Chapter XV (2)

"'What?' answered the lady, in a voice of grief, but full of energy, 'shall I despoil my son of his rights and his inheritance without knowing that he is dead, and that in favour of my most cruel enemies? No! he may yet live--Providence may yet watch over him--restore him one day to the world, when he will come to claim his own and revenge his mother's wrongs!'

"'You have no alternative but a fearful death, remember!' said the man, in hoarse accents.

"'Rather any death than abandon my child!' was the answer.

"'Then, madam,' returned her companion, 'your will shall be done--impute your fate to your own conduct.'

"As he pronounced these words, he approached the door of the dungeon, where stood another female in the shade, who contemplated the scene in silence, with an unmoved and chilling aspect. They then left the place together, fastening the heavy door carefully, while the sound of their keys and chains sent a fearful echo through the vaulted apartment. Their victim fell back in a state of desolation, pitiable to behold, and burst into passionate tears, praying fervently to Heaven, and uttering exclamations which might melt the stoutest heart.'

"'I was deeply moved to behold her; and, in a low voice, ventured to exclaim: 'Madam, be of good cheer! Heaven hears you; and has sent one to your aid who is ready to exert every effort, for your relief.'

"'What voice is that?' cried she, starting.

"'Be not terrified!' I answered; 'it is that of a mortal, guided hither by the hand of God!'

"'At the same time I applied myself to loosen the stones at the loop-hole, and with much difficulty succeeded in doing so; but, in spite of all my precautions, the unfortunate lady, bewildered with fear and grief, was so astonished when I appeared through the opening, that she uttered a cry and fainted on the ground.

"'Without losing a moment, I took her in my arms, and carried her through to the subterranean way. I then replaced the stones as closely as I could, and hastened to bear her to the mouth of the cave, which I now found without obstacle, the fire extinct, and nothing to impede our progress.

"'Oh, Raymond! the ways of Providence are inscrutable! This dungeon, from whence I had rescued that innocent victim, is the same where, a few days since, you were thrown by the hands of enemies; and the lady who had nearly perished there was--your mother!'

"'Great Heaven!' exclaimed Raymond, 'my mother! condemned to such horrors--buried in the earth alive;--oh! to find the author of her injuries!'

"'I saw that person this very day,' replied Guilhem; 'I recognised him in the old man who was seated on the right of your rival.'

"'That was his father, the lord of Artiguelouve,' cried Raymond.

"'Then it was no other than the lord of Artiguelouve who was your mother's persecutor.'"

* * * * *

The Cagot now goes on to relate, that, on bringing the unfortunate lady to this village, she recognised, in the infant he had adopted, her own son. She recounted, that those persons whom he had seen in her dungeon had plotted to remove both her and the infant, as their existence interfered with certain plans of their own. One of her servants had been bribed, who, under pretence of bearing the child to a place of safety, and the better to deceive her, having taken with it jewels of value, had feigned to be set upon by robbers, and had her son forcibly torn from him. Three months afterwards, the man, overcome with remorse and wretchedness for his crime, fell sick, and, on his death-bed, desired secretly to see the mother, who wept for her infant as dead; to whom he related the truth. This information was fatal to herself; for her enemies now threw off the mask, and insisted on her renouncing for her son all claim to the estates and titles of which he was the heir; which she having refused to do, they treated her in the manner that has been related.

A mystery still hung over the revelations of the lady, who named no persons in her story, and who appeared to dread to make further disclosures; and, above all, she desired that no vengeance should be taken on the authors of her grief.

"'There are crimes,' she said, 'which recoil on those who perpetrate them: he who sows vengeance, reaps not peace: and I would that my son should feel that mercy is the highest attribute of humanity. Keep, therefore, the secret of his birth from him, and let him know only tranquillity and joy.'"

The Cagot promised to comply with her christian desire, and, together with the pious hermit of Eysus, to bring up her son in piety, and ignorance of his station, until he should be one day safe from the danger of his enemies. The unfortunate mother left a letter, addressed to the Sire de Lescun--a friend on whom she could rely--which, on some future occasion, was to be delivered to him; but the long absence of the Knight of Lescun, in the wars, had hitherto prevented its being done.

Whether the mother of Raymond would have continued in the same intentions, cannot be known; for grief and sickness soon brought her to the close of her sad career. When she was dying, the poor man who had succoured her and her child, conceiving that he was not acting according to his conscience, in withholding from her the exact situation in which he was himself placed, threw himself on his knees at her bed-side, and with tears entreated her forgiveness, for that he had the misfortune to be _a Cagot_.

"'Have pity upon me,' said he, 'that I thus add to the weight of sorrow which you carry with you to the tomb.'"

Instead of the start of abhorrent contempt which the persecuted man dreaded, she turned upon him a look of the most ineffable benevolence; and, placing her cold hand upon his head, uttered these words:--

"'It is well;--Cagot since thou art, I bless thee; for thy heart is more noble than the proudest blazon could make it.'

"No human description can convey an idea of the impression made on the heart of the good man by these few words,--the first of pity and consolation he had ever heard addressed to one of his own fated race. A new life, a new being seemed given him as he heard them; and, from that instant, he vowed to exist only for the salvation of the being left behind by the angel who had shed her benediction upon him. She died, and he kept his word."

* * * * *

The supreme tribunal of Béarn, the _Cour Majour_, was assembled at Orthez, in one of the grand saloons of the castle of Moncade, to dispense to the people, by its irrevocable decrees, the national justice of its celebrated _Fors_. Great excitement prevailed; for it was known that the Knight-Cagot, or Cagot-Knight, as Raymond was called, was about to appear, to defend himself from his accusers.

