CHAPTER XII.
EAUX BONNES AND EAUX CHAUDES.
Carriage v. diligence—Early birds—Height of absurdity—Diminutive donkeys—A whitened region—"Crystal clear"—Washerwomen and their gamps—A useful town-hall—A halfway house—Moralising—A much-loved pipe—An historic ruin—A noteworthy strong box—"Ici on rase"—Where are the bears?—Women in gaiters—Picturesque costumes—A lovely road—A "perfect" cure—A spring scene—A billiard-playing priest—A well-placed pavilion—The Valentin and its cascades—Through solid rock—Gaps in the road—A grand scene—Wanted, an artist—A fine torrent—Professional fishers—Lucky guests—Musings—Poor Mr. Tubbins—Bonnes v. Chaudes—Over the Col de Gourzy—Peculiar teams—Guelder roses—Spinning.
Next year, travellers with luggage will probably be able to reach Eaux Bonnes in a much shorter time than now, since the railway ought then to be in working order as far as Laruns; but at the period when this was written, the only choice of conveyances lay between a clumsy diligence and a comfortable carriage.
Very few people would be likely to hesitate between the two, provided they were not travelling alone, and in that case even, they would probably only take the former as an "experience."
The "diligence" which starts from the Hôtel de la Poste at Pau has three compartments, for a seat in any of which the respective charges are 8 frs. 80 cents, 7 frs. 70 cents, and 6 frs. 60 cents. The "first-class" seats—which are of course the best—are placed behind the driver, and a large dusty-looking hood shields the passengers from the rain, but not from the dust, nor, since it is black and low, from the heat of the sun. The position therefore, even with ample accommodation, is a trying one, but when tightly packed, and wedged in with luggage to boot, on a warm summer or even spring day, the lot of an individual during the 5-1/2 hours' journey, with only a half-hour's break between, would, like the policeman's, be certainly not "a happy one."
When a party are going it is of course cheaper to take a carriage, which may be had for from 35 to 50 francs to do the trip in one day, or at the rate of 25 francs per diem, taking it for two days or more. As the distance between Pau and either Eaux Bonnes or Eaux Chaudes is 271/2 miles, and the distance of the one watering-place from the other 61/4 miles, the actual mileage from Pau and back again is 611/4 miles, to perform which in one day, and see the two towns as well, is a feat—though often done—hardly to be recommended. At least two days should be given to the task, and we do not think they would be regretted.
The heat in Val d'Ossau during the summer months is very great, and the lumbering old diligence usually runs during the hottest part of the day; we preferred an early start, and by half-past six were on the road, meeting a few people apparently wending their way towards the market, with flowers and vegetables for sale. Crossing the bridge and through Jurançon, where hardly a soul was astir, we sped along the dusty road to Gan (5 miles), at which town—one of the chief centres of the wine district—a road to Oloron branches off to the right. Here the inhabitants were really beginning to bustle; and as it was getting on towards eight o'clock, they were nothing too early, although they may have held a different opinion. At the corner of one of the streets we came upon a team drawing a long cart, which we unanimously christened the "height of absurdity." A pair of 17-hand horses were in the shafts, and in front, attached as a leader, was the smallest of donkeys. Miss Blunt thought it the smallest donkey in the world; but we have met with so many lately in the Pyrenees which were in turn, in her opinion, the smallest she had ever seen, that by this time the smallest donkey might be but little bigger than a rat; this, however, was not the case, as Mr. Sydney will attest.
The valley grew more lovely as we progressed, with the winding Néez stream running with merry music beside the road, and although Mrs. Blunt did not indulge—as on the way to Cauterets—in any raptures of her own, she was quite willing to agree with the rest that the frequent resemblance of the scenery to many of the lovely bits we have in Wales was most pleasantly apparent.
