LUCHON
Montréjeau--A bastide--Grotto de Gargas--A cannibal--Blaise
Ferrage--Taken and escapes--Final capture--Execution--S.
Bertrand de Cominges--Sertorius--Gundowald--His coronation--
Treachery of Boso--And of Mummolus--Murder of Gundowald--
Destruction of the city--Bishops at Valcabrères--Church of
S. Juste--Bertrand de l’Isle-Jourdain rebuilds the town--
Bertrand de Got--Jubilee--The cathedral--Nonresident bishops--
Counts of Cominges--Murder of a boy husband--Imprisonment of
the Countess Margaret--Bequeaths the county to the Crown of
France--The Garonne-Bagnères de Luchon--Its visitors--Its
antiquity--Lac de Seculéjo--Description by Inglis--Cures for
all disorders--_Le Maudit_--S. Aventin and the bear--Val de
Lys--Val d’Aran--S. Béat and its quarries--The valley should
belong to France--Viella--The Maladetta--Trou de Toro--Port
de Venasque.
At Montréjeau the line branches off to Bagnères de Luchon from the
trunk to Toulouse. Montréjeau was Montroyal, then Montreal, and then
what it has now become through deformation by the Gascon tongue. It was
a bastide, one of those artificial towns, created first by Edward I,
and then copied by great nobles, and by the kings of France, in which
every street was either parallel to another, or cut it at right angles;
and the houses were built in blocks, the whole surrounded by walls, and
the church usually serving as part of the fortification.
Montréjeau was the capital of the Marquesate of Montespan. The site
is beautiful; and from the terrace, in clear weather, the giants of
the Pyrenees are seen to stand up due south, and the chain stretches
away into the vaporous distance, east and west. The church has a huge
octagonal tower that served as keep to the fortress. The town stands
a little away from the station, to its disadvantage. From it visitors
usually start to see the Grotte de Gargas, the finest in the Pyrenees;
it might be visited equally well from S. Bertrand de Cominges, but that
no carriage can be obtained in that decayed city. The train, moreover,
halts at Aventignan, the station next before reaching Montréjeau, to
allow of a visit to the grotto. The floor bristles with stalagmites,
and the stalactites from the roof have in several places united with
the stalagmites below. The strangest forms have been assumed by the
calcareous deposits, and the custodian points out an organ front, a
cascade, a bear, an altar, and the bed of the savage. A spring rises
in the cave. Excavations made in the floor have exposed two beds of
palæontological deposits of different epochs: human bones, flint tools,
and bones of long extinct animals.
The discovery of this grotto is due to a series of ghastly crimes
committed just ten years before the outbreak of the French Revolution.
A panic terror pervaded the neighbourhood. Among the rocks, somewhere,
none knew exactly where, a monster had his lair, fell upon those who
travelled along the roads, robbed them, maltreated them, carried
them off, and devoured them. And this monster was a man. In 1780
the Parliament of Languedoc was called upon to try and sentence the
cannibal, who was actuated by no other motive than a ravening appetite
for human flesh.
Soon after the first disappearance of his victims every one had come
to the conclusion as to who he was. He was Blaise Ferrage, commonly
known as Seyé, a native of Ceseau, born in 1757. He was a small man,
broad-shouldered, with unusually long arms, and was possessed of
extraordinary strength. By trade he was a stonemason, and had worked at
his trade till aged twenty-two. What induced him, in 1779, to throw up
his work, quit his home and human society, in order to abandon himself
in solitude to his wolfish appetite for blood, is not known; whether
it was originally due to his having committed some criminal act that
impelled him to fly to the rocks for refuge was never ascertained.
High up in a limestone cliff he discovered a cavern, the entrance to
which was at that time so small that it had to be passed through on all
fours. But within it was spacious, and provided with a running stream.
After he had spent the day in sleep Blaise would descend in the
twilight and ramble over the country through fields and gardens, and
appropriate to his use what he listed--fruit, fowls, sheep, pigs--and
bear them away in the darkness of night to his den. Luck favoured and
emboldened him, and his ferocity increased. He delayed his return till
dawn. Lurking behind a wall or a bush he watched for milkmaids who were
so unfortunate as to come in his way. There was no escaping him, for
he carried a gun and was a sure shot. When he pounced upon his prey
he tore it to pieces, or else carried it alive to his lair, and the
shrieks could be heard from afar, paralyzing the timorous peasantry
with fear.
