THE VALLEY OF THE SUN.
"_Baignères, la beauté, l'honneur, le paradis.
De ces monts sourcilleux_"
--DU BARTAS.
"I hear from Bigorre you are there."
--_Lucile_.
An agreeable little city we find about us, the next day. Bigorre is one
of the most well-known of the Pyrenean resorts, and has a steady though
not accelerating popularity. The tide of ultra summer fashion, has
tended latterly toward Eaux Bonnes, Cauterets and Luchon in preference;
still, Bigorre, conservative and with it's own assured circle of
friends, looks on without malice at its sister spas who have come to
wear finer raiment than itself. A number of the English,--some even in
winter and spring,--frequent Bigorre almost alone of these Pyrenean
resorts, and their liking for it has made it known, beyond the others,
in their own country. The streets are shady and well lined; the houses,
frequently standing apart in their own small gardens, give a pleasant
impression of space and airiness. There are numberless shops, where we
can later replenish various needs. The pavements seem to have been built
and leveled, by MacAdam himself, as an enthusiast puts it; and
everywhere along the side of the walks bound rivulets of mountain water,
so dear to these Pyrenean towns.
The mineral springs here are not powerful, but are useful in mild
digestive disorders and the like, and afford at least a pretext for an
idle summering, as springs will do, the world over. The Establishment is
large and well arranged, but getting well is no such stern and serious
affair at Bagnères de Bigorre as at Barèges, and here the visitors
wisely mingle their saline prescriptions in abundant infusions of
pleasure. There are drives and promenades in all directions. The Casino
offers concerts and occasional plays and operettas, and a band in the
main promenade entertains regularly the listening evening saunterers.
Rightly does the town aim still to merit the praise given by Montaigne,
who paid it a marked tribute in his writings:
"He who does not bring along with him," observes that great French
essayist, "so much cheerfulness as to enjoy the pleasure of the company
he will there meet, [at bath-resorts,] and of the walks and exercises to
which the beauty of the places in which baths for the most part are
situated invites us, will doubtless lose the best and surest part of
their effect. For this reason, I have hitherto chosen to go to those of
the most pleasant situation, where there was the most convenience of
lodging, provision and company,--as the Baths of Banières in France."
The cheery town is large enough to take on something quite akin to a
city-like air; it has a population of about 10,000, and in summer the
number has its half added upon it by increase of visitors and boarders.
The hotels are praiseworthy, though making little display; and a marked
attraction of the town is this wide promenade of the main street, termed
the _Coustous_,--so called, it is alleged, because anciently the
guardians, _custodes_, of Bigorre used here to pace their nightly
patrol. The Coustous is doubly lined with arching trees, and has seats
and a wide path along the centre; the carriage-ways enclose this, and
shops and cafés line the outer walks. A few squares away, another
similar promenade broadens out, likewise vivified with trees and shops
and booths. Facing this is the bath-establishment before mentioned, and
beyond, in grounds of its own, the Kursaal or Casino. Cropping up among
the houses, stout buildings older than the rest tell of the days when
Bagnères was a "goodly inclosed town," the inhabitants of which had a
hard time of it against the depredations of Lourdes and Mauvoisin and
its other robber neighbors.
For we are among old times again at Bigorre, and many spots in the
vicinity are rife with Middle-Age incidents of robbing and righting.
This region was the plague-spot of the country for its freebooting
fortresses,--Lourdes, Mauvoisin, Trigalet, with their adventurers always
ready for a fracas,--the strongholds, as has been said, of those
logicians who
"kept to the good old plan
That those should take who have the power,
And those should keep who can,"
and the provinces about them lived in constant worriment. This valley
especially suffered from their armed bands; now they raided some exposed
hamlet, now made prisoners of merchants or travelers on the highway,
anon swooped down here upon Bagnères and made off with money and live
stock in gratifying plenty.
And centuries yet preceding this, the valley saw wars on a larger scale,
when Cæsar and his Romans, ploughing victoriously through Gaul, came to
the Aquitani and crushed them down into the furrows with the rest,
after repeated and furious resistance. The Romans knew too of these
springs, and there are still remains of the city,--_Vicus
Aquensis_,--which they built on this site. In the Museum are Roman
relics found while excavating, among them votive tablets recording the
donors' gratitude to the nymphs of the springs for cures effected.
Clearly, Bigorre is of no mushroom growth, but has been toughened and
seasoned by age and warfare into the just reward of its nowaday repose
and popularity.
II.
