CHAPTER X.

BAGNeRES DE LUCHON.

The bathing establishment and its surroundings--The lovely _Allees_--Montauban church and cascade--The Villa Russe and its genial host--Various excursions--Orphanage of Notre Dame de Rocher--The Vallee du Lys--The Rue d'Enfer and cascades--A lively scene--The view from Superbagneres--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.

The most delightful of weather throughout our stay doubtless added greatly to our enjoyment of Luchon, and our willingness to agree with its t.i.tle as "The Pearl of the Pyrenees "; and, in fact, to all people but those who love dust, noise, and fashion, this month of May is the pleasantest time of the year to go, see, and be happy.

The great bathing establishment, situated as it is in a lovely garden (Quinconces) with a charming lake overhung with the graceful weeping willows, and under the wooded sides of Superbagneres, seems to invite one to enter and bathe. When we looked in, very little business was going on, and one of the attendants, in the hope of receiving a small coin, was nothing loath to show us round.

It is the largest and most efficiently arranged of all the Pyrenean establishments, and can accommodate over 200 people at the same time; "douche" baths, swimming baths, ordinary baths, rooms for inhaling, rooms for "pulverisation," seemed to succeed one another with unending rapidity, as we followed our guide down long corridors or up flights of stairs; and when at last it was all over, and he had quietly and contentedly pocketed his coin, we felt as though we had been taking quite a long walk.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE 'PEARL' IN THE PEERLESS VALLEY."]

The Allee d'Etigny--the princ.i.p.al street--and all the other _allees_, notably the Allee des Bains, make most delightful promenades, even in the heat of the day, so delightful is the shade afforded by the trees that line the way on either side. To walk from the "Thermes" along the Allee des Bains, turning into the Casino gardens, or continuing further--leaving the "Chute de la Pique" on the right--along the riverside till the road to Montauban cuts it at right angles, is a most delicious evening stroll. We prolonged this, by taking the road in question between the poplars up to the village of Montauban itself; but found more interest in the beautiful new church than in the waterfall at the back of the village, which is gained by pa.s.sing through the good cure's garden, and for which privilege half a franc is charged. The church, of white stone, very symmetrically built and of quite a different architecture from the usual French types, stands out imposingly at the entrance to the village, backed up by the tree-clad hills and the cottages beyond. The interior is most chaste and tasteful, as different from the usual Roman Catholic interior as is the outside from the general exterior, the texts on the pillars near the entrance being quite an unusual feature. Whether the decoration was not yet finished, and the tinsel therefore not yet arrived, we could not learn; but are afraid it is only too probable, as the church, as it stood, might have been one of our own; for even the gilt pulpit harmonised so well with the rest, that it did not detract from the religious and solemn effect, while the light through the finely-coloured windows threw a softening glimmer over all.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHURCH OF MONTAUBAN.]

We returned by a short cut through the fields on the left and the garden of the Villa Russe, whose owner, "charmant et gentil," not only showed us all over, but very kindly invited us to a strawberry feast a month hence--which sorrowfully we had to decline--as well as making us free of his garden and fields, the latter being filled with the sweet-scented narcissus.

The Hotel Canton, in which we were staying, was very conveniently situated and comfortable. While standing in a quiet part of the Rue d'Espagne it was close to the post-office and casino on the one hand, and the bathing establishment and the Jardin des Quinconces on the other. Moreover, the stables of Jean Sanson--a most excellent guide for all excursions--were close at hand, and his horses would be difficult to beat; while his son Luis is experienced in all trips and ascents, not only in the vicinity, but over a large part of the Pyrenees.

The new casino, barely three years old, is situated in as charming a quarter as could well be imagined, for besides possessing a finely laid-out garden with many fine shrubs and trees, it is bounded by three beautiful _allees_ as well. As previously mentioned, it can be gained by the Allee des Bains, but the most direct way to the building itself, from our hotel, was by keeping to the right along the Rue d'Espagne and the narrow street beyond (the post-office being to the left), opposite which a side entrance leads to the imposing edifice.

The three most popular excursions from Luchon are those to the Port de Venasque, the mountain pa.s.s at the head of the Pique Valley; the Vallee du Lys and the Cascades; and thirdly, the ascent of Superbagneres.

