Part 27 (1/2)

When at her feet, entranced, I lie, No evil thought can hover night.

And she his love will faithful call, Who asked no boon, and gave her all.”

CHAPTER V.

ROAD FROM PAU TO TARBES--TABLE-LAND--THE PICS--THE HARAS OF TARBES--AUTUMN IN THE PYRENEES--MONT L'HeRIS--GABRIELLE D'ESTReES--CHa.s.sE AUX PALOMBES--PENNE DE L'HeRIS--PIC DU MIDI--CHARLET THE GUIDE--VALLEY OF CAMPAN--LA GATTA--GRIP--THE TOURMALET--CAMPANA DEL Va.s.sE--BAReGES-LUZ--CAGOT DOOR--GAVARNIE--THE FALL OF THE ROCK--CHAOS--CIRCUS--MAGNIFICENCE OF NATURE--PONT DE NEIGE--ROLAND--DURENDAL--IZARDS--LES CRaNES--PIEREFITTE--CAUTERETZ--CERIZET--PONT D'ESPAGNE--LAC DE GAUBE--ARGELEZ.

THE road between Pau and Tarbes,[31] like most of the roads south of the Garonne, is an extremely fine one; it is perfectly macadamized, and admirably well kept; indeed, in this respect, the improvement that appears all over France is quite remarkable; but if superiority can be claimed anywhere it certainly belongs to Bearn and Bigorre. It is not, however, the _condition_ of the road between the two towns that forms the attraction; it is the exquisite scenery that meets the eye wherever a break in the woods, or an inequality of the ground reveals the magnificent chain of the Pyrenees. For some distance after leaving Pau the road is nearly level; but about half-way to Tarbes, after pa.s.sing through a thick wood of oak, and having been rendered impatient by occasional glimpses of the mountains, the traveller climbs a long and winding ascent, and reaches the summit of a fine table-land, from whence an uninterrupted view of this glorious country is obtained. Rich forests of chesnut clothe the steep sides of this table-land, and stretch far away to the southward, mingling with the well-cultivated plains that border the Gave de Pau; beyond these rise, in gradual succession, the lower ranges of the mountains, whose real height is entirely lost in the grandeur of the more stupendous Pyrenean giants, extending as far as the eye can reach, from the Mont Perdu at one extremity, and far beyond the Pic du Midi of the Vallee d'Ossau, at the other. The general colour of these n.o.ble mountains is a deep purple, which becomes even more intense, and approaches almost to blackness, until it melts away in the misty valleys beneath. The outline is not only irregular in form, but various in its hue; some of the loftiest heights of the foremost range being patched with snow, while, still more distant and s.h.i.+ning in the sun, appear the dazzling peaks of eternal ice, piercing the deep blue sky wherein they dwell.

[Footnote 31: For the whole account of the Hautes Pyrenees, I am indebted to my brother, Mr. Dudley Costello, who made the excursion while I remained at Pau.]

This table-land is traversed for several miles over a broken common, variegated with heath and fern, and intersected here and there by brawling streams, which take their course to swell the tributaries of the distant Gave. At the eastern extremity of the common, another wide forest of chesnut appears, where the road rapidly descends with many windings to the plain of Bigorre. One of these turns offers the loveliest picture it is possible to imagine. The foreground is formed of steep, rough banks, through which the road winds its sinuous track, the thick yet graceful foliage of the chesnut rises like a frame on either hand, and spreads also in front, while the Pic du Midi de Bigorre, with snow on its summit, and the Pic de Montaigu, with its sharp, dark outline, complete the distance. To give life to the scene, there are the peasants and market-women on their way to the fair of Tarbes,--the former wearing the characteristic brown _berret_, and the latter the black or scarlet-peaked hood, which gives quite a clerical air to their costume. Indeed, to see the women carelessly bestriding their active Bigourdin horses, which they manage with infinite ease, one might readily fancy, at a slight distance, that it was rather a party of monks of the olden time wending to their monastery, than a group of peasants laden with their market-ware. A little further, the road abruptly turns again, and Tarbes lies before us, distant about four or five miles, supported by another range of mountains, amongst which the Pic d'Orbizan is most conspicuous. The plain of Bigorre is now soon gained, and in half an hour we stand in the Place de Maubourguet, in the centre of Tarbes.

Tarbes, as a city, has little to recommend it beyond its situation, in the midst of a fertile plain, watered by the Adour, some of whose tributary streams run through the streets, imparting freshness and securing cleanliness. It has nothing to reveal to the lover of antiquity--no vestige remaining of the architecture of the period when Tarbes was celebrated as the place where the Black Prince held his court.

