Why are the Pyrenees called the Pyrenees?

This question has been debated since Classical times, and there is still no clear answer today. Back in the 16th century, the future King Henri IV of France thought he knew why. These mountains were called the Pyrenees because one of his ancestors had ravished a princess. Earlier this summer, I explored the story by following Henri’s footsteps deep inside the cave of Lombrives.

Inside the Grotte de Lombrives
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The cave entrance is a vast hole in the cliffs above the main road from Tarascon-sur-Ariège to Ax-les-Thermes in the central Pyrenees. I was the only visitor, so for once I did not feel guilty about plying the guide with so many questions. Although the cave is lit, each of us carried a lamp to help us pick our way through a succession of galleries named Teat, Crime, Amphitheatre, Ladders and Cemetery. After just over a kilometre, we reach the tomb of Pyrene, the central figure in the legend that brought Henri to Lombrives in 1578.

The legend of Pyrene
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The earliest written record of this legend is a short aside in a long account of Hannibal’s crossing of the Pyrenees to fight the Romans. It was composed by a poet called Silius Italicus in the first century CE.  As with so many legends, this one has spawned countless versions, most of which seek to soften the succinct brutality of the original. I shall choose only one, not because it is closest to the truth – this is a legend, remember – but because it suits the beauty of the mountains we call the Pyrenees.

In the days when mythological monsters and heroes roamed the earth, the high peaks and deep valleys of the mountainous area between what we now call France and Spain was inhabited by a tribe called the Bebruces.  Their king, Bebryx, established his court in the largest cavern known to man – the Grotte de Lombrives.

Bebryx had a daughter who was so beautiful, her hand was sought by an army of noble suitors. Pyrene rejected them all until, one day, a young and handsome hero arrived in the kingdom of the Bebruces. Pyrene could not keep her eyes off him, and she was entranced by tales of all the labours he had performed from one end of the earth to the other. Hercules could never resist the charms of a pretty person of either sex, and he soon fell under the charm of Pyrene.

Love or lust?
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The princess and her hero soon became lovers. Pyrene spent her days and nights in the mountains, using the excuse that she was caring for her flock of sheep and goats. Hercules roamed through the surrounding countryside, bringing back gifts of wild berries for Pyrene, and if it was hot, the young lovers bathed in mountain streams or took lingering walks in the forest.
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Silius Italicus was not a romantic poet. In his account, he simply states that one night at court Hercules drank too much wine and raped his host’s daughter. Either way, love or lust led to the same result. When Hercules was called away by the gods to perform yet another labour, Pyrene found she was pregnant. Terrified of her father’s fury, she fled into the mountain wilderness where a fearsome bear mauled her slender body and tore her face and flesh to shreds. The pain was excruciating, and Pyrene’s screams echoed around the valleys and over the peaks and far away.

The death of a princess

Hercules heard these cries of agony and recognised the voice of his lover. He downed his tools, abandoned his latest labour, and rushed back to the kingdom of the Bebruces.

He was too late. Pyrene was dead.
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The poor princess was buried inside the cavern of Lombrives in the presence of her father and his noblemen. Hercules bid her farewell. ‘My darling Pyrene, so that your name shall ever be remembered, these mountains in which you will sleep for all eternity shall henceforth be called the Pyrenees.’  

Henri Bourbon and Hercules
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Many years later, this legend reached the ears of another young hero. Henri Bourbon was the third king of his name to rule the Pyrenean kingdom of Navarre, and ten years later he would become the fourth Henri to rule the whole of France.
Royal families have often sought to gain legitimacy and respect by grafting heroes or deities onto the roots of their family trees. Henri’s house was no different, and the kings of Navarre had long cultivated the legend that they were descended from Hercules. For Henri, Lombrives was a family mausoleum.

Stalagmite and mythical tomb

The tomb of Pyrene is a squat and rather unseemly stalagmite that resembles an enormous lump of dough. Jutting out from one side of its six-metre circumference is an inflamed protuberance that reminds me of what the lustful Hercules did to the poor princess.

We do not know if Henri penetrated this far inside the cave. In 1578, even a king was obliged to negotiate ten metres of tight passageway at a flat out crawl (luckily for me, this has since been dug out so that visitors can pass through at a crouch). Perhaps this constriction explains why Henri or one of his courtiers left an inscription on the wall shortly before the crawl and long before the legendary tomb of Pyrene. Of the cave’s 3,600 inscriptions, this is undoubtedly the most famous: ‘Deo Rex, Roi de Navarre, Comte de Foix, 1578.’

Henri continued to promote the Herculean legend for the rest of his life and there are several portraits of him dressed up as the mythical hero who helped give the Pyrenees their name.

And the real answer is…

A final word for those who scoff at legends: some modern etymologists claim ‘Pyrenees’ has Celtic roots, while others say it comes from the Greek word for ‘fire’. No one really knows, and the true origin of ‘Pyrenees’ is lost in the mists of time.

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