Twixt France and Spain; Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees

by E. Ernest Bilbrough

CHAPTER VI.

LUZ AND BARÈGES.

Rain at starting—A blighted view, yet lovely still—Pont d'Enfer —Nature's voice—Sère and Esquiez—Luz—Its situation and status—An old house—The ancient Church of the Templars—La Chapelle de St. Roch—Pyrenean museum—Hôtel de l'Univers—Château de Ste. Marie—"The Jackdaw's Causerie"—A new "Diet of Worms"—The new bathing establishment—To Barèges—Pic d'Ayré—Esterre—Viella—Betpouey—Mill conduits—Cercle des Etrangers—Opinion of the town—Grand Etablissement—Promenade Horizontale—Hospice de Ste. Eugénie—"The Jay of Barèges"—Wood anemones—Hepaticas—Valley of Lienz—Pic de Lienz—Pic d'Ayré's summit—Pic de Néouville—Mountain rhododendrons —Anemone vernalis.

Although we had beautiful weather all the while we remained in Cauterets, directly we prepared to depart down came the rain, the mists descended over the hills, and until we reached Pierrefitte we were unable to obtain more than momentary glances at the beauty we had so delighted in, before. Having crossed the Gave de Barèges by the Pont de Villelongue, we were soon in the gorge, the rocks on the left of which were blasted for five miles, when the road was constructed. Notwithstanding that it still rained, the clouds were a little higher, and our view consequently less contracted.

[Illustration: THE GORGE NEAR PIERREFITTE.]

The beauty of the scene was indisputable, and yet it was a beauty less wild and majestic, and more unequal, than that of the Cauterets Gorge. The heights on the left had frequently the barest and most uninteresting appearance, when on the other side the eye was enchanted with the varied spring tints on the trees massed together up the slopes from the river, whose limpid green pools or foaming rapids gave such a charm to the picture. The old road is seen in many parts, and several of the old bridges, but the one about three and three-quarter miles from Pierrefitte, at a point where the Gorge widens—known as the Pont d'Enfer, and built partly of wood as well as stone—is by far the most interesting. The scenery in its vicinity was particularly beautiful. The wild quinces, with their white blossoms mingling with those of the cherry and the light green of the maples, larches, elms, birches, and limes; the bright fields above, and the ever-lovely river below; with the massive crags and a babbling waterfall, rendered this part especially—as well as several others in a lesser degree—enchanting.

An enthusiast might easily write a book on the beauty of this gorge alone, but in this age he would probably find few readers; of those who did look at his book the greater number would find it probably too highly-coloured, while the more enthusiastic ones would lament its lack of warmth. Not wishing to incur the displeasure of either, we refrain from saying a great deal about the splendour of this drive; knowing that to a lover of the beautiful in Nature, all we have left unsaid Nature will herself say ten times more impressively.

After passing the monument in honour of the "Reine Hortense," which is five miles from Pierrefitte, and crossing the Bridge de la Hiladère, we soon caught sight of some villages on the left, where poplars—stiffly prominent in all directions—spoil much of the picturesqueness of the surroundings. The villages of Sère and Esquiez, that we saw when nearing Luz, are ancient and worthy of a visit. Together they formed a "chef-lieu" before the eleventh century, and the Roman church in each, but especially that of Sère, is exceedingly interesting. A few moments, during which we crossed a marble bridge over the Gave de Bastan, and, bearing to the left, we were in Luz.

Denominated by various titles, from a "poor village" to a "small rustic town," Luz is by no means an insignificant place. It doubtless owes a great deal to its situation in a pleasant hollow among the hills, with a pleasant landscape on all sides, and its appearance is certainly more quaint and rustic than poor. Undoubtedly there are several old houses, some looking particularly unsafe; undoubtedly the streets are often very narrow; and perhaps the inhabitants on the whole may be far from wealthy; but with all this Luz is not a poor looking village. On a market-day the streets in the vicinity of the old church, built—partly in the 12th and finished between the 15th and 16th centuries—by the Templars, assume a wonderfully gay appearance, and towards the back of the church we noticed one old house whose balconies, if a trifle warped and weather-beaten under the thin covering of white paint, were nevertheless bright with pots of geraniums, wallflowers, and stocks.

The church itself is most interesting, and was at one time very formidable also. Surrounded by a high wall pierced with loopholes in a double row, lies the graveyard, which is only a narrow strip between the ramparts and the church, the body of which lies between two towers. Under the higher of these, facing north, and built for defence with loopholes and embrasures, is one of the church doors, which leads to the high altar steps in a direct line from the entrance into the churchyard. Further to the right, but also facing north, is the most remarkable entrance, the inscriptions on the arch dating from the 12th century. On the extreme right is a door leading into the chapel, built in the 16th century, and dedicated to St. Roch. We found the inside interesting, without possessing any very striking features.