His name was a terror to all the country round. In the evenings the
spinners about the fire, the topers at the tavern, spoke only of the
werewolf. It was thought that his tread could be heard at night among
the withered leaves of autumn; that his panting breath was audible
about the doors; that his gleaming eyes pierced the fog. Men pictured
him lying on a ledge of rock half the day peering into the valley,
motionless, watching for and selecting his prey. Imagination figured
what the life must be of this man converted into a wild beast, who had
renounced the society of his fellows to live among the rocks and tread
the snow-fields, hearing naught save the howl of the wind, the cry of
the birds of prey, and the baying of the wolves. As no single person
who had disappeared ever returned, as no bodies were ever found, it was
concluded that he was a man-eater.
Men he shot, strangled, or stabbed, and dragged their carcases to
his lair. But he preferred to fall on women, especially such as were
young; but the choicest morsels he selected were little children. On
one occasion he fell short of powder and shot, and had the temerity
to descend in full daylight, and in market time, to Montégu. He was
recognized, and immediately the market people fled from him right and
left; the dealers deserted their stalls, and the would-be purchasers
hastened to take refuge within doors. He leisurely possessed himself of
what he required and sauntered out of the place, not a man venturing to
stay him.
At last the officers of justice seized him, and conveyed him to prison.
But he broke loose the same night, and again disappeared among the
mountains. The peasants were convinced that he had a talisman concealed
in his hair, which enabled him to break the strongest chain and to open
every lock.
He was again secured, and this time his hair was cut and searched for
the supposed talisman there concealed, but, of course, ineffectually.
He again, nevertheless, effected his escape.
Fear of him now passed all bounds. Girls and grown women, even the
strongest men no longer ventured abroad after dark, not so much as to
cross the street.
Then occurred two acts of violence which stirred the magistrates to
greater activity.
Ferrage entertained a suspicion that a certain landowner in the
district had instigated the police to track him. He set fire to this
man’s barns, stables, and cowsheds; and most of the cattle and all his
grain were consumed in the flames. The other case was that of a Spanish
muleteer who was driving his beasts over the mountains of Aure. Ferrage
associated himself with the man on the way, volunteered to act as his
guide, and the muleteer was never seen again.
High rewards were offered for the apprehension of Blaise Ferrage, but
no dweller in the district dared attempt to earn it. Moreover, to track
and arrest the cannibal was not a light matter. None knew precisely
where he concealed himself, and it was certain that he would send a
bullet into the first man whom he saw approach his place of refuge and
concealment.
Finally he was taken, but only by subtlety. There was a fellow who had
been guilty of more than one crime, and whom the officers of justice
desired to secure. In order to make his peace with them, this man
offered to assist in capturing Blaise, if he were assured of a free
pardon and a reward. This was promised. Accordingly he climbed the
rocks, yelling out the name of Seyé, by which Ferrage was commonly
known, and crying for help. The cannibal cautiously thrust his head
out of his cave, and seeing the man fleeing as for his life beckoned
him to approach. The refugee breathlessly told him that he was flying
from justice, that he had broken out of prison, and entreated to
be sheltered. Ferrage took him in, and the fellow gained Blaise’s
confidence. He lived with him for awhile in his cave. However solitary
a man may be, he yet craves for the society of a companion, and
Blaise and this man became intimate. They went together on predatory
excursions, and the betrayer finally lured Ferrage into an ambuscade
laid for him, where he was taken, and firmly secured by a body of
police. He was led to prison and kept there strongly guarded. The whole
country breathed with relief when it was known that he was in chains
and behind strong bars.
The trial was expedited and short. For three years this monster had
terrorized the countryside. The number of charges of robbery and murder
brought against him were innumerable.
On 12 December, 1782, the Parliament of Languedoc sentenced him to be
broken on the wheel. He was then aged twenty-five. On the following
13th December Ferrage was executed. The sentence was carried out in the
following manner. The culprit was fastened to a cart wheel, his limbs
twined in and out among the spokes. The executioner smote with an iron
bar on the limbs and broke them, one by one. Then came the _coup de
grâce_, given across the chest.
It was estimated that he had murdered and eaten eighty persons, the
majority of these were women and children. When he was executed crowds
attended, palpitating with alarm, for they expected that at the last
moment he would burst away and resume his murderous career.
