The Roof of France | Page 4

writer, author of the first real tourist's guide for his own country, that
we are 'le peuple le plus curieux de l'Europe'; he adds, 'le plus
observateur,' perhaps a compliment rather paid to Arthur Young than to
the English as a nation. The work I refer to ('Itinéraire descriptif de la
France,' by Vaysse de Villiers, 1816) was evidently written under the
inspiration of our great agriculturist.
From French friends and acquaintances I could learn absolutely nothing
of the Causses. The region was a terra incognita to one and all. I might
every whit as well have asked my way to Swift's Liliputia or Cloud
Cuckoo Town, and the Island of Cheese of his precursor, the witty
Lucian. People had heard of l'Ecosse; oh yes! but why an
Englishwoman should seek information about Scotland in the heart of
France, they could not quite make out.
There was nothing for me to do but trust to happy chance and the
guide- book, and set out; and as a stray swallow is the precursor of
myriads, so no sooner had I got an inkling of one marvel than I was
destined to hear of half a dozen.
Wonderful the scenery of the Causses, still more wonderful the cañon
or gorge of the Tarn and the dolomite city of Montpellier-le-Vieux, so I

now learned.
There were difficulties in the way of seeing all these. I had been
unexpectedly detained at Dijon. It was the second week in September,
and the Roof of France--in other words, the department of the Lozère--
is ofttimes covered with snow before that month is out. My travelling
companion was a young French lady, permitted by her parents to travel
with me, and for whose health, comfort and safety I felt responsible. It
seemed doubtful whether this year at least I should be able to realize
my new-formed project, and penetrate into the solitudes of the Causses.
However, I determined to try.
My journey begins at the ancient town of Le Puy, former capital of the
Vivarais, chef-lieu of the department of the Haute Loire, and, it is
unnecessary to say, one of the most curious towns in the world. We had
journeyed thither by way of St. Étienne, and were bound for Mende, the
little mountain-girt bishopric and capital of the Lozère.
We had to be up betimes, as our train for Langogne, corresponding
with the Mende diligence, started at five in the morning. It might have
been midnight when we quitted the Hôtel Gamier--would that I could
say a single word in its favour!--so blue black the frosty heavens, so
brilliant the stars, the keen September air biting sharply.
More fortunate than a friend whose pocket was lately picked of twenty-
five pounds at the railway-station here, I waited whilst the terribly slow
business of ticket-taking and registration was got over, thankful enough
that I had breakfasted overnight--that is to say, had made tea at three
o'clock in the morning. Not a cup of milk, not a crust of bread, would
that inhospitable inn offer its over-charged guests before setting out. As
I have nothing but praise to bestow upon the hostelries of the Lozère
and the Cantal, I must give vent to a well-deserved malediction here.
By slow degrees the perfect day dawned, a glorious sun rising in a
cloudless sky. We now discovered that our travelling companions were
two sisters--the one, an admirable specimen of the belle villageoise, in
her charming lace coiffe; the other, equally good-looking, but as much
vulgarized by her Parisian costume as Lamartine's sea-heroine,

Graziella, when she had exchanged her contadine's dress for modern
millinery. These pretty and becoming head-dresses of Auvergne, made
often of the richest lace and ribbon, may now be described as survivals,
the bonnet, as well as the chimney-pot hat, making the round of the
civilized world.
From Le Puy to Langogne, viâ Langeac, we traversed a region familiar
to many a tourist as he has journeyed from Clermont-Ferrand to Nîmes.
The shifting scenes of gorge and ravine are truly of Alpine grandeur,
whilst the railway is one of those triumphs of engineering skill to which
Alpine travellers are also accustomed.
One remark only I make by the way. The sarcasms levelled against the
system of peasant proprietorship, that would be cruel were they not
silly, are here silenced for once and for all. Nothing can be more
self-evident than the beneficial result of small holdings to the State,
wholly setting aside the superiority of the peasant-owner's position,
moral, social and material, to that of the English farm labourer. Even a
prejudiced observer must surely be touched by the indomitable
perseverance, the passionate love of the soil, evinced by the small
cultivators in the valley of the Allier, and, indeed, witnessed throughout
every stage of our day's journey.
Wherever