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Title: The Pyrenees
Author: Hilaire Belloc
Release date: February 13, 2025 [eBook #75369]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Methuen & Co. Ltd, 1928
Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PYRENEES ***
THE PYRENEES
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
PARIS
MARIE ANTOINETTE
EMMANUEL BURDEN, MERCHANT
A CHANGE IN THE CABINET
HILLS AND THE SEA
ON NOTHING AND KINDRED SUBJECTS
ON EVERYTHING
ON SOMETHING
FIRST AND LAST
THIS AND THAT AND THE OTHER
ON
A PICKED COMPANY
[Illustration: THE GATE OF THE ROUSILLON
_H. Belloc, del._]
THE PYRENEES
BY
H. BELLOC
WITH NUMEROUS SKETCHES
BY THE AUTHOR
AND TWENTY-TWO MAPS
FOURTH EDITION
WITH A NEW PREFACE
[Illustration]
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published (Demy 8vo)_ _June 3rd 1909_
_Second Edition_ _June 1916_
_Third Edition (Crown 8vo)_ _April 1923_
_Fourth Edition (Crown 8vo)_ _1928_
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
TO
GILBERT MOORHEAD
IN PIOUS MEMORY OF PAMPLONA, ELIZONDO, THE CANON WHO SHOT QUAILS WITH A
WALKING-STICK, THE IGNORANT HIERARCH, THE CHOCOLATE OF THE AGED WOMAN,
THE ONE-EYED HORSE OF THE PEÑA BLANCA, THE MIRACULOUS BRIDGE, AND THE
UNHOLY VISION OF ST. GIRONS.
PREFACE
The only object of this book is to provide, for those who desire to do
as I have done in the Pyrenees, a general knowledge of the mountains in
which they propose to travel.
I have paid particular attention to make clear those things which I
myself only learned slowly during several journeys and after much
reading, and which I would like to have been told before I first set
out. I could not pretend within the limits of this book, or with such an
object in view, to write anything in the nature of a Guide, and indeed
there are plenty of books of that sort from which one can learn most
that is necessary to ordinary travel upon the frontier of France and
Spain; but I proposed when I began these few pages to set down what a man
might not find in such books: as—what he should expect in certain inns,
by what track he might best see certain districts, what difficulties he
was to expect upon the crest of the mountains, how long a time crossings
apparently short might take him, what the least kit was which he could
carry into the hills, how he had best camp and find his way and the rest,
what maps were at his disposal, the advantages of each map, its defects,
and so forth. The little of general matter which I have admitted into my
pages—a dissertation upon the physical nature of the chain, and a shorter
division upon its political character—I have strictly limited to what
I thought necessary to that general understanding of a mountain without
which travel upon it would be a poor pleasure indeed.
If I have admitted such petty details as the times of trains, and the
cost of a journey from London, it is because I have found those petty
details to be of the first importance to myself, as indeed they must be
to all those who have but little leisure. I have in everything attempted
to set down only that which would be really useful to a man on foot
or driving in that country, and only that which he could not easily
obtain in other books. Thus I have carefully set down directions as
minute as possible for finding particular crossings and camping grounds,
for the finding of which the ordinary Guide Book is of no service. My
chief regret is that the book will necessarily be too bulky to carry in
the pocket; for it is meant to be not so much a lively as an accurate
companion to the general exploration of those high hills which have given
me so much delight.
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
This third edition of my book on the Pyrenees necessarily suffers
somewhat from the fact that it is published after the interval of the
Great War.
The book in its original form was written in the course of 1908-09, and
contained a number of particular details on prices, etc., which the war
has completely changed. These I have had to revise _only approximately_,
for the value of the franc still fluctuates violently. But the present
conditions of currency in Europe are not permanent. In other matters the
book is as applicable to the present condition of the Pyrenees as it was
to that thirteen or fourteen years ago. The road system is the same,
and though one or two of the inns may have changed hands, the account
of these I give holds in the main. There have been no new maps issued,
either, since the date on which the book was written. I have not added
anything on the present system of passports, because that also presumably
will be out of date in a short time; but I may mention that at the moment
of writing these lines (September, 1922), it is advisable to have one’s
passport _viséd_ to Spain before visiting the mountains. Even if the
reader has no intention of crossing the frontier he may be compelled to
do so under stress of weather, or he may easily do so by error in the
confusion of the higher valleys, and in the first Spanish town he comes
to his passport is sure to be demanded.
The train service differs little now from what it was before the war.
The night and day services and the average number of hours required for
approaching the mountains from Paris or London, are again much what they
were fourteen years ago.
PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION
I write this Preface to the Fourth Edition after five years.
My last note upon this book was written, as the reader will see, for the
Third Edition, in September, 1922. These lines are written in November,
1927.
When I wrote my Preface to the Third Edition, Europe, its currencies, and
the rest, were still under the heavy disturbances of the Great War. But
things are now more settled, notably currencies. Also a few more years of
peace have given both French and Spaniards the opportunity for building
new roads, and for extending the railway system.
In the notes I am about to add here I ought to make it clear that I
am writing principally by information rather than by direct personal
experience, and anyone who finds that some point ought to be corrected or
something added, and who will communicate with the publishers, or with
myself care of the publishers, will be doing the future readers of this
book a great service. I am sure to be making some mistakes, and the less
there are in any future edition the better.
I humbly beg the reader to remember that the book was written in the old
days of peace, “before ever the sons of Achaia came to the land.” It
was also written when I was a young man and could go over any number of
miles on foot in any weather and over pretty well anything—even the worst
steeps of the Canal Roya, though I have no claim to climbing. To-day I
can do none of these things, and have to go by hearsay. I propose to
divide what I have to say into (1) general remarks, (2) additions to
the road system, (3) the (comparatively slight) changes in the railroad
system (including the change in the value of money and present prices of
tickets), (4) changes in inns (here I shall have to be very tentative,
for I have to go mainly by reports), and (5) maps.
(1) GENERAL
The political situation has so developed that it is no longer advisable,
as I formerly said, but _necessary_ to have one’s passport _viséd_ for
Spain before starting for the Pyrenees, even if one has no intention of
crossing the frontier. For, as I said when the book was written, there
are occasions when the traveller on foot in the mountains may cross
the frontier unwittingly, and have to deal with the authorities on the
farther side. To this must be added the consideration that a stricter
central government in Spain, coupled with occasional plots against
it, has made the frontier authorities particularly vigilant. They may
take from a traveller anything which looks like an offensive weapon—an
acquaintance of mine was deprived, for instance, of a very large stick,
and he might have fared worse with a very large knife. It is well to
remember that when you enter Spain by this frontier you are coming in
by its most remote, least peopled, and most difficult area, and that
one must have nothing to explain if one can help it. I mean, of course,
when you enter over the main range; for the two main roads and railways
at either end of the chain by the sea-coasts of the Atlantic and the
Mediterranean are common international highways.
Another point to remember, which is a small one but now and then, though
very rarely, important to the traveller, is that the variation in the
compass has changed since this book was written. It was written twenty
years ago, and was published nearly nineteen years ago, and since then
the variation of the compass has lessened (for this part of the world)
by something like three degrees. The traveller must further remember
that (though it is not very strictly enforced) there is a new law in
France both for travellers proposing to reside a certain time in the
country and (this is strictly enforced) a daily tax for travellers using
foreign motor-cars in the country; while all the Spanish corresponding
regulations have been tightened up. The wise thing to do, therefore, if
you mean to spend more than a fortnight in these hills on either side
of the border, is to inform yourself thoroughly upon arrival of what
is required of you. You can do it in France easily enough; but as on
the Spanish side the main towns are a long way from the range, you will
do well, if you intend to spend any number of days to the south of the
frontier, to find out at the Spanish Consulate in London or at your
nearest large town what formalities may be needed.
On the effect of the change in prices I deal elsewhere. But there are two
things to be remembered here, with one of which most people are familiar,
but the other of which most people have not as yet appreciated. The first
is that on the French as on the Spanish side, but much more on the French
side than on the Spanish, the old unit of currency does not mean, in
gold, what it meant when this book was written.
In France it means _in gold_ only _one-fifth_ at the present apparently
stabilized rate of what it meant when I first put these pages together.
We are on a gold basis in England. A franc used, before the war, to be
nearly 10_d._ It is to-day almost exactly 2_d._ On the Spanish side the
peseta fluctuates somewhat, but at the moment of writing it is well below
thirty (twenty-eight odd), which means that the peseta, once nominally
equal to the franc, is between 8_d._ and 9_d._, or rather more than four
times the present value of the franc.
But the second point, which is much less generally appreciated, is even
more important to retain. _Prices in gold have changed._ There are all
sorts of views as to the real amount of the change; but I think we are
not very far wrong in basing any calculation of expense upon a basis of
doubling. At any rate, if you do that you will not be disappointed. The
gold franc or gold peseta buys in 1927 more than half as much, but not
much more than half as much, as it did before the war. In other words,
the franc to-day is not in practice half of a fifth, that is, one-tenth,
of what it was before the war, nor is the peseta in practice as little as
fourpence halfpenny compared with prices before the war. You get more for
your money than such a rough rule of thumb would warrant. But remember
that you are getting things cheaper than the strict gold basis would
allow. For instance, I know of one particular inn on the French side of
the frontier, high up in the valleys (it is a very good one and a typical
one), where they charge for food, including wine, and lodging, fifty to
sixty francs a day. You would not have got the same thing for five or six
francs in 1914; but you would have got it for seven or eight. My object
in emphasizing this is to prevent the traveller from thinking that under
modern conditions he is being bled. It is rather the other way. He is
getting things somewhat cheaper still in these mountains than world
prices would warrant. He must expect to pay on the very different scale I
have indicated.
Lastly, let me add in connexion with prices that, for a variety of
reasons which it would take too long to go into, he must expect a very
distinct rise in general expenses as measured in English exchange when he
passes from French into Spanish territory. He must allow for something
like an increase of a third, and perhaps in the larger towns of a half of
what he pays on the French side.
Further, when he is looking for anything like luxury, even in the
humblest sense of that term, he must be prepared to pay (e.g. for foreign
wines, or for well-appointed travel by car) nearly double on the Spanish
side what he would have to pay on the French.
The traveller should remember that there has been a very great expansion
of good roads on the Spanish side compared with what there was when this
book was written, and with that has gone an almost universal system of
motor-buses, which have quite changed travel on the southern side of the
range. He will do well always to ask before trying to go by the slow and
few trains what the motor-bus services are. Thus, in the old days when
this book was written, a man had either to go on foot or by slow horse
vehicles across Roncesvalles to Pamplona. To-day there is a first-rate
service of rapid motor-buses, and he will find that to be the case pretty
well everywhere between the Mediterranean end and the Atlantic.
(2) ROADS
In the matter of new roads a great deal has been done since this book
was written. First and most important, one can go by a good road now
over the Bonaigua. I regret it, but so it is. The road does not, indeed,
follow the old track of adventure from the Noguera to the Upper Garonne.
It goes somewhat to the north of it. But it constitutes, what did not
before exist, a proper crossing supplementary to the two roads of Sallent
and Jaca. It leads down through the hitherto impassable centre of the
range to Lerida, and makes of the Val d’Aran, which used to be a most
secluded pocket, a thoroughfare.
Next, there is now a road which a motor car can follow from Seo de Urgel
to Andorra the Old. In my time no wheeled vehicle had entered Andorra.
They used to boast also that no man had ever been put to death there by
process of law. I hope that progress has not changed that.
Next note that there is a road for motors now through Bourg Madame,
through Puigcerdá to Seo, and so down into Spain, and further a
first-class road from Puigcerdá to Barcelona over the Pass by Ripoll,
which I think did not exist when I was a younger man. The main road from
Burguete to Pamplona, cutting off the great corner at Aoiz and passing
through Erro and Larrasoaña, has long been completed; it is now served by
a good service of motor-buses.
Of secondary roads that up the valley of Salazar reaches as far north
as Izalzu; that up the valley of Roncal as far as Uztarroz. So if you
are crossing the Basque ridge anywhere between St. Jean Pied de Port and
Tardets you will find the beginning of a road on the southern side at
either of these points.
On the French side there are few important changes. I am afraid that the
very difficult road overhanging the precipices between Argelès and Larunz
has not been made less difficult. It is well called Mount Ugly. If you
care for the experience, it is exciting enough. Nothing, I fear, could
make this road easy without a high parapet at its worst stretch; and that
might be a danger of a new kind, by giving the driver too much confidence.
There is some secondary extension of the road beyond Gavarnie up to the
frontier. I see it marked: I have not myself tried it. You can get up
from Tardets nowadays by a road both to Ste. Engrace and Larrau, and
there is something of a road up the Arette from Aramitz. For the rest,
I believe there is on the French side no change, but developments were
proposed some little time ago, and if there have been any quite recent
changes which any of my readers can acquaint me with they will oblige me
by mentioning them for a further edition.
(3) RAILROADS
The railroad system is, for the practical purposes of travel, what it was
when I wrote the book so many years ago. But we are on the eve of very
important changes. One cannot yet travel by train under the Pass of the
Somport and so directly to Saragossa from Toulouse or Bordeaux. But the
tunnel has long been completed, the rails are being laid—indeed, perhaps
at the moment of writing they may be already in position. I cannot find
out from the authorities when they think the first train will go through.
Perhaps they do not know themselves. It is amusing to hear that the
tunnel is now continually used by foot-passengers, who are escorted in
a gang and who (so I am assured) have their passports examined in the
bowels of the earth, some thousands of feet below the summit of the main
ridge.
The railway from Ax over the Hospitalet is in a more backward
state—hardly more than surveyed—and I know not when it is designed to
open. On the other hand, the through railway by the Cerdagne is now
virtually completed; there are only a few hundred yards to be finished;
one still has to go in a vehicle or walk from Puigcerdá station to Bourg
Madame, a matter of a mile or so; but whenever the authorities choose one
can have through traffic through this very fine piece of scenery round
from Perpignan to Ripoll and Barcelona.
I append what may be of use, though of course it is a changeable thing,
a note on the main trains for approaching the Pyrenees as the time-table
now stands, with the prices under the new currency and their equivalents
in English money; this time-table changes of course, and inquiry must
always be made, but the main trains (e.g. the Sud Express) are much the
same year after year.
The three main lines of approach to the Pyrenees remain what they were
when this book was written, the western one by Bordeaux, the central one
by Toulouse, the eastern one by Lyons, Nîmes, and Perpignan. Of these the
first is the most rapid; and of the two routes to Bordeaux—the State Line
and the Orleans Line—the latter is the quicker. The day train leaves at
8.8 in the morning from the Quai d’Orsay, and gets you to Pau, which is
the jumping-off place for the Western Pyrenees, at 10.45 at night. The
distance is a little over five hundred miles; the cost, with the franc
apparently stabilized at 124 at the time of writing, is just over 250
francs second class, just over 370 francs first class, and not quite 165
third class, that is, about £1 7_s._ 6_d._ to £1 8_s._ English third
class from Paris, about £2 2_s._ second class, and about £3 2_s._ first
class. If you are making a very short stay in the Pyrenees it may pay
you to take a return ticket, the duration of which varies on the French
lines with the length of your journey. In this case it would give you
about ten days, counting the day on which you leave Paris. There are all
sorts of arrangements on the French lines for round trip tickets, family
tickets, etc., at reduced prices, but on these one must get information
specially from an agency or the French tourist office in London or the
main stations in Paris.
Going first class and paying a supplementary price of about £1 4_s._ to
£1 5_s._ and changing at Dax, into an ordinary first class, one can go
from Paris by the Sud Express leaving the Quai d’Orsay at 10 a.m. and get
to Pau at 8.30 in the evening.
If you are making for the extreme west of the range at St. Jean Pied de
Port, the same trains get you, the one to Bayonne, where you must sleep,
at 9.45 at night, and the other, the Sud Express, without changing, at
7.45 p.m.
Next morning there is a train on at 8, and another at 11.30, for St.
Jean, the first getting in at 9.45, the other at 1.15. The distance from
Bayonne to Paris is about 485 miles, and the cost therefore, rather less
to Pau, being 350 francs (about) first class, 235 or 236 second class,
and 154 third class.
The night trains by this line are the 7.10 (which has no third class),
which gets you to Pau at 7.20 the next morning; there is a luxury train
with supplementary payments for sleeping berth which gets you there no
earlier, but has the advantage of giving you time to dine in Paris. It
does not start till 8.40; however, it costs nearly £2 more than the first
class fare to Pau. Another night train with third classes in it starts at
9.50, gets you to Bordeaux at 7 in the morning (where you have nearly
half an hour for coffee) and to Pau for lunch just after noon.
The Central Line leading to Toulouse is a very slow one because it has to
go over the central mountains of France. You start from the Quai d’Orsay
also at 10.20 in the morning, and you do not get to Toulouse till just on
10.30 at night. The fares are 142 francs third class, 218 second class,
and 324 first class.
The two night trains are, one at 7.50, the other at 9.15—the latter with
sleepers if required; the first gets into Toulouse at 8.30 the next
morning, the other at 9.15.
From Toulouse you have a choice of three ways: to the Central Pyrenees,
to the Valley of the Ariège and Ax, which is to the west, and to Narbonne
and so to Perpignan on the Mediterranean at the extreme east of the range.
The first is a distance of about 100 miles to Tarbes, or another 12 miles
on to Lourdes.
The second, about 75 miles, but with only one fast train a day, a morning
one, at 9, getting you to Ax at 11.40, in time for lunch; while the third
one is the main through line with plenty of trains, but a distance of 125
miles. On the other hand, it has the fastest trains. For instance, you
can leave Toulouse at 9.30 and be in Perpignan by 1.30.
As for the line by Lyons, it is a long way round and not to be taken
unless you want to see anything on the way. On the other hand, it has
the best service of fast trains. The best morning train is the 9 o’clock
from P.L.M. station in Paris, which gets you to Avignon at 7.45 in the
evening, and there you must sleep, going on next morning to Perpignan.
You usually have to change at Tarascon. It is the better part of two
days, for save in the case of one train, there is another change at
Narbonne. There is no need to dwell on this line, as no one would take
it for the Pyrenees unless they were visiting other places on the way,
such as Nîmes or Narbonne. The cost also is about thirty per cent greater
than by the more direct line.
(4) INNS
The little I have to say on the changes in the inns since the first
edition of this book was published must be very tentative, as I have to
depend upon reports of others, save for a certain amount of recent travel
at the two ends of the range. Most of the old recommendations still
stand. Gabas is what it always was, and the Golden Lion of Perpignan as
admirable as it has been for these thirty years and more. The inn at
Burguete and that of Val Carlos have been somewhat modernized since the
new motor-bus service began, but they are still excellent. An inn I did
not mention in the first edition on the Spanish side of the range, in
Catalonia, is that of Ribas Prattes, standing over the torrent, and one
where I, at least, have always been very comfortable. Since the opening
of the new road and railway over the Sierra del Cadi it has become
unfortunately rather famous, and it is not cheap; but the people treat
you charmingly, and that is a great thing.
At Bourg Madame I have quite recently found myself very comfortable
at Salvat. I am told that the principal inn at Andorra is rather more
sophisticated since the motor road has been built to the town, but is
still as good as it was in the old days. Of course the cooking and
everything else is Catalan; and I am talking from hearsay, as I have not
been to Andorra for many years.
As you stop at Bayonne on your way you will find good meals at the Grand
Brasserie facing the end of the bridge, while the hotel for sleeping is
the Capagorry; at least that is my favourite, though there is also the
rather more expensive Grand Hotel.
Nearly all the places on which I have made inquiries seem to have
maintained the old service intact. You still have the Mur in Jaca, and
the more primitive but hospitable inn of Canfranc; and the little inn
at Urdos, where I stopped some years ago, is passable enough, though I
still recommend as a base the Hotel de la Poste lower down the valley at
Bédous. By the way, if you do stop at Urdos, beware of the drinking water
which for some reason is not very safe—or was not.
Before leaving these very brief notes I should like to emphasize again
for travellers the change in prices. On the whole, they are lower,
reckoning the real purchasing value of money, than they were in the old
days.
Thus, the place I know best, and where I have stopped most often, is
charging now as a regular _pension_ per day in francs including wine,
and counting in francs, six times what it charged before the war. Now
the nominal value of the franc in gold is only a fifth of what it was
before the war, and the purchasing power of gold is very nearly half,
so a multiple of six means that you are getting your board and lodging
really cheaper than you did in 1913; but I know it is difficult to
persuade people of this, just as it is difficult to persuade people in
England that railway fares and postage at home are really less than they
were before the war. At any rate, those who may have had experience
of the Pyrenees before the war may roughly multiply by six for the
present price, at least in modest places; and in some cases by less.
Of course in the very large hotels in places like Bagnères you may be
charged anything. But they are places which I never go to and on which I
therefore can give no advice.
It remains, by the way, as true as ever that on the French side of the
range you must always ask the price of your room before taking it, and on
the Spanish side be quite clear as to whether the price quoted is for the
room and all the day’s meals including wine (as is the national custom)
or for only a part. On both sides of the frontier service is usually
included in the bill nowadays at 10 per cent on the total, and it is
foolish to pay anything more.
(5) MAPS
The war interfered with map-making in France so much that recovery is
only beginning, and the revision of the main surveys is still in arrears.
What I have said, however, in this book still stands for the most part.
I append a list of the maps recommended, with their prices, to be
obtained from Messrs Sifton, Praed & Co., The Map House, 67, St. James’s
Street, S.W. 1.
With regard to this list I would make the following comment:
(1) This is the standard French ordnance map, the one most necessary for
the pedestrian, especially if he is dealing only with a limited area.
(2) This is the map for motoring and road work.
(3) This is the map for climbers, but unfortunately the first three
sheets have been allowed to go out of print. I hear that there is some
hope of a reprint being made, and on my next visit to the publishers I
will urge them to advance it. The map was made years ago for Messrs.
Barrere, and is very useful on account of its numerous contours.
(4) is to be reckoned with (3).
(5) This is the general map for a conspectus of the whole range.
(6) I have not seen this map, but it can be obtained from the firm
mentioned above. It is I believe detailed and exceedingly useful, but as
yet only applies to this small section of the mountain.
(7) The Michelin map is a motoring map, but contains a great deal of
useful information, and is very accurate as to motoring roads.
(8) The Taride is a much rougher map, with general indications; not so
accurate as the Michelin, but useful for long tours.
With this said I append the list.
(1) 1/100,000 France, covering the Pyrenees in 27 sheets. Price
1_s._ per sheet unmounted; mounted on cloth to fold for the
pocket, 2_s._ 6_d._ per sheet.
(2) 1/200,000 France. 7 sheets. Price, 2_s._ each unmounted;
mounted on cloth to fold, 4_s._ 6_d._ each. Sheet 69 mounted
on cloth to fold, 4_s._
(3) Schrader’s map of the Pyrenees Centrales par F. Schrader.
Sheets 4, 5, 6 only available. The three northern sheets 1,
2, 3 are out of print.
(4) Schrader’s map “Massif de Gavarnie et du Mont Perdu,” Scale
1/2000. Paper, folded in cover. Price, 2_s._ 6_d._
(5) Touring Club de France. Scale 1/400,000. Two sheets cover
the whole of the Pyrenees. Mounted on cloth to fold for the
pocket, 5_s._ each.
(6) Mapa Militar de Espana. Sheet 86 and part of 62. Seo de Urgel.
This is the only sheet published so far of the Pyrenees.
Price, 2_s._ 6_d._ unmounted; mounted on cloth to fold, 4_s._
6_d._
(7) Carte Routière Michelin. Scale 1/200,000. Two sheets cover
the whole of the Pyrenees on the French side. Mounted to fold,
4_s._ each.
(8) Taride Road Maps. Scale 4 miles to 1 inch. Two sheets cover
the whole of the Pyrenees. Paper, folded in cover, 2_s._ each.
Mounted on cloth to fold, 5_s._ each.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE PHYSICAL NATURE OF THE PYRENEES 1
II. THE POLITICAL CHARACTER OF THE PYRENEES 36
III. MAPS 59
IV. THE ROAD SYSTEM OF THE PYRENEES 79
V. TRAVEL ON FOOT IN THE PYRENEES 106
VI. THE SEPARATE DISTRICTS OF THE PYRENEES 144
i. The Basque Valleys 145
ii. The Four Valleys (Béarn and Aragon) 155
iii. Sobrarbe 167
iv. The Tarbes Valleys and Luchon 179
v. Andorra and the Catalan Valleys 187
vi. Cerdagne 199
vii. The Tet and Ariège 204
viii. The Canigou 210
VII. INNS OF THE PYRENEES 217
VIII. THE APPROACHES TO THE PYRENEES 234
INDEX 239
LIST OF MAPS
FACING PAGE
GENERAL SKETCH MAP OF THE PYRENEES 1
THE BASQUE VALLEYS 154
THE FOUR VALLEYS 166
THE PASSAGE OVER THE COL DE LA CRUZ AND THE COL DE GISTAIN 174
THE SOBRARBE 178
THE TARBES VALLEYS AND LUCHON 186
THE CATALAN VALLEYS AND ANDORRA 198
THE CERDAGNE 202
THE ARIÈGE AND TET VALLEYS 208
THE CANIGOU 216
THE GATE OF THE ROUSSILLON _Frontispiece_
[Illustration: GENERAL SKETCH MAP OF THE PYRENEES]
THE PYRENEES
I
THE PHYSICAL NATURE OF THE PYRENEES
[Illustration]
To use for travel or for pleasure a great mountain system, the first
thing necessary is to understand its structure and its plan; to this
understanding must next be added an understanding of its appearance,
climate, soil, and, as it were, habits, all of which lend it a character
peculiar to itself.
These two approaches to the comprehension of a mountain system may be
called the approaches to its physical nature; and when one has the
elements of that nature clearly seized, one is the better able to
comprehend the human incidents attached to it.
From an appreciation of this physical basis one must next proceed to a
general view of the history of the district—if it has a history—and of
the modern political character resulting from it. At the root of this
will be found the original groups or communities which have remained
unchanged in Western Europe throughout all recorded time. These groups
are sometimes distinguishable by language, more often by character.
Changes of philosophy profoundly affect them; changes of economic
circumstance, though affecting them far less, do something to render the
problem of their continuity complex: but upon an acquaintance with the
living men concerned, it is always possible to distinguish where the
boundaries of a country-side are set; and the permanence of such limits
in European life is the chief lesson a deep knowledge of any district
conveys.
The recorded history of the inhabitants lends to these hills their only
full meaning for the human being that visits them to-day; nor does anyone
know, nor half know, any country-side of Europe unless he possesses not
only its physical appearance and its present habitation, but the elements
of its past.
These things established, one can turn to the details of travel and
explain the communications, the difficulties, and the opportunities
attaching to various lines of travel. In the case of a mountain range,
the greater part of this last will, of course, for modern Englishmen,
consist in some account of wilder travel upon foot, and the sense of
exploration and of discovery which the district affords.
Such are the lines to be followed in this book, and, first, I will begin
by laying down the plan and contours of the Pyrenees.
* * * * *
The first impression reached by modern and educated men when they
consider a mountain system is one over-simple. This over-simplicity
is the necessary result of our present forms of elementary education,
and has been well put by some financial vulgarian or other (with the
intention of praise) when he called it “Thinking in Maps,” or, “Thinking
Imperially”; for the maps in a man’s head when he first approaches a new
range are the maps of the schoolroom.
Thus one sees the Sierra Nevada in California as one line, the Cascade
Range as another parallel to it. The Alps and the Himalayas alike arrange
themselves into simple curves, arcs of a circle with a great river
for the cord. The Atlas is a straight line cutting off the northern
projection of Africa, the Apennines are a straight line running down the
centre of Italy. Such are the first geographic elements present in the
mind.
The next impression, however, the impression gathered in actual travel,
or in a detailed study, is one of mere confusion, a confusion the more
hopeless on account of the false simplicity of the original premise.
Deductions from that premise are perpetually at variance with the
observed facts of travel or of study, the exceptions become so numerous
as to swamp the rule, and an original misconception upon the main
character of the chain prevents a new and more accurate synthesis of
its general aspect. Thus, the conception of the Cascade Range upon the
Pacific Coast of the United States as parallel and separate from the
Sierras, confuses one’s view of all the district round Shasta, and of
all the watersheds south of the Mohave where the two systems merge; or
again, one who has only thought of the Alps as a mere arc of a circle
misconceives, and is bewildered by the nature, the appearance, and the
whole history of the great re-entrant angles of the Val d’Aosta with
its Gallic influences; the anomaly of the Adige Valley will not permit
him to explain its political fortunes, and the outlying arms which have
preserved the independence of Swiss institutions upon the southern slope
will not fall into his view of the mountains.
This confusion, I say, is not due so much to the multitude of detail as
to the permanent effect of an original strong and over-simple conception
remaining in the mind as it continues to accumulate increasing but
sporadic knowledge of a particular district; and it is a confusion in
which those who have formed such an erroneous conception commonly remain.
In order to avoid such confusion and to allow one’s increasing knowledge
a frame wherein to fit, it is essential to grasp in one scheme the few
elementary lines which underlie a mountain system, and such a scheme will
be a trifle more complex than the too simple scheme usually presented,
but once one has it one can appreciate the place of every irregularity in
the structure of the whole chain of hills.
In the case of the Pyrenees the common error of too great simplicity
may be easily stated. These mountains are regarded as a wall separating
France from Spain, and running direct from sea to sea. Such an aspect
of the range will more and more confuse the traveller and reader the
more he studies the actual shape of the valleys. Another picture should
occupy the mind, and it will presently be seen that with this picture
permanently fixed as a framework for the whole system, an increased
knowledge of its details does but expand the sense of unity originally
conveyed. The Pyrenees must not be regarded as a sharp heaped ridge
forming a single watershed between the plains of Gaul and those of
Northern Spain, and running east and west from the Atlantic to the
Mediterranean. They form a system, the watershed of which does not
exactly stretch from one sea to the other. The axis of it does not
consist of one line; the general direction is not due east. The axis of
the Pyrenean chain is built up of two main lines, of approximately equal
length: the one running south of east from a point at some distance from
the Atlantic, the other north of west from a point right on the shores of
the Mediterranean. These two lines do not meet. They miss by over eight
miles, and the gap between them is joined by a low saddle.
[Illustration: PLAN A.]
The first of these lines starts from a point (Mount Urtioga) 25 miles
south of the corner made by the Bay of Biscay at Irun, and some 15 miles
west of its meridian; it runs about 9° 15′ south of east to the peak
called Sabouredo, the last of the Maladetta group, the direct distance
from which to Mount Urtioga is precisely 200 kilometres, or 124 miles.
The second runs from Cape Cerberus on the Mediterranean to a peak called
the Pic-de-l’homme, which stands a trifle over 12 kilometres, or 7¾
miles, north of the Sabouredo; its direction is 9° 25′ north of west, and
the total length of this second line is just over 190 kilometres, or 117
miles.
[Illustration: PLAN B.]
The simplest scheme, then, in which we can regard the Pyrenees, is as a
system of not quite parallel lines of equal length, running one towards
the other, but missing by not quite 8 miles; the gap or “fault” joined by
a zigzag saddle on the watershed. The westernmost of these lines splits
into several branches before it reaches the Atlantic, so that the true
western end of the chain lies well to the south and east of that ocean
(at Mount Urtioga); the other starts from, and forms a projection in, the
Mediterranean. The full distance as the crow flies from Mount Urtioga
to Cape Cerberus upon the Mediterranean is 390 kilometres, that is 241
miles. And there is but 10 kilometres, or 6½ miles, difference in length
between the two halves of the chain.
If U be the point called Mount Urtioga, S the Sabouredo, L the
Pic-de-l’homme, and C Cape Cerberus, these two lines and the gap between
them will lie precisely as in this plan.
With this main guide by which to judge the structure of the chain, all
details will be found to fit in, and the two first variations which we
must superimpose upon so general a view, are to be found in the “step” or
“corner” formed by the watershed round the Pic d’Anie. The southward turn
of the range is here not gradual but sharp, and the Somport, the pass at
the head of the Val d’Aspe, lies almost a day’s going below the Port St.
Engrace, which is the Pass near the Pic d’Anie. Next, one should note the
two re-entrant angles, one to the north of the chain, one to the south,
which distinguish the Spanish valley of the Gallego and the French valley
of the Gave de Pau respectively. These features modify the simplicity of
the first or western branch of the chain; one exceptional feature only
modifies the second or Eastern branch, and this is the deep re-entrant
wedge of the Ariège valley upon the French side. We may therefore regard
the elements of the watershed somewhat according to the sketch plan B on
the preceding page.
[Illustration: PLAN C.]
The details of the watershed when they are given in full are of course
indefinitely more numerous and complicated, and it may be of advantage
for those who would understand the structure of the Pyrenees to glance
also at the plan opposite where the dotted line represents the exact
trace of the watershed, the dark lines the simple structure described
above.
[Illustration: PLAN D.]
The watershed then should be regarded as the chief feature in the range,
and as the backbone of the whole system. Geologically, it is not the
foundation of the range. Geologically, the range was piled up by the
junction of a number of short separate ranges, each of which ran with a
sharper south-eastern dip (about 30°) than does the present long line
of saddles which has joined them and forms the existing watershed, and
probably the process of the formation of the Pyrenees was upon the model
sketched in the following diagram.
But for the purpose of understanding the Pyrenees as they now are, it is
the existing watershed which we must consider, and that runs as I have
said.
Next, the rule should be laid down that the Pyrenees must be separately
considered on their northern and upon their southern slopes. It will be
seen later that the physical and historical contrast between the two
sides of the mountains is sometimes acute and sometimes slight, but the
contrast between the general contour upon either side is such as to make
it impossible to unite both in one similar system.
The Northern slope of the Pyrenees is narrow and precipitous. The plains
are for the greater part of its length clearly separated from the
mountains; the easy country in some places (at St. Girons, for instance,
and in the Flats between Lourdes and Tarbes) is not 20 miles as the crow
flies from the highest peaks.
On the Spanish side, on the contrary, the mountainous district will run
from two to three times that distance. Its extreme width between the open
country at the foot of the Sierra Monsech and the Salau Pass is over 60
miles, and it is nowhere less than two days’ good journey on foot from
the summits to the plains.
This differentiation between the northern and the southern slopes is not
merely one of width, it is due to profound differences in the contours
which make the Spanish side of the system a different type of mountain
group from the French. For, on the French side the Pyrenees consist
in a series of great ribs or buttresses running up from the plains
perpendicularly to the main heights of the range, and it is between these
ribs or buttresses that the separate and highly distinct valleys which
are the characteristic habitations of the French Basques and Béarnais
lie. On the Spanish side the main structure is in folds _parallel_ to
the watershed; the lateral valleys descending from the watershed run
southward for but a very short distance, they come, within a few miles,
upon high east-and-west ridges which sometimes rival the main range
itself in height and which succeed each other like waves down to the
plains of the Ebro. The contrast in structure north and south of the
watershed may be expressed in the formula of this plan. A man looking at
the Pyrenees from the French towns at their base sees in one complete
view a belt of steep rising slopes, and a long fairly even line of
summits against the sky. A man looking at the range from the Spanish
plains can only in a few rare places so much as catch sight of the main
range. In far the greater number of such views he will have before him
a high ridge which masques the country beyond. If, then, the reader or
the traveller regards the French slope as being essentially a series of
profound valleys parallel to each other and running north and south, he
will have grasped the main aspect of this side of the range. If he will
regard the Spanish slope as a series of parallel outliers which begin
quite close to the watershed, and which, though falling at last into the
plains of the Ebro, are, even the most southern of them, of considerable
height, he will have grasped the structure of the Pyrenees upon the side
which looks towards the sun.
[Illustration: PLAN E.]
To these two main aspects the reader must again admit considerable
modifications, the first of which concerns the French side.
[Illustration: PLAN F.]
This Northern slope and its valleys, of which the sketch map over page
indicates the general arrangement, may be divided into two sections:
the first a western section, the second an eastern one, and these two
are separated at A-B by a division roughly corresponding to the “fault”
between the two axes, which, as we have seen, determine the lie of the
range.
From the first, or western axis, descend with a regular parallelism,
eight valleys. Each valley bifurcates in its higher part into two main
ravines, and a whole system of minor streams, spread over an indefinite
number of tortuous dales and gullies, attach to each valley.
There is a mark or limit for each of these western French valleys,
which is the spot where it debouches upon the open country. Thus the
Gave d’Ossau falls into the Gave d’Aspe at Oloron; nevertheless the two
valleys must be regarded as separate, because the meeting of the two
streams takes place in the open plain. On the other hand the valley of
Baigorry, and the neighbouring valley of St. Jean, though containing two
large separate streams, must be treated as one system, because these
streams meet at Eyharee near Ossés, and the open plain is not reached
before a point some miles further down beyond Canbo.
The test, though it may sound arbitrary upon paper, is quite easily
appreciated in the landscape, and the separate valleys are more clearly
marked, perhaps, than those of any other European mountain chain.
These eight valleys (see plan G over page), going from west to east,
are first that of the Nive (the bifurcations of which give St. Jean
and the Baigorry), next that of the Gave-de-Mauléon (Larrau and Ste.
Engrace), and both of these are Basque; next comes the valley of the
Gave d’Aspe (with the bifurcation of Lourdios and Urdos), up which went
the main Roman road into Spain and which is the first of the Béarnese
valleys; next is the Val d’Ossau (with the bifurcation of Gabas and the
lac d’Arrius), next the valley of the Gave de Pau (with the bifurcations
of Cauterets and Gavarnie), next the valley of Bigorre, a short valley
bifurcating in two minor streams at its head. Next, or seventh, comes the
Val d’Aure, with Vielle upon its western bifurcation and Bordères upon
its eastern; and lastly the bifurcated valley of the Garonne, whose level
and deep floor comes nearest of all to the main chain, and holds on the
west Luchon, on a branch called the Pique, on the east Viella in the Val
d’Aran.
[Illustration: PLAN G.]
[Illustration: PLAN H.]
Once past this point, the structure of the hills along the eastern run
of the broken Pyrenean axis changes. The mountains here are penetrated
by only two valleys, but each is much longer and more important than
any of the eight just mentioned, and these two great valleys run, not
parallel to each other, nor north and south as do the eight western ones,
but at a steep slant: the one (that of the Ariège) goes westward, and
the other (that of the Tet) eastward. Save for these two main valleys no
regular features can be discovered in the eastern portion; all is here a
labyrinth of dividing and subdividing lateral ridges, and the only thing
giving unity to the group is this system of two great trenches which run
up towards each other, the one from the Plain of Toulouse, the other
from that of Perpignan, to meet on the high land of the Carlitte group.
Strictly speaking, the western valley is not wholly that of the Ariège,
but those of the Ariège and Oriège combined, and it is further remarkable
that no regular passage exists from the one depression to the other, but
by a curious topographical accident, which will be described later in the
book, the crossing from the Ariège to the Tet has to be made by going
over on to the south side of the range, and then back again on to the
north side.
The importance of these two main valleys upon the eastern half of
the northern slope of the Pyrenees is sufficiently evident from the
historical fact that each determines a great historical district: the
one, that of the Ariège, was the country of _Foix_, the other, that of
the Tet, was the _Rousillon_. And while the eight small western valleys
running parallel to each other separate local customs and dialect alone,
the ridge of the Ariège and the Tet may almost be said to have separated
two nationalities, and owed ultimate allegiance for a thousand years, the
one to a Gallic, the other to an Iberian lord.
Beyond the valley of the Tet and eastward of the Canigou runs the little
fag end of the range, which falls into the sea at Cape Cerberus, and is
called the “Alberes.” Here there is but little distinction between the
northern and the southern side, the general shape of a sharp ridge is
maintained throughout, but the height lowers more and more as the sea is
approached. These hills are everywhere passable; the ancient road into
Spain which crosses them, should count, geographically and historically,
rather as a road crossing round the Pyrenees at their sea end, than as a
road crossing the chain.
* * * * *
A Pyrenean valley upon the French side always presents the same main
characteristic, and this is true not only of the main valleys, but of the
innumerable lateral valleys which ramify from the main valleys in all
directions.
The characteristic of these French Pyrenean valleys is that they are
sharply divided by very narrow gorges into two or more level basins.
These level basins in the smaller valleys and on the high levels where
there is pasturage and no habitation are called “Jasses”; the large and
low ones are called “Plains” or “Plans”; but they are the same in their
essential feature, which is a level floor more or less wide, bounded
by the steep hills upon either side, and ending and beginning with a
rocky gate through which the valley stream cascades. The whole formation
suggests the former existence of great and small lakes, which burst their
way through the gorges at some remote time (as in plan I below).
[Illustration: PLAN I.]
These gorges are very rarely of any length, a point in which the Pyrenees
differ from the Alps. Here and there, especially in the limestone
formations, you do get long and difficult passages. One, the Cacouette
in the Western Pyrenees, in the upper waters of the Gave-de-Mauléon, is
not only very profound but absolutely impassable, like the Black Cañon
of Colorado, but it does not lead from one part of a valley to another.
It occupies the whole of the upper valley; and in general, you will not
find a Pyrenean stream running, as do the Alpine streams, for some miles
between precipices.
Each main valley has a clearly marked mouth where it debouches upon the
plain; by this I do not mean that perfectly flat land comes up to and
meets the hills in every case; on the contrary, at the mouth of most of
these valleys are moraines left by old glaciers, but I mean that the
character and aspect of the hills visibly and immediately changes, and
that each of the valleys has a distinct final “gate” where it meets the
lowlands, just as a river will meet the sea at a definite mouth. Now each
of these openings has its characteristic town. Mauléon, for instance, is
at the mouth of the last Basque valley, Oloron at the mouth of the Val
d’Aspe, Lourdes at the mouth of the valley of Argelès, etc.
Further, these towns at the mouths of the valleys have invariably chosen
for their site, whether they be prehistoric or mediæval, some rock on
which to build a citadel; and in every case a castle is still to be found
holding that rock. Lourdes, Foix, Mauléon are excellent examples of this.
Higher up the valley, the first plain above the mouth will, as a rule,
contain the first mountain town. Thus Argelès lies above Lourdes, Bédous
and Accous above Oloron, Laruns in the first flat of the Val d’Ossau, etc.
According to the length of the valley and the number and size of the
Jasses, there may be one or more such towns enclosed by the mountain
sides; thus in the valley of Lourdes we have Argelès, and above it Luz;
in the valley of Soule we have Tardets above Mauléon, and higher still
we have Licq. But all the valleys, whether they contain one or more of
these upland towns, have, just under the last watershed, a hamlet or
village usually giving its name to the Port or Col—that is _the Pass into
Spain_—above it, and the reason of this is evident enough; habitations
were necessary as a place of departure and arrival for the crossing of
the mountains. Of such are Gavarnie, Urdos, Morens, and the rest. These
high villages have least history, least wealth, and until recently had
the worst communications. For much the greater part of the year they are
lost in snow, and there was an interval between the making of the great
roads and the beginning of modern tourist travel when they were in peril
of destruction. The new great roads drew away wealth and visitors from
all but a very few, and but for the beginning of modern mountaineering
they had hopelessly decayed. Even so famous a place as Gavarnie, the
best known of all the valley heads, was dying in the middle of the
century. There are days now when it is at the other extreme: fine days
in August when, for the crowd of rich people, you might be at Tring or
at some reception of the late Whittaker Wright’s. Even to-day, one or
two of them, however clean or kindly, are odd in the way of poverty. I
have known one where they had no butter and never had had any butter, and
another where I was charged 8_d._ instead of 5_d._ for a bed because it
was the season.
The typical Spanish valley differs, in the centre of the Chain at least,
from the typical French valley. With the exception of Andorra (which
reminds one in all features of the French side; for it has the same
enclosed plain, the same steps and rocky gorges between, the same Jasses,
and the same arrangement of towns and villages) the greater part of the
valleys, whether Catalan or Aragonese, are not only broader and their
streams larger than on the French side, but their arrangement also is
different, most of them lack wide pasturages, nearly all of them lack
enclosed plains, and there has been no motive to penetrate them since the
building of the new roads, for travel upon this road is rare. The Spanish
valley, therefore, often many days’ walking in length, never direct,
and forming a sort of little province to itself, will have towns and
villages scattered in it, haphazard and thinly. Very often a considerable
town will be found at the very end of the valley, as Esterri in that of
the Noguera Pallaresa, or Venasque in that of the Esera. The lateral
communications from one Spanish valley to the next are usually more
difficult than those between the French valleys; for many months they
are impossible, and there is no such general arrangement of towns on the
plain holding the approaches to the valleys as in France, for the reason
that the whole plan of the mountains on the Spanish side is far more
troubled and irregular.
Thus the first town of the Aragon is Jaca; but Jaca is right in the
mountains, and nothing at the outlet of the hills 50 or 60 miles down the
valley makes a head town for Jaca. Jaca is a bishopric on its own. On the
Gallego there is nothing but a succession of villages of which Sallent
right up at the head of the valley is among the largest: it is almost a
little town and so is Biescas close by. The Cinca and the Esera have
indeed a town upon the plains at Barbastro, but the Noguera Ribagorzana
has none, nor has its sister the Noguera Pallaresa, while the Segre has
its bishopric and chief town right up in the highest hills at Urgel, and
there is nothing to compare with that town until you get to Balaguer.
* * * * *
The southern side of the watershed differs greatly in general structure
from the northern, and must be separately recorded.
There are indeed certain accidental similarities. The enclosed valley of
Andorra to the south recalls the enclosed valley of Bédous or Accous to
the north, and the very high first miles of the torrents, just under the
main range, do not differ much whether they are found on the north or on
the south side of the mountain. But the general plan and contour of the
range presents a great contrast on either side. The main feature of the
southern slope is, as I have said, a series of parallel ranges pushing
out like ramparts in front of the main heights. If you follow a French
valley (on the western part of the Pyrenees at least) you will find it
running fairly north and south to the point where it debouches upon the
plain some 20, or 25 miles at most, from the watershed.
A Spanish valley will at first appear to have the same character, but
just when you think you are in sight of the plains (for instance, just
after leaving Canfranc upon the banks of the Upper Aragon) you see—beyond
the first lines of flat country, and barring the view like a great
wall—another high range: in this case the Sierra de la Peña, the ridge of
rock which takes its name from the “Peña-de-Oroel,” a mountain with its
eastern end just above Jaca. Beyond this again you have the San Domingo
ridge, and to the east of it, another running also east and west, the
Sierra de Guara.
Pamplona again is situated at the mouth of a true Pyrenean valley (that
of the Arga), not very different from the valleys to the north. It stands
also on a plain, but immediately in front of it runs another range of
hills, and if you climb these, you find yet another, strictly parallel
and straight, standing before you and masking the approach to the Ebro.
This formation in parallel outliers continues as far east as the Segre
valley, that is for full three-quarters of the length of the Spanish
Pyrenees, and in a sense it continues even further east than the river
Segre; for the Sierra del Cadi, though it joins on to the main ridge
at one point, is essentially an outlier in slope and formation. This
parallel formation sometimes comes quite close to the central range,
as, for instance, in the Colorado peaks close to Sallent and Panticosa,
and the long ridge to the south of Vielsa and El Plan. Indeed the
characteristics of Sobrarbe, as this country-side is called, consist in
these long parallel ridges.
One result of this formation is, as I have said above, that the river
valleys do not run straight, as they do to the north of the range,
but are thrust round at right angles when they come up against these
ridges. Sometimes they will eat their way through a ridge, as do the two
Nogueras, and the Arga itself south of Pamplona; but the greater part of
the rivers on the Spanish side suffer the diversion of which I speak,
and none more than the river Aragon, which gives its name to the whole
central kingdom; for the Aragon, after having run south and straight for
a few miles, like any northern river, suddenly turns westward, and runs
under the foot to Sierra de la Peña for two days’ march. According to its
first direction, it should fall into the Ebro somewhere near Saragossa;
as a fact it does not come in until far above Tudela.
Another result of the formation is that the mountain tangle stretches
much further on the Spanish side than it does upon the French. If you
stand upon the Pass of Salau where the French have made, and the Spanish
are making, a high road, you have before you to the north, at a distance
of less than 10 miles, the railway and a fairly open valley. Fifteen
miles at the most, as the crow flies, you have the main line and the true
lowlands at St. Girons. But if you turn and look out in the opposite
direction over the valley of Esterri and the higher Noguera Pallaresa,
you are looking over 60 miles of mountain land. From the high ridge,
which is your standpoint, to the summit of El-Monsech, which is the final
rampart of the hills beyond the plains of Lerida, is more than 50 miles,
and the slopes of that rampart take you nearly another 10.
A further consequence of this formation is that communications are very
difficult to the south of the Pyrenees. The traveller naturally ascribes
the lack of communications to the character of Spanish government.
It is not wholly due to a moral, but partly to a material cause. The
main Spanish railway from Saragossa to Barcelona may be compared to
the main French railway from Toulouse to Bayonne, but the Spanish side
everywhere suffers from its great wide stretch of wild mountain land.
Toulouse itself is little more than 50 miles from the crest of the
mountains. Saragossa is half as much again. The Spanish Pyrenees push
out civilization, as it were, far from them. Lerida, a large town of the
plains, is quite 60 miles from the watershed in a straight line. Pau
or Tarbes are less than 30. The difficulty and expense with which the
civilization of the plains, and the things belonging to it, must reach
the remote upper Spanish valleys largely account for the curiously high
degree of their isolation from the world. Many thousands of men are born
and die in those high valleys, without ever seeing a wheeled vehicle, and
without knowing the gravest news of the outer world for two or three days
after the towns have known it.
It is not easy in such a system to establish general divisions. We saw
that this was simple enough upon the French side: eight main valleys
to the west of the “fault,” and two large sloping ones on the eastern
limb. In the Spanish Pyrenees, the nearest thing one can get to a
classification is _first_ to group together the Basque valleys of
Navarre, the streams of which all flow down to meet at last near Lumbier
and fall into the Aragon a few miles further south. _Next_ to take the
group of valleys along the mouths of which stands the great Sierra de la
Peña, of which the chief is the ravine of the Upper Aragon. These dales,
which have at their extremities the huge masses of the Garganta and the
Pic d’Anie, form the original stuff of Aragon. These few square miles
were the seat from whence that race proceeded which fought its way down
to the Ebro, and to the sources of the Tagus, and which can claim the
Cid Campeador for its historic type. _Next_ comes the group of valleys
beginning with the Gallego and ending with that of Venasque, which forms
the eastern limb of Aragon, and has borne for many centuries the title
of “Sobrarbe.” _Next_ to consider the two Nogueras as the Western, the
Cerdagne and Andorra as the Eastern Catalonian land.
[Illustration: PLAN J.]
It should be noted that the fine tenacity of Spain in general, and of
these hills in particular, has preserved with exactitude the ancient and
natural divisions of the land. The long unbroken ridge which encloses
the Basque valleys is also the frontier of Navarre. The unity of Aragon
survives in the present administrative division of Jaca. The eastern
valleys are still called the “Sobrarbe,” and the “fault,” or break
between the two main lines of the Pyrenees, still forms an historical
and racial break to the South as to the North of the chain. Beyond it
eastward begins the Catalan language, and the next group to consider are
the great Catalan valleys of the two Nogueras and of the Segre. The two
Nogueras ultimately fall into the Segre, but in the mountain regions
the three form three large parallel valleys, each with a character and
nourishment of its own and all Catalan. Of these three, the Segre is the
most striking; its upper waters are the centre of the flat valley of the
Cerdagne, the only natural passage from the North into Spain, and one of
its earliest tributaries nourishes the Republic of Andorra.
East of the Segre valley, and of the Sierra del Cadi which bounds it, no
classification is possible. It is a labyrinth of little valleys. A flat
welter of hills running down everywhere to the sea, and narrowing at the
extreme end into Cape Cerberus: these last crests, as I have said, take
the name of “Alberes.”
This contrast in structure between the northern and the southern side of
the range runs through many other aspects of the hills beyond structure
alone. We have seen that it affects the type of civilization, leaving the
deep but short French valleys far more open to the culture and influences
of the plains than were the Spanish just over the watershed. There is
much more.
