-iT'i;jc f yy*~ m ■ m i uw n i ■ 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 M3T SfiS 
 
 H 0M 
 
 if 
 
 cA VE 
 
 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
OUR HOME IN AVEYEON 
 
OUE HOME IN AYEYBON 
 
 STUDIES OF PEASANT LIFE AND CUSTOMS 
 IN AYEYRON AND THE LOT 
 
 G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES 
 
 n 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' NORFQLK BROADS AND RIVERS 
 
 MRS BEOUGHALL 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NEW EDITION 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCXCI 
 
 y All Right* 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Aft 33?: 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 v. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY TO UN PAYS PERDU, 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION THE PROVINCES OF 
 
 THE LOT AND AVEYRON A LOST COUNTRY ITS 
 
 BEAUTY AND ITS HISTORY, . 
 
 OUR VILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE THEIR DIRT 
 
 AND STINKS BIRD-TRAPS THE AUBERGES LIFE 
 
 IN THE STREETS, .... 
 
 VINES AND VINEYARDS, 
 
 LA ROQUE, ..... 
 
 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBEEGE, 
 
 A VILLAGE FUNERAL, .... 
 
 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER, 
 
 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVBQUE THE 
 
 CALVARY THE BISHOP IN THE STEAM-LAUNCH 
 
 THE RURAL PRIESTHOOD, ..... 
 
 THE TOWNS, ....... 
 
 SUPERSTITIONS AND CUSTOMS, .... 
 
 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH A THUNDERSTORM A DELI- 
 CIOUS SWIM EVENING ON THE RIVER ITS 
 
 DANGEROUS FLOODS, ..... 
 
 13 
 
 25 
 33 
 41 
 50 
 60 
 65 
 
 101 
 110 
 
 117 
 
 M313215 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ZOE'S LOVE-TROUBLE — BLANCHISSEUSES THE RIVER 
 
 FERRIES AND FLOODS, ..... 
 
 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT THE SCHOOL- 
 MASTER AND SPORTSMAN THE LIMITATION OF 
 
 FAMILY, ....... 
 
 A BURNING MOUNTAIN, . 
 
 THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY, . . . . . 
 
 THE PEASANT'S FOOD THE CHESTNUT HARVEST 
 
 THRASHING AND WINNOWING THE CORN SHEEP- 
 SHEARING WASHING THE PIGS, 
 
 THE PEASANT PROPRIETOR HIS PRIDE OF CLASS 
 
 HIS APPEARANCE HIS SMALL HOLDINGS HIS 
 
 POVERTY AND WEALTH HIS FRUGALITY AND 
 
 THRIFT UNCLEANLINESS HIS DAUGHTER'S DOT 
 
 AND TROUSSEAU, ...... 
 
 THE MINE DECAZEVILLE STRIKE VAGRANTS GLASS 
 
 AND ZINC WORKS DIFFICULTIES WITH THE WORK- 
 MEN DYNAMITE OUTRAGES SOCIALISM THE 
 
 MECHANICS' FfiTE-DAYS, . 
 
 " FETES " THE " FETE DE DIEU," 
 
 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON, 
 
 ROCAMADOUR, 
 
 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON, . 
 
 THE LADIES GET LOST, 
 
 127 
 
 134 
 146 
 153 
 
 161 
 
 168 
 
 177 
 190 
 207 
 223 
 245 
 261 
 
ILLUSTKATIONS. 
 
 chateau salvignac, 
 
 religious procession, 
 
 wine-shop and aubeege, bouillac, 
 
 la roque and the river lot, 
 
 montbrun, ..... 
 
 tow-path at ganyl, 
 
 chapel in street, .... 
 
 calvary in a vineyard, st martin^, 
 
 blaxchisseuses la roque torrac, . 
 
 peasant's cottage, .... 
 
 peasants ploughing, 
 
 rocamadour, ..... 
 
 Frontispiece 
 to face page 14 
 m 30 
 
 ii 42 
 
 ,i 72 
 
 ii 80 
 
 88 
 m 90 
 
 n 128 
 
 136 
 .. 156 
 
 226 
 
OUE HOME IN AVEYBON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE JOURNEY TO " UN PAYS PERDU." 
 
 I had been travelling all day southward from Paris 
 through the pleasant land of France, watching with 
 interest the development of the scenery, which im- 
 proved vastly the farther one got from Paris. There 
 were far-reaching plains, the colour of which was 
 rich and beautiful, although the actual regularity of 
 chess-board-like fields and formal rows of trees was 
 somewhat monotonous ; there were amphitheatres of 
 hills enclosing spacious valleys, in whose verdant 
 depths broad rivers lay in many a gleaming fold ; 
 
 A 
 
THE JOURNEY TO " UN PAYS PERDU." 
 
 there were chateaux perched on rocky bluffs, and 
 chateaux seen only through woodland glades. Then 
 the vineyards clothed every available slope, and the 
 language of the people became softer and more 
 musical, with a sounding of the final E mute as a 
 separate syllable ; while among the country people 
 working at the stations, one heard a sibilant patois 
 that was not distinguishable as French. 
 
 Then a branch line by a river-side, through the 
 sorses of the hills, then a walk through a scattered 
 village, and a continuous lifting of the hat in return 
 to the polite salutations of the peasants ; while a 
 bullock - cart, loudly creaking, carried the luggage 
 behind, and I was welcomed to a little English 
 home in this remote corner of a district known only 
 as " un Pays Perdu." 
 
 After a nice little dinner, such as there appears 
 to be no difficulty in procuring in the smallest of 
 French villages, we went on to the terrace to enjoy 
 our coffee and cigarettes in the balmy gloaming. 
 What a treat it was to sit out of doors hatless and 
 coatless, with no suspicion of a draught or a chill, 
 
THE ANGEL US. 
 
 while in the narrow valley the dusk deepened and 
 on the hill-tops the last of the daylight lingered, as 
 loath to be hurried away by the swift coming of the 
 southern night ! From the squat little church in 
 the village the ringing of the Angelus sounded 
 sweetly, and was echoed to and fro in sweet con- 
 fused murmurs between the closely opposing hills. 
 
 From a cottage not twenty yards below us came 
 the voices of a peasant family at their devotions. 
 The rapid patter of parrot-learnt Latin Mass, and 
 the more genuine ring of patois prayer, were at least 
 in unison with the Angelus, and kept us observantly 
 silent until prayer and bell had ceased to sound. 
 Then the nightingales thought it time to begin, and 
 as the rising moon began to send long shadows and 
 silvery sheens down the steep terraced vineyard 
 immediately behind us, from the shadowy copses to 
 our left issued the subtle melody of bird after bird, 
 faintly answered from the other groves and the 
 chestnut woods on the hillsides, where it was too 
 steep and rocky for vineyards, so that by-and-by 
 there was a volume of sound which, but that it was 
 
4 THE JOURNEY TO "UN PAYS PERDU" 
 
 so sweet, would have been somewhat overpowering. 
 A white mist first hid the course of the river and 
 then blotted out the church and the village houses, 
 and then we three English, two brothers and a sister, 
 seemed quite cut off from our French neighbours, 
 and were alone in the bright moonlight. 
 
 "Now and then on our English summer nights we 
 have sat like this at the old English home in the 
 west country, and now you two have your home 
 here, and I am your visitor. How do you like it ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " Oh, it is not bad," replied the prosaic brother. 
 
 "Nay, it is very good," said the sister. "We do 
 not forget our English home. We are very, very 
 proud of being English, but we like France too. It 
 is so beautiful. This little village is growing to have 
 for us the familiar homey look of the village of our 
 childhood. At first we spoke of the river, the lane, 
 and the mountains. Now we speak and think of 
 all these as ours. They are a part of our life. We 
 know all the most charming points of view, the 
 shadiest nooks, and the prettiest bends of the river. 
 
AN ENGLISH HOME. 
 
 We even know when to expect rain or shine, storm 
 or calm, by the way the wind comes, or the sound of 
 the different church bells." 
 
 "Well, it is a good thing that this feeling of 
 hominess gradually grows around one in a foreign 
 country." 
 
 "Yes, it is so restful. It would be dreadful 
 indeed if we always felt like strangers and pil- 
 grims ; if after old ties were broken and old friends 
 to some degree lost, new ones never could be made. 
 One is thankful that the sun shines here just the 
 same as in England (only rather more so), that the 
 trees are as green, the flowers as sweet, and many 
 of the hearts as kind as those left behind in our own 
 country. And in order to really know a country by 
 heart, as it were, one must live in it ; become ac- 
 climatised, associate more or less familiarly with its 
 inhabitants, sympathise with and assist the poor, 
 nurse the babies, and interest one's self in their gen- 
 eral welfare. It is nice to see the faces of the school 
 children brighten as one passes, and to receive the 
 little nosegays of sweet-scented flowers which they 
 
THE JOURNEY TO "UN PAYS PERDU." 
 
 shyly offer to 'Mademoiselle' or 'Monsieur.' A 
 
 lady friend said one day, ' We always thought the 
 
 English cold and proud, but it is not so we find. 
 
 Your pride is on the surface, and your hearts are 
 
 really as warm as ours.' " 
 
 "Yet I am told the French peasantry, if not 
 
 the French people as a class, hate England and 
 
 the English heartily." 
 
 " Oh yes, so they do, at least so far as we know 
 
 the people, they do hate the English as a whole. 
 
 They say so, and I believe it ; but they have, I hope, 
 
 made an exception in our favour. At any rate, 
 the warm-hearted reception we have received from 
 the little society that exists in this out-of-the-way 
 corner of France has had much to do with our grow- 
 ing love of the neighbourhood." 
 
 "Yes, Mary; but you see the best side of it. 
 I should not go safely among my childish and pas- 
 sionate miners if they did not know that I carry 
 this little protector," and the speaker tapped the 
 pocket in which his revolver was hidden. 
 " How many English are there here ? " 
 
RURAL FRANCE. 
 
 " We two, and two assistants at the mines." 
 
 " And where are the mines ? " 
 
 " In the bowels of this hill opposite. Look where 
 the moonlight shines white on a long heap of stones 
 below a dark hole. That is one of the outlets. And 
 here come some of the men going to the night-shift." 
 
 From underneath the mist there was a tramp of 
 feet and the excited chatter which I had already 
 noticed as the characteristic talk of the country-folk, 
 and there presently emerged into view as they filed 
 up the mountain path a line of men carrying lighted 
 lamps — oil-lamps, which were most quaint in pattern, 
 and had undergone no change since the lamps used 
 by the Koman workmen who first began to burrow 
 into the hill. 
 
 "And pray, what are your first impressions of 
 rural France?" they asked me. 
 
 " First, the trees are very tall, very straight, and 
 very leafless, except near the top, and a magpie's nest 
 very frequently tenants the leafy top and is seen 
 for miles." 
 
 " You will soon learn the reason of the trees being 
 
8 THE JOURNEY TO "UN PAYS PERDU." 
 
 leafless ; but why there are so many magpies I do 
 not know. Practically there are no birds in this 
 district but magpies and nightingales. What else ? " 
 
 " I note the cultivation of every available space. 
 For instance, I saw a flat high rock, like a table, 
 some ten feet high, and of the space of an ordinary 
 room on the top, covered to the edge with a cereal 
 crop." 
 
 " Yes ; you are now in the midst of the peasant 
 proprietors, and they dare not waste an inch of 
 ground. What else ? " 
 
 " I did not observe a single beast of any kind 
 grazing on a pasture, save a few large ragged sheep 
 in one stony district. Where are the cows ? " 
 
 " At work. Go on." 
 
 " I have heard of French politeness, but I fear 
 me it is much on the surface. All the way from 
 Paris I had as companion a plain elderly woman, 
 and many men getting in and out at intermediate 
 stations, the compartment always being full. Each 
 man as he entered took off his hat, and the salute 
 was returned. Each man asked each of the other 
 
FRENCH POLITENESS. 
 
 men whether he objected to smoking, and with 
 much interchange of bows each man gave his polite 
 consent. Not a single one of them ever addressed 
 his query to the plain elderly woman, who might 
 reasonably be supposed to be the only one to object. 
 They just ignored her existence." 
 
 "Quite so. The case might have been different 
 if the lady had been young and good-looking. Still, 
 even their somewhat superficial politeness is of value, 
 as it makes ordinary things go smoothly. I find, 
 however, that, long as we have been here, we are 
 apt sometimes to give offence by relapsing, in a 
 moment of fatigue or forgetfulness, into an ordinary 
 English manner, and by the lazy return of a salute or 
 some slight brusqueness, cause a slight to be appre- 
 hended when nothing was so far from our thoughts. 
 But have you brought your camera with you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and to my surprise have not had the 
 slightest trouble with the Customs in the way of 
 examination such as I have experienced in England 
 on returning from abroad." 
 
 " Photographic apparatus is as well understood as 
 
10 THE JOURNEY TO "UN PAYS PERDU" 
 
 in England, and more respected by the officials. 
 Curiously enough almost every Englishman who has 
 come here on mining business has been a photo- 
 grapher, and the natives look upon a camera as a 
 necessary and usual appurtenance to an Englishman. 
 But let me tell you the gendarmes here already 
 know everything about you — where you come from, 
 what you are going to do, whether you are armed, 
 and how long you mean to stay." 
 " Good gracious ! " 
 
 " Yes ; but they are satisfied you are harmless, 
 and there are no fortifications anywhere near here 
 to be photographed. But it is now past midnight, 
 and at five o'clock to-morrow morning a procession 
 of priests and peasants will pass the house on their 
 way to worship at the cross of La Viclal, and pray 
 that the vines may not suffer from blight. If you 
 can get up, we will photograph them from the 
 window as they pass by. So to bed, but confound 
 those nightingales ! " 
 
 Before proceeding further I will pause to explain 
 
WHY THIS BOOK IS WUITTEN. 11 
 
 the raison d'etre of this book. I took a great many 
 photographs, of which I afterwards made lantern- 
 slides, and with the aid of my sister's notes and 
 my own observations, I retailed the information 
 in the shape of lectures to rural audiences, with 
 the view of aiding my clerical friends in their 
 parish work, and of benefiting institutions in which 
 I took an interest, as every man should do, who has 
 the chance at little trouble and little expense to 
 himself, and according to a laudable custom which 
 is fast gaining ground amoug the army of amateur 
 photographers, an army which sends skirmishers all 
 over the world. I have, in doing this, found that 
 much more interest was exhibited in the simple de- 
 tails of home-life, which might easily be compared 
 with one's own modest experiences, than in more 
 ambitious tales of travel, adventure, and discovery. 
 Therefore it seemed possible that short studies of 
 life and scenery in a remote district within the 
 unpretentious distance of a thousand miles from 
 home, practically, as distance now counts, at home, 
 but out of the beaten track, where the tourist 
 
12 THE JOURNEY TO "UN PAYS PERDU" 
 
 is an unknown quantity, might interest a larger 
 audience of ordinary people. My sister, who is at 
 home with the people of " un Pays Perdu," joins 
 with me, and whatever is of value, in information or 
 facts, in this little book is from her pen, and may 
 most thoroughly be relied upon. I incorporate with 
 her matter my own impressions as an appreciative 
 visitor. We shall state simply what we know, 
 especially with respect to the peasant proprietary, 
 so that, if possible, the bias of our own opinions 
 may not be observable. Our readers only can judge 
 whether we realise our unambitious aim. 
 
PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION — THE PROVINCES OF THE LOT 
 AND AVEYRON — A LOST COUNTRY — ITS BEAUTY AND 
 ITS HISTORY. 
 
 With the windows open, and the cool night air find- 
 ing free access through the bars of the closed volees, 
 those outer frames, like massive Venetian - blinds, 
 which exclude light yet admit air, it was easy, on 
 a June night, to sleep with a light covering over 
 one. Later, in the scorching heat of July and Au- 
 gust, it is not so easy. I went to bed repeating 
 " Five o'clock, five o'clock, five o'clock," several 
 times, which with me is a sure method of ensuring 
 wakefulness at the desired hour next morning. 
 And punctually at five o'clock I jumped up broad 
 awake, and heard in the still morning air, with a 
 clearness which was accounted for by a slight drizzle 
 
14 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 
 
 of rain, the sound of Mass at the village church. 
 Very shortly two white -robed figures were strug- 
 gling with refractory tripods, which would slip on 
 the polished floor ; and presently out of two win- 
 dows overlooking the road there peeped the brass 
 tubes of the lenses, the rest of the apparatus being 
 concealed by the curtains being cunningly pinned 
 over them. 
 
 Just below the window was a bridge over a purling 
 stream, and a rude wooden cross leaned half against 
 the bridge ; and the procession was expected to pause 
 at this cross, which bore some special repute. The 
 sound of the chanting drew nearer, accompanied 
 with the tramp of many feet, and soon the proces- 
 sion, of some hundreds of people, came in view. First 
 men bearing a banner, inscribed " Marie, protege vos 
 enfants " ; then peasants, three and four abreast, clad 
 in their best black blouses and soft, black, wide-brim- 
 med hats, the effect being somewhat marred by the 
 men keeping their hands in their trousers-pockets, 
 which bunches the blouses up unbecomingly ; then 
 the young men and the small boys, the latter march- 
 
A RELIGIOUS PROCESSION. 15 
 
 ing sturdily along, as if highly conscious of the im- 
 portance of the proceeding ; then the priest in his 
 white robes, preceded by the crucifix, and, book in 
 hand, leading the chant ; then the little girls, and 
 behind them the bigger girls, the young women, 
 then the matrons, and, last of all, the old women, all 
 neatly and tidily clad. As they passed the cross, 
 the priest bowed and crossed himself, and the 
 instantaneous shutters clicked, and the lenses caught 
 him in the act. 
 
 The faithless curtains became unpinned, and re- 
 vealed our instruments, so that every eye was up- 
 turned. I was horribly afraid that I was doing- 
 something irreverent and repugnant to the taste of 
 the people ; but every face wore a pleased and con- 
 scious smile, and there was a general involuntary 
 straightening up to look their best ; so that my fears 
 were dismissed. We got them again upon their 
 return, and then we noticed that while the men 
 and boys marched steadily on without turning their 
 heads in our direction, the girls and young women 
 looked back laughingly at the wonderful instruments 
 
16 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 
 
 in the windows. Why this difference in the be- 
 haviour of the sexes ? 
 
 To a healthy Englishman who likes a vigorous 
 breakfast at half-past eight, the coffee and roll which 
 the French find sufficient to carry them on until 
 dejeuner at eleven or twelve is at first a trial, and 
 the intervening hours are a hungry waste of time. 
 Let us utilise this interval by climbing up, through 
 the vines, to the crest of the hill behind the house, 
 and see where we are. 
 
 In the south - west of France lie the adjoining 
 provinces of Aveyron and the Lot, separated from 
 each other for a considerable distance by the river 
 Lot, which rises in the mountains of the Department 
 of Lozere, at a height of 1500 metres above the sea ; 
 then runs and leaps through the picturesque gorges 
 of Aveyron, and, with a madly serpentine course, 
 parts the Lot and Aveyron, and then flows through 
 the Lot on its way westward to join the Garonne, 
 and past Bordeaux to the sea. 
 
 The two provinces are hilly and even mountainous. 
 The hills are sometimes of granite and sometimes of 
 
A LOST COUNTRY. 17 
 
 limestone and their allies, and, according to the 
 nature of the rock, there are steep slopes or pre- 
 cipitous cliffs and escarpments. 
 
 Riven and cracked in every direction, the great 
 " causses " 1 afford in plenty the fern-haunted dingles, 
 down which the mountain brooks run and tumble 
 to join the river, which now flows through deep 
 gorges, now through narrow valleys, where the hand 
 of man makes the stream more sedate by his confin- 
 ing weirs, and the rushing- torrent is led to water 
 fertile fields and refresh the tired and thirsty oxen. 
 But whether a lusty torrent over rocky beds, or a 
 wide dreamy river between vine - clad and chest- 
 nut-crowned hills, the stream makes the land 
 beautiful. 
 
 " Everybody knows " that the district is a hundred 
 years behind the times, and that and the difficulty 
 of access to it or egress from it has given it its name 
 of the " Pays Perdu " among distraction - loving- 
 Frenchmen, "What will you?" they say ; " there is 
 
 1 These are limestone ridges or table-lands (" de calx, chaux "). 
 
 B 
 
18 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 
 
 nothing, literally nothing, wherewith to amuse one's 
 self. It is a lost country." We said to a peasant 
 woman one day, " This is a beautiful country of 
 yours." " Oui, mademoiselle, mais il est un peu 
 perdu." 
 
 Of late, however, there have been made good roads, 
 and a branch line from Capdenac to Eodez, which 
 follows the quick curves of the river, curves so ab- 
 rupt that the seesaw, curving motion is as trying 
 to many people as a Channel steamer. The line 
 is literally cut through the rocks most part of the 
 way. There are tunnels, half- tunnels, and quarter- 
 tunnels — segments of a circle as it were; the detached 
 masses of rock sufficiently cut through to permit the 
 passage of the train, and that is all. Always below 
 one there is the river, gleaming through its bordering 
 rocks. and woods, and the glimpses of scenery one 
 gets from the carriage-windows are lovely in the 
 extreme, and the riven rocks and serpentine river 
 often form extremely curious combinations. Quaint 
 villages perched on rocky promontories, or nestling 
 in the smallest of mountain nooks, meet the eye at 
 
ST MARTIN'S DE BOUILLAC. 19 
 
 every great bend of the river. Sometimes the fern- 
 fringed cliffs rise sheer from the water's edge, and 
 even overhang so much, that the tiny rills which 
 pour from their summits fall into the river yards 
 away from the bases of the cliffs. 
 
 Well, below us from our hill-top we see that the 
 valley widens, the hills fall back with more reason- 
 able slopes ; the river between two weirs runs pla- 
 cidly, with a fine new bridge spanning it. On the 
 nearer bank is the small village of St Martin's, with 
 its little squat church. On the further bank is the 
 larger and more important village of Bouillac, with 
 a towered chateau and a larger church. The rich, 
 flat meadows by the river are well cultivated, in 
 small square patches of bright greens and yellows, 
 with no dividing fences, and curiously like an 
 erratic chess-board, or still more like a patchwork 
 quilt. 
 
 The hills are grey with the vineyards, the tint of 
 the ground in the early summer overpowering the 
 green of the vines. The regular arrangement of the 
 vine-planting gives to the far-off slopes the appear- 
 
20 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 
 
 ance of being dotted, grained, or stippled like a litho- 
 graphic print. On slopes too rocky or too steep for 
 the vineyards, the ever-present and useful chestnut 
 woods lie in dark masses. 
 
 On a flat step in the hills a mile away, and in the 
 Department of the Lot, we can discern the little 
 village of Carnac. Down the poplar-bordered river 
 to the left the valley closes in again. There, by the 
 weir, is the building which marks the situation of 
 the Mine, which is the cause of our presence here, 
 and Henry is now in the very middle of that 
 steep conical hill just in front of us. 
 
 Immediately below us, and apparently so close in 
 a horizontal direction that a long hop, skip, and a 
 jump would clear the declivities of the intervening- 
 vineyards, and land us upon (or through) its roof, is 
 our little cottage. From it another valley, or more 
 properly a ravine, leads in a southerly and very up- 
 ward direction to Asprieres — a town as much at the 
 top of the hills as St Martin's is at the bottom. It 
 is three miles away, and we have the choice of two 
 roads. There is the winding government road which 
 
THE ROAD TO ASPRIERES. 21 
 
 twists in and out among the hills, and tries not to be 
 too steep; but this looks so blindingly white and 
 dusty that we prefer to take the old country lane — 
 a nearer route by distance at all events, but not a 
 shorter by time. At first it is a pleasant way, creep- 
 ing along the bottom of the valley, with a tiny brook 
 rippling merrily along by the wayside, crossing and 
 recrossing the lane, and under the welcome shade of 
 closely growing trees. In spring-time, the damson- 
 trees which line the hedges are white with blossoms, 
 and wdien the autumn comes much of the fruit falls 
 unheeded to the ground, to be greedily eaten by the 
 pigs. Suddenly the pleasant beguiling path takes 
 an upward spring, and then comes the toil and 
 weariness of the journey. It is what we heard an 
 itinerant preacher describe as the way to heaven — 
 " Tis hup, and hup, and hup, and 'igher, and 'igher, 
 and 'igher." The hedges dwindle down into gorse 
 and broom and blackberry bramble, and the mossy 
 banks are clothed with fern and with heaths of 
 purple, white, and gold. After heavy rain, this 
 mountain way becomes the course of a muddy rush- 
 
22 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 
 
 ing torrent, so that the lane is impassable until the 
 sun shines again, the water disappears in steam, and 
 the road is left more bumpy than ever. 
 
 But Asprieres is worth reaching, for there is al- 
 ways a refreshing breeze there, a breeze one sighs 
 for in vain down in the confined valleys, where all 
 day long in the hot summer, the full-leafed trees 
 stand motionless in the heavy, perfume -laden air, 
 and we long for the breeze that stirs the hill-top 
 trees to take a downward sweep, as it happily does 
 sometimes, after long drought, and we know that 
 the soft south wind will bring us the welcome rain. 
 From Asprieres a fair landscape is visible. On a 
 clear day one sees the snow-capped mountains of 
 the Auvergne, while in the middle distance the 
 lesser hills of Aveyron and the Cantal are piled in 
 picturesque confusion, " like loaves in a baker's 
 oven," said a very unromantic person. The dazzling 
 white roadways radiate from Asprieres to the towns 
 and villages in the valleys below. 
 
 The part of France within view from Asprieres is 
 rich in ruins, some of which have for us English a 
 
PAST HISTORY OF THE PROVINCE. 23 
 
 peculiar interest, inasmuch as they are mementoes 
 of the times when, in the fourteenth century, many 
 a battle was fought between the English (levying 
 taxes on ceded provinces) and the French ; when 
 many a town and chateau was destroyed. After- 
 wards the religious wars between Catholics and 
 Protestants covered with further ruins the de- 
 partments of Aveyron and the Lot. From 1501 
 to 1629, with but a short interval of rest, the 
 country-side was the scene of war and bloodshed. 
 The Protestants were massacred on all sides, and in 
 1629 they laid down their arms and submitted with- 
 out reserve. The peace thus restored endured only 
 for a time. In 1685, the famous Edict of Nantes 
 being revoked by Louis XIV., the persecutions of 
 the Protestants recommenced, and they were at last 
 constrained to emigrate en masse, depriving the 
 provinces of a population honest and industrious. 
 Here ends the history of these provinces. Because 
 of their obscure situation they were sheltered from 
 the wars and invasions of the First and Second 
 Empires. 
 
24 PHOTOGRAPHING A PROCESSION. 
 
 And if dejeuner be not ready when we have 
 made our hop, skip, and jump downwards, there 
 will be further persecutions and ruins in the 
 land. 
 
OUR VILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE. 25 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 OUR TILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE— THEIR DIRT AND STINKS — 
 BIRD-TRAPS — THE AUBERGES — LIFE IN THE STREETS. 
 
 Our own little village of "St Martin's is only a 
 scattered group of clingy dwellings, with a very 
 unpretending church ; but just across the river is a 
 typical village of larger size, known as BouillaCc 
 Crossing the long white bridge over the wide river- 
 bed, and past a turreted chateau within walled-in 
 grounds at the foot of its own vineyards, which 
 stretch up the long steep slopes of the hills behind, 
 we come first to the church, square, low, and unlovely 
 as to the exterior, and somewhat tawdry within, but 
 with its doors open always for the devout or the sun- 
 weary to enter, and a frequent sound of worship 
 issuing from it. Often have we sought refuge from 
 
26 OUR VILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE. 
 
 the heat and the glare of southern skies and 
 southern roads in the cool shade of southern 
 churches, and felt the restful peace which clings 
 about an edifice sacred to even an alien religion. 
 The buildings are consecrated by the earnestness of 
 men's worship, no matter how wrong we may think 
 the object or mode of worship. 
 
 Then there is the wide open square or Place of the 
 village, with a few small trees giving welcome shade. 
 In the Place is the shoeing -place, where the oxen 
 and cows are shod. It appears that these beasts 
 will not submit quietly to the operation, so they 
 are driven into a sort of skeleton shed, or stout 
 wooden frame, provided with strajjs, cords, and 
 pulleys. The straps are fastened under the ox's 
 belly, and by means of the pulleys the poor creature 
 is hoisted bodily off the ground, its legs dangling 
 helplessly in the air. Every village has such a 
 shoeing-place, and it is a quaint and amusing sight 
 to see the oxen being shod. 
 
 The village is built on the lowest spur of the hills 
 running down to the river, and down the backbone, 
 
FILTHY STREETS. 27 
 
 so to speak, of this spur runs the long street, and 
 the only street of the village. It looks picturesque 
 enough as you glance down it ; but if your stomach 
 is weak, beware how you loiter in it on a hot and 
 steamy day. The street is, alas ! the common, and 
 practically, the only sewer. Much of the refuse of the 
 houses finds its way into the street, and rots and 
 festers in the sun. The slops are thrown there, and 
 the channels between the rough ancle - straining 
 cobbles with which the street is paved are full of 
 black and slimy liquid filth, slowly soaking its way 
 riverwards. 
 
 The street is so narrow that two strides would 
 take one across it, and there are no side-walks to 
 speak of. It is close and airless, and the stench is 
 pungent ; but after a time the effect wears off, and 
 one hardly notices the smell. One of us lived for 
 three months in an auberge in that street, and very 
 nearly — not quite — got used to it. He has no 
 desire to go back, however. The houses have great 
 overhanging eaves which project far over the street, 
 and so cast a little shade at all stages of the sun. 
 
28 QUE VILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE. 
 
 Every window has its volees, looking, like all the 
 rest of the woodwork, sadly in need of paint after a 
 good scrub. The peeps one gets into the dark little 
 rooms, through the open doors, awaken no desire to 
 enter, so we resolve to keep outside if possible, lest 
 the abominations within be worse than those with- 
 out. Those may seem strong words to speak of a 
 nineteenth - century town in the most civilised 
 nation ; but to an Englishman of only ordinary 
 cleanliness, even to one who has upon necessity gone 
 a whole week without a wash and not felt sinful, 
 the want of cleanliness does seem disgraceful. 
 There is no excuse of poverty. It is simply that all 
 labour is wasteful unless it brings profit, or is neces- 
 sary to support life. After a long residence in rural 
 France, one of us paid a visit to an English cottage, 
 where the occupants were as poor as an English 
 labourer can be, and was surprised and delighted 
 at the spotless cleanliness of the floors and the stairs. 
 The wood of the latter was as white as the deck of a 
 well-kept yacht : a French peasant's stair is brown 
 with the dirt of generations. 
 
BIRD- TEA PS. 29 
 
 Glancing upwards, one is struck by the fact that 
 almost every house has an earthenware jar or pot 
 fastened against the wall near an upper window, the 
 mouth of the jar against the wall, and a small hole 
 broken in the bottom, which faces outward. 
 
 " What are those funny jars for ? " is one's natural 
 question. 
 
 " For the birds to build their nests in, monsieur." 
 
 " Eeally ; how very kind of you ! And do the 
 birds avail themselves of your goodness ? " 
 
 " Certainly, monsieur, in every case, and very 
 good they are." 
 
 " Good ! " 
 
 " Yes, good to eat, monsieur." 
 
 " What ! do you eat them ? " 
 
 " Truly, monsieur. When the young birds are 
 fully fledged, we take them and make a delicious 
 stew of them." 
 
 And you realise the utilitarian nature of the 
 peasant and the unsuspecting goodness of the birds. 
 
 At frequent intervals down the street you see 
 dried bushes of juniper set in pots by a door. No 
 
30 OUR VILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE. 
 
 other sig;n than this indicates that there is an 
 auberge or tavern there, except in one instance, 
 where, under an open gallery or balcony, hang 
 a dozen distended pig-skins full of the country 
 wine. 
 
 Enter an auberge, and you stumble over the 
 roughly laid floor in the dim light of the interior. 
 The floor is of roughly dressed planks of uneven 
 thickness, and encrusted thickly with dirt, save 
 where tracks have been worn in it by many feet. 
 Two or three rickety wooden tables, similar chairs, 
 and narrow settles or benches, complete the furni- 
 ture. At the tables groups of two or three peasants 
 are seated, solemnly playing cards or dominoes, and 
 drinking red wine. If you call for this it is generally 
 good — we drank largely of it without ill effect, 
 although it is apt to give colic to strangers who 
 quench their thirst with it at first ; or you may have 
 lemonade with a little cognac, both fairly good. 
 
 The peasants look at us with anything but friendly 
 eyes. We are intruding on their domain, and our 
 presence is not welcome. They stand much upon 
 
PHOTOGRAPHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 31 
 
 their dignity, and we have to be very careful not 
 to wound their susceptibilities. It would never do 
 to command any slight service, as one is in the 
 habit of doing with the corresponding class in 
 England, with the certainty that the service will 
 be civilly and good-humouredly rendered. On the 
 other hand, if one asks the favour of such a service 
 very politely, they will often go a long way and 
 take much trouble to oblige one, and be satisfied 
 with a smaller acknowledgment than the English 
 tip-receiver. But if they would only wash them- 
 selves, how much more charitably one would think 
 of them. 
 
 While we were photographing in this street we 
 aroused very little curiosity. The people walked 
 rather sullenly by, and would not stop to form a 
 group, or stand aside for a moment to avoid spoiling 
 a view which we might be exposing. They stood 
 much upon their dignity, and rather resented our 
 photographing them as a liberty. A franc would, 
 however, procure a sullen acquiescence, making it a 
 business transaction ; and, curiously enough, on fete- 
 
32 OUR VILLAGE AND THE NEXT ONE. 
 
 days and religious processions, when their hearts 
 were opened by the excitement of their own show, 
 they rather liked being photographed, 
 
 There is almost a complete absence of shops in 
 the street. Each holding produces its own food, 
 and their other wants are few. There were one or 
 two little general stores, but the real shopping is 
 only to be done at the larger town of Capdenac, 
 three miles away. 
 
 As the evening draws on, the people sit out of 
 doors in family groups, under the shade of the great 
 eaves, and the narrow way is alive with gossip. The 
 household occupations are carried on out of doors, 
 such as a mother cutting her child's hair, skinning a 
 rabbit, plucking a fowl, mending a pair of trousers, 
 a blouse, or a petticoat ; but the younger women 
 have smartened themselves up a bit, and conscious 
 of clean stockings, show their pretty ankles as they 
 lounge, not on easy-chairs, but generally on three- 
 leo-o-ed stools. These are not things, one would 
 think, to lounge on gracefully, but they manage to 
 do it. 
 
VINES AND VINEYARDS. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 VINES AND VINEYARDS. 
 
