Bearn And The Pyrenees Part 29

As we continued our way, we observed, along the snowy path, tracks of the feet of animals--a troop of wild-cats had evidently been before us, and here and there we remarked a print, which could be nothing less than the foot-mark of a wolf. The flight of a large bird, which I believe to have been a vulture, added to the solemnity of the scene; but there were less of these indications of solitude than I hoped to experience, for all was sunshine and gaiety around.

We observed near the Pont Crabe, _i.e._ Pont des Chevres, on the opposite side of the ravine, a desolate-looking mill, placed in so wild and rugged a position, that one could not but pity those whose fortune might have condemned them to a residence there all the year round: a story attached to the cottage made it still more sad.

It appears that a young girl, the very flower of maidens in the Vallee d'Ossau, had been deceived and deserted by her lover, and on the point of becoming a mother, when she consulted the priest of her parish, confessing to him her weakness, and entreating his aid to enable her to propitiate offended Heaven. The virtuous and holy man, shocked at the infirmity and want of propriety exhibited by the unfortunate girl, was very severe in his censures, and informed her that there was no way left for her but by penance and mortification to endeavour to wipe away her sin. He condemned her, therefore, to take up her abode in that solitary cottage, far away from all human habitation, to spend her life in prayer and lamentation, and to endeavour, by voluntary affliction, to win her way to heaven.

She did so; and she and her child lived for ten years in that secluded spot, where the constant sound of murmuring waters drowned her sighs, and where no intruding foot came to disturb her solitude, except when the good priest, from time to time, visited her, to afford the consolation of his pious prayers. At the end of that time her spirit departed, and her little son was received into the convent, of which he became a member.

THE RECLUSE OF THE VALLeE D'OSSAU.

"Say, ye waters raging round, Say, ye mountains, bleak and h.o.a.r, Is there quiet to be found, Where the world can vex no more?

May I hope that peace can be Granted to a wretch like me!

"Hark! the vulture's savage shriek-- Hark! the grim wolf scares the night,-- Thunder peals from peak to peak, Ghastly snows shroud ev'ry height.

Hark! the torrent has a tone, Dismal--threat'ning--cold--alone!

"Was I form'd for scenes like this, Flattered, trusting, vain and gay-- In whose smile _he_ said was bliss, Who to hear was to obey?-- Yes! weak idol! 'tis thy doom, This thy guerdon--this thy tomb!

"When I from my heart have torn All the mem'ries cherish'd long; When my early thought at morn, And my sigh at even-song, Have not all the self-same theme, Peace upon my soul may gleam!

"When no more I paint his eyes, When his smile no more I see, And his tone's soft melodies Wake not in each sound to me; When I can efface the past, I may look for calm--at last.

"When resentment is at rest, Scorn and sorrow, rage and shame, Can be still'd within my breast-- And I start not at his name; When I weep, nor faint, nor feel, Then my heart's deep wounds may heal.

"Years, long years, it yet will take, Spite of pain and solitude, Ere this heart can cease to ache, And no restless dreams intrude: Ere I crush each fond belief, And oblivion vanquish grief.

"It might be--but in my child All his father lives the while; Such his eyes--so bright, so wild-- Such his air, his voice, his smile-- Still I see him o'er and o'er, Till I dare to gaze no more!

"Is it sin to love him yet?

Was it sin to love at all?

Is my torture, my regret, For his loss--or for my fall?

Change, oh Heaven!--thou canst, thou wilt-- Thoughts that sink my soul in guilt!

"Teach me that regret is crime, That my past despair is vain, And my penance through all time Shall be ne'er to hope again,-- Only in His pardon trust-- Pitying, merciful, and just."

It is said that La Reine Marguerite, sister of Francis I., wrote the greatest part of her celebrated stories during a sojourn at the Eaux Chaudes: there, surrounded with a brilliant court of ladies and poets, she pa.s.sed several joyous months, and recruited her health, while she amused her imagination, in wandering amongst the rocks and wild paths of Gabas and La Broussette: in her train were "_joueurs, farceurs, baladins_, and _garnemens de province_," and nothing but entertainment seemed the business of the lives of those fair and gay invalids, who, so long ago, set an example which has not failed to be well followed since.