The greatest of all, and in truth the greatest in the Pyrenees, is the ascension of the Pic de Nethou (11,170 ft.), the highest of the range, and its two great b.u.t.tresses, the Pics Maladetta (10,867 ft.) and Milieu (11,044 ft). None but experienced mountaineers, with the most experienced guides, attempt this ascent, which is attended with much danger; but there are many other delightful trips in the vicinity, including a visit to the Spanish village of Bosost; up the Aran valley to Viella; a drive to the picturesquely-placed St. Beat, or to the old Roman town of St. Bertrand de Comminges.

Pleasant walks and drives are probably more numerous from Luchon than from any other Pyrenean resort, and though we were rather too early in the year for mountain climbing, the fine weather enabled us to enjoy several other outings, which we will describe in turn.

The Vallee du Lys and the Rue d'Enfer make an agreeable picnic, either in a carriage as far as the "Cabanes du Lys" (6-1/4 miles), and then horses for the other 3-3/4 miles up to the abyss, the cascades, and the Rue d'Enfer, or on horseback all the way. We preferred the latter, and taking a good lunch in the saddle-bags, made a start at the favoured hour of ten. Under the lee of the Quinconces, past the Hotel Richelieu, Villa Richelieu, and the elevated Villa Marguerite, and we were fairly on our way, the air sweetly laden with the scent from the flower-decked fields and the lilac-trees in the gardens.

When we pa.s.sed the little road on the left leading to the Orphanage of Notre Dame du Rocher, the lilac-scent was very strong; and the position of the various buildings in connection with the inst.i.tution seemed so attractive that we determined to take a stroll there later on. Pursuing our way, with the restored ruin of the Castelvieil above us on its "monticule" overlooking the Orphanage, we were soon in a narrower part of the valley, with the wooded slopes on either side. Then we crossed the river to the left bank, which we followed until reaching the point where the road to the Hospice and the Port de Venasque led to the left, and ours crossed the river by a neat bridge (the Pont de Ravi) to the right bank again. A little beyond this, the route for Superbagneres --which we hoped to take another day--struck off among the trees on the right of the road, which in turn gradually bent in the same direction all up the beautiful Lys valley, till it again curved in the opposite direction and arrived at the base of the Cascades, where there is a fair inn (Auberge du Lys).[Footnote: Only in summer.] From thence the road forks, but the track to the left is the better of the two, at any rate if on foot, and by it--after fifteen minutes'

labour--the foot of the Cascade d'Enfer is reached; and the Pont d'Arrouge in another quarter of an hour. A similar length of time is still necessary to reach a small tower whence a good view of the Gouffre d'Enfer and the Pont de Nadie, above it, can be enjoyed. This tower is about a mile distant from the foot of the lowest fall. The other cascade (the Cascade du Coeur) is not a very difficult twenty minutes' walk by a path that leads through the trees to Lac Vert, and as there is a capital inn there (later in the season), we think that this would be a good spot for lunch. Even as it was, we managed to enjoy ours pretty well, for fresh air and sunshine are good appetisers, and the ride had added its effect besides. The return ride in the afternoon, when the sun was commencing to decline a little, was very pleasant, and the snow-covered Port de Venasque, so beautiful in its whiteness, and yet for the same reason quite inaccessible, looked very lovely when tinged with the crimson hue that the setting sun shot o'er it, as we arrived in Luchon again.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RUE D'ENFER AND CASCADES.]

The following morning broke beautifully fine, and Luis Sanson was at the door punctually at seven, with the horses for our trip up to Superbagneres.

The saddle-bags were again filled, and away we went, the horses--still so fresh--being eager for a canter in the fresh morning air. In summer the ascent is usually made by St. Aventin and the Granges de Gouron, in which case the road towards the Col de Peyresourde is followed as far as St. Aventin, and thence a way leading to the left; but we were too early for that route, as an avalanche had only lately fallen, so were obliged to go and return by the route used in the season for the return only, viz., by the "Pont de Ravi" up the Vallee de la Pique. Having reached the bridge and taken the path indicated by the sign-board on the right, we were soon among the trees, which lent a very welcome shade from the increasing heat, which even at this early hour (7.40 A.M.) the glorious Sol was not ashamed to diffuse.

