BAGNÈRES DE BIGORRE.
Backward Spring--Hôtel Beau Séjour--Effect of the war of '70 on the
English Colony--The "Coustous"--The Church of St. Vincent--
Géruzet's Marble Works--Donkeys--Up the Monné--Bains de Santé--
Bains de Grand Pré--Salut Avenue and Baths--"Ai-ue, Ai-ue"--
Luncheon--Daffodils--The Summit and the View--The "Castle-Mouly"--
The Tapêre--Mde. Cottin--Mont Bédat--Gentians--The Croix de Manse--
"The Lady's Farewell to her Asinine Steed"--Market-day--The Old
Iron and Shoe Dealers--Sunday--A Cat Fight--The English Church--To
the Col d'Aspin--"The Abbé's Song"--Baudéan--Campan, its People and
Church--Wayside Chapels--Ste. Marie--The route to Gripp, &c.--
Payole--The Pine Forest--The Col d'Aspin--The View from the Monné
Rouge--"The Plaint of the Weather-beaten Pine"--The Menu at Payole
--Hurrah for the Milk!--Departures--Divine Music--Asté--Gabrielle
d'Estrelle--The Ivied Ruins--The Church--Pitton de Tournefort--
Gerde--The Pigeon Traps--The Cattle Market--The Jacobin Tower--
Theatre--Grand Etablissement des Thermes--Hospice Civil--Eglise des
Carmes--Mount Olivet--Madame Cheval, her Cakes and Tea--Bigorre in
Tears.
We had a bright day for our journey to Bigorre, and the country
looked pretty, though very backward for April, but this was owing
to the late frosts, which had been felt everywhere. Bigorre itself
was no exception, and instead of all the charms of spring ready to
welcome us, the leaves were only just taking courage to unfurl. Our
first impressions were consequently anything but favourable, though
our comfortable quarters in the Hôtel Beau Séjour compensated us to
a certain degree. To the French and Spaniards, Bigorre is only a
summer resort, but as it is considered to possess a very mild
climate, many English reside there all the year round. In fact,
before the war of 1870 there was quite an English colony there, but
the chance of a Prussian advance dispersed it, and many were the
hardships endured by some of those who had stayed to the last
moment, in their endeavours to reach the coast.
Our first two days were more or less wet, and by reports of heavy
snowstorms around us, we were unanimously of opinion that we had
come too early. However, with a little sun the place soon began to
look more cheerful, and a few days' fine weather wrought quite a
change.
The hotel looks down on the Place Lafayette and the commencement of
the avenue known as the "Coustous." This name puzzled us! We tried
to find its derivation in French, without success, and Greek and
German were no better. Latin seemed to solve the difficulty with
the word "Custos," since it is said that the ancient guardians of
the town formerly marched up and down beneath these fine old trees;
so we decided to hunt no further but to translate "Coustous" into
the "Guards' Walk." Having settled that knotty point, we took a
stroll in the avenue, and later, paid a visit to the parish church
of St. Vincent which is close by. It is particularly chaste inside,
some portions dating from the 14th century, but the 15th and 16th
have each had a share in the construction. Some of the altars are
made of fine Pyrenean marble, and the Empress Eugenie is said to
have given the wooden image of the Virgin on the pedestal.
As the various marbles obtained in the vicinity are exceedingly
interesting, and in many cases very beautiful, a very pleasant
half-hour can be spent at one of the many marble works which the
town possesses. Fired with this idea ourselves, one gloomy day
after lunch we sallied from the hotel, down the road to the left of
the church, through the public gardens, and--attracted by the
marble pillar--down the lane to the right of it, which at length
brought us to the works of Monsieur Géruzet. The huge blocks of the
rough stone were first inspected, then we saw the various processes
of cutting, ornamenting and polishing, and finally were ushered
into the showroom, where all kinds of articles from a sleeve-stud
to a sideboard were on sale. The cigar-trays and letterweights were
most reasonable, but it is not necessary to buy at all--and
gratuities are not supposed to be permitted.