He walked to death with florid countenance and with seeming
indifference to his fate. Whether the prison chaplain induced him to
express remorse for his guilt is not known. Only when the mangled
body was cast down from the wheel, and consigned for burial to the
grave-digger, did the crowd feel satisfied that they were relieved from
a nightmare of horrors.
A little way above the station of Montréjeau the two great Pyrenean
torrents of the Neste and the Garonne unite their waters and flow
towards the east. The line to Luchon does not follow the Garonne, that
issues from a gorge, but crosses it farther up at Barbazan, in a broad
basin studded with villages set in luxuriant verdure.
On an isolated hill, an outlier of the Pyrenees, rises a lofty and
beautiful church, with houses grouped about it; apparently a stately
medieval city, actually a poor village of less than four hundred
inhabitants. This is S. Bertrand de Cominges. At one time it was as
splendid a town as any in Gaul, and was the capital of an important
people, containing from 30,000 to 50,000 souls. These could not all be
accommodated on the rock, and the town flowed down the side into the
plain, where now stands Valcabrères, the Vale of Goats. S. Bertrand de
Cominges is one of the few towns in France of whose foundation we know
the precise date.
Sertorius was one of the most extraordinary men in the later times of
the Roman Republic. He was a native of Nursia, a Sabine village, born
of obscure but respectable parents, and a devoted son to his widowed
mother. In B.C. 83 Sertorius went to Spain to organize a national
revolt against the intolerable oppression of Rome. Availing himself of
the superstitious character of the people, he tamed a fawn, so that it
accompanied him in his walks, lived in his tent, and was regarded by
the Iberians as a tutellary spirit that communicated to him the will of
the gods.
[Illustration: CHOIR OF S. BERTRAND DE COMINGES]
He maintained a stubborn resistance against the power of Rome for many
years, defeating army after army. In B.C. 77 Pompey was appointed by
the Senate to command in Spain, along with Metellus. Sertorius, at
first, defeated both. Pompey was obliged to appeal to the Senate for
men and arms. Unless supported efficaciously, he declared that he
must infallibly be driven out of Spain. At length the tide of success
turned. Disaffection broke out among the troops led by Sertorius,
and a conspiracy was formed to destroy him among some of his most
trusted comrades. One of these invited him to a banquet, at which they
endeavoured to provoke him to anger and make an excuse for a fray by
the employment of obscene language, which they were well aware that he
detested; then by grotesque and undignified capers, as if they were
drunk. Sertorius turned on his couch so as not to see their buffoonery,
when they rushed on him with their daggers and slew him, B.C. 72. His
faithful adherents fled through the defiles, and over the passes of
the Pyrenees, and settled in the district afterwards known as the land
of the Convenæ, and built Lugdunum Convenarum as their capital in that
same year, B.C. 72.
Even after the fall of the Roman Empire this Lyons of the Convenæ
remained a rich and populous city. But a terrible disaster fell on it
in 584, that caused its utter and irretrievable ruin. This forms one of
the most striking and detailed episodes of the history of the Franks by
Gregory of Tours. In the words of Guizot:--
“Southern Gaul, that is to say Aquitaine, Gascony, Narbonne,
called Septimania, and the two banks of the Rhone near its
mouths, were not comprised in the partition of the Frankish
dominions. Each of the co-partners assigned to themselves,
to the south of the Garonne and on the coasts of the
Mediterranean, such and such a district, and such and such a
town, just as heirs-at-law keep to themselves severally such
and such a valuable jewel out of a rich property to which they
have succeeded, and which they divide among themselves. The
peculiar situation of these provinces, at their distance from
the Frank settlements, contributed much to the independence
of Southern Gaul, which was constantly striving and partly
managed, in the tempestuous fortunes of the Frankish monarchy,
to recover its independence. It is easy to comprehend how
that these repeated partitions of a mighty inheritance, these
domains incessantly changing hands, must have tended to
increase the anarchy of the Roman and Barbaric worlds thrown
pell-mell one upon another, and fallen a prey, the Roman to
the disorganization of a lingering death, the Barbaric to the
fermentation of a new existence, striving for development
under social conditions wholly different from those of their
primitive life.”
An opportunity seemed to offer for Aquitaine to establish its
independence.
The Merovingian dynasty was represented by an old man and by two
children, and the Aquitanians thought that their chance had come
to have a king of their own. They summoned from Constantinople one
Gundowald, reputed to be of royal Frank blood.