At every fresh turn the strokes of the axe rang through the wood, mingled with the sound of voices, and after making considerable progress--during which our guide narrated incidents in his career as hunter, guide, and jockey--we arrived in view of a very lively scene.

Workmen busy with the hatchet, the saw, and the plane, in the foreground; others in the rear occupied with mortar and stones, building a small but substantial house; a cart with oxen lazily waiting, like Mr. Micawber, for "something to turn up"; a few superior individuals in deep consultation, and the irrepressible sun struggling through the beeches and pines to have "his finger in the pie"--such was the scene we saw, but soon left behind. After this the good broad carriage-road soon came to an end, and the easy gradient changed to a steep path among a grove of nothing but beeches, which emerged later on the slope of a somewhat bare and stony hill dotted with a few gentians.

The view improved with nearly every step, growing magnificently vast; and when at length we reached the summit, or rather a mound a few feet lower, but equally good as a point of sight (for the summit was covered with snow), we gazed on as grand an expanse of mountains and tree-clothed valleys as imagination could picture in the most lofty of its lofty flights.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE ROAD TO SUPERBAGNeRES.]

Probably but few people will be disposed to deny that, considering the comparatively small amount of labour necessary to attain the summit, it is more than amply compensated for; and, when the height of Superbagneres--which is only 5,900 ft.--is taken into account, such a grand sight is almost unique. For over two-thirds of a circle the chain of peaks continues, extending from the Cecire of Superbagneres to the Cecire [Footnote 1: We have only the guide's authority for this name here.] above Bosost, and even beyond. Beginning with the nearest, the Cecire (8,025 ft.) of Superbagneres, then come the Pene de Montarque (9685 ft.), and the cone-shaped Quairat (10,037 ft.), followed by the huge glacier of Crabioules, which, in spite of its eternal snow, supplies the various cascades in the Rue d'Enfer that flow into the Lys valley. Above rise up the Pic de Crabioules (10,233 ft), the Pic de Bourn (9,875 ft), and the peculiar Tuc de Maupas (10,204 ft.); after which the Trous d'Enfer and the Pic de Sacroux (8,786 ft) appear. The next of the near peaks is the Pic de Sauvegarde (9,145 ft), but between the Sacroux and this, calm and clear, the highest peaks of the range, the Milieu, the Maladetta, and the Nethou, with the dead white glacier below them, rise in view. After the Sauvegarde, the Pic de la Mine (9,048 ft.), the Port de Venasque (7,930 ft.), and the very pointed Pic de la Pique (7,854 ft.) appear, followed by the Pas de l'Escalette (7,877 ft.) and the Port de la Picade (8,219 ft.), towards which group the Vallee de l'Hospice leads.

To the left of the Picade, the cone of the lofty "Posets" may be seen in the distance, while more to the left, and more distant too, the Pena Blanca (9222 ft.) is also visible. Further round, over the wooded "cols" that guard the "Pique" valley, the Mont Segu [Footnote: We have only the guide's authority for the name.] and Cecire near Bosost, and the _Pyrenees Orientales_ beyond, finished the magnificent chain.

From another situation we could look down on Luchon and from this point were endeavouring to reach the little hut, where fodder and a few provisions can be found in the season, when an ancient shepherd bawled out in _patois_ that the place was as yet tenantless, for which we felt thankful to that peasant, as it saved us a long tramp through rather deep snow, though for that same reason we were unable to reward his forethought as it deserved. Leaving him to pursue his guileless way, we descended into the beech grove for our lunch, and finding grateful shade at the foot of a fine fir, we opened the saddle-bags and proceeded to regale ourselves, finding some snow that we brought from the top very useful to cool the rather heated claret. After nature was satisfied we quickly descended past the previously busy scene, and when near the high road again came in view of some woodmen loading a cart with logs. To do this the logs had to be brought to an eminence above the cart, and bullocks were employed to drag up the wood. The men were treating them most cruelly, and once or twice they lowed so piteously, that we have translated it into

"THE OXEN'S APPEAL."

Working and toiling the whole of the day, Working and toiling without any pay, Only perchance a few mouthfuls of hay, From earliest dawn till late.

Held by the horns 'neath this c.u.mbersome yoke, Firmer fixed thus than a "pig in a poke,"

Feeling the "p.r.o.ng" and the lengthy stick's stroke, Ours, alas, is a terrible fate.