Shortly before reaching the blanched region of the lime-works (71/2 miles), we caught a momentary glimpse of the Pic du Midi d'Ossau (9466 ft.), on which the summer sun had of late so relentlessly played, that the snowy crown had quite disappeared. Rebénac (93/4 miles) was reached at 8.40, and there we crossed the Néez by a stone bridge, the stream then running on our right, and continuing thus for three kilomètres farther (11 miles from Pau), when it issues from the Grotto du Néez—only a few yards from the road. From this grotto a great part of the torrent is diverted, being utilised to supply Pau with its pure and sparkling fluid. Half-an-hour after leaving Rebénac we passed through the village of Sévignac, (123/4 miles), and had a splendid view of the Val d'Ossau from the bridge which overlooks Arudy, and which is overlooked in turn by a fine and well-situated house.
We had barely time to appreciate the curious rocks which abound near Arudy, when we passed the road leading off through that town to Oloron, and came in sight of a merry group of washerwomen, whose enormous umbrellas—being unnecessary, since it was perfectly fine—were open in a row, and with their shades of magenta, green, and blue, without mentioning sundry patches of other shades, made a wonderful contrast to the green bushes fringing the river.
At 9.40 we entered Louvie Juzon (16 miles), with its old church and curious belfry-tower, and its "mairie" turned into a school—for the nonce at least; and passing the latter, we crossed the fine bridge over the Gave d'Ossau, on the other side of which the Oloron road leads off through Izeste to the right, and the courtyard of the Hôtel des Pyrénées bids us enter and rest.
How gladly the occupants of the diligences descend, for the short while adjudged sufficient, at this customary half-way house, who but themselves can tell? Even we were glad to let the horses have an hour's rest, and to enjoy meanwhile some good hot coffee and chicken. The inn itself was certainly not a paradise; but there were some lovely fields behind it, and in front, across the road, there was an old table and an older seat among the trees, down by the swift-flowing river. A charming place for moralising indeed! None of us, however, were much in the style of the "melancholy Jacques," or, with our eyes on some vigorous fisherman higher up the river, we might have begun:
"And yet it irks us, these bright speckled trout,
Being native swimmers in this river, should
From their own limpid pools, by gay, false flies
Be cruelly decoyed."
Instead of this, however, we returned to the inn, where we saw a worthy count endeavouring to clean a huge meerschaum pipe that he handled with evident fondness, and finding our carriage ready—it being then nearly eleven o'clock—we continued our journey.
It was now that the real Val d'Ossau commenced, and though the drive so far had been much enjoyed, we soon passed into scenery both more fine and more wild. One kilomètre from Louvie on the left stands the ancient Château de Géloz (161/2 miles) on a small hill, and on another hill beside it—of corresponding size—stands a church. The view here, with the village of Castets behind, the beautiful river below, and the wooded slopes and massive rocks above, was especially charming.
With many lovely fields on either side of us we drove at a smart pace towards Bielle (181/4 miles), and at a quarter-past eleven entered the town, which in bygone days was the capital of Ossau. Here the celebrated Coffre d'Ossau, that contained archives dating from the year 1227, was kept; and it is a noteworthy fact that the presence of the mayors of three towns, besides that of the President of the Valley Council, was necessary before this "strong box" could be opened.
There are many old houses and objects of interest, including some mosaics, to be seen in the town, and among other things that attracted our attention was a large board, painted in the most modern style, with a pair of scissors at one side and an open razor at the other, and the "welcome" information—"Ici on rase" underneath.
The village of Bilhères, situated above Bielle on the slopes of the hill, is not without interest on account of the richness of its copper mines, while during the dry season a track leads from it over the Col de Marie Blanque to the Vallée d'Aspe.
As we continued our journey the frequent puffs of dust alone gave us any trouble, but they caused us at times to screen our eyes and miss the view. The valley, now at its widest, with pastures high up on the hills seemingly as fertile as those beside the river, all bright with flowers or studded with well-leaved trees, spoke of peace and prosperity. It would have been hard indeed to imagine a huge and ferocious bear appearing among such cultivation, although the valley still retains its ancient name, signifying that it was once the resort of these animals; but a "dancing bear" is the only specimen of the race seen about there now.