"The Lord and Lady of Artiguelouve were present in the great assembly, summoned to appear for their deceased son, to support the charge he had made. The fair Marie de Lignac sat pale and agitated, supported by her uncle, the Knight of Lescun. The Bishops of Lescar and Oloron, the eleven judges,[50] and all the nobles of the country attended, and were seated on elevated benches, in due order, near Prince Gaston de Foix."

[Footnote 50: The number of twelve was reduced to eleven since the period that the village of Bidous was removed from the territorial jurisdiction of Béarn.]

After a consultation of some length, these _equitable_ magistrates had decided that justice should be allowed to the complainant, and punishment awarded to those who had injured him, provided that he could prove that he was _a man_ and not _a Cagot_.

Nothing now remains for Raymond but the presentation of his mother's letter, and all the proofs which establish his birth. On opening the paper, and on examining the embroidery on the mantles which wrapped the rescued infant; on looking at the initials of the chain of gold, the Knight of Lescun recognised the son of his cousin, Marguerite d'Amendaritz, first wife of Messire Loup Bergund, who, when he hears the truth, is seized with sudden remorse and amazement, and, being now without an heir, is not sorry to recover him whom he had before abandoned to destruction. In spite, therefore, of the indignation of his wife--and her endeavours to repress his agitation throughout the scene--he starts up, and proclaims himself the father of Raymond: who, he declares aloud, is his long-lost son,--stolen from him by _routiers_--whose loss had cost him the life of a beloved wife, whom he deplored.

The result is, however, far different to his expectations, or that of all present. The young knight, on finding that he is the son of a man so laden with crime as Loup Bergund, is seized with a frenzy of contempt and disgust.

"His open and expansive forehead became contracted with horror--he stood silent a few seconds, petrified and overwhelmed with his emotions--his body shrinking back in an attitude of repulsion and dislike, as if a venomous reptile were before his sight. His regard then fell full on Loup Bergund, and the terrible severity of its expression made the unworthy tyrant shrink beneath his glance of fire.

"_You_ my father!"--exclaimed he, at length, in a terrible voice--"do _you_ open your arms to me as to your son? Hence!--back! there is nothing in common between us--we can be nothing to each other! I know you not. Go--say to your captive of yonder dungeon that her son is dead; that the _routiers_ have stolen him: you my father! no; you have no son--it is a falsehood--you are a great lord, and I a wretched foundling--a being without a name--one disdained by wolves and robbers. No; you are not my father. I have no other but he who stands beside me; I am the son of no other than the poor Cagot."

As he spoke, Raymond dashed the chain of gold on the ground, and trampled it under his feet--he seized his mother's letter from the hands of the Knight of Lescun, and thrusting it into the flame of a torch hard by, burnt it to ashes; then, throwing himself into the arms of Guilhem, he burst into a passion of tears. Recovering himself, however, in a few moments--while all looked on silent and aghast--he cried aloud--

"'And now I am, indeed, a Cagot--irrevocably so--and it is my glory and my joy! But hear me all! while I proclaim what you are worth, and those whom you dare to despise, and for whom the Redeemer died, as well as for us all: You are decked in gold and gorgeous raiment, and they are in rags; but they have hearts which beat beneath, and you have souls of ice: you are their executioners, and they are martyrs. You cast your wives and children into the dungeons of your castles, from whence the poor Cagots save them: you are great upon the earth, but they will be great in Heaven!"

These last words fell, like thunder, upon the ears of all, but most on those of Gaston Phoebus--who thought of his murdered son--and writhed with agony. Raymond continued:

"'God will yet do justice, in his time, to the oppressors of the innocent. Your names, in future ages, will be execrated. Meantime, keep your pomp, your pleasures, your grandeur, and your luxury; while our possessions are opprobrium and contempt, shame, banishment, and suffering--days without sun, and nights without repose or shelter. Yes, drive us from you--you know that we are infectious, that we shall contaminate your purity--Away! Room, room for the Cagots!'"

And Raymond and Guilhem retired through the crowd, which shrunk back, appalled, to let them pass.

The next day Marie de Lignac received a letter, the contents of which were never seen but by her tear-dimmed eyes; nor ever re-read by her after she entered the convent of Marciniac.

The Lord of Artiguelouve, on his death-bed, was a prey to the most bitter repentance: he implored that some priest of more than common sanctity should hear his last confession; and one was discovered in a holy hermit, who, when he was summoned from his retreat, was found kneeling beside a humble tomb, where he passed all his days in prayer, with rigorous fasting and unwearied penance. He obeyed the call of the expiring sinner, and received his last sigh. Thus did the repentant Lord of Artiguelouve meet the forgiveness of his son, Raymond: for it was he that closed his eyes with a blessing, and then returned to his hermitage to weep by the tomb of his father, the Cagot.

* * * * *

I am indebted to M. Baron du Taya's (of Rennes) learned researches and obliging kindness for a few particulars respecting the Cacous of Brittany.

It is thought there that this proscribed race are the descendants of _leprous Jews_, which would at once account for the detestation in which they continued to be held, but for the term _"Chrestaàs"_ applied to them, which destroys that supposition: again, it is said that they are descended from original _lepers_, and that diseases are inherent in their blood--though not leprosy, it may be epilepsy: for this reason, the _rope-makers_ of Ploermel were held in abhorrence, and are even now shunned: they are irritated when the term _caqueux_ is applied to them, but it is common to call them _Malandrins_--a word of opprobrium, only less shocking to their ears. They had always their separate burial-ground and chapel; and, till the revolution of 1789, the prejudice existed against them: even now it is not entirely extinct.