When straining our utmost, you bring the stick down On our miserable backs; and you swear, and you frown, Never thinking the sun is just "doing us brown,"

As the furnace will do when we're slain.

We cannot pull more than we can, you must know, And we cannot pull fast if we can but pull slow, So why should you spike us, and ill-use us so, And make our hides tingle with pain?

We serve you well always, draw heaviest loads, And never complain of the worst of bad roads; While you in return use those blood-drawing goads At ev'ry conceivable time.

Be sure that no quicker or wiser are we, But we _do_ sometimes think if we got our horns free, The position in which you would probably be, And you would not p.r.o.nounce it sublime.

So listen, we pray, to our modest appeal: With kindness more proud of our work we should feel; And if those fierce blows you still ruthlessly deal, You'll make our flesh horrible stuff; For though steaks are good beaten, that's done when they're cold, And we're certainly not, nor as yet very old; But as some day we'll have to be butchered and sold, We had better be tender than tough.

If you'll try our plan--that is enough!

At twenty minutes past one we had repa.s.sed the graceful Jardin des Quinconces, with the weeping willows overhanging the lakelet, and were within the cool precincts of the hotel.

Having a couple of hours to spare another morning, we wended our way towards the Orphanage, "deep in the lilac grove." Turning off from the road, we followed the narrow track over the rustic bridge, and were received anything but hospitably by a huge white dog. We calmed him in time, however, and proceeded to inspect the buildings, but found nearly everyone shut up, though the little church--elevated above the rest--was, unlike them, thrown open. Its very rusticity and simplicity gave it a religious air which to us so few Roman Catholic edifices seem to possess. The badly-spelt and feebly-worded address to the Pope, to which he has affixed his signature, that hangs in a frame near the door, we did not consider much of an attraction, though to the members of the little congregation it would doubtless be a very holy relic.

Forsaking this peaceful retreat, we climbed up the ascent behind, within view of the statue of the Virgin, but soon descended again, as the sun was at that time particularly "baking," and we were not doughty enough to pretend to resist it. After a cool spell near the chapel-door, watching the "painted ladies" [Footnote: b.u.t.terflies, of course!] playing with the lilac blossoms, we trudged slowly back again.

One of the pleasantest as well as most interesting of our trips in the Pyrenees was from Luchon to the little Spanish village of Bosost, and as it is one of the princ.i.p.al pillars that uphold the chief t.i.tle of this volume, it deserves a detailed mention.

This time the favourite hour of ten was not early enough for starting, so we were on horseback by 9.15, going very leisurely, being quite undesirous to force the pace, as the day was warm even at that hour.

Up the Rue d'Espagne for a short distance beyond the Hotel Richelieu (which hotel, from all we have heard, though large, is not too moderate nor owned by too polite a proprietor), and then we took the turning to the left, which (as the signboard tells) leads to St. Mamet. Without waiting to enter the old church to see its frescoes, we pursued the road branching off to the right, which presently left the Orphanage behind in the same direction. A few minutes later we had pa.s.sed the frontier (French) custom station, and leaving the isolated Castelvieil (2514 ft.) for a short time on our right, and later in our rear, we bore up the Vallee de Burbe. We had only progressed a short distance when a huge rock was visible in the centre of the road, evidently a very recent gift from the adjacent height. Our horses having been so little used, were very fresh and rather fond of shying, and our guide's, which was an Arab, not only shied at the impediment, but wheeled round with the intention of going homewards. As we managed to make our own, however, pa.s.s quietly, the obstreperous one, after a brief struggle, was induced to follow their example. A little further on, we met a fine team of Spanish mules in their full picturesque trappings and bells. The two men in charge of them were dressed a little untidily, but their attire was equally picturesque, the coloured waistband, turban, and knee-breeches producing a very bright effect.

The bright yellow-green of the beeches, mingling with the dark and gloomy olive shade of the firs; here and there fields laden with the blue columbine and the "overrated" asphodel; the boulder-strewn slopes on our left, and the snow-ridges on the right; and the strong, fresh, and foaming cascade of Sidonie tumbling down beside us, made a very delicious contemplation as we went on our way.

