GAVARNIE.
A "falling glass"--The wonderful echo--Cascade Lassariou--Sia and its
bridge--Pont de Desdouroucat--"Changing scenes"--Bugaret torrent--The
Piméné--Bué--Gèdre--Brêche de Roland in the distance--The
"Grotto"--Scenery at fivepence per head--Daffodils--Lofty
summits--Cascade d'Arroudet--Chaos--Valley of the "Ten Thousand Rocks,"
Amoy--A dirty avalanche--The Sugar-loaf--Travellers' troubles
--Importunate females--Hôtel des Voyageurs--Poc--Guide or no
guide--Chute de Lapaca--The guardian summits of the Cirque--Cascade du
Marboré--Chandelles du Marboré--The Cirque--Its marvellous
beauty--Reluctantly returning--"The Guide's Auction"--"Two women
enough for a market, and three for a fair"--A Yankee tale--Sketching
and flowers--Tempers and appetites.
There is no excursion from Luz or St. Sauveur for which it is so
necessary to have a fine day, or which is so wonderfully unique, as
that to the Cirque of Gavarnie. We were forced to wait several days;
the barometer always, stupidly enough, wanting to fall, until on the
third day of the moon it slowly began to rise, and gave us hopes for a
start on the following morning. The following morning arrived, and with
it a heavy fall of snow, decking the hills quite low down with a white
mantle, and gloomily screening the view.
However, about nine o'clock, the sun burst forth, the clouds rose, the
blue sky appeared, and we felt that our opportunity had come. The lunch
and the landau, with four horses, were ordered for ten o'clock, and at
10.15 we were on our way. Through the town, past the church and over
the fine Pont Napoléon we went, our hearts--eager to appreciate
--finding no lack of food.
Keeping along the base of the Pic de Bergons, with the Pic du Lac Grand
rivalling it on the other side of the defile, we soon sighted the chasm
and cascade of Rioumaou on our left, and reached the Pas de l'Echelle.
At 1 metre 50 centimetres, or 43/4 feet, from the extremity of the
ornamental facing which marks the place, we pulled up, to try the
magnificent echo, and were in no way disappointed. Our voices came back
particularly clearly, but from the coach-box the sound was stronger. On
ahead again, still by the base of the Pic de Bergons, with the mighty
Col and Pic d'Aubiste (8863 ft.) majestic across the river; till, at
the foot of the Pic, where the sparkling Cascade de Lassariou comes
tumbling down, the wretched hamlet of Sia, with its "quatre moulins"
and very fine bridge, broke into view. Traversing the Pont de
Sia--distant about three miles from Luz and built when the new road was
made two years ago--we kept the right side of the Gave, and, with the
Pic de Litouèse towering above us, reached the Pont de Desdouroucat (4
3/8 miles), and again passed to the opposite bank, leaving the remains
of the old route on the side whence we came. The sky was clearing more
and more, and before us, over Gavarnie, it was one pure expanse of
blue. The gorge was very wild, but with a wildness of piled-up crags
and blackened sides that the beautiful winding river and the spring
tints helped to beautify and subdue. Presently the massive Brada, up
the grand Gorge de Bacheviron, came in sight on our left, and as we
passed the insignificant hamlet of Pragnères (43/4 miles), where the
torrent of Bugaret dashes down into the Gave, the Brada looked more
massive still. Thus it continued all along the route, every bend of the
road bringing something new--whether a cascade, a valley, or a lofty
peak, always something to claim attention and praise. At such a bend,
shortly after quitting Pragnères, the great snow-crowned Piméné (9193
ft.) seemed to bar the way; while at another, the hamlet of Bué and the
Col de Bué appeared on the right, and at another, again, Mont Ferrat
(10,575 ft.), up the Héas valley on the left. Not very much further,
when bending into Gèdre, we obtained a splendid glimpse of La Tour and
La Casque du Marboré and the Brêche de Roland. Gèdre (8 miles), like
all the rest of the villages or hamlets in the vicinity, is a
miserable, poverty-stricken-looking place, but with picturesque
surroundings. It is a good centre for numerous excursions--notably that
to the Cirque de Troumouse--and possesses an excellent botanist as
well as a celebrated grotto.
[Footnote: The grotto's notoriety is gained, perhaps, by its imposture;
it is in reality no grotto, but a very pretty bit of scenery
nevertheless, on a fine day.]
Stopping at the house by the bridge, we were escorted by the good woman
into her garden and down some steps to a platform, whence the so-called
grotto was to be surveyed. It is a very picturesque spot. The lofty
walls of perpendicular rock, the overhanging bushes and flowers, the
trees above, the field beyond, and the blue water of the Gave de Héas
foaming beneath, are charming enough, with the aid of rays of sunlight,
to make the spot famous, and the good woman chuckle as she pockets the
half-franc per head.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF GÈDRE.]
