Two Summers in Guyenne | Page 2

EYZIES CHÂTEAU DE HAUTEFORT A HOUSE AT PÉRIGUEUX
THE TOUR DE VÉSONE THE 'NORMAN GATE' AT PÉRIGUEUX
THE DRONNE AT BOURDEILLES THE ABBEY OF BRANTÔME
CHÂTEAU DE BOURDEILLES THE DRONNE AT COUTRAS A
STREET AT ST. ÉMILION THE CHÂTEAU DE MONTAIGNE
AFTER THE FIRE MONOLITHIC CHURCH AND DETACHED
TOWER AT ST. ÉMILION CONVENT OF THE CORDELIERS:
THE CLOISTERS TOUR DE L'HORLOGE AT LIBOURNE THE
HILL OF FRONSAC BAZAS INTERIOR OF THE CHÂTEAU DE
VILLANDRAUT THE GARONNE CHÂTEAU DE MONTESQUIEU
THE GARONNE AT BORDEAUX THE PALAIS GALLIEN AT
BORDEAUX

THE UPPER DORDOGNE.
I had left the volcanic mountains of Auvergne and had passed through
Mont-Dore and La Bourboule, following the course of the Dordogne
that flowed through the valley with the bounding spirits of a young
mountaineer descending for the first time towards the great plains
where the large towns and cities lie with all their fancied wonders and
untasted charm.
But these towns and cities were afar off. The young Dordogne had a
very long journey to make before reaching the plains of Périgord.
Nearly the whole of this distance the stream would have to thread its
way through deep-cut gorges and ravines, where the dense forest
reaches down to the stony channel, save where the walls of rock rising
hundreds of feet on either side are too steep for vegetation. Above the
forest and the rock is the desert moor, horrible to the peasant, but to the
lover of nature beautiful when seen in its dress of purple heather and
golden broom.
[Illustration: A BIT OF AUVERGNE.]
I had not been long on the road this day, when I saw coming towards
me an equipage more picturesquely interesting than any I had ever met

in the Champs-Elysées. It was a ramshackle little cart laden with sacks
and a couple of children, and drawn by a pair of shaggy sheep-dogs.
Cords served for harness. A man was running by the side, and it was as
much as he could do to keep up with the animals. This use of dogs is
considered cruel in England, but it often keeps them out of mischief,
and I have never seen one in harness that looked unhappy. Traces must
help a dog to grow in his own esteem, and to work out his ideal of the
high destiny reserved for him; or why does he, when tied under a cart to
which a larger quadruped is harnessed, invariably try to persuade
himself and others that he is pulling the load up the hill, and that the
horse or donkey is an impostor?
[Illustration: THE DORDOGNE AT LA BOURBOULE.]
The width of the Mont-Dore valley decreased rapidly, and I entered the
gorge of the Dordogne, where basaltic rocks were thrown up in savage
grandeur, vividly contrasting with which were bands and patches of
meadow, brilliantly green. Yellow spikes of agrimony and the fine pink
flowers of the musk-mallow mingled with the wiry broom and the
waving bracken about the rocks.
It was September, but the summer heat had returned, and when the road
passed through a beech wood the shade was welcome. Here over the
mossy ground rambled the enchanter's nightshade, still carrying its frail
white flowers, which really have a weird appearance in the twilight of
the woods. The plant has not been called circe without a reason. Under
the beeches there were raspberry canes with some fruit still left upon
them. After leaving the wood, the scene became more wild and craggy.
The basalt, bare and sombre, or sparsely flecked with sedums, their
stalks and fleshy leaves now very red, rose sheer from the middle of the
narrow valley, down which the stream sped like fleeing Arethusa, now
turning to the right, now to the left, foaming over rocks or sparkling
like the facets of countless gems between margins of living green.
Then I left the valley in order to pass through the village of St. Sauve
on the right-hand hill. There was little there worth seeing besides a very
ancient Romanesque archway, or, as some think, detached portico
leading to the church.
Many of the women of St. Sauve wore the black cap or bonnet of
Mont-Dore, which hangs to the shoulders. It is a hideous coiffure, but
an interesting relic of the past. The prototype of it was worn by the

châtelaines of the twelfth century. Then, however, it had a certain
stateliness which it lacks now. It is only to be seen in a very small
district.
I consulted some of the people of St. Sauve respecting my plan of
following the Dordogne through its gorges. They did not laugh at me,
but they looked at me in a way which meant that if better brains had not
been given to them than to me their case would be indeed