There were some fine turn-outs in the donkey line which deserve
notice, the peculiarity of these animals here being, to go where
they are wanted, and even to trot about it. Looking out of the
window one morning, we were immediately attracted by the tiniest of
donkeys galloping across the "place" with two big men behind it;
and later on in the day, a neat specimen of the same tribe passed
down the "Coustous," dragging a small dogcart, almost completely
filled by the form of a French female, two or three times as large
as her donkey.
But like other things, the "genus asininus" is very variable,
almost as much so as the barometer, and those "on hire" for riding
purposes were quite as obstinate as their relations in other
countries; at least so the ladies declared who tried them, and they
ought to know. Their bitter experience was gained in a trip up the
Monné, the highest mountain in the immediate vicinity, being 2308
feet above Bigorre, or 4128 above the sea. Our party was seven in
all, supplemented by a broken-winded and coughing horse (called
Towser; French, _Tousseux_), two very obstinate donkeys, and a
particularly polite donkey boy. Add to these, three luncheon-
baskets and various sticks, umbrellas, and parasols, and the
cavalcade is complete. We left the hotel and passed up the Coustous
in rather mixed order, which improved as we turned into the Rue
d'Alsace, and leaving the Great Bathing Establishment [Footnote:
Grand Etablissement de Thermes.] and French Protestant Church on
the right, and the Baths of Santé and Grand Pré on the left,
entered the "Salut" avenue, which in due time brought us to the
baths of the same name. The ascent, which by the road is most
circuitous and easy, commences from thence. But though easy, the
donkeys did not attempt to conceal their dislike for the work at a
very early stage, and when the blasting in the quarries was hushed,
"the voice of the charmer" (i.e. donkey boy) might have been heard,
painfully resembling the sounds made by the traveller with his head
over the vessel's side, urging them on, "Ai-ue--Ai-ue." As we
rounded the last of the minor peaks, "the keen demands of appetite"
were not to be resisted; so on a nice green plateau, with the
object of our desires in full view, we discussed the luncheon.
Shawls were spread, plates handed round, bottles gurglingly
uncorked, and chicken and "pâté de foie gras" distributed until
everyone was steadily at work. The mountain air seemed to affect
the "vin ordinaire"; everyone averred it was as good as "Margaux,"
while the chicken was voted delicious, and the pâté superb.
This important business over, a start was again made, and though
the donkeys were still obstinate, we managed to make progress.
Daffodils were growing in profusion as we neared the summit, making
the hill crest seem crowned with gold. At last, after one or two
nasty narrow bits of path, barely affording sufficient footing for
the animals, we gained the top, anxious to enjoy the view.
Unhappily, the tips of the highest peaks were hidden in the clouds,
but the general view was excellent, so we endeavoured to be
content. With our backs to Bigorre, we had the Pic du Midi (9440
ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.) right before us, with the small
Val de Serris and the finer Val de Lesponne beneath. More to the
left, the continuation of the Campan Valley leading to Luchon, in
which, as far as Ste. Marie, the route is visible. On the extreme
left lay the four villages of Gerde, Asté, Baudéan and Campan, with
the Pêne de l'Heris (5226 ft.) and the Ordincède rearing above
them. Looking in the direction of Bigorre, we could see on our
right the trees fringing the hills above Gerde, and known as the
Palomières; and slightly to the left Lourdes and its lake, with the
entrance to the Argelès valley further round in the same direction
and close to the wooded hill known as the Castel Mouly (3742 ft.).
The Tapêre (a small stream) flows from this last-named hill into a
narrow glen, on the left side of which Madame Cottin wrote the
"Exiles of Siberia." The hill above, known as "Mont Bédat," and
surmounted with a statue of the Virgin, is a favourite walk from
the town, the ascent for a moderate walker taking about forty-five
minutes.
