'Twixt France and Spain; Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees

'Twixt France And Spain;

Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees

By

E. Ernest Bilbrough.

[Illustration: MAP OF THE PYRENEES (To accompany "TWIXT FRANCE & SPAIN") With the Principal Peaks, Rivers & Roads.]

Contents.

Chapter I.

Pau.

Trains and steamers--Bordeaux and its hotels--Lamothe --Morcenx--Dax--Puyoo--Orthez--First impressions of Pau--The hotels and pensions--Amusements--Pension Colbert--Making up parties for the Pyrenees--The Place Royale and the view--The castle of Pau and its approaches--Origin of name--Historical notes--The towers--Visiting hours--The tapestries--The wonderful bedstead--The delusive tortoiseshell cradle--The "Tour de la Monnaie"--The park--The Billères plains--Tennis and golf--The Route de Billères and the Billères woods--French _sportsmen_--Hunting--Racing--Lescar and its old cathedral--Fontaine de Marnières--The bands--The Parc Beaumont --Ballooning--The Casino--Polo--The cemetery--The churches of St. Martin and St. Jacques--The "old world and the new"--Rides and drives--to Bétharram--The start--Peasants and their ways--Vines trained by the roadside--Sour grapes--The "March of the Men of Garlic" --Coarraze--Henry IV.'s Castle--Bétharram--The ivied bridge--The inn--The "Via Crucis"--Assat and Gélos--The Coteaux--Perpignaa --Sketching with a donkey-cart--Over the Coteaux to Gan--The drive to Piétat--Picnicking and rejected attentions--The church--Feather moss--Bizanos--Carnival time--"Poor Pillicoddy" --"Idyllic Colbert."

Chapter II.

BagnèRes De Bigorre.

Backward spring--Hôtel Beau Séjour--Effect of the war of '70 on the English colony--The "Coustous"--The Church of St. Vincent--Géruzet's marble works--Donkeys--Up the Monné--Bains de Santé--Bains de Grand Pré--Salut Avenue and baths--"Ai-ue, Ai-ue"--Luncheon--Daffodils--The summit and the view--The "Castel-Mouly"--The Tapére--Mde. Cottin--Mont Bédat--Gentians--The Croix de Manse--"The Lady's Farewell to her Asinine Steed"--Market-day--The old iron and shoe dealers--Sunday--A cat fight--The English Church--To the Col d'Aspin--"The Abbé's Song"--Baudéan--Campan, its people and church--Wayside chapels--Ste. Marie--The route to Gripp, &c.--Payole--The pine forest--The Col d'Aspin--The view from the Monné Rouge--"The Plaint of the Weather-beaten Pine"--The Menu at Payole--Hurrah for the milk!--Departures--Divine music--Asté--Gabrielle d'Estrelle--The ivied ruins--The church-- Pitton de Tournefort--Gerde--The pigeon traps--The cattle market --The Jacobin tower--Theatre--Grand Etablissement des Thermes --Hospice Civil--Eglise des Carmes--Mount Olivet--Madame Cheval, her cakes and tea--Bigorre in tears

Chapter III.

Lourdes.

The journey to Tarbes--The Buffet and the Nigger--Lourdes station in the wet--Importunate "Cochers"--Hôtel des Pyrénées--"Red tape" and Porters--Lourdes in sunshine--Sightseeing--The "Rue de la Grotte"-- "The Cry of the Lourdes Shopkeepers"--Candle-sellers--The Grotto--Abject reverence--The Church--Saint Bernard--Interior of church--The panorama--Admirable effect--Rue du Fort--The castle--The view from the Tower--Pie de Mars, or Ringed Ousels

Chapter IV.

ArgelèS.

Road _v_. rail--Scenes, sublime and ridiculous--Hôtel d'Angleterre--Questions and "The Argelès Shepherd's Reply"--A forbidden path--The ride to Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous--Argelès church--Route Thermale--Ges--The tree in the path--"A regular fix"--Serres--"It's a stupid foal that doesn't know its own mother" --A frothing stream--A fine view--Pigs in clover--Salluz --Ourous--Contented villagers--The high road--The bridge on the Pierrefitte road--Advice to sketchers--"Spring's Bitters and Sweets"--The "witch of the hills"--Large green lizards--"Jeannette's Lamb"--Round the Argelès valley--Château de Beaucens--Villelongue-- Soulom--The old church--Hôtel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--St. Savin--The verger and the ancient church--Cagots--"The Organ's Tale"--St. Savin's tomb--The Château de Miramont--Jugged Izard--Market-day--Sour bread and the remedy--Arrival of the first parcel.

Chapter V.

Cauterets.

Hôtel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--The Gorge--Its majestic beauty--The resemblance to the Llanberis Pass--Mrs. Blunt becomes poetical--Zinc mines--Le Pont de Médiabat--Entering the town--The Rue Richelieu and Hôtel du Parc--Winter's seal upon them still--Thermes des Oeufs--Thermes de César--The Casino and Esplanade des Oeufs--A good dinner and the menu--The start for the Col de Riou--The Grange de la Reine Hortense--The pines--Miss Blunt's "Exhortation to the First Snow"--The dogs and their gambols--Defeated, but not discouraged--To the Cérizey Cascade--The baths of La Raillère, Petit St. Sauveur, and Le Pré--Cascade de Lutour--The Marcadau Gorge--Scenery--Pic de Gaube--At the Cérizey Cascade--The Pont d'Espagne and Lac de Gaube--Pont de Benqués--Lutour valley--Various excursions up same--The "Parc"--Allées de Cambasque--The Peguère--The "Pagoda" villa-- Promenade du Mamelon Vert--The road's up again--Blows and blasts--The bishop's arrival--Enthusiasm, pomposity, and benedictions--The pilgrims at large--They start on an excursion--The market and Hôtel de Ville--The grocer's opinion--Pyrenean dogs and their treatment--The dog-fancier--Smiles and temper--Bargaining displaced--No dog after all!

Chapter VI.

Luz And BarèGes.

Rain at starting--A blighted view, yet lovely still--Pont d'Enfer--Nature's voice--Sère and Esquiez--Luz--Its situation and status--An old house--The ancient church of the Templars--La Chapelle de St. Roch--Pyrenean museum--Hôtel de l'Univers--Château de Ste. Marie--"The Jackdaw's Causerie"--A new "diet of worms"--The new bathing establishment--To Barèges--Pic d'Ayré--Esterre--Viella --Betpouey--Mill conduits--Cercle des Etrangers--Opinion of the town--Grand Etablissement--Promenade Horizontale--Hospice de Ste. Eugénie--"The Jay of Barèges"--Wood anemones--Hepaticas--Valley of Lienz--Pic de Lienz--Pic d'Ayré's summit--Pic de Néouville--Mountain rhododendrons--_Anemone vernalis_

Chapter VII.

St. Sauveur.

Pont de Pescadère--Sassis--Gave de Gavarnie--St. Sauveur--Hôtel de France--Pont Napoléon--Napoleon's pillar--Bee orchids--Chapel of Solferino--The view from thence--Ne'er a hermit but for gold--Luz cemetery--Luz post-office--Short cuts--Pharmacie Claverie--Jardin à l'Anglaise--Ascent of Pic de Bergons--Villenave--The shepherds' huts--Lunch--Snow, its use and abuse--On foot--"Excelsior"--Dangerous footing--The last crest but one--The view--Gavarnie and Argelès in sight--A lazy guide--A "fast" bit--Mountain flowers--Mr. Sydney to the fore--A short walk and a good view--To Sazos and Grust--The bathing establishments--Sazos: the old church--The belfry--Chiming extraordinary--Various promenades--Gems of hill and vale

Chapter VIII.

Gavarnie.

A "falling glass"--The wonderful echo--Cascade Lassariou--Sia and its bridge--Pont de Desdouroucat--"Changing scenes"--Bugaret torrent--The Piméné--Bué--Gèdre--Brêche de Roland in the distance--The "Grotto"--Scenery at fivepence per head--Daffodils--Lofty summits--Cascade d'Arroudet--Chaos--Valley of the "Ten Thousand Rocks," Amoy--A dirty avalanche--The Sugar-loaf--Travellers' troubles --Importunate females--Hotel des Voyageurs--Poc--Guide or no guide--Chute de Lapaca--The guardian summits of the Cirque--Cascade du Marboré--Chandelles du Marboré--The Cirque--Its marvellous beauty--Reluctantly returning--"The Guide's Auction"--"Two women enough for a market, and three for a fair"--A Yankee tale--Sketching and flowers--Tempers and appetites

Chapter IX.

From Luz And St. Sauveur To BagnèRes De Luchon.

A smiling valley--Lourdes again--The chapel in the crypt--St. Peter's statue--Burnished toes--Solemn quietude--Preparing for the great pilgrimage--"Ornamented" crosses--Mr. Sydney's new vocation, "Guide, Philosopher, and Friend"--Bigorre again--An open-air concert --Harmonious echoes--Paying through the nose--The fête at Payole--Sport à la française--Costumes--The view from the Col d'Aspin--Arreau--Quaint houses--La Chapelle de St. Exupère--A whining "gardien"--Eglise de Notre Dame--The river Neste--Hôtel de France--Bordères--Avajan--Louderville--Oxslips and cowslips--Wild narcissus--Col de Peyresourde--The view--Garin--Cazaux--St. Aventin--Lovely avenues--Our destination

Chapter X.

BagnèRes De Luchon.

The bathing establishment and its surroundings--The lovely _Allées_--Montauban church and cascade--The Villa Russe and its genial host--Various excursions--Orphanage of Notre Dame de Rocher--The Vallée du Lys--The Rue d'Enfer and cascades--A lively scene--The view from Superbagnères--Loading wood--"The Oxen's Appeal"--Visit to the Orphanage--A "holy" relic--To Bosost--St. Mamet--"A stumbling-block"--Cascade of Sidonie--Horse tricks and jockey dodges--Lizards in flight--Fashion on a donkey--On the Portillon 'twixt France and Spain--The valley of Aran--Snug Bosost--A curious inn--Children with artistic bent--A bright pathway--Missing much, but thankful still

Chapter XI.

St. Bertrand De Comminges.

Keeping to old friends--Valley history--Entering the Garonne valley--The picturesque St. Béat--St. Béat to Viella--Memories of the lovely Thames--Baths of Ste. Marie--Loures--The cross-roads--Weak walls--Entering St. Bertrand--An ancient house--The inn--A charming garden--The cathedral--A national disgrace--"The Crocodile of St. Bertrand"--The tomb of Hugues de Chatillon--Travelling desecraters--St. Bertrand's rod--The ruined cloisters--Desolation--Swine feeding--Montrejeau--The buffet--No milk!--French railway officials--Trying experiences

Chapter XII.

Eaux Bonnes And Eaux Chaudes.

Carriage _v_. diligence--Early birds--Height of absurdity --Diminutive donkeys--A whitened region--"Crystal clear"--Washerwomen and their gamps--A useful townhall--A half-way house--Moralising--A much-loved pipe--An historic ruin--A noteworthy strong box--"Ici on rase"--Where are the bears?--Women in gaiters--Picturesque costumes--A lovely road--A "perfect" cure--A spring scene--A billiard-playing priest--A well-placed pavilion--The Valentin and its cascades-- Through solid rock--Gaps in the road--A grand scene--Wanted, an artist--A fine torrent--Professional fishers--Lucky guests --Musings--Poor Mr. Tubbins--Bonnes _v_. Chaudes--Over the Col de Gourzy--Peculiar teams--Guelder roses--Spinning

Chapter XIII.

Biarritz.

A warm ride--Bayonne--A "Noah's ark" landscape-- Amusements--Bathing--Shells--Cavillers--A canine feat--The pier and rocks--A restless sea--"The Three Cormorants"--Dragon's-mouth Rock--To the lighthouse--Maiden-hair ferns--Mrs. Blunt's adventure--The drive round the lakes--_Osmunda regalis_ ferns--The pine-woods near the bar--St. Etienne and the Guards' cemetery--Croix de Mouguère--Cambo and the Pas de Roland--Anemones--A fat couple--A French scholar--Hendaye-- Fuenterabia--A quaint old-world town--The Bidassoa--Pasages--San Sebastien--The Citadol and graves--The "Silent Sisters"--Raised prices--Parasols and spectacles

Chapter XIV.

Conclusion.

"Where duty leads"--Resorts in the Eastern Pyrenees--Caen--"Riou"--Our paths diverge--"The Lesson of the Mountains"--Farewell

* * * * *

Appendix A

Appendix B

Appendix C

Appendix D

Index

List Of Illustrations.

Map Of The Pyrenees

Dax

The Tower Of Moncade, Orthez

Pau (From The JurançOn Side Of The Gave)

The Castle Courtyard

In The Castle Park

The Pine Forest Near The Col D'Aspin

The "PalomièRes De Gerde"

Lourdes (A Small General View)

The "Old Fort" At Lourdes

On The Road To ArgelèS

A "REGULAR Fix" (by Miss BLUNT)

A Pretty Bit At ArgelèS

Cauterets

THE ASCENT OF THE COL DE Riou (by Miss BLUNT)

The Lac De Gaube

The Gorge Near Pierrefitte

The Ancient Church Of The Templars At Luz

The Castle Of Ste. Marie

BarèGes

St. Sauveur

PONT NAPOLÉON, ST. SAUVEUR (by Miss BLUNT)

The Village Of GèDre

The Chaos Near Gavarnie

The Cirque Of Gavarnie (In Summer)

"On The Tarees Road"

The Pearl In The Peerless Valley

THE CHURCH OF MONTAUBAN (by Miss BLUNT)

The Rue D'Enfer And The Cascades

On The Road To SuperbagnèRes

St. Bertrand De Comminges

THE CROCODILE OF ST. BERTRAND (by Miss BLUNT)

In The Old Church At Laruns

Cascade Du Valentin

Crabe Bridge, In The Eaux Chaudes Gorge

The Bious-Artigues

The Pic De Ger

The Rocks Of Biarritz

The Villa EugéNie

MRS. BLUNT'S ADVENTURE (by Miss BLUNT):--

SCENE I.--BEFORE THE START SCENE II.--THE ANCIENT STEED GREW YOUNG ONCE MORE SCENE III.--WHO'S MY DRIVER?

"MY PAW IS ON MY NATIVE HEATH, AND MY NAME IS 'Riou'" (by Miss BLUNT)

"SEE MORNING'S GOLDEN RAYS," &c.

"Towering Above The Plain"

Panorama Of The Cirque Of The ValléE Du Lys

Panorama Of The Pic Du MIDI De Bigorre

Preface.

It has been my endeavour in this volume to provide an illustrated gossiping Guide to the Spas of the Pyrenees. Unlike previous books on the same region, it deals with the resorts in spring, when they are most charming. A certain amount of detail--which is unavoidable in all guide-books--has been unavoidable here, and the rhymes have been introduced in the hope of lightening the reading. These rhymes, as a rule, have a distinct bearing on the subject under discussion; but they are inserted in such a manner that the reader can omit to read them--if he objects to such frivolities--without losing the sense of the prose.

Very little really fresh information has been gained about these beautiful mountains since Mr. Charles Packe published his 'Guide to the Pyrenees' in 1867: a few more springs have been discovered, a few more mountains have been successfully ascended, and the towns have gradually increased in size. There have been very few of those melancholy accidents that we so often hear of from Switzerland, because, probably, considerably fewer tourists attempt these mountains than attempt the Alps. In this volume no descriptions of scaling ice-walls, searching for the lammergeiers' nests, or any other great feats, will be found. It contains a plain account of what may be seen and done by any party visiting the mountain resorts in spring, without much trouble or fatigue; and the narrative form has been adopted throughout.

M. Doré's illustrations speak for themselves; and Miss Blunt's spirited sketches are a valuable acquisition.

The Appendices have been compiled with great care; and--at the suggestion of an experienced M.D.--brief comments on the chief springs at the various Spas, and their healing properties, have been included in the general information.

