: Two Summers in Guyenne: A Chronicle of the Wayside and Waterside by Barker Edward Harrison - Guyenne (France)

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THE UPPER DORDOGNE ACROSS THE MOORS OF THE CORR?ZE IN THE VISCOUNTY OF TURENNE IN UPPER P?RIGORD IN THE VALLEY OF THE V?Z?RE IN THE VALLEY OF THE ISLE FROM P?RIGUEUX TO RIBERAC THE DESERT OF THE DOUBLE A CANOE VOYAGE ON THE DRONNE BY THE LOWER DORDOGNE BY THE GARONNE

DOORWAY OF THE ABBEY CHURCH AT BEAULIEU A BIT OF AUVERGNE THE DORDOGNE AT LA BOURBOULE A MOORLAND WIDOW THE VALLEY OF THE RUE A WOMAN OF THE CORR?ZE A PEASANT OF THE MOORS PLOUGHING THE MOOR A GORGE IN THE CORR?ZE TURENNE A PEASANT OF THE CAUSSE CH?TEAU DE F?NELON RETURNING FROM THE FIELDS BEYNAC CLOISTERS OF THE ABBEY OF CADOUIN CH?TEAU DE BIRON: THE LODGE TRUFFLE-HUNTERS CH?TEAU DES EYZIES CH?TEAU DE HAUTEFORT A HOUSE AT P?RIGUEUX THE TOUR DE V?SONE THE 'NORMAN GATE' AT P?RIGUEUX THE DRONNE AT BOURDEILLES THE ABBEY OF BRANT?ME CH?TEAU DE BOURDEILLES THE DRONNE AT COUTRAS A STREET AT ST. ?MILION THE CH?TEAU DE MONTAIGNE AFTER THE FIRE MONOLITHIC CHURCH AND DETACHED TOWER AT ST. ?MILION CONVENT OF THE CORDELIERS: THE CLOISTERS TOUR DE L'HORLOGE AT LIBOURNE THE HILL OF FRONSAC BAZAS INTERIOR OF THE CH?TEAU DE VILLANDRAUT THE GARONNE CH?TEAU 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 P?rigord. 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.

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-Elys?es. 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?

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.

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 ch?telaines 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 unfortunate. I was advised to see a cobbler who was considered an authority on the byways of the district. I found him sitting by the open window of his little shop driving hob-nails into a pair of Sunday boots. When I told him what I had made up my mind to do, he shook his head, and, laying down his work, said:

To be devoured would be the climax of misfortune. I wished to know what animals would be likely to stop my wayfaring in this effectual manner.

'Are there wolves?'

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