The fall of the light is in itself a contrast. The slopes of the Spanish
mountains, and especially of the high mountains, look right at the
blazing sun. They are more bare of wood, much, than are the French
slopes. They are more burnt. Water is less plentiful. Insects are more
numerous, and there is less cultivation; but one cannot say that there
is, as a rule, a scantier population. Small villages and hamlets are
rarer in the remote gorges, but small towns a little lower down are
common, and apart from the population economically dependent upon summer
tourists in France, it might be doubted whether the Spanish side were
not as well garnished as the French; one might venture to imagine that
in the Dark, and early Middle, Ages, when the full effect of the natural
condition of the mountains could be felt, the population of either side
was sensibly the same.
The highest peaks are upon the Spanish side, but it does not show
splendid isolated masses of rock like the two Pics-du-Midi, or lonely
masses like the Canigou. On the other hand, the general character of the
rocks is more savage and more fantastic, and it is upon the south side
of the range that one most feels creeping over one that sentiment of
unreality or of a spell, which so many travellers in the Pyrenees have
been curious to note. The local names express it upon every side. There
are “The Mouth of Hell,” “The Accursed Mountain,” “The Lost Mountain,”
“The Peak of Hell,” “The Enchanted Hills” or “Encantados,” and hundreds
of other legendary titles that express, as well as do the mountain tunes,
the sense of an unquiet mystery.
* * * * *
The Spanish side is again remarkable for true rivers running in
considerable valleys everywhere east of Navarre. Though the rainfall
is less upon the southern side than upon the northern, yet, because
the catchment areas are broader, the streams running at the bottom of
the Spanish valleys are larger and more important. A glance at the map
will show upon the French side a whole series of parallel river valleys
running down from the summit into the plains to join the Adour or the
Gironde. Armagnac and Béarn are crowded with them. A man going eastward
from Bayonne to Pau, from Pau to Tarbes, from Tarbes to Toulouse, will
cross more than forty streams all spreading out like a fan from the
central axis of the Lannemezan Plain; a man going eastward below the
Spanish foot hills from Melida, let us say through Huesca to Lerida, will
find but half a dozen of such water crossings. Again, you have between
the Soule and the Labourd, between the Val d’Aspe and the Val d’Ossau,
between the Val d’Aure and the Garonne, distances of 8, 10, or at the
most 12 miles, but the distance between neighbouring Spanish valleys (if
we except the near approach of the Gallego and the Aragon), is always
much greater. Between the Noguera and the Segre, for instance, there is
at the nearest point, 20 miles; between the two Nogueras, another 20;
between the last of these two rivers and the Esera, quite 20 more. The
whole Spanish side with the exception of Navarre is thus built up of
considerable valleys, comparable to those of the Tet and the Ariège alone
upon the northern slope.
* * * * *
The details of Pyrenean structure will concern a man travelling on foot
more than do these general lines, though the whole aspect of the range
must be grasped before one can understand its details. The separate peaks
and valleys, the intimate structure of the range is remarkable everywhere
for its abruptness. It is this physical feature in the Pyrenees, coupled
with the absence of snow, which gives them the highly individual
character they bear.
Fantastic outlines are not to be discovered in these hills so frequently
as in the Dolomites, nor are wholly isolated hills common, though such
few as exist are very striking, but for day after day a man wandering
in the Pyrenees sees cliffs more regularly high, a greater succession
of rocks more precipitous, and a more permanent succession of connected
summits above him than in any other European range.
The absence of snow is a further sharp characteristic in the range. The
essential feature of an Alpine landscape is the snow; and it is not only
the essential feature of that landscape to the eye, it is the condition
which controls the lives of those who inhabit, and of those who visit,
the valleys. You can still wander a trifle in Switzerland. Even to-day
I have come to villages where foreigners were still thought comic, and
an ignorance of the German tongue was still thought amazing. But though
you can wander, your wandering is strictly limited. Above a certain line
you can go forward only with technical knowledge and in a special way.
You are upon ice or snow. All climbing in the Alps depends upon this,
and most of travel as well. A man may pass many days for instance in the
upper valley of the Rhone, and then pass many days more in the upper
valley of the Aar, but to go from one to the other he must take one of
two strictly defined paths, unless he is willing to undertake special
work requiring technical knowledge and particular aids. The hills between
the two valleys are not a field for his exploration; they are a great
mass of impassable and unapproachable land, all frozen, and diversified
only by very narrow valleys inhabitable nowhere but at their base. No
one could lose himself for many days upon the Wetterhorn, the Jungfrau,
or the Finsteraarhorn; you can approach these mountains for the glory
of the thing, but they are not a country-side. Now in the Pyrenees
almost all the surface of the mountains, say 250 miles by 60, is at your
disposal. It is this and a local custom of live and let live which make
the pleasure of them inexhaustible; and which, combined with certain
protective methods of their own, make it certain that the Pyrenees will
never be overcome or changed by men. They are too large.
This surface of some 15,000 square miles is diversified in a manner
fairly continuous throughout the chain. The valley floors are given up
to cultivation in their lower part, their upper parts consist of damp
close pastures, and between the two types of level are to be found, as we
shall presently see, sharp gates of rock through which the river saws its
way in a gorge. Above the valley floor, and at the end of it, where the
stream springs out below the watershed (such springs bubbling up suddenly
through the porous rock are called Jeous), steep banks of two, three
and four thousand feet, broken almost invariably here and there into
precipices, forbid the way; and these, in perhaps half their extent, are
covered with enormous woods of beech below (mixed often with oak) and of
pine above.
When you have climbed up these slopes through the forest or over the
naked rock, you come, in the last heights, either to large grassy spaces,
which often sweep right over the summit of a lateral ridge, and sometimes
extend over both sides, even, of the main watershed (as between the Val
d’Aran and Esterri) or else—more commonly—upon a jumble of jagged rocks
and smooth, perpendicular or overhanging slabs, which defend the final
secrets of the range.
The succession of these features is nearly universal. The only places
where they are modified are the two lower ends of the range. There the
rocks sink, the hills are rounded, the precipices disappear in the last
Basque valleys, while the Alberes at the other extremity of the chain
against the Mediterranean are at last mere toothed rocks. All between
(with the exception of the Cerdagne, which is a country to itself) is
built up in successive bands of valley floor, steep forest, or steep
rock, broken with limestone precipices, and finally on the highest ridge
sweeps of grass or jagged edges of stone.
It is this character in the last ridge of the Pyrenees that determines
the nature of a passage over them, and since a passage from valley to
valley is the chief business of the day when one is exploring the range,
I will next describe these crossings, for the method of them is very
different from that of other mountains, and has largely determined the
history and customs of their inhabitants.
In other high mountains you will either find snow above a certain level
and covering for most of the year most of the passes, some of the passes
for all the year, or, as you go further south, you will commonly find
many gaps which long years of weathering have reduced to easy slopes, or
you will find great differences in slope between the one and the other
side of the range; as, for instance, the difference between the long
valleys that lead up eastward into the Californian Sierras, and the sharp
escarpment which falls eastward upon the desert side of those heights.
In all other ranges that I have seen or read of, save the Pyrenees,
there is at least great diversity in the opportunities of crossing,
whether natural or artificial. There is great diversity, as a rule,
in the natural crossings; some are quite easy ascents and descents on
either side (as the Brenner Pass over the Alps); some, though difficult,
are notably lower than the average height of the range (as the Mont
Genèvre from the Durance into Piedmont); some, these more rare, are deep
gorges cleft right through the range (as the Danube gorge through the
Carpathians).
Now it is characteristic of the Pyrenees that in the main part of their
length no such diversities appear, save that there are two kinds of
summit surfaces on the high cols, rock and grass: the grass the rarer.
If anyone looks closely at the Somport, especially noting the line which
the old track took before the modern road was made, he will agree that
it is a pass which, though steep, had no “edge” to it, so to speak. The
grass would take any kind of traffic. The same is true of course of the
Cerdagne, the only broad valley across the Pyrenees. But the Somport is
well to the west end of the range; the Cerdagne is well to the east end.
All the main part between could take no vehicle, and has crossings of a
kind which I shall presently describe: sharp, the escalade difficult, the
first descent upon the far side, or the last ascent upon the near side,
steep.
There is perhaps an exception to be found in the case of the Bonaigo, but
this pass also presents difficulties to wheels upon its western side, and
in the lower valley at the gorge.
In general the crossings of the Pyrenees everywhere display certain
characters rare or absent in other ranges, which are _first_ that they
are very numerous (a feature due to the absence of snow), _secondly_,
that they are very high, _thirdly_, that they hardly ever involve any
true climbing, and _fourthly_, that they nearly always involve some
considerable care on the part of the wayfarer and are somewhere dangerous
either upon the northern or the southern side.
This can be well illustrated by a particular example in the few miles
between the Pic D’Anéu and the Canal Roya. Here there is a range no part
of which descends much below 2100 metres nor rises much above 2300. There
are two distinct saddles where a man can cross on foot, and neither is
appreciably lower than the peaks of the range, which are but lumps of
rock a little higher than the grassy ridges from which they spring. Any
man knowing the country and with a fairly good head could trust himself
to half a dozen places westward of the two which I have mentioned (which
are called the Col D’Anéu and the Port of Peyreget). Nevertheless the
easiest of them, the Port de Puymaret, easy as it is upon the French
side, gives some pause upon the Spanish. The traveller finds himself,
once over the crest, within a few yards of a rocky edge, beyond which
there is apparently nothing but air, and, thousands of feet beyond,
the precipices of the Negras. If he will approach that rocky edge he
will see that everything below it is easily negotiable, and when he has
once reached the floor of the Spanish valley beneath he will perhaps
wonder why it seemed so difficult from above. In truth it is not really
difficult at all, but the scramble looks dangerous, and it is one which
most men, other than regular climbers, would think twice about when they
first saw it from above. If all this is true of the Peyreget, it is still
more true of the other crossings in its neighbourhood to the right and to
the left.
Were the Pyrenees surmountable at comparatively few passages, these would
have been so thought out and perhaps improved as to make them regular and
well-known passes, which the traveller could easily deal with. It is the
very number of the crossings which add to their difficulties. The people
who live upon either side are indifferent in their choice among so many
difficult passages, and with the exception of one or two quite modern
made roads with which I shall presently deal, there are some hundreds
of Cols and Ports all having in common a character of difficulty, and
few naturally so much more easy than their neighbours as to concentrate
travel upon them.
This feature may be summed up in the expression that the crest of the
Pyrenees is rather one long ridge slightly serrated than (as in the case
of most other ranges) a succession of high mountain groups separated by
low saddles.
Of all the accidents that strike one in connexion with the crossing of
these hills nothing strikes one more than the accident of time. A Port is
always a day and a long day. Here and there quite exceptionally there may
be food and shelter upon either side within six or seven hours one from
the other; but as a rule if you propose to sleep under cover upon either
side, your effort will demand a long summer’s day, and it is best to look
forward to a night camp upon the further side of the range.
Before continuing the description of these passages, or any rules by
which one should be guided in attempting them, it may be well to speak
for a moment of the few practised and conventional tracks.
First of these come, of course, the high roads. At present, over the
frontier, these are but four in number (for the low passes to the east of
the Canigou may be neglected), Roncesvalles, the Somport, the Pourtalet,
and the Cerdagne. Of these the Pourtalet has been but recently opened,
and was just before the war still in process of being widened upon the
French side. Moreover, it is so nearly neighbouring to the Somport (there
is but 8 miles between them), that it hardly affords a true alternative
crossing. A fifth high road across the watershed is that which crosses
it at Porté from the valley of the Ariège into the Cerdagne, but this
road is essentially a lateral one. It lies wholly in French territory, it
joins the French road through the Cerdagne, and you cannot go by it down
the valley of the Segre. It only crosses the watershed on account of an
accidental divergence of this to the south, in the upper valley of the
Ariège.
These four carriage roads are all that lead, at present, over the
political boundary of the Pyrenees. Another is in construction over the
Port of Salau, but it is not finished upon the Spanish side. The French
desire several others to go over by the Macadou, Gavarnie, etc., but
their own preparations are not completed and the Spanish are not even
begun.
Apart, however, from these high roads, which are carefully graded,
possess an excellent surface, and are traversable by any vehicle, there
are a certain number of crossings which travel has rendered familiar,
and whose facility is well known. Thus, the Embalire from the Hospitalet
on the upper Ariège into the upper Segre in Andorra is a perfectly easy
slope of grass, though high. Again, the Bonaigo, though there have been
natural difficulties in the lower valley to be surmounted, and though
there is not even a track across it, is a perfectly easy roll of grassy
land barely 6000 feet high. A high road leads as far as Esterri on the
Spanish side; another goes from France on the northern side, right up the
valley of the Garonne, beyond Biella, to the paths at the very foot of
the pass, so that the gap between the two highways is but a few miles in
length.
The Port de Venasque again, though but a mule track, is constantly
used, and, though steep and high (close upon 8000 feet), presents no
difficulties at all, and is almost a highway between the two countries.
The Port de Gavarnie is similarly constantly used and may be taken like
any other mountain path. Certain other passes form an intermediate
category. They present no difficulties to one who is acquainted with
the neighbourhood, but either the whole path is difficult to trace or
its last and highest portion is dangerous, or there are precipices upon
its lower slope, or in one way and another they cannot be regarded as
constant and regular communications of international travel, though the
inhabitants use them continually. Of such a kind is the Port d’Ourdayte;
of such a kind are the passages from the Aston into Andorra, and of
such a kind are most of the passages just west of the Port de Venasque.
If one applied the test of asking where the Pyrenees could be crossed
in doubtful weather, not half a dozen places could be found beyond the
four high roads; and even if one were to ask in what spots they could
certainly be crossed by a stranger without chance of failure, the number
of passages would prove less than a score. All the rest of the ridge from
the Sierra del Cadi to the Basque mountains is the rocky wall I have
described, with innumerable notches more or less practicable, but all
difficult, and nearly all requiring a detailed knowledge of either slope.
There are one or two other features needing explanation before I close
this introduction to a physical knowledge of the range; thus the reader
should be acquainted with the many groups of lakes and tarns which stand
just under the highest peaks and ridges in groups: they are highly
characteristic of the Pyrenees. There is a cluster of half a dozen at
the western base of the Pic du Midi d’Ossau, another cluster surrounding
the neighbourhood of Panticosa, another in the summit of the Encantados
between the Maladetta group and the valley of the Noguera, another very
famous one well known to fishermen high up in the knot of mountains
whose summit is the Carlitte, and there are many isolated small lakes
which the map discovers. But whether in groups or isolated, one feature
is common to all these lakes of the Pyrenees—first, that none is of any
size; secondly, that all, or very nearly all, are quite in the highest
parts of the hills immediately under the last escarpment; and thirdly, as
a consequence, that it is rare to find a lake which the presence of wood
and the neighbourhood of habitation render suitable for camping.
It is worth remembering that, unlike most mountain systems, the Pyrenees
do not, even in sudden storms, endanger one as a rule by a rapid increase
in size of the torrents; one has not to fear spates so much as one might
imagine from the multiplicity of the streams on the northern side or
the large area of the valleys on the southern. This truth, of course,
must not be exaggerated nor too much advantage taken of it. That part
of a stream which will be just traversable after several fine days may
become just too violent to cross after a few hours of rain, but I have
never seen those sudden changes of level from a rivulet to a considerable
torrent which one may so often see in British mountains, which are common
enough in Scandinavia and even in the Alps, and which are a regular
condition of travel in the Rockies.
Why this should be so it would be difficult to say. The great area of
forest upon the north might account for regularity upon that slope, but
it would not account for it upon the Spanish side. And one would imagine
that snow in large masses, which is lacking in the Pyrenees and present
in the Alps, would rather tend to regulate the flow of rivers; but
whatever be the cause, the evenness of level is what one used to other
ranges will first remark when he has to cross and recross under different
conditions the higher streams of this chain in summer.
There should lastly be noted the absence of any important glaciers, a
feature due to the absence of snow-fields. On the summit of the Cirque de
Gavarnie, on the summits of the Pic d’Enfer and the neighbourhood, on the
summits of the Maladetta group, and in one or two other parts, there are
small glaciers, but they form no general feature in the landscape of the
Pyrenees, and have no effect upon travel.
Lastly, the climate of these mountains should be noted: it is a very
important part of the conditions which determine travel upon them.
The rain-bearing winds blow from the Atlantic eastward, and if the
Pyrenees stood upon either slope equally accessible to the sea, it is
possible that the Spanish side would be the more deeply wooded and the
best watered. The sudden trend westward of the Spanish coast, however,
at the corner of the Bay of Biscay, causes the wet winds from the Ocean
to lose most of their moisture to Galicia and the Asturias, before
they can strike the Pyrenees themselves from the south, while the same
winds, coming around the range from the north, come upon the Pyrenees
immediately after leaving the sea. The result of this is that the French
side is throughout its length more heavily watered than the Spanish
side; but on either side there are three zones which, though not sharply
distinguishable one from the other, are sufficiently remarkable.
The first is that of heavy rains, and, what is more important for
purposes of travel, of continuous rain and frequent mist. It stretches
all along the western end of the range, and only begins perceptibly to
change with the heights of the Pic d’Anie and the precipitous barrier
of the upper valley of the Aspe. West of this line—that is, in all the
Basque-speaking country—you have deep pastures upon either side of the
range, and all the marks of the damp in the timber and the mode of
building, the vegetable growth and the animals of the place. Snow falls
later here than in the other parts of the Pyrenees, for the double reason
that the neighbourhood of the sea makes the climate milder and that the
hills are less high. In most places, for instance, communication is not
cut off between the north and south valleys of the Basques, and men can
usually cross from Ste. Engrace to Isaba at all seasons.
The next zone (the eastern frontier of which is very vague) may be said
to stretch, according to the year and the accident of weather, certainly
as far as the Catalans and the valley of the Noguera on the east, and
sometimes as far as the valley of the Segre itself. In all this central
part of the range (which may normally be said to include more than half
its length) the French or northern side is densely wooded and heavily
watered, the Spanish side more dry and bare; but even the French side
slowly shows a change of climate as one goes eastward, the forests remain
as dense, the rivers as full, but the days are certainly finer and mist
less frequent. On the Spanish side the change as one goes eastward is
less striking, because the whole climate is drier. It is to be remarked
that if mist gathers upon the northern side of the hills when one is
attempting a pass, one may fairly count upon its disappearance upon the
Spanish side in this section; and, in general, the whole of the southern
slope, from the valley of the Aragon to that of the Noguera, is of a dry
and equal nature, somewhat barren and burnt, not only from the lack of
moisture, but also from exposure to the sun.
The lack of moisture on the central Spanish slope, by the way, is not a
little aided by the curious formation of the frontier of Navarre, and
the separation between the Basques and the Aragonese; this consists in a
long ridge of high land, the upper part of which is known as the Sierra
Longa, which runs south and a little west from the Pic d’Anie. The effect
of this lack of moisture and excess of heat upon the central Spanish
side is not only felt on the heights of the mountain, but also and more
particularly when one approaches the Plains. These in France are northern
in type, full of greenery, and amply watered. In Spain, on the contrary,
they are quite arid, and if one comes in to Huesca by train upon a
September evening, and looks out the next morning over the flats that
run up to the Sierra de Guara, one has all the impressions of a desert,
though these lands are heavy corn-bearing lands in the summer.
Finally, the third, or eastern, section of the hills is Mediterranean
in character throughout. The Canigou is much more heavily watered than
the Sierra del Cadi, its corresponding Spanish height. But the olives
on the lower slopes, the carpet of vineyards on the flats, the presence
everywhere of bright insects, the quality of the light and the aridity
of everything which does not happen to be planted with trees, give to
this eastern corner of the Pyrenees the same aspect that you may notice
on the Mediterranean hills of Southern France, Liguria, or Algeria or
the Balearic Islands, for all these landscapes are of one kind, and
binding them all together is not only their burnt red look, but also that
tideless intense blue of the Mediterranean, the hot white towns, and
everywhere the lateen sail upon the coasts.
These differences of climate also determine the seasons in which the
mountains may best be visited, for the Basque district is at your service
(especially in its western part) from the spring to the late autumn of
the year; the central valleys can be everywhere travelled in only from
late June to mid-September; the eastern end, again, from the Segre and
beyond it, is open to you from spring to autumn.
[Illustration]
II
THE POLITICAL CHARACTER OF THE PYRENEES
[Illustration]
The Political character of the Pyrenees corresponds to the Physical
character which has been described. The high crest is the bond and
division, from the beginning, between two societies which are connected
by such common social habits as mountains impose—which therefore fall
under similar local customs, which have a common jealousy of the
civilized power on the plains below them, and which support each other
in a tacit way against the stranger, yet which, from the beginning, have
different governments and (especially in the high central part) deal with
different corporate traditions—to the north the Béarnese, to the south
Aragon. The easier passes to the west and the east of the chain permit a
more or less homogeneous community to straddle across either end of the
mountains, and to hold upon both slopes the sea roads that pass along the
Atlantic and the Mediterranean. The people thus astraddle of the eastern
end have come to be called the _Catalans_. That astraddle of the western,
a highly distinct group of men with language, traditions, and physical
characteristics wholly their own, has always been known by some title
closely resembling their modern name of _Basques_.
The foundation, therefore, upon which Pyrenean History is built, or
(to use another metaphor), the germ from which it has developed and
which explains its course, is a tripartite division of the inhabitants,
corresponding, as I shall presently show, to the physical features of the
chain: an eastern or Catalan, a western or Basque, and a central group
whose characteristic it is to subdivide according to the deep valleys
into which it is separated, but which falls into two main societies, the
one north of the chain which becomes the group of French counties whose
typical government is Béarn, the other south of the chain, which assumes
at last for its title “The Kingdom of Aragon.”
The first matter to be noticed with regard to this tripartite division is
the exactitude of its boundaries. One might imagine that the language,
the habits, and the clear characteristics of any group would merge easily
into those of its neighbours upon either side. This is not the case. The
Basque type—much the most particular—ceases abruptly upon the watershed
between the Gave d’Oloron and the Gave d’Aspe to the north of the range,
upon the watershed between the Veral and the Esca to the south of it. The
Catalans, with a dialect, mind, and dress wholly their own, are found
to the _north_ from the sea up to the Col de Puymorens, and everywhere
east of the Carlitte mountains; in the Ariège valley and just over these
heights, and on the further side of that Col, they are changed. To the
_south_ of the range they extend everywhere from the sea to the valley
of the Ribagorza. Cross westward from that Catalan valley to the Esera.
There, after hours of scrambling, down by the rocks and deserted tarns,
you may towards evening find a man; that man will show the slow gestures,
the silence, and the elaborate courtesy of Aragon.
The mountain ridges which divide these various peoples are sufficient
to mark their boundaries; but they do not suffice to explain why the
Catalan, the Basque, the Aragonese, the Béarnais should cease suddenly
here or there. True, the high lateral ridges which are so striking a
peculiarity of the Pyrenees form barriers with difficulty passed, but
these barriers are found just as high and just as precipitous and savage
between two valleys of the same speech and nation as between two of
different allegiance. Thus the wild jumble of mountains, “the Enchanted
Range,” cuts off the Catalans of Esterri from the Catalans of the
Ribagorzana. To pass them is something of a feat for anyone not of these
hills—for much of the year they are closed to the native inhabitants.
Their passage is hardly more of a task or more precipitous than the
passage from Aragonese Venasque to Aragonese Bielsa, or from Béarnais
Gabas, in the Val d’Ossau, to Béarnais Urdos, in the Val d’Aspe.
An explanation of the unity which rules over each group, Basque, Central
and Catalan, can only be given by referring each to the plains at the
mouths of the valleys. It is the towns at the entry of these plains
that form the markets and rallying places of the mountaineers and that
determine their groupings. Oloron is the link between the two Béarnais
valleys I have mentioned. Urgel binds Catalan Andorra to Catalan
Esterri. Why, however, the groups should lie exactly where they do it
is impossible to determine, for no records reach beyond the Romans. All
we can say is that the Pic d’Anie, the first high peak eastward from
the Mediterranean, forms the boundary stone of the Basques, as it does
the chief physical mark dividing the high central ridge from the easier
western passes; that the tangle of difficult and impossible peaks just
eastward of the Maladetta are the boundary of Catalan south of the range,
the similar but less abrupt tangle of the Carlitte, their boundary upon
the north. How these nations arose, whence they wandered, whether their
differentiation has arisen upon the spot out of an earlier homogeneity or
is due to the conflict of invaders—of all this we know nothing.
The place names of the Pyrenees, like those of all Spain, and half
Gascony, do indeed afford a curious speculation which arises from the
high proportion of names that are certainly _Basque_, though out of
Basque territory. Of this language I shall write later: for my present
purpose the point I would desire the reader to note is the sharp contrast
which exists between that idiom and the idioms around it. There is no
mistaking a Basque word, and yet these are found in all the Pyrenean
range and to the north and south of them in a hundred place names,
attached to hills, rivers and towns where Basque has been unknown
throughout all recorded history. It is even plausibly suggested that the
Latin “Vascones,” the French “Gascon” is equivalent to “Basque,” and
the late Mr. York Powell, the Regius Professor of History at Oxford,
would say in speaking upon this matter that “Gascon was Latin spoken
by Basques.” He possessed that type of education, rare or unknown
in our universities, which made him capable of individual judgment
in departments of living knowledge where his colleagues could but
repeat words taught them from a book. This quality reposed upon a wide
acquaintance with all matters of European interest. His diverse reading
and considerable travel enabled him to balance human evidence in a way
hopeless to his less fortunate neighbours in the University, and his
conclusion on this important detail of history has always recurred to
me when I have examined some new point in the early history of these
mountains. There must, however, be set against the general conclusion
that the Basques are the remnant of a people once universal from the
Garonne to the Pyrenees, and throughout the Iberian Peninsula, the fact
that they present a marked physical type utterly distinct from others
upon every side. That a race of such a character, vigorous, attached to
the soil, in no way nomadic, should have abandoned a large territory is
difficult to believe; moreover, there is no case in all the recorded
history of Western Europe of one people ousting another, and the process
is manifestly physically impossible, save among nomads. Jews or Arabs
could propagate and even believe such a theory. To Europeans it is
laughable: the peasants and cities of Europe never have been, nor ever
can be, largely displaced.
All we know is that these place names exist throughout Spain and all
over the Pyrenees, and that the million or so who speak the language
whence such names are derived now occupy a tiny corner only of the vast
territory over which those names are spread. The rest is guesswork.
Ignorant as we are of the origin of the differentiation between Basque,
Béarnais, Catalan and Aragonese, an historical fact quite certain—though
no document proves it—is the extreme antiquity of these classes of men.
That all Pyrenean history reposes upon their separate existence must be
evident to anyone who has watched the commercial manner, the mercantile
vivacity, the whole mentality of the Catalan, and has contrasted it with
the quiet chivalry of Aragon. Different military fortunes, different
economic outlets, and different accidents of central government may
possibly account within the historic period for the contrast between
the Aragonese and the people of Béarn, Bigorre, or Comminges. No such
forces can account for the gulf that cuts off the Catalan and the Basque
at either end of the chain from the inhabitants of its high central
portion. Infinite time is the maker of states, and two thousand years
could never have determined societies so sharply separate. We must regard
their constant and immemorial presence in the Pyrenees as the first and
enduring principle to guide us in the history of those mountains.
From this fundamental truth, which leads the prehistoric into the
historic, one must proceed to another political fact of high importance,
which is that while the watershed of the range has but partially
separated customs and local thought, and that only in the centre of the
range, it has necessarily served as a political boundary whenever a high
civilization found it necessary to establish such a strict line. The
boundary and the watershed may not exactly coincide—they do not exactly
coincide even in the highly organized condition of modern society; but in
the two historical periods of strict policy, the Roman and our own, the
crest of the range has marked, and marks, an obvious boundary for most
of its length. The political distinction between Hispania and Gaul cut
the Basque nation into two, following the mountains from Roncesvalles
to the Pic d’Anie: it cut the Catalan people into two, following the
water parting from the two Nogueras to the Mediterranean. It followed
the central chain, indifferent to the similarity or difference between
the northern and the southern valleys. To-day the political distinction
between Spain and France follows nearly the same line.
The reason of this was, and is, twofold. First, that a clear physical
boundary easily definable and of its nature permanent—the crest of a
chain, a broad river, or what not—necessarily recommends itself to a
bureaucracy in search of simplicity and economy in the work of a great
political machine. We see it in the new countries to-day, where the
instinct of organized government for easily definable and exact limits
takes refuge in establishing parallels of latitude as state boundaries
in the absence of marked physical lines. Secondly, in the case of
mountains, and especially of mountains as sharp and as boldly set as are
the Pyrenees, the fatigue of climbing, the absence of carriageways, made
each valley dependent for its connexion with the central government upon
some town of the plains, and the authority of a provincial magistrate
could not but run, as ran the physical instruments of his rule, up from
Huesca northward to Sallent—for instance, or up from Jaca to Canfranc,
and so to the summit of the ridge; or up from Oloron southward to Accous,
and so to Urdos. As the messengers, writs, powers of each proceeded, the
way would become harder, the progress more doubtful. It was obvious and
necessary that the boundary of either jurisdiction should lie upon the
pass. And though the inhabitants of the northern and the southern valleys
might be accustomed to a regular intercourse across the crest, the Roman
agents of a distant central government could not but have depended upon
cities far removed to the south and to the north of the watershed, as
to-day the police of Tardets, let us say, and of Isaba, two towns of one
speech, refer respectively through Pau and through Pamplona to Paris and
to Madrid.
It is in the interplay of these two jarring political forces, the
permanent national seats of Basque, Catalan, etc., and the use of the
range as a political or official boundary, that the political character
of the Pyrenees resides; and as their history begins with the Romans,
to whom we owe the first knowledge of the Pyrenean people and the first
use of the Pyrenean boundary, it will be well to consider it under
territories divided as the Romans divided them, by the main range, and to
follow first the development of the northern slope.
The historical origins of the French Pyrenees are sharply divided in
history by that wall which cuts off all that Rome _made_ from all that
Rome _inherited_. Rome made of the barbarians a new world, but before
she began that task Rome had inherited everywhere within a march of
the Mediterranean a belt of land whose civilization was similar to,
always as old as, and sometimes older than, her own. It was a municipal
civilization dependent upon the arts and religion proper to a city
state. It built, whether temples or ships, as Rome would build them: it
was one thing; it is almost one thing to-day; and its bond at Antioch
as at Saguntum, at Marseilles as at Athens or Alexandria, was, and is,
the universal water of the Mediterranean. To such cities and their
territories Rome fell heir. Little proceeded from her to them save
first the sense of unity, and later the Faith, and of the whole system,
the belt which stretches from Valencia to Genoa, now broadening to the
plains of Nemosus (Nîmes), now narrowing to the rocky ledge of the Portus
Veneris (Port Vendres), concerns the first evidence of Pyrenean history;
for it was from a corner of this belt—between Tarragona and Narbonne—that
the advance of civilization inland and along the Chain proceeded.
A century before the four imperial centuries which made our Christian
world, a century before Augustus Cæsar, Rome had fully occupied and
impressed that soil—to the south Gerona and the Catalan fields, to the
north the rich floor which lies under the Canigou and has come to be
called the _Rousillon_. Thence the Roman advance north of the hills
proceeded. The chief town of the sea-plain—whose name “Illiberis” is so
strongly Basque in form—Rome took for the central municipality of that
plain, and made it the capital of the coastal district. This hill and
citadel, at which Hannibal had halted a hundred years before, preserved
as a bishopric for thirteen hundred years a memory of the Roman order.
Constantine formed its diocese, rebuilt it, gave it his mother’s name of
Helena. The sea by which it lived has withdrawn from it. It has sunk to
be a little country town, “Elne.” Roscino which lay also upon the coast
march of Hannibal, has sunk to something smaller still, yet, by some
accident, gave the province, in the dark ages, its name of Roussillon
which it still retains. These two towns, the fruitful plain about them,
the Port of Venus (which is now Port Vendres), formed the municipal
structure of this district, the last corner of the great province whose
headship lay at Narbonne. Its nominal boundaries included all the vale
of the Tet; it extended as far as now extends the Catalan language, and
was bounded, as that is bounded, by the great form of the Carlitte and
its high lakes and snows. All between that mountain and the sea, all the
eastern decline of the range and the slope north of it, was ancient land,
and had been ploughed and held and walled by men of the Mediterranean
civilization long before Rome inherited it.
With the much longer stretch that runs from the upper Ariège to the
Atlantic it was very different. This was of what Rome made, not of what
Rome inherited. Before the coming of Roman government it was barbarous,
and the many tribes or petty states, whose number various guesses of
antiquity record (they were perhaps as numerous in their subdivision as
the valleys), stand in three main groups when first the civilization to
the east of them began to record their existence: these three were first
the Convenæ, south of Toulouse, and all about the upper waters of the
Garonne. Next to these came the Auscians, and finally, over the Basque
end of the hills towards the ocean, was the seat of the Tarbelli.
The whole point of view of antiquity differed from ours in speaking of
such tribes, nor is it easy to pick out from the scraps of observation
that have come down to us the kind of information that we want. Sometimes
a name survives, sometimes it does not; sometimes we get a hint of a
variety of race, most often we lack it. It is the very meagreness and
eccentricity of the information upon a barbarous race and custom which
affords such opportunities to our dons for those forms of speculation
which they love to put forward as dogma, the most absurd example of
which, perhaps, is the interpretation and enlargement of Tacitus’
“Germania.” It is therefore exceedingly difficult to know of what
kind were these people beyond the old Roman pale. We do not know what
language they spoke. We only know that, like other Gallic communities,
they centred round fortified places, that their pacification was easy,
and that, like everything else in Western Europe, they were of an
unchangeable kind.
The whole district between the Garonne and the Pyrenees came to be
called, during the first four centuries of our era, “The Nine Peoples.”
The Convenæ are early noted to have attached to them upon their right and
upon their left, to east and to west, the Consevanni and the Bigerriones.
The first of these were (to follow the high authority of Duchesne)
organized as early as the first century; what is now St. Lizier was their
old capital and later their bishopric, which takes its present name from
Glycerius, a saint of the sixth century. They held all those hills of
which St. Girons close by is now the centre. The Bigerriones are not
heard of until the mention of them in the Notitia of the fourth century.
They must have held Bigorre, and the three valleys which I have called
the valleys of Tarbes. Tarbes—then Turba—was their capital, and was and
is their bishopric.
The Auscians do not concern us. They and the three groups into which
they are later distinguished held the western plains and foot hills.
The Tarbelli held both the foot hills and the mountains of the
west; their capital was at Dax. They also split into, or are later
recognized as three separate groups, making up with the two other
sets of three “The Nine Peoples,” under which title all this country
below the Pyrenees became permanently known. But of the three only
the _Civitas Benarnensium_, whence we get the name Béarn, and the
_Civitas Elloronensium_, with its capital at Iloro, which has become
Oloron, concern us. The capital and soon the bishopric of the _Civitas
Benarnensium_ was at Lescar, as far as we can make out, and Lescar
bore the chief sanctity in Béarn until that country was swept by the
Reformation. The sovereigns of Béarn were buried there, even the
Protestant sovereigns, and it remained a bishopric, whose bishop was the
President of the Parliament of Béarn, until the Revolution; but it was
the Reformation which destroyed its original character of a capital.
We have, therefore with the earliest ages of our civilization, five
peoples holding the northern Pyrenees, the Consevanni, the Convenæ, the
people of Bigorre, the Béarnese, and the Elloronians.
It is remarkable that in such a list, our Roman originators and their
geographers overlooked the Basques. The category ends precisely at the
present limit of the Basque tongue. For the Val d’Aspe, of which Oloron
is the town, is the first French-speaking valley. Why it is that we hear
nothing of the Basques it is difficult to say, especially as the second
of the great Roman military roads went right through their country.
Bayonne, which is the Basque’s town of the plains on the north, is heard
of in the fifth century. It has a garrison; but no bishopric until the
tenth. Pamplona, which is their town on the south, was known before the
beginnings of our Christian history. But the Basques themselves are not
known to us from the Romans. The name of the Consevanni survives locally.
The country round St. Girons is still all one country-side and called
the “Conserans.” Of the Convenæ we have a pleasant legend in St. Jerome
telling how Pompey got together all the brigands of the mountains, drove
them northward hither, and forced them into a garrison (a stronghold
which, like Lyons and the rest, was one of the many “Lugdunums”). It was
destroyed early in the dark ages, and later revived by St. Bertrand,
a little way off in his Episcopal town. Their name survives in the
district of Comminges. The Béarnese name of course survives and so does
the Bigorrean, while the Elloronean, though no longer the title of a
district, is preserved in the town name of Oloron.
All this country, not only that of the five tribes along the mountains,
but the whole territory occupied by the nine peoples (who afterwards
became twelve), lay in a profound peace under Roman rule, and we may
be certain of its increasing wealth throughout the first four great
formative centuries of our era.
The advance of Rome upon the Spanish side was of a very different kind.
Rome, after the Carthaginian wars, inherited broad belts of civilized
and half civilized land. All the Mediterranean slope below the mouth of
the Ebro, and a belt quite three days’ marches wide inland to the north
of that river, was full of ancient populated towns, alive with the full
civilization common to every shore of the inland sea. So, we may be
certain, were the broad plains of the south where the most complete and
earliest absorption of the Celt-Iberian in Roman speech and ideas took
place. The advance into the north-west and therefore along the Pyrenees
covered more than a century of strict and perpetual warfare, which was
intermixed by the civil wars of the Roman commanders. The extremities of
the Asturias were reached in the century before the birth of our Lord,
but the advance was not, as upon the north, a rapid expansion beyond the
old boundaries. It took the form of siege after siege and battle after
battle, in which those numerous and crushing defeats, which Rome (like
every truly military power) reckoned to be a necessary part of history,
interrupted the slow progress of her law. The Celt-Iberian towns were
walled and strong; their resistance was painful and tenacious; there was
no sudden illumination of a willing people by a new culture, such as had
taken place in Gaul, rather was northern Spain kneaded by generations of
warfare into the stuff of the Empire.
When the work was accomplished, it was complete throughout the
Peninsula; and though the silent strength of the Basques prevented the
Roman language from invading their valleys, the administration of the
whole territory south of the Pyrenees must have been as exact and as
bureaucratic as that to the north of it. There was, however, this great
difference due to local topography between the Spanish and the French
hills, that the municipalities upon which Rome stretched her power, as
upon pegs, were less common, were farther apart, and approached less
nearly to the central ridge upon the southern than upon the northern
side. What you see to-day south of the Pyrenees is what you might have
seen at any time in the last 2000 years—a very few scattered towns,
still the centres of government, and all the rest rare isolated villages
living their own life, free from the criminal, and, by a regular
payment of small taxes, half independent of the civil law. Alone of the
true mountain sites, Jaca in the middle, Pamplona and Urgel at either
extremity, were bishoprics. Huesca, St. Laurence’s town, a fourth centre,
is in the plains. For the rest the confused storm of hills ending in
those parallel ranges, pushed right out on to the burnt flats of the
Ebro, forbade the establishment of a municipal civilization.
Upon all this land to the north and to the south of the mountains came,
after five hundred years of a high civilization, the slow decline of
culture, and the infiltration of the barbarians. In a sense the nominal
divisions between the barbaric kingdoms has its importance, for they
help us to understand changes of dynasty and of custom. But they were of
no political effect. The mass of the people knew little of the chance
soldiers who, with their mixed retinues of Roman, Breton, German, Slav,
and the rest—some able, some not able to read the letters of Rome—sat in
the old seats of office, issued their writs through the still surviving
Roman Bureaucracy and from palaces which were but those of decayed Roman
governors.
For the greater part of Western Europe, and especially of Gaul, this
process of decay was one into which Europe slowly dipped as into a bath
of sleep, and out of which it rose more rapidly through the energy of the
Crusades and of the renewed Pontificate into the splendour of the Middle
Ages. But the Pyrenees suffered in this matter a peculiar fate. When
Spain was overrun by the Mohammedan, and when in the first generation
of the eighth century the Asiatic with his alien creed and morals had
even swept for a moment into Gaul, the Pyrenees became a march: at
first the rampart, later, when they were fully held, the bastion of our
civilization against its chief peril. It is this episode by which the
Pyrenees became the military base of the advance against Islam—an episode
covering the whole life of Charlemagne and after him the ninth, tenth,
and eleventh centuries—which gives them their legendary atmosphere and
fills all their names with romance.
The northern slope, during the long business by which Gaul became itself
again, was but a remote border province. The new life of Gaul, after
the shock which had so nearly destroyed Europe was over, sprang from
Paris. The influence of Paris radiating upon every side built up again
accuracy of knowledge, unity of government, and general law. To this
influence the Pyrenees seemed the most remote of boundaries. The valleys
were little affected by the growth of the French Monarchy; they remained
for centuries broken into a maze of half-republican customs, of tiny
independent lordships, guarded and menaced by separate and jealous walled
municipalities upon the plains—all of this vaguely and slowly coalesced
into larger districts, doubtful of their sovereignty and perpetually
struggling upon their boundaries and their sub-boundaries.
In this development nothing was more striking than the way in which this
remote border at first looked rather to the south, where the interest of
religious war was ever present, than to the north, whence government was
slowly coming towards it. The French Pyrenees fought and felt with the
whole range, not with the plains. Jaca in the worst time, when it was
the only mountain bishopric free from the Mohammedan, counselled with
and was perhaps suffragan to Eauze. Urgel sat in the provincial Synod of
Narbonne. As the success of the Reconquista pushed the noise of crusade
further and further from the range, the northern valleys looked more
and more towards their northern towns. Their nominal allegiances grew
stricter—as of Foix to Toulouse—and every French bishopric was bound
more and more to its northern metropolitan, the Spanish sees to the new
metropolitans of the Ebro.
At last an issue was joined between Northern and Southern France of the
first moment to the unity of Gaul itself and of all Christendom. The
Crusades, the knowledge of the East, the awakening of the intelligence
and of its appetites, had bred throughout the wealthy towns of what had
been from the beginning Roman land, a desire to be rid of the restraints
of fixed religion. The South of France began to move towards its pagan
past. It was a movement which had already had its strange echo in the
north, a movement which in England had only been pulled up at the last
moment by the martyrdom of St. Thomas. Here in Gaul, in the sunlight,
and backed by so much gold, the rational and sensual revolt became a
larger thing, and when various sources of disruption, speculation,
and achievement had met in one stream, it was commonly called the
_Albigensian_ movement. The issue was decided, after heavy fighting, in
the early thirteenth century, and the victory was with the cause of the
unity of Europe. Toulouse (the true centre of the storm) and its lord
were conquered. Northern barons swept down, held no small part of the
southern land, and from that time onward the French Pyrenees are normally
dependent on Paris.
Two exceptions survived, the straddle of the Basque across the chain and
the straddle of the Catalan. The Basque had his country of Navarre upon
either side of the chain; with it went Béarn, and these were independent
of the French crown. The Catalan, able to traverse the chain by the flat
floor of the Cerdagne, preserved the unity of his mountain province, and
the Roussillon counted with Spain. Apart from this easy passage into the
Roussillon from the south, by way of the Cerdagne, the isolation of the
Roussillon was the more easily accomplished from the long spur of the
Corbieres, which runs north and east towards the sea and cuts off from
France the wealthy plain of which Elne had once been, Perpignan had later
become, the capital.
This arrangement endured, in name at least, until the seventeenth
century. The last heir of Navarre was also the heir nearest to the French
throne at the close of the religious wars, and as Henry IV of France he
united the two crowns. A man who, as a boy, might have rejoiced at that
union, could have lived to see, under Mazarin, the signing of the Treaty
of the Pyrenees, which gave the Roussillon also to the French Crown. The
date of this final arrangement coincided with what is ironically called
“The Restoration” in England: this date, which definitely closed the
power of the English Monarchy, and substituted for it the power of a
wealthy oligarchic class, coincides throughout Europe with the struggle
between absolute central government for the equal service of all, and
local aristocratic custom. In England the latter conquered; in Spain and
France the debate was decided in favour of the former.
Such centralized governments could but further define and insist upon
a new boundary, and from that time onward, for 250 years that is, the
Pyrenees have been once more as they were under the clear administration
of Rome, a fixed political boundary; and, save certain exceptions
that will be mentioned later, everything north of the chain has been
administered from Paris, and has slowly accepted, side by side with
the local tongue, the tongue of Northern France and the habit of a
centralized French government.
South of the chain the process by which Christendom recrystallized out of
the flux of the dark ages, followed a different course; it was a process
to which Spain owes all her national characteristics, for out of the
mountains a Spanish nation was formed, and from its various communities,
as from roots, the Catholic kingships grew southward until they once more
reached Gibraltar.
To understand this process, it is necessary to consider factors absent in
the topography of the Gaulish plains, and especially the factor of that
unconquerable tangle of mountains which occupies all the north-western
triangle of the Peninsula.
The ocean boundaries of the Iberian quadrilateral are nearly square to
the points of the compass. It is not so with the internal divisions that
mark off its central part. Here the edges of the high and arid plateaux,
the deep trenches of the rivers, the mountain ranges, the boundaries
of the plains at their feet, run slantways from north-east to the
south-west. This slant determined the boundaries of Mohammedan expansion,
while the Asiatics and Africans still retained the energy to advance;
it determined the successive frontiers of the Reconquest, as our race
slowly ousted the invader and reached at last the sea-coast of Granada.
The Arab and the Moor were masters of Narbonne and all the Roussillon on
the east, when, on the west, they could not cross the mouth of the Mulio
a hundred miles to the south. They were at Jaca within a day’s march of
the watershed along the Roman Road, when, to the immediate west of it,
they could not hold Fuente; they could not even reach Pamplona, though
that western town is two marches at least from the main crest. Toledo was
reconquered a generation before Saragossa, though Saragossa is by nearly
two degrees more northerly, because Toledo was west of Saragossa. The
last Mohammedan kingdom was crowded, after the thirteenth century, into
the extreme south-east, as the surviving remnant of the free Europeans of
the Peninsula had been crowded into the extreme north-west in the eighth.
If the boundaries of undisputed Mohammedan rule be traced for various
dates, the receding wave will be found in general to follow curves that
lead, like the main features of the land, from the north-east downwards
towards the Atlantic.
[Illustration]
This main character in the geography and history of Spain, the
south-westerly trend of the mountain ridges, largely determined the
fortunes of those fighting bands of mountaineers who ceaselessly pressed
southward until they had wholly driven out the invader and reconstituted
the unity of Europe. It determined the first advance to be, not from the
Pyrenees, but from the Asturias, and the first captain connected with the
Christian resistance after the overwhelming of all that civilization,
_Pelayo_ (from whose blood Leon, Castille, Aragon, and Navarre descend)
had his stronghold, not in the Pyrenees, but a week’s march to the west,
along the Biscayan coast at Cangas. Within the decade of the invasion he
had checked the invader in his own hills at Covadonga.
All the eighth century is full of that successful spirit in the
north-west—but nowhere else. Alfonso, the husband of Pelayo’s daughter,
struck the note with his boast, “No pact with the infidel,” and the
tradition or prophecy that Christendom would regain the south, springs
from him. He conquered down to the Douro, over what is to-day the
mountain frontier of Portugal; he began those long cavalry raids into the
heart of Moorish land. He rode into Astorga, into Zamora, into Segovia
itself—within sight of the central range of the Guadarama: riding back
with booty, harassed and harassing, nowhere permanently fixing himself
save in the towns of the west, upon the Lower Douro, but building on the
ridges of his defence, those block-houses, the “Castille” from which,
long after, the frontier province began to take its name.
All the ninth century that spirit grew. The body of St. James was found
under the Star at Compostella—its shrine became the national sacrament
as it were, a perpetual refreshment for arms, and a symbol, in its
wild isolation among the rocks of Galicia, of the impregnable places
from which the Reconquista drew its ardour. The advance continued. The
frontier counties consolidated and were named.
Leon was permanently held, Burgos was founded. If one takes for a date
the opening years of the tenth century, just after Alfred had saved
England also from the pagan, and just after the Counts of Paris had saved
northern Gaul, there is a full Spanish kingdom standing up against the
Mohammedan power, a king has been crowned in Leon and has died in peace
at Zamora. The cavalry raids have pushed—once at least—to Toledo. All
the north-west lay permanently Christian beyond a line that ran from
the corner of Gaul to the Douro and down the Douro to the sea; and this
united triangle of Roman land formed a base from which the pushing back
of the alien could proceed.
* * * * *
How did this disposition of forces affect the Pyrenees? Let it first
be noted that the newly organized Christian country lay wholly to the
west of the range. In the Pyrenees themselves the Mohammedan flood had
washed every valley. The crest had been traversed and retraversed; both
slopes were for a moment held by the invaders. Abd-ur-Rahman had sent or
led his thousands by the Roman roads of Roncesvalles and Urdos and over
the Ostondo and the lower passes of the west. The mule tracks of these
rocks had been twice crowded with the white cloaks of the Arabs. In the
east, Narbonne was held for fifty years, and with it all the Catalans.
Even in the high centre of the chain, where there is no passing between
the Somport and the Cerdagne, wherever there was something to rob or
to destroy, the invaders had penetrated. There was not here, as in the
Asturias, untouched land.
When the crest of the wave retreated, when the Mohammedan came back
defeated from Gaul, the high valleys attained—it may be guessed—a savage
independence.
Jaca has legends of its battle at the very beginning of the Independence,
before Charlemagne had come to the rescue, and from all the valleys
of the Sobrarbe, bands of men must have been perpetually volunteering
for skirmishes down into the plains. Navarre was the natural leader of
the movement, the largest and the most fertile belt of Christian land,
but the little lordship upon the Aragon, fighting down south and east
towards the Ebro, the western count of the Asturias fighting down south
and west, cut off the advance of the Basques; and though Navarre in the
period of birth and turmoil which is that of Gregory VII’s reform of the
Papacy, of the establishment in England and in Sicily of Norman power,
and of preparation for the Crusade, was the head of all the southern
Pyrenees and called itself an “Empire,” it was blocked by the double
line of advance, and the Basques, upon the foundation of whose tenacity
and courage, as upon a pivot, the Reconquest had proceeded, took little
more part in the wars; but the Basque strip of Navarre gave its first
king to Aragon, and the son of that first king, Sancho, raided so far as
Huesca and was killed beneath its walls; his son again, Peter, took the
town two years later just as the hosts of Europe were gathering for that
first great march upon Jerusalem which threw open the curtain of the
Middle Ages; and _his_ son, Alfonso (who had united in one crown Leon and
Aragon), went forward under his great name of the Batallador, and twenty
years later (1119) swept into Saragossa, the last of the Mohammedan
strongholds in the north.
Thus were the west and the centre of the Spanish slope recovered for our
race and civilization.
Meanwhile Catalonia upon the east had been since Charlemagne, since
the early ninth century, a march of Christendom; but it was not until
the same creative period which had brought forth the leadership of
Navarre and the advance from Aragon, the Normans, Hildebrand, and the
resurrection of Europe, that Catalonia began to go forward. Its first
true monarch was Berenguer the Old, who lived round and about the date
of Hastings, and was first master of the whole province. He also founded
and maintained the Cortes of Barcelona. His son, for a moment, raided
the Balearics, and when he died Catalonia and Aragon, united under one
crown, saw the alien finally driven from these mountains. All the plain
from far beyond the base of the hills was now permanently held by strong
and united kingships which pressed forward to the Ebro valley, and
finally saved all the Spanish province of Europe. A lifetime later, the
last of the foreign armies had been broken at Navas de Tolosa. Far off
in the south Islam lingered, tolerated and on sufferance, but Spain was
reconquered. For just 500 years Spain, a quarter of all that makes up our
civilization, had lain in peril between our religion and the other.
I have said that with the thirteenth century, the Albigensian crusade
upon the north, the destruction of Islam upon the south (the two
successes were contemporaneous), the Pyrenees ceased for ever to be a
march between two civilizations, and became a mere political boundary
between two provinces of Europe; and I have said that the nature of that
boundary was finally fixed in the seventeenth century, or rather during a
period which stretches from the close of the sixteenth to just after the
middle of the seventeenth.
[Illustration: PLAN K.]
If that political boundary be examined to-day it will be found to
coincide with the watershed, save at certain particular points, the
character of which merits examination.
I take for my boundaries, as throughout this book, Mount Urtioga on
the west, and the beginning of the Alberes on the east, which may
conveniently be placed at the Couloum.
In this distance, there is a slight discrepancy between the political
boundary and the watershed here and there in the Basque valleys. Mount
Urtioga itself, though upon the watershed, is entirely in Spain, and the
sources of the torrents which feed the valley of Baigorry all rise a
mile or so beyond the political frontier, which is here composed of two
straight conventional lines.
