"'How! exclaimed Odon d'Artignelouve; 'dost thou give me the lie? Here

is my gage of battle: let him take it up who will.' And, throwing his

glove into the midst of the assembly, he continued:

"'I, Odon d'Artiguelouve, to all gentlemen present and to come--knights

and nobles--offer to maintain my words, with sword, or battle-axe, or

lance, against all who shall have the boldness to deny that yonder old

man, wrapped in a dark mantle, now before us, has dared to trample under

foot our laws and ordinances, and sully by his impure presence our noble

assembly; for he is no other than a vile Cagot, leprous and infected,

belonging to the Cagoterie of Lurbe, hid, like a nest of snakes, amongst

the rocks of Mount Binet, at the entrance of the Vallée d'Aspe.'"

A shudder of horror ran through the crowd as these words were uttered.

"'And I,' cried the knight, in a voice of furious indignation--'I,

Raymond, the adopted son of Augerot de Domezain,--whose real name will,

I trust, one day appear,--in virtue of my privileges, my title, and my

oath, protest, in defiance of thy rank, thy strength, and thy youth; in

despite of thy sword, thy lance, and thy battle-axe,--I protest, in the

face of God and the men who hear me, that, from the crown of thy head to

the sole of thy foot, thou art an infamous and perjured impostor,--a

traitor as black as hell can make thee,--and that thou hast lied in thy

throat. My arm and my sword are ready to engrave upon thy body, in

characters of blood, the truth of my words!'"

The tone of energetic conviction with which Raymond spoke, his bold and

martial bearing, the flash of his eye, and the indignant rage of his

manner, impressed his hearers as they listened, and a murmur of applause

followed his exclamation. Marie, pale as death, sat like a statue of

marble; her hands clasped, her breath suspended, and her eyes fixed

wildly on the trembling old man,--the object of all attention.

Odon was about to reply, when Count Gaston, with a heightened colour and

an excited air, rose and spoke:

"We are," he said, "deeply displeased that such a discussion should have

disturbed the peace of our assembly. You are not ignorant, Sir Raymond,

that our laws accord to all men of Béarn the right of combat against the

aggressor who has outraged him by the injurious epithets of false and

traitor. And you, Sir Odon, remember that here, as in the _Cour Majour_,

we owe justice to all,--to the weak as well as the strong; and that,

before judgment, proof is necessary."

* * * * *

The old man is now required by Odon to stand forth and answer in full

assembly whether he is not called Guilhem, whether he is not a Cagot,

and whether he is not a member of the Cagoterie of Lurbe.

A profound silence ensues in the assembly; all, in breathless anxiety,

await the answer of the accused, who stands hesitating and apparently

unable to utter a word; at length, with an effort, and in a hoarse and

trembling voice, he falters from beneath the thick hood which he had

drawn over his face, "Heaven has so decreed it--Alas! it is a fatal

truth!" Now comes the triumph of the rival of the unfortunate knight; he

starts up, wild and fierce, exultation trembling on his envenomed

tongue:

"Béarnais!" cried he; "listen to me! If this man, who has dared to call

me false and traitor, were a knight, as he calls himself, or a noble,

like me, he would, by our laws, be entitled to claim the right of duel,

to which he had provoked me, on foot or on horseback, armed at all

points; or, were he a man belonging to the people, I being a gentleman,

he could oppose me with a shield and a club; or were we both equally

peasants, we could fight, each armed according to our rank. But, were I

ten times the aggressor, and he the offended party, all combat between

him and me is impossible, for he is beneath the knight, the noble, the

citizen, the serf, the labourer; beneath the lowest degree in the scale

of humanity--beneath the beasts themselves; he is a vile Gesitain, a dog

of a leper, an infamous and degraded Cagot, and yonder stands his

father!"

* * * * *

Horror takes possession of all--knight, lady, prince, and people. In

vain the unfortunate Guilhem, throwing back his cowl and imploring to be

heard, proclaims aloud that he is not the father of the noble knight;

that Raymond does not belong to their unhappy race, and calls the

Redeemer to witness that he speaks the truth; he is treated with scorn

and contempt, and the popular fury rises at the disavowal.

Gaston Phoebus commands silence, and calls upon the knight to disprove

the fact alleged, and confirm the hope he entertains; but Raymond has no

words but these:

"No, noble Prince; I have no power to speak other than the truth; and

were the torments I endure ten times heavier, I have only to

confess--this is, indeed, my father."

Marie, as he spoke, uttered a wild shriek, and fell senseless to the

ground; a yell burst from the crowd, joy and triumph glowed on the

countenances of Odon and his mother, and Gaston Phoebus cast himself

back in his seat, and covered his face with his robe.

"'Go, Cagot!' roared the pitiless Odon; 'who now is a false traitor, who

now has lied, and proved himself a vile impostor? Away with thy helmet,

thy sword, and thy spurs; away with all the armour of the craven! Let

the herald at arms degrade thee before the world! Where is now thy name,

thy titles, thy prerogatives? where are thy fiefs and thy domains? Thy

name is _Cagot_, thy possessions leprosy, and every foul disease--every

impurity of soul and body; thy castle is a mud hut in the Cagoterie of

Lurbe, and this is thy blazon!'"

As he spoke he raised his arm in the air, and, with the frantic force of

hate, dashed in the face of the distracted Raymond a piece of red cloth

cut into the form of a _goose's foot_.

At the sight of this emblem the populace rose with fury, and rushed in a

body, with savage cries, on the unfortunate pair.

* * * * *

A scene of horror now takes place; Raymond is deserted by all his

people but one, his favourite man-at-arms, and the generous Arnauton,

who will not quit his adopted brother even in such degradation; together

they stand against the mob, whose rage the Prince himself is unable to

restrain. Odon leads them on; the poor old man is with difficulty

rescued from their grasp by the determined valour of his defenders, who

are, however, too few to contend against their foes, and Odon is on the

point of attaining the object of his wishes, and beholding the heart's

blood of his rival--when assistance comes in the shape of the young

Cagot who had saved the life of Ena Marie. At the moment when the blow

is falling, and Raymond has no chance of escape, he darts forward, and,

seizing Odon in his powerful grasp, drags him to the bridge of the Gave,

which is thrown over the torrent, where a mill-wheel is working. There a

fearful struggle goes on, which is closed by both combatants being

precipitated into the stream, to reappear crushed and mangled by the

mighty engine under which they fell.

The bravo young Cagot casts one dying look, full of tenderness and

gratitude, towards those who watch his end with pity and despair, and

all is over.

* * * * *

On the evening of that fatal day, Guilhem and Raymond, both exhausted

and overcome with grief and fatigue, rest themselves in a miserable hut,

far away amongst the rocks, in one of the steepest and wildest gorges

of Mont Binet. It was one of the accursed and abhorred dwellings of the

Cagot village of Lurbe.

The night was black and fearful: a tempest raged in all its terrors

without, and occasional gusts of wind and rain penetrated the wretched

retreat where the unfortunate fugitives sat, their vestments torn, and

their bodies as severely wounded as their minds. Several Cagots, both

male and female, from other cabins near, hovered round them, tenderly

administering to their wants, and preparing such balms to heal their

wounds as their simple knowledge afforded. They accompanied these

friendly offices with tears and passionate gesticulations, accompanied

by half inarticulate exclamations, such as savages, unused to speech,

might do in a strange unvisited land.

"'It is, then, true, my father,' said Raymond, as he looked round on

these beings, ill-clothed, poor, degraded by oppression and contempt,

scarcely endowed with common intelligence, and miserable to regard--'It

is, then, true, that you are a Cagot, and that these are my brothers and

my equals? Ah! why did you let me wander into a world which I ought

never to have known? Why did you not let me live and die a Cagot as I

was born? These, then, are Cagots!'

"'Yes,' cried Guilhem, weeping bitterly; 'Yes, we are Cagots, and all

men are our persecutors; and yet, when one of _their_ children falls

into our hands, we do not ill-use it, we do not torture it, we do not

crush it beneath the wheels of a mill; we do good for evil, and they

repay us by evil alone! Ah! I am as if bound on a flaming pile, my tears

are like molten lead on my cheeks. I!--a wretched, vile Cagot!--I should

die with pity if I saw one of my executioners in the state to which they

have reduced me!'

"'My father, my dear father, calm yourself,' said Raymond, with tender

affection; 'your son, at least, is left you.'

"'No, no,' cried the old man, passionately;'my son is not left me; my

son is dead; he was torn in pieces by the mill-wheel of Orthez. I am not

your father; you are not--you never were, you never can be--my son;

this is the first word of the secret I have to tell you.'

"'What do you tell me!' cried Raymond, in amazement! 'Your disavowal was

not, then, a deception, prompted by paternal affection! What! are you

not my father? and was that generous creature, sacrificed for my sake,

indeed your son!'

"'He was my child, my only child! the only living being attached to me

by the ties of blood--the only creature who would have listened to my

last agonized sigh at my hour of death. And see what was his fate, for

me! I allowed him to venture for my sake amongst the ferocious people;

see to what an end his devotion and gratitude to you had led him!' So

saying, the unfortunate old man uncovered the mutilated remains of his

unfortunate son, rescued from the stream, and transported to the spot by

the compassionate care of Arnauton d'Espaigne. The body lay on a rustic

couch, enveloped in a white shroud, which is always, according to the

usage of the country, prepared long before death, a taper of yellow wax

shed its feeble rays on the corpse'."

The grief and lamentations of Guilhem are interrupted by the rites which

then take place; the men wringing their hands, and gesticulating, and

cursing the cruelty of the world: the women weeping and wailing; and one

of those endowed with poetical powers, improvising a lament over the

body, uttering her words in a melancholy cadence, deeply expressive of

the grief of all.

"'Alas, Gratien!' she moaned; 'thou hast then left us! thou hast

deserted thy aged father--gone without a pressure of the hand! Gratien,

may God receive thy soul! To live is to suffer. Life is like the wheel

by which thou wert torn. Thou wert in the right to fly it. Happy child!

thou art gone to a place where there are no Cagots, no men to persecute

thee; thou wilt know now who were the ancestors from whom we descend.

Thou hast no more use for the pruning-knife and the infamous axe. No

more toil nor suffering await thee; no more contempt nor outrage!

Accursed be the wheel, oh, Gratien, which crushed thee! never may the

torrent wash out thy blood which stains it; let it turn for ever red and

bloody! No bell tolled for thy soul; but the thunder and the wind, oh,

Gratien! Toll louder still--no bell for the Cagot! But Heaven weeps with

us, the trees groan with us. Old man! thou dost not weep alone. Adieu,

dear Gratien, thy body is returned to thy cabin; but thy soul, escaped

the demon, is fled on a beam of the moon to the great house of heaven!

Yes, he cries--I am in heaven; I am telling the Cagots, our ancestors,

that their children are still in suffering!'"

* * * * *

Guilhem, comforted by the tenderness of Raymond, recovers in some

degree his self-possession, and proceeds to relate to the young knight

the manner of his falling, when an infant, into his charge. The

narrative is as follows:--

"'In 1360, twenty-six years ago, when I was myself thirty-nine years of

age, the event happened which I have now to tell you. I was a Cagot from

my birth, by my parents and my ancestors--a proscribed outcast of unkind

nature, like these you see around--poor, ignorant, timid, and a mark for

insult and contempt. I had already suffered much; for God, alas! had

given me a heart formed to feel and to love; yet long habits of

endurance had, in great measure, rendered it callous and insensible,

unaided as I was by intellectual culture.

"'I married a woman of my race; but, after a year, she died, leaving me

in lonely widowed sorrow, with one child. Alas! he has just rejoined his

mother, and rude is the journey which has conducted him to her!