Rope-makers, coopers, and _tailors_ are still held in a certain degree of contempt in Brittany, as those of these trades were formerly all looked upon as Cacous.

The Cacous of St. Malo met with some compassion from Duke Francis II., the father of Anne of Brittany; and also in the time of Francis I., King of France, ordinances were made in their favour; but they were not so fortunate as their brethren of Rome, who, in the sixteenth century, are said to have sold, in one Holy week, rope to the amount of two thousand crowns, to make _disciplines_.

In 1681, a law was passed to this effect; "Seeing that there are no longer any Leprous, _Ladres_, or _Caquins_ at Kerroch, parish of St. Caradec d'Hennebon, there is in future to be no distinction made in the inhabitants of this village--who formerly had their burial-ground and chapel apart--and all shall be admitted to the benefit of parish assistance during their lives, and buried in the church after their death. For it is considered that it _was ill and abusively_ ordained by the Bishop of Vannes, in 1633, that the wives of the said inhabitants should not be purified, except in their own chapels; for it is well ascertained that no native of the said village of Kerroch has ever been afflicted with leprosy."

Notwithstanding this sensible and humane act, the people of Kerroch are not free from the absurd suspicion even yet.

"It would appear," observes M. Baron du Taya, "that the Cacous were first a subdivision of lepers, and afterwards, by hereditary _remembrance_ of them, the latter were always the objects of commiseration amongst the professors of religion and chivalry. Thus the first Grand Master of St. Lazare was himself a leper. Several great names occur amongst these Grand Masters: such as Jean de Paris, in 1300; a Bourbon in 1521; and, under Henri IV., a Philibert de Nerestang."

In 1436 a prohibition was issued against the _Cacosi_ receiving the kiss of peace, and the kiss of the monks, _before men who were whole_; it was not denied them, but they were to be _the last_.

In many places in Brittany the rope-makers work out of the towns near those places where lazar-houses were once established. They were not authorized to place their benches in the lower part of the church at Pontivy till after the revolution in 1789! The villagers still look upon certain rope-makers, tailors, and coopers, as possessing _an evil eye_, and are in the habit of concealing their _thumbs_ under the rest of their fingers,[51] and pronouncing the word _argaret_ as a counter-spell: this word is unintelligible even to the Bas-Bretons themselves. The prejudice still exists in Finisterre against the Cacous: the village of Lannistin is one of their abodes. The Cagot girls of Béarn are said never to be able to draw water from a brook or well without spilling half of it: so that their houses are always dirty, and themselves thirsty. Probably the same misfortune exists in Brittany, for there is little cleanliness to be found there.

[Footnote 51: This practice is similar to that of the Neapolitans, who wear a little hand in coral (_gettatura_) as a preservative against the evil eye.]

Perhaps, after all, the most probable conjecture as to the origin of these unhappy Cagots is, that they were persons _suspected of witchcraft_, and banished in the first instance from society, to which traditional prejudice prevented their return; and, though the cause of their banishment was no longer remembered, the abhorrence they had once inspired did not wear out with ages. The supposition of their having been _the first Christians_, persecuted and contemned, and never regaining the world's good opinion, seems a notion difficult to adopt, except that the first Christians were suspected of sorcery and communication with evil spirits. "He casteth out devils through Beelzebub, the chief of the devils." If such were, indeed, the case, what a lesson for prejudice and superstition, that the descendants of the earliest converts should be persecuted by their Christian brethren!

The Vallée d'Aspe, where the scene of the preceding story is laid, is one of the most picturesque of Béarn, and the customs of its people remarkable.

The Pic d'Anie, whose solemn height rises above the village of Lescun, is regarded by the Aspois as the sojourn of a malignant deity. From thence come the fearful storms which desolate the country, and no inhabitant of the village will dare to climb the ascent: it is looked upon as a piece of presumption to attempt it; for it is believed that the Jin of the mountain, called the Yona Gorri, or flame-coloured spirit, has there fixed his solitary abode, and has his garden on the summit, which he will not allow to be visited by strangers. Certain evil spirits have occasionally been seen in his company, each holding a lighted torch and dressed in shining scarlet habiliments: they thus surround the chief, and dance round him to the music of an unearthly instrument, like a drum. Loups-garoux, and sorcerers mounted on dragons and other animals, may be seen in the air, wending their way towards Anic, as far as from Jurançon, Gan, and St. Faust.

At Escout is a fairy oak, beneath which, whoever places an empty vase, having belief, will find it, after a short period, when he returns, full of gold and silver: there are known to exist persons in the Vallée d'Aspe whose fortune had no other source.

There is a famous rock at the entrance of the valley, the object of attraction to all females who desire to become mothers. Many of the superstitions are similar to those in the Landes where the belief in the power of the demon is generally received. The _Homme Noir_--a fearful spirit with large black wings--may frequently be seen perched on the summit of the highest peaks, shaking from his pinions showers of hail, which break the early flowers and crush the rising corn.

There are persons, even now--though they are rarer than in the time of that acute discoverer, De Lancre--who are believed to deserve the name of _Poudoueros, Hantaumos, Brouchos, Mahoumos_, for they are votaries of the evil one, and many spells are requisite to avoid their "witch knots," and "combs of care," &c.

Presages can be drawn from the croak of a magpie, from the rush of waters, and the howling of dogs. If a flower is seen to expand on a barren rock, or in a place where there is no other vegetation, it is looked upon as an augury of an abundant harvest throughout the country. But if a tree spreads its branches over the roof of a house it announces all sorts of misfortunes: the sons of that house will perish in a foreign land: the lovers of those daughters will be faithless: the parents will be abandoned by their children, and die in aged destitution.