The head waters of the Nive are wholly in Spain also, as is all the
left bank of that river to a point four miles below Val Carlos. The
right bank, however, is French, so far as the torrent Garratono. Thence
forward from the sources of that torrent (that is, upon the Atheta) the
frontier now follows the watershed, now leaves the very head-springs
of the torrents in Spain until, a few miles further east, it makes a
considerable invasion of Spanish territory, not because the frontier
itself bends, but because the watershed here goes northward in a half
circle. All the upper valley of the Iraty is politically in France;
but from the Pic d’Orhy, where a definite ridge begins, it follows the
frontier strictly for mile after mile (with the exception of a curious
little enclave which gives Spain two or three hundred yards of the
head-waters of the Aspe), and there is no further exception throughout
all the high Pyrenees until one strikes the curious anomaly of the _Val
d’Aran_.
I have said in describing the physical structure of the Pyrenees that
the two main axes of those mountains were joined by a sort of fault, a
serpentine bridge of high land which united them from the Sabouredo to
a point ten miles northward, the Pic de l’Homme overhanging the Pass
of Bonaigo. The valley caught on the French side of this twist is the
Val d’Aran, containing the upper waters of the French river Garonne.
Geographically of course it is French, but politically it is Spanish so
far as a certain gorge where is a bridge called the King’s Bridge, and
where the Garonne pours through a narrow gate of rock into its lower
valley. The story goes that when the Treaty of the Pyrenees was in act
of negotiation someone said diplomatically and casually to the French
negotiators, “The Val d’Aran of course you regard as Spanish,” and
they, knowing no more of these mountains than of the mountains of the
moon, said, “Of course.” The true reason is rather that the gate in the
mountains cuts off this upper valley from the lower gorges of the river
much more than the low, easy, and grassy saddle of the Bonaigo cuts it
off from the Spanish valley of Eneou just to the east of it: and though
the Val d’Aran may be geographically or rather hydrographically French,
it is topographically Spanish, which is as though one were to say that
Almighty God made it so.
Another exception and a big one to the rule that the frontier follows the
watershed, is, of course, to be found in the French Cerdagne. The true
watershed here is coincident with the frontier as far as the Pic de la
Cabanette in latitude 42° 35′ 30″. The watershed then goes on over the
Port de Saldeu, along the crest of the Port d’Embalire to the Pic Nègre,
and there it turns to the east along the ridge across the saddle of which
goes the high road over the Col called Puymorens. It follows that ridge,
_not_ to the summit of the Carlitte, but to a lower peak called the
Madides, three miles to the north-east, runs along two miles of a high
rocky ledge to the Pic de la Madge and then there follows a difficult
sort of hydrographical No Man’s Land, the centre of which is the great
marsh of Pouillouse, nor can you tell exactly where the watershed is for
some miles in the forest below that marsh, for the same damp flat ground
sends water into the valley of the Tet and into the valley of the Segre.
Three miles to the south-west, however, it is clearly defined again in a
low rounded lump of wooded land, it passes over the flat Col de la Perche
and then follows the crest still going south-west up to the Pic d’Eyne,
where again it becomes the frontier, and the frontier it remains until it
reaches the Mediterranean.
From the Pic de la Cabanette, all the way to the Pic d’Eyne, France and
Mazarin politically took in by the Treaty of the Pyrenees a belt to the
south of the watershed and extending down to a conventional line which
left Bourg-Madame French and Puigcerdá Spanish; an exception in this is
a small strip beyond the Pic de la Cabanette, on the left bank of the
Ariège, which, though geographically French, was given to Andorra, so
that Andorra might smuggle more comfortably over the passes.
The causes of this annexation of the French Cerdagne by Mazarin are clear
enough when one remembers that the Roussillon (which is geographically
French) passed to France by the same treaty. There is no way from the
valley of the Ariège into the Roussillon except by going round this
corner of the Cerdagne, at least no practicable carriage way; the
only other way is the difficult and high short cut described later in
this book. If the frontier be carefully noted, it will be seen that
it is designed merely to preserve a right of passage over this road.
Jurisdiction was only claimed by France over the villages, and Llivia,
being a town, stands in an island of Spanish territory in the midst of
the French Cerdagne, as will be seen later when I speak of this district
in detail.
Such is the present political aspect of the Pyrenees, with Toulouse
for their great French town in the plains, 60 miles away to the north,
Saragossa for their great Spanish town in the plains, 100 miles away to
the south, a string of towns just at their feet (Bayonne, Pau, Tarbes,
St. Girons, etc.) on the northern side; on the south a rarer and less
connected group (Pamplona, Huesca, Barbastro, Lerida, etc.); and against
the Mediterranean the district of Gerona, shut in by the Sierra del Cadi
(with its outposts) and the Alberes upon the Spanish side, the town of
Gerona its capital; the Roussillon, with Perpignan for its capital, shut
in between the Alberes and the Corbieres on the French side.
[Illustration]
III
MAPS
One of the first ideas that come to a man when he thinks of wandering
about an unknown bit of country is that it will be more fun if he does
not take a map. There are places of which this is true: you discover for
yourself, and it is more exciting. But it is not true of the Pyrenees.
So little is it true of the Pyrenees that those who have no maps, that
is, the local peasantry, never traverse a country until they know it
well, and when they get into new country learn all they can from its
inhabitants, get themselves accompanied if possible, and keep to a path.
You will find that the hunters who know the mountains are always local
men. The Pyrenees are built in such a fashion and on such a scale that
you not only can, but must, lose yourself in the course of any long
wandering unless you have some sort of guide to your hand. There is only
one kind of travel off the road which you can possibly undertake without
a map, and that will be pottering about one small district with a porter,
a friend, or a mule to carry a tent and plenty of provisions; but if you
are attempting several crossings of the ridges, and especially if you are
attempting such a task on foot, a map is absolutely necessary to you.
Whatever kind of map you take with you into the hills, you must also
take with you a small compass, and that is why I mention that toy later
in talking of equipment. You are perpetually asking yourself, as you
compare the map with the landscape, which peak is which, and it is often
essential to get the right one on the right bearings. Nothing is easier
than to mistake one part of a ridge for another.
If you are in bad weather or in the dark or enclosed, the compass gives
you a general direction, as for instance upon the track I describe later
in the great wood going to Formiguères, and the compass further tells
you at what point your valley begins to turn in a certain direction. Now
a bend of this sort is very often the only indication you have for the
exact place in which to branch off for a port, or to look for a cabane.
Remember the variation, which is on the average for this range about
14 degrees, that is, the true north is 14 degrees to the right of the
direction the needle points to.
A map or maps, then, you must determine to take, and it next remains to
examine what sort of maps are available for the whole range.
There are but three of the greater countries in the whole world (to my
knowledge, at least) which have sufficient and numerous maps, these are
England, France, and Germany. I can imagine what reproach and criticism
such a statement may bring from those who know the admirable work done in
India, and the special but laborious surveys of Italy and of the United
States. But I do say (as far as my travels extend) that maps valuable for
the purposes of a man on foot and covering a whole country are confined
to these three among the greater states. To tell the truth, there is
but one large country that possesses perfect ones, and that is our own.
Nowhere else in the world (to my knowledge, at least) has a complete
survey of every detail of the soil been made, as it has been made under
the Crown of the United Kingdom. And if foreigners judge, as they are apt
to judge, of our cartography by the excellent one-inch scale map alone,
they should remember that we also possess the six-inch, and in some cases
the twenty-five inch to supplement it. Neither France nor Germany can
boast of such a survey.
Now let me abandon this digression and discuss what maps are valuable in
the Pyrenees.
First, upon the Spanish side, there is nothing. Every one who tries to
get a good cartographical indication of the approaches to the Pyrenees
upon the Spanish side is baffled. Outside of my own experience, I have
heard of many attempts and they have all failed. There is indeed a legend
of a wonderful military map in Madrid or elsewhere, but I have never
seen it, nor have I ever seen anyone who has seen it. There is a good
contour map extending outwards from Madrid in various sections, but it
does not get anywhere near the Pyrenees. There is a geological map of
Spain upon which some people fall back in despair, but it tells you very
little about Spain except the geology. It is on an extremely large scale,
1/400,000 if I remember right, and it is horrible to have to use it even
for the most general purposes of travel.
There is a large general map of Spain, drawn in Germany, which is equally
useless for the pedestrian; it comprises the whole country within a space
that could easily be hung over the chimney-piece of a small room.
In a word, there is no map of Spain for the foot traveller upon the
Spanish side. Everything of that kind which exists so far is (I again
qualify the statement by adding “to my knowledge”) of French workmanship.
It is therefore the French maps which the traveller must consider, and I
will detail these in their order with their respective advantages.
It must first be remarked that these maps are to be regarded as official
and unofficial; the official ones should be divided into those proceeding
from the French War Office and those proceeding from the French Home
Office. The importance of this will appear in a moment.
Of the unofficial maps (which are very numerous) the most important by
far is that published and printed by Schrader, and this is important only
because it gives contours (at rather large intervals, it is true) on the
Spanish side as well as upon the French.
The map can be ordered of Messrs. Sifton & Praed, The Map House, St.
James’s Street, and costs (pre-war) twelve shillings for the six sheets.
Its value consists in giving the traveller details of all the difficult
central bit between Sallent and the Encantados. The French contours, as
will immediately appear, are easily obtainable elsewhere; but to know
the Spanish side, the difficulties of the way between Panticosa (for
instance) and Bielsa, Schrader’s map is a great advantage; it is final
on the heights, the steepness, and the changes in direction of the way.
The official maps consist _first_ of the War Office maps, the scale of
which is 1/80,000 and 1/320,000.
The first thing to appreciate with regard to the French maps, is that
all of them, whether from the Home Office or from the War Office (and
in a country such as France the work of these two departments is very
different), are based upon the 1/80,000 survey. It was this survey,
undertaken by the General Staff in the course of the nineteenth century,
which formed the basis of every other map that Frenchmen use. Certain of
its early details were slightly inaccurate, as the heights of the Pelvoux
group in Savoy, which Mr. Whymper, when he climbed those mountains,
corrected. It is, however, the best monument of cartography left by
the nineteenth century. Nothing has since appeared to rival it in any
country upon the same scale. We must except of course the highly detailed
large-scale survey of special districts, which may happen to be, by a
political accident, autonomous and wealthy. Belgium has a far better map,
upon which indeed all modern work upon the Belgian battlefields is based.
Switzerland also has a better map. But no such large area as that of the
French Republic has upon so small a scale (much less than one inch to the
mile), so complete a record of every track, wood, habitation, height, and
watercourse.
The 1/320,000 is merely a reduction of this map; it is of service to
people who motor or bicycle, to anyone who uses the high road, and who
wishes to be able occasionally to wander into by-paths; but for little
local details and difficulties it should not be consulted. It is useful
advice to anyone who desires to know the Pyrenees that he should consult
before leaving home a map of the whole range upon the 1/320,000 scale,
but travel in the hills with the 1/80,000 scale.
The disadvantage, however, of the military map, accurate though it is,
and full of detail though it is, lies in two points inseparable from
the early conditions under which it was produced; the first of these is
the use of one colour, that of printers’ ink, so that the line marking
a stream, a wall, or a path are similar; the second derives from this,
and is the confusion of so many small details, all in _one_ colour and
in black. There are no contour lines. The hatching, though bold, does
not give exact heights, save where such heights are marked in figures,
and what with the lines marking the paths in mountainous districts, the
water-courses, the roads, the marks indicating the rocks, habitations,
etc., the 1/80,000 map tends (though it still remains the best map for a
very careful student, e.g., for a soldier on manœuvres) to be somewhat
crowded and confused.
An appreciation of the demerits of these maps, and perhaps a certain
rivalry between the two departments, led the French Home Office to
undertake an Ordnance Map of its own. This map is in various scales, of
which the sheets showing the Pyrenees—the only ones that concern us—are
in 1/100,000 and 1/200,000. Let me explain the general qualities of both
and the advantages and disadvantages attaching to either of these.
Both are in colours, giving water-courses and lakes in blue, woods
in green, roads in red, etc., and that is an enormous and immediate
simplification upon the old-fashioned black map.
Both are brought up to date with more care than the military map; both
are less crowded with detail, and both indicate such civilian necessities
as the telephone, telegraph, post-office, etc. On the other hand, neither
contains hatching—the only true way of representing a country-side to the
eye—and neither give that minute and exact multiplicity of markings which
it is the boast of the military map to afford. The civil map is more
practical, the military map more full of duty and more accurate.
It must finally be remembered that the scale of the civil maps, even of
1/100,000 is so small as to impede the setting down of details such as
we have on a one-inch Ordnance Map. It is three to four times smaller
superficially than our official map in England. Nevertheless, for reasons
that I shall presently show, it is on the whole the best map to carry in
the Pyrenees.
The 1/200,000 map is but a reproduction on a smaller scale of the
1/100,000 map. It has the great advantage of contour lines, but the
scale is so small and the contours so pressed together, that, though it
is invaluable for giving a general and plastic impression of the chain
(to look down on a general map of the Pyrenees on this scale is like
looking down on a model of the French side of the range), it is of little
use for telling one, as a contour map should tell one, exactly how much
higher this spot is than that other spot. When you are climbing and you
wish to identify your position, you have usually to estimate comparative
heights on a delicate scale and at a short distance, for which the
1/200,000 map is of very little use to you.
One way of using the contours of the 1/200,000 which is laborious,
but not without value, is to trace the _deeper_ contour lines in some
particular district, which you are specially studying. These deeper
contour lines stand out much more clearly than the intermediate faint
ones, which, as I have said, are too numerous for a mountain district.
They can be followed clearly even in the dark shading of a steep ridge,
and are set every hundred metres apart. When such a tracing has been
made, neglecting the finer intermediate lines, you have a good working
relief plan of the mountain you propose to deal with.
Of all the area open to the climber and the man on foot in the Pyrenees,
that upon the Spanish side of the frontier is the larger and wilder,
and this for two reasons. First, because property and its attendant
limitations is more developed upon the northern slope, so that the vast
areas common to all, are, if anything, vaster upon the southern side,
and secondly, that the formation of the range between the ramparts above
the Ebro and the main chain, covers a larger space than that between the
main chain and the French plains. Yet, as I have just said, it is on the
Spanish side that proper maps are lacking, and one must do the best one
can to supplement them by the French extensions.
A common plan guides all the French maps in their delineation of
territory south of the frontier. Colours, contour lines, hatching, and
every detail are omitted. Heights are given in certain cases (but those
are rarer of course than on the French side). The names of towns and, in
some cases, their telegraphic and postal communications are marked, but
upon the whole the Spanish side upon the French maps has far less detail
than is accorded for the territory to which the maps directly relate.
However, let me explain the various advantages and disadvantages, for use
upon the Spanish side, of the four types of French maps I have mentioned.
The 1/320,000 of the Ministry of War may be neglected; whatever use it
has upon the French side, it is negligible upon the Spanish.
The 1/80,000 map of the Ministry of War marks the main water-courses upon
the Spanish side, the main peaks, and the main important ports and cols,
with their heights, but it does not afford any indication of the shape
of the country. It is a bare white space of paper with but few lines
traversing it, one or two names, and one or two numbers on each sheet.
On the whole it is better not to use the French military maps for the
Spanish side; here it is the maps of the Ministry of the Interior which
must chiefly be relied upon. Of these the 1/100,000 map is the best. It
is true that the colours, which are so valuable in the differentiation
of the French side, are absent upon the Spanish, save in the case of
water-courses, which are marked in blue upon either slope of the range.
There is no indication of woods upon the Spanish side, as there is upon
the French, and as this indication is useful for purposes of camping,
the loss of it on the south side is often felt. Moreover, the absence of
colour upon the Spanish side often makes one misinterpret the nature of
the mountains upon these maps, giving to the whole a bare look, since the
rocky and bare spaces on the French side are similarly left uncovered.
On the other hand, the 1/100,000 French map does afford upon the Spanish
side a very large number of detailed points of information. I will
enumerate them in their order.
1. The general shape of the country is indicated by shading, the light
being supposed to come (as is the case throughout this series of maps)
from the north-west.
2. Steep rocks and cliffs, the presence of which should always be
indicated to the traveller, are carefully marked upon either side of the
frontier.
3. Paths, the importance of which the reader will presently appreciate,
are clearly marked, with all details, as exactly as on the French side.
4. Every habitation is marked, and in the case of villages and towns, the
number of inhabitants, the postal and other facilities.
5. Most of the heights are marked, though not so many as on the northern
slope, but at any rate the height of every important port, col, and peak
appears. In general, it may be said that there is no map of the Pyrenees,
immediately to the south of the frontier, equivalent to those of the
districts which happen to fall within the French 1/100,000 survey.
This leads me to the principal drawback connected with the use of the
French 1/100,000 map upon the Spanish side, which is, that it only
includes such Spanish territory as accidentally happens to fall within
each square blocked out in the French survey.
The English reader is acquainted, it may be presumed, with the one-inch
Ordnance Map, and he will have remarked, how, if it so happens that a
little corner of land escapes the regular series of rectangles into which
the one-inch Ordnance Map is divided, that little corner of land will
have a map all to itself, though the greater part of the rectangular
space so marked may be taken up by the sea. In the same way any little
bit of French territory which projects beyond the scheme of rectangles
into which the whole survey is divided, has, added to it, an outer part
completing the map and extending into Spain; where (as for instance
on the sheet called “Gavarnie”) the little piece of French territory
so projecting is small in comparison with the whole rectangle, a
considerable piece of Spanish territory will be included; but where (as
for instance on the sheet called “Bayonne”) the frontier very nearly
corresponds with the survey, very little of the Spanish side will be
included.
From this it is easy to perceive that the maximum amount of Spanish
territory in any one map must be inferior either in width or in length
to the full dimensions of each sheet, and that the total distance into
Spain, which any one sheet can mark, south of the frontier, is less than
the width of any one sheet. Now each sheet of the French 1/100,000 map
includes 15 minutes of a degree from north to south, that is, about 17
miles. One may say, therefore, that the amount of Spanish territory shown
to the south of the frontier in this excellent survey is always less than
one full day’s journey. In many parts it narrows to far less than this.
There are not a few parts of the range where even for those who make but
short excursions on to the Spanish side, this drawback is of considerable
effect. For instance, in the easy and pleasant excursion which takes one
from Andorra to Urgel, the 1/100,000 map cuts one short at 42° 30′ below
Andorra, and 42° 15′ beyond the main road to Urgel, and no small part of
the road lies south or west of this limitation.
The 1/200,000 map somewhat makes up for the deficiency of the 1/100,000
map, but not in a complete manner. The frontier sections of this survey
(five in number) show Spanish territory to the extent of some 30 miles in
the Basque country, they give but a tiny corner of the extreme east of
the territory of Aragon, they give over 30 miles for the greater part of
the north of that province, but in Catalonia the belt is restricted to
far less. Moreover, the Spanish details afforded are much slighter than
in the 1/100,000. There is no indication of the relief of the country,
no shading, only the principal water-courses and the principal highways
and mule roads are marked. But it is here that the 1/200,000 is useful,
if one has the intention of walking for some days upon the Spanish side.
Thus the direction from Castellbo in Catalonia to Esterri can be roughly
drawn upon the 1/200,000 and will not be discovered so clearly in any
other survey.
It now remains to sum up the respective advantages of these four maps for
the general purposes of travel, and to give a few comments upon the uses
of each.
The 1/320,000 military map will not be of great use to the traveller.
It can only show him the main roads if he is motoring or cycling, and
present him with a general view of the country for which the clearer
1/200,000 map will serve his purpose better.
The 1/80,000 military map is the best for minute details, and if a man
desires to ramble off and explore some special districts of this great
range, it is the 1/80,000 map which will be of most use to him, though
its value will be supplemented and greatly extended by using it in
conjunction with the colour 1/100,000 map of the Ministry of the Interior
or Home Office.
This last, as the reader will have seen, is the staple map, upon which
every form of travel depends. If no other be purchased, this at least is
always indispensable.
It is well here to summarize briefly certain points in the reading of
this map, which do not immediately appear on one’s first acquaintance
with it.
First, the map is on too small a scale to show a certain number of
features, which, though unimportant in the general landscape, are
essential to the traveller on foot. This is true of rocks, for instance;
open rock, extending over a considerable surface, will always be marked,
but hidden ledges, especially small ones, are more often not marked,
and this may lead to disaster if one trusts the map too exactly. For
instance, in the sheet numbered xi. 37, a range will be seen rising to
the left of the main road, which bisects the map from north to south: I
mean the range running from the Spanish frontier to the Pic-du-Ger. This
ridge is intersected by two profound valleys, and the whole of it is a
mass of greater or smaller limestone ledges, more or less masked in the
density of the forests. Yet it is impossible to indicate these on such a
scale, save here and there by sharp hatching. These limestone ledges are
in this particular case such, that unless one knows the paths extremely
well, it is impossible to cross the ridge at all, but one would have no
idea of that from merely consulting the map. On the other hand, every
rivulet, however small, is distinctly marked, and that is something of a
guide when one has tried to ascertain one’s position in a valley. This
map has a further advantage of marking in the clearest way the paths by
which the various ports are approached, and after a considerable use
of it in many places, I can say that when you have lost the path, the
indication afforded you by the 1/100,000 map is invariably right—upon the
French side. However unreasonably the line seems to acting upon the map,
if it lies to the left of a stream, or beneath a particularly clearly
marked rock, then it is to the left of that stream, or beneath that rock
that you must cast about if you want to find it, and if you find another
path in another direction, you may be certain it is but a random track,
which will mislead you, however clearly it may appear for the moment.
When, in first using these maps, my companions and I neglected such
information, it invariably led to trouble. For instance, in the lower
crossings of the Sousquéou, the map gives the path everywhere on the
north, or right bank of the stream. There is a spot just before the first
rocky “gate” of this ravine where all indication of further travel upon
the right bank disappears, and on the contrary a fine-made path crosses
over by a strong bridge to the further or left bank. We thought the map
must be in error, and crossed by the bridge, with the result that we
spent a whole day cut off by a bad spate from the further side, and were
for some hours in peril; for the bridge once crossed, this false path
disappeared within half a mile. If we had pinned ourselves to the map,
kept to the north bank, and cast about in circles, we should have found
the path again but a hundred yards or so further on, running precisely as
it was indicated on the survey. The importance of the 1/100,000 map in
thus giving all tracks accurately will hardly appear to the reader unused
to the Pyrenees, but it will be seen clearly enough when we come later to
speak of travel upon foot in the mountains.
It is a defect of the 1/100,000 map that heights, though accurately
marked, cannot always be as accurately referred to the exact spots
standing near the figures. This is because the heights are marked in
pale blue ink, and the ambiguity is accentuated by that absence of
contour lines which is the chief fault of the series. The method of
marking is to point a small blue point close to the figures, and this
dot marks the exact spot to which the figures refer. Where the figures
are printed in a white space, and where there are no other features to
interfere with them, this small blue spot is plain enough, but where
they come upon woodland or steep shading, or other print, it is almost
impossible to discover the dot. Thus, for instance, in the xi. 37 sheet
to which allusion has just been made, a little lake will be found right
upon latitude 42° 50′, just before its intersection with longitude 2°
40′. The height of this lake is given as 2170 metres, and the small blue
point to which that altitude exactly refers is unmistakably marked at the
southern extremity of the lake; but immediately to the right of those
very figures, one of the highest peaks of the Pyrenees, the Bat Lactouse,
marked 3146 metres, presents no point of which one can be certain. The
frontier happens to cross this peak, and the little blue spot has got
lost in the chain of black dots marking the frontier and in the print of
the name of the mountain.
As a general rule, however, if you are in doubt as to what a figure may
refer to, you are pretty safe in referring it to a peak, rather than to
a pass or a group of houses in the neighbourhood. I have said that the
accuracy of the map is undoubted for the French side; it is less certain
upon the Spanish, where indeed its accuracy is not guaranteed. It is the
best map to use upon the Spanish side (save for that restricted district
over which Schrader’s contour map applies), but do not, upon the Spanish
side, take the map against the evidence of your senses, as you will be
wise always to do upon the French side. The map is notably wrong upon the
Spanish side where unfinished works are concerned; it is not revised with
the same frequency and care as upon the French side; for instance, the
big new road from Sallent up to the French frontier goes in long winding
zigzags, which make the total distance between eight and nine miles. The
1/100,000 map marks it in dots as though it were not finished, makes it
far straighter than it is, and thus reduces the distance by nearly half.
Finally, the 1/200,000 map gives the best bird’s-eye view of the whole
district, and is the only one showing contours, and penetrating further
upon the Spanish side than any other. It will be my advice to those who
desire to take a walking tour of some length in various parts of the
range, to equip themselves with the whole set of the 1/200,000 maps (5
sheets), with the whole of the 1/100,000 map, but only with such of the
1/800,000 (the uncoloured map of the Ministry of War) as cover small
districts of the nature of which one is in doubt. Those, on the other
hand, who purpose spending their time in one or two valleys only, should,
without fail, purchase the sheets of the 1/100,000 survey covering that
district, and would do very well to add to these all the corresponding
sheets of the 1/80,000 survey.
With these remarks, most that can be usefully told to my readers with
regard to the maps of the Pyrenees has been told them, but perhaps a few
final notes will not be without their use, thus: The English traveller
must always remember that none of these maps comes up to the English
one-inch Ordnance for accuracy and detail—the scale forbids this. Next,
let him remember that the dates of revision of each map will differ,
as do the dates of revision of ordnance maps in every country. For
instance, I have before me, as I write, the 1/200,000 of Luz, purchased
in this year (1908); no date of revision is attached to it, but the
new road (which is at present an excellent carriage road, one of the
best in Europe, up the Gallego to the French frontier) is marked, at
first as a lane, afterwards as a mule track. On the 1/100,000 (Laruns
sheet), purchasable this year, the new road is marked as existing for
traffic, but not fully completed beyond a point about three miles from
the frontier, and its true form is not given but merely indicated. It is
evident that these sheets were revised at different times (the Laruns
sheet bears a date six years old), and that we must always take the later
of any two impressions, if we can obtain it. The highways of the Pyrenees
upon the French side especially, both by road and by rail, are being
extended with such rapidity that every year makes a difference to the
accuracy of the information conveyed.
It remains to enumerate with their titles the maps covering the district:
in England they may be most easily obtained from Messrs. Sifton & Praed,
The Map House, St. James’s Street. This firm provides the 1/200,000 for
the whole chain of the Pyrenees range mounted on canvas, the most useful
map perhaps for motoring and cycling. Any sheet of the 1/100,000 can
also be obtained from them, as all are kept in stock, but by far the
most convenient form in which to carry them is to have them folded in
the stiff cover issued by the French Government: to get them in this
form, a few days’ notice in London will be needed. From the same firm
the military maps can be procured in a similar manner, but I do not know
whether all are kept in stock as a regular thing.
In ordering the sheets of the 1/200,000 (if one does not purchase them as
a whole), reference is made not to numbers, but to names. There are five
sheets, “Bayonne,” “Tarbes,” “Luz,” “Foix,” and “Perpignan,” the price of
which in England is 10_s._; the whole series can also be purchased mounted.
The sheets of the 1/100,000 map may be referred to either by the names of
their central towns, or by the index number of the series in which they
are printed. It is difficult to say what numbers of these maps exactly
cover the range, unless one knows how far from the watershed towards
the plain the traveller intends to go. The smallest number sufficient
to cover the actual watershed and the highest peaks is 16, or, for the
whole frontier, 17. These sheets are by name (going from the Atlantic
to the Mediterranean, from west to east), St. Jean-de-Luz, Bayonne,
St. Jean Pied-de-Port, Mauléon, Ste. Engrace, Laruns, Luz, Gavarnie,
Bagnères-de-Luchon, Val-d’Arouge, St. Girons, Mont Rouch, Perles,
Ax-les-Thermes, Saillagouse, Ceret, and Banyuls. Referring to their
numbers in the series upon the index map, they are respectively viii. 35,
ix. 35, ix. 36, x. 36, x. 37, xi. 37, xii. 37, xii. 38, xiii. 37, xiii.
38, xiv. 37, xiv. 38, xv. 38, xvi. 38, xvi. 39, xvii. 39, and xviii. 39.
It will be observed that in the index map of the 1/100,000 series, the
divisions running from north to south are marked in Roman numerals, those
from east to west in Arabic numerals, and that the gradual increase in
Arabic numerals from 35 to 39, corresponds to the gradual trend southward
of the Pyrenean chain from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean.
Very few of my readers will be concerned with the main crest of the range
alone; it will therefore be necessary to add to that list northward of
the frontier (the lower Arabic numerals) the further sheet according to
the district each may have chosen to travel in. A certain number of extra
sheets are necessary to those who travel in the main chain only, for
instance, “Perles” (xv. 38) includes within the limits of its sheet the
frontier upon either side, but this frontier so nearly approaches the
northern limits in one spot, that it will be quite impossible to travel
in this part until we also add the sheet “Foix” (xv. 37), to the north
of it. Even the little lake of Garbet, which is not three miles from the
crest of the range, is half out of the map and half in.
Those who desire a complete collection of all the sheets of the 1/100,000
survey, extending from the furthest mountain over the Spanish side up on
the foothills into the French plain, may remark the following lists: in
series viii. 35; in series ix. 35 and 36; in series x. 35, 36, and 37; in
series xi. 35, 36, and 37; in series xii. 36, 37, and 38; in series xiii.
36, 37, and 38; in series xiv. 37 and 38; in series xv. 37 and 38; in
series xvi. 37, 38, and 39; in series xvii. 38 and 39; in series xviii.
39; in all twenty-five sheets will cover the mountainous region in this
survey, and anyone who desires a complete map of the French Pyrenees,
with as much of the Spanish side as the survey includes, should possess
them all.
Schrader’s map is in six sheets upon the scale of 1/100,000 and with
contours. It is essentially a climber’s map. Detailed maps of special
districts of course exist in many shapes, but they must be sought for in
the periodical reviews, and in monographs in which they have appeared.
Finally, it may interest the reader to know that in the Casino of
Bagnères-de-Luchon he may inspect a fully detailed relief map of the
whole range on a scale somewhat larger than one inch to a mile, though
the inspection of it rather satisfies curiosity than affords any guide to
travel.
Schrader’s map is of the greatest value for one particular piece of
touring, which I shall describe later in these pages. Meanwhile it may be
as well to add a further note upon it here. It is by far the best, so far
as it goes, of all the Pyrenean maps; it is due to private enterprise,
and if the whole range had been done in the same way there would be no
need to discuss any other type, it would amply suffice for all purposes.
Unfortunately, whereas the range, within the limits laid down in this
book, stretches in length from a degree east of Paris to nearly four
degrees west of that meridian, covering, that is, four or five degrees
of longitude, and stretches in latitude from 43° 25′ to at least 42°,
Schrader’s survey covers only 1½° in longitude (namely, from 1° 10′ west
of Paris to 2° 40′), and in latitude extends over no more than half a
degree, namely, from 42° 20′ to 42° 50′.
As the reader may see by comparing these bearings with a general map,
Schrader’s map is intended to include no more than the very high Pyrenean
peaks: it is the result of many years of careful individual survey, begun
before the war of 1870 and carried on to quite the last few years.
Like the French Home Office map, it is in the scale of 1/100,000, and,
like it, it is printed in colours, but unlike the Home Office map, it
shows the invaluable feature _of contours_. You have an exact plan of
the country before you, and in clear weather, with the aid of this map,
you can fall into no error in connexion with the relief of the land.
The contours are at some distance, at 100 metres or 328 feet apart, but
this in such country is an advantage; indeed, the cramping of the closer
contours on the official 1/200,000 map, greatly detracts from their
usefulness. Not only are contours marked, but all rocky places are given
with the greatest care, and the impression of relief is helped by shading
as well as contour lines. The only drawback of the map, apart from its
restricted area, lies in the absence of any indication of woods. As to
the steepness, to which woods are often a guide, his contours amply make
up for the deficiency, but for camping it affords you no indication. On
the other hand, all cabanes and all paths are very clearly marked.
All heights and distances with which you will have to do in these hills
upon either side are marked in metres, save in the popular talk, which
measures distances by the time taken to traverse them. With this I shall
deal in a moment. Let me first deal with what is a constant source of
trouble to Englishmen on the Continent, the turning of the metrical
system of measure into its English equivalent.
There are two ways of doing this. One is the application of quite easy
and rough rules of thumb, the other is the more complicated process which
aims at a fairly high degree of accuracy. It is the first of these of
course which most people will want to know, and there are two simple
rules, one for heights and one for distances.
The rule for heights is, divide by 3, shift the decimal point one place
to the right, and you have the height in English feet, _within a certain
limit of error_, which I shall presently detail.
The rule of thumb as applied to measures of distance is to take the
number of kilometres (a kilometre is 1000 metres, and is, as one may
say, the French mile), divide by 8, and multiply by 5, and you have the
corresponding number of English miles _within a certain limit of error_,
which I shall describe presently.
For all ordinary purposes these two rules are sufficient, though in both
cases they somewhat exaggerate. They make a French distance measured in
English miles a little too far, and a French height, measured in English
feet, a trifle too high.
The exact constant of error is, in the case of the heights, 1.6 feet in
every 100. Thus if your rough calculation gave you a height of 10,160
feet, the exact height ought to be just 10,000; you see upon the map in
the blue figures referring to metres, “3048” (which happens by the way to
be within two steps of the height of the Bac Lactous). You divide by 3,
add a 0, and get 10,160, and you know by the constant of error that the
true height is just exactly 10,000 feet.
The knowledge of this constant gives us a rough-and-ready method of
getting a height within a very small degree of accuracy, and for any
purposes where such accuracy is required, I recommend it. It consists in
cutting off the last three figures, multiplying what is left by 4, and
then again by 4, and subtracting that from your first rough calculation.
It sounds complicated, but it does not take half a minute, and you will
be well within two feet of any height; for most heights you are likely to
calculate, you will be right within a few inches.
For instance, you see 2403, in blue figures upon the map dividing by 3
and shifting your decimal point, you at once get 8010; there is your
rough calculation, which you know to be a trifle in excess of the truth.
Cut off the last three figures and you have left 8, multiply 8 by 4, and
then again by 4, and you have 128 as the amount of your error. The peak
is by this calculation 7882 feet high, and rough as the rule is you are
within 20 inches of the truth: the exact height of such a peak in English
feet is 7883.7624....
However, if you want absolute accuracy, multiply the French measure by
3.2808992, and you will be sufficiently near the truth to save your soul.
As to distances, the exact proportion of error, when you turn miles into
kilometres by dividing by eight and multiplying by 5, is 2 inches or so
short of 50 feet too much in every mile; when, therefore, you are dealing
with a hundred miles, you are very nearly, but not quite a mile out in
this form of calculation. The error is, within a very small fraction, 1%.
If therefore you want an easy rule for turning your rough calculation
into an accurate one, you cut off the last two figures and subtract from
your total the figures thus left. For instance, 244 kilometres divided by
8 gives 30½, and that multiplied by 5 is 152.5; cut off the 52, leaving
“1” on the left, subtract that 1 (making 151.5), and you are within a few
yards of accuracy. As questions of distance count nothing in mountains
compared with questions of height, I will make no mention of decimals,
but proceed to a very different matter, which is the way of counting that
the _mountaineers_ have, and this you will do well to heed blindly.
When you are tired and distracted and wondering perhaps whether you can
push on, if you have the good luck to find a shepherd, he will tell you
your distance to such and such a place in _hours_. The Spanish, the
Gascon, the Béarnais, and the Catalan dialects all use the same words,
so far as sound goes, for this kind of measure, and the Basque will
never speak to you in Basque: it is part of the Basque tenacity never
to do this. So if you find yourself in any part of the high hills where
a man can talk to you of distances, you always hear the same sounds
“Dos Oras,” “Quart’ Ora,” “Mi’ Ora,” and the rest. This habit, as every
reader knows, is universal throughout the world wherever true peasants
exist; but in mountains, whether they be Welsh or African, it is not only
universal, but it withstands all the invasion of the modern world.
What I would particularly impress upon anyone going into the Pyrenees
is this, that such a method of counting is exceedingly accurate, and is
moreover the only accurate method. Nothing is more fatal to a civilized
man of the plains than to take his little measuring stick and measure
upon the map by the scale the distance between two points, saying, “It
will take me so many hours.” There was a Basque at Ste. Engrace who very
well expressed to me the contempt which mountaineers have for that method
of the plains. A deputy of the French Parliament had stopped in his inn,
had thus measured the distance from the village to the pass, and would
not believe that it could take three hours. It always takes exactly three
hours. I have done it in four by careful dawdling, and the dawdling, when
I came to reckon it up, had taken exactly one hour out of the four. Now,
measured upon the map, that distance, as the crow flies, is precisely
three miles, but it takes three hours none the less. You will not do it
in less, and what is odder, you can hardly do it in more, for if you
deliberately go too slowly, you are done for in no time, and if you halt,
you will find that your halt fits in exactly to make the walking time
three hours. Similarly, over the Pourtalet, from the last Spanish hamlet
to the first French one, is six hours; part of the way you may choose
between a good road and a mule track, but whichever you choose it is six
hours; and there is nothing more astonishing in Pyrenean travel than
the accuracy of this rough method. As I said just now, you must heed it
blindly; it is by far your best guide.
The use of maps has one last thing to be said about it, which applies
particularly to the Schrader map and to the 1/100,000, and this is that
where you think you see a short cut, and the map gives you no track,
there the short cut is to be avoided. I say it applies particularly to
the Schrader and 1/100,000, because these two maps are so particular
in detail that you think their information must be enough without
the further aid of a path. Moreover, the path sometimes takes such
apparently needless turns that you are for escaping it by an easier cut.
You will never succeed. You may indeed succeed in a bit of exceptionally
hard climbing, you may not lose your life, but you will most certainly
wish that you had never attempted the unmarked crossing of the ridge you
have attacked. It is obvious that the exception to this doctrine would
be found in a piece of genuine experiment. If you say to yourself for
instance, “I can get over the shoulder of the Pic d’Anie into the valley
of the rivulet beyond, which has no name, but which runs into the Tarn
of Uterdineta,” you will probably do it, but it will not be a short cut
from the Val d’Aspe into the valley of Isaba, though it is the shortest
way. These temptations for cutting across the hills come very often in
one’s first experiments in the Pyrenees: they get less frequent as one
knows more of them. These mountains are full of vengeance, and hate to be
disturbed.
NOTE.—A convenient map for viewing the whole range is the 1/400,000
which is sold by Messrs. Sifton & Praed, mounted in two sheets,
and in a case. It is especially of use in showing a large belt
of the Spanish side. Motorists in particular should see it.
IV
THE ROAD SYSTEM OF THE PYRENEES
[Illustration]
There are two kinds of platforms for travel in the Pyrenees—mule tracks
and great, highly engineered, modern roads. No others exist. When,
therefore, one is describing travel in the Pyrenees, one must separately
describe the opportunities of wheeled travel open to all vehicles,
however elaborate, and of travel on foot or with a mule. As the last will
take up the greater part of my space, I will speak of wheeled travel
first.
To understand what are the opportunities of this, one may take as one’s
standard the roads which can be traversed by a motor car. Those passages
which a motor car cannot use cannot be used by a bicycle or a carriage,
for the roads of the Pyrenees are, as I have said, either very good broad
roads, well graded, and with a hard surface, or they do not exist; the
change is always abrupt throughout the chain from an excellent highway,
carefully engineered, to a mule track.
The scheme of Pyrenean roads, as it exists now, is, briefly, _first_: a
couple of great lateral roads on the French side, which may be called the
upper and the lower road; _next_, four roads traversing the chain (six if
you count the roads along the sea-coast at either end, which I omit—the
one goes by St. Jean de Luz, the other by the Pass of Lacleuse or La
Perthuis); _thirdly_, a series of roads, numerous on the French side,
rare on the Spanish, which penetrate the valleys but do not cross the
chain, and end at a greater or less distance from the watershed.
The main lateral road from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, along the
base of the Pyrenees, links up all the towns upon the plains; it joins
Bayonne to Pau, Pau to Tarbes, Tarbes to St. Gaudens, and so on through
St. Girons, Foix, and Quillan to Perpignan: this may be called _the
Lower Road_. The upper road has been but recently completed. It is made
up of sections, some of which are old highways, some links quite newly
built, and the characteristic of the whole is that it skirts as nearly
as possible the crest of the main chain, crossing at some places very
high passes over the lateral ridges, and everywhere keeping right up
against the high summits of the range. The whole line runs from Perpignan
over the Col de la Perche up the Val Carol and over the Puymorens to
Ax, Tarascon, and St. Girons. At St. Girons, it is compelled by the
conformation of the country to touch the lower road, but it leaves it at
once to pass from Fronsac to Luchon; thence through Arreau, Luz, Argelès,
Laruns, Oloron, and Mauléon—all the high mountain towns—to St. Jean
Pied-de-Port, and thence back again to Bayonne.
The four roads over the ridge into Spain lie all of them on the western
side of the hills. They are, first, the road through the Baztan valley,
which connects Bayonne with Pamplona; secondly, the Roman road over
Roncesvalles, 12 or 15 miles to the east of this, which used to be the
high road between Bayonne and Pamplona before the Baztan road was built,
and which was during all history the westernmost road of invasion and
communication between Gaul and Spain; thirdly, the road which goes over
the Somport, which was also a Roman road and the chief one, uniting
Saragossa with the French plains; fourthly, a road parallel to this and
not 10 miles east of it, running over the Pourtalet Pass and joining the
Saragossa road lower down. No other roads cross the range from France
into Spain until one reaches the Mediterranean, and all these four lie
within the first westernmost third of the Pyrenees.
It would be quite easy to open other roads which should unite the last of
the Spanish highways with the first of the French, notably over the easy
pass of Bonaigo, where 20 miles of work would be enough, and through the
Cerdagne, where there are no engineering difficulties. One such road is
now in process of completion between Esterri and St. Girons over the pass
of Salau. Another, which was begun from the valley of the Ariège into
Andorra, was abruptly stopped, and it will probably never be completed.
There are some half-dozen other places, where a road could cross and
where the French are building their side of it: but the Spaniards are
reluctant to meet them.
Of the roads of the third kind, roads running up the valleys but not
attempting to cross the mountains, one may say that on the French side
every valley has one or more good roads, the one drawback to the use of
which in a motor is that you are compelled, unless you can take a cross
road from one high valley to another high valley, to go back by the way
you came into the plain.
Not only has every valley its highway leading to the very foot of the
main range, but often the bifurcations of the valley will have roads
as well. Thus along the valley of the Nive you can go in a motor not
only to St. Jean Pied-de-Port, but also right up the eastern valley to
a country-side called the “Baigorry” as far as Urepel; along the next
Basque valley to the east, you can go from Mauléon in the plains right
up into the hills as far as Larrau, but you cannot go to Ste. Engrace,
where the valley splits, because the track thither, though a good one,
will not take wheels. You can go up the branch valley from Oloron as high
as Aritte, and the main road up the Val d’Aspe (which is that leading
to Jaca by the old Roman way), has lateral branches, one taking you to
Lourdios, the other across the foot hills to Arudy and the Val d’Ossau.
The valley of Lourdes has a road which, with the exception of the roads
over the passes, goes nearest to the main watershed. I mean the road to
Gavarnie; and the Val d’Aure, which comes next to the westward, has a
road going as far as Aragnonette, almost as close to the last cliffs as
Gavarnie is; and there is an embranchment to the east which takes one to
the very foot at the Hôpital of Rivanagon in one of the loneliest parts
of the hills. The road to Bagnères de Luchon is carried some miles beyond
that town, as far as the Hospitalet, which stands at the foot of the pass
into Spain. The road to Viella in the Val d’Oran goes on up to within
a mile or two of the pass of Bonaigo. A road from St. Girons takes one
up the valley of the Lez as far as Sentein, which, like Gavarnie, lies
right under the main chain, while the road from the same town up the
main valley of the Sallent goes up to the watershed itself, and is being
constructed to cross it, and to afford (over the pass of Salau) one more
badly needed passage into Spain. The valley of the Ariège has a road all
along it, almost to the sources of that river. It is continued through
the Cerdagne and down the valley of the Tet into the Roussillon.
There is not a main valley on the French side of the Pyrenees which has
not its great carriage road, and most of the lateral valleys have now the
same kind of communications. The journey up them is nearly always of the
same kind, save the few which are prolonged to carry over the watershed
into Spain. There is the succession of two or three enclosed plains or
jasses after one has left the plains, the sharp pitch up to one flat,
and then another, through short but steep rocky gorges, till we reach
the little terminal mountain village, sometimes not more than a group of
three or four buildings, lying under the last escarpment, and in sight
of the frontier ridge above it. Of this terminal sort was Urdos until
Napoleon III pushed the road out beyond it into Spain; Gabas, until the
Republic did the same with the road there; and of this sort still an old
Hospitalet, Sentein in the Val d’Aure, and though it is in a state of
transition, for the road is now being pushed beyond it, of this sort is
Gavarnie. Little places almost as old as our race, with no history and no
national memories, but with immemorial traditions, rooted as deep as the
mountains, were brought into the life of our time by that new activity
of the French, which is to many foreigners so hateful, to many others so
marvellous.
[Illustration: PLAN L.]
On the Spanish side there are no roads of this kind penetrating the
valleys except the incomplete road to Isaba from Pamplona by way of the
Val d’Anso, and the short stretch from Sandinies to Panticosa.
A road is being made up the Val d’Anéu, but it is not yet finished, and a
road goes just so far up the broad Segre valley as Seu d’Urgel.
All the other valleys have mule tracks alone.
The general scheme of existing roads in the Pyrenees is roughly as upon
the map on previous page, where it will be seen that much the greater
length of the chain is impassable to a wheeled vehicle.
Motoring sets a standard for every other form of wheeled traffic, I will
therefore first speak of this kind of travel. The best road to take with
a motor, if one wishes to obtain a general idea of the Pyrenees, is the
Lower Road (by Tarbes and Foix) from Bayonne to Perpignan; one may then
come back again from Perpignan to Bayonne by the upper road, many parts
of which are of very recent construction and which goes right through
the highest part of the chain across the main lateral valleys of the
Pyrenees. Such a round—about 500 miles altogether—gives one from far and
from near the whole of the French Pyrenees: from the first one sees the
chain as a whole before one: by the second one mixes with its deepest
valleys.
The first day’s run from Bayonne had best end at Tarbes; it is a town
central with regard to the chain, and it is also a very pleasant place
to stop at under any conditions; not cosmopolitan like Pau, and not in a
hole and corner like Foix.
The lower road from Bayonne to Tarbes runs through Orthez, Puyoo, and
Pau, and if one starts early, Pau is a good halting-place for the middle
of the day. This part of the road is, during the whole of its length or
nearly the whole of it, a rolling road of the plains with no striking
points of view save in where it tops a slight rise. It first follows but
runs above and north of the valley of the Adour below it, next descends
after the first 20 miles or so to cross the Adour, and so comes to
Peyrehorade, the first town (and railway station) upon its course. During
all this first part of the run one has sight after sight of the range
which stretches out eastward before one to the south rising higher as it
goes; and one sees at first before one upon the horizon, later abreast of
one and due south, the pyramid of the Pic d’Anie, which is the first of
the high peaks.
From Peyrehorade to Pau, between 40 and 50 miles, the road goes through
Orthez along the valley of the Gave de Pau, for the most part following
the river bank and allowing but few sights of the range; but at Pau
itself it rises on to the high plateau of the town whence the most famous
general view of the Pyrenees is spread before one.
From Pau there are two roads to Tarbes; for curiosity and for general
travel it is the road round by Lourdes which is generally taken, and that
is during the whole of its length a lowland road though it runs among the
foot hills; but the better road on such a drive as I am describing is the
direct northern road, which, after it has climbed on to the plateau of
Vignan, goes up and down steep small ravines until it comes down again
upon the main valley of the Adour and the plain of Tarbes.
There are on this road two points, one just after one leaves the railway
line, not quite half-way to Tarbes on the climb up to Vignan, the other
just before the loop and descent above Ibos, which afford fine views of
the range to the south, and one begins to gather one’s general impression
of these mountains, which, more than any other range, present an
appearance of simplicity and the united effect of a barrier. Tarbes, less
than 30 miles from Pau, may seem a short run for one day from Bayonne,
but it breaks the journey exactly and conveniently.
After Tarbes (where the hotel for you is the Hotel Des Ambassadeurs) the
road goes through much broken country, passing by Tournay up on the high
plateau of Lannemezan to Montréjeau. It is a road full of short hills,
but it is necessary to take this section in order to go eastward from
Montréjeau and to proceed through St. Gaudens, taking an elbow by St.
Martary and so down to St. Girons.
After St. Girons one follows the new and excellent road which runs along
the valley side by side with the new railway to Foix. From Foix to
Nalzen your way is to go along the main road from Foix up the Ariège
Valley for some 4 miles and then turn to the left, leaving the railway
and making due east. From Nalzen continue to Lavenalet; there take the
right-hand road to Belesta and Belcaire; thence, when you have crossed
the plateau, a very winding road takes you down hundreds of feet, on
to Quillan. After Quillan you have a few miles through the very little
known and wonderful gorges of Pierre Lys to St. Martin, through which
gorges the railway accompanies you. Do not follow it round by Axat, but
cut across by the road which goes eastward to La Pradelle. This road
takes you across a low pass to the watershed of the Mediterranean. From
La Pradelle to Perpignan the road is a perfectly clear one through St.
Paul and Estagel. It is a straight, good road, following the valley all
the way, save the last stretch, which runs across the plains between the
river Agly and the Tet.
This second day will of course be far longer than the first; it is nearer
200 miles than 120. If you would break it, however, break it rather after
the short run to St. Girons, than at Foix, for though Foix be nearly the
half-way house, yet the accommodation is better at St. Girons, and so is
the cooking.
A two days’ run of this kind from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean,
following such a route, gives you the whole distant range in one general
appearance, and gives it you better than you will have along any other
line with which I am acquainted.
The way back by the upper road from east to west through the Pyrenees
is a piece of travel quite peculiar to these mountains; nowhere else
in Europe is there a lateral road driven right across the buttresses
or supports of a main range. The Pyrenees possess such a road in their
highest part. What the French have done here is as though the Italians
had driven a road from the sources of the Dora Baltea right under Mont
Rosa, and the Matterhorn to Lake Maggiore, or as though the Swiss had
driven one from Faido and Fusia right over into the valley of Domo
d’Ossola. From Tarascon in the valley of the Ariège to Laruns in the
Val d’Ossau—that is, over all the central part of the chain and for
just over half its length—a mountain road goes right up against the main
heights (only once coming near the lowlands at St. Girons), crossing the
high, perilous passes which lie between the upper valleys. By taking
advantage of this new piece of engineering you can return from Perpignan
to Bayonne through the midst of those hills which the road just described
from Bayonne to Perpignan showed you in a distant general view: when you
have so returned you will have seen the heart, the French Pyrenees.
I will now describe such a return journey by the upper road. From
Perpignan you will do well to run the first day to Ax. The road is the
great road from the Roussillon into France. You go up the valley of the
Tet (which is the main river of the Roussillon) through Prades with the
Canigou first right in front of you, and at last rising steeply to your
left. You continue through Prades up the gorges and tortuous zigzags of
the Upper River until you come to the head of the pass at Mont Louis:
there the broad and easy valley of the Cerdagne opens to the south,
sloping gently before you. The road runs down, almost as in a plain, to
Bourg Madame, where you must turn to the right up the Val Carol to Porté.
The pass above Porté (called the “Puymorens”) though long, is of an easy
gradient, and once over it you run down all the 18 miles to Ax, following
the valley of the Ariège.
Ax is, of course, an early stopping-place. The whole distance from
Perpignan is under 140 miles, but Ax is so much more comfortable than
Tarascon that it is better to make one’s halt there.
Next day go down the valley as far as Tarascon and there take the
mountain road off to the left; it is not a national[1] road but it has a
perfectly good surface in spite of a considerable climb. One little col
comes almost immediately at Bedeillac, after that you climb steadily up
the valley to the Col-du-Port (which is about 4000 feet high) then down
the mountain side to Massat, which lies on the western side of the pass
and about 2000 feet below it. Thence it is an ordinary valley road until
you come to St. Girons again.