"'At this period, as you know, and as I afterwards learnt from the mouth

of your venerable preceptor, the holy hermit, all France was overrun

with bands of marauders and robbers of every nation, called the

_late-comers_.[48] Béarn was no more free from them than other parts of

the kingdom. One day, I was returning from Oloron, my heart more sad

than usual,--cursing men and life, for I had been the object of new

injuries,--when a chief of one of these predatory bands suddenly

presented himself before me; and, addressing me, said: 'Good man, will

you do a kind action? Take this infant, abandoned to my men-at-arms by

an unfaithful servant. I have saved it from their inhumanity: it has

that about it which will pay your trouble.' I saw that he held in his

arms a child, who was weeping bitterly; when I looked on its lovely

face--round, innocent, and rosy--my heart was touched, and I accepted

the charge.

[Footnote 48: Tard-venus.]

"'Alas! the sweet creature knew not that it had fallen into the hands of

a Cagot; for no sooner had I received it on my bosom, than it ceased

crying; and, so far from showing repugnance to one about to become its

father, its hands were stretched towards me, and it smiled in my face.

My dear Raymond, thou wert this infant sent by Providence to my care.'"

* * * * *

The old man then relates his bringing home the child; employing a goat

to nourish it; and at length confiding it to the charge and instruction

of the hermit of Eysus, the only being whose religion or charity allowed

him to listen to the confession of the Cagot. While Raymond, however,

was yet an infant, and but a short time after Guilhem had received him,

the latter was, one day, returning from an expedition to the town, where

the wants of his family obliged him to resort, and passed by the ruins

of the old tower (the very place in which Raymond afterwards became a

prisoner, and was rescued, by the fortunate familiarity of Guilhem with

the spot, in time to appear at the tournament).

"'I had,' said he, 'taken from my dress the ignominious mark of my

degradation; and, in full security, was gathering at my leisure some

herbs destined for your use, when it so happened that some shepherds of

the Vallée d'Aspe observed and at once recognised me; and their usual

superstition acting on them at the supposed ill-omen of meeting a Cagot

picking herbs, they attacked me with one accord, and commenced pelting

me with stones, and using every epithet of opprobrium. I was struck to

the earth; then they dragged me to the entrance of a sort of inclined

cavern, called in the country 'The Den of the Witches'[49]. With coarse

jests they thrust me through the opening, exclaiming that, as the evil

spirits raised tempests when stones were thrown in there, perhaps they

would be appeased by receiving the body of a Cagot.

[Footnote 49: Tutte de las bronchos.]

"'I fell to some distance, rolling along the declivity; and my body

stopped at the bottom on the damp earth. When I had a little recovered,

I prepared to attempt an escape, as I heard that my tormentors had

departed; but, on reaching the opening, I found a barrier which I had

not looked for: these wretched men had lighted a fire of weeds and

brushwood at the mouth of the cave. The flames raged violently, excited

by the current of air from within, and I soon felt the effect; sparks

and pieces of burning timber fell in; and my wounded body was soon a

prey to a scorching shower which poured down upon me.

"'A greater fire rose within my soul,--my injuries had driven me to

despair; my brain reeled, and the torments of hell seemed within me and

around. Hatred and bitter vengeance rose boiling from my heart; and I

cursed all human nature,--invoking ruin and destruction on mankind, from

whom I had never known pity, I raved in my burning prison, and gave

myself up to fury and despair, when Heaven took compassion on my misery.

A lighted brand which fell from above disclosed, by the vivid flash it

cast through the gloom, an opening at the other end; and I clearly

distinguished a covered way, evidently made by human hands, which seemed

to run along to some distance before me. I retreated into its shelter,

and my heart revived once more.

"'I advanced some little way and reposed myself, when, suddenly, I

thought I could distinguish in the distance vague and interrupted

sounds. A shudder came over me; and at first I dreaded to move; but, at

length, I forced myself to do so; and, gathering up one of the lighted

brands, I yielded to my curiosity, and proceeded forward.

"'Presently the sounds became more distinct; and I could not mistake the

voice of wailing and lamentation, which found an echo in my own heart

and awakened its sympathies. I continued my way cautiously; and, after a

few minutes, found myself at an opening, formed in a shelving position,

in the manner of a loop-hole, closed with two flagstones, not so near

but that a space was left wide enough for me to see into a vaulted

chamber beyond, which at the moment was lighted by a torch.

"'A young and beautiful woman was seated on the ground, in an attitude

of profound grief, leaning against the wall opposite. A man of high

stature, and who might be about my own age, stood at a little distance,

and looked towards her with a ferocious and menacing air, in which there

was, nevertheless, an appearance of what might be thought shame, for the

glance was oblique, as if he avoided meeting her eye. The light fell

full upon his face, which was so remarkable in its expression, that I

could not detach my regard from him, and his features remain deeply

graven on my memory.

"'You are, then, obstinately resolved to drive me to extremity,' said

he, 'and will not consent to my demand?'

"'What?' answered the lady, in a voice of grief, but full of energy,

'shall I despoil my son of his rights and his inheritance without

knowing that he is dead, and that in favour of my most cruel enemies?

No! he may yet live--Providence may yet watch over him--restore him one

day to the world, when he will come to claim his own and revenge his

mother's wrongs!'

"'You have no alternative but a fearful death, remember!' said the man,

in hoarse accents.

"'Rather any death than abandon my child!' was the answer.

"'Then, madam,' returned her companion, 'your will shall be done--impute

your fate to your own conduct.'

"As he pronounced these words, he approached the door of the dungeon,

where stood another female in the shade, who contemplated the scene in

silence, with an unmoved and chilling aspect. They then left the place

together, fastening the heavy door carefully, while the sound of their

keys and chains sent a fearful echo through the vaulted apartment. Their

victim fell back in a state of desolation, pitiable to behold, and burst

into passionate tears, praying fervently to Heaven, and uttering

exclamations which might melt the stoutest heart.'

"'I was deeply moved to behold her; and, in a low voice, ventured to

exclaim: 'Madam, be of good cheer! Heaven hears you; and has sent one

to your aid who is ready to exert every effort, for your relief.'

"'What voice is that?' cried she, starting.

"'Be not terrified!' I answered; 'it is that of a mortal, guided hither

by the hand of God!'

"'At the same time I applied myself to loosen the stones at the

loop-hole, and with much difficulty succeeded in doing so; but, in spite

of all my precautions, the unfortunate lady, bewildered with fear and

grief, was so astonished when I appeared through the opening, that she

uttered a cry and fainted on the ground.

"'Without losing a moment, I took her in my arms, and carried her

through to the subterranean way. I then replaced the stones as closely

as I could, and hastened to bear her to the mouth of the cave, which I

now found without obstacle, the fire extinct, and nothing to impede our

progress.

"'Oh, Raymond! the ways of Providence are inscrutable! This dungeon,

from whence I had rescued that innocent victim, is the same where, a few

days since, you were thrown by the hands of enemies; and the lady who

had nearly perished there was--your mother!'

"'Great Heaven!' exclaimed Raymond, 'my mother! condemned to such

horrors--buried in the earth alive;--oh! to find the author of her

injuries!'

"'I saw that person this very day,' replied Guilhem; 'I recognised him

in the old man who was seated on the right of your rival.'

"'That was his father, the lord of Artiguelouve,' cried Raymond.

"'Then it was no other than the lord of Artiguelouve who was your

mother's persecutor.'"

* * * * *

The Cagot now goes on to relate, that, on bringing the unfortunate lady

to this village, she recognised, in the infant he had adopted, her own

son. She recounted, that those persons whom he had seen in her dungeon

had plotted to remove both her and the infant, as their existence

interfered with certain plans of their own. One of her servants had been

bribed, who, under pretence of bearing the child to a place of safety,

and the better to deceive her, having taken with it jewels of value, had

feigned to be set upon by robbers, and had her son forcibly torn from

him. Three months afterwards, the man, overcome with remorse and

wretchedness for his crime, fell sick, and, on his death-bed, desired

secretly to see the mother, who wept for her infant as dead; to whom he

related the truth. This information was fatal to herself; for her

enemies now threw off the mask, and insisted on her renouncing for her

son all claim to the estates and titles of which he was the heir; which

she having refused to do, they treated her in the manner that has been

related.

A mystery still hung over the revelations of the lady, who named no

persons in her story, and who appeared to dread to make further

disclosures; and, above all, she desired that no vengeance should be

taken on the authors of her grief.

"'There are crimes,' she said, 'which recoil on those who perpetrate

them: he who sows vengeance, reaps not peace: and I would that my son

should feel that mercy is the highest attribute of humanity. Keep,

therefore, the secret of his birth from him, and let him know only

tranquillity and joy.'"

The Cagot promised to comply with her christian desire, and, together

with the pious hermit of Eysus, to bring up her son in piety, and

ignorance of his station, until he should be one day safe from the

danger of his enemies. The unfortunate mother left a letter, addressed

to the Sire de Lescun--a friend on whom she could rely--which, on some

future occasion, was to be delivered to him; but the long absence of the

Knight of Lescun, in the wars, had hitherto prevented its being done.

Whether the mother of Raymond would have continued in the same

intentions, cannot be known; for grief and sickness soon brought her to

the close of her sad career. When she was dying, the poor man who had

succoured her and her child, conceiving that he was not acting according

to his conscience, in withholding from her the exact situation in which

he was himself placed, threw himself on his knees at her bed-side, and

with tears entreated her forgiveness, for that he had the misfortune to

be _a Cagot_.

"'Have pity upon me,' said he, 'that I thus add to the weight of sorrow

which you carry with you to the tomb.'"

Instead of the start of abhorrent contempt which the persecuted man

dreaded, she turned upon him a look of the most ineffable benevolence;

and, placing her cold hand upon his head, uttered these words:--

"'It is well;--Cagot since thou art, I bless thee; for thy heart is more

noble than the proudest blazon could make it.'

"No human description can convey an idea of the impression made on the

heart of the good man by these few words,--the first of pity and

consolation he had ever heard addressed to one of his own fated race. A

new life, a new being seemed given him as he heard them; and, from that

instant, he vowed to exist only for the salvation of the being left

behind by the angel who had shed her benediction upon him. She died, and

he kept his word."

* * * * *

The supreme tribunal of Béarn, the _Cour Majour_, was assembled at

Orthez, in one of the grand saloons of the castle of Moncade, to

dispense to the people, by its irrevocable decrees, the national justice

of its celebrated _Fors_. Great excitement prevailed; for it was known

that the Knight-Cagot, or Cagot-Knight, as Raymond was called, was

about to appear, to defend himself from his accusers.

"The Lord and Lady of Artiguelouve were present in the great assembly,

summoned to appear for their deceased son, to support the charge he had

made. The fair Marie de Lignac sat pale and agitated, supported by her

uncle, the Knight of Lescun. The Bishops of Lescar and Oloron, the

eleven judges,[50] and all the nobles of the country attended, and were

seated on elevated benches, in due order, near Prince Gaston de Foix."

[Footnote 50: The number of twelve was reduced to eleven since the

period that the village of Bidous was removed from the territorial

jurisdiction of Béarn.]

After a consultation of some length, these _equitable_ magistrates had

decided that justice should be allowed to the complainant, and

punishment awarded to those who had injured him, provided that he could

prove that he was _a man_ and not _a Cagot_.

Nothing now remains for Raymond but the presentation of his mother's

letter, and all the proofs which establish his birth. On opening the

paper, and on examining the embroidery on the mantles which wrapped the

rescued infant; on looking at the initials of the chain of gold, the

Knight of Lescun recognised the son of his cousin, Marguerite

d'Amendaritz, first wife of Messire Loup Bergund, who, when he hears the

truth, is seized with sudden remorse and amazement, and, being now

without an heir, is not sorry to recover him whom he had before

abandoned to destruction. In spite, therefore, of the indignation of his

wife--and her endeavours to repress his agitation throughout the

scene--he starts up, and proclaims himself the father of Raymond: who,

he declares aloud, is his long-lost son,--stolen from him by

_routiers_--whose loss had cost him the life of a beloved wife, whom he

deplored.

The result is, however, far different to his expectations, or that of

all present. The young knight, on finding that he is the son of a man so

laden with crime as Loup Bergund, is seized with a frenzy of contempt

and disgust.