If a single rose is left

"----Blooming alone,
Its lovely companions all faded and gone;"

and if it grows with its beautiful head inclined towards a cottage, woe to the inhabitant; he has but a brief space of existence left him! Let every one beware of insulting the fountains; for if a stone or any rubbish is thrown into their waters, the person doing so will perish by thunder!

At the entrance of the Vallée d'Aspe, on the Spanish side, is St. Christine, where formerly stood one of those _hôpitaux des ports_, erected by benevolence for the safety of pilgrims and travellers. This was called, in a bull of Innocent III., _one of the three hospitals of the world_; but it has been long since destroyed.

The forests of Itseaux, Gabas, Benou, and Irati, were formerly the most considerable in this part of the Pyrenees: that of St. Engrace is still very extensive. About a century ago the forest of Itseaux was so thick, and so little known in its vast extent, that more than one person was lost in its depths. A singular circumstance occurred at that period, which may give an idea of the perfection of its solitude. A young girl of about sixteen or seventeen was found there in a savage state: she had been a denizen of the shades from the age of seven or eight. All that was known of her was, that she had been left by some other little girls in the woods, having been surprised by the snow. The shepherds who found her conducted her to the hospital of Mauléon: she never spoke, nor gave any sign of recollecting the past; they gave her grass and vegetables to eat, but she continued to droop, and in a very short time died of grief for the loss of her liberty.

About twenty years after this a wild man was observed in the same forest: he was very tall, and strongly built, hairy like a bear, active as an izard, and perfectly harmless. His delight was in coursing the sheep and dispersing them, uttering loud peals of laughter at the confusion he created. Sometimes the shepherds sent their dogs after him, but he never suffered them to come up with him. Nothing was known or traced respecting his history, and he appears to have finished his wild career in the forest: probably he was some child left by accident or design in that savage solitude; where, like Orson, some bear nursed him, but who never found a Valentine to restore him to humanity.

Itseaux still presents an immense extent of wood: it covers one side of the mountains of Lescun, fills the valley of Barétous, and joins the great forest of St. Engrace, to the entrance of the Vallée de Soule. It is the largest of the Pyrenean forests.

There is scarcely a valley in the Pyrenees to which some celebrity is not attached. Amongst others, the Vallée d'Aspe resounds with the fame of the pastoral poet, Despourrins: and Ariosto has celebrated that of Gavarnie, where, in the _Tours de Marboré_, he places the abode of some of his heroes.

"Charlemagne, Agramont, tous leurs fameux héros;
Les Zerbin, les Roger, les Roland, les Renaud:
De ces Palais du Temps habitent les ruines.

Tout parle d'Arioste en ce fameux vallon
Et comme aux champs Troyens, chaque roche à son nom."

Cyprien Despourrins, though he wrote as one of the people, and _for_ them, was not a man of obscure birth; his family was originally of a race of shepherds; but one of his ancestors having made his fortune in Spain, returned a great man to his native valley, the beautiful Vallée d'Aspe, and there bought the Abbey of Juzan, and became a proprietor, with many privileges. The father of the poet inherited his estates, and distinguished himself in the career of arms, being cited for his bravery, the character of which bears the impress of the times in which he lived, namely, the end of the seventeenth century. Numerous anecdotes are told of him: amongst others, that he had had a dispute with three foreign gentlemen; and in order to get the quarrel off his hands at once, he challenged them all three at the same time, and came off victorious in the combat. To perpetuate the memory of his victory, he obtained from the King permission to have engraved, over the principal entrance of his house, _three swords_, which may still be seen on the stone of the old building shown as his residence. After this notable exploit, Pierre Despourrins visited the _Eaux de Cauteretz_, where, in the neighbourhood of Argelez he formed an acquaintance with the family of Miramont, and an attachment to the fair Gabrielle, daughter of that house; through his marriage with whom, he afterwards became possessor of the château of Miramont, near St. Savin, destined to become famous by means of his son, the famous poet Cyprien. The château is still to be seen, and is a great lion in the neighbourhood.

There are constant disputes between the people of Bigorre and Béarn, as to which has the greater right to claim the poet as their own, for he belonged to both; but as he chose the musical _patois_ of the latter in which to sing his pastorals, it appears but just that the Béarnese should have the preference. He was born at Accous, in 1698: his two brothers, Joseph and Pierre, became, one the vicar, the other the curate of the village, and _he_ was called, _par excellence_, the _chevalier_. There is a curious story told, illustrative of the simple manners of these mountaineer-priests. The two brothers were very musical: one played the flute, the other the violin; and every Sunday their talents were exerted for the benefit of their parishioners. All the young people of the place were accustomed to meet in the court-yard of their house; and, seated at a casement, the reverend pair played to their dancing. As soon as the bell sounded for vespers, the ball was suspended, and all the docile flock accompanied the good pastors to church.