The cathedral is a modern building, possessing no claim to notice; and, except the royal _Haras_, there is nothing to detain the traveller.

Here, however, are some fine horses,--the best amongst them English, except, indeed, a superb black barb, named Youssouf, once the property of an ex-foreign minister more famous in the Tribune than on the Champ de Mars. In consequence, as I was informed by one of the grooms, of the minister's indifferent equitation, his majesty, Louis-Philippe, purchased the barb and sent it hither. The most noticeable steeds besides, are Rowlestone, Sir Peter, Windcliffe, and Skirmisher--the last thirty-seven years' old--whose names bespeak their origin; there is also a fine Arab from Algiers, named Beni. The Haras is beautifully kept, and is surrounded by a fine garden, from whence the view of the distant mountains, beyond Bagneres de Bigorre, is exceedingly grand.

In that direction I decided upon bending my steps, and, returning to my hotel in the Place Maubourguet, my preparations for departure were soon made.

The distance from Tarbes to Bagneres de Bigorre is not more than five leagues, and the road thither would seem to be perfectly level, were it not for the impetuous flow of the Adour, along the left bank of which we travel, reminding us of the gradual ascent. The country is everywhere highly cultivated; and the peasants were busily employed with their second crops of hay, and securing their harvest of Indian corn. One historical site attracts attention on leaving Tarbes;--the old Chateau of Odos, where died, in 1549, ”La Marguerite de Marguerites,” Queen of Navarre, the sister of Francis the First, whose name will ever be a.s.sociated with that of her adopted country. On this spot we lay down our recollections of the past, absorbed, as we approach the mountains, in the thoughts which their magnificence inspires,--which, while they, too, speak of the past, are ever appealing to the present, in their changeless forms and still enduring beauty, their might, their majesty, and their loneliness.

The watering-place of Bagneres has been described by so many tourists, that I spare the description here; and the more readily as it was nearly deserted when I arrived. This was no drawback to one whose desire was to enjoy the last days of autumn amongst the mountains while the weather yet continued fine,--and lovely that autumn weather is, atoning by the richness of its colours for the absence of beauties which belong to an earlier season.

I accordingly made all the necessary arrangements for a guide and horses to cross the Tourmalet on the next day, and devoted the remainder of a lovely afternoon to the ascent of Mont L'Heris--a mountain that supplies the botanist with treasures almost inexhaustible. Crossing the Adour by a rude bridge of only one plank, and traversing some fields, filled with labourers busily employed in getting in their harvest of Indian corn, I reached the pretty little village of Aste, which lies buried in a deep gorge, at the south-eastern base of the mountain. Aste has a.s.sociations connected with Henri Quatre; for in the castle, now a mere sh.e.l.l, once resided the beautiful Gabrielle d'Estrees, who used here to receive her royal lover. The Seigneur du Village is the Duc de Grammont--a name which appears singularly out of keeping with this romantic and secluded spot.

The ascent of Mont L'Heris is steep but not difficult, for the profusion of flowers and richly-scented plants, scattered over the short elastic turf, beguile the climber's path, and lure him pleasantly upward. The first pause I made was on a bold projection, skirting the forest of Haboura on one side, and on the other hanging over the beautiful valley of Campan. Beneath me lay the town of Bagneres, and, far as the eye could reach, extended the plain of Bigorre, with the clear waters of the Adour marking their track like a silver thread. On the slope of a neighbouring mountain the wild-pigeon hunters were spreading their nets; for the _Cha.s.se aux Palombes_ is nowhere so successfully followed as in this part of the Pyrenees. It is a simple sport; but highly productive to those engaged in it. I pursued my route towards the summit of the mountain, the ”_Penne de l'Heris_,” as it is still called, retaining its Celtic name. To do so, it was necessary to plunge into the thicket, and for a long time I made my way scrambling over the slippery surface of mossy rocks, as best I might, by the aid of the roots and lower branches of the forest-trees. At length I emerged from the wood, and stood upon the fertile pastures of the mountain; from whence the ascent to the immense block of marble which crowns Mont l'Heris, is tolerably easy. It is a singular ma.s.s, on the southern side of which is an enormous excavation; amongst the _debris_ of which was a path that led to the top. If the view below was lovely, this was magnificent; my eyes were, however, riveted on one object--the towering height of the _Pic du Midi_, which seemed almost immediately above my head; though the mountain on the other side of the valley of Campan at our feet, showed us how far distant it really was. Directed by the peasant-guide, who had volunteered his services at Aste, I contrived to form a tolerable notion of the track which I was to pursue on the morrow; and it was only the warning shadows which began to creep over the valleys, and the clear tones of the church bells, at Bagneres, marking the hour at which I had promised to join the _table d'hote_ at the Hotel de France, that expressively told me to loiter no longer on the mountains, lest darkness should entangle my feet before I had cleared its steep declivities. I made haste, therefore, to return to Bagneres, crossing the Adour this time by a bridge no less picturesque than the former, but somewhat more secure.

