THE DEATH OF A DOG--ENCOUNTERS ON THE HIGHWAY--TRAVELLERS BY THE
WAY--PEOPLE OF THE PROVINCES--LOURDES--HER SUPERSTITION AND HER
VISIONS
Later in the day as we speed down a long incline the only thing in
sight is a huge van drawn by three horses tandem. Jean sounds his horn
constantly, which has the effect of causing them to straggle all across
the road. No man is in sight--nothing save an old dog that is working
his best to get the horses into line and out of our way. This he
succeeds in doing, but alas, though Jean does his _best_ to save him,
he goes down under our wheels and I distinctly feel the crunch, crunch,
as we pass over his poor old body, driving the life out. As I look
back, it is only an old dog dead in the dusty highway with some old
horses gazing down at his quiet figure. They have been friends for so
many years,--it is all over now. When we see the stupid driver emerge
from beneath the van, where he has been asleep in a swinging basket, we
almost regret that it was not he instead of the old dog. My man did his
best to save the dog and felt as badly as I did over his death, but he
must have ditched the auto with danger to us and wreck for the machine
to have done other than he did.
These vans are the terror of these highways and the government should
either banish the automobiles or force the van drivers to attend to
their charges. We passed dozens to-day with the drivers fast asleep
underneath, as was this man, or if not asleep then yards behind their
teams. Several times serious wrecking was prevented only by Jean's cool
head and prompt hand. There should be a law passed and enforced with
a fine, that would correct matters. The death of that poor old dog
saddened the whole day.
About five o'clock in the afternoon, as the shadows lengthened and we
were passing slowly through the streets of Lannemezan, on rounding a
corner we were confronted by two hogs and a driver--the lesser beast
fled away in terror, but the larger--a good-sized porker,--kept his
place firmly planted in the middle of the road, while with his ears
pointed forward and snout lowered, he gravely regarded our approach as
much as to say, "Let me see, let me see, what have we here?" Just then
Jean ran the machine gently against him and bowled him over, whereupon
the air was rent asunder by squeals from his astounded and indignant
pigship, and a volley of oaths in the patois of this section from his
master, which together with remarks from Jean and shrieks of laughter
from Yama rendered the spot anything but tranquil. The personalities
and profanities of these two Frenchmen would certainly have caused
their telephones to be removed if passed thereover.
Our route all the afternoon is glorious, on a high table-land,
overlooking the Garonne and commanding the sparkling Pyrenees as far as
the eye can reach both east and west; the air is fresh and full of life.
St. Gaudens and Montréjeau are passed in turn, and Tarbes reached at
six o'clock, where we descend at the Hôtel de la Paix on the main
square. The hotels in all this section show the influence of Spain.
This one has a _patio_ and the one at Carcassonne also possessed one
with a raised platform at the end over which a vine was twined and
under which Carmen might have carried on her flirtations. Three autos
arrived while I was in Carcassonne, a large one with three Englishmen,
which had destroyed three tires that day and caught on fire; a small
one of twelve horse-power with three men, and one just like ours,
of twenty-four horse-power. This held a lady, a maid, and two dogs.
Imagine travelling in an auto with two dogs. Jean says the lady is an
American countess and seems surprised when I tell him that we have no
titles in America. He might have replied that we try to marry as many
as possible, which is quite true, to our sorrow generally. This person
looked like a painted countess of the stage.
One must journey through the provinces in France to find her men and
understand the source of her past power. Those we meet with daily are
a fine, manly looking lot of fellows, bright eyes and erect, sturdy
figures, nothing effeminate about them, in all ways superior to the
men of the towns who would seem to be descended from the old men and
boys, all Napoléon left in the land in his wild race for self glory.
What a magnificent figure his would have been in history had he placed
France first and remained First Consul! How absurd that play at
Emperor! Of his military and executive genius there can be no question,
but for his own glory he deliberately sacrificed France and hundreds of
thousands of her best men. His family playing at royalty always reminds
one of some stage performance; "Belles of the Kitchen", for example.
I think we made a mistake in coming via Toulouse. It would have been
more interesting to have gone via Montreal, Pamiers, and St. Gaudens.
If I ever come this way again, I shall keep nearer the Pyrenees. The
run to-day has covered from Carcassonne at nine o'clock to Tarbes at
six, one hundred and seventy-five miles. It is but thirty miles further
into Pau, but man and master both are weary and the auto must be hot,
to say the least.
[Illustration: THE GROTTO AT LOURDES
By permission of Messrs. Lévy]
In Tarbes,--at the Hôtel de la Paix,--we find our last stopping place
before Pau, a town with a comfortable little inn and but little else
of interest. From there we turn southwest for an inspection of that
centre of the greatest superstition of the nineteenth century, Lourdes.
The ride is a pleasant one down, or rather up, a valley with a rushing
river. Lourdes is found nestling in a nook of the foot-hills of the
Pyrenees while high in its centre rises an ancient castle with the
distant range of snow as a background. The location is beautiful,
much like Salzburg, but Lourdes is a bustling busy city full of
fine shops and big hotels, though I think I should have to be paid
handsomely to sleep in any bed in the town. This is not the season,
and therefore we perhaps have a better opportunity to inspect the
theatre of the place, for one can call it by no other name. Beyond
the castle and in a valley one first sees a sweeping circle of arches
forming an approach to a species of Pantheon, at least shaped like
the Roman structure and on a rock directly behind and above towers a
Gothic church. Both are crammed with votive offerings of all sorts and
descriptions. Passing around to the right one comes upon the sacred
grotto. It is directly under the higher church, in fact, in the rock
upon which that edifice stands, a simple grotto of slight depth and
some thirty feet high. In a niche on the right is an image of the
Virgin in white with a blue scarf. Hundreds of votive candles blaze and
smoke in the grotto, smudging the whole with nasty soot. The sacred and
healing spring issues from a spigot, in the front centre of the grotto,
and the faithful are constantly drinking its water. Rows of benches
occupy the space before the cave, which is enclosed by an iron grill,
wherefore! one wonders. Certainly there is no one who would steal
those candles and there is nothing else. On the left one sees a tablet
upon which is inscribed the words of the peasant's dream as uttered by
the Virgin, "Go to Lourdes, bathe, drink, and be cleansed," while the
entire space and roof of the grotto is hung thickly with the discarded
crutches, wooden legs, &c., &c., of those who, following the divine
instructions, were healed. The water has been conducted into adjacent
baths for men and for women, and I fancy it is the unusual cleanliness
which produced the cures. Certainly there are many past all hope of
cure even here, for the place is full of disgusting beggars. The whole
affair is, as Jean announced, "good for commerce and politics." It is
the greatest evidence of the superstition of the Middle Ages which
Europe can show to-day. Let us leave it. Lourdes as God made it and its
ancient rulers left it, is beautiful; Lourdes as that name means to-day
is vile. No one with any regard for his health would venture near there
while a pilgrimage is in progress. It is a relief to get off into the
country where disease does not seem to hang in the air.