 " If the grapes fail we have nothing." So say many 
 of the peasants, who maybe own no other piece of 
 land than their respective vineyards. They, poor 
 things, have all their eggs in one basket, or 
 nearly so. To them an attack of the blight or 
 "phylloxera" when the vines are in flower is a 
 great calamity ; whilst a heavy thunderstorm is a 
 thing to be dreaded at any period between May 
 and September, but most of all just when the grapes 
 are ripe and the vintage about to commence. 
 
 Each year, when the short winter is over, the 
 work in the vineyards is begun with great activity : 
 from daybreak till dark people may be seen far up 
 the hillsides engaged in digging, weeding, or in 
 
 c 
 
34 VINES AND VINEYARDS. 
 
 carrying and spreading manure. The loud, cheerful 
 voices of the toilers, and the sharp metallic sound 
 made by the striking of their pick-like implements 
 against the stony earth, may be heard on all sides. 
 Sometimes a valley, wide enough at its river or 
 lower end, narrows so much as it gets up into the 
 mountains, that the sound of voices and picks may 
 be heard from one side to another, so that when 
 there is, as often happens, an echo in addition, the 
 result is a regular chorus, quaint, but somewhat 
 confusing. Naturally it is not every valley that 
 has vineyards on both sides, but only those running 
 in certain directions, as a great amount of sunshine 
 and heat is absolutely necessary for the growth of 
 the vines and the perfection of the grapes : those 
 hillsides that are bleak or have a north aspect are 
 never cultivated as vineyards. 
 
 Great quantities of strawberries are grown be- 
 tween the vines. These are of a small kind some- 
 what larger than our wild strawberries : they come 
 in season earlier than garden strawberries, and are 
 much prized for their fine flavour. 
 
"NO GRAPES THIS YEAR/" 35 
 
 The vineyards are, as a rule, kept well manured, 
 — in fact, to do any good they must be, for, if one is 
 neglected for a year or two, the vines run wild and 
 cease to bear grapes. American vines have been 
 introduced into a few vineyards which belong to a 
 neighbouring countess. The growth of these vines 
 is being anxiousty watched, for they are supposed to 
 be a 2;ood sort and to bear larsje well - flavoured 
 grapes, so that their introduction into the neigh- 
 bourhood may turn out a very good thing for all 
 concerned in the cultivation of vines. 
 
 Of late years the vines in this district have 
 suffered very much from phylloxera, so much 
 so that many of the peasant proprietors have 
 been greatly impoverished. However, they are all 
 something like English farmers, — the weather is 
 always too hot or too cold, too dry or too wet. 
 Crops never are going to be good. " We shall have 
 no grapes this year ! " is the usual cry ; but never- 
 theless things turn out pretty well, and there are 
 always more grapes than any one would have 
 thought possible. 
 
36 VINES AND VINEYARDS. 
 
 Each spring the people get into a state of fright 
 thinking that there will be no wine, or else that it 
 will be scarce and dear to buy. " What, oh what 
 shall we do," say they, " without our wine ? It is 
 our one luxury ; if we drank nothing but water we 
 should be soon weak and ill ; we could not live 
 without wine, the hot summers would kill us ; wine 
 is a necessity in a climate like ours." And indeed 
 this is quite true. Wine is the natural drink of 
 the country : it is cheap and harmless. To drink 
 beer or porter, even if they could be had, would 
 be quite impossible, and the drinking of unlimited 
 quantities of water would in all probability bring 
 on attacks of colic and diarrhoea. This is certainly 
 in the summer-time a thirsty, a very thirsty land ; 
 but there is plenty of water, and, what is almost 
 better, generally plenty of wine too. What people 
 may be in other parts of France we cannot say ; 
 but in this part they are emphatically a sober 
 people : drunkenness one rarely, almost never, sees, 
 whilst, on the other hand, one never even hears of 
 a teetotaller. When the people are told that there 
 
NO TEETOTALLERS. 37 
 
 are persons who never touch intoxicating drinks 
 they reply : " But that is very funny. God makes 
 the crapes to grow, and we cannot eat them all up, 
 it is necessary to make them into wine. Besides, if 
 we did not we could not live, for the hillsides will 
 grow nothing but grapes and chestnuts, and we 
 could not make a living out of chestnuts." 
 
 Oh, the loads of manure that the peasants carry 
 up those steep vineyards ! they are something dread- 
 ful. No wonder that the poor people get a stoop 
 in their shoulders, for they carry the manure up on 
 their heads and shoulders, and the grapes down in 
 the same manner. 
 
 How the poor peasants manage' to carry the 
 grapes dowm from the vineyards is a mystery, but 
 carry them they do, and on their backs too. First 
 the back and shoulders are padded, a sack filled 
 with hay or straw being throwm across the shoulders. 
 The grapes are carried in wooden barrels which are 
 steadied over the shoulders by means of a long pole. 
 These barrels are flat on the one side, and this flat 
 part rests against the back of the bearer ; the pole 
 
38 VINES AND VINEYARDS. 
 
 goes through the centre of the barrel, so that the 
 weight is equally distributed above and below it. 
 The vineyards are so steep that the grape-bearers 
 seem to come down them sliding on the heels of 
 their wooden sabots. In the valley below a cart 
 stands, and in this cart the larger tubs for holding 
 the grapes are placed. As each load of grapes is 
 brought down it is emptied into the large tub, until 
 that is full, when the oxen are harnessed to the 
 cart, and the load of fruit is carried away to the 
 wine-press. 
 
 Many of the smaller proprietors cannot afford to 
 have wine-presses of their own, and so they must 
 either send their grapes to a neighbour's press, or, as 
 more often the case, press them with their feet. 
 
 "We sent our servant one day to a neighbouring 
 proprietor's on some small errand. She found the 
 door closed, and a voice inside the house called out 
 that she must wait awhile, as all the inhabitants 
 were busy washing their feet preparatory to pressing 
 out the wine. 
 
 Clean white stockings are worn during the opera- 
 
PRESSING THE GRAPES. 39 
 
 tion ; but notwithstanding this we always take good 
 care to buy our wine from those proprietors whom 
 we know to possess wine-presses. 
 
 Phosphate is much prized as a suitable manure 
 for the vineyards, and lime is now used by some 
 proprietors with great success. Of course when 
 lime is used a greater quantity of manure must be 
 used too, to counteract the effect of the lime, which, 
 employed by itself, would simply extract a great 
 amount of goodness from the soil without giving 
 anything in return. But as peasant proprietors own 
 their land, there is no danger that they will take 
 all out of it and put nothing in. It is naturally to 
 their own interest to keep it in a good condition, 
 and this by dint of great and untiring industry they 
 certainly contrive to do. 
 
 The poles to which the vines are tied and trained 
 are placed at exact distances of one metre apart in 
 every direction. Thus the Government officials 
 know by measuring the length and breadth of a 
 vineyard how many vines are grown in it, and taxes 
 are levied accordingly. This methodical arrange- 
 
40 VINES AND VINEYARDS. 
 
 ment of the vines is also useful when Government 
 statistics are made ; and an exact record is kept of 
 the number of vines grown in France. 
 
 On midsummer eve each year bonfires are lighted 
 in the vineyards to frighten away the devil, who is 
 supposed to do great harm to the vines in various 
 ways, if not kept at a respectful distance. 
 
LA ROQUE. 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LA EOQUE. 
 
 Nowhere does there exist a village quainter, more 
 tumble-down, or more strangely and picturesquely 
 situated, than the village of La Roque de Panchot. 
 Our La Roque we call it, to distinguish it from the 
 two other villages of the same name on the banks 
 of the Lot. It hangs "by its eyelids" on the face 
 of a steep hillside, the houses clinging singly and 
 in groups to the little shelves and crevices of the 
 cliff, with not a back-door — for want of space — to 
 any one of them. Its streets are stony and steep 
 footpaths, in the crannies of the rock, passing often 
 under stone archways beneath the houses them- 
 selves. Alas ! these quaint streets are also the 
 only sewers, and when the sun shines hotly upon 
 
42 LA ROQUE. 
 
 the rock the odour is sickening ; and one passes 
 gingerly through the filth, and holds one's breath 
 for terror of the poison of it. But after an hour or 
 two of it one begins to realise that it cannot be so 
 deadly as it smells, or the inhabitants would not 
 look so healthy as they do. The river runs rapidly 
 in a curve beneath the cliff, and the houses seem 
 to be suspended high above it, so that if one could 
 give the cliff a shake like an apple-tree, they would 
 drop off into the stream. 
 
 Some of the houses, built close to the water's 
 edge, are covered with clematis and ivy, and the 
 reflection of them in the clear river is beautifully 
 distinct. Others lean this way and that, and have 
 crazy wooden balconies overhanging the rocky tor- 
 tuous street. The red-tiled and moss-grown roofs 
 shine with brilliant colour in the blazing sunlight, 
 and underneath their large flat eaves there is deep 
 shadow and stillness. Other houses higher up are 
 so like the rock, with their rugged, grey stone walls, 
 that it needs the clear definition of a sunny day to 
 make them out — even from so short a distance as 
 
A VILLAGE CLINGING TO THE CLIFF. 43 
 
 the other side of the river ; and on dull days they 
 are indistinguishable. The dwellings, small as they 
 are, are mostly three - storeyed : the ground -floor 
 being occupied by the pigs and an occasional cow ; 
 the second storey by the people themselves ; and the 
 attics by the fowls and pigeons — each storey as dirty 
 as the others. 
 
 On a projecting spur of rock half-way up the 
 cliff stands a ruined castle grey and gaunt. It is 
 approached by a staircase cut in the rock, steep and 
 difficult to mount, but gay with saxifrage and lovely 
 ferns in every crevice. From one of the small trees 
 which here and and there cling; to the cliff, an old 
 woman is plucking leaves to give to a sheep which 
 follows her like a dog. In days of old the church 
 stood hard by the chateau, and fragments of ruin 
 mark the site ; but now it is situated in the lower 
 part of the village, and the old people, who would 
 find it a weary toil to mount those many steep and 
 slippery steps, need now make but one journey up 
 so high, and that the last journey of all — when they 
 are laid to rest in the churchyard, which still occu- 
 
44 LA BOQUE. 
 
 pies its ancient site close to the chateau. There 
 is a little shelf of sloping ground not ten yards 
 square, at a dizzy height overhanging the river, and 
 this is the only place near to the village where there 
 is depth enough of soil even for a shallow grave. 
 It is full of little crosses of wood and iron — simple 
 memorials of the dead erected by peasants too poor 
 to buy tombstones. Tawdry wreaths of wired beads 
 or artificial flowers peep out of the rank grass and 
 nettles. Every fresh tenant disturbs some older 
 bones, and these were cast aside — until recently — in 
 a pile in an open pit in one corner ; but now are more 
 tidily covered with earth in a common receptacle 
 for the older and forgotten generations. Still there 
 are many odd skulls and bones lying about on the 
 grass, and they add an eerie feeling to the giddy 
 one of height, which makes one move cautiously 
 about this forlorn God's acre, and hold on by the 
 rude crosses lest one should launch into space over 
 the unfenced edges. 
 
 It has a curious effect to see the gaudy butterflies 
 flaunting through the graves, and then in a moment 
 
A FORLORN GOD'S ACRE. 
 
 launch out in mid-air. They ought to fall when over 
 the edge. 
 
 The grim old ruin, with its tall tower standing out 
 boldly against the sky, has for the last hundred 
 years — since its last human inhabitant left it to the 
 crows and daws — been left to the mercy of the 
 villagers (and such mercy is scant with a French 
 peasant when a chateau is concerned), who stole its 
 stones to build or repair their own miserable houses. 
 But recently a neighbouring countess, to whose 
 family the chateau had once belonged, to prevent 
 its being utterly destroyed, agreed to pay a small 
 yearly sum to the village authorities, provided they 
 protected it from further depredations. So it has 
 now no enemies save the wind and weather, which 
 hurt it little ; and it has for friends the birds of the 
 air, who find shelter within it. So it stands, of the 
 past eloquent ; and looking at the miserable present 
 below us, who can say that there is any improvement 
 in men or manners ? All that can be said is, that the 
 occasional tyranny and misdoing of the few has turned 
 to the constant tyranny and misdoing of the many. 
 
46 LA BOQUE. 
 
 There is nothing visible of the village but the red 
 roofs ; but we cannot forget that those roofs hide in 
 their shades manners unrealisable to the average 
 stay-at-home Englishman. In the blazing noon 
 not a creature is stirring save the blue butterflies on 
 the rocks, and the red butterflies on the nettles ; 
 and we make our way back to the river, and have 
 a difficulty in finding any person to ferry us across 
 in the rude ferry-boat. We shout for half an hour 
 before any one comes, and then a stranger volun- 
 teers. The only paddle is like a wooden shovel, 
 and we are swept a hundred yards down the stream 
 before we get across ; and our ferryman is swept 
 back an equal distance as he recrosses, and how he 
 is to get the boat back to its original starting-point 
 is a problem we do not stay to solve. 
 
 Once the visitor met with a comical adventure at 
 La Roque. He had gone thither photographing, and 
 becoming thirsty he had found an auberge hidden in 
 a cavern-like place under an archway beneath the 
 rock. The room he entered was dark, low, and 
 dingy, with rough wood floor, chairs and tables 
 
A MISUNDERSTANDING. 47 
 
 encrusted with dirt, while some villanous- looking 
 peasants were playing dominoes over their red wine. 
 He meekly asked the landlady for limonade, when 
 she burst into a torrent of abuse which made him 
 wonder what the deuce was up, while the peasants 
 gathered round threateningly. His polite and 
 meao-re French had little chance against the Lan- 
 gue&oc 2>cttois ; but seeing that he was misunderstood, 
 he took a corkscrew out of his pocket, and imitating 
 the drawing of a cork with a labial " pop," he made 
 his intentions clear, amid a burst of laughter. After 
 a while the explanation was made out. Some years 
 ao-o an Englishman had ascended the river in a 
 rowing-boat, and running short of cash had applied 
 to the landlady for the loan of le monnaie, and had 
 apparently not repaid her. Seeing another English- 
 man also arriving by boat, she jumped to the con- 
 clusion that his limonade was le monnaie, and gave 
 him a piece of her mind. 
 
 We often used to go as far as La Roque in the 
 steam-launch in the evening after dinner. We could 
 not go much higher, as the stream was too swift 
 
48 LA ROQUE. 
 
 and shallow, with dangerous submerged rocks. The 
 memory of those evenings is very vivid ; the swift 
 dimpling river in sharp curves between the silent, 
 frowning hills, crags, and chestnut forests, and the 
 brisk, bright little launch waking the echoes with 
 true British cheek. 
 
 We would sometimes stop to watch the fishermen 
 throwing their huge cast-nets, with which they catch 
 the roach, dace, barbel, gudgeon, and trout, which 
 are fairly plentiful. The nets are extraordinarily 
 large, from twenty to twenty-five yards in circum- 
 ference, and are thrown with extreme skill, so as to 
 fall in a complete circle on the water, at a good 
 distance from the boat. The men take the precau- 
 tion to put their waistcoats on with the buttons 
 behind, so that the heavy net may not catch and 
 carry the man into the water with it, a not unlikely 
 occurrence, and one we have known to happen on 
 Norfolk waters. 
 
 At certain times the river is covered with flies, 
 and then it appears alive with fish, which leap in all 
 directions. Imagine a peaceful September evening, 
 
A CLOUD OF FLIES. 49 
 
 the cloudless sky above tinged with the last faint 
 glow of the sunset, and the river beneath lying calm 
 and still in the deepening twilight, a faint mist rising 
 over the water, and in that mist floating, flying, 
 driving like a thick snowstorm, are myriads of tiny 
 flies white as snowflakes, but of what species we 
 know not. At these flies the fishes jump, not by 
 twos and threes or by dozens, but by hundreds at 
 a time. As we sit in our little craft, we not only 
 hear and see them in all directions ; but we feel 
 them too, for they come against and into the boat, 
 floundering into our very laps. Once one leaped 
 ris^ht over the launch into the water on the other side, 
 and another actually struck one of us in the face. 
 
 D 
 
50 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBEKGE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBERGE. 
 
 We men folk were one day invited by the hostess 
 of the principal auberge in Bouillac to dine with her, 
 or rather at her house. We had no hesitation in 
 accepting, because it was intended as a grateful 
 recognition of past favours, and to decline would 
 have given great offence. 
 
 So at seven o'clock we entered the spacious front 
 room, which was perhaps a shade less brown than 
 the generality of such rooms. Here we greeted our 
 hostess and her husband, her mother, and grand- 
 mother ; the two latter, however, looking exactly 
 the same age, for seventeen years or so does not 
 make much difference after sixty is passed. 
 
 All the rooms opened into each other, and as 
 
no ruiVAcy. 51 
 
 there were no passages, each was more or less of a 
 thoroughfare. In each, also, were one or two heels, 
 and unless you kept within their curtained recesses 
 there was no privacy in the bedrooms. An English 
 engineer and his wife, who had to lodge there some 
 time, were much troubled with this. They had the 
 two beds in the room in which we were to dine, one 
 on each side ; and until all the household had re- 
 tired to rest, there was no semblance of privacy. 
 
 One of the assistants at the mines, an elderly 
 Englishman, now lodged at the inn, and had a tiny 
 little room off the larger one, where there was 
 certainly not room to swing a kitten, let alone the 
 proverbial cat, the bed taking up at least two-thirds 
 of the room. Here, like a hermit, the solitary old 
 bachelor lived, comforted only with his pipes, books, 
 and fiskino'-tackle. He had undertaken the direction 
 of our feast, and took the head of the table when 
 we presently sat down. A narrow trestle-table with 
 benches on each side was set midway between the 
 beds, and was covered with a coarse but white table- 
 cloth, and the appointments, though plain, were infin- 
 
52 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBERGE. 
 
 itely better and more tastefully arranged than in the 
 best inn of many an English market-town. Of the 
 dinner itself, with its score of tasty courses, one can 
 only say that it was perfectly cooked and served. The 
 forks were changed with each course, but one kept 
 the same knife throughout (except after fish), simply 
 wiping it on a piece of bread. The visitor frequently 
 forgot this fashion, and his knife was continually 
 being brought back to him with many apologies. 
 One dish remains in the memory, a plentiful one of 
 gudgeons caught in the river, and proving the 
 pleasure of stolen sweets, because they were not yet 
 legally in season according to the French close-time. 
 With almost each course there was some slight 
 variation in the red and white wine of the country, 
 and when the liqueurs came, and the cigarettes and 
 coffee, we somehow lost sight of the brown and 
 dirty flooring, the smoky walls and blackened rafters, 
 and the hard benches and rickety table, or fancied 
 that they were not real, and keenly enjoyed the 
 after-dinner chat over old times and old and far- 
 away friends. 
 
THREE GENERATIONS OF HOSTESSES. 53 
 
 Then the three generations of hostesses came into 
 the room ; then glasses were filled, and the visitor 
 rose and in laborious French proposed their healths, 
 and expressed his appreciation of the feast, and the 
 wish that he could carry the cooks away with him to 
 England. The youngest lady, in replying, wickedly 
 said that the speech of the visitor sounded as if he 
 had prepared and learned it beforehand, which was 
 so far true that its preparation had somewhat dulled 
 his enjoyment of the dessert. 
 
 " Why is not Everett here to-night ? " we asked of 
 the elder, speaking of the fourth Englishman who 
 completed the little English colony in connection 
 with the mines. 
 
 " Oh, he came for a sail with me this - afternoon, 
 and there was no wind, so to amuse himself he 
 climbed up the mast to put his cap on the top; 
 but the mast broke and he fell overboard, with a 
 brand-new suit on. Then as he was wet he swam 
 down to Bouillac, about half a mile, and now he 
 has got the colic, a sure consequence of a chill in 
 this district." 
 
54 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBERGE. 
 
 " Is that why the peasants all wear a broad thick 
 band of red flannel round their waists ? " 
 
 " Yes ; chiefly, I think, for that. They get very 
 hot working in the fields or the vineyards, and then 
 lie in the shade to rest, and if the sky gets cloudy 
 or a wind rises they catch a chill. Colic is a very 
 common and severe complaint among them. I think 
 also that the belts are a support to cure or prevent 
 rupture. At least three-fourths of the men are more 
 or less ruptured. They are not physically strong, 
 but carry loads of great weight, and suffer accord- 
 ingly, particularly in the vineyards, because of the 
 jerk going down-hill." 
 
 " Some of my men suffer very much from lead 
 colic," said the director, " and after one attack of it 
 they do not come to the mines any more. It is so 
 severe they will not risk it again. I am a little 
 puzzled as to its cause, however. Every precaution 
 is taken in the mine, and it has so happened that all 
 the men who have suffered have been lodging at 
 Popie's. I wonder if his wine is unwholesome ? " 
 " That is not unlikely," remarked the assay er. 
 
LEAD-POISONED GRAPES. 55 
 
 " There is a spring on the hill above the mine, the 
 water of which is poisonous with lead, and the vines 
 on that spot are so impregnated, that the wine of the 
 farmer who owns that vineyard is believed to be 
 poisonous. At all events, many people say they 
 have been made ill through drinking it," 
 
 " The peasants seem to drink a great quantity of 
 wine," said the visitor, " and it must come expensive 
 even at five sous a bottle." 
 
 " Yes. It is the only drink on which they can 
 quench their thirst. The water is dangerous to a 
 heated stomach. They spend at least fivepence a- 
 day" on their wine, a sum hugely disproportionate to 
 their limited expenditure in other things, and it is 
 their only extravagance." 
 
 " Surely there must be a thunderstorm coming. 
 It is becoming insufferably hot here. Let us take 
 our coffee on to the balcony." 
 
 At the back of the house ran a long covered 
 balcony bordering two sides of the courtyard be- 
 neath. Up the rough but quaint wooden framework 
 of the balcony, honeysuckles and roses clambered in 
 
56 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBERGE. 
 
 profusion, their scent being luscious and heavy in 
 the hot dark air. But, unfortunately, their odour 
 could not drown that of the midden in the yard 
 beneath, which also took advantage of the sultry 
 night to send its ammonia-laden fumes into the 
 surrounding rooms. But that was a trifle one had 
 become used to, and shutting our senses to the 
 midden and opening them to the flowers, we sat 
 and smoked, hardly visible to each other save for 
 the red tips of our cigarettes. Then the darkness 
 was rent with a flash, and the hills bellowed back to 
 the quick thunder-peal ; with a rush like a mountain 
 torrent the rain came down, and for the space of an 
 hour there was a Titanic storm, as if the hills were 
 clashing together and the earth flaming back to 
 heaven. The church bells of Bouillac were set 
 ringing to drive off the storm fiends, St Martin's 
 bells rang as loudly, and in the appalling silences 
 between the thunder and echoes and the next flash 
 the bells of Carnac, away among the hills, were 
 faintly heard. Baffled by these holy efforts, the 
 demons of the storm rushed away down the river 
 
THE DEMONS OF THE STORM. 57 
 
 to other valleys, to be met by peals from other 
 churches, and left the trembling villagers of Bouillac 
 to breathe more freely nnder a starlit sky. 
 
 The strangeness of the present surroundings, the 
 remoteness of the village hidden in the narrow 
 valley, the sense of distance — not so much in miles, 
 for a thousand miles or so are no matter nowadays, 
 but in time — from the loved ones of the English 
 home, and the fierceness of the sudden storm, made 
 a great impression upon the visitor. He is one of 
 those who, being used to wide expanses of sky 
 and far prospects, hold a sense of dislike to the 
 confinement of narrow valleys, where the sun rises 
 later and sets earlier than its proper time ; and a 
 thunderstorm, with its sultry warnings, intensifies 
 the feeling of imprisonment, which darkness in a 
 gorge, or an excursion in a coal-mine, alike bring 
 him. 
 
 When we left the auberge it was midnight. The 
 air was fresh and cool, and a breeze almost chill 
 was rustling through the vines. In the wet grass 
 by the roadside numerous glow-worms lit their 
 
58 A MEMORABLE DINNER AT AN AUBEKGE. 
 
 pale fires, and upon the hillside where lay the 
 mines were a score of little lights twinkling and 
 moving. 
 
 " There," cried the director, indignantly, " that 
 is how these Frenchmen serve me. We are work- 
 ing day and night shifts. The men who go on 
 at night are, of course, expected to work their 
 time through ; but they think I am in bed, and 
 they are coming down to the village for their 
 midnight lunch, instead of taking it with them to 
 the mine. That will take an hour or more of the 
 time which I pay them to work in." 
 
 "Why not turn them back?" suggested the 
 visitor. 
 
 " Because we have only two revolvers among 
 three of us. The overseers daren't stop them, 
 neither dare we. We must just let them pass 
 quietly by, and say nothing." 
 
 So we stood quietly aside while the group of 
 idlers passed sullenly by without a greeting. 
 
 " I can't sleep," said the assay er ; " I shall go to 
 the office and work — I feel restless." 
 
"THEY MEAN MISCHIEF:' 59 
 
 ' ; You will get potted some of these nights when 
 you are alone at the bureau, according to that 
 strange uncanny habit of yours when you can't 
 sleep." 
 
 " 1 have got my revolver. Besides, I am safe. 
 They won't hurt me ; it's the director they will 
 have a pot at when they mean mischief, not me. 
 By the way, they are meditating some mischief, 
 and I should advise you to look out." 
 
 " Yes, I know. It will come before another 
 month is out." 
 
 And it did. 
 
60 A VILLAGE FUNERAL. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A VILLAGE FUNERAL. 
 
 The sister lias been busy nearly all clay stitching 
 laurel leaves and evergreens in patterns on white 
 table-cloths, and in making crosses and crowns. 
 Then there was a solemn conference held as to how 
 eight or ten young girls could best be provided with 
 white attire and wreaths on a day's notice. The 
 reason of it all is that the daughter of our master 
 miner died suddenly last night, and as French law 
 only allows forty-eight hours to elapse between a 
 death and burial, things have to be got ready in 
 a hurry. Mary is considered an authority on all 
 social matters from a birth to a burial, and this 
 morning she was waited upon by a deputation of 
 weeping women, and prayed to assist in making the 
 
GREAT PREPARATIONS. 61 
 
 decorations needed. As these were not done at the 
 house of mourning itself, but in that of a neighbour, 
 she did not much mind, and so it came about that 
 she stitched away with the others. Mrs Martin, our 
 housekeeper, lent her best table-cloths, and we set 
 to work to decorate them. We festooned them all 
 round with leaves and flowers, stitching crowns of 
 leaves in the centres of each and crosses in each cor- 
 ner. Then they gave the sister a wreath to make 
 and a big wooden cross to decorate. It so happens 
 that most of the young girls have white dresses 
 which were bought for their confirmation recently, 
 and with a little lending the others have been 
 rigged up. One of the household toilet draperies 
 makes a skirt for one petticoatless maiden, for 
 whom the station-master's wife provides a bodice 
 and Mrs Martin shortens an underskirt. As some 
 of the elder girls are to be attired in black, they 
 have been running from one to another borrowing 
 black hats. The Bouillac girls sent over to say 
 that they wished to help and to be dressed in white ; 
 but the young ladies on this side the river politely 
 
62 A VILLAGE FUNERAL 
 
 told them that their services would not be required, 
 and that they were on no account to wear white 
 if they came as spectators. The girls of St Martin's 
 pride themselves upon their virtue, and do not asso- 
 ciate to any great extent with the other girls, who 
 are somewhat deficient in this respect. 
 
 We are not at all certain what is to be done with 
 the embellished table-cloths, but the sister is expected 
 to attend the funeral and will tell us afterwards all 
 that takes place ; but first we may mention one 
 singular and rather good custom that is in vogue 
 here. After a death the bereaved people place out- 
 side the house-door a table covered with black cloth, 
 on which is placed pen, ink, and a sheet of paper. 
 Sympathising friends who do not wish to enter the 
 house simply write down their names, and this is con- 
 sidered equivalent to a visit. This is really a very 
 good plan, better than leaving cards, because the 
 door has not to be opened each time. The poor girl 
 was consumptive, but no one thought that her death 
 would be so sudden ; there was no time for confes- 
 sion or communion, so that she is not supposed to 
 
OF A YOUNG GIRL. 63 
 
 be buried in consecrated ground. Fortunately 
 Monsieur le Curd has proved himself better than his 
 religion, and far from raising any objection, he has 
 offered a burial and a special Mass. 
 
 All the village was astir early the next morning 
 in order to attend the funeral, which took place at 
 seven o'clock. The coffin was carried by six young 
 girls ; it was not covered at all, but flowers were laid 
 upon it. Following the coffin were four more girls 
 carrying a black-and-white pall, then a girl in white 
 bearing the cross, then four more with a decorated 
 table-cloth, then another with the white crown, and 
 these again were followed by the four bearers of the 
 other white and decorated cloth. The cloths were 
 held by each corner with one hand, and in the free 
 hand each girl carried a tall candle. All the miners 
 and workmen of the night-shift (who would thus be 
 at liberty in the daytime) joined the procession, 
 which was a very long one, the priests walking at 
 the head and chanting as they walked. 
 
 The white cloths are only carried at the funeral of 
 a young unmarried girl, and are supposed to signify 
 
64 A VILLAGE FUNERAL. 
 
 purity. For the same reason a young girl is always 
 dressed for her funeral as she would be for her con- 
 firmation or wedding, and she is fully dressed even 
 to her boots. 
 
 A funeral in this out-of-the-way spot seems to 
 arouse the virtues of forgiving and forgetting, just as 
 Christmas-time is supposed to do in England. As 
 the village gossips meet to weep and decorate, they 
 make friends again and pardon one another's past 
 slanders. We doubt the good fortune of this at the 
 present moment, as after three years' sulkiness to- 
 wards each other, the two longest tongues in the 
 parish have resumed their friendship, and their mis- 
 chief-making powers when united are to be dreaded. 
 
A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 65 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 We had planned a trip down the river in our little 
 steam-launch, and had everything ready for starting 
 this morning, but in the night the rain came, and in 
 the morning there was a deluge of water from the 
 leaden clouds which spanned from hill-top to hill- 
 top, like a huge black lid shut down upon the narrow 
 valley. All day long it rained steadily and heavily, 
 and there was nothing for it but to wait. It cleared 
 a little towards night, but the river was rising, and 
 its silvery streams were turned to yellow torrents. 
 In the morning the rain had ceased, and through 
 the broken clouds, which rolled away from the vine- 
 yard slopes, and hurried up the mountain gorges, 
 there came fitful gleams of hot and brilliant sun- 
 
 E 
 
66 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 shine, which left steamy vapour in their train as 
 they dried the moist vegetation. We did not much 
 like the appearance of the river in spate, as it passed 
 with smooth strong current over the weirs and 
 broke into golden -brown foam below ; but as our 
 arrangements had been made in advance, and our 
 provisions would not keep, we decided to start. 
 Our party consisted of the sister, the visitor, a 
 boatman as a pilot, and an engineer. 
 
 The launch was just above the weir by the works, 
 which are placed on a little bit of level ground at 
 the base of a wooded hill, too steep to climb save 
 with difficulty. The lock is at one end of the weir, 
 without any canal or sheltering passage to it, and is 
 a type of many which we met with lower clown, 
 and which were excessively dangerous during a 
 flooded condition of the river. There is nothing to 
 hold on by in the walls and slopes of masonry ; there 
 is but a slight eddy or backwater to stop in while 
 the lock-gate is being opened, and within four yards 
 of one the torrent is thundering over the weir. If 
 the lock-gate should be open one can steam straight 
 
THE LOCKS. 67 
 
 into the lock without danger ; but as the gates were 
 generally shut, and the lock-keepers away at work 
 in the garden or fields, not expecting such a rare 
 thing as a vessel navigating the river, there was 
 always a delay and a nervous difficulty in holding 
 our own, and avoiding the deadly suck of the 
 weir. Sometimes there were long canals cut out, 
 so as to form a side-channel far above the weir 
 and leading to the lock. In these cases passage 
 through the locks was idle and easy, and the canal 
 itself a thing of beauty, with its rocky banks a mass 
 of verdure and flowers. 
 
 Safely through the lock we sped at a rapid pace 
 down the swift stream, between steep hills clad 
 with vineyard and chestnut forest, past now use- 
 less ferries, by breakwaters hidden by the rush- 
 ing stream, by pleasant homes in leafy groves, by 
 ruined mills, which spoke of a bygone trade, and 
 ruined chateaux on isolated rocks, with the sky 
 becoming bluer and the June sun hotter until we 
 reached Capdenac, where on a precipitous cliff on 
 the summit of a bold bluff stand the massive ruins 
 
68 A CRUISE DOWN TEE RIVER. 
 
 of an ancient fortress said to derive its name from an 
 incident which occurred at the siege of Capdenac by 
 the English. An adventurous soldier had succeeded 
 in scaling the rocks which surrounded the tower, 
 but on reaching the top a sword-thrust cut off his 
 nose, so that he fell backwards and was killed. Cap 
 is patois for coup, and nac for nez, hence the name. 
 Capdenac is our nearest town, and we often go there 
 shopping, obtaining better things and finding bet- 
 ter shops, than from a cursory inspection of its long, 
 dirty, dingy street one would believe possible. One 
 day we visited the ruins, and found a man busily 
 employed in removing some of the stones to build 
 himself a garden wall. 
 
 The river curves about in the most wonderful 
 manner, and at Capdenac it forms a loop of perhaps 
 two miles in circumference, stopped from joining by 
 a narrow neck of rock. Through this neck a tunnel, 
 about a quarter of a mile long, has been made, with 
 locks at each end, and a canal cuts off the bend of 
 the rapid river. The passage through the gloom of 
 this cavern, for such in its size it seems to be, is at 
 
THROUGH A LONG TUNNEL. 69 
 
 all times eerie, but once we had a particularly dis- 
 agreeable experience in it. We were holding on to 
 the landing-steps at the tunnel-side when the men 
 began to work the locks. This they did too quickly, 
 letting; free a deluge of water all at once. The 
 effect of this was a kind of whirlpool, or reverse 
 current, which drew the boat towards the lock-gates, 
 from which the water was pouring high above our 
 heads. We reversed the engine full speed, but even 
 with that had the greatest difficulty in keeping the 
 boat from dashing into the gates, where we should 
 certainly have been swamped. Four of us held on 
 to the wall with might and main, and the sides of 
 the boat bent as she swung against the stones. Our 
 shouts to the men were in vain, the roar of the 
 water drowned our cries, and we were thankful 
 when the rush of water eased. 
 
 Another less dangerous but more ludicrous ad- 
 venture once befell us in another lock. We got 
 into the lock easily enough, but something went 
 wrong with the exit door, which stuck fast just ajar, 
 and for a long time would not move one way or 
 
70 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 another, so that we were fast prisoners, and it took 
 the efforts of many men to release us. As a rule, 
 each lock takes about ten minutes or a quarter of an 
 hour to pass through. 
 
