It is not intended to detail the many incidents that befell them on the
way, the chit-chat of steamboats, railroads, and hotels. Their father
cared not to hear of these trifles; he could read enough of such
delightful stuff in the books of whole legions of travellers; and, as
they did not note anything of this kind in their journal, we are left to
suppose that they encountered the usual pleasures and _desagremens_
which all travellers must experience on similar journeys. As money was
no object, they travelled with expedition--making only a short stay in
the great capitals through which they passed, in order to have their
passports _vised_, and sometimes for the purpose of using the great
emperor's letter for the replenishment of their exchequer. This magic
document proved all-powerful everywhere they went; and as they knew it
would be so in all corners of the habitable globe, they could rely upon
it with perfect confidence. Pouchskin's leathers bag was always well
weighted with the yellow metal,--and _specie_, whatever stamp it may
bear, is current all over the world.
Their journal merely mentions the route followed. From their
hunting-ground they returned down the Tornea river, which, running due
north and south, of course did not compromise the terms of their
covenant; neither were the conditions infringed by their taking at any
time the backtrack when engaged in the chase, for, as already known,
there was a specification in the baron's letter, that allowed of this
deviation. All that was required of them was that they should not
recross a meridian when on their actual route of travel.
A ship carried them from Tornea to Dantzic. Hence they passed to
Berlin, and on through Frankfort, Stutgard, and Strasbourg, to Paris.
Paris, it is true, was a little out of their way; but what Russian could
travel across Europe without paying a visit to Paris? Pouchskin cared
little about it. The old grenadier had been there before--in 1815--when
he was far from being welcome to the Parisians; and Alexis would rather
have gone by another and more direct route, that is, through
Switzerland; but the gay Ivan would not hear of such a thing. To see
Paris he was determined; and see it he did; though what he or they did
there is not mentioned in the book of the chronicles of our young
bear-hunters.
From Paris they travelled by rail, almost directly south--though still
slightly westward--to the celebrated baths of Bagneres. Here they found
themselves not only within sight, but actually among the _foot-hills_ of
those mountains, for the tourist scarce second in interest to the Alps
themselves, but perhaps for the naturalist even more interesting than
these.
At Bagneres they made but a short stay, only long enough to recruit
their strength by bathing in its thermal springs, and to witness a
spectacle which is regarded as the grand lion of the place--the
_Palombiere_.
As you, young reader, may not have heard of the _Palombiere_, and may be
curious to know what it is, I give the account of it, which I find
recorded in the journal of Alexis.
About two miles from Bagneres rises a ridge of considerable elevation--
running parallel with the general direction of the Pyrenees, of which it
may be considered an outlying step, or "foot hill" (_pied mont_). Along
the crest of this hill stands a row of very tall trees, from which the
branches have been carefully lopped, leaving only a little bunch at the
top of each. On coming close to these trees--provided it be in the
months of September or October--you will observe a something between
them that resembles a thin gauzy veil of a greyish colour. On getting
still nearer, you will perceive that this veil is a net--or rather a
series of nets--extended from tree to tree, and filling up all the
spaces between them--from the highest point to which the branches have
been lopped down to within three feet of the ground.
Another singular object, or series of objects, will long ere this have
attracted your attention. You will see standing, at certain intervals
apart, and about thirty yards in front of the trees, a row of tall
tapering sticks--so tall that their tops are fifty yards from the
ground! They might remind you of the masts of a ship; but that there
are in each case two of them together,--the one standing vertically, and
the other bending over to it, with a slight curve. On this account you
may be more struck with their resemblance to the "shears" seen in
shipyards, by which the masts are "stepped" into their places. These
masts, as we may call them, are not all of one stick of wood, but of
several pieces spliced together; and notwithstanding their prodigious
length--fifty yards, you will remember--they are of no great thickness.
In fact, although the two are joined together at the top--as we shall
presently have occasion to show--when a strong wind blows, both bend,
and vibrate back and forward like an elastic trout rod. At their bases
they are only five feet apart; and the curving one is intended to act as
a stay to the other. Both, as already stated, meet at the top, and
looking up you will see--while the sight makes you dizzy--a little
roundish object at the point of the junction. It is a basket set there
firmly, and just big enough to hold the body of a man. If you look
carefully you will see a man actually within it; but, to quote
Shakespeare's quaint simile, he will appear to your eyes not half as
gross as a beetle! In all likelihood he is not a man, but only a boy;
for it is boys who are selected to perform this elevated and apparently
dangerous service.
