FROM LUZ AND ST. SAUVEUR TO BAGNÈRES DE LUCHON.
A smiling valley--Lourdes again--The chapel in the crypt--St. Peter's
statue--Burnished toes--Solemn quietude--Preparing for the great
pilgrimage--"Ornamented" crosses--Mr. Sydney's new vocation, "guide,
philosopher, and friend"--Bigorre again--An open-air concert
--Harmonious echoes--Paying through the nose--The fête at
Payole--Sport à la française--Costumes--The view from the Col d'Aspin--
Arreau--Quaint houses--La Chapelle de St. Exupère--A whining
"gardien"--Eglise de Notre Dame--The River Neste--Hôtel de
France--Bordères--Avajan--Louderville--Oxslips and cowslips--Wild
narcissus--Col de Peyresourde--The view--Garin--Cazaux--St.
Aventin--Lovely avenues--Our destination.
With a morning as lovely as the day of our arrival had been dreary, we
left at 9.15 for Bagnères de Bigorre, the first part of our long drive.
The valley, more fully clothed than it was a week ago, looked so fresh
in the warm sunlight, with the river winding along, that we felt very
loath to leave. The gorge below, all the way to Pierrefitte, added its
share of beauty, and the graceful white heath growing up its sides
loaded the air with a sweet scent. The wide expanse of the Argelès
valley, with the busy farmers ploughing, sowing, or cutting the heavy
clover crop; the lazy oxen ever patiently plodding beneath their heavy
burdens; the Château de Beaucens--where the orchids grow--perched up on
the hillside; the surrounding peaks throwing off their snowy garb; and
the beautiful young leaves and tints, everywhere mingling with the
brightness of the flowers blooming on the slopes or amid the waving
grasses, made a scene as picturesque as it was charming.
Compared with the scenery so far, the remainder of the drive to
Lourdes, which we reached in three hours from the time of starting,
though full of many pleasant corners in which the river heightened the
effect, was nevertheless not so fine; but Lourdes itself looked more
attractive than on our former visit. After lunch, while the horses were
resting, we drove in a local milord [Footnote: A kind of victoria.] to
the church, as we had omitted before to visit the chapel built in the
crypt underneath. In the entrance is the fine bronze statue of St Peter
clasping the key, similar to the one in Rome both in size and in the
highly-burnished appearance of the toes of the right foot, for which
latter the affectionate pilgrims are answerable. On either side of the
statue a corridor lined with marble tablets--presented by "grateful"
individuals in acknowledgment of cures and cleansings--and dotted with
confessional boxes, leads down to the chapel. The repulsive gaudiness
of the tinsel display in the church above it is almost absent here, and
though the same exaltation of the Virgin over our Saviour is manifest,
yet otherwise this chapel, with its vaulted roof and its quietude,
seems far more fitted for meditation and prayer.
Taking the easy gradient at the west end of the church, between the
grassy slopes planted with lilacs and other shrubs and trees, we
arrived at the grotto. A huge platform was in course of erection, for
the great pilgrimage expected from England in about a week, and the
noise of the workmen combined with the sparse gathering of
"worshippers" detracted greatly from the former pitiable solemnity of
the scene, though the stand of candles was flaring with light, and the
crutches, in their horrid rows, were still there.
We left Lourdes again at three o'clock, the sun still very warm, as the
lazy attitudes of the peasants working in the fields attested; and,
passing several crosses at the roadside--"ornamented" with pincers,
hammer, nails, and sword, with a bantam cock on the top--reached the
base of the col (600 feet high) which separates the respective basins
of the Adour and the Echez. Half-way up the hill we discovered Mr.
Sydney, who had walked on ahead, very busy with a team of oxen, towards
which, having encountered them without a driver, he had taken upon
himself to act as "guide, philosopher, and friend"; and by dint of
great application of his umbrella, open and shut, in the last-mentioned
capacity, he brought them to, and kept them at, a standstill by the
side of the road till the carriage passed.