Starting again, we commenced the zigzag ascent past the church--the
road winding among fields golden with daffodils, mingling here and
there with the lovely blue of the gentians and the pink _Primula
farinosa_--towards the base of the Coumelie, the mule-path to the
Cirque de Troumouse leading through a field above us, as we reached the
zigzag's top. Still gently ascending round the foot of the Coumelie,
the pointed summit of the lofty Taillon (10,323 ft.) came into view
ahead, with the grandiose Campbieil (10,418 ft.) up the Héas valley;
and the Pic de Saugué immediately above on the right, from whose height
the splendid Cascade d'Arroudet, dashing past the shepherds' cottages,
launches its foaming showers into the river below. A few more graceful
curvings of the road and we entered the region so aptly termed "Chaos."
Attributed to an earthquake at the end of the fourteenth century,
rightly or wrongly, the fact nevertheless remains that one of the huge
buttresses of the Coumelie became detached from the main summit, and
dashed down in enormous blocks to the valley below. There they lie, the
road passing between, in the wildest and most indescribable confusion.
Here a heap piled one above another, there a mighty shoulder split in
twain by a conical fragment which rests in the breach that it made;
some towering above the road, others blocking the river below, a few
isolated and many half-buried; but all combining to form as wild and
wonderful a chaos as the eye could wish to gaze on, but which the pen
must fail to describe. Far away on the shores of China, at the port of
Amoy, is another scene which, though it must yield the palm to this, is
nevertheless one of a similarly wild nature. The "Valley of the Ten
Thousand Rocks," as the spot is called, in the midst of which stands a
joss-house (or temple), may be reached in a pleasant walk from the
harbour of Amoy, by way of the wonderful Rocking Stone, and along paths
lined with aloes and cacti. There the grass grows between the confusion
of boulders, and the Chinamen's incense ascends to the blue sky; but
these points of difference from the Chaos of Gavarnie, though tending
to subdue part of the barren wildness, nevertheless still leave a
resemblance between the two scenes that is worthy of record.
[Illustration]
Leaving this "boulder" region behind us, we passed through a huge
avalanche that stood in frozen filthiness far above the carriage on
each side of the road, while immediately over us on the left rose the
mountain from which it had come--rightly named the Sugar-loaf--and
opposite, on the right, the serrated summit of the Soum de Secugnac
(8442 ft.).
At this point one of the many nuisances which ought to be classed under
the head of "Travellers' Troubles," commenced. In the distance, but
coming swiftly towards us, or rather as swiftly as a broken-winded,
raw-boned, jolting apology-for-a-horse would allow, was _a_ woman,
and alas! in her train were several others; a few on or with donkeys,
but more on foot. In vain we told them that we would engage no donkeys
at all, and no horses till we reached our destination; in vain we bade
them allow us to "pursue the even tenor of our way" in peace, and hush
their high soprano tones. It was one perpetual babble in praise of
their horses, their donkeys, and their capabilities as guides, with the
constant repetition of the names of the surrounding peaks, which we
already knew perfectly well. When we reached the gorge which opens up
on the right, as though the earth had been split by some mighty shock,
and through which the majestic Vignemale (10,821 ft.) was perfectly
visible, the storm of voices directing our attention to the sight was
as loud as it was unsolicited. But happily we were then close to
Gavarnie, and crossing the bridge with a momentary glimpse at the
Cirque, we drew up at the door of the Hôtel des Voyageurs.
After lunching and engaging our steeds, with an intelligent guide, who
answered to the euphonious name of "Poc," we left the greatly
disappointed donkey women still making a terrible clamour, and started
for the Cirque.
As far as finding out the proper route goes, and that is a long way, no
guide whatever is required, but in order to learn the names of the
various peaks and other interesting facts, it is distinctly necessary
to have one, unless the traveller possesses a very elaborate plan of
the vicinity.
Leaving the new bridge to the left, as well as a very ancient one, and
the plashing fall known as the "Chute de Lapaca," we turned round in
the opposite direction, and passing the "Hôtel de la Cascade" and a
wooden hut, again turned to the left, down what, though an execrable
road, led, nevertheless, to the object of our desires. At this turn the
Pic d'Aspé reared above us on the right, succeeded by barren hills
covered with loose stones, but as we proceeded, the famous central
excursion--the Piméné (9193 ft.)--came in sight on the opposite side,
followed by the Brêche d'Allanz, the Pic Rouge de Pailla (9107 ft.),
Pic d'Astazou (10,106 ft.), the Cylindre (10,916 ft), and even the
Marboré (9964 ft.) itself.
Between the Marboré and the Epaule de Marboré (10673 ft.), nearer the
centre of the Cirque, the celebrated Cascade du Marboré, (1380 ft. in
height) dashes during the warmer months. The curious summits known as
La Tour (9902 ft.) and La Casque (9862 ft.), almost equidistant from
the centre of the Cirque, on opposite sides, stood clearly before us,
with the snow lying below each in the serrated shapes which give rise
to the term "Chandelles du Marboré." The Brêche de Roland was--as it
always is from this view--invisible, hidden behind the Pic de Sarradets
(8993 ft.); but the Fausse Brêche beyond, and more to the right the
magnificent Taillon (10,323 ft.), and the Pic de Gabiétou, with the
Port de Gavarnie--a peculiar shoulder-like rock, below them
both--filled up the semicircle in all its wonderful entirety. When at
last we reached the point whence the whole can be viewed to most
advantage, we did not require the assertion of the guide that we were
in enjoyment of one of the best days of the year, to increase our
admiration and delight.