[Illustration:
Clovis I
K. of the Franks
_d._ 511
|
+----------------+---------------------+
| |
Childebert I Clothair I
K. of Paris K. of Soissons, Orleans, Metz,
_d._ 558 and finally of Paris
_d._ 561
|
+-------------+---------------+----------+--+------------+
| | | | |
Charibert Gunthram Chilperie Segebert Gundowald
K. of Paris K. of Orleans K. of Soissons K. of Metz _murdered_ 587
_d._ 567 _d._ 593 _d._ 584 _d._ 575
|
Childebert II
K. of Metz
_d._ 596]
Gregory of Tours says:--
“Gundowald, who said he was the son of Clothair I, arrived at
Marseilles, coming from Constantinople. He had been born in
Gaul, had been carefully educated, taught letters, and, as is
the custom with kings of the Franks, had his hair flowing in
long curls over his shoulders. He was presented by his mother
to King Childebert (his uncle, King of Paris), and she said to
him, ‘Behold your nephew, the son of Clothair. His father ever
hated him, but do you take him to you, for he is your own flesh
and blood.’ And this Childebert did, as he had no son of his
own.”
This was the prince whom the Aquitanians invited to rule over them.
Clothair I had divided the kingdom of the Franks among his sons, but
three of these were dead; Sigebert, King of Metz, however, had left a
son, Childebert II. Gunthram, King of Orleans, still lived. Gundowald
visited his nephew, Childebert, at Metz, and was favourably received
by him. Childebert and Gundowald sent Duke Boso with a deputation to
Gunthram, King of Orleans, to demand the recognition of the prince,
and that he should be given Aquitaine as a kingdom. The deputation was
roughly received by Gunthram at Orleans, seated on his throne. “Pshaw!”
said he, “Gundowald’s father was a miller, or, to be more exact, a
carder of wool.”
Then one of the deputies said boldly, “Do you pretend that Gundowald
had two fathers--one a miller, the other a wool-carder? Who ever heard
of a man having two fathers?”
Another deputy broke out with--“Take care, King, the axe that cut off
the heads of your brothers has not lost its edge.”
In a fury Gunthram ordered the embassy to be driven out of the palace
and pelted with horse-dung and rotten vegetables.
The Aquitanians flew to arms; Gundowald was crowned at Brives, and
marched to secure Toulouse. The ecclesiastics of the south to a man
favoured the pretender. Gunthram was alarmed, and at once detached his
nephew Childebert from the side of Gundowald, by the bribe of an offer
of the succession to the kingdom of the Franks after his death.
The reconciliation of the two kings discouraged the party of Gundowald.
The fickle Aquitanians were as hasty in deserting him as they had been
in acknowledging him. As a large army of the Franks was pouring south,
Gundowald was constrained to throw himself into Lugdunum Convenarum,
along with the grandees most compromised, as Duke Mummolus, and two
bishops, Sagittarius and Waddo.
Duke Boso, who had been foremost in instigating the rising, secured
all Gundowald’s treasures and fled with them. Mummolus and the bishops
only waited for an opportunity to betray him. The army of Gunthram
surrounded the town, lying all along in the plain. Then Mummolus and
the bishops advised the prince to throw himself on the mercy of his
brother Gunthram. “It was at your invitation,” answered he, “that I
came to Gaul. I was in Constantinople with my little children, in high
honour with the Emperor, when Boso sought me out and informed me of
the death of all my brothers save Gunthram, without issue, and that
Childebert, my nephew, was a poor creature. I allowed myself to be
persuaded to return to Gaul; and now this same Boso has stolen the
treasures I had brought with me, and has gone over to my brother who
is warring against me.” Then said Mummolus, “Do as we bid you. Divest
yourself of your golden baldric and sword and go forth. We swear to you
that no harm will befall you.” Seeing that nothing else was open to
him, that he could trust none of those who had egged him on, he issued
from the gates, and at once Mummolus closed them behind him. Otto,
Count of Bourges, received the prince and surrounded him with armed
men. Gundowald raised his hands to heaven and said, “Judge Eternal,
Avenger of the innocent! To Thee I commit my cause, and I pray Thee to
avenge me on my betrayers.”
As he was descending the hill, Otto dealt him a sharp blow on the back
that made him fall, saying, “This dauber of the walls of churches and
oratories is down at last!” Then raising his spear he attempted to
transfix him, but failed, owing to the armour worn by the prince.