"His open and expansive forehead became contracted with horror--he stood

silent a few seconds, petrified and overwhelmed with his emotions--his

body shrinking back in an attitude of repulsion and dislike, as if a

venomous reptile were before his sight. His regard then fell full on

Loup Bergund, and the terrible severity of its expression made the

unworthy tyrant shrink beneath his glance of fire.

"_You_ my father!"--exclaimed he, at length, in a terrible voice--"do

_you_ open your arms to me as to your son? Hence!--back! there is

nothing in common between us--we can be nothing to each other! I know

you not. Go--say to your captive of yonder dungeon that her son is dead;

that the _routiers_ have stolen him: you my father! no; you have no

son--it is a falsehood--you are a great lord, and I a wretched

foundling--a being without a name--one disdained by wolves and robbers.

No; you are not my father. I have no other but he who stands beside me;

I am the son of no other than the poor Cagot."

As he spoke, Raymond dashed the chain of gold on the ground, and

trampled it under his feet--he seized his mother's letter from the hands

of the Knight of Lescun, and thrusting it into the flame of a torch hard

by, burnt it to ashes; then, throwing himself into the arms of Guilhem,

he burst into a passion of tears. Recovering himself, however, in a few

moments--while all looked on silent and aghast--he cried aloud--

"'And now I am, indeed, a Cagot--irrevocably so--and it is my glory and

my joy! But hear me all! while I proclaim what you are worth, and those

whom you dare to despise, and for whom the Redeemer died, as well as for

us all: You are decked in gold and gorgeous raiment, and they are in

rags; but they have hearts which beat beneath, and you have souls of

ice: you are their executioners, and they are martyrs. You cast your

wives and children into the dungeons of your castles, from whence the

poor Cagots save them: you are great upon the earth, but they will be

great in Heaven!"

These last words fell, like thunder, upon the ears of all, but most on

those of Gaston Phoebus--who thought of his murdered son--and writhed

with agony. Raymond continued:

"'God will yet do justice, in his time, to the oppressors of the

innocent. Your names, in future ages, will be execrated. Meantime, keep

your pomp, your pleasures, your grandeur, and your luxury; while our

possessions are opprobrium and contempt, shame, banishment, and

suffering--days without sun, and nights without repose or shelter. Yes,

drive us from you--you know that we are infectious, that we shall

contaminate your purity--Away! Room, room for the Cagots!'"

And Raymond and Guilhem retired through the crowd, which shrunk back,

appalled, to let them pass.

The next day Marie de Lignac received a letter, the contents of which

were never seen but by her tear-dimmed eyes; nor ever re-read by her

after she entered the convent of Marciniac.

The Lord of Artiguelouve, on his death-bed, was a prey to the most

bitter repentance: he implored that some priest of more than common

sanctity should hear his last confession; and one was discovered in a

holy hermit, who, when he was summoned from his retreat, was found

kneeling beside a humble tomb, where he passed all his days in prayer,

with rigorous fasting and unwearied penance. He obeyed the call of the

expiring sinner, and received his last sigh. Thus did the repentant Lord

of Artiguelouve meet the forgiveness of his son, Raymond: for it was he

that closed his eyes with a blessing, and then returned to his hermitage

to weep by the tomb of his father, the Cagot.

* * * * *

I am indebted to M. Baron du Taya's (of Rennes) learned researches and

obliging kindness for a few particulars respecting the Cacous of

Brittany.

It is thought there that this proscribed race are the descendants of

_leprous Jews_, which would at once account for the detestation in which

they continued to be held, but for the term _"Chrestaàs"_ applied to

them, which destroys that supposition: again, it is said that they are

descended from original _lepers_, and that diseases are inherent in

their blood--though not leprosy, it may be epilepsy: for this reason,

the _rope-makers_ of Ploermel were held in abhorrence, and are even now

shunned: they are irritated when the term _caqueux_ is applied to them,

but it is common to call them _Malandrins_--a word of opprobrium, only

less shocking to their ears. They had always their separate

burial-ground and chapel; and, till the revolution of 1789, the

prejudice existed against them: even now it is not entirely extinct.

Rope-makers, coopers, and _tailors_ are still held in a certain degree

of contempt in Brittany, as those of these trades were formerly all

looked upon as Cacous.

The Cacous of St. Malo met with some compassion from Duke Francis II.,

the father of Anne of Brittany; and also in the time of Francis I., King

of France, ordinances were made in their favour; but they were not so

fortunate as their brethren of Rome, who, in the sixteenth century, are

said to have sold, in one Holy week, rope to the amount of two thousand

crowns, to make _disciplines_.

In 1681, a law was passed to this effect; "Seeing that there are no

longer any Leprous, _Ladres_, or _Caquins_ at Kerroch, parish of St.

Caradec d'Hennebon, there is in future to be no distinction made in the

inhabitants of this village--who formerly had their burial-ground and

chapel apart--and all shall be admitted to the benefit of parish

assistance during their lives, and buried in the church after their

death. For it is considered that it _was ill and abusively_ ordained by

the Bishop of Vannes, in 1633, that the wives of the said inhabitants

should not be purified, except in their own chapels; for it is well

ascertained that no native of the said village of Kerroch has ever been

afflicted with leprosy."

Notwithstanding this sensible and humane act, the people of Kerroch are

not free from the absurd suspicion even yet.

"It would appear," observes M. Baron du Taya, "that the Cacous were

first a subdivision of lepers, and afterwards, by hereditary

_remembrance_ of them, the latter were always the objects of

commiseration amongst the professors of religion and chivalry. Thus the

first Grand Master of St. Lazare was himself a leper. Several great

names occur amongst these Grand Masters: such as Jean de Paris, in 1300;

a Bourbon in 1521; and, under Henri IV., a Philibert de Nerestang."

In 1436 a prohibition was issued against the _Cacosi_ receiving the kiss

of peace, and the kiss of the monks, _before men who were whole_; it was

not denied them, but they were to be _the last_.

In many places in Brittany the rope-makers work out of the towns near

those places where lazar-houses were once established. They were not

authorized to place their benches in the lower part of the church at

Pontivy till after the revolution in 1789! The villagers still look upon

certain rope-makers, tailors, and coopers, as possessing _an evil eye_,

and are in the habit of concealing their _thumbs_ under the rest of

their fingers,[51] and pronouncing the word _argaret_ as a

counter-spell: this word is unintelligible even to the Bas-Bretons

themselves. The prejudice still exists in Finisterre against the Cacous:

the village of Lannistin is one of their abodes. The Cagot girls of

Béarn are said never to be able to draw water from a brook or well

without spilling half of it: so that their houses are always dirty, and

themselves thirsty. Probably the same misfortune exists in Brittany, for

there is little cleanliness to be found there.

[Footnote 51: This practice is similar to that of the Neapolitans, who

wear a little hand in coral (_gettatura_) as a preservative against the

evil eye.]

Perhaps, after all, the most probable conjecture as to the origin of

these unhappy Cagots is, that they were persons _suspected of

witchcraft_, and banished in the first instance from society, to which

traditional prejudice prevented their return; and, though the cause of

their banishment was no longer remembered, the abhorrence they had once

inspired did not wear out with ages. The supposition of their having

been _the first Christians_, persecuted and contemned, and never

regaining the world's good opinion, seems a notion difficult to adopt,

except that the first Christians were suspected of sorcery and

communication with evil spirits. "He casteth out devils through

Beelzebub, the chief of the devils." If such were, indeed, the case,

what a lesson for prejudice and superstition, that the descendants of

the earliest converts should be persecuted by their Christian brethren!

The Vallée d'Aspe, where the scene of the preceding story is laid, is

one of the most picturesque of Béarn, and the customs of its people

remarkable.

The Pic d'Anie, whose solemn height rises above the village of Lescun,

is regarded by the Aspois as the sojourn of a malignant deity. From

thence come the fearful storms which desolate the country, and no

inhabitant of the village will dare to climb the ascent: it is looked

upon as a piece of presumption to attempt it; for it is believed that

the Jin of the mountain, called the Yona Gorri, or flame-coloured

spirit, has there fixed his solitary abode, and has his garden on the

summit, which he will not allow to be visited by strangers. Certain evil

spirits have occasionally been seen in his company, each holding a

lighted torch and dressed in shining scarlet habiliments: they thus

surround the chief, and dance round him to the music of an unearthly

instrument, like a drum. Loups-garoux, and sorcerers mounted on dragons

and other animals, may be seen in the air, wending their way towards

Anic, as far as from Jurançon, Gan, and St. Faust.

At Escout is a fairy oak, beneath which, whoever places an empty vase,

having belief, will find it, after a short period, when he returns, full

of gold and silver: there are known to exist persons in the Vallée

d'Aspe whose fortune had no other source.

There is a famous rock at the entrance of the valley, the object of

attraction to all females who desire to become mothers. Many of the

superstitions are similar to those in the Landes where the belief in the

power of the demon is generally received. The _Homme Noir_--a fearful

spirit with large black wings--may frequently be seen perched on the

summit of the highest peaks, shaking from his pinions showers of hail,

which break the early flowers and crush the rising corn.

There are persons, even now--though they are rarer than in the time of

that acute discoverer, De Lancre--who are believed to deserve the name

of _Poudoueros, Hantaumos, Brouchos, Mahoumos_, for they are votaries

of the evil one, and many spells are requisite to avoid their "witch

knots," and "combs of care," &c.

Presages can be drawn from the croak of a magpie, from the rush of

waters, and the howling of dogs. If a flower is seen to expand on a

barren rock, or in a place where there is no other vegetation, it is

looked upon as an augury of an abundant harvest throughout the country.

But if a tree spreads its branches over the roof of a house it announces

all sorts of misfortunes: the sons of that house will perish in a

foreign land: the lovers of those daughters will be faithless: the

parents will be abandoned by their children, and die in aged

destitution.

If a single rose is left

"----Blooming alone,

Its lovely companions all faded and gone;"

and if it grows with its beautiful head inclined towards a cottage, woe

to the inhabitant; he has but a brief space of existence left him! Let

every one beware of insulting the fountains; for if a stone or any

rubbish is thrown into their waters, the person doing so will perish by

thunder!

At the entrance of the Vallée d'Aspe, on the Spanish side, is St.

Christine, where formerly stood one of those _hôpitaux des ports_,

erected by benevolence for the safety of pilgrims and travellers. This

was called, in a bull of Innocent III., _one of the three hospitals of

the world_; but it has been long since destroyed.

The forests of Itseaux, Gabas, Benou, and Irati, were formerly the most

considerable in this part of the Pyrenees: that of St. Engrace is still

very extensive. About a century ago the forest of Itseaux was so thick,

and so little known in its vast extent, that more than one person was

lost in its depths. A singular circumstance occurred at that period,

which may give an idea of the perfection of its solitude. A young girl

of about sixteen or seventeen was found there in a savage state: she had

been a denizen of the shades from the age of seven or eight. All that

was known of her was, that she had been left by some other little girls

in the woods, having been surprised by the snow. The shepherds who found

her conducted her to the hospital of Mauléon: she never spoke, nor gave

any sign of recollecting the past; they gave her grass and vegetables to

eat, but she continued to droop, and in a very short time died of grief

for the loss of her liberty.

About twenty years after this a wild man was observed in the same

forest: he was very tall, and strongly built, hairy like a bear, active

as an izard, and perfectly harmless. His delight was in coursing the

sheep and dispersing them, uttering loud peals of laughter at the

confusion he created. Sometimes the shepherds sent their dogs after

him, but he never suffered them to come up with him. Nothing was known

or traced respecting his history, and he appears to have finished his

wild career in the forest: probably he was some child left by accident

or design in that savage solitude; where, like Orson, some bear nursed

him, but who never found a Valentine to restore him to humanity.

Itseaux still presents an immense extent of wood: it covers one side of

the mountains of Lescun, fills the valley of Barétous, and joins the

great forest of St. Engrace, to the entrance of the Vallée de Soule. It

is the largest of the Pyrenean forests.