I beg to acknowledge my indebtedness to M. Joanne's 'Pyrenees' and Mr. Black's 'Summer Resorts;' and I have also great pleasure in thanking Miss Blunt for her sketches, and my friend Mr. A. H. Crow, F.R.G.S., for his kindly assistance in correcting inaccuracies. As, however, it is extremely difficult to completely avoid them, I shall feel obliged for the notification of any others that may happen to exist.

E. E. B.

Introduction.

Considering the number of English and Americans who yearly visit Switzerland and the Riviera, it is astonishing that so few, comparatively, ever think of approaching nearer to the Pyrenees than Pau. And it is more astonishing still, that those who have been enabled to enjoy the beauty of these mountains from the Place Royale at Pau, should ever think of leaving their vicinity without a more intimate acquaintance with them.

It may be, that since the various resorts have gained celebrity for the healing powers of their waters, healthy travellers are of opinion that they will be surrounded by a crowd of sickly individuals, whose very appearance will spoil all the pleasure that they might otherwise experience. That this _might be_ the case _in the season_, at a few spas, is not to be denied, but _in spring_ not an invalid of that kind is to be met with, and the bathing establishments have no customers; but the scenery is everywhere at its best. Dr. Madden writes: "The attractions of the Pyrenees are not, however, confined to the invalid traveller, but even for the pleasure tourist offer inducements for a pedestrian excursion in some respects superior to any in Switzerland;" and there can be no doubt that they have a beauty of their own quite distinct from the grandeur of the Alps, and yet equally as wonderful in its style.

Extending for nearly 300 miles from the foaming billows of the Biscay to the azure waters of the Mediterranean, they form a huge barrier "'twixt France and Spain"; gaining their name of Pyrenees from the words "Pic Nérés," which in the _patois_ of the country signifies "black peaks!" That this title is a misnomer for all but three months of the year--viz., from July to October--must be already a well-known fact; for who would call them "black" when clothed in their garments of snow?

The highest summits are in the Maladetta group, and the Pic Nethou (11,170 ft.) is the highest of all; while the average height of this magnificent range of mountains is between five and six thousand feet.

Luxurious valleys branch out in all directions, fed by the mountain streams, and among the central heights the wonderful natural amphitheatres known as Cirques stand in majestic solitude. The Cirque of Gavarnie--the best known--possesses on a bright day in spring such a charm, in its snowy imperial splendour, as the Alps would fail to surpass. In scenes where a lake adds such wonderful effect, Switzerland is quite supreme; we know of no view in the Pyrenees, of a comparable nature, that could pretend to vie with the harmonious loveliness of the panorama that can be seen at sunset from Montreux across Lac Leman, when the water is rippleless and the mountains are bathed in a rosy flood. But for all that, in other ways--in flower-clothed slopes, in luxurious valleys, in winding rivers and foaming cascades--the Pyrenees present pictures that, with the freshness of springtime to aid them, cannot fail to delight and charm.

Four roads cross the Pyrenees from France to Spain: the Route Nationale, from Paris to Madrid _viâ_ Bayonne; the Route Départementale, from Bayonne to Pampeluna _viâ_ the Col d'Urdax; the Route Nationale, from Perpignan to Barcelona _viâ_ Gerona; and the route from Pau to Jaca _viâ_ Oloron. There are other ways of entering Spain by the Cols (passes), but over these a horse track is the broadest path.

The principal bathing resorts on the French side are connected by the splendid Route Thermale, which extends for 70 miles; but, owing to its exposed position in some parts, especially between Eaux Bonnes and Argelès, and Barèges and Ste. Marie, it is only wholly open three or four months in the year!

Of the mineral springs it is sufficient to state here that, within the same extent of country, no other part of Europe can present such a wonderful choice. There are three principal kinds--the sulphurous, the saline, and the ferruginous; and over 200 springs contribute to them. Some resorts have waters of each of these classes, and many have at any rate two out of the three.

Of these, fuller information is given in the Appendix, as well as the chief uses of each, and the affections for which they have been successfully used.

As regards sport, unattended by much labour or fatigue, the Pyrenees can hardly be recommended, except perhaps for fishing. There is very good fishing in several of the rivers, but unhappily French conservancy laws are so lax--if indeed they have any at all --that peasants may frequently be seen at the waterside with a rod in one hand and a capacious net in the other, so that if unsuccessful with the first, they will at any rate not come home empty-handed; unless some brother "sportsman" has just preceded them over the same pools!

Though the wolves have nearly all been poisoned, there are still some bears to shoot in winter, and izard (a species of chamois) and capercailzie to pursue in autumn; but the "sportsmen" are many and the game few, and the way to their haunts lies by bad and unfrequented paths; so that "le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle." To the botanist and the geologist, however, there is a splendid field, which, varying in richness according to the locality, is more or less rich everywhere; and besides these, the entomologist will not visit this territory in vain. To the mountaineer these almost numberless summits offer attractions of all kinds, from the wooded slope with its broad mule-path, to the ice-wall only to be scaled by the use of the rope and the hatchet. There are ascents which a child almost might attempt in safety, and there are others where the bravest men might well quail.

For the ordinary pedestrian, beautiful walks abound in the vicinity of nearly every Spa, but near St. Sauveur, Luchon, Eaux Chaudes, and Argelès they are, we think, most charming. The roads on the whole are excellent, and the hotels, with hardly any exceptions, particularly clean and comfortable; and, with the one drawback of the bread (see Appendix D)--which can be easily remedied--the food is well cooked and well served.

It must be understood that the succeeding chapters only describe-- or attempt to describe--scenes that every one in moderate health can go and enjoy for themselves, and it is in the hope that a few more may be induced to visit the region about which they speak, that they have ever seen the light. For accurate information about the mountains and the best means of ascending them, no better guide-books could be wanted than Count Russell's 'Grandes Ascensions des Pyrénées' [Footnote: Hachette et Cie., Paris.] in French and English, and Mr. Chas. Packe's 'Guide to the Pyrenees'; [Footnote: Longmans and Co., London.] while for information of all kinds Monsieur P. Joanne's 'Pyrenees,' [Footnote: Hachette et Cie., Paris.] in French, could hardly be surpassed. For the ordinary traveller Mr. Black's 'South of France Summer Resorts, Pyrenees,' &c., is a compact and useful companion; and for guidance in matters medical, Dr. Madden's 'Spas of the Pyrenees' and Dr. Lee's 'Baths of France' are exceedingly valuable.

With these preliminary remarks we beg to refer the reader to our experiences of 'A Spring in the Pyrenees.'

Chapter I.

Pau.

Trains and Steamers--Bordeaux and its Hotels--Lamothe--Morcenx-- Dax--Puyoo--Orthez--First impressions of Pau--The Hotels and Pensions--Amusements--Pension Colbert--Making up parties for the Pyrenees--The Place Royale and the view--The Castle of Pau and its approaches--Origin of name--Historical notes--The Towers--Visiting hours--The Tapestries--The Wonderful Bedstead--The Delusive Tortoiseshell Cradle--The "Tour de la Monnaie"--The Park--The Billères Plains--Tennis and Golf--The Route de Billères and the Billères Woods--French _Sportsmen_--Hunting--Racing--Lescar and its old Cathedral--Fontaine de Marnières--The Bands--The Pare Beaumont --Ballooning--The Casino--Polo--The Cemetery--The Churches of St. Martin and St. Jacques--The "Old World and the New"--Rides and Drives--to Bétharram--The Start--Peasants and their ways--Vines trained by the roadside--Sour Grapes--The "March of the Men of Garlic"--Coarraze--Henry IV.'s Castle--Bétharram--The Ivied Bridge --The Inn--The "Via Crucis"--Assat and Gélos--The Coteaux-- Perpignaa--Sketching with a Donkey-cart--Over the Coteaux to Gan-- The Drive to Piétat--Picnicking and Rejected Attentions--The Church--Feather Moss--Bizanos--Carnival time--"Poor Pillicoddy"-- "Idyllic Colbert."

Few Winter Resorts have gained a greater celebrity than Pau, and its popularity yearly increases. Fifty years ago its English visitors might have been counted by tens; to-day they must be reckoned by thousands. But this is only during the winter and spring; in summer it is almost entirely deserted by foreigners, few people in fact, unless compelled by circumstances, staying after May has passed into June.

For many reasons it has become a favourite resort for invalids, an important one being, its exceedingly accessible position. Notwithstanding that it is 776 miles distant from London, fewer changes are requisite than for many a journey of less than a quarter of the distance. The quickest way from London is _viâ_ Dover, Calais, Paris, Bordeaux and Dax; and as a through sleeping carriage can be obtained from Paris to Pau, that part of the journey is anything but formidable. For those who prefer the sea route, the fine boats of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company which start from Liverpool are the most preferable conveyance, though the less expensive steamers belonging to the General Steam Navigation Company, sailing from London, are comfortable enough in fine weather. The former land their passengers at Pauillac, whence they proceed to Bordeaux by tender or train; but the latter boats, being smaller, can come right up to Bordeaux, which is a decided advantage.

Though the third port in France, Bordeaux can certainly not be recommended as a stopping-place unless necessity requires it, for the hotel-keepers generally succeed in reaping a rich harvest from travellers passing through.

The Hôtel de Nantes is the nearest to the quay, but the Hôtel Richelieu will be found more moderate and more comfortable. In the town, the grand Hôtel de France has the best reputation, but "birds of passage" have apparently to pay for it, whereas old stagers concur in saying that for _gentlemen_--especially those who appreciate a good dinner--the best place is the Hôtel de Bayonne.

Bordeaux has many fine buildings and objects of interest over which a week can be easily spent, and for this length of time the hotel prices are in proportion considerably less per diem; but in winter it is especially bleak and cold, and travellers are advised to get on to Dax or Pau as quickly as possible. The railway journey of one hundred and forty-five miles to Pau occupies as a rule about six hours, passing Lamothe, Morcenx, Dax, Puyoo, and Orthez. Lamothe [Footnote: See Appendix.] (25 miles) is the junction for Arcachon, [Footnote: See Appendix.] the celebrated winter station among the pines, situated on the shores of a landlocked bay; and Morcenx [Footnote: See Appendix.] (68 miles), is likewise the junction for the Tarbes line and Bigorre.

Dax [Footnote: See Appendix.] (92 miles) has a well-deserved reputation for its baths, and possesses several mineral bathing establishments, of which the "Grand Etablissement des Thermes" stands first. The mud baths are perhaps more celebrated than those of steam or water, being especially efficacious in severe, and often apparently otherwise incurable, cases of rheumatism. There are also some pleasant walks by the River Adour, and in the neighbourhood there is a bed of fossil salt.

Puyoo [Footnote: See Appendix.] (111-1/2 miles) is the junction for the Bayonne line, but is without other interest.

[Illustration: DAX.]

Orthez [Footnote: See Appendix.] (120-3/4 miles) is of historic interest and possesses some noteworthy remains. M. Doré has represented the Tour de Moncade, built in 1240, with mediaeval surroundings, and not quite as it may be seen now. It was the scene of many of Gaston Phoebus' greatest crimes. The old fourteenth- century bridge over the river, with its central tower, could tell some tales too, if we could discover "sermons in stones"; and the plain below the town was the scene of one of Wellington's many victories in 1814.

Two coaches start from Orthez, one to Salies (10 miles), celebrated for its salt springs, and the other to Mauléon-Licharre, a picturesque spot where fine views, cascades, and ruins abound.

[Illustration: THE TOWER OF MONCADE, ORTHEZ.]

Passing the ancient town of Lescar (140-1/2 miles)--of which we shall have more to say later--the train is soon drawn up in the station of Pau, and directly the traveller shows his face outside, he is hailed by the "cochers" from the various hotels in a bewildering chorus. This is the same, _more_ or _less_, at every French town where English people congregate, and Pau only inclines, if anything, towards the "_more_."

The first impression conveyed when leaving the station and passing along the Avenue de la Gare, is, that the town is mainly composed of the castle and magnificent hotels which tower above the station. This, to a certain extent, is correct, for they occupy a large area, and the views from the windows of the hotels, as well as from those of the castle, are the finest in the town. Issuing from the Avenue into the "Place de la Monnaie," the ruins of the "Mint" tower, and above them the castle itself, come into full view, after which the road continues along the Rue Marca for a short distance, branching afterwards to the right into the most ancient square of the town, the Place Grammont.

The hotels de la Poste and Henri IV. are here situated, but the roads to the various other hotels and pensions diverge in different directions. To the right up the Rue Bordenave and along the Rue Henri IV. is the route to all the finest hotels, of which the "France" is the best, and the "Gassion" the most imposing; the others are the Belle Vue, Splendide, Beau Séjour, and de la Paix, all with the exception of the last possessing the magnificent mountain view, but although from the windows of the "Paix" only a side glimpse can be obtained, yet at the same time this hotel faces the "Place Royale," the popular resort of all classes in Pau. From the left-hand corner of the Place Grammont a narrow street leads to the fine church of St. Jacques, which is also the nearest way to the grand Hôtel Continental near Trinity Church, and the Pension Hattersly in the Rue Porte Neuve. But the route more to the left still, leading up the hill and joining the Route de Bordeaux, past the Haute Plante parade ground, is the usual one followed, especially for the Pensions--Lecour, Nogués, and Maison Pieté in the Rue d'Orléans; Pension Etcherbest, in the Passage Planté Hôtel de Londres, on the route de Billères; and Maison Colbert, in the Rue Montpensier.

Well knowing the comfort of a good pension, and intending to make a long stay, we drove straight from the station to the well-known Maison Colbert, and were soon as comfortable as we could wish. There are many people we are aware who detest "pensions." "We don't approve," say they, "of meals at fixed hours, of a drawing-room common to all, and of such a small house that everybody must know everyone else before the first dinner is over!" Well! why should they? They can go to the hotels; but let all those who are suffering or delicate put away thin-skinned feelings of superiority, till they have a good enough constitution to support them, and in the meantime seek peace and kindness, such as may be experienced at the Pension Colbert.

If, on the other hand, it can be taken as a criterion that those living in hotels are not invalids, then the visitor contingent of Pau must consist principally of healthy people, who prefer a good climate and lively society to the attractions that England and America have to offer from October to May. This is hardly correct, but there can be no doubt that more than half the foreigners [Footnote: From the French standpoint--i.e., English and American.] who come for that period, do so for comfort and pleasure alone. And it is not to be wondered at. Who, that was untrammelled by the cares of business, or shortened purse-strings, but would not gladly exchange the bill of fare England has to offer, of London fogs, east winds, Scotch mists, and Irish dynamite, for the handsome menu awaiting him at Pau? Drives, kettledrums, dinners, balls, lawn tennis, polo, pigeon-shooting, golf, racing and hunting; and, if he particularly wishes it, a balloon ascent as well. This last-named is an expensive pleasure, as the aeronaut, judging by the prices on the bill, requires a substantial fee, and it is besides an amusement life insurance companies do not readily countenance.

Of course, if one comes to Pau merely for enjoyment, hotel life may be preferable to that in a pension, though our experiences of the latter mode have been very pleasant ones. It is so easy to make up a small party for a drive or a picnic, and being all in one house there is but little chance of any mishaps before starting, such as individuals forgetting the time that had been fixed and keeping the rest waiting. Above all, when planning a tour into the Pyrenees, it is essentially necessary to form a party of some sort, if the trip is to be carried out in the spring; for although, as we shall endeavour to show later, the scenery is then at its best, still, since it is not _the_ season, only one or two hotels are open in each resort, and society is "nil."

Then further, when people are going to travel in company for several weeks it is well that at least they should know something of one another, for if they all commenced "pulling different ways" up in the mountains, the safety, or at any rate the composure of each, would be likely to suffer. My own relations, who were with me at first, left for England long before the mountain trip was arranged, but we made up a very pleasant quartette before the time for starting arrived, and accordingly visited Pau in company as well as the mountains. This quartette consisted of Mrs. and Miss Blunt, Mr. Sydney and myself, and though it will be seen by subsequent chapters that the trio decided on staying a fortnight at Biarritz in preference to following my example and spending the time at Bagnères de Bigorre, yet we made arrangements to meet either at Lourdes or Argelès and thenceforward to travel in company.