 From Capdenac we swung along at a great pace 
 down the curving river, where the rocks were 
 further apart and the meadows rich with many 
 crops, until, after passing through three more locks, 
 at intervals of two or three miles, we came to La 
 Roque Toirac, where we stopped to eat our dejeuner 
 just above a fourth lock. On the right bank a 
 chateau on a jutting rock half-way up a cliff, with a 
 village beneath it, induced us to take the camera and 
 walk up to it. We were rewarded by finding a 
 most picturesque collection of dwellings, quite in the 
 spray of an enormous waterfall which shot out of a 
 cavern half-way up the cliff. The moist rocks, and 
 the very walls of the houses, were covered with 
 luxuriant ferns, and on the cloud of spray a faint 
 rainbow spanned across the narrow lofty chateau, 
 which was as hoar and ancient as the rock of which 
 it seemed part. The silver torrent dashed wildly 
 
LA EOQUE TOM AC. 71 
 
 under a rude stone arch which carried the road, and 
 side runnels from it ran across the gardens and 
 backyards of the houses. There was a delicious air 
 of moisture and green coolness about the whole of 
 this sequestered nook, which was a strong contrast 
 to the glare of the sun outside the misty dell. We 
 took some successful photographs, including one of 
 four washerwomen, washing clothes in a purling 
 stream, beneath the shade of a trellised vine. They 
 were °;ood enough to suowst to us that if we took 
 a photograph of the Cure's house (the only ugly 
 house in the place, by the way), we could sell many 
 of it. 
 
 Again on the river, which was now clearing fast, 
 we hurried along down rapid after rapid, seeing large 
 stones and masses of rock beneath us, often in close 
 proximity to our slender sides, until we came to 
 another great loop of the river like that at Capdenac, 
 and another lofty tunnel, a quarter of a mile long, 
 through the solid rock, to cut off the bend by canal 
 and locks. Here we were much amused by a long- 
 bearded goat which followed us the whole way 
 
72 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 through the tunnel, gazing down at us with the most 
 comical air of surprised concern. 
 
 As we emerged from the night of the dripping 
 tunnel into the dazzling daylight we came upon 
 a remarkable scene ; a large village — Montbrun — 
 clinging to the side of a promontory of cliff, with a 
 church and chateau at the top, which, of course, it 
 was absolutely necessary to stop and photograph. 
 But we might have stopped for such a purpose 
 every mile, if we had had time and plates enough. 
 As it was, our frequent stops and the many locks 
 made it late in the afternoon ere we reached our 
 first stopping-place, Cajarc, thirty-seven kilometres 
 from our starting-point. 
 
 Cajarc is not a bad little town, if it were not so 
 filthy dirty. All the household refuse appears to 
 be thrown out into the streets, which otherwise 
 are tree -shaded and pleasant. Our appearance 
 created much sensation as we walked up the main 
 street, where the population seemed to be carrying 
 on all their avocations out of doors, on the broad 
 pathways. Our hearts sank as we saw the exterior 
 
A COUNTRY INN. 73 
 
 of the best hotel, and the interior was not much 
 more inviting. The bedrooms were not so bad, 
 and the dinner was most excellent, served though 
 it was in a dirty barn-like room, with rough wooden 
 floor sorely in need of scrubbing. Our companions 
 at dinner were half-a-dozen voyageurs — Anglice, 
 bagmen — who stared hard at us while they silently 
 devoured their dinner. 
 
 Before dinner we had walked a mile or two out, 
 up a side valley, and photographed the Chateau of 
 Salvignac, partly in ruins. We wished to arrange 
 a group of peasants in front of an image of the 
 Virgin under the ruins, and asked a man with a 
 cart drawn by a pair of cows, to stop and be taken. 
 He sullenly said he had no time, but on a franc being 
 given to him, he had plenty of time. The sister, 
 who was a skilful interpreter, had much difficulty 
 in understanding the soft 2 Kl tois. I heard one 
 woman, who was intelligent enough to understand 
 our requirements, say to the other, " Reshons nous." 
 The village dogs attacked us fiercely, and the 
 peasants only laughed at our attempts to drive 
 
74 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 them ofi', which with the sharp points of my tripod 
 I was just able to do. 
 
 We retired to rest early to escape the cheerless 
 room, and next morning, after the uncomfortable 
 basin of cafe au lait with bread soaked in it, 
 which stands for the first breakfast, we were 
 early on the river, which although above its 
 summer level, yet now ran clear and sparkling. 
 
 Another dark tunnel, longer and more cavernous 
 than any yet, cut off a long bend. In the bowels 
 of the solid rock it was, by contrast with the outer 
 heat, very cold. Every turn in the river was a 
 repetition of gorge and cliff and rapid shining 
 stream. Calvignac, a village built upon the top 
 of a huge frowning cliff, shut out the morning sun 
 and cast half the valley into shade. Then, having 
 passed through three more locks, we reached a 
 village upon which the rain never falls — Larnigol. 
 An immense white cliff overhangs the river, and 
 in the hollow at its base the village is built, the 
 houses being little more than faces of masonry, the 
 back-rooms being hollowed in the rock. The drip- 
 
A RAINLESS VILLAGE. 75 
 
 ping springs and the raindrops keep the upper 
 fern-clad cliff clothed with its glorious greenery of 
 maiden-hair, and falls in a veil of spray far outside 
 of the houses and into the river. What a strange 
 collection of human habitations is this, sequestered 
 from the outer world ! no road to it but mountain 
 footpaths and the river. One would expect the 
 people to be savage and clad in skins; but they 
 are of the ordinary, blue-bloused, peasant class, 
 having tiny fields in the meadow-land, which seems 
 almost always to be opposite the frowning cliff on 
 the other side of the river, scanty patches of vines 
 in oases on the barren hillside, and chestnut woods 
 in sheltered gullies. One wonders how there can 
 be any feeling of safety underneath those top-heavy 
 rocks, and indeed one hears occasionally of houses 
 being overwhelmed by falls of rock. These rock- 
 bound, cavern-cottaged villages are so numerous in 
 the valley of the Lot that this occurrence is not 
 rare. A little lower down the river we saw a great 
 slope of broken rock, which covers the ruins of an 
 entire village so destroyed a long time ago. 
 
A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 The formation of the rock favours caverns and 
 hollows, and one constantly sees the face of the 
 cliff made good with ancient masonry shutting in 
 the mouth of a cavern. These were clearly intended 
 as strongholds and places of retreat, and their origin 
 is ascribed to the Romans, although a few are said 
 to be of English origin, when Cahors was garrisoned 
 with English soldiery under the command of Thomas 
 a Becket. Some of these strongholds are scarcely 
 distinguishable from the rock, and are so high up 
 and so inaccessible that it is probable they have not 
 been visited for o-enerations. 
 
 In one place, the name of which we forget, al- 
 though we took a photograph of it which is now 
 before us, the white limestone cliff rose with re- 
 markable abruptness to a great height, and with 
 apertures through the mass of it showing the sky 
 at the other side. There was no room for the road 
 between its sheer precipice and the river, so the 
 road was tunnelled through its base, with approaches 
 of semi -tunnels supported by massive arches of 
 masonry, a magnificent engineering work, carried 
 
A BEAUTIFUL CANAL. 77 
 
 out, like the locks, by the State, regardless of 
 expense. 
 
 Through lock after lock without much difficulty, 
 except that once we were nearly carried over a weir, 
 through our boatman trying to turn the launch 
 round just above one, while waiting for a lock to 
 be opened. By sweeping curves, grim rocks, and 
 emerald meadows, over golden shallows and sullen 
 deeps, we sped swiftly on. Entering a very beauti- 
 ful canal leading to a lock, we were charmed by 
 the luxuriance of plant and flower and fern on the 
 overhanging rocks, and the plash of cool cascade or 
 tributary streams. Bird and butterfl}', lizard and 
 dragon-fly, all things gay and beautiful were in pro- 
 fusion around us. The water was cold as ice, and 
 in constant motion from springs welling out of 
 mossy crevices in the cliff, and shoals of fish darted 
 across the sunlit limestone bottom of the canal. 
 The wealth of maiden-hair fringing the moist rocks 
 made us wish to carry a ship-load of it back to 
 England. There was no sound but the hum of 
 insect, the cry of bird, and the plash of water. 
 
78 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 Not a leaf stirred ; no breeze penetrated this cool 
 recess ; in the dark-green depths of the wood, be- 
 tween us and the murmuring river, there was not 
 a rustle ; there was no sight or sound of man in this 
 wild Garden of Eden. As we slowly glided round 
 a corner, we saw a child fast asleep on the lowest of 
 a rude flight of stone steps, touching the water, and 
 so close to the edge that our wash would have 
 lifted him in, had we not shut off steam and drifted 
 quietly by. We shouted for some one to come, and 
 presently a peasant came from a cave where he 
 probably had been enjoying a noontide siesta, and 
 carried the little boy away from his dangerous 
 position. He had lain so still and limp, that we 
 were at first afraid it was a dead body left there 
 by the stream. 
 
 We now entered a deep lock, and no sooner were 
 we shut in, than there was a loud explosion and a 
 deafening uproar of escaping steam, which filled the 
 space under the awning with scalding vapour, so 
 that we had to throw ourselves on our faces in the 
 bottom of the boat. The lock-keeper and his wife 
 fled in terror to a safe distance. 
 
AN ACCIDENT. 79 
 
 When the rush of steam had subsided, we found 
 that the steam pressure-gauge had been blown off 
 into space. The engineer and boatman were most 
 graphic in their despair, and to give them time to 
 collect their thoughts, we carried the luncheon-basket 
 into a shady place in the wood, and enjoyed our 
 dejeuner none the less because we were many miles 
 from any railway station or auberge. But what 
 was the use of worrying ! We had plenty to eat 
 and drink ; the coolness was so delicious, while 
 beyond the shade of the cliff it was intensely hot. 
 Then perched on the top of a bold rock was the 
 church and village of St Cirq, which made a capital 
 photograph. Nothing would have tempted us to 
 climb to the summit of that cliff. The dwellers in 
 these parts ought to have wings, to make their daily 
 life worth living. St Cirq la Popie has an industry 
 of its own. It is the birthplace of almost all the 
 wooden taps which are used in the vine-growing 
 departments round about. Nearly all the inhabit- 
 ants of this village aloft, get their living by making 
 these wooden taps, which are sent away in boats to 
 be sold in the neighbouring towns. 
 
80 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 Meanwhile our crew had recovered from their 
 dramatic despair, and were hard at work tinkering 
 up damages by plugging up the pipe of the lost 
 pressure-gauge with a piece of wood. The safety- 
 valve was fortunately set low, and by keeping the 
 steam just blowing off at this, the steam pressure 
 could be kept uniform ; and presently we were 
 under way again down the clearing and brightening 
 river. 
 
 We passed rapidly by the stupendous cliffs of 
 Ganyl, but on our journey up-stream we stopped 
 there for a closer examination of their wonders. 
 For more than a mile the white limestone cliffs rise 
 sheer out of the river, on the left bank, to the height 
 of over three hundred feet, with the upper strata 
 overhanging. About fifteen feet above the summer 
 level, a half-tunnel fifteen feet high and deep is cut 
 out of the solid rock for a tow-path — a monument 
 of engineering perseverance and skill. On the 
 opposite side of the river are low meadows, which 
 are often covered by the sudden floods, so that the 
 tow-path for this unused navigation must need be 
 
THE CLIFFS OF GANYL. 81 
 
 carved out of the rock — a long black score in the 
 dazzling white. The steam-launch, anchored in the 
 stream below, looked but a tiny dot — a child's toy- 
 boat — under those great cliffs, and human figures 
 on the path but flies in a narrow groove. On the 
 hot white spaces of bare rock the lizard ran nimbly 
 and rested suddenly, and numbers of gay butterflies, 
 notably large swallowtails, fluttered in the brilliant 
 and reflected sunshine. In moister patches maiden- 
 hair ferns grew in graceful profusion, and the 
 overhanging summit of the precipice, whence fell 
 a continuous spray of water far out into the river 
 below, spreading a gossamer veil between us on 
 the rock and the green land beyond, was thickly 
 covered with ferns of many kinds, and luxuriant 
 moss. From the crevice below us large snakes 
 would slide into the glassy water, and emerging 
 again, be dry in a moment as they climbed the 
 burning stones. 
 
 But every mile of this charming river there is 
 something fresh to see, and to describe, were it not 
 monotonous to do so, because of the paucity of 
 
 F 
 
82 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 language on the writer's part. We went rapidly on 
 through many more locks, by cliffs and woods and 
 chateaux, until the widening stream bore us in the 
 evening to Cahors, a large, handsome, and im- 
 portant town, enclosed within a loop of the river. 
 Here we landed for the night, and found comfort- 
 able quarters in an inn, where the landlord, who 
 had been deceived by a faithless wife, allows no 
 women-servants at all. We joined the table d'hdte, 
 where the sister, being the last arrival, and the 
 only lady, was placed at the head of a long table, 
 at which sat some forty men. The brother joined 
 us at the meal, having just arrived by train. Oh, 
 the dinners we had at that large and dirty hotel 
 at Cahors ! Now, I, the present writer, am amply 
 satisfied with a plate of cold beef and a jug of ale 
 for my dinner, and I am not more satisfied with 
 the best dinner my hospitable friends can give me ; 
 so I am not a gourmand or a glutton, but there was 
 something peculiarly touching about those Cahors 
 dinners. One could not pick out the pates clefoies 
 gras, the truffles, or the trout, or anything else in 
 
AT CAHORS. 83 
 
 particular as excellent ; there were such a multitude 
 of appetising dishes, all good, and an unlimited 
 supply of excellent vin ordinaire, for about half-a- 
 crown all told. Then the coffee and cigarettes by 
 the fountains in the gardens behind the hotel, the 
 stroll afterwards along the wide but crowded streets 
 by the bright moonlight — every person in the city 
 neatly dressed, and promenading or sitting on the 
 pavement outside the cafes; the solitary walk by 
 the river, and over the long and turreted bridge, 
 said to be built by the English during the occu- 
 pancy under Thomas a Becket ; the reverie by the 
 weir, where the broken water shone bright in a 
 light mellower and more o-olden than, but otherwise 
 almost as bright as, an English daylight ; and then 
 the return to the gay crowd at midnight, — it is a 
 charming memory of a charming place. As we 
 entered our comfortable, but, alas ! not clean bed- 
 rooms, the sound of laughter and song penetrated 
 through the open volees, and made it clear that 
 sleep would be impossible for another hour. So 
 we spent the time in making a tent of the bed- 
 
84 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 clothes, under which we changed our sensitive 
 plates, the moonlight streaming in through the 
 chinks of blinds and curtains making this not 
 otherwise possible. 
 
 The next morning we inspected the cathedral and 
 the celebrated Fontaine de Divonne, where, out of 
 an unfathomable cavern in the rock, wells a full- 
 grown river issuing in enormous volume, a trans- 
 parent green in colour, and icy cold to the feel. It 
 turns a mill within ten yards of its source, and 
 surges over a weir into the river Lot in ten yards 
 more, in its short course of twenty yards making as 
 much fuss as a river with a course of twenty miles. 
 This district is full of such things. There are lost 
 rivers, where they plunge into the bowels of the 
 rock, and no man has traced their emergence ; there 
 are fountains like that of Divonne ; and there are 
 great dry gulfs of unmeasured depth, which people 
 go to see, and then see nothing but a hole full of 
 darkness. 1 
 
 1 At last some one has explored one of these gouffres. As this book 
 goes to press we observe the following paragraph in a newspaper : 
 
A SUBTERRANEAN RIVER. 85 
 
 There was a picturesque mill and lock, which 
 we photographed, and where we saw the first barge 
 we had yet seen. We had come seventy miles, 
 and passed through thirty locks, and as yet had not 
 seen any craft larger than a ferry-boat, and not a 
 single vessel used for any other purpose than the 
 peasants crossing the river or fishing. These were 
 flat-bottomed punts of the rudest description, and 
 propelled by a thing like a malt -shovel. Those 
 registered as fishing - boats, and duly licensed for 
 the purpose, had big signboards nailed to their 
 sides, with the register number painted upon them. 
 
 "A subterranean river has just been discovered in the district of 
 Miers, in the Department of Lot, Miers is in the heart of a wild 
 mountainous country, in the deepest recesses of which caves and 
 grottoes are found, some of wbich appear to have been the abodes of 
 our troglodyte ancestors. The other day two explorers— M. Martel 
 and M. Gaupillat— discovered the river at the bottom of a gouffre or 
 abyss, known as the Pit of Paderac. Returning thither with a folding 
 boat, made of sail-cloth, they worked their way down-stream for a 
 couple of miles through a succession of wonderful grottoes sparkling 
 with stalactites. They found seven lakes on their way, and had to 
 shoot thirty-seven cascades or rapids. The two explorers intend to 
 start on a fresh expedition to ascertain, if possible, the outlet of this 
 unknown river. They conjecture that it joins one of the heads of 
 the Dordogne, six miles from the abyss." 
 
86 A CRUISE DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 The river below Caliors is said to be grander 
 and wilder even than the upper reaches, with 
 rockier banks and more gigantic cliffs. If this be 
 so, it must be well worth a visit. 
 
 Our journey back again was marked by two 
 incidents. In one place the stream was so fierce 
 that we could not stem it, and two of us had to go 
 ashore with the tow-line and toil along the rocky 
 bank, knee-deep in flowers and snakes (at least we 
 disturbed so many of these creatures, which took at 
 once to the river, that every tendril clinging round 
 our ancles, or slippery root on which we trod, made 
 us nervous), while those in the launch steered her 
 anxiously over the swirling torrent, and watched 
 the jagged rocks plainly visible below. We had 
 run short of fuel, which made the matter more diffi- 
 cult, and afterwards led to the second incident, that 
 of stoking the furnace with tobacco. We had used 
 all our coal (and all we could buy at the cottages we 
 passed was two lumps), we had broken up every 
 box and piece of useless wood about the boat, and 
 at last we came to a stop and landed to gather 
 
STOKING WITH TOBACCO. 87 
 
 sticks. We could not find many, but discovered 
 heaps of dry roots, with which we loaded the fore 
 part of our little craft. It turned out that these 
 were the roots of the tobacco-plant, and it gave 
 us an excuse for saying afterwards to unbelieving 
 people that we had stoked with tobacco. The 
 roots gave but an evanescent flare ; and after 
 drawing very slowly away from a dangerous weir, 
 barely stemming the current, we were obliged to 
 stop twenty miles short of our destination and go 
 home by train, leaving the launch to be brought 
 on next day. 
 
THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE — THE CALVARY 
 — THE BISHOP IN THE STEAM - LAUNCH — THE RURAL 
 PRIESTHOOD. 
 
 Our village is all excitement because of the visit 
 which the eveque, Bishop of — we were going to say 
 the diocese, but at all events of the corresponding 
 French division — is paying it. 
 
 "We had been wondering why the children were 
 all so busy gathering moss and evergreens, but we 
 saw the reason of their labours in an evergreen 
 chapel or bower half-way between the station and 
 the church, and many other arches and decora- 
 tions. The great man came this afternoon at four 
 o'clock, and the inhabitants turned out to meet him 
 en masse. It is only once in five years that he 
 pays a visit to this obscure village, so the excite- 
 
AN OFFICIAL RECEPTION. 89 
 
 ment is great when he does come. We went clown 
 with the rest to meet him at the station, and the 
 director, as the person of greatest consequence, 
 welcomed him and presented the rest of the Eng- 
 lish colony to him. He spoke a few polite words, 
 and, stretching his hands over us, blessed us, so that 
 we were the first persons in the parish to receive the 
 blessings of Monseigneur. 
 
 He first proceeded to the evergreen chapel, and to 
 our unaccustomed eyes it seemed strange to see him 
 stand solemnly there and change his robes, and don 
 his mitre, in full view of, and to the mingled delight 
 and awe of the villagers and peasants. 
 
 After the change of attire came the general 
 blessing and official reception. The mayor read 
 his welcoming speech (poor man ! he was nervous), 
 and had himself and Commune blessed. Then the 
 director gave his carefully prepared oration, teeming 
 with extravagant compliments to the French nation. 
 He takes great delight in piling up all the flattery 
 he can muster. We are afraid sometimes that he is 
 " laying it on too thick," and that they will see he 
 
90 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVfiQUE. 
 
 is laughing at them ; but really this seems to be 
 impossible, they take it all " like Gospel." 
 
 The Bishop gave in return some almost equally 
 eulogistic compliments upon the English nation in 
 general, and the small portion of it now resting at 
 St Martin de Bouillac in particular. He was pleased 
 to say that the English were the greatest people 
 on the face of the earth (0 Bishop ! where is thy 
 sincerity ? Is it equal to that of the director ?) ; 
 and that by reverencing the Sabbath as they did, 
 they set an example and made a reproach to the 
 other nations, themselves (the French) in particular. 
 There was a short service in the church after- 
 wards, which we did not attend ; but there was one 
 little incident worth relating. An English lady 
 staying with us had a pretty little child of four 
 years old, named Sissie, who was taken into the 
 church with a little friend. Monseigneur l'^veque 
 blessed all the little Catholics, and gave them the 
 cross containing the Ion Dieu to kiss. Upon see- 
 ing Sissie, he said to one of the other children — 
 " Approchez cette petite ange, an bon Jesu," and 
 

THE CALVARY. 91 
 
 Sissie kissed the cross, receiving his especial bles- 
 sing, and kissing his hand like the others. The 
 little darling does not think he is a man at all, and 
 has, in some inexplicable fashion, got her ideas of 
 him mixed up with those she has of the Saviour, 
 perhaps because she hears both spoken of as Mon- 
 
 seigneur. 
 
 A little while ago there was a religious revival at 
 St Martin's, and all the village was converted ; and, 
 in memory of the event, erected a Calvary on the 
 top of the steep hill behind our house. Along the 
 path through the vines are some fifteen crosses, at 
 regular intervals, leading to the crown of the hill, 
 where are three larger crosses of plain wood, the 
 centre one bearing a well-carved image of Christ. 
 These stand boldly out against the sky, and are to- 
 night illuminated and garlanded with little lamps, 
 as are each of the smaller or station crosses. Un- 
 fortunately for the success of the illuminations, the 
 parish lantern (the moon, according to our native 
 dialect) shines brilliantly, and places the lesser lights 
 at a disadvantage. 
 
92 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE. 
 
 Our neighbours of Bouillac were very jealous of 
 our religious success, and inaugurated a rival mis- 
 sion and conversion. So they ordered two revival- 
 istic priests (we had only one), and straightway set 
 to work to profit by their ministrations. Every- 
 thing was neglected save church-going. We were 
 not sorry when it was all ended, for our washer- 
 woman was too much absorbed in prayer to do the 
 washing properly that week, and the baker, in his 
 zeal, forgot to bring the bread. But what of such 
 trifles ! Bouillac had its mission, confessed its sins, 
 and was able to say to St Martin's — " We are as 
 good as you." 
 
 But one thing they could not have, and that was 
 a Calvary, the one first erected having a vested inter- 
 est in the neighbourhood, which the religious author- 
 ities would not allow to be disturbed. But they 
 were not to be done, so they bought a Virgin, and 
 the maids of Bouillac (rarce aves in the village) 
 having carried it through the streets, it was placed 
 in a niche over the church porch. They were also 
 allowed to put up one cross on a hill near the vil- 
 
LVXFIJIMATIuX. 93 
 
 lage, and this ceremony took place last Sunday, 
 when the people went in procession up the steep 
 hillside, bearing the cross, which, after being blessed 
 by the assembled priests of the neighbourhood, was 
 planted on the crest of the hill, where its presence 
 is believed to protect the neighbouring vines from 
 the blisrht. 
 
 The excitement was greater still on the second 
 day of the Bishop's visit, as it was confirmation 
 day. Early in the morning numbers of little white - 
 robed and veiled figures were hurrying down the 
 hill-paths, and along the white road to the station. 
 These were the St Martin's children going to meet 
 those from Capdenac, who would arrive by train. 
 The Bouillac contingent also joined them there, and, 
 headed by Monseigneur, resplendent in his purple 
 robes, his grand vicar, and the other priests, the 
 children walked in procession to the church, which 
 was decked for the occasion with flowers, moss, and 
 evergreens. 
 
 We were provided with seats near the altar, inside 
 the communion-rail. We were, of course, behind 
 
94 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE. 
 
 the eveque, but could see the pretty and awestruck 
 faces of the children as they came up in succession 
 to be anointed and blessed. After the confirma- 
 tion, Monseigneur came up to the altar, and seeing 
 Sissie standing close to him, he called her a little 
 angel of the good Jesus, and blessed her for the 
 second time. 
 
 The next proceeding was a grand dinner at the 
 Cure's, at which, after the Bishop, the director was 
 the most important personage. The dinner was 
 maigre, because of its being in Lent ; but as several 
 kinds of delicious soups, fish, and pate were served, 
 the maigreness was not very apparent. 
 
 Dinner finished, the Bishop visited one of our 
 miners, who is very ill, and, we are afraid, upon his 
 deathbed. Poor man ! his wife is expecting her con- 
 finement very soon, which makes the situation all 
 the more sad. 
 
 The director had his little steam-launch brought 
 up from the works to Bouillac Bridge, thinking that 
 the Bishop would embark there for his voyage down 
 to Verney, where another confirmation takes place ; 
 
THE EVEQUE AT THE MINE. 95 
 
 but his lordship elected to walk from the sick man's 
 house to the mine, so we went down in the boat, the 
 crowd following along the river-side, and waited at 
 the office for our reverend visitor. Presently he 
 approached, followed by the white-robed girls and 
 clean-looking (for once in their lives) boys whom he 
 had confirmed in the morning. The director and 
 his sister met him, and again received his blessing. 
 The works were thrown open for once to all comers, 
 and it seemed strange to see the little white girls, 
 with their wreaths and veils, flitting about among 
 the machinery. The Bishop was much interested, 
 and asked for everything to be explained to him. 
 After he had seen the tables, jiggers, crushers, and 
 rollers in motion, the machinery was stopped for a 
 little while, and every one drew near to hear a short 
 sermon given by him to the workmen and miners. 
 It really was a very good sensible discourse, and 
 much more charitable than we expected. What 
 would some strait-laced Dissenting deacon, or 
 Low Church parson, have thought had he seen us 
 all, English and French, Protestant and Catholic, 
 
96 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE. 
 
 kneeling to receive the blessing; of a Roman Catholic 
 bishop ? ' ' But what does it matter ? " remarked a phil- 
 osophical friend; " religious forms and ceremonies are 
 a matter of opinion, and a blessing more or less will 
 not make any difference in the long-run." After the 
 works, workmen, and audience had been blessed, the 
 Bishop took his seat in the launch, which, carrying 
 the union -jack at the bows, and the tricolor of 
 France at the stern, steamed away down the beauti- 
 ful river to Verney, where a confirmation is to be 
 held to-morrow, and where the director is to dine 
 with the Bishop at the house of Monsieur le Cure. 
 The peasants working in the fields dropped their 
 tools and rushed in groups, and, seeing the Bishop, 
 they fell on their knees on the river - bank, and 
 bowed their heads to receive his blessing. The con- 
 trast between the noisy, puffing, little launch and 
 the grave and reverend Monseigneur, who, standing 
 up, and with outstretched hands, blessed the devout 
 people on either bank, was somewhat marked, also 
 one could scarcely restrain a smile at the attitudes 
 assumed by the numerous goats. The animals 
 
THE RURAL PRIESTHOOD. 97 
 
 always came to the bank to see the launch go by, 
 and they gaze in astonishment, nodding their long- 
 bearded visages with ridiculous solemnity a,nd regu- 
 larity. More goats than usual came down this day, 
 and mingling with the groups of kneeling peasants, 
 wao-o-ed their wise heads in appreciative admiration. 
 
 This is perhaps a good opportunity to say some- 
 thing about the rural priesthood. We approach the 
 subject with reluctance, and will dismiss it briefly, 
 merely saying that our remarks apply only to the 
 rural priesthood, and not to the refined and edu- 
 cated priests of higher rank or better station. 
 
 Keverenced and adored by the women, tolerated 
 but distrusted by the men, they lead singularly 
 artificial lives. Many of those living in out-of- 
 the-way parishes are in some respects almost as 
 ignorant as the people they profess to teach and 
 guide. Themselves the sons of peasant proprie- 
 tors, they are taken perhaps by a neighbouring 
 cure, and by him educated, with a view to their 
 becoming in after - years spiritual pastors and 
 masters. It is considered by the peasants " so very 
 
 G 
 
98 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE. 
 
 respectable " to have a care in the family, and the 
 women like to be able to speak of " my brother 
 the cure' or " my uncle the cure" it gives a certain 
 tone to a family, a sort of " we've got what you 
 haven't " air. Of course the priests are educated : 
 they even learn one other language besides their 
 own — either English, German, or Spanish, the 
 choice is optional. Spanish or German is most 
 frequently chosen, but occasionally one meets with 
 a priest who can speak English fluently. Such an 
 one would most probably be a gentleman by birth 
 and fortune. But the country cures, for the most 
 part, are not gentlemen either in manners or birth, 
 or by education. They know a little Latin, and a 
 few phrases of one of the before-mentioned languages ; 
 for the rest, they are well up in the dogmas, rites, 
 ceremonies, superstitions, and petty tyrannies of 
 their own particular religion : of the religion of 
 other people they literally know nothing. One 
 cure thought that all Protestants were Unitarians, 
 or something of that sort, and that the Virgin Mary 
 was not in the remotest way connected with the 
 
A DISH OF LUXURY. 99 
 
 Protestant religion. He did not know that we had 
 any creed at all, and was very much surprised to 
 hear that the Apostles' Creed was read at a service 
 which was held in our sitting-room by the French 
 Protestant pastor. 
 
 The cures, like all other Frenchmen, are fond of 
 good living. Some of the bishops, however, dis- 
 courage this, and do not like even confirmation 
 feasts to be too grand. Apropos of this, a story 
 went the round a short time ago. As was, and still 
 is, the custom, Monsieur le Cure gave a grand 
 luncheon-party in honour of the visit of his bishop 
 to the parish, and as his brother had made him a 
 present of a pheasant, he had it cooked for dejemer. 
 It was quite evident to the guests, at the commence- 
 ment of the repast, that Monseigneur thought the 
 various dishes too good for earthly cures food, for 
 he made satirical remarks to that effect ; but when 
 the pheasant was placed upon the table, he im- 
 mediately arose, saying, "A dish of luxury, a dish 
 of luxury, — it is too much." Thereupon he retired 
 to his room, leaving his poor snubbed host in a dis- 
 
100 THE CONFIRMATION VISIT OF THE EVEQUE. 
 
 turbed state of mind. As for the other guests, they 
 did not much mind, for, as one of them said, there 
 was all the more pheasant left for them, and peace 
 and quietness to eat it in. 
 
 Of the morality of the priesthood in this Southern 
 clime our speech shall be as short as the subject- 
 matter. Their self-indulgence in this respect is just 
 on a par with that of the peasant girls, in whose 
 veins the blood runs with a Southern warmth. 
 
THE TOWNS. 101 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE TOWNS. 
 
 The towns and villages of this part of France are all 
 more or less (generally more) dirty, and more or less 
 (generally more also) picturesque. We have said all, 
 but that is not quite true. Decazeville is dirty, 
 outrageously dirty, but it is not picturesque; but 
 Decazeville ought not to have the first place in this 
 chapter given to it, for it is so dirty and so ugly 
 that it should decidedly be placed at the very end, 
 but as we have mentioned it first, we may as well 
 say that it possesses two redeeming features— a fine 
 church, and a fine Place upon which is erected a 
 statue of the Duke of Decazes. 
 
 Decazeville is the centre of a mining district, and 
 of course all the towns in that district are rather 
 
102 THE TOWNS. 
 
 more dirty than usual, and the usual is bad 
 enough. 
 
 Let us leave the mining towns and go and see 
 what Rodez, the chief town of the Department of 
 Aveyron, is like : at any rate, we shall journey 
 through a charming country. 
 
 After passing Cransac, the railway winds onwards 
 and upwards, skirting round two sides of one 
 beautiful valley, and then darting through a 
 tunnel into another and another of such valleys, 
 — the grass as green as any that grows in the 
 Emerald Isle, the hillsides terraced and clothed 
 right away up with the fragrant vines, and the 
 waving corn-fields bright with the scarlet glow of 
 poppies. On the banks of the line the poppies grow 
 in sheets, and every rocky cutting is fringed with 
 ferns and saxifrage, the latter golden, red, and green. 
 
 Before reaching Kodez we pass the beautiful 
 waterfall of Salles-la-Source. The village bearing 
 that name is situated on one side of a narrow valley, 
 and the houses are perched one above another 
 against the rocks, which tower to a considerable 
 
SALLES-LA - SO URGE. 103 
 
 height above them. From one overhanging cliff the 
 water falls in one unbroken arch a distance of many 
 feet outwards, and then darting under the roadway 
 bridge, it takes another long leap, and so on and on, 
 rushing, tumbling, leaping, until it joins the little 
 river that brawls along its stony bed at the 
 bottom of the valley. Seen from the opposite 
 side of the valley, the fall looks not so much like 
 water, as masses of moving snow, it is so white 
 and pure-looking. Underneath the principal arch 
 of water is a water-worn grotto, and there is the 
 home of the maiden -hair fern. There it grows 
 in thousands, ever kept fresh and cool by the 
 spray of the waterfall ; right away to the top of 
 the cliff the graceful, feathery fronds lap one over 
 another — a veritable cascade of ferns, green with 
 a greenness so tender and so vivid that it is more 
 like a light than a colour. Salles-la-Source is a 
 place one sees with delight, leaves with regret, and 
 thinks of in after years with pleasant memories. 
 
 Eodez is reached soon after leaving Salles-la- 
 Source. The town itself is situated on a hill, so 
 
104 THE TOWNS. 
 
 that it is impossible for the railway to run into 
 it. However, a rumbling old diligence soon takes 
 one into the city. 
 
 The boast and pride of Eodez is its cathedral, from 
 the summit of whose lofty tower one looks across a 
 smiling country to the snow-clad mountains of the 
 Auvergne Alps. 
 
 This tower is one of the marvels of the " Midi de 
 la France " : it is 80 yards high, is built in three 
 steps, and is surmounted by a colossal statue of 
 the Virgin, surrounded by statues of the four evan- 
 gelists, one at each corner of the tower. The cathe- 
 dral was built between the thirteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries, and is both large and beautiful, containing 
 some richly carved stalls, tombs, and chapels. Oh 
 what a relief it is to enter the cathedral out of the 
 heat and glare of a July clay ! It is like an entering 
 into rest. Quiet nuns creep slowly to and fro across 
 the pavement. Poor women, who perhaps have 
 left their market-baskets on the steps outside, kneel 
 praying before the shrine of some favourite saint ; 
 whilst dotted here and there in front of the grand 
 
RODEZ CATHEDRAL. 105 
 
 altar the matrons and maids of the city say their 
 prayers in peace and quietness. 
 
