in all senses than with us, takes the place of tea, coffee, beer, to say
nothing of more pernicious drinks, with the majority. New milk from the
cow costs about a penny a quart, and perhaps if we could obtain a
similar commodity at the same price in England, even gin might be
supplanted. Eggs and butter are also very cheap; but as the peasants
rear poultry exclusively for their own use, it is by no means easy at
Osse to procure a chicken. A little, a very little money goes to the
shoemaker and general dealer, and fuel has to be bought; this item is
inconsiderable, the peasants being allowed to cart wood from the
communal forests for the sum of five or six francs yearly. The village
is chiefly made up of farmhouses; on the mountain-sides and in the
valley are the châlets and shepherds' huts, abandoned in winter. The
homesteads are massed round the two churches, Catholic and Protestant,
most having a narrow strip of garden and balcony carried along the upper
storey, which does duty as a drying-ground.
One of these secluded hamlets, with its slated roofs, white walls, and
brown shutters, closely resembles another; but Osse stands alone in
possessing a Protestant church and community.
Although the little centre of a purely agricultural region, we find
here one of those small, specific industries, as characteristic of
French districts as soil and produce. Folks being great water-drinkers,
they will have their drinking-water in a state of perfection. Some
native genius long ago invented a vessel which answers the requirement
of the most fastidious. This is a pail-shaped receptacle of yewen wood,
bound with brass bands, both inner and outer parts being kept
exquisitely clean. Water in such vessels remains cool throughout the
hottest hours of the hottest summer, and the wood is exceedingly
durable, standing wear and tear, it is said, hundreds of years. The
turning and encasing of yewen wood, brass-bound water-jars is a
flourishing manufacture at Osse.
Here may be seen and studied peasant property in many stages. I would
again remark that any comparison between the condition of the English
agricultural labourer and the French peasant proprietor is irrelevant
and inconclusive. In the cottage of a small owner at Osse, for
instance, we may discover features to shock us, often a total absence
of the neatness and veneer of the Sussex ploughman's home. Our disgust
is trifling compared with that of the humblest, most hard-working
owner of the soil, when he learns under what conditions lives his
English compeer. To till another's ground for ten or eleven shillings
a week, inhabit a house from which at a week's notice that other can
eject him, possess neither home, field nor garden, and have no kind of
provision against old age, such a state of things appears to our
artless listener wholly inconceivable, incommensurate with modern
civilization and bare justice.
As an instance of the futility of comparisons, I will mention one
experience. I was returning home late one afternoon when a
poorly-dressed, sunburnt woman overtook me. She bore on her head a
basket of bracken, and her appearance was such that in any other country
I should have expected a demand for alms. Greeting me, however,
cheerfully and politely, she at once entered into conversation. She had
seen me at church on Sunday, and went on to speak of the pastor, with
what esteem both Catholics and Protestants regarded him, then of the
people, their mode of life and condition generally.
"No," she said, in answer to my inquiry, "there is no real want here,
and no vagrancy. Everybody has his bit of land, or can find work. I come
from our vineyard on the hillside yonder, and am now returning home to
supper in the village--our farmhouse is there". She was a widow, she
added, and with her son did the work of their little farm, the
daughter-in-law minding the house and baby. They reared horses for sale,
possessed a couple of cows, besides pigs and poultry.
The good manners, intelligence, urbanity, and quiet contentment of this
good woman were very striking. She had beautiful white teeth, and was
not prematurely aged, only very sun-burnt and shabby, her black stuff
dress blue with age and mended in many places, her partially bare feet
thrust in sabots. The women here wear toeless or footless stockings, the
upper part of the foot being bare. I presume this is an economy, as
wooden shoes wear out stockings. We chatted of England, of
Protestantism, and many topics before bidding each other good-night.
There was no constraint on her part, and no familiarity. She talked
fluently and naturally, just as one first-class lady traveller might do
to a fellow-passenger. Yet, if not here in contact with the zero of
peasant property, we are considering its most modest phase.