To see Pau in its beauty, winter must have given place to spring. When the grass once more begins to grow, the trees to unfold their tender leaves, the rivers to swell, and the birds to sing; while yet the sun's rays cannot pierce the snowy garment on the distant heights; then Pau is in her beauty. Passing--as we so often passed --down the Rue Montpensier and the consecutive Rue Serviez, into the Rue du Lycée, then turning from it to the right for a short distance, till, with the English club at the corner on our left, we turned into the Place Royale, and, with the fine theatre frowning on our backs, quickly made our way between the rows of plane-trees, but just uncurling their leaves, to the terrace whence the whole enormous expanse of mountain can be viewed, our admiration at the magnificent scene unfolded before us never diminished. But our favourite time was at sunset, especially one of those warm ruddy sunsets that tint the heavens like a superb red canopy.

Then, leaning on the terrace wall, we admired in silence. Beneath us lay part of the town and the railway station, the river beyond, in one part divided and slowly flowing over its stony bed among the alder bushes; at another, gathered together again, rushing furiously along as though impatient to lose itself for ever in the depths of the ocean.

[Illustration: PAU (FROM THE JURANÇON SIDE OF THE GAVE).]

Beyond the river, amid the varied green of tree and meadow, nestled the scattered villages, with the hills above, here brown with bare vineyards, there vying with the meadow's green; and in the background behind and above all, the mighty range of snow mountains extending as far as eye could reach, and fading in the dim haze of distance. Then, as the sun sank lower, the soft rosy hue shone on the castle windows, glinted through the trees of the Château Park, dyed the swift waters of the river, and tipped the snowy crests afar. There are few, we think, who would not, as we did, enjoy fully the contemplation of such a scene.

From the Place Royale to the Château is a very short distance; turning to the right past the Church of St. Martin--a fine well- built edifice--and the Hôtel Gassion, it stands in full view, and the broad walk passing beneath the side arches leads into the courtyard. In order to obtain a good view of the entrance and the towers that guard it, it is preferable to approach the castle by the Rue Henri IV. (a continuation of the Rue du Lycée that passes between the theatre and the end of the Place Royale), which, when the shops are left behind, suddenly curves to the left, to the foot of the bridge leading direct to the main entrance. It is worth while to stand on the bridge for a short time, and survey the whole scene, which can hardly fail to carry the thoughts back to olden times, and as the castle is so intimately connected with the town of Pau, a few explanatory historical facts will not, we trust, be considered out of place before continuing the inspection of the edifice. The origin of the name of Pau is the Spanish "Palo," a "stick" or a "stake," and takes us back to the time when the Saracens had taken possession of a large part of Spain and were making raids beyond the Pyrenees. Feeling their unprotected position, the inhabitants of the Gave Valley made over a piece of ground to a Prince of Bearn, on the condition that he should erect a fortress for their defence thereon. This he agreed to do, and as the extent of his allotment was marked out by "stakes," the castle became known as the castle of "stakes" or Palo, which in time became Pau.

Its commanding position and appearance inspired confidence, and houses soon sprang up around; and, at least a century before the birth of Henry IV., Pau had become an important place. In time it became the capital of the kingdom of Navarre, and later, when Navarre, Bearn, and the "Pays Basques" were constituted as one department in 1790, it still retained its position as chief town.

Now to resume our inspection from the bridge. The two towers in full view on either side of the sculptured façade, are the finest and most prominent of the six that flank the castle, but there is one in the interior of the court of more interest. The highest of these two is the donjon on the left, built of brick, and known as "La Tour de Gaston Phoebus" (112 feet). Its walls are over eight feet in thickness. The tower on the right is known as "La Tour Neuve," while the most interesting is that known as "La Tour de Montaüset" or "Monte-Oiseau," in which are the ancient dungeons and oubliettes. The porter has rooms on the ground-floor of the Gaston Phoebus Tower, and his wife sells photographs singly and in books. Outside, underneath and adjoining the same tower, is a small modern (1843) chapel.

The hours for visiting the interior of the Château are between 10 and 12 and 2 and 4 daily, and the entrance is free, though the guide expects a gratuity, say of one franc for one person, two francs for three. As we were always lucky enough to be the only people wanting to inspect, at the particular hour we went--which was always as near ten as possible--we managed by judicious means to calm the impetuosity of the guide, and induce him to tell his tale slowly. If, as usually happens, other people are there at the same time, he rattles off his lesson at such a pace that it requires very good French scholars to even _follow_ him; to remember what he says is out of the question. Whether by "more judicious means," it would be possible to induce him to go round out of hours, we do not know, never having had occasion to try, but we certainly think it would be worth an attempt, if the visitors could not otherwise manage to hit a time when they could go over alone.

Passing under one of the three arches of the façade, we traversed the courtyard to the extremity, and while waiting for the guide to come to us at the small side door, examined the curious sculptures surrounding the window on the left. On the door being opened we passed into the Salle des Gardes, and from that into the Salle à Manger, where stands a statue of Henry IV., supposed to be more like him than any other. Then through a succession of rooms and up flights of stairs, and through rooms again, to describe which as they deserve would alone fill up a small volume, but this we do not intend to do, contenting ourselves with simply mentioning as much of what we saw as we hope may induce everyone to follow our example, and see them for themselves. To any lovers of a grand view, that which may be seen from the upper windows of the castle is almost alone worth coming for, and the tapestry which lines the walls of many of the rooms is simply exquisite.

The "Sports and Pastimes of the various Months" of Flanders work, in the "Salle des Etats"--the six pieces of Gobelin work in the Queen's Boudoir on the first floor--the five pieces of the same work, including "Venus's toilet," in Queen Jeanne's room on the second floor, and the four pieces of Brussels in Henry IV.'s bedroom--also on the second floor--are only a few of the many wonderful pieces of tapestry.

[Illustration: THE CASTLE COURTYARD.]

In the "Grand Reception Room," in which the massacres took place in 1569, is a fine mosaic table and Sèvres vases, besides the Flanders tapestry.

There are several objects of interest in Henry IV.'s room, in which he is said to have been born 13th December, 1553, including the magnificently carved bedstead; but the chief attraction is the tortoise-shell cradle, which as a rule Frenchmen come only to see. Why they should come is quite a different matter, seeing that although a tortoise's shell might make a very comfortable cradle for even such an illustrious infant as was Henry IV., yet as he never had anything to do with the one in question, it is rather absurd that year after year they should flock to see it out of respect to him; and the absurdity is greater, since in a statement on the wall hard by this fact is made known. None of the northern rooms are open to the public, but the chief objects of interest have been transferred to the other wing!

Leaving the courtyard by the road under the side arches that leads to the terrace, the tasteful gardening of the surroundings is noticeable, and as soon as the lower walk is reached, the "Tour de la Monnaie" lies in full view below. No efforts are made to keep these ruins, in which Calvin used to preach, from crumbling into dust. _"O tempora! O mores!"_

From the terrace on the other side of the Castle, the remains of the old fosse may be seen, though houses are now built where the water used to lie. A broad pathway encircles the edifice, and a bridge leads from the extreme end over the Rue Marca into the Castle Park, called also "lower plantation" (basse plante) in distinction from the "upper plantation" (haute plante), which surrounds the barracks. Near the road the trees are planted stiffly in rows, but when another and smaller bridge has been traversed, the beauty of the Park is manifest.

[Illustration: IN THE CASTLE PARK.]

Following the course of the river, and filled with the finest trees and shrubs, through which the beautiful little nuthatch may occasionally be seen flying, and among which many other birds sing--it is indeed, with its long cool walks and pleasant glades, a lovely promenade. The Bayonne road is the boundary on the opposite side from the river, and just beyond the limits of the Park a path branches off river-wards to the Billères Plains, where tennis and golf are played. In the opposite direction another leads up under the shadow of an old church, and joins the Route de Billères, which, starting from the Bordeaux road, passes the Villa Lacroix and other handsome houses, and descending throws off another branch into the Bayonne road. It then curves in an opposite direction, and ascends, while at the same time skirting the grounds of the Château de Billères, to the favourite Billères woods. From the woods it communicates in a nearly straight line with the Bordeaux road again, so that in reality it describes three-quarters of a circle.

These woods, though sadly disfigured by the demand for fire-wood, are pleasant to ramble in when the soldiers are not in possession, and there are drives through them in all directions. At one time wild duck, pigeons, and woodcock were plentiful there, but that time has passed, though the gallant French _sportsmen_ may still be seen trooping through with their dogs after blackbirds and tomtits!

Pau dearly loves excitement. Three times a week in the winter the hounds meet in the vicinity, and many are the carriages and many the fair occupants that congregate to see the start. It is generally a very gay scene, with no lack of scarlet coats and good steeds, pretty dresses and sometimes pretty faces too; and though afterwards they enjoy many a good run, there are but few falls and fewer broken heads. But it is over the races that Pau gets really excited. Hunting only attracts the well-to-do, but all who can hire or borrow even a shandry make a point of not missing the "races." And these meetings are not few and far between, but about once a fortnight, for there is no "Jockey Club" at Pau, and consequently it pleases itself about the fixtures.

The course, which is some two miles from the town on the Bordeaux road, is overlooked by an imposing grand stand, which generally seems well filled, though the betting is not very heavy on the whole. We drove over one afternoon, and after waiting for three events which to us were not very exciting, proceeded towards Lescar. The nearest way would have been by turning to the right by a white house on the Bordeaux road (not far from the race-course), but we continued along it instead for some distance, finally turning off down a narrow lane without any sign of a hedge. After following this for a length of time, we took the road at right angles leading between fields covered with gorse, and later, descending one or two steep hills with trees on either side, we reascended and entered the ancient town of Lescar, only to dip under the tottering walls of the ancient castle--a few minutes later--and mount again under a narrow archway to the church.

P. Joanne in his excellent guide-book calls it "the ancient Beneharum, destroyed about the year 841 by the Normans, rebuilt in 980 under the name of Lascurris. In the old chronicles it was called the 'Ville Septénaire,' because it possessed, it is said, seven churches, seven fountains, seven mills, seven woods, seven vineyards, seven gates and seven towers on the ramparts." The church now restored was formerly a cathedral, and there are some fine old mosaics (11th century) to be seen under the boarding near the altar. Jeanne d'Albret and other Béarnais sovereigns are buried there.

The Castle is very old, though the square tower dates from the 14th century only.

The whole town, so curious and ancient-looking, is well worth a visit, and forms a contrast in its fallen splendour to Pau's rising greatness, such as cannot fail to strike any intelligent observer.

Passing through the town, we took the road to the right homewards, which joins the Bayonne route, but instead of continuing along the latter all the way, we branched off into the route de Billères, and came by the Villa Lacroix and the Hôtel de Londres back to the pension.

Another road leads from the Villa Lacroix over a brook, and past the establishment of the "Petites Soeurs des Pauvres" into the country, and in fact to Lescar. The brook is known as the Herrère, and by following the path to the left which runs beside it, the "Fontaine de Marnières" is reached. The water of this fountain is considered very pure and strengthening, and many people drink it daily.

The band is another attraction at Pau; twice a week in the afternoon they play in the Place Royale, and twice in the Parc Beaumont. The music is of a very good order, and excessively pleasing to listen to from beneath the shade of the trees. The Parc Beaumont is quite near the Place Royale, the principal entrance being at the end of the Rue du Lycée, close to the Hôtel Beau Séjour.

Balloon ascents were often the chief attraction on Sundays, which "all the world and his wife" went out to see. There is _a_ casino in the Park, used occasionally for concerts, but _the_ casino is behind the Hôtel Gassion, and though it was hardly finished enough for comfort when we saw it, that defect will soon doubtless be remedied.

Polo is generally played in the "Haute Plante" (in front of the Barracks), and bicycle races take place there also occasionally. It is only a step from this pleasure-ground to the cemetery, and though this nearness never affects the joy of the children on the roundabouts or the young people swinging, yet it is another practical example that "in the midst of life we are in death."

The Rue Bayard--on the left of the Haute Plante--leads to the cemetery gates, and the tombs extend behind the barracks; those of Protestants being divided from the Roman Catholics' by a carefully kept walk leading from the right-hand corner of the first or Roman Catholic portion!

There is a charm about this last resting-place in spite of its mournfulness, and the many flowers load the air with a delicious perfume. The marble statue of a Russian lady in fashionable costume, over her tomb, is considered a fine piece of sculpture, and many people go there simply to see it.

The two principal French churches are those of St. Martin and St. Jacques, but the latter is in every way the more beautiful. The "Palais de Justice" stands close to St. Jacques, but facing the Place Duplaa, where many of the best houses are situated. The Rue d'Orléans, communicating the Place Duplaa and the Route De Bordeaux, contains many Good French pensions, which have been previously mentioned.

By following the Rue St. Jacques past the church of the same name and turning down the street which cuts it at right angles, called the "Rue de la Fontaine", the ancient part of the town can be reached. It may be here remarked the peculiar characteristics of Pau, and yet probably seven visitors out of ten fail to notice it. the other end of "Fountain Street" leads into the Rue de la Prefecture. this is one of the very busiest streets in Pau, and if after leaving one of the magnificent new hotels we traverse this busy street, and then suddenly plunge down the Rue de la Fontaine to what was once the bed of the castle fosse--where the houses are small and dirty, and the walls and slates barely hold together, so wretchedly old and tottering are they--where, instead of bustle and grandeur, there is only gloom and poverty, and in place of the enjoyment of the present, there is the longing for a lot a little less hard in the future; we feel as though we had gone back several centuries in as many minutes, and have a decided wish to return to nineteenth-century civilisation again.

We did not find the rides and drives the least pleasant of our enjoyments, and there are so many places to visit, that picnics are plentiful as a matter of course.

The chief excursion from Pau is to Eaux Bonnes and Eaux Chaudes, but as there is a slight danger of damp beds there--if you get any beds at all--early in the year, we postponed this grand trip for another time.

Another long drive is to Lourdes and back, but this we did not take, as we meant to stop a night there later; but one day we made up a party for Bétharram, which is a long way on the same road, and, under ordinarily kind auspices, a delightful day's outing.

If it was less pleasant than it might have been to us, the weather had a good deal to do with it, and the other causes may develop themselves in narration. There were ten of us, and we started in a grand yellow brake with four horses and a surly coachman. The morning was excessively warm, and some of the party were of such rotund proportions, that the thin ones were nearly lost sight of, if they chanced to sit between them, while the warmth approached to that of a cucumber frame with the sun on it. We attracted a good deal of attention as we _crawled_ down the Rue Serviez and passed the entrance to the Pare Beaumont, down the hill to Bizanos; but as soon as the château that takes its name from the village was reached, we met with little admiration, except from the good people jogging along in tumble-down carts and shandries. The peasants seemed on the whole a good-natured lot, taking a joke with a smile often approaching a broad grin, and occasionally, but only very _occasionally_, attempting one in return. The following is an instance of one of these rare occasions:--We were walking beside the Herrère stream in the direction of the Fontaine de Marnières; several women were busy washing clothes at the water's edge, and above, spread out in all their glory, were three huge umbrellas-- umbrellas of the size of those used on the Metropolitan 'buses, but of bright blue cloth on which the presence of clay was painfully evident. We asked the price without smiling, and the women, wondering, looked up. We said they must be very valuable, and we would give as much as _six sous_ for any one of them. At this moment another woman, who had been listening to the conversation from a little garden behind, came up and said: "Those umbrellas belong to me, and they _are_ worth a lot of money; but I will sell you one cheap _if you promise to send it to the Exhibition!_"

But to resume. After crossing the railway line beyond Bizanos, and leaving the pleasant little waterfall on the right, the sun began to pour down on us very fiercely, and all we could do, wedged in as we were, was to appear happy and survey the country.

