Who would true valour see
Let him come hither
I have been thinking about the pilgrims in whose footsteps I'm following. What were they like? Were they pious ascetics hoping for fewer days in purgatory, or were they a rag-tag bunch, a regular cross section of humanity with its rogues and hypocrites, some along for adventure and others for profit of some kind. I suspect there were some of the latter, if Chaucer's Canterbury Tales is anything to go by.
Unlike today, there would have been a stream of pilgrims coming in the opposite direction, returning home. They would have spoken to the people heading south, telling them about the adventures to come and the places to stay.
And the hospitality? Was it Christian charity or self interest? Probably a bit of both. Certainly, there were many hospitals along the way that looked after the sick, and churches that offered shelter to those who couldn't afford to pay. But the hospitals probably received generous donations from the wealthy pilgrims they cured, and the churches would have sold relics to the credulous. Many gentry, with their servants, would have paid their way at the inns. Others - farmers, yeomen with little money - might have worked for their keep.
All this is mere speculation. I will try to find out what it was really like.
It was cool today when I set out, with heavy clouds which didn't deliver on their promise of rain. Eighteen degrees was the maximum temperature for the day.
One of the advantages, I suppose, of leaving a big town, is that by the time you reach the open country you have covered several kilometres, almost without realising it, and in no time I had reached the village of Benquet. The bar was closed, but I sat outside anyway, and a few minutes later, the patron was kind enough to open up for me.
Then I set a rattling pace for the remaining 13 kilometres to Saint-Sever. I would forgo my soggy cheese and stale baguette for le plat du jour et un quart de rouge. And indeed, I found a restaurant and had a steak and salad. I had earned it. The town is on a hill, and the last kilometre was a punishing climb. I was glad to stop, and thought of the Dutch who would have had another 19 kilometres to go.
The town of Saint-Sever is centred around its huge Romanesque abbey church. Various town buildings abut against one side, and a cloister now occupied by the mairie, the other. The interior is massive, and again I'm overwhelmed by the contrast between the beauty of the place and its emptiness. The church would hold a thousand people, and yet only a handful would attend its services today. And this contradiction is repeated all over Europe, I suppose. In the new world, the pious fill up the ugly glass temples on the outskirts of town, and in the old world, these great works of art stand empty in the centre.
Tonight I'm by myself in the municipal gite, a very comfortable place with ten beds. I suspect I am now alone on this section of the walk, so I shouldn't have any problem finding a place in future.
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