It is Sunday, and there is service in the English chapel, a brief walk
away. It is conducted by the nervous, genial chaplain staying at the
hotel, who afterwards greets us cordially at the noon luncheon-hour, and
justifies our pleasure at finding a tongue which can return English for
English and with fluency. He officiates at Pau during the winter, he
tells us, and here at Bigorre during the summer; and so, in a sense, we
find, does the hotel proprietor himself, who, with his expansive wife,
owns a hotel in Pau as well as here, and conducts the former during the
winter months, when the season at Bigorre is ended.
The day is evidently that of some special saint; the population is out
in its brightest hues. Saints are in great authority with these people;
their recurrent "days" fill the calendar; their ascribed specialties are
as various as were those of the minor Greek or Egyptian deities. All is
in reverence, be it added; canonization is a very sacred thing with the
Catholic peasant. The power even of working ill seems to be, in curious
ignorance, at times attributed to certain of these saints; "I have seen
with my own eyes," relates a native Gascon writer, M. de Lagrèze, "a
woman who, wishing to disembarrass herself of her husband, demanded of a
venerable priest, as the most natural thing in the world, that he should
say a mass for her to _St. Sécaire_; she was convinced that, this saint,
unknown to martyrology, had the power of withering up (_sécher_) and
killing troublesome individuals, to accommodate those who invoked his
aid."[27]
[27] "This woman," naively adds the writer, "irritated at the refusal of
the priest, showed that she could dispense with saintly help in the
matter altogether: she killed her husband herself, with a gun."
We take another walk in the afternoon through the streets of the town,
and afterward compare international notes once more with our cordial
English clergyman. It is renewedly grateful to hear again the mother
tongue spoken understandingly by a stranger. The utter and unaccountable
absence of our own countrymen's faces and voices from these Pyrenean
resorts gives one constantly a touch of regret. One longs occasionally
for the crisp American greeting,--the quick lighting-up, the national
hand-shake, a comparison of adventures. Saving by two compatriots met in
Biarritz, we have found our nation entirely unrepresented in or near the
summer Pyrenees.
III.
Bagnères is too far to the northward to be in touch with true mountain
expeditions. Its only "star" in this line is the majestic Pic du Midi de
Bigorre, which, being itself an outlying peak, is much nearer us than
the main range and is often ascended from Bigorre,--a conveyance being
taken to Grip and the start on foot or horseback made from that point.
There are, besides, a number of lesser mountains about, and drives and
longer excursions unnumbered. A rifle perhaps most recommendable, though
not always mentioned in the hand-books, is one that will bring us back
again for a day to the times of our rascally acquaintance, Count Gaston
Phoebus, and his contemporaries. This is to the castle of Mauvoisin
before mentioned,--"_Mauvais voisin_,"--"bad neighbor," as it abundantly
proved itself to Bigorre. It lies but ten miles away, in a northeast
direction; it is reached best by the carriage-road, and the trip can
readily be made in a half-day. This was one of the Aquitaine fortresses
which with Lourdes, it will be remembered, fell into the hands of the
English, about the middle of the fourteenth century, as part of the
ransom of King John of France. Raymond of the Sword was appointed its
governor, and a right loyal sword did he prove himself to own. But
Mauvoisin could not resist siege as Lourdes could. The Duke of Anjou was
soon at it, determined to recapture it for the French, and after a stiff
course of starving and thirsting, the garrison surrendered and Mauvoisin
came back to the French flag.
It was near this spot that a peculiarly savage and yet ludicrous fight
once occurred. It was during the same robberesque period,--about the
middle of the fourteenth century; and Froissart gives us an animated
account of it; he was on the way to Orthez through this very region, and
his traveling companion tells him of the event as they pass:
A party of reckless men-at-arms, bent on mischief and plunder, had
sallied out from Lourdes, it seems, on a long foray. They were a hundred
and twenty lances in all, and they had two dashing leaders, Ernauton de
Sainte Colombe and Le Mengeant de Sainte Basile,--the latter well
called the Robin Hood of the Pyrenees. They were all men whose very
breath of life was in thieving and combat. The band had "lifted" an
abundance of booty; they had exploited the country as far even as
Toulouse, "finding in the meadows great quantities of cattle, pigs and
sheep, which they seized, as well as some substantial men from the flat
countries, and drove them all before them."