The pompous inscription which once appeared in a chapel at La Hourat, in honour of the pa.s.sage of the Princess Catherine, sister of Henri IV. is now replaced by a modern exhortation to the traveller to implore the aid of the Virgin before he tempts the perils of the pa.s.s: and our guides very reverently took off their _berrets_, as they went by the little niche, where stands the image, which is an object of their adoration and hope. Poor Catherine, always disconsolate at her separation from the object of her choice, found but little relief from the waters--they could not minister to a mind diseased--and she had not the joyous, careless mind of her predecessor and grandmother; nor are we told that she attempted to compose amusing histories to distract her thought, nor could exclaim--

"I write--sad task! that helps to wear away The long, long, mournful melancholy day; Write what the fervour of my soul inspires, And vainly fan love's slow-consuming fires."

All was sad and solitary to her; for the only companion she desired was not there to give her his hand along the rugged paths, to support her amongst the glittering snows, and smooth her way through the pleasing difficulties of the abrupt ascents. Cold ceremony, and, at best, mere duty, attended her whose heart sighed for tenderness and affection which she was never destined to know. At that period, there was neither hotel nor street, and the rudest huts sheltered that simple court; but they might perhaps afford, after all, as much comfort as may at the present day be found, in cold weather, in the irreclaimably smoky rooms of the princ.i.p.al inn at the Eaux Chaudes.

The accommodation is much superior--at least, _out_ of the season--at the Eaux Bonnes, the situation of which is, as I before observed, infinitely more cheerful; but in hot weather it must be like an oven, closed in as the valley is with toppling mountains, which one seems almost to touch. Rising up, and barring the way immediately at the top of the valley in which the waters spring, is the isolated mountain called _La b.u.t.te du Tresor_, on the summit of which is erected a little rustic temple, doubtless the favourite resort of adventurous invalids, during their stay at the waters. I cannot imagine the sojourn agreeable at that period to persons in health, who are led there only by curiosity; for often, while b.a.l.l.s and parties are going on in the saloons below, some unfortunate victim of disease is being removed from the sick chambers above to his last home. Nothing but insensibility to human suffering can allow enjoyment to exist in such a spot, under such circ.u.mstances. I rejoiced that, at the period of both my visits, we had the scenery all to ourselves, with no drawback of melancholy to spoil the satisfaction we experienced.

These waters were first used, it is said, by Henri II. of Navarre, after his return from the fatal fight of Pavia, where he was wounded by a musketshot. They, from hence, took the name of Eaux des Arquebusades, as they were found efficacious in cases similar to his own.

Michel Montaigne was one of the ill.u.s.trious visitors to these healing springs, which he calls _Grammontoises_.

Jacques de Thou came to the Eaux Bonnes in 1582; and recounts that, in the week which he pa.s.sed there, he drank twenty-five gla.s.ses of water a day; but in this he was exceeded by a German companion, who took no less them _fifty_.

These springs were forgotten for more than a century after this; and Bareges was preferred to them. The great physician, Bordeu, of whom Bearn is justly proud, restored their reputation in a great measure: but it is rather within the last thirty years that they have reached the celebrity which they now enjoy.

It is generally said that the Vallee d'Ossau combines all the beauties and grandeurs of the Pyrenees; and that the traveller, who has only time to visit this part, has had a specimen of all that is most admirable in this beautiful chain of mountains. For myself, I endeavour to believe this, not having been able to see so much of the Pyrenees as I desired.

CHAPTER VIII.

PEASANTS OF OSSAU--CAPTIVITY OF FRANCIS THE FIRST--DEATH OF JOYEUSE--DEATH OF THE DUKE DE MAINE--DANCES.

A great deal has been said and written about the peasants of the Vallee d'Ossau; and most persons appear to have been guided rather by enthusiasm than truth, exaggerating and embellishing facts as it suited their views or their humour. It is the custom to admire the young girls and children who pester travellers with shabby, faded little bouquets, which they throw into the carriage-windows, and to see something peculiar in the custom; but it does not strike me that there is the slightest difference in this, or any other usage, between the Pyrenees and all parts of France, through which I have pa.s.sed. On the road from Calais, as well as in the Vallee d'Ossau, ragged dirty groups, eager for sous, place themselves in your way, and endeavour to obtain money: on fete-days they may look better; but on ordinary occasions there is certainly but little to admire, either in their dress or manners.