A step higher and we found an instance of the levelling process
characteristic of every stage of French society, yet hardly to be looked
for in a remote Pyrenean village. In one of our afternoon rambles we
overtook a farmeress, and accepted an invitation to accompany her home.
She tripped cheerfully beside us; although a Catholic, on friendliest
terms with her Protestant neighbours. Her thin white feet in toeless
stockings and sabots, well-worn woollen petticoat, black stuff jacket,
headgear of an old black silk handkerchief, would have suggested
anything but the truth to the uninitiated. Here also the unwary stranger
might have fumbled for a spare coin. She had a kindly, intelligent face,
and spoke volubly in patois, having very little command of French. It
was, indeed, necessary for me to converse by the medium of an
interpreter. On approaching the village we were overtaken by a slight,
handsome youth conducting a muck-wagon. This was her younger son, and
his easy, well-bred greeting, and correct French, prepared me for the
piece of intelligence to follow. The wearer of peasant's garb, carting
manure, had passed his examination of Bachelor of Arts and Science, had,
in fact, received the education of a gentleman. In his case, the
patrimony being small, a professional career meant an uphill fight, but
doubtless, with many another, he would attain his end.
The farmhouse was large, and, as is unusual here, apart from stables and
cow-shed, the kitchen and outhouse being on the ground floor, the young
men's bedrooms above. Our hostess slept in a large, curtained
four-poster, occupying a corner of the kitchen. A handsome wardrobe of
solid oak stood in a conspicuous place, but held only a portion of the
family linen. These humble housewives count their sheets by the dozen of
dozens, and linen is still spun at home, although not on the scale of
former days. The better-off purchase strong, unbleached goods of local
manufacture. Here and there I saw old women plying spindle and distaff,
but the spinning-wheel no longer hums in every cottage doorway.
Meantime our hospitable entertainer--it is ever the women who wait on
their guests--brought out home-grown wine, somewhat sour to the
unaccustomed palate, and, as a corrective, home-made brandy, which, with
sugar, formed an agreeable liqueur, walnuts--everything, indeed, that
she had. We were also invited to taste the bread made of wheaten and
maize flour mixed, a heavy, clammy compound answering Mrs. Squeers's
requirement of "filling for the price." It is said to be very wholesome
and nutritious.
The kitchen floor, as usual, had an unsecured look, but was clean swept,
and on shelves stood rows of earthen and copper cooking-vessels and the
yewen wood, brass-bound water-jars before mentioned. The façade of the
house, with its shutters and balcony, was cheerful enough, but just
opposite the front door lay a large heap of farmhouse manure awaiting
transfer to the pastures. A little, a very little, is needed to make
these premises healthful and comfortable. The removal of the
manure-heap, stables, and cow-shed; a neat garden plot, a flowering
creeper on the wall, and the aspect would be in accordance with the
material condition of the owner.
The property shared by this widow and her two sons consisted of between
five and six acres, made up of arable land and meadow. They kept four
cows, four mares for purposes of horse-breeding, and a little poultry.
Milch cows here are occasionally used on the farm, an anomaly among a
population extremely gentle to animals.
My next visits were paid on a Sunday afternoon, when everybody is at
home to friends and neighbours. Protestant initiative in the matter of
the seventh day test has been uniformly followed, alike man and beast
enjoy complete repose. As there are no cabarets and no trippers to
disturb the public peace, the tranquillity is unbroken.
Our first call was upon an elder of the Protestant Church, and one of
the wealthier peasants of the community. The farmhouse was on the usual
Pyrenean plan, stables and neat-houses occupying the ground floor, an
outer wooden staircase leading to kitchen, parlour, and bedrooms; on the
other side a balcony overlooking a narrow strip of garden.
Our host, dressed in black cloth trousers, black alpaca blouse, and
spotless, faultlessly-ironed linen, received us with great cordiality
and the ease of a well-bred man. His mother lived with him, a charming
old lady, like himself peasant-born, but having excellent manners. She
wore the traditional black hood of aged and widowed Huguenot women, and
her daughter-in-law and little granddaughter, neat stuff gowns and
coloured cashmere kerchiefs tied under the chin.