The Governor of Tarbes and other knights and squires of Bigorre heard of
this mischief and determined to attack the marauders. They assembled at
Tournay, a town not far from Bigorre and close by Mauvoisin, and counted
up two hundred men. Among them was our athletic celebrity, the Bourg
d'Espaign, the same who carried the ass and wood upstairs, that
Christmas Day at Orthez. He was a regiment in himself, "being well
formed, of a large size, strongly made and not too much loaded with
flesh; you will not find his equal in all Gascony for vigor of body." At
Tournay they prepared to lie in wait and spring on the thieving band as
it returned.
The Lourdes roughs had wind of the ambush on their homeward way. They
were quite as ready for a fight as a foray, but prudently divided their
numbers: one detachment was to drive the booty around by the bridge
half-way between Tournay and Mauvoisin and thence on through by-roads;
while the main band was to march in order of battle on the high ground
and so draw the attack. Both sections were later to meet at a point
beyond, from whence they would soon be safely at Lourdes. "On this they
departed; and there remained with the principal division Ernauton de
Sainte Colombe, Le Mengeant de Sainte Basile, and full eighty
companions, all men-at-arms; there were not ten varlets among them. They
tightened their armor, fixed their helmets, and, grasping their lances,
marched in close order, as if they were instantly to engage; they indeed
expected nothing else, for they knew their enemies were in the field."
The Bourg and his friends scented the stratagem in turn, and promptly
divided themselves likewise. He himself with one division guarded the
river passage, which they suspected the cattle and prisoners would be
sent around to cross. The other division, under the Governor of Tarbes,
took the high ground.
At the Pass of Marteras, not far from the castle, the governor's
division met the main body of the enemy. "They instantly dismounted, and
leaving their horses to pasture, with pointed lances advanced, for a
combat was unavoidable, shouting their cries: 'St. George for Lourde!'
'Our Lady for Bigorre!'"
Now it is to be remembered that fighters in those days were often cased
in armor from crown to sole,--a preposterous armor, burdensome and
unwieldy, but almost utterly invulnerable. Sword-blows might dint it for
hours without doing damage; the danger in battle lay chiefly in simple
over-exertion. This gives the ludicrous point to the demure narration
made to Froissart by his companion:
"They charged each other, thrusting their spears with all their
strength, and, to add greater force, urged them forward with their
breasts. The combat was very equal; and for some time none was struck
down, as I heard from those present. When they had sufficiently used
their spears, they threw them down, and with battle-axes began to deal
out terrible blows on both sides. This action lasted for three hours,
and it was marvelous to see how well they fought and defended
themselves. When any were so worsted or out of breath that they could
not longer support the fight, they seated themselves near a large ditch
full of water in the middle of the plain, when, having taken off their
helmets, they refreshed themselves; this done, they replaced their
helmets and returned to the combat, I do not believe there ever was so
well fought or so severe a battle as this of Marteras in Bigorre, since
the famous combat of thirty English against thirty French knights in
Brittany.
"They fought hand to hand, and Ernauton de Sainte Colombe was on the
point of being killed by a squire of the country called Guillonet de
Salenges, who had pushed him so hard that he was quite out of breath,
when I will tell you what happened: Ernauton had a servant who was a
spectator of the battle, neither attacking nor attacked by any one; but
seeing his master thus distressed, he ran to him and wresting the
battle-axe from his hand, said: 'Ernauton, go and sit down! recover
yourself! you cannot longer continue the battle.' With this battle-axe,
he advanced upon the squire and gave him such a blow on the helmet as
made him stagger and almost fall down. Guillonet, smarting from the
blow, was very wroth, and made for the servant to strike him with his
axe on the head; but the varlet avoided it, and grappling with the
squire, who was much fatigued, turned him round and flung him to the
ground under him, when he said: 'I will put you to death if you do not
surrender yourself to my master.'
"'And who is thy master?'
"'Ernauton de Sainte Colombe, with whom you have been so long engaged.'
"The squire, finding he had not the advantage, being under the servant,
who had his dagger ready to strike, surrendered, on condition to deliver
himself prisoner within fifteen days at the castle of Lourde, whether
rescued or not.
"Of such service was this servant to his master; and I must say, Sir
John, that there was a superabundance of feats of arms that day
performed, and many companions were sworn to surrender themselves at
Tarbes and at Lourde. The Governor of Tarbes and Le Mengeant de Sainte
Basile fought hand to hand, without sparing themselves, and performed
many gallant deeds, while all the others were fully employed; however,
they fought so vigorously that they exhausted their strength, and both
were slain on the spot.