There is scarcely a valley in the Pyrenees to which some celebrity is

not attached. Amongst others, the Vallée d'Aspe resounds with the fame

of the pastoral poet, Despourrins: and Ariosto has celebrated that of

Gavarnie, where, in the _Tours de Marboré_, he places the abode of some

of his heroes.

"Charlemagne, Agramont, tous leurs fameux héros;

Les Zerbin, les Roger, les Roland, les Renaud:

De ces Palais du Temps habitent les ruines.

Tout parle d'Arioste en ce fameux vallon

Et comme aux champs Troyens, chaque roche à son nom."

Cyprien Despourrins, though he wrote as one of the people, and _for_

them, was not a man of obscure birth; his family was originally of a

race of shepherds; but one of his ancestors having made his fortune in

Spain, returned a great man to his native valley, the beautiful Vallée

d'Aspe, and there bought the Abbey of Juzan, and became a proprietor,

with many privileges. The father of the poet inherited his estates, and

distinguished himself in the career of arms, being cited for his

bravery, the character of which bears the impress of the times in which

he lived, namely, the end of the seventeenth century. Numerous anecdotes

are told of him: amongst others, that he had had a dispute with three

foreign gentlemen; and in order to get the quarrel off his hands at

once, he challenged them all three at the same time, and came off

victorious in the combat. To perpetuate the memory of his victory, he

obtained from the King permission to have engraved, over the principal

entrance of his house, _three swords_, which may still be seen on the

stone of the old building shown as his residence. After this notable

exploit, Pierre Despourrins visited the _Eaux de Cauteretz_, where, in

the neighbourhood of Argelez he formed an acquaintance with the family

of Miramont, and an attachment to the fair Gabrielle, daughter of that

house; through his marriage with whom, he afterwards became possessor of

the château of Miramont, near St. Savin, destined to become famous by

means of his son, the famous poet Cyprien. The château is still to be

seen, and is a great lion in the neighbourhood.

There are constant disputes between the people of Bigorre and Béarn, as

to which has the greater right to claim the poet as their own, for he

belonged to both; but as he chose the musical _patois_ of the latter in

which to sing his pastorals, it appears but just that the Béarnese

should have the preference. He was born at Accous, in 1698: his two

brothers, Joseph and Pierre, became, one the vicar, the other the curate

of the village, and _he_ was called, _par excellence_, the _chevalier_.

There is a curious story told, illustrative of the simple manners of

these mountaineer-priests. The two brothers were very musical: one

played the flute, the other the violin; and every Sunday their talents

were exerted for the benefit of their parishioners. All the young people

of the place were accustomed to meet in the court-yard of their house;

and, seated at a casement, the reverend pair played to their dancing. As

soon as the bell sounded for vespers, the ball was suspended, and all

the docile flock accompanied the good pastors to church.

The chevalier had inherited his father's warlike qualities, and was, it

seems, always ready with his sword. He was at the _Eaux Bonnes_ when he

received an affront from a stranger, which--as Sir Lucius O'Trigger has

it,--"his honour could not brook." Unluckily, he had not his sword with

him, and the affair must be decided at once; he therefore sent his

servant to Accous to fetch it, recommending him great promptitude and

address in inventing some story to prevent his father from guessing his

errand. The servant used his utmost despatch, and thought he had managed

very cleverly to avert suspicion: the old knight, however, was too

clear-sighted in such matters; and, having divined the state of the

case, mounted his mule instantly, and secretly followed the messenger.

He traversed the mountains of Escot and Benou, and, braving all their

difficulties, arrived at the Eaux Bonnes. On asking for his son, he was

informed that he was closeted with a stranger: he repaired thither, and,

pausing at the door, heard the clashing of swords. Satisfied that all

was as he surmised, the imperturbable old knight remained quietly at his

post, awaiting the issue of the combat. At length the noise of arms

ceased; young Despourrins came out precipitately, and found his father

on the watch, who, embracing him tenderly, exclaimed--"Your servant's

hasty departure prevented my setting out with him; but I followed

closely, guessing that you had an affair of honour on your hands; and,

in case you should fall, I brought my sword with me, which has never yet

failed at need." "I am your son," replied the Chevalier; "my adversary

is grievously wounded; let us hasten to afford him assistance."

After Despourrins, the son, was established near St. Savin, and the

estates of the Vallée d'Aspe were abandoned by his father for his new

domain, he seems to have given himself up to the charms of poetry and

music, living the life of a shepherd, and familiarizing himself with the

habits, customs, manners and pleasures of that simple race, until he

spoke with their words, and thought with their thoughts. Whoever has

visited the beautiful Valley of Argelez, and wandered amongst the wilds

in the neighbourhood of the once famous abbey of St. Savin, can well

understand the poet's delight in such a retreat, and will not wonder

when he is told that Despourrins often passed whole nights in the woods,

singing his verses, like one transformed to a nightingale. Even now the

songs he sung are remembered and cherished; and though the _pastous_ of

his native mountains probably know nothing of the poet, his lays are

constantly on their tongues. One of the most famous is a romance, called

"La Haüt sus las Mountagnes," which I give entire, with a translation in

prose and verse, in order to show the nature of this Troubadour

language, which differs from the Gascon dialect, in being softer and

less guttural; in fact, resembling rather more the Italian than Spanish

language:--

La haüt sus las Mountagnes, û Pastou malhurous

Ségut aü pè d'û Haû, négat de plous,

Sounyabe aü cambiamen de sas amous.

"Cô leüyé, cô boulatye!" disé l'infourtunat,

"La tendresse et l'amou qui t'ey pourtat

Soun aco lous rébuts qu'ey méritat?

"Despuch que tu fréquentes la yen de counditiou

Qu'as près û tà haüt bôl, que ma maysou,

N'ey prou haüte entà tu d'û cabirou.

"Tas oüilles d'ab las mies, nous dégnen plus meacla;

Touns superbes moutous, despuch ença,

Nou s'approchen deüs més, qu'entaüs tuma

"De richesses me passi, d'aünous, de qualitat:

You nou soy qu'û Pastou; més noùn n'y a nad

Que noüs surpassi touts, en amistat,

"Encouère que ay praübé, dens moun pétit estat,

Qu'aïmi mey moun Berret tout espélat,

Qué nou pas lou plus bèt Chapeü bourdat.

"Las richesses deü moundé nou bèn queda turmen;

Et lou plus bèt Seignou, dab soun aryen,

Nou baü pas lou Pastou qui biü counten.

"Adiü, cô de tygresse, Pastoure chens amou,

Cambia, bé pots carabia de serbidou:

Yamey noun troubéras û tau coum you!"

TRANSLATION.

High up, amongst the mountains, an unfortunate shepherd

was seated at the foot of a beech, drowned in tears, musing on

the changes of his love.

"Oh light, oh fickle heart!" said the unhappy youth; "for

the tenderness and the affection which I have borne towards you,

is this wretchedness a fitting reward?

"Since you have frequented the society of persons of condition,

your flight has been so high that my humble cottage is too low

for you by at least a stage.

"Your flocks no longer deign to mix with mine; your haughty

rams, since that period, never approach mine but a battle

ensues.

"I am without wealth or dignity; I am but a simple shepherd

but there is none that can surpass me in affection.

"And methinks, according to my simple ideas, that I prefer my

_berret_, old and worn as it is, to the finest ornamented hat that

could be given me.

"The riches of the world only bring uneasiness with them, and

the finest lord with all his possessions cannot compare to the

shepherd who lives content.

"Adieu, tigress-heart! Shepherdess without affection; change,

change, if you will, your adorers, never will you find any so true

as I have been."

I here give a metrical version of the same song:

DESPOURRINS.

"La Haut sas las Mountagnes."

ABOVE, upon the mountains,

A shepherd, full of thought,

Beneath a beech sat musing

On changes time had wrought:

He told to ev'ry echo

The story of his care,

And made the rocks acquainted

With love and its despair.

"Oh! light of heart," he murmur'd,

"Oh! fickle and unkind!

Is this the cold return

My tenderness should find?

Is this a fit reward

For tenderness like mine?--

Since thou hast sought a sphere

Where rank and riches shine,

"Thou canst not cast a thought

Upon my lowly cot;

And all our former vows

Are in thy pride forgot.

For thee to enter in,

My roof is far too low,

Thy very flocks disdain

With mine to wander now.

"Alas! I have no wealth,

No birth, no noble name,

A simple shepherd youth

Without a hope or claim;

But none of all the train

That now thy favours share

Can bear, as I have borne,

Or with my love compare.

"I'd rather keep my habits,

Tho' humble and untaught,

Than learn the ways of courts,

With dang'rous falsehood fraught;

I'd rather wear my bonnet,

Tho' rustic, wild, and worn,

Than flaunt in stately plumes

Of courtiers highly born.

"The riches of the world

Bring only care and pain,

And nobles great and grand

With many a rich domain,

Can scarcely half the pleasures,

With all their art, secure,

That wait upon the shepherd

Who lives content and poor.

"Adieu, thou savage heart!

Thou fair one without love:

I break the chain that bound us,

And thou art free to rove.

But know, when in thy vanity,

Thou wanderest alone,

No heart like mine will ever

Adore as I have done."

The royal circle of Neuilly has been enlivened sometimes by the sound of

the Béarnese minstrelsy; and, on one occasion, listened to a band of

mountaineers from Luchon, who undertook, a few years since, a journey

through Europe, singing their choruses in all the principal cities. On

hearing the above song of Despourrins, the King exclaimed, with his

usual ready kindness,--"Your songs alone would be sufficient to make one

love your country."

Several celebrated singers, favourites in the Italian world, were

natives of Béarn: one of these, Garat, surnamed "the musical Proteus,"

was born at Ustaritz. Nothing appeared impossible to this prodigious

singer: his voice was splendid and his taste exquisite: his only defect

was an inordinate vanity--by no means an uncommon fault in artists of

this description. A person on one occasion, thinking to embarrass him,

inquired how high in the scale he could go; "I can mount as high as it

pleases me to go," was his reply. He used frequently to surprise the

Parisians by the introduction of Basque and Béarnese airs, whose

peculiarity and originality never failed to cause the most lively

admiration and enthusiasm; but he did not announce them as mountain

songs till he had secured the praise he sought for them, having passed

them for Italian productions. A similar _ruse_ was practised by Mehul,

when he brought out his "Irato," which the public was given to imagine

was composed by an Italian _maestro_. Its success was very great, and

Geoffrey, the editor of a popular paper, in noticing the opera,

exclaimed,--"O, if Mehul could compose as well as this, we might be

satisfied with him." When the triumphant composer threw off his

incognito, the unlucky critic was not a little mortified. The celebrated

singer Jelyotte was from Béarn, and Louis the Fifteenth used to delight

in hearing him sing his native melodies: in particular one beginning,

"De cap à tu soy Marion," one of Despourrins' most spirited pastorals:--

"I am your own, my Marion,

You charm me with each gentle art;

Even from the first my love was won,

Your pretty ways so pleased my heart;

If you will not, or if you will,

I am compell'd to love you still.

"No joy was ever like my joy,

When I behold those smiling eyes,

Those graceful airs so soft and coy,

For which my heart with fondness dies:

And when I seek the charm in vain,

I dream the pleasure o'er again.

"Alas! I have no palace gay,

My cottage is but small and plain;

No gold, nor marble, nor display,

No courtly friends nor glitt'ring train;

But honest hearts and words of cheer

Are there, and store of love sincere.

"Why should we not be quite as blest,

Without the wealth the great may own?

A shepherd life, methinks, is best,

Whose care is for his flock alone;

And when he folds them safe and warm,

He knows no grief, he dreams no harm.

"If you, dear Marion, would be mine,

No king could be so blest as I;

My thoughts, hopes, wishes, should combine,

To make your life pass happily;

Caresses, fondness, love, and glee,

Should teach you soon to love like me."