It was curious to note the method of training the vines up the various trees by the roadside. The simplicity and efficacy of the method seemed plain enough, but with memories of the difficulty experienced in guarding our own fruit even with glass-tipped walls to defend it, we were forced to the conviction that in the Pyrenees fruit stealers are unknown. Perhaps, however, the "grapes are always sour," or sufficiently high up to give the would-be thief time to think of the penalty, which probably would be "higher" still.

The road continues nearly in a direct line through Assat (5 miles), but when that village was left behind, the mountains seemed to be considerably nearer, and even the snow summits--a bad sign of rain --appeared within a fairly easy walk.

The painful odour of garlic frequently assailed our nostrils passing through the hamlets, and though it is not quite as bad as the Japanese root _daikon_, yet to have to talk to a man who has been eating it, is a positive punishment. We would fain bring about a reform among the people, getting them to substitute some other healthily-scented vegetable in place of the objectionable one. To this end we composed a verse to a very old but popular tune, styling it

"The March Of The Men Of Garlic."

Men of Garlic--large your numbers, Long indeed your conscience slumbers, Can't you change and eat cu-cumbers? Men of Garlic, say! They are sweet and tender, Short and thick or slender. Then, we know well your breath won't smell And sickness' pangs engender. Men of Garlic, stop your scorning, Change your food and hear our warning, See the day of Progress dawning, Give three cheers-- Hurray!

Doubtless the fact of the verse being in English will militate against its efficiency, but before we had time to turn it into French, we had passed to the right of the quaint old town of Nay, and were entering Coarraze (10 1/2 miles). As we bore off to the right across the river, the old castle--where Henry IV. spent a great part of his childhood like any peasant child--towered above us, and the scenery around became considerably more picturesque than any we had passed through that morning. The banks of the river were more shapely, and the alternation of bushes and meadow, with the varying lights and shades on the distant peaks and the nearer slopes, would have seemed more than beautiful, if our wedged positions and the accompanying warmth had not somewhat evaporated our admiration. Though the heat remained, the sun had disappeared behind huge banks of clouds, as we at length entered Bétharram (15 miles), so, instead of pulling up at the hotel, we drove on to the beautiful ivy-hung bridge, a great favourite with artists. This really belongs to the hamlet of Lestelle, which adjoins Bétharram, and is so picturesque that the villagers ought to be proud of it; doubtless in the old days, when Notre Dame de Bétharram's shrine was the cherished pilgrimage--now superseded by the attractions of N. D. de Lourdes--many thousand "holy" feet crossed and recrossed this ancient bridge!

In order to reach the hotel we had to ascend slightly to turn the vehicle, much to the consternation of one of the party, who, clasping the back rail with both hands and endeavouring to look brave, could not withhold a small scream which escaped from the folds of her veil.

The dining-room of the hotel smelt decidedly close, so we spread our sumptuous lunch on tables outside; but Jupiter Pluvius soon showed his disapproval of our plans, and forced us to go within, where a fine specimen of a French soldier had done his best to fill the place with smoke. However, we managed fairly well, in spite of some sour wine which we tried, under the name of "Jurançon vieux," for the "good of the house" and the "worse of ourselves." As the rain passed off ere we had finished, we afterwards repaired to the "Via Crucis," where there is a small chapel at every turn till the "Calvary" is reached at the summit. The first chapel is beside the road, midway between the hotel and the bridge, and the view from the summit on a fine day is said to be very good; but when only half-way, the rain came down in such torrents that we were glad to return to the inn for shelter. For two hours the downpour lasted, but it cooled the air and rendered the return journey a little more supportable; and when we arrived at the house, we also arrived at the decision that never again to a picnic, as far as we were concerned, should thinness and rotundity go side by side!

There is no doubt that a landau is the most comfortable vehicle for a drive of any length, although some very comfortable little T- carts, with good ponies between the shafts, can be hired too. We often used the latter for drives to Assat and over the suspension- bridge--so old and shaky--and home by Gélos and Jurançon; while at other times, taking the necessaries for afternoon tea, we drove as far as Nay, crossing the river to enter its ancient square--in which stand the Townhall and the Maison Carrée, of historical fame --and then leaving the tanneries and houses behind, sought some quiet spot down by the water, for sketching and enjoying our tea.

Rides or drives on the coteaux (hills) in the vicinity are very pleasant, as the views from certain points are particularly fine. Of these the most popular is to Perpignaa, two hours being sufficient for the drive there and back. It is a nice walk for an average pedestrian, and the road is easy to find. We generally started in the afternoon, passing across the bridge and through Jurançon, and where the road forks, bearing along the Gan road to the right. Then, taking the first turning to the right, leading between fields, we reached an avenue of trees, with a village beyond. We then followed the road across the bridge to the left, and kept bearing in that direction till we reached the foot of the coteau, where there is only one route, and consequently no chance of taking any but the right one! We heard of a case of two young ladies going off in a donkey cart, intending to sketch the view above Perpignaa, who, when they reached the avenue, turned down to the right and wandered along the bank of the Gave as far as the donkey would go, and then sketched a church steeple in despair. But such a mistake is quite unnecessary; and they would doubtless have remedied theirs, if they had not found it obligatory at last to push behind in order to make the donkey move homewards. Although very hoarse and tired when they arrived, they had voice enough left to say they "wouldn't go sketching in a donkey cart again!"

From the foot of the hill the road zigzags, making a fairly easy gradient to the summit, on which stands a house whose owner kindly allows visitors to walk about his grounds and participate in the view. When riding, we followed the road that continues on the right for several miles, in order to prolong the pleasure produced by the exercise and the view.

Another pleasant ride is by way of the coteaux to Gan, and back by the road, or _vice versá_; but we always preferred the former, as the horses had the hill work while fresh, and then the level home. In the first instance we found this track by accident. We had passed through Jurançon, and at the spot where the road forks debated which to take, finally deciding on the left one, but this we only followed for a few yards, taking again the first turning to the right, which brought us over the railway line direct to the hills. Winding up through the trees, we passed a tricyclist pushing his machine before him, who informed us that we were on the way to Gan. Of this, after we had ridden up and down, wound round hillsides and passed through pleasant dingles, we were at length assured by descending into that village, from which we got safely home in spite of a "bolting" attempt on the part of one of the "fiery" steeds.

To thoroughly enjoy the longer drive to Piétat it is better to make a picnic of it. We started about ten one lovely morning, turning to the left beyond Jurançon, crossing the line to Oloron--on the main road--and later on, bearing more round in the same direction, and beginning to ascend. As on the hills to Gan, we were perpetually mounting only to descend a great part of the distance again, but ever and anon catching glimpses of the valley in which Assat and Nay lay, and of Pau itself, besides the lovely snow hills stretching as far as eye could reach. When Piétat was arrived at, there was but little to interest us in what we saw there of a half- finished church and two cottages; but the view on all sides after we had walked along the grassy plateau was very lovely, especially as the lights and shades were everywhere so perfect. Having selected a cosy spot and spread the luncheon, we were besieged by children anxious to sell us flowers and apples, and to share whatever we would give them. They were hard to get rid of even with promises of something when we had finished, and when at last they did go, an elderly female took their place with most generous offers of unlocking the church for us. There was an old sweet-toned bell in front of the western door, and a half-finished sculpture of the "Descent from the Cross" over it. The interior of the edifice was sufficiently roofed for a portion to be utilised for prayer, and the high altar and two lateral ones were already erected.

After culling a quantity of the beautiful feather moss from the hedgerows, we re-entered the carriage, and descended the hill into the Gave valley, crossing the suspension-bridge by Assat, and through the village into the main road, and home by Bizanos. It was the time of the carnival, and on the following day Bizanos--which has an evil repute for bad egg-throwing on festive occasions--was to be the scene of the mumming. Luckily they did not attempt to practise on us, though as we drove up through the town we met bands of gaily-dressed individuals parading the streets.

These bands consisted of about thirty, mostly men decked in a preponderance of red, white, and blue, and usually accompanied by a tableau arrangement on a cart. Every twenty yards they stopped, went through a series of antics, supposed to be country dances, to the tune of the cornet and a fiddle, and then brought round the hat, frequently embracing any woman who objected to give her sous.

A carnival such as this combines a holiday with money-making to the mummers, and as long as they can get money in this fashion, they certainly cannot be blamed for taking their amusement in such a highly practical manner.

There are several private coaches at Pau, which turn out in grand style on race days; and balls, concerts, and kettledrums abound, with private theatricals occasionally. We attempted to get up "Poor Pillicoddy," but were very unlucky about it. Firstly, when in full rehearsal, our Mrs. O'Scuttle became unwell, and we had to look for another, and when we had found her and were getting into shape again, her nautical husband put the whole ship on the rocks and wrecked our hopes by losing his voice.

However, our departure was very nigh, and packing is an excellent cure for disappointment, though we were interrupted in that one morning with a request to write "something" in the visitors' book. With the memories of our pleasant stay upon us, we do not think we can err in reproducing one contribution, which was styled

"Idyllic Colbert."

(_With apologies to_ Mr. W. S. GILBERT.)

If you're anxious for to dwell in a very fine hotel By the mountain's wide expanse, You at once had best repair to that house so good though _chère_ Called the "Grand Hôtel de France." Or if for food your craze is, you still can give your praises To the _chef_ of its cuisine_. Your taste you need not fetter, for 'tis said in Pau, no better Has ever yet been seen. But this I have to say, you will not like your stay As much as if at Pension Colbert you the time had spent, And such a time, I'm very sure, you never would repent.

If I'm eloquent in praise of those most peculiar days Which now have passed away, 'Tis to tell you, as a man, what awful risks I ran Lest my heart should chance to stray. I never would pooh-pooh! 'tis cruel so to do, Though often weak and ill, For they my plaints would stop, with a juicy mutton-chop, Or a mild and savoury pill! And this I have to say, you're bound to like your stay, And never in your life I'm very sure will you repent The time in Pension Colbert's walls and well-trimmed garden spent.

And if a tantalizing passion of a gay lawn tennis fashion Should fire your love of sport, On the neat and well-kept lawn, a net that's _never_ torn Hangs quiv'ring o'er the court. Or if your voice you'd raise in sweet or high-tun'd lays, You'll find a piano there, And _birdies_ too will sing, like mortals--that's a thing You'll never hear elsewhere-- And then you're bound to say that you have liked your stay, And never in your life I'm very sure will you repent The time in Pension Colbert's walls and well-trimm'd garden spent.

If for hunting you've a liking, you can don a costume striking, And proceed to chase the fox. Or if you're fond of driving, _perhaps_ by some contriving You may mount a coach's box. If picnics are your pleasure, you can go to them at leisure, And lunch on sumptuous fare, And though maybe, perforce, you'll get lamb without mint sauce. They never starve you there. And always you will say, that you've enjoyed your stay, And never in your life I'm very sure will you repent The time in Pension Colbert's walls and well-trimm'd garden spent.

As Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney had definitely decided to spend the time at Biarritz while I stayed at Bigorre, I turned my attention to discovering if any other acquaintances were proceeding in the same direction as myself. In this I was successful, and in company with Mr. H---- and his two daughters, and Mrs. Willesden and Miss Leonards, bade "au revoir" to Pau, with the prospect of a long spell of beautiful scenery if the clerk of the weather could only be controlled, by longings and hopes.

Chapter II.

BagnèRes De Bigorre.

Backward Spring--Hôtel Beau Séjour--Effect of the war of '70 on the English Colony--The "Coustous"--The Church of St. Vincent-- Géruzet's Marble Works--Donkeys--Up the Monné--Bains de Santé-- Bains de Grand Pré--Salut Avenue and Baths--"Ai-ue, Ai-ue"-- Luncheon--Daffodils--The Summit and the View--The "Castle-Mouly"-- The Tapêre--Mde. Cottin--Mont Bédat--Gentians--The Croix de Manse-- "The Lady's Farewell to her Asinine Steed"--Market-day--The Old Iron and Shoe Dealers--Sunday--A Cat Fight--The English Church--To the Col d'Aspin--"The Abbé's Song"--Baudéan--Campan, its People and Church--Wayside Chapels--Ste. Marie--The route to Gripp, &c.-- Payole--The Pine Forest--The Col d'Aspin--The View from the Monné Rouge--"The Plaint of the Weather-beaten Pine"--The Menu at Payole --Hurrah for the Milk!--Departures--Divine Music--Asté--Gabrielle d'Estrelle--The Ivied Ruins--The Church--Pitton de Tournefort-- Gerde--The Pigeon Traps--The Cattle Market--The Jacobin Tower-- Theatre--Grand Etablissement des Thermes--Hospice Civil--Eglise des Carmes--Mount Olivet--Madame Cheval, her Cakes and Tea--Bigorre in Tears.

We had a bright day for our journey to Bigorre, and the country looked pretty, though very backward for April, but this was owing to the late frosts, which had been felt everywhere. Bigorre itself was no exception, and instead of all the charms of spring ready to welcome us, the leaves were only just taking courage to unfurl. Our first impressions were consequently anything but favourable, though our comfortable quarters in the Hôtel Beau Séjour compensated us to a certain degree. To the French and Spaniards, Bigorre is only a summer resort, but as it is considered to possess a very mild climate, many English reside there all the year round. In fact, before the war of 1870 there was quite an English colony there, but the chance of a Prussian advance dispersed it, and many were the hardships endured by some of those who had stayed to the last moment, in their endeavours to reach the coast.

Our first two days were more or less wet, and by reports of heavy snowstorms around us, we were unanimously of opinion that we had come too early. However, with a little sun the place soon began to look more cheerful, and a few days' fine weather wrought quite a change.

The hotel looks down on the Place Lafayette and the commencement of the avenue known as the "Coustous." This name puzzled us! We tried to find its derivation in French, without success, and Greek and German were no better. Latin seemed to solve the difficulty with the word "Custos," since it is said that the ancient guardians of the town formerly marched up and down beneath these fine old trees; so we decided to hunt no further but to translate "Coustous" into the "Guards' Walk." Having settled that knotty point, we took a stroll in the avenue, and later, paid a visit to the parish church of St. Vincent which is close by. It is particularly chaste inside, some portions dating from the 14th century, but the 15th and 16th have each had a share in the construction. Some of the altars are made of fine Pyrenean marble, and the Empress Eugenie is said to have given the wooden image of the Virgin on the pedestal.

As the various marbles obtained in the vicinity are exceedingly interesting, and in many cases very beautiful, a very pleasant half-hour can be spent at one of the many marble works which the town possesses. Fired with this idea ourselves, one gloomy day after lunch we sallied from the hotel, down the road to the left of the church, through the public gardens, and--attracted by the marble pillar--down the lane to the right of it, which at length brought us to the works of Monsieur Géruzet. The huge blocks of the rough stone were first inspected, then we saw the various processes of cutting, ornamenting and polishing, and finally were ushered into the showroom, where all kinds of articles from a sleeve-stud to a sideboard were on sale. The cigar-trays and letterweights were most reasonable, but it is not necessary to buy at all--and gratuities are not supposed to be permitted.

There were some fine turn-outs in the donkey line which deserve notice, the peculiarity of these animals here being, to go where they are wanted, and even to trot about it. Looking out of the window one morning, we were immediately attracted by the tiniest of donkeys galloping across the "place" with two big men behind it; and later on in the day, a neat specimen of the same tribe passed down the "Coustous," dragging a small dogcart, almost completely filled by the form of a French female, two or three times as large as her donkey.

