MR. BLACKBURN'S PYRENEES.*
THIS is a more ambitious volume than Mr. Blackburn's Notes on Spain. The octavo is larger and more imposing, the title-page, a model of elegance, is not content with black type, but has enrolled red also in its service, and, what is of more importance still, there are upwards of one hundred illustrations of scenery by the famous Gustave Dore, some of which are exquisite, and alone worth the money. Besides this, the volume contains a new and convenient map of the principal routes and places described. Whether Mr. Blackburn travelled in the Pyrenees in order to describe them, or whether he desciibed them because he had been there, we do not gather. But in any case the result is a general account of a pretty exhaustive tour—a " regular round," as Mr. Blackburn calls it— through, the principal watering-places in the French Pyrenees, namely, Pau, Eaux Chaudes, Eaux Bonnes, Cauterets, Luz, Bareges, Bagnerei de Bigorre, Luchon, Biarritz, &c. It might be thought from this enumeration that the book is only one among the thousand guides to foreign parts, which in this country have a mushroom growth due to our roving propensities. It is not exactly that, however, although it is in some respects sufficiently comprehensive to serve, if not as a guide, at all events as a very fair cicerone and companion. It is more of a general but pains- taking account, by a cultivated Englishman, of the general impression, step by step, which an ordinary Englishman, travelling • The Pyrenees. By Henry Blackburn. London: Sampson Lox. for his pleasure, would derive from a visit to the watering- places in the Pyrenees. Mr. Blackburn meets his readers in Paris, and introduces them, "in the early days of summer," to " a little green journal," which at that time " begins to put forth its leaves, and find its way into the principal hotels and salons of Paris." This journal is called Le Moniteur des Eaux, whose mission or function is to tell drooping Paris where to recover life and health. We proceed to read the different advertisements of " habitations and hotels for every variety of income—pour toules les fortunes"—and then, with our im- agination duly primed by the ecstatic prospect of " eaux salines, ferrugineuses, arsenicales, en boisson, bains et douches de touts forme, vaporarium complet et etuves, salon de conversation, bals et concerts, theatre, promenades," we jump into the night mail train to Bordeaux ; and having travelled from 8.15 p.m. to 7.8 a.m., we push on to Pau, and get there in the middle of the day, that is to say, if we are hardy enough ; if not, we can stop at Bordeaux—those who go on, stop an hour at Bordeaux for breakfast—and then proceed across the Landes on our way to Pau. Between them, M. Gustave Dore and Mr. Blackburn give us a very vivid idea of that wonderful district—a strange, weird, leaden, dull-looking tract of country, which stretches nearly the whole distance from Bordeaux to Dax, "planted with pine trees, divided by scanty patches of cultivation, and acres of marshy ground, over which the mist hangs for miles." As the traveller hurries past in the early morning, he rubs his eyes, and doubts whether the men are trees, or the trees are men. " Quaint and strange little figures loom among the tree tops, tending the sheep below them, where scant pasture indeed seems to grow, and appear in the distance on their stilts, with a long pole to steady them, on the principle of a three-legged stool, to be propped up here and there like field scarecrows. Occasion- ally one starts off on an errand, and it is curious to notice the pace at which they manage to get over the ground, taking tre- mendous strides with their stilts." We shall not stop at Dax with Mr. Blackburn—a dull and dirty old town, with the remains of Roman baths, hot water, and black mud—but pass on to Pau, "the Berne of the Pyrenees," and the ancient capital of the kingdom of Navarre. " Ever since 1814," says the author, " when 5,000 English soldiers, commanded by Lord Beresford, took forcible possession of Pau, it has been gradually growing into favour among English people, who now form quite a little colony from October to May or June, numbering more than two thousand." Thirty years ago the English residents numbered about forty, and a furnished house could be had for 50/_ a year. Now a house in a good situation will fetch 2001. for the winter season. The peculiarity of Pau seems to be the "remarkable stillness of the atmosphere, which in summer is seldom close, and in winter is delicious." It is ascribed to the peculiar position of the town, sheltered on the north by the distant rising ground of the Landes, on the south and east by the mountains, and on the west by the Park itself, which presents a perfect wall of foliage against the wind." How- ever, Mr. Blackburn puts in a little touch here, which adds a rather startling commentary on the lamblike atmosphere of Pan.. " In spite," he says, " of the traditional stillness of the atmosphere at Pau, seventy-nine oak and beech trees were once destroyed here in a day." He adds, " To the passing visitor, the stillness of the air, the silence and somewhat neglected appearance of the town and its public walks, give it a mournful look. We see at once that Pau is not a favourite resort in summer, and are not long in perceiving that the French people care little or nothing for scenery." Of this national trait Mr. Blackburn gives many instances throughout his book, but whether he quite makes out his case we are not prepared to say. It is probable that the English care more for scenery than the French. But it would. not be easy to say offhand if the difference is one in kind or only in degree.