At half-past eleven we passed through the village of Bélesten (20 miles), and a little beyond, when once more among the fields, came in view of a curious sight. Among the many fields, variously cultivated, was a square one dotted over with small manure heaps in rows. On the top of several of the heaps, native aprons (belonging, we presumed, to girls at work in the vicinity) were neatly placed. Was this a new fashion of rearing mushrooms, or a native invention for the propagation of aprons? No one could say, so we have given it up!
Further on we noticed a lovely little village among the trees on the hillside to the left; our coachman called it Louvie la Haute, and we have heard no other name, as it is too insignificant to be mentioned in a guide-book.
One peculiarity of this valley seemed to be the wearing of frilled gaiters or leggings by the women. They seem to supply the place of stockings and shoes, being visible from just below the knee, and descending well over the instep, so as to hide everything but the toes.
It must have been market-day at Laruns (233/4 miles), for when we arrived there at noon the streets were so full of carts and people that it was a matter of difficulty to get past. If the extra bustle had betokened one of the fêtes, of which the chief is held on August 15th annually, we should have been far from disposed to grumble, since it is at these Laruns fêtes alone now that the old picturesque Ossalois costumes can be seen. M. Doré has depicted a few natives in these costumes at their devotions in the ancient church that stood beside the route; but no one is likely to do so again, as the edifice—when we passed it—was falling into ruins and looked in a deplorable condition, the finely-sculptured doorway being partly hidden by the fallen débris. But not only the church, but more or less the whole village, seemed in a tumble-down condition, and this appeared to us especially strange, as everywhere around prosperity seemed to reign; and further, since the railway from Pau, which was to be opened this year, appeared nearly completed, the fact of Laruns being the terminus at this end of the valley ought to render it yet more prosperous.
Just inside the village we crossed the bridge over the almost dry bed of the Arricuzé (beyond which the old road to Eaux Chaudes branches off to the right), and then traversing the Gave d'Ossau, we continued under the trees along the ancient route to Eaux Bonnes. But not for many minutes, for, where the old road which leads to the Bear Grotto also begins to ascend, the new route strikes up to the right, and continues with an easy gradient to the point where it forks (24 miles), the continuation to the right leading to Eaux Chaudes, and the branch to the left—which we followed—to Eaux Bonnes.
[Illustration]
No pains have been spared to render the remainder of the journey attractive to either the rider or the pedestrian, and to us the drive up the broad zigzags, planted with plane trees, silver beech, ash, polonia, aspen, arbutus, burberis, and innumerable other handsome trees and shrubs, was a pleasant one indeed. One rocky bit on the right of the way, completely overhung with beautiful ivy, seemed to us especially picturesque. Admiring thus all the poetic touches in form or colouring as we passed, we suddenly, and almost without warning, found ourselves entering Eaux Bonnes (271/2 miles), and but a very few moments more sufficed for our conveyance to the excellent Hôtel de France, where the hostess was ready to receive us.
It would, indeed, be hard to find a more charmingly compact little town than Eaux Bonnes, anywhere: a perfect little miniature, very happily situated and beautifully clean and neat. What more could an invalid desire? Why, the very beauty of the surroundings ought to act perceptibly on the constitution, and when baths and perpetual tumblers of the rotten-egg fluid are indulged in besides, a perfect cure must be guaranteed.
It requires but few words to describe the shape and appearance of the place, but to convey an accurate idea to the reader is, we are afraid, a very difficult matter. The town is triangular in shape—almost an isosceles triangle, in fact—and this triangle is formed by the shape of the gorge, whose rocky, tree-clothed sides overlook it. Fine rows of hotels and restaurants, and other buildings—mostly let as furnished apartments—form the outer edge of the triangle. A good road separates these from the Jardin Darralde, which is likewise triangular, and planted with trees and shrubs in the most agreeable manner, both for neatness and shade. In the centre is the band-stand, and a bed of roses surrounds it. This is a general description, but it does not speak of beauty, and we thought that Eaux Bonnes was undoubtedly a beautiful place.