Another very favourite song is the "Aü mounde nou y a nat Pastou,"[52]

in which mention is made of the national dances for which Béarn is

celebrated, as well as the _Pays Basque_ which produces _baladins_,

famous throughout France for their feats of agility and grace. There is

a great variety of these dances, and those executed by the young men of

St. Savin are remarkable in their kind: bands of the dancers go from

village to village in the times of _fêtes_, and are much sought after:

they appear very like our May-day mummers, or morrice-dancers, and have

probably the same, namely, an eastern, origin: instead of Robin Hood,

the Chevalier Bayard is the personage represented in their disguise, and

a female always appears amongst them, who answers to our Maid Marian:

they are covered with flaunting ribbons, and hold little flags in their

hands.

[Footnote 52: There are two songs beginning with the same words: both

favourites.]

SONG.

"There's not a shepherd can compare

With him who loves me well and true;

French he can speak, with such an air,

As if the ways of courts he knew:

And if he wore a sword, you'd say,

It was the King who pass'd this way.

"If you beheld, beneath our tree,

How he can dance the Mouchicou,--

Good Heaven! it is a sight to see

His Manuguet and Passe-pié too!

His match for grace no swain can show

In all the Valley of Ossau.

"Lest Catti, in the summer day,

The noon-day sun too hot should find,

A bow'r with flow'rs and garlands gay,

By love's own tender hand entwined,

Close to our fold, amidst the shade,

For me that charming shepherd made."

There is considerable variety of style and expression in the poetry of

Despourrins, although his subject does not change--being "love, still

love."

The following might pass for a song by a poet of the school of

Suckling:--

SONG.

"Malaye quoan te by!"

"OH! when I saw thee first,

Too beautiful, and gay, and bland,

Gathering with thy little hand

The flow'r of May,

Oh! from that day

My passion I have nurst--

'Twas when I saw thee first!

"And ever since that time,

Thy image will not be forgot,

And care and suff'ring are my lot;

I know not why

So sad am I,

As though to love were crime--

Oh! ever since that time!

"Those eyes so sweet and bright,

Illume within my trembling breast,

A flame that will not let me rest;

Oh! turn away

The dazzling ray--

They give a dang'rous light,

Those eyes so sweet and bright!

"Thou hast not learnt to love,

But, cruel and perverse of will,

Thou seek'st but to torment me still.

Faithful in vain

I bear my chain,

Only, alas! to prove

Thou hast not learnt to love!"

But, perhaps, one of the most striking of all Despourrins' poems, from

the beauty of the _patois_ and the pretty conceits, is the "Deus

attraits d'ûc youenne pastoure," which reminds one of Ronsard's "Une

beauté de quinze ans, enfantine."

POEM.

"Tis to a maiden young and fair,

That my poor heart has fall'n a prey,

And now in tears and sighs of care

Pass all my moments, night and day.

"The sun is pale beside her face,

The stars are far less bright than she,

They shine not with so pure a grace,

Nor glow with half her charms to me.

"Her eyes are like two souls, all fire;

They dazzle with a living ray;

But ah! their light which I desire

Is turn'd from me by Love, away.

"Her nose, so delicate and fine,

Is like a dial in the sun,

That throws beneath a shadowy line

To mark the hours that love has run.

"The fairies form'd her rosy mouth,

And fill'd it with soft words at will,

And from her bosom breathes the South--

Sweet breath! that steals my reason still.

"Her waist is measured by the zone

The Graces long were wont to wear;

And none but Love the comb can own,

That smooths the ringlets of her hair.

"And when she glides along like air,

Her feet so small, so slight are seen,

A little pair of wings, you'd swear,

Were flutt'ring where her step has been.

"Dear object of my tender care,

My life, my sun, my soul thou art,

Oh! listen to the trembling pray'r,

That woos thee from this breaking heart."

A QUARREL.

"Adechat! las mies amous."

_He_.--MY pretty Margaret, good day!

The mountain air is chill;

And if you guide your lambs this way,

The cold will do you ill.

_She_.--No, gentle friend, tho' cold I seem,

The air I need not fear;

It is the chillness of your stream

That runs so fresh and clear.

_He_.--The cock had not begun his song;

When with my flocks I came;

To meet you here I waited long--

Your haste was not the same.

_She_.--My lambs and I were in the mead

Before the break of day;

And you, methinks, have little need

To blame _me_ for delay.

_He_.--My sheep, with many a ruddy streak,

And bells of jocund sound,

Heav'n knows, a lively music make,

Which can be heard far round.

Come, let our flocks be hither led,

Beneath this shade repair;

For you have butter, I have bread,

And we our meal will share.

Feed, pretty lambs, and feed, my sheep,

Awhile her flock beside,

And, as on flow'rs ye browse and sleep,

We'll leave you for a tide.

Thou, God of Love, who in the air,

Art hov'ring in our view,

Guard well our flocks, and to thy care

Oh! take two lovers too!

_She_.--No,--farewell till to-morrow, dear,

I may not now abide;

For if I longer tarry here,

My friends will surely chide.

* * * * *

DESPOURRINS.

* * * * *

"Y Ataü quoan la rose ey naberè."

* * * * *

"When first the rose her perfume threw,

And spread her blossoms to the day,

I saw thee, Phillis, blooming too,

With all the charms that round her play.

"Pure as the sun, thy glace of power,

Thy voice has music's softest swell,--

I saw thee in an evil hour,

Or never should have loved so well!

"Though from thy presence I remove,

While I lament I still adore,--

Oh! what can absence do to love,

But to increase the feeling more!

"Ye simple swains, who know not yet

What pleasure and what pain may be,

Guard well your hearts from Love's regret,

If you would live from danger free."

* * * * *

DESPOURRINS.

* * * * *

"Aü mounde nou-y-a nad Pastou,

T'à malhurous coum you!"

* * * * *

"No shepherd in this world can be

The child of wretchedness like me:

One would not think it, but I know

No feeling but continued woe;

For Sorrow came into my fold,

And there her dwelling loves to hold.

"It seem'd the joy of Fate,

New pleasures to provide,

And, 'midst my happy state,

A lamb was all my pride.

The sun conceal'd his light,

Whene'er she came in sight.

"I never dreamt of gold,

I lived content and free;

The treasure of my fold,

Seem'd but to live for me.

Alas! those hours that bless,

Not long would time allow,

My joys, my happiness,

Are changed to sorrow now!

"She loved my pipe to hear,

And midst the flock would pause,

And with a smile, so dear,

Would give me soft applause:

And with her music sweet

My notes she would repeat.

"How many jealous swains

Would look, and sigh, and long:

Not one a word could gain,

She only heard my song;

But now that lamb has stray'd

I see her form no more;

My ev'ry hope betray'd,

My fate let all deplore!

My sleep, my rest, is gone,

And I am all undone!"

* * * * *

DESPOURRINS.

* * * * *

"Moun Diü! quine souffrance--

M'as tu causat!"

* * * * *

"Of what contentment

Those eyes bereft me--

And ah! how coldly

Thou since hast left me:

Yet didst thou whisper

Thy heart was mine,--

Oh! they were traitors

Those eyes of thine!

For 'tis thy pleasure

That I repine.

"Alas! how often

I sigh'd in vain,

And loved so dearly

To purchase pain:

And all my guerdon

To be betray'd,

And only absence

My safety made,

To muse on fondness

So ill repaid.

"But let me warn thee

While time is yet,

Thy heart may soften

And learn regret:

Should others teach thee

New thoughts to prove,

And all thy coldness

Be quell'd by love,

Thou mayst glean sorrow

For future years,--

Beware--false maiden!

Beware of tears!"

DESPOURRINS.

"Per acère castagnere."

BENEATH a chesnut shade

A shepherd, drown'd in tears,

By her he loved betray'd,

Thus sung his grief and fears:

"Why dost thou smile," he said,

"As all my woes increase?

When will my truth be paid,

And all thy coldness cease?"

The fair one listen'd not,--

And feign'd she had not seen;

But sought a distant spot,

The furze and heath between,

But, as she proudly went,

Thorns, in her path that lay,

Her little feet have rent,

And stopp'd her on her way.

She paused, in sudden pain,

Her pride aside she laid,

And, in soft tone, was fain

To ask her lover's aid;

She bade, in piteous mood,

He would the thorns remove,

And take from gratitude

The kiss denied to love.

That grateful kiss she must

Bestow--tho' she deplore it;

And he had been unjust

Not--doubly--to restore it.

DESPOURRINS.

"Roussignoulet qui cantes."[53]

[Footnote 53: This song singularly resembles Burns' charming "Banks

and braes" in its opening, though it is greatly inferior as a

whole.]

OH! nightingale that sing'st so sweet,

Perch'd on the boughs elate,

How softly does thy music greet

Thy tender list'ning mate.

While I, alas! from joy removed,

With heart oppress'd, must go,

And, leaving her so fondly loved,

Depart in hopeless woe.

Ah me! I see before me yet

Our parting and her pain,

My bosom throbb'd with vain regret

To hear her still complain.

My trembling hand she fondly press'd,

Her voice in murmurs died:

"Oh! is not our's a fate emblest,

Since we must part," she cried.

I promised her, whate'er betide,

To love her to the last,

And Fate, my truth has sadly tried,

In all our sorrows past;

But she may trust me, tho' we part,

And both our lot deplore:

Where'er I go, this bleeding heart

Will suffer ever more.

The clearest streams that gently flow,

The river murm'ring by,

Not purer than my heart can show,

Nor have more tears than I.

No book nor scroll can tell a fate

Where sorrows so combine;

No pen can write, nor song relate,

Such misery as mine!

Thus, like the turtle, sad and lone,

Who leaves his mate in pain,

I go, with many a tender moan,

And dream of love in vain:

By all the ties that bound us long,

By all the hopes we knew,

Oh I hear thy shepherd's latest song,

Receive his last adieu!

Anxious to visit a country whose history and traditions had so much

excited my interest and curiosity, I accompanied a friend, early in the

year 1843, on an expedition to the Vallée d'Aspe, and through part of

the Pays Basque. I would willingly have waited for spring, particularly

as I heard from everybody in Pau, that to reach the valleys leading to

Spain in the month of February was impossible--was worse than folly: in

fact, was what none but the English, who are supposed to have taken

leave of their senses, would attempt. One French gentleman, who was well

acquainted with every part of the Pyrenees, and had twice made the

ascent of the Pic du Midi, was indignant at our perseverance, insisting

that we should be stopped by the snows--although very little had fallen

in the last winter--and that the Basque country was totally

uninteresting except in summer. Others told us that it was never worth

seeing at any season; but, as I had become aware that persons settled in

Pau were bound in a spell, and scarcely ever ventured more than a league

from their retreat until, being once in motion, they set forth towards

the mountains in the opposite direction, I did not allow myself to be

persuaded to remain in the "Little Paris of the South" for carnival

balls, and, followed by the pity and surprise of most of our friends, we

took our dangerous way, on a sunny morning, as hot as July, towards

Oloron.

Oloron, finely situated on a height, is a wide, open, clean, and

well-built town, with so much open, fresh air, that, after the

enervating and confined atmosphere of Pau, one seemed to breathe new

life. The walks are good and extensive, and the magnificent range of the

snowy mountains very close. Two rushing torrents divide the town between

them--the Gaves of Ossau and Aspe--and from the two bridges which span

them the view of their impetuous course is extremely imposing. These

magnificent torrents are the charm of the Pyrenees; making the country,

through which they hurry, one scene of beauty and animation: they do

also terrible mischief by their violence when swelled by rains, as we

had afterwards occasion to observe; but, at all times, give a character

of singular grandeur to the places where they sweep along in

uncontrolled majesty.

The village, or faubourg, of Ste. Marie d'Oloron joins the main town;

and here is situated the cathedral, once of great importance, but now,

like all the religious establishments in this part of France, preserving

little of its ancient glory. The pillars, however, of its aisles are

very grand and massive, and are part of the early structure: the form

and height are imposing, and the chapels of the choir graceful; but the

chief curiosity is the portal, which bears marks of a Saracenic origin.