From Pau to Eaux Chaudes the distance is about twenty-seven miles, a journey of six or seven hours, for the most part due south, along a hot and dusty road, in a diligence—easy, slow, dirty with- in, gaudy without, with five little ill-conditioned horses, who rattle you over the stone streets with a great flourish and jingle of bells, and subside into something like a walk as soon as they get beyond the suburb. The driver takes his breakfast, and receives visitors, until the vehicle groans under the weight of peasant men and women hanging on the steps, the heat grows intolerable, the dust travels with you,' and after fifteen miles in this fashion you reach Louvie Inzon, and toasted kidneys and fresh trout for lunch- eon. There is a very picturesque account of begging in the Pyrenees. The peasantry leave their work in the fields at the sound of approaching wheels, and crouch at the roadside in attitudes of pain and misery. The result is demoralizing to an extent that would be scarcely credited, excepting by eye-witnesses. Without wishing to say anything in the least invidious—indeed, no Catho- lic who knows the Spectator would for a moment suppose that we could wish to say anything invidious against Catholicism—it must, however, we think, be admitted that begging seems to be more rife in Catholic than in Protestant countries. Many causes may co-operate in bringing about this result, but that it is so as a fact we believe to be generally true. Even in Belgium the amount of systematic begging by the roadside and by the peasantry is incredible. How far the mendicant orders have tended to systematize it in Catholic countries, and Puritan pride to check it in Protestant countries, it is difficult to say. " Quelque chose, quelque chose, pour ('amour de Dieu!" the uni- versal cry, has a very mendicant twang in it. The description of Eaux Chaudes is not inviting. It seems to consist of a few buildings and terraces crammed into a gloomy corner, high up in the air, but jammed in by steep mountains higher still, like an -artificial platform built out over a mountain torrent. Mr. Black- burn prefers Eaux Bonnes to Eaux Chaudes, in spite of the guide- books. And certainly the description of the former is curious and fascinating in the extreme. The way to Eaux Bonnes is *composed mainly of ascending zigzags gradually disclosing a magnificent valley. The traveller's attention is generally rivetted on this valley and the distant town of Laruns, and it is some time before he becomes aware of little specks of white and red moving among the trees far above him. " A few more turns and we can distinguish people riding and walking, first by twos and threes, then a crowd. Where do they come from ? We can see no sign of a town—nothing but the valley below and a few yards of the road, now neatly swept and railed off like the drive in a private park. We are no longer in the country; we are " en promenade." Je comptais trouver ici la campagne,' writes M. Taine, ' je recontre une rue de Paris, et les promenades du Bois do Boulogne.' We were not prepared for the extra- ordinary sights that burst upon us on turning the road once more and coming suddenly on Eaux Bonnes." On an area of not much more than half an acre, the ingenious founders of this little town have managed to build a little hotel village consisting of about fifty houses, and giving accommodation in the season to a thousand people, yet without producing any sense of confinement. Crowds of riders and pedestrians, the noise and bustle of a square, the music of Italian organs, cracking of whips, jingling of bells, squeaking and rattling of children, the voices of many nations, seem little consistent with an eyrie built on half an acre, and yet such is the picture drawn by Mr. Blackburn. On the whole, this is the part of the book which has left the most salient impression upon us, as of something unique in its kind. Of course we can only give a very general idea of the chapter. Cauterets, equally gay, is the antithesis of Eaux Bonnes, being built in the hollow of a valley, and one of the most ancient and populous of the Pyrenean spas. It appears, moreover, to be much more frequented by English people, to whom it is better known than Eaux Bonnes, where they seem not very popular. " Our remembrances of Cauterets," says the author, "are of an expensive residence, of a most fashionable promenade, of the noises of whips cracking (whip-cracking seems to be a Pyrenean noise), pianos jingling, of singing, smoking ad libitum; of tall men riding diminutive ponies, and les grandes dames' gaily caparisoned mules ; of the town looking as if it was perpetually going out to dinner in sedan. chairs, of salons, of journals pour rire et pour instruire,' with articles -diluted to holiday calibre, of cascades and springs of water—water, -everywhere; of English scrambling up the rocks, of Frenchmen en promenade,' and of Spaniards sitting under the trees." A very lively picture. The description of a Pyrenean storm is too long to quote, but we recommend it to all who are likely to visit the Pyrenees. It is very striking, and will teach them to be on their guard,• and to get out of harm's way the moment they see certain ominous symptoms. An hour is enough to turn a valley topsy-turvy. M. Dore's illustrations to this chapter, as indeed to the book in general, throw great light on the mechanism of his effects in poetical illustrations. We learn, for the first time, where he got his general scheme of height, combined with a weird narrowness, which, to use the French expression, for which we have no equivalent, " fait serrer le ocean" We are not afraid, after studying these illustrations, to state that M. Gustave Dore's genius, and his attempts at the representation of the weird and sublime, are mainly Pyrenean, and we think that our readers who study Mr. Blackburn's book, and compare it, for instance, with Dore'e illustrations of Dante, will come to the same conclusion. Our space is exhausted, and we must leave the reader under Mr. Blackburn's care. We cannot compare his work, in point of literary power, with M. Taine's. But comparisons apart, it is a most agreeable book, giving a very comprehensive idea of the Pyrenean spas, and in conclusion we congratulate the publishers in having turned out so useful a volume, and Mr. Blackburn on having found such publishers.
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