From the top of the hill we enjoyed an extensive view, the Pic du Midi
de Bigorre standing out wonderfully clear. Descending again, we joined
the Tarbes road crowded with market carts, and leaving the village of
Montgaillard on the left, duly arrived at Bagnères de Bigorre, where we
were received with open arms by Monsieur and Madame Bourdette.
The morrow being Sunday, was spent in resting, the magnificent weather
still continuing. The trees on the Coustous and the different hills
around were at length well covered with foliage, and gave a prettier
appearance to the town, which the ever-flowing streams by the
roadsides greatly added to. In the evening the Orphéon (or local Choral
Society) gave an open-air concert from the roof of one of the Coustous
cafés. A tremendous crowd of some 2000 persons had gathered under the
trees to listen, and kept perfectly still while the songs proceeded.
The solos were not particularly wonderful, but the beautiful blending
of the voices in the Pyrenean part-songs was a very great treat, and
the sounds, floating deliciously away on the soft evening air, could be
heard like some whispering echo for a long distance.
[Illustration: ]
We had some difficulty in arranging for a carriage, on the following
day, for Luchon, as a great number had been engaged for the fête at
Payole, and for those not yet taken high prices--considering the time
of year--were asked. Not wishing, however, to lose a day, we settled
for a landau and three horses to do the journey in two days--for 110
francs, including _pourboire_--stopping the night at Arreau. The
day broke, like its predecessors, perfectly fine, and at 10.30 we made
our adieus to Bigorre, and were on our way.
The scenery all the way to Payole was more charming than when we drove
there [Footnote: See pages 40-44.] previously, and on our arrival at
the Hôtel de la Poste there was a considerable difference visible
there. The courtyard was filled with carriages, and a busy throng
buzzed about the doors, while the windows were occupied by a variety of
forms. Having with great difficulty secured utensils, we unearthed the
lunch, and proceeded with our meal at a side-table. The participators
in the fête, who were all men, occupied the centre table, and others
were at the side. The noise they made was not appetising, and though
they mixed wines considerably, their jokes did not improve; yet the
scene was a very typical one of "Frenchmen out for a holiday." After
our repast, we adjourned to see the fête, and a wonderful treat it was!
Tame rabbits and fowls, fastened to a stake driven into the hillside,
some 90 to 100 yards from the road, were the targets, at which a
perpetual round of shots soon commenced. Double-barrelled guns loaded
with ball were the usual weapons; one or two single-barrelled pieces
and a rifle or two being occasionally seen.
The marksmen seemed peculiarly poor ones, from the country lad, or the
genuine 'Arry, with huge check clothes, to the moustached "masher,"
with tight trousers and rounded jacket. About one "poulet" in fifty
shots succumbed, and a white rabbit's dismissal was received with loud
acclamations.
At 2.30, exactly two hours after our arrival, we were off again, and
soon entered the pine forest. It looked very bonny in the bright
sunlight, while the view from the Col d'Aspin was singularly
felicitous. Not a cloud anywhere. The mighty Posets, the Pic d'Arbizon,
and the other snow-crowned heights, softened by distance and beautified
by the tints in the foreground, stood out against the azure sky in all
their splendour.
The Aure valley, as we descended, and the tiny hamlet of Aspin, looked
very peaceful and lovely; in fact, the whole of the extensive
scene--considered one of the finest to be enjoyed by driving in the
Pyrenees--seemed to spread out its charms before us.
Winding down the splendid road, Arreau was soon in view, and at 4.30 we
drove under the portico of the Hôtel de France, somewhat dusty, but
wholly pleased. With some time to spare before dinner, we set out to
explore this wonderfully quaint, and--though dirty--strikingly
picturesque old town. A road leads from the courtyard of the hotel
straight to the very ancient-looking market-place and the river, at
which point the latter is crossed by a very old wooden bridge.
