I am told that Pau is greatly _improved_ from what it was seven or

eight years ago; if such is the case, the town must then have been in a

deplorable condition indeed: that those who are residents from so early

a period should be content with the changes which have relieved them

from inconvenience, I can easily understand; but that persons who, in

Paris or in Normandy, have been accustomed to superior accommodation can

be satisfied with Pau, surprises me. Taken in general, those who reside

here all the year round, are Irish, Scotch, or from distant country

towns in England, many being quite unused to London or Paris; therefore,

they can make no comparisons, and from long habit get accustomed to

things which must annoy others; but when persons of wealth and

condition, forsaking the great capitals and beautiful watering-places at

home, and their own splendid and comfortable establishments, come to

Pau, to stay for some months, they must surely find that the

representations they have heard of it are strangely at variance with

truth. Invalids, of course, are glad to submit to whatever may tend to

re-establish their health; and, as several persons speak of having

derived benefit during their stay, doubtless there is a class of

invalids to whom the climate does good: the only question is, would they

not have been as well off nearer home, without the enormous expense of

so long a journey, and enduring so complete an expatriation?

If one must necessarily go to Pau to meet with charming people and

hospitality and attention, I should recommend all the world to hasten

thither; but, since this can be found at home or elsewhere, from the

same persons, I would not, for that reason alone, counsel a residence

there. The accident of finding agreeable society amongst one's own

countrymen has nothing to do with the Pyrenees; and we have so usurped

the place of the original inhabitants, that only a very few French are

left; in the same manner as at Boulogne or Tours. Almost all advantages,

therefore, to be derived from foreign society are denied, and the

frequent parties at Pau are nearly exclusively English.

More than one family whom I saw arrive, amused me by their raptures,

similar to our own on the first view, on a fine day, of the mountains

from the Place Royale or the park; and their subsequent discontent, when

the absence of the fitful sun had entirely changed the scene, leaving

only the damp dirty town, and a grey space, where the concealed giants

shrouded themselves, sometimes for weeks together. People generally are

so impressed at first, by the fascination of the _coup d'oeil_, that

they hasten to take a house which they cannot engage for less than six

months, or, if for three, the price is advanced; fearing to miss the

opportunity of settling themselves, they seldom hesitate about the

terms, which are generally very high, and, when once placed, they begin

to look about them, and regret that they were so precipitate; for they

find themselves condemned to a long, dismal winter, in a very

uninteresting, expensive town, without any resource beyond their

windows, if they face the mountains; or their fire-side, if their

chimney do not smoke--which is a rare happiness. There is scarcely a

town in Italy, where numerous galleries are not ready to afford a

constant intellectual treat, or where fine buildings cannot present

objects of admiration; but in Pau all is barren: there is nothing but

the mountains to look at--for the view of the hemmed-in-valley is

extremely confined--and the park to walk in; which, after all, is a mere

promenade, of no great length and no variety, in spite of its

convenience and beauty. The ramparts of most towns in France, which are

situated in a fine country, present great changes, and consequent

excitement in the view; but at Pau it is always from the same spots that

you must seek one prospect.

The walks out of the town are unpleasant; for almost every way you must

traverse a long, dusty, or dirty suburb, and generally follow a high

road to a great distance, before you arrive at the place which is to

repay your toil: this is annoying, as--though climbing up _côteaux_ and

threading the mazes of vineyards is pleasant--two or three miles of

dusty road, encumbered with bullock-carts and droves of pigs on the way

and _on the return_, is by no means refreshing.

If pedestrians are not to be thought of, this is of no consequence, and,

indeed, it is a circumstance which frequently occurs in French towns;

those who take rides on horseback and venture a long way off, are more

fortunate; for they come upon beautiful spots, and can reach sublime

views amongst the mountains: a mere two hours' _drive_ does not change

the scene from that which is beheld from Pau, and the great similarity

of all the views near greatly reduces their interest.

On the Bordeaux road, as Pau is approached, the sudden burst of the

mountains on the sight is very fine; but there are no meadows, no lanes,

nothing but a broad, _grande route_, from which the pedestrian can

behold this. To reach the pretty _côteaux_ of Jurançon and Gelos, one

must walk for a mile and a half along a high road, and through a

slovenly suburb; to reach the height of Bizanos, where a fine view of

the mountains can be obtained, it is necessary to go through the whole

straggling village of Bizanos, and run the gauntlet of a whole

population of washerwomen, while every tree and hedge is hung with

_drapery_ bleaching in the air. Bizanos is called a _pretty village_;

but those who so designate it can only be thinking of utility, like our

hostess at La Rochelle, when she took us to a grand sight, which turned

out to be no other than a washing-establishment. The French have, it is

acknowledged, no taste for the picturesque, and it appeared to me as if

the complaisance of the English abroad led them to agree that anything

is pretty which pleases their foreign friends.

No doubt, there is infinitely better accommodation at Pau, than at any

other town in the neighbourhood of the baths of the Pyrenees, and those

who really require to attend them for several seasons--for it seems that

it is generally necessary to do so--are quite right to make Pau their

headquarters; but that those who seek amusement should remain at Pau in

preference to Italy, or even other towns in France, is inexplicable. I

do not know whether many return after they have once departed; but there

are seldom fewer than six hundred English and Americans here in the

winter. One English family arrived during our stay, took a large house,

and made every arrangement for the winter; but, frightened by the

continued bad weather, they left it in haste for Paris. I confess I was

surprised others did not do the same.

All modern French writers describe Pau as "a _charming town_" alluding,

of course, to the _society_, which is to them the great desideratum

everywhere; besides, they are accustomed to ill-paved streets, and are

not fastidious about cleanliness. The guide-books of these parts cite

the descriptions of early writers in order to compare its present with

its former state; two are given, which are certainly as much at variance

as those obtained by strangers at the present day. In a work printed in

1776, the following passage occurs:

"The town of Pau is of an ordinary size; the greatest part of its houses

are well-built, and covered with slate. It is the seat of a parliament,

a university, an academy of _belles lettres_, and a mint. The greatest

part of the _noblesse_ of Béarn make it their usual abode; the Jesuits

have a large college founded by Louis XIII. There is a seminary under

the direction of the brothers of St. Lazare, a convent of Cordeliers,

another of Capuchins, and four nunneries. At the western extremity of

the town, is an ancient castle, where the princes of Béarn resided, and

where King Henry IV. was born."

The intendant Lebret said of Pau, in 1700:--

"The town of Pau consists of two streets, tolerably long, but very

ill-constructed; it possesses nothing considerable. The _palais_ is one

of the worst kept possible--the most incommodious, and the most dirty;

the _maison de ville_ is still worse. The parish church cannot contain a

quarter of the inhabitants, and is, besides, as ill-supported and as

bare of ornament as one would see in the smallest village."

Something between these two accounts might serve to give an idea of what

the town is now: the public buildings are totally unworthy of mention,

indeed, the only one at all remarkable is the new market-place, which is

very large, and solidly built. The churches are more in number, but

quite as insignificant as when Lebret wrote; the protestant _"temple"_

has not more claim on observation as a piece of architecture, and, being

built over the bed of a water-course, is supposed to be in some danger,

and is extremely chill in winter. Through the midst of the town runs a

deep ravine,--the bed of a stream called the Hédas--which divides it

into two, and gives it a very singular effect; a bridge over this

connects the two parts; the castle rises from one side, a venerable

object; which, whenever seen, excites interest from its history rather

than appearance; from this point it looks like an old prison, and the

host of grim, dirty houses which clothe the steeps are anything but

worthy of admiration.

The quarter of the Place Royale is called by the French, _the Chaussée

d'Antin_ of Pau--a somewhat ambitious distinction, which must a little

surprise a Parisian when he enters it, and observes a shabby row of

small low houses and cafés for the soldiery, on one side of the square

space planted with trees, where the _élite_ of Pau are supposed to walk.

On the opposite side, a large hotel spreads out its courts, and a house

with unpainted shutters and weather-stained walls; at the extremity, is

what seems a ruined church, but which is, in fact, a building left

half-finished to fall to decay, where the wood for the military is kept;

nothing can be so desolate as the aspect on this side, and the stranger

is amazed at the slovenly and dilapidated scene; but he must suspend his

judgment, and walk along one of the short avenues till he reaches a

parapet wall, where he forgets Pau and its faults in a single glance;

for there the grand prospect of the mountains bursts upon him, and its

magnificence can scarcely be exceeded.

As soon as the fine weather begins, this place, on a Sunday, is crowded

with promenaders, principally tradespeople of the town. A military band

is stationed here, and thunders forth peals of music much to the delight

of the listeners. A very gay scene is presented on this occasion; but

there is little characteristic, as no costumes are to be seen, and the

_élégantes_ of Pau are exactly like those of any other town.

Along the rugged, damp street, which runs from the back of the Place

Royale, are most of the best houses in Pau: those on the side next the

valley have the same glorious view as the promenade allows, and are

generally taken by the English: one or two of these are fitted up in

very good style, and made extremely comfortable; indeed, from this point

mansion after mansion has been built, each of which has peculiar

attractions; and, though not handsome or elegant, are good, square,

large dwelling-houses, sufficiently convenient. These are designated by

_French describers as magnifiques hótels_, &c.; and fortunate are the

English families who possess them as dwellings: they have all good

gardens, and may boast of one of the finest views of the mountains that

it is possible to obtain.

The college, founded by Henry IV., is a large and airy building, without

grace or beauty, and enclosed in high walls: it has an imposing effect,

from the height of the village of Bizanos, on the opposite side of the

Gave.

The Hôtel de la Prefecture, and that where the valuable archives of the

town are kept, possess neither beauty nor dignity: the space opposite is

now occupied by the new market-house--which appears never to be used,

for all the goods are spread out on the stones before it, as if it was

only there for ornament: in this space, the guillotine was erected in

the time of terror, and the murders of the great, and good, and

respectable inhabitants took place. Unfortunately, this is a record, too

recent, which every town in France can furnish.

It appears to me that the people of Pau are quiet, honest, simple, and

obliging; at least, we never saw an instance to the contrary, except on

our first arrival, when our driver took off the horses from the carriage

in the inn-yard, and refused to go a step further to seek for

accommodation for us; but I suspect he was not a native of the town. The

landlady of the inn--who came from Bordeaux--with a mysterious wink,

assured us we should find all the common people the same--"_Ces Béarnais

sont tous brutals!_" was her remark; but we did not find her in the

right.

The Gascon character, though here a little softened, prevails a good

deal, as the continued boasting about their town proves, and a certain

pomposity in their demeanour, which, however, is harmless and amusing.

We were in the habit of employing a baker, who made what was called

English bread, and the magnificent manner in which he paid his visits to

our domicile was very comic. Our maid, Jeannotte, being out of the way,

we were one day disturbed by a vociferous knocking at our

parlour-door--for in general all the passage-doors are left open--and

hurrying to admit the clamorous visitant, we beheld the baker's

assistant, M. Auguste, with a tray of loaves on his head and one in his

hand, which he thrust forth, accompanying the action with a flourish and

a low bow, exclaiming, "De la part de César!" We were not then aware

that such was the name of our baker, and were much awed by the

announcement.

Another of our domestic visitors was a source of considerable

entertainment to us, and became still more so through the _espièglerie_

of our attendant, Jeannotte, who took occasion to mystify him at our

expense. This object of mirth was a little stout mountaineer, who came

every week from his home in the mountains--between the valleys of Ossau

and Aspe--with a load of butter and cheese, with which his strong,

sure-footed horse was furnished. In the severest weather this little man

would set out; and on one occasion his horse had to be dug out of the

snow in one of the passes; but the desire of gain, which invariably

actuates these people, and a carelessness of hardship, made him treat

all his dangers lightly. He was in the habit of coming to us every week,

and generally made his way to our part of the house, as he appeared

amused to _look at us_ as much as we were to converse with him, and ask

him questions about bears, wolves, and avalanches.

His stock of French was small, and he had a peremptory way of demanding

what he required, as he divided his neat pieces of butter for our

service. He could not be more than five feet high, but was a sturdy,

strong-built man, though of very small proportions. One day when

delivering his charge to Jeannotte, she asked him in _patois_,--her own

tongue--if he was married; he started at the question, and begged to

know her reason for inquiring; she informed him it was for the benefit

of Mademoiselle, who wished to know. The little hero paused, and

presently, in rather an anxious tone, demanded of Jeannotte what

mademoiselle's reason could possibly be for requiring the knowledge.

"There is no telling," said she, archly, "Mademoiselle thinks you very

amiable."

"Is it possible!!" said he, musing; "you don't surely imagine--_do_ you

think she would have me?"

The laughter of Jeannotte quite abashed the gallant mountaineer, and he

replaced his load of butter on his brown _berret_ and disappeared, nor

would he for some time afterwards pay us a visit. At length he did so,

and I found his modest confusion apparent in his forgetting to take the

full change of his money, actually on one occasion abandoning _half a

sous_ of his just due, and retiring with a "C'est égal." When we told

him we were going away he was much struck, and stayed longer than usual

gazing at us, till we thought he intended to open his mind, and declare

his intentions to share his mountain-home with one of our party. I

therefore gave him a note of recommendation for his butter to a friend,

and he retired apparently more satisfied, though with a heavy sigh and a

murmured hope--expressed half in _patois_--that we would come back to

the Pyrenees in the summer.

There is still a good deal of simplicity left amongst this people, and

certainly but little wit. Strong affection seems to be felt by them

towards their relations, and quarrels seem rare; the Béarnais are said

to be drunkards; but I never remember to have seen any instances of this

in the streets. They are slovenly, and the lower classes extremely

dirty; the market-women, in their white flannel peaked hoods of a

hideous form, or their handkerchiefs loosely tied, without grace and

merely for warmth, have in the cold season a very unpicturesque

appearance, and the shrill shrieking voices of those who scream hot

chesnuts to sell about the streets, uttering their piercing cry of "_tou

cai, tou cai_!"[26] is anything but pleasing to the ear.