Gundowald sprang to his feet, and turned to reascend the hill, when
Duke Boso, as base as he was treacherous, dashed a stone at his head
and crushed in his skull. The prince fell, and the men at arms, after
making sure that he was dead, tied his feet together, and dragged him
around the camp with jeers.
The rock down which Gundowald was thrown is still pointed out. It is
called Mattacan, the place where the dog was slaughtered. It is some
satisfaction to learn that Mummolus gained nothing by his treachery.
When the town was entered by the troops of Gunthram he was put to
death. The city was delivered over to the soldiery of the King, and
the inhabitants--men, women, and children--were massacred, so that, to
use the expression of Gregory of Tours, there did not remain even a
dog alive in it--“ita ut non remaneret mingens ad parietem.” The city
was levelled, and the bishops of Cominges, finding no asylum among the
ruins, settled at Valcabrères, where they erected a church dedicated
to S. Justus. This is an interesting structure, standing alone in
the fields, built out of the ruins. The choir, very archaic in form
and of rude construction, probably dates from its erection after the
destruction of the Lyons of the Convenæ. The nave, less ancient, of the
eleventh century, has been also built of old materials. A delicious
lateral portal enriched with sculptured capitals, and fine statues of
life size, and a bas-relief of Christ between the evangelistic symbols,
is of the twelfth century. Within are ancient columns taken from the
Roman town, and a curious stone sarcophagus or shrine of the fourteenth
century, much mutilated, and reached by two stone flights of steps.
It is not known whose tomb this was. Against the wall at the end of
the nave is the tombstone of a priest named Patroclus, of the fourth
century.
After five centuries of abandonment, one of the bishops of Cominges
resolved on the re-edification of the city of Lugdunum. He built
a cathedral on the height of the rock, in the midst of the ruins.
This was in the eleventh century, towards its close, when religious
fervour was at its height; and this new church is one of the most
beautiful monuments of medieval art in the south of France. About the
new cathedral canons were installed; the prelate erected for them a
residence and a cloister. He built himself a palace, and in every way
encouraged the people to resettle on the site of their ancient capital.
[Illustration: CLOISTERS, S. BERTRAND DE COMINGES]
The man who did this, the second founder, was Bertrand de
l’Isle-Jourdain, and he has given his name to this new foundation, or,
to be more correct, the people have called the new city on the old site
after his name. Bertrand’s mother was daughter of William Taillefer,
Count of Toulouse. He was trained in the abbey of Escaledieu, but
quitted it for the profession of arms. However, before long he
abandoned the life of a camp to accept a canonry at Toulouse. He was
appointed Bishop of Cominges about 1073, and ruled the see for fifty
years. According to popular legend, he killed a dragon that infested
the neighbourhood; and the stuffed monster hangs in the church to this
day. It is a crocodile from the Nile. He died in or about 1120, and
his day of commemoration is on 17 October, when the decayed town is
thronged with pilgrims to visit his shrine.
At the time of the Papacy at Avignon Bishop Bertrand de Got was elected
Pope, and took the title of Clement V. He retained a liking for the
place, revisited it several times, and contributed sums towards its
completion; and to raise money without having to dip into his own
purse instituted a grand Pardon or Jubilee, charged with Indulgences,
for the Feast of the Invention of the Cross (3 May). This is still
celebrated, and attracts pilgrims to gain the Indulgences, during three
days. The vaulting of the church was begun in 1304, and completed by
Hugh de Châtillon in the middle of the fourteenth century. The apse
is surrounded by five chapels. The windows of the choir, very tall
and narrow, are partly walled up, and partly filled with fragments of
Renaissance glass. The magnificent Renaissance woodwork choir-stalls,
screen, organ-case, and altar-piece are due to Bishop Jean de Mauleon,
and date from 1525. In a chapel is the stately tomb of Bishop Hugh de
Châtillon, who died in 1352; it is of white marble, and was executed
at least a century after his death, probably at the expense of the
Cardinal de Foix, to whom also is due the mausoleum of S. Bertrand
behind the high altar.
But bishops cannot create a town, even though they enrich a site with a
superb cathedral. S. Bertrand de Cominges never thrived, and little by
little the bishops tired of it, and then abandoned it for their Château
of Alan, near Aurignac; they were rich men, enjoying large revenues,
for the diocese of Cominges, in addition to that part which is in
France, comprised also the whole of the Val d’Aran--that is to say,
thirty-three parishes under the Crown of Spain.
