One morning, as I climbed to my eyrie, I was shocked to see my oblong writing-table, which I had hoisted up there with considerable difficulty, in an attitude that my neighbour Decros’s donkey endeavoured to strike in his most agitated moments—­it was standing upon two legs, with the others in the air.  The heavy branch of a large fig-tree that had been flourishing for many years upon the overhanging rock far above had come down upon the very spot where I was accustomed to sit, and thus the strange antics of the table were accounted for.  From that day the thought of other things above, such as loose rocks, which might also have conceived an antipathy for the table, and might not be so considerate towards me as the fig-tree, weakened my attachment to my ideal writing-place, for the discovery of which I was indebted to the indefatigable tongues of the women of Roc-Amadour.

The mention of my neighbour’s donkey recalls to mind an interesting religious ceremony in which that amiable but emotional beast figured with much distinction.  Once every year all the animals at Roc-Amadour that are worth blessing are assembled on the plain near the Hospitalet to receive the benediction of the Church.  The ceremony is called La benediction des betes.  The animals are chiefly goats, sheep, donkeys, and mules.  They are sprinkled with holy water, and prayers are said, so that they may increase and multiply or prosper in any other way that their owners may desire.  As the meeting of the beasts took place very early in the morning, I reached the scene just as it was breaking up, and the congregation was dispersing in various directions.  I met Decros coming down the hill with his donkey, and saw by the expression of his lantern jaws—­he never laughed outright—­that something had amused him very much.

’So you have been to the Blessing of the Beasts? said I.

‘He has been,’ replied the man, pointing to the ass, and not wishing to be confounded with the betes himself.

The donkey stuck his long ears forward, which meant, ‘Yes, I have,’ and there was a deal of humour in the expression.

‘And how did he behave?’

’Beautifully; he sang the whole time.  The men laughed, but the women said, “Take the beast away!” “No, I won’t,” said” Il chante la benediction."’

September brought the retreat, and the great pilgrimage, which lasts eight days.  The first visitors to arrive were the beggars and small vendors of objets de piete.  Some came in little carts, which looked as if they had been made at home out of grocers’ boxes, and to which dogs were harnessed.  At their approach all the Roc-Amadour dogs barked bravely, just as in the old days when the song was written of the ‘beggars coming to town.’  Others trudged in with their bundles upon their backs, hobbling, hungry and thirsty, but eager for the fray.  Some in a larger way of business came in all sorts of vehicles,