[Illustration]

The effect from the main gallery is perhaps best, and the smaller ones running along the sides have a weird and aged appearance. Near the entrance to the church, low down, is shown what was once the door for that wretched race of beings, the "Cagots."

[Footnote: We found it difficult to obtain any reliable information about these creatures. They seem to have led an existence like the lepers in Palestine, being avoided and despised by the inhabitants generally, and they appear to have been both diminutive and ugly.(See St. Savin, p. 73).]

The Chapelle de St. Roch, which we passed into from the gallery in the main building, is the most striking of the two. The gallery and stairs were in a very shaky condition, and two candle-stands near the latter seemed to have been in their prime many generations ago. The vaulted roof, with the curious wooden groins, and the ancient bénitier near the door, are worthy of inspection. Without scrambling up the tower to the "Pyrenean Museum," but not forgetting to examine the old bell-tower and its bells facing west, we walked down to the left and joined the main road.

The ancient Castle de Sainte Marie—a very interesting and historic ruin—being in the vicinity, we followed the principal highway to the right, and passing the much-recommended Hôtel de l'Univers, were soon in the proximity of the château, which, standing alone on the summit of a pointed hill, was charmingly conspicuous. The path, after winding up the hill, leads to an entrance at the back, which is locked, the castle being now the property of the Précepteur of Luz, who, however, is always willing to accommodate strangers by allowing them to enter, as well as to inspect his garden, and the very striking image of the Virgin which he has had perched on the front walls. A great number of jackdaws have taken up their quarters in the old towers, and as one of them kept continually cawing as though anxious to be heard, we append what we made out to be the meaning of his chatter (it is said they never speak without cause), which we call

"THE JACKDAW'S CAUSERIE."

"THE JACKDAW'S CAUSERIE."

Caw, caw! cried the jackdaw, and cawed again,
As he circled out of the ancient tower:
Caw, caw! and he circled thrice over the plain,
And cawed once more as he reached his bower.

Caw, caw! I was born in this fortress old,
As old as the hills, some folks might say;
Five hundred centuries, caw, have rolled
Since first it stood in the light of day.

Caw, caw! just to think I have built my nest
Where the Black Prince ruled in such royal state.
Caw, caw! I wonder if ever he guess'd
That this would in time be his castle's fate.

Caw, caw! but I never could quite perceive
Why one tower is round and the other square.
If I'd been the prince, I can well believe
I'd have made the architect build a pair.

Caw, caw! by-the-bye, there was old Coffite[1]
And Jean de Bourbon, that fought so well;
And 'tis said that the prince underwent defeat—
At least my mother this tale would tell.

Caw, caw! they've finished with siege and fight;
The castle's too old for that, of course;
They go in for piety on the right,[2]
And we caw away till our voice grows hoarse.

Caw, caw! I'm a Catholic right sincere,
But somehow or other I cannot see
Why they put up the Virgin's statue[3] here—
The place is as wrong as a place could be.

Caw, caw! I must see how my youngsters look
In their quiet nursery 'mid the stones;
Next week they'll be able "to take their hook,"[4]
And—but there they go with their squeaking tones.

Caw, caw! cried the jackdaw, the world is vain,
But I love to dwell in my ancient tower.
Caw, caw!—why the wretches want feeding again,
They've a "diet of worms" nearly every hour.
And he cawed as he flew to the nursery bower.

[Footnote 1: It is said that Jean de Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, and
Auger Coffite of Luz, took this castle in 1404.]

[Footnote 2: The author does not hold himself responsible for the jackdaw's slang, which refers to the statue.]

[Footnote 3: This statue is in honour of "Notre Dame de Lourdes.">[

[Footnote 4: Again the jackdaw indulges in slang!]

Leaving the jackdaw to pursue his paternal duties, we descended again to the town, and sheltered awhile from a shower under the balcony of the new and gaudy-looking bathing establishment, that stands in the outskirts, towards St. Sauveur. These baths, which are only opened during the summer, are supplied with water from Barèges, whither we were only waiting for a fine day to make an excursion. But fine days just then were rather hard to find, so we contented ourselves with one that did not look very ominous, and taking a good lunch with us, started in a landau and four at ten o'clock.

[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF STE. MARIE.]

The road after leaving Luz follows the course of the Gave de Bastan, skirting in turn the base of the Montaigu [Footnote: Not to be in any way confounded with the Montaigu near Bigorre. The French mountain vocabulary is so defective, they often call several heights by the same name.] and that of the Pic d'Ayré, and, passing through the villages of Esterre (2 miles), Viella (2-1/4 miles), and Betpouey (3-1/2 miles), winds in steep zigzags up to Barèges (4064 ft.).

This valley, after what we had seen, did not give us much pleasure; its appearance on the whole being sterile, though after leaving Luz as far as Esterre, the brightness of the fields and trees, and the splashing of the water overflowing the miniature mill conduits, made a pleasant landscape.

