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 pa.s.sed, 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 Hotels 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 pa.s.sed 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 unsuperst.i.tious 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 att.i.tudes, 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 gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s, 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 a.s.sertion 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. [Ill.u.s.tration] 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. Pa.s.sing between once impregnable walls (where English soldiers also pa.s.sed 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 Argeles 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

ARGELeS.

Road v. Rail--Scenes, sublime and ridiculous--Hotel d'Angleterre-- Questions and "The Argeles Shepherd's Reply"--A forbidden path--The ride to Ges, Serres, Salluz, and Ourous--Argeles 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 Argeles valley--Chateau de Beaucens--Villelongue--Soulom--The old church--Hotel de la Poste, Pierrefitte--St. Savin--The verger and the ancient church--Cagots--"The Organ's Tale"--St. Savin's tomb-- The Chateau 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 quant.i.ty 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 Argeles rather unexpectedly, our ride having seemed all too short. However, there was our hotel--the Grand Hotel 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration] This hotel, though possessing less of a reputation than the Hotel 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 gra.s.s. 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 ARGELeS 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 trespa.s.sing.

As lovely a ride or walk as can well be imagined, even by an imagination as fertile as this lovely valley, pa.s.ses 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 Argeles, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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. [Ill.u.s.tration]

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 pa.s.s. But in pa.s.sing 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 st.u.r.dy "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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.s. "Young men and maidens, old men and children," women tottering with extreme age, were all a.s.sembled 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 Argeles, 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 pa.s.sed, 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 gra.s.s 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: b.u.t.tercups, 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 pa.s.sed 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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, pa.s.ses beside the river for a short distance, and then leads among the fields, finally--like others in Argeles-- 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 Bareges; 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 ma.s.s 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 a.s.suage 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.