Half-an-hour after starting we reached the cottage known as the "Grange de la Reine Hortense," the view from which is excessively fine. Looking down towards the town, the mighty Cabaliros (7655 ft.), forming a semicircle, stood above on the right; to the left of this semicircle reared up the Monné (8938 ft.), the highest mountain in the vicinity, from which other peaks make another similar formation, ending with La Brune, beside which, but more to the left and immediately over the town, rises the Peguère, covered with irregularly-heaped crags, and pines. The town itself looked very neat and compact: the Mamelon Vert (a small hill to the right) and the chief thorough-fares being easily distinguished. Far up the Lutour valley, to the extreme left, the Pic de Labassa, or de la Sèbe (9781 ft.), and the Pyramide de Peyrelance (8800 ft.), completed the chief points of the scene in that direction; but far away in the opposite one we could easily see the Argelès valley and the Gothic church of Lourdes. Behind us, seemingly facing the Cabaliros, were the Col de Riou (6375 ft.), our would-be destination, and the Pic de Viscos. Winding up the hillside, and passing banks blue with the large and small gentian, we entered the pines, which made a pleasant change. As at the Col d'Aspin, [Footnote: Vide Bigorre, p. 42.] the rising sap filled the air with its refreshing odour, and the occasional glimpses of blue sky, mountain, and valley, through the gently waving branches, were very charming.
[Illustration: ASCENT OF COL DE RIOU]
We had not proceeded very far through the trees when we reached a break, where one of the party felt that at least something had been gained. There, partly on the track, partly on the loose stones above it, lay a bank of snow, and so delighted was Miss Blunt at having attained the (present) snow-line—say about 4600 feet above sea level—that her feelings were not to be in any way damped or suppressed, as they burst forth in an
"EXHORTATION TO THE FIRST SNOW."
Emblem of Purity,
Chilly as Charity,
Oh, what a joy your deep whiteness to view!
Something is gain'd at last,
But you are melting fast,
Why does the cruel sun put you to stew?
Tell me, O long-lain snow,
What of the vale below?
What do you think about people and things?
Do you love forest-trees?
Or love you more the breeze?
Tell me what bird you think most sweetly sings?
What? You've no heart at all?
Cannot help where you fall,
Caring not if you swell to a huge size:
Minding not how you rush,
What you break, whom you crush?
Surely such feelings you ought to disguise.
Ah, well! we won't discuss,
Useless to make a fuss;
For, after all, I am glad that we met.
Emblem of Purity,
Chilly as Charity—
But I won't roll in you. No! you're too wet!
The two dogs were amusing in their absurdity. They were perpetually endeavouring to detach stones from the side of the pathway, so as to have the pleasure of pursuing them down the steep. At times, when the hill was thickly strewn with leaves or particularly steep, they completely disappeared, though violent pulsations among the scattered branches and the aforesaid leaves told us they were not lost, but only temporarily buried.
When we had barely mounted another 400 feet, we came upon regular banks of snow, right over the path. This was quite unexpected, and we had to decide whether to leave the horses and tramp through the snow, or to return. We chose the latter—although the Col de Riou stood out seemingly very practicable of ascent—and, returning on foot, the horses and guides following, with the dogs here, there, and everywhere, we reached the "Grange de la Reine Hortense" and proceeded to lunch. After giving a very good account of the paté sandwiches, and not forgetting the guides and the dogs, we made our way slowly back, defeated perhaps, but certainly not discouraged.