The servants, however, seem good, industrious, honest, and very civil;

and, as far as our own experience went, we saw only good conduct; while

from our hostess at the Bain Royal we met with liberality and extreme

courtesy; she, it is true, is from the refined city of Toulouse, but has

long resided at Pau, and I should certainly counsel any stranger, whom,

they would suit, to choose her apartments as a residence; for her

pavilions are situated in the most agreeable position, out of the noise

and dampness of the town, and with the whole range of Pyrenees

constantly in uninterrupted view.

[Footnote 26: All hot! all hot!]

CHAPTER II.

THE CLIMATE OF PAU--STORMS--FINE WEATHER--PALASSOU--REASONS FOR

GOING TO PAU--THE WINTER.

ONE of the chief inducements to foreigners, particularly the English, to

visit Pau for the winter, is the reputation of its climate for mildness

and softness. When we arrived, in October, in a storm of rain, it was,

we understood, the continuation of a series of wet weather, which,

throughout the year, had made the whole country desolate, and the

company at all the baths had, in consequence, left a month sooner than

usual; for a fortnight after our establishment at Pau, nothing could be

more agreeable than the season, precisely answering to the beautiful

weather which my letters announced from different parts of England.

During this time the mountains were rarely visible, and when seen

appeared indistinctly. This charming fortnight, during which Pau seemed

to deserve all the commendations so profusely bestowed on it, was a

promise of the calm and peaceful winter which I was told was always to

be found in these favoured regions; I bore the sarcasms against the

fogs and, above all, the uncertainty of the climate of gloomy England,

as well as I could; and my assertion that, till the first week in

November, I had last year bathed in the sea at Brighton, was received

with indulgent smiles of pity at my nationality, both by French and

English; but of course not believed, for the air of France, I have

always observed, has such a property of effacing the remembrance of

sunny days passed on the other side of the channel, that, by degrees,

our countrymen arrive at the belief that nothing but fog and rain are

ever to be seen in our ill-fated island, and they imagine that, till

they came abroad, their knowledge of blue sky or bright sun was obtained

only in pictures, but had no existence on the banks of the Thames or

elsewhere, in the desolate regions they had quitted.

The morning of the 18th of October rose brilliantly, and was succeeded

by a burning day; in the afternoon ominous clouds suddenly appeared, and

brought a storm of rain and hail, whose effects were felt in the extreme

cold of the atmosphere for some days, when another change came over the

face of things, which brought forth the character of this calm, quiet

place, where the excessive _stillness_ of the air is cited as almost

wearying, in quite a different light. It has been said, and is

frequently cited, that a certain sea-captain left Pau in disgust, after

passing some months there, because he could never obtain a _capful of

wind_. If that anonymous gentleman had had the good fortune to be at Pau

on the night of the 23rd of October, I think he would have fixed his

domicile for the rest of his life there; for such a furious hurricane he

could seldom have had the good fortune to enjoy. For four hours in the

dead of night, without intermission, the howling of the wind through the

gorges of the mountains, the rush and swell amongst the hills, vales,

and across the plains, was perfectly appalling. Every moment seemed to

threaten annihilation to all within its reach; chimneys were dashed down

in every direction, trees torn up by the roots, and the triumph of the

tempest fiend complete. Furious rain and hail succeeded on the following

day, with occasional gleams of sun; and then came a calm, beautiful,

summer day again, and the mountains shone out as brightly as possible.

This gave place to thick fog and a severe frost on the very next day,

lasting for several days; rain then diversified the scene, and on the

29th a wind rose in the night almost as furious as the last, which

continued the whole of the day following: a cold gloomy morrow, and the

next bright, hot, and pleasant, ended October.

The next day was a triumph for Pau:--"When," asked every one we

met--"when, in_ England_, would you see such a 1st of November?" All my

vivid recollections of charming strolls on the beach and downs in

Sussex, and in Windsor Park, were looked upon as figments. I heard no

boasting on the 2nd, nor for three more days, for it was foggy, and

rained hard, and no one could stir out. On the 6th, a heavy fall of snow

had clothed the whole country in white; and now, for three days, a

sharp, frosty wind prevented any more remarks about the softness of the

climate. The frost and snow had disappeared, as by enchantment, on the

11th, the night of which was so sultry that to keep windows shut was

impossible. The Fair of Pau was ushered in by rain, on the 12th; the

13th was as hot as the hottest day in July, accompanied by a good deal

of fog, for several days: then came violent wind, hail-storms, wind

again--louder and more furious--fog, cold, occasionally bright; and

November disappeared on a misty morning, which ended in a burning day,

without a breath of air, all glare and faintness.

We were now told that, though St. Martin had failed to keep his summer

at the right time, he was never known to desert his post; and as in

almanacks a day before or a day after makes no difference, we were

content to accept his smiles for nine days in the beginning of December.

Again came the question--"When, in England?" &c. and I began to think we

were peculiarly favoured, when, lo! letters arrived from that vexatious

clime, speaking of "days perfectly lovely," "new summer," and all

precisely like a plagiarism on Pau. Fortunately for the reputation of

the Pyrenees, no one would, of course, credit this fact; and the English

invalids, who had been covering their mouths with handkerchiefs, and

shutting themselves up from the variations of the atmosphere, breathed

again, and at once generously forgot all but the bright sun and warm air

which had come once more to greet them.

It was true that every leaf had long since disappeared from the trees in

the park, and that the sun glared fearfully on the high, unsheltered

walks; but the partisans of salubrity hastened to disport themselves in

its rays, till _three cases in one week_ of _coup de soleil_ began to

startle even the most presuming; and the expected death of one of the

patients, together with _another change_ of weather to wet, cold, and

fog, silenced further remark.

We were assured that the extraordinary alternations of climate we had

experienced for two months, was a circumstance quite unheard-of before

in Pau, and we looked on ourselves as singularly unlucky in having, by

chance, chosen a season so unpropitious. A few simple persons, who

ventured to remark that the winter of last year was very similar, were

told that they must have been mistaken; and some who recollected high

winds were considered romancers. We looked at the strong _contre-vents_

placed outside the windows of our dwelling, and wondered why such a work

of supererogation should have taken place as to put them there, if the

hurricanes we had witnessed were unusual, when I one day, during a high

wind, as I sat at home, happened to take up Palassou's Mémorial des

Pyrénées, and read as follows:--

"TEMPERATURE OF THE LOWER PYRENEES--ITS EFFECTS OFTEN DANGEROUS.

"It is well known that divers places differ in their temperature,

although they are situated in the same degrees of latitude; the vicinity

of the sea, of great rivers, mountainous chains, &c. renders the air

more or less hot or cold, serene or cloudy; the modifications which

these circumstances occasion are principally remarked in the countries

adjacent to the Pyrenees. Snow, frost, and abundant rains, are, for

instance, more frequent than in Languedoc or Provence, although these

climates are placed beneath the same degree of latitude as the former.

"It is easy to believe that vegetable nature feels this influence. If we

except the plains of Roussillon, and some small cantons situated at the

foot of the eastern Pyrenees, where a mild temperature may be found, it

is to be observed that nowhere, contiguous to this chain, are seen the

odoriferous plants and trees common to the South of France. The eye

seeks in vain the pomegranate, with its rich crimson fruit; the olive

is unknown; the lavender requires the gardener's aid to grow. The usual

productions of this part are heath, broom, fern, and other plants, with

prickly thorns: these hardy shrubs seem fitted, by their sterility, to

the variable climate which they inhabit.

"In effect, the snows of winter, covering the summits of the Pyrenees

for too long a time, prolong the cold of this rigorous season sometimes

to the middle of spring; then come the frosts which destroy the hopes of

the vine-grower.

"'_Storms are very frequent in Béarn_,' says M. Lebret, intendant of

Béarn in 1700; he might have added," continues Palassou, "to the list of

dangers to the harvests--_the frequent and destructive fogs_ to which

the country is subject.

"In the landes of the Pont-Long, I have often seen, in the environs of

Pau, fogs rise from those grounds covered with fern, broom, and other

naturally growing plants, while in parts more cultivated it was clear.

* * * The agriculturists of Béarn have not attempted to till the lands in

the neighbourhood of Pau, finding them too stubborn to give hopes of

return, and _the climate being so very variable_; cultivated produce

being peculiarly sensible to the effects of an air which _is one day

burning and the next icy_.

"One might write whole volumes if it was the object to relate all the

effects of storms which, accompanied with hail, devastate the countries

in the neighbourhood of the Pyrenees. It will be sufficient to recount

what has come under my own observation. During one violent storm of

thunder and lightning, the hail-stones were _as large as hens' eggs_,

and desolated the whole range over which it swept. It was immediately

followed by a second, less furious, but which did immense damage; and

others, little less terrific, followed in the course of the

month--June."

Palassou here goes on to describe several dreadful storms of peculiar

fury, which were more than usually destructive, and are common in these

regions. He considers, that the cutting down of the forests on the

mountains, which formerly sheltered the plains and valleys, has

contributed to increase the storms in latter years. Summer in the midst

of winter, seems by no means uncommon, and winter in summer as little

so. The _autun_, or south wind, generally brings the burning days which

so much surprised me; but, according to this author, _it is extremely

unwholesome_ and dangerous to persons inclined to apoplexy; as, indeed,

its effects during our stay at Pau led me to imagine.

I cannot feel much confidence, I confess, in a climate where you are

told that so many precautions must be taken: for instance, you are never

to walk in the sun; you must avoid going out in the evening, at all

seasons; you must be careful not to meet the south wind; in fact, you

can scarcely move without danger. I ask myself, what can possibly induce

so many of my countrymen to travel so far for such a climate,--to put

themselves to so great an expense for such a result? for, if England is

not perfect as to climate, it has at any rate few unhealthy spots from

which you cannot readily escape to a better position: we are never in

terror of a _sirocco_,--nor need wrap up our mouths in handkerchiefs to

avoid breathing _malaria_. Our climate is variable, but less so than in

the Pyrenees; and it is scarcely worth while to go so far to find one

worse, and more dangerous to life. Hurricanes are rarer with us than

there. We may not often have such hot summers in winter, but neither do

we _often_ have such cold winters in summer. It frequently rains with

us, but it rains as often at Pau; and, however annoying are the

variations of which we complain at home, we assuredly do not escape them

by travelling eight hundred miles to take up our abode close to icy

mountains, in a dirty, damp town, in an uncomfortable house: add to

which, we gain little in economy; for Pau is as dear as Paris, without

any of the advantages of the capital.

Altogether, the more experience I have of the climate of Pau, the more

surprised I am at the crowds of English who resort to this town for the

winter: the greatest part of them, it is true, are not invalids, but

persons seduced into this nook by its reputation, and arriving too late

in the season to leave it. They grumble, and are astonished to find

themselves no better off than if they had stayed at home; but they are,

it would seem, ashamed to confess how much they have been deceived, and,

therefore, remain silent on the subject of climate, content to praise

the beauty of the country in fine weather, and enjoy the gaieties and

hospitalities which they are sure to meet with. If people came only for

the latter advantages, I should not be surprised at their trooping

hitherward, provided they were robust enough to bear the _mildness_ of

climate; but that is not the avowed reason, and those they give are

altogether insufficient to account for the mania of wintering at Pau.

Perhaps the best means of ascertaining the nature of the climate is by

occasionally looking over old newspapers. In a French one of Jan. 10,

1841, I was struck with this announcement: "Pau.--On Thursday last, in

the night, the snow fell so abundantly that it was half-way up the legs,

in the morning, in the streets. On Friday morning the _porte-cochère_ of

one of the _splendid hotels in our Chaussée d'Antin (!)_ opened, and

forth issued an elegant sledge, drawn by two _magnificent_ horses,

crowned with white plumes. This novel spectacle attracted the attention

of the whole town. The elegant vehicle darted along till it reached the

Rue de la Prefecture, &c. &c. and the Pont-Long."

It must be confessed that it is seldom in any part of our _cold climate_

that we have the power of such an exhibition in the streets. It is

reserved for the invalids who fly to the South of France to avoid a

severe winter.

"23rd Dec. 1840. A great deal of snow has fallen between Bayonne and

Peyrehorade: the road is become almost impassable."

But I must continue the winter as I found it at Pau in 1842 and 1843.

December, with intervals of two days' wind and rain, was extremely

pleasant, bright, and clear, and the days very long; for till half-past

four one could see to write or read: a circumstance which does not often

occur in England during this month. Christmas Day differed but little

from many I have known at home: pleasant, bright, sunny, and clear;

rather cold, but more agreeable, from its freshness, than the unnatural

heat which sometimes accompanies the sun. All the accounts from England

proved that the weather was precisely the same. For the two next days,

it was fine and very cold, with a high, _easterly_ wind; two days warm

and pleasant; then succeeded a sharp frost and bright sun; and December

closed, dull, cold, and dark.

January began cold, sharp, and gusty--some days biting, and some black

and foggy; and from the 5th to the 12th it blew a perfect hurricane,

with thunder, one fine day intervening, and occasionally a few bright

hours in the course of some of the days. The storm on the night of the

11th was terrific, and it lasted, equally violent, with hail and

thunder, all the next day--bright gleams of sun darting out for a

moment, and revealing the mountains, to close them in again with mist

and rain before you had scarcely time to remark the change. About the

middle of the day the wind increased in violence, and the hail came down

with fury, thick grey clouds gathered over the sky, the lightning

flashed vividly, the thunder echoed far and near, and the gusts howled

as if hundreds of wolves were abroad. King Arthur and all his _meinie_

must have been out, for the appearance over the mountains was most

singular. A broad space of clear _green-blue_ sky was seen just above

the white summits of several of the mountains, clearly showing the large

fields of snow which extended along their flat surfaces, which are

broken at the sides by projections, like buttresses, of purple rock, on

which dark shadows fell; gleams of sun illumined the edges of the snow

on the highest peaks, for a brief space, while, by degrees, the other

mountains were sinking away into a thick haze which had already covered

the nearest hills. The marshy fields on the banks of the murmuring

Gave, and the little Ousse, now swelled to large rivers, and as thick

and clay-coloured as the Garonne itself, were covered with a coating of

hail, and the snow and transparent mist were seen driving along from

peak to peak with amazing rapidity, as if they had been smoke.

