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La Mere Bauche By: Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) |
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The Pyreneean valley in which the baths of Vernet are situated is not
much known to English, or indeed to any travellers. Tourists in
search of good hotels and picturesque beauty combined, do not
generally extend their journeys to the Eastern Pyrenees. They rarely
get beyond Luchon; and in this they are right, as they thus end their
peregrinations at the most lovely spot among these mountains, and are
as a rule so deceived, imposed on, and bewildered by guides,
innkeepers, and horse owners, at this otherwise delightful place, as
to become undesirous of further travel. Nor do invalids from distant
parts frequent Vernet. People of fashion go to the Eaux Bonnes and
to Luchon, and people who are really ill to Bareges and Cauterets.
It is at these places that one meets crowds of Parisians, and the
daughters and wives of rich merchants from Bordeaux, with an
admixture, now by no means inconsiderable, of Englishmen and
Englishwomen. But the Eastern Pyrenees are still unfrequented. And
probably they will remain so; for though there are among them lovely
valleys and of all such the valley of Vernet is perhaps the most
lovely they cannot compete with the mountain scenery of other
tourists loved regions in Europe. At the Port de Venasquez and the
Breche de Roland in the Western Pyrenees, or rather, to speak more
truly, at spots in the close vicinity of these famous mountain
entrances from France into Spain, one can make comparisons with
Switzerland, Northern Italy, the Tyrol, and Ireland, which will not
be injurious to the scenes then under view. But among the eastern
mountains this can rarely be done. The hills do not stand thickly
together so as to group themselves; the passes from one valley to
another, though not wanting in altitude, are not close pressed
together with overhanging rocks, and are deficient in grandeur as
well as loveliness. And then, as a natural consequence of all this,
the hotels are not quite as good as they should be. But there is one mountain among them which can claim to rank with the
Pic du Midi or the Maledetta. No one can pooh pooh the stern old
Canigou, standing high and solitary, solemn and grand, between the
two roads which run from Perpignan into Spain, the one by Prades and
the other by Le Boulon. Under the Canigou, towards the west, lie the
hot baths of Vernet, in a close secluded valley, which, as I have
said before, is, as far as I know, the sweetest spot in these Eastern
Pyrenees. The frequenters of these baths were a few years back gathered almost
entirely from towns not very far distant, from Perpignan, Narbonne,
Carcassonne, and Bezieres, and the baths were not therefore famous,
expensive, or luxurious; but those who believed in them believed with
great faith; and it was certainly the fact that men and women who
went thither worn with toil, sick with excesses, and nervous through
over care, came back fresh and strong, fit once more to attack the
world with all its woes. Their character in latter days does not
seem to have changed, though their circle of admirers may perhaps be
somewhat extended. In those days, by far the most noted and illustrious person in the
village of Vernet was La Mere Bauche. That there had once been a
Pere Bauche was known to the world, for there was a Fils Bauche who
lived with his mother; but no one seemed to remember more of him than
that he had once existed. At Vernet he had never been known. La
Mere Bauche was a native of the village, but her married life had
been passed away from it, and she had returned in her early widowhood
to become proprietress and manager, or, as one may say, the heart and
soul of the Hotel Bauche at Vernet. This hotel was a large and somewhat rough establishment, intended for
the accommodation of invalids who came to Vernet for their health.
It was built immediately over one of the thermal springs, so that the
water flowed from the bowels of the earth directly into the baths... Continue reading book >>
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