The chevalier had inherited his father's warlike qualities, and was, it seems, always ready with his sword. He was at the _Eaux Bonnes_ when he received an affront from a stranger, which--as Sir Lucius O'Trigger has it,--"his honour could not brook." Unluckily, he had not his sword with him, and the affair must be decided at once; he therefore sent his servant to Accous to fetch it, recommending him great promptitude and address in inventing some story to prevent his father from guessing his errand. The servant used his utmost despatch, and thought he had managed very cleverly to avert suspicion: the old knight, however, was too clear-sighted in such matters; and, having divined the state of the case, mounted his mule instantly, and secretly followed the messenger. He traversed the mountains of Escot and Benou, and, braving all their difficulties, arrived at the Eaux Bonnes. On asking for his son, he was informed that he was closeted with a stranger: he repaired thither, and, pausing at the door, heard the clashing of swords. Satisfied that all was as he surmised, the imperturbable old knight remained quietly at his post, awaiting the issue of the combat. At length the noise of arms ceased; young Despourrins came out precipitately, and found his father on the watch, who, embracing him tenderly, exclaimed--"Your servant's hasty departure prevented my setting out with him; but I followed closely, guessing that you had an affair of honour on your hands; and, in case you should fall, I brought my sword with me, which has never yet failed at need." "I am your son," replied the Chevalier; "my adversary is grievously wounded; let us hasten to afford him assistance."

After Despourrins, the son, was established near St. Savin, and the estates of the Vallée d'Aspe were abandoned by his father for his new domain, he seems to have given himself up to the charms of poetry and music, living the life of a shepherd, and familiarizing himself with the habits, customs, manners and pleasures of that simple race, until he spoke with their words, and thought with their thoughts. Whoever has visited the beautiful Valley of Argelez, and wandered amongst the wilds in the neighbourhood of the once famous abbey of St. Savin, can well understand the poet's delight in such a retreat, and will not wonder when he is told that Despourrins often passed whole nights in the woods, singing his verses, like one transformed to a nightingale. Even now the songs he sung are remembered and cherished; and though the _pastous_ of his native mountains probably know nothing of the poet, his lays are constantly on their tongues. One of the most famous is a romance, called "La Haüt sus las Mountagnes," which I give entire, with a translation in prose and verse, in order to show the nature of this Troubadour language, which differs from the Gascon dialect, in being softer and less guttural; in fact, resembling rather more the Italian than Spanish language:--

La haüt sus las Mountagnes, û Pastou malhurous
Ségut aü pè d'û Haû, négat de plous,
Sounyabe aü cambiamen de sas amous.

"Cô leüyé, cô boulatye!" disé l'infourtunat,
"La tendresse et l'amou qui t'ey pourtat
Soun aco lous rébuts qu'ey méritat?

"Despuch que tu fréquentes la yen de counditiou
Qu'as près û tà haüt bôl, que ma maysou,
N'ey prou haüte entà tu d'û cabirou.

"Tas oüilles d'ab las mies, nous dégnen plus meacla;
Touns superbes moutous, despuch ença,
Nou s'approchen deüs més, qu'entaüs tuma

"De richesses me passi, d'aünous, de qualitat:
You nou soy qu'û Pastou; més noùn n'y a nad
Que noüs surpassi touts, en amistat,

"Encouère que ay praübé, dens moun pétit estat,
Qu'aïmi mey moun Berret tout espélat,
Qué nou pas lou plus bèt Chapeü bourdat.

"Las richesses deü moundé nou bèn queda turmen;
Et lou plus bèt Seignou, dab soun aryen,
Nou baü pas lou Pastou qui biü counten.

"Adiü, cô de tygresse, Pastoure chens amou,
Cambia, bé pots carabia de serbidou:
Yamey noun troubéras û tau coum you!"

TRANSLATION.

High up, amongst the mountains, an unfortunate shepherd
was seated at the foot of a beech, drowned in tears, musing on
the changes of his love.

"Oh light, oh fickle heart!" said the unhappy youth; "for
the tenderness and the affection which I have borne towards you,
is this wretchedness a fitting reward?

"Since you have frequented the society of persons of condition,
your flight has been so high that my humble cottage is too low
for you by at least a stage.

"Your flocks no longer deign to mix with mine; your haughty
rams, since that period, never approach mine but a battle
ensues.

"I am without wealth or dignity; I am but a simple shepherd
but there is none that can surpass me in affection.

"And methinks, according to my simple ideas, that I prefer my
_berret_, old and worn as it is, to the finest ornamented hat that
could be given me.

"The riches of the world only bring uneasiness with them, and
the finest lord with all his possessions cannot compare to the
shepherd who lives content.

"Adieu, tigress-heart! Shepherdess without affection; change,
change, if you will, your adorers, never will you find any so true
as I have been."

I here give a metrical version of the same song:

DESPOURRINS.

"La Haut sas las Mountagnes."

ABOVE, upon the mountains,
A shepherd, full of thought,
Beneath a beech sat musing
On changes time had wrought:
He told to ev'ry echo
The story of his care,
And made the rocks acquainted
With love and its despair.

"Oh! light of heart," he murmur'd,
"Oh! fickle and unkind!
Is this the cold return
My tenderness should find?
Is this a fit reward
For tenderness like mine?--
Since thou hast sought a sphere
Where rank and riches shine,

"Thou canst not cast a thought
Upon my lowly cot;
And all our former vows
Are in thy pride forgot.
For thee to enter in,
My roof is far too low,
Thy very flocks disdain
With mine to wander now.

"Alas! I have no wealth,
No birth, no noble name,
A simple shepherd youth
Without a hope or claim;
But none of all the train
That now thy favours share
Can bear, as I have borne,
Or with my love compare.

"I'd rather keep my habits,
Tho' humble and untaught,
Than learn the ways of courts,
With dang'rous falsehood fraught;
I'd rather wear my bonnet,
Tho' rustic, wild, and worn,
Than flaunt in stately plumes
Of courtiers highly born.

"The riches of the world
Bring only care and pain,
And nobles great and grand
With many a rich domain,
Can scarcely half the pleasures,
With all their art, secure,
That wait upon the shepherd
Who lives content and poor.