[1] The French metalled roads are of three main kinds, supported
by the State, the County and the Parish respectively. Of these
the first and most important are called “National Road.”
From St. Girons you continue this progress parallel to the watershed and
right among the high peaks, by taking the cross road from St. Girons to
the valley of the Garonne. Just before the railway station at St. Girons
turn sharp to your left, taking the road which goes up the left bank of
the Lez. At this starting point you are not more than 1300 or 1400 feet
above the sea; at Audressein (300 feet up) turn to the right, cross the
river, and begin to climb the upper valley until you reach the col of
Portet-d’Aspet at about 3400 feet, that is, some 2000 feet above St.
Girons, and between 15 and 20 miles from that town. From this col the
road descends rapidly down the valley of the river Ger, falling in 5
miles 1500 or 1600 feet. At the end of the 5 miles you take a road that
goes sharp off to the left before reaching the village of Sengouagnet,
this road going off to the left crosses a low watershed, makes, at the
end of another 5 miles, a great loop round the forest of Moncaup (the
church of which village you leave to the left just before making the
turn), and comes down into the great open plain into which the valley of
the Garonne here enlarges. It is one of the finest enclosed plains in the
Pyrenees, and to come down upon it by this road is perhaps the best way
to approach it.
The first village in this plain is Antichan, thence several long windings
take one down to Frontignan below, and thence it is a straight road
through Fronsac to Chaum where there is a bridge over the river, and
where the plain of which I have spoken terminates in a narrow gateway
through the hills. You cross the river by this bridge, fall at once into
the great national road upon the further or left bank, and a straight
run of not more than 12 miles in which one only rises 300 or 400 feet up
the tributary valley brings one to Bagnères-de-Luchon. Though at the end
of an even shorter day than was Ax from Perpignan, Bagnères will make a
convenient stopping-place after a good deal of hill climbing and roads
the surface of which, especially in the early summer, is occasionally
doubtful. Bagnères has, of course, everything that people motoring can
want, it is the capital of the touring Pyrenees, and even if this cross
journey has not proved enough for one day, the character of Bagnères
makes it the right place to stop at on the second day.
Though Bagnères is right in the middle of the mountains, but a mile or
two from the frontier of Spain, not 6 miles, as the crow flies, from the
watershed and within ten of the highest peaks of the Pyrenees, yet the
importance of the town has caused good communications to spring up around
it, and there is an excellent road crossing straight over from the high
valley of Bagnères into the next high valley, the Val d’Aure. It starts
at the market-place just opposite the new church, crosses the col called
“Port-de-Peyredsourde,” and comes down into the main road of the Val
d’Aure at Avajan, which follows down the stream at an even gradient to
Arreau, 7 miles further on.
Arreau is the capital of the Val d’Aure, and when you have reached it you
will have come about 20 miles from Bagnères.
The next parallel valley to the Val d’Aure is that of the Gave-de-Pau:
the valley which has at its mouth the town of Lourdes, and at its
head, right under the Spanish frontier, the famous village and cliff
of Gavarnie. There is, indeed, a small subsidiary valley in between
where the Adour takes its rise, and of which Bagnères-de-Bigorre is the
capital, but it is shorter and stands lower than the two main valleys
upon either side. The section I am about to describe, the great new road
from the Val d’Aure to the Valley of Lourdes, just touches this upper
valley of the Adour but does not pursue it.
The cross road from Arreau in the Val d’Aure to Luz in the valley of
Lourdes is the steepest and the most diverse in gradient, as it is also
by far the finest in scenery, of all the new sections which have recently
been pierced through the highest parts of the range and between them
build up what I have called “The Upper Road.” The distance as the crow
flies from Arreau to Luz is not 20 miles, but the long windings of the
road which take it over two passes, and the northern diversion necessary
to turn the great mountain mass of the Port Bieil, lengthen it to nearly
double that distance.
There is no mistaking this road. It branches off at Arreau, leaving the
valley road not half a mile beyond the bridge and going to the left up a
little side stream, the name of which I do not know. Within 2 miles it
crosses this stream and begins to take the long complicated and graded
turns up the mountain. One must be careful, by the way, at the point
where the road crosses the stream to turn sharp to the right and not go
straight on towards Aspin, for though one can get to the main road again
from Aspin, it is by roads too steep for a motor. If one so turns to
the right, the road goes up to the col in great zigzags and climbs in
some 6 or 7 miles the 2000 feet between Arreau and the summit, thence it
falls rapidly for 3 or 4 miles to a point where the new road cuts off
the corner the old road used to make. It is important to recognize this
point, not only because it saves one at least 6 or 7 miles of travelling,
but also because it saves one going right down into the valley of the
Adour and climbing up again. I will therefore attempt to fix for the
traveller the exact place where he must turn off to the left, though the
description is difficult on account of the absence of any landmark.
As you come down from the Col d’Aspin, you run through a wood along the
mountain side for perhaps 2 miles. The road sweeps round the curve of a
gulley on emerging from this wood, crosses the rivulet of that gulley,
and comes down close to the stream at the foot of the valley which is
the source of the Adour. Just at this point a road will be seen coming
in from the left, descending the slope of the valley beyond the stream
and crossing it by a bridge. This is _not the road_ you are to take. You
must continue on the same road you have been following down from the
pass, until, in about half a mile, it crosses the stream to the left
bank, and approaches on that bank a wood that lies above one on the hill.
Immediately after this bridge there is a bifurcation; one branch goes
straight on, the other goes off to the left; this last is the one you
must follow. The branch going straight on is the old road which leads
down the valley of the Adour, and from which one used to have to double
back some miles on at an acute angle to reach Luz. The new road, which
you must thus take to the left, cuts off that angle.
There are no difficulties from this point onward. The road winds a good
deal round the hill-side, and almost exactly 5 miles from the point where
you turned into it you come again upon the main road to Luz over a bridge
that crosses a stream. Just where you join that main road it begins its
long climb up to the pass called Col du Tourmalet.
This pass is the highest and steepest on the secondary or lateral passes,
over which the new roads have recently been driven. It is just under 7000
feet in height, is everywhere practicable, and once it is surmounted
there is a clear run down of some 10 miles and more (following the valley
called locally that of the Bastan) to Vielle and to Luz in the main
valley.
Of all the crossings between the high valleys of the Pyrenees this is the
one best worth taking. The height of the pass, the great mass of the Port
Bieil dominating one side of the road, and of the Pic-du-Midi dominating
the other, give it an aspect different from any other of the secondary
roads, and comparable only to the two main passes of the Somport and the
Val d’Ossau.
From Luz a great national road takes one down the valley to Argelès and
the railway, a distance of about 18 miles, and the end of about as fine a
piece of engineering as there is in Europe. From Argelès, which is just
above Lourdes and whence Lourdes can be reached at once by road or by
rail, the cross road which I am describing goes on over another high pass
into the Val d’Ossau.
The motorist must decide whether to make Argelès his stopping-place or
not. In distance from Bagnères he will have gone no more than somewhat
over 70 miles, and that is a short day; but it is a day that will have
included a great deal of climbing and of sharp descents, and that will
have had at the end of it one of the highest passes in the Pyrenees. If
he does not choose to stop at Argelès, he will find in Eaux Bonnes above
the Val d’Ossau, rather more than 20 miles on (but over a high pass), a
very wealthy little modern town, like Bagnères on a lesser scale, with
everything that he or his machine can want; and only an hour or an hour
and a half beyond Eaux Bonnes, by one of the great national roads and
along the lowlands, is Pau.
This cross road from Argelès and the valley of Lourdes, into the Val
d’Ossau runs as follows. You take at Argelès the road for Aucun, a
village about 5 miles off, up a lateral valley, during which 5 miles you
climb over 1200 feet.
From Aucun, still climbing, the road passes Marsous, winds up the
hill-side away from the stream, and reaches the first pass, the Col de
Soulor, thence it makes round the head waters of the Ouzan valley and
round the flank of a bare hill called in that country-side “Mount Ugly,”
until it reaches the point called the Col de Casteix. Here the foot
passenger would naturally cross, as he might have crossed still lower
down by the Col de Cortes, but for the sake of a gradient the road goes
right round to the north and over the Col d’Aubisque, falling from thence
in very long curves down to Eaux Bonnes. The town is not 2½ miles from
the top of the col in a straight line. It is more than 5 by the long
zigzags of the road.
From Eaux Bonnes a road of less than 3 miles takes one down the Pyrenees
to Laruns in the valley, and here the great lateral road of the high
Pyrenees may be said to end.
One may go to Pau the same night, but, sleeping at Eaux Bonnes, it is a
most interesting journey to continue down the valley of the Gave d’Ossau
to Arudy and to Oloron, thence by the road through Aramits, and Tardets
to Mauléon, thence by Musculdy, Larceveau, and Lacarre to St. Jean
Pied-de-Port, but all that run is through the foot hills, and though one
has fine views of the range from every little pass and hilltop, these
last 80 or 100 miles are not of the same nature as the track I have just
been describing, the chief feature of which is the presence of a good
carriageway running through the very core of high and abrupt mountains.
Still, anyone who has taken the lower road, as I have advised, from
Bayonne to Perpignan and wishes to go back all the way to Bayonne by a
higher road nearer the mountains, cannot do better than go on from Eaux
Bonnes to Laruns, to Oloron, Mauléon, St. Jean Pied-de-Port, and thence
down the lovely valley of the Nive to Bayonne.
So far I have described the main circular journey, west to east, and from
east back again to west, which one can take in a motor car in the French
Pyrenees.
To describe or to advise as to a similar journey from north to south is
not so easy, because the Spanish roads are uncertain. Moreover, there is
no Spanish road crossing the lateral ranges as the French one does, so
that, unless one abandons the Pyrenees altogether and goes right down
into the plains, a circular journey from north to south and back north
again is confined to the very narrow choice between Roncesvalles, the
Somport, and the new Sallent road.
The road over the Somport is the best international road between France
and Spain. It is completely finished, and yet it is sufficiently modern
to present every advantage for travel. On the French side it has been
complete since the time of Napoleon III; on the Spanish side its highest
stretches have been finished only in recent years. It is perfectly
possible to take the whole road from Oloron to Jaca, and so back by
Sallent and Laruns to Oloron again in one day, but it would be a foolish
thing to do, and if the ascents try the machine, it might mean going
through some of the best scenery of the Val d’Ossau in the dark. It is
best therefore to break the journey at Jaca, and no number of hours spent
in that delightful town are wasted. The first part of the road—the first
16 miles or so—are nearly level. It is interesting to see the straight
line which the Roman track makes for the gate of the hills at Asasp. The
pass seems to invite the road: it is the most obvious gap in the whole
Chain.
The rise, as I have said, is slight. The river, which is rather less
than 800 feet above the sea at Oloron, is not 1400 above it at Bédous;
in the whole 20 miles or so, you rise but 600 feet. There are occasional
hills, but they are insignificant, and the general impression is that of
following the floor of the valley. When, however, one has passed through
the great enclosed plain of Bédous, and left behind him its chief town,
Accous, one passes through a narrow gorge, which rises continually to
Urdos about 12 miles on. The rise is gradual, however, and never steep.
It was at Urdos that the old valley road used to stop, until Napoleon
III continued it to the summit of the pass, and for 7 miles above Urdos
there are continual and steep rises. The pass, however, is low (it is
but slightly over 5000 feet) and the last 2 miles before the summit are
fairly flat. From the summit the road runs down on the Spanish side a
little steeply, but with no really difficult gradient, and after about 2
miles of this, where the Canal Roya falls in and forms the river Aragon,
the road takes on quite an easy slope. Indeed, the escarpment is so much
steeper upon the French side that Jaca, though it is 25 miles away,
stands no lower than Urdos close by just over the ridge. Rather less than
half-way between the summit and Jaca is the little town of Canfranc. It
would be a pity to stop there, the food is doubtful, and so is the wine,
and if one wants to breakfast on the journey, it is better to make an
early breakfast at Urdos.
After Canfranc the mountains open out and you are fairly in the lowlands;
17 miles on, through a wide valley, you come to Jaca.
Your hotel at Jaca will be the Hotel Mur, as good and comfortable a one
as you will find in northern Spain. From Jaca you may go on to Pamplona
westward, or down further south into Spain by Saragossa. As you enter the
northern gate of Jaca, you will have gone exactly 57 miles from Oloron; a
short distance I know, but I repeat, it is foolish to go to Jaca and not
to spend your time in so charming a place. Moreover, the run back has no
opportunities for repose.
The return journey is first eastward by the Guasa road, which has (or
had, when I went along it last), a most indifferent surface in parts, and
you follow this, with a railway never far from the road, some 10 or 12
miles, until at Sabiñanigo the railway turns down south and in much the
same neighbourhood (but north of the line) the road turns up north and
reaches Biescas (a smaller town than Jaca), in about another 8 miles.
After that it begins to climb. At Sandinies the road bifurcates. That on
the right goes up to Panticosa; crossing the river by the stone bridge of
Escar, your road goes straight on up the valley and climbs up to Sallent
for 3 or 4 miles.
I confess I have never been over this bit, but I am assured that it is
practicable for a motor, and I have indeed seen a motor which had come
round from Panticosa. There is nothing at Sallent that you can call
habitable, though as motors live there it is to be presumed that there
are ways of looking after them. You will do well to volunteer at the
guard room (which is on the left of the road as you leave the town)
information as to your whereabouts. It has happened to me not to be
allowed to leave a Spanish town without all manner of formalities, while
on other occasions it has happened to me to walk through one and over
into France without a question being asked.
From Sallent the new road goes up with rather steep gradients at first,
zigzagging up the side of the Peña Forata. The old road, a mere track,
may be seen cutting off the great bends as one climbs the mountain.
About a mile from the frontier, where the steepness of the road grows
level, is a post of police where they may or may not bother you; they
bothered me on one occasion, and on another they let me alone. From the
summit, which is some 12 kilometres and more—say 8 miles by road—from
the town of Sallent one goes down first gently, then steeply, with the
Pic-du-Midi d’Ossau, a vast isolated rock, right in front of one, and one
is accompanied by a torrent upon one’s left—which is the Gave d’Ossau.
The road follows the right bank of this for some 7 miles, crosses over
to the left bank, and 3 miles after this bridge reaches Gabas, a tiny
hamlet, where is one of the most delightful hotels in the Pyrenees. Gabas
is the highest inhabited point in this valley, and is just the same
distance from the summit that Sallent is upon the other side, that is,
between 8 and 9 miles. From Gabas down to Laruns the road continues all
the way downhill, a matter of another 7 or 8 miles, and from Laruns back
to Oloron, through Buzy, is a lowland road with a flat surface. The whole
round from Oloron back to Oloron again is somewhere between 125 and 150
miles.
There is but one other circular journey for which I can vouch that it can
be made in a motor car; it is the journey from Bayonne to Pamplona, by
way of the low passes on the Atlantic side of the range, and back again
through Roncesvalles.
You find yourself at Bayonne as a starting-place. The main road into
Spain and towards Madrid goes along the sea, much as the railway does,
and bears westward, but there is another road through the tangle of
Basque mountains, or rather those hills which between them make up French
and Spanish Navarre, and this road is the direct road to Pamplona. It
is a short day’s journey of some 60 miles at the most when all the
windings are taken into account, and there are no really high passes or
steep gradients throughout. You leave Bayonne by the main straight road
which leads out south-west towards Biarritz, but, immediately outside
the fortifications, you turn to the left along the high land above the
valley of the Nive. A mile and a half out you cross over the main line
and immediately afterwards take the road to the left which leads you to
Arcangues. There are many branch roads on this little bit, which is well
under 4 miles, but the chief road is plain. At Arcangues, just after you
have left the church on the right, you turn to the left, still following
the high road, and in some 2 miles you strike the forest of Ustaritz,
the confines of which were for so many centuries the sacred centre of
the Basque people. Through this forest there is no doubt of the way. The
road leading to the town of Ustaritz, which goes off to the left in the
midst of the forest, comes in at so sharp an angle that one would not be
tempted to take it, and the high road goes on, without any bifurcations,
to St. Pée. You have, by this time, crossed the low watershed between
the basin of the Adour and that of the Nivelle, upon which river St. Pée
stands at some 13 or 14 miles from Bayonne.
You turn to the left in St. Pée by the road that leaves that village
due south, and take the left-hand road again at the first bifurcation,
which is immediately outside the village; then follow steadily up the
valley of the river. There is but one doubtful place, not 3 miles out of
St. Pée, where you choose the left of two roads, but even that is not
really doubtful, for your road obviously follows the stream, which it
there crosses by a bridge, while the right-hand road goes over into the
hills. About 3 miles more from this bifurcation you cross the frontier,
and thence onwards there is no doubt of your way. The high road goes over
the Pass of Ostondo, or Maya, quite low, and brings you into the Basque
valley of Baztan. Come on down through Elizondo, a most delightful town
of this people, and climb up continually thence (taking the left-hand
road at Irurita, one and a half miles from Elizondo) until you come to
yet another pass, called the “Port La Betal” or “Vetale” in French, some
2000 feet or more in height. After crossing this col you are in the basin
of the Ebro, and the road thence into Pamplona is a straight stretch all
the way to the plain, which appears suddenly spread out as you round a
corner, a fine sight.
The old road back from Pamplona into France over Roncesvalles, the road
which the armies of Charlemagne took, and which the Romans built, went
first east and west, and was the first portion of the great road to
Saragossa. It met the road over the mountains and branched north towards
Roncesvalles. There is a modern road which cuts off this corner, and
joins the Roncesvalles road quite close to the hills. It crosses three
low lateral ranges by very easy gradients, and has an excellent surface.
It takes one through Larrasoaña, Erro, and finally, without any doubtful
cross roads or turnings, falls into the old Roman road, just below
Burguete.
Here you must make ready for one of the greatest sights in Europe.
You are on a very high upland plain, something like the glacis of a
fortification. The last crest of the Pyrenees stands like a long wall
of white cliffs, which seems low and familiar, because you are so very
high up on this sloping plain. You go through a fine northern-looking
wood which might be in England, with great spacious clumps of beeches and
broad glades. You pass the monastery, and then go up through the hamlet
of Roncesvalles, quite an insignificant few hundred feet of road; you
see a ruined chapel upon your right (ruined quite recently by fire, and
yet no one has taken the trouble to rebuild it!), then suddenly you are
at the summit, and a profound trench opens sheer below you and points
straight to the French plains, miles and miles away.
It is here that Roland died, in the valley below.
From this summit the roads run down directly on the northern side of
the watershed, but still politically in Spain, till you come to the
last Spanish town, Val Carlos, where you will do well to ask for papers
permitting you to leave the country. These papers are obtained from the
Corregidor. Two miles on you cross the river into France, and four miles
further you are in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, where there is good food and
promptitude and news and all that is necessary to man.
From St. Jean Pied-de-Port the main valley road takes you, without any
doubtful turnings, down the river and the railway, now on one side, now
on the other, all the way to Bayonne. There is but one place where the
traveller might be a little confused, and that is some 12 miles or more
from St. Jean Pied-de-Port, where the road, which has been running right
along the railway and the river for miles, turns sharp over to the right
to reach a village called Louhossoa; but this village (which is but a
mile from the river) once reached, everything is plain again. Turn to the
left at the church, where the road goes straight back to the river (a
matter of 2 miles), crosses it, and goes along the heights on the left
bank, all the way back to Bayonne.
The whole of this circle is about equivalent in distance to that which
I have described round from Oloron to Jaca, and back again round by
Sallent; and, as in the former case, you will do well to break the
journey in Spanish territory and at Pamplona, for though this makes two
short days in a motor, they are days in which you ought to see what you
can see. For my part also, I would stop at Elizondo, to eat and to watch
the place; but I would not eat at the hotel in the main street, where the
people are cruel and grasping, but rather at the cheap and genial place
kept by one Jarégui.
Besides these two circular journeys upon good roads, which a man can take
across the main range, there is the variation of them that can be made
by taking the valley road from Pamplona to Jaca, a journey of at least 70
miles or more. I know that it can be done, for I have seen motors that
had done it, and for all that I know the road may even be excellent:
or it may be very bad—I am not acquainted with it. Such as it is, it
takes you all along Aragon and the parallel outer ranges of the Spanish
Pyrenees.
I have mentioned another extension to the roads described, the run
down to Saragossa from Jaca. This of course takes you right out of the
Pyrenean country, but the first half of it at least is in the hills,
and no journey shows you better the nature of the outlier mountains on
the Spanish slope of the main range. Off the direct road one may make a
long elbow eastward to reach Huesca, which was St. Laurence’s town. The
surface is good, and there are few steep gradients, though there is a
long climb out of Jaca itself. From Jaca to Saragossa, by way of Huesca,
along this road, is just about 100 miles, and, as far as Huesca at least,
it provides a complete knowledge of the mountain types upon the Spanish
side of the watershed. Nor is this typical scenery anywhere finer than in
the splendid gorges and chimney-rocks of Riglos, nor is any one of the
parallel ranges more characteristic than the high Sierra de Guara, which
stands up above the burnt plain of Huesca, 30 miles out from the main
ridge, quite separate from the general range, and yet reaching a summit
of nearly 6000 feet.
All the roads suitable for motoring, especially in such a district as
this, are suitable for bicycling also. I say “especially in such a
district as this,” because the identity between motoring and bicycling
roads is more striking in the Pyrenees than in most parts of France,
since the expense and difficulty of making the great highways here has
been such that it was not worth while building a carriage road on these
hills unless the engineering was to be of the most perfect kind, and the
surface of the best, and the gradients as easy as nature would allow. The
consequence is that there are in the Pyrenees no roads (which he will
find in the plains) where a man on a bicycle can go with difficulty, and
a motor cannot go at all. Stretches of this kind, due to bad surface or
to steepness, are familiar to every one, but I can remember none of
the sort, not even of a few miles, between St. Jean Pied-de-Port and
Puigcerdá, nor between the French plains and the Spanish.
The question will, however, be asked by anyone who proposes to bicycle
in this district for the first time, whether the long gradients are not
such as to destroy the advantage of using the greater part of the roads.
To this objection a general rule applies, one which will seem a little
unusual when it is first read, but which I have found from experience
to be true. It is this, that the few crossings of the hills from north
to south make easier journeys for the bicyclist than do the lateral
roads across the ribs or buttresses of the main chain. Anyone going for
instance on a bicycle from Laruns to Lourdes, will have some very fine
scenery for his pains, and, if the day is fine, he will not regret his
experience, but he should be warned that on this lateral road most of his
energy will be taken up in slowly climbing the great pass over the Mont
Laid; for though it is but a few miles as the crow flies, it is a big and
toilsome business along the highway. Nor would that be the only pass. It
is characteristic of these lateral roads that they usually contain more
than one big ascent. He will be troubled again at the Col-de-Soulor and
to get from Laruns to Lourdes, though the two towns are in contiguous
valleys and no further apart than London and Windsor, would be a day’s
work for most men.
Another example of the same sort could be given from the other lateral
roads of the Pyrenees, as, for instance, the low cross road between St.
Jean Pied-de-Port and the valley of Mauléon. Here the pass is much less
high, but a mile or two from St. Jean, when you have gone through St.
Jean-le-Vieux, you begin to climb, and all the long way of the valley
of the Bidouze, and out again, over the next range, that overlooks the
Saison, is a succession of long wheelings uphill.
For the purpose of seeing some particular place in the next valley, it
may be worth while to follow one of these lateral roads, but a general
tour of that sort is not worth while. If, on the contrary, a bicyclist
chooses the main north and south roads, he will find many advantages
in the choice, and I would recommend in particular, as the best that
he can undertake in these mountains, the round from Oloron to Jaca and
back, which I have already described. Such a journey is a task taking
three full days, four or five easy days, and it gives such an opportunity
of contrasting two civilizations, and of learning the barrier which
separates them, as does not offer itself in so short a space anywhere
else, I think, in western Europe. I will not detain the reader in this
particular with what I have to say upon this road in general, for that
will rather concern the description I will make of it when I speak of
travel on foot, but I will point out in what way it can be dealt with by
the bicyclist.
All the long road from Oloron to Bédous, though it leads to the very
heart of the mountains, needs no more energy upon a bicycle than does a
two-hours’ ride (and it ought not to take two hours) in any part of the
plains. There are one or two half-miles of hill, all of them rideable,
but the general run of the way is flat, or burdened with a slight rise
which is hardly perceived, and the approach to Bédous, in its magic
circle of hills, is actually _down_ along a fine slope, which faces the
last ridge and the frontier watershed. So far, it is a ride which one
may take even upon a high gear, and have for his pains as fine a survey
of great mountains as he will find in Europe. From Bédous the road cuts
straight across the dead level of the valley floor for 2½ miles, passes
a “gate” of rock, and thence continually runs through gorges up the 7
miles to Urdos. It rises considerably in this last bit—nearly 1 in 20—and
though the distance from Oloron to Urdos may not take one more than one
afternoon, anyone bicycling into Spain will do well to pass the night at
Urdos, for the big climb begins just after that place. In this hamlet, of
no pretensions, you may choose with advantage the little inn called the
“Hotel of the Travellers,” of which, and whose charming terrace, I speak
in another place.
Next day, unless you wish to accomplish a feat, you will begin to walk
up to the summit of the road. There are parts that can be ridden—the
last quarter is almost flat—but the earlier part and the larger is too
steep for comfort. The continental road-book makes the whole distance 12
miles, the kilometres by the roadside, which are somewhat more reliable,
make it 8, and so does the map; anyhow it is a continuous uphill which
should be taken leisurely, pushing one’s machine until one gets to the
flat bit at the top. The short cuts are here, unlike those of some other
cols, quite impossible to a bicycle, even when one is pushing it, and
the whole way must be taken upon the high road; if one can afford it, it
is wise to have the machine carried on a cart as far as the hospital, 2
miles from the obelisk which marks the frontier and the summit of the
pass; but whether one pushes it, or whether one has it carried, it is a
three-hours’ climb. It is wisest to take these three hours in the early
morning.
From the summit at the entry into Spain there is 2 miles of steep new
zigzag, falling a little too sharply, and all around is the very novel
aspect of the southern side of the range, where the dryness and the sun
have eaten up the forest; at the foot of this zigzag begins an easy and
continual run down of 7 or 8 miles into Canfranc; your bicycle takes its
own way; there is no place so steep as to fatigue one with the break,
still less to be of any danger. The 17 miles from Canfranc onwards
towards Jaca is a road upon the whole descending, but by that time one
has entered the foot hills, which are flat and undulating rather than
mountainous, and at Jaca you will find the Hotel Mur, which I have called
the kindest little hotel in Europe, and certainly one of the cleanest in
Spain.
You will leave Jaca early after spending there your second night. I am
not saying that the whole distance from Oloron could not be done in a
day, on the contrary, it could be done quite easily. A man could pass
the night at Oloron, starting in the early morning from that town, be at
Urdos easily by ten, lunch there at leisure, get to the summit by four,
and be down at Jaca before dark on a July day, and before the hour of the
late Spanish meal. But the climbing of the pass would fatigue him, it
would come at an awkward time of the day, and he would have to count upon
what is not so certain in the Pyrenees, fine weather. It is best to break
the journey at Urdos as I have advised.
From Jaca, a great road leads all the way down to Saragossa, throughout
scenery where you are at first amazed by the contours of the isolated
cliffs above the gorges of the Gallego, and afterwards almost equally
amazed by the aridity of the great plain that slopes down to the Ebro.
The run from Jaca to Saragossa is too much for one day in the hot season.
It had best be broken at Huesca. If he choose to make this excursion,
the traveller will have to return by the same road, and he would perhaps
be wise to save himself the tedium of it and to put his machine upon the
train, for a railway goes back, much as the road does, to Jaca.
If one does not take the excursion to Saragossa but returns to France,
the way is by Biescas, Sallent, and the Val d’Ossau.
The Biescas road leaves Jaca to the east and runs so for 10 miles, then
it goes 8 miles northward to Biescas.
From Biescas it begins to rise, in the last part heavily; and Sallent,
which is not 10 miles from Biescas as the crow flies, is nearly 1500 feet
higher. The gorge of approach to Sallent is a plain embranchment from the
Panticosa road at Sandinies about 8 miles from Biescas.
Sallent offers a problem to the bicyclist which it does not offer to
the man with the motor, and that is the problem of lodging. It is a bad
place to stop at, and yet the next place where one can sleep is over
the pass, 17 miles on at Gabas. One will have gone nearly 40 miles from
Jaca, and the last bit one will have been climbing all the way; for some
miles up to Sallent quite steeply, and more or less uphill all the way
from Biescas. To push the machine up another 8 miles to the summit (for
it cannot be ridden) is a task, but it is a task worth accomplishing,
especially if you have a long evening before you, for once on the summit
you will have not only a run down of 8 or 9 miles to Gabas without
putting your foot to the pedal, but also the prospect of the best inn
in the Pyrenees, the delightful inn which the Bayous who own it call
the Hotel des Pyrenees; or, if you like to take the whole pass at once,
you have nearly 20 clear miles downhill without stopping, past Gabas
to Laruns; but the inn at Laruns is not to be compared with the inn at
Gabas.
If one takes on a bicycle the round which I have spoken of for a motor
from Bayonne to Pamplona by the valley of the Baztan and back again by
Roncesvalles, there is no difficulty about inns, but on the other hand
there is a multitude of shorter hills, some of which cannot be ridden.
You could make two short days of the journey out by sleeping at Elizondo,
in which case on your first day you climb up a pass and down into a
valley, and your second day is a repetition of the same process. The
third day back from Pamplona to France has one hill at Erro, which you
will hardly be able to climb, but from that valley through Burguete and
right on to the top of the pass is rideable on any reasonable gear. From
the summit down to Val Carlos all the way to the frontier is one long
easy run down, and you may continue the valley road along the Nive as far
as you like upon the same day. Even Bayonne is not too far at a stretch.
As for those who wish to know how to get a series of long coasts in
these hills at the least pains, my advice to them is this: start from
Perpignan, take the train from Perpignan to Mont Louis. From Mont Louis
you have a run of 15 miles, falling 1000 feet all through the French
Cerdagne to Bourg Madame, uninterrupted save for two or three short
rises. At Bourg Madame next day an omnibus (with a very bad-tempered
driver—at least he was so in my day) will take you up the Val Carol to
the summit of the Puymorens; from there it is an uninterrupted coast all
the way down the valley of the Ariège to Ax, and beyond as far as you
like to go, 20 or 30 miles of downhill with scarcely an interruption.
The other way round is good coasting too. By the rail to Ax, up the
Puymorens by coach, coast down Val Carol, _ride_ up (through Llivia)
to Mont Louis and coast down the gorges of the Tet. It is only in this
eastern part of the range that you will get such long uninterrupted
downhills: there is, in the central part, the run down from the Pourtalet
(but no coach to take you up), and there is a coach up the Val d’Aran to
Viella, with a run back of a few miles down the Garonne; but neither of
these are like the Ariège valley or that of the Tet, and the roads up the
enclosed western valleys to Luz, Bagnères, etc., have not sufficient
fall for long coasting.
One ought not to leave the road system of the Pyrenees without saying
something on driving. Your best town, I think, for beginning a drive is
Oloron, and there is a job-master close to the station from whom you can
get horses and carriages by the day, by the week, or by the month. I do
not speak of this from my own experience but from what I have been told,
and I know that there are relays of horses all up the pass; but whether
the job-master has arrangements for relays I do not know. That sensible
kind of travel has so generally died out that I should think it doubtful.
It is better to depend upon the same horses for the whole journey, and
whether upon the round by Navarre or that by Jaca the posthouses are
frequent everywhere, your longest stretches without one being the bit of
new road, 17 miles long, between Sallent and Gabas, and the similar 14 or
16 miles between Urdos and Canfranc.
On the other roads, should you determine to drive along them, there is
one rather long piece without a relay up the Tourmalet, between the
eastern foot of that pass and Barèges; but this road is continually
traversed by carriages at all times, and there is sufficient provision
for the distance. These three are the only long gaps without relays which
you have to fear in driving through the Pyrenees. For the rest, except
that your days’ journeys must be so much shorter, what I have said of the
roads for motoring applies to driving also.
[Illustration]
V
TRAVEL ON FOOT IN THE PYRENEES
[Illustration]
The road system of the Pyrenees and the opportunities it affords for
motoring, bicycling, and driving are but a small part of what most
English readers desire to know about travel in these mountains. For most
men the pleasure of such travel is to be found in wandering upon foot
from place to place, in learning a district by slow daily experience, in
camping, and in the chance adventures that attach to this kind of life,
and also in climbing. Of climbing I can write nothing; it is an amusement
or a gamble that I have had no opportunity of enjoying. Those who think
of mountains in this way can learn all they need in Mr. Spender’s book,
“The High Pyrenees.” They can get more detailed knowledge from Packe—if
a copy of the book is still to be bought—and I am told by those who
understand such matters that the rock climbing of this range is among the
best and the most varied in Europe. In the matter of travel upon foot
other than climbing, I have some considerable experience, and this is
the sort of travel which I shall presuppose when I come to speak of the
various districts into which travel in the Pyrenees may be divided.
There are two ways in which travel on foot in these hills can be enjoyed;
the first is by laying down some long line of travel—as over the Somport,
across from the Aragon to the Gallego, and so through Sobrarbe to
Venasque—the second is by fixing upon a comparatively small district in
which one can slowly shift one’s camp from one day to another. In either
case, the aspect of travel on foot is much the same, and so are its
difficulties and its necessities.
I have heard it discussed whether a man should travel with a mule
in these hills. The practice has in its favour the fact that the
mountaineers, whenever they have a pack to carry and some distance to
go, travel with a beast of burden. The mule goes wherever a man can go,
short of sheer climbing, and it will carry provisions for some days. The
expense is not heavy; a mule is saleable anywhere in these mountains;
one can buy it at the beginning of a holiday and sell it at the end of
one, never at a great loss, sometimes at a profit. Nevertheless, upon the
whole, the mule is to be avoided. You are somewhat tied by the beast.
He is not always reasonable, and feeding him, though it will be easy
two days out of three, is sometimes difficult, for while he will carry
many days of your provisions, he can carry but few rations of his own.
With a mule one always finds one’s self trying to make an inn, and that
preoccupation is a great drawback to travel in the mountains. Moreover,
the keep of a mule, at a Spanish inn especially, is expensive. It is a
better plan to hire a mule occasionally, as one needs repose, or in order
to carry any considerable weight for a short distance over some high pass.
I presuppose therefore a traveller upon foot carrying his own pack, and
I will now lay down certain rules which my experience has taught me to
apply to this kind of excursion.
I shall speak later of what sort of kit one should carry, what amount of
provision, etc.; and I shall also speak later of the nature of camping in
these hills; but these two main things do not cover the whole business,
and the more you know of the Pyrenees, the more you will find them
enemies unless you observe the laws which they teach you in the matter of
exploring them.
Now, the first and the most essential of these laws to regulate your
travel is to make certain of no one distance in any one time. Do not
say to yourself “I will leave Cabanes” (for instance) “and will sleep
the night in Serrat.” Such plans are too easily made at home or on the
plains. One measures the distance upon the map, and the thing seems
simple enough. One may be lured into security by starting in fine weather
or over easy ground, but _unless you have been over the place before_,
never make a plan of this kind, and even if you know the territory,
beware of the false confidence which comes so easily in the plains, when
one has forgotten the terrors of the high places.
Here are two examples within my own experience to show what dangers
attend this sort of confidence, the first taken from the Aston, the next
from that very easy place, the Canal Roya; and remember that nothing I am
saying has to do with the fantastic exercise of climbing, but only with
straightforward walking and scrambling.
A companion and I had settled to force in 36 hours the passage from the
Aston valley into Andorra. There is a path marked upon the map; the
way is apparently quite clear and one might have made sure that with
provision and calculation for one night, nothing could prevent one’s
reaching the first houses of the Andorrans. On the contrary, this is what
happened.
The first evening was mild and beautiful, the sky was clear, the path
at first plain. It was so plain that we did not hesitate to continue it
after dark. Here was a first mistake, and the breach of a rule I shall
insist upon when we come to camping. Still, it was not this error which
destroyed us.
We slept the few hours of darkness under a thorn bush before a most
indifferent fire, and the next morning we began our way.
We came almost immediately after sunrise to a place where the valley
bifurcated, and that in so confused a manner, with so many interlacing
streams and so unpronounced a ridge between the main bodies of water,
that we took the wrong ascent by the wrong stream, and only found, when
we had ended in a precipitous cul-de-sac, that we had made an error.
We went back to the bifurcation (which, remember, was of that confused
sort where nothing but a very large scale map is of any use), and we
made up the other stream. The hours which we had lost had brought us
into the heat of the day, and the day was exceptionally hot. We climbed
a shelving slope at the end of this further valley: a matter of 2000
feet, very steep and rough. When we were already near the summit there
bowled over towards us from beyond it, without the least warning, a
violent storm. We were so close to the top, and there was so little
shelter on the open rocks we were ascending, that we thought it well to
gain the summit before halting. On the whole the decision was wise. We
found overhanging ledges upon the summit and took refuge there until
the worst of the downpour had ceased. But the storm left behind it a
mass of drifting cloud, now rising and now lifting, which made it quite
impossible to determine what our true way should be. The summit of the
slope was an open grass saddle with great boulders dotted about, and
from this saddle a man might go down one of three declivities which
branched southward from it. There was no seeing any complete view of the
valleys below even in the intervals of the drooping clouds, for, as is
so frequently the case in these steep hills, there was a great deal of
“dead ground” just below us. We had to guess which of the undulations of
the summit we should follow, we could not be certain until we had gone
down some hundreds of feet that we had definitely entered an enclosed
valley, but once on the floor of this we were fairly certain by our
general direction that we had crossed the main watershed and were in
Spain. The storm renewed itself; the late hour made us anxious, we pushed
on through the driving mist and rain, necessarily losing a consistent
view of the contours and the windings of the valley; when the sky cleared
again we saw before us a great open gulf stretching down for miles and
miles, and the very amplitude of the prospect further deceived us into
believing that we were certainly descending into the first of the Spanish
open places, but hour after hour went past and no sign of men appeared.
There were not even any huts in the Jasses. To confuse us still further
and to lead us on in our error, a definite path suddenly appeared; we
naturally made certain that it was the head of the valley road upon the
Spanish side. So confident were we that we _must_ by the map and by all
common sense be now close to habitations that, after consulting together
a little, we thought it wiser to eat what little provisions remained so
as to gather strength for a last effort, than to camp hungry and reserve
our food for the morrow. When we had so eaten it grew dark; hour after
hour of the night passed, and the path was still plain—but there was no
sign of men. By midnight we were dangerously exhausted and incapable of
pushing further: we lay down where we were by the side of a stream and
slept. The morning of the third day we might well enough have failed to
reach succour. We had come to the end of our powers, we had no more food
and it was only the accidental encounter with a fisherman who happened
to be thus far up in the hills that guided us to safety. He told us
that by choosing that particular one of the three slopes we had come
down, not upon the Spanish side, but into a long curving valley that
had led us back again into French territory. We had made a circle in
those forty-eight hours of strain and certainly had we not found him our
getting home at all would have been doubtful.
Now these errors, for which there seems very little excuse when they are
set down thus in print, were not only natural, but as it were, necessary.
Anyone unacquainted with the district _might_ have made them, and under
our circumstances _would_ inevitably have made them. Nothing but a large
scale map—which does not exist—would have saved us the hours lost at the
bifurcation of the streams, and not even a large scale map could have
properly decided us at the confused summit of the pass where a full view,
which the storm had prevented, was necessary to judging one’s direction.
The true remedy lay not in maps, however perfect, but in allowing for the
chances of error, in taking a full three days’ provision, and in avoiding
that sort of forced marching which had exhausted us, and which we had
only undertaken from fears about our remaining stock of food.
The other matter, that of the Canal Roya, is the more significant in
that it was quite a little detail that might have betrayed us into a
very nasty situation. I knew the Canal Roya, and acting on the strength
of that knowledge, my companion and I decided late one summer evening
not to camp in the valley but to push on over the pass at the head of
it, for immediately beyond this pass we knew to lie the good new modern
high road which leads down to Sallent. The pass was marked on the map
in the clearest possible fashion, the valley was of a very particular
and decisive shape, and the pass lay straight over the end of it. Now
at that end was a sweep of high land, and rising up from it two rocky
peaks. The map and the general trend of the land made it certain that
the pass would go to the right or to the left of the lowest of these two
rocky peaks. There was no difficulty of approach, and one unacquainted
with the Pyrenees might have thought that it mattered little which side
of the peak one took, but we both knew enough about the mountains to be
sure that there was one way and only one way across; smooth and easy as
the approach appeared from our side, all the chances were that somewhere
upon the other side there would be precipices. The sun was getting low,
and the path which we had been following was suddenly obliterated under
a new-fallen mass of scree. Neither of us can to-day ascribe what we did
to anything but luck. We looked at the peak carefully and determined that
a certain little notch upon the _right_ of it, was the port. We were
fatigued after nearly 20 miles of walking (which had already included
one Col) and we wearily began the last ascent. It so happened that as we
painfully toiled up over and round the loose boulders, the surface to
the _left_ of the peak became more and more inviting. Our doubts as we
surveyed it were like the conflict which goes on in daily life between
instinct and reason. Every bit of thought out reasoning put the port at
the little notch on the _right_, but every temptation which could assail
two tired men, made us hope and wish against reason that it lay over the
smooth grass to the _left_; at last in a cowardly and (as it turned out)
salutary moment, we broke for the grass. We tried to persuade ourselves
that if that smooth round sward was a cheat, and betrayed (as such
enticements often betray in the Pyrenees) nasty limestone cliffs on the
further side we still had daylight and strength enough to come down again
and to go up to the rugged notch to which reason and duty pointed. We
reached the grass and there found two things, first, the path which had
been lost on the stones and the scree suddenly reappeared _there_, and
secondly, the descent on the further side towards Sallent was as easy as
walking down an English hill.
The reason of this apparent error in the map we soon discovered. Out of
sight, beyond the Col, was yet another rocky mass, to the left. The scale
of the map was not sufficient to indicate every mass of rock, upon this
ridge, but the map, as a fact, did indicate this peak which had been
hidden from the valley and was unable specially to indicate the other
peak which had been more prominent to us as we walked up from below.
The adventure ended well for we got on to the main road before dark and
to Sallent before nine, having covered in that accidentally successful
day close upon 30 miles. But it might have ended, and should in reason
have ended, very differently. For when we looked at the Sallent side of
the range the next morning we saw that this notch on which we had first
directed ourselves would have led to a perfectly impossible fall of rocks
upon the further side. It would have been equally impossible to have gone
back in the dark. We should have spent the night on a high stony ledge,
without a fire and without shelter and without food, and the next day we
should have had no choice but to come down again into the Canal Roya,
utterly exhausted, certainly without the strength to climb up again by
way of experiment upon other issues, but bound to make our way, if we
could, to Canfranc, miles away down the Aragon Valley. It is not certain
that we should have had the strength to do this. These examples and many
more that one might give, prove the inadvisability of any plan that does
not allow for a wide margin of delay: and, as I have said, a margin of
three days is not too ample.
Not only a misjudgment of topography, to which these hills particularly
lend themselves, may put one into a hole of this sort, but mist may do
it, or worse still, a sprained ankle. Or one may find oneself cut off by
marshy ground, or 20 or 30 feet of sheer cliff, too small for the map
to mark, may take one an hour out of one’s way. In general, allow three
days’ provision for any task, and never plan single days in the Pyrenees
unless you are following a high road.
A second rule is to take the first part of the day slowly and yet without
halting. It is the morning usually that gives you your best chance
upon the heights, and such examples of mist as have endangered any of
my excursions have fallen usually from mid-day onwards. Apart from the
danger of mist, if you break the back of the day by ten or eleven, before
the first meal, you are safe for the end of it; and breaking the back of
the day usually means getting over a port.
A third rule is, stick to the _path_, and if the path seems lost, cast
about for it with as much anxiety as you would for a scent.
I have already said in speaking of the use of maps in the Pyrenees, that
the great advantage of the 1/100,000 map was the clear way in which it
marked the _paths_. The idea of paths does not fit in very well with the
wild life which the Pyrenees promise one as one reads of them at home,
and it is of importance to know what a Pyrenean “Path” is, and why such
tracks are essential to travel in these mountains.
It is perfectly true that if you are going to camp and fish, or
ramble about certain small districts for your pleasure, the point is
unimportant, but if you are making a journey from one place to another,
upon a set itinerary, a very little experience in the mountains will show
you that a “path” must be known and followed, nor do the inhabitants
of these hills, whose experience is based upon so many centuries,
underestimate the value of these slight and _sometimes imperceptible_
tracks. On the contrary, you will hear one of the mountaineers carefully
indicating to some fellow of his, who has not yet made a particular
crossing, how to find and keep the _path_. You do not hear him giving
general indications of scenery, nor distant landmarks, but particular
directions as to how the path may be made out in passages where it is
difficult to trace.
The reason that these tracks are essential to Pyrenean travel lies in
that formation of the hills which I have already often mentioned, a
formation which causes them to be broken everywhere with sharp descents
of rock down which no man can trust himself, and many of which are
overhanging precipices. It also lies in the peculiar complexity of the
tangled ridges so that not even with a good map and a compass can you be
certain of guessing your way from one high valley into another.
Now the interest of these paths is that they are not, as the mention of
them suggests to one unacquainted with these mountains, definite and
continuous. Even the most frequented of them have difficulties of two
kinds. The first difficulty is the crossing and multiplicity of tracks as
one approaches a pasture, the second is the loss of the way over certain
kinds of soil.
Wherever people go to cut wood, or to lead their flocks on to enclosed
fields known to them, a divergent path appears and it is often difficult
to tell the main path from the branch one. Save over very well-known
ports these paths are not made-ways; they are never mended or laid
down, they are but the marks left by travel which is sometimes that of
but one man on foot in a week, and that man shod in soft and yielding
sandals that leave little impress. For many months in the year these
faint traces are covered with snow, and in early summer they are soaked
in the melting of it. No money is voted for them, and if here and there
the crossing a rivulet or the getting past a difficult corner of rock has
been artificially strengthened, this will only be upon the main ways and
usually only near the villages. A Pyrenean path is the vaguest of things:
it is a patch of trodden soil here and there, a few worn surfaces of
rock, then perhaps a long stretch with no indication whatsoever. Yet upon
this chain of faint indications with only occasional lengths marked, your
life depends; and the finding and picking of it up has the same sort of
interest and excitement as the following of a scent or a spoor.
There are three kinds of soil over which the path is almost invariably
lost. The first is swampy land, the second is any broad stretch of clean
grass, the third is scree.
Loss in swampy land is rare, for the simple reason that the path avoids
such land; loss on scree is often made good towards the end of the summer
by the passage of men and animals whose treading down of the loose
stones can be noticed from place to place, but intervals of grass are
most baffling. The native knows where to pick up the track again upon
the further side; the foreigner has no chance but to guess, from the
last direction it took, where he is likely to find it again. He will
almost invariably be wrong, and then he must cast about in circles until
he finds it upon the further side of the pasture, entering a wood or
picking its way between gaps of rock. There is a lacuna of this sort on
the perfectly easy way up the Peyréguet, and it cost me last year three
valuable hours; for easy as the Peyréguet is—and it is little more than
a plain walk—if you get too much to the right of it, there is a slope on
the further side that a goat could not get down.
So much for the importance of _Paths_ in the Pyrenees. It is a point
very difficult to make in print, but one which the reader, if he intend
to walk there, will do well to take on faith. Make the 1/100,000 map
your infallible authority, don’t expect to find on the black line it
gives—especially if it is a dotted line—more than the merest string of
indications, often separated by very wide gaps, and regard the discovery
and continuity of these indications as vital to your safety.
I now turn to equipment.
The first question asked by an Englishman about to attempt fresh journeys
will be what things he must take with him from England. My answer is.
Two things only, his woollen clothing and a pannikin. With regard to
this last, the best form is one which I myself get from the Army and
Navy Stores, and which is of the following character. The handle is
double-hinged, and curved, so that it fits to the outside curve of the
pannikin. A spirit-lamp is sold which just fits into the interior,
and with it, a curved metal receptacle for methylated spirit which
also fits into the interior. The whole is bound together by a strap,
passing through staples upon the sides, and through one upon the cover.
The advantage of carrying this sort of pannikin lies entirely in its
compactness. Weight counts. Every ounce counts when you are knocked out
upon the third day; and the third day—the forty-eighth hour of losing
your way and of missing human succour—may happen to you oftener than you
think.
Weight counts even upon the first day, after the first few miles. Weight
counts all the time. Now it so happens (why, I cannot tell) that when
things are packed in a close compass they weary a man less than when they
are loose and straggling, and there is the further recommendation that
when they are closely packed, there is less chance of knocking them about
and hurting them. So this is the kind of pannikin I recommend. Note, that
the people who know most about these hills, the inhabitants of them,
carry no provision for cooking. But there is a reason for this which
does not apply to the traveller I have in view. The inhabitants of these
valleys walk from a house to a house, with the chance of one night at
most in the mountains; they carry with them, bread, cold meat and wine,
and for the night they make a great fire for warmth but not for cooking.
A person exploring at random, and liable to pass several nights in the
open, must have the chance of getting a warm meal, and that opportunity
will make all the difference if ever he finds himself, as he probably
will very frequently, in a tight place. As to the woollen clothing, no
one needs to hear the merit of that, and nowhere can it be got so good
or so cheap as in England. Everything upon you should be of wool, except
your boots. The differences of temperature are excessive, you are certain
to be frequently wet, you will not have a change; good wool is, moreover,
the substance that will wear least in the rough-and-tumble of your going.
In this connexion I must speak of socks. Those who know most about
marching, wear none, and for marching along roads it is a sound rule
(startling and unusual as that rule may sound) to have the skin of the
human foot up against the animal skin of the boot, that boot being well
soaked in oil and pliable. There is no form of foot covering within the
boot that does not chafe and tear and therefore blister the skin, if
one goes a long way at a time, and for many days of continual tramping
on end. That is the general rule, and in the French service it is
universally recognized in the infantry. Now, to the particular kind of
going which these mountains involve that rule does not apply, because, as
we will see in a moment, boots are not what one commonly wears. You must
therefore take woollen socks—two pairs.
If woollen clothing and the pannikin I have described are to be purchased
in England, where are you to get the rest of your kit, and of what kind
will it be?
You must purchase it in any one of the towns of the foothills, and the
nearer to the mountains you buy it, the better for you, since the further
out you are upon the plains, the more they look upon you, with justice,
as a fool who will buy bad or useless material at too dear a rate, and
lose, waste, or destroy it in a very few days, a mere tourist to be
fleeced. Buy at St. Jean Pied-de-Port, at Tardets (admirable town!),
at Bédous, at Laruns (where the people are hard-hearted), at Argelès
(where they are too used to tourists), or at Ax. Buy, if you can, _in the
fairs_: to these the mountaineers come down to sell their wares and one
can bargain, and as for bargaining, I will tell you the prices of things
as I proceed. But of all things do not put off purchasing till you are
_deep_ in the range. Do not buy south of Ax, for instance, nor north of
Jaca. The materials grow scanty and bad.
The things you will need are four: first you will need a gourd, next
sandals, next a sack, and lastly a blanket.
[Illustration]
As to the gourd. The gourd is the universal vessel used throughout these
mountains, and its use extends from an indefinite distance upon the
Spanish side (where it is universal) to the towns of the plains upon
the French side: to Oloron that is, Mauléon, Foix, St. Girons, and the
rest. It is a leather bottle of an oval shape, made in all sizes from a
quart to a gallon, and this picture represents the structure. It is in
three parts: the oval leather case (_a_), which is made of goat’s skin
with the hair inside; the top (_d_), which is made of goat’s horn, with
a mouth from an inch to half an inch across, and the nozzle (_e_), which
screws on to this top and is pierced by a tiny hole (_g_), through which
one drinks, also made of goat’s horn. There is a fourth part if you will,
the little stopper (_h_), which screws on to the nozzle, and is made of
the same material and tied by a string to the mouth of the gourd for fear
of losing it. On the inner edge of the leather bottle are two leather
loops through which to pass the string, by which the whole thing is
carried over the shoulder.
Remember that the name for this invaluable instrument (one has a right
to call it invaluable, for it saves the lives of men) is _Gourde_ on the
French side, and _Bota_ upon the Spanish. This detail is not unimportant,
for in many French villages they have never heard of a _Bota_, and
certainly in no Spanish villages have they ever heard of a _Gourde_.