A lively but sarcastic French writer has observed on the p.r.o.neness of tourists to exalt the peasants of Ossau into the Arcadian beings of Virgil and Theocritus, representing them as a.s.sembling together to sing the verses of Despourrins: that--"it is, perhaps, better to see romance than not to see at all; but those who have discovered these pastoral heroes and heroines, can a.s.suredly never have met with them on the Ger or the Pic du Midi: the only songs that one can hear in that neighbourhood are drawling, monotonous lines, without either rhyme or reason,--a sort of ballad like that of the wandering Jew. As for their occupations, they are commonly employed in knitting coa.r.s.e woollen stockings, or in preparing, in the dirtiest manner in the world, the poorest and most insipid cheese that ever was made. The youths and maidens are by no means Estelles and Nemourins. I am aware that this account will be considered profane, and the writer of these facts, a morose, disagreeable person; but the truth is, nevertheless, better than false enthusiasm, which causes misrepresentation; and, having always before our eyes so much that is glorious and sublime, it cannot be necessary to inflate the imagination for ever _a propos de rien_.

"Let those who would form an idea of the singing of the Ossalois observe them on a fete-day, in some of their villages, when the young people are returning home. They separate in two bands: some holding each other by the waist, some round the neck. The foremost party go about thirty steps in silence, while those behind sing a couplet in chorus; the first then stop, sing the second verse, and wait till those behind have joined them; and the latter sing the third verse as they arrive at home. This chant is called, in the country, _Pa.s.se-carrere_. Every now and then the song is intermingled with sharp, wild cries, called _arenilhets_, peculiar to the mountaineers; which prove the strength of their lungs, if not their ear for melody. All this is performed slowly and heavily, without any appearance of joyousness or gaiety, and seems singularly ill-adapted to a fete."

It must be allowed that, whenever a good voice occurs in this part of the country, it is an exception to the general rule; but this happened not long since, in the case of a young and very handsome girl of Ossau, whose melodious voice and fine execution attracted the notice of an amateur, by whom she was introduced to the theatre at Berlin, and obtained great applause and success. She may be considered as a nightingale who had lost her way amongst a wood of screech-owls; for her talent was quite alone. She used to sing an old historical romance of the valley, composed on the captivity of Francis I., which has seldom since found a voice capable of giving it effect.

There is something in this old ballad very like those of Spain, both in character and rhythm; and there exist several others, on historical subjects, which have the same kind of simple merit:

THE CAPTIVITY OF FRANCIS I.

"Quan lou Rey parti de France," &c.

When the king, from France departing, Other lands to conquer sought, 'Twas at Pavia he was taken, By the wily Spaniard caught.

"Yield thee, yield thee straight, King Francis, Death or prison is your lot;"

"Wherefore call you me King Francis?

Such a monarch know I not."

Then the Spaniards raised his mantle, And they saw the fleur-de-lys;-- They have chained him, and, full joyous, Bore him to captivity.

In a tower, where sun nor moon-light Came but by a window small; There he lies, and as he gazes, Sees a courier pa.s.s the wall.

"Courier! who art letters bringing, Tell me what in France is said?"

"Ah! my news is sad and heavy-- For the king is ta'en, or dead."

"Back with speed, oh, courier, hasten-- Haste to Paris back with speed, To my wife and little children; Bid them help me at my need.

"Bid them coin new gold and silver, All that Paris has to bring, And send here a heap of treasure, To redeem the captive king."[32]

[Footnote 32: The popularity of this ballad is accounted for by the circ.u.mstance of the Prince of Bearn, Henry II. d'Albert, having been made prisoner with Francis; he was, however, more fortunate than the king, for he made his escape. The original runs thus:--

THE CAPTIVITY OF FRANCIS I.

Quan lou Rey parti de France, Counqueri d'autes pays, A l'entrade de Pavi Lous Espagnols be l'an pris.