Evening star., 1925-05-12
NEW BOOKS
AT RANDOM
/. g.. NJ.
ALONG THE PYRENEEs. Paul vii.

ALONG THE PYRENEEs. Paul Viii
stach. Bobbs. Merrill Co.
A scant handful Of names A vague
panoramic conception Of jumbled
peaks and crumpled passes over which
throughout old centuries Goth and
Visigoth, Roman and Saracen strug
gled in desperate ordeal OF battle
under the immemorial urge of con-
quest. Just a few names-Joffre and
Foch out of the present. Three hun
dred years behind this heroic twain.
the gallant and romantic Henry of
Navarro. Lourdes of pious connota-
ton. An old peasant of Limoux whose
plant that he never had seen Car
cassonne" Gustave Nadaud wrought
into verse whose cadence has added
years to the life Of poet and peasant
and place itself. Nothing at all-but
just about the sum of common knoWl-
edge of the Pyrenees Enough, never
theless, to serve as the nucleus of in
terest and desire, enough to turn me
in welcome upon the man who here
bids me go adventuring along with
him among these mountains of South
western Europe. The invitation is in
itself a chant. litany. "Carcassonne,
Perpignan. Mont Perdu, Pau! Cau
terets, Ax-les.Thermes, Lourdes, Ron
cevaux!" These names march and
shout and wave beckoning banners
They set the lure before me, they cast
a spell upon me and / am off ad-
venturing with Paul Wilstach in the
Pyrenees.
A good guide, this A companion
able man whose ways and words have
the easy fit of worn coat. Young,
enthusiastic, imaginative. Not an his
torian drearily tolling off dated events
in the long march of time. Yet touch
ing these here and there with a true
instinct for their perennial human
quality, linking past and present in a
single vital kinship. Not a scientist
engrossed in the primal causes that
lifted these peaks in such stupendous
thrusts of rivalry. A good deal of an
artist, rather, pointing out over yonder
the mergence of sky and mountain
top, or, right at hand, the sharp chal-
lenge of immediate heights to reach.
of dizzying ledges to be crossed. of
hungry chasms to be eluded. And all
the while there is deal of talk rising,
in part out of the discoveries that
crowd each moment and, in other part
rising out of Mr.. W'ilstach's full and
live readiness for every demand. Tou-
louise, "the rose city," midway between
the Mediterranean and the worn west
gate from Bayonne and BiarritZ, is
the point of entrance, a fresher one
| than that by way of the Atlantic
| coast. Here at Toulouse from the hill
of the column the Pyrenean kingdom
| and the glories thereof spread out in
a magic splendor.
From n In CT q rt
the adventure consists thereafter in
taking the splendid picture apart, in
seeking out from this general view
certain places of special call and ap-
peal. Here a fling of natural beauty,
| aweful, but irresistible. There, an
historic out-cropping from the noun
tain itself, an ancient fortress set
| figures emerge and parade. And here,
truly, is Carcassonne itself, old and
new. The old town aloof. forbidding,
a shade sinister, packed with true
| tale and legend. The new town, down
below, a cheerful and sunny place,
| whose people at the moment are
| much pleased and excited over the
big open.afr film, whereon one Char
| lot out of America is disporting him
self. In the twilight / thought 1
saw the beaming Sand contended face
of the old peasant of Limoux. Maybe
not.
In the valley and climbing the
mountain sides Is the whole of the
! Midi, redolent still of the undying
glamour of Provence. Warriors and
troubadours come to life again. A
thousand names call. A thousand
events crowd around. Not possible.
in fieeting world, to give eye and
ear and heart to all. But Paul VIII
| stach is truly a man of ready accom-
| modations. So when 1 own up to a
| deep passion for the troubadour of
those old days he sits right down and
tells me the most beautiful love story
out of that time that I ever heard.
That anybody ever heard.
+ X
From the land of Languedoc-this
| idyl-among whose hills rode trouba-
dours and their jongleurs, seeking a
patron and singing their lays of love.
| And here is the way of love between
a certain troubadour and the lady
| whose knight he 'fain would be-
$50 the poet told of his hearts sick
| ness and how his lady was of such
great station. and he so unworthy
| that he dared not tell her of his love
lest her refusal kill him, albeit he
| should else die of the fullness of his
unspoken love. Then said the lady.
| by all means tell her. Then con-
| fessed the troubadour, you are my
| lady Then replied the lady,
| you are my knight Than which
few instances of love are simpler or
briefer''
A beautiful adventure throughout,
this Pyrenean up-faring.
| X
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