It is in this convenience that one carries one’s supply of wine. The
horn nozzle on top (_g_) screws off, the wine is poured into the mouth
(_d_) through a funnel, until the gourd is completely full; one then
screws the top (_g_) on again, and the little stopper (_h_) into that.
When one wants the wine to pour into one’s mouth or into one’s mug, one
screws off no more than the little stopper which protects the hole in the
nozzle. If you can learn the proper way of drinking out of the small hole
pierced in the horn-work, do so. It saves an infinity of delays, and it
is the universal method of drinking throughout the Pyrenees. Here is one
of those practical things in the trade which you can never get by book
learning, and which one can only learn by doing them, nevertheless I will
describe it.
Unscrew the little stopper (_h_) and let it hang by its string; take the
double horn top piece (_d_ and _g_) in the left hand, and grasp with
your right the bottom of the leather bottle; tilt the whole up, squeeze
slightly with your right hand, held high in the air, and let the thin
straight stream of wine from the little hole (_g_) go straight into your
open mouth; then (to paraphrase Talleyrand’s famous phrase to the Maker
of Religions), “if you can possibly manage it,” let it go down without
swallowing; if you swallow you are lost.
For Talleyrand well said to the Maker of Religions, after having
described to him how, to found a religion, he should first suffer
obloquy: how he should be ready to stand alone and the rest of it,
then added, “If you can possibly manage it,” work a few miracles: and
this kind of drinking also seems at first miraculous. But it can be
accomplished; all it needs is faith, and that strength of will which
overcomes the subconscious reactions of the body.
Do not swallow. When you think enough has poured down your throat, do
three things all at the same time: relax the pressure of your right hand,
tilt the gourd that you are holding upright, and put the forefinger of
your left hand smartly down upon the hole in the nozzle. For the first
few hundred times you will spill upon yourself a little wine, but in the
long run you will learn, and you will drink as neatly and as cleanly as
any Basque or Catalan.
If you do not learn to use this instrument thus, you will be compelled
to carry a glass, which is not only difficult but dangerous; and if you
compromise by using the gourd, but pouring the wine into a cup, it would
either take you infinite time through the nozzle, or else you will have
to unscrew the main top piece (_e_) of the gourd, and if you do that too
often it will certainly leak.
These are the elements of the use of the gourd, but, like all things
noble, the gourd has many subtleties besides. For instance, it is
designed by Heaven to prevent any man abusing God’s great gift of wine;
for the goat’s hair inside gives to wine so appalling a taste that a man
will only take of it exactly what is necessary for his needs. This defect
or virtue cannot be wholly avoided, but there is a trick for making it
less violent, a trick advisable with an old gourd, when one is starting
out on one’s journey, and absolutely essential with a new one. This
trick consists of pouring into the gourd somewhat over half a pint of
brandy and shaking it well up and down, and after that carrying it for
a few hours, jolting about and irrigating all the hairy inwards of the
bottle as one goes. But do not imagine that the brandy so used can be
drunk; when you have thus used it for a few hours it must all be poured
away, for it is wholly spoilt. By the way, if you can get an old gourd
second-hand that does not leak, it is far preferable to a new one; all
things really worth having are better old than new. As to the price of a
gourd, you will not get a small one of a quart or two for less than 8 to
10 francs, nor a large one from a quarter to a half gallon or upwards at
less than an extra 3 or 4 francs for every quart. Gourds are not things
to haggle about. Satisfy yourself that it does not leak and be grateful
to get a sound one. It will last you all your life. As to weight, a
gallon is ten pounds: a quart is two pounds and a half.
Further, you will find very often that when your gourd is empty,
especially if you have carried it empty upon a cold and misty morning,
the inside sticks together, and when you try to blow it out through the
mouth (as is advisable, before pouring in the wine), no effort of yours
can swell it; the trick is to put it before a fire and warm it gently;
after it has warmed about ten minutes, it will swell easily.
As to the sack, nothing is more difficult than to advise upon this
matter. Some men to be happy must carry a block, and pencils, and
colours, and brushes. Others cannot live without combs. Nothing is really
necessary besides bread and meat. Each traveller must decide his own
minimum, but I can give advice both as to the shape and the weight of the
sack. The people of the hills, when they carry a sack, carry a light bag
slung by a strap over the shoulder, and for a light weight, up, say, to
seven or eight pounds, that is the most practical equipment: thus what
we call in England a satchel, and what the French call a Havresac does
very well. For anything heavier a knapsack is often advised; but there
are disadvantages in the knapsack: it is complicated, one cannot get at
it without taking it off, and it is hot to the back. If you will be at
the pains of a knapsack, always have one that is watertight in material,
with a large overhanging flap, and never burden yourself with a knapsack
which has outside pockets. The value of a knapsack for heavy carriage
is that the weight of it comes right down on to the build of the body.
Weight is quite a different thing, when it sags, backward or sideways,
from what it is when it presses right down upon the framework of a
man’s bones. That is why all those used to carrying very heavy weights
habitually carry them upon the head or the shoulders, the human body is
built for taking a strain in this way down the length of the bones. Now
if you carry the haversack by a strap over the shoulder, any appreciable
weight, even one so small as ten kilos, becomes a grievous burden after
a short distance. Light weights, under that amount, can be so borne, but
directly _upon_ the shoulders weights up to forty pounds can be carried
without destroying a man’s marching power, and indeed both French and
English armies have often repeatedly climbed the mule tracks of these
very hills carrying such weights in this fashion.
It must, however, be remarked in connexion with the knapsack that it will
not save you fatigue unless the weight bears right down upon the crest of
the shoulder blades, and in order to ensure this, make certain of three
things. First, that the shoulder straps come well down the knapsack, so
that a good part of the weight is above the point where they are sewn
on; secondly, that your knapsack is so packed that the weight is at the
top, that no heavy things sag towards the bottom; and thirdly, that you
have strings or straps going from the shoulder straps in front to a belt
round your middle, whereby you can brace up the knapsack whenever it
begins to lean away backwards. Every soldier knows the difference between
a knapsack fitting close to the back and coming well above the shoulder,
and one that drags away backwards.
To have said so much about the knapsack may mislead some of my readers.
I would not advise it; it is only necessary if for some reason or other
you want to carry weight. If you are wise, and content to take only
the necessary, a haversack slung at the side from the shoulder will do
perfectly well, and it has the advantage of being get-at-able at any
moment. You may balance the weight of it by carrying the gourd slung over
the other shoulder.
As to sandals—Many an Englishman will understand the need of the gourd
and the sack who will not understand the advantage of sandals. All the
Pyrenean people, for the matter of that, most Spaniards, travel not in
leather boots but in cloth slippers with a sole made of twisted cord,
and to these the French give the name of sandals. But, as in the case
of the gourd, the name suddenly changes on the Spanish side. In France
you must ask for _Sandales_, in Spain for a pair of _Alpargatas_. The
advantage of these is a thing of which you can never convince a man the
first time he attempts these mountains, but he is sure enough of it at
the end of his first day. For some reason or other, the loose stones
and the pointed rocks of a mule path make travel upon foot intolerably
painful and difficult if it is too long pursued in ordinary boots. With
_Alpargatas_ on, you do not feel the fatigue of a track that would finish
you in 5 miles if you tried to do it in leather. And conversely, oddly
enough, a high road with a good surface soon becomes as intolerable in
Alpargatas as is a mule track in boots. There is nothing for it but to
leave your boots at the nearest town, if you propose to return to it, or
if you do not, to carry them with you and change from one footgear to the
other as you pass from the mountain to the road, and from the road to the
mountains.
Remember that, in Alpargatas, you will _always_ end the day with wet
feet. Let not that trouble you. They dry at once before the camp fire and
they do not shrink. The reason you will always have wet feet is that in
every few miles of hills you have to cross a marshy place or a stream.
But though it is easy to dry Alpargatas in a few minutes, it is advisable
to change socks at night, while those you have worn during the day dry
before the fire.
As to the blanket—No more than any of the inhabitants can you go through
these hills without a blanket. It is often of the greatest use in the
changes of weather during the day, it is absolutely necessary at night.
Were you to take it from England, you would certainly take one that
would be too heavy, or if you took a light one, one that would be too
cold. The people of the Pyrenees who have thought out these things slowly
for thousands of years, have ended with the right formula. They have a
thin, close, narrow blanket, which just protects a man and protects him
as much by its double fold with the air between as by its texture. Get
one of a neutral colour, a sort of dark slate grey is the commonest, and
pay from 30 to 50 francs for it.
With these five things, a pannikin from England, a gourd, a sack,
sandals, and a blanket, you are equipped. You cannot take less, you need
not take more, and if you take more you will certainly repent it.
I have said nothing about tents. The tent like twenty other luxuries
is taken for granted in England. I have heard of people roughing it in
various mountains who took with them not only a tent, but an india-rubber
bath, a Norwegian kitchen, and for all I know, collars as well. But many
a man who will have had the sense to get rid of his luxuries when he
begins scrambling, will be reluctant to give up the tent, for it seems
necessary to be at least dry. Now the arguments against having a tent
have always seemed to me final, so far at least as the Pyrenees were
concerned.
You are dealing here with a great expanse of mountain in which weather
is very variable, but in which you do not have snow or prolonged furious
weather during the months you are likely to travel in. This argument is
enforced by the peculiar structure of the mountains. Everywhere in the
Pyrenees you can find either rock shelter—and you find this much more
frequently than in any other part of the world I have ever seen—or dense
forests, or, on the bare upland sweeps of grass, those stone cabins of
the shepherds, upon the shelter of which the inhabitants largely depend.
These, of course, are not very near one to another, but they are always
marked on the 1/100,000 French map, under the title of _Cabanes_. The
owners, when they have owners, never mind one’s using them, and the only
drawback about them is that sometimes you make certain of using one
particularly far from mankind, and discover it to be all in ruins. One
way with another I have never known three nights upon the Pyrenees which
could not be passed in succession without a tent, if the rules which I
shall give for camping were properly observed; and that is the experience
also of those who have spent their whole lives in these mountains.
Next, let it be remarked that a tent is a great hindrance, it is either
very light—in which case it is always fairly useless—or it is heavy, in
which case there is an end to your free going. As will be seen later,
when I speak of the way of settling for the night, there need never be
occasion for such a shelter, which, moreover, in high winds is more
troublesome than an animal or a child.
If your equipment consist in no more than a gourd, pannikin, blanket,
sack, and sandals, what is your provision to be?
You must never make your provision for less than forty-eight hours, and
it is better to make it for sixty. However modest is your plan, always
allow for two nights on the mountain and for the better part of the third
day as well. Remember that you will start in the early morning from the
shelter of a roof, that you will therefore have a whole day before you
dependent upon your own resources, that if you are making anything of
an effort you will certainly camp the first night, but if the weather
goes wrong or you miss your way or come upon any accident, you may very
well have to spend the second night out, and if you do this, the chances
are in favour of a long tramp and scramble on the third day before you
reach human beings again. All this will be clearer to the reader when I
come to speak of the accidents of weather in these hills, but I may here
mention as an example of the truth of what I say that two companions and
myself were once held for exactly twenty-four hours in a space of not
much more than a square mile, and almost within earshot of a high road
and a village, and that yet it was merely a piece of good luck towards
evening—a fog lifting just at the right place for a few moments—that
saved us from spending a second night out of doors. In work of this kind
the chief part of strategy is to secure your retreat, but you cannot
make even one day’s excursion without your retreat involving at least
another day and perhaps two. Therefore, inconvenient though it be, you
must have ample provision.
The first element of this provision is bread, and you will do well to
allow a pound and half per man per day. Those are the rations of the
French army and they are wise ones. If each man of a party carries a
four-pound loaf, you have just enough, but not too much for accidents.
A man must have bread, he can do without meat, and at a pinch he can do
without wine, but I know by experience that he cannot depend upon any
form of concentrated food to take the place of the solid wheaten stuff
of Europe. Half a pound of bread and a pint of wine is a meal that will
carry one for miles, and nothing can take their place. For meat, you will
carry what the French call Saucisson, and the Spaniards, Salpichon. You
will soon hate it, even if you do not, as is most likely, hate it from
the bottom of your heart on the first day, but there is nothing else
so compact and useful. It is salt pig and garlic rolled into a tight
hard sausage which you may cut into thin slices with a knife, and it is
wonderfully sustaining. If you like to carry other meat do so, but you
can live on salpichon and it means less weight than meat in any other
form.
These two, bread and saucisson, are the essentials of provision, but
other provision hardly less essential should be added to them, and the
first of these extras is _Maggi_. Maggi is a sort of concentrated beef
essence, sold both in France and in England, and to be got anywhere in
the French towns, but you will do well to make quite certain by laying in
a good stock of it in some large town, such as Bordeaux or Toulouse or
Paris itself, on your way south: I have known the grocers of a Pyrenean
town to be out of it. The essence is packed in little oblong capsules
which you buy by the dozen, at about 2_d._ a capsule, and you will do
well to start with three or four dozen a man. They keep indefinitely,
they weigh next to nothing, and the great advantage of them will be
seen in what follows. You can, with two capsules to a quart of water,
make in a few moments a hot and comforting soup which quite doubles
the nourishment of your bread; with three capsules to a quart of water
you have a very strong soup, which will bring a man round a corner of
extreme fatigue. It is a food which can be prepared in a moment under
almost any conditions, and one which is invaluable when you find yourself
lost, especially if you are cut off by thick weather, or in any other way
exhausted. It may seem an insignificant detail to tell the reader how to
prepare so simple a meal, nevertheless I will do so. It took me a little
time to learn, and he may as well be saved the trouble. Each little
cylinder of extract is contained in two gelatine caps which fit together,
you pull these off, you drop the essence into a little water while it is
warming, but it will not melt of itself, you must crush it and mix it
thoroughly with the water, and then add more water, still stirring till
you have full measure. It needs no salt in the proportions I have given.
Further, you will do well to fill the little curved receptacle in the
pannikin with methylated spirit, and to carry an extra provision of this
in your sack. A pint is enough for many days, and very often you have
no occasion to use it at all, but you may be caught in some wet place,
or in a rocky piece where there is no wood, or in one way or another
have a difficulty in making a fire; and even where you have plenty of
wood, a drop or two of the methylated spirit makes you certain of the
fire catching even in wet weather; of that I shall speak when I come to
camping. By the way, take plenty of English matches and of two kinds,
fusees and others, and if you are carrying a sack and not a waterproof
knapsack, wrap your matches in a little square of india-rubber cloth, for
if there is one thing that imperils a man more than another, it is to be
caught in the hills without the means of making a fire.
As for brandy, the people of the hills themselves discourage its use; it
is, on the whole, best to have some with you, only you must not depend
upon it; it is quite honestly, under the circumstances of climbing, what
some foolish fanatics think it under all conditions, that is, a medicine.
If you take it when you do not need it it will fatigue you, especially
in high places. Such as you do take carry in a flask. The gourd, as I
have said, spoils it utterly.
Here then you have the rules for equipment and for provision, and I will
sum them up before continuing.
For equipment: Haversack or knapsack, a blanket, sandals, a gourd, a
pannikin fitted with spirit lamp and spirit vessel, four pounds of bread
for each man, a pound of sausage, a pint of methylated spirits, and
matches; to which you may add, if you will, a length of candle, and one
of those little mica lanterns which fold into the shape of a pocket-book,
and three or four dozen capsules of Maggi. Fill your gourd with wine
as full as it will hold, you will need it. So much for equipment and
provision.
As for the packing of it I have already spoken of this in connexion with
the knapsack. A few additional remarks may be of use. See that your bread
is always covered from the air; to wrap it in paper is enough for this,
and if it will fit into the sack so much the better. Work if possible
a broad band of cloth into the straps where they catch the shoulder,
keep the straps short so that the weight hangs high, carry the blanket
loosely over either shoulder: it gives far less trouble thus carried
than it does when it is rolled and tied over the chest. If you carry a
knapsack, however, roll the blanket tight upon the top of it, it will
then incommode you even less than when it is carried loosely. Wrap your
matches as I have said in a waterproof cloth (if you have no knapsack),
and wrap in the same the maps you need for each particular climb; forward
the rest by post to the town for which you are making if it is in France;
if it is in Spain, don’t, for they will not get there.
I had forgotten to mention that most useful thing, a pocket compass. Take
a large cheap one, and allow for the variation when you put it on your
map: but of using this and of several other little points I will speak
later. I have dealt with what regards equipment: let me now speak of
Camping.
Camping in the Pyrenees differs from camping under any other conditions
that I know. The structure of the range, its climate, and even the
political condition of the valleys, make it differ from camping in
Ireland or in the Vosges, or in those few parts of England where the
wealthy will allow plain men to indulge in this amusement. It is not the
same as camping in the Alps, in Savoy, or in the Apennines, or in the
Ardennes; and it is the particular conditions of camping in the Pyrenees
which made me say just now that one can do without a tent.
Though geologists are careful to describe the very varied structure of
the range, yet to the traveller one feature, peculiar to these among
all mountains, perpetually appears common in every part of it, and
that is the continual presence of overhanging rock. I can remember no
considerable stretch in any main valley, not any in a crossing between
two valleys, where you are not perpetually finding examples of this
formation. It is this upon which one must first depend for shelter. Next
to such overhanging rocks one must depend upon the great forests; lastly,
upon the cabanes. But before speaking of their various advantages rules
of time must be given, for upon the time of day chosen for the halt the
success of a camp will depend.
I am speaking of course throughout these notes of the warm weather
alone; that is, of the end of June, July, August, and the first part of
September. Seasons vary, and there are years when the whole of September
may be included. At the end of the season one may count, especially in
the eastern part of the Pyrenees, upon a sufficient succession of fine
nights to make camping possible; but if one comes upon a streak of bad
weather it will last, especially in the western part, for three or four
days, and it is better, if the people of the valley foresee such weather,
to let it go over before taking the heights. Thunderstorms and very
heavy rain may happen upon any night in these mountains. They are said
(I do not know upon what authority) to be commoner upon the French than
on the Spanish side. More dangerous than these, though less momentarily
annoying, are the mists which gather quite suddenly in the higher parts
of the range, and which as suddenly interfere with every form of travel.
It is absolutely necessary, unless one is quite certain of the finest
weather, to cross the col or port, in the route one has traced out
for the day, before that day is far advanced. The reason for this is
twofold; first, that wood for a camp fire is not usually to be found upon
the higher slopes, secondly that good water is not easily to be found
there. It is further necessary to choose the place for one’s camp an
hour or so before sunset, and it is wiser to make it even earlier. The
disappointments which I remember within my own experience in this matter
have nearly all proceeded from pushing on from a likely place discovered
in the afternoon; one so pushes on in the hopes of finding a likelier
spot before the end of the day. Such an extension of one’s journey is
nearly always ended in a rough, unsuitable camp, sometimes without a
fire, and under the most uncomfortable conditions. When therefore you
have found in the course of the afternoon, the shelter of good rock,
overhanging a dry place by the stream you are following, pitch upon it
and do not regret the hours you appear to lose.
When you have chosen the place for your camp your first act must be to
gather at once as much dry, _large_ wood as you can find. The local
customs in this matter are very liberal. Even if you are quite close to
a village, no one grudges you the use of wood, and your only possible
disturbance will come from the frontier guards if you are so foolish as
to choose their neighbourhood, which, by the way, can only be the case if
you encamp near one of the few chief crossings of the range. These may
ask you questions and make trouble, not for your gathering of wood, but
for their suspicion that you are smuggling.
The temptation to gather only small wood is strong. It always seems as
though the branch you have chosen will be large enough to last for some
hours. But a little experience of these fires will show you that nothing
small enough for you to drag will be too large for your purpose. The
eight hours or more during which you must feed the fire consume a great
deal of wood, and the keeping of the fire in depends upon having large
logs for its foundation. You will not, of course, be able to cut these
into the right length, you will have so to arrange them when the fire is
once well started that they burn through their middles. You can then,
later, shift into the centre of the flame the halves that fall aside. If
there is any breeze pile a few stones to windward of your hearth, for you
will have to sleep to leeward of the fire, and an arrangement of this
kind will break the force of the wind and prevent the smoke and flame
from coming too near you. If the wind is too strong, you must make your
fire and your camp under the lee of some great rock, or it will both burn
out in a very short time and make itself intolerable to those who depend
upon it for warmth. For a wind that rises in the middle of the night, you
have, of course, no remedy; short of heavy rain it is the worst accident
that can befall you. If you have enough wood make your fire of a crescent
shape with the hollow towards the wind. It is the warmest and the best
way. You must so arrange that in sleeping you lie with your feet towards
the fire, and your great provision of wood must be brought quite close
to hand otherwise, most certainly, you will not have the energy to feed
it in the few wakeful moments of the night. That wood should be somewhat
green or wet matters little if you have a great fire well started, but if
you let it get low while you sleep, it will be impossible to revive it,
and when the fire fails, there is an end to sleep for every one. It is
impossible to say what the effect of such a fire is by giving reasons for
it; it does not perhaps warm one so much as do something to the air which
makes sleep possible and easy without a shelter, and it is the universal
aid and solace of all the Pyrenean mountaineers, whom you will often find
in groups, woodcutters or shepherds, gathered round one of these great
blazes for the night.
The conditions of a good rock shelter, of a neighbouring stream and
plenty of wood, though common, are not universal, and if from the
structure of the hills and from the nature of the map you fear you will
not reach one, or if the greater part of the afternoon is passed without
your finding such a place, your next choice must be a spot in one of the
great woods that everywhere clothe the range. They are more common upon
the French than upon the Spanish slope. Here there is always cover from
the wind, for they are very dense, and even a partial cover from the
rain, but it is important to make your fire in a clearing, and luckily
there is nearly always a succession of open spaces between the forest
and the stream. With such a fire and with such an arrangement to leeward
of it the Pyrenean blanket with which you have provided yourself will be
ample covering for the night.
As for using cabanes, I have already said that there is no grudge felt
against you for doing so, but you must treat any man coming upon you in
such a shelter as though he were the owner, for the local shepherds will
certainly regard you as their guest, and will think they are doing you
the favour of a host. Moreover, your fire, if you make one here, must be
lit outside the building, though the local people who use the cabanes
most constantly, will often make it inside. On the whole the night is
more comfortably spent in the open than in one of these shelters, unless
one is caught by rain.
[Illustration]
The open sandy spaces such as are quite common by the side of the larger
streams may be used with safety. There are no places where a spate will
be so rapid as to endanger one, unless one choose, as a companion and
I were once compelled to choose, a cave almost cut off by the water.
The only places where it is essential that one should _not_ camp, are
the higher flats where wood is rare, and where the cold of the night is
exceptionally severe. It is a choice to which one is often compelled,
if one pushes on too long, after having miscalculated the fatigues and
duration of the climb; but it is an error which one always regrets.
A further recommendation is, _not to camp by the map_. The map may
look like that on p. 131, and one may say that one will follow up the
stream at one’s leisure. The reality may turn out a series of ascending
precipices, quite unassailable.
But it is a great temptation. A man may have known the Pyrenees and
experienced time and again the error of trusting to a map for a camping
site, but there is something so convincing about the print and the
colours that after years of experience one may commit the same folly
again. It was but this year that, trusting to the 1/100,000 map, I
planned to camp at the place where the Cacouette falls into the main
stream below Sainte Engrace. I did not know the spot; it seemed to come
at a convenient hour in the ascent of the mountains: I should be there
about 5 o’clock. There was wood marked, good water; it was on the lee
side of the wind that was then blowing from the south. When I came to
it the place was a sharp ledge of limestone higher than Cheddar cliffs,
dotted here and there with trees and affording between the wall of rock
and the water not three feet of ground. It was not to be approached from
above; it could not be reached from below. A more impossible place for
camping never was. I had the same experience some years ago on the Aston,
though that was before I knew the Pyrenees well. There a place was chosen
by my companion and myself for its mixture of wood and meadow upon the
map, there were cabanes and apparently plenty of good water; it was so
plain on the map, that one did not hurry to reach it before darkness;
but when we got there it was a marsh; no cabane appeared until daylight,
and there was even that very rare thing in the Pyrenees, doubtful water.
As for the wood that should have dotted the pasture, it turned out to be
tough little live bushes, and all green, that would neither cut nor burn.
There is one last and very grave danger of which I would warn the reader
in connexion with travel on foot in the Pyrenees, with a map and even
with a map and a compass. Without map or compass it is more than a
danger, it is a sort of necessary misfortune perpetually attending men,
and the gravity of it is proved by the fact that the local people who
use neither compass nor map when they go into a district with which they
are unacquainted, carefully ask the marks of the path and get themselves
accompanied, if they can, by someone who knows the country-side. This
danger may be called “Getting into the wrong valley.”
As one sits at home, one thinks of the scheme of mountain valleys too
simply. One thinks of the stream as coming down through a ravine with its
head waters appearing below a definite saddle or notch in the watershed.
This stream, let us say, is flowing north. One sees on the further side
another stream rising just on the other side of the notch and flowing
on through a simple valley, going to the south. The crossing of the
port between these valleys seems to depend upon no more than physical
endurance and fine weather. One goes up one stream to the saddle, crosses
the saddle, follows the other stream downhill, and so makes one’s passage
from France to Spain.
There are many passes of this simplicity, but there are many more that,
both between the lateral valleys and over the main range, present the
danger of which I speak, and which consists in a complexity at a summit
such that it is difficult in the extreme to know—even when one is certain
one has gone up the right part of the hither slope—what one should do on
the thither.
This danger of “getting into the wrong valley” cannot be seized without
illustration, and in the following rough sketches I give examples of this.
In the first example is a bit of country such as one very often gets in
these mountains with summits round about the 2600 metre line and the
last valleys under the ports somewhat above the 2000. I have marked with
hatching the contours below 2200 and in black the summits above 2600. The
main watershed I have indicated by a dotted line.
When one is crossing a port of this type one sees before one from the
summit a confused and gentle slope leading apparently to one obvious
valley on the far side like the obvious valley out of which one has just
ascended. It seems indifferent whether one should come down on to this
by M or by N, to the left or to the right, yet the two valley floors to
which each leads are quite separate and may lead one round to different
river basins. How deceptive such a place is, the rough sketch appended
may help the reader to grasp. It shows the kind of thing one sees from
the summit of such a pass and how indifferent the choice appears between
the ways by which one may descend.
[Illustration]
This type of confusion exists sometimes in a still more dangerous form,
as in the contour lines of sketch on next page.
[Illustration]
A man arrived at the port P climbing up from the valley Q, which is
deep and well defined, sees before him another valley R exactly in line
with the last, also deep and also well defined. On either side of him,
as he gets to the saddle, run high ridges perpendicular to the line of
the two valleys. It seems common sense to take the watershed as running
along these ridges and across the port, and if Q is the French valley,
R will be the Spanish one. As a matter of fact the watershed may not
run in this simple way at all, but (as indicated upon the sketch map)
take a sharp turn to the right. R may be a French valley after all, and
the proper way down into Spain may be over the gradual grassy slopes
indicated by the arrow line. A man standing just at the port, and having
a rocky ridge A and the rocky ridge B to his left and right, sees before
him the obvious trench of the valley R and takes for granted that it is
the Spanish valley, whereas his true way is across the vague grassy land
towards S, and the watershed which he thinks runs from B on to A really
turns round from B and runs on to the distant mountains before him.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
It must be remembered that on these summits all traces of a path as a
rule disappear. What is worse, indications of a path may begin on the
other side into the wrong valley and not into the right one.
A second type of this peril is that in which some feature upon the
ridge which looks quite unimportant upon the one side turns out to be
all-important upon the other. Thus a man coming from A in the map below,
where the valleys are hatched and the highest summits are black, would
have before him the plain ridge B-C. It is indifferent where he crosses
it from that side, but on the far side he finds a confusion of falling
valleys, and if he does not pick out the right one he may find himself
in a few hours shut in by high walls which constrain him to a journey he
never meant to make. He may have intended to follow valley (1), and so to
reach food and shelter, he may find himself in valley (2) caught for the
night far from men and with walls of 3000 feet between him and them.
[Illustration]
Sometimes this confusion takes the form of one’s being led on to an
obvious notch in the ridge before one: a notch lower than the general
line of the ridge which (one thinks) cannot but be the port. When one has
climbed to it, however, one finds that the valley one was seeking lies
far to the right or to the left of such a notch, and that the gap which
was so noticeable on the one side of the pass corresponded to nothing
useful upon the further side.
There is a good example of this under the peak called Negras where
an obvious notch which one thinks surely must be the way over to the
Gallego, leads to nothing more useful than an enclosed Tarn under the
precipices of the mountains.
A sketch of the aspect of this particular ridge will make the difficulty
plain.
[Illustration]
All the contours upon the Aragonese side invite one to the notch at N,
yet the true way lies over the ridge between A and B, and the nearer to
B the better is the descent upon the further side. Indeed at A it is
perilous, at B it is a very gradual descent of easy grass.
The third type of mountain structure which may lead one into the wrong
valley is what may be called “The Double Col.” It is damnably common and
a good example of it will be found in the track I describe later on in
this book when I speak of the short cut from the Ariège Valley into the
Roussillon.
The accompanying sketch will explain the character of this sort of
tangle, and it is most important that anyone unacquainted with these
mountains and wishing to learn them should seize it thoroughly, for it is
the worst of all the lures that get a man astray.
Observe carefully the numerous contours on the sketch map overleaf. They
are numerous because it is necessary to show the minute details of such
a case. I will suppose them to be about 50 feet apart. The traveller is
coming up the valley marked V, the floor of which is marked in black
upon the sketch, and the apex of which is, let us say, 6000 feet above
the sea; he climbs the last little slope of 250 feet and reaches the col
at C, which is 6250 feet above the sea. On this saddle he has upon either
side of him precipitous slopes, which lead up to two summits of mountains
upon the right and the left, the one towards A, the other towards B.
Right in front of him opens another valley corresponding apparently to
the valley V from which he has come, and which we will call W. The floor
of this also is marked in black upon the sketch. It will be observed
from the contour lines that the descent on to W is easy, though the
walls bounding it on either side become increasingly precipitous as one
proceeds.
[Illustration]
Hidden from him by rising ground upon the right, as he stands at C, there
is yet another valley, the floor of which is also given in black. This
valley we will call Y, and it is this valley which leads the traveller
towards his object; valley W only gets him deeper into the wilderness.
Both valleys W and Y, are so precipitous that once engaged in either
of them one is caught and compelled to pursue them for many miles. It
is evident that on a very large scale map such as this, and with full
contour lines giving every few feet of height, the traveller would make
no error. Once at C he would go up to the right around the base of
mountain B, rising continually until, somewhat under 6500 feet, he came
to the second col, D, which would bring him down into valley Y.
But consider how this corner would look upon an ordinary small scale map!
The whole distance from the apex of valley V to the apex of valley Y is
not half a mile. It would occupy little more than a quarter of an inch
upon your French map. The general trend and nature of the valleys, which
the traveller shut in by high mountains cannot grasp, would seem obvious
upon such a map and he would take it for granted that he could make no
error and that the passage marked from V to Y would be perfectly plain
sailing. It would never occur to him that he could be trapped into the
little ravine W leading nowhere and in no way connected with his journey.
[Illustration]
The map would look something like this, perhaps, giving one a perfectly
accurate general impression of the whole country-side, but quite
useless for the critical point C-D, the difficulties of which nothing
but numerous contours and a very large scale can possibly explain. The
traveller consults the map, he sees the mountain group whose summits are
A, H, and K, with their heights marked, he sees the other mountain group
culminating at B with its height also marked, he see the main valley V up
the road of which he has proceeded with the town in which he stopped and
the river which he has been following. He sees the pass clearly marked
at C-D, leading over to the further valley Y with its town, river, and
road—and the journey seems to present no difficulties. It is only when
he gets actually shut up in the hills at the heads of the valleys that
he may begin to doubt or to be misled. On his map he could never believe
that the little torrent W going right round out of his direction could
take him in, or that he would get into its valley.
[Illustration]
If you consider what he actually sees when he gets to the summit of the
pass, you will appreciate yet more easily how his error will come about.
He will see something like this, with an obvious way straight before him,
and with nothing to tell him that he must go up a second col, two or
three hundred feet above him to the right at D, if he is to get into the
right valley.
It is in cases of this sort that Schrader’s map is so useful—so far as it
goes; but it only covers the quite central part of the Pyrenees, and the
contours are 100 metres apart.
The particular ways in which one may get into the wrong valley are
innumerable, but these three types which I have given include all the
most common of them; and, of the three, the last which I have described
in such detail is at once the most perilous and the most common.
While I am upon this subject of getting into the wrong valley on the
_downward_ side, I ought to mention the tricks which the map and one’s
own judgment play upon one as one goes _upwards_.
Errors made as one follows the map _up a ravine_ are nearly always due
to making a false estimate of distance. The path may be lost for a
considerable stretch, and the contours may at first be puzzling, but if
one will trust to one’s map and to one’s compass one will never go far
wrong, unless one misjudges distance, and it is on this account that in
the directions I give below for particular places, I mean distance with
what care I can.
Thus you may miss the path which branches off from the main path from the
valley of the Cinqueta to go eastward over the Col de Gistian; but if you
have made an accurate estimate of distance, and trust to the measurements
given, you cannot fail to identify the stream up which that crossing lies.
Nothing can replace judgment, but there is a rule of thumb which is
workable enough, and that is, save under conditions of extreme fatigue,
that your kilometre on a mule path hardly ever takes you less than twelve
minutes or more than fifteen. I except steep climbing of course, but
steep climbing only comes at the port itself, or in quite unmistakable
ravines and gorges, where you will not lose your way. Where you lose your
way is in the Jasse, or in the bifurcation of main valleys, and there,
as you plod up your mule path, you will, as I say, never take less than
ten minutes over your kilometre (which is a centimetre upon your map)—and
you ought always to have a little measure with you—nor will you ever take
much more than twelve, save when you are quite knocked out and unable to
calculate distance at all.
These limits will seem narrow to those who have not experienced such
paths. But they are wide enough. You must of course note the times during
which you choose to stop, and it is also true that if you make quite
short halts for a moment or two, of which you take no record, you will
quite put out your calculation; but twelve minutes to the kilometre is
3 miles an hour, fifteen is 2½ miles an hour, and if a man gets over a
level mule track in the early morning carrying weight a little faster
than the first pace, or on a steep part at evening a little slower than
the second, yet the occasions when this rule of thumb fails are rare.
When your watch tells you that by the distance measured you should be
approaching a bifurcation, or any other doubtful place, halt and decide.
If you do miss your way going upwards, or do take the wrong valley, if,
in a word, you are lost (as I was badly four years ago, so that I have
the right to speak of it), the first thing to remember is that the path,
if you will take it _downhill_, will lead you at last to men. The rule
about following running water is all very well in many mountains of the
ranges, but it won’t do in the Pyrenees, for the running water very often
goes under sharp limestone cliffs, and if you don’t find your way round
or over them, you may spend more hours than are safe in looking for a way
out. They form a very complete prison door, indeed, do these gorges.
The path, I say, if you follow it downhill, will save you, but if, when
you find you are in the wrong valley, you attempt to recover your track
by going up the lateral ridge, you always run a grave risk. It is by
experiments of that sort that men die from exhaustion. It is true that
one is not usually tempted to this extra effort. It is much easier to go
on the way one is going, and to follow the path down, though one knows it
is a wrong one, but there are occasions, especially late in the day, when
one has _all but_ conquered the main crest of the range, after perhaps
one failure, and when one knows that one is lost, when the idea of one
vigorous effort to get over while it is yet daylight is tempting. It is a
fatal temptation.
When you have made up your mind that you are lost, or even when the map
has told you so, pay no attention to anything else about you or within
you, such as the guess that such-and-such a rock in front of one may hide
such-and-such a village, or the hope that your strength will hold out
for 12 or 15 hours without food, but at once behave like a person in
grave danger, that is, calculate your chances of retreat, and think of
that only, for I repeat, it is more easy to die from exhaustion than in
any other way in these hills, and nearly all the people that perish in
mountains perish from that cause.
When you have made up your mind that it is your business to find men
again, and that you do not know how far men may be, first note your
bread and wine and the rest, if any provision is left; next determine
to reserve it until nightfall: eat it then, do not blunder on through
the darkness (it is astonishing what very little distance one makes
after sunset, and every half-hour of twilight makes it more difficult to
camp)—sleep, and take the first half of the next day without food; you
are reserving your very last rations until the noon of that day. For one
can do a considerable distance without food if the effort is made in the
early morning.
Never bathe under such conditions of fatigue, and towards the end, when
you are exhausted, drink as sparingly as possible.
It is perhaps useless to give any hints about what a man should do when
he is lost, because men get lost in mountains by hoping against hope and
pushing on when common sense tells them to return. But I write down these
hints for what they are worth. After my first bad lesson in the matter,
I found them fairly useful. Remember, by the way, if you are lost and if
there is no path apparent, that a cabane even in ruins somewhere in the
landscape means a track visible or invisible, and that any rude crossing
of the stream with stepping-stones or a log means the same thing. But
you must not imagine that the presence or traces of animals will prove a
guide, for even mules wander wild for miles on these mountains in places
where a man can only go with difficulty and along random tracks leading
nowhere.
[Illustration]
VI
THE SEPARATE DISTRICTS OF THE PYRENEES
For the purposes of travel upon foot, the range of the Pyrenees falls
into certain divisions, which are not very clearly marked, but which
arrange themselves in a rough manner under the experience of travel. As
I come to deal with each of these, it will be seen that there is not
one which does not overlap its neighbour, and it will be impossible to
describe any mountain district without admitting this overlapping to
some extent, because any valley connected by certain local ties with
the valleys to the east and west is also, as a rule, connected with the
valleys to the north or south of it. Still, the districts I speak of are
fairly distinct, and consist in (1) the Basque valleys, (2) the Vals
d’Aspe and d’Ossau, with the valleys of the Aragon and Gallego to their
south, which I will call “the Four Valleys,” (3) the Sobrarbe, (4) the
three valleys attaching to Tarbes, to which I also attach the Luchon
valley, (5) the Catalan valleys and Andorra—in which I include the Val
d’Aran, (6) the Cerdagne (omitting the Tet and Ariège valleys), (7) the
Ariège and Tet valleys, (8) the Canigou.
These I will take in their order, and I will begin with—
I. THE BASQUE VALLEYS
[Illustration]
The valleys immediately adjoining the point which we have taken for the
western end of the chain, that is, the knot of hills just to the west
of Roncesvalles, which have for their pivot Mount Urtioga, form one
country-side and should be considered together.
They are the Baztan to the west, the first of the many valleys into
which the main range splits up like a fan as it approaches the Atlantic;
the valley of Baigorry, parallel to it and immediately to the east; the
valley called that of the St. Jean in its lower French part, and that
of Val Carlos in its upper Spanish one; this valley stands eastward of
Baigorry, and unites with it before leaving the hills to join the valley
of the Nive. The two together, and the lower valley of the Nive, are
called by the common name of “The Labourd”; on the south of the range
comes the valley of the Arga and the plain south of Roncesvalles: these
make one division of the Basque district. The same dialect of Basque is
spoken throughout the Labourd (there are variations upon the Spanish
side), the same type of house and of food and of hill is everywhere
around. The other division of the Basque valleys is the French district
of the _Soule_, just to the east with its corresponding valleys south of
the frontier.
As to the Labourd and its accompanying Spanish valleys, the space open
for camping or wandering in this corner of the chain is less than in the
higher central part. The low round hills are often cultivated to their
summits, the valleys are always well populated, roads and villages are
many, and though there are one or two fine stretches of forest in which
a man can spend as many days as he chooses (notably the forest of Hayra,
which lies up southward at the far end of the Baigorry), they are not
to be compared in extent or in wildness with the forests further east.
The whole width of the Hayra, counting both the French and the Spanish
slopes, is, at its greatest extent, not more than three miles. Its length
is not six. The small lakes also that are characteristic of the Pyrenees
throughout their length, are lacking here, and the prosperity and
industry of the Basques press upon the traveller wherever he goes.
If one would stay some three or four days in this district, it is a good
plan to leave the train at St. Etienne, just at the beginning of the
Baigorry valley. St. Etienne is the terminus of the branch line which
strikes off a few miles down the river from the line connecting St. Jean
Pied-de-Port with Bayonne, and one gets to St. Etienne by the morning
train from Bayonne about mid-day.
Immediately to the west of St. Etienne, connecting it with the Baztan,
lies the pass of Ispeguy. It is of course very low, as are all these
hills; it is little more than 1000 feet above St. Etienne, or perhaps
1500, but from the summit there is a fine view of the higher distant
Pyrenees to the east. The frontier runs here north and south, passes
through the summit of the col, down the further side of which an easy
valley road leads down on to the main highway of the Baztan.
This highway is the modern representative of the track which for many
centuries connected Bayonne with Pamplona. It was, until recent times,
a mountain way; the main Roman road went through Roncesvalles. It is
now, as was seen when we spoke of roads for driving and motoring, the
best approach from the French Atlantic coast into Navarre. From the
point where you strike this high road, where the valley debouches upon
it, and where the lateral stream you have been following falls into the
river Baztan, there is a walk down to the left, or southward, of some 4
miles, into the town of Elizondo, which means in Basque “The Church in
the Valley.” For the Basques, like the Welsh, have the terms of their
religion mainly in the form of borrowed words, and the Greek Ecclesia,
which is “Egglws” in the Welsh mountains, has nearly the same sound
here, 800 miles to the south, and with all those days of sea between.
Christendom is one country.
There is no easy journey from Elizondo down to the south of the hills and
back east again into the French valleys, unless you go on to Pamplona,
although of course there is nothing high or steep to stop you, if you
have plenty of provisions, except the absence of maps (which do not exist
for this district upon any useful scale to my knowledge). If you want to
make a mountain journey of it without touching the town of Pamplona, go
down a mile or two from Elizondo to Iruita, where the main road branches
into two; thence going south and a little east up the stream which comes
down from the frontier summits, you may go over a col between that valley
and the valley of the Esteribar, where the Arga rises. You will find
yourself at the first little Basque village, that of Eugui, by evening;
the total distance from Elizondo to Eugui, if you go the shortest way, is
only 20 miles. But, I repeat, it is a difficult job. Maps are lacking,
the valleys have many ramifications, and the first part of your journey
is all uphill for half the day. If the weather is cloudy it is more than
possible that you will get into the wrong valley, and find at last, when
you have got over your col, and are following the running water on the
further side, that that running water is not the Arga at all, but one
of the streams that lead you back again into the Baigorry. However, if
you make Eugui in the Estribar, the rest is simple: there are villages
all round, connected by paths, and not more than a mile or two from one
another, and you may go through Linzoian to Espimal and so to Burguete,
where you get the main road over Roncesvalles, without fear of losing
your way; for there are people everywhere.
It is best, however, when you have slept in Elizondo, which is a very
pleasant little town, to take the motor-bus and get on to Pamplona; for
the Basques, who detest as much as the Scotch to be behind the world,
have a motor-bus along this mountain road. From Pamplona next day you can
go by the new road to Burguete, passing through Larrasoaña and Erro. It
is a long journey of nearly 30 miles; it can be broken, if you choose, at
Erro, but the sleeping accommodation there is nothing very grand. If you
push on beyond Burguete, over Roncesvalles, you can, in something under
40 miles, get to Val Carlos, the last town in Spain, and for those who
can walk 40 miles this is the best thing to do. If not, break the journey
in two at Erro, desolate as the little place is.
The object of course of this walk is the Pass of Roncesvalles, and the
vast contrast between the slightly sloping Spanish plain of Burguete,
running up to the summit of the Pyrenees, and the great chasm which opens
beneath your feet when you have reached that summit, and which forms the
entry into France.
You will not easily make a camp in any part of this round, and it is well
to remember here, where first mention is made of crossing the Spanish
frontier, that the Spaniards will not let a man leave their country
unless he has due permission upon a paper form. Why this should be so
I do not know, and I have very often gone in and out of Spain without
telling the authorities, as I have for that matter gone in and out of
Germany on foot, though the German officials are more stupid than the
Spaniards, and therefore attach much more importance to such things.
Still, it is safer to ask for your permit, and it will be given you by
a functionary called a “Corregidor,” at Val Carlos. A few miles beyond,
eight to be exact, you are in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, which is the head of
the railway to-day, and which has been for nearly 1000 years the depot
town at the foot of the pass for armies and for travellers. On this same
flat where it stands, was the Roman fort and depot, but not quite on the
same place; it stood on the spot now called St. Jean le Vieux, 2½ miles
up the lateral valley. This last was the halting place of Charlemagne in
the famous story, and St. Jean, as we see it, is a town not of the Dark
but of the Middle Ages.
The next district to this of the Labourd, lying immediately to the east
of it, we have seen to be called the Soule. It is also Basque, though
it is Basque spoken with a different accent, and with certain verbal
differences as well. The way from one to the other lies through wilder
and more likely land for camping than is to be found in Baztan, Baigorry,
or Roncesvalles. It is a good plan, if one has the leisure, to approach
the Soule on foot by way of St. Jean, though the more ordinary way is to
go round through the plains by train to Mauléon (which is the capital of
the Soule).
If one goes on foot directly across from the Labourd into the Soule, he
strikes that valley in its higher reaches, and well above Mauléon.
The shortest line, if one does not mind sleeping in a mountain village,
is to take the high road from St. Jean Pied-de-Port to Lecumberry, and
to follow that way up the valley of the Laurhibar until the high road
comes to an end. It did so abruptly two miles or so beyond Laurhibar,
some years ago, but as it is being continued, one may follow it every
year further up the dale. The high road ends (or ended) about 10 miles
from St. Jean; and Lecumberry is the last _village_ still, however far
the road may have progressed up the valley. When the road ceases one must
continue up the valley by a path on the left bank of the stream. One
soon finds on this left bank a series of precipitous cliffs; one must
there cross over to the path upon the right bank. It is also possible to
keep to the right bank all the way—there is a track on either side—but
I speak of the usual way. Henceforward the path remains quite clear and
runs close alongside the stream, with steep cliffs upon the further
shore, until, in the last mile or two, before the head of the valley,
one enters a wood, and it is here that, if you are not very careful, you
will lose your way. The contours are complicated, the valleys numerous,
and the alternation of wood and open land most confusing. But if you will
go _due east_ by your compass from the point where you entered the wood
(abandoning the path where it crosses the stream and goes over to the
south), and if you will remember always to turn any precipice or ledge of
rock by descending to the _left_ of it, and always to _descend_ after you
have made the first high open space, you will come upon a clear track not
quite three miles from the point where the path enters the wood.
It sounds but a vague indication, but it is a sufficient one, because bad
precipices prevent you from going too much to the right, and the natural
tendency of man to go downhill when he can will prevent you from going
up on to the ledge upon your left. You will find yourself shepherded—if
you always go as due east as is possible, and always turn a ledge of rock
to the _left_—into a track which runs all along the high lands above the
slopes that dominate the Brook Aphours; a little way down, that track
falls into a high road, and a few miles further the road reaches Tardets,
the central town in the valley of the Soule, half-way between Mauléon and
the highest summits. The whole journey from St. Jean thus described is
a big distance, nearer 40 miles than 30, with windings all the way, and
you must be prepared if you become fatigued or have bad luck with your
weather, either to camp out in the woods at the summit of the pass, or to
sleep in the first hamlet upon the eastern side.
There is, indeed, a short cut which strikes the valley much higher, but
it is difficult to make and involves the climbing of two cols. For this
short cut the directions are as for the last, until your path along the
Laurhibar has struck the wood; there, instead of leaving it when it turns
south, and instead of going east (as above), you must keep to the track.
It will cross the stream, still going due south, wind up between an open
space through the woods, and will point before you lose it to the climb
over the shoulder of the Pic d’Escoliers; it is a stiff climb of nearly
2000 feet from the point where you crossed the stream and very steep.
The 2000 feet or so are climbed in under two miles. When you get to the
shoulder of the peak a steep southern slope lies before you, diversified
and made perilous by rocks, and separating plainly into an eastern and
a western valley. Between you and the eastern valley (which is that you
must descend) are steep rocks; they can be turned, however, by going to
the _right_ of them, but the whole place is precipitous and difficult.
The advantage appears when once you are down on the floor of the valley
(which is but 1000 feet from the peak), for you come within a mile to
a clear path, and once you have come to this, you are in another two
miles, at the village of Larrau, which is the terminus of the great
national road, and stands in the last upper waters of the valley.
If you approach the Soule by the more ordinary way you will come by train
through Puyoo, change there, and take the train for Mauléon; and Mauléon,
as I have said, is the capital of the Soule. But the true mountain town
is Tardets, half-way up the valley. Tardets is the market town for all
the Basques of the hills, and you can never have enough of it, both
of its heavenly hotel, of which I shall speak when I come to speak of
hotels, and for its universal shops, and for its kindly people. It stands
in an opening of the lower hills, just before the valley narrows and
enters the high mountains, and you may reach it from Mauléon by a tramway
which runs up the river as far as Tardets and then turns off to the left
and goes round to Oloron.
If you approach the Soule in this manner, making Tardets your
starting-point, you will do well to equip yourself in that town and then
to continue up the valley some five miles past Licq, until you come
to the fork of the river. It is an unmistakable point, because a very
definite rocky ridge comes down and separates the two sources of the
river Saison, which is the river of the Soule. The branch to the right
(as you go southward) leads up the valley to Larrau, of which I have just
spoken, and the high road follows it; the one to the left (which is the
main stream and is called the Chaitza) has no main road along it, but a
good mule track, very clear and plain, and leading at last to the village
of Ste Engrace, which lies at the extreme end of the valley and gives the
whole district its name.
Ste Engrace was a saint of the persecution of Diocletian. She was
martyred in Saragossa, and the name of the village is one of the many
examples of the way in which the southern influence overlaps these hills.
I have said that the Spanish sandal is used to the very foot of the
French Pyrenees, and so is the wine-skin which is common to all Spain,
and so is the Spanish mule. Here you may see the Spanish saints as well
reaching beyond the summits.
From where you leave the main road and go up the Chaitza valley to Ste
Engrace is a distance of 8 or 9 miles, and in this valley, in its upper
waters, is to be found one of the wonders of the Pyrenees, and also one
of the main passages into Spain.
The wonder is the gorge of the Cacouette; the passage is the twin passage
of the Port d’Ourdayte and the Port Ste Engrace, and near them to the
west are two easier ports.
The Cacouette is a cut through the limestone such as you might make with
a knife into clay or cheese, with immense steep precipices on either
side, and apart from the track above the cliffs there is some sort of
tourist’s way along the cavernous ravine for those who admire such
things. Of the two ports, the one path goes up the western side of that
cleft in the limestone (which drops 1500 feet into the earth), and the
other goes up the eastern side. To take the road up the western side,
you leave the Ste Engrace road 3 miles after leaving the great highway,
by a lane which goes off to the right and drops down into the valley; it
is quite plain, and is the only road so leaving the main track, so that
it cannot be mistaken. It climbs the opposing hill, and if you follow it
through all its windings it will take you to the Port Belhay, or to the
Port Bambilette, both under a mountain called Otxogorrigagne, and both
easy. But if you continue just above the limestone precipice, you will
come into a very striking circus of rock just under the watershed, up
which your path perilously climbs to the summit and the frontier; this is
the Port d’Ourdayte.
The Port Ste Engrace, though not half a mile distant from it, is reached
in quite a different manner, and the separation between the two is due to
this limestone gorge, which cuts off one path from the other.
If you are going to try to cross by Ste Engrace, sleep at the village
before starting. There is a good comfortable inn kept by people of the
same name as those who keep the inn at Elizondo, Jarégui. It is so steep
and difficult a bit that if you were to attempt to do it in one day,
without sleeping at Ste Engrace, you would hardly succeed unless you
already knew the mountain well, and mist, which is the fatal difficulty
of these western Pyrenees, will more commonly catch you in the early
afternoon than at any other time in the day, so that you had better make
your ascent before noon. When you have slept at Ste Engrace you will find
the path the next morning winding round through the woods, at the base
of the hill opposite the village. One must ask the way to the start of
this path, and it is not always clear after the first two miles; one has
now and then to cast about for it a little, but at last it emerges upon
a high grassy slope, which runs all the way to the crest of the hill
and the frontier. The path does not follow the straight ascent of the
hill, it curves nearer and nearer to a precipice which is the same as
that climbed by the neighbouring paths of the Port d’Ourdayte; for ten
dangerous yards it runs on a tiny platform right along the gulf and makes
over the crest into the further Spanish Basque valley, whose capital is
Isaba.