After twenty minutes to enjoy this panorama we began the descent on
the Castel-Mouly side, and were very soon forced to make short and
sometimes slippery cuts, to avoid the banks of snow lying in the
path. We easily managed to strike the proper path again, however,
and soon found ourselves at our "luncheon plateau." We now bore
along to the left, finding several large gentians, and gradually,
by dint of short cuts, we reached the Croix de Manse--a plateau
where four roads meet. Taking the one leading from the Bédat, we
were soon deposited at the hotel in safety.
The ladies were inexpressibly glad to give up their donkeys, and
Miss Leonards considered her experiences so bitter as to wish them
to be handed down to posterity under the title of
"THE LADY'S FAREWELL TO HER ASININE STEED."
My donkey steed! my donkey steed! that standest slyly by,
With thy ill-combed mane and patchy neck--thy brown and
cunning eye,
I will not mount the Monné's height, or tread the gentle
mead
Upon thy back again: oh slow and wretched donkey steed!
The sun may rise, the sun may set, but ne'er again on thee,
Will I repeat the sorry ride from which at length I'm free;
I'd sooner walk ten thousand times, though walking would
be vain,
Than ever mount, my donkey steed, upon thy back again.
Perchance in _nightmare's_ fitful dreams thou'lt amble into
sight,
Perchance once more thy cunning eye will turn on me its
light.
Again I'll raise my parasol--_in vain_--to make thee speed,
A parasol is nought to thee, my wretched donkey steed.
'Twas only when at my request some kindly hand would
chide,
Or sharply thrust a pointed stick against thy shaggy side,
That the slow blood that in thee runs would quicken once
again,
For though my parasol I broke, my efforts _still_ were vain.
Did I ill use thee? Surely not! such things could never be!
Although thou wentest slowest when I fain would haste to
tea.
Creeping at snail's pace only--while I couldn't make thee
learn
That donkeys' legs were never made to stop at ev'ry turn.
At ev'ry turn!--such weary work--I knew not what to do:
Oh nevermore!--no, nevermore!--would I that ride renew.
How very wide thy jaws were kept--how far thrown back
thine ears,
As though to make me think thee ill and fill my soul with
fears.
Safe and unmounted will I roam with stately step alone,
No more to feel, on thee, such pains and aches in ev'ry bone:
And if I rest beside a well, perchance I'll pause and think,
How even if I'd brought thee there, I couldn't make thee
drink.
I couldn't even make thee move! Away, the ride is o'er!
Away! for I shall rue the day on which I see thee more!
They said thou wert so meek and good, and I'm not over
strong,
I took their _kind_ advice, but oh! their _kind_ advice was
_wrong._
Who said I'd gladly give thee up? Who said that thou
were old?
'Tis true! 'tis true! my donkey steed! and I alas was _sold._
With joy I see thy form depart--that form which ne'er again
Shall bear me up the mountain-side and fill my soul with
pain.
After such a potent warning posterity will doubtless avoid "donkey
steeds" altogether.
Saturday is the great market-day of the week, and not only then is
the "Place de Strasbourg," at the end of the "Rue du Centre," well
crowded, but even--as happens on no other day--the Place Lafayette,
in front of the hotel, and the top of the Coustous as well. The
first-named is the fruit, flower, and vegetable market; the second,
the grain and potato; and the third, the iron and old shoe market.
The amount and variety of old iron and cast-off shoes exposed for
sale is astonishing. And if the vendors were given to crying their
wares they might indulge in something like the following--of course
translated:--
"Now who's for an 'upper,' a 'heel,' or a 'sole'?
This way for some fine rusty chain!
The sum of ten halfpence will purchase the whole,
And surely you cannot complain!
"Just glance at this slipper, whose fellow is lost;
Here's a boot that was only worn thrice;
A hammer, your honour, at half what it cost;
I'm sure that's a reasonable price."