Presently, the narrow space of blue sky was dotted with small grey

specks, as if showers were falling from the heavy canopy above, and,

shutting closer and closer, the great mass suddenly sank down,

concealing the glittering peaks which strove to shine out to the last.

Then all became black; the thunder roared, the wind howled, the hail

beat, and winter and storm prevailed. I watched all this with delight;

for it was impossible to see anything more sublime, and I could not but

congratulate myself that the abode we had chosen, just above the valley

and detached from the town, at the foot of the promenade of the Place

Royale, gave us an opportunity of seeing such a storm in perfection. It

was true that we often thus had our rest disturbed at night, by the

sweep of the wind along the whole range of the valley between the

_côteaux_; but its melancholy sound, bringing news, as it were, from the

mountains and the sea, was pleasant music to my ears, and startling and

exciting, when it rose to the ungovernable fury with which I became so

well acquainted during our winter at this _quiet place for invalids_!

If Pau were recommended as a place where storms could be seen in

perfection, I should not wonder at persons crowding there, who delight

in savage nature. The gales from the 5th to the 15th continued

furiously, night and day; the wind howled from all points, rocking the

houses, and strewing the ground with ruins--then came a change to hot

quiet days for a week.

In England, and in all parts of France, the season I am describing was

equally violent, but this only proves that Pau has no shelter on these

occasions.

January ended with fine weather, and occasional fogs, not so dense as in

London, certainly, but as thick as in the country in England. The sun,

in the middle of the day, being always dangerously hot. My letters from

England still announced the same weather, _without the danger_.

In February, we had a few days like August, then a heavy fall of snow,

which for eight days covered the ground, and was succeeded by burning

days; and the month ended with heavy rain and floods. March began with

cold winds and rain and sharp frost; and when I left Pau the ground was

encrusted with frost in all directions.

CHAPTER III.

THE CASTLE OF HENRI QUATRE--THE FURNITURE--THE SHELL--THE

STATUE--THE BIRTH--CASTEL BEZIAT--THE FAIRY GIFT--A CHANGE--HENRI

QUATRE.

"Qui a vist le castig de Pau

Jamey no a viat il fait."

WHEN Napoleon, in 1808, passed through the town of Pau, the Béarnais

felt wounded and humbled at the indifference he showed to the memory of

their hero, Henri Quatre: he scarcely deigned to glance at the château

in which their cherished countryman was born; and with so little

reverence did he treat the monument dear to every heart in Béarn, that

his soldiers made it a barrack; and, without a feeling of regard or

respect for so sacred a relic, used it as cavalierly _as if it had been

a church_. They stabled their steeds in the courts of Gaston Phoebus,

they made their drunken revelry resound in the chambers of Marguerite de

Valois; and they desecrated the retreat where _La brebis a enfanté un

Lio_--where Jeanne d'Albret gave birth to him, who, in the language of

his mountains, promised that every Frenchman should have a _poule au

pot_[27] in his reign.

[Footnote 27: The _poule au Pot_ is a general dish with the Béarnais.]

That Napoleon should not care for a royal soldier, whose fame he desired

his own deeds should eclipse; and of whom, as of all illustrious men,

living or dead, the _little_ great man was jealous, is not surprising.

He had nothing in common with Henri Quatre; and the Revolution, which

had brought him forward, had swept away antique memories. The statue of

their once-adored Henri had been cast into the Seine with ignominy, by

the French, and his name was execrated, as if he had been no better than

the legitimate race whom popular fury condemned to oblivion: Napoleon's

policy was not to restore an abandoned worship; and he would have seen

the last stone fall from the castle of Pau without notice. But that the

long line of kings, who were always boasting of their descent from the

immortal Béarnais, should have neglected, contemned, or pillaged his

birth-place, reflects little honour on the memory of any. The son of

Mary de Medici came only to Béarn after his father's death, to carry off

all that was precious in art, collected by the kings and queens of

Navarre, for centuries--treasures which, according to the historians of

the time, had not their parallel in the sixteenth century. The palace of

the Louvre became rich in the spoils of Béarn: tapestry, pictures,

furniture, objects of _virtu_ of all kinds were borne away, and nothing

left in its original place. Louis the Fourteenth and his successor

occupied themselves little with the country, except to levy subsidies

upon it: they knew nor cared nothing for Navarre; except as it supplied

them with titles or gave them funds. Louis the Sixteenth, the last of

the Bourbons who took the oath to observe the _Fors_[28] of Béarn,

promised to act differently, and to occupy himself with this forgotten

nook of his dominions; but the fatal events, prepared by his profligate

predecessors of the last two reigns, which hurled him from his throne,

prevented the accomplishment of his intentions.

[Footnote 28: The celebrated Laws of Béarn are called _Les Fors_.]

As for the sovereign people, when they became rulers, the contempt with

which they overwhelmed everything aristocratic, was bestowed in full

measure on the abode of him who had been their friend: and the triumph

of vengeance, ignorance, and ingratitude, was complete, here as

elsewhere.

The neglected castle of the sovereigns of Béarn,--for none of whom,

except the immediate family of the brave and bold Henry, need one care

to be a champion--remained then a mighty heap of ruin, which every

revolving year threatened to bring nearer to utter destruction; when

another revolution, like an earthquake, whose shock may restore to their

former place, rocks, which a preceding convulsion had removed, came to

"renew old Æson:" Louis Philippe, to whom every nook and corner of his

extensive kingdom seems familiar, so far from forgetting the _berceau_

of his great ancestor, hastened to extend to the castle of Pau a saving

hand, and to bring forth from ruin and desolation the fabric which weeds

and ivy were beginning to cover, and which would soon have been ranged

with the shells of Chinon, Loches, and other wrecks of days gone by.

When the architect, employed by the king to execute the Herculean labour

of restoring the castle of Pau, first arrived, and saw the state of

dilapidation into which it had fallen, he must have been appalled at the

magnitude of his undertaking. Seeing it, as I do now,[29] grim, damp,

rugged, ruined, and desolate, even in its state of transition, after

several years of toil have been spent upon its long-deserted walls; I

can only feel amazed that the task of renovating a place so decayed

should ever have been attempted; but, after what has been done, it may

well be hoped and expected that the great work will be, in the end,

fully accomplished; and ten years hence, the visitor to Pau will

disbelieve all that has been said of the melancholy appearance of the

château of Henri Quatre.

[Footnote 29: This was written on the spot.]

What must have been the state of things before the pretty bridge, which

spans the road and leads from the castle terrace to the walk, called La

Basse Plante, existed? I am told that a muddy stream, bordered with

piles of rubbish, filled up this portion of the scene; but, in less than

a year, all was changed, and the pleasant terrace and neat walks which

adorn this side of the castle are promises of much more, equally

ornamental and agreeable.

Some of the tottering buildings attached to the strangely-irregular

mass, were, it seems, condemned by the bewildered architect to

demolition, as possessing no beauty, and encumbering the plans of

improvement; but the late Duke of Orleans came to visit the castle, and

had not the heart to give consent that any of the old walls, still

standing, should be swept away. He looked at the place with true poetic

and antiquarian feeling, and arrested the hand of the mason, who would

have destroyed that part called _La Chancellerie_, which extends between

the donjon of Gaston Phoebus to the Tour Montauzet. The prince

represented to his father his views on the subject, which were instantly

adopted--a question of taste in that family meets with no

opposition--and all was to have been arranged according to the ideas of

the heir of France, who seemed inclined to make Pau an abode at a

_future day_: the King was to have visited the interesting old castle:

much animated discussion and much enthusiasm prevailed on the subject in

the interior of the royal circle, and the Berceau of Henri Quatre seemed

destined to proud days again.

"When, hush! hark! a deep sound comes like a rising knell!"

The wail of a whole nation tells that that _anticipated future_ may not

come! A cloud has again gathered over the valley of the Gave, and a sad

pause--the pause of blighted hopes--has chilled the expectations in

which Béarn had ventured to indulge.

But the castle is not, even now, neglected: the architects are still

there; workmen are still busy, chiseling and planing; the beautiful

arabesques and reliefs are coming forth to view, restored with all their

original delicacy: the ceilings are glowing with fresh gilding, the

walls are bright with fresh tapestry, and the rooms are newly floored.

But for the dreadful event which must cast a gloom over France for some

years, the castle would, probably, have been sufficiently put in order

for a royal visitor this year; but all the magnificent furniture, sent

down from Paris to fit up the _suite_ intended for use, now stands

unarranged, and a stop is put to embellishment. Amongst the most curious

and interesting pieces of this furniture, are the bed and chair of

Jeanne d'Albret, her screen--perhaps worked by her own hand--and the bed

of Henry II.: all fine specimens of art in this style; the latter, in

particular, is quite unique, and is one of the most curious I have ever

seen: the sculpture is very elaborate; at the foot reclines, in relief,

a Scotch guard, such as always lay at the threshold of the sovereign, at

the period when this piece of furniture was made. An owl of _singular

expression_ sits watching, opposite, surrounded by foliage and poppies,

quite in character with the sleepy scene: the posts of the bedstead are

beautifully turned: it is so formed as to draw out and close in, forming

a _bed by night_, _a cabinet by day_; and the carved arch at the back is

sculptured in the most exquisite manner. A _prie-Dieu_ of the same date

is near; but all this furniture is merely _housed_ for the present, as

nothing is arranged; one, of course, looks at these specimens with an

admiration which has nothing to do with Henri Quatre's castle, as they

would be equally well placed in M. de Somerard's museum, at the

delightful Hôtel de Cluny.

A tapestry screen, said to be of the time of Charles VII., has a place

in this heterogeneous collection: it represents the Maid of Orleans,

crowned by victorious France, whose _lilies_ are restored, and her

enemies trampled under her feet; in the back-ground is the sea, with

strange-looking monsters huddled into its waves, in apparent terror:

these are the Leopards of England taking flight from the shores of

France. The colours are well preserved in this piece of work, and the

whole composition deserves to be remarked, if not for the correctness of

its drawing, for the _naïveté_ of its details.

It might have been better to have filled the castle with furniture

belonging exclusively to the time, or anterior to that of Henry IV.; and

it struck me that much which has arrived from Paris, of the period of

Louis XIV., is out of keeping with the _souvenirs_ of the castle of Pau.

I almost hope that, if ever it is entirely restored, these pieces of

furniture will be banished, and others, more antique, substituted. The

tapestry with which the walls are covered is very curious and

appropriate; it is chiefly of the time of Francis I.; and some beautiful

Gobelins, of modern date, representing different scenes in the life of

Henry, equally so.

The most, indeed the only, beautiful portions of the castle, are the

ceilings of the principal staircase and passages leading from it; the

medallions of which present the heads of Marguerite de Valois and her

husband, Henry d'Albret, with their interlaced initials and arms on the

walls: these again occur on the mantel-pieces, in the midst of very

exquisite arabesques, which the skill of the modern sculptor is

restoring with singular delicacy.

The object which excites the most interest in the castle, is the famous

shell of a tortoise, of immense size, said to have served as a cradle to

the little hero whose birth was hailed with such rapture by his

expectant grandfather. One would fain believe that this is indeed the

identical _berceau de Henri IV._ so much talked of; but it is difficult

to reconcile all the improbabilities of its being so: the substitution

of another, after the real shell had been burnt in the castle-court, may

do credit to those who cherish the hero's name; always provided no less

generous motive induced the act; but the tale told to prove its identity

is, unfortunately, not convincing.

The shell is suspended in the centre of a chamber, formerly the _salle

de réception_ of Henry II. d'Albret, and surrounded with trophies, in

tawdry taste, which it is the intention to have removed, and the gilt

helmet and feathers replaced by some armour really belonging to King

Henry.

Those who contend for this being the genuine shell say, that, when on

the 1st of May, 1793, the revolutionary mob came howling into the

castle-court, with the intention of destroying every relic of royalty,

the precious shell was hastily removed, and _another put in its place_,

belonging to a loyal subject who had been induced to sacrifice his own

to save the public treasure. M. de Beauregard had, it seems, a cabinet

of natural history, in which was a tortoise-shell of very similar size

and appearance: this he gave up, and, with the assistance of other

devoted persons, it was conveyed to the castle, and put into the

accustomed place, while the real shell was carefully hidden in a secure

retreat. The mob seized upon the substitute, and, with frantic cries,

danced round the fire in the court while they saw it burn to ashes,

little dreaming how they had been deceived: years after, the truth was

revealed, and the cradle of the Béarnais was produced in triumph.

Whether, in the midst of the terror attending the proceedings of savages

athirst for blood, it was likely that such cool precautions were taken

to save a _relic_ when _lives_ were at stake, is a question which seems

easily answered; but there is such a charm about the belief, that,

perhaps, _'tis folly to be wise_ on the subject.

The fine marble statue of Henry, which is appropriately placed in one of

the chambers, was executed soon after the battle of Ivry: it is by

Francavilla, and very expressive: it belonged to the Gallery of Orleans,

and was presented to the town of Pau by the King.

The room said to be that where Henry was born, and where Jeanne d'Albret

sang the famous invocation, "_Notre Dame au bout du Pont_," is on the

second story of a tower, from whence, as from all this side of the

castle, is a magnificent view of the mountains, and the valley of the

Gave. There is nothing now left but bare walls; but on the chimney is

sculptured the tortoise-shell cradle, and the arms of Béarn and Navarre;

these rooms will be all repaired and restored; at present, the whole

_suite_ reminded me of the desolation of the castle of Blois, which was

desecrated in the same manner by soldiery, who made it a barrack. The

room which was Henry's nursery has a few of the original rude rafters of

the ceiling remaining, which one would wish should not be removed; but

it is said that it is necessary. The thick coating of whitewash cleared

away from the chimney-piece will, probably, disclose more sculpture,

similar to that in the other rooms.