Some of them rarely visited S. Bertrand, some not at all. One of them,
Urban de S. Gelos, an ardent Leaguer, only went thither to dislodge
the Huguenots, who thrice between 1569 and 1593 entered the town and
committed great ravages.
At the Revolution the see was suppressed, and the small world of
canons, vicars-general, and diocesan functionaries who had inhabited
the capital of Cominges dispersed, and the little town sank to be a
_chef-lieu de Canton_, and then lost even that dignity, which was
transferred to Barbazan.
S. Bertrand would be abandoned altogether by its inhabitants, who would
settle on the plain were it not much resorted to by visitors from
Luchon, by artists and antiquaries, and by pilgrims.
There were counts of Cominges from a very early period, indeed from
900; but the county came to the Crown of France in 1442 through a
domestic quarrel.
Margaret de Cominges was left an heiress in 1376. She married John
III, Count of Armagnac Fézansac. He died in 1391, having had by her
two daughters. She then married Jean d’Armagnac Pardiac, who was
aged eighteen. As she treated him with contempt as a mere boy he was
offended, and left her so as to reside with his father. But after
awhile, finding that Margaret had installed a lieutenant in the county,
and refused him those rights in it which had been assured to him by the
marriage contract, he appealed to Count Bernard VII of Armagnac for
assistance. This treacherous man went over to the side of Margaret, and
when John hastened to Auch to urge the Count to assist him Bernard had
him arrested, carried to a castle in the Rouergue, and there blinded
by a red-hot basin applied to his eyes. The poor lad died in prison in
great misery. Margaret being free of her boy-husband, looked out for
one who was a man, and pitched on Matthew de Grailli, brother of the
Count of Foix, and married him.
But Matthew proved a little too much of a man for her. He treated
Margaret as roughly as she had treated Jean. He shut her up in the
Castle of Saverdun, where he retained her for fifteen to sixteen
years. At the end of that time she appealed to Charles VII when he was
at Toulouse, and Matthew was forced to surrender her into the King’s
hands. Then Margaret, to vent her spite against her husband, made over
the county of Cominges, in 1442, along with all her estates, to the
Crown of France. Next year she died at Poitiers at the age of eighty.
The Garonne does not rise in France, but in Spain, and, by what is
an apparent caprice, the frontier does not follow the crests of the
highest mountains, but runs north, making a loop so as to include the
Val d’Aran in Spain.
But though the valley is reached by a good carriage road from France,
and can communicate with Spanish neighbours only by a mule path over a
pass 8000 feet high and impassable for many months in the year, yet the
valley has pertained to Spain since 1192.
Of the Val d’Aran more presently. We must first, after the antiquity
and decay of S. Bertrand, refresh ourselves with the novelty and
up-to-datedness of Luchon; certainly one of the most delightful centres
from which to radiate in all directions, that is to be found in Europe.
All the comforts, distractions, and amusements that go to make a
watering-place pleasant are to be had there as elsewhere, and better
than elsewhere in the Pyrenees.
A Frenchman shall describe it, lest I should do it scant justice:--
“Forty thousand visitors come every year to Luchon, bringing
with them an atmosphere of luxury not to be found to the same
degree in other Pyrenean stations. Their artificial existence
has for corollary an artificial existence in the population
living upon them:--Coachmen and postilions in the livery of the
Opéra-Comique, guides who have adopted an imaginary Pyrenean
costume. The hotel-keepers are not behindhand; correctly
dressed cavaliers, spruce amazons, toilettes changed frequently
during the day, toilettes the product of the best Parisian
dressmakers, affectation of the extreme of fashion, such is the
picture of life at Luchon. Even for mountain excursions there
must be a faultless costume.
“With the exception of a few guides worthy of the name and
knowing the loftiest crests, these cicerones in costume conduct
walkers to spots to which they could go perfectly well without
them. The mountains are very much humanized here, there are
plenty of carriage-drives, walks innumerable, well kept up,
to reach even great altitudes. But beyond all this Luchon is
one of the principal centres of Pyrenean-Alpine climbing, it
is the point of departure for bold climbers who go to the Mont
Maudit, the loftiest of all the chain, but on Spanish soil”
(Ardouin-Dumazet).