 Through high painted windows the shafted sun- 
 light streams, throwing bars of coloured light over 
 living sinners and statued saints, tinting alike with 
 rainbow-hues the white marble of the altar and the 
 cold, grey stone pavement. 
 
 In winter the cathedral is cold — cold as ice. Let 
 us turn into it at dusk on a November evening;. A 
 few candles burn dimly upon the high altar ; con- 
 fession is going on in some of the chapels, and these 
 also are lit up. The rest of the building is wrapt in 
 gloom. On all sides kneel or sit waiting, praying 
 figures. From a chapel near, one hears the murmur- 
 ing voice of the priest and the answering voice of a 
 penitent, whispering in tones inaudible to any save 
 her confessor. The door of the chapel is opened, 
 the confessed and absolved penitent passes out, and 
 another person takes her (only occasionally his) 
 place. The sober nuns creep slowly in and out, dip- 
 ping their saintly fingers in the holy water that ever 
 rests in its font beside the great church-door. In 
 
106 THE TOWNS. 
 
 the gathering darkness the candles on the high altar 
 and in the chapels burn more brightly, throwing 
 gleams of light upon the faces of the passing faithful, 
 but otherwise only serving to make the gloom in 
 which the great body of the church is wrapt, more 
 apparent. 
 
 The streets of Kodez are cleaned in a very eco- 
 nomical manner. The town, as we said before, is sit- 
 uated on a hill, then the Place or market-square is at 
 the top of the town, and from it the streets radiate 
 in a downward direction. To clean these streets the 
 scavengers turn on the taps in the square, and by 
 means of zinc or wooden troughs guide the water 
 into the different streets. Then out come the shop- 
 keepers or their assistants, each one armed with a 
 big broom, and in a very few minutes each street is 
 swept clear and clean from end to end. The market- 
 square is treated in the same way, then the taps are 
 turned off, and the men disappear to other parts of 
 the town. 
 
 In spite of all this scrubbing and brushing, the 
 streets of a French town look nearly always dirty ; 
 
THE VILLAGES. 107 
 
 but that is because of the habits of the people, any 
 and every kind of refuse being thrown into the 
 streets, — out of the windows and out of the doors, 
 everything is thrown as into a dust-bin. The people 
 of this district are like bad servants : they no sooner 
 clean up than they begin to dirty again, and so 
 their streets, at any rate, are seldom clean and tidy- 
 looking. 
 
 But if the towns are dirty, what, oh what, can be 
 said of the villages! Alas! there is only one word 
 that can be used in describing the condition, and 
 that is " filthy." They are filthy in the extreme. 
 Quaint, wonderfully quaint, fit pictures for an 
 artist's eye, but, alas for his nose ! Poor man ! he 
 would have a bad time of it. Cologne in its ancient 
 and worst days may have been as bad, but it could 
 not have been worse. 
 
 The Palais de Justice at Eodez is a very fine 
 building, and once w T hen we were at Kodez an im- 
 portant murder trial was going on. The town itself 
 was in a great state of excitement, because some 
 friends of the accused had threatened to blow up 
 
108 TEE TOWNS. 
 
 the Assize Courts with dynamite, so the courts were 
 guarded all round with mounted troops. The per- 
 sons being tried were those accused of the brutal 
 murder of Monsieur Wattrin, of Decazeville strike 
 renown. There were seven of them, men and 
 women, and villanous-looking people they were. 
 
 Trials in French courts are looked upon as a great 
 distraction by all concerned. Judge, jurors, lawyers, 
 witnesses, and audience, and newspaper reporters go 
 in for making the whole affair as theatrical as they 
 possibly can, and when published the evidence reads 
 more like a play (tragedy or comedy, as the case may 
 be) than anything else. 
 
 One week the people of St Martin's and Bouillac 
 were all on the qui vive, expecting that there would 
 be a guillotining entertainment at Figeac, which is 
 the second town in the Department of the Lot. 
 
 A man living in a village near to that town, had 
 shot his sister-in-law and his aunt, after having 
 made a vain attempt to shoot his father-in-law. As 
 it was not thought that a jury, however lenient, 
 could bring in extenuating circumstances, the people 
 
FIGEAG. 109 
 
 naturally expected that the man would be doomed 
 to lose his head, and many of them were eagerly 
 looking forward to being witnesses of the ghastly 
 spectacle. One woman actually said that though 
 she should not go herself, she should send her young 
 son, that the dreadful sight might deter him from 
 ever committing a similar crime. However, the 
 man only got a term of imprisonment after all, so 
 all the curiously inclined were disappointed of the 
 entertainment. 
 
 The French police work much more secretly than 
 do the English ones. They keep things very quiet, 
 and one does not hear much of their proceedings in 
 connection with a trial before it comes off. Also, 
 their doings are not reported to such an extent in 
 the newspapers. 
 
 Figeac is the second town in the Department of 
 the Lot, and is worth a visit if only for the sake of 
 seeing its quaint old market-place, and its two beauti- 
 ful churches, in one of which is a most beautiful and 
 elaborately carved high altar, which occupies almost 
 the whole end of the church and reaches to the roof. 
 
110 SUPERSTITIONS AND CUSTOMS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SUPERSTITIONS AND CUSTOMS. 
 
 The peasants are very superstitious, though they 
 do not themselves think so. In fact, superstition 
 not connected with religion, is discountenanced by 
 the Roman Catholic Church and its priests : religious 
 superstitions are dignified by the name of croy- 
 ances, when, as a matter of course, they at once 
 cease to be looked upon as mere superstitions. 
 There are, however, some superstitions that are not 
 in any way connected with religion. One very 
 curious one is the following : If rain continues for 
 several days, the poor people think that the bon 
 Dieu is angry, and that in all probability some one 
 will fall into the river and be drowned, which the 
 bon Dieu will accept as a kind of sacrifice, when 
 
CLOTHES-BOILING AND CATS. Ill 
 
 He will make the rain to cease and the sun to 
 shine again. Another superstition is connected with 
 washing-day. During the month of May many 
 people will only wash the clothes in cold water. 
 They will not make a lessive, or clothes-boiling, 
 during that month, because the Virgin Mary might 
 feel offended, and so withhold some particularly de- 
 sired blessing from themselves and families. Why 
 the Virgin Mary should take any interest in clothes- 
 washing it is hard to tell, and why she should object 
 to the clothes being boiled during this especial month 
 is still harder ; but there it is, she does object, and 
 as she is the guardian saint of all Catholic families, 
 they like to please her even in so small a matter 
 as this. 
 
 When changing houses, many peasants would rather 
 leave a cat to starve in the old house, than carry it 
 with them to another ; they consider it unlucky, and 
 that if puss will not follow them to the new home 
 of her own free will she had better be left behind, 
 otherwise all kinds of misfortune may be expected. 
 On no account must a cat be carried over a brook : 
 
112 SUPERSTITIONS AND CUSTOMS. 
 
 that would be quite too dreadful, and no one could 
 say what might happen to the bearer. As we live 
 close beside one brook, with another quite near upon 
 the other side, the river in front and the mountains 
 behind, we find it difficult to get a cat, for no one is 
 courageous enough to bring one to the house. So, 
 as our last pussy disappeared mysteriously, prob- 
 ably to be eaten by a hungry peasant family, we 
 have to do without one. 
 
 The peasants and priests alike think that the 
 devil sends hail and thunderstorms, so when the 
 clouds gather and a storm seems impending, the 
 church bells are rung furiously in order to frighten 
 his Satanic Majesty, and make him take his thunder 
 and hail to another quarter. We heard one old 
 man say that he did not like the bells, for they 
 only rang when something bad had happened, or 
 was about to happen — meaning no doubt deaths, 
 funerals, or thunderstorms. The village church 
 bells are not rung upon joyous occasions as is the 
 case in England, so that a merry wedding-peal is 
 never heard. Still the sound of the bells is not 
 
,ST PETERS FOOT. 113 
 
 always saddening, for it is very pleasant in the 
 dusk of a summer's evening to hear first from one 
 and then from another church tower the sweet notes 
 of the Angelus. On a still calm evening we hear it 
 rung from four distinct parish churches. 
 
 To return to superstitions. In one of the churches 
 at Toulouse part of a foot cut in stone protrudes 
 from the wall. It is supposed to be a model of 
 one of St Peter's feet, and to be capable of work- 
 ing miracles. To it mothers take children who are 
 lame, club-footed, or have too few or too many 
 toes. In order to kiss the stone foot, and to offer 
 a prayer before it, a woman will walk many miles, 
 carrying in her arms her afflicted child. One of us 
 asked the old Abbe, who took us over the church, if 
 he believed it all. He shrugged his shoulders and 
 said: "What will you, mademoiselle?— it is necessary 
 to have something for the poor people : it does them 
 no harm, it is only a belief." 
 
 Almost every church has one wonder-working 
 shrine : to one church children will be taken who 
 are stunted in growth, to another people whose eye- 
 
 H 
 
114 SUPERSTITIONS AND CUSTOMS. 
 
 sight is affected will make a pilgrimage ; prayers at 
 this will greatly benefit those afflicted with deafness, 
 and at that persons troubled with rheumatism may 
 find healing and relief from pains. These little pil- 
 grimages are made in addition to the more important 
 ones, such as those to Lourdes and Kocamadour. 
 
 During and between the months of May and 
 September many pilgrimage trains go through the 
 station on their way from Eodez and the towns 
 beyond to the great pilgrimage shrine of Our Lady 
 of Lourdes. The trains are decorated with mottoes 
 and bunches of artificial flowers, and knots of blue- 
 and-white ribbon (the Virgin's colours) are tied to 
 the door-handles. The healthy pilgrims look very 
 merry upon the going journey, for no amount of 
 religion, be it never so doleful, could make French 
 people sad for long together. On the return jour- 
 ney, however, they all look, not cross exactly, but 
 oh, so tired ! — for the loss of rest, as well as the 
 more than ordinary spell of religious devotion they 
 have undergone, has quite subdued their natural 
 gaiety of spirits. 
 
A WONDERFUL CURE. 115 
 
 The sick pilgrims, poor souls, undertake the long 
 weary journey with the hope of coming back strong 
 and well, or at least well on the way towards be- 
 coming so. One young lady from a neighbouring 
 village, who had suffered from partial paralysis for 
 years, insisted upon being taken to Lourdes, and, to 
 the delight of the faithful and the wonder of other 
 people, she returned perfectly cured. Of course the 
 doctors tried to persuade everybody that the great 
 change and emotion she had experienced had worked 
 the marvellous cure ; but who believed their state- 
 ments ? certainly none of the poor peasants in the 
 neighbourhood. Oh no ! To them it was only one 
 more proof that the Blessed Virgin, the Sainted 
 Mother of all good Catholic families, was indeed 
 not only able, but also quite ready and willing, 
 to work miracles for the benefit of her faithful 
 adorers. 
 
 But notoriety has its penalties as well as its 
 pleasures. The young lady might almost have set 
 up a shrine upon her own account, so many people 
 were there who went to the village where she lived 
 
116 SUPERSTITIONS AND CUSTOMS. 
 
 for the pleasure of looking at her home ; and could 
 they but get a glimpse of the girl herself when she 
 took her walks abroad, they returned to their homes 
 delighted and satisfied with their day's excursion. 
 Indeed, so great did the nuisance become to the 
 patient and her family that they were obliged to 
 leave their native place, and seek peace and oblivion 
 in another department. 
 
 The people are very superstitious about building : 
 they think that if a man builds a new house he will 
 never live to dwell in it. For instance, our richest 
 peasant proprietor has for years been collecting 
 materials with which to build him a new house, but 
 he is afraid to begin, so the materials are, and have 
 been for some time, lying rotting on the ground. 
 
LA HEINE. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH — A THUNDERSTORM — A DELICIOUS SWIM 
 — EVENING ON THE RIVER — ITS DANGEROUS FLOODS. 
 
 " You English are like ducks. No sooner do you 
 install yourselves in a country than you make for 
 the water," said a French admiral to the director 
 one day. 
 
 It is true enough, particularly of our family, and 
 we have grown very fond of our beautiful river, 
 the Lot. The director very soon had a little steam- 
 launch sent out from England, for sailing was out 
 of the question, because of the hills on either hand. 
 
 La Reine is but twenty-two feet in length, but 
 admirably adapted for the use to which she is put. 
 As she puffs noisily along between the echoing 
 vineyards, with the Union-jack at the bows and the 
 tricolor at the stern, she is an object of unfailing 
 
118 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH. 
 
 interest to the peasants, who rest from their toil a 
 few minutes to watch the boat until it is out of 
 sight around a bend. 
 
 La Heine and her crew looked extremely un- 
 happy this evening. The director and his brother 
 had started down the river to photograph the 
 great hill of vineyards, which is so notable an 
 object at the end of one reach. They went full 
 speed down the placid reaches, making great waves 
 over the golden gravel shallows, and frightening 
 the fish, — the cause of all this pother being that a 
 thunderstorm was brewing. A great purple black 
 cloud was rising in the eastward, under which the 
 level evening light was strangely brilliant, so that 
 the landscape seemed aflame. The birds were 
 hushed before the coming gloom, the dark shadow 
 crept over the terraced hills, the river was preter- 
 naturally clear and glassy surfaced, and it seemed 
 a sacrilege to thus churn its waters into foam. 
 
 " We shall not have time to take the picture 
 before the storm bursts. Let us hurry back 
 again," and the launch sped homeward. The 
 
A HEAVY STORM. 119 
 
 trees were tossing and whitening with upturned 
 leaves in the shifty gusts of wind. The clouds 
 grew black as night about the mountain - tops ; 
 there was a sudden hush, a stillness as of death, 
 a blinding flash, a deafening crash, and roaring 
 reverberations, and with awful fury the storm 
 swept down the valley. The rain was like a 
 waterspout, the lightning flared almost without 
 intermission, and the thunder roared and crackled 
 in endless echoes from hill to hill. Over the 
 weir, which crosses the river by the works, the 
 silver of the falling water rapidly became tinted 
 with a golden brown, as the river received the 
 gushing torrents from every dusty road. 
 
 "We had entered the lock, but the lock-keeper 
 wisely declined to leave the shelter of his house 
 in such a downpour, and there we had to wait 
 a long time, with the rain falling in a torrent 
 on our soaked bodies. Against such rain straw 
 hats were a mockery and flannels a delusion. 
 
 "Are you aware the rain is coming down solid f 
 There is no division into drops," said one. 
 
120 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH. 
 
 " Seems to me the river is turned upside down," 
 growled the other. 
 
 As the rain grew less, and the centre of the storm 
 had passed lower down the valley, the lock-keeper 
 came out and let us through the lock. We moored 
 the boat in her accustomed place above the weir, 
 and walked home by the slippery hillside paths and 
 muddy lanes, looking as lank and bedraggled as the 
 aesthetic maidens of ' Punch's ' caricatures in the 
 aesthetic times. 
 
 Soon the clouds parted in rifts, and drifted 
 away in dark, broken masses across the moun- 
 tains ; the good-bye rays of the sun, as he stopped, 
 with half his disc behind a hill-top, showed the 
 fields in a more vivid green, and the growing 
 vines refreshed and cleaned of their former dus- 
 tiness ; a gentle breeze shook the sparkling drops 
 from the laden trees, and the nightingales burst 
 into full song. 
 
 Although in Aveyron the climate is generally 
 perfect, the sky cloudless, the air healthy, the 
 atmosphere pure and clear, yet being a moun- 
 
A PERFECT EVENING. 121 
 
 tainous district, with cold highlands and warm 
 valleys, it is subject to violent storms, most 
 commonly of wind from the east and north-west, 
 but those from the south are of the greatest and 
 most extreme violence. 
 
 In the adjoining province of the Lot the changes 
 of temperature are sudden and frequent, and the 
 storms are disastrous. 
 
 Last evening was a perfect evening. "We two 
 men took the launch up the river above St 
 Martin's, and, dropping the anchor in the middle 
 of a very broad reach, prepared to bathe. The 
 river occupied the whole width of the valley, 
 with the exception of a narrow roadway on one 
 bank. Along this a cow-cart, slowly drawn by 
 the patient creatures, carried a piled-up load of 
 branches, and the creaking and squeaking of the 
 wooden wheels on their wooden axles, awoke curious 
 but not melodious echoes. 
 
 "Why, there's a horse!" cried one of us in sur- 
 prise at the uncommon apparition. It was a shaggy, 
 shapeless white animal, and its rider was the local 
 
122 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH. 
 
 doctor, who was a much better man than his rough 
 and unkempt appearance indicated. 
 
 Along the narrow terraces of the steep vineyards 
 the toiling peasants picked their way, stopping 
 occasionally to straighten their wearied backs, 
 and gaze curiously at the Englishmen taking their 
 pleasure below them. Above the vineyards and 
 in the rocky gorges the dark chestnut woods lay 
 in heavy masses, sombre in shadow on the west 
 hillside, and on the eastern hill glossy with the 
 sunlight, which glided from shining leaf to leaf in 
 a cataract of radiant light, made more brilliant 
 here and there, as some tiny stream had its spray 
 turned to silver where the sunbeams caught it. 
 
 How delicious it was to escape from the scorch- 
 ing sun (which at mid-day would have blistered 
 one's wet and naked back), and dive into the 
 cool and caressing stream, down, right down, to the 
 yellow gravel, where 'mid the pebbles the gudgeon 
 lay in scores, and darted away as the great white 
 monsters descended to their level ! 
 
 In the deeper parts of the river the surface- 
 
MINING TROUBLES. 123 
 
 water would be pleasantly warm, — cool by com- 
 parison with the air, warm by comparison with 
 English rivers ; but go clown ten feet or so, and 
 it is chilly and icy cold. The melting of the snows 
 of the Auvergne keeps the under-current cold until 
 well on in the summer. 
 
 The peasants think we are mad to bathe even in 
 June. It is not yet warm enough for them. But 
 they are not great ablutionisers at any time. One 
 great trouble the director now has, is that his men 
 will not wash their hands and faces after their work, 
 and before eating, and their bodies once a-week. The 
 consequence is, that they suffer from lead-poisoning, 
 and the Government have taken the matter up, 
 and threaten to imprison him if he does not force 
 his men to wash. As the workmen try to kill any 
 one who endeavours to force them to do what they 
 do not wish to do, he is in a difficult position, and a 
 most trying and anxious one. These lines are being 
 written in England, and, as they are being penned, 
 a letter comes from him to say that his foreman's 
 house has been blown up with dynamite, one of his 
 
124 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH. 
 
 men murdered in the mine, and lie himself is warned 
 by the authorities not to venture out after dusk 
 without an armed guard. And yet he is the most 
 popular and best-liked mine director in the district. 
 
 But on a lovely and placid summer evening he 
 forgets his troubles for a while, in vigorous attempts 
 to improve his swimming under the guidance of his 
 elder brother. 
 
 After our bathe we let the launch drift idly and 
 slowly down the quiet stream, while the golden 
 evening drew to dusk. 
 
 As the current grew more rapid with a shallowing 
 stream, we gave the fire a touch up, and went slowly 
 on, picking up the sister and a lady friend who 
 were waiting for us on a point of rock. The 
 lady friend was the village schoolmistress. She 
 was with difficulty persuaded to come on board. 
 She was so afraid of the water, and she told us how 
 it was that she had conceived such a hatred for it. 
 She had the school at St Martin's, and her husband 
 the school at Bouillac, on the opposite side of the 
 river. Their home was at St Martin's, so that, 
 
A DANGEROUS FERRY. 125 
 
 before the bridge was built, he had to cross the 
 river in a small boat. Wet or fine, with the river 
 clear and low, or discoloured and swollen with 
 flood, the young husband had to cross morning 
 and night. 
 
 " Ah ! " said our friend, " when I look at the 
 river and think of the anxiety it has caused me, 
 and the danger mon mari has undergone through it, 
 I hate it. Ah yes ! I know ; you say truly it is very 
 beautiful — as beautiful, it is said, as any in our 
 country — but it is treacherous, and I cannot love it. 
 Many a time have I stood upon its banks, waiting 
 for my husband when the water was high, and he 
 had to cross in that little boat. Sometimes he 
 would not come — he too was afraid — and then I 
 was more miserable still, for I thought he was 
 drowned. One day I stood on the bank and 
 watched him crossing (ah ! but the river was high 
 and so swift), and as the boat reached the middle of 
 the river, not far above the fall, a great tree came 
 
 sweeping down and But I could not look. I 
 
 threw myself upon my knees, and I prayed the Holy 
 
126 OUR STEAM-LAUNCH. 
 
 Jesus and the Blessed Virgin to protect my husband, 
 and whilst I was praying I felt his arms about my 
 neck, and I looked up and he was safe. They have 
 built the bridge now, and I am content, for my 
 husband can pass in safety ; but I cannot love the 
 river all the same." 
 
 As we stroll homeward in the cool and fragrant 
 evening, a pretty girl steps hurriedly from behind 
 a tree, and begs to be allowed to speak a word to 
 mademoiselle alone, if the gentlemen will permit 
 her. Off go our hats in the correct style, as we 
 take our unworthy selves off out of hearing, and 
 we wait upon the little stone bridge by the cross, 
 while an eager confabulation is going on between 
 the two ladies under the trees. We are not im- 
 patient, because we shall know the secret in the 
 next chapter. 
 
A STOLEN PLEASURE. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ZOE'S LOYE-TKOUBLE — BLANCHISSEUSES — THE PJVER — 
 FEEEIES AND FLOODS. 
 
 It was Zoe who wished to speak to the sister. With 
 her fair curling hair, blue eyes, and laughing face, 
 Zoe is the prettiest of all the maidens in the village. 
 But she has her trouble, in which she wished the 
 advice of the sister, who perchance might help her. 
 
 Zoe has two lovers — one rich and ugly, the other 
 poor but well-favoured. Of course Zoe's parents 
 want her to marry the richer suitor, a well-to-do 
 peasant ; and equally of course the maiden herself 
 inclines to the poor but good-looking man. The 
 parents are inexorable, and the maiden pines. 
 Occasionally that is, for sometimes she is gay 
 enough ; but that is perhaps owing to the fact that 
 while tending her sheep upon the mountain-side, she 
 gets the stolen pleasure of speaking to her true lover. 
 
128 ZOES LOVE-TROUBLE. 
 
 " All, mademoiselle," she had asked, " speak to 
 my mother for me, that she may let me marry the 
 young man I love. Tell her what you told Madame 
 Martin, that the English girls marry for love, and 
 that marriages are happier because the women love 
 their husbands. Mother says riches are better than 
 love, but oh, I do not think so. I am still very 
 young, and I think that love is best of all." 
 
 Poor Zoe ! she is not married yet to either of her 
 suitors, and one can only hope, but not expect, that 
 her parents will consider her wishes, and give her in 
 marriage to her own true love, who is no " ne'er-do- 
 weel," but a steady, respectable workman ; and as 
 the girl herself will have a little money, her parents 
 might do worse than let their daughter marry him. 
 
 But to-day Zoe's laughter is merriest and her 
 chatter most continuous among all the women who 
 are washing at the river. Let us stand upon the 
 bridge and look down upon the row of kneeling 
 women on the river -bank, who are making the 
 limpid stream milky with soap. 
 
 Each woman has in front of her either a corru- 
 
THE "BLANCHISSEUSES." 129 
 
 gated piece of board fixed in a sloping position, or a 
 large flat stone. The latter is most commonly used, 
 no doubt because it is to be had for nothing. 
 
 o 
 
 The blanchisseuses slap, dab, and beat the various 
 articles of clothing in the most ferocious manner, 
 and so freely do they splash the things about that 
 they are themselves quite wet through. But this 
 is no matter on a hot day. Sometimes they kneel 
 quite in the water, and are wet to the waist. Often 
 have we come upon one or two young women wash- 
 ing clothes in some sequestered pool, themselves so 
 lightly clad as to form perfect painters' studies : the 
 warm ivory forms in the purling stream, which 
 sparkles in the vivid shaft of sunlight piercing the 
 green leaf-canopy overhead ; the glow of poppies in 
 the long grass of the bank, where the snow-white 
 wet garments are lightly thrown, adapt themselves 
 well to the sunny Southern land. How they chatter 
 as they work ! their rapid speech, high-toned voices, 
 and loud and frequent laughter, sound better when 
 mellowed by distance than when close by. 
 
 The amount of soap used at these cold-water 
 
 I 
 
130 ZOE'S LOVE-TROUBLE. 
 
 washing-parties is enormous. There can be no such 
 thing as getting what our own countrywomen call 
 " a good lather," because most of the soap is carried 
 away by the running water as fast as it is used. 
 The soap is not cut into small pieces, but into 
 enormous lumps, which melt away, oh, so quickly 
 (we speak feelingly, for we have to buy the soap for 
 our own washing-day) ! 
 
 Sometimes the women lose things in the river. 
 One day our blanchisseuse came to us with a long 
 face, saying that " our " best embroidered petticoat 
 (note here the difficulties of dual authorship) had 
 gone floating down with the current and over the 
 weir, and could not be found any more. Since this 
 sad loss our washing is not done in the river, but in 
 a tributary brook, where there is plenty of water 
 but no danger of loss. 
 
 In winter there are many days together when the 
 village women cannot do their washing in the river. 
 Those are the days when the river is in flood, owing 
 either to the rain (which when it comes does so in 
 earnest) or to the sudden thawing of the snow on 
 
THE RIVER IN FLOOD. 131 
 
 the high mountains of the Lozere. At such times 
 the swollen river rushes along its course in a coffee- 
 coloured torrent, sweeping right over the locks, and 
 converting the usually white-foaming weirs into 
 smooth-curved billows. The low-lying lands, where 
 there are any between the river and the hills, are 
 turned into lakes. It is impossible for the ferry- 
 boats to pass, so that some villages are isolated, 
 because they lie amongst the hills, and their only 
 communication with the rest of the world is by 
 means of the river and the ferry. 
 
 The usual ferrying contrivance is a stout rope, 
 stretched across the river from bank to bank at a 
 great height. A small two-wheeled traveller runs 
 upon it, to which is connected a long rope, at the 
 lower end of which is fastened the ferry-boat. By 
 placing the rudder of the latter athwart the stream, 
 the current drives the boat sideways across the 
 river. In places where the river is very wide and 
 shallow at the sides, long stone pier-like pathways 
 are built out into deeper water, and to narrow the 
 passage. When the river is flooded these pathways 
 
132 ZOES LOVE-TROUBLE. 
 
 are under water, and the ferry-boat cannot be 
 reached, and the ferrying must be done by means 
 of the small, rudely fashioned things they call boats. 
 They are more like an Indian's first attempt at a 
 dug-out, and are propelled by a single awkward 
 spade-shaped paddle. To paddle one of these things 
 across a rapid foaming torrent, with trees and 
 branches of trees sweeping down with it, and 
 surging up at unexpected intervals, is not an easy 
 or a safe undertaking. 
 
 Even where the ferry can be reached, the crossing 
 in flood-time, though possible, is dangerous. The 
 strain upon the rope is great, and if the latter is 
 worn or old it may snap. Then there is an exciting 
 scene. The great flat boat goes tearing down the 
 river ; the boatmen seize the poles, and shove them 
 down into the bed of the river ; heavy weights 
 attached to chains are thrown overboard to try and 
 check the career of the ferry-boat; while the men 
 endeavour to steer it to the bank. Often this is not 
 reached until the boat has gone more than half a mile. 
 
 What makes it all so dangerous is the frequency 
 
WEIRS AND LOCKS. 133 
 
 with which the weirs occur. Often they are not a 
 mile apart, and the ferry is sometimes not two 
 hundred yards above one. This is the case at 
 Panchot, and one day, whilst crossing during a flood, 
 it was not comforting to be told by the boatmen 
 that should the rope break only a miracle could save 
 us. We had a large cart, carrying a load of zinc to 
 the rolling-mills, and two restive horses, on board, 
 and it was certainly not pleasant to feel that upon 
 that slender rope, drawn as taut as a rod of iron 
 with the strain, depended our safety, and we glanced 
 apprehensively at the boiling water below the weir. 
 
 When the flood is great the weirs are scarcely 
 perceptible, and then are safe enough, so that the 
 boatmen will not take the trouble to pass through 
 the locks, but will shoot the weir, when the fall is 
 not so great as to make the experiment too risky. 
 Sometimes the locks themselves are covered with 
 water, and quite invisible. There would then be 
 15 or 20 feet of flood-water in the river. For 
 the purposes of navigation the Lot has either too 
 much or too little water. 
 
134 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT — THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 AND SPORTSMAN — THE LIMITATION OF FAMILY. 
 
 We men were invited one day to have dejeuner 
 with M. Pantillac, who is one of our richest men, 
 if not the richest. The director was sitting talking 
 to him at the office when the visitor entered. 
 M. Pantillac was a little man in a blue blouse 
 and shabby felt hat. He had a very unshaven 
 chin, and altogether looked so much the reverse 
 of smart and tidy, that the visitor assumed he 
 was only one of the miners, and took no notice of 
 him beyond raising his hat. Presently, when the 
 business was over, the visitor found himself being 
 introduced to, and warmly shaking hands with the 
 untidy little peasant. When he understood that 
 he was being invited to dejethier, the visitor 
 
PEASANT HOSPITALITY. 135 
 
 accepted politely, with an ardent longing that 
 the affair might come quickly and be soon over, 
 so doubtful did he feel of his entertainment. 
 
 "What do you think you are going to?" asked 
 the director, smiling. 
 
 " Stewed nestlings and dandelions in a hovel," 
 replied the other. 
 
 " On the contrary, you will get a meal of twenty 
 courses, with most excellent wines. Not that that 
 is his ordinary way of living by any means. 
 Nothing could be more simple and frugal ; but 
 he wants me to buy a bit of his land, so he will 
 give us a grand feast, and think he is coaxing us 
 into giving him a few francs more than the market 
 value." 
 
 " That isn't very nattering to us. I would rather 
 think he means to be hospitable." 
 
 " Ah ! that is not a virtue of the French peasant." 
 
 "You say he is rich? Ask him what land he 
 owns, and how rich he is." 
 
 " All right ; he won't mind." 
 
 Our host was nothing loath to tell us that he 
 
136 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT. 
 
 owned 125 English acres of land; that his income 
 from his investments and his farm was £600 English 
 a-year, and that he paid £40 a-year for the education 
 of his daughter at a convent school. He was most 
 proud of the latter item, which was probably an 
 unusual and extravagant expenditure. 
 
 On the appointed day we climbed up a narrow 
 lane, down which ran a sewery brook, and came 
 to a large but uninviting dwelling, very roughly 
 built of stone, looking something like the house of 
 a very small Welsh farmer on the verge of bank- 
 ruptcy. 
 
 Entering the dark cool room, out of the blinding 
 sunshine, it was some little time before we could 
 distinguish the details of the interior. It was a 
 large low room, with brown floor and black rafters. 
 In the centre was a large open fireplace, with 
 a chimney - shaft like that of a smith's forge. 
 Numbers of pots and pans were disposed about 
 the fire, from which arose steaming and savoury 
 odours, as the women, of whom there were several, 
 lifted the lids to poke and taste. Several of the 
 
WINE AND OLIVE PRESSES. 137 
 
 vessels were simply large pots and jars of thin 
 earthenware, unglazed outside. It is strange to 
 see these being placed on the fire, as one expects 
 them to crack every minute ; but they do not, and 
 much of the boiling and stewing of French peas- 
 ant cookery, and the boiling of water for clothes- 
 washing, is done in these primitive vessels. 
 
 Our host took us first to his cellars, where his 
 huge casks of wine were stored, then to the wine 
 and olive presses — clumsy erections of rough un- 
 hewn wood, stone grinding wheels, and great levers. 
 It is to be assumed the machinery was effective for 
 the purpose ; but it was so rude and antiquated 
 that a museum looked the fittest place for it. 
 
 We had our meal in an inner room, which was 
 also a bedroom. We deposited our hats (there 
 were three of us Englishmen) on the top of the 
 bed, which was so high that the top of the great 
 thick pillow, which acts as a coverlet or quilt, 
 and has been so often anathematised by travellers 
 abroad, was fully six feet from the ground, as we 
 knew by our own noses. 
 
138 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT. 
 
 The table was of the rudest description, but 
 covered with a snow-white cloth, which was, how- 
 ever, sack-like in texture. The appointments were 
 very good, and made a remarkable show in the 
 dingy room, on whose bare plaster walls was no 
 ornament save a picture of the Virgin, and a rosary 
 hung up by the bedside. 
 
 The other guests were the mayor of Bouillac and 
 the mayor of Cuzac, neither of whom could speak a 
 word of French. The Languedoc patois was their 
 native tongue, and they knew no other. Our 
 host himself, although he spoke French fairly well, 
 admitted that he had to think it out as he spoke — 
 translating it in his mind from patois, as one does 
 with a strange language with which one is unfamiliar. 
 
 The three Frenchmen kept their broad-brimmed 
 felt hats on their heads all through the meal. It is 
 etiquette to do so. 
 
 " I say, wouldn't it be polite if we did the same ? " 
 remarked one of us ; but this proposal was vetoed by 
 the others, who declared that they could not possibly 
 eat in comfort with their hats on. 
 
A PLENTIFUL MEAL. 139 
 
 Of the dinner itself, with its multitudinous courses, 
 we have no clear recollection, because, let it be at 
 once admitted, the wines were more multitudinous 
 and wonderfully good. Beginning at first with the 
 ordinary red wine, but very mellow and palatable, 
 the samples improved with each course. The old 
 boy was really sampling his cellar, and showing the 
 Englishmen what he could do. He brought out his 
 bottles (of course decanters were not) one after 
 another, with increasing chuckles of delight as he 
 noted our appreciation of red wine and white. His 
 daughter, a pert, rather good-looking girl of seven- 
 teen, had been brought from school expressly to 
 wait upon us, and helped us very nicely indeed, 
 being especially attentive to the youngest of us 
 (not, alas ! the writer of this), favouring him also 
 with flirtatious looks whenever she was behind her 
 father's chair. 
 
 The eatables were not so delicate as those we had 
 enjoyed at the auberge, but were plentiful — relays of 
 stewed meats, savoury vegetables, soups, fish, and 
 sweets in no particular order — the aim being rather 
 
140 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT. 
 
 to dazzle with abundance. It seemed to be a con- 
 tinual wiping of one's knife on a piece of bread. As 
 to this, by the way, we could never fall into the 
 country custom of eating the bit of bread with which 
 one's knife had been wiped. That was sent out with 
 the plate. 
 
 The mayors sat perfectly silent, neither speaking 
 to each other nor to their host, eating and drinking 
 steadily and stolidly. Our host sat smiling placidly, 
 but saying little, and beaming upon the witticisms 
 of the younger Englishman. 
 
 We had wisely eaten sparingly of the first courses, 
 not knowing how many were to follow, and being 
 too polite to decline any ; but we were extremely 
 thankful when the delicious coffee showed that the 
 serious business was at an end. 
 
