CHAPTER XI.

ST. BERTRAND DE COMMINGES.

Keeping to old friends—­Valley history—­Entering the Garonne valley—­The picturesque St. Beat—­St. Beat to Viella—­Memories of the lovely Thames—­Baths of Ste. Marie—­Loures—­The cross-roads—­Weak walls—­Entering St. Bertrand—­An ancient house—­The inn—­A charming garden—­The cathedral—­A national disgrace—­“The Crocodile of St. Bertrand”—­The tomb of Hugues de Chatillon—­Travelling desecraters—­St. Bertrand’s rod—­The ruined cloisters—­Desolation—­Swine feeding—­Montrejeau—­The buffet—­No milk!—­French railway officials—­Trying experiences.

It was not many years ago that travellers with heavy luggage were forced to travel in the clumsy diligence between Luchon and Montrejeau; and, especially in the summer when the press for places was great, very little comfort could be enjoyed during the journey, except perhaps on a fine day, when for a short space the vehicle stopped at St. Bertrand de Comminges.  Now, the railway in an hour performs the whole distance; but we preferred to keep to our old friends, a “landau and four horses,” and with the weather still propitious, left the comfortable Hotel Canton at our favourite time, and were soon bowling down the Allee d’Etigny.  In a short time the Allee Barcugna and the station were left behind, and we entered the broader part of the valley of Luchon.  This valley was originally—­on dit—­a huge lake, and afterwards —­presumably when it had ceased to be such—­became peopled by a Gallic race, whose “divinity,” Ilixo, [Footnote:  Ilixo has now become Luchon.] has given his name to the surroundings.  We presume in this derivation “consonants are interchangeable and vowels don’t count.”

Cier de Luchon (four and a quarter miles), above which to the west stands the Pic d’Antenac (6470 ft), was soon passed through, as we crossed and recrossed the railway line, now following the River Pique, and now, for a short space, keeping along the line.  Five miles further, and we left the Pique valley for that of the Garonne, passing through the village of Cierp, which lies to the right of Marignac, the station where passengers alight for St. Beat.  This is a very picturesque village, about three miles east, perched above the Garonne in a narrow defile, possessing an ancient church and a good inn.  The Pic de Gar (5860 ft.), which rears up to the north of the village, is very rich in flora; and the road passing through it (St Beat) afterwards leads by the villages of Arlos, Fos, and Les to Bosost (twelve miles), whence it continues to Viella.

The valley at this point is particularly fertile and lovely, and as we progressed, frequently following the windings of the Garonne, memories of pleasant hours, both lively and dreamy, spent on some of the quiet reaches on the dear old Thames, seemed naturally to recall themselves; the similarity of the surroundings being in some parts so great.