The curious characters loafing, begging, buying and selling, quite
defy description, though the resemblance of many to the ape tribe
was conspicuous. One ancient individual, presiding over an
"umbrella hospital," presented an interesting spectacle surrounded
by _adult_ shoe-blacks whose trade did not appear to be too
lucrative.
Sunday is usually a very quiet day out of the season, but on our
first Sunday morning the Place de Strasbourg was the scene of a
real cat-fight. The combatants quite tabooed spitting and
scratching, and went to work with their teeth. After a few squeaks
and a great deal of rolling in the dust, a magnanimous dog appeared
on the scene, and after separating them, pursued the victor down
the street. The rest of the day, as usual, passed peacefully, and
the pleasant services in the pretty little English Church were much
enjoyed. It is situated near Dussert and Labal's marble works, just
off the Rue des Pyrenees, leading to Campan, about a hundred yards
beyond the Coustous, and is reached by crossing a small wooden
bridge.
Monday broke very fine, and as the market people had notified that
the Col d'Aspin was now open, we made up a party of ten, just
filling two landaus, for this fifteen-mile drive. We did not start
till eleven, and by that time the clouds had commenced to show
themselves, but hoping for better things, we went ahead. Following
the Campan road, we soon left Gerde and the Palomières above it, in
the distance, and in a few moments the village of Asté as well. A
little further on we met a barouche, lolling back in which sat a
priest. His hands were clasped o'er his breast, his spectacled eyes
were fixed upwards, and judging by the expression of his mouth and
the movement of his lips, he was endeavouring to put some pleasant,
self-contented thoughts into words. We took the liberty of guessing
what he was saying, and set it down as
"THE ABBÉ'S SONG."
Oh! I am an Abbé, an Abbé am I,
And I'm fond of my dinner and wine.
Some say I'm a sinner, but that I deny,
And I never am heard to repine.
'Tis said what a pity I can't have a wife,
But I'm saved from the _chance_ of all naggings and strife,
While in my barouche I can ride where I will,
Feeling life not half bad, though the world may be ill.
I always wear glasses, but that's to look sage,
And not 'cause my eyesight is dim,
For when sweet maids I view of a loveable age,
I contrive to look over the rim.
And when I'm alone with the glass at my lips,
I am ready to swear, as I pause 'twixt the sips,
That as long as the world does not hamper my will,
I think I can manage to live in it still.
A short distance before reaching Baudéan a road strikes to the
right up the Vallon de Serris, and a short distance beyond,
another, in the same direction, strikes up the Vallée de Lesponne,
_en route_ for the Lac Bleu (6457 ft.) and the Montaigu (7681 ft.).
When Baudéan and its quaint old church were left in our rear, and
we were nearing Campan, we witnessed a fierce struggle between a
young bull-calf and a native. The calf objected very strongly to
the landaus, and wished to betake itself to the adjacent country to
avoid them. To this the native very naturally objected in turn, and
a struggle was the result, in which the calf was worsted and
reduced to order.
Campan is a curious old town, with a quaint marketplace, whose roof
rests on well-worn stone pillars. Turning a corner, we came on a
somewhat mixed collection of men, women, oxen, and logs of wood.
The French flag was fixed against a tree, and painted on a board
underneath it were the familiar words, "débit de tabac," with an
arrow or two pointing round the corner, but no tobacco shop was in
sight.
The peasants thronged the windows as we drove down the street, but
the greater number were weird and decrepit females, with faces like
the bark of an ancient oak-tree.
The old church, which stands near the market-place is well worth a
visit. Passing under an archway on the right side of the road, we
entered a court-yard, in which stands a marble statue erected in
honour of the late curé, and on the right of this is the entrance
into the church.
