The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Fiction
We soon lost sight of it. After going on for a short time amongst some
English-looking hedge-lanes, we again came out upon the edge of the
hill; the road passing along the brink of a steep descent, at the
bottom of which ran the river, roaring amongst the rocks. At one part,
we found the people engaged in banking up the road, which was not upon
the surest foundation possible, and which, having apparently a strong
dislike to an elevated situation, was rather inclined to slip down
into a more humble station in the valley below. The way taken, or
rather the method in which they were proceeding to prop up the road,
was somewhat curious. About twenty men and women were employed, some
in digging earth for the embankment, others in carrying it to the
spot. The machinery of a wheelbarrow never seemed to have entered
their imagination, but as soon as a shovel full of earth was dug out,
the women took it on their heads, in a small wooden trough, not at all
unlike a butcher's tray, only not so large, and thus carried it at a
slow pace to its destination, talking all the way; so that, upon a
fair calculation, each woman could fill up about a cubic yard per
diem.
It was not long now before we reached the Eaux Bonnes, a little town
consisting of about a dozen large white houses, thrust into a gorge of
the mountains. They are generally divided into small bed-rooms, and
fitted alone for lodging the greatest possible number of the strangers
who come to drink the waters. In fact, it looks as if a bit of
Hastings, or Tunbridge Wells, and that a bad bit too, had been
exported to the Pyrenees. The well is highly sulphureous, tasting most
disagreeably of bad eggs; but it is supposed to have the most
extraordinary effect in the cure of consumptive complaints, and thus,
either for fashion or health, there are a great many people who come
to drink of its waters.
The morning after our arrival, I wandered down to a cascade in the
valley. I have seen much grander waterfalls, but rarely one more
beautiful. By my eye, I should guess the height to be about forty
feet. The scenery round is richly wooded, rocky, and picturesque, and
the body of water considerable; but the principal effect is produced
by the stream, after having fallen eight or ten feet, striking a
projecting piece of a crag and rising back again in foam and spray,
almost to the same height as that from which it fell. It then again
descends, rushing down over the rock, with a roar which is heard for a
great distance. At particular times, the sun, finding a way for its
beams across the woody screen that hides it from above, shines upon
the foaming mist that always rises from the water, and arches it with
a sunbow. But I am not sure that it is not more beautiful without, in
the calm simplicity of the white rushing stream, the dark rocks, and
hanging wood.
THE EAUX CHAUDES.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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