Queen Jeanne had been unfortunate in losing her other children, one of

whom died in a melancholy manner. While she was out hunting with her

father and her husband, the nurse and one of her companions, being at a

loss to amuse themselves, thought of a game, in which they threw the

child from one window to the other, catching it in turns. The poor

little prince was made the victim to this cruel folly, for he fell on

the balcony which extended along the first-floor, and broke one of his

ribs. He suffered much, and survived only a few days. No wonder Queen

Jeanne sent her little son, Henry, to a cottage, to be nursed, where

there was no upper story!

Nothing can be less imposing, on the interior side of the court, than

the castle of Pau: ruined, dilapidated buildings surround the rugged old

well which stands in the centre; towers and _tourelles_, of various

shapes, lift their grey and green and damp-stained heads in different

angles; low door-ways, encumbered with dust and rubbish, open their dark

mouths along the side opposite the red square tower of Gaston Phoebus,

which frowns at its equally grim brother, whose mysterious history no

one knows; other doors and windows are finely-sculptured; and

medallions, much defaced, adorn the walls.

On these antique towers, it is said the thunder never fell but

once--_that once_ was on the 14th of May, 1610, at the very moment when

the steel of Ravaillac found the heart of Henry of Navarre. The event is

thus recorded:--

"A fearful storm burst over the town of Pau on this day; a thunderbolt

fell, and defaced the royal arms over the castle-gateway; and a fine

bull, which was called _the King_, from its stately appearance, the

chief of a herd called _the royal herd_, terrified by the noise and

clamour, precipitated itself over the walls into the ditch of the

castle, and was killed. The people, hurrying to the spot, called out The

_King_ is dead! The news of the fatal event in Paris reached Pau soon

after, and they found their loss indeed irreparable."

The shades of Henry and Sully are said sometimes _to walk_ along the

ramparts even now; and it was formerly believed that near the great

reservoir, into which it was said Queen Jeanne used to have her Catholic

prisoners thrown, numerous ghosts of injured men might be seen flitting

to and fro. One evening I was returning, later than usual, from the

promenade in the park, and had paused so often on my way to observe the

effect of the purple and rosy-tinted mountains glowing with the last

rays of sunset, that it was in quite a dim light that I reached the spot

beneath which the ivied head of the old, ruined, red Tour de la Monnaie

shows the rents of its _machicoulis_. A double row of young trees is

planted here, at the foot of the artificial mound which supports the

castle walls, and at the end of the alley is the reservoir, with the

square tower of Gaston Phoebus above it. I was startled by a sudden

apparition, so vivid that it seemed impossible to mistake its form,

passing by the reservoir, as if after descending the steep which leads

to it. I _seemed to see_ a grey, transparent figure in armour, the head

covered with a helmet, with a pointed frontlet, such as I had seen in an

old gallery, filled with rusty coats of arms, at the Château of

Villebon, near Chartres, where Sully had lived for five-and-twenty

years, and where he died. The figure was slight, and moved slowly,

waving its head gently: it was in good proportion, but at least eight

feet high. I stopped astonished, for the vision was so very plain--and

then it was gone. I continued my way, and again I saw it, and it

appeared as if several others, less tall, but still in armour, were by

its side, by no means so distinct. I paused again, it was growing darker

and darker, and I then could distinguish nothing but a row of slender

trees, whose delicate leaves were shivering in the evening breeze, and

whose stems waved to and fro. I went home--through the chill damp castle

court, and across the bridge to the dismal street--impressed with an

agreeable, though somewhat tremulous conviction, that I must have seen

some of the ghosts which haunt the walks of the old castle.

I expected to hear that the memory of Queen Jeanne was venerated on this

spot; but was surprised to find that she holds a place in tradition

little more honourable than that occupied by our bloody Queen Mary; for

there is scarcely any atrocity in history of which she is not the

heroine: whatever might have been her fame with her Protestant subjects,

those who succeeded them seemed carefully to have treasured the

remembrance of all the cruelties executed by her orders, which, it must

be acknowledged, were little in accordance with the religion of peace

she professed to have adopted. Her son, whose faith was of so changeable

a character that it suited all parties, is the pride and boast of the

country; but the object of love appears to be the amiable Princess

Catherine, his sister, for whom her mother built, in a secluded spot in

the royal park, a residence, called _Castel Beziat_, the last stones of

which have now disappeared, as well as the _gardens_ originally planted

by Gaston XI., in 1460, and said, in the time of Henri II. and

Marguerite, _to be the finest in Europe_. It is difficult now to imagine

where they were; but they are said to have been on the south side, and

probably extended along that part now occupied by the Basse Plante and

the baths of Henri Quatre, as far as the present entrance of the park.

Catherine was more sought in marriage, perhaps, than any princess of her

time; but her only attachment--which was an unfortunate one--was to the

Count de Soissons, who, being her brother's enemy, avowed or concealed,

was an unfit match for her, and the alliance was opposed by all her

friends. She seemed to possess the accomplishments of her grandmother

and mother, and was very popular in Béarn, which she governed, during

Henry the Fourth's absence, with great justice and judgment; the

Béarnais, however, greatly offended her by their violent opposition to

her marriage with the person she had chosen; and she left the Castle of

Pau in anger, and never returned. She was forced into a marriage with

the Duke de Bar, and her people saw her no more.

There is a romantic story told of an act of the princess's, which shows

her kind character, and amiable feeling. There was formerly in the

gardens of Castel (or Castet) Beziat, (the _Castle of the beloved,_) a

fountain, afterwards called _Des cents Ecus_, which had its name from

the following circumstances:

The Princess Catherine of Navarre was one day walking in a musing mood,

probably thinking of the many difficulties which opposed her union with

him she loved, and almost wishing that her stars had made her one of the

careless peasant-girls who tended her flocks in the green meadows beside

the murmuring Gave; for happiness was denied her, as she said in after

times, when married to a man who was indifferent to her, "Qu'elle

n'avait pas son _compte_," mournfully playing on her disappointment.

Suddenly she heard voices, and, peeping through the thick foliage, she

perceived two young girls seated by the side of the fountain. One was

drowned in tears, and the other was leaning over her, with tender words

and caresses, endeavouring to console her sorrows. "Alas!" said the fair

distressed, "I can see no end to my sorrow, for poverty is the cause;

you know, my parents have nothing but what they gain by labour, and

though _his_ friends are richer, their avarice is extreme; and they say

their son's bride must have a dower of a hundred crowns. Ah! my dear

friend, what hope then have I! I have heard that there are fairies who

have the power to assist true love; if I knew where they were to be

found I would consult them, for never was love truer than ours, or more

unfortunate."

Her friend did not attempt to combat her affection, but encouraged her

with soothing words to have patience, and hope for the best. "Let us

meet again here," said she, "every day, and devise some plan; perhaps

Heaven will hear our prayers, and take compassion on your sorrow.

To-morrow, at this hour, let us meet." "We will so," said the weeping

girl, "for if I have no other consolation,--you, at least, give me that

of talking of him."

The friends departed, leaving the listening princess full of interest

and curiosity: she was resolved to surprise and befriend the lovers

whose case was so touching. "There is, then, equal sorrow in a lowly

state," she mused, "and love seems always doomed to tears; however,

there are some obstacles which fortune permits to be removed--would that

I could look forward to relief, as I am resolved these shall!"

The next day saw the two friends again seated on the borders of the

fountain; but scarcely had they taken their accustomed place, when they

observed, lying on a stone close by, a little bag which seemed to

contain something heavy; they opened it, and found a paper, on which

these words were written: "Behold what has been sent you by a _fairy_."

The delight of this discovery may be imagined, and the pleasure of the

princess, by whose command, a few days afterwards, the union of the

lovers was accomplished.

It appears that the Castle of Pau was originally built in 1360, or about

that time, by the famous prince, Gaston Phoebus, of Foix, who called

himself, when addressing the Princess of Wales, "_a poor knight who

builds towns and castles._" The great hero of Froissart is even more

identified with Pau and its neighbourhood than Henry the Fourth himself,

who, though he was born here, lived more at Coarraze and Nerac than in

this castle of his ancestors; for he was even nursed in the village of

Billières near, where his nurse's house is still shown.

Catherine de Medicis, and her beautiful and dangerous _troupe_ of

ladies, on the famous progress she made to Bayonne, visited the Castle

of Pau, with a deep interest; she there succeeded in detaching the

affections of the weak father of Henry from his noble-minded wife, and

in laying the foundation of that tragedy which her dauntless and

vindictive spirit had conceived. The massacre of St. Bartholomew may be

said to have begun on the day that those fatal visitors crossed the

drawbridge of the Castle of Pau. Her daughter, Marguerite, the victim of

her schemes--an unwilling actor in the drama--suffered much sorrow and

privation within these walls, after her marriage with a prince who

never could surmount the distaste which circumstances of such peculiar

horror as attended their union had given him; and the once cheerful

place--the scene of splendour for centuries--lost its glory and its

happy character after the beloved family of Queen Jeanne had deserted

its towers.

Everything connected with the birth of Henry IV. is in general

well-known, and has been so frequently repeated, that it is almost

unnecessary to relate any circumstances attending that anxiously

looked-for event,--cordially hailed by his grandfather, Henry. The

account, however, given by Favyn is so characteristic that it cannot but

be read with interest _a-propos_ of the château where it occurred:

"The Princess of Navarre, being near her term, took leave of her

husband, and set out from Compeign the 15th of November. She crossed all

France to the Pyrenees, and directed her steps to Pau, where her father,

the King of Navarre, then was. She arrived in the town after eighteen

days' journey. King Henry had made his will, which the princess was very

anxious to see; because it had been represented to her that it was to

her disadvantage, and in favour of _a lady who governed_ her father. For

this cause, though she had tried every means to get a sight of it, it

was a thing impossible; the more so, as, on her arrival, she had found

the king ill, and dared not speak to him on the subject. But the coming

of his _good girl_, as he called her, so delighted him that it set him

on his legs again. The princess was endowed with a fine natural

judgment, fostered by the reading of good books, to which she was much

addicted; her humour was so lively that it was impossible to be dull

where she was; one of the most learned and eloquent princesses of her

time, she followed the steps of Marguerite, her mother, and was mistress

of all the elegant accomplishments of the age. The king, who was aware

of her wish respecting the will, told her she should have it when she

had shown him her child; and, taking from his cabinet a great box, shut

with a lock, the key of which he wore round his neck by a chain of gold,

which encompassed it five-and-twenty or thirty times, he opened the box,

and showed her the will. But he only showed it at a little distance; and

then locked it up again, saying, 'This box and its contents shall be

yours; but, in order that you may not produce me a crying girl or a puny

creature, I promise to give you all on condition that, while the infant

is being born, you sing a Gascon or Béarnais song; and I will be by.' He

had lodged his daughter in a room in the second story of his castle of

Pau; and his chamber was immediately beneath: he had given her, to guard

her, one of his old _valets de chambre_, Cotin, whom he commanded never

to stir from the princess night nor day, to serve her in her chamber,

and to come and tell him the instant she was taken ill, and to wake him

if he was in ever so deep a sleep. Ten days after the princess's arrival

at Pau, between twelve and one o'clock at night, the day of St. Lucie,

13th of December, 1553, the king was called by Cotin, and hurried to her

chamber: she heard him coming, and began immediately singing the

canticle, which the Béarnais women repeat when lying in:

"Noustre Dame deou cap deou poun,

Adjoudat me à d'aqueste hore,"

for at the end of every bridge in Gascony is an oratory, dedicated to

the Virgin, called, _Our Lady at the end of the bridge_; and that over

the Gave, which passes into Béarn from Jurançon, was famous for its

miracles in favour of lying-in women. The King of Navarre went on with

the canticle; and had no sooner finished it than the prince was born who

now reigns over France. Then the good king, filled with great joy, put

the chain of gold round the neck of the princess, and gave her the box

containing the will, saying, 'This is your property, and this is mine;'

at the same time taking the infant, which he wrapped in a piece of his

robe, and carried away to his chamber. The little prince came into the

world without crying, and the first nourishment he had was from the

hand of his grandfather; for, having taken a clove of garlic, he rubbed

his little lips with it; then, in his golden cup, he presented him wine;

_at the smell of which, the child having lifted up his head_, he put a

drop in his mouth, which he swallowed very well. At which the good king,

full of joy, exclaimed, before all the ladies and gentlemen in the room,

'You will be a true Béarnais!' kissing him as he spoke."

Every time I pass through the court-yard of this dilapidated building, I

feel that it can never revive from its ruin; the desolation is too

complete; the defacement too entire. What interest can exist in

restorations to effect which so much must be cleared and scraped away

that scarcely a trace of what was original can remain? How restore those

medallions on the outer walls, which the taste of the first Fair

Marguerite, and her Henry, placed in rows at one extremity of the court?

how restore those beautifully-carved door-ways, and cornices, and

sculptured windows, elaborate to the very roof? or renew the _façade_

next the mountains without effacing that singular line of _machicoulis_

which divides the stages. How replace the terrace--once existing, but

long gone--without destroying venerable morsels of antiquity, precious

in their ugliness! and how render the whole place sightly without

clearing away the rubbish of the old _Tour_ _de la Monnaie_, now built

in with shabby tenements? Yet this will probably be done. Considering

the state of the town, and the many improvements requisite in it, it

would seem more judicious, perhaps, to effect, these, and to abandon the

idea of _restoring_ the castle. To repave the court, and clear away

dirt, might be done with little time and cost; and the old fabric would

not suffer by this act. At present the most neglected part is the

entrance; and it is sufficiently unsightly. However, I ought to

congratulate myself that I did not see it _when it was worse_--as I am

constantly told when I complain of the wretched state of the streets.

It is said that part of the royal family are even yet expected to pay a

visit to Pau, in the course of next spring, to be present at the

inauguration of a new statue of the Great Henry, lately arrived, which

is to be erected in the Place Royale.[30]

[Footnote 30: Since this was written, the visit has been paid, and the

ceremony gone through.]