The amphitheatre, standing before us like the ruins of some mighty
arena, in which the throngs of eager men and women and the blood of the
dying gladiator had long given place to the purifying snow; the summits
around uplifted towards the blue sky; the cascade, no longer dashing as
full of life and hope, but frozen in its course and hanging in icicles
between the rocks; the few uncovered crags scattered here and there,
relieving the dazzling whiteness of the "glace éternelle"; the sparse
trees down the outer slopes struggling to free themselves from their
winter cloak; the cloud of frost scintillating in the sunlight as a
mass of loosened snow rushed into the depths below;--was not such a
scene as this, presented to our gaze in unveiled splendour, more than
sufficient to bewilder in the intensity of its majesty and loveliness?
Yet even this was not all. The silence, the solemn and perfect silence,
that reigned over the whole, only broken by the dull sound of the
falling avalanche or the shrill voice of the restless crow, was so
evident and so powerful, and combined so impressively with the
marvellous beauty of the surroundings, that the heart could not fail to
recognise the sublimity of Nature and the omnipotence of Nature's God!
We stayed there for a long time, and with great reluctance turned our
horses' heads from the scene; while even when we had done so, we
stopped at nearly every bend of the road for another look.
[Illustration: THE CIRQUE OF GAVARNIE (IN SUMMER).]
The exact distance from the hotel to the extreme end of the Cirque is
calculated at 33/4 miles, but we traversed little more than two-thirds
of that distance, on account of the depth of the avalanches, which were
then melting far too quickly to allow of dry walking any further.
Arriving again at the hotel, the chatter of the women over some new
arrivals was as deafening as ever. Our good guide Poc considered it was
not to be borne any longer, so having counted the women and their
asses, he cleared a space in preparation for a mock sale at which they
were all to be put up, and having got us in front as make-believe
purchasers, proceeded with the business, which we called
"THE GUIDE'S AUCTION."
This way, sirs, this way! Will you please to walk up?
The auction I'm ready to start:
I'm instructed to sell all these valuable lots,
And the bidding I hope will be smart.
You see by the catalogue, forty clear lots--
Thirty women; ten asses; some small.
To proceed then, we'll take them, sirs, just as they are,
Say forty fine donkeys in all.
They've plenty of sinew, and as to their voice,
I think about that you well know.
The first lot then, gents; shall we say fifteen francs?
Well then, ten; but that's rather too low.
In our country for ladies we've heaps of respect,
But we've fully enough and to spare;
And we know that "two women a market will make,
And that three are enough for a fair."[1]
* * * * *
Now then, gents, please be sharp! No advance? No advance?
The candle[2] burns fast to the end.
Ten francs for this wonderful native--ten francs!
Why, surely, that's nothing to spend!
No bidding? Good gracious! Why what shall I do
To oblige you? I'll class them as one:
Now what do you say for the whole forty lots?
Make a bid, sirs, I want to have done.
Fifty francs for the lot; see the candle's nigh out:
Fifty francs, take them all as they rise.
What! No one will buy them? Alas! I must say
You're all most uncommonly wise.
They clamour and chatter the whole of the day,
I believe they snore loudly at night;
Oh, if only a Barnum would take them away,
You don't know how I'd dance with delight!
[Footnote 1: His exact words were, "Dans mon pays, monsieur, nous
disons qu'il faut trois femmes pour faire une foire, et deux pour un
marché."]
[Footnote 2: Alluding to the custom in France of burning bits of candle
to denote the time in which the bidding may proceed; usually when the
third piece goes out the bidding for the special lot is finished, and
the next is proceeded with.]
This last verse was very easy to understand, as the women are always
anxious to obtain occupation for a lesser remuneration[1] than the
qualified guides, who naturally dislike this interference between them
and their earnings, although no bad feeling really exists on the
matter.
[Footnote 1: There is a good tale told, _à propos_ of this, of a
gentleman in San Francisco who wanted some wood chopped. An American
offered to do it for a dollar, but a Chinaman asked only half. The
gentleman, thinking it best to help his own countryman, gave the Yankee
the job; but happening to pass the yard during the day, he found the
Chinaman busily at work. "Hullo!" cried he, "I didn't give the job to
you. Who told you to cut this wood?" "Melican man" (American man),
responded the pigtailer. "And how much is he paying you?" "Hap dollar,"
replied the Celestial. And the swell went away resolved never to help
his countryman again.]
After an enjoyable kettledrum, the tea being our own and made under
personal supervision, Miss Blunt perched herself on a hillock to
sketch, and Mr. Sydney explored the neighbourhood for flowers, of which
gentians were the principal object of his search. Both having in a
certain degree attained their ends, we started again at half-past four,
and after a pleasant drive, which lasted two hours instead of
three--the time occupied in coming--we reached our quarters in the best
of tempers and not with the worst of appetites.