After leaving Campan the road ascends slightly through several
small hamlets, each possessing a proportionately small chapel at
the wayside, till Ste. Marie (2965 ft.) is reached. Here the road
bifurcates, the branch to the right leading to Gripp, Tramesaïgues,
the Col du Tourmalet, and Barèges; the branch to the left, along
which we continued, to the Col d'Aspin, Arreau, Bordères, Col de
Peyresourde (5070 ft.), and Luchon (2065 ft.). From Ste. Marie the
grandeur of the scenery increases. Besides the Montaigu and the Pic
du Midi on the right, on the left are the Pêne de l'Heris (5226
ft.) and the Crête d'Ordincède (5358 ft. about), with their wooded
crests uplifted above the range of lower hills, dotted with the
huts of the shepherds. Still ascending slightly, we passed Payole
(3615 ft.), where a head thrust out of the window of the Hôtel de
la Poste showed us it was at any rate occupied, and as we drove
past at a good pace, visions of a pleasant tea rose before us.
[Illustration: THE PINE FOREST NEAR THE COL D'ASPIN.]
We were soon mounting the zigzags through the splendid pine woods,
and enjoyed the delicious glimpses down the deep moss-grown glades,
with the scent of the rising sap in our nostrils. The glimpses on
the mountains up and down the road were very felicitous also. On
emerging from the forest the road was rather narrow for the
carriage for several yards, the snow being two to three feet deep
on either side, but as soon as this was passed, another three-
quarter mile of open driving brought us to the Col d'Aspin (4920
ft.). The view from this spot is very fine, but to really enjoy the
scenery to the fullest extent, we mounted the crest on the left,
called the Monné Rouge (5759 ft.), and were well rewarded.
Although, as too often happens, the highest peaks were in the mist,
we could see the whole extent of the valleys, and the tops of the
lower mountains. The range of sight is magnificent; the Maladetta
(10,866 ft.) only just visible to the east, the huge Posets (11,047
ft.) standing out frowningly to the south-south-east, as well as
the Pez (10,403 ft.) and the Clarabide (10,254 ft. about), and many
others. While not only the valley of Séoube, just passed through,
and the valley of Aure, in which Arreau lies, are visible, but to
the northwest even the plain of the Garonne as well. As the clouds
were gradually obscuring the scene, we made our way at a smart pace
through the pines back towards the inn at Payole. One weather-
beaten old fir, hung with lichen, devoid of all its former garb of
green, seemed to appeal to us for pity; we noticed it both when
ascending and descending, and its misery at dying when all the
trees around were growing anew, we have set down as
"THE PLAINT OF THE WEATHER-BEATEN PINE."
Behold I stand by the Aspin road, an old and worn-out Pine,
The years I cannot recollect that make this life of mine:
The snows have fallen o'er my crest, the winds have whistled
high,
For tens of years the winter's frost I managed to defy;
But now the fiat has gone forth, the flame of life is dead,
And nevermore I'll feel the storms that beat about my head.
I've watch'd the carriage travellers pass so gaily on their
way,
I've heard the capercailzie's note at early dawning grey;
But now, alas! my doom is sealed, I have not long to wait,
For when the axe has laid me low the fire will be my fate.
Farewell to sun, farewell to storm, to birds and travellers all,
--Oh sad to think that one so great should have so great a
fall!
As some of the party had gone on earlier, we found the table spread
when we reached the Inn de la Poste; and after a warm at the
kitchen fire proceeded to discuss the repast, of which the
following is the _menu_:--
MENU.
* * * * *
SOUP.
Tea._
FISH.
Cold Minnows.
ROASTS.
Remains of Cold Chicken. Remains of Paté de Foie Gras.
COLD.
Household _Bread_--very sour.
MADE DISH.
_Butter._
SWEETS.
Sponge Biscuits.
DESSERT.
Apples and Oranges.
WINES AND LIQUEURS.
Vin Ordinaire, Water with very little Whisky, Kirschwasser.
We were unable to procure any addition to our meal from the
innkeeper, except sour bread and sugar. Our tea had to be drank
without milk, as the cow had gone for a stroll up the mountain and
was out of reach of the post-office. Having suggested to our host
that a telegram might be of use, he disappeared grinning, and in
about ten minutes the servant entered with a bottle containing the
precious liquid. The shout of joy that rose to the rafters rather
startled the quiet female, but it was spontaneous, not to be
suppressed, and told of a happy finish to our not over sumptuous
tea.
