We enjoyed our stay, however, in the midst of all the wild scenery immensely, and think that but few people, if they came during the month of June, would be prepared to differ from us. There are always some of course, and before coming we had the pleasure of meeting two of them, in the shape of a retired grocer (or something of that kind in the wholesale line) and his wife. They both declared that "Cauterets was a vile 'ole, with 'igh streets and showy 'ouses, and that a sensible 'uman being wouldn't stay there ha _h_our;" but it must be mentioned in their favour, that the day on which they went was rather damp, and there was only one grocer's shop open. If anyone should be disposed to take their verdict as more conclusive than ours, we can simply say, "Believe neither, but go and see for yourself."
There is one other subject worth mentioning, in regard to which we had a trifling diversion on the morning of our departure. The true breed of Pyrenean dogs may be seen at Cauterets, and puppies obtained by any people who wish to have a specimen of this fine race. The great secret in rearing them is to avoid meat of any kind, and feed them on bread with a little milk, or very thin soup. It is not the climate of England, as has so often been alleged, which gives them consumption, but the change to rich diet from the meagre fare which in the mountains they always receive.
The prices vary so much, that it is wisest for a stranger to enlist the services of some trustworthy native to arrange the purchase, rather than to do the bargaining himself. Pups from six weeks to three months sell at from ten francs to one hundred, but a really fine specimen of two and a half months ought to be bought for thirty-five francs. Dogs of six months and upwards are expensive; as much as five hundred francs being asked for them in the season.
As Miss Blunt had a great desire to become the possessor of one of these fluffy creatures, whenever any were seen inquiries were always directed at once with regard to their parentage and price. Happening to perceive a woolly tail disappearing behind a workshop in the Rue de la Raillère a few hours before we had to start, we passed up a short entry beside the aforementioned workshop, and asked to see the owner of the dogs. In a few seconds he stood before us, a weather-beaten Frenchman, who, as well as his clothes and his intellect, had seen better days—a man about five feet six inches high, with face deeply lined; moustache, goatee, and hair, all somewhat sparse and grizzled; a blue berret (the native hat) in his hand; his shirt fastened by a single stud, barely hiding what had been once a brawny chest; his loose trousers half-covered by a leathern apron; and his two coats both threadbare, and decorated with ribands in an equally worn-out state—such, bowing and smiling as he approached, was the proprietor alike of the dogs and the workshop. In spite of his poor appearance and idiosyncrasy—almost approaching to madness—he had a certain dignity of manner which we could not fail to notice. But he was very trying to deal with. Whenever the price was the object of our inquiry, he began in the following strain: "Very good, very good; which does Monsieur like? which does Ma'm'selle prefer? The finest of course? Ah yes, the finest! Ah, very good; take your choice, Monsieur; take which you please. The finest dogs in the world! See! see! Monsieur" (and here he pointed to the ribands on his breast), "I gained the prize at the Paris Exhibition!—at the Paris Exhibition!—the exhibition open to all the world—I, with the dogs I had brought down from the mountains and bred myself, I gained the prize. Ha! ha! there were two Englishmen, two of your fellow-countrymen, who thought they would beat me; but no, no, Monsieur, it was to me you see (pointing to his breast again), Monsieur, that they gave the prize." At last, however, he named fifty francs as the price of either, which was very excessive, and when I suggested ten—which was proportionately low—he proceeded to take off his apron, roll up his coat-sleeves, and then, looking at me fiercely, said, "So, Monsieur, you take me for a ten-franc man, do you? You think to mock me, do you? I, who gained the prize at the Paris Exhibition, the exhibition open to all the world, for the finest dogs, you think I will sell my puppies at ten francs, Monsieur? No, Monsieur. I will not sell you one for ten francs, and I do not wish to have anything more to do with you." And then he, who five minutes before had been shaking my hand with delight because I knew the owner of the parent dog (of his puppies), with a lofty wave of the hand motioned me to depart. Before doing so I soothed his offended dignity by a mellifluous explanation, and he once more, but somewhat loftily, offered me his hand as I bade him farewell. So, in spite of the pleasant diversion, Miss Blunt did not get her dog!
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.