"Upon this, the combat ceased by mutual consent, for they were so worn
down that they could not longer wield their axes; some disarmed
themselves, to recruit their strength, and left there their arms. Those
of Lourde carried home with them the dead body of Le Mengeant; as the
French did that of Ernauton to Tarbes; and in order that the memory of
this battle should be preserved, they erected a cross of stone on the
place where these two knights had fought and died."
At the bridge, a few miles away, the other sections met, and belabored
each other as vigorously as did those at the pass. The Bourg d'Espaign
performed wonders: "he wielded a battle-axe, and never hit a man with it
but he struck him to the ground. He took with his own hand the two
captains, Cornillac and Perot Palatin de Béarn. A squire of Navarre was
there slain, called Ferdinand de Miranda, an expert man-at-arms. Some
who were present say the Bourg d'Espaign killed him; others, that he
was stifled through the heat of his armor.
"In short, the pillage was rescued and all who conducted it slain or
made prisoners; for not three escaped, excepting varlets, who ran away
and crossed the river by swimming. Thus ended this business, and the
garrison of Lourde never had such a loss as it suffered that day. The
prisoners were courteously ransomed or mutually exchanged; for those who
had been engaged in this combat had made several prisoners on each side,
so that it behooved them to treat each other handsomely."
* * * * *
"Such," laughs Johnson, "was a fight of men-at-arms in the Middle
Ages,--derived from the graphic description of Froissart, in whose
narrative there always runs an undercurrent of sly humor when portraying
the military extravagances of the age. And it is impossible to avoid the
contagion; for who can picture in any more serious style a hurly-burly
of huge, iron-clad, suffocating, perspiring warriors, half blinded with
helmet and visor and scarce able to stir beneath the metallic pots
encompassing them around; belaboring and hustling each other about with
weapons quite unequal to reach the flesh and blood within, till, out of
breath and blown with fatigue, they sate down as coolly as they could
and refreshed themselves; then getting up again, again drove all the
breath out of their bodies,--and all without doing the least mortal
harm, unless somebody died of the heat or was smothered to death in his
own armorial devices."
IV.
This Le Mengeant, the worthy killed in his armor, as above recorded, at
the Pass of Marteras, had been the hero of more than one bedeviling
exploit during his career thus untimely cut off. One I cannot forbear
giving, told in these Chronicles and retold with charming gusto by the
writer above mentioned. Le Mangeant, it would seem, had evidently "a
strong notion of the humorous in his composition. One time, he set out,
accompanied by four others, all with shaven crowns and otherwise
disguised as an abbot and attendants going from upper Gascony to Paris
on business. Having reached the Sign of the Angel at Montpelier, a
suitable hostelry for such holy men, they soon gained much credit for
their saintly deportment and conversation; insomuch that a rich man of
the city, Sir Béranger, was fain to avail himself of their company and
ghostly comfort by the way. We say nothing of the generosity which
prompted the holy father to offer Sir Béranger an escort free of all
expense, so much was he captivated by that gentleman's charming society.
One can imagine the sly winks and contortions interchanged by this pious
party as the victim fell into the trap. But no amount of imagination can
ever do justice to the features of Sir Béranger, when, three leagues
from the city, the right reverend prelate and his apostolic brethren
threw off the mask with peals of un-canonical laughter, led the wretched
cit off to Lourdes through crooked by-roads, and there extracted from
his disconsolate relatives five thousand francs of ransom,--which they,
holy men, doubtless devoted to the purposes of their order. There is a
story for a rhymer Sherwood forest could not beat!
"It is but proper to set society right as to those gallant days of
chivalry, when knights fought for the love of ladies' eyes and glory
that lived for ever. More practical men are hardly to be found in
business to-day, for they never lost sight of that grand maxim, to 'get
money.' '_Quærenda pecunia primum, virtus post nummos_' was a motto each
knight might have much more truly borne upon his shield than the
charming bits of brag and sentiment cunningly designed for that purpose
by accommodating heraldry. Money they got, honestly if they could, but
they got it; and to do them justice they spent it right jovially, as all
such gallant spirits do when they are disbursing what does not belong to
them. After all, time only alters the characters in the Drama,--the plot
is pretty much the same; and with a suburban villa for a château, a face
of brass for a coat of iron, and a steel pen for a steel sword, your
gallant knight of to-day storms his bank or plunders his neighbors from
an entrenched joint-stock fortress or leads on his band to surprise the
public pocket from some tangled thicket of swindling,--just upon the
same principles as our old Pyrenean friends."