Of this valley I can say nothing, for I have not succeeded in crossing
the Ste Engrace, though I have twice tried, but I am told that Isaba is
among the best of these little mountain Basque villages or towns for
entertainment and for cleanliness, and all Basque villages and towns are
cleanly. There is a good posada. From Isaba also a high road runs into
the higher valleys of Navarre and to Pamplona.
Near this territory of the Soule, and partly included in it, are two
great districts where a man may spend many days at his ease in camp
there. The first is the great forest of the Tigra, which stretches to the
west of Tardets and is full of rocks, rivers, and adventure. You may take
it at its greatest width, counting one or two open spaces, to be 8 or 9
miles, and at its greatest length, from the Peak of the Vultures to St.
Just, to be much the same. Its high places, some of which are bare peaks,
some clothed with woods, range for the most part round about 3000 feet,
but the highest point—of which I have never heard the name, and which is
on the very south of the forest, just passes 4000 feet. Tardets is always
at hand on the one hand, St. Jean Pied-de-Port rather further on the
other; from both one may re-provision oneself.
Another and still larger district lies on the further side of the valley
to the north and east of Ste Engrace itself. It is the great mass of
wood, mainly beech, which stretches all over the hills between this last
Basque valley and the Val d’Aspe, next to the east, which is the frontier
valley of Béarn. These woods have no common name, they are intersected by
clear spaces, notably round the higher peaks of the forest, but they make
a district of their own stretching eastward and westward from Lourdios
to Licq, northward and southward from the frontier nearly to Lanne, and
thus measuring not much less than 10 miles every way, in French territory
alone.
There is no forest in which it is easier to lose one’s way than this
great stretch of upland. This is especially true in the Souscousse
district, due east of Ste Engrace; there is here a labyrinth of
complicated valleys, and what seems on the map so easy a passage from the
Soule into the Val d’Aspe is in practice nearly impossible to find. To
camp in and to explore, this forest is even better than the Tigra; for
its summits are higher, and its views more unexpected and remarkable.
There are points in it which are more than 6000 feet in height, and the
great Pic d’Anie, the first of the really high mountains of the chain,
stands high above them, just beyond the southern limit of the trees.
[Illustration: THE BASQUE VALLEYS]
II. THE FOUR VALLEYS (BÉARN AND ARAGON)
[Illustration]
Four valleys in the Pyrenees count together in travel upon foot. They are
the Val d’Aspe and the Val d’Oussau on the French side, and the valleys
of the rivers Aragon and Gallego on the Spanish side.
These four form a unity for the reason that in one place (which is just
to the south of the watershed) they are, without too much difficulty,
approachable one from another.
Many historical accidents have also served to unite these four valleys.
One pair of them made the platform for that great Roman road to which
allusion has so often been made in this book, and which ran from the
French plains over what is now called the pass of the Somport, right
down through Jaca to Saragossa. The parallel pair of valleys just to
the east, the Val d’Ossau and the valley of the Gallego, on the Spanish
side, though no highway ran along them until quite recently, had a
similar historical unity which bound them both together, and bound a
pair of them to the two sister valleys upon the west. For the eastern
part of what later became the kingdom of Aragon, the county of Sobrarbe,
stretched from the valley of the Gallego eastward, and was a natural line
of defence southward against the Mahommedans; while the Val d’Ossau to
the north of it was reached by an easy pass and must have formed—though
we have no exact historical record of it—a good road for the parallel
advance of armies.
It must never be forgotten that when an army is advancing in great
numbers it is of paramount importance for it that the host should be able
to concentrate before action. But roads, especially roads over mountains,
compel men to march in long strings, so that the head of the column will
have arrived at a particular point hours before the tail of it; and what
is more, the deployment of the column, that is the getting of it all into
a front perpendicular to its line of advance, takes time in proportion to
the length which the column had before it began to deploy. This accident
it was, for instance, which destroyed the French and their allies at
Crécy, for though they greatly outnumbered the English they had come up
in columns too long to deploy in time. Now it evidently follows from this
principle that armies on the march, even under the rudest conditions,
will attempt to follow parallel roads. To find two roads parallel to
one another and leading to the same field of action is to halve the
difficulties of transport and of deployment. But it is very difficult
(under primitive conditions) to find two parallel roads which are near
to one another, and unless the lines by which the army advances are near
to one another the advantage of the alternative routes will disappear in
proportion to their distance one from the other. In mountain regions it
is especially difficult to find two passages parallel to each other and
yet in close neighbourhood. This is precisely the advantage afforded by
the trench of the Gallego continued in the Val d’Ossau to the east, and
in the trench of the Aragon continued in the Val d’Aspe to the west. Two
hosts using the old mule paths could leave Sallent on the Gallego and
Canfranc on the Aragon at dawn of one day, and both would meet at Oloron
in the French plains before the evening of the morrow; on the southward
march a host could assemble in the plains of Béarn, separate to use these
two easy passes, and meet at Jaca at the end of the second day.
It is fairly certain therefore—much more certain than a thousand of the
historical guesses that are put down as truths in our textbooks—that
the easy pass between the Gallego Valley and the Val d’Ossau was twin
throughout the Dark Ages to the great Somport pass not 8 miles westward
of it. Abd-ur-Rahman must have used both and so must the Christian
knights when they came so often to the relief of Aragon in the heavy and
successful fighting against Islam which marked the tenth and eleventh
centuries.
To appreciate how close these two parallel tracks were to each other one
has but to remember that the gap between the Val d’Aspe and the next easy
pass westward—right away at Roncesvalles—there is a matter of 40 miles.
Between the Val d’Ossau and the next easy pass eastward there is a gap of
indeterminate length according to the definition of the term “easy,” but
there is at any rate no notch over which one could take any armed force
until one gets to the Bonaigo, quite 60 miles away. All between is the
mass of the highest and most rugged ridges of the Pyrenees, over which
certain paths have always existed, indeed, and over which, in two places
at least, at Gavarnie and at Macadou, the French propose to drive roads,
but no gap in which was ever passable in the Dark and Middle Ages for a
great number of men.
I have said that these two parallel trenches were not only twin in
history for the use of armies, but were also communicable one from the
other just south of the watershed. North of it, indeed, the Val d’Aspe
and the Val d’Ossau, though one can be reached from the other, only
communicate by very high and rocky ridges, the easiest of which is the
Col des Moines. But on the south side there is one accidental easy
passage. You may go all the way from the Somport to Jaca and find nothing
but the most difficult mountains on your left, and all the way from the
Pourtalet (which is the pass at the top of the Val d’Ossau corresponding
to the Somport) down to Sandinies and find nothing but difficult
mountains on the right, save just at the beginning of the descent where
this accident of which I speak occurs. Its feature is a lateral valley
called the Canal Roya which takes its name from the streak of intense red
scoring the side of its principal peak.
This lateral valley points right away eastward from the trench of the
Aragon, it is nowhere precipitous along its stream (a rare advantage in
the Pyrenees) save in one spot where a quite low precipice is easily
outflanked along the grassy slopes above it. And the end of that valley
consists in a sort of semi-circular ridge of grassy steep banks in three
places of which ridge, at least, a man or a beast can walk over without
difficulty or danger. These three places are the Port de Peyréguet,
the Port d’Anéou, and the col of the Canal Roya. This last is the
principal one, the easiest and the lowest. Each is within half a mile of
its neighbour, and on the further side one comes down quite easily by
large steep slopes of meadow to the valley of the Gallego. The Port de
Peyréguet and the Port d’Anéou bring one down just on the north of the
flat dip of the pass, the col of the Canal Roya just on the south of it;
but whether one comes down just north or south of the flat Pourtalet pass
is an indifferent matter. The travelling in all three cases is little
more than a walk.
These “gates” up the Canal Roya from the Val d’Aragon into the parallel
valley of the Gallego knit the whole four valleys into one system,
and to this day their customs and their inhabitants have very much in
common, and the two valleys, which were the core and heart of Aragon and
the origins of its crusade southward against the Mahommedans, count in
history and in local geography with the two valleys which were the heart
and origin of Béarn up to the north.
The Val d’Aspe, which is the most important of the four, is that valley
in the Pyrenees where the characteristics of the range are most strongly
marked. It might serve as the type of all the others. You cannot see the
opening of it southward from Oloron without appreciating that you are
approaching something distinctive and singular in landscape. It is so
clean-cut and so obviously an invitation to the crossing of the hills.
The gorges which divide into separate flat steps every Pyrenean valley,
are nowhere more marked than here. The village of Asasp which stands at
the first of them is singularly characteristic of such an entry; the gap
through which the old lake broke is so clear, the walls through which
the Gave runs are so perfect.
Somewhat further on when yet another gorge has been passed there opens
out one of those circular and isolated spaces of which Andorra is
the historical example, and which in greater or less perfection are
characteristic of all these hills.
This plain, which still recalls in its contours the old lake which
created it, and of which it is the floor, is more regular and more
complete than any of the many _jasses_ and “_plans_” which distinguish
the other vales. It is even more striking than that of Andorra.
It nourishes five villages which might easily (had not the great
international road run through them for 2000 years) have federated
to form an independent commonwealth as the eight villages of Andorra
federated to form one. Indeed this circus, surrounded by almost
impassable hills which meet at either end in narrow Thermopylæ, was
very nearly independent at the close of the Middle Ages, and when it
appealed against the king for the preservation of its customs, these were
preserved by the authority of the king’s court.
Of the small towns or large villages which this little secluded corner
of the world contains, Bédous is that which will seem the capital to the
wayfarer, for it is the only one which stands upon the main road; it
is the terminus of a railway which will soon be finished, and of which
nearly all the track is already made. Bédous, by this time, must also
have more population, as it certainly has more wealth than any of the
surrounding places. But Accous is the true capital of the five, and it
is pleasurable to hear with what reverence the villagers of the farms
around speak of Accous as though it were an Andorra-viella or a Toulouse.
All this wonderful and silent plain is marked with long lines of poplars
which enhance by their straight lines the immensity of the heights around
them.
If one will pass some days in this singular valley it forms an excellent
place from which to explore the high passes into the Val d’Ossau, and
the bases of the two great mountains which, to the east and to the
west, neither visible from the floor of the valley, are, as it were, its
guardians: the Pic d’Anie and the Pic du Midi d’Ossau. The man who does
not desire to cover much ground but who wants thoroughly to know some
very Pyrenean part of the Pyrenees will do well to stop at the Hotel
de la Poste at Bédous, and thence climb at his leisure up on to the
platforms from which spring these isolated and dominant masses of rock.
The Pic du Midi remains in one’s mind more perhaps than any of the
isolated mountains of Europe. It is quite savage and alone, and you must
fatigue yourself to reach it. There is no common knowledge of it and yet
it is as much itself as is the Matterhorn. The Pic d’Anie, though it
is less isolated, stands even more alone and has this quality that it
dominates the whole of the seaward side of the Pyrenees for it is much
higher than anything westward of it. Also it is the boundary beyond which
the Basques and their language have not gone.
Beyond this plain of Bédous, when you have passed the southern “gate” of
it, you come into a long, deep and winding gorge which leads you at last
to Urdos, and Urdos is and has been since history began the outpost of
the French in these hills. It was the Roman outpost and the mediæval one,
and it was the outpost through the Revolutionary wars.
Napoleon, who in everything recognized and imitated the example of Rome,
and who, for that matter, caused the Empire to rise again from the dead,
determined that a modern road should go again where the old Roman road
had gone. He determined this in connexion with his Spanish wars, and
decreed in 1808 that a way for artillery should cross where the legions
had gone. But Europe, as we all know, would not upon any matter accept in
the rush of a few years the constructive desire of Napoleon and of the
Revolution. It has taken more than three generations to do not half the
vast work they planned, and this road, which like almost every good road
over the Alps and the Pyrenees has Napoleon and the Revolution for its
origin, waited till past the middle of the nineteenth century before it
reached so much as the summit of the port.
Under Napoleon III, in the sixties if I remember right, the thing was
done and the road reached the summit of the Somport, the lowest and the
most practicable of the high passes of the central mountains. But the
Spaniards still hung back, and it was not till the other year that the
road upon the Spanish side was completed. Now, however, one may not
only go all the way upon a high carriage road from Oloron to Saragossa
straight south across the hills, but one may find the whole way marked
with mile-stones as the Romans would have marked it, and saved at every
difficulty by engineering of which the Romans themselves would have been
proud. Once over the summit there is no resting place till one reaches
Canfranc, 6 or 7 miles by the windings of the road below one. After
Canfranc the valley of the Aragon, which one has been following, opens,
and the plain of Jaca lies before one bounded by its great ridge to the
southward, the Peña de Oroel.
If one would not go all that length of high-road (from Oloron to Jaca is
over 50 miles) there are upon the Spanish side two lateral diversions
which a man may take. The first is over the Col des Moines, the other
into and over the Canal Roya.
The first can be seen right before one at the summit of the pass; for
when one stands upon that summit one has, running eastward from the road,
a great open valley at the head of which is clearly distinguishable a
bare rocky ridge with a low saddle which is the Col des Moines. It is
perfectly easy upon either side, and upon the further side it shows one
the splendid and unexpected vision of the Pic du Midi standing up alone
beyond the little tarns at its feet: a double pyramid of steep rock upon
which the snow can hardly lie in tiny patches and whose main precipices
are dark, to the north, away from the sun.
The next lateral valley southward of the Col des Moines is that of the
Canal Roya, but one can only enter it after going down the main road for
quite a thousand feet. There a bridge will be seen spanning the Aragon
and a little doubtful path leading beyond eastward up the lateral valley.
It is two hours up that valley to its head by a path going first on the
right bank of the stream then crossing over to the left one. One thus
reaches by a continuous ascent the cirque or amphitheatre which bounds
it at the eastern extremity of the valley. Here there is a difficulty in
finding the easiest and lowest col. The map is doubtful and the details
upon the map are not sufficiently numerous. The Canal Roya is well worth
camping in and returning by to the main Spanish road if one is inclined
(and if one is, one would do well to camp near the wood upon the left
bank of the stream not quite half-way up the vale for there is no timber
further on). But if one does not camp and prefers to get over the col
into the valley of the Gallego the rule is to note a sharp peak which
stands exactly at the apex of the valley—it is the lowest of the peaks
around but very distinct, forming an isolated steeple due east of the
last springs of the stream. The way lies to the left or north of this
peak and just under its shoulder up a loose mass of fallen rocks on which
an eye practised in these things can discover from time to time a trace
not of a true path but at least of infrequent travel. Upon the far side
easy slopes of grass take one down in about an hour to the Sallent road.
Note that these two cols and the stretch from road to road and from inn
to inn can only with some peril be undertaken in one day from Urdos. In
fine weather and without accident the thing is simple enough, but when
you are baulked for an hour or two by the trail, or if you start a little
late, or if you are detained by mist you may very easily not manage the
passage from one of the great roads to the other, near as they look upon
the map.
With everything going well, carrying little weight and fresh, it is quite
three hours (and more like three and a half) from Urdos to the bridge
over the Aragon. It will be another two up the Canal Roya and two more
over its col and down the other side to the high road, and even from that
point on the high road, if you follow the road only, there are two more
hours before you reach Sallent. It is a very heavy day of quite 30 miles
with two cols, one of 5000 feet, the other of 6500 feet, to be taken on
the way, and it is foolish to undertake either the Col des Moines or the
Canal Roya from Urdos without allowing for the chance of one night at
least upon the mountain.
The second pair of valleys, that of the Gallego on the Spanish side, and
the Gave d’Ossau on the French side, are linked together by two very easy
passes, and one difficult one of which I shall speak in a moment.
The old port, now called “Port Vieux de Sallent,” or the “Puerta Vieja,”
is easy enough, though it went over a higher part of the mountain than
the new pass just next door to it. I say it is _higher_ than the pass now
used, and this contrast is not infrequently found in the Pyrenees, some
feature or other in the topography of the ridge making it more convenient
for a native to cross by a slightly higher saddle than by some lower one
close by. For instance, the Somport itself is somewhat higher than a
quite unknown gap four miles to the west of it, but this lower gap was
never used because it led into a Spanish valley of a difficult and most
isolated kind.
In the case of the two passes from the Val d’Ossau into Spain, the
obstacle which prevented the lower pass being used until quite lately,
was a great mass of rock overhanging the sources of the Gave d’Ossau, in
the highest part of the valley. When the new highway was made, this rock
was blasted and cut so as to take the road round it, and thus the low
pass beyond, called Pourtalet, was utilized. It is below 6000 feet and
exactly 1000 feet lower than the old Port de Sallent. But even nowadays,
if you are on foot you will do well to cross by the old port, high as it
is, for it saves time.
While I am on the subject I must warn the reader that the 1/100,000
map does not accurately convey the shape of the last two miles of the
road upon the French side, and the line of road mere guesswork upon the
Spanish, though the shape of the mountains is accurately given.
This pair of valleys is remarkable for another feature upon the French
and upon the Spanish slopes: their wildness. Let me speak first of the
French. The French valley, the Val d’Ossau, is one of the wildest and
most deserted in the Pyrenees, and also it is the one most densely
clothed with forests. The reason of this is that there is less flat
ground at the foot of it than in any other. Nowhere does it expand into
even a narrow circus, and about Laruns, where it debouches upon the
lowlands, and the summit of the pass into Spain, a distance of perhaps
17 miles, there is but one large village, close to the bottom of the
valley, and that owes its existence to Thermal Springs; it is called Eaux
Chaudes—a dismal place, squeezed in between the torrent and the cliff,
dirty, uncomfortable, and sad. Higher up, however, a tiny hamlet, the
humblest and most remote in the world, one would think, has of recent
years taken on some little importance through travel; this is the hamlet
of Gabas, which may be said to consist in three inns, a ruinous chapel,
most pathetic, and a customs station. Of the excellent inn at Gabas, I
will speak elsewhere.
This valley of the Ossau is the base for two districts, both of which are
very Pyrenean, and on either of which a man may spend a day or a month of
lonely pleasure. One is the steep and very fine valley of the Sousquéou,
the other is the short and extremely steep torrent bed which leads up to
the foot of the Pic du Midi.
This mountain dominates all this section of the Pyrenees. The approach
to it by the Col des Moines I have already mentioned; this ascent by the
short valley from Gabas, through the woods, is better, because you come
right up on to the mountain suddenly from the depth of a vast forest, and
you feel its isolation.
I know of no hill which seems more to deserve a name or to possess a
personality. Round its base there is matter for camping for days or for
weeks, good water, lakes to fish in, shelter, both of rocks and of trees,
human succour not too far off (Gabas is not three miles as the crow flies
from the summit of the mountain), and a complete independence.
The Sousquéou is a less human excursion, though it has a very fine
lake at the head of it. The communication with men is steeper and more
difficult than from the district surrounding the Pic du Midi, and, as I
know from experience, it is not difficult to lose one’s way. Moreover,
the exits from the upper end of this valley are not easy, and it is
bounded on either side by the most savage cliffs in the whole chain.
Should it be necessary to escape from this ravine by any path but that
which leads down on to the high road near Gabas, you have no choice but
the high and steep Col d’Arrius, which brings you down into the upper
valley of the Gave d’Ossau, or on to the very high and most unpleasant
Col de Sobe, which gets you into one of the most difficult parts of the
Spanish side near the Peña Forata and so down to the Gallego. Its very
remoteness, however, and its partial changes, may attract one kind of
walker to the Sousquéou, but if he attempts it, let him go with at least
three days’ provisions. There are huts in the lower part of the valley,
but there is no very good camping ground near the lake I believe, save
on the side of the wood to the north. It is a lonely place, not without
horrors, and is perhaps haunted; the shape of the hills around is very
terrible.
The Spanish side of all this is more simply described, the new high
road runs down 8 or 9 miles to Sallent, which can be turned into 5 or
6 miles by taking the old mule track that cuts off the windings of the
graded road. The river Gallego runs below and increases as it goes. To
the right or westward of the valley there is nothing in particular to
be done, there is but one place where you can conveniently cross over
into the valley of the Aragon, which is the Canal Roya I have already
described; south of that crossing the flank of the mountain lies bare and
open affording neither camping ground nor interest. On the left are the
curious serrated precipices of the Peña Forata, where climbing makes but
a day’s amusement, but where also there is no opportunity for camping,
and once Sallent is reached, though the “valley of Limpid Water” which
runs north of it is fine enough, there is little to be done but to go
on to Panticosa. There is a path over the very high ridge of the Pic
d’Enfer, and there is a main carriage road which goes round the flanks of
that mountain.
All this part the valley of the Gallego is bounded by some of the highest
and most abrupt peaks in the chain, and (as I shall presently describe)
another district, meriting another type of description and travel, lies
to the eastward, and constitutes those new fortresses of the hills, the
roots of old Sobrarbe, where Christendom first began to hold out against
Islam, and whence the men of Aragon could securely push southward when
the advance to the Reconquest began.
[Illustration: THE FOUR VALLEYS]
III. SOBRARBE
[Illustration]
When one says Sobrarbe one means all that eastern and larger part of the
original valleys of Aragon which lie between (and do not include) the
valley of the Gallego and the valley of the Noguera Ribagorzana, that
is, the valley of Broto (which is that of the river Ara), the valley of
the river Cinca and the valley of the river Esera; for, with central
ramifications, these three make up Sobrarbe.
That part of it of which I shall here speak, the part right up against
the frontier ridge, is included between the big lump of mountains which
surrounds Panticosa (of which the Vignemale is the most conspicuous) and
the other big lump of peaks which is called the Maladetta group.
It has three towns corresponding to its three valleys, Torla in the Broto
upon the Ara, Bielsa upon the Cinca, Venasque upon the Esera.
The Cinca, however, receives, right up at its sources, an affluent longer
and more important than itself, called the Cinqueta, and on this stream
is a group of villages, none of them important enough to be called a
town, but standing so close together as to make a considerable centre of
habitation.
But for these towns, the group of villages I have mentioned and one or
two tiny hamlets, these Spanish valleys are wholly deserted, and they
form by far the most rugged and difficult district of all the Pyrenees.
They also hold the highest peaks of the mountains; the culminating Nethou
Peak of the Maladetta group, just upon the eastern edge of the district
(11,168 feet); the Posets (11,047), the Mont Perdu (10,994), the Pic
d’Enfer (10,109), the Vignemale (10,820) all stand here. Most of the
high peaks are in Spain, but it is another feature of the district that
the frontier ridge is higher here than in any other part, and is also
more continuous. The summit of the Vignemale forms part of it, and the
notches by which it may be traversed in these 40 to 50 miles lie but very
little below the surrounding peaks. Only 3 of the passes miss the 8000
foot line. The Port du Venasque, at the extreme eastern end opposite the
Maladetta, is 7930 feet in height; the Port de Gavarnie at the extreme
western end is 7481. These two form the chief thoroughfares over this
high and difficult bit; that of Gavarnie, upon the French side, is being
prepared for wheeled traffic. The third, the Port de Pinède, also misses
the 8000 foot line, but only misses it by 25 feet. All the other passes
are but slight depressions in this barrier of cliff. The Tillon or rather
the passage to the side of it, is little under 10,000 feet, the Pla Laube
is over 8000, so is the Marcadou, so is the better known and more used
pass of Bielsa, while the Port d’Oo is 9846, and the Portillon d’O is
9987.
The impression conveyed by this long line, the only line in the Pyrenees
where even small glaciers may be found, is of an impassable sheer height,
just notched enough at one point on the west to admit a painful scramble
into the valley of the Gave d’Pau and on the east to admit one into the
Valley of the Lys (into the basin of the Adour, that is) at one end, and
into the basin of Garonne at the other.
A journey through Sobrarbe can be undertaken either from Sallent and
Panticosa or from Gavarnie, and in either case your exploration of
high Sobrarbe begins at the hamlet of Bujaruelo, which the French call
Boucharo.
How to reach Bujaruelo from Gavarnie I shall describe later: for the
moment I propose a start on the Spanish side.
If you start from the Spanish side at Panticosa, a plain path takes you
up the valley of the Caldares until you are right under the frontier
ridge. There the path bifurcates; you take the right-hand branch along
the chain of lakes that lies just under the wall of the main ridge, and
you climb slowly up to the path at the head of it. The whole climb
from Panticosa to this pass is 3040 feet, and it will take you from
early morning until noon. Or, if you will start before a summer dawn, at
any rate until the heat of the morning. For though it looks so short a
distance on the map, and though there is no difficult passage, it is very
hard going. The reason I mention this matter of hours is that when you
have got down the other side into the valley of the Ara, you are still
8 miles by the mule path from Bujaruelo, and though it is all downhill,
you will hardly do these 8 miles under two hours and a half; however
early you start, therefore, the back of the day is likely to be broken by
the time you come to Bujaruelo. Once there a new difficulty arises; for
Bujaruelo is not a pleasant place to sleep in. I have not myself slept
there, but the verdict is universal. Though you are coming from a Spanish
town the Customs may bother you at this hamlet because they cannot tell
but that you have come over some one of the high passages from France,
such as the Pla Laube up the valley. At any rate, unless you are going
to camp out you must push on to _Torla_, 5 miles on down the valley,
and you will pass through a great gorge on your way. Now at Torla the
hospitality, though large and vague, is good enough.
If, however, you are taking the Upper Sobrarbe with the idea of camping,
you must not go on to Torla, but you must do as follows. Just at the far
end of the gorge of which I have spoken the path crosses the river Ara
by a bridge called the Bridge of the Men of Navarre. There you will see
a path leaving yours to the left, and zigzagging up the mountain side
eastward. This is the one you must take. It climbs 600 feet, gets you
round the cascade which here pours into the Ara from a lateral valley,
and finally puts you on to the level floor of that lateral valley: it
is called the valley of Arazas. Here there is excellent camping ground
everywhere, and it will be high time to look for a camp by the time you
are well upon the floor of that gorge; you may have to go up some little
way to find wood, but much of this valley in its higher part is clothed
with forests. The next day you must, as best you can, force your way
to Bielsa, and unless the weather is fine you may very possibly have to
sleep another night upon the mountain.
The trouble of this difficult bit is the great height of the lateral
ridges. At the end of this fine valley of Arazas, which curves slowly up
northward as you go, is the huge mass of the Mont Perdu, and you cannot
get out of the valley without going over the shoulder of it. In order
to do this proceed as follows, and go along the stream until the path
crosses over from the northern to the southern bank, at a place where
the cliffs on either side come very close to the water. The path goes
along under and partially upon the face of these cliffs in a perilous
sort of way, until it comes to a lateral streamlet pouring right down the
side of the terminal mountain. This lateral streamlet you must be sure
to recognize, for upon your recognizing it depends the success of your
adventure; and you may know it thus: The place where your path strikes
it, is exactly 1000 yards from the place where you crossed the main
stream. When you come to this lateral streamlet you will see, or should
see, a transverse path running very nearly due east and west; and up that
in an eastward direction, immediately above you, a distance of 800 yards,
upon the shoulder of the great mountain is the depression for which the
path makes. It is called the _Col de Gaulis_.
For all of this by the way you will do well to consult Schrader the whole
time. What the going is like on the further side of this col I cannot
tell for I have never come down it, but I know that your way descends
right by a very short and steep gully in which a torrent makes straight
for the valley beneath, and I know that when you have made that valley
your troubles are over.
You fall through a descent of just under 2000 feet in a distance of
less than a mile as the crow flies. You must therefore be prepared for
a very steep bit of work. Once in the valley, however, everything is
straightforward. On reaching the main stream of this new valley (which
runs north and south) you turn to the right, southward, and follow its
right bank between it and the cliff; you cross a rivulet flowing from a
deep lateral ravine about a mile further on, and less than half a mile
further again see a new path leaving your path and going to your left,
crossing over the valley and its stream, and making up a gulley which
comes down facing you from the opposing heights. Take this new path up
this gulley (the path runs everywhere to the _south_ of the water), and
you will find yourself after a climb of somewhat over a 1000 feet on the
Col d’Escuain. Thence the way is perfectly clear, running due south-east
for 5 miles, just above the edge of the cliffs of the gorge of Escuain,
until you reach the village of Escuain perched above that ravine.
Whatever efforts you may have made, and however early you may have
started, you will hardly have reached human beings again at this place
until, as at Bujaruelo the day before, the back of the day is broken.
Nevertheless, unless you are to camp out again upon the mountain, you
must try and push on to Bielsa. It is more than 10 miles, however much
you cut off the windings of the path, which takes you past the chapel of
San Pablo, leaving the village of Rivella on the left up the mountain
side, then across a steep cliff down to the profound gorge of the Cinca;
from there an unmistakable road goes through Salinas de Sin and follows
straight on up the valley to Bielsa just 4 miles further on.
If you can do that in one day you will have done well.
There is another and shorter crossing, which, though it is invariably
used by the mountaineers, I have not described because most people unused
to the Pyrenees would shirk it. When you have come down from the Col de
Gaulis into the valley below, if instead of going southward to the right
you go northward to the left, crossing the stream, and climbing up on the
further side of it, the path takes you at last to a very high col, called
in Spanish the Col of Anisclo, but in French, the Col of Anicle. This
col is not far short of 9000 feet high, and it is particularly painful
to have to attempt it just after the difficult business of the Col de
Gaulis. It means two ports within a few hours of each other, the second
one 3000 feet above the valley, and what that is in the way of fatigue,
a man must go through in order to know. Moreover, the descent on the far
side from the Col of Anisclo is exceedingly steep.
However, if you do this short cut you have the advantage of finding
yourself at once in the main valley of the Cinca and, when once you are
on the banks of that river, you are not more than 8 miles or so from
Bielsa by a good path leading all the way down the stream on the left
bank. You save in this way quite 6 miles, and reduce your whole journey
from the mouth of the valley of Arazas to Bielsa to a little less than 20
miles.
The distance you have to go before you come to human beings is much
the same by either track. Escuain is just about as far from the Col de
Gaulis, as is Las Cortez, the first hamlet in the Cinca valley. Again, by
this shorter way you miss the gorge of the Escuain, but you see the huge
cliffs of Pinède, which are perhaps the finest wall in the Pyrenees with
their summits along the crest of 9000 feet, 5000 feet or more above the
stream at their feet: it is the edge of this ridge of cliff which must
be crossed at the Col of Anisclo. Either way therefore is as fine and
either as deserted as the other. But the second much shorter and far more
painful.
Before I leave this passage between the first and second of the Sobrarbe
valleys—between the valley of Broto, that is (as they call the valley of
the river Ara) and the valley of the Cinca—a few notes on the road should
be added.
First, I have said that Torla, Bujaruelo (Boucharo) may be made from
Gavarnie as well as from Panticosa. This is so; and if you undertake the
exploration of Sobrarbe from Gavarnie, it is a much easier business to
get to Bujaruelo from the French hamlet, than it is to get to it from
Panticosa.
The excellent road from Gavarnie to the top of the port is a very small
matter, and from there down into Bujaruelo is an easy descent of three
miles. If you start from Gavarnie, therefore, in the early morning, you
can with an effort and in good weather go the whole length of the Val
d’Arazas, over the Col de Gaulis, and the Col of Anisclo and sleep in
Bielsa that same night, or you can, taking it more easily, make a camp at
the head of the Val d’Arazas, or you can break your journey in the valley
between the two Cols of Gaulis and Anisclo, camping there for the night;
I am told the camping ground in this gorge is not very good, otherwise
that would be the ideal place to break your journey.
You may next remark that in the lower part of the Val d’Arazas, right on
the path, there is a good inn, which will save your camping out in the
valley at all, if you are not so inclined; but the inn is so far down
the valley that it does not save you very much in the next day’s walk.
Further, you should note that all this group of valleys, the Arazas, the
Pinède (which is that through which the Cinca flows), the Velos, which
is the stream at the foot of the Col de Gaulis, the Escuain, etc., are,
unlike most others in the Pyrenees, true _ravines_. They correspond
to what Western Americans mean when they use the Spanish word Cañons,
that is _clefts_ sunk deep into the stuff of the world and bounded by
precipices upon either side. These not only make the whole district a
striking exception in the Pyrenean range, but also make the finding of
and keeping to a path necessary as it is throughout the Pyrenees, more
necessary here than anywhere else. If, for instance, you lose the path at
the head of the Arazas, where it goes up the cliffs, you will never make
the Col de Gaulis though it is less than a mile away, and if you miss the
path up to the Col of Anisclo you can never get down into the Pinède at
all.
It is worth remembering that from the foot of the Col de Gaulis a path
of sorts leads up the flank of the mountain to the Spanish side of the
Brèche de Roland. I have never followed it, but I believe it to be an
easier approach than that over the glacier upon the French side.
Once you are at Bielsa on the Cinca, you are in the centre and, as it
were, in the geographical capital of the high Sobrarbe and it is your
next business to go on eastward into the last valley, that of the Esera,
the central town of which is Venasque. Between the upper part of these
two valleys and right between these two towns lies the great mass of the
Posets, a huge mountain which lifts up in a confused way like an Atlantic
wave and is within a very few feet of being the highest in the Pyrenees.
It is a mountain which, though it is not remarkable for precipices or
for any striking sky line, should by no means be crossed (though it can
easily be ascended), but must be turned.
The straight line from Bielsa to Venasque lies slightly south of east
and is but 15 miles in length, but it runs right over the mass of the
Posets and crosses that jumble of hills only a couple of miles south of
the culminating peak. Venasque must therefore be reached by a divergence
one way or the other, and one approaches it from Bielsa by going either
to the north or to the south of the mountain group of the Posets. The
northern way is a trifle shorter but much more difficult and much more
lonely. On the other hand, it takes one into the very heart of the
highest Pyrenees, right under the least known and the most absolute part
of the barrier which they make between France and Spain. I will therefore
describe this northern way first, as I think most travellers who desire
an acquaintance with the hills will take it.
From Bielsa a path going eastward crosses the Barrosa (at the confluence
of which with the Cinca Bielsa is built), runs round the flank of the
mountain and goes right up to the Col of the Cross “De La Cruz,” 4000
feet above the town. You may know this pass, if you have a compass, by
observing that it is due east of Bielsa. To be accurate, the dead line
east and west from the top of the Col exactly strikes the northernmost
houses of the town.
The eastern descent of the Col is quite easy and once down upon the
banks of the Cinqueta, you see, half a mile to the north of you, the
hospital or refuge of Gistain. From that point you follow up the valley
north-eastward, on the right or northern bank of the stream under a steep
hill-side for a couple of miles until you come to a fairly open place
where the two upper forks of the Cinqueta meet. You cross the northern
fork and go on eastward and northward up the eastern one, still keeping
at the foot of the northern hill-side.
[Illustration: THE PASSAGE OVER THE COL DE LA CRUZ AND THE COL DE
GISTAIN]
What follows is not very easy to describe and should be carefully noted.
What you have to pick out is a particular col on the opposite slope
beyond the stream. This col is three miles or so from the fork, five from
the Refuge, and is called “the Col de Gistain.” As you go up this valley
the opposing side is formed of the buttresses of the Posets. From that
mountain four torrents descend to join the east fork of the Cinqueta,
between the place where you crossed and the col you are seeking. The
first torrent falls into the valley which you are climbing half a mile
or so after you have crossed the north fork and begun the new valley; a
second comes in about a thousand yards further on, a third about a mile
further yet, and you may see each of them coming into the stream at your
feet from down the opposing side, which consists, as I have said, in the
buttresses of the Posets.
Another way of recognizing these three torrents (and it is essential to
recognize them) is to note that between the first and the second the
slope is not violent, while between the second and the third it is a
rocky ridge.
When you have seen the third come in, you must watch _exactly a mile
further on_ for the entry of the fourth. This fourth one is your mark by
which to find the col. Just after passing in front of the mouth of this
fourth torrent, your path, such as it is, will cross the Cinqueta, turn
sharply eastward, and begin to climb up the right or northern bank of
this fourth torrent.
The ascent is not steep, and in 1500 yards you are on the _Col de
Gistain_ between 8200 and 8300 feet above the sea, and almost exactly
3000 feet above the spot where you left the north fork of the Cinqueta to
follow the eastern valley. Another way of making certain that you do not
miss the all-important turning is to count the torrents coming in upon
_your_ side, the _north_ side, of the valley; that is the torrents, each
coming in from its own ravine, which your path crosses.
They also are three in number and fairly equidistant one from another,
the first about a mile after you have crossed the north fork, the next a
mile further on, and the next just under a mile beyond that. It is after
you have crossed the third and have proceeded another 500 or 600 yards
that your path to the Col de Gistain will go off opposite to the right,
crossing the stream at your feet, and following the torrent that falls
from that opposing side.
Yet another way of making sure is to watch (if the weather is fine) for
the col itself, an unmistakable notch with a ridge of sharp rock just
to the north of it and a less abrupt arète going south of it up to the
summit of the Posets.
I have written at this length of the passage not only from the difficulty
of discovering, but also from the danger that will attend any delay in
finding it. If you go on past the turning where the path to the col goes
off eastward you may get over the wrong port on to the French side, miles
from anywhere, or you may take the rocks of the Anes Cruces and find
yourself on a ridge beyond which there is no going down either way; while
if you turn off too early you may climb right up on to the glacier of the
Posets, and lose a day and be compelled to pass a night in that frost.
Once you have got to the top of the Col de Gistain, however, you are
free. All the running water below you leads you down into the valley of
Venasque; there is no steepness and no difficulty. The rudimentary path
follows the stream, there is a little cabane on the upper waters of it,
soon the floor of the valley widens out a trifle, and four miles on, not
quite 3000 feet below the pass, is another cabane; that of the Turmo.
The path from this point becomes more definite; it crosses the stream 2
miles down in order to avoid rocks upon the southern side, recrosses it
again a mile later to negotiate a steep and narrow gorge, it comes over
once again to the northern side by a bridge a few hundred yards further
on, and almost immediately reaches the valley of the Esera at a point 9
miles or so from the summit of the pass. Here an ancient and remarkable
bridge, the Bridge of Cuberre, crosses the Esera, and enables you to gain
the wide mule track to Venasque, which town lies rather more than 2 miles
down the road.
It will be seen that the whole difficulty of this passage lies in making
certain of the Col de Gistain.
If I have exaggerated that difficulty I have fallen into an error on the
right side, for to miss the col is to fail altogether and possibly to
be in danger. If those who have approached the Col de Gistain from the
east, or who have only seen the place in clear weather, imagine it to be
discoverable under all circumstances, they are in error; indeed, if the
weather is bad, it is just as well not to attempt the passage at all.
This northern way from Bielsa to Venasque is, as I have said, the most
difficult. The southern way is as follows.
You go down the gorge to the Cinca by the road to Salinas de Sin, there
the road branches, the main part goes on down the Cinca, the side road
goes sharply off to the left up the first affluent of the Cinca, a
lateral valley which points south-east, and is that of the Cinqueta.
This road crosses the Cinca, follows the eastern or right bank of the
lateral stream for some two-thirds of a mile, then crosses over and
in about 3 miles from the crossing reaches the hamlet of Sarabillo.
Thence it proceeds, still upon the same side of the stream and facing
a considerable cliff upon the further bank, to the village of El Plan,
which lies somewhat less than 5 miles up from Sarabillo, and is reached
by crossing the stream again just before one comes to the village.
At El Plan one may repose. One will have walked by the mule paths more
than 12 miles, and there is a long way before one.
The main path goes on to the next village, that of St. Juan, and so up
the Cinqueta to the hospital of Gistain, where it joins the northern
route we have just been tracing. The southern way, which I am now
describing, is by a path leaving El Plan at the end of the village and
going down to the river (which here runs through a broad valley floor),
across the river by a bridge, and then up the torrent valley of the
Sentina, a little south of east. The path runs on the right or northern
bank of this torrent, and any path or tracks to be seen crossing the
water are not to your purpose. Keep always to the same side of the stream
until you come to the col, which is more than 4 but less than 5 miles
from El Plan and is called the Col de Sahun. From this col the path
continues a little less clearly marked, but quite easy, down the sharp
valley on the further side to the village of Sahun, which lies exactly
due east of the col and just over 3 miles from it. The whole passage,
therefore, from El Plan to Sahun, is a matter of not more than two hours,
and from Sahun to Venasque there is an excellent mule road following up
the open valley of the Esera; a distance of just 4 miles.
By this southern approach the whole distance is but a plain walk of under
20 miles with only one low and easy col to climb, but of course it tells
you far less of what the Pyrenees can be than does the northern passage.
* * * * *
With the valley of the Esera and the town of Venasque you have come to
the end of Sobrarbe, and of all that remote and ill-known district which
is the most savage and the most alluring in these great hills. Indeed,
you are no longer properly in the Sobrarbe, but rather in the subdivision
of Ribagorza, which had a Count to itself in the Middle Ages, and was
the march between Aragon and Catalonia. From Venasque you can get back
again at your ease next day, by one of the best known mule tracks in the
Pyrenees, to the French valleys and to wealth again at Luchon.
[Illustration: THE SOBRARBE]
IV. THE TARBES VALLEYS AND LUCHON
[Illustration]
Three valleys, two profound, one shallow, depend upon and radiate from
the town of Tarbes which stands in the plain below the mountains. Their
rail system and their road system converge upon Tarbes, and it is from
Tarbes that they should be explored.
The two long valleys are the valley of Lourdes, down which flows the Gave
de Pau and the long valley of Arreau or Val d’Aure (it is the longest
enclosed valley of the Pyrenees). The short valley is the valley of
Bigorre, wherein the Adour arises.
For a man on foot these three valleys are of interest chiefly in their
highest portions alone. The energy of French civilization has penetrated
them everywhere with light railways and with roads, and has united them
all three by a great lateral road running from Arreau to Luz over what
used to be the difficult and ill-known port of Tourmalet; while it has
thus done a great deal for those who only use the road, it has hurt the
district from the point of view which I am taking in this division of my
book.
There is indeed one great hill which no development of roads can effect,
and which is the chief interest of all these three valleys for the man
on foot. It rises in the very centre of the district and is called the
Pic du Midi de Begorre. This peak stands thrust forward from the main
range, a matter of more than 10 miles from the watershed, and isolated
upon every side save where the isthmus of the Tourmalet binds it to the
general system not much more than 2000 feet below its summit. But the Pic
du Midi de Begorre, fine as it is, does not afford so many opportunities
to the man exploring the Pyrenees on foot as do other peaks. It is a
bare mountain, all precipice upon the northern side, and steep every
way. There is no camping ground save at the foot of it in the little
wood above Abay. Moreover, there is a road right up it, an observatory
upon the top, and arrangements for sleeping and for eating and drinking
as well. No other of the great mountains of Europe have been put more
thoroughly in harness. The chief use of it (for the purposes of this
book) is that from its summit you will get a better general view of the
eastern Pyrenees than from any other point reached with equal ease,
and that you can see in one view, as you look southward, the Maladetta
on your extreme left, the Pic du Midi d’Ossau on your extreme right,
each about 30 to 40 miles away. It is also a point from which the sharp
demarcation between the mountain and the plain, which characterizes the
northern slope of the Pyrenees, is very clear; for this peak, jutting out
as it does from the mass of the hills, dominates all the flat country
beneath.
The roads of these three valleys are somewhat overrun—even in their upper
portions. That from the end of the light railway from Luz to Gavarnie,
is, in the summer, the only really spoilt piece of the Pyrenees; that
from Arreau up to Vielle Aure in the furthest valley is less frequented,
but there is no particular reason for stopping in it or for camping
in it, especially when one considers the waste spaces on either side,
where one may be wholly remote and at peace. There is, however, in one
branch of this valley, that is in the gulley which runs due south from
Trainzaygues, a good camping ground of woods and stream. A road runs up
it to the refuge of Riomajou at its summit, and from this two difficult
cols can be reached by two branch paths which go over either shoulder
of the Pic d’Ourdissettou, that on the right or west gets one down to
Real and Bielsa; that on the left ultimately and with some difficulty to
Gistain and El Plan. There is also an entry from the main valley into the
Sobrarbe, going up the main valley through Aragnouet, and up the very
steep pass called the Pass de Barroude; one also comes out by this way on
to Real and Bielsa, but it is by the other fork of the Spanish valley.
The pass called the Port de Bielsa proper marks what was once perhaps
the main pass north and south over these hills. It leaves the valley at
Leplan above Aragnouet and stands between the two passes just mentioned.
These and all the difficult ports, springing from the three valleys of
Tarbes and crossing the central part of the range, lead one into the
Sobrarbe and the track described in the last division of this chapter.
The valley of Arreau has an eastern fork following the Louron at the head
of which are further high passes, all in the neighbourhood of 8000 feet,
which lead one into the Posets group and the eastern end of Sobrarbe. Of
these the most interesting is the port of Aiguestoites, which is that
upon which one comes by error if one misses the Col de Gistain on the
northern way from Bielsa to Venasque.
The Cirques—the great semicircles of precipices—which have always been
remarked as distinctive of the Pyrenees, are crowded in this region. The
Cirque de Gavarnie is the most famous, and therefore, in our time at
least, impossible for a man who really wants to wander. You cannot be
alone there; but the Cirque of Troumouse is not hackneyed and should be
seen once at least. You may reach it by taking the road up from Luz to
Gavarnie, and following it as far as Jedre. Here the Gave branches, you
go up the zigzag of the road, past the church of Jedre, and take the path
which leaves the highway to the left and follows up the eastern Gave,
or Gave de Heas on its left bank. The path crosses that stream 2 miles
further on and follows up the right bank to the little hamlet of Heas
(which gives the torrent its name). It continues getting less distinct
past the chapel of Heas; you turn a corner of a rock and find yourself in
this huge, bare, deserted circle of precipices with the Pic de Gerbats at
the left end of it, the Pic of Gabediou at the east end, and in the midst
the highest point, the Pic d’Arrouye, which just misses 10,000 feet.
The path continued will take you up past some cabanes over the little
glacier, and across that steep and very difficult ridge down into the
Spanish valley of Pinède—which ends up, of course, in Bielsa.
But for these ramifications of their higher ravines, the three valleys
of Tarbes are the least suitable for a man travelling on foot; of the
three, however, the Val d’Aure will afford the most variety and the most
isolation.
If, for any reason, one of these three valleys is chosen for a short
holiday, Tarbes—where there is a good hotel, The Ambassadeurs—is the
centre from which one should start and to which one should return; it
faces right at the mountains, it is the most truly Pyrenean town of all
the plain, and it is full of excellent entertainment. From Tarbes also
start the three lines which take you up each valley, to Argelès, to
Bagnères de Bigorre, and to Arreau.
_Luchon_
The valley of Luchon stands by itself as a separate division of the
Pyrenees. It has character altogether its own, formed both by political
accidents, which separate it from its twin valley of the Upper
Garonne—the Val d’Aran—and by its physical conformation which thrusts
the level floor of it up further into the hills than any other of the
Pyrenean gorges. It is indeed made by nature to be one of the great
international roads of Europe and to lead into Spain, for it resembles
in many ways the trench running from Oloron southwards along which the
main Roman road, and the main modern road find their way into Aragon.
The valley of Luchon would undoubtedly have formed the platform for such
a road had not two accidents interfered with that destiny: the first,
the great height of the ridge at the end of this particular valley; the
second, the lack of open country to the south.
The Roman road from Oloron over the Somport finds a wide plain and an
ancient city at Jaca, within a day’s journey of the central summit. But
the valley of the Esera (which is the Spanish valley corresponding to
that of Luchon) is a good three days’ travel in length before it gets one
out of the hills, and the first town of the plains on the Spanish side
(the modern symbol of whose importance is the presence of the railway)
is Barbastro 60 miles in a straight line from the watershed, and not far
short of 90 following the turns of the mule path and lower down the road
which reaches it.
But for these accidents the way through Luchon would undoubtedly be the
great avenue from Toulouse to Saragossa, and even as it is the pass over
the ridge here (called the Port de Venasque) is the most trodden and the
clearest of all the passes, other than those followed by direct highways.
The valley of Luchon is the very centre of the mountain system, for it
lies just east of that division between the two halves of the mountains,
the eastern and the western chains. It is a frontier also between two
types of scenery and two kinds of travel. It is the last of the deep
flat valleys running north and south, which are, so far eastward, the
characteristic of the chain. Immediately beyond it, to the east, begins a
combination of hills of which St. Girons is the capital, and into which
still further east penetrate the much larger valleys of the Ariège and of
the Tet.
The Thermal Springs of Luchon, and a chance popularity which made it the
wealthiest holiday place in all the mountains, have now fixed it as a
sort of central spot which sums up all travel in the Pyrenees. For nearly
a century it has had the character, which continually increases in it, of
great luxury, and of a colony, as it were, of the main towns of Europe.
But, for reasons which I mention when I come to speak of inns and hotels
in these mountains, it is in some way saved from the odiousness which
most cosmopolitan holiday places radiate around them like an evil smell.
The influence of Paris is in some part responsible for better manners and
greater dignity than such tourist places usually show.
The little town is very old; it is probably the site of the Baths which
were mentioned as the most famous of the Pyrenean waters as early as the
first century, and which certainly stood in this country of Comminges.
For Luchon is the modern centre of the Comminges, and the Comminges is
first historical district of the Pyrenees west of the old Roman province.
For a man travelling on foot in the Pyrenees the chief value of Luchon
lies in its being the only rail-head which lies close against the highest
peaks. Here one can have one’s letters sent and one’s luggage, and to
this place one can always return from the wildest parts of the Sobrarbe,
or of Catalonia, which lie on either hand just to the south-west and
south-east. It is also the best place in the whole range in which to
change English money.
The valley, though it has great historical interest (and everybody who
has the leisure should see St. Bertrand at the mouth of it), has, like
those valleys to the west of it which have just been mentioned, little
to arrest a man on foot, except in its last high reach. The ridge which
runs north for 12 miles beyond Luchon and lies west of the railway, is
high and densely wooded; but it is not good camping ground and it leads
nowhere, while that to the east, less steep and not quite so densely
wooded, has but one large field for camping, the forest of Marignac;
and even in Marignac there is nothing but the wood to attract one. Once
through the wood one is back again upon a high road and the valley of the
Garonne.
Above Luchon, however, there spread out a number of valleys which are
worthy of exploration in themselves, and one of which is the main way
over into Spain. For this last we must continue the high road (which
follows up the Pique, the river that waters all the Luchon district)
until one comes, at the end of the causeway, to the hotel that was
formerly a hospice, and is still called by that name. From this point
a steep path takes one 3000 feet right up to the main ridge and to the
little notch in the rock which is called the Port de Venasque. The path,
though not so clear, is equally easy on the other side, bringing one
down into the valley of the Esera and to the town of Venasque in the
Sobrarbe. The whole way from Luchon to Venasque, counting this steep
ridge, is one day’s easy going. There is no way across the central range
more simple or less difficult (though it is high), and it has very fine
views; as one crosses the summit one has right before one culminating
peaks of the Pyrenees, the group of the Maladetta.
Just to the east of the Port de Venasque (which is about 8000 feet
high—to be accurate, 7930) is the Pic de Sauvegarde, a path which
is almost a road leads up to it; one pays a toll; it is a sort of
Piccadilly. The one purpose of the climb is to see from the summit a very
good all-round view of the high peaks, which crowd round this turning
point in the chain.
A less frequented valley, but one quite sufficiently frequented, is that
of the Lys, which one turns into out of the main road by going off to the
right; about 2½ miles after leaving Luchon, a carriage road, 4 miles in
length, takes one up through the woods at Lys to an inn; thence forward
in the lovely valley and the half circle of peaks above, there is country
wild enough for every one, but no good camping ground.
A further experiment for the man on foot, and one in which he will be
more dependent upon himself and less in fear of invasion, is that of
the Val Dastan, by which, and the high Port d’Oo, one can get down to
Venasque. For this valley one goes up the new lateral road from Luchon as
though one were going into the Val d’Aure and to Arreau. One may leave
the road at any point after St. Aventin to follow the stream below, but
it is best to go on to a village called Gari, which is somewhat more than
5 miles from Luchon. At Gari is a road going south along a valley; you
follow that valley still going southward, till the road comes to an end
in the neighbourhood of a wood which bars the upper end of the vale. A
path, however, continues the line of the road, makes its way through the
wood, and at the upper end of it you come out upon a fine lake. There is
an inn to the south of this lake, and if you will go on a little north
of the inn along the shores of the lake you will find very good camping
ground. Indeed, it is wise to camp over-night on this side of the range,
for the climb up from Luchon is fatiguing, and the country of a sort
inviting one to rest and look about one.