"Adieu, thou savage heart!
Thou fair one without love:
I break the chain that bound us,
And thou art free to rove.

But know, when in thy vanity,
Thou wanderest alone,
No heart like mine will ever
Adore as I have done."

The royal circle of Neuilly has been enlivened sometimes by the sound of the Béarnese minstrelsy; and, on one occasion, listened to a band of mountaineers from Luchon, who undertook, a few years since, a journey through Europe, singing their choruses in all the principal cities. On hearing the above song of Despourrins, the King exclaimed, with his usual ready kindness,--"Your songs alone would be sufficient to make one love your country."

Several celebrated singers, favourites in the Italian world, were natives of Béarn: one of these, Garat, surnamed "the musical Proteus," was born at Ustaritz. Nothing appeared impossible to this prodigious singer: his voice was splendid and his taste exquisite: his only defect was an inordinate vanity--by no means an uncommon fault in artists of this description. A person on one occasion, thinking to embarrass him, inquired how high in the scale he could go; "I can mount as high as it pleases me to go," was his reply. He used frequently to surprise the Parisians by the introduction of Basque and Béarnese airs, whose peculiarity and originality never failed to cause the most lively admiration and enthusiasm; but he did not announce them as mountain songs till he had secured the praise he sought for them, having passed them for Italian productions. A similar _ruse_ was practised by Mehul, when he brought out his "Irato," which the public was given to imagine was composed by an Italian _maestro_. Its success was very great, and Geoffrey, the editor of a popular paper, in noticing the opera, exclaimed,--"O, if Mehul could compose as well as this, we might be satisfied with him." When the triumphant composer threw off his incognito, the unlucky critic was not a little mortified. The celebrated singer Jelyotte was from Béarn, and Louis the Fifteenth used to delight in hearing him sing his native melodies: in particular one beginning, "De cap à tu soy Marion," one of Despourrins' most spirited pastorals:--

"I am your own, my Marion,
You charm me with each gentle art;
Even from the first my love was won,
Your pretty ways so pleased my heart;
If you will not, or if you will,
I am compell'd to love you still.

"No joy was ever like my joy,
When I behold those smiling eyes,
Those graceful airs so soft and coy,
For which my heart with fondness dies:
And when I seek the charm in vain,
I dream the pleasure o'er again.

"Alas! I have no palace gay,
My cottage is but small and plain;
No gold, nor marble, nor display,
No courtly friends nor glitt'ring train;
But honest hearts and words of cheer
Are there, and store of love sincere.

"Why should we not be quite as blest,
Without the wealth the great may own?
A shepherd life, methinks, is best,
Whose care is for his flock alone;
And when he folds them safe and warm,
He knows no grief, he dreams no harm.

"If you, dear Marion, would be mine,
No king could be so blest as I;
My thoughts, hopes, wishes, should combine,
To make your life pass happily;
Caresses, fondness, love, and glee,
Should teach you soon to love like me."

Another very favourite song is the "Aü mounde nou y a nat Pastou,"[52] in which mention is made of the national dances for which Béarn is celebrated, as well as the _Pays Basque_ which produces _baladins_, famous throughout France for their feats of agility and grace. There is a great variety of these dances, and those executed by the young men of St. Savin are remarkable in their kind: bands of the dancers go from village to village in the times of _fêtes_, and are much sought after: they appear very like our May-day mummers, or morrice-dancers, and have probably the same, namely, an eastern, origin: instead of Robin Hood, the Chevalier Bayard is the personage represented in their disguise, and a female always appears amongst them, who answers to our Maid Marian: they are covered with flaunting ribbons, and hold little flags in their hands.

[Footnote 52: There are two songs beginning with the same words: both favourites.]

SONG.

"There's not a shepherd can compare
With him who loves me well and true;
French he can speak, with such an air,
As if the ways of courts he knew:
And if he wore a sword, you'd say,
It was the King who pass'd this way.

"If you beheld, beneath our tree,
How he can dance the Mouchicou,--
Good Heaven! it is a sight to see
His Manuguet and Passe-pié too!
His match for grace no swain can show
In all the Valley of Ossau.

"Lest Catti, in the summer day,
The noon-day sun too hot should find,
A bow'r with flow'rs and garlands gay,
By love's own tender hand entwined,
Close to our fold, amidst the shade,
For me that charming shepherd made."

There is considerable variety of style and expression in the poetry of Despourrins, although his subject does not change--being "love, still love."

The following might pass for a song by a poet of the school of Suckling:--

SONG.

"Malaye quoan te by!"

"OH! when I saw thee first,
Too beautiful, and gay, and bland,
Gathering with thy little hand
The flow'r of May,
Oh! from that day
My passion I have nurst--
'Twas when I saw thee first!

"And ever since that time,
Thy image will not be forgot,
And care and suff'ring are my lot;
I know not why
So sad am I,
As though to love were crime--
Oh! ever since that time!

"Those eyes so sweet and bright,
Illume within my trembling breast,
A flame that will not let me rest;
Oh! turn away
The dazzling ray--
They give a dang'rous light,
Those eyes so sweet and bright!

"Thou hast not learnt to love,
But, cruel and perverse of will,
Thou seek'st but to torment me still.
Faithful in vain
I bear my chain,
Only, alas! to prove
Thou hast not learnt to love!"

But, perhaps, one of the most striking of all Despourrins' poems, from the beauty of the _patois_ and the pretty conceits, is the "Deus attraits d'ûc youenne pastoure," which reminds one of Ronsard's "Une beauté de quinze ans, enfantine."