Suppose a triangular slice were cut out of Hyde Park, combining some leafy trees and a pleasant flower-bed with a band-stand added, and hotels and restaurants were erected around it; then, that it were transported to a narrow part of the Llanberis Pass under the very frown of Snowdon; and snow should fall on the surrounding summits; and magnificent beech groves and cascades appear down the wild slopes below, some idea of what Eaux Bonnes is like might be gained; but even then it would be little more than an idea.
It certainly has not the grandeur of Cauterets, the freedom of St. Sauveur, or the expansive loveliness of Luchon. It is hemmed in by the surrounding heights, of which, at the head of the Sourde (or Soude) valley (in which it lies) the magnificent Pic de Ger is most conspicuous, and doubtless this renders it a "warm retreat" in summer; but to see it as we saw it, with the sun shining on the rain-spangled leaves of the trees in the Jardin Darralde, on the lighter green of the beeches above, and glinting through the foam of the "Valentin" cascades; with no invalids, no gallant French horsemen, no gaily-dressed women, but only a few peasants dotted here and there, at work, to give life to the scene—to see it, in short, as it is in spring, can only give rise to pleasant feelings, which would mellow into pleasanter and more appreciative memories!
The amount of rain we had during our stay was only sufficient to cool the heated atmosphere and lay the dust; but Eaux Bonnes has rather a watery reputation, and many are the times that the visitors become victims to a shower, returning from their "constitutional" or their visit to the baths.
When we arrived the hotel had only been open a very short time, as the "season" was far from beginning, and the only other occupants, as visitors, were a rather stout man and a fat, jovial-visaged priest. We discovered them in the billiard-room as the priest was just in the throes of a most simple cannon, and our entrance appeared to damage his play, while his face rather lengthened, as though he felt ashamed at having been surprised at a worldly game. This may have been our fancy, as he was certainly the first R.C. priest we had seen with a cue in his hand; perhaps, however, he will not be the last.
After this we lunched, and after that, left the hotel and walked up the main road towards the Sourde Gorge, passing a choice marble shop, the bathing establishment, the church, and the town-hall. Beyond this last-named building the gorge narrows and extends to the base of the Pic de Ger (8571 ft.). Leaving this on our right, we followed the Promenade de l'Imperatrice, that ascends above the town-hall, till the path leading to the little kiosque—built on the summit of a rocky eminence called the "Butte du Trésor"—branched off to the right.
The view from the little pavilion is indeed a gratifying one, for though not extended, it is so entirely choice and picturesque; while the name of the eminence on which it stands, and from which some of the healing springs are said to rise, is decidedly appropriate, since there can be no doubt that they have proved a "mine of wealth" to several, although, as M. Taine remarks, it is "grotesque that a little hot water should have caused the introduction of civilised cooking in its very cauldrons."
Descending from the kiosque, we continued along the Route de l'Imperatrice, over which the beeches and other trees made a pleasant shade. This is a special walk for invalids, as it is constructed in zigzags of the easiest gradient, and while being both sheltered from west winds and open to the sun, it also commands at various points a good view of the River Valentin, the lower or Discoo Cascade, and the bridge which spans it; as well as the Route Thermale to Argelès, which follows the right bank of the river.
[Illustration: CASCADE DU VALENTIN.]
Most of the numerous cascades in the neighbourhood—thanks to the engineering of the "Empress's Walk" and the road to Argelès—are in easy walking distance for most people, even invalids; those usually visited being the Cascade des Eaux Bonnes, de Discoo, du Gros-Hêtre and du Serpent; the Cascade de Larsessec (33/4 miles) requires some fatigue to reach.
The road leading from the river back to the Hôtel de France passes between two walls of rock against which the houses are built. This passage has been made by blasting the solid rock, and it seemed that the work had been one of no small difficulty.
All great excursions were denied us, as neither the Pic de Ger nor the fatiguing Pic de Gabizos were sufficiently free from snow; while the road to Argelès still remained broken down in three places, and it seemed as though July would disappear ere the terrible gaps made by the avalanches could be built up anew.
