DOI Heft:
No. 79 (October, 1899)
DOI Artikel:Forbes, Stanhope Alexander: On the slope of a southern hill
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.19783#0041
On the Slope of a Southern Hill
of discouragement was beginning to make itself
felt, when, as we ran down a long slope, the valley
opened out before us. There was La Nivelle, wind-
ing faintly pink through lush green fields ; there was
the village, doubled on the quiet water; there the
old bridge that dominates the stream with such a
noble curve—ivy-grown, but sturdy and secure for
all its centuries. All this arrested our wheels, and
we exclaimed with conviction, " Eureka ' This
shall be our village and our abiding-place !"
Too late that night to begin the quest of the
necessary lodging, we rode home through the twi-
light, carrying that last harmonious impression in
our tired brains. Next morning we returned, and
were overjoyed to find that the charm of our village
had not fled before the fuller light of broad day,
as we had half feared it might. Madame at the
little inn was polite but deprecatory. Her own
rooms were but small and few, she explained, and
were monopolised mostly by her clientele of commis-
voyageurs. " A villa menbleel" That was possible.
Madame knew of one which she thought might be
procurable. " Up the road which led to La Rhune,
only a little way up," Madame explained, we should
find our villa.
The Mountain of La Rhune is the particular
glory of all that region. A giantess among the
lowlier hills, the villages cluster round her knees;
watered by her rushing streams, their flocks and
herds feed on her high pastures. The faint tinkle
of innumerable sheep-bells floats down from above
to the valley, a running accompaniment to all other
sounds. The uneven path is hard to the feet, and
we were hot and weary before we found the un-
pretending white house we were in search of. But
a little haven of fragrant coolness and shade it
seemed to us, under its pines and flowering laurel.
A touch of comfort and " home" in its aspect
attracted us, perhaps a legacy from a former
English owner. On two sides the hills enfolded
it so protectingly, from its terrace one had so
fair an outlook over the sunlit valley, that we at
once determined the villa must and should become
our home for the space of our holiday. The pre-
liminary negotiations were quickly concluded, and
three days after we took formal possession. We
made our entry into the village, some of us in a
pony-chaise and some of us a-wheel, while with
dignified slowness the baggage waggon, a bullock-
cart, piled high with supplies and materials for our
"the village"
26
from a drawing by elizabeth stanhope forbes
of discouragement was beginning to make itself
felt, when, as we ran down a long slope, the valley
opened out before us. There was La Nivelle, wind-
ing faintly pink through lush green fields ; there was
the village, doubled on the quiet water; there the
old bridge that dominates the stream with such a
noble curve—ivy-grown, but sturdy and secure for
all its centuries. All this arrested our wheels, and
we exclaimed with conviction, " Eureka ' This
shall be our village and our abiding-place !"
Too late that night to begin the quest of the
necessary lodging, we rode home through the twi-
light, carrying that last harmonious impression in
our tired brains. Next morning we returned, and
were overjoyed to find that the charm of our village
had not fled before the fuller light of broad day,
as we had half feared it might. Madame at the
little inn was polite but deprecatory. Her own
rooms were but small and few, she explained, and
were monopolised mostly by her clientele of commis-
voyageurs. " A villa menbleel" That was possible.
Madame knew of one which she thought might be
procurable. " Up the road which led to La Rhune,
only a little way up," Madame explained, we should
find our villa.
The Mountain of La Rhune is the particular
glory of all that region. A giantess among the
lowlier hills, the villages cluster round her knees;
watered by her rushing streams, their flocks and
herds feed on her high pastures. The faint tinkle
of innumerable sheep-bells floats down from above
to the valley, a running accompaniment to all other
sounds. The uneven path is hard to the feet, and
we were hot and weary before we found the un-
pretending white house we were in search of. But
a little haven of fragrant coolness and shade it
seemed to us, under its pines and flowering laurel.
A touch of comfort and " home" in its aspect
attracted us, perhaps a legacy from a former
English owner. On two sides the hills enfolded
it so protectingly, from its terrace one had so
fair an outlook over the sunlit valley, that we at
once determined the villa must and should become
our home for the space of our holiday. The pre-
liminary negotiations were quickly concluded, and
three days after we took formal possession. We
made our entry into the village, some of us in a
pony-chaise and some of us a-wheel, while with
dignified slowness the baggage waggon, a bullock-
cart, piled high with supplies and materials for our
"the village"
26
from a drawing by elizabeth stanhope forbes