CHAPTER IV.

TROUBADOUR.

NAVARRE has not produced many poets in early times; and the only

troubadour whom it claims, is the famous lover of Blanche of Castile,

the accomplished Thibault of Champagne, who rather belongs to Provins,

where he lived so much, and sang so many of his beautiful lays, than to

the Pyrenees. All critics, ancient and modern, from Dante to the Abbé

Massieu, have agreed in admiring his compositions, in which grace,

tenderness, and refinement, shine out in every line, encumbered though

his language be with its antique costume. His mother was Blanche,

daughter of Sancho the Wise, King of Navarre; his birth took place in

1201, a few months after the death of his father; and it was with

difficulty the persecuted widow could retain her government of Champagne

and Brie. In 1234, he was called to the throne of Navarre, by the death

of his maternal uncle, Sancho le Fort. Soon after this, he left for the

Holy Land; therefore, what time he spent in Navarre, does not appear. On

his return from _Romanie_, he died at Pampluna, in 1253, and was buried

at his beloved Provins, that city of nightingales and roses.

His songs are very numerous, and have much originality. The following

will serve as specimens:

CHANSON.

* * * * *

"Je n'ose chanter trop tart, ne trop souvent."

* * * * *

"I FEAR to sing too seldom or too long--

I cannot tell if silence be the best,

Or if at all to tune my tender song--

For she denies me pity, hope, and rest.

Yet, in my lay, I might some note awake,

To please her ear more than all lays before;

Though thus, she seems a cruel joy to take,

That I should slowly suffer evermore.

"At once I'd cast my idle lute away,

If I were sure no pleasure could be mine;

But love has made my thoughts so much his prey,

I do not dare to love her, nor resign.

Thus I stand trembling and afraid to fly,

Till I have learnt to _hate_ her--lovingly.

"By love and hate's alternate passions torn,

How shall I turn me from my thronging woes?

Ah! if I perish, tortured and forlorn,

But little glory from such triumph flows.

She has no right to keep me her's, in thrall,

Unless she will be mine, my own, my all!

"Well does she know how to delight--inflame,

With soft regards and smiles and words at will,

And none within her magic ever came,

But learnt to hope he was the favour'd still.

She is worth all the conquests she has won:

But I may trust too far--and be undone!

"She keeps me ling'ring thus in endless doubt,

And, as she pleases, holds me in her chain,

Grants she no smiles--I can adore without;

And this she knows, and I reproach in vain!

I am content to wait my chance, even now,

If she will but one ray of hope allow."

* * * *

JEU-PARTIE.

"BALDWIN, tell me frank and true,

What a lover ought to do;

One, who, loving well and long,

Suff'ring and enduring wrong,

At his lady's summons flies,

And presents him to her eyes,

With a welcome, when they meet,

Should he kiss her lips or feet?

"Sire, methinks he would be loth,

Not to kiss her rosy mouth;

For a kiss at once descends

To the heart and makes them friends;

Joy and sweetness, hope and bliss,

Follow in that tender kiss.

"Baldwin, nay, you ought to know,

He who dares such freedom show--

As though a shepherd maid were she,

Would never in her favour be:

I would kneel in humble guise,

For I know her fair and wise,

And humility may gain

Smiles no boldness could obtain.

"Sire, though modest semblance oft

Meet a guerdon, coy and soft,

And timid lovers sometimes find

Reward both merciful and kind:

Yet to the lips prefer the feet

Seems to my mind a care unmeet.

"Baldwin--for worlds I would not lose

Her mouth, her face, her hand--but choose

To kiss her pretty feet, that she

May see how humble truth can be.

But you are bold and daring still;

And know Love's gentle lore but ill.

"Sire, he must be a craven knight,

Who, with her lovely lips in sight,

Is all content and happy found,

To kiss her foot-print on the ground!

"Baldwin, quick gains are quickly o'er,

Got with much ease, and prized no more.

When at her feet, entranced, I lie,

No evil thought can hover night.

And she his love will faithful call,

Who asked no boon, and gave her all."

CHAPTER V.

ROAD FROM PAU TO TARBES--TABLE-LAND--THE PICS--THE HARAS OF

TARBES--AUTUMN IN THE PYRENEES--MONT L'HÉRIS--GABRIELLE

D'ESTRÉES--CHASSE AUX PALOMBES--PENNE DE L'HÉRIS--PIC DU

MIDI--CHARLET THE GUIDE--VALLEY OF CAMPAN--LA GATTA--GRIP--THE

TOURMALET--CAMPANA DEL VASSE--BARÈGES-LUZ--CAGOT

DOOR--GAVARNIE--THE FALL OF THE ROCK--CHAOS--CIRCUS--MAGNIFICENCE

OF NATURE--PONT DE NEIGE--ROLAND--DURENDAL--IZARDS--LES

CRÂNES--PIEREFITTE--CAUTERETZ--CERIZET--PONT D'ESPAGNE--LAC DE

GAUBE--ARGELEZ.

THE road between Pau and Tarbes,[31] like most of the roads south of the

Garonne, is an extremely fine one; it is perfectly macadamized, and

admirably well kept; indeed, in this respect, the improvement that

appears all over France is quite remarkable; but if superiority can be

claimed anywhere it certainly belongs to Béarn and Bigorre. It is not,

however, the _condition_ of the road between the two towns that forms

the attraction; it is the exquisite scenery that meets the eye wherever

a break in the woods, or an inequality of the ground reveals the

magnificent chain of the Pyrenees. For some distance after leaving Pau

the road is nearly level; but about half-way to Tarbes, after passing

through a thick wood of oak, and having been rendered impatient by

occasional glimpses of the mountains, the traveller climbs a long and

winding ascent, and reaches the summit of a fine table-land, from whence

an uninterrupted view of this glorious country is obtained. Rich forests

of chesnut clothe the steep sides of this table-land, and stretch far

away to the southward, mingling with the well-cultivated plains that

border the Gave de Pau; beyond these rise, in gradual succession, the

lower ranges of the mountains, whose real height is entirely lost in the

grandeur of the more stupendous Pyrenean giants, extending as far as the

eye can reach, from the Mont Perdu at one extremity, and far beyond the

Pic du Midi of the Vallée d'Ossau, at the other. The general colour of

these noble mountains is a deep purple, which becomes even more intense,

and approaches almost to blackness, until it melts away in the misty

valleys beneath. The outline is not only irregular in form, but various

in its hue; some of the loftiest heights of the foremost range being

patched with snow, while, still more distant and shining in the sun,

appear the dazzling peaks of eternal ice, piercing the deep blue sky

wherein they dwell.

[Footnote 31: For the whole account of the Hautes Pyrénées, I am

indebted to my brother, Mr. Dudley Costello, who made the excursion

while I remained at Pau.]

This table-land is traversed for several miles over a broken common,

variegated with heath and fern, and intersected here and there by

brawling streams, which take their course to swell the tributaries of

the distant Gave. At the eastern extremity of the common, another wide

forest of chesnut appears, where the road rapidly descends with many

windings to the plain of Bigorre. One of these turns offers the

loveliest picture it is possible to imagine. The foreground is formed of

steep, rough banks, through which the road winds its sinuous track, the

thick yet graceful foliage of the chesnut rises like a frame on either

hand, and spreads also in front, while the Pic du Midi de Bigorre, with

snow on its summit, and the Pic de Montaigu, with its sharp, dark

outline, complete the distance. To give life to the scene, there are the

peasants and market-women on their way to the fair of Tarbes,--the

former wearing the characteristic brown _berret_, and the latter the

black or scarlet-peaked hood, which gives quite a clerical air to their

costume. Indeed, to see the women carelessly bestriding their active

Bigourdin horses, which they manage with infinite ease, one might

readily fancy, at a slight distance, that it was rather a party of monks

of the olden time wending to their monastery, than a group of peasants

laden with their market-ware. A little further, the road abruptly turns

again, and Tarbes lies before us, distant about four or five miles,

supported by another range of mountains, amongst which the Pic d'Orbizan

is most conspicuous. The plain of Bigorre is now soon gained, and in

half an hour we stand in the Place de Maubourguet, in the centre of

Tarbes.

Tarbes, as a city, has little to recommend it beyond its situation, in

the midst of a fertile plain, watered by the Adour, some of whose

tributary streams run through the streets, imparting freshness and

securing cleanliness. It has nothing to reveal to the lover of

antiquity--no vestige remaining of the architecture of the period when

Tarbes was celebrated as the place where the Black Prince held his

court.

The cathedral is a modern building, possessing no claim to notice; and,

except the royal _Haras_, there is nothing to detain the traveller.

Here, however, are some fine horses,--the best amongst them English,

except, indeed, a superb black barb, named Youssouf, once the property

of an ex-foreign minister more famous in the Tribune than on the Champ

de Mars. In consequence, as I was informed by one of the grooms, of the

minister's indifferent equitation, his majesty, Louis-Philippe,

purchased the barb and sent it hither. The most noticeable steeds

besides, are Rowlestone, Sir Peter, Windcliffe, and Skirmisher--the last

thirty-seven years' old--whose names bespeak their origin; there is also

a fine Arab from Algiers, named Beni. The Haras is beautifully kept, and

is surrounded by a fine garden, from whence the view of the distant

mountains, beyond Bagnères de Bigorre, is exceedingly grand.

In that direction I decided upon bending my steps, and, returning to my

hotel in the Place Maubourguet, my preparations for departure were soon

made.

The distance from Tarbes to Bagnères de Bigorre is not more than five

leagues, and the road thither would seem to be perfectly level, were it

not for the impetuous flow of the Adour, along the left bank of which we

travel, reminding us of the gradual ascent. The country is everywhere

highly cultivated; and the peasants were busily employed with their

second crops of hay, and securing their harvest of Indian corn. One

historical site attracts attention on leaving Tarbes;--the old Château

of Odos, where died, in 1549, "La Marguérite de Marguérites," Queen of

Navarre, the sister of Francis the First, whose name will ever be

associated with that of her adopted country. On this spot we lay down

our recollections of the past, absorbed, as we approach the mountains,

in the thoughts which their magnificence inspires,--which, while they,

too, speak of the past, are ever appealing to the present, in their

changeless forms and still enduring beauty, their might, their majesty,

and their loneliness.

The watering-place of Bagnères has been described by so many tourists,

that I spare the description here; and the more readily as it was nearly

deserted when I arrived. This was no drawback to one whose desire was to

enjoy the last days of autumn amongst the mountains while the weather

yet continued fine,--and lovely that autumn weather is, atoning by the

richness of its colours for the absence of beauties which belong to an

earlier season.

I accordingly made all the necessary arrangements for a guide and horses

to cross the Tourmalet on the next day, and devoted the remainder of a

lovely afternoon to the ascent of Mont L'Héris--a mountain that supplies

the botanist with treasures almost inexhaustible. Crossing the Adour by

a rude bridge of only one plank, and traversing some fields, filled with

labourers busily employed in getting in their harvest of Indian corn, I

reached the pretty little village of Aste, which lies buried in a deep

gorge, at the south-eastern base of the mountain. Aste has associations

connected with Henri Quatre; for in the castle, now a mere shell, once

resided the beautiful Gabrielle d'Estrées, who used here to receive her

royal lover. The Seigneur du Village is the Duc de Grammont--a name

which appears singularly out of keeping with this romantic and secluded

spot.

The ascent of Mont L'Héris is steep but not difficult, for the profusion

of flowers and richly-scented plants, scattered over the short elastic

turf, beguile the climber's path, and lure him pleasantly upward. The

first pause I made was on a bold projection, skirting the forest of

Haboura on one side, and on the other hanging over the beautiful valley

of Campan. Beneath me lay the town of Bagnères, and, far as the eye

could reach, extended the plain of Bigorre, with the clear waters of the

Adour marking their track like a silver thread. On the slope of a

neighbouring mountain the wild-pigeon hunters were spreading their nets;

for the _Chasse aux Palombes_ is nowhere so successfully followed as in

this part of the Pyrenees. It is a simple sport; but highly productive

to those engaged in it. I pursued my route towards the summit of the

mountain, the "_Penne de l'Héris_," as it is still called, retaining its

Celtic name. To do so, it was necessary to plunge into the thicket, and

for a long time I made my way scrambling over the slippery surface of

mossy rocks, as best I might, by the aid of the roots and lower branches

of the forest-trees. At length I emerged from the wood, and stood upon

the fertile pastures of the mountain; from whence the ascent to the

immense block of marble which crowns Mont l'Héris, is tolerably easy. It

is a singular mass, on the southern side of which is an enormous

excavation; amongst the _débris_ of which was a path that led to the

top. If the view below was lovely, this was magnificent; my eyes were,

however, riveted on one object--the towering height of the _Pic du

Midi_, which seemed almost immediately above my head; though the

mountain on the other side of the valley of Campan at our feet, showed

us how far distant it really was. Directed by the peasant-guide, who had

volunteered his services at Aste, I contrived to form a tolerable notion

of the track which I was to pursue on the morrow; and it was only the

warning shadows which began to creep over the valleys, and the clear

tones of the church bells, at Bagnères, marking the hour at which I had

promised to join the _table d'hôte_ at the Hôtel de France, that

expressively told me to loiter no longer on the mountains, lest darkness

should entangle my feet before I had cleared its steep declivities. I

made haste, therefore, to return to Bagnères, crossing the Adour this

time by a bridge no less picturesque than the former, but somewhat more

secure.

On the following morning I rose at daylight, and, at the moment fixed

upon, Charlet, the guide, whom I had agreed with, rode up to the door

of the hotel, leading another small, sturdy, mountain horse, and

accompanied by the inseparable companion of his wanderings, a bull-dog

named Pluto, which, had sex been considered, should have been called

Proserpine, though not for beauty.