The arch is a wide circle, finely ornamented, and, in the centre, an

Indian-shaped pillar divides it into two smaller circular arches: the

base of this pillar is formed of two figures standing back to back,

stooping beneath the load they bear on their hands and depressed heads:

they are covered with fetters, both on their legs and arms: their

striped dresses are quite Indian, and they wear a curious, melon-shaped

cap: the faces are hideous and exaggerated, the limbs strong and well

made, and they are in perfect preservation.

I have not seen any satisfactory account of the cathedral, which might

explain these curious supporters: on each side of the portal projects a

carved figure--one much defaced, the other representing a leopard or

panther. A series of beautiful pillars, forming pedestals to absent

saints, fill up the space of the porch, and that beyond is closed by

high, open arches--rebuilt, but, doubtless, originally of the same

construction as those of the beautiful side-entrance to the cathedral of

Bourges, where Moorish carvings also occur.

There are no other antiquities in Oloron; but it is an agreeable,

healthy town, and looks flourishing and lively; and, I should imagine,

must be a cheap place to live in, and has several advantages over its

rival, Pau; this, however, is not acknowledged by the partisans of that

exclusive town, which is supposed, by those who patronise it, to bear

away the bell from every other in Béarn.

The Vallée d'Aspe begins its winding way soon after Oloron is past; and

the magnificent, broad river dashes along its rocky bed, as green and

bright and foaming as its rival of Ossau, which it exceeds in volume.

Our destination was to Bedous, where we were to rest for the night; and,

as the shades of evening were already coming on, we could not long enjoy

the beauty of this lovely valley, which we anticipated seeing on our

return, after having visited all the wonders of the pass into Spain, as

far as Urdos, where the high road, which is remarkably good, ends.

Bedous is a shabby, insignificant, and, at this time of year,

desolate-looking town, in the bosom of the mountains, where we were fain

to lodge for the night as we best could, having good reason to

congratulate ourselves on our precaution in taking provisions,

particularly bread, wine, and coffee, as all we found there was bad.

There was, however, no want of civility and desire to please; and the

attendance, if not good, was, at all events, ample: two of the

waiting-maids were extremely handsome--- with dark eyes and fine

features, and their handkerchiefs put on very gracefully; but the voices

of all the inhabitants of Bedous were cracked and hoarse, and so

unmusical, that it was difficult to imagine oneself in the country of

Despourrins.

As early as possible the next morning we set forth on our journey

further up the valley; and, the weather being fine and the sky clear,

we were delighted with the aspect of the snowy mountains above and

around us. The plain of Bedous is of some extent, and, in the fine

season, must be extremely beautiful, being highly cultivated and very

picturesque: seven villages are scattered at distances along its

expanse--the most conspicuous of which is Accous, where the poet was

born; and on a mound without the town stands a pyramid, lately erected

to his memory. Nothing can be more beautiful than this position; and, in

summer, it must be a little Paradise. The village of Osse, opposite, is

a small Protestant retreat in an equally charming spot: hills, called in

the country _Turons_, surround this happy valley--_avant-couriers_ of

the higher chain, which rise as the Gave is followed into deeper

solitude.

Marca, the historian of Béarn, cites, in his work, a curious document

relative to this valley. It is dated June 1, 1348, and its title is

sufficiently singular; it runs thus.

"Contract of a peace made between the valleys of Aspe and Lavedan, by

order of the Pope, who had absolved the earth, the inhabitants and the

castle of Lavedan, from the sin committed by the abbé of St. Savin, in

causing the death, _by magic art_, of a great number of the inhabitants

of Aspe, in revenge for the rapines and ravages they had committed in

Lavedan: _in punishment of which crime, neither the earth, the women,

nor the herds of Lavedan had borne fruit for six years."_

The people of this neighbourhood have the credit of being remarkably

intelligent, and, at the same time, simple in their habits and manners:

there is considerable jealousy between them and those of Ossau: all we

could judge of was that the civility appeared equal, and it appeared to

us that the beauty of the peasantry was more striking, though in this

opinion we are not borne out by that of others. The boasted costumes are

rarely seen in winter; but we observed one young woman very

picturesquely dressed in an old and faded black velvet boddice,

peculiarly shaped, laced with red, which, if it had ever been _new_ in

her time, might have been pretty. Every article of their dress, however,

looks as if it had descended from generation to generation, till every

bit of colour or brilliancy had departed from it, leaving only a

threadbare rag, which imagination alone can invest with grace or beauty.

The route we were following was the high road to Saragossa, and,

occasionally, we met sombre groups of men in black _capotes_, mounted on

horses or mules, and others escorting waggons laden with Spanish

wool--the chief article of commerce. Flocks of beautiful goats were very

frequent, and every object seemed new and singular to our eyes.

We dismounted from our carriage at a little bridge over the Gave, and,

under the direction of a guide who had accompanied us from Bedous, we

set forth, beside its rushing current, towards the cascade of Lescun,

far up in the hills. The loud roar and dash of the beautiful torrent,

foaming and splashing over its bed, strewn with huge pieces of rock, was

the excuse which our guide gave for declining to sing Despourrins'

songs, with which he was, however, well acquainted. _"Ils sont plus

forts pour ça en Ossau"_ was his remark, in a voice so harsh and coarse

that I did not pursue my entreaties. We met a fine old man, whom I took

for a shepherd, from his cloak and brown _berret_, and the large

Pyrenean dog which followed him, but he turned out to be a rich

proprietor of land, showed us part of his domains, and seemed a

well-informed man, talking familiarly of England and its _comté de

Chester_, asking us our motive for visiting this part of France, which

he concluded to be economy, and entertaining us greatly by his remarks.

Our walk, or rather scramble, to the cascade was very agreeable, but

exceedingly rugged, mounting the whole way between the hills till we

reached the spot where the Gave comes foaming over a broad ledge of

rock, and falls into the valley below with a thundering sound. It is

much interrupted in its descent, and forms new cataracts as it goes: so

that the whole side of the mountain is in commotion with its leaps and

gambols; clouds of spray, like smoke, curling up from the foamy abyss,

and every echo sounding with its hoarse murmurs. It reminded me of some

of the falls in the Mont Dore; but without the pines.

Meantime, the snowy peaks of the giants of the valley were seen peering

over the lower hills, and shining in light; but scarcely had we reached

the highest point of the cascade, and were standing on the bridge which

spans it, when clouds came over the scene, heavy drops began to fall,

and we found it necessary to hasten our return to the high road, where

we had left our carriage.

To descend the stony and slippery ways was infinitely more difficult

than to mount; and I soon found that clinging to the tough branches of

box, which here grows luxuriantly, and sheds a fine fresh odour round,

was not sufficient assistance. The guide now proved, by the strength of

his arm in assisting us, and his agility, that he possessed qualities

more useful than the Arcadian accomplishment, the want of which had

annoyed me as we came, and I forgave him for being unable to sing the

praises of _La Plus Charmante Anesquette_, the words of which ditty he

nevertheless repeated, with surprise and pleasure at finding they were

old acquaintances of ours.

Our way was now towards Urdos, by Cette Eygun, and through Etscau, where

the Gave forces its way along the street, and where, on the opposite

bank, on a high terrace, stands the antique village of Borce--once of

importance and now only picturesque. We did not see the town of Lescun,

but the path to it appears most precipitous: the inhabitants are said to

be the most daring smugglers in the valley, and the town stands perched

like a vulture's nest, closed in by savage hills, and concealed from

sight, as if it had much to hide.

The Spirit of the Pic d'Anie was evidently offended at our seeking his

vicinity at so unaccustomed a season, and sent down one of his storms of

rain which are so frequent in the valley. As the weather, however,

continued warm we did not heed his anger, and continued our journey

through the most magnificent scenery--grander and more surprising at

every step--till we reached the huge masses of rock called Le Portalet,

where once stood a fort, built by Henri Quatre to arrest the approach of

the Spaniards. A little further on is a wondrous path, worked in the

rocks, over a tremendous precipice, for the purpose of transporting

timber. A new fort is being constructed here, and the appearance of a

little toy-like hut, fastened to the entrance of a cave for the

convenience of the workmen who are to blast the rock, is startling and

curious.

Urdos is a wild-looking place, at the extremity of the valley, with no

interest belonging to it except that it is the end of the road for

carriages, and that at this spot the remainder of the way to Jacca must

be made on mules. As the weather was unpropitious, and the snows

rendered the _trajet_ uncertain, we did not allow our curiosity to carry

us further, and contented ourselves with observing the remarkable groups

crowding round the inn-door at which we stopped. Spaniards, in wild

costumes, with white leggings buttoned behind, sandaled feet, turbaned

heads, and rough cloaks thrown over their shoulders, carrying large

bundles of goods, were lounging by the entrance, waiting till the rain

should cease that they might pursue their way. Some women were of their

party, whose appearance was very singular, and the colours of their

dresses varied and brilliant in the extreme: one had thrown her green

gown, lined with red, over her head, like a veil, and her face was

nearly concealed by its folds; her petticoat was of two other bright

hues, and she stood, in a commanding attitude, grasping a large staff, a

perfect specimen of a brigand's wife.

By degrees, as different guests passed in and out of the inn, and were

attracted to the door by the appearance of strangers, we were able to

form the most charming pictures, till all Murillo's groups seemed

combined in the shifting scene within that narrow frame.

At one time, the _tableau_ was complete with the following figures, all

coloured in the richest manner, and harmonizing most exquisitely:--a

very pretty, intelligent young woman, dressed in green, violet, red, and

brown, stood leaning against the doorpost, with an infant in pink, grey,

and stone-colour, in her arms: her husband--a handsome, dark Spaniard,

with a many-coloured handkerchief with ends twisted round his wild,

black, straggling hair--raised his face above her: in shade, behind,

stood a sinister-looking smuggler with a _sombrero_, dressed in dark

velvet, and a large white cloak thrown over his shoulder: occupying the

front space, leant, in a graceful attitude, a female who seemed mistress

of the inn. She was a very striking figure, and, both as to costume and

feature, might have been the original of many a Spanish Sainte

Elizabeth, but younger than she is usually represented. Every part of

her dress had a tint of red so subdued into keeping, that it seemed the

effect of study, although, of course, mere chance; her gown was rich

dark crimson, her apron brighter geranium, her handkerchief, sleeves,

and boddice, shades of reddish brown; the large hood on her head a

chocolate colour: it was formed of a handkerchief tied negligently under

her chin; a second, of rich tint, was bound tightly over her brows,

hiding her hair, and her beautiful features came out in fine relief; a

delicate blush was on her somewhat tanned cheek, and her eyes were full

of calm expression: she had very prettily-shaped hands and feet, and was

altogether a model for a painter; struggling through this group, almost

at their feet, came, from beneath their drapery, a lovely little brown

child, all reds and purples, with glossy black hair, ruddy cheeks, and

large black eyes fixed upon us with a sly, smiling gaze. The stained

stone, of which the house was built, was of a fine cold colour, and the

deep rich shade within made a back-ground which completed the whole.

In the door-way of a neighbouring stable was another party watching the

rain, nearly as picturesque; and before them was dancing, in grotesque

attitudes, a half-crazed old woman, at whose vagaries the lookers-on

indolently smiled. Our admiration of the beautiful children quite won

the hearts of the mothers, who had, apparently, at first regarded us

with a somewhat haughty air, and a few little silver pieces completed

our conquest; we, therefore, drove off on our return to Bedous, in high

favour with our strange wild friends, and ceased to feel at all alarmed

at the possibility of their overtaking us on the mountains.

We were obliged to pass another night at the inodorous inn of Bedous,

amidst the noise of a carnival night, and the hideous howls of a jovial

party who had that day assisted at a wedding, and who seemed bent on

proving that music was banished from the valley. I heard the word

"_Roncevaux_" in one of their songs; but could distinguish nothing

besides to atone for the discord they made, as they danced _La Vache_

under our windows, in the pouring rain, by the light of a dim lanthorn.