The actual distance from Luz to Barèges is barely four miles, and yet so great is the height of the latter (1600 ft. above Luz) that it was nearly one o'clock when we pulled up at the Cercle des Etrangers—the only specimen of a hotel or café open—for our lunch.

After a pleasant meal we made a move to inspect the town and its environs, and were not long in forming an opinion, at any rate, on the former, which we think most visitors at this season of the year would be inclined to endorse. One long ascending street lined with houses all shut up, occasional breaks where a narrow alley or the roads to the hospitals and promenades branched off, the bathing establishments under much-needed repair, the dirty-looking river dashing down behind, on the left; the beech boughs clad in dead leaves rustling on the slopes, in the opposite direction; and a few natives here and there, very untidy and sleepy-looking, as though with difficulty awaking from the "dormouse" state, complete the picture of Barèges, which we need hardly add is in itself a most desolate and dreary-looking place. In mid-summer, with the sun shining and the trees in full leaf, an improvement in the scene would be noticeable; but very few, except invalids specially recommended for a course of the waters, are at anytime likely to stay there more than a few hours.

[Illustration: BARÈGES.]

We took the road leading up, to the right of the "Grand Etablissement," to the Promenade Horizontale, the great summer rendezvous, and passing the "Hospice de Ste. Eugénie" began the ascent up the easy zigzags of the "Allée Verte." We had not made much progress when we startled, from what was doubtless a contemplative mood, a very fine jay. He did not seem to like the disturbance at all, but kept flying from branch to branch in the vicinity, repeatedly uttering his guttural cries.

As the tenor of his thoughts—uttered in rather a shrill treble—seemed to bear considerably on topics of general interest, in spite of the apparent selfishness that was the key-note of the whole, we think it expedient to let posterity enjoy the enlightenment we received from

"THE JAY OF BARÈGES."

Lawks a mussy! and shiver my feathers!
Why this is a wonderful sight;
In spite of my earnest endeavours,
I can't quite get over my fright.

'Tis so long since the strangers departed,
They ne'er would return, I had thought;
So no shame at their coming I started,
Though perchance I felt worse than I ought.

Still to think through the days cold and lonely
I've wandered about at my will,
With no one to chase me, and only
The need to prevent getting chill.

Well, I say—when I think of the quiet
And rest that is now at its close—
I have doubts of enduring the riot
After such a long time of repose.

It is not that I hate to see pleasure,
It is not that the world I detest;
But I like to have comfort and leisure,
And not to be teased and oppress'd.

I don't mind the smell from the fountains,
—Though a rotten-egg scent is not sweet—
For I always can fly to the mountains
And seek some umbrageous retreat.

Then the season for shooting is over,
So the sportsmen[1] will leave me alone,
And I'll pose as a Go(u)ld Jay in clover,
Avoiding a _dollar_ous tone.

To my doctor, perhaps, 'twould be better
The final decision to leave;
And I'll follow his choice to the letter,
He's a bird I can always believe.

That reminds me 'tis time for my dinner,
And as I don't wish it to wait,
As sure as I'm saint and no sinner,
I'll be off at my very best rate.

[Footnote 1: The jay, with all its sophistry, did not apparently know that French sportsmen only kill what they can eat, and therefore its fears would in any case have been groundless.]

And with a concluding chuckle the bright bird disappeared. We were by this time beyond the "Forest Administration" hut, and close upon the snow, which lay in narrow but deep drifts among the trees, the wood anemones and fine hepaticas growing in groups close by.

As we gradually progressed, the snow occupied the greater part of the way, and we were forced to betake ourselves to the extreme edge; and when at last we emerged into the Vallée de Lienz, trees and branches had to be scrambled over to avoid a wetting, although we were obliged to cross one or two drifts after all. Getting clear of the trees, we came in full view of the imposing Pic de Lienz (7501 ft.) on the left, and the rounded summit of the Pic d'Ayré (7931 ft.). Passing the two cabins constructed among the rocks in the open, we crossed the swift brook and began the ascent of the inferior but well-wooded hill below the Pic de Lienz. There is no proper path up to this Pic (as to most others), and the grass is rather bad for walking; but the views up the valley to the mighty Pic de Néouville (10,146 ft.), and the whole range behind the Pic d'Ayré, are very grand. We only went to the bend just before the summit of the Col, resting awhile among a huge pile of boulders, brightened by bushes of the mountain rhododendron, before commencing to descend. A fine specimen of the rather rare Anemone vernalis was a prize that fell to us as we carefully balanced ourselves on the slippery tufts which so often, carrying the feet along at an increased speed, cause the owner to find himself rather unpleasantly acquainted with mother earth. However, we reached the huts again in safety, and made considerably shorter cuts on our way back to the town, encountering a solitary sheep with a very young lamb at one of our sharp turns.

We arrived at the café just in time for tea, and then the horses were put in and we rattled back, having, in spite of the barrenness of Barèges, spent a very pleasant day.