La Mere Bauche | Page 4

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. There was
accommodation for seventy people, and during the summer and autumn
months the place was always full. Not a few also were to be found there
during the winter and spring, for the charges of Madame Bauche were
low, and the accommodation reasonably good.
And in this respect, as indeed in all others, Madame Bauche had the
reputation of being an honest woman. She had a certain price, from
which no earthly consideration would induce her to depart; and there
were certain returns for this price in the shape of dejeuners and dinners,
baths and beds, which she never failed to give in accordance with the
dictates of a strict conscience. These were traits in the character of an
hotel-keeper which cannot be praised too highly, and which had met
their due reward in the custom of the public. But nevertheless there
were those who thought that there was occasionally ground for