I was told by the landlady that in the church of Bedous were formerly

two _bénitiers_, one within the aisle, and one in the porch; the latter

being appropriated to the use of that unfortunate race--the

Cagots--about whom I had been so inquisitive ever since I arrived in

Béarn. Accordingly, we lost no time in going to seek for these strange

relics; after looking about in vain, and discovering only one

_bénitier_, we were assisted in our search by a man belonging to the

church, and our female guide; who understood only _patois_, and led to

the mysterious spot where the worn stone is to be seen on which once

stood the vase of holy water into which the wretched outcasts were

permitted to dip their fingers. The recess is now used as a closet,

which is closed with wooden doors, and the _bénitier_ is removed,

"because," said the man, "there is no distinction _now_, and the Cagots

use the same as other people,"[54] I inquired if it was known who were

Cagot families, and was told "_certainly_;" but little account was taken

of the fact. "Bedous," said my informant, "was one of the Cagot

villages, but the prejudice is almost worn out now: it is true we do not

care to marry into their families if we can help it; not that there is

any disease amongst them; it is all mere fancy. Only when people

quarrel, they call each other Cagots in contempt; however, we shall soon

forget all about it."

[Footnote 54: At Utraritz, near Bayonne, they show, in the porch of the

church, a similar recess, where once stood the _bénitier_ of the

Cagots.]

On our return through the valley to Oloron, we paused at Notre Dame de

Sarrance, a place of pilgrimage, entirely uninteresting as a church, but

placed in a beautiful position amongst the hills.

At Oloron, when we passed before, there was no room for us, in

consequence of the whole inn being occupied with guests at the wedding

of the landlord's fourth daughter, the three others having been lately

married. As we arrived the day after the wedding, there still remained

sufficient good cheer to supply our wants, and make a pleasing contrast

to Bedous.

CHAPTER XVI.

ARAMITZ--THE PLAY--MAULÉON--THE SISTERS--WORDS--ST. JEAN.

OUR intention now was to visit Mauléon, and see as much of the Pays

Basque as the uncertain state of the weather would allow. The route to

Aramitz is very beautiful, with the fine valley of Barétous, and the

Bois d'Erreche stretching out at the foot of the bold hills. When we

entered the town of Aramitz the whole population was assembled in a

great square; some acting, and others gazing at a carnival play, the

performers in which were dressed in flaunting robes, with crowns and

turbans; while a troop, in full regimental costume, figured away as a

victorious French army, headed by a young Napoleon, who ever and anon

harangued his troops and led them on to battle against a

determined-looking band of enemies, amongst whom were conspicuous _a

bishop_ and _a curé_, in full dress. A combat ensued, when the heroes on

each side showed so little nerve, being evidently afraid of their own

swords--which seemed _real_ steel, that no child's-play in England could

have gone off so tamely: the enemies all fell down at the first attack,

and the only comic part was the rushing forward of the fool, and his

agonized exclamation of "_O! mon curé!_" as he dragged that reverend

gentleman from beneath a heap of slain. We asked our driver how it

happened that the clergy of the parish allowed this _travestie_, and how

the curé's dress had been procured: he told us that the costume belonged

to some one who had _formerly_ been in the Church, and as for the

representation no one could prevent it, particularly as the sons of the

mayor were amongst the actors. "But," he added, "M. le Curé will _have

his revenge_ next Sunday by preaching them a sermon which he intends

shall make their ears tingle; though no one will care a bit about it."

We observed, that it was wrong to turn the ministers of religion into

ridicule, to which our lively guide agreed, concluding with the usual

shrug and inevitable remark of all Frenchmen--Béarnais and

other--"_Mais, que voulez vous!_"

My companion's donation of a franc, was received with rapture by a

general and an emperor, who came to our carriage with a plate, in the

centre of which was an apple with numerous slits, in which were inserted

certain borrowed napoleons, to excite to generosity. We were vehemently

invited to mount to a place of honour to view the play at our ease; but

we declined, as it was not the dramatic performance that delighted us,

but the extraordinary effect of the costumes of the crowd below. All the

young girls wore their new and most brilliant handkerchiefs tied on

their heads with the utmost care, and exhibiting colours so rich and

glowing, that, as they flitted about in the sun, they seemed so many

_colibri_ with changeable crests of all the hues of the rainbow. The

rich colours worn here give an air of gaiety and cheerfulness, agreeably

contrasted with the dark and gloomy tints of the head-dresses at and

near Pau; which, though gracefully tied, are usually sombre and dim.

The whole town of Aramitz was gay with carnival rejoicings, and as we

drove along we came upon another crowd in another square, where we saw a

party of six young men in black-and-green velvet dresses, and scarlet

sashes, nimbly dancing the _Rondo Basque_; while the gorgeously-adorned

young girls stood by, observing, but taking no part in the exercise.

They seemed very agile and nimble, and kept up an incessant movement,

not without grace; but it had an odd effect to see the men dancing

alone, and that circumstance impresses one with the conviction of the

dance being of eastern origin. We had not an opportunity of seeing any

of the other dances so celebrated in the country, which are precisely

similar to our morris-dances still exhibited, occasionally, in the

country on May-day.

The Basque country, properly so called, begins at Montory, and a

perceptible change, singular enough, is observable in the country: a

range of hills, of shapes impossible to describe--so witch-like and

irregular is their outline--extends for some distance along the way,

ushering the traveller into the pretty plain below.

At Tardets there is a bridge over the charming Gave of _Uhaitshandia_;

and now begin the extraordinary names of places, which French, Béarnais,

and Spanish alike find so difficult to pronounce or understand. Now the

few familiar words which we comprehended in Béarnais were heard no more,

and a language of the most singular yet musical sound took its place.

The first objects we saw were two Andalusian women, ragged, filthy, and

slovenly, to a degree quite amazing, their dingy white woollen gowns

thrown over their heads; faded apple-green petticoats in thick plaits

hanging from their shoulders, with no indication of waists, bare legs

and feet, and bold, savage aspect. They laughed loudly at some remark

_en passant_ of our driver; who seemed accomplished in languages, being

able to speak to all he met. Immediately afterwards we met some Basque

women, whose costume had no other distinction but that of their

headkerchiefs being white; this, however is rare, except on occasions of

_fête_, as we always saw the same beautiful brilliant colours as before,

throughout our journey.

Mauléon, one of the chief towns of the Basque country, is charmingly

situated in a rich country, on the Gaison Gave, surrounded by the varied

hills of the Bois de Tibarène. Of all its former grandeur and strength

scarce a vestige remains: one ruined fort, of a commanding height, above

the town, alone attests its ancient glory: from this spot is a charming

view, taking in all the town and plain and surrounding mountains. The

churches, once of great importance, are dwindled to insignificance; and

we were much disappointed to discover nothing interesting either at the

antique church of Berautte or Licharre. We found, however, an equivalent

in the beauty of the scenery round, and the charm of hearing the

sweetest of languages from the lips of two pretty little girls of ten

and eleven years of age, the daughters of our hostess, who herself had a

melodious voice, and peculiarly pleasing manners. These little fairies

constituted themselves our attendants during our stay at Mauléon, and as

they spoke, equally well, French and Basque, we enjoyed their innocent

prattle and intelligent remarks extremely. They were very eloquent in

praise of a certain English traveller named _François_, who had stayed

some time at their inn, and wanted to take them away to England, and

they tried hard to persuade us that he _must_ be a relation, because he

_talked_ and _drew_ like us, and because we wanted to take them away

too.

I made a little vocabulary of Basque words under their tuition;

and it was like listening to music to hear them utter the pretty

phrases and words; _maita suthut hanich_--I love you much;

_ene-madtea_--my friend; _ama_--my mother; _aita_--my father;

_belhara_--grass; _nescatila_--little girl; _minyiate bat_--a fairy;

_oheitza_--remembrance.

I procured a Basque dictionary at Mauléon, at a somewhat primitive

library, where the usual commodities sold were candles and soap. At one

end of the shop was a range of books on a shelf; and while the very

civil master was gone to look for those more choice volumes which we

required, his housekeeper stood by, in a state bordering on distraction

at the sacrilege committed by us, in daring to remove from their

positions tomes which her master evidently did not permit her to lay a

finger on. In Basque, and all the French she had, did she clamour to us

to desist, assuring us it was a thing unheard of, and would derange the

whole economy of the establishment; and, certainly, as her anger

increased with our indifference, she proved to us that it was possible

to make discord out of sweet notes; however, the purchase of the books

her master had found silenced and confounded her; and we escaped with

our prize, much to the delight and amusement of our little guides, who

thought it necessary, _en chemin_, to apologize for the old woman's

rudeness.

The father of our favourites we found, though taciturn at first, a very

well-informed man; he confirmed all that I had gathered from works I had

read on the subject of the Basques--their language and manners; and

regretted that the unpropitious state of the weather prevented our

witnessing any of the usual out-of-door amusements, common at the

season. He described the eloquence and wit of the common people as

something wonderful; but their _comedies_, he said, were seldom fitted

for more refined ears than their own. The character of their amusements,

he added, was grave, as their improvised tragedies prove; the language

lends itself to poetry with such singular facility, that poets are by no

means rare; and, amongst the lower class, some are, as I had heard

before, singularly gifted, but they never write down their compositions,

which are, therefore, difficult to collect. The airs of their songs are

almost always melancholy and solemn, and require fine voices to give

them effect. I have since been told, by a Basque gentleman of taste and

information, precisely the same; and, as he sings well, he kindly

allowed me to hear some of their melodies, which remind me much of the

saddest of the Irish native airs. His opinion was, that there is great

similarity in the character of the Basque and Irish; and he tells me,

that the _sound_ of many of their words is alike; but when they speak

together all proves to be _mere_ sound; for they do not understand a

syllable of either tongue.

The greater part of the language seems to me corrupted by the

introduction of French and Spanish words, probably required to express

wants, which the original Basque had acquired in the course of time;

"When wild in woods the noble savage ran,"

he did not want much that he afterwards sought for words to express his

desire to obtain. But the genuine words, in which there is no mixture of

another language, may well puzzle the learned; for they are most

singular: as for instance,

Oghia Bread

Uhaitza River

Hoora Water

Haicha Stars

Hala Ship

Harhibat Stone

Egura Wood

Eskia Hand

Mahatsac Grapes

Sahmahia Horse

Etchia Habitation

Begitatiha Face

Our next destination was to St. Jean Pied de Port; and we took our way

across the mountains of Musculdy, the scenery the whole way being

exquisitely beautiful, and richly cultivated in the plains. We continued

mounting without cessation for nearly two hours; and as we walked the

greatest part of the time, we met with a few adventures by the way. We

were joined, in a very steep part, by a party who were travelling from

Mauléon to St. Just. We had been struck with the brilliant colours of

the young woman's dress as we passed her and her mother, and a boy

accompanying them; she was leaning against a stone wall, where she had

rested her large white bundle, and her attitude was free and graceful in

the extreme, as she bent her head on her hand evidently fatigued. She

wore a headkerchief of deep chocolate-colour, striped with blue, and

bordered with bright yellow; her stuff petticoat was scarlet, edged with

black velvet; she had tucked up her green-striped gown, and thus

displayed its crimson lining; her shawl was of fine red merinos,

embroidered in glowing colours, of Spanish manufacture, as she

afterwards informed us, _and smuggled_; her legs were bare, but she wore

black shoes; and her umbrella, the constant appendage, was brown; her

gait, as she walked along the road, with her white package on her head,

was that of a heroine of a melo-drame. I never saw a more striking

figure; for she was, though not pretty, remarkably well-made and tall,

and all her motions were easy and unconstrained. She did not seem so

communicative as her mother,--a pretty little _old_ woman, whose pride

was evidently gratified by our admiration of her daughter's finery, and

our pleasure in sketching her as she stood; her gratitude was so great

on our allowing her boy and her bundles to be put on the carriage, that

she became quite enthusiastic in our praise; and the present of a small

piece of silver enchanted her. She actually cried with pleasure; and yet

we found she was not poor; but had been to see a son, who had amassed

several hundred francs and set up in a _cabaret_ at Mauléon: this

explained the gorgeousness of his sister's costume, which, at the risk

of spoiling, she continued to wear on her journey home to their

village, aware of the sensation her macaw-like appearance created

wherever she passed.