Rejoining the path it passes between two small lakes, just after leaving
the wood, and climbs up the torrent past the little tarn called the Lac
Glacé, immediately above which is the Port d’Oo. This port is a very
high one, it falls little short of 9000 feet, and it is not more than
a depression in the ridge around. On the further side a steep scramble
marked by no path, gets one down into the valley beneath the Posets, and
this valley is the same as that which I have described as lying to the
east of the Col de Gistain and leading to the Bridge of Cuberre, and
so to Venasque. It is a long and difficult way round to that town from
Luchon by the Port d’Oo, but it is the wildest and therefore the best
excursion one can make in the circuit of these hills.
I should mention before I leave this district that curious plain, Des
Etangs “Of the Lakes,” where is the Trou du Toro, a small circular pond.
The main source of the Garonne lies high up as befits the dignity of
such a river in among the very noblest peaks of the Pyrenees; it springs
from the eastern point of the Maladetta, flows down in a torrent to this
plain “Of the Lakes,” plunges into the little pond, and there wholly
disappears! It reappears 2000 feet down at the Goueil de Jeou, on the
northern side of the mountains, having burrowed right under the main
range, and so runs down to Las Bordas. Sceptics to whom all in these
bewitched mountains is abhorrent, from the realities of Lourdes to the
legends of Charlemagne, annoyed by this miraculous action on the part of
the Garonne, poured heavy dyes into the Trou du Toro, and then went and
watched anxiously at Goueil de Jeou to see the coloured stream emerge;
but the Garonne was too dignified to oblige them, and the water came
out limpid and pure; as for the dye, it has stuck somewhere underground
in the hills, and is colouring rocks that will never be seen until the
consummation of all things at the end of the world.
[Illustration: THE TARBES VALLEYS & LUCHON]
V. ANDORRA AND THE CATALAN VALLEYS
[Illustration]
One may consider together Andorra in the Spanish valley of the Segre, the
upper valley of the Noguera Pallaresa and Val d’Aran, for the journey
through Andorra down to Seo, thence up out of the valley of the Segre
into that of the Noguera, and so over to the Upper Garonne, makes one
round, in which one covers one whole district of the Pyrenees, all
Catalan.
There are two ways by which the curious country of Andorra can be reached
from the north; both ultimately depend upon the valley of the Ariège.
The first shortest and most difficult way is by the vale of the Aston,
a tributary of the Ariège which comes down a lateral valley and falls
in near the railway station of Cabanes as the line from Foix to Ax; the
second and easier way is by climbing to the sources of the Ariège itself,
the main river, and over the Embalire.
As to the first—all the spreading rocky valleys which combine to feed
the river Aston, form together a district of the very best for those who
propose to explore but one corner of the Pyrenees during a short holiday.
Even if such a traveller be unable or do not choose to force one of the
entries into Andorra, he will have found on the Aston a country in which
a man may camp and fish and climb anywhere, with a sense of liberty quite
unknown in this kingdom. Here are half a dozen or more little lakes, deep
forests, occasional cabanes, good shelter, good bits of rock for such as
like the risk, and outlines and distances of the most astonishing kind,
and no landlords. Of the many high valleys I have seen in the world,
there is none less earthly than the last high reaches of the torrent
which runs between the Pic de la Cabillere and the Pic de la Coumette,
and which is the chief source of the Aston. The whole basin of this river
includes six main streams, and, of course, many smaller torrents feeding
these and the names of the peaks alone discover their desertion and the
mixture of fear and attraction which they have had for the shepherds
of these highland places. You may spend a week or a month or a whole
summer in the neighbourhood and never come on this enchanted pocket which
is bounded on the frontier by the high ridge running from the “silver
fountain,” the Fontargente, with its high peak and chain of lakes.
The Aston has at its sources, cutting them off from Spain, a ridge of
8000 to 9000 feet, it is a ridge the passes of which are but slight
notches between the higher rocks.
The ways into Andorra across this ridge from the Upper Aston are as
numerous as these notches are, and nearly every notch can be climbed with
knowledge and patience, but the only parts where something of a track
exists are the Fontargente on the east, and the Peyregrils on the west.
It is easy enough to fail at either, and there is therefore merit and
sport enough in succeeding at either.
For the Peyregrils you must start from Cabanes and follow up the main
stream of the Aston, by a clear path through the forest, taking with
you the 1/100,000 map as a guide. A little after a point where a bridge
is thrown over the river (called the Bridge of Coidenes), the two main
streams of the Aston meet, one is seen flowing down from the south-east
by the wooded gorge before one as one climbs, the other comes in cascades
down a steep gully, pointing directly north and south. It is this gully
which must be taken for the Peyregrils. One goes up over a steep rock
still in the thick of the wood. On the far side of it one comes out into
open grass country, and has one’s first sight of the main range. The path
comes down again to the stream, having turned the cascade, crosses the
stream and flows along its right or eastern bank between the water and
a range of cliffs which are those of the Pic du Col de Gas. About a mile
from this crossing of the stream, as one goes on southward with a little
west in one’s direction, one comes to a side torrent falling in from the
left; the path crosses this torrent, and still continues up the right
bank of the main stream. It is a difficult point—for the path appears to
bifurcate, and by taking the left-hand branch, as I did four years ago,
one may lose oneself in the empty valley under the Cabillere and be cut
off for two days as I was, or for ever, as I was not. It is by making
these easy mistakes that men do get cut off, and you may be certain that
people who are found dead in the mountains under small precipices, are
not, as the newspapers say, killed by some accident, but by exhaustion.
They have wandered in a mist, or have been lost in some other fashion,
until privation so weakens them that they no longer have a foothold; and
in general, the great danger of mountains is not a danger of falling, but
of getting cut off from men. Here, as in many other difficulties of this
kind, your compass will save you; for if you find you are going more and
more to the east, you are on the wrong path. The right one goes south by
west along the left bank of the stream. There is a broad jasse or pasture
which one traverses in all its length, one crosses another torrent coming
in from a rocky gorge upon the left, the torrent and the path together
turn more and more westward until one’s general direction is due west,
and at last one comes up against steep cliffs which are those of the
Etang Blanc.
Thence, the way is plain, for the stream receives no further affluents
and there is therefore no ambiguity of direction. The path follows the
stream round a corner of rock whence one can see a tarn called the
Etang de Soulauet, lying immediately under the watershed, and from that
tarn the traveller goes straight up for 500 yards or so over the crest,
straight down the steep further side, and finds at the bottom of the
valley the stream called Rialb: such is the passage called the Peyregrils.
Once one is down on the banks of the Rialb, one has but to follow the
trail which runs along the bank of that stream, cross it, reach the
hamlet of Serrat, and so follow the broadening water to the little town
of Ordino; four miles beyond is Andorra the Old. The whole distance from
the pass to Andorra is somewhat over 12 miles, counting all the windings
of the way. On this, as on so many crossings of the Pyrenees, the
difficulty is wholly on the French side, once on the Spanish the broader
valleys lead one without difficulty down one’s way.
The other entry into Andorra from the valley of the Aston, that by the
Fontargente, is managed thus:—
When the Aston divides just after the bridge, one takes the south-eastern
fork, one crosses the bridge and finds a clear path going up the right
bank of the main stream of the Aston through a wood. Four miles on this
path brings one out of the wood, and for another 4 miles it goes on still
following the same side of the stream in a direction which is at first
east of south, and at last curls round due south. There is a bridge or
two crossing to the other side, but one must not take them. One must
keep close to the eastern or right bank of the Aston all the way until
one comes to a place difficult to recognize, and yet the recognition of
which is immediately essential to success. It is a jasse rather narrow
and small, lying between a rocky ridge upon the left or east and a line
of cliffs upon the right or west. Here are a few cabanes, and even if one
has missed the place on first coming to it, it can be recognized from
the fact, that, at the further end of this jasse, the two sources of the
Aston meet in almost one straight line, making with the main stream one
has been following, a shape like the letter “T.”
The path branches and takes either valley or arm of the “T”; it is that
to the _left_ or east down which one must turn—the one to the right or
west leads nowhere but to the impassable cliffs and precipices of the
Passade and the Cabillere. The eastern or right-hand path then must be
followed in a direction just south of east for exactly 1 mile, during
all of which it keeps to the north of the stream. At the end of that
mile it crosses the stream, turns gradually round a high lump of rocky
hill, going first south, then in a few yards south-west until it comes,
at about a mile from the place where it crossed, upon the large tarn or
small lake of Fontargente, “The Silver Water.” The port lies in view just
above the lake not 500 yards off. Once over it, it is the same story as
the Peyregrils, a trail following running water which leads one through
the upper villages to Canillo, the first town, to Encamps, the second
one, and so down to Andorra the Old. The distance from the main range to
Andorra by this trail is 2 or 3 miles greater than by the Peyregrils.
These are the two difficult and mountain ways of making Andorra from the
north.
The easier and much the commoner way is to approach it from the upper
waters of the Ariège.
One takes the main road from Ax to Hospitalet up which there is a public
carriage or “diligence”; it is as well to go on foot, for one will
get to Hospitalet before the diligence if one starts at the dawn of a
summer’s day, and it is important to get there early as there is no good
sleeping place between the French side and the town of Andorra itself.
At Hospitalet the main track for Andorra runs down in a few feet to the
torrent of the Ariège, crosses it, and follows its left bank. It goes
over the frontier which is here an artificial line, and though you are
still on the French side of the range, you are politically in Andorra,
upon this deserted grassy slope which forms the left bank of the Ariège.
At the second torrent which comes down this slope into the river—or
rather the second stream, for they are quite small—the telegraph wire,
which has hitherto followed the path, will be seen going over to the
right, up a somewhat steep side valley. This is at a point about 4
miles from Hospitalet. You have but to follow that line if it is fine
weather, and you will come right over the ridge and down on to the
Spanish side of the Andorran hamlet, Saldeu. If it is misty on the
heights you will almost certainly lose the line, and possibly your life
as well. Nevertheless the crossing can be made even in bad weather by
going somewhat further south to the point called the Port d’Embalire.
To find this needs a certain care. Note with your compass the trend of
the Ariège; it curves round more and more as you follow it, and when it
begins to point _due south_ (which it does after a perceptible bend)
you may note a fairly plain track coming down from the opposite side
of the valley: it comes down and strikes the Ariège at a spot almost
exactly 2 miles from the place where the line of the telegraph left the
stream. Here opposite the road turn sharp up away from the Ariège (which
is now but a tiny brook) and go _due west_ by your compass right up the
mountain, which is here nothing but a steep grassy slope, and you will
strike the Embalire.
It is one of the few crossings which can be made in any weather, because
you will find upon that slope, a little way up, the beginnings of a made
road; that road was never completed. It has never been metalled, but
it is culverted and graded, and is as good a guide as the best highway
in the Pyrenees could be. Probably it never will be finished, for the
Andorrans are opposed to an easy entry into their country; but so long
as its platform remains, one can never lose one’s way upon the Port
d’Embalire. The further side is a steep and easy descent over a sort
of down, and one finds Saldeu by this longer route about 4 miles from
the summit. Whether one has followed the telegraph line or come over by
the Embalire, the two tracks join at Saldeu, and the rest of the way
is identical with that which you will come to by Fontargente, that is,
through Canillo and Encamps to Andorra the Old.
Easy as the way is, however, it should be remembered that it is a long
day from Ax, for counting every turning, it is not far short of 30 miles,
and more than half of that is uphill. Ax stands at about 2000 to 2400
feet (according to the part of the steep town one measures from) and the
summit of the Embalire is almost exactly 8000 feet. There is no break in
the rise from one to the other.
The interest of Andorra lies in its survival, and the recognition it
receives of being an Independent European State. All these enclosed
valleys of the Pyrenees led a more or less independent life for
centuries; from a decline of the Roman power until the union of Aragon
and Castille on the Spanish side, and on the French side in some places,
up to the Revolution itself, they boasted their own customs and could
plead their own law.
The violent quarrel between Madrid and Aragon, in which the independence
of Aragon was fiercely destroyed, affected the greater part of the
Spanish valleys, and killed their independence; but it did not attack the
Catalan valleys—of which Andorra was the most secluded and remote, and
therefore Andorra survives.
One may study in Andorra what all these valleys were in the long period
of local and natural growths between the very slow death of the Roman
bureaucracy, and the rapid rise of the modern. The French, through the
Prefect of the Ariège (as representing the Crown of France, which in its
turn inherited from the county of Foix) claim a partial control over the
Andorrans who pay to the Government in Paris £40 a year in fealty. The
Spaniards have a hold on it through the Bishop of Urgel, who is not only
their Ordinary but also their Civil Suzerain: he gets only £18 a year
from the embattled farmers.
The Andorrans have all the vices and virtues of democracy clearly
apparent. They are very well-to-do, a little hard, avaricious, courteous,
fond of smuggling, and jealous of interference. Also in Andorra itself
one great shop supplies their external needs, and conducts all their
international exchanges. Catalan, a provincial dialect in Spain, is here
the national language. They are divided, as are all Catholics, into
Clericals and Anti-Clericals, the Clericals making, I believe, a working
majority, and there is not among them, so far as one can see, a poor man
or an oppressed one.
From Andorra the Old, a good open path leads through the narrow gates of
the country, down on to the valley of the Segre, and so to Seo de Urgel.
* * * * *
Though it is but a few hours’ walk from Andorra to Urgel, it is as well
to pass the remainder of the day and the night at Urgel, especially if
it is the first Spanish town you have seen, as it is the first for many
people who cross the mountains at this place. You will certainly find
nothing more Spanish along the whole range. This lump of a town with
its narrow oriental streets was the pivot of the Christian advance into
Catalonia. The Carolingian armies came pouring through that easiest of
the passes, the Cerdagne, enfranchised Urgel, first of all the Mozarabic
Bishoprics, and may be said to have refounded its Christian existence.
For some reason difficult to discover Urgel fossilized quite early in the
Middle Ages. No line of travel, no road linked up the long valley of the
Segre, the armies and the embassies of the French knew nothing of Lerida,
and it is characteristic of Urgel to-day that even to-day there should be
no great road beyond it up the valley.
From Urgel your road back into France through the upper valley of the
Noguera Pallaresa, and the Val d’Aran is difficult to discover in its
earlier part, unmistakable in the high mountains; which is the reverse of
the rule usual in other crossings of the hills.
You must go down the high road which runs south of Urgel until you come,
in something over a mile, to Ciudad, which is that hill-pile of white
houses, once fortified, which rises over against the Cathedral city.
There you must ask the way to Castellbo, which is two or three hours away
up a torrent bed, and you must go up this torrent bed by way of a road.
If you start early from Urgel you will be at Castellbo well before noon,
and the hospitality of the place is so great that you will wish to stay
there. There is only one drawback to eating at Castellbo which is that
you have after it to make a passage of the mountains which, though here
not very high, well wooded and fairly inhabitated, do not bring you to
proper food and shelter until you have gone close on 20 miles and have
reached Llavorsi in the further valley of the Noguera; and so, if you
stop to eat your mid-day meal at Castellbo, it is quite on the cards
that you will have to camp out in the hills and that you will not make
Llavorsi until noon of the following day; for the col in between, though
it is very easy, is higher above the sea than the Somport.
From Castellbo you have but to ask for the village of St. Croz, which
is perched upon a height just up the same valley, but from there to the
port the way is difficult to find for the very reason that there are no
_physical_ difficulties. It is all one long ridge of wooded grass like a
down, with rather higher peaks to the right and to the left and with more
than one indication of a path several directions. A good rule, however,
for finding the exact place where you should cross, is to make for a spot
due north-west from the village of St. Croz, and this spot is further
distinguished by the fact that it is on the whole lowest upon the whole
saddle. It is a mile and a quarter or a mile and a half from the village,
and as you go to it over the easy grass you get a superb vision of the
Sierra del Cadi barring your view of Catalonia and standing up against
you much higher than ever it seemed from the floor of the Cerdagne. No
hills in Europe look so marvellously high.
As the saddle of this port, which is called the port of St. John, is so
long and easy it might seem indifferent at what point one crossed it;
it is on the contrary very important to get the _exact_ place and for
this reason, that on the further or north-western side of it there is a
profound ravine densely wooded, if one does not make the _exact_ spot one
has no path through this wood. That means hours of delay and one may very
well come out upon the right instead of the left bank of the ravine; in
which case in order to find the trail for Llavorsi at the bottom of the
valley one may have a precipitous descent into the ravine and a bad climb
out of it on the other side. Look, therefore, carefully for the path
which begins to be clearly marked the moment the saddle is crossed, and
follow down it until you come to a steep rock which overhangs the main
stream at the bottom of the valley. This main stream is the Magdalena and
runs not quite 2000 feet below the summit of the port. The trail is very
distinct when once one has reached the valley; small villages are passed;
it climbs up on the left bank to avoid a precipitous place and comes down
to the water again at a place where the Magdalena falls into the main
stream of the Noguera.
Here you must descend to the floor of the valley and take the road
which is being made and which will in a few years form another great
international highway up the valley of the Noguera. The road runs all
the way on the left or eastern bank of the stream, which is broad and
rapid and confined by very high steep hills upon either side. Three miles
from the place where the path descended to the junction of the Magdalena
and the Noguera, you will find another large river coming in. The road
crosses by a wooden cantilever bridge where one pays a toll (I think of
½d.), and once across one is in the unpleasing village of Llavorsi.
The valley opens somewhat and is called Anéu, having on the left the
exceedingly rugged and tangled chain of the Encantados, a wilderness
of rocky peaks and lakes—and on the right a clear ridge which cuts off
this country-side from the Val Cardos and the Val Farreira, both wild
districts at whose summits is a bit of country as lonely as the Upper
Aston.
All the way from Llavorsi up this Anéu valley the new road runs. I
have not visited it for four years, and by this time it must be nearly
finished, at any rate it is perfectly straight going and in all between
10 and 12 miles, with the exceedingly filthy village of Escaló about
half-way.
It is not easy to give advice about sleeping in this walk from Urgel to
Esterri. The distance between the two towns in a straight line is less
than thirty miles, but the perpetual turning of the path makes it quite
forty by the time one has reached Esterri, and what with the casting
about for the right crossing on the port and the height of that crossing,
it is too much for anyone to try and do in one day. Even if one were to
sleep at Castellbo it would not mend matters much, for Castellbo is but
a sixth of the distance, if that, and I would not recommend sleeping at
Llavorsi. I have said that if one ate at Castellbo in the morning, it
would mean camping out in the woods below the port of St. John and this
is perhaps the best plan after all: to leave Urgel on the morning of
one day, to camp in the deep woods above the Magdalena and to sleep at
Esterri, on the night of the second day. There is a good inn at Esterri,
where everything is comfortable and clean, and the whole place is more
civilized than any other town or village in the Pallars.
The next day you will go over the Pass of Bonaigo into the Val d’Aran,
unless you prefer the much less amusing walk by the new road up over
the Port de Salau to St. Girons. It is less amusing because it gets you
into France almost at once, whereas the walk into the Val d’Aran keeps
you in Spain and shows you a very interesting geographical and political
accident of the Pyrenees.
The town of the Val d’Aran is called Viella, and it lies 20 miles west by
north of Esterri, between the two there is no obstacle but a high grassy
saddle called the Port of Bonaigo the summit of which is exactly 3283
feet above the floor of the Noguera at Esterri, and the interest of which
lies in this, that it stands right upon the junction of that “fault”
which was mentioned in the first division of this book.
The Bonaigo is the exact centre of the Pyrenean system. On your left as
you cross it, to the south that is, is the Saburedo, which is the last
peak of the western branch. To your right upon the north the hills lift
up to the Pic de l’Homme, which is the terminal peak of the eastern
branch, and the ridge uniting these two branches runs in a serpentine
fashion north and south with the saddle of the Bonaigo for its lowest
point.
You will reach the summit, going easy from Esterri, in about three hours,
and thence you will see, if the weather is clear, the distant snow of the
Maladetta to the west, and in the vale at your feet, the first trickling
of the Garonne. For by the twist the watershed here takes, you are
crossing geographically from Spain into France, though the valley of the
Garonne before you is still politically Spanish. The descent upon the Val
d’Aran is somewhat steeper than the ascent from the Noguera, a path of
sorts begins at the foot of it, and runs down the Garonne to the first
hamlet, the name of which is Salardú. At Arties, a road begins, and 5
miles further on you come to Viella and to rest.
In Viella there is nothing but oddity to note: the oddity of a French
valley governed by Spain. You are quite cut off, you will hear no news,
and the only sign that you are on the north of the mountains will be the
great and excellently engineered road leading down the Garonne from
gorge to gorge and reaching at last the French frontier at a narrow
gate where is the “King’s Bridge.” Some miles further on is the French
railway-head at Marignac. An omnibus starts in the early morning from
Viella at whatever hour it pleases and gets down to the French railway
in time for the mid-day train, but whether you take it or walk down on
foot, you had better stop at Bosost, not half-way down, and there take
the whittle woodland road westward over the frontier by a very low gap
called the Portillon and so saunter into Bagnères de Luchon, the noisy
and wealthy capital of luxury. To come into Luchon suddenly after such a
journey is as sharp a change as you can experience perhaps in all Europe.
Do not forget before you reach Bosost to look up the gully which comes in
from the left at a place called Las Bordas, some six or seven miles from
Viella. This gully is that of the true Garonne, the fork of the river
which we saw having such strange adventures rising on the wrong side of
the main watershed of the mountains, burrowing right through them in a
tunnel and coming out upon the northern side; surely the only river in
the world which behaves in such a fashion.
The walk which I have just described will have shown you most thoroughly
all the wild north-western corner of Catalonia, and have taught you
Andorra as well. Whether you take Cabanes for your starting place,
entering Andorra by the difficult passes of the Aston, or whether you
take Ax for your starting place and enter by the easy pass of Embalire,
you will not make the whole round to Luchon in the best weather under six
days, and indeed a man who has but a week in which to begin to learn the
Pyrenees, might very well choose this little square of them for his first
introduction.
[Illustration: THE CATALAN VALLEYS & ANDORRA]
VI. CERDAGNE
[Illustration]
The Cerdagne forms a district quite separate from the rest of the
Pyrenees. Its scenery differs from that of the rest of the range,
its facilities for travel, its politics, everything in the place is
different; and though both valleys are Catalan, it is well not to include
in the same summary a description of the Cerdagne and a description of
the Roussillon.
The Cerdagne is the only broad valley in the Pyrenees, and it is a broad
valley held in by walls of high mountains. All the other trenches which
nature has cut into the range, are, without exception, profound and
narrow. They expand occasionally into enclosed circles of flat land, the
floors of ancient lakes, with a circle of steep banks all around, first
wooded, then rocky, and reaching almost to Heaven. But these solemn
circuses of secluded land, held in by narrow gates at either end, and
small compared with the rocks around them, have a totally different
effect upon the mind from those produced by such a landscape as the
Cerdagne. You here have a whole country-side as broad as a small English
county might be, full of fields, and large enough to take abreast a whole
series of market towns. This is the sort of plain, which, were it bounded
by hills, rather low like our English downs, would seem a little country
by itself: a place large enough to make up one of our European divisions,
like the counties of England, or the minor provinces of France. A broad
river valley, such as decides a score of places scattered over Western
Europe, here binds many households all united historically and defines a
corporate condition for a fixed community of men.
This picture is framed in two great lines of hills roughly parallel to
each other, and the effect when one comes upon it out of the last of the
narrow valleys, may be compared to the effect upon a child’s mind when he
first sees the sea.
In order to perceive the full contrast of this exception in the Pyrenean
group, it is best to approach it from the west; whether you are coming on
foot over the foothills of the Carlitte groups down on to Mont Louis or
Targasonne, or whether you are coming by the high road over the pass of
Porté, there comes a point in your journey where, after so many gorges
and narrow cliffs, the hills here suddenly cease at your feet and you see
the whole sweep of the Cerdagne as broad as a field of corn; you will
have seen nothing like it all your way from the first foot hills of the
Basque and the shores of the Atlantic.
On the eastern side, beyond the plain, you see the long ridge which
is among the highest of the Pyrenees, and which stands steeply out of
the flat. It stretches, as it were, indefinitely away into Spain and
was called for centuries by the Mohammedans, and still is, the Sierra
del Cadi. At its feet are a group of villages and towns, Saillagouse,
Odeillo, Bourg Madame, Puigcerdá (with its curious little isolated
hill), Angoustrine, Palau, Osseja, Nahija, Err, and Caldegas, and that
fascinating territory Llivia, which stands enclosed, making a little
island of Spanish territory in the midst of French.
The structure of the Cerdagne explains its history. It is a slightly
sloping shelf upon the Spanish side of the watershed, but the watershed
here is not as it is everywhere else a steep ridge with rocks, it is
a large imperceptible flat which, for the first few miles upon the
northern side, slopes quite gently down towards the valley of the Tet,
and on the south side slopes still more gently and easily away towards
Spain. The Segre, the last and largest tributary of the Ebro, rises
in this gentle plain in innumerable rivulets, which joins innumerable
other rivulets at Llivia, and then receives the river of Val Carol, the
river of Angoustrine, and the little river of Flavanara below Puigcerdá.
There is in the whole extent of this plain no natural feature to form a
frontier, and (as its upper waters form the only approach to the province
of Roussillon) Mazarin, when the treaty of the Pyrenees submitted the
Roussillon to the French Crown, claimed as a sort of right of way, the
upper stretch of this wide plain.
The negotiations were not difficult, the frontier was drawn just so as
to give the French Government everywhere the road down the Val Carol
and up by Mont Louis to Perpignan. It was not the frontier between two
civilizations or languages, the few square miles of the French Cerdagne,
which is geographically Spanish, are Spanish also, Catalan Spanish,
in customs, hours, architecture, and even cooking. It is Spanish in
everything save the functions of government; and here you see just what
differences government can and cannot make in a country-side. Government,
where it exists against the will of the governed, effects nothing;
but here there is no such friction, and you may compare the contented
Cerdagne, which takes its orders from Paris, with the contented Cerdagne
that takes them from Barcelona and Madrid. The subtle effect of the
contrast is sufficiently striking; it is seen in the type of roadway,
the paving of courtyards, in clocks that keep time upon one side and not
upon the other, and in a certain hardness, which French assurance breeds,
and which the Spanish ease avoids. It is a good plan as one enters the
Cerdagne to take the by-road which leads straight across the plain from
Urgel to Saillagouse. This by-road, when you have pursued it for about a
mile, enters the isolated Spanish district of Llivia, and when you reach
that town you find yourself in Spain, although all the villages round
you in a circle are French villages. You have the Spanish delay, the
Spanish tenacity, and the Spanish disorder. On coming out of it again,
and immediately over the stream on the first village, the influence of
the distant prefecture and of a strong hand upon the local community is
apparent.
The Cerdagne has one bad drawback that, for all its beauty and wealth,
its entertainment is bad. There is not, I think, one good inn in the
whole of it, and at Saillagouse, where the exterior looks most promising,
the people are so hard-hearted that there is no comfort to be found under
their roofs. If you are thinking of food, the best place perhaps for your
head-quarters is the little village of La Tour Carol. But if you are
thinking of sights, your best head-quarters is the town of Puigcerdá,
just beyond the Spanish frontier, 3 miles or so from Latour.
Puigcerdá is the capital of the Cerdagne, and there the people gather as
to a fair. It was the capital of the Cerdagne long before the people knew
or cared whether they were governed from the north or from the south.
One and a half miles away, over the river in French territory, the tiny
hamlet of Hix marks the place where the old capital was before Puigcerdá
was founded and ousted it in the early Middle Ages. From many points in
Puigcerdá, from the terrace in front of the Town Hall, from the northern
end of one of its streets, but especially from its church tower, you
take in one view the whole of the Cerdagne. As one gazes upon that view,
one should remember that this was the principal highway of organized
Christendom against the Mohammedan, and through this went Charlemagne and
his son.
The Carolingian tradition is nowhere stronger, strong as it is throughout
the Pyrenees, than in this fruitful plain. The very mountains perpetuate
it with the name Carlitte, and the valley of Carol and the popular songs
perpetuate it also. It was this broad floor, full of provisions and free
from ambuscade that allowed Christendom to dominate Catalonia, and render
free the country of Barcelona, first of all Spanish territory, from the
weight of unchristian government. It is the Cerdagne, therefore, to
which we owe the later segregation of the Catalonians from the rest of
Spain, their forgetfulness of warfare, their active commercial unrest,
their modern submission to Jews, their great wealth. The Cerdagne should
possess a great road throughout, for it is all of one type and all of one
valley. By some historical accident it is not yet (I believe) so served
throughout. After Puigcerdá there is a good new road all the way to
Urgel. Another from Puigcerdá turns out of the valley of the Segre and
runs off south and east to Barcelona. Certainly Urgel—that town we spoke
of in connexion with Andorra—every one travelling in this part should
see: Seo, the “Bishopric,” the “See”; a sort of Bastion first thrown out
against the Mohammedans by Charlemagne. It is more intensely Spanish
perhaps than any other large town in these hills, and that because it
has long been so thoroughly cut off from communication with the north.
Here also you can find good hospitality. The people are kind, and local
travellers are common. Urgel is, however, more easily approached from
Andorra than from Puigcerdá. And upon that account I dealt with it in
connexion with the little republic.
[Illustration: THE CERDAGNE]
VII. THE TET AND ARIÈGE
[Illustration]
The valley of the Ariège is a basis for going either southward into
Andorra by the tributary valley of the Aston or westward into Roussillon
around the flanks of the Carlitte. Of the former journey I have spoken
in connexion with Catalonia. The latter takes one into the valley of
the Tet, and so to the Canigou which is the principal mountain of that
valley. The high road up the Ariège and over the Puymorens Pass into
the Cerdagne and so into the Roussillon does not concern us here. It
is designed for travel upon wheels. For going on foot the district is
concerned with the Carlitte and the Canigou.
If one means to spend some time in the big group of the Carlitte, one’s
head-quarters must be Porté, the little village just over the Puymorens
Pass. It is from here that the ascent of the highest peak is made and
from here the fishermen start for the lakes that surround that peak. If,
then, one proposes to spend some days camping in the mountain and going
nowhere in particular, it is from Porté that one must start, as the
nearest point to the summits. On the other hand, nothing can be bought
at Porté nor for miles around, and if one ascends the mountain from Ax,
though the distance is greater, one is more in touch with provisions.
The Carlitte group is remarkable for the number of lakes, some quite
large, which are to be found in the hollows just under its highest
ridges. On the north is the large Lake of Noguille with the two little
tarns of Rou and Torte just above it on one side; on the other, two
little tarns lie under the Pic d’Ariel. The main lake is 6000 feet above
the sea, not far short of a mile long, 500 or 600 yards across, and very
little visited. On the south of the highest ridge and to the east of the
summit of the Carlitte, just above Porté, lies the still larger lake of
Lamoux. A good mile and a half in length, but narrower than its twin upon
the north. Besides these two is the little group of lakes at the source
of the Tet, another group at the sources of the Ariège, and another of
half a dozen and more just under the eastern cliffs of the Carlitte which
feed the big marsh of the Puillouse.
Unfortunately all this district, which is so wild and open for travel,
and so full of good fishing, has but few camping grounds. The forest
on the east of the Carlitte is one of the largest in the Pyrenees, and
one may camp anywhere within it; but for a lake as well as wood one can
find but four spots: one, the Camporeils; the other, the little pond
just above Langles; the third, a whole group of lakes a mile south and a
little west of the marsh of Puillouse. It is by these last that one will
do well to camp if one is making one’s way over the mountain eastward to
Mont Louis, for they are within 5 miles of that town, and just beyond it
is the valley of the Tet. The best camping ground in the neighbourhood of
Ax is the fourth spot, at the northern end of the lake of Noguille. Here
the lake, the stream flowing from it, and the wood are all close together
and as good a camping ground as any in these mountains can be chosen.
The way to reach this is to leave Ax by the western road which branches
off from the great national road and runs up the valley of the Oriège to
Orgeix. Beyond this little village of Orgeix is another little village,
Orleu, and beyond that again at the head of the high road and not quite
5 miles from Ax is the point where you must turn off for the lake. It is
not easy to find because the whole distance is very similar for miles. I
will describe the way as best I can.
After the road leaves Orleu you have upon the left very precipitous
steeps, rising to a height of some 6000 feet (or more than 3000 above the
dale) covered with a forest which comes down very nearly to the road. On
the right is a stream, and beyond it another belt of wood, less steep,
with bare and high rocks above. Somewhat over an English mile, from the
Church of Orleu, a path leaves the road to the right and crosses the
stream, taking its way upwards through the opposing wood; this path
will lead you to the lake, but it is not the best way. The best way is
to go on further, somewhat over half a mile to a group of huts called
“The Forges.” Here you will see on the other side of the stream a valley
running towards you from the mountain and coming from due south as you
look up it. The valley, or rather ravine, is that of the torrent called
Gnoles, and this is the gully you must follow. It falls into the Oriège
just by the forges. You must go some yards beyond this junction of the
streams and a path will be seen going right off at a right angle to the
road and making for the gulley opposite. It crosses the Oriège at once,
crosses the torrent almost immediately after, climbs up the steep on its
left bank, crosses again on its right bank, and thence keeps on due south
between the rocks and the stream, through the wood, until, at a point the
height of which I cannot discover but well over 2000 feet above the road,
it comes out suddenly upon the lake.
Here is the best camping ground within a reasonable distance of
provisions and succour, and yet quite remote enough for a hermit. Here
with the aid of the 1/100,000 map, one may wander and take one’s luck in
the whole of this district of high peaks, rocks, and tarns, which stretch
every way for 8 or 10 miles around.
If one’s object is to make one’s way into the valley of the Tet, instead
of spending one’s time in the mountains, the direction is straight and
the way apparently easy, but it contains one difficult passage.
Your business is to make from Ax to the village of Formiguères, which is
politically in the Roussillon, and lies south-east by a trifle east from
Ax, and, as the crow flies, barely more than 15 miles away. You will,
however, hardly get there under 20 miles of going, and it is unlikely
that you will do it in one day.
The first part of the road is plain enough. You follow up the valley of
the Oriège, as though you were going to the lake of which I have spoken,
but instead of crossing over at the forges and going south towards the
lake, you go straight on up the valley. Your path is not always distinct,
but your main direction is to stick to the Oriège as it gets smaller and
smaller in the high valley, and to look out for a path which runs along
that stream on its left or southern bank.
For about 4 miles from the Forges you continue climbing up the high
valley of the Oriège, which is wooded upon either slope, until you come
to a place where the wood recedes upon either side (though there is wood
in front of you), and the path crosses the torrent to the opposite or
right bank. It is here that the difficulty of the way begins.
The path, you will notice by your compass, is at this point going due
south, for the Oriège has curled round in that direction. Five hundred
yards in front of you is a wood for which it makes. Now, if you were
to pursue the path through that wood you would go clean out of your
way, and either get tangled up in the rocks that overhang the sources
of the Oriège, or get down into the marshy sources of the Tet. Neither
of these districts are what you want. When you get to the edge of the
wood, which, as I say, is about 500 yards from the point where the path
crosses the stream, you must turn sharp to your left and go due east up a
little watercourse, which here runs down beside the trees. As you do this
facing due east, and looking up this watercourse you will see before you
a ridge like any other of the Pyrenees, with peaks upon it. This ridge
is the watershed between the County of Foix and the Roussillon, and is
to-day the frontier of the department of the Eastern Pyrenees, which is
the modern representative of that ancient province. The ridge is plain
enough, but to cross it is not so simple a task as it looks. You must not
attempt to go across it by the depression which lies immediately before
you between two peaks. It _can_ be done, but the chances are you will
lose your way in the great forest upon the further side. The right way is
to go on due eastward up the stream until you are right under the ridge,
from which point you must bear to your left up the bank which encloses
the gully upon that northern side. You will notice two peaks of rock at
the point where this bank branches from the main ridge. You must so bear
up that you leave them both to your right, and turning round the base of
that one which lies furthest west of the two, you will see (when you are
round the base and over the bank) a saddle just east of you and about 600
or 700 feet below the rocky peaks in question. This is the _Porteille_;
you will go across it, come into the dense wood on the other side, and
there the path follows running water all the way throughout what soon
becomes a profound gorge, until you reach open country and a few small
buildings 3 miles further down; though the open country, it is true, is
only a small stretch of meadow between the wood and the river (a stream
called the Galbe). The way is clear between the wood and stream for 2
miles more to the hamlet of Espousouille. There you must leave your path
and take one which branches straight off to the right, goes down to the
stream, crosses it, rises through the wood beyond, and in less than a
mile from Espousouille, brings you into the considerable village of
Formiguères.
I have already said that you would not easily manage this crossing in a
day, even in fine weather. The Porteille is over 7000 feet high, and you
may quite possibly lose your way for an hour or two in the difficult bit,
but luckily there is no difficulty about camping. There is good camping
ground with wood and water in every part of the journey, except the last
mile of the steep going over the ridge. And you have only to choose where
you will pass the night.
This is the shortest cut by far from the County of Foix into the
Roussillon. If you are going down into the Cerdagne a great national
road takes you from Formiguères to Mont Louis, and the distance is
about 9 miles, but if you are going down into the valley of the Tet in
order to climb in the Canigou you must make for Olette, for that cuts
off a corner. Olette is just under 10 miles in a straight line from
Formiguères, but the county road which joins them has to cross a pass and
is full of windings, so that the whole distance, even if you take short
cuts to cut off the long turns, is more like 14 miles. The pass, which
is nearer 6000 than 7000 feet high, is 1200 feet above Formiguères,
and stands just opposite that town in full view, the summit of it about
2 miles away to the south-east, but there is no need to describe the
road, as it is an ordinary carriageway from the one place to the other.
At Olette you are on the Tet, about 5 miles from the old rail-head at
Villefranche (the new rail-head is at Bourg Madame on the Frontier).
[Illustration: THE ARIÈGE & TET VALLEYS]
VIII. THE CANIGOU
[Illustration]
The Canigou, whichever way one looks at it, is a separate district and
must be separately approached and separately travelled in. It stands
apart from the rest of the range, it has a different character, and
travel in it is of a different sort from other Pyrenean travel. It is
not only physically cut off from the rest of the Pyrenees, indeed, its
physical isolation has been a good deal exaggerated by people who have
looked up to it from the plain and have not carefully noted its plan; it
is rather morally cut off by the way in which it dominates one particular
province and one famous plain to the exclusion of every other peak; so
that when you are going through the Roussillon, especially along the
sea coast, the only thing you can think of is the Canigou, which seems
to be as much the lonely spirit of the district, as Etna does of the
sea east of Sicily, or as Vesuvius does of the Bay of Naples. It will
perhaps sound surprising or unlikely to those of my readers who know the
Pyrenees, when I say that the Canigou is not physically isolated from
the chain, it is indeed less isolated in its way than is the Pic du Midi
de Bigorre, or even the Pic du Midi d’Ossau, for it is connected with
the south by a high ridge which one can hardly ever see at full length
from the plain, and which is, I think, only clearly observable from
the frontier heights south of Arles upon the Tech. How thorough is the
connexion, however, what follows will show.
The Canigou is somewhat over 9000 feet in height, to be accurate 9135,
yet it is but the terminal point _and not the highest point_ in a long
ridge which runs south-westward to the frontier at the Roque Couloum. It
next forms that frontier for 15 or 20 miles, and is then continued past
the Port de Col Toses into Spain, where it forms the magnificent wall of
the Sierra del Cadi.
A man without heart or vision would see in the Canigou nothing but the
last northern point of that long range, but the political accident which
makes the Roussillon French, the cross chain which springs from the Pic
de Couloun and runs to the Mediterranean, and above all the aspect of
the mountains from the civilized wealthy plain to the north and east
(where the connecting ridge cannot be seen), and its false appearance of
isolation when one observes it from the sea, all make of the Canigou one
of the most individual mountains in Europe.
There are, as I have said, many heights in its own ridge, further to the
south and west, which surpass it. The Donyais is within a few feet of it,
the Enfer or Gous and the Pic du Géant next door, above the valley of
the Tet, are higher; the Puigmal just on the watershed is much higher.
The summit of the Canigou is but 1500 or 1600 feet above the crest
of the ridge in its own immediate neighbourhood, and even the lowest
point in that ridge (the Col de Boucacers) is not 2000 feet below it.
Nevertheless, it produces, as I have said, an effect of unity and of
isolation, and there is not only the illusion of its outline as seen from
the north and east, but also the fact that the mountain spreads out in a
fan of ridges from its summit to the lowlands all around, and stands upon
a broad expanded base, more or less circular in shape, spreading from the
Tech upon the south to the Tet upon the east, north, and west.
The Canigou is not a mountain that gives one any climbing to speak of,
or that affords any problems or difficulties. There is even, nowadays, a
carriage road most of the way up on the northern side, but it is the best
place for camping and changing camp that you can find anywhere. All the
flanks of it are covered with a series of dense woods; they form a belt
2 or 3 miles deep (in places nearly 5) and running almost continuously
round the whole mountain, a circuit of at least 30 miles. Your choice for
halting and camping places in these woods is infinite, there is water
everywhere and you are nowhere too far from provisions. If you will
take the road from Villefranche up to Vernet you will, at that village,
be near the steepest side of the mountain and a wood which everywhere
affords excellent camping ground. By following up the path to Casteil
and taking the track which leads south and east from that hamlet, you
are at the inhabited point nearest to its summit, and you have wood and
water up to the last mile in distance, or the last 2000 feet in height;
but remember, if you wish to make for the summit by this trail, that you
must always bear to the right as you walk, choosing always the right-hand
trail when there is a diversion, and coming out on the south side of that
ridge which has the summit at one end and the Peak de Quazémi at the
other. On the open part of this steep bit there is a definitely marked
path which follows the left bank of the stream until it is right under
the last rocks of the Canigou and then makes straight up by zigzags. If
you would go the easier way which everybody takes, you must start from
Prades, which is the town of the mountain, and in which anyone will show
you the house where the local agent of the French Alpine Club is ready
with information.
Your road goes through Taurinya (or if you start from Villefranche,
through Fillols), and the new carriage road runs up the ridge between the
two valleys—the valley of the Fillols and the valley of Taurinya—first
over open country, then through wood until you come to quite the upper
part of the Taurinya, where the road turns round the steep corner
overhanging the sources of the torrent. This particular wood is called
the wood of Balatag, a word that is not so hard to pronounce in Catalan
as in French, for the Catalans add an “e” at the end of it.
The road does not go to the actual summit, but comes out on to the
shoulder of the mountains, an open space looking to the north,
north-west and east, where stands the hotel which has been put up by the
French Alpine Club. This hotel is not quite 2000 feet below the highest
summit which lies exactly to the south of it. The other summit to the
north-east, the ridge of which comes round behind the hotel, is the Pic
Puigdarbet. You must allow five or six hours to get to the hotel without
haste from the valley of the Tet, and the road is somewhat shorter if
you start from Villefranche, than if you start from Prades, but of the
two ways, much the more interesting for a man on foot is the old way by
Casteil and the Brook Cady which I first described. Here you can camp
half-way up the mountain without fear of disturbance from travellers,
choosing, for preference, the end of the wood just under the summit, and
so make that summit at dawn.
Unless you are in a hurry to get on to Perpignan, one of the best ways of
treating the Canigou is to go across it from the valley of the Tet into
the valley of the Tech, and from Arles on the Tech to take the railway
through Ceret and Elne to Perpignan.
It is of course a long way round, but it shows you both sides of the
mountain.
You could hardly get right across the main ridge from the hotel; but you
can take the path that goes round the northern flank of the mountain,
that is, through the wood that clothes the buttresses of the Pic
Bargebit, and that comes out in the valley of the Dalmanya, a torrent
running down north-eastwards from the summit. If you are afraid of losing
your way you can go down into the village of Dalmanya and up thence by
a clear path from the church of the village to the iron mines under the
Col de Cirere; from that col there is a very winding high road (of which
of course you can cut off most of the turnings) which gets you down to
Corsady and so to Arles. On the southern side of the mountain you can go
down the path which follows the Brook of Cady, and do your best to note
the Peak of the Thirteen Winds which is the peak precisely due south of
the main summit and 3000 feet from it at the end of the long ridge. When
you have made quite certain which is the Peak of the Thirteen Winds,
cross the brook, and work up if you can to the saddle immediately
south-west of it, and between it and the Pic de Routat, which is a trifle
lower and rises a thousand yards to the south-west of the Peak of the
Thirteen Winds.
This col is called the Portaillet, and the valley on the further side
is called “The Old or Abandoned Pass.” When you have got across you
will know why. A wood covers its lower part, and a little brook called
the Cambret runs through it, but there is no regular path, and it is a
business to find the first huts, which are at an open space upon the
stream between it and the wood, and quite 4000 feet below the col.
The descent is exceedingly steep, and there I leave it.
From these huts (which are called St. Duillem) is a good plain path down
to the Tech, and to the little hamlet which has the same name as the
river (Le Tech) whence the national high road takes one in 6 miles to
Arles, the more usual crossing (which is not really a crossing of the
mountains at all, but a crossing of the ridge to the south of it) is by
the Pla de Guillem, so called because it does not go near Guillem, and
this way is as plain as a pike-staff. You take the road from Villefranche
to Fuilla, which is not quite 3 miles off, first up the Tet, then to the
left southwards up a lateral valley, you follow that lateral valley and
the high road up it from Fuilla to Py, rather more than 5 miles on, and
southward all the way from Py a path goes south-west up the right bank
of a torrent which comes in there. The track is quite clear and carries
you up to the sources of the stream, and to the saddle in the final ridge
which is called the Pla de Guillem. It is a steep climb of nearly 4000 in
rather more than 4 miles. Py at the junction of the streams is just over
3200 feet above the sea. The pass is about 7000.
On the further side also the track is quite plain, pointing down due
south-east through a little wood and then over the open country. It takes
you down to Prats de Mollo, a jolly little town, the last on the great
national road and the highest in the Tech valley. Above it the national
road becomes the local road leading to the baths and waters.
So late as the Revolutionary Wars Mollo was of importance and may
be again, for the Spanish armies could come over (but not with guns)
from the other Mollo, which lies beyond the frontier 7 or 8 miles off
south-east, over the Col of Arras. Mollo is a little lower than Py, but
the descent upon it is far less steep than was the ascent upon Py. From
Mollo it is somewhat more than 10 miles to Arles by the national road
down the valley.
* * * * *
The Canigou is so particular a thing that if a man has but little time
before him, or if he already knows the other Pyrenees—he might do worse
than go to Perpignan and spend a week upon that mountain. It should be
remembered that you have a better chance of fine weather there than in
any other part of the Pyrenees, and you will usually have dryer days upon
the Tech side than upon the Tet side.
With these eight divisions I have roughly covered the chain of the
Pyrenees for those who may, like myself, think that all travel on
these mountains should be on foot. It is, of course, but a very rough
and general survey, but it would give one, all taken together, a
comprehensive knowledge of the chain. My limits have necessarily excluded
very many valleys, some of which are unknown to me, such as the valley
of Isaba. Among those which I have not dealt with should be considered
especially the Ribagorza, which is the boundary between the Aragonese
and the Catalan tongues, and runs parallel to Pallars or the valley of
Esterri, and can be reached from the valley with some difficulty by
Espot and the high Portaron above it, or much more easily from Viella in
the Val d’Aran, by the high Port de Viella, which leads straight into
the Ribagorza and down to Bono. There are also entrances in and out of
Andorra, of which I did not speak, notably the Porte Blanche, which you
make from Porta in the Val Carol, a mile or two south of Porté. This
way involves two cols, one very high one, the Porte Blanche, another
lower one immediately after, the Port de Vallcivera. It is, however,
the shortest way from a French high road to Andorra the Old. There is
another way in and out of Andorra, very little used, by the Col de la
Boella from Ordino to the Val Farrera. All the Basque valleys besides
those I mention, and notably that of the Isaba, are places that should be
known, and of the passages over the range, which I have not dealt with in
detail, one, the road from St. Girons to Esterri by the Port de Salau,
will soon be an international highway. It presents no difficulties and no
very considerable interest. But if the traveller finds himself by some
accident in St. Girons with but a day or two in which to see Spain, here
is a very easy way of getting over into what is still one of the remotest
parts of that country.
[Illustration: THE CANIGOU]
VII
INNS OF THE PYRENEES
[Illustration]
There is nothing more necessary to the knowledge of a district if one
desires to enjoy travel in it, than to have some directions upon its
inns. I cannot pretend in what follows to give any complete list of
the inns which the traveller will find in the Pyrenees, but I will try
to do what the guide-books do not do, and that is to indicate what an
Englishman, especially one on foot, may expect in the different valleys.
The foreign guide-books rarely do this well: the Scotch and English
guide-books never; for the general phrases which they use about inns
and hotels leave one as full of doubt and terror as though nothing had
been said about them, and they always fail to speak good or evil of the
_people_, the _cooking_, and _the wine_—which are the three main things
one wants to hear about.
First then, as to the difference between the Spanish and the French side.
Though the Basques are one race upon either side of the frontier, and
the Catalans also, yet a single rule governs the whole length of the
chain, which is that French cooking and French hours are to be found to
the north of the political frontier, and Spanish to the south. This is a
matter in which the difference of Government has, in the course of some
generations of travel, produced a very marked effect. The Val d’Aran,
for instance, is geographically and racially French. Its river is the
Upper Garonne, there is no obstacle between it and the French plain, but
only one good descending road to unite them both; yet your experiences of
an inn in the Val d’Aran will in general resemble your experiences of an
inn beyond the mountains in the purely Spanish valley of the Noguera.
Similarly the neighbourhood of Saillagouse and all the French Cerdagne
is geographically and racially Spanish, the river running through it is
the Upper Segre (a tributary of the Ebro), and one road with no obstacle
at the frontier, unites the French to the Spanish portion of the valley,
yet the hours, habits, cooking, and everything in the inns of the
French Cerdagne are French, in those of the Spanish Cerdagne, Spanish;
and generally you must be prepared, when you cross the frontier, for a
different kind of hospitality.
The French rule of an inn is probably well known to all who will read
this. The coffee in the morning, the first meal at or a little before
mid-day, the second at six or seven at the latest, and so forth. In Spain
they will give you chocolate for your first meal. Your mid-day meal will
be at the same hour as the French, but your last meal much later: eight
is a usual hour. In France, if you ask for food at an odd time it will be
prepared for you; in Spain also but only with incredible delays, and you
find universally upon the southern side of the frontier, this difference
from the French that the table d’hôte or common meal is prepared only for
a fixed number of guests. Newcomers, even if they reach the place two
hours before the hour of the supper, have it separately cooked for them,
and will suffer a corresponding delay. Here is a national custom which
nothing can change, and which is as old as the hills. It was even once
universally the habit to have a separate little cooking pot for every
guest, and in certain inns that habit is still continued. It is in the
last degree inconvenient, and when one has pushed on to the end of some
very long day, to shelter and food, it is exasperating. One sees the
local people who have done nothing, eat a hearty meal; and one waits an
hour or two hours before one is served with a crust. But you can no more
change it than you can change any other national habit, and you must be
prepared for it on the Spanish side wherever you go. All the details of
the cooking are different too; notably these: that for some reason or
other, the Spaniard is careless of his oil, or perhaps prefers oil to
have a taste of carelessness about it: in places of rancidity. His wine
is quite different from the wine of the French. It comes up to him from
the hard plains of the Ebro; it has been kept in wine skins and tastes of
them. As a rule drink water with, or better still after, Spanish wine.
The French wine in these hills (save in the Roussillon) comes from the
plains of the Garonne, and has been kept in wood. It has the taste with
which we are familiar in this country; the Spanish wine has a roughness,
a strength, and a memory of goat’s skin, with which, until he comes to
Spain, no northern man can have any acquaintance at all.
It must not be imagined that Spanish accommodation is cheaper than
French; comfort for comfort, it is, if anything, a little dearer. But the
Pyrenees are cheap everywhere, save in one or two watering-places. Nearly
every inn upon either side, however small, can furnish you with a guide,
but not every inn with mules, and still less can you depend upon a horse
or a carriage, even in places which stand upon the few great highways. If
you must hire mules, you will always be able to find one in the village
where the inn stands, but, for some reason connected with their local
economics, the people of the inn are sometimes actively opposed and often
indifferent to your hiring one, and if they tell you that there is no
mule to be had (which is their way of opposing you) you must then saunter
out and bargain for one with some rival, but remember that you can always
get one: all these mountains are covered with herds and droves of mules.