The drive from thence home was decidedly chilly, but nothing
exciting happened, though occasional glimpses of the snow peaks
were enjoyed, and many fine specimens of the genus bovus, dragging
carts laden with trees (or all that remained of them), were passed
by the way.
The entire excursion occupied six hours and a half.
A few days afterwards our sociable circle at the hotel was much
reduced, and among others the Clipper family departed. We missed
Mr. Clipper greatly, for though bearing strong evidence to Darwin's
theory about the face, he was a chatty companion and capital
"raconteur," while his facility for remembering names, even of
places visited in his youngest days, was really remarkable.
Nor could we easily spare the four sylph-like Misses Clipper, for
with them vanished all hopes of delicious music in the evening. Ah,
that was music! The way they played together the "Taking of Tel-el-
Kebir" took us by storm. The silent march through the dead of
night, the charge, the cheers, the uncertain rifle fire, and then
the thunder of the cannon was so effective, that the landlord rose
in haste from his dinner, and anxiously inquired if the pier-glass
had fallen through the piano; reassured, he went back to his meal,
but whether the "taking of the redoubt," or the "pursuit of the
fugitives," or even the capital imitation of the bagpipes--which
followed in due course--interfered with his digestion (it might
have been a regard for his piano), we never learnt, but his face
showed unmistakable signs of annoyance for the rest of the evening.
The next morning--which was Saturday--Miss Leonards, Mrs.
Willesden, and myself took a walk to the villages of Asté and
Gerde. They lie on the opposite side of the river Adour, and are
within an easy walk. The market people were coming in a continuous
stream along the Campan road, some in long carts crowded sardine-
like, some in traps, some on donkeys, but the majority on foot. We
stopped two of the most crowded carts and asked them to make room
for us. The inmates of the former took it as a joke and drove off
chuckling; but those in the second took the matter-of-fact view and
began squeezing about, till, having a space of about four inches by
three, one man said he thought they could manage; however, not
wishing to "sit familiar," we thanked him, but declined to trouble
him any further.
The first bridge over the river, built of stone, leads to Gerde and
Asté, but we preferred to take the longer route, which continues
along the Campan road, till, after passing several smaller wooden
bridges, it turns to the left between two houses over an iron
bridge, and strikes straight into Asté. Before entering the town we
glanced over in the direction of Campan, and caught a fine glimpse
of the Houn Blanquo (6411 ft.), and the Pic du Midi, with a bit of
the Montaigu. Asté is interesting, formerly a fief of the Grammont
family; it has been associated with not a few celebrated
characters, and though that does not enhance the value of the
surrounding property (since the Grammont estate is now in the
market), yet of course it renders the village more worthy of a
visit.
The picturesque and ivy-covered ruin is all that remains of the
feudal castle where Gabrielle d'Estrelle [Footnote: So the oldest
inhabitant said!] lived and loved, and whither the renowned Henry
IV. (the object of that love) came over from his castle at Pau on
frequent visits.
The church, with its Campan marble porch, is celebrated for the
image of the Virgin which it contains, and which is greatly
reverenced in the neighbourhood.
Asté was honoured with a long visit from Pitton de Tournefort, a
celebrated French naturalist, and the fact is commemorated by an
engraved tablet affixed to the house in which he passed his nights.
The tablet is on the left-hand side of the main street (going
towards Gerde), and the inscription--which is in verse--runs as
follows:--
"Pitton de Tournefort dans cet humble réduit,
De ses fatigues de jour se reposait la nuit.
Lorsqu' explorant nos monts qu'on ignorait encore,
Ce grand homme tressait la couronne de flore."
MDCCCXXXII. M.B.
Which might be translated--
"Pitton de Tournefort when tired for the day,
In this hole made his bed, on a shakedown of hay.