On a high hill, opposite that we were mounting, we observed a chapel,

which we found was dedicated to the Sainte Madeleine, and held in much

reverence throughout the country: pilgrims coming from great distances

to visit her shrine, and sick persons thronging there in the hope of a

miracle being performed in their favour. The same occurs at another

chapel, on a neighbouring height, dedicated to St. Antoine; but there,

it seems, the young men resort, in order, by the saint's intercession,

to obtain an exemption from the chance of conscription. They entreat of

Heaven that they may choose a _good number_, and be allowed to remain at

home; and so firmly are they convinced of the efficacy of the saint's

prayers, that hundreds had, we understood, lately taken their way to the

holy mountain; for this was the season for the fatal lots to be drawn.

CHAPTER XVII.

ARNEGUY--THE CACOLET--ROLANDO'S TREE--SNOW-WHITE

GOATS--COSTUME--SAUVETERRE--THE PASTOR--NAVARREUX--SPANISH AIR.

WE arrived at St. Jean Pied de Port late in the day, and the aspect of

affairs at Le Grand Soleil, where we stopped, was by no means

exhilarating. Having passed through the black, dirty kitchen, and

climbed the dingy staircase, we were shown several rooms, which we

_could not have_, by a very sour-looking old woman, who tried to

persuade us to content ourselves with apartments without fire-places.

This we resisted determinedly, suggesting that ladies had a right to

supersede male travellers, and, assisted by the eloquence of our

invaluable _cocher_, we at length obtained possession of the disputed

chambers. As it was soon discovered that we meditated remaining several

days, no further opposition was made to our convenience, and the fat

landlady, having reproved her thin sister into good humour, we were

allowed to command, in the worst of all possible inns, where good-will

held the place of performance in most instances, and where carelessness

seemed carried to a perfectly Eastern excess.

We began to make immediate enquiries as to the possibility of entering

Spain, of visiting the convent of Roncesvalles and the neighbouring

mountains; and every sort of contradictory information was given us,

enough to bewilder an ignorant traveller into giving up the projected

expedition altogether. However, as we resolved that we would not be

altogether disappointed, and recollected all the romances invented to

deter our daring, by our friends at Pau, we ordered a guide and

_cacolet_ and mule to be sent on before, and on the following morning

set forth in the carriage as far as Arneguy, the last French town, from

whence we were to cross the Gave of Bihobi, and trust ourselves to the

perils of a Spanish journey.

Accordingly, we pursued the very good road to that frontier

village--one of the most miserable I ever beheld, filled with soldiers

and mud and ruin: here we alighted, and walked across the little bridge

which divides the two kingdoms. Once _in Spain_, and having made a

drawing of the spot, as a souvenir, we mounted our mule; seated

comfortably in the arm chairs, slung at each side of the patient animal,

and, with our muleteer and two servants on foot, began the scrambling

ascent of one of the most rugged paths I ever beheld.

Every step, however, exhibited new and startling beauties; and the

further we advanced the more sublime the mountains became: the foaming

stream rushing beneath us, the deep ravines and precipices, the wooded

hills and enormous trees, all possessed a character quite unlike that of

the two valleys of Béarn, which we had already seen; both of which led

into Spain, as did this pass of Roncesvalles; but we now felt ourselves

really in another country; and, as we passed the opposite village of

Ondarol, and heard that the last houses in France were left behind, and

all the mountains, on each side of the ravine, belonged to Spain, there

was something singularly agreeable in the idea. Our _cocher François_

had, at the village of Valcarlos, an opportunity of exhibiting his

knowledge of Spanish; for the officer there, who took cognizance of us,

could not understand either _patois_ or French.

We wound along the beautiful ravine of Valcarlos, by a road more stony

and rugged than can be described, trusting to our mule, who kept his

feet in a manner perfectly surprising; it was like mounting a ruined

staircase, so steep was the path in many places; but, going slowly and

carefully as we did, and seated in our comfortable panniers, we felt no

inconvenience, and were scarcely conscious of the difficulties, sensibly

understood by all our companions, who toiled through the mud, and over

the stones and torrents with infinite cheerfulness and perseverance.

The beeches and chesnuts here grow to an immense size, and look so old

in their winter guise that one might almost believe they had spread the

shade over the paladins of Charlemagne. We could not do otherwise than

indulge in this idea, when we reached a spot where an enormous _plateau_

of rock seemed to bar our further progress; and, beside it, we rested

beneath a gigantic chesnut, which threw its naked arms far across the

ravine below, and, when covered with leaves, must have been a majestic

tree. A huge stone lay amongst others near it, and this was pointed out

by our guide as the identical stone thrown by Rolando in his anger when

his horse's foot slipped over the rock at the edge of which we stood.

The print made by the hoof as it slid along the surface is _clearly

visible_ to poetical eyes, and this is one of the numerous _Pas de

Roland_ so celebrated in the Pyrenees, where the great hero's course is

marked in many directions.

As we desired to avoid the possibility of a similar accident happening

to us, we dismounted from our _cacolet_, and walked across the ledge to

some distance: and, after a short repose beneath the shelter of the

overhanging rocks, which a violent shower made most convenient at the

moment, we prepared to retrace our steps; satisfied with having advanced

so far on the same route taken by "Charlemagne and all his peerage."

The return was infinitely less easy than the advance, for we had now to

descend; and we felt the motion much more, for the mule could not so

well keep its feet in spite of the guide's assistance. We had sundry

adventures by the way at _Posadas_--tasted the bitter Spanish

_ordinaire_ wine from a wine-skin, and the excellent maize bread and

cream cheese of the country, and returned to Arneguy, much gratified

with our trip.

These mountains must be exquisitely beautiful in summer, when all the

fine trees are in full grandeur, for I never saw any larger or more

flourishing. It is the custom for the French to decry everything

Spanish, even to the natural productions; and I had often been told that

the moment the French side was quitted all was barren and worthless; I

found, however, on the contrary, that the mountain-scenery greatly

increased in sublimity the nearer we advanced towards Roncesvalles, and

on our return that which had looked well on our way had dwindled into

tameness in comparison with what we had left. Our driver, in the true

spirit of his country, laboured to convince us that even the Basque on

the Spanish side was inferior to that on the French--a fact we were not

in a condition to decide on, as readily as we could with respect to the

scenery. I think, as a general rule, that a foreign traveller may always

be sure, if a country is abused in France, it possesses attractions for

him, and _vice versâ_; for the "toute beauté" of a French amateur is

invariably a piece of formality or common-place, unendurable to the

lovers of the really beautiful.

Flocks of snow-white goats, with long hair, were climbing up the

steepest parts of the mountains; and a few stragglers, with their pretty

kids, greeted us on our rugged road: a party of Zingari, with scowling

brows but civil demeanor, hurried past us, with a swiftness rather

unusual to their indolent race, unless indeed they were afraid of

pursuit--as our muleteer seemed to hint by his exclamation of alarm as

they appeared. Besides these, and a traveller mounted on a mule, who

was, we understood, a rich merchant of Pampeluna, who constantly made

the _trajet_ by that bad road, we were little disturbed in our solitude.

The Gave sounding far below, the smaller brawling cataracts crossing our

rocky path, the overhanging rocks and gigantic trees, the

constantly-changing scene, and the novelty of the whole, made our wild

and strange journey altogether delightful. We were congratulated on our

return that the rain, which overtook us on our way, had not been snow;

for in these regions the path is sometimes obstructed in the course of

half-an-hour; and a sad story was related to us of a courier despatched

to Roncesvalles in sunshine, having been overwhelmed by the snow on his

return the same evening. Whether this was a _mountain_ fable we could

not be sure; but we had heard so many terrors, and experienced none,

that we found it difficult to give credit to all the histories of

travellers eaten by wolves and destroyed by avalanches, such as had

arrived at Pau from the heights of Gabas and Urdos throughout the

winter, only to be contradicted after they had had their effect for the

given time.

From St. Jean Pied de Port--where the female costume is pretty, and

whose arsenal, and the fine view from it, are all that claim the

slightest attention in the most slovenly of ugly towns, and whose church

portal tells of former magnificence long since swept away--we took our

departure by St. Palais to Sauveterre, crossing the Pays Basque, which

is perfectly lovely as to scenery, and, in fine weather, is worth a long

journey to visit--so varied, rich, and agreeable is the country in all

directions. Sauveterre is a neat, clear, respectable town, finely

situated, well-enough paved, and having many attractions--particularly a

magnificent ruin of a strong castle, which is called that of the Reine

Jeanne, but is, evidently, originally of much more ancient construction.

One high tower is very commanding, and must have been formidable in its

time: that of the church, on still higher ground above, is of the same

date, and is very curious: on the whole, Sauveterre is as picturesque a

town as any we had seen, and we were sorry that bad weather a good deal

masked its beauties.

We paid a visit to the Protestant church; and the minister's wife, a

very simple, kind person, who deeply regretted the absence of her

husband--gone to look after his scattered flock, which is dispersed, in

distant hamlets, all over that part of the country towards Navarreux.

This excellent man is in the habit of walking many leagues, in the

severest seasons, to visit his people, who reside by twos and threes in

villages far remote; and he seems to spare no pains in his vocation. His

establishment is of the simplest and most primitive kind, evidently

quite unknown to luxury; and the sight of the good pastor--which we were

fortunate enough to get on the morning of our departure--confirmed our

preconceived opinion of his benevolence, if countenance be a faithful

index of mind. Our interview happened in this sort.

We had decided to leave Sauveterre early, fearing the weather, and were

just starting, when, at the carriage-door, we beheld two figures, which

we at once recognized as the returned pastor and his wife: a violent

shower greeted them; but, mindless of it, there they stood, under their

umbrellas, determined to make our acquaintance, and to thank my

companion for a donation she had sent to the poor Protestants under his

charge. His fine open, healthy countenance, and cheerful, good-humoured

expression, gentlemanlike manners, and easy address, pleased us

extremely; and the unassuming little wife, dressed in a cap like a

_bourgeoise_--joining him in kind exclamations of sorrow at losing their

friends of the moment--equally amused and gratified us with the

_naïveté_ of the whole proceeding. I have no doubt that our apparition

in that solitary town was quite an event, and one which the good

minister would have been sorry to miss. He had come back late the night

before, through a deluge of rain, and by the most difficult

cross-roads--of course flooded--after walking twenty or thirty miles;

yet he had energy to rise early, dress himself in his best, and come to

meet the strangers, before their departure.

I think he must really be a pattern of a minister, and is a worthy

example for many richer and less zealous clergymen. The French

government is not able to allow more than a thousand francs a-year to

the Protestant ministers, and out of this he no doubt gives much in

charity, for almost all his flock is poor, and I believe he has a family

to support besides: yet he seemed cheerful and contented, and probably

thinks himself well off, happy in the exercise of his duty, and in

relieving the sufferings of his fellows.

Navarreux is a strongly-fortified little town, looking extremely

warlike, filled with troops: it would be difficult to say why, as it is

so far from the frontier; but, probably, they are ready, as at Pau, in

case of an outbreak on the part of the Spaniards, which seems

improbable, but is talked of.[55] From hence to Pau the country is

pretty; but the nearer approach to the wide, marshy lands round, renders

the prospect infinitely less interesting, and the air less refreshing.

[Footnote 55: This has since occurred, and Espartero is in England and

Queen Christine in Spain.]

I had now accomplished, however imperfectly, a long-entertained

intention of _visiting Spain_; and, although I had merely breathed

Spanish air _for a few hours_, yet it has given me a sort of assurance

that I shall, one day, be able to put my favourite project in

execution--of travelling over that most poetical and interesting of all

countries--at a time, I trust, when its government shall be well

established, and peace and order so prevail, that the fear of brigands

may not deter strangers from seeking its romantic cities, and crossing

its wild and wondrous mountains.

For the present, I take leave of my readers; hoping that, in my next

tour, they will indulgently accompany me to Madrid and the Alhambra.

London:

Printed by R. Clay, Bread Street Hill.