Yet mules are expensive, from 1000 to 2000 francs to buy, or even more;
from 30 to 50 francs per day to hire, with the man who accompanies you.
Remember also, if you have a choice where to hire, that they are better
by far upon the Spanish than upon the French side. As for horses and
carriages, I will, when I speak of particular inns, mention the few
places where I know they can be hired.
A further difference between the French and Spanish side is that, on the
whole, an inn upon the Spanish side is less likely to be clean. This does
not mean that they are generally uncleanly, very far from it; the houses
of the whole of the Basque country on either side are excellently kept,
and this is generally true of Catalonia also, but the little hamlets, in
the highest valleys which are doubtful upon both sides, are usually worse
upon the southern. In every case, of course, you must ask the price of
rooms, they expect it, and it is best to ask the price of meals as well.
If you do not bargain in this manner, they think of you as of some one
who is deliberately throwing money away and they very naturally hasten
to pick it up. I remember one meal in the very unsatisfactory town or
village of Llavorsi, which was as unsatisfactory as the place itself, and
for which a violent Catalonian woman would have charged us the prices of
Paris because we did not bargain beforehand, and this, note you, in a
place where no one ever comes, which is on the road to nowhere, and which
does not see tourists perhaps, or even travellers, once in six months.
In every valley there is some one inn which, if you are wise, you will
choose, and which it is worth one’s while modifying one’s plans to visit.
I will set down those which I know, beginning as I have done throughout
this book, at the western end of the chain, and following it to the east.
In the Baztan, a Basque word for tail, for the valley resembles in shape
the tail of a rat, though the other _Bas_tans in the Pyrenees, out of
the Basque countries, derive their name from the Arabic word for garden,
Elizondo should be your halting-place. Here there are two hotels, one
old and one new, the old one in the very middle of the town on the high
road, the new one a little to the north, just off the high road. This
new hotel is kept by one Jarégui, and in the chief feature of all good
hotels (I mean the courtesy and zeal of the management) it is far the
best, not only in Elizondo, but in the whole valley. If you should wander
on to Pamplona, I can give no advice, but it is a large town where a
man may have pretty well what he wants according to the price he pays.
My own experience of it is of lodging in small eating-houses, not in a
regular hotel, but I understand that the Perla and the Europa are the
two best hotels, and of these two, people, as one travels, single out
the Europa. On the road from Pamplona to Roncesvalles, there is no good
stopping-place. At Erro, as I have said above, there is but one inn and
that a very bad one. Burguete is, however, a very pleasant village, and
the Hotel des Postes is praised by those who have stopped there. Unless
one is caught by night, or in some other way impeded, it is unwise to
eat or to sleep at Val Carlos, the contrast between French and Spanish
methods is nowhere more violent whether in the matter of cooking, or
of delay, or of wine, or of any other thing, than at this corner of
the frontier; but it is to be remembered that if you need a horse and
carriage you can always have it at Val Carlos for going on into France,
and at St. Jean Pied-de-Port you are in the best halting-place for the
valley of the Nive and the whole Labourd, just as Elizondo is the best
halting-place for the Baztan. St. Jean Pied-de-Port is large enough and
frequented enough to have some choice of hotels. You had much better
go to the best, which is the Central. The reason it will be worth your
while to do this is, that though it is the best hotel in a town to which
many rich people come, it is as cheap as it is good. It will always have
a carriage for you if you want it, it has a garage, and it is the best
centre from which to start upon any of the roads around; and if you
should be coming from the north and going south there is a public service
from this hotel through the pass as far as Pamplona.
In the next valley, that of the Soule (the river of which is the Saison,
and the chief town Mauléon) let Tardets be your head-quarters. It has one
of the most delightful inns in all the mountains, remarkable among other
things for having various names, like a Greek goddess. Sometimes it is
called the “Voyageurs,” sometimes the “Hotel des Pyrenees,” and it is
entered under the arcade of the north-west corner of the market square.
There you may dine in a sort of glass room or terrace overlooking the
river, and every one will treat you well. It is, I say, one of those
places that would make one hesitate to go on further into the hills the
same day, but if one does, one will find the unique inn at St. Engrace,
which I have already mentioned, one of the best that the smaller villages
have; it must always be remembered, of course, that these upland hamlets
give one nothing but their own fare, and usually a bedroom that is
reached through some other, but the beds here are good and the cooking
plain. This is the first house in the village on the right as you come
in, and as in Elizondo, Jarégui is the name. Remember that they have
various sorts of wine, and ask for their best, for even their best costs
very little, and their worst is not so good. In the valley between
Tardets and St. Engrace, before you leave the main road, you pass by the
hotel of Licq, “Hotel des Tourists.” Licq itself you leave to the right
beyond the river, but this hotel is built upon the high road. Here is a
good place for one meal, though there is no point in sleeping there, yet
if one is caught by some accident, one will find it comfortable enough; a
little bothersome in pressing one to take guides.
The next valley, the Val d’Aspe, and its prolongation on the Spanish
side, the Val d’Aragon, contain many inns, the more important of which
should be known before one approaches them.
In Oloron itself, there are two good hotels of which the Voyageurs
is perhaps the best, and there is, of course, every opportunity, in
such a town, of hiring horses and carriages. There is also, it must be
remembered, a public service twice a day up the pass as far as Urdos, not
expensive but very slow: no rail yet. It will be possible also at Oloron
to hire a pair of horses and a carriage if one wants one for several days
to go into Spain and back by way of the Val d’Assau.
There is no occasion to stop, whatever be your mode of travel, between
Oloron and Bédous, but should you take up your head-quarters at Bédous
(which, it will be remembered, is in the midst of the enclosed plain
which characterizes this valley), make the Hotel de la Paix your
head-quarters. You will be best treated there, and it is the best centre
for information upon the surrounding mountains. Accous is slightly
larger than Bédous, but it is off the road and therefore less used to
travellers; also it is less comfortable. So if you stop in this plain at
all, stop at Bédous.
Your next point will be Urdos, there is nothing of consequence between.
Urdos, having been, for so many centuries between Roman civilization
and our own, the end of the proper road over this chief pass and the
jumping-off place for the mule tracks and for Spain, has many inns for
its size—(it is no more than a hamlet)—but of these I will unhesitatingly
recommend the _Voyageurs_, which is one of the last houses on the left of
the village, having at the south end of it over the road a jolly little
terrace where one dines. The drawback of Urdos is that one _may_ get
bitten, and speaking of this the sovereign remedy is camphor, or rather
I should say, the sovereign preventive, for all animals that bite hate
the smell of camphor. But for that little drawback, Urdos is delightful
and nothing is pleasanter in Urdos than the Hotel de Voyageurs, also if
you go to this hotel you are following the line of least resistance, for
it is in some mysterious way related to the man who drives the coach.
Remember that Urdos is accustomed to every form of halt, and though it
is difficult to buy things there, there is a barn for motors—and also, I
believe, relays of horses for carriages.
Your next village on this main international road is Canfranc in Spain.
It is just over 14 miles off with nothing but a refuge and the pass of
the Somport between. The hotel is the Hotel Sisas, from which a public
coach starts for Jaca daily, still, I believe; the cooking is doubtful,
the wine so-so, and the people are a little spoilt, but they are very
ready with horses and used to hiring them, and you can always hire a
carriage or get a relay for Jaca, which is 16 miles further down by a
road with no steep hills, and for the most part nearly flat. At Jaca the
hotel (which I have already spoken of) is the Hotel Mur; it is excellent
in every way, clean, cheerful, and not too simple in its customs, with
various wines, and a knowledge of more than the Castilian tongue. The
mention of this leads me to add to what I said above that the language
stops very suddenly at this central frontier, or at least south of it.
There will be people who will understand Spanish almost anywhere in Béarn
because the local dialects are Spanish in character, but the common
French of Paris means nothing to the people of Aragon and Sobrarbe; you
may be in quite a big place and find no one for a long time who will
understand you, while in the small hotels and inns right up against the
frontier, they do not follow a word of the language.
Of the inns of Biescas I cannot speak from experience, nor of those of
Panticosa, though they say that the only useful one in Biescas is the
Hotel Chauces, while Panticosa has any number of places with such names
as “Continental” and “Grand,” and masses of lodgings as well, among which
I imagine the only choice is to take the best; nothing is really dear
there, except in the month between the middle of July and the middle of
August. Of Sallent, however, I can speak. There is but one inn in the
place; it has many names but is best known by the name of the man who
owns it, and his name is Bergua. It is an astonishing mixture. The owner
is wealthy and good natured, but you do not hear the truth about things
for it is coloured by self interest. The place is clean, but slow even
beyond the ordinary of a Spanish inn. The cooking is neither one thing
nor another, the wine is not bad. It is a place where you may spend one
night, but not two. You will leave it without enthusiasm, and without
regret.
Next, following the itineraries I have given, comes Gabas, and here is
as pleasant an inn as you will find in the whole world, it is called the
Hotel des Pyrenees, and of the several hotels it is the dearest. The
family of Baylou keep it and have inherited this soil for generations.
It is an ancestor of theirs that planted the delightful Mail outside and
set up the charming little fountain there. They are used in this house to
every sort of gentlemanly habit, they pay no attention to the clothes in
which one comes, and they understand all those who love to wander in the
hills. Everything is clean and good about the place, they will give one
well-cooked food in many courses at any hour. There is but one criticism
to make and that is in the matter of horses and carriages; these are
dear, and the good and the bad cost the same money, for there is here a
monopoly of the valley, and if you do not take their vehicle, you must
walk to the rail-head, 8 miles lower down. Also if for some reason you
must drive or get a relay of horses, the longer notice you give the
better, for there are few animals to be had.
Further down the valley is Eaux Chaudes, a dreary place, incredible from
the fact that it was here that much of the Heptameron was written! If
a man must stop there, let him; of the sad gloomy barracks, take the
largest and the dearest, which is the Hotel de France. Laruns, at the
foot of the valley, where again you are unlikely to stop, but where you
may be caught, has the Hotel des Touristes, where also horses and a
carriage may be hired, and whence the omnibus goes to Eaux Chaudes and to
Eaux Bonnes. This last place, like Panticosa, is a place one can make no
choice in, it is crowded with the rich, and where the rich have spoilt
things, the only rule I know is to plunge and take the dearest—which
is the Hotel des Princes—if you will not do that you must choose for
yourself.
The next valley, that of the Gave de Pau, has in it four towns, Lourdes,
Argelès, Cauterets, and Luz. Lourdes, like all cosmopolitan towns, is
detestable in its accommodation, and to make it the more detestable there
is that admixture of the supernatural which is invariably accompanied by
detestable earthly adjuncts. Were it not so the world would be perfect:
but it is so, and honestly one cannot say that any one hotel at Lourdes
is better than another, only here again if one is compelled to stop
for a night, one cannot do better than the best which is nominally the
Angleterre. Avoid the hotels that have Holy names to them, they are
usually frauds. If you go to Lourdes as a pilgrim, prefer the religious
houses (which take in travellers). If the Angleterre is too dear for you,
the Hotel de Toulouse is not to be despised; it should take you in at 25
to 35 francs a day. Argelès, up the valley, is a very different place,
it is a little hurt by the neighbourhood of Lourdes, and by the stream
of travellers who pour up and down its main road to Cauterets and to
the sights of Gavarnie. Nevertheless it remains a French country town,
and the fairly dignified capital of a district. The Hotel de France is
excellent and, by the way (a thing always to be mentioned when one is
speaking of hotels in the Pyrenees), it is ready at any time to furnish
horses, and has, of course, a garage. At Luz stand two hotels facing each
other on either side of the road, I cannot remember the names, or rather
I cannot remember which is which, but anyhow take the one on the right of
the road as you look up the valley, or as you come up from the station,
that is, the one upon the western side. They are polite, and that makes
all the difference in one’s relations with people whom one does not often
meet.
Gavarnie, overrun as it is (and it is hideously overrun), has a very
tolerable hotel, clean, and not too dear. The reason is that the people
who come to the place usually go away on the same day, and that therefore
there is some anxiety to please those who stop. Another inn, up under
the mountain, is not so much to be recommended. Of Cauterets everything
can be said—and much more—that was said of Eaux Bonnes, you are at the
mercy of a place which the rich choose to have ruined, and apart from
their vulgarity you will have that noise which accompanies them in all
their doings, this sort of place in the Pyrenees is luckily not common,
and when it is tolerable is tolerable in proportion as it is national.
Cauterets is almost as international as Lourdes, and for anyone using
the Pyrenees as I use them in this book, it would be madness to stop
there. Bagnères-de-Bigorre is better, though it is something in the same
line. It is better because it has something of a past and a history, and
is, like Argelès, the chief town of its district. The Hotel de Paris
is the best, but it is very expensive, and I believe, though I do not
know, that the Hotel des Vignes in the Rue de Tarbes is good among the
moderate places. But the rule holds here, as everywhere, that where rich
people, especially cosmopolitans, colonials, nomads, and the rest, come
into a little place, they destroy most things except the things that
they themselves desire. And the things that they themselves desire are
execrable to the rest of mankind.
Arreau, in the next valley, merits a more particular attention. It is
thoroughly French, and here you will find side by side with the expensive
places (for even Arreau has its Hotel d’Angleterre which, however, to
tell the truth, is not ruinous) a most delightful little place called the
Hotel du Midi, where sensible people go. I am speaking on the testimony
of others, but on good testimony. It is a place smelt out by the
infallible nose of the French professional class. It has a garage, and
will tell you where to get carriages, though I believe it has nothing but
an omnibus of its own. It is—or was—really cheap and good. But for some
odd reason this excellent house charges you extra for your coffee.
Right high up this valley is Vielle where there is one hotel, the Hotel
Mendielle, this is the one you must ask for if you find yourself caught
here, and it is just the place at which one might be caught if one got
into the wrong valley from a col in the Sobrarbe, or, if, in coming up
the Gave, one had not made way enough by night; I know nothing for or
against this hotel, and I believe it to be the only one. The little
village of Aragnouet, which is at the very end of the road under the last
precipices, has an inn of the quality of which I know nothing.
The next valley is that of Bagnères-de-Luchon. Now it might be imagined,
seeing what rich places are in the way of hotels, that Bagnères-de-Luchon
(being by far the richest place in the Pyrenees) would be hopelessly the
worst, and that, as nothing good could be said about Cauterets, and as
there was precious little choice in Eaux Bonnes, Luchon would be a place
to despair of in the matter of hotels, but on the contrary it is a place
to discuss.
Even if Luchon were as detestable as the Riviera, one would have to
come to it because it is the knot and reservoir of all mountain travel.
The valley strikes so deep into the hills, brings the railway so near
their summits, and is so exactly situated at the “fault” spoken of
so frequently in this book (the break in the Pyrenean line where the
landscapes and peoples of the chain meet) that it is difficult not to
pass through Luchon at one time or another during any length of days
passed in these hills. Even if you make a vow to clear Luchon, you may
find yourself caught in any one of twenty surrounding barbarisms with a
bad foot or no money, and compelled to set a course for this harbour.
Moreover Luchon is by no means the vulgar place its riches ought to
make it. The fashion for it was first made by reasonable people, many
Spaniards come and help to give the place its tone, and perhaps the very
extremity of evil corrects itself, and Luchon, being so crammed with
wealthy people, knows its own vices better than places just a little
less rich, and it is therefore more tolerable. At any rate the problem
of sleeping at Luchon is easily solved in July and August because all
prices are pretty much the same, and you cannot depend upon the printed
prices at all. For pension it is otherwise. There are fixed prices and
they are not exorbitant for such a place. A very clean, decent, rich
hotel is the Hotel d’Angleterre, where, if you stop some days, they will
charge you, I believe, about 40 francs a day. There is a place for poorer
people called the Hotel de l’Europe; all its prices are cheaper, but it
has this drawback that you get nothing national. It is clean and there
is a roof over your head, but you get neither French comfort nor French
discomfort, and you are paying a little less for things a great deal
worse, notably in the matter of food. The bold who fear nothing will go
and stop at the village little inn called the Golden Lion, which is near
the old church and existed before wealthy Luchon was born or thought
of. Here the bold will consort with Muleteers and the populace in some
discomfort. One of the best uses to which one can put Luchon is to eat in
it, and for sleeping to go outside and camp in the woods: and the best
place for the passer-by to eat is the Café Arnative on the main street;
its cooking is very good indeed, and the wine really remarkable; it is
such good wine that one wonders why they give it away, and every year as
one returns to the place one fears it may have ceased, but it continues.
Speak to the manager in English for he knows and loves that tongue, or
in Spanish or in French. In the use of the hotels and restaurants of
Luchon, however—always excepting the Golden Lion—remember that they are
snobbish about clothes, and that even two days in the hills puts you
well below the standard which they can tolerate. I confess that when I
have had to use Luchon, I have depended upon clothes which were waiting
for me at the station; and it is not difficult to use Luchon as a sort
of half-way house in this matter, leading the right life in the western
mountains, coming down to Luchon to find one’s luggage, dressing up,
plunging into worldly pleasure at Luchon, sending one’s luggage off again
to Ax or Perpignan, and then taking to the eastern hills for another bout
of poverty.
In the Val d’Aran, next to the valley of Luchon, there is but one place
where one is likely to stay, and that is in the town of Viella, which
is the capital; for the Val d’Aran is a small place, and there is no
advantage in stopping anywhere else. The Posada Deo is that which I know
best and is good but of course Spanish; the cooking is a sort of mixture
of Spanish and French, but the time you have to wait for it and in the
manner in which it is given you is wholly Spanish. The wine also (oddly
enough!) is Spanish. It ought, on the Garonne, to be of the Garonne, but
the customs interfere.
The Catalan valley, south and east of the Val d’Aran, the valley of
Esterri, has, in that town, a good little hotel, the Hotel Pepe. The
people are thoroughly Catalan in their love of money and therefore you
must bargain. Whatever you do, do not stop at any of the other places
in the valley, it is even better to go through a storm than to risk
Llavorsi, or worse still Escaló, but on the far side of the hill and of
the port called St. John of the Elms there is a most delicious inn, with
an old innkeeper of the very best, at Castellbo.
To return to the French side; if you go by train to St. Girons you may
likely enough change at Boussens, the station has not (or had not) any
buffet, but there was (and I hope is) an hotel opposite it where people
travelling by train ate; the cooking here is the best in the whole of the
Pyrenees, which is saying a good deal. At St. Girons itself there is not
only good cooking, but the wine which Arthur Young admired, and which was
well worthy of his admiration. Do not go to the best hotel (which is the
hotel of the Princes and of the Alpine Club), but to the next cheapest
which is called the Hotel de France; at least I have found this last to
be excellent and cheaper for its quality of food and drink and repose
than any other in all this chain. These things change quickly, what was
true so short a time ago may not be true now; but so, at least, I found
it.
In the valley of the Ariège it is always well to make Ax your
sleeping-place, for Ax, though there are waters and though the baths make
the prosperity of the place, is a very pleasant little town and the right
beginning for the mountains, whether you are going by the main road into
the Roussillon, or up the Ariège in the Carlitte group, or again over
the main range into Andorra. At Ax there are two rival hotels, the Hotel
de France, and the Hotel Sicre. The latter is a little cheaper though
both are cheap, and while I know the second one best I should recommend
the first; it will take you in as cheaply as any, and seems the more
carefully kept; both have garages. The Hotel Sicre suffers somewhat from
being directly attached to its Thermal Baths. If you are going to explore
the wild country of the Upper Aston, you must start from Cabanes lower
down on the railway. There is no need to sleep there. The valley above
it has some of the best camping places in the Pyrenees. But it is worth
knowing the name of the hotel, which is “Du Midi.” The whole place is, of
course, quite small and cheap.
On the high road into Roussillon choose Porté, primitive as it is, and
avoid _Hospitalet_ (on the hither side of the pass of Puymorens) like the
plague. Hospitalet and the village just before it, Merens, are for some
reason or other quite spoilt; I fancy tourists come up so far as these
two without going over the pass which they find too much trouble, and
that their coming and going has spoilt the two places: at any rate they
are detestable. They overcharge you and treat you with contempt at the
same time.
Porté, though it is but a few miles further on, is quite different. Here
is one rude inn, as cheap as the grace of God, and kept by the most
honest people in the world; Michet by name. It is thoroughly Spanish in
character (for remember that Porté, though politically in France, is on
the Spanish side of the main range, and that the pass just above is on
the watershed); the animals live on the ground floor, the human beings
just above them. You will never regret to have slept at Porté.
As you go on into the plain of the Cerdagne you will find a good inn
at La Tour Carol: not exactly enthusiastic in their greeting of the
traveller, but polite. It is quite a little place of only half a thousand
inhabitants, and you cannot expect much from it, but it is better than
Saillagousse where they are most unwilling.
Up the road to France from Saillagousse, at Mont Louis, is a hotel of
which I can speak but little because my own experience of it was late on
a holiday night when everything was very full, but it is substantial, it
is cheap and I have heard it praised. It is called the Hotel de France,
and it is a starting-point for the omnibus down to the rail-head at
Villefranche in the valley above which rise the flanks of the Canigou.
On the Canigou itself, standing upon a platform a few hundred feet below
the summit facing the Mediterranean and one of the greatest views in this
world, there is now an inn which you must not despise though it does
happen to be somewhat tourist. It is only open for the end of June, July,
August, and September, though one can sleep there at other times of the
year if one asks at Prades for the housekeeper; he comes down to that
town through the winter and is known there.
In Perpignan (by the way) go to the chief hotel, for the hotels of that
plain can be very vile when they try. This hotel is called “The Grand”
and it stands on the quay of the smaller river just within the old
fortifications. There is a delightful little restaurant in Perpignan
called the Golden Lion, it is well to order what one wants some hours
beforehand, and to take their own recommendation about wine. Perpignan is
so twirled and knotted a town that I can give no directions for finding
that Golden Lion, where it lies in its little back alley called the Rue
des Cardeurs, save to tell you that it is but 200 yards from your hotel,
and that the Rue des Cardeurs is the second on the _left_ as you walk
away from the main front of the cathedral; or again, the _first_ on the
left after you have crossed the Place Gambetta. Anyhow, Perpignan is a
small place and anyone will show you where this eating-house is, and it
is a good one. Down the Cerdagne in Spain, at Seo de Urgel, there are two
or three hotels, and one of the second class called the Posada Universal
or Universal Inn which merits its name; you will do well to stop there
for it has a pleasant balcony overlooking the valley, with vines trained
about it; and the people look after you.
As to the inns of Andorra your best plan is to stop in the capital, that
is, in _Andorra The Old_ itself, where the Posada is called the Posada
_Calounes_, and is quite a little and simple place. The entry into
Andorra, however, is not always easy. If you make it from the north, mist
may delay you, even on the grassy Embalire Pass, and may keep you for
hours on the higher crossings of the range, even when it does not defeat
you altogether. You may therefore have no choice but to stop at one of
the little villages; but it is a poor fate, for they are full of bugs and
fleas and appalling cooking, though the people are kindly enough. The inn
at Encamps is the only one with which I am myself acquainted among these
smaller places; there also it is vile.
I have omitted so far to speak of the inns in the Sobrarbe. That of
Venasque is the largest and most used to travellers. Like all Spanish
inns the life of the people is upstairs and the life of the animals
below. It is clean and seems to be continually full of people, for there
is quite a traffic to and from this mountain town. The inn has no name in
particular that I know of, but you cannot miss it. Guide books call it
“Des Touristes,” but I never heard anyone in Venasque give it that name.
You have but to ask for the Posada, however, and anyone will show it you.
It is in the first street on the left out of the main street as you come
into the town. As to the cost of it, it is neither cheap nor dear; but
(as I have said is common to the Spanish inns) it is a little on the
side of dearness. A friend of mine with three companions and two mules
found himself let in for over £3 for one night’s hospitality; on the
other hand, I myself, some years after, with two companions, passed two
nights and the day between with everything that we wanted to eat, smoke,
and drink, and we came out for under £2. The mules perhaps consume.
In all Sobrarbe there are but the inns of Bielsa and Torla (I mean in all
the upper valleys which I have described) that can be approached without
fear, and in Bielsa, as in Venasque and in Torla, the little place has
but one. At Bielsa it is near the bridge and is kept by Pedro Perlos; I
have not slept in it but I believe it to be clean and good. El Plan has a
Posada called the Posada of the Sun (_del Sol_), but it is not praised;
nay, it is detested by those who speak from experience. The inn that
stands or stood at the lower part of the Val d’Arazas is said to be good;
that at Torla is not so much an inn as an old chief’s house or manor
called that of “Viu,” for that is the name of the family that owns it.
They treat travellers very well.
This is all that I know of the inns of the Pyrenees.
VIII
THE APPROACHES TO THE PYRENEES
A traveller from England, on considering his approach to the Pyrenees,
must first appreciate the road heads or starting-places whence his
travels to the Pyrenees may be made, and it is convenient to regard
that one to which access can be had by rail. These points are eleven
in number—St. Jean Pied-de-Port, Mauléon, Oloron, Laruns, Argelès,
Bagnères-de-Bigorre, Arreau, Bagnères-de-Luchon, St. Girons, Foix, and
Villefranche, which last is the highest point to which the rail will take
one from Perpignan.
One can get nearer the main range by light railways in certain places.
Thus from Mauléon a steam tramway will take one some miles nearer the
hills, to Tardets. From Lourdes the train goes up the valley several
miles, and light railways go to Cauterets and Luz, and from Foix there
is a considerable reach of rail, as far as Ax-les-Thermes, all up the
valley of the Ariège, from which lateral valleys on every side enter the
high mountains. Nevertheless, if one knows how to approach these eleven
stations, and something of the hours of arriving at them, the slight
extensions in the three cases named can easily be looked up, and there is
no need to burden these pages with them.
Of these eleven, the first four, St. Jean Pied-de-Port, Mauléon,
Oloron, and Laruns, belong to the western section of the range, and are
approached from Bordeaux. Another four, Arreau, Bagnères-de-Luchon, St.
Girons, and Foix belong to the central and eastern section of the range,
and are approached by way of Toulouse, while the two intermediate ones,
Lourdes (and its extension up the valley) and Bagnères-de-Bigorre, may,
according to the convenience of trains, be approached with equal facility
from either direction.
There remains Villefranche, the chief station under the Canigou, and the
centre for the extreme eastern end of the range. The approach to this
short and distant part of the Pyrenees is through Perpignan.
By whichever road one approaches the Pyrenees, and from whatever town
at their base one proposes to make the ascent of them, one leaves Paris
by the Orleans line, choosing for preference the great new station on
the Quai-d’Orsay, though if one is driving across Paris with no time
to spare, it is better to catch the train at the Austerlitz station
a mile or two further down the line where all the expresses stop, as
the departure from that station is ten minutes later than from the
Quai-d’Orsay. But the Austerlitz station is old-fashioned; all the
conveniences of travel are gathered at the more recent terminus, and if
one has any time to spare it is always from the Quai-d’Orsay that one
should start.
Arrived whether at Bordeaux or at Toulouse, one changes from the Orleans
system to the Midi. This is not an absolutely accurate way of putting it,
because, as a fact, the Orleans only enjoys running powers to Toulouse,
along the main express line, but this is roughly the best way of putting
it to make the reader understand the way in which the systems join.
With these connexions, the first journey is made to Bordeaux, to Toulouse
(or, in the exceptional case of the extreme east end of the Pyrenees,
to Perpignan), and the journey forward from each of these towns is
calculated upon another time table, and is often taken on a different
train.
To reach St. Jean, one goes on from Bordeaux to Bayonne and changes
there. To reach Mauléon, one goes on from Bordeaux to Puyoo and changes
there; to reach Oloron or Laruns, one goes on from Bordeaux to Pau and
changes there.
Roughly speaking, those who want to take the journey easily, without
night travel, will find it necessary to sleep in Paris, to sleep again
at Bordeaux (or somewhere further down the line, as at Bayonne or at
Pau) and only on the third day to proceed to the towns from which they
will begin to climb, whether that town be St. Jean, Mauléon, Oloron, or
Laruns. For this purpose they must take the morning train which leaves
Paris (Quai-d’Orsay) at an hour which changes but approximates eight to
half-past, and gets to Bordeaux well before dinner. It is then possible
to go on the same evening to Bayonne, and, if one goes first class, to
get on the same night also to Puyoo or to Pau, but in all cases arrival
at the foot of the mountains will not be possible until the next morning.
Those who are content to suffer night travel will find an excellent and
convenient train leaving Paris in the evening, reaching Bordeaux in the
early morning, and putting them at any one of the mountain towns at, or a
little after, noon. Thus, a person leaving London upon Saturday morning,
will, if he travels only by day, reach any one of the western approaches
to the Pyrenees on the mid-day of Monday, but if he will consent to a
journey by night, he will save exactly twenty-four hours and arrive at
noon (or in the early afternoon) of Sunday. The gain of twenty-four
hours, by an apparent sacrifice of only twelve, is due to the nature of
the connexions between the small mountain lines and the main lines. His
return tickets, going in the cheapest manner, second class from London to
the mountains and back will vary according to the mountain town chosen,
from a little under £10 to £12, of which the French second class return
fare from Paris is about or a little over £4 and the rest second return
London to Paris and incidental expenses.
The approach to the intermediary towns of Lourdes and
Bagnères-de-Bigorre, is of the same sort and is usually better done
through Bordeaux than through Toulouse, but one gets in a little later.
Unless one takes the early night train from Paris just after eight one
does not reach Lourdes until the late afternoon, nor Bagnères-de-Bigorre
until night.
The approach through Toulouse involves a longer train journey, and is
made both by a night and a day train, as in the case of Bordeaux, and
from the same station as I have said above. You can lunch on the day
train, but you cannot dine upon it. Sleeping at Toulouse, one goes on
next day by a morning train, starting a little after nine, and going
through Tarbes, will get to Lourdes at about half-past one, or to
Bagnères-de-Bigorre a few minutes earlier. Similarly, starting from
Toulouse by the same morning train, one can get to Bagnères-de-Luchon
just after noon, or to St. Girons at a little before one. It will be seen
that these arrivals towards the centre of the chain are much at the same
time as by the western approaches through Bordeaux. One gets in towards
the middle of the third day in either case.
Moreover, going through Toulouse resembles the journey through Bordeaux;
if one undertakes to travel by night, one saves time in much the same
manner, save that the night train is earlier. One must leave Paris about
half-past eight in the evening, reach Toulouse at much the same hour
the next morning, and one will find oneself at the foot of the Pyrenees
about mid-day of the day after leaving London, changing at Toulouse for
the morning train to Lourdes, Bagnères-de-Bigorre, Luchon, St. Girons or
Foix, respectively. There is, however, an exception to this apparently
general rule that the shortest journey to the Pyrenees, even if one
travels by night, must take well over the twenty-four hours.
As to the approach from Perpignan, this is useful for that little corner
of the range which overlooks the Roussillon which is less than one-tenth
of the total length. Only one important height is to be found here, the
Canigou. The railway journey is very long. If one goes by day, it is
imperative that one should break it somewhere. It would be more accurate
to say that one can make it by day only if one breaks it somewhere, and
if one makes it by night, one must leave Paris in the evening in order
to get to Perpignan for lunch, or at half-past eight to get in at two.
It is no way to approach the Pyrenees, unless one happens to be taking a
journey down France for other purposes which will lead him towards the
districts of Narbonne and Perpignan. It must be noted that since the war
there is an excellent cross-country train from Bordeaux and Toulouse to
Narbonne, where change for Perpignan.
No other approach to the Pyrenees save these by railway from the north
will be of use to most travellers from England.
The new, good and fast day train from Toulouse is now at eleven in the
morning.
The approaches from the south, in the rare case of a traveller who may
take the Pyrenees on the way back from Spain, are all difficult with the
exception of the line from Saragossa to Jaca. A main line leads of course
from the capital to Saragossa, there one must cross the Ebro to the
station upon the northern bank. The train to Jaca goes by Huesca and it
takes all day, but it is worth doing in order to get within a day’s walk
of the main range.
From every other centre, except from Pamplona, the Pyrenees are
hopelessly distant. Seo and the Catalan valleys depend upon Barbastro as
does the valley of the Cinca in Aragon, but it is a most tedious journey
in stuffy omnibuses followed by an equally tedious day and a half or two
days upon a mule before you find yourself in the high Pyrenees. Pamplona
is, roughly speaking, one day’s walk from the heart of the mountains, and
no other town, excepting Jaca, upon the railway on the Spanish side is
worth considering as a rail-head.
It should be noted that there is during the summer months a motor car
service between Pamplona and Jaca, which goes along the valley of the
Aragon and covers the distance in the better part of a day.
INDEX
A
Accous or Bédous, plain of, 159-160
Agra, river, mentioned, 20;
valley of, 147
Aiguestoites, Port de, 181
Albigenses, crusade against, its meaning and results, 49
Alfonso el Batallador, 54
Alpargatas, 122
Alps, contrasted with Pyrenees, 25-26
Andorra, history and character of, 192-193
— forms with Catalan valleys a district of Pyrenees, 187-198
— how reached from Ariège, 187-193
— posada of, 232
Anicle, Col d’, 171-172
Anie, Pic d’, its position on first axis of Pyrenees, 6
— boundary of the Basques, 38, 154
Aphours, brook of, 150
Aragnouet, 181
Aragon, river, mentioned, 20
— valley of, easy connexion of, with valley of Gallego, 158;
described, 161
— kingdom, named after river, 20;
and Béarn, their position on the range, 37
Aran, Val d’, _see_ “Val”
Arazas, valley of, 169-170;
Inn there, 233
Ariège, sources of, 191
— valley of, position of on axis of Pyrenees, 8;
forms old county of Foix, 15;
in connexion with that of the Tet, 204-209
Ariel, Pic d’, 205
Arles, on Tech, 213-214
Arras, Col d’, 215
Arreau, hotels at, 227
Arrouye, Pic d’, 182
Aspe, Val d’, 158
Aston, upper, adventure of author upon, 108-112
— river, advantages of district of, 187-188
Ax, way from, to valley of Tet, 206-208;
hotels and baths of, 230
B
Bagnères-de-Bigorre, hotels at, 226;
de Luchon, _see_ “Luchon”
Baigorry, valley of, 145-146
Balatag, wood of, on Canigou, 212
Bambilette, port, 152
Bargebit, Pic de, on Canigou, 213
Barrosa, stream of, 174
Barroude, pass of, 181
Basque, place names found throughout Spain and Pyrenees, 38-39
— Valleys, a district of the Pyrenees, 145-154
Basques, their position on the range, 37;
Pic d’Anie, boundary, 38
— no Roman record of, 45-46
Bathing, dangerous when fatigued, 143
Batallador, surname of Alfonso, 54
Bayonne, road from, to Pamplona described, 96-99
Béarn and Aragon, their position on the range, 37
Béarn, Roman name of, 44;
with Navarre and Roussillon, last exceptions to French sovereignty
north of Pyrenees, 49
Bédous, Hotel de la Poste at, 160
Bédous, hotel of, 222
— or Accous, plan of, 159-160
Belhay, Port de, 152
Belver, head of Urgel road, 203
_Benarnensium Civitas_, modern Béarn, 44
Bicycling in Pyrenees, 104-105
Bielsa, Port de, 181
— second stage in way from Panticosa to Venasque, 170;
described, 171;
inn of, 233
Biescas, mentioned as example of a town in a Spanish valley, 19
Bigerriones, original name of inhabitants of Bigorre, 44
Bigorre, originally land of “Bigerriones,” 44;
Pic du Midi de, _see_ “Pic”
Blankets, 122-123
Boella, Col de, 215
Bonaigo, Pass of, nature of, 28, 31, 197
Bota, _see_ “Gourd”
Boucacers, Col de, 211
Boucharo, French name for Bujaruelo, 169
Boussens, amazing cooking at, 230
Bread, proper rations of, 125-126
Brèche de Roland, 173
Bujaruelo (Boucharo) in Sobrarbe, 169
Burguete, hotel at, 221
C
Cabanes, use of, as shelter, 123
— village and station of, starting-point for passes of Peyregrils
and Fontargente, 188
Cabillere, Pic de, 188
Cacouette, gorge of, alluded to, 16, 152
Cadi, Sierra del, mentioned, 20;
aspect from St. Croz, 196;
aspect of, from Cerdagne, 200
Cady, brook of, 213
Cambret, brook of, 214
Camphor, sovereign against bugs, 223
Camping, rules for, 128-133
Canal Roya, example of difficulty of finding a col, 110-113
— valley of, and col, 158
— entrance to, 161-162
Canfranc, 161;
poor hotel of, 223
Canigou, hotel near summit of, 231;
district of, 210-216;
peaks of, ways up to, 211-215
Canillo, village of, 191
Carlitte, group of mountains, 204
Casteil, hamlet on way up Canigou, 212
Castellbo, first stage in way from Urgel to Esterri, 194;
delicious inn of, 229
Catalans, their position on the range, 36
Catalonia, origins of, 54
Cauterets, hotels of, 226
Cerberus, Cape, eastern limit of second axis of Pyrenees, 4
Cerdagne, political anomaly of, 57-58;
described, 199-203;
why annexed by Mazarin, 201
Chaitza, stream of, 151
Christians, reconquest of Spanish slope by, 50-54
Cinca, valley of, with Broto and Esera make up Sobrarbe, 167
Cinqueta, affluent of the Cinca, 167
Cirere, Col de, 213
Climate of Pyrenees, 33-35
Coidenes, bridge of, 188
Col, or pass, _see_ under particular names
Comminges, modern name of district of Convenæ, 43-45
Compass, variation of, in Pyrenees, 60;
necessary in equipment, 127-128
Consevanni, modern Conserans, 44-45
Conserans, Roman “Consevanni,” 44-45
Convenæ, 43-44
Coumette, Pic de la, 188
Cruz, Col de la, 174
Cuberre, bridge of, 176
D
Dalmanya, torrent of, 213;
village of, 213
Dastan, Val, 185
Distance, best reckoned in mountains by time, 76-78
“Double Col,” most dangerous example of ambiguity in a pass, 137-140
Driving in Pyrenees, 105
E
Eaux Bonnes, chief hotel of, 225
— Chaudes, 164
— hotel of, 225
Elizondo, 147-148
— hotels of, 220
_Elloronensium Civitas_, modern Oloron, 44
Elne, 42
El Plan, posada of, 233
Embalire, pass of, 31;
easiest entry into Andorra, 191-193
Encamps, village of, 191;
inn of, 231
Equipment, description of necessary, 115-124
Erro, 148
— inn at, 221
Escaló, village of, 196
Escolier, Pic d’, 150
Escuain, Col de, 171
Espousouille, hamlet of, 208
Esterri, hotel of, 229
— mentioned as example of a town in a Spanish valley, 18;
described, 197;
way to, from Urge, 194-198
Europe, grouping of peoples unchanged in, during recorded history, 1-2
F
Fillols, on way up Canigou from Villefranche, 212
Foix, county of, identical with valley of Ariège, 15
Fontargente, tarn of, 191
— pass of, into Andorra, 190-191
Forata, Peña, 165
Formiguères, village of, on way from Ax to Tet valley, 206
French measurements, English equivalents, 74-77
— slope of Pyrenees, formation of, 10-12;
names and character of valleys on, 10-15;
multiplicity of roads on, 79-82
Frontier, political, its present connexion with watershed, 54-58
G
Gabas, 164
— excellent hotel of, 224
Gabediou, Pic de, 182
Galbe, stream of, 208
Gallego, valley of, position of, on axis of Pyrenees, 7
— valley of, 166
— valley of, easy connexion of, with valley of Aragon, 158
Gari, valley of, 185
Garonne, curious source of, 186
Gas, Pic du Col de, 189
Gascon, name of, supposed to be Basque, 39
Gaulis, Col de, 170
Gavarnie, example of a high-valley village, 21;
town of, 226
— Port de, 31
— Cirque de, 181
Gerbats, Pic de, 182
Gistain, Col de, 175-176
Glacé, lake, 186
Glaciers, absence of, 33
Gnoles, torrent of, 206
Gourd, or bota, description of, 117-120
H
Hayra, forest of, 146
Heas, stream and village of, 181-182
Heights and distances, French, way of turning into English feet and
miles, 74-77
Helena, original name of Elne, 42
Henry IV and Mazarin complete French sovereignty north of Pyrenees, 49
Hix, 202
Hospitalet, of Ariège, 191;
of Luchon, 184
Huesca, Sancho’s attempt on, 53;
road to, 99, 103
I
Illiberis, old name for Elne, 42
Inns, of the Pyrenees, 217-233;
Spanish and French, contrasted, 218-233
Iraty, Spanish valley, head-waters in France, 56
Isaba, 153
Ispeguy, pass of, between Baigorry and Baztan, 146
J
Jaca, mentioned as example of town in Spanish valley, 18;
one of three mountain bishoprics on Spanish slope, 46;
counted as French during Mahommedan occupation, 48;
early independence of, 53;
excellent hotel of, 223
“Jasses,” nature of these flats, 15-16
“Jeous,” local name, 26
K
Kilometre, estimate of, by time, 141-142
Knapsack, _see_ “Pack”
L
Labourd, valley of, 145
Lakes, character of, in Pyrenees, 32;
of Maladetta, Encantados, etc., 32
Lakes of the Carlitte, 204
Lamoux, lake of, 205
Larrasoaña, 148
Larrau, 151
Laruns, 164;
hotel of, 225
La Tour Carol, 202;
inn of, 231
Laurhibar, village of, 149;
stream and village of, 149-150
Lecumberry, 149
Le Tech, hamlet of, 214
L’Homme, Pic de, western limit of second axis of Pyrenees, 4
Licq, 151
Llavorsi, village of, 196
Llivia, 200-201
Lourdes, hotels of, 225
Luchon, valley of, with valleys of Tarbes, makes separate district in
Pyrenees, 179-186
— hot springs of, 183
— way to Venasque from, by Port d’Oo, 185-186
— valley and district of, 182-186;
road to, from Val d’Aran, 197-198;
wealth and hotels of, 228-229
Lys, valley of, 185
M
Magdalena, river of, 195
Maggi, provision of, 125;
method of using, 127
Maladetta, view of, from Port de Venasque, 185
Maps, for the range, 59-78
Marignac, forest of, 184
Mauléon, capital of the Soule, 149
Mazarin annexes Roussillon to France, 49
— annexes Cerdagne, 56-58
Mediterranean, civilization of, in connexion with Pyrenees, 42-43
Merens, example of a high-valley village, 17-18
Metres and kilometres, way of reducing to feet and miles, 74-76
Midi, Pic du, d’Ossau, 160;
de Bigorre, 180
Moines, Col des, 157-161
Mollo, _see_ “Prats”
Monsech, Sierra of, distance of, from main range, 9, 20
Mont Louis, pass of, mentioned, 30;
hotel of, 231
Motoring in Pyrenees, by the “lower road,” 84-87;
by the “upper road,” 86-93;
across the range, 93-99;
from Pamplona to Jaca, 99;
to Saragossa, 99
Mountain, ranges of, often regarded too simply, 2-3
Mules, not always obtainable in inns, 219
N
Names, fantastic, of Pyrenees mountains, 24
Napoleon III, makes Somport road from Urdos, 161
Navarre with Béarn and Roussillon, the last exceptions to French
sovereignty north of Pyrenees, 49
Navas de Tolosa, battle of, 54
Nive, French river, rises in Spain, 56
Noguera Pallaresa, 196
Noguille, lake of, 204
Novempopulania, Roman district north of Pyrenees, 41-45
O
Olette, town of, 208
Oloron, Roman name of, 44;
main road from, to Saragossa, described, 93-96;
hotels at, 222
Oo, Port d’, 222
Ordino, town of, 190
Orgeix, 205
Oriège, valley of, 205
Orleu, 205
Oroel, Peña d’, 161
Ossau, Val d’, 164;
Pic du Midi de, _see_ “Pic”
Otxogorrigagne, Mount, 152
Ourdayte, or “Urdayte,” Port d’, 31, 152
Ourdissettou, Pic d’, 181
P
Pack, type of, in equipment, 121-122
Pallars, name of Esterri valley, 196
Pamplona, Roman bishopric on Spanish slope, 46;
road to, from Bayonne described, 96-99;
hotels of, 221
Pannikin, description of, 115-116
Panticosa, way to Venasque from, through Sobrarbe, 167-178;
numerous hotels of, 224
Passes over Pyrenees, nature of, 27-32
Path, importance of faint indications, so called, in Pyrenees, 113-115
Pau, Gave de, valley of, position of, on axis of Pyrenees, 6
Pelayo, heads the Reconquista, 51
Peña, Sierra de la, mentioned, 19
Perpignan, hotel and restaurant of, 231
Peyregrils, pass of, into Andorra, 188-190
Pic du Midi d’Ossau, 160;
approach from Gabas, 164
— de Bigorre, 180
Pinède, cliffs of, 172
Pique, river of, in Luchon valley, 184
Pla de Guillem, pass of, in Canigou, 214
Place names, Basque, in Spain and Pyrenees, 38-39
Plan, El, village of, 177-178
“Plans,” larger form of Jasses, 15-16
Port Vendres, 42
Portaillet, Col of, on shoulder of Canigou, 214
Porte Blanche, pass of, into Andorra, 215
Porté, 204;
inn of, 231
Porteille, notch between county of Foix and Roussillon, 208
“Ports,” or passes, over Pyrenees, nature of, 26-30
Posets, Pic de, 174
Pourtalet, pass of, mentioned, 30;
modern road over, 163-164
Prades, town of, way up Canigou from, 212
Prats de Mollo, 214
Puigcerdá, 202
Puigdarbet, peak of, on Canigou, 213
Puillouse, marsh of, 205
Puymorens, Col de, limit of the Catalans, 37
— pass of, 204
Py, on Canigou, 214
Pyrenees, physical nature of, 1-35;
double axis of, 3-8;
length of chain, 4;
original formation of, 8;
contrast of northern and southern slope of, 9;
climate of, 33-35;
political character of, 36, etc.;
form the bastion against Islam, 47
— Treaty of, 49
Q
Quazémi peak of, on Canigou, 212
R
Railways, start far from main range on Spanish side, 21
Rain, distribution of, in Pyrenees, 33-35
Ranges, mountain, _see_ “Mountain”;
secondary, perpendicular to main range on northern, parallel to it
on southern slope, 9, 19
Reconquista, 50-54
Rialb, stream of, 189
Rivers, shape of their course on Spanish slope, 20
Roman advance on Spanish slope, 45-47
Romans, make watershed of Pyrenees a boundary, 40-41;
their advance north of Pyrenees, 41-45
Roncesvalles, pass of, mentioned, 30;
high road through, 97;
road to, from Pamplona, 148
Roque Couloum, mountain, 211
Roscino, gives name to Roussillon, 42
Rou, tarn of, 204
Roussillon, formed round valley of Tet, 15;
with Navarre and Béarn, last exception to French sovereignty north
of Pyrenees, 49
S
Sabouredo, Pic de, eastern limits of first axis of Pyrenees, 4
Sahun, Col de, 178
Saillagousse, 202;
a place to avoid, 231
St. Bertrand de Comminges, origin of, 45
St. Croz, village of, 194
St. Duillem, huts of, 214
Ste. Engrace, 151-153
— Port de, position of, on axis of Pyrenees, 6;
passage of, 152-153
— inn at, 222
St. Etienne, in Baigorry, 146-147
St. Girons, hotel of, 230
St. Jean le Vieux, site of Roman town, 148
St. Jean Pied de Port, 148;
road from, to Soule, 148-151;
hotels at, 221
St. Jerome, his story of Convenæ, 45
St. John, Port of, 195-196
St. Lizier, originally Glycerius, 44
Salau, pass of, distance of, from plains, 9, 20, 197
— Port of, mentioned, 30
Saldeu, pass and hamlet of, 191
Salinas de Sin, 177
Sallent, way to, from, Urdos, 161-163
Sallent, character of inn of, 224
— Port Vieux de, 163
Salpichon, value of, 125
Sancho, killed before Huesca, 53
Sandales, _see_ “Alpargatas”
Sarabillo, 177
Saragossa, the main road over Pyrenees to, 99, 103
Sauvegarde, Pic de, 185
Schrader, his map of central Pyrenees, 61, 73-74
Secondary ranges, perpendicular to main range on northern side,
parallel to it on the southern, 10, 19
Sentina, torrent of, 177
Serrat, village of, 190
Snow, perennial, absence of in Pyrenees, 25
Sobrarbe, name of Eastern Aragon, 20, 23;
district in Pyrenees, 167-178
Socks, folly of wearing, 116
Somport, pass so called, position of, on axis of Pyrenees, 6;
nature of, 28, 30;
main road over, from Oloron to Saragossa, described, 92-95
Soulauet, tarn of, 189
Soule, district in Basque valleys, 148-154
— road from St. Jean de Port to, 148-151
Souscousse, woods of, 154
Sousquéou, valley of, 164-165
Spanish government, contrast of, with French, in Cerdagne, 201
Spanish slope of Pyrenees, formation of, 10;
type of valleys in, 18-24;
Roman conquest of, 45-47;
reconquest of, by Christians, 50-54;
absence of roads on, 84;
unmapped, 66;
partially given in French maps, 67
Spates, rare in Pyrenean streams, 32
Spirits of wine, necessity of, 126-127
Streams, Pyrenean, spates rare in, 32
T
Tarbelli, Roman name for people of Dax, 44
Tarbes, originally Turba, 44;
valleys of, and Luchon, district in Pyrenees, 179-186;
hotel at, 182
Tardets, central town of the Soule, 150-151;
admirable hotel at, 221-222
Taurinya, on way up Canigou from Prades, 212
Tech, valley of, 211
Tent, folly of carrying one, 124
Tet, valley of, forms core of Roussillon, 15
— valley of, with that of Ariège, makes a district in Pyrenees,
204-209
Thirteen Winds, peak of, on Canigou, 214
Tigra, forest of, 153
Time, distance in mountains best reckoned by, 77-78
Torla, with Bielsa and Venasque, chief centres of Sobrarbe, 167;
first stage in way from Panticosa to Venasque, 169;
curious inn at, 233
Toro, Trou de, 186
Torte, tarn of, 204
Towns, nature of Pyrenean, 17
Trainzaygues, 180
Treaty of Pyrenees, 49
Troumouse, Cirque, 181-182
Turba, old name of Tarbes, 44
Turmo, Cabane of, 176
U
Urdayte, or “Ourdayte,” port of, _see_ “Ourdayte”
Urdos, example of a high-valley village, 17;
travel through, 160
Urgel (Seo de), Roman bishopric on Spanish slope, 46;
bishopric of, counted as French during Mahommedan occupation, 48;
appearance of, 193-194;
way from, to Esterri and Val d’Aran, 194-198;
hotel at, 232
Urtioga, Mount, western limit of Pyrenees, 4;
in Basque valleys, 145
V
Val d’Aran, political anomaly of, 56-57;
way to, from Urgel through Esterri, 194-198
Val Carlos, 148;
accommodation at, 221
Vallcivera, Port de, 215
Valleys, nature of, on French slope, 15-18;
eight, on western French slope, 12-15;
two (Ariège and Tet) on eastern French slope, 14-15;
on Spanish slope, nature of, 18-24
— the Four, district of Pyrenees, 155-166;
strategical importance of, 155-156
Valley, “wrong,” _see_ “Wrong valley”
Venasque, mentioned as example of a town in a Spanish valley, 18;
way to, from Panticosa, through Sobrarbe, 168-178;
alternative southern way to, from Bielsa, 177-178;
way to, from Luchon by Port d’Oo, 185-186;
posada of, 232
— Port de, mentioned, 31, 184-185
Vernet, on way up Canigou, 212
Viella, in Val d’Aran, 197;
road from, to Luchon, 198;
hotels of, 229
Vielle, hotel at, 227
Villefranche, town of, rail-head in Tet valley, 209
Vultures, Peak of the, 153
W
Watershed, forms political boundary during periods of high
civilization, 40-41
Weather, peculiar difficulty of main ridge in doubtful, 31
Wine, Spanish, taste of, 219
Wood, rarely found near lake in Pyrenees, 32;
effect of, on streams, 33
“Wrong valley,” types of danger of getting into, 133-140
_Printed by Jarrold & Sons, Ltd., Norwich_
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