On the following morning I rose at daylight, and, at the moment fixed upon, Charlet, the guide, whom I had agreed with, rode up to the door of the hotel, leading another small, st.u.r.dy, mountain horse, and accompanied by the inseparable companion of his wanderings, a bull-dog named Pluto, which, had s.e.x been considered, should have been called Proserpine, though not for beauty.

We were soon clear of the town, and jogged pleasantly along the road, which lay through the lovely valley of Campan--a scene whose beauty cannot be too highly extolled. On the left hand flowed the rapid waters of the Adour, beneath heights which seemed perpendicular, though Charlet pointed to certain irregular lines which marked the track by which the mountaineers descend on horseback, the very idea of which was enough to make one shudder; on the right hand, the valley spread out into a fertile district, whose gentle slopes gradually blended themselves with the hills which formed the spurs of lofty mountains, and finally shut in the view. In front, was constantly visible the snowy height of the _Pic d' Orbizan_, towering 9,000 feet above the level of the valley.

It was a delicious morning, and the freshness of the air, the beauty of the scenery, and the novelty of the situation, made me fain to linger in this lovely spot; but there was too much before us to admit of delay, and we trotted on merrily, every pause, as the road became steeper, being filled up by the conversation of Charlet.

It is not undeservedly that the Pyrenean guides have acquired the reputation they enjoy for intelligence and civility; and Charlet, of the Hotel de France, is certainly a most favourable specimen: frugal in his habits, modest in his demeanour, and of great activity of body, he forms the _beau ideal_ of a mountain cicerone. I asked him what superst.i.tions were still current in the mountains: he replied, but few; the increasing intercourse with towns and travellers gradually effacing them from popular belief. One, however, he named, which is curious:--Any one who suddenly becomes rich without any visible means to account for it, is said by the peasants to have found ”_la gatta_;” in other words, to have made a compact with the evil one, the evidence of which is afforded by the presence of a black cat, whose stay in the dwelling of the contracting party is productive of a gold coin, deposited every night in his bedchamber. When the term has expired, the cat disappears, and ruin invariably falls upon the unwary customer of the fiend. Charlet accounted for the superst.i.tion in a very simple way. As smuggling is constant amongst the mountaineers, so near the Spanish frontier, large fortunes, comparatively speaking, are often made; and accident or envy often deprives the possessor of his suddenly-acquired wealth, who may lose his all by an information, or an unsuccessful venture.

Two leagues from Bagneres brought us to Sainte Marie, where the roads separate,--one leading to Luchon, the other, to the right, across the Tourmalet, to Bareges; the latter, which we followed, here makes a very sensible ascent, but continues pa.s.sable for carriages till we arrive at the little village of Grip--the last cl.u.s.ter of habitations on this side of the chain which divides the valley of Campan from that of the Bartan.

It is a wild and lonely place, and the loneliness of its position is increased by our being able to mark with precision the spot where cultivation ceases and nature a.s.serts her uncontrolled dominion. Here the road ceases altogether, a bridle-path alone conducting across the still-distant ridge, called the Tourmalet, which is crowned by the remoter heights of Neouvielle and the Pic d'Espade, from whose base flows the Adour--a slender but impetuous stream, whose course becomes visible only as it issues from a dense forest of black fir, which stretches half-way up the mountain.

The ascent to the Tourmalet occupied about two hours; and at high noon we dismounted on the ridge, with the Bastan before us; on every side innumerable peaks, and, winding along the valley, the road which leads to Bareges. Besides those already named, the most conspicuous heights are the Pic de l'Epee, the Pic de Bergons, and, at the further extremity of the valley, the Monne, which overhangs Cauteretz, and is yet visible from this point. The Valley of the Bastan is singularly desolate, presenting nothing to the eye but the rugged flanks of mountains, scored, as it would seem, by the rush of torrents, and ma.s.sive rocks, whose _debris_ lie scattered below, often obstructing the course of the Gave, which finds its source in the melted snows of the Neouvielle. Some of the peaks near the Tourmalet are of peculiar form: one of them, pointed out to me by Charlet, is called the _Campana de Va.s.se_--the Bell of the Valley--which the mountaineers believe is to awaken the echoes of the Pyrenees on the day of judgment, and call the dead before the last tribunal.