 The room, by the way, was very dark, because 
 the volees over the narrow window were shut, and 
 the gloom was quite artistic. This was the reason 
 that when we emerged into the brilliant sunlight of 
 that June afternoon, our steps were somewhat way- 
 ward until our eyes had become used to the light. 
 
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 141 
 
 And that purchase never came off after all. The 
 writer of this is, however, convinced that M. Pan- 
 tillac was genuinely pleased to entertain us out of 
 hospitality, and he refuses to think that the motives 
 were entirely mercenary. 
 
 A mid-day meal unfits one for either work or 
 play afterwards. Probably the answer to this is 
 that work is not advisable in the noontide o-lare and 
 afternoon heat, and that if it can be avoided it 
 should be. Work in the comparative coolness of 
 the morning, eat and sleep in the afternoon. 
 
 We called upon the schoolmaster for a chat in the 
 evening. He was just coming out of the little white- 
 washed room where he daily taught the village 
 children. His wife was the schoolmistress of the 
 neighbouring village, and between them they made 
 a comfortable income. He, too, was the maires 
 secretary, and gave us much information about the 
 social economies of the people. 
 
 Finding this interested the writer, we were in- 
 vited to his room up-stairs, which was the bed- 
 chamber as well as the sitting-room, and producing 
 
142 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT. 
 
 a formidable mass of papers, lie gave us some solid 
 statistics, which, however, we will not inflict upon 
 the reader, who probably takes up this book but 
 for an hour's amusement. 
 
 He told us that the priests were very angry with 
 the married people, because of the fixed resolve of 
 the latter to have but a limited number of children. 
 The attention of the Government having been 
 directed to the decrease in the number of births, 
 and, in some rural districts, the consequent decrease 
 of the population, the priesthood had been instructed 
 to urge upon the people the duty of having larger 
 families. But the women were very indignant at 
 this. " It is all very well for those well-fed priests, 
 having easy lives, to tell us to have children. They 
 do not have the trouble of them. Why should we 
 bear all the burden of the duty of peopling the 
 State ? " 
 
 The English labourers' and parsons' habit of hav- 
 ing large families is not the fashion in rural France. 
 
 It was strang-e to us how a well-informed man like 
 our friend the schoolmaster, and his pretty and 
 
A RURAL SPORTSMAN. 143 
 
 ladylike little wife, could live in a room with such 
 an absence of neatness and comfort as was only too 
 apparent. 
 
 The schoolmaster was a great sportsman. He had 
 two guns, old-fashioned but good, and an immense 
 game-bag, with no end of tassels and ornaments 
 about it. We asked him what he shot. Well, 
 sometimes he shot partridges. In fact, he had shot 
 as many as two or three in a day, after watching for 
 them for several days. 
 
 " "Watching for them ! " 
 
 " Oh yes ; we bait a place in the mountain forests 
 with grain, and watch for the partridges to come." 
 And then we had a vivid account of the excite- 
 ment of the arrival of the partridges, and the shoot- 
 ing into the brown of them, and the splendid result. 
 We meanly tried to shake his satisfaction with his 
 sport, and to arouse his envy by telling him of the 
 enormous bags of partridges, grouse, and pheasants 
 made by crack English shots ; but we fancy he did 
 not altogether believe us, and our tales fell flat. 
 
 It was in his schoolroom that we gave a mao-ic- 
 
144 WE DINE WITH A WEALTHY PEASANT. 
 
 lantern entertainment to a crowded house. Never 
 was such a thing heard of in that out-of-the-way 
 village before. One woman asked another if a Ian- 
 terne magique was like a Chinese lantern. The 
 younger people (like most young people at a half- 
 dark entertainment) indulged in a little flirtation, 
 thus giving the pictures an added charm ; while as 
 for the children, they gazed with open-mouthed 
 wonder upon the enchanted sheet where the views 
 and figures appeared and disappeared. When the 
 news sot abroad that Monsieur le Directeur had 
 come, and the entertainment was about to com- 
 mence, in came the people, like the rats in the 
 castle on the Rhine : they came in at the windows 
 and in at the doors, till the place was literally 
 crammed. The front row knelt, the second stood, 
 the third climbed on the desks, and the rest stood 
 on the window-sills or on the shoulders of those 
 willing to bear the weight. The long man of the 
 villao-e bore a friend on his shoulders, and this 
 friend bore another friend. Then these three got 
 unsteady and toppled, in their descent upsetting 
 
A MAGIC-LANTERN SHOW. 145 
 
 the belle of the village, who gave the long man a 
 box on the ear by way of a recompense. The audi- 
 ence were delighted with the views shown them of 
 Paris and Switzerland ; but when a transparency of 
 their village street, showing a group of familiar 
 figures, was thrown upon the screen they were up- 
 roarious. We finished up with a photograph of the 
 director, under which was written " Bonne nuit," 
 after which the schoolmaster thanked us for the 
 entertainment, and the people dispersed, thoroughly 
 pleased with their evening's amusement. One poor 
 old woman asked if there would be a collection, and 
 when told No, expressed her astonishment that any 
 one should take so much trouble simply to give 
 pleasure to others. Poor people ! they are so money- 
 grubbing themselves, and so used to see those above 
 them money-grubbing also, that they cannot under- 
 stand that we should wish to give them pleasure 
 and charge nothing for it. 
 
146 A BURNING MOUNTAIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A BURNING MOUNTAIN. 
 
 We have been for a pleasant drive to an unpleasant 
 though interesting place. But first, we had a merry 
 dejeuner at the house of a French engineer, where 
 we met several others of the same profession and 
 their wives. The meal was a prolonged one, and the 
 talk so incessant — such a babel of sound — that it 
 was like the continuous rush of the water over the 
 weir in the front of the house, which was on the 
 banks of the Lot. 
 
 In the afternoon we were ferried across the river 
 to where three carriages were waiting for us. It is 
 needless to add that it was Sunday, and we but did 
 as our neighbours did. We were bound to Combe, 
 near Decazeville, to see a mountain on fire and at 
 
A MOUNTAIN ON FIRE. 147 
 
 the same time worked for the coal it contains. 
 When we reached it we found it to be a high coni- 
 cal hill from which smoke was issuing at many 
 points, and hanging in a cloud over the summit. 
 At night it is all aglow with flame from many a 
 crevice and working. It is a huge block of coal, 
 mixed with rock and minerals, and it is being 
 quarried away from the top downwards, its present 
 appearance being that of a volcano with a huge 
 crater at the top. 
 
 Leaving our carriages at the bottom, we toiled 
 up the steep cinder-paths, finding the sulphureous 
 fumes greatly affecting our throats and causing a 
 catching of the breath. Passing through a short 
 tunnel we suddenly entered the great quarry, — a 
 place where masses of calcined rock, terraces and 
 crags cut by the miners, caves, cliffs, galleries, and 
 yawning abysses, were dimly visible through clouds 
 of smoke and steam, which made the vast quarry 
 seem the very mouth of hell. The mountain has 
 been on fire for many years ; smouldering some- 
 where in the depths of it, and coming to the sur- 
 
148 A BURNING MOUNTAIN. 
 
 face here and there in lines and veins of glowing 
 heat, which apparently passed very slowly along, 
 leaving the rocks red and yellow, and with a burnt 
 ajDjDearance. It is a race between man and fire 
 which shall first seize the coal. Of course there 
 were no men working there this day, but during 
 the week hundreds of half-naked wretches work in 
 those poisonous fumes and hardly tolerable heat. 
 We found the rock hot to our feet, and could not 
 stay long in one place. Everywhere the earth was 
 so hot that the bare hand could not remain lono; 
 upon it ; and as the sun (shining redly through 
 the vapour) was hot enough this June day, we 
 soon began to feel that we had had enough even 
 of so curious a sight. 
 
 The crags were covered with a florescence of 
 sulphur and other chemicals in lovely yellows, reds, 
 and creams ; the pools and streams, of which there 
 were many, were steaming hot, and so acid that they 
 seared the finger or changed the colour of a piece 
 of cloth immediately, if one tried the experiment. 
 How human beings can work in such a horrible 
 
DANGEROUS SOCIALISTS. 149 
 
 place is wonderful. To get an idea of the gruesome 
 shape of the quarry, look at Dore's illustrations of 
 rocky gorges in Dante. Once to see it is enough, 
 and the memory of it is a nightmare. 
 
 Gladly rejoining our carriages, we drove through 
 the mining districts, deep valleys between steep 
 hills, the vegetation killed with the fumes from 
 zinc-works, the furnaces of Viviez, and the zinc- 
 rolling mills and glass-works of Panchot, and vari- 
 ous coal and lead mines. Naturally lovely valleys 
 are spoiled, and their vineyards blasted, while the 
 many little streams run with dilute sulphuric acid, 
 or are black with coal-dust and lead-water. 
 
 The groups of miners we passed looked sullenly 
 at us. They are dangerous socialists almost to 
 a man, and hate their masters and employers 
 thoroughly. It was not pleasant to meet their 
 scowling glances, and hear their muttered curses, 
 nor to know that we might meet with insult or 
 assault were it not for fear of the revolvers which 
 each man of us carried. The men are well, even 
 indulgently treated, but are so fierce and ignorant 
 
150 A BURNING MOUNTAIN. 
 
 that they are suspicious of every effort on their 
 behalf. It was a relief to leave this ugly district, 
 and get back to the lovely valley of Bouillac, where, 
 however, the human nature is much the same, though 
 it is kept in check by its more pleasant surround- 
 ings, and there are no masters to hate, each individ- 
 ual being his own master, and therefore good. 
 
 "When we returned home we found two visitors 
 awaiting us — one the village Cure, the other a monk 
 who had been instrumental in helping to convert 
 the people of Bouillac, during the mission -week. 
 He is an amateur photographer, and hearing that 
 a kindred spirit lived in this neighbourhood, he 
 had called to make his acquaintance. One had 
 the impression that monks did not seek amuse- 
 ment more distracting than self - flagellation, or 
 digging their own graves in advance ; but this 
 reverend was keen upon it, and had been photo- 
 graphing groups of his converts, as a witness to 
 his zeal. A camera and tripod did look out of 
 place when wielded by a sandalled no - stockinged 
 man, with a rope-girdle round his waist. 
 
PROTESTANTS HAVE TAILS. 151 
 
 The Cure told us that an inspector has been 
 down examining the different schools in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Some years ago he asked the children 
 attending the convent school at Bouillac, " "What 
 are Protestants ? " and was told that they were 
 black people with tails, and being little better than 
 le citable, were all damned. During his present 
 visit he asked the children the same question, 
 " And had the Protestants tails ? " But the chil- 
 dren were quite indignant, and told him that they 
 had found out we had no tails, and that we were 
 very nice people indeed, and not a bit black. 
 
 In the evening we had a Protestant service, a 
 rare event here. The Protestant pastor of Millau 
 came to pay us a short visit, so we sent out scouts 
 and gathered together all the Protestants within 
 reach, so that he might hold a prayer-meeting or 
 culte, as a Protestant service is called here. It is 
 not much like an English Church service, only the 
 Creed and Commandments being the same. We 
 all stood up to pray and sat down to sing, and 
 the pastor preached sitting down. The Protestant 
 
152 A BURNING MOUNTAIN. 
 
 religion is hardly lively enough for the French, 
 whose cry is " Distraction ! distraction at any price ! 
 let us have distraction ! " Now a culte Protestant 
 is not a distraction— in fact it is a very dull affair, 
 going to the other extreme from the Koman Catholic 
 service. 
 
THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY. 
 
 The nightingales are stilled by a sound of loud 
 wailing which comes from the deep tree-shadowed 
 lane. Sad and silent is the little group of men 
 which comes slowly along in the dusk, bearing upon 
 an extemporised stretcher of branches the body of a 
 peasant ; but the women following behind are loud 
 in their lamentations, while some awestruck children 
 steal fearfully by. The tale is soon told. The poor 
 man had gone out in the morning to strip the leaves 
 from a tall poplar-tree, and his wife and children 
 had gone in the evening to meet him, and perhaps 
 help to carry the load of twigs and leaves home. 
 They found his dead body at the foot of the tree 
 from which he had fallen. 
 
154 THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY. 
 
 The poplars, which stand in formal rows and 
 groups by the side of the rivers, are tall, straight, 
 and bare of leaves, save a crown at the very top. 
 The leaves of the trees are eagerly gathered for 
 manure, and the poplars are stripped bare to add to 
 the dung-heap. Men climb them by the aid of rope 
 loops, and, beginning at the top, strip off branch 
 and twig as they descend, until nothing but a bare 
 pole is left. This is a dangerous occupation, 
 particularly when a sudden gust of wind comes 
 down the valley, and the slender trees bow giddily 
 before the blast. Then in the autumn the dead 
 leaves are carefully swept up. Men, women, and 
 children may be seen, armed with big brooms, 
 brushing down the hillsides, beginning at the top 
 and laboriously collecting each dead leaf or plant 
 to add to the heap to be stacked up for manure. 
 Everything that can be used for this purpose is 
 carefully scraped together. This practice must 
 greatly impoverish the woodland soil, depriving it 
 of its natural manure, and causing the trees to 
 become stunted in their growth. The poplar- 
 
TREE-STRIPPING. 155 
 
 stripping is an autumn practice also, as a rule, 
 although the poor fellow who lost his life was 
 taking the June foliage, and we have noticed 
 many others doing this also, when short of pig- 
 litter. 
 
 The bracken and other ferns and small brush- 
 wood are carefully cut each year, and used for 
 stable-litter and manure. 
 
 Well is it for these proprietaires that there is such 
 a rich and fertile soil in the river valley, and pro- 
 ductive vineyards on the hills. Well is it that the 
 climate is, agriculturally speaking, a perfect one. 
 Warm rains and warm sun, seasons regular and 
 little varying, make crops certain and harvests sure. 
 True it is that with all these advantages the tillers 
 of the soil must not relax in their efforts or weary 
 of their continual toil ; but working thus bravely, 
 they may reasonably count on perfect fruition. 
 The weather does not work against them as in 
 England. One English "bad season," cold and 
 wet, and late harvests and mildewed crops, would 
 thoroughly disorganise, if it did not destroy, the 
 
156 THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY. 
 
 small propri&aire, so small is his margin under the 
 most favourable circumstances. 
 
 At Bouillac, and many another well-watered valley, 
 the fertile, loamy earth will yield three good crops 
 each year — such crops as are seen in England only 
 once in a way, being then the boast of their owner 
 and the pride of the country-side ; and we draw this 
 comparison with England's finest soil and finest 
 peasantry, the soil and the people which we know 
 well and love well. 
 
 The hay is five feet in height, and as thick as 
 it will stand, and the clover is almost up to one's 
 shoulders, and as thick and even as a well-kept haw- 
 thorn-hedge. The second and third crops are less 
 tall and heavy, but nevertheless more than fairly 
 good. 
 
 The arable land is farmed on what might be called 
 the three-course shift rolled into one year. Thus 
 each piece will and does produce three distinct crops 
 in one year. The soil never lies idle. It is always 
 either producing or being got ready to produce, 
 except, perhaps, on fete-days, when it and its owners 
 
mmBM 
 
WOODEN PLOUGHS. 157 
 
 get a little holiday. The land is well manured (one 
 sees the women spreading the manure on the fields 
 with their hands), and great pains are taken by the 
 proprietaires to keep the land in good condition, for 
 their livelihood depends upon the best being made 
 out of it. Occasionally a small quantity of lime 
 is used upon it. It is always well watered, for each 
 owner has the right to turn part of the waters of a 
 neighbouring brook across his land for certain spe- 
 cified times. Narrow irrigating channels are cut 
 in all directions, and the water filtering through the 
 earth keeps it moist, hence the vivid greenness of the 
 grass and the general luxuriance of the vegetation. 
 
 Farming implements are of the most primitive 
 description, and, of course, steam - machinery is 
 unknown. The heavy wooden ploughs are drawn 
 by oxen, poor patient beasts, who rarely get an 
 after-dinner nap, and have always to put up with 
 make-shift meals. How they would envy (could 
 they but see them) the sleek, lazy, English cattle, 
 whose dwelling-places are in green pastures, and 
 whose only work is to get fat ! 
 
158 THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY. 
 
 The heavy yoke, which crosses the horns and 
 holds the pair of oxen together, compels united 
 action on their part. There can be no restiveness, 
 when the result would be great wrenching of necks 
 and pain. We have often watched a bullock-cart 
 coming down a narrow rocky lane, so steep that it is 
 difficult to walk up, and deep in mud and uneven 
 with stones. The oxen, drawing, perhaps, a heavy 
 load of timber, walk very slowly and with extreme 
 caution, taking care that one fore-foot has a firm 
 hold before moving the other. Then with each slip of 
 the hind-feet or lurch of the cart, they look sideways 
 at each other, most plaintively and long-sufferingly. 
 In a heavy, uncouth, quietly protesting way they 
 crawl up and down places where one would hardly 
 like to lead, certainly not ride, a horse. 
 
 The thin haggard cows are yoked to lighter carts, 
 made of an open framework something like a crate, 
 with only upright stakes from the body of it, and 
 are employed to drag the loads of branches and 
 leaves. 
 
 It is needless to say that rich milk and good 
 
CHESSBOARD LANDS. 159 
 
 butter are unknown in our district. We are glad to 
 get butter from the Auvergne or from Brittany. 
 
 The chessboard appearance of the low land of our 
 valley has already been noticed, but everywhere it 
 is the same. Wherever there is a plot of cultivable 
 land, it is divided and subdivided until it forms dolls' 
 gardens. It is the same with the vineyards on the 
 hillsides. One great slope in particular always 
 attracted our attention. It was a hill like a pyra- 
 mid, with a very broad base, and the whole of the 
 river face from base to crown was marked out in 
 small quarter-rood plots, represented by little fences 
 of stones. As a general rule ground is too precious 
 to be taken up by fences, and the landmarks are 
 simply stones, placed one on another, at intervals. 
 The moving of a neighbour's landmarks is not un- 
 known, and quarrels on this account are frequent. 
 The notice - boards corresponding to " Trespassers 
 will be prosecuted," or "No road this way," are 
 curious, being simply stakes thrust in the ground, 
 with a wisp of straw tied to the top. 
 
 The chief crops (other than the vines) are wheat, 
 
160 THE PEASANT HUSBANDRY. 
 
 rye, maize, potatoes, barley, and after these come 
 hemp, flax, legumes, and beetroot. Tobacco is culti- 
 vated almost everywhere, and the meadows yield 
 lucerne, sainfoin, and clover, while truffles are very 
 abundant in the earth, and pigs are trained to hunt 
 them. 
 
THE PEASANTS FOOD. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PEASANT'S FOOD — THE CHESTNUT HARVEST — THRASH- 
 ING AND WINNOWING THE CORN — SHEEP - SHEARING 
 
 WASHING THE PIGS. 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle, it is quite a boon when the 
 chestnuts are in season," remarked a friend one day. 
 So it is, for they help very much in the composition 
 of fresh dishes for the table. They are, of them- 
 selves, cooked in about fifteen different ways, and 
 very delicious some of the dishes are. 
 
 More important is the fact that chestnuts are 
 really the principal food of the inhabitants where the 
 tree abounds. So state the Government statistics ; 
 but this refers of course to the peasantry pure and 
 simple, who, however, form the vast majority of the 
 inhabitants. The chestnut is spread everywhere 
 
 L 
 
162 THE PEASANT'S FOOD. 
 
 through the south-west of Aveyron and the north- 
 east of the Lot. Wherever the hillside is too stony, 
 too bleak or sunless, or too steep for the cultivation 
 of the vine, the chestnut-woods grow thickly, giving 
 a glossy green to the interspaces and gorges of the 
 sterile rocks. 
 
 In the month of October the chestnut harvest 
 begins. Between and after school hours, the grave 
 children troop to the woods, to pick up the fallen 
 fruit. They carry empty sacks to the hill-tops, 
 gathering the fruit and filling the sacks as they 
 descend. Each sack soon becomes too heavy for the 
 children to carry, and is dragged about by two or 
 three until it is full. The children do not attempt 
 to carry the sacks home, but are met by some grown- 
 up relative who relieves them of their burdens. The 
 animals 2;et their share of the chestnuts, and a 
 peasant woman will sit for an hour or two in front 
 of her door, leisurely cutting up chestnuts into little 
 bits, for her small stock of poultry, which fight and 
 scramble for the tit-bits she throws to them. 
 
 The plum is another staple tree, and the dried 
 
THRASHING AND WINNOWING. 1G3 
 
 fruit find their way into the market as "Prunes 
 d'Agen." Walnuts are plentiful, and walnut-oil is an 
 article of export. Much cider is made from the 
 apples. In May and June vast quantities of cherries 
 are sent to the London market. (Fancy the long 
 railway journey to Paris and the coast, the sea 
 crossing and the rail to London, and then to be sold 
 at a profit, and yet cheaper than English cherries !) 
 Peaches also are too plentiful for a man easily 
 tempted by them. 
 
 Our first experience of the country mode of 
 thrashing and winnowing was interesting to us. 
 
 One beautiful September morning, we were awak- 
 ened early by the sound of voices beneath the win- 
 dows. Looking out, we saw that our opposite neigh- 
 bour's wife and daughter were busily engaged doing 
 something on the road below. What it was we could 
 not at first imagine, for they were spreading a large 
 sheet or cloth right across the roadway, as if for a 
 giant picnic. Presently, however, the men-folks 
 appeared on the scene, carrying in their arms huge 
 bundles of wheat. These they spread upon the 
 
164 THE PEASANT'S FOOD. 
 
 cloth, and soon afterwards proceeded to thrash out 
 the corn with flails. There were eight men, four on 
 each side of the road, each man placed so that when 
 swinging his flail it would descend between his two 
 vis-a-vis. They worked with great regularity, each 
 row thudding alternately, so that when one set of 
 men had their flails laid upon the wheat, the other set 
 had their flails high in the air, ready to descend with 
 a swinging sweep. The thrashers gave an accom- 
 panying grunt with each stroke ; and so grunting and 
 thudding, thudding and grunting, they kept on all 
 day long. We soon found that after harvest this 
 sound of thrashing was heard on every hand, and 
 it grew monotonous in the extreme, when it went on 
 for days and days together. 
 
 The road is generally selected, because it is level 
 and has a hard surface. If an ox-cart or other 
 vehicle comes along, why, it just passes over the 
 sheet and does no harm ; but the traffic over these 
 well-made, well-kept Government roads is very lit- 
 tle in this district, and the interruptions are not 
 many. 
 
WINNOWING IN THE WIND. 165 
 
 Nor are the women idle. They have to keep the 
 grain from getting over the edge of the sheet, 
 which they did partly by lifting up the edges and 
 shaking back the grain towards the middle, and 
 partly by walking round and round the main sheet 
 and holding up other smaller sheets, thus prevent- 
 ing the wheat from flying out into the road. 
 
 Our little Sissie was much interested in the pro- 
 ceeding, and would sit contentedly watching it for 
 hours. 
 
 After the threshing came the old-fashioned per- 
 formance of winnowing in the wind. This was done 
 the same evening; and as the darkness rapidly 
 gathered, before operations were concluded quaintly 
 fashioned lanterns were brought upon the scene, 
 and the busy, dimly lighted group presented a 
 strange and rather uncanny appearance. Monsieur 
 le Proprietaire worked the little hand - winnowing 
 machine, and madame, his wife, gathered up the 
 wheat and put it into bags. The piles of straw and 
 chaff lay on the roadway all night, waiting to be 
 stored, while the wearied threshers had supped and 
 
166 THE PEASANT'S FOOD. 
 
 gone home to bed to get a little sleep before begin- 
 ning another long day's toil. 
 
 The wheat is afterwards washed in the river to 
 clean it of the dust, and is spread out on large 
 suspended sheets to dry in the sun. 
 
 It is curious to watch the primitive way in which 
 the sheep are sheared. They are not washed be- 
 fore the business of shearing commences, as is our 
 English custom ; but the sheep are shorn in their 
 natural dirty state, and the wool is afterwards 
 washed in the river or brook, a proceeding which 
 must rob it of much of its natural oil and elas- 
 ticity. 
 
 Women seem to be the chief shearers, and perform 
 their task with an ordinary pair of scissors, clipping 
 away from morning until night. Occasionally the 
 darkness surprises them just as some poor sheep is 
 half shorn, so that it has to go unfinished until next 
 day. A very forlorn appearance the poor animal 
 presents with half his wool off and half on. 
 
 It is comical also to see the peasant women washing 
 their pigs. This they do with soap and brush; and 
 
WASHING THE PIGS. L67 
 
 though the pigs squeal they do not seem to mind 
 the operation very much, and after their bath they 
 look nice, and are certainly cleaner than their 
 owners. If the process could be reversed occasion- 
 ally, the latter would benefit physically, and perhaps 
 morally, if cleanliness be next to godliness. 
 
168 THE PEASANT PROPRIETOR. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE PEASANT PROPRIETOR — HIS PEIDE OF CLASS — HIS APPEAR- 
 ANCE — HIS SMALL HOLDINGS — HIS POVERTY AND WEALTH 
 — HIS FRUGALITY AND THRIFT — UNCLEANLINESS — HIS 
 DAUGHTER'S DOT AND TROUSSEAU. 
 
 We speak of the peasants as peasants, but they do 
 not call themselves by so lowly a name. They are 
 2?roprietaires, one and all, though their property may 
 hardly give room to tether a cow. They are ex- 
 tremely proud of being landowners, and will undergo 
 any privation rather than cease to be such. For- 
 tunately, in this beautiful climate privation simply 
 means toil. Snow and ice and bitter cold are of 
 such rare occurrence as to be negligeable in their 
 domestic economy, so that starvation from cold is 
 not one of the sufferings of the poor as it is in 
 England ; while, where snails and dandelion - soup 
 
HIS PRIDE OF CLASS. 169 
 
 are dainties, starvation from hunger is unlikely. So 
 a man hangs on to his bit of land with the utmost 
 tenacity. 
 
 Not only is the peasant proud of his land, but 
 of his order or class. He is as proud of his long 
 respectable descent as any aristocrat. He has, as 
 a class, no desire to emerge out of his class into 
 anything better. He rather would destroy all 
 higher grades of society and drag them down to his 
 level. He wishes to be rich, but greatly hates those 
 richer than himself. 
 
 In person the male peasants are small, but well 
 knit and active, with pretty rather than handsome 
 faces, high-coloured complexions, and bright dark 
 eyes. The women are, many of them, very good- 
 looking when young, but soon age. That most 
 charming age of womanhood in England, five-and- 
 thirty, is in Southern France quite old age in 
 appearance. 
 
 The male peasant is picturesque enough in his 
 blue or black blouse and soft broad-brimmed felt hat ; 
 but the womankind have nothing special in their 
 
170 TEE PEASANT PROPRIETOR. 
 
 dress, and are not always tidy. For one tiring, they 
 walk well, and have neatly stockinged ankles and 
 trim boots, that is, on fSte-d&ya. When working in 
 the fields it is another matter, and it seems a wonder 
 that their dirty rags hold together sufficiently for 
 decency's sake. 
 
 About us, the holdings are mostly small, say from 
 two to fifteen acres. With two acres, by working 
 from five in the morning until eight or nine at 
 night, the owner will just be able to keep body and 
 soul together. With six or seven, and a family to 
 help in the labour, he will be tolerably well off; 
 whereas with fifteen acres he may be hopelessly in 
 debt, because the home labour is not sufficient, and 
 he cannot afford to hire labour. With a greater 
 number of acres and some capital to employ upon 
 it, the projyrietaire is a comparatively wealthy man, 
 although one-tenth of his gross income goes in pay- 
 ment of taxes. The mistake of " keeping up appear- 
 ances " is not by any means unknown in this remote 
 spot, and the better - class farmers frecpently im- 
 poverish themselves by this means. Another source 
 
HIS DAUGHTERS' "DOT." 171 
 
 of financial trouble is the endeavour to give the 
 daughters a suitable dot on marriage. Marriages for 
 love being practically unknown, the young men will 
 not marry unless the bride brings a portion with 
 her, and to provide this necessary portion the 
 farmer will cripple himself by borrowing or unduly 
 stinting himself and his farm in other ways. 
 
 When he gets hopelessly in debt, a fresh start is 
 sometimes made by his turning everything over to 
 his wife, which the law apparently permits, so long 
 as the transfer is real. She is proprietress, and her 
 husband acts as her bailiff. She pays taxes, signs 
 agreements, and carting; or other contracts must be 
 taken in her name. The husband has not a penny 
 that he can call his own, but is entirely dependent 
 upon the bounty of his wife ; and if she does not 
 happen to be amiable, the poor husband has rather 
 a hard time of it. 
 
 Of course we have daily dealings with the peasants 
 in one way or another. We find them honest 
 enough in a certain way — that is, they do not steal. 
 They appear to be but little tempted in that direc- 
 
172 THE PEASANT PROPRIETOR 
 
 tion. Possibly dishonesty, being a distinct crime, 
 would have to be confessed to Monsieur le Cure, 
 who would certainly refuse absolution, or impose a 
 heavy penance. But when it comes to bargaining, 
 why, they will cheat you if they possibly can, espe- 
 cially if you are English. " C'est un Anglais" is 
 sufficient excuse for any exploits in that direction. 
 The English are supposed to be one and all very 
 rich, and it is a kindness rather than otherwise to 
 relieve them of their surplus money. 
 
 " You are rich enough " is their only apology 
 when detected in any barefaced attempt at cheat- 
 ing, and it is useless to attempt to persuade them to 
 the contrary. If you order a live goose they will, 
 before weighing it, thoroughly soak its feathers with 
 water, and then gorge it with maize up to its throat, 
 so that the poor bird arrives in a gasping, dying state. 
 
 In spite of this cruel proceeding, it must not be 
 supposed that the animal portion of the population 
 is badly treated. The oxen and cows work ex- 
 tremely hard ; but they are not treated to blows 
 and kicks in addition, as is so frequently the case 
 
THE PEASANTS' LIVE STOCK. 173 
 
 in England. As a rule, the peasant farmers are 
 passively kind to their beasts. Liberty, equality, 
 and fraternity is the motto of the French peasantry, 
 and the two latter qualities might well be said to 
 include the animals. It is amusing to see the family 
 parties out for the evening stroll. Women, children, 
 cows, calves, sheep, goats, pigs, and geese, all taking 
 their walk together, the women knitting and gos- 
 siping, and the animals in search of their evening 
 meal. The sheep and goats are as tame as dogs, 
 and will eat handfuls of grass out of one's hands, 
 standing still to be coaxed and petted. The lambs 
 and kids play together in the leafy lanes, so prettily 
 that it is charming to watch them. Occasionally 
 the children have a romp too, but not often. Life 
 to them is a serious business. After school-hours 
 the little girls must help to mend and knit, while 
 the boys dig in the garden, or hunt for dandelions 
 or other salad herbs. It is strange to see how de- 
 void of merriment and gaiety the children are. 
 Here youth is the time for gravity, and middle age 
 for frivolity. 
 
174 TEE PEASANT PROPRIETOR. 
 
 The frugality of the peasant is well known, and 
 his thrift is equal to it. Dirty as are their houses 
 and their bodies, their linen is beautifully clean, and 
 even the very poor contrive to accumulate a large 
 stock of house-linen and underclothing. Four dozen 
 chemises and as many camisoles, or loose white 
 jackets, is considered quite a modest trousseau for 
 a peasant's daughter, while middle-class girls often 
 have as many as twelve dozen of all articles of 
 underclothing. But the sheets and shirts of the 
 peasants are made of frightfully coarse linen, such 
 as we should use for roller-blinds, or coarse kitchen- 
 cloths. The people think that cotton sheets are a 
 sure sign of poverty, and they prefer linen, be it 
 ever so coarse. 
 
 We unluckily told our landlady (before we had a 
 house of our own) that we liked linen sheets best in 
 summer-time. The poor woman did not possess 
 any she considered fine enough, so she bought 
 some new ones, and after giving them a wash in 
 the brook, put them upon our respective beds. 
 Alas ! it was like sleeping between door-mats. One 
 
THEIR NOTIONS OF CLEANLINESS. 175 
 
 of us bore his all night, and got up early to rest ; the 
 other discarded them entirely, and slept upon the 
 bare mattress. The woman of the house exclaimed 
 upon finding her nice new sheets upon the floor in 
 the morning 1 , and was astonished that we had found 
 them scrubby, declaring that she thought them 
 delightfully soft and nice. 
 
 The peasant women, while comely in appearance 
 and trim in fete-day dress, are in their persons 
 the reverse of clean. They wash their hands and 
 faces before going to church, and that, as a rule, 
 seems to be the extent of their ablutions ; and 
 this in a hot country, after labour in dusty vine- 
 yards and muddy fields. The richer peasants are a 
 little better, but their notions of cleanliness leave 
 much to be desired. The men bathe in the river 
 occasionally ; the women never. They wash their 
 clothes in the river, and so necessarily a part of 
 themselves, but that is all. 
 
 For this reason the churches are not "pleasant 
 courts below," even in winter. In summer they are 
 most unpleasant. 
 
176 THE PEASANT PROPRIETOR. 
 
 Then the odour of garlic is everywhere. Of it 
 they eat alarming quantities, aud one ail has the 
 smell of forty ordinary onions compressed into one. 
 So marked is this habit and odour, that the better- 
 class people often make it a condition, when hiring 
 servants, that ail is never to be eaten by the latter 
 during their term of service. 
 
 Among the good points of the peasant, male and 
 female, is his punctilious politeness. He takes off 
 his hat to you on every possible occasion, and he 
 expects you to be equally polite. It is somewhat 
 troublesome to a free-and-easy Englishman taking 
 his evening stroll, to have to lift his hat every two 
 yards or so to the people who, like himself, are all 
 out in the roads enjoying the balmy evening; but a 
 neglect to do so would stamp him as a boor, and 
 secure him the ill-will of the country-side. Again, 
 each time you meet the same person the formal salu- 
 tation is exchanged. On an English pier, say, one 
 bow will do for the whole evening ; not so on the 
 promenades of Aveyron. 
 
MINES AND MINING. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE MINE — DECAZEVILLE STRIKE — VAGRANTS — GLASS AND 
 ZINC WORKS — DIFFICULTIES WITH THE WORKMEN — 
 DYNAMITE OUTRAGES — SOCIALISM — THE MECHANICS' 
 FETE-BAYS. 
 
 The hills which hem us in all around are rich in 
 minerals. Opposite, on the sunny heights, we hear 
 through the clear air after rain, the ringing strokes 
 of metal against stone, though we cannot see the 
 workers. The minerals within that hill are the 
 property of an English company, of which the 
 director is the engineer and local representative, 
 and the vagaries of the miners do not allow us much 
 peace, and furnish us with abundant food for con- 
 versation. The mineral sought is silver lead, and the 
 galleries or tunnels go right through the hill from 
 side to side, while the works and offices are close 
 
 M 
 
178 THE MINE— DEC AZEVILLE STRIKE. 
 
 by the river-side, and at the foot of a precipitous 
 but thickly wooded bluff. These mines were first 
 worked by the Eomans ; again by the English 
 under, or contemporaneously with, Thomas a 
 Becket, and now by the English again. 
 
