We left Lourdes again at three o'clock, the sun still very warm, as the lazy attitudes of the peasants working in the fields attested; and, passing several crosses at the roadside—"ornamented" with pincers, hammer, nails, and sword, with a bantam cock on the top—reached the base of the col (600 feet high) which separates the respective basins of the Adour and the Echez. Half-way up the hill we discovered Mr. Sydney, who had walked on ahead, very busy with a team of oxen, towards which, having encountered them without a driver, he had taken upon himself to act as "guide, philosopher, and friend"; and by dint of great application of his umbrella, open and shut, in the last-mentioned capacity, he brought them to, and kept them at, a standstill by the side of the road till the carriage passed.
From the top of the hill we enjoyed an extensive view, the Pic du Midi de Bigorre standing out wonderfully clear. Descending again, we joined the Tarbes road crowded with market carts, and leaving the village of Montgaillard on the left, duly arrived at Bagnères de Bigorre, where we were received with open arms by Monsieur and Madame Bourdette.
The morrow being Sunday, was spent in resting, the magnificent weather still continuing. The trees on the Coustous and the different hills around were at length well covered with foliage, and gave a prettier appearance to the town, which the ever-flowing streams by the roadsides greatly added to. In the evening the Orphéon (or local Choral Society) gave an open-air concert from the roof of one of the Coustous cafés. A tremendous crowd of some 2000 persons had gathered under the trees to listen, and kept perfectly still while the songs proceeded. The solos were not particularly wonderful, but the beautiful blending of the voices in the Pyrenean part-songs was a very great treat, and the sounds, floating deliciously away on the soft evening air, could be heard like some whispering echo for a long distance.
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We had some difficulty in arranging for a carriage, on the following day, for Luchon, as a great number had been engaged for the fête at Payole, and for those not yet taken high prices—considering the time of year—were asked. Not wishing, however, to lose a day, we settled for a landau and three horses to do the journey in two days—for 110 francs, including pourboire—stopping the night at Arreau. The day broke, like its predecessors, perfectly fine, and at 10.30 we made our adieus to Bigorre, and were on our way.
The scenery all the way to Payole was more charming than when we drove there [Footnote: See pages 40-44.] previously, and on our arrival at the Hôtel de la Poste there was a considerable difference visible there. The courtyard was filled with carriages, and a busy throng buzzed about the doors, while the windows were occupied by a variety of forms. Having with great difficulty secured utensils, we unearthed the lunch, and proceeded with our meal at a side-table. The participators in the fête, who were all men, occupied the centre table, and others were at the side. The noise they made was not appetising, and though they mixed wines considerably, their jokes did not improve; yet the scene was a very typical one of "Frenchmen out for a holiday." After our repast, we adjourned to see the fête, and a wonderful treat it was! Tame rabbits and fowls, fastened to a stake driven into the hillside, some 90 to 100 yards from the road, were the targets, at which a perpetual round of shots soon commenced. Double-barrelled guns loaded with ball were the usual weapons; one or two single-barrelled pieces and a rifle or two being occasionally seen.
The marksmen seemed peculiarly poor ones, from the country lad, or the genuine 'Arry, with huge check clothes, to the moustached "masher," with tight trousers and rounded jacket. About one "poulet" in fifty shots succumbed, and a white rabbit's dismissal was received with loud acclamations.
At 2.30, exactly two hours after our arrival, we were off again, and soon entered the pine forest. It looked very bonny in the bright sunlight, while the view from the Col d'Aspin was singularly felicitous. Not a cloud anywhere. The mighty Posets, the Pic d'Arbizon, and the other snow-crowned heights, softened by distance and beautified by the tints in the foreground, stood out against the azure sky in all their splendour.
The Aure valley, as we descended, and the tiny hamlet of Aspin, looked very peaceful and lovely; in fact, the whole of the extensive scene—considered one of the finest to be enjoyed by driving in the Pyrenees—seemed to spread out its charms before us.
Winding down the splendid road, Arreau was soon in view, and at 4.30 we drove under the portico of the Hôtel de France, somewhat dusty, but wholly pleased. With some time to spare before dinner, we set out to explore this wonderfully quaint, and—though dirty—strikingly picturesque old town. A road leads from the courtyard of the hotel straight to the very ancient-looking market-place and the river, at which point the latter is crossed by a very old wooden bridge. Traversing this, and passing several curious houses with verandahs reaching over the street, we found ourselves at the ancient Chapelle de St. Exupère, built during the 9th and 10th centuries, but now restored. The windows are of fine stained glass, and the view from the belfry tower, over the peculiar old town—with its curious turrets and roofs, whose best days have long passed—is worth the somewhat arduous mount to get to it. The peasant girl who stands inside the door, and in a sing-song voice that never varies mixes up saints, fathers, towns, corn, potatoes, bells, and "quelque chose pour le gardien," in her rigmarole, was the least attractive adjunct of the venerable pile!