We started for Eaux Chaudes in the cool of the afternoon, anticipating a pleasant drive, and were very far from being disappointed. After retraversing the road to the branching point above Laruns—near which the fields and banks were rich in gentians, violets, scabii, linariae, and columbines—we seemed suddenly to plunge into the Gorge de Hourat. There can be little doubt that there is no truer specimen of a gorge in the Pyrenees than this. The piled-up crags overgrown with heather, and the splendid pastures above on the hill-tops, seen in the Cauterets Gorge, were missing; so, too, the varied tints and softer landscape bits of the St. Sauveur defile were absent; but here the masses of rock rose straight up on either side, at times seemingly ambitious to hide their summits in the clouds; while the roar of the torrent issuing from the Hourat (or Trou, i.e. hole) above which the road passes, only served to heighten the grand effect of the scene.
Just after the narrowest part is passed, a small chapel may be noticed high above the river on the right. It marks the scene of a frightful accident. The old road, which was in use till 1849, passed by the spot, and a heavily-laden diligence full of passengers overturned—through the horses taking fright, it is said—and the whole complement were dashed over the rocks into the torrent below. The chapel has since been erected, but though the old road still exists, and, in fact, joins the new one at the Pont Crabé—which beautiful place is admirably depicted in the sketch—there is little danger of such an accident occurring again.
A little further on—viz. about two miles from Eaux Chaudes—we noticed below us as charming a subject as any painter could wish for. A small plot of velvet-like green-sward beside the rushing river; some trees, leafy almost to extravagance, gracefully arched above; a few sheep descending a narrow track on the hillside; and above all, the immense rocky heights, around the base of which beeches and other trees luxuriantly grew, and many beautiful flowers bloomed; and, thus garlanded at their base, their stern and massive summits looked grander still, and completed such a picture of majestic beauty as no lover of nature could fail to enthusiastically admire.
One mile further there is another fine sight, though not of the comprehensive beauty of that just mentioned. This one doubtless is not worth seeing in mid-summer, when the sun has dried up the mountain streams, but when we passed that way we could see from the very summit of the hill—above which the pointed Pic de Laruns reared its crest—a mass of foam issuing from between two rocks, no puny meandering streamlet, but a strong torrent, which, as it dashed from rock to rock, gathered strength and velocity till it rushed amid a cloud of spray into the river below.
[Illustration: CRABÉ BRIDGE, IN THE EAUX CHAUDES GORGE.]
We saw one or two gentlemen—evidently early visitors like ourselves—anxiously whipping the river for fish, but they caught nothing; in fact, they told us afterwards that it was done with hardly any hopes of catching, since the "professional"—save the name—element came out with rods and nets, so that if the rods didn't answer they could net the pools instead. It seemed to us a remarkably good thing that "professionals" can't do the same in England!
There is another lovely scene not half a mile away from the town, where a path leads from the road to the riverside. There is a plot of green-sward here, and a grove of trees; and the river passes under a bridge, that vibrates with the force of the torrent surging against its rocky base. The path over the bridge leads through the leafy glades on the heights that overlook the river, and the town may be regained by crossing another bridge higher up.
Soon after, we were entering Eaux Chaudes (271/2 miles), and having passed the Hôtel de France on the left, and the gardens and bathing establishment on the right, we drove up to the Hôtel Baudot and were courteously received by Madame.
It appeared that we had arrived a day too late, as the marriage of Madame's niece with the hotel chef had been celebrated the day before, and wonderful festivities had taken place in their honour; while the guests in the hotel (fortunately not more than eight in number) had been regaled with champagne and many choice dishes.