But like other things, the "genus asininus" is very variable, almost as much so as the barometer, and those "on hire" for riding purposes were quite as obstinate as their relations in other countries; at least so the ladies declared who tried them, and they ought to know. Their bitter experience was gained in a trip up the Monné, the highest mountain in the immediate vicinity, being 2308 feet above Bigorre, or 4128 above the sea. Our party was seven in all, supplemented by a broken-winded and coughing horse (called Towser; French, _Tousseux_), two very obstinate donkeys, and a particularly polite donkey boy. Add to these, three luncheon- baskets and various sticks, umbrellas, and parasols, and the cavalcade is complete. We left the hotel and passed up the Coustous in rather mixed order, which improved as we turned into the Rue d'Alsace, and leaving the Great Bathing Establishment [Footnote: Grand Etablissement de Thermes.] and French Protestant Church on the right, and the Baths of Santé and Grand Pré on the left, entered the "Salut" avenue, which in due time brought us to the baths of the same name. The ascent, which by the road is most circuitous and easy, commences from thence. But though easy, the donkeys did not attempt to conceal their dislike for the work at a very early stage, and when the blasting in the quarries was hushed, "the voice of the charmer" (i.e. donkey boy) might have been heard, painfully resembling the sounds made by the traveller with his head over the vessel's side, urging them on, "Ai-ue--Ai-ue." As we rounded the last of the minor peaks, "the keen demands of appetite" were not to be resisted; so on a nice green plateau, with the object of our desires in full view, we discussed the luncheon. Shawls were spread, plates handed round, bottles gurglingly uncorked, and chicken and "pâté de foie gras" distributed until everyone was steadily at work. The mountain air seemed to affect the "vin ordinaire"; everyone averred it was as good as "Margaux," while the chicken was voted delicious, and the pâté superb.

This important business over, a start was again made, and though the donkeys were still obstinate, we managed to make progress. Daffodils were growing in profusion as we neared the summit, making the hill crest seem crowned with gold. At last, after one or two nasty narrow bits of path, barely affording sufficient footing for the animals, we gained the top, anxious to enjoy the view. Unhappily, the tips of the highest peaks were hidden in the clouds, but the general view was excellent, so we endeavoured to be content. With our backs to Bigorre, we had the Pic du Midi (9440 ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.) right before us, with the small Val de Serris and the finer Val de Lesponne beneath. More to the left, the continuation of the Campan Valley leading to Luchon, in which, as far as Ste. Marie, the route is visible. On the extreme left lay the four villages of Gerde, Asté, Baudéan and Campan, with the Pêne de l'Heris (5226 ft.) and the Ordincède rearing above them. Looking in the direction of Bigorre, we could see on our right the trees fringing the hills above Gerde, and known as the Palomières; and slightly to the left Lourdes and its lake, with the entrance to the Argelès valley further round in the same direction and close to the wooded hill known as the Castel Mouly (3742 ft.). The Tapêre (a small stream) flows from this last-named hill into a narrow glen, on the left side of which Madame Cottin wrote the "Exiles of Siberia." The hill above, known as "Mont Bédat," and surmounted with a statue of the Virgin, is a favourite walk from the town, the ascent for a moderate walker taking about forty-five minutes.

After twenty minutes to enjoy this panorama we began the descent on the Castel-Mouly side, and were very soon forced to make short and sometimes slippery cuts, to avoid the banks of snow lying in the path. We easily managed to strike the proper path again, however, and soon found ourselves at our "luncheon plateau." We now bore along to the left, finding several large gentians, and gradually, by dint of short cuts, we reached the Croix de Manse--a plateau where four roads meet. Taking the one leading from the Bédat, we were soon deposited at the hotel in safety.

The ladies were inexpressibly glad to give up their donkeys, and Miss Leonards considered her experiences so bitter as to wish them to be handed down to posterity under the title of

"The Lady'S Farewell To Her Asinine Steed."

My donkey steed! my donkey steed! that standest slyly by, With thy ill-combed mane and patchy neck--thy brown and cunning eye, I will not mount the Monné's height, or tread the gentle mead Upon thy back again: oh slow and wretched donkey steed!

The sun may rise, the sun may set, but ne'er again on thee, Will I repeat the sorry ride from which at length I'm free; I'd sooner walk ten thousand times, though walking would be vain, Than ever mount, my donkey steed, upon thy back again.

Perchance in _nightmare's_ fitful dreams thou'lt amble into sight, Perchance once more thy cunning eye will turn on me its light. Again I'll raise my parasol--_in vain_--to make thee speed, A parasol is nought to thee, my wretched donkey steed.

'Twas only when at my request some kindly hand would chide, Or sharply thrust a pointed stick against thy shaggy side, That the slow blood that in thee runs would quicken once again, For though my parasol I broke, my efforts _still_ were vain.

Did I ill use thee? Surely not! such things could never be! Although thou wentest slowest when I fain would haste to tea. Creeping at snail's pace only--while I couldn't make thee learn That donkeys' legs were never made to stop at ev'ry turn.

At ev'ry turn!--such weary work--I knew not what to do: Oh nevermore!--no, nevermore!--would I that ride renew. How very wide thy jaws were kept--how far thrown back thine ears, As though to make me think thee ill and fill my soul with fears. Safe and unmounted will I roam with stately step alone, No more to feel, on thee, such pains and aches in ev'ry bone: And if I rest beside a well, perchance I'll pause and think, How even if I'd brought thee there, I couldn't make thee drink.

I couldn't even make thee move! Away, the ride is o'er! Away! for I shall rue the day on which I see thee more! They said thou wert so meek and good, and I'm not over strong, I took their _kind_ advice, but oh! their _kind_ advice was _wrong._

Who said I'd gladly give thee up? Who said that thou were old? 'Tis true! 'tis true! my donkey steed! and I alas was _sold._ With joy I see thy form depart--that form which ne'er again Shall bear me up the mountain-side and fill my soul with pain.

After such a potent warning posterity will doubtless avoid "donkey steeds" altogether.

Saturday is the great market-day of the week, and not only then is the "Place de Strasbourg," at the end of the "Rue du Centre," well crowded, but even--as happens on no other day--the Place Lafayette, in front of the hotel, and the top of the Coustous as well. The first-named is the fruit, flower, and vegetable market; the second, the grain and potato; and the third, the iron and old shoe market. The amount and variety of old iron and cast-off shoes exposed for sale is astonishing. And if the vendors were given to crying their wares they might indulge in something like the following--of course translated:--

"Now who's for an 'upper,' a 'heel,' or a 'sole'? This way for some fine rusty chain! The sum of ten halfpence will purchase the whole, And surely you cannot complain!

"Just glance at this slipper, whose fellow is lost; Here's a boot that was only worn thrice; A hammer, your honour, at half what it cost; I'm sure that's a reasonable price."

The curious characters loafing, begging, buying and selling, quite defy description, though the resemblance of many to the ape tribe was conspicuous. One ancient individual, presiding over an "umbrella hospital," presented an interesting spectacle surrounded by _adult_ shoe-blacks whose trade did not appear to be too lucrative.

Sunday is usually a very quiet day out of the season, but on our first Sunday morning the Place de Strasbourg was the scene of a real cat-fight. The combatants quite tabooed spitting and scratching, and went to work with their teeth. After a few squeaks and a great deal of rolling in the dust, a magnanimous dog appeared on the scene, and after separating them, pursued the victor down the street. The rest of the day, as usual, passed peacefully, and the pleasant services in the pretty little English Church were much enjoyed. It is situated near Dussert and Labal's marble works, just off the Rue des Pyrenees, leading to Campan, about a hundred yards beyond the Coustous, and is reached by crossing a small wooden bridge.

Monday broke very fine, and as the market people had notified that the Col d'Aspin was now open, we made up a party of ten, just filling two landaus, for this fifteen-mile drive. We did not start till eleven, and by that time the clouds had commenced to show themselves, but hoping for better things, we went ahead. Following the Campan road, we soon left Gerde and the Palomières above it, in the distance, and in a few moments the village of Asté as well. A little further on we met a barouche, lolling back in which sat a priest. His hands were clasped o'er his breast, his spectacled eyes were fixed upwards, and judging by the expression of his mouth and the movement of his lips, he was endeavouring to put some pleasant, self-contented thoughts into words. We took the liberty of guessing what he was saying, and set it down as

"The Abbé'S Song."

Oh! I am an Abbé, an Abbé am I, And I'm fond of my dinner and wine. Some say I'm a sinner, but that I deny, And I never am heard to repine. 'Tis said what a pity I can't have a wife, But I'm saved from the _chance_ of all naggings and strife, While in my barouche I can ride where I will, Feeling life not half bad, though the world may be ill.

I always wear glasses, but that's to look sage, And not 'cause my eyesight is dim, For when sweet maids I view of a loveable age, I contrive to look over the rim. And when I'm alone with the glass at my lips, I am ready to swear, as I pause 'twixt the sips, That as long as the world does not hamper my will, I think I can manage to live in it still.

A short distance before reaching Baudéan a road strikes to the right up the Vallon de Serris, and a short distance beyond, another, in the same direction, strikes up the Vallée de Lesponne, _en route_ for the Lac Bleu (6457 ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.). When Baudéan and its quaint old church were left in our rear, and we were nearing Campan, we witnessed a fierce struggle between a young bull-calf and a native. The calf objected very strongly to the landaus, and wished to betake itself to the adjacent country to avoid them. To this the native very naturally objected in turn, and a struggle was the result, in which the calf was worsted and reduced to order.

Campan is a curious old town, with a quaint marketplace, whose roof rests on well-worn stone pillars. Turning a corner, we came on a somewhat mixed collection of men, women, oxen, and logs of wood. The French flag was fixed against a tree, and painted on a board underneath it were the familiar words, "débit de tabac," with an arrow or two pointing round the corner, but no tobacco shop was in sight.

The peasants thronged the windows as we drove down the street, but the greater number were weird and decrepit females, with faces like the bark of an ancient oak-tree.

The old church, which stands near the market-place is well worth a visit. Passing under an archway on the right side of the road, we entered a court-yard, in which stands a marble statue erected in honour of the late curé, and on the right of this is the entrance into the church.

After leaving Campan the road ascends slightly through several small hamlets, each possessing a proportionately small chapel at the wayside, till Ste. Marie (2965 ft.) is reached. Here the road bifurcates, the branch to the right leading to Gripp, Tramesaïgues, the Col du Tourmalet, and Barèges; the branch to the left, along which we continued, to the Col d'Aspin, Arreau, Bordères, Col de Peyresourde (5070 ft.), and Luchon (2065 ft.). From Ste. Marie the grandeur of the scenery increases. Besides the Montaigu and the Pic du Midi on the right, on the left are the Pêne de l'Heris (5226 ft.) and the Crête d'Ordincède (5358 ft. about), with their wooded crests uplifted above the range of lower hills, dotted with the huts of the shepherds. Still ascending slightly, we passed Payole (3615 ft.), where a head thrust out of the window of the Hôtel de la Poste showed us it was at any rate occupied, and as we drove past at a good pace, visions of a pleasant tea rose before us.

[Illustration: THE PINE FOREST NEAR THE COL D'ASPIN.]

We were soon mounting the zigzags through the splendid pine woods, and enjoyed the delicious glimpses down the deep moss-grown glades, with the scent of the rising sap in our nostrils. The glimpses on the mountains up and down the road were very felicitous also. On emerging from the forest the road was rather narrow for the carriage for several yards, the snow being two to three feet deep on either side, but as soon as this was passed, another three- quarter mile of open driving brought us to the Col d'Aspin (4920 ft.). The view from this spot is very fine, but to really enjoy the scenery to the fullest extent, we mounted the crest on the left, called the Monné Rouge (5759 ft.), and were well rewarded. Although, as too often happens, the highest peaks were in the mist, we could see the whole extent of the valleys, and the tops of the lower mountains. The range of sight is magnificent; the Maladetta (10,866 ft.) only just visible to the east, the huge Posets (11,047 ft.) standing out frowningly to the south-south-east, as well as the Pez (10,403 ft.) and the Clarabide (10,254 ft. about), and many others. While not only the valley of Séoube, just passed through, and the valley of Aure, in which Arreau lies, are visible, but to the northwest even the plain of the Garonne as well. As the clouds were gradually obscuring the scene, we made our way at a smart pace through the pines back towards the inn at Payole. One weather- beaten old fir, hung with lichen, devoid of all its former garb of green, seemed to appeal to us for pity; we noticed it both when ascending and descending, and its misery at dying when all the trees around were growing anew, we have set down as

"The Plaint Of The Weather-Beaten Pine."

Behold I stand by the Aspin road, an old and worn-out Pine, The years I cannot recollect that make this life of mine: The snows have fallen o'er my crest, the winds have whistled high, For tens of years the winter's frost I managed to defy; But now the fiat has gone forth, the flame of life is dead, And nevermore I'll feel the storms that beat about my head.

I've watch'd the carriage travellers pass so gaily on their way, I've heard the capercailzie's note at early dawning grey; But now, alas! my doom is sealed, I have not long to wait, For when the axe has laid me low the fire will be my fate. Farewell to sun, farewell to storm, to birds and travellers all, --Oh sad to think that one so great should have so great a fall!

As some of the party had gone on earlier, we found the table spread when we reached the Inn de la Poste; and after a warm at the kitchen fire proceeded to discuss the repast, of which the following is the _menu_:--

Menu.

* * * * *

Soup.

Tea._

Fish.

Cold Minnows.

Roasts.

Remains of Cold Chicken. Remains of Paté de Foie Gras.

Cold.

Household _Bread_--very sour.

Made Dish.

_Butter._

Sweets.

Sponge Biscuits.

Dessert.

Apples and Oranges.

Wines And Liqueurs.

Vin Ordinaire, Water with very little Whisky, Kirschwasser.

We were unable to procure any addition to our meal from the innkeeper, except sour bread and sugar. Our tea had to be drank without milk, as the cow had gone for a stroll up the mountain and was out of reach of the post-office. Having suggested to our host that a telegram might be of use, he disappeared grinning, and in about ten minutes the servant entered with a bottle containing the precious liquid. The shout of joy that rose to the rafters rather startled the quiet female, but it was spontaneous, not to be suppressed, and told of a happy finish to our not over sumptuous tea.

The drive from thence home was decidedly chilly, but nothing exciting happened, though occasional glimpses of the snow peaks were enjoyed, and many fine specimens of the genus bovus, dragging carts laden with trees (or all that remained of them), were passed by the way.

The entire excursion occupied six hours and a half.

A few days afterwards our sociable circle at the hotel was much reduced, and among others the Clipper family departed. We missed Mr. Clipper greatly, for though bearing strong evidence to Darwin's theory about the face, he was a chatty companion and capital "raconteur," while his facility for remembering names, even of places visited in his youngest days, was really remarkable.

Nor could we easily spare the four sylph-like Misses Clipper, for with them vanished all hopes of delicious music in the evening. Ah, that was music! The way they played together the "Taking of Tel-el- Kebir" took us by storm. The silent march through the dead of night, the charge, the cheers, the uncertain rifle fire, and then the thunder of the cannon was so effective, that the landlord rose in haste from his dinner, and anxiously inquired if the pier-glass had fallen through the piano; reassured, he went back to his meal, but whether the "taking of the redoubt," or the "pursuit of the fugitives," or even the capital imitation of the bagpipes--which followed in due course--interfered with his digestion (it might have been a regard for his piano), we never learnt, but his face showed unmistakable signs of annoyance for the rest of the evening.

The next morning--which was Saturday--Miss Leonards, Mrs. Willesden, and myself took a walk to the villages of Asté and Gerde. They lie on the opposite side of the river Adour, and are within an easy walk. The market people were coming in a continuous stream along the Campan road, some in long carts crowded sardine- like, some in traps, some on donkeys, but the majority on foot. We stopped two of the most crowded carts and asked them to make room for us. The inmates of the former took it as a joke and drove off chuckling; but those in the second took the matter-of-fact view and began squeezing about, till, having a space of about four inches by three, one man said he thought they could manage; however, not wishing to "sit familiar," we thanked him, but declined to trouble him any further.

The first bridge over the river, built of stone, leads to Gerde and Asté, but we preferred to take the longer route, which continues along the Campan road, till, after passing several smaller wooden bridges, it turns to the left between two houses over an iron bridge, and strikes straight into Asté. Before entering the town we glanced over in the direction of Campan, and caught a fine glimpse of the Houn Blanquo (6411 ft.), and the Pic du Midi, with a bit of the Montaigu. Asté is interesting, formerly a fief of the Grammont family; it has been associated with not a few celebrated characters, and though that does not enhance the value of the surrounding property (since the Grammont estate is now in the market), yet of course it renders the village more worthy of a visit.