 French genius does not seem to lend itself to the 
 patient and laborious working of mines, and the 
 majority of such undertakings are owned or worked 
 by English or Belgians, the latter in particular. 
 Even where the company is a French one, as at the 
 great coal-mines of Decazeville, the managers are 
 Belgian. 
 
 Decazeville is but six miles away, and we wished 
 it much farther at the time of the great strike which 
 made its name known, owing to the murder of 
 one of the Belgian managers, M. Watrin, who was 
 first stunned by the men, and then thrown to the 
 women, who horribly mutilated him while he was 
 yet alive. It is an exceptionally nasty and dirty 
 town at all times, but to walk through the streets at 
 the time of the strike gave one a most unfavourable 
 impression of the mining population. A look of 
 
A TIME OF SUFFERING. 179 
 
 discontent was stamped upon every face, amounting 
 too often to a really villanous expression. 
 
 One could hardly pity the women, knowing how 
 fiendishly they had acted, and how much more 
 unreasonable they were than the men ; but it was 
 sad to see the children, poor little souls, dirty, 
 unkempt, and half starved : the time was to them 
 one of unmitigated sufferino-. 
 
 The streets were full of soldiers, most of them 
 encamped in tents on the Place, at the top of the 
 town. There were two thousand troops in Decaze- 
 ville to quell the disturbances which were constantly 
 to be apprehended. The neighbouring towns of 
 Aubin and Cransac were also well garrisoned. It was 
 two years before all the troops could be withdrawn. 
 
 Newspaper reporters with pencil and paper in 
 hand were frequent objects in the streets, while at 
 the corners socialistic meetings were beinsj held. If 
 things seemed likely to quiet down, some noisy 
 socialist deputy or strife-creating woman speechifier 
 would put in an appearance, sowing fresh seeds of 
 discord and misunderstanding. 
 
180 THE MINE—DEGAZEVILLE STRIKE. 
 
 It was a dreadful time, and affected all the mine 
 directors and managers in the district. We were 
 warned to carry revolvers, and to be ready to use 
 them if need should require. To this day it is held 
 to be absolutely necessary that the directors and 
 their assistants should be armed. Thus our director 
 has a revolver lying ready by his inkstand, he never 
 moves without one, and there is one ready at the 
 house. In obedience to police instructions, oppor- 
 tunities are taken to practise firing with them, and 
 otherwise to parade the possession of them. 
 
 During the strike the managers' houses, or 
 directions, were garrisoned, or rather turned into 
 quarters for the officers. The mischief was nearly 
 all socialistic, the workmen being naturally tainted 
 with pronounced hatred of law and order. The 
 proprietaires, whose possession of the land makes 
 them conservative in their notions, held aloof from 
 the movement. "Our" miners did not strike at 
 that time, although they did afterwards. 
 
 After, as well as during the strike, there was a 
 great deal of distress in the neighbourhood, and no 
 
IN A LONELY GLADE. 181 
 
 organised means of relieving it. Much trade had 
 been lost which could not easily be got back again, 
 so that many of the miners had to tramp the 
 country in search of work, begging by the way; and 
 they made the roads and lanes so disagreeable that 
 a lady could scarcely walk out alone, while to go 
 to Decazeville itself would have been out of the 
 question. 
 
 One day in a lonely glade of a wood we met two 
 such villanous-looking fellows, that we determined 
 to photograph them, and planted the camera in 
 front of them as they came along the path. Scent- 
 ing a pourboire, they were willing enough, and 
 producing a young live fox out of a basket, they 
 posed themselves as we wished. As they spoke 
 but patois, and the fox would not keep still with- 
 out a lump of sugar, the preliminaries occupied 
 some time. When the operation was over, we dis- 
 covered to our dismay that the fire of our tiny little 
 steam-launch in which we had come down-stream to 
 this secluded spot had gone out, and we had not a 
 single match to relight it. Our villains were de- 
 
182 THE MINE—DECAZEVILLE STRIKE. 
 
 spatclied in different directions in search of matches, 
 and it was a long time before they returned with 
 two or three of the contraband article, with which 
 we were fortunately able to relight the fire and get 
 the steam up in the little kettle. 
 
 In addition to the coal-mines of Decazeville, there 
 are glass-works and zinc smelting and rolling mills, 
 the fumes from the latter denuding the hillsides of 
 vegetation, and requiring heavy compensation to be 
 paid to the owners of vineyards in the vicinity. 
 Looking down into the narrow valleys, where these 
 works are situated, from the hill-tops, one can scarcely 
 see through the pall of smoke which hangs over 
 them. One day we were taken a drive by some 
 friends around the principal mining places, which 
 lie close together, and we were much reminded of 
 the Welsh mining districts, particularly near Cefn, 
 in North Wales ; but the people — men, women, and 
 children — inspired only a feeling of dislike and 
 distrust, assuming their characters were only half as 
 bad as the expression of their faces. 
 
 The miners and workmen form a large portion of 
 
THE MINERS. 183 
 
 the population, and a part very difficult to manage. 
 Most excitable, and always wanting something, yet 
 not knowing what, they are easily swayed hither 
 and thither by every fresh anarchist or socialistic 
 agitator who comes (and such come in plenty) into 
 the neighbourhood. Looking on their masters as 
 their natural enemies, they are only too ready to 
 rise against them on the smallest possible provo- 
 cation, so that a director's lot is not altogether a 
 happy one — he being always singled out for attack 
 as the local manager or representative of the com- 
 pany, however popular he may be personally. The 
 directors and engineers are, however, treated very 
 well indeed by their companies — being found house, 
 coal, candles, furniture, house-linen, horse and car- 
 riage, and a man-servant. 
 
 Our mine, as we call it, is at present a compara- 
 tively small affair, though it is expected to grow 
 into a valuable property. There are about a hun- 
 dred men employed, and we know most of them 
 well. To an Englishman they have the irritating 
 fault of beincx afraid of hard work, or unwilling to 
 
184 THE MINE—DECAZEVILLE STRIKE. 
 
 undergo it. As an English foreman, a rough old 
 Cornishman, said, all they care for is to pass the day 
 with a pretence of working, and then of course they 
 expect full wages. The mining is done by piece- 
 work, at prices set out by contract once a-month. 
 The best men make good wages, the idle ones do 
 not, so they want the rate raised, and much discon- 
 tent prevailed. The master-miner, who has since 
 left, was really afraid of his duties, and would lay the 
 fault of the supposed low prices upon some one else, 
 and failed to manage the men properly. Matters 
 w r ent on with occasional disputes, and the director was 
 often summoned to the court at Asprieres — an expe- 
 rience so frequent, however, with the litigation-lov- 
 ing peasants when rights-of-way and easement over 
 their tiny plots was involved, that he did not think 
 much of it. Then a new master-miner was engaged, 
 a sturdy and thorough-going worker, who would not 
 stand shirking ; and finally, when all the rest of us 
 were in England, and the director was alone, the 
 men struck. It was a very anxious time, and he 
 had to be protected by twelve mounted gendarmes, 
 
DYNAMITE OUTRAGES. 185 
 
 and once to take refuge with a friendly countess in 
 her chateau hard by. 
 
 The police warned the company that they could 
 not preserve peace unless the prices were raised, and 
 the director had to give way, feeling savage enough 
 that the idle and mischievous had conquered. 
 
 Among the expedients adopted by the miners 
 to enforce their views was the use of dynamite. 
 A cartridge dropped down a foreman's chim- 
 ney wrecked his house, fortunately without per- 
 sonal damage. Much alarm was once occasioned 
 by a wholesale theft of dynamite from the work- 
 men's magazine. Enough was stolen to w T reck a 
 town. In spite of all the efforts of the police, no 
 clue w r as ever discovered to the thieves, and the 
 dangerous stuff must be hidden somewhere, to be 
 ready to wreak untold mischief whenever the oppor- 
 tunity offers. 
 
 Our director once received a threatening letter, 
 anonymous, but from a socialist source, calling upon 
 him to dismiss his best men, who could get work 
 anywhere, and employ the poor of the commune, of 
 
186 THE MINE—DEGAZEVILLE STRIKE. 
 
 whom there were many, otherwise he would meet 
 with the same fate as M. Watrin. As to comply 
 with this modest request would mean financial ruin, 
 and the consequent cessation of any work at the 
 mine, it was impossible for the most philanthropic 
 person to comply with it. 
 
 The Cornishman before mentioned had been accus- 
 tomed to Italian workmen, who were much more 
 capable of the hard rough labour of mining life, than 
 the somewhat poor specimens, physically speaking, 
 that our district produces, and were much more 
 willing to work and thorough in their work, and 
 he wished to try the experiment of bringing some 
 of them over to show the others how to work ; but 
 after consideration it was deemed too hazardous, as 
 quarrels would inevitably ensue with the jealous 
 Frenchmen, and the place be too hot to hold them. 
 
 We are not among those who think that no good 
 thing can exist out of England, and that no foreigner 
 can match the English workman. We are indeed 
 disposed to say that, although the best English 
 workmen are the best of their kind in all the world, 
 
THE WORKMEN'S F&TE-DAYS. 187 
 
 yet, taking the average of the lower grades, they are 
 beaten in many virtues, except the one of sheer 
 physical strength, by Danes, Italians, or Norwegians. 
 But the French workman, as we know him, is a long- 
 way below all of them, having only the redeeming 
 quality of politeness when he is in a good humour. 
 But we wish to avoid general dissertations, and 
 have only to give our own impressions of things as 
 they are in this remote spot; a district, however, 
 which is favourable for the study of the true peasant 
 character, and also for that of the miner and work- 
 man. We limit our statements to the Lot and 
 Aveyron : let others generalise. 
 
 The workman is seen at his best on his fete-day, 
 each trade having its patron saint and its especial 
 fSte-dsij. The patron saint of the miners is St 
 Barbe, and on her day they have their fete. 
 
 It is the custom on that day for the workmen to 
 offer to their respective directors a bouquet of arti- 
 ficial flowers, and a cake. The flowers are made by 
 the nuns in the convents, and are atrociously bright 
 and glaring. The accompanying cake is a huge one, 
 
188 THE MINE—DECAZEVILLE STRIKE. 
 
 but deceptive, being quite hollow — a mere shell, in 
 fact, of congealed toffee, very sweet and profusely 
 decorated. 
 
 On bringing the cake and flowers the men expect 
 to be treated to a small glass of some favourite 
 liqueur, in which they drink the director's health. 
 He also presents them with a twenty-franc piece, 
 with which they afterwards make merry in some 
 neighbouring cafe. 
 
 The carpenters have St Joseph's Day, he being 
 the patron of all workers in wood. Then there are 
 the masons, engineers, and the many other trades 
 represented in a large industrial establishment, so 
 that the bouquet presentations are frequent affairs. 
 The difficulty is to know what to do with them : 
 they are too large and too gay to be thrown away 
 privately, and too impossible in tone to keep. 
 Once we sent one to a friend in England, thinking 
 it would amuse the children. But the family were 
 offended at our supposed low appreciation of their 
 taste, and we have lost a friend through our 
 generosity. 
 
ARTIFICIAL BOUQUETS. 189 
 
 The only way out of the difficulty is to present 
 them after a time to some neighbouring propri&aire, 
 who will think them works of art, and if he can 
 afford to get a glass shade, he will place his treasure 
 under it. 
 
190 "F£TES"—THE "f£te BE DIEU." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "FETES" THE "FETE DE DIEU." 
 
 The 2d of November, being All-Souls' Day, is kept 
 as a solemn fete. On that clay black-robed figures 
 may be seen wending their way towards the church- 
 yard, in order to visit and pray by the graves of 
 departed friends. In all churches Masses are said 
 at intervals during the day, and prayers are of- 
 fered for souls in purgatory. 
 
 After a person dies, his or her friends always pay 
 for a Mass to be said upon the anniversary of the 
 death. This Mass is called a bout de Van, and is 
 often quite an imposing ceremony, especially when 
 held for any person of importance. When the 
 bout de Van was held for the young enoineer 
 who was murdered at the commencement of the 
 
11 BOUT BE L'AN." 191 
 
 famous Decazcville strike, printed invitations were 
 sent out to all the directors and engineers of neigh- 
 bouring collieries, iron-works, lead-mines, &c. The 
 church at Decazeville was crammed, and as some 
 demonstration on the part of discontented workmen 
 was feared, part of the troops then stationed in the 
 town was on guard outside the church. No disturb- 
 ance, however, was made, and the service passed off 
 peacefully. In country places the religion of the 
 people might almost be described in two words — 
 namely, confession and procession. They certainly 
 "process" on every possible occasion. One is fre- 
 quently awakened early on summer mornings by the 
 sound of chanting, and on looking out one sees the 
 winding road filled with the marching faithful : these 
 are on their way to some wayside cross, for during 
 the year each cross in the parish is visited in its turn. 
 The men walk first, carrying the church banner, 
 then comes the Cure, and after him the women and 
 girls. Everybody quick-marches at such a rate, as 
 though they thought, " Well, we've got to do it, so 
 we will get it done just as fast as we can, and make 
 
192 « FETES"— THE " FE^TE DE DIEU." 
 
 the best of it." Their destination reached, the people 
 kneel in a circle around the cross, and the Cure, 
 standing in their midst, says a litany, to which the 
 people respond ; then he besprinkles them with holy 
 water, says the benediction, and the ceremony being 
 ended, all troop home again in time to begin the 
 day's work. 
 
 On especial days, such as the Feast of the Adora- 
 tion Perpetual and the fete de Dieu, chapels of ever- 
 greens are erected in the village streets, as well as 
 near wayside crosses, to which it may be intended 
 to make pilgrimages. The fete de Dieu is the 
 grandest as well as most solemn fete of the year. 
 Then the chapels erected are really marvellous, and 
 often quite pretty. Festoons of evergreens are 
 hung across the streets, and in front of every house 
 white sheets are stretched. This custom makes the 
 village look clean and pure for once in a way, in- 
 asmuch as the lower parts of the houses are 
 quite covered up with the white sheets. At such 
 times happy is the housewife who possesses the 
 finest and whitest pair of sheets : she is indeed 
 
DECORATING THE CHAPELS. 193 
 
 proud to be able to display them to the gaze of 
 admiring and envious neighbours. 
 
 Before beginning to build the various chapels the 
 village girls go on a borrowing expedition ; they 
 are glad of anything they consider pretty which 
 they can make use of. A pair of tall brass candle- 
 sticks is possessed by one fortunate member of 
 society, and these being greatly prized, are yearly 
 sought after ; needless to say that, though their 
 owner is a Protestant, the candlesticks are always 
 lent most willingly. The same woman has some 
 fearfully and wonderfully made artificial flowers 
 under glass shades, and happy indeed are the girls 
 who get these for the adornment of their pet 
 chapel. They always come to the sister for a small 
 round-topped macrame-hoideved table. It makes 
 such a lovely altar, they say, and the image of the 
 sainted Virgin looks so well on the top of it. 
 
 For days before the fete de Dieu the school 
 children spend all their spare time on the moun- 
 tains, gathering moss that is destined to aid in 
 covering the framework of the different chapels, 
 
 N 
 
194 " FATES''— THE "FETE DE DIEU." 
 
 and also to form a carpet on the floor of, and in 
 front of, them. We asked them one day how they 
 kept the moss fresh. "Oh," said they, "we put it 
 in the cellar of Monsieur le Cure, and his house- 
 keeper sprinkles it with water." 
 
 The chapels are built at intervals in the village 
 street, stopping all but foot traffic. 
 
 Talking of processions, we saw one at Rodez 
 that was really most interesting. 
 
 Many hundred years ago the city of Rodez was 
 visited by a great plague, of which more than half 
 the inhabitants perished. So the bishop organised 
 a pilgrimage to be made to a church eight miles 
 away; and all the people that could be spared from 
 the sick and dying, trudged off to this pilgrimage 
 church to do penance, and pray that the plague 
 might be stayed. Strange to say (at least so the 
 story goes), after the pilgrims returned, not one 
 death from the plague occurred in Rodez. Health 
 gradually returned to the sick, and the remnant 
 of the inhabitants went back to their ordinary 
 avocations. 
 
A PROCESSION AT RODEZ. 195 
 
 Now each succeeding year the people of Rodez 
 make a thanksgiving pilgrimage to the wondrous 
 shrine. There are three parishes in the city, and 
 each parish has a separate procession on its own 
 appointed day; and on that day, young and old, 
 rich and poor, weak and strong, all trudge away to 
 the sacred shrine, there to spend the day in fasting 
 and prayer. 
 
 And this was the procession that we saw. It 
 was interesting, but had its funny side too. First 
 came all the young and old maids wearing silver 
 crosses attached to blue ribbons. Then the peni- 
 tents, great strong men, about two dozen of them, 
 dressed in what looked like long white night-shirts, 
 and cords round their waists, which cords they were 
 supposed to thrash themselves with each time they 
 felt their angry passions rise. 
 
 These robust sinners carried one of the most 
 sacred relics of Rodez, the pickled head of the first 
 bishop, exposed to the public gaze in a glass case ; 
 and a very unpleasant object it looked — the head, 
 not the case, for that was pretty enough. 
 
196 " FETES"— THE " FETE BE DIEU." 
 
 After the penitents walked the first communi- 
 cants of the Sunday previous, the girls dressed 
 entirely in white, and the boys wearing white 
 neckties, gloves, and trousers ; each child carried 
 a candle a yard and a half long, wreathed with 
 artificial flowers. As the poor children were tired, 
 the candles wobbled very ungracefully. After them 
 came the priests in white robes, ornamented with 
 Nottingham lace, which was good enough for the 
 "walking dresses" — the gorgeous robes with real 
 lace being worn only at indoor ceremonies. The 
 procession was closed by the ordinary married folk, 
 and unespecial saints or sinners. 
 
 Every village has its own particular fete-day, 
 when each young fellow dons his best blouse, and 
 every girl her Sunday frock ; and if it is summer- 
 time, her best white embroidered camisole. These 
 camisoles are short, white, much-be-trimmed, blouse 
 bodices, and they are confined at the waist by a 
 coloured band of ribbon, or else simply by the 
 apron-string. A village girl dressed in plain black 
 or red skirt, and white camisole and apron, looks 
 
FEASTING AND DANCING. 197 
 
 really quite bewitching; but white is only worn 
 on Sundays or holidays, and the blue garments 
 ordinarily worn are neither very clean nor very 
 picturesque. 
 
 On fete-days, as a matter of course, all the village 
 is dressed in its best, and visiting, feasting, and 
 dancing goes on all day long. 
 
 In the exuberance of their spirits the young men 
 do not seem to care to which sex their partners 
 belong, but will dance one dance after another with 
 members of their own sex, and very often quite by 
 themselves. Some of the village dances are really 
 very pretty, and the young men move with won- 
 derful grace and precision. Every now and then 
 there is a lull in the dancing, then a stamping of 
 feet, a fling of arms in the air, and off they go 
 again, wheeling, turning, waltzing, and jigging, in 
 what would be to English country lads an impos- 
 sible manner. The girls don't, as a rule, dance in 
 the auberges— that is forbidden by the priests ; but 
 out on the Place they take their share of the general 
 enjoyment. Most of the girls dance very nicely — 
 
198 " F£TES"—THE "FETE DE DIEU." 
 
 it seems to come to them naturally : they learn one 
 from another, but never take any regular lessons. 
 In fact they could not afford to do so, even if they 
 had the opportunity. Much lamentation has lately 
 been caused because the priests have even forbidden 
 the dancing upon the Place, saying that it is 
 sinful and wrong for young men and maidens to 
 touch each other even with the finger-tips. The 
 young folk rebel, but then the priests will refuse 
 them absolution when next they confess. Talking 
 of absolution, the schoolmaster was refused absolu- 
 tion because the dictionary used in his school did 
 not meet with the approbation of the Cure. 
 
 One day we went up the river to see some 
 friends. We found them at home, but on the 
 point of starting to Aubin to see the fete there, 
 which is considered the fete of the neighbourhood. 
 Our friends asked us to accompany them, and as 
 the day was a holiday, we willingly consented. So 
 off we drove, two carriage-loads of us, all gay, and 
 all ready for a little distraction. The heat and 
 
AT AUBIN. 199 
 
 dust, however, on the road were dreadful, and we 
 all expected a thunderstorm, which luckily did not 
 come off. 
 
 At Aubin the streets were spanned with arches, 
 flags were flying, and the houses, especially the 
 auberges, were gaily decked with flowers and ever- 
 greens. The cafes were evidently doing a roaring 
 trade, and the swings and merry-go-rounds found 
 plenty of customers. 
 
 Here and there patriotic Frenchmen might be 
 seen and heard chanting the "Marseillaise," whilst 
 through the open doors of the auberges, one could 
 see sprightly youths tripping on the light fantastic 
 toe, to the strains of popular waltzes, polkas, and 
 jigs, played by perspiring fiddlers. Toffee and 
 cake stalls abounded on every side, and outside 
 most of the cafes groups of men were playing 
 games of cards. The country girls were all in 
 grande toilette de dimanche, and fearfully and 
 wonderfully made were many of their bonnets — 
 some, indeed, without form or comeliness. 
 
200 « FETES"— THE " FETE DE DIEU." 
 
 The men had donned new blouses of a bria;ht and 
 shining blue, or, if the wearers happened to be in 
 mourning, of an equally shiny black. 
 
 The grand ball was to be held in the market- 
 hall at nightfall. We went to see the decorations, 
 which consisted of garlands, and strings of Chinese 
 lanterns suspended from wall to wall in each di- 
 rection. The floor was partly bricks aud partly 
 bare black earth. Alas for the white skirts of 
 the dancing fair ones ! they would be in a state. 
 
 Aubin fete is frequently held on a Sunday, but 
 that makes no difference in the attendance, for a 
 French Sunday is a curious affair. Religion has 
 its reign in the morning, but at night fun takes 
 its place. If one does not break a commandment, 
 tant mieux ; if one does, tant pis — it can't be 
 helped, and will all come right in the end : con- 
 fession covereth a multitude of sins, and the bon 
 Dieii knows that one must have amusement. He 
 made us so ; who should know better than He ? 
 Besides, what are all the brothers and sisters in the 
 convents for, if not to pray for us ? That is a 
 
VILLAGE QUARRELS. 201 
 
 Frenchman's creed, when he has one at all, which 
 does not always happen. 
 
 The people of Aubin no doubt do quite sufficient 
 in the way of penance. They possess an almost 
 inaccessible Calvary, which is erected upon an old 
 fort, supposed to have been built by the English 
 during their occupation of this part of France, and 
 to this Calvary many a weary penitent has to 
 trudge, when Monsieur le Cure wills it so. 
 
 Sometimes there is a grand quarrel between the 
 young men of one village and those of another, 
 generally because of some rustic belle, who perhaps 
 has thrown a few kind glances towards a young 
 man from another commune. This behaviour is 
 bitterly resented by the gargons of her own village, 
 and they show their anger by challenging the other 
 fellows to a general stand-up fight. 
 
 One such fight occurred not long since between 
 the young men of Bouillac and those of Cuzac. 
 The scrimmage took place at Bouillac after the fete, 
 and the Cuzac boys got badly beaten, broken heads 
 and bruised bodies being the order of the day. 
 
202 «FHTES"—THE "FrfTE BE DIEU." ' 
 
 A few clays afterwards the Bouillacites were 
 surprised on going to morning Mass, by seeing 
 pasted on the church door a huge written placard, 
 to the effect that if the Bouillac young men ven- 
 tured to show themselves at Cuzac fete they would 
 get something more than they would like. Every- 
 body expected a grand row, and the gendarmes 
 were on the alert ; but fortunately the young fellows 
 of Bouillac listened to reason, and the persuasion of 
 their women-folk, and stayed at home. 
 
 Probably the fact that the belle of the village 
 faithfully promised not to look at any young men 
 not of her own parish, had something to do with 
 the matter. 
 
 The young fellows are very fond of playing nine- 
 pins : this they do in the middle of the road, so that 
 if a trap or ox-cart comes along, the driver must 
 wait until the nine -pins can be temporarily re- 
 moved. But nobody minds ; not they, for the 
 driver would like a game himself, if only he could 
 spare the time ; so the players cheerfully move the 
 nine-pins, the cart passes, and the game is resumed. 
 
PLAYING NINE-PINS. 203 
 
 The nine-pin ball is huge and hollow, but quite 
 heavy. The men take hold of it by the edge of 
 the hollow part, when they pitch it at the nine- 
 pins ; and as they go on playing for hours at a 
 time, they must find the game very amusing, 
 though it does not look so to an onlooker. 
 
 One day a lot of grown-up men were playing 
 on the road with a set of child's toy nine -pins. 
 Asking them if they found much amusement in 
 the game, they replied, " Oh yes, mademoiselle, 
 we do ; it is a little distraction, and that is what 
 we need after working in the mine all day." 
 
 This all serves to show the nature of our work- 
 men — easily pleased, and as easily vexed ; men 
 who will often be influenced by a kind word or 
 action, but who will never be driven to do what 
 they do not like. 
 
 On Sundays, games of cards and dominoes go 
 on all day in the various auberges. Wine is 
 drunk to a great extent, and towards evening- 
 singing, mostly of war songs, becomes general. 
 
 The climate of Aveyron is popularly supposed 
 
204 « FJ&TES" —THE " FETE BE DIEU." 
 
 to encourage three things — namely, love, wine, 
 and the human voice. No doubt it does the first 
 two things ; but as for the last, well, all we can 
 say is that the standard they judge by cannot be 
 very high, for the singing in the churches and 
 auberges is simply atrocious, — it might best be 
 called howling. 
 
 Perhaps the principal amusement in which the 
 peasants and workmen indulge is summoning one 
 another for some trifling cause or another before 
 the juge de paix. The little court - house is at 
 Asprieres, and there the judge sits in state, ready 
 to listen to and pass judgment upon all the petty 
 quarrels of the neighbourhood. 
 
 The judge wears a funny little round cap with 
 a white band, something like a rather high smok- 
 ing-cap, with a stiff crown rather overshadowing 
 the close-fitting brim. He also wears a short black 
 gown and white bands, and he tries, though he does 
 not always succeed, to look important. The court 
 consists of a plain whitewashed room, at one end of 
 which is placed the judge's desk and those of his 
 
A CO U JIT OF JUSTICE. 205 
 
 clerks. In front of these a place is railed off for the 
 combatants and their witnesses. 
 
 Opening out of the court are the closet of the 
 judge, and the hall of the witnesses. 
 
 The audience are not provided with seats, so the 
 dividing rail is much sought after as a leaning-post. 
 
 As each case is called on, the plaintiff, defendant, 
 and all the witnesses go inside the railed-off part of 
 the court ; then the plaintiff states his case and the 
 defendant his defence, and then begins the fun. 
 Plaintiff, defendant, witnesses, and judge all talk at 
 once; and all, judge excepted, gesticulate wildly, 
 flinging up their arms and glaring at one another in 
 the fiercest manner. Next, the judge politely tells 
 them all to shut up, and proceeds to give his deci- 
 sion. If the people don't agree with it, they tell him 
 so, and try to argue him out of it. Then he coolly 
 shouts, " Allez-vous en ! " and tells them to finish dis- 
 puting outside, where space and time are no object. 
 In this manner he knocks off one case after another, 
 until all are finished. 
 
 After the court is over, plaintiffs, defendants, and 
 
206 " FE'TES"--THE " FE~TE BE DIEU." 
 
 witnesses, and those who only attend out of curios- 
 ity, troop off homewards, laughing and talking in 
 the most amicable manner, just as though nothing 
 unusual had happened. Indeed it is nothing un- 
 usual, for most of the people seem to look upon the 
 whole matter as rather a bit of fun than otherwise ; 
 and law of this primitive kind being a rather cheap 
 kind of distraction, they go in for it to a large extent, 
 summoning one another for the most trivial offence 
 — so trivial sometimes, that the judge, clerks, and 
 the whole court are obliged to laugh. 
 
 The first hearing of a petty case only costs the 
 plaintiff about one franc, and the judge rather arbi- 
 trates than decides between the contending parties. 
 They can abide or not by his decision ; but if they 
 do not so abide, the case comes on again in a few 
 weeks' time, when the costs are much greater, and 
 the judgment final. 
 
HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 HOME LIFE IX AVEYRON. 
 
 Our people, as a rule, are very fond of out- 
 door life — not the active, boating, tennis - playing, 
 cricketing, and generally athletic existence to which 
 we English are addicted, but a sit-outside-under- 
 the- shade -with-one's-work-or-cup-of- coffee kind of 
 life, which they seem to find very agreeable. For 
 instance, take a walk along the street of a small 
 town in the afternoon. Every one is out of doors 
 who can possibly be there. Tradesmen mind their 
 shops by sitting on chairs outside the doors, calmly 
 reading the newspaper, whilst their women -folk 
 knit, crochet, or gossip. Dressmakers may be seen 
 working sewing-machines, and milliners trimming 
 hats. It is quite an ordeal to pass between so 
 
208 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 much outdoor domesticity ; one feels as if one 
 were intruding one's self into other people's pri- 
 vate affairs. 
 
 They are a people naturally gay and sociable : 
 thus they do not like being shut up all day long 
 in house or shop, so when they cannot get away 
 for the much-loved promenade, why, they just sit 
 outside and enjoy themselves the best way they 
 can. 
 
 Most of the poor seem to look upon their houses 
 simply as places to sleep in, and shelters in case of 
 wet. One cannot wonder at this, when one sees the 
 miserable hovels many of the houses are. Whole 
 families often live in one apartment, eating and 
 sleeping in the same room, and it is no unusual 
 thing to see four and even five beds in the same 
 room. And oh, the beds ! they are so high, so be- 
 curtained, and so stuffy-looking ! — in fact, so sug- 
 gestive of other than human occupants. 
 
 The French seem to have a liking for high beds. 
 In the hotels they are so high and so springy as to 
 be really dangerous. One night whilst staying at 
 
HIGH BEDS AND BABIES. 209 
 
 Toulouse we were startled by a great noise occur- 
 ring in the adjoining room, and in the morning H. 
 appeared with a big bump on his forehead : he had 
 leaned over the side of his bed in order to put out 
 the light, and the spring mattress had gone down 
 with a jerk, and shot him out on to the stone floor, 
 hence the bump. 
 
 But if it is easy for grown folks to fall out of bed, 
 it is not easy for babies to fall out of their cradles ; 
 poor little souls ! they are" held in bondage." The 
 child of a peasant or workman is, from its birth 
 until the age of six months, wrapped up like a 
 parcel ; first in a small linen sheet of dreadfully 
 coarse texture, and outside that a rough grey or 
 brown blanket. These wraps are tied on to the 
 unfortunate baby with long, narrow knitted strips 
 like garters. These are wound round and round the 
 baby, so that the poor little thing cannot move 
 either arms or legs ; indeed so tight are the band- 
 ages that poor baby could not possibly be put into 
 a sitting posture. The babies are also tied into their 
 cradles with these strips of knitting, which are 
 
 o 
 
210 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 laced across the cradle again and again, and the 
 cradles are so small and shallow that the women 
 nurse baby, cradle, and all. 
 
 The sister persuaded one woman to dress her 
 child (a dear little thing) in English fashion. At 
 first she demurred, but afterwards consented to our 
 wishes. She thought that if her baby had its legs 
 and arms free they would assuredly grow crooked. 
 When she found out that they did not, and that her 
 baby was stronger and happier" than other people's 
 children, she thanked the sister for her advice, and 
 said that she would never dress a child in the old 
 way again. Poor woman ! her husband had been 
 out of work for some time, so on being offered a 
 situation somewhere in Algeria he accepted it, and 
 she had to take her baby and follow him there. 
 She cried so pitifully at leaving her native land, 
 for she thought that in the hot climate of Algeria 
 her beautiful baby might die ; but as she said — 
 " What will you, mademoiselle ? when one is mar- 
 ried one must follow one's husband, even at the risk 
 of losing one's child." 
 
AVERSION TO EMIGRATION. 211 
 
 The French, rich and poor, cling with great 
 tenacity to their native land. The peasants most 
 especially speak almost pathetically of their country 
 — their beautiful France. There, emigration is much 
 rarer than with us : it is a thing to be dreaded — 
 a very last resource. They would rather live on 
 vegetables -and -bacon soup in their own country, 
 than go away with the prospect of becoming rich. 
 The daughters of peasant proprietors prefer to work 
 hard — nay, almost starve — at home, than to go away 
 to service. Indeed, the cures do not like the girls of 
 the parish to go away to the large towns to service. 
 They fear the result of the temptation of large 
 towns, and away from under their own fatherly con- 
 fessional care. So the girls stay at home tending 
 the sheep and goats, and helping to till the few 
 paternal acres ; a rough life, but apparently a very 
 healthy one, if one may judge by looks, for they are 
 all stout and hardy, somewhat too stout, indeed, 
 for girls of eighteen look women of thirty, and 
 women of thirty — well, anywhere after forty. 
 
 The people, as a rule, marry youug, often too 
 
212 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 young, the girls being eighteen and the young men 
 not much older. One has frequently made the 
 remark, " That is a nice-looking young fellow," and 
 one's companion has replied, " He is no longer a 
 young man, he is married." 
 
 Early marriages are all very well when the girl 
 has a nice little dot, and the man a bit of land ; but 
 when, as sometimes happens, a workman marries 
 a penniless girl, and then trouble comes, it is sad 
 indeed. Not long ago we had a case of this kind in 
 our parish. A young miner married a girl of nine- 
 teen. A few months after their marriage he was 
 taken ill, and soon it became evident that, al- 
 though his illness would most likely be of a lin- 
 gering kind, he would never get better. The poor 
 girl was expecting a baby. They had no money, 
 and the only relations they had were very, very 
 poor. The man could not safely be moved to the 
 hospital at Villefranche, twenty miles away, and 
 the commune either could not or would not do 
 anything for him. Thus the poor people were 
 entirely dependent upon the charity of a few, a 
 
WANT OF CHARITY. 213 
 
 very few, persons. The peasants gave nothing, 
 absolutely nothing. " Why should we ? " they said ; 
 "these people are strangers; they are not of our 
 country, they are of another department ; besides, we 
 give to the Church, we cannot afford to give to the 
 Church and to the poor also : if we give to the Church 
 we get absolution, and shall go to heaven when we 
 come to die ; but if we give to the poor we get 
 nothing." The workmen happily were more char- 
 itable. " What will you ? " they said ; "we must 
 help one another ; we may be in want ourselves 
 some day. It is better to give the money to those 
 in want, than to give it to Monsieur le Cure, that 
 he may buy candles for the church with it." 
 