POEM.

"Tis to a maiden young and fair,
That my poor heart has fall'n a prey,
And now in tears and sighs of care
Pass all my moments, night and day.

"The sun is pale beside her face,
The stars are far less bright than she,
They shine not with so pure a grace,
Nor glow with half her charms to me.

"Her eyes are like two souls, all fire;
They dazzle with a living ray;
But ah! their light which I desire
Is turn'd from me by Love, away.

"Her nose, so delicate and fine,
Is like a dial in the sun,
That throws beneath a shadowy line
To mark the hours that love has run.

"The fairies form'd her rosy mouth,
And fill'd it with soft words at will,
And from her bosom breathes the South--
Sweet breath! that steals my reason still.

"Her waist is measured by the zone
The Graces long were wont to wear;
And none but Love the comb can own,
That smooths the ringlets of her hair.

"And when she glides along like air,
Her feet so small, so slight are seen,
A little pair of wings, you'd swear,
Were flutt'ring where her step has been.

"Dear object of my tender care,
My life, my sun, my soul thou art,
Oh! listen to the trembling pray'r,
That woos thee from this breaking heart."

A QUARREL.

"Adechat! las mies amous."

_He_.--MY pretty Margaret, good day!
The mountain air is chill;
And if you guide your lambs this way,
The cold will do you ill.

_She_.--No, gentle friend, tho' cold I seem,
The air I need not fear;
It is the chillness of your stream
That runs so fresh and clear.

_He_.--The cock had not begun his song;
When with my flocks I came;
To meet you here I waited long--
Your haste was not the same.

_She_.--My lambs and I were in the mead
Before the break of day;
And you, methinks, have little need
To blame _me_ for delay.

_He_.--My sheep, with many a ruddy streak,
And bells of jocund sound,
Heav'n knows, a lively music make,
Which can be heard far round.
Come, let our flocks be hither led,
Beneath this shade repair;
For you have butter, I have bread,
And we our meal will share.
Feed, pretty lambs, and feed, my sheep,
Awhile her flock beside,
And, as on flow'rs ye browse and sleep,
We'll leave you for a tide.
Thou, God of Love, who in the air,
Art hov'ring in our view,
Guard well our flocks, and to thy care
Oh! take two lovers too!

_She_.--No,--farewell till to-morrow, dear,
I may not now abide;
For if I longer tarry here,
My friends will surely chide.

* * * * *

DESPOURRINS.

* * * * *

"Y Ataü quoan la rose ey naberè."

* * * * *

"When first the rose her perfume threw,
And spread her blossoms to the day,
I saw thee, Phillis, blooming too,
With all the charms that round her play.

"Pure as the sun, thy glace of power,
Thy voice has music's softest swell,--
I saw thee in an evil hour,
Or never should have loved so well!

"Though from thy presence I remove,
While I lament I still adore,--
Oh! what can absence do to love,
But to increase the feeling more!

"Ye simple swains, who know not yet
What pleasure and what pain may be,
Guard well your hearts from Love's regret,
If you would live from danger free."

* * * * *

DESPOURRINS.

* * * * *

"Aü mounde nou-y-a nad Pastou,
T'à malhurous coum you!"

* * * * *

"No shepherd in this world can be
The child of wretchedness like me:
One would not think it, but I know
No feeling but continued woe;
For Sorrow came into my fold,
And there her dwelling loves to hold.

"It seem'd the joy of Fate,
New pleasures to provide,
And, 'midst my happy state,
A lamb was all my pride.
The sun conceal'd his light,
Whene'er she came in sight.

"I never dreamt of gold,
I lived content and free;
The treasure of my fold,
Seem'd but to live for me.

Alas! those hours that bless,
Not long would time allow,
My joys, my happiness,
Are changed to sorrow now!

"She loved my pipe to hear,
And midst the flock would pause,
And with a smile, so dear,
Would give me soft applause:
And with her music sweet
My notes she would repeat.

"How many jealous swains
Would look, and sigh, and long:
Not one a word could gain,
She only heard my song;
But now that lamb has stray'd
I see her form no more;
My ev'ry hope betray'd,
My fate let all deplore!
My sleep, my rest, is gone,
And I am all undone!"

* * * * *

DESPOURRINS.

* * * * *

"Moun Diü! quine souffrance--
M'as tu causat!"

* * * * *

"Of what contentment
Those eyes bereft me--
And ah! how coldly
Thou since hast left me:
Yet didst thou whisper
Thy heart was mine,--
Oh! they were traitors
Those eyes of thine!
For 'tis thy pleasure
That I repine.

"Alas! how often
I sigh'd in vain,
And loved so dearly
To purchase pain:
And all my guerdon
To be betray'd,
And only absence
My safety made,
To muse on fondness
So ill repaid.

"But let me warn thee
While time is yet,
Thy heart may soften
And learn regret:
Should others teach thee
New thoughts to prove,
And all thy coldness
Be quell'd by love,
Thou mayst glean sorrow
For future years,--
Beware--false maiden!
Beware of tears!"

DESPOURRINS.

"Per acère castagnere."

BENEATH a chesnut shade
A shepherd, drown'd in tears,
By her he loved betray'd,
Thus sung his grief and fears:
"Why dost thou smile," he said,
"As all my woes increase?
When will my truth be paid,
And all thy coldness cease?"

The fair one listen'd not,--
And feign'd she had not seen;
But sought a distant spot,
The furze and heath between,
But, as she proudly went,
Thorns, in her path that lay,
Her little feet have rent,
And stopp'd her on her way.