Traversing this, and passing several curious houses with verandahs
reaching over the street, we found ourselves at the ancient Chapelle de
St. Exupère, built during the 9th and 10th centuries, but now restored.
The windows are of fine stained glass, and the view from the belfry
tower, over the peculiar old town--with its curious turrets and roofs,
whose best days have long passed--is worth the somewhat arduous mount
to get to it. The peasant girl who stands inside the door, and in a
sing-song voice that never varies mixes up saints, fathers, towns,
corn, potatoes, bells, and "quelque chose pour le gardien," in her
rigmarole, was the least attractive adjunct of the venerable pile!
Down a little alley, across the river, directly opposite the church,
Miss Blunt discovered a suitable spot for a sketch, [Footnote:
Unhappily this sketch was afterwards lost, so cannot be reproduced] and
on the production of materials and a chair from a neighbouring grocer's
she set to work, and in spite of the nearness--we might say the "too
odoriferous nearness "--of a dust-heap, a drain, and a swarm of midges,
she gallantly pursued her task till it reached a highly satisfactory
termination.
Leaving the "ambrosial spot" (Jupiter save us!) we followed the road
leading past the old market-place at right angles to the wooden bridge,
and reached the church of Notre Dame. Though more modern than the
"Chapelle," it is at least three centuries old, having been built on
the ruins of the one originally erected in the 12th century. The wooden
reredos behind the altar, and other wooden carvings, seemed especially
good, but the curé, jingling a bunch of keys, preceded by an abbé,
seemed anxious to see us depart; so we prematurely left. Strolling back
through the town, and over the stone bridge that spans the Neste, we
walked for a short distance on the other side, and then past the
post-office and the Hôtel du Midi, to our own quarters for dinner. The
Hôtel de France, as it is called, is the best in Arreau, but is
nevertheless not much more than a fairly large country inn. The rooms
are very clean, and the food good, but the arrangements are somewhat
primitive; yet for all this we were very well satisfied on the whole,
though the necessity of starting at nine o'clock next morning prevented
us indulging in rhapsodies.
When we left the courtyard and passed through the back part of the town
by the old church, the sky was still of the same lovely hue, though
unhappily there was hardly a breath of wind. Notwithstanding that
Arreau is charmingly placed, and that the trees were fairly forward
there, we soon found at a very slight increase of altitude that this
was not to last; in fact, almost at once after passing Bordères (2-1/4
miles)--an old village with a castle of Jean V., a change was
apparent. Two miles further brought us to the insignificant hamlet of
Avajan, and another three of continual ascent to the outskirts of
Louderville (3280 ft.), with its old watch-tower (14th cent.) and cool
cascade. Here we had a fine view of the valley below, and passed fields
covered with oxslips, cowslips, and other flowers; while lower down,
meadow after meadow was whitened by the lovely wild narcissus.
Following at a very easy pace the long zigzags (two hours and a half
from Arreau), we reached the highest point of the road at the Port or
Col de Peyresourde [Footnote: 35 miles from Bigorre, n. from Arreau.]
(5070 ft), whence the view, though much more limited than that from the
Col d'Aspin, extends over the valleys of Louron and Arboust, and many
snow-peaks as well.
As we descended the splendid winding road at a rattling pace, with the
slipper on the wheel, we quickly left barren trees and slopes behind,
and even at Garin, that curious village built among the rocks, the
silver birches were opening their leaves. Passing in turn the villages
of Cazaux, with its 12th century church, and St. Aventin, with its
double-towered church of a similar date, also, we sped under most
splendid avenues of sycamore, elm, lime, and ash, past dashing streams
and bright flower-clothed slopes--always descending--till we entered
Luchon: Luchon surrounded by magnificent hills, Luchon guarded by the
distant but ever-majestic snow summits, Luchon bathed in the scent of
lilac and other sweets, Luchon cooled and beautified by avenues and
squares of bright trees, and by gardens filled with the loveliest of
shrubs and flowers. Such was the Luchon presented to us as we drove
through the splendid streets and reached our hotel.