We were soon clear of the town, and jogged pleasantly along the road,

which lay through the lovely valley of Campan--a scene whose beauty

cannot be too highly extolled. On the left hand flowed the rapid waters

of the Adour, beneath heights which seemed perpendicular, though Charlet

pointed to certain irregular lines which marked the track by which the

mountaineers descend on horseback, the very idea of which was enough to

make one shudder; on the right hand, the valley spread out into a

fertile district, whose gentle slopes gradually blended themselves with

the hills which formed the spurs of lofty mountains, and finally shut in

the view. In front, was constantly visible the snowy height of the _Pic

d' Orbizan_, towering 9,000 feet above the level of the valley.

It was a delicious morning, and the freshness of the air, the beauty of

the scenery, and the novelty of the situation, made me fain to linger in

this lovely spot; but there was too much before us to admit of delay,

and we trotted on merrily, every pause, as the road became steeper,

being filled up by the conversation of Charlet.

It is not undeservedly that the Pyrenean guides have acquired the

reputation they enjoy for intelligence and civility; and Charlet, of the

Hôtel de France, is certainly a most favourable specimen: frugal in his

habits, modest in his demeanour, and of great activity of body, he forms

the _beau ideal_ of a mountain cicerone. I asked him what superstitions

were still current in the mountains: he replied, but few; the increasing

intercourse with towns and travellers gradually effacing them from

popular belief. One, however, he named, which is curious:--Any one who

suddenly becomes rich without any visible means to account for it, is

said by the peasants to have found "_la gatta_;" in other words, to have

made a compact with the evil one, the evidence of which is afforded by

the presence of a black cat, whose stay in the dwelling of the

contracting party is productive of a gold coin, deposited every night in

his bedchamber. When the term has expired, the cat disappears, and ruin

invariably falls upon the unwary customer of the fiend. Charlet

accounted for the superstition in a very simple way. As smuggling is

constant amongst the mountaineers, so near the Spanish frontier, large

fortunes, comparatively speaking, are often made; and accident or envy

often deprives the possessor of his suddenly-acquired wealth, who may

lose his all by an information, or an unsuccessful venture.

Two leagues from Bagnères brought us to Sainte Marie, where the roads

separate,--one leading to Luchon, the other, to the right, across the

Tourmalet, to Barèges; the latter, which we followed, here makes a very

sensible ascent, but continues passable for carriages till we arrive at

the little village of Grip--the last cluster of habitations on this side

of the chain which divides the valley of Campan from that of the Bartan.

It is a wild and lonely place, and the loneliness of its position is

increased by our being able to mark with precision the spot where

cultivation ceases and nature asserts her uncontrolled dominion. Here

the road ceases altogether, a bridle-path alone conducting across the

still-distant ridge, called the Tourmalet, which is crowned by the

remoter heights of Neouvièlle and the Pic d'Espade, from whose base

flows the Adour--a slender but impetuous stream, whose course becomes

visible only as it issues from a dense forest of black fir, which

stretches half-way up the mountain.

The ascent to the Tourmalet occupied about two hours; and at high noon

we dismounted on the ridge, with the Bastan before us; on every side

innumerable peaks, and, winding along the valley, the road which leads

to Barèges. Besides those already named, the most conspicuous heights

are the Pic de l'Epée, the Pic de Bergons, and, at the further extremity

of the valley, the Monné, which overhangs Cauteretz, and is yet visible

from this point. The Valley of the Bastan is singularly desolate,

presenting nothing to the eye but the rugged flanks of mountains,

scored, as it would seem, by the rush of torrents, and massive rocks,

whose _débris_ lie scattered below, often obstructing the course of the

Gave, which finds its source in the melted snows of the Neouvièlle. Some

of the peaks near the Tourmalet are of peculiar form: one of them,

pointed out to me by Charlet, is called the _Campana de Vasse_--the Bell

of the Valley--which the mountaineers believe is to awaken the echoes of

the Pyrenees on the day of judgment, and call the dead before the last

tribunal.

After resting about an hour on the ridge of the Tourmalet, enjoying the

solitude of a scene which was interrupted but once--by a soldier, a

convalescent from the waters of Barèges, on his way back to join his

garrison at Tarbes,--we remounted, and rode slowly down the Bastan,

every turn of the road disclosing some fresh object to excite admiration

or surprise. When we reached Barèges, the place was entirely deserted by

visitors--even the houses were gone,--for the greater part of those

erected for the company who throng the valley in the summer, being

merely of wood, are removed to places of greater security than Barèges,

where they run the risk of being destroyed by the floods and "moving

accidents" of the mountains. We made no stay, therefore; but, like the

Lady Baussière, "rode on" at a leisurely pace, the more fully to enjoy

the wondrous beauties of the road between Barèges and Luz, where we

arrived about four o'clock in the afternoon.

There is only one hotel at Luz; but it is the best in the Pyrenees,--not

only for the nature of the accommodation, but the civility and attention

of the host, the hostess, and their pretty _protegée_, Marie, who acts

as waiter, _femme-de-chambre_, and _factotum_ to the establishment. A

good dinner was promised, and the promise was faithfully kept,--bear

witness the delicate blue trout, which I have nowhere met with so good,

except, perhaps, at Berne. But as there yet remained an hour or two of

daylight, I employed the interval in visiting the ruins of the old

feudal castle of St. Marie, and in sketching the church built by the

Templars, which resembles a fortalice, rather than a place of worship. I

examined the building carefully, but could not satisfy myself that I had

really discovered the walled-up entrance, by which alone, _it is said_,

the wretched cagots were formerly permitted to enter the church. The

figures which flitted near, pausing, occasionally, to inspect my work,

habited, as they were, in the long cloak and _capuchon_ of the country,

might well have passed for contemporaries of the superstitious fear

which excluded the unfortunate victims of disease from an equality of

rights with their fellow-men; but the cagot himself is no longer

visible. Here I loitered, till it was too dark to draw another line;

and then wended back to the _Hôtel des Pyrénées_, to recruit myself

after the fatigues of the day, and prepare for those of the morrow.

Long before the day broke, we were again in the saddle, and, as we

passed St. Sauveur, its long range of white buildings could only be

faintly traced; but, as we advanced, the snowy peak of Bergons, glowing

in the rays of the rising sun, seemed to light us on our way, and coily

the charms of the valley revealed themselves to my eager gaze. I have

wandered in many lands, and seen much mountain-scenery; but I think I

never beheld any that approaches the beauty and sublimity of the road to

Gavarnie. There is everything here to delight the eye, and fill the mind

with wonder,--

"All that expands the spirit, yet appals."

For some miles the road continues to ascend; in many places, a mere

horse-track, cut in the mountain side, and fenced by a low wall from an

abyss of fearful depth, in whose dark cavity is heard the roar of the

torrent which afterwards converts the generic name of Gave into one

peculiar to itself. The sides of the mountains are thickly clothed with

box, which grows to a great height; and at this season the Autumn tint

had given to it the loveliest hues, contrasting well with the dark pines

which climb to the verge of vegetation on the far-off slopes. Suddenly,

the character of the scene is altered,--the road descends--the foliage

disappears, or shows itself only in patches in the ravines, and masses

of dark grey rock usurp its place; the noisy waters of the Gave make

themselves more distinctly heard, and a few rude cottages appear. This

is the village of Gèdre: and here I witnessed one of those

mountain-effects which are often so terrible. A week before, two houses

stood by the way-side--the homes of the peasants whom we saw at work in

a neighbouring meadow. They were then, as now, employed in cutting grass

for hay, when a low, rumbling noise was heard in the valley, which soon

grew louder; and the affrighted labourers, casting their eyes upwards,

saw that an enormous rock had suddenly detached itself from the

mountain, and was now thundering down the steep. They fled with

precipitation, and succeeded in saving their lives; but when they

ventured to return to the spot, they found that an immense block had

fallen upon one of the cottages, crushing it into powder, and leaving

nothing standing but one of the gable ends. So it still remained,--and

so, no doubt, it will continue till the end of time; for the mass is too

ponderous to be moved by anything short of a convulsion of nature.

I could have wished to have turned aside at Gèdre to visit the Cascade

of Saousa, but Gavarnie beckoned onwards to greater attractions; so

again we pursued our route, and I speedily lost all thought for other

wonders in the tremendous passes which bear the name of Chaos, and of

which the best description can give but a faint and imperfect idea. The

huge masses of rock, looking like fallen buildings, which are strewn

along the valley in inextricable confusion, defy calculation. There they

lie, the consequence of some terrific _déboulement_, which must have

shaken the mountains to their centre when the mighty ruin was effected.

It is supposed that the accident may have occurred in the sixth century,

when a fearful earthquake disturbed the Pyrenees; but no written record

remains to attest it. On the first view of this scene of disorder, it

seems as if all further progress were stopped; but as we descend amongst

the enormous blocks, a path is found winding through them, which the

perseverance of the mountaineers has formed. Emerging from this terrific

glen, the pastures and fields which surround the village of Gavarnie

smile a welcome to the traveller, which is but ill-confirmed when he

reaches the gloomy inn--the last and worst in France. Here we abandoned

our horses, and after glancing at the cascade of Ossonne, I passed

hastily through the village, and, mounting on a flat rock, threw myself

down to gaze upon the stupendous Circus of Gavarnie, which, though still

a full league distant, appears, at the first glance, to be within a

quarter of an hour's walk. I was all impatience to reach the foot of

that cascade of which I had so often read, but which I scarcely ever

hoped to _see_, and, as soon as Charlet had stabled his steeds, we set

out. For the first mile the road lay between narrow meadows, which owe

their freshness to the Gave; these then gave place to a stony plain, the

dry beds of some ancient lakes; and having traversed their expanse, we

crossed the last bridge, constructed by the hands of man, over the

river, and then climbing a series of sharp, irregular ascents, which

would have passed for very respectable hills elsewhere, but here seemed

mole-heaps only, we stood, at length, on the perpetual snow, which forms

a solid crust at the foot of the circus of Gavarnie.

It seemed as if I had at length realised one of those dreams which fill

the mind when first we read the wondrous tales of old romance: it was,

indeed, the very spot described in one of the most celebrated of the

earliest cycle; but my thoughts were less of Charlemagne and his

paladins--though the Brèche de Roland was now within reach--than of the

stupendous grandeur of the scene. It required very little exercise of

fancy to imagine that we had arrived at the end of the world--so

perfectly impassable appeared the barrier which suddenly rose before us.

The frowning walls of granite which form the lowest grade of this vast

amphitheatre, rise to a height of twelve hundred feet perpendicularly,

and extend to nearly three-quarters of a league, increasing in width as

they ascend to the regions of eternal snow; where may be traced a

succession of precipices, until they are lost in the bases of the

Cylindre and the Tours de Marboré, themselves the outworks of the Mont

Perdu, from whose glaciers flow the numerous cascades which, in summer,

shoot from the lower ridge of the Circus.

The great waterfall of Gavarnie--the loftiest in Europe--pours its

slender stream from a height of upwards of thirteen hundred feet, on the

eastern side of the Circus, and in its snow-cold water I dipped my

travelling-cup, qualifying with veritable Cognac the draught I drank to

the health of distant friends.

My great desire was to make the ascent of the Brèche de Roland; but

Charlet had learnt, in the village where he made inquiry, that the snow

had fallen heavily on the mountains only the day before, and that,

consequently, it would be a matter of extreme difficulty and danger to

make the attempt. It was now past mid-day, and the time necessary for

accomplishing the ascent with the prospect of returning by daylight, was

too limited; so, with reluctance, I gave up the idea. The season at

which I visited Gavarnie was, indeed, too late (it was the 9th of

October,) to admit of being very excursive, for long days and steady

weather are absolutely necessary to enable one to do justice to

mountain-scenery. I resolved, however, to remain within the Circus as

long as I could, and, after descending to the _Pont de Neige_, from

whose blue depths rushes the Gave de Pau, I climbed a rock at the edge

of the snow, and sat there lost in admiration of the glorious scene. As

I looked in the direction of the Brèche, itself invisible from the spot

where I was, I observed an eagle soaring majestically above the cleft

where tradition points to the last exploit of the valorous nephew of

Charlemagne, whose type the imperial bird might well be deemed. It was

here, according to the _veracious_ chronicle of Archbishop Turpin, that,

after defeating the Saracen king, Marsires, in the pass of Roncesvalles,

Roland, grievously wounded, laid himself down to die, the shrill notes

of his horn having failed to bring him the succour he expected from his

uncle. It is in Roncesvalles that poets have laid the scene of his

death, where--

"On Fontarabian echoes borne

The dying hero's call"

resounded; and, if truth attaches to the received story of his death,

Roncesvalles is, no doubt, the site. But the legend has shed its romance

on the immortal heights of the towers of Marboré; and, to account for

the fissure in the rock, it must be with these in our recollection,

that we read that quaint apostrophe to his sword which the chronicler

has preserved:--

After laying himself down beneath a rock, Roland drew his sword,

Durendal, and regarding it _"with great pity and compassion,"_ he

exclaimed, in a loud voice, "plorant et larmoyant:"--

"O très beau cousteau resplendissant, qui tant as duré et qui as ésté si

large, si ferme et si forte, en manche de clere yvoire: duquel la croix

est faicte d'or et la supface dorée decorée et embellye du pommeau faiet

de pierres de beril; escript et engravé du grand nô de Dieu singulier,

Alpha et OO. Si bien tranchant en la pointe et environné de la vertu de

Dieu. Qui est celluy qui plus et oultre moy usera de ta saincte force,

mais qui sera desormais ton possesseur? Certes celluy qui te possédera

ne sera vaincu ny estonné, ne ne redoubtera toute la force des ennemys;

il n'aura jamais pour d'aucunes illusions et fantasies, car luy de Dieu

et de la grace sérôt en profection et sauvegarde. O que tu es eureuse

espée digne de mémoire, car par toy sôt Sarrazins destruictz et occis et

les gens infidèles mis a mort; dont la foy des Chrestiens est exaltée et

la louenge de Dieu et gloire partout le môde universel acquise. O a

combien de fois ay je vengé sang de vostre seigneur Jesu-christ par ton

puissât moyen, et mis à mort les ennemys de la nouvelle loy de grace en

ce nouveau temps acceptable de salut; côbien ay je tranché de

Sarrazins; combien de Juifs et aultres mescréant infidèles batus et

destruictz, pour exaltation et gloire de la saincte foy Chrestiennie!