While waiting for dinner we strolled about on the terrace, opening out of the dining-room and overlooking the river. It did not need the boxes of bright flowers that lined the terrace sides to entice us there, but they certainly added to the delightful picture of river and trees; and as one face reminds us of another, so this scene carried our memory back to another, but a more lovely one even, because the beauty of the trees was heightened by large bushes of azaleas—bright with various-coloured blooms—growing between. But beauty and comfort do not always go together, and for calm enjoyment this Pyrenean scene had the preference; for the other was in the heart of Japan, at the tiny village of Sakurazawa, and we gazed on the picture through the open shoji, [Footnote: Sliding screens, being frames of wood pasted over with paper, acting as doors and windows.] lying on the neat but hard—very hard—mats, that were our tables, chairs, and beds in one; which our host's assurance, that the Mikado himself had slept upon them the year previous, didn't make any softer. The announcement of dinner cut short further musings, and we took our places at the table, profusely adorned with evidences of the previous day's ceremony.
At a table-d'hôte of eight or ten people conversation is as a rule easy and general. It requires a so-called "typical Englishman" to keep himself within himself, in a shroud of pride and reserve, and the "typical Englishman" is, thank goodness, nearly out of date. We were very anxious to learn about the plateau above Gabas. Was this plateau really worth seeing; and if so, when was it best to start? Everybody was ready to give their version of the trip, but Mr. and Mrs. Tubbins (if we recollect rightly) seemed the most anxious to speak. Mrs. T. was simply a combination of bolsters which shook with the exertion of speech, while poor Mr. T., a meek, thin, haggard-looking man—and no wonder—seemed to be ready to put in a word if required, but looked in momentary terror of getting a snub instead.
This look was not an unnecessary one; for Mrs. T., with all her anxiety to give information, did not get on very fast, and made many mistakes in names, &c., which her worse-half tried to rectify, with the result that she turned on him with "Frank, I wish you wouldn't interrupt; you are quite wrong, you know!"
However, from the general company we managed to gather a good deal of information, which, as a cloudy day spoilt our own trip thither on the morrow, it may be expedient to repeat. Gabas is only a hamlet of a few houses, and is in itself uninteresting. Situated five miles from Eaux Chaudes, it is reached by a good carriage road, which, crossing the Pont d'Enfer, continues along the left bank of the river the rest of the way, the views being chiefly of granite summits and thick pine forests. But though Gabas makes an excellent resting-place or starting-point for several excursions, no one stays there for any other reason, and tourists from Eaux Chaudes usually pass it on the way to the Plateau des Bious-Artigues or to Panticosa. The road forks at Gabas, and becomes no longer anything but a bridle path, the right branch leading to the plateau, the other passing by the Broussette valley, across the Spanish frontier, to Panticosa. The plateau is reached in one hour and a half, not without exertion, and the view over the Pic du Midi d'Ossau is considered wonderfully fine. Several of our informants, however, had chosen bad days, and after all their labour, found a thick mist over everything that was worth seeing. Among these Mrs. Tubbins had figured, and her goodman had suffered in consequence. "The idea," she said, "of bringing me all this way, and at my time of life too, simply to see a mist, as if I hadn't seen plenty of them at home!" Of course she had come of her own accord, and the meek and injured one had followed as a matter of course.
[Illustration: THE BIOUS-ARTIGUES.]
The journey from Gabas to Panticosa requires a good twelve hours, and generally more; consequently an early start is advisable. It is a favourite way of entering Spain, and much more practicable than the route from Cauterets to the same spot.
Of Eaux Chaudes itself there is but little to say, for with the exception of the hotels, the bathing establishment, and a few shops, there is nothing to form a town. Like Eaux Bonnes it is shut in by the mountains on either side, but it is more oblong in shape, with two parallel streets. The Promenade du Henri IV., which leads southwards from the Hôtel Baudot along the side of the river, is a cool and pleasant walk, especially of an evening.
Various opinions exist as to which place is most suitable for a residence, the "Bonnes" or the "Chaudes." In spring probably the former, but the latter certainly in summer; for not only is it free from the bustling, gaily-dressed crowd which throngs its rival, but there is a fresh breeze that blows up the valley which renders it always cool and pleasant; while the scenery is as fine as the most fastidious could wish for.
