ST. SAUVEUR.
Intorno a queste fonti siedon sempre
Bei damegelli e candide donzelle
Tenere e fresche e di leggiadro aspetto
Che invitan tutti a ber quell' acque dolce.
Tressino. L'Italia Liberata da Goti.
Rumour, that winged demon, whose business and pleasure it is to torment man, like a gnat that comes just when he is enjoying his morning's sleep, and, buzzing for ever about him, sings its indistinct song in his ears, till he has neither rest nor peace--came tormenting us at Cauterets, with the news of St. Sauveur being so full that if we did not put horses to the carriage, and set out without delay, we should find ourselves worse off, in point of lodging, than even where we were, although my friend was obliged to go into his room sideways, for fear of knocking down some of the utensils, and I might have just as well been in an oven, for I was precisely above the kitchen fire.
I have just been bleeding one of my candles. The wax had gained so much upon the wick, that it was ready to die of repletion, till, making an incision with the point of the snuffers, I let out a sufficient quantity to relieve it, and the flame burnt up brighter than before. I cannot help thinking that man is like a candle. The cold part is his body, the melted spermaceti is his blood, the wick is his brain, and the flame, though chemists prove it to be only the combustion of gas, produces light and heat, of which we know nothing, any more than of the spirit.
So we set off from Cauterets as hard as we could drive; but before we got to Pierrefitte my friend's strength failed him, and we were obliged to stop at that town for the night.
From Gavarnie to Lourdes may be considered as forming but one valley,--sometimes, indeed, contracting into narrow passes, sometimes opening into wide basins, but always marked, or rather connected, by the river, which, entering at the Cascade of Gavarnie, flows on in nearly a direct line to Lourdes.
At Pierrefitte, the valley contracts to a deep gorge, like that which leads to Cauterets, but the scenery round bears a softer character. The defile is much narrower, the hills more green and smiling, and though, perhaps, the whole may be more beautiful, it appears to want grandeur, after having seen Cauterets. For some way the road winds round the projecting bases of the hills, till at length it opens upon the beautiful valley of Luz, presenting a rich scene, not unlike the basin of Argelés. Here, also, scattered villages and ruined castles are the first things that present themselves, and shortly after appears the town of Luz, in the lower part of the valley, and St. Sauveur on an eminence to the right. The latter is a beautiful little place, consisting of nineteen or twenty houses, nested in a woody part of the mountain, and looking far over the scene of loveliness around.
We arrived just in time to be too late; the lodgings which we expected to find vacant had been taken by some one else; and we were obliged to put up much in the same way that we had done at Cauterets; but the place was so beautiful, so smiling, so cheerful in itself, that we could not be out of humour with anything in it.
Madame de Gontaut Biron, one of the most amiable beings I ever met, has made St. Sauveur her favourite summer abode, and has taken pains to display its beauties to the greatest advantage. She has planned and carried into execution many of the principal embellishments of the place; and Madame de Gontaut's bridge, and Madame de Gontaut's seat, and Madame de Gontaut's walks, are always the most beautiful that can be found. Her rank and her fortune gave her the means of making herself respected, but she has used them to a better purpose, and made herself loved. She combines all the high ton, the uncommunicable ease and elegance of a woman to whom courts have ever been familiar, with a degree of originality and bonhomie which takes off from the flatness of great polish. She knows every poor person in the village, and if they are sick or in distress it is to Madame de Gontaut that they fly for assistance. She relieves their wants, she promotes their happiness, she looks upon them as her children and they almost worship her. Her's is not alone that sort of general charity, which gives but for the sake of giving, without knowledge of the object or interest in the distress: she discriminates in her bounty, and doubles it by the manner in which it is done; for her words are as kind as her actions. I have met her often going down to the Springs, leaning on the arm of one, of the common porters of the place, asking after his family, inquiring into his affairs, and advising him in their regulation, with as much kindness as if he had been her son.
There is all the difference in the world between the benevolence which cheers and raises its object and the charity which humiliates.
A custom exists at St. Sauveur of bowing to every lady one meets in the street. Now, as the whole town is not two hundred yards long, and it is crammed as full as it can hold one may calculate fairly upon having to pull off one's hat at least a hundred times whenever a necessity exists of walking from one end to the other on a sun-shiny morning. God knows, I did not grudge it them, but it ought to be put into the list of expenses. My companion did much better, for he walked about the town with his hat under his arm, which did just as well.