Par toy noble cousteau tranchant Durendal de longue durée, la chevalerie

de Dieu le Créateur est accomplye et les pieds es mainz des larrons

acoustuméz qui gastoyent le bien de la chose publicque, gastéz et

separéz de leurs corps. J'ay vengé par autant de foys le sang de

Jesu-christ respendu sur terre que j'ay mis-à-mort par ton fort moyen

aucun Juif et Sarrazin. O, o espée très eureuse de la quelle n'est la

semblable n'a esté ne ne sera! Certes celluy qui t'a forgée jamais

semblable ne fist devant luy ny après; car tous ceulx qui ont esté de

toy blesséz n'ont pu vivre puis après. Si d'aventure aucû chevalier non

hardy ou paresseux te possède après ma mort j'en seray grandement

dolent. Et si aucun Sarrazin mescréant ou infidèle te touche aucunement

j'en suis en grant dueil et angoisse."

Having made this lamentation, the valiant Roland, resolving that his

weapon should never pass into other hands, raised his arm, and, with the

last effort of expiring nature, clove the massy rock in twain, breaking

the good sword, Durendal, into a thousand shivers by the force of the

blow.

The voice of Charlet roused me from the reverie into which I had fallen,

desiring me to look in the direction of the great cascade at a troop of

izards that were bounding up the rocks. I turned and saw the graceful

little creatures scaling, with inconceivable agility, heights which

seemed absolutely perpendicular, so slight is the hold which they

require for their tiny hoofs. It was but for a minute that I beheld

them; in the next they were lost behind a projecting rock, and I saw

them no more.

We now turned our faces down the valley, often, however, pausing to look

back; and before we again entered the village of Gavarnie we stopped at

the little old church to inspect the sculls called "Les crânes des douze

Templiers," who are said to have been beheaded by order of Philippe

le-Bel. Whether true or false, they are the only antiquities here--the

church being comparatively modern. At the unpromising inn we found our

horses refreshed by rest; and, without more ado, we remounted and

returned by the road we came to Luz, which we reached soon after

nightfall.

Quitting Luz the next morning, with much regret at being unable to

remain longer to explore the beauties which surround it, we took the

road to Pierrefitte, and, after a pleasant ride of about two hours, in

the course of which we passed through the most lovely scenery--the most

remarkable features of which are the depth and narrowness of the

mountain gorges, and the boldness of the bridges which span them, one in

particular bearing the characteristic name of the _Pont d'Enfer_--we

arrived at the Hôtel de la Poste at Pierrefitte, where my carpet-bag was

deposited, to lighten the load of Charlet's horse, for we had many

miles that day to travel. We then pushed on towards Cauteretz, ascending

by the old road, which, though steep, saves much time to those lightly

mounted; from its point of junction with the new one, it is as fine as

any in Europe, and the variety which it offers makes the valley as

beautiful as any in the Pyrenees, while it retains its own distinctive

character, caused by the greater quantity of foliage, thus gaining in

softness what it loses in grandeur. After crossing a fine bridge, about

half-way up the valley, the road takes a spiral direction, called _Le

Limaçon_, the buttresses which support it being remarkable for the

solidity and excellence of the masonry; and having made our way to the

summit, the peak of the Monné above Cauteretz became visible for the

first time since leaving the Tourmalet.

At Cauteretz we merely stopped to breakfast, my object being to visit

the Lac de Gaube, at the foot of the Vignemale. It was Sunday morning,

and a fair was being held in the market-place, the principal articles

for sale being the many-coloured chaplets manufactured at Betharram:

there were many pretty faces in the little stalls, and many sweet voices

offered their wares for sale; but I resisted the temptation--the more

readily, perhaps, from knowing that the glass beads would have very

little chance of remaining unbroken in a scrambling mountain-ride. About

half-a-mile from Cauteretz we fell in with a party of dragoons,

bringing their horses from the mineral springs, whither they are

sent--like other invalids--for cure, from the Haras of Pau and Tarbes.

The fine animals looked in excellent condition and spirits, and seemed

to have benefited wonderfully by the visit. Passing the baths, we

ascended the bridle-road above the Gave de Marcadaou, with dark forests

of pine on either hand--a favourite resort for bear-hunters. The great

charm of this road consists in the numerous cascades which mark the

course of the Gave; they are, without question, the most beautiful in

the Pyrenees, where the mountain-falls are, for the most part, deficient

in volume. The finest of these, where all are striking, is the cascade

of the Cerizet, which bears a greater resemblance to the falls of the

Aar, in the canton of Berne, than any I remember. It is not so massive a

fall, but it gave me the impression of being more picturesque, from the

effect produced by the superb pines which hang over it, whose branches,

covered with the spray which rises from the cascade, like vapour,

"Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees

Their medicinal gum----."

Charlet told me that we saw the Cerizet at the most fortunate hour; for

it is at mid-day that the "sun-bow rays," at this season,

"----Arch

The torrent with the many hues of heaven,"

and a lovely iris was settled on it at the moment we descended to a huge

rock, on which we stood to watch "the roar of waters."

Beyond the Cerizet are two other fine falls--the _Pas de l'Ours_ and the

_Coussin_--which we pass on the way to the Pont d'Espagne, where the

roads separate; the one in front leading into Spain by the Val de

Jarret, and the other--which turns suddenly to the left--crossing the

bridge, and conducting to the Lac de Gaube. The Pont d'Espagne is a most

picturesque object: two torrents unite a little below it, one of which

is the Marcadaou, the other the Gave that issues from the lonely lake;

the Marcadaou rushes over a broad, flat rock--foaming and boiling, as if

with rage to meet an expected enemy--while the deeper Gave throws itself

from its narrow bed, and twists and turns, apparently falling back on

itself, as if it sought to avoid the collision: they meet, however, and

after the first concussion they flow on, smoothly enough, till a sudden

turn hides them from our view, and we hear only their angry voices,

caused by some fresh interruption to their course. But to have the

finest view of the general effect, the bridge must be seen from below,

where a rock stands boldly out, intercepting the heady current. It is

constructed of fir-trees, felled on the spot, whose light stems,

standing out in relief against the clear blue sky, seem almost too

fragile to withstand the concussion caused by the "hell of waters"

beneath. Nowhere does the pine appear to so much advantage as beside the

Pont d'Espagne; some are the "wrecks of a single winter," others display

a profusion of dark foliage, and the branches of all are thickly covered

with grey parasitic moss, that hangs to them like hair, and gives to

them a most picturesque appearance, like bearded giants guarding the

romantic pass.

The narrow pathway through the forest, which leads to the Lac de Gaube,

is excessively steep, and turns at least twenty times as it pursues its

zigzag course. For the first half-hour nothing was visible but

pine-trees, firs, and blocks of granite; and the road was difficult even

for the sure-footed beasts which we bestrode; at length, we cleared the

wood, and at once the Vignemale rose in awful splendour before us, its

glaciers glittering in the sun, ten thousand feet above the bed of the

dark blue lake, itself at a vast elevation above the level of the sea.

Next to Gavarnie, this view of the Vignemale struck me as the most

impressive object I had seen, the presence of the still lake reminding

me of similar scenes in Switzerland; none of which, however, imparted

the sense of solitude so completely as this. It might possibly arise

from the associations belonging to the Lac de Gaube, the mournful

evidence of which was before my eyes, in the little tomb raised to the

memory of the unfortunate husband and wife who were drowned here in the

year 1832. It stands on a small, rocky promontory, enclosed by a light

iron rail, and the tablet bears the following inscription in French and

English, on opposite sides. I transcribed both, and give the latter:--

"This tablet is dedicated to the memory of William Henry Pattisson, of

Lincoln's Inn, London, Esq., barrister at law; and of Susan Frances, his

wife, who, in the 31st and 26th years of their age, and within one month

of their marriage, to the inexpressible grief of their surviving

relations and friends, were accidentally drowned together in this lake,

on the 20th day of September, 1832. Their remains wore conveyed to

England, and interred there at Witham, in the county of Essex."

The account given me of the manner in which the accident occurred was,

that Mr. and Mrs. Pattison visited the lake from Cauteretz in _chaises à

porteurs_, and that Mr. Pattison went first of all alone in the boat,

having vainly urged his wife to accompany him: after pulling some

distance out, he paused, and, by his voice and gestures, intimated how

charmed he was with the effect; he then returned to the shore, and

overcame Mrs. Pattison's repugnance to enter the boat. She stepped in,

and he again rowed about half a mile, when suddenly he was seen by the

men on shore to rise in the boat, and in an instant it was overset, and

both were plunged in the lake. Mr. Pattison sunk at once, but his

wife's clothes buoyed her up for a considerable time; ineffectually,

however, for none of the bearers of the _chaises à porteurs_ could swim;

her cries were in vain, and she, too, perished. How the accident arose,

none can tell, and a mystery must for ever hang over the fatal event.

On seeing the wretched apology for a boat, which is still used by the

fisherman who keeps a little _auberge_ beside the lake, and is the same

in which the sad catastrophe occurred, no one can be surprised that an

accident should have happened; the only wonder is that it did not

founder altogether, for it is little better than the trunk of a tree

hollowed out, and turned adrift to take its chance of sinking or

floating. Into this crazy contrivance I had no desire to venture, the

lake appearing too cold for an impromptu bath.

Reluctantly, from hence, as from every other spot which I visited in the

Pyrenees, I turned away, longing to have ascended the Vignemale, but

knowing too well how few were the days allotted to my mountain

excursion.

We returned by the same route to Pierrefitte, and then bid adieu to the

sublimities of the _Hautes Pyrénées_; for, beautiful as the country is

at the foot of the mountains, its beauty is tame, and produces,

comparatively, little effect on the mind until time has effaced the

first impression. It was late that night before we reached Argelez,

where the _Hôtel du Commerce_ received us.

For fertility, and all the softer charms that render a landscape

pleasing, there is, perhaps, no place on earth that exceeds the valley

of Lavedan, in which Argelez is situated. It is "a blending of all

beauties," tempting the traveller to pause upon the way, and set up his

rest in a region where everything seems to speak of peace and happiness.

The inhabitants, however, can scarcely be happy, for the disease of

_crétinism_ is more widely spread here than in any other place in the

department. The valley is famous for the breed of Pyrenean dogs, which

are to be met with everywhere in the mountains, guarding the flocks and

herds. It was my fortune to acquire a very fine specimen, only a

fortnight old, which travelled with me in a basket to London, and six

months afterwards, the largest kennel could scarcely contain it. These

dogs are excessively strong, and are esteemed fierce; but their

fierceness belongs rather to the wild life they lead amidst bears and

wolves, to whom they prove formidable antagonists.

On one of the hills which skirt the valley of Castelloubon, between

Argelez and Lourdes, I once more obtained a view of the Mont Perdu,

distant now upwards of forty miles; it was the last glimpse of the

wonders of the Hautes Pyrénées that was vouchsafed to me.

The garrisoned fortress of Lourdes,--the picturesque bridge and convent

of Betharram, and the smiling plain which borders the Gave de Pau, were

all passed in turn, and on the evening of the fifth day from my

departure I was again in the streets of Pau.

CHAPTER VI.

VALLÉE D'OSSAU--LE HOURAT--THE RIO VERDE--EAUX CHAUDES EAUX

BONNES--BIELLE--IZESTE--SACCAZE, THE NATURALIST.

"Salut Ossau, la montagnarde,

La Béarnaise, que Dieu garde!

Avec bonheur je te regarde,

Douce vallée!--et sur ma foy

Parmi tes soeurs que je desire,

De Leucate à Fontarable

Je te dis que la plus jolie

Ne peut se comparer à toi."

Ancienne Balade.

ON rather a cold morning, early in October, we set out from Pau for the

Vallée d'Ossau; the road between the hills covered with vines of

Jurançon. Gan and Gelos are extremely pretty. We passed a house which

was pointed out to us as belonging to the Baron Bernadotte, nephew to

the King of Sweden, who, being a native of Pau, divides the honours of

the town with Henry IV. Formerly, in this spot stood a castle, where a

singularly Arcadian custom prevailed; every shepherd of the Vallée

d'Ossau who passed by that spot with his flock, was required to place a

small branch of leaves in a large ring fixed on the portal. If their

lords insisted on no heavier homage than this, their duty was not very

severe.

We passed through Gan--a wretched-looking village, once of great

importance; one of the _thirteen towns_ of Béarn; originally surrounded

by walls and towers, of which nothing now remains except a few stones,

which have served to build the houses. A _tourelle_ is shown in the

place as having formed part of the house of Marca, the historian of

Béarn: there is an inscription on it, and arms, with the date of 1635.

The further we advanced the more the scenery improved, and as we

followed the course of the beautiful, rapid, and noisy river Nès, which

went foaming over its shallow, stony bed, making snowy cascades at every

step, we were delighted with the gambols of that most beautiful of

mountain-torrents, which appears to descend a series of marble stairs of

extraordinary extent, rushing and leaping along the solitary gorge like

a wild child at play.

The village of Sévignac opens the Vallée d'Ossau; and a host of

villages, and a wide spread of pasture-land, with high mountains

stretching far away into the distance, were before us. We breakfasted at

Louvie, and then continued our route, the road becoming wilder, and

having more character, than hitherto; we seemed now to have entered the

gorges, and to be really approaching the great mountains, which, in

strange and picturesque shapes, rose up in all directions around us. The

most striking object here, is an isolated mount, on the summit of which

stand the ruins of a feudal tower, called Castel Jaloux, built by Gaston

Phoebus, for the convenience of holding the assemblies of Ossau, there

to meet the viscounts who were independent of the kingdom of Béarn. The

village of Castets is at the base of the rock, concealed amidst thick

foliage: this situation is charming, in the midst of gigantic steeps and

rich valleys, with the Gave foaming at its foot.