Our hills, long despised, he was pleased to explore,
And we thank him for lib'rally paying the score!"
1832.
Taking the path leading to the right, we managed by dint of a
little wading to reach Gerde, a village possessing little internal
interest besides the neat church, but otherwise known to fame from
the "palomières," or pigeon-traps, worked between the trees which
fringe the hills above it. During the autumn, when the pigeons are
migrating, huge nets are spread between the trees, and on the approach
of a flock, men, perched in a lofty "crow's nest," throw out a large
wooden imitation of a hawk, at the sight of which the pigeons dip in
their flight and rush into the nets, which--worked on the pulley
system--immediately secure them. There are three species taken in the
traps: the wood pigeon, the ringed wood pigeon, and the wild dove.
Leaving Gerde by the principal thoroughfare, we came back to
Bagnères by the Toulouse road, passing the Cattle Market--held in a
triangular space shaded with trees--on the left; and the Géruzet
Marble Works, and later the Parish Church, on the right.
[Illustration: PALOMIÈRES DE GERDE.]
With the exception of the baths or Thermes, we did not find many
places of interest in the town. The old Jacobin tower, surmounted
by a clock, in the Rue de l'Horloge, is all that remains of a
convent built in the 15th century, but is in a good state of
preservation. The theatre is part of what was formerly the "Chapel
of St. John," used by the Templars. The porch over the doorway was
erected in the 13th century, and is of the Transition style,
utterly incongruous to the use now made of it; but this kind of
sacrilege is unhappily now becoming of common occurrence! Leaving
the theatre, in a short space we were in the "Place des Thermes,"
where the New Casino is being built among the shrubs on the right.
The "Grand Etablissement," which occupies the centre of the
"Place," contains seven different springs, and there is another in
the circular building outside, the latter being only used for
drinking purposes. On the first floor of the building are the
library (to the left), the geological room (in the centre), and the
picture gallery (to the right). The corridors leading to the first
and last are panelled with good specimens of the Pyrenean marbles,
and in the same room with the pictures is a supposed model of a
section of the Pyrenees--anybody gaining any information from it
deserves a prize.
To the left of this establishment stands the "Hospice Civil," a
fine building in grey stone.
The Carmelite Church, on the left of the road leading to Mount
Olivet, where several pleasant villas are situated, is now closed,
the "order" having been dispersed two years ago; so nothing is to
be seen there of interest except the sculpture representing the
"miracle of the loaves" over the door.
One institution must not be forgotten, viz, the afternoon tea or
coffee at Madame Cheval's. This good lady presides over a
confectioner's shop opposite the end of the Hôtel (Beau Séjour), in
the Rue du Centre. Her cakes and coffee are good, and, thanks to
our enlightened instructions, anyone taking some tea to her can
have it properly made, and be provided with the necessary adjuncts
for enjoying it; cream even being attainable if ordered the
previous day. We spent many a pleasant half-hour there, and can
well recommend others to follow our example.
Towards the end of the month Mr. H---- and his daughters moved on
to Luchon, as their time was limited; and the last week saw the
departure of Mrs. Willesden and Miss Leonards for England, whereat
Bigorre was as tearful and miserable as a steady downpour could
make it. I had serious thoughts of moving on to Luchon for two or
three days myself, and a driver who had brought two men thence over
the Col d'Aspin, offered to take me back for twenty francs, but
learning next day that there were five feet of snow on the Col, and
that Luchon was wretchedly cold, I decided to wait till later on, a
decision in no way regretted.
Although during the latter part of our stay the weather was
agreeable, and the influence of spring manifest, I was not sorry
when the day for moving forward arrived, and though Madame Cheval,
when I broke the news to her over my solitary cup of coffee, looked
as concerned as she could, and murmured something to the effect
that "all her customers were going away," yet with the assurance
that some day soon a party of us would pay her a visit, she managed
to smile again!