job, and the 
 holy enthusiasm which it inspired dissi- 
 pated entirely the gloomy thoughts which 
 had beset me. I had never experienced 
 those desperate moments when my sister 
 was living ; it was sufficient for me to 
 know that she was near me to become 
 more calm, and the thought of the affec- 
 tion she bore me was enough to console 
 and give me courage. 
 
 " Compassionate stranger ! God pre- 
 serve you from ever being obliged to live
 
 47 
 
 alone ! My sister, my companion, is no 
 more ; but heaven will grant me strength 
 to support life with fortitude ; it will, I 
 hope, since I pray for it in the sincerity 
 of my soul/' 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 " How old was your sister when you 
 lost her ?" 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " She was scarcely twenty-five; but 
 her sufferings made her appear older. In 
 spite of the disease which carried her off, 
 and which had altered her features, she 
 would still have been beautiful, had not a 
 deadly paleness disfigured her ; she was 
 the image of living deadliness, and I could 
 never see her without a sigh/'
 
 48 
 
 THE OFFICER. 
 
 fl You lost her very young." 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 " Her feeble and delicate frame could 
 not resist so many accumulated evils. I 
 had perceived for some time that her loss 
 was inevitable, and such was her melan- 
 choly lot, that I was compelled to desire 
 it. Seeing her in a state of languor and 
 decline, I observed with bitter joy the ap- 
 proaching end of her sufferings. During 
 a month her weakness had augmented, and 
 frequent faintings hourly threatened her 
 life. One evening, it was towards the 
 beginning of August, I saw her so op- 
 pressed, that I could not quit her. She 
 was in her arm-chair, having been 
 unable to support the bed for some days
 
 49 
 
 past. I seated myself near her, and in 
 the most profound obscurity, we had our 
 last conversation. My tears continued 
 flowing ; a cruel foreboding seized my 
 heart. ' Why do you weep Y said she to 
 me ; ' why thus distress } 7 ourself ? I shall 
 not quit you in dying ; I will be present 
 with you in your agonies.' 
 
 " Some moments after, she expressed a 
 desire of being conveyed out of the tower 
 to repeat her prayers in her harbour of 
 nut-trees, where she passed the greatest 
 part of the summer-season. ' I wish to 
 die/ said she, ' while I am looking up to 
 heaven/ I did not think her last hour so 
 near. I took her in my arms to lift her 
 up ; ' Support me only/ said she, ' I shall 
 perhaps have strength to walk/ I led her 
 slowly to the nut-trees : I formed a cushion 
 with dry leaves which she had herself col-
 
 50 
 
 lee ted, and having covered it with a veil, 
 in order to keep off the dampness of the 
 night, I placed myself near her ; but she 
 desired to be alone in her last meditation. 
 I withdrew, but without losing sight of her : 
 I saw her veil lifted up at times, and her 
 white hands spread towards heaven. As 
 I drew near the arbour, she asked me for 
 water. I brought some in a cup. She 
 moistened her lips, but could not drink. 
 ' I feel my end approach/ said she, in 
 turning away her head ; ' my thirst will 
 soon be quenched for ever. Support me, 
 my brother ! aid your sister to pass this 
 desired, yet terrible passage! Support 
 me ! repeat the prayer for the dying !' — 
 These were the last words which she ut- 
 tered. I leaned her head against my 
 bosom ; I recited the prayer for the dying. 
 ' Pass on to eternity/ said I to her, ' my
 
 51 
 
 dear sister; free thyself from life — leave 
 thy remains in my arms.' — Dtirino- three 
 hours I supported her in the last struggle 
 with nature ; she sunk gently, and her soul 
 detached itself, without an effort, from the 
 earth/' The Leper, at the end of this 
 recital, covered his face with his hands, 
 and grief deprived the stranger of his voice. 
 After a moment's silence, the Leper arose : 
 " Stranger," said he, " when sorrow or 
 discontent shall approach you, think then, 
 oh! think of the recluse of the City of 
 Aoste, and you will not have made him 
 an useless visit." 
 
 They walked together towards the door 
 of the garden. When the officer was 
 about to depart, he put his glove on his 
 right hand ; " You have never clasped the 
 hand of any one," said he to the Leper, 
 "grant me that favour ; it is the hand of
 
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