The picturesque and ivy-covered ruin is all that remains of the feudal castle where Gabrielle d'Estrelle [Footnote: So the oldest inhabitant said!] lived and loved, and whither the renowned Henry IV. (the object of that love) came over from his castle at Pau on frequent visits.

The church, with its Campan marble porch, is celebrated for the image of the Virgin which it contains, and which is greatly reverenced in the neighbourhood.

Asté was honoured with a long visit from Pitton de Tournefort, a celebrated French naturalist, and the fact is commemorated by an engraved tablet affixed to the house in which he passed his nights.

The tablet is on the left-hand side of the main street (going towards Gerde), and the inscription--which is in verse--runs as follows:--

"Pitton de Tournefort dans cet humble réduit, De ses fatigues de jour se reposait la nuit. Lorsqu' explorant nos monts qu'on ignorait encore, Ce grand homme tressait la couronne de flore."

MDCCCXXXII. M.B.

Which might be translated--

"Pitton de Tournefort when tired for the day, In this hole made his bed, on a shakedown of hay. Our hills, long despised, he was pleased to explore, And we thank him for lib'rally paying the score!"

1832.

Taking the path leading to the right, we managed by dint of a little wading to reach Gerde, a village possessing little internal interest besides the neat church, but otherwise known to fame from the "palomières," or pigeon-traps, worked between the trees which fringe the hills above it. During the autumn, when the pigeons are migrating, huge nets are spread between the trees, and on the approach of a flock, men, perched in a lofty "crow's nest," throw out a large wooden imitation of a hawk, at the sight of which the pigeons dip in their flight and rush into the nets, which--worked on the pulley system--immediately secure them. There are three species taken in the traps: the wood pigeon, the ringed wood pigeon, and the wild dove.

Leaving Gerde by the principal thoroughfare, we came back to Bagnères by the Toulouse road, passing the Cattle Market--held in a triangular space shaded with trees--on the left; and the Géruzet Marble Works, and later the Parish Church, on the right.

[Illustration: PALOMIÈRES DE GERDE.]

With the exception of the baths or Thermes, we did not find many places of interest in the town. The old Jacobin tower, surmounted by a clock, in the Rue de l'Horloge, is all that remains of a convent built in the 15th century, but is in a good state of preservation. The theatre is part of what was formerly the "Chapel of St. John," used by the Templars. The porch over the doorway was erected in the 13th century, and is of the Transition style, utterly incongruous to the use now made of it; but this kind of sacrilege is unhappily now becoming of common occurrence! Leaving the theatre, in a short space we were in the "Place des Thermes," where the New Casino is being built among the shrubs on the right. The "Grand Etablissement," which occupies the centre of the "Place," contains seven different springs, and there is another in the circular building outside, the latter being only used for drinking purposes. On the first floor of the building are the library (to the left), the geological room (in the centre), and the picture gallery (to the right). The corridors leading to the first and last are panelled with good specimens of the Pyrenean marbles, and in the same room with the pictures is a supposed model of a section of the Pyrenees--anybody gaining any information from it deserves a prize.

To the left of this establishment stands the "Hospice Civil," a fine building in grey stone.

The Carmelite Church, on the left of the road leading to Mount Olivet, where several pleasant villas are situated, is now closed, the "order" having been dispersed two years ago; so nothing is to be seen there of interest except the sculpture representing the "miracle of the loaves" over the door.

One institution must not be forgotten, viz, the afternoon tea or coffee at Madame Cheval's. This good lady presides over a confectioner's shop opposite the end of the Hôtel (Beau Séjour), in the Rue du Centre. Her cakes and coffee are good, and, thanks to our enlightened instructions, anyone taking some tea to her can have it properly made, and be provided with the necessary adjuncts for enjoying it; cream even being attainable if ordered the previous day. We spent many a pleasant half-hour there, and can well recommend others to follow our example.

Towards the end of the month Mr. H---- and his daughters moved on to Luchon, as their time was limited; and the last week saw the departure of Mrs. Willesden and Miss Leonards for England, whereat Bigorre was as tearful and miserable as a steady downpour could make it. I had serious thoughts of moving on to Luchon for two or three days myself, and a driver who had brought two men thence over the Col d'Aspin, offered to take me back for twenty francs, but learning next day that there were five feet of snow on the Col, and that Luchon was wretchedly cold, I decided to wait till later on, a decision in no way regretted.

Although during the latter part of our stay the weather was agreeable, and the influence of spring manifest, I was not sorry when the day for moving forward arrived, and though Madame Cheval, when I broke the news to her over my solitary cup of coffee, looked as concerned as she could, and murmured something to the effect that "all her customers were going away," yet with the assurance that some day soon a party of us would pay her a visit, she managed to smile again!

Chapter III.

Lourdes.

The Journey to Tarbes--The Buffet and the Nigger--Lourdes Station in the Wet--Importunate "Cochers"--Hôtel des Pyrénées--"Red tape" and Porters--Lourdes in Sunshine--Sightseeing--The "Rue de la Grotte"--"The Cry of the Lourdes Shopkeepers"--Candle-sellers--The Grotto--Abject Reverence--The Church--St. Bernard--Interior of Church--The Panorama--Admirable Effect--Rue du Fort--The Castle-- The View from the Tower--Pie de Mars, or Ringed Ousels.

The railway run from Bigorre to Lourdes is by no means a long one, the actual distance being only twenty-six and a quarter miles, and actual time in the train about one and a half hours, but the break at Tarbes considerably prolongs it.

The early morning had been wet, and showers continued till the afternoon, but the sun condescended to come out as the train wound slowly out of the station, and the lights and shades up the valley and hillsides were delightful. Having the anticipatory pleasure of meeting Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney again at Lourdes; and a lovely view of the beauties of spring when I looked out of the window, the time did not take long to pass. One particularly pretty bit of meadow, trees, and stream led to the building of an airy castle, which the sudden appearance of the spires and roofs of Tarbes--suggesting the return to bustle and the haunts of men--soon banished, and the arrival in the station and the necessary change eradicated completely.

Thirty-five minutes to wait. Too little to see the town, too much for twiddling one's thumbs. Then what? Glorious inspiration! The Buffet! Capital; and into the Buffet I accordingly went. Seated at a table, a nigger, slightly white about the finger tips, but otherwise quite genuine--no Moore and Burgess menial--appeared to do my bidding. "What would Monsieur take? Café?"--"Oui." "Café noir ou café au lait?" I decided on taking the coffee with milk, adding that anything in the biscuit line would not be amiss, and away he went grinning. He soon returned with cakes and coffee, and by dint of taking my time I had barely finished when it was time to start.

Again I managed to secure a carriage to myself, but this time it proved a very badly coupled one which jolted considerably. Lourdes was reached in a wretched drizzle, and the benefit conferred on passengers by having the station _quite_ free from any covering whatever, was _apparent_ to all. A sudden activity on the part of the "cochers" to entrap me to their respective (but by no means necessarily respectable) hotels, as I emerged from the station-- which proved useless--and I was jolting onward to the Hôtel des Pyrénées. When arrived, inspected rooms, ordered fires and dinner, and whiled away an hour till it was time to repair again to the station, to meet Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney, "Red tape"-ism dominant there, as it is everywhere in France. In fact, "red tape" is the French official's refuge. Whenever a system is weak or underhand, they seek protection behind a maze of stupidity and fuss. I wanted to see the station-master, to obtain permission to perambulate the platform till the arrival of the train. No porter would bestir himself to find this great official, but whichever way I turned one was always ready with his "Où allez-vous, Monsieur?" to which the only sensible reply would have been "Pas au ----, comme vous," but silence and an utter indifference were better still, and armed with these I ran the gauntlet of the pests, and finding the "Chef de Gare" in his "bureau," at once received the desired permission. There was not much time for perambulation, as the train soon steamed in, though without Mr. Sydney, who was detained for a day or two longer, and once more, but now a triangular party, we jolted back to the hotel. The rest of the evening was passed with dinner, and an endeavour to get warm; the rain and wind still enjoying themselves without.

[Illustration]

However, with the morn all these miseries vanished, and the sun shone from a blue sky flecked with a few films of snow. Lourdes looked very charming under such auspices, and Miss Blunt availed herself of the balmy air of the morning to wander round the stables and garden with a speckled pointer and a Pyrenean puppy, between which and the mountains her attention was divided, though the last named had certainly the least of it.

Then out we sallied to see the sights, which are more of quality than quantity. Turning to the right from the hotel door, through the Place de Marcadal, where the fountain was playing in delightful imitation of the previous night's rain, we gained the commencement of the Rue de la Grotte (which bears sharply to the left by the Hôtel de Paris), and followed its muddy ways with more or less danger owing to absence of footpath, and presence of numerous carriages. However, having passed the Hôtel d'Angleterre and the end of Rue du Fort (leading to the ancient castle), footpaths came into view, but the joy of the discovery was much minimized at the sight of the shops and shopkeepers, as the latter gave us no peace. It was one ceaseless bother to buy, mostly in French; but one damsel, confident of success assailed us in whining English, running up and down before her wares, and seizing different objects in quick succession, while continuing to praise their beauty and cheapness. Every shop or stall we passed--and there were a good many--had an inmate more or less importunate, but as what they had to say was very similar, it can be all embodied in the following

"Cry Of The Lourdes Shopkeepers."

This way, if you please, miss; and madame, this way; Kind sir, pause a moment, and see. Oh! tell me, I beg, what's your pleasure to-day? Pray enter--the entrance is free.

Some candles? I've nice ones at half a franc each, Or thirty centimes, if you will. Some tins, each with lids fitted tight as a leech, For you, with blest water to fill.

And look at these beads, only forty centimes, All carved, and most beautif'ly neat. I've "charms" that will give you the sweetest of dreams, And _bénitiers_ lovely and sweet.

A cross of pure ivory. Photographs too. --No good?--You want nothing to-day?-- Alas! what on earth must poor shopkeepers do? Oh, kindly buy something, I pray!

One candle? You must have _one_ candle to burn When into the grotto you tread. Not one? Not a little one? Onward you turn! Bah! may miseries light on your head!!

As soon as the shops were passed, and even before, women besieged us with packets of candles, and it was with great difficulty we made them understand the word No! Then, leaving the Hôtels de la Grotte and Latapie on the right, and the "Panorama" on the opposite side, we wound down towards the river and the grotto.

To us, it would be hard to conceive anything more pitiable or repulsive than the scene which met our gaze as we passed at the base of the church and came in full view of the grotto. An irregular opening in the dull grey stone going back only a few feet, with the moisture oozing over it here and there, and the ivy and weeds adding picturesqueness to what would otherwise be commonplace; in an elevated niche on the right, a figure of the Virgin in white robes and blue sash; in front, on the left, a covered marble cistern, with taps; and innumerable crutches and candles, were all the unsuperstitious eye could see. But to those poor wretches gathered round in prayer, influenced by the "light- headed" dreams of a poor swineherd, the spot was the holiest of holy ground. The abject reverence of their attitudes, the stand of flaming and guttering candles, the worship and kissing of the rough wet stones, the pious drinking of the cistern's water as they came away--a few pausing to buy some "blest" token of their visit at the adjacent shop--and the solemn silence that reigned over all, were the chief features that made the scene one from which we were only too glad to turn away. Taking the zigzag path among the pleasant trees and shrubs, on the right, we soon reached the level of the Gothic church, which we entered from the farther end. Ascending the steps, the two statues on either side of the porch came in view, but neither repaid a nearer inspection; St. Bernard, on the left, looking about as dejected and consumptive as anyone, priest or layman, well could. The church itself, from a Roman Catholic standpoint, must be considered very fine, but the adoration of the Virgin to the almost complete disregard of her subjection to "Our Saviour" is most apparent. The windows and many of the altars are beautiful, and so are many of the banners, while the high altar is a great work of art; but the _unreligious_ tone that this striving after effect produces, but without which the religion--or so-called religion--would soon cease to exist, struck us as we entered, and increased with every step. It was as if to say, "Look at these lovely things, feast your eyes on them, and let their beauty be the mainspring to inspire you with faith." There was no appeal to the true religion of the soul, that springs from the heart in a clear stream, and which no tinsel banners, no elaborate statues, and no flaming candles, can quicken or intensify!

Leaving the church by the high road, with the Convent and "Place," --with its neat walks and grass plots,--on the left, we proceeded to the "Panorama," where, our admiration having been tempered by the payment of a franc each, we spent an enjoyable quarter of an hour. The painting as a whole--representing Lourdes twenty-five years ago--is most effective, and the effect is heightened by the admirable combination with real earth, and grass, and trees. The grouping of the figures round the grotto, representing the scene at the eighteenth appearance of the Virgin to Bernadette--who is the foremost figure kneeling in the grotto--is particularly fine; but how that huge crowd standing there were content with Bernadette's assertion that she saw the vision, when none of them saw anything but the stones, is a practical question that few probably could answer, and least of all the priests. [Illustration] Returning by the way we had come, we bore up the Rue du Fort to inspect the old castle--or all that remained of it--and enjoy the view. After some two hundred yards of this narrow street, painfully suggestive, in the vileness of its odours, of Canton's narrower thoroughfares, we reached the steps leading up on the left, and commenced the ascent. As it was, we did not find it very difficult work, though if a rifle had been levelled from every slit in the two-foot walls, it is probable that before _two_ of the nearly two hundred steps had been surmounted, we would have been levelled also. Passing between once impregnable walls (where English soldiers also passed in days of yore), we crossed the now harmless-looking drawbridge and rang the bell. A woman opened the door and requested us to enter, a request which evidently met with the approbation of two diminutive youngsters, whose faces were dimpled with smiles wherever the fat would allow. Keeping along the right wall in the direction of the pig-sties (O! shades of the Black Prince!!!) we were greeted with the musical tones of the "porkers" and many _sweet_ odours. Having entered one of the prisons at the base of the tower for a moment, we next followed the ever-winding steps till fairly giddy, and reached the top. Thence the view was exceedingly fine. We seemed to be at the meeting-point of four valleys, and the snow peaks in the direction of Argelès were free from clouds. The whole of Lourdes lay like a map beneath; the church with the "Calvary" on the hill over against it, the river sparkling in the sunlight, the Pic de Jer with its brown sides, and the winding roads with the green fields and budding trees, joining to make a pleasant picture.

Descending again to the hotel, we partook of a capital lunch, of which the "pie de mars," or ringed ousel--a bird of migratory habits, little known in our isles (except in a few parts of Scotland), but considered a great delicacy here--formed a part. After this, Miss Blunt once again devoted herself to the Pyrenean puppy, till the carriage came round and we took our departure.

Chapter IV

ArgelèS.

Road v. Rail--Scenes, sublime and ridiculous--Hôtel d'Angleterre-- Questions and "The Argelès Shepherd's Reply"--A forbidden path--The ride to Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous--Argelès church--Route Thermale--Ges--The tree in the path--"A regular fix"--Serres--" It's a stupid foal that doesn't know its own mother "--A frothing stream--A fine view--Pigs in clover--Salluz--Ourous--Contented villagers--The high road--The bridge on the Pierrefitte road-- Advice to sketchers--"Spring's Bitters and Sweets"--The "witch of the hills"--Large green lizards--"Jeannette's Lamb"--Round the Argelès valley--Château de Beaucens--Villelongue--Soulom--The old church--Hôtel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--St. Savin--The verger and the ancient church--Cagots--"The Organ's Tale"--St. Savin's tomb-- The Château de Miramont--Jugged izard--Market-day--Sour bread and the remedy--Arrival of the first parcel.