But even easy ascents lead to superb and savage scenery. The Lake of
Seculejo is easily reached, and is accessible even in a carriage.
It stands 6500 feet above the sea, and is the most visited of all
the Pyrenean sheets of water. It is a mere tarn, but is singularly
beautiful, lying amidst rugged mountains, with the eternal snows above
it spilling their melted waters into it in a fall of 620 feet, after
having paused to spread in two loftily situated tarns, one of which is
frozen almost throughout the year. Inglis thus describes it, at a time
when it was but occasionally visited:--
“I dedicated a day to the Seculejo, and have seldom passed one
more to my mind. I left Bagnères de Luchon about sunrise. The
road to it is wild and pastoral, rapidly rising towards the
south, and having constantly in view the majestic scenery that
lies upon the Spanish frontier. The Lake of Seculejo is wild,
solitary, and sombre. The low ripple of the water, the noise
of the cataract, and the cry of a bird of prey, are the only
interruptions of silence that are in keeping with the scene;
and these were the only sounds that disturbed its tranquillity
as I stood upon the margin of the water. The lake is entirely
surrounded by high mountains, excepting where it finds egress;
and its shores are generally bold and rugged. At the upper end,
a cascade falls from the top of a perpendicular rock into the
lake. After lingering upon the margin of Seculejo an hour or
two, I climbed up the eastern bank, by a path which has almost
the appearance of a ladder, and which, indeed, bears the name
of Scala. Having reached the summit of the bank, I entered a
gorge, through which I passed to a hollow lying at the base
of the mountain, called the Espingo; and, still proceeding to
ascend the first ridges of the mountain, I reached the two
lakes of Espingo. These are very elevated mountain tarns lying
almost in the region of snow. All is here sombre, melancholy,
rude, and dismal--great rocks, a few stunted trees, and still,
deep, dark water, are the features of the scene.”
We return to Luchon. Do you desire health? It is to be found there, if
we may believe the advertisements of the wonders wrought by its waters,
more potent than that from the lips of the Grotto of Lourdes: “Toutes
les maladies de la peau, comme d’autres de toute espèce, les maladies
occassionées par le lait répandu, quelques graves qu’elles soient, les
rheumatismes, maladies des yeux, maladies des parties conservatrices
des yeux, lésions d’oreille, maladie du système osseux, blessures; gale
ventrée, rougeole, maladies des articulations; maladies des glandes
salvaires; humeurs froides; maladies des voies urinaires; catarrhe
pulmonaire; asthme; phthisie pulmonaire, obstructions de toutes sortes,
et jaunisse.” And, nevertheless, there is a cemetery at Luchon.
Luchon was well-known to the Romans, as the number of _ex voto_ altars
to the god Ilixion that have been found go to prove. The name of this
god of healing is to be recognized in a very altered shape in the
modern Luchon. In 1036 Luchon, with Upper Cominges, passed as dower to
the Crown of Aragon. Later it was restored to the counts of Cominges.
In 1711 the valley was ravaged, and Luchon burned by Charles of
Austria, who was disputing Spain with the Duke of Anjou.
No one staying at Luchon should omit to read J. H. Michon’s powerful
novel, _Le Maudit_, the scene of which is mainly laid at S. Aventin
on the Neste d’Oucil, a picturesquely situated village, with an
interesting church of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. It has two
towers--one at the west end, the other at the transept. The _grille_
is specially noticeable, as it is ironwork of the twelfth century. The
tomb of the patron saint is in the church. He is said to have died in
the year 538.
One stormy night a bear bounced against the door of his cell. Aventin
spent the night in great alarm, but on opening the door in the morning
he saw the bear still there, crouched on the threshold, and it
stretched forth a paw to him. Then the hermit perceived that a splinter
of wood had entered it. So he said, “Poor beast, thou wast in pain,
and didst seek relief, and I thought that thou wast raging for my
life.” Then he took the paw in his lap, drew out the splinter, bathed
and bandaged the wound, and let the bear depart. It is the story of
Androcles and the lion, without the termination.
Perhaps the finest excursion is up the Valley of Lys to the Cirque
of Crabioules, where the glacier sends down a fine fall, the Cascade
d’Enfer. Nothing can surpass the scenery in this valley.