We were first ushered into the vast kitchen or "living room," as it
would be called in some parts of England, to-day with every other part
of the house in apple-pie order. Large oak presses, rows of earthen and
copper cooking-vessels, an enormous flour-bin, with plain deal table and
chairs, made up the furniture, from one part of the ceiling hanging
large quantities of ears of Indian corn to dry. Here bread is baked once
a week, and all the cooking and meals take place.
Leading out of the kitchen was the salon or drawing-room, the first I
had ever seen in a peasant farmer's house. A handsome tapestry
table-cover, chimney ornaments, mirror, sofa, armchairs, rugs, betokened
not only solid means but taste. We were next shown the grandmother's
bedchamber, which was handsomely furnished with every modern
requirement, white toilet-covers and bed-quilt, window-curtains, rug,
wash-stand; any lady unsatisfied here would be hard indeed to please.
The room of master and mistress was on the same plan, only much larger,
and one most-unlooked-for item caught my eye. This was a towel-horse
(perhaps the comfortably-appointed parsonage had set the fashion?), a
luxury never seen in France except in brand-new hotels. As a rule the
towel is hung in a cupboard. We were then shown several other bedrooms,
all equally suggestive of comfort and good taste; yet the owner was a
peasant, prided himself on being so, and had no intention of bringing up
his children to any other condition. His farm consisted of a few
hectares only, but was very productive. We saw his cows, of which he is
very fond, the gentle creatures making signs of joy at their master's
approach. Four or five cows, as many horses for breeding purposes, a few
sheep, pigs, and poultry made up his stock. All that I saw of this
family gave me a very high notion of intelligence, morality, thrift and
benevolence.
Very feelingly all spoke of their animals and of the duty of human
beings towards the animal world generally. It was the first time I had
heard such a tone taken by French peasants, but I was here, be it
remembered, among Protestants. The horrible excuse made in Italy and
Brittany for cruelty to beasts, "Ce ne sont pas des chrétiens," finds no
acceptance among these mountaineers.
Our second visit brought us into contact with the bourgeois element. The
farmhouse, of much better appearance than the rest, also stood in the
village. The holding was about the size of that just described. The
young mistress was dressed in conventional style, had passed an
examination at a girls' Lycée, entitling her to the _brevet supérieur_
or higher certificate, her husband wore the dress of a country
gentleman, and we were ushered into a drawing-room furnished with piano,
pictures, a Japanese cabinet, carpets, and curtains.
The bedrooms might have been fitted up by an upholsterer of Tottenham
Court Road. It must be borne in mind that I am not describing the
wealthy farmers of the Seine and Marne or La Venidée.
The fact that these young people let a part of their large,
well-furnished house need not surprise us. There is no poverty here, but
no riches. I do not suppose that any one of the small landowners to whom
I was introduced could retire to-morrow and live on his savings. I dare
aver that one and all are in receipt of a small income from invested
capital, and have a provision against sickness and old age.
The master of the house showed me his stock, five or six handsome cows
of cross breed, in value from £10 to £16, the latter the maximum price
here. We next saw several beautiful mares and young colts, and four
horned sheep. Sheepkeeping and farming are seldom carried on together,
and this young farmer was striking out a new path for himself. He told
me that he intended to rear and fatten sheep, also to use artificial
manure. Up to the present time, guanos and phosphates are all but
unknown in these regions, only farmhouse dung is used, cows being partly
kept for that purpose. Although the land is very productive, my
informant assured me that much remained to be done by departure from
routine and the adoption of advanced methods. The cross-breeding of
stock was another subject he had taken up. Such initiators are needed in
districts remote from agricultural schools, model farms, and State-paid
chairs of agriculture.
Each of the four instances just given differed from the other. The first
showed us peasant property in its simplest development, a little family
contentedly living on their bit of land, making its produce suffice for
daily needs, independent of marts and markets as the members of a
primitive community.