Although the railway line takes very nearly the same route as the carriage road, the drive is decidedly preferable, and when it can be undertaken for ten francs--as in our case--there is little to choose between the modes of conveyance on the score of cheapness, especially as a landau can carry a very fair quantity of luggage. We considered ourselves amply repaid for our choice as we wound underneath the rocky crags and by the side of the river, anon ascending the curve of a small hill with the fresh fields below, a little church or ivied ruin standing out on the mountain-side, and high above all, the snowy summits so majestic and so intensely white. There was occasionally a ridiculous side to the picture too, when we put a flock of sheep in rapid motion in a wrong direction and the luckless shepherd had to start in hot pursuit--using the politest of language; or, again, when some natives on tiny donkeys or skittish mules came by, their faces breaking into a respectful grin as they wished us "bon jour." Skirting the railway line for a short distance, we drove into Argelès rather unexpectedly, our ride having seemed all too short. However, there was our hotel--the Grand Hôtel d'Angleterre (everything is grand now-a-days)--standing boldly by the road, with the quaint, though poor-looking village about it, and for another few days that was to be our abode. [Illustration] This hotel, though possessing less of a reputation than the Hôtel de France, nevertheless commands a finer view on all sides, and is a pleasanter abode on that account. The afternoon was still young when we arrived, so as soon as we had stowed our luggage we sallied out for a walk along the road to Pierrefitte. A short way from the hotel, an old shepherd was standing in the middle of the road leaning on his staff, with his flock of sheep all round him, and the dog lolling idly on the grass. The tall poplars by the roadside waking into life, the merry stream meandering at their feet, and the back ground of mountains tipped with snow, filled up the scene. We accosted the old man with a good-day, and asked him several questions about the weather and himself, all of which he answered in a genial way, and which strung together made up

"The ArgelèS Shepherd'S Reply."

Good-day, sir! The weather, sir; will it be wet? You see, sir, I hardly can say, We gen'rally know at the earliest dawn What weather we'll have in the day; But at night--in these mountains--I couldn't be sure, And I'd rather not tell you, sir, wrong. And yet, what does a day here or there make to you? If it rains, 'twill be fine before long. Have I always looked after the sheep, sir? Why, No! I've served in the army, sir, sure. Let me see--ah!--it's now thirty summers ago Since those hardships we had to endure. Ay, I fought with your soldiers 'mid bleak Russia's snow, Half numb'd in the trenches I worked, And suffered what few of you gents, sir, would know, But somehow, we none of us shirked. Was I wounded, sir? No, sir! thank Goodness for that, Though I've seen some stiff fighting, 'tis true. In Africa 'twasn't all sunshine and play, And in Austria we'd plenty to do. Do I like being a shepherd, sir, roaming the hills, Just earning enough to buy bread? Well, I wouldn't have cared all my days, for the ills And the life that as soldier I led. No, sir! no! though 'twas well enough then, Peace, you see, Is the best when one's hair's turning grey! Will I drink your good health, sir? Ay, proud I shall be, And, thanking you kindly--Good-day!!!

Strolling on, we soon reached the bridge over the River Gave d'Azun, and leaving the old structure "whose glory has departed" on the right, we crossed over and continued along the road for a short distance, till we noticed a lane leading off to the left, which we followed. This in time bore further round in the same direction and suddenly ended at the entrance to a field. However, keeping straight on, we came in view of the river's bank and to this we kept, recrossing by the railway bridge below, and then back by the fields home, completing a round none the less pleasant because a captious critic might have called it trespassing.

As lovely a ride or walk as can well be imagined, even by an imagination as fertile as this lovely valley, passes by way of the four villages of Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous. Although the weather was rather unsettled, we started one morning about 9.15, and following the road towards Lourdes for about two hundred yards, took the sharp turn to the left (with the telegraph wires) up into the town. Gaining the church, we bore along to the right into the open "Place," at the left corner of which the Route Thermale to Eaux Bonnes and Eaux Chaudes begins. For about half a mile this was our road also, but after that distance, the Ges route branched off to the right, and the views of Argelès, and the rest of the valley from it, as we wound upwards, were particularly lovely. The horses were very fresh, having only lately been brought from the mountains, after a winter of idleness, and they walked at a fast pace fretting at any stoppage whatever, which they did not endeavour to disguise, any more than their inclination to shy at anything they possibly could. As far as Ges the way is easy to follow, but it is wise to inquire frequently afterwards, as so many equally important (this importance is decidedly on the negative side) looking paths branch off in every direction. The good people we saw in Ges, a village of thatched cottages looking the worse for rain, said we should find the "road vile," but this did not daunt us, and with a "bon jour" we passed on. We had not gone very far, however, when to our dismay we saw a huge tree right across the road. Our position was an awkward one. The road was rather narrow and without any protection; there was only the steep hillside above, and the steep hillside below. To go up was quite impracticable, to go down was destruction! My horse approached the impediment very quietly, and allowed me to break off several of the worst branches, and then scramble by. Miss Blunt's horse came close up to it as though intending to pass quietly, but, instead, wheeled round on the extreme edge of the path in anything but a pleasant fashion, either for the rider or the observer. [Illustration] Dismounting and tying my steed to one of the branches on the near side of the road, I held back as many of the others as possible, and the horse came up quietly again, but repeated the disagreeable business, still more dangerously. Having broken off several more, and again pulled back the others, the skittish animal consented to pass. But in passing he bent down a very pliant bough, which, when released, flew back and hit my peaceful steed sharply on the legs. For a few seconds his efforts to get free were--to put it mildly-- unpleasantly severe, especially as he became with each effort more entangled in the tree. When the reins were at length unknotted, he quieted a little, and after being led a few yards, submitted to be mounted very peaceably, and we descended, with the fresh leaves above and below us, into Serres. Here we had occasion to remark that "It's a stupid foal that doesn't know its own mother," as one pretty little thing would persist in following our steeds, until a sturdy "paysanne" turned it back. The correct route all this time was the upper one (or that to the left), and we now came to a very lovely bit, where two swift frothing streams dashed down beneath the trees, near a small saw-mill. A fine view up the valley behind us, to the snow peaks towering over the ruddy hill-tops, was enjoyed, as we continued along the ascending and uneven path. In the fields above, some shepherds were driving a flock of sheep, and a woman, reposing under a huge blue gingham, was watching the vigorous onslaught of several pigs in a small clover patch. A few villagers, in their Sunday best, stood by the wayside discussing some topic with languid interest, which they dropped, to wish us "bon jour" and tell us the road. More lovely effects of light and shade over the hills towards Pierrefitte, with filmy clouds shrouding the tallest summits, and here and there a glimpse of the blue sky, and we passed into the straggling hamlet of Salluz, after which the path branched up--still to the left--through the trees. Winding down again, we came to Ourous, to which apparently the inhabitants from all the other villages had come, dressed in their Sunday best, to mass. "Young men and maidens, old men and children," women tottering with extreme age, were all assembled round about the old church, looking contented and happy, smiling, and wishing us a "bon jour" as we rode in a circular direction through the village, till we reached a spot where the road forks, the one to the right leading to Argelès, the one to the left to Lourdes. The former looked so stony that we chose the other, and had not gone very far before a smooth and broader path to the right (from which a grand view of the whole valley opened before us) brought us down to a few houses, between which we passed, and reached the high-road. A good trot along this, by the side of the railway line, and we were back at the hotel, convinced that the badness of the road and all drawbacks were amply--and more than amply--outweighed by the succession of beautiful scenery.

Two walks, one ending in rather a scramble, branch off immediately below the bridge, on the Pierrefitte road. The one we took, at a respectable hour of the morning, which ascends the left side of the mound, is the prettier by far, as it discloses lovely glimpses at every turn. We followed it till it branched off in two directions (the one to the left being the real continuation), but at this point we turned off into a field, deep in grass and studded with flowers, where some comfortable-looking boulders invited us to rest. Miss Blunt,--whose soul thrills with delight at the vastness and beauty of nature,--never allowed opportunities of committing the choicest bits to canvas or paper, to escape her; and, some picturesque display having caught her eye, directly she had located herself on an accommodating boulder, she was at work. Herrick's good advice, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may--Old Time is still a- flying," might be adapted, she thinks, to sketchers in mountainous regions, and she speaks from bitter experience when she suggests:

"Paint in your snow-peaks while you may, If clouds are quickly flying, For those heights now in bright display May soon in mist be lying."

The beauty of the scene was without alloy, the colouring splendid, and up the road above us, beyond which rose the hill, a shepherd was leading his flock of sheep, now and then clapping his hands or shouting to a straggler, but as a rule walking quietly on, the whole flock following in a continuous line. Not wishing to be idle, I took out my pencil to indulge in a poetic eulogy. How far I succeeded may be judged from the following lines, which might be called

"Spring'S Bitters And Sweets."

Here on a moss-grown boulder sitting, Watching the graceful swallows flitting, Hearing the cuckoo's note. Sheep on the hills around me feeding, While in their piteous accents pleading, The lambkins' bleatings float. --Oh, dear! a fly gone down my throat.

Spring's gentle influence all things feeling, New life o'er hill and valley stealing: Buttercups, daisies fair, Studding the meadow, sweetly smiling, Bees with their hum the hours beguiling, Breezes so soft and rare. --Oh, what a fearful wasp was there!

Grand is the view from this grey boulder, Each high snow-peak, each rocky shoulder: Charming, yet wild, the sight. Cherry-trees, with white blossom laden, And 'neath their shade a peasant maiden, Comely her costume bright. --Oh, how these impish ants do bite!

Onward the winding river's flowing, Its spray-splashed stones in sunshine glowing, The peaceful oxen by. From the tall trees the magpies' warning, As on their nests intent, our presence scorning, From branch to branch they fly. --Oh! there's an insect in my eye. I've done: such pests one really can't defy.

Miss Blunt couldn't defy them either, so, as it was getting near luncheon-time besides, we retraced our steps, but had not gone very far before we suffered a severe disappointment. Some fifty yards below us in the path stood a seeming counterpart of "Madge Wildfire"; a wild, weird, wizened looking creature, whom we immediately recognised as a "witch of the hills." Her hair unkempt, her bodice hanging in tatters from her shoulders, her patched and threadbare petticoat barely fastened round what should have been her waist (and a _waste_ it was) by a hook and eye held by a few threads--even such as this, up the path she came. But what a miserable failure she was! When she came close to us, instead of pouring out a torrent of mad words, telling of her woes and wrongs, or at any rate breaking into a disgusting whine such as

"Oh, gentles, I am mad and old, My dress is worn and thin; Oh, give me one small piece of gold! To clothe my wretched skin;"

she didn't even offer to tell our fortunes, but passed timidly by. It was enough to have disappointed a saint! and we were only restored to a pleasant frame of mind by finding Mr. Sydney at the hotel on our return.

[Illustration]

In the afternoon we took the other path--previously mentioned as branching off below the bridge over the Gave d'Azun,--which leading sharply to the right, passes beside the river for a short distance, and then leads among the fields, finally--like others in Argelès-- losing itself there. Just as the poplars which run with it ceased, we had a lovely view up a dip between two fertile hills, to the snow-peaks near Barèges; a narrow path skirts the side of the hill, on the right, in the direction of the morning's sketching ground, but this we did not take, making, instead, for the hill standing immediately above the river. Up this a certain distance we clambered--scaring a few large green lizards that were sunning themselves on the stones,--by a sheep track we managed to discover, till we could look down on a mass of tangled brushwood by the riverside. Scrambling down to this through the wild vines and briars, we succeeded, after many fruitless attempts, in gaining the water's edge. There was no place to cross and the current was far too swift to attempt jumping, so we had to turn back. While deliberating on the right path, a little girl, looking very wretched, with blurred face and torn clothes, came round a corner, and asked us if we had seen a lamb anywhere. We were sorry we hadn't, very sorry indeed; all we could do was to endeavour to recollect a rhyme and adapt it to her case, that we learnt in the nursery when we were something under fifteen, and, although it didn't seem to assuage her grief much--probably because she didn't understand a word of English--we think it ought to be quoted in case it should be useful to others.

Jeannette'S Lamb.

Jeannette had a naughty lamb, That looked like dirty snow; And wherever Jeannette went That lamb would never go.

It wandered from her care one day, (Oh, stupid little fool!) It made her cry her heart away While searching brake and pool.

And Jeannette tore her dress to rags, And scratched her hands and face; But of her dirty little lamb She couldn't find a trace.

The lamb fell in the river deep, But Jeannette never knew. Though Satan finds some mischief still, For little lambs to do.

However, she listened very submissively till we had finished, and then wandered off again still searching for her lamb, while we retraced our steps.

There is a drive round the Argelès valley, which on a fine day is simply splendid, and ought certainly not to be missed. At ten a.m. a landau with two good horses was at the door, and away we went towards Argelès station, across the line, over a new piece of road, and then across a rather shaky, but wholly quaint, wooden bridge (under which flows the Gave de Pau) to the base of the hills. As we continued along this road in the direction of Pierrefitte, the views of the mountains on the Argelès side were especially fine. The Pic d'Arrens (7435 ft.) and the Col de Tortes (5903 ft.), with the wild Pic de Gabizos (8808 ft.) with its toothed summits, behind it--in the direction of Eaux Bonnes: over Pierrefitte the Pic de Soulom (5798 ft.), the Pic de Viscos (7025 ft.), and far up the Cauterets valley the Cabaliros (7655 ft.), the Pic de Labassa (9781 ft.), and the Pyramide de Peyrelance (8800 ft. about). An especially interesting part arrives, as the road approaches the wonderful old ruin of the Château de Beaucens (with "oubliettes" towers, a "donjon" of the 14th century, and west walls of the 16th ditto), which stands on the left, not far from the village of the same name. Crossing the river again, we just managed to pass over some newly-laid road, to the village of Villelongue--above which, on the left, towers the imposing Pic de Villelongue--and soon after found ourselves beside the river again at the foot of the Pic de Soulom, where it is very lovely, and crossing another bridge, reached Soulom itself. It seemed to us an old and somewhat dirty town--not to say filthy--but the church is worthy of a visit. It was formerly fortified, and the construction of the belfry--if such it can be called--is curious. The inscription over the door, "This is the house of God and the gate of heaven," written in Latin, seems somewhat grotesque for such a building, although the dome is painted to represent the sky in all the "intensity" of a starlight night. A few yards along the road and we stood on the bridge over the "Gave de Cauterets," at the other side of which is Pierrefitte --and from which point the scenery is especially grand. Passing the Hôtel de la Poste (recommended) on the left, and the way to the station on the right, we bore up the hill in the former direction, towards St. Savin.

This old place--in fact the oldest village in the valley--is an easy walk from Argelès, and should certainly not be excluded from a visit. Having passed the dismantled Château de Despourrins and the statue at the roadside erected in the poet's (Despourrins') honour, we had a grand glimpse of the valley below; and, leaving behind the Chapelle de Piétad (16th century), which stands on a point above the road, we entered the village. The street leading to the ancient Roman Church is ancient too, reminding one, in the curious construction of the houses, of Chester, the style of supporting the upper part on wooden beams, reaching over the road, and leaving a passage beneath, being very similar. The church has been restored and is in capital preservation. As there were so many objects of interest, chiefly connected with the great St. Savin himself, we sent for the verger, sexton, bellringer, parish beadle, or whatever the "goîtreux" individual called himself, and paid great attention to all he had to say. Although a good deal was quite unintelligible, the following are some of the most interesting facts. Entering at the small side door, immediately within stands a curious and very old bénitier (font), with two curious individuals carved in the stone supporting the basin. These are supposed to represent two "Cagots," a despised race for whom the font itself was constructed. Very few people know anything about their origin, but they were greatly detested by the inhabitants of the country, and not even allowed to worship in the same church, or use the same "holy water" as the rest. They still exist about Gavarnie and a few other spots, and we hope to learn more of them. The old battered organ next presents itself to the view, with the long flight of steps leading up to it, but as it wished to tell its own story, without further description behold

"The Organ'S Tale."

Good people who gaze at my ruinous state, Don't lift up your noses and sneer: I've a pitiful story I wish to relate, And, I pray you, believe me sincere.

I was young, I was "sweet," in the years that are gone, The breath through my proud bosom rolled, And I loved to peal forth as the service went on, O'er the heads of the worshipping fold.

How time speeds along! Three whole centuries--yes!-- Have passed since the day of my birth; And, good people, I thought myself then, you may guess, The loveliest organ on earth.