 A few of us undertook to make clothes for the 
 expected baby, for the poor mother was too broken- 
 hearted and tired from loss of rest to do any- 
 thing, even could she have afforded to buy material. 
 The baby was born on the day on which his father 
 died. The poor man looked at his child twice, and 
 saying, " It was all I waited for," he passed away. 
 Some little time after the funeral the sister went to 
 
214 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 call upon the widow. Her mother, an aged withered 
 woman, looked at her visitor piteously for some 
 minutes, and then saying something to her daughter 
 in patois, she burst into tears. The daughter ex- 
 plained that her mother could not speak a word of 
 French, but she wished to thank the sister and all 
 the kind friends who had helped her daughter and 
 son-in-law in their great trouble. "My mother," she 
 said, " thanks you from the depths of her heart, and 
 she will pray always that the good Jesus and the Holy 
 Virgin will bless you and recompense you for your 
 kindness." All the old women are not so tender- 
 hearted as this one. Some of them seem to become 
 very hardened indeed ; but, poor souls ! one cannot 
 blame them overmuch, for they have had most likely 
 a life of toil, and that of the most wearying kind. 
 
 One day the sister went to see a little child who 
 was very ill with inflammation of the lungs. The 
 little thing was almost dying then, indeed it did die 
 soon afterwards. The mother was overwhelmed 
 with grief, but the grandmother seemed rather 
 pleased than otherwise. She scolded her daughter 
 
CHILDREN TOO PLENTIFUL. 215 
 
 for grieving, at the same time making the remark 
 that children were already too plentiful in the 
 family, and that it would be a blessing for one to 
 be taken away. Oh, what a dirty uninviting place 
 that poor home looked ! Father, mother, grand- 
 mother, and four children lived all in one room, 
 which served alike for kitchen, parlour, and sleeping- 
 room. On one side three high beds were packed 
 close together, and in one of these, almost smothered 
 with a big down quilt, lay the dying child. On one 
 wall were hung the Sunday garments of the inmates, 
 while shelves placed against another held the pots 
 and pans, plates and dishes of the establishment. 
 The floor was black with the accumulated dirt of 
 generations, and walls and ceiling were little better 
 than the floor. The only gleam of brightness in the 
 room was caused by the shining copper pans and 
 great water-fountain. One good point belongs to 
 the French poor ; they keep their cooking utensils 
 clean and bright. However dirty the floor and fur- 
 niture may be, the pots, pans, and crockery in general 
 are invariably bright and clean. 
 
216 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 Another noticeable thing is that in quite poor 
 houses dinner-napkins are used. Miners and work- 
 men use their serviettes, and are civilised enough to 
 drink their cup of black coffee after dinner, too. The 
 funny part of it all is, that though they use serviettes 
 they have dinner served upon an uncovered table, 
 or at the best a table covered with an oilcloth, some- 
 times white, but more often coloured. 
 
 Speaking of coffee, it is no wonder that the peasants 
 make it good. They take the necessary trouble. 
 Each household has its coffee-roaster, and each 
 housewife chooses, mixes, and roasts her own coffee. 
 The roasting is done out of doors generally of an 
 evening, and it is no unusual thing to see three or 
 four women in a group turning away at the handles 
 of their little (barrel-churn-like) roasting-machines. 
 The coffee is roasted over hot wood -ashes; and 
 though the combined odour of coffee and burnt 
 wood is rather overpowering, it is not unpleasant, 
 especially at a little distance. 
 
 The peasants are a strange emotional people, and 
 many of them seem subject to almost ungovernable 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 217 
 
 fits of passion ; but they are very warm-hearted and 
 affectionate. 
 
 It is a thousand pities that so many marriages are 
 made for convenience and not for love. One young 
 married woman told us that she only saw her hus- 
 band three times before their marriage, and then 
 only in the presence of her parents. He never once 
 was allowed to kiss her, so of real courtship she 
 knew absolutely nothing. Fortunately they fell in 
 love with each other after marriage, and even now 
 behave like a pair of lovers, though they have been 
 married seven years at least. 
 
 When there is mutual love between husband and 
 wife, they show a great deal of tenderness one to- 
 wards the other : monsieur is so polite and defer- 
 ential towards madame, and she is so bright and 
 winning, with a happy smile and a caressing word 
 ever ready to greet her husband, so that it is really 
 quite pretty to watch a pair of married lovers. 
 
 Oh, the miles and miles of crochet cotton that 
 must get used up in the Departments of Lot and 
 Aveyron ! There cannot exist one girl of the age of 
 
218 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 twenty in either department who has not crocheted 
 a quilt. The girls never seem to be idle. When 
 their day's work is over they stroll along the road 
 or by the river, crochet or knitting in hand. Stock- 
 ings are knitted and quilts crocheted in order to fill 
 what English west-country girls call the " bottom 
 drawer " — in other words, to form part of their wed- 
 ding outfit ; for what girl would think of getting 
 married without a goodly number of stockings, and 
 a few hand-made counterpanes in addition to her 
 other treasures ? 
 
 The old women do the spinning, and very dexter- 
 ously they handle the distaff with their bundle of 
 rough wool tucked under the arm. Their withered 
 fingers seem to fly as they draw out the rough wool 
 and twist it ; and the old ladies themselves chatter 
 and laugh with the very small children, who are 
 their usual companions. Indeed, grandmothers and 
 great-grandmothers generally act as nurses to the 
 small fry, for mother is too busy working in the 
 fields or vines, or sorting lead at the mine. 
 
 Very, very coarse stockings are knitted with this 
 
HOME INDUSTRIES. 219 
 
 homespun yarn, and these are of a dingy white or 
 natural sheep's-back colour. Even the little school- 
 girls knit going to and returning from school ; and 
 as for the schoolmistress, one never sees her without 
 her knitting-pins, and one can only think how very 
 well her husband must be off for socks, and herself 
 and children for stockings. 
 
 Every now and then the professional mattress- 
 cleaners make a visit to our village, and then all 
 the family beds that need combing and cleaning 
 are turned out of doors. The work is all done 
 outside, in the road or village street : nobody 
 minds, for everybody's beds are done in the same 
 manner. 
 
 Monsieur, the cleaner, combs the wool with a 
 small machine he has for the purpose, which he 
 works with his feet, using his hands for placing the 
 wool in position. Madame, his wife, does all the 
 unpicking and stitching up again of ticks, and she 
 also packs the wool together in form for being 
 covered. Some people clean their own mattresses ; 
 but this is not often done, because the profes- 
 
220 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 sionals do not charge much, and at the same time 
 do the work much better. 
 
 Then there is the tinman, who comes round in his 
 turn, and mends and makes bright the pots and pans 
 of the village. 
 
 Go down the village street at any time of the day, 
 while he is on his rounds, and you are sure to see 
 him sitting outside an auberge, by the side of his 
 little fire, surrounded with pots, pans, copper stew- 
 pans, and dripping-pans of all kinds. And beauti- 
 fully he does them up too, sends them home mend- 
 ed, freshly tinned, and looking like new. 
 
 The peasants' wives rear fowls, ducks, turkeys, 
 and geese — in fact, they rear every kind of bird or 
 animal that can possibly, dead or alive, bring them 
 in any money. Wild rabbits, for instance, one never 
 sees by any chance, though a hare may be shot occa- 
 sionally. Tame rabbits, however, abound, and may 
 be purchased very cheaply, and very good they are 
 too, when cooked as only the French seem to know 
 how to cook them. 
 
UNLUCKY GEESE. 221 
 
 Great quantities of pdte de foie gras are made in 
 the neighbourhood, and each hotel-keeper vies with 
 the other as to which has the best to offer his guests. 
 It is a curious sight to see the poor geese being 
 crammed with food, ready for the sacrifice. For 
 weeks before they are killed they are kept up in a 
 warm place, and systematically crammed with as 
 much, or rather more food than they can possibly 
 digest. In order to feed them, a large funnel is 
 placed and held in their mouths, and into the large 
 end of this funnel the food is put, and literally 
 pushed with the fingers, or a short stick, down the 
 poor creature's throat. This process goes on at inter- 
 vals day after day, until the goose is too fat to walk. 
 Then, as its liver is considered sufficiently enlarged, 
 and its digestion decidedly ruined, it is killed, and 
 the liver is used in the manufacture of the famous 
 pdte de foie gras. The geese are generally cut up 
 and preserved in salt and in their own melted fat, 
 and when the pieces are fished out of the jar and 
 fried, they are very good eating. 
 
222 HOME LIFE IN AVEYRON. 
 
 Truffles are also used in the manufacture of pate, 
 and for these, as we have said before, the pigs are 
 trained to hunt — in fact, they hunt for them 
 naturally, and would eat them too, but that they 
 are not allowed to do so. No, poor things ! 
 they do the finding, and we the eating of these 
 delicacies. 
 
ROGAMADOUR. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ROGAMADOUR. 
 
 A devout pilgrim to Kocamadour had, upon her 
 return, presented us with a little tract by Hhe pretre 
 of the diocese of Pamiers, dilating upon the won- 
 ders of the place, which is said to be one of the 
 most ancient, most curious, and most celebrated 
 pilgrimages of France. 
 
 " If you go to Kocamadour you will be fully 
 convinced of the truth of what you read there. 
 There are there, in truth, natural, artistic, historic, 
 and religious marvels." 
 
 After this it was incumbent upon us to visit it, 
 as it is in the province of the Lot ; and, taking the 
 little leaflet as a guide, we set out on our pilgrimage 
 one burning hot June day, the sister and the visitor. 
 
224 ROC AM A DOUR. 
 
 If any items of warm praise are in this chapter met 
 with, within inverted commas, they are quotations 
 from the good priest's hook, whose feelings overcame 
 him sometimes with the wonders he saw. 
 
 The pilgrimage to Eocamadour is made chiefly by 
 those childless wives who desire offspring, and that 
 they go there in great and admirable faith, will appear 
 from our description of the pilgrims we saw there. 
 
 Eocamadour is a station on the railway on the 
 central line from Paris, Orleans, Limoges, and Brives 
 to Toulouse. 
 
 After the rich plains of the Tarn, the " frightful " 
 mountains of the Eouergue, with their black tunnels, 
 we come to the immense plateau of the Lot, which 
 bounds the deep gorge of Eocamadour. Here the 
 landscape is most dreary, a gently undulating table- 
 land, strewn with white limestone rocks, just visible 
 above the barren earth. Here and there on the 
 waste expanse are some dwarf oaks, some walnut- 
 trees, and small shrubs, finding scanty nutriment in 
 the stony soil. Part of the district has the earth 
 of so ruddy a hue that it is remarkable for that 
 
A DISMAL PLAIN. 225 
 
 alone. Another part is grey and dull and hopeless. 
 Here and there is a low house with a roof of thatch 
 or flat stones, hovels of the poorest appearance, in 
 an arid, desolate, and silent country. 
 
 "At this spectacle one cannot avoid a feeling of 
 sadness. The heart is touched, and the tears come 
 to one's eyes. But patience, the surprise will soon 
 be great indeed." 
 
 Our first surprise when we alighted at the station 
 was to find that we had some four miles to drive 
 in a close omnibus along with a number of people, 
 all plain and elderly women (pilgrims like ourselves !), 
 and two priests. It was hot, but the driver sent 
 his two horses along at a lively rate, which made 
 the garlic-tainted purgatory more bearable. Peer- 
 ing out of the windows, which, alas ! would not open, 
 we began to think we had made some mistake, or 
 that Eocamadour must be a fraud. There was 
 nothing whatever to see but the uncultivated and 
 stony plain and the dusty road, bordered with 
 never a tree or house, or anything of the slight- 
 est interest. 
 
 p 
 
226 BOCAMADOUR. 
 
 "Again the heart bewails itself, and without 
 ceasing one cries, 'Oh, it is sad, it is sad!" 
 
 After our pleasant and fertile valley and vine- 
 clad hills, it is difficult to believe that this is also 
 part of the fertile province of the Lot. 
 
 Suddenly we stopped, and releasing our cramped 
 limbs, we emerged into the blinding sunshine. 
 
 " By Jove ! the priest is right. Look there ! Isn't 
 that splendid ? Isn't it marvellous ? " was the in- 
 voluntary exclamation which broke from the writer. 
 
 We stood upon the brink of a vast chasm in the 
 stony plateau. The earth had been rent open as if 
 by an earthquake and had fallen apart, with two huge 
 precipices, in the cleft between which was a narrow 
 belt of verdure bordering a tiny stream. But cling- 
 ing to the nearer precipice, on the brink of which we 
 stood, was a village, looking at first a part of the 
 rock or debris fallen in a slope. But we soon saw 
 that it was indeed a village, with one long street, 
 and one only, climbing at an angle along the side 
 of the cliff until it joined the road at the top on 
 which we stood. The houses on the nearer side of 
 
A BOLD ESCARPMENT. 227 
 
 this had their backs against the rock, those on the 
 farther side overhung the steep below. The street 
 is spanned by three narrow and massive stone 
 arches at equal distances apart. These are said to be 
 the remains of ancient fortifications ; but the reason 
 for them is not apparent, as a few rocks rolled from 
 the top of the cliff would smash the village. 
 
 Upon a gigantic cliff, which rises yet higher with 
 a bold escarpment, to our right stands a chateau, now 
 the abode of missionaries, with a church. It over- 
 hangs the buildings below it, which, built against 
 and forming part of the cavernous rocks, present 
 a front of imposing walls only, the body of the 
 buildings, so to speak, being underground. These 
 strong and stately fronts are monastic buildings or 
 chapels. 
 
 In one of those subterranean chapels it is thus 
 written upon a scroll : — 
 
 " 1. Zaccheus, because he was small and could not 
 see Jesus in the middle of the crowd, mounted a 
 sycamore. Jesus seeing him said, Zaccheus, descend 
 quickly, I go to lodge with thee. 
 
228 ROCAMADOUR. 
 
 " 2. Zaccheus was a disciple of Jesus. Veronica, 
 his wife (who was, by the way, a black woman), 
 followed Marie. They were persecuted for the faith ; 
 but an angel came to deliver them from the prison 
 in which they had been confined. 
 
 " 3. An ano;el commanded Zaccheus and Veronica 
 to put to sea and to stop where the vessel entered 
 port, where they were to serve Jesus Christ and 
 Marie His saintly mother. 
 
 " 4. The vessel came to the shore of Medoc, to a 
 place called Soulac, where they remained in labour 
 and in prayer. St Martial visited them there, and 
 blessed an oratory which they had raised to St 
 Etienne. 
 
 "5. St Amadour (Zaccheus), upon the order of 
 St Martial, went to Rome before St Pierre. Sainte 
 Veronique remained in the Bordeaux country, where 
 she died. St Amadour, returning to Soulac, erected 
 there two monasteries, and then retired from the 
 world. 
 
 "6. It was in the year 70 after Christ that St 
 Amadour chose for his hermitage and retreat the 
 
ST AMADOUR. 229 
 
 rocks which have since been called Rocamadour. 
 The rocks were then inhabited and peopled by 
 ferocious beasts. 
 
 "7. The inhabitants of the country were almost 
 savages. St Amadour taught them, and made them 
 aware of the religion of our Saviour Jesus Christ. 
 
 " 8. St Amadour erected on the rock an altar 
 in honour of Marie. That altar, so humble but 
 since so glorious, was consecrated by the Bishop 
 Martial, apostle, who visited several times our saint 
 in his retreat." 
 
 In another place is the following inscription : — 
 
 " In the year 1166 the body of St Amadour was 
 found intact in the tomb where it had reposed since 
 his death. It was raised with great ceremony from 
 the earth, and placed in the present church, which 
 has been consecrated in his honour." 
 
 It is said that the body of the saint was in a 
 perfect state of preservation, which has given rise to 
 the saying, " In flesh and in bone like St Amadour." 
 
 We descended from the giddy height by a series 
 of zigzags, the path being very well kept, while at 
 
230 R0CAMAD0UR. 
 
 each angle is a niche with a figure of the Virgin or 
 some other saint. 
 
 We had brought the camera, of course, and now 
 began our tortures and troubles. Leaving the 
 paths, we got on to the slopes at the foot of the 
 cliffs, which slopes were at an angle of 45°, with 
 very bad footing on loose stones. It was most 
 laborious work scrambling over the hot white stone, 
 with never a bush or tree to shade us, and the 
 tripod refusing to be accommodating. The sky was 
 cloudless and the heat terrific. The sun was directly 
 above us, and its vertical rays were intensified by 
 the reflections from the white cliffs which towered 
 far above our heads, and overhung in the blue 
 height with an apparent insecurity. One felt that 
 if the cliff fell it would strike against its opposite 
 neighbour, and destroy the whole of the valley. 
 Panting and struggling over the burning ground, 
 we got several photographs of the cliffs and the 
 quaint village clinging to it, the chapels and 
 sanctuaries higher up, and, looking like a white wall 
 glued to the hollow face of an overhanging rock, the 
 
A WONDERFUL SCENE. 231 
 
 sanctuary of the Virgin, with the one word Marie 
 written across its blank front. 
 
 Our little guide says that " photography itself fails 
 to reproduce in its insaisissable reality this indescrib- 
 able pilgrimage, the most marvellous, perhaps, in 
 the world." And that is quite true. These tower- 
 ins rocks, the fissures and crevices of which are 
 brought into bold relief by the brilliant sunshine 
 and the deep shadow, are dwarfed by the exag- 
 gerated perspective of the lens, and give no idea of 
 their actual size, save where a tiny house is seen to 
 be attached, like a limpet to a sea-rock, where there 
 appears not room for a flower. 
 
 After holding his head some time under the black 
 cloth while focussing, the writer was nearly over- 
 come by the heat. Feeling desperately giddy and 
 ill, and apprehensive of a sunstroke, he snatched up 
 his apparatus and staggered down to the little brook, 
 where he thankfully dipped his straw hat into the 
 water, and poured it over his head, so that it flowed 
 over and drenched his shoulders and neck. He did 
 this time after time with but scant relief, and the 
 
232 ROCAMADOUR. 
 
 tall stripped poplars which grew by the stream in a 
 scanty array, afforded no sufficient shade from that 
 pitiless sun, and the furnace-heat of the rocks. 
 
 Numerous snakes swam across the stream, the 
 only sign of moving life in the valley, for the village 
 above was as still as the grave. No one would be 
 willingly out in the noonday heat in such a place 
 save a mad Englishman. 
 
 We crossed the brook, and could find no path up 
 to the street, so we had to climb on our hands and 
 knees over very rough ground, over a fence into a 
 back-yard, and so by .a passage into the street. 
 There was no shade there, save six inches cast by the 
 eaves of one side, and we were in the last extremity 
 of suffering from the sun. But under one of the 
 arches we found shade at last, and never was it 
 more welcome. There we stayed and recovered 
 ourselves a little before proceeding in search of a 
 restaurant. There were several in the place, but 
 the one to which we were recommended was at the 
 base of the highest cliff, and accessible only by a 
 zigzag stairway of many and hot steps. An old 
 
A CAVERN RESTAURANT. 233 
 
 bare-headed dame showed us the way, tripping 
 lightly up the steps, followed very slowly and with 
 much fatigue by ourselves. We learned in the 
 restaurant that our movements had been watched, 
 and that we had been doing a very dangerous thing 
 in exposing ourselves in the very focus, as it were, of 
 the hollow " burning glass " of the white valley. 
 
 It was a relief to get into the dark, cool restaurant, 
 and sit at a table by the open window, which was 
 sufficiently overhung by the rock to allow of the 
 volees being opened. How sweet the red wine 
 tasted ! and what draughts of it we imbibed until 
 the strength came back to us, and we were able to 
 enjoy a most recherche dejeuner, commencing with 
 pate defoie gras and ending with delicious fruit and 
 coffee, faring far better than poor Zaccheus did 
 among the ferocious beasts. 
 
 Our companions, who were many, in that dark 
 half-cavern restaurant were chiefly women, past 
 middle age and decidedly plain. We trusted their 
 pious prayers would have the desired effect, but 
 appearances were against it. We two, brother and 
 
234 ROCAMADOUB. 
 
 sister, were taken for husband and wife, and it was 
 clear from the interest we occasioned among the 
 priests, and the remarks we could not help over- 
 hearing, that we were considered premature in 
 making the pilgrimage, at so youthful an age. 
 
 After lunch we explored the many chapels which 
 are formed in the caverns of the cliff, examining 
 sanctuaries, altars, images, and pictures, all of his- 
 torical interest to the Romish Church. But when 
 people are reverently worshipping in their sanctu- 
 aries, alien though the religion may be, we do 
 not feel at ease in " doing " such places in the 
 tourist fashion ; and though we could not join the 
 worship, yet it seemed fitter not to disturb the 
 kneeling and devout pilgrims, and we passed the 
 sacred shrines without a too close and irreverent 
 examination. But in these cool grottoes, with their 
 dim and sacred light, there is at least a sense of 
 peace and rest, which we enjoyed to the utmost. 
 While sitting in a quiet corner, as we thought 
 unobserved, a good nun brought us water to drink 
 and chairs to put our feet on, to make us comfort- 
 
"PATOIS." 235 
 
 able, as we looked fatigued, and we deemed it very 
 thoughtful of her. 
 
 Glancing through the little pamphlet we have 
 referred to, we noticed a sample of the patois of the 
 district, which it may interest French scholars to 
 read — 
 
 " Les oustals sul riou lai gleyzos sus oustals, lai 
 rocos sur lai gleyzos le castel sus lai rocos." 
 
 Lingering in this restful spot, under the lofty 
 vaulted roof, we were loath to venture into the 
 blaze of the afternoon sun; but time was on the 
 wing, and we wished to secure one more photograph. 
 AVe therefore resumed our toilsome way up the 
 long stone staircases, and presently stopped to take 
 a general view of the valley from the giddy height 
 on which we stood. Just as the apparatus was 
 fixed up, a priest hove in sight, followed by a school 
 of young students. As we were blocking up the 
 path, we prepared to remove the instruments ; but he 
 politely refused to disturb us, and waited until we 
 had finished, and then directed us to a more favour- 
 able standpoint for a better view. 
 
236 EOCAMADOUR. 
 
 But loud shouts from the driver of the diligence 
 warned us that he could not wait any longer, and 
 the sister only just managed to squeeeze into the 
 interior, while the brother was glad to scramble on 
 to the domed, zinc-covered top of the vehicle and 
 sit astride it, hastily packing up his apparatus as 
 he did so. 
 
 The bare-chested and brawny fellow who acted as 
 driver, with his wide-brimmed straw hat garnished 
 with red ribbons, blue shirt, and red sash, looked a 
 picturesque and brigandish ruffian. As we were 
 rather late, he kept the horses at a gallop, uttering 
 wild yells at the top of his voice, and swinging his 
 arms and brandishing his whip as if possessed. At 
 this breakneck speed we rushed and rolled along the 
 brink of the precipice, from which the road was 
 only separated by a low and frail stone wall. 
 There was nothing to hold on by on the hot round 
 zinc top of the vehicle, and the bumping and sliding 
 about which the photographer and his apparatus 
 underwent as they sprawled there made him un- 
 commonly glad when the ride came to an end. 
 
WHO CAN FORGET? 237 
 
 "Curious one, traveller, tourist, pilgrim! go to 
 Rocamadour. You will be enchanted, ravished with 
 all its grandeurs, with all its magnificences, with all 
 its memories. We have seen but once these blessed 
 places, but we think still that our heart will always 
 carry us back there, and we cease not to sigh for 
 the happy moment of our return. Who can forget 
 Rocamadour ? " 
 
 To which we reply, not the man who visits it on 
 a fiercely hot day. The driver coolly asked us an 
 outrageous sum for our drive, more than three times 
 as much as the other passengers paid. Finding that 
 we were English, he thought it no sin to rob us. 
 But the sister was equal to the occasion. She had 
 ascertained the proper fare while in the bus, and 
 we refused to pay more, and the amount was quietly 
 accepted, without any apology or confusion at the 
 detection of his attempt to cheat. 
 
 If any desire a more detailed description of the 
 chapels through which we but loitered here, it is 
 conveniently placed at the end of the chapter. 
 
 "Stair by stair, step by step, platform to platform, 
 
238 ROGAMADOUR. 
 
 we mount without too much fatigue until we reach 
 the great door. A little farther, and we arrive at 
 a small plateau which is the centre of all the 
 wonders of this ever -celebrated pilgrimage. All 
 here is astonishing ; we are struck, we are charmed," 
 and so on. "But let us hide our emotions and 
 stop to prostrate ourselves before our Lady of 
 Rocamadour. It is a black Virgin, erected, as it now 
 stands, some years after the ascension of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ by Zaccheus the evangelist, to whom 
 the inhabitants of the country gave the name of 
 'Amateur du Rocher — Rujpis amatorem Amadour.' 
 Three objects are above all venerated in this 
 miraculous chapel : 1st, the Virgin, of whom we 
 have spoken ; 2d, the altar consecrated by St 
 Martial, Bishop of Limoges, who came many times 
 to visit his friend St Amadour; 3d, an ancient 
 clock, miraculous, and made of wood and wrought- 
 iron. This clock, according to the most authentic 
 chronicles, has sounded by itself without human 
 aid on several occasions (enumerating them by 
 date). This spontaneous striking announced each 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH. 239 
 
 time the deliverance of some poor mariners who 
 had called for protection upon our Lady of Rocam- 
 adour. Banners, flags, tapestry, scrolls, and inscrip- 
 tions, ever-burning lamps, and gifts of all kinds are 
 mute but eloquent chronicles and souvenirs of 
 miracles and prodigies obtained by the intercession 
 of our Lady of Rocamadour. 
 
 " On the outside one sees a relic of mural painting 
 representing the Dance of Death, image of the death 
 on this narrow plateau (or table-land) of St Michel — 
 a much-desired place of sepulchre. On the left, in 
 the rock, the retreat of St Amadour, the little chapel, 
 so elevated, so curious, of St Michel, on the wall of 
 which is painted in huge letters the legend of St 
 Christopher. One reaches the interior by a steep 
 staircase, partly cut out of the rock. The altar is 
 placed in a deep arch, covered with old paintings. 
 At the side of the door of the chapel one finds an 
 enormous and ancient coffer, covered with iron, 
 destined to receive, to-day as it was then, the 
 portion of the poor. 
 
 " Above is suspended to a heavy chain, and sunk 
 
240 ROGAMADOUR. 
 
 in the rock, the shapeless and clumsy image of 
 the sword of Eoland. Roland, nephew of Charle- 
 magne, going to rejoin the great emperor in Spain, 
 offered to Notre - Dame of Rocamadour a gift of 
 silver of the weight of his sword ; but, betrayed 
 by the infamous Ganelon, he was, with his brothers- 
 at-arms, surprised and massacred in the gorge of 
 Roncevaux. The few survivors brought his glorious 
 Durandal to the sanctuary of Rocamadour. Below 
 the chapel of St Michel is the ' Magasin de Marie,' 
 where one can procure sportelles, medals, emblems, 
 photographs, souvenirs of every nature of the pil- 
 grimage. From this side there also opens a passage 
 giving access to the frightful pathway which leads 
 along the rock, at a formidable height, to a house 
 placed there like an eagle's nest, and having for 
 sign ' A Marie ! ' People anxious to pass some 
 days at Rocamadour in silence and retreat are 
 received there. 
 
 " Let us resume our subject. 
 
 " On the right, on a level with the miraculous 
 chapel, and in an angle forming a retreat of a few 
 
THE MONK'S TALE. 241 
 
 metres, you admire the vast church of St Saviour, 
 with a beautiful doorway, an arch supported in 
 the middle by two gigantic pillars formed of eight 
 columns, paintings, souvenirs of the kings of France, 
 or of great persons who have visited these places, 
 an ancient Christ which every one venerates on 
 entering. Descending a few steps, and yet a few, 
 and we are in the admirable chapel of St Amadour, 
 where we reverence with a holy respect the relics of 
 the saint. 
 
 "Reascending to the right of the table-land of 
 St Michel, we enter successively the chapels of 
 St Joachim, St Anne, St Blaise, St John the 
 Apostle, and of St John Baptist, all with their 
 ' privileged altars and rich with indulgences.' 
 All are very beautiful ; but that of St John 
 Baptist is to our mind, in spite of its narrow 
 proportions, the most delicate, the most elegant, 
 and the most remarkable. It serves as the paro- 
 chial baptistery. The founder was Jean de Valon, 
 Chevalier of the Order of St Jean de Jerusalem, 
 whose monument in delicate stone, finely sculp- 
 
242 EOCAMADOUB. 
 
 tured, is placed in the wall, representing him lying, 
 dressed in all his armour, and sleeping the sleep 
 of the just. 
 
 "Adjoining is the huge reception-hall of Mon- 
 seigneur the Bishop of Cahors, on the mantelpiece 
 of which one sees the arms of the family of the 
 actual bishop, Mgr. G-rimardias : gules, with three 
 hunting-horns posed two and one. This is a hom- 
 age paid to his gentle descent, who, after the ex- 
 ample of his revered predecessors, watches with so 
 much zeal and solicitude to the least details the 
 prosperity of this incomparable pilgrimage. 
 
 " From there, one casts a last wondering look on 
 the enormous mass of rocks which overhangs the 
 sanctuaries, and to which it serves almost as a roof 
 and arch. 
 
 " From this point, already so high over the roofs 
 of the village, we proceed to the summit, over the 
 roofs of the churches, and on this mass of rocks 
 is situated, we have said, the habitation of the 
 priests charged with the care of Notre -Dame de 
 Roc Amadour. 
 
THE ANCIENT FORTRESS. 243 
 
 " Let us go and thank and congratulate these 
 excellent brothers. 
 
 " If we obtain permission we will ascend by an 
 interminable subterranean staircase which divides 
 the sacristy from the church of St Saviour, pass 
 under the vault, re-enter under the rock, and come 
 out at last in the court of the ancient fortress. 
 
 " Otherwise, or if we prefer it, cross a vaulted 
 passage and take our way slowly by turnings, so 
 picturesque, by the little ascending pathway which 
 leads more pleasantly to the peaceful, hospitable, 
 and religious dwelling; of our revered and dear 
 guardians, as well as to the charming avenue shad- 
 ing the high plateau. 
 
 " The wonders of the lower rock are equalled by 
 those on the summit, which are not detracted from 
 by the modest simplicity of the missionaries, who 
 live as simply as country priests. The exterior 
 alone is majestic and grand. It seems that in 
 pious thought they have only aimed at ornament- 
 ing these great modern buildings to render them 
 more worthy of the sanctuary. Everything here 
 
244 ROCAMADOUR 
 
 preaches the love of Mary — all is for Mary. The 
 great square tower, surmounted by a bell-turret, 
 is adorned with a clock with a triple face. One 
 ascends it by a stone staircase open to the sky, 
 and one walks on the roof on the edge of the 
 ramparts. One dreams of the middle ages whilst 
 standing on those battlements, while from the 
 giddy height one views timorously the deep and 
 narrow valley below, where winds the tiny stream 
 of Alzon." 
 
 And so on ad infinitum. 
 
THE SEASONS IX AVEYRON. 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 In this part of France winter glides almost imper- 
 ceptibly into spring-time. There is usually no 
 breaking up of hard long frosts, or melting away of 
 deep snow, but, as a rule, spring-time grows grad- 
 ually. With the lengthening days the weather 
 grows warmer, the skies become more intense in 
 their blueness, and the golden sunshine floods the 
 land from dawn to dusk. 
 
 To be sure, there are occasional showers, but who 
 minds showers, when between each one the sun 
 shines out with added brightness, like the eyes of 
 a child after a passion of tears ? Then the fields are 
 green with the springing wheat, and in the length- 
 ening meadow-grass the scented violets hide, lend- 
 
246 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 ing a delicious perfume to the soft warm air. There 
 is a renewing of life on every side; each tree is 
 pushing forth its baby leaves, and the hillsides 
 that through winter have been bleak and almost 
 bare, grow green and gold with blossoms of brake 
 and broom. 
 
 The graceful breeze-swayed poplars down by the 
 river don their spring crowns of tender greenness, 
 and underneath the overhanging rocks the tiny new 
 fronds of the maiden-hair unfold themselves to the 
 light. 
 
 The river rushes madly and merrily on its course, 
 and though very full in the early spring, it is not 
 often muddy. It is the heavy thunder-showers of 
 summer that make the water thick and coffee- 
 coloured, not the gentle spring rains. Then the 
 volume of water is greatly due to the melting of 
 the snow on the high mountains of Aveyron and 
 the Lozere. These are snow-capped often until the 
 beginning of April, so that the river is well supplied 
 with water. The waters of the Lot are not so clear 
 and limpid as are those of the Tarn and Aveyron ; 
 
GREEN WATER AND VIOLETS. 247 
 
 still they are often beautifully clear and green, more 
 especially in the spring - time. H. says that this 
 greenness is clue to the chemical nature of the rocks 
 through which the water filters ; but we told him we 
 did not want scientific reason for beauty, the river 
 was green, and that was quite enough for us. 
 
 Snowdrops and primroses are flowers unknown in 
 this part of France, but not so the violets. They 
 blossom on every side, and their scent fills the air. 
 The school-children hunt for the very first, and 
 bring them to mademoiselle, and mademoiselle is 
 expected to be well supplied with sous. One or 
 two devoted little friends, however, won't take sous. 
 Needless to say that their violets are prized the 
 most. Soon, cowslips, narcissi, and the white anem- 
 ones take the place of violets ; the lilacs, laburnums, 
 and other flowering trees grow heavy with their 
 flowers ; and then in May the roses begin their 
 reign, and the hay-fields and meadows are gay with 
 flowers of almost every description. But we have 
 forgotten the forget-me-not, the favourite flower of 
 all ; the flower beloved of all Frenchmen, for is it 
 
248 THE SEASONS IN AVE Y RON. 
 
 not the flower of sentiment, and are not all — yes, 
 all French people — more or less sentimental ? I won- 
 der, if we could only look, how many sprays of myo- 
 sotis should we find hidden away in the private 
 desks of all French lovers ! And then the flower- 
 motto is so pretty — " The more I see thee, the more 
 I love thee." Why, the gift of a single spray is a 
 declaration of love in itself. 
 
 In rural France it is necessary that flowers should 
 be made to do the talking, for the language of love is 
 a denied blessing to the youths and maidens. They 
 may not whisper sweet nothings in each other's ears 
 whilst taking a moonlight stroll. No ; poor things ! 
 they must always be chaperoned by mamma or 
 escorted by papa ; for them a stolen clasp of hands 
 is the luxury of love, and one kiss, in presence of 
 the whole family, is considered such a great privilege 
 that it can only be allowed just before the day of 
 marriage approaches. " You see," said a French gen- 
 tleman to us, " our young girls are kept, as it were, 
 packed in cotton-wool until they are married. We 
 know something of their accomplishments, every- 
 
THE SPRING. 249 
 
 thing about their fortunes, and nothing as to their 
 dispositions, likes or dislikes, tempers or faults : 
 they are angels sans doute, but angels of whom we 
 know nothing." 
 