The second stage showed us a wholly dissimilar condition, yet not
without its ideal side. We were brought face to face with that
transitional phase of society and pacific revolution, of happiest augury
for the future. From the peasant ranks are now recruited contingents
that will make civil wars impossible, men who carry into politics
learning and the arts, those solid qualities that have made rural France
the admiration of the world, and more than once saved her Republic.
The first instance exemplified the intense conservatism of the French
peasant. Liberal in politics, enlightened in religion, open to the
reception of new ideas, here was nevertheless a man absolutely satisfied
with social conditions as they affected himself and his children,
utterly devoid of envy or worldly ambition. To reap the benefits of his
toil, deserve the esteem of his neighbours, bequeath his little estate,
improved and enriched, to his heirs, surely this was no contemptible
ideal either.
The last case differed from the other three. We were now reminded of the
English tenant, or even gentleman-farmer--with a difference. Alike master
and mistress had received a good education and seen something of the
world; they could enjoy music and books. But in spite of her _brevet
supérieur_, the wife attended to her dairy; and although the husband
was a gentleman in manners and appearance, he looked after the stock.
They lived, too, on friendliest terms with their less-instructed and
homelier neighbours, the black alpaca blouse and coloured kerchief,
doing duty for bonnet, being conspicuous at their Sunday receptions. Not
even a Zola can charge French village-life with the snobbishness so
conspicuous in England. It will be amply shown from the foregoing
examples that peasant property is no fixed condition to be arbitrarily
dealt with after the manner of certain economists. On the contrary, it
is many-phased; the fullest and widest development of modern France is
indeed modern France itself. The peasant owner of the soil has attained
the highest position in his own country. No other class can boast of
such social, moral and material ascendency. He is the acknowledged
arbitrator of the fortunes of France.
I will now cite two facts illustrating the bright side of peasant
property in its humblest phase, where we have been told to expect
sordidness, even brutality. The land hereabouts, as I have before
stated, is excessively divided, the holdings being from two and a half
acres in extent and upwards. It often happens that the younger children
of these small owners give up their share of the little family estate
without claiming a centime of compensation, and seek their fortunes in
the towns. They betake themselves to handicrafts and trade, in their
turn purchasing land with the savings from daily wages.
Again, it is supposed that the life of the peasant owner is one of
uniform, unbroken drudgery, his daily existence hardly more elevated
than that of the ox harnessed to his plough. Who ever heard of an
English labourer taking a fourteen days' rest at the seaside? When did a
rheumatic ploughman have recourse to Bath or Buxton? They order these
things better in France.
Between Osse and Oloron stands Escot, long famous for its warm springs.
The principal patrons of this modest watering-place are the peasants. It
is their Carlsbad, their Homburg, many taking a season as regularly as
the late King Edward. The thing is done with thoroughness, but at a
minimum of cost. They pay half a franc daily for a room, and another
half-franc for the waters, cooking their meals in the general kitchen of
the establishment. Where the French peasant believes, his faith is
phenomenal. Some of these valetudinarians drink as many as forty-six
glasses of mineral water a day! What must be their capacities in robust
health? The bourgeois or civilian element is not absent. Hither from Pau
and Oloron come clerks and small functionaries with their families.
Newspapers are read and discussed in company. We may be sure that the
rustic spa is a little centre of sociability and enlightenment.
Let me now say something about the crops of this sweet Pyrenean
valley. The chief of these are corn, maize, rye, potatoes, and clover;
the soil being too dry and poor for turnips and beetroot. Flax is
grown in small quantities, and here and there we seen vines, but the
wine is thin and sour.
From time immemorial, artificial irrigation has been carried on in the
Vallée d'Aspe, and most beautiful is the appearance of the brilliantly
green pastures, intersected by miniature canals in every direction; the
sweet pastoral landscape framed by mountain peaks of loveliest colour
and majestic shape. These well-watered grasslands produce two or even
three crops a year; the second, or _regain_ as it is called, was being
got in early in September, and harvest having taken place early, clover
was already springing up on the cleared cornfields. Everywhere men and
women were afield making hay or scattering manure on the meadows, the
latter sometimes being done with the hands.