Such pipes and such stops! and a swell--such a swell!!! My music rang under the dome; And the way that I held the old folks 'neath my spell You should know; but alas! they've gone "home."

Then my varnish was bright, and my panels were gay With devices both script'ral and quaint; I frightened the _sinner_ with hair turning grey, But charmed into rapture the _saint_.

Those faces once painted so brightly would smile, And put out their tongues at my voice; As the pedals were played, they would wag all the while, And the children below would rejoice.

Now is it not sad to have once been so grand, And now to be shattered and old? To look but a ruin up here, where I stand Decidedly out in the cold?

Each "pipe is put out," and my "stops" are no more, I belong to a "period" remote; And as to the tongues that wagged freely of yore, They have long disappeared down the throat.

My pedals are broken or gone quite awry, My "keys"--you may "note"--are now dust; No longer a "swell"--not as faint as a sigh-- While my bellows, good people, are "bust."

I am twisted and worn, in a ruinous state, But prythee, good people, don't sneer! My joys and my sorrows I've tried to relate, And in judging me don't be severe!!!

Leaving the organ, and passing behind the "high altar," we beheld the tomb of the redoubtable saint, who is supposed to have been shut up there at the end of the 10th century, though the gilt ornament (?) above is some four centuries younger. The set of old paintings to the right and left represent scenes in the good man's life, who, if he had only changed the _i_ in his name to _o_--and the king would have agreed readily--by the perpetual allusion to _Savon_, would perhaps have done much for the natives generally. The robing-room, wherein the head of the revered man is kept in a casket, and the "Salle du Chapitre," with quaint carvings of the 12th century, beyond, are other places of interest.

The "Château de Miramont," which adjoins, is now used as a convent (or college), and visitors are not permitted to inspect it. We bought a lithographed print of the church and its environs for half a franc, from our round-backed guide, besides depositing a "douceur" in his horny palm, and consequently parted with him on the best of terms. The road for some distance being rather steep, we preferred to walk and let the carriage follow, but when nearing the junction with the Pierrefitte road, we mounted again and bowled along at a smart pace over the well-known bridge to the hotel.

There was nothing striking about our hotel life, although we found it pleasant, being a "parti carré." We were generally the sole partakers of the table-d'hôte, at which the food was excellent, the jugged chamois (izard) being especially good. Light, however, was at a premium. It may have been all out of compliment, to bear testimony to our being "shining lights" ourselves; still, for all that, we should have been glad to forego the politeness, and receive, instead, a reinforcement of lamps.

Argelès itself is a peculiar old place; though devoid of much interest, except on market-days. The curious houses and towers, the street watercourses (as at Bagnères de Bigorre), the church, and the strange chapel-like building now used as a diocesan college, are all that is noteworthy even, excepting the "State schools," built three years ago.

On a Tuesday, when the market is in full swing, the square in front of the post-office looks bright and cheerful, and vegetables flourish. We took a very pleasant walk after passing through the stalls, and down past the Hôtel de France. The route we followed leads to the right, close by the new State schools, among some poor cottages, where it turns sharply in the opposite direction, and runs down beside some fine old chestnut trees to the river. Continuing, the track leads up a fine glen, with views of the snow- peaks towards Eaux Bonnes, which well repaid our walk.

Returning again by the town, we wandered about through the narrow streets, taking a farewell survey before leaving for Cauterets, whither we were next intent.

There is another episode connected with Argelès, that will live in our memories, and it is one that future travellers, methinks, may have reason to appreciate, if not to endorse.

Everybody learns from unhappy experience how sour the bread is throughout the Pyrenees, only excepting two or three resorts, and as we were aware of the fact before leaving Pau, we arranged with Monsieur Kern, of the Austrian Bakery, Rue de la Préfecture, to send us a certain amount of bread every day. The first night at Argelès was spent without it, but on the evening of the following day a packet was brought into the drawing-room, where we were assembled, and at the magical word "bread" every eye brightened, and every face relaxed into a smile. Let no one cavil. This was one of the episodes that link Argelès to us with a pleasant charm.

Chapter V.

Cauterets.

Hotel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--The Gorge--Its majestic beauty--The resemblance to the Llanberis Pass--Mrs. Blunt becomes poetical--Zinc mines--Le Pont de Médiabat--Entering the town--The Rue Richelieu and Hôtel du Parc--Winter's seal upon them still--Thermes des Oeufs--Thermes de César--The Casino and Esplanade des Oeufs--A good dinner and the menu--The start for the Col de Riou--The Grange de la Reine Hortense--The pines--Miss Blunt's "exhortation to the first snow"--The dogs and their gambols--Defeated, but not discouraged--To the Cérizey Cascade--The baths of La Raillère, Petit St. Sauveur, and Le Pré--Cascade du Lutour--The Marcadau gorge--Scenery--Pic de Gaube--At the Cérizey Cascade--The Pont d'Espagne and Lac de Gaube--Pont de Benqués--Lutour Valley--Various excursions up same--The "Pare"--Allées de Gambasque--The Peguère--The "Pagoda" Villa--Promenade du Mamelon Vert--The road's up again--Blows and blasts--The bishop's arrival--Enthusiasm, pomposity, and benedictions--The pilgrims at large--They start on an excursion--The market and Hôtel de Ville--The grocer's opinion--Pyrenean dogs and their treatment--The dog-fancier--Smiles and temper--Bargaining displaced--No dog after all!

A Landau with four horses was ready after lunch, to transport us and our baggage to Cauterets; but having enjoyed Argelès very much, we were none of us particularly glad at the prospect of the change. The road as far as Pierrefitte, lovely as it is at this season of freshness, discloses no other views than those previously described, but when we turned sharply to the right, after passing the Hôtel de la Poste, and began the ascent towards Cauterets, then our eyes had indeed a rich treat. It would require the most dismal of dismal days, with sluicing rain and clouds low down on every beautiful crag and snow-tipped summit, to make anybody born with a soul above his dinner, complain of the grandeur of the gorge, or impugn the unceasing variety of dashing waterfalls, foaming river, freshly-opened leaves, white heather, and bright, flower-decked fields.

The same wild majesty as the Llanberis Pass presents, strikes one here: the enormous crags in threatening attitude far up the heights, the chasms and fissures brightened by a patch of young grass or a small tree, and, nearer the road, the scattered boulders luxuriantly covered with moss and fern, belong to both alike; and, while the bushes of snowy heather, the constant splash of the cascades falling over the rocks in feathery spray, and in the distance the hoary-headed monarchs of the range reaching up towards the sky, make this different from the familiar Welsh scene, it is only a difference that greatly intensifies the beauty and the charm of this Cauterets gorge.

Even Mrs. Blunt, who as a rule prefers the matter-of-fact to the poetical, was lifted out of herself, for she suddenly clutched me by the arm, and pointing in the distance, murmured something about "summits proudly lifting up to the sky," and being quite unused to that kind of thing, it took me some time to recover from the shock.

A little over three miles from Pierrefitte,--where a glimpse at the zinc mines and the wire tram in connection with them can be obtained--the road passes over the bridge of Médiabat, and some yards beyond becomes identical with the old route, which until then lay below us. The new portion (made in 1874) only extends for about two miles, as it does not commence till after the zigzag rise from Pierrefitte leads into the gorge, but the engineering of the whole has been admirably carried out, and the ascent of nearly 1,700 feet in the six miles does not tell severely on the horses. Now in an almost straight line, now by zigzags, we gradually neared the town, the gorge widening at the same time, though the peaks, some covered with trees, some snow-covered, seemed to bar the way completely at no very great distance.

We were quite close before we could really be said to have seen the town, and ere we could form any opinion of it we drove up the Rue Richelieu and found ourselves at the Hôtel du Parc. Monsieur Villeneuve, the jovial and experienced host, and his pleasant spouse, came out to welcome us, and although the hotel had only been open four days, made us as comfortable as they could.

[Illustration: CAUTERETS.]

Cauterets (3,254 feet) was only just waking into life, only two or three hotels, one or two hair-dressers, one confectioner's, one tobacconist's, and one or two grocers' shops were open; while of the bathing establishments, the "Thermes des Oeufs," the largest, and the Thermes de César, were the only ones showing signs of renewed life. The Esplanade des Oeufs, [Footnote: "Oeufs" because of the water's scent resembling "rotten eggs."] a large tree-planted space in front of the principal "thermes" (just mentioned)--which serves as casino, concert-hall, and theatre as well--seemed utterly deserted; whereas in summer, with the band playing, the trees in full leaf, the booths opened, and the crowds of visitors, the scene must be the gayest of the gay. We had just time to notice so much, on the afternoon of our arrival, before the sun set behind the huge mountains which surround this charming spot and the hour of dinner arrived. This dinner was so excellent, so well cooked and served, that, although we despise with a deep-rooted scorn the wretched class of individuals who make their dinner their main object in life, we nevertheless consider that we are only paying a merited tribute to the _chef_ in saying that the cooking was always of a high standard, and quoting as a specimen the evening's _menu_ (May 1):

SOUP. Gravy.

FISH. Salmon, with sliced potatoes and melted butter.

MADE DISHES. Hashed Veal. Sauce Piquante. Sweetbreads and green peas.

ROAST. Chicken.

VEGETABLES. Asparagus. Potatoes (new).

PUDDING. Sago.

ICE, &c. Vanilla cream. Cheese, Jelly, and Biscuits.

When we woke the following morning, the sun shining from a cloudless sky proclaimed an "excursion morning." Accordingly, we sent for a guide, to inquire if a visit to the Lac de Gaube was practicable. The guide arrived, and disappointment ensued. It was possible to go if we didn't mind a few miles of snow, two feet deep and upwards. But we did mind very strongly, and said so. Then the burly native spoke again, and said that the Col de Riou was an easy trip, that we could take horses to within a short distance of the summit, and that when we got there the splendid view would include St. Sauveur, Argelès, Barèges, Gavarnie, &c. &c. And we answered the burly native in his sister tongue (_patois_ was his mother tongue), or as near to it as we could, and said, "Have three horses ready by half-past ten at this hotel, and we will start." Then, delighted, he smiled and bowed, and disappeared down the street.

At eleven o'clock the cavalcade started, and a noble cavalcade it was: Miss Blunt on a strong dark bay pony, Mr. Sydney on a similar-coloured horse, and myself on a grey, formed the van; then came our burly friend (by name Pont Dominique), and another guide (Berret), carrying the lunch; and the rear was brought up by a small brindled bull-dog, and a smaller specimen of unknown breed, which was nevertheless a capital harmony in orange and white. In this order we left the Rue Richelieu and ascended the Rue d'Etigny, passing under several wreaths and crowns, with which the streets were decorated. We had previously noticed these grand preparations on our arrival, and though sensible of the good feeling that apparently prompted these attentions, we thought they were somewhat superfluous. But that is (as they were) by the way. Having soon reached the last of the houses, we gained the Rue du Pauze Vieux, and turning sharply to the right, ascended to the two establishments known respectively as the Pauze Vieux and Pauze Nouveau. And here a paradox--pause, view, and be convinced! The Pauze Vieux is the Pauze Nouveau and the Pauze Nouveau is the Pauze Vieux. Should any well-educated citizen of any country under the sun (or daughter) be disposed to doubt, let him examine the buildings for himself, and he must agree.

Half-an-hour after starting we reached the cottage known as the "Grange de la Reine Hortense," the view from which is excessively fine. Looking down towards the town, the mighty Cabaliros (7655 ft.), forming a semicircle, stood above on the right; to the left of this semicircle reared up the Monné (8938 ft.), the highest mountain in the vicinity, from which other peaks make another similar formation, ending with La Brune, beside which, but more to the left and immediately over the town, rises the Peguère, covered with irregularly-heaped crags, and pines. The town itself looked very neat and compact: the Mamelon Vert (a small hill to the right) and the chief thorough-fares being easily distinguished. Far up the Lutour valley, to the extreme left, the Pic de Labassa, or de la Sèbe (9781 ft.), and the Pyramide de Peyrelance (8800 ft.), completed the chief points of the scene in that direction; but far away in the opposite one we could easily see the Argelès valley and the Gothic church of Lourdes. Behind us, seemingly facing the Cabaliros, were the Col de Riou (6375 ft.), our would-be destination, and the Pic de Viscos. Winding up the hillside, and passing banks blue with the large and small gentian, we entered the pines, which made a pleasant change. As at the Col d'Aspin, [Footnote: Vide Bigorre, p. 42.] the rising sap filled the air with its refreshing odour, and the occasional glimpses of blue sky, mountain, and valley, through the gently waving branches, were very charming.

[Illustration: ASCENT OF COL DE RIOU]

We had not proceeded very far through the trees when we reached a break, where one of the party felt that at least something had been gained. There, partly on the track, partly on the loose stones above it, lay a bank of snow, and so delighted was Miss Blunt at having attained the (present) snow-line--say about 4600 feet above sea level--that her feelings were not to be in any way damped or suppressed, as they burst forth in an

"Exhortation To The First Snow."

Emblem of Purity, Chilly as Charity, Oh, what a joy your deep whiteness to view! Something is gain'd at last, But you are melting fast, Why does the cruel sun put you to stew?

Tell me, O long-lain snow, What of the vale below? What do you think about people and things? Do you love forest-trees? Or love you more the breeze? Tell me what bird you think most sweetly sings?

What? You've no heart at all? Cannot help where you fall, Caring not if you swell to a huge size: Minding not how you rush, What you break, whom you crush? Surely such feelings you ought to disguise.

Ah, well! we won't discuss, Useless to make a fuss; For, after all, I am glad that we met. Emblem of Purity, Chilly as Charity-- But I won't roll in you. No! you're too wet!

The two dogs were amusing in their absurdity. They were perpetually endeavouring to detach stones from the side of the pathway, so as to have the pleasure of pursuing them down the steep. At times, when the hill was thickly strewn with leaves or particularly steep, they completely disappeared, though violent pulsations among the scattered branches and the aforesaid leaves told us they were not lost, but only temporarily buried.

When we had barely mounted another 400 feet, we came upon regular banks of snow, right over the path. This was quite unexpected, and we had to decide whether to leave the horses and tramp through the snow, or to return. We chose the latter--although the Col de Riou stood out seemingly very practicable of ascent--and, returning on foot, the horses and guides following, with the dogs here, there, and everywhere, we reached the "Grange de la Reine Hortense" and proceeded to lunch. After giving a very good account of the _paté_ sandwiches, and not forgetting the guides and the dogs, we made our way slowly back, defeated perhaps, but certainly not discouraged.

Although neither the Lac de Gaube nor the Pont d'Espagne were attainable, the Cérizey Fall, which is about one third of the distance to the lake along the same route, was kind enough to put itself at our disposal. Not wishing to appear ungrateful, we availed ourselves of a fine afternoon to order round the horses and our two guides, and started about two o'clock. For some time we followed the road known as the Rue de la Raillère, which leads to the baths of the same name from the Place St. Martin; crossing the river by a very unpretentious bridge, not far from the town. Leaving La Raillère behind, and passing in turn the drinking establishment of Mauhourat--near which the Gaves of Lutour and Marcadau form the Gave of Cauterets--and the baths of Petit St. Sauveur and Le Pré, and gaining as we mounted a good view of the "Cascade de Lutour" on the left, we entered the Marcadau valley, or (more properly) gorge. The scenery, similar somewhat to that at the entrance to the Cauterets gorge from Pierrefitte, is nevertheless wilder and more severe. The occasional bright fields and frequent mountain streams, with their merry music, disappear; but the lofty heights, the gloomy firs, the mighty crags and boulders, and the snow-peaks beyond, remain. After a great amount of very rough and steep ascending--the Pic de Gaube (7644 ft.) the while standing conspicuously before us--we reached the small hut that is intended as a shelter, near the fall. Dismounting and taking the narrow path to the right over the stones, immediately above the hut, we obtained a capital view of this noisy cascade. Other views were obtained by us from above, by clambering over the stones and boulders at the side of the torrent; but this i