Laruns, the chief town of the canton, is a long, straggling town, almost

Swiss in the construction of its houses: it has a small antique church,

where there is a _bénitier_, curiously ornamented with figures of

_syrens_: this is a favourite ornament in this part of the world,

difficult to be explained, unless it is intended to represent some

water-nymphs of the different Gaves, for it is too far from the sea to

have any allusion to an ocean spirit. The road divides here, one route

leading to the Eaux Bonnes, the other to the Eaux Chaudes; we proposed

visiting the former on our way back, our intention being, if possible,

to attempt the ascent of the Pic du Midi d'Ossau.

We continued to mount by a fine road, having magnificent views before

and around, in order the better to enjoy which, we chose to walk for

some distance up the height, between walls of rock, of all colours and

shapes, covered with purple heath, and changing leaves, and delicate

flowers of various hues. When we reached the summit, we found ourselves

in a narrow defile, where a party of peasants were endeavouring, by main

force, to assist a huge cart, drawn by labouring and straining horses,

up the precipitous ascent--a perilous and painful work, which, however,

they accomplished very well. We heard beyond a hoarse murmur, which told

us we should soon rejoin the Gave, which here runs under the rocks, and

reappears in a bed, upwards of four hundred feet deep. The high rocks

seemed nearly to meet, and form a way exactly like the approach to a

fortified castle: this pass is called _Le Hourat_. A little chapel is

built at the other end of the opening, enclosing a figure of the

Virgin--an object of great veneration in the neighbourhood. There was

formerly here a long inscription in honour of the visit to the baths of

the Princess Catherine, sister of Henry the Fourth; but every trace of

it has disappeared, though there are many travellers whose eyes are so

good as to be able to discern it, notwithstanding the fact of its having

been carefully erased at the time of the great Revolution, when no royal

_souvenir_ was permitted to remain.

From this point, to the village of the Eaux Chaudes, the way is the most

savage, wild, and beautiful that can be imagined: the torrent raving

along its rocky bed, and foaming cataracts tumbling into its waters from

numerous woody heights; at length we saw the little nest where the baths

lie concealed; and descended between steep rocks, which shut the valley

in so closely, that it appears almost possible to touch the two sides,

which incline as if to form a canopy over the houses. We secured rooms

for the night at the hotel--a very large one, and, in moderately warm

weather, no doubt pleasant enough; but at this period all was as chill

and dreary as if it had been in December. With much delay and difficulty

we procured horses, and lost no time in setting out for Gabas, though

the ominous appearance of the sky promised but little for our attempt;

however, for the seven miles we rode along the exquisite

valley--unequalled in its kind--nothing could exceed the delight and

admiration I felt at the grandeur of the unexpected scenery; piles of

naked rocks rose on one side of the road--which is as good as

possible--while on the other they were covered with trees of every

growth, with, as we advanced higher, a few pines appearing here and

there; the torrent met us, rushing down impetuously over large and more

encumbering blocks of stone, which, impeding its course, caused the

waters to leap and struggle and foam and dash, till clouds of spray

filled the valley, and its thundering voice echoed through the hollow

caverns on the banks: its rich _green_ colour, as clear as crystal, came

out brilliantly from its crest of foam, so that the stream looked really

a _Rio Verde_.

Long silver lines of shining water came trickling or rushing down from

every height amongst the trees and shrubs, sometimes splashing across

our path, and joining a little clear course which was hurrying forward

to throw itself down the rock into the bosom of the mother Gave, on the

other side. We stopped our horses so often to contemplate the beautiful

_accidents_ of rock and torrent, that by the time we reached the village

of Gabas the day was closing in, and we found that it would take us two

hours to reach the summit of the great mountain, which we scarcely

remembered, in our pleasure at the beauties of the ride, had never been

visible to us for a moment; in fact, a heavy mist hung over the snowy

peaks, all of which were shrouded. Scarcely regretting the necessity for

retracing our steps, we turned back, and had another view of the wonders

of the lovely valley. The mountains now wore a more sombre hue, and the

deepened shadows gave a severer character to the ravines. An eagle

sailed majestically over our heads, much to my delight, as it was the

only incident which we seemed to want to render the scene complete in

lonely grandeur. That which is unaccustomed has a greater power over the

imagination; and to me, who had never seen Switzerland or Italy, and to

whom eagles were almost a fable, the solemn flight of one of these

monarchs of the air, so peculiar in its movements, sailing along the

peaks above the cataracts, was very impressive. It was then, by the

shaking I experienced at every step, that I was aware how very steep had

been our ascent the whole way from the Eaux Chaudes; our little sturdy

mountain-ponies had cantered on so gaily, that I imagined we were on

even ground: so far from which, we found on the return the motion so

painful, that most of us got off our horses and walked. It was nearly

dark when we arrived at the hotel, and we were not sorry to crowd round

a blazing fire, and find all prepared for our refreshment.

The night was like winter, and the incessant roaring of the torrent

prevented anything approaching sleep; but the sun rose brightly, and the

next day was perfectly warm and genial. We took our way to Bonnes, and

found the beauty of the journey increased by the fine effects of light

and shade which the improved weather allowed; and, as we mounted the

steep hill leading to the village, nothing could exceed the splendour of

the view; the snowy top of the Pic de Ger, which the day before was not

visible, now came out from a canopy of clouds; and huge rocks and

verdant mountains, at different heights, descended in steps to the rich

and glowing valley beneath, dotted with white cottages and thick groves:

the Gave, on one side spanned by a beautiful picturesque bridge, rushes

down on the other into a profound ravine, through which its waters run a

subterranean course, till they reappear below the Hourah.

The brilliant sun which favoured us exhibited the Eaux Bonnes in its

best light, and it seemed a delightful contrast to the chilly gorge we

had left at the Eaux Chaudes. The hotels are well furnished, and there

appears every convenience for the numerous visitors who crowd here in

the summer. We walked to a fine waterfall just behind the inn where we

stopped,--formed by the Valentin and the Sonde,--which is grand in the

extreme. There are several other fine cascades in the neighbourhood, but

this was the only one I saw. A way by a pretty, narrow, winding path to

the top of a heathy hill is charming, and here a rustic temple is

erected from whence the view is enchanting. Behind rises the majestic

Pic de Ger, rugged and hoary, crowned with snow, the first that had

shown itself in this region. The rocks and mountains are quite close,

pressing in upon the village, and its establishment of baths; but, as

the situation is on a height, it has a less confined appearance than the

valley of the rival baths, and was, on the day we visited it, like

another climate,--warm and genial: it must be extremely hot in the

summer, as, indeed, all these gorges cannot fail to be. We talked to a

lively young woman at the window of one of the now deserted

boarding-houses, who told us she was a native of the Eaux Chaudes, whose

merits she considered so superior to those of the Eaux Bonnes, that she

had never deigned to cast her eyes, she said, up towards the paltry

mountain of Ger, which the people of this gorge had the presumption to

compare to that of the Pic du Midi: "One is here buried alive," said

she, "with no walks, no mountains, no torrents; it is quite a waste of

life, and I am resolved never to go to the top of that mole-hill of Ger,

about which they make such a fuss: how disgusted you must be with it

after the other!" She had once been to Pau, which she considered another

Paris, but not so gay as the Eaux Bonnes; so that we learnt another

lesson, which convinced us that every person sees with different eyes

from his neighbours, and "proudly proclaims the spot of earth" which has

most interest for him, the best.

We were free to differ with this fair Ossalaise; for, much as we admired

her beautiful valley, we could not but give its rival nearly as much

praise; admiring in particular the stupendous waterfall of the Valentin,

where we lingered some time, climbing about the rocks, almost stunned by

the roar of the waters, which break from the rock in three divisions;

and so rushing over the projecting buttresses till they subside in the

broad, cold, pebbly lake below.

The Vallée d'Ossau is said to combine all the beauties of the Pyrenees;

and is certainly one of the most enchanting spots in nature: the scenery

reminded me, in some degree, of that at the Mont Dore, in Auvergne; but,

though superior in some respects, the magnificent _plateaux_ of gigantic

pines were wanting. It is necessary, in the Pyrenees, to ascend much

higher than we did to behold this growth,--a few straggling firs of

insignificant size are all that are to be seen in the lower range; but I

believe they are very fine in some parts.

We stopped at Bielle to visit the Roman pavement, which has only lately

been discovered; it was shown to us by a woman who was surrounded by

five little children with black eyes and rosy cheeks; for this region is

the Paradise of children; they all look so healthy and handsome. The

mother, though still young, looked ten years older than she really

was,--worn and tanned, like all I had hitherto seen; her remarkably

small feet were bare, and she wore the fringed leggings peculiar to this

part, which have a singularly Indian appearance. Beauty is said to be

common in this country; but we had not met a single female who deserved

to be called so; nor did the costume strike us as otherwise than coarse

and ungraceful: in this particular forming a great contrast to the

peasantry of Switzerland, with whose mountains there is here a

parallel. The _patois_ spoken by this family sounded very musical and

pretty; and we remarked that the villagers in general seemed gentle and

civil: a little boy, who constituted himself our guide, was a strange

figure, actually covered with rags and tatters, which hung about him in

the most grotesque drapery, as if it had been studied to create

laughter: the village looked the very picture of poverty, desolation,

dirt, and ruin: the church is a piece of antiquity of great interest. It

has evidently been a pagan temple; and, ranged in an outer court,

surrounded by circular arches, are placed some stone coffins, which

excite wonder and interest; three of them have the lid of the ridged

form, called _dos d'âne_: the other is flattened, and all are uninjured.

They might seem to belong to the period when Charlemagne's knights

required so many tombs in this land. It was in re-constructing a new

vestry-room that these treasures were discovered beneath the worn stones

which had been removed: no inscriptions give a hint to whom they may

have belonged, and there they lie, side by side, mysterious relics of

the times of chivalry.

The pillars inside the church are very celebrated for their extreme

beauty: they are of white and blue jasper, found in a quarry near

Bielle. A story is told of Henry IV., who greatly admired these pillars,

having sent to request the town to make him a present of them, as he

found nothing in his capital that could compare with their beauty; he

received this answer: "Bous quets meste de noustes coos et de noustes

beés; mei per co qui es Deus pialars diu temple, aquets que son di Diu,

dab eig quep at bejats." "You may dispose of our hearts and our goods at

your will; as for the columns, they belong to God; manage the matter

with Him."

The Ossalais in this showed no little wit; or, if the tradition is not

founded on fact, the story still exhibits their powers of setting a due

value on their possessions in a striking light. Bielle was once a place

of great importance, and its church belonged to an abbey of

Benedictines: there was formerly a stone on the façade, on which was

engraved the arms of the Valley--a _Bear and a Bull_, separated by a

beech tree, with this device: "_Ussau é Bearn. Vive la Vacca_." The

ancient archives of Ossau are kept in a stone coffer at Bielle; and the

dignitaries of the country repair to this spot at certain periods of the

year to consult on the affairs of the communes. What habitation they

find wherein to meet, suitable to their dignity, it would be difficult

to say.

We stopped an hour at Izeste, and strolled along the one street of this

wretched bourg while our horses rested: over almost every house we were

surprised to see sculptured stones, with half-effaced arms, showing that

once persons of condition inhabited these now degraded dwellings. One in

particular, in a singular state of preservation, represented the

cognizance of the house of Lusignan, and here we did indeed see the

effigy which we had failed to find at the castle near Poitiers, of the

serpent-tailed Fairy Melusine. We went into the house of the proprietor,

who, with his mother and several of his neighbours, hurried out, after

peeping from their windows to watch the operation of the sketching of

Melusine, and invited us to see another head of a woman which he had

found in the garden of his tenement. We passed along several dim, dark

passages, and through large, square, dungeon-like rooms, apparently

serving as stables, to the garden, where we found numerous remains of

ancient Roman wall and bricks and broken columns, and the head of a

statue much defaced. Every house seemed capable of exhibiting similar

remains, and on many were dates in stone of 1613, 1660, 1673. One tower

of defence is tolerably perfect; and walls and remnants of gates here

and there prove how strong and how important Izeste once must have been.

We entered a court-yard, where a tailor was sitting working close by a

curious door-way, which appeared like the entrance to a church, and was

built into a wall, forming part of what was formerly a large mansion. We

were so much struck with the extraordinary sculpture round the arch,

that we inquired if there was any record of what it had been. The tailor

looked up surprised: "Well," said he, "I have lived here all my life,

and never took notice of this door-way before: we have plenty of old

stones here; but they are worth nothing, and mean nothing, that I know

of."

The carving which so excited our curiosity was a series of medallions:

some circular, some square, very much mutilated, but still traceable. On

one compartment were the figures of a bear _rampant_, and--what might

be--a bull: they seemed in the act of combat, and possibly might

represent the arms of Béarn and Ossau, though I confess I look upon them

as of _very early_ date--perhaps the work of the Gauls or Goths, _selon

moi_; another enclosed a Sagittarius and a dog; another, an animal like

a wolf, holding a club; another, an ape: the rest are too much worn to

enable an antiquarian to decide what they were; but the whole offered a

very singular and interesting problem, which we found it impossible to

solve: the medallions are on stones which have evidently belonged to

some other building, and been thus placed over a modern portal.

There is a cavern in the neighbourhood of Izeste, which is said to be

worth visiting; but the weather was not propitious to our seeing it.

We stopped on the way from the Eaux Bonnes, on our return, at a place

where our driver purchased us some ortolans, and we were almost stunned

with the noise and clamour of a crowd of little urchins, with flowers

and without, who, in whining accents, insisted on sous; but there was

nothing either pretty or romantic about them or their costume; and we

were very glad when, having procured the delicate little birds we waited

for, we could resume our route. This was just at the season of _La

Chasse des Palombes_--a time of much importance in the valley, when

hundreds of a peculiar sort of pigeons are sacrificed.