After resting about an hour on the ridge of the Tourmalet, enjoying the solitude of a scene which was interrupted but once--by a soldier, a convalescent from the waters of Bareges, on his way back to join his garrison at Tarbes,--we remounted, and rode slowly down the Bastan, every turn of the road disclosing some fresh object to excite admiration or surprise. When we reached Bareges, the place was entirely deserted by visitors--even the houses were gone,--for the greater part of those erected for the company who throng the valley in the summer, being merely of wood, are removed to places of greater security than Bareges, where they run the risk of being destroyed by the floods and ”moving accidents” of the mountains. We made no stay, therefore; but, like the Lady Baussiere, ”rode on” at a leisurely pace, the more fully to enjoy the wondrous beauties of the road between Bareges and Luz, where we arrived about four o'clock in the afternoon.

There is only one hotel at Luz; but it is the best in the Pyrenees,--not only for the nature of the accommodation, but the civility and attention of the host, the hostess, and their pretty _protegee_, Marie, who acts as waiter, _femme-de-chambre_, and _factotum_ to the establishment. A good dinner was promised, and the promise was faithfully kept,--bear witness the delicate blue trout, which I have nowhere met with so good, except, perhaps, at Berne. But as there yet remained an hour or two of daylight, I employed the interval in visiting the ruins of the old feudal castle of St. Marie, and in sketching the church built by the Templars, which resembles a fortalice, rather than a place of wors.h.i.+p. I examined the building carefully, but could not satisfy myself that I had really discovered the walled-up entrance, by which alone, _it is said_, the wretched cagots were formerly permitted to enter the church. The figures which flitted near, pausing, occasionally, to inspect my work, habited, as they were, in the long cloak and _capuchon_ of the country, might well have pa.s.sed for contemporaries of the superst.i.tious fear which excluded the unfortunate victims of disease from an equality of rights with their fellow-men; but the cagot himself is no longer visible. Here I loitered, till it was too dark to draw another line; and then wended back to the _Hotel des Pyrenees_, to recruit myself after the fatigues of the day, and prepare for those of the morrow.

Long before the day broke, we were again in the saddle, and, as we pa.s.sed St. Sauveur, its long range of white buildings could only be faintly traced; but, as we advanced, the snowy peak of Bergons, glowing in the rays of the rising sun, seemed to light us on our way, and coily the charms of the valley revealed themselves to my eager gaze. I have wandered in many lands, and seen much mountain-scenery; but I think I never beheld any that approaches the beauty and sublimity of the road to Gavarnie. There is everything here to delight the eye, and fill the mind with wonder,--

”All that expands the spirit, yet appals.”

For some miles the road continues to ascend; in many places, a mere horse-track, cut in the mountain side, and fenced by a low wall from an abyss of fearful depth, in whose dark cavity is heard the roar of the torrent which afterwards converts the generic name of Gave into one peculiar to itself. The sides of the mountains are thickly clothed with box, which grows to a great height; and at this season the Autumn tint had given to it the loveliest hues, contrasting well with the dark pines which climb to the verge of vegetation on the far-off slopes. Suddenly, the character of the scene is altered,--the road descends--the foliage disappears, or shows itself only in patches in the ravines, and ma.s.ses of dark grey rock usurp its place; the noisy waters of the Gave make themselves more distinctly heard, and a few rude cottages appear. This is the village of Gedre: and here I witnessed one of those mountain-effects which are often so terrible. A week before, two houses stood by the way-side--the homes of the peasants whom we saw at work in a neighbouring meadow. They were then, as now, employed in cutting gra.s.s for hay, when a low, rumbling noise was heard in the valley, which soon grew louder; and the affrighted labourers, casting their eyes upwards, saw that an enormous rock had suddenly detached itself from the mountain, and was now thundering down the steep. They fled with precipitation, and succeeded in saving their lives; but when they ventured to return to the spot, they found that an immense block had fallen upon one of the cottages, crus.h.i.+ng it into powder, and leaving nothing standing but one of the gable ends. So it still remained,--and so, no doubt, it will continue till the end of time; for the ma.s.s is too ponderous to be moved by anything short of a convulsion of nature.