Our guide in a most "gallant" manner got off his steed to gather Miss Blunt a few flowers, but when he endeavoured to a.s.sume his former elevated position, the "Arab" didn't see it. In fact he _would not be_ mounted, and the unevenness of the track added not a little to the success of his manoeuvrings. "Luis" had not been six months a "jockey" for nothing, however; so he lulled his steed into a sense of security by walking beside it for some time in circus fashion, with his right hand grasping the off side of the saddle, until a large stone showed its head at the side of the road. As they pa.s.sed, he ran up the stone and was in the saddle before the animal realised that he was beaten, and when he did, it seemed to humble him to that degree that he never attempted even a curvet.

The number of lizards we disturbed was something wonderful. None of them were very large or very striking in colour, but they made up for this in animation; and their fearful trepidity and hurry to get anywhere out of sight was wonderful.

Just before entering the sunlit beech glades we overtook a n.o.ble cavalcade, consisting of three ladies on three donkeys, with a fat old woman leading the way on foot. They had their lunch with them, and apparently intended--judging by a certain hungry look they had--to make their repast at the earliest opportunity. The young and beautiful lady bringing up the rear was probably ignorant of the ludicrous figure she made with her "ultra" fashionable arrangement of steels, that gave her the appearance of having a large clothes-bag under her dress, or we don't think she would have started on the excursion in such a garment.

If a member of the "Rational Dress Society" had seen her, there would probably have been an "exhibition" on the spot, and a general one--with all the latest "improvements" (?)--at Luchon a few weeks later.

After traversing a number of beautiful glades we entered the Firs--the Black Forest as it is called,--where bears are hunted in the winter, and through which the road ascends by a series of zigzags to the summit of the Col de Portillon (4275 ft.), and then descends for a short distance to the frontier, marked by a huge boulder, with the French flag on one side and the Spanish on the other. As we reined in the horses opposite to it for a moment, no one could dispute that we were indeed "'twixt France and Spain." But we did not stay to enjoy this enviable position long; and pa.s.sing on, endeavoured to realise that we were no longer in France by fixing our eyes on the _Pyrenees Orientales_; we could also see the Poujastou (6332 ft.) on our left, the Couradilles (6513 ft.), the Mont Segu, the Cecire, [Footnote: We had only our guide's authority for these names] and further forward the Entecade on our right. A short distance down the road there lay the Casino du Portillon, not yet opened for the summer gambling, and not very much further (viz., about a mile from the frontier), the Spanish custom-house, and the Casino de Roulette. Here the road divides, the branch to the Vallee d'Aran and Bosost bearing to the left, and the other, to Viella and the Artiques-Tellin, in the opposite direction.

Pa.s.sing some ruined houses and fertile slopes in our descent, we soon obtained a fine view up both ends of the Aran valley, with the diminutive Garonne winding through, and Bosost snugly situated on the slopes of a hill round a bend in the road. The sun was pouring down in all his midday strength as we pa.s.sed the roadside chapel of St. Antoine and entered the antiquated little village of Bosost, stopping at the Fonda de Espana for lunch.

This inn, from the road, was as much unlike an inn as anything we ever saw, and its ways and pa.s.sages were somewhat unique; but upstairs there was a large room with a wide terrace facing the river, which only wanted an awning over to be rendered delicious. We were unfortunately too early in the season for this luxury, so had to content ourselves with lunching in the room, with wide-opened doors. When the provisions were spread out, in rushed the guide with an official doc.u.ment, and a franc to pay for having invaded Spain. We gave him the money, and asked to taste some honest country wine, which resulted in the domestic bringing us something rather strong, like new port, which did not go badly with water.

After the repast had pa.s.sed pleasantly, we strolled out into the village, Miss Blunt being equipped with the requisites for a brilliant sketch. Unhappily, the subject was not easy to find, though we marched through most of the streets; but having visited the ancient church--with its chime of bells, like many others in Spain, arranged on a wheel--we found a spot by the side of a huge elm from which there was a good view of the sacred edifice. But it was a case of sketching under difficulties, as the whole or at least the greater part of the village children crowded round us, some carrying smaller children in their arms, some playing with flowers, others cutting bits of wood, and one and all managing to do their utmost to bother poor Miss Blunt. She accordingly finished the sketch as quickly as possible, and we all returned to the hotel to keep out of the oppressive heat.