[Illustration: LA CASCADE D’ENFER, LUCHON]
The Val d’Aran should be visited on account of its magnificent scenery,
running up as it does to the roots of the gloomy Maladetta. On
the way to it S. Béat is reached, planted in a narrow defile, into
which the sun penetrates for little more than two hours in the day in
mid-winter. It owed its importance as a key to Spain, that is to say
to such part of Spain as is in the Val d’Aran; and it has a key for
its arms. It maintains a population of quarrymen. The marble there
has been exploited since Roman times with long intermission. A votive
altar has been discovered, erected by Q. J. Julianus and Publicius
Crescentinus to commemorate their having been the first there to cut
and dispatch columns twenty feet long. In the Middle Ages these white
marble quarries were abandoned, but were worked again under Louis XIV,
when hence were sent the marble basins for the gardens at Versailles.
S. Béat is commanded by a castle of the fourteenth century, with a keep
still more ancient. The castle is reached by steps, some hewn out of
the rock. A colossal statue of the Virgin in bronze has been erected on
the rock within the castle precincts.
From S. Béat it is not four miles to the frontier, at Pont-du-Roi,
where some speculators have built a casino; a restaurant, and gambling
tables are provided; but, of course, this fact is veiled, and it is
called La Société du Vélo Club du Pont-du-Roi.
The Maladetta with its glaciers now bursts on the sight.
It is somewhat absurd that the Val d’Aran should not pertain to France,
with which it has a natural connexion. Indeed the Spanish officials
who come to the valley arrive by train either from Bayonne or from
Perpignan, and leave it at the little station at Marignac near Luchon.
The people of Aran who drink Spanish wine have the barrels brought
round one way or the other by French lines, but do not pay duty, only
the long carriage; whereas French wine has to pay at the Customs,
coming only a few miles up from the level land.
The dialect is Catalan, but so is that of French Roussillon; and nearly
every man in Aran can speak French. The position of the inhabitants is
difficult, as for only two or three months in the year can they reach
a Spanish town beyond the mountains, so that they must purchase French
goods, and these have to be examined at the custom-house, and taxed,
some heavily.
Curiously enough, at the Treaty of the Pyrenees in 1659 nothing was
said about annexing Aran to France. Napoleon alone saw the necessity
for it, and did annex it in 1808; but the treaty of 1815 restored it to
Spain. As Aran is now situated, inevitably smuggling thrives and cannot
be suppressed.
Viella is the capital of the district of Aran. Before reaching it a
monolith is passed, a prehistoric monument, supposed to be dedicated
to the presiding deity of the valley. Viella is planted on the banks
of the Rio Negro, and possesses a church and chapels of massive
construction, overcharged with gilded decorations, in accordance with
Spanish taste. The houses are provided with balconies.
[Illustration: LE LAC D’OO]
We are here at the roots of the Maladetta, the accursed mountain,
because devoid of vegetation, and near the Cirque of Sabourede. The
highest peak of the Maladetta is 10,230 feet, and in its flanks rises
the western branch of the Garonne. The melted waters of the glaciers
of the peak Aneto falls into a chasm, the Trou de Toro, and it was
long supposed that after an underground course the same waters broke
forth in the Goueil de Jouéou, which is the true source of the western
Garonne. But sufficient colouring matter has been poured into the gulf
to dye the water issuing from this spring, without its staining the
source any more than the dye poured into the _source_ in the Lourdes
grotto discoloured the water a few yards distant, that issues from
the taps from which the miraculous fluid is drawn. Where the stream
issues that precipitates itself into the Trou de Toro has not yet
been discovered. There is no doubt about the source of the eastern
Garonne. That rises at the foot of the Port de Béret, in two little
springs that go by the name of the Eyes of the Garonne, but which
is speedily lost in the turbulent and mightier stream of the Ruda
descending from the snows of Sabourede. From Luchon the passage into
Spain by the Port de Venasque is to be effected, disclosing views of
mountain crest and suspended glacier hardly to be surpassed in Europe.
A hospice is planted half-way, where is the custom-house. “It is,” says
the Commandant de Oliver-Copóns, “like a great barrack in disorder, a
muddle of hotel, pot-house, and workshop. There are stables that can
shelter sixty beasts, but hardly a room in which a traveller can lodge
comfortably.” However, there is no need to stay the night there; one
can push on to Venasque, and make that a centre of excursions to the
lakes clustering at the heads of the wild valleys that descend from the
Pic d’Eristé, the Pic des Posets and the Maladetta.