She paused, in sudden pain,
Her pride aside she laid,
And, in soft tone, was fain
To ask her lover's aid;
She bade, in piteous mood,
He would the thorns remove,
And take from gratitude
The kiss denied to love.

That grateful kiss she must
Bestow--tho' she deplore it;
And he had been unjust
Not--doubly--to restore it.

DESPOURRINS.

"Roussignoulet qui cantes."[53]

[Footnote 53: This song singularly resembles Burns' charming "Banks
and braes" in its opening, though it is greatly inferior as a
whole.]

OH! nightingale that sing'st so sweet,
Perch'd on the boughs elate,
How softly does thy music greet
Thy tender list'ning mate.

While I, alas! from joy removed,
With heart oppress'd, must go,
And, leaving her so fondly loved,
Depart in hopeless woe.

Ah me! I see before me yet
Our parting and her pain,
My bosom throbb'd with vain regret
To hear her still complain.
My trembling hand she fondly press'd,
Her voice in murmurs died:
"Oh! is not our's a fate emblest,
Since we must part," she cried.

I promised her, whate'er betide,
To love her to the last,
And Fate, my truth has sadly tried,
In all our sorrows past;
But she may trust me, tho' we part,
And both our lot deplore:
Where'er I go, this bleeding heart
Will suffer ever more.

The clearest streams that gently flow,
The river murm'ring by,
Not purer than my heart can show,
Nor have more tears than I.
No book nor scroll can tell a fate
Where sorrows so combine;
No pen can write, nor song relate,
Such misery as mine!

Thus, like the turtle, sad and lone,
Who leaves his mate in pain,
I go, with many a tender moan,
And dream of love in vain:
By all the ties that bound us long,
By all the hopes we knew,
Oh I hear thy shepherd's latest song,
Receive his last adieu!

Anxious to visit a country whose history and traditions had so much excited my interest and curiosity, I accompanied a friend, early in the year 1843, on an expedition to the Vallée d'Aspe, and through part of the Pays Basque. I would willingly have waited for spring, particularly as I heard from everybody in Pau, that to reach the valleys leading to Spain in the month of February was impossible--was worse than folly: in fact, was what none but the English, who are supposed to have taken leave of their senses, would attempt. One French gentleman, who was well acquainted with every part of the Pyrenees, and had twice made the ascent of the Pic du Midi, was indignant at our perseverance, insisting that we should be stopped by the snows--although very little had fallen in the last winter--and that the Basque country was totally uninteresting except in summer. Others told us that it was never worth seeing at any season; but, as I had become aware that persons settled in Pau were bound in a spell, and scarcely ever ventured more than a league from their retreat until, being once in motion, they set forth towards the mountains in the opposite direction, I did not allow myself to be persuaded to remain in the "Little Paris of the South" for carnival balls, and, followed by the pity and surprise of most of our friends, we took our dangerous way, on a sunny morning, as hot as July, towards Oloron.

Oloron, finely situated on a height, is a wide, open, clean, and well-built town, with so much open, fresh air, that, after the enervating and confined atmosphere of Pau, one seemed to breathe new life. The walks are good and extensive, and the magnificent range of the snowy mountains very close. Two rushing torrents divide the town between them--the Gaves of Ossau and Aspe--and from the two bridges which span them the view of their impetuous course is extremely imposing. These magnificent torrents are the charm of the Pyrenees; making the country, through which they hurry, one scene of beauty and animation: they do also terrible mischief by their violence when swelled by rains, as we had afterwards occasion to observe; but, at all times, give a character of singular grandeur to the places where they sweep along in uncontrolled majesty.

The village, or faubourg, of Ste. Marie d'Oloron joins the main town; and here is situated the cathedral, once of great importance, but now, like all the religious establishments in this part of France, preserving little of its ancient glory. The pillars, however, of its aisles are very grand and massive, and are part of the early structure: the form and height are imposing, and the chapels of the choir graceful; but the chief curiosity is the portal, which bears marks of a Saracenic origin. The arch is a wide circle, finely ornamented, and, in the centre, an Indian-shaped pillar divides it into two smaller circular arches: the base of this pillar is formed of two figures standing back to back, stooping beneath the load they bear on their hands and depressed heads: they are covered with fetters, both on their legs and arms: their striped dresses are quite Indian, and they wear a curious, melon-shaped cap: the faces are hideous and exaggerated, the limbs strong and well made, and they are in perfect preservation.

I have not seen any satisfactory account of the cathedral, which might explain these curious supporters: on each side of the portal projects a carved figure--one much defaced, the other representing a leopard or panther. A series of beautiful pillars, forming pedestals to absent saints, fill up the space of the porch, and that beyond is closed by high, open arches--rebuilt, but, doubtless, originally of the same construction as those of the beautiful side-entrance to the cathedral of Bourges, where Moorish carvings also occur.

There are no other antiquities in Oloron; but it is an agreeable, healthy town, and looks flourishing and lively; and, I should imagine, must be a cheap place to live in, and has several advantages over its rival, Pau; this, however, is not acknowledged by the partisans of that exclusive town, which is supposed, by those who patronise it, to bear away the bell from every other in Béarn.

The Vallée d'Aspe begins its winding way soon after Oloron is past; and the magnificent, broad river dashes along its rocky bed, as green and bright and foaming as its rival of Ossau, which it exceeds in volume. Our destination was to Bedous, where we were to rest for the night; and, as the shades of evening were already coming on, we could not long enjoy the beauty of this lovely valley, which we anticipated seeing on our return, after having visited all the wonders of the pass into Spain, as far as Urdos, where the high road, which is remarkably good, ends.