The Col de Gourzy and the lofty Pic of the same name tower above Eaux Chaudes, and a route to Eaux Bonnes—which to good pedestrians is well worth the exertion—passes over the former. The path strikes off from the Gabas road to the left, while yet in the town, and passes by the Minvieille "buvette." For the first half-hour the route is the same as that to the Eaux Chaudes grotto; this is an excursion, of two hours there and back, that is in great favour with tourists. Where the path forks, the one to the grotto is left on the right, and after some fatiguing work the Plateau de Gourzy is reached, from which the view on a fine day is splendid. The track then leads through beech glades and box thickets to the "Fontaine de Lagas" (near which a wild and beautiful valley branches off to the right), and finally joins the Promenade Jacqueminot at Eaux Bonnes. Horses may be taken the whole distance, but it is easier for them—if tourists choose this highly-recommended route—when the start is made from Eaux Bonnes.
It rained severely early on the morning of our departure, but later, cleared up into a lovely day, enabling us to start at 8.30. The river and the cascades were full, and the sun glinting on the wet leaves gave a fairy-like appearance to this magnificent gorge. As we looked back from the cascade, which seemed to tumble from the summit of the Pic de Laruns, the clouds gradually rising over the head of the valley disclosed a huge snow mountain [Footnote: The "cocher" called it the Pic d'Estremère, but we had no confirmation of this] to view, that appeared to form an impassable barrier 'twixt France and Spain.
When we reached Laruns we had a fine view of its pointed peak, and through the morning haze the lofty Pic de Ger over Eaux Bonnes looked imposing indeed. Travelling we found very pleasant. There was no dust, the air was cool, the roads just soft enough for comfort, and the whole valley refreshed with the morning's rain. The people in the fields worked with greater energy, and the bright scarlet hoods of the damsels, many of whom followed the plough, gave a pleasant colouring to an animated scene. We passed several flocks of geese, apparently unwilling to proceed at as rapid a pace as the good woman—with her frilled gaiters—who was in charge of them wished; but with those exceptions we hardly met anybody or anything on the road till we had passed Louvie.
What we then met were a couple of carts filled with coal, and as we never recollected having seen any such peculiar teams as they were drawn by, we concluded they were "Ossalois," and "peculiar" to the valley. There were eight animals to each cart, four bulls and four horses. The bulls were harnessed in pairs (as in a four-in-hand coach), and acted as wheelers, while the horses, acting as leaders, were harnessed in line, one in front of another. Curious as this arrangement seemed, they made good progress with a very heavy load!
[Illustration: THE PIC DE GER.]
At Sévignac a splendid Guelder rose-tree grew in a small garden over a mill stream, and a very ancient dame very willingly sold us some clusters which were peculiarly fine; in another garden a very fine bush of white cistus was completely covered with blooms. The hedgerows, too, were bright with flowers; the wild Guelder roses and medlars [Footnote: The "makilahs," or slicks peculiar to the Basque people, are made from the wild medlar. They are very heavy, tipped with iron, and unpleasant to carry.] preponderating, but elder bushes were also plentiful, and covered with blossoms.
At Rébenac we stopped at the Hôtel du Périgord for coffee and a fifteen minutes' rest, the horses not requiring any more, as the day was so cool. While drinking the "welcome liquid" we watched an old woman out of the window, spinning. Her distaff was apparently very old and dirty, and as she span she seemed to be crooning some ancient ditty to herself, thinking, maybe, of her children and grandchildren, or even of the days when she was herself a child.
We started again when the quarter of an hour was up, and bowled along towards Gan, meeting on the way several natives (men) with their hair in long pigtails, like Chinamen; they looked otherwise decidedly Béarnais, but their appearance was peculiar, to say the least of it. Beyond Gan we passed into full view of the lovely Coteaux, which afford such pleasant rides and drives from Pau, and as we gradually neared the town, the heat seemed to intensify to anything but a pleasurable degree.
Four hours forty minutes after starting we were once more under the roof of Maison Colbert, with such a luncheon before us as fully justified the hospitable repute that it has always borne.
But Pau was far too hot for us to remain for more than a few days, although the heat was unusually great for that time of the year, and we were very glad when once more on our journey towards the pleasant breezes and blue waters of the Biscay.