 From the spring-time of earth to the spring-time 
 of love ! It is a natural transition for one's thoughts 
 to take. Thoughts should always be happy in 
 spring ; there is everything to make them so : the 
 skies are blue, the birds are joyous, the fields are 
 golden with kingcups, and even the river sings softly 
 to itself, as it slips its shining waters over the pebbly 
 beaches, that here and there jut out into its channel. 
 The azure of the sky is repeated in that of the clus- 
 tering forget-me-nots, and only the starred anem- 
 ones are whiter than the fleecy clouds. The Vir- 
 gin's colours — blue, white, and gold — fit emblems 
 of purity and peace and spring-time. 
 
 Our people look forward to and love the spring- 
 time exceedingly. " Oh," they say, " but it is beau- 
 tiful ! it is beautiful, the spring-time. Now we 
 will be happy all the day ; we will promenade, we 
 will gather the flowers, and one day soon we will 
 
250 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 take a basket of food and have a repast upon the 
 grass. Oh, but that will be a grand distraction ! a 
 very good amusement ! " And so they seem to find 
 it. They laugh and sing and chatter incessantly, 
 whilst the babies tumble and roll about, happy and 
 contented, as only babies seem to know how to be. 
 
 When the fishing season commences, papa, mamma, 
 and babies go off to some favourite trout-stream. 
 Papa and big brother fly -fish in hopes to catch the 
 timid trout. The youngsters search the rocky crev- 
 ices for cray-fish, whilst mamma and nurse spread 
 the cloth for dejeuner. Happy, merry people, caring 
 nothing (for the time being) for politics, or other 
 pleasure than that of making their children happy, 
 and having a little pleasure themselves. 
 
 In the beginning of June comes the time of the 
 cherries, the one time of all the year when a young 
 man's fancy is supposed to turn to thoughts of love, 
 when maidens grow most sentimental, and loving 
 looks and whispered words are exchanged whenever, 
 either by chance or (let us whisper it) by appoint- 
 ment, true lovers meet. 
 
90° IN THE SHADE. 251 
 
 The nights of May are made melodious with the 
 sons of the nio-htmg;ale, which haunts each wooded 
 dell ; but in the beginning of June the birds sing no 
 more during night-time, nursing cares take their 
 attention, so their songs are only to be heard in the 
 day-time. 
 
 Then comes summer — 90° in the shade day 
 after day, week after week. Heat and dust and 
 drought, and a season of languor for man and bird 
 and beast. The people feel it themselves, although 
 they are used to it. " Oh," they tell us, " the heat is 
 terrible ! it is terrible ! We wait and wait all day, and 
 think that a breeze will spring up in the evening ; 
 but the evening arrives, and the breeze comes not. 
 The nights are as hot as the days : we can do 
 nothing but lie still and suffer." 
 
 The poor oxen seem most to feel the heat ; they 
 look at one so pathetically out of their big eyes 
 when one meets them toiling along the white weary 
 road, harnessed to the heavily laden carts. 
 
 This year (1887) the heat has been so great that 
 the vines have suffered, and in many a vineyard the 
 
252 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 grapes have withered away instead of ripening, so 
 the poor peasants are in despair, and it is thought 
 that wine will be both scarce and dear. 
 
 We have said that the poor oxen look tired in 
 snmmer-time, but it must not be inferred from this 
 that they are cruelly treated. On the contrary, 
 they are never worked in the middle of the day : 
 indeed to work them would be impossible because of 
 the heat and the flies. These latter are the one 
 great torment that one has to endure during the 
 months of July and August, and the first three 
 weeks of September. To the cattle they are simply 
 a torture, and their masters knowing this, protect 
 them as much as they can from these pests. The 
 foreheads of the beasts are always covered up with 
 a kind of mat or skin rug, in order to prevent 
 the flies from biting that part. Then branches of 
 elder are tied above their heads, because flies are 
 supposed not to like the smell of this tree. How 
 often have we seen the same thing done in rural 
 England ! 
 
 At all the railway stations in the south of France 
 
S UMMER- TIME. 253 
 
 a drink composed of rum, gentian, and water is 
 kept. This is often given to the servants of the 
 different companies, and is considered a valuable 
 remedy for many disorders caused by the excessive 
 heat. 
 
 During summer-time nearly all the peasant popula- 
 tion go bare-legged. They feel the cooler, no doubt ; 
 but the general view is not pleasing, cleanliness not 
 being considered necessary to their happiness. With 
 longing one looks forward to autumn, and with it 
 comes relief from the heat. Of all seasons of the year 
 in the south of France that of autumn is perhaps the 
 most enjoyable. The great heat of summer is passed 
 away, the days grow gradually cooler, and one can 
 walk out in the middle of the day without dis- 
 comfort. But it must not be supposed that there 
 are no hot days. Oh no ; sometimes, when one 
 would think that the great heat had passed, it seems 
 to come back again with renewed violence. Then 
 the sun blazes, the air is hot and stifling, and the 
 branches and leaves hang motionless. One Sunday 
 this September we thought, What a lovely day we 
 
254 THE SEASONS IN AVEYBON. 
 
 are going to have ! for at early morning the sun was 
 bright and the breeze was cool, so we decided to 
 spend the day upon the river, and to dine at 
 some village auberge. But, alas! the breeze died 
 away, and the sun burnt fiercely in a cloudless 
 sky. True, the river was beautiful, and the 
 mountain-tops showed sharp and clear against the 
 blue brightness of the sky. But all the loveliness 
 could not atone for the heat and glare : 90° in 
 the shade, and no shade to speak of, is not a 
 pleasant temperature in the end of September, when 
 one naturally looks for at least pleasantly cool 
 weather. 
 
 So we were fain to dine at Capdenac, only six 
 miles or so from home, and after dinner we could do 
 naught but rest and read under the shade of the 
 poplar -trees down by the river -side. Fortunately 
 we had plenty of cushions in our little launch, so we 
 contrived to make ourselves tolerably comfortable. 
 Then we had an unlimited supply of grapes and 
 peaches, and what was most to be desired, some Eng- 
 lish tea, which we made with the aid of a spirit-lamp. 
 
SUNSET ON THE LOT. 255 
 
 So we did not do badly after all in spite of the heat, 
 and when the heat fell we steamed slowly back up 
 the river, whilst the sky grew green and gold in the 
 sunset, and the river turned to silver in the faint 
 night mist that gradually rose upon its surface. 
 
 Is there anything more bewitching than an 
 autumn sunset upon the river Lot ? We think not. 
 The clear sky shades from deepest blue to pale 
 tender green, and the yellowing tops of the poplar- 
 trees shine like burnished gold in the soft amber 
 light. Beneath, the river lies, calm and still as a 
 polished mirror, save only where its course is broken 
 by a white foaming weir. In the clear water the sun- 
 set colours are reflected, and where the fern-clad cliffs 
 drop down to the very edge of the river, one cannot 
 tell where the rocks and water meet, so distinct is 
 the reflection. Gradually the golden sunset glow 
 fades away, and the tender light of the rising moon 
 grows brighter and brighter, lending to the scene a 
 new, though still charming aspect. 
 
 On many such evenings have we stayed on the 
 river long after nightfall, content to steam slowly up 
 
256 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 and down the shining reaches that lie between the 
 village of Bonillac and the quaint hamlet and 
 chateau of La Koque. When all the land lay 
 bright beneath the sunlight, we too were gay and 
 merry ; but as the day darkened and the quiet moon- 
 light crept down the mountain -sides, we too grew 
 quiet, not sad, perhaps, but thoughtful and content 
 to be still. 
 
 Garden-parties are things unheard of in this 
 primitive part of the globe, but we have what are 
 much better — vineyard-picnics. When the purple 
 and white grapes hang ripe on the vines, and the 
 leaves are turning to scarlet and deep crimson, the 
 peasant proprietors ask their particular friends to 
 spend an afternoon in their vineyard. 
 
 The vineyards are steep, and the amount of 
 climbing to be done something formidable. But 
 oh, the grapes and the peaches ! — they are delicious. 
 Only, one is expected to eat such an alarming 
 quantity of both kinds of fruit ! We resign our- 
 selves to our fate ; and though the vineyard may 
 be as steep as the roof of a house, we manage — by 
 
VINEYARD-PICNICS. 257 
 
 dint of propping ourselves up behind vine-poles — 
 to sit down, or rather we just manage not to slide 
 down feet-foremost to the valley beneath. Then 
 into our laps the grapes and peaches are poured, 
 and we proceed to convey them to our mouths. 
 At last nature fails : we lose our appetites, and as 
 the cry is " Still they come ! " we have recourse 
 to smuggling, and pockets come into requisition. 
 When we can succeed in persuading our host that 
 we really cannot eat any more, and when he is 
 satisfied that we have tasted every kind of grape 
 he has in his vineyard, he lets us depart, though 
 not without presenting us with a large basket of 
 fruit. During the month of September we are 
 asked to many such grape-picnics, and greatly we 
 enjoy the fun. People who only eat peaches by 
 ones, and grapes by the half-dozen, can have no 
 idea how delightful it is to sit in a vineyard and 
 eat just as many as ever one likes. 
 
 "We astonish and amuse the people very much 
 by eating blackberries, which grow on every hand 
 in countless thousands. The peasants never touch 
 
 R 
 
258 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 them, and look upon them as little better than 
 poison. Even the school-children never think of 
 eating blackberries, but pass them by unheeded. 
 
 We, however, accustomed to look upon black- 
 berries as at least a useful fruit, thought we should 
 like to make some jell)'' of that fruit, so we 
 organised a blackberry - picnic. It was during 
 holiday-time, so some of the little girls were only 
 too willing to join our party, and for the first time 
 in their lives help to pick blackberries. We elder 
 ones enjoyed the fun from a little distance, where 
 we sat in the shade of a hillside coppice, chatting 
 and reading by fits and starts. The children's 
 merry voices floated up the hillside from where they 
 were busy berry-picking in the ravine below, with 
 full baskets, happy faces, and stained hands. 
 
 Soon, however, dirty hands were washed in a 
 neighbouring brook, and we all proceeded to light 
 a fire, boil the kettle, and get tea. Milk had been 
 brought for the children, who only look upon tea 
 as a somewhat nasty decoction or, as they would 
 call it, tisane — something to be drunk as a remedy 
 
A UTUMX. 259 
 
 for sickness or headache. So the small people 
 enjoyed their milk and the various good things 
 we had provided for them, and we English folks 
 enjoyed our tea all the more, that we had had 
 some difficulty in making the kettle boil. Then we 
 cleared away the remains of the repast, and sent 
 the bairns home with the baskets of fruit, &c. 
 
 We stayed longer enjoying the sunset ; but when 
 the twilight fell we strolled homeward through the 
 lanes and vineyards, reaching home just in time for 
 seven o'clock dinner, to which we sat down with 
 sharpened appetites. 
 
 How can we find words to describe a late October 
 day in this beautiful valley ! or where an artist 
 who could fitly portray the glowing and varied 
 tints of the fading; foliage ! Here is one mountain- 
 side which is one deep orange glow, with the 
 changing leaves of the chestnut-trees ; down by 
 the river the sloping hillside breaks away into an 
 irregular cliff, the upper edge of which is fringed 
 with the deep red leaves of the blackberry bramble, 
 whilst in every crevice of its rocky surface the 
 
260 THE SEASONS IN AVEYRON. 
 
 graceful ferns still grow green as they did in 
 the spring-time. From the sunny vineyards the 
 grapes have been taken, but there still remains the 
 scarlet glory of the autumn leaves. The poplar- 
 trees that just a little while since were only tipped 
 with gold, are now yellowed to their base ; and as 
 the light wind sweeps over them they send down 
 showers of leaves that look like flakes of golden 
 snow in the softened sunlight. 
 
 As we stand upon the bridge and look up the 
 river-valley, it seems as though the mountains close 
 in on every side, so swift a curve does the river 
 take. The river looks like a great lake, and the 
 rueeed mountain-side that seems to close in the 
 farther end is still purple with the heather that 
 grows in luxuriance in every nook and cranny of 
 the bold grey rocks. 
 
 The winter is simply pleasant ; but last winter 
 there was positively a frost which covered a still 
 pool or backwater of the river with ice. We sent 
 to England for our skates, and for a day or two 
 astonished the natives considerably. 
 
THE LADIES GET LOST. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 (told by the sister.) 
 
 If the peasants of Aveyron are poor and dirty, those 
 of the Lot are for the most part much poorer and 
 much dirtier. Taken as a whole the Department of 
 the Lot is rocky and unfertile. The department 
 consists of a series of vast rocky plains, where only a 
 very thin layer of soil covers the limestone. It is only 
 in the river- valleys that any quantity of soil seems 
 to have accumulated, and these valleys are very 
 fertile and often very beautiful. Sometimes after 
 journeying for some- miles across a sterile plain, upon 
 which the grass grows very scantily, and where the 
 huge limestone boulders push through the soil at 
 near intervals, one comes suddenly in full view of a 
 
262 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 lovely, verdure-clad undulating valley. The great 
 limestone causse, as it is called, would seem to 
 have been rent asunder by some hidden force, and 
 right away down at the foot of the cliffs one sees a 
 village nestling, surrounded by fields of living green, 
 and shaded by spreading trees. 
 
 But the poor folks whose homes are situated 
 upon the stony wilderness above have indeed a 
 sad life of it. They experience the greatest pov- 
 erty. Yet so they live from year's end to year's 
 end, unwashed, badly housed and clothed, and fed 
 worse than an English dog. Father, mother, and 
 children all live in the one room of a stone hovel, 
 and this single room is often shared by the goat, or 
 it may be a couple of sheep. Bugs and fleas are in 
 thousands, and the dirt that abounds on every side 
 is simply awful. The peasants manage to cultivate 
 a little maize, and this they make into a black and 
 fearfully heavy kind of bread. Upon this bread, a 
 few chestnuts, and the milk supplied by the family 
 goat, the poor peasants manage just to keep body 
 and soul together. Many children are cripples or 
 
AT GRAMA T. 263 
 
 deformed in some way, owing no doubt to the lives 
 of dirt and privation lived by themselves and by 
 their parents before them. 
 
 A fortnight ago Mary and I started off to pay a 
 visit to a friend whose temporary home is situated 
 in the wildest part of the Department of the Lot. 
 We were asked to send a telegram the day before 
 we intended to start, in order that our friends might 
 send to meet us. This we did ; but, alack and alas ! 
 when we reached Gramat, where we left the train, 
 there was no sign of any carriage. We afterwards 
 found that the telegram took two days on its 
 journey, and a second one that we sent on from 
 Gramat arrived at the same time as the first. 
 N.B. — Advice to travellers in rural France. Letters 
 may or may not arrive at their intended destination ; 
 telegrams generally have to make such a round- 
 about journey that they arrive at their destination 
 too late to be of any use. One generally finds that 
 the quickest way to send a message is to take it 
 one's self. 
 
 French Government officials seem to have orders 
 
264 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 and permission to pry into every one's secrets, and 
 thus, if a telegram has only to go to the next 
 village, it must first be sent to the chief town of 
 the department, and there be copied and registered. 
 And when it does reach the final office, there is no 
 messenger to take it to its final home. Oh no, it 
 must wait to be fetched ! or if a village gamin can 
 be found handy, he may be persuaded to take it for 
 a small consideration to be paid on delivery. I have 
 known a telegram announcing the death of a hus- 
 band to lie waiting at the station for two hours, 
 until a passer-by might offer to take it up to the 
 poor wife, who in consequence missed a train, and 
 could not arrive in time for her husband's funeral. 
 But to get back to our journey, or rather our delay. 
 We loitered about Grarnat for a while, expecting 
 every minute that some one would come to meet us ; 
 but as nobody turned up, we got a good dinner at a 
 restaurant, which dinner cost the large sum of Is. 
 3d. each. Then we went up to the post-office, and 
 inquired if any telegram had arrived for us. I of 
 course gave my name and address ; but the sulky 
 
A DISOBLIGING POST-MISTRESS. 265 
 
 young post-woman was not satisfied with that, and 
 calmly told us that unless I had in my possession a 
 card or letter showing that I was the person I repre- 
 sented myself to be, she must refuse to say if any- 
 thing had arrived for us. As it happened, I had 
 neither, so I told her the name of the sender, but all 
 to no purpose. Then I suddenly bethought myself 
 that my name was engraved on the back of my 
 purse, so I showed it to her, and at last, being sat- 
 isfied, she consented to inform us that there was 
 nothing for us. I never felt so sold before in all my 
 life. However, we asked her which was the best 
 hotel in the town, also to please send on any 
 message that might come for us during the evening. 
 
 After promenading through several narrow tor- 
 tuous streets, we reached the hotel. The host and 
 his wife were evidently much surprised to see two 
 young ladies turning up tired - looking and bag- 
 gagdess ; but when we explained our situation, 
 they were most kind, and immediately sent to the 
 station for our effects. 
 
 We took a bedroom, for, it being already nearly 
 
266 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 five o'clock in the afternoon, we knew that even if 
 the carriage came we could not possibly continue 
 our journey until the next morning. 
 
 As we had not thought to pass the night at an 
 auberge, we were not provided with soap ; but the 
 chambermaid kindly undertook to provide us with 
 some, and after what was no doubt a long search 
 she returned, bearing in her hand a diminutive 
 morsel of scented and wonderfully lathery soap, 
 — a piece left no doubt by some former voyageur. 
 
 When we again descended into the lower re- 
 gions, we were met by the hostess (a fat smil- 
 ing woman), who conducted us into a huge bare- 
 looking apartment, furnished principally w r ith two 
 long tables, and a big wood - fire, which latter 
 burned brightly on the large open hearth, the 
 big foundation logs being supported by dog-irons. 
 
 We were offered seats right in front of the 
 blazing fire, and the various inmates of the hotel 
 found much amusement in coming in one by one 
 to have a good stare at us. 
 
 At one of the long tables a very old woman was 
 
THE BABY. 267 
 
 busy ironing, and taking into consideration the 
 time she took to iron one pocket-handkerchief, 
 the family ironing would most likely be a some- 
 what lengthy affair. There were a great many 
 handkerchiefs to be ironed, so our interest in the 
 process rather flagged. At last, however, these 
 uninteresting articles were finished, and suddenly 
 we became extremely interested, for tiny frilled 
 caps, embroidered petticoats, &c, &c, appeared 
 upon the scene. Then we knew at once the 
 house possessed a baby : this proved to be so ; 
 and the baby itself soon made its appearance in 
 the arms of its nurse, and a very jolly little 
 baby it was too, as good as gold, as fond mothers 
 say of their own offspring. 
 
 Whilst we were sitting waiting for dinner, we 
 heard a sound of lamentation proceeding from the 
 kitchen, and, on making inquiries, we ascertained 
 that the pet puppy-dog had gone astray. Scouts 
 were sent out in various directions, but Mon- 
 sieur Puppy did not turn up. About six o'clock 
 the hotel bus came along, and the truant puppy 
 
268 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 was found fast asleep in a corner of the vehicle. 
 He had been for a drive to the station on his 
 own account. He proved to be a sociable little 
 black - and - tan terrier, and we had some fun 
 nursing and playing with him. The old ironing 
 woman watched us gravely for some time, and 
 at last solemnly marched up to us with two 
 large serviettes, deliberately placing one on each 
 of our laps, remarking at the same time that 
 now we could play with the puppy without soil- 
 ing our dresses. We got tired of doggie, and 
 dinner not being announced, we were seized, ac- 
 cording to the manner of " those mad English," 
 with an exploring mania. 
 
 We felt rather, in fact, very, hungry, so we 
 naturally directed our first steps towards the 
 kitchen, at whose door sundry most savoury 
 odours greeted our nostrils. 
 
 There is one thing to be said in favour of French 
 auberges, at least in this part of France, and that 
 is, that the cooking utensils of every kind are kept 
 beautifully clean : the copper pans shine so that 
 
CULINARY SKILL. 269 
 
 they migiit fitly serve as mirrors, and the tinned 
 pans are always scoured and clean. Then another 
 thing, one may watch the cooking operations, if one 
 has a mind to ; indeed French voyageurs (commer- 
 cial travellers) may be often seen taking a turn in 
 the kitchen, in order to see what the cook is pre- 
 paring for dinner. The cook does not seem to 
 mind ; on the contrary, he or she appears to like 
 people taking an interest in his or her culinary 
 skill. 
 
 At our hotel the big range was in the middle 
 of the large kitchen, and at the side of the room 
 there was the usual charcoal-stove. These stoves 
 are of peculiar construction. They are in shape 
 like a kitchen-range, but are covered with glazed 
 tiles. On the top there are a series of various- 
 sized saucer-like holes : these holes are from time 
 to time filled with half-burnt wood, and pots and 
 pans containing soups and entrees of various kinds 
 are set over the holes, that they may cook or keep 
 hot. The wood-ashes fall through gratings placed 
 at the bottom of said holes into an open space 
 
270 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 underneath, from whence they are raked out. 
 Dishes of meat and vegetables are kept warm 
 upon the dinner - table in much the same way. 
 A zinc-lined grating-covered kind of box is filled 
 with charcoal and placed upon the table, where 
 it serves to keep the various dishes warm. 
 
 Another curious thing in these auberges is the 
 wash - hand fountain. This consists of a huge 
 bright copper filter-shaped cistern, which is screwed 
 on the wall somewhere in the vicinity of the salle 
 a manger. Underneath this fountain is a copper 
 bowl, also fastened to the wall, and underneath that 
 again is a cupboard, where clean towels and soap 
 may be found. By turning a tap the water can 
 be made to flow from the copper oddity into the 
 receptacle underneath, and a hole at the bottom of 
 the bowl lets the dirty water off again. 
 
 All the dining habitues, as well as occasionals, 
 wash their hands at the fountain before going in to 
 dinner, so that, whilst sitting at the dinner-table, if 
 we heard the splash of water we knew that there 
 was a fresh arrival. 
 
THE MENU AT DINNER. 271 
 
 At our table d'hote there were about a dozen men, 
 most of them evidently commercial travellers, and 
 though they were all excessively polite to us two 
 solitary ladies, they certainly regarded us with 
 much interest. Mine host sat in his place at the 
 head of the table, and was most attentive to us, 
 continually worrying up the waiter to see that we 
 were duly helped to the many savoury dishes which 
 were brought in one after the other. The last meat 
 brought in was the usual leg of mutton : this was 
 placed upon the table to be looked at, in order that 
 the assembled eaters might satisfy themselves as 
 to its being in reality a genuine leg of mutton. 
 It was then removed, to be carved and handed 
 round, whereupon each male guest smacked his 
 lips and remarked to his neighbour that it was 
 good eating. By the way, dinners in these out-of- 
 the-way French inns are perfect marvels of culinary 
 skill combined with cheapness. For the sum of 
 two francs fifty, one gets a splendid repast. Here 
 is a specimen of the menu : — 
 
272 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 Soup. 
 
 Stewed kidneys. 
 
 Fish. 
 
 Mushrooms. 
 
 Cutlets and potatoes. 
 
 Pcite de foie gras. 
 
 Fowls. 
 
 Leg of Mutton. 
 
 Cheese. 
 
 Dessert, and an unlim- 
 ited supply of vin or- 
 dinaire. 
 
 Coffee is an extra, and may be taken either at 
 the inn, or at a neighbouring cafe. 
 
 After dinner we ladies retired to our quarters in 
 the sparely furnished big saloon. There came soon 
 some of the commercials, who began their evening 
 business of pattern -sorting, so that the two long 
 tables were strewed with packages and patterns of 
 cloths, prints, boots, shoes, and various other com- 
 modities of merchandise. We sat by the fire and 
 watched the proceedings, but not for long. In fact, 
 we soon became tired and sleepy, so we asked for 
 our candles, and retired to our room, followed by the 
 iDterested glances of a group of curious commercials 
 who were clustered at the foot of the staircase. 
 
 Needless to say that we slept well in spite of 
 all our troubles and uncertainties, also needless to 
 say that the huge down coverlets slid from our 
 
AND ARE FOUND AGAIN. 273 
 
 beds on to the floor, where they remained until the 
 morning. 
 
 Our beds were clean and comfortable, and no 
 insects put in an appearance, for which we were 
 very thankful. 
 
 Next morning we were awakened at an early 
 hour by the chambermaid, who said that the hotel- 
 keeper had received a telegram from our friends at 
 Degagnac to the effect that we were to be driven by 
 him half-way to our destination, when we should be 
 met. We dressed quickly, washing as well as we 
 could in the diminutive basins allotted to our use, 
 and descended to the salle a manger, where our cafe 
 au lait was waiting for us in two big bowls, flanked 
 by two immense pieces of toasted bread, which toast 
 we broke into the aforesaid bowls according to 
 French custom. Our united bill for dinner, beds, 
 and breakfast was ten francs, or 4s. 2d. each. 
 
 Whilst we were taking our cafe au lait, the 
 waiter came in to say that the carriage was waiting ; 
 and, as the carriage was a covered one with a pair 
 of horses attached, we drove off in fine style, after 
 
 s 
 
274 TEE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 being bowed out by mine host and bis family, also 
 by a selection of the commercials. 
 
 Setting aside the fact that our steeds started off 
 by running away on the wrong road, we got on 
 finely. They, the steeds I mean, galloped into the 
 station-yard, after nearly upsetting us by running 
 against a gatepost. At the station two or three 
 men managed to turn the horses' heads, and the 
 driver, who seemed rather a raw hand, finally suc- 
 ceeded in persuading them to take the right road. 
 One animal insisted on cantering nearly all the 
 way, and the other preferred to trot. The general 
 effect was peculiar, to say the least ; when both 
 cantered it was no better, for they utterly declined 
 to keep step, but bobbed up and down alternately, 
 in the most drunken-looking style. 
 
 The morning was lovely, and we should have 
 much preferred an open to a closed carriage. Why 
 they gave us a close one we could not make out, 
 unless it may possibly be against the strict rules 
 of French etiquette for two unmarried ladies to 
 skirmish round in an open vehicle with no other 
 
BOTHER THE FLIES. 275 
 
 protection than that afforded by the driver. It 
 was quite evident to us that the carriage had not 
 been in recent use, for a few thousand flies had made 
 it their winter quarters. 
 
 The roof of the carriage was rather low, and our 
 hats, or rather the wired bows thereof, somewhat 
 high, so, unfortunately for us as well as for the flies, 
 the said bows acted as ceiling-brooms each time we 
 moved our heads, and the flies buzzed about us in 
 crowds. We opened the windows, flirted vigorously 
 our pocket-handkerchiefs, and drove our enemies 
 out into the sunshine. Having got rid of the flies, 
 we settled ourselves to admire the scenery and the 
 beautiful effects of autumn colouring. 
 
 Much could not be said for the scenery : it was 
 decidedly stony — huge white limestone cliffs and 
 boulders, with here and there a touch of red sand- 
 stone. The effects of colour were, however, truly 
 splendid ; the various shades of green contrasted 
 vividly with the white rocks. The changing autumn 
 foliage had taken upon itself every tint from bright 
 orange to dark brown, and many of the smaller 
 
276 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 trees and shrubs were a bright scarlet. Overhead 
 the sky was deeply transparently blue, with here 
 and there a fleecy white cloud drifting slowly across 
 it. Over all, and embracing all, the golden sunlight 
 streamed, warm and bright as in the month of June. 
 The day was truly one called back from the de- 
 parted summer-time, one on which one felt that to 
 live and enjoy life was quite sufficient. 
 
 When we reached the half-way village we found 
 our friends waiting for us, very glad to see us, and 
 very sympathetic over our past troubles. We were 
 very glad to change our closed carriage for an open 
 one, and so, chatting and laughing and enjoying the 
 perfect weather, we made the rest of our journey, 
 arriving at the Shanty at 12 o'clock, the hour 
 for dejeuner, which meal we ate with appetites 
 sharpened by our 30 miles' drive. A well-cooked 
 well-served French dejeuner is appetising, especially 
 after a long journey ; and no one knows better how 
 to prepare a welcoming repast than an amiable 
 French hostess. 
 
 I call our temporary dwelling-place the Shanty, 
 
A RURAL FAIR. 277 
 
 because such it really was. Mr F , an engineer, 
 
 was superintending some important tunnels which 
 were being made on a new line of railway, and he 
 had built for the use of himself and part of his 
 family a house of wood, tolerably commodious, but 
 very primitive — not too primitive, however, was 
 it for comfort, and we passed a week there very 
 happily. Monsieur and madame planned driving 
 excursions to the neighbouring towns and places of 
 interest, and one day we went in full state to the 
 fair. 
 
 Now, a large fair in this out-of-the-world neigh- 
 bourhood is a long-anticipated event, and no matter 
 what the weather may be, young and old, rich and 
 poor, go to the fair. Vehicles of every kind may 
 be seen upon the road, coming and going, and cer- 
 tainly some of them are of the oddest description. 
 One thing we noticed particularly, and that was, 
 that the butcher's horse was the fastest trotter, and 
 that the butcher stood up to drive his steed. Why 
 butchers' horses in France as in England should be 
 the fastest goers, and why butchers should stand 
 
278 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 up when driving, is, and perhaps always will be, 
 a mystery. 
 
 The fair we went to was held at a town called 
 Cazals. Now Cazals may or may not be a nice 
 town; but of that we could not possibly judge, 
 because it was packed so full of people that we 
 could see little else. We were obliged to leave the 
 carriage at an auberge situated just outside the 
 town, for the simple reason that we could not drive 
 through the closely packed narrow streets. 
 
 Arrived at the Square, where confusion seemed 
 to reign supreme, we set ourselves to make the 
 round of the stalls, upon which every mentionable 
 article was laid out for sale at ever-before-unheard- 
 of low prices. We wanted to buy some embroidery, 
 and we were offered some at twelve sous the metre. 
 We shook our heads and offered six, upon which 
 madame, the seller, said "Non, non"; but she would 
 take ten, and after a good deal of bargaining, &c, 
 we compromised the matter and got it for eight, 
 about its worth. Madame F had some commis- 
 sions to fulfil, so my friend and I went shopping or 
 
BARGAINING. 279 
 
 stalling on our own account. We wanted to buy 
 some toys for madame's children. One very 
 fascinating - looking pop - gun pleased our fancies 
 very much, so when we were asked twelve sous 
 for it we immediately offered eight, thinking that 
 as madame had bargained in our behalf we would 
 now be very clever and bargain too. But oh ! we 
 were not prepared for the shocked grieved air, that 
 made us feel so ashamed of our offer that we gave 
 the full amount at once. 
 
 Fairs are held in the smaller towns about once 
 a-month, and fair-day is looked upon as quite a 
 holiday. Everybody goes to the fair that can 
 possibly spare the time, so that from early morning 
 until dusk the road is full of passers-by, intent on 
 business or pleasure. Young men and maidens go, 
 because they get a chance of looking at and perhaps 
 even of speaking to one another, a chance much 
 prized in a country where the sexes are kept so 
 much apart as they are in France, — a country 
 where love-making in our acceptation of the term 
 is an unknown quantity. 
 
280 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 As to the older folks, they chatter and laugh as 
 they stride along, as though care was a stranger to, 
 and trouble had never come near them. Even the 
 animals would seem to be enjoying themselves — the 
 fact is, they are used to it, and fair-day brings an 
 outing for them as well as for their masters. No 
 French peasant would think of selling an animal 
 unless he made some profit by it, so he takes it to 
 fair after fair until he can make a good bargain. A 
 gentleman friend of ours declared that the animals 
 never did change hands at all, for that he had 
 watched them particularly, and they invariably re- 
 turned with the same people who had taken them to 
 market. The fair itself is always a most animated 
 scene. The cattle, horses, sheep and pigs, and their 
 vendors are ranged around the place, and oh, the 
 wrangling that goes on all the time ! It is ear-split- 
 ting : everybody seems to be quarrelling, but it is not 
 really so. After a time they all quiet down and ad- 
 journ to the various auberges for a bottle of wine, 
 after which the homeward journey is made quite as 
 gaily as the morning one had been. At a French fair 
 
CONSCRIPTION. 281 
 
 one can buy almost anything in the way of food, 
 clothing, furniture, and finery. The streets are 
 lined with stalls, some covered and some not, and 
 the sellers, though bullied by their customers to any 
 extent, look so good-tempered, and take it all as 
 such a matter of course, that it is quite amusing to 
 stand and watch them. 
 
 The conscription is generally held upon a fair-day, 
 and then the whole scene is indeed gay. As each 
 batch of young fellows leaves the town -hall, a 
 woman standing at the door pins streamers on their 
 hats ; in addition to this, the young men buy heaps 
 of artificial flowers, with which they decorate them- 
 selves and their hats, and then off they go shouting, 
 singing, dancing, to the nearest auberge. Those 
 that have drawn lucky numbers are the gayest — 
 they will only have a short term of service ; but 
 those that will be obliged to serve for five years are 
 at first a little sober. This soberness wears off in a 
 few minutes, however, and soon they are as merry 
 as their comrades. The " Marseillaise " is naturally 
 their favourite chant, but they have another which 
 
282 THE LADIES GET LOST. 
 
 is also very much liked. At night, after the con- 
 scription is over, the young men march home in rows, 
 eight or ten in a line, hand in hand. They sing the 
 "Marseillaise" and the other favourite chant alter- 
 nately, and when singing the latter each time they 
 come to the chorus hats are thrown in the air, and 
 two or three most unearthly yells are given out : 
 that done, all is comparative quietness until the 
 next time the chorus comes round. On reaching 
 cross-roads, where some of the party may have to 
 leave for another village, pistols are fired, and yelling 
 indulged in to a great extent. When this happens, 
 as it sometimes does, at one or two in the morning, 
 it is rather alarming, for being perhaps wakened 
 from a first sleep one naturally thinks just at first 
 that something dreadful has happened. 
 
 When the time comes that the young men have 
 to leave their village homes and go away to be 
 soldiers, they are not so gay. There is sadness in 
 many a village home or peasant's cottage, for the 
 French are an affectionate people, and families cling 
 together with a great deal of warmth and affection. 
 
WAR WITH GERMANY. 283 
 
 When any one speaks of the likelihood of an 
 approaching war with Germany, the women will 
 cry, " Ah ! speak not of that ! speak not of that ! 
 We have sons in the army ; and if there is war they 
 will be killed, our hearts broken, and our homes 
 left desolate." 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the 
 
 date to which renewed. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 fec. cm APR 2 9 1979 
 
 NOV 2 !9&l*95i 
 
 MAY 2 8 1977 7 
 
 &% MAY 2 if 
 
 STANFORD 
 (NTERIIBRARY LO^JsJ 
 
 APR 1 3 1978 
 
 
 M/V 
 
 LD 21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 
 
 1978 
 
M313215