All these small farmers keep donkeys and mules, and on market-days the
roads are alive with cavalcades; the men wearing gay waist-sashes, flat
cloth caps, or berets, the women coloured kerchiefs. The type is
uniform--medium stature, spareness, dark eyes and hair, and olive
complexion predominating. Within the last thirty years the general
health and physique have immensely improved, owing to better food and
wholesomer dwellings. Goître and other maladies arising from
insufficient diet have disappeared. Epidemics, I was assured, seldom
work havoc in this valley; and though much remains to be done in the way
of drainage and sanitation, the villages have a clean, cheerful look.
The last ailment that would occur to us proves most fatal to those
hardy country folks. They are very neglectful of their health, and as
the changes of temperature are rapid and sudden, the chief mortality
arises from inflammation of the lungs. It is difficult indeed to defend
oneself against so variable a climate. On my arrival the heat was
tropical. Twelve hours later I should have rejoiced in a fire.
Dangerous, too, is the delicious hour after sunset, when mist rises
from the valley, whilst yet the purple and golden glow on the peaks
above tempts us to linger abroad.
The scenery is grandiose and most beautiful. Above the white-walled,
grey-roofed villages and townlings scattered about the open, rise
sharp-pointed green hills or monticules, one gently overtopping the
other; surmounting these, lofty barren peaks, recalling the volcanic
chains of Auvergne, the highest snow-capped point twice the altitude of
the Puy de Dôme, two-thirds that of Mont Blanc.
Whichever way we go we find delightful scenery. Hidden behind the folded
hills, approached by lovely little glades and winding bridle-path,
tosses and foams the Gave d'Aspe, its banks thickly set with willow and
salicornia, its solitary coves inviting the bather. The witchery of
these mountain streams grows upon us in the Pyrenees. We hunger for the
music of their cascades when far away. The sun-lit, snow-lit peaks,
towering into the brilliant blue heavens, are not deserted as they
appear. Shepherd farmers throughout the summer dwell in huts here, and
welcome visitors with great affability.
Let me narrate a fact interesting alike to the naturalist and
meteorologist. On the 7th September, 1891, the heat on one of these
summits, nine thousand feet above the sea-level, was so intense that a
little flock of sheep were seen literally hugging the snow, laying their
faces against the cool masses, huddled about them, as shivering mortals
round a fire in winter. And, a little way off, the eye-witnesses of this
strange scene gathered deep blue irises in full bloom.
[Illustration: ORCUM]
On the lower slopes the farmers leave their horses to graze, giving them
a look from time to time. One beautiful young horse lost its life just
before my arrival, unwarily approaching a precipitous incline. As a rule
accidents are very rare.
The izard or Pyrenean chamois, although hunted as game, is not yet a
survival here, nor the eagle and bear, the latter only making its
appearance in winter-time.
Tent-life in these mountain-sides is quite safe and practicable. Who can
say? A generation hence and these magnificent Alps may be tunnelled by
railways, crowned by monster hotels, peopled from July to October with
tourists in search of disappointments.
At present the Vallée d'Aspe is the peacefullest in the world. Alike on
week-days and Sundays the current of life flows smoothly. Every morning
from the open windows of the parsonage may be heard the sweet, simple
hymns of the Lutheran Church, master and mistress, servants and
children, uniting in daily thanksgiving and prayer.
And a wholesome corrective is the Sunday service after the sights
of Lourdes.
The little congregation was striking. Within the altar railings stood
two _anciens_, or elders, of the church, middle-aged men, tall,
stalwart, the one fair as a Saxon, the other dark as a Spaniard. Both
wore the dress of the well-to-do peasant, short black alpaca blouses,
black cloth trousers, and spotless collars and cuffs, and both worthily
represented those indomitable ancestors who neither wavered nor lost
heart under direst persecution.
By the time the pastor ascended the reading-desk, the cheerful,
well-kept little church was full, the men in black blouses, the women
wearing neat stuff or print gowns, with silk handkerchiefs tied under
the chin, widows and the aged, the sombre black-hooded garment,
enveloping head and figure, of Huguenot matrons of old--supposed to have
suggested the conventual garb.