How did the boy get there? will probably be your next question. By
running your eye along the curved pole, you will perceive a row of
projecting pegs extending from bottom to top. They are quite two feet
apart; but had you been present while that youth was making the ascent--
which he did by the help of these pegs--you would have seen him scramble
up as rapidly, and with as little concern, as a sailor would ascend the
ratlines of a ship! It is his trade to do so, and practice has made him
as nimble as he is intrepid; but you, who are unaccustomed to witness
such tall gymnastics, cannot help again recalling Shakespeare, and
exclaiming, with the great dramatic poet, "Fearful trade!" Quite as
fearful, indeed, as the gathering of "samphire."
But what is this trade? What is all this contrivance for--these nets
and tall masts, with "crows' nests" at their tops? What are the boys
doing up there? And what are they about below--those men, women, and
children--a crowd composed of all ages and all sexes? What are they
doing?
_Pigeon-catching_. That is what they are doing, or rather what they are
aiming to do, as soon as the opportunity offers. These people are
simply pigeon-catchers.
What sort of pigeons? and where do they come from? These questions must
be answered.
To the first, then, the answer is the common European wild pigeon
(_columba palumbis_). It is well-known in England by the name of
"wood-pigeon," and in France it is called _ramier_. In England the
wood-pigeon is not migratory. In that country there is a much milder
winter than is experienced in the same or even a more southerly latitude
on the Continent. This enables the pigeon to find food throughout all
the year, and it therefore remains in England. In continental
countries--Prance among the number--the severity of the winter forces it
southward; and it annually migrates into Africa--the supposed limit of
its flight being the chain of the Atlas mountains. Of course the
wood-pigeon is only one of many birds that make this annual tour,
taking, as the rest do, a "return ticket."
Now the _ramiers_ of France, in passing southward, must ply their wings
a little more strenuously to mount over the snowy summits of the
Pyrenees; but they only commence ascending to this higher elevation when
near the mountains. The ridge at Bagneres chances to lie in the line of
their flight--of course, not of all of them, but such as may be sweeping
along in that particular meridian; and, passing between the tall trees
already mentioned, they get caught in the meshes of the nets. The
moment they strike these--several of them coming "butt" against one at
the same instant,--a trigger is pulled by the men--who are below
concealed under screens--and this trigger, acting on a string, causes
the net to drop, with the fluttering victims safely secured in its
meshes.
When the flight has passed, the women, girls, boys, and even the
children, rush forth from their hiding-places; and, seizing the
struggling birds, put a quick termination to their fruitless efforts, by
biting each of them in the neck. Old, half-toothless crones--for this
is especially their part of the performance--will be seen thus giving
the final _coup_ to the beautiful but unfortunate wanderers!
And still we have not explained what the boys are doing up yonder.
Well, we shall now announce their _metier_. Each has taken up with him
a number of little billets of wood, fashioned something like the letter
T, and about six inches in length. When this billet is flung into the
air, and twirls about in its descent, it exhibits some resemblance--
though not a very close one--to a flying pigeon-hawk. The resemblance,
however, is near enough to "do" the pigeons; for when they are within
about one hundred yards of the crows' nest, the boy launches his billet
into the air, and the birds, believing it to be a hawk, immediately dip
several yards in their flight--as they may be seen to do when a real
hawk makes his appearance. This descent usually brings them low enough
to pass between the trees; and of course the old women soon get their
teeth upon them.
The pigeon-catching is not free to every one who may take a "fancy" to
it. There are pigeon-catchers by trade; who, with their families,
follow it as a regular calling during the season, while it lasts; and
this, as already stated, is in the months of September and October. The
_Palombiere_, or pigeon-ridge, belongs to the communal authorities, who
let it out in sections to the people that follow the calling of
pigeon-netting; and these, in their turn, dispose of the produce of
their nets in the markets of Bagneres and other neighbouring towns.
Every one knows how excellent for the table is the flesh of this
beautiful bird: so much is it esteemed, that even at Bagneres, in the
season of their greatest plenty, a pair will fetch a market price of
from twelve to twenty sous.